Sunday started with me rising at 6:45 and assembling two pots, one smaller (and soon to be troublesome) and one larger. Time to cook jambalaya! I cooked the chicken first. It stuck to the bottom, and I scraped the brown bits off to prevent burning and mixed it into the chicken; lots of good brown bits. I then added the sausage. I think I would reverse that process next time. The sausage released more goodness, and I was able to scrape more. By 8ish, I moved the meat to two trays. I scraped the bottoms of the pans again.
I had chopped everything on Saturday and had it all in bags. I dumped in the Trinity (onion, green pepper, celery) and added The Pope (garlic) and let that cook down. I had some reserved to add at the last moment: The Cheat (Add some crunch that will add to the pleasure of eating) as texture matters. This was another hour of stirring and making sure it does not burn. Scraping bottom here and there. It needed to be wilted and almost gone. It is for flavor. About 9, I reached the breakdown. The smaller pan did not cook as quickly as the larger pan, even on the same settings.
I hate to buy stock, but I don’t make it (yet), and I did not want to assemble it from a mix I use. Instead, I had the boxes. I measured out 5 cups. I added a large (28oz) can of pureed tomatoes to the larger pan (red, plus some cane sugar to break the acid), having drained the liquid with a fine colander. I meant to have crushed, but this worked better. New Orleans Cooking School Spices went in (they have 1/3 the salt of more available spices). Cajun Power Worcestershire Sauce too joined the pots. Kitchen Bouquet went into the small pan (brown). All the meat was returned, and then the broth was added. This was brought to a boil.
And things go sideways. I added the rice and see that the New Orleans Cooking School says to turn off the pots. My Apple Watch congratulates me on my workout and standing. I cleaned up while waiting. I returned to the pots, and the rice is chalk, and the pots are cold. Ugh! Disaster! I added some water and applied heat, and it was only slightly better. I should have stuck to my usual plan.
Trying not to ask God for a miracle for cooking, I take a shower, not wanting to be personally flavored for church! Yes, I did all this in my PJs. My Apple Watch congratulates me on my workout (scrapping and stirring) and standing. I am shocked, disappointed, and sad that I failed on a basic. I can cook rice, usually!
I am dressed in my church shoes, usual pants, suspenders (my pants are falling off again, making belts risky), and a T-shirt from The Legacy Museum in Montgomery, Alabama. I work on the blog, getting some of it started, and ignore the kitchen (the pots are on above melt and will likely burn, but it’s my last chance).
At ten, the rice is cooked, and though the small pot has burned on the bottom, I can work around it. The larger pot is just brown and delicious on the bottom. I need two larger pots if I am doing this dual pot setup. The spices are slightly off as I expected; I add a small handful of regular salt (sea salt has too many flavors and can unexpectedly overpower the pot, and different brands have different impacts).
Saved! I load the allunum pans onto a half-sheet pan. The trays are not safe to move without support, and they are hot. I drive my load of NOLA goodies to First United Methodist Church and drive with care. I arrived with everything intact and delivered it to the church kitchen. Instructions are not to reheat until ten minutes (rice stays warm a long time).
(I made two of these…this is red)
I let others set up, and I am already tired, so I drink even more coffee. I have been drowning myself in coffee this morning. No time for focusing on anything but the tasks this Sunday. I do help here and there, but try to let others step in. Z is everywhere doing things.
I take my spot as usher, watch, and walk into the pews as the church starts, and welcome folks I missed while I was busy. The service is compressed, and Dondrea has the reins, keeping everything moving. We have a speaker at 12:30, Mariah Rocker, Public Programs and Exhibits Manager at Oregon Black Pioneers. We cannot overrun our time slot.
Dondrea gives her witness on the South Trip. She recalled us standing at the spot where the March over the Selma Bridge began and ended; it was a powerful moment for her. We took pictures of our shoes at those places. I follow, lowering the mic as I look like a hobbit next to Dondrea, and manage not to speak into the mic a few times (Ken waves at me to fix that, and I do). Doug follows me and covers his slides (later, I learned they were jumbled and he had to ad-lib a bit — been there) and says the trip brought him optimism, as folks have survived and prospered despite the repression. After the choir sang an amazing anthem, Seth followed (Kathy was ill) and covered his photos, which shared some of the joy we found in the trip and travel. All (I was told I was good) did well and fast. Ken followed with a sermon on my favorite part of Revelation, 21:1-7, “[W]ipe away every tear…Death will be no more.” As Tamara, the litergist of this service, I spoke the words almost from memory, softly as she read them. Ken was fast, covering the basics, and saying the promise is that God will interact directly with his people at the end: A New Song in a Strange Land. No doomsday stuff, just that last dream of happiness and joy in the text. Ken’s words seemed to connect it all together.
After the service, while we waited for the speaker and then the usual last-minute setup, we sipped coffee together. About 35 remained for the speaker (and food), including one visitor and kids, Brian, who works with Dondrea. Church folks told me they liked my letter. I wrote a request for money for the church and to pay off the roof, and folks were supportive.
Mariah Rocker covered the history of the Black experience in Oregon. She was clear when they had verified sources and when they were less sure. Mariah Rocker managed to be just a bit over 45 minutes long, telling the 450-year history of African Americans in Oregon, naming various Black Pioneers. She was a dynamic speaker, and her slides were not heavy with words; she avoided reading them.
As the Q&A started, I learned that Z was alone in the kitchen. I recruited others to help, and we moved the hot food without incident. The jambalya (red and brown in two pans), dreamy mac and cheese, Methodist Bourbon chicken, collard greens (one plain and one with bacon), peach cobbler, and various salads. We had enough food for twice our crowd! Ms. Rocker joined us for lunch, and I got to sit next to her while we talked. She was delightful.
Clean up was hard, but folks stepped up. Dondrea, I found doing dishes; next time, we will need a cleanup plan and help with it. Mel washed the floor in the Fireside Room (no longer carpet), where we held lunch in the newly refreshed space. It worked marvelously to use it. Another delight for me: using our refreshed space.
I was tired, my feet hurt, and my legs told me that I had stood long enough. I drove home, turned around, realized I had lost my bag of spices (Doug had taken it home in error), and searched for them. I had split the leftover jambalaya with Dondrea (her kids were over later and loved it). I reached home, unloaded my portion of NOLA goodness. I took a nap in the chair and wished Deborah a good night when she texted me. My nap was repeatedly interrupted by the Oscars report on my watch. I rose, grabbed 1929: Inside the Greatest Crash in Wall Street History—and How It Shattered a Nation, and headed to BJ’s Brewhouse. I read that the decommissioning of the USS Nimitz was delayed. It was ordered by Trump to the Caribbean. Yes, another war with Cuba seems to be on the drawing boards (crayon?) of the White House. Ugh! Time for a drink and food I did not make.
Annaliese was my waiter at the high tops of the bar. They had improved the lighting, and it was perfect for reading. No beer (too many calories and filling), but an Old Fashioned worked for me. I read about the crash, finally reaching that in the text that walks through the whole year, and realized the market had been crashing for a month before the bottom fell out on October 24, 1929, “Black Tuesday.” The story of the last-minute hidden attempts to stop the fall was fascinating. I am now on the other side of the collapse, about 2/3 of the way through the text and about 1/2 through the book (the extensive notes and bibliography add to its size). I ate California Flatbread for dinner (again, delicious but not crazy expensive or high in calories). I finished with a coffee and a shot of Amaretto to sip. I shared some book tips for Annaliese, handwriting the books and authors for her on the flotsam and jetsam you get when they use paper tickets.
Though I chat with the waiter, I am happy to end my social experiences and just read, eat someone else’s food, and enjoy a few lovely drinks alone. I am tired, but the ibuprofen works, and the pain is now in the background.
Home, I do the pots. I tackle the burned bits without trouble and soon have everything either clean or in the dishwasher. I head to bed and read more.
Soon I sleep, and the workout has me sleep until 7ish without any dreams that I remember, though I think I did walk the trading floor of 1929 in my dreams.
Thanks for reading!
Alohawild (Michael Wild's) Website 