When I got up this morning, I put on something other than a t-shirt, fleece, and my one-and-only pair of everyday jeans.

I attribute my ruffles to the fact that it’s Friday and I don’t have nine kids in my house, and to my current infatuation with Downton Abbey. Actually, “infatuation” might be a little strong. I’m enjoying the show a good deal—it’s so calm and, and … stately—but I’m not completely hooked. Or maybe I am and I just don’t know it? My husband refuses to watch it with me. The whole lord and servant thing makes him mad.

About the nine kids thing—well, this was us at supper last night.

We had beans and rice and all the fixings (contrary to all appearances, there was food to eat—I made plates-to-order in the kitchen in hopes of keeping the mess to a minimum) and a dessert bar—cake, two kinds of cookies, and fresh rhubarb pie, courtesy of my sister-in-law.

Afterwards, my husband and I blitzed the house while two of the girls washed dishes, kids got baths, and the baby entertained any of the kids that weren’t bathing or washing dishes.

By 7:30, the house was shipshape and all the kids ran off to play. I sat down in the rocker, someone plopped the baby in my lap, and she promptly conked out. I sniffed her head, held her pudgy hands, and visited with the other adult, until we were interrupted by a push-up competition (I did not participate), at which point everything got loud and chaotic and then the parents came to collect their progeny and we tossed our kids in bed, the end.

But backing up the boat a leedle farther… The night before (Wednesday night, for those of you keeping track), three of the extra kids spent the night. It was a night from hell. The littlest child woke up at 1:30 with the homesick blues. Over the course of the next hour and a half, he went from sniffles to full-blown gut-wrenching, eardrum-piercing howls. Two of the other kids woke up and tried to help out, all to no avail. We finally put Sad Boy on the floor in our room and shut the door. My husband lay down with him, but it wasn’t until the kid was sobbing at the top of his lungs that I finally turn on the light and told him sternly that he could not cry like that because he would wake the other kids. And then he went to sleep.

Lesson learned: zero tolerance for homesickness works. Perhaps?

Except that the torture wasn’t over yet because we had to keep the light on, and I couldn’t sleep very well with my retinas getting scorched and all. Also, I felt disoriented because my husband’s feet were where his head should be since he was sleeping upside down in order to be closer to Sad Boy. Not that a big man head hanging over the foot of the bed would actually be a comfort.

At 4:30, when I realized the kid was sleeping—hallelujah!—I gingerly switched off the light. But just when I was nodding off—I do not believe this!—he started up again with the sniffling so I had to turn the light on again. My poor eyeballs.

In the morning, phrases from Clarence’s speech (better yet, watch it) kept rolling through my head. The words were indecipherable, more like moanings with a cadence, but it was Clarence’s voice in my head, for sure. I felt his anguished presence.

O, I have passed a miserable night,
So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights,
That, as I am a Christian faithful man,
I would not spend another such night
Though ’twere to buy a world of happy days–
So full of dismal terror was the time.


La-de-da-de-da.

All that to say, I’m really digging today’s leggings and ruffles and quiet house.

This same time, years previous: coconut pudding, an open letter to Isaiah, I don’t feel much like writing

I don’t know where to start! It’s a chicken pot pie, a simple—simply amazing—chicken pot pie, that’s got me all tied up in knots. Crazy, right?

I know. I’ll start with my emotions, ‘cause getting in touch with one’s emotions is a good starting point, or so I’ve been told.

I’m…

… tickled pink … with my new-found chicken pot pie knowledge.

… dismayed … that I never ate chicken pot pie when I was growing up, and maybe not until this very week, canyoubelieveit?

… flabbergasted … that I wasn’t inspired to learn to make chicken pot pie before. But now I’ve seen the light, glory be!

… evangelical … about spreading the chicken pot pie love. Eat your hearts out, folks. Your soul will sing.

… infatuated  … with my lard crust—it’s the best savory pie crust out there, and I am not ashamed to say it.

… concerned … I’ve been eating a little too much chicken pot pie.

… craving … more chicken pot pie, even though I’ve already made two in three days.

… basking … in the glow of my husband’s approval. “If only we ate like this every night,” he sighs wistfully as he helps himself to seconds. (If I wasn’t so sated with pot pie, I might consider that a slam.)

Seriously, pot pie is my newest, puppy-love crush. Lots of sappiness, moaning, dreamy smiles and the like.

Need more convincing? Take this.

Pot pie perks:
*It tastes good (of course).
*It’s easy.
*When using a Dutch oven, it’s a one-kettle meal.
*It’s pretty.
*Preparing it makes you feel like a domestic goddess (or god).
*Parts of the recipe can be made ahead.
*It’s filling.
*It’s an all-in-one meal, though a green side is nice, too.
*Kids like it.
*Grown-ups like it.
*The chicken is moist.
*The vegetables are tender.
*The sauce is creamy.
*The crust is flaky.
*Leftovers are magnificent.

Pot pie cons:
*Over-eating. It happens.
*The crusty edges are guaranteed to inspire vigorous fights, the type that involves jabbing-stabbing forks.
*Leftovers, there probably won’t be any.
*Burned tongues, because waiting is impossible.

As you can see, the perks far outweigh the cons. Clearly, pot pie is, or ought to be, in your future. And the sooner the better.

So, here’s what you need to do. (It appears I’m destined to write this post list format. Maybe this is one of the side effects of too much pot pie?)

1. Obtain 4 cups of shredded cooked chicken. Roasted is fine, or poached.
2. Make this pastry. This pastry is made for pot pie. Seriously! Change the rest of the recipe as much as you like, but whatever you do, use the lard crust. It elevates the pot pie to astonishing heights. Tops off the whole dish, too, hee-hee.
3. Chop up some veggies.

All of that can be done in the morning (and points 1 and 2 can be done days in advance), so that a couple hours before supper, all you need to do is saute, top, and bake. In other words…

4. MAKE POT PIE.

Chicken Pot Pie
Adapted from the Cook’s Illustrated Cookbook

Cook’s Illustrated recommends simmering boneless chicken breasts (about 1 ½ pounds) in 2 cups of broth for 8-10 minutes. Shred the chicken and reserve the broth.

4 cups shredded, cooked chicken
4-5 carrots, chopped
3-4 stalks of celery, chopped
1 onion, chopped
1 tablespoon olive oil
4 tablespoons butter
½ cup flour
1 ½ cups milk
2 cups chicken broth
1/4 teaspoon black pepper, plus more as needed
1 ½ teaspoons salt, plus more as needed
½ teaspoon dried thyme
2 teaspoons dried parsley (or 3 tablespoons fresh)
3 tablespoons dry sherry
1 cup frozen peas
½ recipe lard pastry

In a Dutch oven (or large soup pot), saute the carrots, celery, and onion in the olive oil for about 5 minutes. Transfer to a large bowl and wipe out the pot.

Return the Dutch oven to the heat and melt the butter. Whisk in the flour and cook for 30-60 seconds. Whisk in the milk and then the broth and simmer till thick (which will be almost immediately). Add the thyme, parsley, salt, and pepper. Remove from heat and stir in the chicken, veggies, peas, and sherry. Taste to correct seasonings. If using a Dutch oven, scrape down the sides to pretty it up, or transfer the meat filling to a 9 x 13 baking dish.

Roll out the pastry dough to the desired thickness and place atop the veggies, tucking in the edges. Make steam vents by slashing the top of the pastry in several places.

Bake the pot pie, uncovered, at 350 degrees for about an hour, or until the crust is golden brown and the juices are bubbling merrily.

This same time, years previous: snippets, odd ends, creamed chicken with cheese biscuits (this pot pie is much superior), cleaning up bad attitudes

It’s what I’ve been drinking round the clock and I’m not even close to being sick of it.

At the store last night, I bought more ginger and lemons. And some limes, too, to shake things up a bit.

You can catch the whole story here.

Ginger Lemon Tea
Adapted from Recipes for a Postmodern Planet

Feel free to swap lime juice in place of some of the lemon, and agave syrup for the honey. If you’re suffering from a cough, a splash of whiskey is a profitable addition, or so I hear.

Fresh ginger can be found in the produce section of any grocery store.

a 1-inch knob of fresh ginger, peeled and finely grated
1-2 lemons, juiced
1/4 cup honey
pinch of salt
4 cups water

Pour the water into a saucepan. Add the ginger and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat, add the lemon juice, honey, and salt, and simmer for five minutes. Strain and serve.

Variation: Fizzy Ginger Tea
Make a concentrate by using only 1-2 cups of water. Mix the chilled concentrate with 2-3 cups of club soda. Serve over ice.

This same time, years previous: odd ends, tortilla pie