It has been a whirlwind for the past 6 weeks. Closing on a new home and starting a renovation – of course the kitchen had to be blown out. We spent the month of July shuttling from the old place to the new one, while juggling the day in day out commitments that actually allow us to buy the bills. There still is some rehab work to be completed. So, while we have fully moved in, it is more like glamping. The new kitchen is a tad incomplete – the range is en-route (fingers crossed a few more days). And, because of the size and location of the range in the kitchen, the refrigerator is safely encapsulated in its packing material in the garage until the behemoth arrives and can be maneuvered in. The pool is in fine working order, so there is plenty of refreshing cool water to take the edge off a summer’s day. And, my grill is all hooked up and has supplied at least a piece of nightly charred flesh.
I did not realize I would miss cooking beans, grains, and the simple act of boiling water. I have suffered, stress suffered, K-cup coffee for the past few weeks, and all I can say, at least it staves off a 3pm caffeine headache. I hope my French press does not think I have abandoned it. Frustrating to have this wonderful new cooking space, and I don’t even have the ability to boil water. Then there was the discovery made over the weekend. We had a few days of rain, and a quick summer cool down, and this house is tucked away on 15 plus acres of old growth pine, maple, and oak trees. Needless to say, there are fallen leaves and failed branches all over the property. Driving in there looked to be a cluster of chanterelle mushrooms. I was apprehensive to collect them for fear of a missed diagnosis, but my husband insisted they were the ones he foraged as a boy. So we did. At the house, I put on my Wellies and set out into the woods to make sure we had more then just three. Within a half hour I was home with a small basket-full -- prefect amount for the two of us. Even though I was only half convinced these were edible I planned to cook them. I figured we would have a lovely surprise on our plates that night, or travel on some woodland inspired trip, or rush to find the nearest hospital.
Without a stove I pulled out my cast iron skillet, and heated on the grill. I wilted those meaty fungi with garlic, onions and summer savory, which smothered the pork tenderloin we were having that night. We awoke the following morning alive without having suffering any bizarre dreams. I learned have to forage my first mushroom. This glamping this is not so bad, but I really miss my morning java jolt.