Friday Family Drama and Saturday Family Fun

"Hold up," you say. "Saturday Family Fun? What is this 'Saturday' nonsense? And what Friday drama? WHAT KIND OF CRAZINESS IS GOING ON OVER THERE?"

Oh, you didn't say that? I'll explain, anyway.

Charlie and Cubby had school this Friday so they would have the day to prepare for . . .

All the world's a stage, you know. 

That was the school play. And incidentally, that group on the stage there? That is the entire school. Well, except the preschoolers, which is why Jack wasn't in it. But that small group in the photo is all the students from kindergarten to 12th grade.

I still have trouble wrapping my head around that one.

Anyway.

The reason they have a school play at such a tiny school is because of a program through the Missoula Children's Theater that sends two guys around in a pick-up truck crammed with all the costumes and "set" (essentially some decorated sheets and boxes, plus sound equipment) to spend a week at small schools like this one rehearsing and staging a play.

They travel to a new school every week and do this. In all fifty states. How exhausting. But great for the kids, because there is no way there would be any kind of drama program in a school this small otherwise.

The play was something entitled "The Snow Queen," and I couldn't follow the plot at all. That may have been because I spent most of the play chasing around a crawling baby and bored three-year-old. I did know that Cubby was a robber and Charlie was a snow chicken.

Yes, a snow chicken. Like I said, it didn't make a lot of sense.

It was fun anyway, though, and Cubby and Charlie both did very well with their songs and so forth.

So that's why there wasn't a Friday Family Fun adventure.

But we couldn't let a whole weekend go by without some kind of Family Fun, could we? Of course not!

Saturday Family Fun it is; canyon, here we come.

We went to the one closest to our house this time. It happens to be the canyon in which Rafael's ranch is located, and is thus the mythical source of the mysterious calabacitas*.

Rafael had shown A. a swimming hole at the bottom of this canyon, so we told the kids to wear shorts and sandals. We really should have known better.

This isn't a state park or something. There isn't even a real trail to get to the swimming hole. There is, instead, a slightly-more-clear path through the cacti to get to the swimming pool. Luckily, no one fell in a prickly pear. Unluckily, the swimming hole really was a hole and far too deep for the children to safely swim in.

Thus, Cubby tried fishing in it:

Because this boy has never seen a body of water he doesn't want to throw a hook into.

The other three played in some sand nearby:

In the shade, even.

And why was that particular spot so fortuitously shaded? Because I used my very body (and an unneeded-for-swimming towel) to shade them:

I call this "A Portrait of Motherhood."

We were only down there for about fifteen minutes before Poppy insisted on trying to crawl around into the pricker bushes and rocks, so we hiked back up.

Can you see the path? No? That's because there isn't one.

Where the brave van was, as always, waiting for us:

Another good one for my (non-existent) Adventure Van Instagram page.

We drove all the way through the canyon to where it met back up with the paved road and came back home. It was a relatively short adventure this time, but it got everyone out of the house for a couple of hours. 

I'm sure we'll make up for the brevity of this trip with some sort of epic all-day Drive of Dread next Friday, but for a Saturday adventure on a short weekend (as a two-day weekend now seems to us spoiled three-day-weekend people), this was just right.

* I think I've identified them for real, but this post is already too long, so you'll have to wait for the big reveal. Hold on to the edges of those seats now.

Friday Food: Fun Cheese Ahead

Friday

Short version: Non-traditional Cheesy Deezy, steamed broccoli

Long version: Cheesy Deezy (no idea how that's spelled, but who cares) was a staple of A.'s childhood. The MiL made it with three ingredients. I didn't use any of them.

She used a box of macaroni. I used a bag of gluten-free corn penne.

She used mozzarella. I used asadero and menonita cheese. Menonita is named after the Mennonites in northern Mexico who apparently make a cheddar-style cheese. Menonita is supposed to be like cheddar. This wasn't. More like saltier, slightly aged mozzarella. Good, but not cheddar.

She used a jar of marinara sauce. I made a tomato sauce with garlic, thinly sliced collard greens and beet greens from our garden, a drained can of whole tomatoes mashed with my potato masher, dried oregano and basil, and some chicken stock.

I did follow the procedure for assembly, though. That is, mix the cooked pasta (slightly undercooked, because corn pasta is no good at all when it gets overcooked, and I knew it would cook further in the oven) with the sauce and a hell of a lot of grated cheese, then top with more grated cheese. I mixed in the asadero and topped it with the menonita. Then I baked it at 400 degrees for about 15 minutes, and finally, I put it under the broiler for just a minute to brown the cheese on top.

It was good. Though I may have to give it a new name that reflects its new ingredients. How about Queso Doble? That means "Double Cheese" in Spanish. Or maybe Queso Divertido ("Fun Cheese").

Or maybe I should forget about being clever and just call it pasta. Probably that.

Hey, guess what? We have a new baby distraction cabinet in this house.

The contents don't make such a satisfying clattering sound as in the one at Blackrock, but they do make a satisfying mess for Mom to trip over while she's cooking. 

Saturday

Short version: Bunless cheeseburgers, bread and butter, sauteed mushrooms and onions, green salad, burned sweet potatoes

Long version: The sweet potatoes burned because they were in the oven with the baking bread in the afternoon when A. called to get directions to a Harbor Freight tool store in Springfield, Missouri. By the time I looked it up online and managed to figure out that the Kansas Expressway is also Missouri State Route 13, the sweet potatoes were burned.

It took awhile. Maps are not my forte.

I ate them anyway. The sweet potatoes, I mean. Not the maps.

Sunday

Short version: Antelope, mashed potatoes, tomatoes with mayonnaise

Long version: The antelope wasn't as good this time because I was lazy. I did not brown it in separate batches, so it kind of bubbled and steamed in the liquid released, rather than really browning. I didn't finely dice any onion, instead just shaking on some garlic powder. I forgot to add chicken stock.

Not my finest cooking moment. Oh well. We ate it. And A. was home! HOORAY! Too bad I didn't welcome him home with a more spectacular meal, but after a week of shingles + solo parenting (or rather, thanks to my parents' well-timed visit, five days), it felt like victory that all the children were still alive and dressed in clean clothing.

Low standards. I am all about them.

But at least the tomatoes were good, because A. drove them all the way across the country from Blackrock. Thanks, MiL.

A Tomato Bowl on the counter makes this crazy tomato lady happy.

Monday

Short version: Sausage Surprise, cucumbers

Long version:

Cubby: What's for dinner?

Me: Uh. Something . . . I am . . . making.

Cubby: What're you making?

Me: Um. A sausage skillet?

Cubby, while I was dishing up dinner: I think we should call this Sausage Surprise.

Cubby, eating his second helping: Can you make Sausage Surprise again?

Sure! And to help me remember what the hell I did, here is Cubby's Sausage Surprise: browned spicy "sage sausage" and ground beef, diced onion, garlic, tomato juice and tomato chunks trimmed from the tomatoes that were starting to rot on the counter, rice cooked in chicken stock, green peas, basil, oregano, vinegar, and grated menonita cheese.

Feel free to use that detailed recipe to create your own Sausage Surprise at home. It really will be a surprise. Perhaps a photo of the completed dish would be helpful?

Surprise! It's dog food.

Tuesday

Short version: Chicken, roasted sweet potatoes, roasted bell pepper and onion, choice of leftover rice or mashed potatoes, tomato/cucumber/menonita cheese salad

Long version: I marinated the chicken--drumsticks and thighs--in yogurt, lemon juice, and garlic, and then roasted it with the vegetables, finishing it under the broiler to get crispy. The rest of it is pretty self-explanatory.

Wednesday

Short version: Antelope tacos, pickled carrots, cucumbers

Long version: I didn't have quite enough antelope meat left over to make a full meal. It needed more cooking to tenderize it anyway, as well as more seasoning, so I decided to make it into taco meat. I made a sauce with onion, garlic, tomato, chicken stock, cumin, and chili powder, then simmered the diced antelope meat in that until it was tender. The boys ate theirs on corn tortillas with cheese, carrots, and lettuce.

A. ate the rest of the leftover Sausage Surprise with some of the antelope meat on top.

I made the pickled carrot strips in the morning out of, well, carrot strips (made with a vegetable peeler) submerged in vinegar, salt, and a bit of sugar. They were really good. I like topping tacos with something crunchy and vinegary. It's a good complement. Usually I make Mexican coleslaw with cabbage, but no one else likes it as much as I do. Everyone liked the carrots.

Thursday

Short version: Roast beef, baked potatoes, roasted calabacitas/carrots/onion, creamy cucumber salad

Long version: I made the roast beef exactly the same way as last time, because it was good that way. It was good again.

The calabacita I cut up for roasting was big enough that A. and I were wondering when they start being called calabazas.

Every time I make cucumber salad with onion, sour cream, vinegar, salt, and sugar, I wonder why I bother eating cucumbers any other way. So good.

Of course, the combination of the cucumber salad and the baked potatoes meant rather a lot of sour cream on the plates. No one complained.

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

My Gift To You

I would like to leave you with a smile to carry with you as you continue with your day. To that end, I present to you . . .

The most adorable baby in all the land.

That's all. Have a nice day.

My Idea of Fun

A couple of weeks ago while I was pushing Poppy in her stroller aimlessly around the village, I went down a side street I hadn't been down before and saw a property that had two trees absolutely loaded with apples.

I didn't know who lived there, but based on the age of the pick-up truck in front and the neatness of the property, I was guessing someone elderly. Also based on the fact that the majority of the village residents are elderly, but whatever. I felt very sleuthy.

Anyway.

About a week after that, A. was pushing Poppy aimlessly around in her stroller, with Jack trailing along as well, when Nick the Peach-Giver pulled up in his truck and informed A. that there was a man who had lots of apples and wanted anyone who wanted some to come pick them.

Same property I had seen. It is indeed an older man, who, although not elderly, has multiple sclerosis and therefore can't pick the apples himself.

A. returned with the bottom basket of the stroller overflowing with apples. And there was much rejoicing in our house.

My children absolutely adore apples, you see. But not mealy, tasteless grocery store apples. Their apple palate has been formed in the apple haven of New York State. They know good apples. And they know the ones from the store are not good. So when ten pounds of good apples showed up, they were thrilled.

I was, too. I was all set to make applesauce, because that is what I do when presented with a bunch of apples. I had a suspicion, though, based on the texture of these apples, that they might be more like baking apples instead of saucing apples. Saucing apples break down readily into mush when cooked. Baking apples hold their shape.

When I cooked an experimental small pot of the apples, not only did they hold their shape, they didn't break down at all. I managed to force them through the food mill after much effort, but the resulting sauce was quite mealy and dry.

So now what? Still have a bunch of apples (with more to come*); still needed a way to preserve them.

Then I remembered Rafael telling me about his mother drying apricots. I decided when in New Mexico, one should do as the New Mexicans. So I prepared an experimental sheet pan of apple rings and put them out in the sun (covered in cheesecloth to keep off flies).

The jar in the background of that photo has apple peelings and cores with water to make apple cider vinegar. I did this a few times in northern New York with varying levels of success, but it's not as if it's hard to do or costs anything.

Anyway.

Result? Perfect. This is the perfect climate for sun-drying. Not only is the sun very strong, there's quite a bit of wind, too. Those apple rings were all the way dry after about twelve hours in the sun.

And then they were gone within about an hour in the house. They are so good. And so convenient to just pick up and eat. Even Poppy can eat them.

So I made more, this time also using the broiler pan from the oven.

And then I decided I really needed a way to get more apple slices in the sun without taking up a bunch of space with pans. So now this is in my driveway:

Hi, neighbors!  Don't mind us crazy new people.

If that arrangement works, I can string up as many apple slices as I want. My only limitation is the number of apples I can peel, core, and slice by hand with a knife, because I don't have one of those machines to do it. If this is going to be a yearly event, I might get one of those, but for now it's just me and my paring knife versus a LOT of apples.

And that makes me happy.

* We brought a loaf of bread to the man last night as a thank you--because sourdough bread has now become my currency--and he asked us to pick more apples. We were happy to oblige.

Friday Family Fun: Party of Five

A. has been gone all week, which means I was on my own for this Fun Friday. And that meant that I was not going to be driving long distances or taking the children down into unpopulated canyons.

It's good to know your limits. And my limit when alone with four young children is a playground.

But it was an as-yet-unexplored playground! That's what made it fun, you see. It was also twenty miles away in the next village over, which meant we drove forty miles roundtrip to play on another configuration of slides and climbing options. That was fine with me, however, as the drive killed another hour of a very long day.

I had packed a picnic lunch to eat at the playground, but Poppy's nap went so long that it ended up being a porch picnic at home.

Peanut butter and jelly tastes good anywhere.

When Poppy woke up, we all got water bottles and hats and loaded up in the van to go to the playground.

There was much playing.

Even a baby swing for Poppy.

She was pleased.

She couldn't swing for too long, because the swing was in full sun and she wouldn't keep her hat on, so I found some grass in the shade for her.

Cubby kindly provided some extra sun protection for her eyes.

Here's the official documentation that I was there too.

In the shade, with my sunglasses. And sunscreen. Again, no such thing as too much sun protection here.

Cubby caught several grasshoppers.

And fed them grass, of course.

After a long time--always too long for the supervising adult, but never long enough for the kids--we once again loaded up in the van.

Good old van, patiently waiting to take us home.

We stopped at the small market on the way home to get the boys their very first cream sodas, which Cubby declared the best thing he ever drank.

Fun Fridays are more fun when Daddy is here, but it wasn't so bad. And Daddy will be home tonight, which means more fun is in our future.

Friday Food: Extra-special Shingles Edition

Friday

Short version: Teamwork pizza

Long version: My parents arrived this evening and, as a special treat, I planned on making pizza. For the sourdough pizza I make, this requires starting the dough the day before. Luckily, I also made the pizza sauce the day before, too. So when I had to be gone all afternoon on Friday to get my shingles medicine, I could leave behind two prepared pans of pizza dough and instructions for A. on how to bake and top them.

When I arrived home at 6:45 p.m., the pizzas were just done. We used the asadero cheese in place of mozzarella, and no one could tell a difference. One pizza was plain cheese. The other had chorizo sausage and onions on one half, and onions, bell pepper, and beet greens (from our garden) on the other half.

I had also planned on making a salad, but I just wasn't up to it. A. assured me he put so many vegetables on the half of the one pizza that it was pretty much a salad pizza. And there are tomatoes in the sauce. Good enough.

Saturday

Short version: Restaurant food

Long version: My parents took us to eat at the restaurant in the village. I wasn't very hungry--which I attribute to the virus and/or the medicine for it, because I am NEVER not very hungry--so I didn't even order anything. I was pretty sure there would be leftovers from everyone else's food anyway. I was right. So I ate a little of my mom's chicken fajita salad, the last bit of Charlie's bean burrito, the last inch of Jack's hot dog, and some french fries.

Cubby ate every last bit of his green chili cheeseburger, selfish child, so I didn't get to taste that. It would probably be too spicy for me, anyway. He certainly enjoyed it.

I also sneaked half of my dad's chocolate chip cookie. So basically, everyone fed me, whether they wanted to or not.

Sunday

Short version: Antelope, bread and butter, roasted sweet potatoes, roasted zucchini/bell pepper/onions, cucumber and tomato salad

Long version: On Saturday morning, Rafael's son Ray showed up at my door bearing an antelope roast. He's a hunting guide, and he had a client that shot an antelope* but only wanted the head for mounting. Thankfully, Ray took the meat and brought some by for us.

I had never had antelope before, but I figured it couldn't be much different from venison. The roast looked to be the hindquarter, and it was big, so I cut it in half. I froze one half, and cut the other into chunks, which I browned. I took the meat out, made a sauce with diced onion, garlic, sliced mushrooms, dry vermouth, and cream, then added the meat back in to cook a little more.

Verdict: Antelope is even better than venison. No gamy flavor at all. It tasted like beef. It was a bit chewy, though I suspect that's because the temperatures here preclude hanging meat for any length of time, which goes a long way towards tenderizing it. Next time I'll be more careful to leave it a bit more rare.

Monday

Short version: Pork steaks, baked potatoes, sauteed calabacitas, green salad, CAAAKE!

Long version: Okay, so I actually don't know what the calabacitas really is. That's what Rafael calls it. It's definitely a variety of squash, but when I looked it up online, calabacitas seems to refer to zucchini or a variety called tatuma squash, which doesn't look like his. His have green stripes and a neck.

He told me when they're small--which the one he gave me this week was--they should be cooked like zucchini. But when they get big--and at this point in the conversation, he measured about a foot in length with his hands--they can be cut in half and baked in the oven with brown sugar and butter. I gather from that they are actually a variety of winter squash that can be cooked at the immature stage.

I dunno. I sliced it and sauteed it in olive oil with garlic. It was good, whatever it might actually be.

I also tried a new thing on the baked potatoes this time. There's a product in stores here called Mexican crema that is described as being similar to French creme fraiche, though it is also marketed as a kind of sour cream. It tastes more like creme fraiche to me--less of a tang than sour cream. I like sour cream better anyway, and the Mexican crema has some unnecessary ingredients in it, so I think I'll stick to my Daisy brand sour cream.

The CAAAAKE! was a complete departure for me. I am not prone to making cake randomly (special half-birthday microwave cakes aside), but I had way too many bananas on hand that were heading south. Like eight. And not enough room in my freezer. So I used four of them to make a double-chocolate banana cake. The recipe says they're muffins. I say that person is fooling herself. It's cake. Delicious cake, but I wouldn't try to pass this off as breakfast. I doubled the recipe and baked it in a big Pyrex pan. Like a cake. Because it is.

My dad, who is a cake person like me, appreciated it. And agreed that one should not eat it for breakfast.

Tuesday

Short version: Chicken tacos, pinto beans

Long version: It seemed very fitting to make tacos for my parents' last dinner with us. Tacos were a great tradition in my family when I was growing up. I remember the chopping of all the toppings to take soooo long. Now, of course, with my vast experience with kitchen tasks that actually take so long--three-hour peach jam, I'm looking at you--chopping taco toppings doesn't even register.

You don't scare me.

Anyway.

I cooked the chicken thighs and drumsticks in the morning and then stripped them (leaving me with a lot of chicken stock again, which I was not motivated to try to can again) and shredded the meat. At dinner time, I just cooked some diced onion and garlic, added salt, cumin, chili powder, and a little vinegar, then the chicken and a little stock and heated it through.

I started the pinto beans in the morning too by quick-soaking them (cover with water, bring to a boil, then leave covered off heat for two hours, drain before re-covering with water to cook), and then cooking them with onion, garlic, cumin, chile powder, salt, chicken stock, and tomato juice left over from draining the tomatoes for the pizza sauce on Friday.

I have learned that it's traditional here to cook pinto beans very plain, not even salt, in anticipation of seasoning them at the table with whatever sauce is going along with the main dish. Or with just salsa. I prefer to season them when cooking into something more like chili beans, so I guess I'll never be a traditional New Mexican cook.

I even had avocados this time to make guacamole, which was just the delicious avocado-icing on the taco cake. Yum.

Also, it must be noted that my dad took Charlie and Jack to the playground while I was cooking and my mom took Cubby for a bike ride, leaving me with just the (increasingly mobile) baby to keep track of:

She worked up her appetite by doing some yoga.

She refueled with many pinto beans, which she also smeared liberally around her high chair and person:

Yoga Baby becomes Beanie Baby. (Sorry, couldn't resist.)

Wednesday

Short version: Chicken and rice skillet, cucumbers

Long version: I diced a few sad-looking tomatoes I got from Rafael and cooked them in oil with salt, chili powder, and garlic powder, then added chicken stock and rice. While that cooked, I fried some of the leftover taco chicken in some leftover grease from the pork steaks (yummy because it's pre-seasoned with the spices I used on the pork, i.e, paprika, garlic powder, salt, and pepper). Then I added some frozen peas--zucchini would have been more in keeping with the Mexican theme, but Jack is the only boy who will eat it--then some of the cooked rice, then some cheese. It tasted a little bland still, so I added a little vinegar and a spoonful of "mild" (not mild) salsa.

Ta da! Dinner is served.

I also had a scoop of calabacitas in mine. Calabacitas refers to both the squash and a dish made with the squash that also includes corn, onions, and chili peppers. I know this because Rafael brought me some of the calabacitas his brother had cooked, so I would know how to make it. There are green chilis in it, which makes it much too hot for me, so I'm using just a spoonful at a time with other things to try to tone it down a bit.

It still makes everything too spicy for me, though. I am far too much of a wimp for this state.

Thursday

Short version: Pancakes

Long version: Yup. Pancakes. That's it. And not with yogurt or fruit or anything that could let me pretend they were particularly healthy either. Just pancakes with butter and maple syrup.

Well, they were at least buckwheat flour pancakes, which have somewhat more protein that wheat flour pancakes, plus they had a lot of yogurt and milk in the batter. And I did give each boy a whole carrot to eat right after school, plus milk with their pancakes, so I think that covers all the food groups, right?

Right. Still pancakes.

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

* Antelope are everywhere here. We see herds of them on the range with the cows all the time. This means, of course, that I spend a lot of time singing "Home on the Range," mostly in my head, but sometimes out loud. It's so appropriate, it's just irresistible. I just looked up the lyrics, and I encourage you to go read them. I think my favorite line is, " . . . where seldom if ever, any poisonous herbage doth grow." They don't write songs like that anymore.

The Long-Awaited Prickly Pear Post

How long ago was it now that I mentioned harvesting prickly pears? Almost two weeks? And here I am, droning on and on about silly shingles without so much as a mention of the all-important question: Is harvesting prickly pear fruits--called, amusingly, tunas--worth it?

Well! Let me answer that in far too much detail, shall I?

Okay, so. First they had to be harvested. Every single website that talks about prickly pear fruits says you must wear gloves. The cactus itself has wicked, very noticeable spines. The fruits have impossible to see but nonetheless quite irritating tiny, hairlike little spines called glochids. If they get in your hands, they're hard to get out and very irritating.Wear the gloves, say the websites over and over again. DO NOT FORGET THE GLOVES.

I didn't have gloves. I used a corn husk from someone's tamale that had been left in a fire pit near the place we were fishing. I did get a few glochids in my fingers, but I didn't find it to be crippling or anything.

So then the websites say to either burn the glochids off or scrub them off with a stiff brush. I tried singeing them off on our propane stove burner, but I didn't have metal tongs to hold them with and the pliers on my Leatherman tool weren't long enough so I kept burning my fingers. I gave up on that after one.

I didn't have a stiff brush--are you sensing a theme of unpreparedness here?--so I did what one site recommended and tumbled them around in a bowl of warm water quite vigorously. The website said to do this before the scrubbing, but I just did it several times with fresh bowls of water each time and it seemed to take care of the glochids.

Most websites suggested peeling them by cutting off the ends, then scoring the flesh and then peeling it off. I tried this with a couple.

The ripe ones were red all the way through; the less ripe ones were green on the outside and red in the middle. Very dramatic. That's the unpeeled one at the front of the cutting board.

We tasted one of the peeled ones. It tasted, surprisingly, like a less-flavorful honeydew melon.

Peeling them was a pain in the ass, so I went with the website that said you could just puree the whole thing, skin and all, in the food processor and strain it to make juice.

I strained it through both a fine mesh strainer and cheesecloth, in case of any remaining glochids. The resulting juice was a startlingly gorgeous color, though bland.

Pretty.

I added some sugar to it, and we drank it, but honestly, the color was the most appealing part of the juice.

So was it worth it? Not to me. I certainly wouldn't go through all the effort of getting enough juice to make jelly--a common use for it--because I think the jelly would just have a one-dimensional sweet taste. The fruit has to be acidic to some degree to make good jelly, in my opinion.

Now it is true that there are different varieties of prickly pear, and maybe some of them have fruits with more flavor, but I'm not inspired to try again. It was fun to experiment with, though.

There! I feel better having gotten that posted. I'm sure you do, too.