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levinletlive · 2 years

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My Recipe Book: Wild Mushroom Chowder

Servings: 6-8

Serving size: 3 cups (meal), 1.5 cups (side)

Season: Autumn/Winter

Category: Soups and Stews, Comfort Food, Vegetarian Option

Method: Stovetop

Prep time: 20 minutes

Cook time: 25 minutes

Ingredients:

Vegetables

8 oz. Portobello mushrooms, chopped

8 oz. White button mushrooms, chopped

8 oz. Baby bella mushrooms, chopped

6-8 oz. Oyster mushrooms, chopped

4 oz. Shiitake mushrooms, chopped

2 oz. King oyster mushrooms, chopped

0.5 oz. Chanterelle mushrooms, dried and crushed

2.5 lbs. Yukon gold potatoes, cubed

4 oz. Carrot, sliced or shredded

2 green onions stalks, snipped

Dairy

1/4 cup Unsalted Butter

8 oz. Cream cheese pkg, cubed

2 oz. Parmesan, shredded or grated

2 oz. Cheddar, shredded

Seasonings

1/4 cup Seasoned Salt

1 tbsp. Trader Joe's Umami Blend (optional)

4 tsp. Chicken Better-Than-Bouillon, or 4 tsp. Chicken Bouillon

5 cups Water

2 tsp. Cayenne Pepper

2 tsp. Smoked Paprika

2 tsp. Ground Black Pepper

2 tsp. Celery Salt

1 tsp. Powdered Lion's Mane Mushroom (optional)

1.5 oz. Chopped Bacon/Bacon Bits (optional)

Tools

8 qt. Stockpot with Lid

Non-Serrated Kitchen Knife

Cheese Grater

Stirring implement

Potato Masher

Ladle

Instructions

Place the butter in the bottom of the stockpot and rough-chop all of your mushrooms. Toss the mushrooms into the pot on top of the butter, then add the green onions, carrots, and all seasonings on top. Cover and simmer on low for about 5 minutes.

While your mushrooms are simmering, cube your potatoes. When the 5 minutes are up, dump the potatoes on top of the mushrooms and add the water. Stir the mixture so that the potatoes sink to the bottom and the mushrooms rise to the top. Cover and bring to a rolling boil.

When the water reaches a high bowl, reduce the heat to medium and keep covered for 20 minutes or until potatoes are softened.

While the vegetables and seasonings cook, cube your cream cheese and shred your parmesan and cheddar. Set them aside.

After the 20 minutes is up, remove the pot from heat and let contents stand uncovered for at least 5 minutes before adding the cheeses. The pot must cool somewhat or it will break the cream cheese and ruin your meal. There is no saving the meal if that happens. If the pot becomes too cool and you find the cheeses aren't blending, you can put it back on the burner covered on low to reheat it slowly.

With everything now in the pot, grab your potato masher and start smashing the potatoes and cream cheese cubes. When the potatoes are mashed and the soup thickens, use the masher and just stir the soup until the cream cheese is thoroughly blended.

Some notes:

I don't bother to peel the potatoes because the skins are nutritious and relatively thin on Yukon golds, but you're obviously welcome to do so if you prefer.

Wearing a mask when snipping the green onions will keep you from tearing up!

The soup keeps in the refrigerator for about a week and a half. Add 1/2 cup of milk when reheating.

This is my own recipe, which actually grew out of my potato soup recipe. It's one of my favorite meals when I feel sick and it makes a ton. Outside of chopping veggies, it's not very intensive either. You can easily halve the recipe as well.

When I started doing nature photography, I wanted to identify and learn about my subjects. I found edible plants and mushrooms fascinating because I'm a pretty adventurous eater, so I started looking for ways to implement the stuff I found. Mushrooms, in particular, have a lot of health benefits that scientists are just discovering and different varieties are entering the broader consumer market. Safeway only just began carrying shiitake, oysters, and chanterelles in the last couple of years. Private grow kits are also available for people who like to grow their own food.

Try this recipe with your own regional mushroom varieties and experiment with the seasonings a little.

Photo Gallery:

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live-success1 · 6 months

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The Top 10 Winter Foods: Seasonal Delights to Savor

Winter is a time when we crave warm and comforting foods to help us get through the cold weather. It’s also a season when our bodies need extra nutrients to boost our immune system and keep us healthy. In this article, we will explore the 10 best foods to enjoy during winter, their health benefits, and how to incorporate them into your diet. So, let’s dive in! The 10 Best Foods in Winter Table of…

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#cold weather #comfort food #cozy cuisine #hearty stews #holiday dishes #seasonal delights #seasonal ingredients #warming meals #winter foods #winter recipes

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britishraptor · 9 months

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#luna rambles #I’m cool I’m okay I’m okay it’s fine #I’m self hypnotising because my brain is being dumb again #picture this: it’s a cool winter night. you’re wrapped in comfortable fresh sheets #the wind and possible rain howls softly outside #you’re full of delicious homemade stew #and then your brain goes ‘nope. too good to be true. release the kraken’#and now I’m trying not to have an anxiety attack #I should be in BLISS #this is the goal this is it!!!#I’m literally missing a scented candle and maybe some fairy lights #but nooooooo #gotta have spicy emotions instead

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livelaughlovesing · 10 months

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Recipe for Noodles Mexicana This has come to be my favorite winter comfort food. Ground beef, black olives, tomatoes, chili beans, noodles, and corn make for a great stew like meal. Serve with sour cream and tortilla chips! YUM!

#corn #stew #noodles #chili beans #winter comfort food

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jandws · 11 months

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Easy Low-Carb Keto Broccoli Cheddar Soup This delicious, simple, low-carb, keto-friendly broccoli cheddar soup is perfect for those chilly winter nights when we all crave comfort food.

#stews and chili #vegetable broth #cloves garlic #cups #winter nights #comfort food

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psychologistmimi · 1 year

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Comfort food on the edge of spring

This has been the winter of my discontent. This has been the dreariest winter storm. However, I have heard that “No winter lasts forever; no spring skips its turn.” While I await the return of spring, I’ll enjoy some comfort food. A good stew. A good bread pudding. And, as always, some mac and cheese.

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#comfort food #commentary #life #spring #stew #winter

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asksainttraft · 1 year

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Instant Pot Bourbon Beef Stew - Soups, Stews and Chili

#This flavorful Instant Pot beef stew #spiked with bourbon #is a comforting dinner for 6 on a chilly spring or winter evening. beef #olive oil #bourbon #beef stew #instant pot #carrots

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curatordeck · 1 year

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Stews - Easy Brunswick Stew (Make-Ahead Freezer Meal)

#Comforting and full of flavor #this easy stew is the perfect meal for busy winter weeknights. It was created as a make-ahead freezer meal #but can be made from start to finish too. barbecue chicken #freezer meal #notes #dish #contents

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zoruanna · 1 year

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Chicken - Green Chile Chicken Stew

#On those chilly winter days #this stew will keep you warm and comfortable! After pestering my New Mexican friends for months in search of the ideal green chile chicken #I finally put this recipe together. Every month #I make it at least once (I myself use a pressure cooker). Add warm flour tortillas to the dish. There are numerous chile peppers in this re #dial it back! green chile chicken stew #pressure cook #search #stew #friends #pot #stews

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bestlifelee · 1 year

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Best Beef Stew

Looking for a Sunday afternoon meal to warm the cockles of your heart? I’ve got what you’re looking for right here. My favorite beef stew and you can have it on your table in an hour from start to finish! If you love a hearty stew with tender beef and potatoes, and sweet peas and carrots, they you have got to try this! Lisa’s Beef Stew Tender cuts of steak make this beef stew a winner! 4 quart…

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#beef #beef stew #comfort food #fall foods #stew #winter foods

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ceilidho · 5 months

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prompt: price/reader bear shifter fic. PART 3. (part 1 here) (part 2 here)

The man at your till is making you feel increasingly uncomfortable.

He’s a stocky man, not quite as imposing as John, but still big. He’s particularly unnerving because the man has been standing by your till for the past few minutes without having anything in his hands. No basket in sight. Not a rutabaga or a bushel of carrots or even a single jar of olives.

It’s as if he just blew in off the street; dark hair mussed from the wind, shabbily dressed for the winter as if the cold weren’t even an issue for him. The intensity of his stare makes your skin crawl though, and it’s even worse when he decides to strike up a conversation with you.

It’s like he only came into the shop to stare at you and make creepy, suggestive comments. Laswell comes out from the back when his presence starts to make even the other customers uncomfortable, but all that does is relegate him to the parking lot, where he’s free to loiter and stare at you through the window all he wants.

You delay the inevitable for almost half an hour because you keep talking yourself out of calling John. It’s not like you’re not familiar with each other by now—he’s taken you to diners and cafés, and you’ve brought him tupperware filled with stew and casserole on the days when you’ve watched him slump up the steps of his front porch, looking haggard and about to fall on his face—but it feels intrusive. A favour you wouldn’t normally ask of him. It almost feels like you’re using him, actually.

Still though, after some time you almost feel like you don’t have a choice. You either call John or the police, and the latter option is vastly more unappealing. Then you’d really be causing a ruckus for nothing.

Since your phone is stored under the desk by the till, you take a second in between customers to dial John’s number, listening to it ring with your back to the window. That makes your shoulders tense up even more, acutely aware of two eyes burrowing into the back of your neck. The anxiety puts a cramp in your belly until you hear John pick up.

“John,” you whisper into the phone, hand cupped around the receiver. There’s static on the other end before you hear him grumble your name. “Are you—is this a bad time?”

“No, s’good a time as any,” he says, voice thick and heady. “What’s the matter, honey?”

The sound of his voice makes you shiver like it always does, but the effect is muted under the droning of your anxiety. Like a pale imitation of its usual force.

“I just was wondering if—would you mind coming down to the shop for a bit?”

“What for? Need help stocking the shelves?” he asks, still lighthearted. Maybe you’re keeping your cool just a bit too well because he hasn’t yet detected the undercurrent of fear making your voice almost tremble. You glance over your shoulder again and shudder when you see the same man still loitering in the parking lot, eyes locked on you. When he smiles, it’s mean.

“Actually I—I hope this isn’t rude but there’s…this guy’s been hanging around outside for a bit and…” you start, then stop to chew on your lip. “Well, he’s really starting to freak me out.”

You can almost hear him straighten up on the other end. “What’s that?”

Now his tone makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You’ve never heard him sound like this before—alert all of a sudden, a hard edge to his voice that you might have associated with his work persona if you’d ever seen it before. It fills you with comfort and worry all at once.

“He came in earlier and he was…well, he kind of came in looking confused and then—I think he noticed me looking at him strangely or something, which I—well, I don’t think I was making like, a weird face or anything, but—”

“Did he say anything to you?” John asks, cutting you off.

You cup your hand even more around the phone so it muffles your words. “He said I smell…fecund? I don’t even know what that means, but…”

He goes silent for a moment before he speaks again. At first, you think he sounds almost calm, but you clock the way his breathing pattern abruptly changes. “I’ll be there in a few. Don’t move, honey.”

He hangs up before you’re able to say another word. You hold the phone to your ear for another couple of seconds before your eyes inevitably dart back to the window, where the other man is still staring at you, his upper lip curled.

You try your best to focus on your job, checking each new customer out while steadfastly avoiding looking out the main window. It wouldn’t do you any good anyway. In your peripheral vision, you see the dark shadowy form of the man still leaning against his car, eyes still trained on you. It won’t be dark for another hour or so, but the fact that your shift only ends when it’s well past the daylight hours makes your hands tremble when you scan a container of hummus. You mess up the code for artichoke three separate times.

You don’t see the moment John pulls into the parking lot, but you hear the commotion and your head whips around just in time to see him dragging the other man into the woods behind the grocers, one big arm wrapped around his neck. He’s somehow bigger than the man you’d thought towered over you, making his struggle seem pointless as he's dragged off by John.

It’s over so quickly that when the two of them disappear past the treeline, you almost think you imagined it for a second. Then another second goes by and you find John’s car haphazardly parked in the lot, the door still open. At least he managed to turn it off.

“Kate, did you—” you say, turning towards when you remember last seeing her restock the boxed panettone display only to find your manager standing in front of your till, staring out the same window as you.

“Shit,” she says, blinking. A bit awed. “Never seen John that mad before.”

“He’s, uh—I called him because that guy wouldn’t leave. I thought maybe he’d…I don’t know what I thought he’d do, honestly.”

“You know, we could’ve called the sheriff.”

You don’t want to admit that your first thought was always John. Not the police. “Oh. I guess.”

The two of you keep staring out the window. Neither man emerges from the treeline.

“Should I—”

“Don’t even think about suggesting that you go check on him. He’s a grown man and you’re still on the clock.”

“Got it,” you mumble, a bit peeved.

Kate looks at you from the corner of her eye. “Besides, John’ll have my head if he finds out I let his favourite cashier chase after him into the woods where he just dragged off a man harassing her.”

“He wouldn’t do that—”

You’re cut off when a customer waiting at your till clears their throat, forcing you to leave your station at the window. Kate’s smug smile haunts you while you ring the impatient customer up. She heads back to her office before you’re able to say your piece, leaving you to stew in silence.

There aren’t usually many customers in the middle of a random weekday, so you have nothing to do except stare out the window and fret. Your heart skips a beat any time the trees sway with the breeze. Another customer gives you a bit of a hassle over a two-for-one deal that your scanner didn’t pick up and you almost snap at them.

You finally make the decision to leave your till when the trees rustle and your heart stops for a second before John steps back out into the parking lot, looking dishevelled but no worse for wear. His hat is gone. There’s a nasty cut on his lip and it seems like his shirt has been fully ripped open, exposing a wide, hairy chest and two thick pectorals. You do not stare at the way the hair on his chest whorls around his brown nipples.

His eyes are locked on you through the window and his brows furrow when he watches you jog to the doors. When they slide open, you hear him shout from across the lot, “Back inside.”

“I can—”

“Get back inside.”

You pout, but listen, taking a step back in and letting the doors shut with a whoosh. You wait anxiously on the balls of your feet until they slide open again when John finally crosses the parking lot in only a few short seconds. He zips up his coat before coming inside, depriving you of the view. You have to school your face so that your pout doesn’t deepen.

“Are you okay—” you ask when he steps into the grocery store, but no one in this town seems to be able to let you finish a sentence because he cuts you off almost immediately.

“Where’s Laswell?” he asks, almost rhetorically because he sidesteps you after a brief touch to your chin to tilt your head up, eyes tracking across your face as if looking for something to rile him up even more. “Kate.”

You shush him when you trail after him towards the back where Kate’s office door is wide open. His voice carries on a good day; after his tussle out in the forest, it seems to boom across the store, drawing curious eyes. You smile weakly.

“Busy today?” It’s the first thing out of his mouth when he reaches the door of Kate’s office. Her chair is already turned to face him, arms crossed over her chest and blonde hair pulled up into a tight bun.

“It’s normal,” Kate says, almost like a challenge. “Business as usual.”

“Good. I’m taking your cashier home then. That gonna be an issue?”

Kate rolls her eyes. “I’m trembling. You didn’t get all of this out with the other guy? Still need a good fight?”

“Please, John, I can stay—I’m really sorry about all of this,” you say, turning from John back to Kate, a bit frazzled now that it’s sunk in. A faint tremor works its way through you. You don’t even realize the way you unconsciously grip John’s jacket, anchoring yourself in place.

“Honey, we’re going home,” John stresses, fitting a hand against your low back, drawing you a bit closer. You move into him without a thought, like a natural pull.

Kate’s eyes soften when she meets yours. “It’s fine, I can cover the till for the rest of the afternoon. John’s right—just go home. I still know how to work a register, you know.”

He doesn’t let you stay a moment longer to argue or insist that you stay and cover your shift. He sweeps you out the door with a warm hand still low on your back, letting you briefly grab your coat and bag before hustling you to his car. It’s freezing inside from the wide open door, so he blasts the hot air until you slump into the passenger seat, the heat lulling you into a stupor.

The drive back home—whatever home at this point means—is long. Part of you wonders whether he’ll drive you to work tomorrow to pick up your car or if you’ll be forced to take a bus, but it isn’t the time or place to be thinking about those things.

“What’d you do with him?” you mumble, turning your head to stare at the side of his face. The cut of his jaw is hard, obscured somewhat by the beard growing in heavy with the winter, but deeply masculine like something out of an old western. You think you’d happily count every bristle without complaint if he let you.

“Taught him to mind his manners,” John says. The answer is short, to the point. It makes you tremble.

“Like, to respect women?”

He turns his head to look over at you. It’s just for a moment, brief in the grand scheme of things, but it feels significant. Pointed. Sustained. “To not touch what isn’t his.”

The truck never so much as wavers on the road.

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #john price #captain price #captain john price #cod price #price x reader #price x you #price/reader

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loxare · 1 year

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On their wedding day, he put his hand to her cheek and called her the most beautiful woman in the world.

He could have been correct, from an objective standpoint. Truly, she was one of the beauties in town. Her curls always in perfect order, her smile plump and joyous, her figure comely, even hidden modestly beneath clothing. From an objective standpoint, he was wrong, as nothing about beauty is objective, but none in the town would have disagreed with his assessment.

They spent several years together, in loving bliss. They built their house together, they planted their garden together, they grew together.

And then came the day that a hole in reality opened beneath him. Without thought, she jumped in after, a bare half second after he vanished.

When she opened her eyes, she was somewhere else. The stars were different, and wrong. There was the wrong number of moons, and the sun was the wrong colour. But the worst, most egregious wrong was that he was not there next to her. This, she could not abide.

She had nothing to her name besides her labour, but that she had in abundance. She travelled, from town to town, trading hours of work for food and board. She taught herself to draw, and she drew her love. Over and over, she drew him. In the dirt, on walls, on her own clothes. Asking, always asking, if any had seen him. Eventually she acquired paper and ink, and drew her husband again. Her inquiries became easier, more frequent, although the answers never changed. For none had seen her love.

She learned many things as she travelled. She learned how to fix a carriage wheel. How to tend to livestock and how to weed a garden far larger than the one she had known. She learned to shape a bowl from clay and to chop timber and to carve wood. She learned to fight off brigands who would take from her her sparse money, her life, or worse.

She learned other things, about this place she was in. It was a place where many came, and few left. A nexus one called it. A refuse heap, another said. But the method of arrival was always the same. One moment in the familiar, the next falling into the strange. But the people were the same, for all that they were often of alien appearance. Some looked down upon her dirt covered hems and worn boots. Some ignored her. Most were willing to at least listen to her question, to look at her picture, so carefully drawn. To keep an eye out, and pass on a message should they find him.

Time passed, and passed, and passed. The world she came from did not have things such as magical crystals or soul mates or wizards, or if it did they had none of the power that those here did. Regardless, one town she stayed in recommended she find the local witch, for they specialized in red strings of fate.

And so she did. The witch gave her a bowl of stew and a comfortable chair, and then listened when she spoke, and looked carefully at the drawing. It was a different one. She had drawn many, over the years, as the old ones wore out, and as her skill increased. And the witch said that they did not know if he was indeed her soul mate, but if he was, then the red string of fate that they revealed would lead her right to him. She need only follow it.

It was not an easy ask. The witch wanted a blanket woven by her own hands in payment. And so she stayed in the town, longer than she had stayed anywhere. She traded her labour and her art for thick wool, and weaving lessons. It was near winter before she had a result she was pleased with, carefully folded in her arms to be presented to the witch. The blanket was unfolded immediately upon delivery, shaken out to its fullest extent. The blanket was scrutinized, for quality of the weave or for something else that she could not fathom. Finally, the witch nodded their head. They turned back to their cottage, moving to close the door. She protested, concerned about her end of the bargain, but needn’t have worried. For around her finger was tied a red string which hadn’t been there before. The end led off, through the woods.

And so she followed it. She followed it through fallen leaves. She followed it across rivers. She followed it through snowbanks and through melt waters and through hot summer sun. Finally, she followed it into a clearing on a mountain. And fell to her knees in despair. For in this clearing was nothing but moss, and the end of the string, fading into nothing.

She did not have long to weep however, as a hole in reality opened above her, and down he fell. Without thought, she moved to catch him.

He was just as he had been on the day she had left him. And as he opened his eyes, she suddenly felt ashamed. For he was here, perfect and whole and young. But it had been years and years for her. Her hair was frizzy and knotted. Her lips were thin, her hands were rough, and her figure both hard and flabby at once.

But he opened his eyes, and he called her name, and she nodded. And he smiled at her, and called her the most beautiful woman in the world.

On a truly objective standpoint, he was incorrect. Both because beauty was not within the realm of objectivity, but also because there were many women who could be called more beautiful, subjectively.

But she also knew that he was speaking nothing but the honest truth. For he loved her. He loved her, he loved her, he loved her. He loved her hair, frizzy as it was. He loved combing it free of knots, and helping her braid it in the mornings, and loved tucking flowers into it, to surprise her when she looked in the mirror. He loved her smile, and loved seeing it, and loved being the cause of it. He loved it when she spoke to him, when she told him of the things she had done, and what she had learned. He loved her art, even as he blushed darkly at being her only subject. She taught him what she knew, and delighted when he found particular pleasure in pottery. They travelled, to find a home that suited both of them. The first time she defended him from brigands had been a terrifying and yet exhilarating experience for them both.

And they built a house. With a room full of paper and clay. And a garden, and a loom. And always, forever, she was the most beautiful woman in the world.

#Loxie's fics #story time #hmmmm thoughts #this might be a folk tale in the book I'm writing #It's like. *related* to a main character's plot arc #but not entirely #but it might also just exist here and in my thoughts #long post #I suppose

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