My husband finally gets to come home on weekends. What a treat! I asked him what he wanted (after telling him his flight would be in early in transit and where the best sit-down restaurant was in his terminal).
He said Spaghetti and Meatballs. I got more beef than usual and may get some pork tomorrow to do my final exam on Swedish meatballs. I’ve got some culinary tricks up my sleeve that may actually let me pass.
Then my Swedish Kottsbullar coach comes to us next weekend and learns to make true Texas chili, circa 1962 when Lady Bird Johnson and her husband then Vice-President LBJ hosted a feast for 5,000 including President Kennedy. She served Pedernales River Chili. I’ve my own version of it and can only say that in Texas, chili does not include beans.
I usually stick to a code. I don’t cook Italian for Italians, Greek for Greeks. Chili for Texans. But I will teach my Swedish neighbor this and he and a guest will come over for dinner to taste our efforts that include grinding the beef and sauteeing the onions and garlic and seasoning so it can simmer for a few hours. I’ll take care of the simmering. He returns, we re-season. Then in a few weeks he’ll have his final exam. I’ll have to lend him my Kitchenaid mixer/meat grinding apparatus to make it work. He wants one anyway and I’ve had mine for thirty years. No, it’s MINE! He’ll have to find his own.
Husband will be here in a few hours. I bought him two bouquets of flowers and he asked for spaghetti and meatballs so will have it tomorrow night. I have his favorite savory smoked bacon and also blueberry sausages for our two breakfasts before he leaves again. Darn, I forgot the eggs and my car is buried for the evening. They’re re-doing the garage, don’t ask. It’s a mess but the valets get my car quickly. I only wish that they wear masks because the odor is noxious and probably poisonous and the EPA would not approve of this effort.
Texas chili, next weekend. Party. Who’s bringing the Margaritas? Dee
