Vicki Lane's Blog

                                                

After eating Thanksgiving leftovers on Friday, we were ready for some simpler fare.  The turkey frame had been simmered for hours, resulting in a beautifully rich and complex broth--to which I added potatoes, cannellini beans, celery, and onions. When this had cooked half a day, I made some cornbread--per John's special request.
For the first time in many, many years, I had departed from my usual standby of Pepperidge Farm dressing for the feast. I'd been seduced by a recipe for cornbread dressing that included eggs and heavy cream. I'd never heard of such a thing, but, throwing caution to the winds, I tried it. 
And it involved, of course, making some cornbread on Wednesday. I used the White Lily Buttermilk Cornbread mix and the result was more crispy and delicious that any I'd made before. (I suspect that it was because I mistakenly used more canola oil to grease the skillet than was actually called for. Quite a lot more.) And when John and I tasted it, we knew we'd have to have more soon.
Be that as it may, the dressing, which used crumbled cornbread, torn bits of baguette, celery and onion, eggs, sage, melted butter, broth, and the afore-mentioned heavy cream was sensational! It was like a savory bread pudding and good with or without gravy. And the crusty bits of cornbread retained their integrity. 
So last night I made cornbread again, repeating my mistake of too much oil. 
And it was good.



 

 

This morning when John started to move the still quite heavy turkey from its overnight repose in our frigid mudroom, his back seized up and he set the roasting pan and its contents on the kitchen table and reached for the ibuprophen.
"I'll put it in the oven away from the dogs in a minute, " he said.
I thought about moving it myself but knew that would sorely aggravate my back. Both of us down in the back--quel bummer!
Then, when he reached for the roasting pan, inspiration! I got one handle and he took the other and the remains of the feast was effortlessly transported to the oven to await further dissection.
Such a simple thing but to me it was a moment almost of revelation--this is what partnership or marriage is about. 
Together strong.


 

                                          Happy Thanksgiving!

All this cooking has me "down in the back"--around unspecified back pain that feels like a muscle spasm and, if the heating pad and rest don't work, is best dealt with by what I call the Big Pill--a generic Percoset. 
I try to avoid the Big Pill but holidays and the attendant kitchen time make it inevitable.
Better living through chemistry!
 

I love doing our Solstice/Christmas cards. One might think it would be boring, repeating the same scene almost fifty times. I don't find it so. 
It's a challenge and a learning experience to discover the best looking and most efficient process. And there's almost always something new to tweak on each card.
So between prepping dishes for Thanksgiving (cranberry gelatin mold made yesterday, along with pomegranate glaze for turkey) and normal chores, I'm snatching moments to work on the cards.
Tomorrow: pumpkin chiffon pies (they'll go in the freezer) and a brown butter/shallot/ pomegranate infused gravy/sauce to be reheated come the big day. 
And a few more cards!




 

 

                                              

Once again, your party displays a stunning disregard for the American middle class (what's left of it) as your president and the Secretary of Wrestling Education move to take away 'professional degree' status from nurses, teachers, PAs, social workers, and others--a re-designation that will deprive them of federal aid in seeking graduate degrees.
The administration's disdain for higher education is obvious and well documented--and, indeed, without the uneducated, where would the GOP be today?
 I urge you to oppose this callous move which will harm many of your constituents-- front line workers who deserve your support.

                                        8:30 am

And around 2:30. . . waiting in line to pick up the Josie. A weird day . . .