Priorities

How do those Lolcat folks know when I need an illustrative photo for the blog? And how do they always manage to come up with just the right one? This little furkid arrived in my daily Lolcat newsletter this morning and just cracked me up. Almost wiped out my tiny mad entirely.

What? Well, yeah, I'm a teensy bit miffed at myself for not posting last night. I was trying so hard not to leave gaps after my long hiatus and what do I do? I fall asleep at an unusually decent hour and miss the boat altogether. Sheesh. Adding insult to injury, after midnight came and went, I kept waking up off and on for the rest of the night.

Not that there was all that much to report yesterday. I managed to share some of the puff pastries with daughter Patti and SIL Roger Sunday, thereby saving myself from about a kajillion feral calories. Then I had the very last one for breakfast Monday morning. Since I used the last of my butter on that batch, I can't make any more until I go grocery shopping again. I'll be sure to concentrate on eating really healthy between now and then so I can indulge without guilt.

Toward that end, putting my pressure cooker back into service has made it easier to put more beans into my diet. I really do like all kinds of beans but all too often give a pass to the recipe in question because I haven't got time or inclination for the soak cycle -- not even the quick soak. And I refuse to buy canned beans, with all the sodium and mystery chemicals. Besides which, they're just that much more weight to pack up the wooden mountain and then I have to rinse and flatten the cans for the garbage and haul them back downstairs again. Pffftt!

What I do now, is, I toss a pound of beans in a bowl of water and let 'em soak for 4 hours. Then I rinse 'em off and do them in the pressure cooker for however many minutes are required for that type of bean. Once they're cooled, I spoon them into pint-sized Ziploc freezer bags and toss them in the freezer. Each bag holds 2 cups, which is just over what a can holds. Any time I need beans for a recipe, shazaam! There's a bag waiting in the freezer. What's more, the bags can be rinsed out and used again. Even though they're plastic, I'm still using them "green" so I get to feel virtuous.

Oh, yeah . . . it's a lot cheaper this way, too. So I can buy more butter to make more puff pastry. Heh. Priorities. We haz 'em.

Whirled Peas

I don't getz it either. Today I realized world peace is not possible -- if you define that concept by celebration of what we have in common and respectful tolerance for our differences. I don't "getz" how we can attain that lofty goal when you have the basic problem of potato salad. Let me 'splain . . .

It started out innocently enough. There I was, browsing through one of my favorite food blogs (see Pioneer Woman Cooks in the sidebar) and checked out Ree's version of potato salad. She always presents her recipes with scads of great photos and this one is no exception. What was unusual, though, was the tenor of the avalanche of comments in response to the recipe.

Now, you know and I know there are a kajillion different potato salad recipes out there. Everybody has their own way of doing it but, while some folks are involved in the adventure of different salad styles, others are totally committed to specifics. (The difference between involved and committed is best illustrated by an egg and ham breakfast. The hen is involved but the pig is committed.)

The point of contention began with the fact that Ree fixed a salad with potatoes that had been pushed through a food mill -- or a ricer, I forget which. Okay, mashed potatoes. Well! You'd have thunk she was advocating the advent of the antiChrist. "That's not potato salad," came the protests. "That's -- blech! -- cold mashed potatoes with stuff added."

There was a great rattling of sabers and the rumble of tanks and the thunder of artillery. It was like a religious war, with everyone declaring they had the handle on the One True Religion. Over here was the Vaunted Church of the Redeemed Peeled Potato and over there was Our Lady of the Unpeeled Red Potato. Every now and then someone with a beard and sandals strolled by wearing a sandwich board that proclaimed the need to add bacon or the End of the World would ensue.

It got more complicated as the comments rolled on. There were specialized splinter groups peeled off (you should excuse the expression) from the main churches. Some preached Mayo and called Miracle Whip a tool of the devil. The Miracle Whip folks, of course, were convinced the Mayo folks were false prophets. The Sour Cream contingent has a smaller church but their hymns have a catchy beat.

From there, we had arguments over whether or not to add pickles and how coarse or fine they should be chopped and which was best, sweet or dill. Same-same for hard boiled eggs. And for what kind and how much onion. Celery in or celery out. Likewise olives. And paprika. And mustard. Strangely, nobody responded to a minor blasphemy proclaiming the virtue of adding apples to the mix.

I hasten to point out that I am exaggerating just a bit for effect. The commentors on Ree's blog are unfailingly considerate and there was certainly no flame war going on. It's just that this particular instance displayed an unusual degree of adamant opinion about what is "right" and what is "just wrong." It got quite exciting.

Me? I don't belong to any of those churches, although I'm willing to visit. Mostly, I'm just a simple food pagan, perfectly willing to stick a fork in whatever isn't moving. If it flinches, I pass it by. My recipe for whirled peas.