I hope you had a wonderful Thanksgiving Holiday. Some of you are out shopping today or trying to catch up on your NaNoWriMo. I’m not taking part in NaNoWriMo this year, since I'm hosting out of town company.
Here is one of my family’s favorite dishes. It’s another old-fashioned tummy-warming meal just in time to use up some of your leftover turkey (you can substitute smoked turkey or turkey polish sausage slices). The crushed red pepper is a southern necessity, but if you can’t stomach spicy dishes, you can leave it out. Serve with hot buttered corn bread.
1 bag frozen baby lima beans
1 tablespoon olive oil
2 cups vertically sliced red onion
3 cups fat-free, less-sodium chicken broth
1 cup diced turkey or smoked turkey breast
1/2 teaspoon dried thyme
1/4 teaspoon crushed red pepper (optional)
3 garlic gloves, minced
1 bay leaf
8 cups sliced collard greens
2 tablespoons red wine vinegar
1 (14.5-ounce) can diced tomatoes, undrained
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
Heat oil in a dutch oven or large pan over medium-low heat. Add onion; saute 10 minutes. Add beans, broth, and the next 5 ingredients (turkey through bay leaf). Bring to a boil and let simmer for about an hour*, Stir in collards, vinegar, and tomatoes. Cover and simmer an additional hour. Stir in salt and pepper. Discard bay leaf.
*At this point, you can choose to bake it in the oven at 375ยบ. After an hour, add the other ingredients and return to the oven for an additional hour.
This recipe is easily adaptable to a Crockpot. Place sauteed onions in your Crockpot, top with beans, broth and the next five ingredients. Then add the chopped collards and pour the vinegar and tomatoes on top. Cover and cook all day. Stir before serving.
Based on a recipe from Cooking Light, March 2000 and reprinted on myrecipes.com.
Don't forget this month's contest. Submit a story using one of our prompts or submit a favorite holiday recipe. You can copy and paste as a comment or use our contact page to enter.
At the front of the bus, the driver was staring at her. Sarah imagined the driver was a porpoise. Then she realized he merely looked like one.
“Impatience isn’t virtue,” she patronized.
Stepping down from the bus, she squandered her footing and fell headlong onto the curb.
Cheek on the street, she saw many feet passing. The street was splendidly busy with buckled brown boots, white slippers, children’s shoes, a spattering of knitwear, and something horrible – a pair of rather gnarly, grotesque feet. They were overly hairy, and the toenails had want for care. As she hadn’t been used to seeing such literal down-at-heel standards on feet, she imagined the worst of the rest of them.
A small, silver-haired woman squealed in panic, “See here, no time for lying about.”
An arthritic-looking elderly man shouted, “But don’t be bashful. Not a moment to spare. Not one.”
Aghast at all this, and fairly frightened at being half under the bus, she fainted.
---
The world about her was hazy and dark. She remarked out loud, somewhat dreamily, what a dreadful place this was: it smelled harshly, was too warm, hadn’t enough light, needed more flowers, ought to haven’t been so rummaged, and the sort.
She’d been face down on a dirty couch, and, looking about, saw those bizarre feet again.
“Lordy, but I’ve spent all my time in Wellington looking at feet such as these,” she muttered.
Attached to the feet were two short legs. From there sprouted a concise body, wrapped in a knit sweater and shrouded in a shawl. There, two appendages – arms, if it were true – flapped madly. “Damned gadflies.”
Sarah squelched out, “Come away from the drapery foul creature, stunted troll, fiendish spook!”
“Ye talkin now, what?” it said. “Save yer pluck for yer wee pilgrimage.” And this thing laughed haughtily.
Another voice bellowed from an adjoining room. “Perhaps it wants to know about the door.”
“Ye Kraken,” it replied. “Of course she wants to know about the door.” Then, turning to her, “Sarah, is it? Hardly a suitable name.”
It now seemed this monster was simply the elderly woman from the street.
“How do you know my name? And what door?”
“The door, what? I’ll tell ye. It’s there –“ she pointed hastily. “Ye must go. Can’t do to be late.”
“Late, for what?” Sarah asked.
Another monster – the old man – raced to Sarah’s side and helped her get up.
They shoved Sarah roughly beyond the couch and into a parlor.
She was appalled at their discourtesy. “How do you mean?”
In the shadow on the wall the old man reached his withered hand and took hold of something. Twisting, he wrenched it back.
A warm, green light spilled into the parlor.
Before she had a chance to share her offense, she was pushed into it, screaming.
“Narnia awaits,” said the old man.