All I Want For Christmas

We don't have a Christmas tree in our house, even though we have fifteen acres from which we could cut one.

No Christmas decorations up at all. They're still packed in a box in a storage trailer.

No stockings.

Sweet Hubs and I agreed that we wouldn't buy each other anything. Not even a Christmas card.

None of it matters even one little bit. We have each other. We have our first Christmas in our new life in Montana. It's definitely going to be a white Christmas, which we haven't had in years.

We have two good dogs. A warm, cozy house. Plenty of firewood. A prime rib for our Christmas dinner. We have good wine, candle light, deer in the back yard, a view of the lake and the smell of pine trees and wood smoke in the cold winter air. Life is beautiful.

The only thing missing is that the children will not be able to spend the holiday with us.

Next year, we may have our holiday things unpacked to the point where I can get at them. But if not, that's OK. I have all I need.

New Release

Releasing a new work of fiction is a lot like sending my children off to their first days of school.

Will they fit? Will they make friends? Did I give them what they need to make it in the world?

Ah, the angst! The worry! The pride, mixed with anxiety. It's deliciously difficult to do. And so, my next child is going to be released on the world on December 25, 2016.

As always, I am nervous and excited. I hope my baby can fly!



Our first major snowfall as Montana residents.

About 18 inches of snow fell over the weekend. And it is beautiful!

I can say that because I'm warm and toasty in the house, while Sweet Hubs is on the tractor, plowing the driveway. Wearing his coveralls and trapper hat. Flaps down, of course. He's adorable!

The dogs act like silly puppies, running and wrestling, and putting their noses down in the snow and running like a plow. It's very cute and a little dangerous. There could be stump!

So I baked toffee cookies, oatmeal cookies and bacon-cheese puffs. I also made a big pot of venison stew and some homemade bread. Did all my regular chores and relished being in my cozy home.

In the afternoon, we sat out in the hot tub and sipped moscato while we soaked, and watched the snowflakes drift earthward. I am so glad the hot tub is under a roof. We tried the hot tub in the falling snow thing back in Arizona once and we looked exactly like those Japanese Snow Monkeys:

Image result for japanese snow monkey

Soaking under a cover is much, much better. 



One hundred and fifteen years.


It was 115 years ago today that my Grandmother was born, in Rotterdam, Holland. She was an amazing woman who epitomized resilience, positivism and even temper.

She was alive, although too young to remember it, when the Wright Brothers flew at Kitty Hawk.

And she lived to an age where I could fax funny cartoons and comic strips to her in the nursing home.

She endured a life of hardship and loss, and remained a cheerful woman without bitterness.

She was not allowed to marry the man she loved, so she chose to throw herself into the marriage that was arranged for her and grew to love him so deeply that their marriage became a beacon on a hill.

I got to grow up with this amazing woman as an integral part of my life. Most of what I know about happiness and balance came directly from the lessons she taught me.

  • If you look for the good, you will surely find it. If you look for the evil, you will find that too.
  • Hope for the best, but plan for the worst.
  • Marriage is not a 50-50 proposition. You each give 100%, and you each get 100%.
  • This, too, shall pass. 
  • You can not un-say an unkind word and you can't un-hurt someone's feelings.
  • Family is the most important, but there are priorities. Your spouse and your children are the first priority. All the rest of the family comes after them. 
  • Happiness is not something that finds you, is given to you, or that someone makes you. Happiness is something you build for yourself, every day, out of pieces large and small.
  • Sleep naked.
Thank you, Grandma, for your brilliant advice, words of wisdom and for your example of a life well-lived. Yours was never an easy life, but you made the most of it while you were here.


Two Ways to Choux (paste)

On a rainy/sleeting/snowy day in Montana, what could be better than making a treat for the family? Even if the family is only two people?

This time, I made profiteroles for the Sweet Hubs, and using the same choux paste, dressed differently, I made some bacon cheese puffs for me, because I'm a salty kind of girl.

There isn't much to choux. Really, there isn't. There it is, right here.  A stick of butter, a cup of flour, a cup of water, a pinch of salt and four eggs. What could be easier?

I've been making this in this same saucepan for over 30 years. It doesn't look over 30, does it? Of course, saucepans don't get wrinkles... anyway. Melt the butter over low heat. Then turn the heat up to medium and add the water and salt.
When the butter-water mixture is boiling, add the cup of flour, all at once, and continue cooking, stirring the whole time, until the mixture forms a ball and leaves the sides of the pan.

So that part is easy, right?
When it looks about like that picture on the right, turn off the heat and let it cool for 5 or 10 minutes.
Then you need to add the eggs. Add them one at a time, beating well after each addition. Just as an aside, an old country girl like me breaks each egg in a bowl or cup and examines it before adding it to a batter. You want to check for any blood spots, bits of matter or even just a piece of eggshell. There's nothing like that **crunch** of shell when you think you're biting into a cream puff. Blech. 

Make a little well in the dough, add the egg, and stir it in.The texture is a little funny, I must say. I tried to get a picture of it, but it's difficult to see: your dough is going to have kind of a bunch of slippery layers. Just keep stirring.
After you have added the fourth egg and stirred it in, your choux will look like the photo at right.

Then I get a rubber spatula and spoon the paste into a gallon-size freezer bag.
In this case, I put about 2/3 of the paste into the freezer bag, because I had plans for the other 1/3.

Then just pipe the paste into rounds on a parchment lined sheet, as below.

Do take a butter knife or even a finger dipped in water, and smooth down any little tits. Those get much too brown.

To the other 1/3 of the choux, I just folded in some shredded sharp cheddar cheese and some bacon bits, then dropped this by spoonfuls onto another parchment-lined sheet. Sprinkled with kosher salt and popped them into the oven, next to the ones that are destined to be a treat for my darling. These were baked at 375 degrees for about 30 minutes. 

It's tempting, I know, to open the oven door and check on the progress of your pastries, but you simply must control yourself. Wait until you are starting to worry that you're burning them.  Seriously, you want them to be golden brown all over before you open that door. Can you see how even the little crannies are also golden, and there is nothing very pale anywhere?

It may be indecent, but here's a look at their bottom side: not too brown but definitely not pale.

When the shells are cool, just slice a lid off the top, pull out any gooey bits inside or press them down, and fill with whatever you like: pastry cream, whipped cream, prepared pudding, ice cream, frozen margarita...I don't care.

The chocolate topping I used is also super simple: a heap of good quality chocolate chips, melted over low-low heat, with a splash of heavy cream added so it doesn't become brittle again when the pastries are chilled. 

For my Sweet Hubs, Mr. Sweet Tooth, a profiterole. These are filled with almond pastry cream and topped with chocolate.

For me, who doesn't happen to own a sweet tooth, Bacon Cheddar Cheese Puffs. These are fabulous as a vehicle for spinach-artichoke dip, but they're luscious just plain, too.


What About US? We're Out Here, Too

I recently finished reading Michael Pollan's book, In Defense of Food. Most of what Mr. Pollan has to say, I agree with completely and always have. He espouses a lifestyle of food choices that is very much the way my family has always lived. His food rules in particular make me feel like AT LAST!!! Someone who isn't touting the next food fad, low carb, high protein, low fat, grapefruit, boiled egg kind of ridiculousness. Back in 2012, I posted a list of my own "healthiest eating tips ever". There are some definite parallels between Mr. Pollan's conclusions and my own. :-)

Mr. Pollan's points about cooking being about more than eating: about community, culture, connection, socializing and simple pleasure... he could not be more right, in my opinion. I think very much of what we teach our children we teach by the vehicle of cooking and food.

If you are over 50 or if you came from a family that still held a rich heritage of cooking and food, think back to what you learned from a life lived around the kitchen. In my house, we learned some very cool lessons. Like, the kitchen is not only a woman's domain. My Dad was the main breakfast cook in the house (Mom liked to sleep in). We learned the importance of planning. We learned the value of our grandparents and their wisdom. We learned that even very intelligent people do really stupid things from time to time. We learned about standards, about thrift, about making wise decisions with your money. We learned about priorities. We learned the pleasure of a task done well, and the simple joy of working. We learned about tradition, how to make oliebollen and a host of other important things. The kitchen is where most of the funny stories of my childhood took place because, hello! We were always in the kitchen.

He does make one point that I think completely overlooks my family and the many, many other families like us. Mr. Pollan writes about the statistics showing that Americans spend a lower percentage of their income on food than they ever have, and less than any other country in the world.
What I want to know, Mr. Pollan, does that statistic include the largely rural people like me, who do not spend all their food dollars at a grocery store, convenience store, restaurant or drive through?

We seldom buy meat. We hunt it. Those "food dollars" appear in our budget hidden in the costs of ammo or arrows, game bags, freezer paper and a lot of dish soap (processing game is messy!). Many of our "food dollars" were actually spent in the garden department of the Home Depot or a nursery, buying plants, seeds, bags of manure, fencing to thwart our 4-legged visitors, etc.We spent quite a bit of our "food dollars" on buying a pig at the local 4-H auction, and then having it processed. Some of our "food dollars" were spent in the form of a fishing license. Some were spent buying chicks and then feed at the local feed store. There are a lot of families just like us: hunting our food, fishing, growing a garden. We spend our food dollars in ways that don't look like we're buying food at all, at first, and ultimately, we get more food and more health for a lower investment.

I have never subscribed to any kind of food fad, never worried about how much fat or gluten is in our meals. I believe in cooking real food. When you grow a garden, you can't help but to eat seasonally and you can't get any more local than your own patch of ground. When the tomatoes are ripe and the jalapenos and green chilis are ready, we eat a lot of Mexican food. We eat pizza. I make it. We eat cookies and cakes and chocolate eclairs. I make most of them. I don't think a box of ding dongs is going to kill you, but it sure shouldn't be your main meal every day. Once, having been abducted by aliens or something, I bought a box of Hamburger Helper. It was horrid. I never learned how to "cook" with a can of cream of something soup poured over tater tots and topped with something else. Here's the thing, though. We don't do this to "be healthy". It is simply the way we have always lived. It is the routine of my life. Here we are, both over 50. We're healthy. We have both had health issues come up in the past, but were fortunately able to overcome them. Neither one of us takes any medication. Neither one of us has ever had a struggle with weight, and neither do either of our children, who both grew up to be excellent cooks. Go figure.

Strictly as an aside, Mr. Pollan also mentions the amount of time cleaning up after a meal, and aptly points out the if it takes you less than 5 minutes to clean up...what did you really COOK? If we were to count up the time cleaning up after the part where we just get ready to cook: after the butchering, after the gardening, after the hunting, after after after... we would totally blow the curve, I'm sure.

According to Mr. Pollan's food rules, we should avoid anything that our grandmothers wouldn't recognize as food, cuisine notwithstanding, of course, since no one in my family before my generation would have any idea what a tamale might be. He did later amend that to great-grandmother, since a grandmother today might well be young enough to have grown up on processed food. Mine was born 114 years ago, so I don't have to go back another generation. Grandma's diet was very simple and very predictable. Beans. Fish. Cheese. Lots of vegetables. A little bit of chicken. An occasional bit of bacon or salt pork, added for flavor. Some eggs. And bread. Lots and lots of bread, because Grandpa was a baker. That is a very good description of what I eat, a hundred years later, if you add in game meat.

Mr. Pollan writes one food rule that hits a particular nerve for me. "Cook". Yes, it's that simple. You will avoid many processed foods if you simply cook real food for yourself.

There have been many times over the years when I have encountered someone, especially if it was a family with children, where the parents would say they don't cook. Then I do one of those... shaking my head, "Huh???" things. How do you NOT cook when you have a family? I made no picture. How could anybody afford to eat out all the time, for one thing? And who would want to? But mostly, I just never have understood being able to say "We don't cook for our family" any more than I could understand saying, "Nah, my kids don't need to know how to read." I just... try to think of how that works and get...nothing. No comprehension.

Please don't get me wrong. I understand completely that time is an issue for many families. At least, it is perceived to be an issue. The families I know who "don't cook" DO have time to watch a lot of TV. They have time to "like" their friends' posts, peruse online auctions and read internet articles about the latest evil food additive and how it will cause the end of civilization. They do have time to drive into town, buy their greasy bags of fast food garbage and bring it home. Some of them have enough time to attend group meetings on how to lose weight. Many of them have the time to go to the doctor a lot. They spend as much time at the grocery store as I do: they're just buying different things: single-serve packages of this and that, little trays with processed meat, cheese and crackers apportioned out for them (that product completely baffles me), microwaveable pockets filled with everything from peanut butter to pepperoni. Some of them spend more time in the grocery store, simply because they are spending so much time looking at different varieties of foods, trying to find the ones that say they are 'low fat' or 'heart healthy' or 'less sugar'. So I don't think it's really a matter of time as much as it is a matter of priorities. Maybe by adjusting priorities, the meetings and most of the doctor visits can go away,


Cooking IS Love

A conversation with my young friend brought something to my mind that I'd like to explore a little bit.

She said that cooking just feels like more work.

I get that. I really do. I love cooking, don't get me wrong, but I love cooking FOR people. Cooking for myself is likely to result in some kale chips, a little rice and some wine.

But I love cooking. I love making foods that make people close their eyes and savor. Or making something that makes the person I am feeding know I made it especially for them.

My Sweet Hubs has a sweet tooth. How many teeth does a human being have? 32? (He didn't have to have his wisdom teeth pulled, so...32?) Well, in my darling man, 31.5 of those are sweet. Me, I could live without ever tasting another cookie or cupcake and my life would be undiminished. But not him.

So I bake for him pretty regularly. Because he loves it. Because he's a hot hardbody who burns off any calorie within shouting distance. Because I love him. I bake fairly healthy treats for him with a minimum of overly processed ingredients and NEVER something like marshmallow cream. Ugh.

But what do you do when you are cooking for you and you alone?

Cooking is love, people. Like many young women, I think my young friend feels that internal struggle between what she deserves and what she ought to and what she wants to and what others tell her she must. And, forgive me, I might be guilty of telling her what she ought to, too. I want her to learn to love to cook, for it's pure creative pleasure, yes. But also because I can think of no better way to take charge of your own health than to take charge of what you eat.

Oh, and then... and THEN! Like I wasn't struggling enough with wanting to take her by the hand and step in as her surrogate momma and teach her about how to love to cook? THEN she tells me that she doesn't like to cook but would happily clean any time.

Well, butter my butt and call me a friggin biscuit. I need to adopt her. I'd love to cook for her and I'd damn sure love to have someone around who was happy to clean. Because you know, as my Momma said, you can tell how good a cook someone is by how big a mess they make while cooking. And I must be one damn fine cook by that measure.

The reality is, she is a grown woman with a rich and vibrant life of her own. How does a grown, lone person find it within themselves to make cooking a happy, high thing in their life?

I wish I knew. I have always had plenty of someones to cook for in my world. Even now that it's just Sweet Hubs and me in our long-empty nest, I know the value of having someone to cook for.

And while we're talking about it, do you know what it means when someone is cooking for you? Do you appreciate the care and creativity and love that is inherent in that seemingly-simple act? People don't cook for you because you need to be fed. Any fool can microwave you something to fill your belly. If someone loves you enough to really COOK for you, please run to them right now and hug them.

That lady who brings homemade cookies in to everyone in the office? That is a truly loving thing to do. Please do show her how much you appreciate her effort, even if, like me, you are immune to cookies. The measure of her love is not in my lack of a sweet tooth, but in her labor. Even if they taste exactly like hockey pucks, she put her love into them.

Part of being human is to care about the people around us. For some of us, we get to show that regularly by cooking for you. Because we love you.

To my young, work-weary friend who doesn't need one more job: no, you don't have to cook for yourself to treat yourself well. You can make good food choices even if others (businesses) do your cooking for you. But if you come to the place where you do want to cook for yourself, it is an act of self-esteem to know that YOU are worth your own efforts.

I Still Love You, But....

I'm still out here!

Did you know that it's November? Do you know what November means? It means NaNoWriMo!

That's National Novel Writing Month. In a nutshell, you challenge yourself to write 1,667 words every single day for the month of November which gives you 50,000 words at month's end. Which, oddly enough, is enough to be a novel.

So instead of blogging, or posting pictures to Instagram, or even taking pictures in the first place, I am writing.

Every day.

At least 1,667 words.

Oh, and I'm drinking wine. :-)


A Hausfrau's Kitchen - Easy Squeezy Artichokes

I love artichokes. Doesn't everyone?

Last night was a kind of a semi-leftover night, but I added an artichoke and a baked potato to the leftover mini-meatloaf I was feeding Sweet Hubs. The trouble is, I also wanted to go have a soak in the hot tub before dinner, so what to do? Easy! Cook the artichokes in the oven along with the potatoes and then I could totally ignore them for an hour or so!

I started out with two lovely arties. You'll notice the leaves are closed and the colors are bright. The picture doesn't show it, of course, but they are nice and heavy for their size. You'll have to just trust me on that.

 Using a very sharp knife, I cut off the top and the bottom.Then with my kitchen shears, I trimmed the tip of every leaf, both for pretty and to get rid of the little thorn on there.

I plopped it down on a piece of heavy duty aluminum foil, tucked a few slices of peeled elephant garlic into the leaves, drizzled a little lemon juice over the top and sprinkled it liberally with kosher salt.

Then I trimmed and peeled the stem, which is perfectly edible, and set that on top.
Next, I wrapped the foil around them and put them in my baking pan. I SHOULD have put them in a little foil nest, too, because the bottoms did get kind of over browned and some juices escaped and burned in my pan. Live and learn, I guess.

Anyway, I baked them right next to the potatoes for just about an hour at 370 degrees.

For the butter sauce, I just melted some butter in a small saucepan. About 1/4 cup per artichoke works nice. Then I had about 2 teaspoons of dried parsley, a nice splash of lemon juice (about 1/2 teaspoon per 1/4 cup of butter) a dash of cayenne pepper and more kosher salt.

How do you know when your artichoke is done? The easiest way is to pull a leaf from near the center and see if it comes out easily. Or you can poke the bottom with a fork. Or you can give the artichoke a squeeze along the bottom and see if it feels soft.

I wasn't especially hungry, so I skipped the elk meatloaf and just had the potato and artichoke. I couldn't even finish that, but I sure enjoyed it!

Bon appetit!


NO, I'm Not "Going Gluten-Free"

I mentioned in a recent post that switching to only fermented (aka sourdough) breads, the real thing, is supposed to help some people who struggle with IBS. So I'm trying it.

It's only been about two weeks now, so I can't say for sure that it is helping. I can say that I haven't had an episode in that time.

No commercially-prepared yeast breads for me. I have eaten some crackers, and I don't know yet if those break the rules.

But don't be confused. This does not, emphatically NOT mean that I am jumping on the gluten-free bandwagon. My darling son and I have argued on this point, but since we love each other more than we disagree, it didn't get ugly. Besides, we both had enjoyed a couple of glasses of liquid patience red wine, so we were chill.

It simply does not make sense to me so many human beings could suddenly become sickened by something we have been eating since prehistory. There has been archaeological evidence of wheat beer found in ice-age people's dwellings, and beer is most definitely not gluten free.

So if it isn't the gluten (which we evolved to eat) that is making us sick, what is it? Could it maybe be all the other crap we add back to bread after we take away all the good stuff with the milling and bleaching and so on and so on? Yeah, it could be that.

I'm a realist. I do not expect to be able to live my life eating only the foods my ancient ancestors might have eaten. Besides, I really like Fritos. Instead, I am looking to limit my intake of that kind of food, and just stick with the foods that I know agree with me. In my house, we call it my "happy tummy diet". What does that mean?

Lots of vegetables. Most of them are cooked because, like other people with digestive issues, I often spend way too much time in my bathroom after eating raw veggies. (Sorry for the TMI). There isn't much in my cabinet or fridge that would totally mystify my great-great-grandma. You'll find lots of potatoes, onions, Brussels Sprouts, artichokes, carrots, cabbage, etc. Of course you'll find game meat. Beer and wine. I'm making breads using a combination of whole grain flours, sprouted wheat flours and ordinary unbleached bread flour.

Grandma wouldn't recognize coconut oil at first glance, I'm sure. Of course, she didn't read English, so there's that. But it wouldn't take her very long to figure it out. What would she make of things you'll find in any supermarket today, like the kind of "cheese" that you spray from a can? Or processed cheese food? Yikes. Grandma was from Holland, you might recall, and I'm sure that these things she couldn't equate with CHEESE.

I doubt Grandma would have known what an artichoke was, either. But she would know it was a food, unfamiliar and prickly, but food. She certainly knew about kale. People have been growing and eating kale since medieval times. In Holland, you mix steamed kale in with your mashed potatoes, add cheese and onions and you have some total comfort food.

When we went to the market yesterday, I skipped the Fritos aisle. It wasn't easy, but I did it. And I didn't buy any foo-foo girly creamer for my coffee. Plain half-and-half works fine and I know what's in it.

I'm not going gluten-free. Or low-fat. Or paleo. Or any other kind of latest-greatest-fad style of eating. I'm mostly cooking and eating the same foods people were eating (somewhere in the world, at least) generations ago. This is pretty much the way we had always in eaten in my house, before I got "too busy". Well, guess what? I'm still too busy to spend hours each week feeling miserable. I'd rather spend that time making something good to eat.


A Hausfrau's Kitchen - Market Day Soup TODAY

There's more than one way to skin a cat, right?

A few days ago, I posted a freeze-ahead soup packets version of Market Day Soup. If you are planning ahead and looking to stock your freezer with some set-and-forget meal options, I've had great luck with the recipe I posted.

But that isn't the only way to do this. I'm making Market Day Soup for dinner tonight, and the steps to make it in one day are a little different. 

I started with all the same ingredients and my trusty Crock Pot. This morning, before I left for work, I threw about 2 cups of picked-over dried bean soup mix into a Crock Pot I had sprayed with pan spray. I added 2 small ham hocks (from a 4-H pig we bought at auction last September, so they are really quite small but meaty), 2 bay leaves and then I added cold water until there was about twice as much water in volume as there are beans. Turn the cooker on low and off to work, for now.

When I got home, I added:
  • 1/2 large sweet onion, chopped
  • 1 leek, well-washed and chopped
  • 2 cloves of garlic, crushed or minced
  • 5 good sized carrots, scrubbed (not peeled), trimmed and diced
  • 1/2 bunch of celery, trimmed, well washed and chopped with leaves included.
  • 1 teaspoon dried thyme
  • a pinch of dried marjoram
  • Ground pepper. Kind of a lot of it, but pepper to your taste.

The beans were already tender and good, so now I'm just going cook the vegetables. Increase the cooking temperature to high and then go watch a few episodes of The Ranch. People tell me that Sweet Hubs bears a resemblance to Sam Elliot's character in that show.

When the veggies are tender, too, I'll add

  • 1 can of petite diced tomatoes
  • 1 Tablespoon of lemon juice

When the soup is heated completely through with that final addition, it's time to eat!

I'll be serving this one with some sourdough bread, plus a few fennel capsules to prevent us from fouling our air later on. 

A few notes:
Yes, the plan-ahead version used chicken or veggie stock, but that was kind of assuming you would not be including a couple of ham hocks. This soup is easily made vegetarian, but I don't happen to be one. You do whatever makes you happy.

Yes, I threw in some marjoram, which I did not mention in the other recipe. Basically, lots of herbs taste good with beans. Rosemary is good. So is oregano. 

You could also make this recipe using all white beans, and throw in some pasta to make a quickie version of Pasta Fagioli. Or make it with all black beans and enjoy it with Southwestern cornbread. Cooking is a creative endeavor, remember. Under no circumstances should you make it with black-eyed peas and Indonesian spices. See previous recipe, if you need to be convinced.

But I'll give you a hint. Use black-eyed peas and Indonesian spices like my mother's recipe and you get something that smells like this.....

This is my original artwork, so please respect the artist's copyright:


A Hausfrau's Kitchen - Do As I Say And Not As I Do

Well, I did it again.

Even though I preach about menu planning, I looked down at my plate the other night and discovered I had made another dinner that tasted good, but failed the "approved menu" list.

I found two recipes online that I tried, and loved! First, Skinny Cauliflower Tots from except I didn't shape mine into tots. I just rolled them into little balls and flattened them like a crab cake. Still, they were amazeballs.

Also, while browsing Pinterest, I saw these:

And they were fabulous, too.
Last, we grilled elk tenderloin steaks. Something like this, but elk and not beef:

Do you see what I did wrong?

Just so you know, please do check out the Cauliflower Tots recipe and the many accordion potatoes recipes. I am definitely adding both to my repertoire.

Next time, I'll try to remember to take pictures of my delicious failures. Once I started on the Hot To Trot, pictures seemed less important.

Fall For Fall

I didn't realize how deeply I had missed fall color. I mean, I knew I missed it, but the instant smile that reaches all the way into my heart any time I look at the gorgeous yellows and reds of a colorful autumn is much more profound than I expected.

Our little house is so warm and cozy, with a fire in the woodstove every night and soft throws to snuggle under while I read or play on my phone. There's usually the lingering scent of whatever we had for dinner. Right now, there's a lingering scent of the recent encounter with a skunk. But I don't really mind.

Fall is time for hearty meals, homemade soups, rich wines and wearing slippers while I cook. Gone are light salads and fruity summer wines. Gone are the tan lines. Well, almost.

Autumn is perfect for the hot tub.
With beer.
Without swimsuits.

We do, however, turn off those lights when we hot tub nekkid. Don't want to scare the deer.


A Hausfrau's Kitchen -- Pizza

When I posted my thoughts on love and logic in the kitchen a few days ago, you may have noticed the picture that had my sourdough starter. I was feeding it. One of the things I did this past week with sourdough was to make pizza.

But let me roll back a little bit. I read, recently, that people with digestive issues such as IBS will often feel better when they give up commercially-prepared regular breads and switch to only fermented breads like sourdough. I decided to give that a try, so for the next several weeks, I am eschewing any commercial bread and only eating my own homemade, sourdough breads. It is definitely worth a try. In addition, I am lactose intolerant, so I like to control how much cheese is on a pizza. And anyway, it's so hard to find a place that will make a green olives and bacon pizza. 

For those reasons, plus the simple pleasure of being responsible for my own food, I usually make our pizzas. I am happy to note that I did not inherit my Mom's pizza-curse: the few times she made homemade pizza? Some relative in another state would drop dead! Now that all my rellies are far away, I'm doubly grateful she did not pass that one on to me.

We'll start at the beginning (a very good place to that movie). I let my starter come up to room temp and divided it. I used half for my pizza dough, and the other half was fed and left to ferment a bit before it went back in the fridge for the next feeding.
I love this old brown yard-sale find of a bowl, by the way. I also love that I keep my starter in a repurposed green olive jar. Who else loves greenies on a pizza? Can I hear a hellya?
I added a cup of flour to the remaining starter, and then poured a cup of warm water into my (now empty) starter jar. Swish it around and pour that in, too.
Then I just throw a towel over the top of that and let it rest in a warm kitchen until it's bubbling like the partyers on New Year's Eve:
Meanwhile, I started my pizza dough.
Bear with me here, because I'm not a big recipe kind of cook. I'm more of a pantser, in writing, cooking and in life.

To my starter, I added about a cup of warm water, a little bit of mashed potato (maybe 1/3 cup), about 1/4 cup of olive oil and 2 teaspoons of salt.  You read that right: 1/4 cup of olive oil. I know it seems like a lot, but IMHO, a pizza dough should be a short dough. You want it to have that focaccio-esque chewy richness, and not just seem like a french bread pizza. I also added a teaspoon of regular yeast, because I needed my pizza dough to be ready rather sooner. I realize, of course, that this partially defeats the purpose of the whole only-fermented breads thing, but it's a journey. Right? 
In the bowl of my Best Beloved Kitchenaid (BBK), I threw 2 cups of bread flour, poured in the starter-mix mess and started the dough hook on its happy roundy-round.

As the dough mixed and clearly required more flour to become dough instead of batter, I added sprouted-wheat flour, a quarter cup at a time and continued beating, until I had a nice, bouncy dough.

This was about 1/4 cup of flour away from perfect: 
Just don't be fooled. Go ahead and let your BBK keep working a while, as unincorporated flour, water or fat can deceive you and make you think the dough is ready when it isn't. You want a dough that is kind of springy, smooth and elastic and with a little sheen from all that olive oil. But it shouldn't be greasy or shiny-looking. There it is, ready to rise in the bowl.
And since we're admiring the dough, check out the bowl: This is the one I mentioned that I bought direct from the potter at a craft fair in Pine, Arizona. Ain't it pretty?
After about an hour, I came back inside and punched down the dough, rounded it and set it for a second rise. I really stink at this because I did not take a picture. All it means is that I washed my hands, made a fist, imagined a politician's face in the middle of the dough and SMACK. OK, I pressed the dough down, then folded the sides up to about 1/3 of the way to the middle, gave it a few turns at kneading right in the bowl. Then I covered it up again and let it think about who was boss.
In another 30-40 minutes, it had doubled again and was ready for shaping and the final rise. If you look close, you can see a second sourdough starter in the background. I'm an animal that way.

Now, some people have the ability to throw a pizza crust, but I seem to be missing that gene. So out comes the rolling pin.

Then some more hand-stretching. For me, it works well to let the dough rest in the pan for 5 or 10 minutes, and finish stretching it. All that handling makes a bread dough get all elastic. If you let the dough relax a bit, it behaves better.
Hey! That's true of me, too! I behave better when you let me relax, too.

The next picture is an optical illusion. The pan on the right is much smaller than the pan on the left. The left one is an actual extra-large pan pizza one from Pizza Hut. 
I promise I did not pilfer it.

Did I mention I'm really bad at this? I also got no pictures of topping the pizzas.
But here's a tip: sprinkle a bit of shredded mozzarella on the dough before you add the sauce. It helps to keep the crust from getting soggy.
And in case you're wondering, which I'm sure you are, my favorite is Contadina Pizza Sauce. 
Sweet Hubs wanted pepperoni, mushrooms and black olives.

I prefer bacon bits and green olives.

Oh, did I mention that I stink at this? Because I also did not get a picture of the finished pizzas.

I guess it's a good thing that I have a real job.


Snapshot-A Trip to the Post Office

Today's drive to the post office....

Oh, how I LOVE the autumn!

The colors, the cool kiss of rain.

It is a beautiful life.

What I See--Alita

Oh, Alita! What can I say? We've known eachother for so many years! Alita and I became acquainted first because our husbands worked to...