An absolute bummer of a day

 

I awoke this morning to a stunningly quiet cottage. It took me a moment to realize there was no hum of the refrigerator, no white sound from the HVAC unit. None of the appliances had their little lights lit to show they were functioning. I looked across the yard at Jordan’s house and saw there were no lights. Then I found she had texted me that an accident at the stoplight, a block and a half away, had taken out an electric pole. It would be fixed by nine-thirty, according to the power company.

There is not much I can do in the cottage without power—no cup of tea, because I have nothing to heat the water; no hot water (good thing I didn’t want to wash my hair); even the bidet wouldn’t work. I had thought my computer would work on battery, but no such luck. No TV. No reading, because I read on my computer. Oh sure, I could do some of that on my phone, but it’s tiny and both my old fingers and old eyes are not happy working on it.

Besides, last night, having had I guess all the sleep I needed, I was awake and at my computer at midnight, making a list of things to do today, like cancelling tomorrow’s dental appointment, making sure the Book Ladies knew I’d cancelled the group happy hour tomorrow (I still am afraid one will show up, appetizer in hand). I wanted to check if the church would have charitable turkey dinners, and I needed to check on a neighbor. Little stuff, and the world wouldn’t end if I didn’t get it down, but a lot of it was locked in my computer.

Nine-thirty came and went, then ten-thirty. At eleven groceries were delivered, and I ate a banana. An email told me the power company now said three to four hours. I went back to bed, but I was restless, my body achy from having spent too much time in bed. The power came on about three, and I worked like a demon until seven-thirty. With all emails read and dealt with, my to-do list considerably shortened with only one of two things postponed until tomorrow, I took a nap. Woke feeling so cozy and comfortable, I debated getting up. But I did.

Now, at nine-thirty I’m about to go back to bed. I think my Covid is better, but neither Jordan nor I are ready to charge out into the world. Tomorrow is the last day of quarantine. I’m counting on a better day.

I have a message for anti-vaxxers (of course, none will read my blog): get up to date on vaccines. At my age, Covid could have turned into something severe. As it is, it was like an annoying, bad head cold, with a persistent cough (now mostly gone). I feel very lucky but also grateful that I had good medical advice and kept up my vaccinations. Of course I’m not completely out of the woods yet, so maybe I’m too smug.

A sign I’m feeling much better: I ate the leftover tuna salad tonight, and I am again enjoying looking at recipes. So guess what I found tonight? A recipe for an appetizer, of a Spam cubes (yes, you heard me), Gruyere, coarse mustard, and a cornichon. It would either be interesting or appalling. I am amused at the combination of what you might call a low-class food—Spam—with a gourmet cheese like Gruyere. I also found a recipe for updated stuffed celery. I remember that from my childhood.

And a Facebook me that hit home, because I thought I was having such a bad day: “If you think you’re having a bad day, remember that the Salzburg airport has an entire counter for folks who flew to Austria thinking they were flying to Australia.”

‘Night folks. Sweet dreams.

Saga of a soupy recipe

What goes into cube steak in a crockpot.

Earlier this week a friend posted a recipe on her timeline—at least, it was a partial recipe. A list of ingredients for a crockpot dinner. It didn’t have a cooking time or crockpot setting, so I posted a note asking. But I thought surely it was a no-brainer: six hours on low would cook some cube steaks. I told Christian about it, and he agreed it sounded good for Sunday supper. When we can, we like to make a family event of Sunday supper—something a little different from the usual weeknight rushed meal. I gave him a choice of which was easier: bring the crockpot out to me and I’d cook, or he could take the recipe inside and he’d cook. He often likes to spend Sunday cooking, so he chose the latter. And it’s a good thing.

This morning he came out with the recipe in hand and said, “I need more direction.” That’s the difference between us: whereas I tend to barge ahead figuring I know how to cook, Christian wants precise instructions. I told him the best my friend could offer was that she was looking for the recipe. He stood over my shoulder while I went back to the Facebook web site where she’d found it. It had no more information. With Christian pointing here and there, we explored on the computer. Finally, he threw his hands up in the air and said “I’ll do some research.”

It was a good thing he did. The recipe called for six cube steaks and a couple of soups. I had intended to put the steaks in the crockpot and pour the combined coups over them. When Christian found the recipe it called for layering the steaks with onions, so they didn’t just melt into one huge glop of cube steaks. Then there was one more soup than my sketchy recipe had indicated, and it had to cook for seven hours—that sent Christian scurrying to get it started.

We had dinner at seven-thirty, which is about the usual times for us (my goodness, it took me a long while to get used to that late dining).

Soupy cube steaks

Six cube steaks

One sweet onion

1 can cream of celery soup

1 can cream of mushroom soup

1 envelope dry onion soup

½ soup can water

¼ tsp. black pepper

Layer steaks and sliced onion in crockpot. Separately mix together two cream soups, water, and pepper. Pour over steaks. Sprinkle dry soup mix on top (Christian chose  to stir it into the soup mix).

Cook on low for seven hours. Serve with noodles, rice, or potatoes.

It was delicious. Both Jordan and Christian harped a little on cube steak being tough, but when they ate it their tune changed. Christian said it was the most tender he’d ever had, and I found it fork-tender. Plus lots of gravy—always important to me. It’s a keeper recipe.

And a big hat tip to @Harriet Gerick Hunt for sending starting us on this saga and yay to Christian for fixing a really good supper.

 

 

In celebration of Julia--an odd recipe

 

Today is Julia Child’s birthday. The legendary chef would be 111, probably still drinking wine and dropping chickens on the floor. In celebration of her birthday, the Kitchn website asked fifteen home cooks for their favorite Child’s recipes. Responses included the expected: French dressing, upside down martini, crepes, coq au vin, chicken liver mousse, and, of course, the classic boeuf bourguignon.

By contrast, I thought I’d share one of the most unusual recipes I’ve ever heard of. Let me stress I have not tried this, but I trust Texas author Cindy Bonner who sent me this recipe for Water Pie. You’ve heard of other Depression-era pies with simple, inexpensive ingredients—vinegar pie is a classic. Then there’s Ritz cracker pie, often called mock apple pie, for when apples aren’t available—it is said to taste remarkably like apple pie. Chess pie and buttermilk pie, rich with butter and cream or milk, may not be money-saving Depression pies, but they are classic, southern favorites and have the same custard texture that Cindy found in water pie. My Mississippi daughter-in-law makes chess pie for us at holidays, and it is one of my favorites.

So what is water pie? Sounds … well, watery. This goes together like nothing I’ve ever heard of before, so if you try it, be sure to follow the directions

Water Pie

 

Ingredients:

1 - 9” pie shell, unbaked

1 1/2 cup water

4 TBL all purpose flour

1 cup sugar

2 tsp vanilla

5 TBL butter cut in pieces

 

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Pour the water into the prepared 9” unbaked pie shell. In small bowl, combine flour and sugar together. Sprinkle the sugar mixture evenly over the water in the crust. Do not stir. Drizzle the vanilla over the water and top with pieces of butter. Bake pie for 30 minutes. Lower heat to 375 degrees and cover edges of crust if necessary to prevent excessive browning. Bake for 25-30 more minutes. The pie will be watery when you take it out of the oven but will thicken as it cools. Once completely cool, chill in the fridge. 

Cindy served this with a dollop of whipping cream but says her partner, Wayne, didn’t think it needed it. For Cindy, the texture reminded her of chess pie. It was, she said, surprisingly flavorful with a unique texture. She advises a couple of cautions: put the pie plate on a cookie sheet for baking, to catch drips; also the crust stuck to the bottom—I suppose either greasing or flouring the pie pan would help that.

 

If you don’t know Cindy’s work, you might want to investigate. As she says, her heroes are most often women and her soldiers drive supply trucks rather than tanks. Her newest title is For Love and Glory, a WWII saga about a Texas boy who joined the Royal Air Force to fly against the Germans when he didn’t quality for the fledgling US air force. Of course, there’s a strong romantic element. The Passion of Dellie O’Barr and Looking after Lily are classics, and Right from Wrong won a Texas PEN Award. She blogs at http://cindybonner.blogspot.com and more about her can be found at https://www.cindybonner.com.

Let me know if  you try water pie. I’ll pass the word along to C indy.

 

 

A ladies luncheon

 

We may have had a ladies luncheon,
but unfortunately none of us looked like this--
and no cocktails were involved. 

Lunch is not a social time for me. I rarely go out for lunch or invite people in. I’ve got this daily routine down pat and socializing at lunch interrupts it. I work all morning, eat leftovers at my desk, and work until two, two-thirty when I take a nap. But today was an exception: Jean and a young woman I’ve corresponded with but never met came for lunch.

Since yesterday was a busy day, I did not have the meal prepared in advance as I often do. I did make a marinated bean salad yesterday, but when I got up this morning and got going instead of rushing to my computer, I made a chicken casserole. Not a big deal, probably took me an hour to make it and clean up the kitchen. The most onerous part was dicing celery and green onions and chopping up the chicken—a rotisserie chicken which was deboned and in the freezer. Jordan finally convinced me deboning them is not bad if you do it right away when they come from the store, still warm.

The young woman is the daughter and niece of friends of mine, her aunt long gone, her parents recently deceased. Mary Lou was a friend through the years—we met in 1970. Shortly thereafter she lost her daughter tragically, and I was one of the people she turned to. She was a big part of my life until maybe ten or twelve years ago when she retired and moved to Dallas. Through her, I met her brother, Alex, and got to know him because we both served on the board of the Friends of the TCU Library. At board luncheons, Alex and I would sit together and whisper about liberal politics, trying to stifle our laughter like naughty schoolchildren. We knew several people in the room would frown on our ideas, but we always had a good time.

In recent times, Alex’s wife developed Alzheimer’s and was in a memory care facility, and he moved into a retirement facility (not the one I’m so familiar with). Jean and I went to have lunch with him once, were planning to go again, and I was making plans to have him to the cottage for lunch to get him out of what I thought was a cold and unlovely environment. He fell, broke his shoulder, went rapidly downhill, and died about a month ago. I had been in touch with his daughter, Leah,.because Alex had almost no vision left (macular degeneration) and dictated his emails to her, so by the time he died, I felt I knew Leah.

So today she came to lunch, and that young woman (okay, middle-aged) Alex had described to me as an introvert who didn’t like to be around people, was outgoing, frank and open about her family, and talked constantly of how lucky she has been in the people who support her and her family. She seemed thrilled with the prayer shawl Jean brought her. We had a lively discussion and a good time.

And now I have leftovers for a frequent visitor to the cottage who is coming for supper tomorrow night. Meantime I’ve had a slow, lazy afternoon and evening, enjoying the thunder and rain.

Between hearing aids, grocery and social engagements, the week that started off to be a writing week has fizzled. Monday, I wrote 1500 words on my cottage memoir and felt so good about it. Full steam ahead. Since then, I have written countless words in my head but committed nothing to paper. I itch to get to it. Perhaps tomorrow, but Thursday is always the day I post a recipe to my Gourmet on a Hot Plate blog, and I haven’t even chosen the recipe. The road to hell is paved with … but then you know that saying.

Just in case you missed it, I had a guest post today on Lois Winston’s Anastasia Pollock blog. Lois has a spot for recipe blogs, so mine is on Texas caviar, a recipe developed by Helen Corbitt, later of Neiman Marcus fame, way back in the 1940s. It’s still good today. Check it out if you want a good side for a summer barbecue or picnic party: https://anastasiapollack.blogspot.com/2023/06/cooking-with-cloris-author-judy-alters.html 

 

Gas stove and bare arms

 

 

 

Jordan, ready for a girls night at the rodeo.
Her elegant fur vest doesn't show well in the photo, 
but trust me, she's well dressed for the occasion.

Honestly, conservatives can be such fun. It’s so easy to punch their buttons and set them off in a twitter. Remember when there was that big flap about Jade Helm, a 2015 government military exercise that took place in several states? Conservatives (read Republicans if you want) went bonkers and claimed that the government was coming to confiscate civilian guns. Governor Abbott, in his infinite wisdom, designated an operation to monitor what Jade Helm participants were doing. Of course, it all came to nothing—except a special forces training exercise—and everybody had their guns.

Well now they’re all riled up over confiscation of gas stoves. Let me back up and say that for years I hungered for a gas stove. I was sure it would improve my cooking a hundredfold, and I argued to my contractor that the gas hot water heater was only feet from the stove, and it would be easy to run a gas line under the house—it’s an old pier-and-beam house with a crawl space. Each time, he patiently explained that the gas company would inspect all the lines on the property and might easily find infinitesimal leaks due to age Ultimately my gas stove could cost me upwards of $10,000.

Lately I’ve been reading that gas stoves are not in favor because they omit fumes, even when turned off. These fumes are expected of aggravating childhood asthma, other respiratory conditions, and contributing to the pollution of our air, with ultimate damage to the ozone layer. And suddenly in the last week or two that has become a conservative cause. If I had a gas stove and an asthmatic child, I know what my choice would be, but I saw a post from a woman saying they would only take her stove over her dead body.

Conservative anger-mongers have stirred the base until, apparently, they envision uniformed men invading households, ripping out gas stoves, and leaving gaping holes. Not so. Whatever government agency is investigating this is considering restrictions and safeguards on new installations. Calm down, everyone. And investigate induction cooktops, which seem to be the coming thing. I cook on an induction hot plate and like it a lot, but I understand a whole cooktop is a vast improvement.

On a similar foolish note, conservatives in the Missouri legislature have passed a rule requiring women to wear long sleeves. I guess they feel those bare arms will be so titillating as to render men incapable of governing (note my restraint in not commenting further on that). It’s hysterically funny if it weren’t so scary, harking back to the sixties and beyond when women weren’t allowed in legislatures—except maybe as clerks. It also echoes the Taliban to a frightening degree—if men can pass rules about what women wear, who’s to say face coverings or even full burkas aren’t next. Fear of sex and women is a powerful thing. Men have already dictated what we can do with our bodies, and now they want to tell us how to dress.

Aside from my angry amazement at the issues above, this was a pleasant, slow day. I finished a manuscript and sent it off to beta readers. And I played in the kitchen, using up leftovers which pleases my Scottish soul. The other night I served eggplant sauté over polenta, so for the last two days I’ve had grits with butter and cheese for breakfast—this morning I even skipped grating cheese and added a spoonful from the crock of pub cheese. And for lunch? Sauteed eggplant. So good.

Cut salmon en croute
showing the layers

Salmon en croute
Not real pretty but so good

But the pièce de resistance was salmon en croute, made from things I had on hand. I had puff pastry in the freezer, though I feared it was old and freezer burnt. No such thing, but I forgot to defrost it which delayed dinner a bit. But I spread a sheet out and pressed a round flat circle of baked goat cheese spread, left from a couple of nights ago, in the center of the pastry sheet. Then I topped it with small chunks of the good canned Alaskan salmon I keep on hand, and I topped that with thoroughly drained canned spinach—yes, fresh would have been better, but remember I was using what I had. It made enough for four people, but Christian, who is also home alone tonight, declined—he doesn’t eat cooked spinach. I thought it was so delicious I had two helpings and am now overfed. A thoroughly satisfying food day.

A note upgrading Sophie news: she is back in the clinic. Was home one night, but clearly wasn’t doing well. When we took her back, I was quite sure it was farewell, but the doctor said no, he would let us know if he felt that was the case. Later, he called with a new possible diagnosis and a new treatment plan. He will keep her through the weekend. So please cross your fingers and say prayers for my sweet Soph.

Thanks, all. I’m off to spend the rest of the evening with a good book.

A sandwich tribute to the Kentucky Derby

 

A Kentucky Hot Brown
made with cheddar cheese

What a weekend coming up! Locally in Fort Worth, the weekend will see the first Mayfest celebration after a two-year hiatus due to covid. Festivities begin Thursday and run through Sunday in Trinity Park. Details and calendars are available online. This is the fiftieth celebration of the riverside, family-oriented festival that’s designed to bring families together for fun.

Looking at the bigger picture, families across the nation will be celebrating Mother’s Day on Sunday. If you haven’t made brunch reservations yet, you may be out of luck though a few restaurants might still have openings. Maybe flowers? Although various cultures tracing back to the Greeks and Romans have had celebrations honoring mothers, the holiday as we know it began in 1908 when a West Virginia woman, Anna Jarvis, held a private memorial for her mother. The idea spread, and by 1914 President Theodore Roosevelt signed It into law. Today many, including the late Ms. Jarvis, bemoan the commercialization of this tribute. It’s become a bonanza for restaurants, florists, and the greeting card industry. Still, it’s nice to thank Mom for all she does.

Don’t overlook the big event Saturday night: the Kentucky Derby, often called the “Run for the Roses” or “The Fastest Two Minutes in Sports.” Three-year-old Thoroughbreds run a mile-and-a-quarter track in about two minutes. If you blink, you’ve missed it. It’s the first of three races for the Triple Crown—next is the Preakness Stakes and then Belmont Stakes. The race goes back to 1875 and has been held every year since, even during covid.

I’m not much of a fan of horse racing and not a betting person at all, but I enjoy the celebration, with its ceremonial pomp and the outrageous hats and outfits on the ladies, the blanket of roses draped over the winner. The excitement in the air is so palpable you feel it sitting in your living room watching it on TV. So I’ll be watching, and in honor of the race I’ll be serving Kentucky Hot Browns.

There is not really a connection between the sandwich and the Derby, except that both are based in Louisville. The Kentucky Hot Brown was created by a chef named Frederick Schmidt in 1926 at Louisville’s Brown Hotel. Intended to be a late-night substitute for ham and eggs or for classic Welsh rarebit, it is generally an open-faced sandwich of sliced turkey, covered in Mornay sauce and decorated with bacon and grated Parmesan. Of course, these days there are variations—you can add tomatoes or mushrooms, you might want cheddar in your Mornay sauce instead of Parmesan. You can find recipes online for canapes called Hot Brown Bites or for Hot Brown casseroles. Some people make Hot Brown Sliders. One interesting note: the sandwich got attention because in the Twenties no one ate turkey at any other time of the year than Thanksgiving and Christmas.

A note about options: some recipes use milk, others chicken broth; some use Parmesan, others cheddar. I think it’s a question of pairing: if you use Parmesan, I’d use milk for liquid and add a pinch of nutmeg; if you prefer cheddar, use chicken broth and add ½ tsp. Worcestershire.

Here’s the basic recipe:

Hot Brown Sandwich for four

For the sandwich:

4 slices artisan white bread, toasted (if the slices are small, use 8)

1 lb. roast turkey breast, thick slices

2 Roma tomatoes, sliced

8 slices bacon, cooked and crisp

For the sauce:

¼ c. butter

¼ c. flour

1 cup whipping cream

1 cup whole milk (or chicken broth)

½ c. grated cheese (see note above for type of cheese)

Salt and pepper to taste

Directions:

Toast the bread, lay it in a large, flat casserole dish, and top with roast turkey.

Melt the butter in a small saucepan and stir in the flour, making a roux. Gradually stir in the cream and milk or chicken broth, stirring almost constantly until the sauce thickens. Remove from heat and stir in cheese, seasoning, and salt and pepper.

Cover sandwiches generously with the sauce and broil until cheese bubbles and begins to brown—do not let it burn! Remove from oven and garnish with sliced tomatoes and crisscrossed strips of bacon. Serve hot as the name implies. And raise a glass to the Derby winner!

 

 

 

The Food Wars

 

Smoky salmon spread

Me: have you ever had chowder?

Christian: Clam chowder? I think so, but a long time ago. I don’t much like clams.

Me: I was thinking of fish chowder.

Howls from both of them. No fish chowder. Later I learned that they joked about it after they left my cottage.

So tonight Jordan and I had a menu planning session. One night is a potluck for some of their friends. I said I’d bring two appetizers and settled on Reuben dip, which Christian loves, and the salmon dip she’s eaten all her life and loves.

Jordan: “Christian won’t eat that.”

Me: “Why not? He eats salmon these days.” (Something he learned to like after I began cooking for them.)

Jordan: “A filet, grilled or roasted. He doesn’t want it mixed with a lot of other things.”

Then she said the problem is that they are perfectly happy with grilled meat and a salad, whereas I want to add thirty-five other ingredients. I like grilled meat and salad, but every night? Boring! Yes, I want casseroles and sauces and lots of different tastes. To complicate things, the other night Jacob said, “Meat, meat, meat. Why do we have to have it so often?” When Christian said chicken is meat, Jacob said it’s not the same. What he doesn’t want is lots of beef and the lamb that I sometimes crave. So tonight, my suggestion of Mongolian beef, which Christian does to perfection, was shot down because Jacob doesn’t like beef. A good old-fashioned vegetable soup was shot down because Christian wants meat and doesn’t really think soup is a meal. We are clearly all mismatched.

Christian looked at the appetizer recipes I’d chosen for the potluck and said he would eat lots of the Reuben dip and maybe a bit of the salmon. So I guess that’s what I’m making. The sherry/cheese paté which I love was a no go, as was the marinated goat cheese with rosemary and the sardine spread, which I didn’t even mean to include. When I ran across the recipe, I set it aside to make for myself.

My options here are limited. If I don’t want to cater to their tastes, I can cook for myself—but cooking for one quickly gets boring. I’d eat a lot of tuna and baked eggs. And in my semi-reclusive state, after a day alone at my computer, I really look forward to their company in the evening. Life, I have decided, is a series of compromises.

My friend Jean was eating with me on average once a week and welcomed my experimental cooking, but she has moved this week to Trinity Terrace and has lots on her mind and her daily calendar, like moving and getting settled. I fear she will get so wrapped up in the social life there—and the really excellent food that is part of her contract—that she will not be easily lured to my coffee table. But I am ever hopeful and have recipes waiting: cream of chicken soup from scratch (soup is a no-go around here) and the one I really like—a salmon bowl with vinegar rice and cole slaw veggies with sesame. I’m already modifying the recipe in my mind. Or I bet she’d each fish chowder.

So tonight we had wine-braised chicken thighs with artichokes and onion. Christian has not wanted thighs because there’s not enough meat, whereas I find one good-sized thigh more than satisfying. But we planned it carefully: Jacob had a golf tournament today and would be hungry at five, asleep by six, so Christian could have two of the thighs in the package. Life never goes as you plan: there were only three thighs in the package (I never can master the amount of chicken I’m ordering from Central Market, and it’s a great source of frustration), and Jacob was wide awake and ready to eat. Jordan and I split a thigh and admittedly that’s not much meat. I thought it was a great meal—I browned the chicken slowly so the skin was good and crisp; then in the same pan I sautéed the onions and canned artichokes, added a whole bunch of dry white wine, and simmered until liquid was reduced. This is one of those recipes which I wish I could cook in an iron skillet and whisk into the oven. But I scraped the vegetables into a flat oven dish, topped them with the chicken, and baked them in my toaster oven. The vegetables were soft and delicious and the chicken skin (which I love) the crispest, best I’ve had in a long while. I loved it. I asked Christian, who has only lately come to artichokes, and he said, “Well, I didn’t know how to eat them. I’ve only had grilled artichokes where you only eat the tip of the leaf.” You see what culinary educational work I have ahead of me?

How about you? How experimental are you in cooking? And eating?

 

Our own rituals

 

Jordan's chicken Caesar wraps

AS we go through life, I think all of us develop little rituals. I’ve thought about this a lot lately because some are so repetitive they annoy me—sometimes when I brush my teeth in the morning, I think with a sigh that it just has to be done again that night. And when I wash my hair, I think how it delays me getting to my day’s work. First world problems for sure.

Lately I’ve developed a more cheerful ritual. Saturdays may have long been cooking days for me, but now the Burtons are often gone, and I plan meals I want to cook. Then my good friend Jean comes and  enjoys them with me, though she is great about contributing a salad or a bottle of wine. For the last two Saturdays the Burtons have been going to Waco—and didn’t go. But they weren’t here for dinner. Last week, Jean and I had spanakopita, and I nibbled on leftovers for breakfast for several days. The leftovers are one big benefit of these dinners.

Today I cooked most of the day—almost no computer time. The menu was lamb meatloaf and zucchini casserole, mostly because a couple of weeks ago I asked Jean if she would prefer salmon or lamb—I specified burgers. She said she loved lamb, but I talked her into salmon because it seemed lighter for a summer meal. As it turned out, I decided I like the croquettes my mom taught me to take of canned salmon better than the fancy and expensive burgers made from fresh salmon. Lesson learned.

But I felt I owed Jean some lamb, so tonight I made a meatloaf of ground lamb and beef, with thyme, basil, onion, garlic, ketchup, and Worcestershire. Delicious, and I have plenty left for one of my favorite lunch treats—a cold meatloaf sandwich with mayo. The lamb is subtle, but it’s there and you can taste it. I know I’m always crowing about cooking what Jordan and Christian won’t eat, but I have to say in their defense they both like this meatloaf. If you want the recipe see “Gourmet on a Hot Plate,” (Gourmet on a Hot Plate: April 2020). Once again, I forgot to take a picture—but, hey! Meatloaf looks pretty much like meatloaf.

Tonight, I paired it with a zucchini casserole that was good but not as great as I wanted it to be. Zucchini was steamed, sliced, mixed with a sauce of butter, sour cream, Parmesan, salt and paprika, and egg. Maybe the zucchini was steamed too much; maybe there wasn’t enough sauce; maybe (my first thought) it needed more salt. Jean and I decided it needed some breadcrumbs, in addition to those on the topping, more salt (that was me—she doesn’t like much salt and once tried to grab the saltshaker out of my hand because she thought I was using too much!), and maybe a bit of cheddar—or more sour cream. I”ll play with what’s left.

But all in all, it was a good dinner, although slightly heavy for a warm night. I’ve had several light meals lately—for lunch a couple of days I made myself a sandwich of cream cheese spread with a bit of mayo and dill, smoked salmon, and cucumber. If that’s not self-indulgent, I don’t know what is.

Last night Jordan fixed us lettuce wraps with Caesar chicken—refreshing and good. She served them with pickled cucumbers and added a plea for me to pickle more cukes This morning I found a cucumber on the cutting board in my kitchen—think that was a hint? So this morning, I made a new batch of pickled cucumbers and onions. Here’s what I did.

Pickled cucumber

Cucumber

Sweet onion

1 c. cider vinegar

1 c. water

¼ c. sugar

1 Tbsp Kosher salt

Pack a clean pint jar with layers of onion and cucumber, packing down as tight as you can. Heat remaining ingredients in a saucepan and stir until sugar is dissolved. Let cool slightly but not to room temperature. You don’t want to pour boiling liquid over the cucumbers and onion, but neither do you want to let it get cold—moderate heat helps marinate the vegetables.

Refrigerate well.

Couldn’t be easier. Now, what shall I cook next Saturday?

Pot roast makes for a good day

Pot roast

Yesterday, for reasons of its own, was not one of my better days, but today is a good day. I woke to sunshine, the temperature has been moderate all day, and my cottage smells wonderful. I put a pot roast in the crockpot early this morning, added potatoes about noon, and carrots about four. Now I can’t wait to eat it. They say you should bake bread (or cookies) if your house is being shown for sale; after today, I’d say you should put a roast on. The gravy in this one is a simple mix of dry onion soup, cream of mushroom soup, and half a cup of red wine. I used to do that for my kids all the time.

Am I crazy? I am just devastated that Gov. Abbott has opened up the state—no mask mandate, business as usual. Yes, I’ve had both shots and feel fairly safe but not invincible. I had been looking forward to dinner in a restaurant with a friend next week. I distinctly remember having dinner with her on March 12, 2020—it was the last time either of us ate in a restaurant. But now I’m not sure I want to eat elbow-to-elbow with unmasked people. The CDC is issuing a stern warning against rushing to open too soon—guess the good governor just didn’t hear that one. I’m not inclined to be a fan of the Texas governor, he who brought us the energy crisis. Now he’s exacerbating the covid crisis.

I know the argument is that we must restore the economy, but I’m skeptical that letting large numbers of people catch the virus is going to do much for the economy. It seems to me a question of weighing human life against the economy, and I know which one I’d choose. Abbott says individual vigilance is still needed but state mandates are not necessary. What fairyland does he live in that he thinks everyone is going to continue to mask and social distance without the mandate? Sure, a lot of us will, but too many won’t. For one thing, trump politicized the whole mask question to the point his followers think it’s a badge of independence to go without a mask. And Lord knows, we have too many of his followers in Texas!

One more comment on that subject: how many people have you heard of with the flu? Think maybe masks work? Sure, between CDC protocols (masks and social distance) and the terrific roll-out of vaccinations (Isn’t it nice to have a president who does what he promises?), covid numbers are dramatically going down. When you’re winning is not the time to quit fighting.

On a brighter note, I found some clothes I’d lost. I asked Jordan to help look, and she was quite insistent that I had approved giving them away. I knew that wasn’t true because it was a favorite pair of leggings and a shirt that I wore with several things. She was standing in the closet, puzzled, when I suggested maybe they were buried in a basket that sat to one side. And there they were, under some other things—shirt, leggings, a pair of pajamas I wear a lot. Please do not ask how they got there. Brightened my day.

And another bit of bad news for the day—the estate of Dr. Seuss has decided to pull six books from the market because of racial images. I’m not sure which six books, so I can’t speak to the images, but it seems a shame to deprive children of the joy of Dr. Seuss.

Don’t get me started on Governor Cuomo. I’m on a tear already tonight!

Another day, another dinner

 

Nothing much of interest goes on around here these days. I’m not sure if that means I’m still in the doldrums or if my life is really that dull. But that sense of sameness accounts for my sporadic blog posts. Other than giving you my daily word counts—I am writing a bit each day—or talking about politics, which I’ve forsworn for a bit, though I can hardly contain myself with subjects like Marjorie Taylor Greene, there’s not much left to tell except cooking news.

So tonight I fixed what was billed as a quick lamb ragu. Ragu is simply another way of saying a meat-based sauce, and indeed Jordan presented it to Jacob as like spaghetti with meat sauce. But there were a couple of differences—it was lamb, not beef or pork.

When I moved to Texas, I was astounded that no one eats lamb. Granted, I grew up in an Anglophile household where leg of lamb was a real treat, and I still relish a sandwich of cold, leftover leg of lamb. I’m not sure as a kid we ever had it in any other form, but in the years since I’ve had lamburgers, lamb casseroles, and lamb ragu. I mentioned this particular recipe to Jordan several times, but she always said it sounded too heavy or something. So when she didn’t object this time, I right away bought a pound of ground lamb.

A quick recipe it was not, at least for me. Cooking from a seated position simply takes longer, and it took an hour and a half for me to get the finished ragu to simmering on the hot plate. That includes time to sweep the kitchen floor with my kid-sized broom (so handy from my seated walker)—I’m a messy cook. And time to do the dishes and clean up my tiny kitchen. There was enough chopping of garlic and onion to take me a while.

At any rate, I had the ragu simmering on the stove and the kitchen cleaned up in time for a quiet glass of wine while I watched the news. We dined about seven, and I served the ragu on soft polenta. It takes polenta a while to set up, and Jordan thought I got it too runny. But by the time it sat a few minutes and then the plates were served, it was just about right.

This was a New York Times recipe, so I can’t directly share it. But you should be able to find it here: https://cooking.nytimes.com/recipes/1020022-quick-lamb-ragu One thing that struck me—other than salt and pepper, there were no spices. But the one thing that many will be tempted to leave out and shouldn’t is two anchovy filets. Oh, go ahead use the whole tiny can—you’ll never know they’re in the dish, but they add great depth of flavor.

In my book, this was a winner. I’m looking forward to lunch tomorrow.

Suddenly ravenous—and the Spanish egg

 

My Spanish egg--note the lacy edges.

After missing most of December and its good holiday food, I suddenly find myself ravenously hungry. For weeks, I could barely stand the thought of food and spent long hours trying to come up with dishes that intrigued me. Nothing worked. Now everything sounds good.

Hunger began to return in the hospital. I remember telling a nurse at three a.m., as she drew blood, that I knew what I wanted for breakfast—Grape Nuts Flakes, a banana, and honey. She laughed, but that’s what I had. Now at night I go to sleep thinking about breakfast.

Yesterday on the internet I found directions for a Spanish egg. It was a fried egg cooked the way my mom used to do it, with lacy edges browned crisp and good, still soft in the middle. I just never knew it was called Spanish, nor did I know how to achieve those lacy edges. My tried-and-true method for eggs is soft-poached on a slice of heavily buttered rye bread topped with some sliced sharp cheddar. I thought that would work with the Spanish egg, so I tried it.

When most of us fry an egg, we put a minimal amount of oil or butter in the pan. For a Spanish egg, you float the egg in a generous glop of oil—I used olive oil.  Slip the egg into a ramekin, so it will slide nicely into the pan. Heat the oil but don’t let it smoke. Slide the egg gently into the hot oil and spoon a bit of oil over the top. Now watch it for a minute and a half or so—until those edges turn golden and the yolk sort of puffs up (that’s the theory—the yolk on mine never did puff up). I slid it onto my cheese and toast, cut it all up, and smooshed the yolk around, and—voila! Breakfast!

It was good. Worth the effort? Probably. And I figure I’ll get better at the technique if I keep trying. But an egg every day, snacks in the middle of the day, a hearty dinner—something’s got to give. I’m not sure if I lost weight or not but at this rate I’ll be a a tub.

Last night we ordered Italian dinners, and I had a veal dish with teeninesy pieces of artichoke scattered throughout and a wonderful lemon-butter sauce. I ate every bite of the meat and all the accompanying pasta—usually I ignore those sides of pasta, but this we so good. Tonight I think I’ll do my first real cooking. I’ve been meaning to make a quiche from the New Year’s ham, and this cold rainy day seems just right. I got out the recipe to re-read—and it calls for bacon, not ham. I figure I’ll use both and make it that much heartier.

It’s a joy to be reading and enjoying recipe, eating and tasting good food, getting back to cooking. Life seems good, and I’m on the mend.

As for the Spanish egg, the picture doesn’t do it justice. Look it up on the net for a better picture.

Something’s fishy

Blogger apparently won't let me post on the weekly blog, Gourmet on a Hot Plate. So I'll post it on Judy's Stew. Hope I haven't lost the other blog completely, but Blogger has strange and unfathomable ways.  That is also why part of this is single spaced and part double. I don't have time in my day to argue with Blogger.

     
A friend told me once she thought she’d becomes a pescatarian—no meat, but fish for your main source of protein. We won’t go that far—Christian so loves a good steak, that I could go forever without eating. But we have been working more fish into our diet. It’s a slow process of introducing Christian to new things—he loves grilled salmon now, after years of declining it. One night years ago I fixed it for Jordan and me with a butter/anchovy sauce. Christian took one bite and said if it was that good, he’d love it. Now he experiments with all kinds of seasoning and sauces.

Since my shingles diagnosis, the family was reluctant to eat out here with me (we’ve since resolved the problem of contagion). Eating alone, I realized I was subsisting on fish. I order salmon from a fishing family in Oregon. I took a can, drained it, put it in a single serving casserole dish, gave it a lot of lemon and a sprinkle of salt and pepper and topped it with sour cream. Ran it under the broiler briefly—a delicious supper. Another night, I had old-fashioned tuna casserole, which neither Jordan nor Christian will touch. Here’s what I did

½ cup white wine

Assorted dried herbs of your choice, I used pinches of marjoram, basil, oregano, thyme,

One can tuna, drained and chunks broken up

1 can mushroom soup (if ambitious or a purist, you can make your own white sauce)

½ cup green peas

Whatever pasta you have left in the cabinet, just a handful, cooked

Panko

2 Tbsp. butter

tuna casserole

Put herbs in wine and boil hard until herbs turn black. Add to tuna. Add other ingredients except butter and panko. Put mixture in an oven-proof dish.

Melt butter and stir in panko, mix thoroughly and then top the casserole. Bake at 350^o for about twenty minutes. Serves two generously.

But the real star of our fish menu was the lemon-baked cod we had one night recently. We tried it deliberately to enlarge our fish menu. It was a hit and goes on our list of keepers.

1-1/2 lbs. cod filet

1 lemon

2 Tbsp. butter

½ c. panko

½ Tbsp. dried parsley

Salt and pepper to taste

Olive oil

Bake the cod on a cookie sheet. Cover the sheet with foil and drizzle olive oil on it. Lay the cod filets on top of the oil. Pour lemon juice of the filets generously. Salt and pepper and sprinkle them with dried parsley (it doesn’t have much taste, but it looks pretty). Melt butter and mix it into panko. Cover fish with buttered panko.

Bake at 350 for twenty minutes. Do not overcook. Overdone fish is a tragedy.

What unusual fish is on your menu? I remember my mother baking haddock in milk. I didn’t much like it, but I think I might try new recipes for haddock.d

Happy fishy eating!

 

Some cooking lessons learned the hard way

 

King Ranch Chicken

This seems to have been a week of lessons learned. One had to do not with cooking but with take-out. Ordered a sandwich from a well-respected catering place—it came in one of those cardboard take-out boxes, along with salad, all smushed together in the box. Result was the sandwich, though filled with delicious, thin-smoked turkey, tomatoes, lettuce, mayo, and Swiss cheese, was on soggy bread and hard to handle. And I didn’t dare pour dressing on the salad because I‘d had to leave half the sandwich in the box. Even half was hard to handle, and the whole uncut thing would have been impossible. All this was in a picnic setting—if I’d been in my kitchen, I’d have deconstructed it. But check out how sandwiches are presented when ordering.

Instead of making salmon patties the way my mom taught me and I’ve done for years, I followed a recipe Jordan found. Big plus was the addition of dill to the patties and a dill sauce to serve over them. Also discovered that maybe I was not putting enough egg in. My patties often don’t hold together well. These, with four eggs for a 15 oz. can, were much more workable, easier to scoop and drop in the skillet and did not fall apart at all. BUT, Mom was right, as always. She taught me never to use anything but crackers crumbs—saltines for her, though I often switch to Ritz, which crumble easily and add good richness. This recipe called for flour, and I did not like the texture at all. So lesson learned: next time I’ll use cracker crumbs and maybe three eggs for 15 oz. salmon. I just ordered more salmon from the fishing vessel in Oregon—comes in 7.5 oz. cans, so maybe two eggs per can. Enough for a meal for me!

Then there was a good lesson: Christian followed a recipe I found in the New York Times, spatchcocked a chicken and roasted it with herb butter. (Spatchcock means to split the backbone and butterfly it, spreading the bird flat — cuts cooking time in half for either chicken or turkey.) Wonderful flavor and very moist. I think the special trick with this recipe was that you slather the chicken with the butter and then refrigerate at least two hours or overnight. A couple of days later I boiled the bones and made a really good chicken and egg noodle soup for us.

Final lesson: I thought King Ranch chicken was just that, one way to make it, no variation. Turns out there are many recipes. Several years ago I ordered the dish at a local bistro and was dismayed that it had bell pepper (which I dilike pretty intensely). Then we  got some from a catering service and while it was good, it was way too liquid. Texas Monthly offers a complicated recipe that also includes bell pepper with assorted spices, cream, green chillies, mushrooms (which I think would get lost), two kinds of cheese, and so on. Another recipe calls for mushrooms and green olives (add the latter to my relatively short list of dislikes!). Some recipes call for poblanos or jalapeños. I decided it’s time to share my oh-so-simple, basic recipe. There is no evidence, by the way, that the recipe has anything to do with the King Ranch, which is in South Texas and is the largest ranch in the state, although it is not all under one fence as is the Waggoner in North Texas.

King Ranch Chicken

One rotisserie chicken, original recipe, boned and meat diced

One medium onion

Corn tortillas

Cream of mushroom soup

Cream of chicken soup

½ can Rotel tomatoes or to taste (I like the cilantro/lime flavor)

Sharp cheddar cheese, grated.

Grease a 9x13 pan; in bowl, mix soups and tomatoes.

Tear tortillas into pieces, not too small, and cover bottom of pan; sprinkle with half the onion, then half the chicken; repeat layers of tortillas, onion, and chicken; top with more tortillas pieces and cover generously. Pour sauce evenly over all. Cover generously with grated cheese. Bake in 350^o oven until bubbly and cheese is melted and slightly browned. Should serve six—or provide great leftovers.

Full disclosure: that’s not my casserole but an image I got off the web. I’ll make the casserole this week for my family but didn’t have an image on hand.

 

 

The party’s over

Party atmosphere at Joe T.'s

It was a wonderful weekend, but now the Austin folks have left, the Burtons have gone to meet his parents for supper (at Joe T.’s again!), and I have put a meatloaf in my toaster oven. Back to routine. It was a real treat to have the Austin family here—they’re building a new house (and living in a two-room garage apartment) in addition to their already-busy lives, so it’s been a while since they’ve been here. If the app on my phone is correct, they are within a block of home as I write.

Had a great time at Joe T.’s last night. I am not sure I have ever seen that always-crowded restaurant so overrun with people. They were milling in the street, packed three deep on the ramp up to the patio. Party atmosphere was happy and celebratory—I suspect most of them were celebrating TCU’s stunning victory over Texas. In our little group, Brandon was the only aggrieved party, and he soon recovered his good spirits. I got to sit next to three grandsons—of course they had their heads buried in their phones.

Today a leisurely date, late breakfast. Christian made baggie omelets—really, you put two eggs in a quart-size freezer baggie, along with whatever else you want—chopped bacon, diced ham, grated cheese, diced scallions—scramble it up and drop into boiling water for 12 minutes. I like eggs

Christian's baggie omelet

not quite so cooked—Christian say I like them runny, but I prefer to say “soft”—so I would cook them a bit less. But the way it turns into an omelet is remarkable. We ate in shifts because you can only boil so many baggies at a time.

I’ve been tracking family members today. Jamie, my younger son, did a half Ironman in Waco today. His daughter reports that he finished, and all is well. A mother does worry about these things. My phone tells me they are in Hillsboro, on their way back to Frisco. More worrisome—my children’s half-sister had to evacuate the family farm in the hills above Santa Rosa, CA. Prayers going her way.

            So now I have an evening to read the mystery I’m half through and prowl through the newest issue of Bon Appetit. Sophie is snoozing—all the people this weekend wore her out. Oops—my timer just went off. Meatloaf’s done!

My resolve for the week: get down to serious work. I’ve been lollygagging. Hope everyone has a great week.