I’ve heard Nebraska beef talked up a lot. Omaha Steaks are out of North Carolina. Dunno if they get their beef from Nebraska, which is the new Argentina, even the New South Africa (or so I hear). Thanks to whoever sent these in. They went straight into the freezer (which is O.K., as they are vacuum sealed and so any would-be freezer burn is not really an issue).
Meanwhile, I threw the dry ice in the sink and turned on the water and watched the show. That was the best part, bringing back memories of elaborate haunted houses as a kid.
Meanwhile, I’ve been putting up posts about not wanting to be caught out taking gifts from certain categories of people. Sorry to be discriminatory to our intel services, but one can’t be too careful if one has a long history of bribes in this regard. The Omaha Steaks box was an anonymous gift in the midst of those protestations. I’m sure it’s all innocent and from a friend. Yet, I bid the sender let me know who it’s from.
Otherwise I might have to have a post on feeding such delicacies to Shadow-dog and Laudie-dog, just to be able to prove that that my hands are clean. I would hate, say, after a month or so, if some intel guy were to come up to me and ask if the steaks were delicious and add that there’s more where that came from, and then add something like, “Did you ever talk with […] when you were in […]?” with that conversation going nowhere good.
It’s been a long standing tradition after the Thursday Noon Mass in Robbinsville to have a bit of lunch together. I’ve never heard mention of “Fried Oreos.” Must be a new recipe from the Yankees up north. I went instead for the “Catheads ‘n Soppins” aka biscuits ‘n gravy (along with other bacon enhanced delights).
I think I have the best parish in the whole wide world. The parishioners are very good to me, perhaps even especially while the storms storm away. I very much appreciate that. How about your priests?
Generous green thumb parishioners planted two-year roots last year. This year, I’ve done nothing to help them really. No lime. Kind of weeding only once, and now the weeds are taller than them. They don’t seem to mind. Those above were left a few too many hours and really took off. They’re so fast. They are still good. You break them starting at the top, about every six inches or whatever is convenient. When they don’t pop apart, discard the rest. The taller one popped only to half way. The others went almost to the bottom.
Laid out on a plate, microwaved for until you hear the first explosions (about 10-15 seconds). A bit of salt or just as they are. Even not heated up. Mmm mmm.
If you’re quick, from garden to stomach in less than a minute. :-)
A most wonderful daily treat as these spears jump up from the ground each day, eager to be ever so slightly browned in bacon grease saved from past extravaganzas. A slight sprinkling of salt is savory. Just ever so slight.
I heartily thank my parishioners who dug the bed and and planted 2-year-old roots one year ago. I ignored those entirely for the year, letting them forest out to get a good hold. But now’s the time to start enjoying them. The same parishioners weeded everything some weeks ago. I’ll have to follow up on their great work and get out there myself.
While I was gone to Rome, my neighbor who was feeding Shadow-dog and Laudie-dog was able to enjoy the spears. He himself was the tip of the spear, as it is said, having been 82nd Airborne. Now he’s out in his yard digging a patch up to plant asparagus roots.
I was taught to cut them about 3/4″ below the ground, careful not to injure other spears working their way up. You can’t let them grow too tall as they get too woody.
Do you have an asparagus patch? How do you prepare them?
Marshmallows, Fruit Loops, Pretzels… “Trailer Trash” is what it’s called locally. I like that. People poking fun at themselves because they know they themselves are not trash but can make the most of the trash food around them to come up with something really quite exquisite tasting, at least to me. Salty-sweet.
The happiness of Christmas continues. And we’ve just begun. Christmas season continues. We’re in the thick of it with three red-vestment feast days in a row.
For the sake of a diet (I’ve been stuck at 252 since Eastertide began), I’ve given up on pasta, though bacon has re-entered my life. Not very consistent. It’s just that someone gave me ten pounds of the meatiest bacon. And it’s really good. Since I’m only just beginning to learn how to cook, it’s getting fried. I’m told bacon is best baked. When the asparagus grows it will be wrapped in bacon and baked. Really good. Anyway…
From a letter to Diognetus (Nn. 5-6; Funk, 397-401) The Christian in the world
Christians are indistinguishable from other men either by nationality, language or customs. They do not inhabit separate cities of their own, or speak a strange dialect, or follow some outlandish way of life. Their teaching is not based upon reveries inspired by the curiosity of men. Unlike some other people, they champion no purely human doctrine. With regard to dress, food and manner of life in general, they follow the customs of whatever city they happen to be living in, whether it is Greek or foreign.
And yet there is something extraordinary about their lives. They Continue reading
From last night… The last time I had lobster was on Prom night after the dance (in the school gym) at a fancy restaurant overlooking the Mississippi river in central Minnesota with a wonderful Canadian girl from the famous Ecumenical Institute at Saint John’s Abbey, my home parish at the time. This girl and I had put in lots of horse back riding together there in the southern most reaches of the northern woods. We talked about how many kids we would have. She said she had dreamed about twelve. I said that I thought that honestly a good number would be sixteen. We both agreed that God is the one to decide. She went back to Canada and I went to the seminary. The memories! Funny what you think of when you have a meal you’ve only had once before in your life.
This lobster was eaten in the company of a fellow priest and his parents. His father was ordained a permanent deacon in the same Mass that the son was ordained a priest, and this was the tenth anniversary. So, four lobsters, still very much alive before being put into pots to be steamed. Steamed, it seems, is the only way to make lobster. I didn’t hear any screams from the lobsters. I usually just eat toast and think that to be extravagant. So, what do I know about recipes?
I hope people aren’t scandalized by this. But there are things to celebrate. It’s good to celebrate. Catholics do know how to celebrate. Though others do as well. I’m sure you remember a favorite of many (the final scene of Babette’s Feast):