I'm house and petsitting this week while Freddy & Jed are on vacation. I love their dogs and their dogs love me. Sammy, Roscoe and Logan have been my step furrykids all their lives. Until this week, when two out of three are in grave danger of meeting their maker.
Simply put, Sammy & Roscoe have lost their minds. Logan is the only one not in trouble, causing trouble or being caught getting into trouble. Or possibly he's been troublesome but the other two attract more attention? Who knows.
It started with Roscoe. His bedtime issues that the boys had finally broken him of started back up with a mean red case of vengeance. Sunday night was a tiny bit of whining at bedtime. Monday night he decided to go from zero to 60 and indulge in an hour and a half of whining, barking and baying. I was two minutes away from dosing him with children's Benadryl when he gave up and went to sleep.
Tuesday, Sammy caught the insanity bug. As she is always the most well-behaved, I'm going to attribute her recent incidents to hormones. She has pretended to forget that she knows she isn't allowed on the couch. Especially when the couch is covered with my freshly laundered and folded clothing. Twice, not once, but twice I've caught her up there. The first time she looked at me as if I was the crazy one before hopping off and ambling away to the bedroom.
To make matters worse, I went out for a few hours on Tuesday evening and returned to find the dogs had pushed down the baby gate that keeps them confined to their room and emptied the full trashcan into the kitchen floor. I'm smart enough that there were only paper products and some vegetable peelings in the can since all "worse" trash taken outside immediately. They did rip open a baggie of flour that I'd used to dredge my oxtails in before browning them for osso buco. The floor of the kitchen looked like Tony Montana had sneezed. Logan was probably in on the kitchen caper, but I can't prove which (or if all) were involved. They got stern looks and a firm lecture. All appeared guilty.
Wednesday was Roscoe's turn again. He doesn't want to come inside. Normally not an issue, but the dogs don't stay out in the yard while I'm gone all day at work. I called, whistled, begged for him to come. Nada. I tried using treats to bribe him, which works fantastic with the other two pups. Nope. Finally I had to go out into the yard and circle around until I was behind him, grab his collar and escort him inside.
Thursday they were perfect angels, which is great because I ate leftover Chinese and ended up puking for hours. As I laid across the toilet seat, I realized that that all three dogs were laying in the hall watching me with concerned eyes. How sweet they all were!
Until this morning. I let the crew out when I got up. Since it was a beautiful morning, they stayed outside for about an hour or so. Ready for work and oh so tired from last night's involuntary purging (not to mention 4.5lbs lighter), I opened the door and called for the kiddos. Logan sauntered in, accepted a treat and went to his room like a good giant beast (he's the Great Dane). Roscoe stood six feet away from me at all times and ended up getting the collar-grab routine again. Sammy was...wait, where was Sammy?
No Sammy in the house. No Sammy in the backyard. Gate's closed, doors to garage are closed. WTF? Call for her, whistle, make those "mch, mch, mch" noises with my mouth. Nothin'. I spot a section of fence that has two boards broken off at the bottom. Surely that tiny spot isn't big enough for her to squeeze through? Going for a closer look, I see that the small escape hatch was widened by someone oh maybe could it be Samantha digging under the fence.
I call her name again, with a mix of desperation and irritation. Yup. I see a white and black snout pointing through from the elderly neighbor's yard. GREAT. Sammy comes squirming through and runs into the house, eager for her dog biscuit. Hah. Sammy gets sent to her room without a treat. I then drag a 4' section of extra fencing that Frederick had leaning against the fence over to block the hole. The neighbor had blocked her side with a metal trashcan. I guess Sam's done this before and I hadn't noticed.
I can only imagine what fun things they have in store for me tonight, tomorrow and Saturday. Sunday afternoon my duties are fulfilled and the Daddies & fam come home. I don't know why the furry kids are acting out so much. I'm the regular sitter. They're used to me and are normally much, much more well behaved. I've spent more time with them than any of the past petsitting weeks. Hmmm...maybe that's it. They want more alone time.
I want more than 24 hours to go by without me getting a homocidal urge to turn dogs into chow. I think Roscoe would make a great stew. Sammy is leaner, so I'd have to braise her. Logan would feed us for months.
Thursday, March 08, 2007
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
It Was an Osso Buco Kind of Night
Osso buco has not always meant a rich and delicious dinner entree to me. When I was younger, I somehow got it into my head that it was a dance much like the paso doble or samba. I have no idea how the connection was made but after last night's meal, I can attest to the fact that osso buco is as flavorful and exciting as any Latin dance.
And since I'm housesitting for Frederick & Jed, making this meal was even more interesting. Do you know how difficult it is to keep a basset hound, dalmation and great dane out from underfoot when you're cooking something that smells as good as osso buco? Let me just say that I cha cha cha'd all around Logan, Roscoe and Sammy until I finally had to baby gate myself into the kitchen. I had started out with the crew in the backyard but Logan kept "knocking" at the back door until I let them in. I had to...seeing his mournful face peering at me through the glass and watching his huge paw scratching down the door was too much for me. I'm a sucker, it's true.
I pored over many recipes for slowly braised veal dish and finally compiled my own, based mostly on one by Giada De Laurentiis. I did decide to make a trip to my favorite grocery store with a bulk spices section since a few of the items called for in the recipe are not part of my normal kitchen staples. I didn't want to buy an entire jar of a spice I don't normally use.
And because I'm on a budget, I opted to substitute the key ingredient. I switched the veal shanks to oxtails. Yes, purists will argue it isn't osso buco without veal. I don't care what you want to call an oxtail version of osso buco, it was fully satisfying.
I also nixed the traditional risotto side dish and went with creamy, cheesey polenta. I bought a chub of polenta, cubed it and heated it with 1/2 cup of chicken stock and 1/2 cup of half and half. Using a potato masher, I smoothed the lumps out and threw in about a 1/4 cup of grated parmesan cheese, a pinch of sea salt, several dashes of pepper and a small bit of butter. The smooth and tasty polenta complemented rather than competed with the deeper flavor of the osso buco.
This recipe calls for a bouquet garni, a little cheesecloth packet of herbs. You can skip buying cheesecloth if you have a loose tea infuser at home. Remove the leaves from the woody stalk on the rosemary and thyme and place loose into the infuser along with the cloves and bay leaf, which you can break into large pieces. The infuser can then sit in the pot much like a cheesecloth wrapped bundle would if going with a more traditional method.
The recipe was incredibly easy. The hardest part is the wait, especially when the fragrant smell from the simmering pot is tickling your taste buds. Because I used oxtails, I had to increase the cooking time by almost another full hour. All I can say is that it's well worth the lengthy braising time.
Osso Buco
2-3lbs. veal shanks
1 small onion, diced
1 carrot, diced
1 rib celery, diced
1 Tb. lemon zest
3 Tb. flat leaf parsley, chopped
1 sprig fresh thyme
1 sprig fresh rosemary
1 dried bay leaf
2 whole cloves
sea salt
fresh ground pepper
all purpose flour
1/2 cup olive oil
1 cup dry white wine
2-3 cups chicken stock
1 Tb. tomato paste
kitchen twine
cheesecloth
Rinse veal and pat dry before seasoning with salt and pepper. (If you prefer your meat to stay in one piece, use a piece of twine to secure each shank, tying around the cut of meat). Dredge in flour and shake off excess. Place washed bay leaf, cloves, rosemary & thyme into a square of cheesecloth and tie the top, making your bouquet garni.
In a large heavy pot, such as a dutch oven, heat oil until very hot. Brown veal on all sides, remove from pot and keep warm in covered dish. In same pot, saute the onion, carrot and celery, seasoning it with a bit of salt. When vegetables are soft and translucent, add tomato paste and stir well. Return meat to pan, add white wine and cook until the liquid is reduced by half.
Add bouquet garni and 2 cups of chicken stock. Bring to a boil, reduce heat to low and cover. Simmer for about 1.5 to 2 hours or until meat is ultra tender. Every 15 minutes during cooking time, turn meat and add more chicken stock if the liquid falls below 3/4 up the sides of the shanks.
During last half hour of cooking add the parsley and lemon zest. When meat is tender to the point of falling off the bone, remove bouquet garni and throw away. Cut off kitchen twine if veal has been tied. Serve over risotto or polenta with pan juices poured over shanks.
And since I'm housesitting for Frederick & Jed, making this meal was even more interesting. Do you know how difficult it is to keep a basset hound, dalmation and great dane out from underfoot when you're cooking something that smells as good as osso buco? Let me just say that I cha cha cha'd all around Logan, Roscoe and Sammy until I finally had to baby gate myself into the kitchen. I had started out with the crew in the backyard but Logan kept "knocking" at the back door until I let them in. I had to...seeing his mournful face peering at me through the glass and watching his huge paw scratching down the door was too much for me. I'm a sucker, it's true.
I pored over many recipes for slowly braised veal dish and finally compiled my own, based mostly on one by Giada De Laurentiis. I did decide to make a trip to my favorite grocery store with a bulk spices section since a few of the items called for in the recipe are not part of my normal kitchen staples. I didn't want to buy an entire jar of a spice I don't normally use.
And because I'm on a budget, I opted to substitute the key ingredient. I switched the veal shanks to oxtails. Yes, purists will argue it isn't osso buco without veal. I don't care what you want to call an oxtail version of osso buco, it was fully satisfying.
I also nixed the traditional risotto side dish and went with creamy, cheesey polenta. I bought a chub of polenta, cubed it and heated it with 1/2 cup of chicken stock and 1/2 cup of half and half. Using a potato masher, I smoothed the lumps out and threw in about a 1/4 cup of grated parmesan cheese, a pinch of sea salt, several dashes of pepper and a small bit of butter. The smooth and tasty polenta complemented rather than competed with the deeper flavor of the osso buco.
This recipe calls for a bouquet garni, a little cheesecloth packet of herbs. You can skip buying cheesecloth if you have a loose tea infuser at home. Remove the leaves from the woody stalk on the rosemary and thyme and place loose into the infuser along with the cloves and bay leaf, which you can break into large pieces. The infuser can then sit in the pot much like a cheesecloth wrapped bundle would if going with a more traditional method.
The recipe was incredibly easy. The hardest part is the wait, especially when the fragrant smell from the simmering pot is tickling your taste buds. Because I used oxtails, I had to increase the cooking time by almost another full hour. All I can say is that it's well worth the lengthy braising time.
Osso Buco
2-3lbs. veal shanks
1 small onion, diced
1 carrot, diced
1 rib celery, diced
1 Tb. lemon zest
3 Tb. flat leaf parsley, chopped
1 sprig fresh thyme
1 sprig fresh rosemary
1 dried bay leaf
2 whole cloves
sea salt
fresh ground pepper
all purpose flour
1/2 cup olive oil
1 cup dry white wine
2-3 cups chicken stock
1 Tb. tomato paste
kitchen twine
cheesecloth
Rinse veal and pat dry before seasoning with salt and pepper. (If you prefer your meat to stay in one piece, use a piece of twine to secure each shank, tying around the cut of meat). Dredge in flour and shake off excess. Place washed bay leaf, cloves, rosemary & thyme into a square of cheesecloth and tie the top, making your bouquet garni.
In a large heavy pot, such as a dutch oven, heat oil until very hot. Brown veal on all sides, remove from pot and keep warm in covered dish. In same pot, saute the onion, carrot and celery, seasoning it with a bit of salt. When vegetables are soft and translucent, add tomato paste and stir well. Return meat to pan, add white wine and cook until the liquid is reduced by half.
Add bouquet garni and 2 cups of chicken stock. Bring to a boil, reduce heat to low and cover. Simmer for about 1.5 to 2 hours or until meat is ultra tender. Every 15 minutes during cooking time, turn meat and add more chicken stock if the liquid falls below 3/4 up the sides of the shanks.
During last half hour of cooking add the parsley and lemon zest. When meat is tender to the point of falling off the bone, remove bouquet garni and throw away. Cut off kitchen twine if veal has been tied. Serve over risotto or polenta with pan juices poured over shanks.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Needles and music and moxa, oh my!
I had my very first acupuncture experience last night. I wasn’t quite sure what to expect, but the friend who’d given me a gift certificate always raves about how great she feels after her session. I know most people use acupuncture to treat ailments or injuries, but I wasn’t certain what my goal or target was since, well, I have more medical crap going on than most octogenarians in China. Because acupuncture is a traditional Chinese medicine, those healthy seniors must be onto something.
When I arrived, the first thing that captured my attention wasn’t the pot of hot water and varieties of tea bags, the bottled water, Eastern religion figurines and artwork or the soft music. It was the smell. There was a distinct odor in the air that I hadn’t smelled since my last visit to a college dormitory. Kind of a sweet yet musky, cloying aroma. Yup. It was the scent of really low quality marijuana.
As she was ushering me into a private room, my acupuncturist quickly explained that the odor was not cheap pot but a recompounded herb called Moxa, derived from mug worth. Their office burned it as part of the treatment and in lieu of other incense.
Once in the room, we went over the health history questionnaire I’d filled out and determined that my focus for the visit would be simply, a fresh start. I’m embarking on several personal growth projects and need a clear mind and refreshed body. As soon as the decision was made, my acupuncturist grabbed her needles and went to work.
Picture this: you’re laying in your underwear on a massage table, covered by a sheet, pillow under your knees and a few strategically placed heat lamps warming you. Your legs are uncovered from the knee down, and your arms are on top of the covers. Suddenly, a needle is poked into the side of your calf. Strangely enough, no pain.
My friends know I’m needle shy. The surprise of having no pain was short lived, however, when the second needle insertion sent a tingle down my other calf, much like a weak electrical shock. I was more nervous than hurt, but I did have to engage in some relaxation breathing so I wouldn’t feel stressed at the thought of more needles.
In short time I had needles in my feet, near the insides of my elbows, at my wrists and in the webbing of my thumb and forefinger, at the top of the bridge of my nose between my eyebrows, sternum and even in the crown of my head. The acupuncturist patted me and told me she was leaving me for about 25 minutes to go “release someone”. She said I may feel sleepy or like I’m drifting in and out of consciousness.
I lay there, soothing music in the background, heat lamps on and felt exactly like a bug pinned to an entomologist’s specimen board. Well, maybe not a regular bug…perhaps a prettily colored butterfly. I did drift off to a state of semi-consciousness, drowsily clearing my mind until a sharp rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat-tat threw me back into reality. My eyes flew open just to see a cardinal perched outside the window, tapping at the glass. As soon as I lifted my head, he flew off. Odd, but it really seemed as if he knew he was rousing me from relaxation.
After a comfortable amount of time, my acupuncturist returned, removed the needles and had me flip over onto my tummy. She then inserted a needle several inches below my neck, in the upper part of my back, and two in my lower back, an area that has always been sensitive to touch, whether it’s wind, fingertips or otherwise. This is where the moxa came into play. The burning of the herb on my body produced a localized heat that spread through me in a deliciously soporific manner. I could have lain there for hours, feeling less like a pinned down bug and more like a pampered socialite at an expensive spa.
Leaving the office was entertaining. I felt languorous, almost as if I was in an altered state of consciousness. And yes, folks, I drove home. The rest of the evening can be summed up this way: ate dinner, drank copious amounts of water, sank into a deep, deep sleep. I’ve definitely become a fan of the needle.
When I arrived, the first thing that captured my attention wasn’t the pot of hot water and varieties of tea bags, the bottled water, Eastern religion figurines and artwork or the soft music. It was the smell. There was a distinct odor in the air that I hadn’t smelled since my last visit to a college dormitory. Kind of a sweet yet musky, cloying aroma. Yup. It was the scent of really low quality marijuana.
As she was ushering me into a private room, my acupuncturist quickly explained that the odor was not cheap pot but a recompounded herb called Moxa, derived from mug worth. Their office burned it as part of the treatment and in lieu of other incense.
Once in the room, we went over the health history questionnaire I’d filled out and determined that my focus for the visit would be simply, a fresh start. I’m embarking on several personal growth projects and need a clear mind and refreshed body. As soon as the decision was made, my acupuncturist grabbed her needles and went to work.
Picture this: you’re laying in your underwear on a massage table, covered by a sheet, pillow under your knees and a few strategically placed heat lamps warming you. Your legs are uncovered from the knee down, and your arms are on top of the covers. Suddenly, a needle is poked into the side of your calf. Strangely enough, no pain.
My friends know I’m needle shy. The surprise of having no pain was short lived, however, when the second needle insertion sent a tingle down my other calf, much like a weak electrical shock. I was more nervous than hurt, but I did have to engage in some relaxation breathing so I wouldn’t feel stressed at the thought of more needles.
In short time I had needles in my feet, near the insides of my elbows, at my wrists and in the webbing of my thumb and forefinger, at the top of the bridge of my nose between my eyebrows, sternum and even in the crown of my head. The acupuncturist patted me and told me she was leaving me for about 25 minutes to go “release someone”. She said I may feel sleepy or like I’m drifting in and out of consciousness.
I lay there, soothing music in the background, heat lamps on and felt exactly like a bug pinned to an entomologist’s specimen board. Well, maybe not a regular bug…perhaps a prettily colored butterfly. I did drift off to a state of semi-consciousness, drowsily clearing my mind until a sharp rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat-tat threw me back into reality. My eyes flew open just to see a cardinal perched outside the window, tapping at the glass. As soon as I lifted my head, he flew off. Odd, but it really seemed as if he knew he was rousing me from relaxation.
After a comfortable amount of time, my acupuncturist returned, removed the needles and had me flip over onto my tummy. She then inserted a needle several inches below my neck, in the upper part of my back, and two in my lower back, an area that has always been sensitive to touch, whether it’s wind, fingertips or otherwise. This is where the moxa came into play. The burning of the herb on my body produced a localized heat that spread through me in a deliciously soporific manner. I could have lain there for hours, feeling less like a pinned down bug and more like a pampered socialite at an expensive spa.
Leaving the office was entertaining. I felt languorous, almost as if I was in an altered state of consciousness. And yes, folks, I drove home. The rest of the evening can be summed up this way: ate dinner, drank copious amounts of water, sank into a deep, deep sleep. I’ve definitely become a fan of the needle.
Thursday, February 22, 2007
My Roommates Think I'm Crazy
We've upgraded our kitchen with a new fridge & stove this week. Thanks to Darren's impeccable taste, we have a gorgeous stainless and black side by side refridgerator and matching gas stove. Because of his impeccable taste, he decided to save money and install the stove himself, with OR's help (other roomie, David). Before you immediately freak, please keep in mind that Darren does a majority of our home repairs, from plumbing to weather stripping to painting, etc. He isn't your typical flaming queer...he knows how to do more than a trendy faux finish and window treatments. Think of him as all of the Queer Eye guys combined.
They had some trouble with the gas hose, since the old one appeared to have been built into the wall since the dawn of time. In fact, it wouldn't unscrew at all. So now we have the old hose attached to the new hose attached to the stove. The next day I came home and immediately announced I smelled gas. Sure, it was faint, but my nose knows. And since it wasn't overpowering, I knew it wasn't the dog.
OR arrived home from work and confirmed he, too, could smell something although he wasn't certain it was natural gas. Darren thought the house smelled musty. Our house is usually devoid of foul odors, unless you count the cat box right after Jenny Craig has made a deposit, so my panic set in. Darren had a dinner planned for our friends and I was terrified we were going to die in a fiery explosion that would rock the neighborhood and be felt as far away as Slaughter Lane.
Darren & OR listened to my worries of impending doom for a short while (about 3 minutes) before deciding I was crazy. After calling the gas company and being transferred to the emergency gas leak department, they were irritated as well as firmly certain I was crazy. The gas company said a tech was on his way out and to please not turn any lights, appliances, cell phones or computers on. I meekly asked what could happen if all of the above were already in use (the t.v., washer & dryer, dishwasher, my cell phone, numerous lights AND a lighted candle that Darren was employing to show me my fears were unfounded). The gas company representative admonished me to leave it all on but to please wait outside the home.
After turning off the lights, the boys decided to go to the grocery store. I blew out the candle in the living room, grabbed Harley's leash and a Lone Star and went outside to wait on the gas company. Yes, I left Jenny Craig indoors to fend for herself.
The tech, Pete, arrived just as Darren & OR got back from HEB. He listened to my story and said that he didn't know me well enough to confirm I was crazy but he'd definitely be able to tell us if there was a leak. The boys assured Pete that there was no need to debate my insanity, whether or not a leak was found. A scant 10 minutes later Pete was back outside to discuss the findings.
He found no major leak but said the hose-on-hose action was a major taboo. The old hose is badly in need of replacement and could have a minor leak that he was unable to detect. Pete said the odor added to gas is much stronger than the actual amount of gas leaked, and our home was safe. He did caution us to replace the hose with one single new one.
I endured the wisecracks from the guys all evening, but hey, it's better to be safe than sorry. Or crispy crittered.
And Darren made a fantastic spaghetti & meatball feast, with no explosions or other catastrophies. Those of us lucky enough to eat his balls can tell you they are quite tasty. Just a hint of garlic, a whiff of thyme and a kiss of oregano. Delicious!
They had some trouble with the gas hose, since the old one appeared to have been built into the wall since the dawn of time. In fact, it wouldn't unscrew at all. So now we have the old hose attached to the new hose attached to the stove. The next day I came home and immediately announced I smelled gas. Sure, it was faint, but my nose knows. And since it wasn't overpowering, I knew it wasn't the dog.
OR arrived home from work and confirmed he, too, could smell something although he wasn't certain it was natural gas. Darren thought the house smelled musty. Our house is usually devoid of foul odors, unless you count the cat box right after Jenny Craig has made a deposit, so my panic set in. Darren had a dinner planned for our friends and I was terrified we were going to die in a fiery explosion that would rock the neighborhood and be felt as far away as Slaughter Lane.
Darren & OR listened to my worries of impending doom for a short while (about 3 minutes) before deciding I was crazy. After calling the gas company and being transferred to the emergency gas leak department, they were irritated as well as firmly certain I was crazy. The gas company said a tech was on his way out and to please not turn any lights, appliances, cell phones or computers on. I meekly asked what could happen if all of the above were already in use (the t.v., washer & dryer, dishwasher, my cell phone, numerous lights AND a lighted candle that Darren was employing to show me my fears were unfounded). The gas company representative admonished me to leave it all on but to please wait outside the home.
After turning off the lights, the boys decided to go to the grocery store. I blew out the candle in the living room, grabbed Harley's leash and a Lone Star and went outside to wait on the gas company. Yes, I left Jenny Craig indoors to fend for herself.
The tech, Pete, arrived just as Darren & OR got back from HEB. He listened to my story and said that he didn't know me well enough to confirm I was crazy but he'd definitely be able to tell us if there was a leak. The boys assured Pete that there was no need to debate my insanity, whether or not a leak was found. A scant 10 minutes later Pete was back outside to discuss the findings.
He found no major leak but said the hose-on-hose action was a major taboo. The old hose is badly in need of replacement and could have a minor leak that he was unable to detect. Pete said the odor added to gas is much stronger than the actual amount of gas leaked, and our home was safe. He did caution us to replace the hose with one single new one.
I endured the wisecracks from the guys all evening, but hey, it's better to be safe than sorry. Or crispy crittered.
And Darren made a fantastic spaghetti & meatball feast, with no explosions or other catastrophies. Those of us lucky enough to eat his balls can tell you they are quite tasty. Just a hint of garlic, a whiff of thyme and a kiss of oregano. Delicious!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)