Household Blog

I love this time of year. Just got whomped last weekend with an unexpected twelve inches of snow, and today, five days later, it’s set to be 80 degrees out. If you don’t like the weather in Richmond, wait five minutes.

Spring Fever, for me, means cleaning house, acting like a lunatic, getting outside as much as possible, gardening, and cleaning out the pantry while relishing the first fresh spring produce. La.

Here are a couple of my faves from this past week.

Pantry Pilaf

I love rice, not the bland white stuff, but the chewy, nutty blends of black, brown, and red rices, take a little longer to cook but the flavor is lovely. So you can cook this with any kind you like, but you know how I feel.

1 c. rice, uncooked
1/2 t. sea salt
1/2 onion, chopped (I used yellow, but I think I’ll try red next time)
1/3 c. dry sundried tomatoes, chopped
1 T. oregano (preferably fresh)
olive oil
juice of one lemon
pepper

Place your chopped sundried tomatoes (I prefer to use the dried ones, not the ones packed in oil) in a small bowl or ramekin. Add the lemon juice, pepper, oregano, and just enough oil to give it a  nice gooey mix. Stir well and set aside to soak - do this first - the longer it soaks the better. In skillet, heat a bit of oil and saute the onion just until tender. Set aside.  Cook rice with a half teaspoon of salt and two bay leaves and the requisite amount of water. One rice is fully cooked, toss in the sundried tomatoes and onion. Top with sunflower seeds if desired, and serve.

Braised Greens & Garlicky Beans

1/2 c. dried white beans (I used Rancho Gordo’s Mayacoba - their beans are marvelous)
3-4 cloves garlic, chopped
1 bunch fresh spinach, washed and de-stemmed
lemon pepper
salt

Soak the beans in a liberal amount of water for 4-6 hours. Closer to dinner time, cook beans until tender (this takes a while - I use this as good kitchen meditation time - prep other ingredients, read a book, listen to music, drink some wine, you know - warm things up). Once beans are fully tender, drain them and set aside. Heat a couple tablespoons of olive oil in a skillet over medium. Add garlic, saute about a minute, then add the beans. Mix well (try not to smoosh the beans as much as possible) and continue to saute another couple minutes. Add spinach leaves (do not mix in yet) and season with salt, lemon pepper, and drizzle with olive oil. Cover the skillet and allow the spinach to wilt. Just before the spinach is fully wilted, remove the lid and toss to mix the greens and beans together. Remove from heat - do not overcook - that beautiful spinach green with the white beans, like the last winter snow melting away. You know, if winter snow was bean shaped and tasted like garlic *grin*. Enjoy!

If you know me, you know I’m a fan of music and dance and all things FABulous. Well, there’s a lovely new short that I just had to share with you all - a funny and highly capitalist interpretation of Proposition 8. Trust me on this one: Prop 8: The Musical

After years of intense research on the subject, I have developed the Theory of Observable Coordination. In said theory, I posit that the amount of physical coordination (or lack thereof) possessed by an individual (we’ll call our individual Sam) at any given moment is directly proportional to the number and degree of importance of the people present. For instance, on a scale of 1 to 10:

• Sam’s dog who loves him no matter what = 1
• Sam’s cat who feigns apathy but mocks him inwardly = 2
• Random dude going through Sam’s trash can = 3
• Sam’s smartass younger brother = 5 (due to ongoing heckle-ability)
• Sam’s hipper social acquaintances = 6
• Sam’s boss (a real battle axe, that one) = 9
• The person that Sam’s been crushing on for months and tonight could be the night = 10

You get the idea. If x=percent chance of Sam committing a humiliating act of klutziness; y=number of people present in the immediate vicinity; and z=the average of y’s assigned numerical importance (subjective of course to Sam’s personal means of ranking import), then:

x = y(z) / 100

To illustrate, if Sam is hanging out at home with his critters and decides to do some yoga (he’s sensitive like that), y = 2 (# of pets present), z = 1.5 (average of their degrees of importance), so in this instance Sam has only a 3% chance of humiliation. Of course we may need to build in an allowance for different sorts of activities, I mean, he is doing yoga, and that should somewhat raise Sam’s chance of humiliation. Well, we’ll get back to that…

Now if Sam walks into a room at a party and sees that 6 angry exes are having a tete-a-tete regarding Sam’s flawed character and other myriad inherent shortcomings, then y=6, z=10, and he has a 60% chance of utter humiliation while beating his retreat. Of course, it goes without saying that if your x > 100%, you’re pretty much screwed. Sorry guys.

Questions? Comments? Additions? Funny stories?

Oh the unending pleasures of raw milk! In addition to my fierce new fondness of Dagoba’s Xocalatl hot cocoa (so spicy, so delicious!), my pal Robbie has turned me onto the joys of making kefir. In case you don’t know, kefir is a fermented milk product, similar in taste to yogurt but slightly thinner in consistency, and full of probiotic goodness. It’s so easy to make, I’m doing it every week now (reserving a couple cups of milk for my cocoa habit), putting it in smoothies, eating it with granola, or just stirring in a spoonful of raspberry jam. You can also use it as a substitute for sour cream or yogurt, and I’ve even used it in place of milk in baking.

There’s oodles of good information out there on the nutritional benefits of kefir and myriad versions of how to make it. Here’s what works for me.

The first thing you’ll need is some starter. Similar to sourdough bread or kombucha, you can use a portion of a previous batch as a starter or you can find kefir starter grains at your local natural health food store – for Richmonders, you can find starter grains at Ellwood Thompson’s, Good Foods Grocery, or One Earth Natural Marketplace.

The second and only other ingredient is raw milk—this is very important—you cannot make kefir with pasteurized milk. If you don’t know where to get raw milk (then you haven’t been reading my blog very much) check out the Realmilk to locate cowshare programs near you. Again, for Richmonders, Avery’s Branch Farms has cow shares available and their milk is really lovely.

Here’s what I do. I pick up my milk on Wednesday afternoons, so that’s kefir day. When you get your milk, pour off a couple cups from the jug to make room (and for cocoa later!) and let the rest warm to room temperature—this will take a few hours at least. Once it’s warmed, add in your starter. If using the powder starter the first time, follow the directions as to what amount they suggest for your volume of milk. If using kefir from a previous batch as a starter, use about a cup. Put the top back on the jug and shake it well. Let it sit out at room temperature for about 24 hours, shaking occasionally. By the end of that time, the milk should have fermented and thickened—voila, kefir! Refrigerate and enjoy for up to two weeks.

I carved a pumpkin this year (for the first time since my pre-pubescent hack jobs, which left gourds throughout Bon Air orange with terror). Inspired by the example of my friend Mr Pikes who does an incredible pumpkin every year—be sure to check out his gallery—and by the irrepressible awesomeness that is Dr. Horrible’s Sing-a-long Blog, my pumpkin has a PhD in horribleness. Already throwing around ideas for next year. Anyone else have a pumpkin you’d like to share?

My gal pal KittyKat joined me for a trip to the Big Apple this past weekend. A business research trip. But no, for really - we had to see burlesque!

The sixth annual New York Burlesque Festival was this past weekend, and our fabulous duo did it up right, filled up with inspirational bumps and grinds to the point of overflowing. This was our first year in attendance. It will not be our last.

It’s so thrilling to see such a diverse bevy of buxom broads (and boys). Styles ranged from Ziegfeld-inspired, classic 1930s and 1940s, 1950s pinup cheesecake, bizarre, comedic, contortionist, hip-hop, acrobatic, fetish, balloons, and one helluva Prince impersonation striptease, all emceed by the hilarious Murray Hill. Many of our favorite performers were on the bill, but our award for most hilarious and downright amazing was unanimous – Maryland’s own Trixie Little and the Evil Hate Monkey. If you’ve never had the opportunity to see these two, make a point of it. You won’t be sorry.

In addition to a nigh-overdose of burlesque, Kat and I enjoyed possibly the most beautiful weather as we walked everywhere, shopping, eating, laying on the rocks in Central Park, eating more, eyeing the beautiful Italian boys, marveling at the rhythm of everything in this rumbling place.

As an aside, for you GFers in our readership, Risotteria is my new favorite joint – a full gluten free menu of risotto, pizzas, paninis, and much more. So so good. Makes me all tingly just to think of it. Om nom nom nom.

So back the hometown. I love Richmond. I love my home and my people and my critters. Sometimes I think the best thing about little adventures is being reminded of everything you love about your mundane everyday. Life is good. We have beautiful weather today in the old dominion, and the trees, slightly-singed, are breathing a collective sigh of relief after a summer of dry dry soil. Me too.

As unfocused as my blissful brain. Le sigh.

No better place in the heat of August than on a mountaintop in West By-God (that’s West Virginia, perchance you didn’t know). Last weekend, I had the incredible opportunity to visit Snowshoe for their annual Symphony Weekend.

Allow me first to say that that not only is a mountaintop the best place to chill out in August, but August is likewise the best time to visit an erstwhile ski resort. Winter sports never agreed with me—I’m all knees and elbows and on my one attempt to learn to ski, my instructor actually requested that I never endanger their slopes again. I happily took his advice.

But the mountains! Oh! And the music! Oh oh!

Two full-length performances featuring the West Virginia Symphony, an incredible ensemble, a wonderful selection of music, I was beside myself. And when we weren’t being bowled over by the sounds of Elgar and Byron Adams and the lot, we were riding the chair lifts down wildflower bespeckled mountainsides, picnicking by the lake, and enjoying some well-deserved rest.

To top it all, an encounter with a black bear in the parking area, and deer everywhere! Now yes, I’m admittedly a treehugging dirtworshipper, and I have a ridiculous love for all dem critters great and small. These two species in particular have always held a place of magic and reverence in me. So I find myself out on the back porch of our little cottage, a doe and two fawns grazing far down the lawn. The doe makes her way in our direction, stopping to graze occasionally, and though I originally thought she just hadn’t seen us, she is clearly looking right at us as she approaches. She ended up about three feet from where I sat on the steps, so close I could see her breathe and smell the forest musk on her hide, hear her munching the lawn. Eventually her fawns came bounding over and they all moved on (mothers seem to think I’ll be a bad influence on their chilluns, in general), but I was breathless and dazzled with the encounter.

I’ve always gotten stupid around animals. There’s a great xkcd cartoon about it, actually. When I was a wee lass (still all knees and elbows, just on a smaller scale), I used to listen to the Disney recordings of various and sundry children’s stories, and somewhere along the way I conflated that Snow White’s secret in winning over her forest friends was in whistling sweetly and holding a finger out for the birdies to sit upon. Perhaps I felt a sympathy with our common complexion. Regardless, here am I, in full oversized dress-up regalia at age 5, attempting to whistle something vaguely reminiscent of a ditty, and chasing birds in the yard, thrusting my demurely-extended finger at them in frustrated crescendo. Poor traumatized birdies.

I like to think that my understanding of human/animal interaction has evolved. But the enthusiasm remains.

slung round my neck, a sack, stone full
pebbles and pearls pecked for the pull
	and deposited
	indebted
	undoubtedly mine
		(the finder keeper
		the dusty porch sweeper)
each wound with twine and fishing line
	accompanied wishing
	hush against each
	stone shiny-tumbled
	by lips brush
			hush

it hangs heavy on my chest
pushing down ribs
lungs fight for the lift
the breathing to shift
two years and counting
scouting for change
eyes on the tree line
and looking for rain
I lean on my broom
                        no rush

counting still
count with each brush
one hand entwined
the wickery thrush
wish out this rhyme
there is time
there is time

Yep. Mean people suck. This week at the Purple House, I almost fell prey to an online scam. We have all heard horror stories and have received e-mails about internet security, identity theft, and avoiding e-mail viruses, etc., but I have never ever myself actually been personally touched any of those incidents. But dear friends, my scam cherry has officially been popped.

In light of increasingly tight budgetary situation (I’m sure many of you can relate) I decided to advertise for a roommate to live with me in the Purple House, alleviating my monetary stresses. I placed ads in several local publications, as well as the Richmond branch of CraigsList. So far, I’ve gotten one bite, a bite better left unbit. An alleged female in South Dakota by the name Lucy Okuyade (just Google that, for fun) contacted me saying she wanted to move to the area, that she was a social worker, of German birth, plenty of personal information, and would be willing to pay a deposit in advance of moving here. We exchanged a couple e-mails, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was amiss.

Perhaps I was just nervous because I couldn’t check her out in person, face-to-face, perhaps it was because I couldn’t get through on the phone number she provided for her uncle in England as a reference, but I began to dig. I started by mapping the two addresses she’d given me for her current address and her uncle’s England address. Neither looked to be residential, and the one in England was a hospital. Then, on a lark, I decided to Google her name. Instantly I got several results with her name, CraigsList, and “scam” all featured prominently.

Turns out, I cut it pretty close. “She” (probably an 80-year-old Chinese woman or child pirate or a sentient computer named HAL or something) has stolen thousands of dollars from others in the same scam, wiring enough money to the victim to cover security deposit, the full first month’s rent, plus money for the movers, then asks (not sure why) that the victim in turn pay a portion to that for the movers. Of course, the victim cashes the check, wires the money to the movers, and finds out in a week that the check was invalid and they are responsible for the funds. The movers, in turn, have made off with their money.

So, yeah, fun. I’ve been on the phone with the police and the Atty General’s office this morning. All I can say is - yay for intuition. Other than that, here are a couple things I’ve learned:

• Never give personal information over the internet, or as little as possible, until you have verification of the other person’s identity.
• Always ask for references, and always follow up on them.
• Google is your friend. Look up people’s names, addresses, etc. Although it’s sort of creepy, I was very grateful for the GoogleMaps street-level view - allowed me to actually view the scammer’s alleged address.
• If someone wires you money, always be sure it is for the exact amount due and wait for it to clear before moving ahead with your plans. If it’s bogus, you won’t be out money, just pride. Never forward on a portion for them, regardless of their sob story excuse.
• A lot of people, myself included, are inclined feel guilty about being suspicious. Always be suspicious, always ask questions, always protect yourself as much as possible.

I’m sure there’s more, so feel free to comment additional tips below. In the meantime, I am still looking for a roommate. Know anyone?

In an effort to adapt my beloved banana bread for local and seasonal considerations, here’s my July-in-Virginia version. I made this last week and was thrilled at the result. I’d recommend adding a little bit of lemon rind too, or possibly using honey instead of sugar - play with it, see what you like!

2 large ripe peaches
2 eggs
1/3 c. brown sugar or rapidura
1 T. olive oil
1 ¾ c. gluten free flour mix (I use Pamela’s) or regular flour
2 t. baking powder
1 t. baking soda
½ t. sea salt
¾ c. fresh blueberries

Preheat oven to 350. Slice peaches thinly and then cut slices in half. In large mixing bowl, whisk together eggs, sugar, and oil, then add peaches. In separate bowl, combine flour, baking soda, baking powder, and salt, tossing together with a fork. Add the dry mix to the wet mixture and mix with fork or spoon just until combined. Add blue berries and mix gently. Pour into greased loaf pan and bake 1 hour. Enjoy!