Stock Show weather

 

It’s a given in For Worth that when the annual Southwestern Exposition and Livestock Show hits town, late January to early February, we have “stock show weather.” A few years lately, with the weather so crazy, we have missed it, but today it rolled in, with one more week to go of the show. It may be a livestock show, crucial to ranchers, FFA kids who show their livestock in hopes of winning lucrative prizes and scholarships, and a lot of others from all over the Southwest, but to Fort Worth residents, the show means “Rodeo!” Two performances a day, and some of the best rodeo you’ll ever see.

But stock show weather brings the city to a halt, including audiences at the rodeo. And the weather hit today, though as usual we are in suspense as to what directions it will take. So far it’s been really cold for us—27 all day—and we’ve had spitting sleet and freezing rain, just enough to have fender bender accidents all over the Metroplex. In Fort Worth, I have heard of two cars that ended upside down. Schools in a wide area will be closed tomorrow as everyone buckles down.

But the news reports I heard tonight said it won’t get much colder, and we will have only occasional precip during the night. But what will it do tomorrow? A dense band of moisture is supposed to come through, but it’s one of those situations—will it or won’t it? Christian and Jacob both have rodeo plans tomorrow, and I had cancelled any plans to cook for them. Now Christian says he thinks (notice that qualifier) that he will be home but suspects Jacob will move hell and high water to get to the rodeo.

Today I was grateful to stay inside all day, but I was definitely aware that the cottage has hot spots and cold spots—and my desk is in a cold spot, probably because of the big window next to it and the French doors just two or three feet away. You think? I have kicked those heaters in the living area and bedroom (are they perhaps called mini-splits?) up to farther than I should and have also increased the fan speed. Plus put an extra insulating blanket on my bed—I had a really cozy nap today, until Sophie barked at me.

Soph doesn’t seem to mind the cold. She has been in and out all day (as Jacob would say, “So annoying!”). That would be okay but if she comes in by herself, she bangs the door open and does not, unsurprisingly, know enough to close it. If I have to go open the door, she often stands and looks at me, as if to say, “You want me to come in? I’ll take it under consideration.” Meantime, I’m freezing, so I break down and say, “Treat.” She comes right in. But then the rest of the family accuses me of spoiling her.

A couple of things stop me from enjoying this enforced stay-at-home period, not that I go out that much anyway, but with the weather like this, I am always a bit cold. And I worry about friends and family on the roads, even the back streets. This is Jacob’s first year with a driver’s license, and his car is an SUV, top heavy and no four-wheel drive. A perfect candidate for skidding, sliding, even flipping, and I don’t think he’s experienced enough to handle that. Are Texas kids taught what to do when the car starts to fishtail? I fear not. (Oh, how he would hate to hear me say these things!)

Mondays are always tough. Why is there so much news? Why do so many people send emails on Mondays? I spent most of the day catching up and only proofed two chapter of my novel. Got to do better tomorrow, and that makes me grateful for an enforced day at home.

So stay warm and safe at home, if you possibly can, and thank the gods for a roof over your head, a warm bed, food in your pantry. If you know of someone who doesn’t have those things, please reach out. And pray the damn grid holds!

Meal planning—not what you think

Cashew Chicken - dinner last night
thanks to Christian

In the “to do” stack on my desk—and in the back of my mind—is an essay on the temptations of quarantine. You see, I am sort of enjoying quarantine, even while I’m horrified at the illness and death ravaging our country (don’t let me digress). Of course I miss restaurant meals with my friends and the like, but now I have an excuse to sink into the bubble that my wonderful daughter, Jordan, has created for me. I can write, read, nap, and cook—a purely self-indulgent life. And I do see friends—a few, who we know are also quarantining, come by for a BYOB, distanced, masked happy hour occasionally. And I don’t have to do the few things in this world that I really don’t want to do, although I did go to the dentist.

But last night I discovered another plus to quarantine, and I think it will have to go in that essay, should I ever finish it. Jordan and I spent a companionable hour and a half going over recipes and choosing our dinners for the week to come. Yes, we had glasses of wine at our elbows.

When we first started this communal living—Jordan and family (the boys, as we call the father and son) in the house and me in the cottage—we gathered for family dinner on Sunday nights in the house. Other than that, we were on our own. All of us frequently had outside dinner plans; sometimes Christian’s work happy hours kept him out late; Jordan had happy hours for work and pleasure; I had weekly dinners with friends. it was just easier to each cook for ourselves. Sometimes when Jordan would come to the cottage about five-thirty in the evening, I’d ask what they were having for dinner, and she’d shrug and say, “I have no idea.”

But with quarantine, all that changed and the meal planning sessions gradually developed. None of us went anywhere—no more restaurant meals or happy hours. With grocery delivery, it was easiest to pool our lists and place one or two orders a week. These days, masked and gloved, Jordan ventures to the grocery, but we pretty much order from Central Market and pick it up at curbside delivery. A friend goes to Trader Joe’s and always checks with Jordan to see what we need. We do order take-out occasionally, but with a few exceptions we find what we cook at home tastes so much better.

Most evenings we eat in the cottage. Christian and I do most of the cooking, while Jordan does clean-up—and Jacob gets the garbage detail. We’ve all had to make some adjustments—the Burtons don’t like some things that I enjoy. Cold summer soups and squash come immediately to mind. Christian has been slow to come to some things, but is now enthusiastic about salmon, and he liked the Dover sole we did one night recently. I’m not responsible for shaping his palate, but I do sometimes wonder where I went amuck raising Jordan. I, on the other hand, have learned to appreciate more Asian dishes—Christian’s specialty—and I am indebted to him for leaving bell pepper and hot spices out of everything he cooks.

So what took us an hour and a half last night? First of all, my gigantic folder of things I want to try—every time I go through it, I eliminate a few that I know I won’t cook. But it’s still bulging. Then a recipe for red beans and rice (I know—who needs a recipe?) reminded me of a beef and bean dish I cooked when the kids were little, and Jordan immediately wanted that. Luckily, it’s in my first cookbook—Cooking My Way through Life with Kids and Books, so I still have it on the computer. We’ll have it one night this week.

After our planning, we’ll also have Mongolian beef (Christian does a superb job on that), chicken with pesto and noodles, family favorite Doris’ casserole, Asian dishes so Christian can play with his new work. Tonight it’s hamburger Stroganoff, because I need a picture for a guest blog pushing Saving Grace. And Jordan and I will cook together--from my seated walker, it's hard for me to use two hands to scrape a bowl or skillet, and she happily does such for me. It's a good system, and it will be a good week.

My newest yard art
Courtesy the Tomball Alters

The importance of food--it's not just nutrition

My interest in food definitely led me to write the

Blue Plate Café Mysteries

 

 

I had an editor once who thought I lingered far too long over where and what my characters ate. I disagreed vehemently and held my ground. Food tells us so much about a person. Folklorist and scholar James Ward Lee once wrote that food “may provide as much information about the way we live and see the world as the people we elect to office or the houses we build or the books we approve or the movies we film…to historians, folklorists and anthropologists of Buck Roger’s twenty-fifth century.”

I recently read a blog by the mother of a two-year-old who said that every meal was a battle, but it was a battle she was willing to fight because so much of our lives takes place over food. We come together as family over food, we celebrate holidays and special occasions with special food. When we begin to date, it’s over food, whether it’s the soda in a drugstore of my day or that special dinner before prom. Apply for a job, and your interview is likely to include lunch, where your manners, your ability to carry on conversation, and your eating habits will be judged.

I worry sometimes about the grandson I’m closest to because he is what I’d call a picky eater. My advice, like that of the mom of the two-year-old, is to offer him what we eat; if he doesn’t want it, his next chance will be the next meal of the day, even if it means going to bed hungry. His mother says, “He has to eat,” but I don’t think so. He’s a solid child and won’t waste away. When we have pets, we put their food out and if they don’t eat it, we shrug and say they’ll eat when they’re hungry. I feel the same way about children, and I’ve watched several of my grandchildren develop appetites for a wide range of food, when I would have given up hope early on. Two granddaughters have always loved everything from dolma to sushi, but one is a vegetarian out of conscience, and I respect that. Jacob, the one that lives near me, is a vegetarian out of instinct—the child just doesn’t like meat—and I’d respect that if he were a little more adventuresome about other foods.

Two of my sons-in-law are what I’d call vegetable-challenged. The list of vegetables they’ll eat is limited, though they have strange likes that I can’t fathom. Christian loves radishes and will eat an entire pack at one sitting (which causes some physical distress); he’ll eat green beans, asparagus if he has to, broccoli or squash, never.

Today I sent my neighbor a list of things I wanted to talk to him about and realized that three of the five items had to deal with meals. I am never happier than when I’m planning a dinner menu. Tomorrow I’m fixing a belated birthday dinner for Christian—crock pot pork tenderloin in a sauce of soy, maple syrup, oil, mustard, diced onion, and garlic salt. Yum! Because it’s his birthday dinner, I’ll go the extra mile and make twice-baked potatoes, though I have four potatoes for five people. Should work well.

I know I’ll have more to say about food in future blogs, but to see some of my recipes you might check out back posts of “Potluck with Judy,” http://potluckwithjudy.blogspot.com.

I’m going to set the dinner now for tomorrow’s supper—oh yeah, I’m a plan-ahead cook.