Friday, July 04, 2014

Independent cabbage soup

On this patriotic holiday, Lil' OB is away, working for the first time at a summer camp as part of the "dish crew," which is a prerequisite for becoming a full-fledged counselor in the future. The Goat is also working all day. Hence, I have the run of the joint. You might even call me Commander in Chief.

With such unprecedented freedom, I began the day with an yoga session whilst clad only in my undies. I found it liberating to say the least.

Got namaste? Hell yes!

The rest of the day stretched before me like an inviting field of amber waves of grain. 'Twas the perfect opportunity to do some cooking.

Humble hostess's attempt to recreate Hungarian Cajun cabbage soup

What you see there is a bunch of garlic, onion, tomato and cabbage that will simmer on a very low heat for a few hours. I sauteed the garlic and onion in a bit of olive oil first. I also threw in some dry mustard, cumin and salt. I have no idea how it will turn out. I sure hope it's good. As you can see, I made enough to fill Uncle Sam's hat twice over.

That vat o' goodness was inspired by yesterday's field trip: a pursuit of happiness during which the Goat and I took a seven-mile jaunt through the Summit County Metroparks (a round-trip between Botsum and Big Bend trailheads, which included not one, but two passes by a renewable energy facility that was [ahem] perfumed by 100 percent Made in the U.S.A contributions to Summit County's sewage system). Fellow countrymen, consider that to be a cautionary parenthetical.

That portion of the proceedings is not what moved me to brew up this cabbage stew.

We weary pilgrims were understandably famished after such a hike. That's when the Valley Cafe appeared before us, a veritable sanctuary. Inside, my splendid king and I were treated to an extraordinary lunch that included proprietor BJ Mikoda's mouthwatering Hungarian Cajun Cabbage Soup, which this Irish Hungarian declares to be thoroughly American and possibly within her culinary expertise.

Got certain unalienable right? Hell yes!

*  *  * 

10 comments:

Anonymous said...

@ Miz E-I know I speak for those of us with curious minds: did you stick with the undies-only motif? That's OK for the soup but if you were frying up a chunk of bacon or hash browns throw on your 'Cleveland is a Plum' t-shirt. Wouldn't want to have any spatters to threaten your alabaster pulchritude.

MR

philbilly said...

I needs me some alabaster pulchritude.

Anonymous said...

I'll be damned. I googled pulchritude and it linked me here.

RJ

Erin O'Brien said...

Here's all the pulchritude I got. As for the alabaster portion of the proceedings, I invite you to check out my feet in that photo. They're about three shades lighter than my legs courtesy of my long walks in the terrifying running shoes shown in this post.

Erin O'Brien said...

Your humble hostess does, however, appreciate the votes of confidence, gents.

; )

Anonymous said...

@ Mz E-I've been waiting for like two years to redeem that pulchritude ticket. You can't exactly use it in conversation, or at least among people you'd like to converse with again.

Alabaster? Just a bonus.

MR

philbilly said...

On a related note, many moons ago, I helped a fair young lass get her car ready for a big road trip west to school. A hulking old beast, it needed a lot. We started on Friday morning, and it was road worthy by Saturday evening. I battered out ball joints with a sledge, cut out old bushings with a hacksaw, squeezed in new ones in the vice, as per Grapes of Wrath, spliced in new tail light wires, new belts, hoses, water pump, plugs, exhaust work, wheel cylinders and installed tunes. She was right there with me the whole time, washing parts, rollin' in the rust, a real art grrrl. On Saturday night, we went over for a beer to a place long since history. A few beers, we're sitting in the car, I'm as greasy as a Senator's PAC, and we commence to neckin'.
Everyone has their own definition of erotic, and for me, it was seein' my grimy pawprints on various locations of her stunning alabaster skin in the moonlight.
I miss that grrrl. Kinda miss that Chevy, too.

Anonymous said...

The good old days. It's reassuring that the young woman followed protocol.


MR

phlbilly said...

Actually MR, 'twas the fair lass whom initiated the proceedings. It would seem that watching me rend the beast into a chariot was inspirational to her libido, being a sculptor herself. I myself have always been fond of sturdy women who possess wits and agency. And alabaster pulchritude. We only went so far on the front seat that night, but still etched in my memory. The kind of milk white skin that reveals no flaw, not even the faintest subcutaneous hint of a vein, some kind of genetic, hereditary pigmentation born of hunter-gatherers migrating across the steppes centuries ago. Raven black hair, dark eyes and lips I have no words for.

Anonymous said...

@ philbilly-Wow. It looks like some variation or another of alabaster pulchritude has a chance to stay in regular rotation. Groovy.

And I am pleased to hear that the fair lass didn't turn out to be far less.

MR