Culinary musings...

I had to have a Come-To-Jesus talk with myself tonight.  I'm from the South.  That's what we do.  With ourselves ... and with others.  Anyway, I had a Come-to-Jesus talk with myself about what exactly constitutes a dire emergency with regard to Spicy Dr Pepper Pulled Pork.  You see, I was just about to make a second batch, scissors millimeters away from the pork sirloin roast package, when I was struck by the side of that particular road.  Earlier, I went "shopping" in my basement freezer to pick some meals for the week—even though my kitchen freezer still had six meals in it—and discovered that I only had a single jar of Spicy Dr Pepper Pulled Pork left.  Just one!

I have the ingredients on hand for two batches and set out to make two batches.  This was after having finished a batch of Myrtle's Black-Eyed Pea Medley, since I had only one jar of that left.  There I was, just about to cut open the plastic covering after having pulled my first batch of pork and filled nine jars, when it struck me that most likely no one else on the entire planet would consider ten servings of pulled pork still an insufficient amount to have on hand.  Even eating them every other day, I had a 20-day window in which to make the second batch.  Did I really and truly and absolutely need to make the second batch??

It was hard for me to admit that the answer was: "No."

There Paul was, going about his business, and God said, "What are you doing?"  A sudden stop.  An enforced examination of your course of action.  A Come-to-Jesus talk.

The other part of the equation is that I have been hankering to make a black bean soup for months now.  I'm from the South.  That's what we eat.  Only, I keep running into obstacles of Myrtle-Dislike ingredients.  A few days ago, I finally concluded that the way to make a black bean soup with traditional ingredients (the bell peppers) is to roast them.  I think that I would not object to roasted bell peppers in the soup, since there would be no crunchiness to them.  I had planned to do my standard work around for the onion (purée).  And I have no guilt about ditching the cilantro.  But the peppers.  How could I make black bean soup with just black beans and still call it black bean soup???

I have been studying up on the roasting, de-stemming, de-seeding, and peeling of bell peppers.  I actually believe that I could accomplish such (as opposed to my failure of acquiring the skill of blanching).  I have settled on my main ingredients.  So, I am about ready to try my soup.  If successful, I could actually foresee a time when I did not actually have more than two servings of pulled pork tacos in a seven-day period.

My plan with the roasted peppers would be to treat them as I learned you should with fresh herbs in cooking things long-term.  By that I mean, I learned in making the stew that, if using fresh herbs, you add them in the last 30 minutes.  Today, I used fresh thyme in my black-eyed peas.  Now, that is such an absolutely perfect recipe, I was afraid to muck about with it.  But I ditched the onion powder in favor of a puréed red onion and I used fresh thyme.  The latter I put in just before the final 30 minutes of cooking uncovered (reduction time).  Likewise, I figured that, having been roasted, the bell peppers do not need to cook the entire 2-2.5 hours a black bean soup would require.

Why do Southerners eat black bean soup?
Because you serve it with a dollop of sour cream on top!

Determined to make it to my next budget cycle with the remaining milk on hand, Wednesday-Saturday were practically milk-less.  By that I mean, I had to make do with only a single glass of milk on two of those four days.  [We won't discuss how far I am into the gallon of milk I opened on Sunday.]  I consider it a ginormous victory that I also managed to eek out an existence with the sour cream I had on hand.  [We won't discuss just how many containers of sour cream made their way into my cart on Sunday.]

In addition to the parsnips, I also bought some summer squash.  That is the single vegetable on which I actually like the peel/skin/healthy part.  I really only have two ways that I eat it, so today I did some Googling.  I found few interesting recipes, but I found one I want to try first:  sage butter squash with dill garnish.

You see, I got to thinking that if I concentrated on vegetables, I could still do some recipe exploration, i.e., the activity that calms and soothes me ... distracts me.  Thus far, I have been able to find recipes that I could halve (to better cook for one) or that might do well as freezer vegetables.  So, I can be fairly economical about extending the cooking activities.

Along with the vegetable idea, I bought some sausage.  Now, after all that Southerner talk, I am a bit chagrined to admit that I am not sure I have ever really cooked sausage.  I mean, I grew up with it as a staple—especially at barbecues—but as an adult, I mostly ... cluck.  I bought some regular sausage and some really interesting sounding sausage (chicken with apple and gouda).  Each pack has four pieces, so I have eight opportunities to try out a vegetable dish with some protein thrown in for good measure.

When I am being a good little Dysautonomia patient, I stick with the smaller meals.  This way, I can have the protein I need and have a small meal of some sort of vegetable tastiness.  Of course, all this is a supplement to my weekly "doses" of my required tastiness, i.e., pulled pork tacos, Chipotle Chicken Chili, Beef Stew with Beer, and black-eyed peas, interspersed with some of that addictive Pasta alla Vodka (though I have no more shell pasta and far too much mezze penne), Thai Honey Peanut Chicken, and Lemon Chicken Gyros.

Growing up, I drove my family nuts whenever we went to Mexican restaurants because I only ever ordered one dish:  chicken fajitas (with a bowl of queso, of course).  If I had a nickel for every time someone in my family tried to convince me that if only I tried a new entrée I would see how many great Tex-Mex dishes there are, I would have absolutely no worries about the cost of the erythromycin pills.  I am a loyal eater.  When I discover something that satiates my soul in a culinary fashion, that fills my being with culinary bliss, I stick with it.  Like my Taco Bell order.  The only reason it has changed over the years is that one of my two items was discontinued (the tostada).  Bean burrito (no onions, add sour cream) and a crunchy taco supreme (no tomatoes).  I eat the taco first.  I savor the burrito.  I am not interested in consuming other menu items.

Cooking all my food from scratch, trying to transition away from as much processed food (preservatives and additives that my innards no longer tolerate), has broadened my culinary "likes" a bit ... but I would have absolutely no problems with eating pulled pork tacos every day for the rest of my life.  I would miss the chicken chipotle chili ... deeply.  However, I have found my if-you-lived-on-a-dessert-island-and-could-only-have-one-food item.

[Note:  I eat them with sour cream and white cheddar cheese.]

Whilst I still have copious exploring to do, if you asked me right this very minute, my desert island vegetable would be the Zesty Roasted Rutabaga and Carrots.  I currently have four rutabagas in my abode.  On the morrow, I shall use the largest of them to make me up a huge batch of that tastiness.

As for my dessert island desert, I would have said, most firmly, that it would be the brown sugar oatmeal cookies (gasp!  not the Peanut Butter Nutella Cheesecake Bars) had you asked me that up until a short while ago.  However, I might have been ensnared by the siren call emanating from those White Chocolate Cherry Oatmeal Cookies.

I will note that, yesterday, before I made the Blueberry Lime Oatmeal Muffins, I legitimately had to stop and re-organize the shelves in one of my kitchen cabinets.  Moving about ingredients over the past few months—sometimes hastily as I am in the middle of cooking—had brought inefficient disorder to the cabinet.  [Oh, how I wish I had local folk who needed organizing and reducing help!]  I used the opportunity to reorganize the cabinet next to it, as well, before I went on to make those most delicious of muffins.