Anticipation

Planting tender garden flora in the springtime is always a game of Russian Roulette in the upper plains. Our finicky temperatures can be down right hot for a spell, luring us into an early planting session. Days later, the weatherman starts squawking about freezing temperatures during the evening hours. The seed babies under the ground usually fare quite well as long as they haven't poked their heads above the soil level. The seedlings, however, need temperate conditions to get their little bodies acclimated to their new environment. 

My husband is a master gardener and I give no advice other than suggestions for the vegetables I want to work with for the upcoming season. He has a favorite greenhouse that is about a forty minute drive from our house. I usually do not go with him because my ability to focus on all that greenery is rather short-lived. This year I decided to accompany him in desperation for an outing. After a year of isolation, it is time to take baby steps back into reality. The drive to the greenhouse is through the countryside so the scenery is always pleasant. 

My plan at the greenhouse is straightforward. Follow my husband around just long enough to look interested. Upon reaching the herbs I make a few suggestions as I check out the different types available and enjoy sniffing their different fragrances. After that burst of interest, I usually notice my husband getting lost in what I call his "garden zen". He has his nose buried in the plants, carefully selecting just the right seedlings for a hardy start to our garden. Soon enough, it is time for my exit and I head to our vehicle where I am prepared for an hour or two of waiting. It was a beautiful day so I rolled down my windows to take advantage of a comfortable breeze. I was prepared with plenty of reading material, a bottle of water and a few snacks. 

There is also a fair amount of people watching for entertainment as well. My favorite was the older gentleman who was stationed by the entrance of the greenhouse. His job was to make sure the plant carts were ready for the shoppers. This job seemed to be perfect for him. Nothing too physical but plenty of human interaction. I heard him say he was 89 years old and I found myself hoping I might be fortunate enough to have my wits about me at that age. My guess is that his job was flexible enough for him to come and go as he wished. Not a bad gig.

One characteristic all the shoppers seemed to share was a general sense of joy and anticipation. I do not always witness this in other retail settings. I may personally experience some joy as I put a bag of Cheetos in my grocery cart, but as a general rule, my shopping is often a git-'er-done experience. It was refreshing to see so many folks excited about their purchases. 

The amazing element in the whole greenhouse process is the risk factor. If I buy a can of beans, I have a high likelihood of enjoying them with a meal at some point. A bean plant, however, is facing a number of challenges before ever producing a single bean. Hail, drought, soil, insects, fungus, rabbits and birds are just a few characters in the on-going drama of gardening. But, any gardener or, in my case, harvester can tell you that the final show is work the risk. I am already salivating over the first plate of fresh beans and sliced red tomatoes. 

Happy gardening!

 

Things that Suck

My vacuum cleaner died last week. This should not be newsworthy but it was the first vacuum I have ever liked. And it was less than a year old. It was also from a well-respected company in the world of vacuum choices.  Let me be clear. I hate to vacuum. I have said many times that if I die and wake up in a room with a vacuum cleaner and a dust rag, I know where I went for the after life. I have used many vacuum cleaners over the course of my cleaning life. Shop Vacs, Kirbies, Hoovers, Eurekas, Dustbusters, Orecks, and Bissells to name a few. There were canisters, uprights, handhelds, bagless and bags for styles. All of them had their issues and a few had glimmers of hope. 

One of the worst vacuums I used was at a great-aunt's house when I was a teenager. She had hired me to help her clean her house due to a health issue. I didn't have the heart to tell her she should probably spend her money on someone who knew what they were doing. She patiently showed me how to operate her Rainbow canister vacuum, circa 1970. It was supposed to be state-of-the-art, cutting edge technology. Yipes, what a horrendous beast. The canister pan at the base had to be filled with water and great care was needed while one moved around the room with the sloshing pan. Once the canister's water was sufficiently full of collected debris, the sludge water had to be disposed of and the process began again. Poke my eyes out, it was a good thing that cleaning gig was short-lived. 

Another vacuum nemesis was a cast-off machine we received from a family member. The vacuum should have come with a disclaimer: Do not use if you are unable to lift fifty pounds of dead weight. It was an unwieldy monster and it made the job of cleaning even more distasteful. At the time, this brand of vacuum was considered a premier cleaning device but I was less than impressed with its capabilities, not to mention the back ache caused by lugging it around. Needless to say, we never purchased one of our own and sold the clunker at a garage sale, deeply discounted.  

One little picker-upper that I found manageable for small jobs was the ubiquitous little Hokey carpet sweeper, no cords or charging needed. It isn't meant for major cleaning jobs but it does the trick when cleaning up after church potlucks and Sunday School craft projects. I am always fascinated with its ease and efficacy. And the price is right. 

In some weird way, I can also appreciate a Shop Vac. It can take whatever is thrown its way. Messy construction job sites, no problem. Long overdue car cleanup, bring it on. Basement flooding, job is done. Its durability is spot on and its ability to juxtaposition water and electricity is a modern marvel. We will always have one (or two) at the ready in our garage.

Finally, back to the vacuum that just died. Due to its young age and the fact that I actually registered the vacuum on the company's website at the time of its purchase, I thought it would be a slam dunk for a quick follow up. Without naming names, it is to-date the worst customer service I have received. I have yet to speak with a human being and the e-mail response I received said they would not be able to handle my request at this time "due to high customer volume." A series of "troubleshooting texts" was less than helpful and the end result may or may not be a new part. It is difficult to resist the obvious. Their vacuum isn't sucking but their customer service is another story. 

Time to buy a Hokey. No batteries, cords or heavy lifting needed. 

One of several inherited vacuums,
also headed to the next garage sale.

The Wave

Sporting events are know for lots of energy and activities that promote spectator involvement. One such activity came on the scene several decades ago and occasionally happens today. It is called The Wave. Spectators begin a stand-up-and-wave action that, if done correctly, creates a wave-like action with all the stadium attendees. The genesis story of this particular activity is murky but it is believed to have begun at soccer games in Mexico. The U.S. picked up on it and it became a bit of a sensation in the 80's. I do not attend enough sporting events to be an expert on the subject but I can say I have participated in a few during my lifetime. 

I currently participate in my own version of The Wave. During the exile period of the wicked C-19, I found myself occasionally waving as a form of affirmation or acknowledgement. Gratefully, the isolation is easing to a degree but I am still waving at entities that make me smile.

We live near an elementary school as well as a bus stop for middle-schoolers which means we have several buses drive by our house each school day. Every time I see a bus go by my living room window, I give the bus a big wave. I doubt any of the passengers ever see me, but I love the feeling of sending good wishes their way as they embark on another day of education and as they return home, ready for a snack and some decompression time. As a former educator, I am so grateful for the dedicated professionals who work at helping each student have a good day at school. You deserve a wave.

The library I frequent is across the street from one of our city's swimming pools. The pool was eerily quiet last summer due to you-know-what. At the beginning of this year I began waving at the empty pool each time I made a trip to the library. I long for the day when the noise of laughing and splashing return. Lifeguards are saints as they enforce safety rules, endure the glare of relentless sunshine and encourage reluctant children during swim class. Our city is opening the pools this summer and they are in need of more lifeguards. I wave as a sign of support and good wishes for a full deck of employees. They deserve a wave. 

The final wave might surprise those of you who know me. Our backyard neighbors have two Golden Labrador dogs. They are in kennels for the majority of day with occasional romps in their yard so they can do their business. I am certainly not a dog lover but their kennel enclosures make them safe canines for me. When I open or close the window in our bedroom, the dogs often lift their heads and look my way. In some weird way I felt a kinship with them during the past year as I, too, was spending lots of time within an enclosure. I started waving at them whenever they looked my way as a moment of solidarity we could share together. I am not sure the dogs deserved a wave but it made me smile, so, good enough. 

I remember lots of waving in the small town I grew up in. There were few strangers in our world and it was nice to acknowledge others in a positive way. I am going to continue my waving as it always gives me a mood boost. Find someone or something to wave at this week and enjoy the moment! 

 

Butcher Shop

During the first years of my married life, I worked in a meat department at a grocery store in our small town. It certainly was not my dream job but it definitely taught me a lot about the world of butchery. As with most grocery store meat departments, we were not responsible for the front end process of dispatching animals. Our job was to break down and package the meat sent our way from other entities. The butcher I worked for was quite the character and he never failed to dredge up a story or two for anyone available to listen, which was most often me. I could hold my own in the story department so we were never void of conversation.

My primary job responsibilities were packaging and cleaning up. The butcher broke down quarters of beef or pork and I packaged, weighed, sealed and labeled everything for the meat case. Sometimes I helped grind beef for our hamburger packages. The grinder was enormous and a miserable beast to clean. I wrestled big clunky parts of that grinder in my stainless steel sink, often counting the minutes until the last part was finished. Another task I had was packaging on liver day. A cow's liver is rather massive and it has to be sliced into smaller portions. I used a large 2-pronged fork to spear the individual pieces and place them into smaller round containers. The containers were weighed and labeled for sale. I am not a huge fan of eating liver but I did take home a container on occasion and fry up a batch of liver and onions. The price was right and my generation was always reminded by our parents, "Eat your liver. It is good for you." 

I left that job when my daughter was born. The pay was not worth hiring a babysitter and I wanted to stay home with her as long as possible. I enjoyed my time in the meat department, but I knew it was not a career for me. Circumstances made it possible for me to eventually finish my teaching degree and finally begin many years in the classroom. A career I loved. 

Circumstances intervened again and my husband and I recently found ourselves working in a meat department of sorts. Due to the craziness of the wicked C-19, my sister and her husband faced a surplus of hogs with no place to sell them when the packing plants were shut down. In an attempt to save at least a few of them for a valuable cause, family members joined in the effort to butcher, package and label the pork for personal use. To be clear, my sister and her husband did the majority of the heavy lifting. The rest of us followed orders to the best of our abilities. 

Despite my time working in a meat department, I had no experience in the actual breaking down of the meat portions. My cooking experience gave me more direction because I know what cuts and sizes I can efficiently manage. I also know how to work with knives. That being said, I was the only one who cut myself during our first round. Pro tip: duct tape works better than bandaids for sealing off a wound.

Fortunately, the pork production crisis has eased in recent months. Even so, my sister and her husband found that they wanted to continue dabbling in the process. We were invited again last week to join in another round and we didn't hesitate to accept the offer. The thought of fresh pork chops on the grill was too tempting to pass up. 

Within 24 hours we were back on the road for our return trip home with all fingers intact and no need for  duct tape. And our coolers were full of porky possibilities. Mission accomplished. 

3 Dishes

I listen to many hours of podcasts while I endure my exercise routine in the morning. I enjoy podcasts covering everything from murders in National Parks to the history of Oreo and Hydrox cookies. My favorite podcasts often deal with food related topics. The host of one food podcast often asks her guests to chose five dishes that describe their food journey in life. The responses are not particularly profound but they are always very personal. Here is my list of dishes that represent the underpinnings of my food pathway. For the sake of brevity, I chose three and it certainly was not an easy task due to my fascination with all things food. 

1) Comfort casserole--I have referred to this dish before in my blogging posts and it still remains a part of my food heritage. The ingredients are simply ground beef, carrots, potatoes and a can of tomato soup. Variations could be a few peas or corn tossed in as well. My mom often served this casserole for our Sunday meal after church. It was something she could prepare the night before and put into the oven on a timed baked setting Sunday morning. The warm and hearty meal would be ready for nine starving family members after we changed from our church clothes to our everyday clothes. Casseroles continue to be a part of my food repertoire, especially when I was teaching full time. I have not changed the ingredients of the comfort casserole other than adding a little dash of chipotle powder for a bit of smoky heat. Casseroles always equal comfort in my book.

2) Mini frozen cooked shrimp--Full disclosure that I have not purchased this product in over twenty years but I can identify it as part of my food history. In the small town where my husband and I lived when we were first married, the only grocery store in town had a limited inventory. In an attempt to put together a snack tray with something different than carrot and celery sticks I found the little bags of frozen shrimp were available and easy to add to the tray. I often got questions from the local store clerk as to how I was using the shrimp. Saltwater seafood was exotic in our little town. Now I have access to a dizzying array of choices for snack trays, especially with the popularity of charcuterie boards. I may not be using the little shrimpies any more but I still love to try new things for my snack trays. 

3) Lamb--Despite the fact that my state is listed as a robust producer of sheep, I never tasted lamb until well into adulthood. My family raised chickens, hogs and cattle so our dining table featured those meats. My first bite of lamb happened at a restaurant where a family friend was the manager and recommended the lamb on the menu. I was immediately hooked and since then lamb is a part of my meal rotation. We love marinated lamb chops on the grill, lamb burgers with tzatziki sauce and of course, slow braised lamb stew. It may not be the protein of my youth but it certainly has a place on my dinner table now. 

I am looking forward to many new foods, yet to be explored. But, I will always appreciate the culinary path taken along the way. 

Here is your homework assignment for the week: Identify three dishes that represent your food pathway. You all have an A+ in advance from me! 

The Cucumber

My husband is one of the fortunate ones to be eligible for an immunization as protection from the evil monster that lives among us. As we drove to the skin piercing site I had a mix of emotions ranging from elation to trepidation to relief to pure awe at the wonders of science. Not surprisingly, the site was buzzing with activity with lots of folks coming and going from the building. We found a parking spot and he entered the building while I waited in our vehicle. He texted me when the shot was complete and he was seated in the waiting area with a sticker to let him know when his required 15 minutes of observation was finished. 

Shortly after his text, I heard a wail of sirens and I hoped the noise would soon fade into the distance. Not to be. An ambulance roared into our parking lot and a nurse standing by the entrance was waving it down. Soon a fire and rescue vehicle came blaring in the lot with a police car following close behind. The entry ramp is now lined with people trying to maintain a social distance protocol while the ambulance personnel prepare to enter the building.

Meanwhile I am frantically texting my husband to see if he is all right. A little back story before I continue. My husband struggled a little with the authorization form. One question asked about serious reactions to food or bees. Technically he is supposed to carry an Epi-pen due to an incident with an outraged rogue wasp that flew into his pickup while he was driving home one day. The wasp took a dive for his temple and a little while later we were in acute care. He has always felt this was a one-off incident and was unwilling to say that his reaction was serious. And he didn't want to wait in the observation area at the immunization clinic for 30 minutes rather than 15 so he checked no on the bee sting question.

Of course, my mind is going wild as I see the ambulance arrive and I immediately texted him, asking if he was okay. For whatever reason, he decided to respond in a way that could be interpreted as masking a serious issue. My imagination needs little goading and we are not in the habit of texting cutesie things to each other so I am now craning my neck to see who is being carried out on the gurney. 

Just when I was ready to head toward the action, I saw my husband nonchalantly walking out of the building. He walked past all the action with nary a second glance. When I asked him what happened he calmly said some lady was passed out in the entryway. He said he just stepped around her and made his way out. He hadn't heard the sirens or seen anything out of the ordinary prior to exiting the building so my texts had fallen upon less frantic ears.

For a brief moment I felt I might need to ask the ambulance for a two-for-one special as I took some deep breaths and tried to calm myself. In true cucumber style, my husband patiently listened to my woes and then started the vehicle. Enough drama for one day. Here's hoping round two is a little less exciting. 

 

Trinity

Many cuisines have ingredients that are the backbone of their cooking. For instance, Cajun cooking leans heavily upon a "holy trinity" of bell peppers, onions and celery.  Spanish cuisine often uses sofrito, a combination of finely chopped onions, garlic, bell peppers and tomatoes. The French employ a mirepoix of diced onions, celery and carrots in many of their dishes. Middle Eastern cooking relies on spice blends such as turmeric, cumin and coriander. I am not sure if my Dutch heritage had a go-to combination of ingredients. My ancestors arrived in the upper plains over a century ago and I suspect they were more concerned about survival than finding the perfect flavor combinations for the food they put on the table. Working with what you have is probably the hallmark of the best cooks. 

Long before the farm to table movement became trendy, many home cooks were doing just that. The family farm I grew up on was providing us with milk from the family cow, no extra charge for the flavor enhancements from the cow's diet. Our chickens were giving us enough eggs for baking and cooking. My mother sold the excess eggs to the local creamery to supplement her "grocery money." Our bountiful garden pumped out enough produce for fresh eating in the summer and jars and jars of canned vegetables for the winter. I often tired of the work involved with our large garden (sorry about the whining, Mom) but I never grew weary of eating vegetables. Our cows and pigs gave us delicious meals and of course, bacon, a pig's greatest gift to mankind. 

My own cooking is far removed from my ancestors who first arrived on the stark prairie landscape. Easy access to grocery stores and on-line purveyors makes it possible to procure just about any ingredient one desires.  I recently ordered gochugaru so I can explore fermenting kimchi. This would boggle the minds of my Dutch grandparents and perhaps elicit a shaking of their heads as they muttered something about the downfall of the young 'uns.  

Despite my desire to explore different cuisines I am still a product of my past. My comfort food meals often involve a manifestation of potatoes, carrots and onions, easy ingredients to keep on hand and extremely versatile. My "holy trinity" is definitely carrots, onions and celery. Depending on the dish I am preparing, a few sweet peppers might be tossed into the mix. Standard seasonings are salt and pepper, of course, with a smidge of this and that added for flavor interest. And don't forget the mustard. Everything from whole-grain mustard to Dijon to the good old-fashioned neon yellow stuff can be found in my refrigerator. 

As I write this post, a pot of vegetable beef soup is simmering on the stove. A week of below zero temperatures provided the inspiration for a bowl of this cold weather elixir. There is nothing fancy in the soup. The beef bones are simmered with carrot, onion, celery, peppercorns, salt and a bay leaf. The broth is strained and chunks of beef are added with tomatoes, tomato sauce, thyme, oregano and more salt and pepper. And, of course, my trinity of carrots, onions and celery is needed. Barley is a final addition and voila, hearty vegetable beef soup. 

If you are looking for a super simple, but tasty trinity, might I suggest a combination of popcorn, broken potato chips and a few cheetos for a pop of color. Goodness gracious, that is an enchanting trinity.