The Single Life--and Food

I pretty much enjoy my single life. With an empty nest, I've gotten used to the independence and freedom. I've built myself a good life, full of friends, and I have a family so close I can't imagine introducing a new person into that circle. At home, I can keep my own hours, do with my house what I want, fill my closets and not worry about keeping them neat. I'm not sure there's room for a man in this house--or in my life. Oh, sure, sometimes I'd like to have a companion to go to an ocasional theater or music thing (I'm not devoted to either), but I have an active enough social life.
But I'm an admitted foodie--and that's where I miss a man or, even more, the family I used to cook for daily. As I posted on Facebook,  yesterday was a red-letter day because both Bon Appetit and Southern Living arrived in the same day. I spent a goodly amount of time poring over them--a first-time run-through, because I'll go back, more slowly, and savor. Some months not much grabs my taste buds, but this month both were full of things I want to try, notably a lot of varieties of chicken salad. It's not that I eat a lot--I'm currently on a small portion, no carb kick, which means I ordered a cheeseburger without a bun tonight. But I want to cook these dishes, and I can't eat them all myself.
Then, tonight, I went through my miscellaneous recipe file which includes breakfast recipes--I keep my appalling collection of recipes in separate files for Entrees Tried, Entrees Not Tried, Vegetables, Appetizers, and Desserts. This miscellaneous file is mostly breakfast foods and soups. I was looking for ideas for Jordan who will entertain the whole family, 16 of us, on Mother's Day for breakfast. And once again I found all these scrumptious recipes that serve 6, 8, 12. I simply can't cook them all.
Yes, I do entertain fairly frequently, and Jordan said tonight, "Call me. Christian often has evening events, and I'd love to have supper." So I guess I'll do that. I'm always afraid my friends get worn out with my dinner invitations.
Stuffed pull-apart bread anyone? It has bacon, scallions, and cheese in it--okay I leave out the olives. Or how about a breakfast strudel with eggs, onions, ham, chives, cream cheese, and o.j. (Once again, I cater to my tastes and leave out the bell pepper--I don't like them and neither does my stomach.) Cooking does for me what meditation does for others.

Ah, domesticity!

Sometimes I get in the mood for a domestic day--and today was it. Trips to two grocery stores this morning, although of course I already have a list of what I didn't get, and cooking tonight. For a while I was out of the cooking mood, but I'm back in it.
Guess the grocery store wore me out because I came too close for comfort to sleeping past time to get Jacob. Came awake with a start--I'd turned off the alarm twenty minutes earlier--and flew into cotton knit pants and a T-shirt, the outfit Jacob calls my "jammies." I asked him if he was embarrassed, and he said yes. Thank  you, Jacob. No one else seemed to notice. Nor did they notice that I was almost stumbling because I'd been so sound asleep--one of those dreams where you're two layers down into dreams. Fortunately he was far from the last child left on the playground.
Nice surprise for him: Meredith, my next-door neighbor, took Jacob and her two (Abby, four, and Grayson, one) to ride the park train--brave girl. I told Jacob to mind Meredith, which I knew he would, but forgot to tell him to watch out for Abby. No need. Meredith said at the first bridge, he threw his arm across her and said, "I have to hold on to you just in case." Obviously, Abby thinks he's a hero, as shown in this picture.

Jacob and his daddy had supper with me on the porch--that pork roast bits I wrote about in Potluck with Judy (http://potluckwithjudy.blogspot.com/2012/03/boiled-porkoh-come-on-now-with-black.html). The salad was special--first greens from my gutter garden. Jacob, predictably, did not like the meat. But Christian and I lingered over wine on the porch and had a nice visit while Jacob captured roly-polys and created a home for them in an ice cream cup.
It was late when I started to fix bbq--but it's all cooking merrily away in the crockpot now. After going to all the trouble to make the sauce--and it is a bit of trouble--I nearly forgot to turn the crockpot on. It was plugged in, wasn't it? What more does it need? Potatoes are cooked, and tomorrow I'll finish up the bbq and make potato salad--all for neighbor Jay's b'day dinner Sunday night. I am so glad to be back in a cooking mood.
Monday I'm fixing a strange chicken salad for Elizabeth--we're going to work on her memoir. But since she's gluten free I thought to just fix a big tossed salad with a vinaigrette--until I found this on Pinterest: chicken, lime juice, salt, cilantro, and garlic. Think I'll add some scallions, since I have them in my garden. Or maybe serve the scallions separately, with salt to dip them in. I remember that from my childhood. So good when they're fresh out of the ground--or, in this case, the gutter.
And then it's on to Easter dinner--the $8,000 leg of lamb with a gratin of potatoes, onions, and tomatoes. But more about that later.
I'm taking a vacation from writing--and from my conscience. Such fun!

The Lost is Found ... and an unexpected day

Hooray! I have found my fetish necklaces, missing for some months now. This morning, as I was dressing, I suddenly remembered that they had tangled so much in the drawer that I hung them on a hook in my closet. I looked, and sure enough, under a sweatshirt and something else, there hung my necklaces. Overjoyed. Also have a small compensation for the lost gray shirt--I ordered pajama jeans and they came with a free T-shirt. It's short-sleeved, scoop-necked, and a nice shade of gray. Not the J.Jill one I've lost but better than nothing. So now I have hope for the good gray shirt. And the yellow dishrag? Who cares!
Book signing this morning was not a success--people don't come to a funky hardware store full of old, really old and good stuff expecting to buy a book. I made one sale, just as I was leaving, to a man who hung around all morning because his wife/partner/whatever was the sales clerk, general factotum in charge. I think he did it out of pity, since she'd already bought a copy. But she gave me lots of information on the house that first inspired Skeleton in a Dead Space--and some great ideas for the fourth book. Can  you believe that--one book out and I'm already thinking about #4. The second is done, and I need to edit the third, which is complete in draft. So here I am thinking about the fourth book. Wow! What a change from two years ago.
My friend Sue and I intended to lunch at Carshon's deli today but it was closed. So we ate Mexican at Esperanza's--Sue had tortilla soup, which I should have had, but I had the enchilada platter--one chicken, one cheese, a taco and beans. Tonight I had an upscale dinner with Mary Volcansek--steak tartare but of course I sabotaged myself by eating chocolate mousse. I got to figure out this eating thing and get more disipline.
As if it would help my discipline, I came home and made "dirt pudding" for dinner tomorrow night--oreos, Cool Whip, powdered sugar, cream sheese, and milk--oh yeah, and a stick of butter. I tell myself I made it for Jacob, and I will only have a small bite.
Tomorrow is a cooking day. Haven't really been cooking in a long time, and I'm looking forward to it. But when I'm cooking, am I avoiding editing? Oh, that blasted Puritanical conscience.

A blog vacation

Forgive my silence. I've been taking sort of a mini-vacation from blogging, partly because I didn't have that much to say--we live in tumultous times, and major news event has piled on major event: a tsunami in Japan with the resultant nuclear crisis, tornadoes in the American South with apalling loss of life and property damage, the joy of the royal wedding, and the bitter triumph of Osama bin Laden's death. It makes my head spin, but all the news is capably--and sometimes not so capably--commented on by others.
I meantime have been in my own little world, revising a novel, which will be my project for at least the next two weeks. So you'll hear from me sporadically. I seem to go in novel-writing spurts (not the sign of a professional, I fear) but right now I'm delighted to be back in the familiar world of what I hope will become my second mystery, No Neighborhood for Old Women. If I hadn't said so before, yes, it's a deliberate play on Cormac McCarthy's No Country for Old Men. The story behind it has to do with Literary El Paso, compiled by my good friend Marcia Daudistel, to which Mr. McCarthy declined to contribute. It's okay--Marcia's book is doing great without it. If you have ever lived in or visited El Paso or have an interest in bicultural writing, you should read this beautiful book.
But back to my mystery--I'm pondering why this character did that, was this event mentioned with a lead-up or did it just spring into being, are my characters being true to themselves? Too introspective? Too much description (I get carried away about Craftsman houses and old neighorhoods)? Too little description to set the mood? Rewriting is thorny business, sometimes much harder than that initial "just get it down on paper" phase, and I'm deep in it. Some of the problems come because I'm a pantser--I write by the seat of my pants instead of from an outline.
I'm also taking time to enjoy North Texas in the spring--to my mind its best season. This morning, with the top down on the car, I went to the nursery and Barnes and Noble, both trips I enjoy. I have my porch pretty well planted now--got fountain grass this morning, but it's too much for me to plant. Greg will do it next week. My sweet potato plants--those hardy, wonderful, oh-so-green things--have developed some kind of wilt. Greg suggested by phone this morning that I'm over-watering, and I admit I'm prone to doing that. So just now I only watered the marjoram, which was wilting, the basil, which like lots of water, and the parsley I just planted. Beautiful day to putter on the porch.
Alas and alack--isn't that a wonderful phrase?--some of my front yard flowerbeds are alredy past their prime. The spirea is fading, and the ox-eye daises are gone as are the iris, but the coreopsis is blooming, and the miniaure crape myrtle should bloom any time. And then there's that profuse plant on one side of the garden that blooms and blooms--but I can't remember the name. Anyway, it's still to come--like my crape myrtles, those are late bloomers.
The rest of the day is free--to work, to make macaroni salad for Mother's Day supper at Jordan's, to cook that piece of salmon in the fridge and eat some of that asparagus--maybe dining al fresco on the porch. A good day, and life is sweet.
If I'm absent from the blog, please bear with me for a while. I promise to be back in full swing by June 1.

Easter Glories

This morning, my email brought me the most dramatic picture ever of a sunrise--all reds and golds and purples, taken from the sender's porch. Surely an Easter sunrise picture. That was followed by a link to a video of Carrie Underwood's rendition of "How Great Thou Art," my favorite hymn of all time. What a way to start Holy Saturday. Jacob asked if I knew "the Easter song" and I sang the first lines of "Jesus Christ is Risen Today, Alleluia." Turns out he had in mind the song about hopping down the bunny trail! The birds outside my kitchen window have been singing their little heads off all day, as though they too know Easter is tomorrow. On a more practical note, I wonder if they knew a storm was brewing. Scooby definitely knew and is hiding in his bed, as thunder begins to roll in.
When I was young I sang in the youth church choir--no comments needed from those who know I can't carry a tune. We sang an anthem that began, "One early Easter morning/I wakened with the birds/And all around lay silence/Too deep for earthly words." I can hear the melody in my head, though I can't sing it for anyone--and won't try. I emailed a lifetime friend from those days, and she too remembers those lines--but that's all. My friend Betty, a church organist for forty-plus years, has never heard of it. If anyone can give me more information about this piece of music I'd be grateful. (My singing is so bad that when I called my oldest son the other day on his birthday and offered to sing, "Happy Birthday," he declined--and Jacob has been known to put his hands over his ears if I sing.)

My Easter table is set, with my mom's Suzie Cooper china that she adored. I mostly only use it at Easter, because the colors are so right for spring. Over the years I have given lots of big dinners, often for about twenty. So I don't know why dinner for eight boggled my mind all week (we added a ninth person yesterday and I decided to squeeze four people on one side rather than unset the whole table to add another leaf). I worried and planned and other things went on hold "until I get past Easter." It's honestly an easy, cook-ahead meal (Christian's parents are bringing the meat), so there's no reason for me to be so uptight. I'll fix two appetizers (crudities with a dip and fromage fort--which is really fort or strong), potato salad, fruit salad, rolls, and the ice cream pie is in the freezer. My neighbor is bringing a bunny cake.
It's supposed to rain and storm tomorrow--shades of Easters in my Chicago childhood. I had planned to have a mid-afternoon happy hour on the porch but now am uncertain. Hope Jacob and his friend Eva don't have to hunt indoors. Good Friday should be dark and stormy, and Easter should be full of sunlight. But, hey, I'm not in charge of that. All I have to do now is go clean some radishes and make cucumber sticks.
Want to make fromage fort? This "strong cheese" is a recipe from Jacques Pepin, who said his father would use up odd bits of cheese this way. Take those leftover cheeses in your fridge--about a pound--and add three or four garlic cloves, a heaping tsp. coarse black pepper, and a half cup dry white wine. Whir it all in the blender until it's a spread. Serve with crackers. I had quite a bit of romano this time, some cheddar, and something unidentified (maybe manchego). It's really pungent but so good. If you use blue cheese, it's good but changes the character of the whole thing.

A St. Paddy's Day faux Irish Stew

My original title for Cooking My Way Through Life with Kids and Books was The Faux Gourmet. It came from the fact the one highly critical (but very helpful) reader said she (I'm presuming it was a she) would never cook with canned soup. I make King Ranch Chicken with Healthy Heart Campbells' cream of mushroom and cream of chicken soups.The reader insisted she made hers with made-from-scratch white sauce, which sounded like more work and too bland for me. I honestly read recipes on the internet for duplicating the taste of the canned soups but they were tons of trouble and still had some of the ingredients purists would object to. So I remain a happy faux gourmet.
Tonight I had Jacob, and Betty was coming for dinner, since we missed our usual dinner out for the week. I had meant to open a can of my fancy tuna and make a salad with all kinds of veggies and tuna, but then I realized I had that leftover lamb I've been eating all week and even took to Sue's last night. So I did all those things no true gourmet would do--I made two instant packets of brown gravy that were in the cupboard (that's a whole 'nother story about Norwegian hamburgers, for another time). I added a bouillon cube, dumbed in the cubed lamb with a small can of green beans and a healthy bit of frozen corn. I thought I had frozen peas but I didn't, so the green beans were a substitute and they worked well. Added pepper and thyme but not salt since I figure the prepared gravy and bouillon took care of that. Served it over a mixture of penne and rigatoni pasta, and it was delicious, if I do say so. The leftovers will go to Christian who will love them.
I have been accused--who, me?--of letting Jacob manipulate me, so tonight I was quite strict. No, he could not have chicken nuggets--he was eating stew. He must have gotten a piece of gristle, because he thought the meat was too chewy. But he ate all his noodles and some of the stew, so I gave him ice cream, followed by the banana he wanted. When bedtime came (a little late because I was doing dishes), I was firm: TV off, use the potty, brush your teeth and get into bed. I gave him a few minutes to play with his toys, then let him pet Scooby goodnight, and firmly closed the door to his room, telling him I loved him and "Sweet dreams." He said he'd go to sleep better with a little more TV, but  I didn't fall for it. So at after 9:30 I can hear him on the monitor, having conversations with his toy figures--or maybe himself.
We read a book that had a picture of a goldfish.
Me: Jacob, hows your goldfish?
Jacob, very philosophically: Fine. He hasn't died yet.
Earlier in the evening, we stepped next door to see the new baby--they were out in the back yard. The baby slept so peacefully in his mom's arms. We took his big sis, three-year-old Abby, a pink bunny and for new Grayson, a tiny T-shirt that says "It ain't easy being the cutest cowboy around." Jacob wasn't actually as interested in the baby as I thought he'd be, but he was most interested in being the one to present the gifts.
Grandkids, good friends and good neighbors surely make life sweet.

The Amish Life

I just reviewed a book called The Amish Cook's Anniversary Book by Lovina Eichel with Kevin Williams for Story Circle Network Book Reviews (http://www.storycirclebookreviews.org/reviews/amishcook.shtml). The book is a collection of newspaper columns first written by Elizabeth Coblentz in 1991 and taken over by her daughter, Lovina Eichel, after Elizabeth's sudden death in 2002. I found this oversize book with full color photographs not only beautiful but interesting far beyond the relatively few recipes scattered throughout. I think we're all curious about Amish life. This is what I found out: the Amish still ride in a horse-drawn buggy, but they can drive, particularly long distances, in a car driven by a non-Amish person, and they can stay in modern hotels that have all those conveniences they lack at home, like electricity. Some Amish farmers have bought mechanized tractors--the old ways may be fading a bit. Rules vary from region to region but in some places they may have small appliances--alarm clocks, radios, flashlights. And in Michigan they may have gasoline-powered freezers but not in Indiana. Since they butcher their own meat, freezers must be a huge help.
The Amish life is one of hard work, and women get together to feed several hundred people abundant meals at weddings and other celebrations. They generally rise at four or five in the morning and work until evening--sewing, canning, quilting, cleaning, washing, cooking. Their life is guided by their absolute belief in God's ways. At one point, Elizabeth writes, "God makes no mistakes." I am always envious of people with such absolute faith. My faith is strong but not quite that strong.
There are recipes scattered throughout the book, several that I think I'll try, but here's one that called out to me:
Amish Classic Ham Salad
3 c. diced ham                                                                  2 hard-boiled eggs, chopped
1/2 c. sweet pickle relish                                                   1 Tbsp. lemon juice
2 tsp. minced onions                                                         1/4 tsp. salt
2 tsp. prepared mustard                                                    1/4 tsp. pepper
1/2 c. mayonnaise                                                             2 c. crushed potato chips
1 c. diced celery
Preheat oven to 425
Combine all ingredients except potato chips. Stir until well combined. Pour into 2-quart casserole and sprinkle with crushed potato chips. Cover and bake 20 minutes or until top is bubbling and golden.
I'm a big fan of ham salad, so I'm anxious to try a baked version. This serves eight.
Otherwise, a ho-hum day. I started by emptying the dishwasher only to realize I hadn't run it and the dishes were still dirty; this evening I did a rag and rug wash, belatedly realizing that the dishtowels I washed last night were still in the washer. So I had to fish out the rags and rugs, dry them, and wash the dishtowels again. Went to the audiologist at 9:30 this morning, thinking I'd be in plenty of time to volunteer at Bill White's campaign headquarters at ten. Wrong--the audiologist was overbooked for one thing, and for another he replaced the tubing on my hearing aids and adjusted the volume--it was, he said, too low for the amount of my hearing loss, something we did because I was so uncomfortable with the aids at first. I'm pretty used to them now. Then an hour at the campaign headquarters, most of which I spent calling people who weren't home. Frustrating. Proofreading this afternoon and doing a few odds and ends.Not an exciting day. Oh, and my agent forwarded, with regret, a rejection of my first mystery from a publisher--I think this is the fourth publisher that's turned him down. I try to be philosophical, but this criticism hit home--there wasn't a sense of urgency about the action. If there isn't in that novel, it's surely lacking in the next one and the one I supposedly have in progress. Well, I'll think abut that tomorrow. Meanwhile back to proofreading for a bit and then that mystery I'm reading that is really fun.