Cooking With Emily: Cauliflower Chowder

Monday is slowly becoming one of my favourite days of the week, if only because, apart from acting as supervisor & sous chef, it's my night off from cooking.  We forgot to choose a recipe Sunday evening, but Monday morning I told Emily I had purchased the necessary ingredients for both Carrot Lentil Soup and Cauliflower Chowder.  My intention had been to make carrot soup for Sunday supper, but since I had a late lunch supper was not a priority.  We had a DIY night, which amounted to Cup of Soup for Emily, with a good sized wedge of cheese, and yogurt for me.  In any case, with little hesitation, although both soups are well liked, she decided she'd make the cauliflower soup.

Once music practice was satisfactorily completed I called her to start preparing the meal.  While she began peeling carrots and onions I chopped up several slices of bacon to fry as a garnish.  She was somewhat horrified that I was using scissors (kitchen shears) and not a knife, but shears actually work better than a knife for this job.  I assured her the scissors would be washed; they are a multi purpose tool-I think some days I spend more time looking for them than I do using them!
Once the bacon was cooking I dug out the stock pot and into melted butter Emily cooked carrots, celery, onions and garlic for a few minutes, before adding a head of coarsely chopped cauliflower.  It was added to the other vegetables, and after a few minutes Emily sprinkled it with flour, followed in short order by chicken stock and milk.  She remembered this time to use a liquid measuring cup, although I was still spattered by her enthusiastic pouring.
Emily set the timer for 15 minutes and was soon checking to see if the soup was done.  I questioned her, realizing she had missed the direction to bring the pot to a boil and then simmer it for 15 minutes, until the cauliflower was done.  We sorted that out, and I removed the bacon to a paper towel to drain now that it was satisfactorily crisp.

Once the soup was done I was shooed out of the kitchen so my mini chef could serve me.  A rare treat, one I duly enjoyed.  The soup was lovely, warm and rich.  Filling as it was it was hard not to go back for a second helping.

Lesson learned though, for a beginner chef, who chops vegetables slowly, it would have been wise to have all the vegetables prepared, as the butter was starting to burn and the carrots were on the way to being charred before the cauliflower made its way into the mix.  The broth was a little darker that it should have been, but the flavour was not at all compromised, I caught it in time and was able to reduce the heat, add a little more butter & stir things well.  And again, she needs to learn to read & re-read her recipes so she knows precisely what needs to happen when.  But we're getting there.

Cauliflower Chowder

4 slices of bacon, diced                 4 cups chicken broth
2 tablespoons butter                       1 cup milk
2 cloves garlic, minced                  1 head cauliflower, roughly chopped
1 onion, diced                                1 bay leaf (optional)
2 carrots, diced                              salt & pepper, to taste
2 stalks celery, diced                     2 tablespoons fresh chopped parsley, optional
1/4 cup flour


Heat a skillet over medium high heat, add bacon and cook until browned and crispy.  Transfer to a paper towel lined plate, set aside.
Mean while, melt the butter in a large stock pot or Dutch oven over medium heat.  Add garlic, onion, carrots and celery.  Cook, stirring occasionally 3-4 minutes, until tender.  Stir in the cauliflower and bay leaf.  Cook, stirring occasionally, another 3-4 minutes.
Whisk in the flour until lightly browned, about 1 minute.  Gradually whisk in the broth and the milk, and cook, stirring constantly, until slightly thickened, 3-4 minutes.
Bring to a boil, reduce heat and simmer until the cauliflower is tender, 12-15 minutes.  Season with salt and pepper.
If the chowder is too thick add more milk until the desired consistency is reached.
Serve immediately, garnished with bacon and parsley

WallFlower

Tapping toes,

fingertips restlessly keep time on my hip,

swaying gently to the rhythm of the music,

watching dancers swirl before me

brilliant and light as butterflies

Only watching,

though I long to join the throng

alone at the dance,

waiting, hoping

ever a wallflower,

There is a place in the promenade

When the hour comes

and with a gallant bow

the pleasure of a dance is asked.

But my song is not yet played.

I thought perhaps that one,

No, then this?

Waiting, impatient on the sidelines

Partners I have had;

Each out of step with me-

The one who trod on my toes,

careless of my feelings,

Another didn't know the steps at all,

dragging me from the song my heart heard.

I wonder if my tremulous, valiant smile

has become more of a grimace of pain

shyly addressing the swirling crowd.

I wonder, heart aching, if I should learn

to dance

alone.

You lift my hand to your lips,

bowing in invitation;

How easily we move together,

you hum an echo of my heartsong

I am floating in your arms

The dance pulls you from my arms;

again I am sidelined,

waiting for the music to bring you back to me.

Cooking With Emily

It's been another long, quiet week.  Not that that is necessarily a bad thing, but my days are starting to run together.  But spring is trying to push winter aside, and to my mind is winning the battle, despite yesterday's snow storm.  Still it was a good day to curl up with a good book, and I had few objections to Emily's desire to revisit a favourite recipe, Corn Chowder, for her night in the kitchen.  The original recipe can be found here:  http://viewfromhere68.blogspot.ca/2014/11/cooking-with-emily.html if you would like a refresher.

Unfortunately her decision to repeat a recipe means I don't have one to share with you, but I am sure we can figure something out.
Before we left for the day I asked Emily to check and see if we had potatoes and corn in the pantry.  I thought we might be out of canned corn, but I was unsure of the status of potatoes, as I am trying to cut back on carbohydrates (not really succeeding, but I am trying) and use fewer potatoes, pastas,  rice and bread.  No easy task - meals "should" be meat, potato (or other starch) and vegetables.  And if you asked me what food group I could most easily give up it would probably be vegetables.  Most meal time battles with my mother when I was a child were over some vegetable or another.  Admittedly I have learned to like many of the things we went to war over there are still some you will almost never find in my kitchen.  But I digress.
Emily said we were out of potatoes, but when I double checked I found we did in fact have the requisite number of  them buried under the onions in the basket where I keep them.  No need to go to the grocery store then.  I could pick up cans of corn at the Bargain Shop, where I am less likely to purchase extraneous goods.  I did grab a cake mix so I could surprise Emily with green frosted cupcakes for St. Patrick's Day.  ( Lunch box snacks were needed regardless.  Now if I can keep them as strictly lunch box treats...*sigh*)

Anyway, come day's end Emily was home again and once we hung up her sodden snow suit she started peeling potatoes.  I chopped an onion for her, but retreated to the living room as she assured me she could do this one on her own.  A few minutes later she asked about mincing garlic.  I was surprised, since there is no garlic in this recipe.  I questioned her, and she realized she was reading the recipe for Nacho Casserole on the facing page of her cook book.  I reminded her to rinse the potatoes before adding them to the pot and returned again to my book.  A few minutes later she came in holding a cruet of canola oil, asking if this was indeed "vegetable" oil.  Again I questioned her, as I was certain this recipe had no oil in it.  She said something about heating it, so I followed her back to the kitchen to check her recipe.  Again she realized she was referring to the wrong recipe.  We got the water onto the potatoes and onions and I again left her to her cheffery.
Her only other question was about thickening the liquid with flour and water before adding the corn and milk.  I explained she needed to make a paste of the two ingredients and to stir it in slowly so she didn't end up with doughy clumps.  She once more shooed me out of the kitchen and soon I looked up to see her putting soup filled bowls on the table.

I was impressed and told her so.  A couple of weeks ago when I had the flu she showed remarkable maturity in taking care of her own meals, and some clean up.  Once I was back on my feet we returned to our usual dynamic, of me needing to remind her to do her chores, but I can see now it we are growing ever closer to her independence.  I do believe my job as a parent is not the rearing of children but of adults, fully functioning people who can make their way in the world.  But letting them go is hard.  I want to hold her close, keep my little girl here with me....and yet I am so very proud of the independent young woman she is becoming.  We are a way away still from her cooking without some supervision, but she is getting there.  She accepts there are still things I have to teach her, despite her insistence she knows what she is doing.  I look forward to our culinary lessons, as I try to remember to tell her the things I just know after years of cooking-like stirring a little of the hot liquid into the flour & water paste to warm it before adding it to the soup to avoid clumps of flour.  We'll get there.  Together.

MidStream

Muddy water swirls;

legs numb in glacial chill

slippery stones, rounded by the laughing current

caress and bruise my feet

Moments, just moments ago;

standing on the river edge,

Sun warm on my shoulders

grass soft and fragrant below me

The river sang, dancing, glittering in the sun

Clear and bright,

beckoned me

My way seemed sure and easy

But

     One step in

the bottom shifted under my feet,

silken silt drifted up

obscuring the crystal flow.

The current presses me one way;

my heart urges another.

Feet burning cold, struggling to find purchase

Arms spread wide for balance as I teeter there

midstream.

The sun still warms my hair,

like scattered gems

the surface sparkles.

Stand still a moment.

Just

     Breathe.

In stillness roiling water clears again

Balance regained

One step,

          one step

                    more

Against the insistent flow

to your outstretched hand.

Cooking with Emily

After a brief hiatus we're back to tearing up the kitchen.  I had the flu last week, so Monday's supper was a DIY affair, that is, "I'm not cooking, your're on your own with whatever easy thing you can scare up".  It happens.  I expected some argument because Emily does look forward to cooking on Mondays, but she took one look at me on the couch when she got home from school, asked how I was feeling, shrugged and settled in to do her homework.  There was a brief mention that perhaps she might cook Wednesday instead, but that didn't pan out either, although she did help me coat some boneless chicken with home made shake-n-bake. I was craving fries, so dinner was pretty unremarkable, but was just what the doctor ordered.

Anyway.  Sunday evening we settled in to watch "The Sound of Music", a movie I haven't watched for ages and my 10 year old has never seen.  She loved it, as I knew she would.  While we watched she combed through cookbooks looking for something to make.  She settled on baked macaroni and cheese.  The recipe she found was simple enough, simpler than the one I usually make, sauteing onions in the butter before making a roux, but a good start.
Monday afternoon we got home and I put a few good beef sausages into the oven to bake, setting Emily to start prep for her meal, putting a pot of water on to boil to cook the macaroni, and shredding cheese.  She popped the last little hunk of cheese into her mouth, wiser than her mother, since the last time I was grating cheese I grated my thumbnail off below the quick.  It has finally stopped hurting.  It was a good lesson on caution though.
The recipe called for 3 cups of cooked macaroni, so I suggested she measure 1 1/2 cups dry pasta into the now boiling water, explaining that a good rule of thumb is that rice triples, pasta doubles.  As it turned out we could have used a few more noodles, but I think her measuring may have been a little scant anyway, and I have always just eyeballed it (but that takes practice, it can't be taught, exactly).
When the macaroni was almost done I had Emily measure out 1/4 cup of flour and 2 cups of milk while I found her a whisk.  We drained the pasta into a colander and I put 3 tablespoons of butter into the pot (one less pot to wash that way) and set it on the burner to melt.  Once it was melted I had her whisk in the flour with a little salt and pepper. After a minute or so we started whisking in the milk, a little at a time.  At this point she was watching me, since I can pour and whisk at the same time.  She thought it looked hard, but I explained it really isn't difficult, but does take some practice so you don't wind up with clumps of flour in the milk.  Once the sauce was smooth she stirred it until it started to thicken.  I had her stir in the mound of cheese she had grated, leaving out about 1/2 a cup, as well as about a 1/4 of Parmesan.  Once all the cheese (a cheddar & mozzarella blend) was melted I let her stir in the macaroni.  When that was all blended I handed her a greased casserole dish and helped her transfer the gooey pasta and sauce into it.  She topped it with the remaining cheese and some fresh bread crumbs before putting it in the oven to bake beside the sausages.  I suggested she find a vegetable to go along side while I started sorting out the mess & doing some of the dishes.  She decided on broccoli, and like we need more cheese, melted Cheez Whiz.

Dinner was delicious, and Emily learned (although I have made mac & cheese from scratch regularly) macaroni & cheese doesn't have to come from a box.  She didn't like the sausages, these were chorizo, and quite spicy.  I thought they were a good foil for the rich pasta.  And despite the great quantities of cheese in the sauce she thought it needed more cheese.  Ah well.  It reappeared for breakfast, and with the rest of the broccoli went to school for lunch today.

She may not realize it yet, but she learned to make a basic white sauce which is lovely on its own, but also a great base for other sauces, like the cheese sauce here.  I will make it and stir in pesto (either regular green basil, or the red sundried tomato) for a quick sauce for pasta.

Baked Macaroni and Cheese

3 tablespoons margarine                       1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese

1/4 cup flour                                          3 cups cooked elbow macaroni

2 cups milk (or chicken stock)              1/4 cup fresh bread crumbs

2 cups shredded cheese (any mixture you like)

Heat oven to 350F.  

Melt the margarine in a large pan over medium heat.  Whisk in the flour (with salt & pepper); cook about 1 minute, stirring constantly.  Gradually stir in the milk; cook & stir 3-5 minutes, until thickened.  Add 1 1/2 cups shredded cheese and 1/4 cup Parmesan.  Stir until the cheese is melted, about 1 minute.

Add the macaroni, stir to coat evenly.  Spoon into a 1.5L  greased casserole dish.  Top with remaining cheese & crumbs.

Bake 20 minutes, until heated through & lightly browned.

Desperare

I knew it had been a while since I last wrote, but I hadn't realized just how long.  For shame. Last week I was down with the flu, a nasty bug that laid me out for several days.  I don't generally get sick, (who has time, after all?) but when I do I do it thoroughly.  UGH.
As something of a bonus to it all though was a revelation of just how independent and grown up my little girl is getting.  She fussed over me, bringing me tea and ginger ale, but most valuably, managed her own meals (yes, we did have plenty of leftovers in the fridge), got herself ready for school, did the dishes and helped keep the house (somewhat) tidy.  I was so proud of her, and a little sad too, to realize just how quickly the time is flying by.  That said, she went right back to her usual self as soon as I showed reasonable recovery.
Besides being sick it was a pretty tough week generally.  I'm still job hunting, but the market is not looking promising.  I've been on several interviews, all have come to naught.  Makes one wonder just what they are looking for.  I know I'm, well, let's just say, "experienced" (read: not 25), I am a single parent, but I have an amazing back up team....I also know I can be stubborn, uncompromising and opinionated, but I choose to see that as dedicated, confident and true to my own ethical standard.   But I do digress.
Peter had to go north again too, indefinitely.  Work in his field is scarce too.  I'm not the kind of woman to think I need a man, I manage quite well on my own, but I do need him.  I miss him, and I miss having a partner and companion.  And I miss being kissed goodnight.
One night not long after his departure I was just drifting off to sleep, needing desperately to be held and told it was all going to be okay when I saw a picture in my mind's eye, of a woman, standing alone on a high hill, the wind whipping her hair and clothes about her.  She looked so lost.
I was too tired to get up and find a notebook, but I knew the image would still be there in the morning, waiting for the words.

Desperare

I can see her there,

spine determinedly straight

fists clenched....

           fear or fury?

Silhouette pale in a moonless night

Standing so close to the cliff edge,

peering into the abyss

stones break free and clatter to the raging surf

She staggers back,

            half a step only,

tips her head back searching, sightless

One broken, lonely sob shudders from her taut throat

And I,

          I shiver in the bitter wind

You see me standing tall, smiling...

Look again.

See me curled up, foetal on the stones

weeping tears that will not fall

I can see her still standing there,

unaware

feeling abandoned and lost;

He approaches, unpinning his cloak as he strides near

 wrapping its length about her,

warm from his body,

Leaning in,

stroking tangled hair, kissing away bitter tears.

And the iron rod in my back unbends and curls into you

Carry me, broken, cold and bleeding

Home

          tend my wounds,

                           give me rest,

                                          love me again.

There is a purpose to all of this:

The storm, the fear, the rescue.

I know I will rise to fight again,

you will hone my sword yourself;

restore it to my hand,

a kiss of blessing on my brow, your promise in my ear.

I knew the woman I saw was me.  I could feel her ache, wanting to break, needing to stay strong.  I want to shake my fist at heaven and ask when it is going to be my turn?  Seems like just when things get somewhat comfortable the bottom drops out on me.  I know there is always a purpose and a lesson, that one day I will look back and it will all make sense.  Soon, Lord, soon.  I'm tired of starting over....