Progress.

Behold. This is the cupboard where I've been returning canning jars after we've eaten their contents. It gives me almost as much pleasure to see them all emptied out as this picture did, months ago, when they were all full. All the work would've been in vain if we weren't eating the stuff, right? Well, thankfully, we are.

It's a weird state to be in: we have so much food in our house, canned and frozen, that I almost view it as an accomplishment when a bag or a jar gets emptied out. Like, progress. I guess it's just the utilitarianist in me, delighted to have fulfilled the canned tomatoes' higher purpose by eating them in February. This has given me a different, almost religious relationship with my food. I go down to the cellar to find The Chosen One, the can that's going to become tonight's dinner. Fitting the empty jars into our dishwasher, and, later, putting them away, gives me great satisfaction.

Satisfaction, and yearning to fill them all up again. Just as soon as happy green things start to grow out of this half-frozen, puckery ground.

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Mu shu for you?

I'm a pack rat. Most of you know that. My husband and I have a three bedroom house, a kitchen that occupies about half of the downstairs floorspace, and innumerable built-in cabinets. And they're all full. All of them. I thrift, I go to junk shops, I acquire things from various sources. I also approach grocery shopping with the zeal of a foraging expedition. In the International section, I gather colorful bottles of condiments: toasted sesame oil, hoisin sauce, rose water. I collect little twist-tied bags of herbs in the bulk section. I'm a sucker for nut oils, flavored vinegars, and exotic grains. As a result, my pantry resembles a museum. The contents are carefully labeled, lined up or stacked in neat rows. My bean collection is housed in a few big half-gallon glass jars. Is there a word for this condition? Aside from "pack rat," I mean, a term. Kitchen hoarder? Culinary collector? Wacko?

Yesterday, I was actually glad to suffer from such an affliction. The recipe called for toasted sesame oil, which I had. Hoisin sauce, rice vinegar, no problem. I even had a few tablespoons of dry sherry, sad and forlorn at the back of the shelf. These ingredients I collect all had their moment of glory last night.

Mu Shu Stir Fry

1 1/2 cups raw brown rice

Start the rice cooking, in 3 cups water, before you start assembling the stir fry.

1 tbsp vegetable oil
3 cloves garlic, minced
2 tbsp grated ginger root
8 oz frozen broccoli
1 large carrot, cut into matchsticks

Heat the oil in a large frying pan. Add the garlic and ginger and saute a few minutes, until the garlic begins to brown. Then add the carrot and broccoli.

3 tbsp soy sauce
3 tbsp rice or cider vinegar
3 tbsp dry sherry
3 tbsp hoisin sauce

Mix these ingredients together in a small bowl, and set aside. Once the carrots and broccoli are crisp-tender, add the soy sauce mixture to the pan, along with:

1 cup mushrooms, (white or shitaki) sliced
1/2 cup sliced scallions
4 oz canned bamboo shoots (optional)

In a separate pan, toast 1/4 cup sesame seeds on medium heat. You don't need to add any oil to the pan, just let the seeds toast, stirring every minute or so, until golden-brown. Transfer the seeds to a small bowl, and put the pan back on the heat.

In a bowl, whisk together 2 eggs with 1 tsp sesame oil. Pour this into the pan you'd used to toast the sesame seeds. Let it cook about two minutes, then flip to cook the other side. Remove the egg pancake from the pan, and cut it into strips. Mix the egg strips into the cooked vegetables. Serve the whole mess over rice, sprinkled with toasted sesame seeds. Enjoy!

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Super (Beautiful) Breakfast

Have you all checked out the Winter Manifesto going on over at SouleMama? I've been loving its simplicity and grace, and so far I think she's been right on about how to beat the winter blues: follow the sun, make things, sit by the fire, wear your wool and flannel, shake things up, and get outside. Today, however, I'd like to add an element of my own personal Winter Manifesto that Amanda missed: above all else, eat a hearty breakfast. It should be hot, of course, preferably with heavy involvement from raisins and cinnamon. Applesauce, while not necessary, is recommended.

And now, a brief ode to my favorite hot cereal: Bob's Red Mill Seven Grain. If you like hot cereal, and you haven't tried this one yet, please do. The label looks like something from a 19th century general store, and the ingredients read like a bag of horse feed, but oh, how I love it. I'm one of those who isn't crazy about oatmeal. I'll tolerate it, but personally, I think oatmeal is pasty and boring. I picture stodgy English professors (sorry Kate!) with their feet up on brocade ottomans, reading something stultifying, Nathaniel Hawthorne maybe, and eating their oatmeal. Oatmeal is Dick Cheney, and Felix Ungar, and Bert from Sesame Street. It's Puritanical. It's seltzer water, and church on Sundays in dusty little pillbox hats.

This stuff is way cooler. If it's church, it's Unitarian church. If it's Sesame Street, it's Elmo, not Bert. It wouldn't dare be pasty. It's nutty and flavorful; in short, a wonder food.

And now that I've gotten completely carried away with hot cereal, when this post was really supposed to be about my new bowls, I will stop here.

Hello. This is one of my new bowls I've been meaning to blog about since forever. They were a birthday present to myself, from myself. The best kind. And while I usually prefer to get my fabulous, beautiful kitchen things from thrift stores or antique stores, I have to say there's something really exciting about the fact that these are from Anthropologie. Anthropologie is like this club, this elite society of creative, interesting people with excellent taste. Excellent taste, and deep pockets, because their stuff never comes cheap. But, lucky me, I caught these pretties on sale a few days before Christmas.

I believe in beautiful dishes. I'm not someone who has wedding china she never uses. What's the point? I mainly enjoy things by using them (as opposed to just looking at them) and so, our china gets plenty of service. It makes eating a little more interesting, a little more exciting. And on a dreary gray dirty-snow February day, who can argue with that?

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Branching out

Well, I've done it. I've started another blog. Those of you who aren't local (i.e. aren't from Binghamton, hippest city ever) probably won't find much of interest there. Sorry. But for everyone who is local, check it out!

The above picture is of our mayor, Matt Ryan, playing harmonica at a local bar last night. That's the sort of thing I want to write about-- events and happenings, and a sprinkling of local history in there, too.

So, henceforth, Sweetfern will be what it's always been-- crafts, recipes, gardening, diy, and lots of cat pictures. If I've got something to say that's only of local interest, though, you'll find it over at my new blog, West Side Living. Enjoy!

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Grand Canyon of the east

I'm thinking maybe the Weather Gods read my blog, and for whatever reason wanted to grant me another warm Saturday after last weekend. If this is the case, then welcome, Gods! Make yourselves at home! I'll gladly give you special reader privileges or whatever, just keep them Saturdays coming!

We'd heard many good things about the so-called Grand Canyon of the East, at Leonard Harrison State Park in PA. Always suckers for the simple joys of bagels, coffee, and Car Talk on Saturday mornings, we headed off in search of adventures.

We hiked a bit, enjoyed the view, and just generally had fun goofing off in the woods. It's our favorite place to do it. The gorge, though pretty awesome, did not quite warrant the title "Grand Canyon of the East." But since it was called that, of course, one in three local businesses was called Canyon-this or Canyon-that. Canyon Flooring, for example. Ahh, the charms of regional attractions.

Update: still loving my new camera. I'm pretty sure it picks up details that are invisible to the naked eye.

And I'll close with more evidence of Patrick's non-smiling policy when I'm taking pictures. Well, alright, there might be smiles, but they certainly aren't sincere. They're smiles honed in his days as a car salesman.

These photo shoots are of course accompanied by much stomping and verbal threats (by me) and laughter (by him). I still think laughter is the root of a healthy marriage, so I guess I'll put up with him. For now.

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Eggs+cheese+milk+vegetables+stale bread=dinner.

It's a simple enough equation. If you want to be fancy, you can call it a Strata. Myself, I prefer to call it Cheesy Eggy Bready Whatnot. It's endlessly variable, crazy easy, homely and comforting. Perfect for yesterday evening, when it was approximately 43 degrees in our unheated kitchen. Those who've been here know: our house is cold. When it got to be dinner-making time, I didn't want to go. I was having a delightful afternoon, thanks, camped out in my studio with the heater going full blast. Finally I managed to extract myself and hobble downstairs, shivering, to stand in front of the open fridge, frowning and shifting from one socked foot to the other. Who hasn't been there?

The contents of our fridge were certainly less-than-inspiring: half a quart of slightly sour milk, some cheddar cheese with a few freckles of pink mold, and the mummified heels of four loaves of bread, reposing on the bottom shelf. Gourmet!

We all know that when life hands you lemons, you should make lemonade. What about when life hands you moldy cheese and sour milk? Make strata! (Cut the mold off, first, though.)

Tomato-Broccoli Strata

4 cloves garlic, minced
2 cups milk
1/4 tsp dried thyme
plenty of salt and fresh black pepper
4 eggs
1 15-oz can stewed tomatoes
1 10-oz package frozen broccoli, thawed
1/2 lb stale bread, in 1/2" cubes
1 cup grated cheddar cheese

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Combine the milk, garlic, and seasonings in a bowl, and microwave for one minute. Let it cool for about five minutes while you grate the cheese and cube the bread. Beat the eggs together in a separate bowl. Gradually whisk the cooled milk mixture into the eggs until well combined.

Oil a 2-qt casserole dish. In the bottom, make a layer using half the bread cubes. Follow with half the tomatoes and half the broccoli, then half the cheese. Repeat the layers. Grind some extra black pepper over the top, then pour the egg-milk mixture over the whole thing. Cover the top with aluminum foil, and bake for 30 minutes. Remove the foil, and bake for another twenty, until the top is golden brown.

This can be made with just about any (favorable) vegetable combination. Using spinach or kale or green beans instead of the broccoli would work fine, adding some mushrooms or olives in place of all or part of the tomatoes... pretty much, whatever you've got in the freezer will work. Enjoy!

*Disclaimer: Moldly cheese, though tasty, is not a staple ingredient in my kitchen.


On an unrelated topic, I couldn't resist sharing this picture:

Pete and Olive, best friends. Awww...

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Re-fashion #1: summer shirt

This one's for Amy. Amy Karol, of Angry Chicken, is a re-fashioning goddess. Weekly, it seems, she's taken some ho-hum article of clothing and made it sha-zam. This post is a recent example. Wow, right?

So, Amy's the angry chicken, a brave woman with a pair of dressmaker's shears. Me? I'm chickenshit, too timid to ever ever just boldly CUT into a perfectly good shirt. What if I mess it up, royally? How will I live with knowing that I've taken something and wasted it through my own stupidity? It's always seemed more than I can bear. That is, until today.

This shirt was one I thrifted, for $1.50, sometime over the summer. It was, er, a little big, but I liked the fabric, so I brought it home and threw it on the Clothes Heap in my studio, to wait for the day when I could screw up the guts to tackle it.

It's a scary process, man.

Eeek!

After taking in the neckline incrementally, and doing much sipping of tea and fretting and pacing, I decided what this thing really needed was an empire waist.

Empire waists? Big fan. I'm at total peace with my upper body: arms, shoulders, back, boobs, all satisfactory and presentable. The marsupial pouch? Hmmm, not so much, that one.

It's sorta hard to tell in this picture, but the shirt ended up getting a myriad of tucks and gathers (three in front and two big ones in back), an empire waist, pleats under the boobs, and ties in the back.

So, first re-fashion project completed, check! Baby steps. Maybe someday I'll be like Amy and wear my shears in a holster on my hip, ready to unleash creative goodness at any minute... well, it's good to have heroes, isn't it?

I'll close with a gratuitous shot of my (satisfactory) boobs. The pleats and the empire waist are way easier to see in this one.

Bonus points for the first one to spot the cat in this post.

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