Who Can Trust a Skinny Caterer?......My Journey on the Dukan Diet: Entry 10 ... In a Strange Bed

It was a dark and stormy night. I woke up in a strange bed. There were four of us sharing that mattress. I could hardly move my legs I was so surrounded by warm flesh. And fur. I am house sitting for a friend which includes no jacuzzi or giant TV (or NO HIGH SPEED INTERNET!) but it does include 4 horses, 8 chickens and 2 dogs. Luckily this morning I awake with no chickens in the bed, but including Luc, the Catering Poodle, there are 3 dogs and me. 3 Dog Night. If that puts some ear worms in your head, go with it.

First wind and rain together storm is raging outside. I have a little nightlight (Hi DOTW) on in the next bedroom so I wont fall down the stairs in the middle of the night. I notice it flicker and go out. Electricity gone. Fall in the Great Pacific Northwest has arrived. My lovely routine in the morning has altered for the time being. I brought along my French press and the Magical Oat Bran of course. But you know how it is in a strange kitchen. Where the hell is the kosher salt? The dogs are tap dancing on the linoleum. Tough. Me first, Just like on those crashing airlines, I have to get the lifeline to me first. Then you, OK? I wake up chipper and whistling every day but I work purely by rote. In a new environment, I am asked to think. Drat. COFFEE. I only drink one cup a day, but it is vital. No electricity, fire is out. Words with more sting than drat form little clouds in my head. I will tell you one of them. Shite. I gotta roll down the 6 miles to town to get my coffee.

Duvall is one of those little towns along the old abandoned rail lines. Its cute, full of antique stores and little restaurants. A little later the barbecue joint will throw open it's doors and hang its sign. "Sorry, We're Open." The bakery/coffee shop isn't even open yet, so no comfy stuffed chair with wifi. I turn around and head to the ice cream/coffee shop. I line up next to about 30 tubs of ice cream. Even though I haven't had ice cream or any sugar for 5 weeks, I still only want coffee.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch ( I feel like salting all the cliches I can in this post) I am greeted by all four of the horses lined up at this end of the pasture fence. They watch me get out of my truck. They toss there heads back and whinny at me. In unison, "WHERE IS OUR BREAKFAST?" They missed the memo about me getting mine first. Tough. I am not going to be manipulated by these guys. There is plenty of grass right there. Deal.
I get back inside and start the fire. I heat by wood as does my friend Mel. But we do it in completely different ways. Of course all the wood I have toted in is too big and her axe for making kindling is taller than me and I do not want any toes missing. I cheat and go back to the truck where I just happen to have a case of wax and sawdust fire logs. I cut one up and conjure up a fire. That's better. I rustle up the dogs, throw on leashes and take them for a big walk. Helps me make my requirement of 30 minutes a day and gives them something to do.
Last night I was multitasking, something I should never do while cooking. Invariably I burn things on the grill. But only on the outside. The middle is as red as can be. I try and be compassionate towards those wayward souls that like meat done anything more that medium rare. Might as well stick with pot roast

My bud Mel has taken off to the plains of Oklahoma to visit her family. Its been 5 years since she has been home. It's time for her to go see her mama, Ceona. She has this great cookbook she put together and I have a copy. Not too much I can cook and and right now. Later..... It has all manner of great fried, creamed and buttered foods. Seems Oklahoma is just as much southern as it is western.

I collect Southern cookbooks and this one now has a place of honor in its little ring binder. It has hundreds of recipes in it and would be perfect for the beginning cook as well as the more seasoned chefs. It has all kinds of substitutions if you are out of something in your larder and has basics such as gravies, sauces and relishes. Never roasted a turkey? Check out Ceona's recipe. All layed out for you.
Every family has recipes that are famous in their respective households. The DuBois' had Chinese Pudding, Glenmores, Whoppie Pies, Rochester Fair Burgers and this very basic pork pate with a name I cannot spell. Phonetically it goes kun tow. Some French Canadian derivision of something. Who knows. Put your best nasality into it and it will be close enough. What dishes are famous in your family? Especially those that seem absurd out of context, but that you really crave.
One of Ceona's such recipes is for Dried Beef with cream gravy on biscuits. Mel made it once for me and was all giggly and in her comfort zone, happy as a pig in you know what. And I was like, this is so salty!! Is this what is known in the military as SOS? (if you know what I mean.)

Anyway, If I served Mel Chinese Pudding I am sure there would be a perplexed look on her face. Especially when I forced her to put slather of French's yellow mustard on it. De riguer at the DuBois'.

The only thing I really craved while staying with Mel was high speed internet. That is one of the reasons it has taken so long to post this blog. But we roughed it, ol' Luc the Catering Poodle and me.
My favorite thing was playing "Attila the Hun and his Hordes are attacking the house" This is a game most dogs can play, but Mel has two expert masters living with her. Her wire haired Terrorists can raise a ruckus that would wake the dead. There I am, revolving in and out of sleep when I hear a deep gutteral groan. I am not sure where it is coming from. Strange house. Strange noises.

Then the noise swells, grows like wildfire and erupts into this volcano of high shrill incessant pounding. What the hell is that. I am propelled out of bed, not under my own power, I swear, but by some sonic boom inverted barometric pressure phenomena. The level of a barking dog is about 75 decibels. Ha! We move past tractor under strain at 90 decibels, symphony orchestra at 110. Now Luc is conscripted and joins in the fray. We arrive at a full 140 decibels. Jet take off. Chart says "Pain begins" I can attest to that. Anything higher will result in chest walls vibrating and eardrums shattering. I stand there, barefoot in the dark looking for a rifle, a club, a piece of firewood...anything to protect myself. Hell, maybe Attila and his Hordes really are out there, breaching the doors. Then instantly the noise is gone. No remaining echo..no whisper of anything...a void. I turn on the light and I see three sleepy dogs, all cuddled up in their jammies, fast asleep. Luc opens one eye and looks at me as if I am really disturbing him. What??? he wants to know.