Punkins, Petals and the Pot o' Gold

Kitchen Alchemy with Sis Shortrib

Children, roll up your sleeves.  We are raising food preparation to an art form.  We are using food as our medicine.  We are taking a teeny, tiny foray into Alchemy, the ancient art of using plants to create medicine.  Our Pot o' Gold holds a symphony of notes carefully blended to bring health and harmony to those who partake.  So, let's assemble our orchestra.

You'll need a pie punkin, organically grown as all the ingredients MUST be, else you are defeating the purpose and wasting your time.  It can be a large or small punkin, depending on how many folks you want to feed.

1.  Cut a circle out of the top and trim off the strings, then take out the seeds and strings from the inside and feed 'em to the chickens.  Waste not, want not.

2. Use a knife and a spoon to scrape out as much of the punkin flesh as you can without cutting clear through.  We don't want our pot to spring a leak.  While you're scraping, you can ponder how punkins are ruled by the moon, as are squash, cucumbers and most melons.  Moon plants are cooling, nourishing and moisturizing.  Think of the dew drops falling at night with the moon shining on them.

            "Penetrating into the earth, I sustain all creatures by my strength,

             By becoming the moon full of juices, I nourish all plants."

             [Bhagavad Gita, 15:13]

Set the punkin, its top and the flesh aside.  For the rest of the symphony, gather the following:

Sun:  A few fresh or dried calendula blossoms.  If you don't have 'em, use chamomile, or better yet, both.   A little fresh ginger root, grated or sliced thin.

Mercury: 2 or three stalks celery, chopped; 1 carrot; a few sprigs of fresh parsley and about 2 or 3 teaspoons toasted caraway seed.  Get the freshest smelling caraway you can find and toast it over medium heat in a frying pan, stirring all the while till a wonderful roasted smell hits your nose.  Remove to a dish, let cool, then grind in a nut and seed grinder.  A coffee grinder works good.  If you don't have one, get one.  O' course the Alchemists of old would've used their mortar and pestle, and if you have one and have a mind to, use it.  Most of us has gotten lazy.

Venus:  1/2 apple, peeled and sliced; a handful of fresh or a Tbs. dried rose petals.  Do NOT use roses from a florist!  They are highly toxic.  Make sure your roses are untreated in any way and try to get the kind that smell good.  4 or 5 dried hibiscus flowers.  Buy them at a health food store.

Mars:  1 or 2 onions, chopped; 1 clove garlic, diced; 1 chili pepper.  It don't have to be a real hot chili.  We ain't aiming to scorch ourselves, just add a little warmth.

Jupiter:  A little freshly grated nutmeg.

Saturn:  1 large mullein leaf, or if you can't find one, use 6 pansy flowers, or a little plantain herb from your yard.  Everybody's got plantain growing nearby, learn it and use it!  If you can't find that either, then the caraway seed will have to do, as it's ruled by Saturn as well as Mercury.

Now then, put a pan of water on the stove, about enough to fill 3/4 of your punkin. Turn on the heat.  While it's heating, put your calendula and chamomile in a bit of old dish cloth or muslin and tie it up with dental floss.  And while you're at it, think about how old that water is in your pan; 4.6 billion years, so they say.  Think how many places it's been - racing down rivers, sailing in oceans, risin' up into the clouds and fallin' to earth again, millions of times, all over the globe.  It's been dew and mist, snowflakes and ice, steam rising from hot springs, in wells and fountains and in the leaves of plants and some places we d'ruther not think about.  And now, to your good fortune, it has landed in your cooking pan.  Oh wonderful water!  Be thankful for it, 'cause many folks on the planet don't have clean water to drink.

When the water's boiling, toss your bag of herbs into it, along with the ginger.  Hallelujah!  We have just added the gold to our pot, as the sun rules these herbs, and its metal is gold.  Think of golden sunlight, Leo the lion, the heart beating in the center of your chest and the sun being the center of the solar system.  All our sun plants are warming, yet anti-inflammatory as well.  That's the power and beauty of the sun.  Take the pan off the heat, put on the lid and let it steep.

Get out your frying pan and put a couple tablespoons olive oil in it.  Turn on the heat.  Drop in the chopped celery, carrot and parsley.  We are adding Mercury and toning our nervous system, enlivening our minds and bringing clarity to our thoughts.

Stir the pan and add the hibiscus.  It is the flute in our orchestra, light and lively, with a sprightly, citrus flavor. Next add the sliced apple and rose petals.  These are Venusian plants.  Venus harmonizes all the notes into a pleasant melody.  And we all know the rose is the flower of love.  Inhale the scent as it hits your nose and feel your heart expand.

Stir some more, then put in the onion, garlic and chili pepper.  Huzzah huzzah, now the cymbals is clashing, for we have just added Martian fire to invigorate ourselves.  We want courage and strength, we want vitality, and Mars has those things a'plenty.

Next comes the grated nutmeg, ruled by Jupiter.  He's a jolly fellow, expanding our outlook and raising our spirits.  Jupiter loves good food and drink, and by adding nutmeg we boost our appetite, our mood, and some say the libido as well, so breathe deep.

Last we come to Saturn, who rules the skeleton.  Mullein and plantain help strengthen the bones, but if you don't have them, don't fret.  The caraway will do, as it is ruled by Saturn as well as Mercury.  Caraway adds the bass note to our symphony; a deep, mysterious spice, with wonderful digestive properties.

Stir it all good, and let it cook a bit.  Now fish out the sack of calendula and chamomile from the pan of water, squeeze out the goodness and discard.  Put your vegetables in the pan, heat it to the boil, then simmer a good while till its soft and well done.  Puree it all in a food processor or blender, till its smooth, add some salt and pepper to taste, and, if you want it richer, a pat of butter or a little cream.  Then, children, pour it into your punkin and serve your Pot o' Gold.  Blessings on the meal.

The Dark Horseman

Do you ever feel a prickle at the back of your neck and glance over your shoulder, certain you are being followed?  That's because you are.  A dark horseman rides in the shadows, always present yet seldom noticed.  You might see the flutter of a long, flowing cloak as the breeze stirs it, or hear the muffled sound of horse's hooves striking the earth.  Maybe a faint melody catches your ear (or is it a bridle's ring?) evoking thoughts that dissolve before they form.

Sometimes, in a quiet moment, a ray of remembrance lights the horseman up and recognition dawns.  Of course!  He is the past, the bearer of all your yesterdays, bound to you with ties that can't be severed.  His face is deeply etched and battle-scarred, his gaze direct and fathomless with the wisdom of the ages.  Vital and alive, his presence may make you uneasy, uncomfortable, ashamed, because nothing of you is hidden from him.

Then you notice his cloak.  Ah, his cloak!  It is a tapestry woven of many slender threads, in places beautiful to behold, with intricate designs and diamonds glistening throughout.  Other spots are dark and snarled, fraught with broken strands.  Seamlessly it flows down over the horse's back, down and out of sight.

Mostly you pay the horseman no mind, maybe wishing to forget he's there, but his influence touches you in myriad ways.  He is a thief, for he has stolen parts of you that can't be retrieved, and the loss leaves a hollowness deep inside.  He is your worst nightmare, charging at you with his sword drawn and whistling through the air, his horse thundering ahead as if demons pursued, eyes rolling and nostrils flared.  You cower in terror, certain you will be trampled, but the sudden prick of steel propels you forward; there is no other choice.

At times his sword is a beacon of light showing you the path ahead.  There, in the brilliant beam, you catch a glimpse of tomorrow; a rosy-cheeked young miss dressed all in white, only beginning to appear.

Comforter, faithful companion, puzzling enigma and mysterious stranger, all these things he is as well, but most importantly, the horseman is your teacher.  He is the firm foundation beneath your feet, offering you the gifts of memory, conscience and experience.  His wisdom can lead you into the future on a path straight and true instead of a zig-zagging course that veers hither and yon.

To learn from him he demands your attention.  He asks that you wrest yourself away from the present a bit, for today is the temptress, seducing with bright and flitting distractions, consuming time and energy in addictive ways, leaving you dissatisfied and reaching for more.  Enjoy the fruits she offers, but make wise use of her time, and save empty places here and there where her influence can't be felt.  Then the horseman will appear more clearly, bringing you countless revelations.

"Do not long for that which you have left behind," he whispers.  "It is right where it ought to be.  Do not mourn for the loved ones who've gone ahead on their journey.  They are waiting just around the bend and you will catch up to them bye and bye.  Remember this: love and gratitude are the wings that carry you up into higher vistas, you and the ones close to your heart, where sight grows strong.  Then you will see a huge army of horsemen, their cloaks flowing one into the other, marching forward into the future where all things must go, for good or for ill.  May you find the courage and strength to prevail over darkness and bring light to the world."

Ozark Potlikker 101

Original Recipe and Etiquette Tips

by Sis Shortrib, Ozark Alchemist

Get a mess o' greens.  Collards, mustards, turnip, kale, dandelion, nettle - whatever you like, it don't much matter.

Wash 'em good to get the grit out.

Now chop some onions and fry 'em up in hog fat, or you can use coconut oil if you've a mind.  Don't use vegetable oil - it'll kill you.  Not too much fat, but don't skimp neither.  A body needs it to soak up the vitamins.

Add the greens and stir about.  Add some other stuff.  Carrots, peppers, squarsh.  Add some more.  Stir again. 

Throw in a couple o' soup bones if you got 'em, and salt and pepper.  Left over beans if you're extra hungry, but don't use 'em if comp'ny's comin'.

Add a little water, put on the lid and simmer awhile.

Meanwhile, make a batch of cornbread.  Yeller's good, blue if you want to impress, and for the extry nutrition.  So they say.  Get organic corn unless your aim is to die sooner rather than later.  And for heaven's sake don't use one o' them trashy box mixes.  They're not fit for hog slop.  Best is to get whole corn and grind it fresh.  Corn meal goes rancid and gets bitter right quick.  If you've never used fresh ground meal, you've never had corn bread.  Corn meal, milk, one or two eggs, salt, baking powder or sody if you're milk's sour.  Sorghum molasses if you want sweetnin', some fat of your choice.  That's about it; any fool knows how to make it.

When everything's ready, fish out the bones and throw 'em to the dogs.  Ladle the potlikker and all into bowls.

Always have flowers on the table, even if it's a handful o' weeds snatched from the ditch.  It'll aid the digestion and feed the soul.

Now, on the cornbread, there's die-hard dunkers and hidebound crumblers.  It's more polite to use crumbles if you've got comp'ny.  Otherwise, sop it up however you please, but wear a big napkin.  Don't forget to say grace.