Cooking Sunday-An “Impossible” Pie and "Flied Lice”
Okay that bit about the flied lice is the proper Chinese pronunciation of Fried Rice. A delicacy that I quite enjoy from the Chinese restaurants and one, so I figured, that could easily be prepared at home.
The menu for this cooking Sunday included:
Roast
Impossible Peach Pie
Best Chocolate Syrup Brownies
Mine own Chinese Pork
There’s nothing complicated about a roast. Save choosing the type of meat to cook which makes more difference than garlic or savory could ever change.
For too many years I purchased the cheaper cuts of meat, figuring that a slow covered roasting could make any cut tender. Until my husband has to be rushed to the hospital one night with a piece of this tough meat lodged in his gullet.
Now I pick tender pieces of meat, well-marbled and yes, more expensive. This roast was something called a “sirloin tip” and I knew by looking at it that it was tender. If at my age one can’t eat tender meat than what else is there?
With the roast in the oven I began my dessert baking chores. Husband, the famous pie lover, would surely like the “impossible” peach pie I thought. These “impossible” dishes are a promo of Bisquick, the wonder flour that makes cakes, pancakes and impossible dishes that “grow” their own crust during the baking.
Husband liked the pie but complained pointedly that the crust was “strange”. Well hey, it was an easy pie to make as I see it.
Recipe below:
IMPOSSIBLE PEACHES AND CREAM PIE
3 (16 oz) cans peaches; drained
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1 cup whipping cream
2 eggs
3/4 cup granulated sugar
2/3 cup Original Bisquick
Streusel (below)
sweetened whipped cream
Streusel:
1 tablespoon butter; firm
1/4 cup Original Bisquick
2 tablespoons granulated sugar
1/3 cup slivered almonds
Heat oven to 375 degrees F. Grease 10 inch pie plate. Pat peach slices dry; place in plate. Sprinkle with cinnamon and nutmeg; toss. Spread evenly in plate. Beat remaining ingredients except Streusel and sweetened whipped cream until smooth, 15 secs in blender on high. Pour into plate. Sprinkle with Streusel. Bake until knife inserted in center comes out clean, 40-45 mins. Top each serving with whipped cream.
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Next the “Best Chocolate Syrup Brownies” which were, well not quite awful. But pretty bad. Recipe below:
BEST CHOCOLATE SYRUP BROWNIES
1/2 c butter
1 c sugar
3 eggs
dash salt
1 c all-purpose flour
1/4 c chocolate-flavored syrup, canned [like Hershey’s chocolate syrup]
2 tsp vanilla extract
3/4 c chopped walnuts or pecans [opt]
In bowl, cream together butter, sugar, and eggs until very creamy and well blended; add salt. Stir in flour, mixing to blend well. Add chocolate syrup, vanilla, and chopped nuts. Turn mixture into well-greased and lightly floured 9” square pan. Bake at 375 degrees about 35 mins, or till toothpick inserted near center comes out clean. Cool in pan on wire rack, but loosen at edges. Cut into squares. Dust with powdered sugar.
I was suspicious just as soon as I saw that miniscule amount of chocolate flavored syrup. ½ cup? How “chocolate” is that going to be?
It not only was not “chocolate” enough, it was dry and grainy.
I ate the first piece naked and, trying to look on the bright side, thought “this is not too bad”. On the next piece I actually took a fork and poked holes in the top. I then poured MORE chocolate syrup in the holes, figuring I could make it into a sort of brownie sundae.
It still tasted awful.
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Next, the Chinese Pork.
Well I call it Chinese Pork because when husband asks what’s for dinner I have to call it something. What it is is a pork tenderloin, sliced into small pieces then fried quickly in sesame oil in a hot skillet. There is no aroma on earth quite like sesame oil browning meat on the stove. It doesn’t take but five minutes to thoroughly fry the meat. Then right into the skillet I add whatever Chinese ingredients I have on hand. Usually I add some ginger, something called “fish sauce”, soy sauce…like that. And always I add a good dose of some of my husband’s world famous hot sauce because he likes spicy food. He likes my Chinese Pork but I’m not sure it’s not because of the hot sauce than any cooking genius on my part.
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Of course with my Chinese Pork I like to serve rice. Husband’s culinary peculiarities leave me concerned at time that he might be nutritionally deprived. He considers all vegetables The Enemy and such as starches are also not high on his of favorites. With my Chinese Pork he will eat a few spoon fulls of rice when covered with the hot sauce from the meat dish.
THIS week I came upon a recipe for fried rice and figured this was my chance.
Recipe below:
Fried Rice
3 c cooked rice
1 c diced mushrooms or water chestnuts or bean sprouts or peas (or a
combination)
1 c diced leftover cooked ham, chicken, beef or seafood
1/4 c thinly sliced green onion
soy sauce to taste
2 eggs, slightly beaten (opt)
Mix all ingredients, except eggs, in skillet and stir-fry until heated. If desired, cook eggs in small skillet until set, cut in thin strips and sprinkle on mixture. Makes 4 servings. Proportions of ingredients can be changed to suit kind and amount of leftovers.
One major thing…the recipe does not say what KIND of rice. Which to my rice novice self means, instant or not? Myself prefers instant rice simply because it’s easier to make but I’m sure the Chinese carryouts don’t use instant. Still, with no specification I chose the instant stuff.
Which made the fried rice turn out way mushier than anything the Chinese have ever sold me. Although the food itself was absolutely delicious, to my surprise.
I used mushrooms on this Cooking Sunday and frankly I think it was the mushrooms that made the result so delicious.
Mushrooms are truly a food of the gods. They taste like the earth itself, a strong robust taste that, well hey, I like it.
Husband refused to eat the fried rice because he said there were strange things in it. I mentioned the mushrooms and how luscious I thought they tasted.
“They take just like the earth,” I said in my praise.
“Yeah, that’s what I mean,” he mumbled, giving his rice to the dogs.
Who also thought that mushrooms were good things.
Saving Millie
I think Mort Kondrake is a handsome and kind man, if not a bit too liberal for my taste.
The true life story of Mort and his battle to save his wife, Millie, was on the tube this past week and I loved the movie.
What is more unusual, I sat and watched the entirety of the story with no distractions, odd for me who must surf the net, read a book and eat dinner while the TV plays on.
Perhaps it was my knowledge of the main character. Perhaps it was the quality of the acting. Perhaps it was my increasing shock as the show continued on about Parkinson’s Disease and its horrible symptoms.
I suspect it was all three. This and my inner conviction that entirely too much money is spent on AIDS, a disease that afflicts far fewer people than Parkinson’s not to mention diabetes, cancer and heart disease. Triple funds are spent on researching AIDS, a disease that can be prevented so simply, while those afflicted with Parkinson’s have NO choice whatsoever in the matter.
A few observations: Fred Barnes, Mort’s partner in that famous duo known as the “Beltway Boys”, did not have on glasses in the movie. It was a bit un-nerving as Fred just did not look like Fred.
But that’s a minor nit. In fact I have no major nits with the tale. It should be the definitive movie on Parkinson’s.
As a real life aside, today The Wise I saw Mort Kondrake on Britt Hume’s show and his reaction to the Terry Schiavo saga surprised me. For in the movie both Mort and Millie wrestled with the thorny issue of when to end her life. She too had a feeding tube inserted and this was the climax of Mort and Millie’s medical dilemma. In one touching scene, at a time when Millie could only communicate with one finger, Mort asked Millie if she wanted the feeding tube, which she needed because she could not feed herself. Millie moved her finger in their pre-arranged signal that meant NO.
The movie ended but as the epilogue scrolled up the screen I was surprised to read that Millie eventually changed her mind about the feeding tube and had it inserted. And lived for three more years before dying of natural causes according to the same epilogue.
Then I hear Mort ranting on Britt’s show that the government has no business interfering with the Schiavo case, the Florida brain-damaged women whose feeding tube was removed this past Friday. Yet I note the hypocrisy that Mort never had his wife’s feeding tube forcibly removed and that she lived for three years with the tube. Mort was devoted to his wife Millie and remained by her side until her death. Michael Schiavo has long ago moved on with a new lady in his life, two children and a 1.2 million dollar settlement on a malpractice case over Terry’s care. It’s hardly the same thing, Mort.
Not even close.
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American Idol Down to the Final Twelve
Now here’s a reality series that allows one to crochet, read email and tend to other domestic tasks while watching the contest with one eyeball.
Thus it is right up my alley.
Not to mention that I think, even at the first season, that it was a great idea. To those who pooh-pooh, well taste is relative but I would ask, is the nepotistic method of determining who shall sing, using Liza Minnelli as a fine example of this, a better method? Liza is Judy Garland’s daughter who would be ZERO if not for her mother. And number 50 in the American Idol competition sings better than her.
I say American Idol is a fine an example of fairness, allowing talented singers to compete in a tough, hey folks this is really a tough competition, and let us peons out here in la-la land determine the winner.
The 2005 AI series is down to the final twelve. I have some notes about the finalists, for what they are worth. Also, some predictions.
Above we have Mario Vazquez, originally one of the twelve finalists. Who suddenly up and quit the contest, allowing Nikko Smith to have another chance. The spin is that Mario quit for “personal” reasons. Go on, no one gets to the top twelve of American Idol and quits for such nebulous reasons. Some day the truth will come out about Mario. My guess is an unrevealed criminal record.
I thought Lindsay Cardinale had a very unusual voice. So unusual that as of this writing she was the first to be eliminated from the top twelve.
Anthony Federov is a Harry Potter lookalike. Many say he resembles season two’s second place winner-Clay Aiken. He too is a crooner. I predict Federov won’t make the final five.
Scott Soval is a fine singer who resembles Drew Carey. As such this Geeky contestant will be hurting and I’m thinking real soon.
Nikko Smith, already eliminated once, is a crotch-grabbing rapper barely able to keep this singing style secret during his songs. He was kicked off before and he’ll be kicked off again soon.
Bo Bice is a smoothie with a country-western twang that thrills. I predict Bice will be in the top three.
Nadia Turner is my pick for the winner. She’s got verve, personality and a smashing voice.
Just for laughs, here’s
an American Idol Parody Site you might want to check out.
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TV This Coming Week
Two new reality shows this week, the TV event of the week and movie that might be worth a look.
On Wednesday, March 23, @10 pm, ABC is premiering something called “Vacation Swap” The promo blurb below:
Two families who have never met agree to go on vacations together, revealing the extraordinarily different ways American families spend their recreation time.
I’ve no intention of watching this but in the interest of fair and balanced, will note that on Friday, March 25, @ 8pm, Fox presents the NAACP Image Awards. The Wise I thinks the NAACP should work on cleaning up its own liberal and corrupt image but hey, Oprah Winfrey is a winner we hear. Oprah Winfrey is certainly a black lady who made it to the top despite her color. But too much Oprah causes cancer as I understand it.
On Sunday, March 27, @ 9 pm, CBS is featuring a movie with the following promo:
A book editor (Kathleen Rose Perkins) learns the truth about her lover (Johnathon Schaech) by reading the diary his wife (Christina Applegate) wrote to their son.
Finally, On Monday, March 28, ABC is beginning another series of “The Bachelor”. I’ve never watched this series but if I can read email while watching I might check it out.
Avian Songs and Their Musical Genre
It’s spring around these parts and the bird fellows are announcing their presence. It’s been awhile since I critiqued the birds and their songs and then it was back in Merryland. I wondered if the birds of Delaware sang a different tune. So one early March morning I cocked an ear and listened in.
Before my fine critique, I must state that there is one bird here in Serendipity Shore that I’d never chanced to hear back in Merryland on my former homestead of Critter Cove. He’s a bird actually named after his song and one late summer evening husband, not a great fan of bird watching but an avid lover of the critters, beckoned me outside on the deck.
“Shhhh,” he said, placing his finger on his lips that I should remain mute.
Just as soon as I stepped out on the deck I heard the whippoorwill and stood stock still. Not that only the deaf couldn’t hear this fellow that sings his song at night and could wake the dead. Of course he sang the syllables “wip or will” and this amazed me.
The whippoorwill, being a night singer and everything, would be a Broadway singer; a fine tenor singing his tune to well-dressed and bejeweled audiences out for a show on a Saturday night. I figure the whippoorwill would do fine in say, “The Phantom of the Opera”.
On that early spring day I noted the cardinal, that most prolific producer of young cardinals and worthy of his Catholic name for cardinals never bother with birth control, was out, about, and singing of “What Cheer, What Cheer”. Cardinals too would be Broadway singers except cardinals would be featured in afternoon matinees. A cardinal lady and man would be fine leads for “My Fair Lady”, both looking for a nest somewhere and ready to sing all about it.
High on a leafless tree a finch fellow sang his song and for such a drab sort of bird the finch can sing and sing and sing. Then sing some more. He sings of train wrecks, lost loves and love of country. The House Finch is a country western singer.
On the other side of the road a few grackles were singing their “song” and I must quote the word “song” because if that rusty gate creak appeals to female grackles than I must wonder. Still the grackle, like another black bird, the red-winged blackbird, sings a mating song that should bring rotten tomatoes from a discontented audience rather than any sort of female. Grackles and redwinged Blackbirds are the losers of American Idol.
It is spring and one of the first bird fellows to make an appearance would be the robin. Who must not only sing his “cheeriup, cheerily, cheeriup” to attract a female but has to awaken winter sleepy worms. The robin sings a cadence much like a marine drill masters, cheeri-ingup, cheeril-eeing, with a commanding call that females come to this handsome fellow right here and worms wake up NOW. Robins would be, well a military drill leader.
A few black-eyed Juncos still flit about. Soon they will head north but for now they emit sounds exactly like a video game of my youth. It was called “Space Invaders” and every time my space ship shot up an asteroid it made a sound much like a black-eyed Junco. When they fly all about the feeders I expect to see laser lights flashing across the yard to accompany their electronic sound. The Juncos would be video game sound effects.
From the side yard, hopping about cutely amid the honeysuckle leafless vines, the wren puts in his two cents. The wren is the only songbird that sings all winter and I am grateful for his sounds when the snows fall and winds blow. Now he sings and for such a cute guy he can surely belt out a tune. How such a small bird can sing so loud is a feat of nature that amazes The Wise I. Wrens are the Aretha Franklins of the bird world.
It’s too early for the bird who sings the loveliest song by me but jutting green things in the early spring make me long to hear the soft evening song of the catbird. Catbirds are very shy until late summer when they come out of the forest and hop all about brazenly. They are nondescript gray birds but their song sung in the twilight of the day is celestial. I always feel as if a little bit of heaven hits mine ears, as if a heavenly cymbal was touched softly by a gentle wand, when the catbirds end their days with their song. Catbirds would be the sopranos who sing our Sunday church songs.
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