Shelling Peas
is the new karaoke

Cooking for a lot of people is exhilarating when you don't have to do it every day. If I had been a farm wife in the thirties with thirteen (or two?) children I would have constantly had a "headache" and made the family eat cold oatmeal for dinner with bacon lard. My husband would have beat me all the time because I would have been useless. The only time in my life that I have been a great housekeeper was when I was a childless housewife: when it was, in fact, my only job.

Cooking for a large group of people I like/love is like giving them a piece of myself. This is why I love Thanksgiving. No gifts but nourishment and time spent together preparing what keeps us hale and hearty, or in bad years-just plain alive. I like a lack of set traditions so that everyone can make it up as they go along. I like things to be informal.

Not informal in a Martha Stewart fake informal way that is really just what formal looks like when it's wearing jeans. I mean truly informal. The kind of gathering where everyone is comfortable lounging around with their shoes on or off, however they please. Where they can help themselves to whatever is in the fridge. The kind where you feel comfortable rooting around in cupboards for glasses. The kind of gathering that doesn't concern itself with doing dishes until the next morning.

So I made my friends wash potatoes* and lettuce and shell peas. The meal was about 95% locally grown and produced. Plus it tasted great.

Here are some highlights of the gathering:

• Lisa B's daughter Maddy's obsession with catching and releasing as many frogs as possible and the sideways discovery that Lisa isn't all that crazy for amphibians being up close and personal. Even baby ones the size of dimes.

• Riana's daughter Amaya using dog and frog water for festive beverages. The following speculation concerning how likely it was that Amaya was hoping to eat an actual frog was pretty great too: it was decided that frogs the size of dimes would only be good fried like "popcorn" style appetizers and Riana's French husband Benji did point out that while French people do eat frogs, they only eat the legs.

• Max stopping a bloody nose with an apple. It wasn't as effective as he hoped and resulted in a disgusting piece of fruit and blood all over his face. He was amused with the experiment and I went flying through the house to locate tissues. He's been getting more of them lately which I think is because of the heat.

• Pat from here in McMinnville (who is very old friends with Riana's mom, also named Pat) making mojitos and filling the kitchen with the scent of mint. It was quite a process and makes it a beverage to sip, I think, not gulp. Pat was lovely in her pretty summery skirt and shiny smile.

• Max blurring by with actual real cherries in his hands that he was actually EATING.** Yes, fresh local cherries. Did I dream that? Does that negate the awful blue Gatorade he was drinking earlier from the corner store? My kid ate cherries and I didn't have anything to do with it. It was a beautiful sight.

• Enjoying Benji's imitation of hormonal teens. He's a teacher and we were discussing the French school system and I was asking how hard the age group is that he teaches (from 11 years old to, I think, 15?) and he was demonstrating the fun attitudes and postures of the different ages. You'd never guess from pictures of him how funny he is.

• Finding out that French kids can be picky eaters too. It was also enjoyable finding out that a lot of French people don't even like cheese at all, or will only eat a couple of kinds of cheese. I always suspected these things but keep hearing people claim that picky eating is only an American phenomenon. Which I didn't believe.

How weird and modern is it that you can meet someone online and feel like you've known them a million years without having ever met them in person and then when you do meet them feel like they're family? As messed up as the world is right now, that's a pretty great experience. Thank you Riana (and family!) for taking the time to come and have dinner with us. Until next time we'll gather around pictures in Flickr and share each others' adventures through our blogs!



*My first potato harvest of the year!

**And then spitting the pits out at the girls. Boys!

100% American Meal
99% locally grown and made

You could spend a lot of time arguing with me about the origins of all of the foods on this plate, but you should know that I will win. I will win because there is almost no combination of foods more evocative of the American Diner than: grilled cheese sandwich with dill pickles and french fries with ketchup.

The true beauty of this meal is that it was made with 99% locally made and grown foods. The salt is the only part of it that in no way was processed of procured locally. (It came from Brittany) The ketchup is my one precious jar of homemade from my friend Nicole. I was going to save it for later. But when I made this meal last night I knew I had to have ketchup with it. Luckily one jar will last me at least several similar meals. It was really good!

For the potatoes I used a salt/herb mixture that I was testing for the tutorial this week. I discovered that the salt to herb ratio was off and the fries were way too salty. So I have adjusted the mixture accordingly. The potatoes are fingerlings I got at the Portland farmer's market and were creamy and roasted up perfectly.

The pickles were my own, made this past canning season. We are a little worried about how many pickles we've already gone through.

A word on the Coffee Liqueur- It seems that you are going to need to let it sit for about two weeks before decanting it into separate bottles, so this is a gift most suited to give to people you will be visiting on Christmas day, neighbors, or friends close by. You won't have time to ship it to anyone*. But if you make it and are pleased with it, you can plan farther ahead next year. I was going to buy some locally made vodka yesterday, but here in Oregon you can't buy hard liquor on Sundays because it would be unseemly.

I'm all about being seemly.

Both Angeleen and Angela have made some comments about this small town here and how people here aren't the kind to get my humor and that people here might actually care what the neighbors think. This is interesting to me because I have been accustomed to not caring what my neighbors think of me and the choices I make because I knew, as a kid, what everyone thought of my family already (especially when we lived in Ashland, a town that was half the size of McMinnville twenty years ago) and I always had the feeling that there was no point in worrying about it because they could SMELL that we were different. People are animals first and even when they deny it to their teeth, they usually can tell when someone is different or a freak or crazy because if most of us couldn't smell it-the human race would not have survived with such smashing success.

My Aunt in Wisconsin has made comments about "what her neighbors will think" regarding her wall paint choices and I thought it was so weird that it would occur to her that her neighbors might have an opinion on her choice of wall colors or that it could possibly matter to her one way or the other. It seems so 1950's to me. When my Aunt would come to stay in the house that she and my mother owned together in California, she would make similar comments from time to time. It seems that it's kind of like GOING WILD to wear flip flops that don't precisely match your outfit.

I have made many comments about what my neighbors must think of my yard with all it's hideous perpetually unkempt appearance, but not once have I said it with actual concern or seriousness. So, do people around here actually care what someone might think of them if they were seen buying something that has the word "hysteria" on it? I never looked at this community that way. As a community of people so "small town" that they all look over their shoulder when buying things.

I would say that my store is proof of what Angeleen and Angela have been saying about McMinnville- that it isn't a place where my kind of humor and product will be really appreciated. If it was my store probably would have been a smash hit right away. However, I think it's curious that one of my best selling items, besides my aprons, was the "Subversive Crossword" book full of little sweet crossword patterns that say, instead of "home sweet home", things like "Rat Bastard!" I had to reorder that one a few times. Those same people probably would have loved the bath salt kit for "Anxiety and Hysteria".

I had a really great dream last night with antique buttons and Mathew Perry.

But don't start thinking my marriage is in trouble. Dudes-Philip was in it too.





*It might actually not be legal to ship alcohol anyway. Not that I would tell anyone. Who cares about a little homemade?

Is This Green Enough For You?

Homemade pasta with pesto from the freezer and steamed Brussels sprouts with a mustard vinaigrette.

I think, upon reflection, that I might have done better if I had steamed carrots instead of Brussels sprouts to break up the monochromatic color story of my dinner. I told myself it didn't matter if my whole dinner was green. Hell, people all over the place are trying to get just one spec of green in their meals and I have accomplished an entire work in shades of spring foliage. I told myself I wouldn't care if my whole dinner was green because that's the kind of thing that "foodies" worry about, and I am not a foodie.

Why do I not like that word "foodie"? Hmm, let me think...maybe because it sounds like a muppet gone bad. It aslo makes me think of some intergalactic one celled plague. It also makes me think of sixth grade name calling. This is the kind of thing that the hamburger helper kids called the vegetarian kid. Which was me.

None of those things are good. The worst is that it also sounds insufferable. It sounds like a person who is preciously into their food to a point where they have lost sight of their main goal (which presumably is to eat super good food) and have become obsessed with their food and have become insufferable snots about it. It also sounds kind of like a cult.

Remember way back when people who had a well developed sophisticated appreciation for food were called gourmands? Was this so offensive to people that a new more "user friendly" name had to be made up? How can one call themselves a "foodie" without feeling ridiculous?

Should people with a great appreciation for large gas guzzling cars be referred to as "gassies"?

Sometimes when I amuse myself I am all alone in my amusement. Don't worry, I'm used to it.

This is what's happening on my stove. The corn bread didn't rise much because the batter was too dry. It tastes good. Unfortunately it's also more crumbly than usual which is something Max doesn't usually appreciate. When he was a toddler I fed him cornbread and when it crumbled apart he would start crying as though the whole world was that piece of cornbread and it just broke. He doesn't like messy food.

I photo-shopped this picture but I don't think it's any better for it. I tried to brighten it up. But when a picture is taken at night there's just not a lot you can do to make it look light and natural. Seeing as it's rather dark at night. My house doesn't have the best lighting anyway. Ever.

I already wrote a post this morning but I'm writing this one now so that I can get down to business tomorrow and not get caught up on the computer. I have a lot to do.

By the way, these Brussels sprouts are super good but when they are cooking they smell like old-man breath. I almost didn't give them a chance the other day because when something smells like that you usually don't feel attracted to the idea of putting it in your mouth. On the other hand, people have been putting rotted cabbage and fish in their mouths for centuries and have greedily ingested fungus that smells like poop for as long as man has foraged his supper out of the woods.

I'm way in trouble with Max's teacher. I'm constantly getting notes that Max needs to practice his spelling and that we need to help him. Which we haven't been. Until last night. These young idealistic whipper snappers bring great energy to the public schools, but they really wear me out. I better go make sure my son learns to spell these words he supposedly should already know how to spell.

Peace, rhubarb, and I think my pillow and bed are trying to kill me...

I did finally sit down at my machine and sew. But not without wrestling with it first. I secretly think my machine is alive and was messing with the tension just to terrorize me for not having sewn for over two weeks. I also secretly think that my machine gets up in the night to pee, but maybe that's something I shouldn't be saying out loud?

I know it seems silly, but just making peace symbols with rick rack was soothing. I suppose this is why humans love symbols, they remind us of important things like hope and peace. I can't wait to have my own peace apron and pot holders.

Bounty from the early spring garden. Herbs for quiche and rhubarb for crisp. We had a mostly seasonal meal which is always deeply satisfying. Especially when a good portion of it is from our own mini-ranch. Philip made the crisp (with some help from Mark) which turned out to be excellent. I used spinach and mushrooms for the quiche with lots of finely cut fresh herbs. Then I made a vegetable side dish with carrots and locally grown asparagus and seasoned it with butter, honey, and mustard.

It doesn't really get a lot better than having your favorite people come over to eat a good meal and drink some fine beers and wines. I don't enjoy having "parties" where you invite every person you know. I get easily overwhelmed and panicky. I actually don't enjoy parties at all. The last time I was a person who really loved a good party was when I was seventeen or eighteen years old.

Last night was the perfect gathering. Except that my mom could only sit up with us for a while because she was in so much pain. Other than that, it was perfect. The boys glued themselves to the computer and shed very little blood betwixt them, and Elena gave birth to several unicorns under our very watchful glazed adult eyes.

I think she may have been trying to demonstrate to Dominique how to give birth to magical creatures with no pain. This is very useful because Dominique has got herself in the family way and will be pushing her little watermelon out in another month! I can't be completely sure about this, but I'm going to take a risk here and say that I'm pretty sure she's hoping it's not a baby cyclops she's carrying in there. Because then she'll have to name it something like "Randy the Cyclops" instead of Truitte.

Now, I don't have any proof to offer up, but I'm pretty sure my bed is trying to kill me. The evidence? I go to sleep not completely a broken person and I wake up in agony with pains in my lower back, cricks in my neck, and tense shoulders. This is not an old bed and it's not a cheap bed either. So what gives? It's supposed to be firm yet with give. It's by Sealy, a "reputable" brand, as though that means anything. This whole 85 year old body thing is really bringing me down. It is a bright sunny day here in the Pacific North West and I've got about five more yards of amendment to haul into my garden beds and seeds to plant. I don't have time to be broken. This totally sucks.

But not as much as it would suck to have no arms or legs to complain about. It's important to keep things in perspective at all times. I'm pretty happy I'm not a part of a Siamese twin duo. I imagine that really puts a serious damper on life too. What right have I got to complain about a little agonizing neck pain when there are people out there joined at the head for life?

I spent a lot of time looking at new blogs yesterday and found some really great ones. I love all my crafty blogs, but I've been wanting to find some blogs with more posts about gardening, especially kitchen gardening. So through a tangled web of links I found one called Allotment Lady which is filled with pictures of her allotment, her lovely baby, and other garden projects. Just the thing! She also has some great links to explore of other allotment blogs.

I also found Snowflakes and Black Vampires through Allotment Lady which is a woman's creative blog on which she posts pictures of hers and other people's art, and also some poetry. The funny thing is, I have spent years making jokes about Bukowski and how his writing is brilliant but I can't read it because it's so depressing, and here on this blog I read a poem by Bukowski that was really good. I mean, I totally related to it. It's called "Ice cream people" and he manages to describe exactly how I've felt for so much of my life. (Like a curmudgeonly old lush of a man who is always looking at the bright squeaky clean shiny happy people as though either they, or I, am from another planet just observing the show.) So it seems I'm going to give Bukowski another chance to make a fresh impression on me.

Both of these bloggers visited my blog yesterday and I can only hope I didn't scare them off with my super dark post from a few days ago. But I suppose there's no time like the present to freak people out since it's bound to happen eventually anyway.

Oh, I almost forgot to mention that I just checked out a new commenter's blog called Cauldron Ridge Farm and really enjoyed it. Since Gina commented on the scary post, I can be pretty sure I haven't freaked her out. Yet. She's just had a beautiful baby and has some very honest worries about the world she's brought her boys into. I can totally relate!

One more new blog I have to mention is Cottage Magpie because it's a great blog with crafts, gardening, and house stuff. (I really like the word "stuff". It's such a great all purpose word.) Angela and I are connected by a series of strange coincidences and she's fully as spazzy as I am, which is very admirable. (Uh, not everyone values spazziness as I do, but I consider it a very fine quality in a person, whether they are quiet about it or loud.)

Well, I think it's time to take a shower, and hobble out to the mountain of amendment, and start shoveling like I'm impervious to pain.