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Beany Musings

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sigh…teh pea is having a little teary moment as she putters and gets ready for Independence Day tomorrow…

As she was puttering along, she started finalizing her menu plans for the big day…Barbecued ribs from her very own pig, with peach barbecue sauce, grilled chicken with pepper and garlic, butter broiled brussels sprouts, corn muffins, potato salad, and baked beans…

It was the baked beans that brought a tear to her little green eyes…because if she is going to have baked beans on the Fourth of July, she has to put them in one of her bean pots. And, yes, she has *three* bean pots.

Granted most people don’t even have one bean pot, or if they do, they aren’t quite sure that it even is a bean pot. Her bean pots have a story, as do most of the unusual things she has lurking around the pod.

Once upon a time, before she and mr pea were even married, he took her on a road trip to meet his family who lived in Boston. His cousin Binky was graduatiing from Harvard, and the whole family was going for the event, and she got to tag along. Now, mr pea has the most adorable set of aunties ever, and she got along with them just famously.

While we were there we didn’t have a chance to do much sight seeing, owing to how busy the family was with the impending commencement festivities and all, but we did see a few sights, and at every place we went…every gift shop window, store and venue, there were bean pots. Brown, chubby adorable bean pots, and they just *enchanted* your humble legume. She *wanted* a bean pot. But, alas, they were very expensive, and all of them had some sort of saying or writing on them. Mr pea was going to break down and buy her one, because she wouldn’t shut up about them, but she couldn’t find a plain one. He wanted to know what was wrong with a bean pot that had a funny saying about beans on it, and she had to patiently explain that if she was going to cook her beans in a bean pot, she needed a plain one, not a souvenier one. Of course, he had no idea that the reason she wanted one in the first place was to cook beans in it…and he made fun of her for quite a while over that. No one cooks beans in a bean pot he says. Her tart rejoinder was to remind him that they called it “Beantown” for a reason, and they most certainly did…but, she digresses.

She never did find an unmarked beanpot during the entire visit to Boston, and she came home richer in new family, but poorer in proper bean cooking equipment.

That Christmas, a big box came for her, from Boston, and, inside were three bean pots, antiques all, and not a letter on any. There was a wee tiny bean pot…brown and tan, that would just hold enough baked beans for two. There was a middle sized bean pot…and it would hold enough for a family, plus company or a little left over for lunch. And, there was a jumbo great-granddaddy bean pot that would hold enough for a potluck supper or family runion and probably leave leftovers.

Mr pea’s Auntie Bobbie had remembered how teh pea had *loved* the bean pots, and found her some, without writing, and sent them to her so that for any bean need she might have, she would have the proper bean pot. Talk about love 🙂 Her bean pots sit in a row on the top shelf of the pantry.

Sadly, Auntie Bobbie passed away this spring, but, this pea likes to think she will be having Barbecue with us tomorrow, and a big scoop of baked beans.

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COOKIE TIME!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Yep, we were at it again…vast amounts of cut out cookies!!!  This isn’t all of them, just the ones we could fit on the table to snap a picture 🙂

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It’s Fruitcake Weather :)

Fresh out of the oven

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It has been a few years since she made fruitcake. It is expensive, and it takes a while, and there is all that time sitting, and all that annointing with brandy. Fruitcake is a labor of love. Fruitcake is also much maligned, but still a labor of love.

All and all, your friendly neighborhood legume is glad she put in the effort and made them. she was definitely in a “Fruitcake Weather” mood, and it was actually soothing and therapeutic to make them. The ghost of pea’s godmother also must have smiled on the batch, because every one turned out perfect. Not so much as a raisin stuck to the pan. Hopefully, when we get to eat them a month from now they will taste just as good.

For now, they are dribbled in brandy and melding, and it is time for cocoa, and a read of “A Christmas Memory” by Truman Capote. It is fruitcake weather. 🙂

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The Confessions (and recipes) of a Turkey Hoarder

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A lot of people wonder at pea’s annual turkey mania. It is a sort of obsession. Come November, there are “turkey wars”. The local grocery store chains fight with each other to have the least expensive turkeys. Usually prices for turkeys go down to about thirty-nine cents a pound.

That is pretty damn cheap for meat.

Now, this ridiculous price only lasts for about two weeks, and there is a limit of one turkey per visit, and you have to usually spend fifteen to twenty bucks in other stuff to get the turkey at that price.

No problem, pea has a *plan*. 😀

Firstly, she does the bulk of her “staples” shopping around this time. Canned goods, pastas, sugar and flour. Dry durable packaged goods with long shelf lives. Lots of these items go on sale, and with a doubled coupon, can be had for extra cheap…

So, by assuring that everything purchased is both on sale, and has a coupon, the initial sales quota can be had for a dollar or two actual money, rather than the fifteen or twenty demanded, plus the final cost of the turkey, each stock-up turkey trip usually costs about ten to twelve dollars. The other trick is to get the BIGGEST effen turkey possible on every trip, to net more usuable meat at the cheapest price. We also have two very large freezers. A five foot upright in the pantry, and a large chest freezer in the cellar.  In a good year, we will have ten to twelve turkeys, averaging about twenty three pounds apiece…not counting the bird for Thanksgiving.

Now, before all everyone starts to think that we must be sick of eating turkey, virtually none of it is roasted ala thanksgiving. The awesomeness of turkey hoarding is just how versatile raw turkey is. Once thawed, the turkey can be taken apart (Dawn knows all about this) fairly easily. Then the creativity begins.

The breast meat can be sliced into thin cutlets, dunked in egg-and-breadcrumb and pan fried….instant “chicken” fingers. And they do NOT taste like turkey. At all. A twenty five pound turkey nets a LOT of fingers, which can be eaten as is…or spread on cookie sheets and frozen, then stored in zip bags for quick dinners. Cover them in marinara…bake til bubbly, cover in cheese…super yum. Make a lemon butter sauce, add capers and you have chicken piccata. Heated in the toaster oven, with Frank’s hot sauce and blue cheese on rolls…chicken finger subs.

Cut into larger, chicken breast sized slabs and marinated in various things, they are great grilled as is, or sliced onto various salads, or chopped for chicken salads of all stripes. The tenderloins are great with various sauces roasted, grilled or simmered in the crockpot, and are great for any escalloped dishes.

Raw dark meat is even more disguiseable. People having the dark meat dishes have mistaken it for pork, veal, venison and beef.  Cut off the bones and into chunks, it makes great stew…just treat it like beef…taters, onions, carrots, celery…seriously yum.

Grilled it is even more outstanding. Marinated and threaded onto skewers with peppers and onions and grilled, it rocks…very much like pork.  The wings get special treatment. Cut into the “flat” and the “drummie” they get roasted, plain. Then, each kind goes into a zip bag and frozen. At the end of that year’s turkey season, there is a bag of frozen roasted “drums” and frozen roasted “flats”.  Thawed, the flats get grilled with bbq sauce…almost just like ribs 🙂 The drummies go into the crock pot with marinara sauce, pepper chunks and onions and make a fabulous “chicken” ciaccatore.  Pre-roasting before freezing renders out all the nasty fat from the skin.

Then there are all those bones. Stock and soup time. The stock can be frozen, or canned for use anywhere you need broth or flavor. And any sort of soup can be made from the bones…”chicken” noodle, vegetable…and it doesn’t scream turkey flavor once all the veggies and seasonings simmer in.

Lastly, all that boiled and semi-flavorless meat from the bones makes a great treat mixed into the cats’ or dog’s food…so nothing goes to waste.

All that wonderful stuff…for thirty-nine cents a pound 😀

Turkeys are worth hoarding 😀

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The Grey Stuff :)

It’s Thanksgiving time again, and it is time to gear up the kitchen and get ready for the festive season, and that season starts with making dressing.

For something which has a main ingredient of old, hard, dry bread, dressing is pretty wonderful.  Except for light fruity nouveau cuisine affairs found in over the top cookbooks, we like all kinds of dressing.  We like it with chestnuts and oysters, cornbread, you name it.  We like the homogenous bland stuff that can be found at cheap buffet restaurants, and we even like the salty dehydrated vegetable kind that can be purchased in a box, make in a kettle on the stove and “fluff” with a fork.

Dressing is, as everyone knows, wonderful with turkey.  Or as is the case in our family, turkey is wonderful with dressing.  We have our priorities straight.  Dressing also suits beef, chicken, pork chops…everything really.

But, nothing compares with Gramma’s dressing.

She concocted it in the forties, sometime during or after World War II, when she had a large family to feed.  It wasn’t pretty to look at back then, and it isn’t pretty to look at now.  It is a greyish, dense rather stodgy-looking affair.  Once sampled however, the inner beauty shines.

Gramma’s dressing was never really the same thing twice.  She never measured; just tossed her ingredients into a pot and mushed them up.  That isn’t to say however, that her dressing wasn’t a consistent classic.  Rather it was a complex character, presenting slightly different array of flavors each time it was made.  Her dressing came in vintage years, just like wine.

In October, she would begin to save bread for Thanksgiving in November.

First, she made a series of complex cuts in a paper grocery bag, so that, when opened, a multitude of diamond shaped cut outs remained.  She stored her stale bread in this bag.  The holes let in air, keeping the bread from molding.

One of the reasons for the subtle variations in the finished dressing was the astounding variety of breads she used:  Heels and squashed slices of sandwich loaves, homemade bread, old biscuits and hard rolls, egg bread, a slice or two of rye and pumpernickel, a slice of whole wheat here and there, leftover unbuttered toast, even stray hamburger and hot dog buns.  These oddments of bread were never enough, so the quantity needed to make up the remainder was always a loaf or two of store-brand white bread—the kind that is so soft it tears when you try to butter it, and sticks to the roof of your mouth when you bite it.

All of the bread, regardless of origin was left to become stale in a baking pan which resided in the oven, near the pilot light.  When it was perfectly dried out and completely hard, she put it into the paper bag.

Of course, whenever you needed to use the oven, you had to put all that bread somewhere.  It became not only stale, but well-travelled as it temporarily resided in the dish rack, on the counter, the kitchen table, assorted chairs, the attic stairs, the dining room table, even a bed.  But, always it returned eventually to its warm oven.

Dressing making day always pervaded by a carnival aspect could not occur too close to Thanksgiving Day itself.  The dressing needed to sit.  The flavors had to ripen, to meld.  We wanted it to be a leftover…which always tasted better…before the dinner even happened.

To begin, Gramma would fill a large kettle with cold water.  Then she would take the slices of bread, one at a time, soak them and squeeze them out, dropping the soggy bread ball into another, larger kettle.  During this process would come the perennial questions and traditional answers, rather like a Thanksgiving Seder, although it wasn’t incumbent upon the youngest there to ask them.

“Why do we dry out the bread and get it wet again?  Why don’t we soak fresh bread?”  The answer would always be: “I don’t know.  I tried it once, it was awful”

Once all the bread is squashed and dumped into the big kettle, the other ingredients, celery, onion, pork sausage and sage were added.  There was always a tense family “discussion about the sage’ a debate between the sage lovers and the sage tolerators.  Many factors affected the sage.  Should we put in two tablespoons of three?  Four?  You’re crazy.  That’s too much.  Is the sage rubbed or ground? Rubbed sage is stronger.  Not it isn’t.  How many years has this been up in the cupboard?  Too long, its lost strength.  Put in more. No, we did not just by this one it has been there since Last thanksgiving.  Stop that.  Once you put it in that’s all we’ll taste, and you can’t take it out.  Put in more or the dressing will be bland.

After such sage discussion and after several attempts to accidentally drop more sage into the kettle were thwarted, it was time to squoosh the dressing… Gramma removed all her rings, washed her hands thoroughly up to the elbows like a surgeon, and plunged them into the mass of soggy bread, raw sausage and seasoning.  (ewwwww)  Grabbing u a double handful, she squished it through her fingers.  Ewwwww the sound it makes during this process is distinctive and indescribable.

Once the mass had been squooshed and mixed enough, it was plopped into an old aluminum baking pan, smoothed over and roasted over several hours.  The smell, as it began to cook, was heavenly.  Partway through the roasting the dressing was removed from the oven to be mixed and turned with a knife.  A can of Franco-American beef gravy was opened and the steaming pan of partially cooked dressing was generously larded with this substance, turned and mixed again, then returned to the oven.  During this operation another ritual question is posed:  “why do we use that nasty canned gravy?  Wouldn’t our own home made gravy be better?”  The answer always was, “I don’t know.  If you use homemade gravy, it tastes awful. I tried once”

The dressing would begin to be snitched after the second or third application of gravy, when we were sure the pork sausage component had been thoroughly cooked and was in no danger of causing trichinosis.  Such rapture!  We would pick out little tastes from the crisping top layer to see how it turned out.  But alas, such joys were fleeting.  Gramma, a woman of sterner stuff than the rest of us, allowed few samples.  She knew that if once we began, we would not stop.  There would not be enough left for thanksgiving.  This dire threat was sufficient.

At long last we had a pan of roasted brownish greyish delectable dressing reposing in the refrigerator, ready to be packed into the waiting turkey.  When no one was looking we would steal tastes, and eat them, cold, right from the fridge.     On the great morning, to the accompianment of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade, Dad would wash the turkey and pat him dry.  Gramma stood by the kitchen table, roasting pan and dressing at the ready.  Then Pop would rest the turkey on his forearms, grab the wings in his hands, and flapping them, he would “fly” the bird through the house.  Out of the kitchen, into the parlor, round the dining room he went, all of us gobbling behind as we shared in the “Last Flight of Tom Turkey.”

Once tom came in and made a perfect three point landing in the roaster, we stuffed him, all taking turns as we packed him full of dressing both fore and aft.

Only for one moment at the table, as we gazed beatifically at the repast before us, did the dressing look as magnificent as it tasted.  Browned and crisp on the outside, steamy moist on the inside, perfect, it cascaded from the bird.

Once the eating began however, and during its numerous incarnations as a leftover, it became again a greyish, brownish homely thing.  But yummy.  Always yummy.  Presentation isn’t everything.  It is the character of the dressing that counts.

Gramma is gone now, but, she explained how to make it to her daughters, and she even wrote the recipe down a few times, but, like the dressing itself, each handwritten version of the recipe is different.

When we make it every year, we do the same things.  We save many kinds of bread, and we keep it in brown grocery bags with complicated diamond cut-outs.  We still wonder why the bread must be stale, why the gravy must be canned.  We call each other and say how much sage we used, so that we can express horror at the amount, or complain that there isn’t enough.  But, each thanksgiving, no matter how much sage, or how little, the “grey stuff” as it has been affectionately dubbed, is emblematic of someone we loved, hearty, warm, rich and complex.  Altogether delicious.

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Happy Independance Day!

Theoretically, this should be a post from the Church of Sunday Tea.  But, it isn’t 🙂  There are  no services at the church due to the impending holiday 🙂

The menu for tomorrow is:  grilled weenie-dogs,  Mom’s potato salad, baked beans with bacon on top, tabouleh salad, chips and crunchies, two kinds of sun-tea, and, that Fourth of July tradition, the sacrificial watermelon.

We hope to have good success with this year’s melon, as he is, allegedly, a real old fashioned watermelon, with real black seeds.  We have come to the conclusion that seedless watermelons are…meh.  The flavor isn’t there, and it is worse dealing with a billion little white seeds encapsulated in mush, than flicking normal, findable black seeds out of the way.  And, a picnic isn’t *really* a picnic unless Pop annoys people by pinching watermelon seeds at them 🙂

Happy Fourth 🙂

And now a few Church related items:

There will be NO meeting of the Yarn Appreciation Society today.  Anyone planning on attending the supper service should be prepared for pot luck. 🙂

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Asparagus!

This is the first basket of the season, and it is a nice one. 🙂 Leeks, asparagus, a few celery roots and a big bag of baby spinaches.

Some of the thicker asparagus are marinating in a bit of olive oil and vinegar, for grilling this weekend, the rest will be steamed. The spinach will probably be part of a nice salad, and the leeks will be added to lots of stuff…omelettes, a crock-pot turkey breast, and in salad.

Trudie will get some of the trimmings, but not much from this one… the spinach stems, leek tops and celery root trimmings will all go to make some veggie broth, and then canned. Also destined for the canner this weekend will be some sauerkraut, which has been happily percolating in the fridger 🙂 yum 🙂

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Geeks R us

ok.  she is a geek. she admits this.  Mr pea is a geek too, and he admits it.  What happens when two geeks settle down for a cozy  evening of television? We watch documentaries about space.  What happens when we watch documentaries about space? We start thinking of things…like…

If the moon was created by a planet crashing into the earth, mark 1, the debris would have formed a ring system around earth.  Of course, we have to say how effing cool would that be?

But then we worry…if we have a ring system, rather than a satelite, would we get enough gravitational pull to knead the earth’s core and keep us tectonically active to have an atmosphere? would there be tides?

Then we have to think about saturn…it’s rings don’t do much…but…Saturn’s rngs are made of *ice* and our ring system would have been nickel and iron…much more dense…

Mr pea decided to go to bed at this point.

pea thinks we need help…

If you don’t agree, she will be forced to tell you about the radio-wave energy driven solar sytem we came up with on an anniversary trip.

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A peasant weekend

Pea has spent saturday making her own catering arrangements for the rest of the week, when she will be tired, and not in any frame of mind to be cooking.  To further a sluggish week, she has been busy busy busy now, assembling a very peasanty collation to tide her over til *next* weekend 🙂

That much kitchen activity puts Peapod’s mom on the sofa with a migraine 🙂

On Friday, she made a nice big roast beef…with mushroom and red wine gravy, mashed taters and corn.  There is plenty of beef left for a new incarnation with some novel sides. Today, she made some seriously melty tender pork chops, and really yummy gravy, and speatzle (extra crispy) and sweet ‘n’ sour cabbage and green beens….plenty for a rerun, maybe on teusday, grommit.

After dinner Mr. Pea tried an experiment…she wasn’t brave enough to try it…he poured maple syrup on some spaetzle, and proclaimed it a taste sensation…

Pea is dubious.

Tomorrow she plans to roast a big fat hen, with a duxelle, bacon, and chedder stuffing.  Sides are as yet to be determined…but that will be a very spiffy Sunday dinner, and will make even better bone-pickin’s later in the week.

In the middle of all that, she put up six jars of tomatoes, made a nice big field-green salad, and decanted the raspberry vinegar she had been infusing for the last few days. 🙂

Dontcha all wish you were noshing at Pea’s pod? 🙂

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Whoosh zoom!!!

Even intrepid yard salers need a break…and, since we are in Ohio, we are going to stop at King’s Island and ride a few roller coasters.

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Yeah.

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Tasting the adventure 🙂

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