Apple, apple, apple cobbler

On the south side of our house we have had two apple trees for about eight years. Last year and this year we have had a bountiful harvest of apples. We do not do very much in taking care of these trees as far as pruning or fertilizing. We do try to keep them watered, so they have somehow survived our years of neglect.

The picture below is of the bigger, sweeter apples, the Pettingills.

 

The smaller apples below are the Fuji.

But the best part of these beautiful apples is the consumption. This year we have given away some of the apples, and eaten some fresh, too. But tonight Hubby made his own delicious concoction, and called it sort of a cobbler. Whatever he wants to call it, I call it scrumptious. And it is disappearing fairly fast.

Get Your Goat or Cabrito

Just out of high school I went to San Antonio to look for work. My dad had informed me that we did not have any money for me to go to college, since my sister was attending James Dougherty School of Nursing in Corpus Christi. I was a real green horn when it came to job searching in SA. The only skills I had were clerical, so I went through the newspaper ads and went to a few places. What I should have known was what was meant by the ads that insisted "must apply in person." I thought that if I dressed nicely, I would do OK. But I encountered the turn-down of "that position has been filled." It took only a couple of those turn downs that I learned that it was the brown color of my skin that was not wanted for the position. Though that was not the first time I had experienced discrimination, it can still really get your goat.

So back home, looking through the Robstown Record, Mom read the want ads and suggested I apply for the clerical position at the Nueces County Farm Bureau. After an interview and recommendations from my high school typing and steno teachers, the position was mine. I was to get paid bi-weekly. My first paycheck for the first two weeks, minus deductions, amounted to $90! My dad did not believe in saving money, he did believe in celebrating life's achievements, however trivial. So to celebrate my first paycheck he suggested we all go to Nuevo Laredo to a much advertised restaurant El Rincón del Viejo. The featured fare was cabrito. Now that's a goat for celebration.

Fast forward to Summer 1998. No, not the olympics, but a celebration of a different sort. I was being recognized by the town of Marín, Nuevo León for my genealogical work. My mother's side of the family is a direct ancestral line to the founder of the town, José Martínez Flores. The town is a neat, small town, with no hotels, so we stayed in Monterrey. One of the must-do things for visitors is to dine on cabrito, namely at El Rey del Cabrito. My niece (picture above) was so taken with the display of the goats that she asked if she could go to the kitchen area and have her picture taken. Now those are tasty goats.

These memories came to me because the current issue of Time Magazine (August 25, 2008) has an article in their food section on goat becoming "a rising star among American meats."  You can even see a video on slaughtering, roasting goats. I still prefer the roasted cabrito.

Camotes al Horno

Last week was very trying. I have been trying to keep up with my exercise program at the fitness center, but my right shoulder blade has indicated that it needs some rest. I have been trying to allow the dentists and endodontists fix my cavities. Monday was an hour-long dental appointment; Wednesday was one root canal that took almost two hours; and Friday the second root canal kept me in the endodontist’s chair for two and a half hours.

I know I’m being a whiner, but I have a very low tolerance for pain. So I have been taking extra amounts of ibuprofen that I already take for my arthritis.

Since the above-mentioned root canals involved both sides of my mouth, I have been instructed to be very careful with food because the crowns are temporary and could fall out if I chew on something hard. I will avoid hard candy, steaks, etc. I was also instructed to avoid sticky food, such as gummy bears or caramel. I never liked the gummy things anyway, but the caramel I like with a fresh apple or with chocolate.

I went to Albertson’s and bought four medium yams. I figured that cooked yams satisfy my sweet tooth, and yams are good for one’s health—antioxidants and all that. I found several recipes on the web, but decided to follow some of the instructions from one recipe and combine them with those of another recipe.



One recipe calls for the yams to be boiled for about ten minutes, but I boiled them for fifteen. One recipe instructs to cut a horizontal slit in each yam and put one pat of butter. I decided to cut them in rounds about ¾ inches wide, remove the skin, and to be generous with the butter. Then these rounds are baked in a slow oven until yams are tender. After the yams are out of the oven, I can either pour honey, molasses, syrup, brown sugar, or anything else. Yum yams!




It was while I was cutting the rounds that I heard Mama Tina’s voice, in her joking tone: Padre, cara de camote morado—(short pause for best effect)—comer in ayunas, no sera pecado? The joke is that she is in the confessional and she seems to be telling the priest he has a face as ugly as a dark purple yam. But, after the pause, the descriptive phrase becomes the subject of an innocent question about what is a sin. Funny for me is that I remember such an inoffensive, clean one-liner of a joke repeated many times by Mama Tina. She would really have liked the camotes I prepared tonight. She had an even sweeter tooth than I. And many of her jokes were not so innocent.