Comfort Food Rocks.
Being the Suzy Homemaker that you all know me to be (frilly apron and all), I do a fair amount of cooking. I always have. Even in college I never ate out of a box. There was always a crockpot of "conglomeration stew" going in that scummy little basement (I won't say apartment) that I lived in. This time of year one of the easiest and honestly best meals is what my Grandpa used to call "mission meals" and my kids used to call "homemade hamburger helper." With the kids gone, I have difficulty figuring out the two person ratio for doing what I have been doing for four for many years, so generally, a good mission meal lasts for about three days.
These mission meals, while easy, are also very much hearty comfort food. My favorite? Dice and fry potatoes in butter and layer in the bottom of a casserole dish. Brown hamburger with some cumin, salt, pepper and finely diced onion and then add a can of cream of chicken soup, some cottage cheese, some sour cream. Simmer for a while and then pour the mixture on top of the potatoes. Add a layer of cheddar cheese and then bake for 45 minutes at 350 deg.........measurements? Baahh!
Enjoy the flavor and feel of your arteries hardening as the north wind blows against the windows.
Saturday with a couple of loads of wood to bring home and that is what I am making for supper.
Saturday, December 20, 2014
Wednesday, December 17, 2014
Pineapple
The Pineapple to Katie's smoke.
Like David's Rain on fallen leaves and my own waves on the beach, there is nothing quite as comforting as the fresh smell of woodsmoke and the heat that radiates from the stove on a brisk winter day. A pot of chili or soup simmering on the woodstove only adds to that comfortable feeling of home and it makes all the work involved in loads like this well worth the sweat. And yes, the truck is older than I am.
Tuesday, December 16, 2014
The Greatest Generation
70 years ago this morning the Germans launched a surprise offensive that became "The Battle of the Bulge." I am certain you all remember the story of General Anthony McCauliffe of the 101st Airborne and his reply to the German demand to surrender. One word, "NUTS."
Those of you that know me also know that family history is important to me. Both of my Grandfathers were too old to be drafted and had families when the war came around. They served the war effort in their own ways. My Great Uncle, who I have written about before fought in the Battle of the Bulge and eventually crossed the Rhine with Patton. He rarely talked about the details of his service unless it was to tell a humorous tale. I remember asking him when I was a foolish youngster if he had killed anyone in the war. His response? A very quiet, eyes averted white lie, "I don't know." He was active in the American Legion and continued to serve the community in many ways right up until his death.
The men and women of his generation and their families sacrificed much for the rest of us and it always amazes me how humble they were, how quiet they were about it. In today's "hooray for me and fuck the rest of you" world, it would be nice if that attitude and behavior could somehow be rekindled. While there are many who serve and sacrifice without expectation of reward, it seems from our leaders to our children the overriding goal is furthering yourself and your image.
I guess this isn't meant to be a rant about today's generation. It is meant to honor those who have passed and those few who still remain from The Greatest Generation. Their numbers are dwindling. They are quietly moving on to whatever challenge is next. Challenges they will meet by putting their head down, moving forward diligently and quietly and getting the job done without complaint or comment.
My Uncle passed away over 5 years ago now. Several other local veterans have passed since that time. Most recently a man who lied about his age to join the Navy at 16. He served in the Pacific on a submarine. In 2013 he flew to Washington DC on one of the Honor Flights to see the memorial that was erected in honor of his and other's service. He told me it was one of the highlights of his life.
If there was ever a time or a cause to donate to, I hope you will consider donating to Honor Flights. My Uncle never saw the memorials. Honestly, I am sure he never thought about it, which is typical. I wish he had the opportunity.
http://www.honorflight.org/
The title page of their site has an outstanding quote from Will Rogers:
"We can't all be heroes. Some of us have to stand on the curb and clap as they go by."
Those of you that know me also know that family history is important to me. Both of my Grandfathers were too old to be drafted and had families when the war came around. They served the war effort in their own ways. My Great Uncle, who I have written about before fought in the Battle of the Bulge and eventually crossed the Rhine with Patton. He rarely talked about the details of his service unless it was to tell a humorous tale. I remember asking him when I was a foolish youngster if he had killed anyone in the war. His response? A very quiet, eyes averted white lie, "I don't know." He was active in the American Legion and continued to serve the community in many ways right up until his death.
The men and women of his generation and their families sacrificed much for the rest of us and it always amazes me how humble they were, how quiet they were about it. In today's "hooray for me and fuck the rest of you" world, it would be nice if that attitude and behavior could somehow be rekindled. While there are many who serve and sacrifice without expectation of reward, it seems from our leaders to our children the overriding goal is furthering yourself and your image.
I guess this isn't meant to be a rant about today's generation. It is meant to honor those who have passed and those few who still remain from The Greatest Generation. Their numbers are dwindling. They are quietly moving on to whatever challenge is next. Challenges they will meet by putting their head down, moving forward diligently and quietly and getting the job done without complaint or comment.
My Uncle passed away over 5 years ago now. Several other local veterans have passed since that time. Most recently a man who lied about his age to join the Navy at 16. He served in the Pacific on a submarine. In 2013 he flew to Washington DC on one of the Honor Flights to see the memorial that was erected in honor of his and other's service. He told me it was one of the highlights of his life.
If there was ever a time or a cause to donate to, I hope you will consider donating to Honor Flights. My Uncle never saw the memorials. Honestly, I am sure he never thought about it, which is typical. I wish he had the opportunity.
http://www.honorflight.org/
The title page of their site has an outstanding quote from Will Rogers:
"We can't all be heroes. Some of us have to stand on the curb and clap as they go by."
Sunday, December 14, 2014
Friday, December 12, 2014
Coffee
I like my coffee strong. Black. Sticky.....well, maybe not sticky, but my grandfather called the coffee I like "steamboat coffee." Because on the boat you could set your coffee mug down in a heavy sea and not worry about it sloshing out of the cup. The spoon (if you used one for foo foo shit like sugar and cream) should be able to stand up.
I make my coffee in the same pot that my grandmother used since the 30's or 40's. I grind my own coffee. It is one of my guilty pleasures. Usually a French Roast or Italian Roast. I make a thermos full and drink it every day. I have a serious caffeine addiction. When I am traveling, I bring my own ground coffee with me along with a couple coffee filters so I do not have to be subjected to Starbucks brown piss water.
I am sure some of the coffee house "barista's" or whatever foolishness the servers are calling themselves would scoff at my coffee, but I like it.
All this is leading up to my wife (who does not drink coffee) telling me that we need to buy one of these new K-cup machines. "For what?" I ask. "I already have a coffee maker that works fine." To which she replied, "No you don't, you have a coffee pot that you put the grounds in and pour boiling water through that is older than you are." "So what? It works. It makes good coffee. And I like it!" "But you never wash it...you only rinse it out and wipe it out, and it takes up space on the stove and whatever you make but don't drink gets poured down the drain."
Ok, she is right about the undrunk coffee being poured down the drain. My grandmother likely would faint dead away if she knew I did this. She would put the left over in a jar and either re heat it or pour it over ice....not me. I also knew her to spread out the used grounds on a cookie sheet when she was running short of coffee and set the sheet on the woodstove to dry out so she could use them again the next day mixed with the little fresh she might have left. Not me. My used coffee grounds go into the compost heap....and most of you thought I was not "green."
Back to the gadgetry. Against my wishes she went out a bought one. Along with an assortment of coffee including some French and Italian roast samples. She also bought some tea, hot chocolate and hot cider cups (I am realizing this was the real reason she wanted it). I came home from work last Friday to find it on the table. A sleek looking plastic concoction with water on the side and buttons and a touch screen like my POS IPad. My grandmother's coffee pot and the tea kettle I boiled the water in were no longer on the stove but put away in the cupboard under the counter. In addition to the coffee samplers she bought a refillable container so that I could use my own fresh ground beans. Sounds great right? Very thoughtful right? Ha! The fucking thing would only work on cups made by the manufacturer...most of what she bought would not brew. After checking out the internet, there are several cheats that I discovered, so all was not lost for my wife...until.....I tried one of the coffees she bought.....paint thinner with a hint of burnt motor oil (and I happen to be an aficionado when it comes to burnt motor oil). I tried the refillable cup with my own coffee...I could not pack enough in it to make the coffee as strong as I like it...to top it off, what a mess and pain in the ass.
Sunday morning, I got grandma's coffee pot out of the cupboard and drank my tar while my wife sat sipping on a hot chocolate...which was her purpose in buying the damned machine in the first place.
I make my coffee in the same pot that my grandmother used since the 30's or 40's. I grind my own coffee. It is one of my guilty pleasures. Usually a French Roast or Italian Roast. I make a thermos full and drink it every day. I have a serious caffeine addiction. When I am traveling, I bring my own ground coffee with me along with a couple coffee filters so I do not have to be subjected to Starbucks brown piss water.
I am sure some of the coffee house "barista's" or whatever foolishness the servers are calling themselves would scoff at my coffee, but I like it.
All this is leading up to my wife (who does not drink coffee) telling me that we need to buy one of these new K-cup machines. "For what?" I ask. "I already have a coffee maker that works fine." To which she replied, "No you don't, you have a coffee pot that you put the grounds in and pour boiling water through that is older than you are." "So what? It works. It makes good coffee. And I like it!" "But you never wash it...you only rinse it out and wipe it out, and it takes up space on the stove and whatever you make but don't drink gets poured down the drain."
Ok, she is right about the undrunk coffee being poured down the drain. My grandmother likely would faint dead away if she knew I did this. She would put the left over in a jar and either re heat it or pour it over ice....not me. I also knew her to spread out the used grounds on a cookie sheet when she was running short of coffee and set the sheet on the woodstove to dry out so she could use them again the next day mixed with the little fresh she might have left. Not me. My used coffee grounds go into the compost heap....and most of you thought I was not "green."
Back to the gadgetry. Against my wishes she went out a bought one. Along with an assortment of coffee including some French and Italian roast samples. She also bought some tea, hot chocolate and hot cider cups (I am realizing this was the real reason she wanted it). I came home from work last Friday to find it on the table. A sleek looking plastic concoction with water on the side and buttons and a touch screen like my POS IPad. My grandmother's coffee pot and the tea kettle I boiled the water in were no longer on the stove but put away in the cupboard under the counter. In addition to the coffee samplers she bought a refillable container so that I could use my own fresh ground beans. Sounds great right? Very thoughtful right? Ha! The fucking thing would only work on cups made by the manufacturer...most of what she bought would not brew. After checking out the internet, there are several cheats that I discovered, so all was not lost for my wife...until.....I tried one of the coffees she bought.....paint thinner with a hint of burnt motor oil (and I happen to be an aficionado when it comes to burnt motor oil). I tried the refillable cup with my own coffee...I could not pack enough in it to make the coffee as strong as I like it...to top it off, what a mess and pain in the ass.
Sunday morning, I got grandma's coffee pot out of the cupboard and drank my tar while my wife sat sipping on a hot chocolate...which was her purpose in buying the damned machine in the first place.
Thursday, December 11, 2014
Traveling Meat
Time to thin the herd a bit. My old bull has served his purpose and the young one that I was going to replace him with has not turned out to be as I wished. One of my cows, who has provided us with 8 very respectable calves over the years seems to be slipping. She lost her calf this year and so, with winter coming on, it appears that it is her time as well.
Yesterday I backed the trailer up to the gate and made my first attempt at loading the three up for a drive. The younger of the two bulls, Ballsy, followed me (actually he followed the bucket of corn I was carrying) right into the trailer. The old guy, Turdfox, was not far behind. The old cow, Dolly, was more wary, and in spite of the corn I dumped on the floor of the trailer, would only put her two front feet in and would follow me back out. We went through this several times and finally it was dark, so I decided to wait until this morning to load them.
This morning came and, following the same routine, I came up with the same result. I had a deadline (bad pun.....I know) so I decided, "to hell with it!" and closed the door on the two bulls and gave Dolly a brief reprieve. If my wife would have been able to help, we might have gotten all three on the trailer, but she gets weepy knowing what is coming and I gave her a reprieve as well this morning.
After about a 2 hour drive, a brief inspection with security (really!), a USDA overseer and a packing house employee watched as I backed the trailer into the dock - my little stock trailer with two bulls between two huge semi's with probably 40 head in each. I opened the gate and called the two bulls out, who were understandably and justifiably nervous. The employee offered me a "rattle prod" which is a non electric noise maker that will help the animals moving along. I declined. I got behind them and said, "lets go boys!" and clapped my hands and off we went down the aisle, around several corners and finally into a holding pen lined with fresh sawdust. I only occasionally patted them both on the hind quarter to keep them moving. After latching the gate, I turned around and headed back down the aisle. The USDA inspector was standing watching and as I approached, he shook his head and said, "amazing!" "What do you mean?" I asked. "No struggle at all. They did exactly what you wanted them to do with no drama!" "So?" I replied, "why is that amazing?" "Most small operators have to chase their animals around to get them in the pens." "I wish they would have loaded as easily" I replied. He just shook his head.
I signed my ticket and will get a check in the mail by the middle of next week. I got in my truck and came home. I will find a new bull in the spring. I have Black Angus cattle, but I have been thinking about trying to find a bull with some Wagyu in it. We will see. I have all winter to think about it. I will probably make the trip again next week with Dolly.
As a side note, to clarify, sound older animals that are taken to the locker because they are no longer productive are graded and depending on meat quality, will become hamburger or better cuts that are marketed to contract buyers. Most likely my young bull will end up as hamburger for the restaurant market. My older bull will likely supply some nice choice cuts in addition to hamburger. Dolly, will be hamburger.
When it is my turn, I expect to be dog food.
A bit of a footnote here. Reading this back it seems a bit cold and to a certain extent it is because that is how it must be. All our animals have names and all are treated quite well. If I was honest with myself (and unfortunately, I usually am) I guess I almost prefer the productive animals to the "pets" (don't tell Beulah!). I have watched horses as they got into their upper 20's and in the "failure to thrive" stage where no matter how much they eat, they get skinnier and skinnier and finally you are left with no resort except to put them down. I have had to put down neighbor's animals because they could not bring themselves to do it. I have had to put down dogs...and the latest one, Rascal, who I wrote about on that other site, was the hardest thing I have to do and I have another that is coming up sooner than I want to think about. These animals live their lives for us. They are happy to see me when I come to the gate. Or at least I would like to think they are happy to see me and not just the bucket of grain I am carrying...Reality sometimes is hard and I have to tell you, as I drove away from the locker, I could not help but think about Turdfox shoving his head at me when I stopped scratching (which is a very dangerous thing) much like the dog puts his nose underneath it and shoves when you stop scratching. They lead a good life right to the end and even in the end they serve us and deserve respect.
For a time, we raised English Bulldogs....I have spoke and written about that as well. We sold puppies all over the Midwest and one went to Canada. We always screened the prospective owners because we wanted to at least have a feeling that they went to a nice home. We turned more than one down. Without fail, every puppy left our home with my wife crying.
I was only half joking about being made into dog food when I go. I have gotten so much enjoyment, so much comfort and so much unconditional companionship from the dogs I have had that the least I could do is provide for them in the end....nah....scratch that...burn me up...I would be too tough to chew and they might break a tooth.
Yesterday I backed the trailer up to the gate and made my first attempt at loading the three up for a drive. The younger of the two bulls, Ballsy, followed me (actually he followed the bucket of corn I was carrying) right into the trailer. The old guy, Turdfox, was not far behind. The old cow, Dolly, was more wary, and in spite of the corn I dumped on the floor of the trailer, would only put her two front feet in and would follow me back out. We went through this several times and finally it was dark, so I decided to wait until this morning to load them.
This morning came and, following the same routine, I came up with the same result. I had a deadline (bad pun.....I know) so I decided, "to hell with it!" and closed the door on the two bulls and gave Dolly a brief reprieve. If my wife would have been able to help, we might have gotten all three on the trailer, but she gets weepy knowing what is coming and I gave her a reprieve as well this morning.
After about a 2 hour drive, a brief inspection with security (really!), a USDA overseer and a packing house employee watched as I backed the trailer into the dock - my little stock trailer with two bulls between two huge semi's with probably 40 head in each. I opened the gate and called the two bulls out, who were understandably and justifiably nervous. The employee offered me a "rattle prod" which is a non electric noise maker that will help the animals moving along. I declined. I got behind them and said, "lets go boys!" and clapped my hands and off we went down the aisle, around several corners and finally into a holding pen lined with fresh sawdust. I only occasionally patted them both on the hind quarter to keep them moving. After latching the gate, I turned around and headed back down the aisle. The USDA inspector was standing watching and as I approached, he shook his head and said, "amazing!" "What do you mean?" I asked. "No struggle at all. They did exactly what you wanted them to do with no drama!" "So?" I replied, "why is that amazing?" "Most small operators have to chase their animals around to get them in the pens." "I wish they would have loaded as easily" I replied. He just shook his head.
I signed my ticket and will get a check in the mail by the middle of next week. I got in my truck and came home. I will find a new bull in the spring. I have Black Angus cattle, but I have been thinking about trying to find a bull with some Wagyu in it. We will see. I have all winter to think about it. I will probably make the trip again next week with Dolly.
As a side note, to clarify, sound older animals that are taken to the locker because they are no longer productive are graded and depending on meat quality, will become hamburger or better cuts that are marketed to contract buyers. Most likely my young bull will end up as hamburger for the restaurant market. My older bull will likely supply some nice choice cuts in addition to hamburger. Dolly, will be hamburger.
When it is my turn, I expect to be dog food.
A bit of a footnote here. Reading this back it seems a bit cold and to a certain extent it is because that is how it must be. All our animals have names and all are treated quite well. If I was honest with myself (and unfortunately, I usually am) I guess I almost prefer the productive animals to the "pets" (don't tell Beulah!). I have watched horses as they got into their upper 20's and in the "failure to thrive" stage where no matter how much they eat, they get skinnier and skinnier and finally you are left with no resort except to put them down. I have had to put down neighbor's animals because they could not bring themselves to do it. I have had to put down dogs...and the latest one, Rascal, who I wrote about on that other site, was the hardest thing I have to do and I have another that is coming up sooner than I want to think about. These animals live their lives for us. They are happy to see me when I come to the gate. Or at least I would like to think they are happy to see me and not just the bucket of grain I am carrying...Reality sometimes is hard and I have to tell you, as I drove away from the locker, I could not help but think about Turdfox shoving his head at me when I stopped scratching (which is a very dangerous thing) much like the dog puts his nose underneath it and shoves when you stop scratching. They lead a good life right to the end and even in the end they serve us and deserve respect.
For a time, we raised English Bulldogs....I have spoke and written about that as well. We sold puppies all over the Midwest and one went to Canada. We always screened the prospective owners because we wanted to at least have a feeling that they went to a nice home. We turned more than one down. Without fail, every puppy left our home with my wife crying.
I was only half joking about being made into dog food when I go. I have gotten so much enjoyment, so much comfort and so much unconditional companionship from the dogs I have had that the least I could do is provide for them in the end....nah....scratch that...burn me up...I would be too tough to chew and they might break a tooth.
Wednesday, December 3, 2014
Religion and Church
It has been a while since I wrote anything. Fall coming into winter is a busy time. Like the proverbial squirrel storing up for winter, I run around proving that I am "nuts." Ok, bad pun. Kit posted a blog (she is an influential gal even if she doesn't realize it!) and it brought to mind an old posting from that other site that used to be so nice. Ok...so maybe cutting and pasting is cheating...but I still wrote it, and I think it still holds true, even if I wrote it several years ago....
Here it is...a blast from the past.
I was brought up Lutheran. I went to Sunday School. I went to church almost every Sunday. I was confirmed. I believe in God. I also believe in Christ. I am not offended by those that don't, or believe otherwise...unless it is thrown in my face or unless their so-called faith is used as an excuse or justification for douchery....then fuck off. I am not the one to judge you (although likely I will - tough shit). You are not the one to judge me (although likely you will - get over it, I don't care).
Why do I write this?
Because for the last 20 years I have only attended church sporadically. Most of the time for funerals or weddings, although I have skipped my fair share of those as well. I did not even attend Easter services.
Because last night I was asked why I no longer went to church and (imagine this) I was honest. I told the person that I couldn't sit in the back of the church and look at the back of all the hypocrites heads. She said, well, you could sit in the front row with us. I replied, well, I would still have to look at at least one hypocrite. And sitting in the front row just proves that you are more interested in people seeing you sit in the front row, not the word that is being preached by the chief hypocrite.
She seemed to be highly offended. Tough shit. The truth hurts. Fuck off.
I would rather sit with a new calf in my lap on a Sunday morning. I would rather be in the glory of God's creation splitting a couple face cords of wood. I would rather throw the boat in the water and troll for bass. I would rather hitch my team and rake hay. All of this I am able to do because God created it. Sitting in a building with a bunch of self righteous douchebags will not get me to heaven. Heaven is here if we appreciate it. I don't believe faith requires weekly attendance in some building.
Ok...I could go on about this for a long long while, but what is the point? If you think going to church on Sunday in your gotomeetin clothes for an hour or two will get you to heaven, well.....good for you. The rest of the week matters much more in my eyes.
Rant over.
Update:
Since I received a PM from a friend who was slightly offended because they are a regular church goer, I feel that I must clarify that while I may have been generalizing, I am sure that there are some people who really feel that going to church is enough...wait...that came out snarky.....Tough shit......lmao No, what I mean to say is, Sorry "friend" If I offended your churchiness, pray for me when you are there. I will think of you during the rest of the week.
Here it is...a blast from the past.
I was brought up Lutheran. I went to Sunday School. I went to church almost every Sunday. I was confirmed. I believe in God. I also believe in Christ. I am not offended by those that don't, or believe otherwise...unless it is thrown in my face or unless their so-called faith is used as an excuse or justification for douchery....then fuck off. I am not the one to judge you (although likely I will - tough shit). You are not the one to judge me (although likely you will - get over it, I don't care).
Why do I write this?
Because for the last 20 years I have only attended church sporadically. Most of the time for funerals or weddings, although I have skipped my fair share of those as well. I did not even attend Easter services.
Because last night I was asked why I no longer went to church and (imagine this) I was honest. I told the person that I couldn't sit in the back of the church and look at the back of all the hypocrites heads. She said, well, you could sit in the front row with us. I replied, well, I would still have to look at at least one hypocrite. And sitting in the front row just proves that you are more interested in people seeing you sit in the front row, not the word that is being preached by the chief hypocrite.
She seemed to be highly offended. Tough shit. The truth hurts. Fuck off.
I would rather sit with a new calf in my lap on a Sunday morning. I would rather be in the glory of God's creation splitting a couple face cords of wood. I would rather throw the boat in the water and troll for bass. I would rather hitch my team and rake hay. All of this I am able to do because God created it. Sitting in a building with a bunch of self righteous douchebags will not get me to heaven. Heaven is here if we appreciate it. I don't believe faith requires weekly attendance in some building.
Ok...I could go on about this for a long long while, but what is the point? If you think going to church on Sunday in your gotomeetin clothes for an hour or two will get you to heaven, well.....good for you. The rest of the week matters much more in my eyes.
Rant over.
Update:
Since I received a PM from a friend who was slightly offended because they are a regular church goer, I feel that I must clarify that while I may have been generalizing, I am sure that there are some people who really feel that going to church is enough...wait...that came out snarky.....Tough shit......lmao No, what I mean to say is, Sorry "friend" If I offended your churchiness, pray for me when you are there. I will think of you during the rest of the week.
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