Twenty first century skills.
I have none.
Tik Tok. Snap Chat. Doing more than one thing on my phone at a time. Frankly doing ANYTHING on my phone other than calling, texting or taking a photo are completely outside my skill set or desired skill sets.
Now, nineteenth century skills. Those are a different story all together. If it requires a boat load of labor by hand, I’m in. Lately I have been a combination of Scarlett O’Hara making a ball gown out of curtains (albeit the Carol Burnett version with the curtain rod still in it) and The Little Red Hen; especially when it comes to feeding my family.
Last week I decided to make ravioli. For normal people, this typically involves opening up a frozen or fresh package of pasta, dropping it boiling water, draining it, topping it with sauce and cheese, and serving it to one’s family with a gracious smile and pleasant conversation.
Not around here.
DINNER ON THE FARM (PART 1)
7:00 a.m. - Milk goat, gather fresh eggs
8:00 a.m. - Strain and pasteurize milk
8:30 a.m. - Make cheese and let set; then drain
9:00 – 11:00 a.m.- Tromp through fields and lawn collecting dandelion greens.
11:00 – 3:00 p.m. - Soak and rinse and soak and rinse and soak and rinse and clean greens (times infinity). Swear that you will never do this again.
3:00 p.m. – Make pasta dough from eggs and 50 pound bag of flour you feel compelled to use, chill for 30 minutes
3:30 p.m. – Make sauce from tomatoes, garlic and herbs grown, gathered and frozen from last summer’s garden. Open bottle of wine. Put a half cup in the sauce for flavor. Realize the whole day has been spent making a meal that is not yet done and will be eaten in less than ten minutes. Drink the rest of the bottle. Ponder why no one else ever cooks dinner.
4:00 p.m. – Make filling from cherve and ricotta made earlier, roll out dough by hand. Assemble ravioli. Contemplate by passing more wine and drinking the vanilla extract you made out of Maker’s Mark. Set ravioli aside.
5:00 p.m. – Put sauce through food mill to get rid of seeds and stems, boil water for ravioli.
5:10 p.m. - Mix up dressing for dandelion greens (with homemade vinegar from apple and farm grown garlic)
5:15 p.m. - Set table
5:30 p.m. - Cook and drain ravioli
5:45 p.m. – Dinner is served. Realize that you have spent 10 ¾ hours making this meal. Wonder what the hell is wrong with you. Contemplate whether it is genetic or environmental.
DINNER ON THE FARM (PART 2)
Announce to your family that everything they are about to eat (except for the flour and olive oil) was grown on the farm. Remind them repeatedly of their good fortune to be quarantined with someone who can cook and keep them fed. Watch them inhale the ravioli. Consider why you never thought teaching them to chew was important. Question your parenting skills. Have the following conversation:
KID: (Spark flying from utensils in urgency to get the ravioli in his mouth) Where did you get the salad greens?
ME: (Pausing and remembering that pride goeth before the fall, but saying anyway)
The lawn
KID: WHAT?!!
ME: They’re dandelion greens.
KID: (Having eaten half of his salad and now looking a bit nauseous)
Are they okay for you? Did you know eating grass can make you sick? How do you know there isn’t something poisonous mixed in there?
ME: (Rolling my eyes so hard I’m sure they got stuck for a moment)
They are actually very nutritious and good for you. If you went to a high end restaurant this would be haute cuisine. And I touched, washed and scrutinized every leaf that went into that salad at least a million times.
KID: Still looking a bit green and unconvinced
Then, the devil on one shoulder SHISH KABOBBED the angel on the other side with his pitchfork and I heard this little bit of encouragement fall from my lips:
ME: ( In my most comforting mom voice)
I am extremely careful with what I pick and serve in salad. Trust me, if I were going to try to poison you, I’d never do it with salad. I’d mix it into a batch of brownies because I know you’d eat every crumb.
I can’t be certain, but I don’t think there will ever be a problem with the brownies disappearing before I get to taste one in the future.
I have none.
Tik Tok. Snap Chat. Doing more than one thing on my phone at a time. Frankly doing ANYTHING on my phone other than calling, texting or taking a photo are completely outside my skill set or desired skill sets.
Now, nineteenth century skills. Those are a different story all together. If it requires a boat load of labor by hand, I’m in. Lately I have been a combination of Scarlett O’Hara making a ball gown out of curtains (albeit the Carol Burnett version with the curtain rod still in it) and The Little Red Hen; especially when it comes to feeding my family.
Last week I decided to make ravioli. For normal people, this typically involves opening up a frozen or fresh package of pasta, dropping it boiling water, draining it, topping it with sauce and cheese, and serving it to one’s family with a gracious smile and pleasant conversation.
Not around here.
DINNER ON THE FARM (PART 1)
7:00 a.m. - Milk goat, gather fresh eggs
8:00 a.m. - Strain and pasteurize milk
8:30 a.m. - Make cheese and let set; then drain
9:00 – 11:00 a.m.- Tromp through fields and lawn collecting dandelion greens.
11:00 – 3:00 p.m. - Soak and rinse and soak and rinse and soak and rinse and clean greens (times infinity). Swear that you will never do this again.
3:00 p.m. – Make pasta dough from eggs and 50 pound bag of flour you feel compelled to use, chill for 30 minutes
3:30 p.m. – Make sauce from tomatoes, garlic and herbs grown, gathered and frozen from last summer’s garden. Open bottle of wine. Put a half cup in the sauce for flavor. Realize the whole day has been spent making a meal that is not yet done and will be eaten in less than ten minutes. Drink the rest of the bottle. Ponder why no one else ever cooks dinner.
4:00 p.m. – Make filling from cherve and ricotta made earlier, roll out dough by hand. Assemble ravioli. Contemplate by passing more wine and drinking the vanilla extract you made out of Maker’s Mark. Set ravioli aside.
5:00 p.m. – Put sauce through food mill to get rid of seeds and stems, boil water for ravioli.
5:10 p.m. - Mix up dressing for dandelion greens (with homemade vinegar from apple and farm grown garlic)
5:15 p.m. - Set table
5:30 p.m. - Cook and drain ravioli
5:45 p.m. – Dinner is served. Realize that you have spent 10 ¾ hours making this meal. Wonder what the hell is wrong with you. Contemplate whether it is genetic or environmental.
DINNER ON THE FARM (PART 2)
Announce to your family that everything they are about to eat (except for the flour and olive oil) was grown on the farm. Remind them repeatedly of their good fortune to be quarantined with someone who can cook and keep them fed. Watch them inhale the ravioli. Consider why you never thought teaching them to chew was important. Question your parenting skills. Have the following conversation:
KID: (Spark flying from utensils in urgency to get the ravioli in his mouth) Where did you get the salad greens?
ME: (Pausing and remembering that pride goeth before the fall, but saying anyway)
The lawn
KID: WHAT?!!
ME: They’re dandelion greens.
KID: (Having eaten half of his salad and now looking a bit nauseous)
Are they okay for you? Did you know eating grass can make you sick? How do you know there isn’t something poisonous mixed in there?
ME: (Rolling my eyes so hard I’m sure they got stuck for a moment)
They are actually very nutritious and good for you. If you went to a high end restaurant this would be haute cuisine. And I touched, washed and scrutinized every leaf that went into that salad at least a million times.
KID: Still looking a bit green and unconvinced
Then, the devil on one shoulder SHISH KABOBBED the angel on the other side with his pitchfork and I heard this little bit of encouragement fall from my lips:
ME: ( In my most comforting mom voice)
I am extremely careful with what I pick and serve in salad. Trust me, if I were going to try to poison you, I’d never do it with salad. I’d mix it into a batch of brownies because I know you’d eat every crumb.
I can’t be certain, but I don’t think there will ever be a problem with the brownies disappearing before I get to taste one in the future.