Shalee’s Diner

Have you ever had so much to say you didn’t know how to say it, where to start or if what you wanted to say needed to be said in the first place?

That’s me.  I’ve had a really active life, sprinkled with some moments of utter bliss and good news along with heart-thumping moments of trepidation,  and a really busy brain, filled with a bunch of thoughts clamoring in my head, all vying for attention.

Sometimes it’s really hard to put one’s head in order, isn’t it?

My brain is usually in a state of disarray anyway, so it’s hard to find where things belong in the first place.  It probably resembles the way I kept my room when I was a teenager.  (Sorry, Mom.  I remember how you often said that it looked as if a clothes factory exploded there.)  It makes organizing thoughts and feelings a little bit of a challenge for someone like me.  The mailboxes in my brain get stuffed full with good things to store, as well as the little pieces of whatnots with which I don’t know what to do, but I don’t have the heart to toss because they either:

• need to be kept because I’ll use them later.
• remind me of good memories.
• look pretty, even if they serve no purpose.
• are part of something broken and I’m saving them, thinking that I’ll get around to fixing whatever it is someday.
• will be tossed sometime or other, but not today.

Do you know about the mailboxes in your brain?  I mentioned them to a good friend about them just a couple of days ago, but I didn’t get a chance to explain the notion.  Pretty sure I left another person scratching his head, wondering where I come up with my nonsensical concepts.  Story of my life – leaving people more confused than when I found them!

Everyone has mailboxes in their heads, you know, those cubby holes where you can stuff things, like the backside of a post office where the employees sort and stuff the mail.  Everyone’s sizes and number of boxes are different.  Some people can hold vast amounts of information, ideas and memories while others have smaller boxes and can’t hold as much. That’s why some people seem to have the capacity to remember/do a lot, like those individuals who can answer all sorts of trivia, who never forget the names or faces of people they’ve encountered or who are multitalented gifted individuals who retain skills learned long ago (and learn new ones to enhance their abilities) seem to be able to do everything with ease.

I am awed by those people.  I want to be one of those talented people.  I want to be “the knower of things”, to be the go-to person that others need.

If you’re smart, you actually organize those thoughts so they’re in places that makes it easy to find what you need.

Then there are people like me who stuff things in the cubby holes in a hodge podge way.  Finding something needed takes a little longer as I rifle through all the boxes of thoughts, throwing items over my shoulder as I wonder where I put what was needed.  You think I’m a mess as a person?  You don’t even want to visit the chaotic mailboxes of my mind…

Those boxes can hold a lot, but eventually, after stuffing and stuffing those boxes full, you can’t put in any more.  The only way to put anything new in a box is to take something out, forgetting it so that you can use that space for something else.  People usually discard things they won’t need again.

Or you’re like me, discarding something only to discover that you do need it again, dagnabit.  Should have gotten rid of some of those bad memories or words to songs… or at least vacuum sealed them so they wouldn’t take up as much space.

I have no idea why I’m writing about the mailboxes.

I do know that I have lots of things that have happened since March.  I have been holding onto them, trying to get them assembled in my mind.  Places, trips, memories, thoughts, epiphanies…  I don’t seem to be able to get them in order, into words.  I’m feeling quite scatter-brained and distracted.

This post seems to be confirmation of my state of mind at the moment.  Gah.  It’s quite directionless…

So I guess this post is a check-in, my way of saying that I’m here, wherever here is.

In the future, the near future, I’ll sit myself down, mug in hand, and force myself to stop for a moment.  To breathe.  To be still. To allow myself the permission to think about myself in clear, bright light.  To take all of me in.  To admit to pains, to joys, to hopes, to fears, to dreams.  To be real. To be honest.  To enjoy the moments given. To plan for the ones ahead.

And then I’ll write about them.

I told you that I had more books to review.  Y’all thought I was joking when I said that I’m back on the reading wagon.  It’s like I need to make up for lost time or something.

Below are a few others that I’ve polished off recently.

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Another series which has captured my fancy is the Maisie Dobbs series by Jacqueline Winspear.  Whereas the Flavia de Luce story lines are set post WWII, this series is post WWI and heads into the forthcoming WWII.  Time passes much more quickly in this series to move it towards the next catalyst that changed the world.

Not as witty or as charming as some other mystery series I’ve read, Winspear does create a world more focused on the blurred lines between men, women and social classes. Maisie Dobbs, once a servant in a big house and later a nurse at the front lines in the war, was encouraged to put her intelligence to work as a private detective in an all-men world.  It is through her eyes we see the world changing, societies coming to terms with the differences started with the war and mysteries being solved by work, courage and intuition.

If you’re interested in the change of times in England, then I recommend this series, but you’ll want to start at the beginning with Maisie Dobbs.  This series does build on each other.  You would understand a book on its own, but it means so much more when you understand many of the references to previous stories.

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Memories define us. What if you lost yours every time you go to sleep?

Such is the premise of Before I Go To Sleep, first novel by S. J. Watson.

Christine wakes up every morning in an unfamiliar bed with an unfamiliar man. She looks in the mirror and sees an unfamiliar, middle- aged face. And every morning, the man she has woken up with must explain that he is Ben, he is her husband, she is forty-seven years old and a terrible accident two decades earlier decimated her ability to form new memories.

It’s a phone call from a Dr. Nash, a neurologist who claims to be working with Christine without her husband’s knowledge, that directs her to her journal, hidden in the back of her closet. For the past few weeks, Christine has been recording her daily activities and rereading past entries, relearning the facts of her life as retold by the husband upon whom she is completely dependent. As the entries build, so do the questions: What was life like before the accident? Why did she and Ben never have a child? What has happened to Christine’s best friend? And what exactly was the horrific accident that caused such a profound loss of memory?

It’s a good mystery novel.  But I have to tell you, I knew the solution from the first few pages. (Don’t let that count much as to whether or not you read it.  I guess most mysteries from the get-go. To a normal, non-freakish people not like me, it would be a great suspense!)

I just discovered that it will be made into a movie.  Nicole Kidman as Christine and Colin Firth as Ben.  It should be good with the likes of them.

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 Think Downton Abbey crossed with the narrative of Rose in the movie Titanic.

This debut novel for Kate Morton is brilliant and well-tended from the opening of the book to the closing.  The first two lines of The House at Riverton are an homage to Rebecca and then the novel is reminiscent of Remains of the Day, Gosford Park, The Great Gatsby and other gothic and romantic novels…all acknowledged by the author in the Afterward.

At 14 years old, Grace Bradley went to work at Riverton House as a house maid before the First World War. For years her life was inextricably tied up with the Hartford family, most particularly the two daughters, Hannah and Emmeline.

In 1999, when Grace is 98 years old and living out her last days in a nursing home, she is visited by a young director who is making a film about the events of that summer and is seeking details of the event and the household. Mulling over memories that she was pretending to forget, Grace goes back to Riverton House, recalling details of her “family” and protecting them to the end. Told in flashback, this is the story of Grace’s youth during the last days of Edwardian aristocratic privilege shattered by war, of the vibrant twenties and the changes she witnessed as an entire way of life vanished forever.

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The Language of Flowers, Vanessa Diffenbaugh’s elegantly written debut novel, beautifully weaves past and present, creating a vivid portrait of a young woman whose gift for flowers helps her change the lives of others even as she struggles to overcome her own troubled life.

The Victorian language of flowers was used to convey romantic expressions: honeysuckle for devotion, aster for patience, and daisies for innocence. But for Victoria Jones, it’s been more useful in communicating grief, mistrust, and solitude. After a childhood spent in the foster-care system, she is unable to get close to anybody, and her only connection to the world is through flowers and their meanings.

Now eighteen and emancipated from the system, Victoria has nowhere to go and sleeps in a public park, where she plants a small garden of her own. Soon a local florist discovers her talents, and Victoria realizes that she has a gift for helping others through the flowers she chooses for them. But a mysterious vendor at the flower market inspires her to question what’s been missing in her life. And when she’s forced to confront a painful secret from her past, she must decide whether it’s worth risking everything for a second chance at happiness.

It’s a moving story that reminds us that anyone can grow into something beautiful.

Plus it will make you think about the intended (unintended) messages for flowers received:

• yellow roses – infidelity
• lilies – desire & passion
• pink tulips – declaration of love

I’m not techy.  I can’t play Xbox games.  I know enough about making my way around a computer to be either helpful or dangerous, and I’m slow with my iPhone.  It takes me three times longer to compose a simple text on my phone than the average 6 year old.

Just ask my tech-savvy friends who have to add the changing mobile password to my phone at work for me because I can’t seem to get it to take , The Boy who explains for the umpteenth time how to turn on the tv with the various remotes or my daughter who smiles knowingly when I ask about the ins and outs of Spotify… again.

They all love me, but I’m sure their eyes are going to to get stuck in the top of their heads as they roll once again.

Anyway(s), one little techy gadget that I love is the Notes section where I keep a list of books that I want to read on my iPhone.  When I read a review that makes me want to read that book or if a friend suggests a new title, on the list it goes!  I have  over 70 listed at present.)

Why do I love it?  When I hit the library, I’m not always walking down the shelves, waiting for a book to jump out at me.  Sometimes I want a book  to pull me to it, but other times, I only have 10 minutes to be in and out; having a handy list of books that have intrigued me makes the quickness possible.

Plus, it’s one less on the spot decision I’ve had to make.

In the past three weeks, I’ve been able to cross off quite a few books on my list and some that never made it there.  Since I know some of you to be readers, I thought I’d share my thoughts on some of the books that have graced my eyes.

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Heft, by Liz Moore, is a compelling story that will make you want to rethink what the word “family” really means and how it is found in the most unlikely places.

58 year old Arthur Opp, a college professor of literature turned morbidly obese recluse, hasn’t left his once beautiful Brooklyn home in a years.  His only tenuous human connection over a decade is through correspondence with a former student, the vulnerable and singular Charlene.

Twenty miles away, in Yonkers,17 year old Kel Keller navigates life as the poor kid unwillingly uprooted to a rich school, pinning his hopes of success on a promising baseball career.  But first, he must extract himself from his family drama of living with an alcoholic and dysfunctional mother who has shut herself off from the world.

The link between this unlikely pair is Kel’s mother, Charlene, who places an unexpected phone call to Arthur—a plea for help—jostling them into action. Through Arthur and Kel’s own quirky, likable and lifelike voices, Moore crafts a brilliant and compelling story of two improbable heroes whose forced connection transforms both their lives.

I found it to be a heartwarming novel about friendships, acceptance and second chances.

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The Snow Child, by Eowyn Ivey, is one of those books that grabbed me by the shirt sleeve as I walked by it.  The simplicity of the cover and the feeling of adventure when the book was in my hand was enough to entice me to add it to my stack.

Set in the untamed, harsh landscape of the 1920′s Alaska, Ivey’s debut offering weaves a lovely story based on the Russian fairy tale about a girl, half-human and half ice and snow, who comes into the life of a childless old couple.  This delightfully simple story hovers somewhere between myth and reality — and the effect is mesmerizing.

Each character is endearing and complete in their own personalities.  The setting is enchanting and visible in the mind’s eye.  The writing is rich and lyrical, real and magical at the same time.  I could not put the book down, yet as the last page neared the turning of my hand, I discovered that I did not want it to end.  I was too in love with the book.

“A sad tale’s best for winter,” as Shakespeare wrote.  However, The Snow Child will convince you that in some cases, a fantastic story — with tinges of sadness and mystery — may be best for any season.

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I absolutely adore Alan Bradley’s award winning Flavia de Luce series!  When I realized that there were two books that had completely escaped my notice, I whacked myself in the head with my palm and set to rectifying that mistake.

If ever there was a sleuth who is bold, brilliant, adorable, it’s Flavia de Luce.  She is wickedly witty, delightful, fearless, cheeky, wildly precocious and a perfect combination of Eloise and Sherlock Holmes.

It is the summer of 1950 — and at the once-grand mansion of Buckshaw, young Flavia de Luce, is an aspiring chemist with a passion for

poison. Her wildest dreams come true in each book as she stumbles upon dead bodies.  To Flavia the investigation is the stuff of science: full of possibilities, contradictions, and connections.  And the opportunity to prove her worth to those in the village (and bite her thumb in direction of her all-knowing and ever-torturing sisters).

If you haven’t read the series, I highly suggest that you start at the beginning with Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie.  The books build on each other, so though you may be able to appreciate them as stand alone readings, you will understand so much more as you watch the characters develop and grow, witness sibling rivalries and alliances and hear Flavia’s stream of conscious thinking… which are a riot in and of themselves.

This series is original, charming, devilishly creative.  Between Flavia, her father, her sisters, the Inspector, Mrs. Mullet, Dogger and her trusty bike Gladys, you will find yourself laughing at the cleverness of the lines.  If you haven’t read these sweet little mysteries, I too will quote Shakespeare.  I say, “Get thee to a library!”.

Well, he would have said it if the Flavia series was written in his time.

Oh, and The Boy is now on book two of the series, The Weed that Strings the Hangman’s Bag.  This after devouring the first book.  He loves them too.

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I have more, but I think it’s overkill to list so many books at one sitting.  It’s nice to be back in the swing of things.  I’ve missed reading and have really appreciated relaxed, prone position it forces me to take.  Sometimes I just don’t know how to be still.  It’s nice to have hobby that forces it on me.

Well, that and the ability to escape for a while.  It’s sort of like a free vacation to destinations unknown, only without all the packing.

If Shalee wants to enjoy the sunshine through the living room windows, she will lay on the floor like a cat.

When laying on the floor, she will look up to see that the ceiling fan blades are covered in dust and really need to be cleaned.

Walking to the kitchen to grab a cleaning rag, she notices that the dining room table needs a good swipe since the kids forgot to clean it after putting away breakfast dishes.

When she’s in the kitchen looking for a dishcloth, she’ll notice that the dishwasher that was left open is full so she’ll reach for the dishwashing detergent to start it.

When she closes the dishwasher door, she’ll see that the front is badly in need of a wipe down.

When she’s wiping it, she’ll notice that the cabinets are dirty too.

As she works her way down the cabinet, she will notice the crumbs on the countertop and stop to take care of those as well.

Wiping the crumbs away, she will see the layer of flour dust that has settled on the back of the countertop from all the baking she has done of late.

Thinking of baking reminds her that last night when she was cooking dinner, she spilt some juices on the oven door.

Opening the oven door, she remembers that she needs to pull out some meat for dinner.

Turning to the stainless steel fridge, she’ll notice that front has water spots on it and needs a good rubdown.

When rubbing it down, she notices the water dispenser and suddenly realizes that she’s thirsty!

Turning to grab a glass from the cabinet, she sees that the paper lining the shelf needs to be replaced.

Walking out to grab scissors from the desk to cut paper, she notes that she still hasn’t cleaned the table so she goes back into the kitchen to get a dishcloth.

When she walks into the kitchen, she’ll see that the oven door is still open.  When she closes it, she notices that the microwave above it is in need of attention too.

When she grabs the dishcloth and starts wiping it, she accidently turns on the microwave light and notes that the glass turntable inside is dirty.

She pulls it out and turns to the sink only to realize that there are dishes in it that weren’t washed when the kids did the breakfast dishes.

She splashes water on the ground when rinsing a dish.  When she bends down to wipe it up, she realizes that she should mop the floor.

She walks out to the closet to grab the mop only to note that she still hasn’t cleaned the table.

She returns to the kitchen to grab a dishcloth, and on her way into the room, she sees that the basil plant in the window is in dire need of revival.

When watering the plant, she realizes that she’s still thirsty so she took the glass that she previously pulled out and opened the door to grab some orange juice.  When the refrigerator is open, she’ll note that the shelves need to be cleaned.

When she pulls out the items from inside, she’ll see that she needs to make more tea.

She’ll pull pitcher down and grab the tea bags, only to realize that she wants to make sun tea because her family likes it more than tea that has been boiled and steeped.

Looking for a place to put the sun tea container, she sees that the best place to catch the sun is in the living room.

When she gets to the living room, she thinks that it would be really lovely to sit in the sunlight coming through the windows and enjoy the warmth.

So she does.

But this time she shuts her eyes tightly and smiles in the warmth of the sun.

The Girl has been begging me to find a White Chicken Chili recipe to try.  She adores it ever since she had some at a friend’s house.

Now, as a good Southern girl, I think of chili as a brown/red sort of color.

Not white.

White seems so… blechy and plain.  Boooooooring.  Flavorless.

Think about it.  Foods that are white are generally tasteless on their own, e.g., rice, potatoes, mushrooms.

But not white chocolate.  That is the be-all, end-all best. thing. ever.  Right next to dark chocolate.  And wine.

Or all three together.

Oh. My. Lands.  I just had a moment there.  So need to do that three-at-once thing.  Yum-my.

And while I’m on it, chili should have meat and beans in it!  None of this beans only or meat only crud.  What up with that?  Pretty sure the cowboys had beans in their pot because it was portable as they rode on the range…  Of course their meat was probably from a not-s0-obliging cow that they were herding, but I won’t go there.

By meat, I mean hamburger because I’m cheap wise in how I spend my butcher money.

Off soapbox now.  Soapbox boy, you may put it away now. (But have it handy in case I run on another tangent.)

So in an effort to show some love to The Girl, I’ve decided to see if I can’t satisfy this craving that she has and find a recipe that will appeal to my visual appetite as well.

I’ve scanned and scoured the net, looking for something that might fit the mold.  Maybe I’m too picky or have high expectations, but really, I’ve got nothing that matches what I want.

So you know what that means, right?

I hit the kitchen with a wide open imagination.  This adventure could be good or it could be a catastrophe.

Oh, what fun!  

This will be my first live-cooking blog ever!  Woo hoo!  (Oh, dear Lord.  Please let this recipe not fall into the “catastrophe” category.  And if it does, help me to deal with the blow to my pride… and have enough leftovers to manage dinner.)

So here’s what I know I need so far:

Chicken

White beans – I’m thinking Navy beans.

The rest?  I’ll make up as I go along.

Okay, I’m back from the store.  I was out of white beans and I wanted a jalapeño to kick things just a wee bit.  I bought a small one, so it’s going to be more like a knock to the shins rather than a roundhouse to the kidneys.

Let’s get started!

I think I’ll make this recipe a crockpot recipe.  If you want to cook it quicker and over the stove, it’s easier to modify.

I love onions in my chili, be it white or red chili, onions are going in!  I took a small onion and diced it into small pieces.  I’ll figure out when to add them at some point.

Garlic is a given, so I took four cloves, peeled them, cut off the bottoms and the whacked each of them with the side of the side of my large knife blade.  By whacking, I mean that I place the flat side of the knife over the clove and then hit the knife with the heel of my hand.  This movement crushes the garlic clove, releasing the oils/juices differently.  That and I saw it on a cooking show once and thought, “That looks sooo cool!”   I whack them whenever I get a chance.  After whacking each clove, I diced them finely.

I have the jalapeño seeded and diced into small pieces as well.

Note: Do not touch eyes after handling jalapeño unless you like the red, weepy look in your right eye.  And you get a kick out of that stinging, painful feeling.

That’s all from what I’ve gathered from reading about jalapeños, mind you.  (Excuse me as I go grab another Kleenex to wipe the tears way… again.)

For the chicken: do I want to poach and pull the chicken apart like I would for chicken noodle soup or shall I dice it and have chunks in the chili?  I’m going with chunks this time, so I’ll cube it and cook it up in a skillet.

I first salted (kosher salt) & peppered (fresh ground) the chicken and then diced it into small cubes.  Tossing it into a skillet over medium heat, I cooked it  in a bit of olive oil for about 3 minutes, stirring to allow for even cooking.

Since I want the onion to be tender, I tossed the onions and the garlic in with the chicken and let them cook for a few minutes. Heck.  I’ll throw the jalapeño in there too.  Might as well infuse the flavor early, using the heat to encourage the pepper to release some of those oils.  I cooked the mix for about 5 minutes, stirring often while starting the base.

For the base for the chili, I’m going with chicken stock.  (Normally I think tomato sauce base, but since this recipe should be white, that leaves color out!)  However, I have the dilemma of needing to thicken this chili (as I would with my traditional chili); chili should be denser than a broth.  I’ll work on that problem when I get there.

I put 4 cups of chicken stock into the crockpot.  Didn’t have any stock freshly made, so I opened a box of chicken stock and poured it into the crockpot that was turned on low at this point.

Okay, in all sincerity, I never have homemade stock on hand.  I just put that bit in there to make you think that I was all that with a cherry on top, but truth willed out.  (I tried being a homemade stock person long ago, but I decided that it just wasn’t worth my time and effort, not when I can get a box for $1.29 at Aldi, and it tastes delicious.  Woot.)

I decided on three cans of navy beans, but really I could have gone with cannellini or Great Northern beans.  If this recipe goes well, I’ll try a different bean next time.

I poured two cans into the crockpot, liquids and all.  The third can I dumped into a bowl.  I had an idea for thickening.

I mashed and mashed and mashed those beans with a fork, scooping out a little of the broth to help with the mashing.  I decided against processing them because I want the texture of the mashed beans to contribute to the overall presentation of the dish.  If it’s too weird, I’ll pulverize them in the food processor next time.  In they went with the other beans.

I added the cooked chicken, onions, garlic and  jalapeño mixture to the crockpot.  Already this dish smells divine!

I need some kind of spices in the soup now.  I like cumin, and it won’t alter the color too much.

I think some thyme or oregano will work well too.  I’m going with oregano.  It will give it a nice flavor along with the onions and garlic.

I hope this isn’t turning too Italian-ish… but maybe that’s where the white chili came from in the first place.  I should look that up.

That’s all I want to do with this meal for now.  I’ll let this soup simmer for a few hours on low and see how it tastes later.

It’s later, about 3 hours.  It’s missing something.  I threw in a little garlic powder and a little more salt & pepper.  I’ll let it simmer a little more to see if that will give it a little something.  The jalapeño didn’t give it as much of a kick as I hoped it would.  Next time I’ll use a larger one.

Alright, it’s dinner time.  This soup is finished due to timing alone.

Oh, and I made my cornbread as a side.  If this dish was intolerable, I would have a smidgen of redemption with that beloved bread.

I topped it with shredded cheddar cheese, just before serving.  I could have added a dollop of sour cream on top… but I was out.  Oh well.  We’ll live.

I served the soup to the family who knew that I was flying solo on this one.  I saw a bit of hesitation as the bowls were filled and passed around the table.  Though they’re used to my playing with my food, they don’t always know when I’m going it alone.  They knew this time and it added a weight to their opinions.

I watched with bated breath as they each lifted a filled spoon to their lips. Two swallows and one slurp was heard around the table. (Still working on manners for The Boy! Gah.)

The verdict?  It was delicious, but slightly on the salty side.  I shouldn’t have added it that last go around.  It wasn’t so much salt that the dish was ruined, just enough to know that it was a seasoning… not really wanted with salt.  It should be an enhancer, not a distinct flavor… unless you’re eating french fries.  Then tasting the salt is a good thing.

They each had two bowls, so I guess they weren’t just being nice about the opinions.  :)

The Girl really liked it, though she said that she thought there should be some green chilies in it, in addition to the jalapeño in it.  Next time, I’ll add a can of green chilies to it, just for grins and giggles.

So overall, this whole make-up something-as-I-go-along thing worked out pretty well!  See, anyone can just wing it and hope for the best.

I’m just happy this time didn’t end with a round of peanut butter and honey sandwiches and cornbread as the backup plan.

If you want to try your hand at it, here’s the recipe in printable form.  And if you come up with something better, pass it on!  I’m always ready to learn at the feet of a different master.