Quiet Time

I'm sitting here. On my couch (read: futon). Watching an intellectual documentary (read: Kardashians). Bettering myself as a person (read: doing my nails - you know what this is). I'm alone. The man is out. The roommate is out. It's kinda weird.

Honestly I hate alone time. I don't know what do to, there's no one to talk to which means I have to talk to myself because, naturally, I can't not talk.

I know plenty of people who love having some peace and quiet. I envy that because it seems really nice. I would love to curl up with a book and a blanket, passing an evening with my cats or something. But I have the attention span of a three-year-old and a nasty kitty allergy. So what am I to do?

Having lived alone for more than a year and now cohabitating, I absolutely dread having the house to myself. There are so many possibilities, so many options... and there's the interwebs, where I usually end up, creating outfits I don't have on Pinterest and reading about the crafty DIYers I'll never compare to. But is that so bad? Sometimes it's nice to turn your mind off, right?

Personally I chalk a lot of my restlessness during what should be my time of rest and relaxation to my age. I don't have homework and haven't for years, of course. Not at the homeowner stage yet (and likely to never get there. Let's face it, I'm broke), I find there's only so much to clean, only so much to organize, and, frankly, I hate doing both of those things.

So help me out – what does everybody else do on those quiet nights at home? Pjs and a movie? Polishing off “War and Peace?” Seriously, why is it so hard to find a hobby? 

See? I wasn't kidding about that. It's bad. 

  

Channeling a fictional english housewife

I've been reading Agatha Christies' "The Postern of Fate" recently, and feeling very domestic.  So after a half hour ride on my bicycle, I began to make shepherds's pie.  I'd been meaning to make the dish in any case, the book just adds a certain flavor to my actions.  (As a side note, my boyfriend and I did talk about my last blog entry - Things are picking back up, and he's still the love of my life.  So the following recipe does take his corn and dairy allergies into account).

First I chopped an onion and began to caramelize it in the largest frying pan with some olive oil.  Next, I peeled and smashed a whole head of garlic.  Not a bad way to practice my palm-heel.  Into the pan went the smashed garlic with a touch of sesame oil.  I pulled my carton of mushrooms from the fridge and minced half of them and added them to the pan as well.  Then I mushed around my ground beef and added it to the pan, allowing it to just brown and start producing juices.  I poured the juices from the meat, garlic, and onion into an adjacent pan and spread the meat as the first layer in a baking pan.  Then the extra into a bread pan. Bonus pie.

At this time I recalled that the last three bottles of the stout I'd made with my best friend last Winter were still in my basement.  I retrieved them and placed two in the fridge, pouring most of the third into the pot with the drippings.  The remainder filled half a pint glass for me.  I decided that the other two bottles should go perfectly with dinner.
To the nascent gravy I added sherry vinegar, thyme, cayenne, bay leaves, garlic powder, onion salt, crumbled sage I've been drying in the pantry, more thyme, sea salt, a splash of cider vinegar, and a few handfuls of flour over the course of the next hour as it simmered.

For the second layer I chopped up carrots, celery, broccoli, the remaining mushrooms, and set aside my bag of fresh english peas.  (Everything is english today.  I even had earl grey for afternoon tea).  I steamed the chopped vegetables until they were just barely cooked and then spread them in the pans atop the meat.  The peas I poured over to fill in any gaps.

It was around this point where Tommy Beresford asked in my head "Well, what's for pudding?"  Ah.  I thought to myself.  Quite right, fictional englishman.  If I'm going to the trouble of making a nice dinner with a matched beer, I had better well make dessert.  I brought some pie crust and two packages of berries (cherry, raspberry and blackberry in the first, strawberry in the second) and left them out to defrost in the pantry.

Then I chopped and steamed most of a bag of russet potatoes, leaving the skins on for smashed potato topping.  They took quite a while to cook through, so I cleaned the kitchen from Phase 1.  When the potatoes were finally soft enough, I dumped them into the large pot and mashed them  - manually, with a masher and a wooden spoon - together with half a log of honeyed goat cheese and a touch of coconut milk.  Then I spread the  goat enhanced smashed potatoes on top of the two nearly full baking dishes and popped them in the oven for twenty minutes at 350 degrees.  Then I turned them around and baked them another ten minutes.

When I pulled them out the second time, I set them on the counter to cool.  I'll pop them back in for another ten-ish minutes just before dinner at seven.  Now for dessert pie.  My frozen berry packages were not quite defrosted, so I put them in the sink with room temperature water while I chopped about a half dozen small plums.  After greasing the pan with canola oil, I rolled out the bottom crust and laid down the layer of strawberries.  Then the mixed berries, then my plum slices.  And the top crust.  You get it.  I made a pie the lazy way.  But I forked the damn edges, put the little slits in the top, and it'll be damn delicious, so shut it.  I don't have to bother with making my own crust.  (...That comment was to Albert, the english butler in my head, giving my modern cookery of frozen pie crust disparaging looks.  If you're not Albert, please disregard.  If you are... Well.  Damn.  Sorry fictional-character-come-to-life, but it's either you stop existing or I go to the mental ward.  I trust you'll do the right thing).

Now the berry plum pie is cooking, and my dinner guests arrive at 7pm.  And I still haven't cleaned up the laundry.  I think I'll end my stint as an english housewife before then.