Feeding the Stew

I've long heard tell of the sort of soup that keeps going year after year, like a rather delicious family tradition. I've never had one of those. The closest I've had is the chicken soup Mama made, the one she stewed down for a few days (resting in the refrigerator in between to skim off the layer of grease) before serving.

This is a Stew.

I started it the other night with a package of beef and some potatoes and carrots. It's good. It's been hungry, since then -- I was running low on the meat in there, so I wound up partially thawing and then dumping in some chicken. Now it's cooked through, and starting to get tender and juicy, so I tore it apart a little, added more carrots and corn, and dumped in potato flakes to give body. (I'm too tired to wash and slice real potatoes right now.)

I never knew that feeding a soup was such dedicated work.

I've also decided that it needs a fume hood.

Ways not to wake up!

A phone call two hours before the end of the sleep cycle is no fun.
A phone call from a phone booth that is a wrong number by someone with English as a second language is less fun.
Especially when you don't realize until after you hang up that the wrong number they got was actually your cellphone.
And then when they call back to make sure it's still wrong five minutes later.

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Another day at the lunacy factory. I do like this job. Trendy chick discovered that stuff bugs her less after she whines.

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First luby's. Then new china. Now great china super buffet. The vital question: how good are their potstickers?