sheddy or not, here I come!

Spring is still struggling to be reborn. I see reports of winter storms in the east, and it's been cold and rainy here. I'm done with winter -- didn't I make that clear a couple of weeks ago? Geez. Of all the nerve.

So I did what most Oregonians do, ignore the rain and go out and do yardwork regardless of being soaked and muddy. I cleaned out our garden shed, brought out our lawn furniture (what little there is of it), cleaned up the bulb beds, and de-mossed and fertilized the lawn (what little there is of it). The shed is nicer than one might expect. It is large enough to store everything, plus it has shelving, electricity, lights and windows that open, and not a single leak. The lawn is going to take some work. It's about half weeds, and the soil is hard clay. The previous owners dealt with it by just letting it die in the summer.

Our hellebore and one of the camellias are in full bloom, and the daffodils are poking their little heads out of the greenery. My neighbor has a large crocus bed that looks spectacular, all purples and whites. I'll be so glad to get some color (other than green and grey) around here.

I'm really eager to jump right in with landscaping projects, but common sense and a lack of coins in pocket tell me that I should wait and watch how the yard changes with the seasons. We moved in on November 1, and the real estate team solved the yard problems by chopping back everything in the back yard and raking up the debris, so I don't really have a sense of how the smaller plants grow and what the summer sun is like.

Mr. Reluctant spent a chunk of the day cleaning the spring tree mess from the gutters. We had one downspout fully blocked, and gallons of water stored up in one corner, yikes. Although I love my trees, I'm not a big fan that we have not one but TWO deciduous trees (the Siberian elm and European white birch) that drop catakins as well as leaves. The little bits of confetti that constantly float down are good as fertilizer, I suppose, but it means there is a year-round mess in the driveway and yard.

when vintage is, well, not cute

We are some of the lucky folk with vintage bathroom sconces. That is, if you consider fixtures made out of ceramic pipe joints and a chrome light switch cover lucky. I'm torn over keeping them and replacing them (if I can figure out how to remove them). The electrician said they were a "custom job." He had never seen anything like it, a refrain that is popular in our house.

The first thing we did when we moved in (after peeling off the apple wallpaper border in the kitchen) was a cosmetic interim renovation of the bathroom. The last picture is the old bathroom for comparison. We patched, caulked, de-mildewed, primed, painted, messed up, scraped paint bubbles off the ceiling, de-mildewed, re-patched, primed and painted again. We also removed the ugly mirror on the linen cabinet (keeping, for now, the ugly mirror on the medicine cabinet), and removed two of the light bulbs in our vintage sconces so they weren't screaming out LIGHT!!!!!!!!!!

In the bathroom pictures, you can see the odd placement of the sconces. There isn't another one on the left side of our sink. They are kind of smushed into the corner by the linen cupboard. My theory is that there was once a sink under the linen cupboard (hence, the lack of trim on the bottom of the cupboard), so the sconces were placed appropriately. As it is, they function well to light up the insides of the cupboard.

But still. They're weird. Quirky. Quirky is good, right? What do you do when vintage is, well, not cute?

fortification fridays - cranberry brisket for the lazy housewife

This is not company food. This is comfort food, plain and simple. Oh wait, I do serve it to company. Never mind. No one has ever complained. If you've never had brisket, it's worth a try. It's a cut that needs long cooking and not much attention, in short, the perfect cut for the remodeler. Corned beef is made from the brisket cut, but you want plain brisket for this recipe, not the corned beef brisket, which is marinated.

Kitchen needs: an operational range or, if you want to omit the browning, just a slow cooker
Serves: 6-8

4-5 lbs. beef brisket (note: NOT corned beef brisket)
2 medium white onions, chopped
3-4 garlic cloves, chopped
1/4 c. flour
1 bottle of fruity red wine, such as Merlot
2-3 c. beef stock or chicken stock or water
2 bay leaves
2 T. fresh rosemary, chopped (or 1 T. dried)
1/3 c. dried cranberries

If you are using a slow cooker, just add all the ingredients and turn it on. Cook for the first hour on high, and several more hours on low.

For a conventional oven (recommended), preheat oven to 300 degrees. Brown the whole roast in a dutch oven over medium high heat in a couple tablespoons full of hot fat. I used butter and oil, but salt pork or bacon drippings would be good, too, if you are even less health conscious than me. Remove roast and set aside. Brown the onions in hot fat. When onions are golden brown and cooked-looking, turn down the heat to medium low, add three or four garlic cloves, chopped, and flour. This is called making a roux, a thickener, but in the very lazy way. Mix and cook for a few minutes, until the flour starts to change to a golden color. Don't burn the roux.

Remove the pot from the burner and return the brisket to the dutch oven, brisket fat-side down. Pour in 1/3 bottle of a fruity red wine (maybe Merlot? I used two-buck Chuck Cabernet, which tastes like a Merlot), stock, herbs, salt and pepper. Then the key ingredient: a good handful of dried cranberries. I use the off-the-shelf sweetened Craisins ones. You can also use a scoop of cranberry sauce (too sweet for me) or a cup of cranberry juice (ditto). Add some orange juice at your own discretion. A bit of cinnamon might be good too.

Cover dutch oven and braise in the oven for about 3 hours. Take out pot after about an hour and a half and breathe in the delicious vapors. Flip the brisket over so the fat side is up. I don’t know if this matters, but it did look roasty and nice when I finished. Drink a tiny bit of the juice and think meaty thoughts.

When the brisket is soft and pliant, take out of the oven and add about a 1/2 cup (or more?) of red wine to brighten up the color and make it taste more like cranberryish. Let cool enough to handle.

Take the brisket out of the pot and slice it across the grain in long, thin slices. Note to brisket virgins: this is important. If you cut it in chunks or shred it, you will look like a caveman at a mastadon roast trying to eat it.

Place the slices back in the delicious gravy. This dish improves when left to sit overnight. Serve with egg noodles, mashed or roasted potatoes.

contractors overcharging

We were recently surprised and irritated to receive a bill for $300 to bring our gas line up through the floor from the T under the house about 6 feet away from the stove. The contractor, who was recommended by our plumber, came over for an estimate. He tried to tell me it could be up to $500 for the job if the gas T was far away, and that it would need himself and another man, each at $60 an hour. I told him that the inspector indicated the gas T was close and it shouldn't be that complicated of a job. I OK'd the two men and made an appointment.

He shows up with two additional men, not one, and they install the gas line in an hour. I'm not sure how licenses in gas appliance contracting work, but he seemed to be there solely in a supervisory role, and the two younger men (subcontractors, I later find out) do all the work. I figure one of them is an apprentice and don't say anything, since apprentices very frequently show up with contractors and I've never yet had them charge me.

A couple days later, I get a bill for $300, with no breakdown. I call and ask. In a series of several calls in which I express my surprise at having to pay for the third man and such a high price for parts when I was led to believe the labor was the major cost, he provides me an oral breakdown of the bill. He tells me that he charged $60 for his labor, $15 for a gas cock, $25 for the flex connect above the floor, and $17 for the floor flange. The subcontractors charged $123 for their labor (charging $61.50 each?) and $60 for parts. He said they didn't specify what their parts were, but it sounded reasonable to him to charge $60 for line under the house and brass fittings.

Sears charged me $8 for the flex connect that came with the stove, and since he also charged me for the same part at $25, I am suspicious of all the charges.

This angers me especially because our plumber did great work and we were counting on his referral. We were happy to give him a big chunk of change for his work, because he did a fine job and worked the entire time he was here and watched the clock and provided us with a list of parts he used and their cost. We don't mind a slight markup on parts -- that's the cost of having a contractor do business.

We do mind a lack of transparency in billing and taking advantage of customers.

I got the contractor to remove the $25 from the bill and am going to call the plumber and let them know what happened with their referral. At this point, I think we're just going to pay the rest and make sure other people know not to use this business.

happy paczki day

It's Fat Tuesday, also known as Mardi Gras. In the Reluctant household, we celebrate the Polish version -- Paczki Day. Paczki, pronounced basically /POONCH-key/, are jam-filled donuts with a fine crumb and a rich taste. Paczki Day is celebrated mostly in the Polish-American enclaves of the Midwest, although we did manage to score a great box of genyooine paczki at the Big Y in Mansfield, CT, one fine year. This article provides history and some recipes, which are probably better than the one in my first Polish cookbook, which yielded what could only be called paczki crepes.

I grew up in the Detroit suburbs, but didn't really celebrate Paczki Day until high school, when I began with the zeal of a born-again paczki-thumper and haven't stopped since. My great-grandparents came to Michigan and raised their children in Hamtramck, like many Polish families around the turn of the twentieth century, forming a community that still spoke Polish at home and kept Polish traditions alive in schools, shops and churches. Take a virtual tour here. By the time I came around, the families had long since moved into the suburbs and Hamtramck was in decline, as was much of Detroit. My exposure to Polish-ness was a few phrases and songs and my grandma's cooking. Mmmm...Easter soup, kielbasa, city chicken, Polish rye bread, fresh horseradish. And it was the message to stay away from Detroit because it was dangerous.

Still, I get an ancestral pang when I see images of Detroit. It's not really nostalgia; it's anger at the destruction of poverty and the ravages of time and the ache of being unwanted and misused. It's horror at the wasteland of a once-vibrant midwestern city, and worse yet, one that bred my people and gave them a safe place to land when they began their American journey. It's the loss of one particular community at one place and one time. It's hopes that were scattered far beyond the streets of Hamtramck, falling into the crevices and furrows of other neighborhoods and other cities. It's my America.

So here I am. I read the New York Times and live in Oregon and sit in California chairs and Japanese cars and celebrate Passover with the zeal of a born-again brisket-thumper. And I encourage everyone, therefore, to reach into that bakery box for another paczki, because some things in life are worth tradition.

Image courtesy of a 2007 Paczki Day graphic at the Hamtramck Star, a blog about the Hamtramck area of Detroit, which seems to be undergoing revitalization as a hip place to live. Cool.

stick 'em up

Some of us use caulk. Some of us use joint compound. Some of us use foam. And yet others use...a stick. Yes, it's another day at Raccoon Tree Acres, home of the toilet held together with a brick, and we're undoing more of the creative repairs done by the previous owners. I didn't make much progress on painting the kitchen last weekend. I was just too overwhelmed and cold and, er, lazy. I'll admit it. I couldn't be bothered to do much of anything this weekend but buy a microwave and vaccuum the house and sit by the fire with a good book and my laptop.

Mr. Reluctant, however, went on a cleaning spree, and he removed his bicycle parts from the porch and cleaned up the back yard. He went through two boxes of tchotchkes and cleaned the kitchen several times. He also (bless his heart) decided to clean the bathroom fan vent, which was filthy and wasn't cleaned when the guys installed the new fan motor. The POs were using a broken fan that was somehow (?!) missing not only the plastic light shield but also the entire housing, exposing a bare bulb and holes for the vents. Although I would have much preferred to wait and get a nice fan in a different shape and material, the mildew in the bathroom dictated a quick fix, so I bought a stronger motor and kit to replace the plastic parts, which the electrician installed when he was rewiring the kitchen. I've been meaning to unscrew the housing and clean the vent since then but was put off by the thought of such a dirty overhead job.

Mr. Reluctant tackled the project. He took down the fitting and cleaned everything out, then inspected the installation and cleaned out the cracks to make room for caulk. Wedged along one side of the fan, probably to reduce rattling, was an elm stick. I've heard of hardwood floors, but this is the first time I've heard of hardwood caulk.

Vernacular WWII-era Cottages

This post is image-heavy. Apologies to those with dial-ups.
This is a visual history of an architectural style that isn't well-documented. I've never seen these kinds of houses anywhere else (but granted, I wasn't looking for them) and they are abundant throughout south Eugene. so I'm assuming they are "vernacular," or specialized local architecture from the mid-century.

The City of Eugene has a great site for residential architectural styles and "modernism" in Eugene, which I've linked to the right. Unfortunately, the website has an odd redirect command that won't let you link to the historic preservation page, so follow the links to the left of the neighborhood map for the historical/architecture stuff. The black and white images are from these pages, and the rest of the photography is mine. Also, my lack of knowledge in html and blogger's layout inflexibility makes my images/text integration a bit rough. I'm sorry about that.

The first image is my house. The next four are of the earliest form of the "WWII Cottage" type, which are a bit different from my post-war cottage but still have many of the same features. The cottages were built during and immediately after WWII (late thirties to late forties), just prior to a severe housing shortage and building boom as soldiers returned from foreign shores. Wood was still being conserved for the war effort, so these houses are characterized by very minimal detailing and no eaves. No eaves?!? In Oregon!?!? Yes, it is true. Add that one to the What Were They Thinking file. Unlike ranches, which have low-slung eaves and a horizontal stretched-out footprint, our cottages have no eaves, even over some of the doors, and are boxy in appearance.

The earliest houses of the era are very small, usually under 1000 square feet, and they have cute little circular or octagonal windows, and windows that meet in the corners of the house to create a wrap-around effect.

The turquoise house with the excellent door was built in 1938 (or so says zillow.com). Because they are so small and humble, many are used as rental properties, like the tan one with the half-hidden octagonal window. Others are in terrible disrepair. These houses were never meant for rich people; they were built for homeless soldiers and their young families at what was then the edge of town. The airport was nearby, and streetcars rumbled down the street in front of my house. It was far from posh. Things were built to last, though, so these constructions held up over the years.

EDITED TO ADD: The City historic preservation site has information about mid-century houses River Road, another area in Eugene with more agricultural roots. They provide a picture of a 1945 home that looks similar to the ones in this post, and mention that it is a late kit-house from Sterling. The model is called the "Marleen." Even though kit-houses were popular in the first couple of decades of the twentieth century, they were still being manufactured as late as post-WWII. My guess is they were a very attractive option for Eugenians desperate to build new housing stock. If ALL of these WWII-era cottages are kit-houses, that would explain the lack of eaves. Because they aren't native Oregonians, they didn't understand rain.

The next set of photos are cottages that are closer to mine in age, and still in good shape.



The peach house and the blue house with the slanting lean-to carport are both of very similar construction. These houses are distinct from the WWII Cottages because they have a picture window in the living room and dining room, they are bigger but still boxier than a ranch, and they often have little porches instead of just a stoop leading to a bare front door. They generally have cedar-shake siding, and many of them have been renovated.
What makes our house different from other houses of the same vintage is that there was an early remodel. The garage was converted into a laundry room and a large back room, and a foundation was poured for a kitchen nook and ranch-style patio in the back. It was by no means a fancy project, but the original craftsman did install two large banks of built-in cupboards and drawers of knotty pine that serve most of our backend storage.

The peach house still has the attached garage, and it looks like the blue house did the same garage conversion that was done to our house. The cream house has an even uglier carport than the blue one. Ugly carports and no garages are very popular around here. It makes sense, given that anything stored in a garage won't stay dry and mildew-free, so there are better uses of space.


And of course, the renovations are varied and creative. Taking off the flattish roofs is popular, and adding a second storey when you do so is even more popular, like the folks with the green house. Adding shutters in bright colors is popular, too, for some reason.

I particularly like the grey house on the corner, because they didn't take off the roof, they just joined the original cottage with a two-car garage/apartment combo via a glass-bricked in breezeway. The construction takes up their entire lot, and the addition is almost as big as the entire cottage. They get points for creativity, though!

Finally, the last three photos show early ranches in our neighborhood. They are built alongside the cottages, usually in slightly smaller lots and with much more uniformity in lot placement. There is great variety in the design of these earliest ranches, but they are definitely ranch-like in their own way. Quite different than what came just before, eh? I'm very fond of these early ranch houses because of their windows and landscaping, and the mcm elongated style. They still retained features of earlier styles, such as the little round window in the white house, the windows pushed to the side, and the modest eaves. I guess there's room in my neighborhood for these newfangled newcomers.

fortification fridays - Oops I Did It Again Vegetables in Broth

I had planned to make porkolt, the Hungarian paprika stew usually known on this side of the Atlantic as goulash. I had a nice chuck roast defrosting in the refrigerator; I started sautéing several onions. I removed the meat from the wrapping…

…and was almost knocked over by the smell. When I was sick, I’ll admit, I let things go. Since rancid meat can happen to any remodeler, especially when distracted by things like no walls, a makeshift refrigerator, and/or an inch of drywall dust everywhere, I thought I’d let you know what I did next.

I save cooking staples in the freezer as well as the pantry. I have already urged you to throw your old bones in the crock pot or stock pot and make chicken stock to freeze. I freeze chicken stock in 1-cup and 2-cup portions, and I make chicken stock ice cubes to throw in stirfries and other dishes that need a moist flavor boost. I also save bacon drippings, which we keep in a tough little glass jar in the freezer, and add a bit to eggs and even dishes like this one to provide a nice smoky flavor.

I also freeze big knobs of fresh ginger. People will tell you that ginger turns mushy if you freeze it – well, it does, if you thaw the whole thing. But why bother if you are just going to grate a piece it? Ginger when grated frozen looks exactly like grated fresh ginger, which is mushy. There’s little flavor loss, and it keeps a very long time.

Trader Joe’s has frozen green garbanzo beans (aka chick peas). They taste exactly like regular ones, but they are prettier and maybe a bit less mushy. You can see them in the picture.


Oops I Did It Again Vegetables in Broth, An Improvised Dish

The vegetables don’t matter as much as the cooking liquid, which is a delicious Mediterranean-inspired oniony tomato ginger broth. I could see this dish being made with green beans, peas, lima beans, potatoes, zucchini, carrots – basically, just about any fresh vegetable on hand. The combination of spinach, garbanzo beans, and red peppers was a particularly nice version, though.

Kitchen needs: stove top.
Serves: 4 as main dish, more as side dish

Two med. yellow onions
1 can chopped tomatoes in juice (not puree)
1 can garbanzo beans, drained
1 red pepper, chopped
handful of parsley, chopped
2 T. grated fresh ginger
1/2 t. cumin
1 t. coriander
1/2 c. chicken stock or white wine
olive oil
salt and pepper
1/2 bag frozen spinach (or a whole bag of fresh)

Saute onions in a tablespoon or so of olive oil until golden brown and well-cooked (about 15 minutes on medium-low). Add everything else BUT the spinach, and let cook down for 10 minutes or so. Just before serving, add the spinach and adjust the spices. You want the spinach to stay bright green and everything else to be stew-y. Serve with rice pilaf, couscous, egg noodles, or just pita bread for scooping.

best mcm door ever

I went around driving in our neighborhood, looking at doors today. I've been meaning to take some pictures of similar post-war constructions near our house and do more research on them, and with David Erwin's new door repro business (see previous post and new link in the list to the right), I thought I'd compare Eugene vernacular with Texas.

I'll post other images later. Right now, I just wanted to highlight my favorite door. I upped the contrast and cropped the photo, so the quality isn't terrific, but I hope you can see the best mcm door ever. It has jaunty diamond-shaped windows and wood strips between the windows. It's near Jefferson, Adams, and Washington Streets, but instead of Tom, John Quincey, or George, I think it should be called the "Eugene" -- ha!

adoorable

A red door for you for Valentine's Day. It's the vintage hollow-core, peeling version of my heart. Happy Valentine's Day!

OK, it's not for you. It's for Laurie, who is looking at 40s/50s-style doors, and I'm posting it along with some images of the exterior of the front of the house where it resides. These were taken before we moved in, and I've already -- as you may recall -- ripped out the christmas tree and mums and porch light. We're working on the rest. Alas, the house is still baby-ass beige and will be for a while.



For more on modern doors, check out Laurie's post and David Erwin (of Erwin House fame)'s response, in which he reveals he is starting a modern door repro business. Wow. So I guess my heart's name is "The Grover." I always suspected it.

army of the upright deploys to kitchen

Virginia Woolf, in her under-read and excellent essay "On Being Ill" (1925), muses on the aesthetics of illness. She writes of how, as one lies prone and feverish, one becomes aware of the incessant passage of time as clouds grow and morph across the sky, and roses bud and bloom and endlessly unfurl their petals. When one is ill, the little things become fantastical and profound.

"Meanwhile," she says, "with the heroism of the ant or the bee, however indifferent the sky or disdainful the flowers, the army of the upright marches to battle."

I look at the pictures I snapped from my bed a couple of days ago and am glad, I have to say, that I've rejoined the army of the upright. As much as I like staring at knobs, I'm really DONE with being sick and its profound, useless, dreamy musing.

Plus, we've got ants, Virginia, heroic or not, I can't tell.

They're coming in from a tiny hole in the monstrous caulking, applied with a kitchen spatula under the bizarre kitchen window sill. Looks like this weekend I'll be removing said monster caulk and continuing the job I've been fearing: painting the kitchen.

Our kitchen window doesn't open. The wood vent on the bottom of the window (still visible in the exterior picture above), was boarded over. Now we have an ugly window frame around a simple, ugly window and a board. The next step is to figure out how to de-uglify the whole thing with a new window. But first, we have to get rid of the ants and the caulk.

Now I'm ready to go back to bed and ponder clouds.

in which i suffer for my art

Last night, I made the mistake of going out to a play and drinks afterward with a big group of people I didn't know well. The evening was really fun, and I mainlined cough drops and kleenex so I wouldn't hack up a lung in the theater. Unfortunately, I talked for most of the night and drank a Negroni and ate a slice of pizza and, well, when I woke up at 4 am, my throat was on fire and my head was exploding. I've almost lost my voice and my chest feels heavy and constricted. In short, I'm getting worse.

I'm not doing too well today. We went to a small antique fair near our house, walking in the drizzle, and afterward I crawled back into bed and haven't left since. I'm at that "sick of being sick" point, but I've pushed too hard, and the only remodeling that's going to happen this weekend is me editing the clutter out of these photos, taken from my bed.

Please enjoy the birdseye view of such delights as my "Still Life with Masochism and Drug Paraphernalia," two views of my kitsch faux-stained glass lamps, the bakelite knob on one of our dressers, several extremely unflattering shots of me, the lock on my grandmother's cedar chest, my curtains, the corner of the molding above the closet, and introducing Boris, my semi-removable chest implant and all around man Friday. Mr. Reluctant appears as a rock-n-roll groupie and is responsible for washing the sheets and making the bed (all while I lay dying in it). Now that's impressive.

fortification fridays - Manly Chicken Soup

Yes, it's another chicken soup recipe. I'm on a chicken soup kick. I'm deathly ill (ok, it's just a bad cold) and the only thing that sounds good is chicken soup. Too ill to cook, really, but if I could clone myself and make that person healthy, I'd make me my recipe for Manly Chicken Soup, a seriously intense version of chicken soup with roasted meat and vegetables.

Have a great weekend, intrepid remodelers, and stay well.

Manly Chicken Soup

Kitchen needs: Working range and oven (you could use a slow cooker after roasting the meat and veggies, but it has to be a huge one)
Serves: A houseful of sick people

This soup will kill the plague. It is a pain to make but emerges glossy and dark gold, redolent with meaty goodness. This is not your wan, pale, low-fat, girly girl chicken soup. This is manly chicken soup. Make a huge pot and give it away to sick people across the land. All measurements are approximate and the soup changes each time you make it. Feel free to use some or all of these root vegetables or use chicken thighs/wings/carcasses. I usually just buy what’s cheapest.

Meat:
One big “supersaver” pack of chicken legs and a couple of bone-in breasts.
A beef soup bone or two.

Root vegetables:
Four parsnips
Two small turnips
Four carrots and/or one large rutabaga
Two leeks
An onion, halved and stuck with two whole cloves

Herbs and spices:
A handful of parsley
Two bay leaves
Some dill
Pepper corns

First, brown the meat and vegetables in the oven. Preheat oven to 450 degrees. I use two pans: one for the chicken legs and one for the breasts/soup bone/vegetables. The oven smokes a bit, so turn on your fan.

Add the chicken legs to one roasting pan. In the second roasting pan, add the onion halves, the soup bone and the chicken breasts. Set aside half of the other root vegetables for adding later in the soup. The other half should be cut into very large chunks and added to the second roasting pan.

Add a bit of vegetable oil to both pans and toss ingredients, to minimize sticking. Roast until significant browning occurs. Watch the vegetables carefully and turn them after about 5 minutes, since they will brown much more quickly in the fat than the meat, and remove them when they are browned. The chicken legs should be turned after 10-15 minutes.

When large-chunk vegetables are brown, add them to a very large soup pot with the herbs and spices, and fill about 1/2 full with water.

Add the chicken legs and beef bone to the pot when browned and start cooking soup on a medium-low burner. It doesn’t matter if they are fully cooked, since you’ll be cooking them in the stock. You just want some nice browning action. Scrape the drippings from the pan with a wooden spoon and add them, too. Add more water, if necessary, to fill the pot about 2/3 full.

As for the breasts, roast them until done (see above image). Alternatively, throw them in the pot with the other stuff and poach them in the stock. Basically, you are using the breasts for soup meat, so you don’t want to overcook them. When completely cooked, cool breasts, then shred flesh and set aside in a covered bowl for adding to the soup when serving. Moisten with a little broth if they get dry. Throw the denuded breast bones in stock pot.

If you’d like to set aside more chicken, remove a few of the chicken legs from the broth after about 30 minutes, and add the meat to your meat bowl and throw the bones back in the stock pot.

Half-cover the pot and simmer soup for about three hours, more if you like. Do not, for the love of God, bring soup to a boil. There is NO NEED for a cloudy stock, and boiling will always make a cloudy stock. Keep heat on low the entire time and skim foam and fat that floats to the top.

About an hour before the soup is done, make noodles or matzoh balls according to your favorite recipe. I add cayenne, chopped parsley and celery leaves to my matzoh balls for a kick and color.

The rest of the vegetables should be cut into pretty bite-sized pieces and added to the soup with salt and pepper to taste about 30 minutes prior to serving. Save some celery leaves and parsley to garnish soup bowls, if you like.

Delicious roasted chicken breast image courtesy of the manly men at Meathenge.

chairman of the board

Me: I got a message from Scholar Craft. He says my chairs are 20-30 years old.

Mr. R: Oh?

Me: Yes, and they cost $32 new apiece.

Mr. R: heh heh heh

Mr. R: And they’re a value even at $32.

Me: Oh, you managed to get that out the second time without laughing?

Mr. R: I hope you’re not planning to buy more of those chairs…

Me: I am. I’m planning to furnish the whole house with them.

Mr. R: …because four is enough.

Me: They’re very comfortable.

Mr. R: Yeah, if you’re in elementary school.

Mr. R: [thinks] If you want to get something good from elementary school, get those big triangular pillows, thanks.

Mr. R: Do you even know what I’m talking about?

Me: All I know is that I’m going to dig into our living room floor and make a library pit…Do YOU even know what I’m talking about?

now we're cookin'

Our gas stove is installed! The guys were blazing fast. There was already a stub under the house, so pulling the gas line through the kitchen floor was no big deal. They did a great job with the line, and cleaned up after themselves.

There's just one problem: they had to drill the hole in the floor a few inches away from the wall, since there was a floor joist there. So my stove isn't flush against the wall. Any ideas about closing off the gap? We're planning to remove the cupboards over the stove and install a stainless steel backsplash and a chimney vent, so I wonder if it is possible to somehow integrate a little shelf into that. Actually, now that I'm typing, it sounds like an impossible idea, but it doesn't hurt to ask.

In any case, I'm thrilled to finally have a functional stove, especially one that's gas-fired and brand new. Now, if I could just shake the ick that has invaded my lungs and ears and head, I'd be a happy little remodeler. I'm not at the stage Mr. Reluctant was (yet?) when he told me all he wanted was to die, but I spent most of the afternoon and evening in bed yesterday, and I'm seriously considering returning there now.

knobs!

The guys are here putting in the gas line and I'm trying not to have a heart attack, so I will make myself useful by providing for the blogosphere a pictorial history of the sad story of knobs in our house.

I almost cry when I see the photos other housebloggers post of their old hinges, knobs, and hardware. Restored doorknobs, solid brass and handsome and fitted to nice doorplates on solid wood doors, in particular, make me green with envy. Somewhere in the tawdry history of my house, most of what little ornamentation there was originally had been stripped -- the doors were robbed of almost all of their original knobs. Several of the doors themselves were replaced by hollow core substitutes. So we are left with situations like our front door:

That's the cheapest, shiniest bath door knob available. On our front door.

These are what at first glance seem cool old 50s-style handles on our built-ins. But no. They are cheap silverized reproductions that are peeling and rusting. To add insult to injury, the ones in the back room are cheap brass-ized reproductions.
Oh, you like the mixed brass and silver look? I'm sure you'd love our former kitchen knobs, then. Most were silver (cheap, peeling, various finishes), but the one row of drawers that was painted beige had cheap, peeling brass knobs. Classy. One of the first things we did was replace them with probably cheaper Ikea powder-coated nickel knobs (six for two bucks) that match and will last at least until we can get new cabinets. (I'm kind of making fun of myself and beginning food photography with the picture of knobs in my vintage aqua candy bowl.)

Also, note that the once-beige drawers are now the same color white -- thank you Sherwin Williams' color matching service, Kilz, and mastering a fear of painting laminate cabinet facings.

And why, pray tell, is this wall heater knob on our window sill? Because it doesn't fit the wall heater, of course! The previous owners replaced the original knob with something that doesn't fit, and instead of returning to the store to get the proper knob, they just left it on the window sill when not in use.

And last but not least, the shower knob. On my clothes washer hot water feed.
It's a Moen, so you know it's top quality...er, yeah. And thanks for patching the hole, too, guys. When the washer broke the first time I used it, being a lifer renter, I had no idea that the this contraption was even part of the plumbing, since the cold water line had a regular knob. It was like "stump the chump" for dummies.

And for extra credit, the top photo is the finials for our bedroom overhead lights -- my replacement is on the left.