Crooked Acres Jams and Hot Sauces are up for sale!
Astute observers will note that the price has increased a bit since last January/ February. That’s because if I’m going to continue with this jam-making venture, we need to realize at least a small profit, rather than losing money. I don’t think the price is ridiculous (considering some of the prices I’ve seen at Etsy and Foodzie) and hope you’ll think it’s worth it, too.
I made one single batch of sugarfree jam with Splenda, and I can’t tell you how it is because I can’t eat the hot stuff, and Fred doesn’t like artificially flavored stuff (he does report that it’s “medium” heat, and the consistency is comparable to the sugarfree jams you can buy in the store). If there’s enough of a demand, obviously I’ll make more. It’s 50 cents more than the sugared stuff, due to the price of Splenda. You know how it goes.
So, there you go. Hot jams and hot sauces, and a bit of the non-hot stuff. Go check it out if you’re interested! They’ll be available ’til I run out of habaneros, whenever that might be. (And for the future, the link is over there in the left sidebar.)
You guys definitely get the Eagle Eye award. When I posted the picture of my canning cabinet on Friday, I half expected no one would even notice the “canned” baby chicks.
I think it took about ten seconds for the first person to spot them.
And then like a MILLION of you spotted it. I guess that picture wasn’t nearly as subtle as I thought it was.
For the record, in case you missed my response in the comments, no baby chicks were harmed in the making of that picture. Fred brought them in, we put them each in a jar, put the rings on the jars (but NOT the lids), and put them in the cabinet. From the time Fred picked them up in the maternity yard to the time he took them back was about three minutes altogether.
There was even enough time for a bit of a kitten-sniff.
New Simon’s Cat!
The one thing I don’t like about this time of year is the proliferation of pumpkin-centered recipes. I like pumpkin in pumpkin pie, and that’s about the only place I like it. Don’t want pumpkin cookies, don’t want pumpkin bread, don’t want pumpkin anything.
A century ago, when I was a teen working at McDonald’s, they used to have pumpkin pies – like their apple pies – this time of year. Now, those things were fantastic. That was back when their pies were fried and not the crappy baked pies they have now. They also occasionally had blueberry pies, at least in Maine.
I also highly miss the cinnamon danish McDonald’s carried. Those little cinnamon things they sell these days aren’t even the slightest bit tempting.
::sigh::
Speaking of food, I finally sucked it up and made my own flour tortillas on Friday using this recipe. I just knew it was going to be a nightmarish experience, but for once I was wrong. They turned out pretty damn good, and we had scrambled eggs wrapped in homemade tortillas for dinner.
Speaking further of food, it seems that every so often, a rooster comes along who earns himself the name “The Asshole.” Whether he’s too rough with the hens, picks on the little chicks, or is just a pain in the ass to deal with, we start referring to him as “The Asshole”, and they’re always quick to be processed. We’ve got no room at Crooked Acres for roosters who are assholes.
The most recent asshole was a Light Brahma rooster. He was proving to be a pain in the ass because he’d hide under the coop when it was getting dark rather than going into the coop like he was supposed to, or he’d stand in the doorway to the coop and act like an asshole so the little chicks would be too scared to go past him.
Last weekend Fred processed him, and told me that we should have roast it. After processing, The Asshole weighed in at just under 4 pounds, and Fred plucked rather than skinned it, so we could roast it and not end up with a dry mess.
Last night, we had roasted Asshole for dinner, and it was fantastic. And we showed our incredible maturity by saying many humorous things along the lines of “This Asshole is fabulous” and “You make a tasty Asshole” and so on.
We are far too amused by ourselves.
If you don’t regularly check out Love & Hisses on the weekend, you’re missing out.
Saturday, an awesome picture of Gus.
Sunday, pictures that show just how far little Terry’s eyes have come.
Whoops! Veruca yawned so hard her pupils fell out! (I love it when I get pictures of cats looking goofy.)
“I take a nap. You go away with that flashy thing.”
The girls are snuggly, but the boys – good lord, they will snuggle with you forever!
And how can you put down a sleeping kitten? (You can’t!)
Mischievous little monkey.
One ear folded back is the cool new look for kittens, as modeled by Bill.
Pile o’ kittens (and one long-suffering Miz Poo.)
All six, sprawled across my desk and filing cabinet. They prefer to be in whichever room I’m in. If I’m cooking dinner, they’re in the kitchen. I’m at my computer, they’re on my desk. They lurve me!
Happy Hoyt.
Poor Miz Poo. She just can’t get away from those pesky kittens!
Previously
2008: No entry.
2007: I had NO IDEA Red Lobster was such a den of heathenry.
2006: The rags used on that closet: ONE MEELLION.
2005: And then the last straw came along and broke the fat woman’s back.
2004: Because he’s a skinny bastard.
2003: No entry.
2002: No entry.
2001: Day One.
2000: So obviously I don’t know nothing’ ’bout picking out no paint.