Archives for : chipped beef

Tasty Chipped Beef on Toast


3 small packages of dried beef


1/4 cup butter


1/4 cup all purpose flour


1 cup milk


1 cup half & half


dash of black pepper


dash of nutmeg




White bread to toast




Slice dried beef into ribbons.  Place butter into skillet and allow to melt on medium high heat.  Whisk in flour, pepper, and nutmeg.  Add milk and half & half slowly and continue to stir.  Allow to simmer for one minute and add beef.  Simmer until beef is hot.


While beef is simmering, toast thick slices of white bread.


Spoon beef mixture over toast.




I like to serve the Chipped Beef with chilled fruit on the side.




Burnt Toast

The curly white wisp from my cigarette drifted slowly upward.  I linger over the second smoke of the day because it’s my quiet time.  I rationalized that I use this time to plan my day, but I’m not always a good planner.  Today I used the time to reflect on how to relive the morning.  Steve Jr. made  a fuss about wearing the light tan corduroy pants I just bought him.  I had no idea why.  Daisy’s curls (how did she inherit them?) were particularly hard to tame, and I brushed her head too hard.  She didn’t make a peep through the process, but I knew from the snap of her head that I was too rough.

The real problem was the toast.  It ruined the morning for everyone.  While Steve dresses, I listen for clues to start his breakfast.  He needs a good meal to deal with all the stress of his job.  When the shower turns off, the skillet turns on low.  The buzzing of the electric shaver is the cue to crack the eggs.  When the closet door closes, the toast descends.  Same sequence every day.  I never check the setting on the toaster, because I’m the only one who makes toast.  While the toast browned, I opened the back door a crack and enjoyed the feel of the cool morning air.  It was the burnt smell that alerted me.  I turned to check the toast as Steve, Junior and Daisy all rushed into the kitchen.  Junior was about to continue his complaint about the pants, but Steve’s mood superseded.  I realized what had happened when I saw the setting set at high.  I scorched my fingers pulling out the toast.  I dropped the blackened toast into the porcelain sink.

Steve’s pique silently noted my ineptness.  I scooped the perfectly set sunny-side up eggs on a plate and placed it next to Steve’s freshly-squeezed orange juice.  The kids shoveled cereal into their mouths, gulped their juice and rushed out the door waving good-bye for the relative safety of the bus stop.  Steve’s fork squeaked against his plate as he ate.  I busied myself by tossing the offending toast into the garbage.  I managed a contrite smile as I handed him his briefcase and felt his quick dry kiss on my cheek.  The message was clear; incompetents burned toast.  Our picture perfect morning upended by a dial on the toaster.  I remember my mother used a contraption that sat on the stove to make toast.  No dials, just good old-fashioned mother power.

I’ll have to redeem myself tonight with dinner.  I took one last drag and stubbed out my Chesterfield.  Later, I spotted the perfect recipe while thumbing through my recipe box.  Chipped Beef on Perfectly Toasted Bread.  It’s not as if you can even see the toast under the creamy gravy.  But it will be perfect.