In which I fuss for awhile, but then there’s a recipe at the end so it might just be worth your time.
We’re leaving on Thursday.
I slept in this morning because there was no reason not to, and because I sleep a lot when I’m stressed out — it’s my preferred coping mechanism, and I figure it’s better than booze or pot, yeah? This fucking go-to-Indiana-and-sell-roofs gig is stressing me out. Not only in and of itself — I’d never apply for a construction sales position if I saw it in the paper — but in tandem with our fairly fucked up financial situation it’s just got me off my center.
Bread picked at me for sleeping so much, so naturally I picked right back at him about other stupid shit. Before it blossomed into a full-fledged fight, we silently agreed to attack the house instead. Dishes, garbage, sweeping, laundry. It was a frenzy of domestic activity. The dogs couldn’t figure out where to lie down to escape our cleaning wrath and finally went outside to get away from us.
We met on the porch and had a nice talk. He said he’s stressed about money but the whole point is to go and work hard and make some, and that overall he feels good about the gig. I said I hate sales and have no construction experience and am worried about hating the job, or worse, totally sucking at it. He told me I’m personable and smarter than anybody else going. (How cute is that?!) Of course, ‘smart’ isn’t always the necessary ingredient. There’s lots of things I suck at that so-called less intelligent folk excel at. Sales, for instance. *rolleyes*
I once spent a summer canvassing for the Oregon Public Interest Research Group. I showed up at OSPIRG in the morning, attended the daily meeting, got my clipboard, and was dropped off in some nice neighborhood in Portland. I spent the morning knocking on doors, informing citizens of whatever OSPIRG thought they should know, and soliciting donations. Lunch. Then an afternoon of the same.
IT WAS THE WORST FUCKING JOB EVER. Ever. EVER. My feet hurt, my tummy hurt from nervousness, and I never once made quota. I really wanted to like it because it was good work, but I didn’t. I quit in a month. I can stand on stage and sing in front of ten thousand people, but that job? Would have given me an ulcer if I’d made myself keep doing it. I get some weird variant of stage fright knocking on stranger’s doors. I’ll chat your pants off if I meet you in a bar, but I’m chicken to knock on your door and offer you something I believe in or that I know you want and need. It’s just how I’m built.
Anyway.
Bread’s truck is leaking oil and coolant. We can either take it and fill it full of oil and anti-freeze at every gas stop, or we can put tires on the jeep and take it instead. Bread hates the jeep because it’s too small and sitting in it for extended periods aggravates his back, plus it’ll look stupid with ladders bungee’d to the luggage racks and it’s ugly and rusty compared to his nice big late model truck. It gets great gas mileage, though, and the A/C rocks.
His truck is big and attractive and looks professional and he’s already put the ladder rack on it, and it’s much more comfortable and will haul more stuff… but it’s expensive to operate. And it’s leaking like a sieve. And none of the local shops can fix it in time. Plus fixing it would take money we don’t even have. And the A/C needs to be charged.
So I made breakfast at about two o’clock this afternoon. Hash browns, scrambled eggs, veggie sausage, gravy. Kind of a variation on that breakfast casserole people make with real sausage and a can of cheese soup. “God damn!” I said, licking the whisk. “I’m a veggie gravy-makin’ genius!”
Bread said, “You do make good gravy!” And coming from an inveterate meat eater, that’s a high compliment!
So here’s how I make vegetarian gravy, yo. My secret ingredients are paprika, prepared mustard, and soy sauce. I know, I know, it sounds weird but it totally works. Plus my gravy? Never lumpy.
Mush’s Kick Ass Vegetarian Gravy
Great over breakfast, or mashed potatoes, or whatever you’d put gravy on.
2 T. butter
2 T. flour
1 c. hot water
1/2 c. milk
1/4 tsp. each: paprika, dill weed, basil, oregano, parsley
1/3 cube Knorr vegetable bullion
1/4 tsp. prepared yellow mustard
dash tamari or soy sauce
salt & pepper to taste
In a medium sauce pan over medium flame, thoroughly whisk the butter and flour together. Let it cook until bubbly and golden.
Mix hot water and milk together (to take the chill off the milk) and add it to the roux along with the bullion cube. Whisk until the gravy comes to a simmer and starts to thicken. Reduce heat slightly.
Add spices and whisk well. Add the mustard and tamari, and salt & pepper to taste.
Serves 2-4.
1. Fill a cocktail shaker with ice.
I’ve decided to brave that irritating, roo-infested store they call 
