Author: momsequitur

Cookie Cat

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When The Kid was away at college, my mom sent our little scholar a box of her famous frosted sugar cookies.  My generous child offered them to friends, but there were no takers—it was culinary school, and these were just boring sugar cookies from some random grandmother in North Carolina.NECI on Main, Montpelier, VermontEventually, one person had one.  Then another person, then word got out about these amazing cookies.  Long after they were nothing but a memory, chef-instructors would approach The Kid, and ask if there any cookies left.

“No?  Any idea if you might get some more?  And when they might arrive?  Lemme give you my cell number…and my home number…wait, here’s my address.  Any time at all, just gimme a yell.”

Like my own mom, another mom I know makes an epic frosted sugar cookie.  My mom’s cookies are shockingly delicious, but definitely not fancy.  Mama Cat’s are crispy, delicate, and also, shockingly delicious, but they are kind of fancy.Her son Chef Chrissie, makes them for very special dates.  He also must use them in some type business negotiations, because he calls them his “never-fail deal closers”.

If they were shoes, Mom’s would be a classic pair of Doc Martin boots; good-looking, super comfortable classics that you could wear every day, all day.  Mama Cat’s would be Christian Louboutin’s; elegant, exquisite, and for very special occasions.

As good as the cookie is, the frosting, this wonderful vanilla fudge, is almost better.  And, if you let the frosting boil for about five minutes before adding the confectioner’s sugar, it will set up much thicker, and can be placed into mini muffin papers, with a light sprinkling of jimmies. They transform into addictive little vanilla-fudge candies. The secret to these cookies is the dough and how it’s rolled.  If the dough gets warm, they won’t work, so unless you work really, really, fast, you will need to refrigerate it every so often while working with it, and before baking.  And these need to be rolled super thin—like 1/8-inch thin.  Don’t get lazy here, thinness makes a huge difference.  You want the finished product thin and crispy as a cracker.

These cookies are the perfect accompaniment for tea with the mother-in-law or to grease any particularly squeaky wheels you might have in your life.  They are chic little treats that would look appropriate at a patisserie in Paris, but also just right for eating in your pajamas while watching one of those “real” housewives shows.

Mama Cat’s Elegant Sugar Cookiesmama cat's cookies1 cup butter, softened

1 & 1/2 cups powdered sugar, sifted

1 egg

1 teaspoon vanilla

2 & 1/2 cups sifted flour

1 teaspoon baking soda

3/4 teaspoon cream of tartar

1/2 teaspoon salt

Combine all ingredients.  Split dough into two disks and refrigerate for at least one hour.  Roll cookie dough out very thin and cut into shapes. Bake on parchment lined baking sheet at 400 degrees for about six minutes.  Cool on racks until completely cool.

Makes 3-4 dozen cookies, depending on size and shape.

Vanilla Icingvanilla fudge1/2 cup butter

1 cup granulated sugar

1/4 cup milk

Heat ingredients in a saucepan until it boils.  Let it cool slightly, and mix in 1 & 3/4 -2 cups of sifted powdered sugar, a pinch of salt and 2 teaspoons vanilla.

Spread a thin layer of the warm icing on cookies and let cool and set.soft maple sugar cookiesIf you take your time, and use care, you’ll have an elegant, delicious confection to impress.  They’re great to have in your back pocket (but not literally—they’d crumble and stain your drawers).

Stained drawers.  See what I did there?

Thanks for your time.

Horsin’ Around

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Macho was the first.He wasn’t tall, but was as solid as a Sherman tank.  He had very large ears and a Roman nose, which meant his profile was convex; with an outward curve.  He was the color of warm maple syrup with mahogany mane and tail.

He was a chungo; a Puerto Rican colloquial term for a horse of indeterminate lineage.

He was badly gelded.  So badly that it never even occurred to him that he was, in fact, a gelding.This fact was brought home to me with a bang and a crunch one day when I was fetching him from the pasture where he lived with his horsey harem.  He didn’t want to go.

He really, really, didn’t want to go.  I was convinced of this about the same time he knocked me down and stepped on my shoulder.  Or it may have been when he ran over my prone body and one of his hooves struck me on the top of my skull. I’m very lucky that he didn’t wear shoes, but even so I probably should have been under concussion protocol.  I definitely would have been, if I’d told my parents exactly what happened that day.  As far as they knew, Macho was cranky, bumped into me, and knocked me on my keister.

I still have a horse hoof shaped dent in the top of my skull.

Because Macho was temperamental and something of a “handful”, he became my dad’s mount.  My folks then bought Juanita, for my brother and I to share.  She was a bit taller than Macho and black-speckled white with gray mane and tail. Juanita looked like she was half asleep half of the time.   The other half she looked like she was stuffed for display.

But underneath that semi-comatose exterior, Juanita had two secrets.

First secret: when she wanted, she was capable of an equine explosion of speed.  That mare went from drowsy to sixty in the blink of an eye.  But she had to want.

The other secret was a mile-wide mean streak.One afternoon she and I were taking a ride in an unused pasture.  On the return leg of the trip, she decided to turn on the gas.  We were a streak of lightening.  It was one of the most exultant experiences of my young life.

As we came close to the open gate of the pasture, I attempted to slow the horsey locomotive that Juanita had become.  Slowing held no appeal for her, but she had a plan.  Upon exiting the pasture at a very high rate of speed, Juanita suddenly swerved.

Rider-less, she would have just missed scrubbing her side against a thick post at the pasture opening.But of course, she wasn’t rider-less.

It hurt when Macho mugged me.  And in kindergarten a brick had fallen on my head (yeah, I know; insert joke here).  So, I thought I knew pain.

Um, no.  I knew not the nature of true pain.  It hurt so badly I kind of hoped my leg would fall off.  I saw stars and looked into the pain abyss.  And from that abyss, pain stared right back at me, unblinking.How I didn’t break any bones remains a mystery.  But all I was left with were bruises and a healthy dislike for one particular sleepy-looking mare.  I’d loved horses my entire life, and it seemed I would never have a bond with a horse of my own; maybe there was something wrong with me, and horses just didn’t like me.

But then I met Coqui.To be continued…

Thanks for your time.

Potluck Jackpot

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Maybe you spent too much on shoes, and payday is still a few days away.  Maybe you’re on a fixed income.  Maybe more than one person in the family has “La Grippe” (antique term for influenza), and a trip farther than the mailbox and/or trash bin right now is about as doable as a quick jaunt to Paris for lunch.  Or, maybe you’re snowed in.

But there are empty bellies, and the accompanying sad eyes.  So whatever chain of events brought you to this juncture, it’s here.  You’ve got faces to feed, and you’ve got to do it with what you have on hand.To research what might become dinner with a seriously depleted larder, I decided to play a mental version of Chopped, a Food Network show where the competing chefs get a basket of disparate odds and ends, then try to make something original and edible.

For inspiration, I chose a few items from my freezer, and inventoried my pantry.  You probably won’t have the same ingredients (that’d be weird and a little creepy), but maybe something similar that could spark some ideas.

I found a bag full of chicken from a ginormous rotisserie bird I plucked from Costco.  I’d already used half of the meat so had about 3 cups of clucker.

With it I could make:chicken dishesChicken salad flavored and sauced according to what else is in the kitchen.  I could make tacos.  Or mix it with some Eastern NC bbq sauce and have barbecue night.  Chopped and added to a frittata along with whatever kind of cheese on hand and some par-cooked spuds.  Folded into some cheese sauce and spooned over rice or pasta.  Stirred into soup or white bean chili.

There’s a package of pre-formed hamburgers in the freezer.  I could make them as burgers and dress them according to what’s in the fridge.

But.There’s no law that says they have to stay burger-shaped; or if I leave them as burgers, how I must fix them.  I could make burger parmesan by laying them in a dish, covering with marinara and melting some mozzarella on top.  I could make a cream sauce and have creamed beef burgers on toast.  Remold them into meatballs and slowly cook them in sweet and sour sauce, or a sweet smoky barbecue sauce.

But what if that proverbial cupboard is well and truly bare?  Say you’ve got one blue box of mac and cheese, and a few odds and ends of this and that.You could add veggies, like broccoli or shoe peg corn.  You could add bacon to it and then top it with a poached egg.  Or, make a frittata by pouring the mac which you’ve prepared according to directions in and around the beaten egg in the skillet.  If you want something that takes a little more work, but is heretically indulgent—make the mac, cool it, slice it, and then do a three-part dredge (flour, then egg wash, then breadcrumbs), let it set up in the fridge for at least an hour, then panfry it to golden brown.  Top with something green and lightly dressed; for contrast and to lighten it up some.And last, but actually one of my favorite need-to-go-to-the-grocery-store dinners is breakfast.  I scramble up a mess of eggs.  I always have a few potatoes floating around my kitchen, which I make into hash browns.  Then I add toast, or bacon, or even a small salad.  It’s the kind of feel-good meal that might just make you forget (or not care) why you couldn’t make it to the supermarket in the first place.Thanks for your time.

No Runs, No Hits, But Eros

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It’s insidious.Through TV, movies, and popular culture people have been programmed with this fabricated notion of what “true love” looks like.  It’s a steaming chowder of those vampire/mortal epic romances, one full cup of Ryan/Blake and Channing/Jenna, a dash of that home-flipping reality couple from Texas, and pretty much anything starring Ryan Gosling.

And, buying into it only brings frustration and hurt feelings: “If he loved me, he’d read my mind and know I want him to recreate that scene in Say Anything!”  “If she loved me she’d be happy to watch six hours of golf with a bucket of wings and a six-pack! The beer’s imported!”I admit I totally fell for it.  Growing up many of my favorite movies had happily ever after endings, and I read enough hearts and flowers literature to fill a frumpy, middle-aged, multiple cat-owning, never been kissed library.

And poor old Petey paid the lovey-dovey-ding-dong price for it.

Every year until The Kid was born, I’d make him get dressed up and inform him he was taking me “somewhere nice” for dinner.  And to me at that time it meant the restaurant at a local mid-price hotel for something like beef Wellington for two or gloppy Stroganoff containing unidentifiable shards of meat. So we’d head home, $100 poorer, with four sore feet from uncomfortable shoes, and two bellies full of indigestion.

Romantical, ain’t it?

So here’s the thing.  Just because that’s how everybody thinks you’re supposed do Valentine’s Day doesn’t mean you must.  I promise, the Cupid squad will not raid your house and run you in on crimes against courtship.

The Cupid squad don’t play.  They’ll cut a bitch.

You know what’s way more romantic than doing something that you’d never normally do because that’s what’s expected?

Having fun, and enjoying each other’s company.  And if you don’t have to get all dressed up and go out and eat overpriced, indifferent food prepared and served by indifferent people who’d rather not be there, so much the better.

So, here’s a much happier, less stressful V-Day date: get take-out.

Really. 

And by takeout, I’m not talking Burger King, unless that’s your jam.  For me, Chinese is always a quick way to my heart.  It could be a big box full of Mexican, or deli sandwiches, or a vat of spaghetti and garlic bread, or barbecue and all the fixin’s.  There’s some kind of takeout that you both love—go get it.

Then make a living room picnic.  Put on your comfiest pajamas, eat your takeaway feast, watch a fun movie, or play Twister, or have a double solitaire marathon, or listen to music and tell each other how awesome you are.

The important thing is to remember.  Remember why this human, out of all other humans is the one you want to be in the rocker next to yours at the home.

And for dog’s sake, turn off the beeping, blinking, distracting tethers.  I promise when you die, you won’t go out saying, “Why didn’t I watch one more chainsaw juggling sloth video on Youboob?”

Here’s the other thing.

That’s my idea of a Valentine’s Day dream date (No, it is not sad and dull. Maybe you’re sad and dull).  Your selection may vary according to the condition of your bank account, its participants, and your dating habits.  

So, go on a pub crawl, or a hike, or shoe shopping if that’s your bag.  Just don’t do something so forced and manufactured that it’s no longer romance but a painful chore.  You do you (both).

Anyway, do you think Saint Valentine would want you to celebrate his day by being miserable?

I think not.castielThanks for your time.

Must Desserts

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Nope.

I used to tease our friend Chef Chrissie that he’s not the smoothest Casanova.  Despite being Irish, he is absolutely lacking the Emerald Isle’s gift of blarney.  He’s also honest to the point that if a girl asked him if her butt looked big, he’d tell her.  Petey and he share a sense of style, something I like to call, “sixth-grader at recess ”.

But the man possesses one ability that almost makes all of his deficits disappear.  It’s a talent which when employed in the service of pitching woo, is a laser-guided missile of amour.

It’s his ‘chef-ness’.

Yup…well, sorta.

Chrissie can Turn.It.Out.

The man is a kitchen wizard.  But what to do if you have lots of love to give, but very little in the way of cooking skills?

Don’t despair, for armed with a little knowledge you can easily look like a dashing, undercover pastry chef. With the knowledge to prepare three little items, you can present any number of dishes; from fancy plated dessert, to picnic treat.

The confectionary building blocks honestly couldn’t be easier to make—two of the three come from boxes.The first, and most versatile element is whipped cream.  It lends a luscious, dressy air to any dish.  And it takes all of about two minutes to make.

Place 1 cup of heavy cream in a clean cold bowl and add 2-3 tablespoons powdered sugar, ½ teaspoon vanilla, and a tiny pinch of salt.  Using either a hand mixer or an immersion blender and beat until soft peaks form.  You can add 2 tablespoons of cocoa powder for chocolate whipped cream.

Only make as much as you need, and use it right away.  The longer it sits, the droopier it gets.loaded browniesThe second element is brownies.  Everybody loves my brownies.  My secret?  I start with a box.  But then, I tinker.

Instead of water, use coffee.  Add 4 tablespoons of cocoa powder, a splash of vanilla, and a big pinch of salt.  Go through your pantry and pull out chips, candy, nuts, marshmallows, anything that tickles your fancy.  I’ve been known to add dried fruits, butter toasted pecans, pretzel pieces, and broken candy bars.  Halfway through baking sprinkle a small amount of flaky sea salt on top.

And always, always cook for 1-2 minutes less than the minimum time on the box.  Then chill to set.The third item is chocolate mousse with a secret.  The secret is I use a box of cook and serve chocolate pudding, and instead of milk, I use heavy cream.  It’s crazy good, and convinces diners that you got it going on.  You can either use it warm and rich, or let it cool all the way and whip it in a mixer until it’s light and airy.

With these three items, you can make a plethora of dishes.

Cut the brownie into cubes, add some to a wine glass with spoonsful of pudding and fresh raspberries.  Top with a dollop of whipped cream and you’ve got chocolate trifle.Cut the brownie into rounds, put pudding between two pieces, freeze, and you’ve got elevated ice cream sandwiches.

Pour hot pudding into a mini pie shell and refrigerate.  When cool, top with whipped cream and crumbled brownie pieces.

Buy some cookie dough and press into mini muffin cups and cook until done.  Fill with whipped cream and fresh fruit. Or, put a big scoop of ice cream on a warm brownie square cover with hot caramel and top with whipped cream.

Or, do something entirely different with these three dessert elements.  Then call me, ‘cause I want some.Thanks for your time.

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

/ momsequitur / 2 Comments

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.