Something's Brewing!

Special delivery!

OK! I am back. I have a big, flipping bruise from the IV that covers the entire back of my right hand, but am otherwise, relatively undamaged. Hooray!

So: Kombucha.

I got a freebie SCOBY (Symbiotic Colony Of Bacteria and Yeast- yum) from Cultures For Health the other day. I have been considering making this stuff for awhile- I did like the bottled stuff I got, but that could really add up, and I am all about getting experimental in the kitchen. Making my own kombucha seemed like an intriguing thing to try.

When my SCOBY and other kombucha-making accoutrements arrived, the dehydrated SCOBY looked like- well. Nothing, really. Maybe a large, flat, potato chip? It was brownish and circular, wrapped in a cellophane bag and sealed up. Not much thicker than a piece of paper. Supposedly, it will take 30 days to do its thing and make a batch.

You can juuust see the SCOBY there, at the bottom.

So I dutifully followed the directions: brewed oolong tea, added sugar, and let it cool. (In theory, the sugar will be mostly consumed by the SCOBY during the culturing process) The sugar was extracted from the back of my cupboard- it dates back to pre-paleo days, so...three years ago? It was hard as a rock. I had to chisel at it to get enough to add.  Once cooled, I added white vinegar, and then the SCOBY.

A few days have passed, and it is looking hopeful. The SCOBY is lying peacefully on the bottom of the container, and is about 10 times thicker than it was, and kind of spongey in appearance: it resembles nothing so much as a slim pancake. It has taken up residence in the warm cupboard between the stove top and the fridge, and seems pretty happy in there so far. SG has asked about it- evidently, he thought I had forgotten about it. He seems to enjoy calling it "the chupacabra".

So now, I need to wait for it to work its magic. I was actually contacted by someone at Cultures For Health with info and troubleshooting ideas, which was really cool! We'll have to see how it turns out. I eventually want to try it with alternative sweeteners: I have honey and maple sugar lined up for this, but I was concerned about killing my only SCOBY. Once it reproduces, I should be able to try out a few new things.

I just got back from a massive Trader Joe's run, and am in cooking mode. Tomorrow's going to see some heavy kitchen use- I want to make Paleo Burger Buns (Found on FastPaleo, via Grokette's Primal Musings), to go with burgers and sweet potato fries for tomorrow's dinner. Also in the works, another batch of cheesy kale chips- I am experimenting with a new recipe, so that will be fun. I'll post it if it turns out the way I think it will. I also want to make some Sunbutter and whatever else strikes my fancy.

OMG, the kitchen is going to be thrashed! Worth it, though. ;)

Dibs on Ribs!

I have a confession to make.

I used to love cooking. I am lucky in that I am somehow genetically able to cook. My parents are both handy in the kitchen, but it was the seventies and 80's- I remember lots of casseroles, lamb chops, and broccoli. But I primarily learned how to cook from both my grandmothers.  Those ladies were excellent chefs, in very different ways.

I am Armenian on my Mom's side, and Grandma Marge would do all the special dishes: the cheese borags, the yalanchi, the kufta, and then when we would visit on the weekends, there was always a blow-out giant diner-style breakfast. She would ask what you wanted, and then make it for you. Ham! Eggs! Bacon! Toast! Potatoes! Your plate would be filled, and re-filled. Everything was always delicious., and if you kept eating, she would keep feeding you. Even if we were out and about, you could always count on her to have orange or mint Tic-Tacs in her purse. Always funny, sweet and smiling, and always the consummate hostess. Occasionally (if I was very good) Grandma Marge would let me put fillings in the borags, and help her roll the yalanchi in grape leaves. Most of the time I just watched, wide-eyed, as she draped sheets of tissue-thin phyllo dough like a magician, or fried eggs in bacon grease- something I had never witnessed at home.

The people who lived in her neighborhood after she was widowed would all stop by for treats- she had a sort of open house in the afternoon. So when we would stop by, an ever-changing parade of characters would filter in for iced tea, wedges of melon, or whatever she thought looked "interesting" at the store that day. The family always called her house and enormous kitchen "Maggie's Cafe." She especially loved to feed my Dad, because at 6 feet (she was 4'11"!) she thought he was incredibly tall, and had nicknamed him "Jumbo Jack". She passed away before she could have met my hubby- I know she would have loved him. Although at 6'5", she probably would have kept trying to feed him until he exploded! 

Grandma Ruby was something else entirely. She was German and English, a front line field nurse in WWII, and she didn't take crap from ANYBODY. She was the go-to babysitter, as she lived the closest, and I vividly remember Dad ominously saying, with a twinkle in his eye: "Now, behave yourselves: Grandma SPANKS!" While I only witnessed one spanking, it was old school, with a wooden spoon- I am thankful it wasn't me! A child of the depression, her fridge was always crammed with leftovers. Nothing went to waste, and she could "disguise" just about anything and make it taste delicious.  You soon learned not to ask what was in it- the ingredients in just about everything varied with what she had unearthed in the fridge.

Grandma Ruby drove home the point that cooking had rules. If I was going to help, I had to tie my hair back. There was a little apron in my size, always hanging up behind the kitchen door. I washed my hands, presented them for inspection, and occasionally had to re-wash. We set out all the ingredients beforehand, and cleaned up as we went (something I still struggle with, but you did NOT say no to Grandma R.) While I did have to follow her rules- woe betide me if I neglected to use my thumb as a spatula to get every last bit of egg out of a shell- I had a lot more autonomy, as long as I was careful. She taught me to taste as I went, and if I thought something was a good idea, I could have a little bit extra for "experiments". Heady power for an eight-year old!

Along the way, somehow, I lost all that. Cooking became a chore. I am surprised  at how long it took me to figure out why, but it became evident when I started loving to cook again- when I stopped counting calories, and just focused on real food. It's a lot easier to count the calories you are eating if you can just read it off the back of the box. Breaking down the calories in a recipe is time consuming, and well- a skinless chicken breast with steamed veggies and a half-cup of brown rice isn't exactly inspiring. Does anyone was to photograph that? Probably not. Just the thought of eating it makes me feel kind of- well, uninspired, and sad.

So, if you're still with me...let's talk about ribs.

I have to admit, they initially looked a little....well. Yeah.

I have never made ribs before. Here is the basic recipe I followed, from Paleo For Foodies. I also used their Spicy BBQ sauce recipe. I didn't bother with sauteing anything, just threw it all into the crock.  I regret to say that SOMEONE ate the pineapple I thought I had squirreled away in the back of the fridge, so I couldn't add it in. I settled for a little extra honey, used coconut oil instead of olive oil, and supplemented with a couple of squirts of Sriacha.

As I was going to spend the rest of my day scouring the bathroom, I crossed my fingers, and set the trusty Crock Pot on High for 4 hours.

                                 Behold!

I want my babyback babyback babyback riiiibs

Ok, so the difference isn't really THAT amazing. However, I was knackered after cleaning all day. The thought that dinner was already done was a heady one. And the smell that was drifting out of my kitchen reminded me of those Bugs Bunny cartoons, when the tendrils of scent will bodily pick up a character and waft them through the air, while their eyeballs bulge out and their pupils turn into tiny hearts.  I walked into the kitchen when the timer beeped- to find Moxie, staring fixedly at the CrockPot like this. (See below.)

It is taking all the restraint I have not to Photoshop hearts onto her crazed and bulgy little eyeballs. If she were wearing a t-shirt, it would read, "I <3 U, Crock Pooooooot!"



This recipe is definitely a keeper. Hubby and I both really enjoyed it. I am glad that our Tara Firma box is coercing me to add new items to the repetoire on a continual basis!

The meat was so tender, knives were unnecessary. However, I do recommend paper towels, as these suckers were messy. The sriacha worked really well in this recipe. Oh- and next time, I will be sure to have pineapple to put in, as I think that would have made it even better. Verdict- Super-YUM!



Obligatory finished product photo:

One of those ribs lived to fight another day.  I couldn't finish!

Betty Grokker

  I was worried when I began eating and living more Primally. Most women are a lot more averse to this lifestyle: the fear of fat is so ingrained. I am hesitant to bring up my new lifestyle, especially as I am not anywhere close to svelte, and I want to be a good example, and not be perceived as a horrible warning.

  People who know me well immediately register that I look happier and healthier, but I don't think I "look the part" enough to explain things to complete strangers, and I have a horror of getting all "evangelical" on people who just wish I would shut up about my weird caveman cult thing, already.

My first clue about how different eating Primally was: about a month in, I went to a baby shower, and (STUPID!!! STUPID!!!) didn't eat breakfast before we went. I couldn't drink the mimosas, obviously the bread basket wasn't an option: neither were the fondant-frosted cupcakes or the shower favors, which were full of jellybeans and personalized M&M's- adorable, but in my new life, inedible. When lunch finally came, it was a green salad with chicken breast and strawberries. I wolfed it down. Of course there was no fat to speak of, but I also suspect the salad dressing was laced with sugar. It didn't even dent my inner appetite- in fact, it only seemed to make me hungrier. My stomach growled all the way through the afternoon, through the pleasantries, through the games. I did win one of the games, and my prize was a Whatchamacallit candy bar. #$%&!

It was a good wake-up call: a lot of women eat like this, in the name of health, pretty much constantly. I know I did. And I was always hungry, cranky, and miserable, and somehow, still fat- even when I weighed my chicken and measured my low-cal dressing. I can't believe that I had forgotten that awful gnawing feeling over the course of the month. It was the first time that I realized that hunger like that between meals was not, in fact, normal. And I love knowing that I can eat a decent breakfast, and not worry about my blood sugar crashing through the floor at 10 AM.

That's something that the Primal Blueprint has restored to me: my love of cooking. When you're using fresh, unprocessed ingredients and not counting every calorie, it is so much easier to cook, and what you cook is just effortlessly delicious. I adore kitchen gadgets and time-saving measures, and I HATE doing the dishes, so I typically try to cook once a week for the rest of the week. That day, my friends, was today.

                                                      The Menu:

Mmmmm....chicken!

"Rotisserie Crockpot Chicken" from "A Year of Slow Cooking".This is a fantastic website, all gluten-free, so easily adapted to my needs- when recipes need adapting at all. This particular recipe has been made three times in the past two months at my house- it's a keeper. It's quick, idiot-proof, and also makes its own concentrated stock: even the breast meat comes out moist, not dry. If you've ever wanted to cook with chicken fat, the "schmaltz" this produces is divine.  Lord Grok is addicted to this, and I love that I have shredded chicken for salads and omelettes or what-have-you for the rest of the week.                                                          

Frittata completed, soup in progress.

Chicken Vegetable Soup: My own creation. Even here in sunny Cali, autumn is approaching. I usually make a huge batch of this, and freeze anywhere from 25% of it to half.  When we're sick or feeling lazy, it's like money in the bank. And since we're not sick as often around here, heating it up and bringing it to a sick friend makes me feel like Superwoman.  I'll post a more detailed recipe later, but it's chicken soup the old-fashioned way. With a little prep-help from good old Trader Joe's.

Lord Grok's lunch.

Taco Frittata: Another creation. The beauty of the frittata is that it uses up leftovers seamlessly, it's portable, simple, and it's endlessly adaptable. An easy equation: a large-ish oven-safe frying pan and fat to grease it. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Saute veggies (roasted peppers and onions)and protein (leftover taco meat) on stovetop. When cooked or heated through, pour beaten egg mixture (I used 8 eggs, 1/4 c. milk) over the top. When it's setting on the bottom but still jiggly on top, throw grated cheese on top and stick in the oven until the top looks solid when you jiggle the handle of the pan. Perfection.

It's amazing how I feel , knowing that we pretty much have the cooking out of the way for the week!