Alone in the Kitchen...

“Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant” is the title of a book I read recently.  The editor says in the intro that it is “an anthology of essays on cooking for one and dining alone that could function as a cookbook as well as a lifting-off point for readers to follow their instincts and create their own idiosyncratic meals.”  Since Jenni Ferrari-Adler did not ask me for my essay for her book, I decided to record my own idiosyncratic meal here. 

Before I get to that I need to clarify a few points.  Unlike some of the essayists, I would not think about what’s for dinner at 7:30 p.m.  Dinner comes to my mind almost the moment my eyes open in the morning, sometimes even before then. Second, if I had to think of one dish that would suffice as dinner in a pinch it would definitely not be salad.  Don’t get me wrong I like salad.  However, I believe most vegetables are paired best with meat and gravy. Lastly, I never eat alone.  Even if no one is at the table with me I find good companionship by reading a book.

Now for that idiosyncratic meal…I would cook up some macaroni, drain it and then add a healthy dose of Velveeta to be set it aside so it gets all happy.  The first dish eaten would be mandarin oranges, speared by fork right out of the can as I stand near the stove sauteing my second dish of mushrooms, onion and garlic topped with a little salt and pepper. The main dish would be that macaroni swimming in melted, gooey Velveeta.  Yes, dessert is not on the menu.  In my mind, dessert (or pie in particular) is eaten only at breakfast.

This meal takes me back to the days when I would forage for food in my mother’s kitchen, when my joy of cooking was just awakening.  Mandarin Oranges were considered a delicacy.  Mushrooms were exotic (they were only sold in the can back then. Today I prefer fresh.).  And Velveeta (otherwise known as pasteurized process cheese food) was cheap, filling, comfort food.  

So for the record there’s my "i" meal and essay.  Chew it over and let me know.  

Some Assembly Required

When you purchase something that requires some assembly, don't you wish you could open the box to look over the instructions before you buy so you get some sense of what is involved in the "some assembly required?"

Any who, (I like that phrase) on Saturday Vince decided to purchase for the golf course a "some assembly required" leaf sweeper.  Our sweeper was a used gift from one of our very first golf customers, JJ.  It was kind of him to have given it to us.  We used it a lot over the past 10 years.  However, it was clear when Vince opened up the gear box last week that it was time for the old sweeper to retire.  

So he bought, in essence, a box of sweeper parts.  We staged our tool area in the back of my vehicle, laid out all the parts in our parking lot and I looked to the end of the instruction booklet to determine how many steps there were.  It didn't get us any closer to completion but it was good for me to know there were only 17 steps required.  

After connecting some 90 pieces with a few steps that had to be undone and redone, we learned the difference between clevis pins and hair cotter pins.  We had to make some decisions on our own, as the instruction booklet was somewhat vague.  And for three and half hours our collective hands and brains righty tightied and lefty loosied all the parts until we had a new leaf sweeper.

Now, if there were a reality TV show entitled "Some Assembly Required" I think Vince and I would make a great contestant team.  One minor note, we have yet to test our new sweeper to see if it works.  But I guess we still have time to do that before auditions begin.    

 

See Spots!

I have spots.  I have tried for years many methods to remove them.   On the rare occasion when I was successful, another one appeared. These spots are not contagious. Although one or two might jump onto you if you stand too close to me.  I have not given up completely trying to eliminate them but I have finally decided to more readily accept them. 

My spots are…on my clothes.  I can identify a few personal habits that contribute to my spotty appearance.   When in the kitchen I wear an apron but my clothes underneath still attract them.  When I eat I often drop a tasty morsel on my shirt before it reaches my mouth.  And I often catch myself wiping my hands on my clothes, (I know, eeeuu!)  Regardless, no amount of scrubbing, pre-treating, or washing ever removes my spots for good.

With this confession, I have decided that if I live long enough to meet my own incompetence, Aryah, Courtney and Vincent, promise me you won’t place one of those elderly bibs on me or worry about my appearance.  Just remember spots do not harm me.  They arrive when I am active and joyful.  And until that day, I choose wear my spots and I choose to wear them with a smile.

Why?

I'm frequently asking, "Why?"  I research a lot of questions but the ones I had recently just didn't seem "Google" worthy.  Instead I "went to the committee in my head."  I love that line.  It's not original.  I borrowed it from a James Patterson novel.  Anyway, here are some of my questions and the "committee's" response...

Q:  Why do squirrels seem so preoccupied when hanging out in the road?
A:  We think squirrels have been given a great ability to concentrate.

Q.  Why do I have one song playing in my  head for hours at a time?
A:  Don't question it.  Sing along!  And you know squirrels might also have one song playing in their head too!

Q:  Why did I buy insurance for my iphone for $9.99 a month (for the past 18 months which equals roughly $180.00) and then have to pay $199.00 for a new iphone because the microphone broke and no one could repair it for less than $199.00?
A:  We don't know.  That makes no sense.  However, if you had been a squirrel you wouldn't have been tempted to buy an iphone in the first place.

Q:  Why can't I remember when I arrive at the store the 4 things I came to buy?
A:  Because you probably had a squirrel encounter on the way to the store and that's all you can remember.

Q:  Why do people stop in front of me on the road, causing a traffic jam, because they want to change lanes?  
A:  We think they might simply have a squirrel-like ability to concentrate on only one task at a time.

In closing, I have a friend at the golf course that visited me today.  He came to the front door and we talked.  Yes, my friend is a squirrel and he was my inspiration for today's blog entry.  Why?  I don't know, he just showed up and all these questions popped up in my head!

Paths

The definition of a “path”, according to my somewhat old American Heritage Dictionary, circa 1977, is a “route or course”; “a trodden track or way”; “a course of action”.   I’ve been reflecting lately about life, its journey and how it takes us down certain paths.  I try not to over analyze life.  I tend to “go with the flow.” I have been reminded recently how experiences on this path can be exhausting and renewing yet constantly changing. 

For example, Vince and I have been blessed with an amazing summer.  There has been plenty of evening rain showers, lots of green grass to mow, mild temperatures and many sun filled days. The flowers, trees and wildlife have all had full life cycles.  The beauty surrounding us has been unbelievable and almost perfect. 

In contrast, the past few months have also been hard.  Sometimes it was difficult to breathe and often our minds wouldn’t let our bodies rest.  Our path was dark when we grieved the loss of loved ones.  It’s a part of life that is challenging and its affects linger.  Of course death is a part of this human journey.  We aren’t the first to have lost loved ones and it’s certain we’ll have to say goodbye to so many others down the road. 

Any “path” can be as bland as its definition.   It is neither alive nor colorful without God, loving people and prayer which all lift us up. A fulfilling life also includes past memories, current experiences and new life on the horizon.  As for the latter, a new grandchild is joining us within days.  I am grateful for this life.  I believe that both sadness and joy must be embraced and witnessed as we move along life’s path. 

My Sister Tish

Some called her Trish, my Aunt Sue called her "an original", my brother called her Grace, mom called her Tishy, dad called her Tish.  Many have given her other nicknames over the years but when I called her I would just say "Hello my sister".  She was my only sister.  Older by 3 years, I know she loved me even though a little sister can be a real pain.

I can remember being in my crib as a small child and Tish and her friend Cindy frightened me in the dark with flashlights under their faces.  Of course she had the best teacher in town.  Our brother Barry was a classic scare master.  We always knew he was standing at the bottom of the staircase hidden and he still managed to scare us which thrilled him to no end!

Tish was the North White Viking mascot in high school.  It required her to be in front of hundreds of people and her purpose was to get everyone fired up.  She was a perfect Viking.  She made her own sword and shield in shop class.  I think she was the first girl to be in shop class. Also in high school, one day she got on the intercom system and gave her opinion of the school's male atheletes.  She called them "Jocks."  That term wasn't intended to be complimentary and it caused quite a stir.  Tish was always stirring things up.  

She once told Uncle Jack that she almost becamse Prom Queen.  The only reason she wasn't was because she was never nominated.  A phrase she used often was "Not a problem" even though you knew quite well that it was a problem.  She would call and ask for advice on something and sure enough she never followed any of it.  She marched to the beat of her own drum.  She was a free spirit.  She was someone who loved to color her hair: frosted, red or violet.

Tish had a flair for the dramatic.  Her arms would sweep the air when she talked.  And when she sang she held nothing back.  She would swing and move and clap and dance.  You could always tell that she loved life when she was singing.

Tish also wore her personality well.  When she was little she would wear her PJs under her church clothes.  Once she went downtown to the King the Clotheir store in Monon and purchased a pair of boy's boots.  Mom made her take them back.  Later in honor of Tish I bought a pair of boy's boots at K-Mart and wore them everyday.  She had patience for sewing and made many dresses.  The clothing combinations she would throw together was something I idolized.

She was also accident prone.  One of many was when we went on vacation in 1972. She twisted her ankle while wearing those "damn clogs" and we had to take her to the hospital in Munich.  After that we all got sick of smelling the dressing the hospital put on her ankle.  It stunk!  But while we moved from place to place on the train she taught us the words to the song "One Tin Solder" from the movie "Billy Jack" and we sang it for days.  

One year she entered the state speech contest and read a poem she found in a book on one of Grandma Hughes' bookshelves.  At that contest she read "Rex the Piddling Pup."  When I looked it up on the internet recently I could see why Tish was drawn to it.  It was in a book titled "Bawdy Ballads and Lusty Lyrics:  A Curious Collection of Somewhat Salty Classics Seldom Sung in Sunday Schools."  No, Tish didn't go for the dry or uneventful she was an actress at heart.

My sister loved mom and dad.  Her face would light up when they walked in her hospital room.  She loved her husband Scotty; her boys, Charlie and Andy; her step-children, Korina, Donnie, Andrea and Sheila; and her grandchildren, Little Charlie, Karen Lee and Chloe.  She also loved her friends, Cindy, Paula, Jill, Suzy, Mary, Lori, Linda and Starla.  She collected friends and friendships everywhere she went like a shore collects sand.

Tish cared for the underdog.  She took care of stray cats.  She loved to plant flowers.  She hated to clean house (I almost broke her vacume cleaner once and was scolded - I don't know why because she never used it.)  And she regularly paid the price for following her heart rather than following the rules.

For quite some time now, when I see sunflowers I always think of Tish.  They were prominently displayed on her kitchen walls.  Also in that kitchen was her radio which was always turned on to the oldies.  Because she introduced me to the song Moondance by Van Morrison, at her apartment in Bloomington, that song frequently plays in my mind.  

Tish sang in high school, in church, in musicals, in Trinity with her girlfriends Jill and Susie, and she sang in the hospital.  The first week she was singing "Little Boxes" by Malvena Reynolds, (which was later a Pete Seeger hit.)  My husband thought that was a great way to marginalize the effect cancer had on her body.  At the nursing home she was singing at 2:30 a.m. before she passed away around 5:30 a.m. on Monday, July 29th.  I asked for the song she was singing.

You know with Tish it could have been anything.  It could have been something scary like "Frankenstein" by Edgar Winter.  Or it could have been something more descriptive of Tish like "Walk on the Wild Side" by Lou Reed.  Or something sad like "It's Too Late" by Carole King.  No it wasn't any of those.

It was a happy song.  A song from the musical Annie with words "tomorrow, tomorrow, I love you tomorrow, you're only a day away."  Isn't that something?  Her middle name is Anne and she loved red hair!

My sister, faith in God tells me I will see you on some future tomorrow.  It gives me peace to know that your last song was a happy one.  You will always be with me through sunflowers, moon dances and your many loved ones.  And it has been an honor to be your sister!

I Think About Food

I think about food…a lot.  Perhaps it has something to do with growing up in a family that tended gardens, most dishes were made from scratch, and many loved ones simply enjoyed cooking.

When I was younger I had an Easy Bake Oven and usually I ate the batter before it was ever cooked.  Homemade ice cream was a constant at Aunt Opal’s gatherings.  What a delight it was to feel real cream sticking to the roof of my mouth.  Mom made pot roast every Sunday with carrots and potatoes and then I covered it all with her delicious gravy.  Grandpa Hughes’ flaky pie crusts filled with Aunt Opal’s fresh cherries or apples were always anticipated. Fresh eggs gathered that morning from Grandma Scott’s hens then cooked over-easy made my morning.  On many mid summer days I was armed with a salt shaker in one hand and warm tomato in the other.  I would sit on our front steps and enjoy every bite.

Present day I have my hutch covered with cookbooks already open and ready to assist me with a peach and blueberry pie. There are stacks of onions and garlic curing on my kitchen table and my mind is considering how I can use every portion of the plant in some future dish.  When I visit any grocery store, specialty or otherwise, (almost daily) I forget all there is in the world as I roam aisle after aisle considering what I can create with all these options combined with what I have on hand at home.  I have folders and boxes of recipes.   I have an ongoing project of organizing them.  Some are already in my computer and so many more need to be added.

My thoughts also linger today over the way chefs describe food.  A chef friend described a step in one of our Feast meals, “sauté the garlic and onion in olive oil until it sings.”    A book I’m reading “My Berlin Kitchen, A Love Story with Recipes” by Luisa Weiss calls recipes family heirlooms.   Both statements are clever and make me happy. 

At the end of the day, after I’ve decided on a menu, gathered the ingredients, constructed everything and bathed in its aroma, I eat with gusto.  While cleaning up the kitchen I start thinking about that next meal.  You may be thinking that I am obsessed with food.  However, I would prefer to categorize it as simply one of my many passions.  Bon Appétit (I wish you a hearty appetite).