Drametta Number One
The other evening, I posted the following on Facebook:

“Friday Night Entertainment: Dog bites sheep. Sheep runs. Kids chase sheep. Sheep runs. Kids and Dad chase sheep. Sheep runs. Night falls. Dad falls. Sheep runs. Kids and Dad and big brother (who had to jump out of the shower) chase sheep. Sheep runs. Sheep gets caught. Big brother gets back in the shower. Medicine is applied to sheep’s face. Suppertime. The end.”

Elaborations:
*Both sheep had blood on them. The kids had blood on them.
*My husband wrenched his back.
*The dog bit the sheep because the sheep was getting too close to the dog’s food. This means our dog is not a sheep eater. This is comforting.
*Annabelle appears to be fine. More skittish than normal, but fine.

Drametta Number Two
On Sunday, my husband stayed home from church to burn the brush piles. (The brush piles are a result of many hours spent cleaning up the fence line.) We were having guests for lunch, so he would be able to do the last minute meal prep, too.

As we left church, I called my husband to rattle off a string of getting-ready orders. Our guests ended up arriving at the same time we did, and as we were getting out of our respective cars, my husband sprinted out of the house, yelled hello to the company, grabbed a rake, and took off down to the field. Apparently, the fire was getting out of line? As I led the guests inside, I cheerfully told the kids to change clothes and then to go see if their father needed help.

And so there I was in the kitchen with our guests, chatting on about all manner of things while heating up the brown rice, setting the bowls of salsa and sour cream on the table, and trying to pretend that it was normal for me to prep Sunday lunch while the rest of the family fought fires.

Through the window, I saw my older son sprinting back across the field toward the house. A couple minutes later he burst through the door and yelled, “I need both fire extinguishers and the keys to Dad’s truck!”

“Okay, here you go,” I said, calmly handing him the items and then, turning to the guests, “I’m sorry everyone’s run off like this. I’m sure they’ll be up soon.” I began pat-pat-patting out the corn tortillas.

In his rush, my son just missed crashing the truck into the chicken coop.

Pat-pat-pat. 

My younger son was waddling across the field with a bucket of water.

Pat-pat-pat.

My younger son had stripped off his shirt and was—oh yes, but of course—beating out the flames.

Pat-pat-pat.

My older daughter was beating out the flames with her jacket.

Pat-pat-pat.

By now the guests were standing at the kitchen counter, watching the goings-on through the window with me. “It’s Murch TV,” I quipped.

The man said, “Your husband has a good heart—just look at him work!” I thought he meant that my husband was a good guy, but after a bunch of “good heart” comments I caught on. He meant “good heart” literally, a physically strong heart able to withstand strenuous exercise…and while breathing smoke.

The extinguishers did their job and the firefighters soon trooped through the door, smokey and soot-streaked, eyes bright with excitement. My husband came over to the sink to wash his hands and murmured under his breath to me, “I was this close to calling the fire department.”

I lifted the last of the tortillas from the cumal and lunch was served.

The end.

This same time, years previous: bits of goodness, soft cinnamon sugar butter bars, crazier than usual, fig-and-anise pinwheels, ginger cream scones, and a smashed finger.

I have a problem. Whenever I come across a great recipe, video, product, concept, etc, I get all excited and want to write about my discovery but then I’m like, Nah, everyone knows about it already. Because if I know about it, then surely everyone else does, too.

I’m not sure if this problem is unique to me or if everyone deals with it (oops, here we go again. I told you it’s a problem). Maybe it harkens back to my TV-less childhood in which I never knew what was going on (and didn’t really care). I just learned to (correctly) assume that everyone knew things before I did. I was cool with that.

But now, as A Possessor of the Internet, I find myself discovering interesting things in real time. And as a blogger, I have the means to share. Except everyone is A Possessor of the Internet—because that’s how they access my blog, see?—and so there’s a very real probability that no one needs me to share anything because they already know everything.

And so I discover Things Most Marvelous, rave to the people around me, take photos, and then do nothing. Because what’s the point? Also, I reason, if I wait an extra week or two to share my find, maybe everyone will have forgotten that particular Thing Most Marvelous and it will seem new and fresh. And then everyone will be like, Ooo, she is SO on top of things!

Whatever.

All that to say, I made Deb’s hot chocolate and it is the best hot chocolate mix ever.

There. Did you already know that? This is not a rhetorical question! I seriously want to know how many of you: 1) knew about Deb’s hot chocolate mix, and 2) made it and loved it. Tell me! Tell me! This is an experiment in sociocultural psychology! (Or something.)

Anyway. About the hot chocolate. I am quite picky about my hot chocolate. I can’t stand it when instructions say to mix together sugar and cocoa and then add hot milk. This is wrong. The cocoa turns out gritty. Don’t do it. To skip the cocoa grit, proper hot chocolate must be made like so:

*combine the cocoa and sugar in a saucepan
*add a bit of water to make a slurry
*BOIL (this is what dissolves the grit and makes everything creamy-lush)
*add milk and heat through
*before serving, add a pinch of salt and a drizzle of vanilla

And don’t even get me going on powdered milk mixes—i.e. cocoa and sugar with Whiff of Barnyard—or, heaven forbid, the packaged junk.

But Deb’s mix breaks all rules. She uses cocoa and sugar, yes, but she also adds cornstarch and chopped chocolate. I thought for sure it’d be gritty, but it wasn’t! Well—full confession—there is a slight, ever so slight, sandiness to it, but it’s due more to the ridiculous chocolatey thickness of the drink and less to the non-dissolved cocoa. At least that’s what I think.

Perhaps it helps that the dry ingredients are pulverized in a food processor. Or maybe it’s the addition of cornstarch (which is brilliant because cornstarch). Or it’s the real, melted chocolate that smooths things over. Whatever the case, it works. It’s like drinking molten chocolate: intense, thick, rich, delicious. Willy Wonka would be proud.

(It’s a little too good, maybe. Ever since I discovered this mix, I spend most of my days just waiting till I can have my bedtime cocoa.)

Hot Chocolate Mix
Adapted from Deb of Smitten Kitchen.

½ cup cocoa
½ cup sugar
½ cup semi-sweet chocolate chips
1 tablespoon cornstarch
1/8 teaspoon salt

Put all ingredients in the bowl of a food processor. Process until the chocolate chips are indistinguishable (though I let my processor run for a good minute or two and I still had a few itty-bitty chunks). Store the mixture in a pint jar.

To make hot chocolate:
1 cup milk
3 tablespoons hot chocolate mix
1/4 teaspoon vanilla
marshmallows or whipped cream, optional (but not really)

Heat the milk in a small saucepan. When the milk is steamy-hot, add the mix. Whisk well for a minute or two. (If the milk boils, remove the pan from the heat.) Add the vanilla. Pour the hot chocolate into a mug and top with marshmallows or whipped cream.

Marshmallow trick: tear your marshmallows into fourths. This way, instead of sip-wrestling with two giant marshmallow blobs, you get an easy-to-manage, foamy, evenly-dispersed marshmallow cap. Such an improvement.

This same time, years previous: stuffing, constant vigilance!, sunrise, sunset, light painting, my elephant, the quotidian (12.12.11), cracked wheat (or cooked oatmeal) pancakes, Sunday vignettes: human anatomy, and iced gingerbread men.