Category Archives: Editorial

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Hats and Other Quality Clothing

Out west, in the Rockies, dressing for work is a change from the banking world. Gone are the stuffy shirts and light wool gabardine pants for a southern lifestyle, in comes jeans and cords and plaid shirts.

After my Texas baptism and six years there I still didn’t know Western Formal, had to learn it on the fly. My husband is large, very tall. I’ve been lucky that one or two purveyors carry his size pants and shirts.

As to shirts we usually spend $75 per shirt. We get, ok I get a bit peeved when the buttons fall off the shirt or break in half. We love their shirts but I’ve been in touch with the company twice about this and the company, one that makes big Texas-style hats, has not responded even though we’ve spent over $1,000 on dress shirts.

Resistol is also a great brand, as is George Strait. My husband wants his size, all cotton button shirts. No polyester, no snaps.

I’ve asked Stetson for 10 buttons, to replace the ones that have broken in half or fell off due to faulty stitching. I asked to pay for those buttons, and for mailing them to me. No answer.

Let me tell you, I want to have a cowgal hat someday, and right now Stetson is not the company I choose because they don’t stand by their product. Sorry to do this, folks, but I asked for very little, and by ignoring me you earned this. Dee

Hats

When my husband Jim is not being called “the balloon man,” he is known for his hats around town.

During the summer months he shields his fair-skinned face from the sun with a hat we found at a summer fair, one that is reminiscent of Indiana Jones.

In the winter, he dons an aviator style cossack hat, reminds one of the full Russian fur hat with ear coverings and large furry brim.

Everyone knows it’s Jim before he arrives with Glasgow coat and cossack hat. So what did he do last night? He bought me one. Full fur Russian hat, silver. It may be ten days before it arrives and we walk the neighborhood with the dog. One thing is that I know we will be warm. We have been in this neighborhood for years and have all the coats, boots, hats and gloves to get through winter.

What I don’t know is how many people will see us coming a mile away and close their doors to those strange Texans with the funny hats.

OK, we may have to make a photo for you, but it’ll probably be a couple of weeks. ‘Til then, stay happy and don’t stress about the presents. Adopt a family from a local shelter and give them coats and gloves and hats and a couple of toys. Cheers, Dee

No Stone Unturned

Being so far from relatives, it’s rare that we get to see them. Being at my husband’s family home this year brought many changes.

Of course the kids are growing up, us and the grandchildren. There were battery-powered cars (my husband’s as a boy) being driven and a helicopter that he broke, his nephew’s birthday present.

The rough stone flooring throughout the living areas is gorgeous, and was hand-placed by Jim’s folks. They also had granite countertops installed and a new, more efficient ell (with corbels) where people can sit and where a buffet can be served. It’s beautiful.

This home was hand-built over 30 years ago on land that has and will change dramatically over the next few years as it is flooded, not the house, to provide water for the Dallas metroplex.

I’ve spoken of Jim’s mom’s frugality. That is a trait to be treasured and I measure myself against it every day and fail. Jim’s parents built a fantastic house that has lasted decades. Now the river will be forever dammed (see Bio channel) and they’ve bought land a ways away.

Right now, I know that asparagus will show up next Spring near the front walk, and a Cardinal will sit on the fence post. Not much of a herd left, sold during the drought, so there won’t be cattle looking in at me through the bathroom window.

Years have been spent on house plans, with minute changes every time. I envy that. We are mobile. Perhaps we are too mobile. We are stable job and relationship-wise but are able to move without kids changing schools or even our own furniture, as it is in air-conditioned storage elsewhere. My husband lived in that home since he was about six years old. My family moved, often, as my dad moved up the corporate ladder.

What is really cool is to have his family as mine, too, an inherently stable dairy/ranch family who instilled those values in my husband. And they encouraged his college education and then let him go where his brain took him, away from the farm.

These are folks who make improvements for a home they’re going to sell. At least they get to enjoy them, and we enjoy flying in for a visit every once in a while.

Tonight it’s my ten minute lasagne (check the blog) but with my own bolognese sauce, nearly defrosted and ready to assemble. The bolognese is a riff on Silver Palate, the strangest concoction I’ve seen for a one-hour sauce but it cooks down and works. Cheers! Dee

 

Turning the Tables

Yesterday I served lunch to my young butcher. One day I bought a cut of meat and he asked what I was going to do with it. I told him whatever my thoughts were for the day. He replied that he’d let me know how his ramen turned out.

Recently I started marinating beef flap/skirt steak  in olive oil with seasonings. I decided to do what Tuscans do to ribbollita and pasta a fagiole and add a “fillip” but at the beginning, not the end.

So, the other day I put a few tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil in a small skillet and added fresh herbs I had leftover from Thanksgiving, some rosemary, thyme and sage. Also a few peeled garlic cloves. I brought the oil up to a simmer for a few minutes then turned it off and let it cool to room temperature. Then I poured it over the meat in a plastic bag and let it sit at room temperature for an hour or two. I peppered the meat well before marinating and salted it well before grilling.

It was excellent and I’d promised a taste to two of my butchers so made a salad with a few grapes and topped it with a few slices of rare steak. Hopefully they liked it.

Last night it was very cold outside (teens) and I made matzoh ball soup (from a mix, never more) with chicken stock and grated carrot. Served with good Italian bread and a salad. Next time I’ll even make my own matzo meal. The NYTimes had a great recipe about 20 years ago with vodka and seltzer water in it. I now know that bubbles make them lighter, and a bit of vodka, rather than water, cuts down on gluten formation so also makes the balls lighter.

Many years ago my mother made soup with farina balls (I’ve never had that as an adult) and my sister insisted she was saving all the “treasures” on the bottom. The flat, heavy farina balls didn’t fit her aesthetic sense. Oh well, we get older and learn.

Oh, and to make a matzo ball soup palatable to the meat eater, I made a second broth with one whole chicken breast, cooked just until tender. I cooled it, shredded it and placed a few shreds in the bowl before adding the matzo balls and broth.

Perhaps David Sax, author of “Save The Deli” has a failsafe recipe for matzo balls he can share with us sometime. Hope all is well in Smoked Meat-ville, David! Best wishes and cheers to y’all this holiday season. Stay warm! Dee

The Christmas Spirit

Perhaps over the weekend, recuperating from Thanksgiving, we’ll get it. I don’t think my husband ever gets it. I have to hear the right song at the right time on the car radio, shed a tear and then I’m in the holiday spirit.

We’ve seen my husband’s family for Thanksgiving and my family will be absent this year, Patagonia I think. So we’re on our own and tend to take in strays.

Christmas is a holiday in which I can use my imagination. We started with turkey, moved to prime rib, yorkshire pudding and the entire English feast. I’ve done pork roasts with hard cider gravy and corn-stuffed apples.

There’s something about that song of Maria with the Nightengale that brings me to tears every year. It was always on the car radio when I drove home from Thanksgiving with my husband sound asleep in the passenger seat and our dog at his feet.

Do I need to buy Michael Buble’s Christmas to get in the mood to see how many we’ll be feeding this year? Menu, everything, depends on this year’s muse. I have to cry, first. It’s tradition. With love and two new ornaments for a wreath we’ll get this weekend, I remain your trusted scribe and omnivore, Dee

Wild Hogs

Wouldn’t I love to tell you that Jim and I gave up the rat race, bought ourselves a couple of Harleys and are going to tour the country. That is not the case. It’s tough to picture a Harley with a sidecar and our dog hasn’t learned to drive yet.

So one week ago today Jim’s dad was called by a neighbor who’d trapped two wild hogs on his property. We hooked up a couple of four-wheelers and drove over there. It was a long trek to get to the trap, and in it were two sows, 250 lbs. of prime hog.

Wild Hogs

Moving them from the circular trap to a truckbed pen was interesting. As you see, I’m taking photos, never got closer than a few feet away. They have to wire up extra cage parts (without being bitten) to make sure the hogs go through the chute and safely into the pen for transport.

We made our way back via 4-wheeler then hooked the hog trailer up to a truck and rambled through the countryside past signs for unique-named towns and a jumble of numbered country roads. Our destination was the local hog station. There, the hogs had to be unloaded into another chute individually, weighed and put in with other hogs until there are enough to bring to market.

They’ll be put on a big trailer and taken to be killed, processed, frozen and sent to France, where their meat is a delicacy. No, there is no “rehabilitation” for feral hogs. I know ferals and unless you get a kitten really young you’ve no chance. Kittens are cute but lethal. Here was 250 lbs of wild animal and catching them is not for the faint of heart.

Interestingly for the rancher these were his 99th and 100th traps of the year to date. Usually he gets about 250 per year, which has barely put a dent in the population. Wild hogs ruin farms and ranches.

I don’t know what Top Chef: Texas has in store for us but sending the chefs to trap wild hogs and cook up the meat would be interesting. No-one will eat the meat around there, so it’s sent overseas.

It is sad to see that this little pocket of the world I’ve gotten to know a bit over the past ten years will be vastly different in a few years. Eighty-five percent of the land has been sold to flood for a reservior that will serve the water needs of the Dallas Metroplex, an ever-growing beast. There is a very interesting film on Biography Channel that features local farmers, including Jim’s dad and his neighbor.  Farms and ranches will cease to exist, and the river that made it all happen will be dammed forever.

No tree-huggers or environmentalists staged protests. They just were forced to sell their land and for some, their way of life. Our family has already purchased land elsewhere and the few cattle they have left after a seven-month drought are grazing on rented grasses on the ranch they sold. That’s how life is in the heartland.

On another matter, of a fearless kitten and frightened dog. Our dog was evicted from her temporary home, while we were away from the holidays, within an hour of being dropped off. She loves it there with her 9 year-old caretaker and her parents, and we thought a ten-minute introduction to the new kitten was complete. At least I knew that our dog Zoe would not chase after or eat the kitten.

Stalking

She was only gone a day, to another vetted sitter. When we picked her up this weekend they were playing ball and this fearless kitten was stalking Zoe, even outdoors! Every step of the way. Zoe overdid the play a bit and perhaps didn’t feel comfortable doing her business.  She’s been sleeping and pooping and is coming around. Thanks, folks, for taking care of her!  She needs to get tired out every once in a while.

And now you know that in kitty, you have a rare cat who is unafraid of dogs. This experiment may be detrimental to her, as all dogs are not as nice as Zoe. I think your ferals work in your favor as she’s quick and wily. To those who understand feral animals, thank you for helping spay/neuter feral cats and take care of existing colonies. To senior citizens who continue to catch feral hogs, God bless you and keep you. Cheers, Dee

World’s Manliest Restaurants

Check out Travel Channel tonight.  There’s only one I know about so far and that’s the Salt Lick in Driftwood, TX. Never been there but one year I entertained the Yankee side of the family with brisket, ribs and sausages Fed Ex’ed to upstate New York.

Nothing says “manly” like pit boss cooking. This is serious business.  Jim’s uncle created his own towable rig and babysits his briskets for 13 hours. That’s the Southern side, or Jim’s family.

I’m looking forward to seeing the other designees, as I’m sure my husband will want to try them out. Cheers, Dee

So Nice to Wander Back

from an old Frank Sinatra song off “Come Fly With Me,” one of my favorite albums as a young girl. “It’s Oh So Nice to Go Traveling” explains how I feel tonight.

It’s late and we got in about an hour ago. What a week! After a good night’s sleep we’ll pick up the dog and the fish and try to get back to normal before the routine starts all over again.

Great story coming tomorrow, of an adventure few take part in but I’m too tired to write it now and I don’t have “art” in terms of the photos I took from my husband’s iPhone. You wouldn’t believe me otherwise.

Cooking and socializing, and doing dishes. Jim’s mother and I spent many hours in the kitchen. We live so far away now that we see each other only twice a year, so hanging out in the kitchen is what we do. We each tried a couple of new twists this year, which were enjoyed by many participants.

It’s interesting that as a potential mate then new bride I always felt at home in her  kitchen, just didn’t know where anything was. The first morning I was making breakfast! Over the years more flow has come into our relationship which includes cooking as well. When we move around the kitchen it’s not exactly Balanchine, nor is it the Three Stooges (or two, in our case).

This year I brought spicy almonds and cashews on the plane (used pimenton this time) and made boursin and spinach balls. We also made mincemeat tarts for Thanksgiving and again for lunch the next day. I am hesitant to introduce my German and English favorites into a southern milieu but did trifle a few years ago and it was a hit, and the tarts did well also. German will have to wait a bit.

For lunch the next day I went out on a limb a bit and made a curried butternut squash soup and Jim’s mom brought a special lima bean dish and a pork roast using my butcher’s marinade! Oh, our roasted carrots went over well, too, and Nanny asked for them next year.

It was hectic getting ready (culinarily) and having a full house (herding cats) but being with my husband’s family for their big holiday of the year is well worth the travel and effort. And it’s what a big family is all about, organized chaos.

En route home Friday evening (from lunch) neighbors have an elaborate light display on their roof, house, and lawn. This year it was tuned to a radio station so my husband and I sat in front of their house (it was a weak signal) and watched the lights coordinate with holiday music for a few moments. An appropriate ending to transition from Thanksgiving to Christmas.

As for wandering back, in the song, I think I’ll wander upstairs because we have to go get the dog in the morning from her wonderful sitter. More tomorrow, hope you enjoyed your Thanksgiving. Dee

Leaving

We go over the river and through the woods for Thanksgiving, probably about 60   folks will be there this year at Nanny’s. Luckily the rain is supposed to break and it will be sunny and in the sixties so the kids can play outdoors. In a gullywasher, they all have to stay inside and that can lead to some crying, perhaps young ones and adults!

Today I left my dog and fish with trusted friends. My dog was evicted within the hour from a home she’s stayed at many times. She’s at another trusted friend’s home where she’s never stayed, with two other dogs she’s met before.

I even worry about our Betta, who is probably 95 years old in fish life but is with a neighbor. I have yet to pack for us and leave. No wonder I get pulled over every time for extra scanning. I have to take care of everyone, including my husband, of course I’m frazzled when I’ve brought us down to one bag to share that has everything we need for a five-day trip.

Yes, we have to pay extra for that bag. Should I bring my chef’s knives or his balloons, or both? Will I be able to make it all work under the weight limit?

I’m planning to pack light and the fact that our pets are taken care of takes that weight off my shoulders. We’ll be at Jim’s parents’ place and can run through one load of laundry over four days. that’ll work .

Leaving is always ameliorated with staying somewhere. We don’t go to vacation spots, we see family as that’s what’s important. Leaving one’s home to go to another’s and get up and cook breakfast is a real treat. Jockeying spots on the kitchen counter has become routine with me and Margie, Jim’s mom. We help each other, clean up after each other and hopefully sit for a moment or two at the end of a cooking session to relax and get ready for what’s next.

Leaving is worth it, charges the batteries, renews relationships, creates new ones. And we especially like playing with the younger kids outside after dinner and before supper. I used to teach a cooking class for the older girls but they’ve outgrown it and will have photos to show us about their time overseas.

It is such a joy to see this, now “our” family, grow. Even job recruiters know that if you grew up on a dairy, you have a work ethic that ranks high. And a high ethics ranking as well.

Ah, but this was about seeing Nanny for Thanksgiving. Turkey, ham, brisket, too many sides and desserts to mention. Me? I’m not supposed to bring anything because we’re the only ones flying in. No worries, spiced almonds and cashews are on board and I’ll make boursin and maybe even spinach balls once on the ground.

Leaving hopefully means a coming to something else, like a huge family for Thanksgiving, then returning home. I braved a storm to take our dog to her initial location, tomorrow it should be smooth sailing. Happy Thanksgiving! Cheers, Dee

Death

It’s all around us. A fraternity buddy (yes, I will be inducted into that fraternity by the time I’m 80) died last week. A high school friend’s mom died this week and it reminds me of losing my mother three years ago.

Life is precious and what better way to celebrate it than food. I think I was always drawn to food to make people happy and enjoy life. Even death is celebrated with food, and what could be a better send-off?

At my funeral, no I don’t want one, but if I did people would have an Irish wake with booze and great music, fiddlers and pipers and bagpipes, of course. Amazing Grace at the end.  Cheery Irish/Scot tunes throughout.

My husband’s family would reel from it but it’s my funeral, if I had one. I’d rather get permission to have my ashes buried in my favorite Enchanted Forest with no marker, just the knowledge that I was home.

It always strikes me when high school or college friends die, as we’re at the point where normally we have children who’ve graduated, married and are having our grandchildren. We’re not supposed to have cancer and die before our parents.

My mom died three years ago, she’s still in my address book and sometimes I want to just call her to ask for a recipe. She introduced me to food, I was struck at age eight and never turned back. Our life was coming home to holiday dinners and prepping food. We talked food, prepped and cooked and finally ate food and it was different every time.

The last time she got out of the hospital, I flew in and cooked for her. She needed to gain weight and and was on an IV system plus she needed three meals a day. I made buckets of chicken stock. Bought her a V-8 (and me a Diet Coke and newspaper) every morning. Ran saline through the line before disconnecting then made her breakfast, lunch and dinner. Months later, one sister told me she said, “but Dee made the chicken stock from scratch.”

Food is life, perhaps life is food. Oh, at my non-funeral I want latkes with Nova and creme fraiche with cranberry juice, a gorgeous brisket and ribs from Uncle Bobby’s rig, Margie’s potato rolls. Sisters can make Viennese Chocolate Torte and Tri-Level Brownies, brother will have to learn Zwiebelrostbraten (onion pot roast) and breuchen (breakfast rolls) as well as finding weistwurst (veal sausage) and making rosti (pan-fried potato cake). Oh, Kevin also has to make me Lamb Robert (he calls it “Sheep Bob”), his favorite dish.

Magically lebkuchen will appear from Switzerland, along with mincemeat tarts, trifle, Scandinavian cookies, apple shortbreads and the long-lost recipe for mountain-high oatmeal raisin cookies will re-appear. And I won’t have any of it? That stinks.

I may just stay alive and make all these things! Wishing you life, love and Happy Thanksgiving! Dee