Tonight’s dinner: roadside v seaside

Not sure what to call tonight’s dinner, my wife gone, I was doing a few house projects after work, so mostly leftovers and I started by soaking 8mm rice noodles in cool water for 35 minutes to soften them up, and I prepped everything else during that time, first walking up our long dirt road and picking a colander full of dandelion greens, bright and toothy in this our second consecutive sunny day this spring, and I rinsed them well with the hose that rests by our outdoor kitchen, rinsing and shaking off the road dust, ensuring they were clean and fresh, and from the fridge I took last night’s remnant of crab stock tomatoes and ground pork, an egg and a lemon, and after blanching the dandelion leaves for about two minutes or a bit less I rinsed them and squeezed out the excess water, giving me a good grip so I could cut them crosswise every inch or half inch and I fluffed them loose so they wouldn’t be clumped in the wok, and brought everything outside, along with a handful of garlic cloves and a few fresh hot chilis. On with the propane burner and when the wok had smoked off the previous meal’s memory I poured in a little oil, coated the sides, and poured it into a mason jar, subsequently adding just a splash of fresh oil and scraping in the dandelion greens and a few tablespoons of dried shrimp I had rehydrated for about ten minutes in a ramekin of warm water and after I scraped all this out I cracked the egg in the wok and scrambled it for a minute, removing it and then adding the garlic and chilis I had crushed in the stone mortar and pestle, and then I added back the greens and egg, mixing it all together for a second and dumping it into the bowl again. Then up with the heat and I dropped the noodles, which had been spun dry after soaking, and coated with a teaspoon or two of oil, and as soon as they touched the hot hot wok I used my tongs and kept lifting separating and dropping them back into the wok and when they were uniformly hot and beginning to blister I added the pork tomato crab stock around the edges, lifting the noodles even faster to ensure they didn’t clump, and as the last of the crab stock all but evaporated I added all the other stuff back in and stirred in quickly to coat everything evenly. Into my bowl and then a big squeeze of lemon. Damn, the smokiness of the noodles, the brightness of the lemon, the bitter deep dandelion greens, the rich umami crab pork tomato sauce, and the lightness of the egg. Chopsticks or a fork, both work equally well. Tuesday dinner, and then I gave the kitchen walls another coat of white paint.

Broth

There are many times when broth is the best medicine.  With a nagging sore throat, I came home at lunch and remembered a small pot of chicken stock in the back of the fridge.  A quick sniff confirmed it was still good, so I put it on the stove to warm up and melt those little bits of congealed fat that now glisten on the surface.

The bones and leftovers from a roasted chicken make the best stock, much more flavorful than stock made from a whole, uncooked bird.  Even a little seven-week broiler that's been well picked over at dinner can make a few bowls of delicious broth for the next day.  To make it, I always break up the bones and carcass with a big cleaver, chopping everything so all the flavor can be drawn from the marrow by the slow gurgle of stock-making.  An onion at least, and if I have carrots and celery, all the better.  A bay leaf or two, a few cloves, thyme, pepper, and just a little salt.  I bring it to a boil, skim the scum, and gurgle it slowly, usually overnight.  With the lid barely cracked and the simmer low, my night time dreams are sometimes interrupted by smells of stock.  Morning come, I call it done.
We sometimes look too far for cures to our daily ailments, but this small batch of broth saved me, revived my tired throat and strengthened my bones and blood.  A pinch of mineral-rich sea salt, the pullings of new sourdough crust torn and dropped like dumplings.  Hot soup slurped, my sore throat soothed.

Sweet potato ravioli

Turkey wasn't the only leftover from Thanksgiving.  This evening was a typical hurry up and wait evening, so I took advantage of a few time gaps to make a delicious ravioli with leftover sweet potatoes.  Two of my kids had swimming and I had to drive, so when I got home from work I had to think about a split dinner: they can't eat a full meal before swimming or they'll be uncomfortable in the water, but it's close to bedtime when they get home, so I don't want them eating too much afterward, either.
As is typical on swimming nights, my daughter made a big bowl of corn and they also ate a piece of fruit.  While they ate their pre-swim snack, I made a two-egg batch of pasta.  We talked as I kneaded the dough and they wanted to touch it; everyone loves the feel of well-kneaded pasta dough; they rubbed it gently and marveled at the five-minute transformation from eggs and flour to this. I also popped the potatoes out of their skins and into a pan on the stove.  I added a little sage, butter, and brown sugar and mashed it all together.

I put the ball of dough in a plastic bag and we all piled in the car and we made the rounds for our carpool.   After dropping the kids off, my youngest and I returned home to make the ravioli.  We took turns feeding the dough through the machine and brought it down to setting number three on the rollers.  We laid the long, lasagna-like noodles on the counter and added spoonfuls of the sweet potato mixture to the pasta.  I carefully put a top sheet on and hand-pressed the basic shapes before cutting them.  After that, my daughter used fork tines to seal the edges.
They cooked in about three minutes and I drained them with a slotted spoon and added them to a large pan with melted butter in it.  Our timing was perfect, and the last ravioli were going into the pan when the kids walked in.  I heated up a few chunks of turkey and gravy, grated a little parmesan cheese on the ravioli, and and we ate like kings.

Leftovers for lunch

Yesterday I made pancakes for breakfast and corn bread for dinner, and we didn't finish either. I left the pancake batter on the counter overnight, allowing it to develop a little extra flavor. Mondays are busy with meetings, but I came home for lunch and made a quick leftover meal. I crumbled the dry cornbread into the batter, leaving it in small chunks, squished a banana into the batter, and gave everything a quick stir. A little butter in the frying pan and I poured the doctored batter in - there was enough left to fill the 10" pan completely. I turned the burner down and covered the pan with a lid. I flipped it after a few minutes and the edges were nice and brown and crisp and buttery; it rose about ¾". A few more minutes on the other side and I slid it out of the pan and onto a dinner plate, opened a jar of applesauce and spooned it over the pancake.
Most people probably would have thrown out both the old pancake batter and the dried out cornbread; I did neither, and lunch was delicious. A good lunch for another cold Minnesota day.