I keep waiting for this new...tritional... thing... of mine to blow over, but I keep coming back for more. Bryan remains supportive but hesitant to jump into my new cult, as we affectionately call it, but he allowed me to drag him and the kids to Hendricks Farm to show them real food (moo) and start brainwashing them early. Cause Mommy has PLANS now. With a capital A for Agenda. I've never had an agenda before, not one that wasn't all about me anyway. I care about others now, and feeding them well so they will be pleasant to spend time with. Oh wait, I guess it's still about me.
The kids had fun posing with the cows, sheep and chickens, petting the kitty that they named Tractor Fur, and listening to those cocky roosters. Me? I perused the store, sampled some artisanal cheeses and bought a pound of chicken livers. I love chopped chicken liver, so I thought I'd make my own, a fancy recipe for liver mousse pate I found on one of my new favorite sites, cheeseslave.
But as a former vegetarian, I had no idea what the hell I was doing. My food processor wept blood. It was cinematic. In a horror movie kind of way. But I ate it. And aside from the bloody aftertaste, it was quite good. I'm still deciding whether or not to offer the leftovers to the neighbor's terrier.
That stuff, above? It's dehydrated kefir grains. That's right, I am making my very own pro-biotic drink. It's apparently a magical tonic, and I will let you know when I start levitating.
At the moment I'm still in the rehydrating stage. It's been seven days. Warmer weather would speed up the process, I've read. That science project above is the milk I've been using in my daily rehydrating ritual. Instead of discarding it, since it's raw and doesn't go bad, I'm just letting it do its thing and watching. I wish the kids were interested. It smells different every day. Sour, blue cheesy, mild. I am having so much fun over here. Does anyone have a recipe for week-old coagulated milk?
And see my bacon grease sitting there to the right? Oh yeah. Mama has a new pancake recipe now. Have you ever cooked with bacon drippings? It's like salty foam that calls you home. Creamy as a dream. I might be turning Pennsylvania Dutch. (I am a Hebrew school drop-out so this is okay with my God.)
Bryan's mom used to spread bacon grease on toast as a child. I thought that was crazy. Now? I'm the crazy one. But happy crazy. The kind where if you put me in a straitjacket I might break into song.
Oh wait. I said I was serious. And Bryan is too in his teeth-gritted way. He witnessed my first symptom-free PMS in what, years? Yes, I got my period without taking to my bedroom floor. It was... magic. So Bryan concedes that how I am eating now is good for the whole family. He even sees like I do that when Hamish eats more protein and saturated fat and less processed starch, that he's a warmer, calmer, reasonable young lad. And this is why, even though I think that Jamie Oliver is doing a fantastic job with his food revolution, I wish he'd share the fact that saturated fat, maligned as it's been, is good for us and that it's the polyunsaturated hydrogenated fat that kills our spirits and bodies. You can read more about that here.
Stella's celebrating the fact that I'm not throwing a hairy fit with all the mud and cleaning heading my way by hamming it up. She likes pigs.