Overdue in September ~ Trader Joe's to the Rescue!

I recently made a trip to Trader Joe's. Believe it or not I have actually only shopped at one a couple of times. Once was a rush in for flowers for my nieces' dance recital in Marietta and another was rushing in to get pita chips and cheese for a last minute party invite I scored.

But this day, I meandered, absorbed and participated in the joy of a Trader Joe's.

And here is the damage...

...what to make first??

Well the figs are 'thyme' sensitive, so lets start there.I find the black figs, goat cheese, prosciutto, and whole grain flat bread. I pull out the olive oil and garlic spread as the base and we are off and running with a cool pizza.

   

I threw on the prosciutto, sliced figs, cheese and bake...

This was Delicious.! 

But the best part of this day was this.

When I arrived at the store there was a class of special education students from the local high school learning basic living skills at the store. I purposefully stayed behind them down each isle. Except the wine one of course. I enjoyed their journey through the store.There seemed to be a great deal of talk and learning around the fresh fruit - "I like grapes, I don't know what this is"...and chips..."I like sour cream and onion, I shouldn't eat this"...   

I realized how food is not universal. Other then the sustainability to living and breathing. These kids where here learning about food; food for the most part that some were never going get to experience...it was just part of an exercise to them.  

Not every kid, or grown up, gets to experience fig & goat cheese, or peace and quite, or hugs and kisses . 

Life is so different and unbelievable ridiculous for each of us.  I never take my opportunities for granted. I just hope I make the best of them.   

September 8th ~ Rhubarb Rules

I have recently made a conscious effort to get out and meet new people. So far it has paid off. It turns out there are actually some pretty lovely people out there. With meeting new people you have to reveal some things about yourself. You know, where you were born, where you grew up, where were you when the world stopped turning, etc.

These pretty lovely people want to know where you went to school, what you studied in school; they want to know where you like to eat and what you like to eat; they want to know if you like the beach or the mountains. It is a whole lotta stuff you thought all along you were holding close to the vest to keep a mystique about yourself; but it turns out it is all just nice to meet you banter.

In having to go back to the day I was three years old I am learning what I really am all about. It turns out I am a pretty interesting chick. I am odd, different, unique. I have been there, and here, and nowhere. I don't look good in pink, and shouldn't. I look good in blue and own nothing that is blue. I write blogs that don't change the world but I wish with all my heart I could imprint a change on this earth I stomp, skip and stride across.I am painfully aware that I am not the smartest person in the room, not even top 15 percentile.I am also painfully aware that I am woefully dependent on being the most taken advantage of person in the room. I see my dreams; perched in the corner to the left. I am all of my highs, and all of my lows.

I am just a girl, in a world of girls and boys, women and men; trying to figure out how to comport myself with some sort of dignity through this nonsense, clarity; I think it is called life.  

If it is this hard for me, what can it possibly be like for Rhubarb??

For the three or four of you who follow my blog, you know of my love of Rhubarb. Rhubarb for me is like that stinking Lovie that your two year old can't fall asleep without. The one with silk on one side and an elephant head holding it all together.

I desperately need Rhubarb in my life. It reminds me of North Dakota; genuine people, wind, richness amid poverty, pancakes.  I crave it. I think it should come in a pill.

When I was a kid my Mother would make potato pancakes.  If it were a special occasion she would serve them with Apple Sauce. I loved potato pancakes. They are also a part of me. Probably the the excess belly part of me.

Rhubarb is chopped, 

..with affection of course. Then I toss it with honey and lemon in a pot and cook it down to a sauce.

Meanwhile shred your russet potato...in doing this it occurs to me why we ate so many potato pancakes growing up...they are like loaves and fishes...when you don't hog the potato for yourself, you realize it can actually feed many.

I chopped some onion:...

Then toss the grated potato, chopped onion, an egg and salt and pepper...

...while I make a skillet hot...once the pan is hot drop your pancakes in.....

,,,just a few minutes here and flip over there to cook the pancakes...

..then plate up with that wonderful rhubarb sauce you created earlier...

  

 ...I added some bacon to make a completely inappropriate/appropriate meal...

It is Delish... and now is a part of me...something I will have to reveal...oie~~

. 

September 2 ~ Pick Me, Pick Me!

Someone recently posted a picture of me from my high school years on Facebook. And I was reminded of the oddities about myself. What makes me different and unusual. How those oddities make up the person I am. Part of the history of me.

When I was a baby I had peach fuzz that eventually grew into a vibrant auburn head of hair.  It stood out in every room, every landscape; like a Dr Pepper in a field of lemonade. To top it off I was speckled, like trout or hens. Freckles are a tough sell; it doesn't matter that they have nothing to do with Dodge Ball.

There is a puffiness about me face too; whether I drink vodka or not. Even when I was a buck twenty, my face was full and lacked definition.

When you are young these oddities cause you great emotional distress. Your chances of always being picked last, skipped over or run from all together are great and not exaggerated. And as you grow up that doesn't really change; but with age comes wisdom and now you understand it is the unfamiliar that people pick last, skip over and run from. Pied beauty can be scary.

My sort of, everydayish grocery store is Ingles. It is on my way home; they are renovating and I am always impressed with the choices  the store offers. It is a hard working grocery store. What I am unimpressed with at Ingles is that no matter what produce I am purchasing, the check out girl always has to ask, "what is this?"

"What are these?"

                     " Beets."

"These are?"

                     "Shallotts"

"Umm, Squash?"

                     "No, Rutabaga."

It is how every checkout session goes. On a side note, I am worried about the diet of the Madison County teenager.

The ignorance of the checkout girl notwithstanding; the produce section is a lot like life.

Everyone b-lines it to the broccoli and asparagus; the blondes and brunets of the produce world; or the zucchini and yellow squash, more variations there of, with long legs. There are the potatoes; Idaho = the 'about average'; Sweet = the 'athletic and toned'; fingerlings = the 'athletic & toned foodie'. On to the lettuces; Iceberg = manufactured home, Roman = Brick;  Mixed baby greens = Country Club living with Manicured Lawn.

You get the idea.

I suppose if I were produce I would be Rutabaga.

It has strange coloring, an uncooperative shape and is unfamiliar.  

But if you choose it, and take the time to peel away at the tough exterior...

...warm it till it softens a little, then add your own version of comfort (cream maybe), and joy (butter is always an option) ...

...you will end up with something unique, rich with texture, vibrant...

  

...that can accompany you through the  familiar (pan seared pork) and unfamiliar (Sherry Dijon Cream Sauce)...

   ...happenings that happen in this life.

I will see you in the produce department...the question is, where?

August 26th ~ Bacon Jam, 'Nuff Said!

There are few things in life you can count on to be true. Especially in an election year! But there is no denying that everything is better with Bacon. Or Bacon makes everything better which ever way you want to go, it is the Gospel Truth!

And to prove it, I have made Bacon Jam!

OK, not that kind of Jam...

THIS kind of Jam!!!

Where has this been all my life, indeed!

So I cook the 1 lb of bacon down, remove it from pan and set aside saving all meltdown for the rest of the goodies. I chopped two small onions, 1/2 of a red pepper that was labeled as a Serrano in the produce department but was rung up as a $4 organic pepper. It tasted unlike a Serrano and not worth $4 but I thought it could offer color and balance to the onion.Chopped 4 cloves of garlic too, added a shake or two of paprika, cayenne pepper, and black pepper, then about a a couple tablespoons of cider vinegar. 

All the recipes I found do some variation of brown sugar, bourbon and maple syrup. But I pulled out my own secret weapon...

  

  ...OH yeah! That is Fireball Cinnamon Whiskey!

I slow cook it all down then add the bacon back in. I let it simmer on low for another hour; all along tweaking the flavors.  

Then I take it off the heat and let it rest. After it has cooled a bit I put it in the blender.

...It is like a dream...

Life changer here folks! 

August 22 ~ In Hindsight...

So, I see where Bob's Small Town Grille is hiring a line cook, again. I didn't apply this time. He is getting specific, 'experienced' line cook; aka, Hey Red, Please Don't Apply, Again. (or "Ever Again" is how it makes me feel). Though I am confident, this 'restaurant' has no idea who I am.

Ya know, that is OK. What was I thinking anyway? A little under a year ago, I had this idea to change my life. I drove 10,000 miles shedding everything that was familiar; preparing myself for this new life. I have practiced my chopping, my sauteing, my braising, my grilling... every week. I have learned what depouillage, emincer, and fleurons mean, even if I don't really know how to say these words. I write about and I talk about it and I study it and I dream about it...but Bob is right. I have not experienced it.

I wish BSTG knew that he has nothing on Maude Fisher and Green Shutter Tearoom. And that there is nothing he can teach me or wish I would know that Maude didn't already teach when I was 13; she even prepared me for river rats in string bikinis and muddy trunks that can 'no class' your tiny cafe///we cooked on a wood stove there, so I couldn't get experience 'on the line'. BSTG  probably doesn't have anything on Judy Fountain who taught me how to run a station/section like my life depended on it. The proper way to clear a table; the pride of a properly bused set of tables; fully stocked station to pay off at the Dillard House Jr.. Those skills paid my bills through my 20's...all those restaurants later...

But other then yelling 'this gravy is cold', 'steak is over done', 'they ordered onion rings not baked potato'; I have no idea what it takes to be a line cook...at of end of the day I don't really want to be a line cook. I want to see you love food for its infinite gifts ~ nourishment, memories, creativity, thoughtfulness....

Maybe that is only possible at the Freckle Face Cafe?? Maybe it is only possible to see what you want by what you create for yourself. Maybe it isn't about having to be a part of something that is out there ..maybe it is about waiting for the right time to share a part of you...

August 19th ~ Pork Chops on a Stick

Years ago I was at the Kentucky State Fair in Louisville covering the World's Grand Championship Horse Show for an industry publication. The show is held in the storied Freedom Hall. The Fairgrounds are huge but because I was working I only got to see the parts that had to do with the Horse Show. It is a spectacular show by the way, if you are a horse enthusiast, or Shorts person in general. The only other thing I got to partake in at the show was the famous Pork Chop sandwich!

I have never been able to capture the perfection of this sandwich, but in honor of the 108th Kentucky State Fair going on now, I am making Grilled Pork Chops on a Stick and Corn on the Cob with scallion butter

Yum!

I found two nice boneless chops at the market.

Then rubbed them down in my favorite spices.

I used smoked paprika, garlic, red pepper, chili powder, brown sugar and some more secret stuff. I also first dipped in bourbon. 

Soak your corn, still in stalk, and then put on the grill. I put it on the top rack. About 15 minutes later, I put the chops on, after I have have pushed a water soak stick through the long part of the chop.

Once the corn is cooked, you can start the butter.

The butter is just chopped green onions, salt and cracked pepper.

Once the chops are grilled to your liking, let them stand for 5 minutes. Then plate up and you are immediately transported to your favorite Summer Fair! 

Enjoy!

   

August 8th ~ The Fullness of Empty

If you have followed my blogs for a while, then you know of the Little Grey House. If you have not, the Little Grey House is where I live and where Bortle family memories have been made for over 20 years. Our parents moved to this house once my siblings and I were all grown. It was meant to move my parents closer to my father's Dialysis treatment center when he was living and struggling. It became a place that has defined me. But that is for the memoir, not the blog.

Lately, a cluster of loved ones have been staying with me at the Little Grey House. They are in transition from one house to another. I have enjoyed it. There has been a steady flow of a sweaty 9 year old boy; 14 year old girl with a big singing voice and a small need for disorder, a funny, unorganized year 15 year old it girl and a grown up with the weight of the world sitting on those broad, capable shoulders. Oh and not to mention the calico cat who likes you to turn the faucet on low stream every morning; the silly red cat who likes to spread the kitty litter into the next room and the bunny who is beyond supper soft but doesn't like squash in any form.

Louie and I adjusted to the company ~ though me more then him. He doesn't understand the cats in the house and him outside, not to mention what the hell is a rabbit doing in the house, he chases those for kicks. He has had to adjust as have the visitors ~ New beds, new pillows, new stuffed animals, new rules, new layout; where will I sleep, where are the towels, I forgot my bunkie, Aunt Sharyn wants us to clean the bunny cage every day, do I have clean underwear?

Today however, the last of their items were loaded in the truck and the Little Grey House is again quite and empty. And as I watched the truck drive away I reflected, wiping away the 'miss you already' tears ~ I had lovely people to cook for; there was Rhubard Oatmeal; burger night, an awesome pasta night, trout and fresh vegys, and on and on. On this last day there was Grilled Cheese sandwiches and peanut butter smothered apple slices to send them on their way. 

I walked back into the house and it is eerily quite and wide opened. Yet when I listen closely I hear the laughter of the 9 yr old, the sobs of the 14 year old,  the gears shift on the 15 year old and the grown-up's sigh of comfort. And, I know instantly, like mac and cheese, this Little Grey House has done its Job.  

There is fullness all around me. I bump into plans, cry fests, inside jokes and warmth; there is little room for me and my nonsense. The Little Grey House is empty of possessions but FULL of Love, home cooked meals and, bunny food!! It is a beautiful (point of) view here at the Little Grey House...