Popcorn and Sushi

Soup Night: Lazy Sausage and Greens

Just about every Wednesday afternoon I'm greeted by this question:  "It's Soup Night tonight, right?  Because Wednesday night is always Soup Night."  First Child is technically incorrect, as we don't have soup every Wednesday, but she's just about right--I usually throw something together in the crockpot and call it soup on Wednesdays, due to our crazy-busy schedule of ballet and AWANA on those evenings.  Below is a "recipe" of mine, more of an amalgamation, really, that's become a favorite in cooler weather.  It's very flavorful, and somehow the whole family likes it.  Sorry I don't have a photo of it to show, but it's still too darned hot here to think of soup.  It only occurred to me to share this recipe because Stefani at Blue Yonder is hosting a gathering of soup recipe links in her sidebar.  I can't wait to try them--just as soon as it cools off a bit.

Lazy Sausage and Greens Soup

1 lb. bulk sausage (make it organic/preservative-free, the kind I can't get here)
1 onion, chopped, or just part of it, if the whole thing seems too much
a clove of fresh garlic
whatever seasonings float your boat (you can go Mexican, with cumin and chili powder to taste, or Italian, with oregano and thyme to taste)
1 small box frozen greens (turnip, collard, kale, whatever you like)
1 large can chopped tomatoes with their juice
1 can black beans, or any other beans you like, drained and rinsed
1 aseptic carton of broth, or two cans (I normally use chicken or vegetable--bully for you if you have your own, made from scratch)

Squeeze the sausage out of its packaging and let it saute in its own juices (fat) on medium heat, in a large skillet or lovely Le Creuset dutch oven, if you aren't using the crockpot tonight.  Don't worry if the sausage isn't defrosted (I usually forget); just let it sit longer.  Don't forget to stir--but only with non-metal if you're rockin' the Le Creuset.  Make sure your sausage is good and cooked (no pink!), then you can add your preferred amount of onion and let it saute for a few minutes.  Toss in the garlic and give it a minute or two in the pan, along with your choice of seasonings--they'll taste better if you add them now, but if you forget, you can always throw them in at the end.   

Now comes the super-easy part.  If you need to head out for a few hours and won't be continuing this recipe in your enameled cast iron, haul out the crockpot and turn it on low, then drop in (not too hard!) the frozen block of greens.  Now see how quickly you can dump in the tomatoes, beans, and broth, since you should have left the house five minutes ago.  Give everything a quick but gentle stir.  Don't forget, in your haste, to put the lid on the crockpot (I admit I've done this before); now you can head out the door.  Come back in an hour, or three, and delightful aromas and flavors will be waiting to greet you.  Itadaki-masu!

Oh--serves 4, with leftovers.

Please Step Away from the Salad

I am wildly addicted to this salad.  Here it is, in all its glory, just prior to our Christmas Eve meal at home with friends last year.  Prepared often by these lovely friends, the salad was inspired by a similar concoction served at a Greek restaurant in their home of Tarpon Springs, Florida.  It contains most, if not all, of the elements of a typical Greek salad:  lettuce, tomatoes, red/purple onions, olives, cucumbers, pepperoncini, feta, and an oil and vinegar dressing.  But wait!  There's a very special addition, hidden underneath all of that:  potato salad!  And not just any potato salad, but Japanese potato salad!  Now, let it be known that I am, for some inexplicable reason, a complete nut for potato salad in any incarnation.  There's something special about the Japanese version, though--it's very smooth and is made with yummy Japanese mayonnaise (in the weird Kewpie-doll-logo squeeze-plastic bottle!), and it's--well, it's just really good.  When you have a bite of it with just a bit of feta, a crunchy piece of lettuce, maybe an olive:  heaven.

When The Salad made its appearance on Christmas Eve, I asked everyone, "Is it possible to be in love with a salad?"  They laughed, but I'm not sure why.  Seriously, I don't believe I'd ever felt that way about a salad before.  It's as if bells were ringing, birds were singing, and all was right with the world.  Let's just say it wasn't the typical reaction to eating salad.

Anyway, we shared a meal with these friends last weekend, and because they are true friends, they made The Salad.  I was just the teensiest bit territorial about it, though there was plenty for all.  But the leftovers--just one small Pyrex container, not enough!  When First Child headed into the kitchen the next day thinking she would have a scoop of my portion (all of it), I almost knocked the spoon from her hand.

This salad and I, we could take over the world.

Poop #1

Check out this cheerful fellow.  What's that in his bag, you ask?  Why, it's his own poop, and if that shovel in his hand is any indication, he's just finished scooping it himself, and happily!  Those birds are apparently whispering words of a congratulatory nature in his ears.  So why can't American dogs scoop their own poop, huh?  Because they just aren't as interested in the betterment of society as a whole, that's why.

Coming soon:  Poop #2  (pun intended!).

Impatience, and an Important Book

3:05: 
"Do you think he's home yet?"
"No.  Give him ten more minutes."
3:07:
"Can I see if he's home yet?"
"I'm sure he isn't.  I said you need to wait ten minutes or so."
3:08:
"Do you think he's there yet?"
"Can't you give him a few more minutes?"
Slam!

There goes Second Child, out the door and on the way up the hill to see if his new friend (and fellow Pokemon aficionado) is home from school.  We're happy about this friend, just moved in from California, whose family actually has chosen to live off base, unlike most of the military families here.  He's a good kid and a good fit for ours, and I must say, we're thrilled to have an American boy for Second Child to play with, after two years of nobody.  Sure, there have been street-soccer matches with a few Japanese boys nearby,  but  that just hasn't been enough.  Second Child has had on-base friends, but most of them have stayed busy with the loads of other on-base kids, who roam the base playgrounds in packs.  We know all about this; we lived on base for two years.

And then there's First Child, whose best friend moved in June, and will be moving again next year, and the year after that (military kids have to put up with a lot!).  One reason we put both kids in school for a couple of hours in the mornings is so they might each make a couple of new friends; it's unfortunate that there are very few homeschoolers here, so those kinds of friendships have been few and far-between.  Actually, I believe that a child really needs only a few good friends, and in fact, this is all most kids can handle.  In June I read a wonderful book, Hold On to Your Kids: Why Parents Need to Matter More Than Peers.  I really believe this book should be required reading for parents--that's how strongly I feel about it.  The authors, two Canadian doctors,  talk about how kids are often pushed (by their parents!) into not being "shy" or "too weird"--imagine that: in a society as seemingly non-conformist as ours (the U.S. and Canada), here we are, telling our kids not to stand out!  The authors also believe that rebellion against one's parents isn't unavoidable; rather, it's a sign that kids (often teens) have bonded too closely with their peers, who have in some ways practically replaced the parents.  It's fascinating stuff, and there's much to learn about how peer attachment has created heaps of problems for much of the developed world. 

Read it and be amazed.  Then keep your kids as close as you can, for as long as you can.  Of course, let them head up the street for that occasional Pokemon battle.

Lotus Ride 2007

A few days ago we went on our 2nd Annual Family Bike Ride Through the Lotus Fields.  Our part of Japan, and our small city in particular, is known for its lotus fields.  Lotus root is a popular ingredient in Japanese cooking--pickled, deep-fried, or stewed--and lotus motifs (the flower, leaves, and sliced roots) are somewhat popular in Japanese design.  The lotus flower has enduring symbolism because of its ability to push up and out of the sloppiest, boggiest of circumstances to become a true thing of beauty. 

 

The leaves aren't too shabby, either.  They grow to be quite large, as you can see from our photos.  It's just about harvest time now, so it won't be long before the stems are hacked down and the roots pulled up--thus, for our bike ride, time was of the essence.  We enjoy watching the herons, frogs, crawfish, and other creatures who stalk the fields in search of smaller prey (right now, we're seeing crows perching atop telephone wires, lying in wait for just the right juicy crawfish to emerge).  Yeah, it's pretty cool.

Blogging Star

Well, isn't this dandy?  New blog friend  Erina very kindly presented me with this award, which was created originally by Barb at Skittles' Place.  Barb states that this award is "for bloggers who shine their light throughout the Blogoshere. Some do it with humor, others with creativity, and others with their kind and thoughtful natures."   Thanks to Barb for creating the award and to Erina for thinking of me--I'll pass along the love soon!

Hanoi: People

More from our April 2007 trip:

 

Conflicted

So here's the thing:  school started two weeks ago.  Since I've had kids, the beginning of a new school year has been important primarily to only one out of four of my immediate family members--that one being Husband, because after all, they're paying him to find it important.  But this year is different.  This year we have all been affected.  And I'm not sure I like that.  See, I'm a dyed-in-the-wool homeschooler.  I wasn't homeschooled myself, but once my children were born, I knew this kind of learning would be right for us.  Indeed, it has been, and besides a brief, unfortunate stint in a passive-aggressive Japanese kindergarten, both kids have spent their days at home with me.  To clarify, they have always been allowed plenty of outside opportunities, from piano and language lessons to Girl Scouts and soccer.  But as I said, this year is different.

This year, both kids are in school for about two hours each morning.  This came about via a family decision (with me as the only semi-dissenting party) based on several factors:  we could hand-pick teachers and classes, Husband is on the same campus, there are very few homeschoolers in our area, and both kids (ages 9 and 12) could use a bit more structure and accountability in their daily routines.  I must say that things are going quite well so far, and I really wouldn't expect otherwise.  First Child loves helping out in the library, Second Child has made a couple of new friends, and both kids are doing more writing.  Never mind that the extra two hours were supposed to provide me with extra time for my writing--that hasn't exactly happened, but maybe it will come in time.  Meanwhile, I run errands and try to tell myself that we're doing the right thing, at least for now.  And the early-mornings and afternoons are still ours to share.

Spider

Sharing indoor space with spiders is not unusual in Japan; in fact, it's said to be "lucky" to have tiny black jumping spiders (not their scientific name, obviously) in permanent residence in one's home for most of the year.  Our family must be very lucky.  But these little guys, and gals, are innocuous and don't bother us at all; we just try not to step on them.  In fact, I take pride in my non-fear of them.

Husband hardly ever goes to conferences, so I find it oddly humorous that he happened to be off to one in Tokyo last night.  He couldn't have timed his departure any better, as he missed the appearance, then disappearance, of an altogether different kind of spider.  There's a Brady Bunch episode in which the Bradys are in Hawaii and there's some ridiculousness involving an idol and a "curse" and a big spider crawls on Peter during the night.  Are you following me here?  Well, that spider had nothing on this one--and those bizarre scream-like sounds emanating from Peter?  Just like what came out of First Child--she even admitted it (the Brady shenanigans are well-known 'round here).  She was with me when I spotted it, this thing--about eight feet away in the kitchen, loping along the floor in the semi-darkness.   I immediately pointed it out to her, then she did the crazy scream but had the presence of mind to run off for a flashlight.  She came back, screamed again, then trained the big red Maglite on the invader, whose eyes glinted back at us creepily. 

One of us called out to Second Child, who was watching "Star Wars" in another room.  The spider, frightened, or more likely, befuddled by its overwrought observers, froze.  This gave us a moment to think, and to stop screaming.  Second Child appeared and came up with a plan immediately:  why not drop a hefty hardback book on it?  In retrospect, his idea was quite sensible, but First Child, in between screams, wanted to be nice to the spider and try to trap it.  I, out of some misplaced goodness of heart, agreed. 

Now, what to do?  It was quickly apparent once the spider started moving again (provoking more screams--our neighbors surely must have been picturing murderous activity) that any kind of capture was going to take some careful maneuvering.  This thing was too big (think dessert plate) and too fast for any conventional killing or trapping techniques; this would take some thought.  Unfortunately, the best our three-person think tank could come up with was a pink plastic trash can, to be placed (theoretically) atop the spider, weighted with the aforementioned hefty hardback, and left for the night in hopes that morning would bring clarity and a new plan for removal.  The can was procured, but the standoff continued while I (by default the only willing available trapper since Husband was gone) pondered my sneak attack.  By this time, the spider had made a right turn out of the kitchen (more screams) and headed into the living area, where I was alarmed at the thought that it might find sanctuary under the couch. 

Second Child, by this time "officially creeped out" and also amazed that we hadn't used his plan, deserted us to finish his movie.  I shouldn't have worried that the spider would head under the couch; I should have worried that I would miss him with the can (well, he was in a corner!) and he would scurry off into the adjacent computer/craft room.  Another standoff, and then another move by the spider and a couple of crazed trapping attempts with the can.  I probably don't have to tell you that it ended well--for the spider, not for us.  I finally (close to an hour into this adventure) threw my hands in the air, and with First Child's blessing, said good-night to the spider.  So, twenty hours later I sit and wonder if the spider is in here with me, conjuring its own sneak attack--which, if it has any chance of working, will not involve the use of a pink plastic trash can.