Organized For A Cause, And As Always, Cooking.

My calendar is color-coded.  Snarky Son’s activities in green.  Darling Daughter’s in purple.  Mine in blue.  OK.  That’s not all.  Birthdays are pink.  Family stuff, orange.  And school stuff?  Blue (the school color).

C’mon.  How does this not make sense?

My spices are alphabetized. Don't judge me.  I bet lots of people do it.  They’re just afraid to come out of the spice cabinet and own up.   Pity, that.  United, we could convert cooks countrywide, allowing everyone that supreme satisfaction of locating your Turkish bay leaves and Greek oregano in 8 seconds.  Flat.

With my passion for order, you can imagine what “allowance day” is like Chez Wiles.  Suffice to say, SS and DD have always divvied up their monthly payola so that some goes toward short-term spending, some for long-term savings and some for charity.

SS and DD have wildly different spending and saving habits.  SS is a get-rid-of-it-before-it-sears-my-flesh spender -- he's a reliable stimulator of the U.S. economy.  DD is a rainy-day-but-that’s-not-rain-that’s-just-drizzle saver -- stashing cash in drawers, purses, wallets and jewelry boxes, anticipating the inevitable monsoon.  (Even then, though, I’m not sure how much of the loot would be unleashed.)

None of this is to say, however, that every single shopping excursion with the kids doesn’t involve the following dialogue:  Kid, “Will you buy this for me?”  Me, “Nope.  You have your own money.”  Kid, astonished, “What?”  Me, “If you want that psychedelic-peace-symbol-t-shirt/Superman-candle/pocket-Buddha so much, buy it yourself.”  Kid, “Are you serious?  I'm not buying that!”

Last week, though, with only the barest understanding of the dire post-earthquake situation in Haiti, the kids didn’t hesitate before digging into their charity stash.  DD, ever the planner, contributed a double-digit percentage of her coffers, but held the remainder in reserve.  Should another crisis arrive, she'll be prepared to help there, too.  I love that kid.

SS, on the other hand, opened his charity jar and said, “Take it.  All of it.”  After I added my contribution to the pile, we logged onto the Red Cross website, satisfied we’d made a good decision and relieved to feel as if we were doing something – anything – to help.

Two days later, though, SS’s favorite band, Blink-182 announced its own fundraising effort, selling Haiti T-shirts, with all proceeds going to the American Red Cross.

Naturally, SS asked if I’d buy one.  Naturally, I reminded him he has his own money.  He then quickly asked if he could resort to his “charity” cash.  And just as quickly, he remembered those coffers had been drained.

“I guess, then, that I’ll just buy it myself,” he said.  “It’s another way to help, right?”

I love that kid.

I also love the short ribs that we had this weekend.  Super tender.  Super flavorful.  And at $4.99 a pound (even at the fancy butcher), super affordable.

And in case you don’t print out the recipe, but want it later, it’s also super easy to find.  You know me.  It’s already categorized and filed.  You'll find it under “Main Dish Recipes” to the right!

Braised Beef Short Ribs with Whole Grain Mustard

Serves six -- or four with yummy leftovers

5 lbs. beef short ribs

2 tablespoons olive oil

1 onion, chopped

1 carrot, diced

1 rib celery, chopped

3 cloves garlic

2 cups dry red wine (I used an affordable Cabernet Sauvignon)

1 can beef broth

3 tablespoons whole grain mustard

1 teaspoon kosher salt

very generous grinding of pepper

In a large, heavy duty lidded pan (a Dutch oven or roaster is ideal), heat oil over medium high heat until hot and rippling.  Working in batches, brown ribs on all sides.  (This can take a while.  Be patient, and get a nice deep brown.)  Remove ribs from pan, and stir in onions.  Saute until translucent, then add carrot, celery and garlic.  Saute until lightly browned.  Stir in wine, beef broth, mustard, salt and pepper and bring to a boil.  Return short ribs to pan, put in oven (lidded) to bake at 300.  Check occasionally (if only to briefly lift the lid and let the aroma fill your kitchen).  After three hours, check with a fork.  Beef should be very tender and nearly falling off the bone.  If not, return to the oven for another 30 minutes or so.  When ribs are done, remove from oven and allow to rest 15 minutes (or up to 45 minutes) before serving over hot cooked egg noodles.

The Sweetest Surprise -- And All A 12-Year-Old Needs To Know. (Frosted Cinnamon Biscuits)

Last week, The Today Show aired a segment about the things every woman should know how to do (drawn from the new book, How to Sew A Button:  And Other Nifty Things Your Grandmother Knew.)

In addition to “sew a button,” the must-know’s included roast a chicken, hang a picture, throw a yard sale, and build a fire.  (It’s not just me, right?  A yard sale? Really?)  Nevertheless, at age 47, I’m sufficiently old that it never occurred to me to “test” myself.

Instead, my always-on-mothering mind instantly darted to Darling Daughter (DD).  How would she measure up?  Or, to be frank, as the most-likely-teacher of her success-in-life-requirements, how would I measure up?  (Easy to see why I’ve never subscribed to Cosmo.  Every monthly quiz delivered by Mike The Mailman would prompt an appointment with my neighborhood psychiatric professional.)

OK.  DD’s only 12, so I’ll keep my expectations to a simmer.  I’m not worried about her roasting a chicken.  True, she is skeeved out at the very idea of touching meat – much less chilly, raw, jiggly, pink meat, but she’s 12, OK?  I’m not worried.  Knowing how much she enjoys roast chicken (particularly Beer Butt Chicken), I’m willing to bet DD overcomes these issues as an adult.

DD should also, according to "those in the know," be able to hang a picture, compost, and build a fire.  Ideal training, I suppose, for her future.  Provided her future involves a career as a perfectionistic, environmentally-minded arsonist.

So.  “Tie a tie?”  Ummm, OK.  Particularly helpful, I suppose, if she ever has a son, and if her spouse (presumably, the keeper of that tie-tying knowledge) works long hours, but she's the one who’s got to deliver the kid to a coat-and-tie event.  (Been there, done that.  Times 10 other boys whose moms couldn’t tie a tie.)

So what’s left?  “Mix a perfect martini?”  Maybe.  But as her mother’s daughter, DD’s expertise is more likely to lie with sangria.  But I digress.  My real advice to her (when she’s of age, of course), would be to understand that when her date says he wants a bourbon and ginger, he is not sending a double-top-secret code for more sangria.  Even if her sangria is the very one that The Episcopal Church is considering serving at Communion.  He wants bourbon and ginger.  So relent and make the best bourbon and ginger ever.  Crushed ice.  Decent bourbon.  In a hefty, cut-crystal highball (not double-old-fashioned) glass.  With your own signature touch.  A slice of candied ginger comes to mind.

Despite these occasional worries and fret-sessions, I love being DD’s mom.  Still, I’ve recently been longing for and reminiscing about the days when she was wee bit of a girl.  When I could tote her on my hip and snug her into my bed.  When the backseat of my minivan was crunchy and paved with Goldfish and Cheerios. When DD so plainly and plaintively needed me.

But wouldn’t you know it?  Just as I was in the midst of thinking that DD had outgrown me -- just when I was fretting about silly stuff like composting and sewing on buttons (which really, I do need to teach her), DD's started showing up in my bedroom in the early morning.  Weekend, school day.  Whatever.  With her sleep-crusted eyes, somehow always-fabulous-looking hair, and her hip Winnie-The-Pooh pajamas, she wanders into my room and stretches across the foot of my bed just a few minutes before I’d have headed into her room to wake her up.

What a sweet surprise.  What a wonderful way to wake up.  What a tremendous reminder of my fortune at being her mom.

Just as sweet – one recent morning, after snuggling on the bed with me and Lionel (the 12-pound man of the house), DD suggested that there might be a way to improve on my basic Buttermilk Biscuits.

She was right.  These rich, untraditional buttermilk biscuits were a hit -- and have been added to our own list of “things every woman should know.”

Frosted Cinnamon Biscuits

Makes 12-15 biscuits.

2 cups all-purpose flour, plus extra for dusting the board

2 tablespoons sugar

4 teaspoons baking powder

½ teaspoon baking soda

½ teaspoons salt

½ teaspoon ground cinnamon

6 tablespoons shortening (chilled, cut in small slices)

2 tablespoons unsalted butter (chilled, cut in small slices)

1/2 cup buttermilk

1/2 cup heavy cream

½ cup cinnamon chips

Frosting

½ cup confectioner’s sugar

1-2 tablespoons heavy cream

½ teaspoon vanilla

Preheat oven to 400.  In a large mixing bowl, whisk together dry ingredients for biscuits.  Using a pastry cutter or two forks, cut in shortening and butter until mixture is crumbly and mealy.  Quickly stir in cream, buttermilk and cinnamon chips.  Do not overmix.  Dough should be soft and sticky.  Scrape dough onto well-floured board or counter.  It will not (and should not) be as elastic or dry as bread dough.  Using floured hands, gently pat out dough, folding it over itself several times (patting, not kneading).  Pat dough to ¾ inch thickness.  Dipping biscuit cutter in flour, cut out biscuits, placing on ungreased cookie sheet.  Repeat with remaining dough scraps.  Bake until very lightly golden – about 10 minutes.

While baking, mix together frosting ingredients, beginning with only 1 tablespoon of cream, and adding more as necessary to achieve a spreadable consistency.  Spread over biscuits while still warm and serve.  No butter needed!

Cold and Fat Is No Way To Go Through Life. (Anyone Else Remember "Animal House"?)

OK.  What’s wrong here?  I’m wearing jeans.  Ski socks.  Wool-lined boots.  (Really cute ones – black with tassels!)  A turtleneck and a hooded fleece jacket.  I’m zipped in and hooded up.

Yet, I’m popsiclesque.  In my own house.

Clearly, Charlotte – like most of the country – is in the midst of a prolonged cold snap.  Or more accurately, given these temperatures, a cold shatter.  Nevertheless, I’m indoors, and while the thermostat Chez Wiles isn’t exactly set at “balmy,” it is holding steady at 68.

Still, Snarky Son and Darling Daughter actually set off for school this morning dressed less warmly than I am right now.  (And no, SS wasn’t, as threatened, wearing his cheetah Snuggie.  Is it possible a teenager would say such things only to see how a parent would react?)

I’ve always been cold-natured.  And I could write the book, the employee manual, the very Gideon’s Bible on layering.  Just ask anyone who saw me in the ladies' room at last Sunday’s Panthers-Saints game. Or, more accurately, anyone who had to cross her legs, jiggle her heels, tap her toes, bite her lip, and clinch the very most inner part of her being, waiting for me to peel back all that fabric in my stall.  And continue to wait, while I took twice as long to reconstruct the elaborate textile structure I’d devised to help stave off the cold, including HandWarmers, BFF to many a woman of a certain age.  (I've actually slept with a Handwarmer under my pillow before.  Toasty.)

The “layering” premise isn't perfect, however.  I don't have scientific evidence, exactly, but consider this:  If layering really worked, then the 10-pounds I mortared on this holiday season would seal in some of my body heat, wouldn’t it?  Wouldn't I be warmer?  Fat chance.  And I say that without irony.  Fat.

Sadly, now that I’m a woman of a certain age, that's one layer that isn’t peeling off in a ladies’ room – much less anytime in the next few weeks.  As one dear friend put it, “Remember college?  After a big tailgating weekend, you’d put on five pounds.  So Monday, you'd skip dinner and that's all it took -- you were right back in your skinny jeans."

Those.  Were.  The days, my friend.  They ended.

Now that I'm in my 40s, skipping dinner is just a way to avoid acid reflux.  I need a more thoughtful, and perhaps, more nutrition-based approach to weight-loss.  And if possible, one that will also help defrost my fingers and toes (because I will not, I repeat, will NOT, raise the thermostat when I’m the only one here at home.  At least not while I’m still abiding to the holy trinity of New Year’s Resolutions -- losing weight, getting fit and cutting costs!)

I’m not in college.  I can’t lose 10 pounds overnight, but this vegetarian Black-Eyed Pea Soup has to be a good start.  Low in fat, but high in flavor, this soup is made with my other new BFF – Ro-Tel tomatoes and chiles.  Which, coincidentally, also helps warm me up.

Don’t you love it when a recipe comes together?

Spicy Black-Eyed Pea Soup

If you want to add some type of meat, something as simple as crumbled bacon or sausage would be good here.  Or, you could add a slice of ham hock while cooking the peas.  Also, note that the consistency of this zesty soup will change considerably if you refrigerate it overnight – becoming more stew-like.  I eat it both ways and can't say which I prefer!

1 tablespoon olive oil

1 medium onion, chopped

12-15 baby carrots, sliced

1 rib celery, chopped

2 cloves garlic, minced

1 quart vegetable stock, divided

1 10-ounce carton fresh black-eyed peas

½ teaspoon kosher salt

1 10-ounce can Ro-Tel tomatoes with green chiles

¼ teaspoon Liquid Smoke (optional)

½ cup raw rice

sour cream for garnish (optional)

In a very large lidded skillet or soup kettle, sauté onion in olive oil over medium-heat until translucent, stir in carrots and celery and continuing sautéing until edges of vegetables begin to brown.  Stir in garlic, and sauté another couple of minutes, until garlic is very fragrant.

Pour in 3 cups of vegetable stock, increase heat to high, and bring to a boil.  Dump in black-eyed peas and salt and reduce heat to low.  Simmer, lidded, until peas are very nearly done.  Everyone says this should take fewer than 30 minutes, but it never has for me.  More like an hour.

When peas are nearly done (not crunchy or starchy, but slightly firm to the bite), stir in tomatoes, Liquid Smoke (if using), and rice.  Replace lid and simmer, stirring occasionally, until rice is done – about 20 minutes.

Check for seasoning.  If you like your soup more brothy, stir in remaining cup of vegetable stock.  Heat through and serve.  Top with a spoonful of sour cream, if desired.