Smoky stovetop beets

Beets have a muddled place in my kitchen. Some of us believe beets can and should be a part of every day's menu... hot, cold, raw, roasted, pickled... Anyway you make them, I {and now Brother} will eat them.

The girls declare them "yummy in my tummy," but don't dream purple like their momma.

Tim would prefer, well, any vegetable to a beet. Disappointing. However, this is one of three things he prefers not to eat, so I try to oblige.

What's a beet luvin' girl to do? Wait for an evening youth event serving a dinner, then make a mess of beets. An evening such as this one.

Since it's a single parent Sunday night, I was thinking borscht. Easy, delicious beets. That is until my daughter informed me that I always make soup, and she never wants to eat soup, and can't I please make a pizza instead. She doesn't appreciate this rare opportunity.

A compromise: Smoked Beet Pizza, or a new segment I'd like to call The Penny Gourmet.

Gourmet food has earned the reputation for extravagance and expense. Families concerned with thriftiness, such as a single income family with three kids, can be easily convinced that thrifty food must be common. I disagree. Any food can become gourmet with a little effort, such as fire roasting or in this case smoking.

Since week old snow still lays unmelted in the yard, I will not be using the big smoker. Tim might be that dedicated to the cause, but I prefer my heated kitchen. Thus follows a brief tutorial in Stovetop Smoking {seen first in Homemade by Yvette Von Boven}.

You will need:

A roasting pan with a heat resistant rack (a trivet can work)

Aluminum foil

A couple handfuls of wood chips or loose tea
Optional: woody herbs such as rosemary or juniper berries for flavor

Something to smoke: fish works well. Today we are focusing on root veggies

Directions:

Cube 2 lbs of root veggies (peeling if desired).

Place wood chips or tea leaves in the middle of the roasting pan forming a flat pile. Cover with a double layer of aluminum foil. Lay the rack in the pan and arrange the veggies leaving space between pieces.

Set the pan on a large burner over medium high heat until the wood chips begin to smoke. Turn the heat down to medium low and cover the pan in aluminum foil, crimping around the edges to create the tightest seal possible. Smoke for 30-40 minutes.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Move veggies to a greased cookie sheet and roast in the oven until al dente (This step is unnecessary with fish).

These veggies are versatile. I made extra and sliced them thinly for sandwiches or in salad. I might bust them out for snack this afternoon with a bit of sour cream. Anywho...

To create the pizza, I sautéed onions in a honey balsamic glaze {aka, add 1 t each of balsamic vinegar and honey to the translucent onions and caramelize for 1-2 minutes}. Olive oil, salt and sage for sauce. Mozzarella over the top, and you have a sunset pink gourmet pizza for around $3.

In case the time commitment of this venture worries you... All three kids were awake for the whole process. You need to be aware of the stove, but you don't have to stand over it.

Happy smoking!

'On the side' is a very big deal for you

Hard to believe but I was the only momma desperate enough to take her kids to the playground this morning in the 29 degree weather. I'm pretty sure Michigan moms laugh at high 20's. We bundled in layers and wool socks and ran over the frozen mulch to the deserted play equipment.

For 20 whole minutes. Fingers were too stiff to grasp ladders. Faces were too numb to smile. As we ran back to the van, big one asked, "Mommy, why am I crying?" Good times had by all. No really. We had a great time. Just what we needed. Running under a crystal blue sky.

We needed hot chocolate just as much. I warmed up the milk frothier and grabbed the cocoa powder. Topped each mug with a homemade marshmallow. Best part of a cold winter play.

As I watched the girls sip, I felt a twinge. My momma worked really hard to combat genetic fussiness. Not the kind where you gripe. The kind where you make a fuss about everything... The Sally Albright Syndrome. "I'd like the apple pie a la mode heated with strawberry ice cream. If you don't have strawberry, I'll take whip cream, but only if it's real. If it's from a can, then nothing... Yes, the pie, but then not heated."

Years of training us simply to peel and eat an orange. No sectioning or sprinkling with powdered sugar (which is exactly the way my grandfather had his orange every morning). She worked to simplify because my grandmother was a fusser, a major fusser. We used to joke that she asked whether or not we wanted a serrated or straight blade used to cut our sandwiches. We joked, but it was almost true. Every meal was a major production. She specialized in any dish that required ingredients from 3 speciality shops and took at least 6 hours of prep time. That's just who she was. My mom didn't want the burden of the production passed on.

You regular readers are probably laughing already, thinking, "this is the blog with recipes for making ice cream and granola - all stuff I can buy at any grocery store." What can I say? You can't fight genes, or maybe I don't chose to fight these genes.

Because I love a production and a good mess in the kitchen. If not for a power outage, I'd be in there right now candying peanuts to put in homemade banana ice cream.

And I love having ridiculous homemade treats to give my girls and sweet hubby. Pillowy vanilla marshmallows atop hot chocolate. Candied orange peel. Peppermint meringues. I've only gotten worse since the gluten free switch. I guess I'm trying to make up for the world of things the girls can't have, all the cupcakes and bakery sweets. Instead, they get homemade goldfish crackers. Maybe if the homemade stuff is enough fun, the off limits stuff won't seem so tragic.

We'll keep making and enjoying huge messes. And the delicious food that results. Get your kitchen ready... I should have a few more recipes headed your way.

I need ice down my back today

I have a melancholy streak. I won't label these downturns 'depression.' Not that I'm above depression. But some of you struggle with darkness I don't understand. I don't want to minimize your fight.

So I say melancholy, Eeyore-ish even. Glum.

To break the spell, my dad would drop a piece of ice down my back, then tickle me so I couldn't remove it. A silly cue to stop seeing only the morose.

Disclaimer: I don't recommend you {especially if 'you' are DH} drop ice down my back when I'm in a dark mood. You will probably catch me in a hormonal tempest waiting for a victim. No, that move is just for my daddy.

All of my drafts today have been dark and harsh. In need of a sanguine editing eye. So I leave them for another day in favor of a whimsical, refreshing moment in the kitchen.

Gluten Free Goldfish Crackers - actually Noah's Ark crackers, but Pepperidge Farm flavor

I found the recipe here. And in an unusual move, followed it to the letter {Alright, I added 1/4 t turmeric to enhance the color, but for me, an exact replica}.

Cutesy cookie cutters {I usually hack rolled dough into odd rectangles}. White rice flour. A moment of uncharacteristic whimsy, especially on a day when I wanted to hunch over black coffee and contemplate the meaningless of life.

I slipped back into my Eeyore costume as soon as the cheddar zoo came out of the oven and dinner plans were upon me.

However, the crackers are amazing! {when was the last time I used an exclamation point?? Amazing!}

Blame the Blog

The familiar sour taste is back this morning. Wonder why I have a pattern of blogging for 4 or so months, then giving up? Mornings like this one.

I sat down to write a couple hours ago with nothing. A signature and no thought to place before it. But it's been days, and I always post Monday. Who knows what the rest of the week will look like? I gave God about 15 seconds to inspire me before turning to the kitchen. When in doubt, cook.

A granola recipe has been in 'testing' for several weeks now. Eh - why not iron out the last kinks? So I spent all morning toasting and chopping and mixing. Not because granola is complicated - I had to tinker with my method and ratios. Must create the next 'perfect granola' recipe. Delusions of 'America's Test Kitchen'.

Looking out the kitchen window while washing up from the first mess, the perpetually overgrown lemon balm caught my eye. Oh yeah, I was going to do something with that. So I set about making several quarts of different herbal teas. Again, with a future post in mind. Again, awarding myself much greater culinary prowess than I deserve.

On and on. All while trying to craft winsome introductions.

I'm sure by now, you've asked the question I forgot to: Don't you have children? What have the girls been doing all this time?

When I finally broke from my self-absorbed experiment, I found pee on the floor and shreds of what used to be a beautifully illustrated children's book. Standing over their mess were two fed-up toddlers, ready for time away from their beloved sissy.

This is where I get disgusted with the blog. Of course I would be an attentive, present mother, reading with her children and one step ahead of the little bladder if I didn't have to feed the blog. It's all the internet's fault.

You already know. You're much smarter than I am: The blog requires nothing. Somewhere, a blog marketer just exploded, but really, the blog would still be here if I didn't write. It would still hold recipes and funny memories and awesome stuff God has done. It's a journal, not an obligation.

The girls require. More than food. Engaging their hearts and minds. Something Momma failed at today.

But God's mercies are new every nap time Lamentations 3:22-23 New Momma Version.

Lay down the wooden spoon and with it my pride {I heard recently that pride keeps us from recognizing our own ridiculousness - amen}. Fold hands in my lap. Bow head before the Father. Praise the Spirit for revealing my selfishness before it spoiled an outlet of praise.

Hope your Monday is Spirit-filled and Christ honoring - Happy day after Momma's Day!