Christmas Cooking
It's so quiet on the blogs today -- lots of people not on computers.
I wasn't, either, for a while, but now I have a little break during the major work of the day, which is, as it is every year, the Cooking of Pain-In-The-Butt foods -- you know, those things that take hours and hours to make but you have to do anyway, because somebody did them once in 1910 when they were bored and now it's a Tradition.
I went over a bit ago to visit a darling neighbor I'm fond of, and she was in the middle of this sort of activity, too, working in the kitchen with about 19 boxes and jars of various exotic foodstuffs, and she had some jelly roll pan in the oven so as to bake a cake that was going to look like a Yule Log. She's Italian, and is also supposed to be making a seven course fish dinner for tonight, though she says she's cutting it down to three courses cause nobody actually eats it all and the kids can't abide squid. I'm New Mexican, and I'm supposed to be cooking posole. This is lots easier, apparently, so I didn't complain. (Posole, by the way, is both hominy and the red chile and pork stew made with the said hominy, and one has to eat it on Christmas Eve, for reasons which are obscure to me, but since it's very nice, we keep up the tradition.)
I forgot about how to cook posole, though, because, living now as I do in the South Hills under Pittsburgh, I don't get to buy real posole in the grocery store, so I've been making the dish for some years with canned hominy. Yes, I have. Moment of silence here, whilst the New Mexicans pull themselves together.
Well, you've got to make do sometimes. And what happened is that I forgot that this year I had REAL posole, which I bought in Albuquerque, and it was DRIED, and so I was supposed to soak it overnight. Ha, ha!
It turns out that if you just simmer the stuff for several hours the kernels open up just fine. So, now it's on the stove becoming the red chile and pork version of itself, and all will be well tonight, and we'll eat it, and the world will continue to turn as it ought. I'm sure you're relieved to hear that.
And the sugar-free cheesecake is cooling in the oven, which ties the oven up for three hours and will therefore cut into my biscotti baking time. I forgive it. It's for Sam, who, being diabetic, can't have the flaming Dickensian pudding planned for tomorrow, though he will get to enjoy the conflagration.
The ginger syrup for the pudding took four days, and it's done now, too.
Also, I made red chile pecans. I've been busy, I tell you.
If I was being really well behaved I'd make krumkake, the precious Christmas cookie of my Norwegian people, but I'm just not up to it. I think we've got enough dramatic foods around here, and I'm not going to spend the rest of the day standing at the stove wielding the krumkake iron and turning the kitchen into a lake of melted butter.
I've got my limits.
I wasn't, either, for a while, but now I have a little break during the major work of the day, which is, as it is every year, the Cooking of Pain-In-The-Butt foods -- you know, those things that take hours and hours to make but you have to do anyway, because somebody did them once in 1910 when they were bored and now it's a Tradition.
I went over a bit ago to visit a darling neighbor I'm fond of, and she was in the middle of this sort of activity, too, working in the kitchen with about 19 boxes and jars of various exotic foodstuffs, and she had some jelly roll pan in the oven so as to bake a cake that was going to look like a Yule Log. She's Italian, and is also supposed to be making a seven course fish dinner for tonight, though she says she's cutting it down to three courses cause nobody actually eats it all and the kids can't abide squid. I'm New Mexican, and I'm supposed to be cooking posole. This is lots easier, apparently, so I didn't complain. (Posole, by the way, is both hominy and the red chile and pork stew made with the said hominy, and one has to eat it on Christmas Eve, for reasons which are obscure to me, but since it's very nice, we keep up the tradition.)
I forgot about how to cook posole, though, because, living now as I do in the South Hills under Pittsburgh, I don't get to buy real posole in the grocery store, so I've been making the dish for some years with canned hominy. Yes, I have. Moment of silence here, whilst the New Mexicans pull themselves together.
Well, you've got to make do sometimes. And what happened is that I forgot that this year I had REAL posole, which I bought in Albuquerque, and it was DRIED, and so I was supposed to soak it overnight. Ha, ha!
It turns out that if you just simmer the stuff for several hours the kernels open up just fine. So, now it's on the stove becoming the red chile and pork version of itself, and all will be well tonight, and we'll eat it, and the world will continue to turn as it ought. I'm sure you're relieved to hear that.
And the sugar-free cheesecake is cooling in the oven, which ties the oven up for three hours and will therefore cut into my biscotti baking time. I forgive it. It's for Sam, who, being diabetic, can't have the flaming Dickensian pudding planned for tomorrow, though he will get to enjoy the conflagration.
The ginger syrup for the pudding took four days, and it's done now, too.
Also, I made red chile pecans. I've been busy, I tell you.
If I was being really well behaved I'd make krumkake, the precious Christmas cookie of my Norwegian people, but I'm just not up to it. I think we've got enough dramatic foods around here, and I'm not going to spend the rest of the day standing at the stove wielding the krumkake iron and turning the kitchen into a lake of melted butter.
I've got my limits.
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