Homemade
I stare out of the kitchen window peering through my
binoculars watching the road. I am expecting a package today and the truck
bringing it to me is late. It’s no wonder with the latest weather over Rabbit
Ears Pass. These binoculars are usually reserved for watching cows calve,
watching for the hubby to come home from a hard day at work, or for making sure
the children aren't killing each other.
Today I am watching for UPS. He is
bringing me a special gift. He holds for me a Junxifu Pasta maker with chrome
plating. Oh the possibilities he brings. I can make spaghetti, fettuccini,
lasagna noodles, and ravioli noodles with my Junxifu. If I could make that
sound old Jerry Clower makes when he gets worked up, I’d me making it right
now. How about that sound Tim “The Tool-man” Taylor makes when talking about
“Man Stuff”. UPS not only holds the key
to savings (it should pay for itself in about 43 years) but it also holds my
family’s well being.
Who of knows what really goes into the food you buy? Just
because it say’s “flour eggs milk salt” on the box doesn’t always mean that’s
what’s inside. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for convenience foods, but where do
you draw the line? When I moved out to the Ranch some years ago I started
making my bread from scratch. Sometimes in a pinch I’ll buy a loaf of “Floppy
Bread” as my family calls it, but not very often. They prefer the homemade
stuff. From bread to biscuits and cake to pasta they want it real and unmessed
around with. Maybe I spoiled them but I don’t really care. This is how I show
my love.
I put Yorkshire Puddings on the table in front of my English
husband and he knows I was thinking of him while cracking the eggs and beating
in the milk. I show up at school with cupcakes decorated like clowns made from
a recipe I pilfered from PBS years ago and my birthday boy knows I had just him
in mind. When I ask “what would you like for supper?” and the answer is “spag
ball” (spaghetti) My family knows I’ll spend hours peeling and chopping the
garlic and onions, sauteing the meat, simmering the sauce forever and now
making the pasta just because that’s how they like it.
I can recite from memory most of the recipes I make, and if
I can’t then it’s not usually a favorite. I put my love into each onion I chop,
into each loaf of bread I bake, and into each pie I conjure.
My UPS guy did show up with my Junxifu and we indeed had
homemade pasta for lunch the next day. Homemade does not always mean cheaper,
faster, or easier. However, it always means more, and that’s why I do it.
Lovin' it ranch style,
Barb
