Faux-Shepherds Pie

In honor of Snark's 40th birthday this weekend I am posting his favorite dish. He likes it with ground beef instead of lamb. I serve this with buttered toast. I also use a stove to oven skillet to lessen the amt of pots used.

1 1/2 lbs ground sirloin
1 packet onion gravy mix
1 med onion chopped
1/2 pkg frozen peas and carrots

Topping
4 lg potatoes
1/2 stick butter
milk to thin out potatoes
1 egg beaten
1 cup cheddar cheese
salt and pepper to taste

Peel and cube potatoes. Boil till tender. Meanwhile, brown beef till no longer pink and drain. Add chopped onion and beef to pan and cook till onion is soft. Add gravy packet and water. Cook till gravy thickens. turn off heat and mix in carrots and peas. Pre-heat oven to 350.

Drain potatoes and add back to pot. Turn on low heat and evaporate any water on potatoes. Mix in butter, milk and egg. Mash till smooth and dollop onto beef mixture. Smooth out and sprinkle with cheddar. Bake in oven till bubbling, about 30 min.

ISN’T THIS A HELLUVA THING?!

The Lavalovely was recently asking me to post, saying it’s been months. She isn’t lying, and so last Sunday, I finished writing my NFL column and put a post together. It was very downcast and pessimistic. Sorry, it’s just my current state of mind. When the Mrs. saw it, she told me that it didn’t pass muster, and she wasn’t going to put it on the Blog.

No worries, I figured, things will change, and I’ll be inspired to write something that works in the next few days. Unfortunately, I’m not exactly happy about the inspiration for this post.

I went into the newsroom the next morning and was exchanging hellos with Anne, the woman who shares my “pod.” I was just mentioning what we did over the weekend, what I ate (food’s usually the most important part of any discussion I have), and then I dialed in my e-mail.

The first message was spam.

The second was from the theater critic: “Lisa (our business editor) called me last night and said Susan (our star business reporter) suffered a heart attack around 10 p.m. last night.”

I paused as my mind drank this in.

Susan’s husband, Ken, and I have only known each other for about 16 months (how long I’ve been in Florida, working at the paper), but we’ve grown relatively close. We would always talk sports at the office. Ken retired at the end of last year (at the young age of 56), but he and I kept in touch. He took me to Vero Beach to catch a Dodgers game during spring training (this is a big deal if you’re a baseball fan—Vero is mecca during March).

A couple of months later, the Lavalovely and the crumb crunchers were in India, and I was Mr. Lonely Guy. Ken and Susan had me over for dinner, stuffing me with steak and regaling me with funny stories at their beautiful home. I remember giving Susan a hearty hug, grabbing a biography of Lou Gehrig that Ken had loaned me, and walking off to my car to drive home fat and happy.

I kept saying I’d bring the Gehrig book to work to hand to Susan so she could give it to Ken. I did so a few weeks ago, figuring I didn’t need to track her down because I always bump into her at the microwaves as I did last month.

Susan hadn’t met my wife, and I sat there, heating up an Amy’s vegetarian entrée, telling Susan that the four of us had to get together and go out for dinner and drinks. Susan said, “You know Ken and I would love that!” She was always smiling, and her eyes were so bright. You talked to her for 10 minutes, and you felt you’d been friends with her for years. The only reason I knew who she was was because she introduced herself at these very same microwaves the previous August. Ken had told her about me, and she just called me over as I walked by, saying, “We’ll have to have you over for dinner sometime!”

Now anyone who knows my wife knows that she is from the school of “I believe it when I see it.” She’s used to hearing me talk about a coworker threatening to invite us over, then it never happening. Ken and Susan are definitely not in the idle-threat camp.

Hey, every week’s like the last one, right? I’ll see Susan any time, and I can give her the Gehrig book, right?

The reverie ended, the Gehrig book was sitting on my desk, and I was staring at its title: “Luckiest Man.”

I read the next sentence of the e-mail.

“Susan’s at the hospital right now and isn’t expected to make it. Ken, and Susan’s best friends are at her side.”

I reread the words “ISN’T EXPECTED TO MAKE IT.”

“My God,” I uttered.

“I was wondering when you were going to read that,” Anne said. A simple question: Why didn’t Anne tell me about Susan’s heart attack before I read it online? That question is still bouncing around in my head.

Four hours later, at 2 p.m., our executive editor called our staff together and told us that Susan was dead. Ken and Susan’s four best friends decided to pull the plugs on four machines that were keeping her alive. She was gone moments later.

I figured Susan was around my age (40), but I later found out she was 47. Her husband is similarly deceptive. He could pass for late 40s, 10 years younger than he actually is. Both were trim, athletic, and Susan was a workout fiend. Apparently, however, she had a slightly weaker heart than that of a typical woman her age. And last Sunday night, she called Ken for help from across the house, and Ken had no idea that Susan’s heart was going to fatally betray her without leaving a mark on her exterior.

After work, I went to Ken’s house. My heart was in my mouth, I was terrified of going, but there was a crowd of about 40 others there. People who have known Ken for decades (the paper I work at is very insular—people come here and retire here).

I gave him a hug, and he hugged back with one arm and said, “Glad to see you, David. Isn’t this a helluva thing?!”

Ken acted as if nothing was wrong, and he was as charming, assured and full of grace as ever.

“Ken, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say,” I said, and I stepped into the background. He chatted up everyone there, and several times told the gruesome details of finding his wife basically dead in their office.
Ken and Susan are quite a bit older than the Lavalovely and myself, but they only had each other for seven years. The Mrs. and I have been together for 13 years. That made me feel sadder, because that pair were obviously made for each other in clichéd and noncliché ways. I didn’t tear up, but felt like it as I got ready to leave.

“Give your wife an extra hug,” Ken said as I headed out. “All spouses get extra hugs today!”

The Mrs. has gotten probably five or six extra hugs since Monday. Every day is a gift. A gift, I say. It’s something I don’t want to forget. Last Sunday, Ken was a happily married man. Tomorrow I’m attending the funeral for his wife.

Banana Fritters

I probably shouldn't post this because I don't have exact quantities. This recipe has been in my family for generations and all the women just make it to taste.

3 Bananas mashed

2 eggs, beaten

sugar(to taste)

pinch salt

1 tsp baking soda

3/4 c. flour

squeeze lemon

vegetable oil/butter for frying

mix all ingredients together. Heat oil /butter till shimmering but not smoking. Drop by Tablespoonfulls and fry. Will resemble mini-pancakes.

Shelling around

We went away for a long weekend to the Marco Island Marriott and Spa. It was very nice. Only problem was my second day there I was doing the stingray shuffle on the sandbar and razored the bottom of my foot on a shell. I have a nice four inch gash and it needs stitches but I'm not going. I slapped some Neosporin on it and a Band-aid. A Marriott staff member told me I was lucky because he has seen shells do more damage than sting ray spikes. Anyway, this cured me of stepping into the ocean for a time. I sat back and anesthetized myself with a Pina Colada.

Mario's Carbonara

I could eat this dish all the time. It is simple and decadent. I don't agree with Batali's politics but this is one great dish! Be sure to read HEAT by Bill Buford. He delves into the personality of Mario Batali. You either hate or like him but you cannot deny he can cook.

2		tablespoons coarse salt
1/2		medium onion, finely chopped
4		ounces guanciale, pancetta, or American bacon, cut into 1/4-inch cubes
1		pound very thick spaghetti
1/2		cup freshly grated Pecorino cheese
4		large eggs, separated
4		tablespoons freshly ground pepper
		1. Bring 6 quarts of water to a boil; add salt. Meanwhile, in a 12-inch sauté pan, cook onion and guanciale over medium heat until both are translucent, 8 to 10 minutes.
		2. Add spaghetti to the boiling water, and cook according to package instructions, until tender but al dente. Drain. Add the hot pasta to the sauté pan, and toss over medium heat until coated. Add 1/4 cup cheese, and stir. Remove from the heat, and vigorously stir in egg whites.
		3. Divide the pasta among four plates, and top each serving with one yolk.
		4. Sprinkle with the remaining 1/4 cup grated cheese and the pepper. Serve immediately.
Courtesy of Martha Stewart Living.

Five Years

Five years is a long time. This is what has happened from Sept 11, 2001 to Sept 11, 2006. My family has moved in and out of two states, lost my father-in-law, been laid off from two jobs and on our fourth dog. That is just the tip of the iceberg.

Five years ago, we were living in St. Louis, MO. My mother had flown in the night before from New York City. She had planned on staying an extra night but decided against it. One kid was home, the other in pre-school. I was getting ready to go to work and Snark was washing the cars.

I was in the shower and Snark ran in and said "A plane just hit the towers." I hopped out and went to the tv. My mother was facing me and I said "Are they replaying it?" just as Dan Rather's shocked voice mentioned that was a second plane heading toward the other tower. It was not a replay.

Our first thought was my younger brother who lived in the City. I had spoken with him the night before and he had mentioned he was headed for a meeting at Morgan Stanley. I called his cell but the lines were busy and then when it rang would only say "There has been a tornado in the area. Please try again." He called later that day from a phone to say he was fine. He overslept and was late for the meeting. A friend of his wasn't so lucky.

I don't think you realize the magnitude of an event until time has passed. I hate it when people try to minimalize events in history. I thank God that my brother overslept and my mother didn't feel like staying the extra day to sightsee.

Tada a recipe finally!

Courtesy of Rick Bayless, who owns Frontera Grill in Chicago. Serve with warm flour tortillas and sliced avocado.

Red Chili Steak with Beans - serves four

Ingredients:
2 tablespoons olive oil, vegetable oil or bacon-drippings (divided use)
Two 10-ounce rib-eye, New York (strip loin) or tenderloin steaks ( 1 1/4 pounds total), trimmed of excess fat and cut into 1-inch cubes
Salt
1 medium white onion, sliced 1/4 inch thick
1 tablespoon all-purpose flour
2 garlic cloves, peeled and finely chopped or crushed through a garlic press
2 tablespoons ground ancho chile powder
1 1/2 teaspoons chipolte chile powder (or ancho powder)
1 1/2 cups beef broth, plus a little more if necessary
One 15-ounce can diced tomatoes in juice (preferably fire-roasted)
1/2 teaspoon dried oregano (preferably Mexican)
1/4 teaspoon ground cumin
1/2 teaspoon sugar (if necessary)
One 15-ounce can pinto-or practically any beans, drained OR 1 3/4 cups home cooked pintobeans, drained

Preparation:

• Heat 1 tablespoon of the oil or bacon drippings in a very large (12-inch) skillet over medium-high. Sprinkle the meat all over with salt. When the oil is very hot, add the meat in an uncrowded single layer and cook, stirring and turning regularly, until browned but still rare inside, 3 to 4 minutes. With a slotted spoon, scoop the meat onto a plate, leaving behind as much oil as possible. Add the onion to the skillet and cook, stirring regulaly, until richly golden but still crunchy, 4 to 5 minutes. Scoop into the plate with the meat.
  
• Reduce the heat under the skillet to medium. Add the remaining 1 tablespoon oil or drippings, along with the flour, garlic and two chile powders. Cook for 1 minute, stirring constantly to prevent burning. Add the broth and whisk until a smooth, thick sauce is formed.
  
• Add the tomatoes, with their juice, the oregano and cumin. Bring to a boil, then reduce the heat to medium-low and simmer gently for 10 minutes. Taste and season with salt, usually about 1 teaspoon. Add the sugar if the sauce has a bitter edge. Thin with a little more broth if the sauce has thickened beyond the consistency of a light cream soup.
  
• Add the meat and onions to the pan, along with the beans. Simmer for a couple of minutes, until everything is heated through and the meat is as done as you like. The dish is ready.
  

Uh.......

We are trying to teach the girls not to say certain things like "I'm going to kill myself" or "I want to blow my head off." The latter is the favorite of a friend. It is her personal greeting. And she uses it quite often like when she has a hangnail or her kids are screaming in her ear. I feel they shouldn't take sentences like that lightly or say it in jest. Gives me the heebie jeebies.

We are sitting there and my eldest says "I could've killed myself." That is the cool thing to say in 4th grade.

Snark decides to turn this into a lesson in religion. "God decides when you die, so don't say that."

My youngest pipes up "So God decides to make a car run over you."

Let's see Snark try and get out of this one.

This Steve Irwin death really saddens me. I just remember being pregnant and watching him on Discovery then Animal Planet. I really looked forward to his Discovery specials in the early 90's. I also think I am sad because he was 44 and had two small kids. Snark said it's a sign we're getting older. More people we know are dying. Morbid!