Revenge of the Snow Goddess

First sign of Spring? Pshaww. Right after I made that statement, it started snowing. It is not blizzard snow. The flakes are small and drifting down slowly but they are coming hard. It is the type of snow that school children love. It usually means early dismissal and no school tomorrow. I have sympathy for them as they are on Christmas vacation and are off anyway. It must seem like a wasted snow day to them. I am going to make buttermilk pancakes and bacon. Yes, that is right, bacon, glorious bacon. If you have the time and inclination, look up "The Bacon Explosion". Using that recipe, most of the cooks will never get up from the table. It is Crestor proof. Pork Rules!

Signs of Spring

The first signs of Spring are occuring. The seed catalogues are coming daily. "The hermit gets tucked so warm in his bed, while visions of Sugar Plum Tomatoes dance in his head". As usual, I have made extensive lists of the things that I would like. It would be so nice to have enough land to plant so many things.
I have been an inverterate list maker since I was eleven years old. I can still remember the list I made to go to Summer Camp. I never went to the camp but I can still recall all of the things that I thought that I would need there. I would have looked strange, arriving at the camp in a semi trailer full of stuff.
I have made so many lists since then. Lists of kitchen tools, lists of automobile options, lists of Aurora plane models, lists of types of chickens, and the list of types of lists goes on and on. No wonder I identify so much with Alan Harper. The joy I get from making each month's shopping list is perverted.
The only type of list that I avoid is the terrifying TO DO List. I have enough guilt in my life about the things that I have done. To put together a packet of things that will never get done is to create a bomb of guilt that will explode at a future time. I do very little and that is probably the reason that I feel so contented. The only way for me to avoid mistakes and failures and disappointments is to not do anything. This may seem to be overly pessimistic but I know me. My Brother has called me Gunner. Gunner do this and Gunner do that. It bothered me when he first did it but I thought about it and realized that he was right. My Brother is able to decide on doing something and, like a young beaver, keep concentrating on it until it is done. I bounce from one unfinished project to another. La Petite Anglais told me that I was high functioning A.D.D.. If anyone was qualified to make such a judgement, she was. My whole family is riddled with that condition.
Speaking of conditions, I hope that I don't develop any. I just got my new medical plan from the company that I used to work for, "Bob's Pretty Good Medical Plan". I have misgivings about how effective it will be. All of the doctors that subscibe to the plan have last names that start with three consonants. The places that issued their medical degrees are a mystery to me. I don't even know where Karachi is. I do know where Grenada is and one thing that is troubling is that they are not M.D.'s. They all seem to be D.O.'s. There it is, the sinister DO. If one would have to write to them, would you address the letter TO DO? (shudder, shudder, shudder). I can visualize their list. "February: Order more leeches, eye of newt, and dragon's blood.".
I remember my Father's advice on finding a doctor, "Always find a Jewish doctor. In any field, because of prejudice, Jews have to work twice as hard and be twice as good as anyone else just to achieve parity.".
The latest project was Pot Roast. Not just any Pot Roast but French Pot Roast! Of course, being French, it required fifty pots and one hundred ingredients. It came out O.K. and would have been better if I had taken the time to reduce a bottle of Pinot Noir down to one cup and had had some anchovies. I'm gunner try it again at a later date.
I will close now as the pile of used tissues is about to keel over. This cold, or whatever it is just keeps hanging on, and I have been declared "The Phantom of Phlegm".

Oodles of Onions

Yesterday I made onion soup. It might not sound like a big deal but I am housebound with the sniffles and was going bonkers for something to do. The soup takes several hours and uses six pounds of onions. It came out pretty good but I have had better. La Petite Anglais made much better onion soup. I also made No Knead Artisanal bread. I have made that before and it is a two day process that I started the day before. It is wonderful but I take no credit for it. I got the recipe from Cook's Illustrated along with the onion soup recipe. Despite all of the time saving suggestions the magazine makes on so many things, it always seems to be the ones that take a long time that come out delicious and rewarding.
It isn't just cooking that follows that maxim. Life seems to be the same way. Anything worth doing is worth taking the time to do it right. Unfortunately it takes a long time to learn this.
Both of the recipes I have mentioned are French. Is there anything about life that the French have not mastered? They have given up on being a world power and an economic powerhouse but they live, love, eat, and drink with gusto. It took them a long time to come to those goals but they seem to realize that we are not going to get out of this life alive so we might as well enjoy the ride. Good soup, good bread, good cheese, and good wine are much more satisfying to an individual than a stealth bomber or a fat portfolio. A year in Provence would be nice. The French even have a city named after this wishful condition. La Petite Anglais, I remember you!

To All

To all of you that I know and love, Merry Christmas to you and hope for a wonderful and peaceful New Year.

Tower

It is the day before Christmas and I am sitting beside a tower of used Kleenex. I don't know how I get a bug. I did recently use an ATM and I have read that the buttons on an ATM are infested with an army of germs. I always wash my hands when I get home but I must have touched my nose or my mouth before I got home. Still things are not so bad. I have more than enough food in the house and I can stay cuddled in my blankie and watch the snow that is beginning to fall. I have everything that I need to make onion soup and that is my next project.
Christmas will come and go. It has never been one of my favored holidays. I used to wonder how people would feel if on their birthday, people gave presents to other people.
I was once married to a Lady that really knew how to keep Christmas. There was an Advent calendar and cookies and a sumptuous meal and reading of "A Christmas Carole". Each member of the family got to read some passages and that was Christmas for me. The Christmas presents were unimportant to me. That was a disappointment to the Lady I was married to as I always forgot to get something for her until the day before Christmas and it was usually something small and cheap that happened to be left in the store.
I have often wondered why I feel this way about gift giving. The only reason I can think of is that I was raised in a family that did not do a lot of gift giving. There was never much money to do much gift getting. On my birthday my Mother would make a strawberry shortcake for me and I still treasure the memory of that.
The only day that had mandatory gift giving was my Mother's birthday. Several days beforehand, my Father would take my Brother and I by the ear and parade us to a store, open his wallet, and make sure that we got her a present. He was a wise man and knew better than to give us the money and tell us to go get something. We would have gotten her some small trinket and something nice for ourselves. She would have ooohed and aaahed over the presents and still loved us very much but his life would have become very stressful.
And so the spirit of Christmas still lives in my heart. The Advent calendar and the cookies and the groaning board and Charles Dickens are there but I don't remember much of what was inside the fancy wrapping.
I do fondly remember Clownie and the Lady that knew how to keep Christmas and a certain gingerbread house. Gifts come and go and are soon forgotten but not the love that surrounds a family at Christmas.
I do not know how many more Christmases I will see but I do know how many I will remember. All the ones where the Lady spread her warmth and joy all through the house.

A tad too much

The snow goddess must have read my last post and said "Oh yeah?". The snow kept falling and now there is just a bit too much on the porch and steps. It will be pleasant removing it when the Sun comes up. I have always enjoyed shovelling snow. It is a task that has a beginning and an end in sight. It is nice to have a task that has a definite end in sight instead of an ongoing project that labors on day after day and requires weekly updates to people that have no idea of what you are doing (read committee here). The only answer that I ever found for said committe was "Unseen forces do not want this project completed.". It was pleasant to see the glimmer of fear and then confusion pass over their faces and then hear their question "You didn't ever work for the Post Office did you?".
The cacciatore came out fairly pleasant but I may have put just a tad too much pepperoncini into it. It has just a bite of spice in it, maybe a chomp instead of a bite. I cooked up twelve chicken thighs with it, they were defrosted and needed to be cooked, so I guess that chicken is going to be on the menu for quite a few days.
Why Snow Goddess? That comes from a song I heard fifty years ago.
Here comes Suzy Snowflake
Dressed in a silk white gown
Tap, tap, tapping
On your window pane
To tell you she's in town
"If you want to take a sleigh ride
Come on the rides on me"
Here comes Suzy Snowflake
Dressed in a silk white gown
A memory from fifty years ago suddenly pops into your head. Where has it been hiding and what else is in that hiding place? I can't remember where I put the potholder I used three minutes ago but I can remember a ditty I first heard when I was about eight years old. Are the memories of youth more lasting than the memories of later years? I hope so because the memories of youth are usually purer and simpler than the memories of adulthood and the terrible years of adolesence with their insecurities and aimlessness.
Another one just popped up. It was an ad for a carpet cleaning company.

"How many cookies did Andrew eat?
Andrew ate eight thousand.
How do you keep your carpets neat?
Call ANdrew8-8000.".
I have to go now because Suzy opened a door and forgot to close it behind her and the others are streaming out.
Does the human race need a mental pop-up blocker? Not if the pop-ups are from a gentler more innocent time. Snow Angels and toboggoning just popped in. No sign of the tragedies and disappointments of the last few years. OOOPS
"Look both ways when you cross the street
So you'll be around to live and eat
Waleeco, Waleeco, coconut bars are the best I know
And the best is none too good
For those who do what they should, should, should".
It is nice to know that the wheels are still turning.

Solitare

Last night was a perfect night for solitare. The solitare that I practice is not the same as the solitare most people are familiar with. I learned to play in the Sixties. It consists of sitting comfortably by yourself in the evening, with a low soft light on, and reflecting on your life. I discovered it while trying to learn to meditate. Hey, it was the Sixties and everyone said it was the key to internal peace.
I never did learn to meditate. How can a person clear their mind of all things or concentrate on just one thing? My mind is like the insides of an old fashioned watch. There are innumerable wheels, all turning at different rates, and never ceasing to move. I have never been able to stop the wheels or just let one turn but I did discover solitare.
Solitare consists of sitting in the aforementioned environment and reflecting on my life. All of the failures I have initiated and all of the people who tried to love me and finally gave up due to the lack of reciprocity.
Solitare is dark and sultry and most would say that I should try to look on the bright side and lighten my life up. Noooo. After some time it is a cleansing and humbling thing. It feels good to sit and take inventory of your life and realize that you are just a man with all of a man's failings and defects. There is a lot of clay in your socks.
There is one thing that is missing. I used to have a Dusty Springfield record that I would play while solitaring. Her voice and music and lyrics were perfect for the moment. I think that she is probably the best singer that I have ever heard. I will say the Barbra Streisand singing Ave Maria and the lyrics of Elton John ( Burn Down the Mission and Country Comfort) are right up there with Dusty Springfield. There they go again, the little wheels turning at a furious rate while the big ones amble along.
There was a monster storm forecast for this area last night. This morning there is an accumulation and it is still snowing but there are no feats of snow. I am all tucked in and have no reason to go out. There are the remnants of a beef stew that I made several days ago and the larder is groaning. The stew is reasonable but not overwhelming. I didn't have any anchovies for it and the result is lackluster at best. Some day I will learn to make good beef stew. There are leftover buttermilk biscuits and I am going to make another attempt at chicken cacciatore.
The snow seems to be picking up. I hope that the birds and the squirrels are alright. There they go again. The snow was the big wheel and the birds and the squirrels were the little ones. Think of one thing or no things. How is that possible?

Lemon Mead

Two days ago I made Sima which is Finnish Lemon Mead. This morning the corks were lying on the other side of the kitchen so the mead must be done. I have made this before and it is pleasant but a bit strong. That should be no surprise as it is Finnish. The recipe makes six quarts so if a Russian tank comes up the driveway I will invite them for cocktails.
The past week has had several unseasonable balmy days but Winter is here. It is not bitterly cold but cold enough. After all it is the middle of December in New England and about time for some cold. Seeing people in shorts and tee shirts is not right for this time of year. That is not the proper dress for going over the river and through the woods.
I had been thinking of having roast goose for Christmas. That was until I priced one at the market. Fifty-seven dollars for a meal's main dish is a bit steep and a rib roast would be much cheaper and satisfying. Goose farming must be a very lucrative business. Scads of wild geese fly over the house in the Fall. Poached goose must also be very satisfying. A nice thick steak or piece of haddock is definitely in the future.
That's all the news from Lake Boondocks. I miss the city!

Chickened Out

The pea soup didn't happen. I noticed a piece of chicken in the refrigerator that needed to be cooked so I made chicken soup. The soup isn't that good. I think that I put too many aromatics in it and it looks more like spinach soup than chicken soup. I have lost the knack of making soup and will have to return to the recipe books. The corn bread is very good. I made it with buttermilk instead of regular milk. The recipe has to be adjusted by reducing the baking powder by half and adding some baking soda. The correct adjustment can be found in Fannie Farmer under baking powder biscuits. All of the esoteric cooking books that I have and I constantly find myself going back to Fannie Farmer and Betty Crocker.
I do have a new recipe for beef stew and I am looking forward to trying it. The recipe is in the latest copy of Cook's Illustrated and involves anchovies and mushrooms. I will withhold the baking soda and save it for the heartburn.
Today will be a day for taking care of the many things that need attention. It is about time that I got up off of my skinny butt and took care of things. These actions will have to be post-Wikipedia.

Fizzle

The forecasted Monster Blizzard didn't happen. This morning most of the snow is gone. The trees no longer wear the blobs of frosting they wore yesterday and the roads look clear. I was looking forward to snowdrifts and Lara's Theme. There will be other storms this Winter but I was anticipating this one very much. I am all tucked in and warm and happy. Today I will make Swedish Pea Soup. It is still c0ld enough to be a good day for homemade soup. I don't have any salt pork but I can substitute bacon and sausage. Maybe some Irish Soda Bread to go along with it or corn bread might be nicer as mixing anything Irish with Swedish usually results in a fight over the last beer.
Christmas is wending its way toward us and it might be a disappointing day for my loved ones as the larder is a bit sparse this year. It always seems to be around Christmas.

Winter, AT LAST!

There is little reason to live in New England without Winter. Spring is damp, Summer is measured by the race to get the tomatoes and zucchini ripe before the frost, Fall is nice but there are the leaves. All of these seasons are focused on the coming of Winter. Stock the larder, get out the shovels and the tree decorations and make sure that you have a fresh box of Bell's Seasoning.
Winter is here at last. We are due for a monster snow storm. The wind will blow, the snow will drift, the plow guys will chase each snowflake around town with their pick-up trucks. People will flock to the store for bread and milk and eggs. They will also flock to the liquor store, maybe for some sherry to go with the French Toast.
I went out this morning for something that I wanted and I will be able to survive comfortably for at least four days. My larder is packed and there are many dishes I have been longing to try. I still need to make the fish stock. If I don't make it soon I will have all of the ingredients for nouc mam. I don't have the recipe for the ancient Roman Garum but nobody else does either. That dish may have been the reason for installing a vomitorium.
Yesterday I was going to make the fish stock. I opened the refrigerator and there they were! The sausages looked up at me with a pleading look, unlike the fish that look at me with those big accusing eyes, and the sausages were joined in their appeal by the tomatoes and garlic and onions and mushrooms. Their chorus overwhelmed the fish stock mission and their masterpiece was ladled over linguini and topped with grated asiago. Today might be a good day to make oatmeal cookies or another loaf of that amazing almost-no-knead bread. The bread is baked in the Dutch Oven and comes out better than any artisan bread that I have ever had. Yes, that is a good plan for a snowy New England day. Spend the day loafing. It is Winter in New England. A time for rest and reading and napping and eating, At Last!
As long as the power stays on, this ant will be snug as a bug can be. If the power goes off, I have candles but it is so hard to cook with candles. Fondue maybe. MMMMM. I will try not to think of Giants in the Earth or Ethan Frome. This is Massachusetts, not Minnesota or Vermont. Winter in those places is more of a test than a rest.

Mister Underhill's Bug

A new mystery has evolved. I rarely go anywhere and I don't have contact with anyone. How in the world did I get the flu? I got a flu shot a while ago so maybe I just have a nasty cold. While I was on one of my walks I must have touched something and then touched my nose or my eyes. Every time that I go out I wash my hands thoroughly when I return home. The only place that I can think of that might be the culprit is the library. I can see the headline now. "Man Expires From Too Much Reading." It would be a fitting epitaph for me.
I will have to go out today. There are things that I need and the little store down the street is very close. I went out yesterday for a walk in the snow and the cold. It was worth the effort. It is December in New England and it is about time that we had some snow and cold.
So I will go out and then return to a warm blanket and some hot tea with lemon and commiserate with myself. There is nothing more pitiful than a man with a cold. He sits huddled up with his tissues and blankie and wonders why there is no chicken soup for him to sip. He stares into the bathroom mirror and sees Rudolph staring back. He knows that he will get better but enjoys the self pity that emanates from every pore of his body. Linda Ronstadt created the anthem for a man with a cold. The lyrics are "Poor, Poor, Pitiful Me.". I don't need outside sympathy or compassion. I have enough of those for myself. I will get better. Not better than I was but better than I am now. I will close now (I can hear your cheers and applause) as I need to go and get some more tissues.

Something fishy this way comes

Last night I had the strangest dream. I have never been to China and I have most certainly not ever poled a raft down the Yellow River. That is the context of the dream. It was so lucid. The colors and the sounds of the river and the smell of rice and fish cooking on a bed of sand on the raft. The taste of lumps of rice and broth and fish and greens scooped up with a ladle-like spoon was so satisfiying and warming. Where can such a dream have come from? What remote dusty corner of my convoluted thought process can have been harboring such a journey? Where did the high red cliffs come from that accelerated the journey and swirled the raft around and around as it passed between them?
Will there ever be a time when I will be allowed full access to the library of my brain? There are so many mysteries there. I think of the library in "The Name of the Rose" another tedious book by Umberto Eco that I forced my way through. "Foucault's Pendulum" wasn't half bad but "Bardolino" was pure drudgery. That is what happens when you buy a book instead of getting it at the library. You feel morally obligated to finish the dreadful tome.
Today will be interesting as I have an understandable urge to make fish stock. First must come another trip to the grocery store, be still my beating heart, for there are things that I will need to make it. I have never made it before and it is something to anticipate. I will need fish and rice and leeks and marjoram. I have all of the other things that I will need. Maybe some cream for the inevitable herd of cats that will congregate on the porch will be in order.
It will be a pleasure to welcome such visitors. One thing I miss by living where I do. The landlord was very specific about no pets, especially cats. I have always had at least one cat and I would welcome the drooling devotion of a dog and the aloof companionship of a cat. I no longer miss human companionship but I do miss the petting and the purring. You give love to an animal and it gives it back. No conditions, no comments on how you could improve your life by changing -----, no snide remarks, and they never get telephone calls in the middle of the night. They also only dirty one dish and never a glass or silverware. A cat would be preferable as they don't have to be taken out for a walk so they can do a poop and then propel it halfway across the yard with a kick. A litterbox is preferable to a walk in the rain or snow and worrying about Rover's little brown footprints on the kitchen floor. Still there is the warm bond that seems to grow between Man and Dog, a dog trusts you implicitly but a cat merely seems to tolerate you, knowing that you will fail it at some time. Cats are a lot like human companionship.
Fish don't seem to make good pets. I will see if they make good stock. I look forward to putting the leftover fish frames and heads and tails into the rubbish barrel ouside. I can see a herd of cats poised on top of it when the landlord comes out to empty his rubbish. I have never really seen a conniption.