Saturday, November 26, 2011

Back by popular demand: "What the #@*$! do I do with all these leftovers"

Turkey Tortilla Soup


Another in a series of recipes to quench the age-old dilemma: ‘what do you do with all these Thanksgiving leftovers???’

Take the turkey carcass (if you have a generous friend like June, who gives you the whole damned thing; first pull off the big pieces to use in other mysterious ways) and break it up into manageable skeletal chunks. Take out all your aggressions from Black Friday! The long lines, the lunatics in the parking lot, the bogus newspaper ads ... and bust that puppy up; then pile the bones, skin, etc in your largest pot and cover with water.

Simmer the dickens out of it for hours on end. This is a good time to do laundry and wrap presents but not to leave the house. Or get drunk.

While we’re waiting ... here’s my list of (intended) ingredients:

  • 2 cans (14 oz) crushed tomatoes (I cheated and got the kind with the mild chili peppers already mixed in)
  • (1 can) black beans
  • (1 can) corn
  • celery, onions, green & red pepper
  • cilantro
  • lime
  • grated cheese
  • DOH! I forgot the tortillas!!!

I say ‘intended’ because I don’t know if this is what I’ll really put in there once it’s all said & done. It’s a work in progress ...

So I have chopped and sautéed one (each) green & red peppers, about ½ onion, and two stalks of celery. Once soft I added these to the broth (having dug out all the solid chunks and gently separated the turkey meat from bones, cartilage and other parts we don’t want to think too hard about) along with the two cans of tomatoes and a bunch of chopped cilantro.

Now the ‘authentic’-ish recipes seem to indicate that I need to puree this soup ... so I’ll cook it another 10-15 min. and then let it cool down (again) and puree it and get ready for the final assembly.

Warm up the pureed soup, adding the corn and beans. Right before serving, add the juice of one lime (and Tabasco if you are a sadist). Ladle into the bowl and then place a mound of turkey and cheese in the middle (*although I just mixed the turkey in at the same time as the beans and corn), then top that little molehill with avocado, chopped cilantro, and possibly a dollop of sour cream. (Is that redundant? Doesn’t ‘dollop’ just scream ‘sour cream’?) Top with the tortillas.

Now the tortillas – that’s another story. When I read about making tortilla strips I thought ‘Don’t these idiots know that Vons has tortilla chips for $2 a bag?!’ But then I made them and they are the absolute bomb; now THIS is something even my finicky teenagers will eat!!

Pour a skim of veggie oil in a frying pan over low-medium flame, then take a tortilla and cut it into slivers about 2-3” long and very skinny. Once the oil is good-and-hot sprinkle the tortilla strips in (they should start sizzling right away or the oil’s not hot enough) and let them cook a few seconds, then toss them gently in the hot oil with two forks until they are nice and brown and crispy. (You can make – and freeze - the soup ahead of time but do the tortillas right before serving.)

And that’s why it’s called ‘tortilla soup’ because the fried tortilla strips are so friggin’ awesome! The rest of the soup is just a platform (and a healthy one) for these nasty and delicious fried tortilla strip!

Turkey pot pie

Dice the turkey meat into bite-sized pieces. Gather up your leftover peas, carrots, mushrooms, pearl onions, parsnips, whatever veggies your have – and make sure they’re small eat-able bits. Remember we are only using veggies, and nothing that could be potential slimy like spinach or cabbage or kale ... and totally resist the temptation to put the mashed potatoes in the pie :-P SHOAL! Or gravy! DOUBLE-SHOAL!

If you have a really goody-two-shoes family who ate all their veggies and you don’t have enough for the pie, cook up some peas, carrots, diced celery and onions or whatever. Mushrooms, by the way, are a ‘must’ so buy some if you don’t have any leftover. (Haha if there are any men in your household check their bathroom, there are sure to be some growing there LOL)

Start your cream sauce by stirring a pat of butter and some flour over a low flame. Gradually add some chicken broth ... then maybe a little cream or half and half ... you want the sauce to thicken but not really be pasty. You might need to add more flour (watch the lumps!) or liquid – figure it out: you’re a grown-up.

If your turkey was brined and/or seasoned and basted, you probably don’t need to add any salt. Season with pepper and – ta da – tarragon: the magic ingredient.

Toss the turkey, veggies and cream sauce together and if you're a true masochist, make a crust ... or grab that Mrs. Smith’s pie crust you were going to use for the apple pie you never made. Add just enough filling into the bottom crust to be barely flush with the top, because it will bubble & seep so don’t mound it up. (Any extra filling you can serve on toast – this is something I think they used to eat in the 50’s so you can present it as some new ‘retro’ meal and everyone will think you’re all trendy and shit.)

Roll the top crust out thin so you have some extra pieces to decorate with. Put the top crust on, then ‘paint’ it with a mixture of egg and a teeny bit of water that’s been whipped together. Then cut out some shapes (autumn leaves ... turkeys ... skull & crossbones) and ‘glue’ these on with the egg-water, and then ‘paint’ over them lightly too.

Bake the pot pie in a 350º oven until the crust is done. Remember all the stuff in the middle is already cooked so it just needs to be warmed up.

Alas, you can freeze this until everyone has slid into complacency and forgotten what turkey leftovers are all about, and then surprise them some cold wintry night, like a pop quiz in math class. They won’t ever know what hit ‘em. Yum!

Sunday, November 20, 2011

Who brought the F-#$(*&@! bananas?!

Nov 12 2011 - Who brought the F-#$(*&@! bananas?!

To say our first day at the Golden Rock Regatta was stellar, would be an understatement.

Although it was hard waking up – at 7:15am, to get our passports and documents in order – and despite the hasty toss off the raft up (with two more boats still tied outside us, and none of us with our engines on) we dusted off the cobwebs pretty swiftly. The wind was blowing about 17k, the seas turquoise and cobalt; and our crew of 10 snapped to attention, practiced a few tacks and jibes, ran and re-ran the line, and readied for the start.

And even though our power winches (I confess!) died immediately after the start, and we had to grind the jib in by hand – we were doing well. Very well.

The night before we’d met the others – locals teams like “Bobby’s Marina” and “Team Statia” and Anton’s “Bad Boys of the Caribbean” (motivating us to rename “Team USA” with the much more colorful moniker “Nine Yanks and a British Ho”). After the Skipper’s meeting, at the Bottoms Up bar on the Philipsburg boardwalk we sized up the competition; talked smack; and made loud assertions and bets about who was going to win. I wondered if all the drinks they bought us were indeed in friendship? Or designed to sabotage our race …

Soon after the start, we pulled away from the fleet; kept the pressure on and wouldn’t let anyone pass. Before long we were a good half-mile ahead of our class: cockily we took pictures of the parade astern. We beat up past Marigot in absolutely delicious conditions: azure seas, on the average of 22k of wind, the cerulean sky spotted with clouds. It rained about half a minute.

Rounding the northern point, past TIntamarre Islands, we were on the home stretch, just south of Oyster Pond, when BAM! The gooseneck sheared right off the mast, leaving the boom to joust perilously amidship, as it dangled from the main.

Game over.

Our recovery was swift: we eased the boom onto the deck as we dumped the mainsail and lashed it all down – furling the jib too, so the crew at the mast wouldn’t get flogged to death. We were so far ahead of the fleet- even with our sails down, motoring gingerly, we still reached the RC ahead of the rest of our class.

I had seen the bananas this morning.’ Who brought bananas on the boat?’ I muttered. No one fessed up ... Later when I saw Mary eating one on deck, I reiterated my disdain and yet, it was poo-poo’d.

Moments later, our boom was swinging in the breeze, and we were retreating across the bouncy seas back to the Moorings Base in Orient Bay …

Nov 13

Slamming cupboards. Low, rubbly voices. The gurgle of the coffee pot, and shortly after: the heavenly smell of java. The men were readying breakfast: a sound so musical to a woman’s ears, it’s akin to the purr of a new Ferrari in the driveway, or the jingle of a Tiffany pouch full of diamonds.

Our day started back at Captain Oliver’s – the Moorings had fixed our boom, but too late for us to return to Philipsburg. So we made an early start Sunday; running quickly in the strong breeze to the start line.

It was another raucous but incredible start. Never mind that our teddy bear of a skipper is more like a grizzly at the start: all 6’ 3” / 240’ lbs. of him roaring at the other competitors. Nor that our tactician admitted the prior night (after we’d all refreshed ourselves both inside and out, at the pool at the Iguana bar) that he had once sailed into a tree. Our starts were thrilling and we left the others in the dust.

Momentarily. The mast seems to be torqued, and we were a marked 2k slower on one board – the longest tack of the 13m stretch to St Barths. Over time they climbed up, and at the conclusion we had a fierce tacking duel with two other boats, finishing within minutes of us. Alas Johan remarked we were great starters, but they were better finishers. The bravado and bets would continue well into the night.

I couldn’t image how St Barths could be all that different from the other islands I’ve been to – but it was delightfully so. We entered the channel to the anchorage, to a very manicured looking village. Neatly painted cays and boxy buildings, in colors that made St Maarten suddenly seem … gaudy. Cobbled streets and narrow sidewalks – with stagecoach landings here and there. Our moorage was abreast a tented affair, with crowds of chic looking people chatting, dancing, lining for food; and a loud band playing eclectic tunes from rumbas to reggae to ‘I did it my way.’

The race had been swift so once we were tied up (and re-tied up: not an uncomplicated task in the very surgy harbor) we ate lunch – baguettes and cold cuts we’d procured in French Sint Martin, we walked the six minutes to Shell Beach and enjoyed an afternoon of swimming and lounging (and I snorkeled the length of the beach and back)

Later we dined on the boat (too expensive to eat ashore) but meandered the streets in the cool breezy evening; enjoying a drink at the bistro at the end of the harbor, and another poorly ventilated pub, where one of the Chrises was nodding off in the corner ...


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Rock On!

Nov 11

Where was Steve (and his warm fuzzy blanket) - my neighbor on the crammed redeye from LA to Charlotte?  Air travel has stooped to a new low and USAir now charges for blankets and pillows ($7!) …  Blessedly, my seat-mate (in Southern gentlemanly style, complete with a sugary drawl) loaned me the scrap of fleece he has taken to traveling with. Alas he debarked in his South Carolina hometown, leaving me on the subsequent leg to my own devices: in a meat-locker of a jet – crammed with bodies in a fuselage cold enough to hang meat. The flight attendants plow through the aisle, brusquely peddling their wares (a brilliant strategy: crank up the A/C and sell blankets); credit cards, jewelry and booze (duty-free), cocktails and boxed food. I stick with Diet Coke and a granola bar made of hamster food and wood shavings I’m sure (“Kashi TLC – Almond Flax” - must stand for ‘Tough Luck Charlie’), and shivering, keep my eye on the prize.

Two hours hence I’ll be in St. Maarten. ‘Warm, tropical, rainy, St. Maarten. The forecast is not too sweet, but a visual check gives me hope: the alabaster batting that slathered the southern United States has dissolved into streaks of haze and a dappling of clouds. I am here for the sun …

… and to cover the Golden Rock Regatta – a spinoff of the wildly popular St. Maarten Heineken Regatta. Begun just seven years ago, the event was created to help promote tourism to St. Eustatius island – familiarly known as Statia, and the Golden Rock.

Three and four hundred years ago this 12 square mile patch of land was one of the busiest, most prominent trading centers in the northern Caribbean Sea. Historians say most of the munitions that fueled our American Revolution can through this Dutch port – and they were the first (on Nov. 16, 1776) to recognize our independence. To this day they commemorate that alliance with parades and festivities, and our planned loop – racing from St. Maarten to St. Barths to Statia and back to St. Maarten – will place us at the Golden Rock during those celebrations.

It’s the least we can do.

‘Especially since Statia has dwindled since that time. Her population of 20,000 numbers just about 3,000 now, with annual visitors roughly the same. A very hot issue is the threatened expansion of an oil storage facility, which will pock the tiny, picturesque island with even more tanks – and put the marine reserve at increasing risk of an oil spill. I am eager to spend some time on the island.

#             #             #

PS - I am totally digging my new (used) mini laptop. She’s no toy: full-on RAM and ports and even a dvd drive: even so she’s sturdy, compact, fast, and the keyboard feels great under my tapping fingers. She’s my new travel companion - so I have named her Gypsy. Perfect!

 

 

 


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Checked by AVG - www.avg.com
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