Here’s my turkey stew recipe — fast, easy, four ingredients, and slow carb (I don’t think the 2 grams of carbs per serving you’re getting from the cornstarch are gonna kill ya).
It turned out kinda thick, so maybe it’s hash. What the hell is hash anyway? I’m too lazy to go to wikipedia. Screw it, we’ll just call it stew.
Quick and Dirty Turkey Stew
4 cups diced turkey (free range if possible)*
2 cups sliced carrots
2 cups green peas (1 can if you’re lazy)
2 cups chicken stock or bouillon
1 tbsp. corn starch
2 tpsp. water
Cook carrots and peas. Add to turkey in a large saucepan. Put cornstarch in a small bowl and add cold water by drops, stirring constantly, until you have a non-lumpy slurry. Put stock in a small saucepan over med/hi heat. Add cornstarch slurry, drop by drop, stirring constantly. Heat to boiling and keep stirring. When you have gravy, pour it over the meat and veggies in the large saucepan. Stir well, add salt and pepper to taste, and heat on low. Serves 4.
* You can substitute free range chicken — much easier to get and cheaper too.
When you start looking into low-carb and/or slow-carb diets you find out that it’s the old standby vegetables and starches from the days before mono-cultural, factory farming took over that are the best for your health and waistline.
Time was when people ate turnips instead of potatoes and parsnips instead of carrots. Both have more fiber and nutrients than their more popular parallels.
Here’s a tasty stew that contains both.
Primitive Stew (Makes 5 servings)
1 pound stewing beef (free range)
1 small bag frozen organic Lima beans
1 cup sliced organic carrots
1 large organic turnip peeled and diced
1 or 2 organic parsnips, peeled and sliced
1 can of diced organic tomatoes
2 or 3 cups of beef bouillon or stock
dash of Worcestershire sauce
Salt and pepper to taste
Cook Lima beans on the stove by the package directions. Brown the beef in a skillet. Throw everything in the crock pot. Add beef stock until the ingredients are not quite covered, The mix will cook down, the veggies will give off moisture, and by the time the stew is done the liquid level will come up about an inch. But don’t worry — if you add a little too much broth it won’t be ruined. It’ll just be soup instead of stew. Cook on low for 6 hours.
It all started with the untimely death of Dr. William Coperthwaite, artisan, poet, educator, and author of A Handmade Life, in a single-car accident in Maine. A modern-day Thoreau, Bill lived an existence infused with simplicity, art and peace. He had no phone, no computer, and no email. He steadfastly refused to put a motor on his skiff, paddling it instead with a cedar oar he carved himself. Yet he was the man who started the yurt revolution, a living legend in simple living whose name came up at every primitive skills meeting I ever attended.
His death behind the wheel on icy roads is the very definition of cruel irony. The technology he eschewed resulted in his demise. Hearing of his death and the manner of it chilled me as fully as if I had been standing by the snowy roadside where he perished.
Then came the story that exploded in the twitter-verse Thanksgiving night when Josh Romney pulled four passengers from a car and tweeted a photo of himself grinning at the scene. Kudos to Josh for pulling four people from the wreck. But his expression, pose and tone would have been more appropriate if he had been announcing that he caught a record breaking fish or proclaiming that his sow took first place at the county fair.
In the context of a narrowly averted tragedy however, his demeanor is creepy and surreal. Maybe it’s the untouched red-eye that glares out of those eyes, but my bones were once again plunged into a deep freeze.
And then last night, the third and final car accident: the death of Paul Walker, star of the car-centric Fast and Furious film franchise, in a single-car accident in Santa Clarita. A father, outdoorsman, surfer, and BJJ Brown Belt, Walker was well-liked by his co-stars (and by my wife and daughter who have watched every one of his adrenaline-jacked films a dozen times). Last night my daughter heard the news on Twitter and called out “Mom! Paul Walker died in a car crash!” and a pall came over the room. He and friend Roger Rodas were killed after leaving a charity event benefiting the victims of Typhoon Haiyan. In true Shakespearean fashion, the instrument of his greatest film success was also the instrument of his demise.
Bad things come in threes, and I have errands to run today. Is there a cruel irony in store for me after I put the truck in gear and pull away from the curb? Will there be a headline about a father of four, a local writer and martial arts expert, perishing in a pointless wreck? Unlikely but distinctly possible. After all, car crashes don’t come in threes, they come in hundreds and thousands. Car accidents claim over 100 lives every day in the United States.
Yet we all keep getting into them thinking that everything is going to be just fine. Truth is indeed stranger than fiction.
Update 7/18/19: My club still uses the flag but we’re now called Cabal Fang Temple, and we’re a 501(c)(3) non-profit educational charity. Visit our website or purchase our 12-week personal growth program at Smashwords, Amazon, B&N, or wherever fine e-books are sold.
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Original post:
The flag of the Order of Seven Hills martial arts club — flying in the darkness
My martial arts club meets outdoors Tuesday nights and Saturday afternoons, rain or shine, twelve months a year. We’ve had as many as eight people coming out regularly. One afternoon I remember counting eleven. Lately it has been more like four.
But there are some nights, like this past Tuesday, when nobody comes out besides me. Totally alone in the cold darkness with paper cups blowing like tumbleweeds, I don’t turn around and go home. I put up the club flag. I work out and, when I’m done, I recite our closing pledge.
I do the same thing with my writing. Do I have any books on the NYT Bestseller List? Do I have thousands of fans clamoring for my next book? Nope — but I strive to make every book I write the best damn book I ever wrote. Even when nobody is reading but me.
Fly your flag. Even if its dark, even if nobody is watching, even if nobody knows it’s flying but you. It just may be that those lonely nights are the most important times of all to let it fly.
My Sunday routine is to blog for the week. Yesterday however I had three problems that prevented me from writing the usual four or five weekly posts.
The first: I realized that a man with a mild hat obsession should not be without a place to hang his lids. Otherwise he will find them all over the house, piling up in drifts like autumn leaves. So I made a hat rack for my favorites and put the rest in the bedroom closet.
Problem two: We’ve been in this house for thirteen years and still have no proper curtains for the upstairs bathroom (I’ve been tied up, okay?). So I got out the sewing machine and remedied that problem.
Third and most ‘pressing’ problem: I had an idea for a short-story, a horror piece called Pressed Flowers. I had started it earlier in the week and it was begging to be finished. So I knocked out the second half and decided to post the entire tale on Wednesday.
Look for it — it’s a beauty.
Two posts is all you get this week. Stop your whining, will ya?
At Richmond Zinefest 2013 I headed up a storytelling workshop. One of the folks in the session was Megan. Before the workshop broke up she handed me issue #3 of her zine Trail Mix.
Now, as fans of zine culture know, there are zines and there are zines. Some are just thrown together, some are assembled with care; some are outstanding and some are horrid. But when they are good they are very very good, and it is this fact that compels me (like the folks who sift through piles of junk at yard sales or purchase brown paper grab bags with unknown contents) to read zines.
Trail Mix is one of the very very good ones.
In terms of production value, it is in the classic cut’n’paste mold: there are black and white pictures snipped and glued, handwritten pages mixed with typewritten sections, and ransom note headlines. It is relaxed and unstudied in its feel, but that doesn’t mean it is slapdash. Relaxed doesn’t mean poorly constructed. Trail Mix is organized and flows perfectly. The time, effort and skill it took to organize the work of so many contributors reveals itself as art rather than artifice.
The centerfold is an autobiographical story Megan wrote called “Rookie.” A sweet and genuine piece, tender without being treacle, it is the work of a writer in control of story. I was moved.
Maybe Megan should be the one leading the workshop next year. Trail Mix is highly recommended.
Two slaw wraps ready to be taken to the office for lunch time consumption
I’m a big van of the humble collard. For a low carb wrap, how do you beat a collard leaf? They’re big, don’t tear too easily, have great flavor, and they’re packed with vitamins, minerals, and fiber.
Although they can be used raw, I have found that steaming them first gives them a softer texture and a nicer flavor.
Here’s how the process breaks down.
Vegetarian Slaw Wraps
One small bunch of collards
Cabbage
Fresh cilantro
Sesame oil
Soy Sauce
Red Pepper Flakes
Buy a small bunch of organic collards. Select the bunch that has the biggest, most perfect leaves.
Put about 1/2″ of water in a big pot and put it on the stove on HIGH. Wash your collards while you’re waiting for it to boil. When the water’s rolling, lay the leaves in the pot and put on the lid. Leave them in for two minutes. After two minutes, remove from heat and run cold tap water into the pot to stop the cooking action. Remove the leaves and spread them flat on clean dishcloths. Pat dry and let them rest while you make your slaw.
Almost ready to wrap up. This one isn’t Asian-styled — it contains gold ‘ol southern-styled slaw. That’s another option. Experiment.
You can buy a prepared Asian slaw mix (there’s a nice organic one in the produce section where I shop) or make some from scratch. Shred your cabbage and soak it in a bath of water with a teaspoon of salt for one hour. Drain. Add a sprinkle of sesame oil (careful — a little bit goes a LONG way) and a splash of soy sauce. Careful not to make the slaw too wet. Add a sprinkle of red pepper flakes. Put a dollop in the middle of each collard leaf, then wrap ‘n’ roll.
I’d like to interview one of my readers. After all, you guys are the ones who supply my Recommended Daily Requirement of of “hey look, somebody’s listening” and you deserve an extra shot of “hey look, he’s listening to me listening!”
If you’d like to be the one I interview, send answers to the below questions to 12thkey [at] gmail.com. I’ll pick randomly between the coolest answers.
Please state your name or online handle.
Do you blog? If so, where’s your blog and what’s it about?
What do you think we might have in common? Or do you think that ours is a classic proof of the axiom “opposites attract?”
Why do you want to be interviewed? Be honest — is it self-promotion, hubris, humor, or…?
The mic is yours — what would you like to say to the audience?
I teach free of charge through Heritage Arts , a 501(c)(3) educational charity offering free or donation-only classes related to martial arts, fitness, outdoor skills, and spiritual development. Distance learning programs available. Visit the Heritage Arts website to find out more, or click here to join the Heritage Self-Defense group on Facebook.
What is Heritage Rough ‘n’ Tumble? It’s mind-body-spirit form of American Rough ‘n’ Tumble, which began as a manner of no-holds-barred fighting in the Southern Virginia backcountry during the Colonial Era and has since grown, evolved, and adapted to the realities of modern self-defense. An amalgam of the varying techniques brought to America by colonists from all over the world, blended with the fighting methods of the over 900 distinct indigenous tribes, American Rough ‘n’ Tumble is perhaps the world’s most fearsome martial art.
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Here’s my turkey stew recipe — fast, easy, four ingredients, and slow carb (I don’t think the 2 grams of carbs per serving you’re getting from the cornstarch are gonna kill ya).
Robert Mitchell Jr. 