Tag: #humor

Life and the Ritual of Risotto

Life and the Ritual of Risotto

I made Risotto last week. Due to some changes in diet, it was the first time in over a year and it was wonderful. Risotto isn’t hard to make, and it doesn’t take long, but it does require patience and attention. You can’t rush risotto, and to me, that is why making it is both relaxing and a bit zen like.

I’ve been making risotto for years, and have several different recipes. It was a staple part of our dinner rotation. And then about a year ago, I had a couple of blood tests that caused some concern. After engaging in bilateral discussions with my doctor* (… 😉 … ) , I made significant diet changes, and drastically reduced dairy and carbs. Some things were easy, like changing from regular milk to oat milk. Unfortunately, cheese was practically it’s own food group for me, so that required a fair amount of mental adjustment. Pasta, potatoes, white rice, and bread? All eliminated, or severely reduced. I went cold turkey, and just did it. The good news was that after three months, the test results were back to normal, and six months later, they remained normal. As a side benefit, I lost about fifteen pounds.

Over the past six months, we’ve reintroduced small amounts of dairy and carbs into our diet. They’ve become “special” as opposed to every day, and it’s worked out fine. It turns out, sometimes, you can teach an old dog new tricks.

Last Thursday I had a series of follow-up fasting blood tests. I wouldn’t receive the results for a day or two, but decided to celebrate early and chose to make risotto for dinner that night. On the way home, I picked up some cream for the sauce, along with fresh bread from a local bakery. I mean what the hell, in for a penny, in for a pound. While I have several risotto recipes, there was no doubt in my mind about which one I would make – Ben’s Cognac Risotto – a favorite of ours, with mushrooms, shallots, cream, butter, and plenty of Parmesan cheese.

From start to finish, Ben’s Cognac Risotto takes about forty five minutes to an hour to make. As with most risottos, it’s not complicated, however, once you start cooking, you can’t walk away from the stove. You need to be present, both mentally and physically.

That evening , I started heating up the required chicken broth, chopped up the needed shallots and mushrooms, separately measured out the cognac and cream for the sauce, and then grated the Parmesan cheese necessary for the finish.

Shallots and Mushrooms – the Key to Ben’s Cognac Risotto…

The next step is an optional one, but I find it adds to the relaxing nature of making risotto. I walked over to the bar and made myself a martini. In what may be a strange coincidence, I’ve learned that the time it takes to drink a martini, is almost exactly the same length of time it takes to make risotto. Not a martini fan? A Manhattan or Negroni will do, or even a glass of the red wine you opened to serve later with the risotto. Trust me on this. It works.

I made the mushroom sauce first and the kitchen filled with that heavenly smell only sautéed mushrooms can bring. After 5 minutes or so, I added the cognac and reduced it, and then added the cream and slowly reduced it some more. I set the sauce aside, and then started to work on the risotto itself. I also let Cathy know dinner would be ready in about twenty minutes, so she could finish setting the table, and pour some wine in our glasses.

Mushrooms, Cognac and Cream – What’s not to like?

After sautéing the shallots, I added the rice to the pan and stirred a bit. I started adding the broth, about a half a cup at a time, to the rice. Next? The ritual – Keep stirring the rice every few seconds; take a sip of martini; let the rice sit a little, then stir, and add the next portion of broth. And, repeat – Stir the broth into the rice, take a sip of martini, let the rice sit a bit, then stir, and add more broth. And repeat. And repeat. And repeat. A bit of zen zone settles in, or at least it does for me. It’s just me, the spoon, and the rice.

In the Zen Zone – Just me, the Spoon, and the Rice…

As I neared the last of the broth, I tasted the rice, checking for chewiness. You still have the mushroom sauce to add, so a little chewiness is OK. I know that if there’s a bit of broth left, it’s not a big deal.

Finally, It was time. I stirred the mushroom sauce into the rice, and let it thicken a bit. I then added the Parmesan and stirred some more. Cathy brought our bowls over, and I put some risotto into each of them, with another dusting of Parmesan on top of each. I took the last sip of my martini, grabbed the bread warming in the oven and crossed to the table. We clinked glasses and then settled into the wonderfulness that is Ben’s Cognac Risotto.

The Wonderfulness that is Ben’s Cognac Risotto…

Cathy asked me if we were maybe celebrating too early, since I hadn’t yet received my test results. I answered I felt good about the tests and wasn’t worried. Besides, it’s a good thing to occasionally celebrate life.

Late the next afternoon, although I hadn’t received a call from the doctor, I logged into my account at her office. The four test results were there – I quickly opened and scanned each of them. Everything was fine, and in fact a couple of tests showed further improvement from last June. The low dairy, low carb diet was working. It also appeared the occasional piece of cheese, serving of roasted potatoes, or bowl of risotto wasn’t having an overly adverse effect on me. I could live with this.

Live is the key word. I’ve reached the age where something is always breaking down, or going a bit haywire in my body. There is always some new thing I need to be aware of for my future health. While healthy over all, Cath and I both have issues that crop up. And of course we have friends who are dealing with greater issues – cancer, loss of eyesight, early onset dementia… getting older isn’t for the faint of heart. But you also have to live, and enjoy life in all of the ways you can. For me, the ritual of risotto is one of those ways, and I’m not ready to give up on it yet. We may not have it as often, but trust me, it’s still going to appear on the menu.

Otherwise, what’s the point?

Addendum:

– * As a side note, I love my doctor, Doctor Emman Hussny, and have been with her for a long time – around twenty years. When she left one practice to start her own, I moved with her. She has a great bedside manner, and encourages leading a healthier lifestyle, without being draconian about it. During checkups, we certainly have discussions about my health, but also discuss other topics of the day. I feel like she genuinely cares about me, and I’m not just another patient flowing through her office.

– Here’s the recipe for Ben’s Cognac Risotto – enjoy! If you want to tone it down a bit, you can substitute milk, or even 2% milk for the cream.

Let Sleeping Dogs Lie…

Let Sleeping Dogs Lie…

Next month, it will be 25 years since our first dog, Top, passed away. He was 17 years old at the time. Recently, I was thinking about him as we were placing baskets on couches and chairs, so our current dog, Carmen, couldn’t hop up for a quick snooze while we were out and about. We weren’t that smart with Top, and he took full advantage of our negligence. He was a covert couch sleeper the entire time he was with us.

Some of our German friends often said Top was “einmalig”, which translates to “one of a kind.” He was definitely that. We have tons of stories about him – eating a cherry (and only the cherry) off the top of a danish; chasing and catching bees; leaping out of a moving car while traveling with Cathy; earning the nickname “Deerslayer” from our running group; hating cats, except for Vincent, who lived next door to us; eating half a ham one Christmas, as Cathy and I were opening our presents; learning how to open an outside door and letting himself out for a walk… The list goes on. This story is about him outfoxing us and sleeping on the couch.

Top, Early in His Life

From day one, Top wasn’t allowed on the furniture, unless “asked”. That is, he sat in front of you, looked cute and stared at you. If you didn’t invite him to join you, he knew he wasn’t allowed on the furniture. And for all intents and purposes, he respected that rule … as long as we were at home. If we were out of the house, there were evidently a different set of rules. Top’s Rules. Since there was no one to ask, he presumed it was OK to grant himself permission, and would jump on the couch for a nap.

Through much of Top’s life, when we arrived home and opened the door, there he was, sitting in the entry way with his tail wagging, eager to see us. You could look over at the couch, see the indentation where he’d been sleeping and feel his warmth on the cushion. Of course we were never able to catch him. He was too clever for that. We drove Saabs for much of that time period, and although I could never prove it, I always suspected he recognized the unique engine noise of a Saab, and knew it was his cue to leave the couch.

As the years went by, Top grew older, and had some hearing loss. When you arrived home, turned the key in the lock and opened the door, you would hear him spring off the couch and run over to the entryway. There he greeted you, looking innocent. We didn’t catch him in the actual act of laying on the couch, and so ignored the transgression.

More time passed and he became a senior dog, getting deafer and a bit creakier. Now when we arrived home and opened the door, he would still be on the couch, just starting to sit up, looking sleepy and a bit chagrined. He’d hop down and walk over to greet us. We’d admonish him, but only a bit. Who could blame an old guy for wanting a soft and warm place to sleep?

In the last year or so of his life, his hearing was pretty much gone. We’d come home, unlock and open the door, and come inside. No dog to greet us, no dog springing off the couch and trotting over, no dog looking embarrassed and walking slowly to the door. We’d look at the couch, and there was Top, curled up in a ball sleeping, while softly snoring. We’d walk on in and quietly go about our business. If it was dinner time, we’d go to the couch and gently wake him for his evening meal. Otherwise, he’d snooze away a bit, and eventually wake up. He’d hop down and find us in the kitchen, or wherever, and walk up to say hello and receive a pet.

A few months later, it was time, and we eased him over the rainbow bridge. It was a sad day, weekend and month. As with all things, time eventually passed and the pain lessened.

Flowers we Received from our Friend, Don, at Top’s Passing

We still think of Top, laugh at his antics and tell his stories. Of course many of our friends have heard the stories more than once. Maybe because Top was “einmalig”, or maybe because he was our first dog, we tell more stories about him than any of our other pets. I’m sure they are a bit boring to others, but for me, it’s a way of keeping his memory alive. He’s been gone for 25 years now, but will never be gone from our hearts.

Addendum:

Here’s another blog about Top from the past. I don’t know if our dog Top could bark in both German and English, but he had a fluent understanding of the two languages … We discovered this outside our local Bäckerei (Bakery), when an old German lady bent down, looked at Top and said “Gib mir deine Pfote”. As she extended her hand, Top […]. Continue at: https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2020/07/15/our-bilingual-dog-top/

The Lions and the Warthogs

The Lions and the Warthogs

When we returned to the Chobe Game Lodge, we were still animated from our safari that afternoon. The manager asked us how it went, and we excitedly told him about the lions hunting the warthogs. He asked “Ahhh, and who did you bet on?”

We had arrived at the Lodge the afternoon before. Located in Chobe National Park, it’s a wonderful setting. The Park is particularly known for some of the largest elephant herds anywhere in the world and didn’t disappoint – we saw hundreds of elephant along the Chobe River on our drive to the Lodge that first day.

The next morning, we were on safari when our guide, Thuso*, received a radio call that lions were at a certain location near the river. We quickly changed our route and drove to the spot by the Chobe. Sure enough, there were a couple of female lions and we watched them, as they settled in for a sleep. We were told they had cubs, but the cubs stayed out of sight in the brush. For me, big cat sightings are always special, and this time was no exception.

Settling in for a Snooze

Eventually we moved on and resumed our planned route. For the rest of the morning we had the opportunity to see plenty of ellies, baboons and male Kudu. We’d seen plenty of female kudu on previous safaris, but it was a treat to see the males with their huge spiraling horns. Later, we returned to the Lodge for lunch, and siesta time.

I love the Kudu’s Spiraling Horns

When we left for our afternoon game drive, it was bittersweet. After three weeks of travel, this was the final safari of the vacation and our friends, Bill and Sharon, would fly back to the States the next day. We made a joke with Thuso about it being our last safari, and we hoped she could make it special. She laughed, and then said “Let’s go back and check on the lions. I doubt they moved during the heat of the day.”

Our Wonderful Guide, Thuso

We drove for twenty minutes or so and arrived back at the location of the lion sighting from that morning. As we pulled around a corner, there they were, not two, but seven lions sleeping or lounging in the shade. We watched for the next twenty minutes, as the pride woke up, and started moving around. It was fascinating to see their nonchalance as they slowly stood, stretched and nuzzled one another.

The Pride Starts Coming to Life

The matriarch of the pride eventually crossed the path in front of us and strolled to a nearby stream for a drink of water. Thuso quietly said “I think she is on the hunt.” and pointed out two warthogs, perhaps two hundred yards away, foraging along the bank of the Chobe River. As the lion drank from the stream, her view was fixed on the warthogs. She crossed the stream, and after sitting briefly, slowly started covering the distance to her prey.

The Lioness was Keeping her Focus on The Task at Hand

Meanwhile, while there was no apparent communication, the rest of the pride slowly stood up, and one by one, at perhaps one or two minute intervals, crossed the road, and made their way to the stream for a drink, and then oh so slowly, followed the matriarch’s lead.

As the matriarch proceeded towards the warthogs, she occasionally slowed or stopped, or shrunk down to the ground. The rest of the lions followed her lead and acted similarly. While she moved on a straight line to the warthogs, the rest of the pride slowly spread to the left as they crossed the stream. With the River on the far side preventing the warthogs movement in that direction, the lions spread in a lazy “L” to the left, creating something of a classic ambush setup. The warthogs were blocked in on three sides and oblivious to what was about to happen. We were barely breathing as we watched the lions set up the attack.

The Lions Set Up a Classic Ambush Pattern

The matriarch was pretty much low crawling at this point. Finally, she was perhaps fifteen yards from the nearest warthog. She paused, then, with a leap, charged the warthogs. And…

Two of the Lions and One of the Warthogs. Note the Lead Lion in the Crouch

Do you remember watching the Roadrunner cartoons as a kid? When the roadrunner disappears in a flash of speed and a cloud of dust? That is exactly what the warthogs did. The warthogs turned to the left, turned on their afterburners (who knew warthogs had afterburners!?!) and were gone. I swear, they moved 50 yards instantly. The lead lion raced for perhaps ten yards, and then just stopped. The other lions didn’t do much more than stand up to join the chase, and immediately stopped as well. We watched the dust trails form behind the warthogs as they raced parallel to the Chobe River. They were quickly out of sight and all we saw was their dust lingering in the air.

We were silent for a second, and then all of us burst out laughing and talking at the same time. Of all the possible outcomes, this was one we had never anticipated. The lions had a great setup, they had three sides blocked, and yet, the warthogs made their escape, and made it look easy.

We eventually continued on our safari and saw several more animals, but the hunt didn’t leave us. Even as we drank our last sundowners that evening, the lions and the warthogs dominated the conversation. We had spent close to an hour watching the hunt. It would have been hard to find a better way to end our final safari of the vacation.

The Perfect Ending to our Last Safari with Bill and Sharon. We were Still Laughing about the Lions and the Warthogs

Returning to the Lodge, we were still animated. We saw the manager and he asked us how the afternoon went. We quickly and excitedly told him about the lions hunting the warthogs. He asked “Ahhh, and who did you bet on?” We looked at each other and all of sheepishly admitted we mentally bet on the lions. He chuckled, and then with a smile, said “Never bet against the Warthog.”

Addendum:

⁃ * Thuso was the first female guide we had on this trip, or on our previous trip to Africa. In fact, all of the Guides at the Chobe Game Lodge are female. They must meet the same exact standards of schooling, tests and field work as the male guides. She was an excellent guide – as good as any of our previous guides at the other locations.

⁃ Thanks to Bill Reichhardt for the great photo of the stalking lions. When I asked him whether he had any pics of the hunt, he replied “This shot shows two of the lions and the intended prey – the super speedy warthog – just before he turned on the afterburners. I didn’t have a fast enough shutter speed set for that.” ;-). If you want to see more of Bill’s wonderful photos from Africa, you can view them here: http://billreichphoto.com/

⁃ This is the eighth and final blog about our 2021 trip to Africa. The previous blogs are listed here, in the reverse order of their publishing.

⁃ This is the second time we have used Karen Dewhurst, of Sikeleli Travel & Expeditions as our travel consultant. After working with her in 2018, there was no doubt we would use her and Sikeleli again. All accommodations were amazing, the food and wine excellent, the logistics and travel arrangements perfect and the animal viewing exceeded all expectations. If you are coming to this part of the world, I highly recommend her and them. You can reach Karen at: karen@sikelelitravel.com | (+27) 81 067 1094 (South Africa). Their overall website is at: https://sikelelitravel.com/ .

The Orange Crock-Pot

The Orange Crock-Pot

‘Fess up. Who owns, or owned, one of these beauties from the ‘70s? Long before there were Slow Cookers or Instant Pots, there were Crock-Pots. Ours is from 1974 and still chugging along. Seriously, 1974 and it still works. What else do you have that old, and still working? And, you have to love the color…

Cathy’s Crockpot from 1974 – Still Chugging Along…

It’s the 50th anniversary of the invention of the Crock-Pot. Appliance maker Rival unveiled it in 1971 at the National Housewares Show in Chicago. Ads and commercials represented the Crock-Pot as a wonderful, time-saving device, assuring women (yes, this was the ‘70s – almost all cooking related ads focused on women) it would simplify their lives. Hell, baseball player Joe Garagiola even became a pitchman for the Crock-Pot, hawking it as “the perfect gift”. And of course, the Crock-Pot would do all of this great work in those fabulous ‘70 colors.

A Couple of Vintage Crock Pot Ads From the 70s

That color – I’m not sure if it’s called burnt orange, red orange, or just mutant orange. It’s a color you can’t forget. Quite frankly, it and the colors “Autumn Gold” and “Avocado” represent the ‘70s as much as disco, polyester and bell bottoms. If you see anything in one of those colors, you pretty much know what decade it came from.

Burnt Orange, Harvest Gold, and Avocado Green – the Holy Trinity of 70s Colors

Cathy bought this particular Crock-Pot at the age of 18 in the summer of 1974. It was just prior to moving to Washington DC and a job with the FBI. Over the past 47 years, our Crock-Pot has made countless chilis, soups, stews, roasts, and other dishes. We have cooked with it in Germany, Georgia, Oklahoma, Ohio and Virginia. It crossed the Atlantic four times. How many things do you have that have been with you your whole marriage? This pot, along with our love, is one of the few things that has survived those 43 years. It’s pretty much indestructible and part of the fabric of our lives.

Having retired, I do much of the cooking around the house these days and often braise, roast or slow cook in the oven itself. Still, there are some recipes that just call out for the Crock-Pot. I think the simplicity of the device helps – you fill it with the food you are cooking; pick one of the two heat choices, low or high; and walk away for 6, 8, or 10 hours. What’s not to like, other than perhaps the color?

Summer is ending, autumn is arriving, and winter will soon be here. This ol’ Crock-Pot will again earn it’s keep, providing us with comfort food this autumn and winter. Sure, it has a couple of chips around the rim, but the heater still works fine and the lid sits securely on top. It does it’s job. In fact, it does it’s job much better than any number of devices from this century. It just keeps ticking along and will probably be with us for another decade or two. Now that I think about it, we should list it in our Trust for one of our nieces or nephews… 😉

Africa and Covid Testing

Africa and Covid Testing

In three weeks, we depart for Africa. We’ll have our first (but not last) Covid PCR* test 48 hours prior to departure. In fact, it will be the first of four Covid tests during the vacation. Although the State Department says we shouldn’t travel to South Africa, Zimbabwe, or Botswana due to Covid, it turns out all are much safer than traveling to Florida.

When we board our plane here in the States bound for Johannesburg, South Africa, we need to show the result of a test taken not more than 72 hours prior to our departure. When we enter Zimbabwe, a day after arriving in South Africa, the TEST RESULTS themselves can’t be older than 48 hours PRIOR to the beginning of our travels. Given that it takes at least 16 hours here locally to receive test results back (for a PCR test, not the rapid test), the logistics are doable, but a bit … challenging.

A week later, when we travel from Zimbabwe to Botswana, we’ll need another PCR test. Eight days after that, when we return from Botswana to South Africa, we will receive our third PCR Test. Finally, when we return from South Africa to the States, we will have our fourth Covid PCR test. None of the tests can be older than 48 or 72 hours, depending on each country’s requirements, hence, the number of tests required. Karen, our travel agent, has already scheduled the tests in Africa for us.

Our Covid PCR Tests are Already Scheduled in Africa

The Department of State is currently warning against travel to Zimbabwe, Botswana and South Africa due to the increase in Covid cases in all three countries. Here’s the interesting part. The current number of weekly Covid infections per 100,000 people in each of these countries is:

Zimbabwe – 13 infections per 100,000 people

Botswana – 318 infections per 100,000 people

South Africa – 136 infections per 100,000 people

Guess what Covid weekly infection rates are per 100,000 people in Florida, Louisiana, Texas, and Mississippi?

Florida – 691 infections per 100,000 people

Louisiana – 720 infections per 100,000 people

Texas – 397 infections per 100,000 people

Mississippi – 753 infections per 100,000 people

The United States over all – 306 infections per 100,000 people

Seriously. And they are worried about us traveling to South Africa, Botswana and Zim.

In Africa, the precautions don’t stop with the tests. We will fill out health questionnaires at border crossings and hotels. At the Safari Camps where we are staying, the staff are all 100% vaccinated. If they depart the camp, they are retested upon return, and all staff are temperature tested twice daily. They will also temperature test us once per day. All staff members are masked. They will clean and sanitize all public and private areas as they are used.

Is there risk in going on this trip? Sure. There’s always risk. In addition to Covid, there is also the chance of malaria, typhoid fever, cholera, hepatitis, tetanus, stomach distress, and assorted other diseases.

Cath and I, along with our friends Bill and Sharon have discussed the risks and received continual updates from Karen. For Covid, we will mask as needed, distance from others as required, and wash our hands frequently. Although the vaccination rate is not as high in these countries as it is in the US (due to vaccine access), they are doing the right things to minimize the risks.

As to the other diseases, it’s amazing. They have these wonderful things called vaccines and vaccine boosters now that take care of several of the diseases. For the rest, good hygiene and drinking water only from known sources solves most potential issues. As a side note, Cathy and I have had our International Vaccination cards for decades – they are a great way to keep track of the current status of all of our vaccines, boosters and shots. It’s unclear to me whether owning these card makes us a part of some International Communist conspiracy or not :-).

International Vaccination Certificates are a Great Thing to Have.

All four of us are unbelievably excited about the trip. Originally scheduled for September of 2020, we postponed a year, due to covid overall. Now? We are ready to go.

Risks? Yes, we are ready to take some risks, and travel to Africa. Just don’t ask us to go to Florida, Louisiana, Mississippi or Texas. There are some risks we just won’t entertain.

Addendum:

• For international travel, you must have a PCR test, not the rapid test. It is considered more reliable. Unfortunately, it takes longer to receive the results.

• US Covid statistics are at this link if you want to look up your state: https://covid.cdc.gov/covid-data-tracker/#trends_dailycases_7daycasesper100k

• African Covid statistics were provided via Reuters. You can look at countries world wide at the following location: https://graphics.reuters.com/world-coronavirus-tracker-and-maps/countries-and-territories/botswana/ They provide US overall statistics there as well, which match closely to CDC statistics.

Pizza on the Grill

Pizza on the Grill

We recently bought a new gas grill. I’ve always been a charcoal guy, but decided to add a gas grill as well. So – what would be the first meal to come off the grill – Steaks? Brats? Burgers? Chicken? A Pork Tenderloin? It turned out to be a Pizza Margherita. Yep. Seriously. What the hell!?! Well, there’s a bit of a story to go with the decision.

For the last 40 years, I’ve cooked on (mostly) Weber Kettle charcoal grills. The smoke, the flame, the flavor, it all just worked for me. Yea, I always knew there was a bit of inconvenience to it, but that was no big deal, and I’d argue with “gas guys” about why charcoal was superior.

When Cathy’s mom passed away in 2010, we inherited her gas grill. It took me a bit of time to cook on it, but I made the adjustment. I still mostly cooked with charcoal, but if I was in a hurry, or occasionally had something that just needed a quick sear, like shrimp, I’d use mom’s grill. It was also put to use when we did our annual Oktoberfest Run at the farm – When you need to cook 125 Brats and warm up 100 soft pretzels, all available cooking surfaces are pressed into service.

Last week, two independent events happened that changed my outlook.

First, the New York Times cooking section had an article about making your own pizza. I’d always shied away from making my own pizzas in the past. Making the dough seemed like more effort than it was worth. The Time’s recipe? Easy. You just needed a bit of time. It also had a simple recipe for the sauce. Still, it seemed that, while you could make a good pizza in your oven, the oven still wasn’t Pizzeria-oven hot, not even close. I know lots of people make great pizza at home, but it gave me pause.

The second event? Cathy and I talked and decided to buy a new gas grill to supplement our charcoal grill. Mom’s old grill was toast. Maybe I’m getting old. Maybe I’m getting soft. In any case, I bit the bullet, and bought a new gas Weber grill. Now with the Weber, as I was reading through the manual, they recommend heating the grill to it’s highest temperature for 20 or 30 minutes before you ever use it. I’m not sure why, maybe to help season everything.

In any case, the day the grill arrived, I heated that puppy up for about half an hour. I went out later to shut it down and glanced at the temperature. Whoa! Over 600 degrees!

A Pizza Oven of a Different Sort

That got me to thinking. 600 degrees still isn’t the 1,000 degrees of a wood pizza oven, or as hot as a commercial pizza oven. But, it’s hotter than most home ovens.

A wood oven, at 1,000 degrees takes about 60 seconds to cook the perfect pie. What could I do at 600 degrees? I decided to find out.

I kept it simple for my first try and just went with a traditional Pizza Margherita. On Saturday afternoon I made the dough and let it rise. While that was happening, I made the sauce they recommended, which was really simple – blended crushed tomatoes, a bit of salt and a swirl of olive oil. I added some garlic and oregano.

The Two Dough Balls for the Crusts

About an hour before dinner time, I put my baking-stone on the grill and started heating it up.

Next? I had a cocktail, got a bottle of Zin out of the cellar and relaxed a bit. Finally it was time to assemble the pizza.

I formed the pie, added some sauce, then placed mozzarella cheese on it, and scattered some basil leaves. I added a quick swirl of olive oil and a grating of pepper. I kept the second round of dough handy, in case I screwed up the first pizza. Into the Weber the pizza went. Six minutes later, I took it out.

Homemade Pizza – Yea Baby!

It looked delicious. I let it cool for a minute or two. Yes, I still remember burning the roof of my mouth on occasion with pizzas straight from the oven… 😉

Finally, it was taste test time, and – Whoa! This was pretty damned good. Was it the best pizza I ever had? No. But it was much better than many pizzas I’ve had. It had a nice crust and a good sauce. The cheese was melted and stringy. This was something I could easily enjoy again and again.

We devoured the first pizza and I quickly made the second one. I added a bit more cheese and basil this time and slid it onto the baking stone. A little under six minutes later, I pulled it out. I’d say Cathy liked the pizza as well, as the second one was also quickly gone.

The Second Pizza was as Good as the First.

I realize I’m late to the “make your own pizza party”, but I’m on board now. The grill made me a believer. I’ve got a few topping ideas for the next pizzas, and some thoughts on how I could improve just a bit. Practice makes perfect, or so they say.

So…I bought this Weber Grill that makes good pizzas. I hear it’s not bad with steaks either. We’ll see sometime in the future.

Addendum:

– I love pizza, although we don’t eat it as much these days (that may change now). I think that’s partly because we have to drive 15 or 20 minutes to the nearest pizza places. It sounds foolish, but growing up in Ottawa, Illinois, we had several great pizza places, and I think it spoiled me a bit. Foremost among the places in Ottawa was Sam’s and Bianchi’s. They are legendary back home. Anyone returning for a visit almost always stops at one of those two places for a pie. If you want to read about me having pizza 116 times at Sam’s in 1972, you can do so here: https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2017/04/14/sams-pizza-in-1972/

– Here’s a link to the article from the NYT than inspired me. Give it a shot – it really is pretty simple. https://www.nytimes.com/2014/04/09/dining/a-little-pizza-homework.html

An Accidental Night in Chicago

An Accidental Night in Chicago

The night wasn’t supposed to happen. As a matter of fact, in today’s post 9-11 world, it couldn’t happen. They never would have made it through security. But in 1991? Yea, my buddies Howard and June sprung me from O’Hare Airport during a layover, and we had an unexpected night in Chicago.

It was July 2nd, 1991 and I’d been in Omaha, Nebraska for a week. We were running communications tests on the President’s “other plane” – the National Emergency Airborne Command Post (NEACP – pronounced Kneecap). NEACP is the plane the president uses in the event of a nuclear attack. The tests went well and ended quicker than expected. As a result, I was racing to the airport to try and catch a flight home that evening, rather than my scheduled flight the next day.

NEACP – The President’s Other Plane

I made the airport with twenty minutes to spare and was able to get a ticket. At the time, there were no direct flights from DC to Omaha and I would need to connect through Chicago with a two hour layover. At the airport, I found a pay phone (don’t forget this was the pre-cellphone age) and called my buddies June and Howard in Chicago to see if they could meet me at the airport for a beer (remember pre 9-11 times at the airport? Anyone could walk out to the plane gates, and in fact, many people did. Usually not for a beer, but to meet loved ones when their plane arrived). Neither Howard or June were home so I left them a message on their answering machine. I figured the odds of them receiving the message AND making it to the airport on time were between slim and none. I ran to the plane and boarded.

An Entry From my Journal About the Weekend in Question*

An hour and a half later we landed in Chicago and I left the plane. I’ll be damned – both June and Howard were there at the gate to meet me! Handshakes all around and we found a bar near the gate I would fly out of two hours later.

We drank a couple of beers and June offhandedly said “Why don’t you spend the night?” I told him United wouldn’t let it happen, and how I was lucky to be on this flight at all. Then we thought, what the hell, let’s give it a shot. I walked over to the ticket agent at the gate and talked with him about changing my connecting flight to the next day. We went back and forth about it, but he gave me about fifteen reasons why he couldn’t do it. I walked back to the bar, which was within site of the agent and reported to the boys that it was no dice.

The Chances of Spending the Night in Chicago Didn’t Look Good*

Howard wasn’t going to take no for an answer. He set his beer down and marched over to the agent. He proceeded to berate the agent and said something like this to him – “What kind of American are you? Here’s my friend, a soldier doing his duty protecting our country while here you are, sitting on your ass and not doing anything to help out. My friend puts his life on the line every day – don’t you think he’s worth that small gesture?” (Or words to that effect. Howard was pretty animated – as he related to me recently, he was performing on stage regularly then including at the Improv Olympic in Chicago. That gave him some of the confidence to pull off the role of “irate friend”). They talked a bit more and Howard came back to the table with a smile – It was on! The agent gave me a return ticket for the next day and we left O’Hare.

We were starving by now, and headed to a new Giordano’s Pizzaria. At the time, Giordano’s had only two or three locations in Chicago, and no where else. We ordered a couple of stuffed pizzas along with a few more beers. The night progressed. From there, it was on to another bar, and then to a bar across the street from their apartment for a final beer and a tequila (or two). We finally made it to bed around 1:30AM.

The next morning, I was moving a bit slowly. When I woke up, Howard was already gone, as he had to be at work early. June and I cleaned up and went out for a quick breakfast, before he drove me back to the airport. We arrived at 10:15, just in time to catch my 11:10 flight – it was my original flight, before I rescheduled everything the day before… ;-).

It was an unexpected night in Chicago with my oldest friends. What could possibly be better?

Howard, Me and June, Two Months Later in September of 1991. I was Back in Illinois for a Couple More Days. Bloodies were Evidently on the Menu this Particular Day.

Addendum:

⁃ * I’ve kept a journal for decades. I’ve rarely used it for any of my blogs, because I’m usually sporadic about what I write. When I was younger, it seems I wrote in it most often while traveling. The “writing” pictures you see in this blog are extracts from the journal. I’ve told this particular story several times before, but never looked in my journal to see if I recorded it. I was looking for something else, and came across these entries. My memory was pretty close to what I had written, although I didn’t specifically remember going to Giordano’s, drinking tequila that night, or the breakfast the next day. Those recollections are straight from the journal.

⁃ Thanks to June (Tim Stouffer) and Howard (Kim Johnson) for contributing to this blog. Thanks even more for being lifelong friends.

⁃ If you want to learn more about the NEACP, you can do so here: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Boeing_E-4 .

⁃ The job I had in the Army at the time was pretty interesting, and involved Nuclear Command and Control (C2) systems, among other things. A week after this trip on NEACP, I went to Norfolk for a week and was on the USS Nassau, a Tarawa Class Amphibious Assault ship. We were again testing Nuclear C2 systems.

Young Love

Young Love

Next week on the 16th of June, Cath and I will celebrate our 43d wedding anniversary. In an interesting twist, the 15th of June is the 49th anniversary of our first date in 1972. Cathy was all of 16 years old, and I was the older man at 17. To tell the whole story though, you need to go a couple months before then, when I turned her down for a Sadie Hawkins dance at our high school.

Every year in the spring, Ottawa Township High School (OTHS) held a Spring Formal which was also a Sadie Hawkins Dance. That is, the girl asks the boy to the event. (Do they still have those? Maybe it doesn’t matter anymore. For that matter, does anyone remember Li’l Abner or Dogpatch, where Sadie Hawkins Day* originated? ). In 1972, I was a junior and Cathy Snow was a sophomore. We knew each other a bit from Student Council. Well, one evening in March, I received a call at home. The young Miss Snow was on the line, and after a bit of small talk, asked me if I would go to the Spring Formal with her. Alas, I had to turn her down, as two days before, I’d been asked by a girl in my class named Gail. The call ended pretty quickly after that.

Cathy Snow at 16…

Fast forward two months. My friend Howard and I were at Pitsticks, a local swimming place with a beach, and ran into Cathy and our mutual friend, Lori Lyle. We made small talk back and forth and at some point Cathy asked if I wanted to swim out to the diving platform and off we went. Of course I had to exhibit my prowess as a swimmer and did a one and a half off the high dive. (I wasn’t going to waste the opportunity to try and impress a prospective date.) Cathy played her part and said to me “Great Dive! You looked like a knife going through soft butter when you entered the water!” My strategy appeared to be working… ;-). In later conversations, she mentioned she and Lori might be out and about riding their bikes that night. I answered back that I’d thought about going for a bike ride that night as well, and maybe I’d run into them. With that, we said our goodbyes and went back to our respective spots on the beach.

That evening after dinner, I grabbed my bike and started riding around the south side of town looking for Cathy and Lori, but didn’t see them anywhere. Eventually I stopped at a store and went inside to buy a pop. While inside, Cathy and Lori rode by, saw my bike outside the store, stopped and came inside.

Everyone seemed pretty happy to connect. We talked a bit and then went back outside and the three of us rode around town together. Eventually, we ended up back at Cathy’s house at 305 Houston Street and had some ice tea on the back porch.

305 Houston Street. The back porch is on the left side of the house.

Unbeknownst to me, Cath and Lori weren’t sure which of the two of them I might be interested in. Cath had asked me to the dance, however, Lori and I had known each other from church for quite a while. They had a plan. After a bit of time, Lori would say she had to head home. They figured if I said I had to leave as well and rode off with Lori, I was interested in her. If I stayed there when she left, I was interested in Cathy.

Dusk arrived and Lori said she was going to ride home. I wished her a good night and stayed at Cathy’s… 😉

As it grew dark, we talked, and then talked some more. Finally, around 1030PM or so, I said I ought to go home. We walked to the steps leading off the porch, and while I was trying to work up the courage to kiss her goodnight, proceeded to talk another half hour or so. Suddenly, about 11PM, her mom, Faye, appeared at the inside door to the porch in a black nightgown and said “Ina Catherine, I think it’s time to come to bed.” Family history reports I was on my bike and riding away before she finished the sentence (in retrospect, we should have found a more private place to say our goodbyes. Her parent’s bedroom was directly above the porch.)

Two nights later, on June 15th, we had our first official date. I picked Cath up with my folk’s car and we went to the Perky Putt golf course (miniature golf) on the north side of town. While I have no clear recollection of the results, Cathy remembers soundly beating me. Afterwards, we went to a small drive-in restaurant on the Illinois River called the Sanicula Marina. We both ordered Black Cows and proceeded to walk along the river. I did kiss her goodnight that evening, but it was on the front porch, not the side porch under her parent’s windows…

Miniature Golf at Perky Putt and Black Cows at Sanicula Marina – it doesn’t get much more romantic… 😉

As they say, the rest is history. We dated all summer, and then into the school year. And the next spring when she asked me to the Sadie Hawkins dance again? I quickly said yes that time around.

Spring Formal (The Sadie Hawkins Dance) in 1973 – I said yes, the second time around.

We have almost five decades together as a couple now, and it’s definitely true – Time flies when you’re having fun.

Addendum:

  • * From Wikipedia – “Sadie Hawkins Day is an American folk event and pseudo-holiday originated by Al Capp’s classic hillbilly comic strip Li’l Abner (1934–1978). This inspired real-world Sadie Hawkins events, the premise of which is that women ask men for a date or dancing. “Sadie Hawkins Day” was introduced in the comic strip on November 15, 1937.”
  • Thanks to my lovely wife, Cathy for her contributions to this blog. In particular, her memories of the day at Pitsticks are more specific than mine, including the comment that my dive “looked like a knife cutting through soft butter”.
  • Thanks to Debi Hillyer for the photo of Sanicula and Curtis Wasilewski for the picture of the Perky Putt score card. A special thanks to Mike Peabody for the photo of Cathy’s old home at 305 Houston Street. In a strange twist of fate, Cathy babysat Mike and his sister Michelle when they were young children living across the street. Mike moved out of Illinois for years and only recently returned to Ottawa. When the home became available, he and his wife bought it.

The Last Lonely Singing Cicada

The Last Lonely Singing Cicada

Get ready. They are coming. You may have heard the seventeen year cicadas are due in our area in another month or so. From mid May to mid June we will have literally billions of singing cicadas. The goal of all that singing? Sex. That’s right, sex. After seventeen years underground, they emerge, eat a bit, the males sing in a chorus, they all have sex, the females lay eggs and everyone dies off. That’s it.

The last time they were here? 2004. I have three lasting memories of that visit, but first a bit of background.

For approximately five to six weeks, starting in mid May, the cicadas will overrun us. These particular Cicadas arrive in seventeen year cycles and each of these cycles are called “Broods”. The Broods are numbered in Roman Numerals, and Brood X (10) is about to grace us. This is one of the largest and most widespread, and encompasses Virginia, Maryland, DC, Delaware, West Virginia, North Carolina, Georgia, Kentucky, Tennessee, Illinois, Indiana, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and parts of Michigan and New York.

Given this is the time of Covid, you might be forgiven for thinking in terms of biblical plagues and that cicadas are locusts, but they aren’t. Locusts are actually a type of grasshopper, so we are OK in that regard. The cicadas are relatively safe and do no harm, except for possibly small, young trees. We, and our gardens, are safe. In fact, the cicadas are a boon for the rest of nature. Birds and animals feast on them when they first arrive. Eventually, they’ve eaten so many, they go into the animal version of a food coma after Thanksgiving Dinner and stop munching. The cicadas however, continue to arrive.

After emerging, the male cicadas join together singing in a “chorus” to attract the females of the species. Their singing becomes incredibly loud. Scientists who study these things say the choruses can reach 100-120 decibels, the same as a rock concert. The difference? The cicadas can go on for days. That’s right. We’ll be sitting in the equivalent of about row thirty at Woodstock or Lollapalooza. The only difference is that this will go on for quite a bit more than the three or four days of those rock concerts. if you live in our area, they will be impossible to ignore.

Inevitably, you also hear about eating cicadas. DC based Naturalist, Alonso Abugattas, had this to say: “Cicadas are gluten free, low in fat, low carb, rich in protein (the same pound for pound as beef). They’ve been grilled, skewered, steamed, barbecued, blanched, boiled, and used in cocktails. My old boss would fill the empty skins with Cheez Whiz and serve them as appetizers”. Hmmmm….

I have three memories from the last time they visited us in 2004. The first is that they were loud. I don’t remember rock-concert loud, but they were loud enough you couldn’t hear anything else – no other insects, birds, or even small children at the neighbors.

The second memory involved eating them. No, it wasn’t me eating them. It was our dog, Holly. She loved eating them. Hundreds or thousands of them were in our front garden. Most were on plants at dog-eye level. Holly, God bless her, walked at a slow pace from plant to plant eating cicadas off the tops of the plants as she went. Night came and we called, but she didn’t come in. Bedtime came, we called again and she still refused to come. We decided the hell with it, and left her outside (she was on an underground fence and couldn’t leave the property). Morning came and we went out the back door and found Holly laying there. We opened the door and she slowly came in the house, looking a bit how a dog would look with a hangover, if there was such a thing as a dog hangover. We filled her bowl with food. She took one look at it, walked passed it and headed to bed, where she proceeded to sleep the rest of the day. She had gorged on so many cicadas, she wasn’t hungry for breakfast. I had never seen her ignore a meal before, or for that matter, afterwards.

The final memory is a bit sadder. Eventually the noise of the cicadas started dying down. It went from a roar, to a rumble, to a pleasant buzz, to silence. Total silence. Just like that, they were gone. The great 2004 cicada orgy of sex and sound was over. Except it wasn’t.

About a week later, we heard the unmistakeable sound of a single singing cicada coming from the woods by our house. While not particularly loud, you could definitely hear him. A single lonely cicada singing in the night, looking for a partner. Any partner. It might have gone on for an evening or two, and then it too was silent.

A Cidada from Brood X in 2004

I’ve thought about that cicada off and on over the years. I think about the cruelty of it. You’ve spent seventeen years approximately eight inches underground. A lot has gone on. Finally, it’s your day in the sun, but Mother Nature plays a cruel trick on you. Maybe you had to dig around a rock to get above ground. Maybe you were a little deeper than eight inches under ground. Or, maybe you were having a great dream, and decided to sleep in a couple of extra days. In any case, you finally emerge, ready to join the chorus and have a little sex on the side, and… nothing… nada… nobody. It’s as if you make the trip to Spring Break to party, arrive, and find nobody else is there. Spring Break ended a week before and you never got the word. Now, it’s just you, all alone on the sand with scattered empty beer bottles littering the beach. A day later, you die and don’t even make the trip back home.

OK, OK, I know I went a bit over the top, but I did feel a bit sorry for the guy. Sure lots of other cicadas were eaten by animals (including Holly) when they first emerged. At least they saw and heard some from the Brood. The last guy? All alone in this cruel world.

Anthropomorphism is the attribution of human traits or emotions to non-human entities. We all do it at one time or another, particularly with our pets. I doubt seriously the little guy felt alone, realized he was about to die, or missed out on the sex part. Still, he had to know he was singing for some reason, so maybe he did realize he was missing out on sex with some last gorgeous female cicada. Hell, for all I know, maybe there was one last female in the woods, he found her, they had sex, she laid her eggs, and they both died. I’d like to believe they died happy.

Did he ever find a mate? We’ll never know…

Addendum:

Special thanks to my Sister-in-law, Bonnie Harris. She came up with the great line “all alone on the sand with scattered empty beer bottles littering the beach”…. 😉

Want to learn about cooking cicadas? Here’s an interesting article from Bon Appétit Magazine: https://www.bonappetit.com/uncategorized/article/how-to-cook-cicadas-according-to-3-richmond-va-chefs?fbclid=IwAR3cFD_eY0OZUicbGqP3kGiPD1L5C0fDn0p5phG_xi2wj8MeL3quZU_40xA

If you want to check out more about the cicadas themselves, here are a couple of interesting reads:

– This blog is from Alonso Abugattas, a DC area Naturalist: http://capitalnaturalist.blogspot.com/2021/02/periodical-cicadas.html

– Here is a a great read From the Washington Post: https://www.washingtonpost.com/climate-environment/2021/03/09/cicadas-broodx-environment/

Sh!t Water

Sh!t Water

This is a different kind of Thanksgiving story. How often do you give thanks to the owner of a septic system company on Thanksgiving Day?

In 2001, we had a family gathering at our farm for Thanksgiving. It was only two months after 9-11, and while people were still nervous about travel, many also had a strong urge to spend time with family. We didn’t realize the gathering would precipitate problems with our septic system on the day before Thanksgiving.

Mom Snow came from Alabama, along with Cathy’s aunt Bonnie from Missouri. Cathy’s sister Bonnie (Aunt Bonnie’s namesake) and husband Don flew in from California, along with Don’s folks, Shan and Daddy Don. Counting Cathy and I, there were eight of us in the house, with all bedrooms and the office occupied. We were full.

Mom and Daddy Don in 2001

People arrived the weekend before Thanksgiving, and everyone got along remarkably well. We have a nice sized house, but with eight people, and two and a half bathrooms, there could be a bit of congestion in the mornings and evenings. You might even say the bathrooms were working overtime. With the excess food and alcohol consumption that typically happens at family gatherings, and with four of our guests over 70, my observation in retrospect was there were no “regularity issues” among the group at our home.

At this juncture, it’s worth pointing out we live on a small farm in the country. The house was built in 1976. There are no city water or sewage hookups. For water, we are on a well that’s 264 feet deep and serves both the house, and the barn. For waste disposal, we have a septic system. When we bought the house in 1999, both were inspected by the county and deemed operational.

Thanksgiving week progressed and Cathy noticed a small pool of water had formed near the barn. There were recent rains, so she didn’t think anything about it. The next day, the water was still there and she mentioned it to me. Hmmmm. My first thought was perhaps a pipe from the well to the barn was leaking and the water had surfaced. We checked the water pressure in the barn, and the pump seemed fine, with plenty of pressure. To be honest, that was about the extent of my plumbing expertise at the time, and so I decided to call a plumber.

This was the day before Thanksgiving, so naturally every plumber we called was either busy, or didn’t answer the phone. As I was sitting there grumbling, Daddy Don walked by and asked what the issue was. I explained the pool of water and said I was afraid we might have a busted pipe. He asked “Where’s your septic field?” I pointed vaguely to the back yard and said “Over there.” He answered, “Well the pool of water is just below your field, maybe you have a septic problem.”

What?! Jeez, eight people in the house. I certainly hoped that wasn’t the problem. Erring on the side of caution, I thought it was worth checking out. I looked in the phone book, and found All Star Septic, in the village of Hume just a few miles away. I gave them a call and they answered. Even more miraculously, they could have someone out in a couple of hours. In the meantime, I advised everyone to stay away from the small pool of water, in case it was contaminated.

All Star Septic – “You Make it, We Take it”

An hour or so later, a septic truck pulled up, and a man climbed out. It was Chris, the Owner of All Star Septic. We shook hands, and I explained to him what the issue was. He just kind of nodded his head, then said “Where’s the pool of water?” I told him it was by the barn, and we walked over there. Chris looked around a bit and then squatted down next to the pool. He dipped a finger into the water, and held it up to his nose. He then matter of factly said,

“Uhh yep, that’s shit water”.

And with that declaration, we found out we had a septic problem.

I laughed internally to myself about all the cautions I’d taken with the water, and here was Chris dipping his finger in it. I also had the thought I probably wouldn’t shake his hand goodbye.

I mentioned to Chris about eight people at the house for the next several days through the weekend. He answered back that probably explained part of the problem. The house typically only had two people using the septic system and was now overloaded. Chris then said he couldn’t fix the problem right then (it was the day before Thanksgiving afterall), but he could pump out our tank(s) and that should help in the short term.

Chris, from All Star Septic

I thanked him profusely and he proceeded to pump out the two tanks. He commented the tanks looked fine and the problem was something “downstream” and we could tackle that a bit later.

Chris was right, and pumping the tanks removed the immediate issue. On Thanksgiving Day, much like Arlo Guthrie in Alice’s Restaurant, “We had a Thanksgiving dinner that couldn’t be beat, went to sleep, and didn’t get up until the next morning.” Unlike Arlo, for us, the rest of the week passed without incident and the pool of water disappeared. Chris had provided us with a temporary solution that worked, and held for the week everyone was there.

When I think back over the years about Thanksgiving, it is the celebrations that were different that I remember – the Thanksgivings in Germany when we had bachelor Lieutenants over, because they had no where else to go; serving Thanksgiving in the mess hall to the troops; celebrating in Vienna, Austria one year; the time I flew home on Thanksgiving Day itself, due to work delays; and yes, the year Chris, from All Star Septic, saved the day.

My guess is with Covid, Thanksgiving 2020 will also be special, or different if you prefer, and is one all of us will remember for a long time. I hope you make the most of the day, and give thanks for family, friends, and the things in your life that are important to you now, and always. Peace be with you.

Addendum:

  • The rest of the story about our septic field is a bit anticlimactic. Chris did return later and fix the problem. It turned out the previous owners had built the drive to the barn directly over the distribution box for the septic drain field. Over time, the distribution box caved in and the effluents were only going out through three of the distribution pipes in the drain field, instead of all nine. That was fine when just a few people were at the house, but when there were eight of us, it was too much for the three pipes to handle. The end result was the pool forming near the barn. So, our guests didn’t cause the problem, but in fact highlighted the already existing problem. It had probably been that way for years. Chris replaced the distribution box, and several of the distribution lines connected to the box. We’ve had no problems since, and that includes a couple of parties with over 100 people in attendance.
  • All joking aside, if you live in the Fauquier County, Virginia area and have a septic problem, Chris is the guy you want to call. He’s prompt, reliable, professional, and gets the job done. He’s been our guy ever since the “incident”. You can find his info here: https://allstarseptic.com/ , or call him at: (540) 272-9247.
  • If you’ve never listened to Alice’s Restaurant, by Arlo Gutherie, you need to do so. NOW KID! Set aside about 19 minutes and enjoy it for what it is. It’s a protest song, a Thanksgiving song and it’s just plain funny. I typically listen to it every Thanksgiving. Originally released in 1967, it’s full title is actually Alice’s Restaurant Massacree. Here’s one version: https://youtu.be/m57gzA2JCcM . In 2017, it was selected for preservation in the National Recording Registry by the Library of Congress as being “culturally, historically, or artistically significant”.