Signs and Portents, an anniversary

Fourteen years ago, Partner and I got married in a coffee shop in Las Cruces, New Mexico. I highly recommend family-owned coffee shops as fabulous places in general, but they also make great venues for impromptu nuptuals. This particular shop was called Sky’s the Limit Coffee & Bakery, and was run by Mark and Jennifer. Good people. The building was a converted gas station, I think, and the customer area was divided into a main room and an overflow area. The overflow room had a giant plate glass window facing Main Street. We gathered there with a few friends and family members and got married in front of that window.

The store was decorated with quilt-hangings and vaguely tribal-looking art, and painted in cheerful colors. While the pastor made introductory remarks, Partner and I stood in the kitchen, holding hands and laughing nervously. We were also admiring the kitchen equipment. You’ve got to love giant mixing bowls. My favorite part of the shop, besides the apricot coffee cake, lovingly made by Jennifer with apricots picked fresh from her tree, were the quirky signs and posters hanging here and there. I have snapshots of just a few of them, and whenever I see them, I always marvel at how well these work together as prophecies of marriage. 

A movie poster from Straight to Hell, “A story of blood, money, guns, coffee, & sexual tension”No marriage, no matter how congenial, is without a little hell, right? This poster was hanging on the side of a large stainless steel fridge, purchased at a discount because of the giant, claw-like scratch down that side. The poster didn’t quite cover the scratches, so they peeked out from under the poster like a demon was trying to escape from the fridge. 

Danger: Monkeys BiteThis sign was on a bit of wall between some cooling racks. I’m not sure if the monkeys were in the ovens or just hanging around the kitchen. Our Sonars didn’t come along for several years, but once they did, we started referring to them as monkeys pretty regularly. They don’t bite anymore. Much.

The Sky’s the Limit MenuI love this little time capsule of economics and coffee preferences. You know you want a Jolt Cola.

Yes, I highly recommend coffee shops for getting coffee and getting married. Bookstores would be good too. What do you say, babe? Next time let’s get married in a bookstore. I know just the one.

Random Food Post: Kale Chips?!

Yeah, I know, I don’t usually post about food. I’m not sure it’s allowed. And no, I don’t have photographs. I’m a crappy photographer on bright sunny days. So there’s no way on this gloriously gloomy afternoon that I could make that bowl of kale chips look like anything other than dog food. 

I am not a greens enthusiast, and I know the whole Kale Chip Fad has been going on for some time. I’ve listened with interest but never been willing to spend five dollars for a tiny bag of baked leaves, nor have I seized the opportunity to make my own. 

What can I say, I was skeptical. They’re greens right? Bitter, chewy leaves that are usually stewed or braised, right? How could they possibly turn into the crunchy, delicious snack that people claim? I didn’t buy it.

But a beautiful bunch of curly kale called to me at the grocery store the other day. Today, I made Kale Chips. And I am a convert.

The most time-consuming part of this is washing, deveining, and chopping the kale into bite-sized pieces. And that didn’t take very long. Don’t skip the part where you remove the big veins. They either stay a little soft or get stringy in the oven. You don’t want stringy kale chips.

Once chopped, I gave them a whirl in the salad spinner and tossed them with some olive oil. How much? I don’t know, I just drizzled it over the bowl and tossed it with my hands. A tablespoon or two probably. The Smitten Kitchen suggests using less oil if your intent is to crumble the chips over popcorn (that site also has gorgeous photos that do not at all resemble dog food), but you’ll figure it out.

I spread them in a dense single layer on a cookie sheet, sprinkled them liberally with salt and baked them at 300F for about 25 minutes, checking them frequently at the end.

First they wilt, and look like something that’s been boiled to death, and make you think that there is no way these limp, unappetizing-colored leaves can get crispy. They don’t smell fantastic (unless you’re also cooking baked beans; then the bacon and onion smell cures everything). And then, they turn into these delicately crisp bits that crunch in your fingers and mouth like leaves underfoot in the fall. Ok, you don’t want to eat sidewalk leaves, I know. But just work with me here. They’re not crispy like potato chips. More like very thin corn flakes. They crackle and fall apart in the same delicious motion.

The first bite for me was, meh. By the forty-second bite I was completely addicted to them.

More Than What It Seems: Grapefruit Edition

They are never just grapefruit, these pinky-golden dreams I find in my tree.

A grapefruit, recently of the tree in my back yard. The dirt washes away.

They are freshness.

They are zest.

They are balm.

They are fortification.

They are sunshine.

They are delicious.

Mmm, brains. Oh wait. No, that’s grapefruit too. Recently eviscerated from its peel.

A Quarter-Peck of Peppers, Not Pickled

Two quarts of fresh-picked Poblano Peppers from the back yard. Yes, that is a frisbee.Chili relleno casserole, spicy good and partially consumed.

Battery de Cuisine

Inspired by a recent NPR story about the installation of Julia Child’s battery de cuisine at the Smithsonian, we decided to build our own.  Julia’s is bigger.  And blue.  And she has more knives than I do.  But I still think mine’s pretty cool.  

We went with orange. 

Installing hooksThis is serious businessVery serious businessNext, we will install the armaments.