The cat has been following me around relentlessly the last few days. I am not sure if it is because it is so cold or if I am leaking some sort of sad pheromone that makes her want to take care of me. Maybe she was scared by the Buzz Lightyear balloon that the 9 year old got for his birthday. When you tap it, it says things like:
‘To infinity and beyond!’
and
‘I’ve got a galaxy to save!’.
Two nights after we brought it home, something set it off at three in the morning and scared the life out of me. I figured if it was a burglar and he wanted to save the galaxy, things were somehow going to be ok, but it took me forever to fall back to sleep. The balloon has been floating lower and lower and after I found it hovering about head height on the stairs last night like some large headed specter, I gave up on it and threw it in the trash outside.
Because it is somehow really beginning to feel like winter (even though it is back up to 70F), we made Scouse this weekend. I feel like I don’t actually have the right to explain what Scouse is in the same way that I would be pretty upset if someone gave away the secret of my family’s Momice rolls. (Which incidentally, I have not actually figured out yet…apparently that DNA skipped me, but you get what I mean.)
To say that Scouse is a root vegetable stew doesn’t do it justice either. That is like saying my shiny new phone is a device for communication or that Maserati make vehicles for getting around. Scouse usually contains lamb or stewing steak but there is also a veggie version. I know that you can do a veggie version of almost anything but this meatless version is not called veggie or vegan or meatless or mock or any of those other detonations that people tend to use. Scouse without meat it is called Blind Scouse.
I love the way the British have with words.
It is kind of an honor to be carrying on a family recipe, even if I am rather nervous about my ability as a cook…and even if it is almost impossible to mess up a batch of Scouse (I have been told…I don’t know, I am sure I could manage it) it is an honor to be told that it is a good batch.
The 5 year old went to the farm with his class last week. He was so proud that he brought home bags full of produce he came running up to me when I got in the door to tell me all about it. I wasn’t sure if he was just reveling in the experience of digging in the dirt for food or if I have said too many times that I work because we need food to eat and he was proud to have brought food home for us.
Either way, I felt slightly sad and proud at the same time. It did feel kind of strange to be eating food that was basically put on the table by my child, but I got over it. I think that the Scouse this weekend tasted particularly good because it was straight from the ground and into our bowls, because the 5 year old picked it and helped prepare it and because he was so proud.
We left the corn that he had picked in the refrigerator, still wrapped up in husk. I am not a big fan of corn. I don’t mind if it is from a tin and all nice and de-cobbed…that makes me a deviant, doesn’t it? Anyway, we left it in the fridge and just last night I asked the 5 year old to peel it or skin it or…de-husk (?) it. He was very excited, but as I expected, we found this:
I took a picture of it cos it was cool, and because that is what I do and the 5 year old says,
‘I can’t believe you like caterpillars in my food!’
After taking the picture, I ‘rescued’ it by putting it outside…I realize that it is now winter and I realize that I put it in a pile of rocks that are not likely to sustain it…but what are you going to do? It was better than putting it in the trash or in a jar.
The 5 year old said, ‘Olivia put a bunch of bugs in a jar once and put the lid on tight.’
‘Oh?’ I asked. (Sometimes this is all you can say to him.)
‘Yeah,’ he says, ‘they all died.’
And I’m thinking, OK, not going to put it in a jar.
The second cob was just as bad, and this one had a tiny little caterpillar in it. It was so small, I kept losing sight of it in the corn silk and kernels I tried to rescue it, but it fell in the trash filled with corn silk and husk and coffee grinds and the 9 year old’s old shoes with the holes in and whatever else was in there.
What does the five year old comment?
‘Now the caterpillar’s going to live under a world of trash…Not a long life for him.’
So even though my heart said that I needed to dig through the mountain of trash to rescue the small creature, I realized the hopelessness of the task, I distracted the boy and tied the bag loosely. Our rubbish bin sits right inside the door that leads to the garage and I quickly carried the bag out of the kitchen and whisked it through to the rubbish bin. I hoped that the 5 year old wouldn’t tell me what a horrible human being I was (any more than he already had). I hoped that I could get away without incident. I shoved the loosely tied bag into the bin and what do I hear?
‘To infinity and beyond!’
I want to believe that this was not a call to my conscience, though perhaps the 2mm bug is a really brave 2mm bug.
Who knows?
He sounded braver than I am.
x.
undeadpollyanna 