Fodder

The stuffed squash held us through the waiting of last night's election. I don't think there's anything better to calm the soul and ease the mind than good food. Thank goodness for the election results and thank goodness for red wine and butter. (I must note here that I actually cannot eat dairy so henceforth read all 'butter' as the wonder that is soy-free Nature Balance.)

I promise to write down a recipe sometime, I just never measure and always go by taste and smell, adding when I need to so it is a bit difficult to document. I will try. Am trying. Just as I am trying to perfect that silly little game hen that mocks me from my plate asking 'Why didn't you brine me? You knew I would need salt". Some day hen, some day. Some day I will set a hen on the table and carefully and proudly replace my recipe card in it's 1950's decoupage box under C. This box will be coveted by my neighbors and my daughters will stand to inherit it. One day when I am gone, my grandchild will pull out a card, smudged with the sauce and love of a thousand dinners, and ask, "Mommy, is this how you get those silly little chickens to taste so good?" Until this time, the ingredient list remains in my head, and my grandchildren live in a future of bland and dry poultry.

Moving on, sigh.

Today I went to work in a red cardigan I believe was designed to hide the stomach I have grown from so many impulsive, warm, and completely necessary meals. The cardigan is a knit that hangs lower in the front and ties around my waist in a nice neat Christmas bow. I feel fatter in it and need to get rid of it. Why are there days when you leave the house knowing, with all your senses, that today you made a fashion faux pas and yet you still walk out the door? These are the days I am reminded of mulleted people.  

The Mullet Theory: Looking in the mirror, thinking, "This looks good, I can pull this off" and walking out the door. Also applies to red cowboy boots on men and skinny jeans on pear shaped people (like me).

Tonight we eat what has now become a favorite of mine on crappy days. I have no idea what to call it. I was craving enchiladas, hominy, and chicken and I made a stew of it. It works out great, has chipotle and tomatoes so it helps ward off the chills from the fall and bad days at work. The chicken has been defrosting as I write this, I must now go brown it and add the onions and peppers. Perhaps the red enchilada sauce and chipotle peppers will negate the terrible choice of sweater and the spice will melt away the day.

                                          Nothing like tortillas in Mexico