Merriest Christmas to you all! In this season of hope and mercy, I pray that you find a slice of happiness wherever you may be.
Where I happen to be is in the midst of holiday parties, most of which require food preparation on my part. I have used these opportunities to embark on some new adventures with Elli. The latest adventure pointed our train toward a new destination: homemade salad dressing. This is one area of cooking I have no exposure to. I vowed not to let Elli suffer the same fate. So, we dove in. We were winging it, relying on instinct, faulty though it may be, and a recipe created by someone who (assumedly) knows what she's doing.
Honey-Pecan Dressing
1 1/2 tablespoons sugar
1/3 red onion
1/4 teaspoon dry mustard
1/4 cup honey
2 tablespoons red wine vinegar
1/2 cup vegetable oil
1/2 cup chopped pecans
salt and pepper to taste
In blender or processor, pulse 2-3 times sugar, onion, mustard, honey, vinegar until blended. With the motor running, pour oil in slow, steady stream; process until smooth. Add in pecans until mixed together. Toss with greens. Salt and pepper to taste.
I'm not sure where I found this recipe. It has been in with my recipes on a handwritten 3x5 card for years, likely copied down from a coupon ad.
Our first step was to figure out what to do first. Reading closely, I found tThere were two things to chop: onions and pecans. But do I use the blender or the food processor? Can I do it all in one? I hate open-ended recipes. It's like a map giving suggestions rather than the true path.
"Here's what we'll do," I told Elli. "Processor for the pecans and onion and blender for everything together. Yeah?"
"Yeah," she said. Her confidence spurred me on.
We started with the pecans, on the theory that pecans would absorb too much of the onion flavor. Elli handled the pecan transfer beautifully.
"Want to push the button?"
"No," she said, pulling away a little bit.
But she did want to listen to the motor. Pulse, pulse, pulse. Elli giggled and looked up at me with a bright smile. It was worth the mess that I knew was coming just to see that smile.
I poured the pecans into a measuring cup and set them aside. Onion time. Elli was one step ahead of me, trying to pull open the bag.
"Apple, Mommy," she said.
"Onion, Elli."
"Unin," she repeated. "Red!"
"That's right. They're called red onions."
"Yeah."
I looked at the recipe: 1/3 red onion. Hmmm. Is that 1/3 of a regular size onion, or did I forget to write down the word "cup" after 1/3?
"What do you think, Elli?"
"Yeah."
"My thoughts exactly. A third of an onion it is."
As I dropped the onion slices into the processor, I began to wonder if i was putting too much in. Of course, I couldn't really measure accurately with the tears pouring out of my eyes.
"Mommy? Wha doing, Mommy?"
"Crying my eyes out, sweetheart. No biggie."
"Biddie," she repeated.
With the onions ready, we moved on to mixing the ingredients in the blender, starting with the honey.
"Ber!" Elli said, pointed at the bear-shaped honey bottle.
"It's honey."
"Honey," she repeated.
"Honey in a bear. Will you help me pour it into this cup?"
Elli, much like the bears she admires, cannot see honey and not put her little paw in it. At least she put that paw in her mouth instead of her hair. Count your blessings.
Into the blender it all went, and into a giggling fit Elli went as the motor resonated through the kitchen.
Now, the recipe said "with the motor running," pour in the oil in a SLOW steady stream. With the motor running, slow stream that requires lid to be off. The only thing I could visualize was those gag scenes in movies where the blender spews all over the kitchen because of an ill-fitting or forgotten lid. I put my trust in the Unknown Recipe Writer Who Surely Knows What She Is Doing. Surely.
And surely it splattered all over the counter, and cabinet, and sink. I looked down at Elli. She licked the gob of dressing off the side of her mouth and tried to reach into the blender for more. I love Elli reason #456: Unphased by noisy, messy blenders.
I showed her my love by letter her have a real taste of what we just made. I gave her a little scrapper and access to the blender bottle. Here's how that went:
Things Elli Could Do:
Stuff pecans into food processor Help pour ingredients into blender Accurately judge the outcome of the dressing
Overall Honey Pecan Dressing:
Elli-friendly cooking: 4 Elli-friendly eating: 3 (she really can't eat that much of it) Simple: 4 Fast: 4 Frugal: 4
Question of the Week: What did you make for Christmas this year?
For those of you who have gone with us on adventures before, you may be surprised to learn that she did not try to eat any of the cheese this time. She must have been saving room for a mushroom. She plucked her choice from the open can, took three chews, then prompty took the crumpled mushroom from her mouth and handed it to me.
"Doon ike it," she said.
"You don't like it," I repeated. "Well, that's OK. You don't have to like them. But can you put the mushrooms in the eggs anyway?"
"Time for the seasoning," I told her. "See the yellow bottle? Can you grab that?"
"Yah-yo," she said, scanning the counter. She quickly found it, snatched it up and turned it upside down over the bowl. I had to say nothing. Again, my little fast learner knew exactly what to do.
"Shake, shake," she said. And shake, shake she would continue to do had I not redirected her. Let's just say when we eat out, we have to move the salt and pepper shakers to another table.
"That's good, Elli," I said. "That looks like the perfect amount. What do you think we do now?"
"Do now," she repeated, her voice rising a little at the end, mimmicking my questioning tone.
"We stir!"
"Ter!"
I handed her a spoon and off she went. I have heard before how rapidly kids advance in their skills, but seeing Elli stir round and round today really amazed me. This time last month her little hands would pull off the spoon after two rotations. Now she shows the moves of an expert...even in how she tries to scoop the cheese up with the spoon, egg batter dripping everywhere, and drop it on the counter.
At this point I set her to what I call the administrative side of cooking: cleaning up, throwing things away, putting things back the fridge, etc. As my mom always used to tell me, doing dishes is part of cooking. Of course, now I understand her true motive to that imperative, but still, she makes a good point.
Besides, Elli doesn't seem to mind that part.
While the eggs cooked, we made toast from 12-grain bread and spread on some homemade (although not by me) apple butter. Well, actually, I made toast and apple butter; she found herself sucked into an episode of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. I can't be mad at that. She is a kid, after all, and it was Saturday morning.
"Excellent work, Elli!" I cheered.
She clapped her hands.
Next we put in the relish. I scooped a tablespoon of relish out of the jar and then set it on the counter.
"Elli, can you pick up the spoon and pour the relish into the bowl?"
"Re-ish," she said.
"Relish. Green relish."
"Geen rerish."
She picked up the spoon and dumped the relish into the bowl.
We repeated the process one more time then turned to the mayo.
"Was dat?" she aksed, pointing at the mayo jar.
"Mayo," I answered.
"Mayo," she repeated, looking at the white product I was spooning into the measuring cup.
"The mayo goes in the bowl just like that." The mayo plopped on top of the other ingredients. "And then we stir everything up."
"Ster," Elli said.
"Can you help me stir?" She tries so hard to keep up with me when I stir, but her hands come off the spoon after just a couple of rotations.
At this point I brought out the food processor to shred some carrots. Elli loved this part. She put the carrots into the processor.
When the carrots where in shreds, I removed the blade, placing it far out of her reach, and gave the processor bowl to Elli.
"Can you pour the carrots into the bowl?"
Silly question, Mommy.
Most of the carrots fell out, but carrots being the watery veggie they are, many of them stuck to the sides of the processor bowl and I had to scrap it out. I tried to get Elli to help me in that process, but she had discovered the taste of carrot shreds.
"I've lost you to the carrots, haven't I?" I asked her.
"Mmmmm."
No problem. I was able to reclaim her with one word: cheese.
"Cheeeeese!" she said in gleeful impatience as I opened up the bag of shredded cheddar.
Feeling confident based on her performance over the last several minutes, I decided to give her full authority over transferring the cheese from the bag to the bowl while I opened and drained the cans of tuna.
For the most part, that plan worked. I did have to encourage her not to try to hide cheese in her hand because Mommy can find it. But, I had very little mess under her "steps" (step ladder) to clean up.
A vast improvement from the Birthday Pizza adventure.
