Human beings are the only creatures on earth that allow their children to come back home. – Bill Cosby and Juicy Grilled Games Hens with Rosemary Rice

Photos by Susie Nelson

Today I’m getting my hair cut at a new salon.  Too far to drive to go to the one where we used to live.  Sort of a nail biter event for me. This stylist came highly recommended by a friend, so I’m trusting I won’t return with a Chartreuse mohawk or “Born to Be Bad” shaved on the back of my head.  Over my lifetime, I’ve had some really bad hair salon experiences.  Once, during the summer between 7th and 8th grade my mother took me to a beauty college to get me a permanent. Why she did this escapes me to this day. If I wash my hair and let it dry naturally, I have lovely curls springing up without any encouragement at all on my part. Thank God permanent proved an adjective limited to the name of the process and did not imply a life changing condition, or you might well be calling me Sister Susie. I looked like a blond Carrot Top on a blustery day without the availability of hair products of any kind.  It took me all summer to grow it out, most of it spent hiding in the back of my closet.  Hopefully that aspiring stylist went on to find a lucrative job in another field.

At around four years of age, my daughter, Heather, also dabbled in this life pursuit. In an effort to hone her cutting skills, she took it upon herself to redesign not only her bangs but those of her younger brother, Steve.  The transformation was accomplished in a ten minute interval while I was preparing lunch.  The barber’s tool of choice was a pair of dull children’s plastic scissors used for cutting construction paper or the like, not the number one choice of professionals. On reflection, I’ll award her points for speed, but her cutting skills definitely fell below the bar. On her head, she’d created a line of bangs starting low and ending high on the left side. For the middle, she eliminated all unnecessary hair (really all existing hair), then followed up with a rather jagged picket fence design on the opposite side. Very avant guard.  For my son, she went for a more minimalist look, leaving him appearing as though he’d been attacked by a rogue riding lawn mower or a hungry goat.  Lovely.  Truthfully, when it comes to children, even when asleep one should keep one eye open because the minute you turn your back on them it’s like asking a pick pocket to hold your purse.  It’s not going to end well.

As youngsters, my two worked as a team to help me gray before thirty.  Only a year apart with polar opposite personalities, when it came to mischief and mayhem they became joined at the hip like Siamese twins.  My daughter was the ring leader, with Steve tagging along as hired muscle.  Sitting on the floor, blanket in lap and thumb in mouth, his sister would weave the fabric of an intricate scheme. Being a good schemer, Heather was always sure to include a Hail Mary play in the plan in the event of detection.  Basically, if caught in the act, look innocent and immediately pin the deed on your accomplice.

Kids keep you on your toes for sure.  I’m thankful I had my two when I was young and stupid.  I had the energy to keep up with them (for the most part) and had no concept of what I’d gotten myself into until I somehow I lived through their high school years and by then the worst was behind me.  I am amazed to look at them now with their own families and find I may have actually taught them something in the middle of the emergency room visits and total chaos revolving around a family with young children under its roof. Looking back you can see the mistakes you made, and if you’ve missed any, someone is sure to come by and be happy to point them out. It is secretly rather fun to see them struggling with the same issues I dealt with with when raising them.  Payback is truly, well, is truly entertaining.

Looking back I didn’t really appreciate my mother until I was well into my thirties.  Mothers and daughters struggle, I believe, to find balance.  Sometimes it is difficult to cut the cord and allow our children to fail and achieve on their own, only offering support when asked.  I know if my mother told me to turn right, I would immediately turn the steering wheel towards the left.  When I got married at nineteen, she literally fell apart.  In retrospect it most probably was not the choice I should have been making.  I can see now her dreams for me with regard to school and my future dissolved when I said “I Do” that September morning.  At the time, of course, I knew everything and obviously was so sure that my way was the way to go, anything she would have told me at the time would have been thrown out with the dishwater.

As I matured, ripened if you will, I learned to set boundaries with my mother.  Once I did this it became easier to form a loving bond with her.  Before then if I allowed her foot in the door the rest of her would soon be on the other side.  Now, we co-exist in a wonderful place where we respect and admire one another.  She is my biggest fan, and I know there will never be another individual with me on my journey who loves me as unconditionally as she does.

I looked at a pregnant woman in the market the other day and felt a pinch of envy.  I enjoyed ballooning up like the Hindenburg and craving a three slice grilled cheese sandwich at four a.m.  There is nothing quite like the smell of a new baby fresh off the assembly line (most of the smells anyway), and the shared experiences of the first years of childhood with your kids.  It is something I wouldn’t trade for anything.  It does take you back, however, to hear on the news that these days your financial commitment with one child equals nearly a quarter of a million dollars.  Whew.  Fortunately when I had mine I had no idea I couldn’t afford them. Smile.

On a lighter note, Miss Boo the Queen of Cats has odd behavior on the best of days.  When we moved into the new house, she decided the guest bedroom was to be her hangout.  In one corner I put the papa san chair placing three of my favorite teddy bears in the center.  Since then, Boo has made this her home, so much so she’s even grooming her new “family”.  Who knows, cat lick may be the new mouse, um mousse, because they’re looking pretty spiffy.  Don’t try this at home.

These were quite truly the best game hens we’ve ever cooked.  I am not as fond of the wee birds as my other half but these I devoured not only one half, but went back after a second.

Juicy Grilled Game Hens with Rosemary Rice

Juicy Grilled Game Hens

2 Cornish game hens, halved (http://www.ehow.com/how_2191636_cut-cornish-game-hen.html)
3 cloves garlic, minced
3/4 cup onion, chopped
1 cup lemon juice
1/2 cup olive oil
1 Tbsp. dry white wine
1 tsp. Worcestershire sauce
1 tsp. Tabasco sauce
1 Tbsp. chopped parsley
1/4 tsp. hot paprika
1/2 tsp. lemon pepper
1/2 tsp. black pepper
1 tsp. salt

Clean the game hens and remove anything in the cavities. Pat dry with paper towel. Cut the hens in half (if unfamiliar with the process, refer to the link above). Mix the following ingredients together and place in large resealable plastic bag. Add game hens and squish bag to distribute marinade. Marinade overnight or for at least 4 hours.

Heat grill to medium heat. Spray grill with cooking spray.

Cook hens covered for 1 hour using reserved marinate to baste up until the last 15 mins. of cooking. Discard leftover marinade.

Serves 4 (or 2 good eaters)

Rosemary Rice

2 Tbsp. butter
1 Tbsp. olive oil
1 large shallot, sliced thin
1 onion, chopped
1 tsp. salt
Pepper
2 cups Jasmine rice
3 cups low-sodium chicken broth
2 bay leaves
1/2 sprig fresh rosemary

Heat the olive oil and melt the butter in large saucepan over med. heat. Add shallots and onion. Season with salt and pepper. Cook until onions are translucent, about 5 mins. Add rice. Stir to mix rice with butter and oil. Increase heat to med-high and allow rice to brown, stirring often, for about 5-6 mins.

Add broth slowly. Add bay leaf and 1/2 sprig rosemary. Bring to a boil. Cover and reduce heat to low. Simmer for 18-20 mins. or until all liquid has been absorbed. Remove from heat and allow to rest for 5 mins. Remove bay leaf and rosemary.

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The moment you doubt whether you can fly, you cease for ever to be able to do it. ― J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan and Rib Eye Steaks with Cilantro Mint Sauce

One word keeps crossing my mind like the moving billboard on Times Square.
V A C A T I O N. Of course, I can’t stop in the middle of all that is going on at the moment, pack a bag, and wave a jaunty adios. However, whether or not I ask it to stop, my subconscious insists on continuing to scout locations. Last night in my dreams I visited South Africa and Italy. Who knows where my passport will be stamped tonight?

Choosing a vacation location always becomes somewhat of a quandary for me. I’m not much of a flyer. Used to be. As a matter of fact, I was all signed up and ready to be a stewardess at one point. Somewhere along the line, I lost faith in the idea a metal cylinder loaded with jet fuel was going to stay suspended high up in the clouds where it wasn’t intended to be in the first place. Oddly enough, in my misspent youth I even considered getting my private pilot’s license. I took my first and last lesson when I was five months pregnant with my son. As planes go, it was a small one, a Cessna 150 or the like. The dashboard had two steering wheels or controls my instructor called them. One was for the pilot and the other for the student. I felt like a four-year old sitting next to her daddy in the car with a plastic steering wheel and a little ball horn that went “meep meep” when you pushed it. I resisted the urge to go “vroooom, vrooom”.

The pilot, a cheery enough man in probably his late thirties, was a little hesitant about taking me up once he realized I was “carrying”. Given a waiver releasing him from liability, I signed it without thought because I was young, and of course knew everything there was to know about the world as all young people do. Wise, wise beyond my years I was.

Closing the doors we spent about a half an hour on the ground going over pre-flight instructions and a general overview of what button, dial, gadget does what. Naturally I felt capable of soloing after 30 minutes training before the plane ever left the ground. Once airborne, I was struck by how noisy it was in the cockpit. I had the oddest sensation of being suspended in midair hanging from a propeller. Perhaps because I was, in fact, suspended in midair hanging from a propeller. I would assume, as I did then, if that annoying noise should stop any time during my lesson it would not bode well for the remainder of the flight.

I don’t remember being intimidated by the whole experience at all. Rather, I found it fascinating. As it turned out you actually steer the incredible flying machines with your feet. A concept, I was told, that could be a bit confusing at first. It was late spring, as my son made his appearance in early August. The world below us was in bloom and verdant green prevailed. Passing beneath our wings, from my angle it appeared to be a huge patchwork quilt put together by an alcoholic granny on a binge. Perspective is so altered in the air. Objects below looked as if they were part of an elaborate H.O. train setup. At times the instructor rocked the wings one direction then another, or pointed the nose up or toward the ground. I found myself fervently wishing he would not rock the boat, or plane in this case. Next he explained what a stall was. For me, this was too much information. Silently I prayed there wasn’t to be a demonstration any time soon. Then he did the most amazing thing! Pointing to my controls, he asked me to place my hands are them and take over. All previous faith I had in the man sluffed off like flour off a mirror. Are you kidding me? Somebody was smoking their shoe laces. “Mommy.”

Visions of planes plummeting out of control spinning wildly toward earth, rushed through my head like water through a fissure. Following instructions explicitly, my profusely sweating hands gripped the controls so firmly I was sure it would take the jaws of life to remove them once the lesson was done. It was a heady experience feeling the small plane respond to my commands. One I thoroughly enjoyed at the time but knew instinctively I wouldn’t need to recreate for myself any time in the near future. Suddenly getting on the ground took over as the main train of thought for me and my bladder was nearly insisting on it. Both baby and I breathed a huge sigh of relief on exiting the plane and thanking my instructor some forty minutes later.

My next near miss in the air came around twenty-five. I was working for a gold recycler in Southern California. There was an employee there about the same age as I who was a stunt flyer. Several times he asked if I’d like to go up and take a spin. I assumed at the time he was referring to the airplane. On reflection, there may have been more to the story. My earlier experience was still fresh in my memory bank, so I demurred. To encourage me to give it a try, he brought in video showing him doing rolls, stalls, and loops (in his plane, naturally). In my opinion this was a sign of a serious brain malfunction which required immediate medical help of the psychological kind.

Soooo, I am left with reviewing other option. How about a cruise ship? Ahhhhhhh, no. Cruise lines really ought to include porta-potties and emergency rations in their welcome aboard packages these days. Bike tours? Don’t have the lower body muscles for such an undertaking. For that matter, don’t have the upper body muscles. Bus trips? (I’ll tell you a story about that later, but no.) Love trains, but last I heard they don’t cross either the Pacific or the Atlantic and there aren’t plans to change this presently in the works. Maybe I’ll catch a cab to the east coast, purchase a blow up raft at the Salvation Army, and row across the Atlantic. So many things to think about.

There are two options in play in the picture above, a fabulous tarragon melting butter and the outrageous cilantro mint sauce I’m providing the recipe for below.  Both are delicious so I thought I whet your appetite and give them to you one at a time.

Cilantro Mint Sauce

1 cup fresh parsley
1 cup fresh cilantro
1 Tbsp. dried mint
3 garlic cloves, chopped
1 Tbsp. chives
1/2 tsp. Kosher salt
1/4 tsp. black pepper
1 cup olive oil
1/3 cup red wine vinegar
1 Tbsp. freshly squeezed lemon juice
1/4 tsp. red pepper flakes

Place parsley, cilantro, mint, chives, garlic, salt and pepper in food processor.

Pulse until finely chopped.

Mix together oil, red wine vinegar, lemon juice and pepper flakes. Pour slowly into herb mixture until well blended. Refrigerate until ready to use.

Pan Fried Rib-eye Steaks

3 Tbsp. olive oil
4 1″ rib-eye steaks
Kosher salt, black pepper, and lemon pepper to taste

Season both sides of steaks with kosher salt, black pepper and lemon pepper. Allow to come to room temperature (about a half an hour)

Heat oil in cast iron skillet (or heavy skillet) over high heat. Sear steaks on one side for 2 mins. never touching or piercing the meat. Turn over with tongs and repeat cooking time on either side.

Serve with cilantro sauce.

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Love thy neighbor – and if he happens to be tall, debonair and devastating, it will be that much easier. – Mae West and Slow Cooker Shredded Beef Sandwiches

Photo by Susie Nelson

I’m going to visit my daughter, about an hour and a half south of here, close to her birthday the end of this month.  Normally immersed in her daycare five days a week, on her birthday week she pencils in a week’s vacation for the teacher.  We’re going to do girl things for a couple of days. Brave is playing at the theater,  appointments have been made for pedicures, than shopping, and a float in her pool.  It is a lovely pool, but I would never advertise it as a “refreshing dip”.  My son-in-law seems to feel that 90 degree water in 110 degree heat is somehow enticing as a cool off spot.  Personally, I always feel like I should bring a bar of soap and a luffa.

I’ve said before pools are huge assets, for me at least. I normally find myself in the water at least once a day during the dog days of summer.  Not only is it great exercise and fun, as opposed to most exercise, it cools you off and makes you feel good.  What’s not to love?  The downside at times is you become hugely popular when the thermometer starts nudging uphill.

In both houses I lived in between eighth grade until I graduated from high school, my parents had pools.  In the second house ,the pool was an olympic sized in-ground structure equipped with a slide and two diving boards which was like putting out bacon for meat bees when it came to attracting the neighborhood children. I loved that pool.

Mother always liked to have a pool, which was a personality quirk I totally supported.  Never did she get her hair wet, as it was done every Thursday and remained done until the Thursday following.  In those days, that was the way it was done, to repeat myself. We had bathing caps, which were medieval torture devices disguised with dreadful plastic flowers that when strapped in place acted as a turniquet reducing all blood circulation above the neck.  Why, exactly you wanted your hair dry when swimming in a pool full of water I never quite understood, but mine was always handed to me on the way out the patio door.

Our middle class Southern California neighborhood was well populated with pools. Weekends, dads traded in white shirts and skinny ties for madras bermudas and black socks. Smoke filled the backyards as men in chef’s hats and “Kiss the Cook” aprons flipped obscenely proportioned pieces of meat on the grill, lit another Lucky Strike and dropped an olive in their second martini.  It was a world inhabited by those who celebrated well sprayed hair, didn’t sweat every calorie, seemed oblivious to the demons of alcohol, smoking, and generally everything but sex, which was waiting on the sidelines for flower children to emancipate it.

Immediately to the right of our driveway, was the driveway of my mother’s best friend, Miss P.  Miss P’s house was a huge draw for me as not only did their family have a pool and a hot tub, but three of her four children were boys, two of them my age.  To add to the mix, they had a pool table and a pinball machine.

Miss P. was a really interesting character in my formative years.  A self-professed vixen  with a number of marriages notched on her belt (no judgement here), she had fallen far from the elevated heights of a wealthy marriage to divorce in the suburbs with four children and her alcoholic brother to watch out for.  I found her fascinating.

Vic, her younger brother (probably in his late thirties at the time), enjoyed a cocktail or two, followed by a cocktail or three or four, but was fun-loving and being a kid himself enjoyed the company of same. Vic taught me to play hearts, which I’ve continued playing to this day.  Fondness for whiskey made holding a 9-5 job a stretch for him. Taking excellent care of his sister’s pool, he soon added other clients to his list.  Summer vacations I often gathered a little pocket money traveling his pool route with him in his old beater station wagon trying to find enough oxygen to survive among the chemicals liberally dispersed throughout the vehicle. On reflection, I often wonder if this had something to do with the strange doings in my mind.

Miss P. entertained two suitors, one older than herself and the other a well-built Greek younger by some ten years.  The older of the two, Tom, was well papered and with good investments had the wherewithal to provide a lovely home and the promise of a bright and worry free future for Miss P. and entourage. The younger man didn’t promise anything, but although this is a guess, I would bet he delivered on more than one occasion.

Tom wore the worst auburn rug.  In my mind I can see the webbing bobbing up and down above his forehead and the gray hairs peeking out beneath the red ones in the hairpiece.  Why, if you could afford a quality hairpiece, would a man put something looking like road kill on the top of his head I never understood. A short, portly, older man with a bad hairpiece led me to deduce, even at that young age, the attraction with Tom, was more financial than physical.  As to the Greek, there was no doubt what the attraction was.

Thursdays I went to their house for a game of Hearts.  It was a tradition which we adhered to unless having a cast applied or parental veto.  One particular Thursday, the Greek was “visiting” as Vic dealt the first hand.  A ring of the doorbell and a hint of a Cadillac fin in the driveway signaled that it was Tom the Piece’s finger on the buzzer. Much scurrying and silent gesturing occurred, and with no other avenue of escape Nick the Greek was deposited in the hall closet next to the Hoover.

Dealt the queen of spades at the card table, I couldn’t help but wondering how this was going to play out.  In the end, Tom the Piece not seeing the other man in the closet, apologized for being unduly suspicious.  Nick the Greek was released two hours later after Tom’s fins disappeared around the corner. As for us, we continued our game. Soap operas had less plot twists and drama than a day in our neighborhood.  Several years later Miss P. married another friend’s husband, who she’d borrowed and neglected to return after Tom the Piece and the Greek had moved on.

It was an interesting cast of characters swirling around me. Not knowing anything different, I don’t believe it occurred to me to find them unusual.  As always they make interesting fodder for a story.

Slow Cooker Shredded Beef Sandwiches

1 3 1/2-4 lb. beef chuck roast
2 Tbsp. Canola oil
4 cloves garlic, minced
1 1/2 cups beer
1 green pepper, sliced thin
1 Serrano pepper, seeded and diced small
1 onion, sliced thin
2/3 cup packed dark brown sugar
4 oz. tomato paste
1/2 cup red wine vinegar
1/3 cup soy sauce
1/3 cup Dijon mustard
2 bay leaves
1 tsp. paprika
1/2 tsp. salt (plus more if needed)
1/2 tsp. black pepper
Kaiser rolls or your choice, toasted

In large skillet heat oil over med-high heat. Generously season roast with salt and pepper. Brown on all sides in oil.

Spray 6 quart crockpot with cooking spray. Place meat in cooker. Top with vegetables and Serrano pepper. Add beer to skillet and simmer for 1 min. scraping all stuck bits from bottom of pan. Pour over meat and vegetables.

Mix together all remaining ingredients. Pour over top.

Cook on low for 9 hours. Remove meat and shred with two forks. Return meat to sauce. Cook for 1 hr. longer on low.

Place on toasted buns and serve with Caesar salad or cole slaw. Serves 6

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All marriages are happy. It’s trying to live together afterwards that causes all the problems. – Shelley Winters and Barbecued Chicken Thighs with Pomegranate Teriyaki Glaze

Families, at times, make me unbalanced.  I am a straight line kind of individual. Give me some relative blips in the road, some real hair-raising excitement here and there, and pile on the fun and don’t be stingy, but as far as drama, please excuse me from the list of participants.  I just hate it.  Sometimes when infighting goes on in my group I entertain the thought of shooting myself in the foot and getting kicked out of the regiment.

It’s bad enough when children behave like children, which we condone because they are, in the end, short on experience and long on attitude, but when adults behave like children, well I just want to throw myself on the floor and have a total tantrum.  Oh, sorry, perhaps that might be considered childish in some circles.

Montana, these days, is just sounding really good to me.  Wide open spaces, poor cell phone reception, lots of places to disappear discreetly into, and not one member of my family lives within the state lines.  Sign me up.

Don’t misunderstand me, I adore the dirty rotten scoundrels but families can be a messy lot, particularly when blended, and I’m sure under this curly blonde head of hair you’d find total gray screaming to get out.

Relationships are difficult at best, but when you bring two families together it can become kinetic, introducing yours and mine into the mix.  I try to think of them as ours but in the end like vinegar and water when you try to mix them together eventually they insist on drifting apart again.  Actually I am glad that my other half and I met after our children were grown ups (or at least legally adults).  I’m sure our different approaches to parenting would have caused some major standoffs. Where now, for the most part, we cohabit in relative peace and find each other endlessly fascinating.  Well, okay we make each other giggle. It has been ten years. Although my heart still goes pitty pat when I see his face, I can go about the tasks of my day without writing his name on every surface or thinking about him every step of the way.

What is that the experts say?  In all new relationships there is a “honeymoon period” of intense attraction and mooning looks that eventually subsides and fades into the “real life” portion of the program.  I don’t necessarily think this is a bad thing.  Sustaining that initial rush indefinitely most of us would never make it to our jobs. The attraction guaranteeing we’d  probably produce lots of children, we’d most likely ignore them deferring to our partners. It certainly wouldn’t leave room for much else beyond gazing into one another’s eyes in our worlds.

I think the problem is the initial rush is so overwhelming, when a marriage or relationship evolves and life interrupts it with electric bills and mortgage payments, late nights with a colicky baby, and just the day-to-day process of living, we begin to yearn for the sweetness in the beginning instead of embracing each phase of our lives together for what it is.  In a way I equate it to combat veterans who, after coming home from intense periods of being on full alert or in the midst of gunfire and danger 24/7, suddenly find the normal world of home and family difficult to adjust to without the adrenalin high.

I had a therapist once (yes, I really did) who said that some people find “normal” boring so will actually infuse chaos into their world to keep the excitement level up.  In the end, create their own miseries in order to feel comfortable.  For me, I’m all over having a nice easy ride without anybody getting thrown out of the boat.

Having been married four times I’m sure you’re thinking, “boy, I know she’d be the person I’d go to if I needed some relationship advice”.  For some reason people do ask me about this and that quite often, perhaps because I’ve either done it or experienced somewhere along this interesting road I’ve traveled.  I’m still exploring relationships.  Every day I learn something new. One thing I have learned about families is to stay out of my children’s business (as adults naturally, when they were kids I was all over them like a pup tent) and only offer advice when asked, and then as sparingly as the government gives out tax breaks.

The murky world of relationships is a tricky place to maneuver with more turns than a bully on a playground, but I wouldn’t trade the experience of having them.  It would be a lonely world without putting yourself out there and giving someone love and getting it back in return.  Not perfect by any means, but I wouldn’t trade it.

So, I guess after a while you settle into a comfortable place and the chair doesn’t feel as new any more, and there are some threads loose here and there but when you sit in it it contours itself to you and you can curl up in it and appreciate it for what it is.

Ah, Susie’s philosophy course for the day.  Wake up I say!

This was the best chicken.  We couldn’t stop smacking our lips and licking our fingers.  Sweet and tangy with a hint of berries and pomegranate.  Just yummy.

As soon as the love relationship does not lead me to me, as soon as I in a love relationship do not lead another person to himself, this love, even if it seems to be the most secure and ecstatic attachment I have ever experienced, is not true love. For real love is dedicated to continual becoming . Leo Buscaglia (1924-1998) Italian-American author, motivational speaker, university professor, known as “Dr. Love”

Barbecued Chicken Thighs with Pomegranate Teriyaki Glaze

1 Tbsp. cornstarch
1 Tbsp. cold water
1/2 cup white sugar
1/2 cup soy sauce
1/4 cup cider vinegar
1 tsp. Worchestershire sauce
2 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 tsp. onion powder
1/2 tsp. ground ginger
1/4 tsp. black pepper
1 1/2 tsp. Pomegranate jam
8 chicken thighs (I used boneless, skinless but any would be fine)

Whisk together all glaze ingredients but jam in small saucepan. Bring to a high simmer over med-low heat stirring often. When just hot add jam and whisk until it is dissolved. Continuing cooking until mixture thickens. Remove from heat.

Salt and pepper thighs on both sides. Brush with glaze.

Place chicken thighs on preheated grill over a medium low heat (around 300 degrees F.) Grill for about 20-25 mins. basting often with glaze, and turning occasionally. As the chicken nears doneness brush glaze over the surface every 5 minutes until chicken is done and a sticky consistency. Remember, chicken is done when meat has an internal temperature of 165 degrees F. and juices run clear.

Serves 4.

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Television has proved that people will look at anything rather than each other – Ann Landers and Mediterranen Burgers with Feta Cheese Sauce and Tadziki

Photo by Susie Nelson

Sometimes I find myself wondering what ad execs are thinking about with some of the commercials showing on TV at the moment.  Particularly those offering products or services to save you money or loan you some of the elusive green stuff.  One in particular makes us laugh every time it airs.  Basically, a dental group is pushing the orthodontics side of their business by offering great interest free financing.  To set the bit, they show two yuppie looking women most probably in their early thirties lying on high-end chaise lounges. Both are in bikinis with perfect tans and toned bodies sipping tropical beverages out of lovely glassware. Lounging comfortably, they are discussing the fact that now they’ve become aware of this amazing dental financing they can afford braces for their children. Behind them the children are seen cavorting happily in their fabulous pool area with a beautiful in-ground hot tub.  Really?  These ladies look more like they are married to dentists, then needing financing to see one.  The only thought it illicits in my mind, is that if they quit spending all their money at the mall buying lawn furniture or at Trader Joe’s picking up Mai Tai ingredients they could afford hardware for these poor underprivileged little tykes.

It is just me or wouldn’t it be more appropriate to show someone who obviously really needs help with the financing? Someone, say, in a lower-income home. Perhaps a long-suffering pregnant woman with three or four young children circling her legs with dirty faces, crooked teeth and noses that need wiping.  Maybe throw in an older kid in the background with a hairnet and tattoos for atmosphere.  I’m just not convinced in any way that these two well-to-do young women need what this commercial has to offer, and unless I’m mistaken, that’s what I’m supposed to be believing.

Also, my other half pointed one out the other day offering a $1,000 loan at fairly high interest.  First shown is a man leaning on his pool cue in front of a custom table in a beautiful game room.  This gentlemen is telling us that he just wouldn’t know what he would have done without getting his $1,000.00 loan.  Following him, a well dressed woman loading groceries into the back of her Mercedes SUV (probably with a sticker price hovering around the $100,000.00 mark),  also simply is unable to imagine what bad turns her life would have taken without getting her $1,000.00.  Now, I’m not saying that people able to afford these toys don’t need a loan now and then, I’m only thinking that perhaps someone without them might be more appropriate as a spokesperson.  I’m just saying.

Lately I can’t seem to watch any television.  By the time I get comfortable, pour a glass of ice water, plump my pillows and turn something on I want to watch it’s morning.  If it wasn’t for my DVR, I truly wouldn’t have any idea who was eliminated, married, suing who, wearing what, and uncovering which grossly decomposing body and transporting it to the lab for identification.

Some shows I will not watch.  For instance, I find The Bachelor and it’s counterweight The Bachelorette a total waste of air space, or oxygen in general.  I’m sure I’ll get some push back about this because obviously someone out there is watching, but for the life of me I cannot figure out why.  Has any couple ever stayed together in the history of the show?  I believe it could be possible to meet the love of your life in such a contrived situation but I put the odds right up there with me winning the lottery off that ticket sitting in between my driver’s license and my credit cards as I write this.  Let’s just say I’m not going to run out and put a down payment on a Porsche with those odds and I wouldn’t bet any of these relationships hang in their for the long run either.

For me I watch TV to get away from reality not find myself immersed in it, and especially the worst kind of reality, the dreaded Kardashians.  Please tell me what they have done to deserve our undying admiration because I am lost for answers to this puzzling question.  Whatever happened to wonderfully inane shows with ridiculous plots and characters based on no reality whatsoever, like June Cleaver, who made you forget your leaking toilet and overdue phone bill and allowed you laugh out loud for a minute?  Remember the Cosby children, well, maybe not, who always got the moral of their bad behavior minutes before the credits rolled.

Another one that’s annoys me is Jerseylicious. Spending sixty precious minutes of my life watching Snookie pouf her hair is about as intoxicating an idea as getting lost in Mexico City after the sun goes down.  I have my own issues, why oh why, do I need to be privy to hers as well and a nail breakage crisis.

I’m yearning, simply yearning for something that sweeps me off my feet on the screen.  Beautiful, poignant Color of Purple, cinemographically magnificent Out of Africa, scream inducing Exorcist, and hysterically funny, slapstick, farcical and laugh out loud Money Pit.  I need a fix, and I need it bad.

As a closing note here I’m somewhat interested in Halle Berry going after the paparazzi.  About time somebody got in their faces instead of them getting in other people’s. I kind of like that, another probably unpopular view.  We are left with such a saffron thread of privacy these days. As such, I have to sympathize with people who have signed up for being forever focused in the public eye. As public figures, it seems impossible to extract a shard of a moment for themselves or their families not captured by a camera.

So, to follow with the other wordly note of this silliness, we are trying Susie’s Canadian version of Mediterranean burgers.  The tadsziki to me is the rope that pulls the pants together in this recipe.  Yummy.

Mediterranean Burgers  and Feta Cheese Sauce with Tadziki

Mediterranean Burgers with Feta Cheese Sauce

1 lb. ground lamb
1 lb. ground beef
1/2 yellow onion, chopped fine
1/4 cup green pepper, chopped fine
1 tsp. black pepper
1 tsp. salt
1 tsp. garlic powder
1 Tbsp. parsley flakes
1/2 tsp. ground cumin
1 tsp. dried oregano
1/8 tsp. dried mint
6 Hamburger buns
Olive oil

In food processor crumble 1/2 ground beef, then 1/2 ground lamb, then 1/2 ground beef and 1/2 ground lamb. Pulse until a medium fine mince. Place in large mixing bowl. Add onions, green peppers and seasonings. Work to mix with your fingertips trying not to overmix. Form into 6 patties.

Grill or broil to desired doneness. Serve with a generous dollop of feta cheese sauce, and hummus with sliced onions, tomato and lettuce.

Brush buns with olive oil. Place under broiler until golden brown. Spread with hummus if desired and top with other garnishes.

Garnish:

Sliced Tomatoes
Sliced red onions
Lettuce leaves
Hummus
Tepenade

Feta Cheese Sauce

1/4 cup feta cheese, crumbled
1 cup sour cream
Dash or two of garlic salt
Salt and pepper to taste

Mash feta cheese in bottom of small mixing bowl. Mix in remaining ingredients and serve over burgers.

Tadziki

1 cup plain yogurt
1 cucumber, chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 1/2 tsp. freshly squeezed lemon juice
Salt and pepper to taste

Serve with burgers.
Mix together and refrigerate until ready to use.

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I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore. . . . I hear it in the deep heart’s core. – William Butler Yeats Bacon Wrapped Filets with Garlic Butter and Steamed Lobster

Mother’s Day is once again packed in the memory box. This year it was most definitely my other half who made it a memory with beautiful flowers, a shopping trip for moi, and steamed lobster tails and bacon wrapped filets for a romantic dinner for two, the contents of which I have shared below.

Besides speaking to my progeny and step-progeny throughout the day, I had the opportunity to catch up with some old friends.  One friend was on her way out the door for a week of R&R at her cabin the Sierras, which took me back to the early 1980’s when I also had a cabin in the same area.   Bass Lake, to be specific, a relatively small mountain community still a well-kept secret during those years, tucked in the Western Sierra mountains. My husband at the time and his family owned a cabin on the lake while he and his brothers were in high school, and after they had sold it he’d always held on to a longing to purchase one of his own around there at some point.  About a year after we were married, we bought a ski boat first and then located a cabin with a dock to house it in.  Backwards, but effective nonetheless.

Over the next three years the cabin was truly our summer home.  Both working full-time, with me off for two months during the summer, most of our free time was spent commuting back and forth between the Bay Area and the lake with children, rafts, animals, friends, and equipment in tow.  Our “family truckster”, mainly an oversized station wagon with seating facing front and back, stoically hauled its boisterous crew up the mountain passes dragging the boat as well at the beginning of summer and once again at summer’s end.

It was a glorious time in my life, the time I spent on the lake.  Early morning coffee sitting with my feet dangling in the cool water watching the sun peek its head over the mountains. Days browning in the summer sun taking turns making rooster tails with our skis and kneeboarding across the wake of the boat.  At night the barbecues were called into action, both a pit and it’s gas counterpart.  Board games were played on the deck with smells of chicken crisping in a pungent sopping sauce, and ears of fresh corn grilling in lime and butter inside their husks making our stomach’s growl in anticipation.

My kids learned to fish off that deck, as did many of their friends.  As a note here, If your address book is ever looking a bit sparse, the addition of a new pool, boat, or cabin in your life will fill the pages in no time.  Friends, relatives children, and sometimes strange faces appeared for dinner during those years on the lake, lining up for a bowl of chili or a scoop of homemade potato salad, often providing stuffing for our copious supply of sleeping bags strewn across the cabin floor at night.

Holidays were the most fun.  It took little encouragement to gather family members, as there was so much to do especially with the Yosemite floor less than an hour away. Yosemite, for those of you not having had the pleasure of visiting there, is a 1,200 square mile national park in the Sierra Nevada mountains.  Craggy peaks, ski slopes, magnificent waterfalls, rushing rivers, and resplendent flora and fauna draw rock climbers, hikers, rafters, campers, photographers, and tourists like ants to a peanut butter cup year round.  If you are planning a trip, I might suggest early spring or fall.  Winter is snow packed. If you enjoy winter sports the park provides an ideal choice to visit but during the peak summer months it is sometimes hard to appreciate the cascading roar of the waterfalls over the din of cameras clicking and the incredible mix of accents and cultures all speaking at once sharing your experience.

I find as I write this I would like to visit again.  I closed the doors and handed over the key in 1984, and sat for some time on the steps of the deck saying goodbye to the familiar landscape beyond it.  Perhaps this summer once we get moved I’ll pile my other half and I in the car and type “Yosemite” in the GPS.  From what I understand the small cabins we originally rented before getting ours, have been leveled and a beautiful new resort, or several have been erected in their place.  Still I would imagine it essentially still has that small town friendly hello and a nod feeling it always had when you drove up.

Tomorrow we’re off to check out houses.  I’m excited for a new adventure.  I added the “how to” for butterflying these little tails as I realized I’d forgotten exactly how it went and did it backwards last time, so thought I might not be alone.  Steaks were outrageous with the melty garlic butter.  Enjoy!

Romantic Dinner for Two

Bacon Wrapped Filets with Garlic Butter

2 slices lean bacon
2 wooden skewers, soaked in water for 1 hr. before use
2 6-7 oz. filets, trimmed
2 tsp. lemon pepper
2 tsp. black pepper
1/2 tsp. garlic salt
10 large whole garlic cloves
1/4 cup olive oil
1/4 tsp. soy sauce
4 Tbsp. unsalted butter, cut in chunks
1/8 tsp. salt
1 tsp. freshly parsley, minced
1 tsp.chives

Mix together lemon pepper, black pepper and garlic salt. Massage rub into filets, cover and refrigerate for at least 1 hr.

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Place garlic cloves, soy sauce and olive oil in small ovenproof cruet or baking dish and cover tightly with tin foil. Bake until garlic is fork tender – about 30 mins. Allow to cool slightly. Remove with slotted spoon and pinch cooked garlic of skins into food processor reserving 2 tsp. of oil.

Place garlic, 2 tsp. oil and chunks of butter in food processor and process until smoother but still slightly coarse. Pulsing is best. Mix in chives nd parsley. Refrigerate until ready to use, removing about 15 mins. before steaks are done.

Prepare grill. Wrap each steak around girth with a piece of bacon and secure with skewers. Char outside to cook bacon and cook to desired doneness, about 5 mins. per side for med-rare.

Plate steaks and immediately top with 1 Tbsp. garlic butter, allowing it to melt over top. (If you have extra butter left over, it is excellent for garlic bread.)

Steamed Lobster Tails

2 lobster tails
4 Tbsp. butter
Paprika

Thaw lobster tails. Place 2 inches of salted water in bottom of steamer.

To butterfly:

On cutting surface place tail rounded side up with tail facing away from you. Using a pair of sharp kitchen shears insert lower part of blade beneath shell in the center and cut to just the base of the tail.

Pulling open the shell use your thumbs to gently pull the meat away from the inside of the shell and pull up through the top of the shell and towards the tail. Bring shell together beneath meat and lay meat on top. Sprinkle with paprika.

Bring water to boil. Place lobster tails in steamer basket, cover and steam for 7-8 mins. Serve with drawn butter.

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It’s not easy being a mother. If it were easy, fathers would do it.- The Golden Girls and Marinated Grilled Chicken Breasts with Spring Vegetables and Bleu Cheese Sauce

Photos by Susie Nelson

Hallmark stockholders are looking forward to the nation celebrating another big holiday, Mother’s Day. Like myself with my two children, my mother was, for the most part, both mother and father to me.

Unexpectedly losing my father six days after my first birthday until my mother remarried when I was nine, she was the hub around which my wheel turned. A beautiful woman, the third oldest of four children, with one brother and sister ahead of her and the youngest girl three years behind. Mother is imbued with an innate sense of style, a devilish wit, and a penchant for picking the one bad apple out of a bushel full of perfect specimens. A social bee then and now, as a child my images of her reflect a raven haired woman, lips enhanced with bright red color, leaving for an evening out wafting an enticing trail of Narcisse Noir perfume in her wake as she bent to kiss me goodnight. My room being across the hall from hers, I would sometimes sneak in and sit at her vanity. On the glass top sat her silver hair brush and mirror, and all around an array of tempting pots filled with rouge, eye shadow, and all manner of decoration. Emulating my mother, I would dip my chubby fingers in the containers and in my child’s way paint my eyes and my lips as I’d watched her do many times. Sometimes, feeling particularly brazen, I would venture into her vast closet with shelves piled high with colorful hat boxes with braided handles and shoe boxes, so many shoe boxes. Unable to resist I would slip on a pair of her lovely shoes or model a furry wrap around my shoulders always altogether avoiding the one with two fox heads dangling from one end.  That one still gives me nightmares.

In truth, I suppose I was raised by a “village”. Alone with a small child, she moved in with my grandparents in their lovely home in Halifax not far from one sister and her family and her brother. All of them, I would suppose, contributed to making my early childhood one I choose to remember often and always with a smile tugging at the side of my mouth.

My “village” in Jasper, Alberta for family reunion. That’s me talking as usual with my hand on my mother’s arm.

Mother, gifted in every sense as I mentioned with regards to choosing the appropriate shoes to complement her outfit, could not seem to pull together a suitable partner, until now, to complement her life. Consequently, once we moved to California with my new stepfather, who in three years, would be my old stepfather, we found ourselves often on our own. Being a single parent is a hard road. At night when your children are sick, there is only you to comfort them. Without a partner, homework, chauffeuring, comforting, and as they get older loves lost and new one’s found, all the little tragedies and heartbreaks of growing up fall on one person’s shoulders. There were times, exhausted, I would find myself folding laundry at 1:00 a.m. with my charges asleep upstairs and knowing the alarm would ring in four hours. It can seem a very lonely watch to be on.

I have to say, in spite of our ups and downs, my mother has always been there for me. Looking back I suppose there were occasions when I wished she wasn’t for a moment, but as I get older I find I’m awfully glad she was.

High school was a rough four years for me. At that time stepfather number 2 had entered the picture. Funny, I still think of him as Number 2, but that’s another therapy session. Another apple that looked quite nice on first examination but the core was rotten. Being of an age where I was impossible to live with simply because of my age, adding a new father to the equation made living with me like trying to pour hot gravy on mashed potatoes. A lot of work with few results and painful, very painful.

With each decade our relationship had shifted and changed as we have, but through it all she has been there with a kind word when I needed it and to hold my hand when I was sick. Family, as convoluted and difficult as interactions can be are times are, in the end, the tightest bonds we have.

Truthfully, I think the mother/daughter relationship is one of the most intricate of mine fields with regards to relationships. Perhaps that is why you can introduce a male cat into a house with a female cat, or have two male cats, but when you introduce a female cat into a house with a resident female the fur is going to fly. By the nature of the relationship, there will be competition, boundary issues, territorial problems and a myriad of other burrs in an otherwise nice walk in the park.

My mother and I have an excellent relationship and talk nearly every day. As she’s gotten older the roles have shifted, as they will, until I have actually become more the mentor and she the student as years have passed. Now, she’ll call me if she has what my other half refers to as “a culinary question”, which is nearly a daily occurrence. I help her sort and sift through paperwork, and am the go to gal for all technology issues, as computers make her sweat. In a way we have become becalmed with age, but this does not mean we didn’t ride some rough seas in the past.

Speaking for myself, I would find it difficult to live with my mom. In her eyes I still need my shoelaces tied, and to be reminded to wear a sweater if there’s a chill in the air. There have been lots of times where she’s wandered too far into my space and I’ve had to lovingly but firmly push her back into hers. Distance keeps us loving one another in a healthy way, and when I see her I am always glad to do so.

After all these years I’m still unraveling the do’s and don’ts of it all with my daughter, and now my daughter is doing the same. As for my son, as men do, he maintains a comfortable distance with love and runs his ship in a tidy manner bringing up good people.  Lately my daughter calls from time to time and apologizes to me as she goes through with hers what I experienced with her at their age. A circle of love, I would guess.

Happy Mother’s Day. Give this chicken a try – it’s ridiculous.  The bleu cheese sauce is good for both the meat and the vegetables and if any is left over, which is not usually the case, it’s delicious on sliced tomatoes or cucumbers.

When your mother asks, ‘Do you want a piece of advice?’ it is a mere formality. It doesn’t matter if you answer yes or no. You’re going to get it anyway.– Erma Bombeck

Mouse

As a side note I noticed my garden beds had huge holes where something had been digging in them.  Mouse suggested it might be a gopher, or possibly Boo our other cat. I feel there’s something sneaky afoot. 🙂

Grilled Chicken Breasts

6 Chicken breast fillets
1 egg, beaten
1 tsp. Italian seasoning
1 1/2 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. black pepper
1/2 cup Canola oil
1 cup apple cider vinegar
2 Tbsp. Fresh lemon juice
1 tsp. parsley flakes
3-4 cloves garlic or 1 tsp. garlic powder

Mix all ingredients but chicken together. Place in large resealable bag. Add chicken pieces and squish to distribute marinade. Place in refrigerator for 3-4 hours or preferably overnight.

Spring Vegetables with Bleu Cheese Sauce

2 large zucchini cut in 1/2″ chunks
2 yellow squash, cut in 1/2″ chunks
1 red onion, peeled halved
1 Tbsp. EV olive oil
1 tsp. dried rosemary
2 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 tsp. Italian seasoning
Juice of 1 large lemon
1/2 cup red wine vinegar
1 cup EV Olive oil
1 tsp. red pepper flakes
1 tsp. parsley flakes
Salt and pepper to taste
4-6 Wooden skewers – soaked for 1 hr. in water

Make marinade. Prepare squash and place in resealable bag with marinade and refrigerate for 3-4 hrs.

Cut onion in half. Heat 1 Tbsp. of EV olive oil in small saucepan. Place cut side of onion halves face down and cook over med. heat until browned but not burned. Add 1 Tbsp. of water to pan and cover with tall lid or invert another skillet over top and continue to cook until onion is tender. Coarsely chop and set aside.

Remove squash from marinade. Place on skewers. Grill over high heat about 6 mins., turning twice. Remove from skewers and place in bowl. Add cooked onion and toss with salt and pepper to taste.

Bleu Cheese Sauce

1/4 cup crumbled Bleu Cheese
1/2 cup sour cream
2 tsp. lemon juice
2 tsp. white wine vinegar
3 Dashes of Tabasco (optional)

Mix all ingredients together and refrigerate for 1 hr. before serving.  I often double this to have leftovers.

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If you are seeking creative ideas, go out walking. Angels whisper to a man when he goes for a walk – Raymond Inmon and Slow Cooked Pulled Pork with Barbecue Sauce

Today was a glorious day.  I slept through the night without having to “bend my knees”, if you will, or having Miss Boo, the Queen of Cats, doing the two-step across my lower extremities. Why do cats do that do you suppose?   Knead and circle, circle and knead.  For Boo it is an absolute ritual which involves serious deliberation as to choice of location, available heat source, and close proximity to her humans lest chance contact with strokes beneath the chin or behind the ears might be overlooked. Waking up around seven I opened the blinds to find myself having to blink after a week of gloom, allowing me the extreme pleasure of enjoying my first cup of coffee on the deck overlooking the lake.

I love being outdoors, and winter, although comforting in its own way with warm crackling fires and flickering candles, doesn’t allow me enough time to enjoy it.  As a kid winter sports were what is was all about for me.  This was not much of a stretch in Nova Scotia, because summer was brief and often the sunny days were interspersed with rainy days and overcast skies.  Moving to California when I was nine this mindset quickly shifted.  Always a water baby, the first time I stuck a toe in Southern California waves, I was hooked.

Don’t misunderstand me, I love the beach period, exclamation point.  From the more windswept beaches prevalent on the northeastern shores, to the lush white sandy beaches of the south, or the coarse black sand beaches encircling the big island in Hawaii.  Can’t get enough.  The cooler temperature of the water in Nova Scotia, as with most children, didn’t hold me back one bit from flinging my body into the waves whenever the opportunity arose.

Like a divining rod I seem to find my way to water. Our lake is man-made in that before the dam was built the river that feeds it did not reside in the gully below our house. Instead, the basin was loosely populated with rural homes and scruffy brush which still remain like the bones of the Titanic buried beneath the water.  The river itself winds through and around the outskirts of the city that lends its name to our postmark. Our house is actually located in what is referred to as the “unincorporated areas” of the county.  If you’re confused at this point, please raise your hands during the question and answer period.

Although I have been swimming in the lake on numerous occasions, as up until a few years ago we paid a boat payment every month, I have never taken the opportunity to hike the trails winding along the river where it flows inside the city limits. It seemed to me this was something I needed to explore lest we leave before the chance is lost.  Today was the day, yea!

My two teenage charges who had wanted to join me were still getting their beauty sleep at 10:30 when I sounded the bullhorn encouraging them to get up and dressed. Last night this had sounded like a good idea I’m sure, and was still working for me, but I believe somewhat less so for the girls.  They needed to come willingly or dragged behind the vehicle (now you know I’m just kidding here, and even if I did I would ease up on the accelerator), because our sleepover girl needed a ride home and Susie was keeper of the keys.

To my surprise, extensions in place, nine layers of mascara applied they showed up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and excited about taking pictures and seeing the river.  Sigh.  You just never know what’s around the next bend (sorry my puns are like Tourette’s).

After sustaining themselves with a Taco Bell infusion, we wound down by the salmon hatchery and parked.  The prospect of getting some fresh air and some fabulous pictures had me pumped and ready to get going.

As a bit of a twist on my blog I thought I would take you on our walk with us and show you some of our town and the beauty here.  Also, I’m sharing the pulled pork that we had last night for dinner.  It was totally finger licking delicious.  As an aside, I use Kaiser rolls or artisan bread as soft buns or bread tend to absorb the juices and get soggy.

The museum

Fairy garden

Overlooking the waterfall

Beautiful California Poppy

The falls by the fish hatchery - so pretty

The girls on the wall of the museum

So this was my day of the river.  Each day offers up the chance to find something new in our world.  It was fun to share it with young eyes even if sometimes they lingered on a keyboard.  Sigh.

train OMG

Slow Cooked Pulled Pork with Barbecue Sauce

1 tsp. vegetable oil
1 4 lb. pork butt roast
1 large onion, sliced thin
1 cup barbecue sauce
1/2 cup apple cider vinegar
1/2 cup chicken broth
1/4 cup dark brown sugar
1 Tbsp. yellow mustard (prepared)
1 Tbsp. Worcestershire sauce
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 tsp. Italian seasoning
1 tsp. Cajun seasoning
1 Tbsp. chili powder
8 Kaiser rolls or crusty rolls
Coleslaw (search my site or choose your own) (optional)

Place oil in bottom of 6 quart slow cooker.  Place meat on top of oil and onions on top of meat.  Mix together all remaining ingredients and pour over all.  Cook on low for 12 hrs.  Remove meat from sauce, reserving sauce.  Shred meat with forks and discard any fatty parts.  Return to sauce and cook an additional hour on low.

Serve on hard rolls with cole slaw (of desired).  I crisp the rolls under the broiler and dip lightly in sauce before topping with meat.  Yummy.

Copyright 2012 © susartandfood. All rights reserved.

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The Buzz and Best Ever Marinated Loin Lamb Chops

After spending a year with our two young children touring the U.S. in the early 1970’s, my first husband and I found ourselves on the east coast and getting low on money.  It was time to stop and allow ourselves to be absorbed back into the real world and get jobs. That year on the road was an excellent year.  One day to the next the scenery changed outside the windows of the old yellow Ford station wagon like streaming video.  The children, delighted at having both parents within their reach most of the day, thrived.  They swam in the Colorado and the Mississippi rivers, and rafted in Colorado, appreciated the colors of the Painted Desert and played with cows and quarter horses on a ranch in the Texas Panhandle.  Truly, we couldn’t have provided more entertainment at home had we erected a circus in the back yard.

 If, like Peter Pan, the time hadn’t come to grow up and once again become “real people”, we would most probably still be roaming freely across the country.  As with most things, it’s change that makes life interesting, so after spending the night in our car in Lynn, Massachusetts we made a plan.  Finding temporary housing within a month we both got jobs, soon after found a lovely home, and for the next three years went about getting to know the people and the countryside that personifies the state. Two and a half of the three years we spent there we hung our hats in Wakefield.  Wakefield is a sleepy, beautifully scenic, bedroom community steeped in history that is situated about thirty miles north of Boston. Our house overlooked the lake which was the centerpiece of the town.

Massachusetts has four distinct seasons, and I came to enjoy all four.  Summer, surprisingly, brought with it the expected warmer temperatures as well as the more unexpected sticky and heavily humid atmosphere I associated more with the southern states.   Our house was very old and the owners had never installed A/C.  One particularly muggy and sweat producing evening  even the constantly whirring fans couldn’t fight back the steady stream of warm air seeping in through the open windows.  Both children were staying with their aunt and uncle for the weekend so we suffered alone.  Across the street the lake shined in the moonlight as if highlighting our way. Finally, in a heat induced stupor we put on our suits, grabbed towels and ran towards the cool water like a pair of thirsty longhorns.  Wading in, the mossy bottom oozed somewhat unpleasantly between our toes, but as the refreshing cool of the water washed over our bodies we wouldn’t have cared if it was the contents of a dairy farm corral under our feet.  Up until that time I  had always wondered why people didn’t swim in such a lovely setting at night.  In the back of my mind the reason lingered but until I submerged and resurfaced I couldn’t quite pull it up.  As my head came out I first heard the buzzing and then immediately felt it. Looking over at my husband I realized his entire upper body was covered with them, and quickly surmised from his expression that I was his mirror image.  Stephen King couldn’t have created a better environment for his new book.  He would simply have to name it “Mosquito”.  OMG.  It brought to mind that quote from Mark Twain “Water taken in moderation, cannot hurt anybody”, or something close to that. Mark, where were you then?

I’m not sure my small legs have ever pumped that fast. Jane Fonda could have made a video showing these moves and retired.  I took a quick look back, and seeing my husband following close behind, the adrenaline set in and it was every man for himself.  On Monday at work I looked like Picasso’s interpretation of Karl Malden.  My nose, my ears, and my lips were all puffed up like I’d just spent good money on bad Botox.  I bring this up because yesterday morning I went out before the sun came up to feed our adopted cat. Usually she comes after I’ve had my first of coffee, but since I’d turned the light on early she was pacing impatiently outside the door indicating I was up to bat.  Carrying my Pooh and Piglet cup, it’s my favorite, and in my early morning attire of boxer shorts and a tee-shirt, I padded outside to fill her bowl.  Once again I heard the angels of death and felt a fluttering about my fetters.  Ah, a lot of f’s.

Sooo, once again I woke up puffy, this time more in the lower legs to such an extent that other than a sprinkling of cinnamon I look for all the world like a Pillsbury breakfast product.  My other half, who is always fascinated by the disaster that is me, was amazed.  According to him I should have been able to walk out, fill the cat bowls, and return to the house without creating an international incident. Really?  After eleven years does he not know me at all?  I’m amazed a light plane didn’t land on the roof of the garage and release a herd of rabid chimpanzees. 

At any rate, I made these lamb chops last night and truly you have to try them.  I love lamb in most any form but these were just particularly delicious.  The trick is to leave them in the marinade for at least 24 hours (I left mine for 48).  The longer you marinate the chops the more intense the flavor.  These were perfect.  We ate three apiece.  Yum.

Best Ever Marinated Grilled Loin Lamb Chops

6 loin lamb chops 2″ thick
1/2 cup soy sauce
1/2 cup Worcestershire sauce
1 tsp. granulated onion
4 cloves garlic, minced
4 tsp. stone-ground Dijon mustard
4 Tbsp. honey
1/2 tsp. ground ginger

Mint jelly

Wash chops and pat dry. Mix together all marinade ingredients until well blended. Place chops in large resealable bag. Pour marinade over the chops and close. Knead and turn to coat chops. Refrigerate for 24-48 hrs. turning several times.  Discard marinade.

Grill over medium heat about 5-7 mins. on each side until slightly charred.  Serve with mint jelly.

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Feeling a bit vegan, and Grilled Mexican Pizzas

Even though the temperature is predicted to hover just below the hundred degree mark this afternoon, I can begin to feel summer slipping between my fingers. This has been a particularly comfortable summer in our area. Less of the usually oppressive heat, more cool breezes in the morning, and a lake that sits at the fullest level since we moved to our house on the hill ten years ago.

There are tells as the seasons begin to shift one to the next. Some parts of the country show these more dramatically with eye-catching splashes of color in the fall or showy displays of brilliant wildflowers in the spring. Yet, even if the shifts are less obvious, the days begin to get shorter or linger longer, the plants and trees begin to tuck in for the winter or start erupting in buds in the early spring. It’s that feeling of change in the air that taps at your senses.

Summer is my favorite season for clothing and outside activities. I’m happiest in a pair of shorts, a tee-shirt, and flip-flops. Days in the warm sun slathered with coconut suntan lotion, diving into a cold pool on a hot day, and the irresistible aroma of well-seasoned steaks cooking on the grill. Good stuff. Coming in at the bottom of my list of favorite seasons, for clothing at least, would be winter. Itchy wool sweaters, jackets, cumbersome boots as well as bone chilling air, making your ears ache if they are left uncovered. I like clothing that doesn’t restrict my movement. In my heart of hearts I think shoes and bras should be outlawed, but since they seem to perform a necessary function and nothing better has been invented, I guess I’m stuck with them.

The first school bus I’ve seen for the new school year passed me on the hill this morning. Children’s faces peered out the windows, some talking animatedly to their neighbors, and others looking like they were going in to have their wisdom teeth removed. Most looked freshly pressed, decked out in new clothes. Most probably each had a “signature” backpack sitting by their feet or resting in their laps. It seems that the choice of a backpack has taken on a heavier social significance over the years. Where once Barney or Miss Piggy got the job done, now a backpack apparently outwardly defines your personality to your peers. Zebra prints, perhaps an extrovert, Justin Beiber, a music fan, etc., etc.

Food shifts dramatically for me along with everything else with the changing seasons. As fall dominates over summer, the grill is retired and Crockpots, stockpots, and indoor grills are rescued from the garage. Ingredients for stews, soups, and hearty casseroles such as carrots and turnips begin to replace ears of sweet corn, green beans, and zucchini in my vegetable bins.

Growing up in my grandmother’s house in Nova Scotia, life, at times, seemed to revolve around food. Our garden, planted in the early spring, yielded a hearty crop. Cucumbers, when ripe, were picked and either served at the table or dropped into a brine for pickles. Palm sized ruby-red tomatoes were thinly sliced for salads or prepared to be put up as tomato sauce, tomato relish or spicy stewed tomatoes. My grandmother always said the best tomatoes were dark red in color and when held to your nose smelled strongly like a tomato (pronounced “toe-mah-toe” in our house). Hard to find these days. Snap beans, long and crispy, also made their way into brine or were put up in jars with red peppers and seasonings. Towards the end of the season canning jars were dusted and washed. The homey kitchen on warm late summer afternoons was often in full production. Jars were dropped into and removed from large pots of steaming water on a steady basis. During the winter months when the snow blanketed the garden beds, the wax seals would be broken, and the contents served as fresh as the day the day they had been sealed. Gammy and I spent many days together chopping and bottling all the fresh vegetables and fruits gleaned from our back yard. As her pies were legendary, apples, peaches, strawberries, and rhubarb were made into sweet fillings. Jars were lined up in the pantry to be used at a later date. Being a small girl, she would wrap me like a mummy in one of her aprons and I was allowed to observe the goings on from atop the red metal step-ladder. There was little wasted motion as her hands moved expertly from counter to pot. Thanks to her, I have never met a vegetable I didn’t like, um, except okra. I cook it but for my other half. Wallpaper paste, I’m just sayin.

It’s a nice time for me as we move into fall. I look forward to a cloud or two in the sky and a bit of shiver in the air when I retrieve the paper.

So, here’s bit of a transitional recipe to try. Have a great day!

Grilled Mexican Pizzas

1 yellow squash, cut lengthwise into 1/2″ slices
1 large zucchini, cut lengthwise into 1/2″ slices
1 red pepper, seeded and cut in half
1 green pepper, seeded and cut in half
1 1/2 Tbsp. plus 1 Tbsp. olive oil
1 red onion, coarsely chopped
1 large tomato, seeded and chopped
1/3 cup mayonnaise
2 Tbsp. prepared pesto
1 Tbsp. fresh basil, minced
1 Tbsp. fresh oregano, minced
1 cup mozzarella cheese
1/3 cup shredded Parmesan cheese
4 8″ whole wheat tortillas
Salt and pepper
Garlic powder

Brush squash and pepper with 1 1/2 Tbsp. olive oil. Sprinkle with salt and pepper and dust lightly with garlic powder. Grill over med. heat 5 mins. on each side or until tender. Cut into 1/2″ cubes and place in small bowl. Add tomato. Season with salt and pepper to taste.

Mix together maryonnaise, pesto, herbs and set aside. Brush both sides of tortillas with remaining olive oil. Grill uncovered over med. heat for 2-3 minutes until puffed. Remove from grill.

Spread grilled sides of tortillas with sauce. Top with vegetables. Top all veggies with mozzarella cheese and Parmesan cheese in that order.

Grill covered for 2-3 mins. or until cheese is melted.

Serves 4.

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