When I got home, I also had to check on our tomato plants, which were flourishing earlier, but we had had a frost for two days in a row. When I went out there, the tops were suffering a bit, even though I had closed up all of the windows in the greenhouse a few days ago. It was just simply too cold. It was only the tallest branches of the tallest plants, so I hoped that it wouldn't hurt their continued growth.
Once I had given them a drink and come inside to water the peppers in my bay window, I set to the task of choosing a drink for Thursday. I had picked up quite a few odds and ends of liquor at work. They were cleaning out the sample room, and anything was fair game, so I had three cases of various libations to chose from. I decided on a tequila drink, because I feel like if you are eating anything Tex-Mex, it is a moral imperative to have tequila.
ROSITA
1½ measures silver tequila
1 measure Campari
½ measure dry vermouth
½ measure red vermouth
Add the ingredients in this order to an Old-Fashioned glass or small rocks glass, half-filled with cracked ice. Stir. Squeeze a small twist of orange rind over the drink and then drop it in.
With that decided, I had to unearth my counters. As I mentioned before, I have been somewhat unmotivated to anything when I come home from work. Every little chore seemed like a big chore and too overwhelming to deal with, so I let things pile up until I couldn't stand it any more or until I needed the space to make pizza. It had gotten a little worse since Jeff had left for Iowa. We had come home from the cabin and dropped everything in the doorway, and it was still there. Jeff left on Monday, so I didn't really need my counters to make a big meal just for me. This left me doing dishes, wiping counters, putting away various items that had found their way out of the cupboard onto a lateral surface.
The dreaded freezer dig didn't turn up any hot dogs on the first attempt. Actually, that isn't quite true. I did find an opened package of Schweigert dogs, but they had seen better days. There were so many ice crystals inside the Ziploc it was amazing I was even able to distinguish that they were hot dogs at one time. The downstairs freezer was unfruitful as well. It was time to trek back outside to the freezer in the garage, where there were probably 8 packages of Jeff's favorite dogs - Ambassador Natural Casing All Beef Wieners.
In my search for the dogs, I found a package of picante sauce I had made a while back and froze, so at least there was one success out of the deal.
I started in on the dough for the calzones. I thought I would try putting the yeast in the measuring cup before putting the water in this time. Previously, I had always added the yeast afterward, and it would just sit on top. Eventually, it would fall into the water if I left it alone, but I usually just ended up stirring it. Not wanting to waste any energy with the whole stirring process, I thought if I added the water to the yeast, the pressure of the water coming into the cup would mix things up enough. Unfortunately, though, I had a twitch while my hand was on the faucet handle, and I ended up turning the flow of water up instead of off. I ended up with almost two cups of water instead of 1½. Of course when I tried to pour the excess water out, I lost some (most) of my yeast, which was floating on top anyway, and I had to add more yeast to make up for it.
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| Something that WAS hot dogs in a former life |
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| The good dogs |
I must have added enough, because it foamed up nicely. I hoped that I hadn't added too much. If there is too much yeast, it gives the bread (or, in this case, crust) a musty, old-beer, musty flavor.
I was shocked to find that I did not have any cornmeal in my cupboard. I found polenta and corn flour, but no corn meal. The Chowhound website told me that polenta is basically the same thing as cornmeal, just a finer grind. Great - except that I only had a little more than 3/4 of a cup of that. My aversion to leaving my house once I have come home forced me to improvise. I used the all of the polenta I had, topped the cup off with the corn flour and added a scant cup of corn flour to make up the difference. I was sure that the texture wouldn't be exactly what it should be once it was baked, but I was willing to take the risk. The irony was: I had to add more than half a cup of water to make up for the finer materials...
After the dough had come together, I cut it in half. I bagged the one half and put it in the refrigerator for Thursday. The other half, I cut in half again and froze for two future pizza recipes (or perhaps one future calzone), but once I had cut the dough, I was intrigued by the inside of it. The polenta had maintained its integrity, and there were air pockets throughout. Again, I wondered if I had added too much additional yeast.
I actually shopped for these recipes last week. I had forgotten that Friday was Good Friday, I had the day off, and we were planning to go to the cabin Thursday night (and therefore, cancelling pizza night). I was hoping that my ingredients would stay fresh that long.
When we had gone to Cub, I noticed that they had pre-cooked beef brisket in a 10 ounce package. That seemed like it would be three cups. The uncooked brisket was only a couple dollars a pound less, but they were packaged in large amounts. Also, considering my last disaster with cooking a brisket, I decided the extra expense (per pound) was outweighed by the amount of time it would take to cook the beast properly and the extra poundage I would have to buy to get the uncooked version. Lloyd's won this one.
It was strange, though. When I took off the cardboard wrapper, it wasn't as much (volume-wise) as I thought it would be. The container was only half full, and it was in open container like what mushrooms from the produce aisle come in, and it was shrink-wrapped in place. Once I took the plastic off, the meat itself was stuck to the bottom of the carton, and I had to pry it out of the box with a spoon.
It came out in 3 compressed chunks. Once I re-shredded it with my prying spoon, I decided it could be close to three cups. I had to measure it just to satisfy my curiosity. It was just over two and a half. That would do. It wasn't pretty, but it tasted good. I added the rinsed black beans to this.
Jeff talked me out of buying chili-seasoned tomato sauce when we were shopping, because, he said, I could throw tomatoes in the Vita Mix and make my own. While this is true, I had already gone outside twice at this point on Wednesday, and I wasn't about to go out again (now in the dark) to try and find a bag of frozen tomatoes. I had already replayed the mental video of all of the items I had pulled out of the freezers inside while looking for the dogs, so I knew there weren't any inside. I had a hidden stash of canned tomatoes in the basement, so one of those was about to become my tomato sauce.
I wasn't sure what the recipe meant by "chile-seasoned". I improvised and addedadded some chipolte chile powder and some regular chili powder, some cumin, and some garlic. I read in a blog called "Stinky Dog" that the difference between chili and chile is that "chili" is a mixed blend of spices, where "chile" is just the ground pepper with no other seasonings. I wasn't sure if the author was a reliable source, but he said he read it in "Chili Pepper Magazine," so it must be true. Who knew there was such a publication, and where does one get it? More googling will have to be done at a later date. Either way, I figured the difference was negligible.
I tasted my new sauce and decided a kick was needed. I added some of my own dehydrated chili powder that I had made last fall from my bumper crop of hot peppers.
I was delighted to see that none of my produce was any worse for the wear. The cilantro was still bright green and perky. The jalapeno's skin was still smooth and shiny, and it still had a nice, crisp, snap to it when I cut it. The green onions hadn't wilted or browned. All was right with the world. I chopped them all up, including the seeds of the jalapeno. I wasn't messing around this time. I was looking for some heat!
I combined everything in a big bowl, put it in the refrigerator and started working on the aftermath - cleaning (again) the counters; sweeping the flour, beef, onions, and cilantro up off the floor; and mopping the whole thing to get all of the food items that had somehow managed to adhere themselves to the linoleum. The plan, at this point, was to start working on getting the dining room presentable, but I was tired, it was 10 o'clock, and I hadn't eaten anything all day besides a tiny, hardly-worth-mentioning, thin sandwich. I could deny it no longer - it was time for popcorn and a little mindless t.v. before my eyes slammed shut.
After we had done inventory at work over the weekend of the 31st, we were handed letters that were supposed to let us know when our work with the company was done. My letter said that they would like my last day to be the 16th (which is a Monday) or sooner or later. It was really informative.
I had heard rumors since then that it was a typo, and it was supposed to be the 13th or sooner or later. Thursday, I had been trying all day to get in to talk to the CFO to find out if I was one of the lucky employees on the "later" list. I had suspected I was, since the letter alluded to the fact that there were still receivables to be collected on, and I was the one currently handling that. Also, he had told me at the beginning of the month that I would probably be on until sometime in May. I finally was able to get in to see him around 3pm. I asked, "So, is tomorrow my last day or Monday or later, do you know yet?" He said, without hesitation, that tomorrow would be my last day. He went on to explain that we all were eventually going to lose our jobs - as if that was supposed to be some kind of comfort. I wondered when the decision had been made, and why wouldn't they tell me as soon as it was? Were they afraid I would sabotage my work? It certainly wasn't in my nature, but it would have been tempting, considering all of the veiled threats and back-stabbing that had been going on in the last few weeks.
I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. I really wanted it to be over, so I could move on. My biggest fear was that I would still be there in June by myself, cleaning out cubicles. However, at that moment, it hit me, that I was not going to have a job any more - that I was going to be unemployed for the first time in 20 years. We were already struggling with the bills, and now it would be even worse - much worse.
I had heard rumors since then that it was a typo, and it was supposed to be the 13th or sooner or later. Thursday, I had been trying all day to get in to talk to the CFO to find out if I was one of the lucky employees on the "later" list. I had suspected I was, since the letter alluded to the fact that there were still receivables to be collected on, and I was the one currently handling that. Also, he had told me at the beginning of the month that I would probably be on until sometime in May. I finally was able to get in to see him around 3pm. I asked, "So, is tomorrow my last day or Monday or later, do you know yet?" He said, without hesitation, that tomorrow would be my last day. He went on to explain that we all were eventually going to lose our jobs - as if that was supposed to be some kind of comfort. I wondered when the decision had been made, and why wouldn't they tell me as soon as it was? Were they afraid I would sabotage my work? It certainly wasn't in my nature, but it would have been tempting, considering all of the veiled threats and back-stabbing that had been going on in the last few weeks.
I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. I really wanted it to be over, so I could move on. My biggest fear was that I would still be there in June by myself, cleaning out cubicles. However, at that moment, it hit me, that I was not going to have a job any more - that I was going to be unemployed for the first time in 20 years. We were already struggling with the bills, and now it would be even worse - much worse.
The CFO let everyone go home at 4:30 that afternoon. When I got home to my empty house, it seemed surreal. Jeff was in Iowa, so I had no one to talk to, no one to tell, no one to commiserate with me. I knew that Pam had been called out for work, so she wouldn't be coming. I could have sworn that Jennifer said she and Roger and the kids were coming, but I hadn't heard from her since Sunday, so I was starting to doubt my recollection. At 5:30, I couldn't take it any more. I called her up and asked if they were coming over. She said they were aiming for 6 but could come right now, if I wanted. I wanted. I needed other voices besides the ones inside my head.
I started the water to boil the hot dogs. I wasn't sure why they needed to be boiled before they were going to be baked, but I thought I should just follow the directions. Of course, how are you supposed to cut a slit in them lengthwise, if they were just pulled out of a pot of boiling water? I ended up letting them cool first anyway. Once they were cool enough to handle, I tried cutting slits in them, but I couldn't figure out how to get any substantial amount of sauce into the slits. I did the best I could, but it was closer to butterflying than to making slits.
Jen and Roger and the kids ended up showing up just after 6. I was glad they had decided to come early. She brought veggies and dip for us to snack on while cooking. I set her to the task of rolling out the dough for the calzones.
As she rolled out the dough, the chunky pieces of polenta or corn grits or cornmeal or whatever you want to call it, fell out of the dough, leaving little tiny holes in it. She did a great job trying to smash them back into the dough, but there was still some left behind when she was through.
I was sure that I had cheddar and Monterrey jack in the refrigerator from my previous shopping trip. I specifically bought those two flavors when I had bought all of the ingredients a week ago. However, when I looked in my cheese drawer, there weren't either of those two flavors. We must have put them in the outside freezer with all of the extra flavors we bought, because there was a sale on them. This would normally be where I would send Jeff out to the garage to get the cheeses, but he wasn't home. I looked over to the door Roger had just gone through and decided I couldn't ask him to do that. I went out into the dining room to fetch my keys, and when I came back, Jennifer asked if I wanted Roger to go get them, as Roger was walking up the stairs into the kitchen. "Yes, I want him too, but I can't make him do that." Roger then graciously volunteered.
The assembly went quite well after that. All of the filling, except the cheeses, were already put together, so it was just a matter of loading them up. With the amount of cheese the recipe called for, loading them up was what we did.
We (meaning Jennifer) really had to stretch the dough over the filling to get it closed. This resulted in a couple of holes and weak spots. Some of the liquid from the filling was starting to leak out, too, which made it even more difficult to seal. The edges of the dough were starting to disintegrate. They looked bloated and flabby.
At this point, the dogs and their cheesed, oregano'd buns were ready to go in the oven. Once the cheese had browned on the buns, it was time to pull them out and put the dogs in them.
The pizza dogs were delicious. They were whimsical and meaty and cheesy. The dogs had a nice snap to them when we bit into them. However, we each had our own suggestions on what would make them better. I think I would skip the pre-boiling and put the sauce under the cheese on the buns. Jonah and Jennifer suggested that the dogs and buns be cooked together with the cheese over both instead of just the buns. I thought maybe a little cheddar might bring something extra to the table. The big consensus was more cheese!
Jennifer had mixed us up a Rosita while I was assembling the dogs. She used one of the odd end tequilas I had brought home from work. I took one sip and crinkled my nose. I looked to her to see what her reaction was. She shrugged. I thought it was a bitter, bitter drink. She suggested that we add something to it to counteract the bitterness. I took another sip. No, I couldn't do it. I told her we needed to just start over with something else. Life is too short to drink bad liquor. That being said, I wanted to find the source of the issue. I know that Campari is bitter, so I thought that was the culprit, but I thought I would check the tequila, too, just in case. The tequila was nasty. In the fine print on the label, it said that a liqueur was added to it. If that is what made it so horrible, I want to find out what it was, so I can avoid it in the future. It was like chewing on charred plastic. I could find no information on the internet about what the mysterious liqueur was.
MISSILE STOPPER
1 measure cognac
½ measure creme de fraise
1 measure grapefruit juice
1 measure pineapple juice
¼ measure grenadine
Shake all well with ice, and strain into a chilled balloon glass. Garnish with a sliver of pineapple and a strawberry.
Well, my translating skills were a little shaky. I was thinking that we could use raspberry liqueur for the creme de fraise, not realizing that creme de fraise is actually strawberry, not raspberry. We also weren't quite able to get a full two measures (one for each of us) of the pineapple juice, since we were just using the stuff that had leaked out of the fresh pineapple Mom had sent home with me after Easter. We also didn't garnish with any strawberries, although I realized later, we could have, because I had a pint in the fruit drawer I had forgotten about. Our sliver of pineapple was more like a chunk, but this drink was miles better than the Rosita and paired with the spicy calzones just fine. It was sweet, but not overly so, and the fruitiness of it cut right through the heat of the jalapenos.
The resulting calzones were even uglier than last week's turnovers. There was so much cheese stuffed inside that it oozed through the seals and bubbled all over the pan. There was also some severe sticking to the pan, which I am sure was due to the sauce leaking out prior to sealing. It was a hot, sloppy, mess.
Despite their garish appearances, the calzones were delicious. The crust was crisp on the exterior and soft in the middle with a pleasant grittiness from the cornmeal. The cheese was the perfect foil for the uneven distribution of peppers and seeds. The meat was rich and flavorful - very beefy - and the beans added a nice creamy texture to balance out the crust and the meat.
I felt very lucky to have such a wonderful family with whom to share all this food. I am very happy that they were willing to try anything I might throw at them, no matter how weird it sounded. It was also nice that they could help me to feel better at the end of a bad day.
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