Cooking adventures, valentine's edition

Welcome back.

(you should be playing music in the background, maybe some smooth jazz, or nerdcore, you choose)

In this edition of "Phrodaux and the Fairy Queen's adventures in foods" we bring you this weekend's adventures (well, a weekend)... pickled lemons, both the quick version, and the version that will either be really yummy in 5 weeks, or maybe make us wish we had another bathroom and wonder when was the last time we ate corn (that would be late last summer).

(and why is it still an entire ear?)

There was also pita bread and harissa to be made. And oatmeal bread and hummus and faux mole (not faux like Krab with a "K", wouldn't it taste like faux chicken or rat? but the Mexican chocolate/many many spice sauce).

We were down at the farm this last weekend (again, a weekend, as this post has sat and cured like oh so much lemon pickle/potential lower intestine cleanser)... the weather... the weather... (you should read that in the voice of Brando from "Apocalypse Now.")

We've learned never, ever, to say "it can't possibly rain any harder", well, yah, it was raining (to be honest, I've seen it rain harder), but the wind. This was after "the snow."

Very large "branches" of oaks came down. When I say "branches" it is in quotes as those "branches" were ~15 inches in diameter and ~40 feet long. As in other "branch" falls (tree size branches), the gods of the trees and little green houses have been smiling on us. They tend to fall in such a way that they just miss the house. A previous fall fell just around the corner of the house, a big branch on either side, and the only damage was a 10 ft long/4 inch in diameter one that pierced the gutter. Considering that it could have easily pierced the roof, chalk up as "win."

This time they missed the house and the only damage was to an old barb wire fence, and as luck would have it, it landed on a portion that had already been damaged, so a splice was there already that just needed to be respliceded.

Food, that was what this was about, right, shiny object, hey look a duck...

Food.

(secret, it is not better than frying)

Last summer (mostly FQ, but as the little girl says "and Ah he-elped")  it was overcoming the fear of botulism canning. These days, FQ makes yoghurt every week, we make our own granola. This summer we are going to pickle (please, no Portlandia jokes).

There is some theme here, it may be "make ducks while the weather sucks", or something about straw, or it may be It's Phrodaux has the attention span of... I don't know, maybe a duck?

Food.

Pickled lemons, here is the jist of the recipe off the top of my head for the long game version.

Jar with lid- big enough to hold all of this stuff, though if like me, not as big as you think, size doesn't matter, it is what you do with it, at least that is what I've been told. Should be clean, once clean don't play with it too much (still talking about the jar, you may be a bad person)


6 lemons.
6 more lemons (for juice) but later.

can substitute 12 lemons, but you need to hold back half for juice.

6 tablespoons of Salt.
red chile
2 twigs of rosemary (if outside of Liberia, Myanmar, or USA! USA! USA! use 3.2 twigs)

Cut the 6 non-juice lemons or the 1/2 of 12 lemons down the middle, longitudinally almost all the way through, about 3/4 inch (2 cm-ish) before all the way through. Cut so it is an X, if you did cut all the way through (don't) you would quarter the lemon suitable for garnishing a nice glass of ice tea or a lobster, but you didn't cut all the way, so nuts to the ice tea and lobster.

Take the lemons (or lemon, if doing this one at a time, which makes sense unless you are the multi-armed Hindu goddess Kali, but then if you were the multi-armed Hindu goddess Kali, you would likely have better things to do than make lemon pickle and read the random crap that Phrodaux writes, being a goddess and all) and "stuff" with 1 tablespoon of salt in the "x" (stuff it, stuff it like you mean it, dirty, dirty girl/boy/Hindu goddess).

 

( This would be about the time that you discover all the little cuts and scrapes on your hand.)

Cram those into the clean jar that you finished playing with. Cram them. Cram them in the jar. Don't smoosh, just pack them in. Close the jar and put someplace dark and cool, like Ray Charles.

(this is an action shot of lemons in a jar, please contain your excitement, whoop.)

 

Go do something useful for at least a week.

But you say "Phrodaux, what should I do that is useful for an entire week". To which I respond. A) I said at least a week, you should pay more attention, B) maybe take attention classes or C) clown school.

Now you are back at least a week later. Covered in shame and clown makeup.

Add the rosemary and the red chile to the jar (after removing the lid).

Now you can smoosh, smoosh them all down so they are tightly packed. Get as much juice as you can out of lemons, I used a beer bottle, but then I use a beer bottle for most things. The difference was that this one was clean(ish). Smoosh like you've never smoosheded before.

{FQ sidebar: For once the beer bottle was MY idea.}

Add the juice of the newly purchased because the ones you bought two weeks ago are now more fuzzy avocado looking things than lemon, lemons. Try to get all the lemons/chile/metric rosemary down under the liquid. Add a thin layer of olive oil to cover the liquid (this keeps the evil spirits and mimes away).

Then put the jar back with Ray Charles for at least 4 weeks.

 

(this is pre-Ray Charles)

Back to clown school for some sort of advance clown school degree, maybe deeper explorations of quantum tunnelling involving banana cream pie. Or you can watch the entire run of "B.J. and the Bear", there were like 3 seasons, 48 episodes, about an hour each, so you have time...

(nothin' says lovin', like a chimp in a diaper)

There you go. At least 4 weeks later (at least, please, longer the better I'ms told) you either have yummy, yummy lemon pickles that go great with fish or hummus (Fairy Queen is noodling with the idea of a savoury sorbet), or a jar of weird goo and horrible memories of clown school and a monkey. Either way, you win.

...unless you're the guy who changes the monkey's corn filled diaper.