Good Food, Bad Mood - Brooklyn Fried Chicken

I awoke in such a rotten mood that I hesitate to put any of my thoughts into print.  Some of it might have to do with the flea infestation we cannot seem to get rid of - yes, this is an old house and yes, I do have four dogs and one very pissed-off cat.  It may have something to do with the tasks I set for myself to do today, one of which involves studying a big packet of papers and forms sent to me by Human Resources regarding disability retirement.  It may have to do with the fact that the air potatoes have completely overtaken our hedges. There is also the inescapable fact that the new medication is not doing a damn thing to help me with depression, anxiety, and another other negative feelings that creep over me throughout the day.              

I have an ear worm.  I don't like it, I don't want it, but it's there.  The damn thing has so many verses it can go on forever, but this is the one that pinked me today:          

The sword of time will pierce our skins

It doesn't hurt when it begins
But as it works its way on in

The pain grows stronger...watch it grin ...             

The news, the news - as bad as ever.  I am choosing not to say anything about the whole Duggar situation, because if I start, my head will explode. I also have nothing to say about Bruce/Caitlyn Jenner, except: good luck. Politics - the only person who hasn't thrown their hat into the Republican ring is me, at least that's how it feels.  Besides, I'm a Rational Anarchist, not a Republican.  Everybody is picking on Hillary, and that sort of pisses me off, because I plan on voting for her.  Listen to me, peeps - most of what politicians say during campaigning is at best, aspirational, at worst, a bunch of bald-faced lies to get the vote.  The only thing that matters is what he or she does once they are in office; in other words, voting is a crapshoot.  I'm betting on Hillary; your mileage may vary.

One of my new hibiscus presented me with a lovely yellow bloom this morning. And we picked up  two window box-type containers for planting strawberries.  If I have any energy left after frying the chicken (and venting my spleen) I will work on those strawberries.      

And I will follow the advice of my good friends, get the paperwork done and move on to bigger and better things.  More vegetables in the garden, perhaps.  Go back to school for my psychology doctorate, eh, not likely. Become a caterer.  Ho ho ho. Anything but go back to a precarious health situation with  intolerable stress and into a courtroom where a bully sits on the bench.

So - we flea-bombed the upstairs and will now pray for blessed relief.  The chicken is done, golden-brown-and-delicious.  At least I hope it is delicious; it's not like I can actually eat any of it.  Oh hell, I did taste it.  It's delicious. Definitely worth three days and the price of a quart of buttermilk.  Let me give you that recipe before I veer off on yet another rant.

Frying the first side; always start skin-side down

You may wonder why this is called Brooklyn Fried Chicken.  Well.  I have no idea.  It needed a name, I'm from Brooklyn, and there you are.  My grandmother-who-raised-me never fried chicken.  Actually she never fried anything. except possibly an egg. Frying was verboten in our house, like seeking psychiatric help.  Frying something that had been breaded was not only verboten, it was a shanda, a terrible shame.

It may look messy, but it is totally mise en place and easy to clean up.

Once I moved down south - or at least to Florida, which is as south as most northerners ever go, I could not get enough fried chicken.  Forget KFC or Popeye's, I had discovered Publix and after 23 years, I still think they make the best commercial fried chicken.  But I was determined to master this down-home staple (not my home, that would have been a shanda) and I worked my way through different versions from different southern cooks.  It's not difficult, it's just messy.  Frying is messy, let's face it.  Oh, and my version takes three days, did I mention that?

Well-seasoned chicken

I use Montreal Chicken Seasoning. It works perfectly, and I've tried different blends and combinations.  Look at the label on a container of the seasoning and you will see a goodly combination of spice, salt, and herb, including the flavors of orange and lemon, which are crucial to a balanced bite.

Brooklyn Fried Chicken

1 whole chicken, cut up (about 10 pieces - I cut each breast in half)
Montreal Chicken Seasoning
1 quart low fat buttermilk
Crystal Hot Sauce
self-rising flour
canola oil for deep pan frying
1 pound chicken livers (totally optional)

Frying the second side

First, season the chicken generously with the Montreal Chicken Seasoning.  Place the chicken in an aluminum tin, cover with plastic wrap and then with aluminum foil.  Refrigerate overnight, 12 hours is good.

Next day, move the seasoned chicken carefully into a Jumbo (2.5 gallon) ziploc plastic freezer bag.  Set the bag into a baking dish or aluminum pan (in case of leaks or spills).  Pour in the entire quart of buttermilk and a good amount of Crystal hot sauce.  Just remember you want flavor, not fire.  Seal the bag and refrigerate for 24 hours.  Rotate the bag once or twice.

Once you are ready to fry, choose your burner and cover the rest of the stove top with aluminum foil. Lay some paper towels over the foil, careful to stay clear of the burner you will be using.  Fill an aluminum pan about halfway with the self-rising flour (there will be waste, sorry) and place it closest to your frying pan.  Don't season the flour.  Put the bag of marinated chicken next to the pan of flour. Lay metal cooling racks over the paper towels. (Scroll back up for the photo of the set-up).

Can you see the baby eggplant?

Now in your widest, deepest frying pan with straight sides (sometimes called a chicken fryer) pour in enough oil to reach one-third to halfway up the sides.  Over medium high heat, bring the oil up to 360 degrees.

Now, with your hand (or my preference, an extra long pair of tongs), remove the chicken from the marinade and coat it in the flour.  Don't worry about letting marinade drip off, and do let the chicken pick up a nice coat of flour.  Don't discard the marinade yet; just zip it closed and return it to the refrigerator Immediately add each coated piece to the hot oil (do this is batches, about four to a batch) and fry on each side until you have a gorgeous golden-brown crust on both sides.  If it seems that the oil is frying faster and hotter with later batches, lower it slightly.  With a slotted spatula, remove the fried chicken to the cooling racks.  Eat the chicken at whatever temperature you prefer.  The texture of the chicken will be divine, and you will be able to taste the different seasonings.

Gorgeous, delicious, Brooklyn Fried Chicken

Time to discuss those chicken livers.  We love chicken livers (except for Cory, who eats raw fish, eel, and ostrich).  I usually sauté them with onions, but I've been known to get in touch with my Jewish roots and whipped up a batch of gehakteh leber (chopped liver).  But Brooklyn Fried chicken livers are so good - how could they not be, they're fried? - it is worth firing up that pan one more time.  The best part is, you don't have to clean up in between.

Take a pound of fresh chicken livers, and rinse them in a colander under cold water.  Add them to the bag of reserved, refrigerated buttermilk marinade and put them back into the refrigerator for about two hours. Reheat the oil in the pan to 360 degrees, adding more oil as needed. Dredge the chicken livers in the flour, just as you did the chicken, and add them to the hot oil.  Fry 'em, rack 'em, snack on 'em.  If you don't care for chicken livers, just discard the marinade and the flour when you are done with the chicken.

Oh, and the answer to the question as to the identity of the actor who played the World Health Organization doctor in the movie World War Z?

Can't make these things up.  Peter Capaldi played the Doctor from W.H.O. No, really. The W.H.O. Doctor.  Ha ha, funny, yes?  Please tell me you get it.

Am Yisrael Chai

My neighbor's crape myrtle in bloom

If you are anti-Zionist, if you are a proponent of the BDS movement, if you think that Jews have horns in their heads and are Christ-killers, please move on to another website.  I have something to say, and I'm probably going to offend you.

If you think this is an accurate map of the Middle East, please move along

But first - I saw an article on CNN online that serves as a reminder that zombies are real, and a Zombie Apocalypse is not just Max Brooks' idea of a bad day.

"It’s the stuff of nightmares – a newly-discovered wasp that turns cockroaches into zombies.

The Ampulex Dementor, named after the terrifying soul-suckers from the “Harry Potter” movies, is one of a 139 new species discovered in Asia’s Mekong Delta in 2014, according to a World Wildlife Fund report." (Fox News)

I don't know what tickles me more ... the whole idea of zombie cockroaches (I lived in a NYC apartment building for 3 years and I thought I knew everything about cockroaches), or the fact that they were named for a group of characters from the Harry Potter series (books, not just the movies.  Don't people read anymore?)

For those of you that think the scientists who chose that name were being childish or irreverent, why don't you tell me the name of the prototype for the NASA Space Shuttles?

And now the question that is on all of our minds:  What happens when a Dementor Wasp stings a  human being?

Hmmm ... apparently all the zombies swarm to Israel.

One more silly question before I move on to the serious business of Israel: what was the name of the actor who portrayed the World Health Organization doctor in World War Z?  (If you guess right, you get - nothing, absolutely nothing.  Who do you think I am, the Pioneer Woman?)

Marinating chicken

The chicken is in the fridge, bathed in a quart of buttermilk and a couple of big glugs of Crystal Hot Sauce.  I should probably fry it tonight, but I don't have the energy.  I went to Walmart and bought strawberry plants and that knocked me out.  I didn't plant them, or the peppers, tomatoes, and jalapeño, and I sure as hell did not plant the two blueberry bushes.  Thank God for James and Linda and my husband, who makes my gardening dreams come true.

Now, back to Israel, both the country and the people.  A while back, I was actually "unfriended" by someone who had known me for many years, because I posted a number of pro-Israel statements on my Facebook page.  At the time, I told him I was sorry he felt that way, and let it go.  But now that I'm feeling a bit more free with my feelings, I just want to let him know, albeit belatedly, that I always knew he was an anti-semite, and he did me a big favor, both by leaving the United States and by "unfriending" me.  No surprise he moved to the most antisemitic country in Scandinavia. Knock yourself out, Nisseman.  Israel will thrive and survive long after both of us are dead.

Jalapeño plant

Another item that has gotten stuck in my craw is the so-called BDS - boycott, divestment and sanctions - movement that is very popular on certain college campuses, and with a number of corporations, countries, and other short-sighted organizations.  Let me make clear that anti-Zionism equates to anti-semitism.  The Nisseman used to play that game, but I wouldn't play that way.  Neither did the late Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., who is attributed with having said, "When people criticize Zionists, they mean Jews. You're talking anti-Semitism." 

More blueberries

If you are one of those people who are "talking anti-Semitism", two things - first, please read this quote from the late Jewish humorist, Sam Levenson:

"It's a free world.  You don’t have to like Jews, but if you don’t, I suggest that you boycott certain Jewish products like insulin, discovered by Dr. Minkoski; the vaccine for hepatitis, discovered by Baruch Blumberg; chlorhydrate for convulsions, discovered by Dr. J. Von Liebig; the Wassermann test for syphilis; streptomycin, discovered by Dr. Selman Abraham Waxman; the polio pill by Dr. Albert Sabin; and the polio vaccine by Dr. Jonas Salk."

"Good! Boycott! But humanitarianism requires that my people offer all these gifts to all the people of the world.  Fanaticism requires that all bigots accept diabetes, hepatitis, convulsions, syphilis, infectious diseases and infantile paralysis."

"You want to be mad? Be mad!  But I’m telling you, you ain’t going to feel so good."

Darth Kitten 

Oh, and the second thing?  Unfriend me, please.  And on your way out, kiss my tiny Jewish heiny.  Please.

The Priority of Tragedy

I spend a lot of time on checkout lines at the local Publix, Walmart, and BJs, and Waldbaum's long before that, and you know what that means - I read a lot of headlines from magazines and scandal sheets.  Don't laugh at me, you know you do the same exact thing.  Anyway, how can you avoid them?  They are the last thing you see before handing over your hard-earned cash (or sliding your debit card) for the cashier who is jaded from having seen it all.  I used to trust People magazine as the most accurate and least outrageous, but Time, Inc. must have fallen on hard times because People is now no better than Us Weekly.  Not quite National Enquirer.  Not yet, anyway.

First bloom from the new hibiscus at the front of the house

These days, I rely on the Internet if I want to read the news, because as I've previously mentioned, I am allergic to newsprint.  The best is the New York Times; everything else ranges from meh to feh.  It occurred to me this morning that Facebook has its own version of the scandal sheets, along the right-hand side of the computer and iPad screens.  Sometimes the headlines are indicative of important world events and are worthy of follow-up; others, not so much.  This morning, the juxtaposition of trending articles had me shaking my head in annoyance.

Trending

Manhattanhenge
Sunset aligns with New York City Street Grid For Second Day On Saturday (okay, big deal, I'm sure I've seen this numerous times in the past)

Kendall Jenner
Model Posts Photo Wearing Revealing Shorts On Instagram (this is news? She flashed a butt cheek? Or are we talking about - dare I say? - camel toe?  Shudder.)

Beau Biden
US Vice President's Son Dies From Brain Cancer at 46, Joe Biden Says  (This is news, real news, tragic news.  The Vice President has lost a child, and there is nothing worse.)

My question is, why wasn't Beau Biden's story mentioned first? He wasn't just the oldest child of the Vice President, he was a former Attorney General for the state of Delaware, an Iraqi War veteran, a candidate for governor of his state, a prosecutor who rightfully targeted pedophiles and child abusers.

So Kendall Jenner, one more spawn of that disgusting Kardashian clan, posted a picture of herself wearing a pair of Daisy Dukes, and that is "trending" news?

(If you clicked on the Kendall Jenner article first, please don't tell me.)

Some of the vegetables - Japanese eggplant, cucumber, zucchini, Roma tomato, and okra

I'm not cooking today.  That's the third day in a row, and I think it will take another two days before I undertake any serious cooking.  I actually had to do something today I hate to do - throw out spoiled food.  Damn, I hate to waste.  I should have looked to freeze the extras while they were still fresh, but I had too many aluminum pans stacked in the fridge and I lost track.

The remaining vegetables to be planted - red and green bell peppers, cherry tomato, and jalapeño 

I am having to restrain myself.  Cooking is therapeutic, and I'm missing my therapy sessions.  And there are things I really want to make:  Brooklyn Fried Chicken, My Mother's Meat Sauce, and Chili Rellenos.  I don't know where that last one popped up from, but it's there at the fringes of my cooking conscience, along with mussels steamed in a wine-garlic sauce.  If anything, I will start on the fried chicken, since it is a three day process.

Whole cut up chicken, seasoned with Montreal Chicken blend

Yes, three days.  One to allow the seasoning to penetrate the chicken flesh, the second day to marinate the chicken in a mixture of buttermilk and Crystal hot sauce, and the third to flour and pan fry that tasty bird.  And then maybe my guys will have eaten all or most of the existing food stash.  Hell, I'm holding back on that fried chicken until they do.

Although ... well, I have to admit I am in the middle of smoking a bologna ring in the oven, inspired by something we first had at Thompson Brothers BBQ in Smyrna, Georgia.  It's been a long time since we've taken a trip to the Atlanta area - or Savannah - or Little Rock ...

Blueberry bushes

In the meantime, we've been gardening.  No digging today - I done wore myself out yesterday - but we snagged two awesome blueberry bushes, so maybe tomorrow or the next day.  That goes for the peppers, jalapeno, and cherry tomatoes as well.  And that should just about wrap up our growing season - not bad for a late start.  I am proud of my little Victory Garden - next year, even better.

Blueberries on the bush

For whatever reason, my supervisor and I were unable to connect on Friday, so "that" discussion has not yet taken place.

No matter what, I know I am moving to the next phase of my life, but for the first time, I don't know what that is.

Sometimes You Feel Like A Nut - Almond Joy Yeast Bread

So ... I did manage to take the Strange Yeast Thing to the next stage in its evolution ... a proper, well-risen, frankly gorgeous, slightly sweet yeast bread that is really easy to make, and worth the wait to allow it to cool before slicing.

This is good lightly toasted and buttered

We have had to do so much work around the house lately, just a reminder that this baby is 90 years old, and at the time it was first constructed, there were no building codes nor sneaky little building inspectors snapping pictures with their iPhones and sending you nastygrams in the mail.  Okay, that hasn't happened for a very long time, thank Bast.  The whole damn house has had to be rewired, and the underground sprinkler reclaimed. Sod has been pulled up, and concrete has been fractured in pursuit of proper plumbing. And speaking of plumbing, let's not forget that it wasn't all that long ago when  Josephine the Plumber had to dig up a good part of the front lawn.  Nevertheless,  I love this old house in a way I did not love my other houses, because this house has character. It is imperfect, and that is something I understand all too well.

Speaking of imperfect, I think I lost more weight.  I don't always trust our scale, although I'm not sure why, or perhaps it is that I simply can't believe my weight continues to go down.  I'm sure there are many folks out there who envy me - there was a time I would have envied myself - but clearly, this is not a healthy situation.  Now I have spoken with several friends who also had the gastric bypass about the same time I did, and they have had various complications, some similar to mine.  Then there are a few others I am aware of who had the surgery, but did not lose nor keep off the weight. I wonder if anyone really knows why.

I still can't eat, but I had an oddly enjoyable day.  We went to Home Depot for a few more herbs and vegetables, and then I went home and played in the dirt.  I took breaks, I drank lots of water, I rearranged the herbs in a way that made sense to my obsessive-compulsive nature.  Towards the end,  I found myself telling off someone whom I dislike very much, all in my head, of course, and it was quite emotionally cleansing.  I used to do that quite a bit back when I rode the Long Island Railroad - so much time to kill between Jamaica and Ronkonkoma.  Felt good to pound this person's face into the dirt.  Positively therapeutic.

Waiting under the bread machine

Here's the bread recipe:

1 - 13.5 oz. can of unsweetened coconut milk plus enough water to bring it to 1 3/4 cups
1 - 9 oz. package Jiffy golden cake mix
3 cups bread flour
1/2 teaspoon coconut extract
1/2 teaspoon almond extract
4 tablespoons butter
2 1/2 teaspoons bread machine yeast
1/2 cup sweetened coconut
1/2 cup milk chocolate chips

Settings: Sweet, Light Crust

Always follow the bread machine manufacturer's directions for adding ingredients.  I added mine in the order I have them listed, adding even the chocolate at the very beginning.  This made it more like a bread and less like a cake.  If you prefer to add the chips when the machine's beeper tells you to do so, be my guest.  Just let me know how it comes out, okay?

Strange Yeast Thing - You Make My Heart Sing

1966 was a very good year.

All shall be revealed in the fullness of time

But before I get to that, today is Friday, May 29, and I would like to wish Happy Birthday to my Number Three Niece, Adina, and also to my dear old friend, the absolutely ageless Ron Friedman. And happy graduation day to Jane Wheeler; may you have a wonderful time at college.

I have often written how I am all about disco, that disco is not dead, that disco can never die (sort of like Captain Jack Harkness from "Torchwood". Inadvertently immortal. Until it is time for him to Face the Music, or the Face of Boe.)

Disco was born just as I hit my young adult years, and has followed me all the way to Incipient Old Age, but I really am a child of the sixties. Those were difficult times, both for me and the world in general.  My mother overdosed in 1960 and my grandmother finished losing what was left of her mind; the US officially entered the Vietnam war in 1961, and construction of the Berlin Wall began; I was adopted by my grandparents in 1962, entering the Interregnum of the Great and Terrible Secret; the Cuban Missile Crisis flared; the Cold War got downright frigid; I got my period on April 11, 1963, the beginning of a 40 year close acquaintance with endometriosis; President Kennedy was assassinated on November 22, 1963; by 1965 we had almost 200,000 troops in Vietnam and the mood of our country turns ugly; my brother was bar mitzvah'ed in 1967, after which my relationship with my grandmother goes into permanent decline; in 1968 Richard Nixon became President, and both Robert Kennedy and Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. are assassinated; in 1969 the Manson Family terrorized California.  And on May 4, 1970, four students at Kent State University were gunned down by the National Guard, related to the Guard being called onto campus because of Vietnam-era student protests.

This is not to say the sixties were totally without their charm.  True, those were the years of my adolescence, so they had to be heart-wrenchingly rotten - I think there's a law about that somewhere - but there were some moments that were wonderful.  Roger Maris hitting his 61st home run in 1961; Doctor Who starting in 1963, The Man from U.N.C.L.E in 1964, Star Trek in 1966; the Eagle lands on the Moon in 1969 and Neil Armstrong takes humanity's first step onto the surface; and of course, there was Woodstock. (No, I did not go. Seriously. I only knew one person from high school who went, and by that point she was already a pot-smoking, bra-burning hippie, and those were still pretty rare in the Lawrence High School of the sixties.) I met my friend Bethe Gochberg in 1968 at St. Joseph's Hospital in Far Rockaway, and a wonderful young teacher named Ronald Friedman in 1969.  And although I never dated in high school, and did not get invited to the Senior Prom, I had a fabulously busy social life attending Sweet Sixteen parties, Bar Mitzvahs, and even the occasional Bat Mitzvah.

And best of all was the music! Before disco but after Bobby Darin, there were the Beatles and the whole British Invasion, and it was fun.  So this song came out in 1966, by a group called the Troggs.  Not the Frogs, not even the Throgs (like the Throgs Neck Bridge).  Troggs, originally known as the Troglodytes.  Of course they were British.  But 1966 was the year that the American pop bands also showed their stuff, and it was all good - the Monkees, the Mamas and the Papas, the Supremes, the Fifth Dimension, Sonny and Cher - it was a very good year.  Like Frankie sang in '65. I never liked Frankie, but that song wasn't too bad.

Why did I get bitten by this particular ear worm?  Because of this damn (delicious) bread, which started out as a Strange Yeast Thing.  I had no hope that it would ever rise to become a loaf of bread, and so when it reached the third rise and still looked as unbreadlike as possible, I shut off the bread machine, repositioned the Strange Yeast thing so that it sat more evenly between the two kneading paddles, and restarted the machine on something called the Super Rapid setting.  What came out of that black box was more amazing than Paul Atriedes' unhurt hand.  The Bene Gesserit just had a nerve induction box; I have a West Bend 41410 horizontal loaf bread machine.  Much better.  This song from 1966 just makes the whole thing - well, perfect.

Wild thing, you make my heart sing
You make everything groovy, wild thing
Wild thing, I think I love you
But I wanna know for sure
Come on and hold me tight
I love you

You want the recipe, you say?  Oh, well so do I, except right now I only have a vague sense of how these ingredients turned into the Face of Boe, I mean the Strange Yeast Thing.  It's easier to explain how Captain Jack Harkness became the Face of Boe.

This is what I did - I make no guarantees, and I will be retesting it, but if you are feeling food-playful and just can't wait, here it goes:

I set my machine for the small - 1.5 lb. loaf - setting, with a light crust.  First I set it on "sweet", but then as I explained earlier, while it was on the third rise, I reset the whole thing on super quick and finished it that way.  For all I know, if I had left the machine running as is, the bread would still have come out the same.

1-11 oz. container non-dairy coconut milk (unsweetened)

2 tablespoons butter
1 cup yellow cake mix (I used Jiffy)
2 1/2 cups bread flour
(a couple of drops water)
2 teaspoons yeast
1/2 teaspoon coconut extract
generous 1/2 cup sweetened coconut

Add the ingredients in the order dictated by your particular bread machine. Add the sweetened coconut at the beginning, along with the other ingredients.

It never ceases to amaze me at how quickly my sense of well-being can tank.  Damn.

How Low Can You Go? - Sweet But Messy Turkey Legs (#TBT)

Great Googly Moogly, what the hell has happened to music?  Ludacris stealing Chubby Checker's cheerful lines appropriate for any bar mitzvah reception and turning them - or should I say twerking them - into a dirty piece of woman-shaming muck!  I'm not a prude - well, not a complete prude - and this really pisses me off.

Every limbo boy and girl
All around the limbo world
Gonna do the limbo rock
All around the limbo clock

Jack be limbo, Jack be quick
Jack go unda limbo stick
All around the limbo clock
Hey, let's do the limbo rock

Limbo lower now
Limbo lower now
How low can you go?

Apparently a lot lower than I could have imagined:

She can go lower than I ever really thought she could
Face down, ass up
The top of yo booty jigglin' out yo'jeans
Baby pull yo'pants up
I like it when I see you do it
Better than I ever seen it done before
A lot of women drop it to the ground
BUT, how low can you go

All this because I found myself starting to write about what a low point I felt I am at, and that led to that 1960's ear worm, except when I googled the damn phrase "how low can you go?" I got kicked into Ludacris speed and the 21st century, and yes, that is a Mel Brooks' reference.

I'm seeing red, but they've gone to plaid.

Okay, this is ridiculous - I have been really feeling bad all day, emotionally trashed, down in the dumps, the poster child for chronic depression, really serious, "thinking bad thoughts" sort of stuff.  Pain and aches, the usual. And that somehow leads me to this Ludacris POS and I don't know what the hell to think anymore.

Rob went to jiu jitsu class, and Cory is at work, and I just had to shut off the TV.  The news was driving me mad, and I was already halfway there. Physically - ah ha ha, we don't even speak about physically anymore.

I had it in my head for a couple of days that I wanted to roast a whole turkey.  When I finally got around to looking for one, I realized that it is damn near impossible to find an off-season turkey, even frozen.  I was in Walmart when I had that revelation, and I was already half way into an inexplicable panic attack, so I had to get out of there.  Yes, I walked out of Walmart empty handed.  Somebody take my temperature.  For some reason, I did not want to handle any food - produce, frozen, whatever - I could not bear the thought of getting my hands dirty.

I did attempt to bake another bread today, but it turned into such a bizarre thing, like Living Dead Yeast Creature, that I would prefer if we never speak of this again. Another day, another post without a recipe.  Oh, but wait! Hashtag TBT - and it really is Thursday - let me go back to the old blog, before the Dark Times, and see what I can find.

This is one of the recipes from the March 6, 2011 entry, and it goes along with my craving for turkey. I can't find the photo that goes with it, so I'll just post one of where I'd rather be this weekend.

Sweet But Messy Turkey Legs

Ingredients:
3 small turkey legs
garlic salt (with parsley)
lemon pepper
1 large Spanish onion, rough chop
2 medium carrots, cut crosswise into thirds, then lengthwise into sticks
1-14 oz. can whole berry cranberry sauce
1/2 can duck sauce (use the cranberry sauce can to measure the duck sauce)
1 tablespoon soy sauce

Sprinkle the turkey legs all over with the garlic salt and lemon pepper and set aside while you prepare the onions and carrots.  In a small (smaller rather than large) crockpot, put the onions and carrots in first.  Sprinkle a little bit of kosher salt over the vegetables.  Then add the turkey legs to the crockpot.  Combine the cranberry sauce, duck sauce and soy sauce, and pour over the contents of the crockpot.  Cover and cook on the low setting for eight hours.  Remove the lid, turn off the heat, and let the contents cool so the sauce will thicken.  I recommend serving this with mashed potatoes and a green vegetable like broccoli or Brussel sprouts.

How can such a tiny dog snore so loudly?  Chelsea is not only sawing wood, she's constructing a beach house in Melbourne.  There's that and one (or two) more reasons why I don't fall to sleep easily at night.

I had to wait up for the Strange Yeast Thing to finish baking, so I was lucky enough to run into Cory, who was back from work and assembling a plate of food (Cory eats on Korean Standard Time).  I don't know how, but he had me in stitches - I haven't laughed that hard in a very long time.  I didn't even mind the Strange Yeast Thing as much, and while I wasn't ready to whack off a slice and ingest it, I did ask Cory to take a picture.  I will post it in the fullness of time.

Chelsea's Excellent Adventure

Wednesday - I got so confused I thought it was Thursday and Jane was graduating on Saturday.  Good thing I ran into her dad at the office, so he could tell me today was Wednesday and Jane was graduating on Friday. Which means I go to see the vampires on Thursday - tomorrow morning - and hopefully will get to chat with my supervisor on Friday morning.  If this makes sense to you, you may be spending far too much time with me and my blog.  Just kidding.

Today Chelsea had an Excellent Adventure - I promised her she could pick out a new collar - and that meant a trip to the new Petsmart near the new Hobby Lobby.  Prime location, yes indeed.  But first James and I consulted regarding the placement of herbs and vegetables.  I pointed, he dug. James is the best.  I still want to pick up a few more plants - maybe lavender, some chives, another tomato plant, another squash.  We'll see. In the middle of everything we are having to readjust the underground sprinklers, which is part of the reason we had to move some of the plants.  It's all good.

Back to Chelsea - of course I couldn't just get her a collar.

Well, I did cook today - bake, actually, in the bread machine.  My favorite white bread, good for sandwiches.  Not that I can eat a sandwich.  Or much of anything else.

Thursday, I went to the vampires and gave more blood.  As I noted on Facebook, I am the Human Pincushion and Marvel should give me my own TV show.  Stan Lee, are you reading this?

Guess not.  Have a good day, folks.

Slow Down, You Move Too Fast (Feeling Snarky)

I know where I am, but nothing looks familiar.  It's been that kind of a day.  I took Chelsea for a ride in the car.  She napped, I tried to clear my head. Score, Chelsea-1, Mommy-0.

Best joke ever - I got a letter today, dated May 21, advising me that my FMLA request has been approved from March 2 to May 22.  Yes, I know today is May 26.  I am still in the middle of lab tests, and my "new" medication is still not giving me the desired relief from depression and anxiety.  My doctor would have to complete a form declaring me fit to return to work.  Not sure how he may feel about that, and quite honestly, he's not the only doctor involved in this mess that I call a life.

I also received a packet containing all the forms I need to begin the disability retirement process.  When I feel okay - which is generally for a couple of hours most days - I think it would be good to go back to work. When the golden moment passes, I think - who the hell am I kidding?

I probably should set a time to meet with my direct supervisor and eventually the managing attorney, to discuss our mutual expectations were I to return, but you know what?  I'm still terrified to walk into that building.

Second best joke ever - (oh Google, how I love thee!)  I found this quote in a candidate's statement to the League of Women Voters: "The courtroom should be free of intimidation, emotional instability, judicial whim, pettiness and ridicule."  Why is this so very funny?  You can figure that out, folks. And that is the other problem I have to consider along with all the symptoms of chronic pain syndrome and depression - the deep, dark kind that reminds you of a Brooklyn blackout cake from Ebinger's, just not as sweet. Depression and I have been sharing a bed since I was around seven years old, and it always steals the covers.  Consequently, we are not on good terms. And depression, like fibromyalgia, always wins.  Damn.

The problem with entering your sixties is that you finally have most of the knowledge and wisdom you thought you were going to get the morning you turned twenty-one, which casts great shadows on decisions you made in your forties and fifties.  So now you are filled with doubts and regrets that will haunt you to the end of your days.  Woulda, shoulda, coulda.

The other problem with entering your sixties is that you reasonably expect a certain degree of respect arising from your (slightly) advanced age, and all that knowledge and wisdom stuff I wrote about in the other sentence. So when someone goes out of their way to be disrespectful, it's bad. Because now you've got doubts, regrets, anger, and righteous indignation.

Add that to the basic fact that while "God makes no mistakes", at least according to Lady Gaga,  He does create us humans for planned obsolescence, so by the time you hit your sixties, you've got aches and pains somewhere, maybe even a couple of somewheres. Which makes you cranky, and grouchy, and pissed off because you are being disrespected by someone who should know better, your back hurts most of the time, and you have no patience for this kind of crap. Fortunately, Karma is a patient dude.

No recipes today, kids.  I want to savor the Cavalier's 4-0 sweep of the Atlanta Hawks.  New Eastern Conference Champions - now I just want to see Golden State finish off the Houston Rockets.  Sorry, Dwight - no, not really.

To quote Walter Cronkite, and that's the way it is.

Finally, a photo that popped up on Facebook - three years ago today.  The last time I saw her.  My childhood friend, my confidante, my conscience.  I thought we would grow old together, but God had other plans.

Some Gave All ... Italian Broccoli and Pepper Jack Chicken Stacks

Monday - Today is Memorial Day.  What can I say that hasn't been said? God bless America, and every service person who gave their lives so that we could continue to live free.

Chelsea having a lavender-scented doggie soak

Sunday was all about shopping for a dish which did not get made, at least not yesterday - and Hoppin' John (what is a nice Jewish girl from Brooklyn doing cooking Hoppin' John?) - and taking care of my little princess, Chelsea Rose, in our never-ending quest to get her some relief from those horrible fleas, and that involved additional shaving and trimming and soaking and bathing and combing, and she's so tiny it hurts to see her go through it.

It's also about watching the Eastern Conference Finals; Cleveland ahead of Atlanta by 2 games, and let's go Cleveland.  Sue me, I like Lebron.

Basil, sweet mint, Gtreek oregano; thyme, Thai basil, sage; Italian oregano, rosemary

And it was about checking on my newly-planted herbs and planning on where was the best place to plant the okra, cucumber, zucchini, Roma tomato, and Japanese eggplant.  This is a brand-new experience for me, and I'm having fun, thanks to my husband, who listened to me talk about an urban garden and ran with it.

Monday is about learning to work with the polenta, and that's where I am now, having overslept dramatically because of the medication I took at 4 AM to give me some relief from a bout of insane itching that almost had me in tears.  This polenta comes all prepared, in a tube, neatly sliceable.  I did some research online and found that this was a product well-thought of by many home cooks, easy to prepare - slice and sauté.

I never had polenta or grits until I moved south.  I'm still not thrilled with grits, but I've had some creamy polenta preparations that were pretty awesome. This solidified polenta is a whole new experience.

But before I even get there - I am having a sad day.  Can't get passed the sadness.  Can't eat, can't swallow liquids easily.  Just a crap day.  And tomorrow I have - wait for it - another lab test.  Nothing to eat after midnight. Well, that shouldn't be a problem for me. And then there's my weekly chat with the therapist.

So to go with the pretty Italian style stacks I just invented, I am making some Italian broccoli.  Mostly my grandmother's recipe.

Italian Broccoli

2-3 tablespoons olive oil (garlic, if you have some)
1 -10 oz. frozen block broccoli spears
lemon zest, to taste
2-4 cloves fresh garlic chopped
fresh Greek oregano, to taste, chopped

Put the ingredients in a small pan in the order given.  Turn the heat on high.  Once you can hear the oil sizzling, lower the heat to medium-low and cover the pan. Check it occasionally and rearrange the broccoli stalks.  Don't do what I did, which is to forget about the broccoli while I was building those stacks.  Broccoli is now overdone but delicious.  However, if you are the kind of person who eats with your eyes first, you will probably pass right by the broccoli - your loss, more for me. <insert smilie face>

Now about those stacks - easy, but time consuming.  They do make a very pretty presentation, but I must warn you, each of these is a big portion.  That pepper jack cheese was spicier than I anticipated, and while Rob loved it, there is no shame in making some of them with regular mozzarella or provolone.

Pepper Jack Chicken Stacks

1-45 oz. jar prepared sauce (I used Ragu chunky vegetable)
10 frozen chicken patties (I used Tyson, but Perdue is also good)
10 frozen eggplant cutlets (I use Michaelangelo brand)
1-16 oz. roll prepared polenta, basil and oregano flavored, cut into 10 slices
Wondra flour
canola oil for cooking

Dust the polenta slices with Wondra flour. In a skillet, heat about 2 tablespoons oil then cook the polenta on each side until golden brown. Set aside. Add a little more oil, and cook the eggplant slices as directed on the package.  Set aside. While cooking the polenta and eggplant, cook the chicken patties in the oven according to package directions.

Combine the ricotta mixture:

1-15 oz. container whole milk ricotta

1 egg yolk

kosher salt and ground black pepper
fresh flat-leaf parsley, chopped
1 cup shredded mozzarella

Construct the stacks:

sauce just to cover bottom of 2 pans
chicken pattie
sauce
ricotta
polenta
sauce
ricotta
eggplant
sauce (be generous)
ricotta
pepper jack sliced cheese

Now add some water to whatever sauce is left in the bottle and shake well.  Carefully pour the diluted sauce around the stacks to keep the bottom of the pan moist.  Probably best to do this just before you put on the pepper jack cheese.

Bake at 350 degrees for 30-40 minutes intil the cheese is melted over the stack.

Next time, I may leave out the polenta layer.  It was good; my tasters just aren't sure it added anything to the dish since there was already so much going on.