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Food Week – Chuck’s Lasagna Saga

Friday, November 23rd, 2012

 By Gail P. (TinkerPirate)

 

There once was a man named Chuck

Who would cut your hair for a buck

Though he was good

At cooking most food

With lasagna he had no luck

 

 

Grumpy, my dear husband, and I used to have the same barber. His name was Chuck. With a pair of scissors, he was a magician. Get him in the kitchen and – well, I’m getting ahead of myself.

A number of years ago, while having dinner with his father-in-law, Chuck mentioned that he made great lasagna. Well, his father-in-law replied that this was nice, but that he made BETTER lasagna. Chuck gently reminded his father-in-law that he was Italian and that everybody knows that Italians make the BEST lasagna. The father-in-law, being Sicilian, took exception at this. Well, after a number of “does too” – “does nots”, an oven mitt was thrown AND the Annual Lasagna Contest was born.

Great idea! But, who would judge the contest?

Chuck’s wife couldn’t. Her loyalties would be torn between the man who gave her life and the man who gives her love. So, they began to solicit neighbors and friends – but as they described the situation, those very friends and neighbors told Chuck and his father-in-law that they considered themselves to also be great lasagna makers and wanted to enter the fray. Great – now they had a bezillion lasagna makers. What started out as a simple dinner statement turned into the mother of all lasagna contests.

How did Chuck do? Well, the first year, Chuck made his regular lasagna and lost. The second year, he devised a new recipe: he cooked the noodles the day before and marinated them overnight in a “secret sauce”. The resulting lasagna was mooshy because the marinated noodles disintegrated. As you can guess…Chuck did not win…again.

For year three, Chuck developed a different strategy. Knowing that the best part of lasagna was the sauce and cheese, he would eliminate the noodles! He developed another “secret sauce”, threw in bread crumbs, and sought out the perfect cheese. Chuck figured the bread crumbs would soak up the juice from the wonderful sauce and combine with the perfect cheese to form a magnificently textured and flavorful lasagna. WRONG! What he got was a lasagna pan of goop…tasty goop…but goop none the less.

After loss three, Chuck gracefully “retired” from lasagna competition. He decided to just host the parties. And, his father-in-law…he NEVER did enter a single contest!

Now, that I have you all set for the really great lasagna recipe…here it is. How do I know? Well, first of all it’s NOT Chuck’s – it’s MINE and it won the very last Lasagna Contest!

 

Tricolor Lasagna

Serves 12

 

16 ounces lasagna noodles

2 pounds Italian sausage

6 cups spaghetti sauce

1 can black olives – chopped

1 cup pesto sauce

32 ounces ricotta cheese

24 ounces mozzarella cheese – shredded

Pour spaghetti sauce into a heavy bottomed sauce pan and bring to a simmer. Continue to simmer until sauce reduces and is slightly thickened. Brown sausage, drain, and add to thickened spaghetti sauce. Add black olives. Continue to simmer for 30-60 minutes. Blend pesto sauce with half of the ricotta cheese. Blend the remaining ricotta with half of the mozzarella cheese. Prepare the noodles according to the directions on the package.

Spread a small amount of spaghetti sauce/sausage mixture in the bottom of a deep lasagna pan. Cover with lasagna noodles. Spread a layer of spaghetti sauce/sausage mixture on top of noodles (keep 1 cup of sauce mixture in reserve). Sprinkle with 2/3 of remaining mozzarella cheese. Cover with lasagna noodles. Spread ricotta/mozzarella mixture on top of noodles (keep 1 cup of mixture in reserve). Cover with lasagna noodles. Spread layer of pesto/ricotta mixture (keep 1 cup of mixture in reserve). Cover with lasagna noodles. Spread reserved mixtures on top of noodles so it resembles the Italian flag. Sprinkle with remaining mozzarella cheese.

Place in a preheated 375 degree oven and bake until sauce is bubbly and cheese on top is melted and starting to brown (about 50 minutes). Remove from oven and rest for 5 minutes before cutting and serving.

 

 

Pesto Sauce

3 cups fresh basil leaves – washed and dried

8 cloves of garlic – peeled

3 teaspoons pine nuts

1/2 cup parmesan cheese – finely grated

1/3 cup olive oil

Throw basil, garlic, pine nuts, and parmesan cheese into a food processor. Pulse until roughly chopped. Add olive oil. Pulse until solids are well chopped, but mixture is not liquefied.

 

 

Spaghetti sauce

A confession – I used jarred sauce…a combination of 3 cheeses and roasted red pepper…but use whatever you like. Or, you could look for recipes in the following books available on PBS:

 

 


Lasagna: The Art of Layered Cooking
by  Dwayne Ridgaway
 
The Top One Hundred Pasta Sauces
by Diane Seed
 
Monday-to-Friday Pasta (Monday-to-Friday Series)
by  Michele Urvater
 
The Book of Pasta
by Lesley MacKley and Jon Stewart
 
Five-Minute Pasta Sauces
by  Michael Oliver

 

 

 

 

                                                                                
 

 

November is National Adoption Awareness Month

Friday, November 9th, 2012

by Sherrie F. (FosterAdopt)

 

November is National Adoption Awareness Month, and Adoption is something very near and dear to my heart.  You see, all three of my children joined me through the gift of adoption.  J’Shawn, William, and Taleesa were placed with my as my foster children first before being settled into our forever home.  There are many different types of adoption.  From healthy new born infant through a private adoption, to caring for a family member’s child as your own, to opening your home a special needs sibling group from half away around the world.   Regardless of how adoption was a choice for your family, we all share the same calling – that knowing your child is out there waiting for you, and doing the hard work of bringing them home, wherever they may be.

 

As you can Imagine, I am a HUGE advocate of adoption through foster care.   I was a foster parent for 10 years and in that time had over 20 children placed in my home.  Not being a parent before fostering, I can tell you that my life changed in ways I never would have imagined.  Here are my thoughts on fostering/adoption through child protective services:

 

  • People say, “I could never foster because I just couldn’t handle it when the children leave”.   My response is this – As a foster parent your job is to love, care for, meet the children where they’re at, and give them what they need to help them move forward toward safety and permanency.  The hope is that all children will be reunited with their birth families – it is their parent’s right to have them there.  The hope is that when they do return, you’ve helped them become stronger (emotionally, mentally and physically) but most importantly knowing that they are deserving of love, respect and safety – this is the children’s right to expect of their parents.
  • When reuniting with their birth families is not a possibility, it your job as a foster parent to help them work toward permanency, hopefully with you – then if not, with their new adoptive family.  I’ve had a couple of children who became open for adoption and for personal reasons, I chose not to adopt.  Remember that it is also an act of complete love to know that these children deserve the very best home that can meet their needs and to know that you may not be it – it’s not about your needs, but theirs.
  • Please, never hold anger or animosity toward birth parents for the pain and loss that our children have endured.  This is where our children come from, and our children deserve for us to let that anger go and find peace and acceptance with their past so that we can help them build a much stronger future.

 

Lastly, the one thing I hold dear to my heart and I always tell myself is this  – “In order for my family to be created, another was broken apart”-  I don’t say this as though we are not deserving of having a family, rather this helps remind me that what we are given is truly a gift, and that even if I got placement of my child right out of the hospital, he’s lost something too.  This is a grief that as parents we can’t take away for them, but be there for them as they work through it in their time and it their own way.

 

When deciding that adoption through foster care was the route for me, and that I was open to adoption of children of another race or ethnicity, I wanted to read all I could.   All three of my children are African American, and I am Caucasian/Hispanic.

 

Black Baby, White Hands: A View From the Crib by Dr. Jaiya John

I read this book shortly after my oldest son, J’Shawn was placed with me at 19 months and learning that I would be able to adopt him.  This book stayed with me long after I read it, and still touches me deeply.

Dr. John is obviously very well spoken and possesses a gift in the use of the English language – beautiful prose throughout the book. Initially, it was very hard for me to get through the book as Dr John kept pointing out all of the things he had wished his parents had done or not done or did differently, etc, etc. I kept identifying with the adoptive parent (s) and quite frankly vacillated between finding myself lacking as a parent or feeling that Dr. John was unappreciative and unsympathetic towards his parent’s journey into transracial parenting with absolutely no map. However, toward the end of the book, it was obvious that he greatly loved and respected his parents.

It was only after I had read the entire book and was able to reflect that I was able to take from the book that this was HIS story, not the story of his parent’s journey as transracial parents.  This is story of a black boy raised in a white home, with white parents living in a (mostly) white community – his feelings of isolation, lack of identity and struggle to find himself. I guess what this book has helped me realize is – until the world is truly color blind, I won’t raise my son to be.

I’m not going to raise him wearing rose-colored glasses about the world and the people around him. I’d be doing him a disservice if I did. My son is black and I want him to know that and be proud of it. That’s part of who he is.

One of my biggest peeves, is when people tell me say to me” I bet you don’t even notice that he’s black, he’s just your son.” That is absolutely not true. Being black is part of who is he, I don’t love him regardless of whether or not he is black, one of the infinite reasons that I love him because he is.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Adopt A Shelter Dog Month or Why Turtles Get The Tails Wagging

Tuesday, October 30th, 2012

 By Carole (craftnut)

 

This is a very special time for dog lovers and close to my heart.  My husband and I have been involved with rescues for years and we have long ties with Humane Societies.  The stories are sometimes horrific, sometimes heartbreaking, and most of the time they make me want to string up the people responsible, but I promise, no horror stories here.

 

There are ups and downs with rescuing abused and neglected darlings, but the outcome has always been worth it.   We have a soft spot for Welsh Terriers, little black and tan dogs that some people think look like miniature Airedales although the breeds are not related.   Our current Welsh Terrier is a rescue we nicknamed Psychodog.  Her favorite things are her collection of stuffed turtles.  The first one came with her, the rescue counselor gave her the second turtle, and then a friend gave her a huge, yellow one.  Since three constitutes a collection, she began receiving stuffed turtles from other family members (current count 8).  She loves those things, and will walk around carrying them in her mouth, wagging her tail.  Her tail wags so fast at times it is just a blur.  It is part of her morning ritual after breakfast, and again anytime we have been out of the house and come back home.  It is fun to watch her dig through her toy basket to decide which stuffed animals deserve to come out to play.  She has other stuffed toys, but the turtles win most of the time.

 

 

Furkids add so much to our lives.  They love us no matter what.  They wake up happy, wagging a tail just to be near us.  They are there when we need a lift, to lick our faces and make us smile.  Their unfailing loyalty and unconditional admiration is a wondrous thing, spreading joy wherever they go.  Oh, if only our own lives could be so simple and uncomplicated!!

We can learn a lot from dogs.  Some years ago, I found this in a column by Ann Landers, and I still find it to be profound wisdom.

 

“If you can start the day without caffeine,

If you can get going without pep pills,

If you can resist complaining and boring people with your problems,

If you can eat the same food every day and be grateful for it,

If you can understand when your loved ones are too busy to give you any time,

If you can overlook it when something goes wrong through no fault of your own and those you love take it out on you,

If you can take criticism and blame without resentment,

If you can ignore a friend’s limited education and never correct him,

If you can resist treating a rich friend better than a poor friend,

If you can face the world without lies and deceit,

If you can conquer tension without medical help,

If you can relax without liquor,

If you can sleep without the aid of drugs,

If you can say honestly that deep in your heart you have no prejudice against creed, color, religion, or politics,

 

Then, my friends, you are almost as good as your dog.”

 

If you are thinking of adding a furkid to your family, please consider rescuing a forever friend from the local shelter or humane society.  You can save a life today, and the rewards will be worth it.  If you cannot have a dog (or another dog) consider volunteering at a local shelter.  They always need help to clean cages, walk the dogs and just provide much appreciated ear scratches and tummy rubs.

 

97 Ways to Make Your Dog Smile by Jenny Langbehn

 

Dogs Don’t Bite When a Growl Will Do by Matt Weinstein and Luke Barber

 

Merles Door: Lessons from a Freethinking Dog by Ted Kerasote

 

 

Marley and Me: Life and Love with the World’s Worst Dog by John Grogan

 

Amazing Gracie A Dog’s Tale By Dan Dye and Mark Beckloff

 

A Dog Year:  Twelve Months, Four Dogs and Me by John Katz

 

Dog Is My Co-Pilot: Great Writers on the World’s Oldest Friendship
Included are pieces by Lynda Barry, Rick Bass, Maeve Brennan, Margaret Cho, Carolyn Chute, Alice Elliott Dark, Lama Surya Das, Pam Houston, Erica Jong, Tom Junod, Caroline Knapp, Donald McCaig, Nasdijj, Ann Patchett, Michael Paterniti, Charles Siebert, Alexandra Styron, Elizabeth Marshall Thomas, and Alice Walker.

 

Rescuing Sprite A Dog Lover’s Story of Joy and Anguish by Mark R. Levin

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Banned Book Week – A Librarian’s Dilemma

Tuesday, October 2nd, 2012

Is It Censorship?

 

by Vicky T. (VickyJo)

 

I spent the better part of my Sunday afternoon selecting new books to purchase for the library.  This is—by far—the best part of my job.  I love reading reviews, reading blurbs about new books, finding a book that I know certain patrons will want to read.  We have a limited book budget, and so I try to make my money stretch as far as possible.  I want to purchase books that will be read, and recommended to others.  I don’t want to waste my precious book budget on books that won’t be checked out, or that no one is really interested in reading.

So that brings me to “50 Shades of Gray” which is my current headache.  For those of you who have not heard of this book, let me briefly fill you in:  a huge Twilight fan writes a novel (actually she wrote a trilogy) based on the Twilight characters and setting, except she took out the vampires and inserted sex.  Kinky sex, by some standards.  It becomes a publishing sensation, hitting the top seller spot on Amazon, and probably breaking selling records right and left.

Why does this give me a headache?  Well, I don’t want to spend money on it. I have a limited budget.  But I have patrons who have requested it; they want to read it, and as a public library, we try to provide books that people want to read.  So I should spend money on it.  And in fact, it’s included in my recently assembled book order.   I’ve put off buying it for a while, but I feel as though I’m being a censor, which I abhor.  And yet…

Don’t get me wrong: I don’t care about the kinky sex subject matter.  It’s none of my business, nor anyone else’s, what people like to read.  And frankly, we already have novels containing kinky sex scenes in the library.  My problem is the writing.  It’s terrible.  The author knows next to nothing about the craft and the art of writing.  I can’t imagine an editor ever saw this work before publication—but if the book was edited, I have grave doubts about both author AND editor.

Here then is my headache: Do I have an obligation to provide quality literature?  Or do I just provide whatever it is people want to read?  There are so many wonderful, well-written books out there; do I pass those by and choose sub-quality work, and thereby validate poorly written novels?  If I don’t buy 50 Shades, does that qualify as censorship?  Or snobbery?

It’s ironic that this should be plaguing me at the start of Banned Books Week, a celebration of our freedom to read sponsored by the American Library Association, the American Booksellers Association, and the American Society of Journalists and Authors, to name just a few of the organizations involved.  We may not think about it too much, but every day in America, someone somewhere would like to see a book pulled from library bookshelves forever.  If they succeed, they chip away at your freedom to read.

Censorship is something that we as Americans should stand against.  If we let our freedoms erode, then we let America and democracy erode.  Those who came before us worked too hard and sacrificed too much to let that happen.  President Harry Truman said, “Once a government is committed to the principle of silencing the voice of opposition, it has only one way to go, and that is down the path of increasingly repressive measures, until it becomes a source of terror to all its citizens and creates a country where everyone lives in fear.”  One of our greatest privileges as Americans is the freedom to have open discussions, open debates, and a free-flowing exchange of information and ideas, without the fear of repercussion.

50 Shades of Gray has been banned in Florida libraries.  I’m sure this has only increased its popularity.  The people censoring this work feel that in this case censorship is necessary.  They must feel as though they are protecting others from…what?  A lack of originality?  Perhaps.  All I know is that, in the end, I didn’t want to be a censor.  I’m free to give my opinion, but I have an obligation to provide materials that my patrons want to read.

There are standards when it comes to collection development which I follow.  I read reviews, but what happens when there are too many bad reviews? I don’t purchase the book in question.  Then again, should demand outnumber the bad reviews…well, it’s time for Tylenol.  I may not be able to struggle through a poorly written novel, but others can and will.  Noam Chomsky said it best: “If we don’t believe in freedom of expression for people we despise, we don’t believe in it at all.”  That’s hard to put into practice sometimes, but it’s true. Here’s my quote: If we don’t believe in freedom of expression in novels we despise, we don’t believe in it at all.  I will click the “Proceed to Checkout” button with great reluctance, but I will click it.

So enjoy a banned book this week, even 50 Shades.  If your librarian looks at you with sympathy and whispers, “It’s crap,” read it with relish.  Don’t ever let anyone take away your right to read.  Just remember, if you hate it, you were warned.  Now, I’m off to place a book order.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thread the Needle Day – July 25th

Wednesday, July 25th, 2012

By Carole (craftnut)


Aside from the obvious sewing reference, do you know that there are many definitions to this phrase?

 

To some it means to tread a fine line between opposing viewpoints.

 

To the racing enthusiast, it means to squeeze between two competitors and gain the lead.

 

It is a yoga pose to stretch the shoulders and back.

 

For the equestrian, it is a drill maneuver on horseback.

 

Taking a boat or ship between Passage Island and Blake Point on Lake Superior is referred to as “threading the needle” due to the dangerous conditions in early winter.

 

 

In football, the quarterback is said to ‘thread the needle’ by completing a pass with several defenders around the receiver.

 

In older folklore dances, it is a move where a couple holding hands creates an arch that other couples go under, then hold their hands up continuing the arch for more couples to pass.

 

If you enjoy river rafting, you can visit Thread the Needle on a pool of water on New River Gorge in West Virginia.  It lies between Millers Folly and Fayette Station Rapids where two large boulders create a rapid water area.

 

It seems that most of the definitions reference going through a tight space with obstacles on either side.  Sometimes those obstacles are figurative, sometimes real enough to cause physical injury.

 

I like to hike around the mountains here in Western North Carolina.  It is a love of the mountains that began when I was growing up.   It seems that there are spots on some trails where it seems to thread a needle, between the hill on one side and a ravine in the other.   I remember one summer when I was a kid, camping in the mountains with my family, and exploring the wilderness.  I remember a particular trail that led to a waterfall.  If you were careful, and threaded the needle, you could squeeze between the water and the rock face to get to a shallow cave behind the falls.  It was magical standing in that cave, with the sunlight coming through the falling water, and rainbows in the spray.  The humid air was cool and there was an earthy aroma of moss and peat.  The rush of water created a soothing sound.  It was a delight to the senses, and I didn’t want to leave.   There was a sense of being part of the world, a piece of something more whole and greater.  To paraphrase John Muir, it was a time when I felt in the world, not just on it.

Devil's Courthouse Mountain in the North Carolina Mountains on the Blue Ridge Parkway

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Maybe today is the day to get out and thread a needle of your own.  Go hiking, river rafting, dancing, horseback riding, rock climbing, take a yoga class or just take a walk.  Here are some guides to help you get out of the house.

 

 


The 10 Best of Everything National Parks – 800 Top Picks From Parks Coast to Coast, National Geographic

 


Essential Guide to Hiking in the United States by Charles Cook

 


National Geographic Guide to the National Parks of the United States, National Geographic Society

 


New River Gorge Trail Guide by Steve Cater

 


A Walk in the Woods by Bill Bryson

 


Hiking the Blue Ridge Parkway: The Ultimate Travel Guide to America’s Most Popular Scenic Roadway by Randy Johnson

 

 

 

 

Baxter Creek Trail in the Great Smoky Mountains of Haywood County, North Carolina

 

 

 

 

Put on Your Walking Shoes: It’s Moon Day

Friday, July 20th, 2012

by Mirah W. (mwelday)

 

Warning:  This post begins with my stream of consciousness thought process.  Please bear with me, it gets easier to understand.  Well, at least, in my mind it does.

Let’s see…Moon Day….schmoon day…what’s that about? Google…ah, Armstrong walking on the moon.  That’s boring.  Or cool.  Conspiracy. Space race.  What are those Russians up to these days? Apollo has landed.  Ok.  Landed.  Land…walking on land connected to moon would be what?  Moonwalk?  Haha…don’t want to write about Michael Jackson.  New Moon…um, no.  Comanche Moon…oh, I love that book.  Woodrow.  Augustus.  Lonesome Dove.  No, Comanche Moon.  Famous Shoes!  I love him!  And he walks on land in a book called Moon.  Can I use that?  Sure, why not.

So that’s how it happened.  That’s how I got the topic for today’s holiday blog post for Moon Day.  This post is dedicated to Famous Shoes, the Kickapoo tracker in the books Comanche Moon and Streets of Laredo, two books in the Lonesome Dove series by Larry McMurtry.  If you haven’t read them, well, I honestly don’t know what to say to you except…go on PBS and request them.  Now.  You won’t be sorry.  The series is one of the best I have ever read.

Famous Shoes is one of those characters I remember long after I’ve finished reading.  To be honest, lots of characters from the Lonesome Dove series are in this category but Famous Shoes is special. He had a relatively limited role compared to the other, more prominent, characters in McMurtry’s works but I think his quiet excellence is what made him so wonderful and unforgettable.    There are several traits that make Famous Shoes one of my all-time favorite book characters: he is dependable, independent, curious, introspective and not afraid of a good journey.  Plus, he inspired a shoe obsession for me but I’ll get to that later.

Famous Shoes was known for his ability to move quickly and show up unexpectedly. ‘Famous Shoes was a slight man with a deceptive gait.  He never seemed to hurry, yet he had no trouble keeping up with a troop of horsemen’ (McMurtry, p. 33).   Famous Shoes walked to his own beat, I guess you could say, but he always completed his task.  Captain Inish Scull would trust Famous Shoes to be away tracking for days and never thought Famous Shoes would fail to return or leave them in the lurch.  For a man who did not trust anyone, it seemed Scull put trust in Famous Shoes.  It’s his quiet dignity and sense of purpose, I think, that made Famous Shoes trustworthy and dependable.

Curiosity and search for knowledge sets Famous Shoes apart from the other characters in Comanche Moon.  He was, without a doubt, independent in his search for knowledge:  ‘The man would walk a thousand miles to listen to a certain bird whose call he might want to mimic’ (p. 108).  I admire Famous Shoes for going against the grain and doing his own thing.  He didn’t care if people thought he was crazy for taking on seemingly pointless treks.  He learned from his journeys and sometimes the education came from the journey itself and not the destination.  I sometimes go to places and do things others don’t agree with or they think are pointless, but you know what, those journeys make me a better person.  I think Famous Shoes shared my way of thinking.

Famous Shoes was a journeyer.  I believe that’s part of the reason why I connect so much with him.  In one of my favorite passages of Comanche Moon, the reader learns more about Famous Shoes’ journeying spirit:

‘The journeys people took had always interested him; his own life was a constant journeying, though not quite so constant as it had been before he had his wives and children.  Usually he only agreed to scout for the Texans if they were going in a direction he wanted to go himself, in order to see a particular hill or stream, to visit a relative or friend, or just to search for a bird or animal he wanted to observe.

Also, he often went back to places he had been at earlier times in his life, just to see if the places would seem the same.  In most cases, because he himself had changed, the places did not seem exactly as he remembered them, but there were exceptions.  The simplest places, where there was only rock and sky, or water and rock, changed the least.  When he felt disturbances in his life, as all men would, Famous Shoes tried to go back to one of the simple places, the places of rock and sky, to steady himself and grow calm again’ (p. 548).

In my life I move often and I think I have a journeying spirit like Famous Shoes.  Part of my journey is sometimes looking back to places I’ve been before and things I have experienced.  Living in different places has taught me lessons on so many things: independence, compassion, resilience, patience, understanding, friendship and love.  When things in life seem confusing or overwhelming, I like to think back to simple times.  My ‘water and rock’ is Hickam Beach in Hawaii…going on my own, enjoying the sunshine and sound of the ocean.    My ‘sky and rock’ is Misawa, Japan…looking out from our balcony at hawks floating by, the mountains and beautiful sunsets.

Ever since I read Comanche Moon I had in my mind a picture of what Famous Shoes’ boots would look like.  I saw them as a fawn brown with fringe.  For years I wanted what I called ‘Famous Shoes Boots’.  I don’t know why I wanted them; maybe I thought I would be infused with the wisdom of my favorite Kickapoo if I had the right shoes. But as much as I searched I couldn’t seem to find what I was looking for.  For years my husband heard me mention them.  I would look online at moccasins and boots and he would hear my ‘no, not quite’ comments.   I think he thought I would never be satisfied.

During a trip to Kyoto last year for my birthday my husband and I were walking to our hotel and he nudged my arm and said ‘Famous Shoes!’  I was like, ‘Where?!  What?!’  He pointed to a Japanese girl walking nearby who had on the boots I’d been looking for.  I couldn’t believe it….would I find my boots in Japan?!  A couple of days later on the way back to our hotel after dinner we saw a shoe store and THE boots were in the window.  My husband urged me inside to try them on and I walked out with my ‘Famous Shoes Boots’!

First of all, my husband is great.  I’ll just interject that observation here.  Amongst the throng of people walking the streets of Kyoto, he was the one who first spotted those boots and he actually remembered the name Famous Shoes.  And two, now I feel one step closer to being a journeyer of purpose.  I may not have gained all of Famous Shoes’ wisdom when I put them on, but the boots remind me of the importance of the journeys in my life. And trust me, the fact that I found the boots while on a journey was not lost on me.  I wore the boots home after our trip.  I even took a picture of them while at the airport; I’ve included it here so you can gawk at my level of obsession.

Mirah’s Famous Shoes Boots

In conclusion, I say:  Walk on like Famous Shoes.  Find your purpose and what makes you happy and keep on trekking.  Whether you’re searching for answers or a place to feel at peace, keep on looking. Whether it takes you to the moon or the house next door, be open to the journey.

 

Cited:   McMurtry, Larry.  Comanche Moon.  New York: Simon & Schuster, 2010.

 

 

       

 

 

 

In honor of Fried Chicken Day

Sunday, July 8th, 2012

Grandmother’s Fried Chicken Sunday Dinner

By Carole (craftnut)

 

Ok, I’ll admit it.  I am completely addicted to fried chicken.  I could eat it everyday, if only my arteries could take it.  Fried chicken was the comfort food of choice for my childhood years, and the very best was made in my grandmother’s kitchen in her cast iron skillet.

My grandmother lived on a very small farm, about two acres, where she raised chickens and had an extensive vegetable garden.  She canned fruit and vegetables, and made pickles, jellies, and chutneys.  As a kid, I learned to appreciate the difference that a really fresh egg can make to breakfast.  This was the era of putting bacon grease in the vegetables, and potatoes were served at almost every meal, often with corn.  Her fried chicken started off with catching one, wringing its neck, plucking the feathers, then cleaning it before cutting it into pieces.

My grandfather was a fried chicken freak as well.  He once made a bet with my grandmother that he could eat fried chicken three times a day every day.  So she took that bet, killed a chicken every day, plucked and cleaned it, and fried pieces three times a day for three months.  He happily ate every piece.  Yes, he even ate it for breakfast!!  At the end of three months of this, she gave up and told him he won.  It was years before she would fry chicken again.

I have searched in every town I have lived in for that hole-in-the-wall, out of the way place that fries chicken the old fashioned southern way.  No cayenne pepper for me!!  There is no way that any chain can do this southern tradition the way it should be.  The pieces must be huge, crust thick and golden crunchy, delicately seasoned, with tender, juicy meat.  Just walking into a place, I can tell by the aroma if they know how it is done.  Sadly, the local haunt here that really knew how to fry a perfect chicken has closed.

Years ago while living in another state, I would drive two hours to a mom-and-pop place called Leslies, just to eat the best fried chicken on the planet.  It was in an old house where every room was crammed with tables and chairs and there were chickens everywhere.   Chicken shaped salt-and-pepper shakers, chicken pie plates and dinner plates, chicken planters and candlesticks, chicken trivets and cookie cutters and anything else you can name were displayed on shelves or hung on the wall in every single room with little of the wall showing.  The aroma of fried chicken was so wonderful, and it permeated your clothing while you ate.  The recipe used there has never been duplicated.  All I know is that it was batter-fried and the batter contained honey.  Not only would I have a meal there, I would bring home a 24-piece box for the next few days.  No, I wouldn’t eat it all myself, but I could have!  Leslies went out of business years ago, and I wore black for a week in mourning.

Back to my grandmother’s chicken, she made it her own way, but I’ll share her secret with you.  She soaked the chicken pieces in buttermilk for at least an hour in the refrigerator, and sometimes overnight.  Then, she would dip them in egg, plunge them into a paper bag with her seasoned flour and shake it.  She only used salt and pepper in the flour.  She just let the pieces sit in the flour inside the paper bag for about five minutes.  Then she would give the bag a shake and let it sit a while longer.  Depending on her mood, she might shake that bag several times.  Heating up her cast iron skillet, she melted shortening to a depth of halfway up the side of the skillet.  Then when the melted shortening was hot, she would take the chicken and gently lay it in the hot oil, frying for about 12-15 minutes per side on a medium high heat.  She would cover the pan with the heavy cast iron lid.  When the chicken pieces were golden brown and cooked through, she drained them on paper towels.  Heavenly!!

I inherited that well-seasoned cast iron skillet, although my chicken will never be as good as hers. I also have several of her chicken salt-and-pepper shakers that now happily reside in my kitchen.   They remind me of a happy time, when getting a plate of fried chicken was the highlight of the week.  Those precious memories of a loving grandmother, a warm and sunny kitchen, and the wonderful aroma of many aSunday dinner will stay with me forever.

Photo by Carole

Photo by Carole

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sweet Tea, Fried Chicken, and Lazy Dogs: Reflections on North Carolina Life
by Bill Thompson

 

 


Fried Chicken: An American Story by John T. Edge

 

 


Fried Chicken by Damon Lee Fowler