Cooking With Emily

It's Tuesday again.  The days are flying by, and I am doing my best to savour the moments that will never come again, and hopefully create lessons and memories that one day will serve Emily well.  She is getting more skilled in the kitchen every week; this week I did help for efficiency's sake, but she could have handled the meal pretty much on her own.

Sunday evening she got home from spending the afternoon at her dad's, celebrating her stepsister's birthday.  She was tired and over-sugared, complaining of not feeling well, but while she tried to eat a bit of pizza (I hadn't expected her for supper, it was "emergency" rations, since I had a late & hearty lunch) she began to comb through the stack of cooking magazines on the coffee table. No, they are not usually there, I had been searching for a recipe myself earlier in the weekend.  She rejected a few because they would take too long for a week night, but soon had a couple of options.   She wanted to make chicken pot pie, but I don't have a recipe, it is a catch-as-can, use up the leftovers dish usually.  The recipe she found for it looked great, but was a little labour intensive for a Monday night.  Eventually she settled on a different chicken dish, one I had short-listed last week.  That settled she retreated to her blanket on the couch, drowsily watching Downton Abbey with me.

I didn't get to the store Monday afternoon, but the day was fine, so when Emily got home from school she hopped on her bike and went to the grocery store for a bag of spinach.  She arrived back at home breathless and apologetic for taking so long (I didn't think it was too long for the time of day). She told me she had run into a teacher and several friends....ah my sociable child!  Everyone in town seems to know her.  She told me she had trouble finding the spinach, but she had been looking in the ice cream freezer-no wonder!  She went on to explain that she realized spinach was probably in the vegetable section, not the dairy aisle.  I think maybe she wanted to see if she had enough cash to get ice cream too, since she spoiled our last carton by putting it in the fridge not the freezer, although she denies she was the culprit.  Nonetheless she found the spinach and was pleased it only cost $3.  I guess the first bag she found was twice the size but cost more than the six dollars I had given her.  Smart shopper too, sometimes.
While she was shopping I pounded the chicken breasts (great stress relief) and grated some mozzarella.  While she coated the chicken pieces with a package of Shake-n-Bake I covered a pan with foil.  The chicken was arranged on the pan and she put it in the oven, setting the timer for 10 minutes.  I told her if she wanted rice she ought to start it too.  I admit I was pleased she knew that for a cup of raw rice she needed two cups of water, since I don't recall telling her that before.  She even reminded me that it would "make more".  After arguing that we had no rice, and then discovering we have several kinds to choose from, she choose the last of the pearl rice.  But she thought she could eyeball the necessary water into the pot....and again wanted to use a dry cup to measure liquid.  Oh well.
The rice was under way, the chicken now ready for step two; topping it with grated mozzarella cheese.  Once that was done I helped her start the spinach, mincing a couple cloves of garlic and heating some olive oil.  We cooked it in stages, and before long we had a lovely dinner on the table.
Dinner was delicious, I think this recipe will be added to the rotation.  I was even pleased Emily tried the spinach, although she didn't eat much.  She didn't reject it entirely either though-a good sign.
I added a generous spoonful of jarred marinara sauce to the rice in the lunch plates I made for her to take to school, it seemed a better pairing than the soy sauce she put on her rice initially.  I skipped the rice altogether, the chicken and spinach were more than enough for me.

I wasn't sure how this project would pan out in September when we began this endeavour, but I have to say Emily is learning to plan and to shop, and to try new things.  She seems to enjoy perusing recipe books and finding appropriate (for both time and skill level) recipes....and choosing side dishes that work.  There is much still to learn though, and she is pushing me to become a better and more patient teacher, and to step back and let her make mistakes-and then show her how to remedy them.  I look forward to Monday suppers now, I confess initially they filled me with dread-mostly of the extra dishes and bigger mess in my already crowded kitchen.  And I can see her pride and confidence growing as we enjoy her efforts.

Crispy Mozzarella Chicken with Garlic Spinach

4 small boneless, skinless chicken breasts                      2 teaspoons olive oil
1 pkg Shake-n-Bake, Extra-crispy Original recipe         2 cloves garlic, minced
1 cup shredded mozzarella cheese                                  8 cups baby spinach leaves

Heat oven to 400F.  Place chicken between sheets of plastic wrap & pound to 1/4" thickness.
Coat chicken with Shake-n-Bake, place on a foil covered baking sheet.  Bake 10 minutes.  Top with cheese, bake 4-5 minutes, or until cheese is melted and chicken is done.
Meanwhile in a large skillet heat olive oil on medium heat.  Add garlic; cook & stir 1 minute.  Add half the spinach; cook one minute, until it just starts to wilt, turning constantly with tongs.  Add remaining spinach; cook one minute, until just wilted, turning occasionally.

The Sentinel

Although it may not be apparent in my posts of late I have something of a love affair with words.  I don't know if other writers find inspiration, for lack of a better word, the way I do.  In the oddest moments, usually out of the clear blue sky, I see, or hear, a line or phrase that resonates in my head.  It is these random phrases that the poems I write tend to spiral out from.  I can't explain it.  It just is, and that little collection of words will rattle around in my head until I can put them on paper.  Sometimes the majority of the piece is there as though it is already written and I just need to transcribe it, other times the rest flows once pen and paper meet.  And I can see the words on the page, the physical shape they must take.  The words I write are evocative to me, I can only hope I capture the emotion, the vision, the sensations well enough for others to share those moments.
Last night as I turned off the tv and made my way to my final ablutions for the day and eventually to bed, doing the most mundane of tasks seven words flitted through my head: "Padding through the dark in stocking feet"  I almost got up to find pen and paper, knowing there was something there.  I also knew if there was something there (it is a rather ethereal "thing") it would be there come morning.  And it was, pushing aside my prayers with the need to be spoken (well, written).  The words are prayers, every one, hurrying out of my pen faster than I can write.

Padding in sock feet

through the darkened house

the everynight routine, battening down the hatches,

an odd nautical phrase for a prairie girl.

Finding my way through the stillness,

feet sure of the familiar floor, the maze of furniture.

Double check the locked door;

pale light from a street lamp steals through drawn curtains,

illuminating a sliver of carpet, pointing to another unfinished task

Tuck my book, faithful companion, under my arm

turn down the thermostat and continue on my silent patrol.

From the bedroom muted strains of a familiar song,

a small pool of light from a reading lamp, beckon.

A tender kiss on my sleeping daughter's brow,

smoothing the quilt up, a mother's good night blessing.

The light on the coffee maker glows,

the promise of a new day in warm, dark fragrance

greeting dawn in so few hours. The final check that all is well.

Shedding the last vestiges of the day night chilled skin seeks a warm cocoon.

One last light off, I reach for the memory of you, pulling close the down-filled surrogate.

Around me the house, quiet and dark,

another day is done.

The muted radio drowns out the voices murmuring in my head,

listing all I have not done, all I have missed, all my faults and failures.

I close my eyes and listen for your whisper singing louder:

Tomorrow will be here soon enough - begin again, you did the best you could, and I love you

Cooking With Emily

Another Tuesday, another reflection on spending an hour supervising a self-assured ten year old in the kitchen.  She seems to look forward to these adventures, and I like to think I am providing her with skills that will serve her well as the years go on.  Not just the ability to cook a meal and feed herself and her someday family, but with patience, generosity (of which she already has plenty!) with the ability to plan, to adjust plans accordingly, to follow instructions, to make substitutions and amendments, and to try new things.
Sunday evening Peter and I took our burgeoning chef to the movies, returning home to a pan of enchiladas I had constructed out of the leftover pork tenderloin from Friday night's supper and left in the oven (I love my delay timer).  As we ate Emily reminded us that she needed to choose her recipe for the following night, asking Peter if he would still be here or if he was returning to the job site.  He assured her he would try to stay, if she was cooking.  While she was in the shower later I piled up a few suggestions for her, in the name of saving a little time as the day was quickly winding down, bedtime was fast approaching.  She wasted no time in choosing a recipe and I asked her to write a shopping list for me.  The list securely tucked into a pocket of my purse she was finally ready for bed.  A chapter of "The Magician's Nephew", prayers and a few minuted reading to herself (Devil's Pass, one of the Seven Series) and off to dreamland.  We were not terribly far behind.

Monday I made sure to purchase chicken breasts, packaged stuffing mix and more cheese -all I had in the fridge was cheddar, the recipe leaned itself to some mozzarella in the mix.  And you can never have too much cheese in any case.  At home, after stocking up at Costco, Bulk Barn and the local health food store, and a lovely lunch out, we unloaded the groceries dividing up the items bought to share between his home base and mine.  Peter went to collect Emily from the sitter's and I continued to try and create order out of chaos.
Once homework was squared away she set to work in the kitchen.  First order of business, make the stuffing mix.  I left her with the package and its simple instructions and set to grating some cheese for her.  A few minutes later she had a bowl of very wet looking bread crumbs on the counter.  I asked how much water she had used.  "What was in there," she told me, pointing to the kettle.  Peter is a tea drinker, there is never a measured amount of water in said kettle.  Sometimes it is nearly full, sometimes almost empty.   I told her she really should have measured the water and proceeded to stir in the second box of stuffing mix.  Good thing I decided to buy a second box to have on hand....

The recipe then called for white wine to be combined with a can of mushroom soup.  A waste of wine-I told her to read the recommended substitution and handed her a carton of chicken stock.  And then reminded her that liquid measures & dry measures were not the same, as she poured a half cup of stock into a dry measuring cup.   The cheese was grated and I poured more stock into a pan to make wild rice as a side dish while she constructed her dish.  Before long chicken breasts layered with a gravy of mushroom soup and stock, cheese and stuffing mix were ready for the oven.  When she returned to the dining room to see what we were doing, boldly inviting the furnace installer who had stopped in to repair a forgotten piece of my new furnace to stay to dinner.  He laughed graciously and told her his wife probably wouldn't be happy if he didn't go home.  Talk about confidence and generosity!
I sent her back to find a vegetable.  She insisted that a) the recipe called for steamed broccoli, and b) we had no broccoli.  I assured her we did and told her to check again, telling her if I was wrong she would simply have to make something else.  We did have broccoli, and she soon had it in the steamer.
Soon timers were chiming and dinner was ready.  The new wild rice blend I had bought to try needed a little more cooking time than the package instructions indicated, but that was the only flaw in the meal.  Dinner was delicious again, and we had enough leftovers for Peter to take two meals back to Brooks today and for me to have a small plate for lunch tomorrow.  Emily learned how to replace wine in a recipe and to measure, measure measure and not assume the water in the kettle is pre-measured.....and how to fix an enthusiastic over-estimation of liquids.

After her shower and bedtime snack Peter gave her the gift he bought her at Costco, a recipe binder to start compiling her growing collection into.  She was eager to start at once and was more than annoyed we sent her off to bed telling her she could begin tomorrow.  Patience.  Another kitchen lesson-harder than waiting for fresh cookies to cool.

4 Cheese Italian Chicken Bake

1 package stuffing mix for chicken              4 small boneless, skinless chicken breasts (1lb approx)
1 can cream of mushroom soup                     1 1/2 cups shredded cheese 
1/2 c dry white wine (or chicken broth)

Heat oven to 400F.  Prepare stuffing mix according to package instructions.  Mix soup and wine.
Place chicken in 9x13" baking dish, top with soup, cheese and stuffing.  Bake 30 minutes, until chicken is done.
*** The original recipe, calls for Kraft 4 Cheese Italiano shredded cheese blend.  I think buying preshredded cheese is expensive.  We used a blend of cheddar and mozzarella. I think we should have added a little Parmesan cheese into the mix as well for a little more bite.

Whatever happened to dinner parties, part 2, OR Cooking with Monsanto

In my last post I talked about how gatherings around food seem to be becoming a thing of the past.  I admit, whole heartedly I could be, and I sincerely hope that, I am wrong.  Truth be told that whole post was something of a digression.  My initial thoughts as I started writing were about the endless posts and email forwards that turn up in my inbox and news feed about this dietary fear or fad, GMOs and organic food, among other fear mongering and band wagonning.  I read some of the articles, most I ignore, especially if the head line seems designed to generate fear or pointless controversy.

I have not formed a strong opinion either way.  It seems to me the pendulum has simply swung too far, and to quote Alexander Pope, "A little learning is a dangerous thing;/ drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring:/ there shallow draughts intoxicate the brain,/ and drinking largely sobers us again" .  The internet has given us an endless supply of thoughts and proofs to support our opinions, and common sense seems to have faded into the shadows.
Please don't get me wrong.  I understand real allergies and their devastating effects.  Then again I have never seen someone with an allergy campaign against seafood or nuts or anything else as a food source for the rest of us.  And to the vegans and gluten-free, dairy-free, whatever-free, I'm glad you have found a way to feel good and stay healthy.  If it is working for you, more power to you.  But please don't insist it is the only option.  I like bread and milk and cheese.  And steak.  And chocolate and coffee.  And I'm not going to give them up.  
I have had high blood pressure for years, and have recently been diagnosed with diabetes.  The blood pressure is largely under control, thanks to pharmaceuticals, and likely has a very strong genetic component, knowing my personal history.  I had gestational diabetes with all three of my babies, it really was a matter of time before this diagnosis was handed down.  I am fully aware my dietary choices have impacted this as well, and I have done a lot of reading about said choices both before and since.  And yet I want to live my life with all its incumbent pleasures.  I want to go out for dinner with my friends and eat what I am hungry for without making them feel badly about their choices.

Anyway.  My point was this:  With all these fears and phobias rattling the windowpanes, with everyone and their dog having this sensitivity or that intolerance it has become nearly impossible to throw a dinner party.  I confess there are foods I do not enjoy, but if you ask me to dinner and these things are on the menu I will quietly move the tomatoes and cucumbers to the edge of my plate, or eat them with a forkful of something else.  The world won't end.   If you ask me to dinner I will check my calendar and say thank you, I'd love to come.  And can I bring dessert? 

Whatever happened to dinner parties?

I love to cook.  More than that, I love to eat.  I am not sure how much of this is because I was a picky eater as a child (still am, so some degree) and how much is in spite of this fact.  I watch the Food Network when there is nothing else on TV, I have in fact declared it my porn.  And I never need to worry about what's on when my daughter is around.  No complicated plots for her to question, no concern about sex or violence or subject matter I am not yet prepared to discuss with a 10 year old.

I'm not sure when exactly I started cooking; but I know by my late teens I was already collecting recipes and wanting to try new dishes.  My earliest marital battles were about my cooking versus his mother's.  (I believe my response was, in the end, "If you like HER cooking so d*** much, eat there.  I have better things to do.")  I admit there were things she made I could not replicate, and things I would not want to.  There are things my grandmother cooked I cannot get to taste the same either.  And despite recipes and phone calls and taste tests there are things only my mom can make too.

When I was a little girl, throughout my growing up years in fact, my parents had friends over for dinner, and these meals were reciprocated.  It was a regular, usually Sunday, occurrence.  Food was a part of every social gathering.  As a newly-wed I assumed this would be the norm in my house too.  And it was.  We invited friends to share a meal, asked us to join them.  And Sundays after church if no invitation was arranged we gathered at a restaurant, lingering over coffee as the afternoon wore on.  Food and company went hand in hand.
I remember when the church group we belonged to then finally got its own building instead of a rented site.  Something happened to the camaraderie on the worship team, and among the Sunday School teachers (both groups we were intimately involved with).  I noticed it most among the musicians.  My husband was a worship leader, I went along to practices to get out of the house and to indulge in a little socialization.  The team had become disjointed, fractured.  After mid-week practice everyone just packed up and went home, where before we had met at someone's home and there was coffee poured and snacks offered.  People would linger and visit.
I started making a plate of cookies or muffins and brewing coffee in the back of the church during practice.  The musicians began to stay, and to relax and share.  The difference on Sunday morning was unmistakable.
But that is a digression.  After my husband and I divorced I found my social life inevitably altered.  The dinner invitations vanished.  I understood.  I was angry and bitter, and our friends couldn't manage the divided loyalties.  Some chose him, some chose me, most chose neither.  And I couldn't afford, financially or emotionally to host my own dinners.  But I missed them terribly.  For a while I would join a group of other singles for lunch after church, but it lacked the easy camaraderie I longed for.  When I met my second husband I thought, perhaps, I could reclaim this part of my life.  It was not to be.  He was suspicious of every invitation, sure that there was some ulterior motive behind the request, and I was too embarrassed to reciprocate.  (Our house was small, our bank account smaller, and he was not comfortable playing host)  Vanity, I know, but if I couldn't do it the way I always had...
I am alone again.  I still don't host the lavish dinner parties I once did.  I still want to.  Now and then I have friends over, sometimes they ask me to dinner.  Once a month I go out for supper with a group of girlfriends.  But as I listen to people talk I don't think my social status is the issue.  I don't think people have dinners like we used to.  We're all so busy, barely having time to feed our own families before rushing off to the next activity.
This is a long road from where my thoughts on this started.  Perhaps tomorrow I will talk about that-about food sensitivities, allergies and plain old fear.  Every time I open up my Facebook page there are half a dozen more articles about "eat this" and "don't eat that" and all the rest.  What exactly would one feed friends now, when it seems nothing is edible any more?

I still think food greases the social wheels.  It evokes memories and storytelling.  It is a way of sharing love and affection.  When I visit my boyfriend I spend a good deal of time in the kitchen so I can leave him with a stock of meals.  He says I'm spoiling him as he thanks me.  It is my way of leaving him with a hug, a reminder of my affection and love for him.   I admit there is a good deal of ego in my culinary activities.  But I find it a good creative outlet too, and a quiet way of saying "I love you and I appreciate what you do."  Happy eating

Cooking with Emily

Tuesday again.  Of course that means last night I had a reprieve of sorts in the kitchen.  Not a "I don't feel like cooking so it's every man for himself" night, but a teaching night, letting Emily plan and execute supper, with a little (or a lot) of direction and help.  She is getting better and choosing recipes she can manage, and at putting together the separate elements of a meal.  True, most of her choices are single dish meals, soups or casseroles, but sometimes she opts for a dish that requires dishes to balance the meal out.  We still have to learn about colour balance, chicken, mashed potatoes and cauliflower is a rather bland looking plate, but that will come.  Aesthetics take time,  like developing a palate for anything does.
Sunday night I set my junior chef to choosing her menu so I could make a grocery run if necessary Monday afternoon, or at least unearth the right things from the deep freeze.  Again the Ginger Carrot Soup was chosen.  I read the instructions and quietly dissuaded her, explaining it had a lot of steps, so was likely better suited to a weekend, or a week night when we had more time.  The book says it takes just under an hour, but that's not accounting for an inexperienced cook.  I handed her the stack of Kraft magazines and suggested she re-think her plans.
She dove in, and shortly handed me a well thumbed issue.  Opposite a carrot soup recipe that has become a favourite of mine for being quick and easy, she had discovered a pair of recipes for carrots.  "I'm making these," she declared, "with pork chops."
I skimmed the page, yes, they were easy enough, with some minor modifications.  Dinner was planned.
Monday morning I found a package of pork chops buried under the recent influx of bison I had received.  A perusal of the fridge suggested the purchase of a few more carrots, but that otherwise supplies were well in hand.  I figured with two side dishes we could probably forgo starch.  It wasn't missed, by either of us.
At home Monday evening Emily started peeling carrots.  One recipe called for eight (with the tops still on, our first modification-pretty, but not necessary) the other for a full two pounds.  I quickly took a pen and reduced both recipes by half.  There are only two of us, after all.
She needed a little help slicing the first batch of carrots in half on the diagonal.  The second just needed slicing, she managed that task just fine, although I had to walk away.  She understands knife safety, but the speed was painstaking.   The diagonally cut carrots went into a pot of boiling water, the sliced ones into chicken broth.  Then I realized they needed to boil for 30 minutes, to be soft enough to mash!  I cook most vegetables a long way short of mashed, so I hadn't even considered this.  I transferred them to a microwaveable pot to speed things up a little, as Emily began the simple sauce for the first dish.  The recipe called for "Extra Virgin Olive Oil Tuscan Italian Dressing".  Not something I would buy, not liking Italian dressing much.  But I did have Olive Oil & Balsamic Vinegar dressing, so I said nothing and handed her the bottle.  She blended the dressing with brown sugar, commenting on the smell (balsamic vinegar does have a rather sharp aroma) and on the appearance of the dressing. as the olive oil had congealed in the fridge.  I drained the carrots, and she tossed them with the glaze.  I put the pork chops on the barbeque (yes, I barbeque in January).  The house smelled great, things were looking great.
Once the second batch of carrots were close enough to tender (I confess they should have been cooked a little longer for the sake of texture-they tasted great) Emily mashed them and stirred in some cream cheese spread.  I brought in the chops and it was time to eat.

Dinner was delicious.  Despite her comments on the glaze, Emily enjoyed both dishes and requested a plate of leftovers for school lunch the next day.  (I do wonder sometimes what kind of comments her unique lunches get.  She rarely takes a sandwich, leftovers heated in the community microwave are the norm.)  As it happened this little foray into the culinary arts became a school project.  Something to do with kitchen science, but I'm not clear on the details.  I was asked to write a review on the back of her carefully copied recipes.  As she finished copying the two recipes she had made she came and asked if I would write out the recipe for the pork chops.  I laughed and explained there was no recipe.  I had seasoned them with a little Tex-Mex seasoning I had in the cupboard and grilled them.  Sometimes simple is best.

By the time we were done in the kitchen we had dirtied several extra dishes....but we were both well fed, and as I set to the mountain of dishes we had created (good thing I went with the barbeque and not the broiler!) Emily went to finish her homework.  Can't wait to see what she discovers next week

Tuscan Glazed Carrots

1 bunch of carrots, with the tops (about 8) peeled

1/4 cup Extra Virgin Olive Oil Tuscan Italian Dressing (we used Olive Oil & Balsamic Vinegar)

2 tablespoons brown sugar

Cut the tops off the carrots, leaving a 1/" stem at the top of each. Diagonally cut carrots crosswise in half, then cut each top piece lengthwise in half.

Add carrots to a large pan of boiling water, cook 3-5 minutes, until tender-crisp.  

Meanwhile, cook dressing and sugar in a small pan over low heat 2-3 minutes, until sugar dissolves, stirring constantly.

Drain carrots, return to pan.  Add dressing mixture, cook & stir on medium heat 2-3 minutes, until carrots are evenly coated.

Creamy Mashed Carrots

2 pound carrots, peeled & thinly sliced

1 c chicken broth

1/2 c light cream cheese spread

Bring carrots and broth to a boil. Cover & simmer on medium-low heat 30 minutes, until carrots are very tender & most of the broth is absorbed, uncovering for the last  5 minutes.

Remove from heat, mash until smooth.

Add cream cheese spread; stir until melted.

Sprinkle with chopped fresh chives, if desired.  

Starting Over, Again and again and again

I don't mean to complain. Really I don't.  I have much in my life to be thankful for.  My children are healthy and happy and doing well.  I have friends who stand with me, who I can lean on when I need to lean a little, or even a lot.  I have a partner who loves me unconditionally, who does all he can to help and support me.  All things considered, I am in good health, I am sure of who I am, even if I don't know where I am going these days.  Lately my prayers seem to be falling on deaf ears, but I still say with conviction God is Good, and I trust His promise to never leave me.  It is hard to wait, but I know there is a plan for my life....and I know the steepest climbs give the sweetest rest and the most spectacular views.  But today I am just putting one foot in front of the other and hoping beyond hope when I look up there will be an open door.


Can you hear me?
My voice echoes-aching and fearful
I close my eyes, as though enforced blindness
   might give hearing keener sense.

Still all I hear is the hollow echo of my tears.

I reach out
             icy, empty hands
seeking to be bolder-
Remind you, remind me
                                    of your promises.
Hoping for a glimmer of the forgotten dreams of youth

I cannot hear you, cannot see you, cannot feel you

and yet
yet

I know you are faithful, you are near.

I long for "Yes" but know
"No" and "Not yet" are answers too.

I can only press on, hang on, bide....

"They also serve who only stand and wait"

Cooking With Emily

Again, a neglectful week.  I downloaded a 10 day "Do-Over" challenge, as a part of an internet group I vaguely belong to, in the hopes it might kick-start something....anything.  I didn't make it past day 2. I think next week I will do over my do over, hopefully with a little more diligence.  Yes, I could offer up a dozen excuses, but at the end of they day they are exactly that, excuses.  I am going to have to make that, and this a part of my every day routine, as set in stone as six a.m. devotions and the bedtime goodnight call to my boyfriend.  Circumstance may delay a routine, or even set it aside for a brief hiatus, but we always come back to it.  Incidentally, any readers I may have are free to keep me accountable, and ask for (even demand) a post.  And I'm open to ideas for discussion....I'm asking for a push now and again.  I think I just may need it.

(I am seeing a pattern here, by the way)

So.  Monday was again Emily's night to cook.  The carrot soup she was so determined to make last week lost out to tacos.  Allow me to apologize off the top here for a recipe that will be rather vague.  I know packaged seasoning mixes are available, and I have used them for casseroles, but for tacos I have always seasoned the meat the way my mother did, by taste and instinct, not by measuring.  I did measure the spices out for Emily, just to help her out, but this is a "to taste" recipe.

Tacos have been a family favourite probably since I was in late grade school....I honestly don't remember.  Mom used to make pita pockets when she had time (and these were often requested.  My sister Sarah almost always asked for tacos for her birthday supper.)  Dad had to layer his fillings in a very specific order.  Back then we used hard shells, in my kitchen I prefer soft shells, and use the tortilla wraps for sandwich wraps, quesedillas and have deep fried them to make chips.

Anyway.  I set Emily to browning a couple of pounds of ground beef (actually it was half beef & half bison).  While it was browning she shredded a good chunk of cheddar cheese while I chopped up the last half a head of Romaine that was in the fridge.  At home Mom always had diced tomatoes & onions too, but neither of us like those things.  I mixed together  chili powder, cumin and cayenne pepper, along with salt and pepper to season the browning meat.  Once it cooked in a little I tasted the meat and added a little more of everything.  We added a generous handful of cornmeal to draw up more of the juices and gave the meat another taste test.  Emily found the salsa and sour cream in the fridge, I warmed up a couple of shells in the microwave.  Supper was ready-or at least the assembly line for supper was.
It tasted wonderful.  I debated a second wrap, but decided that I had eaten enough.  More would taste good, but I'd regret it before I was done.  Isn't that a fine criteria for a good meal?

Tacos

1-2 pounds ground beef
1-2 tablespoons chili powder
1-2 teaspoons cumin
1/2-1 teaspoon cayenne pepper
salt & pepper to taste
3-4 tablespoons cornmeal (optional)

Brown meat & season with remaining ingredients.  Use more or less as your taste dictates.

Serve on taco shells or tortilla wraps with shredded cheddar, lettuce, diced tomatoes, minced onion, salsa and sour cream.  


Because I've been neglectful and because that recipe is rather vague I thought I might add a second recipe here.  This casserole has been a favourite of mine for years, I am not sure where I found the original recipe, likely in a farm magazine, but it is fast & easy.  It makes a lot, so I haven't made it often lately, but it seemed like the perfect supper for tonight when it is miserably cold outside.
It is also a familiar go-to for potluck suppers (that I avoid) and makes good leftovers, which is why it is going to Brooks with me tonight, since it should give Peter a couple extra meals next week.

Prairie Casserole

1/2 package of egg noodles (I like the broad ones, but any flat noodle will do)
1 onion, chopped                          1/2 cup green pepper 
2 pounds ground beef                   2 cans tomato soup
salt & pepper                                1 can niblet corn
1 garlic clove, minced (opt)          2 teaspoons Worcestershire sauce
2 cups grated cheese (cheddar)

Cook, noodles according to the package directions.  While noodles are cooking brown the beef with onions, green pepper & garlic.  Combine browned beef, noodles, soup, cheese and seasonings in a large (3 quart) casserole.  Bake at 350F for 30 minutes.

* The original recipe allowed for a 20 oz can of tomato juice as an option for the tomato soup, but I think it would be too much liquid.  It also called for a 6oz can of tomato paste or tomato sauce.  I rarely have these in my pantry so I have always omitted it.  I have used ketchup as a substitute, but the recipe is fine without it.  I also don't care for green peppers, so I omit them.  I imagine you could substitute red or yellow peppers as well.  I have never found them lacking in the finished recipe.  
The original also only called for a single pound of ground beef, but two is better, I think.