“The Ginger Chicken and Broccoli was good but all I got was some very tiny pieces of chicken, rice and sauce.”
Didn’t spit any out. Seemed to enjoy the flavors. Tiny Test Taster Approved.
Tiny Taste Tester
Meet my Tiny Taste Tester. This post started as a Risotto recipe but somewhere I got off topic (I’ll return to risotto later). When The Boss learned this Tiny Human was coming to the house for a weekend visit she got quite excited. Then the orders began.
“Go to the store and buy some baby food.”
So I did just that. Little did we realize that this small person was not limited to the mush you buy in jars and pouches. We quickly began to realize our guest had worldly taste buds. OK…back to risotto. On most days I do a scan of what’s on hand and start thinking about what to make for dinner. When I gave The Boss a few options the other day her reply was:
“Risotto. You have never made risotto.”
I think I made risotto once but failed miserably. But when I made risotto this past week it turned out pretty good. When a cook makes something she has never made (or maybe just once and failed) and the dish turns out well you just can’t stop talking about it. And when the father of the Tiny Human heard the story he asked for risotto for dinner.
So I thought to myself, I can do this even if I’ve only made it once successfully.
Last night the crawler got to sample my vegetable risotto. We think she liked it because she asked for more. Today the small person sampled Ricotta Buttermilk Pancakes. When The Boss was eating her breakfast the Tiny Human crawled over and delivered her “more” sign, a small yet effective means of communication for the less vocally inclined.
Did I mention I can now make risotto? Tiny Taste Tester Approved.
Pepper Plant 08.02.18
BUMPER CROP !
(four and counting).
Lightfighter deadspace
Album Notes
“Deadspace” refers to a part of the body that is available for its physiologic purpose, but for some reason is not being used, for example the air in a person’s mouth at the end of a breath that will not reach the lungs. A broader conception of this idea might be some sort of “undefined existence,” which is constant and pervasive in the emergency room, where lives are simultaneously beginning and ending. Very few occurrences can be defined well in absolute terms, and nothing can usually be very well explained. But we do our best to lead a good life, and, if we’re lucky, we may earn a good death.
Woonsocket traces the surreal rise and fall of a northern RI mill town, from its idyllic origins and through the boom of the industrial revolution to our current dual-epidemics of violence and opioid addiction.
Young and Reckless is a coming to age narrative built out of a collection of fragmented memories.
Oh Woman was the first song written by the group, and can be considered Rock Blues. It is a straightforward battle cry on navigating a new relationship.
Heaven and Hell is the only acoustic based song on the album. Heaven and Hell is a hopeless attempt to make sense of doctors’ and patients’ responses to devastating illness and injury.
In a Lie is fierce; created to be played live, distorted and loud. It is a simple tale of a past relationship and it’s dysfunction.
Protect the King was born after first witnessing what could only be described as a “good” death, as represented by it’s atypical structure. A young man at the end of his struggle with cancer decided to discontinue treatment and die peacefully, surrounded by his family. Although it was painful for them, they stayed with him and held him until he died.
The trio formed during their residency training in Emergency Medicine in Providence, Rhode Island. “deadspace,” the eclectic debut LP, was inspired by experiences old and new, and explores opposing forces.
Genre: Pop: Pop/Rock
Release Date: 2018
© Copyright – Lightfighter
Pepper Plant 2018
Every summer I try to grow something. A few years ago I started a tomato plant that produced two tomatoes. Then there was the cucumber plant that produced one cucumber.
This year’s confirmation of my Brown Thumb is a Gypsy Pepper plant.
It sure doesn’t look like the Gypsy Pepper plant pictures on Google Images.
Frenchy’s Citrus Gazpacho
“Send pictures of the Tiny Human.”
“Only if you send me your Citrus Gazpacho recipe.”
The exchange was made and Frenchy’s recipe follows:
CITRUS GAZPACHO
For 6 Cups
- 4 large ripe tomatoes
- 1 clove garlic
- 1 TBLS white wine vinegar
- 2 1/2 cups orange juice
- zest and fruit of 1 orange-remove the peel and pith
- zest and fruit of 1 pink grapefruit-remove the peel and pith
- 1/2 cucumber, peeled, seeded, diced
- 1/4 medium red onion, diced
- 1/2 yellow bell pepper, stemmed, seeded and diced
- 1 TBLS olive oil
- 1 tsp kosher salt
- 1/2 tsp fresh ground pepper
- Cayenne pepper to your taste
Instead of using fresh tomatoes which you must boil for 20 seconds, then dunk in ice water to stop the cooking, cool, peel, then dice-you can use a can of diced tomatoes.
Use an immersion blender or container blender to mix the tomatoes, garlic, vinegar, orange juice, orange and grapefruit zest. Puree. Pour over the cucumbers, peppers, onion, orange and grapefruit, olive oil and seasonings.
This is best when it has been refrigerated overnight. Top with fresh cut basil before serving. A few pomegranate seeds in each serving for color.
Beautiful in martini or cocktail glasses as a starter.
Historical Note for Family and Friends
Frenchy is a real person and our friendship predates my marriage to The Boss. When the Doctor and the Architect were tiny humans themselves we would have wonderful meals at Frenchy’s. I’m positive I’ve had this gazpacho but at my age I can’t remember when. Enjoy!
Dad’s Batter for Frying
To avoid any confusion this is MY Dad’s batter recipe. So if you’re a sibling it’s your Dad’s recipe. If you’re a child of mine (Guns & Roses…) this is your Grandfather’s batter on your Father’s side. If you’re my grandchild…
I’m learning more about my Box Project all the time. I’m not just capturing my own favorite recipes but also rediscovering family history too.
Rather than rewrite the recipe I simply posted a photo of the 3×5 index card. This prevents me from revising the recipe as I write. Because as I look at this recipe I can’t help but think beer not water and maybe heating up the oil before you start frying might be a good thing to do. Or the “half glass” measure? Trust me on this. I had to have asked Dad for the recipe then wrote it down verbatim.
I’ve not deep fried anything at home in decades. Not even sure anyone in the family besides my oldest grandchild would enjoy a piece of batter fried chicken. Well, maybe he would.
Not Italian
Growing up I was convinced I was Italian. As a kid all of my friends were either Catholic or Jewish. Imagine your childhood in a time and place where delicious ethnic cuisine was a couple of blocks away. The businesses were always family businesses. The food was wonderful. Naturally my favorites were southern Italian and anything you’d find in a good Jewish deli (except Borscht which I never liked nor understood). Bagel with cream cheese and lox? Love it. Sunday gravy with meatballs and sausage? Isn’t this what every family makes and eats on Sundays? Didn’t everyone go to synagogue on Saturdays and church on Sundays? When I was around 12 or 13 I began my spiritual quest. We had the big Sunday meal with family but for some reason we didn’t go to church or synagogue. I was confused about faith. So I turned to The Wise One of the family for guidance.
“Father, why don’t we go to church or synagogue?”
The Wise One did not hesitate with his response.
“You don’t find God. God finds you.”
Now imagine being around 12 years old and having that thought stuck in your brain.
Faith is a funny thing. You either believe or not. So the thought that I might have some Italian blood persisted my entire life. This belief persisted until this past week. My brother got one of those DNA ancestry tests done and graciously gave me permission to share the most intimate details of our genetic heritage in a public post.
Well, I’m not Italian. And I’m not 100% of what I thought I was. I might be Vietnamese.
Well this puts a different slant on everything.
Update 01.22.18
My Grandmother Was Italian. Why Aren’t My Genes Italian?
We do have the genes we inherit — 50 percent from each parent. But Elissa Levin, a genetic counselor and the director of policy and clinical affairs of Helix, says a process called recombination means that each egg and each sperm carries a different mix of a parent’s genes.
“When we talk about the 50 percent that gets inherited from Mom, there’s a chance that you have a recombination that just gave you more of the northwest European part than the Italian part of your Mom’s ancestry DNA,” she says. That’s also why siblings can have different ancestry results.
While catching up on the news I stumbled upon this article from NPR.
I feel better already. I might still be Italian.
2017 – Year End Review
This happened…
I had trouble growing tomatoes but managed to grow a few bunnies.
A new member of the family arrived.
Another next Gen got married.
We did not move to SF for the opportunity to buy and live in a closet for $425,000.
I discovered yet another reason to quit playing guitar (watch his left hand).
The Old Man Car lives on.
And this guy showed up at the house.
Happy New Year to all.
Another Dot in the Road
Christmas 2018
I am alone this Christmas for the first time. The day started early, another byproduct of the aging process. For months I’ve known that I would be home alone today. The Boss is out of town to experience the joy of Christmas with our first Tiny Human Grandchild and her clan in Providence RI. Our other Number One Son is hiking somewhere in the Colorado Rockies. This Christmas I am home alone with my thoughts and memories.
The funny thing is I really don’t mind being home alone on Christmas. I don’t have a problem being alone. Some people get lonely when no one else is around. That’s not me. You can be in a room full of people and feel lonely. Or you can be alone and feel completely surrounded by the love of family and friends. There are just so many wonderful memories of Christmas all fighting for my attention right now. All day long these memories will begin bubbling to the surface. And believe it or not I just got a Merry Christmas text message from an old college buddy. This simple gesture brings back fond memories of Sweet and Sour Tripe (trust me, you don’t want to know the rest of this story). I can’t stop smiling.
The tree lights are on. Christmas music is in the air. I’m wearing my Life is Good tee with Jake’s dog on it (the one I wear every Christmas). I started a pot of Mayocabo beans early and they might even be ready for lunch later. The smiles keep coming because the memories are surfacing from places and times nearly forgotten. I wasn’t quite sure how I would feel home alone today but I’m fine. I have time to read and write. Dinner tonight will be with friends gathered together for some good food and good company. Believe it or not I just got a message from my stomach. It’s time to make my world famous multi-grain pancakes for Christmas breakfast.
garyskitchen.net 