I Died And Went To Avocado Heaven - Guacamole for the Dentally-Challenged and JAPS Salad

Kids, take care of your teeth.  Seriously. Or else you will end up dentally-challenged, like me.

But first - yesterday, Thursday that is, was a really terrible day to be Barack Obama.  It was a great day to be Vladimir Putin, however.  I don't like the feeling of being transported back to the days of my childhood when Richard Nixon was Vice-President and Nikita Khrushchev was banging his shoe on the podium at the United Nations. The point is that the United States has been kicked in the nuts, yet again, by Russia and its new best friend, Iran.  We have been made to appear weak and foolish, and we are clearly no longer the leader of the free world. Hell, I'm not sure there is a free world anymore; we are being held in thrall by Muslim terrorists and the strengthening remnants of the Cold War. We have led the Europeans, whose countries already simmer with unresolved anti-semitism, to abandon Israel.  If you haven't seen Netanyahu scolding the assembly at the United Nations, you should look for it online. I thought his head was going to explode from sheer fear for his country and fury at the major powers who are allowing this to happen.

And then there was another school shooting in Oregon. Nobody expects something like that to happen in the Pacific Northwest, but it did and many young people were killed or critically injured. The President took the opportunity to vent his spleen about gun control. While I am no fan of Barack Obama, I honestly understand where he was coming from and I will admit that a good deal of what he said made sense.  I support the Second Amendment, but it may be time to consider carefully crafted limitations regarding what kind of weaponry citizens can purchase and use.

I would also like to know what kind of craziness has infected us.  What degree of internal rage - and I know something about internal rage - causes someone to grab a gun and start shooting into a place where people congregate? Is there a mental illness that begats violent behavior? Is it the same sort of illness that causes domestic violence?  

Finally, let us not forget the hurricane, named Joaquin, heading towards the east coast. Three states, including New Jersey where I have family, and North Carolina where I have family and friends, have declared a state of emergency.

So that was all yesterday, and if I was Barack Obama, I'd be fucking depressed. And embarrassed. And ashamed. There's your legacy, Mr. President.

Last Friday, my friend Terry gifted me with five (5!!) fresh-off-the-tree-in-her-backyard avocados.  They still needed some ripening time, so I left them in a place of honor on my counter and started checking out recipes.  Did I mention that Terry's husband Dan started the avocado tree from the pit from a Florida avocado? How cool is that?

I am here to tell you that those were the best damn avocados I have ever eaten.  Better than Hass, better than the huge Florida avocados you can buy in the supermarket.  I wanted to use and enjoy each and every one, and I think with these two recipes I hit the mark. First is the recipe that the avocado was born to make: guacamole. I love it, and I make it often, following Alton Brown's recipe. This time, however, I was missing half the ingredients and wasn't up to making a trip to Publix, and I really didn't feel like chopping vegetables.  So here is my version of a super-easy guacamole that has the added advantage of being easy-to-eat for us dentally-challenged types.

Guacamole for the Dentally-Challenged (no chunks or hard bits)

2-3 ripe medium Florida avocados

lemon or lime juice

chunky salsa

kosher salt

cayenne pepper

ground cumin

The most important factor in creating a delicious guacamole is the avocado.  It has to be ripe enough to bring out the unique, buttery flavor, but not so overripe the flesh starts to turn brown inside.  The texture should be creamy and soft enough to mash with a dinner fork.  So you really need to take the time to let the avocados ripen on your kitchen counter, even if it takes two weeks, which is about how long my avocados were off the tree.

Scoop out the avocado flesh into a medium bowl. I cut the avocado in the shell, so when I scoop it immediately breaks up into pieces. Drizzle some lemon juice over the avocado pieces, then use a fork to mash them to whatever texture you prefer.

JAPS Salad (Jalapeno, Avocado, Palm and Shrimp)

1/2 of a 24 oz. jar hearts of palm, drained and rinsed, cut crosswise into 1/2 inch slices
1/4 sweet onion, thinly sliced
1 red bell pepper, diced
1 jicama, peeled and cut into 1/8-inch strips
1 jalapeño pepper, seeded and minced

1 cup cooked salad shrimp, patted dry
1/4 cup chopped fresh cilantro
1/4 cup fresh lime juice
1/4 cup fresh orange juice
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin

honey, to taste
2 avocados, diced

In a medium bowl, combine the hearts of palm, onion, bell pepper, jicama, jalapeño, and shrimp. In a glass measuring cup combine the lime juice, orange juice, olive oil, salt and cumin.  Whisk together with a fork.  Taste and add a small amount of honey to taste. Combine the dressing with the salad, cover and refrigerate for at least one hour.  Add the avocado just before serving.

Let me critique this salad: I got this recipe from this site. I was really excited for the chance to use jicama, and to make good use of my wonderful avocados.  I don't know much about picking jicama, and this one wasn't as sweet as I had hoped.  There is a reason jicama is described as a cross between a potato and an apple; unfortunately I picked a so-so jicama.  The original recipe did not include honey in the dressing, but us Russian Jews love the sweet and sour, and so I made that adjustment.  Cory had the salad with his dinner, and liked it quite a bit, in part because he loves hearts of palm. He wasn't all that enthusiastic about the jicama.  The shrimp was my addition; clearly you can leave it out.

Happy avocado day!

Give Me A Head With Hair - Banana Butterscotch Muffins

Thursday - It may be Thor's Day, but it feels like Loki is working his black magic on me. Forget back pain, my whole frakking body hurts. I'm not sure how I got out of bed this morning - I just know that if not for my insistent bladder, I'd still be there.

Seriously, I had plans for today; I had decided to give my kitchen a break and go outside to start pulling weeds. Despite feeling like I had failed the try-outs for the Orlando Magic cheerleaders, I toddled outside with my cane to inspect what is left of my garden.  I actually bent down to pull a few weeds. Boy, was that stupid! So now I am sitting in my Dark Corner and I feel like crying. Fucking fibromyalgia.

Wednesday - I have some Big Decisions to make. Like, should I use the remaining chicken breasts to make Chicken Lombardy or Chicken Francese? That francese recipe is from Tyler Florence and I have made it before and it is so good, I would kiss him if I could find him, but he's off torturing people who are competing for a chance to own a food truck.  When did Food Network turn into reality TV?

I also have to decide whether I should cut my hair.  This one is huge, I'm telling you. Hair is a big deal to most women, and I am at the top of the list.  My hair was the source of tremendous angst when I was a girl, because it was thick, curly, and unmanageable.  You know the gig - I wanted long, straight, shiny hair so I would look like all of the other girls.  I won't bore you with the details of my unhappy adolescence, except to say I never really bought that story about all the "girls" in our family having straight hair, while all the "boys" had curly hair - I knew where the curly genes came from. Thanks, Mike.

Fortunately, as I got older and grayer, I went straight.  I mean my hair went straight.  Even on a high humidity day, which is almost every day in Central Florida, it might develop a few waves but nothing like the bushy Jewfro I was cursed with from birth through incipient senility. So I could let it grow long, right? Oh so wrong ... my hair is still so thick and heavy, if I let it go too long, it hurts too much to wear it. So I've kept it reasonably short for years, the only difference being the degree of shortness.  Most recently I've been keeping it really short, almost Jamie Lee Curtis and Judith Densch short, but for some reason I got it in my head to let it grow, let it grow, let it grow.

I know I am going to be unhappy, but I feel compelled to do this.  Maybe it has something to do with Hillary Clinton and Carly Fiorina or maybe I just don't feel up to cutting it, since I do that myself.  Oh retirement, how you challenge me!  Right now my hair is at a length that adds to the realization that I am the spitting image of my father's sister Sylvia, also known as Aunt Osh.

 

 
I love muffins.  I love baking them and I love eating them.  I used to think of them as my personal baking Waterloo, but I finally got the hang of them, and learned the Secrets of Muffintop and I've been pleased with the results ever since.

The lemon zucchini muffins were just a fond memory, and I really enjoy a muffin with my morning coffee, so I knew it was time to start worrying about my potassium levels which turned out to be a splendid excuse for baking some banana muffins.  I've made banana muffins before for the blog, click on the link for Banana Applesauce Muffins, but I wanted something a little different.  I wanted the Best Banana Muffin, so that's what I typed into Safari.

The recipe I found was basic, but well-vetted by the folks who left comments.  You can find that recipe for Best Ever Banana Muffins by clicking on the link. The other thing that, in my opinion, absolutely made these muffins sing banana, was the post I found on the topic of How to Quickly Ripen Bananas For Making Banana Bread. I encourage you to check out that link because you will never have to worry about an underripe banana again, if you happen to be the sort of person who worries about such things.

I baked these Wednesday evening, before Loki dropped in and messed with my entire physical integrity. Because I felt pretty good, I tossed in some butterscotch chips and a shot of banana-flavored booze. You're going to love these muffins. Oh, and if anyone sees this Norse pain-in-the-ass skulking around, please give him a good kick-in-the-balls from me to him. Fucking Loki. Fucking fibromyalgia. Terrific muffins.

Banana Butterscotch Muffins        

3 large, very ripe bananas
3/4 cup sugar
1 egg, slightly beaten
1/3 cup melted butter, cooled a bit
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon table salt
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon banana liquor (creme de banana)
2/3 cup butterscotch chips

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Place 9 paper liners in a 12-cup muffin tin.

Using a hand mixer, mash and break down the bananas; add the sugar and beat together with the banana until you have a fairly smooth, thick puree. Beat in the egg, butter, and banana liquor, then set aside.

In another bowl, sift together the flour with the salt, baking powder, and baking soda. Stir this into the banana mixture with a wooden spoon, just to combine the wet and dry ingredients. Fold in the butterscotch chips. Do not overwork the batter.

Scoop the batter into nine of the twelve muffin cups; this should fill them just to the top.  Bake for 18 to 23 minutes.  Cool for 10 minutes in the pan, then remove the muffins to a metal rack to cool.

I would suggest tossing the chips with a very small amount of flour before adding them to the batter, so that they don't sink to the bottom during baking.  Also, if you don't have banana liquor, try another compatable flavor liquor or a teaspoon of vanilla extract or just leave it out.

Oh, Mercy Mercy Me - Leisurely Paced Chicken Cacciatore

Marvin Gaye is singing about the ecology while I prepare the chicken cacciatore.  This song always transports me right back to the lawn in front of College Hall in New Paltz. My ever-responsible friends, like Kathy and Lynn, were studying for exams.  The irresponsible among us, like me, were snapping pictures with our Kodak Instamatics and falling up cement stairs.

It is still Tuesday and I am still cooking, but in a slightly more relaxed manner.  Just one dish, the chicken cacciatore.  This isn't really so much a recipe as a common sense assembly of a slightly gussied-up chicken in spaghetti sauce kind of dish.  Proportions don't matter, exact ingredients don't matter.  I have no idea what constitutes an authentic chicken cacciatore, since I've never cooked one.  Nor eaten one either.

I'm in pain from my shoulders to my waist, and my right arm is pitching its own little hissy fit, and the Advil are taking their sweet-ass time kicking in to give me a little relief.  I have to admit that I am finally getting a bit cranky.  So cranky that I want only to creep upstairs and sit in bed while I play with my coloring pencils.

Chicken Cacciatore

4 very large chicken breasts, cut into large cubes (I estimate about 3 1/4 pounds)

All-purpose flour

Kosher salt, black pepper, Italian seasoning, Emeril's Essence

Canola oil

3 large sweet onions, halved and sliced
Sweet paprika, granulated garlic, sugar

4-6 large cloves garlic, sliced

3-4 sweet bell peppers, any combination of colors, cut into large squares

3/4 cup pitted kalamata olives or other pitted black olive, drained

1 - 45 oz. jar chunky tomato, garlic and onion pasta sauce (I used Ragu brand for this)

Combine the flour and the seasonings.  Heat a good amount of canola oil in a large deep skillet. Working in two batches, dust the chicken in the seasoned flour and put into the hot oil.  Cook on medium to medium high heat until golden brown on all sides.  Remove the chicken to a baking dish or platter and set aside.

In the same skillet, add a little more oil if needed, and then add all of the onions. Season with salt, pepper, paprika, granulated garlic, and a pinch of sugar.  Cook on medium until the onions are soft and caramelized.  About halfway through the cooking, add the garlic slices. Remove the onions and garlic with a slotted spoon to another pan.  Add a little more oil to the skillet if needed.

Place all of the peppers into the skillet and cook on medium to medium high until they are softened, but still bright in color. When the peppers are done, carefully discard all the excess oil in the pan, and add back the cooked onions and the entire jar of sauce.  Listen, by now you know I always add some water to the jar to swish out any sauce clinging to the sides of the jar, and this time was no different.  Use about a cup to a cup and a half of water, close the lid, and shake shake shake. You need that water, trust me. Pour it into the skillet, stir, and add the kalamata olives.

Simmer the sauce for about 10 minutes to get the ingredients to sing together in three-part harmony, and then add the chicken, stirring it into the sauce.  Reduce the heat to low, cover, and simmer for 20 to 30 minutes. Taste and re-season if necessary. The flavor profile for this sauce is ever-so-slightly sweet, not spicy and not too much oregano or basil.  American comfort food pretending to be Italian. Very good, although not very continental. Definitely serve this with pasta.

Yes, we have Nosferatu ...

Wednesday - I had already resolved by yesterday's end, that I was not going to continue in manic cooking mode today.  Two days of that, and all the kitchen cleaning that goes with it, was more than this old lady could take. You would think I would be knocked out and fall asleep easy peasy, but noooo ... I was up until 3 AM, and woke up at 7 AM.  Woke up and stayed up, damn it. Still, I managed to restrain myself from rushing into the kitchen waving four more chicken breasts and two pounds of mushrooms. Tomorrow is Thursday. Thursday is a good day for making Chicken Lombardy. Today is Wednesday. Wednesday is a good day for the therapist.

I usually go to the therapist on Tuesday or Wednesday.  Last week, my appointment fell out on Yom Kippur, which I did not realize until the night before the appointment.  When I realized it, I cracked up a bit.  This is Central Florida, what I have affectionately referred to as a Jewish wasteland.  It's not easy being Jewish in Central Florida, trust me.  But somehow, accidentally, no, serendipitously, I end up with the only Jewish therapist in Central Florida. Back in 1998, it was, and I was referred to this therapist by my then-psychiatrist.  Even if I had found him on my own, I wouldn't have known - he's got an ethnic-neutral surname, sounds like New Orleans chef John Besh when he talks, and I don't think that's his original nose. But he's a good therapist, one of the best - and I should know, he's not my first by a long shot.

So it was my Jewish therapist who set the appointment, and his Jewish client who took the appointment.  I figure since we live in Central Florida, God understands how these things can happen. Anyway, I was trying to explain my day, and my attempt to resist the urge to start flinging chicken in the kitchen.

Resistance is futile.

The truth of the matter is that I cannot walk into my user-friendly kitchen without straying towards my knife block or peering into the refrigerator to snag some likely ingredients.  Cooking, as my grandmother taught me by example, is the best therapy, and if there is anything I have need these past seven months, it's therapy. And chocolate, lots of chocolate.  Never mind that I can't eat most of what I cook - that's where the chocolate comes in - it's the act of cooking that soothes my mood disorder.

I gave up and threw some bananas in the oven to hasten their ripening in preparation for my banana butterscotch muffins. Then I took out my now-defrosted snow crab legs and rinsed them, patted them dry, and put them in a convenient ziploc bag.  Finally, I weighed the remaining Russet potatoes to make sure I had enough to make some potato gnocchi with Parmigiano-Reggiano (only it's going to be with Locatelli Romano).

And only then I went to get dressed to head out to the therapist.  I already feel much better.  Oh, the banana  butterscotch muffins? That's another blog post.

He's Gone Plaid - Crockpot Corned Beef with Cracked New Potatoes and Maple-Kissed Brussel Sprouts

Tuesday - It's raining.  It's raining because we are heading over to our storage rooms to do some clearing out. I still have more cooking planned, and some baking.  If we ever get home, because this is a big project.

Turns out that we got a lot done, mostly because once James get started on a project like moving boxes, he can't stop. The man goes into superhyperdrive - in other words, he's gone plaid, like Dark Helmet in "Spaceballs" - and sets the pace for the rest of us. Zoom zoom. A truckload of stuff is headed out and will be part of a community yard sale.  Very satisfying; I can safely say we finally unpacked the basement of our Ronkonkoma house, which is an accomplishment only 25 years overdue. Now if only I could do the same with the multitude of boxes still sitting in my bedroom and dining room.

Kraut Sveckle (Hungarian noodles and cabbage)

These recipes are from Monday's cooking frenzy; they are the kind of cooking prep that works well when you are doing a whole lot of other things on the stovetop, or you're spending the day at home watching an entire season's episodes of Game of Thrones or a James Bond marathon. So while I was fussing with chicken and fruit and Hungarian noodles and cabbage, my crockpot took care of the rest.  It was a long day for both of us.

Crockpot Corned Beef with Cracked New Potatoes and Maple-Kissed Brussel Sprouts

1-3 to 3 1/4 pound corned beef (usually in cryovac, with a seasoning packet)

3 whole cloves garlic, peeled

2 small bay leaves

1 Knorr beef bouillon cube, broken up

water

1 1/2 pounds new potatoes, white or gold

olive oil

2 pounds fresh Brussel sprouts, trimmed, loose leaves discarded

Rinse the corned beef under cool water, and place into the crockpot, fat side facing up.  Add the contents of the seasoning packet, garlic, and bay leaves.  Add cool water just to cover, cook on high for 3 hours, then check for doneness. If a long cooking fork can go all the way through, the corned beef is done.  Do not overcook or the meat will shred while you are try to slice it.  Remove the corned beef to a baking pan, cover with foil and let cool to room temperature. Use an electric knife and patience to thinly slice the corned beef against the grain, This particular corned beef was a little tough, so I put the slices in a baking dish, spooned in some of the cooking liquid from the crockpot, covered with foil and put in the oven until the meat is tender.

With a strainer, remove the seasoning and bay leaves from the cooking liquid in the crockpot.  Don't worry if you can't get all of it.  Add the uncut potatoes to the crockpot.  Cover and cook on high for about an hour and a half, until they can be pierced with a fork. Now my potatoes turned out to be a little underdone, so I "cracked" them by pressing against them with a potato masher, and placed them in a baking pan. Drizzle with some olive oil and season with salt, pepper and smoked paprika.  Put into a 425 degree oven and let the potatoes roast until as crispy as you like on both sides.

To the remaining cooking liquid, add 2 tablespoons butter and the Brussel sprouts; cover and cook for another 2 hours. I wasn't thrilled with the result for some reason, so I melted some bacon fat and cooked the chopped onion until softened, and then added the drained sprouts.  I still wasn't thrilled with the taste. I think I was getting overtired, so I drizzled on some maple syrup and cooked in the pan a few minutes longer. Now that's good.

True Confession: Why I Will Never Be The Next Food Network Star - Quick Scotch Eggs and Quicker Chicken Noodle Soup

My father used to say I had two speeds: slow and stop. True dat. I never liked to rush. I have no need for speed. I suppose you could say I was born punctuality-challenged, like Bill Clinton.  I have a problem with time zones, existing neither in Eastern, Atlantic, nor Central Standard. I'm in something I like to call Dawson Standard and we'll just leave it at that.

Now that's not to say I can't move faster, because I can.  Push me into Trial Prep Mode, and watch me rock and roll. I develop hyperdrive and tunnel vision all at once and what has to get done gets done. Then I go home and collapse.

I realize that I cook the way other people engage in their favorite hobby. There is no hurry, just the steady pace of enjoyment, like when I am knitting. It would seem to me that picking the Next Food Network Star should be more about quality and less about running around like the proverbial headless chicken, but on the other hand, watching an old lady leisurely prepare comfort food is probably not Good TV.  

When we designed the new kitchen for this house, it was done with a careful eye to minimize unwanted steps.  Although I have long, unbroken expanses of countertop on which to work, the layout is so efficient that it naturally flows from prep to cooktop or stove. Completely opposite to that are the studio kitchens, where I might as well just strap on a pair of old-fashioned four-wheel roller skates and spin my prayer wheel.  I could never keep up with all the crazy contestants running amok with 14-inch super sharp chef's knives in their sweaty hands, shoving each other out of the way to grab the last pound of butter.

And that, dear blog peeps, is why I will never be the Next Food Network Star. The only reason. Uh huh.

So today is Saturday, and I took my sweet time preparing some chicken noodle soup and finishing the Scotch eggs.  So no new recipes, except I changed what I did the last time.  Big surprise.

For the soup, I sautéed two carrots, one stalk of celery, and a bunch of green onions, in some olive oil. Threw in some dried oregano, dried thyme, a couple of chopped garlic cloves, two small bay leaves, some salt and pepper, and after a little while added the breast of a rotisserie chicken, which I chopped pretty small. Once the carrots were softened, I poured in 6 cups of chicken stock and 2 cups of water, and over medium high heat, brought the soup up to almost a boil. Then I added about a cup of very fine short pasta, the type you find in a small bag in the Hispanic foods section.  They will cook in about 4 minutes.  Shut off the heat and enjoy. I filled up two 1-quart plastic containers, the type in which you get your take-out wonton soup, one for the freezer and one for the fridge. I'm in soup heaven.

The Scotch eggs are basically the same recipe, but I took a few shortcuts which proved to be very successful. First, I bought a bag of hard-boiled eggs.  I like Eggland's Best when I can find them. Then, while I was in Walmart, I bought a package of Italian-style sausage meatballs. Twelve meatballs to a 12 ounce package.  Ha, this is the kind of math I can do!

I used 2 of the sausage meatballs to cover each egg, then set them in one of the ubiquitous aluminum baking pans, and then floured them by shaking Wondra flour over and around each egg.  Next I broke two eggs into a ziploc freezer bag, and informally beat the eggs. In another freezer bag I put the Italian bread crumbs. Finally I heated canola oil in a medium pot, enough to cover two or three eggs at a time.

That freezer bag thing is my newest favorite kitchen hack. First I put two of the floured Scotch eggs into the bag with the eggs, zipped it shut and gently worked the eggs around so they are covered with egg, Next I used a small slotted spoon to move each egg into the bag with the crumbs and gently rolled them around until each egg is neatly and completely covered.  Only then did I use my hand to move them into the hot oil.  Fry, fry, my darlings - NO CLUB HAND! You will break out in a happy dance, I guarantee.

They will need to be fried until the crumbs are a deep dark brown to ensure the sausage is cooked all the way through. Cut them in half to serve, hot, cold, room temp, whatever.  I first enjoyed Scotch eggs accompanied by a big whipped cream topped Irish coffee at the English pub in EPCOT, but these days my drinking is limited to black coffee and Crystal Light. Between the dairy and the booze, an Irish coffee would probably put me into a coma, or at the very least, a painful stupor. Crap. Whoever it was who said that these were the Golden Years needs to be beaten - with my crutch.

Arrivederci, Papa Francisco - Chicken with Yams, Bananas and Prunes

Sunday - Sorry for the out-of-order posts. The blog actually makes more sense this way, as much as anything I write makes sense. We will return to our regularly scheduled programming in a couple of days.   Maybe a few, or several. Stay tuned.

While I am writing this, Shepherd One, the airplane carrying the Holy Father, Pope Francis, is taxiing  for take off from the airport in Philadelphia on its return trip to Rome and Vatican City. Although there were many jokes to be made about "Pope TV" and "The Pope Channel", the concentrated media coverage was a welcome relief from the usual crap of hatred, mayhem, and politics.

I know, I know - the Pope's message was filled with politics, but his delivery was gentle and full of hopeful  prayer.  His airplane is in the air.  Safe trip, Papa Francisco.

FOX News switched back to U.S. politics so fast I bet the Pope hadn't had the time to rip open that little packet of pretzels.  I'm just not ready for that yet. The politics, not the pretzels.

Spoilers - if you haven't seen the series finale of CSI yet, keep scrolling.  Okay, so what if I haven't actually watched CSI for six years? I still loved it, loved the entire franchise, but eventually grew tired of it, as I have grown tired of the NCIS franchise and Bones and Castle. I am still a fan, and last night's finale had everything a true CSI fan wanted to see.  They got the band back together - at least as much of the band as most of us wanted to see (sorry, Morpheus) - and it was good. Best of all, Grissom was back. Although Robert was disappointed, it wasn't Lady Heather that old Gil sailed off with into the sunset - it was his ex-wife Sara, and it was corny but in a good way.

Monday - there is a Big Hole in the middle of my street, and there are several Really Big Trucks out there, trying to do something about the water bubbling up from under the road. So this part of Bryan Street is blocked off at both ends, and my driveway is completely blocked by a mechanical behemoth from the Toho Water Authority. My plans for a trip to Walmart are on hold, and all I can think is that it's a good thing I don't have to get to the office.

Like most Mondays, I am in a cranky, muttering-under-my-breath sort of mood, and even the prospect of all the cooking I have planned is not cheering me up. And I have a lot of cooking planned - I'm cooking ahead, some for the freezer, but more importantly, some to send over to Mom and Dad.

         
Last trip to BJs I picked up a package of chicken breasts - and these must have been some pretty big-bosomed chicken, because 10 breasts added up to almost 8 1/2 pounds - and figured I would do two dishes, but then I decided on three, so here is the first one, which I made up as I went along.  Welcome to my kitchen.

Chicken with Yams, Bananas, and Prunes

1 - 15 oz. can Bruce's Yams (Cut Sweet Potatoes in Syrup), drained, syrup reserved
1 banana, cut into chunks
8-10 whole prunes (dried plums)
2 tablespoons butter
light brown sugar
ground ginger
ground cardamom
kosher salt
black pepper
2 very large boneless, skinless chicken breasts, cut into large cubes
Cajun seasoning blend, to taste (I used Emeril's)
olive oil
1/2 medium onion, chopped
1/2 cup V-8 fusion peach mango juice
1 tablespoon creme de banana liquor
1/4 cup very cold water
1 tablespoon cornstarch

Set the oven to broil.  Place the butter in a baking pan, and melt in the oven till very lightly browned. Watch carefully so butter doesn't burn. Remove from the oven and add the banan, prunes, and drained sweet potatoes. Sprinkle with the brown sugar, ginger, cardamom, salt, and pepper to taste. Place back under the broiler for just a few minutes to let the brown sugar melt. Remove from the oven and set aside.  Change the oven setting to bake at 350 degrees.

Heat the olive oil in a large deep skillet.  Season the chicken cubes with kosher salt, pepper, and the Cajun seasoning.  Add the chicken to the skillet and saute until the chicken is light brown on both sides.  Don't worry if it is not cooked all the way through, as it will be finished in the oven.  With a slotted spoon, remove the chicken to the baking pan with the fruit.

In the same skillet, add the onion and cook until it starts to brown around the edges.  Pour in the reserved syrup from the sweet potatoes and cook over medium high heat until it is reduced by not more than half.  Add the peach mango juice and the banana liquor and bring to a steady simmer.  Mix the water and cornstarch together and then add that to the simmering sauce.  Stir and continue to simmer until the sauce thickens.  Spoon the sauce and onions over the contents of the baking pan; cover with aluminum foil and bake in the oven for 25-30 minutes, until the chicken is done.

Serve with rice or orzo.

Alice Doesn't Work Here Anymore

Sunday - it's another Breakfast with Baker, courtesy of the BBC. Good excuse to get up early. No oversleeping allowed when plans for the day include a final pack-and-go trip to the office.  I have raised procrastination to a high Art.  Everybody should be known for something and I am known for abundant procrastination and a complete lack of punctuality. Now there's a splendid epitaph for my gravestone, if I was going to even have a gravestone, which I'm not. Cremate me, put the ashes in a cute little urn, or perhaps one of those little bear-shaped squeeze bottles that Jimmy Bear's uses for their barbecue sauce, and put me on the shelf next to Ira and Athene.

Oh crap, I overslept anyway. Fortunately it is still mid-morning and time is on my side. Not so much that I can sit down to an hour or two of watching Tom Baker as the Fourth Doctor, but we watched a tremendously good "Doctor Who" last night which just goes to show that while Clara Oswald, the Impossible Girl, was born to save the Doctor, Peter Capaldi was born to play the Doctor.

No sense delaying the inevitable.

Everything has its time. And everything ends.

Zen Cats, Karma, and Coloring Books

Friday - Let's get this day started, shall we?

I have to work myself up to walking downstairs, although it is Friday and my new iPhone is due to be delivered. As with everyone else in the Known Universe, I have things to do, and for reasons known only to the chemicals in my brain, that simple fact rattles my cage. Too many notes, perhaps.

My garden is just about finished for this growing season, sad to say.  The okra plant, which grew to be taller than me, has given its last pods, which I gratefully incorporated into yesterday's briami.  The tomato plants are still chugging along, but slowly, slowly.

I continue to engage in some zen coloring. Ridiculously soothing; no wonder I was so happy in kindergarten (well, except the time I got hold of some scissors and cut a hole in a classmate's dress sleeve.  I got sent to the cloakroom for that.)  Finished one, started another. Ommmmm ....

And now from the "karma is a bitch" department ...

A number of times during the past 6 months, I've made references to the suboptimal courtroom conditions that exacerbated the physical and emotional issues I've had to deal with because of the fibromyalgia. I have alluded to the source of those conditions, but have held back naming names and giving details. Partly because of my innate respect for the Bench, but mostly because I was still employed by DCF and did not want to create any impediments to a proper resolution. So I waited ...

... and that's all I had to do was wait. I promised all would be revealed in the fullness of time, and that time is now. Forgive me if I start to ramble, but I have been holding back for six months and I want to savor these moments.

A little background - I practiced in dependency court, what lay people think of as child abuse court. I practiced juvenile dependency law for over 23 years, 15 of those as an attorney for the state agency (HRS, DCF) and the remainder as a parent's attorney. Over the course of those years, I appeared in Brevard, Orange, Osceola, Seminole, Hillsborough, Polk, and Duval counties. That adds up to a lot of judges, and almost across the board I have had positive experiences. There were four exceptions, two in Orange County (but those were short term appearances, thank the good Lord) and two in Osceola - one was bearable, but one was not. This one. Never in my entire legal career, and that includes my cases in family, criminal, and delinquency court, have I ever had to deal with someone so unreasonable, so disrespectful, so totally convinced of her own rightness, and so completely out of touch with the grim realities of social work.

Side topic - and this is a shout out at all you Circuit Chief Judges - why must you send so many brand new, green-as-grass, never-set-foot-in-dependency-court-before, didn't-study-this-crap-in-law-school,  lives-at-the-complete-opposite-end-of-the-Ninth-Circuit judges to Osceola County? Do you think that little of us and the children we serve that you would saddle us with a terrified, resentful newbie?

Of course, we have occasionally been blessed with a newbie who rises to the occasion, self-educates, sets a professional tone, and leaves us with good memories of his term, but someone like the Honorable Keith Carsten is a rare gift to the judiciary and to all in his courtroom. And then there were those halcyon days - years, actually - when I was privileged to appear before The Best Dependency Judge Ever, the Honorable Daniel Dawson.

I could go on, but let me throw out a couple of links about the judge I consider to be the proximate cause of the 6 months of hell I just barely managed to live through. It's not my nature to be mean, so I am going to erase some of the other stuff I typed and stop here.

Here are the links, duckies - I report, you decide.
Osceola judge faces misconduct charges
Notice of Formal Charges
Fiery judge's campaign riled legal community

As my friend Kevin would say, alRIGHTY then!  Let's see - I saw my office peeps today and it did my heart good.  Lots of hugs and kisses and I was able to deliver those European Union Brownies (big success!) Oh, how I miss them all. Terry had a big bag of homegrown Florida avocados for me, and I even got some good news about some of the kids on my (former) caseload. My office, which is still not completely emptied, still has my name card up and Raquel taped up a picture from a long-ago adoption, when I was a redhead. That story had a tragic start, but a happy ending. I don't think Raquel realized how that case consumed me for five years before we got to the adoption, and is probably the case I am most emotional about. My plan is to go back there this weekend with Rob and finally clear out the shrine. Hard for me, hard for the peeps, but it's time.

The iPhone 6s arrived while I was out and about. So cool, Siri is voice activated now.  Although the AT&T folks did a great job activating and moving data from my terminally ill iPhone 5, it's still going to take a while to download apps and generally fix it up the way I like it. But you know what? I'm retired now and have the time to do it, while wearing flip-flops, no less.

No cooking today.  I started to prepare the Scotch eggs, but after cloaking them in pork sausage and dusting them with flour, I had to leave the frying for another day. Tomorrow is another day.

Cranky, the Blogster and Briami, the Greek Ratatouille

Thursday - What a perfectly sucky morning, a direct result of a perfectly sucky night of constantly being woken up by a restless husband, a cat sleeping on my head, a dog checking to make sure I'm still breathing, another dog who sounds like the Titanic when she snores, and an overactive bladder. I am so cranky right now I could scream. I still have not made it into the office bearing brownies and bubble wrap, and I don't see that happening today.

Fresh herbs from the garden: Italian oregano and sweet mint

As I am typing this, I am sitting in the corner of the living room, in the dark, wearing a big floppy hat. What the hell is that about? I crack myself up sometimes, I really do. Off to the library. I've already been into the garden to gather a few handfuls of fresh herbs, an eggplant, a tomato, and what surely is the very last okra of the season, which I added to the piles of veggies on the counter, a not-so-subtle reminder to make the damn briami already.  But first, the library.

My trip to the library garnered me two mysteries (Sue Grafton and Jane Haddam), a novel (The Help), and a cookbook specializing in recipes prepared in cast iron cookware. Just being in that building, with cool air, quiet people, life-sized cardboard stands of Mr. Spock and Loki, and a whole lot of books, improved my mood enough to head over to Publix for naan bread to go with the briami I was going to prepare, hell or high water, and the tzaziki I had purchased at Whole Foods the day before. Cedar brand tzaziki, and damn near as good as mine.

Briami (Greek Ratatouille) is a recipe I found at the OliveTomato site, a food blog that highlights Greek food.  I got there by typing the name of all the garden vegetables I had collected from my garden, plus the zucchini and green pepper I had purchased on a whim. Unbelievably, a recipe popped up - this one - that included all of my refrigerator produce, and some herbs that just happened to be growing in my garden, so where the blogger, Elena Paravantes, used dried herbs, I decided to use fresh.  Let's hope I don't regret that choice.  Frankly, anytime you are going to be cooking something for an hour or more, dried herbs are the way to go, so I can see why her recipe includes them, and if I hadn't happened to have fresh oregano and mint in the garden, I would have happily rocked along with their dried versions.

I wish I'd had more of the cherry tomatoes. So sweeeeet!

The thing with briami, caponata, or ratatouille is that the exact proportions of one kind of vegetable to another are not set in any kind of stone.  I used Elena's recipe as a guideline, and added the okra, along with two unpeeled Russet potatoes, about 5 Japanese eggplants, 1 1/2 large zucchini, 1 large onion, about 3/4 of a dry pint of cherry tomatoes (those were from my garden, and looked like they would almost fill the kind of dry pint container you find in the supermarket), and a nice big green bell pepper, along with the garlic and a good amount of fresh oregano and fresh mint. I liked her cooking method, so I'm trying that out as well.  If you would like to try her original briami recipe,  click on the OliveTomato link above.

I now have two soups to make, the creamy tomato soup recipe from yesterday or maybe it was the day before, and an easy chicken soup. I bought a couple of bananas with the idea of adding them to my peanut butter, cream cheese, and jelly sandwiches and maybe baking banana muffins. My brain is going around in circles, but I think I can still handle the soups. Not sure about the Scotch eggs; I'm wearing down, kids.

Creamy Tomato Soup, a done deal. Yum.

Pope Francis has left D.C. and is heading to New York City, the city that really knows how to show a Pope a good time.  I love the Catholic religion, and I've often said that if I hadn't been born Jewish, I would be Roman Catholic. New York is a very Catholic city and they are going to love love love having Papa Francisco there.

I had the briami for dinner, topped with some feta cheese, naan and tzaziki.  Oh my.

Yom Kippur, Gom Jabbar, and Potato Gnocchi

Tuesday - No blog post tomorrow, as it is Yom Kippur.  But until then ...

Thought for the Day: Everything you need to know about Middle Eastern politics is set out in Frank Herbert's Dune series, especially the first book which was published in 1965.  So, was the Reverend Mother Helen Gaius Mohiam subjecting Paul Atriedes to the gom jabbar or Yom Kippur?  The gom jabbar was used by the Bene Gesserit to test a person's  humanity.  And really, what is Yom Kippur all about?

On Rosh Hashanah it is inscribed,

And on Yom Kippur it is sealed.

How many shall pass away and how many shall be born,

Who shall live and who shall die,

Who shall reach the end of his days and who shall not,

Who shall perish by water and who by fire,

Who by sword and who by wild beast,

Who by famine and who by thirst,

Who by earthquake and who by plague,

Who by strangulation and who by stoning,

Who shall have rest and who shall wander,

Who shall be at peace and who shall be pursued,

Who shall be at rest and who shall be tormented,

Who shall be exalted and who shall be brought low,

Who shall become rich and who shall be impoverished.

But repentance, prayer and righteousness avert the severe decree.

Okay, that was just a wandering thought, and I'm not sure where it wandered in from, but I apologize in advance for any hint of sacrilege. 

During dinner with my New Paltz friends, we got to talking about retirement. Who could have imagined us sitting around having this conversation all those years ago? We were so young back then; we couldn't vote (voting age was still 21) and we couldn't drink (drinking age was 18). 

Those of us who are presently retired agreed that once you get used to the idea of it, retirement rocks.

I can stay home on bad days, and not worry about my sick days or worse, missing a trial.

I can wear flip flops almost all the time.

I can rest assured that I will not be driven to murder an elected official.

I can plan and cultivate an urban garden.

I don't have to wear pantyhose. Ever.

I can spend time in the public library and read large-type books.

I can set all my doctor's appointments during what used to be working hours.

I can hear myself think.

I can spend time with the people I love.

I can do what I want, even though it does not involve saving children's lives: I can read, knit, cook, blog, listen to music, and color cats and peacocks.

Wednesday - Today is Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. I am not davening in a synagogue and I am not fasting.  I have certainly done both of those things in the past, but this year is not one of those times.  I cannot think of any congregation within reasonable driving distance that I would want to attend. In the past, I belonged to a Reform congregation and was quite active attending Shabbat and holiday services, teaching in the Hebrew school, editing the newsletter, and working with the other members of the Sisterhood. Those were good days, but they are gone now.  Everything changes, except my essential relationship with God.  I talk, He listens.

Today is also Chelsea's birthday. We think she is 11 years old, but she could be thirteen. Or nine. Whatever her age, she is the perfect example of just how important it is to consider adding a rescue dog to your home menagerie.  My first-ever doggie, the incomparable Athene Minerva, was purchased from a breeder.  An excellent breeder, one who we had known prior to deciding to bring a dog into our cat-centric home. Every dog since, all Yorkies, came to us from some sort of rescue situation, mostly rehomes. We even have a Yorkie boy who rehomed himself, but that's another story.

I did cook - actually, I surprised myself by turning out a batch of ethereal potato gnocchi.  The recipe is from Jenn Louis' cookbook, Pasta By Hand.  I haven't been that excited about successfully executing a recipe since I made spaetzle earlier this year. The potato gnocchi are nothing at all like the store-bought variety- these are light and pillowy, and if you eat them with just a little butter, salt and pepper, you can really taste the potato at it's best.

The photos in the book are extremely helpful, but I will tell you that the trick to a light gnocchi is a light hand, same as when you are handling pastry dough.

I got the biggest kick from being able to hand form the traditional gnocchi shape across the back of a fork. You really should take a good look at the book on Amazon, or at least click on the link to this recent article from Saveur. If you type Jenn Louis' name into your browser, you are going to get an absolute embarrassment of riches. 

Spoilers - Creamy Tomato Soup

Arrrgh, Monday. Even though I no longer go to work, I hate Mondays on general principle. I hate this Monday because my back is on fire and breakfast got stuck in my esophagus. 

Now that you've got that lovely picture in your mind, let's move on to the important stuff. I have my (palpitating) heart set on making potato gnocchi to go with those lovely fluffy meatballs, but I don't know if I can stand up long enough to do it. Gnocchi is a stand-up production, what with ricing the potatoes, kneading the dough, and forming the gnocchi.  I am pumped to do this - I have a new cookbook, Pasta by Hand, by Chef Jenn Louis, and it is every bit as wonderful as the Amazon reviews and Mario Batali said it was.

My plans for today were simple: telephone the folks at the agency assisting me with the disability claim to go over some paperwork I received from the Feds; head over to the office with bubble wrap and brownies to visit with my peeps and pack up the rest of my stuff; and to try out one of the gnocchi recipes. Well, I made my call, and then everything came to a complete halt. Pain, bringing on panic, bringing on depression. Today is shot to spit, and any moment I am headed upstairs to my bed. The Advil is not making a dent in this.

Spoiler Alert: If you have not yet seen the first episode of "Doctor Who" Series 9, proceed at your own risk.

Yesterday, Rob and I finally watched the first episode of the new season of "Doctor Who". It may be a very short season as both Clara (his current companion) and Missy (the current iteration of the Master) were killed by the Daleks, who were in the midst of destroying the TARDIS just as the episode was ending. No TARDIS, no companion, no lifelong best frenemy - what's left? Who knows? Maybe it's the end of the series, much as I hate these short seasons. Maybe the Doctor will wake up from this bad dream just as Clara steps out of the shower. Maybe Michelle Gomez will turn back into John Simms. Maybe Steven Moffat will get off the kickapoo joy juice. Big thrill for us Whovians was the connection to a (much) earlier episode in which the Fourth Doctor contemplates life, death, and little children who grow up to be monsters. What else can I say? Stay tuned.

End of Spoilers, and don't tell me you didn't read the first word of the title of this post in River Song's voice. Goodbye, sweeties.

Such a lovely list of foods I want to prepare, besides the potato gnocchi: peanut butter bars, briami (a Greek ratatouille), Scotch eggs, and Glazed Lemon-Lime Ginger Cookies. Since I am not up to any of that right now, let's talk about polls and politics. The most recent Republican debate appears to have had a significant impact on the standing of the candidates for nomination. The Donald is still at the top, although his numbers have drifted a bit southward in the past week.  Oddly, or maybe not, he has been moving under the radar; maybe to let the latest controversy die down, or maybe to get ready to announce a specific plan for tax reform.

Carly Fiorina's numbers made a leap worthy of Angry Birds, jumping from around 11th to 2nd in the polls. As a result, everybody is now picking on her.  Hey, it's the American way. Chris Wallace of FOX subjected her to some pretty tough questioning, and she really did a swell job holding her own.

A few days after the debate, Dr. Ben Carson made a politically incorrect statement worthy of Donald Trump, stating unequivocally (on "Meet the Press", no less) that he would not support a Muslim for U.S. President, as Islam is inconsistent with the basic tenets of the U.S.Constitution. What was utterly predictable was C.A.I.R. (Counsel on American-Islamic Relations) calling for Carson to drop out of the race. What was unexpected was Dr. Carson's reaction to the hysteria. No apologies, no weaselly explanations like "that's not what I meant." Nope, in fact, his business manager responded that there are many Americans who believe the same thing.  If the individual starting his question to Donald Trump with the sentence "we have a problem in this country - Muslims" is any example, then Dr. Carson's business manager has a point. Besides, C.A.I.R is not a benign organization of peace-loving Muslims. Let's leave it at that.

Dr. Carson is presently third in the polls (he had been second), now that Carly Fiorina has jumped to second.  Of course, once the "low-riders" - my name for the low single digit candidates -  drop out, I expect we will see major reshuffling of the poll numbers for the remaining brave souls.            

Let's talk about the Democratic nominees, shall we? Okay, to start, it is no secret that despite my conservative leanings (do not interpret that as support of the Republican Party) I would vote for Hillary Clinton tomorrow if her name was on the ballot.  I have been waiting over 6 years to do so, and I can wait a little longer.  Although this drives my husband crazy, and although I am well aware of the problems Mrs. Clinton is facing, I am firmly convinced that she will make a wonderful President (and don't interpret that as my support of the Democratic Party).

Her main opponent for the nomination is Bernie Sanders, Senator from Vermont, a self-proclaimed socialist (although no one is disagreeing with his self-assessment) who is really giving Hillary a run for her money.  He pulls big crowds and polls big numbers. He is very personable, very knowledgable, and it is clear he speaks from the heart. He was born in Brooklyn, which gives him high points from me. But if I may, here are a couple of reasons Mr. Sanders will not be the nominee of the Democratic Party, and if I am wrong, the reasons he will never be elected President.

Bernie is 74 years old. Let's get real folks - everyone ages, even those folks who are doing everything possible to turn back time.  God don't make no junk, but He does believe in planned obsolescence, and we all start to really feel the aches and pains about the time Bernie wants to take on the toughest job in the world. Next, Bernie is a socialist, which places him to the left of Barack Obama.  My taxes are already supporting several families, I think I've shared enough of my earnings with perfect strangers over the past 45 years. And one other thing, which I hate to write, but the truth of the matter is that Bernie Sanders is Jewish. His mother was Jewish. His father's family was killed in the Holocaust. As an adult, Bernie spent several months on an Israeli kibbutz. The voting public of the United States is not willing to elect a Jew to the Presidency. Old prejudices run deep.  Sorry, Bernie.

NYC, 2013. Seriously.

Besides, Hillary's numbers are on the way back up, despite the strong presence of an undeclared candidate, Vice President Joe Biden. Uncle Joe needs to make up his mind - fish or cut bait - or just cut bait. I've seen Joe Biden make a run for the Democratic nomination before, and it was his first attempt that solidified my opinion of him. I never see an ads or articles about hair plugs without thinking of Joe Biden. Instead of being able to hide somewhere and let his hair grow so he would look youthfully hirsute, he had to sit in front of TV cameras, at the main table next to Teddy Kennedy, day after day after day during Clarence Thomas' Supreme Court confirmation hearing. The entire nation got to see Biden's vanity - and his aching, itching scalp - on display throughout the long, painful days of Anita Hill.

Nominating Joe Biden would be a huge mistake for the Democratic Party, because he is so closely aligned with the Obama administration, much more than even Hillary, and the country is ready for a change. It would also be a mistake for Joe Biden, the grieving father.  He just buried a child, and there is no more terrible thing that can happen to anyone, ever. Running for President as a way to forget the pain is not fair to him, or to the American people.

Governor Scott Walker just announced he is dropping out of the presidential race.  So it goes.

I really hate to leave you without a recipe, so let's call this Throwback Tuesday and this is one of my favorite recipes from a 2011 blog post. I subsequently made some revisions, which are in parenthesis:

Creamy Tomato Soup

In a large pot:

2 large onions, chopped

4 cloves garlic, chopped

Season with kosher salt, black pepper, and a little sugar (dried herbes de Provence, sweet paprika, dried thyme leaves)

Sauté in a combination of butter and olive oil until soft and a little caramelized.  Then add:

1-14.5 oz. can well-drained petite diced tomatoes and cook with the onions until soft.

(Deglaze with a small amount of white wine, then)

Cover with:

Chicken Stock (Broth)

Simmer together

Then add:

1 jar Bertolli Spicy Marinara Sauce

1 jar Classico Vodka Sauce

Simmer everything together while seasoning to your liking.  Add more stock (broth) if too thick.  At end, lower heat and stir in:

Heavy cream or half and half to taste.