• the quotidian (5.30.16)

    Quotidian: daily, usual or customary; 
    everyday; ordinary; commonplace



    I say it’s better than apple pie, though the rest of my family does not agree.
    Because I spent all afternoon snacking: my supper
    Dumpling lessons, from their Japanese auntie.
    Pan-fried: she also made deep-fried and boiled.

    The art of stacking dishes.

    Optimism reevaluated. 
    Snake identification.

    As though standing on a piece of metal will protect their bare feet should the snake strike.

    All the better to see you with, my dear.

    The kid has a knack for making sparks. 
    About two seconds after this photo was taken, the lamb peed and pooped.
    In the van. My daughter was not prepared.
    Just for fun (because it’s all fun and games until…you have to use it when someone is actually hurt).

    Ever wonder what a shrink-wrapped foot looks like? Now you know.

    Itchy bumps: all over her feet, elbows, and upper thighs. 
    Any ideas?

    Cat toy.

    Surprise attack.

    Style.

    Sent to me with the caption: “How bored can you get??!!”

    Ballet recital: she’s finally found something she wants to stick with for more than five minutes.
    Sleepy, on my sofa.

    Day’s end.

    This same time, years previous: in her element, spicy cabbage, the race we saw, showtime!, the saturation point, rhubarb tart and rhubarb tea, and fresh strawberry cream pie.

  • butter chicken

    I made a new chicken dinner and it is the chicken dinner to rule all chicken dinners.

    Or so say I, aka Miss Humble Pants Know It All.

    It irritates my husband to no end when I get all cocky with my food-love proclamations. The other day when I wrote about this chicken dinner and called it “THE BEST CHICKEN DINNER EVER,” the man got on my case.

    “That’s a stupid thing to say,” he said. “You don’t know it’s the best chicken ever. You shouldn’t say those things.”

    He’s right, I don’t know if it’s the best chicken ever. Just because I thought I’d died and went to heaven doesn’t mean I haven’t ever felt that way while eating chicken other times. What can I say. I’m a loose-praiser of chicken dinners. A chicken slut, if you will. Forgive me, World.

    (My husband is going to blow his top when he reads that last paragraph. You don’t need to say all that, he’ll scoff. I’ll just ho-ho-ho and say, Read on, baby, and then he’ll read this parenthetical paragraph and get a wonky huge grin on his face. THE MAN HAS THE BEST SHEEPISH GRIN EVER.)

    Earlier this week, me and a bunch of friends took our chatty selves out to dinner. We settled on Indian food, but when we got to the restaurant, it was closed. “How about Thai food?” someone suggested.

    There was an awkward silence, and then I blurted, “I don’t really like Thai food.”

    Gathered around the table at Indian Restaurant Take Two, I clarified. I do like Thai food, I said, but for some reason—maybe the restaurant?—all the food always tastes the same to me, sort of industrialized. (Am I the only one who thinks this?)

    Anyway. One of the restaurant’s specials was butter chicken. I had no idea that my latest chicken dish affair was Indian! How could I have missed that important detail? (Especially since the recipe writer said it was Indian. Shame, Jennifer. Shame.)  I toyed with ordering the chicken, just to see how my version compared with the real deal, but then I decided, Nah, I love what I made, and it’s easy. I’ll try something different. So I got something else that I can’t pronounce, plus na’an with paneer, and it was wonderful, but I think I prefer my butter chicken. Moral of the story: there is no need to spend twenty-six dollars at an Indian restaurant when you can just whip up a pot of THE BEST CHICKEN EVER from the comfort of your home.

    Scratch that. The food was awesome and my friends were even more awesome because they tolerated me eating from their plates à la Helen Keller. Plus, we had ourselves a jolly blast, laughed ourselves silly, and left smelling like exotic spices. Totally worth the splurge.

    Now for the chicken. Here’s what you need to know:

    *Mouth fireworks!
    *My kids approved (though a couple were deterred by the heat, even with my chili pepper reductions, the wimps), and some of them LOVED it.
    *I bet this could easily be made into a vegetarian meal: just use roasted cauliflower, carrots, and chickpeas (or zucchini, tofu, sweet potatoes, etc) in place of the chicken.



    Butter Chicken 
    Adapted from Camille’s recipe over at Flowers In His Garden.

    The original recipe called for 1 teaspoon of cayenne, but I halved it and found it plenty hot. I’ve read elsewhere that the sour cream can be substituted with yogurt (preferably Greek, perhaps?), and I think the yogurt might actually be more authentic (but I don’t know that for sure).

    4 tablespoons butter
    ¼ cup minced ginger
    5 cloves garlic, minced
    2 pounds boneless chicken thighs, cubed
    1 cup sour cream
    3 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
    2 teaspoons smoked paprika
    4 teaspoons cumin
    1½ teaspoons cinnamon
    ½ teaspoon chipotle (or cayenne) pepper
    1 tablespoon salt
    1-2 teaspoons freshly ground black pepper
    1 pint tomato sauce
    1 cup whipping cream
    ¼ cup brown sugar

    Melt the butter in a large pot set over medium-high heat. Add the garlic and ginger. After a couple minutes, add the chicken and fry for a few minutes until it starts to brown.

    In a bowl, stir together the sour cream, lemon juice, paprika, cumin, cinnamon, chipotle, salt, and black pepper. Add to the chicken and simmer for 10 minutes, stirring occasionally.

    Add the tomato sauce and bring to a simmer.

    Pour the whipping cream into a bowl and temper it by slowly whisking in a couple ladlefuls of the hot tomato-sour cream sauce. Add the now-tempered whipping cream to the pot of chicken and add the brown sugar. Bring to a boil before reducing the heat and simmering for another 25 minutes.

    Serve hot, over rice, with na’an and some weeds.

    This same time, years previous: the hard part, an evening together, the quotidian (5.26.14), the quotidian (5.27.13), the quotidian (5.28.12), questions and carrots, one dead mouse, we love you, Wayne, the ways we play, de butchery, and just the tip.

  • in which we didn’t need the gun

    While puttering around in the kitchen first thing this morning, I caught sight of Velvet down by the chicken coop. She was acting weird. Every now and then, she’d charge the steers. When she wasn’t ramming at them, she’s park herself directly over the resting sheep, like she was standing guard.

    “Come look at this,” I called to my husband. As we watched, one of the steers approached Velvet. Sure enough, her tail swished a warning and then down went her head, CHARGE. She really was protecting the sheep!

    Soon after, my older daughter went out to care for the animals but soon returned with bad news: Scarlet, the littlest, friendliest lamb, had a broken leg. (Which makes me wonder: Did Velvet step on her, or did Velvet sense that something was wrong and that’s why she was standing guard?)

    My daughter called my father and asked him to come over with the gun. There were tears. I hugged her and suggested she start digging the hole. “Call Papa and find out where you should bury her.”

    But my husband said, “Um, can’t you splint the leg?”

    Oh, right. Good idea.

    There was a flurry of internet research, a visit to the neighbor’s house in search of aspirin, and a scrambling to dig through the medical supplies for wraps and such.

    My father put down his gun and helped the kids set up a temporary vet station.

    My daughter gave the lamb some crushed painkillers dissolved in warm water with a drop of molasses.

    My son did the settingshudder!and then the wrapping.

    He didn’t get the bone completely straight (it’s hard to tell with all the swelling), but it’s better than it was.

    Hopefully, she’ll heal. This lamb is the one who almost didn’t make it in the very beginning.

    If anything, she’s plucky.

    This same time, years previous: the quotidian (5.25.15), rosa de jamaica tea, down to the river to play, the reason why, deviating from my norm, strawberry shortcake with milk on topAunt Valerie’s blueberry bars, and asparagus, goat cheese, and lemon pasta.