Ranch dressing. You know it. Most of you love it. Evidently, So do recent European World Cup visitors. I chuckle at that. While stationed in Germany in the ‘80s, Cath and I received Hidden Valley Ranch spice packets in care packages from home and introduced German friends to its deliciousness back then.
Continue reading “Chronicles of Hidden Valley”
Cath and I are among the diminishing number of people who send out Christmas/Holiday cards. In our busy digital world, fewer people send them, and among the younger generations, it is almost nonexistent. That is just life today. Me? I still enjoy the annual “old fashioned” event of exchanging Holiday cards.
Continue reading “Holiday Cards”
Strange as it may seem, bushhogging gives me both a sense of Zen and a feeling of accomplishment. It took me years to reach that point, and I was happy to relive it again last week. As a bonus, I had an ongoing interaction with a persistent crow, who turned out to be pretty smart.
Continue reading “Bushhogging”
Last Christmas Eve, I was talking with our nephew Casey. He mentioned a visit to our home as a young boy, and then asked “Do you remember making cheese fondue at the cabin? That was so cool!” The memories of that weekend, and our ‘70s era burnt orange fondue pot came flooding back.
Continue reading “Cheese Fondue”
R_____ looked at me and was on the verge of tears. “Oh Max, thank you so much. You are making me cry.” That wasn’t my intent. All I’d done was tell her that if she ran into problems, call me and I would help. It’s a shame what we have come to as a nation, when a person feels threatened by some of those around her.
Continue reading “R____”
Labor Day Weekend at the Bay was a full-on Summerpalooza. Soft shell crabs and tomatoes…Crab cakes with corn…Grilled steaks and more crabs at our neighbor Vinnie’s home…Bike rides on the island…Drinking crushes at a beach bar… Eating fresh peaches, the juice running down my chin. It’s all been great, but I’m ready for Fall.
What a strange Summer it has been, and I’m not just talking about the politics. The weather was … unusual. Quite cool at the start, we endured a drought for a couple of months. In early July it turned hotter than Hades, followed by a rain of several inches, a cool week in August with nighttime temps in the 40s, and then record setting heat the week before Labor Day.
Technically, we have about three weeks until the Autumnal Equinox marks the official start of Fall on September 22d, but of course Labor Day has always served as the unofficial end of Summer.
Growing up, Summer was my favorite season. It was even better than Christmas time. When school let out at the start of Summer, there was unlimited time with endless possibilities. It was the time of going to the pool or Pitstick’s Dairy Lake for swimming – The ding-a-ling of the ice cream truck in the evenings, with cones for a dime – Staying out late – Pick-up Baseball behind Hohner’s house next to the graveyard – Boy Scout Summer Camp at Ki-Shua-Wau – Cicadas, grasshoppers and lightning bugs – Making funny noises into the blowing fan in the front room before we had AC – Cookouts with burgers and Mom’s potato salad – Riding bikes with my buddies Howard and Tim, and later, with Cathy. Endless Possibilities.
As I grew older, Summers became shorter. Still fun, they were no longer endless and instead became finite in their possibilities. Rereading the previous paragraph and the list of things I enjoyed about Summer, it is perhaps no coincidence they are activities from my youth. Is Summer more of a young person’s season?
Eventually, Summer lost its claim as my favorite season. Was it the passing of youth, or did something else cause the change? I can’t answer that, but Autumn rose to the fore.
Ahhhh, Autumn. How do I love thee? Let me count the ways – The drop in temperature and humidity – The crispness of a fall morning – Autumnal light (yes, that’s a real thing) – Going on vacations and knowing there will be fewer children wherever we are – The color of the leaves – Eating soups, stews and roasts again – Wild (not farm raised) oysters – Wearing a sweatshirt and shorts – Steeplechase Races – Orion reappearing in the night sky – Migrating birds – Walks in the woods and the crunch of leaves underfoot. Here in Virginia, we are extra lucky. I defy you to find anywhere with more beautiful colors and weather than Virginia in the Fall.
During Fall, I enjoy watching the slow transition from Summer to Winter and how the world changes. It makes me feel alive as we leave the lethargy of Summer heat behind, but aren’t yet forced inside by the cold and snow of Winter. Although I know Spring is the season of new beginnings, I feel most alive in the Fall.
We spent the last few days of August and the start of September at the Bayhouse on Tilghman Island. The heat wave eventually broke and it cooled down to seasonal weather. The end of Labor Day itself was absolutely gorgeous – one of those evenings you get a few times a year. It doesn’t feel like Fall yet, but I know it’s coming soon and I am ready to greet it. Author Victoria Erickson said it best for me: “If a year was tucked inside of a clock, then Autumn would be the magic hour.”
Addendum:
I’ve written two other Autumn related blogs:
It was an early winter morning a little before sunrise – that liminal period of time between darkness and light. When I left the house to feed the horses, it was so quiet, the silence felt deafening. I soon discovered the opposite was true. In that cold predawn stillness, sound was everywhere, once I started listening.
I have to admit on most mornings, I’m on autopilot as I walk to the barn. Typically, I’ve only been up about ten or fifteen minutes and haven’t yet had my coffee. It’s pretty rote – walk to the barn, feed the cats, feed the horses and return to the house to make coffee.
I suppose I have the sudden snorting of a buck to thank for my change on this particular day. I stopped and tried to pinpoint his location in the paddock, but couldn’t see him. The question of whether he was sounding an alarm, or merely indicating curiosity was soon answered – I heard muffled footfalls, and then saw six deer leaping our fence before clamoring into a neighbor’s field. Our dog Carmen and I were both so startled, neither of us did anything except watch them go, their white tails vivid in the half-light. I have no idea why Carmen didn’t chase them – it was the first of three unusual non-actions on her part that morning.
The deer must have disturbed some nearby turkeys, as two of them started “gobbling” in the woods by the pond. I looked for them as well, but couldn’t tell if they were on the ground, or the low branches of a tree. Carmen, for the second time that morning, did nothing.
By now, my ears were evidently alert, as I heard a woodpecker tapping near the side of the house. A few footsteps later, the whinnies of our neighbors’ horses came from about 100 yards away. That was unusual for them at this time of the morning. Perhaps something was about, as they were joined by the barking of our friend’s dogs, Jonah and Jebson, about a quarter mile down Swains Road. Carmen’s ears pricked up. Much like the dog telegraph in the movie, 101 Dalmatians, the two frequently start a message that circulates among the other dogs in the neighborhood. This morning, Carmen must have decided they were just gossiping – after listening for a second, she trotted to the barn, with nary a bark.
It was chilly in the barn and there was a skim of ice on the water buckets. Our cats, Ollie and Mama Cat, stared silently at me, waiting for their breakfast. The horses weren’t so quiet. Stella and Katie nickered, snorted and pawed the ground. They too wanted their breakfast, but made a much bigger demonstration than the cats about it.
I fed the cats and then the horses, left the barn and started making my way back to the house. It was nearing sunrise now and there was some color in the eastern sky. Carmen and I stopped for a moment just outside the barn and looked to the east. We disturbed a couple of crows who scolded us with their caws, but the cardinals in the nearby evergreen didn’t seem to mind our presence and continued to sing their song of CHEER, CHEER, CHEER ,,, PRETTY, PRETTY ,, PRETTY, PRETTY!
I thought about the birds and animals, both tame and wild, who were there to greet Carmen and I that morning. It brought to mind one of my favorite quotes from Maya Angelou – “Listen to yourself and in that quietude you might hear the voice of God.” While watching the sun rise that morning, I had an additional thought – In the quietude of a winter’s morning, hear the voices of God’s creatures and feel blessed, for we are all God’s creatures.
In America, we often ignore cuts of meat used to make excellent dishes elsewhere – beef cheeks and pork jowl are two examples. Oxtail is another. When we lived in Germany, Ochsenschwanzsuppe (Oxtail soup) was a classic you rarely see here. It’s an OMG wonderful dish I’ve made a couple of times now.
Of course, many hear the word Schwanz, and immediately think of the Mel Brooks film, Young Frankenstein and the scene with Inga (the great Terry Garr) using the pseudo-German word schwanzstucker*. I can assure you, there is no schwanzstucker in this Ochsenschwanzsuppe. 😉
In today’s world, what we are really talking about is beef tail, but I’m going to stick with Ochsenschwanz, or oxtail, which is what it was called when we originally learned about it in Germany. Plus, it sounds cooler.
Oxtail is high in protein, has abundant collagen and is a source of healthy fats. With the high collagen and connective tissue content, oxtail was made for long, slow cooking in dishes such as this soup. It’s a great winter dish. I’ve learned from friends who also cook that it is core to many other ethnic dishes as well. As an example, my friend Antoine Freche says, “Oxtail is the preferred bone source when creating a “silky-smooth” broth for Vietnamese Pho. Oxtails are best since they contain more collagen than a regular beef bone. The collagen is what makes the broth silky-smooth.”
I have to agree with Antoine. The broth in this soup is wonderful. It is a different flavor than a typical beef stew and packed with umami**. Silky and smooth are both great descriptors, but so are tasty, delicious and “OMG this is so f’in good!” I’m already thinking of ways to use this broth for other dishes – it really is that outstanding.
This recipe combines a rich beef and vegetable broth with paprika and pepper to add some bite, along with sherry and cream to round it out. It’s finished with a roux. It takes a while to make but is sooooo good. If you don’t have quite enough Oxtail, add some chuck steak, or some other roast to make up the difference.
Traditionally, Oxtail soup is served as a first course in Germany at restaurants or special events. They have two main versions of Oxtail Soup there – one is a clear broth with beef bits, the other is a “gebundene” (bound) version and is a little heartier. This recipe is a gebundene soup.
While the original version of this recipe was for a first course, Cath and I have it as a meal. With some bread and a small salad, it’s hard to beat. If you want to add a little to it for a main course, cut up a carrot or two and simmer with the sauce in the final 1/2 hour. As with most soups and stews, it’s better the day after you first cook the broth. The meal is certainly guest worthy, but I won’t judge if just you and your partner eat it by yourselves over two or three days. By the third day, it will be mostly just broth left, but that doesn’t matter. You’ll still be marveling at how tasty it is.
Addendum:
I sat, mesmerized, looking at the dancing flames in our wood stove. The blaze caressed the wood, licking the sides of the split logs. The sparks, snaps and crackles, along with the smell of the smoke were all a part of the magic. The fire was alive, seeking my attention.
This year, for whatever reason, cold weather seemed to sneak up on us. We have enjoyed a long dry Fall, and I’ve ignored some of my “getting ready for winter” chores, including splitting wood. We still had some wood left from last year, but knew it wouldn’t last the season. I feel a bit like the grasshopper in Aesop’s Fables. You know the story – the grasshopper has lounged around while the ants worked all summer and fall, busily preparing for winter. In case you forgot, the story doesn’t turn out well for the grasshopper. 😉
They say wood warms you twice. Once when you cut and split it. The second time when you burn it.* Fortunately, there were a couple of fallen oak trees on the property already cut into chunks. All that was needed was a bit of umphhh to finish the job. Along with our neighbors, Mike and Janet, we split a couple cords of wood. It made for some good exercise over a day or two. We have a pneumatic splitter, but make no mistake, it’s still work. A couple of beers and some ibuprofen made it both more fun and less painful. That first night, after we finished splitting the wood, Janet’s wonderful chili filled our bellies and eased the pain as well.
A couple days later we had our first fire of the season – the first, but not the last. It’s only mid-November now, but the evenings are becoming chilly. We have already had a few nights in the 20s and there will be many to follow between now and early April. The fires in the wood stove turn our family room into a cozy little haven.
The night of that first fire, Cathy was finishing up at the barn and I was alone, sipping on a before dinner cocktail. I was, perhaps, watching the stove more closely than usual. I used some of our old wood, and some of the newly split pieces – I wanted to make sure the new wood was seasoned enough. All of the wood, both old and new, burned fine.
I watched as the flames grew, curling around the logs. While no music played, the fire still danced, growing, receding, swaying, bending and weaving to and fro. It shape-shifted with a soul of its own. Entranced and seemingly bewitched, I watched this private show, unable to take my eyes away. It drew me in with its warm embrace, and I remember thinking, “Do we all have a little pyro in us?”.
I didn’t get a chance to answer the question. Cath and Carmen came in and the spell was broken. We fed Carmen and I fixed Cath a drink. I looked back at the fire, but that’s all it was now – a fire in the wood stove. The temptress had disappeared.
Addendum:
The Bears Den in Naplate, Illinois is a great little dive bar. I mean that in the best sense of the word. It’s an older place and hasn’t been updated in years. On a recent trip back home to Ottawa, we stopped in on a Sunday afternoon for lunch and Bloody Marys. We all should have such a good local place.
Naplate, a town of just over 400 people, probably has more restaurants and bars per capita than any town in America*. They are all small local places. Some more bar oriented, and some more food oriented. All have their devoted fans and regulars from Naplate, or the surrounding area. Over the years we’ve enjoyed several of them, including Casa Mia, Annie’s Hideaway, and of course, The Bears Den.
A few years ago, a really bad tornado ripped through Naplate and parts of Ottawa and Naplate were destroyed. Although Naplate restaurants were ordered closed in the immediate aftermath, The Bears Den stayed open providing food for the folk doing the cleanup and damage control. They were giving back to the community in a big way.
A couple of weeks ago we were back in Ottawa to see family and go to a reunion. We spent Saturday night with my sister Tanya and Brother-in-Law Shawn and on Sunday morning were discussing what to do. Cath previously mentioned possibly going to The Bears Den for Bloodies, and we all quickly agreed that was a great idea. It had been a few years since we were able to stop in there and we were looking forward to a good time. Shawn, the smart one among us, checked to see what time the Bears were playing that day. When they are on TV, it’s standing room only at the Den, and we wanted to avoid that. Fortunately, the game didn’t start until 3PM.
We arrived just after noon and easily grabbed a table. Several people were there, but it wasn’t crowded. The Packers were on TV, so there were both cheers and catcalls, depending on what was going on. The waitress came over and we ordered our Bloodies with sidecars. In Illinois (and maybe across the Midwest) a sidecar is a small beer, typically 7 ounces, to go with your Bloody Mary. At the Bears Den, they brought you a can of beer, and a 7 ounce glass. On Sundays, they have “build your own Bloody Mary” for $3, but we opted for the bartender to make ours.
Drinks arrived and the Bloodies were as good as we remembered. Our waitress asked what we would like to eat. For me, there was only one thing to order – their Sausage Sandwich. You can have it with peppers, or cheese, or any number of other combinations, but I just ordered it with pickles and onions. It’s like a burger, but made with 1/2 pound of sausage instead. As my buddy Howard says “It rivals the pork tenderloin**as the best area sandwich. The difference? You can order the tenderloin at lots of places, but only The Bears Den has the sausage sandwich.” Shawn also ordered one, while the ladies opted for a BLT and a ribeye sandwich. One of the great things about The Bears Den is they have a decent menu, especially considering the small size of the place and the size of the kitchen.
The food came, and all I can say is, man, I love that sandwich. It was sooooo good. Yea, it didn’t help my cholesterol any, but that’s OK. In fact everyone’s sandwich was good. I think Cath’s BLT was the biggest I’d ever seen, and Tanya’s Ribeye sandwich was great. The table grew quiet for a while as we concentrated on our food. Eventually, we ordered a second round of Bloodies and Shawn had another beer.
At some point, our nephew and niece Casey and Ann stopped by with their kids and we were able to catch up with them for a bit, but eventually, it was time to go. Hugs all around in the parking lot, lots of I love you’s, and we headed south to my sister Berta and her husband Jack’s place.
I know it’s a bit crazy to write about a dive bar in the middle of Illinois, when we don’t even live there anymore. Still, it’s good to have things and places you know you can count on. The Bears Den is one of those places. If you are ever near Naplate, I highly recommend it.
Addendum:
Live Life Exuberantly 