Archive Page 8

busted

Published March 12, 2012 pig brain 8 Comments
I bought my garlic press in 1991. I know. I still have the receipt. Saving receipts and manuals in an orderly fashion is a behavior that my father ingrained in me long ago. I can put my fingers on just about any piece of documentation for most of my purchases in about 2.3 seconds. Even for items I no longer own. Scary, I admit. And I have to say that this new era of electronic, online purchasing is putting a real crimp in my system. But I figure someone out there is somehow saving it all for me now. In fact, I have no doubt they are saving more about me than I care to know.
I chose my press for it’s simplicity. It is solid stainless and fairly sleek. If you ask me, there is nothing worse than a plasticy, clunky kitchen gadget. But what ultimately sold me on my press is that it is German made. And if you want something to really last, get a German to make it for you. Yet another belief instilled upon me by my father.
Truth be told, I don’t actually use my garlic press that often. Generally I prefer to crush whole cloves with the blade of a chef’s knife, mash it up a bit, and add it to the pan that way. But if I’m using the garlic raw, or adding it to a dressing, I’ll pull out the press. So the other night, when I was making a simple vinaigrette to drizzle over a roasted beet salad, out came the trusty German press.
My subjects were all lined up on the cutting board and things were moving along nicely. But when I got to the third clove, something bad happened. That nice pressure you get when pressing down on a clove disappeared. Things went limp. And when I pulled my hands apart, they came away with a handle in each. Busted. Who knew you could snap a handle off a stainless steel garlic press?
No worries, I thought. I’ve got the receipt! I dug it out after dinner, but there was no discernible warranty information attached to it. The small cooking store I purchased it from is no longer in business. Surprised by the price I paid for it, I decided the busted press was worth pursuing. I googled the company – ZACK – but didn’t turn up much. The next day I made a call the headquarters of ZACKusa in Hollywood, Florida. I’m still not entirely sure what language the receptionist was speaking. It wasn’t German, and I’m fairly certain it wasn’t Spanish. All I can say is that it was one heck of an awkward conversation. But we finally agreed on a three words: broken, e-mail, photo. I was to e-mail a photo of the broken garlic press.
I did as instructed, but in retrospect, I’m not sure what my e-mail was meant to accomplish. That part of the conversation was a little bit vague. It’s been a few days and I haven’t heard anything back. I put my sad looking press back in the drawer, just for old time sake. I’m still hopeful something will come of it, but I also accept that it might just remain an expensive, busted, non-replaceable garlic press.
And that’s okay. I’m comfortable with “it is what it is” theory. My eyeball has taught it to me in a really big way. Again, and again, and again. I’ve written about my eye before, and unfortunately, things remain dire. I am heading back to the University of Minnesota this week for another surgery. Maybe this one will be the ticket. Or maybe it won’t. But if nothing else, my eye has given me the gift to accept things for what they are. Which is not to say I give in. That’s different. I still do my research, and I ask loads of questions. I put forth a big effort. And I do my best to stay positive. But when I’ve done all that, and my eye still feels busted – well, so be it. It is what it is.
It’s nice to at least try and apply this attitude to other aspects of my life. The business of letting go has never come easily for me. I tend to dwell. But I’m learning, bit by bit. And I welcome the overwhelming relief that comes with true acceptance.

false hope

Published March 7, 2012 bee yard 4 Comments
Tags: ,
Well, the Lake Superior snow belt finally lived up to its name. Northern Wisconsin got dumped on last week. Which is a good thing because my skiing record this year has been abysmal. So with almost 2 feet of new powder on the ground and temperatures in the 20’s, there was no way I could resist when my husband Mark invited me on a ski date. We headed out to a nearby trail system and conditions were prime. As we dipped down to follow a meandering creek bed, I wondered why I hadn’t been out skiing every day, despite the lousy winter weather we’ve had this year.
It was, by all accounts, a perfect ski. We met a handful of friends out on the trails and arrived back at the car in great spirits. As we loaded the skis, Mark noticed the 2 snow shovels I had snuck in the car. “How about we go visit my girls?” I asked as casually as I could.
My bee hives happen to be located just across the road from the trailhead. It’s a heck of a story as to why my bees live there and not at my house, but it involves learning that Mark is incredibly allergic to honeybee venom. We discovered this, quite by accident, one summer afternoon almost five years ago. But I’m happy to report that two shots of epinephrine, several IV bags of benadryl, a night in the hospital, a course of prednisone, and 71 allergy shots later, Mark could, in theory, handle a sting without going into anaphylactic shock. This is why, if you have ever gotten a jar of honey from me, it is labeled “honey to die for.” I couldn’t help myself.
So it is on very rare occasion that I ask my husband out to the bee yard. Conditions have to be perfectly awful. Blizzards, ice storms, miserable 40ºF rainy nights when there is barely enough light to see by, you get the idea. And I’ll only ask if I really, truly need his help. Mark is brilliant with knots, and fencers, and fence lines. Sadly these things are not in my skill set. I am, however, very adept at holding a flashlight on miserable 40ºF rainy nights when there is barely enough light to see by.
I love my husband.

I knew my girls would be buried after the storm. Snow doesn’t hurt them, but it is important to keep an upper and lower entrance open and clear to allow for good airflow throughout the hive. Moisture is a bee’s worst winter enemy. I also like to keep my electric fence shoveled out after big heavy snows. The weight of the snow creates extra slack in the lines, and eventually it will mean I need to plead with Mark to come out on a miserable 40ºF rainy night when there is barely enough light to see by to shore the lines up. I take prevention seriously.
Surely I could shovel them out on my own, but I knew the two of us together would make much faster work of it. Plus, we were right there. I promised Mark I’d take the hives and he could just work the fence perimeter. I also assured him that no bee in her right mind would be venturing out. Fortunately I was right on both accounts. In retrospect, I  probably could have gotten by with a quick clean-up. It looks like the spring thaw is already on it’s way. We got seven days of winter, anyway.
I stayed with my girls for a moment after Mark left to hike back to the car. Spring might be just around the corner, but sitting there in all of that snow made it hard to imagine the first dandelions blooming or looking up to find the maples bursting with pollen. I haven’t opened up my hives for a spring inspection yet, but I know that things are already bustling inside. My two queens have most likely started laying spring brood. Which means there will be more mouths to feed. And soon the girls will be venturing out daily for cleansing flights and food source checks.
So it won’t be long before I step in and play mother nature – offering pails of sweet sugar water and a mock pollen substitute. It’s a fine line as to when to get involved though. I want my bees to make it as long as they can on their own. Because adding a nectar source (albeit a fake one) right in their hives will get them even more fired up and eager for a spring flow. So I’m careful not to give them too much false hope. I know just how many long weeks it will be before that dandelion blooms. But as I got up and brushed the snow off, I smiled. I have a hunch they know too.

pass the butter

Published March 4, 2012 bread, crackers & sandwiches , pig slop , rise and shine 5 Comments
Tags: , ,

Still searching for ways to climb out of my recent breakfast rut, I’ve been on the lookout for ideas. I knew I was on to something when I stumbled across the exotic sounding ontbijtkoek – a Dutch spice bread. There are three things that immediately caught me attention. 1) Ontbijtkoek is traditionally made with rye flour. 2) It also involves honey. I love baking recipes that use honey – especially when it is combined with rye. You might as well just pass me the butter right now. 3) It literally translates to “breakfast cake.” Sign me up.

Other selling points include that it calls for a healthy dose of my favorite winter-warmers: cinnamon, nutmeg, cardamom, and clove. Plus there’s fact that it’s quick. And dish friendly. One mixing bowl, one spatula, one loaf pan. Of course I had to complicate things by baking mine in three little mini-loaf pans. They’re so cute, I couldn’t resist. I rationalized that it would be handy to stick a loaf or two into the freezer for future breakfast pick-me-ups.

I learned from Wikipedia that several parts of The Netherlands have their own local recipe, of which the most famous is “oudewijvenkoek,” a variety that is mostly eaten in the northern regions. Oudewijvenkoek translates to “old hag’s cake” – which I found amusing, but a little more research taught me that it is traditionally flavored with aniseed. I wasn’t sure I wanted to go there for breakfast. Too licoricey.

I found a handful of recipes for ontbijtkoek and ended up taking the bits and pieces I liked best from each to make my own version. Apologies to the Dutch if I have gone and ruined their traditional breakfast cake in doing so. But this much I can tell you – it is perfect with a strong cup of coffee. It’s chewy and warm and toasty. But don’t limit it to breakfast. Try it for elevenses and afternoon tea too. It’s marvelous lightly toasted with a spread of cold butter. Or if you want to get especially European about it, try it topped with a mild chev. Now there’s a combination that will send the breakfast blues packin’.

Ontbijtkoek (Breakfast Cake)

1 1/2 cups light rye flour
1/2 cup flour
3 teaspoons of baking powder
2 teaspoons of cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon of ginger
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
3/4 cup honey
1/4 cup black strap molasses
3/4 cup milk
pinch of salt

Combine the dry ingredients together in a large mixing bowl. Make a well in the center and add in the liquid ingredients. Stir until just combined. Pour into a greased loaf pan and bake in a 300ºF oven for 50 – 80 minutes, depending on the size of your pan(s). This is a moist bread, so you really want to be sure it is completely cooked through. Serve warm or lightly toasted with butter or chev. Makes one loaf, or 2 -3 mini lovaes.

hot cakes

Published February 24, 2012 pig slop , rise and shine 3 Comments
Tags: , ,
I live in northern Wisconsin. Which means I live with no less than six months of winter. Truly, if I had it my way, I think I’d hole up and hibernate with the neighborhood black bears. But, no. It’s become pretty clear that no one else up here on the south shore of Lake Superior seems to share my sentiments. In fact, sometimes the winter months feel as jam packed as summer. Go ahead. Burst my bubble. I’ll do my best to embrace it.

The craziness kicks off with Santa and Mrs. Claus arriving on the Madeline Island Ferry. And then there’s the Apostle Islands Sled Dog Race – a 2 day dog filled affair, followed by the Blue Moon Ball with the 20-piece Big Woods Band. We barely have time to catch our breath before the Book Across the Bay – a 10k ski race across Superior’s iced over Chequmegon Bay. Frozen beach parties, trips across the ice road to the Island, maple sugaring, snowshoeing. It never ends.

But the winter event that I have come to appreciate most is the Drummond Bar Stool Races. This is exactly what it sounds like. Every year, dozens and dozens of grown adults gather on the third Saturday in February to race bar stools mounted onto skis down a man-made hill. Welcome to northern Wisconsin. Laugh if you will, but people take this event seriously. Listen carefully in the crowd and you’ll overhear people discussing snow conditions, wax choices, barstool aerodynamics, test runs, and pushing strategies.
Barstool teams consist of two people – a rider and a pusher. A stoplight at the top of the hill gives pushers the cue to propel their rider down the hill. It doesn’t take long to discern that the best strategy is to have a pusher with some weight and brawn paired with a slim built rider. Shortly into our first time spectating, my husband leaned over and said “If we ever compete – you’re riding.” It’s been five years, and we still haven’t had the gumption to register.
Notice how the pusher (in white) in the right hand lane has gone into an all-out belly slide? Notice how the rider in the right lane has caught some air?
This particular third Saturday in February was a gorgeous, sunny 28º F day. I might have even gotten my recommended daily allowance of vitamin D. For whatever reason though, the course and conditions boasted an unprecedented amount of crashes and ties. It was a highly entertaining race.
The barstool races have become a tradition for Mark and I, and we generally make a day of it – kicking things off with a hearty breakfast at the Delta Diner. The Delta Diner is an authentic roadside diner located in the heart of Delta, Wisconsin. Which means it is located in the heart of nowhere. But it is worth the trip. Really. Check your GPS. If you are within an hour (maybe even two) of Delta, make the detour.
Owner and cook Todd Bucher provides a gastronomical experience that is unforgettable. Breakfasts are out of this world – including a thoroughly refreshing Mexican Eggs Benny. Add a side of crunchy hash browns and you won’t need to eat for the rest of the day.  Also offered up are traditional blue plate specials, old-fashioned  malts, fish-frys and specialty burgers. Todd and his wife Nina make a point of using as many local ingredients as they can find. Could it get any better?
One of the house specialties is thin, Norwegian style pancakes. And while it’s not officially on the menu, if you ask for “hot cakes” Todd will throw a handful of chopped jalapeños onto your cakes. Brilliant! I have dreams about these pancakes. The tang of hot meeting sweet is so amazingly perfect. Why have I not thought of this before?
And so it is that I have Todd to thank for my latest kitchen inspiration – Jalapeño Cornmeal Waffles. I took my favorite waffle recipe (clipped from somewhere long ago), substituted cornmeal for part of the flour and added a healthy handful of chopped jalepeños to the batter. And whoo-eee did they ever surpass my expectations! The cornmeal offers a perfect nutty crunch to the jalapeños. Winter does have it’s perks. And zingy waffles on a Wednesday night is one of them.
Jalepaño Cornmeal Waffles

1/2 cup flour
1/2 cup cornmeal
3 tablespoons cornstarch (for extra crunch)
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
3/4 cup buttermilk
1/4 cup milk
6 tablespoons canola oil
1 egg, separated
1 scant tablespoon sugar
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
handful of chopped jalapeños (fresh or pickled)

Mix dry ingredients in a medium bowl. Separate egg, and reserve the white in a small bowl. Mix the yolk with the rest of the wet ingredients in a 2-cup measuring cup or bowl. Beat the egg white with a hand mixer until soft peaks form. Sprinkle in sugar and continue to beat until glossy. Beat vanilla into the egg white.
Pour the wet ingredients into the dry and mix until just incorporated. Gently fold in egg white and jalapeños, but do not over mix!
Add batter to hot waffle iron and cook until golden brown and crisp.
Makes 2 full sized Belgian waffles.

fill me

Published February 17, 2012 pig slop , rise and shine 5 Comments
Tags: ,

I’ve been in a breakfast rut lately. Maybe it’s the mid-winter doldrums. I mull around the kitchen, open the fridge, peer into the pantry, but nothing really jumps out at me. Except for this past week. This past week there was left over Valentine cupcakes. And yes. I have a weakness for cake. Especially when it involves breakfast. But, like all good things, the cupcakes came to an end. Which is probably just as well. Bikini season is just around the corner.

This morning though, I realized the source of my problem. The granola jar has been empty for weeks. I’m not exactly sure why. We almost always have granola on hand. But there it was, empty as could be, staring me in the face. “Fill me” it whispered. And so I did.
I have several granola recipes, but I tend to latch on to certain ones for long spells, making them over and over again – ignoring all other contenders. Among past pet favorites is a version loaded with toasty cinnamon. My friend Cari introduced me to it on a backpacking trip and I was immediately smitten. Three tablespoons of cinnamon takes the chill out of the morning air like nobody’s business. Before that it was a fruit laden number that I adapted from Bon Appétit. But my new, all-time, number one favorite, is a subtle, seedy affair with coconut and honey. It has stayed in rotation longer than any other.
The recipe originated from sort of an odd source – the Anti-Inflammation Diet and Recipe Book, by an N.D. named Jessica Black. The subtitle beckons “Protect Yourself and Your Family from Heart Disease, Arthritis, Diabetes, Allergies – and More.” I picked it up a few years ago for the “and More” claim. Hopefully to help slow the progression of irreversible inflammatory glaucoma in my eye.
I have to admit that I didn’t have terribly high expectations for the recipes, but I have been pleasantly surprised with everything I have tried. If nothing else, the book is an interesting read. Black does an easy job of explaining the three different families of prostaglandins (fatty acids) found in foods. Two types (PGE1 and PGE3) are “good” and the other (PGE2) is a “not so good” pro-inflammatory type. Naturally, the book focuses on recipes with foods that are high in camps 1 and 3.
But good or bad prostaglandins aside, this granola is a winner. I love that it uses honey for the sweet and coconut oil for the fat. Two of my favorite ingredients. (If the thought of raw coconut oil scares you, I urge you to do a little research. It’s an amazing fat that has gotten an unfair bad rap for way too long.) The light, subtle coconut flavor matches perfectly with the oats. This is an understated granola but its flavor and texture are spot on. And who knows, maybe it really will help protect us and and our families from all the nasties out there. Who can argue with that?
Granola with a Conscious
(Adapted from Anti-Inflammation Diet and Recipe Book)

6 cups raw oats
1 1/4 cups unsweetened flaked coconut
1 cup chopped almonds
1 cup raw pumpkin seeds
1/2 cup sesame seeds
1/2 cup honey
1/2 cup coconut oil

Mix all of the dry ingredients together in a large bowl. Gently heat the honey and coconut oil to a liquid. Pour over dry ingredients and mix well. Press into a parchment lined baking sheet and bake in a 325º F oven to your desired level of toastedness, 20-40 minutes. Store in an airtight container. (Milk, incidentally is high in PGE2, which means if reducing inflammatory foods is your goal, you should serve this with a milk substitute such a rice milk or almond milk.)

burst of life

Published January 24, 2012 bee yard 4 Comments
Tags: ,

In a perfect world, my schedule aligns itself such that I have a little time to kick around in the kitchen on any given Sunday. It doesn’t matter when or what I cook – waffles for breakfast, an afternoon batch of cookies, a pot of soup for later in the week. Anything will do really. There’s just something about lazing around the kitchen on Sunday that feels very right.

This past Sunday though, I did an entirely different kind of cooking. My kitchen looked more like a science lab than a food prep zone. I even fished out the fire extinguisher from behind the woodpile and familiarized myself with its operation – just in case. Sunday marked an annual event that is one of my favorite activities. Rendering beeswax.

The best time to clean beeswax, in my experience, is in the dead of winter when it is grey and lifeless and the thermometer can barely get itself above 0ºF. Here’s why. When you finally get all of your containers of miscellaneous wax rounded up and pull that lid off of your old Folger’s wax can, you will be instantaneously met with a burst of life. Brace yourself, because it’s going to smell like the sweetest, most gentle summer day you can imagine. And if you’re not ready for it, it can be confusing – all of a sudden feeling like you’ve just come in, barefoot, with a fistful of perfect sweet pea blooms. Reality will eventually settle back in, but you should run with your summery fantasy for as long as you can.

I’ve always had a penchant for wax – especially hot wax. As a kid, I used to get scolded at fancy dinners for dipping all ten of my fingers, one by one, into the little pools of hot candle wax. A crime I’m still guilty of as an adult. I’m pretty sure I got a stern glance across the table just this past Thanksgiving. Cheap thrills, I know, but love the feel of the wax as it cools and forms to my fingertips. Needless to say, when the day comes where I get to boil down a little cauldron full of wax, I feel like a kid in a candy shop.

My biggest haul of wax comes during honey harvest time in late summer. Before each frame of honey can be extracted, the thin layer of wax that protects and seals in the honey needs to be scraped off with a heated knife – called an uncapping knife. And what you’re left with (coincidentally) is a pile of “cappings.” I scrape this sticky mess, residual honey and all, into containers and store them away for a less busy time. I also get wax from rouge bits of comb that my girls build throughout the summer. To keep their hives more orderly, I scrape off the comb from areas where it doesn’t belong (at least in my humble opinion) and add it to my wax can.

The process of rendering wax is pretty cool – even if you aren’t a wax fiend. Essentially, the wax needs to be cleaned of any debris, residual honey, bee dirt, etc. This is done by scraping all of the wax bits and honey-laden cappings into a big pot with a bit of water in it. This messy concoction is slowly heated to the wax melting point (180ºF) over a double boiler. Here’s where the potential for a fire extinguisher comes in. It would take a catastrophic spill, but molten wax is scarily flammable, so I figure a little preparedness goes a long way.

After the pot is removed from the heat, the wax floats to the top as it cools while the water and most of the debris settles out below. Once it is completely cooled, a neat little wax disc can be popped right out of the pot. The slag and scummy water get tossed into the compost pile. The process is then repeated, only with no water added the second time around. The final melted wax is strained through cheesecloth as it’s poured into a mold. What results is clean, smooth, sweet-smelling wax in the most lovely shade of pale yellow. It’s plain gorgeous. And pretty amazing when you consider all of the hundreds of hours of bee energy that went into creating it.

So what do I do with all of my beeswax – besides dipping my fingers into it? I dabble a bit with making lotion bars and lip balm. I keep a bar in the kitchen drawer for odd household maintenance tricks. And I’ve turned out some pretty crude looking candles. But my most favorite thing is to simply hold it. I keep a chunk at my desk to remind myself of bigger things. Things more real than all my little day to day trifles. Something way more powerful than my triumphs. Some ancient force that is buried deep within. And it works. Because when I press that piece of cool wax against my cheek and inhale, I can remember.

easing up

Published January 16, 2012 odds and ends , pig slop 5 Comments
Tags: ,

I have a new addiction. And I’m pleased to say that it is not NyQuil – though for a while there, that magical green liquid was in a tight race for second. But no, my new crush is something much more wholesome and liver-friendly. Puzzling. This isn’t a particularly new pastime for me – my husband Mark and I always tackle a jigsaw over the Christmas holiday, and sometimes we’ll break one out during a rainy stretch. But lately, I seem to be on a mad puzzling streak.

True to form, Mark and I kicked off the season this year with a rather tricky Monster’s Inc. puzzle – an affair that involved way too much blue monster fur. Still, it was Mike and Sully and therefore hard to resist. Nevertheless, I handily packed it up to pass on, ready to reclaim our table. But then I surprised myself by pulling out another puzzle. And then another. And there is still one more waiting on the shelf.

At first I thought it was just a way to pass the time while I was sick and under the weather. I’m still not running at 100 percent, but I’ve definitely turned the corner. Only my puzzling habit hasn’t let up accordingly. And now I’m starting to realize it for what it truly is – pure escapism. Ten minutes over coffee, extended lunch breaks here and there, and squandering away valuable kitchen time “just until I find that one piece.” Mark has even doled out a few mandatory puzzling sentences if I’m worked up or fretting about something. And let me tell you, it works!

My Grandpa Milt was a puzzler. He often had a special card table set up to accommodate his 1000 piece forays. I’d eagerly sit down to help, but it was never too long before I lost interest. I remember wondering what the point was. But now, after all these years, I finally get it. The point is to sit down at your table and disappear into a world of colors and shapes and textures. I love running my hand over the completed sections and feeling the smooth cardboard beneath my fingertips. The beauty of puzzling is that it lets my brain shut off while still maintaing a nice level of concentration. That’s a good mix – and hard to come by sometimes.

So I guess my addiction isn’t all bad, late dinners aside. But I should share how I kicked my NyQuil habit. After about my fourth or fifth dose I was eager to find a better and safer solution to the cough that had settled uncomfortably deep into my lungs. And so I tried a home remedy that has been scrawled in the back of one of my cookbooks for years. I was skeptical at first, so I made up just a quarter batch (I could care less about tossing out a little whiskey, but wasting a cup of honey – now that’s just foolish!) I took a few swigs of my concoction during an explosive coughing spell, and sure enough, I could almost instantly feel my lungs and chest easing up. Another shot before bed sent me straight to sleep. The next day I made a full recipe.

I used raw honey, which simply means it has not been processed or heated. But I think any honey would have the same soothing effect. I also forewent the schnapps, but in retrospect, I think it would have been a lovely taste enhancer. I stored my syrup in a glass canning jar with a lid at room temperature. I’m sure it has a pretty decent storage life, but after a certain point, I think it would probably be better just to start fresh.

Paw Paw’s Cough Syrup

1 cup whiskey
1/4 cup peppermint schnapps
1 cup liquid honey
2 lemons

Squeeze lemons into honey and add whiskey and peppermint schnapps. Stir until throughly mixed, shake if needed. Sip until your coughing troubles leave (or you just don’t care anymore).

denial

Published January 6, 2012 pig slop , soups & stews 5 Comments
Tags: ,

Never try to outsmart your immune system. It just doesn’t work. I know this, but it still didn’t stop me from trying to fool myself. I’m not really sick, I decided. I’ll just take a few extra vitamin C, drink more fluids and get on with things. Well the joke’s on me. Because this week, I really am sick. There’s no foolin’ no one.

I spent the bulk of the week on the couch with one large orange cat and one small orange dog piled on top of me, box of Puffs within easy reach. My beverage of choice was what I refer to as a “juice cocktail” – a concoction from my youth of half orange, half 7-up, over ice, ideally served with a bendy straw. Between cocktails I alternated with plenty of water and green tea spiked with lemon and honey.
I washed my hands approximately 83 times a day. I know because I had to either heat up or get hot water from the wood stove every time. It gets old after about the forty-second time. To appease myself, I spent a considerable amount of time online (who knew there are so many choices?!) picking out a faucet for our soon-to-be new house. A faucet from which hot and cold water will freely flow. The thought of it gives me chills. Or maybe that’s just my fever coming back.
My appetite waned considerably throughout the week. That’s got to be one of the biggest drags about being sick. I love getting hungry and dreaming about all the amazing things I could eat to satiate myself. This week though, when it came to food, all I thought about was a sleeve of saltines and a rather zingy soup. I didn’t eat much, but I made a point to have a small bowl of soup (sans garnishes) each day just to keep something in the tank if nothing else.
I had made a big pot of this soup back in my “I’m not really sick” phase and it’s a good thing. Because it fed us all week long. And it only got better and better. As my friend Andy says, sometimes a soup just needs to linger in the pot a while in order to really get to know itself. And after a few days, this soup had no questions about who it was. It was a smooth talker – thick and silky. It was pungent and spicy, but mellow at the same time. And it was pure comfort.
I used a semi-hot curry powder homemade by my friends Ulf and Pat. And I intentionally used a lot of it – in hopes of giving my “little cold” a good kick in the pants. I also didn’t shy away from the cayenne. Feel free to use a combination of hot and sweet curry and/or to reduce the amount (though using anything less than 2 teaspoons seems downright silly – it is curry soup after all).

Sweet Potato Curry Soup
(adapted from the North Carolina Cookbook)

2 tablespoons butter
4-5 large shallots (enough to make about 1 cup chopped)
3 stalks celery, finely chopped
2 tablespoons finely grated ginger
1 tablespoon curry powder
1/2 scant teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon cayenne
1/8 teaspoon nutmeg
2-3 pound sweet potatoes, peeled and cut into 1/2 inch chunks
6 cups stock (I used half turkey and half garlic, or chicken would work great too)
1/2 teaspoon thyme
1 bay leaf
1/2 cup milk
sour cream or creme fraiche
roasted peanuts, chopped

Melt the butter in a large soup pot and add the shallots and celery. Cook until tender and lightly browned. Stir in the ginger, and all of the spices except the thyme and bay leaf. Cook, stirring for about a minute. Add the sweet potatoes, stock, thyme and bay leaf. Add salt and pepper to taste. Increase heat and bring soup to a boil. Lower heat to medium-low and let simmer for about 25 minutes, or until the sweet potatoes are tender. Fish out the bay leaf and either transfer soup to a blender in batches, or use an immersion blender to purée the soup. Stir in the milk and serve, garnished with a dollop of sour cream and crushed peanuts.

anticipation

Published December 31, 2011 pig slop , sauces, salsas, preserves Leave a Comment
Tags: , ,

Well, I suppose it’s inevitable. When you’re burning the candle at both ends, it’s only a matter of time before you’re immune system gets fed up and throws in the towel. Which is why both my brother (guilty of the same offense) and I spent Christmas day battling over the kleenex box and discussing the merits of liquid DayQuil versus gel caps. (I prefer the ease of the caps, he finds the liquid soothing on his throat. But we both agree the liquid kicks in faster). Tim had it worse than I did, so I really can’t complain. But still, being even a little sick on Christmas is a drag.

Blame my cold or the NyQuil induced fog, but I’m sad to say my camera barely made it out of my bag this Christmas. Which is too bad, because my family has recently started a tradition of a fonduing for Christmas dinner. Talk about a photo op. As it is though, you’re just going to have to image the piles of bright peppers, the perfectly browned-bubbly Raclette cheese, the itty-bitty zucchinis, the mounds of sausages and shrimp, and the lemon slices daintily bobbing in a silver pot of steaming broth.
This year my mom went all out. She did away with the old avocado green Goodwill fondue pots and upgraded to a cast enamel flame pot for oil, an electric pot for broth, and a fancy Raclette grill for cheese. As we cooked and ate, my mom explained the traditional Swiss method of heating an entire wheel of Raclette cheese and scraping slices directly onto plates of steamed potatoes, cornichons and onions.
The modern-day Raclette setup allows individual slices of cheese to broil underneath a grill of hot vegetables. Each diner gets a handsome little scraper to slide their bubbly cheese onto their plate. Keeping in the true spirit of things, we served our cheese atop fingerling potatoes, onions, and pickles. And let me tell you, the Swiss have this flavor combination figured out! The cornichons in particular we’re such an amazing taste perk. It certainly woke up my cold-ridden taste buds.
As for the standard fondue, we always do a pot of sizzling oil for meats, but we’ve also experimented with a few different broths. We’ve come to favor a ginger infused chicken broth. It’s a lovely cooking medium for broccoli, pea pods, mushrooms, and cauliflower. And my personal favorite is plump sea scallops simmered in the ginger broth with a side of Asian dipping sauce. It’s a combination I look forward to all year. That’s what I love about traditions – the anticipation.
Best wishes to you and yours for a bright new year ahead!
Ginger Fondue Broth

4 cups chicken stock
2/3 cup white wine OR 1/4 cup rice vinegar
4 lemon slices
2 large cloves garlic, minced
3 – 4 tablespoons minced ginger
2 teaspoons sugar

Combine stock, wine, lemon slices, garlic ginger and sugar in a saucepan. Just before serving heat to simmer and transfer to a warm fondue pot. Adjust heat to maintain a simmer while fonduing. Wonderful with veggies and seafood.

Spicy Asian Dipping Sauce 

1 1/4 cups granulated sugar
1/2 cup rice wine vinegar
1 lemon zested and juiced
1 tablespoon soy sauce
1 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons fish sauce
2 teaspoons minced ginger
2 teaspoons minced garlic
1 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes
1-2 tablespoons grated carrots
1-2 tablespoon chopped cilantro

In small saucepan over medium heat, combine the sugar, vinegar, lemon zest and juice, soy sauce, salt, fish sauce, ginger and garlic.  Bring to a boil, stirring often.  Reduce heat to a simmer and cook for 5 minutes.  Pour  into serving dish and add the crushed red pepper flakes.  Allow sauce to cool completely before adding the carrots and cilantro. (For a smoother texture, strain the sauce as you pour it into the bowl.) Makes about 1 cup.

angry chef

Published December 4, 2011 pig brain 5 Comments
Tags: ,

I guess it’s a good sign. Thanksgiving is a week gone by and I’m still thinking about it. Things kicked off with a blessed 5 day break from school and homework. Five WHOLE days. That right there could have made my week. But it only got better.

I got two feasts instead of one (turkey and roasted salmon). I read half of a novel on the couch. I watched Charlie Brown’s Thanksgiving with my friend Dave and his five year-old daughter Ede Mo. I drank some seriously good wine. I blew the dust off of my camera. I took great joy in watching our dog Earl toil endlessly with his new and energetic dog cousin, Lamar – a 7 month old basset hound/Australian cattle dog mix (truly a genetic miracle). And our house builders took the week off for deer hunting. Which means I didn’t have to think about what color the soffit should be, or where the chimney for the wood stove will vent. Three cheers for mini-breaks.

But my hands down 2011 Thanksgiving highlight was an impromptu, made up game of “Angry Chef” with my nieces, Sylvie and Eve. Sylvie concocted the game out of her wonderful ten-year-old imagination. The rules evolved effortlessly as we played. Two contestants donned aprons and toques while the “Angry Chef” doled out whacky menus for each to prepare. A banana smoothie with a lobster sandwich and a side of fries. French toast served up with a cheeseburger and fruit salad. And boy did the Chef put the pressure on. Whew!
I was genuinely dismayed when I was called away into the “real” kitchen to help get dinner on the table. The Angry Chef’s kitchen was so much more spirited! The real kitchen, however, turned out much better fare. Crispy, salt-brined kosher turkey, wild rice and mushrooms, roasted garlic with blue cheese, tart cranberries, baked winter squash with a splash of maple, and browned-butter mashed potatoes. Even the crankiest of chef’s would have been pleased.
Midway through the meal, Sylvie proclaimed her excitement for pumpkin pie à la mode. Grandma reasoned that ice cream doesn’t really go on pumpkin pie. To which Sylvie countered “but it goes BY pumpkin pie.” And true to her word, she had her pie with a dollop of whipped cream and a side of vanilla. That’s my girl!
There’s only one thing wrong with mini-breaks. They end. Work deadlines are knocking again. Finals are looming. I fear the rest of the novel will have to wait until Christmas break. And I still haven’t picked the damn soffit color. But you know what? I don’t really care. And it is so refreshing say that! I tend to be an over achiever. But not necessarily in the healthiest of ways. Sure, I don’t want to let my clients down. Yes, I still feel the irrational need to get straight A’s. And of course, I want our new little house to be “practically perfect in every way.”
Still, I’ve been oddly relaxed this week. I’m back in the thick of things, but I’m also anticipating watching Charlie Brown’s Christmas with Dave and Ede. I’m helping Earl practice some moves for the next time he and Lamar meet up in the ring. And I’ve been strategizing how to take on the Angry Chef. Which is evidentially time well spent. Sylvie sent me the following note yesterday: “Maybe next time we’ll try to get to the big kitchen! But I’m not so sure you can beat the chef!” Ouch.
I have a tremendous amount to be thankful for. This year though, I am especially grateful for all the little things last week that woke me up and rekindled my spirit. I’m back on track. The things that matter the most are shinning the brightest.

instapig

No Instagram images were found.