cooking again, stubborn as hell.

so i haven't changed my name yet, and i don't know if i'm going to. if i am, it's going to be both our names, together. and i am good and fine with that. but people ASSUME that i am HIS NOW, his name, his woman. and maybe i am, and in the same way he is mine and we are each others and we are each our own, too. maybe that's the crazy part of being with someone. i don't f'ing know. whatever. this is the one issue regarding marriage that REALLY GRATES ON ME. pretty sure i rambled drunkenly for a LONG TIME at the bachelorette party about it. sorry ladies.

anyhow, tonight, pork tenderloin, lean, with whiskey/maple/apple cider marinade/sauce. i think it will be nice.


with lots of 'sparagus.

ETA:

So, the tenderloin, it was SO GOOOOOD. I took a lean pork tenderloin, and I put it in the slow cooker for about 5 hours on low, turning it a couple times. In the slow cooker with the loin: good whiskey, apple cider, little bit of beef stock, a couple shallots, some brown sugar. Toward the end, I ladled out some of the jus into a pot on the stove and reduced it by about half, added some butter. Pulled the tenderloin out of the slow cooker, rolled it lightly in some flour, then pan seared it until golden brown, just to get a little crunch on the outside. Sliced thin, drizzled in sauce. Steamed broccoli instead of asparagus, just naked. Broccoli also tasted really good with the sauce. The tenderloin was a nice balance of sweet and savory and it was very moist, which was exciting because I have eaten dry pork tenderloin before, which was not nice, and I have never cooked pork before. Huzzah! It was a great dinner, and we listened to Chicago and talked about our day. Now, full, and fairly happy.

carrot peelings - composting

I have been thinking and reading a lot about food lately, realizing how much of my time I spend thinking about eating and what to eat and how. The shows I watch on TV are mostly about food, I spent a lot of time at home making food, and now I'm reading these books about how to make food responsibly, how to make a chicken that actually tastes like chicken, and how to experiment with price/money/what to spend a lot on and what i can scrimp on.... blah blah blah. Darcy and Stephanie and I were talking this weekend about how at the beginning, cooking seemed domestic and "wifey" but we kind of all agreed that we like to cook-- that cooking is a fun, delicious, solitary science, that it makes us feel like we've accomplished something wholesome and good. One of the things I want to do in this new household that Michael and I are building is to make most of our food, and to do it responsibly. How can I be an ethical home cook? Where can I buy local food? Can I do it inexpensively, in a time crunch? It's fun to think about all of this-- to realize that I get to make these decisions myself-- this is my home, mine and Mike's, and we have the privilege of making it what we want it to be.

Anyway, today I'm making pot roast with potatos, carrots, pearl onions, and green beans. Served in sourdough from a local bakery. Yum!

Current reading list:

My Life in France, by Julia Child
Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, by Barbara Kingsolver
More-with-Less, compiled by Doris Janzen Longacre

bliss.

(an excerpt from my Vegas notes)

Been thinking about the idea of "home" a lot lately-- I think I posted about it awhile ago. My ideas of home seem to be evolving as my life is changing, as my heart is changing shape and composition. I feel like I'm undergoing an alchemic change. I think that I am home where I can be quiet, where I can be fully Megan, in the quiet of my hotel room, in the midst of shrieking Las Vegas, I can see desert and know I am home. But I am home in mountains, too, and in water, and under trees. I can be home in the suburbs. I am most home at home, in the fields of corn and soybeans, but it is a relief to think that I can be home anywhere. And, I will add, that anywhere now must include Mike, as he is a catalyst of my change-- two elements joining, becoming something that is both wonderfully and obviously two parts, but also completely other.

you will greet yourself arriving

In the morning, the sea of soybeans is eddying in the wind. the bats under the eaves squeak and settle in for the day. stray stalks of corn stand proud in the early sun, glowing gold, surrounded by lesser plants, volunteering.

whatever, etc...

Mike and I sat outside last night in the dark and listened to a large animal in the field kill a small animal in the field. It was neat.




I think I may be too abrasive sometimes.



shalom.

i wish i were a freeway laid out clearer than a bright day

listening to: "broken" - tift merritt

i feel as though i've become dumber since i left michigan and oregon and settled down in indiana. the people i know here say i'm one of the most articulate people they know. what does that mean? i am secretly dumber than they think i am? ummm.



shalom.

needs no conversation

listening to: "islands in the stream" - feist & the constantines

I've been thinking about it, and while I feel impassioned in the mountains, I feel peaceful in cornfields. I'm wild about mountains, but I'm at home with fields and fields of green silks. I grew up behind a cornfield, I know the scratch of running bare legged through knee-high plants, the sting of loose rocks of feed corn flung hard at tanned arms, the throb of corn cuts at night after an afternoon spent in homemade crop-circles. I know the amity of a darkening twilight overlooking the field, watching fireflies wink on, and I swell with pleasure in the early morning, watching sun creep up over dew-wet plants. I feel small in the mountains, apart from them, swallowed, and I like that. But when I'm surrounded by cornfields, I feel oneness and belonging. Four years ago, I claimed placelessness-- emotional wayfaring-- transience. I was proud to be apart. But now, though my friends laugh and shake heads, I am so pleased to wake up somewhere familiar. The window in my bedroom overlooks a cornfield again, and it tickles me.



shalomshalom.