Last night, while enjoying a meal of braised short ribs with a pinot noir reduction and carmelized onions, roasted garlic mashed potatoes, and thyme-steamed zucchini (and after fooling around with plating, just for the hell of it)…
…I unloaded the pictures I’d taken last Wednesday of the house and property. The front of the house, not too far out. There’s a lot more room toward the road. Imagine this with grass – or, imagine it with something else, like grass and various paths throughout, with random oases where one could sit down with a book and a cold drink, pretending to read while enjoying being outside surrounded by the scent of flowers and listening to birds call to one another in their own language. That’s what I do.
I think the one thing that pisses me off above all else is a lack of gratitude from people for the things that others do for them. In our case the other day, that translated to keeping a server up and running and answering as many requests as possible under a crush of traffic from not one but two largely-read sites to a particular site. A server where we’ve had to move other people off – and thus inconvenience them – so they would not be impacted by the site that was the recipient of said traffic. A server that was working to the fullest extent it could to handle the processing required by this one site. What did we get in return? Whining from the user, who is paying a grand total of $11 a month and getting the use of almost all the resources available on a very big server, and then a post from him on his site, quoting us entirely out of context and proving that he doesn’t understand a damn thing about shared hosting (that was a given).
Good luck elsewhere, because your account here is toast.
Last night we had my sister’s birthday: black bean and corn flautas, at her request, with some yellow rice and salad, then angel food cake, homemade whipped cream, and fruit for dessert. The flautas were quite good, and disappeared very quickly. Those are definitely something to make again.
In other news, had a brief chat with the broker today, and he doesn’t need anything else (yet – there’s always something else they need, I’m sure, even though I’ve never been fully through this process). Also had a chat with the builders, who have blocked out the pool and deck and who have started to pull the permit for the pool so it can be dug and hopefully completed by closing time. Wednesday we’ll meet with the builders to choose the color of the wood for the floors in the living area.
I’ve also been putting together a seed order and thinking about trees and grass seed and yard tractors. Sweet dreams indeed.
Today I did the most significantly foolish and nervewracking thing I have ever done in my entire short life. Thus far. I signed a contract on a house. A house that is owned by a builder, who actually understands the market, and who actually wants to sell the thing, unlike every other owner we’ve encountered along the way who received an offer from us.
The house is so new that it isn’t even completed yet, but will be within the next couple of weeks: a 4/3, situated on 4.1 acres in an equestrian community, with another 1.4 acres very likely to be added on to the back end of the property. It backs up to a huge nature preserve, so there are no worries about a development suddenly arising from the ground behind us, and the entire development is on a single cul de sac – I believe there are abut 30 lots, total, of which only half a dozen have houses. Given the market conditions, that will likely remain the situation, at least for awhile.
We have our realtors to thank for the rather extraordinary fortune. We’d actually driven by this place on a previous excursion and decided at that time that it was a) too far out and b) too expensive. Part a was really a misconception, and the result of too much damn driving around in a single day. By the time we’d found this underdeveloped development, the butt soreness to coffee to aggravation ratios were way, way off. A trip meter shows that the house is 15 miles from the current house, and adds between 17 and 20 minutes to drive time, even at 4 PM. Not bad.
Part b was a little more interesting. We hadn’t looked at the listing for this one since that driving around time about a month or so ago, and the builder reduced the price by a fairly significant amount in the past week. And, to top it off, there will be a pool thrown in for good measure, which means we won’t have to have one dug. Bonus! And to top all that off, the builders are quite nice guys, and totally upfront about why they’re doing all this: they need to unload the inventory, because they’re now paying interest on the house they’ve almost completed on the lot. One of the builders lives in the development, so we’ll be neighbors when all is said and done. And he’s a huge barbeque fan, so bribery is always an option.
And now begins the game of getting everything together and writing more checks, all of which makes me frantically nervous about the deal. Not that we don’t know that this will be our new home. Far from it, in fact, since the approval was already done for a higher figure than the price of this place, and my paperwork is already in order from the first time we went through this. I’m just worried that a meteorite is going to come crashing out of the sky and turn the lot into a dinosaur-killing sinkhole whose worth is only infishing rights.
There are also all those other things that will need to be done – we’re getting a pad for the garage, for instance, but we’re going to do the driveway in pavers ourselves. There’s no way for them to economically sod the entire lot – at over 2 acres cleared, from my estimation, that would cost a fortune – so they’re going to put down five pallets of sod, and we told them to put it in the back around the pool, since that’s where we and everyone else will be spending most of our time this summer. That means we’ll be seeding the front and sides of the lot ourselves, which isn’t a big deal (grass seed is cheap!), but which also means that eventually an investment will have to be made in a riding mower. There’s also the question of the dogs and the immediate need for a fenced in area for them to run and poop in so they don’t get any bright ideas about running out on the county road and getting squished. And finally, one of the biggest things to me: the garden. Since harvest times on most of the better known and more often eaten veggies (for us) runs anywhere from 50-78 days or so, there’s a need to get some things going and in the ground as quickly as the ground can be made ready. That means tilling and picking up large quantities of compost from the city (free!), then making sure the pH of the soil is appropriate in each zone for each type of veg. Wouldn’t it be something to be harvesting some corn three months from now?
I was avoiding posting anything about this, as some kind of superstitious theory and my generally pessimistic nature about this whole house/land hunting thing we’ve been doing for about eight months. Monday we go back to lay out the exact position of the pool and get a quote for extending the deck area in pavers so that people can gather without being right on top of one another. The electric should also be up, with the a/c coming next week as well so the wood floors can be laid in. I’m hesitant to take any photos and post them, so as not to allow the fates to jinx anything, but I may very well haul the camera along with me on the next visit.
Updates have been light around here lately. There’s a reason for that.
What have we been up to?
Experimenting with more no-knead bread. This one is half white, half-wheat. Very tasty.
Making more cinnamon-raisin bread.
Whipping up some balsamic chicken with a creamy herb sauce and having some corn from last year’s farmer’s market haul.
Braising some short ribs, making gravy, and serving alongside a potato hashbrown pie with onions and three cheeses (parmiggiano, romano, asiago).
Oh, and looking at houses.
When we realized last year that we would not be buying the house we currently occupy, we began our quest for new digs.
We’ve looked at 100 or so houses and properties online. Probably drove by or walked through two dozen. Made an offer on two, only to have the sellers not understand that we were not going to pay an extra 20K or so over what the actual appraisal was and that it is not a seller’s market right now. Found a great piece of land, but with a nutso realtor on the other side.
And so last Thursday, we made the rounds again. Another five houses to add to our viewed list. One we crossed off immediately: too small. Another we crossed off because of the huge pond taking up almost the entire back part of the property. The third had possibilities, but no pool and a tiny kitchen: scratch that one. The fourth, quite nice: large screened in pool area, a huge florida room with windows, about two acres. The last one, though…the last one was the one we wanted. And we made an offer. The seller – who apparently has missed the memo that it isn’t exactly a seller’s market – came back with a counter. We met up in the middle, and everything looked good. Until the owner, having set a deadline of 4 PM Monday, wasn’t available to answer some questions or engage in some negotiation about a couple of items.
So, that deal is off. I’d like to tell him that intentionally making it difficult for people to buy what you’re selling results in no sales. Doesn’t matter if it’s real estate, web hosting, or groceries: if you’re an asshole, you’re not going to be selling much of anything.
Back to the drawing board. We found another property right off the bat (of course, since there are tons of things for sale). No pool, but a nice, dry, square lot, not in a flood zone, in an area where there is unlikely to be further development, just under three acres, where we could put in our own (enclosed) pool, build a sunroom on the back if we wanted, have a great sized garden, and have enough room for the dogs to roam.
There was no conscious thought about the Chinese New Year when I was planning last night’s dinner, so although it may seem like I’m completely on the ball and up with other cultures, really it was just a happy coincidence that we had pork on the menu. I have lamented the breeding of leaner and leaner pigs, which results in pork of little to no taste. Soon, it will taste just like (white meat) chicken. But there are still ways around that.
We had a couple of handsome, furry guys hanging around with us.
Their motives, though, revolved only around the possibility of getting a handout.
Pork medallions with honey and ginger.
I sliced a pork tenderloin into medallions about a quarter inch thick, then tossed them into a marinade with soy, mirin, honey, sesame oil, some fresh minced ginger, and a sprinkling of red pepper flakes. After about an hour, I stir fried them with some thinly sliced leeks and carrots, and we had some steamed broccoli and two kinds of rice to go along with it. No doughnuts this time, I’m afraid.
Wednesday night will be tempura night. Who knew the people around here would be such fans?
There are some days when you’re just convinced that the world is full of asshats. The worst is when one of those people manage to fuck up your evening by being total douchebags. I know I shouldn’t take it personally, but some days it gets to me more than others – when all the cosmic shit going on happens to align just so.
Today did not start as one of those days, but it surely did wind up being one. I still cooked, though.
After putting together the dough for the doughnuts – and more about that fiasco later – I started prepping everything that could be done before the time for dinner actually arrived. One of those things was the assembly of the shrimp cocktails.
I also boiled some shrimp with Old Bay and set aside some to marinate. The latter were sauteed as we were sitting down. Much of cooking for a crowd means getting everything to the table at the same time. This is no easy task if you’re an idiot and completely forget about the asparagus, thus holding everything else and thus letting people start in on the shrimp before everything is ready. But since that was minor and asparagus doesn’t take all that long to cook (nor did the sauce), it wasn’t too bad.
Broiled lobster tails, shrimp three ways with cocktail sauce, ginger dipping sauce, rice pilaf with sundried tomatoes, parmesan, and almonds, and asparagus with a mustard-lemon nappe.
After everyone had eaten all of the food – a bit of the rice was all that was left – it was time for doughnuts. The first batch of dough sucked and I tossed it in the trash, where one of the dogs prompty stuck his snoot in and grabbed a piece, swallowing it down before I could get a word out. Fortunately, while I was kneading the first batch, I realized that it would indeed suck and that a backup batch was in order. I had run out to the store to pick up a couple of things, and picked up some fresh flour as well. It made a world of difference. I knew the flour I’ve been bitching about since we got it was to blame for the bready misfortunes I had been encountering.
The dough had gone through the first rise, was rolled out, and went through the second rise.
While they were resting, I put together the glaze, the ganache, and got the oil heated. Now, most places say 350 for the oil, but I’m convinced that a slightly lower temperature is in order, especially seeing how brown some of the pieces got while frying compared to the lighter, doughnutty color we’re all used to when the oil had cooled a bit. Not that it mattered all that much, since it’s hard not to like fried dough. The Boy handled the glazing duties.
Other people volunteered to handle the sampling duties. Sometimes they go a little crazy while doing that very dangerous, thankless job.
Some had to wait a little longer for their tastes, relying on other species with opposable thumbs to bestow their samples.
The doughnuts turned out very well indeed.
The scraps from the first cutting I kneaded back together, then rolled out and formed into crullers, churros, and vague blobs of doughy things.
I’ve never been a huge fan of Valentine’s Day – in fact, I only realized that today was Valentine’s Day after my sister’s boyfriend invited her out for dinner, reminding her that it was. I’ve always consider today to be one of those made up holidays, designed to benefit the coffers of greeting card and candy manufacturers. That cynicism is probably why I’ve been dumped a couple of times, but I’d like to think that I did nice, sweet things for my mates during our time together that were outside the bounds of some scheduled holiday.
That said, since I did realize it was the holiday, and since I do have loved ones for whom to cook – platonic and familial though that love may be – I thought a dressed-up menu would be in order. With the exception of my vegetarian sister, we all love seafood. Here’s tonight’s plan.
Classic shrimp cocktail
Boiled shrimp with Old Bay
Asian-flavored sauteed shrimp (marinated in soy, honey, mirin, ginger)
Broiled lobster tails with a ginger dipping sauce on the side
Asparagus with a mustard nappe
Sundried tomato and almond rice pilaf
And, as I mentioned to Stacy, a rather bourgeois dessert to follow up that menu: doughnuts, by request.
There will be pictures, oh yes. But now, it’s time to start getting things going.
Since some people were out of town last week for my aunt’s birthday party, we had to have an encore of food. Ribs, to be specific about it all. The changes I’ve made to the brining time and the rub are working out quite well.
If my sister were eating meat again, this would have been her gnawing away on some ribs. As it is, she was tempted by the sweet smell of pork, but refrained from eating any.
The rest of us, though, under no such constraints, dove in to this.
And some zucchini gratin, made with a combination of jarlsberg, pecorino romano, and manchego.
With beans and a salad, it was a full meal. We sent some of the ribs home with a couple of lucky diners, and the rest are being eaten here and there by us. They’re not going to last long at this rate.
With dinner out of the way, it was time for conversation and playtime. Newton finally scored the hamburger squeaky toy (which, alas, no longer squeaks, since Mickey has chewed it so much).
Tim, the ex-wrestler, took on Mickey. The poor pup was so tired by the time it was all over and everyone left that he could barely keep his eyes open.
Another successful dinner with good company. Now if only the house stalking…I mean, house hunting was as fun and satisfying as this.
Wednesday is doughnut experiment day around here. I had a request from someone who shall remain unnamed for doughnuts, like Krispy Kreme makes: yeasty, glazed, warm circles of carby goodness. We’ll see how that turns out, since I’ve never made a doughnut in my life. And I suppose we’ll have to have dinner as well – I considered pasta, but then thought that might be a little too much carb-loading for one night. Only one more day to figure it out…
Sometimes, you just can’t help yourself. You might start off small, never intending for things to escalate. and then, before you know it, you have a full-on episode.
Take the humble strawberry. Or, rather, take a humble strawberry. Like this one.
Simple enough. A test of chocolate dipping in a semisweet ganache. Nothing more. But then, quite suddenly, there are more.
And even more, lined up like soldiers.
The supporting troops arrive shortly thereafter.
It’s all fun and games until the chocolate takes over the world, isn’t it?
What’s the next natural step after having a feeding tube removed?
Why, rustle up some dinner the next night. Comfort food: roasted chicken, mashed potatoes (with heavy cream and real butter), peas, and pan gravy from the drippings.
I always hear people say how difficult it is to make gravy. Never found it to be so, myself.
My sister, the vegetarian, had some of the potatoes – with A1 sauce dumped on them. To me, that sounds like a recipe for nastiness, but she’s also been known to eat A1 right out of a bowl, so there’s no figuring peoples’ tastes. The Boy had some of my homemade barbeque sauce on the chicken, thus negating the lemon-rosemary taste, I expect. Still, as long as they’re eating. Mom and I had the pure, unadulterated dinner plates.
And cappuccino afterward.
I’m hoping to be able to find some clams tomorrow, to make up another batch of chowder. Sunday? Rib day, again. Somewhere in there, I’ll be making some tortilla soup – my sister, ever the impulsive type, happened to see someone eating that on a show, and asked, “Where’s my tortilla soup?”
“Right up here,” I said, and pointed to my noggin. Her’s, of course, will be sans chicken, although I suppose some of her faux chicken could be tossed into it. There’s a riddle for us all: this is a girl who never liked foods being mixed together: no meat in her salads, for instance, no meat in her soups. But if it isn’t really meat, does that make the rules different? It’s a conundrum.
