Herself and I are fresh back from a run through Monument Valley Park. While taking the scenic route home along an east-west set of railroad tracks, I noticed that the homeless folks quartered here, generally under a bridge or in various makeshift shelters barely masked by sparse foliage, got themselves a gift from Santa this Christmas — a pair of sturdy dome tents, one large, one small.
Month: December 2008
Just 364 shopping days until Christmas
Are you out and about, greedily snapping up those post-Christmas deals? Me neither. And we have plenty of company, according to The New York Times. The dismal post-holiday buying follows a hideous pre-Christmas shopping season, as reported by The Wall Street Journal and passed along by Steve Benen at Political Animal, who is predicting widespread bankruptcies among retailers in the new year. Oh, goody.
I just took a drive through Bibleburg’s downtown after retrieving the Subie from Heuberger, and the sting in my wallet pocket failed to distract me from noting that Tejon Street wasn’t exactly rocking with shoppers. The malls may be doing a little better, but I’ll be damned if I’ll visit one to check it out. I hate those places. And anyway, I’m stony broke.
Chile Colorado … y verde tambien
I meant to shoot a couple pix of dinner, but spaced it (lots of balls in the air, trying to get everything to finish cooking simultaneously), so you’ll have to settle for a shot of the aftermath.
We started off with a sparking rosé, corn tortilla chips and the pico de gallo salsa I made last night, segued into chicken and jalapeño quesadillas, and then dove into the main meal, a blend of red and green chile in honor of the holiday — chicken enchiladas smothered in green chile, Anasazi beans with chipotle chile, red chile roasted potatoes and posole. Dessert was an excellent raspberry cobbler prepared by Herself, as I’m not much of a baker.
I wound up having to make two batches of green chile, because the first one tasted not quite right. Not inedible, I thought, but not top shelf, either, and I’m not quite certain why. I ordinarily use a 50-50 mix of hot and mild Hatch chiles, and I suspect the hot ones may have gone slightly off thanks to an overlong stay in the fridge after defrosting. So, thinking that a case of the Chihuahua cha-cha would make a poor holiday gift indeed for my sis and brother-in-law (to say nothing of Herself and me), I whipped up a second batch using only the fresher mild chile and that proved serviceable, after I needled it a tad with some ground green and a dash of ancho powder. I had a few poblanos squirreled away, but there was no time to roast and peel the buggers. As it was, I was still cooking when the kinfolk arrived.
Nobody had to talk to Ralph on the big white phone afterward, so I consider dinner a smashing success. If you’d like to take a whack at these recipes, they’re all in the Santa Fe School of Cooking Cookbook, except for the variation of posole that I make, a one-pot jobber with diced pork that’s so old I can’t remember its origins.
What was on the menu at your place? Leave me some recipes in comments — but don’t expect me to cook ’em anytime soon. We’re gonna have leftovers for days.
Late update: Almost forgot another holiday tradition: Dancing with Herself to “Fairytale of New York” by The Pogues.
The eagle has landed
The snowman lives. And the traditional O’Grady-family Christmas flick — Monty Python’s “Life of Brian” — is queued up for viewing just as soon as a certain wine-sipping hash-slinger finishes his pre-holiday cookery.
The posole is done, as are the Anasazi beans with chipotle chile and the pico de gallo, and the green-chile sauce is on deck. That leaves only the chicken breast to cook and shred, the corn tortillas to fry, the cheese to grate and the enchiladas to assemble and cook. Oh, yeah, and the potatoes to dice, toss with Chimayo red chile and chopped onion, and roast. And jeez, the chicken quesadillas. Can’t forget the appetizers.
Back in the kitchen. There’s chicken to cook and shred. If I wait to do the green chile until tomorrow, the house will smell like Santa Fe, but without all the silver and turquoise. Happy holidays to you and yours from the Zen Druid, who hugs the tree, even though he knows that it is an illusion.
Desperado
A certain publication (which shall remain nameless) is getting a little sloppy with funds disbursement lately, as in payment for services rendered. Gentle reminders have failed to spur management to action, as have mumbling, grumbling, bitching, moaning, complaining, cursing, and the usual heavy-handed hints of dire consequences.
So now it’s time for direct action. If I don’t see a check for the agreed-upon amount in my mailbox by close of business Christmas Eve, the chubby lil’ snowman gets one right in the top snowball. The iceman goeth, get me?
Oh, who am I kidding? Nobody gets Eugene O’Neill references anymore. Not even chubby lil’ snowmen decked out in sheriff’s suits who suddenly find themselves playing a bit part in a two-bit drama. But he’ll get a hot lump of 158-grain coal under his 10-gallon hat if I don’t get my money.
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