Deer chili: composite of two recipes––a keeper

 Back story: At bell rehearsal one Wednesday in October, I announced, “I’m taking chili to Carolyn and Lynn tomorrow.” Lynn was recovering from a stroke; Carolyn was a sister, so it stood to reason I should do something.

I texted her: “May I bring chili tomorrow?”

She answered, “I just made some last night.” So much for that.

I texted my brother Bill. “Can I bring you some chili?”

He answered, “I’ll take a raincheck; it’s chaotic over here since we’re planning to move.”

Truth be told, I hadn’t yet cooked the chili, though I’d thawed out a package labeled “deer chili” from son Eric. I’d pulled down cans of tomatoes and beans, herbs and spices to the countertop.

I waited a few days, then decided the meat needed to be cooked at least, and refrozen, if necessary. I browned the meat, cooled it, freezer-container-ed it, but left it in the fridge.

The next Tuesday, I awoke with a yen to finally prepare the chili. I’d pulled out of a collection of cookbooks one called “More Faithful Cooking,” published in 2010 by the United Methodist Women of Piggott, Arkansas, and autographed by Lou Forrest, who was at that time proprietress of The Downtown Inn.

In the section, Soups & Salads, I found on page 25, two chili recipes: one called Santa Fe chili, by Alex Routszong, and the other, Chili, by Leigh Cole. Between them both, I had about every ingredient mentioned. I found the crockpot, a wedding gift in 1960, hauled it up to the range, set it on a burner cover and plugged it in. Originally, I had planned to cook in the cast iron Dutch oven, but both recipes called for a “slow cooker.” Duh!

I transferred the meat to the cooker. I had no onion, so I sprinkled in a goodly amount of dried onion flakes. I didn’t have tomato sauce, but added diced tomatoes, Ro-Tel, and V-8 juice. Drained and rinsed black beans and pinto beans went next. Added a packet of Ranch dressing mix and part of a package of Taco seasoning. Two teaspoons of cumin, which I didn’t know I had, added. Then dash after dash of chili powder. No salt; no pepper.

After the last addition, I tasted it and added more chili powder until I was satisfied.
“Cook on high for four hours,” one said; “five-six hours,” the other recipe said. I chose four.

It was the best chili, I told son Eric, provider of the meat, I ever made and ever ate. He replied, “I hope to have some fresh meat by the end of this week.”

My brother Bill was now ready for some, so I containered a large amount, took it over at lunch time, and we ate and visited while his wife shopped.

I put the remainder in plastic bowls for left-overs. Yum! Yum! What a way to participate in the fall and winter seasons.

                        I've signed up to take a pear cobbler to the family Thanksgiving next week.

c 2018, PL, d/b/a lovepat press, Benton AR USA

When company’s scheduled, projects get done

 The leftover cobbler that I ladled into coffee cups has been eaten.

After that Sunday potluck, the rest of the week was free of scheduled activities. Saturday, though, I would host the monthly breakfast for the remnant of 1954 Bryant High School classmates. And it took all five days to accomplish what I needed to do before then.

Three huge projects loomed; projects I’d put off and put off. No longer; they must be done.

The first one was to clean the carpet from the hallway door to Billy’s bedroom door. I guess the milk from his bowls of cereal must have sloshed out. No telling what some of the other stains were. But while he was working, I pulled out the bottle of Resolve and a brush, brought in a pillow to kneel on, and set to work. Even without testing a corner of carpet for possible color change.

Number-two project was to put the second coat of paint on the outside of the front door. I fired the painter before he could “finish some little things.” He left large cans of Kilz and Cultured Pearl (white) paint thinking he was to paint the dining room also. But no, that job falls to me now. But first, the front door needed another coat so I could replace the vintage key plate that I’d painted gold. (This was just for looks, mind you.) I did it, plus the facings on the outside. Then I stained the faded, wood threshold step.

The third biggee was to mop the dining room hardwood floor. Warm water and a sponge mop did the trick, and after it dried, I buffed it with a clean Swiffer pad.

After those tasks were done, everything else was a piece of cake: Billy offered to put leaves in the table. Then I dressed the table and designed a centerpiece. I cleaned the bathroom, swept off the front porch, baked the scones.

Now that the breakfast is history, the only downer was the 10-cup coffeemaker I’d stashed away when the Keurig came into the house. I’d tried it out the day before and it worked. That morning, it didn’t perk. Nothing doing, then, but to heat up yesterday’s coffee, and eventually turn on the Keurig.

After the “girls” left, I decided to move the still-un-perked pot to a different plug. IT WORKED!!!  Oh, well. The "girls" will have something to chuckle over next month.

Japanese Kerria in the backyard

c 2018, PL d/b/a lovepat press, Benton AR USA

               

               

Finally, it cooled off—and rained

                                                       Well, it didn't rain THAT much.

          Last weekend, the rain that stormed through while I read the state and local papers provided both a respite from the near-drought and a reason not to finish my project of cleaning and grooming the corner iris bed. I’d begun working early the day before, bending, clipping, tossing detritus into Mom’s discarded shredder-cum-yard waste container.

          With an early lunch meeting in town, I had to stop, shower, and dress. An Aleve would (ahem) eventually alleviate the soreness. After the meal, I drove a short, back way to Home Depot for landscape materials. I hauled down a huge bag of potting soil. But I waited for an assistant to load the marble rocks and bags of pea gravel I wanted for the south yard.

          But then, I needed a few things from the dollar store, so I stopped. I took only a yellow basket with me, but halfway through the store, I picked up a second one and filled them both. I left with five bags of merchandise on one arm and a bag of cat food in my other hand—by this time, it was early afternoon—and I suddenly felt old. I felt like I walked like an old person—for the first time in my newly-82 years. At the car, unloading my arms and hand, I talked severely to myself. “You ARE old!”

         Obviously, I said that in a weak moment, tired from the early yard chore, dressed too warmly for that time of day, not to mention the oppressive humidity. After a longer-than-usual nap, I recovered both my strength and my positive attitude. So, I moved on as we all must do at certain times.

        The next morning, I arose early to water the roses, but the sky looked bluer than usual. Weather sources said 100% chance of rain, and a map showed a storm moving our way from the west. Sure enough, thunder pealed and eventually, the rains came.

        The rain was no flood--an inch deep in my garden wagon--but it helped. After it stopped, I finished the iris bed and de-grassed part of the sidewalk--until ants appeared from under a paver.

           I had one more responsibility before that day ended: baking a pear cobbler for Ebenezer UMC’s Fifth-Sunday potluck, a new church activity. I intended to use a 9x13 dish, so I lifted three packages of al-ready-stewed pears sans sugar and cinnamon from the freezer and set them to thaw. Before the storm that morning, I had “run” to Harvest Foods for a pie crust to make decorative strips.

           After an unrestful nap, it was time to begin. Using a recipe I found online and printed out, I substituted for fresh ginger, half as much of the ground spice. For the lemon zest, I substituted twice as much lemon juice as called for—both suggestions from online.

                In my ignorance of this church's potluck "doings," when I signed up for "dessert," I figured it would be the only dessert, so I'd better make as large a dish as I could. I filled a 9x13 Pyrex dish to the brim, added the cut strips of pie crust, Voila! Enough for all two dozen or so folks. I took whipped topping, too.

          But when I got there, I saw 2 store-bought pies, two homemade cakes, cookies, candy. . . I'd forgotten that when "potluck" is mentioned in a United Methodist Church, it usually means each family brings at least 3 dishes. True this day!

          Three of us took small helpings--to sample some of all, of course. I took the rest ofit home where it sat in the fridge for a day or three. Finally, I filled 8 coffee cups (not mugs) packed down, topped with (ahem) topping, and placed them in the freezer before covering with plastic wrap.

          I'll know next time.