Wednesday, May 27, 2009

Up close.

We've been taking more pictures lately. What's more inspirational than springtime flowers? Here are some of my favorites. All but the first one were taken by Mr. Awesome.







Thursday, May 14, 2009

Pho to the oh.

As promised when I (sort of) posted the recipe, I got a picture of our Pho Ga from the other night. It was superdelicious.

Pho Ga is made from angel tears and puppy smiles.

While we're on the subject of photos, I finally unloaded the pictures I took of the towel I made for my mom for Mother's Day. She has a cart in her kitchen that's covered contact paper with a colorful fruit pattern. Think Carmen Miranda. I thought this towel would go nicely with that theme:

Sometimes I make things with needles and thread. Sometimes they turn out purdy.

Here's a detail of the dancing chica:

Mr. Awesome likes her red undies.

My mom loved it. I don't know what I'm going to make next. I have a few ideas, though. Of course, there will be pictures.

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

This post is making me hungry.

One of my favorite meals of all time is Pho Ga, or Vietnamese chicken noodle soup. I've been meaning to post a recipe for a long time, but ever time I go to do it, I realize the "recipe" doesn't really translate well to the standard recipe format. So instead of sweating over the format, I'm just going to tell you how we make it, since we're having it for dinner tonight.

I was going to post a picture of our Pho, but I can't find one. I can't believe I don't have one. Anyway, I did find a picture of the condiments required for exceptional Pho Ga. We will use all of these tonight except the mint, which we've decided isn't really necessary:

Preparing for Dinner by you.

I'll take a picture of our finished product tonight so you can see how incredible it looks. Too bad we don't have smell-o-vision yet.

Making Pho Ga is a multi-step process, but is really, really easy.

Step one - put a couple beef knuckle soup bones (the really cheap ones from Price Chopper are great) in a crock pot with a chunked-up onion, a packet of onion soup mix and a couple cups of water. We also threw in the carcass of an astronaut chicken (rotisserie chicken, for those not versed in Palahniuk) that was in the freezer. Set it to Low and let it go about 8 hours.

When you get home, your house will smell heavenly Heaven.

Step two - strain the whole crock-pot mess through a mesh strainer into a big soup pot. Add about 6-7 more cups of water, one bunch of green onions broken in to a few pieces, a couple of cinnamon sticks, a star anise pod, a chunk of ginger (peeled - use a teaspoon to peel it), two teaspoons of sugar, one or two chicken boullion cubes and two boneless, skinless chicken breasts. Sometimes, we throw them in frozen, but it turns out better if the breasts are thawed. We also sometimes throw in some dried shiitake mushrooms, but we're out right now. Also, sometimes we don't put any chicken in and instead get an austronaut chicken from Sam's Club on the way home from work. We make the broth the exact same way, but put torn-up astrochicken in our soup instead. We then use the rest of the chicken in pasta or something, and freeze the carcass for use in Pho Ga - (it's a delicious cycle of chickeny goodness, people). By the way, only use one boullion cube if you go the astrochicken route or it will be too salty.

Anywho, bring the whole thing to a boil, then turn it down to a simmer for about 40 minutes or so. If you want really tender chicken, keep the water temp at about 160 degrees or so. It's fine if you don't though - it's all still good.

Step three - Remove the chicken breasts and set them aside. Strain the whole soup pot mess through a mesh strainer into another pot (we usually use the crock pot again so we don't have to wash another pan) so you're left with delicious, clear, aromatic broth. Then pour the broth back into the empty soup pot and bring that to a boil.

While the broth is boiling put your noodles on to boil. The best best best ones are the ones in the fridge section of the Chinatown market here in KC. They are in a pink package. We've tried other ones and these are by far the best. They are also sold at the 888 market on 87th street in Overland Park. Boil the water, then throw the noodles in for about 45 seconds or so.

Slice the chicken breasts into strips or chunks or whatever you like.

Divide the cooked noodles into bowls. Use big, deep bowls. Asian markets have good ones. Add the chicken, then ladle broth over the noodles and chicken.

Then, you have to add garnishes. These are not optional:
Juice from half a lime
some fresh cilantro, torn in bits
a drizzle of sriracha (hot) sauce
a few dashes of Vietnamese fish sauce
A couple globs of hoisin sauce
a little bit of soy sauce


Restaurants also serve fresh bean sprouts and sometimes basil or mint with their Pho. I like the mint and will use it occasionally, but keep the sprouts out of mine, please. I don't like them in this soup at all.

Eat with a big spoon and chopsticks. Seriously. Something about eating noodle soup with chopsticks is very calming and enjoyable and zen. You'll thank me if you save your chopsticks the next time you eat Chinese take-out.

This sounds like a lot of work and a lot of ingredients, but trust me - you will make this once and find it is so easy and satisfying and amazingly good that you will make it again and again and use all the ingredients eventually.

We make this once a week or so, and consider it an easy throw-together meal. God, I can't wait to have it tonight with some wine and a (hopefully) clear evening on the deck.

Monday, May 11, 2009

For My Lover, Returning To His Wife by Anne Sexton

Acquarello su carta, anno 2000 by Paolo Stenta

She is all there.
She was melted carefully down for you
and cast up from your childhood,
cast up from your one hundred favorite aggies.

She has always been there, my darling.
She is, in fact, exquisite.
Fireworks in the dull middle of February
and as real as a cast-iron pot.

Let's face it, I have been momentary.
A luxury. A bright red sloop in the harbor.
My hair rising like smoke from the car window.
Littleneck clams out of season.

She is more than that. She is your have to have,
has grown you your practical your tropical growth.
This is not an experiment. She is all harmony.
She sees to oars and oarlocks for the dinghy,

has placed wild flowers at the window at breakfast,
sat by the potter's wheel at midday,
set forth three children under the moon,
three cherubs drawn by Michelangelo,

done this with her legs spread out
in the terrible months in the chapel.
If you glance up, the children are there
like delicate balloons resting on the ceiling.

She has also carried each one down the hall
after supper, their heads privately bent,
two legs protesting, person to person
her face flushed with a song and their little sleep.

I give you back your heart.
I give you permission—

for the fuse inside her, throbbing
angrily in the dirt, for the bitch in her
and the burying of her wound—
for the burying of her small red wound alive—

for the pale flickering flare under her ribs,
for the drunken sailor who waits in her left pulse,
for the mother's knee, for the stockings,
for the garter belt, for the call—

the curious call
when you will burrow in arms and breasts
and tug at the orange ribbon in her hair
and answer the call, the curious call.

She is so naked and singular.
She is the sum of yourself and your dream.
Climb her like a monument, step after step.
She is solid.

As for me, I am a watercolor.
I wash off.