split pea and ham
After Paul, Jörg and I returned from our slightly misadventurous boat trip up to and over the beaver dam and back, during which light springtime rain turned to light springtime snow, it took us some time around the wood stove to warm up and dry off. Having satisfied our need for shelter and warmth, we realized our need for food was becoming paramount.
I went into the kitchen and scanned the cans on the shelf. Some cans looked very old and in not very good condition, while others looked reasonably intact. I threw away a few old cans which actually had holes rusted in them, and a few that appeared to be bulging. It seems likely that they had all been through at least one winter, during which they might have frozen and thawed multiple times. A large can of split pea and ham soup caught my eye. Judging by its condition, it couldn't have been more than two years old. I opened the soup, and it smelled and looked rather edible, at least as edible as a can of condensed split pea and ham soup ever does.
For a later meal, I opened a can of green beans that was a little more suspect. The can seemed intact, but it looked like the can was not quite as full as it should have been. I should've taken that as a sign that maybe those green beans had been through a few too many freeze-thaw cycles, but I figured maybe it just wasn't filled completely at the cannery. They looked okay to me, but it was starting to get dark by then, so I couldn't really tell too much in the low light. I heated them up, served them, and I told Jörg and Paul that maybe those beans were a bit suspect. We cautiously tasted them, and decided not to eat them, since they tasted somewhat like soggy cardboard. I brought them closer to the lantern, and saw that they looked like soggy cardboard too.
But back to the soup. I emptied the can into a pot and added some lake water. I lit a burner on the stove and started heating the pot. As it was warming up, it started to smell pretty good.
I looked around on the shelves some more, and behind some cans and empty jars, there was a very old looking box of Celestial Seasonings tea. It looked like it had gotten damp once or twice, and the cardboard was starting to deteriorate. I looked over the label and saw a copyright notice for 1974. I suppose that doesn't necessarily mean it was that old, but I think that's about when our family came up to the shack when my brother and I were very young. My mother was kind of into health food back then, so it seemed plausible that she would have brought some Celestial Seasonings tea on that trip. I opened the box, and the inner wax paper bag seemed intact, and whoever had used it last had folded it over competently, so I thought maybe the tea bags were still good. I filled another pot with water and set it on the stove to boil.
There was an old ceramic teapot in the kitchen, which looked like it hadn't been used in quite a few years. I cleaned it up, warmed it with some of the heated water, and put about five ancient Red Zinger tea bags in it. I felt a little strange about actually using these historic tea bags. I imagined how an archeologist might feel, after finding an unbroken ancient ceramic pot, then deciding to try to cook her dinner in it. But it was hardly a museum quality find, and some hot tea would be nice on that cold day.
We had brought some bread and butter, so I put that out on the table, and some bowls for the soup and cups for the tea. The water came to a boil, and the soup was just starting to boil, so I turned the burners off and poured the water into the teapot.
Paul, Jörg and I sat around the table and had hot split pea and ham soup of unknown age, and hot Red Zinger tea from the seventies. Along with slices of buttered bread, it seemed like a meal fit for royalty. The soup was delicious and warming, and the tea, which still had its zing after all those years, warmed us to the depths that were still chilly from our cold wet boat ride. It was with great contentment that I mopped up the last of the soup in my bowl with the last bite of a slice of bread, and swallowed the last sip of Red Zinger tea to wash it down, while looking out the window at the falling springtime snow.
I went into the kitchen and scanned the cans on the shelf. Some cans looked very old and in not very good condition, while others looked reasonably intact. I threw away a few old cans which actually had holes rusted in them, and a few that appeared to be bulging. It seems likely that they had all been through at least one winter, during which they might have frozen and thawed multiple times. A large can of split pea and ham soup caught my eye. Judging by its condition, it couldn't have been more than two years old. I opened the soup, and it smelled and looked rather edible, at least as edible as a can of condensed split pea and ham soup ever does.
For a later meal, I opened a can of green beans that was a little more suspect. The can seemed intact, but it looked like the can was not quite as full as it should have been. I should've taken that as a sign that maybe those green beans had been through a few too many freeze-thaw cycles, but I figured maybe it just wasn't filled completely at the cannery. They looked okay to me, but it was starting to get dark by then, so I couldn't really tell too much in the low light. I heated them up, served them, and I told Jörg and Paul that maybe those beans were a bit suspect. We cautiously tasted them, and decided not to eat them, since they tasted somewhat like soggy cardboard. I brought them closer to the lantern, and saw that they looked like soggy cardboard too.
But back to the soup. I emptied the can into a pot and added some lake water. I lit a burner on the stove and started heating the pot. As it was warming up, it started to smell pretty good.
I looked around on the shelves some more, and behind some cans and empty jars, there was a very old looking box of Celestial Seasonings tea. It looked like it had gotten damp once or twice, and the cardboard was starting to deteriorate. I looked over the label and saw a copyright notice for 1974. I suppose that doesn't necessarily mean it was that old, but I think that's about when our family came up to the shack when my brother and I were very young. My mother was kind of into health food back then, so it seemed plausible that she would have brought some Celestial Seasonings tea on that trip. I opened the box, and the inner wax paper bag seemed intact, and whoever had used it last had folded it over competently, so I thought maybe the tea bags were still good. I filled another pot with water and set it on the stove to boil.
There was an old ceramic teapot in the kitchen, which looked like it hadn't been used in quite a few years. I cleaned it up, warmed it with some of the heated water, and put about five ancient Red Zinger tea bags in it. I felt a little strange about actually using these historic tea bags. I imagined how an archeologist might feel, after finding an unbroken ancient ceramic pot, then deciding to try to cook her dinner in it. But it was hardly a museum quality find, and some hot tea would be nice on that cold day.
We had brought some bread and butter, so I put that out on the table, and some bowls for the soup and cups for the tea. The water came to a boil, and the soup was just starting to boil, so I turned the burners off and poured the water into the teapot.
Paul, Jörg and I sat around the table and had hot split pea and ham soup of unknown age, and hot Red Zinger tea from the seventies. Along with slices of buttered bread, it seemed like a meal fit for royalty. The soup was delicious and warming, and the tea, which still had its zing after all those years, warmed us to the depths that were still chilly from our cold wet boat ride. It was with great contentment that I mopped up the last of the soup in my bowl with the last bite of a slice of bread, and swallowed the last sip of Red Zinger tea to wash it down, while looking out the window at the falling springtime snow.
posted by danteand at 9/25/2005 02:59:00 AM
4 Comments:
nothing like a good meal after a hard day
Especially nice is a good meal in a warm place with a view of the cold outside.
Dosenlinsen und Teebeutel, kann Überleben einfacher und praktischer sein? Schöne Geschichte und dazu noch wahr.
Ja! Mit Messer und Gabel!
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