Once upon a time, in another life, I worked outside of Chicago. A new job as customer service manager for a small air freight forwarder down the road from United Airlines' headquarters was a bit scary. The proximity to United wasn't at all frightening. In fact, it came in handy at times. I was getting a divorce. That was scary. A new job, a new life, a young daughter, and a 32-pound cat to care for jangled my nerves. As often is the case, fear was not truth. The job was wonderful. My daughter was wonderful. I lived through the divorce. The cat was 32 pounds of wonderful.
I had an hour for lunch. I usually took it. Sometimes I didn't. An emergency shipment or a customer in need occasionally ate my lunch hour. Time came for our beloved dispatcher, also called JB, retired. I had been his back up so his job became mine. It just seemed like a little more time on the radio. Then the operations manager quit. I got his job too. Drivers would call me and ask what I wanted for lunch. Sometimes I would go to lunch and come back to drivers 90 miles from their normal territory. The drivers all knew of my love for a good Italian beef sandwich. I got variations of the ultimate Chicago sandwich (that didn’t start with a hot dog) from all around the city and suburbs. I started staying in for lunch.
Then one day the owner and president went grocery shopping. They came back with about two pounds of sliced deli ham, a loaf of rye bread, and a jar of peanut butter.
“Wait until you taste this!” said Sid, the president.
“It’s almost as good as sex,” said the owner of the company. If you knew him, you'd expect that comment.
The three of us made sandwiches. Just peanut butter and ham on rye. They were good. They weren’t quite an Italian beef. And they certainly were not almost as good as sex. They were missing something.
There was plenty of ham left after lunch and almost half a loaf of rye bread. I’d fix it for tomorrow.
The next day I put a little plastic bear out on the lunch table. The guys looked at me as if I had put out drain cleaner for lunch. Coming back from the refrigerator, I opened the loaf of bread and the package of ham. Then I assembled my sandwich. The men watched. They didn’t touch anything. Before even taking a bite, I cut the sandwich in half then in half again. I gave each of the men a quarter of a sandwich. They looked at it from several angles. They sniffed it. Then they bit, just a small bite. The rest of each quarter was devoured as if in one bite.
We each made sandwiches together. A little peanut butter, then a little ham, then a drizzle of honey. The peanut butter and ham on rye was made with honey forever more. It wasn’t missing anything now.
We made sandwiches at least once or twice a month. In between I got my Italian beef, an occasional pizza, and every once in a while a hot dog.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Friday, September 9, 2011
Garden District Green Beans and Pork
It’s sticky here! It wasn’t the kind of day anyone wanted to spend in the kitchen. But I did.
The boneless pork ribs I found at the grocery store were whittled planks of pork picnic between four and five inches long. Now, if you know anything about where your meat comes from, other than the grocery store, you’ll know that pork picnic comes from the shoulder of the pig. Pigs aren’t built like chickens. They aren’t built that much like cows either. But I don’t know any animal that has ribs in its shoulder.
I wasn’t upset. I like pork picnic. I used to buy whole picnics when there was more to feed than me and the dog. I’d render the lard sometimes. Never cooked the rind, the skin but wish I had friends who would eat it if I did. I knew the pork needed some time to cook or it would be tough. I seasoned up the “ribs” and seared them in a bit of olive oil for a start.
I put a 12-ounce steamer bag of green beans in the microwave and set it for five minutes on high. The directions called for 4 ½ to 6 minutes. My microwave has a lot of muscle and the beans were going to cook a little more.
While the beans cooked, I transferred the “ribs” to a baking dish, covered it with foil and put it in a 350 degree oven.
Then I dumped a can of stewed tomatoes in the same pan I seared the pork. Maybe there was a little bit of pepper and thyme still in there. I didn’t mind. I added a little garlic powder to the tomatoes and a little oregano. I cooked them on low heat just to get the flavors starting to mingle.
Then I went and watched TV for a little bit.
I went back to the kitchen and added the beans to the tomatoes and stirred them together. The pork was smelling good in the oven but still had a little while to cook.
Back to the TV I went.
When I got back to the kitchen this time, the beans and tomatoes were starting to get a little dry. I added some water and stirred them again. Good thing it wasn’t time to take the pork out of the oven.
I checked outside to find the garbage men still hadn’t emptied my garbage. I let Izzy out the back door to walk Rover. By the time Izzy was ready to come inside, the pork was ready.
Normally the tomatoes and green beans would be covered in slivered onion slices and covered. There were two problems with that. The frying pan I used didn’t have a cover and Izzy can’t have onions. So dinner was done.
I forgot to sprinkle Parmesan cheese on top. Please don’t tell Izzy. We call it magic powder and put it on her food when she needs medicine hidden there. She loves Parmesan cheese!
After I ate, I put the beans and tomatoes on top of the remaining “ribs.” Tomorrow I’ll remember the Parmesan!
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Memories of Breakfasts Past
The other day a Facebook friend posted a photo of a breakfast long gone, remembered in a photograph and in his mind. Of course, that brought my thoughts to breakfasts of years ago. Peter’s memorable breakfast was eaten in Italy. Mine, both of them, were in the USA.
The first breakfast was on the road, Iowa I believe, on the way from Chicago to that farm in South Dakota chronicled here in “Revenge!” Yes, it was the same farm and I think it was the same year. Dad brought Mom and me in his car. Joe, my father’s boss, brought his wife in his car. (In case anyone wonders, gas was ridiculously cheap and the men wanted two trunks to stuff with dead birds. It was a hunting trip, after all.)
I’ll be nice when I talk about my elders. Joe and Josephine were large people. Saying it any other way would make it hard to be nice. They liked to eat. Today they might look sort of average. In 1948, they were large.
After a night in a motel, the five of us stopped for breakfast. The adults got menus and I don’t remember getting anything. Joe was hungry so everyone else let him order first. “I’ll have a cup of coffee,” started Joe.
“Icky!” I said.
“And a glass of milk.” Joe looked at me before he continued.
“Me too,” I said.
“A glass of orange juice, three eggs sunny-side up, hash browns, bacon, sausage, pancakes, and some toast.” Joe finished his order and sat back for the next person to order. Everyone expected Josephine to go next. She had to wait.
I piped up once again with “Me too.”
After the table stopped giggling, the waitress asked my mother if I really meant it. Should she bring this huge breakfast to this little girl? “Make it one egg, scrambled. What she doesn’t finish, she’ll share with us.”
That earned me a nickname. Joe and Josephine would always know me as “Me too!” after that.
I must admit that I don’t quite remember the meal. I’ll never forget the story, though, since my parents must have repeated it dozens of times. So did Joe. I must have done a number on that breakfast because we had an early lunch that day. The milk had little ice cubes in it. Icky! There was ice in the orange juice too but that wasn’t as hard to take. I don’t remember if the sausage was link or patty but I’m sure it was good. The pig it and the bacon came from probably lived in the neighborhood.
That may have been my most memorable breakfast, probably because I heard the story for years afterward. There were other breakfasts not to forget. Since I won’t forget them, I’ll talk about them later.
The first breakfast was on the road, Iowa I believe, on the way from Chicago to that farm in South Dakota chronicled here in “Revenge!” Yes, it was the same farm and I think it was the same year. Dad brought Mom and me in his car. Joe, my father’s boss, brought his wife in his car. (In case anyone wonders, gas was ridiculously cheap and the men wanted two trunks to stuff with dead birds. It was a hunting trip, after all.)
I’ll be nice when I talk about my elders. Joe and Josephine were large people. Saying it any other way would make it hard to be nice. They liked to eat. Today they might look sort of average. In 1948, they were large.
After a night in a motel, the five of us stopped for breakfast. The adults got menus and I don’t remember getting anything. Joe was hungry so everyone else let him order first. “I’ll have a cup of coffee,” started Joe.
“Icky!” I said.
“And a glass of milk.” Joe looked at me before he continued.
“Me too,” I said.
“A glass of orange juice, three eggs sunny-side up, hash browns, bacon, sausage, pancakes, and some toast.” Joe finished his order and sat back for the next person to order. Everyone expected Josephine to go next. She had to wait.
I piped up once again with “Me too.”
After the table stopped giggling, the waitress asked my mother if I really meant it. Should she bring this huge breakfast to this little girl? “Make it one egg, scrambled. What she doesn’t finish, she’ll share with us.”
That earned me a nickname. Joe and Josephine would always know me as “Me too!” after that.
I must admit that I don’t quite remember the meal. I’ll never forget the story, though, since my parents must have repeated it dozens of times. So did Joe. I must have done a number on that breakfast because we had an early lunch that day. The milk had little ice cubes in it. Icky! There was ice in the orange juice too but that wasn’t as hard to take. I don’t remember if the sausage was link or patty but I’m sure it was good. The pig it and the bacon came from probably lived in the neighborhood.
That may have been my most memorable breakfast, probably because I heard the story for years afterward. There were other breakfasts not to forget. Since I won’t forget them, I’ll talk about them later.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
I’ve Got WHAT?
It’s been too hot to cook at my home in Florida lately. Temperatures have been in the mid-90s, almost cool compared to most of the rest of the country. Are there air-conditioned spaces where people can go to avoid the heat? I’ve been going grocery shopping but when I get home, where the air conditioner stopped working at the exact time I could not afford to get a new one, it’s just too hot to cook. Maybe one of these days I’ll take a bus to the mall and stay a while. Then again, maybe I won’t.
My kitchen needs a make-over. Barring that, it does need a good cleaning and reorganization. Can’t do the clean-up all at one time. It’s a good all-summer project. Hopefully, I’ll be finished by the time the weather cools – whenever that may be.
I decided to start with one drawer. No, not the junk drawer! I opened the double drawer where the silverware sleeps. Knives, forks, and spoons sleep in one divider of the drawer. Cooking tools - well, some of them – are resting in another divider on the other half. Looked like a fun drawer to start with.
I found that I have four corkscrews. There may be more. When I helped set up wine tastings at a now defunct liquor store, I always carried one, along with a cheese knife. That one is a sommelier knife, also known as a waiter’s friend. Sort of looks like a pocket knife. There are three of those, all different. Then there’s the wing corkscrew like the one my father used to use. Mine’s red, white, and silver and big enough I can always find it.
There are two ice cream scoops in that drawer. One is metal. The other is plastic. I’m afraid to use the plastic one unless the ice cream is melted. They’re both dippers. The metal one has worked great for years. No need to use anything else. Of course, I’d like to have about half a dozen dishers. Probably wouldn’t use them much for ice cream, though.
I’ve been working around, over, and next to what’s probably the most expensive thing in the drawer. Besides getting in the way, it only does one job. It pounds stuff, meat in particular. It’s Italian. I paid probably too much for it in a gourmet store about 15 years ago. Don’t even want to think what they’d want for it now. (Another reason to stay out of the mall.)
There’s a pie server that’s covering up two nutcrackers. I used to make pies because Ernie loved them. The nutcrackers were used most often as other tools. The nutcrackers used to belong to my father. That one little section is my memories and may stay there forever.
Behind the Italian meat pounder the plastic dry measure cups hide thermometers. All anolog. One huge, slow oven-type that used to get a workout in the oven and the gas grill. Now it just sits in the drawer. I used to have five instant-reads. All but one of them were stuck in the air-conditioning vents of various vehicles. Now there are only two. Uh-oh! It’s 84 degrees in the drawer!
Think I'll quit for a while and finish this drawer if it ever cools down at night.
My kitchen needs a make-over. Barring that, it does need a good cleaning and reorganization. Can’t do the clean-up all at one time. It’s a good all-summer project. Hopefully, I’ll be finished by the time the weather cools – whenever that may be.
I decided to start with one drawer. No, not the junk drawer! I opened the double drawer where the silverware sleeps. Knives, forks, and spoons sleep in one divider of the drawer. Cooking tools - well, some of them – are resting in another divider on the other half. Looked like a fun drawer to start with.
I found that I have four corkscrews. There may be more. When I helped set up wine tastings at a now defunct liquor store, I always carried one, along with a cheese knife. That one is a sommelier knife, also known as a waiter’s friend. Sort of looks like a pocket knife. There are three of those, all different. Then there’s the wing corkscrew like the one my father used to use. Mine’s red, white, and silver and big enough I can always find it.
There are two ice cream scoops in that drawer. One is metal. The other is plastic. I’m afraid to use the plastic one unless the ice cream is melted. They’re both dippers. The metal one has worked great for years. No need to use anything else. Of course, I’d like to have about half a dozen dishers. Probably wouldn’t use them much for ice cream, though.
I’ve been working around, over, and next to what’s probably the most expensive thing in the drawer. Besides getting in the way, it only does one job. It pounds stuff, meat in particular. It’s Italian. I paid probably too much for it in a gourmet store about 15 years ago. Don’t even want to think what they’d want for it now. (Another reason to stay out of the mall.)
There’s a pie server that’s covering up two nutcrackers. I used to make pies because Ernie loved them. The nutcrackers were used most often as other tools. The nutcrackers used to belong to my father. That one little section is my memories and may stay there forever.
Behind the Italian meat pounder the plastic dry measure cups hide thermometers. All anolog. One huge, slow oven-type that used to get a workout in the oven and the gas grill. Now it just sits in the drawer. I used to have five instant-reads. All but one of them were stuck in the air-conditioning vents of various vehicles. Now there are only two. Uh-oh! It’s 84 degrees in the drawer!
Think I'll quit for a while and finish this drawer if it ever cools down at night.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
National Fortune Cookie Day
Izzy gave me the week off (almost) last week. Thank you, Baby Girl, for taking care of the blog and for your great work on Bon Voyage Atlantis salad.
I wasn’t quite sure what to write about this week. Then I remembered a note I had written to myself. July 20, 2011 is National Fortune Cookie Day. Who doesn’t like fortune cookies? Of the millions of people who love fortune cookies, how many have no idea how those little pieces of wisdom get inside? Stick around and I’ll share the secret.
I used to have a perfect recipe for fortune cookies but I lost it. That’s when happens when you don’t compile your recipes in a book or a box before computers became household tools. It doesn’t make things any easier when you move eight times or more. (I lost count.) Since the loss of the perfect fortune cookie recipe, I’ve been looking for one that’s close.
1 egg, separated
1/3 cup sugar
2 tablespoons corn oil
2 tablespoons water
1/4 cup cornstarch
Get the fortunes ready to insert in the cookies.
Beat the egg white, stiff but not too stiff. Set aside.
Beat the sugar into the egg yolk. Fold in the corn oil. Mix about 1/3 of the egg yolk mixture into the cornstarch. Add the rest of the egg yolk mixture and stir until thouroughly mixed. Fold in egg white until smooth.
Heat an electric skillet to 350. Test with a drizzle of water. When droplets of water “dance,” the pan is hot enough. Pour batter from a loaded teaspoon or not-so-loaded soup spoon. Spread into a 3 to 4 inch cookie, about 1/8 inch thick, with the back of the spoon. Cook about 5 minutes until light golden brown and easily lifted from the pan. Turn and cook until second side is light golden brown. Quickly put one fortune across the center of the cookie. Fold in half. Take both sides of the half-circle and fold into the familiar fortune cookie shape. (You may want to use the edge of a plate or bowl to help the last fold.) Place in a muffin pan or cup and let cool.
WARNING! I haven’t made these cookies yet. Try them if you dare. The proportions in the recipe looked so familiar that I just changed the directions a bit. I felt like I was making the cookies during the writing of the recipe. I can almost taste them! The cookies cool quickly so you don’t want to make more than three or four at a time. If the heat of the cookies makes the folding process painful, a pair of clean white gloves might help.
Once you’ve mastered making fortune cookies, you’ll probably learn as I have that the hardest thing about making fortune cookies is writing the fortunes.
I wasn’t quite sure what to write about this week. Then I remembered a note I had written to myself. July 20, 2011 is National Fortune Cookie Day. Who doesn’t like fortune cookies? Of the millions of people who love fortune cookies, how many have no idea how those little pieces of wisdom get inside? Stick around and I’ll share the secret.
I used to have a perfect recipe for fortune cookies but I lost it. That’s when happens when you don’t compile your recipes in a book or a box before computers became household tools. It doesn’t make things any easier when you move eight times or more. (I lost count.) Since the loss of the perfect fortune cookie recipe, I’ve been looking for one that’s close.
1 egg, separated
1/3 cup sugar
2 tablespoons corn oil
2 tablespoons water
1/4 cup cornstarch
Get the fortunes ready to insert in the cookies.
Beat the egg white, stiff but not too stiff. Set aside.
Beat the sugar into the egg yolk. Fold in the corn oil. Mix about 1/3 of the egg yolk mixture into the cornstarch. Add the rest of the egg yolk mixture and stir until thouroughly mixed. Fold in egg white until smooth.
Heat an electric skillet to 350. Test with a drizzle of water. When droplets of water “dance,” the pan is hot enough. Pour batter from a loaded teaspoon or not-so-loaded soup spoon. Spread into a 3 to 4 inch cookie, about 1/8 inch thick, with the back of the spoon. Cook about 5 minutes until light golden brown and easily lifted from the pan. Turn and cook until second side is light golden brown. Quickly put one fortune across the center of the cookie. Fold in half. Take both sides of the half-circle and fold into the familiar fortune cookie shape. (You may want to use the edge of a plate or bowl to help the last fold.) Place in a muffin pan or cup and let cool.
WARNING! I haven’t made these cookies yet. Try them if you dare. The proportions in the recipe looked so familiar that I just changed the directions a bit. I felt like I was making the cookies during the writing of the recipe. I can almost taste them! The cookies cool quickly so you don’t want to make more than three or four at a time. If the heat of the cookies makes the folding process painful, a pair of clean white gloves might help.
Once you’ve mastered making fortune cookies, you’ll probably learn as I have that the hardest thing about making fortune cookies is writing the fortunes.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Macaroni & Green Bean Salad
Friday was all about Atlantis. The last space shuttle took flight. Late morning was exciting. There were storms in the air. Would she fly or wouldn’t she? I knew but I wasn’t telling anybody.
I relaxed on the floor in front of the TV and watched the show. Parts of it seemed a little boring to me so I looked at the jar of peanuts that was blocking one corner of the picture. Guess nobody ever watched TV from this spot before.
We usually run to the back door on launch day to see if we can see anything from the other side of the state. We stood our ground in the living room this time. Clouds between here and there would have separated us from the view. It seemed sad to miss the orange-yellow trail of Atlantis but it was more relaxing than most of the launches lately.
Friday afternoon a small pot of water waited on the stove for small shell macaroni. Frozen shrimp unfroze quickly in the 88-degree temperature at the counter. A steamer bag of green beans steamed in the microwave. Bon Voyage Atlantis salad was being born.
Once the beans were cooked, they came out to cool. Once the macaroni was cooked, it went into a colander. Both were mixed together in a bowl with some parsley and tarragon. The shrimp finished thawing in the colander and was rinsed there as well. Mayonnaise, about a quarter of a cup, got mixed into the macaroni and bean concoction. Once it was all mixed up, in went the shrimp. Then it went into the refrigerator to cool and the parts to become a whole thing but not before we both had a taste.
I hope you can understand how this was made. This is my first time explaining how things get cooked from my point of view. You see, this is Izzy. I need Mommy’s thumbs to get things done.
I relaxed on the floor in front of the TV and watched the show. Parts of it seemed a little boring to me so I looked at the jar of peanuts that was blocking one corner of the picture. Guess nobody ever watched TV from this spot before.
We usually run to the back door on launch day to see if we can see anything from the other side of the state. We stood our ground in the living room this time. Clouds between here and there would have separated us from the view. It seemed sad to miss the orange-yellow trail of Atlantis but it was more relaxing than most of the launches lately.
Friday afternoon a small pot of water waited on the stove for small shell macaroni. Frozen shrimp unfroze quickly in the 88-degree temperature at the counter. A steamer bag of green beans steamed in the microwave. Bon Voyage Atlantis salad was being born.
Once the beans were cooked, they came out to cool. Once the macaroni was cooked, it went into a colander. Both were mixed together in a bowl with some parsley and tarragon. The shrimp finished thawing in the colander and was rinsed there as well. Mayonnaise, about a quarter of a cup, got mixed into the macaroni and bean concoction. Once it was all mixed up, in went the shrimp. Then it went into the refrigerator to cool and the parts to become a whole thing but not before we both had a taste.
I hope you can understand how this was made. This is my first time explaining how things get cooked from my point of view. You see, this is Izzy. I need Mommy’s thumbs to get things done.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Fourth of July, 2011
It’s time again to celebrate the birthday of our country. On July 2, 1776, John Adams said that date would mark the most memorable time in our history. That was the day the colonies declared themselves free from Great Britain. We moved faster in those days without an Internet. Only two days later the Declaration of Independence was adopted.
We didn’t move with lightning speed getting the news out. Philadelphia had a party, complete with a parade, on July 8, 1776. George Washington heard the news on July 9. It took until 1781 for Massachusetts, the first state to do so, to recognize July 4 as a date worth celebrating. It took ten more years for the rest of the young nation to follow.
One of my neighbors told me he didn’t have any idea what they were eating this Fourth of July but he would offer me some of whatever there was. Actually, that’s kind of scary. I haven’t seen the neighbor on the other side for a couple of days. Now, they’re the ones I’d rather party with. But, they have friends and relatives. They might not even be home for the holiday.
I’ve taken out a package of hot dogs from the freezer. Izzy and I have been eating Izzy steaks (hamburgers without a bun) a lot lately. It’s been about a year and a half since we’ve had hot dogs. I also plan to make angel potatoes. Maybe a bit of macaroni salad might go well. This Fourth of July I will attempt a real-time description of what I cook and how I cook it.
We’ll start out with the angel potatoes. First trick: clean and boil six red potatoes, skins intact. A fork goes into the potatoes fairly easily. Luckily, the fork comes out fairly easily too. Cool off the potatoes until you can handle them – with impeccably clean hands. Cut the potatoes in half. If necessary, pare each half so they’ll stand up on their own. Using a spoon or a melon baller, scoop out the center of each potato half. Reserve the scooped-out potato in a small mixing bowl.
Mash the potato innards with the back of a fork. Add about 3 or 4 tablespoons of mayonnaise, about 1 teaspoon of yellow mustard, and a dash of garlic powder. Stir it all up. Add a small dash of hot sauce. Stir it up again and spoon it into the potato cups. Refrigerate until serving time.
I used Sriracha. If you use another hot sauce, you may want to add a bit of salt and pepper. Izzy really likes Sriracha. That surprised me. Think maybe she’s trying to tell me how strong she is? She likes it on her nachos, her quesadillas, and now her potato angels.
Now we’re having a couple of hot dogs. It’s really true that mustard lasts forever. Don’t think ketchup does, though. Izzy wants a bite nearly every time I have one. She’s getting more bun than dog but it’s making her happy.
I’m saving the angel potatoes for later. We’ll wait four or five hours to see if there are signs of life on either side of us. If there is, we’ve got enough for everybody to have one. The smaller the neighborhood gang, the more we get. Izzy wants to keep the doors closed and me to take a nap. Sometimes I like the way she thinks.
I cooked a little, ate two hot dogs in around a half an hour (no match for the Nathan’s contest), and fell asleep. Missed everything that happened after dark. The four or five hours of waiting with the angel potatoes finally ended around 3 A.M. when I reached into the refrigerator to try the first one.
We didn’t move with lightning speed getting the news out. Philadelphia had a party, complete with a parade, on July 8, 1776. George Washington heard the news on July 9. It took until 1781 for Massachusetts, the first state to do so, to recognize July 4 as a date worth celebrating. It took ten more years for the rest of the young nation to follow.
One of my neighbors told me he didn’t have any idea what they were eating this Fourth of July but he would offer me some of whatever there was. Actually, that’s kind of scary. I haven’t seen the neighbor on the other side for a couple of days. Now, they’re the ones I’d rather party with. But, they have friends and relatives. They might not even be home for the holiday.
I’ve taken out a package of hot dogs from the freezer. Izzy and I have been eating Izzy steaks (hamburgers without a bun) a lot lately. It’s been about a year and a half since we’ve had hot dogs. I also plan to make angel potatoes. Maybe a bit of macaroni salad might go well. This Fourth of July I will attempt a real-time description of what I cook and how I cook it.
We’ll start out with the angel potatoes. First trick: clean and boil six red potatoes, skins intact. A fork goes into the potatoes fairly easily. Luckily, the fork comes out fairly easily too. Cool off the potatoes until you can handle them – with impeccably clean hands. Cut the potatoes in half. If necessary, pare each half so they’ll stand up on their own. Using a spoon or a melon baller, scoop out the center of each potato half. Reserve the scooped-out potato in a small mixing bowl.
Mash the potato innards with the back of a fork. Add about 3 or 4 tablespoons of mayonnaise, about 1 teaspoon of yellow mustard, and a dash of garlic powder. Stir it all up. Add a small dash of hot sauce. Stir it up again and spoon it into the potato cups. Refrigerate until serving time.
I used Sriracha. If you use another hot sauce, you may want to add a bit of salt and pepper. Izzy really likes Sriracha. That surprised me. Think maybe she’s trying to tell me how strong she is? She likes it on her nachos, her quesadillas, and now her potato angels.
Now we’re having a couple of hot dogs. It’s really true that mustard lasts forever. Don’t think ketchup does, though. Izzy wants a bite nearly every time I have one. She’s getting more bun than dog but it’s making her happy.
I’m saving the angel potatoes for later. We’ll wait four or five hours to see if there are signs of life on either side of us. If there is, we’ve got enough for everybody to have one. The smaller the neighborhood gang, the more we get. Izzy wants to keep the doors closed and me to take a nap. Sometimes I like the way she thinks.
I cooked a little, ate two hot dogs in around a half an hour (no match for the Nathan’s contest), and fell asleep. Missed everything that happened after dark. The four or five hours of waiting with the angel potatoes finally ended around 3 A.M. when I reached into the refrigerator to try the first one.
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