Last week's box had:
Apples
Artichokes
Broccoli
Carrots
Chard
Young fava bean pods
Green garlic
Leeks
Romaine lettuce
Mizuna
Mushrooms
Strawberries
And their fate was:
We ate them
Artichokes: Made properly and shared with the neighbors
Broccoli: On a homemade pizza
Young favas: In Finny's Fava Pasta, simple fava salad
Green garlic: On the homemade pizza with the broccoli
Leeks: Pan seared, served as a side dish to I don't remember what
Romaine lettuce: Salad. Shocker.
Mizuna: Citrus salad
Mushrooms: On a different pizza homemade by our neighbors
Strawberries: Plain, for dessert.
We donated them
Chard: SCORE again! Though perhaps my neighbors took it home, since they picked up last week.
We stored them
Carrots: I have a plan for these. I just have to stockpile some more.
We composted them
Apples: These are the last ones from the farm's storage and they were mealy. Better for the compost than the mouth, me thinks.
And now for that beefy riff.
What? You don't remember? Did, "beefy riff" bring something else to mind for you?
Well, then, you're filthy.
Anyhoo.
Remember even farther back now to the time when I made Pioneer Woman's Leftover Turkey Pot Pie. It was my first time ever making or eating a pot pie of any variety and I will admit it right here, I was surprised that I didn't vomit.
No, really. The concept of pot pies was unknown in my growing up house and I've long associated it with hairy trailer men who gallivant about in their undershirts much like I assume(d) the rest of America did.
Except for Bubba. He associates pot pie with love. In the sense that he loves it. So, being the dutiful husband server that I am (it's weird how I can hear Bubba laughing *right now*), I made this pot pie with the leftovers from our Thanksgiving turkey smoke-a-thon and it was, how should I say, fucking amazing.
I mean, rullllllllly good. I didn't even picture a hairy man in a wife beater the whole time I was eating it. Though, truth be told, I was wearing a wife beater at the time I was eating it, so perhaps I crossed over into some sort of parallel universe of understanding. I don't know. Let's move on.
Anyway, along came a Monday night on the heels of two spectacular dinners that had nothing to do with turkey: Smoked Pot Roast night and The Best Vegetable Soup Ever night. Both are highly acclaimed dining events in our household because we are the kinds of people who will highly acclaim anything containing smoked meat.
And after spinning his spoon triumphantly in the empty basin of his The Best Vegetable Soup Ever bowl, Bubba asked me a serious question relating to the plans for the remainder of the now leftoverLEFTOVER smoked pot roast.
What if I made a leftover BEEF pot pie like the turkey one but with beef?
Uh, no.
Can you believe I said no? I did. I was like, ew, that's nasty and I already made a menu for this week that doesn't include leftovers. I'm just going to freeze them and then we'll see.
And then I felt like a heel because, of all things, I love to please this man's taste buds and he never complains about a thing I make and he takes leftovers to work to show them off to his boss and I love that.
So, of course, I made the pot pie with the beef and wouldn't you know that it wasn't even close to nasty. In fact, it also was fucking awesome. And now I shall share the recipe.
I make pot pies with biscuit dough for crust, and it is outrageously yummy. This biscuit recipe, specifically:
ReplyDeletehttp://allrecipes.com/recipe/jps-big-daddy-biscuits/detail.aspx
Funny, I've never associated pot pie with anything rednecky... just, "hey, that's good."
oh, this is (one reason) why i enjoy your blog so . . . you are so funny and i just love your writing style.
ReplyDeleteand recipes!
but what if there were some mashed potatoes somehow added into the top of that pot roast pie?
MY husband might want to steal you for a little while, because while I indulge most of his eating preferences (basically, All Meat, All the Time) I have still refused to make pie crust. After seven years of marriage.
ReplyDeleteLuckily, he has his mother to make up for my failures.