Seahawks Super Bowl Party

Unless you are somewhere completely without communication,(in which case you probably wouldn't be reading this blog) you know that next Sunday is Super Bowl. The Seattle Seahawks will be facing the Denver Broncos. The last time the Seahawks played in the big game was in 2005, when they lost to the Pittsburgh Steelers. The night before, there was a huge wind storm in northern Washington, leaving much of Seattle without electricity. The venues with generators did record business that day.

This year, we will be watching the game with our family and friends, cheering and enjoying awesome food. Pizza and wings are expected. We are not, however, talking about take-out wings or delivery pizza. Nope, these are to be homemade, from scratch. I used to make pizza as a way to kill time during the game. Now-a-days, though, I'm as much a fan as my husband and kids. I make my pizza before kick-off, put it in the oven just before halftime, and it's ready by the third quarter. The wings require a bit more attention, but I just set and carry a small kitchen timer in my pocket.

When I started making wings, I didn’t care at all about being authentic. I’ve never been to Buffalo, and I like my wings a bit less fiery, with no dip required. So, after many trials, this is what I came up with. We prefer our wings well done, so I slow roast them for about 2 hours. The chicken comes out falling-off-the-bones tender. I included brand names in my recipe, but I've had good results with McCormick's dry rub and Sweet Baby Ray's barbeque sauce. I think the key is to use both Hickory and Mesquite in some combination.

Sweet & Spicy Chicken Wings
Heat oven to 350°

2½ lb. bag Foster Farms Party Wings

2 tbsp. (or so) Lysander’s Hickory Dry Seasoning

1 cup Stubb’s Smokey Mesquite Barbeque Sauce

1 tbsp. Stubb’s Wicked Chicken Wing Sauce or other hot sauce (optional)

 

Combine 1 cup barbeque sauce with 1 tablespoon wing sauce. Stir well and set aside.

 

Make sure the wings are completely thawed. Place in a single layer, skin sides down, in a large baking dish. Sprinkle generously with Lysander’s, enough to make a visible layer. Bake for 30 minutes. Drain if necessary. (I use a turkey baster.)

 

Turn the wings over and season the skin side generously. Bake an additional 30 minutes. Turn the wings again. Brush well with the sauce. Bake another 20-30 minutes. Turn skin-side-up and sauce that side generously. Return to the oven for 15-20 minutes, until the glaze is set. Serve hot or cold.

 

***

 

A good crust is the foundation of any pizza. There are plenty of good refrigerated pizza crusts, and even boxed mixes, that work very well. I even used biscuit mix once, when I was out of yeast. But a good, basic yeast dough is still the best way to go. If you have a bread machine with a pizza setting, use it. Just follow their directions.

 

Super Bowl Pizza  

Makes one 14” medium crust pizza

1 packet active dry yeast, quick rising
1 cup warm water (105° to 115° F)
½ tsp. salt
2 tsp. olive oil
2½ to 3½ cups all purpose flour

OR
1 - 12” to 14” ready made pizza crust

In a large bowl, dissolve yeast in warm water. Add salt, olive oil and 2½ cups flour. Mix well. Turn onto floured board. Knead, adding remaining flour until dough feels elastic. Place in greased bowl, turning to grease top. Cover; let rise in warm place until doubled in bulk, about 1 hour. Punch down. Let rest about 10 minutes. Brush pizza pan with olive oil and sprinkle with cornmeal. Press dough across bottom of pan, forming a collar around edge to hold the toppings.

 

Toppings:

1 - 14 oz. can pizza sauce
1½ cup shredded mozzarella
¼ lb. pepperoni
¼ lb. salami
¼ lb. Canadian bacon
½ lb. Italian sausage, hot or mild
¼ cup diced onion
¼ cup diced bell pepper
½ lb. sliced mushrooms
1 - 3oz. can sliced olives

Brown sausage and drain well. Sauté onion and pepper in a little olive oil until soft. Spread sauce across crust. Layer all topping ingredients, finishing with cheese on top. This can be done a couple of hours ahead. (Your crust may continue to rise if it’s made ahead and not refrigerated.)

Bake at 450° for 15 to 20 minutes. Let rest 5 minutes before slicing.

Charlie

           The old man glanced across the pick-up seat at the little girl sitting beside him. She wore faded jeans, a red plaid flannel shirt, and Keds that had once been pink. She was eight years old, and the picture of her mother at that age. Blonde and tan, a tomboy from head to toe. In her lap she held a small, green plastic tackle box.

           It was late summer in central Oregon. An excellent time to take his granddaughter fishing, Hank thought. The water level in the canal had been dropped for the season, leaving the trout trapped in isolated deep holes. It was, almost literally, catching fish in a barrel.

           The pigtailed face turned toward him. “Papa, doesn’t it hurt the worms when you put them on the hook?”

           “Well,” Hank hesitated, unsure what to say, “I don’t think they hurt the way we do. Their brains are too little”

           “But can they swim? It must be scary if they can’t swim. Don’t they drown?”

           “They can breathe in the water,” he explained patiently improvising. He had no idea whether a night crawler could swim or not. It hadn’t occurred to the girl that the worms would be eaten alive by a trout. Grandpa was deciding it would be better to use Powerbait.

He cranked the steering wheel hard left and turned onto the BLM right-of-way. It was a rutted, hard-packed dirt access road, which meandered along, following the canal out into the desert.     

“Look, Papa!” Lucy giggled, pointing, “Look at those funny birds!”

A family of Valley quail marched, single file across the road. Mama was in the lead, followed by a six adolescent chicks, with Daddy bringing up the rear. Lucy was delighted.    

Hank slowed to an idle to let them pass. “They were most likely down at the water hole. Just up a bit is our spot.”

           The old truck rumbled to a stop by the side of the road. There was a bend in the canal here, where the water widened and slowed. This was the fishing hole. Lucy jumped out and slammed the door. They settled down on a fallen log and grandpa set their lines. He fixed the girl up with a baited hook, making sure no worms were injured in the process.

           “Hold down on this button,” he instructed, “then let go at the top of the cast.”

           “I know.” She grinned confidently, “Daddy showed me how.”  With a look of supreme concentration, she swung the pole through the air, the bobber landing with a plop. Hank nodded, proud of her. The child had been practicing.

           They caught four nice pan fish within the first hour. It was the perfect amount for dinner.

            The day warmed. Dragonflies floated on shimmering heat waves. Sometimes, a breeze rippled the water, or raised a dust-devil. Otherwise, all was still.

           When the sun was straight overhead, they went back to the truck. Hank put the tailgate down, and spread the lunch Nana had packed. Lucy munched on her ham sandwich, asking questions about the desert animals between bites. Her grandpa had lived in the area his entire life. He knew all about the wildlife, and loved to share his knowledge.

           “Look at them whistle pigs,” he said, pointing to a prairie dog colony the size of a football field, a few yards across the canal road. “They dig holes to hide in, deep burrows, and then just stand there on the edge and watch. If a hawk flies by, they’re gone just like that.”

           They decided it was getting too hot to fish, so they packed up the gear and started for home. As they bumped along the rutted road, a flurry of activity caught Lucy’s eye. Something had scattered a covey of quail, sending dust and feathers flying. Hank hit the brakes, swearing under his breath, as several birds erupted in front of the truck. They heard the thump of several bodies coming in contact with the vehicle. Lucy leapt out and ran onto the road. Most of the birds were across now, looking flustered. One, however, lay in the road, twitching. “Oh, Papa,” the girl cried. “He’s hurt! Did we do that?”

           “I think he ran into the truck in the dust cloud,” Hank answered. “We should put him down. He can’t survive if he can’t fly. He’d be someone’s supper before nightfall.” Damn birds, he thought could’ve cracked a windshield.

           The bird’s wing was badly damaged. “Can’t we take him home? I could take care of him while he heals up.” The pleading dark eyes were hard to resist. He melted like the marshmallow that he was. He couldn’t deny that the bird was still alive, and didn’t seem to be suffering. He wrapped the wounded quail in a shop towel, laid him in an empty pail, and handed it all to Lucy. “Gives a whole new meaning to a Bucket of Chicken.” He grinned.

           “This is Charlie Quail,” she announced after a bit of thought. “He’ll heal up better if he knows his name.”

           Grandpa nodded gravely, hiding a smile under his mustache.

           Back at the house, Fran found a box for Charlie. They lined it with newspaper and set it in a warm corner of the kitchen. Lucy got a handful of chicken scratch from the henhouse and the water dispenser they used for day-old chicks.

           By the time she was through fussing over the injured quail, dinner was ready.  They ate a fine meal of rainbow trout, baked potatoes, and corn, fresh from the garden. There was blackberry pie and vanilla ice cream for dessert. After dinner, the neighbor kids came to get Lucy for a game of flashlight tag. She brought them in, one at a time, very quietly, to see Charlie. She insisted on slow movements and low voices. The children were suitably respectful. They had all nursed wounded birds. Most had not survived the first night.

           After the children had gone, Fran looked at the little quail. “What do you think his chances are, Hank?”

           “Oh, I’d say about fifty-fifty. He hasn’t died of shock yet. He’s not hurt that bad, but the kid might love him to death.”

           In the morning, Charlie was not only alive, but quite alert. He was up and pecking at the grain when Lucy came down for breakfast. His wing drooped, and he stood on one foot. Hank smiled, watching from behind his newspaper as his granddaughter painstakingly inspected the bird.  

           Days passed, and Charlie continued to improve. “He needs more space,” Lucy complained to her grandma. “How can his wing heal if he can’t stretch it out? I can’t turn him loose until he can take care of himself.”

           Hank and Fran smiled at each other. At least she wasn’t planning on making the thing a pet, they both thought. “We could put him out with the chickens,” the old man offered. “He’d have room, and company, too.”

           “Thank you, Papa! Thank you, Nana!” the girl cried enthusiastically, hugging them, “I’ll go get him set up!”

           That was how Charlie Quail came to live with fifteen white hens. Within hours, he was swaggering around like he owned the place, apparently forgetting about his injured leg. It was clear he felt he was in charge.

           Lucy looked after Charlie with tireless dedication. “For an animal that’s not a pet, he sure gets a lot of pampering,” Hank teased, “He’s getting fat on my chicken feed. You think he’ll be well soon?”

           The little nurse looked thoughtful, “He’s pretty much healed,” she decided, “I think he’ll be ready for release soon.” Evidently, she had been watching Animal Planet.

           The next afternoon Lucy confirmed that Charlie was ready to return to the wild. She put the now docile bird into a crate in her wagon and headed east. When she found a good field, she stopped and opened the box. After a wing-stretch and a feather ruffle, Charlie started pecking at sage seeds. Smiling with satisfaction, the girl returned to the farm.

           In the morning, Fran went to gather eggs. From the porch she saw a small figure on the wrong side of the fence. Coming closer, she realized that it wasn’t a chicken. Charlie had returned.

           Hank and Lucy decided they had released him too near the coop, and he was attracted back by the available food. This time they would go to the mill fields. There were other wild quail there. Two days went by, and there was no sign of the bird. Then, on the third evening, coincidentally at feeding time, Charlie came sauntering up to the hen house.

           “I think you’ve got yourself a pal,” Hank said to his granddaughter, “You better open the gate.”

           Charlie went right in and made himself at home. Strutting along the fence, he inspected the boundary. He was a comic little figure, bopping around with the big white hens. When Fran fed the chickens, he joined right in. Evidently, he intended to stay.

           Vacation ended and Lucy went home, but her grandparents promised to take care of Charlie. After all, the quail had chosen their chickens as his covey.

Summer at Detroit Lake

When our kids were young, our favorite vacation destination was Detroit Lake, Oregon. The reservoir is large and deep, with incredible trout fishing. Kane's Hideaway, where we launched our boat, offers moorage and boat rentals, as well as a small store that sells bait, tackle and other gear. The upper story holds Kane’s Tavern, serving up wine and beer, and offering live entertainment. They're only open May 15th thru September 15th, closed during winter.  The tavern's deck overlooks the lake, and is a great place to sit and watch the sunset.

 
One year, at the last minute, we decided to spend Fourth of July weekend at the lake. Not surprisingly, without a reservation,  there was not a campsite to be found. Fortunately, there was a cancellation at the Lakeside Hotel, a tiny, mom and pop operation, just a stones throw from the marina. (Unfortunately, it no longer exists, having been replaced by The Lodge at Detroit Lake.) It was more like staying at someone's cabin than a hotel. The kitchenette was well equipped, with a full size fridge to hold the day's catch. Every morning, we found a fresh container of night crawlers on our doorstep, compliments of management.

Our boys each caught a nice rainbow trout their first time out. Dad showed them how to clean a fish, roll it in cornmeal and fry it in bacon grease. Beaming, they presented their catch at the dinner table, offering to share. We had a bite each and then left the boys to enjoy their feast. Our daughter thought the fish was delicious, but not worth the work of catching it. At eleven, she was just too grown up to handle worms. She preferred to spend her time sunbathing on the bow of the boat (with me, another confirmed non-worm person).
 
Just in case the fish weren't biting, we always brought something good for dinner. This recipe came from a friend that used to prepare it in the galley of a sailboat. A simple, tasty casserole, it travels well and reheats easily. The only catch is that you need an oven, at least the kind that sits on a camp stove.

Do-Ahead Chicken Pie
Heat to 350°, if using a real oven

1 box chicken flavor stuffing mix
2 cups cooked, cubed chicken (canned chunk chicken works fine)
1 can mushrooms, drained
1 can peas and carrots, or mixed vegies, drained
1 can cream of chicken soup
½ can water

Prepare stuffing per package directions. Set aside.

Combine the soup with water and mix well. Add chicken and vegetables. Mixture should be quite thick. Pour into a greased or non-stick 2-quart baking dish. (For camping, I use a small, enameled metal roaster. It's virtually indestructible and has a lid.)

Spread the stuffing evenly over the top to form a "crust". Cover. Heat slowly, 20-30 minutes or until hot.

 

A Day of Parties

Last weekend was my grandson Connor's fourth birthday. He had asked for a "knight and princess" party (the princess part was his mom's idea, since there would be some girls), so that became the theme. Fried chicken, corn-on-the-cob, watermelon and corn muffins were the feast of the day, with plenty of Capri Sun and bottled water. The weather that afternoon was perfect, special ordered for the day, although Connor's dad was a bit too warm in his knight costume. After games and snacks, there was a knighting/"princessing" ceremony, complete with inflatable swords and plastic tiaras.
  

 A parade down the cul-de-sac was followed by the slaying of the dragon piñata. As usual, Laura outdid herself with the cake. A knight needs his castle, and that's just what she created. Four tiers high, the strawberry cake was frosted with chocolate icing and embellished with Hershey nuggets and M&Ms. The turrets were built from ice cream cones. Just in case the cake was not large enough, she added a tower of lemon cupcakes.

Since Lloyd and Terri were up visiting, and most of the family would already be at the house, Laura decided to have Terri's baby shower that evening. Melanie brought her Pampered Chef expertise and some cool tools to make an amazing cucumber-lime dip and veggie platter, with a chocolate lava cake for dessert. Along with spinach dip, a fruit tray and sparkling tropical punch, the dining room table was full of girl-food. The men, evidently still hungry after the afternoon's festivities, descended like a herd of locusts and helped us with the leftovers. Everyone got plenty to eat, and Mel's party games had us all laughing hard.

I tried a new recipe for the shower, and it was a hit. I can only imagine how good it would be with real crab.

Crab Puffs
Makes about a dozen
Heat oven to 375f

1 can butterflake crescent rolls
1 - 8oz package of Krab
1/2 cup finely shredded sharp cheddar cheese
2 tbsp. mayonnaise
1/4 tsp. onion powder or 1/2 tsp. dried minced onion
Salt & pepper to taste

Chop the krab coarsely. Combine krab, cheese, mayo and seasonings. Set aside
Unroll the crescent dough and seal up the perforations. Cut into 12 equal rectangles.
Place about 1 teaspoon of filling in the center of each rectangle. Fold in half and seal the edges, ravioli style.

Place 1 inch apart on an ungreased cookie sheet.

Bake at 375 for 14 minutes, or until golden brown and crispy. Serve warm.