Category: Food & Drink

No big thoughts here

I scheduled my colonoscopy for Jan. 20, which is inauguration day. Sure, I could have watched Donald Trump take the oath of office, but I went with a good old-fashioned colon blow … the extended edition that includes a partially sedated anal probe.

No regrets.

I’m continuing to focus less on what’s actually happening in the world and more on what’s happening in our kitchen. Since I retired, I’ve learned that I’m a happier and calmer person when I quit trying to think the big thoughts and direct my energy into simple things that make life pleasurable. Food is always at the top of the list.

I made some excellent bread in 2024, especially sourdough, but this year I’d like to push a little harder and try some different recipes. Bagels, brioche, you name it. I also want to try making croissants. Not for the feint of heart, as I understand it.

We ate our share of sweets over the holidays, so I’m trying to cut back on sugar. No plans to give it up – I just want to be more mindful. Save it for when it counts! I’ve been eating a lot of oatmeal, which is good. But I’ve been hammering it with brown sugar, which is, shall we say, not my best choice. Does oatmeal even need to be sweet?

I Googled savory oatmeal, and there’s a lot out there with stuff I really don’t want to eat in the morning. I kept it simple and made a batch with just chopped walnuts and a little salt. Very good. Then I tried it with chopped walnuts, currants, olive oil and a dash of sea salt. Yum!

While I might still do the sweeter variety of oatmeal from time to time, I’m enjoying these other options. What about something with sesame oil ? Some toasted seeds?

One of my other breakfast treats is an egg cooked in olive oil. I heat a couple of tablespoons of olive oil into a small nonstick pan and then add an egg as though I’m frying it. But it almost poaches in the pool of oil. When the egg is done, I pour the whole thing – oil and egg – on sourdough toast. It’s so delicious. I’m wondering if it might be good on oatmeal, too.

I’m starting my sourdough tonight, and we’re having that tomorrow with balsamic glazed chicken thighs with burst tomatoes and green beans. I put a bottle of Gewürztraminer in the fridge. People think Gewürz is a sweet wine, but we buy a dry variety from Navarro Vineyards. We love it..

Pizza tonight. A replay of a pizza Dale made for the first time a few weeks ago. He said he was experimenting with new toppings, and it was going to sound weird. Hot Italian sausage, anchovies and red onion. I said, what’s weird about that? It sounds wonderful.

And it was seriously one of the best pizzas he has ever made. The anchovies sort of melt into the sausage, and it’s an umami flavor bomb. A little crunch of the red onion, and a sprinkling of parmesan, and you wonder where this has been all your life.

No big thoughts here, but a toast perhaps?

To you, may your pleasures be simple and your food simply delicious.

Thinking about missiles and dinner

Just prior to my retirement, I was working on a couple of intense communications projects involving missiles and people who love them, and while I love the people who love them, mostly I was bored and thought about dinner.

Retirement freed up my brain to think about dinner without the distractions of incoming missiles. My husband and I spend a good bit of our day thinking about dinner, shopping for dinner, cooking dinner, eating dinner and then talking about it afterward. However, Dale is retired military, so I’m pretty sure he thinks about missiles, too.

Dale and I are both avid cooks, so for us, dinner is a hobby, the highlight of the day. Well, that and happy hour. When we were both working, it was an opportunity to connect after a long day at the office. Now it’s an opportunity to connect after a long day of getting in each other’s way.

Although we’re not overly materialistic, we do like our kitchen stuff, old and new. We still use the dishes we bought at the PX when we got married almost 40 years ago, and we have a handheld mixer from the early 80s. Dale has a vintage Wearever Super Shooter specifically for making cheese straws. Then there’s the yogurt maker, the juicer, the Instant Pot. We converted a downstairs bedroom into the Williams Sonoma annex.

I also like what I call side dishes. Artichoke plates, egg cups. Bar ware. Pasta bowls. My sister makes us beautiful two-sided cloth napkins, my favorite being pizza on one side and garlic on the other.

We sometimes take sides on what to have for dinner, but during the meal itself we may bicker over what we had for dinner on that rainy Saturday in June of 1998. Remember, it didn’t rain until late? No, it was pouring down when I woke up. I’m pretty sure it was a rib-eye. I remember buying it. No, he says, I bought it, I remember it was on sale at Publix. No, it was Harris Teeter. No, they had closed by then.

Eating together unlocks the memories so we can argue about whose version is correct.

I don’t understand sacrificing dinner to climb the ladder at work. I met several high-powered women executives in my career who said they usually ate a bowl of cold cereal for dinner because they worked such long hours. A former boss said she often ate a granola bar in her room during business travel, presumably to win the prize for saving the company money and free up more time for emails.

Now, I get the whole thing about holing up in the room after a day in close quarters with vice presidents and their ilk, but I had different priorities. Bath fizzies! Movies! Room service! I didn’t care if I had to pay for it myself. It was like a fiesta. I enjoyed the time alone, but the best part was coming home, when Dale would make something delicious to celebrate my return.

We make almost everything from scratch and do focus on healthy foods, but we also have lots of not-so-healthy food rituals:

  • Comfort Food Tuesday
  • Full Mexican (Mexican food Friday, Saturday and Sunday night)
  • Meat Weekend (Meat Friday, Saturday and Sunday night)
  • Pizza and Beer Friday

I know there’s plenty of serious stuff going on in the world that probably needs my attention, but as you can see, I’m kind of busy.

Bacon of the Month Club

During the first couple of months after I retired, my husband and I were driving each other nuts, what with me wanting him to eat healthier and live longer and then his raging indifference to my loving intentions. So, I thought, fine, you want to die, let’s get this show on the road, and I gave him “Bacon of the Month Club” for Christmas.

He would receive a monthly shipment of bacon for three months courtesy of Zingerman’s. I would have done the whole year, but that seemed too obvious.

I like bacon, but most of the time, I’m like, no thanks, I’ve already had cancer. Until delicious specialty pork products started arriving at the door, I wasn’t even tempted. But now there was pressure.

The first shipment was a pound of Nueske’s applewood smoked bacon from Wisconsin. The package included a keepsake binder with articles about bacon and the people who make it, “A Pocket Book of Bacon” and a pig magnet for the refrigerator.

Nueske’s was by far the best of the three we sampled. The article in the binder described it as the Platonic ideal of bacon, the one against which all other bacons are measured. And it’s true. I’m not good at describing the positive qualities of bacon after so many years of pig-shaming, other than to say Dale cooked it to perfection, and it was crispy, smoky and succulent.

At first I would only eat one piece, and I said we can never have this more than once a week. Then I said, oh, two pieces won’t kill me, but never, never more than once a week. And then I said, oh, what difference does it make if we eat it twice a week? We’re all going to die anyway.

In hindsight, I can see bacon helped us bond through a challenging transition in our lives. Whatever was going on – me in bed at night, worrying about what happens if the North Koreans bomb us and ruin my retirement and him worrying about me being awake worrying about North Korea.

But then it’s morning, the sun is glorious, the birds are chirping and wait, what is that other sound? Could it be the siren call of bacon?

One morning I took a picture of two simple slices of bacon on a plate and posted it on my Instagram account. I don’t get tons of Instagram traffic, but bacon is my most popular post to date. I look at the number every couple of weeks, and I report to Dale that bacon, of all my posts, is still in the lead. He laughs every time. The picture of me bald after chemotherapy is a heart-tugging second, but it’s not bacon.

We’re adjusting to our new lifestyle. I gave up pestering him about what he eats. Besides, he kind of came around on his own. Our membership in Bacon of the Month Club had expired, and one day he said, you know, that was fun, but we shouldn’t eat so much bacon.

I let him think it was his idea – a trick I learned at work.