one and a half feet of snow in one shot is a lot.
when it's also below freezing,
for the umpteenth day in a row,
and, of course, just to reeaallly turn up the volume on the suck,
it's also F*ing windy.....
that's when we take a snow day,
and we turn it into a soup day.
what's better than hot soup for your chilly fingers?
the comfort of a big bowl of burly broth and beans an' that
is better than most things on the spectrum of counterpoints
to the cold snowy blustery wintry februarian fury of ma nature.
in the theme of st. valentine, and the loveliest of lovely sentiments,
which is of course to say: love;
i brewed up a big hot pot of hearty heartfelt heat.
check the teleport:
LENTIL LOVE FROM UP ABOVE!
it's too flippin' good,
and i ate too flippin' much,
so you can be sure that i know what's up,
and i follow my heart, and the rules:
too much is the right amount.
and this stuff right here is the cure for cold weather,
tired limbs from tossing shovelfuls of snow in every direction,
sore legs from hiking across the breadth of the woodsly goodness,
in waist-high drifts, and over plowed-road rifts....
for really real,
i did something especially good this time around,
and i ate three bowls before i realized i was full from the first one.
when it's this tasty and delicious?
being full is not a good enough reason not to tune up a little (or a lot) MORE.
you're gonna make some?
here's the rough guidelines:
1 medium onion, diced;
1 smaller-medium carrot, 'cubed';
1 big stalk celery, minced;
all of that, sauteed in olive oil,
with 1/4 cup red lentils, until the onions are softened-
now add in:
oregano, sage, rosemary, thyme, parsley, basil, ground mustard,
GPOP, bay leaf, black pepper,
and the tiniest suggestive hint of cumin;
2 T nutritional yeast;
and let that activate for three minutes or so;
splash in 3 T red wine vinegar;
2 cups of soaked green lentils;
2 cups of petite diced canned tomato;
4 cups of broth;
and that will cook itself silly on mediumish heat until your nose tells your
stomach to tell your tongue to take a little taste.
you're gonna wanna salt it up,
and before you serve it?
a punch of fresh parsley will give it the hottness,
as will a few tablespoons of lemon juice.
don't skimp out, it's worth it for that the extra juice.
i put some radicchio to it.
i love that stuff.
plus, it's really good-lookin'.
and those microgreens?
c'mon, buddy- tiny nutrient bombs are what's up!
we've got our soup on.
we need to eff with some super-official exxxtra-elite bread,
for dippin' and dunkin' and generally improving the experience in all ways.
good bread makes better people,
and if soup is good too,
then we're evolving with each sopping bread scoople, man.
homemade bread has no comparison,
and that buttery bun right up there only serves to illustrate that statement.
i made two buns, and one long sandwich roll.
1 1/2 cups of flour;
2 T olive oil;
2 T butterish;
1/2 tsp salt;
1 tsp bread machine yeast;
1/2 cup warm water;
1 T rapid-rising yeast;
2 tsp sugar.
the regular composition,
the usual times-
kneaded in the mixer, with the hook,
for five or so hard minutes-
bulked for thirty.
punched, shaped, slit, and left to proof while the oven preheated to 415F...
they were all basted with olive oil,
and baked for 17 minutes until they got good and golden.
the small ones were eaten still hot, right with that soup.
the big 'un?
well, i saved him of something special.
it was snow day, after all,
so i had myself a bang bang again.
but, we'll worry about that another time.
i got nobody to be mine.
that's not entirely true.
there are contenders vying for affection on the periphery,
there's no future in that.
maybe that shouldn't matter on valentine's day,
but it does matter,
it actually matters every day.
and it matters a lot.
the relative attractiveness of an individual is not just dependant
on if they're pretty or handsome or not.
it isn't for me, and that's probably true for other responsible adults, too.
i'm concerned about much, much more-
and in that regard,
i think i'm at a severe and extreme disadvantage.
most everyone i encounter catches me at the tattoo studio.
as such, they only get a small cross-section of what i'm on about.
that's not the best collection of ideas to base your desires on.
the showmanship and braggadocio of albie rock is almost entirely alien
to the food-cookin' wordsmith and warrior poet,
the lightning-striking virtuous viking,
the berserker barbarian bard,
or any of the other other myriad facets of my Folk Life.
as a matter of fact,
i'm immediately suspicious of anyone who thinks the performance artist
from my workplace is somebody they'd like to get to know better.
they should know better.
i'm rolling solo on valentine's day,
but i'm eating cake,
and i'm wearing red and pink,
and i'm grateful for crabtree and the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
they're mine all mine all mine if nobody good wants to be.
i do my dirt all by my lonely,
and it usually turns out better without distractions, anyway.
this is it.
a little older, a lot colder,
a little bit louder, a little bit worse,
and all really happening right this very moment;
never quiet, never soft.....