What's For Dinner?

When we first moved in together, I burned through my arsenal of recipes,including a dish my mom used to make: Chicken and Rice.

When Tanya and I first started living together, we were both excited to show off how well we could cook.  One night she made the most amazing meatloaf I’ve ever had in my life.  Other nights she’d introduce me to her Sloppy Joes, Beef Stroganoff, chicken pot pie, lasagna, and the list goes on.  For her I made some of my specialties like grilled pork chops, potato salad, grilled cheese, risotto, polenta, Caesar salad, and the list goes on.  I think most people have a repertoire of things they make and they run through that when the question, “What’s for dinner?” comes  

up.

When we first became CSA (community supported agriculture) subscribers to a local farm, Whistling Train Farm, we encountered a problem.  We couldn’t just eat tacos on Tuesday or whip up a bowl of mashed potatoes when our mood demanded them.  We had all this produce we needed to use each week and sometimes there were things in our weekly basket we had no idea how to use.  Sometimes we just got plain sick of eating what we were given and had to find creative, new ways to use it.  The first winter we were subscribers, we had beets every single week for 12 weeks straight.  And Tanya HATED beets.  She hated beets though because she remembered the pickled old-people beets of her youth that came out of a can and ended up on some social gathering next to pickled herring and bread and butter pickles.  They taste a little different when they are orange heirloom beets, tossed in a little olive oil and roasted with some grey salt and cracked black pepper.  The point is, if we were going to do this, we had to be committed and we had to get creative.

We started to examine how to use preexisting recipes and techniques, tweaking them to use what we had on hand. One example is the often beloved, technically misunderstood, and not very intimidating once understood, Sushi Roll. We deconstructed the roll ingredient by ingredient and substituted what we could to meet our needs. The only thing that we couldn’t get away from buying in the store was the Japanese sticky rice (one because it is so farkin delicious and two because I love rice).  We did find an organic source, however.  I think it’s also important to remember you don’t have to go all in to make small changes. Replace one ingredient for something easy.  In this instance, we couldn’t get organic nori, the seaweed paper used to make sushi rolls, so we substituted it with blanched swiss chard.  

Here's a short instructional video about how to roll sushi in general.  Keep in mind, we've replaced the nori with blanched chard.

First I steamed the rice in a rice cooker.  For me, this means 1 cup of organic Japanese sticky rice to every 1 1/4 cup of water.  I added a little rice wine vinegar once it was done.  I realize sushi chefs train for years just to learn making rice before they ever even look at a fish, but it is what it is--let's get dinner on the table.

Next I got all the vegetables julienned and roasted off some pork the night before and shredded it.  You can use whatever combination of vegetables, fish, or other ingredients you choose.  It isn't the ingredients that matter, but the concept that sushi can be adapted to whatever you have and will be a nutritious and filling meal.  Unless of course you eat sushi in Mississippi where it's deep friend and sauced with mayonnaise.

Once the fillings were prepped, I got the chard ready by bringing a shallow, wide pot filled halfway with boiling water.  Next to it, I had a bowl of ice water to blanch the leaves to stop the cooking process once they came out of the boiling water.  You only want to soften the leaves and turn them bright green--cooking too long will compromise the leaf's integrity, making rolling the sushi difficult.

Once they are blanched, cut the tough rib out of the center.

I set all the ingredients aside and got plates ready.  I wrapped my sushi mat with plastic wrap to keep the rice from sticking and layered the chard leaves on top of that.  Then I added a thin layer of rice, not coming all the way to the edges.  To that I added vegetables and the shredded pork in the center.  I rolled the sushi and cut it into six pieces with a very sharp knife, being careful not to push on it and saw, but rather slice the roll gently so as not to crush it.

When we set out on this adventure, we didn't always know what to expect.  Cooking isn't like baking--it's very forgiving.  And even if everything fell apart, we could have just eaten this dinner as a bowl of rice and it still would have been delicious.  Don't be afraid to step outside of the box.   You never know what is waiting there for you.  While we still make Sloppy Joes, cheddar polenta, chicken pot pie and Caesar salad, we make new things too.  It turns out, we have some favorites we didn't even know about.

Chicken Pot Pie

This is a fairly simple homemade chicken pot pie that is very forgiving and the recipe isn't exact.  It makes six to eight servings, depending on how many ladles of filling you prefer.  I thaw just enough puff pastry for the evening's dinner and I freeze the rest of the filling in quart freezer bags in portions perfect for another meal.  For this particular recipe, it makes three meals--one that we will eat now and two quart-sized freezer bags that I can pull out, thaw, ladle into oven-safe crocks or bowls and top with puff pastry for a quick weeknight meal.  This is everything you want from a chicken pot pie.  You could certainly substitute turkey or even go meatless and pack in the veggies.

1lb boneless, skinless chicken (white, dark or a combination), cut into bite sized pieces
6-8 c diced vegetables (I use celery, onion, broccoli, peas, carrots and mushrooms but you could use beans, potatoes, spinach, parsnips, or any other favorite vegetable.)
1 to 2 tsp dried thyme (you can use fresh thyme, just use about 1 tbsp finely minced instead
3 dried bay leaves
1 tsp dried rosemary, or 2 tsp fresh rosemary finely minced
1 tsp garlic powder or a couple cloves of finely minced fresh garlic
1 tsp black or 1/2 tsp white pepper
1 to 2 quarts chicken stock
1 c dry white wine
1 to 2 c half and half (to taste)
1/2 c to 1 c cornstarch mixed into a slurry with cold water
1 pkg puff pastry (found in the freezer aisle near the desserts) OR 1 package refrigerated pie dough OR any recipe of biscuit or dumpling--we prefer the puff pastry and that's what is pictured here
1 egg, lightly beaten
1/2 to 1 cup shredded cheddar cheese (depending on how many you are making)
1 to 2 tbsp sliced almonds

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees if you are using puff pastry.  If you are using biscuit dough, pie dough, or dumplings, preheat the oven to whatever temperature your recipe calls for to cook it.  If you would normally cook biscuits at 350 degrees, then preheat the oven to that.  Honestly though, this recipe is so forgiving that if you just put the oven at 375 degrees and cook the pot pie until whatever crust you put on it is brown, the filling will still be amazing.

In a 6 or 8 quart pot, add the wine, one quart of chicken stock, herbs and seasonings (don't add the salt yet) and the raw chicken.  Bring this to a boil and let it simmer uncovered.  And since the bottle of chardonnay is open, pour yourself a glass and start chopping vegetables.  Make sure you've thoroughly sanitized the area where you cut up the chicken.  Cross contamination is a huge concern when working with raw meats, especially chicken.

Side Note: We only use organic chicken.  You will never eat factory-farmed chicken again if you knew what happens to it.  This is a rare meal for us and a special one because organic chicken isn't that cheap.  If you are really ambitious, you could buy a whole, organic fryer and cut the meat off the bone and use it for the pot pie.  Save the wings and the carcass and make chicken stock from it along with all the vegetable scraps you will get from this dish.  If you haven't got the time tonight, toss the raw carcass along with the scraps into a gallon freezer bag and just start adding vegetable scraps to it and make stock another day when you have a little more time.  I'll post a blog later about how to make stock, but for now, start saving the vegetable scraps and meat bones in a gallon freezer bag.  Even save those onion skins and carrot peels!

Next, start chopping.  Tonight I used a combination of what I had on hand and what I like.  Plus this meal is a great way to add extra vegetables August might not eat alone.  I added 3 celery ribs finely diced; 4 peeled, thinly sliced carrots; half a finely diced yellow onion; 4 broccoli heads, stalks removed, cut in to bite-sized pieces; one bag of organic peas; and about 10 sliced crimini mushrooms. Once everything is all chopped up, just add it to the pot.  Turn the heat up to bring it back to a rolling boil.  At this point, you will want to assess your broth.  If you need some more stock or wine, add it to just barely cover the vegetables.  Make sure the chicken is fully cooked, however, before taste testing the broth.  You will also want to add salt and adjust seasonings at this point.

Once you are happy with the flavors, you can thicken the sauce.  I prefer cornstarch, but use whatever you like to use as a thickener.  You are going to need a lot of cornstarch.  Start with a small mixing bowl and mix 1/2 cup cornstarch with just enough water to cover it and stir.  This is how you make a slurry.  Make sure you've scraped the corners well and there are no lumps.  Slowly add the slurry to the simmering pot pie mixture and watch it thicken.  Keep in mind you are going to also be adding cream, so you want it about as thick as a pudding, maybe slightly thinner.  You can always add stock to thin it out too.  Tonight I had to use about a cup of cornstarch and it was perfect.

Cut the pastry into four squares.  I cut one of the squares to fit August's baby pot pie.

Add the cream slowly and stir.  I say add about a cup and taste the sauce.  Add more if you want a creamier flavor.  You actually don't even need cream, but we like it.  Of course the more cream you add, the richer it becomes and the more calories it has.  We add about a cup, which is just enough to give it some richness, but not enough to make it too heavy.  Taste the sauce again and adjust the seasonings, especially the salt.  This is what your filling will taste like, so it needs to be perfect--you don't want the filling to be bland since it will have a pastry covering it and will be difficult to season.        

Can you guess which one is for the baby?

At this point, your puff pastry should be pliable and thawed.  I only thaw one sheet for our family and even then I have some left to refreeze.  Each box comes with two sheets.  Don't try to unfold them until they are thawed since they are folded in thirds and you will be cutting this into four squares.  Set the thawed pastry aside and don't handle it until you absolutely need to.

You will need some oven-safe crocks or bowls for this.  Most cereal or soup bowls will work, but just make sure before you make this recipe you have something that you can put in the oven.  Place the bowls on a cookie sheet and fill each one with a few ladles of the hot filling.  Gently take a square of the pastry and stretch it slightly so it will cover the bowl in one pass.  Try not to stretch any holes in it because once there is a hole, it's difficult to patch and the pot pie needs a tight seal to get the big beautiful dome for a remarkable presentation. If you are using pie dough, biscuits, or dumplings, cover the pot pies similarly.  For the pie dough, roll out enough to cover and then reroll the dough for each one.  For the biscuits, drop a rounded heap on top of the pot pie.  For the dumplings, drop a few dumplings on top of the bowl.

Once the bowls have been covered, brush the pastry with the lightly beaten egg.  This step isn't necessary, but it will give the pot pie a nice shine and help the cheese stick to it.  Top each pie with a few tablespoons of shredded cheddar cheese and a teaspoon or so of sliced almonds.  Now you are ready to bake.  Pop them in the oven for about 15-20 minutes, depending on your oven.  Check them at about 12-13 minutes.  What you are looking for is a raised, golden brown crust.  The cheese should be melted and the almonds should be toasted.  I like to serve them on a side plate with a folded napking underneath to keep the bowl from sliding on the plate.

To freeze, ladle the number of ladles you needed for one dinner--for my family, we used ten ladles to fill all the bowls.  This amount fit well into a quart-sized freezer bag.  I cleaned it off, marked it with a sharpie including the date and what it was and froze it flat so I can stack it in the freezer with things like marinara sauce and beef stew.  When you want it for dinner, thaw it in the fridge a day or two before, heat it in a saucepan or microwave and ladle it in to bowls.  Add your topping and bake.  Dinner couldn't be easier or more of a treat.  

Often Overlooked, Always Present: Fertility Treatments From Husband's Perspective

I had a conversation last night with Tanya about possibly being a guest blogger or in some way, other than by just being her husband I could contribute to her blogging.  I promised her that I would not rant about politics, guns or anything that is overtly offensive (not that anyone has ever told me that I can abrasive or anything). Well, here goes nothing.

A friend suggested for my first posting that I share about infertility from the father/husband/male prospective as this is overlooked more often than not. My ex-wife and I divorced primarily because she changed her mind about having a family sometime after we got married. Tanya has poor egg quality and diminished ovarian reserves coupled with a host of other reproductive issues that we have tackled along the way. I say these things not to assign blame, or hurt anyone’s feelings, but rather to help you better understand much of my frustrations later in the post.

I was as naïve as most people are about infertility when we started this journey and would have preferred to stay that way. I can honestly say that I know more about the female reproductive system than many women, including Tanya. I am the one who doses and administers each injection, deals with her crazy when the hormones go completely nuts, accompanies her to nearly every appointment she has ever had, holds her hand in pre/post op and during many of her procedures, worries while she is in surgery, is briefed by the doctors on the successes and failures after surgeries, shoulders the household responsibilities while she recovers, supports her during the processes and consoles her when we are unsuccessful yet again. This is to say nothing of the financial burden this has put on our family and our relationship.

When I talk about fertility treatments, people usually assume that I am the one with the issues. They jokingly say extremely insensitive things like “you want me to come over and take care of your wife for you?” or “hey, my swimmers never miss.” This is like telling Tanya to “just relax and it will happen.” Most people, thankfully, have no idea how difficult it actually is to create and sustain a life. The best part is when the doctors tell you that even though you have paid all of this money, taken all of these drugs and spent all of this time, there are still no guarantees. Wait, what? We do all of this for a maybe? That is exactly correct, we do this for a maybe, because having a house full of children is that important to us. 

I, like most people, have periods of time that I feel sorry for myself. I sometimes think that this is such a cruel joke. I had one wife who didn’t want to have children and now I have one who can’t. What are the odds? Why do I always need to be the strong one? Why don’t people ask how I’m holding up? Do people think that Tanya is the only one that is devastated when each cycle fails? Then I pull my big boy pants up and start again.

As men we are programmed and conditioned to be the fixer, doer and the one who takes action. When that ability is taken away from us it is not only painful but demoralizing and emasculating as well. I have spent untold hours watching Tanya in pain and in some instances am the one directly responsible for inflicting it. I try to make jokes like, “this is the only time in my life that I can stab my wife and get away with it,” but the truth is that it hurts me deeply to have to give Tanya injections nightly, knowing that I am the one causing the pain. Although extremely adorable, it hurts my heart that when August sees me getting ready to give Tanya a shot she pulls up her shirt to expose her tummy too.

Now for the good stuff that everyone wants to know about. SEX! Imagine, if you will, spending three years of hot, steamy, intimate relations with your partner. Each one dictated, literally, by exact time and doctors prescription. No spontaneity, no fun, and certainly no “hey, lets get drunk and make a kid.” Or the “you need to abstain from any form of sexual contact for a minimum of 5 days” and then there’s the “here’s your cup.” Needless to say sex and intimacy have been extremely difficult to keep, well, passionate about.  

This process has been frustrating, crippling, heartbreaking, but also extremely rewarding. I am so grateful every time I hold, see, kiss and think about August. She has been what has kept me going through this. The knowledge of how awesome it is to be a father and look into the eyes that you helped to create. To watch this thing grow into a little person and be directly responsible for the outcome.

I can understand how dealing with infertility issues has caused lesser mortals to give up not only on the treatments but their marriages as well. This has been no easy road we have ventured down, but I think the voyage has strengthened our relationship and brought us closer together. How is that possible you may ask? I have no idea, maybe it's because we are thick headed and hate to admit defeat. Maybe it's because we have seen each other at our most vulnerable and rawest points. Whatever the reason is, I’m grateful to have my best friend be my wife and mother to our daughter.

Stroller Envy



Duane gives me my nightly injection of fertility drugs



I have to preface this post with the fact that I began this yesterday in a lighthearted attempt to talk about how my life has shifted from deciding which beers are on tap to whether I can afford the $1,000 stroller at Babies R Us to keep up with the moms toting tots at all the places I take August on the weekends.  I had to stop.  Something wouldn't let me keep it lighthearted, but I'm used to that, so I let it sit for a day.  Something silly hit me mid-post, much like it does in my real life: I can't just get pregnant and I've lost three babies to miscarriage.  Some people who haven't lived this life I lead might wonder why I can't just get over it or if I will ever move beyond this, and the short answer is, I don't think so.  And as much as I want to move on, life happens and I am reminded of who I am, where I came from, and how far I've come.

Beautiful August Cameron

I never wanted to be the poster child for infertility or miscarriage.  I never wanted to be the person holding an acquaintance's hand, letting her cry to someone, anyone, after she just lost her baby (they call me sometimes because they can't bear to hear what well-intentioned friends and family say to them such as it was God's will).  I never wanted to have to explain to my own family day after day what to say and what not to say to help me heal, knowing Duane and I will likely always have this tender scar that will never heal and it can burst open on certain days or in certain moments (June 6th, November 14th, Christmas time).  I never wanted to be the woman who has to constantly answer the questions, "So do you want to have kids," or "Is she your first," or "Do you want more," with answers like, "We are working on it," or "Someday," or "Yes, she is our first," (feeling like our son Connor is looking down on us from heaven saying what about me?  I didn't choose this life, but it's the life I've got and I can't be bitter about it, lest it eat me alive and I forgo all the beauty surrounding me).

My written observations about being a mom began here yesterday:

Duane and I taking August for a walk in the jogging stroller on the Green River Trail behind our apartments

Every time I go to the zoo, I get stroller envy.  Parents with toddlers know what I am talking about.  Stroller envy makes you seriously rethink your priorities so you can buy that $1,000 stroller you registered for during your baby shower but no rich benefactor bought.  I always dread this about going to the zoo since our strollers (yes, we have a few), though adequate, would never propel us among the stroller elite circle.  In fact, I keep two strollers in my trunk at all times, which pisses off Duane because it keeps me from being able to go to Sam's Club to buy large things like diapers and toilet paper since I have no room; I have two strollers in my trunk for crying out loud!  We also have a wagon, a jogging stroller, and a hiking backpack, all of which are perfectly suited for certain occasions.  I no longer buy cocktail dresses, shoes, or makeup anymore, by the way, because my efforts are focused on Smoosh.

August looking at the gorilla from her adequate stroller

I didn't know about "mom culture" until I started taking my precious cargo to places like the zoo, the aquarium, the Children's Museum on the weekend.  And I don't think anyone is competing to be the best mom, but c'mon, we kind of all are.  Rest assured, my baby will be in the cutest outfit on the planet, lest anyone try to upstage AugDog.  My goal is to collect as many comments like, "Oh my gosh, she is just the most adorable baby I've ever seen," or "Wow, her cheeks are just so...."  Yeah, I know, she's my daughter.  And I try not to judge, but I do when I think no one is looking in how we handle our children's behavior or what they eat.  In my head, I am always telling myself, "my kid is far superior to yours."  And I don't mean anything by it.  I am super cordial around other parents.  Until they are more concerned with their iPhone than they are with the snot running down their kid's nose and how they let their kid shove my kid and totally didn't correct the behavior.  Let me just tell you.

August playing in the water at the Children's Museum

And then I deteriorated.  I got in my head.  I began to process the day, not by how lucky I am or how much fun we were having, but by the observation that every. single. woman. was nine freaking months pregnant.  No joke.  It was like a shampoo commercial of long-haired perfect women waving with streaks of sun showing through their glee flying by my face with a perfect smile and infectious laugh.  The pregnant women were everywhere in many colors and sizes, representing diversity and life itself--be fruitful and multiply said God.  They represented every woman but me and I felt my thoughts turn bitter, angry and confused again.  This feeling isn't new.  I battle it often and my demons are mostly other peoples':  Why can't she get over it?  Isn't she grateful for August?  She just needs to relax.  Why can't they just adopt?

Here's what went on in my mind:

I always feel inferior when I see bulging pregnant women in these places, despite the fact that my kid is one breakfast away from winning the Nobel Prize for whatever.  It feels like God is mocking me.  Not many people were at the zoo today since it was cold and raining.  Despite the dismal weather, it seemed like every woman in Seattle who was more than six months pregnant decided to go to the zoo.  And they weren't just pregnant.  They were glowing with rays of golden light illuminating them as they rubbed their fertile bellies dressed in perfectly tailored L.L. Bean outfits that probably weren't even made for pregnant women.  Their kids laughed in slow motion and made eyes at the pregnant bellies and the moms acknowledged me as our kids intermingled.

Dad on a rare family day off work helping August paint

At one point, August made eye contact with one of the lucky pregnant women and she shyly walked up to her.  August stared at her belly since she's been obsessed with them lately and I could tell she was trying to find the courage to touch the pregnant belly.  The lucky mom laughed and made some casual comment about how August wanted the maraca she had and gave it to her.  August continued to stare and inched closer.   All I could think about is how August loves babies--she signs baby, says baby and walks up to babies and won't leave them alone.  August would really love having a baby here.  And I want to give her one.  But I can't and one day she is going to ask me why.

I resent these women and then feel guilty about it.  I don't know how to fix it.  I try to avert my eyes and then there is another bulging woman showing off her "I didn't eat any ice cream or cupcakes or french fries" body in the pants she wore in high school with nothing more than a hair tie attached to her button fly and she wouldn't even need the hair tie if her hair hadn't become so long and luscious due to the prenatal vitamins and the pregnancy hormones.  Oh and bluebirds will fly out of her vagina when she gives birth, by the way.

August's first time working with clay

Today we went to the Children's Museum and things were a little better, even though every woman I encountered either had a narcoleptic newborn in some fashionable front carrier on her chest or was also bulging with a future tax credit in her biological oven.  It was easier today.  I don't know why.  I never know why.  And I never know when it is going to hit me either.

I know this makes me seem like a raging lunatic who is unapproachable or overly emotional.  But I'm not.  I'm just a mom who has lost three babies and has a really hard time bringing life to the ones I know God wants me to have.  I struggle daily, but I struggle because I know the reward is greater than my fight.  What I want people who want to support me to know is that the best way to support me is to just listen.  Call me and ask questions.  But ask questions about my struggle.  Ask questions about my son.  Ask questions about how I am feeling and when I answer honestly, just listen.

If you know someone who is experiencing infertility and just don't know what to do or say, please click here.  My guess is that you aren't alone.  None of us who experience infertility want you to have to be a part of this, but the honest truth is, we are glad you are because we can't do this alone.  We might try to do this alone, but we need you.