Victorian Salmon Chowder

Fall is coming, life is slow; so the fag was back in the kitchen tonight.

I've been looking at a lot of soup recipes lately in anticipation of the cooler weather. Last week I cooked up a simple Roasted Chicken Noodle soup that turned out pretty good. (Thank you Costco for providing the chicken.)

Tonight I made Victorian Salmon Chowder. It turned out "better than last time" said Sparky, a good sign. And the ultimate compliment is when she went for a second helping. YES!!

On Saturday, I sent Sparky to the store for some Salmon while I was at work, and she came home with a little too much for Sunday dinner. So I saved a portion and got out this recipe; we had most of the ingredients on hand, so we were good-to-go. I'm including the recipe here since last time I was reprimanded for not including it with another food item last spring. Apparently it's an "unwritten rule of bloggers" to include the recipe.

It's not a hard recipe, but you use a few pots.

Have I mentioned how much I love my gas stove. I love how hot it is and more importantly I really enjoy the temperature control: fast to boil and fast to cool. Lot's of control when making roux.

Ingredients:

Lemon Slice
8 oz salmon fillet
4 diced little red new potatoes, unpeeled
¾ cup diced onion
1 ½ cups chopped celery
1 stick butter
½ cup flour
2 cups milk
2 cups half & half
1 ½ tsp salt
1 tsp sugar
¾ cup frozen peas
2 Tbl fresh dill weed
2 tsp (or more) Old Bay seasoning
2 tsp vinegar
Salt & pepper to taste

Directions:

In a saucepan of water and 1 lemon slice, poach salmon fillet for 10 minutes; set salmon aside.

In a large pan, combine potatoes, onion and celery. Barely cover with water and simmer until tender.

Meanwhile, in a small sauce pan, melt butter. Stir in flour. Then add milk, half & half, salt and sugar. Cook until thickened and add to cooked vegetables and liquid in pan.

Flake salmon and add to pan, along with peas, dill weed, Old Bay seasoning, and vinegar.

Salt and pepper to taste.

Borrowed Time; Where's the Rain

We're living on borrowed time.

It's mid-October and still the weather is warm. (Last night, again, we had the house windows open and it didn't get unbearably cold in the house.) The high today was about 70 degrees, and walking home from church was very pleasant even as threatening clouds were warning of a change later.

I suggested to Sparky that we go for a small bike ride around about, but she wisely said, "it's going to get cold here soon." So I went out in the backyard, threw some bird seed down and shot this picture.

Unfortunately the sky is lighter than it really was and you can't see the clouds coming. the trees are turning color as mother nature struts her stuff.

I wiped off a couple of chairs and talked her into coming outside and enjoy the silence. She brought out some crackers, and we just sat soaking what warmth there was before the clouds arrived. Later it would sprinkle.

It was deathly quiet; no car noise, not even traffic on Center street; lawnmowers were silent; no kids were playing outside; nor birds chirping. It was very, very quiet. Peace in a hectic world And even though we sat directly under the wind chimes, they didn't strike once during the 20 minutes we sat there -- very pleasant!

Tomorrow it's supposed to rain, which, unfortunately, is as it should. We need the moisture -- if nothing else, to fill the hot tub -- my major weakness as I grow older. (I literally have to force myself out of it. I fear I could soak for hours if possible.)

Tomorrow also starts a new week, bringing with it life's experiences, opportunities and challenges.

A Mussel Thanksgiving

Our Thanksgiving gathering has now "grown" to just the 3 of us: Sparky, Wart and me. Nic and company went to her in laws. Sparky's brother and sisters all went other directions -- so it was just the 3 of us this year.

While planning the meal last week, Wart suggested "mussels, or something." And since it was just the 3 of us, cooking a whole turkey seemed like a lot of effort, especially when the girls aren't that big on meat. So we passed on the turkey we had received to the bishop to use, and proceeded with a different Thanksgiving dinner.


I shopped around earlier in the week and saw that Costco had mussels and so I said, "OK." Sparky, always the trooper, said "whatever", and we were on.
Mussels are alive when you buy them, kind of like lobster, you actually kill them during the cooking process. (The young oriental woman at the Costco counter didn't believe me as we viewed them, which I found surprising.)
In preparing them you need to wash them with a stiff brush to remove any grit or sand stuck to them.


Next you have to "debeard" them, by pulling or cutting off and moss-like matter that is sometimes hanging out of them. I was surprised at how tough this process was. Fortunately, these were farm raised and hence only a relatively few of them actually had beards.

In cooking them you first make a broth. We used a mixture of wine, butter, shallots, garlic, bay leave and pepper. After cooking the broth down a little and burning off the alcohol, you pour the mussels in the pan and cover them for 5 minutes to steam them.

Our meal was supplemented with sweet potato fries, green salad, a traditional fruit salad, and crusty bread, which we dipped in little bowls of broth.


In December 2001, Sparky and I were in Paris eating dinner at a sidewalk cafe; we observed a nicely-dressed business woman in a suit eating mussels and french fries. We were fascinated as we watched her pick up the fries with an empty mussel, tweezers style. It apparently was a regular meal for her.


Our plates were simple; not the bounteous spread of a traditional Thanksgiving fare. But the food was good and our stomachs were filled. And we are thankful of the many blessing that we do enjoy during these times.

I wonder what Thanksgiving dinner will be next year, since Dr. Z (Wart) has accepted a position out of state at NIH beginning in March. Life moves on whether you're prepared or not; so we just move with it, hoping and praying that what preparations and plans we do make will prove adequate. Hopefully we will continue to have peace and love in our home and family.

Quiche

The Fag's in the Kitchen!

Here's another post, and it just occurred to me that I have posted 3 now this week -- all having to do with cooking. The Fag's in the kitchen!

This afternoon I went to 3 stores grocery shopping for our Thanksgiving Feast? Then I came home and put up additional heat tape in the raingutters preparing for ol' Man Winter.

Next, it was into the kitchen and make a favorite quiche of mine. YES, REAL MEN EAT QUICHE! Although I have an entire book on quiches, I like a recipe we got one time from Questar Gas many years ago.

I rushed to get it in the oven while I went HT. They take 45 - 50 minutes to cook and so I figured that was just about enough time. Well, we were a little long so the pie is a tiny bit over cooked, but still good.

Quiche reminds me of the first time Sparky and I went to France. We had driven into the country from Netherlands and drove about two hours until finally reaching our destination of Rouan. (This is the town made famous by Monét for his dozens of paintings of the cathedral during different times of the day.) After doing some sightseeing we were getting hungry; we spied a little pastry shop and went in. There we saw these cute little quiches sitting in the pastry case. I said that would be good I wonder if the girl can warm it up for us. Sparky said, "ask." Remember this is the first day of the first time in France. Our language skills were/are not the best.

I said to the counter girl, "Can you make this hot?" She looked at me curiously, so I said again "hot?" and waved my hand in front of my mouth as if something were hot inside. She still gave us a curious look and then said, "sho?" It was then our turn to look curious. A little frustrated she grabbed a paper pad and wrote h-o-t. We smiled and nodded yes. We learned a new French word that day -- sho, or hot. She warmed it up in a microwave and we left with our first "hot meal" in France.

As we sat on a park bench eating along came a couple of missionaries. We yelled to them and they stopped and talked for a few minutes. They had an appointment and had to leave. (I guess we weren't golden enough.) But I remember one was from Idaho, and I think we called his parents and reported on him when we got home.

Fun experiences!

Triangle Faces for Priesthood

I was asked to give the lesson in Priesthood last Sunday. We did the talk by E. Steven Snow on Get On with Our Lifes. For a take-away, Sparky helped me make these cookies.

The four points of the talk were:
1. Listen to the Prophets.
2. Remember the Eternal Perspective.
3. Have Faith
4. Be of Good Cheer.

So to relate it, I drew a triangle on the chaulk board and wrote the first 3 points on the sides and helped the class discuss them. With the fourth point "Be of Good Cheer" I drew a face in the middle, hence the cookies.

It was fun, and a rarety for the High Priests to have treats. I was also surprised at how quickly the young kids found out about the treats. Julie G. was in the classroom begging within 1 minute of dismissal. Wow!

I also gave some to Brenda and company as we were leaving. It was fun!

German Pancakes

When I was a young boy and every other blue moon my family would go down to the local Pancake House for breakfast. I always ordered German pancakes. The waitress would bring out this pancake that was shaped like a thin bowl and place it before me; then she would take two forks and fold in the sides making it flat for me to eat. It was fun and tasted great. I was always amazed at how they made the shape.

So the other morning we had one at home. The batter was a little too much for the skillet, but as I pulled it out of the oven the sides had curled up, reminding me of my childhood experience. Served with powdered sugar and syrup it was great.

She's Runnin' Fine Now

We've been having some plumbing problems this fall. About three months ago I was downstairs in the basement and in the back of the house when I noticed a little water puddle near the back door. It appeared that water was running down the 3-inch drain pipe from upstairs. Unfortunately, the pipe comes out of the exterior stud wall right at the floor joists and I couldn't tell for sure where the water was coming from.

One day, while Sparky was in the shower I went down stairs and could see that indeed the water was running down the pipe from somewhere in the wall and wetting the little pieces of carpet we have at the basement back door to wipe our feet.

So I called in the expert, my neighbor Bruce, who also happens to be brick mason and general contractor. After some discussion and review of the house plumbing we agreed that his men would come and remove a section of brick to try and find the leak source.

So a couple weeks ago they showed up and gently knocked a hole in the brick work to try and find the source of the leak. My fear was that it was coming from the bathrooms on the second floor. We made a hole mid-way up the wall, but no leak. A good sign.

So then they knocked out brick towards the bottom, again I went upstairs and flushed the toilet and ran water. Sure enough there was a small leak in the drain pipe just as it entered the basement.

Somehow the joint of the 45-degree elbow (red arrow) had sprung a leak and every time we would use a sink, shower, tub or toilet a little bit of water would come out of this joint. A little gross!

With the problem exposed, I went to Home Depot and bought just about every pipe, glue and fitting that could possibly be needed to fix the situation. Then with the help of our neighbor Terry and later Bruce, we replaced the leaking elbow.

Then a few days later Bruce's men returned and put the brick back in.

Now the miracle of the whole thing is that I knew the approximate location of where there were some excess brick buried in the yard. Years ago when we were putting in the white vinyl fence, I had dug a hole for fence post. Enlarging the hole to dig out some concrete from the earlier fence post I accidentally ran into several rolls of brick that had been neatly stacked in the ground; kind of like the Terra Cotta solders of Xian, China.

Since taking brick out of a wall is almost impossible to do without destroying some of them, I was lucky to remember the approximate location of these "hidden" brick. Now 10 years later I had to dig a couple exploratory holes before I found the stack brick, which we used to replace the brick damaged during their removal.

So now it's all back together. Let winter begin; "She's Runnin' Fine Now."