I realized that the last entry may be misleading; as much as I love church cookbooks, I rarely consult any cookbooks when it comes to thinking of a specific meal or specific occasion, especially potlucks. As I mentioned, my most important consultation is what I might happen to have in the fridge and the cupboard at any moment. In the past fifteen years I have paged through so many cookbooks and cooking magazines (and, yes, watched so many hours of food television) that these days I am more likely to simply work with my impressions of dishes that simmer in the back of my head. Even when I do have a recipe to work with directly, I am an inveterate tinkerer in the kitchen, inevitably altering the recipe and even my given plan on most nights.
So, one of my other dishes for potluck this weekend was also an invention--and variation--of sorts.
---
Tamale Casserole
1 lb. ground turkey, browned
1/2 onion, diced and sauteed
1-2 bell peppers (any color), diced and sauteed slightly with the onion and turkey
1 15-oz. can of tomato sauce
1 15-oz. can of black beans, rinsed and drained
2-3 Tb. taco seasoning (to taste, depending on the brand you use)
Cook together and spread in the bottom of a 9x12 casserole. Top with 1/2 of a recipe of Basic Polenta, cooked, chilled, and sliced on top of the meat mixture. Top with 6 oz. cheese (montery jack is good; cheddar is usually what I have on hand). Bake at 350 for 30-45 minutes.
---
Variations
Had there been corn on hand, I would have included it (but there wasn't); had I been making it at home, I would have included some of our roasted Hatch green chile; sometimes I switch out black beans for pintos (or both, if there's more of a crowd); the recipe also adjusts well to a purely vegetarian offering, depending on the other veggies included (zucchini or summer squash works well with the peppers); and so you get the point.
---
This works well as a potluck dish also because it keeps well for leftovers, and since there's never any prediction about whether or not you might be taking home an empty dish or a largely full one, this is not an insignificant consideration.
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Monday, October 29, 2012
Church Cookbooks
Yesterday was a potluck at church--a celebration for Reformation Sunday, new members, and some recently married couples all rolled into one.
Have I mentioned that I love potluck? And church potlucks are my favorite.
I have fond recollections of dinners from my childhood in the Beech Wing Fellowship Hall with its grey asbestos tile floors and the cold, testy, noisy folding chairs. I remember the church family of my childhood in part through the dishes they could be depended upon to bring to potluck. Dishes that even seemed exotic to me (deviled eggs, casseroles with corn chips on top, and homemade baked beans).
Okay, so my childhood definition of exotic is weak, but I still look forward to sharing other people's cooking at church potluck. It helps that our congregation now has at least four or five folks who can be relied upon to bring homemade baked beans--and they're all good.
And when it's my turn to think of what to prepare for potluck, I consider what I have on hand (since the project seems counter to actually buying special ingredients for some reason) and what might be both like enough and different enough to find some space on the communal folding table.
For this potluck, I turned to one of my church cookbooks--an archive of church potlucks, if you will. This one, in particular, is my favorite: a treasure from Grandma B.'s church. It's a second edition, with the 1967 recipes included among the 1992 recipes. My copy is also amended by Grandma B. to include a few more recipes particular to the family that weren't included for the congregation. I love paging through to find the ones she included--some I wasn't even familiar with--and I also love recognizing the familiar names of her good friends. She and Grandpa B. missed being charter members of that congregation by only a matter of months, Dad told me, and she was a faithful and active there for the rest of her life.
One of my favorites out of this particular cookbook has none of the sentimental attachments of family or friendships. It's a 1992 recipe submitted by a family whose name I don't recognize. It has become one of my staples, both for potlucks and for other occasions, though; it's also a handy recipe for a dessert that doesn't require eggs. (Yes, I have a few cookie and bar recipes filed away that fill in otherwise hard-to-fill requirements that occasionally arise. For example, this is also one that can be made vegan by substituting margarine for the butter.)
---
Oatmeal Jam Bars
1 C. butter, melted
1 C. brown sugar, packed
1 1/2 C. flour
1 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. baking soda
3 C. oatmeal
Combine butter and brown sugar, thoroughly mix in dry ingredients, and combine oatmeal until thoroughly incorporated. Press 2/3 of the mixture in a greased 9x13 pan, top with 5 oz. of jam (strawberry is usually what I have on hand, but apricot is also quite good) whisked with 1/4 C. warm water, and crumble the remaining oatmeal mixture over the top. Bake at 400 degrees for 25-30 minutes, until thoroughly browned. Cool thoroughly before cutting, otherwise the bars tend to crumble.
Have I mentioned that I love potluck? And church potlucks are my favorite.
I have fond recollections of dinners from my childhood in the Beech Wing Fellowship Hall with its grey asbestos tile floors and the cold, testy, noisy folding chairs. I remember the church family of my childhood in part through the dishes they could be depended upon to bring to potluck. Dishes that even seemed exotic to me (deviled eggs, casseroles with corn chips on top, and homemade baked beans).
Okay, so my childhood definition of exotic is weak, but I still look forward to sharing other people's cooking at church potluck. It helps that our congregation now has at least four or five folks who can be relied upon to bring homemade baked beans--and they're all good.
And when it's my turn to think of what to prepare for potluck, I consider what I have on hand (since the project seems counter to actually buying special ingredients for some reason) and what might be both like enough and different enough to find some space on the communal folding table.
For this potluck, I turned to one of my church cookbooks--an archive of church potlucks, if you will. This one, in particular, is my favorite: a treasure from Grandma B.'s church. It's a second edition, with the 1967 recipes included among the 1992 recipes. My copy is also amended by Grandma B. to include a few more recipes particular to the family that weren't included for the congregation. I love paging through to find the ones she included--some I wasn't even familiar with--and I also love recognizing the familiar names of her good friends. She and Grandpa B. missed being charter members of that congregation by only a matter of months, Dad told me, and she was a faithful and active there for the rest of her life.
One of my favorites out of this particular cookbook has none of the sentimental attachments of family or friendships. It's a 1992 recipe submitted by a family whose name I don't recognize. It has become one of my staples, both for potlucks and for other occasions, though; it's also a handy recipe for a dessert that doesn't require eggs. (Yes, I have a few cookie and bar recipes filed away that fill in otherwise hard-to-fill requirements that occasionally arise. For example, this is also one that can be made vegan by substituting margarine for the butter.)
---
Oatmeal Jam Bars
1 C. butter, melted
1 C. brown sugar, packed
1 1/2 C. flour
1 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. baking soda
3 C. oatmeal
Combine butter and brown sugar, thoroughly mix in dry ingredients, and combine oatmeal until thoroughly incorporated. Press 2/3 of the mixture in a greased 9x13 pan, top with 5 oz. of jam (strawberry is usually what I have on hand, but apricot is also quite good) whisked with 1/4 C. warm water, and crumble the remaining oatmeal mixture over the top. Bake at 400 degrees for 25-30 minutes, until thoroughly browned. Cool thoroughly before cutting, otherwise the bars tend to crumble.
Friday, October 26, 2012
The Feast to Come
This week has been better than last, though I think in the recovery from last week, we're still feeling embattled. There's hope that the new year will be better, but it may be a bit of a slog until then.
Part of the recovery efforts have been food, of course. Over fall break I didn't bake cookies, but I did try this recipe with some squash we got from the CSA. We've also had lasagna cupcakes again (thanks to Auntie Mary for the idea!) and Asian Chicken Soup. Last night was turkey bratwurst with sweet and sour cabbage and roasted turnips, sweet potatoes, and red potatoes. I don't know what the plan is for tonight (Going out? Taking in? Something that won't dirty up the kitchen again?), but I know it helps--even heals--me to be able to sit around the table with my family and be well fed.
It's a shadowy glimpse some days, but I'm convinced nonetheless that it is a glimpse of the feast to come.
---
Asian Chicken Soup
6 C. water and appropriate amount of "Better than Bullion" or 6 C. chicken broth
1-2 cloves of garlic, minced or grated
1 tsp. powdered or 1 Tb. fresh grated ginger
1-2 carrots, peeled and chopped
1 C. cooked chicken (or diced and poached in the broth)
1 package rice vermicelli
Combine and simmer together until chicken is cooked, carrots are tender, and noodles are cooked.
Garnish with lime juice (fresh would be great, but I rarely have it), hot sauce (Frank's Red Hot is the sauce of choice at our house) and fresh cilantro.
---
Sweet and Sour Cabbage
Simmer together 1/4-1/2 C. cider vinegar, 3-4 Tb. sugar, 2 tsp. salt, and 1/3 C. water
add
1 head of purple cabbage, chopped (green works as well, but purple is prettier)
1 apple, peeled, cored, and chopped
Cook until cabbage is tender or until the rest of the dinner is ready (as little as 15 or 20 minutes and as much as an hour or more).
Part of the recovery efforts have been food, of course. Over fall break I didn't bake cookies, but I did try this recipe with some squash we got from the CSA. We've also had lasagna cupcakes again (thanks to Auntie Mary for the idea!) and Asian Chicken Soup. Last night was turkey bratwurst with sweet and sour cabbage and roasted turnips, sweet potatoes, and red potatoes. I don't know what the plan is for tonight (Going out? Taking in? Something that won't dirty up the kitchen again?), but I know it helps--even heals--me to be able to sit around the table with my family and be well fed.
It's a shadowy glimpse some days, but I'm convinced nonetheless that it is a glimpse of the feast to come.
---
Asian Chicken Soup
6 C. water and appropriate amount of "Better than Bullion" or 6 C. chicken broth
1-2 cloves of garlic, minced or grated
1 tsp. powdered or 1 Tb. fresh grated ginger
1-2 carrots, peeled and chopped
1 C. cooked chicken (or diced and poached in the broth)
1 package rice vermicelli
Combine and simmer together until chicken is cooked, carrots are tender, and noodles are cooked.
Garnish with lime juice (fresh would be great, but I rarely have it), hot sauce (Frank's Red Hot is the sauce of choice at our house) and fresh cilantro.
---
Sweet and Sour Cabbage
Simmer together 1/4-1/2 C. cider vinegar, 3-4 Tb. sugar, 2 tsp. salt, and 1/3 C. water
add
1 head of purple cabbage, chopped (green works as well, but purple is prettier)
1 apple, peeled, cored, and chopped
Cook until cabbage is tender or until the rest of the dinner is ready (as little as 15 or 20 minutes and as much as an hour or more).
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
We talked about food in class today . . .
and I'm not sure what my students thought of it. We read biblical narratives of hunger and feasting (including stories of the Israelites in the wilderness, Elijah and the widow, water into wine, the feeding of the five thousand, and the road to Emmaus.
But one of the things we talked about was our tendency to abstract these passages into spiritual metaphor without stopping to think about the ordinariness and reality of Actual Food.
The class meets at 12:00, and a number of my students have both 11:00 and 1:00 classes surrounding it; most days this means that as many as a third of my students go without lunch (though some of them bring food along with them--and I'm glad they do). And I confessed that most days I eat my lunch hurriedly at my desk while I prepare for the afternoon's classes.
But when faced with the biblical stories that suggest food is, in fact, important to our lives, how do we respond? How do these stories change our response (and responsibility) to food? And how does food change our understanding of the story of salvation?
If you're interested, these are the passages we read. Perhaps I'll come back to these questions again. In the meantime, there's a potluck at church this weekend, and I'm looking forward to it.
But one of the things we talked about was our tendency to abstract these passages into spiritual metaphor without stopping to think about the ordinariness and reality of Actual Food.
The class meets at 12:00, and a number of my students have both 11:00 and 1:00 classes surrounding it; most days this means that as many as a third of my students go without lunch (though some of them bring food along with them--and I'm glad they do). And I confessed that most days I eat my lunch hurriedly at my desk while I prepare for the afternoon's classes.
But when faced with the biblical stories that suggest food is, in fact, important to our lives, how do we respond? How do these stories change our response (and responsibility) to food? And how does food change our understanding of the story of salvation?
If you're interested, these are the passages we read. Perhaps I'll come back to these questions again. In the meantime, there's a potluck at church this weekend, and I'm looking forward to it.
Hunger and Feasting in the Bible
- Exodus 12-13, 16
- Numbers 11
- 1 Kings 17-18
- Matthew 14-15
- Mark 6, 8.1-21, 14.1-25
- Luke 9.7-20, 22.1-23, 24.13-49
- John 2. 1-12, 6
Friday, October 19, 2012
Taking a Break
This weekend will be a little longer for us, with our much-longed-for fall break (albeit with the accompanying due date for midterm grades). I'm hopeful for time to read something on my own, time to cook some more fall food, and time to recover my senses that seem to have been misplaced in the rush of the past few weeks.
This will also be our last week of the annual CSA subscription, though the farmers market will be open through the last Saturday in October. We'll be getting more storage vegetables (though the squash have already piled up), and now comes the time of seeing how long we can stretch the taste of our farmer-veggies into the winter. The first week of May is a long way off.
The impending break will also be a time to winterize the house, since once November hits, the possibility of winter weather is very real in our part of the world. This year, we even have a snowblower to prep!
Most of all, I'll spend a few days hunkered down near my teapot, perhaps with a batch of cookies on hand. Adding dried cranberries to the Oatmeal Chocolate Chip always makes for a great fall cookie, though pumpkin (or other squash) cake may also be the direction.
I'll let you know on Wednesday. It's time for a break.
This will also be our last week of the annual CSA subscription, though the farmers market will be open through the last Saturday in October. We'll be getting more storage vegetables (though the squash have already piled up), and now comes the time of seeing how long we can stretch the taste of our farmer-veggies into the winter. The first week of May is a long way off.
The impending break will also be a time to winterize the house, since once November hits, the possibility of winter weather is very real in our part of the world. This year, we even have a snowblower to prep!
Most of all, I'll spend a few days hunkered down near my teapot, perhaps with a batch of cookies on hand. Adding dried cranberries to the Oatmeal Chocolate Chip always makes for a great fall cookie, though pumpkin (or other squash) cake may also be the direction.
I'll let you know on Wednesday. It's time for a break.
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
Birthday Brownie Pudding
Jo's MorMor has been here for a fall visit, coinciding with her birthday, so last night we got to pause and celebrate. Jo has been rather obsessed with birthdays since her second birthday in May, when she realized the joy of cake and candles and presents and friends and singing all rolled into one event focused on her.
Most of the summer, Jo has randomly sung happy birthday to us, followed with the question, "What's your number?" (or, nearly as often, "What's your letter?" while meaning number, since she tells us her "letter" is "Two in May").
Auntie Mary (also been along for the visit) tended to the birthday dinner, and I contributed the requisite birthday Brownie Pudding.
While Matt loves cake, I am fondest of my MorMor's Brownie Pudding recipe and have requested it for my birthday nearly as long as I can remember. In high school, it came to the point that my friends would be expected to come for dinner on my birthday largely for the dessert, and I still have a dear friend who bids me happy birthday each year with the instructions to eat some Brownie Pudding for her.
So last night, filled with a lovely lasagna, we nevertheless tucked in to what always looks like an uneven gooey mess of chocolate. I balanced the candles in it precariously (since Jo insisted on helping MorMor blow out her candles), and we dished it up warm with vanilla ice cream.
I've seen a few other recipes that come close, but this is a classic that has remained a birthday tradition for our family.
It's always someone's birthday; try it sometime to share!
---
Brownie Pudding
Melt together 1 square unsweetened baking chocolate and 2 Tb. butter
Mix
1 C. flour
3/4 C. sugar
2 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. salt
1 tsp. vanilla
1/2 C. milk
Add melted chocolate and butter, mix thoroughly, and pour into a 9x12 baking dish.
Mix together 1/3 C. white sugar, 1/3 C. brown sugar, and 1/3 C. unsweetened baking cocoa and spread over the brownie batter. Pour 1 1/2 C. water over all.
Bake at 350 for 40-45 minutes.
Most of the summer, Jo has randomly sung happy birthday to us, followed with the question, "What's your number?" (or, nearly as often, "What's your letter?" while meaning number, since she tells us her "letter" is "Two in May").
Auntie Mary (also been along for the visit) tended to the birthday dinner, and I contributed the requisite birthday Brownie Pudding.
While Matt loves cake, I am fondest of my MorMor's Brownie Pudding recipe and have requested it for my birthday nearly as long as I can remember. In high school, it came to the point that my friends would be expected to come for dinner on my birthday largely for the dessert, and I still have a dear friend who bids me happy birthday each year with the instructions to eat some Brownie Pudding for her.
So last night, filled with a lovely lasagna, we nevertheless tucked in to what always looks like an uneven gooey mess of chocolate. I balanced the candles in it precariously (since Jo insisted on helping MorMor blow out her candles), and we dished it up warm with vanilla ice cream.
I've seen a few other recipes that come close, but this is a classic that has remained a birthday tradition for our family.
It's always someone's birthday; try it sometime to share!
---
Brownie Pudding
Melt together 1 square unsweetened baking chocolate and 2 Tb. butter
Mix
1 C. flour
3/4 C. sugar
2 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. salt
1 tsp. vanilla
1/2 C. milk
Add melted chocolate and butter, mix thoroughly, and pour into a 9x12 baking dish.
Mix together 1/3 C. white sugar, 1/3 C. brown sugar, and 1/3 C. unsweetened baking cocoa and spread over the brownie batter. Pour 1 1/2 C. water over all.
Bake at 350 for 40-45 minutes.
Monday, October 15, 2012
Grounded.
The weather is in the midst of turning--again. Where I live these days, that means not knowing from day to day if the woolens will be needed (sweaters and mittens and socks) or if the short sleeved t-shirts will be all we can handle.
This adjustment also means that while soup season is techincally in full swing (we had a lovely chicken stew after church yesterday), sometimes cooler food is in order. Summer's over, and fall is clearly here, but that only means that all of the bodies are in transition--the trees, the plants, the ground, and our own.
It's also midterm week, and all of the students and faculty are looking pretty frayed around the edges. One of my colleagues pulled an all-nighter grading session last night, and another bemoaned the fact that she didn't--and still has about a hundred left to go. We're all beat.
The exhaustion creeps in other ways, too, as we negotiate the steadiness of our lives interrupted by decisions and events (others' and our own) that move us to joy and frustration and pain and anticipation and excitement, turning (or returning) us to the source.
Paul Tillich often referred to God as "the ground of Being," and in our contemporary use, we often speak of being "grounded" in psychological as well as theological senses. When it comes to the fall, I think of groundedness also in terms of what our farmers market turns us to, as we see more root vegetables come out, stronger (and uglier) and weightier than the summer produce. We've come from the ground, the creation story tells us, and to it we'll return. In the meantime, the ground is where we live; it is the constant from which we can't easily separate ourselves.
In many ways, the recent days feel like they've returned me to the ground--in exhaustion, in rockiness, in steep climbs and sharp corners. But the ground is also the certainty and the absolute of what matters. God's presence isn't up above my head; it's the ground underneath my feet. And when I fall down, I'm even closer to it.
This adjustment also means that while soup season is techincally in full swing (we had a lovely chicken stew after church yesterday), sometimes cooler food is in order. Summer's over, and fall is clearly here, but that only means that all of the bodies are in transition--the trees, the plants, the ground, and our own.
It's also midterm week, and all of the students and faculty are looking pretty frayed around the edges. One of my colleagues pulled an all-nighter grading session last night, and another bemoaned the fact that she didn't--and still has about a hundred left to go. We're all beat.
The exhaustion creeps in other ways, too, as we negotiate the steadiness of our lives interrupted by decisions and events (others' and our own) that move us to joy and frustration and pain and anticipation and excitement, turning (or returning) us to the source.
Paul Tillich often referred to God as "the ground of Being," and in our contemporary use, we often speak of being "grounded" in psychological as well as theological senses. When it comes to the fall, I think of groundedness also in terms of what our farmers market turns us to, as we see more root vegetables come out, stronger (and uglier) and weightier than the summer produce. We've come from the ground, the creation story tells us, and to it we'll return. In the meantime, the ground is where we live; it is the constant from which we can't easily separate ourselves.
In many ways, the recent days feel like they've returned me to the ground--in exhaustion, in rockiness, in steep climbs and sharp corners. But the ground is also the certainty and the absolute of what matters. God's presence isn't up above my head; it's the ground underneath my feet. And when I fall down, I'm even closer to it.
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
I knew I was forgetting something.
To my credit, I did make it to all of my conferences today; I went to class. (I had even done the reading!) And I'm in the midst of a short break in the line of student conferences and recall that I didn't have a post scheduled for today.
My mind has been elsewhere lately, but I'm still hoping to keep this practice of blogging, since it calls me (even a bit late) from the distractions of so many other things.
I've been meal-planning today--for other events, for caterers. And what I've eaten has been my hastily packed lunch of random bits. (I decided a while ago that I don't often care for sandwiches, so my school lunches tend to be baggies of snack food in varying arrangements: today it was cherry tomatoes, cheese, two pieces of salami, some rye crackers, a box of raisins, and a yogurt. Random, yes, but I hit on at least most of the food groups.) Most of my school lunches are also haphazardly eaten at my desk, trying not to get cracker crumbs in my keyboard or yogurt on student papers. I'm largely successful, or at least I like to think I am.
Maybe this is why I do so often enjoy cooking on the weekend, when I have a proper amount of time to plan for it and to enjoy the process rather than hurridly putting together some of this and some of that.
Midweek dinners, especially this close to midterms, can be hit and miss at this point. We still eat at home, and I still cook most nights, but planning ahead for what we might be able to put together before everyone's blood sugar sinks into crankiness is not something I've pursued. My tastes change too easily with my mood to know a week (or more!) in advance what I'd like to make and eat for dinner.
My solution is a well stocked (if simply stocked) pantry of flexible ingredients and a willingness to prepare less-than-wonderfully-creative meals much of the time. With this, however, we manage pretty well most of the time.
For tonight? It's either leftovers or the old Pittsburgh staple of cabbage and noodles, with a little smoked turkey sausage thrown in for flavor. It'll get us through for now.
Unless I'm forgetting something.
My mind has been elsewhere lately, but I'm still hoping to keep this practice of blogging, since it calls me (even a bit late) from the distractions of so many other things.
I've been meal-planning today--for other events, for caterers. And what I've eaten has been my hastily packed lunch of random bits. (I decided a while ago that I don't often care for sandwiches, so my school lunches tend to be baggies of snack food in varying arrangements: today it was cherry tomatoes, cheese, two pieces of salami, some rye crackers, a box of raisins, and a yogurt. Random, yes, but I hit on at least most of the food groups.) Most of my school lunches are also haphazardly eaten at my desk, trying not to get cracker crumbs in my keyboard or yogurt on student papers. I'm largely successful, or at least I like to think I am.
Maybe this is why I do so often enjoy cooking on the weekend, when I have a proper amount of time to plan for it and to enjoy the process rather than hurridly putting together some of this and some of that.
Midweek dinners, especially this close to midterms, can be hit and miss at this point. We still eat at home, and I still cook most nights, but planning ahead for what we might be able to put together before everyone's blood sugar sinks into crankiness is not something I've pursued. My tastes change too easily with my mood to know a week (or more!) in advance what I'd like to make and eat for dinner.
My solution is a well stocked (if simply stocked) pantry of flexible ingredients and a willingness to prepare less-than-wonderfully-creative meals much of the time. With this, however, we manage pretty well most of the time.
For tonight? It's either leftovers or the old Pittsburgh staple of cabbage and noodles, with a little smoked turkey sausage thrown in for flavor. It'll get us through for now.
Unless I'm forgetting something.
Monday, October 8, 2012
A weekend list
- Tea
- Mittens
- Egg Bake
- Tomatoes, Cauliflower, Squash, Broccoli
- George the Monkey and Dora
- Cinnamon Bread
- Cheese
- Slippers
- Chicken Noodle Soup
- Blankies
- Tea
- Music
- Cookies
- Dishes
- Crock Pot
- Quilts
- Leaves
- Carrot Cake
- Dust
- Sweaters
- Agatha Christie
- Roast Pork
- Tea
Friday, October 5, 2012
Fall Food (I)
Indeed, the weather turned here this week, and this morning we all left the house wearing sweaters and jackets, the car spent the night in the garage, and the furnace-guy is coming for the annual cleaning and inspection this morning.
Perhaps this shift is one of the loveliest to me (though the first day of wearing no coat is also a remarkable thing in this part of the world), since it also ushers in the season of fall and winter food--known at our house as "soup season."
We have had one batch of chili already this fall, but so far no other soups. I've been planning a sausage-potato-kale soup, since we've had kale both from the church produce table and our CSA share, but most of the kale has been roasted and/or included with other dishes, so we haven't gotten around to it yet.
Yesterday we had a batch of Garam Masala stew, which is new to our repertoire of soups and stews just last year, but it quickly became a favorite. (It also is one of my myriad recipes that are variations on rice and beans.)
Cool mornings, bright days, and warm food. Happy fall!
---
(Made-up and probably inauthentic) Garam Masala Stew
(all amounts are approximate)
1 C. boneless chicken (or cooked chicken) (or optional, for vegan option)
2 C. tomato sauce (or crushed tomatoes or diced tomatoes--whatever you prefer)
1 sm. onion, sliced
2 sweet potatoes, in large chunks
1 can (rinsed and drained) garbanzo beans/chick peas
1/2 c. raisins
2 C. cauliflower, in large chunks
1-2 Tb. (to taste) Penzey's Garam Masala seasoning or 1/4-1/2 tsp. each of black pepper, cumin, cinnamon, cardamom, ginger, and cloves
1-2 tsp. salt (to taste)
Put all ingredients together in the crock pot for 4-8 hours depending on your crock pot and level. (If you use cooked chicken, reserve it until the end of the cooking.) Serve with basmati rice.
Perhaps this shift is one of the loveliest to me (though the first day of wearing no coat is also a remarkable thing in this part of the world), since it also ushers in the season of fall and winter food--known at our house as "soup season."
We have had one batch of chili already this fall, but so far no other soups. I've been planning a sausage-potato-kale soup, since we've had kale both from the church produce table and our CSA share, but most of the kale has been roasted and/or included with other dishes, so we haven't gotten around to it yet.
Yesterday we had a batch of Garam Masala stew, which is new to our repertoire of soups and stews just last year, but it quickly became a favorite. (It also is one of my myriad recipes that are variations on rice and beans.)
Cool mornings, bright days, and warm food. Happy fall!
---
(Made-up and probably inauthentic) Garam Masala Stew
(all amounts are approximate)
1 C. boneless chicken (or cooked chicken) (or optional, for vegan option)
2 C. tomato sauce (or crushed tomatoes or diced tomatoes--whatever you prefer)
1 sm. onion, sliced
2 sweet potatoes, in large chunks
1 can (rinsed and drained) garbanzo beans/chick peas
1/2 c. raisins
2 C. cauliflower, in large chunks
1-2 Tb. (to taste) Penzey's Garam Masala seasoning or 1/4-1/2 tsp. each of black pepper, cumin, cinnamon, cardamom, ginger, and cloves
1-2 tsp. salt (to taste)
Put all ingredients together in the crock pot for 4-8 hours depending on your crock pot and level. (If you use cooked chicken, reserve it until the end of the cooking.) Serve with basmati rice.
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
Trees (II)
It's October, and they're beautiful. In our new yard (we just moved to a new place in June), the front tree is glowing gold, and when I went out to rake this evening, Jo spread out in the pile of leaves as if a crinkly mattress.
We've had lovely days lately, though the weather is supposed to turn colder on Thursday. I'm still praying for rain, too--though the sunshine is bright on the reds and oranges. But as we drove north last week, the cornfields stood thirsty, and I know that the leaves are falling even faster than ususal because of the drought.
I don't know when rain will come, but there's faith. I don't know how deep the roots are on the trees that surround me, but they stretch down, far below the surface. There's faith, too.
I'm coming to believe that faith doesn't so much lift us up as pull us down, deeper into the places we live, deeper into the ground from which we were formed, closer to one another, to the stuff of our creation, and to the creator.
That's the only way trees stand, especially in drought times. Deeply rooted underneath and glowing in the sky above.
We've had lovely days lately, though the weather is supposed to turn colder on Thursday. I'm still praying for rain, too--though the sunshine is bright on the reds and oranges. But as we drove north last week, the cornfields stood thirsty, and I know that the leaves are falling even faster than ususal because of the drought.
I don't know when rain will come, but there's faith. I don't know how deep the roots are on the trees that surround me, but they stretch down, far below the surface. There's faith, too.
I'm coming to believe that faith doesn't so much lift us up as pull us down, deeper into the places we live, deeper into the ground from which we were formed, closer to one another, to the stuff of our creation, and to the creator.
That's the only way trees stand, especially in drought times. Deeply rooted underneath and glowing in the sky above.
Monday, October 1, 2012
Cookies at School
<Whew.>
How did it get to be October so fast?
While the term is going well, I do feel rather like the pace on the treadmill has been set much higher than I can functionally accomplish, without a clear sign of rest in sight.
We've had many good--even great--opportunities that contribute to this, including field trips, guest speakers, the local festival of books (with Sherman Alexie giving the keynote last Wednesday) and a classroom visit from one of the visiting authors. This week, the state Supreme Court is on campus, hearing arguments and deliberating in our Performing Arts Center. This means that I'm sharing my office for a few days with my displaced husband, whose office wing is shut down for the justices.
When Jonathan hiked upstairs with me to the English Department suite, he noted a few of the leftover cookies from the author's Friday afternoon talk. I had asked the department chair if there were budget funds for some treats, since it was something of a special event, so I got to order a tray of our catering department's fine cookies.
I did have to invite people to take the cookies, but many of them did make their way out of the classroom on Friday, and the visiting author even snagged an extra to take back during her book-signing afternoon. She was a delight, and I was pleased to meet someone unashamed to take an extra cookie for the road.
It's a small thing, but I'm glad to be able to offer hospitality, even in a stuffy classroom with ancient desks. Cookies manage to make it special.
I hope they bring some for the Supreme Court justices.
How did it get to be October so fast?
While the term is going well, I do feel rather like the pace on the treadmill has been set much higher than I can functionally accomplish, without a clear sign of rest in sight.
We've had many good--even great--opportunities that contribute to this, including field trips, guest speakers, the local festival of books (with Sherman Alexie giving the keynote last Wednesday) and a classroom visit from one of the visiting authors. This week, the state Supreme Court is on campus, hearing arguments and deliberating in our Performing Arts Center. This means that I'm sharing my office for a few days with my displaced husband, whose office wing is shut down for the justices.
When Jonathan hiked upstairs with me to the English Department suite, he noted a few of the leftover cookies from the author's Friday afternoon talk. I had asked the department chair if there were budget funds for some treats, since it was something of a special event, so I got to order a tray of our catering department's fine cookies.
I did have to invite people to take the cookies, but many of them did make their way out of the classroom on Friday, and the visiting author even snagged an extra to take back during her book-signing afternoon. She was a delight, and I was pleased to meet someone unashamed to take an extra cookie for the road.
It's a small thing, but I'm glad to be able to offer hospitality, even in a stuffy classroom with ancient desks. Cookies manage to make it special.
I hope they bring some for the Supreme Court justices.
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