Friday Food: Yes, My Sons Eat Beaver Tails

First, let me just say how much I enjoyed all the comments on the last post. Who knew so many people have been reading for so long? Fun. And now, food.

If you want to skip straight to the beaver tail, that was on Monday. If you want the whole looong explanation of the week's food, please do continue.

Friday

Short version: Tuna noodle casserole, peas, vegetable soup

Long version: I actually managed to get Poppy down in her crib to sleep in the afternoon, so I got all ambitious and started making tuna noodle casserole. And then she woke up ten minutes later, which meant I had to finish it with her kicking on a blanket in the kitchen and Jack "entertaining" her.

Tuna noodle casserole was a staple of my childhood. I know I used to make it for my family sometimes (I know because of the infamous incident when I made it and forgot to put in the tuna--whoops), but I don't really remember how I made it then. Except it involved cream of celery soup from a can, which is not something I have ever purchased as an adult.

Speaking of my family, my sister took this photo when she was visiting a couple of months ago:

My first thought was, "That's kind of a big family." You'd think I'd be used to it by now, but it still looks like a lot of people when we're all in one photo.

Back to the present-day tuna noodle casserole . . .

How I made it now was to cook diced onion and celery in butter, add some flour, then milk until thick, then a whole bunch of cheddar cheese and some mayonnaise. I mixed this sauce with the cooked (gluten-free corn) pasta (edited to add: and the tuna!--see the comments) and then added more cheese. Then some more.

You always need more cheese than you think you will.

I would have covered the top with breadcrumbs mixed with melted butter, but I didn't have enough bread crumbs and was too lazy to haul out the food processor to make more. So I just covered the top in more cheese. Seemed reasonable. Baked at 350 until done.

Frozen peas.

Vegetable soup using some leftover beef juice from cooking the roast last week, and a bunch of vegetables. Man, I love vegetable soup. You may have figured that out by now.

Saturday

Short version: Leftovers

Long version: We were away from home all afternoon and the kids ate various treats while we were out, so they weren't hungry for dinner when we got home at 5 p.m. Luckily, there were lots of leftovers. I cut up a cucumber with vinegar and salt for everyone to eat while I put away groceries. A. and I ate chili, and the boys ate tuna noodle casserole later. It's always a weird day when I don't cook.

Sunday

Long version: Pizza, crudites

Short version: I see with some frequency online something like the following, "Friday is always pizza night at our house! It's so easy and the kids love it!" I always think, "How exhausting."

But then, most people don't make pizza like I make pizza. It's a significant process. Sure is incredible pizza, though.

I cut it with kitchen shears. This kind of pizza has a really thick crust, so the shears work best.

We had the bell peppers and carrots again because Charlie and Jack kept trying to steal the peppers when I was cutting them for the pizza, so I gave them some of their own while I was cooking and then they requested carrots too. Okay, twist my arm, guys.

Monday

Short version: Beef and broccoli, rice, and . . . beaver tail

Long version: Thinly sliced top round London broil stir-fried with broccoli with a sauce blahblahblah, let's just get to the beaver tail, shall we?

Yes. It was the actual tail of an actual beaver. It's not even the first time we've cooked one. And by "we," I of course mean "A." Because this is the sort of thing that happens when he gets in the kitchen. (Tails and testicles. Sounds like a best-selling cookbook to me.)

We first came across the idea of eating a beaver tail in the book Meat Eater by Steven Rinella. He cooked his beaver tail directly over a campfire, held aloft on a stick. I mentioned this to Cubby, who of course was immediately captivated by the idea and made A. promise that if he ever had a beaver tail in his possession, they would cook it and eat it.

Cut to some time later when A. had a beaver tail and cooked it in the barrel stove in the barn, in much the same manner as Steven Rinella and his campfire. He portioned it out among the boys and they all devoured it. They were disappointed there wasn't more of it. I tried a small piece. It mostly tasted like smoke (beaver tails have a ton of fat, so they cause lots of flare-ups and thus, a lot of smoke) with the texture of fish. Eh. Not good. Not bad.

Anyway, A. had another tail on Monday, so he cooked it the same way for the boys. Again, they eagerly ate it and complained there wasn't enough of it. So that was their appetizer for the perfectly average dinner I had planned.

This is what life with A. is like.

Tuesday

Short version: Pork roast, potatoes, carrots, sauteed mushrooms and shallots, green salad, baked apples

Long version: You may have noticed that when I have the oven on, I cook as many things as possible in it. So the pork roast (not sure of the exact cut, but it was an enormous bone-in one) was in most of the day at 300 degrees. I made the apples in the morning. After they were done, I put them away and later used the same casserole dish to cook some carrot spears. The potatoes I peeled and tucked into the liquid around the roast to cook for the last 45 minutes or so.

I sauteed the mushrooms and shallots in the bacon grease left in a pan from frying eggs in the morning.

After the roast was tender enough to pull the meat off the bone, I poured off the liquid, mixed the pulled-apart pork with whole-grain mustard, apple cider vinegar, and a little maple syrup, then put it back in the oven under the broiler to get a little crispy.

It was really good, although we did spend the entire meal watching Charlie meticulously pick all the whole mustard seeds off of his meat. It really added to the dining experience.

Wednesday

Short version: Leftover pizza, pork, and carrots (but not all together), and baked beans

Long version: I love baked beans. When I was single, I always had a can of Bush's baked beans on hand. I can't eat them anymore because my taste buds have changed and I find them far too sweet and syrupy now.

A. was raised with proper Boston baked beans, cooked by the MiL in a traditional baked bean pot. She even gave me her extra pot and the recipe so I could make real baked beans. I used to, but there are two problems with traditional baked beans: One is that they take forever in the oven, so you really need to plan ahead. And the other is that it makes a lot of baked beans, and then you have to eat baked beans for days.

So, while I do love real baked beans cooked in the traditional pot, what I actually eat these days is a brand of canned baked beans called Grandma Brown's. They're made in a village named, amusingly, Mexico, NY. We pass the factory on our way to and from Blackrock. It's nice that it's a relatively local product, but what I really like about them is the minimal ingredients list: water, navy beans, brown sugar, bacon, salt, and baking soda. Nothing weird, not too much sugar, and delicious. Thank you, Grandma Brown.

Thursday

Short version: Leftover pork, leftover potatoes, green salad

Long version: I sent the boys out at 3:30 p.m. for their mandatory outside time and they reappeared at the door at 4:45 p.m. absolutely plastered in mud. Like this, except there were three of them, and more clothes. So by the time I got them all in and out of showers and baths and their clothing somewhat dealt with, it was past the time I should have started dinner. Good thing I had planned on leftovers.

There was quite a bit of pork left from Tuesday. I cut it into chunks, which I fried in lard with salt, pepper, garlic powder, and paprika. I did the same to the leftover potatoes from Tuesday. The reason I used the paprika was because Jack and I had experimented with dyeing eggs using various things we found in the kitchen, including paprika.* I had used about two tablespoons of paprika in a small jar of water. The paprika had mostly settled to the bottom, so I poured off the water on top and used the paprika sludge to cook with.

Paprika sludge is the next big thing in food. You heard it here first.

Anyway, it made Charlie happy, as three-quarters of his plate was covered in pafreaka. He didn't even notice that his salad dressing had whole mustard seeds in it. Ha ha.

Okay, your turn! What'd you eat this week?

* We also tried tea bags, coffee grounds, and onion skins. All these things resulted in various shades of light brown. Not exactly the colorful rainbow we were going for, but eh. They're not white anymore, right? And I didn't have to drive fifteen miles to buy an egg-dyeing kit or deal with that annoying wire egg holder thingie. Maybe next year I'll plan ahead better and get some beets and turmeric to make some actual colors.

The Decade Mark

Oh, hey. Just checking in today to let you know that I started writing this blog ten years ago today.

Ten years. 

That's crazy.

I suppose I should have something profound to say right now, but frankly, I'm too tired. So let me just say this:

Thank you to all of you who read this, and especially all of you who comment. To be truthful, that's often the only non-family interaction I get most days.

Should I not admit that? Maybe.

Anyway.

Happy ten years to Going Country. Let's carry on, shall we?

The Tooth Fairy Gets Tricky

I have an unfortunately ambivalent attitude towards the standard childhood magic characters. By which I mean Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy. I just can't go all in and weave elaborate stories and stage elaborate scenarios involving these characters. Neither do I flat-out deny their existence.

Mostly, I evade any direct questions. So far, Cubby and Charlie seem to take their classmates' word that these things are real. So they get stockings from Santa at Christmas (but not presents, because I want some credit for getting them the fun stuff, thank you) and Easter baskets hidden by the Easter Bunny.

And then there's the Tooth Fairy.

Cubby has been losing quite a few teeth lately, and A. as the Tooth Fairy has been leaving him a quarter for a tooth. Unfortunately, Cubby's classmates have also been losing a lot of teeth lately, and at least one parent has screwed the rest of us by handing out a dollar per tooth. A dollar! For a bloody tooth! That is not going to happen.

Of course, Cubby complained. I told him that I'm pretty sure the Tooth Fairy stops coming if you complain. Then he asked me if I was leaving him the quarters. Luckily, I could truthfully say that I had put no quarters in his room. Then he asked A. and I distracted him by asking him if he wanted to help me finish dinner.

Distracted, but not forgotten. I just found a note on his bedside table that read:

Dear Tooth Fairy,

Please do not take my tooth. And please leave me $1. And if you are Mommy or Daddy, please sign here ___________.*

He hasn't lost another tooth yet, so I'm not sure how A. is going to handle this. I guess he just won't sign. I certainly won't.

* I took the liberty of correcting the spelling here for you.

Fourth Time Around

Yesterday as I was preparing to kick the boys out for their mandatory outdoor time, I thought, "Hey, it's 42 degrees outside and not too windy. I can take Poppy out if I can find something to put over her clothes to keep her warm."

Could I find such thing? Oh yes, indeedy. Brace yourselves for the return of . . .

The Cubby Suit: Take Four

Yes, Poppy is the latest baby to be dressed as an adorable if somewhat ridiculous bear. The MiL bought that suit for Cubby before he was even born. 

He wore it. 

Charlie wore it. 

Jack wore it. 

And now Poppy can wear it.

When Cubby saw her, he grinned and said, "Hey, the bears are waking up for spring."

They sure are, my clever child. And so are we.

Friday Food: Rewind a Bit

It has occurred to me that there is no point in just speculating about what I'm going to be making for dinner on Friday before I make it. You need the hard-hitting facts, not idle speculation, right? Right.  So from now on, I'll just tell you what I made the previous Friday. That way, these posts can be even longer. Whee!

Friday

Short version: Eggs in tomato sauce, black beans, roasted bell peppers and onions, cornbread

Long version: I made the tomato sauce with diced onion, mashed-up canned tomatoes, roasted garlic, cumin, and chili powder, spread in the bottom of a Pyrex dish. Over that I cracked many eggs and put it in the oven with the other stuff that was cooking. When the eggs were cooked (hard, because I don't do runny yolks), I sprinkled on some grated cheddar and let it melt on top.

The oven was on to roast the bell peppers and onions. When I say "bell peppers," I never mean green ones, because those are gross. I almost always buy red, but anything other than green is okay.

The oven was also on to make cornbread. I very rarely make cornbread because the recipe I use for all-cornmeal cornbread is from Cook's Illustrated, and is thus a pain in the ass. It does reliably turn out good cornbread, though, as my cornbread-guzzling children will tell you. They like theirs with butter and honey. I prefer maple syrup.

The black beans were canned, but rinsed. I added cumin, garlic powder, and vinegar to them, because that is always what I do to black beans.

Saturday

Short version: Pork, baked potatoes, carrot sticks with ranch dressing

Long version: A. bought country-style pork ribs. I like those the best cooked on the grill, but the grill is currently doubling as a snow sculpture at the moment.

Dramatic, but not very functional.

I covered them in lots of paprika, garlic powder, salt, and pepper, and cooked them in a 400-degree oven until they were done.

The potatoes were enormous Idaho potatoes that A. had also bought. I don't know about you, but I find baked potatoes to take far too long in the oven unless I use this genius trick from my hero Jacques Pepin: Microwave the potatoes for a couple of minutes and then finish them in the oven. Potatoes cooked entirely in the microwave have a weird gummy texture, but if they're just partially cooked in the microwave before finishing in the oven, you can't even tell they were microwaved. And those giant potatoes were only in the oven for 30 minutes.

I have Strong Opinions about baby carrots, and so you will never see them in my house. You will, however, frequently see carrot sticks, especially when I already have ranch dressing made.

Sunday

Short version: Beef, rice, steamed carrots and broccoli

Long version: I had one big bone-in chuck roast left, so I covered it in salt, pepper, and garlic powder, and put it in a foil-covered pan in the oven at 300 degrees. It stayed there longer than I had planned, as I was pinned in my chair by a sick, snotty baby who finally fell asleep and I was afraid to get up lest she wake up. So the roast cooked for about four hours. It was fine, though. I pulled some of it into pieces and fried them in a pan with olive oil and four mashed cloves of roasted garlic for me and A. Yum. The kids didn't have the extra garlic on theirs.

Rice is rice. Basmati, because that's all we ever have.

When I cook broccoli, I almost always cook carrots, too. That's because I recently had the inspiration to cook them both at the same time in one pot. See, if you put the carrot pieces on the bottom and mostly cover them with water, then put the broccoli pieces on top of the carrots, the carrots boil in the water while the broccoli steams, and they cook for the same amount of time. This is handy, because Charlie loathes cooked carrots, but likes broccoli; and Jack doesn't care about broccoli, but likes cooked carrots. And I like to have both on hand for my salads.

Monday

Short version: Tacos, black beans, Mexican slaw, leftover broccoli and carrots

Long version: I used the beef left from the big roast on Sunday to make soft tacos for the kids. I fried it in tallow until it was crispy, then added it to corn tortillas microwaved with cheese on them, plus black beans left over from Friday, and sour cream. We always eat corn tortillas, because Charlie and A. don't do well with (unfermented) wheat flour products. Only certain brands of corn tortillas work for soft tacos, though. Namely, La Banderita. Other brands aren't soft enough and just fall apart if you try to roll them up.

Mexican slaw is something I made up, though I'm sure it's an established thing if I cared to look. It's thinly sliced cabbage, finely diced onion, garlic, vinegar, cumin, and salt. The earlier before eating it's mixed together, the better it tastes. I prefer this to lettuce with taco meat. It adds more flavor, especially when I don't have salsa, which I didn't this time.

Tuesday

Short version: Italian sausage, bell peppers and shallots, potato cubes, green salad, baked apples

Long version: Everything was thrown in the oven to roast at the same time. Well, except the salad. That'd be gross.

We had fancy-pants shallots this time instead of our standard plebian yellow onions because the paper bag in the laundry room that I thought contained heads of garlic instead had all the shallots A. grew in the garden last summer. Based on the tears they caused when I was peeling them even after they'd been in storage for months, they were some potent alliums. Sniff.

I used lard for the fat on the potato cubes this time. This makes me feel very thrifty and virtuous, because it was lard I rendered from the enormous hunk of pork shoulder A. bought some time ago and that I trimmed of quite a lot of fat*. Rendering the fat makes me feel less like I'm just throwing money in the garbage, and it's way better than that nasty hydrogenated Mexican lard sold in the blue boxes at the grocery store. Not as good as lard rendered from one of the family pigs, but still pretty good. It made some damn fine roasted potatoes, anyway.

Have I mentioned that I find winter salad to be a sad and pale imitation of a real salad? Yes, yes I have. I can't wait for garden arugula to redeem this anemic grocery store lettuce. This time I made a vinaigrette dressing (olive oil, balsamic vinegar, whole grain mustard, salt and pepper shaken in a Mason jar) instead of ranch. Those are the only two dressings I ever make, because I am boring and lazy. And because I like them.

Wednesday

Short version: Steak trio, Texas toast, peas

Long version: The last three steaks left from the small cow were a normal-sized sirloin, a small ribeye, and a minuscule eye of round. I cooked them all on my grill pan.

Texas toast is just grilled garlic bread made from very thickly sliced loaf bread. A batch of bread had come out of the oven only a couple of hours before dinner, so I was going to just give the kids bread and butter. But the steaks reminded me of when I went to Sizzler as a kid (remember Sizzler? Yes? You must be a child of the 80s, too) and the greasy toast that accompanied the steaks there. So I filled the remaining space on the grill pan with a couple of pieces of bread spread with garlic butter. I helped myself to a bite of one before plating them for the boys, and I'm pretty sure this version is better than the Sizzler version. The steak certainly was.

After my adventure in the snow, I didn't feel up to making anything more challenging for a vegetable than frozen peas. Also, I started to feel the household cold coming on. I accept frozen peas as my vegetable savior on such days and refuse to feel bad about it.

Thursday

Short version: Chili, rice, carrot sticks and bell pepper strips

Long version: This time the chili was beef stew meat, though it's just as likely to be venison or lamb in our house. I used two pounds of beef, two chopped onions, a few cloves of crushed garlic, one big can of whole tomatoes crushed with my spoon, half a can of water, a little vinegar, and lots of chili powder and cumin.

A word about browning. Well, many words. People get very intense about the browning of meat and getting every piece seared all over for the fond and the brown bits and the flavor, etc., etc. If I were to brown two pounds of beef stew meat in that manner, I would have to do it in about five batches, which would mean it would take me about an hour.

You know what was happening while I was browning beef? Poppy was on a blanket on the floor, being "entertained" by Jack, so I was dividing my attention between browning the beef and going over to check on her and reminding Jack not to poke her in the face with a pencil or run laps around her until he got dizzy and fell on her.

This is why I only spent ten minutes browning meat. And you know what? It doesn't matter a damn bit. I read in one of the Cook's Illustrated magazines once that you really only need to fully brown about half the meat in a recipe for full flavor. Sounds good to me.

I served the chili over rice for the kids, with cheese, sour cream, finely diced shallot, and black beans as add-ins in whatever combination everyone wanted.

The carrot sticks and bell pepper strips were crudites. Which is the fancy way of saying that I put a plate of them out in the living room before dinner and the kids ate a whole bell pepper and three carrots this way, because they were hungry and that's all there was.

I'm smarter than I look.

Okay, your turn! What'd you eat this week?

* Should you wish to render fat trimmed from a roast--either pork or beef--just cut it into small pieces and put in a pan with a couple of tablespoons of water. The water keeps it from sticking to the pan and scorching before it starts rendering. Keep it at a very low heat for awhile, uncovered and stirring occasionally, until almost all the fat has rendered out. Maybe 45 minutes for a small quantity. Strain it through a fine mesh strainer and keep it in the refrigerator.

They Never Listen

I took the boys to the dirt road yesterday for some mandatory outside time*. They had so much fun climbing the giant snow banks, sliding on the ice, and throwing chunks of snow at the stop sign that they begged to go again.

So I took them after school today.

This time Cubby made up a game called "Survive in the Wilderness," which involved running around on top of the snow banks, pulling down wild grapevines, and plotting how to build a treehouse like the one in The Swiss Family Robinson.

I was fine with the snow bank climbing, but I told them not to go into the snow in the woods on the other side of the banks. It's too deep, I said. You'll sink in and get stuck, I said. And then I'll sink in when I have to go over the bank to get you out, I said.

I bet you can guess where this is going.

Sure enough, Cubby went over the bank and sank down in the snow, getting his foot jammed under a tree branch so he couldn't lift it out. He yelled for Charlie to bring him a stick, which Charlie obligingly did and promptly got stuck himself.

So then I had to wallow my way through snow up to my waist, shore myself up on a bush so I didn't sink in all the way, dig their feet out, haul them up, and boost them up the bank and back onto the road. And then I had to wallow back, getting stuck myself and having to dig myself out.

When I got back on the road, I announced the walk was over and it was time to go home.

Some day they'll learn I do know what I'm talking about and they should listen to me, right?

Yeah, sure. Fat chance.

* The rule I have lately been enforcing is they have to go outside every day for the same length of time as the cartoon they watch (currently Tailspin) right before bed if they want to watch it. That way, I know they'll get at least 23 minutes outside--which means I get 23 minutes when they are not inside with me--and it often turns into much longer. Clever, yes?

Some Pig

I spent my afternoon sitting in a chair with a snotty, snoring baby on my lap, because that is where she finally fell asleep and I was afraid she would wake up if I got up. I sat there for three and a half hours, getting up only once for about two minutes to let the dog in, take the meat out of the oven, and pee.

I could do this--and Poppy could sleep peacefully in my lap in the living room--because A. took the boys to the circus. It's a small traveling circus that does a performance every year in the school gymnasium. It's apparently a pretty good circus. Last year, Cubby and Charlie went with A. and came home with a picture of the two of them with a python draped around their shoulders.

Better them than me.

This year the python wasn't in attendance, but Roscoe the pig was. In a fun coincidence, today was Roscoe's birthday. He turned five.

He's big for his age.

Jack loved the pig and ran right up to it. Charlie was not such a fan. A. mentioned that Roscoe seems to relish his life as a circus performer, perhaps because of all the spilled popcorn he gets to eat.

I would have liked to have seen the circus, but I probably would have had a similar reaction to Charlie's when faced with a large pig on a pedestal, so I suppose it's for the best that I stayed home.