Category: Food & Drink

Here at the homestead

I’m still daydreaming about what I’ll do different after I get my second dose of the COVID vaccine and the immune effects kick in. As always, the virus is in charge, so we’ll assess the risks as we go. First stop is a haircut, followed by a dentist appointment.

Meanwhile, here at the homestead, I continue to dabble in self-sufficiency. It’s fun to try new things, and I am forever grateful I could retire and enjoy this lifestyle. Even with limited social interaction, I’m having a damned good time.

Cannabis

Cannabis Ruderalis at 27 days (from seed).

I tossed my last cannabis plant because it never entered the flowering stage. I have a new one going, and it looks healthy. It will be another couple of weeks before I see signs of flowering, but I am ever hopeful.  

As I’ve described before, I start with autoflowering (Ruderalis) seeds and grow the plant in a pot by the window with additional overhead lighting. This is an easy and inexpensive way to grow cannabis, but the plants aren’t as productive as Sativa or Indica.

To grow Sativa or Indica indoors, you have to completely block out light for 12 hours during the flowering period, and that requires specialized equipment. Assuming I would only grow one plant at a time, I’d need a small tent and a fan, which I’m guessing at around $200 – more if it turns out I need a new light.

While I have both the space and the money, I’ve resisted this impulse because I didn’t want to get in over my head. Throughout the years, I’ve been known to squander money on what otherwise might be called a passing fancy. But same as my woodburning, I’ve been at it for more than a year now, and I’m starting to gain confidence in my skills, as well as my long-term interest.

The biggest advantage is greater yield. I mostly use cannabis to make balm, which I slather on religiously for creaky knees, post-mastectomy pain and an itchy place on my back called notalgia paresthetica.

I need an ounce of cannabis to make a batch of balm. My best Ruderalis yielded an ounce, but it’s usually less than that. I’ve read one Sativa or Indica could yield a pound!

The average price of an ounce of cannabis in California is around $257, so I would easily make my money back in one grow. I’m still on the fence, so more to come if I should decide to go down that rabbit hole.

Sure, I could just buy the cream, but what fun is that?

When neighbors hand you lemons

Candied Meyer lemon peel. Gorgeous but not delicious.

I made lemonade by juicing a bunch of my Meyer lemons with ginger root and adding simple syrup before freezing in medium tubs. I take a scoop, melt it and add some water for a great-tasting juice.

Then I candied some of the peel. I’ve never done this before, but it has always been on my dream sheet. It was a major pain in the ass to remove the pith, but I went at it like I was on a mission from God. My peels were pithless.

They look gorgeous, don’t you think? But they are not delicious and leave a weird taste in your mouth. I can’t quite bear to toss them yet, but I won’t be making them again.

sourdough adventures

Gollum, my fledgling sourdough starter.

I’m told you should name your starter, and so we now have Gollum. When it comes to sourdough adventures, I find myself thinking about Gandalf, who said, “My heart tells me that Gollum has some part to play in it, for good or evil, before this is over.”

Gollum and I have been tinkering for about 10 days now. Starting with just a bit of flour and water, I waited a few days before he started to bubble. Then every day you toss 80 percent of the batter and feed it by mixing in more water and flour. I’m keeping a journal to document my progress.

At first my batter was too thin and not very active. Then I started weighing instead of measuring equal amounts of water and flour, and that was a huge improvement. I also had it covered with a dishtowel, and I got rid of that so “natural yeast” from the air could join the fun. Now he’s just topped with a loose plastic lid, slightly askew.

Gollum is bubbling ferociously again, and I think I’m close to being able to bake.

However, the telltale sign is whether you can see that it rises and falls daily. Because that’s what starter is – a substitute for the commercial yeast one typically uses to make bread dough rise. They say you should see evidence of this within four to 12 hours after feeding. I haven’t actually witnessed it, although I saw dried starter on the bottom of the lid.

I do not want to mess around with bread until I personally see the rise and fall, so my next step is to move it to a place where I can easily view what’s going on. Gollum is currently banished to a side room, so he’ll be moving into the kitchen later today.

COVID-19 vaccination: Part 1

Meyer lemons from our neighbor’s backyard.

Our yard does not get much sun, and what little we get is reserved for tomatoes and hot peppers. Our neighbors, on the other hand, have nothing but sun, and we are the lucky recipients of their surplus citrus. The Meyer lemons are spectacular this year.

Don’t you love the little box? They might even want it back. I’ll have to put some baked goods in there as a thank-you.

We use Meyer lemons as you would use any lemon, but when we get the motherlode, I juice them with ginger root, add simple syrup and freeze in quart-sized tubs. When I want juice, I melt a scoop of the frozen stuff and mix it with a bit of water. Delicious.

Vaccination Update

Exciting news. We have received our first vaccinations at a mass vaccination site run by Sutter Health, our healthcare provider. We did a dry run Saturday, as the site is a good 45 minutes away and in an unfamiliar area. I’m glad we did, as it made the Sunday drive to the site much less stressful.

We live in a quiet suburb but drove through a much larger town on the way to the vaccination site. There was a lot of traffic for a time when people are supposedly staying home. We passed several malls, and the parking lots were full. By the time we got home, I felt like we’d been to Dallas and back.

Dallas is kind of a joke between us from our days of living in Fort Worth. Dallas has a lot of cool things to do, but its bigness always scared me, and I couldn’t wait to get home. But then there’s the song Dallas as sung by Jimmie Dale Gilmore, and it makes me love it some.

Anyway, we got there early, because I can’t stop myself. It was a huge healthcare facility that looked like it was shut down before being repurposed as a mass vaccination site. Plenty of parking. We could see a long line full of masked old people. Us!

Dale and I both had appointments, but his was about 30 minutes behind mine. I said I was going for it and asked if he wanted me to text him if I thought he should get in line, too. He said yes.

As I was walking toward the line, I heard two women talking, and one said they ran out of vaccines. I was like, oh, crap, this can’t be happening. But I pressed on, and an employee kindly said to get in the line on the right if you had an appointment. The line on the left was for people who just showed up expecting to get vaccinated, and they were simply waiting to make an appointment for another day.

I asked about my appointment – does that mean I’m getting the vaccine? She said yes. I was afraid Dale would overhear the rumors about vaccines running out, so I texted him to ignore that, we were good. He acknowledged.

Then I asked the nice attendant about my husband. I explained he was about 30 minutes behind me. She said just have him join you in line – they’ll take you together. I immediately texted Dale, “Come now.”

Then it was hurry up and wait. No sign of Dale. I could see our car and his little bald head just sitting there.

Still sitting there.

As I was getting closer to the front of the line, I broke down and called him. He finally joined me and explained he had received another text from our neighbors about the lemons and assumed the beep from my second text was more of the same, so he ignored it.

Texts. So hard.

Everyone was super nice and professional. All the lines were marked to keep people socially distant. Upon entering, we saw a sign that said, “Today’s vaccine is Pfizer.” Dale thinks that is the best one, so he was happy. I would probably take the 7-Eleven vaccine if they had it.

We showed our ID, and they confirmed our appointments at the entrance. Then we stood in a short line before arriving at a standing station, where they asked if we’d had contact with anyone who tested positive, had symptoms, etc. They gave us a handout about the vaccine. Then we waited for a sit-down station, where they confirmed everything again.

The shot itself was completely painless. From there we moved to another station, where someone recorded our vaccinations and gave us COVID-19 Vaccination Record Cards. We got appointments for 21 days out, which will put us at Feb. 28. She stuck a post-it note to the card with the time we were allowed to depart the facility.

In the interim, we would sit in a holding area for 15 minutes to see if we had any reactions. Seats were spaced six feet apart. When it was safe for us to leave, they asked us to put the post-it note on our chair so they could disinfect it afterward. Slick!

After we got home, I played a round of Wii golf to keep my upper body moving, while Dale exercised his martini arm. We both slept well and feel fine today. Maybe a little drowsy. Slight soreness at the injection site. I usually get fever and chills from the regular flu shot and did not have any problems with this one.

All in all, the mass vaccination site was a first-class production, and we feel lucky to be in a relatively early group of those 65 and older. As I understand it, two weeks after the second shot, we’ll be as protected as you get. Of course, this doesn’t factor in variants and all that, but it does give us some wiggle room.

March 14. If all goes well, that’s when we’ll have whatever passes for full protection. I’m thinking about changes I will make, and I’m not going to lie, it’s fun. I’m pretty sure I’ll get a haircut. Maybe dine at an outside restaurant. Go wine tasting if it’s outside. Swim again! Unless the variants get out of control and our vaccines aren’t up to it, camping is back on the table.

I made sure to thank everyone at every station for their work. Oh, you get the occasional bad apple, but most medical professionals are truly special people, and I am forever grateful to them. And the researchers who were able to develop these vaccines in such short time! It’s amazing when you think about it.

Go science!

Art, relationships and sourdough

Making sourdough starter.

Our health care system announced Monday they would be opening appointments for anyone over 65 “later in the week.” I logged into my account to make sure it worked, and I told asked Dale to do the same. We would need to act quickly when the time came. After I logged in, I could see all my information, but you still couldn’t make appointments.

I decided to check in every morning and every night, figuring it would go live before they announce it, and all of the sudden it would work. And that’s exactly what happened. Dale was still eating breakfast when I called him upstairs to log into his account.

Oh, but did he listen to me when I expressed my desire for him to test his account? Of course not. The password didn’t work, and we messed around with that for 30 minutes until he finally got a replacement password.

Although I was rather annoyed with Dale, we got appointments for tomorrow, so I got over it pretty quickly. I never do this, but I demanded an apology. Seriously. He claimed it was a misunderstanding, which is his way of saying he’s sorry, and I forgave him because after 42 years, why not?

That was Thursday, and I have still received nothing from our health care system announcing the COVID vaccination feature on the website is active. Sometimes it helps to be crazy neurotic.

For some reason, I became irrational with fear that I wouldn’t be able to keep the appointment. Being somewhat of an over-zealous pandemic warrior and part-time hypochondriac, I decided to take my temperature, which was 98.6.

I’m usually in the 97 range, so I freaked. As I was trying to calm myself down, I thought, even in the grandest cosmic joke of all times, I would not get COVID on the same day I made my vaccine appointment. Plus, I felt fine, no symptoms whatsoever and only left the house once to play golf during the last 10 days.

Coffee! I had just had two cups of coffee when I took my temperature, and I wondered if that made a difference. I waited a couple of hours and took my temperature again, and again and again. Because as a functioning hypochrondriac, I have three thermometers! One digital from CVS, one digital from Walgreens and a mercury. All three put me in the 97 zone.

You can’t make this stuff up.

We’ve not been to the mass vaccination site, so we’re doing a test run today. Normally, Dale would complain about the overkill, but he knows he’s barely out of the dog house, so he’s on board with whatever I want at this point. My pledge to you is that I will not abuse this power.

Sourdough starter

In other news, my sourdough starter is underway. So far, so good, but I’m prepared to fail.

I’m following instructions in the Tartine cookbook and so far feel mildly confident it will work. I used a pint-sized tub filled about halfway with lukewarm water and a 50/50 mix of bread flour and whole wheat flour – enough to make a thick batter. After three days in a cool dark place covered with a dish towel, it bubbled and smelled funky. That’s when you start the feeding cycle.

Every morning, I discard 80 percent of it and add enough water and flour mixture to make another thick batter. Cover and return to its hiding place. I’m not sure how long this goes on – possibly a week – before I can actually bake with it. I’m keeping a log, so I can report back to you on how the timing works.

For now, we’re in the feed and wait mode – not unlike many of us riding out the pandemic.

Feed and wait.

Damaged goods

In other striking parallels, I’m working on a new woodburning piece, and I am once again in awe of the lessons I have learned through working on damaged wood.

I accept the pallet scraps are flawed, and nothing I can do will make them perfect. Perfection isn’t even on the radar. If I make a mistake, I just mess with it until the mistake looks like I did it on purpose. If I start to think, oh, this is ugly, I switch to, hey, cut yourself some slack, it was trash!

Working on wood scraps reminds me that we are all damaged goods. Proceed accordingly and remember, whether it’s art, relationships or sourdough, all you can do is practice and forgive.

Delicious homemade naan

Homemade naan.

Although I’m not a food blogger, I do write a lot about food and share recipes and links. To post a recipe you can print from my blog, it has to be something I’ve made multiple times with confidence. I’m also careful to ensure I don’t just copy someone else’s recipe. If I’m going to use it on the blog, I’ve tweaked it to some degree and changed the instructions based on my own experiences. And even then, I’ll cite the source of inspiration.

For those recipes that don’t make the cut, I try to link to the original source, whether it’s the Washington Post or someone’s blog. This can be problematic, as sites like the Washington Post have firewalls, and you may not be able to access the recipe.

My new favorite naan recipe came from the Post. I’ve only made it once, and even though it was utterly fabulous, the dough didn’t handle as described. More about that later, but just a preface as to why I’m not posting the actual recipe. I got a little creative and found a variety of sites that feature the recipe. Hopefully, one of them will work for you!

Washington Post

Fredericksburg.com

News India Times

Omaha World Herald

This is my third naan recipe, and it is by far superior to the others. Deliciously charred yet soft and bready. And except for my dough consistency issues, quick and easy to make. Dale ranked it among the best naan he has ever had.

My previous favorite used yeast, while this recipe uses baking powder. Buttermilk is another unique addition. In the past, I’ve cooked naan outside in our Roccbox pizza oven, which is great, but we’ve had a week of rain, so that was not in the cards. I liked this recipe because you cook them on the stovetop.

The dough was way too wet, and even though the author says not to do it, I added more flour. Next time, I would be more careful adding the water. Even then, I couldn’t really knead it into a smooth ball. Instead, I just scooped out portions and arranged them on the greased baking sheet, per the instructions.

At one point, I said I would be totally shocked if these materialized into something resembling naan. Color me shocked.

When it came time to roll them out, they rolled easily, but I had to generously dust them with flour on both sides multiple times to keep them from sticking. Pro tip of the day came from someone in the comments section of the Post. He suggested you roll them out between two sheets of Silpat.

Wow! Game Changer.

I used a large and very hot cast iron pan, which was perfect. There was smoke, so I cranked up the exhaust fan, which makes a noise such that our cat would exit the scene at a high rate of speed. Charred bits of bread where it blisters and burns stuck to the pan, and I thought maybe I had ruined it, but the pan cleaned up nicely later.

For the first night, we ate them hot off the grill with some curry I whipped up. The next morning for breakfast, we sealed the naan in foil packets and heated them in the oven for about 10 minutes at 400 degrees. And then we dunked those hunks of soft charry pillowy naan in olive oil.

Dag, they were good.

While I’ve made tortillas for many years, I didn’t mess with making real bread until I retired. I started with the Jim Lahey no-knead breads and had great success. From there, entering my pandemic bread phase, I moved onto English Muffins. And naan.

By the way, I’ve now made the Washington Post recipe for English Muffins that I originally linked to, as well as the recipe from Mel’s Kitchen Café that Dot shared in the comments section.

Dot wins! We preferred the muffins from Mel’s Kitchen Cafe.

In other bread developments, I will soon be joining the legions of pandemic warriors taking refuge in sourdough. With inspiration from Chris, the sourdough enthusiast at Tahoe Girl, I purchased the original Tartine cookbook and am almost ready to begin the adventure.

The full sourdough report will unfold in the coming weeks. I needed a few new sexy bread tools, which arrive Tuesday.

Let the fiesta begin!

Comfort cooking

Rye bread rising.

You know what they say. When the going gets tough, the tough get cooking. I’m making bread today, and that’s the only kind of uprising I want to think about.

Our freezer is pretty full right now, so we’re making an effort to put a dent in that. Not like it’s a problem, because we have the best freezer food in town! Last night we had the leftover Kabocha Squash Red Curry from the freezer.

This curry is one of my new favorite recipes. The coconut milk held up in the freezer and didn’t separate when I reheated it, but the squash almost disappeared. Taste was great, though. I also used the pomegranate seeds I froze, and that was a huge success.

We had a pomegranate tree when we lived in Texas, and we never ate them. Boy, do I regret that now. While they are a PITA to clean, pom seeds are delicious and add such a punch to this curry, along with chopped roasted peanuts and cilantro.

I remember the first time we tasted cilantro – 1978. We bought it at a small Asian market, because we needed it for a recipe, and the big grocery stores didn’t sell it. We thought it was awful, and I know there are plenty of people who still think that. Or they have that genetic thing that makes it taste like soap. We love cilantro now and can’t get enough.

I’m also defrosting a tub of my stuffed cabbage rolls for dinner tonight. I’m making rye bread to go with. I use the basic no-knead method, but I add a tablespoon of caraway seeds. This time, I also substituted pickle juice for half the water. We saved the juice from a jar of Kosher dills.

The bread is still rising, but I sampled the dough, and I love the taste of the pickle juice in there. I may tinker with quantities, but I’m betting this is a keeper.

Since we’ve been eating reasonably healthy the last couple of days, I told Dale he could make something decadent Monday if he wants. Of course, I have an ulterior motive. I’m playing golf, and I love coming home to one of his kitchen creations.

I strongly suspect he’ll go with burgers, which he has been craving. In my view, they aren’t really all that indulgent. We make ours with bison. I guess the issue is that not a lot of vegetables are involved.

Dale roasted a whole chicken late last week, and we have leftovers from that. We already had chicken tortilla soup and froze two servings. I volunteered to make chicken divan, a retro casserole made with broccoli, chicken, canned cream soup, cheddar cheese and breadcrumbs.

I thought about making it without the canned soup, as we generally avoid processed food. But seriously, if we have it twice a year, I can’t think the canned soup is the worst thing I’ll eat. Plus, I know it tastes great the way I make it, so why mess with a good thing?

As far as death by food goes, I’ve been reconsidering cold cereal. I loved cereal when I was younger, but it’s not as healthy as you’d think. I try to mostly eat real food that doesn’t come out of a package. Plus, there’s the issue of acrylamides, which is a carcinogen that is actually in many foods. A lot of boxed breakfast cereals are packed with acrylamides.

I gave up cereal about 15 years ago. About the same time I gave up sodas. I don’t miss either one of them, but lately I’ve been thinking, oh, would a bowl of Cheerios kill me? Something else is probably going to get me first. Upon further reflection, I see no reason to start up again. If I want some cold cereal-like thing, I eat my homemade granola, which is basically oats and nuts.

The rest of the week is up for grabs. The weather is turning slightly warmer for a few days, so I want to take advantage of that. Golf, walking. We’ve both become so wussy about cold. Low 50s, and we can barely force ourselves to go outside.

Dale, being from Maine, used to advertise himself as the cold weather model, but he’s gone California now.

Post-pandemic food fantasies

The two of us in New Orleans. Mid-to-late 1980s.

Dale and I don’t have a big urge to travel. Not that we’ve seen everything, but we lived in Germany and Egypt, moved more than 20 times and vacationed in some pretty amazing places around the world. For the most part, we’re content to scoot around California in the car.

That said, COVID 19 has tested us. Before the pandemic, we rarely dined out. Most of the time we can make it better at home. It has been a year since we ate in a restaurant, and I find myself relishing in the memories of spectacular regional food.

  • Steamed blue crabs in Maryland
  • Pressed duck in France
  • Weinerschnitzel in Germany
  • Fried whole belly clams in Maine
  • Paella in Spain
  • Stacked enchiladas in New Mexico
  • Barbequed brisket in Fort Worth
  • Greek salad in Crete
  • Grilled conch in Cozumel
  • Fish and chips in Britain
  • Steak in Ogallala
  • Giant prawns in Phuket

We’ve learned to prepare many of the foods we miss, but some dishes are hard to replicate. I find myself thinking about an inn we stayed at in France, where they brought us a perfect croissant for breakfast and a big cup of dark coffee mixed with steamed milk. Or a monster bowl of phở at a strip mall café in Little Saigon. I can see myself sitting at the restaurant savoring every bite.

Both of us are starting to think about changes we’ll to make to our lives when this is over. I mean, we’re not going to hit the open road, but I do think we’ll travel a bit more. Eat some great food. Make more of an effort to enjoy time with friends. Create some new memories.

In the meantime, I leave you with this challenge. If you can go anywhere to eat anything when the pandemic is over, where would you go? What would you eat? It’s tough to decide, and it’s OK to keep changing your mind (indecision should make the game last longer and possibly get us to summer). Oh, and money is no object.

I would go to New Orleans and have a fried soft shell crab po’ boy. Per the rules, that’s my choice. But since I’m there anyway, I would have an oyster po’ boy and maybe a muffuletta. Some etouffee.

So, OK, break the rules. What’s on your list?

My retired pandemic life

Jumbo English muffins made from scratch.

Although I’ve been making yummy English muffins since the pandemic blew into town, Dale always thought the muffins were a tad small. His specific complaint was about sausage-to-muffin ratio. He has his reasons, which I shall explain.

Dale makes delicious breakfast sandwiches starting with one of my toasted muffins and topping it with pan-seared sausage patties, melted cheddar cheese and a smattering of mustard. I do believe we could sell them on the street and live comfortably off the proceeds.

However, the sausage patties are slightly bigger than the muffins and hang over the edge. I’m usually the anal one, but that doesn’t bother me in the slightest. I like to go around in a circle and bite off the edges. You know, just to tidy things up. In this case, Dale is much more persnickety and asked if I could make the muffins larger so the sausage fits well within the confines of the muffin.

You know, of course, all this is privileged nonsense, but we really don’t have much else going on. Welcome to my retired pandemic life.  Today, we’re talking about breakfast!

Anyway, the no-knead English Muffin recipe is from the Washington Post, and it was just ranked their fifth most popular recipe of the year. First, the dough rises four to five hours in the bowl. Then you shape muffin-like things out of the dough and put them on a sheet pan to rise in the refrigerator overnight.

Normally, the recipe makes a dozen muffins. Yesterday, vowing to go big or go home, I somehow ended up with seven. In my math, seven is 12 when you’ve had three beers.

When my brewer’s dozen uncooked muffins came out of the refrigerator in the morning, I plopped some butter in a cast iron pan and slowly browned them. The muffins grow as they cook.

And how mine grew! They are huge. Approximately four inches in diameter, which is more along the lines of a burger bun. I was pissed that I got hoodwinked into sabotaging a perfect recipe, but other than some low-key muttering, I kept my mouth shut. It was my choice, after all.

By the way, low-key muttering is an iffy thing. For us, a lot of it depends on Dale’s hearing aids and whether they are working properly. One time I thought my muttering was just for my own amusement, but his hearing aids were highly tuned, and he heard every vile thing I said.

When I was finished cooking, I came upstairs to let him know he was on his own with the muffins. It may be that we don’t eat them for his world-famous breakfast sandwiches, but perhaps we split one instead? I said I’m playing golf early tomorrow and won’t be here to try them. Do whatever you want. I view them as monstrosities.

Monstrosities was the siren call. Dale immediately marched downstairs to get a sneak preview and said they looked absolutely great to him. I mean other than being size-forward, they do look pretty good. I’ve decided to get over my snit and lovingly accept them into our family of food.

And you know, the weird thing about cooking is sometimes you end up with happy mistakes. They might turn out to be the best English muffins ever. Maybe this is what they could have been all along, if someone had simply taken the time to consume three beers before shaping the dough.

Post-Thanksgiving cooking fiesta

Homemade marshmallows dipped in chocolate.

It’s the post-Thanksgiving cooking fiesta at our house. I made marshmallows and got them all shipped off today. There were a few left over, so I decided to dip them in chocolate. The dipped version wouldn’t survive the trip to parts unknown, so I don’t want to hear any complaints if you were on my mailing list.

However, if you’re hankering for chocolate, I melted some chocolate chips in a small pan and added just enough cream to loosen it up a little. Dip and done.

For the turkey, we had cold turkey sandwiches and hot turkey sandwiches with gravy. Dale froze one whole breast and trimmed up the rest of the meat, which we’ll use in soup and some sort of casserole. Some of the options are turkey enchiladas, turkey pot pie and turkey divan.

I made stock out of the turkey carcass this morning. Tonight is Comfort Food Tuesday, so we’ll skip turkey tonight and have burritos or chimichangas from Dale’s homemade refried beans. This last batch was made from black beans. He sometimes uses pintos. I like them both!

While we do use canned beans for some dishes, we mostly start with dry beans and cook them in the Instant Pot.

Dale also made a salsa from his homegrown Trinidad scorpion peppers. They are among the hottest peppers on the planet, as measured by Scoville Heat Units. As a point of reference, jalapeños have 2,500 to 8,000 SHU’s. The heat level varies considerably from pepper to pepper.

Trinidad scorpions, depending on which variety, register from 1 to 2 million. As in, kids don’t try this at home. The first time I tasted Dale’s salsa made with these peppers, I sat on the stairs and cried. He has since learned a little goes a long way, and now I actually love it.

That means I’ll make soup tomorrow. It has carrots, celery, mushrooms, turkey and barley. I have this one little trick that makes the soup especially delicious. When I’m straining the stock, I save some of the meat and the cooked vegetables and then whiz it up into a paste in the food processor. We call it the flavor bomb, and I add a couple of spoonful’s to the soup.

I’ll make blue corn muffins to go with the soup. We got hooked on blue corn anything while visiting New Mexico, which in my opinion, has the best Mexican food in the U.S. Blue corn can be hard to find, but it’s worth the trouble. I purchase blue cornmeal for muffins and blue corn masa for tortillas on Amazon.

Stupidity gone wild

The virus is getting bad around here. It seems lots of people are getting together for big social events, and it will probably get worse in the weeks to come. We’re super-cautious to begin with, but we had a serious conversation about whether we need any course corrections.

We’re still going to the grocery store. We don’t do “big” shopping, and that may work to our advantage. One or both of us will shop for just a few things and get in and out quickly. Masks, hand san, social distancing.

My sister and many others wipe down the groceries or even quarantine non-perishables in the garage. I mean, you gotta do what feels right for you, but everything I’ve read says that’s not necessary. Just wash your hands again after you put the groceries away.

Even though I believe my swim protocol is safe, it’s one less place I need to go, so for now, no swimming. I’m still golfing and continuing to be very, very careful. I decided not to play in the women’s group until things improve, mostly because that’s the only time so many women are on the course. We hit from the same tees, so you have be careful your playing partners don’t get too close. And then all those women using the restroom …

I went out yesterday as a single and played with some men, which makes it easier as far as tees and restrooms go. I overheard them complaining to the starter about me joining them. Spoiler alert: unless it’s your own private course, that’s how it works.

For revenge, I outdrove them, birdied the first hole and then had a string of pars. They were pretty nice after that.

New slippers

Finally, with all this staying home, I decided to upgrade my slippers, or as Dale calls them, garden shoes. I never go barefoot and wear Crocs or Birkenstocks around the house. A stiff shoe is good for my back and knees.

I’m one of those people who buys everything in black, but I decided to cut loose this time. I don’t know if it’s retirement or the pandemic or what, but I bought pink fur-lined Crocs, and I love them!!

It’s funny how a small thing like fuzzy pink slippers can lift your spirits.

Betrayed by pie

I don’t know why apple pie has to be so hard. Soggy bottom crust, mushy apples, unnecessary feedback from your spousal unit. It’s one betrayal after another.

This year, I dug out a recipe from the Cook’s Illustrated site, which I subscribe to. Classic Apple Pie. I was tempted to use a different crust but decided to follow the recipe exactly. Because I’m a rules-follower. I’m not always rewarded for such allegiance, but that’s how I roll.

Their recipe called for a mix of Granny Smith and McIntosh apples. I knew the McIntosh would be hard to find, so I read through the comments and saw Pink Lady or Jonagold would be good substitutes. I used Pink Lady. I hate apple pie that has the consistency of apple sauce, so getting that part right was important.

At least it was to me.

The dough was a little dry and difficult to work with. I had to patch it in places, and it was too thick in some areas, but I couldn’t get it to roll out any thinner without cracks. I will say the pie cooked beautifully and looked perfect. However, I have experience with soap opera apple pie – the bad and the beautiful – so I assumed nothing.

Dinner was exceptional. The turkey was crisp on the outside and juicy in the middle, the stuffing was savory with crusty bits and the creamy mashed potatoes were like pillows waiting to be kissed with succulent gravy love. OK, that was a little over the top, but it was damned good. We shared a bottle of Pinot Noir.

We should have just stopped there and skipped dessert. But noooooo. There would be pie.

The texture of the apples was perfect and the seasoning was divine, but the crust was unevenly cooked, and Dale said the flavor wasn’t as good as my regular crust. I focused on the positives and raved about the consistency of the apples, when Dale said it didn’t matter to him. It could be applesauce, as long as the crust was good.

WRONG ANSWER.

Why am I busting my ass finding the perfect recipe if all I have to do is scoop out some apple sauce and throw a slab of crust on top? I was in kind of a snit when I went to bed. That’s why I woke up early ruminating about what went wrong with the apple pie.

Lying there in bed, I decided first to cancel my Cook’s Illustrated subscription. Fuck them. They think they’re so smart. Then I decided I’d go back to Ina Garten’s recipe for apple crostata, except I’d use this Cook’s Illustrated filling and a different crust recipe. And I’d probably have to adjust the cooking time. I planned to spend my day gathering all the recipes and creating a new one.

Then we got up and settled in for breakfast. Honestly, I was still full, so I just started with coffee. Dale went for the apple pie. I’m like, you don’t have to eat that. You’re under no obligation. I’m prepared to toss it. And then I couldn’t stop myself. It just came out.

If you prefer, I’ll just find you some apple sauce and throw a little crust on top.

Well, in terms of responses, that was not my best choice. All he said was, “Just stop it.”

Still, I was kind of happy thinking about what it would look like as it got sucked into the garbage disposal while I watched Dale gobble it up like it was his last meal. Because I was thinking, it could well be.

He practically licked the plate and then looked up and said, “I’m not sucking up to you, but that pie was absolutely delicious.”

What? I cut myself a small piece. Just a sliver, because I see more gravy in my future. But he was right. While the crust was still a bit unevenly cooked, most of it was crisp, crumbly and yummy. Perhaps everything tastes better when you don’t eat like you’ll be visiting the vomitorium later.

I’m not canceling my subscription to Cook’s Illustrated. They are fine people, and I’m sorry I said those bad things about them. I made notes to the recipe, which I will make again, but I’ll tinker with the pastry dough or use my other go-to crust recipe.

And so another Thanksgiving comes to a close. Even after three years of being retired, it still feels like a four-day weekend. I’m looking forward to lots of leftovers. Perhaps even another piece of pie.

Roadkill pizza & home haircuts

Preparing to snip off the ends of my hair using the patented pigtail technique.

I started to get in a funk this week. The pandemic. Trump. Just the weight of it all taking a toll, and I say that as someone who has it pretty damn easy. Do you suppose there’s a sleeping pill I can take tonight and wake up Jan. 20?

My remedy was to make another donation to the food bank and just get on with life. The whole simple pleasures thing. One good laugh, and I’m OK. Thankfully, Dale delivered.

He came back from a run and said there was a pizza box by someone’s trash with leftover pizza hanging out the side. He said it was kind of gross smashed up on the street and missing a couple of bites, but then he added, “You know, it still looked good.”

I don’t know. I find it highly amusing to think pizza still looks good even when it’s essentially road kill. Fortunately, I have a personal pizza chef. Tonight’s is what we call Punishment Pizza. Shrimp, goat cheese, Kalamata olives, basil and habanero peppers.

Other highlights from the week:

  • Finished watching River on Amazon Prime. Wow. Part moody cop drama and part otherworldly romance. Oh, and there’s an old disco song you will never get out of your brain. I’ve re-watched the last episode several times just for the dance scene with Stellan Skarsgård and Nicola Walker.
  • Validated my hypothesis that pumpkin cheesecake is good for breakfast. And then I tested it again just to be sure.
  • Splurged on another pair of “yoga” pants. At 65, I need some structure. My favorites are the Headlands Hybrid Cargo Tight from Athleta. At $108, they are not cheap, but these pants are durable, comfortable, versatile and flattering.
  • For a brief moment, I missed the feeling of being good at my job. Then I remembered the executive who had a temper tantrum when the company began to promote work-life balance. He said work was life and didn’t require balance. I realized I’m actually pretty good at retirement.
  • Decided to hoard my woodburning art creations as some sort of primitive documentation that I was here. Like etchings from the pandemic cave.
  • Cut my hair using the patented pigtail technique. I don’t think I’m losing abnormal amounts of hair, but I cleaned the bathroom today, and it’s like King Kong shaved in there. I have entertained the idea of buzzing it all off.