Hum Along Ifn' You Don't Know the Words

Ha ha.  Gotcha there, didn't I?  You thought I was actually going to sing for a minute?  Maybe post a video of me serenading you through your screen?  Ha!  Imagine how high the bill would be for fixing all those broken speakers.

Right now, as you are sighing with relief (and my high school English teacher is mortified at the slaughter of my native tongue), there is a splendiferous (Sorry Shep) container of hummus mellowing in my fridge.

Mellowing?  Yes, mellowing.  I'll explain why in a minute.

I consulted a recipe before marching out on this adventure.  Please note the use of the word 'consulted'.  In cooking, especially in cooking, I view recipes as suggestions more so than directions.  That and I am a first born. I inherently don't like being told what to do.

I found it in this book.  I bought it, years ago, from a bookman, and have consulted it regularly ever since.  What, you don't have a bookman?  You poor deprived thing.  Don't feel too bad.  I don't anymore either.  A bookman (or woman) leaves a variety of books in lunchrooms across this fair nation with an order form so you can buy his reduced price, generally out of print books.  Usually, they are a very good deal and offer tremendous variety.  And they're cheap. Oh, sorry, did I mention that already?  I found a more up to date copy of this in a bookstore Sydney, Australia last summer.  The funny terminology used is now fully understandable.  Its Aussie.  That, in fact, explains everything.

You start with a can of these.

Or a can of these.  It doesn't really matter which.  They're both the same.

Here, I will give you a brief glimpse into how my mind, and therefore my kitchen, works.  When I bring my canned goods home, I chicken scratch on the top a brief description of what's inside.  Redundant, one might think.  But not for me.  When I pull out my pantry drawer, I see the tops of my cans, not the sides.  By writing on the top, I can quickly and easily find what I'm looking for.  Or just as quickly and easily discover that I don't currently have what I thought I had and actually need to leave the house and go grocery shopping.  Ugh.

I got one of these, as a gift, shortly after we were married.  I don't use it that often.  When I do, however, I am overwhelmed with gratitude that my food prep time is shrunk by a factor of about a bazillion.

Just about everybody in the pool.  Leave the olive oil out to stream in later.  The gooey substance so artfully arranged where it shouldn't be is the tahini.  Tahini is a yummy sesame butter-type substance.  I would have almost eaten it with a spoon, it smelled so good.  Except I only bought enough at the bulk food store to make the hummus.  Bummer.

There is a bit of problem with the quantity of garlic shown here.  The writers of this book were probably assuming the readers would use normal, grocery store garlic.  My garlic comes from gram and papa's place. At gram and papa's place, elephant garlic is grown.  Can you say go big or go home?  In short, there is probably too much garlic in this for most people.  Hence the need to mellow out some in the fridge.

Stream in the olive oil while the machine is running, through the nifty contraption on the top, until you get a good consistency.  Then go crazy.  Here, we like olives.  And sundried tomatoes.  And if I ever get the patience to make them, caramelized onions.  Once the extras are in, a quick taste test and then a dash of sea salt to even things out.  **Please note:  I did not peel my chick peas.  We are not that crazy here.  Nor do I have that much spare time on my hands.  If I did, I would probably watch paint dry first.  After I had actually found the time to paint something.

Then scrape it into a bowl, slap on the lid and voila!  Hummus that will keep for a hundred years in the fridge.  Probably only about 50 on the counter.

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Hum Along Ifn' You Don't Know the Words

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