thanksgiving 2015

It's never good to step on the scale after Thanksgiving. It's an especially bad idea when you're pregnant. Nothing good can come of it. Just don't. Or don't look. Or live in denial. You have options. 

That's really the only downside to Thanksgiving. The upsides are countless. You get to spend time with your family, discussing everything from manure management plans to how to build life together in churches. Because that's what happens when you've got a pastor and farmers in the family. 

You can also wear princess dresses and help your grandma make the cranberries, but I really only recommend that if you're a 3-4-year-old girl. 

You can peel potatoes because you're the mashed potato queen . . . Ok, so the KitchenAid is the mashed potato queen but somebody has to show that thing who's boss. It also helps to have cute nephews nearby to pick up any scraps you may drop. 

You can eat until you feel like you're about to pass out. Or you can't breathe, which is really just like any other day if you're pregnant. Juicy Alton Brown turkey, lumpless mashed potatoes with sour cream and butter, homemade rolls, sweet potato bread pudding, strawberry pretzel salad . . . 

You can order up a pie flight: gooseberry, raisin cream, caramel apple and pumpkin. Or just eat a piece every hour on the hour through the entire Thanksgiving weekend. 

Or you can try to sample them before the meal even starts and while the girls aren't looking. It must be a guy thing. 

And when it's all over, you can go right back to the beginning: spending time with your family, talking about the things that matter and maybe, just maybe, sneaking a bite of turkey off the bone when nobody's looking before remembering that the scale knows . . . especially when you're pregnant. 

living in the south and eating jambalaya

Every few months, my farmer and I like to have this discussion where I try to convince him that living in Missouri = living in the South and then he tries to tell me that living in Missouri = living in the Midwest. 

Then I point out that people here have accents and drink sweet tea and it's basically case closed. 

In my mind anyway. 

It seemed fitting then that the last time we visited a used second-hand bookstore, I came home with a Paula Deen cookbook and immediately started stocking up on butter. 

I mean, we're dairy farmers, after all.

My goal this summer has been to use up food in our pantry and our freezer, and with smoked sausage patiently waiting to be thawed, Paula's jambalaya just had to be. 

I will confess that I didn't add the shrimp the recipe called for, namely because (1) we didn't have it and (2) ewww. Chicken would be  a perfectly lovely substitute, but I didn't take the time to cook one and shred it because I'm a bum like that.

Speaking of shredding chicken: You know the trick about cooking chicken breasts in your crock pot and then putting them in the mixer and letting the mixer shred them, right? Works like a dream. Better, even. 

So between some spicy jambalaya and some non-existent chicken, while I'm out of town this week, my farmer will be eating his fair share of Paula's classic dish, some lemon-garlic tilapia with asparagus risotto and . . . 

salads. Because sometimes when you've worked outside all day in abnormally warm September weather, a big class of lemonade and a taco salad hit the spot. 

And you know why? 

Because WE LIVE IN THE SOUTH. 

Of course. 

I'm glad we can agree. 

What are you chowing down on this week?

Paula Deen's Jambalaya 

1 cup long-grain white rice

3 T dried minced onion

1 T dried parsley flakes

1 T beef bouillon granules

1/2 tsp. dried thyme

1/2 tsp. garlic powder

1/2 tsp. black pepper

1/4 tsp. cayenne pepper

1/4 tsp. salt

1 bay leaf

1 can diced tomatoes

1 can tomato sauce

1/2 pound fully cookie smoked sausage, cut into 1/4-inch slices

3/4 pound large shrimp, peeled and deveined

1. In a medium bowl, combine the rice, onion, parsley flakes, bouillon, thyme, garlic powder, black pepper, cayenne pepper, salt and bay leaf. 

2. IN a Dutch oven, combine the rice mixture, 2 1/2 cups water, tomatoes, tomato sauce and sausage. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat. Reduce to a simmer and cook, stirring occasionally until the rice is tender, about 20 minutes. 

Add the shrimp (or chicken) and cook until just opaque, 5-7 minutes; discard the bay leaf. Dish it up while it's hot! 

farm party

Chris is a practical kind of guy. He sees a barn, and he puts things in it, like, you know, tractors and sprayers and lawn mowers. I see a barn .  .  . and then I see a barn party. 

kit kat

I'm not a cat person. 

To be fair, I'm not really a pet person. 

But I do have to admit that this little kitten, which Chris brought home last week, is slightly cute. 

Kind of. 

As long as it doesn't show me its little pointed fangs. 

Then it's just scary. 

I've already had a chat with him. It went something like, "You're cute now, but we're not going to like each other in the near future. You're going to turn into an attitude with legs, and I don't like claw marks on my arms. But don't feel bad. I raised chickens as a little girl, and I only thought they were cute as baby chicks. Once they started morphing into teenagers with mottled feathers, they lost me too. So at least you're not alone." 

He didn't seem to notice, namely because he was too busy attacking his own tail like I hadn't just fed him an entire saucer of milk. 

This little guy came home too, and while he may not stay with us long (one of the guys at the dairy is partial to him so we'll take him back), he's a little goober too.

We named him Ponce de Leon because, well, (a) we just got back from St. Augustine, Florida, where everything is Ponce de Leon all the time, and (b) he loves to explore. 

Ok, I take that back. He loves to explore the shade. If there's sun, consider him done for. 

The guys at the dairy say his name is actually King Henry I who was, according to Wikipedia, "short," "stocky," and "barrel-chested." Well, they had him up until that last one. 

It's a regular menagerie around here. 

Heifers. 

Kittens. 

A dog. 

A skunk somewhere out in the pasture who lets us know about once a week that he's alive and well. 

All we're missing is a donkey and a peacock. (Chris: hint hint.)

Which is why we're signing off--dogs, cats, cows, and all--and settling in for a supper of cheeseburger salad. 

Sincerely, 

Chris, Adriane and the rest of the zoo creatures, living out where the wild things are 

the proper care and feeding of dairymen

Being a pork kind of girl, there's very little that I know about dairies. Yet. 

But after two days back in the country, I know this: Dairymen like to eat. And on days when it's warm outside, and they're overheated and tired, I suggest the following. 

(Spoiler: They love it.)

Cape Cod Salad (courtesy my sister Kellee)

1 red apple, quartered, cored and cut crosswise into 1/4 inch thick slices  (or a Fuji apple if your husband has an aversion to apples of only one color)

3 tablespoons lime juice 

1/4 cup cranberry chutney or apricot preserves 

2 teaspoons dijon mustard 

1/2 cup extra virgin olive oil

salt and pepper

2 heads romaine lettuce

1/2 pound unsliced maple glazed turkey breast, diced 

1/2 cup diced or sharp cheddar cheese

1/4 cup chopped walnuts, toasted

1/4 cup dried cranberries

Toss apples with 1 tablespoon lime juice in a small bowl.  Whisk remaining 2 tablespoons lime juice, chutney and mustard together in a large bowl.  Gradually whisk in oil until incorporated.  Season with salt and pepper to taste and reserve 1/4 cup dressing in measuring cup. 

Toss lettuce and watercress with remaining dressing in a large bowl  and arrange on a large platter.  Arrange apples, turkey, cheddar, walnuts and cranberries on top of lettuce.  Drizzle salad with remaining dressing.  Serve or refrigerate for up to 1 hour.

Dogs like Blackjack come in handy in case you, I don't know, say, burn the first batch of walnuts. Not that I'm saying I did that or anything. You know. And stuff. 

Beer Bread

3 cups flour (sifted)

3 teaspoons baking powder

1 teaspoon salt

1/4 cup sugar

1 12-ounce bottle/can beer

1/2 cup melted butter

Preheat over to 375 degrees. Mix dry ingredients and beer. Pour into a greased loaf pan. Pour melted butter over mixture. Bake one hour. Remove from pan and cool for at least 15 minutes. 

Final step: Devour like a ravenous wolf.