Sunday, September 27, 2009
Sunday, September 20, 2009
When I see bright, shiny and oh so lonely vegetables just sitting there I can’t help myself. I have to buy them. It’s like they call to me “please please just take me home… I would go so well with that recipe you’ve been thinking about“. On a trip to the Farmer’s Market with the Boy, my sister and her husband I stopped at a stall I frequent often enough to buy some green onions. Then some cherry tomatoes. Then some carrots (the Boy won’t eat baby carrots anymore, spoiled brat) and then I saw them. The holy grail of my obscure vegetable cravings: the Green Tomato.
I bought the two tomatoes they had left, and scurried home with my spoils. The next day, I found a recipe and went to work. I sliced the tomatoes (the recipe calls for 1/2 an inch thick, I wouldn’t go that thick actually. 1/3 is the biggest I’ll go next time) and slathered them with salt and pepper.
I’m going to be honest. This is about the last step of this recipe I should have followed. I got it from a site I’ve gotten terrific recipes off of before (not Pioneer Women, FYI) , so I had quite a bit of faith in it. Not a good idea. The recipe called for dipping the seasoned tomatoes in milk, then flour, then eggs, then cornmeal and then pan frying them. Don’t get me wrong, they were okay. But they weren’t… right. Fried green tomatoes seem to be a lot like Fried Chicken; in that everyone has a way they like it. Some dredge, then coat. Some just coat. To coat people use cornmeal, bread crumbs, flour or cracker crumbs.
Personally this “double dip” technique I didn’t like. And I also wasn’t a big fan of the cornmeal. Next time I think I’ll go with a more simple recipe. Season with salt and pepper, egg dip, breadcrumbs, fry. In that order. In fact I think I might add some hot sauce to the eggs ala Paula Deen Fried Chicken for some spice. Even with my disappointment on the crust, they were pretty good, and look very pretty. Topped off with some homemade ranch, and they made a good afternoon snack.
Hubby came home from work yesterday evening and told me this co-worker had sent me something. I got all excited untill he picked up his lunch pail. What I had in mind would not fit into his lunch pail. He pulled out a ziploc bag with four tomatoes in it.
The co-workers garden had been raided and these 4 tomatoes were all that was left! He spent all spring tilling and planting, all summer watering and weeding. He went away for the weekend and came home to an empty garden. They cleaned out everything he had grown. He has NOTHING to show for all of his hard work. Why would someone feel they were entitled to something they had no part of producing? I don't know how this individual feels. but I would be furious if it happened to me.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Monday, September 14, 2009
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Maggy and Lila, feel free to edit and add any preps you made.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
We got where we wanted to camp late and pulled into the first spot that we could fit our enclosed utility trailer. We started a fire and got to work on dinner. Then we unloaded the wheelers and got our beds set up in the trailer. The kids were running around playing in the campfire and river trying to give their mother a heart attack. We finallly got everything together and ate dinner. We put the kids to bed and turned the dogs loose. We sat by the fire for a while and listened to the hound plunk around in the river. We finally dragged him out of the water and went to bed.
The next morning we found a much nicer spot and moved everything over. The kids and dogs ended up in someone elses camp at way too early in the morning. By the time we got everything set up, Hubby and I were at each others throats and wanted to go home. But we bucked up and had breakfast. Then we went for a 4wheeler ride. Hubby was first in line followed by Butch on his wheeler and Bruiser on his motorcycle. Spike was riding with Hubby. I brought up the rear with the boston terrier on my lap and the hound on the back rack. The hound has quite an attitude and throws a huge hissy fit because we werent in the front of this little procession. Each time we passed a camp, I would put my hand around his muzzle to shut him up. Things went along like this for a while untill Bruiser started having problems with his motorcycle. He would lose power each time we went up a hill. He would have to paddle with his feet and go full throttle all the way up the hill. We dealt with this for a while untill we found a cool place to stop and rest for a while. Hubby worked on the bike for a while and we started back to camp. The bike got worse and worse untill the clutch finally fell apart. Hubby used the winch on my wheeler to hook the bike onto the front of my wheeler. Bruiser rode with me and the dogs were on the back. This made my machine really heavy in the front and caused me to fishtail all the way back down the hills to camp. Quite the sight we made all the way home. We FINALLY made it back to camp and made sandwiches because we were starving.
We took the boys into town (its really more like a small village) for icecream and just chilled for a while. Then we went back and started the fire for dinner. We gave up on stroganoff and just roasted hot dogs over the fire and I used the dutch oven to make cobbler. After dinner, we went for a walk on the river and lost the hound. He had caught a scent and took off. We got back to camp, got on the wheelers again and went looking for him. We finally found him and he spent the rest of the night on his chain. Eventually the kids got tired and fell asleep and soon afterwards we did too. We FROZE all night long, it was soooooo cold! We got up in the morning and decided to get an early start on packing up and going home. This whole trip the kids were playing in the fire, lighting stick on fire and waving them around making smoke signals. Thus the branding occured. Bruiser was waving his stick around and hit Spike in the ear. We handed him a can of cold soda to hold on it and finished packing.
Home at last! I have washed my hair twice since then and still can't get the smell of camp fire out of it. Oh well, we all made it home in one peice.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Friday, September 4, 2009
So in this particular instance, I suppose last night my kitchen was my Mama’s kitchen. Or at least it smelled like it. One thing I’ve been basically terrified to try is the wonderful, spicy, crumbly sweet-ness that is Dutch Apple Pie. My mother makes a mean apple pie. Seriously, it’s amazing. For holiday’s she even makes one of my cousin’s a whole pie just for himself, because it’s all he’ll eat (frankly, I don’t blame him). So obviously although I’ve helped make this recipe 1500 times, it’s a bit daunting for me because I’m more then a little afraid I won’t measure up.
Then came the challenge. This last weekend, the Boy and I went to a friends for dinner, and since I had about 10 minutes notice, I just ran to the store and grabbed one of their bakery pies. They didn’t have a ton of choices, so I just grabbed a lemon meringue because it’s fairly generic so usually most every one likes it. Sad day for me,because in this case, that wasn’t so. Our host (or one of two I should say) not only doesn’t like meringue, also not a fan of citrus custard pies. In case you’re keeping track, that makes my store bought pie 0-2.
Now, I basically feel like an a-hole. I know that may not make sense, but I like to feed people. When people don’t eat, it upsets me. So I promised to make him a pie, any pie. Peach? Cherry? Apple? Bam, he wants apple. Alright, what about Dutch Apple? That’s his favorite! Sweet, good I know what to make! And I even have apples from the local orchard!
Tuesday I sat down to make the pie and the little voice in my head started to have a panic attack. I’ve never made a Dutch Apple by myself, let alone using only my memory to (try to) recreate my Mama’s specialty. I may or may not have stopped several times purely to spew a string of obscenities, gather myself back together and continue. Happily for me, Luck was with me and everything came out great. The dough was perfect, the apples were spiced just perfect and the crumble was sweet and buttery.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
A funny thing happened to me yesterday at Camp Bondsteel (Bosnia): A French Army officer walked up to me in the PX, and told me he thought we Americans were a bunch of cowboys and were going to provoke a war in Iraq. He said if such a thing happens, we wouldn't be able to count on the support of France.
I told him that it didn't surprise me. Since we had come to France's rescue in World War I, World War II, Vietnam, and the Cold War, their ingratitude and jealousy was due to surface again at some point in the near future anyway. I also told him that is why France is a third-rate military power with a socialist economy and a bunch of pansies for soldiers. I additionally told him that America, being a nation of deeds and action, not words, would do whatever it had to do, and France's support, if it ever came, was only for show anyway.
He began to get belligerent at that point, and I told him if he would like to, I would meet him outside in front of the Burger King and whip his ass in front of the entire Multinational Brigade East, thus demonstrating that even the smallest American had more fight in him than the average Frenchman. He called me a barbarian cowboy and walked away in a huff.
With friends like these, who needs enemies?
Dad, tell Mom I love her,
Your loving daughter.
This came from Marine LtCol Mary Beth Johnson, and this letter is epic!