Kombu Egg Soup

Here's a new one. Sarah the Healthy Home Economist's video about Asian grocery stores a week or two ago pushed me to actually visit an Asian grocery store I'd been eyeballing for a while. While I was there, I saw many interesting things I'd like to try at some point - all kinds of frozen fish and other sea creatures, ducks, coconut, lots of pickled things...

I bought (this time) two cans of thai curry paste (no artificial ingredients or chemicals) and a bag of thinly sliced, dried kombu, a type of seaweed. I haven't touched the curry paste yet, but for lunch yesterday I made Kombu Egg Soup, recipe and photo courtesy of Mark's Daily Apple.



It was really quite tasty, and surprisingly filling. I used chicken stock rather than beef, because that's what I had, and I didn't have miso paste, so to give it a little more flavor I added a splash of soy sauce and several drops of hot sauce. Also, I don't know why the recipe doesn't mention it, but after adding the kombu to the broth, it formed an incredibly sticky, slimy clear layer on top. It was hard to tell if it was just a layer on top or if the whole pot had turned to slime, however once the soup boiled, this mucilaginous substance became more of a foam and I was able to scoop it out and throw it away (it stayed very sticky and I had to pull it off my slotted spoon with my fingers). The rest of the liquid was perfectly normal and not slimy at all. (The seaweed wasn't slimy either.)

If you like trying new things and want a really nutritious meal, I'd definitely recommend this soup.

Grok-stacle course

Ungratefowl

So you buy some chickens. They're cute little fuzzy things, but they get big quick and you can't have them living in your living room forever, so you build them a fancy coop and a nice, safe, secure run, about 3 times as big as seven chickens actually need, and you put them out there and they seem pretty happy.But after a while, you imagine yourself as a chicken and you think, "Boy, I wouldn't be happy cooped up in that little space, day in and day out."

So you start letting them out occasionally. And it's not too hard to get them back in at night, or when you have to leave to run some errands or something, so you let them out more and more often. Eventually, you're letting them roam free basically any time you're at home. After all, not only is it nice for the chickens, but the more natural food they eat, the better and more healthful their eggs, right? And that's the whole point, right?

Except that now they've decided they like to range in the front yard, where the neighbors can see that they're not confined to their run, and not only that, but they've also decided the gerbera daisies you have planted in front of the house are really tasty.

And mulch is the best thing ever for scratching up and making a mess in.

On top of that, you still have to go to work five days a week, and when you go out in the morning to check the chickens' water and food, they all stand in the corner of the run and moan and groan at you, and pace back and forth in front of the door, and plead with their eyes to be let out to feast on all the yummy grass (and gerbera dasies).

So you put up a fence, from the corner of the garage to the corner of the run, and from the corner of the coop all along the edge of the woods halfway up one side of the yard, and from the house down to the creek on the other, effectively confining them to the backyard (because they never venture far enough back in the yard, or deep enough into the woods to get around that kind of fence). So now they can free range all day long, even when you're not there.

And are the chickens happy? Are they grateful for all your hard work and sweat and all the mosquito bites you got stringing up 150 feet of deer netting? Are they content to be able to range all through the backyard, under the deck, and down by the creek every day, and dust bathe to their hearts' content under their favorite tree?

No, they just want to get into the front yard.

Obnoxious Neighbor Kids

This kid two doors down from us is the biggest brat. I don't know how old she is, maybe 4, but she cries like a two year old. It's ridiculous. Every time the parents put her in the car she has a temper tantrum, every time they take her out of the car. Random times like right now. It makes me want to go out and throttle her, even though I'm sure it's the parents who really need throttling.

The Ruckus

by Dr. Seuss

On top of a hill, on the island of Zort,
lived a bird called the Ruckus
whose favorite sport was making loud noises.
It gave him a thrill to be known
as the loudest-mouthed bird on the hill.

Then one day he said, "I can be louder still!
My voice is terrific - it ought to be heard
on many more islands than this," said the bird.

So he made his voice stronger,
till one day he found
that he learned how to make a tremendous big sound
that shook every island for 50 miles round.

"I say," laughed the Ruckus,
"I'm really some guy, but I can do better than that if I try.
I'll build up my voice, why I'll practice a year.
I'll cook up a noise that the whole world will hear."

And after he practiced for 52 weeks,
the Ruckus let loose with a mouthful of shrieks
that burst from his mouth like the moans and the groans
of ten thousand elephants blowing trombones.

He yapped and he yolded, he yelped and he yilped
he gargled, he snargled, he burped, and he bilped,
and the sound went to China and knocked down 3 cats,
and in England, it blew off 8 bus drivers' hats.

"Oh boy," laughed the Ruckus, "I'm really some bird.
I've opened my mouth and made myself heard."

Then a little old worm came up out of the ground.
"That's true," said the worm, "that was quite a big sound.
But I have a question to ask, if I may:
You've opened your mouth, but just what did you say?"

ohhhhh, I am so SORE

Seriously, I've been walking around all day like an old person. Or should I say shuffling around?

A more detailed description of this project will go on the remodeling blog, but the short version: I unloaded a 1-ton pallet of stone Saturday, then, as if that wasn't enough for one day, I proceeded to move 3/4 of that ton, piece by piece, to lay out a nice pathway from the deck to the chicken run door, around the chicken run to the back door of the coop, and then around to the nesting box. And then I squatted down and started using a flat bar and a hand trowel to dig shallow recesses in the ground to sink the stones into. My hamstrings in particular are so sore and tight that walking is really miserable. My shoulders are also really bad, and my mid- and lower back, forearms, and the muscles in my hands are up there too.

And I've got a lot more stones to sink. I think I'd better do the rest in smaller increments.

Why say it myself when someone else already did such a good job?

Excellent post:

http://www.nourishingdays.com/?p=2548