You have probably read three times as many books as I have since we last met. That's because you probably don't fall asleep every time you sit down to read a chapter. What's up with this extreme nappiness?
But anyway . . .
First up we have The Great Railway Bazaar by Paul Theroux. Theroux has my dream job: go places, then write about them. There's probably a catch though, like going places I wouldn't want to visit. Theroux took a regular patchwork of trains all across Asia. You might think Asia would be a memorable and scenic place to visit. But our author doesn't sugarcoat things at all.
Here's what we know, thanks to his troubles on all those trains:
Great swaths of this planet are not very exciting to look at. Turkey comes to mind, as does Siberia. And Afghanistan where, Theroux reports, there is "not a single mile of railroad track." (And here I thought I'd escaped Afghanistan by tossing aside Rory Stewart's book.) He got across the world's least fortunate country some other way, I don't remember how.
Then again, some spots on earth are quite lovely: Thailand, Vietnam.
So if the scenery outside the train window is often dull as dishwater, what does the travel writer write about?
Well, his fellow riders provided rich material: The Russians packed odd train picnics for themselves. The Japanese acted like automatons. The Vietnamese, their lives disrupted by years of war (Railway Bazaar was written in the mid '70s) found the most resourceful ways to carry on with life. And the Turkish are still wearing clothes from the '30s, because that's when their leader brought the country into modernity, adopting Western clothing and habits. They just got stuck there, that's all. (Maybe Theroux's follow-up book will catch them wearing denim and tube tops. I'll let you know when it comes up to the top of my reading list.)
As for the Ceylonese, they were starving when Theroux visited. But many came to his literature lectures (he gave a few along the journey). And why would they care about literature, when they had life-and-death matters on their hands?
They came because every lecture included a dinner. They came and gorged themselves silly.
The book includes quite a few cow patties as Theroux passed through Thailand and Japan. Theroux approaches them partly as a married man far from home, and partly as a social observer, commenting on the national character.
Next up, Howard's End by E. M. Forster, is a drama of English class boundaries. The cast of characters includes the Schlegel sisters, independent girls who come from old money and a bit of German blood landed in England; the Wilcox family, up-and-comers who constantly strive to hang on to their relatively new wealth; and Leonard Bast, who stands in for the rest of us. He's a working man, but decisions made by the other two classes could, at any moment, topple him into ruin.
Mr. Wilcox kicks off the story by giving Mr. Bast some advice. What I found fascinating is Forster's study of each class's awareness. Mr. Bast tries to push in to the upper classes, but the penny-pinching habits so necessary in his life give him away. On the other hand, the Wilcoxes and the Schlegels have no idea what the stakes are for those who must work for a living.
As for your recipe, I have learned that my mom's stacked enchiladas, which are not anything like the rolled ones you see in stores or restaurants, are actually genuinely Honduran! That's right. Mercy used to eat them stacked. But she never knew the recipe. And my mom never wrote hers down either, not to mention that her enchiladas included something called "chili brick," which doesn't exist anymore.
I remember enchilada night as a night of gorging. When you like something that much, you figure out a way to make it. Judge for yourself, but I think I've come up with something that comes pretty close:
MOM'S ENCHILADAS
1 lb. ground beef
1 pkt (1.75 oz) chili seasoning mix
1 can (46 oz.) tomato juice
3 TB cornstarch
1/2 c. cold water
Vegetable oil
2 pkgs. (10 each) corn tortillas
1 lb. cheddar cheese, shredded
1. Fry ground beef; drain. Add chili seasoning and small amount of tomato juice.
2. Heat tomato juice in saucepan. Add burger mixture. Mix cornstarch and water, add to tomato juice. Bring to boil, then reduce heat, cooking and stirring until slightly thickened.
3 Heat small amount of oil in large skillet. Fry each tortilla a few seconds on both sides. Drain or blot excess oil, then place on dinner plate. Sprinkle with cheese, top with sauce. Add more layers as desired and serve. Continue until no one can eat anymore.
Calories come to about 258 per layer.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Eat Up Strawberries Now!
Somebody came to my house today, opened the fridge, saw a telltale stack of sheets of wax paper and hollered, "Crepes! I'm eating them all!"
Not so fast there, sister. You're gonna have to fight me for those.
I'll bet you are busy this month, looking for ways to enjoy strawberries. Around here, we let everybody else do the shortcake thing while we eat ours with crepes. (Oh, and we've discovered that they're heavenly when dipped in Nutella. What? you ask. The strawberries? Or the crepes? Well, both. I can't decide which is more heavenly.)
CREPES CHANTILLY
Crepes (below)
3/4 cup chilled whipping cream
1/4 cup powdered sugar
3/4 cup sliced fresh strawberries
Powdered sugar
Prepare Crepes. Beat whipping cream and 1/4 cup powdered sugar in chilled bowl until stiff. Fold in strawberries. Spoon about 2 TB of the strawberry mixture onto each crepe; roll up. Place 2 crepes seam sides down on each dessert plate; sprinkle with powdered sugar. Serves 6, about 340 cals. each.
CREPES
1 1/2 cups flour
1 TB sugar
1/2 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. salt
2 cups milk
2 eggs
2 TB margarine, melted
1/2 tsp. vanilla
Mix flour, sugar, baking powder and salt. Stir in remaining ingredients. Beat with hand beater until smooth. Lightly butter 6- to 8-inch skillet; heat over medium heat until bubbly. Pour scant 1/4 cup of the batter into skillet; immediately rotate skillet until thin film covers bottom.
Cook until light brown. Run wide spatula around edge to loosen; turn and cook other side until light brown. Stack crepes, placing waxed paper between each. Keep covered.
Makes 12 crepes (but my last batch made 16-18) at 105 cals. each.
Recipes come from my very spattered Betty Crocker Cookbook.
Other good filling are: applesauce, mint chocolate chip ice cream, nutella & bananas, pudding, jam. I'm sure you can think up more.
As for the Finished Book Pile, we have today War Against Parents by Sylvia Hewlett and Cornel West. You can use this book to fire yourself up before you attend a feisty school board meeting. Or you can just read it to make you want to crawl back in bed and hide under the covers. Either way, it offers a lot of its information in percentages, i.e. "90% of poor children don't get x, y and z" or "78% of working parents say they have a hard time meeting A B & C."
They describe how the GI Bill created a golden age for parents. Assistance with education and home loans was a great help for families. Unfortunately, a few societal changes have wiped out all the advantages those GIs enjoyed.
I was especially steamed by reading how companies lay off scads of people to boost their profits and stock prices, then give out-of-sight salaries and bonuses to their executives. In the same year. This is a most immoral practice, in my view.
Hewlett and West offer up a Parents' Bill of Rights, things like a living wage and parental leave.
It's a great set of ideas but, in the end, the authors fail to account for things like backlash and simple human will. For instance, we can compel companies to offer several weeks of paid parental leave, but what's to stop them from deciding to take their jobs offshore, where they don't have to fund such expensive measures?
Or, you can declare schools a drug-free zone, but there's always somebody who loves to be sneaky, carrying their drugs right past that drug-free zone sign.
Or, how about another idea of Hewlett and West's: unwed mothers should be "forced" to live with more experienced mothers, who will show them how to raise a child properly. Where are you going to find women who will rise to the occasion? I'm an experienced mother, and you don't see me stepping up.
Still, the authors try their best and you might enjoy their book.
Not so fast there, sister. You're gonna have to fight me for those.
I'll bet you are busy this month, looking for ways to enjoy strawberries. Around here, we let everybody else do the shortcake thing while we eat ours with crepes. (Oh, and we've discovered that they're heavenly when dipped in Nutella. What? you ask. The strawberries? Or the crepes? Well, both. I can't decide which is more heavenly.)
CREPES CHANTILLY
Crepes (below)
3/4 cup chilled whipping cream
1/4 cup powdered sugar
3/4 cup sliced fresh strawberries
Powdered sugar
Prepare Crepes. Beat whipping cream and 1/4 cup powdered sugar in chilled bowl until stiff. Fold in strawberries. Spoon about 2 TB of the strawberry mixture onto each crepe; roll up. Place 2 crepes seam sides down on each dessert plate; sprinkle with powdered sugar. Serves 6, about 340 cals. each.
CREPES
1 1/2 cups flour
1 TB sugar
1/2 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. salt
2 cups milk
2 eggs
2 TB margarine, melted
1/2 tsp. vanilla
Mix flour, sugar, baking powder and salt. Stir in remaining ingredients. Beat with hand beater until smooth. Lightly butter 6- to 8-inch skillet; heat over medium heat until bubbly. Pour scant 1/4 cup of the batter into skillet; immediately rotate skillet until thin film covers bottom.
Cook until light brown. Run wide spatula around edge to loosen; turn and cook other side until light brown. Stack crepes, placing waxed paper between each. Keep covered.
Makes 12 crepes (but my last batch made 16-18) at 105 cals. each.
Recipes come from my very spattered Betty Crocker Cookbook.
Other good filling are: applesauce, mint chocolate chip ice cream, nutella & bananas, pudding, jam. I'm sure you can think up more.
As for the Finished Book Pile, we have today War Against Parents by Sylvia Hewlett and Cornel West. You can use this book to fire yourself up before you attend a feisty school board meeting. Or you can just read it to make you want to crawl back in bed and hide under the covers. Either way, it offers a lot of its information in percentages, i.e. "90% of poor children don't get x, y and z" or "78% of working parents say they have a hard time meeting A B & C."
They describe how the GI Bill created a golden age for parents. Assistance with education and home loans was a great help for families. Unfortunately, a few societal changes have wiped out all the advantages those GIs enjoyed.
I was especially steamed by reading how companies lay off scads of people to boost their profits and stock prices, then give out-of-sight salaries and bonuses to their executives. In the same year. This is a most immoral practice, in my view.
Hewlett and West offer up a Parents' Bill of Rights, things like a living wage and parental leave.
It's a great set of ideas but, in the end, the authors fail to account for things like backlash and simple human will. For instance, we can compel companies to offer several weeks of paid parental leave, but what's to stop them from deciding to take their jobs offshore, where they don't have to fund such expensive measures?
Or, you can declare schools a drug-free zone, but there's always somebody who loves to be sneaky, carrying their drugs right past that drug-free zone sign.
Or, how about another idea of Hewlett and West's: unwed mothers should be "forced" to live with more experienced mothers, who will show them how to raise a child properly. Where are you going to find women who will rise to the occasion? I'm an experienced mother, and you don't see me stepping up.
Still, the authors try their best and you might enjoy their book.
Saturday, May 14, 2011
The Color of a Story
Well, it's been kind of dull around here.
One cat is on a diet. So it's dull for the cats, too. They sit around, staring at me, waiting for me to fill the trough. The frail cat looks at the fat one with an especially hateful glare. You're the reason we're in this fix!
Not even the Finished Book Pile has been that scintillating.
First up:August by Gerard Woodward, the story of a kind of a quiet, ordinary, got-our-problems family, who vacations every summer in a farmer's field in Wales.
Excitement-wise, it's kind of a brown story, a light beige-brown. The jacket copy proclaims Woodward's book (this is the first in a trilogy) full of deadpan wit. I've told you before that I need my wit just a little bit wet, or else it slips right by my wit-detector. Nevertheless, I stuck with the story. I wouldn't want to be the main characters Aldous and Colette or their four (or five?) children, but I was curious enough to follow them through the years.
In a particularly quirky twist of the story, Colette develops an odd habit. Today, there would be a 1-800-get-help line they could call, but back in the '60s, nobody had come up with that sort of thing yet.
No cow patties (except the real ones in that Welsh farmer's field).
Next up, we have In Between Places by Rory Stewart. The author, a Scottish journalist, walks across Afghanistan, the unluckiest land on this entire earth. He starts his journey two weeks after the U.S. threw over the Taliban. The new government provided "guides" to accompany him, but Stewart did his best to lose them.
Personally, I would have gone farther down the list of countries and chosen to walk across somewhere like Austria. Still, he made me want to walk to the grocery store, to church, to Wal-Mart; to get the little granny shopping cart that goes with these jaunts.
My daughters poke fun at my "granny cart" dreams. But the kind of people who roll these things into Whole Foods call it a "shopping trolley." See? Not so uncool anymore! Say it with me now: SHOPPING TROLLEY. And stop that snickering.
But anyway, back to Stewart. I'm sure there are interesting things to know about Afghanistan. And his journey was certainly a daring one. He was just about to head into some Himalaya-high mountains, snowy mountains mind you, and I thought I ought to stick with him, just to lend him moral support.
But then he announced that he'd been wearing the same socks for eight days. This killed off my already-faint interest in Stewart and the unluckiest country in the world. I left him to tackle the snowy mountains all by himself.
I guess this book had a color to it too: dirty white.
Thankfully, next up we have a pink book. Literally. The cover is pink. You know a pink book will be easy to read. The Aqua-Net Diaries by Jennifer Niven is a memoir of growing up in Richmond, Indiana, and dreaming of the day when she can escape her dull hometown.
Niven's great at explaining the social castes of Richmond, the dizzy excitement of a first boyfriend, the hunger of driving around on Friday night, looking for something to do. Oh, she found it all right. They drank. They smoked a little pot. They cut class now and then and sped all the way to Dayton, Ohio, for lunch. No mention of how dangerous the speed or the beer or the pot might have been. It was all good memories, according to her.
Since leaving Richmond, Niven has been busy writing, selling movie options and taming her massive '80s hair.
It was an OK read. No cow patties, just "normal" teenage mischief.
As for your recipe, perhaps you, like the cats, are on a diet and would die for something tasty to break up the dullness of your dinner hour. You can try:
Jiffy Jambalaya
One cat is on a diet. So it's dull for the cats, too. They sit around, staring at me, waiting for me to fill the trough. The frail cat looks at the fat one with an especially hateful glare. You're the reason we're in this fix!
Not even the Finished Book Pile has been that scintillating.
First up:August by Gerard Woodward, the story of a kind of a quiet, ordinary, got-our-problems family, who vacations every summer in a farmer's field in Wales.
Excitement-wise, it's kind of a brown story, a light beige-brown. The jacket copy proclaims Woodward's book (this is the first in a trilogy) full of deadpan wit. I've told you before that I need my wit just a little bit wet, or else it slips right by my wit-detector. Nevertheless, I stuck with the story. I wouldn't want to be the main characters Aldous and Colette or their four (or five?) children, but I was curious enough to follow them through the years.
In a particularly quirky twist of the story, Colette develops an odd habit. Today, there would be a 1-800-get-help line they could call, but back in the '60s, nobody had come up with that sort of thing yet.
No cow patties (except the real ones in that Welsh farmer's field).
Next up, we have In Between Places by Rory Stewart. The author, a Scottish journalist, walks across Afghanistan, the unluckiest land on this entire earth. He starts his journey two weeks after the U.S. threw over the Taliban. The new government provided "guides" to accompany him, but Stewart did his best to lose them.
Personally, I would have gone farther down the list of countries and chosen to walk across somewhere like Austria. Still, he made me want to walk to the grocery store, to church, to Wal-Mart; to get the little granny shopping cart that goes with these jaunts.
My daughters poke fun at my "granny cart" dreams. But the kind of people who roll these things into Whole Foods call it a "shopping trolley." See? Not so uncool anymore! Say it with me now: SHOPPING TROLLEY. And stop that snickering.
But anyway, back to Stewart. I'm sure there are interesting things to know about Afghanistan. And his journey was certainly a daring one. He was just about to head into some Himalaya-high mountains, snowy mountains mind you, and I thought I ought to stick with him, just to lend him moral support.
But then he announced that he'd been wearing the same socks for eight days. This killed off my already-faint interest in Stewart and the unluckiest country in the world. I left him to tackle the snowy mountains all by himself.
I guess this book had a color to it too: dirty white.
Thankfully, next up we have a pink book. Literally. The cover is pink. You know a pink book will be easy to read. The Aqua-Net Diaries by Jennifer Niven is a memoir of growing up in Richmond, Indiana, and dreaming of the day when she can escape her dull hometown.
Niven's great at explaining the social castes of Richmond, the dizzy excitement of a first boyfriend, the hunger of driving around on Friday night, looking for something to do. Oh, she found it all right. They drank. They smoked a little pot. They cut class now and then and sped all the way to Dayton, Ohio, for lunch. No mention of how dangerous the speed or the beer or the pot might have been. It was all good memories, according to her.
Since leaving Richmond, Niven has been busy writing, selling movie options and taming her massive '80s hair.
It was an OK read. No cow patties, just "normal" teenage mischief.
As for your recipe, perhaps you, like the cats, are on a diet and would die for something tasty to break up the dullness of your dinner hour. You can try:
Jiffy Jambalaya
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Bathrobe Day
April 27th --
Today, we have a big, thick one on the Finished Book Pile, The Winthrop Woman by Anya Seton.
This is an older book, written when I was just a twinkle in my father's eye. But good story-telling never gets old. The book revisits the horses, lanterns and cloaks era, lots of "prithee" and "forsooth," which is always nice to get back to once in a while.
Seton set her story in England when matters between the king and the Puritans reached an impasse, prompting the Puritans to sail off to the New World. I think they expected gentle English meadows. What they got was a howling wilderness, a challenging place indeed.
Not that the story dwelt on the perils of pioneering. No, no, it was pulled along by plenty of frustrated romance. Then, somewhere in the middle, our Winthrop Woman is accused of being a witch, which made for some dull and improbable reading, since her accusers came off like cardboard characters. And I said, "Prithee, whence wenteth the frustrated romance?"
But then a hero from early in the story rode into town and the romantic stuff took off again.
So, even though my bathroom needed a thorough cleaning, the sheets needed to be changed, and I should have made a grocery list and written a couple thank-you notes and--whoopsie! Did I say I would call the people I visit teach tonight?--it was just . . . you know, sometimes you reach the point when you're so hooked, you just have to toss the to-do list and read those last 100 pages.
Yep, I spent the day in my bathrobe, with yesterday's mascara ringed around my eyes, turning the yellowed pages. And it was worth it!
The shame of it all is that my husband works at home. What's he to think when he's on the south side of the house being industrious and finds me on the north side, being hopelessly indolent? And he knows I'll be indolent again because, as I write this, the Royal Wedding is a couple days away and there I'll be, on the couch, remote in hand, hour upon hour. I promised him I'd at least make dinner on Royal Wedding day and he just laughed.
May 1st --
Ha! Yes, I did come through with dinner on Royal Wedding Day. Why, friends and family came over to watch it (I TiVoed it on two channels). I couldn't let them starve!
We ate:
Savory Beef Fajitas
Chocolate Oat Squares
We rounded out the meal with chips and salsa, and fresh pineapple. And leftover Easter candy. And doughnuts.
It was a day of decadence. But we got the Prince married off.
Today, we have a big, thick one on the Finished Book Pile, The Winthrop Woman by Anya Seton.
This is an older book, written when I was just a twinkle in my father's eye. But good story-telling never gets old. The book revisits the horses, lanterns and cloaks era, lots of "prithee" and "forsooth," which is always nice to get back to once in a while.
Seton set her story in England when matters between the king and the Puritans reached an impasse, prompting the Puritans to sail off to the New World. I think they expected gentle English meadows. What they got was a howling wilderness, a challenging place indeed.
Not that the story dwelt on the perils of pioneering. No, no, it was pulled along by plenty of frustrated romance. Then, somewhere in the middle, our Winthrop Woman is accused of being a witch, which made for some dull and improbable reading, since her accusers came off like cardboard characters. And I said, "Prithee, whence wenteth the frustrated romance?"
But then a hero from early in the story rode into town and the romantic stuff took off again.
So, even though my bathroom needed a thorough cleaning, the sheets needed to be changed, and I should have made a grocery list and written a couple thank-you notes and--whoopsie! Did I say I would call the people I visit teach tonight?--it was just . . . you know, sometimes you reach the point when you're so hooked, you just have to toss the to-do list and read those last 100 pages.
Yep, I spent the day in my bathrobe, with yesterday's mascara ringed around my eyes, turning the yellowed pages. And it was worth it!
The shame of it all is that my husband works at home. What's he to think when he's on the south side of the house being industrious and finds me on the north side, being hopelessly indolent? And he knows I'll be indolent again because, as I write this, the Royal Wedding is a couple days away and there I'll be, on the couch, remote in hand, hour upon hour. I promised him I'd at least make dinner on Royal Wedding day and he just laughed.
May 1st --
Ha! Yes, I did come through with dinner on Royal Wedding Day. Why, friends and family came over to watch it (I TiVoed it on two channels). I couldn't let them starve!
We ate:
Savory Beef Fajitas
Chocolate Oat Squares
We rounded out the meal with chips and salsa, and fresh pineapple. And leftover Easter candy. And doughnuts.
It was a day of decadence. But we got the Prince married off.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Can Russia Possibly Be Interesting?
Well, today we have, on the Finished Book Pile, The Dream Life of Sukhanov, an elegantly written and richly imagined novel by Olga Grushin.
At first, I wasn't so sure. A quick glance over the jacket copy left me reluctant to plunge in. The story centers on the 50-something protagonist. Who wants to read a book about someone in their 50s? I thought before I, of course, remembered that I'm in, er, that is, near, er, that is, closer than some of you to my 50s.
And who would want to read a book set in Russia, the most frozen and depressing place on earth? But Sukhanov's Russia is a place of champagne, fine wool coats, parties under chandeliers. He belongs to the privileged class, you see, although events fix that. Best say no more, lest I give things away.
The story can get a little confusing as it shifts between the real world and Sukhanov's dream world. It took me a couple rounds to recognize the we're-in-dream-world signals, but I picked up on it. At the very end, though, I wasn't sure what was real and what was not.
I liked it. And no cow patties.
As for your recipe, I've got a menu for you today. When I fixed this for guests, they accused me of cooking all day. Nope, this meal wasn't all that back-breaking. I spent a half hour in the afternoon, making (and I have posted this one before):
Cashew Turkey Pasta Salad (except I use chicken)
An hour or so before serving time, you can start on:
Creamy Chocolate Mousse
When the mousse is done, start right in on the main dish:
Raspberry Chicken Sandwiches
I find Taste of Home's version a little unwieldy, so here's my version:
1 cup chili sauce
3/4 cup raspberry preserves
2 TB red wine vinegar or cider vinegar
1 TB dijon mustard
6 boneless skinless chicken breast halves
2 TB olive or vegetable oil
1/2 tsp. salt
1/4 tsp. pepper
6 sandwich buns
6 slices Muenster or Provolone cheese
Shredded lettuce
Flatten chicken breasts to 1/4-in. thickness. Place in a ziploc bag. Add oil, salt and pepper. Seal bag and turn to coat.
Coat grill rack with PAM before starting the grill. In a small saucepan, combine chili sauce, preserves, vinegar & mustard. Bring to a boil. Reduce heat; simmer, uncovered, for 2 minutes. Set aside half for serving and use the remaining sauce for basting.
Grill chicken, uncovered, over medium heat for 5-7 minutes on each side or until juices run clear, basting frequently the raspberry sauce. Top with cheese. Remove and place on buns. Serve with lettuce and more raspberry sauce. YIELD: 6 servings, 495 cals. ea.
My guests brought Sun Chips and a salad of spinach, strawberries and almonds. We ate hearty, then we played games in which the quiet ones among us revealed their competitive side.
At first, I wasn't so sure. A quick glance over the jacket copy left me reluctant to plunge in. The story centers on the 50-something protagonist. Who wants to read a book about someone in their 50s? I thought before I, of course, remembered that I'm in, er, that is, near, er, that is, closer than some of you to my 50s.
And who would want to read a book set in Russia, the most frozen and depressing place on earth? But Sukhanov's Russia is a place of champagne, fine wool coats, parties under chandeliers. He belongs to the privileged class, you see, although events fix that. Best say no more, lest I give things away.
The story can get a little confusing as it shifts between the real world and Sukhanov's dream world. It took me a couple rounds to recognize the we're-in-dream-world signals, but I picked up on it. At the very end, though, I wasn't sure what was real and what was not.
I liked it. And no cow patties.
As for your recipe, I've got a menu for you today. When I fixed this for guests, they accused me of cooking all day. Nope, this meal wasn't all that back-breaking. I spent a half hour in the afternoon, making (and I have posted this one before):
Cashew Turkey Pasta Salad (except I use chicken)
An hour or so before serving time, you can start on:
Creamy Chocolate Mousse
When the mousse is done, start right in on the main dish:
Raspberry Chicken Sandwiches
I find Taste of Home's version a little unwieldy, so here's my version:
1 cup chili sauce
3/4 cup raspberry preserves
2 TB red wine vinegar or cider vinegar
1 TB dijon mustard
6 boneless skinless chicken breast halves
2 TB olive or vegetable oil
1/2 tsp. salt
1/4 tsp. pepper
6 sandwich buns
6 slices Muenster or Provolone cheese
Shredded lettuce
Flatten chicken breasts to 1/4-in. thickness. Place in a ziploc bag. Add oil, salt and pepper. Seal bag and turn to coat.
Coat grill rack with PAM before starting the grill. In a small saucepan, combine chili sauce, preserves, vinegar & mustard. Bring to a boil. Reduce heat; simmer, uncovered, for 2 minutes. Set aside half for serving and use the remaining sauce for basting.
Grill chicken, uncovered, over medium heat for 5-7 minutes on each side or until juices run clear, basting frequently the raspberry sauce. Top with cheese. Remove and place on buns. Serve with lettuce and more raspberry sauce. YIELD: 6 servings, 495 cals. ea.
My guests brought Sun Chips and a salad of spinach, strawberries and almonds. We ate hearty, then we played games in which the quiet ones among us revealed their competitive side.
Saturday, March 26, 2011
I Can't Stay Away From This Stuff
Let's start this time with the food.
Chili Corn Bread Salad
I don't want to stay away from this stuff. I want to eat the whole pan! This is why I need a life of the mind, so I don't languish, thinking of the corn bread, the bacon, the cheese, the gooey ranch dressing stuff, the . . .
Ahem.
Where were we now?
Oh, yes. Life of the mind. Reading books and all that.
So I read Mercy of Thin Air by Ronlyn Domingue, about a woman who dies, but stays "between," which means she hangs around the living, spying on them, creating cool breezes, moving mugs and pens, whatever. That might make it sound like a comedy, but Thin Air takes itself pretty seriously.
The story moves around in time. We're in the 1920s when the main character dies, then we move to the present, then before she dies, then . . . Keeping all the characters sorted out was beyond me. People float in and out (literally! being dead and all). And finally, the author shows an insufferable contempt for people who don't believe the way she does.
I'm not sure how a book like this made it through the editorial catch-nets.
I gave it up. It certainly wasn't enough to keep me from thinking about cornbread, and cheese, and bacon and . . .
Whoa. Let me get ahold of myself here.
Why don't we move on to Apex Hides the Hurt by Colson Whitehead. The unnammed protagonist is a professional namer. Corporations call him in to re-ignite their brands--be they medicines, candies or styrofoam cups--with a zippy new name.
So a quiet little town that's in the middle of remaking itself into a booming, business-friendly burg calls him to re-name the place, something that will project its new, forward-thinking ways.
Everybody has a different opinion of what this name should be. The great-grandson of the tycoon that brought barbed-wire manufacturing to the town thinks one thing. The mayor, a descendant of the freed slaves that founded the place, thinks another. Add to that the relentlessly cheerful entrepreneur who's bringing in new business and all his opinions and you have tugs in every direction.
Apex was a witty and enjoyable ride, roasting all the ingredients of a town and contemplating what names mean to us all. I think you might like it.
Chili Corn Bread Salad
I don't want to stay away from this stuff. I want to eat the whole pan! This is why I need a life of the mind, so I don't languish, thinking of the corn bread, the bacon, the cheese, the gooey ranch dressing stuff, the . . .
Ahem.
Where were we now?
Oh, yes. Life of the mind. Reading books and all that.
So I read Mercy of Thin Air by Ronlyn Domingue, about a woman who dies, but stays "between," which means she hangs around the living, spying on them, creating cool breezes, moving mugs and pens, whatever. That might make it sound like a comedy, but Thin Air takes itself pretty seriously.
The story moves around in time. We're in the 1920s when the main character dies, then we move to the present, then before she dies, then . . . Keeping all the characters sorted out was beyond me. People float in and out (literally! being dead and all). And finally, the author shows an insufferable contempt for people who don't believe the way she does.
I'm not sure how a book like this made it through the editorial catch-nets.
I gave it up. It certainly wasn't enough to keep me from thinking about cornbread, and cheese, and bacon and . . .
Whoa. Let me get ahold of myself here.
Why don't we move on to Apex Hides the Hurt by Colson Whitehead. The unnammed protagonist is a professional namer. Corporations call him in to re-ignite their brands--be they medicines, candies or styrofoam cups--with a zippy new name.
So a quiet little town that's in the middle of remaking itself into a booming, business-friendly burg calls him to re-name the place, something that will project its new, forward-thinking ways.
Everybody has a different opinion of what this name should be. The great-grandson of the tycoon that brought barbed-wire manufacturing to the town thinks one thing. The mayor, a descendant of the freed slaves that founded the place, thinks another. Add to that the relentlessly cheerful entrepreneur who's bringing in new business and all his opinions and you have tugs in every direction.
Apex was a witty and enjoyable ride, roasting all the ingredients of a town and contemplating what names mean to us all. I think you might like it.
Friday, March 18, 2011
He and I Aren't the Same Kind of Cook
Let's start today with The Finished Book Pile.
We have If I Loved You, I Would Tell You This, a collection of short stories by Robin Black.
Her conversational little stories grew on me. Black writes about quiet people, many of them aged and broken down. Mostly, I remember Jean, hiding her stroke-affected arm in a fancy-scarf sling, claiming it's some small injury. Her daughter has come home for a few days. Is she home to help out? Or is she up to something else? What are those odd night-time noises?
It's not the most memorable book, but it has some nice moments. Minimal cow patties.
Next up, The Saucier's Apprentice by Bob Spitz.
You know, you go to the big downtown library and you pick your book off the shelf. You take it to the front desk and hand it to the girl who works there. Now these library types are quiet people who don't always look you in the eye. They put up with their low-paying jobs because the love being around books, love handling them. They love books more than they love people, I'm pretty sure. It's a not-quite-human experience, this passing your book back and forth and bleeping it through the check-out scanner.
But I gave The Saucier's Apprentice to the girl and her eyes lit up just a little bit and she peeked out from her quiet, withdrawn face. "Best title ever," she said, as she cracked a tiny smile.
And a darn good read. Mr. Spitz's life ran aground. Being a man who loved to throw dinner parties for his friends, what better way to soothe his sore soul than to send himself to a few cooking schools in Europe? With every delightful turn of phrase, the reader travels along with him as he and another man turn the act of making souffle into a contest of manhood; as a snooty French chef refuses to teach Spitz anything until Spitz shows he can make a decent omelet (guess how many omelets it takes); as an American expat woman introduces Spitz to the art of cooking rabbit.
Spitz can't do it. To him, they're bunnies, soft and adorable, with cute long ears. But the woman goads him further by taking a jar off the shelf, pulling out a dark and ominous object and making him eat it. Find out for yourself what it is.
Spitz includes his cooking-school recipes. I don't plan to try them, because he and I are not the same kind of cook. He likes simple, local ingredients, and improvisation. I like sure-bet formulas and don't get the vapors from ingredients like Velveeta and ketchup. However, I loved reading about chefs who flick the pan just so and the omelet slips out perfectly. Or they push the knife just so and the meat pops right off the bone. I loved reading about people who sat on terraces in what sounds like the most beautiful scenery on this earth and said, "MM-MM-MM" as they ate marvelous things.
Which brings me to our recipe for this installment:
Something Special Salad
I could not stop saying, "MM-MM-MM" while I ate this.
I've told you before that I just can't think of things to put in salads. Somebody has to tell me exactly what to add. I know that the rest of you don't have that problem, judging by the salads that you bring to my house.
Unless you're stealing your ideas from elsewhere, like I do. After all, stealing ideas is what we're all about here at Bye-bye Nesquik, no?
We have If I Loved You, I Would Tell You This, a collection of short stories by Robin Black.
Her conversational little stories grew on me. Black writes about quiet people, many of them aged and broken down. Mostly, I remember Jean, hiding her stroke-affected arm in a fancy-scarf sling, claiming it's some small injury. Her daughter has come home for a few days. Is she home to help out? Or is she up to something else? What are those odd night-time noises?
It's not the most memorable book, but it has some nice moments. Minimal cow patties.
Next up, The Saucier's Apprentice by Bob Spitz.
You know, you go to the big downtown library and you pick your book off the shelf. You take it to the front desk and hand it to the girl who works there. Now these library types are quiet people who don't always look you in the eye. They put up with their low-paying jobs because the love being around books, love handling them. They love books more than they love people, I'm pretty sure. It's a not-quite-human experience, this passing your book back and forth and bleeping it through the check-out scanner.
But I gave The Saucier's Apprentice to the girl and her eyes lit up just a little bit and she peeked out from her quiet, withdrawn face. "Best title ever," she said, as she cracked a tiny smile.
And a darn good read. Mr. Spitz's life ran aground. Being a man who loved to throw dinner parties for his friends, what better way to soothe his sore soul than to send himself to a few cooking schools in Europe? With every delightful turn of phrase, the reader travels along with him as he and another man turn the act of making souffle into a contest of manhood; as a snooty French chef refuses to teach Spitz anything until Spitz shows he can make a decent omelet (guess how many omelets it takes); as an American expat woman introduces Spitz to the art of cooking rabbit.
Spitz can't do it. To him, they're bunnies, soft and adorable, with cute long ears. But the woman goads him further by taking a jar off the shelf, pulling out a dark and ominous object and making him eat it. Find out for yourself what it is.
Spitz includes his cooking-school recipes. I don't plan to try them, because he and I are not the same kind of cook. He likes simple, local ingredients, and improvisation. I like sure-bet formulas and don't get the vapors from ingredients like Velveeta and ketchup. However, I loved reading about chefs who flick the pan just so and the omelet slips out perfectly. Or they push the knife just so and the meat pops right off the bone. I loved reading about people who sat on terraces in what sounds like the most beautiful scenery on this earth and said, "MM-MM-MM" as they ate marvelous things.
Which brings me to our recipe for this installment:
Something Special Salad
I could not stop saying, "MM-MM-MM" while I ate this.
I've told you before that I just can't think of things to put in salads. Somebody has to tell me exactly what to add. I know that the rest of you don't have that problem, judging by the salads that you bring to my house.
Unless you're stealing your ideas from elsewhere, like I do. After all, stealing ideas is what we're all about here at Bye-bye Nesquik, no?
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