As usual, too many leftovers, including leftover ingredients after Thanksgiving. For the second year in a row, I had too much cream cheese frosting after dressing my red velvet cupcakes.
Last year I made cream cheese frosting cookies, which were OK, but I wanted to go a different route this year. First thing that came to mind were cinnamon rolls. I KNEW I wouldn’t go through the whole production of making any recipe that included a step to allow yeast to work its magic.
I also knew that someone must have thought of making yeast-free cinnamon rolls before me and had already figured out the chemistry.
I was right.
Not only would I save time making these rolls, but I had the added bonus of using some of the leftover buttermilk.
If I ever have the desire to make yeast-free cinnamon rolls again, I’ll bake them for 20 minutes, rather than 24. Or at least remain in the kitchen while they bake.
Everyone agreed with my assessment: dry, but tasty.
In a brief moment of insanity, I looked up how to repurpose cinnamon rolls. I found a recipe for “Cinnamon French Toast Casserole,” but then again, should I continue throwing good ingredients after a questionable pursuit?
The best thing about only cooking/baking on the weekends, outside of breakfast, is that I have time to let the idea marinate. After all, I still need to use up the rest of the buttermilk.
Plus, according to this new recipe, I only have half the ingredients, which is a good thing since I’d hate to make the full recipe of something that may not also turn out quite right. The second time around, I’d do my level best to stay in the kitchen.
In my latest attempt to align my lifestyle with my health goals, I researched what meals are better to eat a few hours prior to working out. Turns out, the egg and avocado pairing that I usually eat every morning is perfect for a light meal. The challenge is that I’m not going to eat that twice in one day.
I had to find something uncomplicated to make in the morning for myself since I also make breakfast for Dad. As a matter of fact, that “eggs every morning” breakfast I prepared was Dad’s expectation. For the sake of simplicity, I cooked enough for the both of us.
Years ago, I’d kicked the vast majority of breakfast foods to the curb, given the sheer amount of diabetes-inducing sugar they all contained. As I’ve gotten older and menopausal, weight gain occurs as seemingly easy as merely looking at food and alcohol.
My canary in the coal mine is my left eye. Ever since I was in middle school, when I started wearing glasses, it has been the weaker of the two eyes. Now my weaker eye has the added phenomenon of experiencing a dull ache whenever I’m too stressed or have consumed too much sugar. My left eye has even gone temporarily blind with an overload of stress.
Most of my stress relief has been exercise, which, up until I hit menopause, also helped with weight management. Now, I’ve entered brand-new territory as I navigate how to maintain an enjoyable and healthy life. Those two pursuits don’t have much common ground.
The goal is to ward off diabetes and other ills through diet and exercise. I already exercise on a regular basis. Plus, I’ve stopped having a daily glass of wine. It’s no longer feasible to buy the large boxes of wine since it goes bad before I finish drinking it.
So, I have oatmeal for breakfast, followed by my biggest meal of the day, lunch, with a light snack for dinner, then a small serving of mixed nuts with dried fruit after working out. I’m still trying to gauge if that post-workout snack has too many calories to sleep on or if weight gain is inevitable regardless. I don’t want to negate the workout, but I cannot go to sleep without a little something to keep stomach growls at bay.
I enjoyed a delicious, freshly made chocolate chip waffle during a hotel stay for our family reunion a few weeks ago. That inspired me to make waffles for breakfast on the Fourth of July. I had the day off, so I didn’t have to rush.
Instead of using a chocolate chip and syrup garnish, I chopped up fresh strawberries and bananas, then thawed out blueberries. Although that fruity mix was delicious, I should have cut up the fruit before making the waffles.
Both Mom and my sister had told me that our waffle maker worked just like the one at the hotel. I took that too literally, thinking that each waffle would take about 2 1/2 minutes and at the end, the machine would beep.
So, as I decapped and quartered strawberries, I smelled a burning waffle. Bad enough that I’d overpoured the batter, which self-corrected by dripping out of the apparatus within seconds. Although it was a little overcooked, I slathered it with butter as if it was perfect. Fortunately, the smell of bacon masked any overdone waffle smell.
Some people read tea leaves, but here are some plate readings. First up, Dad’s plate:
I’m the only one who doesn’t use paper plates. I used to when I first moved back, but then we were told that those plates weren’t recyclable. Since I make breakfast for dad most mornings, we had our red, white and blueberry waffles on real plates. Dad gets a smaller portion than I do. For someone who sleeps most of the day, either in bed or in a chair, he doesn’t eat a lot. Breakfast tends to be his biggest meal of the day and his bird appetite kicks in throughout the day.
Not only do I get a serving slightly more than Dad, but with the addition of hotsauce.
Mom, who often boasts of not eating breakfast because she drinks a blender full of smoothie along with ginger tea, was easily convinced to make a plate. She scrambled two eggs, then warmed up a waffle. Since she saw that I’d microwaved the fruit with syrup and a pat of butter for 30 seconds, she did the same, with comparatively less syrup. Mom was so excited to dig in, she initially forgot the bacon. Granted, she’d had a piece while I was frying it up.
Then, my sister came over much earlier than normal. The magical draw of waffles. Despite all the better waffles stacked on top of my disastrous first waffle, that’s precisely the one my sister chose. She put a few pats of extra butter on one half, folded it over, and warmed it up while she scrambled some eggs. Although she claimed to not want any blueberries, some snuck in. Then, she topped her plate off with a smile pile of bacon. (I’d meant to type “small pile,” but I LOVE this typo!)
This was the greatest celebration start to the Fourth of July. The best part: didn’t see a single firework!
I’d planned to make vegetarian enchiladas since my sister was following a red meat fast. Turned out, the cauliflower salad she’d prepared contained bacon. That bacon grease would have been sequestered in a jar had I not rescued some of it. Instead of using vegetable oil to make the enchilada sauce, I used bacon grease instead. And here I thought that the secret to delicious vegetarian cooking was spicy chicken broth. Bacon grease definitely ties for first place.
“Vegetarian” Enchiladas
While I prepared the enchiladas, my sister used the air fryer to prepare batches of the vegetables for the warm salad. As usual, the kitchen felt too small as we bustled around, especially since Dad, who had fried the bacon remained seated at the kitchen table long after his contribution to the meal was over. At least Mom took advantage of being relieved of kitchen duty to take a load off and polish her nails.
Cauliflower Salad
Although I’d asked my sister to make a side dish, the colorful warm salad complemented both the taste and plating of the enchiladas. We were all pleasantly surprised how well the two dishes paired. Yet, as delicious as the meal was, Mom was the first to observe how the meal made her go to the bathroom.
As if hearing her experience affected my digestion, I then started meeting myself coming and going to the bathroom as well. Not too frequently as if sick, but definitely a slight increase than usual. I blame it on the bacon grease. Reminded me of how deliciously greasy Tanzanian food was when I was a Peace Corps Volunteer.
Apparently, I created a monster on that faithful day when I found a tin of herring while foraging in the cabinets for something to eat. I didn’t eat the canned herring in that moment. Mostly because it was canned herring. Instead I researched recipes that use it as an ingredient. Out of a sea of suggestions, quiche was the most palatable that I could envision myself eating.
When I made it for breakfast one Saturday morning, Mom, who normally has a smoothie for breakfast, tried one. She loved it so much that she paid one of my sisters and I $10 a piece to make it on Christmas morning. Normally, she doesn’t have to pay us to cook, but that was her penalty for how she went about the making of that particular batch. Although she boasted about how she’d make it, she hardly bought any of the ingredients for it, snaked my sister and I into making it and blamed her lack of preparation on Dad. When in fact, NONE of that drama was necessary because we didn’t lack for food at all.
Mini Quiches
This next round of herring quiche was initiated by my sister. She wanted to use the remaining two tins of fish and make a double batch. One for her and my nephew and the other for our parents and me. I assisted her in the process.
We haven’t executed the recipe the same way twice. For instance, the first time I made it, I used crema Mexicana. The next time I used evaporated milk, but this time around, we used half and half. Plus, we have used a different combination of cheeses, spices and vegetables each time.
Mini & Regular Quiches
Since we made a double batch, the mini muffin pan was used along with the regular size. We had enough egg batter for a second regular muffin pan, which was a good thing because she’d forgotten to add the horseradish harvarti. It didn’t add too much of a kick to the overall flavor.
Quiche on a Bed of Hashbrowns & a Dash of Hot Sauce
Without knowing that my sister wanted breakfast for dinner, I’d bought a bag of frozen hash browns. So, dinner worked out deliciously well although I’ll have to research another interesting herring recipe since there can be too much of a good thing. Also, the last time I foraged in the cabinets, I saw two more tins of herring.
I didn’t grow up celebrating Juneteenth, but I learned more about its origins and celebration, thanks to living in Austin, TX for 14 years. One of the aspects of the celebration is consuming red libations. The color red has symbolic meanings from blood to spiritual renewal.
One particular red food that caught my eye was Red Velvet Cake. When I discovered that Red Velvet was actually a chocolate cake with red food coloring, of course I asked that oft repeated question: why not just have a chocolate cake without the food coloring?
The answer may lie in the symbolic meaning of red, but regardless of whether I ever figure out a definitive answer, I found an online recipe that used a natural way to color the cake, which intrigued me more than anything else.
The Ingredients
The most obscure ingredient turned out being the chocolate powder. The vast majority of chocolate that we buy is Dutch processed, meaning that it’s processed with alkali, so the cocoa is neutral rather than acidic. I was about to buy the cocoa powder online until I saw that shipping cost as much as the chocolate. So, I checked my local upscale grocery store.
Chopped Beets
That grocery store had the chocolate I needed, but in solid, not powder form. Since I no longer have the patience to drive around town to buy ingredients, I bought everything I needed at that pricey place. The way I saw it, since I don’t buy the weekly groceries in my parents’ home, I could afford to spend about what I used to on a week’s worth of groceries prior to the pandemic.
Gloves and Covered Cutting Board
Two precautions I took were to wear disposable gloves and to wrap the cutting board with plastic before chopping up the beet–the source of the beautiful red coloring. As a matter of fact, the author of the recipe that I found online had included their narrative trial and error with beets as part of the recipe.
Fresh Lemon Juice
Originally, they had cooked the beet puree, which caused the redness color to fade to brown once baked. So, they recommended raw beet puree. Additionally, the batter had to be acidic to help preserve beet’s color. Hence, the use of non Dutch processed chocolate, buttermilk, creme fraiche, and fresh lemon juice.
Mixing the Batter
Since I used chocolate chunks, I mixed them into part of the batter that I processed in the blender. The butter and sugar were creamed in the mixer, while the flour and other dry ingredients were stirred in a large bowl. At one point, I switched off pouring the beet and flour mixture into the mixing bowl.
Beautiful Batter
This was one of the few recipes where the batter was attractive. Of course I had to sample it. Absolutely delicious! No earthy nor acidic taste, thanks to two cups of sugar.
Baked Cake Layers
Most of my baked goods have tended to be over baked because my parents’ oven. As much time, energy and money I put into this cake, I put the lowest suggested baking time, 25 minutes, on the timer. I added 10 minutes when the cakes didn’t pass the toothpick test. If I ever make this recipe again, I’ll know that it needs to bake for 45 minutes in this particular oven.
Haphazardly Frosted
Although I’d started the baking process on Saturday morning, I didn’t frost the cake until nighttime since I’d seen “Wakanda Forever” in the afternoon AND I’d forgotten to buy cream cheese for the frosting. My sister, who I thought would arrive sooner, brought the cream cheese since she was picking me up anyway.
Beautiful Through and Through
I’d left the ingredients for the frosting out. Maybe they were too warm rather than room temperature. At that point, I didn’t care. I’d seemingly spent all day baking. The frosting was less viscous than I would have liked, but that didn’t stop me. Even the second thoughts of adding lemon zest to the frosting didn’t stop me from adding it. I’m glad I followed that suggestion because the bright taste of the lemon contrasted well with the cake.
The spirit doesn’t move me very often to bake/cook, but when it does, I’m so happy that things turn out as delicious as this.
Of all the things to teach the younger generations, perhaps this one was near the bottom of the list. So happy we got to it!
One of my nieces, who already makes Jello Shots, helped me with this twist on the alcoholic dessert. Since we didn’t have a handheld juicer, we first squeezed the oranges after cutting them in half. Then we used a tablespoon to remove the pulp although at one point, simply peeling the slices out of the orange was more effective. We saved the pulp so Nanna could use it in her smoothies.
Two challenges arose: we couldn’t squeeze the oranges too hard or the hull would tear. Then we had to leave some of the white stalk and peel in place where the navel was or else there was a hole. Both challenges meant Jello would ooze out of its “container.”
Jello-Filled Orange Hulls
We’d mixed strawberry and orange flavored Jello together with two cups of hot water, followed by two cups of alcohol. For this batch, we mixed a cup of Cointreau with a cup of Rum. My niece was initially concerned that one of the boxes of Jello had expired. None of us older adults were the least bit concerned about that. The way we saw it, the alcohol would cure anything that was “wrong” with expired Jello. Besides, the expiration date mostly meant that stores couldn’t sell it.
Jello Shot Slices
Apparently, we only needed one box of Jello to fill the number of hulls we had. The rest of the Jello mix I poured into a nonstick mini muffin tray. In retrospect, we should have simply drank the remaining Jello as a cocktail because those Jello shots didn’t pop out of the muffin tray intact. We still ate them in a bowl with a spoon.
Next time, I’ll have the proper equipment, and we’ll try using large limes. There is plenty of lime jello in the pantry, so I’m thinking margarita Jello shots. Besides, we can make an actual margarita by repurposing the lime pulp, which will help mitigate our delayed gratification of consuming Jello shots by drinking a homemade batch of margarita.
Once again, I found myself using up something in the refrigerator that my parents, this time Dad, had opened, but hadn’t finished. Specifically, a bottle of peach wine and a bottle of a dessert wine. Both bottles had about a glass of wine left in them. Lord only knows when that would’ve been poured, since much to Dad’s delight, eggnog season had come early. Even Mom had temporarily switched from her evening nip of Triple Sec* to eggnog.
*If you’re wondering, “Isn’t Triple Sec usually used to make such drinks as a margarita?” You’d be absolutely correct. For years, Mom loved sipping peach schnapps or peach brandy at night, occasionally adding a splash of OJ to make a Fuzzy Navel. Then, one day, she tasted Triple Sec and that became her nightcap.
I came across those two nearly empty bottles while hunting for something else. Since the shelf where they resided was prime territory, I brainstormed how to use them up. I certainly wasn’t going to drink them as they were since I prefer dry, full-bodied reds. So, I fell back on my old favorite white wine concoction: sangria.
I’d used a pint-sized mason jar to handshake other cocktails in the past, which seemed like the perfect serving size for the four of us. Since Mom and Dad are both in their 80s, they only took a “taste,” whereas my sister and I essentially had double portions.
I chopped up two limes, a peach and an orange, placing them in the jar. Then I poured in the two wines and topped it off with Cointreau. Everyone else had sat around the kitchen table, watching me put the sangria together. I announced that we’d drink it with tomorrow’s dinner.
So, of course, Dad sampled it before the appointed time because “it looked so pretty.”
We all got a healthy share of the fruit with our drink. Since Dad had already taken his taste, I only served him the alcohol-infused fruit. The peaches were the best and the limes were best to add to a glass of water.
Since Dad only had a glass of fruit, he let me know every time he had to deal with a lime, complaining that I’d put in too many and some slices were cut too thick. I think he was more bitter than a lime because he wasn’t served more sangria, but out of all of us, he’s the one who really should drink the least.
I realize that it’s a fool’s mission to “clear out” my parents’ refrigerator, one cocktail at a time, since they have all day to go out and buy even more stuff. I just like to consume things so they don’t go to waste. It’s a win-win when something delicious can be made in the process.
It’s older than I am. We were both brought back from Okinawa, Japan the second time my family was stationed there with the Air Force.
When my sister took the rainproof cover off the hibachi, a slew of cockroaches scattered. The last time the grill had been used was during the Fourth of July celebration, so the cockroaches had holed up during the rains between then and Labor Day weekend. Had I never been a Peace Corps Volunteer, those roaches may have turned me off from eating anything grilled on this hibachi. Yet I know better. First of all, the heat alone would kill anything that may be harmful. Moreover, we always clean the grill.
My sister assumed the grillmaster position.
About two years ago, she took over grillmaster duties from our father, who turned 84 this past April. Mom and Dad had a system: she seasoned the meat and he’d grill it. Now, Mom and my sister both season the meat and my sister grills it. I love how the grillmaster prepared for the occasion with her sun hat, a fly swatter, all the grilling implements and her smart phone. My contribution to the production was cleaning off the patio table and chairs before I dashed off to dance class.
The fruits of our collective labor.
Although the grillmaster had cooked ribs, chicken and steak, we saved the steaks for Sunday. Nonetheless, I was perfectly happy with my dinner. The only spoilers were the flies. I didn’t remember flies being such a nuisance when I was a child, eating outside on the patio. We ate dessert inside.
Before the next time I clean off the patio furniture, I’m going to research how to remedy the flies. I’m especially interested in rigging up a clear plastic ziplock bag half full of water and a few pennies. Allegedly that thwarts flies. I’d like to test that hypothesis. I just have to figure out how to rig it up. And find some pennies. Who still deals with cash, much less coins?
I can’t say that I love or hate to cook. I love eating a variety of foods. I search for the most interesting dishes, depending on which ingredients I have on hand, what genre I’m in the mood for, and in general, however the stars have aligned.
Since Saturday was the start of the new year, I indulged in a touch of superstition by preparing an auspicious meal: Hopping John, Sautéed Spinach, and Cornbread. As far as I know, the greens and cornbread represent money because they’re green and gold. I think the meat in the Hopping John show prosperity since, traditionally, only people with money could afford meat. Beans are meant to bring good luck. Honestly, I think that good luck bit is just to make people feel better because although luck is dubious, flatulence is nearly guaranteed.
My temperament and schedule aren’t such that I’d cook all three in one go. As a matter of fact, since I also believe in leftovers, it suited me just fine to cook one of these recipes throughout the week, culminating in having all three by Saturday.
My grocery shopping day is Monday, unless there’s a holiday.
So Tuesday, I prepared Hopping John, a spicy bean dish, flavored with bacon, onions and chicken broth. The recipe also called for corn, but I was not in the mood for that. Plus, I bought spicy chicken bone broth for the occasion.
Usually when I make a bean and rice dish, I’m reminded of my Peace Corps days. Yet, I never had Hoppin’ John in Tanzania. I hardly ever eat pinto beans at any other time of year. Flavored with pepper bacon and spicy chicken bone broth, this seemingly simple dish was elevated. All the other ingredients add texture and subtle flavor. Since this was the most complex of all the dishes I made, it marinated wonderfully every day up to New Year’s Day.
For lunch on New Year’s Eve, I sautéed spinach in olive oil, fresh garlic and a little salt.
Once the spinach was bright green, I turned off the heat and sprinkled parmesan on it. This wasn’t the way I grew up eating spinach, but since I already had bacon in the beans, I didn’t want to double pork the overall meal I’d have for New Year’s Day.
On New Years Day, I baked corn bread.
I’ve been baking on Saturdays for nearly two years. I like baking a quiche, biscuits, muffins, breads, breakfast casseroles/ bundts, so I can warm them up during the week for breakfast. Once I read how much sugar and shit was in cereal and other processed breakfast foods, I started making my own on a weekly basis.
Just like the other two dishes, I tried a new recipe for the cornbread as well. For this culinary experience, I used a combination of coconut flour and corn meal. I took it upon myself to add a can of hot green chilis. I wish I would have taken the same initiative to add sharp cheddar to the mix. Nowadays, my palate associates cornbread with being moist, a little sweet, some spiciness and the cheese adds to the flavor. So, I’ll just have to make this recipe again in 2022 to test out my theory.
My family originally planned to have our Zoom call at 11 AM, then 3 PM.
None of that worked out, but the later time worked in my favor. I didn’t have to rush through my dinner. For the first time, I had all three cooking efforts together. They tasted delicious together regardless of whether the meal brings me luck.
