Marla in the Kitchen

Frank Zappa’s Weasels Ripped My Flesh.  As one comment said, “Frank covered many genres, even Noise,”

So there we were, six old friends, conflicted with the animal-lover/gardener dilemma: after planting, watering, feeding, and coaxing fragile lettuce starts, pampering quirky peonies, and cajoling tricky Daphnies, how does a gardener stifle the urge to wring a rabbit’s neck when you see him devouring your hard work?

We were sitting outdoors after dinner at our annual Memorial Day potluck sharing stories. The Sweetie’s wildflower patch was just beginning to bloom: purple lupins, white lacey flowers, yellow poppies, towering pink foxgloves—surrounded by ragged, bare patches curated by munching bunnies. All of a sudden, the juncoes sounded their chirpy alarm and dive-bombed the flowers. Then, down the slope, shrieking and clawing, tumbled a furry, fighting ball of two small, grappling animals. Didn’t take long to see that it was a weasel with a young rabbit clenched in its jaws.

As I’m a terrible Nature photographer and forgot my camera anyway, these pictures were nicked straight from the internet.

Granted, there was general dismay over the violence and some sympathy for the bunny, but there was also an almost involuntary, overall cheer from the gardener side, “Go weasel, go!”  Mr. Google knew all about the weasel and called it a “vicious and bloodthirsty predator.” Anyways, this episode, straight out of PBS’s Nature, was brief but spectacular and over almost before we could choose sides. The fighting and wrestling ball rolled past the juncoes and through the wildflowers until it came to a stop at the base of the slope. The weasel tightened its grip, looked over its shoulder, and dragged the bunny up the slope and into the woods—probably not to attend the teddy bears’ picnic.

Before the weasel/bunny excitement, we polished off dishes from our Asian-cuisine get together: Thai asparagus & yam noodle salad, seared, stir-fried tofu with vegetables, and Korean rice bowls with pork meatballs. We’ve scaled down some: no more five-course feasts, complicated menus, or fussy food. We’ll choose the easy, the quick, and the accessible and will stick with old friends, good food, and lengthy conversations. 

Thai pork meatballs

• 1 1/2 pounds lean ground pork
• 1/2 cup finely chopped shallots
• 3 tablespoons minced garlic
• 4 teaspoons sugar
• 2 1/2 tablespoons Nuoc Nam sauce
• 1 1/4 teaspoons freshly ground black pepper
• 5 tablespoons short grain glutinous rice, such as sushi rice
• 4 ounces pork fat, cubed
• Vegetable oil
• 6 to 8 (8-inch) bamboo skewers, soaked in warm water for at least 30 minutes. 

In a small bowl combine the ground pork, shallots, garlic, sugar, fish sauce and pepper. 

Place the rice in a small skillet and heat over medium-high heat, stirring constantly, until rice is toasted, golden brown and fragrant. Transfer to a plate to cool. When cool, place rice in a coffee grinder and process to a fine powder. Measure 3 tablespoons of the powder and set aside.

Add the 3 T. rice powder to ground pork mixture. Don’t over process or the mixture will become sticky. 

Lightly oil your hands. Divide meat mixture into heaping 1 1/2 tablespoonfuls and roll each into a smooth ball. Recoat your hands with oil as necessary. Thread the meatballs onto the bamboo skewers, fitting as many as you can on each skewer.

Grill or broil the skewered meatballs, turning occasionally, until cooked through.  

Glenn Miller, In the Mood

There’s a popular story/urban myth about a little girl/husband watching her/his mom/wife make a pot roast/ham and asking, “Why do you cut the ends off before you bake it?”

“I don’t know, it’s the way my mom did it, probably made it juicier. Why don’t you ask Gramma.”

So the little girl asked Gramma, who said, “I don’t know, it’s just the way my mom did it, probably made it juicier. Why don’t you ask her?”

So the little girl called Great Gramma and asked her, “Why did you cut the ends off a pot roast before you cooked it. Did it make it juicier?”

“No,” said great grandma, “When I was first married, my only pan was too small to hold a whole roast, so I cut off both ends so that it would fit.”

Or there’s this one. Same little girl, standing on a kitchen stool, loves to help her mom cook dinner and later as an adult cook, follows her mom’s principal of turning a can upside down and opening it at the bottom—for safety or freshness, she assumes. Years later when they were cooking together on Thanksgiving, the daughter automatically turned a can of green beans upside down and opened it from the bottom.

“Why did you turn the can upside down before you opened it?,” Mom asked.

“Cause you always did it that way,” the daughter replied.

“Well,” said the mom, “we stored the cans in the storm cellar and the tops were always dusty, so I turned the cans upside down and opened the bottom.”

Here’s my version of the Pot Roast Principle. I change sheets and hang them outside to dry each Saturday, just like my mom did. She taught school during the week and Saturday was her day to clean and spiff. These years, I could choose any old day to change the sheets but every Saturday as I fluff a clean top sheet over the bed (“hemmed side next to your body”) and later, fold a fitted sheet (“two corners in each hand, then tuck together”) fresh from the clothesline, I think of her.

There are those who think the moral of these stories is: question the old ways, don’t be too quick to do things the way they have always been done. But I think that holding on to some of the details of our past and the routines of the ones we love, keeps their memory alive.

Here’s a recipe I watched Muth make many times, I made it by her side a time or two, and have made it by myself for years. She bought “country-style” spare ribs from the town butcher, brought them home, carefully cut each slab into two-rib pieces, put them into a Pyrex pan, covered them with the liquid ingredients, and baked them slowly for hours. I do it exactly the same, except for the chipotle peppers in sauce—not available in 1950s Nebraska. I do carefully cut each slab into two-rib pieces just like Muth did. I don’t know why she did that, maybe her pan was too small.

Anyways, happy Mother’s Day, here’s thinking of you Muth.

Oven-Baked County-Style Spareribs

• 5 lbs. country-style ribs
• 1 can diced-in-juice tomatoes
• 1⁄2 c. catsup
• 3 T. Worcestershire sauce
• 3 T. chopped ginger
• 3 T. chopped garlic
• 1⁄2 c. soy sauce
• 3 T. Dijon mustard
• 1 T. dry Coleman’s mustard
• 3 T. brown sugar
• 1 c. chicken stock
• 1 T. chipotle peppers in sauce

Season ribs with salt, black pepper, cumin, chili powder, refrigerate overnight. Mix rest of ingredients then pour over ribs. Bake in 400° oven for 15 minutes. Lower heat to 325°, bake for 2-3 hours. Check for doneness and bake longer if necessary. Liquid should be thickened but not gone. Ribs should be falling-off-the bone tender with plenty of sauce left. The ribs are best when left to their own devices for 20-30 minutes before eating.

Uptown Girl, Billy Joel

Today’s trip in the wayback machine begins with threadbare pillow covers—those zippered cases used to keep pokey, stabby feather ends inside your bed pillow—resulting in a trip to Macy’s. Plenty of parking, empty store aisles, no customers, no perfume squirters, no live piano music, no sales clerks to be seen, as we walked through Cosmetics and rode the up escalator to Linens—just the Sweetie and me left to our own devices. We finally disturbed a young man, who was intent on restocking, “You might try over there in the 50%-off corner.” Hidden on the floor beneath a jumble of duvets, pillows, sheets, and mattress pads were two pillow covers.

Now, how do we pay? We wandered some, looking for a cash register, and saw a sign, “Pay at the Friendly Service Counter.” Luckily, the only other shopper in the store knew what and where the friendly service counter was and we were soon out the door—no wonder we use Amazon. But before Amazon became our department store of choice, there was Frederick & Nelson, The Bon Marché, Bonwit Teller, Bullocks, Younker-Martin’s, and Neiman Marcus. Luxury department store shopping was usually reserved for wealthy customers, but Christmas—with Santa land, opulent window displays, and a chance to ride on stairs that moved—drew in throngs of middle class families.

In my 1950s South Sioux City, our store was Younker-Martin’s. On Saturdays, we crossed over from Nebraska to Iowa on the Missouri River bridge to downtown Sioux City and the corner of 4th & Pierce. In the summer we put shoes on and modeled prickly school clothes for Muth, in front of the full-length mirror. In the winter, we made a day of Christmas shopping, holiday window gazing, and Santa sitting, topped off with a turtle sundae in the 2nd floor cafeteria. Muth took a turn at the cosmetics counter, face upturned, as a primly dressed “Cosmetic Consultant” applied foundation, blush, and lipstick that was too-red. We rode the elevator, operated by a uniformed gentleman who gently intoned, “Second floor Linens, Fourth floor Ladies’ Lingerie” as he glided us up to Children’s Clothes on Fifth. On the way out we strolled through the Men’s Department, picking up a box of pipe cleaners and a flannel shirt, then headed home.

In downtown Seattle, Frederick & Nelson was the standard of elegance. You could rest your elbow on a satin pad at the glove counter while the sales clerk fitted you for a long, slinky glove. You could buy a hot dog in the basement cafeteria, a box of house-made Frangos under the chandelier in front of the grand staircase, a wedge of coconut cake in the third floor Tea Room, or a fancy chicken salad sandwich in the upscale, eighth-floor restaurant.

In the 1970s, traditional department stores, once big city fixtures, moved into suburban malls leaving downtowns vacant. The rise of on-line shopping and the emergence of Walmart, Target, TJ Maxx, the Dollar Stores, and Big Lots siphoned customers away from mall department stores, leaving empty stores and deserted walkways. Last week Ginny needed batting for a new quilt, found it on Amazon, and had it in her hands within a day. It’s hard to justify putting in the time and expense to shop in a brick and mortar store, but we do miss that brief visit to elegance. Maybe vacant malls will help in the current push to revitalize downtowns but luxury department stores aren’t likely to be part of the effort.

Frederick & Nelson’s Chicken Salad 4 servings

• 1 pound boneless and skinless chicken breasts
• 2 ribs celery, finely chopped
• 1/2 cup chopped pecans, divided
• 1/3 cup drained, sliced black olives, divided
• 1 cup mayonnaise
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• Freshly ground black pepper to taste
• 1 1/2 teaspoons Worcestershire sauce
• 1 tablespoon lemon juice Shredded iceberg lettuce

1. Put the chicken into a pan and cover with water. Bring to a boil and immediately reduce the heat. Simmer, partly covered, about 10 to 12 minutes, or until the chicken tests done. Remove from the water and cool. Then dice and put into a bowl.

2. Add the celery to the chicken. Save about a tablespoon of the pecans and a couple of tablespoons of the olives for garnish, then add the remaining of both to the chicken.

3. Stir together the mayonnaise, salt, pepper, Worcestershire sauce and lemon juice. Fold into the salad, cover and refrigerate until ready to serve. (If the salad seems too stiff once chilled, loosen with a couple of tablespoons water.)

4. Serve the salad on a bed of iceberg lettuce, garnished with pecans and sliced olives.