My Little Victory Garden

My Little Victory Garden: Pesto Party

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Our kitchen smells like buttery toasty garlic-y basil.

Tonight at 8:15 p.m. I was so tired I had contemplated going to bed when I recalled a phone call from my younger daughter a few days earlier.

“I’m going to get a few groceries, mom.  What do I need to make pesto?”

And so the discussion about pine nuts and parmesan began.

So I was sitting there, recalling that discussion about pine nuts and parmesan and  looked over at her.

“Hey, I know it’s 8:15, it’s dark outside, and it feels late…but do you want to make your pesto tonight?”

She’s been living with us since July and I really haven’t had that many meal preps in the kitchen with her.  I felt like I wanted to bond.  To create our own “farm to fork” night right in my kitchen.  The basil in my garden is almost waist high.  The timing was now.

“Yeah,” she said.  “Let’s do it.”

My heart smiled and my legs pushed me out of my comfy chair.  Before long the entire island was covered with parts of a food processor, garlic infused oil she had brought from California a few months earlier, loads of sweet smelling basil, and her groceries.

We deleafed basil, shredded cheese, measured ingredients, chopped, and presto! Or, should I write…PESTO!?

The oily, complex flavor was delicious.

But the time in my kitchen with my daughter working by my side was even better.

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My Little Victory Garden

My Little Victory Garden: The Sauce Tomato Crucible

PicsArt_1378691620801There are always the less-than-lovelies.  And, they have a purpose.

My sauce tomatoes are not sliced nor diced.  They are not stuffed with glorious salads, nor wedged and placed on top of beautiful pizzas.

My sauce tomatoes have a mission.  They are ridded of spots, bruises, overripe sections and holes bored by grasshoppers.  They are lovingly washed and quartered, then inspected before being packed into my sauté pan.

My sauce tomatoes were born for blending into spicy fresh salsas. Or, for pairing up with herbs from the garden and garlic to reduce into something beautiful.

My sauce tomatoes were made for simmering, for steaming, and for bubbling aromatically.

And tonight’s batch was extra-tangy-amazingly…saucy.

Bravissimo!

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My Little Victory Garden

My Little Victory Garden: Salsa Like Wine

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Who needs chips?  A spoonful into my mouth, oh my…I close my eyes.

Green coolness, fragrantly salted hits the tip of my tongue and

Garden onion aroma goes up my nose;

Black pepper accompanies the bite 

And as it slides toward my throat I taste

Fire grilled chilis, and a garlic finish.

I exhale to recall the savory essence of my homegrown

Salsa Verde, vintage 2013.

A very garden-y year.

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Art, Big Screen

When Rejection Feels Like a Warm Blanket: How Pixar Let Me Down Oh-So Gently

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I decided Katherine Sarafian was the bees knees after watching a film clip of how she guided the historical and topographical research for her Pixar project, “Brave.”

“If anyone would understand my book, Georgie the Giant,” I thought, “it would be her.” Go big or go home, right?

So I reviewed the Pixar website prior to sending her my book. Warnings and kind messages about “not accepting unsolicited materials” were in several places. So I ignored them.

Instead, I did more research, then I wrote this letter:

0109_001By the way, on the other side of the letter, I simply wrote: “I do hope so. Sincerely, Kelly Roberts”

I then lovingly packaged up a copy of Georgie after writing a “fan-note” to Ms. Sarafian on the inside cover, slid my letter into the bundle and headed to the post office.

[Flash Forward Two Weeks] Continue reading When Rejection Feels Like a Warm Blanket: How Pixar Let Me Down Oh-So Gently →

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Oklahoma Cooking

My Kitchen Utensils Deserve a Service Award

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This past weekend I was preparing pan fried okra.  I gently lifted one of my range fed eggs from its nest in the carton. My left hand opened the refrigerator, grabbed the milk, and closed the door in one fluid sequence. My fingers slid over the smooth chrome edge as I choose the proper sized mixing bowl.  I instinctively pivoted and opened my kitchen utensil drawer and lowered my hand to grab my Kitchen Aid medium sized whisk.  The muscle memory in my hand was already preparing for the size of its handle and the weight distribution of its shape.

And then my brain jolted.  I stopped my “cooking dance” and pulled the drawer open further.  Where was my whisk?  I searched back, back, back…and…oh.  We had a potluck dinner at work and I had taken it with me to prep the Caprese salad dressing right before serving time.

Bummer.

I poked around in the drawer here and there, dissatisfied.  But then I spied my mother’s old spiral, or spring, whisk.  She had given it to Rylee, and it was back in my drawer now that Ry was living with us for a while.

My best guess was that my mother had received it as a wedding shower gift.  It had certainly been in the family for as long as I could remember.

“Okay,” I thought.  “I’ll give it a whirl.” And then I giggled because I had just made a pun.

About eight seconds later I was looking at a perfectly mixed egg and milk batter with beautiful, frothy bubbles floating on top.

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“Wow! So much for my whining,” I thought to myself.  “Good for you, old spiral whisk.  You’ve still got it in you.”

It’s possible that whisk is fifty years old.  How may meals has it served our family?  How many meals have we served because the whisk served its purpose for us?

I finished my okra, then respectfully washed the whisk and picked up a tea towel to finish the job.  Walking back to my utensil drawer, I decided that the whisk needed a more respectful place and so I rearranged just a bit before closing the drawer again.

Yeah, I’ll give a whirl again.  Very soon.

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Showcasing Red Dirt culture ~ authored and managed by contributors with connections to the great state of Oklahoma.