Fall is in the air

My gorgeous daughters
in a very blue light

It may be 95 as I write, at four o’clock on a Sunday afternoon, but this morning as I waited for the teakettle to sing to me, I stared out the window, watching several leaves drift slowly out of the trees. I think it is supposed to turn much cooler tomorrow. With my usual bad sense of timing, I made a pot of chili for supper. I offered to change the menu, suggested meatloaf, but Christian opted for the chili. It’s Cincinnati chili, sometimes known as Skyline, and is a real departure for me. Curious? You can read about it in “Gourmet on a Hot Plate” this coming Thursday.

It’s been a quiet weekend. Jordan has gone to Austin for a belated celebration of Megan’s 50^th with some of M’s girlfriends. She plans to stay over tonight and return in the morning. Early Saturday morning, we had joint mammogram appointments—sort of like mother-and-daughter dresses but not quite. At her insistence, we went to the clinic she has used for years. I had never been there. Made a mental note to dig out my insurance card—and that was the last time I thought about it until I walked in the clinic door. They would not take my word that I would call in the information. I had to reschedule, which bummed me out because I’d gotten up earlier than usual to be there—and the new appointment is even earlier on a Saturday.

I don’t get out much, as everyone knows, so I was truly impressed at the social distancing respect I saw. When any woman walked through the clinic doors, she stood back, waiting until the patient at the desk had moved away and the receptionist motioned. I did not see one person without a mask. If everyone would follow these two guidelines, we’d squash this damn virus. Makes me so angry at the whole darn Republican party, though I know there are a few mask wearers among them. Still, trump is the worst, and why is Lindsey Graham refusing to be tested?

Quarantine hit me in another way today. For more years than I care to count, I have belonged to a monthly breakfast group called the “Book Ladies” (we’d have welcomed men, but none seemed inclined to join us). We have not met since March, and today’s reminder said that the café where we normally meet is open for inside service. But like a chorus, all of us said we are not ready to eat in a restaurant. Online we don’t get the good exchange of book news that we always shared.

I miss restaurant meals. Food never tastes as good when it travels from the restaurant to home, and we have pretty much decided we like what we fix at home better. Christian, Jacob, and I had take-out last night, courtesy Jean, but that was mostly so we could eat on the patio and share a meal with Jean. It’s not restaurant food I miss—it’s the sharing of meals, the fellowship that implies. How to put that feeling into words is much on my mind because I will be on a Zoom panel this week about culinary mysteries at Bouchercon, the annual huge fan con which has had to go virtual this year. I’m struggling to say succinctly why I am turning more and more to food writing—and I know it somehow has to do with caring and sharing. I don’t think I’ll get all Biblical and talk about loaves and fishes, but there is a spiritual element to it.

And, for me, that’s one good thing about quarantine. We eat together as a family most night—the Burtons come to the cottage. Either I have made supper, or they bring it. I was pretty good at planning meals for one—and there are some things they won’t eat that I would like to fix for me. But that’s all outweighed by the sense of family we get in sharing meals. My mom always told me all things work to some good end, and perhaps that is the good she would see in quarantine.

Sweet dreams, all!

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 taste of home cooking

Dinner tonight: filet with mac and cheese, wilted lettuce

Like many other Americans, my family is not ready to sit in a restaurant and enjoy a meal. Even outdoors, even with appropriate social distancing. I’m blessed that they realize that I am vulnerable because of age. So we eat at home. We’ve been cooking a lot, but since restaurants began take-out, we’ve occasionally had a take-out meal—hamburgers, a club sandwich, a chicken dinner, enchiladas. We are pretty firm though—if the restaurant servers aren’t masked, we don’t want their food.

I got to thinking about it today and decided the benefits of home cooking are many. First of all, the food taste so much better. Granted, sometimes take-out meals lost something in transportation, but I haven’t had one yet that I’d choose over something prepared in our kitchens.

We’ve had some great meals. Stand-outs for me recently were the Mongolian beef Christian fixed and Jordan’s chicken enchiladas with cream cheese last night. But there have been Christian’s Asian meals and my down-home cooking of meatloaf or casseroles. Fairly often, Christian cooks the entrée, and I do the side. Tonight, for instance, our salad was wilted lettuce—a memory from my childhood. Fry some bacon, crumble it and toss with lettuce; dress the salad with the still-warm bacon grease and about half that much vinegar. Yeah, not good for your arteries, but we don’t eat it often, and it is so tasty.

The other benefit of cooking at home is that hackneyed word, togetherness. Jordan and I have spent a lot of time discussing recipes, weighing what her boys—Christian and Jacob—would like, sometimes discarding my experimental ideas (sob!), and making lists. Unfortunately we rarely follow our weekly lists, mostly because we end up devoting one or two nights to leftovers. But both of us are enjoying looking through recipe sources, finding things we think sound good. The chicken enchiladas are a perfect example—I had that recipe in my “to try” file for maybe a year but finally interested her in it. And it turned out to be a real keeper. Okay, it was a bit rich.

Tonight, however, I have a cooking catastrophe. I fried bacon for our wilted lettuce, then left it to warm until just before dinner was served. Jordan, a bit rushed and frustrated, said, “That thing is flashing at me. You’ll have to turn it off.” I thought she meant the toaster oven, looked at it, and it was clearly off. But after dinner, I discovered that the light on the induction hot plate was flashing. I thought she hadn’t pushed the off button twice as required—but it wouldn’t push. Unplugged it, plugged it back in, and it beeped incessantly. I think my hot plate has given up. A search on Amazon was a bit confusing. Jordan and Christian had rushed off to a birthday party but promised to be back soon, so I am waiting for them before making a decision. Maybe I’ll let the hot plate sit overnight and see if it collects itself by morning.

In light of what’s going on in our country, a dead hot plate is small pickings. I am still counting my blessings and praying for our country.

Earth Sunday

My patio during the hailstorm

Earth Sunday started with a bang in my small corner of the world. The last weather report I’d heard said showers would be gone by seven or eight in the morning, so I thought nothing of them. It was neither particularly sunny nor particularly gray—until about ten or so, when I suddenly began to hear distant thunder. Gradually, it got closer—and so did Sophie, who crept up to lie right behind my chair. Then came a heavy, steady rain. And then! A new noise. Took me a minute to realize, it was hail.

North Texas is notable for unpredictable weather, but we don’t get a lot of hail, especially not this late in the spring. Last I can remember was several years ago, in March, when I had a devastating roof leak. This was mostly small hail, maybe dime-size, but there were a few balls that approached quarter or even golf-ball size. They sure seemed to rattle against my south windows. A few minutes can seem like a long time, but it was over fairly quickly. And, praise be, no damage.

By the time we “went” to church, the sky was clear again. University Christian Church is doing such a terrific job with keeping us together as church during social distancing. Today, in recognition of Earth Sunday (Earth Day is Wednesday, April 22), the service was filmed outdoors, except for a few musical parts. Try as I might I couldn’t recognize the spot and will have to drive by the church to find it, but the service began with senior minister Russ Peterman, casually dressed, coming through an arbor with some kind of blooming spring vine all over it. Other segments were filmed in various spots, but the sense of God’s nature was strong.

Russ Peterman preaching, outdoors, without notes

Pretty impressive

Fittingly, the sermon was on the global reaction to the health crisis. Pointing out that the Chinese symbol for pandemic or health crisis has two symbols—one for disaster and one for opportunity—Dr. Peterman suggested that this is a time of deep awakening. Because social distancing, staying at home, with fewer factories operating, fewer cars on our roads and planes in our skies, has resulted in such dramatic dropping of dangerous gasses in the environment and in cleaner air and rivers, he suggested that we can either go back to what was normal—or we can move forward to a new and much better normal. It is up to us.

In a nostalgic note, I have to add that I loved the music. Various stanzas of “For the Beauty of the Earth” were interspersed, with different soloists, throughout the service. It is one of the old hymns from my childhood, and I can almost sing all verses without a hymnal. This morning, I hummed along with the music…and loved it.

We haven’t been doing much take-out for our meals. I guess it’s partly economical, partly li8king our own cooking, and partly leery of contact with the outside world. But last night we ordered from Enchiladas Olé which has recently opened a second location in our neighborhood. May be the best chicken enchiladas with sour cream sauce that I’ve ever had. Good guac, spicy beans, rice with each serving—and such generous portions. We’ll do that again.

So here we go—another week of quarantine. I’m craving, of all things, oysters Rockefeller—credit that to an article I read about oysters—and I’m missing good friends. One wrote me this evening that she is ready for shared glasses of wine, and I certainly am too. But I have work to do, and I’m content. Like many Americans, I am afraid that the president and some governors will open the world too quickly, and we’ll see great spikes in cases. I am also appalled at the protests, except that I have known we have ignorant protestors who are always looking for a cause and have now found a new one. A meme today said they are protesting because of “Muh freedums.” So apt. It both amuses and horrifies me that they feel it appropriate to carry rifles during their protests. Their ignorance and thoughtlessness is appalling, especially when you read about the severity of some cases of covid-19 and the desperate and lonely deaths of many victims. I hope common sense prevails. I know I for one am staying quarantined and am most grateful to be able to do that. I hope you can too.