Good morning! For once, it is early in the morning and I am ready for breakfast. But Theo is not up, so am writing a bit.
Yesterday we spent the morning at Sharp Hospital ER in Chula Vista. We went there because, as I was preparing breakfast, Theo came in and gloomily announced, " I just took 24 units of R."
He takes two forms of Novalin, N and R. N is the long-acting, taken to carry him over a number of hours as his pancreas fails to do its job to handle the blood sugars. He's supposed to take 24 units of that in the morning.
Instead, he took 24 units of R, the quick-acting one which goes to work instantly with a pow. He was supposed to take five. That's a lot of R. So I immediately gave him some granola bars, and he took glucose pills of which he had only two. We called the Kaiser nurse who after much questioning asked for me and said, "He isn't making any sense," and recommended that we go to the ER.
The Kaiser ER is about 20 miles from here over freeways congested by early morning traffic, so we opted to go to a local hospital, and chose Sharp, as we've tried Scripps before on a similar venture and got bawled out...Sharp was very welcoming. They have a beautiful hospital here. My two younger grandchildren were born there so the hospital is about sixteen years old, as Isabel was born there when it was about new.
The people were really nice. And in the lobby they had one of those huge ice-water and lemon-slice configurations which I thought very thoughtful and generous of them. In all we stayed about four hours, while Theo was put on a line and they observed him to see that he was going to be OK.
As we left, I remarked to Theodore that old age used to be marked by inactivity and repose (supposedly) instead of the frenetic activity we now undergo when a crisis arises. Old photos show folks on long porches in their rockin' chairs. They sat in those chairs for as long as they could, then they fell out and went down for the count. I don't say that we don't have it better today. People can go on for years and years, with periodic rushings to hospitals or calling the first responders.
I think it's strange, though, that though they can prolong life (they being the doctors and health care providers) , they cannot do the basics of making it easier like having a simpler care system for the elderly. People who call in daily to help people not take 24 units of R when they should be taking N; people who come and help out when what's needed is just some stronger muscle power; a hospital system that can be closer to hand if we do have to dash out in a car (I told Theo that if he keeps this up we should move to Santee where the Kaiser ER is).
I am a poor caregiver in that I get impatient and resentful. I've felt that I have done my share--and yet, no one ever determines their share because our share is appointed by God. I guess. And I get hacked when the doctor or nurse turns to me and says,"This is going to be up to you." Yesterday the doctor asked, "Have you thought about what to do to keep this from happening again?" I said, "Yes, we have already discussed it. I will keep the R in the kitchen where I am usually preparing the meal as he's supposed to be giving himself the shot. He will come and take it there in front of me."
But those of you who know me know how irksome I find that role. God give me the grace to be more gracious in it. YAZZYBEL
Saturday, March 31, 2012
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
YES!
Yes! The Universe has suddenly spoken with a loud affirmative. Theodore Neff has PASSED his driver's license tests, both parts, written and actual, with flying colors.
I knew he would ace the written, now that his brain is cleared of excess water to a large extent. The driving test itself was more of a problem. No wife can say with impunity that she knows that hubby aged seventy seven will pass that test. But he had room for twenty errors, and he only made ten. That's monumental! HOORAY.
But is he happy? Packing his bags for a nice long trip? No, he has looked for and found something else to be gloomy about. The big winds of the weekend blew down a portion of our back fence and we are exposed to the neighbors' vagaries, and they to ours. Dang. There goes a lot more money to the fencers. And the kitchen has yet to see one destroyers' hammer or cheerful make-readier even, for that matter. Grrr. But I will not be gloomy. There's lots of joy here in Mudville; Mighty Casey came through, and I say, HOORAY> YAZZYBEL
I knew he would ace the written, now that his brain is cleared of excess water to a large extent. The driving test itself was more of a problem. No wife can say with impunity that she knows that hubby aged seventy seven will pass that test. But he had room for twenty errors, and he only made ten. That's monumental! HOORAY.
But is he happy? Packing his bags for a nice long trip? No, he has looked for and found something else to be gloomy about. The big winds of the weekend blew down a portion of our back fence and we are exposed to the neighbors' vagaries, and they to ours. Dang. There goes a lot more money to the fencers. And the kitchen has yet to see one destroyers' hammer or cheerful make-readier even, for that matter. Grrr. But I will not be gloomy. There's lots of joy here in Mudville; Mighty Casey came through, and I say, HOORAY> YAZZYBEL
Monday, March 26, 2012
Cherry Bread, Reading Miss Read, and a Reprieve
Good mid-day!
The above title an essay in itself and should be spread over three days' writing. But I shall try to cram it all into one brief and well-trimmed posting.
First, Cherry Bread. Yum, yum. Since we are still operating in a severely curtailed and hardly operative kitchen, I decided to buy a box of bread mix and make some Cherry Bread. How easy it is, with a nice box of mix by Krusteaz. I bought the Country White flavor, but now think I might have done better with the Hawaiian, which is sweet. But it's also yellow and I like the idea of white bread with red cherries. I had a package of dried cherries which had already long stood opened, and I just mixed up the bread, the yeast, and the water in a mixing bowl as directed on the package. Then I stirred in a lot of cherries as tons fell unexpectly from the package.
Choosing the "artisan" method, I didn't even have to knead the bread...just let it rise, punched down, put it onto a baking sheet, let rise again, and baked it at an unknown temperature (same old oven) for an indeterminate amount of time. I let it bake until it was brown and crisp. It came out delicious, though nothing as fabulous as it wd've if I'd used FF's wonderful hot roll dough. It had a soda bread quality to it though it was a yeast bread. Like a huge oval biscuit. It sliced well and made wonderful oven toast. I speak as though it were in the past, but there's still plenty left after yesterday's snack and this morning's toast.
Now, Miss Read. Miss Read is an English authoress of whom I don't know enough, except that she wrote many many books about a little village named Thrush Green. I have not read many of these books, but I can see that they have a value as consoling books of old age. Open one and you're transported to a very pleasant place presided over by a good Omnipotent Deity (Miss Read), full of very human people with all their failure and fallibilities--and their goodness.
The one I'm reading is called, "Affairs at Thrush Green," and unless one looked closely it might not be distinguished in any striking way from its mates. I also have, "The School at Thrush Green," and it is about two spinsters who keep the school there. The same characters people all the books, with new folk added from book to book to keep up the spice. The writing is not folksy--I would not like that. It is plain. Plain English. With a guiding Brain behind it all. Very satisfactory.
There's one section where two good ladies are lamenting their new cookbooks. The decimal system has come to Britain, and they are furious not to have the new recipes using their familiar kitchen measures--"good Christian pints!" They refuse to change their ways and plan to hang onto their old cookbooks. I'm with them; I like my pounds and ounces and am perfectly satisfied with them, even though kilos and such have been part of our lives since infancy thanks to Mexico.
Now time for the reprieve. Taterton has come up to the reckoning: his driver's license is at stake. His doctor is anxious for him not to drive...but he sent us in the wrong direction for the cause of T's forgetfulness. It was not really the neurologist we needed; it was the young cardiologist who pointed out that not taking his Lasix, old racehorse that he is, was what fogged Theo's brain with water...now that we are on the Lasix on a more fastidious basis, Theo's brain is doing well. He only missed two on the written test; now he has to do the driver's test which may well bring us down at last. We shall see. YAZZYBEL
The above title an essay in itself and should be spread over three days' writing. But I shall try to cram it all into one brief and well-trimmed posting.
First, Cherry Bread. Yum, yum. Since we are still operating in a severely curtailed and hardly operative kitchen, I decided to buy a box of bread mix and make some Cherry Bread. How easy it is, with a nice box of mix by Krusteaz. I bought the Country White flavor, but now think I might have done better with the Hawaiian, which is sweet. But it's also yellow and I like the idea of white bread with red cherries. I had a package of dried cherries which had already long stood opened, and I just mixed up the bread, the yeast, and the water in a mixing bowl as directed on the package. Then I stirred in a lot of cherries as tons fell unexpectly from the package.
Choosing the "artisan" method, I didn't even have to knead the bread...just let it rise, punched down, put it onto a baking sheet, let rise again, and baked it at an unknown temperature (same old oven) for an indeterminate amount of time. I let it bake until it was brown and crisp. It came out delicious, though nothing as fabulous as it wd've if I'd used FF's wonderful hot roll dough. It had a soda bread quality to it though it was a yeast bread. Like a huge oval biscuit. It sliced well and made wonderful oven toast. I speak as though it were in the past, but there's still plenty left after yesterday's snack and this morning's toast.
Now, Miss Read. Miss Read is an English authoress of whom I don't know enough, except that she wrote many many books about a little village named Thrush Green. I have not read many of these books, but I can see that they have a value as consoling books of old age. Open one and you're transported to a very pleasant place presided over by a good Omnipotent Deity (Miss Read), full of very human people with all their failure and fallibilities--and their goodness.
The one I'm reading is called, "Affairs at Thrush Green," and unless one looked closely it might not be distinguished in any striking way from its mates. I also have, "The School at Thrush Green," and it is about two spinsters who keep the school there. The same characters people all the books, with new folk added from book to book to keep up the spice. The writing is not folksy--I would not like that. It is plain. Plain English. With a guiding Brain behind it all. Very satisfactory.
There's one section where two good ladies are lamenting their new cookbooks. The decimal system has come to Britain, and they are furious not to have the new recipes using their familiar kitchen measures--"good Christian pints!" They refuse to change their ways and plan to hang onto their old cookbooks. I'm with them; I like my pounds and ounces and am perfectly satisfied with them, even though kilos and such have been part of our lives since infancy thanks to Mexico.
Now time for the reprieve. Taterton has come up to the reckoning: his driver's license is at stake. His doctor is anxious for him not to drive...but he sent us in the wrong direction for the cause of T's forgetfulness. It was not really the neurologist we needed; it was the young cardiologist who pointed out that not taking his Lasix, old racehorse that he is, was what fogged Theo's brain with water...now that we are on the Lasix on a more fastidious basis, Theo's brain is doing well. He only missed two on the written test; now he has to do the driver's test which may well bring us down at last. We shall see. YAZZYBEL
Saturday, March 24, 2012
Delicious Potatoes
Good morning!
Nothing new here. Potatoes ARE delicious.
I was just looking through an old Fanny Farmer cookbook, and reminiscing as I went through the potato recipes. They made me think of menus in old hotel dining rooms, replete with names that weren't familiar in Mama's house. She mostly made boiled or baked, and occasionally made French fries (which I never have much liked.) But old hotel names, usually typed in faded blue in some kind of antique reproduction-process, are all there in FF to be re-savored today.
Potatoes O'Brian: fried potato cubes, butter which has had an onion slice fried in it and removed, and canned pimentoes diced and stirred in. Sprinkled with parsley. Delicious.
Franconia Potatoes: potatoes parboiled and then drained and placed in with a roast to brown and cook completely. (Not my favorite.)
Hongroise Potatoes: potatoes parboiled, then removed and slowly cooked in butter but not browned, then white sauce with an egg is added, and parsley sprinkled. Yummo.
Chambery Potatoes: thin thin rounds of potato layered in a baking dish with butter and salt and pepper on each layer, baked till done. My mother's version of scalloped potatoes and one of my favorite potato dishes.
Delmonico Potatoes, which had an exotic name to me, and a delicious taste. In hotels they were probably made with leftover potatoes, but who knew? (Everybody). They are like the Chambery but with white sauce poured over, covered over with mild cheese and crumbs, and baked. A whole supper in themselves, nowadays.
Potatoes a l' Antlers: Probably from the wonderful old Antlers Hotel in Colorado Springs, a fabulous place which has now been enveloped in a big complex which removed its charm. These potatoes were cooked potatoes cubed up with butter and cream and baked. Another thrifty use for hotel leftovers which, really, I couldn't complain about.
One of the best potato recipes I have (though I can't lay my hands on it at the moment) came from some cookbook in the seventies, and was a great layered scalloped Chambery kind of dish that included onions and sliced tomatoes and potatoes in an orderly luxury, seasoned and baked and altogether yummy. I love those vegetables cooked together.
Now go out and eat something and wish you had some of these old-fashioned potatoes. YAZZYBEL
Nothing new here. Potatoes ARE delicious.
I was just looking through an old Fanny Farmer cookbook, and reminiscing as I went through the potato recipes. They made me think of menus in old hotel dining rooms, replete with names that weren't familiar in Mama's house. She mostly made boiled or baked, and occasionally made French fries (which I never have much liked.) But old hotel names, usually typed in faded blue in some kind of antique reproduction-process, are all there in FF to be re-savored today.
Potatoes O'Brian: fried potato cubes, butter which has had an onion slice fried in it and removed, and canned pimentoes diced and stirred in. Sprinkled with parsley. Delicious.
Franconia Potatoes: potatoes parboiled and then drained and placed in with a roast to brown and cook completely. (Not my favorite.)
Hongroise Potatoes: potatoes parboiled, then removed and slowly cooked in butter but not browned, then white sauce with an egg is added, and parsley sprinkled. Yummo.
Chambery Potatoes: thin thin rounds of potato layered in a baking dish with butter and salt and pepper on each layer, baked till done. My mother's version of scalloped potatoes and one of my favorite potato dishes.
Delmonico Potatoes, which had an exotic name to me, and a delicious taste. In hotels they were probably made with leftover potatoes, but who knew? (Everybody). They are like the Chambery but with white sauce poured over, covered over with mild cheese and crumbs, and baked. A whole supper in themselves, nowadays.
Potatoes a l' Antlers: Probably from the wonderful old Antlers Hotel in Colorado Springs, a fabulous place which has now been enveloped in a big complex which removed its charm. These potatoes were cooked potatoes cubed up with butter and cream and baked. Another thrifty use for hotel leftovers which, really, I couldn't complain about.
One of the best potato recipes I have (though I can't lay my hands on it at the moment) came from some cookbook in the seventies, and was a great layered scalloped Chambery kind of dish that included onions and sliced tomatoes and potatoes in an orderly luxury, seasoned and baked and altogether yummy. I love those vegetables cooked together.
Now go out and eat something and wish you had some of these old-fashioned potatoes. YAZZYBEL
Sunday, March 18, 2012
Driving Cross Country
Good morning!
Since there are a number of vexacious happenings affecting my life just now, I think I'll use today's blog to continue my tale of driving alone on the interestate.
When I was younger and had three little kids, and my husband was gone who knows where, I had the idea to pick up and drive to Tulsa to visit my mother in law--a straight route as the crow flies, and do-able, theoretically. We packed up and got as far as Gila Bend, or somewhere, before I thought better of it. So we spent the night at that crazy Space Motel, and returned home the next day. End of Tulsa trip.
Later that summer, husband still gone, I decided to take them up to San Francisco, still my favorite place in the world at that time. That was easier. We went up Hwy. 101, very familiar territory, spent the night in Morro Bay, and drove on to San Francisco next day. No glitches.
There was a long hiatus then, in which I did no long distance driving. This was the era of the bus and train trips, when my husband stayed with the kids and I got some time off from teaching in the summer.
It wasnt until the fall of 1986 that I, on my own and not teaching for the first fall since 1978, recognized that I could realize my dream of driving to Texas. So, I did. It was easy. The Reagan era speed limit of 55 mph helped; the drivers were mostly all good and made driving the wide interstate highways like a run in the park. Everyone drove 60, which was very manageable and made computing time/distance quite precise when estimating a time of arrival.
I had strict rules for my own driver behavior. When the sun struck below the yardarm, I looked for a place to stay the night. No driving after dark for me. No leaving the main roads even though some of the byways looked so enticing. The only time I ever swerved from my planned route was when I got thrown off the go-around in Baton Rouge and found myself on a charming road up through Mississippi that I had not been on for many a year. It wended and wandered through Natchez and Vicksburg and thoroughly entertained me until I finally got back on another interstate into Birmingham and on into Asheville, NC...but that was another trip, another time.
My first trip to Texas was a sheer pleasure and joy until I arrived in Brownsville to be greeted with dismay by my mother, who didn't like my overheated and windblown appearance. (The Toyota I owned at the time had no A/C). But driving alone for long hours in West Texas was wonderful: those high blue skies, huge white clouds, limestone walled cliffs...magic.
I was lucky never to have been caught out nor trapped by any mechanical mishap of the car. Once, it conked out in Arizona and I remembered passing an offramp which led to a garage on the frontage road...so I got off and there it was. Car fixed, on my way. Out in the middle of nowhere. That same station saved Theo and me last summer when we had a flat leaving Tucson.
I probably would not do any more such trips at eighty two even if I had the chance now. But I would be tempted, and even now I spend time at night re-driving all those trips to Seattle and back when Alexander lived up there and driving on Hwy.5 was like being in a herd of buffalo with the trucks, cars, and so forth all surging north bumper to bumper at seventy five or eighty MPH. I can re-live the pleasure in my memory, and I do. It was wonderful, freeing and empowering. I loved it. YAZZYBEL
Since there are a number of vexacious happenings affecting my life just now, I think I'll use today's blog to continue my tale of driving alone on the interestate.
When I was younger and had three little kids, and my husband was gone who knows where, I had the idea to pick up and drive to Tulsa to visit my mother in law--a straight route as the crow flies, and do-able, theoretically. We packed up and got as far as Gila Bend, or somewhere, before I thought better of it. So we spent the night at that crazy Space Motel, and returned home the next day. End of Tulsa trip.
Later that summer, husband still gone, I decided to take them up to San Francisco, still my favorite place in the world at that time. That was easier. We went up Hwy. 101, very familiar territory, spent the night in Morro Bay, and drove on to San Francisco next day. No glitches.
There was a long hiatus then, in which I did no long distance driving. This was the era of the bus and train trips, when my husband stayed with the kids and I got some time off from teaching in the summer.
It wasnt until the fall of 1986 that I, on my own and not teaching for the first fall since 1978, recognized that I could realize my dream of driving to Texas. So, I did. It was easy. The Reagan era speed limit of 55 mph helped; the drivers were mostly all good and made driving the wide interstate highways like a run in the park. Everyone drove 60, which was very manageable and made computing time/distance quite precise when estimating a time of arrival.
I had strict rules for my own driver behavior. When the sun struck below the yardarm, I looked for a place to stay the night. No driving after dark for me. No leaving the main roads even though some of the byways looked so enticing. The only time I ever swerved from my planned route was when I got thrown off the go-around in Baton Rouge and found myself on a charming road up through Mississippi that I had not been on for many a year. It wended and wandered through Natchez and Vicksburg and thoroughly entertained me until I finally got back on another interstate into Birmingham and on into Asheville, NC...but that was another trip, another time.
My first trip to Texas was a sheer pleasure and joy until I arrived in Brownsville to be greeted with dismay by my mother, who didn't like my overheated and windblown appearance. (The Toyota I owned at the time had no A/C). But driving alone for long hours in West Texas was wonderful: those high blue skies, huge white clouds, limestone walled cliffs...magic.
I was lucky never to have been caught out nor trapped by any mechanical mishap of the car. Once, it conked out in Arizona and I remembered passing an offramp which led to a garage on the frontage road...so I got off and there it was. Car fixed, on my way. Out in the middle of nowhere. That same station saved Theo and me last summer when we had a flat leaving Tucson.
I probably would not do any more such trips at eighty two even if I had the chance now. But I would be tempted, and even now I spend time at night re-driving all those trips to Seattle and back when Alexander lived up there and driving on Hwy.5 was like being in a herd of buffalo with the trucks, cars, and so forth all surging north bumper to bumper at seventy five or eighty MPH. I can re-live the pleasure in my memory, and I do. It was wonderful, freeing and empowering. I loved it. YAZZYBEL
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Here we are, Waiting at the--kitchen door
Sunday morning and again, no church. Julio is here to clean up the back yard because he could not come yesterday as promised.
It's the first morning of Daylight Saving Time and church started nearly two hours ago. There were, I'm sure, a few bleary eyed folk wandering about after the service, wondering what happened when they came an hour late. I'd decided to avoid all the hassle even before Julio offered to make up his time today. AND, there's a Run in the Park, and when there are runs, there is no parking for St Paul's people at the early service...we have to go round and round looking for a spot and that spot is sometimes further away than my eighty-two year old legs want to go. Better not to go to church today, then. Too bad.
Now, Julio wants to come back next week to finish his work. Theodore is seething. I am staying out of it....(Interval with elevator music.)...I couldn't stay out of it, I had to go into my treasure box to pay him for today as Theo's pants with his billfold had gone missing. Gosh, it's hard to know what labor is worth. Theo is always making these oral agreements with these guys, and the guys remember it differently from him, and he often can't remember it exactly himself. I suggested that it be written on a paper (the agreement) and then it would not be such a problem several days later when the work gets done and payment has to be forthcoming. Also, people do take advantage of the elderly, I am sorry to say. They do.
We have been left in the lurch by the kitchen folk. In desperation (since we have now packed nearly everything away and are almost dysfunctional) we have accepted Sears's offer to come and make us an estimate. Even that obligingness and eagerness on their part cooled off once we accepted a visit with an estimate forthcoming, which will happen tomorrow. They got business-like and condescending. Am I getting paranoid? Well, we'll see. Who knows what will happen within the next week or two? We do not know. YAZZYBEL
It's the first morning of Daylight Saving Time and church started nearly two hours ago. There were, I'm sure, a few bleary eyed folk wandering about after the service, wondering what happened when they came an hour late. I'd decided to avoid all the hassle even before Julio offered to make up his time today. AND, there's a Run in the Park, and when there are runs, there is no parking for St Paul's people at the early service...we have to go round and round looking for a spot and that spot is sometimes further away than my eighty-two year old legs want to go. Better not to go to church today, then. Too bad.
Now, Julio wants to come back next week to finish his work. Theodore is seething. I am staying out of it....(Interval with elevator music.)...I couldn't stay out of it, I had to go into my treasure box to pay him for today as Theo's pants with his billfold had gone missing. Gosh, it's hard to know what labor is worth. Theo is always making these oral agreements with these guys, and the guys remember it differently from him, and he often can't remember it exactly himself. I suggested that it be written on a paper (the agreement) and then it would not be such a problem several days later when the work gets done and payment has to be forthcoming. Also, people do take advantage of the elderly, I am sorry to say. They do.
We have been left in the lurch by the kitchen folk. In desperation (since we have now packed nearly everything away and are almost dysfunctional) we have accepted Sears's offer to come and make us an estimate. Even that obligingness and eagerness on their part cooled off once we accepted a visit with an estimate forthcoming, which will happen tomorrow. They got business-like and condescending. Am I getting paranoid? Well, we'll see. Who knows what will happen within the next week or two? We do not know. YAZZYBEL
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Hot Pink Cauliflower
Good evening. (Some breakfast, eh?)
Tonight we ate a delicious dish of cauliflower. I am telling you exactly how I cooked it because I don't want you to go through life thinking that you have to mind the letter of the law at the stove.
I had a huge head of cauliflower which was destined for the garbage can as we are tearing out and throwing away prior to having our kitchen re-done. We are down to Last Things...the refrigerator goes to the Salvation Army day after tomorrow, and we will spend tomorrow cleaning it up. "How clean enough does it have to be?" I asked the girl taking the order to pick it up.
"Well,--clean enough to put on display," she said. I was hoping that some of the people who are there working and volunteering could do the final polishing up. Well, we'll do our best and if the driver declines to take it, we'll be mad.
Anyway, back to the cauliflower. It was a huge snowy white thing, and I took half of it and cut off huge white flowerets. I took a large red bell pepper, and cut its flesh into large squares, about an inch square. Then I parboiled the two together for a time. Then I poured off most of the water and added a chunk of butter.
As that melted, I stirred in quickly about a tablespoon of flour and some salt. Then I turned it all off while I fixed some steak for Theodore. Then I turned it back on, and as it did its final cooking and got a little thick, I added some chunks of hot pepper cheese from a Kraft long cube of good cheese meant to be served with crackers. The cheese melted, and enriched the sauce.
The cauliflower never did turn as pink as I thought it would due to the peppers, but it was a tasty vegetable dish. I had my half with a chicken sandwich provided by the Meals on Wheels. All very good, very good. Though Theo said the steak was tough. Too bad. YAZZYBEL
Tonight we ate a delicious dish of cauliflower. I am telling you exactly how I cooked it because I don't want you to go through life thinking that you have to mind the letter of the law at the stove.
I had a huge head of cauliflower which was destined for the garbage can as we are tearing out and throwing away prior to having our kitchen re-done. We are down to Last Things...the refrigerator goes to the Salvation Army day after tomorrow, and we will spend tomorrow cleaning it up. "How clean enough does it have to be?" I asked the girl taking the order to pick it up.
"Well,--clean enough to put on display," she said. I was hoping that some of the people who are there working and volunteering could do the final polishing up. Well, we'll do our best and if the driver declines to take it, we'll be mad.
Anyway, back to the cauliflower. It was a huge snowy white thing, and I took half of it and cut off huge white flowerets. I took a large red bell pepper, and cut its flesh into large squares, about an inch square. Then I parboiled the two together for a time. Then I poured off most of the water and added a chunk of butter.
As that melted, I stirred in quickly about a tablespoon of flour and some salt. Then I turned it all off while I fixed some steak for Theodore. Then I turned it back on, and as it did its final cooking and got a little thick, I added some chunks of hot pepper cheese from a Kraft long cube of good cheese meant to be served with crackers. The cheese melted, and enriched the sauce.
The cauliflower never did turn as pink as I thought it would due to the peppers, but it was a tasty vegetable dish. I had my half with a chicken sandwich provided by the Meals on Wheels. All very good, very good. Though Theo said the steak was tough. Too bad. YAZZYBEL
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