Self Administered Comfort Food

After some bitterly disappointing news on Friday, I figured I needed some comfort food, and nothing takes my mind off of misery more than spending the day in the kitchen working on huge batches of food that must be prepared lovingly and from scratch. Since I thought the Karma Police might descend on my house for having a pitty-party/anger-fest, I figured the first comfort food to make would need to be for someone else. Earlier in the week, I learned that a new friend of mine had undergone bypass surgery. The surgery didn't kill him so I wasn't about to let a diet of hospital food take him out either. If there is one singular truth borne of the kitchen it is that sick people need soup. Luckily, there were a bunch of chicken carcases in the freezer and with the help of some angry chopping and Zen-like stirring, four hours later they were transformed into Chicken and Wild Rice Soup. My friend was appreciative and the black cloud over my heart lifted a bit seeing him smile at the thought of enjoying something made with care and full of chickeny goodness. It turns out that now-a-days, getting your chest bone sawed in half and your heart literally taken out of your chest only rates a four day stay in the hospital. My friend was heading home on Saturday and his soup would make the journey with him.

On Saturday, our friends Rose and Peter were in the mood for some slow cooked food, good wine and great company. Peter picked me up around noon and we trekked over to McDade's for beef short ribs. When we got there, we found that they didn't have quite enough ribs for eight people, but they did have ox tails. We filled the basket with cheap cuts of meat, aromatic vegetables, potatoes and the ingredients for one of our favorite desserts, Root Beer Floats.

The prep time took about twenty minutes and after browning off the ribs and tails, tossing in the vegetables and filling the massive iron skillets with a bottle of wine each, Peter and I had the rest of the day to lounge around, or so we thought. Rose had a Purple Martin house that needed to be relocated to Laurel Park, Kitty had a job interview (leaving me in charge of Zak) and the boys had numerous adventures in mind. At least the food was on autopilot for the next six hours.

Erecting the birdhouse presented its own particular set of challenges that we were able to overcome. If you want to see out handiwork, it is proudly on display towards the back of the big open field in Laurel Park. Because of a break in the pole and a longer than expected pole that fit into the original shaft, Rose's Purple Martin house in Laurel Park is probably one of the tallest structures in Belhaven.

Back at the house with all of the kids in tow, Peter and I watched curiously as the guys tried their hand at "Free Running." Obviously, this clambering over obstacles and jumping over furniture is now an internet-video-fueled "extreme" sport. When I was a boy we just called it "running around." My first thought of "This will certainly end poorly." was confirmed when I heard a thud like a wooden bat hitting a cantaloupe. From the corner of my eye, I saw Stuart fall into a crumpled heap behind a stone wall and walked over to investigate. I fully expected to see a massive head wound or a bit of bone sticking out of some limb. I was relieved to see that the injury, though serious, would not require a spatula, a helicopter or an MRI. Stuart had managed to whack his shin so hard that he smashed a dime-sized hole in the skin and through it, you could see the sinewy covering of his shin bone. The force of the blow was so hard that he wasn't bleeding since the skin was both cut and sealed by the impact. Peter's reaction was, "C'mon Stuart. We need to stitch that up. Let's get you up to the kitchen."

"Is it really gonna hurt?" Stuart asked.

"You bet." Peter confidently replied.

A few minutes later, Stuart was disinfected, numbed and closed and Peter and I still had a few hours of downtime before the girls arrived to eat supper. (Click here if you really must see pictures of the stitches. I'd rather not put them on the same page with braised ox tail.)

The meal was rich. The wine was plentiful. The conversation was lively. And now Stuart will have a cool new scar to show off to teenage girls. I can't imagine a better way to heal my damaged heart.

Bon Appetit!
~Tom