Category Archives: Musings

And the one shall become two

My grandfather Big Jake has been sending us large quantities of random groceries since the year 2004. Big Jake takes great pride in being resourceful and finding a ‘great deal,’ so frequently he will ship us marinades and dressings that have just passed their expiration date, cans and cans of food with dents in them that were sold for a few cents each after getting damaged in transit in some truck, and bulk quantities of flour, sugar, and oats. Big Jake also loves buying gigantic pieces of meat, and saves them in his own freezer until the time comes to provide for one of his grandchildren. And when it’s our turn, you never know what kind of bounty will spring forth. A duck. 10 million pounds of ground beef. A huge frozen mass of pink which upon further investigation ended up being 20-some odd chicken breasts. I call it ‘the pink plank,’ and I’m terrified of defrosting the monster. You can’t receive a Big Jake grocery shipment without having to pick your jaw up off the floor. And fill up your coat closet with the overflow that doesn’t fit in the pantry.

There have been joys and challenges, laughter and tears, butter sent through the postal service, and spaghetti sauce to last a lifetime, which I always need on hand to throw together my topmost go-to meal.

All this said, about 4 months ago Big Jake sent us two gigantic (almost 5 lb) cuts of meat called “arm roast.” The name of this slab of animal flesh made me pause to ponder some of the deeper questions of the universe. I mean, what the heck is an arm roast? Is there any situation in which you would say “that cow has a nice fat arm”? Aren’t they . . . legs? Any ranchers out there who can clarify this point?

I apologize for this illustration. It seemed a necessity at the time I made it.

Considering the package said “Content: beef,” I chose to move on and ask no further questions. Ignorance can be bliss, as long as it doesn’t kill you via food poisoning–and I’m happy to report that it didn’t.

Our freezer situation was in emergency status. With the 2 arm roasts, the duck he sent us, the tablet of chicken breasts, plus other sundry large items, it hadn’t been able to house ice cream for about a year. It was getting ridiculous, and it was time to clear some space out and cook that dang arm roast. The first arm roast, that is.

Things looked promising. The meat smelled great as it browned, the oven was preheating, and I couldn’t wait to sink my teeth into the tender, falling-apart pieces of beef that the next few hours held in store for us. However, when it became obvious that the arm roast would never in any dimension of space or time be able to fit into the Dutch oven along with the carrots, onions, mushrooms, and sauce, I was forced to reconfigure my plans.

I tallied up the facts:

Fact #1: There was no way I was refreezing any part of that roast. The whole point was ice-cream space in the freezer, and we were not jeopardizing that in any scenario.

Fact #2: Forcing all the meat into the one pot would have resulted in an oven explosion that may well have brought about the end of the USA as we know it.

The simple answer to all my problems came to me in a flash:

And the one shall become two.

It was the only solution. Plus, it sounded biblical, so that pretty much sealed the deal. One roast became two roasts. I broke out my other cast iron pot (also from Big Jake’s basement) and made a second roast, improvising with some onion, some apples, some ginger, and some Asian seasonings. And that, my friends, is how I came to have two big roasts in the oven this past Sunday afternoon. Two whole roasts–for a household of two. One for me, one for my husband.

I would like to report that we will be eating roast for the next month, for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Amen and amen.

I will be sharing the recipe for Roast #1 next Thursday, and it is de-licious. I can further vouch for it because it has stood the test of time as I have eaten it over and over again this week. In fact, I will probably be eating it tonight as well, and I’m actually . . . *honest self examination in process* . . . looking forward to it. And that says a lot about a recipe.

Have a great weekend everyone! Sleep in a little, drink a delicious coffee, and work a gigantic bowl of popcorn into your Saturday night. Or whatever floats your boat, really. This weekend, a wine tasting at our friend Cassia‘s house is going to float my boat. This weekend, a good douse of Baileys in my coffee is going to float my boat. And I may even con my husband into giving me a foot massage (conning husband=putting on a cute little alien face and smacking his butt until he agrees to whatever you’re asking) (marital advice at no extra charge).

New muscle in the house

So a week and a half ago I wrote this post expressing my fears surrounding the 2 hour exercise block I have involved myself in on Mondays at our local City of Chicago gym. The second hour is my beloved yoga class from last year, but the preceding hour was the dreaded cross training/conditioning class (aerobic exercise, conditioning, and weights).

I promised an update . . . so here it is: I love it. And it hurts. And I love it. And it hurts. It’s Wednesday, and I can still barely walk up and down the steps to the train platform.

The class setting helps so much. When I’ve tried to make myself do aerobic exercise on my own (jogging, the elliptical, etc.), I spend half the time fighting against my own desire to stop. It’s the most gigantic mental battle for me. “You can stop in just 5 minutes! C’mon, just 5 minutes and you can totally be done with this ridiculous business!” I promise myself slyly, knowing in my secret inner being that I will have to keep going for at least another 20 minutes. Self-deception is the only way I can trick myself into going longer and harder. And it’s a hard game to play, turning yourself against yourself. However, when there’s a teacher involved, I don’t even toy with the idea of stopping. I’m a teacher-pleaser and I always have been, so instead of fighting a battle of the wills with myself, I can just focus on doing what she tells us and taking myself to the limit. During the yoga class afterwards, my legs were shaking so badly I could barely hold a warrior pose.

And now for the big announcement: after week #2 of this dynamic combo, I have just discovered a new muscle.

For real. After my class this past Monday I was at home, looking in our hallway mirror and wondering whether I was going to get some hot musculature at some point. And lo and behold, I suddenly saw a new muscle about a finger’s length above my left knee! I flexed my leg a few times just to make sure it wasn’t a trick of the light, and there it remained. The rounded shadow of a small bulge.

At first I wrote it off as some kind of swelling produced by the intensity of the exercise. But as I did my devotional last night with my legs stretched out in front of me, there it was again! I bookmarked my place in Colossians and set my Bible down in order to inspect this new anatomical wonder with the care and attention it deserved. Right there in front of me was a little curve that has never been there before. And yes, it’s only on one leg. “Baby!” I called to my husband. “C’mere and look at this muscle on my left leg!” He came, he observed. “I think it’s new!” I exclaimed. I think he thought I was joking. “No seriously, this is my new muscle from my cross training class!” I explained enthusiastically, flexing my leg back and forth for maximum effect and pointing vigorously. “Dontcha see it? Dontcha see it?”

I put the question forth–what is this mysterious new muscle? And why has it shown up so quickly? Does it have a name, and is this name ‘Fred’?

I have done this small drawing because I know for a fact there are some doctor type people in my lovely assembly of readers. Could you please identify this body part and get back to me as quickly as possible? Should I be worried? Elated? Or is it all just a figment of my overheated brain? Will new muscles continue to crop forth week after week? And more importantly, when will my right leg also have a Fred on it?

OK, that sounded kind of weird. But you get my meaning–symmetry is important in this whole legs business.