The name is so weird, right?

Whenever I hear someone say “scalloped potatoes” I always think “scalped.”

Though it wasn’t until just now when I said that that I realized scalped is not the same as scalloped, ha! Turns out, “scalloped” is derived from the English word “collop” which means to slice thinly. Thanks, Google.

Anyway! I’ve been digging scalloped potatoes. They’re a little intensive on the front end — all that slicing and all, though a mandolin does simplify the process considerably — but once assembled, they’re hands-off and super duper accommodating, pairing well with almost any meaty main dish, as well as making a fantastic addition to your morning breakfast eggs. 

a wee bit of flour

Scalloped potatoes can be barebones simple — just a little flour, S&P, butter, and milk — or gussy them up with grated cheeses, sliced onions, thinly sliced cabbage, browned sausage or crumbled bacon, herbs, whatever. Chef’s choice.

cheesin’ this batch up real good

smacking on some quark

mmm, milk

Scalloped Potatoes
My mother’s method, more or less.

potatoes, sliced thin
2-4 tablespoons butter
plenty of salt and some black pepper
3-5 teaspoons all-purpose flour
2-4 cups milk

Generously butter a sided baking dish. Arrange a single layer of potato slices in the bottom of the pan. Sprinkle a teaspoon of flour over the potatoes. Salt well. Add a grind of pepper. If using cheese/meat/veggies, layer them in at this point as well.

Repeat, filling the pan with three to five layer of potatoes. Don’t fill the pan more than three-fourths full because if filled too full, the milk will bubble over and make a smokey mess of the oven. After the final layer of potatoes, skip the flour, sprinkle with S&P, dot with the butter, and then pour several cups of milk over the whole kit and kaboodle. The potatoes don’t need to be submerged with milk — just enough to keep them pleasantly saucy.

Cover with foil and bake at 375 degrees for 60-90 minutes or until the potatoes are fork-tender. Remove the foil and bake for another 10 minutes or until the top is nice and toasty brown.

This same time, years previous: the quotidian (10.24.22), the quotidian (10.25.21), snowboarder cake, 2017 garden stats and notes, the quotidian (10.24.16), our cracking whip, random, the first teenager, aging.

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

Eggs to quiche.

Babies.

The key to a good broth.

Before it goes blue.

His birthday gift to me but it was actually for him (he said so himself).

Sauce and broth.

What is it with my kids and their passion for motorcycles?

A new set of oinkers!

Introducing The Cow Who Refuses To Give Birth.

High Knob.

In his dog’s eyes: a self portrait.

October light: it’s a whole Thing.

This same time, years previous: vote!, the soirée of 2019, the quotidian (10.22.18), the quotidian (10.23.17), impressing us, winter squash soup with corn relish, field work, the reading week, breaking news, a silly supper.

I finally got new slippers! 

I’d picked them out last year when I asked you for recommendations but then I never got around to buying them. I mean, my slippers still worked, technically speaking, so why spend money if I didn’t have to?

I’d heard really good things about Glerups, and even though I was a little nervous about all-wool slippers, I knew that my other wool shoes are some of my all-time favorites (and they are $20 off right now!). So I decided to risk it and wow, do I ever love these slippers! 

my husband says my feet look like they’re wrapped in carpet padding

The material feels soooo good (I don’t wear socks), and there’s no sweating: my feet stay warm but not hot. The slippers aren’t clunky; once they’re on, they’re on. The first few weeks, I had to manually pull them on, but now I can wiggle my feet into them without using my hands at all. The leather bottoms are sturdy enough that I can wear them outside. 

The only problem is that the top edge rubs the back of my ankle a little. It’s not enough to be an actual problem, but that’s the only part that doesn’t feel quite right. Maybe the mild irritation will fade over time? Maybe not?

It’s okay either way — I just want to be completely transparent in case you, too, are in the market for new slippers. 

***

Now that there are only two kids at home, and they’re often gone with school, work, and evening commitments, family suppers are a bit sporadic. Same with lunches. So I’ve been making an effort to make a decent “real” breakfast several times a week: pancakes and sausage, eggs and toast, oatmeal and smoothies, etc. Days they have classes, I often pack my son’s lunch, too, along with my husband’s (my daughter prefers to pack her own). 

Making breakfasts and lunches is my way of “moving food” — making sure the homemade leftovers are getting used up in a timely manner, and in creative ways. Like for both the Dutch puff and the vanilla pudding, I added some extra eggs yolks that were leftover from making the Italian meringue buttercream for my husband’s birthday cake, which gave me a productivity buzz.

Knocking out a big meal in the morning takes the pressure off for later in the day; if supper is just popcorn and apples, then so be it. 

***

It takes me forever to get through a bottle of wine. My husband doesn’t drink alcohol, and contrary to appearances, or the fact that I freaking make the stuff now [puffs chest], I don’t actually drink that much. And re-corking a bottle of mead once it has been opened has thus far proved impossible, forcing me to settle for sealing the top with a piece of plastic wrap.

So! You can imagine my delight when I discovered that there exists a little thingy called a wine saver.

I know! Thrilling, that.

I bought one right away — it came with the air suction thingy, plus four stoppers, and it only cost 14 bucks. To use, just pop the rubber cork into the bottle and then pump the little pumpy thing about 8-15 times, or until there’s a little resistance, and that’s it.

To use, just flick the little needle sticking up in the center of the cork and — tssss — the seal releases.

Every time I pop out the wine saver and pour myself a drink, I’m equal parts:

1) pleased that I have it, and
2) horrified that I only just learned that it exists.

Buy yourself one.

You’re welcome.

***

When I was on cross-cultural in Guatemala when I was in college, one of the guys in my group made a fresh salsa.

I begged the recipe — more a formula, really — and it became my go-to emergency salsa: stir together chopped roma tomatoes, some minced onion and jalapeno and a bit of garlic, a fistful of fresh cilantro, S&P, a hefty squeeze of lime, and some olive oil, if you want. 

A couple weeks ago, I made a bowl of it to go with mountains of cheesy tortilla chips for supper. 

And everyone was happy. 

This same time, years previous: a day in the life of a baker, soft sourdough bread, a hairy situation, back in business, a Dell-ish ordeal, the quotidian (10.20.14), the reading week, autumn walk, a pie party!, moments of silence.