Author: momsequitur

When Life Gives You Lemons…

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So, it very well may be the end of an era.

Every Easter, since the beginning of time, dinner has been ham, turkey, pasta and potato salads, baked macaroni and cheese, baked beans, and snowflake rolls (my mom and The Kid love those rolls, but I’ve always thought they had the consistency of stale doughnuts).

Usually, I make the ham and sometimes bring along my blueberry-speckled lemon cheesecake.  A few weeks ago, we were wandering through Costco, lurching from one sample to the next.  In the back at the bakery, they were sampling their key lime pie.  And it’s really good, y’all.  Not too sweet or sour.  Light, but luscious.

Anybody want a slice?  I got plenty.  Really.  Have some.  Please, I beg you, have a slice.  Or two.  Or fourteen.

For $12 you get a pie big enough to serve the entire population of Paduka, Kentucky; I couldn’t make it at home that cheap.  It’s perfect for Easter dinner.

I was also thinking about bringing the potato salad this year.

Lemon and dill are extremely spring-appropriate.  And the potato salad I was thinking of is a lemon potato salad.  It’s a twist on a recipe that is served at a favorite Greensboro deli, Jam’s.  I adore it, and years ago begged one of the owners for the recipe.

Here is that delicious potato salad, and their Reuben, which is also pretty darn kick-ass.

Their version has an unfortunate surfeit of celery.  And as any right-thinking human knows, celery in potato salad is an abomination.  It’s not quite as heinous as mustard or Miracle Whip, but it is pretty darn close.  They also put a large amount of white pepper in it.

They use the wrong brand of mayonnaise, too.  But because I don’t have it in me to engage in the Great Mayo Crusade of 2018, I’m not naming names.

And you can’t make me.

Lemon Dill Potato Salad

spud vinegar

3 pounds waxy potatoes

2 tablespoons cider vinegar

3-4 tablespoons salt

Preparation:

Place salt and vinegar in a large pot of water, along with unpeeled, whole potatoes.  Cook on medium until potatoes are fork tender.  Remove from heat, drain, and allow to cool completely.  Once cool, peel and cut into salad-sized chunks. 

Dressing:

lemon dressing

Juice of one lemon

2 eggs, hardboiled

½ yellow onion

2 tablespoons olive oil

1 cup mayonnaise

2 tablespoons fresh dill, chopped

Salt & pepper

To make dressing, place first four ingredients into food processor and blend until smooth.  Whisk in mayo and dill.  Season, taste, and re-season, if necessary.  Refrigerate for at least an hour.

Gently fold dressing into the potatoes, starting with about half.  Gradually add more until the consistency is to your liking.  Taste and re-season if necessary; don’t forget lemons, fats, and potatoes all need plenty of salt.

Cover and allow to rest in a cool dim place, but not in the refrigerator for 30-60 minutes before service so the flavors can meld and develop.OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAServes 8-10.

So, here I am, ready to win Easter with my famous glazed ham, key lime pie, and killer potato salad.

Then, Mom called.

The menu of our normal buffet luncheon was completely changed.  No ham, no turkey, and no salads—including potato.  She had decided on a make-ahead dinner; beef Stroganoff (hers is actually incredibly delicious, almost makes up for the no potato salad), and Aunt Candy was bringing her famous ziti.

Okay…And no pie was needed either, she was making carrot cake and a chocolate icebox dessert.But I am constitutionally unable to go empty-handed.  I just can’t do it.  So, in keeping with the bunny theme, I shall be making the trip with the prepped ingredients for a double batch of my carrot soufflé.

Happy Easter, and I’ll look for you on the bunny trail.Thanks for your time.

Booms In The Night Part Two

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To Read Part One, Click Here.

Nobody ever did let me see a mirror, but it must have been pretty scary, even after they stitched it up.I was sitting up in bed a day after the surgeries.  An orderly and family friend Ken, walked past my open door.  He hadn’t heard of my misadventures yet.

I raised my hand and waved.  “Hey Ken!”

He returned my hello, and walked out of sight.  And then I heard a strange, strangled yelp.  He spun around and walked back into view, his face as white as his uniform.

“What happened?!?”  I actually thought he was going to cry.  I ended up consoling and reassuring him.When I was released from the hospital, before Petey took me home, I made him take me to my savior’s house in Okisko to thank him.  And that’s where it gets a little weird.

It seems he and his family were a traveling band of Gospel singers.  He was supposed to be in Church that Sunday night.  He’d planned to be, he always was.  But, as he was getting in the car with his wife and kids to go, he stopped.  He didn’t know why, but he knew he had to stay home that night.  It would be the first time in many, many years that a Sunday evening wouldn’t see him in church.

But he was there, to help us, and keep us safe until the ambulance came.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

The Kid and Riker, on our front porch.

My house now is on a road that has a twist and a hill at the same place.  Twice in the last ten years or so, late at night, there have been bad collisions out there.

Petey was doing another overnight at a hospital the first time.  I called 911 and ran out to do what I could.  The driver and passenger in the first car were hurt, but basically okay.  The other car was a different story.

The passenger was shook up, but also okay.  The driver was seriously hurt; best case scenario both his legs were just badly broken.  I told everybody the ambulance was on the way, then I crouched down by the injured driver and stayed with him until the paramedics came. light night evening darkness lighting attack screenshot ambulance assault supervisor emt ptsd paramedicLast night it happened again.  I pulled on my rain boots, told Petey to call 911, grabbed a flashlight, and ran out.  A car passing had been t-boned by a car that ran the stop sign.

One car had landed in my neighbor’s yard.  The other was still partially in the intersection.  The driver had exited, but the passenger side had been hit, and the woman sitting there had been hurt—her arm and shoulder were broken in at least two places, probably more.Petey came out and looked after one driver, a neighbor looked after the other, and I leaned into the car to talk to the woman.  I covered her with a coat, and gave her my hand.  I could tell by her chattering teeth she was trying to go into shock.  I tried to get her to slow her breathing, so she wouldn’t hyperventilate.  I held her hand, and told her I’d stay until the ambulance came.

But every second I waited, I thought of my own wreck.  And I remembered the fear and guilt and shame I felt.  And how my rescuer’s presence calmed me and made the whole nightmare easier to bear.

I will never ever be able to thank that man in Okisko enough.  So, holding a couple of very frightened hands is the absolute least that I can do.Thanks for your time.

Joy by the Pound

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Every couple of weeks The Kid and I take a trip to Chapel Hill.

First, we visit Café Driade.  We have an inviolable routine.  The Kid gets coffee and I get their transcendent hot chocolate.  We grab a table on the back patio.  And, we share half a fresh baguette with butter and strawberry jam.

But, it’s not something that we can do every time.  If it’s raining, won’t work.  If they’re out of bread, butter, or strawberry jam; nope.  No hot chocolate?  No can do.  And if it’s too hot outside; game over man.

But I’m telling you, sitting there, licking jam off my thumb or burning my tongue on my cocoa, I feel Frencher than Brigitte Bardot wearing a beret and eating a plate of Al’s fries.  It’s a precious little jewel of a time for both The Kid and me.

tres chic

Tres Chic!

We then head over to Trader Joe’s for groceries.  If you’ve never visited, I highly recommend it.  Before heading back to our own neck of the woods, we stop at Whole Foods for a little gourmet, organic splurging.

First, a sample of gelato in the prepared food section.  That’s the part of the store that gets us into trouble.  It doesn’t matter if we’re hungry or stuffed; we want everything.

That hot bar’s the toughie.  Not only does it all look delicious, we package it up ourselves.  That’s a recipe for disasterous sticker shock at the register. My mom says that when I was a kid I’d, “eat with my eyes, instead of my stomach”.  Which means that if you serve yourself, restraint and judgment fly out the window, and you take way more than you can eat.  Or, in my case, take waaaay more than I should eat; ‘cause honey, I can eat it; I just shouldn’t.

And the item that so often leads to my downfall is the cauliflower mac and cheese.  It’s unctuous and delicious.  This stuff also really reheats well; unlike regular mac, it doesn’t separate into a sad, greasy, unappetizing mess.

This could make a girl lactophobic.

Because I always inadvertently buy at least $10,000 worth, and my local Whole Foods doesn’t usually carry it, it’s problematic for me.  So, I finally asked Chef Alec how they make this stuff, and he told me.

The really neat things about this recipe is the cauliflower makes the sauce go further with very few calories and no fat.  Also, if you have cauliflower-phobic diners, they will never know it’s in there.

Cauliflower Mac & Cheesecauliflower mac1 pound ridged macaroni, cooked al dente and drained

1 head of cauliflower, cut into small florets and steamed until very tender. 

Place cooked cauliflower into food processor or blender and puree until completely smooth.

Cheese Sauce:cauliflower mac sauce¼ cup butter

¼ cup flour

2 ½ cups skim milk

4 cups shredded cheddar

½ teaspoon dry mustard

Salt & pepper

Preheat oven to 350.

Melt butter in large heavy pot on medium.  Whisk in flour.  Pour in milk, whisking constantly until it begins to bubble.  Add mustard.  Stir in cheese a bit at a time, until it melts, then add more until 3 cups are in, reserving last cup.  Take off heat.

Add pureed cauliflower and stir until combined.  Put in cooked pasta and mix through.  Season, taste, and re-season if necessary.  Pour into greased 3-quart casserole dish.  Place any leftovers into individual dishes for solo dining.  Cover with foil.Bake for 40 minutes, uncover and top with remaining cheese and bake 20 more.  Let sit 10-15 minutes before service.  Serves 8-10.

This mac would be a great addition to Easter dinner.  And if going to someone else’s house like me, this a terrific dish to bring.

Or stay home, eat it your pajamas, and Netflix & chill.Thanks for your time.

Contact Debbie at momsequitur@gmail.com.

Booms In The Night

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The first one sounded like a boxcar was dropped from the sky.The second one sounded like a boulder hitting a washing machine.

I honestly don’t remember what exactly mine sounded like; but it was a car built of steel, versus a cast iron ditch culvert.  So, people in alternate universes probably heard that collision.

It was 1985, I was 21, and far too big for my britches.  Petey and I had been married two years, and were buying a little piece of land near Okisko, a tiny little community about ten miles from the bright lights of Elizabeth City.

This was 1985.

I was managing a clothing store at the mall, and after we’d closed up one Sunday night, I was kind of at loose ends.  Petey had an overnight shift at the hospital, and the only thing I had going on was a load of dishes waiting in the sink at home.  I asked my friend Robert if he wanted to take a ride in our recently purchased 240Z out to see the land we were buying.

He had even less going on than me.  So, we hopped in the car, turned south and headed for Okisko.On our way home I was trying to get a new station on the radio when the road in front of us curved to the right.

This is the car I broke that night.  A huge loss for mankind.

I didn’t.

Which is how the engine block ended up where the gas pedal had been mere seconds before.  And how my face bent the iron steering wheel into the dash.  Luckily, Robert just bumped his knee on the dash.

The driver’s side had partially buried itself into the ditch, so we climbed out the passenger side.  I climbed out fine, but when I got out of the car and tried to stand up, I found my right ankle had become something akin to wet cardboard.Not long after, another car came along.  It was a couple of kids and they asked if we needed help.  We would have said yes, please, but the man who lived in the house we wrecked in front of, came outside and said he’d take care of us.  As they drove off, I heard the passenger say to the driver, “Oh my God, look at her face!”

I must admit, hearing that was a tad unsettling.

It wasn’t these guys in that ambulance, but that woulda been cool as hell.

Our rescuer called an ambulance, and we sat in his kitchen to wait.  I called Petey and he let the E.R. know so they could call him when we arrived at the hospital.  While we waited, I started to wonder what the kids in the car were talking about.  I asked the home owner if he had a mirror I could use.  By this time I knew the problem was in my bottom lip area.  I’d also noticed a brand new, very pronounced lisp.

He and Robert looked at each other, then he told me no.  But, I kept wondering.  So when the paramedics arrived, I asked them if they could “fixth” it.  I swear, these guys could have taught a college level course in smooth.

His answer to my query?

Meat as a car, not meat in a car.

“I don’t know, did you find a piece of meat in the car?”

I shrieked, “A peeth of meat!!?!!”

It seemed my lip had ripped through, all the way down to where it attached to the inside of my mouth, like someone had cut it with a pair of scissors.

Illustration only, not my actual face.

The doctors sewed it back together (there actually was no errant “meat”, it just looked like a chunk was missing), and bolted and screwed my ankle back together.  The only lasting effects are an ankle that aches slightly in bad weather, two small scars on my face, and the inability to whistle or spit on a competitive level.

Thanks for your time.End of Part One- Tune in Next Week for the Exciting Finale.  Same bat time, same bat station.

Saint Paddy’s Way

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On Groundhog Day, people around the world celebrate this very important, very American holiday.French and Italian schoolchildren draw pictures of giant rodents wearing top hats and driving Cadillacs.  Smoked turkey legs, macaroni salad, and peanut butter & jelly sandwiches are specials on every restaurant menu.  Peruvian grocery stores have sales on Twinkies, mayonnaise, and aerosol cheese.

Japanese college kids wearing “Hug me I’m American” pins get drunk on alcoholic beverages in silver pouches and Budweiser tall boys served in paper bags.  German walk around in cardboard baseball caps and in England, for this one day, biscuits are actually biscuits, and not cookies.  But instead of butter or honey, they smother them with beans.And, this is how Irish folks feel when they see how we have distorted what traditionally was a pretty low-key feast day for Saint Patrick.  For those readers with little familiarity of the Catholic Church, a feast day doesn’t mean a huge meal, it’s just a day of remembrance of a particular saint.

And Saint Paddy’s isn’t even a top tier feast day.  The Catholics rank them, and Saint Paddy is strictly middle of the road.  It’s the iceberg lettuce, the 10% off sale, the Val Kilmer Batman of feast days. Although there is a legitimate source for drinking yourself silly on March 18.  The day falls smack dab in the middle of Lent, which is a period of self-reflection, and abstinence.  The church though, lifted the Lenten restrictions for the day.

So, party on, Garth.

For the day I have one legit Irish dish, and one recipe that is a complete and total corruption (but a fun, tasty, and easy-to-make abomination).

Classic Colcannoncolcannon 24 pounds waxy potatoes, peeled and cut into similar sizes

1 yellow onion, chopped

1 head green cabbage, sliced thin

½ cup butter

¾ cup buttermilk

5 slices bacon, cooked until crispy, crumbled

½ cup chopped parsley

Little pinch of freshly grated nutmeg

Salt & pepper to taste (so taste, please)

Put spuds in large pot cover with heavily salted water.  Cook on medium high until fork-tender.  While potatoes cook, melt butter in large skillet on medium.  Put cabbage and onion into skillet and cover.  Let veg wilt down and release liquid, then uncover and cook until they’re lightly golden.  Remove from heat and set aside.

When potatoes are cooked, drain, then return to pot. Pour butter and vegetables over the potatoes, add nutmeg.  Mash with potato masher until mostly smooth.  Stir in buttermilk, a little at a time, until mashed potato smoothness.  Season, taste and re-season, if necessary.   Plate on large platter.  Sprinkle bacon and parsley on top.  Serves 8. 

And now, for an absolutely ridiculous, but totally yummy faux Irish treat (I don’t even think they sell Lucky Charms in Ireland…).

Lucky Rice Krispy Treatsirish rice krispies3 cups Rice Krispies

3 cups Lucky Charms cereal

2-16-ounce bags of marshmallows

1 stick (1/2 cup) butter

1 tablespoon vanilla

2-3 drops green food coloring

Big pinch salt

Place butter into a large heavy pot and add marshmallows, vanilla, salt, and green food color.  With heat on medium, stir until the marshmallows are melted.Pour Rice Krispies and Lucky Charms into the melted marshmallows and gently stir until it’s combined.  Pour into greased 9X13 dish, smooth top.  Let cool (approx. 2 hours) before slicing.

I don’t think anybody really minds that once it crossed the Atlantic, St. Pat’s Day has become a little “different”.  It’s just kind of interesting.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I want to get a jump on my Arbor Day shopping.Thanks for your time.

The Family

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There were seven kids in the Taber family.

Sonny was the oldest by a wide margin.  He was the child of the father Al’s first marriage.  After his first wife died, they moved to New Jersey.  There Al met and married Carrie.

The next oldest was Molly.  She appointed herself CEO of the children.  Molly was convinced she knew what was best for each and every member of the Taber brood.  She still does, but it always, always comes from a place of profound love.She married Bill, a boy who even at a young age had a black and white moral code that informed his life.  In many men this could make them insufferable prigs, but the young man’s belief system was based on humanity and compassion.  This made him one of the moral centers of the family he joined.

At one time or another almost every member of the family turned to Bill for guidance.  He pulled more than one relative from the edge of ethical or financial cliffs.

The next in line was Bobbie.  She married Bob at age 16, and they raised three boys.  A few years after Bob died, she passed away. It’s been nearly twenty years, but sitting around the dinner table, the family feels her absence. She was the cook of the family.  Her meals and desserts were legendary.  Her lemon meringue pie is still spoken of in the hushed tones one would use for black magic.

The next child was Tootie.  Her heart has always been so full of childlike joy that giggles regularly escape and erupt which fill others with that same happiness.  She married Dave, a young man in the Coast Guard.  They moved to North Carolina and started their family.  After Al and Carrie passed away, she chose to take in her younger brother and sister. Tootie, her husband, and children settled on the west coast.  And each and every day she lives her life full of the joy that continues to nourish her entire family, and everyone lucky enough to be around her.

The next child was a son, Tommy.  By this time, Sonny had his own family, so Tommy was both the baby and the only boy. This translated into a young man full of mischief, but fiercely protective of his family.  After serving in the Army, he married Sandy.

They had three children and Tommy, along with his bride, are still full of fun and mischief but also ready, at a moment’s notice, to throw down in defense of any member of the clan.The youngest daughter was Patty.  She was barely an adult when both parents died. She still lived at home with the youngest.  Vowing to keep her brother with her, she moved to North Carolina, where she met the man she would marry, Glen.  The couple had two children.

Despite the frequent moves that came with a military life, this unit became an enduring, stabilizing force of the Taber tribe.  They’re known for the consistent, thoughtful generosity shown to family–both traditional and the unofficial members acquired along the way.The youngest is Kenny.  The second half of his childhood was spent with Patty and husband.  He was uncle and older brother to their children.  He married Kathy, and joined the Coast Guard just like Glen.  They had two daughters and settled in the Northwest.  He lives thousands of miles away from his pseudo-siblings, but he’s only one phone call away from big brother detail.

This collection of souls may not seem all that much more special or interesting than millions of other families.  But I happen to know that they are, in fact, both unique and exceptional.

Because, Gentle Reader, they are my family.

Thanks for your time.

Praline Payola

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Flying has become so adversarial, stressful, and downright unpleasant, that travelers fully expect to be harassed and assaulted by both the TSA at security, and airline employees. On all sides, common sense has become obsolete. Americans have given away their freedom and dignity with both hands to satisfy the fever dreams of security “experts”, with no identifiable payoff.  And, until we rise up en masse and say we’re not paying one more penny to be folded, spindled and mutilated—that we demand to be treated as human adults and not free-loading hamsters, the institutional abuse will continue.

But, sometimes, folks gotta fly.  Even me, on occasion.  But I dread it.

Back in 2011, The Kid was finishing up freshman year at college in Vermont and Petey and I needed to bring our child and the accumulated miscellany and rubble back down to NC.  Because of time constraints, the plan was to fly up and rent a van to transport child and possessions.On top of all the potential pitfalls and logistic complications, I was stewing over an entirely new possible fly in the travel ointment.

Because of a catastrophically broken leg when The Kid was in elementary school, Petey often needs to use a walking stick.  He has three.

One is a spindly bamboo model.  Nope.

This is not Petey, nor has Petey ever worn white gloves and a top hat.  I suspect this guy might be a magician.  His poor mother.

One is a Scarlet Pimpernel-level cool authentic sword-cane that I purchased for him one Christmas.  Once it arrived I discovered that it’s considered a concealed weapon, and couldn’t even leave the front porch without the commission of a couple of felonies.  So…nopeThe last is a very sturdy hiking/walking stick that’s reliable, strong, and doesn’t make him look like a pretentious fop.

Just one problem, though.  The end screws off, and underneath is a pretty sharp point for hiking in uneven terrain.  But as you may have heard, the TSA have a certain bias against anything sharper than popsicle sticks.

So, what to do?I decided to employ the time-honored tradition of bribery.

I had already planned on taking a batch of my company cheese straws and creamy pecan pralines for The Kid to share with friends on their last night in the dorm.  I made up a few goody bags to pass around to the TSA, and anybody else who looked like they had any possible authority over us getting to the Green Mountain State.

Creamy Pecan Pralinespecan pralines    *3 cups chopped pecans

    * 2 cups light brown sugar, packed

    * 1 cup granulated sugar

    * 1 ½ cups heavy cream

    * 1/3 cup whole milk

    * 6 tablespoons butter, salted

    * 1 ½ teaspoons salt

    * 1 vanilla bean, scraped

Preparation:

Toast pecans:

Heat oven to 350°. Spread chopped pecans out on large baking sheet. Bake for about 5 minutes, or until the chopped pecans are lightly browned and aromatic.In a medium saucepan, combine brown sugar, granulated sugar, cream, milk, butter, empty vanilla pod, and salt. Cook over medium-low heat, stirring constantly, to 230°. Add toasted pecans and continue cooking, stirring constantly, to 236° F.

Remove from heat; let stand for 5 minutes. Add vanilla beans and stir with wooden spoon until mixture is thickened and slightly creamy, about 1 to 1 ½ minutes. Using a tablespoon or small cookie scoop, spoon the pralines onto a sheet of parchment paper or waxed paper. If the mixture becomes grainy, heat and stir over medium heat for a few seconds, or until it can be easily scooped and dropped.Makes about 4 dozen.

Did they work?

Well, I’ll put it this way.  Petey still has his stick, and The Kid is not stuck in Vermont, waiting for a ride home.

Thanks for your time.

And the award goes to…

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The Kid and I are big fans of Alton Brown.He’s a classically trained chef, a filmmaker, a television producer and proud geek.  His show, Good Eats, didn’t just teach me how to do something, he also taught me why.  A well-trained monkey can turn out a loaf of banana bread but has no idea about the chemistry of baking.  Well, this monkey now does.

Alton explained how important cast iron is in the kitchen, talked me through buying my first piece, and showed me how to season and maintain it.He also was a big influence when it came time for The Kid to pick a college (which turned out to be Alton’s alma mater, the New England Culinary Institute).

Like almost every person with a culinary bent, AB has a laundry list of firmly held opinions.  Probably his strongest rule is his belief that uni-taskers (meaning a tool that can do only one thing) are wasteful abominations.  He used to say the only uni-tasker he’d own was a fire extinguisher, but then he went and learned how to make ice cream with it.Normally I totally agree with that philosophy, but I just got an awesome new tool, that only has one job.  It’s a little stand that holds zip-top bags wide-open so you can fill them hands-free; the Baggy Rack.  I got it from Amazon.

I love it.

It’s a terrific little invention.  But that got me thinking about all the inventions that weren’t so nifty.  The ones that make you wonder if copious amounts of mind-altering substances were ingested in the conception and fabrication processes.hellWhich brings me to my first annual “What the H-E-Double-hockey-sticks were they thinking?” awards.

Tonight’s nominees:

1.)   The plastic floor length umbrella.  You’ll be head-to-toe dry, but there’s also a good chance you’ll suffocate to death.  But hey, at least your hair will look good for the funeral!

2.) Remote head strap – Keep all your remotes close.  Padded, Velcro-ed headgear to attach all your gizmos, so you’ll never lose them.  It’s not only a fashion statement—it’s a cry for help!

3.)   Baby Stroller/Scooter Hybrid- Adults’ use of a scooter often ends in both injury and ignominy.  But it’s lonely in the ER all by yourself.  Did somebody say, “Baby’s first broken bone”?

4.)   Hourglass Traffic Lights-instead of that boring circular beacon, this comes in the shape of an hourglass so you can see exactly how much time until the light changes.  So, keep your eyes heavenward and go the second you see green.  And pay no attention to that light-running semi barreling through the intersection.

5.)   Ice Cream lock-If you hate to share, this is the invention for you.  With a programmable combination lock.  Although if you’re the kind of person who would lock up your ice cream, you probably don’t need to worry about other people.  Any people.  At all.  Ever.

6.)   The flask tie-Having to wear a tie for work is a drag.  Fill this tie with your favorite alcoholic beverage and indulge at your pleasure.  Then you can be the most charming guy in the unemployment line.

The winner is…The Wheelmate – Work desk and computer stand that attaches to your steering wheel.  If commuting is cutting into your productivity, or crucial updates of social media, this is the gadget for you.  Dangerous? Sure, but look at it this way, if you survive the crash, you’ll have even more time to get busy with tweets and Yelp reviews of the ICU nurses and the hospital cafeteria’s Jell-O.

Humans are so darn creative.Thanks for your time.

*P.S.-None of these products were made up.  For better or worse, somebody invented each one.

Easy as Pie

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So, here’s the thing.

Dewey’s cake: Best.Cake.Ever.  If I lived closer to Winston-Salem, I’d weigh 800 pounds.

I love carbs.  Carbohydrates and the yummy fat that goes on and around them.  Heck, two of my favorite foods—potato salad and birthday cake, are both gloriously fat adjacent carbs.

A life-long love affair.  Petey Who?

But I have a big beef with the comingling of certain starchy types.  Namely bread or pastry with potatoes.  I don’t eat spud subs, potato pizzas or pie.  But it’s not because I don’t think they’d be tasty because I so think they would.  It’s something else entirely.

I guess we could call it nutritional conscience.

It’s like wearing way too much jewelry, driving a super flashy, crazy loud car, or beating a basketball opponent 75-13.  It’s arrogant, in-your-face, over-kill.  And no good can possibly come from it.  Whether it’s karma, the ultimate sin of tackiness, or the urgent need for a coronary by-pass, some things just ain’t fitting.Last time I was at Costco I picked up one of their dump truck-sized boxes of mushrooms.  I wanted to do something other than the usual mushroom vehicles of gravy, or salad, or soup.  I decided to make a pie.  The earthiness of mushrooms and potatoes make them perfect for each other.  But potatoes and pastry crust are a no-go combo.

So, I let the spuds be the crust.

Mushroom Pie with Hash Brown Crust

hash brown crust

For Crust:

4 cups shredded potatoes

6 tablespoons butter, melted

1 teaspoon salt

salt & pepper

An hour or so before baking, grate the potatoes into a colander.  Sprinkle with teaspoon of salt, and stir so salt’s evenly distributed.  Let sit in colander for at least an hour.  Then place spuds into kitchen towel and twist it around to get the most water out you can.

Preheat oven to 450.  Pour melted butter into shredded potatoes.  Season.  Toss until everything’s well-coated.

Place spuds into 9-inch pie pan sprayed with cooking spray.  Press into bottom and sides in even layer.

Bake for 20 minutes, then turn on low broiler and cook 10 minutes or until lightly browned and dry.

When done, remove from oven and set aside to make filling.

Filling:

mushroom pie2 slices crispy bacon, fat reserved

24 ounces mushrooms, cleaned and sliced

1 yellow onion

2 tablespoons fresh thyme

1 tablespoon tomato paste

1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce

1/2 cup white wine

1 cup heavy cream

1/2 cup low-fat milk

2 eggs

1/2 cup hard cheese, such as Parmesan, Manchego, aged Cheddar, grated

15 gratings of fresh nutmeg

1/4 cup fresh parsley, chopped

salt & pepper

Preheat oven to 325.  Put mushrooms and onion into heavy-bottomed pot with butter, thyme, salt, and pepper.  Turn on medium-high and cook until totally dry and browned, stirring occasionally.

While the mushrooms cook, whisk together dairy, eggs, nutmeg, and cheese, reserving 2 tablespoons cheese.

Add tomato paste and Worcestershire.  When color of tomato paste has deepened, pour in wine, scraping up browned bits.  Cook until the veg are completely dry.  Spoon into potato crust and smooth top.

Slowly pour egg mixture over ‘shrooms.  Sprinkle top with reserved cheese, parsley, and bacon.

Bake for 25 minutes, then turn on low broiler and cook until set and lightly browned. mushroom pieRemove from oven and let sit 15-20 minutes before serving.  Serve with something green.  Feeds 8.

It was really tasty. It was less eggy than a quiche, but it did have a custard-y component.  And the watchword here is dry.  Make sure the shrooms are cooked to Sahara-level desiccation.  The drier the ingredients, the better the final product will be.

Because even though you may disagree with me about carbo-overload, nobody wants wet pie.

Wet pie.

Thanks for your time.

 

 

Coqui & Me

/ momsequitur / 1 Comment

It's What's On The Inside That Counts Inspirational Hand Hammered and Stamped Brass Bracelet Bangle CuffShe was the living embodiment of the old saying that beauty is on the inside.

Being stationed in Puerto Rico on a military base was an interesting state of affairs.We were literally living in a vacation paradise.  We got to experience a culture that for some, was completely unlike anything we’d ever known.  Rent and utilities were provided by Uncle Sam and thus microscopic compared to living stateside.  There were also far fewer opportunities to spend money on shopping, and eating out.

All of these factors meant that most families had an unusually large amount of disposable income.

I can’t speak to “Teen Town”, I wasn’t a ‘teen’ when we lived in Puerto Rico.

The military takes family morale very seriously.  There were swimming pools, movies, bowling, beaches, theme nights at the base clubs, USO shows, sponsored trips, and horse stables.  Our ranch was the Lazy R.

This is actually my Lazy R, back in the day.  It sure did seem bigger then.

Most horse folks in the area knew that the people at Lazy R had a soft spot for animals in trouble.  Sick, abused or neglected, we could almost always be counted on to step up, take them from the situation, and give them a good home where people would love them and take care of them.

More Lazy R.

One day my dad told me about a young mare that had had some troubles in her life but needed somebody to love her, take care of her, and make her feel safe.

Her name was Coqui.

The horse on the far right looks just like Coqui.

She was a beautiful little horse; her coat was a deep, rich chestnut flecked with black.  Her flowing mane and tail were a deep ebony.  Her head and ears were small and aristocratic.  Her large intelligent brown eyes were heart-breakingly sweet.  Coqui was almost perfect—she only had one flaw.

Her mouth was completely mutilated.  Her lips were scarred, twisted and mangled.

Dad explained that almost before she was old enough to be ridden, she had been stolen, by what had to be people fashioned from pure evil.  They didn’t have a bridle but wanted to ride, so they used a makeshift bridle.

Made from barbed wire.

A Hackamore.

Because of the damage, she could only be ridden with a hackamore.  Instead of a bit that went between her teeth, a hackamore had a padded leather band that went around her muzzle.  The light pressure provided was enough to use on a well-trained, responsive mount.I’d never been around a horse with a sweeter disposition.  She was eager to please in everything she did.  Instead of angry and skittish, the unspeakable abuse had made her wise and gentle.

She wasn’t a very fast horse, or outrageously nimble.  But she put her whole heart into everything I asked of her.  I loved her, and she loved me.  We were inseparable.     I would have lived at Lazy R if I could.  Or failing that, happily shared my bedroom with her.I try to live in a way that leaves me with few regrets.  But one of my biggest concern that sweet little mare.

When it came time to move to our next home, we had to sell all three horses.  But, I really hate endings and goodbyes.  I guess that as a military brat, I’d lived through too many of them.Because of my weakness, the day we handed over the horses, I couldn’t face it and stayed home.  I never said goodbye to my sweet, sweet girl.  I so wish I had.

So, I have a bit of advice.  Rarely in this life do we get the foreknowledge and opportunity to say a final goodbye.  If you can, do it. Saying goodbye hurts, but it’s an honest pain that we owe to ourselves and the ones we love.  Consider it the price of admission.

Thanks for your time.