We had a decent, but, uninspired workout on a Sunday afternoon followed by a drive to a dumpy house for sale in a desirable neighborhood.
Janice and I walked around the property without a realtor, peaking into windows and matching rooms with the photos posted on the real estate website, thinking out loud about faults, fixes and visions.
I'm looking for a house and depending on the opportunity, it could be the dream home, a flipper or a transitional accommodation. Does the location merit stability, a sweat equity investment or a turn-key abode? Am I up for putting in 20-30 hours per week, every week to upgrade this property with my skills, sell and move-on at a profit or do I chill and hang out leaving my weekends open for adventure?
It all depends on Motivation and Goals, doesn't it?!
House Hunting or Cooking, we all have various interpretations of success.
In a corporate environment...time and money. Working in Senior Dining for Assisted Living communities, we had a budget for everything: labor, food cost, equipment. Corporate structure demanded adherence to published financial goals. We worked with the $5.25 per day, per resident for food cost only and excelled with batch cooking skills that would make any grandmother proud. The corporate menu was as uninspired as Cream of Wheat and a hard-boiled egg. Our guests weren't looking for 'Street Food' or con-'Fusion Food.' They wanted the same meals they grew up with in the 30s and 40s; the same food they raised their own families on. Preparing food in a corporate, senior living business was all about shaving that last nickel. At $4,000 per month for the luxury of living in the community, the Company allowed approximately $150 of that payment to go towards keeping Mom and Dad nutritionally satisfied. My crew and I did it very well with our financial hands tied behind our backs.
Company Motivation? The BenjaminZ!
Personal Motivation? Creating home-cooking for people in the twilight of their lives.
At the school district where I work in Nutrition Services, we are tasked with providing meals that fit the National School Lunch Program guidelines. There are budgets, recipes and labor schedules that require close attention and our Team endeavors daily to meet those goals. The head of our department, however, has a wonderful spirit of education and adventure! One of my favorite sounds is a question that starts like this:
"What can we do with this product?"
My breathing hastens and the mental drop down lists begin to fall. The conversation begins and the first few X-models are created.
"Can we make this allergen friendly?"
"How about another thickening agent to appeal to gluten-free students?"
"What kind of dairy substitute could we use?"
I love the challenge, but, with all candor, it can be a bit frustrating when I'm still thinking 'inside the Box.' What I've learned is the only thing hindering me is...Me. Get off the well-traveled path and start blazing a new trail of discovery, adventure and exciting tastes for kids. We OWE it to them to not only challenge their brains with Math, Science, Athletics and Music, but, it is our responsibility to expose them to taste experiences. Thai-style sauce made with Sunflower Butter instead of peanuts, but with fresh ginger, cilantro, rice vinegar and sesame oil is a WOW! waiting to happen for the students. We've sampled them and they LOVE it!
Motivation? Educating children's palates with Tastes of the World and hearing their approval.
At home...Siobhan and I spend time in the kitchen most often on a baking project. She's 12, a girl and she's 12, so, there is a ready supply of flour, sugar, eggs, baking soda, baking powder and chocolate chips. She is now versed on the use of measuring spoons, cups, a KitchenAid mixer and it's various attachments. Clean-up has been the greatest lesson learned so far; baking is fine, but, working clean and putting things back in place after the exercise is Golden for me! There is forward thinking and responsibility associated with making good things.
A warm, perfectly baked chocolate chip cookie is a creation borne from following directions, implementing subtle observation, and paying close attention to detail. Decent can be good and good can become great with our own dedication.
What's fun with Siobhan is looking and talking about what a "Perfect" cookie should be and how we can achieve that. We look at the edges, the center, the 'puff' of leavening, color and texture. When things go...not as expected, how can we adjust our methods to reach the desired outcome next time?
Perfection is always the goal, but, imperfect home made cookies are still de-LISH!
When the Boys come by we hang out in the kitchen, discussing a new brewery, their latest meal creation or plans for the future. The guys put into practice the hospitality they observed and were active participants growing up. Whether smoking ribs, making sausages, canning pickles or frying carnitas, my boys have applied those lessons to their own lives and share their love of cooking and hospitality with friends.
The Circle widens.
Making dinner with Janice is special time. While we may be starving after a late afternoon workout, it's the process of creating something together that is most satisfying for me. Usually, we meander down the Dinner Trail and take a couple hours before we sit down. She loves preparing the grill with a good brushing and takes the reigns on proteins. We taste things together and offer each other advice and encouragement. We sip wine and kiss in the kitchen, share stories of places we've lived and people we've known. Reminiscing of meals we could never re-create, but, still savor with the whiff of a familiar aroma, is a staple. When we plate-up, there are photos taken; when we sit together at the table, we holds hands, pray in thanksgiving for our daily blessings and kiss once again.
Preparing meals, is it Work, Play or Love?
It can be either; doing it for a paycheck, making it an activity or gathering because of Love.
I choose Love.
Take care, God bless and remember:
"Food, Faith, Family and Friends,
the Best Things in Life Aren't Things!"
chefbq
Monday, September 2, 2019
Monday, May 6, 2019
Moving Forward
It seems the last year, I have been living in some alternative universe, where up was down, right was wrong and each day brought new questions.
Divorce after 25 years will do that. I say this to let folks know that our decision wasn't made lightly, it was some time in coming and I hope that both of us find happiness in our new direction, our new lives.
I have.
2018 was tumultuous: Jan we made the decision, Feb I was diagnosed with heart disease, Mar was a triple-bypass and I was gone in June. A new job followed in July which has given me purpose and direction. In the Fall, I began dating a friend with whom I had worked with for several years. Janice is a kind, feisty Southern woman who has a senior fitness business and loves the outdoors. We get along very well.
I share this because I was very scared about changing my Life; living in an apartment, sharing time with our daughter, residual health effects, dietary scrutiny, being with another woman. This wasn't supposed to happen, none of this, but, it has and I need to work with it to make my Life the best it can be for me and the people I love with God's guidance, of course.
The greatest challenge is having a new relationship. Janice had been the "Mayor" at our work; everybody knew her, loved her and went to her with good news or a heavy heart. She has a perpetual smile and jokes with seniors like only a Southerner can do while maintaining a deep respect for the aged, pushing them gently to achieve new physical goals. She's an iron fist in a velvet glove. I am blessed to know her and grateful for our closer, romantic relationship. Janice is...a savior!
People will have differing opinions on my life now. Some may continue to be a friend or acquaintance, others will cut and run. But, I will say this: since heart surgery and divorce, I honestly don't care. I...really...don't...care. Look at how we live our lives trying to gain the approval of folks we don't even like?! Bigger house, nicer neighborhood, more expensive car, all to impress people we don't really care about. That's kinda funny. And sad.
I realized that my favorite people are those that came from nothing. Their concerns aren't about the next time-share, diet fad or sports club, but, about a book or a drive in the country or an aroma in the kitchen. They expect nothing and appreciate everything, every single detail of kindness...these friends see beauty in minutiae: crocus, the harbingers of Spring...the rake of an osprey's wings diving for a Steelhead...the gentle glide of fingers along a forearm. I love a guy who says, "thank you" for breakfast on a camping trip and a girl who just wants to hold hands on a river walk at sunset. Thoughts and Time, that's really all we need as sentient beings: to be thought of and to spend time with one another. Cost? $0.00!
What would each of us do, if given a possible terminal diagnosis? Change how we live? If so, why would we change...because we know it's been misdirected all along? We went with the flow and became anesthetized to the mundanity of another calendar page, never questioning, never wondering what could be. Maybe, like me, we became lazy to the routine, reading about adventure, but, never venturing out. Watching others on social media, Youtube or listening to a Podcast of people "in the arena."
From Teddy Roosevelt in France, 1910:
"It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat."
His words are as timely and prescient as ever. My passion for Food, Faith and Life had been on the wane this last year, but, I prayed that the ember that remained would burst into a new light.
It already has. I can feel it.
Take care, God bless and remember:
"Food, Faith, Family and Friends,
the Best Things in Life Aren't Things!"
chefbq.
Divorce after 25 years will do that. I say this to let folks know that our decision wasn't made lightly, it was some time in coming and I hope that both of us find happiness in our new direction, our new lives.
I have.
2018 was tumultuous: Jan we made the decision, Feb I was diagnosed with heart disease, Mar was a triple-bypass and I was gone in June. A new job followed in July which has given me purpose and direction. In the Fall, I began dating a friend with whom I had worked with for several years. Janice is a kind, feisty Southern woman who has a senior fitness business and loves the outdoors. We get along very well.
I share this because I was very scared about changing my Life; living in an apartment, sharing time with our daughter, residual health effects, dietary scrutiny, being with another woman. This wasn't supposed to happen, none of this, but, it has and I need to work with it to make my Life the best it can be for me and the people I love with God's guidance, of course.
The greatest challenge is having a new relationship. Janice had been the "Mayor" at our work; everybody knew her, loved her and went to her with good news or a heavy heart. She has a perpetual smile and jokes with seniors like only a Southerner can do while maintaining a deep respect for the aged, pushing them gently to achieve new physical goals. She's an iron fist in a velvet glove. I am blessed to know her and grateful for our closer, romantic relationship. Janice is...a savior!
People will have differing opinions on my life now. Some may continue to be a friend or acquaintance, others will cut and run. But, I will say this: since heart surgery and divorce, I honestly don't care. I...really...don't...care. Look at how we live our lives trying to gain the approval of folks we don't even like?! Bigger house, nicer neighborhood, more expensive car, all to impress people we don't really care about. That's kinda funny. And sad.
I realized that my favorite people are those that came from nothing. Their concerns aren't about the next time-share, diet fad or sports club, but, about a book or a drive in the country or an aroma in the kitchen. They expect nothing and appreciate everything, every single detail of kindness...these friends see beauty in minutiae: crocus, the harbingers of Spring...the rake of an osprey's wings diving for a Steelhead...the gentle glide of fingers along a forearm. I love a guy who says, "thank you" for breakfast on a camping trip and a girl who just wants to hold hands on a river walk at sunset. Thoughts and Time, that's really all we need as sentient beings: to be thought of and to spend time with one another. Cost? $0.00!
What would each of us do, if given a possible terminal diagnosis? Change how we live? If so, why would we change...because we know it's been misdirected all along? We went with the flow and became anesthetized to the mundanity of another calendar page, never questioning, never wondering what could be. Maybe, like me, we became lazy to the routine, reading about adventure, but, never venturing out. Watching others on social media, Youtube or listening to a Podcast of people "in the arena."
From Teddy Roosevelt in France, 1910:
"It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat."
His words are as timely and prescient as ever. My passion for Food, Faith and Life had been on the wane this last year, but, I prayed that the ember that remained would burst into a new light.
It already has. I can feel it.
Take care, God bless and remember:
"Food, Faith, Family and Friends,
the Best Things in Life Aren't Things!"
chefbq.
Saturday, March 16, 2019
Meatballs, Gravy and Memories
"So, baby girl, whaddya feel like for dinner?" I had just picked up Siobhan for her 3 day stint at my new apartment. "We could make it together or whatever. I have chicken thighs, ground turkey..."
She stopped me mid-sentence with all the drama of a tweener discovering a new youtube channel.
"Dad! You GOTTA make meatballs like you did that one time...with gravy!"
"You mean the ones with lamb and beef or the turkey ones?" I asked, "the lamb and beef were a little tough because the beef was like 92% lean. Sorry."
Siobhan indicated in no uncertain terms that turkey meatballs would be dinner if she could make the choice. "But, if you have to go to the store, don't worry about it. I could have noodles with butter..."
Oh my goodness, just stab me in the heart with a slotted metal serving spoon! Noodles with butter?! That's like 'honey, my arms were just lost in an industrial accident this afternoon and this is what I can do.' Then, she looks up at you like St. Bernadette and is grateful for the slightest kindness.
"Baby, turkey meatballs it is and gravy, too!" I said, "but, I'll have to thicken with corn starch and not a roux to avoid the butter for me."
As she was walking down the hall with her chin pegged to her chest, watching something on her new cell phone, she barely squawked out, "OK, that sounds fine..."
At that point, I started doing the 'I have a project that needs expedience and I need to hum or sing.' That's when I grabbed the stiff corded, character-coated, digital clock radio I've used since college. There's slack in the tuning wheel, but, that can be fun, too; finding that sweet spot in frequency location. Some of my music tastes are now in the 'Oldies' demographic and tune to hear the Doobie Brothers.
Since I'm in smaller digs, creativity is essential. What can I use to mix 3 pounds of ground turkey with spices, herbs, veggies and such? Shit, shit, shit...
Oh, Hay-uhl Yes! I could use the tub under the drain board; it's perfect! I could mix 10 lbs of meat if need be. I dumped the ground turkey into the tub, measured 1 1/2T of kosher salt and eyeballed the remaining Italian seasoning, remnant diced garlic, chopped parsley and black pepper. The radio station wasn't happenin' any longer, so, I thumbed the wheel down to the local station that features everything from Bluegrass, Norteno and Zydeco to Bosso Nova and Native Chant. Whispering lesbians man the host duties and really put on some brilliantly diverse programming.
After cracking three large eggs and improvising with blasted crackers for the bread crumbs, the mix was ready for blending.
Maybe it's the kid in me or the chef that I became, but, I just love squishing things between my fingers. The eggs gave the mixture a liquid nature and the cracker crumbs quickly absorbed all that. Once all ingredients were combined, a 3 oz. ice cream scooper made quick work; creating a half-sheet pan of perfectly portioned, savory spheres aligned in rows with military precision.
As the canola oil began to heat up in a high-sided cast iron pan, I wet my hands to give each meatball a 3-second roll right before the oil bath. Slipping each one into the oil and creating a pattern of 6 on the outside ring and 3 on the interior, I found myself drifting back to my most favorite meatball dish: the one my mom made...
When you have 6 children in 8 years, the mouths to feed are all 'starving to death' at the same time. One night, I had fallen asleep for a late afternoon nap and was left to sleep through dinner. Mom figured I might have been coming down with something, so, when I woke, she asked how I felt.
"Umm, hungry!" I responded.
"Sit down, honey," she replied, as she ran her hand across my forehead and over my pillow hair.
I pulled the cracked, simple oak chair away from the table and unfolded the paper napkin at my place. Mom filled the clear, plastic green cup with milk, gave the top of my head a peck and smiled gently. She returned seconds later with a plate of 3 large meatballs nestled in a mound of Uncle Ben's rice with a generous ladle of her pan gravy smothering the top.
She pulled a chair next to me as I ate with abandon, cutting the meatballs with my fork into wedges.
"Slow down, honey, slow down," mom cautioned me, running her soothing hand again through my hair. I know I smiled.
Mom made her meatballs with ground beef, eggs, breadcrumbs and a lineup of Schilling spices which were coaxed out of metal containers with delicate shakes and dabs. There was the aluminum Electric Skillet that had a lid with clear glass knob in the center and cloth-wrapped cord with some kind of spring next to the brown Bakelite plug. The meatballs were crisped up in a bit of oil first, then, onions added and reduced to caramelized stage. Then, a sprinkling of flour was administered to make a paste and a single can of beef bouillion for the body of the sauce. Cover with aformentioned lid and simmer.
Meatballs, sweet onions and gravy. The recollection of the aroma has me salivating at this moment. Completely simple, yet, immensely fragrant and savory.
"Dad, when's dinnerrrrrr-uh?!" whined my 11 year old.
"Right now, baby girl. Please set the table and get yourself a beverage," I called.
Dish up was quick with brown basmati rice, meatballs, onion gravy and a side of sweet peppers that she LOVES! We sat and Siobhan led us in a prayer. She tucked her long, wavy hair behind her ears to prevent a sauce mishap.
"How's that workin' out for ya, Sweetheart?" I asked. She loved the smell wafting down to her room and had an appetite. My favorite kind of customer. Hungry!
"It's really good, but, I don't like the bits of onion. They're gross..." she confided as she dissected the gravy by pushing all pieces of sweet, saute'd onion to the side of her plate.
I tried telling her of the memories I had of my mom's onion gravy, but, she'd have none of it.
"Dad, I'm saving them for you because I'm such a great daughter."
"And they're GROSS!"
We both chuckled.
Take care, God bless and remember:
"Food, Faith, Family and Friends
the Best Things in Life aren't Things"
chefbq
She stopped me mid-sentence with all the drama of a tweener discovering a new youtube channel.
"Dad! You GOTTA make meatballs like you did that one time...with gravy!"
"You mean the ones with lamb and beef or the turkey ones?" I asked, "the lamb and beef were a little tough because the beef was like 92% lean. Sorry."
Siobhan indicated in no uncertain terms that turkey meatballs would be dinner if she could make the choice. "But, if you have to go to the store, don't worry about it. I could have noodles with butter..."
Oh my goodness, just stab me in the heart with a slotted metal serving spoon! Noodles with butter?! That's like 'honey, my arms were just lost in an industrial accident this afternoon and this is what I can do.' Then, she looks up at you like St. Bernadette and is grateful for the slightest kindness.
"Baby, turkey meatballs it is and gravy, too!" I said, "but, I'll have to thicken with corn starch and not a roux to avoid the butter for me."
As she was walking down the hall with her chin pegged to her chest, watching something on her new cell phone, she barely squawked out, "OK, that sounds fine..."
At that point, I started doing the 'I have a project that needs expedience and I need to hum or sing.' That's when I grabbed the stiff corded, character-coated, digital clock radio I've used since college. There's slack in the tuning wheel, but, that can be fun, too; finding that sweet spot in frequency location. Some of my music tastes are now in the 'Oldies' demographic and tune to hear the Doobie Brothers.
Since I'm in smaller digs, creativity is essential. What can I use to mix 3 pounds of ground turkey with spices, herbs, veggies and such? Shit, shit, shit...
Oh, Hay-uhl Yes! I could use the tub under the drain board; it's perfect! I could mix 10 lbs of meat if need be. I dumped the ground turkey into the tub, measured 1 1/2T of kosher salt and eyeballed the remaining Italian seasoning, remnant diced garlic, chopped parsley and black pepper. The radio station wasn't happenin' any longer, so, I thumbed the wheel down to the local station that features everything from Bluegrass, Norteno and Zydeco to Bosso Nova and Native Chant. Whispering lesbians man the host duties and really put on some brilliantly diverse programming.
After cracking three large eggs and improvising with blasted crackers for the bread crumbs, the mix was ready for blending.
Maybe it's the kid in me or the chef that I became, but, I just love squishing things between my fingers. The eggs gave the mixture a liquid nature and the cracker crumbs quickly absorbed all that. Once all ingredients were combined, a 3 oz. ice cream scooper made quick work; creating a half-sheet pan of perfectly portioned, savory spheres aligned in rows with military precision.
As the canola oil began to heat up in a high-sided cast iron pan, I wet my hands to give each meatball a 3-second roll right before the oil bath. Slipping each one into the oil and creating a pattern of 6 on the outside ring and 3 on the interior, I found myself drifting back to my most favorite meatball dish: the one my mom made...
When you have 6 children in 8 years, the mouths to feed are all 'starving to death' at the same time. One night, I had fallen asleep for a late afternoon nap and was left to sleep through dinner. Mom figured I might have been coming down with something, so, when I woke, she asked how I felt.
"Umm, hungry!" I responded.
"Sit down, honey," she replied, as she ran her hand across my forehead and over my pillow hair.
I pulled the cracked, simple oak chair away from the table and unfolded the paper napkin at my place. Mom filled the clear, plastic green cup with milk, gave the top of my head a peck and smiled gently. She returned seconds later with a plate of 3 large meatballs nestled in a mound of Uncle Ben's rice with a generous ladle of her pan gravy smothering the top.
She pulled a chair next to me as I ate with abandon, cutting the meatballs with my fork into wedges.
"Slow down, honey, slow down," mom cautioned me, running her soothing hand again through my hair. I know I smiled.
Mom made her meatballs with ground beef, eggs, breadcrumbs and a lineup of Schilling spices which were coaxed out of metal containers with delicate shakes and dabs. There was the aluminum Electric Skillet that had a lid with clear glass knob in the center and cloth-wrapped cord with some kind of spring next to the brown Bakelite plug. The meatballs were crisped up in a bit of oil first, then, onions added and reduced to caramelized stage. Then, a sprinkling of flour was administered to make a paste and a single can of beef bouillion for the body of the sauce. Cover with aformentioned lid and simmer.
Meatballs, sweet onions and gravy. The recollection of the aroma has me salivating at this moment. Completely simple, yet, immensely fragrant and savory.
"Dad, when's dinnerrrrrr-uh?!" whined my 11 year old.
"Right now, baby girl. Please set the table and get yourself a beverage," I called.
Dish up was quick with brown basmati rice, meatballs, onion gravy and a side of sweet peppers that she LOVES! We sat and Siobhan led us in a prayer. She tucked her long, wavy hair behind her ears to prevent a sauce mishap.
"How's that workin' out for ya, Sweetheart?" I asked. She loved the smell wafting down to her room and had an appetite. My favorite kind of customer. Hungry!
"It's really good, but, I don't like the bits of onion. They're gross..." she confided as she dissected the gravy by pushing all pieces of sweet, saute'd onion to the side of her plate.
I tried telling her of the memories I had of my mom's onion gravy, but, she'd have none of it.
"Dad, I'm saving them for you because I'm such a great daughter."
"And they're GROSS!"
We both chuckled.
Take care, God bless and remember:
"Food, Faith, Family and Friends
the Best Things in Life aren't Things"
chefbq
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