Hello, dear, stop and read it as this is about you.
It was nearing 9:00 a.m. on a Saturday. I poked you and said I’d taken Zoe out and fed her around 6:30 and it was your turn. You weren’t there.
I got up and went to use the restroom, checked the kitchen clock and it was 5:30 a.m. on a Wednesday and Zoe was sound asleep on the bed.
She was taken out in fog and rain anyway, and fed, now we’re going back to bed. Time to shake things up (rain off) around here! Love you, dear. D and Z
After college I took a job in politics. I was hired as a policy wonk but realized I was becoming a politician. Having my little brother and sister do “lit drops” which is a folder on your door, or conducting phone ops evenings and weekends I elected my guy.
I didn’t think I was in politics because I was hip-deep into all kinds of law and policy. I got the call from the Majority Leader (he asked my name and said I had my Dad’s eyes) that said Mr. P won without saying it. I cupped the land line (years ago) and yelled for them to get the newest Assemblyman so his boss, the Majority Leader, could tell him he won. Actually they didn’t know, I didn’t know and just said get him ASAP. I remember afterward looking at a harvest moon and cider,not the hard kind.
This man, P, was the most selfless, studious, runner, committed family man I ever met until I met my husband. Mr. P and his wife and family were the reason I became committed to policy and not politics and had to quit. Early on he had me take him to a “hot” place to dance and drink because we were both from the country. There were few places, this was the lobby of a Hilton. We ordered a club soda and a glass of wine.
They mixed it up. I had the wine. He said, my colleagues drink, gamble and cheat on their wives. I told him of the “pact” where colleagues could even have second families and all talk of it stopped at a certain point on the road.
He did none of those things, ran 12 miles a day, read every bill he was going to vote on (that’s why I was there, to analyze and provide synopses so no Member would ever have to read a bill.)
He stayed many years and retired elsewhere. I’d like to think I did as well. He thinks I helped him get elected. I think his grace and dignity saved me. He gave me my husband, though he couldn’t even run after our old dog! Thank You Mr. P. You and your family saved my life. Dee
ps Now I’m getting crosswalks, no after-hours biker bars and now as an old lady I get to choose my vote, can even walk to the Montessori school that is my polling place. Who could ask for anything more? Not me, D
Did you ever notice when Muzak disappeared from corporate elevators because employers/employees found it so distasteful? I just know that, phew, it’s gone. I was so tired of hearing electronic devices murder the Beatles, then other artists. Woody Allen would have called it a travesty of a mockery of a sham.
Now we have it in ads. I’ve been laid up with an eye injury so sometimes keep the tv on for noise. All the songs of my youth are being used to sell drugs for old people, yogurt that makes one have bowel movements or food from a box with recipes. Gimme a break. Pretty soon I’ll see Marge again with Bounty, “the quicker picker upper.” Mom will be back and vacuuming in high hair and high heels and a dress. I’ll be counting the minutes until chores are done and I can go barefoot to the creek.
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For lunch I made sea scallops. Just seared in butter, salt and pepper and served with a wedged, seasoned Campari tomato.
I’d planned on an unexpected find this evening, soft-shelled crab. I may even have some bay seasoning around here but was thinking of soaking them in buttermilk for a while, coating them with seasoned panko crumbs and just sauteeing them in a bit of butter. I’ve more tomatoes or greens if I need them.
This morning was a toasted sesame bagel with cream cheese and smoked salmon. Hey, I can’t eat fish when my husband is here so I’m reaching the tolerance limit. He gets back in three days. All the fish smells should be gone by then. He gets frozen pot roast from two weeks ago and my all homemade pizza with pepperoni and sauteed mushrooms.
He finds it strange that when he calls from across the country each night I ask what he ate yesterday. His family has a cattle ranch in Texas and as expected, he’s a meat and potatoes guy. Now I try fish during the week when he’s gone and he eats steak or burgers. On the weekend I want to treat him to a steak and he says “no, honey, I’ve had that all week!”
It reminds me of the touching story of the girl who sold all her hair to buy her intended a chain for a gold watch? And the boy sold his grandfather’s pocket watch to buy a clip for his gal’s hair that she cut off for his gift.
Well, I just cut off, or had Bert cut off, most of my hair. My husband prefers it longer but it was too long and hadn’t been cut in a year. This feels better, is better.
Since the first rule of my household, except three square meals per day, two for the dog and five walks, is no hair in the food. So the front is longer so I can have a scrunchie for cooking, a bow or hairband for going out. Bert agreed and I haven’t even brought him any food. Next week I may make chili. I always need to bring some to my butchers to taste. Why not my Harley-driving barber???
Yes I select and grind my own beef, Texas style. Chiles, cumin, garlic, onion, tomatoes. Simmer 2-3 hours and you’ve Pedernales Chili. Serve with sour cream, lime wedges, cheddar cheese, jalapenos, whatever you like. Cerveza or expensive red wine from a private vineyard in Italy…….. Dee
And tired and was in bed and I just lifted the dog up. I’m going to join them and sleep. Tomorrow we have our first date in 14 years. Yeah, when you’re married you don’t get dates. Now it’s my job, like bills and taxes.
Our first date in 2001 he opened the car door, took my hand and never let go. That’s romance to me. He is my prince in shining armor, upon a unicorn. I’m going to join my family. Happily, Dee
Hi from Dee. This post is in memory of Princess Mookie, and in honor of her family including a member of WordPress. We met (never in person) years ago as we started our blogs the same week and received accolades. I’m sure she has thousands more readers than I but we do keep in touch and I wish her and her family well. Farewell, Princess Mookie. Chani the cat-raiser and her two feline friends will be looking out for her. Well, at least one, the older one talked a lot and was ornery.
I was told in cooking school years ago that a cook’s best tools are his/her hands. I beg to differ as I would add a brain to that equation. Witness my Army Ranger post after I sliced my finger with a bread knife cutting a roll. My hands were OK, my brain was sidelined in work or ideas but he saved me.
Keep your hands and fingers safe. Learn how to use your first professional chef and paring knives. Fold over and cut against your knuckles. Practice onions, celery and carrots. If it’s round, make it flat (carrot). Use this mirepoix to make soup. It’s a win win situation. You get practice, toss in a cut-up chicken and some rice or noodles and voila! You have soup for lunch.
If you’ve a cast iron skillet get a cover for the handle or make sure you have torchons (kitchen towels) or potholders to take it off the stove or oven. Heat proof pads/trivets are also good to have out before removal.
The worst heat in the world is steam. Forget the facial you get while transferring pasta to a colander, that’s easy and only steams up your glasses. Steam is nasty. I’ve stories from school and apprenticeship on sugars and breads. I cannot tell you because you may try them at home and I do not recommend that.
Safety is mainly burns, cuts, slips and falls and bumping into a countertop or open dishwasher. Keep your area clean at all times. If you spill oil on the floor, you’re going to fall and hit hard. Clean it up with something that dissolves the grease! And when there’s meat on the counter being prepared, be prepared for your dog or cat underneath your feet, waiting to trip you or jump up. Enough about safety.
Overcooking, undercooking I can’t help you there. There’s a wealth of cookbooks out there (see my cookbooks sites, all six that I researched thoroughly) for assistance. Yes, I can help in a rudimentary way but only with small cuts of meat, for roasts you’ll need an instant meat thermometer, check out Alton Brown.
For a steak let one hand go limp and feel between thumb and forefinger. That’s rare. Stiffen your hand and feel the same space, that is medium. Make a fist and touch that muscle and it’s well done. I prefer medium rare, my husband uses an instant thermometer, he’s a physicist after all.
Seasoning. Season, salt and pepper, and taste. My in-laws have a cattle ranch. They like their meat well done. I don’t. Maybe if I was raising them and sending them off I’d not like it to look like something I raised, but I’m a city gal raised in the country next door to a dairy where all the kids had birthday parties and played. Yes, in cow patties with a skirt, blouse, lace anklets and Mary Janes. I’m sure Mom loved the cow patties.
My husband is not a fan of chicken (too much work getting it off the bone) but if I were to make boneless chicken five days per week I could make it different every time. Moroccan kebabs, chicken saltimbocca (recipe on blog), smoked paprika and ancho chile powder, floured with lemon and capers, fajitas. I could go on and on.
I watch all these cooking shows and most cooks don’t season, or they over-season. It’s a killer, because most don’t taste what they cook. Tasting is essential. Know what you’re serving your spouse, family, guests.
Know your temperature. I’d like to serve my own homemade pizza dough and toppings for my husband tomorrow but would rather the oven be at 500 degrees than 375. Reason? There’s a second bedroom (office) off the kitchen with a smoke alarm that goes off even if there’s nothing in the oven and it’s over 375. Make do. Just add to the cooking time.
We had a chef in Italy, Piero, at a vacation cooking school, a birthday gift. He didn’t speak much English. We were 17 students there for a week in paradise and we asked him questions. He always said all the ovens at his restaurant were set at 350 Farenheit. How long? Eight minutes.
Halfway through the course we were all getting along well after the 18th crapped out the first day and they tried to charge me extra because she demanded a private residence then left within the hour. I only shook her hand and said hello. Diva. I was nice but wouldn’t let them charge me double for an event in which I had no part. She left. She should have paid.
After that debacle I thought the troops were with me. Chef Piero said “now place it in the oven at 350 degrees.” I raised my hand and asked “how long?” All 17 of us called out “EIGHT MINUTES!!!” He got a kick out of that. Heat and timing.
Cool and timing. I try to rise things to room temp then place whatever it is in a container in a clean refrigerator or refrigerate overnight and place in the freezer, like leftover pot roast. Make sure your oven temps and frig and freezer temps are OK. There are gauges for that.
Now my bete noire. Cross-contamination. I keep liquid soap by the kitchen sink and wash my hands all the time. If you don’t have a kitchen faucet that will turn on by your elbow, get one. I actually went to see a loft, high-end with a $30 Home Depot two bathroom screw-on hot and cold controls, you know the beveled plastic grandma had. I asked what I could do when I was eviscerating a raw chicken. The realtor didn’t know. I said I’d need something better. He told me “OK, you can do that with your own money but you have to put this back when you leave.” Yeah, really, the new folks will want the old crap back. We never lived there. I know what to look for in living space and in a broker.
No matter what I’m making, I always do the veggies first and place them in bowls. Mis en place. Then I do the meat, cutting board is rinsed and placed in the dishwasher to sanitize. My husband and I tend to have tummy troubles at some restaurants. We never get sick at home, and that’s because I’m the chief cook, bottle washer, dog washer and walker and feeder and enemy of cross-contamination.
I wonder if Alton Brown ever did a series on this topic. My guess is that he has done so. My husband can make tea in our British electric kettle bought up in the mountains where water boils at about 160, pour a Dr. Pepper and make toast. Perhaps a grilled cheese sandwich after asking 14 years ago “so that’s how you do it?” He likes Alton because he’s a physicist and software engineer and enjoys the science. Also the food.
Hubby returns home this evening for the weekend. I must clean out the frig. I’ve steak in the freezer for his steak and eggs, and half a pot roast from last weekend to thaw. I’ll make pizza, homemade from scratch starting with Italian OO flour. We have a date tomorrow at seven, a new local restaurant I just reviewed. Oh, goodness, I don’t have a thing to wear.
OK you didn’t read that. I could wear one thing, do a load of laundry and put on the same clean clothes the next day without knowing (sorry Divine Ms. M). Ms. M is a friend and six weeks younger than me but white-haired, thin and a model. She would not approve of these writings but is offering me “fashion” advice.
I had half my hair cut off the day after my eye surgery and since my primary rule of hair, with which my barber agrees is “don’t get it in the food” I always make sure at least the front is long enough to be pulled back when I cook. That day I bought several lovely barette bows, three for me, an emerald green one for Ms. M., the quintessential Irish lass.
I’ll have a Guinness, warm, well poured. Dee
ps No, nothing else. I’ll just sit and read the paper and sip for an hour, then take my brolly and walk to our flat.
Posted in Editorial
For dogs?
I felt so bad last week. My new/old neighbors were moving in next door, so since I’d taken care of their dog before I offered (with Zoe’s approval, of course) to take him in for a few hours.
B is blind. He gets around great but he knows where he lives now (they used to be our neighbors a few years ago in the other tower) and hung out by our front door for the first hour. I know he likes Zoe’s bed so brought it out to the living room so we could all hang out together. I didn’t really think about where I placed it, closest to us.
He got onto the bed, inserted his big head into the side of the tv cabinet, jerked upwards and hit his noggin. Then he ran back to the front door to await his parents’ return. That lasted another 20 minutes, I moved Zoe’s bed a foot away so there were no impediments and he came back and settled in.
Ran into his folks on the elevator yesterday and they said there’s a new gadget, something for blind dogs that is a sort of GPS that keeps them from hurting themselves by running into things. I hope it works!
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Tit for Tat
My old, sane dog had a basket of about 25 toys and tennis balls in a basket by the front door. She knew by car sound who was visiting and worryingly nosed through the basket to find the exact stuffed animal with which to greet our guest. Diesel Mercedes, sounds like a sewing machine, my sister, must be Clifford The Big Red Dog!
Well, Zoe has been through that basket and eviscerated every stuffed animal in it. In moments, batting and squeaker all over the floors. Because it is at the top of the closet with a felt heart lined with lace and tiny beads from a lovely friend, the teddy bear Chani’s ashes are in is away from Zoe’s awful relationship to stuffed toys.
Zoe has one toy we call Precious. It is an indestructible mesh toy with a latex toy with squeaker stuffed inside. The first one had to be thrown away not because she got through it, but because after ten years it began to deteriorate. We got another, now there’s a latex gorilla inside and she squeaks it incessantly when I let her have it, which is seldom. It’s a treat.
Her friend was not interested in Precious and no amount of Zoe showing off worked, but Zoe doesn’t know B is blind. He acts like a normal dog.
When folks were finished with the move, they returned and got B. Zoe went in right after him. He got a plush large faux lamb “bone” and took it around his new home. He kept it from Zoe and pranced around as if he never needed a GPS. He was home and has had plenty of time to reconnoiter our place as well. Zoe never got to tear his toy to shreds. Serves her right! Their folks have been so kind to me. I hope B will be our guest often. They don’t play, but like to be near each other.
Cheers! Dee
It’s easy to have it in my mind, for any crazy, sane or simple outside the box idea. In my eye, not so easy. I have to time antibiotic medication so I can get things done then be at home for a few hours while my right eye becomes too blurry for me to drive and for it to come back before even walking the dog. You should see the condition of sidewalks and streets here, if I were to make a recipe for Disaster, these would be the main ingredients.
It doesn’t help that my husband is across the country all week, every week. The pain and granules coming out of the eye are lessening, as I believe is the swelling.
Yes, I’ve been fitted for glasses before but no-one has ever messed with my eyes until now. I’m glad my doc is a good one and hope next week I’ll find out I don’t have cancer.
The day after surgery I walked over to my barber across the street, with whom I had cancelled an appointment when this whole eye thing came up. My hair was way too long and straggly. He took off tons of hair and gave me a bob I’m learning how to work. I’ve scrunchies, beautiful clip bows and even a Ferragamo headband (30 years ago it was the only thing I could afford at the Duty Free in Milan).
Bert the Barber and I have a rule. My hair needs to be pulled back and secured when I cook at home. We do not like hair in our food. I’m also a stickler for cross-contamination but only my butchers need to know about that. Oh, perhaps I’ll do a piece on cooking rules. I’ve already got pantry ingredients/recipes and utensils and essential cookbooks. On site. Yes, packaged, ready to go, and free. This is not a monetized site.
Oh, I made a succulent pot roast last night over pappardelle noodles. My husband loved it. He leaves before seven tomorrow so I’m making him oatmeal in milk topped with a dollop of Greek yogurt and berries. That’ll keep him full on the drive and the plane. Special recipe to anyone who actually gets to Volume 2 of Essential Pantry and tries a recipe. Cheers! Dee
Posted in Editorial
Tagged cookbooks, Dee's Essential Pantry, pot roast, recipe for disaster, utensils, vision
This morning I opened an organic banana for breakfast and it had a huge bruise on top which I cut out.
In high school my best friend Pam sliced bananas an eighth inch thick to make sure she didn’t get any bruises. She drove me nuts, surgically assaulting fruit. Guess what? She ended up a pediatric ER nurse her entire career. It all fits. Her father was a dentist.
Meticulous. I married a Pam in my meticulous husband, a physicist turned software engineer/consultant. He’ll spend 1/2 hour finding the right toilet paper on Amazon. It takes him an hour to write a two-sentence email and he types like crazy then edits and edits and ends up with a cogent message. This is not like saying hello to a neighbor. It’s business. I edit for content, context, spelling et al.
He’s on a flight home tonight so I have to plan menus for the weekend. I’ve a frozen pizza ready in case he’s hungry. I’m thinking Chicken Saltimbocca for one dinner, we can’t grill so it’s still cold here and I may make a pot roast one night with jus and pappardelle noodles (store-bought) before he flies back to work.
I’ve been ill lately so haven’t kept up our home. Tumbling tumbleweeds of dog undercoat on carpets. Need to get someone to help with spring cleaning so we can invite former neighbors over, with their new dog (I helped with the old one before he left us), for dinner and a bottle of private estate Tuscan wine. I did pour water on Jake’s tree the other day, RIP Jake you wonderful Golden Retriever. When he got tired of Zoe he used to lock himself in the bathroom. I felt bad and told his folks and they said he does it all the time at home. Phew!
Pam and I still keep in touch and I thought of her this morning while I took out the banana bruise without layers. I was never meant to be an ER nurse; analyst, advocate, volunteer-that’s Dee.
I want to tell you how bad I am at this. I was at the eye specialist the other day for the first time and was asked if I did street drugs. I laughed and said I’m nearly 60 years old.
In my mind if I’d started on street drugs at age 17 I would no longer be alive. Not only have I never wanted them, if I did I’d never know where to go to get them. She said the insurance company wanted to know, even though they asked me when we enrolled in coverage.
My college “pack” used to leave the party room for me to watch TV or listen to ELO. They disappeared to another room to smoke pot. They never told me, invited me or did it in front of me. After decades I’ve kept in touch with three friends from college, two are dead, one a fellow student and another a prof. The other found me and we’ve been in touch. He’s met my husband for lunch. More important, he had me drive him sophomore year home to meet the girl he was seeing while she was a high school student, presumably for my OK. Yes, she was more than ok and they now have kids in college and grad school. I was the sister to a brotherhood. They protected me. I softened their rough edges so they could get girls.
So we started with my history with drugs. I got a biopsy done yesterday of my eyelid. They excised it, sent it to the lab to see if I have cancer. We’ll find out in a couple of weeks before my check-up.
I couldn’t see that well this morning so had a taxi take me to the drugstore and grocery. I’ve now this viscous petroleum-based antibiotic to be used on the eye and lid. I squeezed until I got a whole bunch in there. Whoops! Yes, I should have tried the viscosity on my finger first. That’s me and drugs. It’s not a good combination. Tell Led. Dee
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I liken it to what goes around, comes around. Usually it’s a negative version as for years I’ve given without asking for anything and they’ve taken and when my mother was in hospice care no-one I had helped over the years would take care of my dog for the first time. They were all too busy. Four years of me taking care of everyone and when I asked once I was told no by all. That’s telling. I never “volunteered” for them again.
No-one ever paid me for this, it was supposed to be a barter system but it did not work in my favor. In a new city I’ve volunteered occasionally but was leery of what was to come.
We’ve two towers here and we lived in one with corporate furniture for three months and got to know our neighbors while we searched neighborhoods. Of course you know our old dog Zoe by now. We moved to the other tower with a view. Yesterday, a new neighbor’s brother questioned how we knew each other so well over a week. Answer was we knew each other years ago.
Last week they became our neighbors in South Tower. Their dog was scared and I knew he and Zoe got along so I took him in for a few hours. The next day my eye was bleeding so she insisted on taking me to the ER and stayed with me a while. I made her go home and took a taxi back because she had boxes to unpack. When I arrived home my dog was making herself at home over there so I took her out and we went to bed.
A week later I had eye surgery (today) and after resting a while they were moving the rest of their things in. I took their dog for another few hours. She took care of me and my eye. I took care of their dog, who is blind. Quid pro quo. Oh, I got them tulips as a welcome gift before all this happened.
There are good things and good people. They just need to be found. My friend M was kind to take me to surgery and back and she and her brother are going to come over for some delicious dinner and a bottle of private estate Tuscan wine I got for my birthday a few months ago.
I helped take care of their dog as he was dying. I’d walked him occasionally for a couple of years then we helped to lift him. He died at home. Now I take a cup of water, walk out to the park and pour it on a favorite tree of Jake and my friend Wurli. Now Jake’s “aunt” took me to the doc today. That’s how it goes. There’s no money involved. It’s heart, and if you don’t have it I won’t help you. Cheers! Dee
Cooking with Dee 