My speech is Friday at 11:45. The official title is “Go Forth: Evangelization and the Global Community” but the title of the talk I’m actually giving is: “Swimming in the Dark: Spreading the Good News When You’re Feeling So Bad.”
Okay, wish us luck! It’s going to be a long drive with an angry baby, but I know it’s going to be wonderful once we get there. If you’ve written to me and haven’t heard back, I’ve been kind of hung up on preparations and sick kids, so I hope to get caught up on correspondence next week. Thanks for your patience.
This is the connection that we need to hear over and over again: we’re not here, in this world, to get ahead. We’re not here to prove how useful we are, and we’re not here to use other people. We’re not beloved by God because of how useful we are to Him! We’re useless. We’re beloved in our uselessness, because God is too big to fit into a simple equation of cost and benefit, debits and credits, loss and gain. We’re beloved because we exist, and that’s it. And if we want to meet God, we will find Him in service to others who can do nothing for us, because He came here in service to us, who can do nothing for Him.
First, I just wanted to check in with you guys, because I worry.
The last thing I wanted to do was make one more place on the internet where women go to feel bad. That’s not what these posts are, are they? It was just supposed to be a place to talk about food: the triumphs, the tragedies, the baloney sandwiches. Not a place to feel bad!
If you don’t feel like listing/aren’t capable of remembering/are too ashamed to admit what you ate this week, here’s a quick way to participate, without even going into your weekly menu:
FOOD QUESTION OF THE WEEK
What is the kitchen task you absolutely hate, whether there’s a good reason or not?
Me? I hate unwrapping bouillon cubes. Maybe it’s because if I’m making some kind of meal that requires broth, I feel like it should be quick and easy because I’m cheating by using bouillon cubes; but it’s impossible to unwrap ten bitsy little cubes quickly, and I resent every last second of it.
The solution is, of course, to buy powdered bouillon, but I don’t want to, okay?
The other solution is . . . BENNY!
Benny loves to unwrap bouillon cubes. I recommend getting a Benny of your own. In other news, this is the week I finally started going to therapy, because I’ve decided that forty years of getting overwhelmed by things like unwrapping bouillon cubes is about enough. (Probably doesn’t help that my mug says “Looks like it’s time to hang it up!” Shut up, mug. You don’t know me.)
When Iron Man says, “I don’t know what shawarma is, but I’ve always wanted to try it,” I thought, “Me, neither. And ME TOO!”
Most days, I’m the lady in black tights mopping up (except that I never mop), but this Saturday, we all got to be the Avengers.
Oh, the shawarma. You guys, it was easy to make, and it was one of those foods that makes you feel like your head is going to fall off because it just can’t handle this level of deliciousness, but you pull yourself together because you made ten pounds of it but it’s going fast.
I was so disappointed in how this picture turned out. It just looks like food lying on a plate. The reality was . . . so much more.
The recipe for fried eggplant, it turns out, is basically this: Take some eggplant, and fry it. For a few more details, here’s the recipe I used, from “Almost Turkish Recipes.” The sauce for the eggplant, which was also great on the shawarma, was plain yogurt with some mayonnaise mixed in, plus fresh garlic and lemon juice.
I had to restrain myself from buying anything that looked delicious and vaguely middle eastern, but I settled for several kinds of olives, chopped cucumbers, triangles of pita, and a hummus party tray from Aldi. It really could have used some feta cheese, and something with tomatoes to go with all the spicy, savory and creamy stuff. Either just tomatoes, or a tomato-based sauce.
We were a little baffled about dessert. Something authentic would probably have involved dates or sesame seeds, and no one was too enthusiastic about that. So we went with root beer floats. Perfect.
This is definitely going on the rotation. It’s fairly time-consuming (especially since I had ten pounds of chicken thighs to skin, bone, and trim), and you need to plan ahead to marinate everything, and the side dishes got pricey in large quantities; but everyone loved it, and in would be fantastic for a dinner party. We ate every last scrap.
SUNDAY
MEATBALL SUBS WITH FRIED ONIONS; SALAD; ICE CREAM
Saturday was one of those “I’m glued to the steering wheel” days, so I threw theFannie Farmer meatball recipe at my 14-year-old daughter and her friend, and they did a great job turning five pounds of meat into 80 meatballs, which we served on rolls with jarred sauce and fried onions. Fried green peppers would have been good, too, but we ran out of time.
Rather than frying up the meatballs, I put them on broiler pans and cook them at 400. It’s much easier and faster if you’re making a lot, and the grease drains off, and you don’t fill the kitchen with smoke. They also keep their round shape, which is important to me for some reason.
If you are feeling ambitious, the greatest meatball recipe in all the world is from Henry Hill from Goodfellas. Damien makes these sometimes, and they are heavenly, assuming heaven involves meatballs, which it does.
MONDAY
HAM; MASHED POTATOES; STRING BEANS
Great make-ahead dinner. Already-cooked ham was 89 cents a pound, so I bought a big one and sliced it up ahead of time and put it in a casserole dish to be reheated. Made about eight pounds of mashed potatoes and put that in another casserole dish to be reheated. Two bags of frozen string beans, and you have a dinner that looks like dinner is supposed to look, even though I was on the radio at dinner hour.
A nice way to cook string beans is to steam them, then toss with pepper, lemon juice, and sliced almonds. Easy and delicious.
TUESDAY
CHICKEN BURGERS, CHIPS, SALAD
This is a “You guys go eat, Mama’s going to go lie down and let the baby hit me in the face for a while” meal. Does the trick.
WEDNESDAY
BEEF BARLEY SOUP; BEER BREAD
Because it’s fall, so we can have soup! 87 degrees, but still, fall!
I make soup all wrong, but I don’t care. Also, I used steak instead of stew meat, because it was cheaper. To satisfy my thrill-seeking gene, I play fast and loose with rules about cuts of meat.
Basic beef barley soup recipe:
2 lbs beef
two carrots
one large onion
six cloves of garlic
two small cans of diced tomatoes
3/4 cup wine
eight cups of beef broth
red wine
about a pound of mushrooms
2/3 cup uncooked barley
I diced the meat and threw it in a heavy pan with some olive oil, diced onions, diced carrots, and crushed garlic.
When the meat was almost done, I put it in a pot, and added a bunch of beef broth, some water, two cans of diced tomatoes with the juice, and a few glugs of wine, plus sliced mushrooms, then let it simmer all day.
About 40 minutes before dinner, I added the barley, then seasoned it before serving.
Remember, barley isn’t like rice or pasta — it needs extra time to get tender. This soup is also great with farro, or you could add small pasta, like orzo, or even rice.
This does NOT need extra salt, because the broth is salty; but lots of pepper and maybe some red pepper flakes are nice. You could also add celery, string beans, or whatever vegetables you have lurking about.
Here’s the recipe for beer bread. This turns out great every single time. I mixed the dry ingredients ahead of time, and added the beer right before it was time to put in the oven, so it felt like it took no time at all to make.
Benny saw me pour a half cup of butter over the batter, and said, “Oh, dat is beautiful.” Dat’s my girl.
THURSDAY
TERIYAKI PORK STIR FRY OF GUILT; RICE
Another “Mama’s dying; here’s some meat” day. This time, one of my other teenage daughters saved the day.
Slice up a bunch of pork, saute it, drain the juice, steam a bunch of frozen veggies, mix them together with some bottled teriyaki sauce, and serve with white rice.
She took this picture. Is it just me, or do those fancy-cut carrots look like they’re looking down on me? Shut up, carrots. You don’t know me.
FRIDAY
TUNA BURGERS, CHIPS or FROZEN FRIED; ONE VERY TIRED SALAD
This is what’s on the menu today.
Tuna burger recipe:
One can of tuna, drained, plus half a cup of bread crumbs and one beaten egg.
Mix together, form into two patties, fry in a little oil.
Dense and serviceable; suitable as bachelor chow. I’m sure you can fancy this up in some way with chives or what have you, but I’ll let you figure that out.
***
I noticed that last week, the InLinz link-up didn’t include thumbnails, and you had to click through to see other links. That’s what I get for not reading the fine print. Should be fixed now! Thanks to everyone who forged ahead and left a link anyway. I am really enjoying these windows into other people’s kitchens. Because I like to look into other people’s windows. Shut up, you don’t know me!
Leave a comment or a link, and don’t forget to link back here! And don’t let the bouillon cubes get you down. They don’t know you.
The woman is wrong if she thinks that a great church means a place where atheists and agnostics and Christians should be able to just hang out and be awesome together. (We already have that: it’s called Starbucks.) But she is painfully right when she reminds us that, in too many places, Christian churches are places where you have the choice of being fake or leaving. Read the rest at the Register.
My three-year-old may be the most emotionally healthy person in the world.
I came across this old photo, and remembered the day. We were playing in a school gym after a baptism, and she found this half-dead balloon lying under some bleachers. Oh my gosh, she had so much fun with it.
So, when it was time to go, I ignored the warning alarms in my head and said she could take it with her.
Of course, as soon as we stepped outside, a gust of wind came and swiped her precious balloon right out of her hands. At first I thought it would come back down, and we chased it across the parking lot, but it went up, then down again, then up just out of reach, and then up and up, over the trees, way over the church roof, and then it was gone.
Worst.
I remember being three, and I remember the desolation of the lost balloon. One minute, the world is buoyant and glad, and then suddenly it’s all grief and loss and wild injustice.
I’m getting old. I’m getting tired of the way the world is, where a little girl can’t even have an orange balloon to make her happy. I didn’t even dare look at her, expecting the sobs to come pouring out. I thought, “I can’t stand it. I’ll buy her another balloon. I’ll buy everybody a balloon! I’ll buy all the balloons in the world!”
She just stared after it for a minute, and then she said, “Jerk balloon.” And that was it. She was fine.
Thousands of years after Jesus walked the earth, we need to understand that Jesus wants to put us on the spot, asking us the same question He asked His disciples: Who do you say that I am? If we’re catechized, we’ll know the right answer; but the hard part is putting those words into action.
Today was Roald Dahl Day. You’ve probably read all the famous books by him —James and the Giant Peach, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, The Witches (which is seriously disturbing), The BFG, The Twits. I loved them all when I was a kid, and I’m more or less happy to see my kids enjoying them; but as an adult re-reading them, the constant drumbeat of “challenge authority” is worrisome.
If you read Dahl’s autobiography of his childhood, Boy, it’s obvious why he wrote his children’s books the way he did: the adults in his life were massively cruel and masochistic to him and the thousands of defenseless school boys who were churned through the barbaric British school system. The message of rebellion and retribution he works out in his stories is fine in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, when only really wicked people lose, and they’ll all come out in the wash anyway; it’s a little upsetting in Matilda, when the heroine is nakedly contemptuous of her (admittedly contemptible) parents; and it’s even less fine in Danny, the Champion of the Worldwhen the immensely appealing hero father can poach game simply because the rich man is deemed unworthy of his riches.
Still, his books are good — great, even. Some of the short stories in The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar and Six Moreare stunning. But my current favorite is Going Solo, the second part of his autobiography. I happened to read it at the same time as I was reading John Steinbeck’s Travels with Charley: In Search of America. (You’ll have to pardon me: I don’t have either book in front of me at the moment, so I won’t be quoting any passages!)
Steinbeck is, of course, a master novelist and short story writer; but when he’s his own main character, it’s just about unbearable. Oh man, starting on page one, it’s just him licking his own paws adoringly like a narcissistic kitten, purring a little tune of self-admiration into the mirror as he thinks about how tough and gritty and honest and wise he is. I couldn’t even finish it. So false, so preening, so stilted. Turns out it was all fake, anyway. Well, it sounded fake.
Dahl’s story of his own exploits is just the opposite. He survives and even makes good in the most ridiculous, bizarre misadventures, but he makes it clear that he’s just this guy, you know? As he writes, he’s clearly still angry at the RAF for sending him and his friends out into the sky with almost no training. He’s still a bit embarrassed by his failures. And he writes with stunning immediacy, making you seehearfeeltouchtaste the desert, the sky, the food, the boredom, the fear, the ridiculousness of it all.
To sum up:
Recommended: Going Solo
Disrecommended: Travels with Charley: In Search of My Own Magnificent Ass with Both Hands: Read It If You Can (But You Can’t Because It Sucks)
Alternate title for this week’s dinner round-up: This Is Why I’m Fat. Hey, if you have to die young, might as well die young while full of cheese. Specifically, feta, parmesan, mozzarella, pepper jack, cheddar, and provolone, all in one week. And we’re not even vegetarians. The cheese was just to help all the meat find its way around. Whee!
At the end of the post, there will be a little blue InLinkz button, so you can add your own post; or feel free to leave a comment. You don’t have to be a fancy pants chef! This is just a place to talk about food, the good, the bad, and the cheesy. Don’t forget to link back to this post!
Here’s what we had this past week:
SATURDAY:
OMELETTES TO ORDER, HARSH BROWNS, HOSTAGES
To you, that’s “hash browns” and “sausages.”
Everyone likes omelette night. Anything made to order is always a hit, if somewhat complicated.
Their choices were mushroom, feta, pepper jack, fried onions, ham, and tears of a mermaid
Was there even any promotion for this movie? It’s fantastic. One of my all-time favorites, just bizarre and hilarious, and feast for the eyes.
which is almost as good as a feast for the mouth.
I was never able to make decent omelettes, or anything else that involved frying, until I got a decent pan. I use this T fal stainless steel 12-inch pan, and it turns out I’m not actually a terrible cook! I just had terrible pans. So that was nice.
SUNDAY:
BBQ PORK RIBS, CORN ON THE COB, COLE SLAW
Pork was still on sale, so my husband made a dry rub from what we happened to have in the cabinet, which happened to be brown sugar, white sugar, garlic powder, salt, pepper, cumin, chile powder, and paprika, and he grilled the ribs outside.
with some help
I honestly thought it was going to be too sweet, but holy cow, they were fantastic. The sugar turned into this glorious, savory, mahogany, yes-life-is-worth-living glaze, and I made a complete pig of myself.
My oldest daughter made a wonderful coleslaw with a recipe I can’t find at the moment, but it was pretty standard. We don’t have a food processor, but the cheese grater works well enough. We didn’t have buttermilk, either, but used some plain yogurt instead. (You can also make a buttermilk substitute by adding a splash of vinegar to regular milk and letting it sit for a bit.)
My husband had the day off for Labor Day, so he and my third daughter made his sumptuous chicken cutlets, which involves pounding the chicken flat, breading, and frying it, and then topping it with a basil leaf and a slice of provolone, and then garnishing the whole thing with a ladle of homemade tomato sauce, so it all melts together.
The recipe is here, on Deadspin, which has many wonderful recipes, all full of cussing (which I can totally deal with) and a lot of extraneous narration (which I cannot deal with, but my husband can). I cannot say enough about this dish. It is so good. So good.
SO GOOD!
I tried a new roasted broccoli recipe from Damn Delicious, and I added a bunch of sliced mushrooms. It was tasty, and the recipe was super easy, but I will roast it longer next time, and probably dry off the broccoli better. It turned out a little damp. Probably the mushrooms added moisture, which I had forgotten they would do.
My daughter had made chocolate chip cookies the other day, and we miraculously had leftovers, so we used them to make ice cream sandwiches.
critically acclaimed
TUESDAY:
TACO TUESDAY!
I have no idea if we’ve always had tacos on Tuesdays anyway, or if the Lego movie made us do it, but we sure have tacos on Tuesdays a lot. We love this movie, too, by the way. So weird and funny and sweet.
We’ve also figured out where to store the tortillas so they’re safe from the infamous ravening tortilla hound, who just can’t help himself.
WEDNESDAY:
SPAGHETTI WITH SAUSAGE AND MEAT SAUCE
The completely wrong dish for a brutally humid day, but oh well. We had leftover (unseasoned) ground beef from the tacos, plus leftover wonderful sauce from the chicken cutlets, so I added those things to Aldi’s jarred sauce, which is not bad at all, and cooked up some sweet Italian sausages.
I seem to recall salad.
This is Corrie just casually crawling away from a devastated omelette. What she did to the spaghetti was even worse.
THURSDAY:
PIZZA
Lovely pizza. One pepperoni, one olive, one olive and basil, and one basil, pepperoni, and red onion.
my pretties
I like to put the toppings under the cheese, so they don’t get dried out in the oven; and I like to sprinkle garlic powder, oregano, and grated parmesan on top of the mozzarella, to give it a nice crust.
FRIDAY:
MAC AND CHEESE
This is what’s on the menu today. I use the Fannie Farmer white sauce + cheese recipe, but I tend to throw in a lot more cheese than is called for. I don’t even know how much I use, but it’s a hell of a lot more than half a cup. “Half a cup of cheese” is not even a thing, as far as I’m concerned.
For a topping, I either mix together melted butter and breadcrumbs (I find this technique easier than buttering each individual breadcrumb, ho ho), or else crushed Ritz crackers, because there aren’t enough calories in eleven cups of cheese.
***
My goal for next week: less cheese, more vegetables. Corrie’s goals remain the same: EAT EVERYTHING.
If a dumb sheep starts nibbling on the medicine spoon, rather than drinking the medicine, that doesn’t mean that vets aren’t necessary. It means the sheep needs to be redirected to the goal, which is being healed.
You may have noticed that I haven’t written much this week. This is mainly because I, and several members of my family, have been hit hard with a bug that is taking its sweet time meandering its way through our intestines. In short, we have turned into incredible pooping machines. I seriously didn’t know it was possible to poop this much and still function, but there you go. The baby, of course, has it too, which means that I’ve been spending most of my waking moments racing back and forth between the bathroom and the diaper box. (No, she’s not getting dehydrated.)
Friends, it is all shit, all the time.
Then, a few days ago, one of the little guys messed with the dog’s electric fence transmitter, and the poor dummy got zapped just for coming out of his crate. So he got all shell shocked, and refused to go outside. This went on for a little too long, and the inevitable just happened: he crapped all over the house, and his crate, and his giant spongy cushion, and everything.
So, like the reasonable adult I am, I hollered and screamed at him, threw him outside, and cleaned up the mess. Picked up the shrieking baby, sat down to nurse her, and what do you know? She pooped all over my lap.
At this point, I did what any pious housewife would do. I yelled at God, “YOU GOT SOMETHING TO SAY TO ME?”
And He said, “Yeah, go to confession, dummy.”
FINE. Some people need to be drowned in poop before they even start looking for a shovel.
