Lily’s in the field and Salisbury Steak With Wild Mushroom Gravy

I like blogging.  Sometimes it can prove a little ego bending, making you feel like the only tall girl at a dance populated with short boys, but for the most part I find it a nice platform to express myself.  This, so the blog monitors are advising me is my 387th post, so thank you for checking in and taking the time to read or comment. It’s been nice sharing my dysfunctional existence on this planet with you.

On New Year’s Day I was feeling a bit punk.  Not because I had a hangover, I did not.  Just punk, for punk’s sake.  Don’t do that often.  I’m usually the annoying upbeat one in the group who always sees the positive in every situation.  You know, the one you want to whip across the head with a wire hanger when you’re having a bad day.

About noon on New Year’s Day I spoke to my dear friend Doc, who was nursing a fat head. By this, I do not mean to imply he’s overly self involved, but rather he was suffering from the after effects of removing the cork from the bottle one too many times. He assured me he was under doctor’s orders, namely his, and was attempting a cure by mimosa.

Doc and I are forever friends, roommates for three years and bff’s for a lifetime.  At a time in my life when my chin was lower than my big toe, Doc and his roommate Jerry gathered me up and invited me to rent their third bedroom until my chin reached at least chest level.  In the interim, we found we cohabited so well that I nested in my little room and shared space with them for nearly three years until I met my other half.  We were like “three’s company” for the over forty set.

Doc is living in the L.A. area now, but we spent a little time reminiscing and this story popped into both our minds, so I thought I’d share it.

Doc is the proud father of six boys and one girl.  Divorced for ten years when I met him, in his prime he was a successful dentist and in his post-divorce years well known for having an easy hand with the ladies.  When I moved in with he and Jerry they were living in a beautiful gated community situated on a 19-hole golf course, with three heated pools, work out rooms in each “community section”, and a huge clubhouse and tennis courts.  Truly, it was a city unto itself, even including a post office on the grounds. 

The condo was roomy, three bedrooms and two baths, with an atrium in the center and a large living area, dining room and kitchen.  However, two older bachelors had inhabited the premises for six years, and during that time had not overburdened themselves with cleaning.  Golf clubs sat in one corner, golf shoes were piled on the chairs, cobwebs drooped from the sunlights and there was enough dust to fill a king size mattress.  For me, the first line of defense was a good offense so I armed the two men with bottles of window spray and toilet brushes and after applying some serious elbow grease we reclaimed the kitchen floor and discovered that the inside of the microwave was actually white not the color of burned spaghetti sauce.

The shower curtain, well, there just aren’t words.  I gave it a proper burial, and purchased a new one. I did a demonstration of how bleach actually can clean porcelain and they were duly amazed as the grey sinks returned to white.  At any rate, we found a middle ground and cohabited very well together.  I cleaned them up and they calmed me down.  A good match all around.

Doc maintained his standing in the community dating this lady and that.  Women his age far outnumbered the men so there was no shortage of invitations with his name on them.

At one point a lady from his past, Lily, purchased a home in the community just up the hill from ours. They had a relationship of several years duration back in the day and maintained spotty contact with one another since the relationship had run its course. According to Doc, ties had been severed because of her fondness for the taste of gin.  Although not totally happy at the prospect of having an old flame in such close proximity, one weekend she moved in, and, sharing a history, he extended an invitation to her and her married daughter to stop by for cocktails and dinner.

I had been out that Sunday, arriving home just in time to grab a plate and excuse myself. Work was coming early the next day so I declined the offer of a glass of wine and went off to catch up on some work I’d brought home before turning off the lights. 

Some time later I heard raised voices, followed shortly by a slamming door. I went out to investigate.  Doc informed me that Lily had overindulged and become sloppy and belligerent.  Her daughter had taken her home.  All good.  Upset, he took a sleeping pill and we said goodnight.

Sitting on my bed in my boxers and tank top, I heard a loud knock at the front door followed by the doorbell ringing repeatedly.  Seeming to be the only one up, I answered.  Lily, disheveled and makeup looking like a Barnum and Bailey Clown School reject was standing on the porch demanding to see Doc.  After knocking on his door repeatedly and getting no response, I explained he was out like a light and she unraveled like a ball of yarn in a cat’s paws.  Oh-oh.

It seemed her daughter had confiscated her keys so she had driven over in her golf cart.  Appearing as though her lips were no longer able to form words, and knowing she was new to the area, I suggested she leave the golf cart in our parking spot overnight and I drive her home. Unfortunately, when I inquired where home was the location alluded her for the moment. In her boosy way she said her street was named after wine.  Pinot Nowhere or Pingeon Gigelo. Perfect.  Totally perfect.  Could one hope that it was on the corner of Rehab Way?  Probably not.

After driving around for a half an hour in my pajamas, she pointed an unsteady finger at a house.  Not able to navigate without help I retrieved her house key from her purse and left her in the car while I went to open the front door.  Inserting the key nothing happened.  Returning to the car, she said “bath door”, which I took to mean the key must belong to the back door. Okay. Going around to the back of the house I found a fence surrounding the patio but no access gate.  Now tired, and the hour getting late, I climbed up on the power box. Peeking over the fence I could see the back door. I pulled myself up and straddled the fence.  Seated uncomfortably a dog began to bark loudly inside. Then, the patio light came on.  A large bearded man in a bathrobe two sizes too small opened the sliding glass door wielding a hammer.  Hmmmm.  Before being balpeened to death in my underwear, I quickly explained the situation hoping I had located a family member.

As it turned out he was not a member of the family, but was, in fact, a neighbor.  Thankfully, he was aware that Lily had moved in and pointed me in the direction of a similar looking house two doors down.  OMG.  Helping me down off the fence, I exited through his front door, but not before he stopped me to inquire if we could get together for dinner sometime.  Really? Must have been the boxers.

Out front I found Lily lying face down in the sprinkler with her behind sticking up in the air definitely not showing her best side.  I’m not lying here.  Frantic, I pried her muddy face up, checked her breath (which had enough octane to ignite a bag of charcoal), and determining she would survive, weaved her home, hosed her off and tucked her into bed. The golf cart was gone when I came home from work. I saw her later and nothing was every mentioned. The things you do for friends.

Salisbury Steak with Wild Mushroom Gravy

1 1/2 lb. ground beef, lean
1 1/2 cans (10 oz.) cream of mushroom soup
3/4 cup Italian bread crumbs
1 egg slightly beaten
1/8 tsp. dry mustard
1 onion, chopped
1 1/2 tsp. Montreal steak seasoning
1/8 tsp. garlic powder
1-1/2 Tbsp. oil
3 Tbsp. butter, divided
1/3 cup cooking sherry
8-10 oz. of wild mushrooms, porcini, morel, portabello or a mix
3 cups rich beef broth
1 1/2 pkg. Knorr brown gravy mix
Chopped fresh parsley for garnish

Combine ground beef, 1/2 can of soup, bread crumbs, dry mustard, garlic powder egg, onion, and Montreal steak seasoning in a large bowl. Mix well using the tips of your fingers. Form into 6 oval patties.

Heat oil and 1 Tbsp. butter in large skillet over med-high heat. Brown patties in oil on both sides and remove to plate. Set aside.

Add remaining 2 Tbsp. butter to same skillet. When melted remove from heat and add sherry. Saute mushrooms for 8 mins. Add beef stock and whisk in gravy mix. Whisk in remaining mushroom soup.

Place patties back in skillet and spoon gravy over top. Cover pan and cook for 25-30 mins. Remove from heat and add a dash of black pepper.

Serve over bed of white rice or fluffy mashed potatoes. Garnish with parsley sprig.