This past weekend I made beirocks.

I hadn’t made beirocks for a really long time. In fact, maybe I never made them before. I don’t know.

I’ve known about them forever, though. And I’ve eaten them at friends’ houses. And I’ve read about them on blogs. But it just never crossed my mind to actually make them myself. That is, not until you all suggested I make them for my lactose-intolerant husband’s lunches.

And then I was like, Duh, these would be perfect!

They’re not hard to make. Just fry up some beef and cabbage, make a batch of five-minute bread dough, roll the meat up into the dough (kind of), and bake.

The kids were thrilled. They call them meat rolls and ate them warm, dipped in ketchup and/or mustard. I ate mine dipped in curry ketchup. So, so good.

Beirocks
Adapted from the More-With-Less Cookbook by Doris Janzen Longacre

Next time I’ll add one grated carrot along with the cabbage, just for color.

Also, they are pronounced “beer-rocks,” more or less.

2 pounds ground beef
1 large onion, chopped
2 tablespoons olive oil
2 teaspoons salt
½ teaspoon black pepper
a pinch of hot pepper flakes
some generous squirts of hot sauce (I used Sriracha)
3 cups thinly chopped cabbage
1 recipe of five-minute bread
more olive oil, for the baking pan
cornmeal, for the baking pan
1 egg, beaten, and mixed with 1 tablespoon cold water, for wash, optional

Fry the ground beef and onion in the olive oil over medium-high heat until cooked through. Add the salt, pepper, hot sauce, and cabbage. Stir thoroughly, reduce the heat to low, put a lid on the pan and cook for about 20 more minutes, stirring occasionally, until the cabbage is tender. Add more seasoning, if desired, and set aside.

On a well-floured workspace, roll out the dough as thinly as possible. Cut into squares, about 4 inches by 4 inches. Put several tablespoons of meat filling into the center of each piece of dough and pinch the corners together to close.

Place buns, seam-side down, on an oiled, cornmeal-sprinkled baking sheet. Brush the tops and sides of each roll with the egg wash. Let rise (I didn’t bother to cover them) for about 15 minutes. Bake at 350 degrees for 15-20 minutes until golden brown.

Serve warm or at room temp with ketchup or mustard for dipping. Freeze leftovers.

Yield: about 20-30 buns.

P.S. I totally forgot to put up and link to my last Kitchen Chronicles column! It’s a previously posted recipe, so the pressure to share wasn’t there, I guess.

This same time, years previous: crispy cinnamon cookies,  homeschoolers have it tough

Charlotte has taken to hardcore, middle-of-the-night, obsessive-compulsive barking. As in, she won’t. shut. up.

Last night, after listening to her bark for a moderate eternity, I had enough. I poked my husband in the leg with my toe.

“Lock her in her crate,” I said, slurring my voice so he wouldn’t try to make me get up.

“You do it,” he snapped.

“No, you,” I was still trying to sound other-worldly in a groggy sort of way. “There’s no door on the crate. You need to fix it.”

“You fix it.”

“I don’t know how.” (Dang it. What was wrong with him?)

“Figure it out.”

“No.”

Yap. Yap. Yap. Yapyapyapyapyapyapyapyapyap.

Silence. I played possum. He did, too.

Yap. Yap. Yap. YAPYAPYAPYAPYAPYAPYAP.

My husband heaved himself out of bed and stormed off down the hall. I smiled to myself and snuggled deeper into the covers. After a few minutes, the barking stopped.

“What did you do with her?” I asked when he came back up to bed

“I told her to be quiet and when she didn’t listen I locked her in the crate.”

“Good. Thanks.”

I was just starting to relax when—

Yap. Yap. Yap. YAPYAPYAPYAPYAPYAPYAP.

The barking was muffled, but insistent. And just as gratingly irritating as before.

“She’s still barking,” I pointed out.

My husband didn’t move a muscle.

“You need to go deal with her.”

“YOU GO TAKE CARE OF HER.”

“Shh, don’t wake the kids. Maybe put her crate in the basement?”

Down the hall he stomped once again.

A few minutes later, back under the covers he crawled.

“What’d you do?”

“I tried to muzzle her with a hanky, but she kept barking. And then she bit me. So I put her in the van.”

The rest of the night was blissfully quiet.

At least, it was blissfully quiet until the other dog started barking (I told her to be quiet and she listened)…

And then the mouse under the floor decided to feast on some crunchy bits of wood…

And then our younger daughter made her nightly voyage to our room and regaled us with pity-me tales of terror and woe until my husband relocated to her room to sleep away the few remaining hours with her on her single bed. 

After that, well, I sprawled out diagonally on our queen-sized bed and slept just great!

So now, please tell me: what is the best way to cure a dog of the nighttime barkies? Our sanity (and the dog’s life) is at stake.

(Okay, so I’m joking about the “dog’s life” bit.) (Kind of.)

This same time, years previous: piano lessons, laid flat, living history

It’s Friday night. I’m in my room, the door shut, a glass of white wine on the bedstand beside me. Noises float up through the floor boards: my son playing around on the piano, the kids chattering, the odd loud thumps and bumps.

I have some free time to chat, but I’m not sure what about. I’ve gotten used to keeping my thoughts bottled up, not writing about all the This and That. So much of the goings on around here feels like big stuff. Monumental. It would take pages to catch up, to explain how we’ve gotten to where we are. Just the thought of explaining all that bottled-up stuff makes me feel like curling up in a ball. Staring at a wall is so much easier.

So I end up not saying anything at all. I don’t like that option either.

But you know what? Being tight-lipped is easier than I thought. (That I’m 37 and am only now figuring this out makes me snort.)

Then there’s the time factor, too. That’s another reason I’m not writing much. Even though I still have free time, my mind is cluttered with thoughts of luggage and travel expenses and plane tickets and insurances. I don’t have the space for my thoughts to spread out and develop. My brain is in lock-down mode.

I’m back to not cooking anymore. We’re eating from the freezer: green beans, corn, green beans, pesto, green beans, sour cherries, green beans.

Today the kids had two varieties of leftover green beans on their plates. They were not pleased. I told them it was an opportunity to do a taste test.

The Romas won.

But I have big plans for this weekend. Bierocks and treacle tart are at the top of my list. I think my muggles will be mighty happy.

I was going to read to the kids tonight, but now my husband just put them all to bed and it’s only 8:21. The house is soft with quiet. Soon I’ll head downstairs and we’ll make sweet and spicy popcorn and watch Once while the wind rattles the metal roof.

Good night, lovies. As soon as my brain relaxes, I’ll write more.

This same time, years previous: posing for candy, why I’m spacey, Greek yogurt, oatmeal bread, cheesy broccoli potato soup, sweet and sour lentils, lemon squares, blessing hearts