Brundlefly Broccoli and Maleficent Mushrooms - Just One of Those Crazy Things

NERD ALERT - I got goofy while writing this, and it is full of geeky references and puns.  I'm not going to point them all out.  Spoilers.

Before yesterday's storm, I noticed two gorgeous mushrooms which had popped up through the mulch around one of the front hibiscus. Very attractive, and completely poisonous.  I wouldn't even touch them with my bare hands.

How do I know they are poisonous?  The shape, a parasol.  Pernicious parasols, bitter bumbershoots, sinister sunshades.

Soil and green

Going to try something different in my garden.  I've already decided that next year the herbs will be planted in over-the-rail window boxes, like I've done with the strawberry plants.  Of course, after the rainstorm we endured late Tuesday afternoon, there may be no garden left to worry about this year.  Why do I have a terrible feeling that all of the seeds I planted the other day have floated away?  Could it have anything to do with the fact that it rained just as much today?

So nice and even and dry.  Especially dry.

Oy, so I went out and checked the damage ... and damaged it is.  The rain must have come in almost horizontally and washed all the soil from the front to the back.  This exposed the roots of all the established plants in the front row.  Not too bad, and when (if) the soil dries out, I can rake it forward and cover the roots.  The leaves, though - the ones that haven't been chewed on by marauding insects on a feeding frenzy have been shredded by wind whipping and/or buried in a mudslide.  I shouldn't complain. really - a little sunshine, and everything will be - well, as right as rain. (Sorry, sorry, I couldn't stop myself.  I got caught in the matrix and you know, girls just want to make puns.)

But the seeded patches - oh boy, I was wrong - those seeds didn't wash away - they washed together.  They comingled.  They did the hokey-pokey and they turned themselves around. Think of the carrot seeds as Dan Ackroyd and the onion seeds as Eddie Murphy in "Trading Places", or as strangers in a strange land.  It's as if the carrots have taken adverse possession of the onions' property.  Vegetarian squatters. I also don't know what to expect from the broccoli seeds I planted to the back of the blueberry bushes.  With dry air and sun, should I expect blue humanoid plants to sprout or something worse? This is like very bad science fiction - Jeff Goldblum goes into the transporter device and Brundlefly comes out.

Nobody told me that growing food could be so much fun.  Or so mysterious.  I promise to take pictures.

Beautiful flat leaf parsley rescued, I mean harvested, from my garden for use in the lasagna cheese filling.  I had to soak them in a sinkful of water to dislodge all the dirt, like you would do with leeks.

From the "Baby Gotta Bitch" Department:  The implications of my new prescriptions are very hard to accept.  Gotta work on that, over time, with professional guidance.  Yesterday the psychiatrist, today the therapist.  I've been spending too much time wondering why I'm spending so much time in their offices.  If you worry too much about your mental and emotional health, you could drive yourself crazy.  Ask me how I know.

Anakin and Chelsea - they share their food and their sleeping space

I woke up with a modicum of energy; I think I spent it wisely.  My moods may be occasionally disordered, but it was cheerful this morning when I woke up to the sight of cat and dog, living together, not the slightest hint of mass hysteria.  I made quite a bit of progress on the lasagna rolls.  I drove to Orlando for my appointment.  I went to Toojay's and picked up tongue, pastrami, chopped liver ... you know, the important things.

At this point, I could finish preparing the lasagna rolls, take some more pictures and wrap it up, but something is telling me that would be pushing it, whatever "it" is.  If you were planning on making this recipe, wait until tomorrow when I give the final instructions, or prepare the meat sauce and/or the cheese filling, and refrigerate until tomorrow.

Lasagna Cheese Filling:
2 pounds whole milk ricotta cheese
1-8 oz. pouch shredded mozzarella
1 cup freshly grated Parmigiano Reggiano cheese
2 tablespoons grated Pecorino Romano cheese
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1 teaspoon coarse black pepper    
   

                                                                                                 
2 extra large eggs
2-3 tablespoons chopped fresh flat leaf parsley
pinch of cayenne pepper

Combine all ingredients, cover and refrigerate until ready to form the rolls.

The Noodles:
12-14 ruffle-edged uncooked lasagna noodles

In a very large pot of boiling water, to which a tablespoon of kosher salt and a teaspoon of olive oil has been added, cook the lasagna noodles, for 8 minutes once the water comes back to a boil.  I do this in batches of 6 to 7 noodles, so they do not stick to each other.  Rinse under cool water and then lay each noodle on a flat surface.  I cover part of the counter with - you guessed it - aluminum foil, which I have brushed with a small amount of olive oil.

Additional Filling:
1 package miniature pepperoni slices
1-8 oz. box button mushrooms (from the store, not your lawn), quartered and slowly cooked in a small amount of garlic extra virgin olive oil.  Season the mushrooms with a lot of black pepper.  I prepared these several days ago and stored them in the fridge.

One perfect lasagna roll.  All shall be revealed in the fullness of time.

A Quick Trip to Tatooine

I have to rethink tattoos. I really, truly don't like them, but I don't dislike them as much as I used to. That is an opinion which arises from the times and generation in which I was raised. I was born just seven years after the end of World War II.  My grandparents told me not to stare at anyone who had numbers tattooed on their arm, and why.  I think you get it.

Of course I am hopelessly behind the times. Ink is becoming very acceptable even among professionals, who for the most part are discreet as to placement and display.  However, I absolutely loathe seeing a chef with tattoos all over his arms and hands.  It looks, to me anyway, like his hands are always dirty.  Unfortunately I've seen quite a few overly-inked chefs on Food Network.

Yes you, Aaron Sanchez

                                                   

I also dislike excessive ink on basketball players, but I'm not going to argue the point with Lebron James or Chris Andersen, AKA Birdman. They're very tall, I'm sort of small, whatever, dudes, that's never going to be my battle.  The Birdman is doing some sort of PETA promotion that proclaims "Ink, Not Mink."  I guess that makes tattooing a worthy cause.  It doesn't help me figure out what to do with my mother's mink coat.  I'm still not getting a tattoo, and I'm definitely not wearing the damn coat.

A couple of years ago, I actually considered getting a tattoo on my left wrist.  I envisioned it being very thin and delicate, somehow incorporating the names or initials of my husband and son in our individual birthstone colors. I got over that, and about that time, I started making and wearing my own Pandora bracelet knock-offs.  Chicken, I am.  Afraid of pain, I be.

I admit to being traumatized by a tramp stamp that I saw while waiting for my lunch at a fast food restaurant some months back.   With my appetite the way it is, this tattoo was the absolute last thing I needed to see.  Not only did I lose what little appetite I did have, I haven't gone back to Zaxby's since then.

I still have nightmares

Having said all that, I am humbled and impressed by those women who have had to have mastectomies but somehow find the strength to have beautiful tattoos over that part of their chest that has been ravaged by surgery, radiation, and chemo.  Here is the link to the article - warning: while the artwork is beautiful, some people may find the pictures disturbing or even inappropriate (women's bare chests, you know. I could tell you to grow up, but that would be pointless).

I will post this picture - it went viral a while ago, and for all you prudes, there is nothing to see but beautifully crafted ink.  This woman had a double mastectomy, and I am learning that not everyone wants breast reconstruction.  This kind of ink would not have been my choice if my results had come back differently, but I can see the physical and emotional beauty.

Today is already a lousy day.  I have to shlep to SODO to chat with my psychiatrist, to tell her that after 6 weeks, the new medication is not working.  This is not likely to be a happy conversation.  And then there are the lasagna roulades.  Two days ago, I shopped for the ingredients. Yesterday, I prepared the meat sauce.  I would like to be able to finish the dish today, but as I've been feeling lately, I doubt I have the energy to make the cheese filling, much less boil the noodles.  But hope springs eternal.  At this rate the lasagna will be done in time for Christmas.  And I don't celebrate Christmas.

The last few days have been about pain and fatigue.  I am eternally grateful that Robert was available yesterday to drive me to the Dr. Phillips area so I could pick up a prescription.  Today, however, I am on my own. The head is not working too well, but I'm not going to press the issue.

"Good psychiatry only happens when the patient gets to the point of deciding to take responsibility for their own choices."  Hmm.  That's what it says on the framed and matted sign above the receptionist's window in my doctor's office.  I always look at it, and it always means something different to me.  Today it means I have to be truthful, about important stuff.  That may explain the panic attack that keeps spiking.

National Examiner headline: "Who's Gay. Who's Not?" (Who Cares???)  I went to a Publix in SODO, I found the miniature pepperoni slices and shredded mozzarella that I needed, and bought myself a good-looking candy bar.  Even in the express lane, I had time to scan the headlines. Mirabile visu, there was NOTHING about Caitlyn Jenner, and "the Duggars are going to the penitentiary." I wonder if the local prosecutor is aware of this.

At the end of a long day, I have two new prescriptions, a whole lot of new concerns about side effects, and no lasagna rolls.  I did however grate a lot of fresh parm and made decisions regarding things like bechamel sauce and basil leaves.  I have another medical-type appointment tomorrow, and I only hope I can stand long enough to finish the lasagna rolls.  I also hope today's rainstorm did not wash out my herb garden, yet again.

Fear is still the mind-killer.  Crap.

From Brooklyn, With Love - Mom's Spaghetti Sauce I

The Cleveland Cavaliers won the second game of the NBA Finals last night in overtime.  Each team has won one game.  Whoo Hoo, way to go Lebron!

Indiana Jones of Dog Dynasty 

My grandmother made the best Italian meat sauce in Brooklyn - heck, not just Brooklyn, but in the whole world, including Italy. I mean no disrespect to your own nonna or bubbe, but that's just the way it is.  How good was my grandma's sauce?  So good, I liked to eat it without the spaghetti. So good that a wooden spoon would stand up straight in the pot.  It was thick, rich, with a flavor that would bring tears of my joy to my eyes.

More Duck Dynasty

She claimed - and for once, I had no reason to doubt her veracity - that she had been given this recipe by an Italian neighbor lady, before I was born, and while she and Pop were living on Avenue D in Brooklyn.  This was a Big Deal, you understand - Italian mamas and nonnas did NOT give out their precious recipes to anyone, and certainly not to the Jewish lady next door.  But, my grandma could be charming when she wasn't being crazy, and we have all benefitted from her infrequent bouts of sanity.

Romeo, part of the Dog Dynasty

Before I go any further - today's ear worm is courtesy of Bond, James Bond.  I'm never sure why these things pop up, but this one has been chasing me around the kitchen all morning.

This is the end
Hold your breath and count to ten
Feel the earth move and then
Hear my heart burst again

For this is the end
I've drowned and dreamt this moment
So overdue I owe them
Swept away, I'm stolen

Let the sky fall
When it crumbles
We will stand tall
Face it all together

In case you were wondering, my favorite Bond has been and always will be Sean Connery.  I think you can tell a lot about a person by learning who is their favorite Bond ... or their favorite Doctor.  The Ninth.  I know, I'm a head case.

My plans for the meat sauce, once I get past eating the first bowl with a soup spoon, no pasta - is to makes lasagna roulades.  You know, lasagna noodles rolled around a filling which should include ricotta cheese.  My grandmother never made lasagna, rolled or otherwise.  Meat sauce went on spaghetti while white clam sauce went on linguine.  That's the way the world worked in the fifties and sixties.  Those were simpler times, at least regarding food.  Me, I'm a complicated cook.  Twenty-eight different versions of meatloaf and not one of them is as good as my grandmother's.

Woody, the Big Dog of the Dog Dynasty

Regarding other things, the fifties and sixties were anything but simple. We had three assassinations, including a President, Brown v. Board of Education, passage of the Civil Rights Act of 1964, the escalation of the Vietnam War, the Watts Riots, Richard Nixon, and the Moon landing. Apparently the Moon really is a harsh mistress because we haven't been back since 1972.

Chelsea Rose, reigning Princess of Dog Dynasty

Mom's Spaghetti Sauce I

2-3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil, with roasted garlic if you got it
2 large chopped onions

2 large cloves fresh garlic, sliced thin
2 1/2 pounds ground beef (I use Publix Market Beef)
2 large cans tomato puree
2 large (28 oz.) cans Italian plum tomatoes (San Marzano if you can get them)
2 large (12 oz.) cans Contadina tomato paste
water
2 tablespoons sugar
1 tablespoon salt
2 teaspoons coarse black pepper
2 teaspoons granulated garlic

1 tablespoon dried oregano
1 tablespoon dried sweet basil
1 tablespoon fresh oregano, chopped
1 tablespoon fresh basil, chopped

In a large deep pot, add the onion to the oil.  Season the onion lightly with salt, pepper, and granulated garlic (this is in addition to the amounts listed with the ingredients).  Cook the onion for about five minutes till tender, then add the garlic and cook two or three minutes more.  Now add the beef, and break it up with the wooden spoon until it is fully browned (no remaining pink).

Add all of the remaining ingredients, except for the fresh oregano and fresh basil.

Stirring frequently, bring the sauce to a boil over medium heat (take your time with this, then cover the pot, turn the heat to low to maintain a simmer, and cook for 1 1/2 hours.  Stir every half hour, and always replace the cover.

If the sauce is becoming too thick, thin it with a small amount of water that has been added to the cans of tomato products and swished around.

During the last 15 minutes of cooking, add the fresh herbs, and do any reseasoning.  If you don't have fresh herbs, use a teaspoon each of the dried stuff, adding for the last half hour of cooking.        

From my garden, three types of oregano, and sweet basil

This makes a lot, it goes good with any kind of pasta dish, stuffed or not, and it freezes well.

Midnight in the Garden of Fried Green Tomatoes

I love Savannah.  It is one of my favorite cities, full of shops and restaurants and beautiful parks, those unique squares, and the most incredible collection of architecture.  I truly cannot remember how many times we have stayed there (although if I checked my Marriott account, it would list each and every time we booked in Savannah.)  Lately, I have been hinting about a weekend in coastal Georgia because it's been a while.

It is a sad fact that I tire easily.  I try to deny it.  I tell myself that now that I am out of the unbearable stress of my job, I do feel better.  But the truth is that "better" is a relative term, and that while I feel better, I don't feel good. I have missed more than one social event because of it.  Long distances, big crowds, all wear me down now.

As we all know, "denial is not just a river in Egypt."  Somehow, I failed to appreciate the affect that my chronic pain and fatigue have had on our traveling habits.  Admittedly, our most recent cruise was not entirely comfortable for me - I had forgotten my cane, and was in the middle of a medication adjustment.  And until Robert gently pointed it out to me, it did not occur to me that no matter where I go, I take this thing with me, even on a mini-vacation.  I love to walk, and to fully appreciate Savannah, you really need to be able to walk.  It's all about stamina, and I don't have much of that anymore.

I do have a cane, and I'm not dead yet.  But it galls me to admit that I went to Publix for a short shopping trip, picked up the ingredients to make my grandmother's meat sauce, and came home too tired and in too much pain to do the cooking.

I took something for the pain - half the recommended dosage - and after about a half hour, I got some relief.  I also had a nice, long, dreamless nap on the couch.

But honestly, I would have rather been in Savannah.  At the Lady and Sons, or a.lure, or Vic's on the River, eating good food that someone else had cooked for me.

When I do get around to making the sauce, and the lasagna rolls, I will have fresh basil leaves and fresh parsley right out of my garden.  Good thing I don't need any mint because somewhere in the neighborhood, a family of aphids has minty-fresh breath.  I have a sweet mint and a spearmint plant, and both show definite signs of being devoured by something small and evil.

So I shot 'em dead.  Yep, a few light shots with the same stuff I used on the hibiscus.  If Andrew Zimmern wants to eat bugs, God be with him, but I'm gonna shoot 'em dead.  Except lady bugs.  I don't kill lady bugs, and neither should you.  They are good for the environment, and so very pretty.

We are still fighting the fleas; right now we're at a Mexican standoff, but we have reinforcements arriving tomorrow.

Finally, in case you were wondering about the name of Donna Hanover's ex-husband, who was part of a scandal during her days at a very young Food Network: Rudy Giuliani.  If I remember correctly, she threw him out of the family abode - Gracie Mansion - and he had to sleep on a friend's couch in the meantime.  I love New York. 

                                                    

Saturday in the Park

Saturday in the park
I think it was the Fourth of July
Saturday in the park
I think it was the Fourth of July
People dancing, people laughing
A man selling ice cream, singing Italian songs
"Eh Cumpari, ci vo sunari"
Can you dig it (yes, I can)

Alrighty then - my ear worm has nothing to do with my day today.  It's actually the sixth of June, D-Day, and we were nowhere near a park - we were at Perkins with family for a late breakfast. Nobody was dancing or singing - although I have been yelling at the TV for the past half hour, bitching that these BBQ pit masters are uniformly overcooking beef.  Who cooks a gorgeous beef loin to 135 degrees internal temperature?  Only someone who WANTS TO LOSE! 

In my opinion, anything past medium rare is way past edible.  Even medium rare is questionable.  I eat it rare.  My husband and son eat it black-and-blue.  Purple.  Pittsburgh.  Extra extra rare.  If you poke the steak with a fork, it will go "moooooo."  Chase the cow through the kitchen with a blow torch.  You get the idea.  I will bet that the people screaming the loudest are the ones who blithely wave their chopsticks over mounds of raw fish or suck down quarts of raw oysters.

And that's what makes horse races.

Today is` an okay sort of day.  No panic attacks.  I got to spend a little time with family.  No panic attacks.  I am able to keep food down. My garden survived the Kissimmee Rain Apocalypse, even the cilantro.  Well, the cilantro is a little worse for the wear, but it's putting up a valiant fight.  I'll just have to wait a few days before cooking Mexican.  No panic attacks.

If you got here by way of my Facebook page, you may have noticed I've been rather opinionated lately.  Today I was picking on reality shows.  I think they represent some of the most pernicious programming on the air.  First of all, these families are about as "real" as wrestling.  Second, they represent some of the worst family values and dysfunction and trust me, I've seen some really trashy situations in my 23 years as a lawyer.  Yes, the Duggar sisters are victims of the media, but the only reason that is happening is because their own parents have exploited them, and the rest of the family, rather shamelessly. The same goes for that thankfully cancelled Kate and Jon plus 8 and the Honey Boo Boo travesty (if I want to wallow in the daily doings of trailer trash, I can read the local news).  Tori and Dean? The commercials were painful to watch; I can't imagine why anyone would want to sit down and watch a family with children dissolve.  Real Housewives?  Unadulterated bullcrap. Keeping Up With the Kardashians?  Why would anyone want to?  Teen Moms?  Do we really need to glamorize unwed motherhood?  And once again, what about the children?

As far as I am concerned, there is only one Duck Dynasty:

Toho Muscovies, chilling at the old lakeside

Does anyone here remember the Loud fanily?  I do, but I'm a Lady of Certain Years, and the seventies were an interesting time for television ... what I remember was my thinking how embarrassing the whole thing must have been for this family, and why would they agree to do it?  Is there ever enough money in the world to exploit your children, or bring public shame on your family?  I guess so, but I just don't get it.  And now of course we can all look forward to "I Am Cait", a reality show which somehow cheapens the life-altering changes undergone by the former Bruce Jenner and gives unreasonable expectations to members of the transgender community.  Incidentally, kudos to the older Jenner progeny for refusing to appear on the new show.

Even when I'm feeling better, I have to bitch about something.  I also have a confession to make:  several years ago, during the worst of my insomnia, I could be found watching Dr. Drew's Rehab and My 600 Pound Life (okay, that one was scientific interest).. Once in a while I would catch an episode of Hoarders, just to assure myself I really wasn't the worst housekeeper in the world.

I did not cook today, but I have plans for tomorrow involving cuisine d' Italia by way of Brooklyn. That means getting dressed and heading to Publix.  Darn.

My garden is providing me with joy and vegetables:

These bougainvillea will grow like like they were bitten by a radioactive spider

Baby Ichiban Japanese eggplant. There are two other buds on this plant.

Future mammoth jalapenos

Hard to see, but there are two zucchini there

We started the garden relatively late in the season, but this is still Florida, so for the most part, if you plant it in the ground, it will grow.  Next year we will expand the planting grounds, make additional use of those fabulous railing planters, and will start earlier.  Front yard herb and vegetable gardens, one block from the courthouse.  Welcome to Historic Downtown Kissimmee.

Ah! Sweet Misery of Life - Not My Grandmother's Cockapitzy

I woke up feeling like I was being eaten alive by fleas.  This can't be - we flea-sprayed the dogs and cat last night again, changed linens again, put flea collars back on, the house has been bombed - enough already.  And I have a panic attack, a bad one.  I am supposed to be having another test, an upper GI which requires a barium swallow, and I just can't.  Both of my arms hurt from needle punctures - I would make a lousy drug addict. I don't suppose it helps that I inadvertently ate a miniature Kit-Kat bar at around 5:00 this morning when I was not supposed to eat anything after midnight.  But Kit-Kat notwithstanding, I am in anxiety hell.  I am going to have to reschedule - twice in one week, I can't deal with this anymore.  It's almost laughable - I can't eat ice cream or drink milkshakes or frappaccinos and I'm supposed to swallow barium?  Can't do it.  I'm no hero, this sucks. I want my coffee.  I want to be able to take my medication.  I want to cook something - who cares if I can't eat it?  If the frakking endoscopy did not show any reason for the eating disorder, what is the upper GI going to show? That I had gastric bypass 12 years ago?  I think my PCP is the only one who got it right, when he said that somehow, the gastric bypass had become active again.  Fine.  I'll live with it.

My head is going to explode.  I am tired in every sense of the word.  And what the hell is going on with the cat?  He's acting totally weird.  First he goes to sleep in my night table drawer.  Then, he climbs onto the bed and goes to sleep right next to me.  Now, this is not behavior one expects from Anakin Skywalker, Darth Kitten, Feline Lord of the Sith and Occasional Jedi Knight.  Ira, yes - Ira slept so close to me, we were breathing the same air.  Ira liked to hang out on my night table so he could sneak a few Cheesy Puffs when I wasn't looking.  But Ira is gone, and Anakin, the Last Cat Standing, is acting totally out of character.

I probably don't feel as bad as Lebron James - the Cavaliers lost to the Golden State Warriors by 8 points in overtime - but I don't feel anywhere as good as Stephen Curry.  Not even close.

Facebook is messing with my mind today.  All at once I see an article about caring for someone who suffers from anxiety - ha, my husband could give lessons on how to do that - then a post that today is Best Friend Day - and then because after all, it is Best Friend Day, this reminder of activity that occurred "On this Day", June 5, 2010: "Cindy, Hi, I'm back from the dead. How are you?"  A message from Bethe Lipper.  Perfect. I want to respond, "not so good, Bethe; can you do that coming-back-from-the-dead-thing again?  Because I'd really like to see you, talk to you, give you a hug.  I want to see pictures of you at Ashley's wedding, and the joyful look on Kim's face when she sees you again. I want everything to go back to the way it was before February 21, 2013 and if I do have to lose you again, I want there to be a proper goodbye, not standing in a cold, very old cemetery in Charlottesville adding a shovel of dirt to your grave."

Today is not a good day.  I am tired of Life expecting me to understand the incomprehensible.  I am tired of the rain mashing down my precious babied herbs and vegetables.  Cilantro is a lost cause.  Oregano is not looking too good either.  Crap.

Since everything is topsy-turvy anyway, I would like to say something nice about she-who-raised-me.  Although I've said terrible things about her, and let's face it, all of them were true, we didn't always clash.  Although I usually attribute my ability to cook to being self-taught, an inveterate cookbook reader who read and experimented, watched and listened and learned, I have never given my grandmother the credit she really deserves for having taught me the basics and having shown me that sometimes, the only way you can show your family how much you care for them is to feed them really good food.

This morning I was in a bad place, so I went downstairs and became a Crazy Woman with a Very Sharp Knife.  I chopped onions and bell peppers, smashed garlic, and slashed bacon.  I opened an endless array of cans and ripped hot dogs from the refrigerator.  In the middle of all this, I freaking remembered to recycle. I started pulling spices out of the cabinet. I measured nothing; that would have only ruined the effect. In just one morning, I lost all my cooking self-discipline and broke all my own kitchen rules (except the recycling).  What came out of this was what my grandmother would laughingly call a cockapitzy - yeah, sometimes she laughed - which was a sort of thrown-together combination of leftovers and other stuff that didn't quite qualify as a casserole.  I grew up thinking that casseroles were only for goyim; Gentiles had casseroles, Jews had cockapitzies.  At least Jews from Brooklyn, because I still can't confirm that the word is actually Yiddish.  I don't think they have cockapitzies in the Bronx.

This is a Pantry Buster, and while I have had some spectacular fails when combining the contents of my pantry with bits and pieces from freezer, fridge, and vegetable bin, this one was surprisingly good.  My grandmother would not have been caught dead using canned corned beef hash for anything, but the idea of using the baked beans in what is essentially a chili comes from something she had once told me about a recipe she had heard about from one of the alter kockers she played cards with before they all stopped talking to her.  Ah Mom, sometimes I miss you.  Not often, but sometimes.  This happens to be one of them.

Not My Grandmother's Cockapitzy - An Inspiration Nation Pantry Buster Chili

3-4 tablespoons butter
3 large dinner franks, halved crosswise, then lengthwise, then sliced
6 slices bacon, chopped
1 very large or 2 medium onions, chopped
4 baby bella sweet pepper, or 1-2 regular bell peppers, chopped
2 large cloves garlic, chopped
2 cans corned beef hash
1 can diced tomatoes
1 can stewed tomatoes

kosher salt, coarse black pepper
smoked paprika
fresh cilantro, chopped
fresh thyme leaves
granulated garlic
chili powder
cumin
dried oregano
sugar
Raging River pepper blend and/or cayenne pepper

1 regular size can red kidney beans, drained and rinsed
1 large size can Bush's Country-Style baked beans, drained but not rinsed

1x2 inch piece of rind from parmigiano reggiano cheese

In a large deep skillet or Dutch oven, melt the butter.  Add the cut up franks and cook until getting brown around the edges.  Add the bacon, cook for a few minutes for the pieces to separate and render some of the fat.  Add the onions, sweet peppers, and garlic.  Stirring frequently, cook until the onions are tender and your kitchen smells awesome.

Add the corned beef hash, breaking it up as it cooks.  Keep cooking and stirring until the hash is completely broken down and heated through.  Add the undrained tomatoes, breaking up any overly-large pieces of stewed tomatoes.  Now start seasoning, to your own taste.  Be generous with the black pepper, chili powder, and cumin.  Keep cooking and stirring until the seasonings are well distributed. Add the kidney beans and country-style beans, stir, add the parm rind, cover and simmer over low heat for an hour.

I guess this is best described as a cross between chili and franks & beans, with a walk through by corned beef hash.  Chili Cockapitzy, a ménage a trois.  Enjoy!

Strawberry Fields Forever

Crap, is this a cooking blog or what?  I can't remember the last time I actually cooked something!

It is 1:30 and I am trying to eat breakfast - half a slice of the Almond Joy yeast bread, toasted to bring out the flavors of chocolate and coconut. Doesn't need butter (and I love my butter.)  Will it stay or will it go? Only time will tell.

I'm wearing a baseball cap now.  Baseball caps are cool. This one proclaims me a Carnival Cruising Diva, pink on white.

My ear worm lies quiescent today, giving me much-needed peace. It's not a pretty song and it does not reflect good thoughts.  While I'm not doing cartwheels in the kitchen, I'm also not befogged, bothered or bewildered.  I tire easily, but I've got friends and neighbors with Stage IV cancer, so at least for today, I'm going to forestall any bitching and moaning.  Besides, the NBA Finals start tonight!  My money is on Lebron (and if you know me, you probably know I have a 'thing' about gambling - I won't even buy a lottery ticket) because I like Lebron and because I would like the Eastern Conference to win for a change.

Today's news is funny - to me.  Kim Jong Un is getting fat.  At least now I know where my weight is going.  I always said I wanted to go back to Korea, but not the North, and not like this.  Bobby Flay got a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, and during the ceremonies, 'someone' had hired a plane to fly overhead with a fluttering sign spelling out "CHEATER".  I can only assume Stephanie March was upset because Bobby got a Hollywood star before she did.  (Ms. March denies any involvement in this stunt, but I'm sure there are others who would pay the price to "Beat Bobby Flay") I like Bobby Flay.  I met him, ever-so-briefly, at a Disney Food and Wine Festival a number of years ago.  He was between wives, and what I really liked was that he had his daughter with him.

Incidentally, Food Network is a really bad place to work and maintain marital bliss.  Most recently, the Neeleys (never liked them anyway), Bobby Flay, Giada de Laurentiis, and Alton Brown have had long term marriages crash and burn. Earlier we saw Nigella Lawson and even the great (and I mean this sincerely, I adore this man) Emeril Lagasse have marriages fail while they were on the air.  The most famous marriage fail, however, involved a Food Network commentator named Donna Hanover, who co-anchored Food News and Views with David Rosengarten.  Well yes. I have been watching Food Network for a very long time.  

Today's inspiring question (and no, you still don't get anything if you get it right.  However, the Pioneer Woman is giving out rather pretty handbags). What was the name of Donna Hanover's ex-husband, from her Food Network days?  I'll give you a clue: Ed Koch said he was a "nasty man."

More funny news: Yoko Ono, that self-proclaimed artiste, has announced that she and Hillary Clinton were "intimate" (translation: lesbian lovers) back in the seventies.  Could this campaign get any weirder?  Sure it could - and has - as even more Democrats, seeing the chinks in Hillary's armor, are throwing their hats (not baseball caps, not fezzes, not cool) into the ring.  Oh, Republicans! I saw Lindsay Graham coming down the road, but George Pataki?  And am I the only person who gets creeped out anytime Carly Fiorina appears on TV? She reminds me of Rick Scott, and that's not good.  Who knew that Voldemort had a female counterpart?

Oh hell, now I've got an ear worm (but nothing is real):

Living is easy with eyes closed
Misunderstanding all you see

It's getting hard to be someone but it all works out

It doesn't matter much to me

Yoko Ono and planting strawberries in the same day?  Good thing this is one of my silly, giddy, quit-while-you're-ahead days (which I did, displaying the awesome wisdom that comes with being 62, I stopped after planting the strawberries, and left the bougainvillea and seeds for another day.  I got tired, and I owned it.)

I am going to cook tonight, one of those dishes that college students like to make because you don't need a recipe but I'll give you one anyway.

Change of plans.  This really grossed me out, and it doesn't take much to turn my stomach.  I'm going to have cheeseburger Pringles instead.

Let's finish this off with a pretty picture and a couple of opinions:

I don't care if Hillary is a lesbian, or bisexual, or bicurious. I do question her taste in women, as I have never liked Yoko Ono.  I also don't care if Bobby Flay cheated on his wife.  I'm still going to watch his shows, eat in his restaurants, and use his recipe for tamales.