Vacation is here

I'm on vacation--well, sort of. I finished editing, rewriting the third manuscript in the Kelly O'Connell series tonight. I'd procrastinated about this, thinking I couldn't bear to read it one more time. But when I finally made myself do it, I enjoyed the process, enjoyed plugging the holes where something didn't work, fleshing out a scene that I'd cut too short, correcting the inevitable typos--I'm sure there are more. That's always beta reader Fred's criticism to me: stop rushing through the story. Fred is reading it--I gave it to him last week--and I will of course wait for his comments and go through it one more time. I think those times of procrastination or staying away from it are good--they give new perspective. When I went back to this one it seemed better to me; in fact, I was quite pleased with it. Oops, pride goeth before a fall. Tentative title is Wild Things in Kelly's Neighborhood. I would surely appreciate comments on that title. But having done what I've done in the last few days, I feel like I'm on Christmas vacation. I plan to read a lot of mysteries. And maybe cook a lot.
Today started out cold and rainy. The rain stopped, but the cold has intensified, and we're due a hard freeze tonight. My cactus plants are inside, and everything outside will either die to be discarded and replaced next year or survive--some of my herbs survive bitter weather and strong heat. Amazing  plants. It was a split pea soup kind of day, but when Jeannie and I got to Carshon's we decided to share a reuben sandwich. It was also a hot cocoa day, and I fixed that for Jacob after school--he was delighted. We did his homework and he fell asleep in front of the TV. Dry weather tomorrow, but very cold.

A normal day?

I managed to write 3,000 words today--2,000 in the morning and another 1,000 in the evening. I have no idea how many words other authors accumulate in a day's time, but I was pretty darn proud of this. Whereas a week or so ago I was in the broken middle, I seem to have found a plot line to carry the story forward. I am actually full of ideas for tomorrow's writing, but  I think I'll quit for tonight. Running out of gas for one thing, and I want to start a cozy that I'm going to review in hopes of winning a contest--grand prize is some sort of digital fancy kitchen equipment that I probably don't undertand but it sounds wonderful. The book is Liz Lipperman's Liver Let Die about a non-cook who ends up being food critic for a small paper.She also ends up in the middle of a murder--my kind of book.
Not that I've cooked in the past two days. Yesterday I had lunch and dinner out but managed to eat modestly. Okay, I ate chopped liver for lunch--but only a small scoop and I didn't have it in a sandwich. Last night I had a salad. Today I ate all three meals out and once again really tried to be modest--one scrambled egg and a half piece of toast for breakfast, one brat, potato salad and kraut for lunch (doesn't sound like diet food, does it?) and half a serving of meatloaf, black-eyed peas and green beans for supper (the other half of the meatloaf is in the fridge calling my name for lunch soon). If my social life doesn't slow down, I will be a) late with my manuscript, and b) fat as a pig.
Tomorrow, I speak at a monthly book luncheon at TCU for staff and then will fix a chopped steak dish for the Burtons. But Thursday, aah, I get to eat the meatloaf for lunch and Linda will come for supper before the memoir class. I think she'll get creamed tuna, but shhh! don't tell her.
Right now the weather in North Texas is beautiful. Great top down days, and I love the freedom of driving with the wind blowing my hair in my eyes so I can't see--a visor cap helps with that. By 12:30, the sun was almost too hot to have the top down but I soldiered on. By the time I got Jacob, it was too hot for the shirt I'd started the day in. He managed to create a mud puddle in the back yard--the puppy, thinking she's a pig, wallowed in it. I have laid down the law about turning on the water. Hope it works.
Life is good.

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.

Chili on my mInd

Spring left North Texas as suddenly as it came, with temperatures in the 30s last night. Jacob decided bed was the best place to be on a cold Sunday morning, especially since Juju had left the vent windows in the kitchen open. (There was a really cute picture of this to go there, even two, because the cat also decided bed was the place to be, but I cannot get them to upload and don't want to spend my evening on it.) Jacob and I made it to church, and after a waffle, a pbj, and a TCU purple cookie, he decided this was a good day. Tonight I have turned on the fireplace--I love not having to build a fire--as much for emotional warmth as physical. But I've been sort of cold all day.

Good day to think about chili, and I'm back to my chili manuscript. I've been emailing with Kathleen Tolbert Ryan all weekend and she's sent some wonderful information. Tonight Jay came over and spent about an hour giving me his impressions of the Tolbert cookoff at Terlingua. He goes every year, has judged in the preliminaries, and is full of information. His parting shot: "Don't go for the chili; go for the camaraderie."

So that's my project for tonight, weaving all those bits of information into the manuscript. Then I have short stories to edit and I have gotten deep into the novel I'm reviewing and I'm really appreciating it--a far cry from my usual escape reading of cozy mysteries. A good cool night to cozy in at my desk--except there's a cat in my face. Maybe food will help her.

The Soup Pot

It’s supposed to go down to the low 20s next week in North Texas and stay cold for the rest of January. The weather people haven’t mentioned snow, sleet and ice yet, but we seem all set for “stock show weather.” My mind naturally turns to soup.
This post will be submitted to the Charity Souper Bowl on the blog Branny Boils Over. For every recipe Branny receives, she’ll donate one dollar to the ASPCA, and she doesn’t want to be embarrassed by donating $13. So if you have a soup recipe, send it to her. This post is also dedicated to Scooby, my sweet but silly and aging Australian shepherd who is pacing the study floor now because he wants to go check out the kitchen floor for crumbs dropped.
For years, when my children were young and hungry all the time, I kept a soup pot. Everything went into it—a bit of a casserole, vegetables from corn and potatoes to carrots and green beans and peas, the tag end of gravy, a smidgen of leftover sauce, or the water left behind from boiling or steaming vegetables. Once a week, I fixed what I called “soup of the week.” I took a look at the soup pot and decided what it needed to make a soup for a family of five. Usually the concoction was brown—but, then, I’ve heard Texas is the land of brown food--chili, chicken-fried steak, fried potatoes. Sometimes I added an undrained can of tomatoes or a cup of broth or whatever was needed for texture and taste. You can add herbs, and salt and pepper are often a must. The kids liked it and never complained about the brown color.
You do have to be a bit careful about what you mix—if you put much chili, King Ranch chicken or something else with Mexican seasoning in it, you probably don’t want to add that leftover bit of tuna casserole (does anybody make tuna casserole, that relic of the ’50s?) Think of it as a theme to your soup pot: if it’s Mexican and you need some body to it, add a drained, rinsed can of pinto beans. If it’s more the traditional French or Italian soup pot, with say vegetables, meatballs or chicken, add some pasta or potatoes if you need starch.
For the patient, dedicated cook, here’s a minestrone recipe my daughter, Megan, gave me. It feeds an army. Megan actually makes a double batch if she’s going to dice all those vegetables. She keeps it in the freezer in batches that will feed two adults and two pre-schoolers, and she says the children love it.

Minestrone

1/3 c. olive or salad oil

¼ c. butter

1 large onion, diced

2 large carrots, diced

2 stalks celery, diced

2 medium potatoes, diced

½ lb. green beans, trimmed and cut in 1” pieces

Sauté the above in a large soup pot until lightly browned. Add,

6 c. water

16 oz. can diced tomatoes

5 oz. fresh spinach, shredded

2 medium zucchini, diced

6 beef bouillon cubes

1 tsp. salt (taste first)

Bring to a boil; reduce heat and simmer 40 minutes.

Add:

1 16 oz. can cannellini (white kidney) beans

1 16 oz. can red kidney beans

Cook 15 minutes until slightly thick. Do not overcook.

Sprinkle each serving with grated fresh parmesan or romano.

Serve with crusty French bread or garlic bread. Just slice the bread, spread it with soft butter, sprinkle with pressed garlic, chopped parsley, and parmesan or Romano. Broil until just brown at the edges.