No chicken up in here tonight!
April 13, 2016
Dear Sweet Baby Jesus.
I have been cooking all freaking day. I mean, seriously. All. Day.
I have made:
- Three quiches. It was supposed to be two, but I had too much stuff to go in one of the crusts, so I grabbed another crust out of the refrigerator (thank you, Pillsbury) and stuck it in a pie plate. Boom.
- Two and a half dozen muffins. A dozen and a half bran muffins, with dates and pecans, and a dozen almond poppy seed muffins, a variation on the Peabody Vanilla Muffin recipe.
- Steaks, hasselback potatoes, and Mushrooms Berkeley.
- And a batch of country style pork ribs with onions, braising away in the Instant Pot in hard cider as we speak, flavored with caraway, juniper berries and allspice. Tomorrow morning, I’ll shred up the meat, stir in some spicy mustard and brown sugar, and let it go another two or three hours before we serve it up over egg noodles with sauerkraut on the side.
Y’all think I’ve been busy, much?
I got started at 7:15 this morning and haven’t slowed down. Mr. Fitbit tells me I’m at doggoned close to 6,000 steps for the day, and I haven’t even been close to the gym. But I’ve been to Kroger twice, and Aldi once, and two or three other places, and I didn’t get the morning papers read until it was dinnertime.
By that time, I had sous vided three ribeye steaks, broiled them to medium rare, baked said Hasselback potatoes, and sauteed said mushrooms for the requisite hour. The ribeyes, tender to fault from four hours under vacuum before being broiled, were most excellent; also big. There’s one left. The potatoes, kinda crispy, kinda buttery, kinda cheesy. The mushrooms, deep and dark and savory in their sauce of worcestershire, brown sugar and red wine.
These mushrooms, btw? Do this. Seriously. Leave out the damn peppers if you want.
Do you feel sorry for me? Well, you should.
How it was, was, like this. I have a board meeting in Forrest City tomorrow morning at 8:30. After I spend much of the day in Forrest City, I have a state chapter meeting/retreat for Delta Leadership Institute at a duck lodge somewhere close to Forrest City on the L’Anguille River. Allegedly, my GPS will get me there. We shall hope.
For those of you who are NOT southerners reading this blog, a duck lodge is where southern men go to drink whiskey and, occasionally, shoot at ducks. Maybe even more occasionally, kill them. But the important thing is that these lodges are luxurious communal hostels where southern gentlemen go to kill, not ducks, but bottles of good Kentucky bourbon and single malt Scotch.
I am not a southern gentleman, but I expect I shall do some damage to a bottle of single-malt Scotch tomorrow night. Because, since I am no fool, I put in my bid for one of the available bedrooms and will be spending the night. If someone were to bring good cigars, that would be a Good Thing.
As I am spending the night, and as a southern female I am congenitally unable to see people get up in the morning and not have breakfast ready for them, I am bringing two quiches and two dozen muffins so people can eat breakfast, if they’re able, when they get up.
If they can’t, ’tain’t my fault. I offered.
And then the girls at my Forrest City office saw my post on the lemon chicken pasta and said I needed to cook them lunch. And I did. Because I haven’t done so.
So Kroger had country style pork ribs on sale. And I decided that pork ribs, braised with hard cider, with caraway, juniper berries and allspice, to be served over egg noodles, with sauerkraut on the side. Now, bear in mind, this does not take a lot of work (though this is not something I should mention in a post they will read). One slices up a couple of onions, sautes them. Then one adds one’s country style ribs. One dumps a bottle of hard cider over all, and adds juniper berries, caraway, and allspice berries, along with a tad of season salt, and sets one’s instant pot for slow cook.
Tomorrow morning, I will break up the pork a bit, and then add some brown sugar and some mustard, and then transport said IP to Forrest City and plug it back up. We will cook egg noodles and have sauerkraut from the jar and call it lunch. And then I will head out to the duck lodge and drink brown whiskey and eat whatever marvelous thing they have catered in for us for dinner, and Friday morning I will warm up quiche and muffins and we will have breakfast.
There’ll be plenty for you ‘n y’mama ‘n ’em at any of the above stops. There’s even a steak left over, and some mushrooms. Come on out.