Friday, March 20, 2009

Good Texas Lovin' Music

Bo and I miss Texas. Like we REALLY miss Texas. We pretty much throw a pity party for ourselves every once in a while, and we have found the perfect soundtrack to our shindig in Ryan Bingham. You can get lost in the slide guitar, and as soon as you think it can't get any better, he drops a little fiddle in. "If you are gonna play in Texas, ya gotta have a fiddle in the band!" per Alabama. Give him a listen and tell us what you think!

Sunday, March 8, 2009

Wednesday, March 4, 2009

BEST PARTY TRICK EVER!

Bo and I have little time to spend with friends these days, but when we do, we just love to toast and talk with Bridger. Not only does Bridger make a mean grilled pork tenderloin (with chimichurri sauce and asparagus! Killer!), but he also showed us the best party trick ever! It involves a Samuri sword and a bottle of champagne (can you beat that?).

Here are the rules:
1. You must have a big sword (please remove your mind from the gutter)
2. Place a champagne bottle upside down in ice water for twenty minutes.
3. Remove from water and dry off
4. Line your sword up with the seam on the bottle's neck
5. Swiftly draw the sword up the neck of the bottle to hit the seam
6. And wham...you are now cool.

Tuesday, March 3, 2009


When the weather starts to warm up, I feel like I am a bear coming out of her cave from a long winters nap. I don't know about you guys, but through the winter months, I am what people refer to as a "party pooper". However, the other day, the sun started shining, the birds a' singing, and a little bloom appeared on the oak tree in the front yard.

With all the excitement, I felt like I needed a little celebration, so I invited my girlfriends over and had a brunch. It was a success!
When throwing a party, it is pertinent to plan ahead!!! I had almost all the recipes prepared to simply stick in the oven, coffee was in the coffee maker ready to be turned on (like me), and all the plates/cups/serving dishes on the table. I used my Sitti's (grandmother) antique blue and gold "King Tut" china, and I always try to serve on white dishes. It makes the food pop. Always end with a nice bouquet of fresh flowers, they just make everything a little prettier!

Here are some of the recipes I served:


Hashed Browns

Ingredients
5 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 1/2 pounds boiling potatoes, peeled and 1/2-inch diced
1 1/2 cups chopped yellow onions (2 onions)
2 teaspoons kosher salt
1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
2 tablespoons minced fresh flat-leaf parsley
2 tablespoons minced scallions (white and green parts)
Directions
Melt the butter in a large (10 to 12-inch) sauté pan. Add the potatoes, onions, salt, and pepper and cook over medium-low heat for 15 to 20 minutes, turning occasionally with a flat spatula, until the potatoes are evenly browned and cooked through. (Allow the potatoes to cook for 5 minutes before turning.) Turn off the heat and add the parsley and scallions. Serve hot.



Sausage and Cheddar Cheese Strata

1 ½ lbs. ground breakfast sausage (12 oz. of hot, 12 oz. of regular)
4 eggs, beaten
2 ½ cups half and half
1 tsp dried sage
¾ tsp kosher salt
¼ tsp freshly ground pepper
6 potato bread or other soft white bread slices, crusts removed
2 Cups (6 oz.) grated extra-sharp cheddar cheese
2 Tbls chopped fresh chives, flat-leaf parsley, or green onion, both white and green parts

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Butter a 9-by-13-by-2-inch baking dish.
Heat a large skillet over medium high heat. Put the sausage in the skillet and cook, stirring occasionally, until it is thoroughly browned, 5 to 7 minutes. Using a slotted spoon, transfer the sausage to a paper towel-lined plate to drain.
Whisk together the eggs, half-and-half, sage, kosher salt, and pepper in a medium bowl. Layer the bread in the prepared baking dish and top with sausage. Pour the egg mixture over the sausage and top with the cheese. Bake until the strata is set in the middle, about 30 minutes. Do not overcook. Let cool for 15 to 20 minutes. Garnish with the chives just before serving.
Enjoy!



Blueberry Coffee Cake Muffins


12 tablespoons (1 1/2 sticks) unsalted butter, at room temperature
1 1/2 cups sugar
3 extra-large eggs, at room temperature
1 1/2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract
8 ounces (about 1 cup) sour cream
1/4 cup milk
2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
2 half-pints fresh blueberries, picked through for stems

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Place 16 paper liners in muffin pans.
In the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, cream the butter and sugar until light and fluffy, about 5 minutes. With the mixer on low speed, add the eggs 1 at a time, then add the vanilla, sour cream, and milk. In a separate bowl, sift together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt. With the mixer on low speed add the flour mixture to the batter and beat until just mixed. Fold in the blueberries with a spatula and be sure the batter is completely mixed.
Scoop the batter into the prepared muffin pans, filling each cup just over the top, and bake for 25 to 30 minutes, until the muffins are lightly browned on top and a cake tester comes out clean.



Fruit with Honey Yogurt Sauce

2 cups plain yogurt
2 tablespoons good honey
1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
Seeds scraped from 1/2 vanilla bean, optional
1/2 orange, juiced
1 banana, sliced
1/2 pint fresh blueberries
1/2 pint fresh raspberries
1 pint fresh strawberries, hulled and cut in half
1 bunch seedless green grapes, halved
Crushded walnuts for topping (optional)

Combine the yogurt, honey, vanilla extract, and vanilla bean seeds in a bowl and set aside. Combine the orange juice and banana slices in a separate bowl. Add the berries and grapes and gently mix the fruit mixture together. Spoon the fruit into serving bowls and top with the yogurt.

Monday, March 2, 2009

A man wants his...chicken?!

Yesterday, after weeks (possibly months) of promising ourselves that we would be more healthy, Bo asked me to grill several chicken breasts so we could make quick, healthy meals this week. The problems is I am not the most creative person when it comes to chicken recipes. The other thing is I hate the taste of reheated chicken. Therefore, I am in a bit of a pickle. I thought you guys might be able to help me with some recipe ideas. I will post one, and if a brilliant idea comes to your mind, post it on the comment link. My husband would greatly appreciate it!

Chicken Salad in Avocado Cup

Ingredients
1 cup diced cooked chicken breast
2 tablespoon mayonnaise
1 teaspoon chopped orange zest
1 tablespoon chopped shallots
1 tablespoon chopped fresh red pepper
1 teaspoon chopped fresh chives
Salt and pepper
1 ripe avocado, halved, pit removed, and peeled


Directions
In a bowl combine the first five ingredients. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Divide the salad between the two avocado halves, filling the cavity.

Hurricane Ike


Annie Neichoy and her family had to make a decision. Authorities were recommending, no they were mandating, residents of Houston and Galveston counties evacuate. Hurricane Ike was looming in the Gulf of Mexico and the outlook declared the storm to be full of destruction. The strength of the storm paralleled the swell of fear that was growing among the residents of High Island, TX.



The most eastern part of the Bolivar Peninsula, High Island is one of the forgotten towns of rural southeast Texas. With only five hundred inhabitants, High Island struggles to maintain a township, but the strength and steadiness of a town that has fought and survived numerous hurricanes shines through with resilience. This is a sleepy town whose only companion and adversary seems to be the roar and unpredictability of the ocean. The town rests on top of a salt dome. With an elevation of thirty-eight feet above sea level, it is deemed the highest piece of land from Mobile, AL to the Yucatan Peninsula in Mexico. As grand as this account of the small town seems, the residents are all but neglected by the county they are a part of.



As Annie watched TV on Friday night, the evening’s news forecasted a gloomy day to come for Galveston County. The National Hurricane Center reported the tidal surge of the hurricane to be the worst in one hundred years. Warnings were put out that much would be lost. Annie was forced to turn off the television. She had heard enough, and the time to escape had already passed her by. All day long, Annie had been witness to the torture of trees, with the wind gusting and whipping limbs from side to side until defeat seemed inevitable. The wind was making way for the storm. Annie was making her way into the kitchen.


On the refrigerator hung pictures of laughing children, evidence of pride (her son was the first to graduate from college and then went on to medical school), and a fragmented conglomeration of alphabet magnets. Annie laughed at the thought of her doctor son warning her against Coke before bed, but as routine, she filled her NASCAR cup to the brim with syrupy concoction. As she walked down the hallway, Annie was suddenly struck by the loneliness of her situation. Her nightly ritual of kissing her two grandkids, Laynee and Drake, goodnight had been interrupted by a stranger named Ike; anger and resentment surged. As she passed their room, Annie could only think of the fate of their little town, her little town. She and her husband Benny had made the tough decision to ride out the storm. Benny’s son Justin evacuated the day before, taking his two kids and a couple gallons of gas in case there were shortages along the trip. She finally reached her bedroom, and as she crawled into bed, Annie could sense Benny’s apprehension. Her husband had always retired for the night hours before she did, however, the usual hum of Benny’s restful breathing had been replaced by silence. Even though thoughts were racing through her head, there was no need for words. They laid by each others side, not knowing what tomorrow was to bring, only that they would face it together.


Around five thirty Saturday morning, the couple woke up to a crash. As they rushed into their living room, they were met by rain drops invading their house. The electricity had been off for several hours, but Benny had prepared and grasped a flashlight in hand. As they cautiously turned the corner, the culprit was revealed. A patio door had been shattered and now glass shards were scattered across the floor. Grabbing some of the plywood left over from tacking up
windows, the couple forced the door shut and held it up until light peeked through at seven thirty.



It was time to survey the damage. As Annie and Benny stepped out of their shelter, they found their next door neighbor’s house had succumbed to the winds and split in half. This scene was the opening act for the destruction that was to follow. Walking down the street, they slowly realized their little town would never be the same. Houses were swept away, and what remained of some was only worth tearing down. Annie checked on her ex-husband’s newly remodeled house, “that barn that he is trying to turn into a mansion”, and as fate would have it, the water had only made it to the back steps and stopped. The fruit stand across the street that had been a land mark for so many years had been replaced by a fallen oil pumping unit that had travelled at least a mile, and it was lying like a fish that had gone belly up. Benny’s breakfast crony, Skip Hamilton, had moved his cows to the east pasture, which had historically received the least damage. Hurricane Ike was not like other storms, and the farmer’s bloated cattle
floated into the streets.




Of the five hundred residents of High Island, eight fighters stood side by side with the land that had enriched their lives and fought the storm. As the eight were finishing up their survey, Annie asked them in, as any southern woman would do in time of crisis, for a pot of fresh coffee. A grateful Mr. Bennett offered her five dollars for the cup of hot, black brew. Annie wouldn’t hear of it; they were in this together. Silence started the conversation, and then it slowly evolved into the changes that would come and the steps that should be taken to start the rebuilding process.




High Island is more than just a community. It is a gathering of people whose way of life matches that of the tide, softly being taken in and out, predicted only by events out of their control. “They will forget about us” Annie said, holding a glass of copper colored tea. “They said they might be comin’ down here to give us those typhoid shots. Is that what ya call ‘em, typhoid?” Her voice trailed off. You could hear the hurt and uncertainty in her words. “We actually have it pretty good. We have survivors, and we have each other. The rumor is the preacher from Gilcrist is dead on the beach, along with seven others. The officials won’t let us out, because they don’t want us to see the bodies.”