So, I made stew yesterday. It started with a recipe, but escalated as I found more and more ingredients that seemed like they'd add some pizazz. Part way through the day, after stewing because I had accidentally left my bag of frozen mixed vegetables at home, I finally donned my snowsuit and snowmobiled to town. Luckily, when I looked in the refrigerator I found an additional bag of mixed vegetables. And, eureka, another quart of broth. By the time I got back to camp I had a nice box of new found treasures.
So, I kept adding to the 45 pound kettle right on the stove top, and happily stirred everything with my new-carved kettle paddle every time I walked by.
By half way through the afternoon my gallon of stew had somehow reached nearly to the top of my five gallon kettle. That was all good. Who knows, maybe company will drop in. Or maybe we'll have a little bit left over to last us the rest of the winter.
All day, and into the night, my stew simmered and bubbled, heaving volumes of wonderful aromas out into the cabin. Although I might have sneaked a few tastes yesterday, I purposely wanted to wait for a day before filling a bowl. The wait had nothing to do with the rack of ribs and the whole chicken that I slow cooked all afternoon in the barbeque as I sat by a fire in the palace with wine and a cigar. I know that sounds like a lot of food for two people, but the chicken was fairly small.
Finally at bed time I decided to lift the kettle off the stove and set it on the floor for the night.
Oops!! Lifting that 45 pound kettle, empty, onto the stove was awkward, but manageable. It was a good height to stand and add all the makings a little bit at a time over the next hour. And, of course, the additions came a bit at a time over the rest of the day. By nightfall the ol' kettle, with five gallons of stew added, weighed an awful lot more that it had when I lifted it up there.
So, I thought I should lighten it by eating a bowlful for breakfast.