Sorting Facts

Store bought crab-cakes. It seems sacrilegious. But they were cheap. I bought them to make a stuffing for some pounded tenderloin rounds. Working off of a recipe B remembered his mother used to cook. All I brought home was the idea for a dish, but I was in Kroger and there were these remaindered crab cakes and I thought they might make a very nice stuffing. B's Mom pounded veal cutlets (cutlets is a cute word, the diminutive) but I work best with pork tenderloin, and her stuffing would never include crab or oysters. I use paper plates, as my cutting and pounding surface, on an old, horribly stained, synthetic cutting board, because paper plates are quite sterile and I don't have to wash them. If you don't have running water, washing things is a big deal. I can usual buy 100 paper plates for two bucks at Big Lots. Following multiple use I burn them in the stove. After extensive research, there should be a drum roll, I can honestly say that these tenderloin enchiladas, braised in wine, are one of the best things ever. You might serve this with a red bell-pepper, stuffed with dirty rice, and wilted greens. A piece of bread, to soak up the last of the juices. Following my winter protocols and as it was a lovely day, I went to town; library, Kroger, a beer at the pub. Cory sat with me at the pub, he's after me to work for him during the week, he needs someone to open the place. I told him I just couldn't do it, I couldn't be dependable anymore. All I cared about was reading and writing and cooking; he's also a cook and I told him about the enchiladas. He was intrigued with the crab-cake stuffing. They still had two packages (of two each) and I didn't know what. I never cook stuffed birds, cook the stuffing as a side, always with an onion and something citrus in the cavity of the bird, but I'm thinking about de-boning chicken thighs and pounding them out, rolling them around a crab cake filling, securing them with celery spears, and braising them in a old-vines zin. It's just an idea, so far, but even just an idea and I can see the presentation, two of these seared and braised, rolled thigh enchiladas, topped with their fried skins, surrounded with roasted root vegetables. I'm pretty sure it's going to be good. Long slanted days as we edge up on the shortest amount of light. I feel this in my gut, the way I start gaining minutes of light, even though January light is feeble. But right now we're in the shortest days of the year, Basho seeking his hut, carrying an armload of wood, a squash, a handful of rice. There are conflicting reports about almost everything. Cold dawn, and supposed to snow Friday and Saturday. I meant to bring in some wood today, but it was warm, and I was so comfortable, curled up with a mug of tea, that I read through the morning, a book of geomorphology essays. Waves deposit fines differently than streams. Some people don't like The Grateful Dead. I feel sorry for them. Those people. Robert Hunter is the great unsung hero, wonderful lyrics. And Phil Lesh on bass, the brightest among them. I listen to The Dead all afternoon, playing back-up for Dylan, "I Shall Be Released" and "Knocking On Heavens's Door", "Hey Joe", Jesus, I jump out of my seat, "All Along The Watchtower"; I'm not even strong willed, I always give up without a fight, and I would never contest any asshole that he knew more than me about whatever it was.