I’ve mentioned how much we enjoy cooking on our Big Green Egg and what we put on it. (Trust me — do a search.) But out of sheer laziness and mindlessness, I’d bought into the sometimes-floated-around notion that Eggs more or less manage themselves so long as you scrape the small amounts of ash out of the bottom. Yeah, sure.
Esp. this past winter I noticed the Egg was taking much longer than usual to get up to full cooking temp, would not go higher than 350 degrees (which was enough for almost everything, anyway). So I resolved that when it got warm this year I would take out all the leftover wood-chunks in the bottom and see what was up.
What was up was that The Blob had gone and died in the bottom of our Egg — if The Blob was made of a gunky mix of grease and ash. Incredibly hard to remove. Then I ran across several sites that had the same (not easy but effective) routine for thorough cleaning. It does take two days but I’m here to say it works well and I’m a-gonna do it annually. My only concern is that the first time we use it after this, stuff might taste weird.
.. is endless refilling and cleaning and refilling humidifiers and air purifiers. Still, I now believe I had skin problems and nasal infections as a kid because my parents didn’t believe in humidifiers. Because, you know, they had grown up without them and were fine.
D has a bad cold so I have to do all the snow clearing and grocery shopping. First one I was really thorough and even bought a winter’s worth re-supply of my favorite de-icer , Safe Step Ice Melt. (Can’t seem to open up the site right now, but Google it and check it out. Does a quick, outstanding job and really doesn’t seem to hurt lawn or plants at all. Only problem is you can’t let it sit over the summer or it oozes out all of this nasty liquid.)
Now, the grocery store is another matter: ever since I started cooking for myself and buying ingredients in 1975 I’ve done better with a sharp-eyed, sanity sidekick. Hey, Vadalia salad onions right out the box — score! D’OH, I would have sworn both of those roasted chickens were Lime Cilantros, not one Lime and one (urgh) Plain.
… and it’s weird.
I was trying to put some upbeats into a very discouraging chore — filling the gas can so I can start pouring it into the snow-blower for the first time this year.
When I first learned to drive, it was SOP to have a gas can in the truck in case you ran out on those endless MT roads. I can’t remember any of them blowing up cars, but there’s no question it was a lot more dangerous practice than almost anybody understood back in the day.
So I checked out all the cautionary online about filling gas cans and realized that nearly all of the hazard came from carrying the can in the car to and from the pump.
So happens, I can walk to a gas station — about 18 blocks round trip. Zingo — how I get my healthy walk in today and still do the essential chore.
Thought I might get a stream of weird looks — you really don’t see people hiking around the streets here with gas cans — but I didn’t register a single glance.
So walk your can to the gas station! Do it!
Had to replace the cold-weather air-filter fan in the basement with the (much, much heavier) dehumidifier. Here the house-hole tip: you turn these dehumidifiers on their side, they really do break. Don’t bother storing them in their box — garbage bag will do fine.
I’m watering the shrubs and the hostas.
I’ve given up on the lawn and have renamed it Brownsville Station.
Alright six new plants put in last year, I ain’t coverin’ you up tonight — if you can’t take this 37 degrees, you ain’t tuff enuff. (For me to maintain, anyway.)