Harp Seal Envy - Christmas 2011



 



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It's been a busy week. This year I veered off course in my candy making. Usually I make chocolate covered cherries and Needhams. Last year I added lemon buttercream chocolates. This year I took a candy making class at SugarBakers in Knoxville and learned some new skills...the result has been a thick layer of fat earned over the weekend that a harp seal would envy.

The vixens I can't seem to ignore are the "White Mountains"...a delightful concoction of white chocolate, malted milk chips, mini marshmallows, peanuts, and peanut butter...all dropped in little mountains and topped with a flurry of white chocolate. The others...less difficult for me to ignore... are pecan patties. They are formed by a bed of chopped pecans topped with caramel and a layer of milk chocolate. Finally, I made bark. Nothing is easier. This one is a layer of dark chocolate covered by a swirled layer of white chocolate laced with cherry candy chips (think cherry Lifesavers).

Next year...yes I'm planning ahead...I'll go back to the Needhams and chocolate covered cherries and lemon buttercreams. They're what I know and what I really love. Besides, my fatal attraction to the "White Mountains" tells me to steer clear if I know what's good for me!

Key Lime Cheesecake w/Gingersnap Crust

Key Lime Cheesecake w/Gingersnap Crust (10”)

Gingersnap Crust:


• 36 gingersnap cookies


• 2 Tbl sugar


• ¼ Butter, melted


Process cookies in food processor until consistency of cornmeal. Add sugar and melted butter. Stir w/fork to mix or pulse 10 times in food processor. Press into the bottom and up the sides approx 1” in a buttered 10” spring form pan. Bake at 375 degrees for 8 minutes. Remove from oven and allow to cool.


Key Lime Filling:


o 1 ¼ pounds cream cheese, softened to room temp (2-1/2, 8 oz pkgs)


o 1 cup white sugar


o 1 cup sour cream


o 3 Tbl flour


o 3 Eggs


o ¾ cup key lime juice


o 1 tsp vanilla


o ½ tsp salt

In large bowl of electric mixer, beat cream cheese and 1 cup sugar until smooth. Beat in eggs, one at a time; beating well after each addition. Beat in sour cream, flour, lime juice, vanilla and salt. Beat until smooth. Pour filling over crust. Bake in preheated oven for 15 minutes at 375 degrees. Reduce temperature to 250 degrees and bake for 50 – 55 minutes until center is “barely set” (it will still jiggle in the middle but it won’t be liquid). Let cheesecake cool on rack then chill overnight.

I serve with whipped heavy cream but it would be great with a raspberry sauce.

Black Bean Debacle

Today defied explanation. I won't bore you with the day to day details of life unraveled as we all experience it. Let's just say the day sucked. No polite way to put it, and as a rule I hate that term, but to do it justice I have to be frank.

I was trying to be healthy...I was trying to be green. "Would you like that in a bag?", the clerk at the health food  store asked. "Hmmmmm, let me think', I said....visions of plastic bag laden trash heaps dancing across my vision...'hmmm no, I don't need one...but thanks anyway'. Next time, if there is a next time, I'll ask for it in a jewel encrusted, plastic, lead lined, portable vault. Thus begins my violent, tumultuous relationship with a quart container of blistering hot, pureed, black bean soup.

It started simply enough. Do the math...cold, rainy, nasty day...long drive through the mountains after three days of sales meetings and restaurant food, and I was desperate for comfort food. But, not wanting to shop and cook, I decided to get a quart of black bean soup at my favorite health food grocery and take it home to lap up while watching "Big Bang Theory".

I planted the quart firmly on my console (after refusing the bag which would have saved all the agony) and backed out of the parking lot. At that point it was 4:55 pm and my only thought was to get home fast to beat rush hour traffic. With that in mind I hit the gas, swung a hard right out of the parking lot and was instantly spanked unmercifully by a blisteringly hot quart of black bean soup! The initial impact boiled onto my lap and I flailed desperately to rid myself of the volcanic ooze. I slung violently at the offending container and sloshed it everywhere...on my light blue cashmere sweater, both seats of my car, into the seatbelt holders, down the sides of my console, into my leather brief bag...and all over the handouts and notes I had collected over the past three days.

I never even made it off the street. Instead, I slammed on the brakes, threw my vehicle in park and leapt out...pulling and tearing at my pants, trying desperately to separate myself from the molten fabric of my dress pants without stripping stark naked in the middle of the road.

If you've ever seen pureed black bean soup then you know it looks identical to vomit. Jumping out of the car in such haste, in the middle of the road, drew it's fair share of attention. Not to mention I was frantically searching for napkins or a towel for damage control. It was useless. I was covered from chest to knees with dripping, steaming soup.

Rage kept me moving during the initial shock and cleanup...all in the middle of the road. There aren't words to describe how angry I was...not even sure who I was angry at. Words leapt to my mind that I won't share with you here...suffice it to say that I was glad I was in the great outdoors and not within hearing distance of others.

A man from a nearby business, observing the chaos, came over and offered the number of a mobile car detailer....yes, it was that bad...which I gratefully accepted. After that initial act of kindness, I felt the first tear and knew I had to leave. Knowing I had to talk to someone....I called my husband. The second I heard his voice I started to bawl. Not just a simpering little teary eyed cry, but a full bodied, hysterical, hiccuping, release that can only be repeated when one thinks of the beloved pet of their youth being struck down by a wayward Chevrolet on their birthday...right before their eyes!

I could sense him on the other end of the line. First the silence of him listening as he decided when it was safe to respond, then the desperation in his voice as he tried to "understand", and then the full release of the  laughter he couldn't hold back one more second. When I heard that I started laughing between sobs, thinking how ridiculous I looked and how it was just the cherry on the sundae of my week.

When I got home, covered with the gorilla glue mass of gritty, dried black beans, I started the tedious task of clean up...scrubbing the seats, seatbelts, console, dashboard, door handle. When that was done I turned to de-gunking my work bag, then peeled my grotesque clothes off and threw them in the wash. It wasn't pleasant, but the funny thing is, while I was still in the thick of the mess, it didn't seem so bad anymore. Not sure if it was because it had dried some, that I had time to sit in the mess for the half hour drive cooling my rage, or because I wasn't in the middle of a public square anymore wearing my humiliation like a flag. Whatever it was, I'm reminded that nothing seems quite as bad if we can just change the view for a few minutes.

Christmas Candy

Candy making is always a bit daunting and this year I'm going to try my hand at making it for all my customers. Fortunately they don't know this blog exists so I'm relatively safe keeping the gift a secret, in the event it has to do a triple gainer into the trash and I have to run out to pick up mass quantities of pretzels to dip in chocolate (which I adore by the way).

Last year I made needhams, lemon cream chocolates, peanut butter marshmallow fudge, and chocolate covered cherries for the family and friends. They were easy only because it didn't matter if they came out well. This year I need to join forces with the universe, repeating positive affirmations (seems to work for all those selling self-help books)..."I am a successful candy maker...all my candy comes out edible...people smile when they bite into my truffles, nobody chips a tooth when they eat my grub, I won't have to look for a new job after December 25th", etc, etc.

What possesses us, when we know the stress we're under at holiday time, to commit ourselves to one more thing? I thought I was over that stage of my life. You know the one...Martha stage. Hell, she's been to prison...that's certainly not on my bucket list...yet I still marvel at how she's somehow rounded out her life.While being known as the quintessential perfectionist would have been legacy enough, somehow it's even more amazing given that she's been to prison and rebounded like it never freaking happened! What resilience!

To my way of thinking, it goes back to the fact that to truly enjoy anything in your life, you have to  fully experience the complete opposite...Love/hate, birth/death, joy/rage,  friendship/betrayal, successful candy making/prison. Everything, both good and bad, hangs in a symbiotic balance that gives true perspective to our walk. I'm really hoping I don't end up teaching candy making to fellow inmates!

Where to Begin

Key Lime Cheesecake w/Gingersnap Crust

They say, "if you build it they will come". My question to you is, "if I write it will you read it"? Just thinking it's time to get writing again. It's been far too long. Check back soon cause my heads working on something...

Goin' In

We don't always manage it, but we try to take a ski trip every year. Last year, with the new job we didn't make it. But this year we went back to Big Sky, Montana for a week with dear friends. Every day was packed with skiing from the time the lifts opened nearly til close. We even woke up one day to 12" of fresh powder!

I'm not particularly gifted athletically but for some reason I love skiing. It's something we do as a family and there's no argument about it.  I didn't start skiing until I was 15 and while I'm not a great skier, I have a ball. Every time I ski I'm reminded of all the other ski trips we've had.

After our home burned and we lost all our "stuff" on Christmas day of '99, we decided to take a ski vacation with good friends as a way to create something intangible that couldn't be taken away from us. Our first year we went to Park City, Utah. Since then we've hit Park City three times, Heavenly at Lake Tahoe, Grand Targee, Idaho, Whistler in British Columbia, and Big Sky, Montana twice. Every trip is a marathon of skiing til we drop, cooking communal meals, playing cards, scrapping about who's cheating more,  watching movies, listening to guitar, and finally dropping into bed with not a shred of energy left. Big Sky has absolutely zero nightlife. No problem since there's not a shred of life left in us come evening anyway.

Even though the trips are phenomenal, they're not without their share of misery, generally in the form of broken bones. Over the years we've (I'm speaking of the "Men" in the group...not the young men either) have had a broken arm, a broken leg, broken ribs, and even one very close-call head injury requiring a high speed trip down the mountain in an ambulance.

We ladies tend to think more in terms of the long-haul. God willing, I'd like to ski into my elderly years so I tend to ski at a comfortable pace. That's not to say I haven't had my uncomfortable moments. Two years ago at Big Sky I followed my husband into the "bowl". About 100' into a  steep black diamond run, legs shaking and sheer terror coursing through me as I watched the snow shale off behind me and roll ahead, I screamed to him to "leave me alone!". Thank God he did! I made it down in my own time, muttering at the idiocy that blinds me to follow when I should lead.

Another time, at Whistler in British Columbia, I watched as the "arm-breaker" leaped over the edge of "The Bowl" into deep, fluffy powder and disappear. I couldn't handle the draw of all that gorgeous, white fluff so I hollered at Marianne, "I'm goin' in", and over the edge I went having absolutely no idea how to ski in powder. I skied all of 20' and fell flat on my face. Wiping the powder off my mustache (yes some women do have mustaches) and eyebrows, I pulled myself together and skied 20 more feet and fell flat on my face again. This continued until I was absolutely exhausted and just barely made it out alive. But what a feeling! I'm far from brave, but I get these overwhelming urges when I ski to go someplace new. The result isn't always pretty but it makes for some good memories later.

Growing up in the deep south, my husband came to skiing later in life. Even so, he surpassed me with bravado long ago. While dating, we took a trip to Pleasant Mountain in Maine for night skiing with my cousin and her husband. Typical of the 80's, I had a white snow bunny jumpsuit on and Brien had a royal blue jumpsuit. We looked like something out of a Bond movie (and not the pretty people).

Anyway, the mountain was closed for night skiing at the halfway point and they were making snow from that point to the summit. We all hopped on the lift. and headed to the halfway point. Unfortunately I forgot to pre-flight as it came time to unload. Brien hopped off the lift and I remained firmly planted by the seat of my lovely white jumpsuit to the chairlift.

Terrified I headed to the summit in the pitch darkness, alone, frozen to my seat, through fiercely blowing snow making machines. When I reached the top, the very happy snow-making guy stopped smoking his joint just long enough to tell me I had two choices. I could ride a snowmobile back down the mountain with him or I could stay in my seat and ride the chairlift back down to the bottom. What a dilemma!!

As my descending chairlift came out of the snowy, blowing, dark at mid-mountain, I saw Heather, Jim and Brien waiting, doubled over their ski's and laughing to the point of tears. Ignoring them I went to the base and spent the rest of the night drinking hot chocolate laced with Dr. McGilicuddy's (sp?). It surprises even me that after that misery, skiing is still one of my very favorite things to do.

Apres ski to us means the most comfortable, fleecy duds we can find and warm, homey,  filling food I can make in one pot...accompanied by cold beer or a glass of wine. I always volunteer to do the cooking and keep my grocery list and recipes in an envelope from year to year so all I have to do is retype the grocery list. Nothing special, just chili, chicken 'n dumplin's, beef Lombardi, salads, and taco soup. Every one's on their own for breakfast...bagels, cereal, hard boiled eggs, leftovers from the night before and loads of coffee, not to mention copious amounts of Red Bull for the "bone-breakers"...HELLLLLOOO!!!!

Vacations over. Today it was back to "nose to the grindstone" and that felt okay too. When you get to play hard it's easier to get back to work so you can do it all over again.

A Blessed New Year

Sadieville Crow

A new year is close at hand. Unlike most of the civilized world, I'm sitting alone tonight at my computer mulling over the past year, planning for the coming one, and thanking God for my blessings.

Like most folks I know, I am fortunate. I have a job I love, a comfortable home, a warm bed at night, and food in my belly (probably more than there should be). Usually on New Years Eve I focus on the year past and the year to come, but tonight all I can feel is gratitude. Gratitude to be loved and to have those who love me. Friends who have stood by me through thick and thin. A husband who still makes me laugh after all these years, a son who delights me at nearly every turn, a mother who tickles me to the marrow, and enough misery to let me know I am part of the collective sea of humanity, sharing a bond with each person I run into, whether they are pleasant or foul.

I start each day with the hope I will be kind. By 10 am that has been tested to it's max. Some days I rise to the hope, other days I succumb to the temptation to be a rabid bitch. I don't think I'm so different from the rest of you. If I could have one wish in this world, it would be that each person is kind. But then I'm led to the dilemma, if we were all kind, would there be humor? For humor to be successful, there has to be just a bit of jaded spirit. Just enough angst to create a spark. I think we need that almost as much as we need kindness.

So this New Years Eve, I wish each of you kindness in spades with just enough wickedness to make your lives comical and interesting. God Bless you and thank you for being part of my life.

Lisa

Oh Fudge



Adding the eggs to the cheesecake

 Freezing cold. The thermometer reads somewhere in the upper 20's but it feels more like 20 below. For some reason I've had a chill all day I can't shake. Even with the oven raging tonight it feels dank. The only time I was warm was sitting by the fire at Cracker Barrel during breakfast.

Two days before Christmas and I finally manged to get a bit more cooking done. As I said the other day, one of my few contributions for Christmas dinner is dessert. After furious deliberation I decided on New York Style Cheesecake with cherries on top. Simple, dependable and can be made ahead...in fact it's better made ahead.



New York Style Cheesecake
Fresh out of the oven

 I used a recipe from "Cook's Country Baking" and from the looks of things it may not crack. First cheesecake recipe I've ever seen that says to run a blade around the edge once every hour as it cools. It keeps it from cracking when it contracts. Maybe they all say it, I just failed to see it!

Candy was next on the docket. Fortunately I'm not a fan of fudge. That's why I make it. Other people seem to love it (crave it) but it holds no allure for me, unlike cake. So tonight, while holding court with my mother, husband, and friends on the phone (no it wasn't a conference call), I made peanut butter & marshmallow fudge and chocolate peanut butter fudge. Both came out to my liking. That was not always the case with fudge.

The first Christmas I lived away from home...in Florida, I longed for anything that reminded me of Maine and home so I decided to attempt my mother's peanut butter & marshmallow fudge recipe. How hard could it be? Apparently quite hard when you are missing the one little detail that would make the difference between fudge and Sakrete. I called Mumsy for the recipe and she dutifully read off the list of ingredients from her crusty, dog-eared Marjorie Standish cookbook. Sounded simple enough. That was back in the days before "unlimited long distance" so I hung up and got to work.

I followed the ingrediant list, cooking instructions, and post cooking (in this case post-mortem) details. The result was a quagmire of taffy-like slop. When I called Mom to see what I had done wrong she responded with a vague, "I can't imagine". Hmph I was thinking, unconvinced.

Fast forward to the following year. Still wanting the reality of homemade fudge to pass on to friends for Christmas, and not to be shut-down by the failure of the year before, I once again stepped up to the plate. Again, dismal failure. Only this time the consistency would have done the third little pig justice. What the hell did I do to deserve this fudge misery?

More calls to Mom and still the same vague, "I can't imagine". By this time I am getting pissed and demand to know her little secret (there is always a little secret that keeps her every recipe just slightly better than anyone else could make without the "secret"). Hesitatingly she asks if I stir it while it's boiling. AH HA! I knew it! The one thing she failed to tell me...DON"T STIR THE FUDGE AS IT BOILS! That dirty, nasty little secret that ensures nobody else's will ever be quite as good as hers. Frankly, "quite" is a stretch. My fudge was so far off the mark it was comical as it thumped into the trash can.

And...it's not only fudge. Over the years I honed my sense of when she's getting vague and dodging specifics when I try to nail her down on technique. It's never anything as overt as missing ingredients or measuring. No it's much more subtle...forgetting to tell you how long to beat something when it's critical, accurately describing what consistency bread should have before that moment you've add too much flour, etc. I told her tonight she'd make a lousy Culinary Arts School Instructor. Students might as well stay home and through trial and error save themselves $50,000.



My 2010 Gingerbread House



Christmas Self-Help

I’m not cooking Christmas dinner. Saying that feels like being at an AA meeting and saying, “Hi my name’s Harold and I’m an alcoholic”. Its cathartic, though admitting it goes against everything I love to do. I don’t have one shred of regret or guilt, I’m not in denial, and I’m not saddened. Well, maybe just a little.


We are still eating however, and I’m actually excited to turn the immersion blender over to Marianne (good cook in her own right) who volunteered good-naturedly when I confessed I don’t have enough time or energy to plan, shop, and cook this year. No doubt she thought I might slip up and toss some rat poison in Nanny’s green Jell-O salad just “because”.


The prospect of relinquishing control is almost more than my kitchen-control-freak nature can bear, but not quite. It actually feels pretty good to know the only things I have to think about are a hot artichoke dip (doesn’t’ get any easier), dessert (still need some serious thought on that one), and showing up.


My uneducated observation is that most people who fancy themselves a “cook” are control freaks. No problem with delegating who brings what, but for some reason we can’t share the experience of preparing an individual dish with another living soul. Too many chefs voicing opinions and I have visions of knife throwing. I can share my space, just not my project.


I’m treating this vacation from holiday cooking as a form of self-help. Withdrawing from the evil stove will be good for me. I’m not sure who came up with the vision of the sweet little-old-grandmotherly-type person who whips up homey food with a smile on her face, but my experience veers strongly from that icon.


Cooks are taciturn, prone to bi-polar episodes, and hyper-focused when they are in the throes of meal preparation. They also care far more than they should. They are defined by how well their food turns out and the praise of others. They are resentful if the praise is slow in coming and not specific enough. I say all this in the third person when in fact, I am speaking from personal experience and observation. Know thyself.


I’m going to miss all that this year and for that I am eternally grateful…no taciturn moments, bi-polar episodes or hyper focusing; I simply get to eat. That is a Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas To All!



Sweet Louie Under the Tree



Over the River and Through the Woods

The horses are finally snuggled into the barn, the ice has been chipped off their water, they've eaten enough sweet feed to sink a battle ship, they've licked their mineral block until it looks like a life saver, and they're staring placidly and with total disinterest at their hay.



Green Green Grass of Home

 Their attitude toward hay early in the winter reminds me of...well, me. Me when I look at the nasty tomatoes of winter after the sumptuous, crimson lads of August. I know they are dreaming of the leprechaun green grass of Kentucky springs and even the last of the bluegrass and alfalfa as summer wound down.

This time of year they seem to crave sweet feed, that delightful (to them) mix of oats and molasses.  Sweet feed gives them something to look forward to on an otherwise gray, grim, cold day. Not surprising, my appetite has turned to less healthy, but equally satisfying fare as well.

Lemon Butter Creams




  Last weekend I went on a candy-making jag; Chocolate Covered Cherries and Lemon Butter creams. Fortunately I can usually avoid eating them to point of nausea. They're just too rich and delightful to waste on rapid-fire indulgence. "Savor it" my husband says of everything sweet. "BS" is my usual response as I crunch as loudly as possible just to irritate. But I think he's got it right when it comes to hand dipped chocolates.



Caramel-Walnut Upside down Banana Cake

 As Mom and I yapped into infinity on the phone yesterday on subjects ranging from how smart her dog is (as if) to heated political discussions of George W (my opinion is close to hers but..PLEASE.let it rest), I made a Caramel-Walnut Upside down Banana Cake. Note that I would have included a picture of the entire cake but quite honestly there is no longer an "entire" cake left for a picture.

 It was absolute naughtiness...praline dripped down the sides when I flipped it over the light, moist, banana cake. Follow the link to the recipe on Epicurious if you're interested:  http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Caramel-Walnut-Upsidedown-Banana-Cake-241629 . I'm a Banana's Foster Freak and this was it in cake form.


Potato Rolls

 On Mom's end she was making her famous "Southern Living" Potato Rolls at the same time. They must be her signature dish because everyone clambers for them at holiday time. They're gorgeous!

 I sneer just a bit at them because, quite honestly I'm not that great of a baker and she is. The green eyed monster in me can't handle the truth!. We laugh about being competitive when it comes to cooking and how we barely tolerate the cooking ability in each other! Fortunately she loves to bake and I prefer the savory end of things. It's probably the only reason either one of us is still alive.

I'm not sure what we would do without unlimited long distance. It's kept us close all these many years of me living "away". With a good headset, a well-charged battery, and a reasonably pleasant attitude we can whizz through cleaning the house, cooking meals, paying bills, feeding creatures, and doing laundry all while sharing the goings on in our lives. If it happens to be Friday or Saturday night and we're cooking dinner, we might even indulge in a glass of wine for me and a "vitamin C" for her (don't let the healthy sound of that one fool you!) while we catch up.

 I once read a quote that said, "man (woman) is at her creative best when she cannot have her way". So, so true. While we may not be together for the small days and the big days, we still find a way to laugh, assert opinions, exasperate, tickle, infuriate and love each other across the miles while cooking together and sharing a cocktail long distance.

Spunky Food Blog

Every once in a while I find someone whose attitude just tickles me. While I was on fineCooking.com this morning, cruising a Black Bean & Corn Salad recipe Mumsy had directed me to, I stumbled upon a link to another food blog...  http://userealbutter.com/ 

The author is spunky and funny and her photography, both food and nature, is beautiful. Check it out if you get a chance and make sure to click on the link at the top "about" for a rundown on the author. She is an interesting character.

Shameless Promotion: Photo of handsome dragonfly by none other than Mumsy (aka CCIB)

Round Table

Joy and sorrow are infinitely connected. The roller coaster of life. You rarely have one without the other because to experience one, you must have experienced the opposite by which to measure.This week I experienced both in three short days.

My Aunt Margaret's memorial was last Thursday. Several of us had come from "away"...Texas, Arkansas, and Kentucky, the rest, firmly rooted in the hard granite of Maine. Ben and I hadn't seen some of our relatives in years...since he was a small child. He's now a man.

 With a wee bit of trepidation we gathered at the grave site, unwittingly and informally forming a circle of relatives. I was reminded of the circle of life. Margaret was the first in the family of her generation to die. Young by today's standards, she was 66.

Many of us spoke of our memories of Margaret and her place in the history of our family; bringing to life others who had lived many, many years before. Somehow the passing of one person brings to life those long dead. Funny stories, touching moments, notes of importance and human frailties come to mind as the faces of those we have loved dance before us in a parade of continuity bringing meaning to this sometimes confusing whirl we call life.

The next day my mother, son and I went to my favorite spot on earth...Popham Beach. Three generations who rarely take time out of busy days to wrap their arms around each other and embrace the connection between us, the laughter that knows no boundaries, and the beauty of a place that is as vital to me as my own heart. Warm sand,  soft slap of waves, stingingly cold Atlantic, startling calls of seagulls, and the laughter of those I love will be painted forever in my memory as a treasure.

Later at Maxwells, a dinner gathering of the ladies of the family, plus one very understanding and tolerant young man! My only complaint brings me back to the informal circle of family. When we gather, we need a round table. The long, rectangular table may be fine for gatherings of co-workers or club members, but for a family to be connected in voice, laughter and dreams, a round table is called for. I vote for the round table next time as there is no beginning and no end to our connection to those we love, and besides, it's easier to talk to everyone!

The next day...the drive to Boston to catch a plane back to KY. In true form, Ben and I tortured each other all the way...jesting and posturing just to aggravate each other. Somehow it's easier to leave a place if we distract ourselves. We shared a burger and fries before the flight and jokingly continued the torture until we drove in the driveway here at the house. He was off to a gathering of friends (aka party) and I was off to savor my new memories in peace and quiet.

Cranberry Legacy

As small children some of us might dream that we are descendants of royalty, perhaps others, famous artists, and still others, inventors or writers. Like the caste system in India, my legacy was pretty clear...I come from a long line of women (and a few men) who feed people. Like Captain Dan, there is no escaping our destiny. I've tried, believe me.

My immediate predecessor, while fairly surly and a  perfectionist (as all good cooks tend to be), loves to feed others. As far back as I can remember Mom has been feeding the collective flock. Where most people give words of encouragement, condolence, or congratulations, she gives food. Without speaking a word, she has shared what is in her heart. Her food epitomizes comfort, home, and caring (and just a little bit of spice to keep you on edge!).

To my grandmother Pearl, giving food was simply what you did. She had very humble beginnings, grew up during the Great Depression, and worked hard her whole life, but her gift to the world was food. She could turn utterly "nothing" into a fantastic meal. She was way ahead of her time, using spices and ingredients that are mainstays today. Her killer Mac and cheese, Welsh Rarebit on toast points, Spaghetti Sauce, and roasts were to die for. But, she wasn't a baker. My grandfather would always strongly suggest, with a wink, that we eat her cookies "quick, before they had a chance to set-up"!

One of my favorite childhood memories occurred when I was about eight. After a heavy Thanksgiving dinner my grandmother and I were the only ones left to clean up. I don't know who lobbed the first shot, but before I knew it, we were firing handfuls of cranberry jelly at each other across the dining table and giggling like two year old girls. She had the quality of being able to find happiness and joy from nearly anything.

Every neighborhood child knew stopping by "Pearls" would produce a full meal of some sort. They always came by under the premise of wanting to do yard work or run to the store for her, but I'm pretty sure the underlying motive was something good to eat. When she passed away a few years back at the ripe old age of ninety-something, we got a call from one of those "youngsters" she had fed so many years before, and he said how wonderful she had always been to him and that he had never forgotten. Maybe she knew back then that by feeding someone you give them more than mere food for the belly.

Inevitably even today, when we all get together, we browse cookbooks, talk food, recipes, parties, holidays, celebrations, and the rare, memorable hangover! We relive the special moments when we've gathered around the table together in joy and sorrow, and shared the love that we can't always put into words, but instead put into our gift of food. I'm blessed to have a huge-hearted, loving, extraordinarily witty, and kind family to have learned from, and to keep learning from.

Cooking As Of Late

Friday night, after a long week of work, we had friends coming for dinner, and the list grew as my husband invited more. It's all good.

Being short on time, energy, creativity and ingredients, I dug back into the cooking archive of my gray matter and unearthed an old favorite...Burger, Bean Bake...a recipe from my cousin when she was first married (tweaked a little because I lost the recipe somewhere along the line). I served it with cornbread and a huge salad:

Burger Bean Bake

1 # Lean Ground Beef
1 Can Baked Beans, any seasoning combo
1 Can Green Beans, drained
1 Can Dark Red Kidney Beans, rinsed and drained
1 Large Onion, diced
2 Stalks Celery, diced
2 Cloves Garlic, minced
1 Green Pepper, diced

Sauce:

1 Cup Ketchup
1/4 Cup Apple Cider Vinegar
1/4 Cup Spicy Brown Mustard
1/2 Cup Brown Sugar
1 T Italian Seasoning
1 T Dried Parsley
1 t Chili Powder
Salt and Pepper to taste

In a large frying pan, brown ground beef. Add onion, celery, gr pepper, garlic - saute five minutes.

Add baked beans, green beans and kidney beans to beef mixture and combine.

Combine all ingredients for sauce and pour over bean/beef mixture, combining well. Pour into large, buttered casserole.

Bake at 350 degrees until bubbly.

Salad

Lettuce (any kind you prefer)
tomatoes
green onion
celery
carrot
Kalamata olives
sliced goat cheese
freshly cracked pepper

As it turned out, the dinner guests were all men and the hearty burger bean bake was a great hit. As I looked down the 13' bar in my kitchen and watched them all with heads bent over their plates, grunting noises of appreciation, I realized once again what I am called to do in this world...feed people.

I Tried to Tell You!

The creek wasn't actually flooded out here in the boonies last night but with the storms approaching, it had that Louisiana hurricane party feel to it. We enjoyed excellent company with neighbors new and old. We all were reminded that we so seldom stop long enough to enjoy laughter, conversation and simple food together.

My meal fell far short of perfection. First, in direct opposition to my mothers' and husbands'  instructions (thus, the "I tried to tell you") I made a venison stew without cooking the venison in the pressure cooker to tenderize it. Being the stubborn one that I am, I browned the meat then threw everything in a pot to simmer. Two hours later the vegetables were pretty much disintegrated and the meat was still like small tennis balls. So...I scooped each piece of venison out and fired up the pressure cooker. Twenty minutes later, problem solved.

Lemon bars, which never fail me, actually did fail. The crust is pressed into the pan and baked prior to adding the filling. You're supposed to wait for the crust to cool a bit...oh no, not me...I poured the lemon filling in and the crust promptly floated to the top! Not much I could do at that point but throw them in the oven to bake. Honestly, the taste was good, they were just a little jumbled looking. If I had vanilla ice cream, I would have scooped the lemon bar (still hot) into a pretty goblet and plopped a spoonful of ice cream on top.

One saving grace of the meal was the cornbread, and the other was the Reuben appetizer which was delicious and seemed to turn out as promised. The appetizer recipe came from Cousin Dot and the sauerkraut came from an excellent homemade batch from one of our guests:

Reuben Appetizer

1 package (8 oz) cream cheese, softened
1 1/2 cups shredded  Swiss cheese (6 oz)
1/2 cup Thousand Island dressing
4 oz deli sliced corned beef, chopped
1/2 cup well-drained sauerkraut
whiff of garlic, to taste

Pretzel crackers or rye toast rounds
Chopped fresh chives and chopped radishes, if desired

1) Heat oven to 400 degrees

2) Mix cream cheese, 1 cup of Swiss cheese, the dressing and corned beef. Spread in pie plate or 9" quiche dish. Top with sauerkraut and remaining 1/4 cup Swiss cheese. Cover and refrigerate up to 24 hours, if desired.

3) Bake about 15 minutes or until bubbly around edges. Serve hot with pretzel crackers or cocktail bread. Garnish with chives and radishes.

Keeping to the simple theme, I made a white Sangria:

1 bottle of Barefoot Riesling (any inexpensive white wine will do)
1/2 cup sugar
1/2 cup peach schnapps
1/2 cup brandy
1 orange, sliced
1 lemon, sliced

Stir all ingredients together in a crystal pitcher and refrigerate. Serve in pretty goblets or wine glasses with lots of ice.

Cornbread

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Place 3 Tbl butter in a medium cast iron skillet and heat in oven until butter just begins to turn golden brown.

Meanwhile prepare cornbread:

1 t baking powder
1/4 t salt
3/4 cup yellow cornmeal
3 Tbl  butter, melted
1 can whole kernel corn, drained
1 can (4 oz) pickled jalapenos, drained and diced (diced green chilies will work)
1/4 cup sour cream
2 whole eggs
1/2 cup shredded habenaro cheddar (regular shredded cheddar is fine)

Combine all ingredients by hand. Pour into buttered, preheated cast iron skillet and bake at 350 degrees for 20 minutes or until golden brown on top.

This recipe is excellent. The original came from Southern Living Magazine, but I made some serious changes to it...opting for whole eggs, pickled jalapenos, shredded habenaro cheese and the piping hot skillet with melted butter. The result is a delightful combination of moist cornbread, sweet corn, the slight zing of habenaro cheddar and the earthy flavor of pickled jalapenos or chilies.

The best part of the night was sitting on the porch, listening to the frogs in the rain, planning our next get-together and savoring some down-time.

What's for Dinner?

On my way home this afternoon I called to see what we had in the freezer that would be good for dinner. With little negotiation we settled on our much loved BLT's. Quick, easy and delicious. Bacon is such a delight that I've heard there are near vegans who refer to themselves as "bacon vegetarians". If I were a vegan, that would be me...such is my love of bacon. In my mind there is no connection between pigs and bacon...it just doesn't exist. Bacon is some mysteriously, wonderful, condiment. That's my story.

But, after a stop at the Liquor Barn on my way through Lexington, I was loaded down with cheese...St. Andre' and Dubliner, French batard, a variety of olives, good wine (rated 90 something but Brien thought it was nasty), and a small bottle of Asti Spumante' Martini & Rossi...it is our 22nd anniversary next week after all.

After a platter of bread, cheese and olives and a champagne and Chambord (not to mention a glass of Reserve Grand Veneur, Cotes Du Rhone 2008) the BLT thing faded into oblivion. What a delightful way to spend an evening...sitting on the porch with Brien, surrounded by my critters, smelling Spring in the air (as well as the disgusting smell of a wet, gaseous Labrador), and enjoying a civilized snack. After being gone all week it was bliss.

Goin' Back for More

Going back for more. That's what I've been doing all week in Barbourville, KY. Across the street from where I'm working, a sign with the word "bakery" caught my eye. It wouldn't have mattered if it had been in size 12 New Times Roman, I can spot a bakery miles away. The full sign said "Tammy's Bakery and Cafe".

A double-wide isn't the usual facade for either a cafe' or a bakery, but since it was close to my work and it did have the word "bakery" on the sign, it warranted further investigation. Inside it was bright and clean, with the provocative scent of cake in the air. Even though it was after lunch time, there were several tables of locals gabbing, eating, and lingering.

The waitress asked what I wanted and I told her I wasn't sure -  "could I have a menu?" She informed me they were "out" of menus. When I asked what they had, she told me what the special was...pot roast, mashed potatoes, green beans, and a roll. So that's what I ordered. Very good - but not what I was after. My heart was on the dessert case, much like a teenage boy hoping for a kiss and putting up with being sweet just to get it.

I noted that all the locals were going to the dessert case and getting their own. But being the new kid in town I didn't know if I'd be thrown out if I tried it. So I asked for a "cupcake"...tall, plump, devils food cupcake with a thick slather of buttercream. No frills, just Grandma's best effort. Homemade too. That was Tues.

Yesterday, Wedsnesday, I was practiced at the art of Tammy's. NO menu for me -  "I'll have the special". Chicken salad on a soft, buttery croissant with broccoli salad. As always, the ordering of the meal was just a poor atttempt at legitimizing my dessert consumption. The food is good, but it isn't dessert.

By the second day, I knew the drill. Get your own...and that I did! I bellied up to the dessert bar with the determination of an asthmatic after an inhaler...all the while encouraged by the other customers to "grab a plate & cut yourself a piece". Wow -I was in heaven! Thick, moist brownies, pecan cupcakes with caramel icing, chocolate bundt cake with chocolate icing...and the one I chose...a slab of apple cake, bar-like, rich, with a sugary, buttery glaze on top and a bottom with just enough chewy crispiness to offset the super moist center. The contrast of the "sweet, apple-tart "and the "moist and cripy" made me want to keep eating just to wallow in the contrast. What absolutely pure eating pleasure!

Today I asked for the special...why, I don't know. I barely ate any of it as I was completely preoccupied with dessert. Suffice it to say, it was ham, baked beans,  and potato salad. I ate a few beans to forstall the inevitable blood sugar spike then made my way to the "bar".

I did have the consideration to ask if I could take a sliver of a couple of them as I was unable to decide between cardiac arrest or death by bliss. "No Problem...cut a big hunk" the waitress said, as I divied up todays allowance between the exquisite apple cake and the chocolate bundt with chocolate buttercream. Hard to say which was better...there's always tomorrow for more analysis. Think I'll forgo the "special" and get right to my hearts desire.

Again today, I ate lunch late and there weren't any other customers there. The owner and crew were eating their much deserved lunches and watching TV in the dining area...a show called "Singing Bee"... I think. I started laughing as I watched it. Wow, someone with a worse voice than mine and they are on TV. This opened up  a whole conversation between me and the crew. We laughed, told stories and found points of common interest. I left with my belly full, but also my spirit happy. They probably don't realize that they took the edge off a little bit of lonliness and brought a sense of commuunity to  me...a stranger in a small town.

Abyss Walker

Dictionary.com states that an abyss is the following:

"a·byss   /əˈbɪs/ Show Spelled[uh-bis] Show IPA
–noun

1.a deep, immeasurable space, gulf, or cavity; vast chasm.

2.anything profound, unfathomable, or infinite: the abyss of time.

3.(in ancient cosmogony)

a.the primal chaos before Creation.

b.the infernal regions; hell.

c.a subterranean ocean."


As I read my posts I realize I've been holding back. My true voice doesn't ring out. You can tell when someone holds back, and realizing that has to change is both frightening and freeing, because putting yourself out there for the world to read (so I only have 7 followers...who's counting?) is scary. Up until now, when I've written a post, I have self sensored. My mother says that's a good thing...I'm not so sure...

Think back to all the good writing you've read. The writers that made the greatest impact on your life weren't the ones who held back. They were the ones who ran screaming at the wall. Those that made you laugh when you shouldn't, cry over what you couldn't control, and wish for just a moment that you had thought those same words and feelings just once in your life. In sensoring, you lose authenticity, and although I'm all for civility (most of the time), it's pretty clear to me that for a voice to ring true and clear, and be entertaining, you have to walk the edge just a little bit. So...from now on I'm going to test the waters and speak clearly (not always sensibly, but clearly).

My family and close friends can handle it...they've been listening to it for years, and the rest of the world doesn't really care, so I should be just fine...I promise not to mention names.

Years ago I read a book about people who are "abyss walkers"...those who always walk on the edge...fringe people. That phrase has stuck with me, I have a relational pull toward those words. I'm not entirely convinced that's a bad thing. Just thought I would give you a heads up that things to come may have a slightly different tone. Different, meaning better!

Wow What a Smell!

In the last few days I've eaten enough to kill! Last night was a three hour feeding frenzy with co-workers at Peerless in Knoxville...appetizers included fried cheese which the waitress poured brandy over and lit on fire at the table (beyond tasty but a bite or two was all most of us could do) , warm spinach dip with tortilla chips, and big, thick homemade onion rings stacked high (again, one was plenty).

My main course was crab cakes, cole slaw and a medley of mushrooms, peppers and onions. Dessert was a couple of bites of a shared snickers cheese cake! Not sure what my wine was because I took the suggestion from the banquet manager, whatever...it was luscious! We did a "chick" table and laughed for three hours...I'll leave it at that.

Which leads me to today...and "Wow, what a smell". After all the food yesterday I couldn't face another restaurant meal so I delved into my canvas bag containing my "end of the world stash"...food that would only truly appeal if I went careening off a cliff into the Big Sandy River with no hope of being found for days.

Tonight's selection was a feast for the senses...nearly all of them...and the Hampton Inn staff in Pikeville, KY is not likely to forget me for a very, very long time!Tonights highlight of a feast was a can of King Oscar, Mediterranian Style Sardines and a fistfull of triscuits, washed down with a can of Barq's Diet Rootbeer! For dessert I had a small box of raisens. In retrospect it probably is frightening.

It tasted pretty good going down but when I finished I became accutely aware of the overpowering stench of the sardines. I felt like my cat Pete must feel when he's trying to get some nasty thing off his feet when he's in the cat box! Stealing a plastic bag from one of the room trashcans I "buried" the evidence! God help the poor soul who enters this room tomorrow to tidy up. I'll have to leave a note explaining so she doesn't fear for her life! Even after double and triple knotting the bag there's still a lingering odor of something gone terribly, terribly wrong.

It must be a family thing because "he who shall remain unnamed" loves to buy a huge, cooked, stone crab when he's in Seattle and take it back to his room to devour like a wolf with a fresh carcass. I'm pretty sure when he's done there's not much evidence left. As for me, it's painfully obvious dinner was a desperation thing and there is blatant evidence it was neither a quick nor an easy kill!

It reminds me of the saying...It's easier to beg foregiveness than ask permission. I'm going to have to beg foregiveness!