ever since i was a wee lass, i felt like there was something …different about me…
laurie’s curried fish chowder soup recipe
Is it a soup? Is it a chowder? It’s both!
Although my holiday in Sri Lanka was 3 months ago, I think about it every day. I really miss the food, and frequently try to reproduce it. After I made this dish, I asked my husband if he was getting sick of having coconut milk and curry in virtually everything I make these days. Nope! What a silly question.
A few notes on the recipe:
A recent Forbes Magazine feature did some helpful legwork for anyone who might be considering retiring to a foreign country. Some day. In a future far far away. Just to get ourselves thinking, I’ve summarized their summaries, and added my not-well-thought-out reactions. Let the fantasies begin!
Thanks FoodandWine.com for tempting me, again, with a mouth-watering vegetarian recipe that “even carnivores will like”
Green Goddess Dressing
- 3/4 cup Greek yogurt
- 1 tablespoon olive oil
- 1 tablespoon fresh squeezed lemon juice
- 1 clove garlic, roughly chopped
- 3/4 cup basil
- 1/4 cup parsley
- 1/4 cup chives
- 1/4 cup green onions, diced
Black Bean Burgers […]
Concerned about home security while someone is knocking at your door?
1. Of course I look familiar. I was here just last week cleaning your carpets, painting your shutters, or delivering your new refrigerator.
2. Hey, thanks for letting me use the bathroom when I was working in your yard last week. While I was in there, I unlatched the back window to make my return a little easier. […]
cocktail: sex on a snowbank
This must be one chilly drink… I think I’ll wait until summer. Then maybe I’ll have one daily for the whole month!
1 ½ ounces Malibu rum
3 tablespoons coconut cream
6 large ice cubes
Place ingredients together in a blender. Blend until smooth. Rim chilled martini glass with shredded coconut (nope!) and/or sugar (maybe.) Pour and guzzle for an exciting brain freeze!
Leave it to the Old Farmer’s Almanac to answer the question from my earlier post, http://laurpheus.com/potato-sambal/: how to grow potatoes in Ballston Spa, New York. Next research question: are baby potatoes simply baby potatoes, or are they more accurately a special kind of potato that matures more quickly, and doesn’t get big.
I can do this. I just need to find some [expletive deleted] sun.
It was the photograph that made me save this recipe. I wonder if I can grow potatoes in my geographic area. Baby taters are quite costy. This recipe, fortunately, can be made with sliced potatoes. But…nah.
Please note that the recipe is for TWO SERVINGS. In fact, 2 quarter-pound servings. Not in this family. Also, it assumes you have a pressure cooker. I wonder if I had one, would I use it? But anyway, boil them, let them cool, and peel them. I’m not sure I would bother peeling. I mean will bother.
Grinding isn’t a common American technique. I’ve tried using a mortar and pestal to grind and combine spices. It was a big failure for an impatient weakling. I ended up using our little coffee grinder, and that’s what I’ll use for this recipe. *P.S. Despite what Google says, consider a garlic pod to be one healthy clove.
Short short fiction: write about a welcome
By Laurie Freehafer
“What the hell happened!??”
“Son, you caught your death.
You picked at it and it never got well.
You put your eye out.
You stuck something in your ear smaller than your elbow.
You went outside with a wet head.
You squeezed your pimples and cracked your knuckles.
Your face froze that way.
Your eyes stayed crossed.
You made your parents pay to heat the outdoors.
You sat too close to the television.
You tripped over your toys and broke your neck.
‘Everyone else’ jumped off a cliff and you did too.
You thought your folks were made of money.
You made her turn the car around.
She counted to three but you still didn’t go to bed.
You went out dressed like that.
You didn’t have anything nice to say but you said something at all.
You made her come over there.
You made her call your father.
You had an answer for everything. In the end, you didn’t have clean underwear on and there was an accident. A bad one, son.”
“What ever happened to presumed innocent?”
“Oh, we already know you’re guilty. We’ve been watching you not listening to
your mother since you were born.”
“CHRIST! This is so bizzare!
Oh shit, my mother always said if I took the Lord’s name in vain I’d be
catching the next train to hades. Is this the gates of hell? Who are you?”
“It doesn’t matter who I am, and no, you’re not in trouble. We don’t take
sending people to hell lightly around here, you know.
What happened was this: You didn’t listen to your mother, so you died. We see a lot of this around here. To be frank, your mother seemed a little smug at your funeral. And she’s blue in the face, you know. From all the warning.”
“But , like, where am I? I don’t know what’s ahead for me, um, if there is anything ahead for me, and I have no idea YIKES!!! I’m fucking FLYING! What the hell! Wheeeeeeeee!”
“Welcome to Afterlife, son.”
Kindly do not share without attribution.
In 1975 I was an AFS exchange student, one of 24 – better known as “The Fearless 24” — in the AFS Americans Abroad program. Our stay was just for the summer, which, for a small third-world Island, was actually a quite satisfactory length of time. Being an AFS exchange student to Sri Lanka changed, or at least solidified, a huge part of who I am. It brought focus to my principles at the exact right age.
In December 2014, and dipping into the new year, I returned to the island where I reunited with friends and family to celebrate my host mother, Yvonne Theabold’s 80th birthday. Guests came from far and wide, and for me it was a dream I never thought I would realize. I’ll be posting some stories from these incredible two weeks.