Tag Archives: eggs

Jul26

Dinner Breakfast Sandwiches (made with love)

Posted on July 26, 2013 by Jenn C.

Sometimes the kids are good eaters. Sometimes they are dubious. When I first started making meals for these little people, I had to really sell my food. One night, I made pork chops or something, way back when Henry and I were first dating. “Is this chicken?” one of the kids asked. “Nope. It’s pork.”
“What’s pork?”

Henry, whispered: “Say it’s chicken.”

Jenn: “It’s chicken. And I made it with love.”

From then on, for every single meal I’ve made for them, they always ask if I’ve made it with love. One time, I made chili and put in a can of diced tomatoes. Like clockwork, the oldest asked, “Jenn, did you make this with love?”

“Yes,” I answered.

“Are these pieces of your heart?” She was, of course, referring to the chunks of tomato in her chili. And she doesn’t like tomatoes.

“Yes,” I said confidently.

Henry cut me a look that said: Did you really just tell her she’s eating your heart?

I grinned and she took a bite.

We’re a weird bunch.

Tonight I made breakfast sandwiches with canned biscuits, homemade sausage, muenster cheese, and eggs.

They were cute, filling, and made with lots of love.

Sausage recipe:

1.5 pounds of ground pork
2 tsp salt
2 tsp pepper
2 tsp fresh sage (minced finely)
2 tsp fresh thyme (minced finely)
1/2 tsp fresh rosemary (minced finely)
1 T brown sugar
1/2 tsp nutmeg
1/2 tsp chili flakes

Mix thoroughly. Form into small patties for sandwiches. Fry. Or use to make sausage gravy with those biscuits. Do whatever. It’s good.

(Adapted from Alton Brown’s recipe)

Mar22

Happy Spring! Sausage Gravy and Snow Days…

Posted on March 22, 2012 by Jenn C.

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I woke up Wednesday morning to a text from a work friend who told me it was snowing. Uh…thanks? Why the text at 5am? 30 minutes before my alarm is set to go off? Then another text: 2 hour delay. Oh. I quickly sat up in bed and threw open the blinds. More snow in Eugene than I’ve seen since moving here. I set my alarm for seven and was woken up around six by another text that said school was canceled. So, here today, Thursday, school is canceled again. With spring break technically starting next week, it looks like I get a week and a half off instead of the standard week. And before falling asleep last night, I told the boyfriend that if I didn’t have school today, I’d get up this morning and make sausage gravy and biscuits for breakfast. It looks like I gotta make good on my promise.

Ingredients:

Milk
sausage
butter
flour
onion
garlic
chicken stock
whomp biscuits

Start by browning your sausage in a large skillet. I bought some bulk country sausage yesterday.

After the sausage fries for awhile, add a quarter of an onion, finely diced, and a few cloves of garlic, minced.

After it all fries together for a bit, add a couple tablespoons of flour to the pan. Alternate milk and chicken stock (stirring continuously) into the roux until gravy starts to form.

Fry some eggs. Plate it all up. (Oh, yeah. Make some biscuits.)

May15

Sunday Morning Breakfast: French Toast

Posted on May 15, 2011 by Jenn C.

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Ingredients:

3 slices of bread
3 eggs
salt, cinnamon
butter
syrup

Method:

Whisk eggs with salt and cinnamon. Heat pan with a giant pat of sweet cream butter melting in the middle. Dip slices of bread into the eggs. Fry bread until toasty. Top with butter and syrup. Shake your booty to this song: Doorbell, the White Stripes.

Feb27

Yesterday

Posted on February 27, 2011 by Jenn C.

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For as long as I can remember, food has been intensely important to me. I guess that’s not very descriptive–isn’t food important to everyone? We all need it to live. Maybe it’s more accurate to say that I’ve always had an intense fascination–or preoccupation with food. Food engrosses me. Most of the key moments in my life–most of the memories–pictures, fragrances, smells–most of them have their foundation in food.

My first cooking memories involve me, at my aunt’s house, standing on a foot stool, bellied up to the stove, stirring scrambled eggs with a wooden spoon. I stayed with my aunt a lot growing up–as my mom and dad were either working, fighting, or splitting up. Nearly every weekend I stayed with her and during the summer, weeks at at time. My aunt was my person. She taught me how to swim, never spanked me, took me bowling and rollerskating, held me when I cried, gave me baths, let me play dress up with her clothes. There was never a raised voice, never a fight, never a fist, never an angry or sad person drinking away their feelings. The worst she did was try to sneak cigarettes into the swimming pool. And the lifeguards caught her every time.

And oh–those scrambled eggs. Well-seasoned cast-iron pan, wooden spoon, real butter. Eggs whisked in delicate pink depression bowls. Green foot stool. Green stove. Frilly apron that touched the tops of my bare feet as I stirred and stirred those eggs–watching them slowly coagulate, clump, form into creamy clusters. It was magical, watching those eggs transform from slime into sublime. Dozens upon dozens of eggs fed my stomach, fed my yearning, even at a young age, to be self-sufficient–fed my heart, as well. Mastering the scrambled egg, in the warmth of my aunt’s kitchen, as her enormous, curly haired Chesapeake Bay retriever bounded past, nearly knocking me off the foot stool–taught me that good food is simple, empowering, foundational. Is a safe-haven. Is love. My experiences with food from this point on would send me mixed messages–food is competition; food is a drug; food is community–but my earliest experiences laid a strong foundation– of eggs.