Welcome to December, I’m not entirely sure how that could be but welcome anyway. It’s always been my time to take inventory of my freezer in anticipation of those fabulous snow days…turns out I have no Mirepoix in there. None, zero, one good snow storm and I’ll starve to death without it. So today was the day.
Onion, carrot, celery the magical base of almost every winter recipe either full or speed scratch for one. You already know which way I’m leaning. In keeping with the speed scratch way, I long ago stopped chopping those fabulous veg in lew of pre chopped. Where is it written that you must chop your own mirepoix? No where.
I start with good olive oil, I love the oils from Italy, and unsalted butter. Classic saute and stir in the veg, does anyone else have a favorite spatula? I thought so.
Here it comes, that smell. The only way to get mirepoix scented air freshener is to cook it. Salt, pepper and any special / signature seasoning and let the water render out. Slowly, until the onions become translucent. You’ll know you’re there when the sizzle begins to get louder as the water lets off. Perfect for freezing and using later.
Pack it up in your choice and size freezer container and let it cool completely uncovered. I use a “for one” size, I can always pull out more if necessary. Dedicate a section of your freezer to these fabulous containers so that you can grab and go with your favorite ingredients.
I’ve been talking about writing this book for years, Speed Scratch Cooking for One, thinking I wanted to stop people living on their own from eating cold cereal for dinner. What I’ve come to realize is that I want to honor all the women who’ve lived on their own and taught me many of these concepts, they would call them tricks and wink.
I’ve got hundreds of stories from these women, “my Aunt’, my beloved Jeanette, and yes Rere with all our stuff made a wonderful and enduring food impact. I’ve learned from many other women, not just my own, and really those are also stories worth telling. Many of these stories are sprinkled throughout Ordinary Legacy and I’ll link them along the way. They have made me what I am today and I love them more and more as I get older and see what they’ve seen.
They loved food, they loved cooking (or they didn’t) and they refused to eat cold cereal for dinner. That said, they had many fabulous ideas for cold cereal sans the milk. Many of them lived on their own for decades and had endless “tricks” up their sleeves, or in their apron pockets.
I admit many of them were old school, or just plain old but that in no way makes them less relevant. They didn’t have many of the modern conveniences we are blessed with, or is it a blessing? These recipes and techniques very likely came from necessity, stretching a dollar, scarcity, dire circumstances, or boredom. They were then brought about with imagination, curiosity or sometimes abundance. Maybe some combination of all those things. Who hasn’t received an abundance of zucchini from a neighbor or your own garden? That now becomes sliced, diced, shredded eaten on its own as a side dish, salad or pasta ingredient, rollatini, or lasagna. Perhaps pickled, frozen or baked into something like bread, cake, muffins, or frittata some of it returned to the giver or those who have less. If you’re a single person at the farmer’s market chances are you’ve come home with more than you need, why not use these same options that same Sunday afternoon to create meals and choices for the week or freezer using simple prep possibilities. The Sunday scaries didn’t exist for these women and you might find they also disappear from your life.
A perfect example: Where they would cook a chicken, we have
the luxury of picking up a rotisserie chicken from the supermarket but the
concept of “for one” would look the same.
Rotisserie chicken speed scratch style;
Carve one breast off, cool and freeze whole in a freezer bag. Chop the other breast into chunks for salad, soup or omelet later in the week.
Wings and carcass onto a sheet pan and into the oven for browning, then into a pot of water with salt, pepper, parsley, and any leftover non starchy veg in the fridge for stock. Strain out the solids, store in the fridge for soups or pour into ice cube trays for single use in sautés, or flavoring pasta water.
Eat the two thighs for dinner immediately, never met an elder who didn’t do this, sometimes not even waiting until dinner. No side dish required, just a piece of good bread for the “juice” aka chicken fat. And a tiny (jelly jar) glass of wine.
If you’ve no desire to do all these steps, or just a few, honestly the damn chicken is so tiny you alone could devour the whole thing in one sitting. I can attest.
I’ve no intention of teaching anyone how to cook but I feel compelled to share some of these tasty bits. Whether you use them or not is completely up to you. Whether or not I gather them together in one place and call it a book remains to be seen but we shall see. No promises = no pressure.
Good question. Several places since
April of 2018 when I discussed bread from the bakery and my thriving Red Bud.
It was a moment in time for that Red Bud, about to enter its second decade on
Stowe Lane; never once threatened by the roving maniacs otherwise known as
landscapers.
How, was I to know there was another moment in time waiting just around the corner in July? That’s when the inimitable Rere went by Daddy. She’d been threatening to go for several years but phoenix that she was she defied the odds until she didn’t. It was an exhausting year and no words would come. Most of that story was told through loving conversations with her beloved Toti Nonna on Instagram which allowed everyone an overwhelming level of comfort. There was so much to say about that moment and yet it’s all been said leaving everyone with no regrets and an exhale.
When I started the blog in 2009, let
me say that again…2009, it was a moment in time for me. I was newly divorced
and starting a fresh life on Stowe Lane.
I had much to say, mostly because previous to that year I hadn’t said
much at all. And you better believe I took advantage of my voice here on the
blog, from indignant rants to the little things to family to elder beauty and
food and whatever stuck in my craw.
Then something shifted, I began writing
more on Instagram following prompts and current trends and the ordinary. #lifeonstowelane
would later become a beloved hashtag on IG and I could write and post to my heart’s
content, there was no need to blog.
Blogging had gone out of style, lost its relevance, or something like
laziness set in and I had no patience to expand my thoughts.
Over the last two and a half years
I’ve been busy transitioning into retirement. I’ll spare the gory details but
it’s been an adventure complete with disappointments, meetings, meetings, more
meetings, knock down drag outs, negotiations and a very happy ending. There was
the trip of a lifetime to Italy’s Tuscan Women Cook and oh yeah a
worldwide pandemic that isn’t quite through with us yet. So, again, there I was
posting and writing on Instagram. But…as I read over some of it recently, it
was pretty good. Sometimes thoughtful, sometimes irreverent, sometimes funny as
hell #conversationswithtoti,
sometimes helpful. And the food, the cooking, and all the ideas swirling around
that wanted very much to become a book…
So here I am…again. With much to say
in a place where it can be savored and cataloged and preserved because, yep,
legacy albeit ordinary. This time around
it will probably be much ado about retirement, living blessedly alone, cooking,
creating art, being Italianish and God knows what else in the hopes that the
book will somehow come to fruition. I’m
thinking a monthly wrap up of IG posts and additional goodies. I’m thinking
snarky rants and emotion and preventing people from eating cold cereal for
dinner. You know mindful living in the
not so woo woo way we’ve all come to know…and love…yeah we still love it.
I hope you’ll stay tuned and tell your
friends, see you in March. slc
I’m sure there isn’t any aroma quite like this fresh baked bread straight into a brown paper bag. The the drive home surrounded by it.
But there is so much more in that bag, the nostalgia is even more overwhelming.
When we were growing up my mother made a pot of sauce every Thursday. I don’t remember how, I don’t remember the smell of it or the pot it was made in.
What I do remember is my father walking in the back door with this bag of bread. I remember putting my face in it to catch the aroma. I remember pulling the soft inside out so the meatballs fit just perfectly. I remember laying that soft inside in the pot on top of the sauce.
This bread is from a tiny little bakery in a tiny little town made by a lone baker. It was once a full service bakery in another part of town but that baker has long ago passed on.
This year marks the beginning of the next decade for this about to bloom red bud tree. I bought this as a shrub when I first moved to Stowe Lane ten, yes ten, years ago and it has thrived.
Shrubs don’t normally reach for the skies and become trees unless the stars align, they are properly pruned and fertilized with all the best nutrients. There is love involved and crossed fingers and sighs of relief when one realizes that the blizzards and winds, and blights have left you, I mean it, unscathed.
Of course there is no way to know what lies ahead in the upcoming decade, no way to know where one is in the ever faster unrolling of the toilet paper metaphor. And really does one need to know or just trust?
So as we move into our next decade I will rely on this beautiful red bud to continue to stop me in my tracks alerting me to spring each year and showing me the way. The way to reach for the skies, prune what is dead or no longer needed, and adjusting and adding more and better nutrients as time goes on.
All the while leaving our beautiful story behind on Stowe Lane.