Sir Pewksalot, And Cluck Luck
There’s nothing quite like waking up out of a sound sleep at 7AM with your six-year-old announcing, “Mum, I’m gonna puke.”
He’s not sick and it’s not nervous stomach. I think it’s a touch of food poisoning–worrisome with a kid under 12. Apparently his dad took him to noodles last night after kendo, and the stuff he’s throwing up is noodle-y and fish-y. *sigh* We’ve talked about fish and the kid before. I guess we need to talk again.
Poor little Sir Pewksalot. He’s a little bit glassy-eyed. I guess re-tasting fish in the morning will do that to one. The UnSullen One got up and made me coffee. “When you wake up to puke,” he said, “you need something nice to counteract it. I’m going back to bed.”
What a nice kid. He’ll make someone a fine wife someday. *grin*
I am making chicken noodle soup today. Before you ask–the chicken yesterday was a SOOPER WIN. I added a little broth to the crock pot at the beginning, then halved some russet potatoes and put them in skin-down after a while. The potatoes were mashed later on, I steamed some peas, and pure deliciousness resulted. After dinner the skin and bones went back into the crock pot for stock, and I’ve got two whole crock-pots full of stock out of the deal. Soupmaking shall proceed apace, once I skim the stock that’s in the fridge. Chicken noodle is probably just the thing to soothe a troubled tummy.
I feel compelled to note that the chicken was free-range, cruelty-free, and fed organic. It was still very cost-effective to feed a family of five for a couple days (I have plenty left over for soup and sandwiches, even). I do try to buy organic when I can afford it, and the only reason I’ve gotten into cooking roasts is because that’s where the price break for cruelty-free meat becomes reasonable.
I feel like raising my fists and saluting the four winds while announcing “I AM THE CHICKEN MASTER!” But that would be hubris, for I know there are many, many ways of screwing up the chicken-cooking. One good dish does not a Chicken Master make. And since I had the discussion trying to define “hubris” with the Princess last night, I am determined to be humble about any Cluck Luck I have had. (The discussion was to prepare her for Prince Caspian. She’s going with me to the movies tonight, the little angel.)
All right. I’m kind of at an impasse with Weasel Boy, so I’m going to throw more vampires in. When in doubt, as Elizabeth Bear noted, send in the man with a gun. (She also says more roller derby, less girlfriend, but as this is a romance novel, I can’t have less girlfriend. I guess I’m just going to have to rework the girlfriend I’ve got.) I guess I’ll just throw more vampires at Weasel Boy and his Lady Fair and see what happens.
After, of course, I drain the crock pot and put the soup together. Wish me further Cluck Luck.
