Does That Taste a Little "Goat-y"?

Sometimes the Little Kitchen goes on a road trip. This is especially true this time of year when I'm officially too hot and stressed to cook very often. So Sunday evening I attended my second LIME dinner in as many weeks, though this time without the pirate outfit I sported last time ... but that's a story for another day.

This was was a truly underground dinner -- five courses of goat, with a starter goat cocktail. Although I played bartender, I thought the concoction of goat whey, rum, lime juice and sugar was, well, a bit "goat-y." Everyone seemed to love it, but I was a bit skeptical. Where was my Cardinal and tonic? Sigh. You know I drank it anyway ...

But then we were on to the meal itself, and the second course ended up being my favorite of all -- a flatbread made with housemade goat cheese along with goat sausage crumbles seasoned with an African berber spice blend. As you can see, I ate a piece before I remembered to take a picture:

OK, looks like it was two slices. Sorry.

But wow, it was amazing. It had an earthiness that was perfectly balanced by the crispy flatbread, and the microgreens were just a bit of bright to heighten the deep flavors. 

In the next course, the soup course, the goat was more like short ribs, and by the time we got to the goat chop crusted in pistachios and coconut, I had given up taking pictures, and instead was just eating, talking (no surprise there) and pouring wine for the other guests. 

Trident Tech student chef Helen Hayes tapped her inner alter ego (pictured below in tattoo form) and rocked it ninja-style in the kitchen, cooking multiple meat courses in the July heat and smiling through it all:

I won't even mention that this was her first time cooking goat. No one would ever notice. In fact, none of us are sure we believe her, the food was that awesome. And besides, who has the guts to make her professional chef debut underground cooking something she's never done? Right. No one.

As always, Dr. Ruth and Chef Renata, along with Ollie and the Gang, were great hosts. This was technically an iLIME dinner, a more informal setting for the dinner. It is a great way to experience your first underground dining experience -- it's more economical, more intimate, and all fun. 

And like me, you might discover a favorite new food, goat!

From My Little Kitchen to Nursing Home Admittance

I live alone.

This means that one day I will have to go into a nursing home, that is, unless some kind soul takes me in. It's not that I wouldn't like to live my days out in my own house, defiantly driving my old car slow, going to get my own mail in my own mailbox, and baking cookies for little neighborhood girls who are scared to eat them because of all the crazy ingredients in jars lining my kitchen ...

In short, it's just that packaging is going to send me there. That's right, packaging.

Now, at my vibrant age (no snickering back there!), it's already come to this: I can't open most chip bags, block cheese, shredded cheese, coffee bean bags, milk containers, and assundry other products. So how do I survive? The knife.

I use the tip of a knife to break the seal on the gallon of milk, cut open the chips, block cheese, and shredded cheese, and get out the scissors for the coffee beans. I even take off wine foil with knives. I need a glass of wine, ok? Well, one grey-haired day, one of my neighbors will walk in on me wielding a chef's knife against a small package of cheese and will decide that I could be a danger to myself.

And he will be right, because it's not like I can store anything either. I can't close the zip on a zippie bag (if it's torture watching, trying being the one watched). Only Hefty one-zips please, and yes, those do get stuck too. I use old hummus containers and Parmesan cheese containers to store everything, but the lid matching can make everyone feel like we're playing a sad game of matchmaker that doesn't quite match.

And let's not even mention Saran Wrap. Let's just not.

Coupons for Creativity

One of the ways life in the Little Kitchen stays exciting is through creative shopping. Grocery shopping, that is.

To me, the heart of being creative is shopping the sale. Buy it, and figure out a delicious way to use it. One of my newest ways to do this is a weekly coupon for something free from Earthfare. I signed up on the website, and each week, I receive a coupon for something awesome. Chicken (my favorite meal!). Bulk items. And this week, cherries.

Friday was a day at the Little Desk, lots of writing, lots of research, and not lots of time for food. But lunch was a 5 minute drive away.

The Flying Pig Turkey Wrap, potato salad, and the cherries, all from Earth Fare

Everything was delicious, and I fell on it like a pack of hyenas. You know what this looks like. I did not take a picture of it, k?

However, I am not being creative with the cherries. I am eating them straight out of the fridge, cool and sweet on my tongue. My friends Lindsay and Joe brought some to my house last week, and I ate all those too. This is cherry-time, sweet candy direct from the tree. 

A Basil Rekindling

Last summer, basil and I saw each other a lot. In fact, you could say that we were "going steady." I bought one of those living basil plants from Earth Fare and planted it in a pot by the front porch. It was in full sun, and it rewarded me by basically becoming a small bonsai, trimmed at least twice a week by my not-so-expert hand for pesto, salads, and garnish.

Seriously, I froze nine batches of pesto last summer, not counting the batches I made fresh and served that night. I went a little overboard. I got tired of pesto (watch your sassy mouth, you say!). But I did. I  treated my aroma-filled kitchen as just another room in my house.

My ambivalence lasted through the winter, through dinner with friends who gushed over it; in fact, my "over it" attitude was still around last week.

I had dutifully planted another basil plant this year in my new place, employing my "Go With God" method*.

As you can see,  poor 2012 edition is limping along.

There hasn't been any pesto, any Caprese Salad, and frankly, I was still feeling mostly ok with that. Until last Thursday.

It was a blazing sweaty-degrees at 10 a.m. on Thursday morning when I visited City Roots Urban Farm in Columbia. The farm shed was filled with the heady scent of basil when we arrived, and we walked through and continued to the fields, the greenhouse, the beehives, the chicken coop, and rows of basil.

Just picked basil, gone to flower

Rows of basil at City Roots

I swooned a bit.

Regaining my composure, I continued my writing research in SC's Capital City, but basil was ready to rekindle our relationship. He knew the way to my heart -- through a well-fashioned cocktail.

My first brush with him came at The Vault with a St. Germain-laced concoction garnished with basil and lemon. You had me at hello.

But then, things got serious at The Whig. We drank City Roots Basil-infused vodka cocktails, simple and as brightly green as the rows of plants from which they were derived. Oh, how I've missed you, my lovely, I thought. You with your heady licorice scent and taste of green.

The next morning, I bought a bunch to take home and fill my kitchen with the smell of pesto once again, pulling out my recipe stained with olive oil:

the simple recipe copied from Food.com

The delicious results are summer and sunshine and all things bright. And beautiful.

Just blended pesto

And after my dinner tonight, there's some to put in the freezer. I doubt we'll tire of each other again.

*"Go With God" method: Plant plant. Water plant. Check plant for the next couple of days. Talk nicely to plant. Water one more time. Cross yourself, and wish plant well. "Good luck, you now have to adapt in this ecosystem. No babying for you. Go With God."