Slow Cooked Boneless Pork Ribs

While browsing the meat counter at Publix yesterday, Stephen and I wondered what to cook for dinner this week. I've been so all about the rabbit all weekend that I really couldn't think past Sunday night's meal. I saw the pork tenderloins and suggested that for tonight's dinner. I've never cooked a pork tenderloin, but it couldn't be much different from cooking a beef tenderloin, could it?

But Stephen rejected that idea. Maybe pork tenderloin is too much like a Boston butt, which is Stephen's area of expertise. Whatever the reason, he reached instead for a package of boneless pork ribs.

"The baby back ribs were good in the crock pot," he said. "Maybe these kinds of ribs will be good too." He must have felt super-confident because he put two packages of them in the cart.

Since I had to leave the house early this morning and come home late, I chose to put the boneless pork ribs in the crock pot for dinner tonight. I threw them in the Reynolds Slow Cooker Liner and tossed in some salt, pepper, and barbecue sauce. Then I switched it on to low and went to work.

The boneless ribs were good. Not as good as the baby back ribs, which were splendid. But they were good. Adequate. Would eat them again, but not dance at the thought of them. Fine for dinner, but not exciting enough even to provoke a photo.

And Stephen bought two packages of them, so now we get to eat the rest of them Wednesday night. Yee ha!

Bwaised Wabbit

Some of you may want to turn your heads at this posting. Now I understand Elmer Fudd's persistence at hunting that wascally wabbit.

A couple of weeks ago, while browsing the Publix for a different dish for the Remler Menu, I noticed rabbit in the meat case, and I immediately thought that would be a fun and different entree to cook, especially, ironically, near Easter. But when I got said rabbit home, I realized that I had no idea how to cook it.

Looking online raised more questions than answers. Almost all recipes recommended braising the meat because rabbit is such a lean meat that one must cook it slow so it won't dry out. No problem. I don't mind braising, but that meant I had to cook the rabbit on a weekend. Week nights wouldn't give me enough time.

Then there was the matter of finding just the right recipe. Most of them called for almost a dozen ingredients, most of them fresh herbs, which I don't grow and which cost a pretty penny at the Publix. Finally, I found just the right recipe. But the website didn't offer a version that was easily printable, so I wrote it down and forgot to note the URL. So to some poor rabbit recipe author out there, I'm sorry. I'll credit you when I find your website again. Until then, just know that this recipe attracted me because it called for eleven ingredients, but most of them were vegetables, not fresh herbs. And now that I've cooked it, I know I picked the right one.

Tonight's dinner was one of many firsts for me. I'd never cooked rabbit (I'd eaten it, but not cooked it). What's more, I'd never cooked with fennel. In fact, I didn't even know what fennel was. I had to look it up online before I went to the Publix to buy it. It was the first time I cooked with Stephen's new cast iron chili pot, which worked perfectly for braising. And it was the first time I'd wrapped herbs in cheese cloth. This dinner was fun to make:

Ingredients:
1 rabbit
1 onion
1 small head of fennel
3-4 garlic cloves
1-2 parsnips
1-2 carrots
1 cup white wine
at least 2 cups of chicken stock (maybe more)
2 sprigs fresh thyme
2 bay leaves
peppercorn
parsley

Instructions:
Put about 2 tbsp oil in the pot (I used olive oil) and braise the meat. Remove it and add onion, garlic, parsnip and carrot. Saute the vegetables. Add fennel. Wrap herbs in cheese cloth. Put the rabbit back in the pot on top of the vegetables and add the wine plus enough chicken stock to cover the rabbit. Put the wrapped herbs in the pot. Cover and put in oven at 350 degrees for 90 minutes.

Now, there are some things I wasn't too sure about when I made this dish. First of all, having never cooked fennel, I wasn't sure whether I was supposed to use the bright green hairy, leafy top of it or just the stalky part on the bottom. I compromised. I put the stalky, celery-like part in with the vegetables, and I wrapped the leafy part in with the herbs. Also, I wasn't sure what constituted a sprig of thyme. Was it one piece of thyme that came out of the package, which usually consisted of several "limbs"? Or was it one little limb of the thyme plant? I opted for one whole piece and then one little limb. Finally, having never wrapped herbs in cheese cloth, I didn't know whether there was a proper method. So I wrapped them up securely and tied the cloth in a knot so no herbs could escape. Then, after all that, once the pot was in the oven, I realized I'd forgotten all about the peppercorn and parsley. No matter. Dinner turned out fine.

And my family thought so too! As it turned out, Davis had already eaten rabbit on a hunting trip back in December. So he wasn't skeptical as I feared he would be. Neither was Lawson, perhaps because Davis was so pro-rabbit. They gobbled it up with no prodding from me, thank goodness. In fact, both boys went back for seconds!

I think I was the only person, though, who enjoyed the vegetables. I thought they were delicious. Stephen ate only a little bit, and Davis and Lawson avoided them altogether. Which is fine. More for me tomorrow.

As we ate, I said, "Pick one: rabbit or tuna salad." Immediately, both boys exclaimed, "Rabbit! Rabbit! Rabbit!"

I get the picture.

Stephen said he thought it was good: "Definitely worth having again." Davis said he thought it was good too. Lawson said he liked it, but he liked it best in a biscuit.

The only downside to this dinner is its price. Half a rabbit costs about fifteen bucks. So don't make it once a week. The upside is that you can make this same recipe with chicken as well, which I might do on other occasions, especially if I get furloughed again.

That '70's Dinner

For some reason, tuna casserole was a big hit among moms in the 1970's. In fact, it got so popular that the Hamburger Helper company made a companion product: Tuna Helper.

Canned tuna usually needs a lot of help. During my years at Pulaski County Elementary School, my friends complained about that casserole more than any other meal . Maybe it was cheap. Or easy. Or healthy. Or a combination of those three. Who knew? All my friends and I knew was that when Mom was making tuna casserole, we snacked up a storm after school to ease our hunger because dinner was going to be an exercise of shoving spoonfuls of that tuna, pasta, cheese combination into our napkins to be thrown away as we rushed out of the kitchen before Mom knew what we'd done.

Friday night I became that mom.

My motivation for tuna casserole was the calendar and laziness. I had to serve something meatless (because tuna's not meat) for a Lenten Friday dinner, but the thought of going to the grocery store depressed me. Although I knew Stephen would eat whatever I put in front of him, I also knew he'd be underwhelmed at the sight of a baked potato for supper. An inventory of my pantry and then a quick browse of recipes.com told me that my best option for the night was tuna casserole.

I made it like this:

Ingredients:
About 1 1/2 cups cooked penne pasta
1 cup frozen green peas, thawed
1 cup chopped celery
1 can chunk light tuna packed in water, drained
1 can Campbell's Healthy Request cream of chicken soup
1 cup shredded cheddar cheese

Instructions
Combine the first five ingredients in a casserole dish or aluminum pan (I chose the latter option). Cover with shredded cheese. Bake about 30 minutes at 350.

I served my tuna casserole with roasted broccoli and cauliflower. Reactions were, well, not as bad as I thought:
Me: Not horrible
Davis: "This is better when you make it with chicken." I agree. I'll do that next time.
Stephen: "This reminds me of when I was a little boy. I'll give you this. Yours is much better than my mom's was." Stephen always knows the right thing to say.
Lawson: "Can I just have a tuna sandwich?"

Okay, now we've done that. Good thing we're on a no-repeats program. Next Friday is our last Lenten Friday of the season. Tuna will not be on the menu.

Surviving Lent

A red spot throbbed on my hand. After an hour at 350° the gooey mozzarella bubbled atop my tomato pie as I pulled it from the oven. Although I protected my fingers with hot pads, my hand accidentally bumped the oven wall. The burn hurt temporarily, but I could stand it. I thought of my friend and colleague Jill at home with a shattered ankle and her leg in a cast. If she could endure her injury with a smile on her face, I could cope with a blister.

I shrouded the pie in towels to keep it warm and packed it in the basket with the salad and wine. In an hour I could share the tasty meal with a good friend—a joyful sacrifice to fulfill a Lenten vow.

Five years ago, I decided to observe Lent with a new attitude. In the past I'd never made it through the six-week period without forgetting my resolution. Usually I’d remember halfway through a cheeseburger that I’d given up red meat the month before, or my abstinence from eating chocolate would come to mind after inhaling a Hershey bar.

So for the 2005 Lenten season, I pledged to sacrifice time, money or material goods by helping others. No longer would I have to remember not to eat something or do something or wear something. What’s more, because of my kindnesses someone else would benefit.

Several opportunities soon occurred. Jill, an art historian at our university, had worried aloud about her student Vanessa, a woman who attended class with black eyes and finger marks around her neck, evidence of spousal abuse. Soon after Ash Wednesday, Vanessa moved into a women’s shelter, leaving behind all belongings to escape her husband’s violence. Jill gave her a new set of textbooks; I collected vouchers to cover the cost of utilities. Worried that Vanessa might feel awkward accepting assistance from a stranger, I offered the vouchers anonymously through Jill, who also updated me on Vanessa’s well being.

Other friends needed help too. For instance, when a car crash paralyzed my neighbors’ son, they struggled to maintain business in their coffee shop when they needed to be at the hospital. I lent my support by breakfasting several times a week on bagels and lattes. What a tasty way to help others! When my mother needed a heart catheterization, I accompanied her to the hospital. I taught myself to knit in the waiting room. I spent all day in the cardiac unit, but knitting made the time relaxing instead of tedious.

Then when Jill fell through her attic floor into her laundry room and shattered her ankle, I joined a pool of friends in cooking and delivering dinners to her home. While she ate, I dangled fancy shoes at the toe of her cast and made her laugh. Though observing my Lenten vow, I mostly had fun.

By Holy Thursday as I baked a tomato pie for Jill—my final sacrifice of the season—I had resolved always to observe Lent with acts of kindness. I found helping others much more rewarding than foregoing chocolate for six weeks.

But minutes after I took the pie from the oven, the phone rang. It was Jill’s mother. “I’m at the emergency room with Jill,” she said. “Can you come?”

I put the pie in the freezer and drove straight to the hospital. A pulmonary embolism had developed from Jill's fractured ankle. I sat with Jill’s mother all night while her doctors worked for hours to save her. They couldn’t.

Jill died on Good Friday.

What happened? How had Easter become such a nightmare? After six weeks of enjoying Lenten obligation, after finally progressing through the entire season without forgetting my vow, just when I was ready to celebrate, I mourned.

I was not alone. Jill’s students mourned their most beloved professor, who didn’t simply lecture about art history but took students to Greece and Ireland to see classic works of art. They grieved the loss of a teacher who didn’t just pay lip service to volunteer work but instead motivated them to build homes for Habitat for Humanity.

In a stupor, I spent Good Friday afternoon in Jill’s office, handing tissues to students and muttering condolences with each one, all the while wondering why this catastrophe happened to her of all people.

At church on Easter Sunday I went through the motions of celebrating resurrection but resented the bitter irony of having to help plan Jill’s memorial service.

Shortly after the memorial, Jill’s mother gave me a set of goblets and placemats she’d bought Jill from the dollar store. “Jill never had a matching set of anything,” she laughed. She then told me Jill had set her table with them the afternoon I was to bring her the tomato pie. Though Jill never used her placemats and goblets, her mother wanted me to enjoy them at my own table.

The next day my phone rang. “Professor Remler,” a soft voice said, “this is Vanessa.” I was perplexed. How did she know who I was? “I thought Jill had given me the utility vouchers,” she said. “But Jill’s mother told me it was you. I’ve been meaning for weeks to go by Jill’s office and thank her for all the support she gave me, but I never went. I was too busy working, going to school and raising my boys. Now it’s too late to thank her, and I don’t want to miss the opportunity to thank you.” Vanessa also told me she’d found her own apartment and planned to move in a few days. “I’d like you to come see it,” she said.

Lent was over, but I was happy to help Vanessa collect used furniture. Meanwhile Jill’s mother cleared the house of Jill’s belongings. She kept many items of sentimental value, but she told me she had several pieces of furniture, kitchen appliances, and cleaning products she couldn’t use. I called Vanessa, and we moved Jill’s things to the new apartment. I gave her Jill’s placemats. They made a nice housewarming gift; besides, Jill would have wanted Vanessa to use them.

No longer bruised or homeless, Vanessa seemed confident and ready to face her new life. She was thrilled to fill her empty home, but she especially loved the items that came from Jill. After moving and arranging the new belongings, we shared a meal: tomato pie. After I left, I felt so elated that I wanted to share my joy with someone. For a second, picked up my cell phone to call Jill. Just for a second.

On the calendar Lent lasts forty days. But Jill’s death and Vanessa’s new life helped me understand the importance of Lent year round. In spite of its sadness the Easter season did bring renewal. I’d lost a friend but gained another.

No Loaves, But Good Fishes

Few dinners are better than fried fish. Davis can attest to that. When I broil a fish, he'll tolerate it, eating one filet for dinner. But when I fry those white, flaky morsels of seafood, he's all over them.

Tuesday morning when I went to the freezer to pull out some meat to thaw, I was uninspired. We'd just had grilled chicken (thanks to Stephen) and chili dogs (thanks in part to Stephen) cooked on the Big Green Egg. So I wasn't in the mood for beef or chicken. Besides, my supply of ingredients was running low in the kitchen. Late for work already, I had little time to consider the evening's menu. I saw a package of trout filets and grabbed them. They thawed all day as I considered how to cook them.

Still uninspired when I arrived home, I looked in the cabinet and found a box of Zatarain's fish batter, so I decided to go ahead and fry them. I dredged the trout filets in the Zatarain's and heated up just a little bit of oil in my trusty electric skillet. Then I cooked each filet for about five minutes on each side until they were a savory golden brown. I served them with squash and zucchini stir fried in olive oil and Stephen's favorite side dish, grits.

Stephen suggested we let Tuesday night's dinner be our Lenten meal. I don't think Monsignor Costigan would go for that. However, Davis was very nice to me that night--at least until we ran out of fish.

Heaven on a Bun

Last week I took a trip to Louisville, Kentucky to attend a fascinating meeting on becoming a program reviewer for the National Council on Accreditation of Teacher Education (NCATE). It was swell! While I was there, I also took an hour or so to visit the famous Louisville Slugger Museum and Factory. I learned more about baseball bats than I ever cared to know. I'm not a baseball fan. In fact, some of you readers know that I just very recently became a football fan. The main reason I went was because 1) it was in walking distance and 2) I thought my sons would think it was cool and 3) even though I don't know much about baseball, I thought it would be neat to find out how a bat gets made.

Turns out, the tour was interesting. But I won't go into the bat-making process here. You can check out the website. What really piqued my interest, though, was that while I was there, the factory was busy making bats for the New York Yankees' opening day. So baseball season must be upon us, I thought. Maybe I need to make a baseball dinner.

So I did. It turns out, baseball season started today, but I got a head start with my Monday dinner. Chili dogs--otherwise known in Stephen terms as heaven on a bun.

That dinner was actually a collaborative effort. You see, if Stephen's going to put anything in a hot dog bun, it's not going to be a Ball Park Frank or an Oscar Mayer weiner. Oh, no. He goes for the good stuff: Johnsonville brats. Cooked on the Big Green Egg, those fat sausages really are heaven on a bun! So if Johnsonville brats are for dinner, Stephen cooks them. And for the person in the household who occasionally likes to count Weight Watchers points (me), Stephen also cooked some Hebrew National low-fat all-beef franks. Only one point per frank. And when served on a light wheat bun, that's a Weight-Watcher friendly meal.

While Stephen operated the Egg, I remained inside and manned the stove. Oh, sure, I'm married to the winner of the People's Choice Award of the First Annual Homebuilders' Association Chili Cookoff. But I had to contribute in some way to the cooking of the dinner. So I made the chili.

I wish I could say I had a special chili recipe. I don't. I make it the easy way: a pound of ground beef, a can of diced tomatoes, a can of kidney beans, and a package of McCormick chili seasoning. But that's okay. When I set out to develop the Remler Menu, I never strived to cook everything from scratch. I just wanted it all to be different. And so far it has been.

Davis was at a LaCrosse match Monday night, so he missed out on his little piece of heaven. Lawson, however, ate up, having never eaten a chili dog! Can you believe it? He's almost eleven years old! What was he waiting for? Now he thinks chili dogs are swell!

Caught By the Trash Can

Last night I caught Lawson trying to sneak his vegetables into the trash! I wasn't terribly surprised because in the past I've caught him spitting his green beans into his napkin (he didn't realize his deposits had turned his paper napkin a brilliant Kelly green), but I thought we had moved beyond the sneaking stage and into the the sucking-it-up-because-Mom's-going-to-make-you-eat-it-anyway stage. I was wrong. Here's how the whole thing went down:

While in Louisville, I picked up an issue of The Bourbon Review, and in it was a food article that featured a photo of asparagus and potatoes. They weren't cooked in any special way, but the presentation was appealing. So as Stephen grilled the chicken last night, I attempted to reproduce the asparagus and potatoes I saw in the magazine. The magazine's photo showed the asparagus arranged like a sunburst on a round plate with the cut up roasted potatoes piled in the middle.

What's so special about cut up potatoes? I wondered. What if I made potato balls? I got out my little cookie batter scoop, which is a smaller version of an ice cream scoop, and started scooping starchy balls out of Russett Burbank potatoes. Immediately, I realized the drawback of making potato balls. Much of the tuber gets wasted. One Russett Burbank can yield about six potato balls. What's left of the potato looks like a white gritty cave. Reluctant to waste food, I cut up the remains of the potatoes, roasting the potato balls on one side of the casserole dish and the remains on the other side.

When the potatoes were done, I cooked the asparagus and set out to arrange my dish. As you can see from the photo, the potatoes look pretty good. The asparagus--not so much. My new Fiestaware plates were not big enough for this arrangement. Hence, my asparagus-potato sunburst looked more like a malnourished spider.

No biggie. Once dinner was done, we all served ourselves from the stove. I kept an eye on Lawson's plate to make sure he put something green on it. I was delighted that he got some asparagus without my making him do so.

Lawson is the slowest eater on the planet. We'll have the whole kitchen cleaned up except for his plate because he's still working on his meal. Part of his snail pace is due to reluctance to eat his veggies. Davis learned at about the same age to bite the bullet and eat his vegetables first. Not Lawson. He still procrastinates where vegetables are concerned, and if he really doesn't want to eat them, he'll complain that they're "stringy."

Last night the asparagus was stringy.

Supper started at 7:00. At 8:11, Lawson still had not eaten his stringy asparagus. Truly, I think he had just let the asparagus go cold, but he insisted stringiness was the problem. Anyway, at some point, he gathered up his chicken bones into his paper napkin and took them to the trash can to throw them away. And that's when I noticed the green asparagus tips poking out of the napkin.

"I enjoyed dinner," he said, just as he was opening the trash can lid.

"Thank you," I replied. "You can also enjoy those asparagus you're about to throw away."

Lawson exhaled an exasperated, "Aw, man" and returned to his plate. He refused to eat the asparagus in his napkin because those spears had somehow become sullied by the chicken bones. So I put three other asparagus spears on his Fiestaware plate and said, "Eat them."

Once when Lawson was about five years old, Stephen grilled chicken for dinner, and Lawson ate six drumsticks (we'd bought a mutant chicken), all the while poo-pooing Stephen's and my warnings, "You'll make yourself sick."

"No I won't," he insisted.

I made asparagus for dinner that night too, and I made him eat one spear. From his wails and moans, you would have thought I was making him participate in an episode of Fear Factor.

After his bath that night, Lawson got sick. He swore up and down it was because of the asparagus spear.

Last night reminded me of the night of the six drumsticks. Fortunately, Lawson did not invoke that awful memory. Instead, he repeated his protests against stringiness. Finally, Stephen had to offer an ultimatum: "It's 8:11 right now. If you don't eat that asparagus by 8:15, I'm getting you up at 6:30 tomorrow morning."

Lawson met his deadline.

A Dinner Worth Blogging About

I'm writing from Lousiville, Kentucky. On St. Patrick's Day. Instead of going to the parade and watching Davis march with the BC Cadets, I spent my whole day in a meeting learning how to be a program reviewer for NCATE Accreditation. No green beer. No beads. No jumping on floats and waving at the crowd. Just handouts and NCTE standards.


So when I finally got out of said meeting, I was in a little bit of a funk, to the extent that when I spoke to Stephen on the phone, he asked, "Do you feel okay?" I did. I was just wishing I was somewhere else, like Savannah.


So to get out of my funk, I decided to go downstairs to the hotel bar and have a drink as I decided where to eat my dinner.


Now, I am staying at the Seelbach Hilton on 4th Street in downtown Louisville. It's an historic hotel with marble staircases, crystal chandeliers and grandfather clocks. The bar, with its cherry wood paneling, upholstered furniture and arched windows, lifted my spirits a bit. Might as well order a Bourbon drink, I thought as I sat down at the bar. I ordered an Old Fashioned. Cole, the informative and well-educated bar-tender, fixed me right up, explaining the history of the Old Fashioned as he did so. He made mine with raw sugar, a ginger-peppercorn simple syrup, and Knob Creek Bourbon. It was delightful. He let me taste blood orange bitters as well as the simple syrup flavoried with lavender and hybiscus. We spent almost an hour discussing bar-tending, No Child Left Behind and the flaws in the latest health care reform policy, lamenting all the while that the world's problems would all be solved had anybody bothered to ask us.


One problem Cole could help me solve was where to eat dinner. "That's easy," he said, and he pointed to Larry, the maitre d' of the adjacent Oak Room restaurant.


"Oh, I can't have dinner in there," I protested, looking at my clothes (I'm wearing my brother in-law's hand-me-down Ralph Lauren men's winter-white jeans and a sweater from Coldwater Creek). "I'm not dressed appropriately."


"No worries," Larry said. "You don't have to dress up to eat here."


So I took their advice, and I'm so glad I did. Having finished my Old Fashioned, I asked Cole to make me a Manhattan, and while he did so, I went to my table. I sat next to an arched window and admired the cherry paneling in the restaurant as well. The manager showed me the Al Capone room, then explained that the main dining room used to be the men's billiard's club, all the while pointing to the original pool cue racks on the wall. When Cole arrived with my cocktail, he showed me how to flame orange oils, a neat little trick involving a match and a squeezed orange rind, which, as soon as I show my children, will have them begging me to purchase citrus by the bushel.


Besides one other woman a few tables down, I was the only customer in the restaurant, so the waitress (Jennifer? Well, that's her name now.) and a waiter named Chris were all too pleased to cater to my every whim. And that they did. Chris started me off with an amuse bouche of pork belly and red hot apple sauce, which reminded me of the fancy restaurant food descriptions I experienced in Athens back in January. I'd heard of amuse bouche, but I'd never had one. It was quite tasty.


Then Jennifer recommended I try the pecan pie salad, which featured mixed greens, sliced onions and chopped pecans, served with--get this--blue cheese ice cream! I was a little skeptical about the ice cream thing. Creamy, cold dessert doesn't seem to go with the tart cheese I usually associate with salad dressing. Still, I love trying new food and my curiosity got the best of me. So I ordered it.


After one bite, I was ready for a blue cheese milk shake. Really. It was that good. Don't knock it 'til you've tried it.


So for my entree, I also took Jennifer's advice: Celebration of Duck, which consisted of a duck comfit (I don't even know what a comfit is. Or is it confit? Who cares? It's splendid!) topped with a soft-boiled duck egg (or was it poached?) and served with turnip greens in a delicous broth. I ate a duck egg! I've got to figure out how to make it because the next time Davis shoots a duck, I want it to celebrate! The turnips were the perfect complement to the dark poultry, and the broth was so good I wanted to put my face in it and lick it up like the dogs who live in my dad's back yard.


I was eyeing the stirrer in my Manhattan, considering sucking up the broth through it, when a group of businessmen entered, followed by two couples on a double date. So I maintained my table manners, all the while protesting tacitly, Who said you folks could come in? This is my restaurant!


Because Larry had given me a large peanut butter cookie before I walked in (which I look forward to eating on the plane tomorrow), I declined the dessert menu, but Chris maintained his status as my favorite waiter of all time (Jennifer being my favorite waitress), by serving me two petits fours at the end of the meal.


I wish I had photos, but I'm writing from the hotel's business center and don't have my card reader with me. Still, run, don't walk (okay, you can drive) to Louisville. And when you get there, go to the Seelbach Hilton for dinner. Ask Cole to make you an Old Fashioned, and then sit back for a delicious meal. If you'd like, take a walk on the wild side and have blue cheese ice cream for dessert.

Mini Meat Loafs

People either love meat loaf or hate it. My family, thank goodness, is the kind that loves meat loaf. What's not to love? If you love hamburgers, how can you not love a big loaf of ground beef flavored with onions and ketchup? It's heaven without the bun. Still, some people think of meat loaf and say, "Ugh." I don't get it. Maybe their mamas didn't have good meat loaf recipes.

Several years ago, a friend told me that when her mom used to cook meat loaf, she'd put a hard boiled egg in the middle of it. That recipe twist puzzled me.

"I guess she wanted to make sure we got enough protein," my friend explained.

"It's a big loaf of ground beef. How much protein did she think you needed?"

My friend shrugged. "If that wasn't the reason, I don't know what it was."

My guess is that back in the 1970's, the trendy thing to do with a meat loaf was to put a boiled egg in the middle. I bet that brown slice of meat with a yellow and white circle in the center accented the almond kitchen appliances perfectly.

My meat loaf recipe isn't so fancy. It's the one off the back of the Lipton Recipe Secrets Beefy Onion Recipe Soup and Dip Mix (Remember the good ole' days when it was just called Lipton Cup-o-Soup? I guess it didn't take long for the Lipton company to figure out nobody ever put hot water in that powder and drank it as soup. It only went in meats and sour cream. Now the name is longer than the list of items one can make with this packet of oniony goodness).

Even with this easy recipe, I've usually messed up the meat loaf. You see, the recipe says to cook the loaf for an hour at 350 degrees. And like an idiot, I believed the recipe. The last time I made meat loaf, it was hard and dry. The boys slathered it with ketchup just so it could slide easier going down.

The next morning (I don't think too well at 6:00 am), too lazy to make Davis a ham sandwich, I cut two biscuits in half and stuck meat loaf in them to make meat loaf sandwiches. Everybody loves meat loaf sandwiches, right? Wrong. Davis came home that day and begged me never to make meat loaf sandwiches for his lunch again.

"What did you eat?" I asked him.

"I ate the sandwiches. They were all I had. It was like eating hockey pucks."

Now, whenever Davis does something I don't like, I threaten to feed him meat loaf sandwiches for dinner. He straightens up real fast.

Tonight, though, I was more careful. First of all, I didn't make one big meat loaf. Instead, I used those little aluminum loaf pans and made mini meat loafs. They were so cute. Also, I watched the time carefully. After 30 minutes, I checked those little loafs, and they were still kind of pink inside, so I put them in for another ten minutes. That was the perfect time limit.
So here's the modified version of the recipe from Lipton Recipe Secrets Beefy Onion Recipe Soup & Dip Mix (Honestly, don't you think just one use of the word recipe in the name would suffice?):

Ingredients:
2 lb. ground beef (I get the leanest available)
3/4 cup plain dry bread crumbs
1 pkg. Lipton Recipe Secrets Beefy Onion Recipe Soup & Dip Mix
2 eggs
3/4 cup water
1/3 cup ketchup (actually, I just hold the ketchup bottle over the meat and give it one good squeeze)

Instructions:
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Combine all ingredients well. Put about a handful (or a large spoonful) of the mixture in a 2 x 3 1/2 (or so) aluminum loaf pan. My batch of meat filled five of those little pans. Bake for 30 minutes, then check the meat. If it's still a little pink, put it back in for another 10 minutes.

Because I'm leaving for Louisville, KY tomorrow, I made a big ole' dinner tonight. So I served the mini meat loafs with mashed potatoes, roasted broccoli (see the March 8 posting), and asparagus. I kind of overcooked the broccoli, but nobody complained. Otherwise, dinner was tasty, and I dare say Davis might be convinced to put a slice of his little loaf between two biscuit halves. Just maybe.

Tybee St. Patrick's Day Parade

Create your own video slideshow at animoto.com.

The Cookin' on the Green

Before the Remlers took off to Tybee for their St. Patrick's Day Parade (more on that later), Stephen decided to cook lunch--cheeseburgers--on the Big Green Egg.

Any man who steps up and says, "I'd like to cook lunch today" deserves, at the very least, a tribute on the World Wide Web. So here it is:


Three cheers for Stephen and his Big Green Egg!

After patting out the ground beef, Stephen gave each patty a little splash of Dale's seasoning. Stephen is a big fan of Dale's. Me, not so much. But if my husband is going to cook me a burger, I'll eat it, Dale's and all.

Just before taking the burgers off the grill, Stephen topped each one with a slice of cheese, and to give my burger and his a little kick of flavor, he topped ours with pepper Jack cheese. Yum!

Inside, we garnished our meaty treaties with lettuce and tomato and dug in. And we couldn't help remarking that they looked especially enticing on our new Fiestaware dishes!

Fish Tacos and Shrimp Fajitas

All week long, I've been wondering what to serve for dinner tonight. Should I go with a vegetarian meal, or should I go with shellfish? Davis has already made it clear that he's not a fan of broiled fish fillet, but I was not about to serve a deep fried supper. That left crustaceans. But what to do with them? I have a great shrimp stew recipe, which I'll eventually make, but the boys don't really like it that much. I wanted something everybody would enjoy. I could have cooked crab cakes, except that crab meat costs an arm and a leg. Crab cakes work much better in the summer when we can catch the crabs right off the dock.

So what was I going to make for dinner? By 3:00 today, I was till undecided, but then someone on the radio mentioned Mexican food, and it hit me: shrimp fajitas! And since I was making fajitas, I might as well make fish tacos, because ever since my friend Beth turned me on to them, I've been a big fan.

Off to the Publix seafood counter I went, and I must say the meal was a success--even more so because a Tex-Mex meal looks faboulous on our new Fiestaware china! That's right! China was on sale half price last week, so we took advantage of the low, low price and bought a service for 12 of this long-standing tabletop favorite.

Okay, now here's how to make dinner. First, I provided the following "accessories" for either dish: diced tomatoes, sliced black olives, sour cream, shredded cheddar, guacamole, shredded lettuce, salsa. I also bought flour tortillas as well as Flat Out tortillas for the one member of my family (me) who sometimes likes to count Weight Watcher points. Tonight I used the spinach variety of Flat Out.

Fish Tacos:
2 tilapia fillets
seasoned salt
1 tbsp. olive oil

Season tilapia with seasoned salt. Put olive oil in electric skillet and heat to 300 degrees. Place fillets in skillet and heat about five minutes per side. Remove from skillet and set fillets aside.

Shrimp Fajitas
2 lb. large shrimp, peeled, deveined, tails off
1 onion
1 green bell pepper
1 red bell pepper
taco seasoning mix
2 tbsp olive oil

Cut onion and peppers into little fajita-like strips. Put olive oil in electric skillet and heat to 300 degrees. Add onion and peppers and stir fry until soft. Remove from electric skillet. Put shrimp in electric skillet and stir fry until pink and done. Add taco seasoning mix and 1/2 cup water. Mix seasoning into the water well. When the water/seasoning mix is bubbly, add peppers and onion back to the electric skillet. Reduce heat to simmer and cook a few minutes more until the water is absorbed. Serve with flour tortillas and the above "accessories."

I didn't ask for a verdict this time. My boys are too brutally honest. I couldn't help noticing, though, that Davis went back for seconds, as did Stephen. Lawson ate some shrimp but opted out of the onion and peppers. Clorox meowed at our feet until we gave him a shrimp, which he pushed across the kitchen floor with his tongue before eating. I think he would have preferred it raw.

So another Lenten Friday has passed without forgetting about the "no meat" rule. So far, we're doing pretty good staying on St. Peter's list at the pearly gates.

Corned Beef and Cabbage

It's March--time for the wearin' o' the green. Time for St. Patrick's Day parade. Time for green fountains and newspaper articles about the new parade marshal and time for spring break! What would March be without the traditional St. Patrick's Day meal, corned beef and cabbage?

It would be just plain dull, that's what.

I got this recipe from my good friend Viviane, and as I continue writing this blog, I realize just how many recipes I get from my good friend Viviane. If it weren't for her, we'd starve to death!

Viviane told me this meal was easy to make, but for some reason I was skeptical. But then again, corned beef has always perplexed me, so maybe I was transferring my corned beef confusion into my corned beef cooking confidence.

What exactly is corned beef anyway? Don't get me wrong; I always knew it was a beef brisket, but where did the corn part come in? After some critical thinking, I inferred that the "corn" part referred to pepper corns used to season the meat. I was not far off. After researching the topic, I learned that corn refers to the course corns of salt used in the brine which seasons the beef.

Apparently, corned beef often comes canned. But mine came wrapped in plastic from the butcher's counter at the Publix. According to Viviane's instructions, I cooked said beef in the slow cooker, thereby adding one more recipe to my list of crock pot meals. The instructions on the package said to cook the brisket in the package juices. I poured them in, but I also followed Viviane's advice and poured in a can of beer. Viviane's never been specific about the brand of beer to use. Today I used Pabst Blue Ribbon.

This morning, before I left for work, I lined my slow cooker with Reynold's slow cooker liners. Then I added the brisket, its little pouch of peppercorns and seasonings, its juices, and the PBR. Then I turned the cooker on low and left the house.

This afternoon when I got home, I cut up a head of cabbage and tossed it in a stainless steel pot with olive oil and a clove of minced garlic. Cabbage tossed in olive oil is just heavenly. You must try it some time.

And that was dinner. I also heated up some leftover squash for those who wanted some. Turns out I was the only one who wanted some (No, I did not butcher Squash Oscar). Everyone else chose to focus on the corned beef and cabbage, and I must say, results were positive. By the end of dinner there wasn't enough left worth saving. Stephen liked it (But he always says that when I cook dinner. He's kind of smart that way). Davis liked it, but added that he could really taste the beer flavor. Lawson ate it. I've stopped asking Lawson if he likes dinner. If it's not covered in chocolate, the answer will be no.

Pork Chops and Brown Rice

Incumbent upon all parents is the responsibility to teach their children two very important things: 1) 1970's rock and roll classics and 2) timeless Saturday Night Live skits. Sometimes those lessons occur concurrent with meals, such as the time I taught my kids that if they don't eat their meat, they can't have any pudding.

Davis and Lawson groan when I remind them of the pudding risk attached to not cleaning their plates, but they're appreciative of other classic lessons, such as the one revolving their favorite vegetable.

Several years ago, as I cut up broccoli for dinner, I told them, "There's a famous comedian who used to be on Saturday Night Live, and he sang a song about me."

"No way," they replied.

"Way," I responded, invoking said comedian.

"What song was it?" they asked.

And I pounded out a few lyrics of Dana Carvey's "Chopping Broccoli." At first, they thought I was making the song up. But then I showed them a video of Carvey singing his famous vegetable ballad.



Once they believed the song existed, they came back with, "But he's not singing about you."

"Of course he is," I told them. "I'm the lady he didn't know."

They just love that story! And because of their affinity for Dana Carvey and the broccoli song, I make a point to prepare broccoli at least once a week.

I made broccoli tonight to go with a family favorite: pork chops and brown rice. This is a recipe you can teach your kids to make. It's a reason I always keep pork chops in the freezer. If I'm ever at a loss for a dinner idea, pork chops and brown rice (and broccoli) come to the rescue.

Ingredients:
1 pork chop per person in the family
salt and pepper to taste
1 can Campbell's consomme'
1 soup can of water
1 soup can of Uncle Ben's whole grain brown rice
2 four and a half ounce jars of whole button mushrooms (because Lawson loves 'em)

Instructions:
Preheat oven to 425 degrees. Season the pork chops with the salt and pepper. Brown both sides of the chops in a skillet. Place them in a 9 1/2 x 13 casserole dish (Have you ever wondered why the dish is 9 1/2 inches? Couldn't the inventor of the casserole have made it an even ten inches? Just wondering). Add consomme. Add water. Add rice. Add mushrooms. Cover with a lid or Reynolds Release non-stick foil. Bake until the rice absorbs the water, which is usually about an hour.

Serve with broccoli.

Oscar Night Dinner

For the past few days, I've been wondering what to cook for dinner on Oscar night. Some friends suggested I invoke nominated films with my meal. Unfortunately, I never saw Avatar, and even if I had, blue food just doesn't seem palatable. I adored Julie and Julia (both the book and the film), but I've already cooked Beef Bourguignon, and besides, I bet every other food blogger is invoking that movie tonight. Honoring Up in the Air would have involved serving dried breast of chicken with a heavily dressed pasta salad and crackers with processed cheese, all served in a bright blue bag for $16.00 (and if purchased with American Express, could earn me double the Skymiles!). Somehow I don't think my family would have gone for that. Nor would they have appreciated a dedication to The Blind Side, which would have necessitated a dinner from Taco Bell.

So I gave up on trying to develop a film-based meal. Instead, I created my own little Academy Award out of food. Say hello to Squash Oscar!

He served as a centerpiece during our dinner--all of him except his little pole thing that he holds onto. I removed that as I was cooking and threw it in the pan. I couldn't bring myself to waste one spear of asparagus.

With Squash Oscar looking on, my family and I dined on London broil, which I'm sure will be served somewhere tonight at an Oscar party.

I first had London broil in--of all places--London, when I was about thirteen years old. My mom and my siblings found ourselves somewhere in the city, tired and hungry, after a long day of sight seeing. Somehow we had ended up in a part of town that had few restaurants, but after some searching we found a small place. When we entered, we found it empty of customers, but the waiter assured us the place was open, so we sat down. And then he said, "Tonight we are serving London broil." We replied that the dish was fine. What else were we gong to say? This restaurant was our only option. I had no idea at the time what London broil was, but I soon found out it was a tasty cut of beef.

And that's what we had tonight. I seasoned my London broil with salt, pepper, garlic powder, parsley and Worcesteshire sauce. Then I broiled it on high for 15 minutes on each side. That was too long. The meat wasn't burned, but it was well done. Next time, I'll go for ten minutes per side. Still, it was tasty, especially when basted in its juices. Julia Child wouldn't have been proud, but she wouldn't have gone hungry either.

After such a fine meal, I'm ready to camp out with my knitting in front of the idiot box to see who wins awards for performing in movies I haven't seen. But I'm not really watching for the actors' and films' sakes tonight. I'm watching because Steve Martin is co-hosting the show. I adore Steve Martin for several reasons:

1. Comedy is Not Pretty
2. "King Tut."
3. It's Complicated
4. Shop Girl (the novel)
5. Shop Girl (the film)
6. several columns published in The New Yorker
7. some kick butt banjo playing
8. The Pleasure of My Company
9. His Mark Twain award speech
10. a pretty admirable art collection

So to pay tribute to Steve Martin (who, I'm sure, would appreciate the concept of Squash Oscar), I invite you to watch this video:

Creamed Quail Casserole

First of all, on a completely unrelated topic, I want to report that my children are insane. And just to prove it, they decided to go wakeboarding today. Even though the air temperature was 60 degrees, and the water temperature was 50 degrees, my boys thought wakeboarding was the appropriate activity for the day. Actually, Davis operated the boat, but he thought Lawson and his friend Matt had an excellent idea with today's water sports.

As soon as they put on their wet suits, I decided to come along, not only to take photos but also to be on hand with towels and blankets as soon as they emerged from Turner Creek. Matt went first, and as soon as he hit the water, he yelled, "Holy Mother of God, it's cold!"

Shocking.

Lawson decided at the word holy that he wasn't touching Turner Creek. But as the above photo shows, Matt had a fun time. He got home about three hours ago, and I think his toes are still tingling.

The least I could do was serve him a hot dinner.

Wednesday, Stephen went quail hunting in Statesboro, and since the Remler menu has not yet featured this game bird, I looked up some quail recipes for tonight's meal. Usually Stephen cooks the quail. He wraps those little breasts in bacon and cooks them on the Big Green Egg. He and the boys find them quite tasty, but I'll be honest. I'm not the biggest fan. I think there's more bacon to that recipe than quail, so when I eat it, I always remove the pork. Then all that's left is a little piece of white meat.

I wanted something different, and I found a simple but tasty recipe on quailrecipes.net. Even better, I already had all the ingredients. Here's my modification of the recipe:
16 quail breasts
salt and pepper to taste
garlic powder to taste
1 tsp. butter
1 can Campbell's Healthy Request cream of chicken soup
1 tbsp. butter
Salt and black pepper to taste
1/4 cup milk
1 jar sliced mushrooms (Okay, I used two jars. Lawson loves those little shrooms).
1/2 cup bread crumbs

Instructions:
Brush the quail breasts with a small amount of butter. Salt, pepper to taste. Add garlic powder to taste. Brown in a hot oven (400 degrees) for a few minutes (about ten). Remove from oven and reduce heat to 300. Cream together the soup, remaining tbsp. of butter, seasonings and milk. Pour over browned quail breasts. Sprinkle with mushrooms. Sprinkle with bread crumbs. Bake at 300 degrees for 55 minutes.

Because I've never seen Matt dig into a meal before, and because he told me today that he likes chicken, I put a plate of quail in front of him and said, "Eat your chicken." He thought it was good. Then I told him it was quail. He still thought it was good. Although he was not in love with my sauteed squash and roasted potatoes, he did give them a try--because I told him to. Next time, I'll make more quail for Matt.

Stephen and my boys also give this recipe a thumbs up, so when I'm able, I'll make this dish again.

Another Friday Fish Dish

Louise strikes again!

That's right. After the curried chicken crepes fiasco, I kept my distance from Louise Dodd's cook book. But Wednesday night, because of a wee bit of insomnia, I lay down on the couch with my cozy comforter and Louise's book. A Lenten Friday would soon be upon me, so I thought I'd browse Dodd's book for an appropriate dinner. Of course, I found one.



Chartres Street Trout looked perfect for several reasons:

• I had trout downstairs in the freezer that needed to be eaten up.
• I had all the other ingredients (besides capers) already in my kitchen.
• I had never had capers. In fact, I didn't even know what capers were until I looked them up tonight. They are pickled unopened flower buds of the Mediterranean plant capparis spinosa.
  
• The recipe looked easy to make.

Louise said she discovered this recipe in New Orleans one year when she went there for the Sugar Bowl. She ate at a restaurant called Christopher Blake's, and she met the chef, who shared the recipe.

Although the recipe is easy, it calls for much more butter than is needed. I didn't even use half a stick. It also calls for butcher paper or parchment paper, smeared with butter, for covering up the fish in the oven. Not until after I had the fish laid out in the pan did I realize I only had the tail end of a roll of parchment paper left. And I don't keep butcher paper lying around. Fortunately, for my writing group meeting last night, I'd purchased two bottles of cheap wine, and I still had the little brown paper bags. So I cut them open and smeared them with butter. Viola! They worked like a charm.

Ingredients:
6 fillets of fresh trout
1 stick butter (really, you don't need that much. You just need enough to smear)
Juice of 2 lemons
salt and pepper to taste
1/4 tsp. Tabasco sauce
4 tbsp. large capers
chopped parsley or chervil (I just realized I forgot that part)

Instructions:
Place trout in a buttered pan. Dot each trout with small pieces of butter and cover with buttered white butcher paper or parchment paper (or in a pinch, a brown paper bag). Bake in a moderate oven (350 degrees) for 15-20 minutes, depending on the size of the trout. Do not overcook the fish. When the fish are done, immediately add the lemon juice to the butter in the pan, along with salt and pepper to taste and the Tabasco sauce. Add the drained capers. Serve immediately with chopped parsley and chervil.

Louise says to serve the fish with buttered wedges of toast. I guess you can do that, but I served it with broccoli and Stephen's favorite side dish: grits.

The verdict:
Lawson: "I don't like it."
Davis: "It's too lemony. But I'm just not a big fan of broiled or baked fish."
Stephen: "I'm still trying to figure out the capers."
Me: "I don't understand why I had to cover the fish with paper."

And the verdict on the capers? Stephen and I agree that it's like eating a tiny pickle.