Monday, May 30, 2016

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 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.


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.

Friday, May 27, 2016

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.

Wednesday, May 25, 2016

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.

Monday, May 23, 2016

the quotidian (5.23.16)

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

Rhubarb cream scones: only so-so.

Sunday breakfast of soaked muesli: good flavor, but gummy texture.
(Weirdly enough, my texture-sensitive husband liked it.)

For the horse: sugar cubes.


One: super-duper helpful; and two: positively dismal.

In the middle of freakin' May, for crying out loud.

Little piggy beautification.

Sisterly help, post-bath. 
(Also, no more neck brace!)

Wild flower hunter.

Let's put a green bow a-top her head and call her Strawberry.

On a simple walk through the field, my entourage.

Three-feet high and homemade.

Crusher Run: active quarry 5K.
(I did a better job of missing the puddles.)

A stool to sit upon: because making the Sunday popcorn is such an exhausting task.

This same time, years previous: ice cream supper, Shirley's sugar cookies, the trouble with Mother's Day, the basics, more on trash, the quotidian (5.21.12), savoring Saturday's sun, through my daughter's eyes, chocolate-kissed chili, and ranch dressing.  

Friday, May 20, 2016

sautéed lambsquarters with lemon

Last week, my cousin-neighbor watched a couple of my kids while I did Something Or Other. When I picked them up, she said, “We planted a cover crop of lambsquarters. Would you like some?” And then she handed me a grocery store bag packed full of weeds.

I wasn't completely thrilled, I must admit. Weeds sounded rather sub par. Inferior. Like trashy real greens. But I said Sure, and How do you cook them, and then I took the bag home and stuffed it in the crisper where I mostly forgot about it for several days.

But then Sunday noon rolled around. I was heating up leftover rice and chicken (a meal that I will be telling you about in very short order because it is THE BEST CHICKEN EVER), had pulled some na'an out of the freezer (a little shop in town sells real na'an, not that fake stuff Costco sells), and was fishing around for a vegetable that wasn't green beans when I remembered the weeds.

What the heck, I thought, and grabbed a big handful of weeds and commenced a-plucking leaves from stalks. My hands got sandy-gritty from the leaf fuzz (though the plants didn't seem that dirty), so I gave them a good washing and salad-spinner spinning before tossing them in a skillet along with some sizzling butter. The weeds cooked down lickety split. I sprinkled them with salt, gave them a hearty drizzle of lemon, and you know what? They were fabulous. Texture-wise, they're like a cross between tender spinach and baby kale and something else...maybe celery leaves? Flavor-wise, they're like any other mild-tasting, sweet green: utterly delicious.

We feasted on those weeds all week long. I cooked them up to eat alongside our beans and rice, and another time I threw a couple large handfuls of the chopped leaves into a pot of soupy beans, spinach, and salsa. I sautéed a bunch to use as a stuffing for a light sushi supper. And last night I cooked up the very last of the weeds and stuffed them into spicy pork-and-feta tortilla wraps.

Lambsquarters would be a splendid addition to countless dishesthink quiche and soup, for startersanything that calls for cooked greens, really. Packed with protein, iron, calcium, and vitamin C, A, B1, and B2, they are super healthy, even more so, in some regards, than spinach and cabbage.

Moral of the story: If someone ever offers you a bag of weeds, snatch those babies up.

Sautéed Lambsquarters with Lemon

a large bowl of lambsquarters
1 tablespoon butter
lemon wedges

Pluck the leaves from the thicker stems (just because they can be a little tough), but don't bother to separate out the tender baby stems. Wash well and spin dry.

Sizzle a pat of butter in a skillet and then toss in a great mountain of the weeds. Push them around for 1-2 minutes until wilted and dark green. Sprinkle with coarse salt and lemon juice. Serve hot.

Add skillet-cooked (or steamed) greens to any number of soups and pots of beans.

Note: my cousin-neighbor said not to eat the lambsquarters raw. I can't remember why, and since I didn't taste them raw myself, I don't know. Maybe because of the fuzzy texture? Or perhaps they have a bitter flavor? (Oh wait. Right here it says that the leaves have oxalic acid which can make your throat burn. So there you go.)

This same time, years previous: after one year: Costco reflections, finding my answers, the quotidian (5.20.13), up at the property, the boring blues, and fowl-ness.