Meh list, roast chicken smells wonderfully, humanity and eating

Have y'all seen the "Meh List: Not Hot, Not Not, Just Meh" in the Sunday NYT magazine? I love it. It's a tiny little column in the chaos that is The One-Page Mag. I generally agree with it completely excepting today's inclusion of couscous which I adore. But Amanda Seyfried? "Now out on Blu-ray"? Yes. Kinda reminds me of the Approval Matrix in the NY Magazine which is another great publication. Anyway, totally gaga and in need of comfort, this morning I bought a lovely little chicken rated 5, the penultimate grade, in the Global Animal Partnership's animal welfare standards, and roasted him with thyme, bay leaves, garlic and butter. It smells wonderfully in here right now. I'm a voracious reader of all things related to the ways in which our food is produced, processed or not, and how these methods impact our environment and health. The more I learn, the more stridently unwilling I am to buy or consume animal products whose origins I don't know or aren't traceable. I want my food to come from actual farms, true to the image I conjure when thinking about traditional ones- pastures, no cages, no administered hormones or antibiotics, the food provided is the food the animals evolved to eat.

I want the animals who give their lives to serve our palates to be treated not just humanely, but kindly and with respect during their living tenure. I want to know that, barring any depressive personality characteristics they might have had, their lives were good ones, with space to live and move, that they were fed well, that they weren't suffering.

Not like the feedlot cattle forced to eat the byproducts of our government subsidized, massive corn- and soybean- production rather than the grasses which they evolved -they're ruminants people- to eat, relegated to miserable lives spent not in grassy fields but in pools of excrement, shot through and through with drugs and hormones of all kind, kicked and beaten when they fall down sick, left to die in heaps of similarly ill kin, slaughtered in grotesque and inhumane ways. Not like industrial laying chickens who are caged in windowless warehouses from the moment they're born (if they're female; males are immediately killed), given a space smaller than a sheet of 8x11 paper, placed under lights and administered drugs which force them to lay eggs exponentially more often than they do in nature. Their cages are stacked one upon and next to the other, excrement is everywhere, those who die are tossed aside without care. Not like feedlot pork, industrial turkeys, broiler chickens, geese forcefed and then used for foie gras, and on and on. I'd rather never eat meat again than eat, and thusly support that treatment of, these indentured animals.

The next installment of this subject will focus on the nutritional differences found in animals raised industrially and naturally. Literally food for thought, huh?

Night worse than expected, good dinner though

I don't even know my name right now, but I do know that I feel like I've been pulled through a hedge backwards, and that's never a good thing. Oliver threw an unprecedented tantrum-in-the-middle-of-the-night which involved begging for cold water, me stumbling downstairs and getting said water, bringing it back up to him, returning to my bed and listening as he yelled that he wanted bubble water and threw the sippy cup over the edge of his crib. Times like these are when I feel no guilt in calling one/both of my children buttheads. Jack was up several times, and our nightlong date culminated in me drawing him a hot bath at 5:15am, instructing him to NOT put his head in the water, and crawling back into bed with one eye shut,  trying to rest but actually nervous about leaving him in the bath alone. Fortunately he wanted to sit directly under the faucet and rest his face on it, so there wasn't so much to worry about. When do you stop worrying about stuff like this? Will I ever let them take a bath alone? Ever let them walk to CVS by themselves? Not sure, so great is parental concern even for the relatively laid-back among us.

Anyway, I'm sucking coffee right now, feeling thankful that I'm big on cooking large quantities of good breakfast items and freezing them, and will definitely approve a smattering of TV shows throughout the day.

On a positive note, I made the pan fried Brussels sprouts again last night and this time, thin on the sprouts component, added some asparagus. Nice! Also pretty!

10 hours to go, friends.

Jam is delish, inauspicious start to day, at least the sun is out

People, at 4:30 this morning, I felt something hard boring into my back. It was Jack's knees. I know not when or why he moved into bed with us, but when I came to, I realized that I was sandwiched between him and Tom and both were snoring to beat sixty. At 5a, Oliver started singing about wanting to eat and go to the bathroom. At this point, I threw in the towel and headed towards the basement. Percy was pacing frantically by the door, so I let him out only to watch has he ran to one of my low-slung flowers and pooped directly on top of it. In defeated irritation, I called him in and crawled into the basement bed, never to return to sleep. Despite this ridiculous opening act, I finished the early morning session by cooking and canning the gorgeous mess of strawberries, rhubarb and lemon that macerated overnight. The boys said it was awesome, and while it is on the sweet side, the flavor is wonderful. Melissa Clark, you've done it again.

After getting Jack to school, I thought it only just to stop off for a round of my beloved Apple Streusel bread. I mean, I did have to pick up a challah as I'm Shabbat mom in Oliver's class later this morning. This bread is making me very happy as is the fact that T took O to school, and I've got two hours of quiet ahead of me. Amen!

Going to walk the darn dog -my love for him is really on the outs right now- and then settle in to work up this madeleine recipe. In the wee hours of the morning I became certain that an espresso dipping glaze would be a wonderful accompaniment to the little cinna-cocoa cakes. What do you think?