Cooking: Everyday Deviled Eggs

Where there are hens, there are eggs. Where there are eggs, there are people who are desperate to find things to do with the excess eggs when they aren't selling well and the family is getting tired of them. What's a gal to do?

Older eggs make better hard-boiled eggs, so when we get overloaded I either sell them cheap or boil them. The children, however, aren't all that excited about hard-cooked eggs as a snack. They can sit in the fridge for days if left unprepared. I have found, however, that it is simple to make them irresistible:

1. Cut them in half lengthwise
2. Take out the yolks
3. Mix the yolks with a few household goodies
4. Put the yolks back
5. Sit back and watch the kids devour them!

Deviled eggs are not just for parties! Watch how easy it is to turn them into an everyday snack.

Seriously, this is not hard. Cut 6 hard-boiled eggs in half lengthwise as carefully as you can. Gently remove the yolks and place them in a sandwich bag. Add 2 tablespoons of mayo (click here to learn how to make your own) and a teaspoon of mustard (I like spicy brown). Smoosh up the yolks in the bag. Snip the corner of the bag with scissors, and squeeze the filling back into the divot in the eggs. Sprinkle with paprika.

That's it! So easy! And Yummy!

Merry Christmas!

From my family to yours, a very Merry Christmas.  Thank you for your support and kind comments through the year. All the best to you.

Peace and Joy,
Mrs. Farmer
Mr. Farmer
Young Master Farmer
Little Miss Farmer

Gardening: Potato Harvest

Little Miss Farmer
Helping the Potatoes Out of the Barrell

My previous post about growing potatoes was almost prophetic. The statement, "We don't exactly have huge potato crops each year," turned out to be a huge understatement when it came to the 2011 crop:

Yup. That's all of them.

We had a very rainy summer this year, and many of our plants suffered. One potato barrel yeilded only one small potato. The other gave the sad bowl of tubers seen above. It is barely enough for a single meal for the four of us. We may not even bother with them next year. I am considering repurposing those barrels and using them for flowers instead.

Off Topic: My September 11 Story

Everyone has a September 11 story, especially those of us in the Northeast. Since I have this blog, here's mine: ten years and 12 hours later.

Young Master Farmer was not quite six years old in September of 2001. We were between homes and living with my parents in the Lehigh Valley. He was home-schooled then, and we started our studies at 9 am. Before that, of course was the usual running around: breakfast, getting dressed, watching cartoons on the television. I believe Little Miss Farmer and I were watching Dora the Explorer or some other Nickelodeon show when the phone rang. My best friend from school was on the other end:

"Are you watching the news?"
"No, we are watching cartoons. (To myself: I have kids, silly thing.) Why?"
"An airplane just flew into the World Trade Center!"
"What? Was it an accident? (Of course it was an accident! What made me think that?)"
"I don't know, but it's bad. Turn it on."
"What channel?"
"ALL OF THEM!" (She almost squeaked.)

We watched the news like everyone else who was able at that time. When the second plane hit the second tower, my suspicions were confirmed. This was most definitely not the accident of the century. It was an attack!

Then the TV went black.

The home of my youth is situated nicely between New York City and Philadelphia. My whole life we had two of every TV station, even before we got cable. There were two ABCs and two NBCs and even two different PBS stations: One was from New York, and the other from Philadelphia. The only station we had just one of was the "local" station, which was actually from Wilkes-Barre/Scranton (over an hour and a half away by car). Fortunately for us, this meant that we could still watch the news. The New York stations were gone, but the Philly stations remained. We watched over and over video of the second plane hitting, the smoke, the people screaming and scrambling, and the bodies falling (jumping?!?!) from those big buildings. When the first tower fell, the commentator fell silent for a moment then said, "I have no words."

We watched the coverage in stunned silence for what seemed like hours. Footage became available of the first plane. Another plane crashed into the Pentagon. The government reacted publicly. Another plane went down in rural Pennsylvania, and no one knew for sure why (did we shoot down one of our own planes?). I cancelled school, "because of a national emergency." Young Master Farmer was glad that he would not have to write his letters or do his math flash cards that day.

Little Miss Farmer was barely three years old. Recently diagnosed with PDD-NOS, an autistic spectrum disorder, she was not yet speaking, except to occasionally repeat us or read a word she knew from a book or song. I had not noticed that since we turned off the cartoons that she had been sitting there on the opposite couch, quiet, thoroughly engaged in the news that repeated that horrible scene for what seemed like hours but was really less than two. Her eyes were round and wide when I turned to look at her when she said, "Plane go boom." It might just have been her first sentence that she neither read from a book or repeated from one of us; I'm not sure, but I knew immediately that it was time to put the cartoons back on.

For the rest of the day, we shooed the children out of the living room when we watched the news. My office called and told me not to bother coming to work that afternoon as they would be closing for the day soon, but not to worry, as I would be paid for the shift nonetheless.  We learned of the terror plots, the bravery of the souls on the flight over Pennsylvania, and the panic in NYC. We watched millions of people walking across bridges back to New Jersey. We experienced difficulty using our phones. We felt pity for those trapped, lost, without news, TV, phone service. We cried and prayed for those who did not know if their loved ones were alive and for those who knew they were not.

You already know what happened next. There was grieving and bravery. There was fear and resolution. There was pain, and there was kindness. There were flags everywhere. And those of us with small children hoped that this war which seemed inevitable would be over before our little ones grew up and wanted to enlist in the military. I don't care if it's selfish; I really did the math in my head- twelve years and nine days until he's eighteen. Surely long enough to beat an enemy so small and so far away, even if they were evil enough to do all this.

That's my story. Thanks for listening.

A Pennsylvania Corn Field
October 2001

Chickens: Pedro

As a rule, we do not name animals unless they live in the house with us. Pets get names, livestock does not. Our 19 chickens do not have names. Our 3 breeder pigs do, since they will be with us for quite a while, but they are an exception. We refer to most of the pigs by color (white, black & white, brown, rainbow), heritage (Mamas' "Tiffany Jr." , or Wilma's "Tiffany Jr." to differentiate between a couple piglets that look like their father), or purpose ("breeders" vs. "feeders"). Sure, we used to joke around, referring to our first three pigs as New Year's Eve, Super Bowl, and Fourth of July (followed shortly by Freezer and Dave's Pig, etc.), but naming animals is really only a recent change since our pig-partner's girlfriend came on the scene.

When we got our first set of day-old chicks, the children immediately wanted to name them. We tried to explain that some might not live, and that they were not pets, but they insisted. The two names that I remember from that first batch were Dirty Butt (there seems to be one of those in every batch of chickens) and Pedro.

The chicks were kept under cover to protect them from the elements and given a nice lamp to warm themselves under, but sadly, Pedro did not survive. The children were not to be deterred, however, so when we purchased our next set of chicks, they named another one Pedro.  Alas, poor Pedro did not survive. By the third set of starter chicks the children had learned their lesson, and they named none of the chicks that time.

It is common for day-old chicks not to survive. After all, they could have come with illness or injury already. They could be pecked to death by their cage-mates. They could be too stupid to stay under the light, or eat, or drink. So, when Mr. Farmer came in the house one chilly morning and announced that a young chick had died, the children, of course, asked, "Which one?" to which he replied, "Pedro, of course!"

All dead chickens are now called Pedro.

I'm Pretty Sure that One of These is Pedro...

Cooking: The Cake

Little Miss Farmer turned thirteen on July 19, 2011. When I asked her what kind of cake she wanted, she said she wanted a "Portal Cake". I knew what Portal was: it is what I consider one of the better video games available these days. You have to make your way through puzzles by creating portals with a gun that shoots virtual holes for you to pass through. Your motivation to proceed to the end of the game is cake. The children shout that "The Cake Is A Lie" over and over because apparently, if you get to the cake in the game, any attempt to retrieve it results in death of your character. Such an epic story could only end with a spectacular cake (and MY cakes tend to be delicious, not beautiful), so imagine my relief when I looked up a screenshot of the cake online and found this:

The Cake, as Seen in the Game "Portal"

Oh yeah. I got this. Further research showed that the cake was 3 layers and chocolate. So I made my famous chocolate cake from scratch (recipe below) twice, so that I would have 4 layers. We snacked on the extra layer while we waited for the final product to be ready. Once the layers were baked and cooled, I cut the tops off so they would be nice and flat like the cake from the game.



Tops Sliced Off

Then, since I needed to make white icing for the blobs on top, and since the only pictures of the inside of the cake are black and white so it is hard to tell what color the filling is, I stacked up the 3 layers with white buttercream icing between (recipe also below). Did I mention that I love buttercream icing? It is so easy to make and amazingly delicious.

  



At This Point I was Wondering
If the Glass Dome Would Fit.
It Didn't.

Next I frosted the outside with dark chocolate icing (you guessed it, recipe below).

  

Chocolate Icing Added

A closer look at the screenshot shows that the cake has some texture to the outside. It is unclear as to what causes that texture. I have seen chocolate shavings and cookie crumbs used for that purpose, but I went with chocolate chips.

  

Encrusted with Chocolate Chips

Then I added the final decoration: the white icing blobs and cherries. All done! (Four Hours Later!)

  

How Did I Do?

I am pleased with the result. Of course I have made this cake as a simple two-layer, extra-chocolaty deal on a number of occasions, usually just sprinkled with a little this or that as appropriate for the occasion. I have filled it with strawberry preserves or whipped peanut butter. The cake itself is easy and I have been accused of buying it or using a box on more than one occasion. But seriously, this cake (in its basic form, not the craziness I did with it for Little Miss Farmer's birthday), is a piece of cake to make (pun intended!).

The Cake

Ingredients

2 cups sugar
1-3/4 cups all-purpose flour
3/4 cup unsweetened Cocoa powder (Dark is best)
1-1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1-1/2 teaspoons baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
2 eggs
1 cup milk
1/2 cup vegetable oil
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1 cup hot coffee

Directions

1. Heat oven to 350°F. Grease and flour two 9-inch round baking pans.

2. Sift together sugar, flour, cocoa, baking powder, baking soda and salt in large bowl. Add eggs, milk, oil and vanilla; beat on medium speed of mixer 2 minutes (or by hand until smooth). Stir in hot coffee (batter will be strangely thin). Pour batter into prepared pans.

3. Bake 30 to 35 minutes or until wooden pick inserted in center comes out clean. Cool 10 minutes; remove from pans to wire racks (Or clean towels). Cool completely before frosting.

The Chocolate Icing

Ingredients:

1/2 cup butter
2/3 cup cocoa
3 cups powdered sugar, sifted
1/3 cup milk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Directions:

Melt butter in the microwave or in a small pan on the stove. Stir in cocoa. Alternately add powdered sugar and milk, beating to spreading consistency. Add small amount additional milk, if needed. Stir in vanilla.

Makes about 2 cups frosting.

The ButterCream Icing

Ingredients:
 
1/2 cup solid vegetable shortening
1/2 cup (1 stick) butter (softened)
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
4 cups sifted confectioners' sugar (approximately 1 lb.)
2 tablespoons milk

 
Directions:

 In large bowl, cream shortening and butter with electric mixer. Add vanilla. Gradually add sugar, one cup at a time, beating well on medium speed. Scrape sides and bottom of bowl often. When all sugar has been mixed in, icing will appear dry. Add milk and beat at medium speed until light and fluffy. Keep bowl covered with a damp cloth until ready to use.

 

Chickens: Fart Egg

(Apologies to my mother, who does not like the word "Fart"... I will use "wind egg" from this point forward; I promise.)

Little Miss Farmer has been on chicken/egg duty for the better part of a year now as part of her chores. She is getting bigger now (12 years old, nearly 5 feet tall), so her responsibilities around the house are increasing. I'm sure she doesn't look forward to feeding the chickens each day, collecting their eggs, then washing the eggs. The egg washing alone can be a fairly unpleasant task, especially when the coop gets dirty. The other day she was rewarded for all her hard work by finding an unusual egg - a "wind" egg.

We have had an unusual egg or two before (such as this one, without a shell), but I believe this was our first wind egg. It was so tiny in comparison to the extra-large to jumbo sized eggs we get most days from our leghorns. Little Miss knew right away that this egg was special. She showed it to all of us with great excitement (egg-citement?).

Naturally we had a full photo shoot before we broke the egg open to see if she was right. We took pictures with other eggs for size reference and pictures of them in her hand. Finally, once Little Miss was convinced that the event had been sufficiently documented for posterity, we broke it open.

I think that is under-developed enough to call a wind egg.

Surely enough, Little Miss Farmer's suspicions were correct. This egg was clearly underdeveloped. It was so small that I didn't even see the point in dirtying a pan to fry it in. So I put it in the microwave, and it exploded in under 20 seconds.

The End.