Happy St. Patrick's Day! Have You Had Your Cabbage Today?

Happy St. Patrick's Day to one and all. I hope God has smiled down on you this day, and perhaps sprinkled you with just a little luck o' the Irish. I love St. Patrick's Day, and have been enamored with all things Irish for many years. Many of you (I use the term "many" very loosely.) will remember a post made a few weeks ago about by dreams to open an Irish-Mexican Pub. Just in case you forgot, here is a link to that post. Please hurry back.

Ok, now that you are done with that little refresher, we can continue. As I was saying, I love St. Patrick's Day, and was determined to cook an authentic Irish meal that definitely included cabbage. I am sure the vast majority of readers' minds are going to corned beef and cabbage. There are two problems with that thought. The first is that corned beef is not Irish. The Irish do not cook corned beef in Ireland, and they certainly don't eat it with corned beef. It is my understanding that in Ireland, cabbage is cooked with bacon. However, it was impossible to get Irish style bacon in the US, so the early immigrants substituted with the next best thing they could find...corned beef. Thus the tradition of corned beef and cabbage began in the US.

The second, and decidedly more important, problem with corned beef is that my wife does not like corned beef. Trust me. No luck o' the Irish can save me from the ire of a red-headed wife. Therefore, corned beef was not to be on the menu this year. What to do?

During my travels across the vast internet I came across a very neat website called the Irish American Mom. If you have even the remotest affinity with things Irish, you must visit this site. WAIT!!!! You must visit the site...but later, please. While visiting the site I saw instructions for cooking cabbage Irish style. Perfect! It involves boiling with some good fatty bacon. Even more perfect! The cabbage question had been solved. Now, what to have with cabbage. I figured if this Irish-American mom knew how to cook cabbage Irish style, she could certainly come up with something for me to have with my cabbage. It took just a wee bit of scrolling down the page and, BINGO! There was a link to something called Irish Guinness Beef Stew. You simply can't go wrong with a hearty beef stew. What person can resist a picture like this?

This woman definitely knows how to use a camera to make people hungry!

Admittedly, it seemed like a rather heavy dish to be cooking when the temperature is already in the eighties. However, the calendar says it is still officially winter for a few days, so we are having beef stew, by gosh. Upon first inspection, this recipe did not seem all that different from any standard beef stew. However, the very name of the recipe slaps you in the face with one major difference. Guinness. No drink says "Ireland" quite like Guinness. This recipe called for a bottle of Guinness Stout. A stout is a good dark beer that usually has a particularly creamy head on it that will grow like "The Blob" if you pour it too quickly. In all honesty, I had never had a stout before finding this recipe. There was no way I could use it in a recipe without trying it first. Unfortunately, none of the stores immediately close to me sell Guinness Stout in a single bottle. I was definitely not going to buy a six pack of something I could potentially detest. That's when Kathy comes to my rescue. Kathy is a co-worker who has also been a wonderful friend to my family for close to twenty years. She also happens to have a fondness for beer. Stop thinking those thoughts! I am not implying she is a lush. Far from it. However, she does enjoy a good beer, kinda like a wine taster enjoys a good wine. Anyway, she was kind enough to bring me two different stouts to try. Neither was Irish, but this should be a good enough taste test. Stout proved to be the perfect accompaniment to a Berry-Cherry pie.

Before you begin to wonder if this blog is about food or alcohol, let me get on with the story. The other surprising difference between this stew recipe and the standards is dark chocolate. I know that may sound strange, but it is actually used quite a bit...in Mexican cooking. The idea behind it's use in this recipe is that a small amount of dark chocolate will cut the bitterness of the Guinness stout.

As usual, I don't always follow rules when cooking. I did with the cabbage, but I just couldn't with the stew. I promise I didn't change it too much. Also, you need to remember that in one of my earliest posts I encouraged the idea of taking a recipe and changing it to make it your own. My change was minor, and had more to do with money than anything else. I still was not ready to buy an entire six pack of Guinness. I still had one stout left from the Kathy taste test. This one just happened to be a Young's Double Chocolate Stout. Cool! I could kill two birds with one stone. My stout already has chocolate in it.

However, this just proved to find me facing a new dilemma. This was a "moral" dilemma. I am using an American stout. Can I really call this an Irish stew? I run to the dining room and grab my bottle of Jameson. I pour 1/4 cup of this fine Irish Whiskey into my stew. Problem solved.

This stew has to simmer for twelve hours in a slow cooker. I started it just before going to bed, and woke up to a wonderful aroma on St. Patrick's Day. By noon, the perfect St. Patrick's Day meal was ready. With the first bite, I knew I was going to be blessed with more than just a touch of the luck o' the Irish.

See all of that juice? That's what the roll is for. Yummy!!

What lessons did I learn from this meal? That stew is awesome! I certainly feel that a double chocolate stout is a perfect substitution for a regular Guinness stout and some dark chocolate. Unless you just have to have something "Irish" in the stew, forget the Jameson. It certainly did not ruin anything. However, I really can't say it helped anything either...other than my conscience.

We really enjoyed the cabbage. I just happen to have an entire family of cabbage lovers. However, I didn't taste as much of a bacon flavor as I was expecting. I guess, if I know bacon is in a recipe, I want to be able to taste it. While the cabbage was great, I really could not detect the bacon. No problem. I think I will make "Southern Irish Cabbage." That just means I am going to be using a good slab of hog jowl bacon. If anything can impart a bacon flavor, hog jowl can.

Anyway, I would like to thank Irish American Mom for making this St. Patrick's Day a huge success. One more thing added to the fun of the day. The previous night, I was working on my genealogy on the laptop. Suddenly, it popped up. I almost missed it, but there it was. My great great grandmother, was born in Ireland in 1833. Now, that makes for a happy St. Patrick's Day!

Look, Ma! No Microwave!

Does anyone have a cow for sale? Apparently, it has gotten to the point that it would be more economical than buying from the grocery store. Neva even questioned if we should start buying milk two gallons at a time. Perhaps two cows for sale?

Just this afternoon, Joseph came up to me and asked if he could have a glass of vanilla wafers and milk. He is definitely his mother's child. Sometimes, I wonder if they both wouldn't mind trying to survive on vanilla wafers and milk. Now, I'm not talking about a bowl of wafers and a glass of milk. I'm talking the largest honking glass you can find, stuffed with vanilla wafers and milk. In an effort to save the bovine population from stress caused by over milking, I told Joseph, "No." That went over just as well as "I need you to change the cat litter today."

I started feeling a little guilty. After all, he is a growing boy. Just ask Norfolk shipyard. That's where we're going to be buying his shoes soon. There had to be something I could let him have for snack that would be satisfying, without causing some poor cow to be so sore she wished she had been born a bull.

Popcorn!

You know, those hard little seeds that come right off the stalk, already sealed in paper bags, ready to stick in the microwave. We all have fond memories of standing around the microwave, eagerly anticipating that first POP!  What has this world come to? How could any memory of standing around a microwave be considered fond. Don't get me wrong. I have nothing against microwaves. I find them to be indispensable. However useful they are though, I can't say one has ever evoked memories of the fond variety. My memories actually involve a black popcorn kettle and a hot stove.

It just so happened that Grandma Judi, from Pueblo, CO, sent us a whole bag of home grown popcorn. There's another conundrum. I've been to Pueblo. It's kinda barren. Not exactly where you would expect to find anything labeled as home grown. Nevertheless, that is exactly what I received; home grown popcorn. Guess what!?! This popcorn was not sealed in a paper bag, and something tells me that a microwave would have only crisped those little seeds up. It also just so happened that when Grandma (Linda, not Judi) let us move into the big house, it came completely stocked with the black popcorn kettle I really do have fond memories of. It was a special kettle made in celebration of the bicentennial celebration of the USA. In addition, the house also came stocked with a bag of Trails End brand popcorn (Yep! The same popcorn sold by the Boy Scouts. Joseph will be hitting all you readers up in the fall.). Cool, surely it will have instructions for cooking popcorn on the stove top. Place 1/4 cup oil in the pan. Good so far. Pour the popcorn in the pan so it makes a single layer across the entire bottom. Ok. So, how much popcorn is that? Huh. Anyway, I put half a stick of butter in the pan. I don't want oiled popcorn, I want buttered. I get it all good and melted. I still haven't figured out how much popcorn to use. I get out my cup measure, fill it with popcorn kernels, and start to pour...and pour...and pour. What do you know? It takes a whole cup to cover the bottom of this kettle with popcorn kernels.

The lid goes on, the stove is at medium-high, and I stir...and I stir...and I stir...and I stir...

Now that fond memory is coming back. How long do I have to stir this ^%# thing! Wait! I hear something. It is the sound of...

Sizzling! Oh great! I'm frying my popcorn. Not knowing what I've gotten myself into, I sure am glad I did not inform anyone about what I was doing.

POP!

Oh my gosh! Was that actually a pop I heard?

POP!

There it goes again!

POP! POP!

I'm getting so excited, I could almost...suffice it to say, I'm excited. Before I could blink an eye, the popping started in earnest. Hundreds of little explosions were occurring on top of my stove. Suddenly, I could no longer turn the stirring paddle. The lid began to rise. The popping continued. White fluffy kernels of popcorn appeared in the top of the kettle. Then they flowed out...as they continued popping. Oh, ^%$! Popcorn is going everywhere! It is now under the burner, creating little bonfires. It is all over the stove, and still popping! I pull the kettle off of the stove. Finally! I hear signs of the popping slowing down. I pour what did not go all over the kitchen into two large bowls. One bowl goes to Joseph. The other goes to me...to hold while Grandma enjoys it. After Grandma leaves (She was admiring Sissy's prom dress), Sissy decides she wants some popcorn.

Note to self, one cup of kernels is WAAAAY too much. This time, we go with half a cup. Perfection! Two more bowls of popcorn. One goes to Sissy, and one goes to Joseph. The boy has no idea how regular he is going to be later in the evening.

"Dear," a voice says, ever so sweetly, from the living room. "May I have some popcorn?" Gotta keep the wife happy. The popcorn kettle gives birth to a third batch of popcorn. Talk about being shocked! That poor kettle sat idle on a shelf for who knows how many years, then gets use three times in one day.

So. Another fond memory was created today. And once again, it did NOT involve a microwave.

Fresh popcorn! No microwave required.

Greatings from Cancun, Ireland. Huh?

So...I've had a dream for quite a while. I often sit and daydream (Not at work! Really!) about one day opening an Irish pub. My brother's rolling his eyes right now. He just doesn't understand why I have a fascination with Ireland, and all things Irish (whiskey in particular) when he's traced us back to Scottish ancestry. I can't explain it, but I am positive there is a leprechaun somewhere in my family tree. Anyway, as I was saying, I've dreamed of owning an Irish pub. It would be complete with dark wood, a couple dartboards that look like they've been around since time in memorial, a kitchen cooking up bangers 'n mash, and a bar serving up Guiness, Murphy's, and shots of Jameson. Conjures up nice pictures in the mind, doesn't it?
There's a problem with my dream. In my dream, right next to those shots of Jameson are shots of Patrón (Tequila, that is). No self respecting Irish pub would sell tequila...would they? None of the Irish pubs I've been in have. Okay, admittedly, I've never set foot in a real Irish pub, but this is my blog. So, stuffit!
Anyway, as I was saying, no self respecting Irish pub would be serving tequila shots. What to do? What to do? Suddenly, I saw a movement out of the corner of my eye. When I looked to my side, what did appear? Twas a wee little man with a fluffy red beard...and sombrero.

"Who needs self respect?" he said to me with a big grin. "Serve them both!"

"What!?!" I replied incredulously. (Remember, this my dream.)

"You heard me right. Serve them both! And, if you really want to screw with their minds, serve both kinds of food."
This guy was totally brilliant! Nothing says "Authentic Irish Pub" more than Chile Rellenos and enchiladas.

"Or," he said, as we wrung his hands together, and chuckled an evil little laugh, "you can mix them."

"No!"

"Yes!"

"No!"

"Yeesssssss!"

"What would I serve? Corned beef enchiladas? Molé and Mash?"

"Faith and Begorrah! I can see this is going to be a long night. Perhaps you should ponder this a wee bit before coming to any decisions"

With that he turned, and started to fade away. "Wait!"

"Aye, me boy. What might you be wantin' now?"

"I don't even know your name," I replied.

"O'Shea...José O'Shea!"

With a tip of the sombrero he disappeared.

Henceforth my pub shall be called José O'Shea's. I think it just might be the world's first authentic Irish/Mexican restaurant. Of course, I still don't know the menu, but I'm sure some of my readers will be full of ideas. I figure my menu can be in three sections: José (Mexican), O'Shea (Irish), and All the Way (I think you can guess.) Go ahead and consider this an interactive blog entry. Tell me what food combinations you think would make a good All the Way menu. Maybe I will try some and post the results. Maybe.

I do know one thing that will be on the menu. José O'Shea's World Famous Green Chili. That's what I entered today in my company's first annual Chili Gas...oops...Cook Off. Unfortunately, I can't call it "championship" because I had to settle for second place. I'm certainly not going to call it José O'Shea's World Famous Second Place Chili! It's all the fault of that Paula girl. She just had to make two chili's and win third and first place. On top of that, she's the one who tallied the votes! There's something fishy in Denmark. Sorry, we're talking Ireland and Mexico, aren't we? Really, Paula's a real sweet person, and would never cheat me out of anything. If I had to lose to anyone, I would rather it be her.

THAT'S A LOAD OF CRAP! YOU'RE GOING DOWN NEXT TIME, PAULA DENBOW! YOU'RE GOING DOWN!!!

Oh dear! I just don't know what came over me. If you haven't ever had green chili, prepare yourself. It is nothing like regular chili. But, that's not a bad thing. It's a delectable treat created from a cornucopia of God's good bounty.

You're looking at Chili Poblanos, yellow sweet peppers, jalapenos, onions, and tomatillos. Tomateewhats? Tomatillos. Those are those little round things in the nasty brown paper skins. You find them in the store with the tomatoes. Guess what? They're not even remotely related to tomatoes. When you peel the brown "wrappers" off, they look and taste like little green tomatoes. They are actually a berry though. In fact, they are related to gooseberries. Go figure.

Anyway, I took those deliciously fresh veggies, and combined them with garlic, chicken stock, three pounds of chicken, and a secret blend of herbs and spices, and Shazam!

Geez! Can you guess why it's called green chili? You ladle it over a bed of rice, and top it with a dollop of sour cream, or Greek yoghurt (Uh Oh! Now it's an Irish/Mexican/Greek pub!), and you have a wonderful concoction of peppery goodness. I'd give you the recipe, but then I'd have to kill you. I can't be giving away top secret recipes from my restaurant. Can I!?!

Anyway, we have one menu item down. We're hardly done yet, troops. Give me some help. I'm waiting with baited breath! (That could be from the eleven varieties of chili I ate this afternoon. Sorry!)

With a wind chill of 18, what do you do? Make stoup!

What is stoup? We'll get to that later.

On February 2, Punxsutawney Phil stuck his little head out of his hole and declared six more weeks of winter. In Alaska folks grabbed their shotguns and headed for Pennsylvania. Six more weeks of THIS!?! Oh, @#$@ NO! Down here, in Memphis, we just shook our heads and said,"Don't you mean six weeks of winter...finally?" It is now February 11. Phil was a little late with his prediction, but it seems he may have gotten it right. No. We aren't under two feet of snow, but it has been super cold and windy (by Tennessee standards), and flurrying all day. I went to a pancake breakfast this morning. As I was walking outside, a dear friend of mine made a very wise observation. "Now, I know why deer can retract their..." Since there is the chance some children might be reading this, I'll just leave that last statement as a "fill in the blank". I think you get the idea of how cold it is today.

So. What do you do when it gets that cold? You make soup. I have been waiting for soup weather. I know, it has been cool enough a few times this year that we could eat soup. However, this is the first day it was cold enough that as I was leaving breakfast, my mind was already mulling over what type of soup to make for lunch. I love soup. I know, as a society, we use the word love too loosely, but I LOOOOOOOOVE soup! Potato, french onion, chicken noodle, broccoli cheddar, vegetable. I love them all. Nothing beats the chills, or the sniffles, like a hot bowl of soup. So, for lunch I made soup...

...or, stoup.

 

Gettin' hungry yet?

I have a problem when I make soup. I add things. Lot's of things. You see, I decided to make some vegetable beef soup. I browned a pound of ground beef with a large onion and some Pennsylvania grown garlic. (Yep! I'm still trying to work through all the garlic Aunt Marcia sent back in October.) Once I drained the grease off, I added three cups of beef broth, and a cup of ham broth. Then, the adding really began. Two cans of veg-all, a can of green beans, a can of sliced potatoes, a can of petite diced tomatoes, and half a cup of quinoa (That's those little squiggly things you see in the picture above. They are a great source of protein and fiber...and the kids love them.).

Whew! I need to catch my breath.

After simmering for twenty minutes, I added a box of macaroni noodles. Once those became edible, I added the powdered cheese mix (Oooh! I guess that makes this soup use # 122 for macaroni and cheese!), and stirred it up. By the time lunch was ready, as you can see in the bowl, there was very little liquid left. What is an extremely important element in soup? The liquid, of course! Now I have a dilemma. I've added so much stuff that I don't have much liquid. I can't really call this soup. Can I? No! If I called this soup, the great culinary gods would race out of the giant kitchen stadium in the sky, and give me the what for! What does a man do? Change the name. Thus we had stoup for lunch. So, what is stoup? It's soup, with enough extras, one might be attempted to call it stew. It isn't soup. It isn't stew, but it is...I mean, was...mighty good.

The peach cobbler was good too! But, that's another story for another day.

Some Deep Dish Thoughts: Use #121 for Mac n Cheese

I decided it was time to write in the blog again. I came to the conclusion when a dear friend of mine approached me the other day and informed me that I had not logged on and said anything funny lately. I decided to write a blog entry on deep dish pizza. Why? That's what we had for supper last night, so it's fresh on my mind.

After I had decided what I wanted to write about, I had a brief moment of self doubt. Does anyone even pay attention to what I am writing? Not that it really matters. The thought that nobody is paying attention to me has not stopped me from speaking my mind in the past...except for when it is my wife ignoring me. Now that really chaps me. After all! Didn't the wedding vows say something about you will listen to your husband for better or worse, til death do you part? (I wonder how many times she has considered speeding up that death parting us part?) I think I should be listened to by my wife ALL the time. Not that I really deserve it. It should happen simply because I am the husband. Why shouldn't that philosophy work? It works for the kids! They certainly feel that you should be hanging on every word that comes out of their mouths. Just think back to the last time your eyes glazed over as your daughter told you about that lying, scheming, little shrew named Mary Alice; or that time when Bubba completely ignored Sandra Dee when getting off of the bus; or that time...

Yeah, that's right! You know exactly what I'm talking about. Your body goes into natural self preservation mode, and your eyes glaze over. Then...it happens! "Daddy! You're not listening to me! This is my senior year and should be the happiest time of my life. Instead it is the worst year since I've been born...AND YOU'RE NOT LISTENING!!! You hate me!"
"No I don't, Dear."
"Well! You practically said you hated me."
"What? I said no such thing."
"You're not listening to me, so you might as well have! I'm just going to go live with Memaw!" At which point Daddy lets out a thunderous laugh, taking an already explosive situation to the point of nuclear devastation. Do you listen to your daughter's endless chatter, or do you ignore her and listen to the screaming about how bad a parent you are. Do you get your fingernails ripped out, or your toenails? Either way, it's as painful as @#$#^$!

Not that talking to my son is any better. It is just a different kind of pain. "How was your day, son?"
"Fine."
"What did you do today?"
"Work."
"What kind of work?"
"Math."
"What did you do in math?"
"Dunno. Numbers."
"Thank you for stimulating my brain, son. I'm going to go over there and have a real conversation with that rock."

I digress.

The whole point of this, is if I have to live with this torture from my kids, shouldn't my wife have to live with my senseless banter? Therefore, if my wife should have to suffer through my senseless banter, shouldn't you as well?

I wonder though, how many of you are really reading my blog, and suffering like a good person should? Officially, I have three followers. However, I think they just did that out of the kindness of their hearts. I know one of them (my daughter) has to practically be forced to read this blog. So, since she is a follower by coercion, I will say I have two followers. Even then, nobody leaves me any comments? So...do those other two really follow me? Why don't any of you leave comments? I know the people officially following me ALWAYS have opinions. (I am not above goading you into commenting.) Perhaps, it is because you cower in the presence of such literary genius. You feel there is nothing you can say which compares to what I have already written...Or, perhaps it is like my daughter says. You just hate me! You're ignoring me, so you might as well be saying you hate me! (I might be forty two, but I can still throw a teen tantrum with the best of them.)

The whole point of this nonsense is simple. Leave me a comment on this blog or Facebook. I would love to know someone, other than the prisoner who is my daughter, is reading my blog...and hopefully, enjoying it.

Once again, I digress.

So, yesterday I was lying on the couch doing what I do best. Nothing. I happened to turn to my favorite educational channel (Food Network), and saw a guy pulling a deep dish pizza out of the oven. A light bulb suddenly flashed in my head. I've never made deep dish pizza before. Let's have that for supper. I pulled out my handy iPhone and looked up a recipe for deep dish pizza, and decided, yeah. I can screw that up real easily. So, Christina and I go to the store. As we are going up and down aisles, getting a few things, she asks me, "Are we gonna have mac n cheese?"
"No, Dear. We're having deep dish pizzas."
"I know. I'm talking about a mac n cheese pizza."
"I'm not going to cook a deep dish mac n cheese pizza. We might as well just sit down with a huge pot of the stuff."
"But, Daddy! We haven't had Mac n Cheese pizza in a long time. You know how much Joseph loves it."
"No."

Anyway, below is the recipe for the Mac n Cheese deep dish pizza we had last night.

Mac n Cheese Deep Dish Pizza

Ingredients:

2 boxes of your favorite mac n cheese dinner mix

1 Stick butter

1/2-2/3 cups milk

1 small jar alfredo sauce

1 canned pizza dough

pepperoni

2-3 cups cheddar cheese

Large spring form pan, deep dish pizza pan, or deep foil pan

Use the mac n cheese dinners, butter, and milk to create mac n cheese. (Do I really need to tell you how to do it?) Roll out the pizza dough so you will have enough to cover the bottom of the pan, come up the sides, and overlap a little. Spray your pan and place the dough in it. Layer 1/3 of the cheese in the crust. Follow that with half of the mac n cheese. Then one layer of pepperoni, followed by half the alfredo sauce. Repeat with an additional layer each of cheese, mac n cheese, and alfredo. Finally, layer on the last 1/3 of the cheese. Fold the overlapping crust over on top of the pizza. Don't worry about covering the entire top. I just think the folded crust gives a nice rustic look. You might want to lightly brush the crust with olive oil to keep it from burning too much. Bake in a 400 degree oven for 15 minutes. Drop the temperature to 350 and bake an additonal 30 to 45 minutes. The crust should be golden brown. The picture below shows what mine looked like. I used a cheap foil pan. I have a spring form, but I made two pizza's and wanted them both the same.

The final step is to serve this sucker. It can easily make 6-8 servings...or it can make four scrumptious monstrous heart attack inducing servings! Guess which route we took!

As I mentioned above, I made two pizza's. The second was more traditional, and equally delicious. I took a bag of three pepper and onion blend, and sauteed it with a pound of mild Italian sausage. I then made the pizza by layering in the following order: Mozzarella, sausage pepper blend, pepperoni, pizza sauce. I repeated those layers again, and finished with another layer of cheese. Just for kicks, I places a few leaves of fresh basil on top of the cheese. Below is the scrumptious results.

I would say that even if my deep dish experiment did not result in truly authentic Chicago style deep dish pizzas, it was still a resounding success! Give one of these pizzas a try and tell me what you think. Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeze! Tell me!

Friday Night Mystery Double Feature!

Have you ever had one of those nights when you looked in the pantry and discovered that Old Mother Hubbard had a wider selection to choose from? On top of that, your children remind you of  a whole pack of man eating plants crying, "Feed me, Seymour!" Sound familiar? That's what I was facing last night. Of course, our pantry wasn't completely bare, but what was in it were the types of items that don't exactly scream, "We will go well together to make a healthy, tasty, meal for you and your family."

It all pretty much started like this:

Scene: I'm in my car driving home. I call home (using my hands free bluetooth. I promise.)
Neva - Hello?
Me - Howdy doody tutti frutti!
Neva - Hello.
Me - Watcha cooking for dinner?
Neva - I don't know? What are YOU cooking?
Me - I don't know. What do we have?
Neva - I brought home some leftover cheese, tortilla chips, and ground beef from our taco salad day at work.
Me - Tell Sissy(Our daughter, Christina) to brown the beef. I'll be home soon and figure out the rest.

I know! I know! Not exactly the makings of a hit movie, but pretty close to the truth. Anyway, I get home and walk in the kitchen. Sissy is just about done frying some ground beef and diced onion. Obviously we are having Mexican (actually, a very loose interpretation of Mexican). What else would you have with beef, cheese, and tortilla chips? I open up the spice cabinet and hand Sissy some chili powder, beef bouillon, and creole seasoning. What!?! Doesn't every Mexican dish get seasoned with Tony Chachere's? I did say this was a very loose interpretation of Mexican. Why did I add beef bouillon to my ground beef? Call me crazy. I think it just adds a certain richness to the flavor of the beef. I sure wish I had some cumin. Oh well. Chili powder and creole seasoning. Just call me Pancho Thibodeaux.

I opened up the pantry to see what else I could use. I pulled out a can of spaghetti sauce (Now I'm Pancho Gino Thibodeaux). Ah! There's some instant brown rice. Crap! It's only half a box. What to do? (This blog is getting very hard to write. It could have something to do with all the fart noises coming out of Sissy's Kindle Fire. I'm sure Santa is so happy she is putting that thing to such good use.) Hmmmmm. Well...there is some quinoa. I wonder how that will go with a Mexican, Italian, Creole dish? Only one way to find out. Without further adieu, I pulled out my gorgeous heavy duty baking dish that Santa Neva gave me for Christmas. I mix the beef, spaghetti sauce, rice, quinoa, two cups of water and more chili powder and Tony Chachere's. I then place a layer of tortilla chips in the dish, followed by half the beef mixture and a healthy layer of shredded cheese. Next, I repeated the whole process. I topped it off with crumbled up tortillas and more cheese. Then I covered with foil, and set to bake at 350 for about 45 minutes. The first part of the mystery double feature was in the oven.

Now we just had to figure out the second mystery. My wonderful wife decided we would watch something on Netflix. The movie of choice is Shutter Island. Now my wife is an absolutely wonderful person, able to do many wonderful things. However, operating a remote is not necessarily one of those talents. We watch Netflix through our Nintendo Wii. The story played out last night like it usually does.

Neva - How do I get it to play
Christina - Just hit the A button.
Neva - I can't get the arrow to move
Christina - Momma. Just hit the A button.
Neva - The arrow won't move. I must be too far away.
Christina - Momma! Just hit the A button!
Neva - But I'm too far away.
Christina - You don't have to move the arrow! Play is already highlighted on the TV. Just hit the A button!
Neva - But, I'm too far...
Christina and Dad - Just hit the freakin' A button!!
Neva - Fine!
Insert long pause
Neva - You didn't have to yell at me.
At this point Christina and Dad roll their eyes in complete exasperation.

Thus began the second part of our mystery double feature...finally!

A little into the movie, the oven timer goes off. I pull off the foil and stick this concoction back in the oven for another 10 minutes. Another ding resonates through the house. Our mystery dinner is ready. As Christina and I are eyeballing the thing I took out of the oven, I  look at my daughter and say, "If it turns out nasty, this was all your mother's idea. If it turns out real good, It was all me!" Dinner was served up and the appropriate blessing was said.

"Dear Lord,
Thank you for this supper, for the hands that helped prepare it, and for everything you have done for us and given us. Bless this food to the nourishment of our bodies....And PLEEEEEEZE let this food taste good. In Jesus' name, Amen."

 On that Friday night, the Lord said, "This is good."

...and, it was.

Happy New Year, 2012!

Can you believe we are already twelve years into the new century? It seems like only yesterday we were wondering if the world's computer systems would survive the turn of the century. They did. We did. And, we are all just a little grayer now. Ha!

So, how did you celebrate your new year? We started out by baking a fresh loaf of banana nut bread to take to some friends house. We all ate, drank (non-alcoholicly) and were merry...until about 2am.

Fresh Banana Nut Bread

The bread seemed to be a huge hit. I let everyone know it was an old family recipe. I'm sure it is...just not from my family. A big thanks to 57grace71, at BigOven.com. Your old family recipe has now become mine.

Banana Nut Bread
Wet Ingredients
3/4 cup softened butter
2 eggs
1 tsp. vanilla
1.5 cups sugar
1.5 cups mashed ripened bananas (about 4 bananas)
1/2 cup buttermilk or sour cream (I used the buttermilk)

Dry Ingredients
2 tsp. Baking Powder
2 cups flour
3/4 tsp. salt
1 tsp. baking soda
3/4 cups chopped pecans or walnuts

Mix wet and dry ingredients in separate bowls. Pour wet ingredients into dry ingredients and mix well. Grease two loaf pans and divide batter between both. Bake in oven preheated to 325 degrees Fahrenheit, for 1 hour and 15 minutes. Bread is done when inserted toothpick comes out clean.

Thankfully, we had a full loaf of bread to ourselves. I was able to start 2012 off with a nice cup of coffee in my Pooh mug (Yeah, I'm a big softy), with a slice of banana nut bread, slathered with butter. Yum!

Buttered Banana Bread and Winnie the Pooh. What could be better in the morning?

Meanwhile, the rest of the family slept. I had started a slow cooker full of black eyed peas the night before. I gave them a stir, and a little extra seasoning. Then I started a pot of turnip greens and mixed up a batch of buttermilk cornbread (This really is an old family recipe.)

Meanwhile, the rest of the family slept. I am beginning to notice a pattern here. My family sleeps the day away, and I spend the day eating and preparing more food. No wonder we are the picture of such stellar health.

Anyway, it was time to eat, and I had my black eyed peas (with huge chunks of ham), turnip greens, and cornbread, along with a nice glass of wine. Down south, we all believe that eating black eyed peas, pork, and turnip greens are supposed to bring one financial good luck. Considering we are one of the poorest regions of the country, I can't attest to how much truth lies in that superstition, but it sure is fun trying.

Good luck...or, just plain good eating!?!

I don't normally drink wine, much less red wine. If I drink wine, I have a tendency to to go with a sweeter white wine. However, my boss gave me a bottle of Blue Rock Baby Blue wine from the Blue Rock Vineyards, in Geyserville, CA. Baby Blue is a blend of four different red wines. It is not sweet, but goes down very smoothly. If you are just introducing yourself to red wine, this is an excellent bottle to start with.

Anyway, I digress. I had everything for a great start to 2012...with one exception. Friends and family! That was quickly fixed with a shout upstairs. "Lunch is ready!"

All the peas and greens in the world won't really bring you good luck (Just a lot of gas). The one ingredient that has proven reliable, year after year, is friends and family. If you aren't close to your family, perhaps you should resolve to mend some fences this year. At one time or another, we all need family to lean on. If you feel you don't have any friends, resolve to make some new ones...or find some old ones. I find great comfort in thinking I may have touched someone's life, and they just might be sitting somewhere, sipping a hot cup of joe, and wondering "Whatever happened to Jim? He was one swell guy."

So, Happy New Year to all of my friends and family. You have all made me a truly blessed ...and lucky... man.
I lift a glass and salute all those wonderful people who have gone to the great banquet beyond. People like my Dad, Uncle Bill, Mr. & Mrs. Temple, Nodya Hair, and many others. In more ways than you could ever know, you have made me the person I am.

I salute all those people who have passed thru my life at one time or another over the many years, like Paul Eastman, Kirk Chandler, Ernie Fargo, and the Olivers. I hope I have blessed your life as much as you blessed mine.

Finally, I ask for blessings for those of my friends and family who found 2011 to be a particularly hard and painful year. May God bless you with the celebrations in 2012 that eluded you in the past year. You are always in my thoughts and prayers.

Now, I think I've mixed together all of the really important ingredients for a wonderful new year. Happy New Year, everyone. May God bless you in all that you do in 2012.