Suzy Says

In the spirit of keeping my new year’s resolutions (if I can’t be part of the 1%, I can at least be part of the 8% who actually keep their resolutions), we had a family dinner on Saturday night.

Like the best things in life, it was something of a communal effort. Megan bought the ingredients after her daily dog walk on Friday, bringing them (the ingredients, not the dogs) to my house along with her bigger than mine pot. Megan tends to have kitchen equipment which is on the epic side due to the endless preservation of garden produce after the endless work of producing it. She also appears to have a wider latitude in chili production as well, since she asked me if I wanted to put in broccoli and/or zucchini, the mere suggestion of which I found surprising.

So I made chili ordinaire on Friday afternoon: ground turkey; crushed tomatoes; black, pinto, and kidney beans; garlic; onions; red bell pepper; chili powder and cumin. Oh, and a dash of sugar – it brings out the tomato flavor. I also took some butter out of the freezer to thaw for garlic bread.

On Saturday, I was driving home from the jobette in the misty rain when I felt my phone buzz in my pocket. I waited until I had pulled into the driveway and gotten out of the way of any incoming neighbors to check it, and I had a text from Megan asking if I wanted her to come over and start on the garlic bread.

Arriving at my humble abode, I found Megan in the kitchen peeling garlic and the chili (original typo here was “child”. Hee!) slowly warming up on the stove. I try not to think about how many days/weeks/years of my life I have spent peeling garlic, and it was nice to be spared the peeling and chopping. Megan was displeased by the job she did cutting the loaf of bread for garlic bread, reminding me of how my paternal grandfather always declared that women could not cut bread. It was good enough for me, though, and apparently for everyone else, too.

Dave and Jennifer, my sibs’ land partners, arrived shortly before Jonathan did, and even Rob made a special guest appearance. We all enjoyed the chili and garlic bread while catching up on each other’s lives and discussing the news. Audrey deigned to be petted while Clyde made his displeasure clear when his dinner failed to appear. Roscoe failed to appear until all the guests had left and the cats’ dinner was served, which is what he usually does. He’s not much for parties.

Jonathan’s new year’s resolution is to get us better prepared for an earthquake. He feels we are overdue for one, and if we all invest a little money, he can store enough food and water to keep us going for a couple of weeks. He has a “Seal a Meal” thing which can be used to seal food like rice and pasta while it’s still in boxes and/or plastic bags, and then put them in 50 gallon drums for safe keeping. There’s a well and water storage tank over at the property, and the electricity there is all off the grid, so we should be able to get by.

Not to be a crazy survivalist or anything, but it’s good to be ready just in case. I’ll be glad to help him keep his resolution. And so far, everyone is glad to help me keep mine.

A YEAR AGO: Stella makes a (temporary) break for it.

It’s a wild and stormy Christmas Eve. Reports are that the power is out at home, and a call to my friends at the PG&E Outage Line gave me the sad information that it may be “extended” due to many outages. So far this seems to be worse than the storm that wasn’t, though it’s supposed to pass through quickly. Maybe it was speeding.

Fortunately, my oven is gas, and my brother is smoking the ham over the BBQ all day tomorrow, so we can still have Christmas dinner. On my way to the jobette yesterday, I stopped at the grocery store in the Village and bought two pieces of Gruyere. Nothing more, nothing less. The clerk looked at me quizzically and asked “Having a craving?” I explained that I needed it for cheese biscuits and that there was no substitute, and there isn’t.

Last night, I put all the Christmas stockings together, an undertaking that required a glass or two of wine, a realization I came to after completing the first one. Stockings always have a quarter and a tangerine in the toe and a candy cane at the top, and contain a couple of little gifts – like the guitar pick made from a quarter and a gift card for the coffee shop in the Village for Rob* – and this year I had the bright idea of wrapping these, which made the process longer. The rest is candy and silly things like cap guns. We exchange Christmas stockings instead of gifts, and I love that tradition.

Tomorrow, even if the power is out, I will roast the pears for the salad and make the dressing for the salad, and make my world famous cheese biscuits. At some point before noon, I will bring the ham, a bottle of cider and one of Jack Daniel’s to my brother’s place, where he will make his fabulous glaze for the ham and smoke it all day over apple wood.

Erica and Jessica were planning to come over early in the day to watch Christmas movies and the Rockettes, but it may be board games and sparkling conversation instead. Stay tuned!

Update: Power is back on, the sun is shining, and all systems are go! Merry Christmas to all of you!

*I have no concerns about him reading this, since he has never had an email address or belonged to Facebook or done anything on line other than look for tools.

A YEAR AGO: Working hard? Or hardly working?

I came home from a long day at the jobette on Tuesday to find Rob and his power tools hard at work in the bathroom, installing the extractor fan. In order for him to do that, I had to move things around in the storage loft above the bathroom, and remove a box of my father’s letters.

I made the mistake of glancing at one or two of them, dated just weeks before his sudden death, and was overwhelmed with emotion and choked up with tears. I stowed the box under the stairs, marvelling that thirteen years after we lost him, the grief can still be so fresh. Audrey promptly sat on the box, perhaps saving me from myself.

In a Dad-like manner, I turned my attention to dinner, trying out a new recipe for pho, a Vietnamese soup.

Needless to say, I took serious liberties with the original recipe, partly because it uses beef, which I don’t eat, and partly because that’s just the way I am.

Here’s the original recipe. I skipped the first part and substituted two cans of Campbell’s chicken broth (there is no substitute for Campbell’s, though it is a little salty) and two cans of water. I poached two boneless, skinless chicken breasts in the broth along with the spices. I cut down on the cinnamon and skipped the star anise. Also left out the salt due to the Campbell”s, and used about a teaspoonful of brown sugar in place of rock sugar.

As for the garlic-chili oil, I used about a quarter teaspoon of red pepper flakes, since food should come in hot, medium, mild, and Suzy, and stepped up the sesame oil, because I love it.

I poured the soup through a colander into a smaller pot, then cut up the chicken and returned it to the broth. I brought the broth up to a simmer and added the rice noodles instead of pre-soaking, etc., and cooked for about 15 minutes. I served it with lime wedges, chopped cilantro, bean sprouts, and chopped green onions.

It was magically delicious.

On Dad’s birthday, I woke up in the 4:00 darkness. I tried to go back to sleep, but gave up around 5:00 and just got up. Sleeping is not something my family does well, and once we’re awake, that’s pretty much it. I was hoping to sleep in, since it was Sunday and one of the few days when I don’t have to get up in darkness and keep the fretful cats in until it’s light enough for the monsters to punch out and go home for the day, but it was not to be.

I used the extra time to do some cooking, which only seems right on Dad’s birthday. I made broth and then I made soup out of the broth, and also put together spaghetti sauce. I often make dishes on Sunday that I can just heat up during the week. For dinner that night, I made fresh snapper escabèche, a new recipe for me, but one I will definitely make again. Here it is:

Spiced Escabèche
(Sautéed Snapper in Citrus Vinaigrette)

For the sauce:

1 teaspoon ground cumin
1 teaspoon ground coriander seeds
1/4 cup olive oil
Zest and juice of a lime
2 green onions, sliced
1/2 cup fresh cilantro, minced
Cayenne pepper to taste

For the fish:

1/2 cup flour
1 tablespoon chili powder
Cayenne pepper to taste
4 snapper fillets
5-6 tablespoons olive oil

Blend together ingredients for sauce and set aside.

Mix together flour, chili powder, and cayenne and place on large plate. Dredge fillets in flour mixture.

Heat oil in large, heavy skillet over moderately high high until hot but not smoking. Sauté fish until golden brown, about 5 minutes a side.

Arrange fillets on plate and pour sauce on top.

I had broccoli and pine nut couscous with it, not quite a menu meal, but I think Dad would have approved.

The secret to surviving Thanksgiving – as with most things – is to plan ahead and prepare as much as possible.

The jobette very sweetly gave me yesterday off, so I started off by roasting chestnuts (for stuffing) and pears (for the salad). While they were roasting, I dug up potatoes from the buckets of sand where my brother and sister had stored the ones they grew this summer:

Including the mutant voodoo doll potato:

Then I made cranberry-bourbon relish, once again marveling over how incredibly disgusting booze smells in the morning, as opposed to in the evening. It’s worth it, though, and look how pretty it is in my paternal grandmother’s star dish:

After two loads of dishes and kitchen clean-up, it was time to clean my humble abode. I spent hours de-spider webbing, mopping, vacuuming, etc., and the house looks pretty good:

This Thanksgiving morning, I woke up to sunny skies after a week and several inches of rain. Megan stopped by on her way home from work, bearing more wine and a free-range, organic turkey. Oh, and a hug and a kiss.

I spent this morning chopping up Café Beaujolais sunflower bread and sourdough for stuffing, along with apples, onions, celery, sage, and those damn chestnuts. It took longer than I thought, and I had to use two bowls to hold it. Then I made the salad, putting half of it in my paternal grandmother’s Wedgwood salad bowl and the other in a less picturesque bowl. Then I made the salad dressing and sliced up the pears.

Rob just appeared and removed the old outdoor couch, and we set up a seating area around the outside fireplace (or, you know, the big old rusty thing I burn paper in during the winter):

There will be abut 12 of us, including Erica, Jessica, Jarrett, Lichen, Rose’s daughter Catrin and her new husband Zac, so we’ll need all the room we can get.

The turkey is now roasting merrily away, Jonathan is bringing a lemon tart he made, and Erica is bringing a couple of other pies, so I think we’re all set! Ready, set…

Before Mark left on his East Coast Adventure, he pretty much emptied his refrigerator into mine. Having been brought up with a horror of wasting food by a father who endured stringent rationing both during and after World War II, it was a challenge to come up with a way to use up the motley assortment:

– Slightly tired tomatoes
– Two onions
– A bag of tortillas
– About a dozen limes
– Some tomatillos
– Mysteriously, two bags of pre-made coleslaw mix (cabbage and carrots sliced up)

I used up most of the tomatoes in curried chickpeas, which is also where some of the onions went.

Besides the obvious use for countless limes (vodka and tonics), I used some to marinate shrimp, with ginger, garlic, and coconut milk. And I used some to make salsa with the tomatillos. I have never worked with tomatillos before, but it turns out that it’s pretty easy to make salsa verde. Just chop up the tomatillos, some onion, garlic, cilantro, and jalapeño, throw it in the food processor with some lime juice and sea salt, and purée. Voilà! I’m thinking of making it into chicken enchiladas later this week, which will use up some of the tortillas Mark also gave me. Fortunately, they freeze pretty well.

I’m open to suggestions on what to do with all that shredded cabbage, though!

I realize it’s almost this weekend, and I haven’t told you about last weekend yet. Let’s look back, back…a long time ago, about last Friday.

It was the first farmers’ market of the year, and it was a beautiful, sunny day. The market was less crowded than it will be when summer really begins, and it was nice to wander about in comfort. I picked up a fresh baguette (to go with the black bean soup I had made) and some cherries, the first of the season:

After that, we stopped by the garden center and picked up several bags of chicken manure. Folks, don’t try this at home. I washed my hands six times after helping Megan to load the bags in the back of the truck, and I could still smell it. All the perfumes of Arabia couldn’t sweeten my little hands. Megan laughed at me.

We also got fixin’s for a BBQ the next evening and bought some redwood boards, which was harder than you’d think, especially since we live in the heart of redwood country. But the pretty boards were warped, and the non-warped ones tended to have fatal flaws, like a giant crack or way too many knots in them. We were looking for six 10 foot long boards. The guy at the lumber yard was really helpful, looking through board after board. Finally, we found two decent 10s and some decent 20s, which he cut in half while Megan paid for them. He even cheerfully loaded them into the stinky truck.

Saturday was a magical confluence of festivity: Cinco de Mayo, Star’s fourth birthday, and the 138th Kentucky Derby!

The Derby has to be the best sporting event EVAR. Can you name another one where there is a red carpet with celebrities, fabulous hats, daytime drinking is positively encouraged, and it’s over before even I have a chance to get bored? And then there are the gorgeous, glossy horses and the winner being draped in roses.

This year, the delightfully named I’ll Have Another won at 15-1 odds, the first horse in Derby history to win from post position 19. His jockey, appropriately enough, was 25 year old Mexican native Mario Gutierrez, making a memorable debut at the Derby after winning Santa Anita last month. I bet he had another!

We had expected company for dinner, so Megan and I bought a pork roast which I marinated in lime juice and spices on Friday, thinking it would be a good choice for a crowd to make fajitas. We hadn’t even thought about it being Cinco de Mayo, but it worked out well that way. Birthday girl Star celebrated spending half of her life in love and safety, where she will remain for the rest of her life. She patiently waited for her birthday dinner:

Other than Star, it ended up just being Jonathan, Megan, and me. We slow cooked the pork roast in foil over the coals, then grilled red peppers and rd onions and had it all with salsa in handmade tortillas by the fire as the sun slowly faded over the garden. We talked about the past and the future, sitting in the garden they have worked so hard to create. Looking at the faces of two people I love most in the world, I thought, “I love my life.”

This year was about change: getting the jobette; swimming lessons; having to make peace with driving a lot more. Change is good, right?

One deleterious effect of working more is reading less. I read 118 books in 2011, vs. 140 in 2010. The favorites of the year were Sue Grafton’s “V Is for Vengeance” and Candice Millard’s tour de force, “Destiny of the Republic”.

We are also getting a lot less rain this season. Last year, we totalled about 60 inches (or 153 centimeters), and already had half of that by December 31, 2010. This year, we’ve gotten about 11 inches (28 centimeters) so far. I don’t think I’m going out on a limb here by saying there’s probably a drought in my future. Number of power outages: 3. So far this season: 1, and an early one at that.

It was a great summer, though: lots of sun, little fog, no heat waves.

As far as last year’s resolutions went: not bad. I did a lot of work on the garden, though there are more things I’d like to do, given time and money, always in short supply. I still worry about the cats, and probably always will, to some extent. The loss of the beautiful and beloved June was traumatic, and, as Jessica pointed out to me, I’m a worrier. Maybe I should just embrace my inner (outer?) worrier.

This year’s resolutions are to reinstate Thursday dinners for my overworked sister – they fell by the wayside with the increased busy-ness of my schedule – and to spend more time with my brother when there’s no project to be done or special occasion to be celebrated. I always have a great time with him, but I don’t see him often enough.

And, you know, keep working on the garden and trying to minimize Calamity Suzy episodes.

Let me know what your resolutions are. And thanks for reading yet another year!

January:

How to plant tulips. Logging road walk. A check-up for the kittens. A walk with Schatzi. The beginning of A’s life-threatening illness. Another vet visit. A walk through the Village. A surprise visit from Jessica! Falling off a log really is easy. Dealing with two broken fingers: not so much. They still look freaky and witch-like. A brief trip to San Francisco. A is improving.

February:

Back in touch with the outside world. A finally gets out of Intensive Care. And I get the jobette! The boys make a windmill. Week One at the jobette. A’s slow recovery continues. Beautiful new garden chairs. A rare and magical snow day!

March:

A quick tour of the jobette. A graduates from Intensive Care to the HIghly Dependent Unit. Tragedy strikes our sister city in Japan. Doin’ it Rob style. Signs of spring. My beloved father’s 80th birthday. It’s not snow this time, it’s hail! The painting saga. Flooding. The week in pictures. Spring arrives in the garden.

April:

The painting problem is solved – at least, for now. Power outages. Little salon in the big woods. A is finally in a regular hospital ward, while Clyde is a little limpy. A nice little burn to go with my broken fingers. Jessica’s birthday! My blog’s 10th birthday! First BBQ of the year. A sad and loving farewell.

May:

The fabulous circus. New contact lenses. A walk through town. Star’s birthday. My tulips in bloom. Countrified. Fabulous garage sale finds. Girls’ night out. A short visit to San Francisco. The magnificent Balenciaga exhibit. Back home. Megan’s birthday. Car troubles – and a birthday celebration.

June:

Car trouble and bad weather. Truly rural. Bi-coastal. Rainy birthday to me. Happy first birthday to the boys! Rob is scheduled for more surgery. An evening with Erica and Jessica. Rose’s chicken curry. Unveiling the clock of ages. Rob’s surgery is rescheduled. The operation. Back home. Houdini lives!

July:

Audrey turns four. Found poetry. Both Rob and A are on the road to recovery. Kitty updates. Home improvements. Jessica visits the jobette. Musical contrasts. Erica and Jessica move to Portland (~sob~). The last Harry Potter movie ever.

August:

Propane prettifying. Encore de car. A change of address. Garden updates. The tenth anniversary of my father’s untimely and completely unnecessary death. I love you and miss you, Old Bear. More car fixing (or not). The bliss of Brian. Star meets quail.

September:

Mark’s seizure. He has epilepsy and is taking meds for it. So far, so good. Thank goodness. Free palms. The Houdini dog expands her repertoire. Planting the palms. The joys of aquafit. The delights of the County Fair. Clyde takes it on the chin. A visit from the generator fairy. A total meltdown.

October:

The car is finally fixed. I hope. Swimming clinic doesn’t go quite as swimmingly as I’d hoped. Car-share begins (and is still going on). The plague descends. My second anniversary of moving to Hooterville. The arrival of Turbo, Mark’s horse.

November:

Pool problems. Feeding the family. Meetings in San Francisco. Too tired to shop. A delightful day. Back home. The lowdown on high beams. Star and Megan are both stars. Thanksgiving Eve. A happy Thanksgiving. An early season blackout.

December:

Sunny days and sparkling nights. A look around the garden. An amazing experience. Girls’ Night In. A sudden loss. Up with the tree! An adventurous evening. And a tree adventure. Christmas cheer. A magical evening. The wit and wisdom of Jessica.

That’s it for 2011. Wishing you all a happy and healthy new year!

Guarding the tree

You are all familiar with the limitations of my kitchenette. So you probably won’t be surprised that last night I went to bed thinking, “OK. If I start the pie crust while the parsnips are roasting, then I can prep the pears and…”

You probably won’t be surprised that I woke up around 4:00 and lay there thinking about it in the cold and dark, sneezing away (having allergies to things like dust and pollen and trees makes living in the country a little trying at times). I decided to get up and deal with it instead of fretting about it.

The cats watched with benign curiosity from their post beside the heater. I put the oven on, then peeled and cut up all the veggies to be roasted (parsnips, potatoes, leeks, onions, garlic) for tonight’s soup, our traditional parsnip vichyssoise. By the time they were ready to go, the oven was warm. Then I peeled and cut up pears and tossed them in olive oil, ready to be roasted for tomorrow night’s salad.

It was time to start on the lemon pie. It soon became obvious that I had overestimated my lemon requirements, so I’ll have to start thinking of ways to use them up. Hopefully I won’t be up before dawn making lemon curd or something like that.

After five or so hours of cooking, I was more or less done when the phone rang. It was Paul, saying that he was unexpectedly in San Francisco and wondered if he could come up for Christmas. So it will be full houses for Megan and me: Paul and Jarrett, Erica and Jessica. But it will be festive!

The house was a chilly 44 degrees this morning (that’s about 6 measly degrees for the non-Fahenheit among us, if my math is right. And that’s a big if) and barely 32/0 degrees outside.

I put on the heater before I even fed the cats or put on the coffee. I was just sipping my first little thimble of much-needed caffeine when the phone rang. It was 6:45 in the am, and it was my sister.

She was calling from the side of the road on a lonely stretch of Highway One in the chilly, pre-dawn darkness. It was lucky that she was in one of the few areas that actually gets cell phone service.

The truck’s tire had basically exploded, leaving her stranded. As you know, her car has been non-operational since September, so Rob needed to borrow my car to go and get the spare truck tire from Jonathan’s place (I don’t know why it was there) and then go and get Megan, who had 4 hours of sleep before her 12 hour shift and had 8 ambulance patients over that time period, one of whom didn’t make it. It had been a long night for her.

He dropped Megan off at home and picked me up, leaving me at the jobette while he went to have a rim applied to the spare tire. Apparently he had a hell of a time trying to make this happen, and ended up having to order something which should arrive tomorrow. In the meantime, he’s locked up the truck, put a note on the windshield, and is hoping that it won’t get towed away before he can get the tire fixed. There’s always something!

Cranberry relish in my grandmother’s dish

Well, it’s late afternoon, and the turkey breast is in the oven, the green beans are prepped, ditto the Yukon Gold potatoes. Megan volunteered to make the two pumpkin pies. I made about 5,000 pounds of stuffing this morning, regretting my choice of chestnuts about ten minutes after starting the interminable peeling process. Hopefully, it will be worth it!

The house is about as clean as it gets during the muddy winter, the cats are out playing in the sunshine, and best of all, Jarrett’s on his way from Eureka and should be here at any minute. Huzzah!

In the meantime, here’s the recipe for my famous Cranberry Bourbon Relish, with apologies to Alison, who lives in real bourbon country. The only other option was Makers Mark, and it seemed like a waste to use that. Though, come to think of it, if the alcohol burns off and all you’re left with is the flavor, shouldn’t you use the best booze to cook with?

Cranberry Bourbon Relish

1 cup bourbon (I admit it: I used Jack Daniel’s!)
1/4 cup minced shallots
Grated zest of an orange (I used two tangerines instead)
One 12 ounce package of fresh cranberries
One cup of sugar (I used slightly less)
Freshly ground black pepper

Combine bourbon, zest and shallots in a saucepan. Bring to a boil over moderate heat, then simmer, stirring occasionally, until reduced to a syrupy glaze, about 10 minutes.

Add the sugar and cranberries, stirring well until sugar dissolves. Lower the heat and simmer, uncovered, until most of the cranberries have burst, about 10 minutes.

Remove from heat and stir in pepper to taste. Allow to cool before serving.

Happy Thanksgiving to all of you. I am thankful to all of you for being my friends and always encouraging me, no matter what. I hope those of you who are celebrating the holiday are doing so with your family and loved ones around you.

Well, things are pretty much under control here at Thanksgiving Central. Over the years, I have learned that the key to surviving the holidays is to do as much ahead of the Big Day as possible. Which is why I was repulsing myself with the smell of Jack Daniel’s at 9:30 this morning.

The smell of alcohol is as undelightful in the morning as it is delightful in the evening. Not for the first time, I marvelled at serious drinkers like F. Scott Fitzgerald and Patricia Highsmith, who were able to merrily imbibe from the morning onwards. And write some pretty good stories in between shots.

In my case, it was to make my famous Cranberry Bourbon Relish while Pie One (non-traditional cherry, for my non-traditional brother, who does not enjoy pumpkin pie, despite the fact that my mother used to insist every year that he did) was baking. Unfortunately, Pie One will never win a Beautiful Pie Contest. And I had the tiara all picked out, too. But I tore the crust while rolling it out and had to do a patch job.

As the house filled with the conflicting aromas of pie crust and Old Number Seven, I started to mix together the pumpkin pie filling. As I shudderingly opened the second can of evaporated milk (and re-re checked* the recipe to make sure you really need two), I thought that it looked like a lot of filling. The small print on the can of pumpkin says “Makes two pies”.

Well, it was too late by then. Also? You can’t really use half a can of pumpkin and keep the rest for later. It’s the kind of absurd supermarket math that decrees that hotdogs and buns be sold in unmatching, pre-packaged quantities.

Tomorrow, I’ll just have to roast the turkey breast, mash the potatoes, and maybe make stuffing. I’m also attempting a recipe Megan found in Sunset for fried green beans with shallots.

It will be a quiet-ish dinner, since Lichen is braving his crazy Mormon family in SoCal, Jarrett has other plans in Eureka, and Erica and Jessica have decamped to Portland, leaving the fabulous quotient of Hooterville and environs seriously depleted. But E&J (who is now fascinated by Indiah and learning Hindi) will be here for Christmas, and our good friend Paul will be here between Christmas and New Year’s, so there’s a lot to look forward to. And a lot to be thankful for.

*I hope I’m not getting obsessive-compulsive disorder or something. Lately I keep checking a million times to make sure that I have my keys and the oven is off and things like that. Surely I’m too young to be a crazy old lady!

Fall Colors

When I got home on Wednesday evening, it was so warm that I was just wearing a t-shirt and had the car windows open. The sky was a clear blue. But the whethermen were predicting rain starting at 11:00 that night, so I persuaded Megan to take Miss Scarlett to work instead of Rob’s truck, which has non-operational windshield wipers.

It was a good thing she did, because it was still raining when she brought the car back on Thursday morning. It was also surprisingly cold. Usually when it’s rainy here, it’s a little warmer because the clouds act as insulation.

Something about rainy days – and cold ones – seems to inspire me to cook. I decided to make Dad’s famous honey-mustard chicken for dinner, and while assembling the ingredients, realized that it was just as easy to make enough for Megan and Rob while I was at it. I have fallen out of the habit of making Thursday night dinner for my hard-working sis – maybe that should be a new year’s resolution for next year.

While putting the casserole together, I noticed two aging bananas in the fruit bowl and decided to make banana bread. I lit the oven* and went to get the pantry ingredients – add to my wish list a pantry that’s actually in the kitchen – and remembered that I had lent Megan the sugar.

A dilemma! I didn’t want to wake her up, but I had everything else and the oven was already heating up. I decided to risk it. I sneaked in through her garden and went in the back door to her pantry (also not in her kitchen**) and grabbed the sugar. I sneaked away unobserved by dogs or humans, no small feat.

The banana bread safely in the oven, I dished up some turkey chili for my brother. When the banana bread was ready, I took a couple of slices and the chili over to surprise him. He’s been having a bad time lately, between losing the fabulous pool and politics and drama at the firehouse, so it was nice to surprise him. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he said, hugging me. “You’ll never find out,” I answered.

Later I called Megan to tell her that dinner would be served around 6:30. She was surprised and delighted in a way that warmed my heart. I put on my hat from the County Fair and grabbed a flashlight. As I walked back from her house, Clyde came bouncing out of the woods and accompanied me home, like a little dog. As we went into our cozy little house together, I realized that I had fed my whole family that day. It made me happy. I have to do it more often.

*My wishes seem to have become more modest over time. Now all I want is an oven that lights without matches; a bathtub of any kind; and a hose reel. How the glamorous have fallen!

**Can you tell our houses were designed and built by a guy? Erica calls my place “the man-cave”>

A beautiful day for a fair

First things first: happy birthday to Rob! He stopped by this morning and when I wished him happy birthday, he looked surprised. I hugged him and told him I was glad he was born. He took a couple of things to repair and vanished after he hugged me back.

We’ll have a birthday barbecue next weekend. This one was busy! As I write, Star is at her second Canine Good Citizenship class (she did great last week). And yesterday, Megan and I went swimming (more about that later) before we went to the county fair.

A quick review of my blog shows that I haven’t been since 2008, so it was about time. As you can see above, it was a beautiful day. Megan found a secret parking space, and off we went.

It was hard to decide what to do first, so we had some garlic fries while we walked around and scoped out the possibilities. We made a mental note of the sno cone truck for later:

They really are the most refreshing drink you can eat. Though, disappointingly, they did not have blue raspberry. Even though everyone knows that blue is the best flavor for anything frozen (other than margaritas).

Sno cone in hand, we went to admire the livestock and the kids who handle them. This little dappled cow with its freckled girl was my favorite:

Did you know? Cows are covered with a sort of pomade at these shows, which makes them look all shiny and pretty, but makes your hands instantly filthy and kind of gross. Worth it, though. Also, there were hand-washing stations everywhere.

I resisted the temptation to run my hands through these sheep’s curly fleece:

And I kind of had a crush on this handsome boy:

Ever wondered how to shear a sheep? Now’s your chance to learn how:

It was strange being in the building with all the fleece and hand-spun yarn and beautiful scarves and things without our Erica*. And not seeing any of her work entered for prizes (and winning them). But I got over it long enough to buy a hat, which turned out to have been made by a woman who lives about two miles away. She spun the wool herself, knitted it, adorned it with a unique abalone button, and voilà:

It was hard to believe I’d ever need that hat on a sunny day in the 80s, but I bet I will be glad I got it in a couple of months. And I got to meet a new neighbor!

Some apple (and cider) tasting later:

we were admiring quilts:

flower arrangements:

and some of the biggest pumpkins I’ve ever seen:

The day flew by. Suddenly, it was time to head home, full of fair food and happy memories. Until next year…

*We had a great chat today. They are definitely coming for Christmas. And Jessica loves her new school.

The finished product

The sharp-eyed among you may have noticed the frying pan on the stove in an earlier entry. In it was my attempt at one of the vaguest recipes I have ever attempted. It was one of Rose’s, and her daughter gave it to me to try. As one who doesn’t measure much, I have sympathy for a certain imprecision when it comes to amounts, but this was a little bit of a challenge.

For one thing, it didn’t say how much chicken* to start with. Other than that, it said 1 leek (I substituted shallot, since I had it and I doubt if the Hooterville store has leeks), 2 apples (“cut in squares”) and chicken broth (but now how much). Here’s the recipe:

Curry Chicken!

Brown the chicken in oil. Take out from the skillet.

1 leek

2-3 apples in squares, add.

2 tablespoons curry powder, add!

Fill with chicken broth. Add chicken. Let it boil 20 minutes in low temp. Eat with white rice.

I browned the chicken with the shallots and apples in a little canola oil. I have to admit that I have a horror of undercooked onions, and I thought the whole thing would taste better if everything was browned first. I used broth from my freezer and I had curry powder, though not the curry powder I wanted. Actually, when I was in San Francisco a couple of weeks ago, I looked all over for Sharwood’s, the curry powder of my youth, but could not find it. I ended up adding an extra tablespoon while remembering the curries Dad used to make for us in my long-ago youth.

The recipe turned out well, and I’d recommend trying it. Also, it was nice to make Rose’s recipe in her kitchen. It’s funny: I do tend to be superstitious, and I liked Rose tremendously, but I never feel haunted at all by her presence. If anything, I feel comforted and friendly. As Mark said at her funeral fiesta nearly two years ago, “She is everywhere here.”

*And I felt pretty damn guilty after seeing the pretty neighbor chickens, I can tell you.

On Sunday, my family and I finally had dinner together. It’s been a long time. We cancelled Thanksgiving, Jonathan couldn’t make it for Christmas, and somehow we’ve slipped into the new year without dining en famille. It’s been harder than ever to make our schedules match up since I started the jobette. So it was about time.

I made a salad and a new recipe: Spaghetti with Fresh Sopprassata. Apparently actual sopprassata is a kind of cured sausage, like salami, but this is an uncured, fresh version. Note that you need to start it the night before. I did an excellent job of misreading the recipe (or not reading it carefully enough), so I missed that part, and instead put it together in the morning, which is not the time you want to smell wine. Especially cheap Gallo wine bought for the purpose of cooking. I also missed the “extra can of crushed tomatoes” part, necessitating a trip to my sister’s pantry (fortunately, not the store, which is several miles away).

So, you have been warned. Here we go:

Spaghetti with Fresh Soppressata

4 garlic cloves
1 1/3 cups dry white wine
1 pound sweet Italian sausage, casings removed (I used turkey instead of pork, and if you like it spicy, you could use hot sausage instead)
1 teaspoon fennel seed
1/2 teaspoon coarsely ground black pepper
1/2 teaspoon crushed red pepper (or more, for the spicy-minded)
1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil
1 small onion, finely chopped
1 small carrot, finely chopped
1 celery rib, finely chopped
One 28-ounce can plus one 14-ounce can whole peeled tomatoes, crushed, with their liquid
Salt
1 pound spaghetti
1/2 cup freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese
1/4 cup chopped basil
1/4 cup chopped flat-leaf parsley

In a blender, puree the garlic, fennel, and peppers with 1/3 cup of the white wine. Transfer the mixture to a medium bowl. Add the sausage and knead lightly to combine. Cover with plastic and refrigerate overnight.

In a large, deep skillet, heat the olive oil. Add the sausage mixture, onion, carrot and celery and cook over medium heat breaking up lumps with a spoon, until lightly browned, 6 to 7 minutes. Add the remaining 1 cup of wine and cook, scraping up any browned bits, until nearly evaporated, about 5 minutes. Add the crushed tomatoes and their juices to the pan and season lightly with salt. Simmer over low heat, stirring occasionally, until thickened and reduced to about 5 cups, about 40 minutes.

In a large pot of boiling salted water, cook the spaghetti until just al dente. Drain, add the pasta to the sauce and toss with the grated cheese, basil and parsley.Toss the pasta over moderately high heat, until nicely coated, about 2 minutes. Serve immediately.

It turned out great and there wasn’t much left, although the recipe is supposed to serve 6. The perfect ending to the meal was one of Megan’s famous huckleberry pies. It’s worth having temporarily black teeth to eat one.

We had such a good time that we have promised each other to get together for dinner more often. Is it too late to make a new year’s resolution?

Hey! I just found something else I can’t do: bake cookies!

Notice that I didn’t say “make” cookies. My incompetence is even more impressive when you take into account that I was merely cutting pieces off logs of dough (made by my sister), applying them to a baking sheet, and putting them into the already heated oven.

Now you’re impressed, aren’t you?

The results were uniformly poor, though not in a uniform way. In fact, I should probably get extra credit for finding so many ways to make bad cookies. Some were discouragingly flat; others were lumpy; some were resolutely doughy in the center, while others were burned around the edges. Some were a winning combo of burned on the bottom while doughy in the middle. Some of them melted together during baking, so when I separated them, they had the odd look of having already been half eaten. Neatly eaten, but eaten all the same.

None of these beauty pageant problems would have really mattered to the exasperated bakers if we weren’t supposed to sell the damn things. Looking at the pitiful parade of cookies, it was pretty obvious that our only potential market was sugar-deprived elementary school students.

But it was a confectionery emergency. The cookies were to be sold at today’s Purge Party*, the annual fundraiser for Daisy Davis Pit Bull Rescue. Someone had promised to make 150 cookies for the sale, then backed out at the last minute, making it Megan’s problem. And I do mean problem.

I suggested that we make Rice Krispie treats. Although Megan objected that she had never made them, I assured her it was easy. So she raced down to the store, five bumpy miles each way, while I tended to the last batches of the saddest cookies in town.

She returned triumphant with shockingly expensive Rice Krispies ($7 a box, anyone?) marshmallows, and colorful sprinkles to make the finished product more festive. They turned out to be Suzy proof, and the day was saved. We also have enough unattractive cookies for the rest of our lives. Bonus!

*I can’t help it, but every time I hear this I picture a bunch of bulimics with balloons and noisemakers. It’s entirely possible that I will never grow up.

Kitten proof Christmas tree!

Yesterday morning, I heard the pantry door close and went to investigate. It was around 8:00 in the morning, so I figured it was Rob. But it was Megan, bearing bags of Christmas groceries. We divided up the list on Monday, and on Tuesday I braved the crowds to get my part on a day when all the other shoppers appeared to have had their brains removed or somehow become zombies while simultaneously equipping themselves with an outsize number of screaming kids. Megan shopped at 6:30 in the morning, when there are few shoppers, but the shelves are being stocked and there are huge carts and stockers everywhere you want to be. Also she was shopping after twelve hours of work.

I think I know who had the worse shopping experience.

While I was decanting bags in the pantry and feeding the cats, Megan put the gel tree you see above on the sliding glass doors in the living room to surprise me. “Now you finally have a tree the cats can’t mess with,” she said.

I have the best sister ever.

In the spirit of Doing Things Ahead, which I firmly believe is the key to surviving the holidays with a modicum of sanity left, I made Thursday night’s turkey chili on Wednesday (chili is always better the next day) and am starting the lengthy process of Christmas Eve’s parsnip vichyssoise today. We have had this soup for Christmas Eve dinner for many years, going way back to the halcyon days when Dad spent every other Christmas with us. I hope you enjoy it as much as we do.

Parsnip Vichyssoise

2 large leeks, white part only, halved lengthwise and sliced crosswise, 1/2 inch thick
2 & 1/2 pounds parsnips, peeled and cut into two inch chunks
3 medium boiling potatoes, peeled and cut into two inch chunks
8 garlic gloves, peeled and lightly crushed
1 onion, halved and sliced thinly
2 tablespoons light brown sugar
1 teaspoon ground cardamom
6 cups chicken broth
4 ounces butter, cut into small pieces
3/4 cup fresh lemon juice
3 cups milk
2 cups cream (I use half and half)
Salt and freshly ground pepper
12 whole chives, plus 2 tablespoons, snipped

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. In large, shallow roasting pan, combine the leeks, parsnips, potatoes, garlic, and onion. Sprinkle with cardamom and brown sugar and stir to combine. Pour two cups of stock over the vegetables and dot with the butter. Cover tightly with foil and bake for two hours, until the vegetables are very tender, stirring occasionally during cooking.

Transfer the vegetables and any liquid to a large saucepan. Add the remaining 4 cups of stock and the lemon juice. Bring to a boil over high heat. Reduce heat to low, cover, and simmer for 20 minutes.

Working in small batches, transfer the vegetables and liquid to food processor and puree until smooth (I like it a little chunky). The soup can be prepared to this point up to two days ahead. Let cool, cover, and refrigerate. It may be necessary to thin the soup with a little stock before reheating.

To finish the soup, add the milk and cream and cook over moderately low heat, stirring occasionally, until warmed through. Do not boil. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Serve with whole chives and snipped chives for garnish.

A winter scene: fallen leaves, sprouting mushrooms beside my house

Mushrooms are as much a sign of winter around here as the advent of robins. Most of them are not as scenic as this one, which is rumored to be poisonous or possibly merely hallucinogenic. I left it alone after I took its picture. We’re slated to get five inches of rain this weekend, so the stage is set for winter, even though it technically isn’t here yet.

We may get rain from today through Christmas. Does Santa have a jet ski? Or at least a pair of really cute rain shoes?

But you don’t need Santa Claus when you have Santa Paul. I think I speak for many girls when I say I’d much prefer a white-haired, blue-eyed gent sweeping into my kitchen and making me a fabulous dinner than some degenerate old housebreaker leaving me tatty gifts and expecting me to make him cookies.

Since Paul lived here before me, he knew that he was up against in my kitchenette: three feet of counter space, a petite ovenette with one shelf, and no dishwasher. Still, he was able to produce the following:

1. He boned a turkey breast, glazed it with maple syrup, Dijon mustard, and crushed black peppercorms, and roasted it on a bed of celery, onions, carrots, and fresh tarragon. The “bed” was later strained and the pan juices used to make gravy.
2. Oven-roasted potatoes, parsnips, and sweet potatoes.
3. Zucchini fritters, as requested by Megan. Secret ingredient: matzo meal!
4. Green beans.
5. Pear and apple galette, served with fresh blueberries.

Santa Paul also has a well-trained elf who made sure I didn’t end up with a sink full of dishes.

It was the best Thursday night dinner ever!

Before

After

It took me over a year, but I finally have country-appropriate footwear. At least for winter.

In the second image, you can see my hard-won sneakers which cost as much as my beautiful Manolo Blahniks (in the first image) did in a consignment shop about 10 years ago. I just bought some pull-on rain boots, also in the second picture, which are just the thing to slip into to run over to Megan’s or check on the bees. Notice how I was able to find cute rain shoes.

I think we can all agree that the shoes from my city life are really not appropriate for my country life.

So, wearing my appropriate sneakers and my one fleece, Paul and I are heading to town today to get the materials for a splendid Thursday night dinner, which has the outstanding characteristic of Not Being Cooked by Me. It’s great when your visiting friend just happens to be a professional cook who caters to the stars in the Hamptons in the summer.

Last night, I was trying to get some dish from him on his celebrity clientele. Here’s what I got. He catered a fashion shoot for one of the Olsen twins, but couldn’t remember which one it was. He also did an event for Jerry Seinfeld.

Me: Did you meet him?

Paul: Yeah.

Me: What was he like? Was he nice?

Paul: Sure. He seemed pretty nice.

Me: (still trying) Was he funny?

Paul: Well, he didn’t give me his opinions on world events or confide in me or anything.

At this point, I realized I wasn’t going to get anything good, though you’ll be pleased to hear that Jerry is a good tipper. I promise you will, however, hear all about tonight’s dinner in all its glorious detail. Maybe even tomorrow.