My Blood Pressure Spiked!

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Wow! It is already the second day of 2014 and I have not done a thing. On New Year’s Day, Peg and I crashed. The party the day before wore us out. Ever since we married eight years ago we have traditionally celebrated New Year’s Eve. The first few years we attended the Prestwick Country Club party by hosting a table of friends. More recently, Peg decided she wanted a smaller more intimate group of friends to spend time with.

The party gives me a chance to practice my culinary skill, which is very limited, combined with Peg’s hosting skill which is considerable.  We invited three couples for dinner at five. The day began in a relaxed manner, but the stress level increased exponentially as the minutes marched forward. Peg began by monopolizing the kitchen with her hors d’oeuvres, patience Joe.  The weather saved me. It snowed that morning so I disappeared to shovel the drive and the walks. I returned to begin the main dish by  assembling the components for the veal paprikas I planned to make. We are lucky enough to have a fifteen foot countertop for cooking, but I had only one square foot of it. My blood pressured spiked, and my patience wore thin, I forgot two ingredients which I made a special trip to shop for days earlier. Another escape, this time to the Jewel Food Store for two items, a green pepper, and a 14.7 ounce can of diced tomatoes. There must have been more people like me because the parking lot was at capacity. Shoppers in cars jammed the lanes waiting for people  to come out and make a space. I backed out and found a space at the far corner. An inconsiderate jerk of a shopper had abandoned his cart in the space I parked in, so I pushed it back to the store while walking at record pace through the snow. I beat the cars still waiting in the lane for a space, patience Joe.

Inside the store was worse than the parking lot. Outside it was only parked cars and jerks waiting to find premium parking spaces. Inside it was different. Nervous ladies all rushing through the aisles filling baskets with party goodies. I encountered several aisle jams stalled by shoppers staring at the goods while trying to decide which kind of potato chip, wine, or olive to take off the shelf. Once more I back out, this time with the cart. Several times shoppers blind-sided me while rushing down an aisle and crossing lanes without looking. Smile, and say you’re sorry Joe, they are only stressed out like you are. On a normal day, close encounters of this sort would result in a lasting friendship, today friendship did not occur to me nor to those with whom I nearly collided.

Once at the checkout lanes, the crowd seemed even worse. People in line spilled into the aisles unseen. I passed through the waiting carts and aligned myself in what I thought was the end of the line. As luck would have it, the checkout lady was slower than cold molasses. Finally, the line moved one person, and I jockeyed into place but an old woman who came from nowhere and holding a fruit-tort blocked me. She smiled and politely inferred that I was cutting, and the line formed in the aisle behind her, patience Joe.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ The Door Bell Rings

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A good thing just happened to me. A very nice young man with a very heavy black beard, a bright red jacket and a black knit cap just rang the door-bell. I answered, and he very politely asked if I wanted my snow shoveled.  “How much,” I asked? He pondered a moment and looked around, “twenty-five,” he answered. “How about twenty?”  He nodded in agreement. “Do you have a shovel,” I asked. He nodded yes again.

Parked out on the street stood a sleek-looking Nissan. He ran to the car and knocked on the window. His partner came out and the two of them are shoveling furiously. In the short time it has taken me to write this, they have completed half of the job. Thank you Lord!

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By the time I checked out and drove home from the Jewel, Peggy decided to clear some counter space for me. My tension eased, and the meal prep began.

By four-thirty I finished the paprikas and the double recipe of spaetzle. I transferred the veal dish to a hot-pot and kept the spaetzle dumplings warm in a covered pot.  I looked out the window and realized it had snowed again. Peggy asked for help with something she was doing, and I freaked again, patience Joe. I did what she asked without grumbling, patience Joe. I rushed to the garage for my snow shovels. The drive and walks were clean by 4:55.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++The Door Bell Rings Again

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The snow-shovelers just rang the bell. They  finished. My God, what youthful energy they have. I would still be screwing around getting dressed and with starting the snow blower but they finished! I handed him twenty-six bucks. The two of them deserve it. Peg handed him a small bag of mini-Snickers bars left over from Halloween which I had secretly stashed.

Since it is still snowing, I’ll have another chance to show my aging-energy later this afternoon.

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We had a perfectly delightful evening with our friends eating and drinking and making merry. Harriet brought a lasagna to supplement my Paprikas, Mary brought shrimp appetizers, and Donna brought a scrumptious plate of cherry slices and a quart of ice cream, and Al brought enough wine to keep us happy the whole night long. The crowd left by nine o’clock. Peggy and I cleaned up and we were in bed by 11:00 p.m. by mid-night we were fast asleep.

Happy New Year everyone.

Two Items Become Six

This day has been great. Even though three times bad dreams and visits to the john interrupted my sleep. I punched in early at Santa’s factory and finished a series of baby steps on my latest project. I punched out by two p.m. and had lunch with Peggy. Afterwards I scoured the news sites and cleaned e-mails. The afternoon was late but still sunny, so I asked Peg to go for a ride.

We headed south and east making a huge square around the proposed third airport site in south-east Cook County. The farmers are just starting to harvest the corn and beans. We ended the tour by driving down Aberdeen Road in Frankfort. It is beautiful just as the sun falls below the tree line and casts deep long shadows across the emerald-green lawns. Oh how I miss living there. On our arrival home I immediately went to my mother’s old green covered Hungarian cook book, and found the recipe for Turos palacsinta (Crepe suzettes with cottage cheese). I scoured the frig and the pantry for ingredients and discovered I lacked two items. Off to the grocery store to buy two items. Six items later we left Mariano’s for the kitchen. My stomach told me I should not begin cooking a complicated thing like crepes at seven p.m. The last time I made them was in 2006, or in other words a long time ago. The recipe remained open next to me until I finished. Peg assisted by cleaning and cutting strawberries (item three in the basket) for the topping. We finally sat down to eat by eight o’clock. By the time we ate, and cleaned up the big hand stood straight up and the little hand pointed directly at the nine.

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Left over Crêpe Suzette

Occasionally I need an ethnic food fix, and the crepes were it today.

P. S. Items four, five and six were a raspberry coffee cake, a pound of thick sliced bacon, and a quart of pistachio mint ice cream. They all had Peg’s finger prints on them.

My Take On Non Essential Services

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Collard (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Well, the government shut down and it is my fault, since I am the nasty ass Tea Party Patriot that demanded his Congressman hold the line on spending. Come and get me Obama.

Since I am responsible for the shut down I should have some say in which non-essential services go.

1. Close the kitchen in the White House and send the cooks home.

2. Same for the housekeeping staff

3. No more gas or chauffeurs  for the Beast, helicopter, Air Force One, or the fleet of limos.

4. No Secret Service protection for the man or his family.

5. Close all dining and cafeteria services in the Senate building.

All of the people affected by these services continue to draw healthy pay checks and can afford to eat out, use cabs, and hire outside cleaning services.

The first lady can haul her butt out to the White House farm and harvest some okra and collard greens. She might even try to light the stove in the kitchen and cook with the girls.

The Senate can call Tony from Villa Rosa in Frankfort. Tony will be happy to arrive daily at the front door of the Senate building with his food truck and supply Harry Reid, Dick Durbin and the other ninety-eight shills who rejected all House proposals with some delicious South Chicago Heights Italian fare.

All affected will survive.

An Old Dog Who Knows Better Verifies It

Quite often I lecture Miss Peggy about the evils of placing plastic restaurant take home containers into the micro-wave to reheat a meal. She always listens and we place the food into a glass or ceramic container to heat. On this day, I got lazy and decided to test a particular takeout container; it appeared somewhat heavier than most we have received. Why not? I was being lazy and placed the food into the micro within the original take-home clamshell. I set the cook time for two minutes and felt nothing would happen in so short a time. WRONG! I looked at the container at one minute and forty-five seconds and jumped to shut the machine off. The sturdy plastic container was about to encapsulate my lunch. The issue here is that I know better. Having spent forty years molding various plastics and reading many Material Safety Data Sheets (MSDS) about the limits of plastics, I knew that styrene has an extremely low melt point. I knew that styrene is amorphous therefore it softens into the liquid state, as opposed to a crystalline material that has a sharp melt point like ice. Ice reaches the melt temp before it begins to melt. I knew that a low melt temp plastic like styrene also has a low combustion temperature just above the melt temperature. I knew that most plastics will outgas carcinogenic gasses, and or, breakdown into dangerous chemical components. Yet, I foolishly experimented anyway. What a doofus. When the product description warns you to use a micro-wave safe container to heat please heed the warning. So what is a micro-wave safe container? The safest is glass or ceramic. There are some plastics that can take the heat of the microwave, and they will be labeled as such. Please read all warnings and cautions that come with the container. DSCN4682 DSCN4681

Read the Fine Print

Today I did not get my way. There were three things on my agenda: Take a walk, write a chapter, and begin compiling tax records.

The day was sunny and bright, but a chilly forty-five degrees this morning. In my old age I am becoming a wimp. I figured I could delay the walk until it got a bit warmer. Then I noticed Peggy fixated on a credit card bill.  She does that at times when she is in a quandary about something. I cleaned junk mail from my phone and searched the internet for a recipe to use for the chicken breast that I defrosted yesterday. I have Food Network as a book mark so it didn’t take long to find a hundred recipes for Chicken Parmesan. I went to Gianna’s first, and decided it took too long to make and classed as expert. Then I searched for Emiril. He kicked up his recipe too much for me, so I looked for the words, easy, simple, and short. I found a recipe by the Food Network Kitchens that fit the bill for easy and short. The next thing was to see how many of the ingredients I had on hand. Rats. I needed seven items ranging from spices, herbs, cheeses, vinegar, bread crumbs, to crushed tomatoes.

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Peggy came to me with the document  she studied so hard.

“How can I cancel this credit card account?” I scoured the fine print and decided a letter was in order. She balked at that.

“Couldn’t we just go to Bank of America and cancel this thing out.”

“I don’t know, I never cancelled a credit card before.”

Her fixation now changed course and she prepped for the trip. In the meantime, I longed to prep for a walk.

“I’m ready, but I’m wearing a sweater it still too cold for me.”

That was the beginning of the end. We sat and waited forty-five minutes at BOA to see a personal banker who completed the cancellation in less than a minute.

The next stop was to get the things I needed for the Parmesan.

“Let’s go straight to the fresh produce section so I can get the fresh basil first.” I scoured a forty-foot long aisle of every conceivable kind of vegetable and greenery one could imagine but did not see basil.  Thank goodness there was a forty-ish something chubby guy stocking a shelf at the end. I asked him if they had fresh basil.

“Sure,” he walked me right to where it should have been, except there was none there.

“I’ll go see if there is any stocked in the back, wait here.”

We circled the banana pile for a few minutes while we waited. He came running back all out of breath.

“Sorry, but I had to chase the manager down, we expect to have some tomorrow.”

“I’m buying this for this evenings meal.” The manager arrived to save the day.

“We have some dehydrated basil that is as good as the fresh stuff.” He darted to the onion kiosk and reached under the pile of yellow onions to find a bottle of dehydrated basil. I’m sure he was the only one in that store that knew they had bottled herbs and just where they stocked them.

Peggy and I ran around the rest of the store searching out the remaining items on the list. We passed through the bakery department, and I noticed Peg missing. I turned to see her coming toward me carrying a Lemon Cream pie. “Can I have this,” she asked?

“Of course, it’ll go good with the chicken parmesan.”

Next, I passed the wine department. “I need a reward for doing all this cooking,” I told Peg.

“Yes you do.”

I selected the wine with care, making sure it fit my criterion of costing less than six dollars a bottle.

Finally, we made it to the checkout. There were long lines at each register, so I dove right for the “Limit fifteen items” and beat out a silver-haired lady who gave me an evil stare. We waited behind four others. Peg stared at the tabloids as we waited, and finally put one into our basket.

“Well, you got your wine,” she said. I must have given here a disapproving look without realizing it.

We arrived home at 3:30 p.m. It was time to begin preparing the chicken parmesan.

I never made parmesan before, so I kept reading and re-reading the recipe to make sure I was getting everything right. The pots, pans, serving dishes, and pantry all banged in noisy preparation, and an occasional “oh shit.”

“What oh shit.” Peg asked?

“Nothing, I just bumped the bowl with egg whites and slopped it all over the countertop.”

It all came together and I served at five-thirty. The last move was to uncork the wine bottle and pour some Cabernet into the bell-shaped wine glass. I so looked forward to that first taste of wine and the chicken.

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“Ugh! this wine is the worst stuff I’ve ever had. Look it even has bubbles around the rim of the glass. The Winking Owl is superior compared to this stuff. On a scale of zero to one hundred this stuff comes in at a two.”

While we were cleaning up, I took a good look at the label to memorize the winery so I never, ever buy this stuff again. The label clearly stated Cabernet Sauvignon, but under that in smaller print it says “Premium Dealcoholized Wine. Contains less than one half of one percent alcohol by volume.”

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“No wonder this tasted like crap,” I exclaimed to peg.

“Why,” she asked.

“This stuff is grape juice.”

With that, she began a hearty a hearty laugh that she could not stop.

The chicken parmesan turned out perfect.