Skip to main content

January, A New Beginning

Mis-cel-la-ny:  A Mixture of Various Things 
(Merriam-Webster)

Miscellany seems to be a way of life for me...a mixture, medley and sometimes, just a jumble of thoughts and activities.  What better way to bring order to chaos, than trying to put it down on paper.  I'd like to think that I have a few things to share, tidbits gleaned in my life.  To those who choose to read my words, thanks.

I love to cook and really love to eat.  However, what I want to consume is simple fare prepared with whatever happens to be fresh and in season.  Since our January has been one of the coldest in 20 years, pots of soup have been gracing our dining table.  Tuesday evening we enjoyed Rustic Potato and Kale Soup with freshly baked biscuits drizzled with butter and honey.   When you've been cold all day, a steamy bowl of coarsely chopped vegetables in a lightly creamy broth is sating.  


Rustic Potato and Kale Soup

4  Cups Mirepoix (mixture of chopped carrots, onions and celery)
6 Large Red Potatoes cut into 2" chunks
4 Cups Chopped Kale
1 Cup Smoky Sausage sliced in 1/4" pieces
Olive Oil
4 Teaspoons Minced Garlic
1 Tablespoon Dry Thyme
4 Cups Chicken Stock
Salt/Pepper to taste
1 Cup Milk
1/2 Cup Plain Greek Yogurt

In a large stock pot heat olive oil, add vegetables and sausage.  Saute until vegetables soften and begin to take on a slight brown color.  Add garlic and thyme to pan and cook for about 2 minutes to release the aromatics.  Add chicken stock to pan, scraping browned bits into the broth.  Let simmer until vegetables are tender, about 20 - 30 minutes.  Add milk and yogurt.  Heat through and serve with crusty bread.

Happy Eating ~ Missy





Comments

  1. Love this, love you, you woman of many, many words .

    Tammy

    P.S. This is my laptop, but I can only post as Mike.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Thanks for the words of encouragement ... and I do have "words" to use!

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

lent, not lint

says it all - the grotto It sticks to your clothes and shows up splendidly on black, it gets caught on the screen in the dryer and socks elaborately decorate your toes with the stuff.  Yep, lint:  the fuzzy, ravelings of fabric that cling to everything; like Velcro, only different. Lint actually has a purpose.  By scraping it from linen it can be made into a soft, fleecy fabric.  Cotton staple – lint fibers – are spun into yarn.  While all of this is riveting, especially while staring at the lint in your belly-button, there’s more to Lent than its sound doppelganger. lint: fluffy, minute shreds of yarn lent: a season of preparation These two tiny words sound similar in our vernacular, but have massively different implications in our lives.  We clean-up lint and toss it in the trash.  Lent, however is a prepping time for us to realize we’re not great at cleaning up our own stuff. Lent was originally a season between winter and summer, now called spring.  The s

road tripping: french glen and steens mountain

we took a stinkin' lot of dirt roads, but i wouldn't have it any other way The drive wasn’t long by west coast standards, a mere few of hours; which meant there was plenty of leisure (interpreted coffee time) before leaving on another road trip escapade.  I can’t begin to tell you how much fun it is to pack a bag, gas up the car and set out to see what can be seen. An interesting thing I’ve discovered on these exploits, is that having lived in Oregon for the majority of my life, I’ve missed “seeing” a lot of things. You know, I think we all get into the habit of going to the same places, which is a good thing, but we forget about the “other” places that are right in our own backyards. Case in point, yesterday afternoon, when my darling man and I went to Tumalo Falls. I’ve been to Skyliner Snow Park, but never gone the few more dirt road miles to see the falls. Holy cow! Is that lame, or what? a sweet little place, no frills, but plenty of yesteryear

pebbles

strewn pebbles Walking on the path I noticed the pebbles. I stopped and picked one up, holding it in my hand to feel it’s texture. Tiny and smooth, it felt warm from the sun. Continuing on my walk, the way was scattered with pebbles of different shapes and sizes; some flat and polished, others round and craggy with sharp edges that could cut the skin. I considered the meaning, if any. Some had been sanded to perfection by time and wear. Others recently broken and chipped were harsh, ugly to feel and look at. No matter, all were pebbles; that was fact. Missy If you have been mildly amused, challenged or inspired by what you have read, please pass on my blog to a friend, colleague, family member or even random acquaintance