Jess Mise Placed

Kitchen Humor 101; Doughboy

2011-09-28T19:00:00.004-04:00

* A friend sent this to me years ago, and I just came across it while cleaning up the hard drive. I have no idea where it originated, but here it is. Enjoy. *

Pillsbury Dough Boy Dies At Age 71

The Pillsbury Doughboy died yesterday of a yeast infection, and complications from repeated pokes in the belly. He was 71.

Doughboy was buried in a lightly greased coffin.

Dozens of celebrities turned out to pay their respects, including Mrs. Butterworth, Hungry Jack, the California Raisins, Betty Crocker, the HostessTwinkies and Captain Crunch.

The grave site was piled high with flours.

Aunt Jemima delivered the eulogy and lovingly described Doughboy as a man who never knew how much he was kneaded.

Doughboy rose quickly in show business, but his later life was filled with turnovers. He was not considered a very smart cookie, wasting much of his dough on half-baked schemes.

Despite being a little flaky at times, he still, as a crusty old man, was considered a roll model for millions.

Doughboy is survived by his wife, Play Dough; two children John Dough and Jane Dough; plus they had one in the oven.

He is also survived by his elderly father Pop Tart.

The funeral was held at 3:50 for about 20 minutes.

Crawfish Etouffe

2011-07-22T23:45:00.000-04:00

I know I promised you cake by this point. I lied my sweetlings.

Next time.

I promise.

I've posted this before, but that was back when my only follower was moi, so it was more of an excuse to practice writing. ... and possibly a cover of appearing to do homework when the family was wanting dinner, and I didn't want to get off my duff to feed them.

It happens. Which is why my children now ask, “Is it Fend For Yourself again, or are you actually going to feed us?”

Kids. What funny little things they are!

So, the 3 or 4 who read this now - THANKS FOR STOPPING BY! I've included the recipe this time, because I'm awesome like that. I will offer an advanced warning though; Etouffe does not photograph well; Annie Leibovitz be damned! To be blunt, etouffe photographs often look like someone vomited across a plate.

(AAaahhh, see what I mean? BTW, this is a thick version with roe in the sauce.)

(This is a runnier version. BTW: this rice has quinoa in it.)

Thankfully it tastes much better, so y’all are just going to have to get past the photos.

I KNOW. Now you're REALLY bugging to try this one! But one thing I’ve discovered regarding food; sometimes the most amazing dishes I’ve clamped my mouth around look like something my primordial brain nixes as toxic, with the high likelihood of ensuing intestinal protestations.

I assure you, it’s safe, and it’s not just Cajuns and hillbillies that eat it.

A little 411 on the whole crawfish thing;

1. Like anything that comes from the water, fresh is best. They do sell frozen, but if your going to like the dish, do yourself a favor and buy fresh, because nobody likes fishy etouffe. Not even hillbillies. (Check your farmers markets. ... For crawfish, not hillbillies.)

2. Crawfish are called different names in different locations. Yanks call them “crayfish”, and Southerners; “crawwerfeesh”. Up here we call them “Bugs”. You get the point, so if nobody knows what a "bug" is, try another name.

3. Crawfish are typically brown-ish, and turn red when cooked.

(NDY, or for those unschooled in cheffie terms; NDY = Not Dead Yet.)

However, some have been found like this;

(Don't hold your breath, these are extremely rare.)

4. Crawfish are NOT mini lobsters. If you believe that’s what your eating, slap yourself and belly up to reality.
Lobster, no. Still yummy.

OK, enough of that.

Per my usual, I turned on the tunes to get me in the cooking mood. It was ABBA. Again. I’m sure the neighbors appreciated the ambiance as I opened up the house, because believe it or not, it was sunny and hot. Though in reflection, it almost seems wrong to boil an animal to death while listening to “I Have A Dream”.

I got over it.

First things first; Nuances of the recipe

• The recipe calls for duck fat and oyster / clam juice. The duck fat actually does impart a nice flavor, but if you can’t get it, olive oil suffices. The oyster / clam juice can often be found at Wal-Mart. Check the Asian or seafood areas. I even find it at Publix and Safeway.

Yes, the recipe requires it. Keep looking. You'll thank me after you find it and try the dish, and I'll be very proud of ~~my little minions~~ you.

• Also, TT = To Taste, keeping in mind hot food tends to reduce flavor. Better to under season and have to add, than to over do it.
• For tips on presto-magico-look like you know what your doing -bell pepper cutting, go here. Do it, you'll thank me.
• Mise en place your ingredients before you start cooking. That means get everything measured / weighed out up front, so it's ready when you need it. This includes the cooked rice.

Again, you'll thank me. And I'll let you.

(Look at that! Mise en Place; everything in its place.)

Crawfish Etouffe:
(For questions on words in blue, scroll down to "Helpful Hints".)

2 T. Duck Fat

2 T. Flour

**********

1 Med. Onion / small diced

1/2 C. Green Pepper / small dice

3/4 C. Celery / small dice

2 Cloves; Garlic / minced

**********

1 tsp. Salt / or TT

1/2 tsp. Black Pepper / TT

1/8 tsp. Cayenne Pepper / TT

2 T. Tomato Paste / TT

2 C. Clam Juice / Oyster Juice

1 T. Red Wine Vinegar

**********

1 Pound Crawfish˚˚

**********

1/4 C. Green Onions / Chopped

2 T. Parsley / Chopped

Cooked Rice†

Method:

Make a roux* by combining the duck fat and flour.

Add: onions, celery, green peppers, and garlic. Incorporate into the roux; sweat˚ in roux until onions turn opaque.

Next Add: tomato paste, all dry seasonings, clam juice, and vinegar.

It should look similar to this.

Simmer about 5 minutes, or until desired consistency.

Add: crawfish just before serving, as they cook quickly.

Taste, and season as needed.

Now, it should look like this. I did add extra tomato paste.

Scoop rice serving, ladle etouffe over the top, and garnish with green onions and parsley.

Helpful Hints

˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜

• ˚˚If crawfish are precooked, they require less cook time. Also, if purchasing fresh crawfish you may come across one with roe. These are the eggs, and when added to the dish they bring out a whole new dimension - a FANTASTIC one! If you find roe, consider yourself lucky, and get as much of it into the dish as possible.

• *A roux is a mixture of equal parts fat and flour, cooked down in a pan to cook off flour taste. The darker (not to be confused with “burnt”) the roux, the heartier the taste. Roux should be about peanut butter consistency. If you’ve never made it, follow the recipe, adding flour if needed. Don’t worry about a dark roux on your first try. You’ll be adding vegetables to the roux, so it will continue to cook and darken a bit as the vegetables sweat.

• †Make enough rice for everyone to have as much as they want with the dish. Usually 2 C. dry, suffices. To find out how to make perfectly cooked rice every time, go HERE

• ˚To “sweat” means to heat in pan, similar to sautéing, only lower heat, until vegetables take on a sheen, and onions become semi translucent. The vegetables will “look” as though they are sweating.

(Pre-sweat)

(Done sweating. Subtle differences; note the darker roux and translucent onions.)

Personal Switch-Ups:

• My husband likes more cayenne, but the daughterling can’t take it. Better to add less, and let him add what he wants to his, so that everyone is happy.

• I usually add a whole onion, a whole pepper and about 3 /4 celery stalks. I also add more tomato paste.

• Some people prefer runny etouffe, others like a thicker version. (Like what you see in the pictures above.) To get the runny to turn thicker, reduce the sauce until it’s just about where you want it, then add the crawfish. If you’ve over-reduced, add a little water and mix it in.

The thing with etouffe is, it’s not going to be what you expect. My daughter is going through the “I hate seafood” phase, and anything that remotely smells fishy, she’s not going to touch. She LOVES this stuff. (Yes, I know crawfish are freshwater - that’s besides the point.) When I make it on a night when she’s sleeping over somewhere, I’m going to catch an earful the next morning. Soon I’m going to have to visit Pike Place Market and pick up some fresh, local bugs, or she’s going to disown me.

I would love to hear that someone gave in to adventure, and at least gave this a try. As always, I’m available to answer questions. In fact, I DARE someone, anyone, to make this. It’s really pretty quick, and only sounds difficult. If you’ve ever made more than toast, your golden.

DO IT!
You know you want to.

A Quickie In The Kitchen: Perfectly Cooked Rice

2011-07-22T23:16:00.000-04:00

Ask yourself; Am I the kinda gal who resorts to trickery and cheating when it comes to cooking? Do I spend far too much on the latest kitchy appliances that Wal-Mart rolls out? Does the thought of having to “cook” something without the use of a microwave, hamburger press, or other such ill conceived nonsense, make me want to kitch? Lastly, do I own a rice cooker?

If you answered yes to any of the above, you're in need of my services. Especially if you have the rice cooker.

OY to the VEY Wonder Woman! Tell me it isn’t so!

You bought an appliance to cook rice? Seriously?

People, I’ve burned water before, and even I can cook rice.

So, my dear readers, have I got an eye opener for you! How would you like to learn how to cook rice better, cheaper, and probably faster, than that worthless appliance? Without fail, every time, and even when the power is out?

(Here is where you nod and chant “YES!” Over and over until your neighbors come to see what they’re missing. Go ahead. You can start anytime.)

Let’s get started then, shall we?

There are more than 40,000 varieties of rice world wide, so we’re going to narrow it down to the stuff you most often find in your local store; medium / long grain, white rice. All you’re going to need is rice, water, a pan, and lastly, a stove.

Oh yes, you’ll also need eyeballs and a finger.

Start by putting your rice in the pan; amount doesn’t really matter, but don’t get silly. Basic rice is going to expand to 3 times its original size. Broken down into cups that means 1/3 cup dry rice = 1 cup cooked rice.

Next, your going to rinse the rice. Do this by sloshing water in the pot and agitating the rice with your hand. You will see a milky cloud begin to appear - drain this off and repeat about 3 times. That milky cloud is starch, and the more you leave in, the more sticky your rice will be.

NOTE: I generally rinse 3 / 4 times, using a mesh strainer to catch any rice that falls while I pour out the starch water.

After rinsing, start adding water, shifting the pot back and forth to level the rice on the bottom. While most people use a formula of 1 part rice to 2 parts water, I use my index finger. ... That’s the pointy one.

Basically, with the rice flat across the bottom, I use my index finger to measure the water level from the top of the rice to the surface of the water. As a general rule I put in enough water to reach the first knuckle on my finger.

If, for some reason I’m making a lot of rice ( “A lot” being more than 1 1/2 cups dry. ) I’ll go to the second knuckle, or somewhere in between the two.

Don’t worry about perfect knuckle length. It’s not rocket science, just rice. Size doesn't matter here either, unless your a gorilla, in which case, use your pinkie.

Next, turn your stove on to the notch just below the high mark. I find this keeps the pot from boiling over so much.

Now, allow the water to boil down until it’s level with the rice.

Not below the rice, just to the level of it. It will be rather bubbly, this is good.

Yes, you will need to pay attention and watch it, that is why God gave you eyes.

Now, turn the burner down to low, put a lid on the rice, and set a timer for exactly 10 minutes. You may have some overflow initially, so just crick the lid off at an angle until it calms down, then put it back on level.

After the 10 minutes, remove from heat, fluff with fork, and serve.

You just did what no machine could do, and that’s watch a pot boil. Kidding. You’ve made rice just as good as, if not better than, a machine.

Now, don’t you feel a little better about life?

A Quickie In The Kitchen: Bell Peppers

2011-07-21T21:38:00.001-04:00

This is going to kick off a new help tutorial I'll throw in here from time to time. I'm calling it "A Quickie In The Kitchen". And for everyone who kept their minds out of the gutter (You know who you are!) you will find hints, tricks, suggestions, advice, and what-not, in regards to all things kitchen. Nothing "spicy", sorry. Unless it deals with jalapenos or Tabasco ... then, I'm your girl!

Today I'm going to give you a quick lesson on Bell Pepper cutting.

NOT SO FAST! I know, it actually IS easy, but I can dang well guarantee someone is going to learn a new trick here, so keep reading. Considering bell peppers now cost as much as gold per ounce, you need to utilize every-last-scrap. The best way to do this is to take you pepper and cut the ends off, taking as little of the pepper to do this as possible, as such:

(The stem will just pop right out, as you can see.)

Next, find a point on the pepper where you can see through to the other side. Place the tip of your blade in that point, and slice along the "rib", downward, until you've got a clean through cut on that one section of the pepper.

By laying your blade at an angle, begin to cut the pepper as though you were coring it out, like this:

Slicing through the ribs that hold the outside of the pepper to the core inside.

Continue around the entire inside diameter until you've essentially removed the core of the pepper, like this:

Congratulations! You've just survived your first Kitchen Quickie. As for the pepper; you are now able to use every part of the pepper without waste, except for the core and stem. Everything usable is on the right, with the core on the left.

Now don't you feel just a wee bit more cheffie?

The French Laundry

2011-06-28T02:57:00.001-04:00

School trips. We all go on them. What trip do you remember the most? Where did you go? Who was with you? How did you get there? Have you ever been back?

Write a memoir post about a memorable school trip. Word limit is 600.

"When you acknowledge, as you must, that there is no such thing as perfect food, only the idea of it, then the real purpose of striving toward perfection becomes clear: To make people happy, that is what cooking is all about."

We had winery hopped in Napa, thrummed through Sonoma, and soared over vineyards under a hot air balloon. It was San Francisco done Culinary School style, and our chefs knew every hidden gem that would tickle our hearts. I was Alice in a gourmands Wonderland, our final destination; Thomas Keller’s French Laundry.

First we strolled through his private garden; organic, ringed in sunflowers, and patrolled by a fat black cat. We tasted warm, ripe figs dripping from a squat brown tree, and inhaled the earthy scent emanating from the core of tomato bushes. The garden was simple, yet the air was laced with excitement. What was just a shard of asparagus, or a simple grape leaf could, in the right hands, become ambrosia.

That is the magic of knowledge and skill.

After leaving the garden we toured The Laundry, with it’s quaint cottage-like porch and sun kissed kitchen. It was in a quiet corner of Thomas’ kitchen that I found the whimsical quote. I stood absorbing it’s meaning, willing myself to remember every detail. Then I became aware of the employees emerging from the woodwork, silently beginning their tasks. A running faucet, then the slice of sharp metal through produce. Stock was stirred to my left, a whisking of cream to my right. All familiar sounds in perfect symphony. I breathed in the aromas, trying to saturate every cell with the moment.

There is peace that comes with ritual, in people doing what they have for thousands of years; the preparing of a meal. Knowing each task is vital and necessary to create an event that would become a treasured moment. It wasn’t so much about the food as it was the delight of it’s recipients. Then, along with the heavenly scents and familiar sounds of humanity in movement, I got it. Then just as suddenly, the atmosphere changed. A hush rippled through the house as staff smiled slyly, like elves in Santa’s workshop. The first indication I was in the presence of realized talent was the gaping jaws of fellow students. Their gaze was directed at a gentleman with a relaxed smile and patient brown eyes.

Thomas. Keller.

After welcoming us he answered our questions. Though many and varied, there were several key points I took to heart. When listening to a question, Chef Keller offered his undivided attention. The master gave us, the students, his time and genuine answers. When put upon a pedestal he patiently explained his staff was the foundation of his restaurant, that without their dedication and standards his dream would have never been fully realized. He stressed that inspiration doesn’t come from a place as much as it does a mindset. He wanted us to understand we each had to recognize that and open our minds to accept it. The concept, and manner in which this knowledge was expressed, struck a chord. There are those who achieve greatness and believe the world is a better place because they are on top of it. Then there are others who see their dreams through, appreciate the help they receive along the way, and aspire to instill these values in others, and the world becomes a better place because they were a part of it. I think that’s an inspirational mindset to aspire to, and when your able to infuse genuine magnanimity into the equation you’ll find people want you to succeed.

I ended up with 606 words, but I’m good with that. I felt cutting any more out would create confusion and disrupt the flow and point. I can’t say I’m 100% happy with it, but it tis what it tis and this gal is headed to bed y’all.

Peace , Out, home-slice.

French Laundry

Chef Keller

Sunflowers in the garden

Sunrise balloon ride.

(Anyone who says these are perfectly safe is a liar. Ours crashed in a vineyard.)

Aside from wiping out the vineyard we also hit a fence.

This is me finding religion.

We also went to Julia Child's TV Kitchen.

(Here I am pretending to eat a fake apple, much to the horror of a few gullible passer-bys.)

I only took a wee bite.

Eat Local

2011-05-13T16:06:00.001-04:00

King crab is for wussies. All spidery-legged and overfished into claws the size of dimes. Dungeness? Forget it. When hauled up in a trap they curl into a ball and cry. But Red Rock .. Woo-hoo! Now there’s a crab that could give Popeye a run for his spinach! Cancer Productus, the scrappy ninjas of the decapod world, possessing a temper as red as its shell and flesh as sexy as Venus de Milo.

Crabbing season in the Pacific Northwest is July through September, and with a limit of six crabs per person, gluttony is always on the menu. With six siblings, plus parents, in-laws, and the kiddies, when people arrive for a crab feast some serious eatin’ is goin’ down. Sure there are the inevitable injuries associated with Red Rocks; severed appendages, pierced lips and backsides, the occasional scalping. But the great justice is, once they take their pound of flesh, you get to eat them in their entirety. Revenge is sweet, just like their buttery flesh, with subtle nutty undertones. Bathed in silky warm butter with a splash of lemon, their fist sized claws can set your sanity on end. I know, because I’ve been witness to people eating so much crab they end up vomiting like Romans, just so they can eat more.

(They know who they are.)

It starts with the first crab in the net; giddy excitement, the prospect of more. Or maybe it’s simply the animalistic urge to eat that which you have battled. Then suddenly there are 4, then 12, and with a new bucket put out to hold more it continues until well over 40 crab are fighting and scraping the plastic insides the buckets, pissed to no end, and about to meet their maker. Dispatching them is swift and dangerous. Placed on their backs they flail and grab at anything near, which is usually a mislaid hand. As you drive the spade through, effectively cutting them in half, they reach around and get in one last torque before slipping into Davy Jones’ stock pot.

Straight from the briny salt of the ocean they are set into seasoned water to boil, scenting the Summer night with promises of laughter, family, and full bellies. Within an hour of harvesting they are laid on newspaper covered tables next to bowls of fresh baked bread, crisp salads, and possibly a few choice beverages. All hands reach for a set of legs, fat with steaming meat and dripping with decadent flavor. Of all the variety of crab, I’m a worshiper of the Red Rock. The meat is eaten in hunks, not flakes, with a flavor much more robust than the watered down, commercially fished varieties. These are the undiscovered gems of the Northwest. A local fare that can only be fully appreciated along the shores of the Puget Sound while seagulls serenade the moonrise. An accompaniment of fresh muscles, clams, and oysters aren’t uncommon, baked over driftwood on the very rocks that line the shores. It’s an orgy of salt, butter, citrus, and sea air that overfills the senses and leaves you content with your mortal condition. To eat is to live, but to enjoy every aspect of a feast is to truly live.

Life is short. Put a little Red Rock on your bucket list and die happy. I have .. again, and again, and again ...

SIGH *hiccup* ... Pass the crab please.

Let's continue on with our prompts based on the Seven Deadly Sins.

This week, it's all about gluttony - eating and drinking to excess.

We can't wait to see what your characters do, if you're writing fiction. Or what YOU have done, if you're writing non-fiction. Word limit is 600.

Quick Raspberry Sauce

2011-04-22T00:20:00.002-04:00

Have you ever found yourself staring down a mound of berries, daydreaming of being able to do something more exciting with them than making jam? It happens to me All The Time, especially when I’m dreaming of being the Scully end of agents Moulder and Scully.

RrrrRRrrrrrrrRrrrr! I BELIEVE! I BELIEVE!

But back to the berries ... sort of.

First of all I’m going to dither on about my sordid work life, a few peep shows, and then I’ll get to the bit with the raspberry sauce. .. which does involve a gent in an apron.

Here’s the 411 on the job sitch;

I’m still working at the bakery. I’ve ironed out what I needed to in regards to co-workers, I even have names for them all. Sure I’ve completely made them up, but I do that with everybody, as it’s the only way I’m going to remember their actual name. The rest of the bakery group is irrelevant at the moment, except for the owner. Her online handle will be Glenda.

See, a few things have gone down since I last posted, and I have my dear hubby to thank for that.

It was our 19th anniversary. Because we’ve got the income of a monkey with tourettes, we were a bit limited on what we could do. Thus we found ourselves wandering the vast coastal town of Port Somethingorother, where every home is over 100 years old, and “The mansion” is haunted ..seriously. So after visiting the knitting lady, the General Store, and a really sorry antiques house, the Gomez gets to thinking about something to eat. Which is how we ended up in a tea house looking for chocolate. After each having picked one I was ready to leave, what with all those tea cozies staring at me with their soulless floral designs. However, the Gomez had other ideas, and started chatting up the cashier. I ignored him and began counting the ticks emitting from a lone clock in a far corner of the shop. Somewhere between the 20th tick and me walking towards the door Gomez had managed to convince the ladies there that I was the perfect candidate to start up their new Bistro idea. If I didn’t need the work I would have knocked his head clean to Portland. ..mutter .. Pimping me out like that...

Long story short; I now work at a tea house, which isn't that bad, as well as working the bakery. I did try to quit the bakery, but Glenda is refusing to let me go, and I’m more inclined to keep my foot in that door than not. Also, being that the Peninsula is small enough to accommodate one’s knowledge of every business owner within 100 miles, there is a silent war being waged. Glenda is not happy with tea house “Naomi” (Think Judds) for "stealing" her employee. But, I need the money, and driving an hour and a half to Port Townsend every weekend is eating my paycheck into oblivion. I would rather be in a bakery than a bistro, but it is what it is. Maybe I can be the bistro baker...

In another nut shell, Naomi has hired on a new gent I’ll be calling "FreddyFlambé". 30-something, single, blah, blah, blah. I’ll give the guy a fair shot, but I'm really hoping he behaves. So the other night while he was busy flambéing every French sauce he could think up, I had to work around everyone to produce a few pastries for Mz. Naomi to judge. I was limited to pre-made puff pastry (um, eeewww!), phyllo dough, and what few fruits I could dig up. It ended up being apple and pear tarts with frangipane, and a chocolate stuffed pear wrapped in phyllo, drizzled with raspberry sauce.

Here is where the sauce comes in. Obviously.

I had no access to the stove since FreddyFlambé was busy utilizing every burner with his flaming pans of cream.
(Only 4 burners total, half of which don't work properly.)
So I netted a few raspberries, lemon juice, and powdered sugar and headed to the tea station. Had I been able to get to the stove I would have reduced the sauce .... BUT....

Here’s the recipe:

Quick Raspberry (Or Any Berry) Sauce:

Raspberries.

As many as you want, but a little goes a long way, and your going to have to press them through a mesh strainer to remove the seeds. Stick with a clamshells worth to start out.

Lemon Juice.

Remember; you can always add more, but you can’t take excess back out. Start with 1/2 a teaspoon, adding drippy-drizzles as you incorporate the powdered sugar.

Powdered Sugar.

Add in increments. Start with 1/8th of a cup, adding more until the desired taste has been achieved via the combination of drops of lemon juice and powdered sugar.

There is no wrong here my lovelies, and it truly is that simple. Press through strainer, add juice and sugar to taste. Whisk.

You can use strawberries, blackberries, whatever-berries. The trick is to sweeten with powdered sugar, then balance out with lemon juice. In the end you will have a rather runny sauce, so I highly advise at this point to put it in a small pot on the stove and reduce to desired consistency. Get crazy if you like, and add some of the whole berries to the sauce while reducing. You may have to adjust the juice and sugar as you go, but it'll give it a whole new dimension. My goal for the pears was something along the lines of thick syrup. Still runny, but capable of coating, so no extra berries this go round.

HOWEVER. As I mentioned, burners were a hot commodity (bah-dum-bum), so I had to suffice with no reduction. It worked out just fine. The only thing I would have changed was the “comment” that there is this thing called “reduction”, and my sauce most certainly was in need of it ....

And here I had kept my mouth shut about flambéing every sauce known to man.
I even offered up compliments...!!!

"Let the kid have his moment to shine", I had told myself.

A. I’m older, and have been cooking and raising two children (for years) that would cause even a Pirate to give himself over to God, just to avoid having to go wit to wit with their clever antics. Let's just say I've been around. Experience is my middle name .. don't make assumptions.

B. The last person who totally threw me under the bus got a coffee full of glucose. (=Water closet. Glued. Hours.) I let it go this time around .. because I'm so riotously nice, and because I know we were testing the waters, but from here on out, if we're going to make assumptions, lets assume the best. It'll make going to work less of a chore.

Thus, there it is; the life I’ve been living since my last post. I'm sure things will be dandy between FF and I, it's simply the initial knuckle bumping. It's a chef thing. We usually get over it.

And I’ll bet you think I forgot about the peep show.

Au contraire ma cherie!

Though first a little perspective; I’m married, pushing 40, and am more interested in gardening and sea glass than .. well, other stuff. Peep shows here in the Northwest consist of clouds and the sun. Want to hear cries of lusty delight and moans of pleasure? Step outside Seattle on a clear day and watch the natives discover the sun is out. We’ve had several days like this lately, so I can’t resist heading to the beach, or going hiking, rather than sitting inside blogging when I have the rare opportunity of both a day off, and sun.

So this ::: circling arms to encompass the "this" part::: is what I've been up to.

Enjoy the sauce. Skip the flambé, unless of course you want to add a little rum to that raspberry sauce ....Mmmmm the possibilities!

..ooohhh look! It just peeped out again!

Flambé On!

Not the Usual Fare, but Fair None the Less

2011-04-07T15:42:00.001-04:00

(Note: if directed here by blogger & your from "Remembered", please jump to the non-food blog.)

My daughter recently won a competition in school that she had worked quite hard for. Each student competed; some doing well, others doing horrible, as if they hadn't even bothered to put the slightest effort in. Some even came off as though they were entitled, and didn't need to try, and their reaction afterwords convinced me of this. However, after each child had presented both their opportunities for the one spot to represent their school, and as the teachers who were in charge were giving their speech on how well everyone did, they took the time to tell everyone that,

"Unfortunately we must choose a winner. Everyone is a winner, but unfortunately we have a winner, and that winner is ...."

My daughter won. The moment was awkward, and the other students were left seething with resentment at this "unfortunate winner". As my husband and I went up to congratulate her we were given a reception that would have been more apropos had we been caught cheating ..

"Now they have to rub it in?"

"Hiss, hiss ... poor sportsmanship!"

And this directed at us. The parents of the "unfortunate winner" who stood behind their child. (The same child that was going to represent their school.)

In fact, I am a rather good sport. I've been involved with sports all my life, and have done rather well (thankyouverymuch), yet I've never stooped to rubbing it in nor resenting another for a better performance.

I know good sportsmanship,

and it isn't the sole property of the winners.

So who am I? I am the person who you would never notice in a crowd. I'm not loud, I'm not obnoxious. In fact, most people think I'm rather quiet. It's not for lack of confidence, in fact, it's quite the opposite. Chances are, I'm more interested in watching everyone else, and smart enough to keep my comments to myself, because I know not everything needs to be said out loud. (And most people aren't prepared to hear what I'm really thinking.)

But don't knock my kids down over your own petty short-comings.

Ever.

Prepared or not, you're going to get a free wake-up.

My kids have battled more demons at a very tender age than most Kool-Aid chugging mama's boys will in a life time. The fact my daughter stood and faced an audience full of haters ready to toss the first proverbial stone the second the winner was announced says more about her guts and will than it does about your tiny, self-absorbed personalities. (And I'm not talking about you, dear readers. I'm simply posting this on my food blog because said daughter reads the other, and she doesn't need to hear this part, but it needs to be said.)

So what did I do? I opened the same mouth the got me banned from the soccer fields for keeping score during every "Everybody is a winner" AYSO game. Because this is reality, and everybody IS NOT a winner. Not when they can't even put in the effort, and why should they? They are taught they don't have to by the very individuals who are suppose to be teaching them otherwise.

"You held your own, and you earned it, I'm proud of you." I told this daughter of mine as she sat wilting under the glare of so many. "You came in here a Freshman, well prepared, with no presumptions or attitude, you knew your material, and it paid off. You hold your head high, you deserve every ounce of victory, because you earned it."

The comments didn't win me any friends, but it gave my daughter her self-respect back, and nobody had the right, nor the balls to challenge me. (I have been told that when I'm of a mood I tend to be a bit "disquieting". Which was the nicest word I could find to describe my attitude that night. And if I'm being honest here .. I held nothing back in the looks I handed back in spades, so I'm sure that didn't help.) Kids need victories. True, self-earned victories. You can't give a child a victory they didn't earn, because inside they know the difference, and in the end they will resent you for handicapping them. Life isn't going to hand them victories, or success, or CandyLand dreams filled with unicorns and glitter without effort on their part. Nothing you do can change this fact. Life will not love your child like you do, so if you truly love them, prepare them, otherwise you doom them to failure, and that will be on you.

I'm not alone in this line of thinking. I recently received an email that I feel people need to read. It is as follows:

This is about as true as it gets.

Our school systems have not pushed our children as the basics of several of the following points focus upon. They have produced entitlement attitude rather than perform and you will earn your reward/success.

This should be posted in every school or kid's bedroom.

And, love him or hate him , Bill sure hits the nail on the head with this!

Bill Gates recently gave a speech at a High School about
eleven (11) things they did not and will not learn in school.

He talks about how feel-good, politically correct teachings
created a generation of kids with no concept of reality and

how this concept set them up for failure in the real world.

Rule 1 : Life is not fair - get used to it!
>
Rule 2 : The world doesn't care about your self-esteem.
The world will expect you to accomplish something
BEFORE you feel good about yourself.
>
Rule 3 : You will NOT make $60,000 a year right out of high school.
You won't be a vice-president with a car phone until you earn both.
>
Rule 4 : If you think your teacher is tough, wait till you get a boss
>
Rule 5 : Flipping burgers is not beneath your dignity.
Your Grandparents had a different word for burger flipping:
They called it opportunity.

>
Rule 6 : If you mess up, it's not your parents' fault,
so don't whine about your mistakes, learn from them.
>
Rule 7 : Before you were born, your parents weren't as boring
as they are now. They got that way from paying your bills,
cleaning your clothes and listening to you
talk about how cool you thought you were.
So before you save the rain forest
from the parasites of your parent's generation,
try delousing the closet in your own room.
>
Rule 8 : Your school may have done away with winners and losers,
but life HAS NOT. In some schools, they have abolished failing grades
and they'll give you as MANY TIMES as you want to get the right answer.
*This doesn't bear the slightest resemblance to ANYTHING in real life.
>
Rule 9 : Life is not divided into semesters.
You don't get summers off and very few employers
are interested in helping you FIND YOURSELF.
*Do that on your own time.
>
Rule 10 : Television is NOT real life.
In real life people actually have to leave the coffee shop and go to jobs.
>
Rule 11 : Be nice to nerds.
Chances are you'll end up working for one.

If you can read this... Thank a Teacher.
If you can read this in English... Thank a Soldier!
And for life and everything else you have.. Thank God!!
>
Now... think about this and smile if you agree and please pass this on...
  If you don't agree, go stick your head in the sand and take a deep breath!

Quick & Easy Hummus

2011-03-22T17:38:00.001-04:00

Before I even tread in the direction of the chickpeas I feel I need to clarify something that has thrown the general public into a frenzied panic;

Forget about the cheese mites!

While it’s true they do exist, you’ll likely never encounter them unless you are a making of the cheese.

(Somehow I felt the need to say that with an Italian accent in my head. Hence the dialogue. Roll with it.)

Cheese mites are only interested in the cheese while it’s still developing. They’re like cheese pedophiles. There is something about the protein in the cheese during the ripening stage that they can’t resist. It’s like cheese mite crack. Once the cheese is fully cured these little vermin stick their proboscis in the air and march off to find younger, more tender wheels to get down and funky with. (However, some cheeses actually require the addition of mites for flavoring, such as Milbenkase and aged Mimolette.)

Forget about the cheese mites.

What you just bought at the store doesn’t have them.

Back to the hummus;

I’m not blowing hot air up your collective skirts, this hummus actually is quick and easy. We’re talking 5 minutes if your organized, 10 if your like me and you live in a shoe, and have teenagers with random bouts of walking amnesia, wherein they rifle through my kitchen and “reorganize” it for me on a minute by minute basis.

(For the record, I’ve tried to beat them soundly and send them to bed for their insubordination, but they’re both bigger than me now, so it’s a fools errand.)

Back on track now; PEOPLE! Hear me!

This. Recipe. Is. Easy.

So none of this prattle about not being able to cook, or the lack of culinary prowess.

I have a dog. A small dog; a dog with no opposable thumbs, and quite likely some degree of retardation coupled with OCD and the inability to sit still for 1/10th of a second, and even she can complete this recipe successfully in under 15 minutes.

Trust the force, you should, and successful will you be.

(I’m the force, yo)

Tools you will need / similar:

I use the home version of a Robocoup. It’s called the 11 cup Cuisinart Food Processor. As you can deduce by the worn buttons, I use this machine all the time.

NOTE: When I find items like this at Costco I buy them. Don’t hold off, because once they’re gone they don’t always get them back. These babies retail between $140 - $200. I paid about $72. Even Wal-Mart (Whom we disdain) can’t beat that.

Tahini. Not to be confused with Tahina, which you can use, but it’s not going to be what your expecting. Look on the specialty food aisle, near the Greek / Middle Eastern food, or order it here.

Hummus Recipe:

1 lb. Chickpeas (drained if canned)

3 oz. Tahini

1 Clove Garlic

1/2 tsp. Ground Cumin

1 fl oz. Lemon Juice

1/2 tsp. Salt

Olive Oil

Directions:

Throw everything in the mixer. Yes, everything.

Now push “Mix”.

Blend until it looks like this:

Trust me, it will look better

Then add about 2 tablespoons of Olive Oil. If your mixer allows you to add oil while your mixing like mine does, drizzle it in slowly until it starts to look like this:

It should still be firm enough to hold it’s shape, but should be fully incorporated. Once it reaches this stage you need to taste it. At this point I usually add more of everything except chickpeas. The reasoning behind this is simple: each batch of Tahini is going to vary in strength, as is every bulb of garlic. As for the Cumin, Lemon Juice and Salt; everyone is going to vary in what they consider is too much, so I’ve gone with the light version. Remember; it’s easier to add more, but much harder to take it back out.

(See also Einstein's theory of palatability ... which is also a theory.)

Start with a little and step it up in increments until you get what you want.

Also note; if you wait until it’s fully blended to add more your going to over mix the hummus and it’ll come out runny. So remember to add to taste while it’s still slightly chunky.

As you can see, hummus doesn’t last very long around here. Gomez was already slicing the Kalamata olive bread and hoping for an opportunity to sneak in while my back was turned ... before it was even done.

Speaking of done, it should be much softer, similar to this;

At which point - ENJOY!

Variations on the theme:

I like to use Grape seed oil on occasion for variety. This allows me to play with other flavor additions that may be a bit much with the combination of olive oil.

Try adding cayenne pepper for a bit of a punch, or some fresh Italian parsley, or even cilantro.

Toasted pine nuts offer a subtle warmth as does the addition of whole chickpeas.

Try fava beans in place of chickpeas.

Add a minced green olive to the recipe for a yummy addition. I’ve even added some of the juice the olives come in (but cut back on your salt!) and it adds a whole new dimension.

We eat hummus with just about everything. Fresh veggies, dolmathes, pita chips, fresh bread, rice, steak, lamb, chicken; you have a lot of options.

Life is short. Eat hummus. Laugh.

Flat Stanley, Cheese, and a Book

2011-03-13T01:20:00.001-05:00

If I had a dime for every time I had the good intention of posting, I wouldn’t need to post, but instead, I would be frittering my time away on some tropical island, knee deep in soft white sand, turquoise waters, and endless blue skies. The cabana boys wouldn’t be a bad addition either. Because, you see, when your a dime made millionaire you can fritter all you want.

However, I am still broke as a wishbone and as busy as ... DOH! I am SO not going to say bee. .. But dang if I just didn’t.

Moving on.

I’ve spent the past week trying to solve my dog Lucy’s latest issues, which fall somewhere between allergic to herself, and the very air she breathes. What I’ve come to deduce is that the dog can’t handle the crap food the brand names are putting out there now. I can’t say I’m surprised; feed a dog grain and something is going to hit the proverbial fan sooner or later. I could really go off here, but I’m trying to get this out before I have to knock myself out for the night; I work again tomorrow, you see.

Other than that ... I went to another cheese class today at River Valley Cheese. This particular group was fun. Lots of laughing, talking and brainstorming. I even ran into a lovely couple from Canookers (give it a moment, it’ll come to you.) The lady, Shannon, has written a cute little book called The Princess and the Cheese.

Check it out, order it for your little rug-rats, and tell her I said hello. (She may remember me as the lady who dropped all her cheese on the ground ... Or more likely, the lady taking pictures of Flat Stanley. Anyone with young kids should know who this is.)

So, blah, blah, blah. I’ll try to get a post up within the next two days, OH STOP LAUGHING! .. with the whole cheese making bit, Stanley photos, and my usual drivel. For the time being, both Stanley and I are going to bed so we can be at the bakery bright and early tomorrow for yet more photo ops. Because I’m the rockin’-est Aunt to ever do Stanley for the sake of our children’s education.

........ And either I’m tired or that totally came out wrong. Whatever. Y’all know what I’m saying.

I’ve reestablished the bug in my nut for the whole cheese making thing, so don’t be surprised if that’s what I rave about all week.

OH YES .. And those damn cheese mites! Someone who I shant name ... Like Gomez, or something ... Knocked the door to my fridge open one day whilst I was working. This provided just enough ambiance and sunshine for those little buggers to take over ALL MY CHEESE WHEELS.

Therapy is helping, but I’m likely scarred for life.

However, I now have another Tomme, and a kickin’ Pepper Jack cheese wheel providing some overdue stinkage to fridge #2. (Like you don’t have 3 yourself! ::snort::) This one is in the garage, and thus less likely to be left as an open invitation to every cheese mite on the Olympic Peninsula.

But I’ve gone on long enough. First a shower, then the sack. I’ll report on the cheese later this week.

bonne nuit et cheesy rêve!

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In the Kitchen; Pep Talk #1

2011-03-03T18:50:00.000-05:00

So where do I go when I’m not in the kitchen?

To a different kitchen. Right now I’m transitioning between a doddering old thing dripping in crystalizing glucose to my current rustic, flour covered one with creaky floors and 100 year old front doors. I realize I’ve been anything but dependable with this blog, but life’s little transitions have put a few knots in the kitchen mat, and I find myself tripping over them quite often these days. The new job is just the latest adventure, and I’m hoping it proves to be a more fulfilling one at that.

The mental gremlins have been up to the usual trickery, but I think I’ve finally gotten them cornered in the pantry and trapped under a sieve. A few good hard raps with a ladle now and then keeps them in line, and it’s done zen like wonders for the stress levels around here. We’ve also found Jesus.

.... OK, allow me to rephrase; “There may have been a few Come To Jesus moments amongst various members of this tribe brought about by the threat of Hellfire and damnation, and likely a few colorful turns of phrase by yours truly, after a multitudinal migration of ovine fan hitting. Suffice it to say, we all have our limits, every house has a curb, and I’m not above kicking.

Alas, I have been cleaning house, both mentally and figuratively. The cooking? Well my hungry monkeys, cooking is a luxury. Don’t believe me? Have someone who can’t cook, cook you a meal. Or try making dinner after a busy day at work, a long commute, the inability to afford groceries, or completely loosing your wits. Because having to cook dinner is completely different than getting to make dinner. Dining is different than eating. Being able to create a meal is incomparable to dumping one out of a box. What I have been doing the last few months is dumping my life out of a box, and nobody needs to be fed that crap.

I’m beginning to feel I can actually post something worth trying, and I wish someone would. My photos do leave a lot to be desired, and this isn’t The French Laundry ... though we do air quite a bit around here .... I just ask one thing;

If you're going to ever cook,

really cook,

you're going to have to do it for yourself.

Treat yourself. Turn off the t.v., buy some decent ingredients, get over your fear of failure, and just enjoy the simple act of creation. People have been eating for thousands of years. We live in an age where we have the best ingredients to choose from, the proper tools to manipulate those ingredients, and the ability to take the time to sit back and enjoy what we have done.

You are not a cavewoman chasing a wildebeest over the savannah in order to suck the nutrients out of it’s filthy hooves before some ape bashes you over the head and drags you off to a cave to impregnate you. You are modern woman. You have Le Creuset, Belgian chocolates, and pepper spray.

Go. Make. Feast like Goddess!

And I’ve herd all the excuses;

“Between all the lessons, practices, school, recitals, blah, blah, blah, we just don’t have time to eat dinner as a family”

(Which ranks as the all time most pathetic excuse I’ve EVER heard!)

“I can’t cook” ... Nobody can. It’s a learning thing. Get over it.

“That sounds fabulous, but we don’t use; butter, eggs, dairy ...” Get over yourself. If you have allergies that’s one thing, but being snotty for the sake of producing more mucous for this world is overrated. If you simply don’t like the ingredients, try something else, but try something. Life is short, the world is big, so are most of our mouthes; fill them with something that puts a smile on your face and a little success in your repertoire. Save the excuses for getting out of work early on a sunny day.

Try. No excuses. Treat yourself. In the chaos of our world today go back to the most intimate of our human needs and feed yourself. Not just your stomachs, but your brains. Learn something. Scare yourself silly, then enjoy your success.

Just Say CHEESE!

2011-01-16T22:23:00.002-05:00

Let me just say, if you hung in there while my page took forever to open - THANKS.

New look has led to some new issues; we're working on them.

le sigh

What the glory hoo-hah have I been doing?

Making cheese. Lots of cheese. First there was Monterey Jack and Gouda, then Mozzarella and Tomme.

Today however, I’m back to gouda.

Why?

#&@*@#!! HUMIDITY, that’s why.

It appears when your basement is constantly sitting under 2 -3 feet of water, the humidity in the near vicinity is about 95% .. Which leads to flat, runny wheels of cheese, or ones that look like wrinkled old brains .. All of which smell like dead fish.

So, after moving my little cheese fridge into my bedroom (trés romantique, no?)

I am now remaking my dear departed gouda.

For shiz and giggles I’m keeping the brainy looking Jack just to see what it ends up like, though honestly, if smell is any indication, I may end up with ..uh, “issues” after partaking of that gem.

I’m telling you, terroir can work against you when Mother Nature gets a stick up the backside.

So, back to the basics of cheese making, but before I do I’ll be upfront, I’m not going to get into the details of various recipe procedures, simply because there are a million recipes online and all involve copious amounts of details I’m far too lazy to type .. And I won’t copy and paste, because I feel that’s wrong. Besides, they’re all rather similar; to make cheese you need milk, rennet, and a culture, and the results all depend on the attention to detail. In other words, follow the procedures explicitly.

The first and most important detail in cheese making being; GET THE RIGHT MILK! Contrary to popular belief, you can’t just walk into the store and buy the "regular" milk. You want WHOLE MILK. And not just whole milk, but properly pasteurized milk that has NOT been homogenized. I won’t go into detailed science .. because I just may loose myself .. and your interest. In a rather unscientific nut shell; homogenized milk has had the fat within the milk blasted (scientific term there) into a bazillion little globules that become so dispersed within the milk itself that your never going to get the fat to separate again. Homogenization is a one way street. No separation of fat and milk (milk proteins), no curds. No curds, no cheese.

So you’ll just have to trust me on this one; Whole, unhomogenized milk that has been slowly pasteurized = GOOD.

Why slow pasteurization? Because most dairies flash pasteurize, which overheats and kills not just the bad stuff, but also the good stuff, and try as you might, you will never get cheese out of dead milk.

Raw Milk? That’s a whole other can of worms, so I’m leaving it for the time being.

It’s probably best to locate a dairy and ask how they pasteurize. If they slow pasteurize (145˚ for 30 minutes) then that is what you want. Here in Washington we have several dairies that do just that, so we’re all happy cheese eaters here. For the time being I am buying my cow’s milk from Twin Brook Creamery.

A. They slow pasteurize

B. They use 100% Jersey cow milk, which gives us a 40% higher yield due to their lovely fat.

C. I can buy it at almost any store here, and knowing I can rely on them having available product makes a world of difference.

D. They don't load their animals up on antibiotics and hormones.

So that’s your daily dose of milk 411. Aside from that you will need a few other things, like rennet, which will create the curd, and a culture, which is what makes cheese... well, cheese.

A nice little site that offers the tools of the trade is The Dairy Connection. They have honest pricing, they’re fast, and they have links to sites with cheese recipes.

What I bought:

Vegetable Rennet; http://dairyconnection.com/commerce/catalog.jsp?catId=2

MM100 Mesophilic Culture; http://dairyconnection.com/commerce/catalog.jsp?catId=10

TA Series Thermophilic Culture: (see above)

Tomme Mold and Lid x 2; http://dairyconnection.com/commerce/catalog.jsp?catId=7

I also purchased a goat mold and a few Kadova Molds, but you likely won’t need these, besides, the Kadova molds are $$, and I plan on making a future out of this. Save your pennies and go for the $18 molds.

I have also bought a few of their books - it doesn’t hurt. If you only intend to get one, go for the all inclusive Cheese Makers Manual. http://dairyconnection.com/commerce/catalog.jsp?catId=9

There are many places to get cheese making supplies, but most distributers get theirs from The Dairy Connection and just repackage and mark up.

Just FYI. Be smart, compare prices first.

Oh yes, you’ll also need a digital thermometer, but you can buy that anywhere.

So ... Back to the gouda. As it happens the sun just came out, and I am compelled to go play at the beach with the dogs.

The good thing about making cheese; I can always make it when it rains.

Guess that means I’ll have to finish this little adventure later today. Besides, that gives you time to buy a few things ... Because it would be lovely to hear that someone actually made one of the things I post about here.

Any takers?

(I’ll even send you the recipe. But, then I want pictures.)

An Assumption of Dumplings and Expensive Pork Products

2010-11-08T16:28:00.000-05:00

Oh the things that happen when one wants nothing more than to be a kept woman! Things like opting to sleep over feeding the children, your body blatantly stating your age when your mind knows dang well your still only 22, being sick, but being the mother of the household, you must insist your not.

So what do I do when I seriously don’t give a furry rodent’s backside anymore? I look online for “Simple and Easy”, or “30 minute Meals”, so I can offer my progeny the erroneous illusion that their mother is June Freakin’ Cleaver. Some days, the illusion is more important than chocolate people.

Yes. I did just state that. Because I’m both delusional and crazy. And I’ve just gorged on chocolate, so while I lay here like a walrus on my kitchen floor, moaning and barking, I need to believe I’m June Cleaver. The alternatives are simply too unattractive. Besides, in this Odobenidae state, I’ve more than enough blubber to keep myself breathing for another couple of months, so I obviously don’t care enough to make anything fancy or French.

Enter Better Homes and Gardens faux food; stage right. Thus, giving credit (::snort::) where it’s due, go HERE for the dandy little recipe I tried tonight.

(For obvious legal reasons, I’m not posting the recipe here. You’ll have to actually go to the site to view it. But basically, it involves pork and balsamic vinegar.)

Balsamic Pork and Dumplings.

Ok, for starters, I made the mistake of assuming I was going to find a neat-o dumpling recipe.

Uuuhhh, no.

Walk yourself to the frozen food isle and pick up a box of frozen potato and onion pierogi. Those be the dumplins’ darlin’!

They didn’t totally suck, and the kids did eat them, but they may be a bit much for younger kids. Maybe choose the plain potato ones for the picky palettes. The recipe also called for boiling both the beans and the pierogi .. which I would only do had I recently received an incapacitating blow to my cranial region.

Cave men boiled their food. The deathly ill, and those with fractured jaws, boil their food. I do not. Not even when I’m exhibiting the culinarianesque aptitude of protozoa. It’s just wrong. Like Mr. Rogers in leather and chains; wrong. So I did what any good American would do, I fried the suckers in oil. (The south still lingers my friends.) The beans got steamed. As for the whole pork tenderloin; considering the finances, we went with just the loin.

What’s the difference? Cost per pound people. A pig has a bundle of muscles that runs the length of it’s back; this is called the loin. It spends it life working to keep the pig mobile. Underneath the loin is the tenderloin. It’s a much smaller muscle that puts very little effort into anything, doesn’t do much actual work, thus as a result it’s much more .. uh, tender.

(Our society would call the loin middle class, whereas the tenderloin would be called Paris Hilton.) Which is why you’re paying about $3 - $4 more a pound for it. Considering my children eat so fast they never actually chew, nor taste their food, they weren’t going to notice the difference, and I saved some dough.

Now back to the food; in a nutshell, you reduce about 1/2 a cup of balsamic vinegar over the stove and pour it on the pork after pan cooking it. The recipe also calls for fresh chopped rosemary to be sprinkled over the end result.

... And I’m going to say it;

Who the honk wrote this recipe?! Have you ever eaten fresh chopped rosemary?

::gAg::

No? Well, walk to your nearest garden center and lick a pine tree.

Now you know.

Instead, I cut a small bit off my rosemary bush and threw it stem and all into the vinegar as it reduced. Once I felt it had infused enough flavor I removed said sprig, and avoided picking pine needles out of my teeth later.

In the end I can’t say I’m overly impressed with this one, which is why I have to give it 2 1/2 starfish out of 5. With a little tweaking the recipe could go somewhere. Skip the balsamic reduction for a nice apple or cranberry-orange compote, and for the love of all things edible, make your own stinkin’ dumplings. If you want to get clever, give them a hit of rosemary; better yet, skip the dumplings and go for some rosemary and garlic red bliss baked in the oven.

Oh yes. Never, ever boil your beans either.

So, give the recipe a try if you like, but your not missing anything if you don’t.

And thank God I didn’t buy the tenderloin!

Enter The Pumpkins

2010-10-13T00:46:00.000-04:00

Bainbridge Island Pumpkin Patch

The other day, despite the whispers of rain that sang through the trees, I dragged all my grumpy family members and hauled them off to our favorite pumpkin patch. The kids loved going there every year when we lived here last, and despite their protesting I knew they would get a kick out of it; I would get the pumpkin seeds. It was a win, win.

MMMmmmmmm!

Like only the Peninsula can, it was a silver day, and the wagons were waiting.

Hills and hills of colorful pumpkins along the vineyards to choose from.

Despite the most protesting, and assurance that he "was not" going to have a fun time .. guess who found his pumpkin first .. and he actually seemed to enjoy the hunt.

Pumpkin patch, vineyard, and the garden.

Everyone turned out for the hunt.

this ended up being our take. Mine is that big, light squatty one in front; both Wednesday and Pubert insisted on a few extra that were just screaming out to be carved. ;)

Beautiful tractor being attacked by a large spider. Sort of like the ones in Florida.

The garden had some pretty ears you could take home too.

And funky little gourds.

And all manner of gourdie things.

Dragging the haul to the car.

Such Are The Days

2010-10-09T14:28:00.001-04:00

People pass through all phases of life; different chapters, seasons, and flavors. This season of my life will become known as The Monosodium Glutamate Season. Between trying to homeschool Pubert, and attending school myself; moving across the country and trying to get settled in, to now working a physically draining job; our culinary experiences have become pre-packaged and highly uninventive.

Yesterday I ran the gauntlet of arriving at work feeling like I was going to retch into my caramel.

I didn’t, but that’s not the point.

I made it through most the day but ended up leaving about an hour early.

Screw the candy apples; let them eat fudge. Thus, arriving at the abode a tad earlier than usual, I got a yearning for something that didn’t involve high fructose corn syrup.

(FYI: The commercials are B.S. Corn syrup SHOULD NOT be in everything we eat! It IS bad for you. Period. The only reason it’s added to anything is because it triggers your brain to feel hungry, thus you eat more. It’s all marketing and filler. Don’t even get me started on the fact that most of our commercially grown corn is registered as a PESTICIDE due to the “Round-Up Ready” seeds Monsanto is forcing down the throats of our farmers.)

::breathing::

Well ... where did that come from?! ;)

Rather than feed my family more pre-cancerous preservatives I just wanted some real food. The thought of another bagged dinner from the freezer isle was more than I could stomach. Literally. However, feeling like I did, I was only half committed to my preaching, so I made spaghetti. At least I used the whole wheat noodles (which is really the only kind nutritionally worth using) and organic ingredients. I refuse to eat pre-made canned sauce, but I’m not above using canned ingredients. Costco sells some organic tomatoes that work well for instances like these, and they are already concassed, all ready to go. Before I even think of starting the noodles I brown my meat; last night it was ground pork, mainly because that was on top of the pile in the freezer. I threw in some salt, pepper, and cinnamon, then drained off the fat once it had cooked. Next up was the onion and several plump cloves of garlic. They were treated to a lovely saute in Sherry before I added my pork. At this point I threw in one giant can of crushed tomatoes (for texture and mass), two cans of diced tomatoes, with the water, then one each of tomato sauce and paste. Sure, it’s all canned, but like I said, it’s organic, and canned is a smart choice for a tired mom.

Letting the sauce burble lightly by itself I then sashayed out back for some fresh oregano, thyme, and cilantro. I would have added basil but some bugger of a slug has been helping itself to my plants, so I had to use some of the dried stuff I had chopped up a few weeks ago. I don’t actually add any of my herbs until I’m ready to take the sauce off, because the heat kills basil, and doesn’t do any favors to the others. The only herb that goes into the pot while it marinates is the bay leaves. I try to find the greenest ones, because the silver ones are absolutely pointless. All the oils have already been leached out by age, so using those is akin to simply pretending.

I prefer flavor. Go green or go home.

At this point I should probably mention I usually throw in a splash of red wine, worchestershire sauce, mustard, and yellow curry. It may sound strange, but it works in small doses. I also had a few par-baked loaves of French bread in the freezer, so I took a large one and a few bulbs of garlic off the shelf. I baked them together, so once the bread was nice and toasty I had two bulbs of baked garlic to schmear (that’s a culinary term) all over them.

Baked Garlic?

Easy peazey lemon squeezie. Take a bulb, cut off the top half, then put it in some tinfoil you’ve molded around the bottom of a cup. (Sans cup people!) Drizzle with some olive oil, a dash of salt, and some pepper. You can skip the olive oil, but it helps with the afore mentioned schmearing.

It was all very lovely, and I had my usual lunch fare today; Leftovers with a side of tupperware. Mmmmm, mmmmm, good.

Well, not that you would know it, but I’m now on the return trip home. Today was 88 pounds of fudge; plain, peanut butter, walnut, mint, caramel, and rocky road.

I’m sick of the fudge, which is why I am now eating a cheesecake apple while trying to type. I don’t recommend it. Sadly enough I’ve had enough requests from people that I will be making the fudge and caramel over the weekend. I certainly don’t mind doing it for people, but I can’t bring myself to eat any more of it.

I actually dream of stirring the kettle, and have woken up in a panic more than once over my inability to read a thermometer while in the midst of rapid eye movementing.

I totally need a life.

Ferry Land

2010-10-03T22:50:00.000-04:00

(No. I totally don't have permission to use this.)

Continuing with the a.m. ferry ride posting; because I’m entirely too pooped when I get home around 8-ish to remotely even give a hoot.

The cuisine a la DuMond has been seriously lacking, so I’m going to skip the part where I tell the world we’ve been living off of frozen pizzas and breakfast burritos. Because I’m all about the natural and organic.

Whatever.

Today the ferry is filled to the busting point. Either there is some evacuation drill in progress or the weather has triggered a mass migration. WTH?

My usual seat of isolation and contentment has been taken by .... ::shudder:: a TOURIST.

... Mother Mary full of grace ...

Back to the food bit though, because my whining about the cave like seat at the very front of the boat being occupied by a hooligan isn’t all that appetizing. .. And oh my holy hell, people are sitting by me! That totally breaks the protocol of leaving the bench a local is sitting on alone. It’s our private shrine and we each have our favorite, and as God is my witness, we respect that!

Let me hear an “Amen”!

Damn ferry plebeians.

Despite my inability to behave like a social being, I have been crawling from my curmudgeon cave bit by bit. This past weekend I had the BFF over to sling paint with me as we waited for the bread to rise. I sent her home with several par-baked loaves of French bread for her freezer. I’ve been mucking with my flours and have come up with a lovely little blend that manages to hide the fact it’s healthy. That way the kiddies will eat it, and I didn’t even need Jessica Seinfeld to tell me how. ::snort::

I’ve been on a bread baking binge lately. Must be the weather, or the fact I didn’t notice my “fat pants” becoming my “skinny jeans”.

Damn, but I hate it when that happens. I’ll have to remember to cut back on the butter at some point, because that sexy butter is sssooooooooo freaking yummy, and I have little to no self restraint.

AND HOLY STARVING ORPHANS IN ANTARCTICA ... WTF is that smell?!

Someone (and by someone I mean the old people sitting on the bench behind me ) has taken a shower in Old Spice, and they sure as hell aren’t macho manly men with thigh muscles busting out of their chaps. It’s more akin to Bob Barker being embalmed with cologne, like a week ago.

Hello! I can’t even drink my coffee without tasting it! ACK!

...BBBBAAAAHHHHHH! And they’re eating those old folk, wanna-be-jolly-rancher, sugarless candies!

Now I’m actually going to throw-up. Totally.

However, since I’m the mature individual I am, I will move past the whole obscene display of geriatric behavior unfolding before me this morning and tell the world about my frighteningly eventful life.

(Now it’s your turn to throw-up.)

I’ve been turning out green olive and provolone loafs for Gomez as well. Which is also yummy, but it’s time to throw a new flavor into the wind this weekend. I also need to cook a real meal before my kids are labeled as preservatives by the FDA. Though it’s not like I haven’t fed them actual food since we moved here.

I did once.

I’ll have to blog about that at some point.

Anyway, time to go kiddies ... Seattle is on the horizon and I have fudge to make.

::sigh::

Olive to See Tomorrow

2010-09-20T01:26:00.000-04:00

If you happen to read my “expressive and personal” blog you may know that I lost the memory card for my camera. However, this post isn't about that. In fact I don't think it's about anything. To be completely honest, I think it's just a bunch of random thoughts brought on by an overload of delish snicker-snackers.

Anyway.

I finally found the card, or rather, Gomez found it .. but I don’t remember where.

I think I’ve got a case of premature senility creeping up the ole’ backside. Regardless of the cause, it is what it is, and a lovely bottle of red makes the whole “issue” null.

Today was a beautiful, yet windy day. Crisp skies filled to the brim with the first few breathes of Fall, the outermost handful of leaves on the trees turning yellow in celebration. Down a winding road encased with evergreens there is a corn maze and pumpkin patch that just opened for the season. They aren’t but a mile away at best. It feels like your on the highest peak of some new world when you step onto the old alfalfa field and make your way to the large red barn, the most prominent feature of the farm. It’s wide doors sit permanently open, shouting a warm “Hello!” to all who visit.

It's a fun little place. Maybe next time I'll take the kids.

Then, after a bike ride down to the beach with Gomez I came home to my french bread waiting to be shaped and baked. While it came to life in the oven I sat on the porch and looked out across the yard, and watched spiders spinning their webs.

(The backyard)

Earlier today I had made what is known around these parts as “sexy butter”. There is just something about making my own butter that I love. I get my heavy cream from a local dairy, the little glass bottle sloshing with thickened goodness. After having whipped it into feathery, soft butter I drain off the buttermilk, (Goes in the jug with the regular stuff and no one is the wiser.) add my coarse sea salt, and after a few rotations in the bowl it gets packed into a tub and stored in the fridge.

(SQUEE! Such a cute little bottle!)

Since I had stopped by the World Market in Silverdale before I made the butter I now had a nice collection of reds from Chile, France, and Argentina to sample.

(Read; imbibe)

I also had a few manzanilla (finished with a rosemary oil cure) and meaty kalamata olives that were left over from an earlier craving gone wild that had hit my brain sometime Thursday evening after work.

Let’s just say the 2008 vintage of this:

Is A-freaking-mazing with olives and hot french bread rubbed down with sexy butter. If I wasn’t so busy stuffing the face I would have made a tapenade.

(If you get this wine, let it breathe before drinking. The wait is so incredibly worth it.)

This pic was taken while the bread was still piping hot. My children are 3/4 Scavenger. My husband is 1/2. But at least I got some, because I'm full blooded, so I’m good.

So, here I sit; happily stuffed like a Thanksgiving turkey on bread, olives and wine.

(..... Hmmmm, I'm thinking I may have to try that come November.)

... But WTF IS WITH THESE FRUIT FLIES?!

Seriously?! How are they finding me sealed off in my computer room? I know it’s the season for them, but WTH?

I guess I should drink faster.

That’s it for today. Lovely day, warm bread, good wine, and now .... a movie.

It’s the small things that count.

It Makes the Snacks. It Eats Them By Itself.

2010-09-17T12:34:00.001-04:00

The blogging world is lonely.

Unless you're constantly visiting everyones sites you're left with the knowledge that nobody is really very interested in your mundane life; you have to work every day, all day, in the vain hope that someone will visit your site.

Granted, there are a few people that may drop a line and ask if you’ve been abducted by aliens should life get the better of you while your blog dries up.

I like those people.

Overall though, it just leaves a girl feeling .... like a minuscule speck on a “Where’s Waldo” page.

Then there are the “Blog Designers” (and I use the term loosely) who promise your new page will be done in APRIL, and by September your really getting tired of being unimportant again. ... Because APRIL promises are like a starving cow’s intestines; empty, but still smell like sssshi ... Time to find a new designer I guess.

So lonely universe, what have I been doing?

I’ve been working my butt off while Gomez stubbornly insists that a job will somehow find him .. thus he has no drive or inclination to look. And he really, truly hasn't.

The jerk.

Somehow I still get to make everyone dinner though. Do laundry. Beg for the smallest thing and end up doing everything myself anyway. Because I am a speck.

I’m not saying I’m still unhappy, because just living here breathes life into me.

I am saying I’m getting mighty tired of being f****** ignored, overlooked, serenaded by empty promises and the firm knowledge we’re literally on our last pennies and STILL, I have to save everyone else before I can even ponder the fleeting idea of fixing this anger that is filling me full of resentment.

I may be small, but I can hold a grudge much bigger than myself.

Now I realize I generally try to stay away from the angry rants on this lonely blog, and usually my perspective on life refuses to give up the hope with a skewed look at life and how silly it truly is. But some days I just want to smack the happy right off of some people.

I want them leaving at 5 am and returning at 9 pm after putting in days full of no breaks doing hard physical labor. (Try stirring 75 lbs. of caramel “vigorously” for 2 1/2 hours straight and tell me how easy it is life. Then move on to the 44 lbs. of fudge and all that stirring, tabling, and other B.S.) Come home late and have to make dinner because some people are too busy playing War Craft. Do some laundry so you’ll have something to wear in the morning. Hope you get to bed by midnight so you can just wake up in a few hours to do it all again the next day while the War Craft players stay up until 4, or 6 am.

Ungrateful little f******.

::insert mean face::

I am so incredibly tired of having to drag everyone to the finish line.

Maybe it’s time for me to loose the excess baggage and sprint for the finish line with a smile.

Ever feel like this?

Why do we as women feel the need to do everything for everyone? Why do we lay waste to our bodies and abandon ourselves for the happiness of others - constantly?

We really are our own worst enemies.

Women should be rallying around each other, standing at each others backs while life throws the punches.

We should do what is needed to have our daily cup of overflowing joy; abandoning the energy vampires to go suck somewhere else.

Women are incredibly resourceful, giving, capable. Why do we hand over our power over self to people who can’t see our value beyond the bedroom or kitchen? Why do we value ourselves less than others who have yet to earn our dedication and loyalty?

I see it time and again.

The wife who stands by her man; affair after affair or beating after beating.

I see women attack each other like spitting cats over trivial and petty things; just to look good in the eyes of the world.

But the world has forgotten our value, covered up our identity and place in this world for strictly self-serving, soulless, egomaniacs.

(And I'm not just man hating here. Plenty of women fall into this category.)

Wake up ladies. Be the change you want to see in this world. Support each other, rally around our ability to think and multi-task at the same time. Teach your children they are not entitled; manners matter; kindness is important.

If they see you put yourself in a position of powerlessness, spouting catty comments about other women, snubbing them, you are doing nothing more than devaluing your place in this world. Your enforcing global bad behavior and .60¢ on the dollar.

It’s time I wake up. My life is inconsequential because I have allowed it. I’ve taken enough flying crap, accepted the pettiness of other women and the devaluation from society in general long enough.

Nobody has to read my blog to make me feel visible.

It’s OK if I let people starve if it teaches them how to get up off their asses.

It’s not OK for Mz. APRIL promises to keep putting me off, for me to do everyones laundry and pay for their $^@&##!! video games.

My inner Tawanda has become unhinged and is gorilla-screaming at this world.

I will be OK, because I have chosen to be.

Now I will go make myself some lovely bruschetta, pop a bottle of red (regardless of it being only 9 a.m.) and sit on my womanly hiney all day.

And I'm not sharing.

People are going to have to come to terms with this, and it is up to them to figure out how.

I’m taking a “ME” day.

I highly recommend it.

BTW: Why is Wonder Woman dressed as such:

"Gee I-dunno. Cause I'm just a girl in a metal corset?"

While the male super heroes are:

Is that some sort of Superhero burka?

Thus resulting in:

Is it just me or was she just drawn stupid?

Bone thin, boobs akimbo.

What are we selling our kids on?

Another Double Post.

2010-07-25T10:17:00.000-04:00

Day 6:

Made it through Kansas, Nebraska, Wyoming, and now we're in Utah. We got here Friday evening and are staying with my youngest brother Tom. He's the one that just got married, and he and his lovely lady invited us to stay while we passed through.

Initially we were just going to stay one night, but we made good time, so we have an extra day to kill before we can get into the rental. We head out today and should make Washington tonight. We'll still be on the eastern side, so hopefully by tomorrow we'll be at the new place.

This was the salad I was too lazy to upload earlier on in my little travels. Since we're now out of the south I think I can bid farewell to blackened chicken and hello to black chicken, because that's not seasoning.

It was a sad state of affairs, and though I was hungry I couldn't bring myself to take more than a few bites.

I do realize there are starving children in China (.. or was that Africa?), but I'm not a child and life is too short to eat vittles that have sat in a plastic bin all day.

I can taste it in the lettuce whenever I get it, and it's vile.

IMHO, people need to rethink the whole plastic container thing, because if I can taste it in the food there is obviously something wrong with the whole set-up.

But, whatever. When you pay $9 for a "salad" from some roadside joint that looks like Large Marge is the proprietor of, you kind of expect the plastic bin essence to pervade the overall flavor.

The ranch dressing that tastes like Pee Wee Hermans hair gel is an added bonus.

Enough of the complaining though.

Here we are driving through St. Louis where Pubert saw "the golden arch".

Obviously todays food culture has influenced his history and geography lessons. ;)

We did get a few great shots of the skyline thanks to Wednesday and her "awesome photography skills".

Then, after a long, corn filled jaunt through Nebraska where I slipped into a mental coma, we finally made Wyoming. We were welcomed by a huge storm that had the rain falling sideways and my kayak riding the hood of the car like a long plastic lemon going for that 8 second ride of a lifetime.

Wednesday was in a good mood and wondered aloud why Wyoming feels so much more like home than Florida ever did.

Why indeed.

The heart knows home, and will take you there if you just allow your feet to start walking.

After we got to Utah my family all came to Toms house to give me an early birthday party. I can't remember the last time we celebrated it, and it meant the world to me. My brother Tom even made me a cake. He had trouble with the tube icing and felt a bit bad he "ruined" the cake.

Frankly, it's the most perfect cake I have ever had, and it was heaven.

I was so touched that they did this for me, and it certainly goes down as one of my favorite birthdays. .. actually, I think it takes the #1 spot.

It's not what you get, but by whom it was given, and I couldn't have asked for more.

Gomez did surprise me with a new camera, and he had a hand in it all, so I have to humble myself and understand that the man can indeed learn.

It's taken 18 years, but this day was worth the wait.

So today, after we get everyone up and going, we'll head off into the great wide open and a new life. It still hasn't sunk in yet. I think maybe once I get to the new place and say hello to the street, grocery store, and various rooms in the house, I'll have some sense of home.

It may be a few days before I get internet again, and I haven't had much luck with sending mail. I'll be back when I have it all sorted out, and then I can visit other peoples blogs.

Well, it's back on the road again for me.

On The Road Again; Florida to Kentucky

2010-07-21T00:20:00.000-04:00

The move is underway. After much fussing and crying, farewells to first loves, and most of our belongings, we left Florida about 5 in the evening.

I always believed in a good early start.

We didn't make Atlanta and my folks house, but instead got as far as Valdosta, FL before Pubert began ping - ponging all over the highway.

Thus, mom says STOP.

Since it was about midnight our only culinary options were

::and I'll try not to vomit a little in my mouth::

The Waffle House.

This was their savory fare. Watery grits, rubberie hash browns, bacon turned to pure carbon, a toast thing, and something they tried to pass off as chicken offlings; AKA: eggs.

I suggest you skip it even if your starving and being threatened with a nuclear holocaust, because even cockroaches would rather commit suicide than be forced to eat this crap.

Moving on.

Hit Tennessee on day two (today);

Discovered they have some sort of grocery store for hillbillies called Piggly Wiggly.

I have it on good authority it's called "The Pig" by the locals.

Looks to be quite the popular hangout.

Discovered that Tennessee Jesus is now preaching in text lingo;

And once we got to Paducah, Kentucky Scotty went undercover in the bathroom to work his mad ninja skills.

And thus is the adventure so far.

Tonight I'm being treated to some sort of left-over salad thing with "blackened" chicken (read; burned.)

I took a pic, but am feeling entirely too lazy to upload it.

More as I find Wi Fi.

Bruschetta with Portabella and Tomato Topping

2010-07-06T22:24:00.000-04:00

I’m suppose to be packing, but I can’t stare at it anymore, and I’m popping all the bubble wrap as I lay on it and wonder if I could make an actual bed out of it.

Anyway,

Gomez had his interview. How some people manage to start companies is beyond me, because the guy was waked out six ways past Sunday. Though there is still a potential there, this network of capital equipment sales into the Veterinary market is a relatively small circle, and we have worked hard to give our name the reputation it has. We can’t just put it behind everyone and risk 25 years of hard work .. We’ve already taken a hit with this last jackass. So, these beggars are going to have to be choosers on this one, and we’re going to have to walk away .. As hard and painful as that is financially.

Sometimes the only way to move forward is to take a step back.

All this of corse means my mind is racing around my skull like a lizard on amphetamines and a serious java bean high.

Anyone that knows me knows I have shaky hands as it is; some genetic thing the doctors haven’t been able to figure out. Only now, they are dead calm, which is sort of freaking me out. Maybe I’ve overloaded my nervous system and fried something.

It’s entirely possible.

I really should go bake some bread. I’ve left all my bread making supplies out subconsciously, like a carb riddled pacifier I can look at and sniff whenever I walk into the kitchen. Only I can’t think of eating right now, because I’ve been sick as a dog the last few days. The only real culinary delights I’ve been partaking in have been white rice and quinoa.

Mmmmm. However, just because I’m all “Death Becomes Her” and unable to choke anything down doesn’t mean I can’t offer something up for my lovely peeps.

I’ve finally gotten around to posting that Bruschetta recipe. Should anyone actually give it a try I would love to hear about it, see what you think.

When I made this I had also made some French Bread and Mozzarella.

No, I didn’t buy the mozzarella, I made it. As in, “On the first day God created heaven and mozzarella”, ... made mozzarella. Maybe once I get settled again I’ll go into the how to make mozzarella thing, because it’s easier than spitting into the wind, and far more rewarding. For now, let’s focus on the bruschetta. The bread you can find HERE. (Because I’m that fooky people.)

Fooky; Collective Noun, see also “Food Geeks”

So without any further to-do or gilding of the candied lily;

Bruschetta with Portabella and Tomato Topping:

(TT = To Taste)

3 each, concassé tomato, diced small

1 each, portabella mushroom, grilled (or 7 - 8 baby portas)

1 clove garlic, roasted (leave in skin, throw on grill with mushrooms.)

3 Tbl. Basil leaves, chiffonade (chop up thin and small but don’t make paste)

TT Red onion, diced small

1/2 oz. Olive oil ( I use Grape seed oil / Pure Olive oil because I don’t like the bitterness of the stuff we get here in the states.)

TT Ground Black Pepper

TT Salt (Go Easy!)

1 - 2 drops lemon / lime juice, or both (Use fresh, and if using both only use one drop of each.)

Note:

* This recipe doesn’t make a whole lot. I usually double or triple it. Maybe try this first before committing to a larger batch.

* Some people like the tomato guts and skin. I think they add bitterness and throw off the texture for bruschetta, particularly since they are typically picked under-ripe and not allowed to reach full maturity on the vine. They also create more sogginess than I like in my bruschetta.

* Before I roast the mushrooms I marinate them in a red wine vinegar, olive oil, salt & pepper mixture for about 15 - 20 minutes. In doing this keep an eye on them on the grill because they will leak the olive oil and the flames will find them.

* My family likes garlic, so rather than try to roast one clove, I make a container out of tinfoil, cut the top of the bulb off, drizzle with olive oil, salt, and pepper, and bake at 350* for about 45 minutes. The garlic is baked, but not fully. Then I extract 1 clove and allow the rest to finish baking. I micro-plane the partially baked garlic in. You could also add it fresh, but then I would half the amount.

* I add grape seed oil in accordance to how much I want. I only added a measurement for anyone who feels they may need it. I’ll usually blend both grape seed and olive oil for this dish.

* When adding spices remember; you can always add more, but you can’t take it back out. Add, taste, repeat as needed. It will already be salty from the tomatoes.

Directions:

Heat a pot of water on the stove to a boil and have an ice bath ready on the counter. After coring and making an “X” slash on the bottom of the tomato, place in boiling water for about 20 seconds, or until you see the first one begin to loosen it’s skin. Remove immediately with slotted spoon and place in ice bath.

Next; remove skin from tomatoes then cut tomatoes in half horizontally and use your fingers to scrape out the seeds, leaving the meat intact. Dice concassé tomatoes as desired, place in bowl.

Left: before, Right; concassé tomato

After marinating and grilling mushrooms, dice along with onion and place in bowl.

Add garlic and basil and toss; at this point taste, and see what needs to be adjusted.

Add remaining, adjust slowly as needed.

(At this point I’ll usually puree 1-2 tablespoons, then toss it back in for an added savory oomph.)

Chill.

Serve over warm French bread and fresh mozzarella.

I recommend red wine over white.

OOOhhhhh! And try it with the really good prosciutto, not the cheap stuff.

I’m not sure how many more of these I’ll get in before I hit the road, but again, I’ll try to post where we stop along the way. Eating at odd places is usually half the fun ... Right? We’re still iffy on the end location but we have one truck rented for the 14th. We plan on heading out the 16th. This time around we’ve abandoned the dilapidated U-Hauls and we’re going with Penske. If you see us broken down on the side of the highway, wave. We’ll be the ones hauling a light blue 66’ Volvo that Pubert beats into the ground.

Peace, Out my food minions!

One Thing Leads to Another

2010-06-24T17:09:00.000-04:00

I know it’s been some time, and I promise I haven’t been starving my children. I assure you, they’ve been eating three large serving of Mac and Cheese daily for the last three weeks.

OH ALL RIGHT, THAT’S A LIE!

For breakfast they get Margaritas. I have to slip the fruit in there somewhere.

Should any of y’all (Yes, I just said y’all. I still have my redneck license, so deal.) read my other blog; you know, the one where I curse, rant, and beat up old ladies with loaves of bread at the supermarket ... Well, then you would know why I’ve been so vacant from my postings.

In as few words as possible; I’ve lost all reasoning, have converted to Socialism, and become vegan.

Again I lie. It’s becoming a bad habit, but I’m starting to like it.

Maybe I’ll take up Evangel... Uh, never mind. I’ll leave that monkey business to the pros.

ANYWAY.

(Man, I’m on one today, aren’t I?)

So, aside from Rum Runners and Vodka chasers, I have been dishing out better fare to the kiddies as we pack up this roach ridden house.

.. Yes. Cockroaches. But don’t blame me. We’re forced to rent and the filthy buggers that rented this place before us apparently mistook the giant “Palmetto Bugs” to be some sort of local curiosity to be tolerated .. Dare I even say, frolicked with.

(They probably even had cocktail parties with them. Gave the girlie roaches pasties and a giant bowl of fruit flavored tequila to swim about in while they flirted with all the males; which could be the only explanation for the prolific amount of spawn that we are now forced to destroy.)

Hhmmm. So much for anything remotely appetizing today. I was going to post about the homemade mozzarella and bruschetta I made, but now I sound like some skeezed out restauranteur from New York.

In my defense, it IS Florida, and it has been raining to beat the band. It also doesn’t help that my father-in-law has decided that this week; as we pack to move to Washington; this house suddenly needs new doors. So the lack of any sort of barrier from the insect element here has likely contributed as well.

Nothing like having to sleep on the floor amongst boxes and gigantic bugs in 90* heat.

The lizards I can handle. But so help me, if one more giant, freaky-ass spider crawls across me chasing a damn cockroach then ole’ F.I.L. will be patching a hole in the roof as well.

Wow, I really am getting nowhere today aren’t I?

I’ll be wrapping this up then.

I’ll post about the Bruschetta tomorrow after I get the image of roaches out of my head.

(Hey, at least they aren’t the little ones that mean you have 5 million of them.)

And, while I’m on the road driving from south Florida to our new place in Washington state, I’ll post about all the neat dives we stop and eat at.

Maybe I’ll find a hidden treasure, though to be honest, I’m not holding my breath there.

Oh, and just so we’re clear; We don’t exactly have a job, or home to go to once we reach Washington, so this could get fairly entertaining.

Who knows, I may end up having to eat some of those cockroaches.

Beginning to Look a Lot Like the Farm

2010-06-14T23:20:00.000-04:00

Sorry it's not about food this time, just a quick (HAHAHAHA) blurb on what's going down in this forest.

What can I say, the last few weeks have been incredibly strange. I came to the conclusion I need to leave. Five years ago I left my spot in this world to come here, and it was one of the biggest mistakes I’ve ever made, however, I have grown and learned, so it’s not a total loss.

Up until this evening it was a matter of me packing it up, driving across the country, living in a camper on the Peninsula until I found a job, then finding a rental, and then having the hubby and kids follow me out. I didn’t know if it would be a year, two years, or a month.

I made this decision because my currently unemployed hubby hasn’t put forth much of an effort to find a job, and that seemingly stresses me out and makes me an angry person.

Seems I have issues. Like logic, bills, and children.

Then things happened.

It’s known my children have struggled with mental health issues, and it has reared it’s ugly head once again.

This past week one of my kids flirted with suicide. I say flirted because after finding the key to the gun safe they were still unable to figure out how to put everything in working order, work the multiple safeties, and unlock the trigger locks.

When I made the choice to have them in my home I did so with eyes open, and I took the precautions I needed to.

I knew who had been into it because I have been watching this person fall apart for the last few weeks. I am familiar with that kind of depression, and I watched it claim my little brother not too long ago.

They say suicide runs in families. I can say I see why “they” would say this.

And I wholly know and understand it’s not because that individual wants it; it’s torture.

Nobody wants that, which is why so many people don’t talk about it.

Long story short, I’ve been busy getting people leveled out here. Gomez is vehemently opposed to medications, but then, he’s never had to deal with this in his life. I sort of understand him, but it can be extremely frustrating.

I on the other hand, I have had to be on medication for many years. I know sometimes there is no other alternative, unless I go the route of my brother.

Quality over quantity.

Which is ironic, because I’m actually a happy person who will find hope even if I have to drag it kicking and screaming from under a rock in an alley.

Basically, I told Gomez to get over it. I don’t leave some decisions open for questioning or debate.

Yes; I’m familiar with the argument regarding kids on medications, and I completely agree. FAR too many kids are put on medication when what they really need is a swift kick in the pants and better parenting. However, I also know some people have no choice. I mean, you wouldn’t tell a diabetic to just “get over themselves” or quit “looking for attention” or “stop being so dramatic”. The people I know that actually need medication usually are embarrassed to let people know they take it, and go to great lengths to avoid taking it. There is a H.U.G.E. stigma attached to it.

Even in this day and age.

Seems you can be a murdering pedophile and still be given a fair trial; and even then you can get out of jail early, but heaven forbid your brain requires it's own little morning coffee.

Get out the wooden stake and matches, because that person is WACK!

OK, thankfully not everyone is that way, but it's still prevalent.

Thankfully I’m clueless and have no social graces, so I have no qualms about throwing it out there when asked. Though honestly, most people just think I'm a bit odd.

Like your granny that ran around in her undies in the grocery store; highly entertaining, but socially a No-No, despite everyone knowing she was senile .. so it was shrugged off. "That's Granny for you!" ::wink::

Most people have no idea I take meds., and when they find out the typical reaction is, “No Way!” or “But your always happy or laughing.”

EXACTLY.

That’s not to say I don’t have my moments. We’re all human here.

(And I get arrested when I visit the grocery store in my undies.)

Meanwhile; I’m in the middle of finals. While one child falls apart the other one strikes up another southern rebellion.

So while I try to save one child I’m ready to strangle the other.

Life sure is funny.

Lots of character building going on in this house lately.

Yep; plum chuck full-o-character around here. A regular chuckle fest of paradoxes and stupefaction.

Back to other things.

When I finish school Thursday (::tinkeling myself in slo-mo to Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy” as I run through the surf in my chef uniform with a giant loaf of bread in my outstretched arms::)

I will be packing this house like nobody’s business.

Sunday will be Wednesday’s birthday; when I will be making a Red Wine Panna Cotta with Wine Gelato, Thyme Tuile Cookie, and a Red Wine Reduction Sauce.

Despite sounding like a booze-fest it’s not, and she loves it. All the alcohol is cooked off.

What kind of mother do you think I am?!

Even I know the Courvoisier and cigars come after the desert.

Jeez people.

Monday will be a reunion of my initial group on the beach for one last hurrah. ... Today after class was just the first hurrah; BTW: strawberry and lime R.O.C.K. ::Shake-a shake-a::

The 25th I hook up with my Vanilla Bean dealer. She’s hard core, yo, and she gets me good sheet gelatin.

She’s heading back home to Tennessee (and you really had to say that with the proper accent; Tan a SEA)

Hhhmm, that’s about enough for now. I’m posting this on both my blogs, so if your a reader of both .. It’s not just you .. It IS the same blog. Just figured I would let people know what was going on.

More once I wrap up this school thing.

Que Engelbert;

.......... Butterfly wings in the sun

Taught me all that I needed to see
For they sang, sang to my heart
"Oh look at me, oh look at me"
"Free as the wind, free as the wind"
"That is the way you should be"

 ( You were totally picturing me running in the surf, weren't you.)