Here is the hash in action. We are only one level deep in sweet potato, black bean, garlic, cumin, cayanne, spinach, coconut goodness here. The cast iron skillet finally made it's Georgia debut with this dish. I was nervous to use her. (Let's call her Gertrude.) Sometimes, Gertrude stinks like burning metal. Seasoning her causes any apartment/house to be smokey and SMELLY for a day-or-so, and I just don't want to do it. Upon her unveiling, I was reminded of the last few successful episodes she had in the kitchen. No rust, smooth surface. Ready to go. So IN SHE WENT to the oven. I am reminded how food tastes so much better when made in a nice cast-iron skillet. Maybe it is time to bring my dutch oven back into the kitchen mix...
This was my first cooking adventure post-boob-job, and I must say that it was more pleasant. Back pain is GONE, my mobility is UP, and I didn't fear burning my boobs on the stoven. That is always a plus. The evening was so nice. Candles. Music. Me. The Dog. The coconut....hmmmm, the coconut. Carribbean food is so robust and full of personality. Hearty, flavorful, and rich in color, it is a gastronomic pleasure to cook and eat.
I also decided to churn some butter. Making butter is probably one of the simplest things ever. Ever ever. For some reason, butter was once a culinary mystery to me. I was riding the train from D.C. to Charleston, WV one time and was lucky enough to sit beside an older woman who grew up on a farm in Virginia. We talked for a few hours about her childhood and how much things have changed since she was a child. Her family only shopped for sugar and flour when she was a kid---everything else came from the farm. The milk, the vegetables, the meat. Everything. She was so fascinating. Our conversation concentrated on butter for a long amount of time. She kept telling me how easy it was. I just didn't quite understand!
And then last year, I took the initative to research butter and find out how you make it. In a nutshell: buy heavy whipping cream, put it in your kitchen aid, turn it on, wait for the fats to separate, drain off the buttermilk, and then rinse your butter. You can add sugars, salts, spices....whatever you like...to your butter to give it more personality. Wha-la. Butter is simply milk fat. Period. Incorporating air into cream first makes whipped cream (which is delightful with liquors or sugar added)...and then the air makes the cream freak out and divorce the fat. That, my friends, is butter! There is more to the story, but I will spare you.
Now, if I may bitch for one moment.
I live in what appears to be a very nice apartment complex. The grounds are maintained with mediocrity, which is what it is. Things appear to be nice. Then there are the mother fucking people. I am choosy with the neighbors I decide to get to know. It basically boils down to the family down the street (Hi Tami!) and the two neighbors on my floor. Oh, and the Jamaican who wants to bone me, but that is another story. He is a stoner and sweet as pie.
For some reason, most of the residents are just plain assholes. Last night, my little 13 year old neighbor asked me to take her swimming at 10 p.m. Her mother wanted to take a bubble bath and I was happy to oblige. Swimming at night is so nice. We put on our bathing suits and headed down to the pool.
We only got to swim for 10 minutes.
There were three couples at the pool, two of which were engaging in sex. In the pool. Despite the fact that I was there with a young teenager. Yes. Right in front of me. And a kid.
WHAT THE FUCK. I am still pissed. So pissed that I am going to quit writing about it here because it just ain't worth your time or mine. But FUCK YOU, TASTELESS PEOPLE.
In better news, I did put the Clapotis down and started on a Noni Market Bag last night. I already have 1/4 of the bag done. Sexy! Today is a day of relaxation, the gym, and the sauna. Cheers, and Shabbat Shalom!
