tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-57322240388834723272024-03-05T08:22:23.304-08:00Zoomie StationObservations/Ideas/ChucklesZoomiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16474153316588551039noreply@blogger.comBlogger1994125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5732224038883472327.post-56118679987626573602020-11-18T17:11:00.003-08:002020-11-19T09:25:02.599-08:00Jacques' Covid Kitchen<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Af3eHLKdUaNfxHo8SoJJ1q88fcfpRLLAfMZhuUGz_wmhry4TLdHjtojiyF2LzIRKOrC53ZmOij9jgtVHabK_z_80D693k2NdmdM_vA1-LJLrTTirEQCsV_cPllcxFCdtevl2R2D-Rq-n/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="958" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Af3eHLKdUaNfxHo8SoJJ1q88fcfpRLLAfMZhuUGz_wmhry4TLdHjtojiyF2LzIRKOrC53ZmOij9jgtVHabK_z_80D693k2NdmdM_vA1-LJLrTTirEQCsV_cPllcxFCdtevl2R2D-Rq-n/" width="240" /></a></div><br /></div><br /><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">In case you <span style="caret-color: rgb(159, 197, 232);">haven't yet discovered it, Jacques Pépin has been giving great little five-minute cooking lessons on Facebook all during the Covid shutdown. He takes whatever he finds in his fridge and makes some magic nearly every day. You can tell he's stuck at home, too, as his hair keeps getting longer and he sometimes repeats the same shirt - as we all do on Zoom these days. His recipes are really simple and his delivery is, as usual, warmly charming. If you haven't "friended" him on Facebook, I think you'll enjoy his lessons.</span></span><p></p><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(159, 197, 232);">I certainly am. Last week, he made a version of a famous regional dish from Lyon where he grew up called "Poulet au Vinaigre" or Vinegar Chicken. I had heard of this dish a long time ago and tried to replicate it without success, so I was surprised that M. Pépin would give even a shortened version of it at a time when we don't have a lot of ingredients around.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(159, 197, 232);">I need not have worried - his preparation was simple and the result was quite tasty. Give it a try and I expect you, too, will be adding M. Pépin to your Facebook friends.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(159, 197, 232);"><b>Poulet au Vinaigre </b>from Jacques Pépin </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">You will need a small non-stick sauté pan with a lid. Serves 2.</span></p><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><b>Ingredients</b></span></p><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">2 chicken thighs, skin on and bone in</span></p><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">3 cloves of garlic (1-1/2 Tbs approximately), crushed and finely chopped</span></p><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">3 Tablespoons wine vinegar (I used red wine vinegar as I couldn't see which kind he used)</span></p><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">2 Tablespoons ketchup</span></p><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Salt and pepper</span></p><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><b>Instructions</b></span></p><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(159, 197, 232);">Salt and pepper both sides of the chicken thighs and cut with a sharp knife along both sides of the bone on the under side of each to flatten a bit.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(159, 197, 232);">Place the chicken thighs, skin side down, in the cold sauté pan and place over medium-high heat. No fat is necessary, the chicken skin will release enough fat to complete the dish. Cook without turning until the skin is richly browned and crisp. Don't allow the fat to burn - it should be nicely brown, too.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(159, 197, 232);">Once the skin is browned, cover the pan (still no turning) and cook with just the steam from the meat for about 20-25 minutes, until the meat near the bone is no longer pink and the meat is tender. Remove the thighs to a serving dish, skin side up. The skin should be crisp.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Crush the garlic cloves under the flat blade of a knife to remove the peel, then finely chop (or you could use a garlic press). You should have about 1-1/2 Tablespoons of garlic.</span></p><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Add the garlic to the rendered fat in the sauté pan and fry for about 20 seconds, then add 3 Tablespoons of vinegar, swirl the pan to incorporate the juices, and cook until the pan is almost dry - this step will dissipate the sharpness of the vinegar. </span></p><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Add 2 Tablespoons of ketchup to the pan and stir. Add salt to taste, and pour over the chicken and serve. If you aren't serving right away, pour the sauce around the chicken rather than over it, so the skin stays crisp.</span></p><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">I am certain that this recipe isn't "classical" French cooking, but it's homey, quick, and delicious - who could ask for more right now? In these crazy days/weeks/months when we rely so heavily on social media, I was happy to find an old friend cooking away in his kitchen, preparing food for his beloved Gloria, and making recipes he remembers from his childhood in Lyon.</span></p>Zoomiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16474153316588551039noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5732224038883472327.post-1909780638553461122020-11-15T11:32:00.000-08:002020-11-15T11:32:14.525-08:00Amusements<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPN4NUxPQOQW-LmGrA3pWJMII2jpV4i1UkEdVUdEFnUuFrufjG1q8cFhdcK_RssBERkRzbbhNHQhQJs3hf_lL8eY3w7bc_ylz2kQRTaqXwdj4ssDaroNvv2fAvRP8BAtb4jcjnDxxOAIsj/s2048/IMG_0346.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPN4NUxPQOQW-LmGrA3pWJMII2jpV4i1UkEdVUdEFnUuFrufjG1q8cFhdcK_RssBERkRzbbhNHQhQJs3hf_lL8eY3w7bc_ylz2kQRTaqXwdj4ssDaroNvv2fAvRP8BAtb4jcjnDxxOAIsj/s320/IMG_0346.HEIC" /></a></div><br /></div></div></div><p></p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #9fc5e8;">For the past eight months, I have had time on my hands.</span> </span></div></div></div></div><p></p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">We do keep busy delivering for our local Meals on Wheels chapter, delivering a week's worth of frozen entrées to our clients every Monday. We are, of course, masked, and we deliver the food, ring the bell, and back off at least six feet as we wait for our clients to come to the door to retrieve their food. We enjoy a short visit with each person on our route. If these safety protocols seem excessive to you, remember that these dear clients are often very much at risk with pre-existing conditions. We would feel terrible if we brought the Corona virus to their homes.</span></div></div></div></div><p></p></blockquote><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Because we are in our 70s, we also need to be careful for ourselves and the few friends and family with whom we interact (at a distance). It feels strange to always be assuring people, even in print, of how careful we are but one of the most noticeable features of this strange time is the differing levels of risk-aversion we encounter. Some of our contacts are pretty casual, willing to come to our house to eat food prepared in our kitchen and served on our china, but draw the line at hugging. Others are okay with visiting outdoors, as long as we keep the six foot distance. Still others will meet outdoors as long as we are all masked and distanced. One couple, both attorneys that we adore, actually came up with a four-page contract outlining what is acceptable behavior for visits, including a dire threat of ostracism if the guidelines are breached. And some dear friends have asked us not to visit them in person at all, depending on Zoom and the like for their social contacts.</span></p><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">We also do our own grocery shopping but we limit that to stores that have good safety protocols, insisting on masks, sanitizing carts, limiting the numbers in the store. </span></p><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">But, a few hours doing Meals on Wheels and another hour grocery shopping does not begin to fill the days. I tried jigsaw puzzles and even completed a very challenging 1,000+ puzzle but after that one, I was toast. We are trying to limit television (except My Beloved's auto racing programs) to the hours after dinner, so we don't usually turn on the television during the daytime. I have taken to walking a mile or so in the early mornings just after dawn. We have leisurely mornings with the newspaper and coffee stretching past 10am. During the warm months, I spent nearly every afternoon with a good book on our street-facing deck where I could safely greet neighbors as they walk by and watch the birds coming to my birdbath and sunflowers.</span></p><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">And, still, there is plenty of time. Plenty, plenty, plenty.</span></p><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">One of my occasional pleasures is painting. I'm not good at it - I make no bones about that - but I do enjoy the colors, the decisions about what to try, and the variety of things on which one can make marks. I made a set of napkins and painted them with Black-eyed Susans. I decorated a bird house for cousin Jan, who livens her weathered back fence with multi-colored bird houses of all different shapes and sizes. I potato-printed some note cards to give as gifts. I have tried still life and landscape, both with disappointing results - I seem to be better at decorative than fine art.</span></p><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">So, when the days seem longer than usual, I get out my paints. My Beloved's younger daughter gave me some lovely papers that she was not using, so I sometimes use those, although I feel slightly guilty at using such nice materials for such sad failures. Time spent painting goes by faster - I wonder if the Theory of Relativity encompassed painting time?</span></p><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">So, around here, it's not unusual to find newspapers splotched with color. Maybe I should just frame them and call them art.</span></p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">.</span></div></div></div></div><p></p></blockquote><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"> </span></p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"> </span></div></div></div></div><p></p></blockquote><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"> </span></p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"> </span></div></div></div></div><p></p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"> </span></div></div></div></div><p></p></blockquote><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /><br /></span></div><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /> </span><p></p>Zoomiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16474153316588551039noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5732224038883472327.post-85239772450436988492020-11-14T14:44:00.001-08:002020-11-14T15:28:38.761-08:00Chili Days Are Here Again<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvHymORzP64TBCKB29FD5JcUbtaq4NFLwh1QLRUJba1PF9ITl7sJk2Zmu042sFMXdqcHK3e9BE_q-d75LCsin4yERp5-AkVa2nzLohFCEy19RLTWBmmaLV3DlDlfBn02w8x_azTTXUWDHa/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvHymORzP64TBCKB29FD5JcUbtaq4NFLwh1QLRUJba1PF9ITl7sJk2Zmu042sFMXdqcHK3e9BE_q-d75LCsin4yERp5-AkVa2nzLohFCEy19RLTWBmmaLV3DlDlfBn02w8x_azTTXUWDHa/" width="180" /></a></div><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(159, 197, 232); font-size: medium;">My favorite part of Facebook is the memories part where they present things that you posted or saved from years ago. I love scrolling back and remembering all the adventures we have had that I posted for friends to see over the years. It also helps to remind me when I saved a recipe that sounded good at the time - sometimes, they are no longer appealing but this time I hit the jackpot.</span></span><p></p><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(159, 197, 232); font-size: medium;">My friend Angela had posted this recipe for a vegetarian chili from What's Gaby Cooking, saying that her children loved it. I'm always looking for good vegetarian recipes as we try and try again to reduce our meat consumption. We will never make it to full-on vegetarian, and that's okay, but it's still good to change things up.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(159, 197, 232); font-size: medium;">So, what's not to like about Sweet Potato and Black Bean Chili? There's a video of this preparation if you want to do a search for it under that name, but it's pretty simple so you likely won't need it. I made some changes to Gaby's recipe based on what I had at home. It makes a pot of chili large enough for four adult meals, but not such a huge pot that you are eating it for days on end. In my book, that's a win.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(159, 197, 232); font-size: medium;"><b>Sweet Potato and Black Bean Chili,</b> from What's Gaby Cooking?</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(159, 197, 232); font-size: medium;"><b>Ingredients:</b></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(159, 197, 232); font-size: medium;">1 sweet potato, peeled and diced</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(159, 197, 232); font-size: medium;">1 red onion, chopped</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(159, 197, 232); font-size: medium;">1Tablespoon olive oil</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(159, 197, 232); font-size: medium;">3 cloves garlic, minced</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(159, 197, 232); font-size: medium;">2 Tbs chili powder</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(159, 197, 232); font-size: medium;">1/2 teaspoon ground cumin</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(159, 197, 232); font-size: medium;">Salt to taste</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(159, 197, 232); font-size: medium;">1 cup vegetable stock (or I used chicken stock because I had it on hand)</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(159, 197, 232); font-size: medium;">1 can fire-roasted diced tomatoes (or I used a small box of crushed tomatoes, again, what I had on hand)</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(159, 197, 232); font-size: medium;">1 can black beans, drained</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(159, 197, 232); font-size: medium;">1 lime, rolled, cut and squeezed</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(159, 197, 232); font-size: medium;"><b>Toppings:</b> your choice - chopped avocado, cream, grated cheese, chopped cilantro, and we usually like to eat a few tortilla chips with chili for more texture and crunch. You can also add hot sauce if you like more spiciness.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(159, 197, 232); font-size: medium;"><b>Instructions:</b></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(159, 197, 232); font-size: medium;">In a large, heavy pot add the olive oil and heat. Add the sweet potato and onion, and stir. When the onion starts to smell good, add the garlic, chili powder, cumin, and salt to taste and stir them all together. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(159, 197, 232); font-size: medium;">Add the stock, tomatoes, and black beans, and bring to a boil. Lower the heat, cover, and simmer until the sweet potato is tender and the sauce is as thick as you like it, about 20 minutes, give or take.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(159, 197, 232); font-size: medium;">Ladle into bowls and top with your favorite toppings.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(159, 197, 232);"><br /></span></span></p>Zoomiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16474153316588551039noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5732224038883472327.post-43484596780097402872020-11-14T11:14:00.000-08:002020-11-14T11:14:28.059-08:00The Lucky Ones<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNtLzLZ5XeChQ7EP1NJ9y-L83Uhg5toeIc45Xsq8d6wMJFIS6IUNZ9xC7OfPXUQjhvbWuNVUhiv99R-LGPNoUBC8UgC05nxSUT8aM5CZnzAgDyjSqx66ZwxdZ1rhcIrH9B-Bl0lwdCL2o-/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNtLzLZ5XeChQ7EP1NJ9y-L83Uhg5toeIc45Xsq8d6wMJFIS6IUNZ9xC7OfPXUQjhvbWuNVUhiv99R-LGPNoUBC8UgC05nxSUT8aM5CZnzAgDyjSqx66ZwxdZ1rhcIrH9B-Bl0lwdCL2o-/" width="180" /></a></div><br /> <span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Well, here I am again. A couple of years have passed since I last wrote a blog post but everything in our lives for the past six months has changed due to the Covid pandemic, and the addition of dangerous levels of smoke from the many fires in California, Oregon, and Washington have finally brought me to my knees. </span><p></p><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">The lockdown caused by the virus wasn't too bad - I missed things like riding lessons at my stable and not seeing my grandchildren frequently and always at a distance, but I counted myself amongst the lucky ones who weren't worried about losing a job (I'm retired) and my income (pensions, thank heavens), or trying to homeschool young children. My Beloved and I even continued (masked and distanced) to deliver for our Meals on Wheels clients, so we got out of the house once a week to do something rewarding. As I said, we were the lucky ones.</span></p><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(159, 197, 232);">Then, the fires began and, again, we were still amongst the lucky ones. The fires were not close to our house and no one we knew was threatened, at first. But the heavy smoke blew all over California and turned, for a least one day, the sky a dull orange color, darkening the sky so much that our automatic headlights came on as we delivered at noontime for Meals on Wheels. Each day since has come with gray smoke in the air and a layer of ash falling like dirty snow over everything. That snow represents peoples' homes, and cherished mementos, and livelihoods, not to mention their very lives. That recognition has weight, even for the lucky ones.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(159, 197, 232);">That level of smoke meant that it was advisable to stay indoors as much as possible. One of my small pleasures during the Covid lockdown has been to sit outside on our deck to read in the afternoon. I would take a magazine or a book out there, with a glass of ice water, and spend a few hours under the sunshade either reading or chatting with neighbors who stopped by, carefully distanced, or strangers who found their way down our small street. So, when the smoke came, I had to come indoors.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(159, 197, 232);">Yes, I can still read inside. But it got harder to feel lucky, much harder. </span></span></p><p><br /></p>Zoomiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16474153316588551039noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5732224038883472327.post-48894054509112321322018-11-11T16:34:00.000-08:002018-11-11T16:34:30.267-08:00Quiet Dynamite<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It's not often these days when I post something new here, as most of my favorites have been posted long ago, and recently I just make up dinner from what I have in the fridge. But last week, I took leftovers to an all-time high and I can't resist bragging on them.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Several magic ingredients went into this dish of lemony, garlicky white beans with zucchini and yesterday's lamb. The first was the beans themselves - I learned an important trick when I had cooked in chicken broth 'way too many beans for the two of us and went online looking for more recipes. I didn't find a great recipe but I did discover that one can FREEZE the extras for another day! Oh, heaven! So, I bundled up three two-cup packages and stuck them in the freezer, just the right amount for us two.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">One of the packages came out to make this dish. I also had about 1/2 of a cup of chicken goozle (juices I saved from a previous roast chicken and defatted after refrigerating them), four small zucchinis, four fat cloves of garlic, a sprinkle of dried thyme, and a thinly sliced lemon.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(61, 133, 198);">I started by cooking the minced garlic briefly in a little olive oil, then adding the thyme until it smelled like heaven, then mixed in the rest of the ingredients, including the skin-on lemon slices and simmered over medium-low heat until the zucchini chunks were losing their integrity and the beans were starting to add some of their starch to the "gravy," about 20-30 minutes.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(61, 133, 198);">Then, there is nothing to do but divide it in two in deep bowls and top it with slices of left over lamb loin still pink and lovely from a day or two before. The beans gently warm the lamb but don't over cook it, and the strong lemon flavor really jazzes up the beans. The thyme and garlic add layers of richness. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(61, 133, 198);">Quiet dynamite.</span></span><br />
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Zoomiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16474153316588551039noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5732224038883472327.post-18478819375336286322018-06-04T10:12:00.001-07:002020-11-14T15:32:34.833-08:00It's Not About the Scones<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="color: #3d85c6;">It's not about the scones. Even though they were studded richly with ripe <a href="http://rodriguez-farms.com/">Rodriguez</a> strawberries. Even though they were made from my favorite recipe for cream scones. Even though they were presented on the pretty pale blue glass cake plate that I bought years ago at an antique fair. With all that going for them, it was still not about the scones.</span><br />
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="color: #3d85c6;">It was about the day. A pure, warm, clear Northern California morning, bathed in sunshine so bright I needed sunglasses and a hat. </span><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="color: #3d85c6;">Now, you may think, "Sheesh, she lives in California! Isn't every day like that?" But asking that would prove to me that you are from anywhere else. The Chamber of Commerce would like to sell you that vision, but the reality is that it exists almost exclusively in the southern part of California, not up here where our famous fog makes it far more likely to have a clammy, overcast morning in spring and summer than a clear, warm one. So, when I awake to a windless morning </span><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="caret-color: rgb(61, 133, 198); color: #3d85c6;">bathed in sunshine, I have to make the most of it.</span><br />
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(61, 133, 198);">It was about the sharing. Knowing that our neighbor is particularly fond of freshly baked scones, I wanted to include her in the feast. </span></span><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="caret-color: rgb(61, 133, 198); color: #3d85c6;">Sharing them with her builds neighborly good will (as well as saving us from the entire calorie load of a batch of scones - ahem!) and gladdens not only her day but ours, too. Baked goods have a way of doing that. They are magic.</span><br />
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="color: #3d85c6;">It was about the crowing. Our local basketball powerhouse, the Golden State Warriors, had triumphed the night before in the first game of the championship series. </span><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="color: #3d85c6;">It's important to crow a little after a win, since the losses sometimes follow and they are much less fun. Crowing with a true fan like Doreen - truth be told, we are </span><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="caret-color: rgb(61, 133, 198); color: #3d85c6;">fair-weather fans, only really interested if the team makes the finals - makes it even better.</span><br />
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(61, 133, 198);">It's about the celebration, really, of all those things. The sun, the warmth of both air and friendship, the flavor of the strawberries ripe in the spring, the fortune of living on a funny little street where neighbors stop and chat even on the days when they can't sit down for a few minutes to eat a scone and share a gloating.</span></span><br />
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(61, 133, 198);">And, okay, it was also about the scones.</span></span><br />
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(61, 133, 198);"><b>Cream Scones</b>, from America's Test Kitchen</span></span><br />
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(61, 133, 198);">Preheat the oven to 425 degrees F, and position the rack in the middle of the oven.</span></span><br />
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(61, 133, 198);">2 cups unbleached flour</span></span><br />
<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(61, 133, 198);">1 Tbs baking powder</span></span><br />
<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(61, 133, 198);">3 Tbs sugar</span></span><br />
<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(61, 133, 198);">1/2 tsp sea salt (fine, not coarse like kosher salt)</span></span><br />
<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(61, 133, 198);">5 Tbs butter, cut into 1/4" cubes</span></span><br />
<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(61, 133, 198);">1 cup heavy cream (whipping cream) (or half-and-half if that's all you have on hand)</span></span><br />
<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(61, 133, 198);">1/2 cup dried or fresh fruit, chopped to the size of currants</span></span><br />
<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(61, 133, 198);">1-2 tsp turbinado (coarse) sugar, optional</span></span><br />
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(61, 133, 198);">Line a sheet pan with parchment paper and set aside. </span></span><br />
<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="color: #3d85c6;">Put the first four ingredients into the bowl of a food processor with the steel blade in place. Pulse 6 times. Remove cover and distribute butter cubes evenly over dry ingredients. Cover and pulse 12 times for 1 second each.</span><br />
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="color: #3d85c6;">Pour into a large bowl and stir in the fruit. Stir in the heavy cream with a rubber spatula or fork, just until the dough begins to form, about 30 seconds. (The trick with scones, as with biscuits, is not to handle the dough too much).</span><br />
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="color: #3d85c6;">Transfer to countertop and knead by hand just until it comes together to form a rough, sticky ball, 5-10 seconds.</span><br />
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="color: #3d85c6;">Transfer to parchment paper, pat into a round about 1-1/2 inches thick and cut into 8 sections, spreading the sections gently apart to give them room to rise. Sprinkle with turbinado sugar, if desired.</span><br />
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="color: #3d85c6;">Bake for 12-15 minutes until light brown*. Cool on a rack for about 10 minutes. Serve warm or at room temperature.</span><br />
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="color: #3d85c6;">*Mine took about 5 minutes longer. And, yes, I like using the turbinado sugar.</span></span></div>
Zoomiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16474153316588551039noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5732224038883472327.post-55477534517439402892018-01-16T15:59:00.003-08:002020-11-14T15:33:06.228-08:00Tribute Beans<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9OJjOht7GmE6iYB-vqBMOq_34X58b9QotBpudCqCmoqaprdjPts8tuvZNoyJeNG4kzhMy7t0gY8U8K7Ok7cCHLuZ3F5qANVtstmdTIijohMn8fXj_-EhVW4F1aKLQHSZnpHEctRdqlqWK/s1600/IMG_1380.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9OJjOht7GmE6iYB-vqBMOq_34X58b9QotBpudCqCmoqaprdjPts8tuvZNoyJeNG4kzhMy7t0gY8U8K7Ok7cCHLuZ3F5qANVtstmdTIijohMn8fXj_-EhVW4F1aKLQHSZnpHEctRdqlqWK/s320/IMG_1380.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #6fa8dc;">You know that feeling when you are digging around in the freezer and come up with a frozen gem you had forgotten because it was there for 'way too long? A mixture of puzzlement (what is that? when did I put it in there?) and triumph (wow, cool thing for dinner!). That's just how I felt when I unearthed a smoked turkey thigh that I bought 'way back in 2017 and forgot. I couldn't even remember where I purchased it until I read the label - <a href="https://naturalgrocery.com/">El Cerrito Natural Grocery!</a></span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #6fa8dc;"><br /></span>
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #6fa8dc;">I also had some pinto beans from <a href="https://www.ranchogordo.com/">Rancho Gordo</a> that were a gift from <a href="https://www.ferrari-carano.com/">Ferrari-Carano</a> vineyards last Christmas when we attended their holiday celebration with Cousin Jan. So, I put the beans to soak and the turkey to thaw, dreaming of dinner the next day.</span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #6fa8dc;">And the day after that. And the day after that! </span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #6fa8dc;">I forgot that what looks like a small package of beans makes a boatload once soaked, so I had plenty for us and for our neighbor Doreen, who was suffering from bronchitis. </span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #6fa8dc;">I used as my template a recipe that came with the beans, a recipe dear to the heart of Don Carano, the founder of the winery who passed away last year. I like the idea of giving beans as a tribute to Don, don't you?</span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #6fa8dc;">I did change up the recipe. Don't I always?</span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #6fa8dc;"><b>Smoked Turkey and Pinto Beans</b></span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #6fa8dc;">2 cups dried pinto beans</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #6fa8dc;">2 cups water, or 2 cups of chicken broth, enough to cover (I used water)</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #6fa8dc;">2 chicken bouillon cubes</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #6fa8dc;">1/4 pound lean bacon or salt pork (I used lardons)</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #6fa8dc;">1 medium yellow onion, chopped</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #6fa8dc;">1 clove garlic, minced</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #6fa8dc;">4 fresh sage leaves or 1/4 tsp dried (I'm not a big sage fan, so I omitted this)</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #6fa8dc;">1 small hot red pepper, dried, with seeds removed (didn't have so I did a generous shaking of Cholula hot sauce instead)</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #6fa8dc;">1/2 tsp sugar</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #6fa8dc;">1 Tbs chili powder</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #6fa8dc;">1 Tbs Worcestershire sauce (didn't have, so used soy sauce)</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #6fa8dc;">salt and pepper to taste</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #6fa8dc;"><br /></span>
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #6fa8dc;">*1 smoked turkey thigh, cubed off the bone (not Don's idea)</span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #6fa8dc;">Soak beans overnight in cold water. Drain and rinse. In a medium pot, sauté bacon, onion, and garlic, Add beans and cover with water or chicken broth. Add 2 chicken bouillon cubes if using water. Add sage, red pepper, chili powder, sugar, salt and pepper. (*Here, I added my smoked turkey meat to cook along with the beans. It was already cooked, but I wanted it to share its goodness with the beans). Cover and cook over medium heat for 45 minutes or until beans are tender. Add Worcestershire sauce and adjust seasonings. Serve with Italian sweet sausages, French bread, and Ferrari-Carano Zinfandel.</span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #6fa8dc;"> So good, so deeply smoky and satisfying, so sustaining and warming were these beans and turkey that we ate them for a week and still weren't tired of them by the time we got to the bottom of the pot. The sauce that formed around them was perhaps the best part - I literally scraped the bottom of the bowl to get every drop. Goozle heaven!</span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #6fa8dc;">Next time, I'll make half the recipe but, all in all, I think Don would have been pleased with his tribute beans.</span><br /></span>
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Zoomiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16474153316588551039noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5732224038883472327.post-82372156618245719712018-01-11T16:29:00.001-08:002020-11-14T15:33:36.545-08:00Overture<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #6fa8dc;">Back home from Hawaii and enjoying the first really drenching rain of the season, I decided to do some laundry and to change out our holiday napkins and placemats for something cheerful and bright. Digging down through the drawer that holds our table linens, I came across these, a gift from My Beloved's daughter Sarah's semester abroad in France. To me, they speak of the bright skies and sunflowers that Van Gogh found when he moved south to Arles.</span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #6fa8dc;">Sarah was a International Studies student at the University of Oregon in 1997 when she elected to spend a semester during her Junior year in Provence. I admit to a teensy flash of raw envy when she would email her accounts of the wine tasting class she was taking and the relaxed and sunny time she reported having in Aix-en-Provence. Not a bad location for foreign study, huh?</span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #6fa8dc;">Sarah started college a year before her parents divorced, and both she and Katie were kind to me but understandably a bit aloof when I came into his life around the same time. We had what I'd call a cordial relationship from the get-go, but a year later when Sarah brought us these beautiful placemats, I took them as an overture of true friendship; she knows how much I love setting a pretty table.</span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #6fa8dc;">After she graduated and moved to Boston, she started her career, met Mr. Right, married, had two beautiful children, lost her mother to cancer, and moved back to the Bay Area, all in what seems in retrospect like a whirlwind, but really was about 10 years. Through all that time, whenever we used her placemats, I got a warm feeling as I decorated the table with their bright patterns. The edges are a little frayed these days but I won't give them up until they are so thin and threadbare that they no longer protect the table. They have meaning for me.</span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #6fa8dc;">Thank you, Sarah.</span></span></div>
Zoomiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16474153316588551039noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5732224038883472327.post-15822440243619759872018-01-04T17:10:00.000-08:002018-01-04T17:10:05.232-08:00One Paddle, Two Paddle, Three Paddle, for to take me home...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; color: #6fa8dc;">There’s nothing like a visit to one’s childhood home to evoke a zillion memories. Hawaii is that place for me. I spent only two years there as a child back when Hawaii was a Territory rather than a State, ages six to eight, but it was the first place in our vagabond Navy life that really felt like home. Later, I spent six years there as a young adult. It is still, almost fifty years later, my heart’s home.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc;">Imagine the delight of a six year old child who moves by car, Pullman train, and steamship from Washington, DC to Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. Greeted with flower leis. No more closed shoes. Warm rain in which to paddle. No more jackets. Open air classrooms. The swimming pool not two blocks away. No restrictions on where I could go in our little neighborhood, protected as it was by snappy Marine guards. So many kinds of freedom!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc;">And the new flavors! In those days, pineapples came right out of the fields, deftly peeled and sectioned with the same wickedly sharp machetes that lopped them off the plant, and dripping so much sweet juice that I have never again tasted such good ones.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc;">Teriyaki sticks were made of thinly sliced ribbons of beef, slalomed onto bamboo skewers, marinated in a salty, tangy shoyu/ginger sauce that was looser and less sweet than today’s, then grilled on an hibachi. I need to experiment to reproduce that flavor!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc;">Li Hing Mui dried fruits puckered our lips while sending sweet messages to the brain, a compelling whipsaw for the tastebuds. My sister Nancy loved Li Hing flavors, although she claims not to remember them now.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc;">A beach day out at Makaha meant a long drive in our Oldsmobile, a picnic lunch packed meticulously by our mother, a soak in the sun for my already brown body, a swim in water of uncountable shades of blue and green, and the long, sleepy ride home. Sandy, salty and hungry as we always were, the usual stop at Tastee Freez for a cone was enough to have us all asleep in the back seat of our two-tone gray Olds sedan. I imagine that was blessed relief for the parents up front.</span></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc;">These and many more memories flood me when I visit these Islands, especially Oahu. Today, I visited my parents’ grave in Punchbowl, remembering all the years we were lucky enough to have them around. Dad has been gone almost twenty years and Mom nearly thirty. Tomorrow, we fly back to California where we live now, leaving behind this magical place that still means freedom and “ohana” (family) to me.</span></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc;">One of our last nights, we had dinner in Honolulu's Chinatown where there was a live Hawaiian singer, complete with guitar and muumuu. She had a clear, vigorous voice, and was asking for requests. I asked for an old favorite, Kui Lee's "One Paddle, Two Paddle" and she had me in tears with her sweet, sad version.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc;"><b>"One Paddle, Two Paddle" by Kui Lee</b>.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc;">One paddle, two paddle, three paddle, for to take me home. Fourteen on the right, fourteen on the left. Take me to Hawaii nei. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc;">I went away a long time, such a long time, a long time ago. Seen enough cities to last a lifetime, goin' away no more.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc;">One paddle, two paddle, three paddle for to take me home. Fourteen on the right, fourteen on the left. Take me to Hawaii nei. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc;">I want to smell the flowers, sweet sweet flowers.<br />Where the trade winds blow. Seen enough fences to last a lifetime, goin' away no more.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc;">One paddle, two paddle, three paddle for to take me home. Fourteen on the right, fourteen on the left. Take me to Hawaii nei.</span></div>
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Zoomiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16474153316588551039noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5732224038883472327.post-81324182276484378832016-11-20T12:55:00.002-08:002020-11-14T15:43:19.494-08:00Bread and Safety Pins<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">My Facebook feed is full of angst these days - all my progressive friends are filled with justifiable fear for the future under Donald Trump, and all the conservatives I know are scornful in their tone regarding the progressives. Both sides seem surprised by the outcome of the election - the progressives stunned and the conservatives gleeful.</span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">As usual, I'm somewhere in between. I always feared that Hillary's long history in this country would overcome her obviously superior qualifications. I am aware that, despite great progress in women's equality during my lifetime, many Americans are not ready for a woman president yet, and that idea was borne out. So, I was not as surprised as some, although I was deeply disappointed and honestly baffled that anyone would vote for a man whose campaign rhetoric was uniformly negative, scornful of norms of polite discourse, and openly misogynistic, hateful, and frightening. I'm sad to say that white privilege and male privilege are safe in this country for the foreseeable future.</span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">And I am in mourning for the upcoming loss of the best President of my lifetime. President Obama and his family have been so superior, have shown us how true gentlemen and ladies behave, have been so human and so lovely - I will miss them very, very much. As Mrs. Obama said, "When they go low, we go high." That philosophy has pertained to international as well as domestic affairs, and I have admired them during what had to be a very tough eight years of their lives. </span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Like so many of my friends, I'm trying to decide what to do. I'm not one to take to the streets with protests - I'll leave that to those who lean in that direction. My protests will be quieter, and will probably take the form of sending donations to fight the ugliness I see coming, calling my congresspeople to let them know how I feel on various issues as they come up, wearing a safety pin when I go out to signal that I am a safe haven for anyone who needs one, and trying in some small way to understand the anger that ushered Trump into office.</span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">When I'm in need of comfort and reassurance, I turn to things I know I do well. I make soup, usually hearty soup that warms from the inside out. I make dates to get together with friends who understand how I feel, people I can trust and with whom I can explore my ideas, people who will gently set me straight if my thinking is faulty. And, I will bake bread. I fall back on baking bread, good, sturdy bread such as the one I ate as a child. </span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">My mother always bought Pepperidge Farm bread - not the mushy nonsense that goes under that name today, but a firm, solid loaf that was so dense it could be sliced in half lengthwise, making a sandwich from a single slice of bread. It came wrapped in a thick, white waxed paper with the name and logo printed in red; this was well before plastic bags came on the scene.</span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">When I was a young newlywed, one of my wedding presents was Margaret Rudkin's wonderful Pepperidge Farm Cookbook. Illustrated with colorful drawings and packed with homey recipes, it is still a favorite of mine nearly fifty years later. Her recipe for standard white bread is that exact loaf that I recall from my childhood and, to my mind, it can't be improved upon.</span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">So, today for the first time in a long time, I got out my flour canister, searched through my kitchen drawers for packets of yeast, and heated my oven. These days, I have a warming drawer, so proofing the bread is no longer an exercise in dodging drafts; I just slide the bowls into the drawer, cover them with my favorite dish towel like a baby being put to bed, and pull the dough out an hour later, plump and high and already smelling of comfort.</span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Punch it down, knead it again, shape it into loaves, and back into the warming drawer. My loaf pans are dark mahogany brown from all the years of use and they almost don't need lubrication any more, as they have a rich patina from all the loaves that went before. I have six pans so I could make six loaves at a time and freeze some. Today, I only had yeast for four. So be it.</span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">I will wrap them snugly and freeze most of them for the days ahead when I need that solid reassurance of well made bread, full of old fashioned goodness. In the meantime, I'll keep one out to slice and toast and spread with the richness of butter. In times like these we look for the comfort of safety pins on people's collars and homemade bread to fuel our protests.</span><br />
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Zoomiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16474153316588551039noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5732224038883472327.post-1024439552563564632016-05-14T15:04:00.000-07:002016-05-14T15:04:05.884-07:00Can't Call It Carbonara<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Last night, I made a delicious new (to me) dish that I can't call carbonara, because it's not, but it's a close cousin. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Speaking of cousins, I have a few. Some are close in space or heart, like Jan and Sherry, Ted and Linda. Others are more distant, both in space and in heart, but probably just because circumstance has precluded our getting together much to build our friendship. Close cousins are the next best thing to siblings; they know you, your history, and your preferences well, but they are less likely to tease than actual siblings. Cousins are cool.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My very favorite cousin, of course, is My Beloved. I had always admired him, even when the three years of age difference between us as kids seemed an insurmountable barrier to friendship. He was one of the "big kids" for a long time. But, in our college years, that barrier melted away and we grew close even before we fell headlong in love.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Our love affair took a 25 year hiatus, thanks to parental disapproval and genetic fears back in the bad old days before we knew much about such things - all we knew was that the kings and queens of Europe that married their cousins often lived to regret it, or their offspring did. So, with many tears and a three-year mourning period, we separated for the childbearing years.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There is good news in this story, too. We both found spouses to love and admire, and had long marriages to them, although ultimately those relationships faded. My Beloved and his wife raised two terrific daughters, the mothers of our three delightful grandchildren. My first husband and I didn't have children, but we were a good uncle-and-aunt combo.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After those relationships had run their course, odd circumstance brought My Beloved and me back together and the result was as electric as when we were young. The rest is delightful history: when it's right, it's right.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But, I was talking about pasta, not partners, when I got distracted. My Carbonara Cousin did have pasta, egg yolk, and lots of pepper, but it diverged from the carbonara canon when I substituted flat noodles for spaghetti, Swiss chard for peas, and added mushrooms and (gasp!) cream. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We loved the richness of the egg yolk, cream and bacon paired with the slightly astringent Swiss chard, plus garlic, mushrooms, and Parmesan cheese to give it funkitude. It was a match made in heaven, just like mine with my own sweet cousin.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Can't Call It Carbonara</b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">4 strips thick cut bacon, preferably Nueske's, cooked and coarsely chopped</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1 small onion, chopped</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1 large clove garlic, crushed</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">6-8 mushrooms, quartered</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Black pepper</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1/2 cup half-and-half cream</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1 bunch (about 8 leaves) Swiss chard, ribs removed and coarsely chopped</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1/2 package of wide, flat noodles</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1 egg yolk, whisked with a fork</span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Parmesan cheese, freshly grated.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In a big pot, heat salted water to boiling and cook the pasta according to pasta directions. While that is proceeding,</span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In a wide frying pan, cook the bacon over medium heat, but don't crisp it. Removed to paper towels to drain. In the same pan, pour off some of the bacon fat, but keep about 1 Tablespoon.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sauté the onion and mushrooms in the bacon fat until the onions are translucent (about two or three minutes), add the garlic and cook, stirring for a few extra minutes. Grind in lots of black pepper to taste - be daring! Return the bacon to the pan.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Add the Swiss chard and cook together, stirring occasionally, until it wilts and gives up a little moisture to the pan (mine were red chard, so the juices became pink). Add the half-and-half and mix thoroughly, then remove from the heat. Count to twenty before adding the egg yolk and stir immediately to blend with the pan sauces. (If you don't wait, you may scramble the yolk instead of lending its silkiness to the sauce).</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Drain the pasta and stir it directly into the pan, mixing until it is evenly coated. Serve immediately with Parmesan cheese to grate over the top.</span><br />
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Zoomiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16474153316588551039noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5732224038883472327.post-27485942699122161672016-04-20T19:56:00.000-07:002016-04-20T19:56:01.762-07:00My Kind Of Art<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I got a little carried away by the all the colors in our latest tagine attempt - all those oranges and purples and pinks! I'm getting a big kick out of combining different ingredients in the tagine to find out which work best. It's almost like composing an artwork when the colors are so bright. Having zero artistic talent, myself, I need to rely on vegetables for my fun.</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I tried a few new things this time - cooking the rice right along with the meat; adding a new mix of spices; adding radishes to my usual carrots; pairing the sweetness of carrots and shallots with the tingly tartness of Meyer lemon, rind and all. So each time I assemble one of these, all kinds of possibilities are bouncing around in my mind.</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What emerged from the tagine after 90 minutes, the last 30 of which were filled with intoxicating scents wafting out of the pot, was a huge success. If I do say so myself. Which I do.</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The shallots became sublimely sweet and slippery-tender. The chicken hidden underneath was funky with spices. The radish retained some of its color and added a little hint of that indefinable radishness. The carrots were mellow but not mushy. And the rice! Oh, heavens, people, I could have made a meal of just the rice and still have wanted to spread it on my body. Orgasmic rice! No kidding.</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, here's what I did - I'll be interested to hear your ideas on what else would go well into the magic tagine.</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Sunburst Chicken Tagine</b></span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">4-6 chicken thighs (bone in or not - this time, mine were skinless and boneless)</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1 teaspoon each of ground coriander, ground cumin, ground ginger, sweet paprika, and allspice (this may seem like too much spice; it's not! Load it up!)</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">salt, pepper</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">2 Tablespoons olive oil, divided</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">2-3 Tablespoons tomato paste</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">3 carrots, peeled and cut into 4" chunks</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1 onion, chopped coarsely</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1 cup rice (I used brown jasmine rice)</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">2 cups chicken stock</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">4 large shallots, peeled but left whole</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">l or 2 large watermelon radishes (or regular radishes, a handful)</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">l Meyer lemon, sliced into 8 wedges (you could use a regular lemon, I'm sure)</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Green beans (optional)</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A handful of mushrooms, washed and left whole (optional) (I used brown ones)</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Pistachios or cashews (optional)</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Start the tagine on low flame (only for ones that are rated for stovetop use), and pour in 1 Tablespoon of the oil. Add the spices and s&p, whisking them together to make a slurry. Dredge the chicken pieces in the slurry, turning to coat, then set them aside. </span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Add the other tablespoon of oil and soften the onions before adding the rice. Toss the rice in the slurry until grains are coated, then add the chicken stock and stir. </span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Add the chicken pieces back in and place all the vegetables and the lemon wedges, except the mushrooms, green beans, and nuts, on top of the chicken. </span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Cover and simmer for about 90 minutes. When the tagine starts to smell as if it dropped straight from heaven, add the mushrooms and green beans to cook for the last 20 minutes or so, until the beans are still bright green but tender.</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Fill the plates with a little of each of the ingredients (especially that killer rice!) and sprinkle with the nuts for texture.</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
Zoomiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16474153316588551039noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5732224038883472327.post-54042897813851603632016-04-14T16:21:00.000-07:002016-04-14T16:21:20.908-07:00Ramping Up<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We had such fun with our <a href="http://zoomiestation.blogspot.com/search?q=tagine">demure little tagine</a> that when we saw a splendid big one in a super fancy kitchen store, we swallowed hard at the price but shelled out the shekels for this lovely big rust red one. I had dreams of cooking once to eat twice - always a bonus! - and of using larger cuts and vegetables. We are ramping up!</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There were, serendipitously, lamb shanks at my local market, conveniently cut in two. What could be nicer? I loaded the tagine with all kinds of things that lamb loves (thyme, garlic, lemon), put on the lid, and set it on top of the stove; this new tagine works either on the stovetop or in the oven.</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">What emerged 90 minutes later was really tasty, but I must admit that it was even better the second day. The artichokes all but fell apart, the olives were as wrinkled as a little old man, and I didn't even have to peel the butternut squash - the skin yielded to "low and slow". And the leeks! People, those leeks were worth it all by themselves. They were soft and sweet and limply heavenly.</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">If I did this again, I'd likely swap out the butternut squash for kabocha, as it is firmer and sweeter, but the squash improved the second day when we ate it, bite for bite, with some of the lemon peel. And the crisp nuts gave the whole dish texture and salty interest.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Everything was infused with the garlic and Meyer lemon that I added as perfume, plus the herbal/spicy notes that wafted up from the bottom. Oh, baby.</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I'm pretty sure you could do this without the tagine, if you don't have one, but if I were you, I'd hurry out to get one. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>Lamb Tagine</b></span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">2 lamb shanks - ask the butcher to cut them in half crossways.</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">2 leeks, carefully washed and toughest leaves removed</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">1 large artichoke, quartered and fuzz removed</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">1 small squash, sliced about 2" think and seeds removed (I used butternut but I think I'd try kabocho next time)</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A handful of olives (I used calvestrano)</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">1 Meyer (or regular) lemon - squeeze the juice in, then cut the lemon into slices and add those to the pot, peel and all.</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">1-2 Tablespoons olive oil</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">3 or 4 garlic cloves, peeled and lightly crushed (or to taste - I'd add more next time)</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Dried thyme to taste</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Salt, pepper</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">About 1/4 to 1/2 cup water</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A handful of salted cashews or shelled salted pistachios.</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">You could brown the lamb shanks before hand (and I think that would be an improvement), but I didn't this time and the meat was still tender and tasty.</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In the bottom of the tagine, add the olive oil and heat over low heat. Add the garlic and thyme. Salt and pepper the lamb shanks and add them to the bottom. Pile the other ingredients on top, positioning the things that take longest to cook at the bottom and layering the rest in order of cooking time, ending with the things that take the shortest time. Pour in a little water.</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Put on the lid. Over very low heat, cook for about 90 minutes. </span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Sprinkle with the nuts to add texture to the dish. Serve with the goozle that forms in the bottom of the tagine, plain or with rice or couscous. The artichokes are great dipped in the goozle.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
Zoomiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16474153316588551039noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5732224038883472327.post-52702751014503516872016-04-01T16:44:00.000-07:002016-04-15T10:37:59.776-07:00Friendsoup<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My next door neighbor and I have been trading food all winter - I'd give her the rest of a stew or soup, and she'd refill my bowl with something she made when she returned it. That way, neither of us gets tired of our "creations," and we get each other's opinions on the dishes. She is cooking for her elderly mother who has a tiny appetite to go with her tiny frame, and I am cooking for a "variety guy" who, while he is generally easy to please and hugely lovable, doesn't enjoy leftovers very much. Nice for us both to have a friendly way to pass along the extras.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Hard to believe this is the same neighbor we so resented when they first built the house next door about 10 years ago. I had wished I had the money to buy the vacant lot myself, to preserve the hill full of wildflowers, to keep the line of weedy trees that reached up to the window behind my desk where I could watch little birds flitting through at eye level while working at my computer, to retain the steep hillside where the neighborhood children slid down on flattened cardboard "sleds," screaming with exhilaration.</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Instead, we got months of dirt and noise from the building site and a wall that rose up higher than our house not ten feet from our windows. No wonder we were resentful! It bugged me so much that finally I had to put my anger aside or let it eat me up. I went next door and asked for a tour of the house, so I could learn to love it.</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I have to admit that I didn't learn to love it right then, nor for several years afterwards, but I did come to a place of acceptance. It improved when our neighbors added some screening vegetation on their decks and assented to preserving our view of Mt. Tamalpais by repositioning a trellis on their side. </span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Slowly, over the years, small gestures of friendship were made, first by them, returned by us. When Peter was diagnosed with cancer, we reached out to help with drives to treatment and securing a place on the Peninsula when Peter had to stay down there for a month of serious chemotherapy. Peter passed away about five years ago.</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But, maybe some good came out of all that, as we grew closer to his widow, Doreen, during and after that time. And, again, very slowly, we became better neighbors and, finally, good friends, taking care of each other's dogs or picking up packages when we were on vacation.</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This week, Doreen gifted us with a hearty minestrone that she clearly put a lot of work into. The broth was rich with tomatoes, and the legumes and vegetables gave it interest and texture. And, it was doubly welcome because our furnace blower died this week and we were bundled up with socks and extra sweaters while we awaited the correct part arriving from the furnace guy.</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Now, one can't really complain too much when a blown blower means only that the temperature in the house plunges all the way down to 60 - where I used to live in western New York state, this would have been a much more serious situation in early April. But, we are California wimps, and proud of it, so we have to kvetch at least a little.</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Doreen said, when delivering the soup, "It's just okay," but we thought it was much better than "okay," especially when we grated a little fresh Parmesan over it and spooned up the resulting garden ambrosia. I'll happily accept her friendsoup any old day, even now that the furnace is happily humming again.</span></div>
Zoomiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16474153316588551039noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5732224038883472327.post-21539730355482099962016-03-23T17:34:00.002-07:002016-03-23T17:34:23.444-07:00Learning To Ride<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My Dad taught me to ride a bike. I had been on a tricycle, then a bike with training wheels for some time, but he thought it was time to ditch the safe way and fly. I can’t count the number of times he puffed along beside the hand-me-down bike I got when my older sister grew out of it, steadying the seat with one hand and the handlebars with another, calling encouragement as I wobbled along the sidewalk shrieking with a combination of heady exhilaration and sheer terror. Then, on the next exciting try, I felt an extra push from behind to get me up to cruising speed and I AM DOING IT, DADDY! I’M RIDING! I’M RIDING!</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Of course, I fell off trying to stop, but he picked me up and brushed me off, commiserated over my scrapes and put me right back on. That time, I remembered that one pedaled backwards to stop the bike. The seat still bumped me in the back when I slowed enough to hop down, but that was minor compared to the flush of achievement and pride. I was officially a big kid.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It was like that all through my childhood and adolescence. My Dad was always urging me to do things I was afraid to try, gently but insistently showing me the way. When I was about eight and all the other kids were jumping or diving off the high board at the pool, I was only comfortable with the low board. Somehow, he knew that I had a secret longing to be brave like the other kids, so he made a deal with me. “I’ll catch you when you jump,” he promised. “I’ll be there to make sure you’re okay.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And that dear man treaded water underneath the high board for at least forty-five minutes, shouting encouragement up to me as I stood shivering with my toes curled over the end of the board and my heart in my throat. He even had to take a rest for a minute on the side of the pool and he warned, “I may not be able to do this much longer!” Finally, looking down - ‘way down! - into his warm, brown eyes, I screwed up my courage and HUGE, RIPPING SPLASH! I surfaced to his wide grin - “You <b>did</b> it!</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Actually, <b>he</b> did it. All through boyfriends and algebra and hairdos and college applications and first jobs, his encouragement and gentle prodding were what spurred me to achievements I might not otherwise have even tried. So much easier to wail, “Daddy, I can’t” than to put some honest effort into learning something new.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">He wasn’t always successful - my hairdos were never very stylish (they still aren’t) and I never did get the point or the practice of algebra - but he always assured me “Of course you can!” and didn’t let me off the hook. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Life keeps handing me challenges - finishing college and grad school, learning a whole new set of job skills, finding my way through a divorce when everyone in the family was opposed, establishing myself in a new locale with new friends and challenging financial concerns - and each time another one pops up, I’m back on that bike with Dad’s wisdom and strength behind me, still learning to ride.</span></span></div>
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Zoomiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16474153316588551039noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5732224038883472327.post-32411247453205292702016-03-19T19:30:00.001-07:002016-03-19T19:30:52.975-07:00A Winter For Soups<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This has been a winter for soups. Nearly every week, I have made broth from a roast chicken and devised some new take on an old theme - and each pot of soup has improved over the last one as I learned the tricks of the soup maker's trade.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The first and most important trick is, of course, the stock. No, you don't have to make it from scratch if you are short of time but, if you do, let it simmer long and low, hours and hours, to extract all the goodness from the bones. Really good chicken stock will actually jell when you refrigerate it to remove the extra fat that congeals on the top and is easily scooped off and discarded. (That's the second trick, by the way).</span></div>
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The third trick is that soup, like stew, always tastes better the second day, when the ingredients have swum around together in the broth and rubbed shoulders for a time. Like a high school dance, they need time to get to know each other and to become a real "thing."</span></div>
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Another bit of advice is to add fresh stuff to the soup as you serve it. Fresh things add texture and interest to what might otherwise be nursing home food. When I make chicken soup with a Mexican bent, I add cubes of avocado, fresh chopped tomato, slivers of lemon or lime, chopped cilantro, and tortilla chips in little bowls for people to add what they like. When I make "American style" chicken soup, I add frozen peas to the bowls and ladle the hot soup over them - just a few minutes in the soup is enough to thaw the peas and they add a wonderfully fresh touch.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My final hint is to add ingredients that are unexpected - you never know what kind of serendipity you might stir up. A good example is the coffee I added to the pot of Portuguese Bean Soup I made on the last day of winter. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Coffee?? In soup?</span></div>
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sure, why not!</span></div>
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It added such a nice, deep "belly" to the soup. I'm sure it would have been delicious even without the coffee, but I had just been watching my hero, Jacques Pépin, on TV and he told us that he never wastes anything so, when I was cleaning up the kitchen after breakfast and had about two cups of coffee that we didn't drink, I opened the lid of my soup pot and poured it in.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now, I wouldn't suggest that for chicken soup, but it worked like a champ with the spicy sausage in my bean soup. So, think about some interesting ingredients that you might add to your next potage. There's nothing like a big pot of soup to warm the cockles, to share with the neighbors, and even to freeze for the inevitable day when spring turns back into a winter for soups.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Portuguese Bean Soup</b>, inspired by the soup we had at the Punahou Carnival in Hawaii one year.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1 Tablespoon olive oil</span></div>
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1 box of chicken stock, 32 ounces (or homemade if you have it)</span></div>
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1 can black beans (or any beans, really)</span></div>
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1/4 head green cabbage, coarsely chopped</span></div>
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In a large pot, sauté the onion, carrot, and celery in the olive oil until the onion is clear. Pour in the chicken stock and the tomato sauce, add salt and pepper to taste. Add the beans, the sausage, and the coffee. (Andouille sausages are rather spicy - if you don't have spicy sausages to use, you may want to add some hot sauce to give a little zing to the broth)</span></div>
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Bring to a boil and simmer over low heat for an hour or more. Let cool and refrigerate over night. To reheat, bring back to a boil, add the cabbage, lower the heat, and simmer until the cabbage is just transparent but still has some texture.</span></div>
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Zoomiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16474153316588551039noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5732224038883472327.post-62069271074792790212016-03-14T18:13:00.000-07:002016-03-14T18:13:28.863-07:00There's Still Time!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE5n33t9E6v2Dr-tqhTh9921IXa-ZOcXU457jYonjfWY-Tn0NOv4ZA0YVMaMF5WLyXLuURBgMMOYHcLQiLNxuMWBcfDSmq0wtpEkmdnm3F7xG43_RxL9Tac-mKn5A7dFkVkozJm7wI2L-O/s1600/IMG_6864.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE5n33t9E6v2Dr-tqhTh9921IXa-ZOcXU457jYonjfWY-Tn0NOv4ZA0YVMaMF5WLyXLuURBgMMOYHcLQiLNxuMWBcfDSmq0wtpEkmdnm3F7xG43_RxL9Tac-mKn5A7dFkVkozJm7wI2L-O/s320/IMG_6864.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Last Friday, My Beloved and I made our annual trek to Costco to cash in his rebate check from his Costco credit card. It's always a fun trip (despite being there on a Friday when even the pouring rain and howling winds didn't discourage anyone from going - the place was packed!), where we marvel at the sizes of things and wonder how anyone could ever use up a gallon of mayo or two dozen bunches of asparagus before the darn things spoil! We always check out the veggie department and consider the fancy meats (and lately they have had organic options in both those departments!), but we usually don't buy much due to lack of freezer space and the fact that we are only two. Big eaters, I will concede, but really just two.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We do get a cube each of TP and paper towels, and sometimes another cube of facial tissues or a block of a dozen bars of soap, but those things actually can last us the better part of a year, so we have to think carefully about garage space before making such purchases. The prices are always tempting but our storage space is always limited.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This time, it was the weekend just before St. Patrick's Day. Being half Irish in blood and wholly Irish in attitude, I always celebrate the saint's day with gusto. When I happened upon the display of vacuum-sealed corned beef, my heart leapt in my breast and I was drawn over, dodging giant grocery carts steered either by children who weren't paying attention or little old ladies who weren't paying attention, to the huge boxes filled to overflowing with corned beef briskets and rounds spilling out as from a cornucopia.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Once again, most of the offerings were 'way too much for two people to eat unless they were determined to finish it off even if it took a week. Since My Beloved doesn't really like to eat the same thing seven days in a row (nor do I, if truth be told), I was disappointed until I spied one very small package and pounced upon it with a glad cry.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was corned beef alright, but a small one of about two pounds. Perfect! Enough for St. Patrick'd Day dinner and a day or two of sandwiches, but no more. What's more, the label stated that this was American Kobe beef round from Snake River Farms in Idaho. I know nothing about SRFs, but I had heard from meat-loving friends that American Kobe beef is really good, so I was psyched.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I had read on the interwebs about champ, too, an Irish dish that combines finely chopped green onions and parsley into boiled potatoes that have been mashed with butter and cream. My Irish heart sang as I read that recipe. I left the skin on my potato (just one is enough for us both) and mashed it right in, which was a very good choice. And, as if that wasn't enough, I had a quarter of a head of cabbage to slice thinly and sauté until limp and sweet and just a little browned. I can't think of a more Irish meal than corned beef and cabbage with champ.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was so eager to try it that I didn't even wait for St. Patrick's Day - I cooked it three days ahead and you will be glad I did because there is still time for you to rush right over to Costco and snag your own! </span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, drum roll, please...</span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This was easily the best corned beef I have ever or will ever eat. It cooked in half the time of a big roast, either brisket or round, and the only word to describe the meltingly tender slices that emerged from the scented water is "succulent." </span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Oh. My. Heavens. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We both did that little, muted moaning thing that people do when what hits their tongues is too good to describe, shaking our heads in disbelief at the pleasure. I'm sure the texture and flavor have a lot to do with the amount of fat marbled into the meat but my ancestral genes recognize and respond with alacrity.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My only question now is - if I brave Costco again tomorrow, will I be able to score another one?</span><br />
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Zoomiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16474153316588551039noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5732224038883472327.post-32084961035063791032016-03-07T09:34:00.004-08:002016-03-07T09:36:11.373-08:00Fall Color<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; text-align: left;">We began our 11-week See America tour in the fall, departing in early October. Here in California, there is some fall color, but it's mainly the occasional glorious tree, rather than the blaze of color that other places get as the trees prepare themselves for winter.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Our first really spectacular color came from the aspens in Colorado, where the liquid gold of the trees is hard to capture in photographs. The yellow of the sun through aspen leaves has to be seen to be truly appreciated. Even when they fall, their confetti is gorgeous.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We dashed across Kansas, where the fall color was mostly from the pale gold of ripening fields of wheat, the stubble fields of harvested corn striped tan and brown, and vast stretches of maroon sorghum. </span><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But all other colors in Kansas are dwarfed by a sky so high and wide that it dominates all the other features. I understand now why people could enjoy living in Kansas, so far from the drama of ocean and mountain. It's that awe-inspiring sky that adds the spirit to that landscape.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Up through Missouri, Kentucky and Ohio, it was still a late-summer landscape, but almost as soon as we drove into western New York, the fall claimed the land again. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Everyone told us fall was late that year; I like to think it waited for us. New York state was on fire with color from Buffalo until we crossed the border at Albany into Massachusetts, where the Berkshires took over with their own splendid colors.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The area around Boston was simply amazing. The Harvard campus with its red maples and colorful chairs in the quad, the trees lining every street, even the cemeteries were joyful with brilliant colors.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We don't think of New York City as a place for fall color with its looming skyscrapers and hurrying crowds, but even there we found touches of color. The startling blue of a crisp autumn sky glimpsed between the buildings, </span></div>
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">the heavy heads of goldenrod along the High Line, </span></div>
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">and even bright trees on a penthouse terrace, complete with (I imagined) a tycoon making deals on his cell phone.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In Connecticut, most of the leaves were already down, but they made for delightful sounds as we scuffed along through the colorful confetti.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We turned south and lost the colors through New Jersey, Maryland, and Virginia. Only the produce in the farmer's markets spoke of fall as we dropped down through North Carolina, South Carolina, and Georgia. In the South, I think the fall-blooming camellias are the spectacular color of autumn.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Our whole trip was a visual feast, and maybe I will find the words to describe some of the other pleasures, visions of colorful rock formations and dramatic desert plants. For now, however, I'm still enjoying the memory of all that autumn glory.</span></div>
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Zoomiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16474153316588551039noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5732224038883472327.post-66582154331999451282016-02-16T11:29:00.002-08:002016-02-23T14:51:35.467-08:00Shrines<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">As My Beloved and I traveled around the country, we visited a number of places that could qualify as shrines. There were the occasional informal roadside memorials where people who had lost loved ones to car accidents have erected crosses, or left candles or flowers to mark the spot of the tragedies; those gave us a momentary pang as we drove by, wondering about the lost ones and their families. </span><br>
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We also visited places that were more formal shrines, such as the Eisenhower Presidential Library in Abilene, Kansas; The Hermitage, Andrew Jackson's home near Nashville, Tennessee; or the Clinton Presidential Library in Little Rock, Arkansas. There are so many places in our country that mark historic or meaningful events.</span><br>
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The ones that stay in my memory now months later are not always the formal ones, but there are plenty of those. Vicksburg, Mississippi is one of the most powerful. During the Civil War, a battle was fought for Vicksburg because it was built on a critical bluff for controlling supplies up and down the Mississippi river. We happened to be in a hotel that was just across the highway from the battlefield so we decided to detour through it on our way out of town. Little did we expect to be so moved and shaken. </span><br>
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The smooth, narrow, two-lane road runs through, with towering stone monuments on both sides to mark where troops from both North and South were positioned. Reading about the battle, we learned that nearly 20,000 young men died at that site, roughly half from either side. The woods crowd the lawns bordering each side of the road and the positions are very close to each other; it is easy to imagine the fear the soldiers must have felt when the woods concealed the enemy so well. What began as a lighthearted drive turned out to be a sobering lesson in the tactics of death. As we drove away, My Beloved remarked that before we are ever tempted to declare war again, we should fly our Senators and Congressmen down to Vicksburg to tour that battlefield.</span><br>
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Happily, there were also more positive shrines to enjoy. The Natchez Trace, a footpath that stretches from Nashville, Tennessee to Natchez, Mississippi was one we loved. These days, most people drive the route because there is a beautiful parkway that follows the route, but in the old days it was a major north-south trade route used first by the Native Americans for thousands of years and later by the European settlers. We drove along on our way south, but we stopped and walked for a short time on the original trail. I literally got goosebumps thinking about all the history it had seen. The trail was beautiful, surrounded by woods and dished in the middle by the centuries of footfalls, with autumn leaves decorating the path like bright confetti.</span><br>
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">One of the shrines that surprised me was Graceland, the home of the late Elvis Presley in Memphis, Tennessee. I fully expected that my snide side would emerge to sneer at this kitschy landmark; instead, I was oddly touched. I always enjoyed Elvis' songs - his were more or less the soundtrack of my youth until the Beatles arrived from England - but I am not the kind of faithful fan with whom we rubbed shoulders at Graceland, people who wept at his grave and keep pictures of him in their homes. But even I was touched and impressed by the "small town boy makes good" feel of the house and the sad ending for such a huge talent.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sam Walton's daughter has created a shrine to American art in her home town of Bentonville, Arkansas. When we read about this place, we resolved to put it on our itinerary, and we are glad we did. Crystal Bridges is amazing, both the collection and the architecture. The museum is built over a creek and the water pools around the "bridges" of the museum. We spent two days there, first enjoying the Frank Lloyd Wright Usonian house that has been moved to the site from New Jersey and rebuilt block by block, then going back for their permanent collection the next day. There is also a shrine in Bentonville to her father's success, the original store where he began Walmart.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We loved it all!</span><br>
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In Texas, which we liked far more than we expected, we stopped in San Antonio to visit friends and to re-visit My Beloved's days as an Air Force recruit in the mid-sixties when the Vietnam War was in full cry and the Alamo was a mostly-neglected, crumbling ruin. Texans have, in the meantime, decided that the Alamo is an important landmark of Texas history, so they have restored it, built a small park around it, and even established rules of conduct for those touring it. A sign outside goes so far as to outline what kind of attire tourists may wear, and urges them to speak in respectful tones. A shrine, indeed, with an atmosphere more churchlike than the original mission church the building was before the battle that made it famous.</span><br>
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Also in Texas was Big Bend, a desert landscape of awesome beauty with plants and animals weirdly adapted to the harsh environment down by the Rio Grande that forms a border between the United States and Mexico. From out of that flat desert rise "sky islands," mountain ranges so separated by the harsh desert that the animals and plants on them are adapting separately from each other, rather like the Galapagos Islands finches that fascinated Charles Darwin. It is a spectacular landscape. We visited because it is a "dark park," a place where in our rapidly developing country one can get far enough from city lights to see the amazing blaze of the Milky Way that was evident in my childhood every night but is now mostly obliterated by electric lights. Big Bend is a shrine to darkness and the miracle of adaptation. We can't wait to return to that amazing place.</span><br>
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We need shrines to help us remember and celebrate the people who built our country and the places that make it unique. In the months since we returned, I have gone back in my memory many times to relive the experience of appreciation and, in some cases, downright awe that such places give me. </span></div>
Zoomiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16474153316588551039noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5732224038883472327.post-13979851204280773582016-01-31T08:40:00.000-08:002016-01-31T08:40:59.246-08:00Aspens<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I must have taken 30 pictures of aspen trees in the sunlight. In the fall, they are breathtaking with their bright yellow coins shivering in the warm wind. Around every turn on the road to Aspen, Colorado we saw slender trees decked in gold in contrast to the dark conifers around them. Stunned by their beauty, I made My Beloved stop the car a zillion times while I attempted once again to take the perfect aspen picture. I tried and tried, but never really captured the glory of sunlight through aspen leaves.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My eyes perceived the color as a much brighter and clearer yellow than my photos convey. In the pictures, the color looks golden, but in reality they capture the light as if they are literally lit from within, as bright as good butter. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Whole dark mountainsides are streaked with glowing groves of aspens, the ones at the lower elevations finishing their color first, while the higher ones clung longer to their leaves, netting the last long rays of sunlight before winter dormancy.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We got to Aspen late in the day and enjoyed walking around the town, poking our noses into the tony shops and staying at a very nice small hotel in that chic little town, but when I think of Colorado, the picture in my mind will always be of the aspens rather than Aspen.</span></div>
Zoomiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16474153316588551039noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5732224038883472327.post-48201958910202583262016-01-25T20:05:00.001-08:002016-01-27T20:01:10.651-08:00Morning Delight<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We got tougher as our long trip unwound, but those first two or three days in the car as we drove through California, Nevada, and Utah were hard on the body. Even as you marvel at the amazing desert landscapes and fanciful colors of the rock layers, there's only so much shifting around you can do to ease what my Mom used to call "fanny fatigue," too many hours in the car!</span><br>
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, when we rolled into Glenwood Springs, Colorado, we were ready for a break. We checked into a nice hotel and, reading the literature they provided in the room, I learned that Glenwood Springs is named for a mineral spring that has been in continuous use since the 1800s. Actually, I'm pretty sure the Native Americans used it long before the 1880s, and they likely introduced the European settlers to its pleasures.</span><br>
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was dying to go.</span><br>
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, next morning, we packed up our swim suits and headed off to the springs. For a measly $15, you get an all-day pass to use their pools. The large one pictured above - it is easily twice the size of an Olympic pool - is at a steady 90 degrees. No coal is burned, no gas is used - this is hot water and plenty of it provided free from Mother Nature all day, every day as far back as anyone can remember. The thermal water carries a light whiff of sulfur but I looked all around for the Devil and could only find regular folks like us soaking in the water.</span><br>
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Some were clearly regulars who stood about in small groups gossiping and laughing, or hailing a late comer. Some were surely foreigners; we heard several different languages. And some were like us, passers through who just stopped for the day. </span><br>
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That first immersion in the silky water drew from me a sigh of pure pleasure. Not only was it wonderfully warm, but almost immediately it eased my aches. We water walked for about 45 minutes, chatting and enjoying the people watching as we got a little gentle exercise. There is an unspoken etiquette (we saw no signs about what not to do) so all the walkers veered off gently to avoid the klatches of stationary talkers. No words were spoken, just gentle smiles exchanged as we glided by.</span><br>
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There was an Asian family of mostly women, all clustered around a small child, a little girl of about 6 or 7 whose head was completely bald in the way that only happens during chemotherapy. The child was very ill, listless and barely moving as her family's hands supported her in the water. I can only hope that she got some benefit from the mineral water, and from her family's loving attention.</span><br>
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When we were ready to stop walking, we moved over into the hot side of the springs. In that pool, which is nearly as large as an Olympic swimming pool, the water is at 104 degrees, a huge, open air hot tub. Imagine a clear, blue sky above and a blood-red mountain at the far end, with trees and fresh fall air to counteract the hot water. </span><br>
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Watery bliss.</span><br>
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Our next stop was Aspen and I was eager to see that famous town, but I have to admit I'd have been happy to stop for several days in Glenwood Springs if I could have returned daily to that delight.</span></div>
Zoomiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16474153316588551039noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5732224038883472327.post-43947651335687529332016-01-22T14:43:00.000-08:002016-01-22T14:43:36.789-08:00Travel Is Broadening<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We live in the San Francisco bay area, a bubble of four or five very liberal counties where I tend to be seen as politically middle-of-the-road. I'm okay with that - I do feel more conservative than my farthest left-leaning friends, but definitely more liberal than my most conservative friends. So, as we started our trip, I had some uneasy thoughts about where we were heading - not physically, but philosophically. They say "Travel is broadening," so I expected to have my ideas shaken up a bit.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Right out of the box in Nevada, we found evidence of what I was worried about - people who feel far differently than I do about issues such as environmental degradation. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In fact, some of them were downright hostile</span><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In what I would loosely define as The South, and particularly in the Southwest, we frequently found people whose ideas about national security and politics were very different from what we heard at home.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In South Carolina, our walking tour of Charleston was led by a very proud man, proud of his southern heritage (he was born in Richmond, VA and had lived in Charleston ever since college) and Charleston in particular. He gave his tour, upon request from one of our audience members, from the "Southern point of view," glossing (in my opinion) over the evils of slavery and concentrating on the economic reasons why South Carolina wanted to keep things as they were before the War Between the States. He insisted that the South felt they were within their legal rights to secede and were actually surprised when war was declared. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">He also pointed out that Charleston had had a Tea Party uprising prior to the American Revolutionary War much like the Boston Tea Party, but that theirs never made the history books because the North had control of the history after they won the Civil War (we learned that calling it the Civil War is offensive to many Southerners, too). While I disagreed with certain points in his two-hour talk, I had to admit that I had a much wider understanding of the Southern point of view after his talk.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I expected to encounter prejudice against African Americans in the south, but I was pleasantly surprised by its lack. I shed tears when I visited Mother Emmanuel in Charleston, but the others who were in tears on the sidewalk with me or leaving mementos were both black and white. In all the southern cities we visited (Virginia Beach, VA; Greensboro, NC; Asheville, NC; Charleston, SC; Savannah, GA; Nashville, TN; Memphis, TN; Little Rock, AR; Bentonville, AR; Vicksburg, MS; New Orleans, LA) never did we hear disparaging comments. I'm not saying prejudice is dead in the South (or anywhere in the United States, for that matter); just that we were happily free of its evidence.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In Nashville, Tennessee, we attended a performance of the Grand Ole Opry in the Lyman Auditorium. Seated in church pews (the hall was once a very large church), we were surprised when the master of ceremonies asked all who had served in the military to stand. As My Beloved stood with many others, mostly Vietnam era veterans, they got a hearty round of applause from the audience, something that was unlikely to happen at home. Our visit happened just days after the series of attacks by Islamic extremists in Paris, but still we were surprised and taken aback by Larry Gatlin and the Gatlin Brothers' first song, which they had written just for the occasion, the theme of which was getting out our guns to defend our homeland from Muslims. While we certainly deplored the attacks on our beloved Paris, we felt very much out of place in an audience that applauded wildly that sentiment. We were very quiet.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In Santa Fe, New Mexico, we were out for dinner with My Beloved's very congenial and friendly business pal and his girlfriend whom I had never met before, eating at a very nice, large restaurant in that pretty town. After about an hour in their company, the subject of gun control came up. They very casually allowed that both of them were armed and, in fact, that they estimated that fully 50% of the people in that room were carrying guns. I was astonished and disbelieving until he showed me his holster. I couldn't resist asking them more about the subject. The pretty blonde girlfriend's father had taught her to shoot when she was about 10 years old (she is from Texas). She said that her house in a very upscale neighborhood in the Albuquerque area is in a compound surrounded by a high adobe wall with broken glass embedded on top. She has several loaded firearms in the house and, when I asked if she could actually use them against another person, she said, "You bet! They come into my compound and - No Mercy!" I asked if her neighborhood was particularly dangerous; she hastily reassured me that it was a very low crime area. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">On the other hand, in the Southwest we heard openly negative remarks about Mexicans that surprised our liberal ears. In Texas, Border Patrol activity is very visible, and we even passed through "checkpoints" where we were questioned about whether we had illegal aliens in our car. California has as many immigrants from south of the border as any other state, but perhaps the difference is that we need their labor so we are more tolerant of their need for services while they are with us? In New Mexico, Texas, and Arizona, perhaps things are a little different; not for me to say after only getting a "snapshot" of those places.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">While I'm glad I live among, for the most part, like-minded liberals, I am happy that we encountered people, especially kind and good people, who feel differently than I do about such large issues. If they had all been nasty folks, my ideas about them might have solidified rather than softened. Now, although I still vigorously disagree with some of the sentiments we encountered, I'm glad I was reminded that it is possible for people</span><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">to hold opposing views to mine but still to be sensible, well-meaning people.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As they say, travel is broadening.</span><br />
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Zoomiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16474153316588551039noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5732224038883472327.post-84339360944809116392016-01-16T04:04:00.000-08:002016-01-16T04:04:21.844-08:00We Begin<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We don't have photographs of the two Native Americans we met on the first day of our eleven-week, eleven thousand six hundred mile, twenty-eight state (plus the District of Columbia, but who's counting?) See America tour. That early in our journey, I was not aware of how much I would think about them in the coming months.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Matt works for the Visitors Bureau in Fallon, Nevada. Early in the morning, he was arranging the Visitors Center for a later meeting when we met him. Very open and welcoming, he offered us a cup of the coffee he was brewing and a glimpse into his heritage when we fell into conversation. His tribal connections are Shoshone and Paiute; his wife is Paiute, as well. </span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He gave us a good tip on petroglyphs to see along the route at Grimes Point, and then launched into a fun story that he got from his grandfather about his Shoshone band’s reaction to the coming of American soldiers. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The band saw the soldiers coming from far away, not hard to imagine in that vast landscape, and went out in warpaint on horseback to chase them away but when they got close, they could see that the soldiers were as pale as dead people; they believed the soldiers to be ghosts. Then, just as they were nerving themselves for attack, one of the soldiers cracked a bullwhip and, because the Indians had never heard anything break the sound barrier before, they were terrified and scattered in all directions, abandoning their intention to fight. Matt told this little story with affectionate understanding for his forebears, welcoming us with twinkling eyes into his tale.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When we mentioned that we had been abruptly turned away from the Top Gun base in Fallon by three gate guards barely old enough to shave but carrying serious weapons, he told us that the local people rely on the base for income but are dismayed by the pollution the base represents. The desert around Fallon is strewn with expended bullets and shells from the practice runs of the jets, and some of it is live and dangerous. Matt's young son goes into the desert and brings back these kinds of artifacts frequently. The constant roar and exhaust from the jets pollutes the clear desert air, as well.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On our way out of town, we read in the literature Matt had given us about another Native American who has an art gallery, so we went to see what that was about. His name is Fortunate Eagle and he introduced himself as a Chippewa. He lives down a dirt road in a modest house next to his art gallery. He is tall and straight despite his 80+ years, with graying hair pulled back into a pony tail, and has been married to his wife for 66 years. They have a couple of grown children. He is a sculptor and showed us several of his works. He is also a published author of four books some of which, he admits with a twinkle, are true. His wife paints, does beadwork, and decorates deerskin dresses that she makes herself. I wish we could have met her, too. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Fortunate Eagle told us that he is the man who organized, back in the 1970s, the peaceful occupation of Alcatraz Island in San Francisco Bay as a protest against the threat at that time of revoking the Indian reservations, a move he clearly saw as just another land grab by the U.S. Government. The Indians received help from the liberals in the Bay area who brought food and supplies to the island, and were able to stay on Alcatraz for many months. The protest was successful; President Nixon stopped trying to abolish the reservations.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Fortunate Eagle also told us about his trip to Italy where, on Columbus Day, he planted his spear in Italian soil to claim all of Europe for the First Nation as a protest against the loss of his people's land to European invaders. There is a photograph on the wall of his gallery showing him being greeted one-to-one by Pope John Paul II.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">While he is understandably suspicious and bitter about the US Government, he retains a sense of pride and dignity with his current life, and his ability to laugh. We were honored to meet him and bought two of his books. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">He and Matt remain in my memory as a true </span>highlight<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> of a wonderful trip. They heightened my awareness of native peoples and, all along our route, we learned about and thought about different native tribes. While I have known for a long time of the shameful treatment of native people by the Europeans and Americans historically, these two men reminded me that native people are alive and contributing to the richness of our country every day. They are not relics of a forgotten age - they living their lives in today's world surrounded by family and with some of the same problems that any American faces today. It may seem obvious but to me it was a true awakening. I feel honored to have met them, however briefly, and to have heard their stories.</span></span></div>
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Zoomiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16474153316588551039noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5732224038883472327.post-66221423645122312592015-10-05T05:57:00.000-07:002015-10-05T05:57:00.093-07:00Tagine<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Well, this is just such a bonus, I had to break radio silence to tell you about it. Because My Beloved and I will be spending weeks and weeks in our little station wagon, we thought it made sense after more than 100,000 miles to have it detailed so our home away from home would at least start out looking new and shiny, inside and out.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Detailing, it turns out, takes several hours, even with an eager crew of five or six swarming over it. So, we went to the local mall to kill some time, buying odds and ends for the trip and browsing through the local cooking store. So high on a shelf that I almost didn't see it was a small (inexpensive) glazed pottery tagine next to some really large (and expensive) ones.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I had been dreaming of tagine cooking ever since our pal Sari, My Beloved, and I had a similar dish in Paris years ago. On a cold, misty March afternoon, we stumbled into a North African restaurant around the corner from the Musée Cluny (now called the Musée du Moyen Age) and had a memorable meal, complete with steaming mint tea poured from on high into glass cups. Most tagines are too big for just the two of us and I didn't anticipate making meals for a crowd, so I always hesitated to buy one. Now I'm glad I waited, as this little one is perfect for two.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There were two chicken thighs left over from a previous meal and one artichoke that My Beloved brought home last weekend when he drove through Watsonville on his way to a race. I wasn't sure that was enough to make a meal, but what the heck! As we are about to embark on a long trip, I needed to use up all the fresh things in the fridge.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Really, all I did was make a slurry of olive oil and spices in the bottom of the tagine, dredge the chicken in that flavorful oil, add some aromatics with the quartered artichoke, pop on the lid, and set it in a cold oven. Because it is made of pottery, it's not a good idea to place it directly into a hot oven. I set the oven to 200F, then raised it to 250F when the light blinked off, then again to 325F and let it go for about 90 minutes.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The lid keeps all the moisture in and funnels it back down over the food, so all the flavors are intensified and melded. What emerged from the tagine was a wonderfully moist and flavorful one-pot meal, complete with goozle on the bottom. I didn't have the traditional couscous on hand so instead I made do with some sourdough bread left over from the day before - it made a fine sponge for soaking up all that lovely juice.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">By the time you read this, we will be on our way! Exciting as our trip will be, I'm already looking forward to getting home and making more tagine meals. It's always good to go, and always good to get back home, isn't it?</span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Tagine Chicken with Artichokes and Green Olives</b>. Serves 2</span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">2 Tbs olive oil</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1/2 teaspoon each ground coriander, ground ginger, sweet paprika, cumin powder</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Pepper to taste</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">8 whole green olives (I used Castelvetrano olives since I had them on hand)</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Juice of 1/2 a lemon, plus 4 thin slivers of the rind</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">2 cloves of garlic, peeled and sliced thickly</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">2 chicken thighs</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1 artichoke, trimmed, quartered and cleaned of the fuzzies and smallest leaves. (Scoop them out with a teaspoon)</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1/2 onion, cut into four spears through the root end</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A splash of tea (you could use chicken broth, but I didn't have any on hand, and we decided we liked the extra body the sauce got from the tea)</span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A handful of shelled, salted pistachios for garnish</span><br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A few fresh cilantro leaves for garnish</span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the bottom of the tagine, pour in the oil and mix in the spices to make a loose paste. Turn the chicken pieces in the paste to coat on all sides. Squeeze the half lemon over the chicken, pepper it, and add the garlic, olives, onion, artichoke, lemon slices, and tea. Put the lid on the tagine and place it in a cold oven. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">*My oven uses a "hellfire" broiler to pre-heat, so I placed the tagine in the bottom of the oven away from the flames. Sudden heat is not good for pottery pieces.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Turn the oven on to 200F and let it preheat with the tagine inside. When it reaches that temperature (just a few minutes, really), raise the temperature to 250F, then to 325F when 250F is reached. Bake for about 90 minutes and serve over couscous, garnished with the pistachios and the cilantro.</span><br />
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Zoomiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16474153316588551039noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5732224038883472327.post-66702736287333530972015-09-30T08:37:00.000-07:002015-09-30T08:37:11.976-07:00Adventuring<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This is us on our wedding day seventeen years ago, hand in hand, headed for life's adventures. We are starting another adventure in a few days, a motoring trip to celebrate My Beloved's retirement that we are calling the "See America" tour. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We are excited to visit lots of places in the United States, and maybe even venture in to Canada and Mexico if the spirit moves us. We plan to be gone several weeks and I have no idea if I will be able to post along the way, so this blog may be on hiatus for a while.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I wish you all well and happy until we meet again.</span><br />
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Zoomiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16474153316588551039noreply@blogger.com6