this is good food

After a brief flirtation with true autumn weather, the first part of the week turned back into late summer, with temperatures calling for bare legs and whatnot.

Which was really harshin’ on my soup-mood mellow.

But yesterday I togged up, tossed Kira in her Halloween costume and then in the Burley, and headed down for a stint of Trunk-or-Treating in the preschool parking lot.

As I headed out the driveway, it became apparent that it was — can you guess? — raining.  Not hard, but enough to qualify as a drizzle. 

Of course it was.  Not that I’m paranoid or anything, but I’m just sayin’ it seems like this year that as soon as I cinch up my cycling shoes, an alert goes out to the gods of precipitation.  Seems it’s their equivalent of tones dropping at a fire station: Everyone starts hollering, and then they promptly drop whatever else they’re doing, slide down the rain barrel and run to crank up the cloud machine.  And I get to sport yet another set of grime lines.

I’d teamed up with another mom, and she brought the trunk, not to mention the majority of the treats. Me, I brought some Smarties and my winsome personality. And sitting there, passing out treats to adorable preschoolers in precious costumes, my dampness turned to chill and then to cold and I decided two things in quick succession:  1.  Bail on ride; do yoga instead, warm and dry inside.  2.  Make soup.

Back home, with #1 accomplished, I turned to #2.

I collect soup recipes the way some women accumulate accessories: There is no such thing as too many lentil-soup recipes, or black pumps.

All those recipes, but I only had eyes for one.

Around here we call it Sarah’s Soup, but I think she calls it Farmer’s Pot.  Regular readers may recall that Sarah’s the one who brought us, and thus you, Lentil-Chickpea Delish. Short Long hours later she brought Baby Sam into the world, but that’s a different story.

I had to stretch my “local” definition for sourcing, because summer squash is long gone, but I didn’t suffer much over it.  How can you possibly feel bad about this many veggies together in one place, after all?

Farmer’s Pot, a la Sarah

Use a nice big heavy pot for this.

Saute in a couple swirls of olive oil, until onions are translucent:
2 med onions, chopped
4 large carrots, in bite-size chunks
3 celery stalks, cut on diagonal

add and saute 1 min more:
3 cloves garlic, chopped fine

add, and bring to a boil; boil about 10 minutes:
1 bottle spicy V8 (46oz)
2 c broth
1 large (28oz or so) can whole tomatoes
1 can tomatoes with green chilies
1 can stewed tomatoes

Add and continue boiling for 15 or so minutes:
head of broccoli, chopped (about 3c)
head of cauliflower, chopped (about 3c; I used frozen)
2 zucchini, in bite-size chunks
2 yellow squash, ditto

Add and boil 10 minutes more:
4 c cooked dark red kidney beans (or 2 cans)
2 c cooked cannellini beans (1 can)
2T dried oregano
1/2c or so fresh basil, chopped
couple shakes cayenne
1/2t spicy seasoning (Mrs. Dash)
1/4t nutmeg
2t sugar

Sarah says: Don’t worry if it looks awfully thick to start with. Once the veggies cook up, it will be just right.

A caution: the above makes a colossal amount of soup and a perfect opportunity to invite friends over, or stock your freezer. A nice sourdough, or really any good bread, complements superbly.

Not to mention a glass, or two, of Shiraz.

time to do a little grilling

At this point in my life, not for any real reason but just cos that’s how it is, I eat very little beef, and almost no hamburger; I leave the ground stuff for the kids, who are little carnivores. Megan in particular would eat her some animal every day, given the choice.

But every once in a while I do get to craving a burger out. I have been known to make a stop at Wendy’s, and I am the first to enjoy a backyard burger off someone’s grill. And there’s a place in town that makes a Texas Chili Cheeseburger that I get a jones for about twice a year, minus the onions please.

But a piece from Monday’s New York Times may be the end of all that. It begins by highlighting the incredible destruction wrought on Stephanie Smith, a healthy 22-year-old, by ingesting hamburger contaminated with E. coli bacteria.

The article uses her story to reveal, in depth, a serious problem in food safety. I challenge you to read it without it changing your attitude about this most American of staples.

Just to tempt you to read the full article, I’ll give you this snippet: Stephanie’s mother, for a Sunday family dinner, grilled “…frozen hamburgers …made by the food giant Cargill …labeled ‘American Chef’s Selection Angus Beef Patties.’”

Bring on the ketchup and pickles! That is going to be one tasty burger. It sounds like something, well, premium. American! Chef’s Selection! Angus, that’s some good meat, right?! Fire up the Weber, dads!

But, while the name may invoke the vision of an old-timey butcher in white apron grinding up a hunk of prime steer to make those patties, things are, in fact, done a little differently these days:

“…confidential grinding logs and other Cargill records show that the hamburgers were made from a mix of slaughterhouse trimmings and a mash-like product derived from scraps that were ground together at a plant in Wisconsin. The ingredients came from slaughterhouses in Nebraska, Texas and Uruguay, and from a South Dakota company that processes fatty trimmings and treats them with ammonia to kill bacteria.”

Um. So much for premium. So much for chefs selecting a damn thing. So much for American; for god’s sake, scraps from Uruguay?? And Angus? That’s, what, the name of the guy whose job it is to dump the ammonia in to kill bacteria?

There’s more. Five pages more, in fact. I will warn you, it is not an appetizing read.

Another disturbing quote: “Ground beef sold by most grocers is made from a blend of ingredients, industry officials said. Agriculture Department regulations also allow hamburger meat labeled ground chuck or sirloin to contain trimmings from those parts of the cow.”

So, word up: if you want your ground beef to be just meat, no “trimmings,” about your only choice is to buy a chunk of sirloin or chuck and ask to have it ground right there at the store. Who knew? I mean, really: who KNOWS this? No one tells you; it is not on the label. It is hidden information, and it is distinctly unappetizing.

Come time for me to make dinner, despite the fact that the ground beef in our freezer came from a cow that spent its whole life about a half-hour down the road, somehow I just couldn’t get too excited about tacos tonight. Go figure.

But on a brighter note, I had a moment of inspiration and pulled up the recipe for Lentil-Chickpea Stew and let me tell you, it hit the spot. Highly recommended for a day when you spend several hours on a field trip to a farm, a day when you foolishly believe the forecast for “near 70″ and dress accordingly; a day when the the sun never breaks through the gray damp of early fall and the breeze off the ridge goes right through your denim jacket, and finds your bare ankles too.

Read that whole article here, if you’ve got the stomach for it.

land ho

It’s been a week, oh, it has.

Which is why it’s been almost a week since my last post. With the MPM out on the west coast, I have been round the clock captain here at the Good Ship Fraught, and I am not conditioned to the rigorous demands of the solo crossing.

Although I have to say, there’s the upside of no major dinner production. Am I right?

Because you all know that on the average Thursday I’m whipping up, oh, Barbecue Rubbed Scallops with Creamy Sauerkraut Soup as a light starter to New York Strip and Fall Vegetable Roast with Mustard Cream Sauce, leading up to Chess Pie with Blackened Pineapple Salsa and Caramel Sauce for dessert.

Oh, all RIGHT. But even if it’s just black beans and rice, it takes thought, time, and energy to pull together a meal. And I can throw together something for the girls in about twelve minutes, and as for me, I’m perfectly happy to browse the fridge or, truthfully, stand up sit down with a bowl of popcorn and a glass of wine cereal and milk after the girls are in bed and the evening wears on.

The fading of the day brings me to the greater challenge of the MPM’s absence. I can wrangle the bedtime routine solo, mostly because I know to start it a full hour ahead of lights-out. Contending with requests for lights on or off or water or a special pillow or a different venue?  Again, child’s play.

But once I head to bed myself, I’m beset with a dazzling number of sleep-reducing pitfalls, in addition to all the standard ones that make me such a damned sorry sleeper.

One, I have to get back up to run around in my jammies and lock all the doors, because that is Not My Job and I never remember until I’m already in bed.

Two, I can’t put in my earplugs, because I’m on solo watch and it doesn’t seem prudent, and I am not used to having to hear all the noises of the house and children breathing in adjoining rooms and such when trying to sleep.

Three, when I’m cold, and the evenings lately have had the chill of fall, I have to get BACK out of bed to go find socks instead of warming my feet on the toasty calves of my beloved.

Four, at  exactly deep-dreaming-thirty I am woken and must get up to fetch Kira, who is whimpering and wants to “Be in Mommy and Daddy’s bed.”

Five, lacking the MPM as buffer, I am subjected to her floppings and flounderings in the bed, which go on for a good hour and a half.

Six, I have to be sure to be awake to make sure Megs has been woken by her alarm. And with that subconscious awareness of needing to be awake, I jolt upright in a panic at about 5:45, a full hour before her alarm goes off, and the resultant adrenalin puts paid to any hope of drifting back into slumber.

So along with everything else, I’ve found myself a tad fatigued here as I pilot the course.  To the parents who do this 52 weeks a year: I bow to you.

And to the MPM: hurry home. I miss you.

a Kira’s worth

(One of these Wednesdays soon I’m going to get back to Kate’s Blog Carnival.  I think I’ve about got my Madhouse mojo back, so come visit again!)

Both my girls are fairly petite. They’re oh, maybe 10th percentile height, and plummet-off-the-chart on weight. This doesn’t disturb me, though every once in a while I think that it might be nice if Megs makes it to 40 pounds at some point before she turns 7 in November.

For years I didn’t own a scale, but after I hit my mid-forties it seemed reasonable to start keeping a little better tab on my weight. Plus I’m on that quest currently, if you recall, to carry a half-dozen or so fewer pounds up Grandfather Mountain in September.

Anyway, it’s gotten to be something of a routine, weighing myself in the morning (only after I pee, c’mon, you know you do it too). And then Megan wants to weigh herself too, which means that of course Kira has to as well.

Megan hovers around 38, sometimes spiking 39, and Kira has been consistently 28 since July, when she had an official weigh-in.

So it amused me that when we went blueberry picking this morning, the combined family effort tallied up at exactly 28lbs: one Kira in blueberries.

For a mere 75 minutes’ worth of picking, I should add; how incredible is THAT? They were growing in huge grape-like clusters, weighting down the branches, a nimiety of numminess.  I swear I only picked from like three bushes in the whole time.   (They grow five different kinds of Rabbit-Eye Highbush, they said, in case you’re wondering.)

And in case you’re wondering what a Kira of blueberries looks like:

plus one quart being eaten at this very moment

And in case you’re wondering what I’m going to DO with a Kira of blueberries, I have to confess I’m not quite sure. Anyone out there got any spectacular blueberry recipes to share?

what to do with yellow squash

I met Beth last summer, at a going-away party for mutual friends.   I’d known of her for years, since she’s been a journalist with our local newspaper just about as long as I’ve lived here which is, heavens to Murgatroyd, going on a couple decades.  I’d always stopped short of actually introducing myself, since jeez, she’s an awesome writer and like practically a celebrity.

But at that party, we got to chatting and it turned out we graduated from high school the same year, practically shouting distance from one another, and she visits my tiny hometown regularly on her trips back.  And we had some other stuff in common too and it was an evening-long conversation that begat a book group, among other things.

Now she’s off to Hah-vahd.  Girl landed herself, well deserved, one a them prestigious Nieman Fellowships for Journalism.  So she’s packing up the fam and heading to Cambridge for a year.  Happily, she’s begun a blog, so we won’t have to live without her wonderful facility with the written word while she’s on leave from her regular journalism duties.

Selfishly, I want to host more dinner parties where she and her husband are at the table, so I am crossing my fingers in real honest prayerful hope that she’ll actually return after that year.  It seems likely but, as they say, nothing is certain in the world, and the future of print journalism may find itself sharp on the cutting blade of that old saw.

Anyhoo, in the packing-up part, Beth finds herself contending with an eat-down of pantry-plus proportion.  You can read her post on that process, and I’m going to remember here to thank her for reintroducing me to Mark Bittman, the New York Times’ “The Minimalist” food writer.  I can’t wait to try some of his Simple Salad recipes!

In her post is a plea for what to do with a quantity of yellow squash, and I promised I’d share my best recipes for putting paid to the overabundance that is, inevitably, summer squash. Both recipes will work with zucchini as well, or a combination.

Yellow Squash with Sausage

4-5 medium yellow squash, sliced in 1/4-inch rounds
1 pack smoked sausage such as kielbasa, sliced in rounds
1 onion, sliced vertically very thin
2 T olive oil (approximate)
1/2 t or so cajun seasoning

Saute onion and sausage in large skillet with small swirl of oil until onion is translucent.  Add squash and rest of oil.  Turn to high heat to sort of carmelize the squash, stirring frequently.  Add cajun seasoning.  Lower heat slightly; cover for a few minutes to thoroughly cook squash if necessary, or simply continue to saute until nicely carmelized/brown.

Can be served over rice for a complete meal.

_______________________________________________________

Now, if your squash is so sizeably mature as to resemble a fungo bat, it may not lend itself pleasantly to sauteing.  Try this instead:

Squash Cake

3 eggs
1.5 c sugar
1/2 c oil (canola or somesuch)
1/2 c applesauce
2 c flour
2.5 t baking powder
2 t baking soda
2 t cinnamon (feel free to add pie spice, nutmeg, cloves, etc)
3/4 t salt
2 c yellow squash (pureed or just shredded; squeeze it out a bit)
1 t vanilla

In large bowl, beat eggs w/sugar.  Add oil and beat.  Sift dry ingredients and beat into creamed mixture.  Stir in squash and vanilla and mix well.  Batter will be quite liquid.  Turn into a greased/floured bundt pan.  Bake at 350 degrees for about 55 minutes. My oven is off one direction or another, so it’s worth checking it at 50 minutes or so.

a midsummer night’s dinner

I wrote this post immediately following our return from Ohio, and just discovered it tucked away in my Drafts folder.  There’s been an update to the cucumber status since then, but I’m gonna make you wait for that.  Try as best you can not to lose any sleep in anticipation.

We strive to Eat Healthy here at the casa Fraught, yes we do. With the advantage of being raised by organic-shopping soyburger-making garden-growing parents, I’ve probably consumed fewer processed foods and pesticides in my lifetime than most any of my peers. You’d think this might equate to, say, greater health, fewer colds and such, but at least in the short-term of immunity, I haven’t reaped — as I’ve bemoaned before — any noticeable benefit.

Though I strayed after my teen years into the tidily boxed and packaged aisles of Mainstream Foodstuffs, the last decade of my life has seen me return to my roots. I’m a much better cook than either of my parents (can I have an amen here, bro?), but despite my best efforts over the years, I have never developed a fondness for that health-food staple: tofu.

What, after all, is to love about a block of white stuff that is the purest essence of bland, with a texture that frankly defies description?

I did learn a few years back that if you add chocolate and sugar, blend it into utter oblivion, it will pass (astonishingly enough) as chocolate mousse. Not exactly entree fare, however.

So last year I was reading once again about the reasons I, not to mention the MPM, should be eating More Tofu, and I discovered a new preparation method for the stuff:  grill it. And hallelujah, I’m a convert.

This time of year we swim in a veritable sea o’ salad greens, courtesy of our CSA. Romaine, red leaf, green leaf, mesclun mix… pounds of it every week.

And apparently my pre-departure Neem Oil application on the various vine crops was successful, because we returned home to find an ABUNDANCE of cucumbers. Several of them, in fact, large enough to require disclosure to proper agencies for their status as lethal weapons.

So, what else to do? Salad, indeed. Topped with delicioso grilled tofu, which even my girls — BOTH of them — eat with gusto. (The salad itself, not so much, though they like the cukes.)

GREEN SALAD WITH GRILLED TOFU

For the marinade:
* 1/4 c canola oil
* 1/4 c soy sauce
* 1/4 c balsamic vinegar
* 1 T brown sugar
* 2 cloves garlic, minced
* 1.5 t ground ginger
* 1/4 t sesame oil
* 1/2 t salt
* 2 tsp crushed red pepper flakes (adjust to your preference)

For the salad:
* whatever greens and add-ins you have on hand. we like:
* green olives
* red peppers
* feta cheese (more precisely, I like it; the MPM says meh.)
* sunflower seeds
* avocado

Cut your block of tofu crossways into 1/2-inch slices.

NOW — and this is crucial, my loves — lay them on a kitchen towel

… and press the liquid out (you can smoosh it with your hands, but this trick works nicely — let it sit 10 minutes or so.

Pour half of the marinade into the bottom of a 9×9 Pyrex, add tofu, then flip to coat.

Let sit 20 minutes or so, then grill 5 minutes per side.  Eat straight up, or cube and top your salad:

Me, I’m partial to Annie’s Goddess dressing, cut with balsamic vinegar, or use your favorite tangy type dressing.

Oh, and save the other half of the marinade for next time.  Stores for ages in a little jar in the fridge.

it’s bean so long…

Oh, but I love this time of year, when the star-billing summer crops are just beginning to come in. Before you start to wonder what in green harvest HELL can be done with six more zucchini, another gallon of beans. Right now is the fun part, when I get all giddy about seeing what’s ready to be eaten.

It’s been like 10 months since I had fresh green beans straight from the vine. Before we left for Ohio, they looked about like toothpicks on the trellises.

I used to grow a couple kinds of beans every year, but this year I finally decided I could quit pretending I didn’t unremittingly favor one over the others, and grow only the one variety.

Really, I’ve never tasted a more delicious green bean, and as a bonus, if you miss one — and they hide, I swear they do — and it grows past its optimal picking point, it will get all lumpy and bumpy and not so pretty, but it stays tender and delicious, never a string to be found. Even the girls gobble them up.

that's my Fortex

And it’s fun to see how long they get, too. We look for record-breakers every year. Snapped in half and boiled for 4 minutes and 45 seconds, I’d happily eat these every day for lunch AND dinner.

And in about two more weeks I won’t have much choice in the matter, of course.

beverage of choice

If you live much east of the Rockies, you’ve probably never heard of this stuff. A friend who lived in Denver for a while introduced us to it ever-so-casually a couple years back, giving us a box to take home and try.

Yeah, I hear they do that with crack, too.

addictive? oh, no.

The girls call it “summer tea” — as opposed to the warm stuff we drink in the winter — and clamor for it starting first thing in the morning. No joke.

It’s hard to explain the flavor, but I’m here to tell you there are few things that taste better after gettin’ some sweat on. Not that it isn’t delightful for sippin’ just sitting on the couch with a book, but it’s very… quenching after your workout of choice, even if that might be just running the vacuum. Although, come to think, if that’s your workout of CHOICE, I’d like to start with some other recommendations first. Medication, perhaps, or therapy.

It’s a blend of herbal-y type stuff, if you read the label. It’s not sweetened, but it has a trace of sweetness to it, and I have to say that putting sugar in it would be a gild-the-lily sort of proposition.

Thanks to Al Gore and the miracle of the Internet, you can order it by the case, like we do. You can get it straight from the dealer, or, in testament I imagine to its growing popularity, as of this year Amazon carries it as well. Comes in a four-pack eligible for Free Super Saver Shipping.

It does come in a hot variety as well, but we stick with the iced. Toss two bags into a 64-oz pitcher of cold water and twenty minutes later it’s ready to drink. Don’t ask me how they do it.

Try it. It’s harmless, really.

a dessert to share

It’s probably a little strong to say that I love to cook, but there’s no question that I really enjoy it.  (Especially, of course, when I have a good knife on hand. Or maybe I should say in hand. But I’ve already written at least once about my love affair with knives, so I’ll avoid that tempting tangent for the moment.)

However, I’m really not much of a baker.  Yes, I make cookies at Christmas — right yummy ones, if I do say so myself — and I have a few other standbys that I can generally execute without too much stress.  But overall, baking is way too much of a scientific endeavor to suit my personality.  Unless you really, really know what the hell you’re doing, extemporaneous moments in baking lead most often to inedibility. At least in my kitchen. 

And c’mon, I’m all about the extemporaneous, the seat of the pants, the spontaneous. This is not a surprise to anyone who knows me, or probably even anyone who’s just read my mental meanderings. That it carries over into my cooking is just evidence of my continuity of character, and not of my inability to follow a recipe. Could if I wanted to, so there.

Quick, take the picture: there's a fork just out of view!

But I’ve made this cake three times now for various social events, and it is both disappearingly delicious and just about damn foolproof.  I even messed around with it to make it more nutritious and it’s still good.  So I’m sharing with you, my loves.

And do by all means take note that because of the changes I made, it’s practically health food and thus makes a superb breakfast, post-ride snack, or both. In the same day even. I can attest to this personally.

Homely Apple Cake

WHAT YOU NEED:
1.5c sugar
1.5c whole wheat flour
1.5c whole wheat pastry flour
2t baking soda
2t salt
2t cinnamon
1/4t nutmeg
1/4t cloves
2/3c vegetable oil
2/3c applesauce
3/4c milk (skim works fine)
2 eggs
2t vanilla extract
4c chopped, peeled apple

WHAT YOU DO:
1. Preheat your oven to 325F. Grease or spray a 9×13 pan. Mine is glass.
2. Dump all your dry ingredients into a big bowl: sugar, flour, baking soda, salt, spices. Stir it up to blend. Make a sort of hole in the middle with your spoon.
3. Add all the wet stuff together, in a big Pyrex measuring cup maybe. Stir to beat the eggs up a bit, and then pour the whole mess into that middle hole you made.
4. Mix until well blended. Don’t get too crazy, but make sure it’s mixed, no flour hiding on the bottom. It’ll be a little thick but that’s okay. Fold in the apples and spread all that glop into your greased pan.
3. Bake for about 75 minutes, until it’s firm and kinda browned, stick a toothpick in, you know the drill. My oven is a little off, but I can’t ever remember which direction, so you might wanna check on it before the 75 minutes is up.

And if you pour it into the pan, realize you forget to add the eggs, dig most of the apples back out, mix in the eggs, and add the apples back, it will forgive you. I can attest to this personally as well.

(Recipe broadly adapted from allrecipes.com).

edible inspiration

Yesterday an idea popped into my head.

I’m almost tempted to stop right there, because heaven knows that sometimes in this fulltime mommy gig, just the notion of having a new, novel idea feels post-worthy. Ta-DAHHHHH!

But oh, okay. I’ll share.

I was looking over the week’s menu plan and making my grocery list, an early-week routine I try to be faithful about because it is truly a time- and sanity-saver. I’m not rigid about it in a Wednesday-is-meatloaf kind of way, but I attempt to come up with four or five meals, which with leftovers and such (read: delivery pizza) I figure will get us through the weekend, and then I have everything on hand, one trip only and no frantic it’s-four-o’clock-what-in-HELL-am-I-going-to-make-for-dinner? With, let’s see, a package of corn tortillas, three leeks and four eggs on hand?

I’d landed on stuffed shells for that night, not something I make often but we were sorely in need of something new in the rotation. Since it’s not something I make often, I had none of the ingredients on hand, not even the shells.

And as I wrote them on my list, I found myself putting little (2)s next to each one, because the vision had come whole and entire into my head: invite a friend to bring along a 9×13 dish and we’d do a little assembling and a little chatting and the kids could play, and voila! A lovely rainy-day afternoon complete with dinner in the oven. For both of us.

So I called B, friend of savior status from the whole earache/barfy day not long past, and she said Sure! So I went to the store and she picked up our kindergartners and came on by.

Not to give myself major arm strain from reaching around to pat on my own back or anything, but this was like a stroke of genius. No question, it should, and will, become a regular tradition. Not a big weekend make-ahead marathon, but just one evening’s meal, prepped with good company.

She even swapped me out some home-smoked salmon in repayment, which I thought was a far better deal, not to mention much tastier, than a check I’d feel a little petty about cashing, if I remembered to.

I’m not going to list the recipe for the stuffed shells, because they were edible but not incredible. But take away the concept instead, adding a wine pairing if desired.

thrown together

Here at Casa Fraught, as I’ve mentioned before, on Saturdays the MPM takes charge of dinner. Generally I remove myself entirely from the process, since it’s not just the prep I want a break from, but the whole mental Whatterwehavinferdinner? exercise too.

Yesterday, however, I offered up some input. It was late morning and I was leaned up against the kitchen island, rather enjoying watching him do the Search-For-Inspiration tango between the fridge and the pantry, when I had my own little flash.

“People. Let’s have PEOPLE for dinner.”

The introvert looked at me with a bit of alarm, cannibalism and unanticipated company both presenting immediate and tangible downsides to his mind.

I bribed him by telling him I’d give him the recipe I’d planned to make Sunday. I’d stocked all the ingredients, meaning no trip to the store. And then I whispered the kicker: “Crockpot.”

He caved.

I rang the favorite neighbors; not in. I left a message. He dialed J&S, dear friends we haven’t had over in far too long. Message again.

So much for my Saturday-last-minute enthusiasm. I considered welching on the recipe, but I’m generally a stand-up kinda girl, so I handed it over and in short order he had it cranked up on High.

A few hours passed and the neighbors called wanting to know what they could bring. Then J&S called; they’d made plans to join other friends at a restaurant but I lobbied them to bring the other friends. Those friends called to confirm the time and suddenly we were 8 at the table. I love it when things come together.

The MPM’s crockpot meal, though laudable indeed, was upstaged by the dear friend, who whipped this up between labor contractions and her sweat-flinging workout at the gym:

Easy Lentil-Chickpea Delish

olive oil
onion, chopped
heaping tablespoon curry powder
1.5 quarts broth
large bunch Swiss chard, coarsely chopped
2 carrots, in coins
1 sweet potato, peeled and chunked
1 stalk celery, chopped
2 c red lentils (dry)
2 c cooked garbanzo beans (or 1 can)

In a good-sized pot, saute onions in oil until translucent. Add curry powder and saute 1 min more. Add chard and broth and bring to a boil. Add everything else and simmer until the carrots are tender.

Serve, salting to taste. A dollop of sour cream or yogurt will cut the heat and add creaminess.

Eat and enjoy. Labor pains optional.

(Hurry, Sam! We’re waiting!!)

red sauce blues

Normally chopping onions doesn’t make me cry.  I’m extremely nearsighted, and I wear gas permeable contacts for the majority of my day.  The barrier that they provide means I can chop and dice for hours, impervious to the eye-irritating fumes.

Today, however, it’s going on 11 and I still have my glasses on because I haven’t yet made it back upstairs to put my contacts in, because I’ve been in the kitchen doing my best to concoct a red sauce, because I picked up a ginormous bag of mixed mushrooms yesterday at the co-op and there used to be a restaurant in town that served a pasta dish called Three-Mushroom Marinara and now I am so craving pasta with red sauce.   And so, without thinking I began to chop, and the tears started.

And now I’m done chopping the damn onions.  But now the tears are for real, for the fact that I can’t call my Aunt Diane and ask her for the recipe for the amazing sauce that would sit simmering on the stove all day.  And for the sad knowing that I can’t ever call her again.  And that I’ll never make a sauce that good.

She’s never far from me in the kitchen, but some days I need her more.

a crockpot affair

Way back when I was single, I was offered a crockpot by a friend and neighbor who’d received two as wedding gifts some years before. Not much of a cook, she’d never used either one, so I was delighted to help her recoup the wasted cupboard space.

I left with it under my arm, heading back across the street a little giddy with the thought of coming home to the comfort of a meal cooking, quiet evenings in, just me and my slow cooker, maybe a fire in the fireplace, some Grover Washington, candlelight…

Yes, that was the beginning of my crockpot flings: an early blush of infatuation with its potential and then, invariably, the crush of disillusionment. All that promise, all that hope, all that chopping and dicing and waiting for the timer to ding, and never anything more than a lackluster evening to show for it. Never did I feel the passion, the excitement of something special. Not once.

So we’d part ways for a time, me taking my leave more disappointed than bitter, which I’ve found isn’t a bad way to end a relationship, leaving open as it does the potential for friendship, maybe more.

And in fact, not long ago, this time as a bored housewife, mother of two, I found myself lured again by its earnest assurance of effortless bliss, and we embraced once more. Just for one evening, I told myself.

But oh, effortless bliss. Oh, promise. Oh, be still my heart: this time it’s for real.

Chipotle Black Bean Soup

1 lg onion, chopped
3 sweet peppers, chopped (I usually use a combo of green and red)
4 garlic cloves, minced or chopped fine by hand
2 T cumin*
3 C dried black beans
1 – 3 T canned chipotle peppers, with sauce (1T is mild; adjust at will)
4 C broth (your choice flavor)
5 C water

cook 6 hrs on high; remove 3 C beans and puree in blender (or use immersion stick blender). Add back to soup and add the following:

2 T+ lime juice (fresh is preferable)
2 t+ coarse Kosher salt
6 grinds black pepper

garnish as you desire: sour cream, chopped cilantro and tomatoes, etc.

Puts me in mind of Grover’s “When I Fall in Love,” or maybe this song by Katie Melua…

Please, share your long-term crockpot love — any other recipes out there?

*for enhanced flavor — you might could tell the difference if you tasted them side by side — you can take time (10 minutes or so) for the following: saute the onions and peppers over medium heat in a swirl of olive oil until onions are translucent. Add the garlic and cumin powder and continue sauteing another two minutes or so. Toss all that into the crockpot and continue with the recipe as written.

best gift under the tree 2008

Oh, don’t get me wrong, I love me some Jif, but let’s face it: that stuff isn’t remotely healthy for you. It’s a delicious confection, to be sure, but it doesn’t really belong on a sandwich. Unless you have Nutella on there too maybe and just plan to serve  it for dessert.  Flambe perhaps.

So being the organic crunchy types we are we buy this:

Which, when you open it, naturally (ha) looks like this:

Which, because there is NO WAY to get that all mixed in without slopping or glopping some of the oil and/or butter onto the outside of the jar, the counter, one’s hands, your stirring tool and at least three other things in the general vicinity, has in the past meant I needed this:

But now, thanks to a wonderfully attentive and thoughtful friend, I have this:

GRANDPA WITMER'S Old Fashioned PEANUT BUTTER MIXER.

Which has got to be about the slickest invention ever (US Patent D515,3515).  No fuss and, more importantly, no muss, and about 10 cranks yields you perfectly mixed PB.   With none of it anywhere outside the jar.

Incredibly effective — and amusing as well, at least if you think like I do, to wit:

Directions for use (straight off the back of the package):

1. Secure jar with one hand and fasten mixer lid on jar by turning clockwise.
2. Dip mixer tip in peanut oil before inserting to lubricate gasket opening. (I refuse to believe I’m the only one to find this vaguely obscene.)
3. Gently insert mixer through gasket opening by following the contour of the rod. (I did NOT choose the word “rod”; they did.  Do I really have a dirty mind??)

So there you have it.  I’ve never gotten worked up about peanut butter in my life, but Grandpa Witmer has changed all that.  I can hardly wait  for another chance to lubricate that rod.

tradition, part 2

We’re adding to our Christmas traditions yearly, but the longest-standing and certainly one of the most meaningful to me is our Christmas Eve dinner, which we’ve done for 8 years now, sometimes as a company affair and sometimes simply with family.

Throughout the year we say a blessing before dinner with our girls. Its precise wording and content shift according to mood or season, but the end remains constant: “… and we think of those who don’t have as much as we do.”

So on Christmas Eve we put our mouths around that in a tangible way as well, sitting down to a repast of beans and rice — in solidarity with the millions for whom one or the other, or perhaps both, constitutes the whole of their daily diet.

It’s a meal that makes me happy. Not to mention ready, on Christmas Day, to enjoy a major holiday sit-down spread.