I have a tradition, no tradition is too lofty a word. A habit, an almost weekly routine, of roasting a chicken early in the week. We eat about half that night. Then I strip off most of the meat, toss the bones and skin in a pot  with a couple quarts of water and simmer up some stock.  Sometimes the rest of the meat gets packed into school lunches for the rest of the week.  More likely, the next night the rest of the chicken and the stock become risotto or pot pie or look or chicken stew or such.

Yesterday, we had chicken roasted with cured lemons and cumin, curtesy Mark Bittman and the NYT.

http://cooking.nytimes.com/recipes/1014407-roasted-chicken-with-preserved-lemons

I roasted one chicken instead of two, and skipped the honey.  Still, surprised by how much sweeter the chicken turned out than when I roast it with preserved lemons.  (Cured lemons = lemons aged in juice with equal parts sugar and salt.  Preserved lemons = lemons aged in juice with salt.  Plus some peppercorns, bay, etc in either case.)  Nice moist bird with rich pan juices to kick start the stock.

Today, we triangulate between the jook, risotto and stew to land in the the South and try out Chicken Bog from Natalie Dupree.

 My stepdad gave me this cookbook three Christmases ago. Years before he’d worked on a PBS cooking show with Natalie Dupree.  I was a little leery because I wasn’t crazy about the recipes I’d tried from of one of her earlier books that he’d given me.  But I was intrigued that she was paying homage to Julia with the title (or having the gumption to position her book there).

I was won over by the biscuit section.  It runs 10 full pages, including three pages on equipment, ingredients and techniques before she even lets you get to the seven different biscuit recipes.

Back to today: I’d been heading toward Chicken and Dumplings, but was sidetracked by this “Chicken Bog” recipe on the facing page, since she intrduces it as “a comfort food for those who ate it sitting at their mother’s kitchen table.”  While I didn’t eat it at my mother’s kitchen table (I’m from LA and my mom didn’t cook; we had burritos, or jook, or pad thai.), it sounded like the perfect and easy dinner for today with the first of the promised el nino storms drumming on the windows.

And, it fact, it was perfect comfort food.  Warm, rich, smooth, spoon it up food.  HBG described it as jook with more chicken.  Super C called it “salmon rice but with chicken.”  Always a good sign then the fam compares dinner to their favorite foods.  Everyone had seconds. And I’d made 1 ½ times the recipe, so there will be leftovers for the kids to have when we go out tomorrow night.

  (These are the left overs.  They’ll set up like risotto does. Off the stove, it was much more like a thick stew.)

We’re having 50-60 people (not counting maybes) over at 6 this evening. It’s 3:56. 

I’m the only one home. Bob thinks he’ll be here by 6:15. Kids are taking MUNi home together for the first time and ETA is 5:3. 

I haven’t sliced the ham or rolled out the biscuits. Nor have I had a shower. But I’m going to sit still and eat some lunch before I light headed or cranky. 
Update: kids got home at 5 with Lib clutching his stomach. Clem informed me that she has a new respect for me. Because she just experienced trying to get Lib home without a snack. 

Breakfast conversation this AM:

Me. What’s your math test on today

C. All that vocabulary. Yuck (makes frown face)

L (slumps in his church dejectedly). Vocabulary?!?  Math isn’t supposed to have vocabulary tests. 

Me. Relax. You don’t have to worry about it for 3 years. And it’s just this one section. 

C. Yeah, and next it algebra. And that’s fun!!

Clem had her final regular season cross country meet on Friday. She didn’t want to run XC. She only agreed to do it as preseason training for skiing. 

Then she started running and discovered she’s good at it. And Coach Karin started encouraging her. And her competitive streak kicked in. First race she was second to last of Jag women. By mid-season she’d caught the junior she’s been training with. This week, she passed all the Jag women who had already qualified for Regionals except one, Quinn. 

So when I picked her up after the meet, she in vibrate mode she’s so excited. Tells me all about it. Then still can’t sit still. Exclaims:

“I fell like I’m on my own personal cloud of “yea me!””

C has been struggling w writing her commentary of a set of paintings which she’s translated the title as “the damning of the holy bread”.   I think it’s probably closer to desecration. She just moaned and turned to me:

“I have a problem. I can’t write about the bread and body thing without it sounding ridiculous to me.”

So she asks me to describe it again, and it strikes me just how cannibalistic it sounds. 

“We should spend every Saturday morning like this”

Clem assume nestles into her dad’s shoulder to contemplate which deep fried rib recipe to use today. 

They have 14 pounds to work with. 

Last night, Kershaw and the Dodgers crushed Bumgarner and the Giants, 8-0, eliminating Lib’s team from playoffs. 

When I told him this morning, his response was “don’t you know it’s an odd year? We don’t make the playoffs in odd numbered years. No wait, it’s an even year (pause), no ODD, it’s an odd year. No playoffs”

The corollary being that he fully expects them to win the World Series again next year because it will be an even year. 

I just went in to turn off the kids’ lights.  Normally I get whines and “please can we read a little more?”  Tonight:

Me (in announcer’s voice): I am here to turn off your lights!

[silence]

Me:  such excitement to see me.  [click]

C:  Mom? will you hand me the bag (ouch!) of rubber bands on my dresser?  [the ouch from her hip as she reaches over.  maybe she is over doing it.]

L:  Mom? can I hold your hand?

[I go back toward his bed, hold his hand and give it a kiss.  Fully (and cynically) expecting him to grab it and hold on as a delay going to bed tactic.]

L [sleepy sweet voice]: Thanks.  I don’t know why, I just felt like holding your hand.

HBG has been doing his best to stay home in pajamas since we got back from Hilo a week and a half ago. This morning, his friend Adam is over and HBG has a hankering for loco moco. 

Can we go out to lunch?

Me: we could go for bagels or something. 

Can we go to that place really close that you and I went last week? 

(He’s thinking of a Namu, 2 blocks away, Korean influenced mighty fine version of loco moco)

Me: nah, I think it’ll be too crowded today. (Since it’s a beautiful and sunny Sunday)

Could we drive to Mission Bowl?

Me: no. Plus, daddy’s about to leave w the car. 

Could we taxi to Magnolia 2.0?

(Does my 11 yr old son really incorporate “two point oh” into his speech patterns that unconsciencously?)

Me: (laughing). no

How about Liberties Pub for burgers?

Me: you really want to go out for lunch, huh?

Well, you’re always trying to get us out of the house more. 

The only place the kids remember how much fun they have building sand castles. And play in the water all afternoon without claiming they’re bored. Lib was so busy he forgot to eat lunch. Or even a snack.