• the quotidian (1.23.17)

    Quotidian: daily, usual or customary; 
    everyday; ordinary; commonplace



    Busy and productive: just how I like it.

    A gift: honeysuckle—HONEYSUCKLE—jelly.
    Company prep: candles, cookies, and and a task for when I’m running my mouth.

    Keeping everlastingly at it: crackers, bread, and granola.

    Homemade peanut butter: the boy got a bee in his bonnet and just had to make some.

    Writing group: the remains.

    Because tossing them on the floor is easier.
    She teaches (and has openings!).
    Cat cube.

    This same time, years previous: blizzard of 2016, lazy stuffed cabbage rolls, the quotidian (1.20.14), world’s best pancakes, rocks in my granola, and other tales, the quotidian (1.23.12), chuck roast braised in red wine, moving forward, peanut noodles, on thank-you notes, pink cupcakes, in no particular order, movie night, on not wanting, and capturing the moment.

  • homemade grainy mustard

    First lard, now mustard. I’m on a roll!

    When one of my friends told me she made her own mustard, I was intrigued. While visiting her over Christmas, I spied a jar of the stuff on the counter. I took a big whiff: what vinegary, hot goodness! We ate that mustard at our meal, dolloped atop our breakfast ham, and once we were back home, I emailed her for the recipe.

    When I finally got around to making the mustard myself, I misread the recipe. Instead of one cup seeds to three cups water, I did three cups seeds to three cups water. A couple hours later when I opened the fridge to show off my bowl of soaking seeds to my mother, I was surprised to see all the water had been absorbed, oops. I transferred everything to a gallon jar and added another six cups of water. It looked like I’d be making mustard for the masses!

    The next morning I drained the seeds and, working in batches, blended them in the food processor along with the vinegar and salt—MUSTARD!

    It’s grainy and hot, perfect in sandwiches with thick slices of ham, or as a dip for hard pretzels. I can’t wait to try it in honey-baked chicken, vinaigrettes, and potato salad. (I’ve been giving away pint jars of mustard right and left. I still have another pint or two to share. Anyone want some?)

    Homemade Grainy Mustard
    As instructed by my friend Rebecca.

    Rebecca says any vinegar will do; I used apple cider.

    As I was writing up this recipe, I did a little research. Sounds like you can put just about anything in homemade mustard: white wine, beer, maple syrup, turmeric, white sugar, cayenne, horseradish. Also, I imagine you could, just for the heck of it, throw in brown mustard seed, or maybe some black mustard. Fun, fun!

    1 cup mustard seed
    3 cups water
    5 teaspoons salt
    1 cup vinegar

    In the evening, put the seeds in a bowl, cover with water, and soak overnight. My friend leaves them out on the counter, but she said that one hot summer “the seeds sprouted and produced a hotter-than-hell mustard with odd horseradish overtones.” I put mine in the fridge, just to be on the safe side.

    In the morning, drain the seeds. They will be slightly slimy and stinky. Put the seeds in the food processor, add the vinegar and salt, and start blending. At first the mixture will be runny, but keep whirling. After a minute or so, it will thicken up nicely. Transfer the mustard to a quart jar and store in the fridge.

    This same time, years previous: cream cheese dip, cheesy polenta with sauteed greens, and snapshots and captions.

  • all the way under

    When we were up at my aunt’s house last Sunday, my older son—a.k.a. The Boy Who Put The Car On The Porch—got it into his head that he wanted to jump into the creek.

    Never mind that the thermometer hovered right around 30 degrees (if that).

    Never mind that the creek was covered in a sheet of ice.

    Never mind that he didn’t have his swimming trunks along.

    Never mind that there was snow on the ground.

    Never mind that it was cold.

    HAVE I MENTIONED THAT IT WAS COLD???

    While he changed into a pair of swimming trunks he had begged from a cousin, a bunch of the younger kids gathered at the creek to await the show.

    One cousin set about breaking a hole in the ice with an ax.

    When that went nowhere, a few of the guys helpfully chucked large rocks at the ice. At first the rocks just smacked into the ice and stuck.

    But eventually the ice weakened and a hole formed.

    IT WAS TIME.

    My son slippy-slopped his way across the ice towards the hole.

    He crouched.

    He lowered his feet in and gasped loudly.

    And then plunged in, all the way under.

    As he heaved himself out of the water, we cheered and hollered, gleeful and toasty warm in our winter coats.

    He didn’t waste one minute scrambling onto the bank and making a beeline up the hill to the house.

    My older daughter took a video of the whole thing. On it you can hear me bellowing, “Go under! ALL THE WAY UNDER” because I am the sort of mother who believes if you are going to be stupid, you might as well go all out.

    This same time, years previous: the quotidian (1.18.16), just do it, day one, quick fruit cobbler, snapshots, Julia’s chocolate almond cake, and five-minute bread.