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Doing the Best I Can

Feb8

I’m grateful for my tracking skills, however limited they are. As the tiny dingo trotted up the driveway this morning (left) she crossed tracks with a larger canid who had clearly been down the driveway before snow fell, and back up the driveway in the same path after the snow. We didn’t try to follow the trail but walked alongside it for awhile. It could have been a rogue neighbor dog, but I prefer to think it was a coyote.

I’ve spent a couple of hours over the past few months trying to determine the most sustainable kind of canned crab meat to buy, and learned that both Bumble Bee and Chicken of the Sea purport to harvest and process crab sustainably. Seafood Watch from Monterrey Bay Aquarium is a great resource to determine the best seafood sources for ethicarian consumption, but not much help in determining which brands of canned crab meet their standards. It advises which countries or states within countries including the US are the most sustainable sources of crab meat, but the hard part is finding out where the crab canning brands source their crabs.

Our regional supermarket made the choice easy, with only their store brand available. Kroger, like the two brands mentioned above, dedicates a page to its sustainability pledge and progress, but doesn’t specify its seafood sources. So I made do.

The good news for me was that the canned crab made much more authentic crab cakes than the frozen krab, and the good news for the crabs is, even so, they weren’t so delicious that I’ll be making them a lot. I guess I’m still not that crazy about crab cakes, and have now satisfied my odd craving for awhile.

I made half the recipe since I only had twelve ounces of crab meat, so I enjoyed two for lunch and froze the other four for another time. I think next time I’m craving fried seafood I’ll just make salmon croquettes, or maybe fish n’ chips. Or a fried cod sandwich. Or maybe a fried catfish sandwich. So much seafood to choose from, even in the mountains of Colorado! As usual, a double-edged conundrum from the global market: how to eat ocean protein ethically while landlocked. It’s great that I can get seafood from anywhere, but all the petroleum that goes into getting it here! Some days I’d like to learn to fish; but, that comes with its own challenges to my tender sensibilities. Sigh.

I’m grateful for good food, and for finding my way through thorny ethical thickets to allow myself to enjoy many delectables in moderation, while doing the best I can to live lightly on the planet.

Weather Geeks

Dec21

I’m a weather geek, and I’m grateful for other weather geeks that populate the various weather stations: weather research stations around the globe, weather TV and radio stations, and the backyard home weather stations with citizen science movements like CoCoRaHS, the Community Collaborative Rain, Hail & Snow Network (“because every drop counts”). I keep my TV tuned to Fox Weather because it’s the best weather station available, and every time I turn on to stream something the weather pops up first. Sometimes it’s worth watching for awhile.

And so it happened this afternoon that when I turned on TV to watch my current lunchtime show, I came into the middle of this story. A Fox weather-lady in Philadelphia began knitting temperature blankets a few years ago. She started with a scarf but with a row a day, she pointed out, it soon became too long to be practical. So the next year she knitted a blanket, using just the basic garter stitch. Some of her colleagues hold up the past several years while she holds the current year and explains that it’s become a trend, and you can even buy a temperature blanket kit now. The man just off screen on the right is wearing the 365-row scarf. Unfortunately, they’re not standing in chronological order and I lost track of which year was which.

I was tickled rainbow to see this creative interpretation of temperature data, and wanted to see more, but a quick internet search didn’t give up the goods. Oh well. I think it’s a fine idea, and I might just buy some yarn to start one New Year’s Day. Obviously, I’ll need a lot of red.

Meanwhile, crab cakes, anyone? Growing up, I never liked them though everyone else in my family did. But the last few times I visited Auntie, who lived in crab country along the Chesapeake Bay, I tried crab cakes a couple of times when we ate out, and they were pretty good. I had some frozen fake crab that I bought for a recipe awhile ago, but then I lost track of that recipe. But that crab-flavored fish in the freezer started whispering a craving to me a couple of weeks ago, and then I found the perfect recipe to try, sweet potato crab cakes.

So last night I mashed up some baked sweet potato with breadcrumbs, fresh parsley, and everything else, and fried them a few at a time. They were pretty good, but they did not taste much like crab. For one thing, their main ingredient is fish. How do they get crab flavor, anyway? I don’t really want to know. For another thing, the fake crab fish was pretty tough and hard to break up into smaller chunks without getting out the food processor. But the sweet potato in there was genius, and the flavor was good with the spices I used, which of course varied a bit from the directions.

But give me a blob of tasty protein fried to a golden crisp to dip into a delicious sauce, and I’m happy. And grateful. I pirated the sauce outline from Chili Pepper Madness’s crab cake recipe. I’ll definitely make these again, but next time I’ll use canned crab as called for in the sweet potato recipe, since fresh isn’t a viable option in my landlocked homestead. This will entail some research to determine what the best canned crab is based first on environmental and ethical criteria, then flavor and quality reviews, and finally availability. We’ll know more later!

I ate three last night, froze four, and put two in the fridge for me and the one I burnt for Wren. As I drifted off to sleep last night, I imagined my lunch today: a crab cake broken into a spinach tortilla, wrapped up with cheese and avocado, and heated, with leftover sauce on the side. It was delicious! I have one more for tomorrow, and I’ll spread some leftover sweet potato in there too. I’m grateful for playing with my food.

Maple Syrup

Dec10

Yes, oatmeal again with a different twist. Apricot jam instead of blueberries, protein powder, flaxseed meal, and 100% pure dark amber maple syrup from Vermont. I’m grateful for everything about this bowl. The bowl itself: a simple factory-made Fiesta bowl, one of a set of five, with a long and loving story of its provenance and how the set grew from four to five, which hinges on a dear old friend in the antique business. There’s a whole story in this bowl that makes a simple vessel meaningful. And why I even wanted this kind of bowl is another story, about a bowl of granola with yogurt and strawberries, served to me in the backyard garden of a Maryland townhouse a decade ago. I’m grateful for the people who work at the factory who made the bowl, the materials they used that came from the earth; everyone involved in its transport from the factory to the antique mall in western Virginia where it came into my hands…

Bob’s Red Mill organic oats: who grew them, all the water and attention, the cultivated soil, the hands and hearts involved in growing and packaging these oats; the drivers, their vehicles, the roads or rails the oats rode on to get to my house, and my beloved personal shoppers who delivered them to me. It just goes on: the same train of events for the whey protein powder, the flaxseed meal, the splash of milk I forgot to mention til just now, hundreds of people involved and copious resources, just to make my oatmeal tasty. And your oatmeal, of course, or whatever else you eat to start your day.

And then the apricot jam. I’ve expressed enough gratitude about the jam and the tree in past posts I don’t need to go on about it. But the syrup? Have I truly expressed enough gratitude for maple syrup? I don’t think so.

I was raised on real maple syrup. The Colonel was a stickler for things like real butter v. margarine, real mashed potatoes v. instant, and real maple syrup v. flavored sugar syrup. He used to tell people I’d eat cardboard if it had maple syrup or honey on it. The biggest treat of Christmas was real maple-leaf candy in my stocking. And so I’m grateful to neighbor Mary for turning me onto Mount Mansfield in Vermont where I now buy the best real maple syrup regularly. I’m grateful for the family who’s been tending and tapping the trees for generations, for the time and care they give their trees and their products and their customers. I’m grateful for maple trees: for their sometimes towering trunks and their leaves that turn crimson in autumn, and for their nutritious sap that they cede generously to the hardy Yankees who harvest it year after year. I’m grateful for the technology it takes to get the sap to the sugar house, and the fuel it takes to boil the sap in gleaming vats, and for all the people who stir and pour and mold and package all the delicious maple goodness that comes sometimes to my home from the far corner of the country, and for all the people and vehicles and fuel that it takes to get it here, all the way to Taylor the Crawford UPS driver. I’m grateful I’ve learned through the years to use maple syrup for so much more than pancakes.

Breakfast for Dinner

Dec4

I’m trying to improve my dietary habits a little at a time, like oatmeal for breakfast, and more walnuts. But it’s hard, since I have an ever-growing stack of recipes I want to try, like these maple-pecan scones. So simple, so delicious! Mix a few dry ingredients in one bowl, a few wet ingredients in another bowl, toast and chop some pecans, grate some frozen butter. I made it even easier by using maple cream instead of mixing a glaze from maple syrup and icing sugar. Somehow, I’d never had maple cream before: it’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted! It’s just pure maple syrup distilled into silken heaven.

I did have oatmeal for breakfast again, and a healthy lunch of salad and soup, and then a scone for dessert. After my feast, Wren did a few tricks just in case I might have a treat for her. And after a day of good and meaningful work, it was time to eat again. I’m grateful for three meals a day when I want that many, and for all the causes and conditions that lead to having clean, healthy, and nutritious food in my home.

For dinner I made The Bear omelette, and while my omelette cooking skills can improve this was a good start. There’s all this fancy technique, from whisking the eggs through a strainer into a bowl, and “constantly stir[ing] the eggs while gently jerking the pan back and forth.” I stirred a little too long to get a good fold but it still tasted great, and was definitely fluffier and lighter than the last omelette I made twenty years ago. The quirkiest part of this dish is the sour cream and onion potato chips crushed over the top. I’m grateful for breakfast for dinner.

Gilding the Lily

Nov21

I was grateful to learn that we can order four more free Covid tests to restock the cupboard for winter here. But a little disappointed to notice that the most recent free tests ordered last month actually expired in August. So a snarky no wonder crept into my thoughts: no wonder they’re giving away more tests, they can’t sell expired tests. However, extended expiration dates for all lots of all available tests (and there are a lot!) can be found here, and I’m grateful I had the bright idea to look up the four lots of tests I have stashed, and add the revised expiration date in red on each box, so I don’t have to look it up again later. One box was so old it wasn’t even listed, so I threw that one away. I have a few months remaining on even the oldest box left.

I’m grateful for a simple, delicious breakfast: Brie-butter spread on toast with a dollop of apricot jam. Double gilding the lily! It feels rich and decadent, and I know that not everyone in the world or in the country or even in this state can afford it, so I’m doubly grateful that I can. And, even so, in dollars and cents it’s not that costly. A tablespoon of butter, a tablespoon of brie, a tablespoon of homemade apricot jam, and a slice of homemade bread. Altogether this piece of toast probably cost around a dollar, plus some quality time spent harvesting, cooking, canning, and baking. It’s my fervent hope that anyone reading this is able to afford to treat themself to fifteen minutes of indulgence in the morning with an equally scrumptious delicacy; and further, that they make the time to do so.

And who was waiting patiently in the sunny windowsill for Last Bite?

The Cheese Sandwich

Nov16

I was grateful to see this beautiful couple in the yarden when I woke this morning, and not troubled that he was scratching his head on the wild plum tree. And I was grateful to see the moisture still dripping from the trees after a light rain overnight.

I’m even more grateful than usual for the Cheese Sandwich. I realized today as I was making a simple havarti, lettuce, and pickle iteration just how much stress I’ve shed since surrendering to my obsession and delight in eating a cheese sandwich almost every day for lunch. As long as there’s bread in the box and cheese in the fridge, I no longer have to think, wonder, or worry about what to have for lunch. I am grateful to walk into the kitchen at lunchtime day after day and pull a delectable assortment of supporting ingredients together with cheese, bread, and mayonnaise to create a delicious, nourishing and often unique cheese sandwich. For most of my life meals were a twice-a-day struggle I was rarely prepared for. This has been another gift of the quiet solo time these past few years, settling into simple food routines that allow more peace and ease. As always, I’m profoundly grateful for the luxury of sufficient food.

I’m grateful for the bright little tabasco pepper that’s thriving in the sunroom and almost ready to harvest.

And finally, Wren is grateful that I made her another batch of Dog Fud. She watched the whole time I chopped and added ingredients, then devoured her dinner. This batch contained quinoa, ground turkey, black beans, sweet potatoes, broccoli, and tomatoes, along with wax beans and zucchini from the freezer. Later, she watched hopefully as I packed the cooled food into containers, and was rewarded by getting to lick to pot clean. Another simplifying routine becoming habitual.

A Perfect Day

Nov14

I was leaning on the raised bed, talking with John who leaned on another bed facing me, and I didn’t notice right away who had jumped up behind me and started rolling in the garlic bed. Heaven! For her.

I was grateful for a perfect day to spend outside with friends. After I spent the morning slaving over a hot oven, I was delighted to sit out on this utterly balmy fall day first serving Boyz Lunch, and then later with another friend for tea before she leaves the country for awhile. I baked perfect hamburger buns, recipe finally adjusted for altitude and salvaged from misreading the warm water amount, to serve mushroom-chickpea burgers with all the trimmings, and smashed roasted potatoes.

I knew I was going to need room in the freezer when I make another batch of dog food tomorrow, so I wanted to use up some peaches; and also, peach shortcakes sounded like the perfect dessert for today. I simply adapted the strawberry shortcakes recipe I had and substituted peaches as suggested. To thaw them just enough to peel and slice, I zapped a bowl of them in the microwave for just a minute, and the skins slipped right off as soon as I cut them in half. Then I tossed them with a little sugar and let them sit until it was time to assemble dessert.

Although the day was perfect, nothing about the food was. I forgot to put cheese on the burgers, the potatoes were undercooked, and somehow the whipped cream was just a little bitter. But the Boyz didn’t seem to notice or care, and the precious time together was perfect.

A Pretty Healthy Day

Nov13

I’m grateful to have spent a pretty healthy day. I exercised in the morning with some PT and stretches, and then made a salad including romaine, broccoli, pecans and homemade croutons using up an older sourdough heel — instead of turning into French toast! That felt like a healthy choice.

After working awhile at the computer, I chose to take Wren for a walk down to the reservoir instead of taking a nap — a healthy choice for both of us! I am embarrassed to admit that I have never walked the Indian Fire loop on the west side of the reservoir. I don’t even know how long that nature trail has been there. But with my new pass, I’m exploring my own backyard State Park for the first time since I worked there for a few seasons many years ago.

The trail is about half a mile, looping low then high along the steep slope, which was just a hillside above the confluence of a few streams a hundred an fifty years ago when it was inhabited by Native Americans. I’m grateful that the synopsis the park offers of the events preceding the reservoir’s construction is told with some sensitivity in the trail guide.

I am grateful for the perspective that this reminder gave me. I’d heard about the fire as the Utes were driven away from the area, but I’d forgotten. This history sheds new light on some of the burn-scarred ancient junipers in ‘my’ own piece of the mesa: I’d always assumed they were lightning strikes, but it seemed like a lot. Now I’ve revised my interpretation of these old trees, half-burned yet still living like those noted along the park trail.

Little Wren enjoyed trotting along through fallen cottonwood leaves, while I enjoyed the views. I’m grateful all over again today for the reassuring volume of water in the reservoir going into winter.

The upper half of the trail includes a panoramic overlook and some stone benches, where we caught our breath for a few minutes before heading for home. And that was the end of the healthy part of our day.

For my evening snack, I sliced thin the remaining heels of sourdough and baked them to make melba-like toasts, to go with the double decadence of Brie-butter spread. Why make Brie any more buttery than it already is? Well, why not? So simple, so delicious: shave the skin off some Brie (while it’s cold), and let it come to room temperature along with an equal amount of butter, then just whip them together until blended. Beyond indulgent.

Right Tools for the Job

Nov9

It’s only taken a year and a half, and finally these two can stand at the door at the same time in the morning waiting to be let out.

And it only took me three more birdstrikes today to finally hang my last-resort bird deterrent over the east window. I thought I had solved it with the plant stand blocking the center of the window, and the prayer flags across the top. But this morning two birds hit almost simultaneously, a male and a female junco. He flew off, but she fell. I’m grateful she wasn’t killed, but she was knocked out. I picked her up and put her in a small box for about ten minutes, then opened the box to the sun. About twenty minutes after that, she had left the box and was warming herself perched on a rock on the patio table, a tiny spot of blood at the base of her beak. A few minutes later she had flown away.

Okay, I thought, it’s time to pull out those icicle lights and obscure my view, but if it will save even one more bird it’s worth it. But I didn’t do it right then, I got sidetracked. A few hours later, as the temperature dropped, another junco smacked into the window. I jumped up, grabbed the lights, hammer, some nails, and the stepladder, and set to it. I was grateful to have the right tools for the job, especially the lights, which I bought last winter but couldn’t find the right place to hang–because I didn’t want to obscure my view, and after long consideration I had realized there was really no other appropriate space.

So I strung them outside, in hopes that they’ll be sufficient indication of a no-fly zone. Based on advice from friends and research, these meet four out of five criteria, and I’m optimistic. This has been an anomalous past month for bird strikes, and I still think there’s something strange going on with the juncos.

Meanwhile, in the standard gratitude categories, Wren and food, I made spice sticky buns tonight for special guests coming for coffee tomorrow morning, and others for tea on Saturday afternoon. The new cinnamon still hasn’t arrived, so I used old cinnamon, cardamom, and cloves again, and added Craisins. I’m really optimistic about this batch, even though I forgot to add an egg to the dough. They’ve been rising nicely in the pan this evening, and I’m leaving it overnight in the cold mudroom, anticipating they’ll be perfect in time to bake in the morning. I’m grateful for the right tools for this job, too: a silicone rolling mat, an old-style wooden rolling pin, and a reliable 9×13 pyrex baking dish.

A Grateful Attitude

Nov6

I love murals. It’s been a long time since I’d been in GJ before last week, then I was there again today. I hadn’t seen this one, which decorated the flat grey wall in front of the meter on 5th Street where I parked for five minutes to dash into The Hog and the Hen for a Fowl Play sandwich after a morning of appointments. I’m grateful for a grateful attitude as I began this long day. Grateful to Neighbor Cynthia for the portable compressor that enabled me to bring a low tire up to safe pressure, grateful to Neighbor Mary for coming to check on Wren in my absence, grateful for light traffic and few delays, grateful for patience more than once during the day, grateful for a quick in-and-out at the dermatology office to get stitches out, grateful for a jovial neurologist and a fascinating series of tests that revealed nothing wrong with my central nervous system; grateful for getting some errands done on the way home including voting and mailing some important cards.

The day was tiring, but without a grateful attitude it would have been grueling. The sandwich lacked cheese, but included Turkey, Brie, Apple Chips, Lettuce, Tomato, Cucumber, Pickled Red Onion, Cranberry Aioli, on Thin Ciabatta. I asked for no cucumber and extra aioli, and while it was delicious, it simply wasn’t big enough. The apple chips added a surprising crunch. There was a moment on the drive up there through the high desert, with the window down and the radio playing The Eagles, that I felt as carefree and light as I did the first time I drove across the country through a continually unspooling novel landscape. I used to love to drive the back roads. Now I’m grateful for a fleeting nostalgia now and then, and solid sense of belonging to home.