No Complaints

As I suspected, having a stove whose components work has made preparing meals so effortless as to be routine. Not having to wait hours for a small pot of water to boil, or worrying that only the top half of a casserole's contents will cook thoroughly is going to make it harder to come up with blogworthy material. But I owe it to my readers to try to find the stories worth telling. There will inevitably be minor mishaps and victories. But more dinners than not are likely to be as uneventful as this one. Bear with me.

Master got his shepherd's pie this past weekend. Or should we call it a cottage pie? Neither seems right. "Thanksgiving pie," maybe? I left the choice meat up to Him, and we ended up with ground turkey. This wouldn't have been my first choice - too bland, too dry. But I made do, and we were both happy with the results. Parsnips and Yukon Gold potatoes, skins on, lent more flavor and textural interest to the mash. The bottle of Worcestershire sauce I'd spied in Master's downstairs storage turned out to have a 2006 expiration date. I'm not quite so bold a soul. So that was out, and dry sherry was substituted. I'd prepared the potatoes, carrots, mushrooms (using up those wonderful shiitakes) and onions at home, which gave me a chance to play around with the Vidalia Chop Wizard I'd received for the holiday. Verdict? Great for potatoes and carrots, but I'll stick with a good, sharp knife, thank you. Especially for onions. My brother swears by this gadget, though. So further trial and experimentation may be in order.

A box of frozen peas, fresh marjoram (and here I must bemoan what a sorry and decrepit lot the herbs at the supermarket were that day), a bit of butter, salt, and a heavy hand on the black pepper completed the filling. Topped with the parsnip-and-potato mash and baked until its crackling surface oozed rivulets of butter, the dish tasted as good as it looked. Master pronounced it one of my finest moments. I'm sure I blushed. I'm happy to please, but never completely comfortable with compliments.

I can't recall why, now, but I felt that I'd "owed" it to Master. So I indulged him with a dessert - apple crisp, this time perfectly executed. After the earlier fiasco, I wasn't about to take unnecessary chances. I used a commercial apple crisp mix for the topping, so I can only in clear conscience claim partial credit - for the idea to cut the butter in by hand, and for the inspired addition of orange and lemon zest - for the sensational results. The Empire apples melted into gooey sweet-tart loveliness beneath the crunchy cinnamon-and-citrus-enhanced crust. It was a damn good apple crisp. The mix seemed to use powdered oats, and I missed the rustic texture of whole rolled flakes. Next time, when I'm feeling brave, I will attempt this with my own crust concoction. The bar's been set pretty high, I confess. But I think I can still surpass it.