Tuesday, July 10, 2012

Derecho Grilling

All last week, I thought about what social commentary I would write about concerning the derecho that blew through our state.  Others better spoken than me already put into words what most of us were thinking.   Some of my favorites are here and here.   Some of my least favorite commentaries were shared on the Facebook community as others looked to place blame for their misfortunes.  I unfriended those people.  It wasn't the time or place for those kinds of words.  

For me, all I know is that it tested my independent single-woman status. Living on the farm, I considered myself somewhat of a Ma Ingalls, prepared for any travesty the winter would bring.  My move to the city had given me the false comfort that Walmart would always be open.   Realizing that I had two punks, little dog, and fourteen slices of bread without enough gas to sit in line for two-hours at a busy gas station sent shivers through me.  There wasn't a back-up person to reassure me.  My anxiety attacks ranged from "just want a cold coke" to "this was really an alien fly-over and the government is hiding it from us by making up storm terms like derecho."  (Raise your hand if you had heard of a derecho before this.  Sounds a little fabricated, doesn't it?)

I spent a lot of time in the bathroom because it is the one place in a house where I, as a mother, could escape and cry like a baby in private about me now being the only adult in the place.  The bathroom also happened to be the place that had the coldest ceramic tiles to lay on in the heat.  

But then, you do what you do.  You wipe your eyes, come out of hiding from the bathroom, put a smile on your face and declare this a great adventure.  You pull out puzzles, old coloring books, and craft supplies.   You call friends who have pools in their backyard and go invade.  You clean out the fridge and make an impromptu potluck at a friend's house.   

You have a storm story.  You have better conversations with your punks without electronic devices filling the quiet.  You hang out with friends.  You check on people you should be checking in on regardless of the storm.  You appreciate small acts from kind people.  You shoot out laser beams of love and light to turd wads complaining and making asses of themselves.  You hoot and holler and wave when power trucks go by your house.  You make a plan to be better prepared.  

If nothing else, you become a miracle worker with food on a gas grill.  People boasted about brewing coffee,  making pizza, baking cornbread.  Canned foods were opened and doctored and served proudly next to hot dogs for the third night in a row.  

At our house, we had a pack of frozen turkey tenderloins.  They were starting to defrost, so they were marinated in a bag, and placed in an insulated Scooby-Doo lunch box with the remaining dregs of ice.  Hot from the grill, it was served over the last of the produce from the crisper.  It was a good meal.

Marinade for  Turkey

1/4 c. soy sauce
1/4 c. vegetable oil
1/4 c. ginger ale (or Sierra Mist, cause that's what we had, and we didn't have any stinkin' gas to get something else)
2 Tb. lemon juice
2 Tb. chopped onion
1/4 tsp. ginger
1 - 2 tsp. brown sugar
dash of freshly-ground black pepper

Blend all ingredients and use as a marinade on turkey or chicken.  Cover and chill in the fridge or insulated lunch box for several hours, turning occasionally.  



Please share your favorite dercho recipe.  

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