Slow Cooked Wednesday's

I am sitting here watching the glowing fireplace feeling lucky: lucky for the rain, lucky for the slowness of life right now, lucky for creativity and love to fill up my days.

Today has been that sort of slow day, with a little homework, a (really) little housework, and a lot of cooking. I am a very seasonal cook and feel the strongest urge to cook when I can feed off of the seasons, so to speak. This morning I light all the scented candles, asked Eric to light the fire (though it sort of smoldered itself and gave us secondhand smoke, so we opted for a presto log that wasn't damp and defective), and began cooking. Lately -- with the exception of when we have people over -- I try to cook in a way that I don't waste ingredients, and today this ingredient was buttermilk. There are only 3 days left on my poor buttermilk's shelf life until it becomes as stomach curdling as some people thing it normally tastes. Plus, I love cooking with buttermilk, and having it on hand, rather than making the lemon juice or white vinegar in milk homemade buttermilk concoction that I normally do, was a luxury. So, I made delicious buttermilk biscuits, although I didn't have unsalted butter, so I used regular butter and omitted the salt the recipe called for. If I were to make them again with salted butter, I may not omit the recipe called for salt, but simply reduce it. Either way, they were the best biscuit's I've made yet (not the baking soda rock I once made). I also was impressed that I was able to successful make the whole recipe in my food processor. As a firm believed that dough should be hand-led only by hands, this experience may have proved me wrong, as the "pulse" button on my food processor seemed to do the trick. Guess I'd have to try mixing the cold butter in the floury mixture with my hands to really compare the difference. Oh, yes, and here's the long awaited recipe:

http://www.food.com/recipe/southern-buttermilk-biscuits-26110

Then I made a slow cooked chuck roast that would most likely be highly recommended by my husband who loves meat that "falls apart." This recipe was from my great aunt:

1 chuck roast (really it calls for beef brisket by the Alberton's butcher looked at me like I was crazed when I asked for one)
1 can whole cranberry
1 can beef broth
A generous dash of garlic powder
About 1/4 cup of red wine
1 packet of onion soup mix
Water if it looks like it needs more liquid

Slow cook on high for 4 1/2 - 5 hours (for about 0.9 lb of meat). Can be served over mashed potatoes, in a thick breaded sandwich roll, or with vegetables and a simple starch. I actually served it with:

Cauliflower Mashed Potatoes (recipe adapted from Food Network cite)

1 small-medium whole cauliflower cut into 2 inch pieces
1 or 2 slats of butter (basically a 1/4 in thick piece) -- this ingredient is optional, can be omitted to cut fat and calories
About 3 tablespoons sour cream (Food Network cite mention cream cheese instead, but I was out)
About a 1/4 cup Parmesan cheese (really to taste)
A generous dash of garlic powder or real garlic finely diced or even real garlic roasted and finally diced. I'd say about two cloves or so
A dash on onion powder
A sprinkle of pepper
Sea salt to taste
Parsley to decorate and sprinkle atop.

Cook cauliflower for 6-8 minutes or until done (cauliflower can simply be cooked in boiling water). Then mash with an electric mixer, adding all ingredients above.

[Yum!]

On a Rainy Monday

This morning I don't feel very well, not to mention I am infected with a strong case of "moving fever". Moving fever, largely defined as: "a condition that effects person (namely me) on any given day and is of or related to moving, reflecting the need for said person to live in a more seasonal climate, quaint town, prevalent greenery, and appeal to wander. Such condition is most prevalent in the Fall, the Christmas season, the height of Spring, and at any mention of the word "lake" in the summer months."

Now, you must know, I love our little house. I like that it's on a hill, I like that it overlooks a small canyon and city lights, I find comfort in our two trees, and though our fireplace is not to scale in relation to the size of the house (and a huge fire hazard), I like having a fireplace, too -- perhaps even love. If I had to live in any house in Southern California right now, it might just be this one. So why then is my wondering heart looking at realestate in Wheaton, IL. and daydreaming of a Chicago apartment with New England architecture and brass door knobs? Most likely after awhile those brass door knobs would not look as shinny -- if even shinny at all -- and the New England architecture would be as mundaine as a track home. But there's apart of me that doesn't believe that, that believes that moving would be infinitely luxureous and infinitely wise. My husband, on the other hand, always maintains firmer grips with reality. It takes him eons to decide something -- unlike my impulsive self (well, I'm not impulsive in small things or relationship things, just pet/traveling/moving/job-related decisions, I might add). Yet, when Eric decides these things it's as good as stone, he never requestions it, he owns it, has complete faith in it, and then feels the excitement. That usually happens right around the time I think "what have we done!" Then, of course, once the "storm" settles we both have confidence in it, and that, I know is how the decision and action of moving would be. So, here I am, lingering in my perpetual idealistic stage, that may very well never bear fruit, or be right. Although, at this particular moment, I'm convinced that nearly any sacrifice would be worth Fall leaves.

Welcome!

I am fully convinced that just as that pink and blue tweed Abercrombie jacket of mine when out of style six years ago (as did the whole concept of Abercrombie for me), blogs, too, loose their glamor. You may wonder where I have been in the blogosphere all these many months (or you may not wonder), but I will tell you that I have been here -- religously, almost -- checking my favorite blogs, staring at my static blog, until finally I came across the conclusion that blogs run their course, and that my lapse in bloging was not due to apathy or laziness, just simply, it was time for new. So, with that said, now being a married woman and all, here is my new blog (that will most likely go out of style once I enter a hugely different phase of life), but for now, enjoy the lives of Eric and I (though mostly I), and the occassional mentioning of the dog, Penny, in "The Same Bird Echoed Through Both of Us"; title inspired by a favorite poem of mine.