Month: January 2018

Misunderstood, Maligned, & Malarkey

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I firmly believe that you’re never too old to learn new things.

Just a big giant baby…

Just last week I learned that while your husband might say he doesn’t mind if you turn off the game and turn on a Clark Gable movie, that won’t stop him from sighing like a moody teenage girl, and fidgeting like a kindergartener in a three-hour church service.

Recently I’ve come to the conclusion that quite a bit of the information that everyone takes for granted as being true, is in fact, a load.

And because this information is a contradiction of commonly held belief, I double and triple checked my research.  So, what follows is in no way a load.You know that bald, chubby, smiling Buddha statue that you’ve seen on car dashboards, and burning incense in his lap, and hanging out in gardens?

Well the real Buddha was neither chubby nor bald.  This is actually Chinese folk hero Budai.  Budai is an incarnation of Maitreya, the Bodhisattva who will become a Buddha when people have forgotten the original Buddha, Siddhartha Gautama.  Like most theology, it’s complicated and a tad confusing.

Case in point: Mary.  You may have heard the phrase, “virgin Birth”.  This doesn’t mean that She became pregnant while a virgin.  No, theologians have stated that what that phrase means is Mary conceived and gave birth and through all of this, remained a virgin.

Not a hair out of place…

I don’t know the scope of your biology knowledge but even possessing the most incomplete education, you’ve got to know that childbirth can wreak some heavy-duty havoc.  Unless a baby is delivered via a Star Trek-like transporter, experiencing the hardcore trauma of natural childbirth and staying an intact virgin would absolutely be a bonafide miracle.

On Sunday, October 30, 1938, a guy named Orson Welles put on a little radio play called The War of the Worlds.  You’ve probably been told that the nation lost its collective mind, with rioting in the streets by terrified listeners.And that little tale of gullibility and the resulting panic is utter horse hoo-ha propagated by less than ethical newspapers looking to sell papers.

There may have been the odd rube that truly believed the planet was under attack by extra-terrestrials, but they probably also believed that in some mountain community lived a man-child named Lil’ Abner, and smoking Chesterfields was the cure for chronic bronchitis because Ronald Reagan told him so.

In reality, people were a good deal more sophisticated than that.  There were running announcements throughout the show.  Also, at most 2% of the population were tuned in.  And, advertisements continued to air.  It’s a pretty fair bet that the end of the world would not be brought to you by Firestone and Aunt Beulah’s joint liniment and sandwich spread.Although these days you just know the apocalypse would have a sinister moniker and catchy theme music.

Sadly, carrots don’t have magical eyesight boosting powers.  This was propaganda created by the British government during World War II to make their fighter pilots more formidable.  But, too many carrots may turn your skin a robust shade of orange.

I got absolutely nothing here…

Abner Doubleday did not invent baseball, and it didn’t originate in Cooperstown, New York.  It evolved from British games like cricket and rounders.  It was played for the first time in New York City.

Romans did not eat so much at parties that they needed to take breaks to yak it all up in an adjacent vomitorium.  A vomitorium is actually the entrance and exit space in coliseums.

On that note, this column will utilize the closest vomitorium and takes its leave.Thanks for your time.

It’s Chili, Wear a Sweater

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Katey and Jim

Petey and The Kid.

This week, the essay has been hijacked by The Kid’s new chili recipe.

We both hope you like the recipe.  It’s in my spawn’s own words and singular style.

The Kid’s Chili1-5 k's chili–              About 3lbs of beef cut into 1-1 ½in cubes (I used a mix of chuck roast and Denver steaks as that was what was on sale, but the only hard rule here is to not use stew beef. Stew beef is the little bits and bobs left over when trimming larger cuts, so there’s no telling what you’ll end up with)

–              6 slices of bacon

–              1lb sausage (I used bratwurst, but this can be subbed for any pork sausage) removed from casing

–              1 12oz dark, high alcohol beer (My favorite is Founder’s Breakfast Stout)

–              1qt Chicken stock6-9–              3 dried Pasilla chilis, torn into 1in pieces, seeds removed

–              3 dried Guajillo chilis, torn into 1in pieces, seeds removed

–              6 cloves garlic, roughly chopped

–              2 poblano peppers with ribs and seeds removed, finely diced,

–              1 yellow onion, medium dicedk's chili–              1 12oz can of tomato sauce

–              3 cans of beans, drained and rinsed (I used two cans of great northern beans and a can of kidney beans, but feel free to mix it up.

–              2 cans white hominy, drained and rinsed

–              1 Tbsp tomato paste

–              1 tsp anchovy paste

–              1.5 Tbsp Dark or mushroom soy sauce (Available for cheap at Asian markets, excellent for adding an umami punch to just about everything)–              2 tsp marmite (Optional but recommended. It will keep forever in the fridge, but also adds a good umami kick)

–              ½ Tbsp Cumin

–              1 tsp Cinnamon

–              1 tsp Garam Masala

–              1 Tbsp Gochujang (Korean chili paste)

–              2-3 bay leaves

–              1 packet Goya Sazon con achiote y culantro

–              Salt and pepper to taste                Bring chicken stock to a simmer over medium heat, add dried chilies. Simmer until stock has reduced to a third starting volume. Once reduced, blend stock and chilies together until very smooth. Set aside.

               Render bacon on low heat in large dutch oven. Once bacon has fully rendered, remove from pot and set aside. Turn heat up to medium.

               Add sausage to the pot and allow to brown. Once it has some color, remove from pot and set aside. Turn heat up to medium high.

               Once hot, add cubed beef, seasoning with salt and pepper. Sear on all sides. Remove from pot and set aside. Turn heat down to medium low.

               Add onion and garlic, seasoning with salt. Sauté until it begins to turn translucent. Add poblanos, and sauté until soft. Add tomato paste and anchovy paste and stir.                Add sazon packet, cinnamon, garam masala, and cumin. Cook until pan is mostly dry. Add gochujang and marmite and stir.

               Add beer and dark soy sauce to deglaze pan and bring to a simmer.

               Add tomato sauce and the chili sauce from step one.

               Once at a simmer, add all meat and bay leaves. Turn the heat down to medium low and lid the pot.

               Cook for an hour, stirring occasionally.

               After an hour passes, add in beans and hominy. Since they are fully cooked, there’s no need for them to be in there the whole time but adding them an hour in still allows for some flavor absorption.               Cook until beef is tender, about 2-3 more hours. Make sure to stir occasionally.

               Either serve immediately with your favorite chili toppings or chill and reheat the next day for best flavor.

Thanks for your time.

Them’s Fightin’ Words

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In the henhouse of tough old birds, my grandmother was the dry, stringy chicken Scarlet and company dined on at Miss Pittypat’s house in Gone With The Wind.

Her name was Geraldine, and she was so formidable she could have beaten Flip Wilson’s alter ego Geraldine in arm wrestling or shot putting, or pulling an airplane with one’s teeth.

And she was scary.

She was tall and thin, and for most of her life wore a tight bun on her head, from which no hair ever dared escape.  She’d been a school teacher but had the demeanor of the most crotchety, strictest librarian.  She had five children and developed a thermonuclear mom-eye with a deadly laser component.She also had a spine-chilling collection of threats and reprimands that were as frightening as they were creative.

My father, who is the world’s sweetest, most tender-hearted man, utilizes a selection of her phrases, such as:

“You’re as full of ‘stuff’ as a Christmas turkey.”

“I know you’re sorry, now apologize.”

And our favorite, and the most colorful of all: “I’m going to rip off your arm, and beat you to death with a bloody stump.”

Please understand, my dad used these originally for shock value, but they’ve become family inside-jokes.  No children were ever harmed in the usage of these epithets.I asked Dad if there were any that Granny used on him and his siblings, that he didn’t employ.  He told me one, “If you don’t stop crying, I’ll give you something to cry about.”

And I’ll bet she would have, too.

We’ve all heard this phrase, and it’s always struck a discordant note in my ear.  It is completely illogical; the fact that one is crying means that they already possess the catalyst for tears—nothing more is necessary.  But it’s also very unsympathetic, and pretty darn cold; especially for a mother.

Like I said, Granny was a tough old bird. And because the nut doesn’t fall too far from the tree, I have come up with my own phrase that I use when feigning outrage with my own little nut, The Kid.  And a couple I keep in reserve.

Again, these are one-liners and not threats.  The cost of doing business when your mom is a peddler of homemade comedy.

There’s a classic line I’ve been using since I judged my offspring old enough to understand that while Mommy is kinda loony, she ain’t violent: Give me your cell phone, and show me how to use it…I’m calling the adoption bus to come make a pickup! Never having owned or operated a cell makes my threat something less than viable.

The next one has never actually been used on a real human.  I developed it one night when a young man driving by let loose with a particularly hurtful catcall.  And right on schedule, fifteen minutes after the event this menacing little line popped into my head: How’d you like to eat your Thanksgiving dinner through a straw?Intimidating, no?

The last one has never been used on a human either.  It was the result of chasing our puppy Crowley, around the house after he absconded with some clean socks from the laundry basket.  I’m afraid that as a dog, he didn’t appreciate the humor or the danger in my statement, but it made me feel a lot better:

How’d you like a shiny new near-death experience?

Growing up there was no physical punishment in our house, but my folks were expert-level verbal disciplinarians.

My mom was in charge of volume, and my dad dealt in colorful comic relief.

Thanks for your time.

There’s More Than One Way To Cut The Cheese

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Yeah, you thought the holidays were over, but not quite.

Yesterday was a holiday for everyone still experiencing the morning after 21 days post New Year’s Eve.

It was National Cheese Day!

Now there’s a banner day that we can all get behind (there are numerous non-dairy cheese options for our vegan friends).In honor of this cheesy celebration, today’s essay will be all about what Webster calls, “a food consisting of the coagulated, compressed, and usually ripened curd of milk separated from the whey” (I think that last sentence is iron-clad proof that the first person to eat cheese tasted it before hearing the definition).

Like stone tools and in-laws, the origin of cheese predates recorded history.  And, probably derives from a lucky, delicious accident.  The simplest cheese is usually farmer cheese which is young, unripened, and soft.

Yup.  That’s an Amish dude with a camel dairy.

And the number of animals whose milk is made into cheese is much larger than cow, goat, sheep and buffalo.  Folks around the world have used donkeys, horses, camels and yaks.  And a few years ago, the internet blew up over a restaurant serving cheese made from humans—yeah, thanks no.

Goat cheese has become ubiquitous.  Most of the time it’s a crumbly, tangy product that tops salads and livens up beets.

The milk can be made into the same types of cheese as cows.  I asked a goat farmer why we don’t see goat cheddar, or provolone, or Havarti.  He explained since the yield from a goat is so much lower than cows, chèvre (French for goat cheese) gleans a higher, less labor-intensive yield.On any given month, I eat my weight in goat cheese.  I love it on mixed baby greens along with toasted pecans, dried cherries, and shaved onion, very lightly dressed with balsamic dressing.  Toast, a sandwich restaurant in Durham, schmears it on sliced baguette, drizzles on a little honey, and finishes with a sprinkling of freshly cracked black pepper.

Chèvre can be expensive; a tiny nub just large enough for two or three main course salads can run to seven or eight dollars.  Add a few more if you like organic.

I’ve discovered that Costco carries two large logs for $7.  I throw one in the freezer and am very rarely caught cheese-less.You can fry some types of cheese, and I’m not talking breaded, deep-fried awfulness you might find on the appetizer menu at Uncle Moe’s Family Feedbag.  This version is sliced and toasted in a dry skillet.  It’s an addictive treat that The Kid has adored for years.

It’s most commonly made from Mexican queso blanco or queso freir.  But halloumi from Cyprus, Greek kefalotyri and kasseri can all be fried.  Children love this, and it makes for party food that is sure to spark conversation.Another cheese that’s out of the ordinary but is becoming a little more common is burrata.  Burrata is the piñata of the cheese world.  A balloon of mozzarella is filled with stracciatella cheese and cream.  Stracciatella is fresh cheese curds which are stretched and shredded.

If you’re especially fascinated with coagulated, compressed milk curds it’s not very hard to make cheese at home.

There are plenty of websites that will give you step-by-step instructions.  You add rennet to milk, heat it, then stretch the resulting curds.  Rennet can be found in gourmet shops and online. But lots of stores like Southern Season and Whole Foods, as well as the interwebs sell kits, with everything you need to make like Little Miss Muffet.

Then you lucky thing, you can make poutine.

I swear, that looks so good to me it’s almost indecent.  

Thanks for your time.

 

Transfer Negotiation

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Ladies and Gents…welcome to 1973.1973 video

Cathy Ange and I were in love.

It was the spring of 1973, we were in the third grade, and over the moon.

For Donny Osmond.Santa had brought us his album, Crazy Horses.  At the Ange’s house,  Cathy would place the album onto her turntable in a pain-staking ritual that would have us both nearly in tears of impatient frustration.

Then Donny would sing.  Cathy and I rolled around on her bed shrieking like lunatics.  It resembled some type of possession and makes me wonder if the children in Salem were less affected by witchcraft and more by the dulcet tones of that purple-socked Osmond brother.

I couldn’t wait until Marie was my sister-in-law.

Strangely, we never had any jealousy.  If Donny had shown up to take us away from home, family, and Central Elementary School, we’d have shared him.

He’s a Mormon you know—just sayin’.

In the days before the internets, the only ways to be close to one’s idol were infrequent television appearances and print media, aka fan magazines.

There were titles like Tiger Beat, Spec, and my favorite, 16.  That year 16 had a story about Donny which was printed in installments.  Like the 19th century serializations of Charles Dickens’ novels in monthly publications, only with more teeth and less literary value.As school ended for the year I was in clover.  My best friend and potential sister wife, Cathy lived five houses down.  I was once again on my championship softball team, ‘The Stripers’.  I had the run of the neighborhood on my groovy pink Schwinn, and later in the summer, I was going to a sleepaway girl scout summer camp.

Life was good.

Then my parents and the President of the United States ruined it all.  My father had received transfer orders and by early fall we would be living in Puerto Rico.Puerto Rico!  My knowledge of that Caribbean island began and ended at having maybe heard the name, maybe.  It might have been Venus as far as I was concerned.

And the last time we’d moved I had only been five.  I’d loved our home in Mobile, but my world had been much, much smaller there.  This time I was old enough, and integrated enough into my community to know how much I’d miss it.

But there was a much bigger problem.  I would not be able to go.

At the time of the move I would be about seven months in on that eleven-part Donny Osmond magazine serial.  And unless I had an official, notarized guarantee of an uninterrupted flow of 16 Magazines, I was going nowhere.My mom sorted it.  She marched me across the street to her best friend, Miss Judy’s house.  I explained the situation and told her I’d bring her the cost of the mags, along with money to mail them to me.  She agreed.

Crisis averted; move assured.

The move to Puerto Rico was probably my hardest childhood move.  But once we got there I realized how lucky I was.  It was like three years in summer camp.  We hiked and swam in both pools and ocean.  We had our own horses, and rode in horse shows.  And, I discovered, to my delight and my parents’ horror that I am a bit of a risk-taking daredevil.

survival beach for print

That’s me and my little brother Bud, at Survival Beach, which was across the street from our house, and then just a hike down a sheer, slippery coral cliff.  I’ll bet you can’t guess why it was called “Survival”.

I learned about a new culture and discovered Puerto Rican cuisine which is about the best food ever.  We lived on a tiny base, and knew every single person, like Mayberry with palm trees.

So the move I didn’t want to make turned out to be my favorite posting.

But, I’m still waiting for that visit from Donny.Thanks for your time.

Fairly Balanced

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My favorite ice cream treat is Dairy Queen’s peanut buster parfait.  It is a miracle of simplicity; vanilla soft serve draped in hot fudge sauce and studded with peanuts.

But who knew my affection was rooted in science?

While each component is plenty tasty on its own, it’s the contrasts that push it to icon status.  The hot/cold, salty/sweet, and creamy/crunchy excite us and satisfy the palate.  It’s called dynamic contrast.

The accepted definition for this term is: moment-to-moment sensory contrast from the ever-changing properties of foods manipulated in the mouth.All this fancy scientific palaver boils down to one thing: humans like contrast, and crave it.

The Kid recently found a dish on the website Smitten Kitchen, which was inspired by an Ina Garten recipe and features contrast.

Crusty Baked Cauliflower and Farro

Final amended recipe

I’m sorry guys, there are just a crap ton of ingredients in this dish.

2 cups cooked farro

Kosher salt

Freshly ground black pepper

Olive oil

2 1/4 to 2 1/2 pound head of cauliflower, cut into small florets

2 tablespoons capers, drained

2 large or 3 regular cloves garlic, minced

2 teaspoons lemon zest

2 cups coarsely grated Manchego

½ cup Marcona almonds, given a brief, rough chop into halves or thirds

1/2 cup full-fat ricotta cheese

1/2 cup panko breadcrumbs

1/3 cup finely grated Parmesano Reggiano cheese

2 teaspoons dry thyme

Directions:

Place farro into large bowl.

Par-cook cauliflower:

Heat oven to 425 degrees. Brush a large baking sheet with 2 tablespoons olive oil. Spread florets in one layer, drizzle with 1 more tablespoon olive oil and sprinkle with salt and freshly ground black pepper. Roast for 20 minutes until lightly browned and crisp-tender (they will finish baking with the farro). Reduce heat to 400 degrees.  Place cauliflower into bowl with farro.

Assemble casserole: Add the capers, garlic, lemon zest, 1 teaspoon salt and 1/2 teaspoon black pepper to cauliflower and farro and stir to combine. Stir in manchego and almonds. Transfer half of the mixture to an oiled 10-inch ovenproof frying pan or equivalent baking dish. Dollop rounded tablespoons of ricotta all over. Sprinkle remaining cauliflower and farro over the ricotta, leaving the pockets of it undisturbed.

In a small dish, combine panko with Parmesan, thyme and 1 tablespoon olive oil until evenly mixed. Sprinkle over cauliflower and farro.

Bake casserole: For 20 minutes, until browned and crusty on top. Dig in.Do ahead: Farro can be cooked up to 3 days in advance, kept in an airtight container in fridge. Cauliflower can be cooked 2 days in advance. Casserole can be assembled and baked a day later, easily, although the crumbs might lose their crisp from absorbing the moisture below if not added right before baking. Casserole keeps for several days in fridge and longer in freezer.

The Kid loved this dish so much it was a struggle to leave enough for me to try.  I liked it a lot, but had a couple of tweaks in mind.

The sample I tasted had a lot of lemon zest; like a whole lemon’s worth.  It was too much.  It became very floral, and the flavor overpowered the other components.  We reduced it.

It needed crunch, and we picked nuts because they don’t go soggy.

We both thought about pine nuts, but Chinese pine nuts from the Pinus armandii can give you something called “pine mouth” which deadens your taste buds for a while and leaves you with a metallic taste for two weeks or more.   And unfortunately, it’s not usually easy to discern the origin of your pine nuts.So we chose Marcona almonds because they’re addictively tasty.  They were the perfect foil for the other ingredients.  It was a true balance of both taste and texture.

And, here’s one more contrast for you.

When I eat something outrageously delicious, it makes me want to cry; with pleasure, gratitude, and the ephemeral nature of the food. But The Kid gets angry.

Yeah, angry.I only offered another contrast.  I didn’t promise it wouldn’t be bonkers.

Thanks for your time.

Into the Woods

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What I truly regret is that I lived here almost 25 years before I explored it.

In the fall of 2013, the Matthews Family Band was shaken to our core.  Petey was desperately ill.  From mid-October to the end of March 2014, he was in the hospital much more than he was home.

Every day I got up and headed to the hospital, staying until evening.  At the beginning of Petey’s illness, The Kid was all the way across the country in San Francisco, doing an internship.  So, I left an empty house each morning and returned to an empty house each night.

But not totally empty.riker layingOur dog, Riker, was my only, my constant companion.  Before I left the house, I took him out.  After patiently waiting for me all day, we’d go for a walk as soon as I came in at night.

After being cooped up, Riker was sorely in need of exercise, and a change of scenery.  After being cooped up, I also needed exercise, and to turn off my brain which teamed with lab tests, prognoses, and bills.Drinking was an option, but I save my calories for desserts and macaroni & cheese.  Riker might have turned to drink, but 200-pound dogs can be really ugly drunks.

One night, about a week after Petey’s initial hospitalization, our pup and I took a new route on our walk.Our street is a dead-end, and beyond is forest.  Instead of walking our usual route which was to the end of the road and back, when we got to our turnaround, for the first time ever, we kept going.

It was beautiful, calm and quiet in those woods.  There were houses all around, but because of the trees, they were silent and invisible.  There were various paths that led through trees and along a creek.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

This is a tiny little waterfall; the correct proportions for a Barbie doll.  But it’s pretty and sounds nice-like a young David Cassidy.

As soon as we stepped into the woods, all my worries and fears vanished for the duration.  Petey was still sick, and the related stresses and complications still existed, but a forty-minute walk acted upon me like eight hours of restful sleep.  It rejuvenated both Riker and me.

We kept walking.

When Petey was home I continued to walk in “my woods”.  It was a respite.

Last fall, we lost Riker.  I continued to go into the forest, for both exercise, and to mourn my sweet pup.One day I was walking an unfamiliar path and saw a large German Shepherd coming toward me.

I had two choices: I could try to get away, but there was no way I’d outrun him.  Or, I could stay where I was and hope the dog wasn’t aggressive.  So, I stood still.

It was the right decision.  The dog was friendly and sweet.  We spent about four hours together tromping through the woods that day, with him by my side.  Never having been formally introduced, I called him ‘Mister’.  I later learned his name is ‘Polo’ (I like Mister better).

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

This is my favorite view in the woods.  I’m afraid my shoddy photography skills fail to do it justice.

I’m so grateful to Mister.  The forest had become a very sad place, which frequently saw me in tears.  I both smiled and laughed during my adventures with that sweet doggo; the first since losing Riker.

Now I take our puppy Crowley, into the woods.  I still love and look forward to every step.  And seeing it through the eyes of my dog has made it new all over again.  But, I don’t think I’ll ever celebrate my euphoria quite in the way he does.

No matter how happy the woods make me I just can’t see flinging myself down onto the forest floor and rolling around in deer poop.

2-25-2017

This is how our furry little knucklehead used to sleep.

Thanks for your time.

A Tale of Two Mothers

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It was Chef Chrissie’s birthday yesterday.  Petey called him.  Three days earlier, Chrissie called.  It was Petey’s big day.

Petey met Chrissie and the rest of the Murphy clan in Elizabeth City when he was about nine.  Five years later I became acquainted with them, also at the age of nine.

Mama Cat is the matriarch of the family, and one of my all-time favorite people.  Since they did a lot of entertaining the food that came out of her kitchen was very different from the kind of meals my mom prepared.

Bob Vila, circa 1978.  He looks like the sleazy prof that sleeps with undergrads.

There are dozens of discoveries I made at the Murphy’s; about all kinds of things, not just food–the first time I ever saw PBS’s This Old House was at their place.

I learned how to make rolls, buns, or anything unsliced and crust-covered bakery fresh: preheat your oven to 350.  Moisten the exterior of the bread product and put into the oven, right on the rack.  Let it cook for 13 minutes for frozen fare and 8 for non-frozen.

One item which I first had at the Murphy’s not only affected me, but my entire family.Ranch dressing.

I think it may have been on a spinach salad, but it was the first time I ever ate a salad and enjoyed it.  It wasn’t the last time, though.  I also took this intel home, and introduced this magical, garlicky elixir to my family.  I’m firmly convinced my brother would eat car parts, stuffed animals, and kale if drenched in enough ranch.

And this brings me to this week’s recipe.Last week my folks met us at a cafeteria for Petey’s birthday lunch.  I had chicken tenders and fried okra as part of my meal, along with some ranch in which to dunk it.

My mom, though went all in.  She ordered ranch chicken casserole.  It was a dish she’d never had before, but the “R” word in the name sold her.

I think maybe she would have liked a refund.  She said it was dry, and the ranch flavor was akin to the weird flavor and texture that happens to off-brand fat-free.

I decided to create a version that she would enjoy.  But I also wanted something that didn’t call for canned cream soups.  Most recipes I found online have at least one or two varieties, but I think they taste like the can they come in. I also wanted something that was quick and easy, so making a cream soup from scratch was too much.  I settled on two cups of old-school ranch dressing; the envelope type made with one cup of mayo and one of buttermilk.

Ranch chicken casserole, reduxranch casserole2 ½ cups rotisserie chicken shredded

12 ounces egg noodles, cooked 5 minutes less than directed then drained

2 cups freshly made ranch dressing, buttermilk style

1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce

1 minced shallot

1-10 ounce bag frozen peas and carrots, thawed and allowed to drain off excess water

Salt & pepper

2 cups shredded cheddar cheese

Smoked paprika

Preheat oven to 350.

Mix together first six ingredients.  Lightly season, then taste and re-season, if needed.

Pour into a greased 9X13 or 3-quart casserole dish.  Cover with foil and bake for 30 minutes. 

Uncover top with cheese and sprinkle with paprika.  Cook on middle rack under low broiler for 15 minutes or until bubbly.chicken ranchLet sit for 10 minutes before plating.  Serves 8.

I love and appreciate both of these mothers very much.  My own mom raised me, fiercely protected me, taught me, and nurtured me.  She gave me life.

But Mama Cat gave me ranch dressing.Thanks for your time.

 

 

 

Advice for a newborn

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The new year is only a few days old, and I offer a few thoughts and requests for it.

Dear 2018,baby 2018I know that in these early days it’s impossible to imagine anything other than shiny optimism, innocence, and clean diapers, but you only have to take a peek at poor old 2017 to see how very badly it all can go.  That pathetic year is a dirty, misshapen failure, half crawling, half dragged off the calendar and into the history books.  It had very few friends, and hardly anyone will miss it.  Even the folks who seemed to be having a good run ended the year in a less than glorious place.

It too was once a shiny, happy baby whom people adored.  Let it be a warning to you.  Every day is a new beginning, but it is a balance, and once the number of bad ones goes over 182, it’s game over, man. So, here are a few recommendations that might help to make you, 2018, less catastrophic than your older sibling.

Just because something is new, and seems exciting, does not mean it’s better.  One of these days, ask me about a little thing called New Coke.  Or movie remakes called Planet of the Apes or Arthur or The Wicker Man.  Or ask the Brady bunches’ cousin Oliver.

And expensive doesn’t mean it’s better either.  The point was brought home the other day in Costco where I low-key stalked a guy walking around in a pair of Gucci, fur-lined, backless leather slippers embroidered with tigers.

Shoes for crazy people.

I followed him around (discretely) because I had seen these “shoes” in the fashion press and couldn’t believe an actual human had purchased them for wearing.  It looked like the guy had either lost a bet or gotten dressed in the dark, during a fire.  When I got home, I was telling Petey about it and googled a picture of these masterpieces for him.

They cost $1100.

3 shoes

Ooh yeah, that’s the stuff…come to mama.

I have no problem with ridiculously expensive shoes.  Balenciaga has a breathtaking, glorious pair of pumps this season that goes for $995.  Chanel has an amazing pair of black-toed glittery boots for $1200, and St. Laurent’s fabulicious slouchy rhinestone boots are $10,000.  Would I happily sell my soul and/or both kidneys for the funds to purchase this walking art?

Of course, but these shoes are beautiful, not a hideous joke.

Sadly, some folks have more dollars than sense.There are many, many people who were completely caught off guard by you, 2018.  That’s because they had their heads buried in their smartphones.  These are the same people who’s lives will be over with nothing to show for it except for bathroom and brunch selfies, with no memory of why they were in that particular bathroom, or who else was at that picturesque meal.

So put down the phone and be present in your own life.

Those smartphones bring me to two more insidious results of these technological marvels; social media, and its flashy offspring, “going viral”.I have many perfectly nice and sane friends who regularly sing the praises of Facespace and Twattle.  They talk about how it keeps them in touch with family and connects them with treasured long-lost school chums.  Here’s my query: if they were so treasured, how’d you lose touch in the first place?Feverish social media use is illustrative of the human need for justice and the desire for complicated matters to have simple, black and white solutions.  That’s why people will learn of something that seems outrageous at breakfast and will have tried, convicted, and publicly pilloried the culprit by lunchtime.  Then three days later when the full story comes out which explains the unexplainable, nobody cares because everybody’s busy watching some Turkish dude salt meat (I swear-google it).

Salt dude.

I have a feeling, 2018, that you may turn out to be one huge, painful hangover.  That’s okay; just buckle in, eat a big greasy breakfast, drink lots of water, and sit quietly until 2019 shows up.nydThanks for your time.

 

She made red velvet…shortbread that is

/ momsequitur / Leave a comment

homie failIn a continuing effort to educate all comers, I share useful information I’ve learned, and conversely, offer myself up as a horrific, terrifying cautionary tale.  So, this anecdote of mystery and invention would have been shared, regardless the outcome.

I’ve previously written about the woefully underdeveloped and overly discriminating sweet tooth possessed by The Kid.  There are only two items always on the child’s dessert list; red velvet cake, and buttery, sandy, not too sweet shortbread.

I know from shortbread, and have a recipe my child loves.

Red velvet though, creeps me out.  There’s something about adding an entire bottle of red food coloring that’s just all kinds of wrong.  Plus, as any frosting connoisseur knows, red tastes awful.But, The Kid loves it

So, I decided to find a recipe for red velvet shortbread and make a batch for under the Christmas tree.  There was only one problem.

There was no recipe for red velvet shortbread—anywhere.  As far as I can tell, it didn’t exist.

So, I decided to invent it.  And I had to work around some non-negotiable criteria, and some pretty complicated baking-related restrictions.

Traditional shortbread is flour, butter, and a small amount of sugar.  There are no eggs, no leavening, and no liquid other than a bit of extract. shortbreadRed velvet is made with the afore-mentioned bottle of food coloring for color and buttermilk for tang.  If I added these ingredients, it would be too wet and no longer shortbread.

What to do?

For color, I used a small amount of gel food coloring as well as Hershey’s dark cocoa.  For acidic buttermilk, I substituted a bit of apple cider vinegar.

A baking god.

I mixed, said a quick prayer to the baking gods, and slid it into the oven.

When it came out, the burnished brick color had deepened to the familiar red velvet hue.

After it cooled there was a taste/texture test.  It had a mouth-feel like shortbread and seemed to taste like red velvet.  I put it in a big jar with a pretty ribbon and waited for The Kid’s discerning palate and final verdict.

The Kid’s Red Velvet Shortbreadred velvet shortbread

1 & 1/3 cups softened brown butter

2/3 cup sugar

¾ teaspoon salt

¾ teaspoon vanilla extract

¼ teaspoon red gel food coloring

3 & 1/3 cups all-purpose flour minus 2 tablespoons whisked together with 2 tablespoons Hershey’s Dark Cocoa

2 teaspoons apple cider vinegar

Preheat oven to 275. Butter 9X13 baking pan, and line bottom and two sides with parchment paper, leaving enough to use as handles when removing shortbread from pan.

Brown butter: Melt butter and cook until dark amber-brown and nutty-smelling.  Allow to cool to softened-butter stage.  Make sure to use all the browned bits—this is where the flavor is.

Cream butter and sugar on medium speed until light, about 2 minutes. Add salt, vanilla, and red food coloring.  Beat to combine.  Add flour and cocoa, 1 cup at a time, beating until just combined.

Press dough into prepared pan, smoothing top. Cut dough all the way through lengthwise into nine strips. Cut strips crosswise into four pieces for a total of 36 bars, or fingers. Then pierce each piece with five holes.OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERABake shortbread until color’s deepened and just set, 70-85 minutes. Sit pan on wire rack to cool completely. Turn shortbread out of pan, and carefully coax pieces apart with serrated knife. Store in airtight container.

It was a Christmas miracle—The Kid loved it.  And quickly informed me that I had to write a column about it.

That was already the plan; no matter what.OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAThanks for your time.