In which we're in the soup now

bviously, after an extended absence, The Cornet Player should bring you up to date on what's happened in the last year or so. I've got a new laptop, Ulco Bedd is playing guitar in a background tab (He plays there, to make us happy here). So the story of what's been happening:

Or, how about not? Or at least, not yet? Instead, I will tell you how I unlocked the Secret Cabalistic Secret of Onion Soup. 

Preparatory exercise: Mutter to yourself, several times, "It should be harder than this." 

The first problem with onion soup is, that it's soup. Eating soup involves the ability to manipulate a spoon, with subtle, graceful movements of one's thumb. If The Cornet Player could still do stuff like that with his thumb, he would still be The Saxophone Player, so that's off the table, in more ways than one. But! Onion soup solves this problem with the additions of "croutons" which transform the soup partway down the spectrum from substance (basically unmanageable) to object (basically manageable.) 

Let me reassure the reader, that we will not use the artificially flavoured objects usually sold under that name.

Why not? The diligent reader will remember, of course, The Puckle Gun.

It was designed to shoot round bullets at Christians, and square bullets at Turks, for reasons which were so obvious at the time, that nobody bothered to record the least hint of what they were. But to struggle onwards in ignorance was always the lot of man, so "Forward!" is the cry. The reason that this is relevant is that nobody has recorded what was done with all the unused square bullets. 

Also, nobody knows where those odd, square-ish objects sold under the name of "croutons" come from. I'm not saying there's any connection between the two mysterious, square objects. I'm just given to wondering, in the late hours of the evening, when all is dark and quiet, and one's thoughts go wandering into strange, frightening place... 

But I digress. Because we're not using them. We're using some of the infinite possible choices that are better. 

So, having dismissed this intrusive digression, let us consider the main problem: Caramelized onions. How to caramelize onions. Do we use low heat? Medium low heat? Slightly higher than low medium, with an addition of baking soda? Do we stir constantly, or 20 seconds on, 20 seconds off? 

Dear reader, you will be overjoyed to know that the answer to all of the above is: "No." 

The secret to caramelizing onions, as many other things, is "Less Effort." Peel and slice and chop a load of onions (I like to do about six pounds. I would give that to you in metric, but my knife refuses to cut in decapascals per hectare, and I'm too tired to argue.) Put them in a slow cooker on low. Stir them about every two hours, if you're feeling manic, and just have to do something. Six or twelve hours later, they will be about 75% smaller, and dark brown, and very pungent, and if that's not caramelized, it will do until the real thing comes along. 

Now, bung them all in the fridge. Put them in a container first, unless you like cleaning your fridge a little more than anyone should. Use a container with a tight lid, unless you like everything to taste like fried onions, not that there's anything wrong with that. 

Go to a butcher's shop. Not a supermarket. Not a cutesy corner of the local megastore, with a designer sign that says "Butchery Shoppe." I'm talking about a place that does nothing else, and has multiple members of the same family behind the counter, and cuts stuff to order. Ask them for some soup bones. I get three 1" slices, with some meat on it. You may develop other preferences. It's cool. 

Just don't use this stuff.

Or this stuff.

Please? Every time someone uses that stuff, Ajit Pai eats a kitten. 

Ajit Pai, FCC Chairman, and opponent of net neutrality.

 

Put your soup  bone in the slow cooker. Put in an onion. Cut it in half. Peel it, if you're feeling all Martha-Stewart. Wash off a stalk of celery, and throw it in. Add a couple of bay leaves. Put in a carrot, if you're feeling ambitious. Fill the slow cooker with water. Finally, and this is important, turn it on. Put it on high until it boils. Put it on low if you're leaving the house. Add water if it gets low. Let it go for a day or so. 

Then, using whatever method suits your temperament and MMPI classification, remove the stock (the watery brown stuff) from the slow cooker, and leave the bones and vegetables behind. Now, TASTE THE STOCK. It will need salt. If you don't add salt, you will make a lot of weird onion soup. DAMHIKT.* Just add salt until it tastes right.

Then, mix up the caramelized onions, and the stock. You have soup. You can refrigerate it, freeze it, reheat it, all that good stuff, and there's no worries. 

BUT! about the croutons: Get yourself a half-price stale baguette. Slice it up thinnish. Put it in a bag, and keep it handy. When you want soup, put some in a bowl, cover the top with the slices of  baguette, and  nuke it. My bowls take about two minutes to two and a half, but your bowls may be different.

Still doesn't look like the stuff at the restaurant, though, right? You need cheese. You can use old cheddar, mild cheddar, smoked cheddar, gouda, gruyere (if you're rich) even mozzarella and parmesan. Just grate it first, and let it sit on the hot soup for a bit. It will melt down and be perfect. the croutons will soak up the soup, and make it less able to fall out of the spoon. All will be well in the world. 

(If you're in a hurry, you can melt the cheese with another 30 seconds in the microwave, or under a broiler, or use a creme brulee torch, or a plumber's torch, or the gas axe,

or a war surplus flame thrower. (Some of these options are more prudent than others.) 

And that's it, folks. Scale-able, cheap, dead easy, and relatively quick. Enjoy. 

Oh yes, one other thing: In the meantime, The Cornet Player is getting good at cooking stuff that doesn't need chewing. A very bright young fellow in The Little Smoke is trying to save the implant which constitutes half of the last working pair of molars left to y'r ob'd't s'rv'nt. He is likely to succeed, BTW, but that's the kind of year it's been.  

More soon, I hope, as more doin's transpire. Stay warm, y'all.


*DAMHIKT: don't ask me how I know this.

In which I'se strong in the finach.

Cause I eats my spinach.

A long delay, in which blog posts have been written, but not posted. The process of adjustment to my new life continues, 

and sometimes thoughts get a bit darker than I want to put out in public. (I don't know who all might read this blog.)

    The thought of the day concerns Eggs Florentine. (Man, I'm coming to like spinach. It's like salad you can cook.) I tried this yesterday, poaching an egg in a silicon egg poacher. Since it's made of the same stuff that really good oven mitts are, I thought it might take longer to cook than I was hoping for... and I was right. Also, the egg stuck, so it rated a fail.

     Plan B: got a microwave egg poacher. Poaching eggs in a microwave has never been a great option, because the yolks cook much faster than the whites. Still, I figured that if they did it right, the plastic might heat up and cook the whites from the outside in, and all would be lovely.

     Nope. It would not be true to say that you could play golf with the yolks. They're too smooth, and a bit too small. About right for ping-pong, however.

     Plan C: Marry somebody smart, and steal her method. The next trick will be to 1) butter the poacher before the eggs go in; 2) separate the eggs, and cook the whites for 30 seconds before you put the yolks in. 3) add the yolks for another 30 seconds or so, 4) Open the poacher, and hope that this worked.

     Unlike the Ping-pong Yolk Conundrum, the amazing spinach-water conjunction has been definitively solved. Draining spinach is a drag. If you try decanting out the water, by the time you tip the bowl far enough to dump the water, the spinach starts falling out, and I'm trying not to use that kind of language. The answer, of course, is canned tuna fish.

     Not that I eat tuna fish any more. I started getting taller every time we had a heat wave, so it looks like there really is a mercury problem with it. But they do sell strainers for tuna fish (is there really anybody who doesn't just use the lid?) and with these, and diligence, you can drain the spinach without dumping it in the sink. (Take my advice, and buy your diligence in the 64 oz. cans. Otherwise, the price is ridiculous.)

     Music for the moment: Marian McPartland's Piano Jazz show. She's gone now, but her show is great.

     Coming soon: results of a follow-up blood test, and a follow-up fitness test; news on the house, and even, perhaps a sketch of the workbench,

In which are tests, and cooking, and a flailing moment of creativity

My lovely wife out of town overnight, so I'm messing with music, doing laundry like a baus, and it's time for a blog. 

     As mentioned, I went and started a workout with a VO2 max test. It was up about 3 of whatever it's measured in. That's likely due mostly to weight loss, but higher is better, however you get there. (Yay!)

     Next up that day was weights, and it's getting tedious. Dumbbell deadlifts start the day, and at 60 pounds (x10x10) would just about do to end it. It's not a lot to deadlift, but there's a pretty good range of motion with dumbbells, and I'm also lifting a lot of me.

     Still, pressing on, never say die, there are leg extensions and then either pulldowns or T-bar rows. Generally, that will fry me to a light golden brown, so sprinkle a little lemon juice on me, and put me on a plate, 'cause I'm done. 

     On days when I'm really far sighted, I hang around and do shoulder work. This is problematic, because the shoulders are problematic, and tend to clank when asked to do full-range work. The sets therefore are on the lat raise machine, at ludicrously small weights, or some subset of the Jobe exercises, at even more ludicrously small weights. Still, they're working, and I can occasionally do bench presses very carefully, with no problems. 

     The imminent return of the bench press (and its cousin, the military press) are devoutly hoped for, as I'm running out of exercises. At the moment, I'm trying to avoid isolation exercises (the one-muscle-at-a-time approach) because it's too hard to keep up intensity like that. Unfortunately, compound exercises break down into Squats, Deadlift, Pushes and Pulls. Generally, you combine squats and deadlifts at your peril, so I need the pushes back!

     On the cheerful side, it's only another week until I change up the programme again, and I may make a somewhat radical change, which will relieve the boredom a bit.

     Anyway,  you were promised some cooking, and here it is, the simplest and best breakfast ever, the Spinach and Jalapeño Omelette. 

Grab as much (washed!) spinach as any sane man would put in an omelette. Grab the same amount in the other hand. Chop it all up. 

Get about three slices of hot peppers (I've been using pickled  jalapeños) out of the jar. USE. A. FORK. because touching jalapeños is a really bad idea, don't pay attention to me, let your hangnails explain it for you. Drop them beside the spinach, and cut them up, without touching them. 

Beat two eggs, (or three, if you're living large) with salt and pepper and tabasco sauce. 
Get a slightly oily pan rilly, rilly hot, and in rapid succession: 

• Pour in the eggs.
• Shake the pan to move them around a bit, so the liquid stuff flows under the cooked stuff.
• Sprinkle the spinach around
• Scrape the jalapeños into the eggs with the knife. 
• Just before the eggs are all cooked, roll the whole thing onto a plate. 

Some people will think it's boring to eat the same breakfast every day. If it's boring, you're not using enough jalapeños. 

And the weird burst of creativity: The Local Anglican Cleric has asked me to do musical stuff at Easter, as the organist will be away.  There's little stuff written for solo brass, and little of that little is practical at the current level of technique. 

     The Bach cello suites have been arranged for trumpet... just not this trumpet. Lightning midnight raids on the historical treasury of plainchant have produced the beginning of a little suite of Easter music, but it's not going to be ready. There really was nothing happening until: 

     About 10PM last night, Lasst Uns Erfreuen started running through my head... as a slip jig. Now, that's one variation... There are a couple of other possiblities... and it was done. The theme, plus three variations, without resorting to diminutions, which I can't play any. Composed entirely in the lilypond text editor. Set for any solo instrument in the treble clef, or my old buddy Andrew on trombone. (Available as a PDF upon request.) It's a kind of rudimentary thing, but it works. The L.A.C. likes it. We have a prelude. 

     Postlude.... hmm.. Something's trying to occur to me, but it's not here yet.

      Finally, the kind-of-good news. I hit the weight loss plateau about three weeks ago. It seems to have come to an end. Onward and downward!