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Loaf du Jour
Mar. 15th, 2014 11:39 am
Not Actually Torta Rustica
Oct. 30th, 2013 04:44 pmOne of the things I had wanted to post here, as an aide memoire to myself, is this recently unvented recipe for torta-rustica-esqe quiche, a sort of riff on the wonderful torta rustica at Tweets Cafe in Edison, WA.
1 pie crust (made or bought -- I bought mine)
1 package sliced prosciutto
1 package hard salami
1 wedge Beecher's Flagship cheese
1 wedge Red Apple smoked gruyere cheese
1 wedge Dubliner cheese
Herbed feta cheese
fresh-cracked pepper
6-8 cloves garlic smashed
4 eggs
Half-and-half
Several sprigs fresh thyme
Pre-heat oven to 400°
Grate about half each of the three grateable cheeses. In the prepared, unbaked pie crust, layer the meats and cheeses and garlic thus:
Layer 1: sliced salami to cover
Layer 2: grated cheeses, crumbled feta, and garlic cloves generously distributed
Layer 3: prosciutto to cover
Layer 4: grated cheeses, crumbled feta, and garlic cloves generously distributed
Layer 5: mixture of salami and prosciutto to cover
Layer 6: grated cheeses, crumbled feta, and garlic cloves generously distributed
In a mixing bowl, whisk together 4 eggs until uniformly mixed, grind in black pepper to taste, add the leaves from the thyme, and then mix in a sufficiency of half-and-half to fill your pie shell. Fill your pie shell to just over the level of the top cheese layer.
Shove that puppy in the oven for 15-20 minutes. Lower oven temperature to 325° and continue baking for an additional 30 minutes or until crust golden brown and a knife inserted in the center pulls out clean.
Let cool 30 minutes. Nom that nommy thing.
1 pie crust (made or bought -- I bought mine)
1 package sliced prosciutto
1 package hard salami
1 wedge Beecher's Flagship cheese
1 wedge Red Apple smoked gruyere cheese
1 wedge Dubliner cheese
Herbed feta cheese
fresh-cracked pepper
6-8 cloves garlic smashed
4 eggs
Half-and-half
Several sprigs fresh thyme
Pre-heat oven to 400°
Grate about half each of the three grateable cheeses. In the prepared, unbaked pie crust, layer the meats and cheeses and garlic thus:
Layer 1: sliced salami to cover
Layer 2: grated cheeses, crumbled feta, and garlic cloves generously distributed
Layer 3: prosciutto to cover
Layer 4: grated cheeses, crumbled feta, and garlic cloves generously distributed
Layer 5: mixture of salami and prosciutto to cover
Layer 6: grated cheeses, crumbled feta, and garlic cloves generously distributed
In a mixing bowl, whisk together 4 eggs until uniformly mixed, grind in black pepper to taste, add the leaves from the thyme, and then mix in a sufficiency of half-and-half to fill your pie shell. Fill your pie shell to just over the level of the top cheese layer.
Shove that puppy in the oven for 15-20 minutes. Lower oven temperature to 325° and continue baking for an additional 30 minutes or until crust golden brown and a knife inserted in the center pulls out clean.
Let cool 30 minutes. Nom that nommy thing.
Almost Iconic
Dec. 18th, 2012 04:31 pmPerhaps the apotheosis of First World problems, I know, but, do you have any idea how damn' difficult it is to get dog hair out of black cashmere? Geeze-O.
Preheat oven to 450° F
2 cups flour (bread, or all purpose)
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
Mix dry ingredients together in a bowl
1/2 stick butter (or 50 grams, if you're following the recipe precisely)
Cut up butter into small cubes and blend into dry ingredients until small and crumbly. I just use my fingers.
1/2 cup milk or buttermilk (recipe says 100ml but it lies -- you will need more)
Add milk to mixture a little at a time until it forms a firm dough. Do NOT knead. Cut dough ball in half and roll or hand-pat the two halves into flat disks formed directly on your baking sheet. Cut each disc into quarters (or smaller) and prick the tops liberally with a fork.
Bake for 8-10 minutes. Consume while still warm, slathered in butter.
2 cups flour (bread, or all purpose)
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
Mix dry ingredients together in a bowl
1/2 stick butter (or 50 grams, if you're following the recipe precisely)
Cut up butter into small cubes and blend into dry ingredients until small and crumbly. I just use my fingers.
1/2 cup milk or buttermilk (recipe says 100ml but it lies -- you will need more)
Add milk to mixture a little at a time until it forms a firm dough. Do NOT knead. Cut dough ball in half and roll or hand-pat the two halves into flat disks formed directly on your baking sheet. Cut each disc into quarters (or smaller) and prick the tops liberally with a fork.
Bake for 8-10 minutes. Consume while still warm, slathered in butter.
Killer Bestiary Rides Again
Oct. 9th, 2012 09:08 pmTonight Shoobie was going completely bonkers at the pile of miscellanea in the back corner of my office closet. Scratching, digging, barking, snorking and chuckling to himself in that agitated way he has when he's really enjoying himself, and absolutely determinedly frantic to get at the kipple-blocked far back.
Now, of an evening Shoobie sometimes does get charmingly feisty with the natural rubber ball that is roughly the size of his skull, pouncing upon it with cries of snorkulous glee and running around the living room with it, skittering and prancing and chortling like the happy miser he is, but these moods are a passing thing. With the closet, Shoobie was firm, Shoobie was resolute. Shoobie Would Not Give Up. And I've learned to attend to Shoobie's will-of-iron moods. They typically mean something. So I got up and moved aside the picture frames and the canvas panels and the rubber boots and so forth so he could get at the very backity back of the closet.
He plunged into the gap like the kibble-burning, rotund missile he is. And, true to type, was back out in moments with yet another dead rat, this one in full rigor, locked in his tiny little vise-like jaw, snork-snork-snorking the Shoobie Victory Chorus and flying the grizzled and stringy Shoobie Victory Pennant high. He ran off with his prize to the dog bed in the living room where he was obviously prepared to defend it to the death from all comers. Sigh.
On the plus side, Shoobie discovering the corpse now means it didn't have a chance to get ripe and stinky back there. And, in the department of useful information, tonight I learned that freeze-dried chicken breast is even more interesting than dead rat, at least for long enough for me to bag up the dead rat and toss it in the trash. On the downside, Someone is getting a mite too fond of dumping her spare cadavers in my closet.
And now the Mighty Shoob has been rewarded with pettings and praisings, and consoled for the loss of his fine rat with beef stick, and after a thorough search of all the places someone may have re-hidden a dead rat, he is snoring contentedly on the rug at my feet. Meanwhile, the probable cause of all this sudden influx of dead rat is washing her paws in my recliner pretending none of this has anything to do with her. Good thing it's getting close to closed windows season. I don't like taking this skeletons-in-the-closet business too literally, even at Hallowe'en.
Now, of an evening Shoobie sometimes does get charmingly feisty with the natural rubber ball that is roughly the size of his skull, pouncing upon it with cries of snorkulous glee and running around the living room with it, skittering and prancing and chortling like the happy miser he is, but these moods are a passing thing. With the closet, Shoobie was firm, Shoobie was resolute. Shoobie Would Not Give Up. And I've learned to attend to Shoobie's will-of-iron moods. They typically mean something. So I got up and moved aside the picture frames and the canvas panels and the rubber boots and so forth so he could get at the very backity back of the closet.
He plunged into the gap like the kibble-burning, rotund missile he is. And, true to type, was back out in moments with yet another dead rat, this one in full rigor, locked in his tiny little vise-like jaw, snork-snork-snorking the Shoobie Victory Chorus and flying the grizzled and stringy Shoobie Victory Pennant high. He ran off with his prize to the dog bed in the living room where he was obviously prepared to defend it to the death from all comers. Sigh.
On the plus side, Shoobie discovering the corpse now means it didn't have a chance to get ripe and stinky back there. And, in the department of useful information, tonight I learned that freeze-dried chicken breast is even more interesting than dead rat, at least for long enough for me to bag up the dead rat and toss it in the trash. On the downside, Someone is getting a mite too fond of dumping her spare cadavers in my closet.
And now the Mighty Shoob has been rewarded with pettings and praisings, and consoled for the loss of his fine rat with beef stick, and after a thorough search of all the places someone may have re-hidden a dead rat, he is snoring contentedly on the rug at my feet. Meanwhile, the probable cause of all this sudden influx of dead rat is washing her paws in my recliner pretending none of this has anything to do with her. Good thing it's getting close to closed windows season. I don't like taking this skeletons-in-the-closet business too literally, even at Hallowe'en.
Worthy of the Onion, But True
Sep. 12th, 2012 10:23 amWhat foodstuff is so putrid that the neighbors phone in to report the smell as a dangerous gas leak in the building? When is just opening a canned delicacy for a party enough summon the fire department, the police, and an emergency gas leak team to your front door? When the delicacy in question is surströmming. Yes, opening a can of surströmming can make the neighbors fear for their lives. Lutfisk has nothing on this stuff, I tell you.
A tip of the hat to Larry Sanderson for calling my attention to the article.
A tip of the hat to Larry Sanderson for calling my attention to the article.
Another Promise - This One's For Jenn
Sep. 9th, 2012 10:28 amI thought I had already blogged a version of this salad/dressing recipe but now I can't find it, so I'm (re-?)posting for my own reference -- this time with adequate tagging!
Cilantro Cabbage Slaw with Asian Dressing
• 1/4 cup sesame seed
• (1/3 cup sliced almonds, or chopped walnuts, or hulled pistachios)
• 1/4 cup rice vinegar
• 2 teaspoons sugar
• 1 tablespoon minced garlic
• (1 teaspoon grated peeled ginger)
• 2 tablespoons toasted sesame oil
• 1/4 cup regular sesame oil
• Soy sauce
• (1 fresh serrano chile, finely chopped, with seeds)
• 1 small head Napa cabbage or green cabbage, finely chopped
• 1 bunch scallions, sliced
• ½ yellow onion, cut to small ribbons
• 1/2 cup coarsely chopped cilantro
• fresh ground pepper to taste
Parenthetical ingredients are optional. Liquid ingredient amounts are VERY approximate -- adjust to taste. But don't skimp on the cilantro. It's critical.
Toast nuts and seeds in oven on a cookie sheet. Mix oil and vinegar with sugar, a dash or two of soy sauce, garlic, and, if using, ginger and chopped peppers. Whisk to emulsify.
Toss together cabbage, scallions, onions, and cilantro, and dress with the oil & vinegar mixture. This salad actually benefits (imho) from being allowed to sit and percolate in the fridge *after* it’s dressed, so at this point you can cover and refrigerate until the rest of the meal is ready, or add the nuts,seeds, and pepper immediately, and serve.
If you have leftovers, save them. The dressed salad is even better the next day.
Cilantro Cabbage Slaw with Asian Dressing
• 1/4 cup sesame seed
• (1/3 cup sliced almonds, or chopped walnuts, or hulled pistachios)
• 1/4 cup rice vinegar
• 2 teaspoons sugar
• 1 tablespoon minced garlic
• (1 teaspoon grated peeled ginger)
• 2 tablespoons toasted sesame oil
• 1/4 cup regular sesame oil
• Soy sauce
• (1 fresh serrano chile, finely chopped, with seeds)
• 1 small head Napa cabbage or green cabbage, finely chopped
• 1 bunch scallions, sliced
• ½ yellow onion, cut to small ribbons
• 1/2 cup coarsely chopped cilantro
• fresh ground pepper to taste
Parenthetical ingredients are optional. Liquid ingredient amounts are VERY approximate -- adjust to taste. But don't skimp on the cilantro. It's critical.
Toast nuts and seeds in oven on a cookie sheet. Mix oil and vinegar with sugar, a dash or two of soy sauce, garlic, and, if using, ginger and chopped peppers. Whisk to emulsify.
Toss together cabbage, scallions, onions, and cilantro, and dress with the oil & vinegar mixture. This salad actually benefits (imho) from being allowed to sit and percolate in the fridge *after* it’s dressed, so at this point you can cover and refrigerate until the rest of the meal is ready, or add the nuts,seeds, and pepper immediately, and serve.
If you have leftovers, save them. The dressed salad is even better the next day.
First Trip to an American Classic
Aug. 19th, 2012 09:00 pmWell, not bad for a first try.
I don't know if I should confess this (or if not, which part is more dubious) but I've never in my life made that classic of American cookery, the Campbell's cream-of-something casserole, or what I believe the Minnesotans refer to as 'hot dish.' But today I had one of those wild hare moments, and wanted something with rice, chicken, and cheese. Since I had some leftover chicken that needed using up, and a few sorts of cream of whatsit in the cupboard from the last time I had a fit of funeral potatoes, I figured, what the hell? So I looked up a recipe online, diddled it a tiny bit to fit what I had, and, again, mostly for my reference, today's experiment:
1 can Campbell's Cream of Chicken with Herbs
1 1/4 cans water
1 cup uncooked long-grain white rice
1 package Green Giant Antioxidant Blend vegetables
1 1/4 chicken breasts, pre-cooked plus whatever else I could pick from the carcass, diced small
1/2 cup shredded garlic Cheddar cheese
1/4 cup shredded Parmesan mozzarella blend
small handful fresh basil
some fresh-ground pepper
Whisk the soup and water together in an 11 x 8 x 2-inch baking dish, mix in rice, chicken, most of the garlic Cheddar, basil, pepper and frozen vegetables. If you're smarter than me, you break the vegetables up better before opening the bag. It's harder to break them up once they're in the soup. Top the rice mixture with the rest of the Cheddar and the Parm/mozz mix. Turn the oven on to 400 (hoping for eventual 375) and pop the whole mess in on a cookie sheet in case anything wants to bubble over.
Bake for 50 minutes or so.
All in all, this was tasty, but the rice was undercooked because I didn't preheat the oven. I should have upped the baking time. Alternatively, next time I could use a round casserole dish and partially pre-cook the rice in the microwave to cut the cooking time, given that I'm using pre-cooked chicken. Next time add more basil. Otherwise very worthwhile. Kudos, Minnesota.
ETA - 8/27 - Tried this again last night with pre-microwaving the rice for about 12 minutes. That works quite well (though I need to keep the water level lower so it doesn't boil over in the microwave next time) and the oven time can be reduced to 30 minutes, no problem -- could probably go less. Veg this time was the Roasted Red Potatoes, Green Beans & Rosemary Butter Sauce Steamers, and not worth seeking a repeat. Not actively bad, just too bland and starchy and not enough crunch or variety in the vegetables. But sometimes you cook with the vegetables you want, sometimes you cook with what you have in the freezer...
I don't know if I should confess this (or if not, which part is more dubious) but I've never in my life made that classic of American cookery, the Campbell's cream-of-something casserole, or what I believe the Minnesotans refer to as 'hot dish.' But today I had one of those wild hare moments, and wanted something with rice, chicken, and cheese. Since I had some leftover chicken that needed using up, and a few sorts of cream of whatsit in the cupboard from the last time I had a fit of funeral potatoes, I figured, what the hell? So I looked up a recipe online, diddled it a tiny bit to fit what I had, and, again, mostly for my reference, today's experiment:
1 can Campbell's Cream of Chicken with Herbs
1 1/4 cans water
1 cup uncooked long-grain white rice
1 package Green Giant Antioxidant Blend vegetables
1 1/4 chicken breasts, pre-cooked plus whatever else I could pick from the carcass, diced small
1/2 cup shredded garlic Cheddar cheese
1/4 cup shredded Parmesan mozzarella blend
small handful fresh basil
some fresh-ground pepper
Whisk the soup and water together in an 11 x 8 x 2-inch baking dish, mix in rice, chicken, most of the garlic Cheddar, basil, pepper and frozen vegetables. If you're smarter than me, you break the vegetables up better before opening the bag. It's harder to break them up once they're in the soup. Top the rice mixture with the rest of the Cheddar and the Parm/mozz mix. Turn the oven on to 400 (hoping for eventual 375) and pop the whole mess in on a cookie sheet in case anything wants to bubble over.
Bake for 50 minutes or so.
All in all, this was tasty, but the rice was undercooked because I didn't preheat the oven. I should have upped the baking time. Alternatively, next time I could use a round casserole dish and partially pre-cook the rice in the microwave to cut the cooking time, given that I'm using pre-cooked chicken. Next time add more basil. Otherwise very worthwhile. Kudos, Minnesota.
ETA - 8/27 - Tried this again last night with pre-microwaving the rice for about 12 minutes. That works quite well (though I need to keep the water level lower so it doesn't boil over in the microwave next time) and the oven time can be reduced to 30 minutes, no problem -- could probably go less. Veg this time was the Roasted Red Potatoes, Green Beans & Rosemary Butter Sauce Steamers, and not worth seeking a repeat. Not actively bad, just too bland and starchy and not enough crunch or variety in the vegetables. But sometimes you cook with the vegetables you want, sometimes you cook with what you have in the freezer...
I have to be grateful that the pets are all pretty sanguine about loud noises, since our beloved city of Kent sounds rather a lot like a war zone tonight. The dogs periodically react to Ray's dog, across the street, who is barking almost incessantly, but even that doesn't stay interesting very long. They've never reacted particularly to the sound of sirens, which is a blessing tonight. I was watching the rockets from the front window for a while, but I can't say I love the local fondness for firecrackers, M80s and such. Sparkly lights are one thing, and very nice some of them, but I never could quite get the point of things that go bang! just for the sake of going bang! and some of the near stuff sounds sufficiently like mortars and gunfire going off as to be a bit distressing after several hours of it. What this needs is a distraction, so I think I may just make some popcorn (all the noise has given me a taste for it) and curl up with the dogs and watch another episode of Midsomer Murders. What a homebody I've become...
A Complication of House Pets
Jun. 20th, 2012 11:12 pmAs of tonight, I have decided that the most appropriate collective noun for an assemblage of miscellaneous house pets is "a complication". You can roll your own examples, I'm sure, but this evening when I let out the dogs for one final bio break before I go to bed, there was a very large, quite fresh but wholly dead rat lovingly laid out on the back door mat. No doubt this is why Shoobie had been hanging out by the back door with such determined interest. But since both dogs pass the rat by as they dash out into the yard I figure I'm safe in waiting until the dogs are back in before disposing of the corpse. Ah, but no.
Neither dog was apparently that interested in peeing, so they both turn around to head back toward the house almost immediately, and I'm figuring I'll grab a plastic bag to pick up the rat with as soon as they're back in the kitchen. But no. Never discount Shoobie's prowess as a serious ratter. As Shoobie gets to the open door, I can practically see the exclamation point go off above his head. He spots the rat, and his whole stout little body vibrates with joy. Wagging his tail in majestic triumph, he grabs the corpse, and with head held high, marches proudly into the kitchen with a dead rat almost as big as his head and several times larger than his dinky little snout clenched firmly between his teeth. Because Shoobie has something, and she does not, Kaylee is now of course Very Interested and she dashes in after him, looming over him and making little sallies to take the rat away.
Shoobie is having none of it. He skitters aside and goes pitter-pattering off into the living room, ridiculous feathery tail curled high over his back like a warlord's banner. Shoobie is mighty. Shoobie is great. Shoobie has the kill, and he's damned if anyone will take his trophy from him now, however ill-gotten. (This is all so very different from when Shoob has a ball -- the minute Kaylee gets interested in a ball Shoobie has been playing with, he drops it and feigns complete disinterest. It's a question of picking your battles, I guess.)
I grab a plastic bag from the recycling dispenser beside the kitchen door to collect the rat with, and follow a distant third. My first two or three sallies to even grab hold of the rat fail, as Shoobie is dodging all malefactors, and every time I try to get a grip on Shoobie, there's Kaylee worming in trying to get her share of whatever fun is to be had. I finally manage to send Kaylee away, corner Shoobie in the dog bed, and manage to get a proper grip on the rat. And also on the deceased rodent. Shoobie will. Not. Let. Go. People will tell you about the stubbornness of bully breed dogs when they have a grip. Hah! Bully dogs are easy. It's the chihuahuas that will out-stubborn a starfish. I gave up trying to wrest if from him since I didn't really want to have to clean splattered rat guts off the oak floor should the corpse fail before Shoobie's will did.
After a couple more rounds of foolishness, finally I managed to get the rat, not by dint of prying it out of Shoobie's jaws but solely because he decided that the rat really was dead after all, and therefore not that interesting.
So yeah. A dog is just a dog, a cat is just a cat, but when they come in groups, they are a complication.
Kaylee and Shoobie share a rat-free moment
Neither dog was apparently that interested in peeing, so they both turn around to head back toward the house almost immediately, and I'm figuring I'll grab a plastic bag to pick up the rat with as soon as they're back in the kitchen. But no. Never discount Shoobie's prowess as a serious ratter. As Shoobie gets to the open door, I can practically see the exclamation point go off above his head. He spots the rat, and his whole stout little body vibrates with joy. Wagging his tail in majestic triumph, he grabs the corpse, and with head held high, marches proudly into the kitchen with a dead rat almost as big as his head and several times larger than his dinky little snout clenched firmly between his teeth. Because Shoobie has something, and she does not, Kaylee is now of course Very Interested and she dashes in after him, looming over him and making little sallies to take the rat away.
Shoobie is having none of it. He skitters aside and goes pitter-pattering off into the living room, ridiculous feathery tail curled high over his back like a warlord's banner. Shoobie is mighty. Shoobie is great. Shoobie has the kill, and he's damned if anyone will take his trophy from him now, however ill-gotten. (This is all so very different from when Shoob has a ball -- the minute Kaylee gets interested in a ball Shoobie has been playing with, he drops it and feigns complete disinterest. It's a question of picking your battles, I guess.)
I grab a plastic bag from the recycling dispenser beside the kitchen door to collect the rat with, and follow a distant third. My first two or three sallies to even grab hold of the rat fail, as Shoobie is dodging all malefactors, and every time I try to get a grip on Shoobie, there's Kaylee worming in trying to get her share of whatever fun is to be had. I finally manage to send Kaylee away, corner Shoobie in the dog bed, and manage to get a proper grip on the rat. And also on the deceased rodent. Shoobie will. Not. Let. Go. People will tell you about the stubbornness of bully breed dogs when they have a grip. Hah! Bully dogs are easy. It's the chihuahuas that will out-stubborn a starfish. I gave up trying to wrest if from him since I didn't really want to have to clean splattered rat guts off the oak floor should the corpse fail before Shoobie's will did.
After a couple more rounds of foolishness, finally I managed to get the rat, not by dint of prying it out of Shoobie's jaws but solely because he decided that the rat really was dead after all, and therefore not that interesting.
So yeah. A dog is just a dog, a cat is just a cat, but when they come in groups, they are a complication.
Kaylee and Shoobie share a rat-free moment
World's Worst Gardener
Jun. 3rd, 2012 12:55 amSummer in our house is a bit of a trial -- once things get warm, we tend to leave the windows open a lot. We have awning-style windows all over the house -- hinged at the top, and closing with a latch against the frame at the bottom. Perhaps there were screens for this type of window made when the windows were new, 60-odd years ago -- maybe there still are -- but if any came with our house originally, they were long gone by the time we bought it. So, there are annoyances. Flies and mosquitoes do vex us. But perhaps worst pest is the cat. With the windows open the house becomes fully permeable to cats; they move in and out at will. And one in particular is a darkling beast, red in tooth and claw. Which I don't mind in principle -- controlling the rodent population is a good thing -- but I am a bit more squeamish about getting a personal introduction to the quarry. Particularly when it is either a) several weeks dead or b) on my window sill, still alive.
Just this evening there was a rustling under the blinds next to my computer. Hal took a peek and suggested it might be time to close the window. I'm not sure what good he thought that would do, since when I looked it was clear that our own personal doom beast, Tinka, and her 'kill' du jour -- a live mole -- were already inside on the window sill. Tinka just sat quietly, waiting for us to admire her skill and beneficence. The mole waved one of it's digger-clawed forepaws vaguely. At first it wasn't clear to me if the poor creature was near death or just stunned, but it seemed increasingly to be reviving. Sfter some initial disorganized flapping and milling about I put on my gardening gloves and took the squirmy thing back outside, and set it down. In my vegetable bed by the front steps. The bed is admittedly mostly fallow just now. But any woman who puts a live mole in her own vegetable garden and watches it dig itself in has got to be in the running for World's Worst Gardener.
On the other hand, it looks like the mole may live. And I'm here to tell you they're surprisingly powerful little guys. I could really feel some serious muscle torque behind the squirming in my hand as I carried it out. I guess it's not that surprising once I consider it though -- takes a lot to move earth out of the way that fast, even if it was mostly mulch.
Just this evening there was a rustling under the blinds next to my computer. Hal took a peek and suggested it might be time to close the window. I'm not sure what good he thought that would do, since when I looked it was clear that our own personal doom beast, Tinka, and her 'kill' du jour -- a live mole -- were already inside on the window sill. Tinka just sat quietly, waiting for us to admire her skill and beneficence. The mole waved one of it's digger-clawed forepaws vaguely. At first it wasn't clear to me if the poor creature was near death or just stunned, but it seemed increasingly to be reviving. Sfter some initial disorganized flapping and milling about I put on my gardening gloves and took the squirmy thing back outside, and set it down. In my vegetable bed by the front steps. The bed is admittedly mostly fallow just now. But any woman who puts a live mole in her own vegetable garden and watches it dig itself in has got to be in the running for World's Worst Gardener.
On the other hand, it looks like the mole may live. And I'm here to tell you they're surprisingly powerful little guys. I could really feel some serious muscle torque behind the squirming in my hand as I carried it out. I guess it's not that surprising once I consider it though -- takes a lot to move earth out of the way that fast, even if it was mostly mulch.
Weekend Editorial Work
Apr. 27th, 2009 11:45 am
Editing in the broadest sense. I spent some time each day out in the yard, airing the dog and editing dandelions, wild geranium, and encroaching ivy out of the iris bed and the grass at the foot of the apple tree. The roots of the dandelions continue to be full of fat, healthy-looking worms. Yay, worms. Also fat, healthy-looking slugs. Boo, slugs. We stab them with our steely knives, yes we do. Still tons o' weeding left to do, though. Pity I'm all out of weekend.
And I'm finding, speaking of steely knives, that while I like the way I don't have to bend over so much with Grampa's Weeder, I do prefer the accuracy and precision I get with the hori hori. With the Japanese weeding knife, I never miss the root because the dandelion is really two dandelions in a cluster.
Hal and I also spent some time going through the coat closet, editing the contents down to stuff we actually wear. Winter coats are now downstairs, there's a pile of stuff to go to resale, and several bags have been bundled off to the Goodwill. I also packed up my heaviest wool sweaters and put them away for the season. If it snows in May, that will be my fault.
The photo is yesterday's French Toast, another bit of editing. Saturday, Trader Joe's had strawberries too beautiful to pass up, but I was determined not to forget them until they molded unlike last time. Hence, cooking what we got instead of going out, and thus strawberry French Toast for brunch. It was pretty tasty.
Tinka Gets Her Groove Back
Jun. 24th, 2008 11:12 amMoles have such lovely fur. Very dense-looking, velvetty stuff. And their digger claws are fascinatingly translucent -- they're really almost pretty. And when you have a dead mole on your back porch, you can observe in in very fine detail, as you delicately pick it up with an inverted plastic bag to dispose of it. (Is there an optimum environmentally-sound and public-health-approved way to dispose of a mole, I wonder? Yard waste, recycling, trash, or toilet? Probably not recycling.)
So after a long interregnum, Tinka has her game on again. My first clue was coming back to find a small deceased rat on the doormat after I had taken Sarah out for her walk. I'm pretty sure the rat was not there when we left the house, because the screen door didn't quite clear the corpse. I had to fish a spare dog-walk bag out of my pocket to dispense with the thing before I could even take Sarah into the house. Happily, she was not overly curious.
When we got back from our LA visit, the sitter wanted to let us know that there was a dead rat in the lidded can where we usually segregate the filled dog bags. "Yeah, sorry about that," I said. "It was the easiest place to ditch it," I said. "No, I mean I found a dead rat and dropped it in there," she said. Oh.
Then there was the one we found decomposing in the middle of the front lawn, and then the sad little pile of feathers that appeared on the back porch over the weekend -- Tinka somewhat offsets her penchant for birds by actually eating them -- and today the mole. I'm not sure she's despatching local fauna at the rate of one per week, but it's close to that. Definitely got game. If she can only inspire Spike and Lefty to make an effort, the squirrels may live in fear yet.
So after a long interregnum, Tinka has her game on again. My first clue was coming back to find a small deceased rat on the doormat after I had taken Sarah out for her walk. I'm pretty sure the rat was not there when we left the house, because the screen door didn't quite clear the corpse. I had to fish a spare dog-walk bag out of my pocket to dispense with the thing before I could even take Sarah into the house. Happily, she was not overly curious.
When we got back from our LA visit, the sitter wanted to let us know that there was a dead rat in the lidded can where we usually segregate the filled dog bags. "Yeah, sorry about that," I said. "It was the easiest place to ditch it," I said. "No, I mean I found a dead rat and dropped it in there," she said. Oh.
Then there was the one we found decomposing in the middle of the front lawn, and then the sad little pile of feathers that appeared on the back porch over the weekend -- Tinka somewhat offsets her penchant for birds by actually eating them -- and today the mole. I'm not sure she's despatching local fauna at the rate of one per week, but it's close to that. Definitely got game. If she can only inspire Spike and Lefty to make an effort, the squirrels may live in fear yet.
Of Cats & Lilacs
May. 9th, 2008 12:03 pmYesterday was a big day for Spike. In the morning, in the usual pre-tuna truce, she managed to get fully nose-to-nose with Tinka and hold for several beats before freaking out and hissing and squalling. Then all was chaos, of course, but before that, there was a full heart-beat, maybe two, when they were a whisker apart and simply regarding each other. This is progress.
Then last night, while I was putting away some dishes, Spike finally decided that yes, she was brave enough to go outside. She went out in that very low-hunkered way she has when trying anything new -- Spike is not a bold cat by nature -- with her tail lashing to beat hell. But out she went and stayed out for several hours. I have come to the conclusion that Spike is the sort of cat who easily gets overstimulated, so anything new must be approached very slowly indeed. There's been a lot of new in her life since she came to us, so I am very pleased that this putatively "mostly outdoor cat" has finally begun making her first tentative explorations out again.
Meanwhile, I love the way our neighborhood smells. Our own tiny lilac is only just starting to bloom, very tentatively. But every time I step out in our drive I am awash in the scent of lilac. The whole street is perfumed. Next door has two tall blooming lilac strubs shading the porch, and across the street has a little one snaggling its way through the arbor. There are spikes of purple and lavender visible in every block, usually on big, established trees. There is something wonderfully solid and bucolic about a big 19th century house with a lilac blooming beside it. It feels so gosh-darned Our Town, it makes a person wanna say Gee, Whiz.
Gee, Whiz.
Then last night, while I was putting away some dishes, Spike finally decided that yes, she was brave enough to go outside. She went out in that very low-hunkered way she has when trying anything new -- Spike is not a bold cat by nature -- with her tail lashing to beat hell. But out she went and stayed out for several hours. I have come to the conclusion that Spike is the sort of cat who easily gets overstimulated, so anything new must be approached very slowly indeed. There's been a lot of new in her life since she came to us, so I am very pleased that this putatively "mostly outdoor cat" has finally begun making her first tentative explorations out again.
Meanwhile, I love the way our neighborhood smells. Our own tiny lilac is only just starting to bloom, very tentatively. But every time I step out in our drive I am awash in the scent of lilac. The whole street is perfumed. Next door has two tall blooming lilac strubs shading the porch, and across the street has a little one snaggling its way through the arbor. There are spikes of purple and lavender visible in every block, usually on big, established trees. There is something wonderfully solid and bucolic about a big 19th century house with a lilac blooming beside it. It feels so gosh-darned Our Town, it makes a person wanna say Gee, Whiz.
Gee, Whiz.
I Can Haz Surly?
Apr. 26th, 2008 04:19 pm
Spike, sweet as always, but demonstrably a) extant b) upstairs and c) not in the ceiling above the toilet. So, progress.
How Green Was My Vitae?
Apr. 25th, 2008 10:26 pm
For those vicariously following the progress of the house, here's another shot of the living room before the arbor vitae got yanked. Dark. Dark, dark, dark.
Progress at Geological Speeds
Jan. 21st, 2008 06:42 pmToday was sunny. (But cold. Damn' cold. Very annoying when one has the day off. I had to give up pruning the apple tree because my fingers were freezing inside my gloves.) Hal was playing with the camera a bit, catching the play of light on the floor, and the table, and the dog. I gacked this photo so I could blog it -- proof at last. See people? I have been doing something. The walls, they are green. The trim, it's taped and primed. It's just the last bit that seems to be dragging on and on. But. I. Have. Painted. Walls. Dammit.
Life With Cats, Plural
Dec. 28th, 2007 03:10 pmBoth the leftover cats are settling in, slowly.
There's still a titanic power struggle between Tinka and Lefty which hasn't fully settled out, but whenever the stare down boils over into voices raised in anger, Sarah gets up from the couch and runs downstairs to break it up and chase Tinka back upstairs. We haven't decided yet whether this is one of those "cute once" sorts of things.
Lefty now comes upstairs at least once an evening, making a circuit of the living room and then our bedroom and the bathroom, finally settling in the sink to cry for someone to come pet her. She's also figured out that the kitchen door leads to outside, so I've started letting her out when she wants. She comes back when she's ready, and waits by the door to be let back in again, once the allure of chewing grass and stalking sparrows palls.
Spike is warming up more slowly. She doesn't hide in the ceiling without provocation so much anymore. As often as not, she's out in plain sight when I come down to see her, either on the top shelf above the toilet, or else meat-loafing on top of the cat tree. Like Lefty, she's always eager to be petted when first approached, though after a while she will get fractious and bitey about it. They're love bites -- she never bites to break skin -- but I generally leave off when she hits that point. It isn't actually that much fun to get bitten, even gently.
Last night she was on the cat tree, and I got to spend quite a while petting her (she's amazingly plush) before she tired of it. What was interesting was that she was willing to tolerate both Sarah coming over to nose around and sniff quite close by, and also Hal coming downstairs to visit, without dashing off, or even getting overly guarded or tiring of the petting. It was only when Lefty strolled into the garage that Spike got cranky and watchful and hostile to further affection. My tentative conclusion is that there is less love lost between those two than the previous owner led me to believe.
(I do wonder if adding one male cat to the mix might tamp down the all-girl bitch politics among the feline population. Hal gives me the gimlet eye, every time I mention it, though. I admit, four cats seems like a lot, after years of only one, especially.)
And Lefty just hit a new plateau of bravery. At four this morning, I was awakened by mewling in my ear. Lefty, on the nightstand, wanting attention. This is a first, Lefty coming up in the middle of the night. I'm not sure I approve, either. Unlike Tinka, who is generally content to settle down on or next to me and go to sleep there, Lefty wanted active cuddling. And when I slacked off, she would put a paw on my face. Ordinarily, this would be just as adorable as when Tinka does it, but unlike Tinka, Lefty doesn't entirely velvet her claws. Also, Lefty lacks the Weegie insulating fur-between-the-toes, and her paw pads are Damn Cold.
Eventually I hid under the covers, and Lefty subsided back downstairs.
Fabulous. The one night the dog doesn't keep me up with her stomach problems, I have to get a case of nocturnal cats.
There's still a titanic power struggle between Tinka and Lefty which hasn't fully settled out, but whenever the stare down boils over into voices raised in anger, Sarah gets up from the couch and runs downstairs to break it up and chase Tinka back upstairs. We haven't decided yet whether this is one of those "cute once" sorts of things.
Lefty now comes upstairs at least once an evening, making a circuit of the living room and then our bedroom and the bathroom, finally settling in the sink to cry for someone to come pet her. She's also figured out that the kitchen door leads to outside, so I've started letting her out when she wants. She comes back when she's ready, and waits by the door to be let back in again, once the allure of chewing grass and stalking sparrows palls.
Spike is warming up more slowly. She doesn't hide in the ceiling without provocation so much anymore. As often as not, she's out in plain sight when I come down to see her, either on the top shelf above the toilet, or else meat-loafing on top of the cat tree. Like Lefty, she's always eager to be petted when first approached, though after a while she will get fractious and bitey about it. They're love bites -- she never bites to break skin -- but I generally leave off when she hits that point. It isn't actually that much fun to get bitten, even gently.
Last night she was on the cat tree, and I got to spend quite a while petting her (she's amazingly plush) before she tired of it. What was interesting was that she was willing to tolerate both Sarah coming over to nose around and sniff quite close by, and also Hal coming downstairs to visit, without dashing off, or even getting overly guarded or tiring of the petting. It was only when Lefty strolled into the garage that Spike got cranky and watchful and hostile to further affection. My tentative conclusion is that there is less love lost between those two than the previous owner led me to believe.
(I do wonder if adding one male cat to the mix might tamp down the all-girl bitch politics among the feline population. Hal gives me the gimlet eye, every time I mention it, though. I admit, four cats seems like a lot, after years of only one, especially.)
And Lefty just hit a new plateau of bravery. At four this morning, I was awakened by mewling in my ear. Lefty, on the nightstand, wanting attention. This is a first, Lefty coming up in the middle of the night. I'm not sure I approve, either. Unlike Tinka, who is generally content to settle down on or next to me and go to sleep there, Lefty wanted active cuddling. And when I slacked off, she would put a paw on my face. Ordinarily, this would be just as adorable as when Tinka does it, but unlike Tinka, Lefty doesn't entirely velvet her claws. Also, Lefty lacks the Weegie insulating fur-between-the-toes, and her paw pads are Damn Cold.
Eventually I hid under the covers, and Lefty subsided back downstairs.
Fabulous. The one night the dog doesn't keep me up with her stomach problems, I have to get a case of nocturnal cats.
Rinse, Lather, Despair
May. 21st, 2007 03:22 pmPerhaps the most wearing, and wearying, aspect of househunting is the cycle of hope, disappointment, and having to start all over again.
So, we made an offer on the house. The sellers made a counter -- too high for the area, we thought. We pondered our finances and the alternatives and decided to make a counter to the counter offer. And then we waited for another response. Which came, last Tuesday. They sold the house to someone else. We were apparently being used as leverage against another bid, one we were never told was out there. Arguably, we were never in the running at all, unless we were willing to pay over market.
We were not willing to pay over market -- we can't swing the loan if the appraisal comes in under selling price, which it well might. So we wouldn't have bid much higher anyhow. Still it's disappointing.
It's not as disappointing as it could be, because disappointment appears to be the primary feature of the househunting process, and so I've gotten a bit used to it. There's a larger pattern to it -- start with what you feel are modest goals, discover your error, recalibrate and diminish expectations, wrestle with trade-offs, decide you can live with the trade-offs, wait, hope, wait, and finally get the bad news. Then you recalibrate your expectations downwards, broaden your search criteria again, and start all over. Repeat when necessary.
Happily, just after I got the news I had a birthday lunch date with![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
marykaykare who swept me off to the Salmon House in her jaunty new yellow convertible. There we had a grilled salmon lunch that couldn't be beat, enjoying the sunshine and the views across the water and a very nice chat. Just the thing for househunter's blues. Especially with the ginger spice birthday cupcake reserved for mid-afternoon dessert.
Later in the week, once Hal and I had pulled ourselves up off the emotional floor, we went out and looked at a couple of other houses in the same Kentish neighborhood. One shows very well -- it's been redone out from the studs, and the fit-and-finish is all good -- but it's tiny, and the space is laid out badly. Pity. The west-facing kitchen gets wonderful light, and the garden is well kept. But it's the sort of house that's ideal for the seller -- a single woman with not very much stuff. That would not be us. Wonderful light though. Still, crossed that off the list.
Now we're gearing up to maybe put in an offer on the other place we saw.
It is not the house of my dreams. It's post war, and very boxy, with a crying need for new paint, new kitchen linoleum, new appliances, and a ton of work on the garden. But because it's post war, it's built like a tank. And because it's boxy, every single major room on the main level has natural light on two sides. And because the garden has been allowed to do its own thing for years and years, it also has two mature apple trees and a mature pear, in among the dandelions. A person could do worse.
And whatever you say against it -- it's not very photogenic at the moment, for instance -- at least the house is not Yet Another Gottverdamter Mid-level Entry Ranch-style Rambler. Hates them, we does.
And, for a wonder, most everything about the house is original -- original scuffed and mellowed hardwood floors; weird, original metal-frame windows, original cedar lining on the linen closet, original weird, radiant heat furnace thingy. Yeah, okay, original is not always a plus.
In all, it's in an area we like, "well-priced" as the phrase goes, and a house we can live with. So we'll try again, put in an offer, and see what happens. What's the worst that could happen?
We repeat this cycle of diminished expectations until we wind up buying a cinderblock doghouse in Tacoma, that's what.
So, we made an offer on the house. The sellers made a counter -- too high for the area, we thought. We pondered our finances and the alternatives and decided to make a counter to the counter offer. And then we waited for another response. Which came, last Tuesday. They sold the house to someone else. We were apparently being used as leverage against another bid, one we were never told was out there. Arguably, we were never in the running at all, unless we were willing to pay over market.
We were not willing to pay over market -- we can't swing the loan if the appraisal comes in under selling price, which it well might. So we wouldn't have bid much higher anyhow. Still it's disappointing.
It's not as disappointing as it could be, because disappointment appears to be the primary feature of the househunting process, and so I've gotten a bit used to it. There's a larger pattern to it -- start with what you feel are modest goals, discover your error, recalibrate and diminish expectations, wrestle with trade-offs, decide you can live with the trade-offs, wait, hope, wait, and finally get the bad news. Then you recalibrate your expectations downwards, broaden your search criteria again, and start all over. Repeat when necessary.
Happily, just after I got the news I had a birthday lunch date with
marykaykare who swept me off to the Salmon House in her jaunty new yellow convertible. There we had a grilled salmon lunch that couldn't be beat, enjoying the sunshine and the views across the water and a very nice chat. Just the thing for househunter's blues. Especially with the ginger spice birthday cupcake reserved for mid-afternoon dessert.Later in the week, once Hal and I had pulled ourselves up off the emotional floor, we went out and looked at a couple of other houses in the same Kentish neighborhood. One shows very well -- it's been redone out from the studs, and the fit-and-finish is all good -- but it's tiny, and the space is laid out badly. Pity. The west-facing kitchen gets wonderful light, and the garden is well kept. But it's the sort of house that's ideal for the seller -- a single woman with not very much stuff. That would not be us. Wonderful light though. Still, crossed that off the list.
Now we're gearing up to maybe put in an offer on the other place we saw.
It is not the house of my dreams. It's post war, and very boxy, with a crying need for new paint, new kitchen linoleum, new appliances, and a ton of work on the garden. But because it's post war, it's built like a tank. And because it's boxy, every single major room on the main level has natural light on two sides. And because the garden has been allowed to do its own thing for years and years, it also has two mature apple trees and a mature pear, in among the dandelions. A person could do worse.
And whatever you say against it -- it's not very photogenic at the moment, for instance -- at least the house is not Yet Another Gottverdamter Mid-level Entry Ranch-style Rambler. Hates them, we does.
And, for a wonder, most everything about the house is original -- original scuffed and mellowed hardwood floors; weird, original metal-frame windows, original cedar lining on the linen closet, original weird, radiant heat furnace thingy. Yeah, okay, original is not always a plus.
In all, it's in an area we like, "well-priced" as the phrase goes, and a house we can live with. So we'll try again, put in an offer, and see what happens. What's the worst that could happen?
We repeat this cycle of diminished expectations until we wind up buying a cinderblock doghouse in Tacoma, that's what.
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