Satsuma Season

Despite our dry spring and dry summer, our satsuma trees are loaded with sweet fruit.  These perfect small mandarin oranges have thin peels and hardly any seeds.  The cute boxes of Clementine oranges imported from Spain we see in our grocery stores right now cannot hold a candle to these juicy, ripe babies.  The kids helped their Daddy pick a wheelbarrow load, and it did not even make a dent in our crop.

 This happened to be a colder day here in Alabama, but we're back to wearing t-shirts today.

So what to do with extra satsumas?  Make a satsuma cake, for one. 

And of course, make marmalade.  Alton Brown's recipe turned out to be a good one, and it doesn't even require fruit pectin, so I didn't have to make a special trip to the store.  I--uhh--lightly browned the first batch, so I made a make-up recipe the next day to prove to myself that I could indeed tend a boiling pot.

Start with satsumas and one lemon.  I used my mini food processor to slice them, peels and all.

 Boil them with water for a long time.  This was an easy simmer that I stirred every ten minutes.

Add sugar and work out the lumps.

Boil again, watching carefully with a candy thermometer.  I used the suggested cold plate method for testing the thickness of the marmalade, since I didn't want flopped satsuma syrup like I've made in the past--with pectin.  Stick a saucer in the freezer until it is well chilled, then drop a teaspoon of marmalade on it.  Give it a minute, then tip the saucer to see if it's runny or ready.  Work on a Rubik's cube while standing in front of the stove.  It's good for both sides of your brain!

And in the secondary or tertiary meantime, prepare your jars.  I tucked in sprigs of rosemary and cinnamon sticks, hoping for a flavor infusion.

 Seal jars with a 10-minute water bath. 

Mmmm!!!  Write "English muffins" on the grocery list, and make a cup of tea.  Give the unsolved Rubik's cube to the kids.

Old Post: New Oven

Sometime in the aftermath of Quinn's birthday, when everyone was bringing us meals, I realized my old oven had quit. One friend brought me a dish that needed some baking time, and when she got here, my preheated oven was still cold. Since I had had absolutely enough out of that beastly appliance that continually heated up the kitchen and set off my smoke alarm, I wasn't interested in any diagnostic testing, and I'm quite sure had we had it looked at, any serviceman would have laughed himself silly over us. It was, of course, 32 years old. Not that that is a bad thing.

I have a second old oven in the basement, so I wasn't without a paddle, but after a while, the trips up and down the stairs to check on my food's progress got annoying, not to mention dangerous when I was carrying hot pizza back up the steps, blindly dodging kids and toys.

So Jason measured our cabinets and went to the appliance store. It's such a small wall space that we had only two choices in one brand--regular or self-cleaning. We did what any self-respecting, hurried homeowners would do. We bought the self-cleaning variety.

The oven had to be special ordered, since no other Atmore resident in a right state of mind would install such a tiny thing. Jason still had to modify a top cabinet to make room for the oven, and he hired a cousin to make new doors for it.

George the appliance man delivered our Frigidaire one exciting afternoon. I was happy, but immediately skeptical of one thing, the thing that had been bugging me since before the oven was even a twinkle in Jason's eye.

Sure enough. My favorite pans wouldn't fit. Not even close. Bless my heart. I had been volunteered to make a fancy dessert for a Christmas gathering, and I chose a chocolate cake roll. It had been a long several years since I had baked my recipe, so a few details were cloudy. I chose my smaller jelly roll pan, which was a mistake.
When you're pressed for time and have to make a decision on your feet, Cool Whip folded into melted chocolate chips is a clever disguise for a dessert flop. (I didn't have time to take pictures of the ugly-but-delicious finished product.)

And I'm still getting to know my new friend, who can be a little uneven tempered, and possesses an overall maladjusted, narrow outlook. But I bought some new pans, and everyone is making nice, even the smoke alarm, which has only squawked three or four times.
P.S. How d'you like my stairwell wallpaper?

Cooking with HIPPY

This summer, I enrolled Helen in her first non church-related organized event, and this fall she began the HIPPY program in Atmore. And if you wonder what in blue blazes HIPPY is, skip to my link.

Helen was standoffish at first, and dreaded the initial testing. Gradually she warmed up to our home educator, Mrs. Teresa, and now she looks forward to doing a little fun activity with me each day, even though we don't get to it every day.

Most of the lessons are literature-based, and follow the theme of a children's book that we get a copy of, but last week we had a cooking lesson. We took two completely different substances and combined them to make something different. In our kitchen, it was pudding mix and milk. Complicated, I know, but Helen loved it. She even chose the pudding flavor in the grocery store. I opened the box of lemon pudding, poured the milk, and she whisked for a long time while I yakked on the phone. I totally missed the part where we were supposed to taste and feel the separate ingredients. Oops. Then we divided the pudding into espresso cups, and Helen put three snowman marshmallows on each cup. She counted the cups, counted the snowmen in each cup, and counted the total amount of snowmen. It was fascinating for her, and fun for me to see her learn.

Easter Makey-Makey

I started Helen's Easter dress several weeks before Easter. I finished it several days before Easter. And now I'm posting about it nearly a month later.

I used fabric from my stash. The bias tape around the neck and sleeve holes was vintage; the zipper was also truly vintage, all thanks to my sister-in-law Leslie's late grandmother. The zipper even happened to have been used already, but carefully removed and saved by the same grandma. I chose to be slightly amused, but simultaneously grateful that I didn't have to speed to a fabric store to buy one.It needed something else, so I messed around with the leftover bias tape from the hem. I didn't have quite enough to make a rosette, so I ended up adding a few buttons and beads from my stash to make a pin.

We got a few snapshots of the family before the kids dropped food on their clothes from lunch and fell apart from needing naps.That afternoon we got together with family for an egg hunt and Easter dinner. I made Easter Egg Bread, which was more of a novelty recipe than a dying-to-eat-that-one-again recipe. At least it looked pretty! The leftovers made an excellent bread pudding.The bunny ended up as part of an egg, ham and potato casserole.

Pasta Night!

Several weeks ago, I braved the inevitable mess, and brought out the pasta machine. I had written "fresh pasta" on the menu, and I wasn't in the mood to back down from my inked commitment. Since I'm a messy pasta maker and drop a lot of it, the first step is cleaning the kitchen floor. I swept it thoroughly.

I managed to sneak the mixing of the dough past the boys, but Helen caught me right away and dragged a chair squeaky-screechy across the floor to help. Flour, salt and eggs. Maybe a little EVOO? Can't remember.

By the time I was ready to roll out the first quarter of the dough, Owen was keenly aware of what was happening. He and Helen were to swap roller duties off and on, but to Owen's great delight, Helen lost interest after her first turn.

It really is tricky to make noodles by yourself anyway, so I embraced the mess. We whooped and made up silly songs. All three kids ate as much pasta as they could get their fingers on. It was an extremely happy occasion in the life of a young child.

The finished product is always satisfying to behold. The kids agree.

Jack was content on the floor with some heavy duty equipment.

And everyone helped clean up! I may have turned on a TV program so I could finish properly, but who knows, it's such a fuzzy memory.

Lots of fun, but I probably won't do it again for a little while!

A Household Task

Yesterday as I stood in the laundry room, folding warm clothes right out of the dryer, I felt very housewifely and much too responsible, but I did have to give myself a pat on the back. My characteristic move is to fling load on top of load onto the living room floor, let it settle for several days until my favorite TV show comes on, then sit on my butt and get to work, which is pretty efficient in its own way, for a number of reasons. Arguments can be made for either method, so I'm not committing myself to anything here. I'm flexible like that.

But one cringingly boring routine that has me sold is meal-planning. For years I fought it, reasoning that it would cramp my creativity since I frequently get inspired by new recipes in magazines, on the Food Network, on the internet or in a re-read cookbook, and I tend to act on my inspiration immediately because That is My Style. But with three kids, I've decided that sometimes creativity is overrated. Yes, survival mode played a large part of my conversion.

I plan our menu once a week, usually a Sunday night. First I take a quick inventory of what I already have in the freezer and pantry. I also check out the remaining life span of any produce. I grab a cookbook or two that I fancy, my cute little magnetic menu planner and my datebook. I sit down, swallow the nerd-like vibes I give myself, and get to work. Ironically, I find at this time I have the opportunity to introduce creativity into my meals. Planned creativity is actually nice, not restricting like I thought it would be. I get to browse through recipes and choose new and interesting ones that fit our budget and nutritional needs. If I'm really thinking ahead, I can incorporate grocery items that I know will be on sale for the week.

Two nights are always a given. We have pizza on a weekend night, and we have a breakfast meal another evening. That means I only have to scratch my head for five days, or fewer if we'll be having a date night or if something else is on the calendar.

Here I will insert some disclaimers: I cook a lot, but I like to cook. I actually love it. I don't like to do dishes, and I do get sick of the kitchen, but I have a high tolerance for endlessly long ingredient lists and from-scratch recipes. Our budget dictates some of this, and nutritional reasons also play a factor, but so do our taste buds. For instance, we prefer homemade pancakes to a purchased mix. They're much cheaper to make, I control what goes into them, and we like their flavor better. I also cook a lot because we don't eat out much, because we have three young children. I repeat, three little ankle-biters who don't always behave in socially acceptable ways.

I went through a spell where I planned out every meal we ate, including snacks, but that got a little too intense. I discovered I wasn't a great estimator of how many leftovers we would have, I got too irritated if things didn't go according to my plan, and I would get exhausted by all the prep work and then go into shut-down mode. Never mind how long it took to come up with those menus, it was a waste of time! Now I just plan the supper menu, and it feels appropriate. Not too controlling, not too difficult, just plain liberating.

I'm free from the 4:30 what's-for-supper panic!!

Now to that new pile of clean laundry on the floor...

Gumbo

My garden happened to succeed this year, and we have an absolute bumper crop of okra. The plants are ridiculously huge, the stalks several inches in diameter and the tops waving way past our heads. A lot of it has gone to waste because I hate the scratchy prickliness of the plants that leaves you itching for a good fifteen minutes post-pick, but we have certainly eaten our fill. I have fried it, stewed it, cooked it with tomatoes, pickled it and put a ton in the freezer for future pots of gumbo.

I was not introduced to gumbo until I came to the South. You poor, poor northerners have no idea what you're missing! It's right up there with cheese grits, crawfish and boiled peanuts. OK, some may argue about boiled peanuts making that list, but I like them. At any rate, you can't beat a good bowl of gumbo. Jason's mom makes it every year at Christmas, our old neighbors cooked up a pot before a football game, every respectable seafood joint boasts some version. The best kind is the kind you can't see through. Yes, the worse it looks, the better it tastes, my friends. There now, doesn't that look appetizing? If only your monitor were scratch-n-sniff!

Cook up some fluffy white riceand eat up!
The funny-looking green stuff in there is the okra.

Local Meal

While I was slaving in the kitchen last night, figuring out how to cut up a chicken from Green Acres Farm that Jason himself helped to harvest and therefore got free (please excuse the chicken butt view),

scrubbing my new red potatoes from the garden, mincing the fresh rosemary that Helen picked from the herb bed,
slicing and seeding jalapeno peppers from my mother in law's garden with my hand in a baggie, measuring out a decadent concoction of cream cheese, cheddar cheese and bacon, whirring a stale crust of homemade bread in the food processor,
nuking freezer corn from last year's crop in the microwave (which we seasoned with leftover pepper popper stuffing), and making sweet tea, the kids kept themselves busy impersonating me.
Can you guess what they are doing?
They also argued, cried, jumped up and down, shouted excitedly, expressed their approval over the upcoming sweet tea, laughed, crawled around, grabbed my feet and ankles, pushed each other a little bit, endured verbal chastisement and a time out, turned down their lower lips, got over it, and asked what we were doing tomorrow a thousand times, not necessarily in that order.
The potatoes were crunchy. The corn was yummy, of course. The chicken was lovely, but the kids balked at having to eat it off the bone. Must be taking after their daddy. The jalapeno appetizer became an after-tizer, because I started it way too late.

And because I was still recovering from all that crazy work, tonight we ate leftover chili from the freezer, along with more stale bread, toasted and spread with jam to cover it up. (No, I couldn't even lift my finger to make corn bread.)

Thanks, Deb, for the local food idea!

Pig Cookies!

On Monday, we made pig cookies! They were a lot of fun, and pretty easy too---that is, easy to assemble, but hard to keep little fingers from gobbling up crumbs. Owen helped mix the cookie dough, even holding the mixer all by himself! Helen helped with the frosting by watching from the chair. Those are my rules--one kid at a time, and only standing on a chair. As soon as I had finished the first three pigs, we had to take a cookie break. Yum!
Devoured.
We decorated them in two batches, and I let Owen help with the second batch. (Helen was napping.) I admit, I'm a little bit of a control freak, but I finally caved and let him put stuff on the cookies. He had his own interpretation of a pig's face.
Aren't they cute? They're pretty good, too! The kids absolutely love them, and beg for them at all hours. Before bed, Owen told me his tummy was just a little bit hungry, and he needed a bedtime snack (which we never have.) He must have been imagining a pig-cookie-sized hole in his belly.

And speaking of pig pens....I thought Jack was pretty dirty in this picture until....
a few evenings later while I was digging potatoes. He dug for dirt.

Mmmm. Tasty.

A Moment of Inattention

Last night I took a break from dinner prep to feed Mr. Fussy-pants Jack. I sank into the recliner and flipped on the TV to 30 Minute Meals. I watched as Rachael Ray forked open her English muffins and put them on a baking sheet, joking about how she often burns bread in the broiler from not paying close attention. Boy, this sounds silly in writing, but I was getting caught up in the show and forgetting my own surroundings for a minute. Suddenly the piercing shriek of the smoke alarm jolted me back to reality. I was confused at first, but then remembered the tortillas I had toasting in the oven.
I threw the smoking mess on the grass. Apparently even the cat wouldn't eat them, since I took this picture the next day.

Prep Work

Last week I tried Heather's sausage and lentil soup. I read through the directions thoroughly and planned my recipe execution precisely. Everything was going to come out perfectly coordinated, and I was going to throw the ingredients into the pot just like a TV chef. I browned the sausage, chopped up all my veggies, and rinsed the lentils.

I went to check on a kid or two, or do something else householdy.

Then I rebounded to my developing soup, and found this:
I couldn't stop laughing. They eventually unclumped, after I drowned them in water and banged on them with a knife for a while.

Don't we all?

Today I made a small batch of cookies so I could send a few along with the guys who came to hook up our DirecTV, and so I would have some for the kids that are coming tonight for a kid swap. (We get the favor returned tomorrow night!) Owen and Helen each licked a beater while they waited on the cookies to bake.

"I'm not messy!" Owen announced with pride. On a scale of 1-10, he was about a 3. Helen was an 8.

Their little kitten tongues cleaned the beaters thoroughly, and I split a warm chocolatey cookie between them. The mess-o-meter went up slightly. "I want another cookie!" Owen pleaded.

"No, you've had your limit, buddy," I answered.

"I want another limit."

Today's recipes

This is as inspiring as it got around here today:

Playgroup Granola Bars (I happened to make these AFTER our 2-year-old guest left.)

2 c. rolled oats
3/4 c. packed brown sugar
1/2 c. wheat germ
1 t. cinnamon
1 c. all-purpose flour
3/4 c. raisins
3/4 t. salt
1/2 c. honey
1 egg, beaten
1/2 c. vegetable oil
2 t. vanilla

Mix dry ingredients and raisins. Make a well and add rest of ingredients. Pat mixture evenly into a greased 9x13" pan. Bake for 30-35 minutes at 350 degrees. Cool for 5 minutes, then cut into bars. (Don't let them cool for hours in the pan, unless you want to nearly break your spatula prying them out.)

Owen could hardly keep his hands off, and kept telling me he needed another 'nola bar. I wonder if I could slip some peas into my next batch? ha ha

Supper was a wonderful concoction:

Donna's Crab Meal

3 T. butter
3 T. flour
1 1/2 c. milk
1 c. cheddar cheese
1/2 pkg. imitation crab meat
dash garlic salt
dash garlic powder
dash pepper
dash cayenne pepper
1 tsp. lemon juice

Make a roux with the butter and flour, then add milk and rest of ingredients. Serve over rice.

I named this recipe after a very kind lady who sent this supper home with us after she watched Owen for a day while I was at working out my notice after he was born. (I would hate diagraming that sentence.) It's famous around our house now, and it's a great thrifty way to eat seafood.

This evening I used *real!* crab found for a deal at Winn Dixie, and for the record, real lemon juice squeezed from a real lemon. I bought a bag of already boiled snowcrab legs, so I had the opportunity to improve my crab-leg-cracking skills. Helen watched in admiration of the process, gulped up lumps of meat I set aside for her, and announced greedily many times over, "I need more." If you ever get the chance to order snow crab legs at a restaurant that knows how to cook seafood, take it. Swallow your pride, take off your rings, roll up your cuffs and get to work. It is sooo worth it.

Cheesecake ahead

Confession: I've never made a cheesecake before--GASP!!

Two reasons: 1) Jason is just not that into cheesecake, but I am, and I didn't want a graham-cracker-crumb-covered, 3-blocks-of-cream-cheese pie in my fridge and me with a fork in my hand. 2) It intimidated me because too much was at stake; expensive ingredients, the better part of a morning, my *cough-cough* cooking reputation--all could go up in smoke, and I could end up with a dry, tasteless, cracked-top cheesecake that nobody but the compost pile would want to eat.

Saturday I faced my fears and tried this.

I made it for Jason's family Christmas, and nobody has died yet.

Guitar Smashing

Owen turned 4 on Sunday!

Unfortunately, he was sidelined by a case of hand, foot and mouth disease. So was his sister and his mom, and his baby brother had a mild, intermittent fever. I was very surprised to have gotten it, since it is a common viral illness among children. I must be lending my immunity to Jack while he is nursing. It's not the worst virus there ever was, but it is annoying. I have blisters on my palms and the soles of my feet and inside my mouth. The ones on my hands and feet feel like paper cuts. The ones in my mouth feel like I scalded it or I bit my cheek. I also feel like I got hit by a truck.

We had to adjust party plans. His cousin Abby was born the day after he was, and we were going to have a big shindig. Instead, we invited Jason's parents over for lunch after they came home from church. Owen's outlook improved once we told him our new plans.

He loved the card he got from us. His gift is still on its way.

Owen was so! excited! about his guitar cake. He could hardly take his nap while I was making it on Saturday.

We had cheese puffs! I don't remember buying these ever before. The label said, "Made with real cheese." Hmmmm. The kids had never tasted anything so good. I dignified them with china.

We had my final freezer casserole that I made before Jack came, an uninspiring pizza-rice combo, but it was something to eat. Ruth brought some yummy purple hull peas from her garden. I made garlic bread, and we had punch I had made for the big party.

Owen actually blew his candles out! He has never been able to do it before. He huffed them out one at a time. We love you, Owen! Happy birthday. We're glad you and Helen liked the cake.