CARROT CASSEROLE

1 1-pound bag carrots, cleaned, cut up

½ cup celery, chopped

½ cup chopped onions

1 green pepper, chopped

1 Tbsp parsley, fresh or dried

¼ cup butter/margarine

1 tsp salt

¼ tsp pepper

1 tsp sugar

1 can tomato soup * check ingredients for Vegans

Boil carrots until tender; drain. Fry celery, onions, pepper and parsley in butter. Add to carrots with salt, pepper and sugar; put in casserole, cover with tomato soup. Bake for 45 minutes at 250 degrees. Yield: 6 servings.

(Rosalyn Boxley, Virginia Beach, VA © Southern Living 1968)

Gluten-free and Vegetarian/Vegan Recipes

To meet my needs of being “gluten-free”, there are no ingredients that have wheat in them. Since one out of one-hundred people now have problems with the way the United States processes their foods, there are plenty of brands which are marked GF Gluten-free. However, read all the way around the label and determine if there might be traces of wheat or if the product was processed in a plant or on machinery that also handles wheat. (These statements are usually NOT found near the list of ingredients.) If this is the case and you are gluten-sensitive or have a wheat-toxicity, don’t use it!

I also deleted recipes which called for hidden gluten – like shrimp, frozen mangoes and parsnips.

Vegetarian foods allow the use of milk, honey, eggs, and other non-kill animal products; vegans do not. I have endeavored to post only recipes with vegan-appropriate ingredients. If I really liked something, though, that was vegetarian rather than vegan, I will note it.

Whenever possible, use non-GMO products (non-genetically modified).  If you think gmo’s are ok for you, you haven’t read any science fiction books, let alone Charles Darwin.

These recipes are not an attempt to substitute wheat or animal ingredients with something else. These recipes are “naturally” or originally gluten-free and vegetarian/vegan.

Excerpt from Minna Pegeen Chapter Two

Excerpt from

Minna Pegeen

© Evelyn Rainey

Comfort Publishing

ISBN 9781935361381

FRESH SAUERKRAUT SALAD

(My mother makes this, although she doesn't add the carrots. It really is incredibly good!)

2 cups fresh sauerkraut, snipped and drained (not sure what they mean by ‘snipped’)

½ cup sugar

¼ cup chopped onion

½ cup chopped carrot

½ cup chopped green pepper

½ cup chopped celery

Combine sauerkraut and sugar. Let stand for 30 minutes. Add remaining ingredients; refrigerate overnight. This salad will keep and will make its own dressing. Yield: 8 servings.

(Mrs. Ted McDonald, Newport News, VA © Southern Living 1968)

Gluten-free and Vegetarian/Vegan Recipes

To meet my needs of being “gluten-free”, there are no ingredients that have wheat in them. Since one out of one-hundred people now have problems with the way the United States processes their foods, there are plenty of brands which are marked GF Gluten-free. However, read all the way around the label and determine if there might be traces of wheat or if the product was processed in a plant or on machinery that also handles wheat. (These statements are usually NOT found near the list of ingredients.) If this is the case and you are gluten-sensitive or have a wheat-toxicity, don’t use it!

I also deleted recipes which called for hidden gluten – like shrimp, frozen mangoes and parsnips.

Vegetarian foods allow the use of milk, honey, eggs, and other non-kill animal products; vegans do not. I have endeavored to post only recipes with vegan-appropriate ingredients. If I really liked something, though, that was vegetarian rather than vegan, I will note it.

Whenever possible, use non-GMO products (non-genetically modified).  If you think gmo’s are ok for you, you haven’t read any science fiction books, let alone Charles Darwin.

These recipes are not an attempt to substitute wheat or animal ingredients with something else. These recipes are “naturally” or originally gluten-free and vegetarian/vegan.

Excerpt from Perky's Chapter Two

April 9

 

“What is your full name and occupation?” Jack White the detective sat with me in the café. His sandy blonde hair buzzed severely short, made his green eyes seem incongruously innocent. He had a notebook out, and an uncapped pen at the ready. He looked to be about seventeen and had nicked his chin shaving.

“Madison Jefferson. I’m a Floor Ambassador here at Percival’s Books & Gifts. I’m also a Commissioned Officer.”

“I served four years myself. In which branch of the service were you?” The detective slurped his coffee and then grimaced.

“No, not in the service, here at Perky’s.”

He glared into the coffee and then pushed his mug away in disgust. “What is your date of birth?”

“June 17, 1980.”

“And so you’re on leave from the Navy and work here part-time?”

“No, I work here full-time. Well, thirty-nine hours, so it’s not considered full-time as far as benefits go. But I’m not in the Navy.”

“You just told me you are a commissioned officer. Are you rescinding that now?”

“I’m not rescinding anything.”

The young man reached to the coffee and tapped the mug with his pen. It made a clink sound. He repeated that clink clink clink and smiled. “Ms. Jefferson, what month were you born?”

“I was born in June. June 19, 1962.”

He blinked at me. I smiled.

“And when you’re not here at Perky’s, you work in the commissary.”

I took a deep breath, hoping against hope that my disability, which is sort of like stuttering, didn’t kick in. It does that when I’m nervous or annoyed. So I took another deep breath. “I’m a commissioned officer here at Perky’s. It’s less than a manager but more than a floor ambassador.”

“Like a Red Badge at Books-a-Million.”

“I guess so.”

“My mother was a Red Badge. But they don’t have those any more.”

“But we do.”

“Hmmm. When did you say you were born?” Jack wrote something on his little notepad and turned it face down on the table.

“May 17, 1931.”

He squinted at me.

“Would you like some more coffee, sir?”

“No, thank you.” He picked up the mug and peered at the viscous liquid. “This is really nasty.”

“The absolute worst coffee ever,” I agreed. Of course, I didn’t add that it was still coming from the last pot that the late Mrs. Abercrombie had brewed. (Mrs. A being the body found in aisle seventeen three days earlier.)

“How long did you know the deceased?”

“I didn’t know the deceased. You can’t get to know dead people. Something about a lack of communication. Well,” I stopped to correct myself and tell Jack White about Sam Wayne. Sam talks to dead people. Sam insists that the only reason the dead speak to him is that his name sounds like the Gaelic (aka Wiccan) name for Halloween. I had never figured out what other reasons there might be—like that made a difference. Jack’s eyes were squinting—I was taking too long to answer his question about how well I knew the deceased. I made a definite decision not to tell the detective about Sam Wayne. “I knew Mrs. Abercrombie for the five years I’ve worked here.”

“And what impression did you have of her?” He leaned forward, a mouse about to pounce on a rabid wolf.

“That she made the worst coffee I’ve ever had in my entire life. When were you born?” I asked calmly.

“August 29, 1989. Hey, I’m supposed to ask that!”

“OK, Detective White, for the third time, this is the way it happened. A customer asked me about a werewolf book and then made a comment about the inappropriateness of the werewolf display. I went to check on it and discovered the remains of a human body, which were later identified as belonging to our café manager, Mrs. Abercrombie. You police came and taped off the entire New Age section and took the names of everyone in the store. Then you shut us down for the entire day yesterday, and none of us got paid. And then you came back today. Your officers are blocking the doors, intimidating our customers and eating all the free samples.”

“They’re,” he interrupted, looking gray. “They’re not with me. Not with the police. They’re a different branch of law enforcement.”

“What do you mean—they’re not police. Look at them! They scream law-enforcement.”

“How?” he growled.

“Black suit and tie. Shades. Muscles that are making our teen-age customers drool.”

White snorted, adjusted his tie and smiled. “This is a Beall’s Outlet tie my mom bought because it had a lavender dot on it. My suit is from the Salvation Army. I have had these shoes since my confirmation in the ninth grade. They are not with the city’s police department.”

One of the previously described men stomped up to the table and laid a ream of paper in front of White. “Sir, background info on the last sixty-two customers to enter the store.” He saluted and marched back to his position by the front double doors.

White glanced up at me and clinked the mug a few more times. “You were saying, about the murder?”

Enjoying White’s embarrassment, I said, “I don’t know what Mrs. Abercrombie died of, nor when, nor why. All I know about the lady is that she made really bad coffee and that something ripped her to shreds.”

The young man licked his top lip with the tip of his tongue while he wrote rapidly in the notebook. “So you’ve worked here a long time. Why did you get a job here in the first place?”

“I came in to—because I needed information about—about something I’d discovered in a book.” I took a deep calming breath, hoping my nervousness wouldn’t set off my disability. I didn’t think the detective would react well if I sat babbling in front of him while he questioned me about a murder. “And I met Lilly. And the next thing I knew, I was strapping on an apron and I’ve been here ever since.”

“Do you like working here?”

I smiled. “It has its moments.”

Excerpt from

Perky’s Books and Gifts

© Evelyn Rainey 2013

Bedlam Press

ISBN 9781939065377

Excerpt from Possum Playing Poker Chapter Two

            Josh shook hands with Chase and Storms and climbed back into his car.  He followed me into town and parked behind me in my driveway.

            "Miss Olson, I think we need to talk."

            "Do you like barbecue?"

            "No, ma'am, I hate it."

            "How about Chinese?"

            "Miss Olson, could I just talk to you?"

            "No, you can talk to me and buy me dinner.  I'll be right out."

            I locked the door behind me and ran into my bedroom.  I didn't have too many nice dresses, but I did have one with a lace collar and pearl buttons that looked as Victorian as rayon can get.  I had to search for my only pair of hose.  (I usually wear socks and sneakers with everything.)  Lipstick and a quick struggle with my hairbrush and I returned to the front door where Josh Dylan, FBI was waiting.

            I couldn't find my keys.

            Josh tapped on the door and jangled the missing keys.

            "Second time you've lost them this week, ma'am."

            "Somewhere in the universe is seven sets of keys and about a thousand socks, and God knows what else I'm missing because I've forgotten it's gone."

            "Yes, ma'am."  There was no humor in his reply.

            I excused myself to the ladies' room just as Wan Lee came toward us with menus.  I waited until Josh had been seated and Wan left before I joined him.

            "I take order now?"  Wan's son David asked.

            "David, we are not tourists, so don’t try that atrocious pig-grammar on us!  I have taught you better than that."

            "Miss Olson!"  Terror oozed from every pore.  David turned and raced back into the kitchen only to return in moments, cowering behind his father.

            "Miss Olson, Golden Corral has a special on their steak and shrimp today!"

            "She can't go to Golden Corral anymore, Pop,” David whispered loudly.

            Josh lifted an eyebrow.

            "It was just a misunderstanding,” I explained, studying my menu.

            "Misunderstanding between the hood light over the salad bar and the pickle tongs,” David laughed.

            Josh covered a smile with his hand.

            "The Chalet Monet serves very romantic dinners," Wan suggested.

            "Oh, no!"  Mrs. Bauer commented from the next table.  "Chuck Monet said he'd have her arrested if she ever entered his restaurant again."

            Josh, Wan, and David looked at me questioningly.

            "I must admit, I have since learned that escargot is not on the endangered species list."  I calmly turned the page in my menu.

            "King's Cuisine serves liver and onions on Saturdays."  Wan smiled wistfully.

            "No, don't send her there!  That's right next to a pawn shop,” Mr. Prescott scolded from a table to our right.

            "Oh, I had forgotten about that."  Wan shook his head in despair.

            "Forgotten?"  Josh asked, folding his hands in front of him.

            "They sell guns at pawn shops,” Mr. Prescott nodded sagely.

            Josh pressed his fingertips into his eyelids and sighed deeply.

            "Barbecue Buddies is just down the road,” Miss Ruth Wellington's ancient voice boomed from a table behind us.

            We looked at each other.  Wan looked to the tables on his right; David looked to the tables on his left.  I turned around and gazed at the people behind us.  No one offered a rebuttal.

            "I --” Josh cleared his throat and started again.  "I don't like barbecue."

            "We'll have the Volcano Appetizers."

            "No, Miss Olson.  After your last visit, the Fire Marshall made me take it off the menu,” Mr. Lee said politely.

            "I like the new curtains."

            "They match the new wallpaper, Miss Olson."

            I drew a deep, steady breath.

            "We'll have two empress chickens, egg rolls, and wanton soups."  Josh's voice rumbled across the room.

            “Would you like beer with that?” Wan offered.

            “Mr. Lee, you know I am too young to drink!”  I snapped indignantly.

            Josh snorted.

            “What?”  I blinked and tilted my head as if I couldn’t have heard Josh correctly.

            He sighed and lowered his voice.  “Ma’am, I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but I’ve read over your vita.  You’re two years older than me and I’ve been able to drink for two decades.”

            I sniffed.  It usually worked on second graders, but Josh was far from that.  “If you read my vital statistics, you would have noticed my birth date:  February 29.  Therefore, I am barely a decade old.  Far too young to be served alcoholic beverages.”

            “The beer was not for you, Ms. Olson.  I will die a slow death cursing my ancestors before I would serve you beer.”  Wan Lee squared his shoulders bravely.

"We'll have two empress chickens, egg rolls, wanton soup, and a pot of hot tea."  Josh's voice rumbled across the room.

            "Hot tea?"  Mr. Lee looked deeply into Josh's eyes.

            "A pot of hot tea,” Josh repeated.

            Mr. Lee nodded in defeat and left.

Excerpt from

Possum Playing Poker

© Evelyn Rainey

Available for publication.

CRANBERRIED RED CABBAGE

2 Tbsp finely chopped onion

2 Tbsp butter/margarine

6 cups shredded red cabbage

1 tsp salt

½ cup water

2 cups fresh cranberries

½ cup brown sugar

3 Tbsp red wine vinegar

Sauté onion in butter until tender; add cabbage, salt and ¼ cup water. Simmer for 5 minutes or until cranberries are tender. Add brown sugar and vinegar. Heat thoroughly. Yield: 4 servings.

(Mrs. Meredith Meloy, Columbia, SC © Southern Living 1968)

Gluten-free and Vegetarian/Vegan Recipes

To meet my needs of being “gluten-free”, there are no ingredients that have wheat in them. Since one out of one-hundred people now have problems with the way the United States processes their foods, there are plenty of brands which are marked GF Gluten-free. However, read all the way around the label and determine if there might be traces of wheat or if the product was processed in a plant or on machinery that also handles wheat. (These statements are usually NOT found near the list of ingredients.) If this is the case and you are gluten-sensitive or have a wheat-toxicity, don’t use it!

I also deleted recipes which called for hidden gluten – like shrimp, frozen mangoes and parsnips.

Vegetarian foods allow the use of milk, honey, eggs, and other non-kill animal products; vegans do not. I have endeavored to post only recipes with vegan-appropriate ingredients. If I really liked something, though, that was vegetarian rather than vegan, I will note it.

Whenever possible, use non-GMO products (non-genetically modified).  If you think gmo’s are ok for you, you haven’t read any science fiction books, let alone Charles Darwin.

These recipes are not an attempt to substitute wheat or animal ingredients with something else. These recipes are “naturally” or originally gluten-free and vegetarian/vegan.

Excerpt from Laughing Humans Chapter Two

Hunter Rogue

 

            They spent a week observing each other.

            Alarms sounded as Pansler and Towers were eating with the colonists.  The colonists headed for the trees and climbed as far up as possible.  Pansler and Towers ran with Arton toward the communication viewer at the gate.

            "Some animal's got itself caught in the barrier."  A guard spoke to Arton.  "Procedure says to flush the system, but my supervisor says to check everything through you now," a definite pause, "Sir."

            "Meet us at the barrier.  Wait for my orders."

            The barrier was an electronic tunnel separating two radically different biostations.  As the doctors neared it, they found a rope leaning against the barrier, obviously thrown over the top and onto the other side, where it was tied to the branch of a cactus.  But somehow, the rope was slipping, dumping slowly into the barrier a muscular figure.  Her arms were full.  She couldn't grab and pull the rope.

            "It's Hunter Rogue!"  Dr. Arton exclaimed.  "She's used leaves as a basket.  And her basket is full of fish!"

            The guard commented, "The next biostation is a desert.  Where the hell did it get the fish?"

            "Let's worry about getting her out of there first."   Towers suggested.

            The guard just stared at her.

            "Guard, did you hear Dr. Towers?  Find a way to get the -- colonist out of there."  Pansler was out of breath.

            "Great Bitugas -- talking humans!"

            "Guard!"  Arton growled.

            "Yes, sir?"  He snapped to attention, but still kept one eye on Towers.

            They hauled on the rope while the guard shut off the electricity.  Hunter Rogue went into convulsions as her body relaxed from the near deadly voltage.

            She heard the New Females talk.  The god talks.  The Second New answers him.

            And does not die!

            The First New speaks to her.  Hunter reaches up, touches the female's lips to feel them move. The female speaks, and yet the gods do not kill her.

            "She doesn't make a sound!  She's in agony and doesn't cry out."  Towers held Hunter in her arms.  Hunter brushed her fingers across Towers' lips.  "What kind of taboo would give her that much will power?"

            "Katargans believe one only speaks to praise God."

            "Katargans?"  Arton felt Hunter's pulse.

            "It's a long story, Munsi.  Let's get Hunter to our ship's sick bay."

            "What about her fish?"  the guard asked as they walked away.

 

            The smell woke her up.  It was wrong.  It was like winter -- cold and odorless.  But this was not winter.  She swam in the lake yesterday.

            Memories slowly bounced across her mind:  the fire tunnel, fish, much fish, slippery fingers.  The fire tunnel snatched her wet feet.  The New Females spoke to the gods.

            She touched her own lips and sighed.  The god had heard her singing to the Sphardiclarkin.  He had caught her in his fire tunnel because she sang, and singing was much more like speaking than laughing.  And now she was dead.

            She sniffed the air again and opened her eyes.

            Gray.  Clouds were gray.  She was in the clouds.  That made sense.

            She sat up.  Her body hurt.  Her feet tingled; the hair was gone from her legs.  She nodded knowingly.  You must give up something to go to heaven.  She had given up her hair.

            Still forms snorted in the grayness.

            Other dead animals?  She hadn't thought about that.  She didn't like dead things.  They smelled.

            Maybe she would smell, too.

            She sniffed again.  A change in the wind.  It made her head swim.  She lay back down and succumbed to the anesthetic.

 

            Uri Pansler typed into the computer:

 

            Day five.  We've played subliminal linguistic tapes while the colonists sleep.  We sit with them every chance we can.

            The colonists are not adapting well to their new environment.  Most have refused to eat.  Four Fingers has mated repeatedly with Climber; the poor man is exhausted.  Puffy nurses constantly.  Some of the older colonists seem catatonic.

            This move on board has been much more traumatic than we anticipated.

            Dr. Arton suggests we keep them sedated until we bridge the communication gap between us, but our time is limited.  In five and a half months, we must arrive with repatriated Katargans, not sedated aborigines.

            As Dr. Arton had surmised, the female Hunter Rogue has adapted better than the others.  However, she paces the confines of the room constantly.  She's discovered the cameras and broken two of them.  Dr. Arton cited incidents of similar previous behavior.

            We must begin with attempts at verbal communication.

            Dr. Towers and I have decided to use basic behavior modification using food.

End of report.

 

            Pansler held up a shiny green disk.  He licked it and laughed.  He put it in his mouth, took it out and laughed, put it in again and chewed slowly.

            Towers picked up a yellow disk.  She repeated Uri's procedure, but as she laughed, she said the word "food" softly, as part of the laugh.

            Startled, the colonists paid closer attention.

            Pansler's laughed "food" was more pronounced.

            Bigfeet growled.

            Uri and Vivian looked at each other.

            Hunter stopped pacing.

            Vivian picked around the pile of colored dehydrated disks of food.  She picked an orange one up, laughed the word "food" and placed it between Pansler's lips.  He laughed "food."

            A deep-throated growl preceded Bigfeet.  The huge female leaped onto the pile of food disks, glaring at the pair.  She flung chips over each shoulder, growling.  The pair could not seem to move.

            Then Hunter sprang between the doctors and the fierce leader of the troop.  She had her back to the doctors, protecting them.

            The troop were all on their feet, slapping their chests and thighs, arhythmically.

            Hunter slowly squatted on the pile of colors.  Her eyes never left Bigfeet's face.  Sweat sparkled on her top lip.  She took a deep breath and released her bladder.

            Hot yellow urine splashed onto the pile of food.  The colonists and doctors gasped in surprise.

            Bigfeet looked around Hunter at the doctors and curled her lip.  She turned back to her mate and sat down, facing ninety degrees away from them.  The slapping became clapping as the room rang with laughter.

            Hunter turned and leaned towards the astonished scientists.  "Food," she said in a whispered laugh.

Excerpt from

Laughing Humans

© Evelyn Rainey

Available for publication.