Ranching

Thursday night has always been a favorite.

In grade school, many Thursday nights promised the chance to put on a Laura Ashley dress, attend a Civic Light Opera performance, and eat Junior Mints at Intermission. In high school, Thursday night meant NBC's prime time line-up - Friends, Seinfeld, and ER - which never under-promised. In college it meant putting on your tank top and black pants in the dead of winter so you could be one of the hot, sweaty, underage revelers squeezed onto the dance floor of Boat Club. And in MBA school, without classes on Friday, Thursday evenings could mean a short ride to New Buffalo for a sunset cruise on the boat. 

In the working world, a productive Friday lies on the other side of Thursday night, so my days of Boat Clubbing are definitely not an option. But there's something about tweeting #TGIF the following morning, that makes a Thursday night relaxing and great.

On this particular Thursday night, last night, we most definitely should have dismissed the idea of fun. We'd already had our big night out for the week, getting my boots shines, eating Smokin' Joes, sitting court side at the McDonald's All-American Basketball Games on Wednesday. So we should have had one activity in mind -  packing. With a mere three days left in the Ranch there is a ton to do: china to wrap, crystal to carefully tuck back into boxes, clothes to fold, books to organize, and junk to toss. We should have steamed the leftover tamales, unloaded the boxes from the monster truck, and packed. But we didn't. And our house is still in perfect order.

Instead, we sat in our Adirondack chairs; we read, grilled, and watched the little world we have called home for the past three years go by.

Last night, we just Ranched - the thing we've done best for the past three years. And although we'll most likely do just about the same thing, minus a decade, at our new house, there is something about this place that I don't want to let go of - that I will miss dearly. So until we hit a breaking point where we really need to start packing, probably shortly after my run on Saturday, we will keep on giving the Ranch the love and time it deserves. 

It was a great Thursday night in Naperville - one that would make my other favorite Thursdays proud. And one that would make the Ranch happy to have had the brewer and the bee as its residents.

 

Lo. 

Grilled Pork Chops with Leftover Tamale Sauce

2 bone-in pork chops
Leftover tamale sauce
(I made tamales on Tuesday night with chicken instead of pork. The sauce that I braised the chicken in makes about 1-2 cups too much. Reserve the pureed sauce and use as a marinade.)

Marinate the chops in the tamale sauce for 45 minutes to an hour.

Heat up the grill. Cook chops 10 minutes per side, or for thicker cuts (which we had), 15 minutes per side.

In a small sauce pan, bring the leftover marinade to a boil. Boil for three minutes, then reduce heat to medium low and simmer for 10-15 minutes. Drizzle over grilled pork chops.

Serve the chops with a blue cheese chopped salad and corn bread. And you've got a meal for the Rancher in you.  

Halibut, Paved with Herbs

Growing up, I never really understood why eating fish on Fridays during Lent was a sacrifice. After all, some of my favorite meals were meatless. I would take my Dad's linguine with clam sauce or salmon croquettes over a petite filet any day of the week.

However, about four years ago, while Peter and I were going through our first Lent together, I came to understand that for some, a day without meat can be a challenge. See, I am married to the ultimate carnivore and the ultimate fish snob. He prefers when dinner is bestial. And if the animal on his plate was once a swimmer, he likes it best when his skiff and line were its predator. So Lenten fish Fridays in the land locked city of Naperville have never come with much anticipation.

In the great Midwest, land of beef and butchers, dinner tends to come au jus. This week alone, I entertained requests for steak, stuffed pork chops and short ribs, which were each consumed with an eager eye and a salivating mouth.

But yesterday, when my response to Peter's 4:00 PM text, asking 'what's for dinner,' was 'halibut,' I didn't receive an enthusiastically hungry response. I wasn't about to let it defeat me though. I was determined to create an entree that might actually be requested outside of the Friday in Lent window.

I drew on inspiration from the fish that was served by the Fairmont on our wedding day, Halibut with an Herb Pave. I roasted it with a molded, herb and bread crumb crust until it was just done. 

It was well received, and as always, Peter and I donned our stripes as VIPs of the clean plate club.

But naturally, as soon as I mentioned that I wanted to try making pulled pork tamales on Sunday night, the carnivore's thoughts went straight back to swine.

In other Lenten news, I've gone six days without an alcoholic beverage and without looking at a recipe. I'm actually rethinking the whole wine helps me cook better theory. Now I'm about to test if a wineless Friday helps my long Saturday runs. Ready, set, GO!

Lo.

Halibut with an Herb Pave

2 5-ounce pieces of halibut
Juice of one lemon
1 tablespoon olive oil, plus a drizzle of it for the fish
1/2 cup homemade bread crumbs
2 tablespoons parsley chopped
2 tablespoons tarragon chopped
1 tablespoon shallot chopped
Salt, pepper

Preheat oven to 370 degrees and prepare baking pan with a sheet of parchment paper.

Season fish with a drizzle of olive oil, salt and pepper and place on parchment paper.

In a blender, combine bread crumbs, herbs, shallot, salt and pepper. Pulse until crumbs are very fine. Remove from blender and stir in lemon juice and olive oil. Using your hands, mold the herb mixture onto the top of each piece of fish, forming a 1/2 inch layer. (This layer keeps the fish moist and helps it cook evenly.) Roast the fish at 370 degrees for 10-12 minutes or until fish is just done.

Serve immediately. (And I served it with steamed red potatoes and a broccoli salad.)

Getting Ready

We're about five months into our marital equation, and the question has started coming. Quite frequently, in fact.
'So, are you thinking about kids? Any addition to come?'

The answer has been a resounding, 'Absolutely.'

But recently, after one particular query and after one particular response, my enthusiastic yes, became a little more thoughtful. This week, the rotating door at Zano Salon in Naperville once again swung its way around; out went my favorite eye brow waxer, and in came a new one. And as I've always done, perhaps due to the compromising position or the inevitable fear of the combination of dried wax and hair being ripped off my forehead, I started spewing my life story. The new girl learned about Peter, about how we met, moved out to Naperville, landed jobs in a down economy, got engaged, and celebrated our nuptials, and about my addiction to documenting and publicizing life's lessons on this blog.

Right before she was about to rip off the vagrant hairs of my left eye brow she said, 'So you obviously aren't thinking about kids anytime soon.'
Obviously not thinking about kids? Why would she think that? 

'Actually, we are. Ouch.'

'Really? Oh wow.'

'Well, I'm about to be thirty, and I want a big family, so basically, I need to get the show on the road. OUCH.'

'30? Really? I thought you were my age.'

'How old is that?'

'23.' 

Given my increasingly present old fart fears I was flattered, but it got me thinking about age and age-related priorities. Yes, I'm just about 30. But I honestly don't feel like it. And my maternal clock only recently starting ticking because everyone else seemed to think it should be on. I mean, my parents only took away my magical Gold Visa card about five years ago. And Peter, my first boyfriend ever, only came around about four years ago. It was just two and a half a years ago that I finally got the kind of job I had always wanted. And like I said, it's only been about five months since I got married. So really, my level of maturity hasn't aged past 25. Perhaps the technician at Zano had tapped into something a little deeper - physically, the clock might be ticking, but I still have some pre-children fun to get out of my system. 

The past 48 hours confirmed it. On Friday, we went into the city - to see friends, make some investments, and take a look at what living downtown would be like. Although children are on our minds, I would call the present a child prep phase - a phase defined by maximizing the experiences we have with each other, about living it up, and about making decisions that will set our future family up for, dare I say, the best life ever. 

We made steps toward finding the optimal place to live - whether its in Aqua or Bucktown or a great Loft in the West Loop, Peter and I are very close to making the leap over the Eisenhower, downtown this spring.

We asserted that there always needs to be a little Quinlan in our lives, along with hipsters, trendy dining scenes, and amazing muddled cocktails, oysters, and bone marrow spread on toast.

We invested in the ultimate Father-Son summer outing. After about a decade on the waiting list, Peter is now a proud season ticket holder.

Back in Naperville last night, we practiced, with the help of good friends who don't mind driving all the way out here for pork chops and home brew, for when our table will always be full.

We brought Roscoe over, and practiced being responsible care-takers.

And we added to the store, which will come in handy on rainy rug rat ridden days when aged beer is going to taste better than ever.

And this afternoon, we're off to see a child-friendly movie, Hugo.

Lo.