Later

As I've seen others post - no blog for you today. Well, maybe just a bit.

As soon as Sweet Wife returns from church we're off to the markets for the makings of our Thanksgiving meal. A dinner for two.

I was able to find a fresh ten pound turkey last evening, so its in the refrigerator on standby. Today we'll gather the other ingredients.

I like fresh produce...hate canned cranberries. I mean really, how hard is it to drop a bag of berries, a cup of sugar, and a cup of orange juice in a pot and boil. I suppose if the goop plopped on a plate with its ridges turns you on, then fine, but for me I want mine to have that delicate homemade flavor.

It'll be hard for me to adjust meal prep for two. There will be many leftovers, I'm sure, and the day after I'll bone the bird and make a soup. I'll save the breast meat for sandwiches.

If I'm not careful some will think I write a food blog...then again...I guess I'll be the only food blogger that packs a .45.

*****

Had a set back on my Sears camp stove restoration yesterday. I'd printed a duplicate Sears logo for the stove. It isn't a cheap process. Anyway, I carefully cut the logo from the print paper and after asking advice from the experts, carefully placed the logo on the new paint of the inner cover of the stove.

I stood back and admired my work...it was beautiful. Then, still following instructions, sprayed clear sealant on the label. The sealant immediately ran off the sticker and puddled along its bottom edge.

(Above, an example of the label.)

I tried to stop it with a clean rag soaked in denatured alcohol...didn't work. It destroyed the stoves carefully applied paint job and my reproduction Sears logo. I damn near cried. 

All those long hard hours of labor gone in a moment. So, I removed the label and wiped what residue I could from the lid and, hopefully, sometime this evening will remove the lid and lightly sand away the ugly area and repaint. I was so close to test firing the stove...now, another week of work awaits.

Such is life.

Ya'll take care. I really do need to light the afterburners.

(and no, I'm not a food blogger. I just pretend once in a while, so there.)

Stephen

Dinner; Chicken In Forty Cloves

The house smells wonderful. With the holidays upon us I'm in a food mood. I've posted two, now it's your turn.

Instead of the pictures depiction of greens I went with asparagus steamed in white wine vinegar and butter.

Simple, and quick. Cut a fresh chicken into its individual pieces, discard the back and ribs or save for stock. Dry the chicken with paper towels.

In a large dutch oven heat two tablespoons of olive oil and two tablespoons of butter. Season your chicken (I used simple  mixture of salt, pepper, and Cajun seasoning) and place skin down and brown. Rotate in batches. Set aside.

Take forty cloves of garlic, large suckers if you can find them, and brown in this same oil. Return the chicken on top of the garlic. Add one half cup of quality stock and one half cup of wine...slightly more if needed. Bring to a quick boil then reduce heat and allow to simmer until the chicken until juices run clear.

Serve over rice or diced potatoes.

It's slap 'ya mama good.

For a detailed recipe (which isn't much more than I just gave you) hop over to this nice food blog written by a husband and wife team...click here. 

h/t, The Butcher and Baker.

Stephen

Breakfast

Most mornings my breakfast consist of nothing more than a dried tasteless granola bar, accompanied by a good cup of coffee.

For some unknown reason, this cloudy Saturday morning, I want this:

A perfectly fried egg.

Need help - okay, take your pan and place it over low heat, throw in a tablespoon or two of butter (real butter, not that yellow vegetable oil) and cover. Yes, cover the egg with a lid. Set your timer to three or three and a half minutes.

Slide it from the pan and enjoy.

Or, better yet, place it atop a nice juicy steak.

h/t, Felicity Cloake.

Stephen

An Orwell Experince

Sometimes, after I've spoken to a few customers, I feel as if I'm living within a George Orwell novel.

It is not a pleasant experience.

I'm telling 'ya folks, people out there are hurting.

Stephen

It's Cool and Damp

Today, and I like it.

It appears my muse has slipped away, taken a vacation, skipped town. I write best at home. There I have a laptop which gives me comfort when I slip back into my old chair.

The chair, a recliner, is of ancient mahogany constructed around the turn of the last century and its arms have been worn smooth and give the texture of silk and its cushions form perfectly to my body and I like that old chair. So there.

Anyway, here, as I was about to say, it's tough to write. There's the darn doorbell, the tick of several clocks, like little time-bombs which bounce from eardrum to eardrum, and the almost constant traffic noise. I mute the television. It's locked on Bloomberg. The scroll at the bottom keeps me informed of the movements of gold and silver and any likely attempts made against our country....but, it draws my attention and strangles my feeble attempts to compose.

So here I sit, blank. I wish for my old mahogany chair and the silly little laptop and the silence of home just so I can write this piece I've had hidden in the back of my mind for months. I know, for sure, if I make any attempt to slip it from my fingers to this keyboard the bell of this shop will, ding.

Then, it'll be lost.

I do not sit and write long hand notes, nor drafts. When I write it's a one time deal. I write in one long, albeit jerky, session. Its now or never for me.

Notes, little post, aren't so bad. A customer walks in, I stand, and return several minutes or hours later and, ping, back to the subject like nothing just happened. Doesn't work for longer word painted pieces.

If that last made sense to you let me know.

My pretty friend, DFW, came by for a visit recently and we discussed this subject. I believe she understands too but I'm not sure...at least she enjoyed my coffee and that's something, anyway.

There, I've written a post.

Stephen

When Thanksgiving Arrives

I believe I'll make a mess of this...

Southern style turnip greens, stewed with salt pork, beef base, a bit of sugar and cider vinegar. Serve with cornbread and pickled onions and pass the hot pepper sauces at the table.



Ya'll come, 'ya hear...

H/T, Deep South Dish

Stephen

Twice A Month

I sit and pay my bills. It's a real pain in the butt. Sadly, it's also a real reflection of the rate of inflation.

I've written checks at a steady pace for two accounts (my business and home accounts) for the last three hours. One of those checks was for our local newspaper, a write off for me, and I came close to just throwing the statement in the trash can. A one year subscription (weekends included) cost me just shy of three hundred dollars. It wasn't all that long ago I'd write the newspaper a yearly check for one eighty.

Our transportation cost has also increased to the point I might ask the wife to walk to work....what's a twelve mile jog gonna hurt a pretty woman, heck, she's young. Between the two of us our monthly fuel bill averages three hundred and fifty dollars. It's ridiculous. And, hey, I don't blame the oil companies. I lay the blame on the government and its asinine regulations.

I cringe when I enter the local market to shop for our weekly groceries. Prior to the current mini-depression I kept monthly records of our food purchases. No longer. Its just too darn depressing.

What's the answer you ask...good question. I don't know. Sure, live frugally. Stay out of debt. Save money. Been there, done that.

My advice. Keep your head down and stay off the radar, because sooner or later the poop is sure to hit the fan and it will be awful.

*****
(edit) click here and read the headlines.

There....my gentle rant and rave for the year is finished.

Take care,

Stephen