Tag Archives: family

Lessons from Paul Bunyan

During Family Vacay 2010 we went out to breakfast one day.

Paul Bunyan’s Cook Shanty serves all-you-can-eat breakfast for . . . a hefty price, let’s say. But it was worth it for the doughnuts alone. I hereby nominate those doughnuts to become the State song. Or the State bird. Or the State whatever, as long as Wisconsin gives them a position of honor, merit, and blatant publicity. These doughnuts make Wisconsin a better place to live. In fact, they almost make up for the population of mosquitoes and spiders that this state also plays host to . . . almost. Let’s not go too wild here, now.

Let’s move past the doughnuts . . . for now. Paul Bunyan’s eggs are OK, their sausages are delectable, and their pancakes ain’t bad either. All the food is brought to the table family-style, and served on tin plates and cups. Kind of like you’re camping. Cast iron cookware hangs on all the walls, tempting you to make a grab for that gigantic Dutch oven that you really don’t think you can live without anymore. Amidst the rustic decor, fellow tourists chuggin’ down the coffee, and gift shop rarities, I learned a series of important lessons that I decided to bring to you on this lovely  morning.

Lesson #1: Always give Steve the doughnuts first. He is full of dormant violence which starts boiling to the surface when he experiences the lack of doughnuts.

And don’t think his wife is any different either.

Lesson #2: when seated between a hungry sister and a hungry husband, use your fork to intimidate them into keeping their grubby little mitts off the freshly arrived scrambled eggs.

You have a right to those scrambled eggs. You are entitled to the full amount of those scrambled eggs. And don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. This is the land of opportunity! And when your opportunity is threatened, you must defend it with any utensils at hand.

Lesson #3: On your way back to your house from the Paul Bunyan experience, always stop at the local open-air flea market.

I mean, who couldn’t use some ‘foreign coins’? I know I’m always in need of all kinds of currency when I take my spontaneous jet-setter trips to Cancun or Barbados. And ‘rock slabs’? C’mon, you know you could use one of those to a) bake some gourmet bread on, b) lay the cornerstone for the hand-built mansion you’re constructing in your spare time, or c) bring to your weight-lifting class for extra street cred.

However, when you see visor caps with fur growing out of them, you must run far, far away.

Don’t be like me. Don’t make the same mistakes I made. The green fur is not “cute and funny” as you may think in the midst of your shopping high–it’s ugly and frightening, as you will discover as soon as you’ve spent $10 on it.

And no, I didn’t purchase the cap. It’s just a hypothetical scenario.

Lesson #4: Something about my sister and Steph being really cute and looking really good in shorts.

Note to self: investigate connection between cuteness and petite stature.

Lesson #5: When someone asks you “Whaddya think? Should I buy this rusty old piece of antique something or another?”

That’s your cue to start screaming at the top of your lungs “Oh the folly!!”, wrench the object from their hands, and take off running. Throw the object into the deepest lake you come across, smash it with that rock slab you purchased earlier, or bury it in the deepest hole you can carve out of the earth with your bare hands in the 1.2 minutes you have before the irate shopkeeper catches up with you. Your friend/relative is counting on you to save him or her from a poor shopping choice, and no measure is too extreme to ensure they don’t have this sorry piece of crap kicking around for the rest of their lives.

And for the record, this situation is also hypothetical; Erica in no way considered buying this. Plus, with a little paint it could be super cute.

Lesson #6: The stones and beads will try to draw you in. Don’t buy them! Unless you’re a disciplined jewelry-maker, they will just sit around looking bright and pretty in your drawers, on your desk, or in your refrigerator.

Lesson #7: If you come across a small clown, invite him to sit on your shoulder.

If you don’t, he may become your mortal enemy. And nobody wants a miniature clown creeping into their bedroom at night with a very tiny axe.

Lesson #8: don’t buy that antique book. It smells kinda funny.

Lesson #9: happily married parents = I love it.

See you all tomorrow for a delectable stew recipe!

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).