I love food. I kind of adore food. I love the planting of food. I love the growing of food. I love the harvesting of food. I love the washing of food. I love the chopping of food. I love the boiling, sauteing, roasting, baking, reducing, tasting, consuming part of food.
If I could yank some tuna out of the ocean, or hogtie a cow in a pasture, I would slice it up and eat it raw. Yes, I know, many people will hate me for saying that. But I love nothing more than some raw meat and fresh veggies on my plate. And those of you who know me REALLY well know exactly how raw I like it. And that's not innuendo. I like me some raw meat.
Over the past week, I've been feeling the call of being back in the kitchen, hardcore. My summer garden is coming to an end and college football is in full swing. There is something about the last bit of basil, dill, cucumbers, jalapenos, and banana peppers that scream, "PICKLE ME!" And there is something about College Gameday, NFL Countdown, and Labor Day that screams, "Meat, MEat, MEAt, MEAT!"
So...Wednesday night, Evan had the fantastic idea of taking advantage of the garden's last nuggets of summer. I'm no pickling expert, but my grandmother passed down the most fantastic sweet pickle recipe on the planet. The catch is that it takes almost a month (and A LOT of attention) to yield the most perfect pickles on the planet. My mom and I made her pickles for the first time in 15 years about 4 years ago and they were absolute perfection. Yes, it was time-consuming. Yes, I was irritated by the daily attention they needed. But I'll be damned if they didn't taste like they did when I was 5 years old. What a legacy to leave.
Anyway, Evan doesn't like anything sweet. Ironic, right? ; )
But he decided we were going to spend Wednesday night pickling and canning before we christened the new grill.
So, in typical Evan-fashion, he read some recipes about pickles, free-styled his own recipe, and off to work we went.
After we got the pickling situation settled, we decided to break in the new grill. Why not? The weather was cool, the fire pit was nice, and there were no kiddos to argue with or referee.
Filet. Portabello. Asparagus. Chicken wine.
Perfection.
So tomorrow, we are having a Labor Day party.
I am SO excited to entertain and so are the boys.
I LOVE that they get so excited about food (even though they don't really eat).
I adore that they want to get involved in the menu.
But most of all, I cherish that they want to be a part of the cooking process.
These are post-bath pics from tonight...
So, tonight, we did some food prep. Teague was in charge of my signature Peach-adobo bar-b-q sauce marinade for the chicken. I stressed how important it was to keep at least a cup for basting on the grill.
Crews blended the marinade which will accompany the jicama slaw, perfect with the dry rubbed carne asada (also my signature!).
And tomorrow, well, stay tuned for the food pics tomorrow.
You know they'll be insane. And I can't wait to see what dessert brings!
But before I leave you...
When I put the the boys to bed tonight, Teague waited a few minutes then came downstairs.
He asked if I had more cooking to do, and if he could help.
I said, "I have a few more things to do. Are you tired?"
"Yes," he said.
"Well then go to bed," I said. "You've had 2 sleepovers in 2 days. Just rest for tomorrow."
He responded," I know you can't hold the Ziploc AND pour the marinade in. Just let me help you."
"How do you know that?" I responded.
"I've been at the edge of the stairs and I've seen you try it before," Teague said. "Mom, admit it. Seriously, sometimes you need help."
He's right. Sometimes I do. But I'll be damned if I ever admit it.
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