Spring is coming

Remember in the late fall, those first mornings of light frost on the ground? It feels chill-you-to-the-bone cold and wet outside. Time to line the windows with plastic wrap and hunker down for the season. Sorry, dog, just a short walkies today. Your face stings in the northerly wind. Your bare hands take turns holding the leash, one in a jacket pocket while the other one turns red from exposure to the icy air, then switch.

And now, in this last week of February, after an epoch of single digits on the thermometer out back (and some double digits, but all negative) and never-ending snow, the temperature cracks 30 and even creeps above freezing. The sun is out. Oh, glory! Spring is coming! You strip off the wool mittens, unveil your face from behind the Tom Baker scarf, and let your bare skin breathe in the refreshing air. The dog gets a full four blocks today. Steady on the ice patch of a sidewalk. Never mind that four months ago a day 20 degrees warmer felt like certain frostbite.

So it goes every year, I think. You face November's dropping temperatures with dread. Maybe you have holidays to brighten things up, but they'll only carry you so far past the winter solstice, i.e. early winter. Most of the season still lies ahead. The sun disappears forever, temperatures continue falling, your living room couch becomes a hoard of fleece blankets, and you know that old groundhog is going to see his shadow like he always does. And then one day, it's five o'clock and you notice sunlight still lingering on the horizon. Today, it might be 20 degrees colder than that first bitter wind promising winter was coming, but it is also 40 degrees warmer than it was two weeks ago. Sweet joy.

At this point, green thumbs start to itch, and the snow can't melt fast enough. There will still be temperature ups and downs. The weather will oscillate between hints of spring and reminders that it's still winter, getting our hopes up, and then trying our patience. 

I'll try to moderate my springtime dreaming, try to keep it real. Here are a few seedlings of hope in my head right now:

• New trees! Apple and cherry, scheduled to arrive in early April. We're literally putting down roots at our new home -- and attempting to espalier. Expect future posts on this topic.
• A more purposeful herb garden. I have some perennials (sage, oregano) in a bed out front, but I have my eye on a sunnier space along the fence in back, near the rain barrels. It will be a lush mix of more perennials (thyme, rosemary, parsley) and some annuals (cilantro, basil, chamomile) -- with cutesy identification markers.
• The Big Restoration of Our Windows and Doors. You're right, this is not very moderate. It's huge. But there it is. Hopefully, future posts on this as well.

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Autumn in February - Pork Chops, Brussels Sprouts and Apples

Sheet pan suppers have been a thing for a while now. Let's make one.

First, a caution. Don't mistake the one-pan bake for an indicator of one-dish meal preparation. For some recipes, all the ingredients can conveniently be seasoned, oiled, and tossed together directly on the baking sheet. Many other recipes have you mixing ingredients in separate bowls with seasonings and sauces before they ever hit the baking sheet. And, if your meat and veggies get too crowded, you know what you have to do. Use a second baking sheet. Still, sheet pan suppers have allure, and here's the one I recently made.

Sheet Pan Roasted Pork Chops, Brussels Sprouts, and Apples

There are zillions (I counted) of similar recipes out there. Here's the one I used as my starting point. 

• 2 Tbsps vegetable or olive oil, divided
• 1 Tbsp maple syrup
• 1 Tbsp apple cider vinegar
• 1/4 cup whole grain mustard
• bone-in pork chops (I made 3)
• 1/2 tsp salt, divided
• 1/2 tsp black pepper, divided
• 1 Tbsp fresh sage, chopped (or 1 tsp dried sage)
• 1 lb brussels sprouts
• 2 sweet apples
• 1 Tbsp balsamic vinegar

Preheat oven to 375°F. If you want slightly easier clean-up, line a large baking sheet with parchment paper, but it's not required. No need to oil the pan or use cooking spray, because your dinner ingredients will all be tossed with oil.

In a large shallow dish, combine 1 tablespoon oil, maple syrup, apple cider vinegar, and mustard. Mix well. Season the pork chops with ¼ teaspoon salt, ¼ teaspoon pepper, and sage. Add the pork chops to the mustard mixture, dipping and flipping to coat them well on both sides. Set aside to marinate while you deal with the other ingredients.

Trim the ends off the brussels sprouts and cut the sprouts in half. Combine these in a large bowl with the balsamic vinegar and remaining oil, salt, and pepper. Toss well to combine.* Scatter the brussels sprouts on the baking sheet and bake for 10 minutes. (See my realization below -- you may wish to mix the apples in with the brussels sprouts at this time, depending on your tastes.) 

Meanwhile, core and chop the apples. Toss them around in the same bowl the brussels sprouts had been in, just to scrape up the remains of the oil, salt, and pepper. When the first 10 minutes are up, add the apples to the baking sheet and mix into the partially cooked brussels sprouts. Push them all to the edges so you can place the pork chops at the center of the pan.

*I got as far as putting everything on the pan before I realized I like my brussels sprouts closer to well done. Nice and tender, with crunchy brown outer edges. Dozens of previous sprout-roasting experiences told me just 20 or so minutes at 375 wouldn't do it. 

So, I removed the chops and apples and gave the brussels sprouts a 10-minute head start in the oven. Then, I dumped the chopped apple onto the sheet pan, mixed it with the sprouts and scooted it all toward the edges of the pan to make room in the center for the pork chops. OK. Back to the instructions.

Roast everything in the oven for 20 to 25 minutes until pork is cooked through. 

If you need a little something extra with this meal, 10 minutes before time's up, throw a bag of ready-to-bake garlic knots in the oven. 

Serve.

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All the work nobody sees

Think about all the things that just are. The things you don't think about until they're broken.

You open a tap, clean water comes out. You plug in your laptop, it charges. You store food in your pantry, it sits there. Until... it doesn't.

Proofreading the house

I'm thinking of the trivia of home ownership, but I've complained about the similar catch-22 in being a proofreader: When someone reads your perfectly clean copy, they fly through it, never stopping to praise such excellent editing. They find one single typo, however, and it's a huge distraction, tarnishing their perception of the perhaps-talented but imperfect proofreader who missed it.

So goes maintaining a property, where so much of the time and work and money are spent on things behind the walls, never seen or cared about by anyone but you. Suddenly, a 99% that was so impressive as a midterm exam score is now a bothersome disappointment when a living room window only closes 99% of the way in the dead of winter.

Of course, some home improvements are quite visible. There are fun projects you get to show off to your friends -- What bold paint in here! Did you lay that tile yourself? How do you grow such beautiful roses? Regular old maintenance projects just to keep the place looking nice are visible as well. They're the "proofreading" of home maintenance. These are the things that are generally unremarkable when in good order but become a noticeable nuisance if you don't take care of them -- mowing the lawn, shoveling snow, vacuuming up pet hair, cleaning up after yourself in general.

But, the realm of projects unseen is vast. Many are just embarrassing little inconveniences you want to fix so you can comfortably host guests, but you wouldn't necessarily show off these upgrades -- fixing a toilet that doesn't flush well, patching pieces of roof that are falling off, replacing a broken window, cleaning up after a mouse sighting. Others -- the most expensive, it seems to me! -- are projects that no one but you will ever know about unless you tell them, and they're not exciting enough to tell. You, yourself, might not even give them much thought until something goes disastrously wrong.

Take, for instance, the basement flooding. You'll mop it up, and then you'll get a guy to clean the tree roots out of the sewer line and inspect it with his camera snake thingy and discover a section of clay pipe that ought to be replaced. More guys come and dig a ginormous hole in your yard and, when they're done laying the new pipe, they fill the hole back in, somehow with mostly random gravel on top, which you'll painstakingly pick out of your yard in your efforts to try and grow grass there again. What are you going to do, take someone on a tour of your basement and say, "Ta-da! How 'bout that dry floor? No drain back-ups for six months now."

"Didn't she do a great job?"

When we were negotiating the purchase of our new old house, the buyer's agent admired her fellow realtor's (the seller) renovation work, gushing often, "Didn't she do a great job?" OK, when you just look at the place, it's easy to be taken in by the updates. Trendy gray walls with white trim. Shiny, refinished original hardwood floors. Brand new granite countertops against a classy subway tile backsplash. She did a great job revealing the house's charm. She did not, however, do a great job on all the actual work.

Example 1: Paint was hurriedly sloshed on every surface without proper preparation. Up close, the peeling chips of the old paint are visible under the new paint on the wooden siding. From the street, it looks fine. Opening windows for the first time required some chiseling with a putty knife. What's noticeable are random bare strips of wood where the thick new paint moved with the window rather than staying put on the frame. Above each ceiling-mounted light fixture, there is an unpainted patch of ceiling, noticeable only in daylight.

Example 2: Also hurried and therefore not well-executed was the bookend to good preparation, properly finishing the projects. The new tile floor in the kitchen, the countertops, and the grout between the subway tiles had never been sealed (i.e., not prepared for actual daily use). So we did that. We finished up that kitchen. Can anyone tell by looking at it? No.

Example 3: There had been squirrels living in the attic. She had her guy drive them out and seal up the holes. Kinda. The squirrels got back in! We hired roofers to come out and replace the chewed-out trim for real. Can you tell? No, not from the ground, and certainly not unless you have a vivid memory of the holes in the old trim.

I could go on. 

In review

Instead, just for fun, I made a chart of some of the work we've done our first year in this old house, a lot of it completed in the first 90 days. I've categorized it into the showcase-able stuff, the invisible but important, and the in-between things that are generally unnoticed except as a day-to-day nuisance or that otherwise negatively affect the aesthetics and comfort of the home. Asterisks indicate work we did ourselves... and by "we," I mean mostly Len.

“Ooh, ahh!”	Invisible, important	Upkeep, improvement
Keys for old-fashioned locks Expand patio with found bricks/stones* Stain the fence* Plant trees* Build secret door bookcase* Game room in basement: build mini-golf green, partially restore foosball table* Frosted glass treatment on front door* Build porch rocking chairs* Restore interior of built-in cabinets* Build shelving in under-stairs storage Install wash basin in laundry room* Restyle various furniture pieces to suit house, fit space* Free or low-cost “new” furnishings*	New lock sets Add support beams in garage* Repair water heater vent hood Repair furnace gas line Reroute and add electric to garage New roof trim around dormer Two rounds of electrical upgrades Seal crack in foundation wall New spigot outside* Massive attic cleanout* New sewer line Test tap water for lead Restore doorbell* Clean out under front & back porches* Build insulation cover for whole-house fan* Caulk exterior holes left by old cable* Repair section of gutter screen* Seal all tilework in kitchen* Seal granite countertops* Level furnace condensation line* Multiple plumbing repairs in upstairs bathroom* Fix gaps in basement HVAC Have ducts cleaned Eradicate mice and seal entry points*	Remove old satellite dish* Prune dead tree branches* Fix fence position New washing machine* Install rain barrels* Run new internet line Remove old cables* Replace glass in broken window* Install garbage disposal* Install ceiling fans* Clean out gutters* Plant grass, kill weeds* Install work-light in basement* Restore proper function of bathroom vent fan* Minor (in size, not in cost...) asbestos removal Repair/replace ductwork post-asbestos removal* Attempt to better align/fit exterior doors* Weather stripping on doors* Add insulation to attic*

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Scrape together the scraps for something practically delicious

While we're on the subject of reducing food waste, this article coincidentally appeared in last Wednesday's Tribune: "Waste Not: How to save money (and the planet) by putting those kitchen scraps to use."

I enjoy James P. DeWan's "Prep School" column. He reassures those of us cooking by the seat of our pants that culinary improvisation can be successful with the right foundational know-how, whether in the form of tools or techniques. He tells us why we need to learn these things. And, he's my kind of funny. 

I think my mom would have liked reading him, too. His introducing possibility after possibility -- "Or, you can do this. Or that. Or this other thing. Or even...!" -- reminds me of her creative idea-forthings.

This latest article (that I've read, not necessarily the latest he's written), speaks to my soul. It also goes hand in hand with a Netflix show I just polished off, "Best Leftovers Ever!", in which people are doing exactly what DeWan suggests: Following the method of a recipe, but swapping out the prescribed ingredients for the leftovers at hand. 

While I found "Best Leftovers Ever!" entertaining (more cornball humor!), educational (practical tips for reheating rice),  and even inspirational to be more creative with how I use leftovers, I doubt I'll find myself pulling out individual carrot chunks from a chicken pot pie or rinsing sauce off of noodles as I try to repurpose old takeout into an elegant brunch. Some of the endeavors to create something new resulted in their own unnecessary waste.

Also, in the show, competitors' dishes are judged not just on flavor and texture but on their presentation. I'm not sure DeWan cares whether something is Instagram-worthy so much as whether it's delicious -- and, in this instance, useful. 

DeWan's column offers a more practical approach to using certain kinds of leftovers and doesn't challenge you to do in just 30 minutes. I recommend you read it, but here are a few highlights:

"One way to reduce waste is simply to use up all those things that are languishing on our Frigidaire's death row." 

"Cauliflower and cholesterol soup."

"Every time you cook, ask yourself if something you're discarding couldn't be used for something else."

"Gribeens."

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