Cup of comfort, redux

There are some things you can cook that do the culinary equivalent of settling you down in your favorite chair, with your favorite blankie, a fire in the fireplace, good blues on the stereo, a brand new book and an evening of solitude.

I discovered one of them tonight.

Curried sweet potato soup has firmly established itself on my Top 10 comfort foods chart, with a bullet. This is some warming, friendly, loving soup right here. (Note: I have not taken a photo because there’s nothing special to photograph about it. See the butternut squash soup of a few days ago; it looks about the same. Same mug, too.)

The Deutsch, she triumphs

“Ve haf vays of making you eat….”

I have cleaned house. My laundry is done. My sheets are changed. My kitchen counters are bare of any extraneous crap that doesn’t sit there on a planned basis. I could serve dinner on my dining table.

Sometimes, my Germanic heritage just comes oozing out. Today, it was because I had leftover German potato salad.

It ain't the Austrian Village. But it's my very own.

So to go WITH said potato salad, we are having red cabbage and sausages and meatballs in mustard cream sauce. Because it seemed like the thing to do at the time. Paw Caplinger, he of the beard down to mid-chest and the horribly homely wife in the circa 1890 photograph, would be proud.

Big Easy moves north

Met some friends/business acquaintances in Little Rock today to have lunch and go to the Memphis State-UALR game (Tigers finally woke up at the end, 7-1 now but of course we haven’t played anyone but Kansas, who just barely beat us, so there’s hope for this year). Lunch was a winner, albeit an accidental one.

Friends knowing damn little about Little Rock, it fell to me to pick the venue. I suggested either dim sum (Lilly’s), barbecue (Whole Hog) or general American (Loca Luna). We opted for Loca Luna. It was closed. So we moved a block and a half over to Maddie’s, which I think is relatively new, between Buffalo Grill and Faded Rose, on Rebsamen Park.  Home run! (or three-pointer, as it were.)

A cupful of comfort

I’m sitting at my desk eating lunch, and as I likely won’t have time to blog this evening, have to tell you about this cup of soup.

Leftover soup.

Leftover split-pea soup.

As stated above, comfort in a cup. It was pretty damn good last night; I think it’s better today. Filling. Warm. The thing you want to be eating when it’s heartrendingly cold outside and next April seems so VERY far away.

Photo catchup, holidays, dinner tonight, party tomorrow

In other words, a post with little cohesiveness.

I finally found the cable-that-was-lost, so I’ve downloaded the last week or so’s worth of photos, with the exception of tonight’s dinner, which is split pea soup, which is not yet done.

If there is one quintessential holiday dish for me, this is it.

This says Christmas. Despite the tacky dishtowel behind it, which is hiding the microwave, in front of which is the only piece of countertop where I had room to set the bowl for a photo. I’ve GOT to straighten up my kitchen.

Anyway. This is cranberry salad. It has been on every Thanksgiving and Christmas table I can remember, and I’m 54, and that’s a lot of Thanksgivings and Christmases.

The traveler returneth

But I think the traveler forgot how to cook because tonight was certainly forgettable, and I am just not inspired of late.

Been on the road since early Saturday, got back relatively late last night. I did have a decent meal or two while I was gone, including buffalo meat loaf at Ted’s Montana Grill, which was acceptable comfort food for a chain.

Let’s see. There was sweet potato ravioli in a cream sauce at the hotel in Atlanta. I’d give it 2.5 stars. Good, and I’d order it again, but it missed being wonderful. Breakfast the next morning at the hotel was OK. I’ve had better. In between, there was food at the Georgia Dome during the game — I will admit to being quite impressed with the sweet chili-garlic wings. That was some good stuff. And I had a hefty little pile of bones next to my seat to prove it.

Oh. Alabama won. Not that I particularly cared.

Arkatalian soup

NOTE: Bonus post here, because I wrote it before I left town and never put it out on the blog for some reason. Possibly because I was not finished with it, but by now I don’t remember what else I was gonna say.

G00d soup, though.

Because, well, you know, I just like to futz around with recipes.

And I like white beans, and white beans seem like one of those things you ought to cook when it’s cold (gonna be 29 here tonight — brrrr). So I’d been looking at all kinds of white bean soups that had Italian sausage in them, because I like me some Italian sausage.

Most of the recipes called for kale, or escarole, or spinach, and I crossed those things off the list fairly early, because I do NOT like me some cooked greens, and it sounds like a helluva fine way to screw up some perfectly good beans and sausage.

What I would have cooked — if I had cooked

I am in the throes of first-cold-dreary-winter-weather-of-the-season, combined with the post-travel jet lag and the onset of Christmas, which has never been one of the happier holidays in my world. Consequently, I’ve felt little like cooking, and less like blogging.

I tried recipe searching yesterday, when it was 39 degrees and the rain had some solid matter in it, but it didn’t seem to help. So I had two Scotches and gave cooking a pass.

What I had planned, though, was a soup with summer sausage, cannelini beans and tomatos, with some Italian seasonings. Most such soups would have escarole, or kale, or spinach. Mine would not, because I don’t like cooked greens. But I do like the idea of white beans with an Italian flair.

Won’t make ‘em tonight, as I have an event to attend. Might do it Friday. I head out Saturday for Atlanta and points east, back Tuesday night.

You and y’mama ‘n ‘em try to stay warm.

Chili minus

I think I’m going to call it “Needy Chili.” Because it needs…..something. And I’m not sure what.

On paper, it looks like it’s got all it needs, or wants. Cubed chuck roast. Onions. Garlic. Tomatos. New Mexico chile paste, ancho chile powder, and a chipotle in adobo. A bottle of beer. Water. Cocoa. A pinch of cinnamon.  Black beans, and whole kernel corn. Masa harina to thicken the whole thing.

But it’s missing something. Nice play of chile flavors (I may add an arbol to the mix after it cools and blends flavors a bit), but it’s missing a deep bass note. I’m thinking I may add some bouillon base, and maybe some smoked paprika. But I’ll worry about it tomorrow.

I did hit it squarely up against the fence with the fried sweet potatos, though; just sweet potatos, peeled, fried in a couple of tablespoons of vegetable oil, dusted with some paprika and some seasoned salt. Yum!

Th-th-that’s all for tonight, folks. Not in a blogging mood. You and y’mama ‘n ‘em have a nice evening.

 

Home again, and other reflections

Made it back to Arkansas and a lonesome puppy who’d been missing me, and Child C who had perhaps missed me a little as well, but wasn’t as vocal about it as the pooch was.

The trip home included an unplanned and unscheduled overnight in Atlanta, when my connecting flight to Memphis closed its doors before my connecting flight from Philly got there. I find it curious that my bag, which I gate-checked because everyone and his dog is carrying on luggage to avoid the airline fees, and I was boarding late enough that there was no more room in the overheads, made the last flight to Memphis but I did not. This may perhaps be because the AirTran or Hartsfield/Jackson gnomes sent me on a wild-goose chase to a different terminal, where my flight Was Not. I might not have made it anyway; certainly wasn’t going to make it then.

But they put me up in a Sheraton, which has comfy beds, and bought me breakfast, so I’m OK with it.

T