Cooking in the West

I will have been retired for one month this week, and somehow retirement is not working out like I thought it would. Perhaps the reason is that I retired from the only job where I actually received a salary. My bosses at my other jobs have not acknowledged my announcements regarding retirement. In fact, at my County School Superintendent retirement party, my husband gifted me with a state of the art rechargeable high powered LED spotlight so I will be able to illuminate the entire barnyard while night checking the heifers. He is such a thoughtful man!

We did receive a very thoughtful gift from our son and daughter-in-law, which was tickets to Arizona for a little time away from the cold and snow. It included lodging, transportation, and our very own tour guide in the form of Shaye’s poor Aunt Melissa who was going to be stuck hosting us--until the accident happened.

One would think I would have tried to be very careful prior to going on a big trip--especially since I no longer have county health insurance. However, yesterday, six days out from our trip, I was blindsided by my grandson’s good deed. He was visiting and decided the dog’s water bowl needed to be filled. Unfortunately, he dribbled a trail of water from the sink across our slick Pergo dining room, and I did not notice it until I slipped in it as I headed to the kitchen. Bodies my age are not meant to do the splits, and I said words that I am pretty sure Jasper had never heard--at least in combination. After several minutes of writhing on the floor and educating Jasper in “pardon my French” language, Remi pulled me to my feet, but I could not bear weight on my right leg. Apparently there are three classifications of hamstring injuries, and according to WebMD, I have one of them. With our Arizona trip in jeopardy, it will be up to the doctors to decide which type of hamstring injury I have and how much healing time I need.

County Superintendents receive a gold bell upon retirement, and it has been perfect to summon my nurse. I think I can see suspicion in his eyes every time I ask him to bring me something, since I suspect that in his mind this pre-calving injury reeks of deja vu. Several years ago right at the start of calving season, my son Bret burst through the back door and said, “Oh my God, what is wrong with you?” I was lying on the kitchen floor, and I am sure he thought I was dead except that I responded with some moaning and whimpering.

He was followed closely by my husband. As soon as they verified that I was breathing, my dearly beloved husband asked in his most concerned voice, “Did you pay your life insurance premium this month?”

When this didn’t even induce a smile, Bret asked, “What on earth happened?” I explained that I was running for the phone on my freshly mopped floor when I did the splits and completely screwed up my good knee, which was the one that was bent backwards underneath me at a really bad angle. For a few moments, they asked me good questions like, “Do you want us to lift you up? Do you think you should go to the emergency room? Do you want some Ibuprofen? How about a knee brace? Do you think you can stand up? Do you think you tore your ACL or MCL or meniscus?” Lastly, Bret asked, “Where are your pants?”

This was a really good question, because just fifteen minutes before, he had come in for lunch, and I had been wearing my house cleaning sweat pants, which now were embarrassingly nowhere to be seen. Bret had left the house without lunch when Remi had come to get help pulling a backwards calf out of a cow. A few minutes later, the phone rang, so I assumed they were calling me on the cell phone to ask me to bring them something or instruct me to call the vet. Without completing my task of changing into jeans, I ran for the phone, forgetting all about the wet kitchen floor.

As I lay there on the floor knowing that I had hurt myself really badly, the first thing I thought of was a book I had read long ago about how you should practice dragging yourself to the phone from all points in your house. In my case, I should have practiced dragging myself to the dryer to get my pants. Instead I found myself lying on the floor surrounded by comedians.

Remi said, “I can’t wait to read the story of how this happened. It is probably the most severe phone answering injury in history.” To this I retorted that I would classify it as a calving injury, since I was trying to heroically answer the phone because I thought there was a calving emergency.”

Bret added, “People your age should not be running on a wet floor. Didn’t you read the warning label on the flooring?” I replied that it would be nice if he brought me some jeans out of the dryer.

“Speaking of that,” he answered, “It is almost spring, so you probably should mow your legs.”

Remi chimed in, “Too bad Kevin (referring to our sheep raising neighbor) has already sheared, because maybe you could have had them shorn and donated to the Locks of Love!” I told them that as soon as I could walk, I was going to find a place to rehabilitate where there were no cowboys posing as stand up comedians, but they were just getting warmed up.

I lost track of which comic said what, but it went sort of like this: “We are probably going to have to install handicapped rails from your recliner to the phone. Hey, does this mean we will have to change your nickname from Greased Lightning to Speedy? Maybe you should get some of those socks with the rubber grips on the bottom like they wear in nursing homes. You do know you can’t get workman’s comp for this, don’t you? Are you sure you’re not just faking this so no one will ask you to do night calving checks? Does this mean your bad leg will now be your good leg? (This was in reference to the fact that the bad leg had undergone surgeries for both a torn meniscus and ACL with care to be mostly recovered before calving started.) Does your Aunt Shirley still have that hospital bed? Maybe we can roll it up next to the stove so you can cook us some lunch.”

Finally, I cracked a smile just to shut them up, and I retorted with a couple comments about their questionable lineage (with sincere apologies to my mother-in-law), and I also told them what they could do with some of their body parts. Then they hoisted me up, and we all had lunch and lived happily ever after in paradise. My frayed MCL eventually healed up just as I assume my hamstring will., but at least I was wearing pants this time!

My featured cook this week is faithful contributor, Jane Lambert of Stevensville, Montana. I think Jane knows me too well, because she wrote,”Winter doldrums got you down? Up in the night pulling calves? Just come in from feeding, and it’s 20 below? Maybe just uptight? These slightly alcoholic bundt cake recipes might just hit the spot!” Thanks, Jane!

Rum Cake:

1 C. finely chopped nuts

1 yellow cake mix

4 oz. instant vanilla pudding mix

4 large eggs

1/2 C. cold water

1/2 C. oil

1/2 C. dark rum

Preheat the oven to 325 degrees. Grease and flour a bundt, or tube pan. Sprinkle chopped nuts on the bottom of the pan. Mix all ingredients well, then pour into the pan. Bake for an hour or until it tests done with a toothpick. Cool on a wire rack for 15 or 20 minutes, and then invert onto a cake dish. Prick top of cake.

Topping: Mix and cook for five minutes:

3/4 C. water

1 C. sugar

1 stick of butter.

Cool for five minutes and add 1/2 C. rum. Let thicken some, and pour over the top of the cake.

Peppermint Schnapps Chocolate Cake:

1 box chocolate cake mix --(I used Betty Crocker Triple Chocolate Fudge)

4oz. box instant chocolate pudding

1 C. Peppermint Schnapps

1/4 C. water

4 large eggs

1/2 C. oil

Prepare bundt pan: grease well with butter. Scatter chocolate sprinkles on bottom and sides of pan. Mix well and pour into the prepared bundt pan. Bake at 325 degrees for about 45 minutes. Test for doneness with a toothpick. Let cool in a pan for 15 minutes on a wire rack and then turn out onto the rack. Cool thoroughly and apply glaze.

Glaze:

1 1/4 C. powdered sugar

3 T. Schnapps

Mix together well, adjusting the consistency to your liking with powdered sugar or Schnapps, and drizzle glaze over the cake.