Changing Pie View

"Fish don't fry in the kitchen,
Beans don't burn on the grill.

Took a whole lotta tryin'

Just to get up that hill.

Now we're up in the big leagues,

Gettin' our turn at bat!

As long as we live,

It's you and me, baby!

There ain't nothin' wrong with that!

Hooray, We're Movin' on Up! (Movin' on Up!)

To the east side! (Movin' on Up!)

To a dee-luxe apartment in the sky!

We're Movin' on Up! (Movin' on Up!)

To the east side! (Movin' on Up!)

We've finally got a piece of the pie!

"The Jeffersons" Theme Song

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OGtFSTL1Nbo

Blame it on the 2008 national election. I don't believe I'll be able to think about pie the same way ever again. Too much pie talk for my taste. Too many non-capitalist analogies about pie cutting and pie sharing, big pieces of pie, small pieces of pie, and no pie at all.

I'm a lifelong member of the Expanding Pie Club. That means that I believe we don't need to cut a fixed pie into little slivers and mete it out to the masses. I say, we bake more pies. Under my plan, you can have an entire pie of your own. You have to do the work, and you might have to take some risks. But, you can even get two pies if you work hard enough. Or, more. It's not the same thing as printing money. It's known as "Productivity." Some people have been known to call it "Wealth Creation."

I loved watching "The Jeffersons" back in the day. Because of the show's jaunty jingle, the couple became synonymous with the "piece of the pie" idea, and it was a great story. But, it's not like they got a piece of the pie by taking it from someone else. They got their own pie, the old-fashioned way. They earned it.

Anyway, it's not like I'm a big pie fan, the dessert kind. I prefer cakes, cupcakes (like the Red Velvets I made for Thanksgiving, in the above photo), brownies, cheesecake, and cookies. I have a slew of recipes for those things, and not that many pie recipes. But, I cannot escape pie. It's just not American.

I grew up in communities and a culture where a piece of pie and a cup of coffee after church on Sunday night was a highly-sought social event. Who invited whom for what, and to where, was always part of the story. If you were invited to the Pastor's house, you were probably a Big Deal. Most pastor's wives in those days were required to make great pie. Because, if not -- well, you know those Sunday night soirees would be talked about forever. And, not in a good way.

When we lived in northern California, I could bake just about anything I wanted, no matter how complicated. I only delivered successes. But, approaching Thanksgiving every year, I would start to tremble about the pumpkin pie. I don't even like pumpkin pie. But, my parents like pumpkin pie. And, any other guests at the table who were not members of my immediate family would invariably expect pumpkin pie on that day.

So, it became necessary to seek and deliver that perfect pumpkin pie. Less than perfect was unacceptable. I was only holding pumpkin pie to the same standard I had set for my other, preferred dessert items.

Before Martha entered my life (if you have to ask, you're not paying attention), I found a recipe that called for baking a blind crust and a separate pumpkin custard filling in a different dish. Then, JUST BEFORE I intended to serve the pie, and not a minute sooner, I slipped the custard filling into the crust. That way, the filling was cold like it was supposed to be, but the crust would not be soggy from refrigeration. If I had any problems around the edges from the transfer process, I just covered it by piping big scallops of whipped cream over them.

Worked for me. My mother didn't like soggy crust, so I made pumpkin pie this way and didn't think I needed to research the matter further.

My mother pitied my two-step process and made the pumpkin pie once we all got to Colorado. But, this year, I found myself in a situation where I would need to be the one to bake a pumpkin pie or there would be no homemade pumpkin pie for Thanksgiving. Nothing life-threatening, just a situation.

Martha came to the rescue, once again. The November, 2008 issue of Martha Stewart Living delivered a compelling photo and a simple recipe.

By "simple," I mean one that didn't require me to walk deep into my pumpkin patch, identify and harvest the requisite variety that is most perfect for pie, pluck it, clean it, roast it in wedges for several hours, puree the results and cool them for a day.

Martha may be my Homegirl. But, sometimes, even I want to join that new radio program that her daughter and a friend started on Sirius that makes fun of her excesses (with her permission, of course).

My mother is definitely my biggest fan. She declared this pumpkin pie to be the "best ever." She said that about the cornbread dressing this year also. So, I'm not sure whether it's really true. Since I don't like pumpkin pie, I will never be sure. But, I did gobble up the crumbs from the first piece - you know, the one that comes out looking like somebody sat on it. It was pretty tasty, even to a pumpkin pie non-liker.

Maybe I do have pumpkin pie in my future. Truthfully, I'm hoping for a whole house full of pies someday. For everyone.

Traditional Pumpkin Pie with a Fluted Crust
Serves 12

All-purpose flour, for surface
Pate Brisee (recipe follows)

Ingredients:

1 can (15 ounces) solid-pack pumpkin
3/4 cup packed light-brown sugar
1 tablespoon cornstarch
1/2 teaspoon coarse salt
3/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
3/4 teaspoon ground ginger
1/4 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
3 large eggs
1 can (12 ounces) evaporated milk
Ground cloves
Whipped cream, for serving

Deep Dish Pate Brisee

Makes enough for one 9-inch deep-dish piecrust

Ingredients:
2-1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon sugar

1 teaspoon salt
8 ounces (2 sticks) cold unsalted butter, cut into 1/2-inch cubes
3 to 4 tablespoons ice water

Directions:
Pulse flour, salt, and sugar in a food processor until combined. Add butter, and process until mixture resembles coarse meal, about 10 seconds. With the machine running, add ice water in a slow, steady stream through the feed tube until mixture just begins to hold together.

Shape dough into a disk, wrap in plastic, and refrigerate 1 hour or up to 3 days (or freeze for up to 1 month; thaw in refrigerator before using).

Directions:

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. On a lightly floured surface, roll pate brisee disk 1/8 inch thick, then cut into a 16-inch circle. Fit circle into a 9-inch deep-dish pie dish, leaving a 1-inch overhang. Fold edges under.

Shape large, loose half circles at edge of dough, then fold into a wavelike pattern to create a fluted edge. Prick bottom of dough all over with a fork. Freeze for 15 minutes.

Cut a circle of parchment, at least 16 inches wide, and fit into pie shell. Fill with pie weights or dried beans. Bake until edges of crust begin to turn gold, about 15 minutes. Remove pie weights and parchment. Bake until golden brown, 15 to 20 minutes more. Transfer to a wire rack, and let cool.

Meanwhile, whisk pumpkin, sugar, cornstarch, salt, cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, vanilla, eggs, milk, and a pinch of cloves in a large bowl.

Reduce oven temperature to 325 degrees. Transfer pie dish to a rimmed baking sheet, and pour pumpkin mixture into cooled crust. Bake until center is set but still a bit wobbly, 50 to 55 minutes. (If crust browns too quickly, tent edges with a strip of foil folded in half lengthwise.) Let cool in pie dish on a wire rack. Refrigerate until well chilled, at least 6 hours (preferably overnight). Serve chilled with whipped cream.

Martha's Helpful Hint:

Most pumpkin pies are best served chilled, which can cause moisture to form on the surface. To remedy, gently blot with a paper towel before garnishing and slicing.

CRD Notes:

It might have been the altitude (6100 feet), but the filling took much longer to set at 325 than stated in the recipe. After the fully-allotted 55 minutes lapsed, I checked the pie every five minutes until the center was "a bit wobbly." The finished pie sat on a granite counter overnight, loosely covered with a cotton dish towel (it was baked at 8 p.m., but was still too warm to refrigerate at 11 p.m.). I placed it into the refrigerator at 8:30 a.m. on Thanksgiving Day and served it in the early evening.

I didn't do the wavy crust pattern shown in Martha's picture (top), and the flutes I formed didn't hold up in the baking process. But, it ate good. I'll work on improving presentation for next year.

The pie dish I used was the red ceramic 9" deep dish plate by Bialetti, available at Target in Highlands Ranch for $6.99.

Irish Eyes are Cryin'

"On the plus side, Notre Dame haters can breathe easy, knowing that Weis will be bumbling around the sidelines for at least another year. If you like seeing Notre Dame struggle, this is the best kind of news."

Dan Shanoff, http://www.sportingnews.com/, "Shanoff's Wake-up Call: ND Keeps Weis, Really?" December 3, 2008

The rumors started leaking last night, citing "unnamed sources" inside IrishEyes, the Notre Dame forum on Scout.com.

Certainly, it had to be true. Charlie Weis would get another year at Notre Dame.

Booya, Grandma!!!! Fight ON!!!

The only thing a Trojan fan likes better than participating in the demise of a coach at ND is the opportunity to watch everyone associated with the program suffer for another season. It's almost unfair. Beating them last Saturday night in the Coliseum 38-3. Holding them to four first downs -- the first of which came at the end of the third quarter. The last two of which came in garbage time. One of those two only coming after a 15-yard personal foul, courtesy SC.

Although I would have liked to see more offensive consistency from SC and a complete shutout, it's hard to nit-pick the performance. I was hoping that Jimmy Clausen would eat a bigger portion of Los Angeles dirt while pinned to the stadium floor. But, I'll take what we got. Fight ON! I especially enjoyed the Clausen quotes to his teammates overhead by reporters in ND's locker room after the beating subsided: "Guys, we're not that far apart."

Right. In your 21-year-old-sophomore boyish dreams. Whatever gets you up in the morning.

Yesterday, the headline on The Observer, Notre Dame's student newspaper, was "Good grief, Charlie." It was a sober and straightforward recitation of the facts. And, the stats.

Then, today, letters to the editor from alums were published. One student columnist even suggested that the team should decline a bowl game invitation, to circumvent further embarrassment. They awoke this morning to the official statement from their Athletic Director that Charlie will get more time. I don't know if they have enough candles in The Grotto for the procession of sad souls who will brave the bleak, gray Indiana skies in search of mercy.

The cynic in me assumes that the buyout provision in his contract must be more astronomically stratospheric than anyone thought. They just couldn't pay the money. It's not that they don't have the money - it's that they don't want to pay it.

I remember working for a CEO who didn't want to pay a reasonable buyout of an employee that both deserved and needed to go. He declined my recommendation and insulted her with a fraction of the amount. He eventually had to pay her more than twice what I had originally said would do the job. Of course, she had hired an attorney after the first offer. The rest, as they say, is history. It seemed to take forever to get her out of the organziation and pick up the pieces from the damage she had inflicted. And, the money had to be paid anyway. Just to make her go away. Just to "start over."

The pragmatist in me thinks that ND did the research and discovered they can't get Urban Meyer. At least, not yet. Not that Urban Meyer is the only possible successor to Charlie. But, as one of the alum letters in the student newspaper said today, "...We have a lot to be proud of at Notre Dame. I am proud to be a Notre Dame alumni. But we would be well-served if we used this Charlie Weis spectacle as an opportunity to be introspective and reassess the culture of arrogance that has developed at Notre Dame throughout the years."

That arrogance continues to assume that only the biggest names and the brightest talents are lined up like jets over O'Hare for that job. That their national championship-by-birthright is whatever year next season occupies. What the students and alumni have realized, but the administration may not yet understand, is that the world of Division I football has not only passed them by. It's left them dillusional in the dust.

The USC-Notre Dame annual contest has always been described as the greatest intersectional rivalry in all of college sports. Frankly, it's a lot of fun to pound the Irish into sand. But, just as frankly, it's really a lot of fun to pound them into sand -- or, just beat them -- when they're contending for something.

My first in-person USC-Notre Dame game was at the age of 16 with my 18 year-old boyfriend, a freshman at SC. It was a cold, cloudy day at the Coliseum, with the Goodyear blimp humming overhead, a sold-out stadium of long-haired women (and men), and a stadium configuration that permitted Traveler to round a track oval every time USC scored. Anthony Davis was knee-high to a grasshopper and ran and scored until he almost could not stand. Six times. Same for Traveler. The pure fun and no-stranger-in-my-midst environment of the student section confirmed that I had to attend USC. At the time, I didn't know how in the world I would ever afford it. But, I was going to do it. That was an Orange Bowl-bound, 8-1 Notre Dame team. USC won the national championship that year. But, the next year, Notre Dame won the national championship.

*****For extra points: Who did Notre Dame lose to in humiliating fashion in that Orange Bowl??

When I did get there, we had the USC-ND game of a lifetime in 1974 during the season of my freshman year. "The Comeback." The famous 55-24 miracle of a game, with another impossible Anthony Davis performance. The ND head coach at that time, Ara Parseghian, had brought the defending national champion Irish into the Coliseum and built a 24-0 lead just before halftime. Their previous season result, of course, meant that they had defeated SC at home to run the table for the trophy. But, in 1974, Davis triggered the comeback with a 102-yard kick-off return to make it 24-6 before they went into the tunnel.

We were still screaming, hollering and jumping around too much to see that we had missed the extra point. But, we knew. We knew USC was going to win. It was just a matter of time. Seventeen minutes of time, to be precise. That's all it took to grab an insurmountable 55-24 lead.

Years later, Parseghian was famously quoted as saying that he had had nightmares about "that white horse." Lots of loops around the Coliseum at his expense left him in a whirl. He resigned a few weeks after the '74 beating. Notre President Rev. Hesburgh told USC coach John McKay after the game, "...that wasn't very nice." In typical McKay fashion, he replied, "...that's what you get for hiring a Presbyterian!"

The rivalry is supposed to be like that.

The strategist in me believes that the buyout provision might have declining value the longer Weis keeps his job. Maybe there is something numerically significant about keeping Charlie one more year. For the price of moving forward, it would appear to be penny-wise/pound-foolish kind of stuff. But, Notre Dame seems to operate in a sort of environment that marries stiff, manufactured honor with prudish frugality. At least, for this coach.

Whatever works for them.

It's great to be a Trojan, especially in the first decade of the 21st Century.

Meanwhile, now that the Charlie saga is resolved for one more year, Trojans around the world can turn their attention to their other important rivalry. That would be, of course, the Battle for Los Angeles. This year, USC "travels" to Pasadena to play UCLA in their home stadium. The Rose Bowl. To utter "UCLA" and "Rose Bowl" in the same sentence continues to be quite nauseating. Just not right.

Anyway, Pete Carroll has been working for several seasons to revive the tradition of both teams wearing their home jerseys for their annual tilt. When both teams played their home games in the Coliseum, they both wore their "home" jerseys. That's what old alums like me remember.

The first college football game I ever watched on TV was in 1968 on Thanksgiving night. The "red" team was USC, and the "blue" team was UCLA. The boy who launched my college football education on that evening eventually chose to attend USC because I was living, by then, in southern California.

UCLA kept SC out of the BCS championship game two seasons ago by defending them into a corner, after SC had destroyed Notre Dame at home. UCLA alternates between bad and really bad; but, they still manage to really light themselves on fire for this rivalry. I don't give much to UCLA, but I'll give them that. They don't ever really go away. And, the rivalry really lives. It's juiced by all the "split households," with an SC grad married to a UCLA grad, etc. (Although, someone please explain to me how that could possibly ever really work out!!)

For me, this weekend's visual indulgence, at the mere price of a time-out, will be a trip through nostalgia that will always include those Notre Dame match-ups as well. I can joke about their program, their rotund coach, their arrogant players, and that queer leprechaun. But, to be honest, I really miss the days when a win over Notre Dame really meant something apart from another notch on the belt.

I'll watch the UCLA game on Saturday with my husband. Who was the boy who introduced me to the USC-UCLA rivalry. Who was the boy who took me to my first USC-ND game. Who was the man who married me on an October Saturday in southern California and stood around a small radio with me and the rest of the USC bridal party in the middle of pictures to listen to USC win another one over ND in South Bend. Who screamed with me like a crazy person when Matt Leinart threw to Dwayne Jarrett and completed a 61-yard pass play on fourth-and-nine in 2005. Who held me up when Pete Carroll beat Charlie Weis a few seconds later.

Some things change, but -- thankfully -- some other things remain the same.

*****Extra points answer: Nebraska. 40-6. Ara's worst loss as Notre Dame head coach.

100% Chance of Sun Showers

"The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco."

Mark Twain ?

Will Rogers?

Edward R. Murrow?

Well, whoever said it was right. And, quoted often. Especially by the shorts-clad, pasty-legged tourists on Pier 39 after a hot, August day spent outside under smog-free blue skies with puffy, white clouds. Only to lose that sun to the clock, see the fog roll in, and feel the damp, chilly wind crawling down their V-neck T-shirts. That's called "night" in the City by the Bay.

Today, I declare that the hottest summer I ever spent is a winter in suburban Denver. The couple pictured above probably lives somewhere in Highlands Ranch. They were sitting pretty yesterday, after a one-foot snowfall and sub-freezing temperatures left decks around the neighborhood looking like the wished-for night before Christmas. But, today, one of those 300 days of sunshine we're famous for came to visit. And, brought a projected high of 76 degrees with it. So, the numbered days of whoever is living in the patio furniture out back are down to mere hours now.

I hear the incessant drip, drip of water off the eaves all around the house. The footprints of DeeDee Dickerson, the border collie, are comingling with rabbit tracks as the melting snow rises from the ground in a mist. Because of our Mile High sun, snow doesn't just melt and run down the street. It does do that. But, it also evaporates into the air. The rapid temperature change from night to day looks like San Francisco ground fog. Except, that it isn't.

If it was thicker, it would remind me of those days I was commuting from the Bay Area to Fresno after my business unit was sold to a British food company. I had planned to do it for as long as it made sense, even though I had an almost-two-year-old at home. The schedule took juggling with Mark, but he had a private practice by that point and worked out of the house. A number of factors finally pushed me to resign earlier than I wanted to. Not the least of which was the tulie fog.

Tulie fog is legendary in California for causing massive piles of cars and trucks up and down the highways that serve the central valley corridor - I-5 and Highway 99, either of which could lead to Fresno from the East Bay. I recall the morning that I could only see to drive by opening my car door and looking for the white line separating my traffic lane from the service lane.

Craziness.

A lot of people put up with that every day during the tulie fog "season," because they have no choice. Their livelihoods depend upon it. But, one day in January, 1994, I decided that my livelihood would need to come from a different direction. My livelihood wasn't worth much if my life was on the line -- the "white line" -- because I couldn't see out the windshield in front of me.

I'm happy to see the sun today. My mood and my health reacted poorly to yesterday's bleak, gray skies and icy roads. I tried to work myself out of it, talk myself out of it, and think my way out of it. My self-pep talks didn't accomplish much.

We were up before the sun this morning, to the same general scenery. But, about 8 o'clock, the sun stopped hitting the snooze button and burned through the clouds to warm our day - literally and figuratively.

That's good, because the world and national news was about as dismal this morning as we've heard. The one bright spot was the price of gas, which I triumphantly purchased for $1.80 after I dropped Meredith off at her school in the dark. Gas wasn't this cheap when we moved to Denver in 2002.

Hope springs.

Maybe Denver isn't big enough to warrant a domestic biological terror attack. Maybe the stock market will stop behaving like a Space Mountain ride. Maybe gas will only be $1.50 by Christmas.

I don't have any control over that. But, I get to put my snowflake sweater away. At least, for one more day.

Pearls in Great Shorts

"Bad artists copy. Great artists steal."

Pablo Picasso

P.I.G.S.

I was trying to think of a way to copy -- I mean steal -- Pete Fiutak's C.O.W. (Cavalcade of Whimsy) approach to S.O.C. (stream of consciousness) blogging.

I haven't finished trying to find a way. So far, I have "Pearls in Great Shorts" and Pigs In (G) Space.

But, Pigs in Space has already been done. And, done quite well, IMHO.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w6GMrybKgbg

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v9EoYznuBtU

And, so far, I can't think of a word beginning in "G" to put in front of "Space" that makes any sense at all. Not that I have really spent that much time on it. I have had an overloaded buffet plate of college football to digest today and insufficient attention span to be brilliantly creative.

Separately, whilst searching "pearls" and "pigs" together, I yielded this disconcerting photo.

Pearls in Great Shorts might have potential. "Pearls" would be like pearls of wisdom. "Great Shorts" would refer to the well-conceived and compactly written pearls of wisdom.

It doesn't exactly slip off the tongue with ease, huh?! Not like Cavalcade of Whimsy. Not like C.O.W.

If I had started this blog with "cow" in the title before Fiutak did his C.O.W. thing, I could have thought of Cavalcade of Whimsy. But, flying pigs have always been my thing. And, I've invested too many years into the flying pig thing to turn back now.

Cows have been Shannon's thing. But, I'm not sure cows are her thing today. Things keep changing. She still spreads mashed potatoes on homemade yeast rolls at Thanksgiving dinner without apology. But, everything else is floating in limbo a bit.

Meredith works at Chick-fil-A part-time, so cows have inadvertently become a big part of her life. Even if she only thought she was working for the money and the chicken. The Chick-fil-A cows star on television every weekend during college football season. Cows are my second-favorite animal-theme-for-a-blog now. But, they're already taken.

Chickens don't work well in blog themes because, well -- just because.

It's not like I spent very much time trying to think of a great title to form P.I.G.S. either. I didn't even try to work with W.P.F. - When Pigs Fly. That could make some sense. Unfortunately, it's one slip of the keyboard from W.T.F. And, we don't write dirty here on When Pigs Fly. But, it DOES stand for When Pigs Fly.

I didn't think that one up either. And, I already stole it from a bunch of somebodies. No one has come after me yet. There's still time.

So, I guess my Cavalcade of Whimsy will just have to be When Pigs Fly. And, I'll just have to be satisfied with that. Cuz, the P.I.G.S. thang sure ain't flyin'.

It's not even ready for take-off.

On the Hot Seat

"Over the river and thru the wood,
To have a first-rate play;
Oh, hear the bell ring,"Ting-a-ling-ling!"
Hurrah for Thanksgiving Day-ay!
Over the river and thru the wood,
Trot fast my dapple gray!Spring over the ground,
Like a hunting hound!
For this is Thanksgiving Day."

Lydia Marie Child, 1844

Today marks the real beginning of the Thanksgiving Dinner countdown. The work-back schedule says that I will cut, chop, measure, package, pack and drive today. Pretty much in that order. It's sort of like being a caterer, except that all of the combining and finishing will occur in a different kitchen.

In between, I'll do that last load of laundry and close my black Big XII Conference travel bag, a gift from the overly-swagged soccer daughter.

After Meredith finishes her shift at Chick-fil-A and checks on her one petcare job in the neighborhood this week, we'll hop into the Wittle Wed Wabbit and go over the river (sort of) and through the woods (sort of) to Nana and Da's.

Tomorrow, Meredith and I will make four desserts. If everyone liked pumpkin pie, we would just make one. But, that's not how it works in this family. We'll have the NY cheesecake with macerated strawberries, the red velvet cupcakes, and the double chocolate brownies. That's just how we roll.

I didn't write "Blog" on tomorrow's schedule. It isn't on the paper for Thursday either.

So, I'll be back on Friday. That's the day before one of the twelve biggest games on USC's schedule this season: Notre Dame at the Los Angeles Coliseum. The Chicago Sun-Times threw Coach Charlie Weis under the bus today. I knew this day would come, and I enjoyed every word of it:

http://www.suntimes.com/sports/couch/1297502,CST-SPT-greg25.article

Fight ON! I'd be more than thankful to win by four touchdowns.

And, Happy Thanksgiving to everyone, even if you're not a bloody American. You already know that you don't need a national holiday to celebrate the blessings in your life.

Cap'n Slappy on the Poopdeck - Yar, Genius!!

"They have money; they have power and they are getting stronger by the day," says Abdi Farah Juha who lives in the regional capital, Garowe.

"They wed the most beautiful girls; they are building big houses; they have new cars; new guns," he says.

"Piracy in many ways is socially acceptable. They have become fashionable."

BBC News/Africa, 10/28/08


Yo Ho, Yo Ho - A Pirate's Life for Me!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KIN-MqaA_Dk

Mark and I were sitting in one of the front rows of the boat on the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disneyland in Anaheim -- the original and best. Meredith, about 18 months old, was sitting between us at the point where the boat finishes the "prologue" - that slow, queue-up part of the ride at the very beginning where they channel the newly-filled boats while the computer spaces them for the voyage ahead.

All of a sudden, as soon as we reached the part where the boat was set to "plunge" down a full story in depth, she stood up and began to wave her arms and shout. The force of the fall and the air generated from it blew Mark's newest baseball cap right off his head and into the blackness behind us.

Boo hoo. I was too busy grabbing onto Meredith's little legs to prevent a REAL tragedy.

I don't know how much time elapsed before my heart beat went back to normal rhythm. Since I had already been on this ride too many times to count, it's not like I really missed anything. But, I certainly didn't process most of whatever was left. My legs were wobbly when I "deboated" at the landing site, which was at the back of the launching site where we had started this almost-fiasco.

To this day, I recall the sensation of thinking that my child was going to be an international headline about an accident at The Happiest Place on Earth, and recoil in horror.

I guess real horror has been unfolding before us for a long time, but some of us weren't paying attention. Some of our fellow citizens in the media have now come off the oxygen tanks, back to the surface of planet Earth, trading their hyperventilating over one man to report real world news. As it happens. Imagine that.

Just proves that there is really nothing new under the sun. Since the dawning of the ages, men and women have found ways to make money, or steal it if necessary. So, the dudes in Somali are just following a time-worn pattern. A new age way of find a need and fill it. More like find an opportunity and steal it.

These pirates aren't stupid -- they keep demanding more money, and ship owners keep paying.

Wonder where it will end....

Meanwhile, estimates suggest that these mates have "earned" close to $100 million in ransom since the 1990's. And, we're just now thinking it might be time to do something about it???

We have people in our government who know a lot about how to achieve energy independence for our country. If we don't want them to be President or Vice President, that's fair -- we had an election, and some people voted against party as much as policy.

But, maybe the new guys -- mostly guys -- could think about what is really good for the country and, at least, have a conversation with some of those people.

I would be happy to locate and forward the coordinates to Juneau, Alaska, if that would help them.

Martha is My HomeGirl

"You were the sunshine, baby, whenever you smiled
But I call you Stormy today
All of a sudden that ole rain's fallin' down
And my world is cloudy and gray
You've gone away
Oh Stormy, oh Stormy
Bring back that sunny day"

Dennis Yost & Classics IV, 1968

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A3S63vA67PI

It's another one of those blindingly sunny days in metro Denver, one of the 300 such days we get every year. According to the Chamber of Commerce. If you count the days we get any amount of sun, it's probably true. But, even if it isn't true, it's close enough.

In the spirit of bipartisanship, I have instituted new regulations at "When Pigs Fly." I wouldn't want things to get out of control for lack of oversight, resulting from a failure to lead. Or, worse, a failure to predict every unknown outcome in the future to the satisfaction of every man, woman, and child in the blogosphere.

So, henceforth, let it be known that Monday through Friday will be reserved for anything I want to write about. Saturday, however will be reserved for cooking and football. And, not necessarily in that order. Sunday will be reserved for God. No blogging on Sunday. He didn't just ask for it, He commanded it. And, His Word is good enough for me.

I have purchased - either on the newstand or through subscription - every issue of Martha Stewart Living since she started the magazine. At one point, I had actually SAVED every one of those issues. But, the immovable object also known as our tiny Northern California crackerbox without a basement met with an irresistable force also known as my cookbook collection. What was 10's became 100's; so, the magazines had to be "edited." Thinned, if you will.

A 12 x 18" rattan file box was procured from one of the stores among the many Williams-Sonoma brands that changed my life forever in the Bay Area. One of their many stores of my dreams, "Hold Everything." These stores used to stand alone in malls and sold through mail-order (and, eventually, the internet), but were later "absorbed" into other W-S brands in the summer of 2006. I guess "The Container Store" came along and made it obsolete, with it's unending SKUs of everything imaginable to hold stuff, carry stuff, store stuff, send stuff, travel with stuff. Etc. You get the idea.

But, back to the file box. It holds dozens of files of magazine clippings, sorted by menus, occasion, course, or whatever I wanted to sort separately. Like, cheesecake recipes. That became the home for Martha's countless recipes, which were ripped - triage-style - from the issues before they were discarded.

At first, it hurt a lot to throw any part of those books away. When Martha began implementing her full-on brand extension and merchandising expertise in her business, the cross-channel items began appearing. Many or most of those recipes I had carefully stored began appearing in newly-published, large compendiums of "the best of." I have some of those, too.

I don't care that Martha went to jail for a possibly trumped-up "insider trading" infraction when so many in Washington, D.C. commit more heinous crimes in plain view and actually get reelected for unlimited term after unlimited term. Barney "Fannie & Freddie are Fine" Frank comes to mind. But, I digress. No more politics on Saturday. (If only it worked that way in real life.)

I started the menu planning for Thanksgiving, which is a hilarious statement in it's own right. What's to plan??!! We have the same thing every year. And, no variation. Every dish has it's own set of fans. For some, it won't be Thanksgiving without the best, fresh turkey money can buy. For others, it won't be Thanksgiving if we don't have my homemade yeast rolls. For one, it won't be Thanksgiving or worth living at all if we don't have an enormous bowl of mashed Yukon Gold potatoes.

But, for me, it won't be Thanksgiving without a tub of gravy. Yes, folks - my fear of Thanksgiving originated in the idea that I would never be able to make gravy. I mean the real kind of gravy. Not the stuff that comes in a jar, gets reconstituted with water from powder, or reheats in the microwave, straight from the Safeway deli. Because all of those folks for which Thanksgiving just won't be Thanksgiving without the turkey and mashed potatoes require mass quantities of gravy. They need enough gravy to leave pools of it on the plate when they are too full to eat more stuff that would soak it up.

All of this "planning" to do the same old thing reminded me that, except for one item, the entire menu is basically cooked the way Martha wants me to cook it. But, NOT the Green Bean Casserole. Not for anything.

Campbell's created the mother-of-all ubiquitous holiday recipe decades ago, and it is definitely not up to Martha's standards. Now, Martha did have one of her editors take a go at it -- to make it more Martha-like, lower in calories and fat, etc. I like fresh beans and "real" mushrooms as much as the next guy. I'm just not sure they have any place at Thanksgiving.

Sorry, Martha. I know this dish sticks out like a really sore thumb against all your other handiwork on that Fourth Thursday in November. It makes no sense that I, in my imaginary Marthaesqueness, even like this dish. But, along with gravy, it wouldn't be Thanksgiving for me without Green Bean Casserole.

There it is -- I said it. It's about the only thing that gets seconds on my plate.

How did I overcome my Fear of Gravy? One word. Stock.

Thanks, Martha. It takes hours to make your Stock. And, mere moments at the table to realize Stock was worth every minute of it.

TURKEY STOCK

Makes About 9 Cups

Active Time: 30 min. Start to finish: 5 hr

Martha says: "Using turkey meat rather than just bones adds a deep richness to this stock. Although you have to buy the extra parts, you'll be happy you did; great stock is the key to outstanding gravy, and everyone knows that you can never have too much of that at Thanksgiving."

6 lb turkey parts such as wings, drumsticks, and/or thighs

3 medium onions, left unpeeled, trimmed and halved

3 celery ribs, cut into 2-inch lengths

3 carrots, cut into 2-inch lengths

5 qt cold water

6 fresh parsley stems

1 Turkish or 1/2 California bay leaf

10 whole black peppercorns

1-1/2 teaspoons salt

Put oven rack in lowest position and preheat oven to 500 degrees F. If using turkey wings, halve at joints with a cleaver or large knife. Transfer turkey parts, skin sides down, to a dry large heavy roasting pan and roast, turning over once, until golden brown, 30 to 45 minutes total. Transfer to a large stockpot, then add onions, celery, and carrots to roasting pan (arrange onions cut sides down) and roast, stirring once halfway through roasting, until golden, 10 to 20 minutes total. Transfer vegetables to stockpot.

Straddle roasting pan across two burners, then add 2 cups water and deglaze pan by boiling over high heat, stirring and scraping up brown bits, 1 minute. Add pan juices to stockpot along with remaining 4-1/2 quarts water and remaining ingredients and bring to a boil, skimming froth as necessary. Reduce heat and gently simmer, partially covered, 3 hours.

Cool stock, uncovered, to room temperature, about 1 hour.

Pour stock through a large fine-mesh sieve into a large bowl, discarding solids. Measure stock: If there is more than 9 cups, boil in cleaned pot until reduced. If there is less, add enough water to total 9 cups stock.

If using stock now, let stand until fat rises to top, 1 to 2 minutes, then skim off and discard fat. If not using now, cool completely, uncovered, then chill, covered, before removing fat. Reheat stock before making Turkey gravy.

Stock can be chilled in an airtight container 1 week or frozen 3 months.