If you are looking for a new summer dessert that is cold, and fruity, yet creamy and yummy, look no further. This Blueberry Cream Cheese Pie is awesome, and everyone who has had it will attest. It is also super easy, and doesn’t take a lot of prep time. You can use any kind of pie filling, but I like blueberries; plus that was the original recipe.
I take no credit for this; got it off a blog I follow. If you want to see pictures you can go to her blog at coffeenut.blogspot.com
I made this while Audrey was home this last week, and we were going to take a picture, but um……………..
Blueberry Cream Cheese Pie
(Makes 2 pies – serves 12-16)
1 (8 oz.) pkg. cream cheese (or can use Neufchatel – 1/3 less fat)
1 pint of heavy whipping cream (or you can use a large container of Cool Whip)
2 cups powdered sugar
1 can blueberry pie filling
1 tsp. vanilla
1 cup pecans, ground
2 unbaked pie crusts
Preheat oven to 400 degrees.
Sprinkle ground pecans evenly in both pie crusts and bake for 8 minutes. Remove and cool completely before filling. You’re done with the oven.
(If you remember, one of the earlier posts on this blog was for the recipe that makes 20 pie crusts at once. I pulled two of these out of the freezer, thawed the discs, rolled them out, and was ready to go).
Soften cream cheese and add powdered sugar. Add cream (or Cool Whip) and beat briskly until soft peaks form. Add vanilla. Divide cream mixture evenly into pie crusts. Refrigerate for several hours. Spoon blueberry filling over tops of pies, dividing evenly (I leave a ring of white around the edge. Serve.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Monday, June 1, 2009
More on Memorial Day
Andrea as written about our Grandma Horack taking us to the cemetery and telling us family history. I didn't realize it at the time but she was also helping us not to be afraid of death. The people in the graves became very real to us as she told us their stories and their connection to her and us. Then seeing pictures of them with her or our Dad made them even more real. Other people have remarked that they won't go to funerals, they hate cemeteries, they're spooky, etc. We girls had a great time at the cemetery. We weren't disrespectful or anything but we had no qualms about walking across graves or being there with Grandma. Anytime spent with Grandma was great fun. What I remember most about Memorial Day was Grandma saving peonies for weeks ahead to take out. When she'd open her refrigerator door, her frig was full of peonies. Everybody now either buys artificial or orders from the florist or buys pots from somewhere. Since my peonies are always done blooming by Memorial Day, last year I decided to try what Grandma did. I thought it would be neat to put peonies on her grave as she always did on everyone elses. Two years ago I cut them just as they started to open and put them in vases of water in the frig downstairs. I noticed the florist kept them in vases in a cooler so thought that would be the best way. I took them out the day before going to the cemetery and they opened beautifully. This year I called the florist in town to see if she had an opinion on the best way to store them. She said the old timers said to wrap them in dry newspaper like a diaper and put them in the frig. So I did that this year. By the day before Memorial Day they were looking pretty droopy and sad. I didn't have very high hopes for their rejuvenation. I took them out the day before, put them in vases of water and by the next day, they had opened up beautifully. So I had peonies to put on Gma and Gpa Horack, A. Pauline and U. Wayne, and Mother and Daddy. I also took artificial flowers for my Grandma's parents, the aunt that raised her, her grandmother and her uncle. I trimmed the dead heads off the peonies that still live on GG Grandmother Katherine's grave and GG Uncle Jim's. I do this not because I have to but out of love and respect for my Grandma Horack and for the others who came before.
I noticed that one row over from Mother and Daddy there was a very old rose bush that was planted on a grave that hadn't been cared for for a very long time. I was blooming and trying it's best. So on Tuesday when I went to pick up the vases, I took the truck and loppers and trimmed all the dead out. No one had visited it or done anything for Memorial Day so I didn't figure anyone would care. I'm sure the bush feels much better, too.
I noticed that one row over from Mother and Daddy there was a very old rose bush that was planted on a grave that hadn't been cared for for a very long time. I was blooming and trying it's best. So on Tuesday when I went to pick up the vases, I took the truck and loppers and trimmed all the dead out. No one had visited it or done anything for Memorial Day so I didn't figure anyone would care. I'm sure the bush feels much better, too.
Memorial Day Memories
Memorial Day has come and gone, and I want to preface this particular post by saying that if any of my sisters have anything to add here, please do.
Losing family members to untimely death at an early age seems to bring certain things into sharper focus for you even during childhood.
My Grandmother Horack lost her mother as a small child and she and her brother and Dad were “raised”, i.e.,taken care of, by her aunt Caroline, and her grandmother. She and my grandfather married and had three children, one, my aunt’s twin brother died at six months of age being born with a hole in his heart, which in those days wasn’t something they were skilled to do anything about. Having lost loved ones, throughout her entire life time, especially a child, made my Grandma someone who frequented the cemetery with regularity. She planted flowers on the graves, preferring peonies that would bloom around Memorial Day every year, ensuring that there would always be flowers on the graves, even after she was gone.
As a little girl I remember my Grandma Horack loading my cousin JoAnn and I up in her little 55 Chevy, with jars full of water, going by and picking up her friend Gertrude, and heading to the cemetery to “tend” the graves. We would deadhead the peonies that had bloomed that year giving them a drink, and clean up any weeds or debris that accumulated around the grave stones. While we did this Grandma talked about those people who were buried there, she told and retold the stories of how our ancestors came over on the boat from Europe. How Great-Great Grandmother Somer had decided to wean the baby before the trip thinking it would make things easier, only to have them run out of drinking water on the voyage, and her sharing her allotment with the infant. The struggles they experienced in carving out a life on the prairie. How our Great-Great Grandpa Somer, after coming to America, didn’t find it to his liking and left his wife and children behind returning to Bohemia, thus no grave beside our Great-Great Grandmother. How our Great Grandfather Horack was so poor that when he died they buried him in what they referred to as “potters field”, a section of the cemetery where there are no stones because poor people could afford none, and by the time someone could have afforded one, no one could remember just exactly where Grandpa Great was buried. As she would pull a weed or water a plant, or wash the bird droppings off the stones, these stories coupled with the pictures on the wall of her home, or in frames on her dresser made the people real.
Memorial Day wasn’t the only day of the year we went to the cemetery, oh no! In the summer when the weather was especially hot, and we hadn’t had enough rain, we would load up and take water out to the cemetery to water the flowers that she had planted earlier in the year, or in the years before. Tending the graves was a responsibility that she didn’t take lightly. Passing on the history of those people was something that brought her joy. She would tell stories of my dad, as we tended his grave, and talk about my grandpa. However, I noticed she spoke little of Paul, my aunt’s twin, that was too deep a wound to remember. But I always noticed that she would prepare a special bouquet for his grave on Memorial Day.
These were not sad times, quite the contrary, these were wonderful times. It brought Grandma and her friend great joy to reminisce about the days gone by when sorrows of losing loved ones were frequent enough that death was just a part of life that you wove into the everyday tapestry, adding the dark colors to offset the light ones.
After Grandma died, my mother and I continued to go to the cemetery. As a young girl I would ride my bike the mile outside of town to the cemetery, checking the graves, breaking off the dead heads of the peonies as grandma had taught me. I would pull a weed, and knock the bird droppings off the stones remembering the stories she had told over and over.
When Roger and I go to the Ozarks to visit Roger’s brother, we always stop by the cemetery where Roger’s parents are buried. Roger’s mother was cremated, and we planted a tree over her ashes, so we check on the tree to see if it is still alive....it is. When we were first married Roger thought I was kind of strange for wanting to go home for Memorial Day. He didn’t get it. He does now.
I think the tradition of tending to the dead, and their graves are something we learned from the Bible when the women returned to Jesus’ tomb to anoint His body. Care was given to the dead, a sign of respect, regard for their memory. The joy that comes in visiting the cemetery is the constant reminder that your loved ones aren’t really there. Grandma knew this, but she also knew that by taking us there, she was teaching us respect for our ancestors, and regard for their memory. She was instilling in us a sense of family that she knew would continue on down through the generations.
I learned a lot going to the cemetery with my Grandmother. I learned that remembering the dead can be something pleasant. It can bring you comfort. It reminds you of the ones that have gone before you and battled through. It teaches that death is a part of life, not the end, but a part. It brings you strength. It brings you comfort. It gives you roots and wings. I think Grandma knew this, and that is why she started us young. A foundation of family, living or departed, is never a bad thing.
Losing family members to untimely death at an early age seems to bring certain things into sharper focus for you even during childhood.
My Grandmother Horack lost her mother as a small child and she and her brother and Dad were “raised”, i.e.,taken care of, by her aunt Caroline, and her grandmother. She and my grandfather married and had three children, one, my aunt’s twin brother died at six months of age being born with a hole in his heart, which in those days wasn’t something they were skilled to do anything about. Having lost loved ones, throughout her entire life time, especially a child, made my Grandma someone who frequented the cemetery with regularity. She planted flowers on the graves, preferring peonies that would bloom around Memorial Day every year, ensuring that there would always be flowers on the graves, even after she was gone.
As a little girl I remember my Grandma Horack loading my cousin JoAnn and I up in her little 55 Chevy, with jars full of water, going by and picking up her friend Gertrude, and heading to the cemetery to “tend” the graves. We would deadhead the peonies that had bloomed that year giving them a drink, and clean up any weeds or debris that accumulated around the grave stones. While we did this Grandma talked about those people who were buried there, she told and retold the stories of how our ancestors came over on the boat from Europe. How Great-Great Grandmother Somer had decided to wean the baby before the trip thinking it would make things easier, only to have them run out of drinking water on the voyage, and her sharing her allotment with the infant. The struggles they experienced in carving out a life on the prairie. How our Great-Great Grandpa Somer, after coming to America, didn’t find it to his liking and left his wife and children behind returning to Bohemia, thus no grave beside our Great-Great Grandmother. How our Great Grandfather Horack was so poor that when he died they buried him in what they referred to as “potters field”, a section of the cemetery where there are no stones because poor people could afford none, and by the time someone could have afforded one, no one could remember just exactly where Grandpa Great was buried. As she would pull a weed or water a plant, or wash the bird droppings off the stones, these stories coupled with the pictures on the wall of her home, or in frames on her dresser made the people real.
Memorial Day wasn’t the only day of the year we went to the cemetery, oh no! In the summer when the weather was especially hot, and we hadn’t had enough rain, we would load up and take water out to the cemetery to water the flowers that she had planted earlier in the year, or in the years before. Tending the graves was a responsibility that she didn’t take lightly. Passing on the history of those people was something that brought her joy. She would tell stories of my dad, as we tended his grave, and talk about my grandpa. However, I noticed she spoke little of Paul, my aunt’s twin, that was too deep a wound to remember. But I always noticed that she would prepare a special bouquet for his grave on Memorial Day.
These were not sad times, quite the contrary, these were wonderful times. It brought Grandma and her friend great joy to reminisce about the days gone by when sorrows of losing loved ones were frequent enough that death was just a part of life that you wove into the everyday tapestry, adding the dark colors to offset the light ones.
After Grandma died, my mother and I continued to go to the cemetery. As a young girl I would ride my bike the mile outside of town to the cemetery, checking the graves, breaking off the dead heads of the peonies as grandma had taught me. I would pull a weed, and knock the bird droppings off the stones remembering the stories she had told over and over.
When Roger and I go to the Ozarks to visit Roger’s brother, we always stop by the cemetery where Roger’s parents are buried. Roger’s mother was cremated, and we planted a tree over her ashes, so we check on the tree to see if it is still alive....it is. When we were first married Roger thought I was kind of strange for wanting to go home for Memorial Day. He didn’t get it. He does now.
I think the tradition of tending to the dead, and their graves are something we learned from the Bible when the women returned to Jesus’ tomb to anoint His body. Care was given to the dead, a sign of respect, regard for their memory. The joy that comes in visiting the cemetery is the constant reminder that your loved ones aren’t really there. Grandma knew this, but she also knew that by taking us there, she was teaching us respect for our ancestors, and regard for their memory. She was instilling in us a sense of family that she knew would continue on down through the generations.
I learned a lot going to the cemetery with my Grandmother. I learned that remembering the dead can be something pleasant. It can bring you comfort. It reminds you of the ones that have gone before you and battled through. It teaches that death is a part of life, not the end, but a part. It brings you strength. It brings you comfort. It gives you roots and wings. I think Grandma knew this, and that is why she started us young. A foundation of family, living or departed, is never a bad thing.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
The Best Chocolate Chip Cookie Recipe in the World
Well, O.K. maybe not, but that was the title of it on the internet when I found it and I am inclined to agree. It makes about 6 dozen cookies. That means we can have some to eat, and I can still stash some in the freezer. After I made it the first time I was sold! and won't go back, no I won't go back to the old recipe on the back of the bag!
Imagine my joy when after Mother passed away, I found this exact same recipe in one of her recipe boxes, cut out of a magazine or a newspaper. She knew the secret all along........
AWARD WINNING SOFT CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES
4-1/2 cups all-purpose flour
2 t. baking soda
2 cups butter, softened
1-1/2 cups packed brown sugar
1/2 cup white sugar
2 (3.4 oz.) pkgs instant vanilla pudding mix
4 eggs
2 t. vanilla extract
4 cups semisweet chocolate chips
2 cups chopped nuts (optional)
Preheat oven to 350 degrees
Sift together the flour and baking soda; set aside.
In a large bowl, cream together the butter, brown sugar, white sugar, and beat in instant pudding mix until blended.
Stir in the eggs and vanilla.
Blend in the flour mixture.
Finally, stir in the chocolate chips and nuts.
Drop cookies by rounded teaspoons onto ungreaased cookied sheets. Bake for 10-12 min.
Edges should be a little brown.
ENJOY!
Imagine my joy when after Mother passed away, I found this exact same recipe in one of her recipe boxes, cut out of a magazine or a newspaper. She knew the secret all along........
AWARD WINNING SOFT CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES
4-1/2 cups all-purpose flour
2 t. baking soda
2 cups butter, softened
1-1/2 cups packed brown sugar
1/2 cup white sugar
2 (3.4 oz.) pkgs instant vanilla pudding mix
4 eggs
2 t. vanilla extract
4 cups semisweet chocolate chips
2 cups chopped nuts (optional)
Preheat oven to 350 degrees
Sift together the flour and baking soda; set aside.
In a large bowl, cream together the butter, brown sugar, white sugar, and beat in instant pudding mix until blended.
Stir in the eggs and vanilla.
Blend in the flour mixture.
Finally, stir in the chocolate chips and nuts.
Drop cookies by rounded teaspoons onto ungreaased cookied sheets. Bake for 10-12 min.
Edges should be a little brown.
ENJOY!
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Pioneer Moments
Saturday was Angel Food Ministries Day. Every month, we have people of every socio-economic level come in to buy Angel Food. Once and awhile one will share a story of how without it, they wouldn’t have enough to eat for the month. We have a similar story in our own family, only God provided the Angel. Every family has stories of hardship, and “pioneer moments”; ours is no different.
The following is an excerpt from the “written” family history of Adam and Anna Wolf whom Mother was named after; Anna Mae Wolf Horack Roseberry(whew).
Great Grandma Anna Wolf
Great Grandpa Adam and Great Grandma Anna Wolf were both born in Germany, but were brought to America as very young children by their parents who settled in Illinois. Adam and Anna would move west to Kansas where they would homestead south and east of Wichita around the South Haven area close to a tiny town called Portland. When Adam and Anna Wolf first moved to their homestead, they lived in a dugout. Later they built a small shanty being about 12X14, and still later, built a house, a barn, and a milk house.
The shanty, that they later used as a chicken house
Adam and Anna Wolf and thier children at the house they eventually built
They eventually obtained their land under the Homestead Act of 1862, which stipulated a head of household who was at least 21 years of age could obtain 160 acres of public land by “proving up.” (Wouldn’t the lawyers have a heyday with that terminology today!?!) The requirement for “proving up” meant the homesteader had to live on the land, build a home, make improvements, and farm for five years. It cost a total of $18 to homestead—a $10 filing fee and $2 for the land agent at the time the land was applied for and $6 at the time of “proving up.” In lieu of living on the land for five years, homesteaders were given the option of purchasing the land for $1.25 an acre after they had lived on it for six months. Adam Wolf and Anna purchased their land in this manner; it cost $200 to purchase the homestead.
Now, in order to secure enough money to pay for his land and buy the supplies to feed animals and his family, Adam returned to St. Louis Missouri, a distance of 400 miles from home, to work as a waiter in a hotel.
During this time Anna, and at least two of the children, remained on the homestead in Kansas. Adam would send her money and write her letters, which the post master had to read to her, as she could not read English. For some reason, she ran out of money, the corn and grain for the livestock ran out and she also ran out of food for her children and herself. There was nothing else to do but seek help from neighbors. Leaving the children at home by themselves, she walked over 3 miles to a neighbor and tried to explain to the man in her broken English, which was in actuality more German than English, her situation. His response to her was, “You are young and strong, and you will make it and be just fine. Just go on home.”, and gave her nothing.
She continued to walk an additional half mile to the farm of John Fredrickson and asked for his help. Mr. Fredrickson loaded corn, wheat and oats for the animals, and what food he could spare in the wagon and took Anna home.
Anna never forgot the kindness of Mr. Fredrickson at a time of desperately needing help and being destitute. When she related the story many years later to her then daughter-in-law, Grandma Amy Wolf, she told her that she owed her life to Amy’s UNCLE John Fredrickson for his help and kindness to her during this season of her life. Yes, our Grandma Amy Wolf’s uncle John was the one that extended the hand of compassion and kindness to the family that would later become his nieces’ own family.
Adam and Anna Wolf had 10 children, two of whom died in infancy, (Christian, and Elizabeth). They were married for 62 years. Adam died at 86 years of age and Anna died at 87 years of age.
During these days when families are struggling financially, and some are losing their homes and “our metal is being tested”, this is a story to bear in mind. This is our heritage, this is “us”.
The following is an excerpt from the “written” family history of Adam and Anna Wolf whom Mother was named after; Anna Mae Wolf Horack Roseberry(whew).
Great Grandma Anna Wolf
Great Grandpa Adam and Great Grandma Anna Wolf were both born in Germany, but were brought to America as very young children by their parents who settled in Illinois. Adam and Anna would move west to Kansas where they would homestead south and east of Wichita around the South Haven area close to a tiny town called Portland. When Adam and Anna Wolf first moved to their homestead, they lived in a dugout. Later they built a small shanty being about 12X14, and still later, built a house, a barn, and a milk house. The shanty, that they later used as a chicken house
Adam and Anna Wolf and thier children at the house they eventually built
They eventually obtained their land under the Homestead Act of 1862, which stipulated a head of household who was at least 21 years of age could obtain 160 acres of public land by “proving up.” (Wouldn’t the lawyers have a heyday with that terminology today!?!) The requirement for “proving up” meant the homesteader had to live on the land, build a home, make improvements, and farm for five years. It cost a total of $18 to homestead—a $10 filing fee and $2 for the land agent at the time the land was applied for and $6 at the time of “proving up.” In lieu of living on the land for five years, homesteaders were given the option of purchasing the land for $1.25 an acre after they had lived on it for six months. Adam Wolf and Anna purchased their land in this manner; it cost $200 to purchase the homestead. Now, in order to secure enough money to pay for his land and buy the supplies to feed animals and his family, Adam returned to St. Louis Missouri, a distance of 400 miles from home, to work as a waiter in a hotel.
During this time Anna, and at least two of the children, remained on the homestead in Kansas. Adam would send her money and write her letters, which the post master had to read to her, as she could not read English. For some reason, she ran out of money, the corn and grain for the livestock ran out and she also ran out of food for her children and herself. There was nothing else to do but seek help from neighbors. Leaving the children at home by themselves, she walked over 3 miles to a neighbor and tried to explain to the man in her broken English, which was in actuality more German than English, her situation. His response to her was, “You are young and strong, and you will make it and be just fine. Just go on home.”, and gave her nothing.
She continued to walk an additional half mile to the farm of John Fredrickson and asked for his help. Mr. Fredrickson loaded corn, wheat and oats for the animals, and what food he could spare in the wagon and took Anna home.
Anna never forgot the kindness of Mr. Fredrickson at a time of desperately needing help and being destitute. When she related the story many years later to her then daughter-in-law, Grandma Amy Wolf, she told her that she owed her life to Amy’s UNCLE John Fredrickson for his help and kindness to her during this season of her life. Yes, our Grandma Amy Wolf’s uncle John was the one that extended the hand of compassion and kindness to the family that would later become his nieces’ own family.
Adam and Anna Wolf had 10 children, two of whom died in infancy, (Christian, and Elizabeth). They were married for 62 years. Adam died at 86 years of age and Anna died at 87 years of age.
During these days when families are struggling financially, and some are losing their homes and “our metal is being tested”, this is a story to bear in mind. This is our heritage, this is “us”.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Waste Not, Want Not
Having grown up with a “depression era” Mom, we learned about recycling at a very early age. You didn’t throw anything away. We washed the bread sacks, and reused them, washed the aluminum foil and reused it, paper grocery sacks lined the trash can, and before it was all over, Mother was even using the empty plastic bag inside the cereal box to place between her meat patties, or pork chops or steaks to put in the freezer.“It doesn’t tear when it gets wet like wax paper does!”, she would say in response to my rolling my eyes at what seemed to be this extreme of “savings”.
Keeping butter containers, cottage cheese containers, any plastic container with a lid was a given, and when we moved Mother out of her house, we girls couldn’t help but laugh at the number of cottage cheese containers we found stacked up and ready for use in her cupboards. We teased Audrey at the time that we would keep all those as part of her dowry when she decided to marry.
Well, I am here to confess that the dowry is intact, and Mother would have burst with pride if she had been here to see what I discovered in my attic the other day. What I was doing in my attic is another story, but it led me to unearth a particular box, dusty, and dirty but closed tightly against the 16 years of accumulation of filth. As I pulled the box from beneath the others stacked upon it, I questioned myself about its contents. After all, I had been the one to fill it and seal it, and place it in the attic. What in the world could it be?
Imagine my relief, amazement, and sheer hysteria when I opened the box to discover several stacks of, you got it, plastic containers! Cottage cheese, ice cream, whipped topping, butter, you name it, and I’d saved it!
For one split second I seriously thought about resealing it, and placing it back in the attic for my children to some day run across and………..yea, you get it, and they would have too. However,upon closer inspection, the containers, after being exposed to extremes of the attic were stiff, and brittle, and not worth much, thus I pitched them. I couldn’t help but shake my head and laugh at the fact that for years that box of plastic containers had been in my attic paying homage to the fact that I DID recycle just like my mama had taught me. I was ready to deal with any surplus that came along. The reason they were in the attic, was because at the time of the move, I had enough recycled plastic containers in my kitchen cupboards that the multitude in the box were considered surplus!
I called my sister Anita to share with her that I had finally found the hidden family treasure of such great value; we both got a good laugh. But underneath, we also knew that the containers were just an outward sign of an inward lesson we had learned growing up with Mama: Don’t be wasteful!
Keeping butter containers, cottage cheese containers, any plastic container with a lid was a given, and when we moved Mother out of her house, we girls couldn’t help but laugh at the number of cottage cheese containers we found stacked up and ready for use in her cupboards. We teased Audrey at the time that we would keep all those as part of her dowry when she decided to marry.
Well, I am here to confess that the dowry is intact, and Mother would have burst with pride if she had been here to see what I discovered in my attic the other day. What I was doing in my attic is another story, but it led me to unearth a particular box, dusty, and dirty but closed tightly against the 16 years of accumulation of filth. As I pulled the box from beneath the others stacked upon it, I questioned myself about its contents. After all, I had been the one to fill it and seal it, and place it in the attic. What in the world could it be?
Imagine my relief, amazement, and sheer hysteria when I opened the box to discover several stacks of, you got it, plastic containers! Cottage cheese, ice cream, whipped topping, butter, you name it, and I’d saved it!
For one split second I seriously thought about resealing it, and placing it back in the attic for my children to some day run across and………..yea, you get it, and they would have too. However,upon closer inspection, the containers, after being exposed to extremes of the attic were stiff, and brittle, and not worth much, thus I pitched them. I couldn’t help but shake my head and laugh at the fact that for years that box of plastic containers had been in my attic paying homage to the fact that I DID recycle just like my mama had taught me. I was ready to deal with any surplus that came along. The reason they were in the attic, was because at the time of the move, I had enough recycled plastic containers in my kitchen cupboards that the multitude in the box were considered surplus!
I called my sister Anita to share with her that I had finally found the hidden family treasure of such great value; we both got a good laugh. But underneath, we also knew that the containers were just an outward sign of an inward lesson we had learned growing up with Mama: Don’t be wasteful!
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Why I keep meals in the freezer........
O.K. I am officially sick. Ear ache, stopped up head, and sore throat; can you say THE PITTS!
This is one of those “freezer meal” times. Fortunately I roasted a chicken earlier this fall, and after cutting what meat I could off the bones I boiled the bones,(O.K., I have to interject something here. THIS is a true Mother, depression era thing to do, boiling bones. It removes all the little tidbits of meat off those bones, and if you don't add too much water, makes more rich chicken broth. I have seen women take turkey and chicken carcasses after a meal with a goodly amount of meat on them and throw them away, I cringe, because my mama taught me not to waste that meat, or the good broth that comes from those bones, and bits of meat). I then added the broth from the roasted chicken to the liquid from the boiled bones, and put it over the meat in the container, and froze the whole thing. Thus, all I needed to do was thaw it, bring the whole thing to a boil, and add the noodles. I then fixed instant mashed potatoes (yes I said instant, this is not a sin, especially when you feel like I do), and TAADAA! Chicken and noodles!
Not to brag, but anyone who has had my roasted chicken will tell you it is outstanding, and it is all in the Sweet Basil Rub that goes on before the roasting. It is a recipe I found on the back of a Butterball Roasting Hen I bought. I tried it, and haven’t roasted a chicken or turkey without it since. Like I said it is the best. Word to the wise; don't start with anything less than a 5 lb. bird.
Here is the recipe:
Sweet Basil Rub
1 T. Salt (can reduce, if wish, but not too much)
2 t. Sugar
¼ t. Garlic Powder (not garlic salt)
¼ t. Onion Powder (not onion salt)
¼ t. paprika
1/2 T. Lemon Juice
½ t. Black Pepper
1 T. Whole Basil
2 T. Extra Virgin Olive Oil
Mix salt, sugar, garlic, onion, paprika and lemon juice together. Next, add black pepper, basil and olive oil. Mix into paste. Rub paste(with your hands)over washed and patted dry hen, inside and out.
For the best gravy, save drippings from roasting pan.
Now to cook the bird
1.Preheat the oven to 350
2.Remove giblets
3.Wash and rinse bird, pat dry
4.Rub with Sweet Basil Rub
5.Place bird breast side down, (yes, I said down, your white meat will be moister) and tent foil over; remove for last 10 min. of cooking to brown nicely.
6.Roast in oven to an internal temp of 170 degrees or till juices run clear.
7.Remove roaster, allow bird to stand 10 min. (actually the bird is past standing at this point, so just let it lay there :) before carving.
For every 1 lb. of bird weight cook approximately 20-25 min.
5 lbs – 1 ¾ hrs.
5 ½ lb.s – 2 hrs.
6 lbs.- 2 ¼ hrs. etc.
If you are not going to serve the bird right away and want to make chicken and noodles, remove all meat from the bone and place in a freezer safe dish. Then take the larger bones, place in large kettle, and JUST cover with water; bring to boil. Cool, and add drippings from the chicken roaster, pour all over the meat in the freezer dish, cool completely and freeze. I use those noodles in the bread isle, the ones that are the closest thing to homemade I can find. There is a awesome brand of potato buds that I find at Sam's that are the next best thing to real mashed potatoes. The company that makes them is from Idaho--need I say more?
This is one of those “freezer meal” times. Fortunately I roasted a chicken earlier this fall, and after cutting what meat I could off the bones I boiled the bones,(O.K., I have to interject something here. THIS is a true Mother, depression era thing to do, boiling bones. It removes all the little tidbits of meat off those bones, and if you don't add too much water, makes more rich chicken broth. I have seen women take turkey and chicken carcasses after a meal with a goodly amount of meat on them and throw them away, I cringe, because my mama taught me not to waste that meat, or the good broth that comes from those bones, and bits of meat). I then added the broth from the roasted chicken to the liquid from the boiled bones, and put it over the meat in the container, and froze the whole thing. Thus, all I needed to do was thaw it, bring the whole thing to a boil, and add the noodles. I then fixed instant mashed potatoes (yes I said instant, this is not a sin, especially when you feel like I do), and TAADAA! Chicken and noodles!
Not to brag, but anyone who has had my roasted chicken will tell you it is outstanding, and it is all in the Sweet Basil Rub that goes on before the roasting. It is a recipe I found on the back of a Butterball Roasting Hen I bought. I tried it, and haven’t roasted a chicken or turkey without it since. Like I said it is the best. Word to the wise; don't start with anything less than a 5 lb. bird.
Here is the recipe:
Sweet Basil Rub
1 T. Salt (can reduce, if wish, but not too much)
2 t. Sugar
¼ t. Garlic Powder (not garlic salt)
¼ t. Onion Powder (not onion salt)
¼ t. paprika
1/2 T. Lemon Juice
½ t. Black Pepper
1 T. Whole Basil
2 T. Extra Virgin Olive Oil
Mix salt, sugar, garlic, onion, paprika and lemon juice together. Next, add black pepper, basil and olive oil. Mix into paste. Rub paste(with your hands)over washed and patted dry hen, inside and out.
For the best gravy, save drippings from roasting pan.
Now to cook the bird
1.Preheat the oven to 350
2.Remove giblets
3.Wash and rinse bird, pat dry
4.Rub with Sweet Basil Rub
5.Place bird breast side down, (yes, I said down, your white meat will be moister) and tent foil over; remove for last 10 min. of cooking to brown nicely.
6.Roast in oven to an internal temp of 170 degrees or till juices run clear.
7.Remove roaster, allow bird to stand 10 min. (actually the bird is past standing at this point, so just let it lay there :) before carving.
For every 1 lb. of bird weight cook approximately 20-25 min.
5 lbs – 1 ¾ hrs.
5 ½ lb.s – 2 hrs.
6 lbs.- 2 ¼ hrs. etc.
If you are not going to serve the bird right away and want to make chicken and noodles, remove all meat from the bone and place in a freezer safe dish. Then take the larger bones, place in large kettle, and JUST cover with water; bring to boil. Cool, and add drippings from the chicken roaster, pour all over the meat in the freezer dish, cool completely and freeze. I use those noodles in the bread isle, the ones that are the closest thing to homemade I can find. There is a awesome brand of potato buds that I find at Sam's that are the next best thing to real mashed potatoes. The company that makes them is from Idaho--need I say more?
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