Category Archives: poetry

(Young) Mutton Pie

 

Mutton is the meat I love.
On the dresser, see it lie;
Oh, the charming white and red;

Finer meat ne’er met the eye.


Roasting lamb is one of those aromas that reminds me of my grandmother. Combine it with Moroccan spices, and it makes for one of my favorite dishes:

Moroccan Lamb and Sweet Potato Pie

2 tsp. ground cinnamon

4 tsp. ground cumin

3 tsp. ground coriander

2 T. freshly grated ginger

1 T. all-purpose flour (or arrowroot)

1 ½ tsp. salt, plus more to taste

¼ tsp. freshly ground pepper, plus more to taste

2 # lean leg of lamb, cut into 1-inch cubes

3 T. olive oil

4 T. unsalted butter

2 large onions, thinly sliced

1 T. sugar

3 large cloves garlic, peeled and minced (about 1 ½ T.)

3 c. beef stock

1 28-oz. can whole Italian plum tomatoes

2 pieces star anise

2 cinnamon sticks, about 3 inches long

2 medium carrots, peeled and cut into ½-inch rounds

2 # sweet potatoes, peeled and cubed

12 oz. fresh spinach (optional) washed

½ c. dried tart cherries

½ c. dried pitted prunes, cut in half

freshly grated nutmeg, for sprinkling

1. In a medium mixing bowl, combine the ground cinnamon, 2 tsp. cumin, 1 tsp. coriander, flour, ½ tsp. salt, and ¼ tsp. pepper. Toss the lamb pieces with the spice mixture to coat.

2. In a Dutch oven or a large saucepan, heat 2 T. olive oil over medium-high heat. Add the lamb in two to three batches, in a single layer, and sear until dark brown on all sides, about six minutes per batch. Add the remaining T. olive oil during searing if pan becomes dry. Remove the lamb pieces and set aside.

3. Reduce heat to medium; add I T. butter. Add onions and sugar; cook 10 minutes, stirring frequently, scraping up brown bits on bottom of pan while stirring the onion.

4. Reduce heat to medium low, add the minced garlic, and cook until brown and well caramelized, about 15 minutes.

5. Stir in the stock, tomatoes, star anise, cinnamon sticks, carrots, remaining 2 tsp. cumin, 2 tsp. coriander, the fresh ginger, remaining 1 tsp. salt, and reserved lamb. Bring to a boil, reduce heat to medium, and simmer, stirring occasionally, uncovered, for about 1 hour, until lamb is tender and sauce is thick.


6. Meanwhile, place sweet potatoes in a large saucepan; cover with cold water. Bring to a boil, reduce heat to medium, and simmer, uncovered, for 15 minutes, until very tender when pierced with a fork. Drain potatoes, and return to saucepan. Dry potatoes, over medium heat, for 1 minutes. Pass potatoes through a food mill into a medium bowl. Stir in remaining 3 T. butter; add salt to taste. Set aside, loosely covered.

7. Preheat oven to 325 degrees. If using spinach, place in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Season to taste with salt and pepper, cover, and cook until wilted, about 1 ½ minutes. Drain, and rinse under cold water to stop the cooking. Set aside.

8. Remove the star anise and cinnamon sticks from the stew. Stir in the cherries and prunes. Transfer mixture to a deep 2-qt. Casserole, and place a layer of spinach, if using, over the stew. Spoon the sweet potato mixture onto the stew. Place on a baking sheet, and bake for 30 minutes. Sprinkle with freshly grated nutmeg.

Notes: I have always used a whole leg of lamb for this recipe, which usually is about 5#, not 2#, so I end up with more than 2 times the quantity. You can see  I have two pots of the stew simmering.

This gives me plenty to put in the freezer for another day, which brings me to the question of how to prepare the yams. If I purée all the yams, they end up getting  mushed up into the stew by the time I have reheated it, especially if it spends time in the freezer.

The stew tastes especially nice if the flavors have blended overnight, so I try to cook it a day ahead. Also this time I baked ahead of time the sort of monster yams, not very sweet, that are in the discount supermarket around Thanksgiving, not knowing yet how I would arrange everything the next day. Sometimes I have baked smaller sweet potatoes and served them to the side of the stew…

…but on this occasion, I ended up slicing them on top, brushed with butter and sprinkled with parsley and cinnamon, to take to a potluck. Sorry, the photo shows the dish before it had its final heating in the oven, and the butter is still solidifying on the cold yams. That evening the yam slices were gone before the stew itself.

My Ode

Ten or so years ago our home school was engaging in a poetry study, more focused and meaty than the usual informal enjoyment and memorization. I gave an assignment to the children to write their own “poem of direct address,” and in the spirit of Education is Lifelong and Something You Do to Yourself, I wrote one, too.

Last night B. and I went to a Music and Poetry Night, and I read my poem, along with others not my own, which were more serious and poetic. I will share those later. But for now, here is my

Ode to a Rice Cake

I can’t resist you, rice cake,
Your crunch and subtle flavor.
I cannot see you in your bag
And say “I’ll eat one later.”

My hands reach out compulsively
And stuff you right on in.
My teeth sink into your crispness;
The crumbs drift down my chin.

Others mock and call you sparse,
They say you’re lean and thin.
I alone will sing your praise
For the feast that you have been.

Fluffy, tasty pockets of air,
Plain yet savory food.
You’re a technological wonder:
Complex, simple, and good.

I still feel the same way about these snacks, which is why I don’t normally keep any in the house. Besides, they make an awful mess, and the cat doesn’t care to eat the crumbles off the floor.

A Little Can Give You the Whole Thing

Today started out with lots of little annoyances, including a tendinitis flare-up in my elbow, from working on my upright freezer to prepare it to be hauled off. And from hacking frost and ice off the food to prepare it to go into the new freezer.

Now I’m waiting for the delivery of the new machine (and what a useful homemakey blessing that is!), and as just about every sort of housework I need to do is irritating this elbow, I sat down to read some poems.

Wendy Cope has written quite a few that I only recently discovered with delight, and here is one about enjoying the little things, and how one’s mood can help in that endeavor. It’s from an anthology put together by Garrison Keillor, titled Good Poems, which some of my children pooled their resources to buy me for Christmas many years ago. Wasn’t that sweet?

As I’m forced to slow down and leave many things undone today, it’s the perfect reminder. It seems to me it works both ways: If you stop fretting about the past or the future, enough to see what is around you and notice what or Who is near right now, it can improve your perspective and give you some helpful momentum for noticing more lovely ordinary things.

This poem also carried a couple of specific gratitude pokes for me: the thought of how many gorgeous big oranges I have eaten in my life, picked from my father’s trees. And the wonder of having children who would give me a book of poems.

The Orange

by Wendy Cope

At lunchtime I bought a huge orange–
The size of it made us all laugh.
I peeled it and shared it with Robert and Dave–
They got quarters and I had a half.

And that orange, it made me so happy,
As ordinary things often do
Just lately. The shopping. A walk in the park.
This is peace and contentment. It’s new.

The rest of the day was quite easy.
I did all the jobs on my list
And enjoyed them and had some time over.
I love you. I’m glad I exist.

Trying to Be Present

Sundays usually feel transitional, but they don’t always strike me the same way. If the upcoming Monday is free of outside obligations, Sunday can feel restful all day, as I know that I can organize myself and accomplish quite a bit of work the next day, and get the week off right (although I know Sunday is the first day of the week, my mental calendar doesn’t show it in that position.)

 

This week’s Lord’s Day falls in the middle of a season that is transitional as well. I’m just through a very busy time, and waiting for a Big Event, the birth of a new grandchild. It’s a chance to catch up on little bits of work that no one is holding a deadline over my head about. Such as that slow de-cluttering I have a backlog of. This afternoon is providing some time for sifting. Much of the stuff is linked to my past, and I have to dispose of many things in the future–maybe the very near future, like tomorrow?


To remind me to enjoy this work, and to say hello, I give you another of Richard Wilbur’s Opposites, #19:


Because what’s present doesn’t last,

The opposite of it is past.

Or if you choose to look ahead,

Future’s the opposite instead.

Or look around to see what’s here,

And absent things will not appear.

There’s one more opposite of present

That’s really almost too unpleasant:

It is when someone takes away

Something with which you like to play.

 

If I start to think about all the playing with words he does here, I begin to see that I could enter into two opposites of present at the same time by being discontent: miss the present moment, which is also taking away from myself, and thereby missing the gift/present God wants to give me.


And I don’t want to miss it, so, “Hi ho, hi ho, It’s back to work I go!”


Christ is Risen!