Tuesday, February 28, 2012

Is It Soup Yet??

Sometimes the Irish can save civilization. Sometimes it's all they can do to rustle up dinner.

Technically, I'm a mixture of Scot/Irish, Scandahoovian and Cree, but it's hard to tell with the green eyes, red hair and freckles. In any case, I draw from my Warrior Farmer roots in a lot of my cooking with good, meaty stews, soups and breads often on the winter menu.

It was a good night for it as I was pretty tired. I stayed up way too late last night (for my schedule) catching up with a friend who had been away for a while. Today dawned way too early.

Still, duty calls, reports to write.

Probie comes over, a puzzled luck on his face, looking at a document I'd just finished.

"uh, doc. . . WHAT'S RIGOR MORRIS?"

I look up straightfaced (Typo? Me??") . . "DEAD CAT FOUND AT THE SCENE."

It was just one of those days, So I was glad to get home for something nourishing. Tonight, no guns, no glory, just some really good leftover soup and some fresh baked bread. To make - caramelise a large diced onion in a pan with a splash of olive oil, add 4 ribs of chopped celery and about six sliced carrots and cook for a couple of minutes. Put in a crockpot with 1 and 1/2 lbs smoked ham hocks, a pound of uncooked and rinsed white beans, 2 quarts fresh chicken stock, a pinch of rosemary, 1/8 teaspoon white pepper, 1/8 teaspoon black pepper,a large clove of garlic cut crosswise, a dash of hot sauce (I like Heavy Metal Heat by the Scoville Bros.), 1/4 teaspoon wild honey and 12 sprigs of fresh thyme, plus a couple dashes of salt (to taste). Cook on high for 4-5 hours, until beans are done, remove any stems of thyme, squeeze garlic to remove pulp, discarding the skins and stir into soup. Remove hocks and shred meat. Take a 1/2 cup of the bean mixture and pulse in a blender and stir back in with ham hocks.

With that, some quick bread.

Cheddar Peppered Biscuit Bites. Full of the bite of fresh cracked pepper and sharp cheese, they're baked in little triangles for little bite size bits of crunch with a soft, yeasty center.

Serve warm with butter , the perfect accompaniment to a bowl of old fashioned soup, stew, or even chili.

For now, enjoy the comforts of home. Tomorrow, a little firearm post - refinishing old blue.

Saturday, February 25, 2012

Let it be Borne. . .

As Daniel Webster stated - “Let it be borne on the flag under which we rally in every exigency, that we have one country, one constitution, one destiny”.

The flag is not a piece of cloth intended to be worn as a necktie, bikini or an outfit for your wiener dog. It is a sacred symbol of a nation. A representation of a promise of freedom. Freedom to life and liberty. The freedom for the law abiding citizen to protect their family and what they hold dear. Freedom to work hard and prosper and enjoy the fruits of your honest labor without fear that it will be forced from you to support the degradation of the Constitution. The flag is more than fabric, it's a promise. I am an American, and I will honor the flag, wrapping myself around it as a patriot would, to protect it, not wrapping it around words or actions to justify that which we know to be a breach of this promise. - Brigid

Packin' Heat - Chili/Chocolate Brownies

Friends were stopping by, on their way to play a music gig in IND and I needed a little something to serve, a sweet treat, quick but not boring. You can't go wrong with something that involves dark chocolate, coffee, chili AND cinnamon.

Take your favorite fudge brownie recipe but this time add a splash of brewed espresso and a pinch of both cinnamon and cayenne pepper to the batter. If you use a box mix, replace all of the water called for with brewed coffee or espresso and add the spices. Now top with. . .

Chili/Chocolate Hot Fudge Sauce

Four ounces Dark semi sweet chocolate with Chilis (I used a 3.5 ounce Lindt bar plus the corner off a second one)
1/3 cup white sugar
1/8 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
3/4 cup plus 3 Tablespoons heavy cream (total is slightly less than a cup).
1/2 teaspoon Mexican Vanilla (I use Penzey's).

Break chocolate into pieces and cook in the microwave in a glass bowl (high setting) for one and a half minutes, stirring every 30 seconds, until almost melted. Transfer to a heavy-bottomed saucepan over low heat on the stovetop and stir in sugar, salt and butter. Stir in cream, a little at a time until smooth. Heat through still on low heat, until thickened (do NOT bring to a boil). Remove from heat and stir in vanilla. Use to top brownies or save in the fridge to top ice cream.

Thursday, February 23, 2012

Travel Log - What is Happiness

"TELL ME, WHAT IS HAPPINESS?" - Iain M. Banks Use of Weapons (prologue)

On the road, I usually stop in a bookstore if there is one around. So many books. The bargain books are usually entertaining in and of themselves, leaving you wondering what prompted some people to pen such thoughts to paper. I could think of a few titles for books that would instantly be in the bargain bin (and you can probably add a few titles of your own).

Living Life Bacon Free!
Harry Potter Meets the Groovy Ghoulies
My Little Ponies - Financial Freedom through Track Bets
The Kardashian Guide to Quantum Mechanics
Bouncing Betty and the Bucket of Moonshine - A Nancy Drew Mystery
Get Off My Leg!! - A Beginners Guide to Dog Training

But good books, have been part of my life since early childhood. For my long time readers, I've written before of my love for books and why. I was lucky to have two parents who exposed us to books and music and the outdoors. Learning and discovery were elemental to them and reading and words became a quiet necessity of my life. Charlotte's Web, The Wind in the Willows, A Child's Garden of Verse, and my all time favorite, Grimm's Fairy Tales.

Books were my portal to comfort, during those inevitable awkward moments of growing up, a way of immersing myself in the world of an author. As a child, books helped me grow, stretching my mind even further. And through books and written words came friendships. I'd talk about what I read with my classmates, telling snippets of stories and passing around dog eared copies of Asimov and Heinlein and Niven and Herbert. We'd gather over our lunches, laughing about a recent share, Philip Dicks -Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep. We'd sit until a teacher made us go back to class, voices raised in excitement for the vast reaches out there, limitless possibilities that, on the cusp of adulthood, we believe existed.

With that, the world opened up to me. I started recording it, in small notebooks of paper, ink drawings, loose photos, added onto their pages, a scrapbook of my life, recorded for eternity with nothing more than an old Mont Blanc pen and a camera.

Words dazzle and deceive because they are mimed by the face. But black words on a white page are the soul laid bare. Guy de Maupassant

"Soul laid bare." The sense of vulnerability in those three words is beyond reach. From these recorded pages have come my own story, tales of the possibilities of life, my soul laid out for many of you to read. Opening up something within me that made some of you take your own pen and craft your own story. I believe in the magic hidden in people and things, and these notebooks, these words bring them out into the light.

But writing, as in reading, for me is not just intellectual but embracive. I love the way the spine of a book or notebook feels in the crook of my fingers. The book an aesthetic charm of endless possibilities. The smooth, hard end boards snug on either side of the pages sewn together, their edges flush and perfect. The smell of ink, the texture of a page as my fingers gently turns it. Between 1850 and the late 1980s, books were printed on acidic paper. Conservators can't keep up with the costly restoration. Soon, millions of books in thousands of libraries the world over will be lost when their pages disintegrate into dust. Already I mourn for the loss of something that we have no control over, that of the written word.

I love blank notebooks. To me, it's hard to think of anything that represents the clean slate of opportunities more than a pristine, empty notebook. Smythson’s of Bond Street has bound ones with thin, blue, delicate paper that looks like the air mail paper my parents wrote to one another on during the War. The paper is so thin, the ink bleeds through, yet with the ink comes pleasure. The smell of the ink as well as the as the scent of paper itself, is need as defined as the capturing of a personal experience. Experiences in danger of being lost in an errant click of a mouse. In today's evolution of the tools of our expression, we've lost the very things we can hold on to. Things that can still gather dust and be passed on, to a child, to a lover, to history. So I particularly like the Smythson's ones, the way my handwriting looks on the thin paper, words scrolled from a fountain pen, dense with weight, meaning something, to me anyway, even if two hundred years from now, the paper, and the one I wrote the words for, are only dust and starlight.

Tonight I sit alone and quiet, my closest friend far away, Barkley asleep on the couch at home. I have a book, Iain M. Banks Use of Weapons. Once again, Banks takes us to The Culture, his galaxy-spanning civilization of humans, computer Minds, asteroid-sized Ships (some of the names he picks for his ships are worth the read in and of themselves) and annihilating weapons. Ah yes, weapons. Written in interwoven chapters, it is made up of two alternating narrative streams - one indicated by Arabic numerals and the other by Roman ones.

The stories are one of The Culture and one of a world not yet contacted by The Culture. The pre-contact world is the home of four children, a brother, two sisters and another boy, hidden from others. Of the two stories, one moves forward chronologically, while the other moves in the opposite direction; yet both are about the central, tragic character, Cheradinine Zakalwe. Zakalwe is a rogue, a military genius, an assassin, a sad case and an utterly sympathetic character all at the same time. A mercenary shaped by his experiences as the perfect soldier, he's taken, refined and utilised by the supposedly benign and pacific Culture for their nastier dirty tricks operations. The moral ambiguity and ethical contradictions of this are not lost on Zakalwe himself or on his Culture handler, the "Special Circumstances" operative Diziet Sma.

Gloriously grotesque, sharply observed, bleakly satirical and written with a revelation so perfect that you will only ask yourself how you didn't see it sooner. Anything, Banks is telling us, anything at all can be a weapon, and the failure of restraint in the use of weapons dooms us all. It's not the easiest book to get your mind around, some minds will find the interwoven stories confusing (but if you are reading this blog, you are not likely to be one of those). I can promise you this, after reading it you will never look at a small chair, especially a small chair painted white, in quite the same way.

I don't read a lot of "popular" fiction. I would rather be nibbled to death by ducks than read a Jackie Collins novel. I tend to read a lot of non fiction, of history. I like reading about long ago. I know more about my own life when I know more about the past. It's a sense of perspective; of days full of people that killed, tortured, struggled and suffered, agonizing for things that were of the utmost importance to them; working and living for reasons that may be well the same as ours. Now they've been gone some 500 years and all that is left to us is the essence and quintessence of their lives. To me history is more than a story, more than a book, it's the life, the heart and soul of ages long ago. It's the ultimate myth and inevitably ambiguous, but I do believe, like Lord Bolingbroke said, "History is philosophy teaching by example and also by warning." History not read is like ammo not used, someone once said, and without reading, for myself at least, the past is silence and the future is haze.

So for these many reasons, I hate being stuck somewhere with no book, no notebook or a laptop in which to record my thoughts Let the weather play God with my itinerary, let them send me to Elbonia. I've been stuck in places where my luggage did not arrive at the same time I did, and the only written word I could find in English was a ferry schedule for the River Styx. I don't care where I am, I simply need something to read and something to write in. Words in reserve, a buttress against the whims and dubiety of travel, of growing up, of life itself.

I intended to read tonight, but there is a new little notebook in my suitcase, I removed the film cover, the crackling sound awakened something in me. I stroked the oilskin cover for the first time, my future turning before me as I snapped open the elastic band to flip through the pristine pages, dreams waiting to burst out onto them. The pages were too perfect, it's almost hard to make the first mark upon the clean, fresh landscape. But then, with the thought of a face, of a hand at the small of my back, I began; splaying the words on lasting paper before they are lost in the ether. Words that are bequeathed to the page before they were forgotten, words that though not spoken, will take a corporeal shape in my heart whenever I close my eyes, even as they themselves, slumber between the closed cover that is their hiding place. - Brigid

Wednesday, February 22, 2012

Where the Wubba Meets the Road -

Barkley stays at a doggie day camp occassionally when I know I'm going to be away from home 12 hours plus, til myself or a friend picks him up. He loves it, lots of outside and indoor play areas with wading pools when its hot and all kinds of toys. His favorite, this really hard rubber ball with feet on it. It also squeeked.

Barkley will destroy any cloth toy with a squeeker in minutes, but this one was so hard, he couldn't get his teeth though it and could just work it with his jaws, SQUEAK, SQUEAK, SQUEEK. (I think I should buy the folks at the dog camp some high caliber ear protection.)

I wanted to get him one, but I'd never seen one in the pet toy section of the stores where I shop. It looked to be made out of the hard Kong material but that's all I knew. Then, surprise! EJ was able to find one and presented it to Barkley a while back,, and he continued to play with it until the incessant squeeking was such it got taken away for a while each day (Look! A Squirrel! Mr. Squeaky? What Mr. Squeaky?)

Until the day the squeakee died.

He got a tooth in the little vent in the back for air to move in and out of. Over a few days, he worked enough of a hole in it that it wouldn't squeek but would just sort of wheeze like an asthmatic blowfish..

He was seriously bummed.
I know, Mr. SqueAky is DOA and your other friends are busy working. But come on, it's the new issue of Classic Trains!

I got tired of the look so off I went.

To the bigbox pet mart. They didn't have one in stock, but they did have a similar device, a kong style big ball that squeeked. Not as big, and not quite as hard, but pretty thick AND wrapped in extra tough fabric (reinforced! it said). The instructions were in English AND French (do not ask me why as it was "American designed and tested" and "made in China"). Jeu amusant et interactif! Fun, interactive play! At last I could use my college French, yes, for instead of taking a language that appears to be more popular than English in most border states I took French, which I speak really badly, which everyone makes fun of (or will until we are invaded by Canada ya hosers!)

The Kong WUBBA!

He was so happy. For three minutes. SQUEEK, SQUEEK, SQUEEK, JOUET COUINEURrrrr!


I removed the remains in a bucket.

Looks like it's going to be another round with annoying Calgon Dog instead.

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Annie Get Your . . . .

GUN EMPANADASI'm still on desk duty for at least another month, post "blown out knee" repair. I know that means my team is working extra hard. I can run command central with a phone, but I'm used to being OUT there, directing things, pulling my weight. To let them know I appreciate it, I showed up with a large warm container of these for those who had morning duty (do not ask what time the alarm was set for). They were intended to be reheated for lunch. They were gone before the sun was hardly up,.

Sweet and Spicy Empanadas (double or triple the recipe if needed, heats up well in a crockpot after frying the beef and veggies).

1 to 1.2 pounds ground beef
1 sweet onion chopped finely
3-4 cloves garlic, chopped finely
1/4 cup finely chopped carrot (I julienned and then chopped)
1 can chopped tomatoes
1/4 cup sherry (alcohol will cook out, you'll just get flavor)
1 Tablespoon wild honey
1 Tsbp balsamic vinegar (I used a 20 year old one aged in bourbon barrels)
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1 teaspoon cumin
1 teaspoon cayenne pepper
pinch of crushed red pepper
1 or 2 drops Scoville Brothers Rockin Red hot sauce
1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
1/8 teaspoon dark cocoa powder
dash of salt and pepper
3-4 sheets of frozen puff pastry, thawed and unfolded

Preheat oven to 375 F. (about 200C.). In a hot skillet, cook beef until no longer pink. Once done, drain excess fat and set aside. In same pan (which should still have a little fat adhering to it) cook onions and carrots in a splash of olive oil until onions are golden brown and caramelized, being careful not to burn. Add just enough olive oil to keep from sticking. When done, add beef mixture back in. Add in sherry and garlic (I didn't measure the garlic, but 3-4 cloves) and cook until sherry has evaporated.

Add in honey, vinegar, cinnamon, cumin, cayenne pepper, crushed red pepper, Worcestershire sauce, dark cocoa powder, tomatoes, and salt and pepper to taste. Cook till the sauce is thickened and there is hardly any liquid, but it's not dried out.

(Yes, you can click to enlarge the photos). Roll out thawed puff pastry, cut into 4 inch circles (I used a drinking glass to cut them out). Place a heaping tablespoon of beef mixture onto pastry. Fold in half and press sides well with a clean and dry fork to crimp and seal.

Pierce top of the pastry once with fork. If you wish, brush with an egg wash (1 egg beaten with a splash of milk). I didn't, only in that I was out of eggs, but they were still great, just not as glossy. Bake for 15-20 minutes till golden brown.

Friday, February 17, 2012

Short and Sweet Breakfast - Brown Sugar and Bacon Waffles

One of you asked me to repost this recipe, so for a "no grape nuts for me today" Saturday, here it is!

Brown sugar and caramalized bacon waffles.

10 slices of bacon
1/4 cup brown sugar
pinch of cayenne papper

Preheat oven to 375 degrees F. Spray a baking sheet with non stick cooking spray and line with foil. Arrange bacon in a single layer on the baking sheet. Sprinkle generously with brown sugar and cayenne. Place in the upper third of the oven and bake until sugar is caramelized and bacon is brown and crispy, about 10 to 15 minutes. Remove from oven. Immediately remove bacon slices using a pair of tongs. Place them on a cutting board (not paper towels, they’ll stick!) to cool before chopping. Once cool, chop the bacon into bite size bits and set aside.

For the Waffles

3 cups all-purpose flour
1 Tablespoon baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
1/4 cup brown sugar
2/3 cups canola oil
4 large eggs
2 teaspoons Mexican vanilla (trust me, there's a difference)
2 1/2 cups buttermilk

Set up your waffle iron on a level, clean surface and turn on to preheat.

In a large bowl combine flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt and brown sugar. Whisk to blend. In a medium bowl, whisk together eggs, oil, buttermilk and vanilla extract. Add the wet ingredients to the dry ingredients and fold. Once almost fully incorporated, add the bacon bites. Stir. Try not to over mix the batter or the waffles will become tough. You will still have a few lumps remaining in the batter.

Cook according to your waffle machine instructions.

Serve with real maple syrup that you've heated gently and crumbled bacon. Be prepared for guilt wracking stare from Waffle Dog.

Quote of the Day

When the one arises who can make you laugh, solemn Ista, angry Ista,
iron Ista, then your heart will be healed.
You have not prayed for this:
it’s guerdon even the gods cannot give you.
We are limited to such simples as redemption from your sins.

-Paladin of Souls by Lois McMaster Bujold

Thursday, February 16, 2012

Impressing Dinner Guests - with, yes, Venison!

Today is my "Friday" and in the Range neighborhood, folks don't want tofu, spray cheese (which, like any hazardous material in a can, should have written warnings on its use) or iceburg lettuce salad. They want FOOD (salad being what food eats!). I've probably lost my last vegetarian reader with this post, but venison, when prepared correctly is very tasty and can be quite tender.

My last deer harvested on a hunt with Og and company, was a doe. It was a long shot, the range of that Marlin with .357 pistol loads (you can't hunt with rifles in my state). She wasn't a youngster, but she wasn't all that big, though I didn't know that until the good clean shot was taken. That prompted my Dad, when seeing a photo of me and my deer to say in front of the whole family - "did you shoot a dog?" After enduring numerous cracks about the Whitetail Spaniel, people shut up after eating the prepared summer sausage and tenderloins that came from that bounty, a good 60 pounds of excellent meat to tide my house over for the winter months.

For those of you who are lucky enough to have on hand in your freezer, (or as a gift from a fellow hunter), a nice piece of venison (or yes, a chunk of good beef) this is a meal worthy of family or friends. The recipe comes from two members of the HOTR honorary Canadian division, father and son, Dad being long time friend and fellow sportsman Marty.

If you are ever in Langford BC, stop in at the excellent Fountain Diner and tip your hat to Marty's son, head chef Jesse Fischer who kindly shared his recipe (they're located at 2800 Bryn Maur Rd, in Langford, B.C.)

Venison Roast with Red Currant Jelly Sauce

Take one bone-in venison hip, this was a doe, very tender and succulent, 10-12 lbs. Line bottom of roasting pan with a basic mirepoix (a chopped mixture of onions, 50%, and celery and carrots at 25%, ). A note from B. - the finer you chop them the more aromatic they will be.

Chop 5 cloves garlic, and mix with 2 roughly chopped sprigs of rosemary and 1/4 c. of olive oil.

Place venison in roasting pan and coat with oil/herb mixture. Season liberally with salt and pepper. Cook at 400 F. for 45 min and then turn down to 300 for 2 hrs. until medium rare. Do not overcook! Remove venison from roasting pan and let rest 30 min.

Place the mirepoix and drippings into a sauce pan. Add 1 and 1/2 c red wine (HOTR recommends Malbec), place on stove and reduce by half. Strain to save the liquid. Julienne 10 small shallots and sauté in sauce pan until translucent. Add the saved liquid, 1/3 cup of red currant jelly and simmer 10 min.

Evening low light's not the best for a small camera, but it makes for a beautiful table.

Roast Potatoes

3 small skin on potatoes per person, washed and tossed with olive oil and 10 whole cloves garlic for the batch. Roast 30-45 min. at 400 F. until tender.

Roasted Tomato Vinaigrette

Two whole medium tomatoes (your favorite, through yellow or orange heirloom ones make for a pretty dressing) washed, skin on. Cut in quarters, drizzle with olive oil (I added a sprinkle of summer savory to Jesse's fine recipe) and roast in 300 F. oven for 1 and a half to 2 hours (put in at same time as you turn down venison).

Cool and remove skin if desired, but not necessary. Combine with 1/2 cup white balsamic vinegar and 1 cup olive oil. Process with boat motor. ;)

Serve over mixed green salad (no, not iceburg but good dark greens including wild greens if you can get them, iceburg lettuce has all the nutritional value of the USA Today newspaper).

See, a game dinner you'd be proud of. I had a haunch you'd like it :-)

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Last Minute Valentine Dessert Idea

Let's see - you can serve your sweetie some ready made -


Homemade Chocolate Raspberry/Brandy Truffles rolled in dark cocoa powder with a touch of raspberry chipotle sea salt. A melt in your mouth taste of sweet and salty goodness and easier to make that you think (recipe in comments).

And for a certain friend that's not going to get one of these in Business Class - there will be some when you get back. . . OK, not the one in the front, it's a goner.

Monday, February 13, 2012

Stuck on You

click to enlarge photo
A few of us were having a conversation a while back about women and gifts. I said, "I'm not a big fan of flowers. You get them, and they just die, and you have to throw them out and that's just sad" (not to mention other fun things the money could be spent on). I know, that's not the typical female thinking, but then again I own 4 pairs of shoes and would rather play in the shop than actually shop. I'm can pull off an evening dress with the best of them but I'm just not all emotional girly/blinky eyed about some things that others think are romantic.

"But what about roses? " someone asked. I thought about it for a minute. "They are pretty, but I don't like the scent of roses, not at all."

But tomorrow is Valentine's Day, and to my surprise, someone showed up with a surprise for me before they had to catch a flight somewhere.

What is this?

It looks like roses.

It IS roses, but not just regular roses, roses out of the ordinary. Each one was individually crafted on an antique table in a place I'm familiar with, with care, from my favorite household product . . . Duct Tape!

Each one, perfect, durable, in varying stages of opening, just like live flowers. They also came in many colors but not pink which I hate. And they don't smell like roses. When they were presented with a smile, I was instructed to breathe deep. Wiith a little assist from some cooking extract, they smelled like anise, black licorice, my favorite candy, of which a box of the good kind, is often in my truck.

Like true friendship, some things are meant to last.

Yeah, I got all girly/blinky eyed, but don't tell anyone.

Sunday, February 12, 2012

There' Snow Place Like Home - Memories from the Weekend

The snow arrived as scheduled Friday, and I was glad I arrived up north in the afternoon, before the worst of it. I had the truck loaded, clothes for a couple of days, plus water and food, lights, flares, a heavy blanket and a shovel, in case I got stuck, plus additional food, water and a bowl in the cab for Barkley. We ended up getting about 9 inches total overnight, and I was the only one who made it in Friday night, other friends who worked later, coming in from the snow belt, arriving Saturday after the roads were plowed.

Before the snow got too thick, a run was made to town. At the local Meat Mart, Mr. B. said the power went out. No one panicked. No one yelled for their Mommy, or their Senator. A dozen or so flashlights were whipped out, from the same pockets that probably held knives and a .40 or two. The clerks just gave folks a big chunk of whatever meat they'd requested, not being able to weigh it, thanking everyone for their business. A lot of people had cash to pay, as the automatic credit card reader was not going to work. They also got a big box of freshly made wings added to our small order. Life as usual in Hoosierville.

Once the shoppers were home, it was a quiet night of a light supper, some fresh from the oven homemade spice cake that Midwest Chick whipped up and served with choice of toppings (I had mine plain, it was that good) and a finger or two of really good whiskey before I crawled into a big comfy country bed covered with homemade quilts, while the fire blazed downstairs and dogs and cats slept together.

The morning dawned with skies clearing as it started to get light, but about 8-9 inches of snow. Mr. B. fired up the tractor and dug out their long driveway, parking and mailbox area, as well as a couple of the neighbors, one an elderly gent. He does it, not because those folks expect it, but because he can. I'm sure they appreciated it. We certainly did, my truck getting dug out and repositioned so when I left, I could pull straight out without having to back out onto a country road with a long truck.

I still can't do deep snow with the recuperating knee so after he arrived, EJ, our favorite engineer, took Barkley out for a romp in the back acreage being careful to avoid Lake Inferior on the South side of the property which was likely frozen over. Schmoo the black lab also got to prance around in the snow, both dogs out in their element, snooting the snow and gallumping around while near the house, while many happy birds were enjoying the suet and seed that Midwest Chick puts out when the snow gets deep or there is ice. (When the weather is good the birds fend for themselves, if you just give someone food every day, they never learn, or want to learn, how to gather their own.)

I'm back Mom!!

After that, books were perused. . . .

and bread was baked.

Soon, the sun was dipping in the sky again and it was time for an adult beverage.

Nitro Milk Stout. Phone calls were made to Og and company, safe at home but dealing with some household plumbing issues. Next time, my friends.

Dinner was Mr. B.'s masterful pepper steak. The meat is marinated for two days in a spicy but slightly sweet marinade and then dredged in seasoned flour and quickly flash fried in peanut oil at a super high temp so it's so tender you can cut it with a spoon, then tossed with aromatic steamed fresh vegetables and served over rice. He made it once before and I asked if we could have it again, it's that good.

After dinner, some "shop" talk and some "shot" talk. Han Shot First. You get the camera, I'll get the book. Despite George Lucas' explicit cinematographic assertion that "Greedo shot first." He did not. There, in that book called Star Wars, written by some George Lucas guy, (click to enlarge photo), it was confirmed, reading it aloud, that Han took the only shot, killing Greedo. Ha!

Soon,dishes washed, and leftovers put away for guests to take home, it was time for bed. The fire was checked, everyone was full and sleepy, and animals bedded down for the night.

It's Goldie the Lolcat - IM IN UR QUANTUM BOX

Nothing to getting going in the morning like the smell of Indiana Amish bacon as you get out of bed.

And of course, nothing like a country breakfast in the morning, prepared with friends and served family style, so everyone could enjoy as much or as little as they wished of the meal they prepared together. Toast, made with the homemade bread, served with fresh butter, real farm eggs, Amish bacon and hash browns made out of actual potatoes and cooked in a little butter and bacon fat with salt and pepper, not some potato like product shaped like a midget's shoe insert and deep fat fried.

After breakfast, with Mr. B. working, we read and played with our computers, Midwest Chick not being able to upload some Apple App, despite holding her mouth just right and our lighting a candle for Steve Jobs. We gave up on the Internet connection and watched some old TV shows, wondering again how McCloud can jump three stories without losing his hat and how you can run that fast in the mini skirt and high heels you were wearing in the previous scene (maybe physics was different in the 70's, but then again Ziva can be blown up by a bomb, flung 75 feet to land on Tony and not even mess up her hair).

Soon it was time to leave, the sun blazing bright, the snow already receding as I headed south. I had a great time everyone, we'll do it again real soon.