The anxiety dream

I used to be a television news producer.  Local television station in Phoenix.  But I decided what stories would run in the newscast, in what order they would run, which anchor would read each story, rode herd on the reporters who did the stories, and usually wrote much of the rest of the newscast, including the idiotic "teases" for the next segment.  I also used to start my job by writing: "Good evening, I'm _______________ (and) Good evening, I'm _________________."  I always used to say that if I didn't include that page in the script the anchors would forget to introduce themselves.

Well, those days are long in my past now and I don't think any of the current anchors would forget to mention their names at the top of the newscast.

I left television news in 1985.  That's 26 years ago.  But I have had a recurrent dream over the years.  In it, I am still producing newscasts but with one major difference.  I never get it done.  Problems develop throughout the day, usually of my own doing and procrastination.  Suddenly it is time for the newscast to go on the air and I have . . . NOTHING . . . prepared!  No script, no video, no pictures, nothing!  I usually go running down the stairs to the studio and hand the anchors a wadded handful of wire copy and  . . . then . . . I wake up in a cold sweat.

This is my anxiety dream.  I have learned from talking to people over the years that everyone has one.  For instance, SWMBO's anxiety dream usually involves moving her home and packing boxes and never being ready, never getting it all done.  She has, thanks to me and others, had to go through the "moving experience" a number of times in her life.  Once, we moved out of her large house to an apartment 20 miles or so away and when she came back to do the last run-through of the house, she found her son (who supposedly was far away starting a new life) sleeping on a bare floor in his previous room.  He didn't know we were moving, we didn't know he was returning to "his home."  But, you can see why SWMBO would have a "moving" anxiety dream.

All of this is to explain that last night, I had my "producer dream" again.  And it was great!  Everything went well all day, I had a script to hand each of the anchors at newstime, the reporter tape "packages" were ready to go and the newscast went beautifully.  I told SWMBO about it today and she said "So are you finally released?"  I said "I think so.  I hope so."

We all have anxieties, most of them hidden in our psyches.  They tend to come out and plague us in our dreams.  I really do hope mine are gone.

Except - - - now I find myself thinking about my problems with cooking!

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On another topic entirely.  The BRD and her Beau Jack went to the Grand Canyon today with his son and the son's fiancee.  A picture was snapped at the rim.

I told her it should be captioned "The Silver Foxes".  She said it would be lovely and true.  So here they are.  The Silver Foxes.  Damned good looking couple, don't you think?

Homemade bread

You may recall that I've taken over much of the cooking in my house.  Some of it has been good, some of it just o.k. and some of it has been pretty bad.

A couple of days ago I dragged out our old, hardly ever used bread machine to see what I could do.

My first loaf suffered because I forgot to use warm liquid.  That was pretty much a short little hockey puck.  The second loaf was a potato bread that turned out a lot better.  But my healthy diet conscious wife said "why don't you try something with whole wheat flour."  (I knew that was coming and had already considered it.) 

In the meantime, I had bought a quart of buttermilk because I thought I'd seen a recipe that looked interesting.  I made buttermilk/banana pancakes this morning.  Now neither of us is fond of pancakes but we got through them and I thought they were pretty good.  But I still had quite a bit of buttermilk and was wondering how to use it before it went bad.  (Which brings to mind the old line - How do you tell if your buttermilk has gone bad, anyway?  But that's beside the point here.)

SWMBO to the rescue!  She found a recipe on the Internet for Buttermilk Honey Wheat Bread made in a bread machine.  The recipe said it would only take 55 minutes.  Now, I know how long my bread machine takes just to knead the dough and let it rise and bake it and I seriously doubted that.  But I went ahead, tossed it together and turned on the machine.  It's clock told me it would be all ready in . . . . . 3 hours and 45 minutes!  But hey, I'm retired, I've got nothing but time. 

It finally got done, we tasted it and loved it.  Wonderful!

It's a small loaf but there are only the two of us and we can always make more.

If you're so inclined, you can find the recipe here.  Just don't trust it when it says it only takes 55 minutes.

The new Blackwell

Frequent readers of this blog may remember a scrawny, scarred-up, underfed cat that began hanging around my residence after I began feeding him in the garage.  He had, at that time, been dubbed "Blackie Detroit."

But he kept getting into fights and coming around more and more scarred up.  So we took him to the Humane Society, had him neutered and brought him home to become an "inside cat."  He's gotten out a couple of times and explored a bit but doesn't seem to get into any more fights.  What he does do a lot of is eat!  And eat and eat and eat.  That little kitten has grown into quite a heavyweight cat.

 

And he's my buddy now.  He lets me pet him, scratch his head and back, even his tummy now and then.  And when I'm not using it, he takes up residence on my bed.  Last night I found him acting nearly human, taking a snooze using a pillow to rest his head.

 

As you can see, he's become quite a home cat.  And when we brought him in he acquired a new name.  He is the much more sophisticated "Blackwell" now.

Tumbleweed Junction

Out here in the wild (South)West, spring brings a plethora of nasty plants which go by the name of tumbleweeds.  They're called that because when the plant dies and dries, it breaks off and the large, sort of round top part tumbles across the deserts with the wind.  Where I live, in the high desert, there are thousands of them on pastureland and vacant lots.



Barbed wire (or as it's called down South "bob wire") fences catch a lot of them and I saw some town work crews out gathering them up and hauling them away this morning.

But the fences don't get all of them and frequently they are encountered on streets and highways.  They can get caught under one's car but usually they just kind of explode and scatter when they're hit.


Now if you've ever watched an old Western movie, you've no doubt seen tumbleweeds.  And there's even a great old song about them.



And yes, that fellow who came down the stairs and stopped to listen was the "King of the Cowboys" - Roy Rogers.

A musical interlude

Here's a neat song from those round-the-world musicians at Playing for Change.  In honor of Bob Marley.  I like the work of the two brothers(?) from Italy, Simone and Roberto Luti.



(Thanks to my buddy, Jeff, for tipping me to it.)

Monday update

As I wrote to my friend, Phil, he can wear his "cheesehead" proudly now that the Lombardi trophy has been returned to Green Bay with the Packers' win over the Steelers in yesterday's Super Bowl.

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Progress continues to be made on the Highway 89-A overpass at Viewpoint Road in north Prescott Valley.  The north side now has concrete in place.

The south side looks like it's getting ready to match it.

Traffic is still moving normally through the intersection while heavy equipment continues to roll on the project.

I think the entire project is supposed to be done in the fall of this year.  I'll keep you posted.

Sunday morning . . .

. . . is just right for homemade cranberry muffins.

A chocolate mess

I am constantly finding recipes on television, the Internets, in magazines or newspapers that sound simple and good.  Frequently . . with my limited cooking skills . . they turn into disasters, with a knowing grimace on the face of SWMBO.  Today was such a case.

I discovered a recipe in a local paper for what was termed "Hot Fudge Cake".  Sounded pretty good and fairly simple.  It was loaded with brown sugar, cocoa and chocolate chips.  What could go wrong with that, right?

Well perhaps the first indication that this was a weird recipe was that it was baked or cooked in a crock pot.  You know, a slow cooker.

But I charged ahead into the fray, first making a batter (no eggs though).  Brown sugar, cocoa, flour, baking powder and salt which was then combined with some milk, melted butter and vanilla extract.  Spread that in a crock pot that had been sprayed with cooking spray.  Top it with a cup and a half of chocolate chips.  Then combine some more brown sugar, cocoa and boiling water and pour it over the top.  Put a lid on it, turn it to high and leave it for 4 hours.

The room smelled marvelous until the last 15 minutes or so when SWMBO asked how long that thing was supposed to cook because it was smelling "scorchy".  I said everything was under control.  At exactly 4 hours I lifted the lid, did the toothpick test in the middle of the "cake" and it came out clean.  Done.  Except it was bubbing a bit menacingly around the edges and, yes, it did smell a bit "scorchy".

SWMBO said she'd like to ask the recipe's author why they didn't explain how to get the "creation" out of the pot.  I said we'll just put a plate over it and invert it.  But first maybe I'd check the sides with a spatula.  Hmmmm.  Some parts took some shoving and scraping to get it loose.  Seemed a bit charred.  But nevertheless, I did the inverting process, tapped the bottom of the cooker and picked it up.  Out tumbled a kind of muddled mess of chocolate in several forms.  Some of it was cake.  Quite a bit was liquid chocolate.  Parts of it were burned hard bits.  Definitely not a sight one would want to show off in a photograph or on a nice party plate for guests.

But . . . it tasted delicious!  Chocolate flavor to the max.  Oh we'll eat it and it goes especially good with some vanilla ice cream.

But I doubt if I'll ever make another one.  Certainly not in a slow cooker.

But then . . .

Tortilla Soup

My cooking adventures continue.  Today I made tortilla soup.  I have to credit where credit is due.  The recipe came from a restaurant in Prescott, Arizona.  Murphy's.  SWMBO and I had it there, loved it, begged for the recipe and found enough people had asked for it that they had it printed up.  So, herewith, "Murphy's Tortilla Soup".

1 cup fresh corn kernels
2 Tablespoons sweet butter
4 cloves garlic - minced
1 cup onion - diced
1/2 cup carrots - diced
1 stalk celery - diced
1/2 cup Anaheim chili pepper - seeded, chopped fine
1 Tablespoon ground cumin
1-1/2 Tablespoons chili powder
1 teaspoon dried oregano
1-1/2 cups tomatoes - diced
1 quart chicken stock
1 bunch cilantro - chopped
1-1/2 cups cooked chicken - diced
1-1/2 Tablespoons salt
1/2 teaspoon black pepper - freshly ground

2 cups tortilla chips - broken into small pieces
1 cup Monterey Jack cheese - grated

Cut raw kernels off corn cob with a sharp knife. (I used frozen corn kernels - easier.)  In a large saucepan, melt the butter over moderate heat, add the garlic, onion, celery, corn, carrots and Anaheim chile and cook for 3 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the onion is translucent.

Stir in the cumin, chili powder and oregano and continue stirring another minute to toast the spices.  Add the tomatoes, stock, cilantro and chicken.  Bring mixture to a boil and simmer for 10 minutes.  Season with salt and pepper.

To serve, distribute the broken tortilla chips equally in the bottom of soup bowls, ladle the soup over them, and garnish each bowl with a tablespoon of cheese.

And to further enjoy your meal, play this video.

Madness this way comes

I was listening to NPR this afternoon while I was driving home from running some errands.  A producer of television commercials was being interviewed about his craft.  He said an average commercial during the Super Bowl can cost one million dollars to produce.  But, he said, that's not bad because the television audience for the big game is around 100 million people, in the U.S. alone.  I think the commercials are the best part of the telecast and I've heard of people who tape them during the game so they can watch them over and over.  For example, thanks to YouTube, here are somebody's 10 best commercials from Super Bowl 42 in 2008.



This year the Pittsburgh Steelers will play the Green Bay Packers in the Super Bowl on Sunday.  I'll probably watch . . for the commercials . . but I'll have a hard time forgetting a friend of mine who sent me his picture today as he prepared for the big game.  Apparently he's a fan of Green Bay, whose loyalists are known as . . . . . cheeseheads.

May the best team win.

Trouble in the Middle East

It began in Tunisia, where the government fell to protesters.

Then, on to Egypt, where Cairo is dissolving into chaos.  President Mubarak says he won't run again.  He's 82 years old.  But he says he'll stay in power until the next election, in September.  Many of his citizens say that's not good enough, he must leave immediately.  Today, pro-Mubarak supporters challenged the anti-Mubarak protesters and violence was the order of the day.  It continues tonight.

Around the region, the king of Jordan has sacked his government and appointed a new prime minister.

The president of Yemen says neither he nor his son will run again.

Israel is, as the old expression goes, "on tenterhooks".

Iran is quiet but obviously watching carefully.

As I said to SWMBO today, it will be years before this is all sorted out.

Memories

Y'know this gettin' older thing is a real pain.  Like this morning.  Suddenly I couldn't find a 4 by 6 inch index card on which are inscribed all of my User ID's and Passwords to access my various sites on the World Wide Web.  It's always in the same place, resting on top of my printer.  But not this morning.  So I spent about two hours tearing my den apart.  I emptied a waste basket, then another one, then another one.  Three separate rooms.  I went out to the garage and looked in the recycle bin.  I went through about half of the Sunday New York Times, thinking the card had slipped between the pages.  I went through several files in a couple of file drawers.  I accused SWMBO of stealing the card.  She helped me look for awhile and offered several worthless suggestions about where it could be.  I said "I give up", then I searched some more.  I got down on my hands and knees under my desk. (Wow, is it dusty down there!)  Then I looked everywhere I had looked before.  Nada.  Zip.  Then I asked Blackwell if he had taken it.  Blackwell is a cat, for cryin' out loud, and he was staring at me like I had completely lost my mind.  Which I nearly had.  That card had to be here somewhere.

Then I found it.  It was lying on the coffee table in the living room, underneath a Netflix envelope.  When I finished the movie I watched last night, I took the envelope and the disc to the other room for SWMBO to view later.  But I also picked up my index card at the same time, unknowingly, unwittingly.

I mean: I have the information written on the index card so I don't have to remember all of it.  But it doesn't help if I misplace the card and can't remember where it went, now does it?

Pam Peterson knows how I feel.

Bob Schneider sings!

I had never heard of this guy until I saw him on Austin City Limits this week.  Now, I'm a fan.  He's one of those amazing musicians that continue to be turned out in Texas.  He doesn't look like he does in this video.  The hair is shorter but shaggier and he has a full beard.  In a brief interview after his performance he said he can't figure out why people pay money to come and listen to him sing songs he wrote in his bedroom.  He reportedly has a repertoire of 400 songs.  This one . . . performed on an earlier ACL show . . . reportedly is his trademark.  Get up on your feet and prepare to "shake your booty!"



This next one is even better.

Well would you look at this!

I've been poking a bit of fun at residents of other parts of the United States this winter.  Parts that seem to be covered in snow and cold weather.  But look what happened in my part of Arizona this morning.

Oh, I know.  It's not much.  Only a dusting.  But it certainly gave Blackwell an idea about how to spend the day.



Lana

Allow me to introduce a good, no, a very good friend of mine.  Her name is Lana.

Lana Elmore Cochrun is the full name.  And she is an artist.

I have known her for more decades than either of us would want to admit.  She spent the bulk of her life as an art teacher in Indiana, trying to inspire the youth of her area to indulge in their gifts and their talents.

Now, she lives in California, on the Central Coast, where she has had the opportunity to indulge herself, her talent, her gifts.  She has had great success and I believe she has a great future.

You can see her most recent show at the Windward Gallery here.  If you are in her area (Cambria) I would suggest you buy her work now.  It can only get better and more dear.

Congratulations, dear friend.

Cooking follow and The Ocean View Restaurant

My attempt at making Lemon Souffle Pancakes (from James McNair's Favorites) was a fair success this morning.  Pretty simple recipe, though you wouldn't have known it by the amount of dishes I had to clean up afterwards.  I topped them with the rest of the blueberry sauce from yesterday's Dutch babies and SWMBO fried up some hickory smoked bacon to accompany.  Cooking is fun but eating is better.

And now a story of life that a good friend has just e-mailed to me.  Men may appreciate it more than women but I think you'll all enjoy it.

A group of 15-year old guys discussed where they should meet for dinner. It was agreed they should meet at the Dairy Queen next to the Ocean View Restaurant because they only had $6.00 between them, and Jannie Johnson, that cute girl in Social Studies, lives on that street, and they might see her, and they can ride their bikes there.


Ten years later, the group of 25-year-old guys discussed where they should meet for dinner. It was agreed they should meet at the Ocean View Restaurant because the beer was cheap, they had free snacks, the band was good, there was no cover, and there were lots of cute girls.


Ten years later, at 35 years of age, the group once again discussed where they should meet for dinner. It was agreed they should meet at the Ocean View Restaurant because the booze was good, it was right near the gym, and if they went late enough, there wouldn't be too many whiny little kids.


Ten years later, at 45 years of age, the group once again discussed where they should meet for dinner. It was agreed they should meet at the Ocean View Restaurant because the martinis were big, and the waitresses wore tight tops and tighter pants.


Ten years later, at 55 years of age, the group once again discussed where they should meet for dinner. It was agreed they should meet at the Ocean View Restaurant because the prices were reasonable, the wine list was good, and fish is good for your cholesterol.


Ten years later, at 65 years of age, the group once again discussed where they should meet for dinner. It was agreed they should meet at the Ocean View Restaurant because the lighting was good, and they have an early bird special.


Ten years later, at 75 years of age, the group once again discussed where they should meet for dinner. It was agreed they should meet at the Ocean View Restaurant because the food was not too spicy, and the restaurant was handicapped accessible.


Ten years later, at 85 years of age, the group once again discussed where they should meet for dinner. It was agreed they should meet at the Ocean View Restaurant because they had never been there before.

(Thanks, Lori!)
 

Cooking

I'd like to have photos to show you but I have to master my camera and its intricacies first.

I go through one of these "spasms" from time to time.  I love reading about food, watching t.v. food shows, imagining all the recipes I could concoct or at least master. 

Well, as SWMBO pointed out tonight at the dinner table, cooking is mastered (or at least made competent) by doing it every day, for days and weeks and months at a time.  I have in the past taken on some recipe that was way beyond my talents, gotten frustrated by the results and said some version of "I'll never cook again!"

But then, at some point in the future, having watched Bobby Flay or Mario Batali or the sexy Cat Cora easily polish off a wonderful gourmet dish . . or having read some fabulous recipe in a magazine or a cookbook . . . the juices get stirring again. 

I have recently taken a look at one book in our (SWMBO says) "massive" cookbook collection.  It is "James McNair's Favorites" and I have fallen in love with the kitchen again.  This time I've decided to take it from the beginning, trying some of his simple recipes from the very front of the book, then working my way forward.  Thus I came to his second recipe - "Oven-Puffed Pancakes", which he says also are known as "Dutch babies".  They're very simple and my first attempt was successful.  I used the "standard" lemon juice and powdered sugar on them, then tried some "out of the bottle" pancake syrup.  They were o.k.  Today, I made them again, for SWMBO and I.  This time, I filled the cavity with a heated and sweetened blueberry syrup which was in the refrigerator and topped them with a bit of powdered sugar.  We both loved them.

Well, what can encourage a fledgling in the kitchen except success, right?  So this afternoon I tried one of Mark Bittmann's recipes for red pepper puree.  Again, success. 

And that led, of course, to something more complicated.  Chicken saltimbocca, which I've made before, and fettucini alfredo, which I've also made before. 

First was a salad and I found, to my despair, that the refrigerator held only a quarter of a dessicated head of iceberg lettuce for the greens.  Oh, there was some bok choy but I think that's for cooking and some romaine hearts, but I usually just tear one of those leaves off, dip it in some ranch dressing and munch it along with Friday night pizza.  So I experimented, chopping up what remained of the iceberg, adding some chopped radishes, green onions and orange peppers.  As I told SWMBO at the table, I guessed it what is called these days "a chopped salad."  It wasn't bad.

Then on to the entree.  I had some trouble with the chicken.  Ended up with one fairly large piece, one slightly smaller piece and a couple of little pieces.  The prosciutto may have come out of the refrigerator too soon as it tended to shred, rather than peel off nicely in a slice.  Then the basil leaves were smaller than I had expected so instead of two per piece of chicken, there were four or so and fastening them and the prosciutto with toothpicks became somewhat of a problem.  But I got it done, after a fashion.  (Kind of looked like a Civil War soldier sutured up on the battlefield by some guy whose previous experience was as a blacksmith.)

Then there was the pasta.  Damn!  One of my front burners just doesn't put out enough heat so I struggled getting the fettucini to a fair resemblance of al dente.  Then I (as I usually do) undercalculated the amount of alfredo sauce.  So, the pasta was a little tough and a little dry.

But. . . wonder of it all . . . the saltimbocca was wonderful.

So I am a moderate success.  And, as SWMBO was good to point out (as she cowered in the other room), I neither screamed in agony during the process nor yelled the F word once.

Tomorrow morning . . . McNair's lemon souffle pancakes.

Finally!!!

TRADER JOE'S IS COMING!!!

After years of pleading the Corporate Office has confirmed that TJ's will open a store in Prescott this year.

Here is the story as reported in today's Daily Courier.

Cool cellos

I have to thank my good friend, travelin' man Tom "Tombo" Check for bringing this video to my attention.  All I can say is what I said to him on hearing it: "wow"!

Pigeons . . . for pie?

When I looked out my back window this morning, I saw a pair, a couple, a brace, of pigeons sitting on the fence.  Innocently looking around, taking in a coolish but sunny morning, thinking about plans for the day.  Or perhaps, as I am wont to surmise, thinking about nothing because their brains are too small.  But they certainly are plump.

Perhaps, if one were inclined to shoot and eat them, perfect for a pigeon pie.


Which introduces British chef Simon Goodman.



Well, I'm sorry.  Not to my taste.  But it's up to you.  At least you now know how to do it.