The joy of not cooking
Once retired I vowed to cook at home more. Why not entertain summer guests on the back porch and serve Rosemary Rosé Spritzers? I keep a blue folder filled with about 150 torn-out recipes from Coastal Living, Southern Living or Real Simple Magazine for dinner ideas.
Plank Grilled Salmon with lemon and fennel; Lemongrass Burgers; Spinach, Artichoke and Gouda Casserole; Pan-seared Pork Chops with Rosemary; and Shiraz-Poached Pears, Roquefort and Hazelnuts.
I don’t know where to buy lemongrass paste. I bought wooden planks at a yard sale and they are still in Williams and Sonoma shrink wrap. The casserole sounds divine, but three cups of half and half is not healthy.
Our cooking expectations have changed a bit since my parents’ day. I recently encountered Mom’s recipe for Scalloped Potatoes and Ham. “In a greased casserole, place alternate layers of 4 cups raw potatoes, 2 cups sliced onion and 1 cup of ham. Season each layer with a mixture of flour, salt and pepper. Dot with margarine and pour 1 cup evaporated milk and 1 cup water over all. Bake at 375 for one hour.
If you watch The Food Network, you know our passion for cooking has really gotten out of hand. You can watch grown men cry when their béchamel sauce is a bit too runny. You can marvel at how easily someone uses bison in the same recipe as pomegranates. There is a cupcake war.
How can I relax when the clock is ticking and Bobby Flay has not even plated his homemade potato chips? I feel like hurling pretzel sticks at the screen. Somebody’s going down! I am so spoiled by the quality food choices in our area that I feel I need to compete!
I recall simpler times sitting around the wooden picnic table in my parents’ backyard with my five sisters waiting for the platters to come my way. Corn on the cob first with none of those ridiculous plastic cob holders for our tree-climbing hands. Next came sliced tomatoes from the garden, and Daddy threw hotdogs on the grill. Fresh sliced peaches came after we caught lightning bugs and held them captive in jars to use as night lights. Nobody had night lights.
I sound like my Uncle Ed. “When I was your age, we had to go out and hunt and kill our own dinner.”
It’s almost dinner time now. I bought fresh corn and salad greens at the farmers market, and I am about to set the table when my husband says, “Do you want to go somewhere and get a drink outside? It’s such a nice day.”
“OK. Let me get my sandals on.”
The joys of retirement cooking are without number. Well, at least until the American Express bill comes in and I vow to cook more at home yet again.
I find my mother-in-law’s Presto Modern Guide to Pressure Canning and Cooking. page 108. Recipe for squirrel which calls for one or more squirrel, salt and pepper, water, flour and 1/4 cup fat. That’s enough about the good ol’ days.
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