Pork Stew with Hard Cider

So I haven't actually bought the Bon Appettit for March. I just don't feel like spending money on it and I renewed my subscription kind of late so I probably won't be getting another until April. That being said, I have something to say about one of the February recipes.

Pork Stew with Hard Cider, Pearl Onions and Potatoes

Ok, first of all this is the longest title ever. Yet, undaunted, I went to two different stores to find all that I needed. And who would have thought that Hard Cider and pork shoulder would be so hard to find? I guess people like their apple juice without alcohol and their porks without shoulders.

Anyway, by the time I left Whole Foods I was carrying a 40 of Hard Cider (for those of you who don't know what this is, it's pretty much apple beer. And not the Provo kind), the entire Whole Foods supply of pearl onions, and a hunk of pork.

Because I wanted to give this dish my full attention I started cooking at 5pm. Usually it takes me about and hour to get dinner on the table but I was expecting this to take longer so I started earlier. I got a discouraging start because instead of buying shallots I bought green onions thinking the recipe said scallions - but I percevered. About an hour later I was peeling one freaking pearl onion at a time trying to beat the clock in hopes that the stew wouldn't overcook. I don't know if any of you have worked with pearl onions before, but apparently you have to boil them so you can peel them and then finally you can put them in your dish so they will finish cooking. This is exactly what I did - telling myself that it was about the journey of cooking, not the destination. If I enjoyed peeling each damn onion I would somehow find myself in them and thus find answers to all of life's questions and eventually write a book about my journey from lowly onion peeler to celebrated Martha Stewart type person.

There were two serious problems with my daydream: 1. pearl onions are tiny and slippery so my hands were seriously cramping as I peeled 2. I love onions. Why, you may ask yourself, are these such serious problems? Well, I'll tell you.

By the time you peel the tiny bulb you have reduced your marble size onion to a hardly recognizable speck all the while poking your fingers and hands with the paring knife you're working with - no to mention the very legitimate cramp I had in my hand. The other problem stems from the fact onions are my favorite vegetable and at the best of times I'll eat a few pieces of the onions I've chopped. But now, presented with the ever-so-convenient tiny pearl onion I was downing them like a person on a diet downs the office M&M's. So the more I peeled, the more I ate and the more I ate the more I had to peel. It was a vicious, vicious cycle. Finally I got myself under control and fought the pain long enough to put the tiny onions in the stew.

Much hard work and three hours after I started cooking I collapsed on the floor in the living room (to be fair there was some Ellie entertaining mixed in there).

"Blerg... I've been cooking for three hours."

By this time Brandon had come home.

"Nat, why don't you take it easy? You don't have to make really complicated dinners," he said.

I stared at him incredulously.

"Are you trying to kill my spirit? Why do you hate me?!"

He sighed, "I don't hate you, I'm just saying that it's ok if you don't make super complicated dinners." he replied tiredly.

I stared at him trying to decide if he was joking or if he seriouly meant that I didn't need to make super complicated dinners. First of all a stew is hardly complicated, it's the stupid onions that are a nightmare. Secondly, of course I have to make complicated dinners. I have to, it's my thing. We all need our thing. Without our thing we lose a little part of ourselves and after my recent crisis I couldn't afford to lose much else, much less my thing.

So I just gave him a dirty look and got up to serve dinner. Wouldn't you know it, the 3-hour stew turned out delicious. It was nice and gravy-ish and homey. There was a very refreshing hint of sweetness thanks to the apples and apple cider and the perfect saltiness (something I constantly struggle with as you will soon learn). The pork was full of flavor and very tender.

Success!


Fine, this is the photo that came in the magazine but mine looked exactly the same (sans the fine china and fancy table) just ask Brandon.

PS. Here is the promised picture of Ellie. Note: Not all of Ellie's pictures will be food-themed.

"Meat, potatoes, with a side of meltdown please."

I've been deferring posting because I wanted to document my quarter-life crisis in a dignified way. However, can one document a crisis that culminates in chucking Brandon's hiking boots at the bedroom door in a dignified manner? Probably not.

You're probably thinking, "But you throw a lot of things, how can we distinguish a frustrated chuck from a lazy i'm-sure-i-can-reach-the-laundry-basket-from-here-throw?" You make a good point. Allow me to paint you a picture.

Imagine something like the Tasmanian devil (real or cartoon, both are pretty vicious) in mismatched clothes, hurling hiking boots like its life depended on it. Now imagine that in your bedroom.

Anyway, I'm better now, but I was really struggling for a bit there. I can't remember the exact reason why shoes had to fly, all I remember was the frustration I was feeling. It was like a cage was closing in on me and those hiking boots were the only thing keeping it at bay.

"I DIDN'T CHOOSE THIS! THIS WAS NEVER THE PLAN! WHO AM I?!?" my brain kept screaming at me. You see, I have found this transition from law firm employee to stay at home mom really difficult. More than difficult, suffocating. Sometimes I literally felt like I couldn't breathe. It was weird though because the anger and frustration was never aimed at Ellie. Ellie is perfect and if it weren't because something told me I had to keep it together for Ellie's sake, who knows what else I would have been throwing.

Still, though my law firm job wasn't incredibly glamorous, I was part of a team. People liked me (I think) and I liked them. They thanked me for my good work and at 5pm I was able to clock out and change gears. When I quit I was no longer law firm employee, now I was just another mom. A thankless and difficult job. The actual job isn't difficult, I'm perfectly equipped to cook, clean, run a house, be a mom and wife. Anyone is. And I was doing most of that before I quit my job. That's not the hard part. The hard part is doing it over and over and over and over and over again without a thank you, and knowing that tomorrow you'll have to do the same exact things over again. All the while thinking, "I have a college degree for Pete's sake! I was going to BE somebody!"

You see, society is always telling us to be powerful women and put all our effort into our careers or prospective careers, but society never tells us to find a good man, settle down and just enjoy our happily ever after. I think it's because that would mean admitting our moms were right and everyone knows how much we hate it when our moms are right.

When I left my job I left the one thing that stroked my ego. Without that, I suddenly lost all sense of myself and before I knew it I was chucking hiking boots across the room with angry tears running down my face.

How sad and pathetic is that? Furthermore, could I be more ungrateful? My goodness, I get to stay home with a beautiful baby, a great dog, and I get to have an amazing husband. We have plenty for our needs and we live in a beautiful place. It really doesn't get much better than my life. Unfortunately, I hadn't seen any of that - until I was sitting on the floor surrounded by shoes. I had completely lost sense of who I was and what my purpose was and it was no one's fault but mine.

Thank goodness for prayer. I prayed for peace in my heart and for forgiveness for being so ungrateful. Then I started praying for others, for people with real needs like those in Haiti. And praying that I would remember who I was. And I did. I am a daughter of my Heavenly Father. I am mother to Ellie. Wife to Brandon. Daughter to my parents. I'm a cook. THAT'S right! Turns out I had become somebody, perhaps not a world renowned somebody, but a loved somebody nonetheless. I had forgotten all these aspects of myself. I had actually forgotten how much I liked to cook. Weird. When I was working I just did it to feed us, but now, now things would get interesting.

So I threw myself into cooking. I've been cooking up a delicious storm ever since. Now I have goals and something to look forward to. You see, each week I cook one recipe from the Bon Appetit feature of the month. For example, in January it was all about the meatball. February, the meat and potatoes. And March I think it's one-pot meals. I haven't bought March yet.

I'm not trying to say I don't take pride in all the other things I do, like raising Ellie for example. But cooking brings instant gratification that I think we humans need. We all find it in different ways (hopefully constructive) and cooking is mine. Not only have I completed something pretty freaking awesome, but at the end we get to eat it. Take that, scrapbookers!

My other goal is to blog about that week's dish. So you have to hold me accountable. I promise to post a pic of Ellie to go along and keep interest levels high.

I'm not quite done being a somebody yet. I'd like to take some classes to supplement my interests. I'd like to have more kids. I'd like to serve and help others better. But now I know that it's not about my ego being stroked or someone saying, "Good job." It's all about remembering who I am, that I can love and be loved, and that throwing shoes, though satisfying in the moment, is but a temporary fix.