Saturday's Kitchen: A New Twist on an Old Classic

Its Saturday, so I headed back to the kitchen, but had no idea what to cook.  What really sounded good was my world famous (well ok, maybe just famous within my family and a few close friends) macaroni and cheese with tomatoes- but that's old hat.  I've done it too many times!  There's nothing experimental about that anymore.  Giving up on my search, I decided to just put things in a pot and see what it turned into.  It ended up being macaroni with a cheesy tomato based sauce.  I cannot give you amounts because the combining of ingredients was all done by how much looked right, but I can give you a list of ingredients so you can play with it too!

Tomatoes (I used 2 of my mom's small bottles of tomatoes) blended until smooth
Heavy Cream  (edit: I went back and checked and it took about 1 cup of the cream)
Garlic (1 fairly large clove- chopped)
~2 Tbsp butter
Parmesan Cheese
Mozzarella Cheese
Macaroni
Salt

In a saucepan melt the butter.  Add the garlic and cook on medium high until fragrant and slightly brown.  Reduce the heat to medium.  Add the blended tomatoes all at once to the butter and garlic.  Stir cream into the sauce until it is a pinkish red color.  Reduce sauce by half, stirring frequently (but not constant).

Fill a pot about 2/3 full of water.  Add salt and bring to a boil.  Dump the macaroni in and let boil- stirring occasionally- to al dente.  Drain and rinse.

When the sauce has been reduced and while the pasta is cooking, add desired amounts of parmesan and mozzarella cheeses and let them melt.  Reduce heat to low and continue stirring sauce occasionally to prevent burning.  After the pasta has been rinsed, return it to the pot and add the sauce all at once.  Stir together until pasta is fully and evenly coated and serve.

I know its a very vague recipe.  Maybe next time I'll try measuring everything out to see how much of it is used.  If anyone tries it though, let me know what you think!

P.S. A word of caution- if you are using the bottled, pre-ground type parmesan cheese like Kraft makes the cheese is much stronger than you give it credit for.  I went overboard on the parm and it is really overpowering the other flavors.  That being said, it still tastes pretty good to me, give it a try!

My musings

I have been thinking lately that maybe I should create other blogs- one for cooking, one for politics, etc.- but then I realized something.  My blog is titled "Musings of a Madman."  I am that madman, so, whatever I am musing about is fair game, right?

So, the thoughts of the day.  It is Saturday, which, as of late, has become my cooking day.  It is my day to experiment in the kitchen.  Yes, it is wonderfully frightening.  But no, really, I have come to enjoy it.  This day of food preparation before my day of rest began three weeks ago when I made penne ala vodka (which I mentioned briefly).  The next Saturday was orange chicken (watch out Panda, I'm comin' after you).  This weekend?  Sesame chicken.  I was surprised to find some of the ingredients in town- our grocery stores aren't great at filling my needs- but managed to come up with everything I needed.  All in all I think it was my best dish yet!  Sure, it took every pot in the house and made everything smell like garlic and ginger for a while, but it was worth it.

Later on in the evening I was hungry again.  I was looking online and came across some apple pie style egg rolls.  It reminded me of the wonderful apple chimichangas I have had throughout my life.  I figured they must be pretty easy to make so I went to foodnetwork.com and looked at several recipes for apple pie filling.  Once I had a pretty good idea of what to do, I went into the kitchen and made just enough filling for 3 chimichangas- one for each person at home.  They worked out pretty well.  Today was a very good day for food.  Maybe at some point I'll get ambitious and put recipes up, but not tonight.

Learning to Crochet

Just as promised and warned, here is a very rough draft of the story:

When my Grandma Bishop was alive my father would go to the care center every day to check on her and feed her dinner.  Often, my siblings and I would accompany him just to visit.  She was getting on in years and didn’t always remember us or know what was going on, but it was still important for us to let her know she was loved. 

At the time, my other grandparents- Grandma and Grandpa Jones- were serving as counselors for a girl’s camp run by our church.  During the summer months they would spend all their time on the mountain making sure there was enough firewood, fresh water, and whatever else the girls needed.  On occasion, my family would go up on the mountain to visit them.  I have many wonderful memories of time on the mountain with my grandma and grandpa and their friends.  One such visit sticks out in my mind more than any other; however, it is not a fond memory at all.

It was a Friday afternoon.  My brother and I were getting ready to go on the mountain with my grandparents.  My mom was also getting ready to go camping- she was taking a group of young women from our church to a different camp.  My dad came home from work and invited us all to go with him to visit Grandma Bishop before we left.  My brother and I both declined stating that “we can go see her when we come back”.  We were far too excited for this trip to be bothered with things that didn’t pertain to it.  In our young minds it didn’t make much of a difference either way, she wouldn’t remember we came anyways.  Soon thereafter, we headed up the mountain.  Justin and I excitedly pitched our tent and went about exploring.  The days went by quickly and were filled with splitting wood, riding four-wheelers, and enjoying the company of those around us. 

One morning, Grandpa Jones came to our tent and woke us up early- about six-o-clock.  All he said was “Roll up your sleeping bags and take down your tent, breakfast will be ready soon.”  My brother and I looked at each other with surprised looks.  We weren’t supposed to be going home yet, we still had a few more days.  And why are we getting up so early?  None of this made sense.  Something had to have gone wrong.  Very wrong.  We hurried and collected all our gear and headed to the camp trailer in which our grandparents slept.  Grandma Jones was in there getting some food ready for us.  When we sat down, she gave us each a slice of ham and a sliced, toasted croissant.  She offered us eggs, but I didn’t take them.  Something in her demeanor confirmed that during the night, something bad had happened.  My brother and I exchanged several worried looks during that meal. 

Just as we were finishing up, the door to the trailer swung open.  Grandpa Jones, who had mysteriously disappeared after waking us up, stepped inside.  He had tears streaming down his face as he told us what was going on. 

“Grandma Bishop passed away last night.  Get your stuff loaded up, we’re taking you home.”

I have always remembered the way he said it.  Those first words to come out of his mouth- “Grandma Bishop passed away last night”- have haunted me for years.  This was the first time I had ever seen him cry.  He said it like it was his grandmother. 

Solemnly, we packed the truck and started the journey back.  It was a few hours from the camp to home, but this trip seemed like forever.  As we were winding our way through the Utah canyons, my mind wandered.  “Ultimately, this is a good thing,” I comforted myself, “she was old and it was to the point that life on the other side of the veil will surely be a vast improvement.”  But I still couldn’t help that feeling of sorrow, of loss.  I needed something to help me cope.  My grandma was sitting in the front seat crocheting.  I was mesmerized by the movements of the hook.  My mind still raced, but at least this provided me with some distraction. 

When we got to the house, the entire Bishop side of the family had already gathered, minus my aunt from the east coast.  There was a lot of crying, a lot of sorrow.  We cleaned ourselves up and joined the family.  Grandma and Grandpa Jones left to allow our family its personal grieving time and the process began.  Phone calls, viewings, the funeral, through it all I had one nagging thought in the back of my mind.  It was as if Grandma were asking me: “Why didn’t you come to visit me?  Did you not love me?”

After it was all over and the family had returned to their respective homes, life went on as normal.  It is still odd sometimes, to drive down Main Street and not make the turn to the care center.  It is even odder to drive down to where the care center used to be and find a home for troubled youth.  As much as I tried to move on, those same thoughts kept creeping into my mind.  The vivid memory of sitting on the stairs and telling my dad, “No, we’ll go see her when we come back.”  That was the last chance I ever had to see her in this life and I refused to go. 

One night my family was watching a movie, and the same thoughts were going through my head.  I could almost see Grandma Jones crocheting; almost hear Grandpa Jones give us the news.  I found a ball of yarn and a crocheting needle and began to replicate what I had seen.  Before long, I had a row, and then another.  My mom was shocked to see this happening and asked me where I learned how to do that.  I explained about the trip home, that I had watched Grandma and figured out how to do it.

 Every now and then for the next few years I would pull my little blanket out and crochet a few rows.  Though it has never been finished, that little lap blanket means a lot to me.  Every stitch is a reminder to always live life to the fullest and make time for what is important.  You never know what life will bring your way.  Had Justin and I known that we would never again have the opportunity to visit Grandma Bishop, I’m sure we would have gone.  In fact, we probably wouldn’t have gone camping at all. 

And that is how I learned to crochet.

Cycles/Warning

I go through cycles in my life where I write all the time and then I never write.  As of right now, I am in a writing cycle.  I never share what I write because it is very personal and I am a very secretive individual; however, lately I have been thinking about the possibility of being more open and sharing more of what I write.  This post is not meant as a “get to know me” session but rather a warning: I have a work of literature in the early processes of being written (ie. There is nothing on paper, just in my head) which will likely find its way onto this blog as my next post.  When I post it, it will most likely be a rough, ROUGH draft.  Since I never share what I write and I hate the revision process that may also be the final draft before it is added to the list of things written only to be deleted, but it will still be rough.  Just a warning.

*Added later:
It has been written, but is a very different style than I have ever attempted.  The main topic of the essay is not the important part of it at all and I'm not sure how I feel about that.  I'm going to post it later, after people have had a chance to read this post, and would ask a favor of you, the reader.  I'm not fishing for compliments- in fact I much prefer constructive criticism- but if you would please just leave a comment about the story I would appreciate it.  How it made you feel, what areas need more work, something it reminds you of, anything is fine- I would just like to get a feel for what people think.  For those of you who may not have a blogger account, feel free to leave an anonymous comment. 

Its that time again

Time to quit dragging my feet and write a new post. 

Christmas was wonderful at the Bishop residence.  My brother came home from college and my sister, her husband and their three children came down from Washington.  Our little house was pretty full, but it was fun to have the little ones around!  Christmas Eve we acted out the Christmas story, sang songs, and my dad shared some powerful experiences from Christmases past.  The next morning, watching the kids open presents was a blast.  Seeing their eyes light up when they get that one special gift they've been begging for is absolutely priceless.  Dylan (the 5 year old) can speak a lot more Spanish than I expected, though trying to get him to say anything was quite difficult. He has been in an English/Spanish class for school and it seems to be working out alright. It was wonderful to have everyone around.


Next up is New Years.  Sheena and Roy packed the kids up and headed home the morning of New Years Eve.  That afternoon, Justin went back to Richfield for the celebrations over there.  The house seemed eerily quiet.  I headed over to the city party were a buddy of mine and I played chess for a few hours.  I have never been much of a chess player and got soundly beaten every time, but it was still fun.  After a while we went to play Family Feud (with a group of people, not really family).  The first time I was the announcer (my buddy's mom was running it).  After the first game though, there were no more teams.  So, we got a group together and waited for another team to come play.  We won and got $10 per person! Then I went home.  Boring, I know.  Even though the city had a fireworks display, we lit off some fireworks of our own, and then I went back over to help take down the equipment used for the night's festivities.  That didn't last long before I was ready to come home and call it a night.  One of the perks of not actually working for the people is that you can do stuff like that. 

I haven't had much of an appetite lately.  In fact, I haven't really wanted any food for a couple of days.  I eat anyways, no worries, but today something finally sounded good.  I got online, found a recipe and headed to the store to buy the necessary supplies.  I made penne pasta with a vodka cream sauce.  In some recipes, white grape juice works for a substitute for vodka- not so much in this one.  Way too sweet.  And by the time I was done cooking it I no longer wanted it, but ate it anyways (still eating it as I write this). It worked out ok. Next time I'll use something different, it'll be better.