Scott Hutcheson

Dumplings & Grandmothers: Soft & Warm

Originally published in quality newspapers the week of January 10, 2011

Everything about my Grandmother Smith was soft and warm, from her manner to her middle and from her feather bed to the way she sort of whisper-whistled hymns while doing her daily chores. To say that she was soft, however, is just part of who she was, because she was also strong. She was the kind of strong you had to be to be when you were a widowed mother during the Great Depression and the kind of strong you needed to be to send your sons off to war.

When my sister and I visited her Arkansas home a couple times each year, we would fight over which one of us got to sleep with her at night. One would bunk with her in her double bed while the other got the single feather bed that was on the other end of her bedroom. Either was a pretty good deal but sleeping with “Ma Ma” was the grand prize. I can vividly remember nestling up against her warm back and throwing my little arm around her soft waist.

My grandmother lived well into her 90’s but she died about the time I was becoming interested in cooking. She was a wonderful cook and I would loved to have spent time with her in her kitchen, learning to make some of my favorites, her chicken and dumplings in particular. Like many women from that era, she was not one to work off recipes.

On my trip home to see my own mother last month, she recalled that she had sat with her mom in the kitchen one day while she was making her chicken and dumplings and taken notes. Mom had recently run across those notes and made a copy for me. It was the best Christmas present I could imagine.

I spent some time last week recreating the recipe and ended up with something really close to what I remember from my childhood. I’m sure this recipe won’t mean as much to you as it does to me, but if you don’t already have a favorite chicken and dumplings recipe, I hope you’ll give this one a try and tell your family it came from a grandma in Arkansas who was soft and warm as those dumplings in their bowl.  

Ma Ma’s Chicken and Dumplings

• 2 quarts chicken broth
• 2 chicken breasts
• 3 cups all-purpose flour
• 1 teaspoon baking soda
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 1 tablespoon shortening
• 1-1/3 cups buttermilk
• 2 tablespoons butter
• Salt and cracked black pepper to taste

Pour the chicken broth into a stock put and bring to a boil. Once boiling, add the chicken breasts and when the broth returns to a boil, reduce the heat to medium, cover, and simmer the chicken for 18-20 minutes. To be sure it is cooked completely you can remove one of the breasts and insert and probe thermometer. Chicken should be cooked to 165 degrees. Remove breasts from the broth and set aside to cool enough to handle. Leave the broth simmering.

For the dumplings, combine the flour, baking soda, and salt in a mixing bowl. Use your fingers to work in the shortening, pinching it and incorporating it through the flour mixture. Mix in one cup of the hot broth and one cup of buttermilk. Dough should be about the same consistency as biscuit dough. Place the dough on a floured surface and work in enough flour so that you can use a rolling pin to roll the dough out to just a little thicker than piecrust.

Bring the stock both up to a boil. Use a knife to bite-size cut pieces of the dough dropping them into the boiling broth. As the dumplings are cooking, remove the meat skin from the chicken breasts and tear the meat into bite-size pieces.

The dumplings will only need to cook for 2-3 minutes. You can tell they are done when they begin to float and puff out just a bit. Stir in the butter and remaining 1/3 cup buttermilk to thicken the broth. Add the chicken pieces and serve immediately. This will make about four adult-sized portions.

Visions of Sugarplums

Originally published in quality newspapers the week of December 14, 2010

Year after year carolers insist “bring us some figgy pudding and bring it out here!” Most of us, however, have never had that particular treat but it must be tasty to prompt such a demanding tone during a time of peace on earth. Many families enjoy Christmas Eves besides open fires but few, I imagine, ever actually roast any chestnuts in those fires. Sugarplums dance above the heads of sleeping children and pirouette in the Nutcracker Suite ballet but I’ve never encountered them in the office cookie exchange.

We sing about these foods each year but they have somehow become lost in our modern American holiday traditions. Unfortunately, a few other food traditions seem to stick around. There’s the fruitcake, of course. So many jokes have been written about these things that I won’t try to add to the canon.

One food tradition with which I have some personal history is the apple and orange in the Christmas stocking. “Mom, aren’t these the same pieces of fruit that were on the kitchen counter last night?” In response she explained about the lean years of her girlhood. 

When I was three, my quiet family of three (mom, my sister, and me) became a family of 12 when mom married a widowed Baptist preacher with eight kids of his own. Along with the merging of families came the merging of traditions. One from my new stepfamily was a Christmas Eve beverage made with hot Dr. Pepper and lemon. I can still remember my first sip out of a Christmas mug. It tasted like warm cough syrup. Both the Dr. Pepper and stocking fruit traditions have come to a sketching halt in my branch of the family tree. Lots of others survive, but not these two.

Recently, I decided to resurrect one of the nearly-extinct traditions mentioned in one of those Christmas songs, figuring that if sugarplums are dancing in my children’s heads on Christmas Eve we might as well have a few around the house for us to munch on. 

A little research revealed disagreements about what the sugarplum really is, or was - lots of competing tales and recipes. I ended up adapting a couple of recipes, added my own ideas, and came up with the following recipe. It is not as sweet as most holiday desserts and tastes a bit like a chewy granola bar. In fact as far as sweets go, these are pretty healthy! We might even leave Santa a few on Christmas Eve. I hear Mrs. Claus is concerned about his weight.

 Sugarplums

• 2 cups whole almonds
• 1-1/2 cups dried apricots
• 1-1/2 cups dried plumbs (prunes)
• 2 teaspoons grated orange zest
• 1/3 cup honey
• 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
• 1/4 teaspoon ground allspice
• 1/4 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
• 1 cup confectioners' sugar

Preheat oven to 400. Arrange almonds on a baking sheet in a single layer and toast in oven for ten minutes. Let cool. Add all ingredients, except sugar, to a food processor and pulse to chop and combine, process in two patches if necessary. Pinch off rounded teaspoon-sized pieces of the mixture and roll into balls and dredge balls in sugar. These can be stored and refrigerator in single layers between sheets of wax paper in an airtight container for up to one month. Makes about six dozen.

An East-meets-West Thanksgiving (and recipe for Roasted Cranberry & Jalapeño Chutney)

Originally published in quality newspapers the week of November 15

A month or so ago my wife took our oldest son on a quick trip to California. As I spent some one-on-one time with the younger of my two boys he was a little sad that he wasn’t on the trip. “They’re going to taste different foods and hear different languages,” he whined. Last week I took both my boys on a trip to Louisville and during that trip my young one observed, “I didn’t think people in Kentucky would speak English.”

Although this kindergartner has not yet sorted out his geography and learned what is a different country versus another state, he seems to be showing some early signs of wanderlust. 

The United Kingdom, Mexico, Canada, and Grand Cayman. Those are the only stamps on my passport so I probably don’t qualify as a “world traveler.” I would love to globetrot more but time and money (actually the lack thereof) have kept me from doing so. My wife and are now, however, considering how we can do some international travel with our kids and my job in higher education might make it possible to live abroad for a few months sometime soon.

Even with our limited international travel we’ve managed to learn a lot about other places and cultures and the dinner table is one of the ways we create some teachable moments. A taste of an exotic spice or a bite of unfamiliar fruit can open up a whole new world.

One of my most distinct childhood food memories is my first taste of curry. A missionary family, home on furlough, invited my family over for dinner. We ate a wonderful chicken curry, watched slides of their missions work, and talked about their experiences until late into the night. 

Over the years I’ve become friends with several people from India and had the opportunity to cook together with some of them. Indian food has become one of my absolute favorites. I was talking recently with one my friends about Thanksgiving and learned that his family enjoys a delicious mix of traditional American and Indian foods for their celebration. 

So this Thanksgiving I’ve decided to incorporate some of the flavors of the East into our Western holiday. I love Indian chutney and decided to make one with cranberries instead of the standard relish we usually make. This version calls for roasting the cranberries along with a jalapeño pepper. The roasting deepens the flavor of the berries and mellows the pepper. A little orange zest brightens it up and some Indian spices warm it up. I did a trial run this week and it works wonderfully with roasted turkey.

I’m hoping my youngest son will especially enjoy the chance to “eat different foods” and this Thanksgiving I plan on teaching him to say “dhanyavad pradan” which means “we give thanks” in Hindi.

Roasted Cranberry & Jalapeño Chutney

• 1 lb fresh cranberries, rinsed
• 1 medium orange
• Cooking spray
• 1 cup sugar
• 1 teaspoon kosher salt
• 1/4 teaspoon ground cardamom
• 1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
• 1/8 teaspoon ground cloves

Preheat the oven to 450 degrees. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper. Lightly coat the parchment with cooking spray then spread the cranberries on it in a single layer. Place the pepper on the parchment as well and roast in the oven for 45 minutes until the pepper begins to brown and the cranberries have burst open. 

Remove from the oven and let cool for a few minutes until the pepper is cool enough to handle. Using a paring knife, split the pepper lengthwise and scrape out the seeds and membrane from the inside of each half. Dice the pepper into small pieces and place them in a medium bowl along with the cranberries. Zest the orange adding the zest to the bowl then cut the orange in half and add the juice. Next, stir in the salt and spices. 

Let the chutney sit for about an hour to let the flavors develop. This can be prepared a couple days ahead and stored covered in the refrigerator. This makes two cups.

Smell: The Kitchen's Magic Time Machine (and recipe for Chicken Cacciatore)

Published in quality newspapers on September 9, 2010

There’s an institutional cleaning product that my nose encounters every now and then - usually in a restaurant - that zaps me back in time almost as fast as the Flux Capacitor-equipped Delorean from the “Back to the Future” films

Rather than the ‘50s, I end up in the ‘80s and specifically I find my 16-year-old self mopping the floors at Chad’s Crispy Chicken, where I worked my first official job. I can feel the heat trapped against my body by my polyester brown and orange shirt and feel my arm muscles swish the water-heavy mop back and forth against the tiled floor.

You, no doubt, have similar olfactory-induced journeys, hopefully to more pleasant and interesting destinations than my $3.35-an-hour job. Maybe a certain perfume or cologne brings on the flush of first love, or the whiff of honeysuckle takes you back to the backyard of your youth.

The sense of smell is well documented by researchers as being more closely tied to memory and emotion than any of our others senses and, for many of us, the aromas of certain foods are what transport us or call up certain feelings.

That’s why some real estate agents bake chocolate chip cookies during their open houses — it elicits strong reactions from many buyers.

I recently took a poll among some of my friends about which kitchen aromas they connect with most strongly. There seemed to be an equal number who love the sweet stuff — like cakes and brownies — and those who get nostalgic about the more savory scents — like roast chicken and garlic.

As much as I love the smell and taste of baked goods, the aroma of Italian food, heavy with garlic, onions, and tomatoes, is hard for me to resist.These smells are part of what puts the “comfort” in these comfort foods.

I made Chicken Cacciatore this week and it smelled just as good as it tasted. We added a green salad and some hot buttered garlic bread and had a feast for all the senses.

I’m not sure what kitchen smells transport you, but if you want to try this Italian chicken dish, you just might create some new memories for your family.

Chicken Cacciatore

• 3 tablespoons olive oil
  
• 2 bone-in chicken breasts, cut in half
  
• 4 chicken breasts legs
  
• 2 teaspoons kosher salt
  
• 1 teaspoon cracked black pepper
  
• 1 large red bell pepper, roughly chopped
  
• 1 onion, roughly chopped
  
• 3 garlic cloves, finely chopped
  
• 1 tablespoon tomato paste
  
• 3 tablespoons all-purpose flour 
  
• 3/4 cup dry white wine
  
• 1 (28-ounce) can crushed tomatoes
  
• 3/4 cup reduced-sodium chicken broth
  
• 3 tablespoons drained capers
  
• 1-1/2 teaspoons dried oregano leaves
  
• Handful of fresh basil leaves, roughly chopped

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. In a large Dutch oven, heat olive oil over medium-high heat on the stovetop. Season the chicken pieces with the salt and pepper. Add the chicken pieces to the pot (you may have to do this in two batches so you don’t over-crowd the pot) and sauté on all sides until brown, about five minutes per side. Transfer the chicken to a plate and set aside. Add the bell pepper, onion, and garlic to the same pat season with additional salt and pepper and sauté over until the onion is tender, about five minutes. 

Add the tomato paste, stirring for about 30 seconds then the flour, stirring another 30 seconds or so. Add the wine and use it to deglaze the pan, using a wooden spoon to scrap up any bits on the bottom. Add crushed tomatoes, capers, and oregano then return the chicken pieces to the pot, along with any accumulated juices. Bring the sauce to a simmer. Place lid on pot and move to the oven for about 30 minute. When ready to serve, stir in the chopped basil. This can be served over pasta, or my favorite, some savory grits with Parmesan cheese. This will serve about four with each guest getting a leg and a breast half.

State Fair: Corndogs & Daisy Dukes (and recipe for Corndog Casserole)

Originally published in quality newspapers on August 12, 2010

Back when I was a younger there were two primary reasons I went to the fair: corndogs and girls. In my earliest memories the former was atop of that list. The corndog had a lot going for it. Like popsicles and lollipops it was served on a stick. Anything on a stick was a hit in my book. Second it was fried and who can resist the crispy deliciousness of cooking anything in hot oil? Lastly, it was a food that could be dipped. I was ketchup AND mustard man, creating a swirling Jackson Pollock-like masterpiece with every bite.

Somewhere along the line girls became more important than corndogs and the fair was a great place to find gaggles of them. I came of age during the “Daisy Dukes” era of female summer attire which made those hot and steamy summer nights just a little more hot and steamy for this particular adolescent male.

It’s state fair season in my neck of the woods, as well as in many other states, and as a 45 year old man I’ve found that I’ve outgrown both corndogs and women who can pull off the Daisy Dukes. I usually end up hitting the state fair a couple of times and those deep-fried, cornbread-covered hotdogs on a stick are no temptation at all. I head, instead, to the area of the fairgrounds where the agricultural producers show off their products. Ribeye steak sandwiches from the beef producers and chops from the pork folks is where I choose to spend my cash.

It seems, however, that corndogs are not completely out of my life. My two sons have, apparently, inherited my early love of the corndog and it’s their fair food of choice. I’m pretty particular about what my kids eat but usually cave in for the once-a-year state fair corndog experience.   

This week I was thinking about post-fair life and wondering if I could create a healthier alternative to give them a corndog fix during the other 51 weeks of the year. I set out to make a corndog casserole that avoided the deep fryer. Although certainly not health food, I used lean turkey hotdogs and served it with fresh fruit and felt pretty good about feeding it my kids. They enjoyed it but were disappointed that no sticks were involved.

At ages nine and five I know I only have a few more summers before girls will surpass corndogs as the primary reason my boys want to go to the fair, in the meantime I’m going to enjoy this less complicated time when thoughts of corndogs rather than Daisy Dukes occupy their brains.   

Corndog Casserole

• 1 package (8) hotdogs, sliced is 1/3 inch slices
• 1 (15 1/4-ounce) can whole kernel corn, drained
• 1 (14 3/4-ounce) can cream-style corn
• 1 (8-ounce) package Jiffy corn muffin mix
• 1 cup reduced fat sour cream
• 1/4 cup (1/2 stick) unsalted butter, melted
• 1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper
• Salt and cracked black pepper to taste

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. While oven is warming up, heat a nonstick sauté pan to high heat and brown the hotdog slices until they begin to brown then remove from heat. In a large bowl, stir together both cans of corn, Jiffy, sour cream, and melted butter, cayenne, salt, and pepper. Spray a 9 by 9-inch baking dish with cooking spray and then add the hotdogs then pour the corn mixture on top. Bang the pan gently on the counter top to help the corn mixture settle then smooth over with a spatula. Bake casserole for 60 minutes or until the top is nicely browned. Let stand for about ten minutes before serving. This recipe serves four to five and warms back up well.

Mending Both Bone & Spirit

Published in belly-filling newspapers on September 17, 2009

If the 12th visit was free, our punch card would be filled up by now. In just eight years as parents we've been to the ER much more than our share. Other families with boys tell us its par for the course in a testosterone-filled household.

I had my own share of injuries as a kid. There was the rusty nail through my foot from a less than adept kung fu move and a three-inch rip in meatiest part of my thigh courtesy of a rusty piece of sheet metal. You would think I grew up in a scrap yard with the sharp and rusty objects I encountered, but that wasn’t the case. I must have had a built-in metal detector that was stuck on the rust setting.

Since my sister will likely read this I have to also mention the time she “accidently” cut me with scissors and when she slammed my finger in the car door. Thanks, sis. It’s a wonder I reached my tenth birthday with all my digits still firmly attached to my body.

As an adolescent, my injuries came less from running around outside and more from sports – sprained ankles, bruised ribs, and jammed fingers. The black eye was the best badge of courage, not serious enough to put you on the disabled list but visible enough to solicit lots of compassion from the fairer sex. There’s nothing like a black eye to bring out a cheerleader’s inner Florence Nightingale. 

My children, my oldest in particular, loves to swap war stories. He takes in every detail of my tales of maimings and wants to see the scars. He then tells his own stories, exaggerating a bit more each time about the details, like the size of the rock his buddy Robbie pitched at his head when he was three.

As much daredevil as my oldest has in him, it is the youngest that is likely causing my insurance company to rewrite their actuary formulas. This week marked his third broken arm, all occurring within the last 14 months. This was the worst of the three, with the above-the-elbow break requiring a full-arm cast.

Seeing your own child hurt or sick is without a doubt one of life's must burdensome difficulties. My heart aches for families dealing with problems much more serious than broken arms. The most agonizing part of having a child in pain is the feeling of helplessness. Yesterday afternoon our little guy, although not in agony, was certainly uncomfortable. Aside from a dose of children’s pain reliever, there didn’t seem like there was much we could do for him.

As I thought ahead to dinner time, I decided that there was no better time for comfort food and when there was a broken arm in the house and that perhaps a version of macaroni and cheese with an extra boost of calcium might be good for both his bones and his spirit. I headed into the kitchen to whip up a version that included sharp cheddar, cream cheese, sour cream, and butter. It seemed to do the trick, filling his belly and setting him on the road to recovery. Good thing he’s not lactose intolerant.

Bone-Mending Macaroni and Cheese

• 1 lb elbow macaroni
• 4 tablespoons butter
• 4 tablespoon all-purpose flour
• 3 cups milk, heated in microwave
• 8 ounces cream cheese
• 8 ounces sour cream 
• 16 ounces sharp cheddar cheese, shredded
• Pinch of freshly grated nutmeg
• Salt and freshly-cracked black pepper to taste
• ½ cup panko breadcrumbs

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Cook macaroni according to directions, drain, and return to pot. While the macaroni is cooking, place a large sauce pan over a medium burner, add the butter and melt. Add the flour and stir with a whisk or wooden spoon until golden but not brown. Add the heated milk a little at a time, stirring constantly. After all the milk is added continue stirring until the mixture begins to thicken. Add the cream cheese in chunks so that it melts then add the sour cream and cheddar cheese. Add the nutmeg and salt and pepper to taste. Pour the cheese mixture into the macaroni and stir to combine. Spray a 9”x13" glass casserole dish with cooking spray and pour in the macaroni and cheese. Top with breadcrumbs and bake for 30-45 minutes, the lesser time for a creamier dish. This makes about ten servings.

The 12 (x10) Days of Christmas

Originally published in chewy newspapers on September 3, 2009

Nine hours and thirty seven minutes worth. That's how much new music I loaded onto my iPod on Tuesday - music about snow, bells, stars, and mangers. This has become a rite of passage for me each September 1st, my way of ringing in the first day of the 'ber months. SeptemBER, OctoBER, NovemBER, and DecemBER have their own special vibe. School is in full-swing, weekends are filled with soccer and football, and three of the most fun-filled holidays - Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas are on the calendar. I'm a bit of a holiday-music hypocrite. While I don't want to hear even a single jingle bell from the grocery store sound system before Thanksgiving, I'll joyfully sing along to "Good King Wenceslas" while running to the store for Labor Day picnic supplies.

My holiday music collection is eclectic with a good mix of old and new, sacred and secular. I grew up with the sounds of Perry Como and Bing Crosby echoing from the family HiFi. They remain favorites. I discovered the Rat Pack somewhere along the way so Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, and Sammy Davis, Jr. round out my collection of classics. My older sisters were fans of The Carpenters and it doesn’t really feel like Christmas until I hear Karen’s achingly beautiful “Merry Christmas, Darling.”

I have another set of favorites from my college years. I matriculated in the foothills of the Smoky Mountains and was there when Amy Grant put out her first Christmas album with “Tender Tennessee Christmas” on it. Hearing that one takes me right back to that beautiful place. College was also where I was introduced to the majesty of choral music. We had a top-notch music program at my school, with several choirs including the all-male one of which I was a member. One year for Christmas, all the choirs combined to sing Handle’s “Messiah.” I remember belting out every single “halleluiah” with heart-felt thanksgiving for both the birth of our Lord and the chance to sing with girls.

Speaking of girls, I met my wife during the ‘ber months. We had our first date in October, got engaged a year later in November, and were married a year after that in December. In the years we were dating, we spent those Christmases apart, each of us with our respective families. A whole new genre of Christmas songs took on new meaning. The pit-of-my-stomach longing while being separated from my wife-to-be gave me a first-hand understanding of what a “Blue Christmas” was all about.

As a child of the 60’s and 70’s the Chipmunk’s were a part of my Christmas-music upbringing. I guess Alvin never got that Hoola Hoop because he’s still asking for one nearly 50 years later. Now my own children and I get to enjoy that one together. Having children brought back a whole new set of Christmas songs into my life - all the ditties that tell the tales of Frosty, Rudolph, and Santa.

I usually jump the gun a bit in the kitchen too. I’ve been known to make a pot of chili or a pumpkin pie when the temperatures can still get up into the 90s and I’m already thinking ahead about our menus for Thanksgiving and Christmas.

I’m sure listening to holiday this early isn’t for everyone and that’s just fine with me. You can have your 12 days of Christmas. As for me, I’m going to be enjoying about ten times that many. So for the next few months, if you see me with my headphones on while taking a brisk walk down my street or doing cardio at the gym, or maybe singing in the car when you pull up next to me at a red light, I might just wish you a Merry Christmas and if you invite me to a Labor Day cookout I might bring eggnog.

Fireworks, Fast Cars, & Potato Salad

Originally published in snapping, crackling, and popping newspapers on July 3, 2008

“Blind! Jimmy feels that his life is over. No more swimming. No more Scout hikes. How can he ever have fun again?" These words are on the back cover of Follow My Leader by James B. Garfield, a book that sat on my boyhood bookshelf along with a collection of Hardy Boy mysteries, and classic adventures like Treasure Island. I’m not entirely sure how it made its way to my collection, perhaps a hand-me-down from an older sibling, or more likely a piece of propaganda placed there by my mother.

It is the story of a boy who is left blind after a firecracker mishap and Leader is the name of the his seeing-eye dog. I think the intent of the book was to help kids have a better understanding of people with disabilities. My mother’s motives were quite different - to keep me away from fireworks.

According to family folklore my very first word was not “momma” or “doggy” but rather “dangerous.” This, no doubt, due to a list of warnings that began when I was a baby. “The stove his hot.” “Be careful, you could fall down the stairs.” As I got a little older the areas of caution expanded to safety instructions about bicycles and skateboards. By the time I left for college the list of dangers was expansive covering everything from fast cars and fast women to expiration dates on dairy products.

My mom’s intentions were good. She wanted to do what she could to make sure her only son stayed alive and healthy with all four limbs securely attached to my body . Mission accomplished. I didn’t heed all of her warnings but a few took root. Fear of fireworks is one of them.

I’m not sure of Jimmy’s story contributed to my phobia or not but the very fact that I remember it some 30-plus years later is probably a good indication that it did. I don’t mind being around the rockets red glare, its just that I don’t want to be the one lighting the fuse. My own children are young enough that when dad breaks out the sparklers and smoke bombs, they think we’re living on the edge. I’m sure as they get older they’ll push me to up the ante a bit.

July, of course, is all about backyard explosions but another of my fears emerges this time of year - outdoor mayonnaise. I attended lots of picnics growing up. My step father was a pastor and we had an annual 4th of July picnic, often with 200 or more people in attendance. My mom would always caution me to steer clear of the potato salad and anything else with mayo in it. For years, when at picnics I would pass on anything that looked like it might have mayo in it.

I learned recently that my mom was wrong about this one. As it turns out, store-bought mayonnaise will not actually make you sick, even when left out in the sun for a couple of hours. University of Georgia Microbiologist Michael Doyle notes that there is sufficient acid (vinegar) in store-bought mayonnaise to keep harmful bacteria at bay. It might eventually spoil, resulting in an off-taste, but it will not make you sick (see the full mayo story here).

Learning this was pretty liberating. Since getting this new information, I’ve been a little more bold in filling my paper plate at picnics, dinners-on-the-grounds, and other outdoor eating occasions. I’m still not going to be launching any Roman candles or going to NASCAR fantasy camp but you may spot me enjoying a generous helping of picnic potato salad along with my baked beans and hotdog. Just don’t tell my mom. She’ll be worried sick.

Another Step Back in Time

I had a couple of genealogy-related emails this weekend - people looking for Hutchesons to whom they may be related. None of them were a match for me but it did cause me to spend 20 minutes or so trying to add another branch or two to my family tree. Several years ago I got stuck at six generations back, not including me. This weekend I found a seventh. I can now trace my family back to Mecklenburg, Virginia where my great-great-great-great-great-grandfather, William Caswell Hutcheson lived. I also learned that he was a member of the 1632 Virginia House of Burgesses - the very first elected assembly of the New World. This painting is of Patrick Henry addressing the House of Burgesses. I wonder if one of these powder-wigged dudes is my ancestor. 

Hey Nineteen

Nineteen years ago today, Lisa and I became husband and wife. I've posted recollections and thoughts on this blog each December 30th for the last few years. If interested, you can see these here (2006), here (2005), and here (2004). There are wedding photo at the 2006 and 2004 links. We've been to some pretty great places to celebrate our anniversary - New York City, London, New Orleans, Chicago. This year we spent a night in Dayton, OH. We went to Dayton because that is were we could find an overnight sitter (Lisa's sister).

We stayed the night in the Port Inn Bed & Breakfast in the historical Oregon District and had dinner at the Winds Cafe in Yellow Springs. Both were relaxing and enjoyable. Twenty-four hours without a six and two year old was so relaxing.

Nineteen years is a long time. Add the time we've been dating and we've been together 21 years - half our lives. It is a beautiful thing to have a co-traveler in this lifelong trip. I can't imagine being married to anyone else and could not pick a better partner with whom to help our two boys become men.