Trailer Park Karma

Bored? Grow Some Corn. Write a Blog. Paint Your Toes. Just Don't Whine About It.

I don't understand the concept of boredom. I mean, I remember whining about being "booooorrred!!" as a kid. (My poor mom.) And I think there were moments when I was a young adult and still trying to figure out how to fit the verb P.A.R.T.A.Y. into every paragraph of my life story, and coming up short on some weekends... and then later on, how it dawned on me that the words "weekend", "Friday", and "Saturday" did not necessarily equate to P.A.R.T.A.Y... and in between those ages, there was some sort of resignation to the idea that being a responsible adult might necessarily equate to occasional boredom.

But I can't imagine complaining now about boredom. And it ain't cuz I figured out how to P.A.R.T.A.Y. every day, either. 

I say, if you're bored, you're not trying very hard.

I think my life's no different than anyone who whines about being bored. The difference is that if by tiny chance I'm lucky enough to glimpse a few minutes filled with Nothing To Do, I relish and roll around in that bad boy until I'm practically perspiring from the excitement of doing nothing. 

What started this meaningless thread this morning? I'll tell ya. Friend of mine, a truly nice woman and lovely wordsmith, offered up that the corn growing in my asphalt driveway is an expression of Mother Nature's reclamation. I liked that thought a lot. Told her so. Then I thought, "Hey, I should show off my corn plant to the world!" So I grabbed The Editor's camera and shot this:

And then I thought, "Hey! It's been a week since I posted something on Trailer Park -- maybe I could toss this photo up there and call it done for now!"

Which brings me to this: If you experience periods of boredom in your life story, if it seems like the days drag by and the weeks linger too long, start a blog. Most blog readers won't follow along if too much time passes in between posts, so you'd better promise yourself that you'll post something weekly or thereabouts. Then you'll have a constant nagging reminder in your brain that this place on the Internet is sitting there, waiting for you, quietly, hoping for you to come along and update it...

That, or you could try holding down 3 to 6 jobs at a time, like me.

Whatever you do, remember: If you're bored and not likin' it now, you'll wish like heck for boredom somewhere down the line. Enjoy!
 

What Hurricanes Might Put Asunder, Composting Can Heal

The last time I did some serious gardening was with H1 back in the day. I was all of 22 whopping years old and farming a little half acre in the burbs with three formerly feral cats, our fancy purebred white German shepherd puppy, and a smelly brown mutt that I picked up offa the freeway shoulder. Gardening's how I learned to sit for long periods in a camp squat. I'd set off under the blazing sun in my bikini without a clue about which green shoots were weeds and which might be the sprouts we wanted. Grubs grossed me out. I remember sweating buckets, slapping sparrow-sized mosquitoes, and, later, watching helplessly through the kitchen window as first a freakishly windy thunderstorm and then Hurricane Alicia spun our pine trees like al dente spaghetti, laying low and drowning our corn and every shorter plant. I think we wound up salvaging a few white squash. H1 and I split up six months later. Just sayin’.

Gardening, as lots of you know, provides some pretty handy metaphors for living. Watching all my hours of profuse perspiration result in a few squash and a big mess to plow under was enough to satisfy my young green thumb for about 20-something years. Oh, I fell into growing violets for awhile, but there's no sweat, sunburn, or bugs that go with all those little pots. Of course, it took me many more years to get out of the habit of collecting and resurrecting half-dead dogs and cats, but they give so much more back to your heart than tomatoes and zucchini. To me, nurturing is nurturing, whether it's living things that have two feet, four paws, or are stuck in the ground.

And if there's one thing I know, it's that you gotta take care of something other than yourself to have a whole life.

But there are as many ways to nurture as there are creatures. And it can get damned confusing at times when different ideas are called to make magic in the dirt side by side.

The Editor and I, much to the chagrin of nuestros vecinos, are farming our plot in the barrio. We're the only WASP types for blocks, and the folks around here who've been quietly and dutifully maintaining their tidy second-generation American urban homesteads for 20 and 30 years are a bit... perplexed. At least, I hope that's the extent of their mindset as they watch us do weird things to our yard. Consternation, maybe?

And as expected, The Editor and I do things differently. I never cease being amazed at how he and I jell so well on some ways of being, but then cross paths at a roadbump elsewhere. But we're just like anyone else that way. The only thing you can do is make room for each other.Well, you could squash each other, too, but that's not very nice. Besides, I've tried. It doesn't work.

The first big difference between us: our internal clocks. He's a night owl, I'm a morning lark. That's no longer a point of contention -- we just do shift work. He farms under light of the moon and the awful blue-white buzz of the motion-sensored lamp on the vacant house next door. Many is the dawn when I awake to find new, oddly shaped mounds of dirt here and another curving pathway between the billowing grass there. I drag the doubled-up hose that The Ed hooked up for me out from the only water spigot that doesn't flow hot water and into the front where we've got a little heart-shaped bed going.

And we've taken each other's advice on things like which tool is best for which job, and we're pretty gung ho on the same kinds of plants that go into our dirt. And we are both in love with our compost. But we differ on the how-to.


In short, The Ed and I look at the process through different filters. My take is that he's more into manipulating the components than I am. My tendency has always been to lay back and watch things go wild. The compost is a good example: I've always just tossed compostables into my previous yards to watch what comes up, while Mr. Biologist likes using collection devices and particular tools to engage in regular methods by which he introduces additional components into the teeming goo.

There's nothing inherently wrong in either version, but we're at conflicting extremes. So the other day, I came up with a way of seeing that satisfies my urge to fix it (because it really ain't broken).


We both have the same goal: We want to nurture growing things. We like life, a lot. We want it to continue and flourish and replicate. The Editor likes facilitating all this flourishing by putting his hands in the mix; I like to imagine that left to their own devices, things will do what they need to do. We're both right. Neither one of us is wrong. But each of us could do with a little flexing of our nurturing muscles a bit more toward the middle.

Besides, as mentioned, we really love our compost.

So here we are in a Swamp City barrio, plugging our plot with volunteers and orphans and loaners from loved ones, scrapping our food into stinky tea to feed our growing charges, toiling in the earth both morning and night. I'm trying to figure out when it's okay to intervene and just how much tinkering is life-giving. I think The Ed's pondering the occasional stand-back-and-watch-mindfully approach now and then. And I hope the neighbors are cherishing our valuable lesson in patience.

No Pictures Please. Just Really Good Food.

Y'all just don't know how tough it can get around here when it comes to photo-documenting all the food I make. You know how it is -- when you're makin' do with what you've got and what you wind up with, a lotta times time is the first thing that flies out the window. 

I am creative, improvisational, and resourceful, if nothing else.

So anyway -- my latest "nobody knows da trouble I seed" is about the collision of tragically dying computers, gleefully gifted substitute machines with turtle-like tendencies, creeping internet speed that rivals the rural Republic (the similarities are profound), and tons o' bona fide paying work. Recent days have been filled to the coughing brim by my frantic dashing between two laptops with 10-year-old operating systems, abundant photographic inspiration, and a palpitating heart. The result: here's a few recipes without a single photo to show you how the dish looks.

You'll just have to trust me.(I'm worth the investment.)

And while you're cookin, you can visually enhance and beautify your kitchen environment with this lovely photo shot from my back yard. At least IT made it on to the machines...



The other night, we had this (not the picture -- I mean, the recipes below) for dinner on a night when the last thing I wanted to do (well, maybe second to last) was cook, our cupboards were thinning, and I was hungry for healthy food. Turned out to be a good thing -- we're getting back to the better-for-you-in-so-many-ways meal habit of making meat a highlight instead of a main course. A buncha veggies, a taste of animal flesh. The Editor raved. I mean, really. He convinced me to g'head and write it down.

Fancy Ground Chuck Burgers

Nothing special here (just 2 store-shaped chuck patties that were way on-sale) but the marinade:

1 tablespoon each - soy sauce & Balsamic vinegar
2 teaspoons brown sugar

Stir ingredients together til the sugar dissolves, pour on the patties and let them soak for an hour or two. Then I just fried 'em up in a non-stick skillet. Nom.

Crunchy Curry Broccoli Salad

1 small bunch of broccoli
1/2 medium onion
1 large carrot
Balsamic vinegar
soy sauce
1/4 cup olive oil
1 - 2 tsp curry powder
pinch of Kosher salt
white pepper to taste
1/4 cup raw sunflower seeds

Chop, grind, process, or blend (take your pick) the broccoli, onion, and carrot until it's coleslaw small. Combine all of it in a bowl. 

Splash some of the vinegar and soy sauce over it all -- not enough to soak it, for sure, just enough to dampen it all when you stir it together. I'm gonna guess it was about a tablespoon and a half for each. Let it sit while you make the rest...

Put the olive oil in a little saucepan, sprinkle in the curry powder, salt, and pepper, and heat on medium just til it starts making noise, about a minute or two. Then dump in your sunflower seeds. You should get a little giggle outta the crispy sizzle sound. I always do. 

Keep stirring the seeds in the oil or they'll burn, and do it until they start looking toasty brown. Then remove from heat and immediately dump it on the broccoli/onion/carrot stuff. More exciting sizzle commences! You start feeling like a chef on TV. 
Stir it all together and serve immediately.

Frozen French Fries From A Bag

Yes. This is what we had to compliment the above. But only about a handful each. One does what one must. And besides, when you undercook them just a smidge in the toaster oven, they taste almost as good as monkey fat fries from the fastfood places.

All in all, a nicely rounded, satisfying, and tasty meal. (Yes, Ed. I said "tasty.")

Leftover Soup From Scratch That Even I Can Make

If your childhood was like mine, you grew up eating soup from a can. Of course, who doesn't to some extent, but in my house, that was the only kinda soup there was. When I got older and heard tales of people actually making soup from scratch, I had visions of busy hands chopping for hours and mopping sweaty foreheads in huge kitchens full of restaurant-grade appliances, all of which was fueled by an acre of organic garden. In other words -- wudden no way I was gettin' in on the scratch-soup thing.

Then Life happened and Mother Necessity kicked in, and I learned how to make soup from whatever I had. Canned soup is damned expensive and pretty bad for you, too. And now after years of eating my own, the manufactured variety is tasteless to me.

For those who think cans are the way to go, I promise you, I swear on the book that the Argentinian missionary kids left with us the other day in exchange for some glasses of water... you can do this. And if you make enough of it at one time, you can freeze up single servings and -- taDAH! -- you've got your nukeable ready-to-go meals.

This a good, basic soup recipe that's fast and cheap -- even a college student could do it. One of the bonuses of this recipe: You get to use up all those sad lookin' veggies you bought 2 weeks (or more) ago and that would give you the shivvers if you tried to eat them raw. Just don't use them if they have blue-green fluffies or pink polk dots on 'em (or if you're really desperate, make sure you cut those colorful spots off before cooking.)

You can use nearly any kind of vegetables, but if you're in a hurry, you'll need to stick with lentils (instead of other dry peas or beans.) They cook fast. Just about anything goes for the meat -- and of course, if you're going without animal muscle in your fridge, you can do that, too. But if I did that, I'd double up the amount of oil and salt and try to have super flavorful veggies on hand for it, like turnips or cabbage. But hey -- whatever works.

Leftover Soup

1 cup dried lentils

about 6 cups water

2 tbsp oil

2 cups-ish of green things (Tonight it was long-wilted celery & bok choy.)

about 1/2 cup leftover meat (Remaining string of babyback ribs from last week will do today.)

1 tomato (or a can of 'em)

1/2 cup-ish of frozen peas and/or corn (Even if they're frost-bitten.)

1 tsp thyme

2 tsp kosher salt

1 tsp black pepper

1 cup-ish cooked pasta or rice (Here's why you always save your leftover pasta from other meals.)


Bring lentils to boil in water, turn off immediately, cover and let sit for half an hour. Cut up your green things, meat, and tomato small enough to fit in soup spoons. Don't go crazy trying to make 'em teeny tiny or even pretty. Then saute your cut up stuff in the oil for about 5 minutes, til it's all just turning soft.

Once lentils have soaked for 30 minutes, add another cup or 2 of water. Dump in the sauteed green stuff, the meat, tomato, thyme, salt, and pepper. Simmer covered for about 20 minutes. 

Add frozen veggies and cook on low for another 5 minutes.Stir, taste, adjust salt and pepper if necessary. Stir your pasta in just a minute before serving so it doesn't get mushy.

One-Pot Canned Chicken Delight

Lately, I haven't had time to think, let alone write down what I cook. And believe me, I cook nearly every day. 

I know some huge percentage of America's out there dragging their kids from class to sporting event and back again, inhaling fast food along the way, but that kind of life doesn't work for my budget. I'm not complaining -- if I ate that way, I'd be pretty unhappy with how my body felt. 

But I'm also not one of those folks who just goes without eating when they get too busy. For one thing, passing out in a post office line at the age of 20 taught me some things. Number one, there are two kinds of bystanders in such situations: the ones who come to your aid and the ones who stare at you from a distance with their brows screwed up. And number two, if I don't eat the right foods at the right time, a cascade of unfortunate events occur. And not too many people will pick you up off the floor.

So, here's how it usually goes in my house, aside from special gatherings where I prep well in advance: My pantry and fridge are usually stocked with stuff that needs makin' -- not much ready-to-eat boxes or frozen, save for the typical burrito. After giving dinner some thought earlier in the day (or maybe even the day before, if meat needs thawin'), I wind up throwing together a few things with the intention of having dinner on the table in half an hour. Sometimes it works. Like today, I made use of the canned chicken that The Editor bought for some reason a few weeks ago...

One-Pot Canned Chicken Delight



2 cups cooked macaroni (The Editor prefers shells.)

2 tbsp olive oil

2 stalks celery, sliced small but not diced

1/4 cup onion, cut like the celery

1/2 to 1 cup exceptionally good broccoli florets from the local farmers market

1/2 tsp thyme

a shake or two of lemon pepper

2 small cans of chunk chicken, drained well

1 can cream of chicken soup

3 tbsp sour cream

1 tbsp shredded stinky cheese (we had romano)

small handful of cilantro (about 1/2 cup), chopped small

Heat oil and saute celery and onion on low-medium heat for about 5 minutes. Stir in broccoli, sprinkle with thyme and lemon pepper, and continue cooking for another 5 minutes, stirring frequently. Dump in the canned chicken, cover and cook on low another 5 minutes. Add the rest of the ingredients, including the macaroni, stir well, cover, and heat through for another 5 minutes on low.

Serve like you would any respectable tuna noodle casserole, which is what I first intended to make tonight. This was better.

In Lieu of a Recipe, Haphazard Gardening: What's This Green Thing?

I know, I know, it's been ages since I put up a recipe. And believe me, I've cooked up a small storm. It's just I haven't taken the time to format and upload ingredients and directions. Call me busy. 

BUT -- in the meantime, I need your help, oh Happy Trailer Park Tribe: What the heck is this that we're growing in our prolific backyard meadow? Hint: There's a ring of it around the bird feeder, and nowhere else.

Besides, what else you gotta do besides watch the Super Bowl? 

 

The Editor's Perfect New Year's Eve Grilled Cheese Sammich

Okay, I know you're busy getting ready to bring in 2012, running around buyin' out the liquor store, maybe rolling a few tamales, digging your clip-on tie and dress shoes out of the box in the attic, curlin' your hair, and washing your prettiest undies. So you might not have time to feed yourself right now.

I have your answer. The Editor just made the best grilled cheese sandwich in the world. I think it's EXACTLY the thing you need before you start inundating your po' ole belly and liver with alcohol. OR this may be the best hangover food you ever had, either way...

It's a lot easier to list the ingredients than it is to explain how to make this sammich. But The Editor gets big points for perfecting the art of sammich grilling. No way could I translate exactly, in the end, but you can figure it out, I'm sure.

The Editor's Perfect New Year's Eve Grilled Cheese Sammich

Chop up one clove garlic, fine. Brown it in 1 tablespoon olive oil. 

Add 2 tablespoons butter to pan and melt it. 

Here's where it gets complicated:
Swipe bread pieces in pan on the inside side (know what I mean?) of the bread. So now you have a couple of pieces of plain bread, each with a coating of garlic-y goo on only one side. 

LAY ONE PIECE ASIDE AND DON'T TOUCH IT YET.

Add about a tablespoon more butter to pan. Fry up ONE of the bread pieces with the inside gooey side down -- then flip it over (to the plain aka outside side) and toast the outside side in the now sopped-up/relatively dry hot pan.

Now... hang on, you can do this, I promise... 

Flip the slice in the pan over and lay the following on the inside gooey side:

3 quarter-inch thick slices medium cheddar

sprinkle (about a tablespoon or 2) shredded mozzarella

Pick the cheesed slice up with a spatula. Slide the other, non-cheesed slice GOO SIDE DOWN in the pan. THEN put the cheesed slice, PLAIN TOASTED SIDE DOWN/CHEESE UP, on top of the non-cheesed slice.

This, let's say, perfection-oriented bread-flipping trick is the key, I think, to this otherwise plain ol' sammich.While the bottom slice is toasting, the cheese is melting on the upper slice.

Now -- put your sammich together, cheese side of one slice against the now-fried goo side of the other. Then finish by putting the sammich back in the pan, untoasted side down.

I'm exhausted just from trying to transcribe this process. But I swear, it's worth it. And it's actually a lot easier to do than to read about.

Haphazard Gardening In Da Hood: Is It A Chilly Chili?

Okay, friends -- now that we have fruit from the little volunteer that cropped up through the hole in our asphalt patio:

The Editor and I invite you to spill your wisdom and tell us what it is...

And we finish today's brief post with a shot through the Jeep's grimy window (The Editor asked 'Why??' -- I said because it imparts a sort of cozy yet surreal fog to the scene) of our neighbor's lovely outdoor veranda. So comfy -- and well-guarded, too!

Quick! Use Your Oven! Bake Some Mac & Beans

Y'all from down here in The Republic, particularly Swamp City region, know just what I'm sayin: We have a spot on the calendar of weather cool enough that you can rev up the oven without making it too impossibly hot to sleep on the other side of the house.

Time to bake something!

Did you get caught short without ingredients worth an oven? If you spend too much time sifting through recipes, planning and running around town to buy things you need for baking fancy desserts, you could lose nature's window of opportunity! Besides, you know -- I'm no cookie baker. To me, the five days of fall we get every year equal casserole! And here's a one-dish meal that only requires stuff you probably always keep around (except for the flaxseed meal. That's my gracious nod to Mira and my inherited cholesterol issues.)

Spicy Kidney Bean Mac (not to be confused with Rodeo Macaroni)


2 1/2 cups cooked elbow macaroni

1 small can diced chilis

4 oz cubed pepper jack cheese

1 14 oz can kidney beans

1/2 1 big can (27 oz?) diced tomatoes

2 tsp comino

1 tbsp flaxseed meal

Stir it all together -- even the juices from all the cans -- pour into a baking dish and bake uncovered at 325 degrees for 20 minutes. Stir well (to mix the melted cheese all up), then bake for another 20 minutes. 

Overkill, on the baking time? Maybe. Edible and worth the cozy "it's autumn" feel you get from indulging in oven energy? Absolutely.

Lone Star Pork & Cabbage

We didn't eat a lot of pork in my house growing up. I'm sure it was because of Dave the Fox's taste in food (which was carved by his Texas-born Swedish mama -- whole lotta chicken and peas), but I grew up thinking that beyond ham and bacon, pork was something that Yankees eat. And yes, we did use that term. Still do in certain parts.

Of course, me with my penchant for the exotic, I was a little crazy about folks from the northeast as a young woman. I get along peculiarly well with people who hail from The City (as those in the know refer to NYC). Something about a brashness factor, I think. We natives of The Republic don't exactly fit the stereotypes of The Genteel South. Anyway, I learned about a lot of new ways to do things from my friends the Yankees, one of which was how to eat pork.

I was so tickled to eat something other than chicken and hamburger steak in my first shabby little apartment with a merry-go-round of roommates, that I got a nickname from one roomie's boyfriend: Chop Chop. One of these days, I'll resurrect that recipe for Pork Chop Stew.

Later on, when times were even leaner and I had a husband who was a serious meat-and-potatoes eater, I discovered pork steaks. It's a cut from the shoulder, and you can just ignore what Wikipedia says about it being tough. It's not... always. H2 and I found out that pork steaks are very tasty grilled. Pretty much anything you want to do with a beef steak, give pig steaks a shot and see what you think.

And here's what you do with pork when you have a can of Lone Star that you dropped on the concrete while carrying in the groceries.

Lone Star Pork & Cabbage

4 pork steaks
1/4 cup vegetable oil
1/2 head cabbage
1/2 red onion
1-2 tbsp caraway seeds
1 busted can lone star
1/4 cup cilantro
2 tsp kosher salt

Brown steaks in oil in a deep pan. Don't cook too long, just 'til pretty and brown on both sides.

Slice the cabbage thick. Place slices on top of steaks. Slice the onion thick. Place on the cabbage. Sprinkle on caraway seeds. Pour on beer. Sprinkle cilantro, finely chopped, and salt. Cover. Cook on low for an hour.

You could serve this instead of that smelly Yankee favorite for St. Patrick's Day, corned beef cabbage.

(Note: Busted beer cans should probably be used pretty soon after busted.)