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Recipe: stuffed sopaipillas

It’s a brilliant sun that has been shining down on Colorado this week, each day warmer than the one before. Whenever Jeremy is on travel, I use the alone time to get as much work done as possible so that we might ski or just spend time together when he gets back. If I were truly alone, I might work from sunrise to the wee hours of the night with nary a pause, but I am not alone. Kaweah requires more attention in her old age. Not that she demands it, just that we want to be sure she is happy and comfortable. One of us will check on her frequently throughout the day and sometimes lie on the floor next to her, rub her belly, or just nuzzle her face. Anything to hear the thump of that wagging tail.

she likes the sun on her coat and her feet in the snow

Kaweah’s walks take more time and cover less distance. I have to stop myself when I start to feel impatient. Lately, I have been setting aside extra time for Kaweah. It’s not a walk anymore, but Kaweah-time. Time for sniffing every tree trunk, every dead leaf, every invisible thing in the snow. Time to walk slowly through powdery drifts, sometimes requiring a quick rescue. Her back paws knuckle under as she grows tired, but her nose is in the air drinking in all the news the wind can deliver. Old age is slowing her down. So far it hasn’t stopped her.

checking out the lake

happy to be outside

The other day we went to a little lake where the snow lingered and the sun shone bright. Instead of menacing winds, there was a gentle breeze and birds chirped in the woods. I unleashed Kaweah (because she’s too slow to outrun me now!) and watched as she went about sniffing what was what, her meandering tracks having absolutely no agenda other than to be a happy black dog on a lovely bluebird day. I knelt down and called her to me. I had to call again, loudly because she’s deaf – or she was ignoring me… or both. It doesn’t matter. She strolled lazily toward my outstretched hands and rolled her head into them like she always does, her tail doing big circular wags. I gently wrapped my arms around her neck and shoulders and placed my cheek against her warm, black fur. My little girl. Circular wag, circular wag.

time to go home

A couple of weeks ago, I was chatting with my friend Trent, who runs Pica’s in Boulder. I’m always telling Trent what I think he should carry on the menu. “How about a GIANT salsa bar? A GIANT SALSA BAR!!” This time I didn’t mention the salsa bar, but I did sing the praises for sopaipillas. I’ve had bad ones (here in Colorado) and I’ve had amazing ones (in all of New Mexico), but the best are the ones that come straight from your own kitchen. He had never had one before. WHUT?! The next evening, Trent was running a pop-up in my neighborhood, so I made fresh sopaipillas and brought them to his family. Thumbs up all around. They ate them with honey, but another fabulous way to enjoy the sopaipilla is to stuff it with heavenly goodness.

beef, cumin, chile powder, lime, oil, salt, pepper

dice the beef

mix the seasonings

**Jump for more butter**

Recipe: thai sizzling beef

The logistics of coordinating a full moon ski where I live can be a tricky business. There are a few criteria to be met:

1) It should be during the full moon (otherwise it’s just a night ski).
2) There needs to be enough snow to ski.
3) It needs to be a clear night (so you can see by moonlight).
4) It can’t be too windy because ground blizzards are pretty miserable by day, as it is.
5) It can’t be too cold, which has more to do with the wind most of the time.
6) You should be completely familiar with the route.

#6 is assumed, but it’s good to state it anyway. Just like you should have plenty of extra layers, hats, gloves, headlamps, food, water. Our local mountains are notorious for brutal winds which in turn scour the snow into 20-foot drifts that border bare ground. It is what it is. I was coordinating a full moon ski with friends, but really I was just hoping Mother Nature would let it happen. Weather forecasts were for cloudy skies and breezy conditions (gusts to 25 mph) five days out. Around here (and perhaps where you live too?) the weather forecast is most accurate right when it is happening. We got a good dump of snow on Sunday, then bluebird skies on Monday. I waited for afternoon clouds to form, but they didn’t. It was go time!

nichole gets felix into his snow suit in the parking lot

Jeremy and I met up with our intrepid friends Nichole, Luke, and their 2 year old, Felix. We marveled at the fat, orange moon rising over the Great Plains as we geared up in the parking lot and braced ourselves against the wind. Heading out toward the lake, Luke pulled the sled carrying Felix (Luke is super fast, this is how we make him ski like the rest of the mortals) while we kept moving to stay warm and keep up. As the moon rose higher, we admired how bright the stars remained overhead. Luke spotted something on the western horizon moving southwest, up, and across the sky. We watched it and ran through the possibilities: not a plane (lights not flashing), not a satellite (too bright), could it be… space station! Well how cool is that?!

felix got out of the sled to ski with us for a bit

luke is ready to head down the hill with felix in the sled

Once home, Jeremy did verify that it was the space station we saw crossing the sky (magnitude -1). I could not have hoped for a better evening with dear friends. Okay, we could have done without the winds, but at least they weren’t gale force. The next morning, we awoke to…

big fluffy snowflakes

taking a break in the afternoon to get a little ski tour

it snowed all day

I love the snow so much. In summer, I remember it with great longing. It lingers in my mind. I obsess about it until the storms return, hopefully in autumn. I get that way with food too. There are dishes I miss from our Southern California days that stir my taste memories. Thai sizzling beef was a favorite of ours at Min’s Kitchen in La Cañada. It’s a marinated beef over fresh spinach with peanut sauce served on a sizzling platter. I’ve been meaning to reproduce it, if I could. I’m no recipe developer, I just know when I like a dish.

flank steak, fish sauce, vegetable oil, sugar, salt (omit the salt)

slice the beef

mix together

marinate

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Recipe: chicken pot hand pies

We were just gifted 10 inches of snow. In past years this might not have been as big of a deal, but it’s the most we’ve received in one storm this season at my house. Jeremy hit the local hill despite our aversion to weekend crowds. I stayed home to work and to nurse a sore back after running icy moguls just a few days prior. A dump of snow is always welcome, but what lies underneath depends on the weather that came before (this is also critical for avalanche assessment). We have had sun, wind, and warm temperatures interspersed with a few inches here and some frozen spittle there. It can be pretty crunchy stuff. And when you’re glad that your skis find ice underneath the powder instead of rocks, you know it’s been a paltry winter. So when Jeremy got home in time for lunch, I asked him if he wanted to step out for a ski tour on the local trails.

the snow was coming down all day

and the trees retained all of their poofballs

silent and beautiful

It’s a lovely thing to be out in the mountain forests when it snows. It’s quiet, peaceful, invigorating. We don’t talk much so we can listen for moose, elk, or maybe spy a winter white rabbit before it tears off into the woods. The focus is on our environment, our energy, the weather, the rhythm of the kick and glide. But once we get to the car, all thoughts turn to what there is to eat at home. This is especially true when there is something particularly good and exciting waiting in the kitchen. This time, we had chicken pot hand pies.

chicken, mushrooms, onion, potatoes, carrots, garlic, lima beans, parsley, rosemary, thyme, salt, pepper, olive oil

dice the vegetables

chopped and minced

I love me a good chicken pot pie, but I think I am completely enamored with savory hand pies. The first time I had a proper savory hand pie was in New Zealand where the ubiquitous meat pie won me over… as did their fish and chips. Then I sampled a small fraction of what Australia had to offer. A few years later I was walking with Todd and Diane through little Saigon when Diane purchased a pâté chaud for me to try. Heaven. And last summer while I was running on fumes at the Boulder Farmer’s Market, I plunked down some cash for the last chicken hand pie at Sharmane’s booth. So much happiness in one tiny pastry package.

mix the vegetables, herbs, and olive oil together

toss

**Jump for more butter**