God in the sink

"What is God doing in the sink?"

Bobble Head Jesus

 My granddaughter, Ava Lou, was standing on a stool washing dishes with a sink full of cold water and soap suds as only a four-year-old can "wash" dishes. She was looking at the bobble head Jesus who was over-seeing the process.

Ava Lou

 I wondered how to explain irony to her. How to say it had some obscure, but special meaning to me. I've often thought, I should put it away because people must look at it all the time and wonder if I am a heretic of some kind, worshiping saints or idols or something equally suspicious. So here is my explanation. He was a gift from a friend, Jeremy Huggins. Together we appreciate humor and irony in Christian paraphernalia that is marketed in certain stores that purport to be "Christian." Things like Frisbees that say "Flying for Jesus." Or night lights with the inscription: "Jesus is the light of the world." So there Jesus sits on the edge of my sink as a reminder to laugh at ourselves for the stupid ways in which Christianity is marketed and to try not to participate in the trivialization of such great things as the gospel. I mean no disrespect to a God I love. I think he knows that.

When it took too long to think of a simple answer to this dear child, she moved on to the next question.

"Can I give God a bath? He wants a bath."

I gently said no. He will get all rusty inside and not bob anymore, and I moved to pack him up in a box, ready for my next kitchen.

She and her mother had visited us for a few days to help me clean out the attic. Micah's presence and and help was so stabilizing. Much was accomplished in a short time. Everything down from the attic and out. Throw away, give to family, give to charity, sell some if possible. Label what to keep and where it should go in the next place. All done.

It really does feel like God in the sink with us. God with us in the midst of real life helping us to a new stage.

Thank you for stopping by. This time I will truly have a good excuse for not posting for awhile because this Friday we move and we will be living in the wreckage of boxes and plastic bubble wrap for quite awhile. But it will be a happy wreck.

Vegetables every way, every week

Community Supported Agriculture (CSA). This summer our friends, Hannah and Daniel from Easy Yoke Farm asked if we would be their drop-off place for their CSA city members. In exchange they offered us a free box. So every Wednesday afternoon Hannah and baby Paul arrive with 26 boxes of just-picked vegetables.

Stacking the boxes on our front porch.

Our first box of the season.

Hot delivery day. Hannah gives Paul a drink of cool water.

 CSA is one of the innovative ways local and small farms have begun thriving and surviving. A member buys in at the beginning of the season, paying all at once for what in faith will come. Here the season runs from mid-May through early November. This assures the customer of a weekly delivery of all the freshest vegetables and it supports the farm with a steady, predictable income. Easy Yoke grows vegetables only, but some farms include other things like eggs, grains, or meat. I love that this helps small family farms survive in an agricultural climate that is now geared mainly for mega-industry.

This week: sweet onion, carrots, zucchini, patty pan squash, beets, new potatoes, cabbage, dill.

I had no idea how much we would look forward to Wednesday afternoons. Our box is like opening a gift from someone who you know has your number. It’s like Christmas every week when I open the it to see what in it this time. Even though some folks are obviously weary from a long day, everyone arriving for pick-up looks happy to walk up to our front porch. I know that some weeks there may be more of one thing than we can use or put up, but there are always neighbors who welcome the extra head of lettuce or bundle of chard.

This morning when I stopped by the Farmer’s Market to get eggs from Heartbeat Farm,  (Hannah’s sister Becca and Joe’s farm. They have adjoining acres and share equipment and space.)  Joe tapped me on the shoulder and handed me this. A blushing yellow heirloom tomato as big as a bocce ball and just as heavy.

Hierloom tomato - Heartbeet Farm

My cake is slipping

Lemon Curd Layer Cake. I forgot to the fresh lemon slices on top

 Today I finished making a lemon curd layer cake. I had promised a  celebration birthday cake for Anita and Marsena, but then life got complicated and I didn’t get around to it until this week. This recipe is complicated, too. For me, anyway. But if you do it step by step the resulting cake is memorable. Four days ago I made the required six cups of lemon curd which is so good you have to hide it from yourself. Using fresh farm eggs makes the curd bright as oxeye daisies. Yesterday I made the three cake layers. Today I whipped the cream, blended in some of the curd and topped each level with curd followed by cream frosting. The final layer is covered in cream frosting, the remaining curd is spread on the top and then rest of the whipped cream is piped around the edges. So beautiful.

Maybe because it was too hot in the house, or perhaps it is just me, but the cake is sitting in the refrigerator slipping its top. Oh, and another thing, my layers came out of the oven tall and beautiful and promptly fell. It will still taste marvelous.

Beloved, my projects, my life is never quite perfect.  

I’m posting the recipe in case anyone else is in love with lemon deserts. Just know – you really need to start this a day in advance because the curd needs to cool and the frosting needs to set up for 3-4 hours. From Bon Appetite magazine…

Lemon Curd Layer Cake

LEMON CURD

2 1/3 c. sugar

2 tsp cornstarch

1 c. fresh lemon juice

4 large eggs

4 large egg yolks (save whites for cake)

¾ c. (1 ½ sticks) unsalted butter cut in pieces

FROSTING

¾ c. powdered sugar

2 c. whipping cream

CAKE

1 ½ c. cake flour

1 ½ c. sugar

2 ½ tsp baking powder

¾ tsp salt

4 large egg yolks

¼ c vegetable oil

¼ c. orange juice

1 ½ tsp grated lemon peel

8 large egg whites

¼ tsp cram of tartar

Lemon slices, halved, patted dry. ( I forgot them!)

FOR LEMON CURD: Combine 2 1/3 c. sugar and cornstarch in heavy medium pan. Gradually whisk in fresh lemon juice. Whisk in eggs and yolks; add butter. Whisk over medium heat until curd thickens and boils, abut 12 min. Pour into container or jars, cover refrigerate. Can be made 1 week ahead.

FOR FROSTING: Beat powdered sugar and 1 ¼ c. curd in large bowl just until blended. Beat cream in separate bowl until firm peaks form. Fold cream into curd mixture in 3 additions. Chill until firm, at least 4 hours.

FOR CAKE: Oven 350 degrees. Butter and flour three 9 inch cake pans. Line with parchment paper. Whisk dry ingredients – flour, sugar, salt, b. powder. Add 4 yolks, oil, orange juice, lemon peel and ¾ c. curd. (Don’t beat it quite yet because you need to use mixer to beat egg whites.) In another large bowl combine egg whites and cream of tartar. Beat whites until soft peaks form. Gradually add remaining cup of sugar, beating until stiff. Using same beaters, beat yolk mix until smooth. Fold whites into yolk mixture in three additions. Divide batter into the three pans. Bake about 25 min. or until toothpick comes out clean. Cool in pan 15 min. Turn onto racks, peel off parchment. Cool completely.

Spoon 1 c. frosting into pastry bag fitted with plain round tip. Refrigerate while you put the rest together. Place 1 layer on cake plate. Spread top with 1/3 c. curd and 1 c. frosting. Do same with the next. Top with third layer and spread remaining frosting over top and sides. Spread remaining curd on the top leaving a ¾ inch border around. Pipe little mounds of chilled bagged frosting around edge. Place lemon slices between mounds. Can be made a day ahead. 

Cookie Rabbits

      This weekend we were busy making and decorating sugar cookies for kids. There may be one or two left to share. Denis mixed up black icing to reflect, what? Lent? Black crosses, bunnies outlined in dark. Blackened hearts.

Sadly, there were also a few rabbit injuries in the Toad Hall kitchen.

One of them was heard to say:

“My butt HURTS.”

The second one replied:

“What?”

They required immediate attention.

      Here’s a recipe for a glazed icing that hardens to a lovely shiny surface. Many of you knew how to do this, but no one told me until recently. I love how it works.

Cookie Icing

1 c. powdered sugar

2 t. milk

2 tsp light corn syrup (this is the secret ingredient, a must)

½ t almond extract

Stir together the sugar and milk until smooth. Beat in corn syrup and extract until icing is smooth and glossy. If too think add small equal amounts of milk and syrup. Divide into separate bowls and add food coloring to each to desired intensity. Dip cookies or paint with a brush. Allow the cookies to set out for a few hours before storing them in layers separated by wax paper.

Cast-iron versus nonstick

There are now more reasons, my friends, to cast out your nonstick cookware and begin using my favorite kitchen colleague: cast-iron! I know. Giving up expensive wedding gifts and throwing away the Cuisinart nonstick set purchased with blood money won’t be easy. But after the following information, in good conscience you may not even be able to give it away. So fair warning, you can stop here. Sorry, sorry, sorry. On the bright side cast-iron is such a fabulous way to cook. And it may support more healthy living than we imagined.

      Baked squash ready for the oven in my large 12 inch cast-iron skillet

A few years ago I was surprised to learn that pet birds die when exposed to the fumes produced by heating nonstick cookware. Did you know that? Birds are easily poisoned by PFOA and PFOS – the compound that is vaporized when the cookware is heated. The poor canary in the coal mine only this time it’s in the kitchen? Lucky thing humans aren’t quite that sensitive. I occasionally wondered about the surface that wore off into the food we ate and if it was good or bad for us. No matter how careful I was someone was always throwing away a groady old pan and buying me a new frying pan for Christmas.

Apparently, the compounds which go into making plastics are hard to get out of the system once they’re in, and the medical community is finding more concrete data about the effect on humans.

JAMA published an article  (this link is slow to load) in January reporting research on PFOA and PFOS and a related compound PFHxS  (I have no idea and am only parroting) – they are used to make nonstick surfaces in cookware and fabric, like in the trade names Teflon and Scotchguard)  Following a group of Faroese children from birth to age 7, researchers at Harvard Public School of Health found that the more exposure children had to these compounds “the less robust their response to vaccines.” ( I know. Some of you don’t believe in vaccines, but this is about immunity not vaccines.) Children with an “inadequate response to vaccinations was particularly common;” they were not showing sufficient levels of protective antibodies. Philippe Grandjean of Harvard and his colleagues who led the study called the results shocking. (They noted that the blood levels of the pollutant in the participants were, on average, lower than those found in American children.)

The findings are leading them to raise questions about whether the immune deficiencies point to more vulnerability to allergies, asthma, and autoimmune disease. Science News Magazine reports that Toxicologist Margie Peden-Adams of U of Nevada calls the study impressive and “Those of us in the field will be excited to see it.” (My emphasis. Exciting? Understandable irony when your passion is poison.)

     Simmering mixed lentils with dried apricots and cranberries using Dutch oven on stove top.

I’m not saying that cooking with cast iron is the answer to all our ills. Maybe you or your child’s margins are adequate to handle more pollutants from the environment, no problem, I can’t say. Personally, we’ve seen more allergy, ear infections, strep, and other immune issues in our family than we’d want. It can’t hurt to gradually move from using nonstick pans and aluminum to glass, stainless steel, enamelware and cast-iron. Maybe it’s a little piece of the puzzle? If there is a connection between PFOAs and immune deficiency, it’s easy to project that the manufacturing industry will vigorously protest and deny any links to ill health.

Scrapple me to death

It’s done. I’m feeling proud and superior. From one pig’s head and a few neck bones, I pulled six cups of meat which I then minced. I strained the broth to remove large pieces of congealed, um, offal? It was repulsive. It included a couple of tusk-like teeth that fell out of the jaw – the rest I hammered out. (I have ideas for the teeth. Like drilling holes in them, stringing them on leather and sending them to a friend who has a javelina phobia. Donald, this will help you if you wear them next to your skin, especially when you teach “domains of learning.” It’s called desensitization therapy.) 

I set the broth on the porch to cool overnight. This morning the fat was congealed enough to peel a layer off the surface. The broth is so full of collagen from the bones it sits up like industrial strength Jell-O.  It measured a little more than seven cups and since the recipe is roughly equal parts meat to oatmeal – I cooked up seven cups of thick-cut organic oatmeal. When it was well-done, I added the minced meat, salt and quite a bit of pepper and put it in the refrigerator. My mom insists it needs a lot of pepper. I waited barely long enough for it to set and then cut it into half inch slices, browned it in a hot cast iron skillet. I squished the slices down a little – I think that when I freeze it, it will slice easier and not be so mushy in the pan. When it was all crisped up, it went on a plate to be served with maple syrup. 

An inexpensive, nutritious dish with a balance of protein, carbs, fiber, fat, B vitamins and minerals. Hey?

It was better than I remembered. Denis and Anita were eager to try it, but I could see the tentative first bite of will I have to make a run to the trash can with my hand over my mouth? or, or, or,  and then their eyes lit up. They groaned, and ate every little scrap. ha. Denis suggested I see about getting eight or ten of these, because surely there is no competition for making use of a pig’s head. I was a little horrified. No. I’m sorry. No. I’ll teach him if he wants do that many.

Scrapple

One pig’s head, washed (Chicken backs and necks may be substituted for pork)

Oatmeal

Water

Salt

Pepper

         Place head in a large pot. Cover with water and bring to a boil. Simmer for two hours or until meat is tender and skin slips off the bones. Cool. Remove head from pot reserving the cooking liquid.

         Separate meat from skin, cartilage, and bones. Discard brains and tongue. Dice meat into small pieces and save in a large mixing bowl. Be sure to include some of the fat. Measure amount of scraps and make an equal amount of oatmeal using the left over liquid. Bring it to a boil in a large pan and for each cup of liquid add 1/3 cup of oatmeal. Simmer until oatmeal has thickened. Add meat scraps and fat to the oatmeal. Mix well and season with salt and lots of pepper. Spoon mixture into bread pans and refrigerate until set. Unmold from pan, cut into ½ inch slices and brown in frying pan until crisp.

         Serve for breakfast with maple syrup. May be frozen until needed.

Brains are in there somewhere

 

     There’s a recipe from the olden days back when folks sewed their own clothes, rubbed sticks together to make fire and slept on buffalo pelts. Actually, my mom used to make scrapple when I was a girl and we had a gas stove. I think even then rural Americans were moving away from using every shred of a butchered animal from brains to tail. We only ate hearts and livers – never the other gag-me organs. I try to convince myself this is a shameful waste.

     Last fall when we ordered some pork I asked for the head, because I wanted to make this recipe. It was in the freezer until today when I brought it out for the first step in the process, which is simply boiling it until everything falls apart, pinching the meat from every little orifice, and cooling the broth so you can skim off the fat. It's a very ugly business; you have to be strong.

     Note: Denis saw a piece of skin with boar bristles still attached and was determined to cut it off.

     

     Saturday I’ll finish it up and give you the recipe because you never know when you’ll be so lucky as to get your hands on a pig’s head.  In spite of how grossed out you are, when the apocalypse comes you'll thank me.

Gluten-Free Coconut Macaroons

 Today I’m cleaning out the crumbs of sweets left from the holidays. Tossing the dried out coffee cake from Christmas morning, the shortbread is in the freezer, and I’m undecided about the coconut macaroons. Maybe I’ll just let them be in the refrigerator a little longer. I may need a teeny little sugar high.

One of the candies I forced my children to tithe after Halloween was Mounds Bars. Mounds Bars always get me with their creamy milk chocolate covering that sinks under your teeth and mashes into the soft white inside. Bits of it stick in your teeth for hours waiting to be horsed out for further enjoyment. It’s never clicked that I could make coconut macaroons myself. Maybe because most homemade or purchased macaroons are like choking down cattail fuzz with dried broom grass. So it was only this year that I decided to research and try them, mostly because (she says) it’s a treat that can be given to friends who need to stay gluten-free.

I know we’re all probably sick to death of Christmas cookies and candies. I pretty much am. But if I don’t post this now, I’ll forget. And who knows? You may need something for a New Year’s Eve party.

I fell in love with this dangerous recipe from A Homemade Life by Molly Wizenberg, because it is very easy and tastes way better than any I’ve ever had. The coconut base is moist and tender, crispy on the outside and you can either drizzle or dip them in a perfect coat of chocolate. Her way of making chocolate glaze is genius: another no-fail idea to use for other recipes that require a chocolate glaze.

Chocolate-Covered Coconut Macaroons
Adapted from Bon Appétit (September 2002) and the Marigold Kitchen of Madison, Wisconsin

3 cups (lightly packed) sweetened shredded coconut
¾ cup granulated sugar
¾ cup egg whites (about 5 or 6 large)
1 ½ tsp pure vanilla extract
¼ tsp almond extract (I leave this out. Not a fan of almond extract.)
8 ounces bittersweet or semisweet chocolate, finely chopped
3/4 cup heavy cream


Place the first three ingredients in a heavy saucepan, and stir to combine well. Cook over medium-low heat, stirring regularly, about 10-12 minutes, until the mixture is pasty but not dry. (It will look sort of granular at first, then creamy as it heats, and then it will slowly get drier and drier. Stop cooking when it no longer looks creamy but is still quite gluey and sticky, not dry.) Remove from heat. Mix in vanilla and almond extracts. Spread out the coconut mixture on a large baking sheet. Refrigerate until cold, about 30 minutes. (Don’t skip this step – it makes it so much easier to handle.)

Line another baking sheet with parchment paper. Using a ¼-cup measuring scoop, scoop and pack the coconut mixture into domes, and place them on the baking sheet. (I use my hands. You  can also make them smaller.) You should wind up with about a dozen. Bake at 300 degrees until the macaroons until golden, about 30 minutes. Transfer to a rack and cool. You can even bake them a little longer if you like them a little more crisp on the outside.

Set cookies on rack over a rimmed baking sheet. Place the chopped chocolate in a medium bowl. Heat the heavy cream in a small saucepan until it is very hot and steamy (not boiling), remove from the heat, and pour it over the chocolate. Whisk until the mixture is smooth and the chocolate is thoroughly melted. Spoon the glaze over the macaroons, covering them almost completely and allowing the chocolate to drip down the sides. [You will have leftover glaze, which can be refrigerated or frozen.] Refrigerate the macaroons until the glaze sets, at least 2 hours. Transfer the macaroons to an airtight container, and refrigerate or freeze.

The Nutmeg of Consolation

In my kitchen there is a whole nutmeg that’s been hanging around for a long time. I move it from the chopping board to the window sill to a little pottery dish. I am loathe to throw it away even though it may be too old to grate and get any spice out of it at all. I pick it up and roll it between my thumb and fingers. It it a beautiful, hard little nut about two thirds the size of a truffle. (I can compare anything to chocolate in some form.) Pebble smooth. Half butter-brown, half burnt sienna. It has a design, as if the author was beginning to spin a symbol or paint a scene upon it. Fascinating. It reminds me of … good things.

Today, in a piece I wrote for The Washington Institute of Faith, Culture,and Vocation, where good friend, Steven Garber writes and works and has his being, I reflected on something called “The Nutmeg of Consolation” and related it to Simeon in the book of Luke – of whom it is written that he was “waiting for The Consolation of Israel.” This has always intrigued me. It seems to me that in life we need consolation from or in so many things. Even if unspoken, we look around in the corners of our life, in the rooms where we live, in the people we know, hoping for comfort. Here was a man who lived in waiting for many, many years, looking for The One, peering into the faces and arms of those who crowded through the courts of the temple.

At the end of the piece, I quote from a book by Patrick O’Brian, who wrote a series of sea-faring novels set in the early 1800s. I love them and their characters. The Nutmeg of Consolation  is both the name of a ship and a piece of music. In rare moments of peace, Captain Aubrey and Stephen Maturin, the ship’s surgeon, played duets on the violin and cello. On one such occasion Aubrey asks Maturin, “I dare say, what was that last piece?”

Maturin’s reply: “Nutmeg of Consolation.”

            Aubrey thinks about this and says, “That’s it. Those were the very words hanging there in the back of my mind. What a glorious name for a tight, sweet, newly-coppered broad-buttock little ship – a solace to any man’s heart... Dear Nutmeg. What joy.”

            Yes. What joy to know it is coming. The Consolation of Israel will hove into sight, his sails sheeted to the wind, and you cast-away on an island without hope of rescue. That, my friends, is Divine.  To read the entire piece – go here.

Cannibal Jack

      We have a challenge. Denis is supposed to carve a jack-o’-lantern with a theological theme. Anita is going to do a bunny-pumpkin. I did mine last night - a cannibalizing zombie eating one of our pie pumpkins. I think it will win. We have friends coming from NY who, I’ll bet will be impressed with our level of sophistication. They will judge.

     This year I saved the seeds and roasted them. It’s easy to do. They are really addictive and good for fiber and lowering cholesterol. This will help balance out the left-over treats, I plan to eat this year. I always debate: should I buy crap candy so I won’t be tempted to eat what doesn’t get passed out. Or buy what I love so I can treat myself for days following. The basket with mini-Hershey bars, Peanut Butter Cups and Mounds Almond Bars are waiting by the front door.

Roasted Pumpkin Seeds

Put the seeds in a colander and rinse them. Pick out the larger bits of pumpkin innards.

Place them in a baking pan. (I use my largest cast iron skillet for this.)

Drizzle 1 T. olive oil.

Sprinkle with salt to taste.

Place in 350 degree oven for 18 minutes. Stir. Check degree of crispness. If not crunchy, bake for another 10 minutes or until desired crunch is reached.

Just these two pumpkins made about 3 cups of roasted seeds.

Make Pickles

Saturday was our weekly trip to the Farmer’s Market. This week Daniel and Hannah of Easy Yoke Farm had set aside two boxes of pickling cucumbers. Anita is a pickle fanatic and needs lots. Jars and jars. I heard her barter a trade with them: this week she will weed their carrot patch in exchange for cucumbers, dill, garlic and onions. She did ask, how big is it? 40 acres? “Naw,” said Daniel, “that would be Joe’s patch.”

The recipe for garlic dill pickles calls for cucumbers to soak overnight in cold water, whereas the bread & butter pickles only need three hours in icy salt water. So we  began. I love how cucumbers smell - clean and fresh - and how the sweet vinegary smell of the brine floods your nose and your hands get saturated with onions and garlic, so when you sleep at night with your hands under your cheek you dream of pickles. Denis joined the slicing and ladling of hot pickles into jars. About two thirds of the way through we realized we needed more jars and I was impatient with the dishwasher taking too long to sterilize another batch. So I grabbed them out saying, “I know. My mother did this.” All I needed was a shallow pan, so I put a cake pan on the electric burner turned on high, placed the jars upside down in two inches of water and waited for them to get really, really hot. Then I was like, wait. Who cares? This is PICKLING. The vinegar will kill anything that dares move. As they bubbled away, Denis picked the pints out one by one and filled them and Anita wiped the rims and put on the lids. Done! 24 jars!

Later, as we were cleaning up Anita was going to dump the water out of the cake pan, but found it oddly stuck to the burner. What the..? Denis tried prying it off and finally had to horse the burner up with the pan welded to the top. He managed to pop off the pan, but there was no saving either. So I no longer advise this method of “sterilizing” jars. Besides the risk, it isn’t very cost effective. And perhaps my mother DIDN’T do that. Perhaps I imagined it. Still, those pickles are really good and not that hard to make.

Go here to view album.

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Bread & Butter Pickles

4 quarts pickling cucumbers, sliced thin (cucumbers should be 5-6 inches long and not too fat)

3 c. onions, cut in half, thinly sliced

2-3 bell peppers (green or red)

3 cloves garlic thinly sliced

1/3 c. pickling salt

Mix together. Add salt. Cover with ice water. Soak for three hours.

Brine:

3 c. apple cider vinegar

5 c. sugar

2 T mustard seed

1 ½ t. celery seed

1 ½ t. turmeric

Heat together until it comes to a boil, stirring to dissolve sugar.

Drain the cucumber mixture. Place in large stock pot (do not use aluminum).

Pour in the brine. Bring to a boil, stirring occasionally.

While hot, ladle into jars and seal. Do not over-fill. Be sure brine covers the cucumbers.

Store after jars have cooled and sealed. Eat them as soon as you like, though pickle snobs wait for several weeks for them to thoroughly cure.

Make me apologize

Last night we had friends for dinner. Late afternoon, I made a strawberry soup for dessert. It’s mostly a glorified creamy smoothie with a sprig of mint and a sliced strawberry for garnish. Wonderful with field-picked strawberries. Most excellent served with a piece of dark chocolate. As I was washing out the blender I pressed a squirt of dish soap which normally sprays into the sink, but for some reason, it backfired across the counter and showered the individual servings with a bit of Dawn. I was very vexed and called Sandy in for a consult. I had already skimmed the surfaces and tasted one spoonful that had a drop of invisible soap, and if it wasn’t so hard to get down there, I would have writhed on the floor. (WHY do these things happen to me? Or do they to you, too, and you just don’t say?) Sandy is a nurse practitioner living in NZ, not to hold her moving away against her - she’s an awesome cook, too. She test-tasted, and said “Ahhhh, it’s good. It would be a shame to throw this. Serve it. No one will know.” I did, and later she was the only one to get a soap droplet in her serving.  

Anita and I collaborated to make spring rolls – that delicious Thai appetizer, which to our unpracticed hands was like gluing double-stick tape on wet grass. With each one, they became more coherent until we had a tray of twenty. Ours held fresh mint, sprouts, avocado, shavings of beef, thin sticks of cucumber and CILANTRO in a paper thin rice wrapper, dipped in a peanut sauce - they are a perfect hot-day food. The combination of crunchy, soft, spicy, mild, chilled is… how did they think of this? In deference to Denis we made three without cilantro. He isn’t just phobic about this herb, which - I remind him - is used in all sorts of ethnic cuisine; he is aggressively hostile, claiming he can’t even stand the smell of it.

That came up during dinner, because we needed to mention that the ones pointed “that way” belonged to Denis who hates cilantro. I point this out, as if it’s a fault. Denis has so few I delight in obvious weakness. Among our guests was Larry, a physician. Each July he returns to Rochester from Mayo Clinic Scottsdale to do hospital service for a month. He’s a font of weird facts and arcane observations and declared that the hatred of cilantro is due to the lack of a certain inherited enzyme that leaves the inheritee thinking they’ve eaten soap or something disgustingly rotten. Now Denis demands I apologize for years of sneaking cilantro into things.

So here it is: Denis, I’m sorry for making fun of you for something you can’t help because you’re genetically deficient. I promise not to mention it again. I love you anyway. And if you tasted soap in your dessert last night, it wasn’t because I snuck in cilantro; it was just an accident. I hope one day a gene that causes accident prone-ness will be discovered.  

Chickens for Toad Hall

      I've always wanted more chickens ever since we had a few hens back in the dark ages in Albuquerque, and I was putting us through eating hell. One of my little phases of you- may-not-eat, in this case, sugar of any kind. So for the paradox and inconvenience of my philosophy we kept bee hives,  fought the desert to raise broccoli, and included pinto beans and green chili in every dish. 

     Today I have a new flock. Anita knitted them. They require very little care and it looks like they’re already laying. Little Cadbury eggs. How nice. And so you know how far I’ve come, this afternoon I'm eating two of their eggs and am also baking a strawberry rhubarb pie – with sugar – to take out to Heartbeet Farm to share with Joe and Becca for the evening meal.

Beer Bread for the weary

Lots of folks don’t have the option of getting into the kitchen and leisurely prepping an evening meal. I understand this. So let’s not use words like puree, truss, stuff, or – God forbid – French.  I remember Little Miss Sunshine and feeling tender toward the mother, who came home from a whacked-out stressful day with a bucket of chicken and two liters of soda and tried to get dinner (a strained use of the word) on the table and the family together. The grandfather went off on her with a swearing tirade about chicken. #$%!! AGAIN?!!  Made you want to put a little strychnine in his drink.

I’ve noticed that the scent of something baking in the oven can work like freebasing Zoloft. It’s that powerful. A kind of calm sweetness diffuses through the house; traffic tickets, tyrants, terrorists, and skinned knees are forgotten. For a moment you are forgiven and soothed. The anticipation that announces something good is coming, is a gift I love to give because I know it’s more than food, it’s spiritual. There’s something sacred in this simple act. Since I can’t do it for that many, being finite and all, I share this instead.

There aren’t many recipes for a yeasty-tasting homemade bread this easy. It’s great company for nearly any meal. A few left-over slices make good toast the next morning. Putting it together and throwing it in the oven last night took me six minutes. Seriously. I timed it. And all the ingredients were put away, too. However, you must give enough time to bake (50 minutes) and cool (about 5 minutes). So, yes, it does require a little forethought.

Beer Bread

1 c. whole wheat or ¾ c ww and ¼ c. cornmeal (optional, can use all white)

2 c. white flour

1 t. baking powder

½ t. baking soda

1 ½  t. salt

2 T honey

12 oz beer

3 T melted butter

Mix dry ingredients in bowl. Add honey and beer. Stir together just until mixed. It will be sticky and moist. Transfer to a buttered loaf pan or a shallow baking dish. Bake 25 minutes at 325 degrees. Melt 3 T. butter and spread on top. Return to oven for another 20-25 minutes. Makes one loaf.

Margie tips:

* Wet your hand with cold water and pat the batter to smooth it down. Then it won’t stick to your fingers.

* Don’t use a whisk. It gets completely gunked up. Use a wooden spoon.

* An ale or dark beer gives a more beery taste. I like a lighter beer. Okay. A girly beer like Honey Weiss.

Loser's Coffee Cake

The weekend before last I used the sunny weather as an excuse to make a berry pie which was good, but not perfect. This past weekend I woke to darkness, the sky thickened by fog as snow slowly melted. It began raining gloom, exposing more dirt and dog doo along our sidewalk. It’s kind of disgusting to walk your dog, leash in one hand and loaded bag swinging in the other. Most owners responsibly pick up, and seriously, I don’t watch them, you know. But this one guy,  owner of a big ruffy dog, without a bag, annoyed me a little when he paused right in front of the kitchen window as I was doing dishes. No way to pick that up and too loose to kick onto the street. He needed a giant leaf bag bag, but I grabbed what was handy and ran out to offer it. I’m glad I curtailed my spleen because he was very shame-faced and kind of sweet. Sometimes it’s embarrassing to be imperfect. Big aside.

Once again, I was using the weather as an excuse to bake something. Why should I do that? It really doesn’t matter what the weather is. It’s March. We’re all mentally ill from lack of sun. Just watch, next I’ll be complaining about how hot it is. But while it’s still chilly and with Easter coming, it’s time to make the one coffee cake I’ll make all season. The one that has a crunchy cinnamon-y wave through the middle of a moist sweet inside and crispy golden crust outside.

I found a recipe on the web called Loser’s Coffee Cake. Not because the recipe is a loser, they said, but if you are. It was acclaimed as super-easy and so good, a no-fail. I have an affinity for losers whether we’re talking about the kitchen or figuring out where the volume button is in iTunes. The concept attracts me. So I made it.

When I could handle it without getting third degree burns we ate a piece. And someone ate another, not me. I was thinking: this IS a loser recipe. It’s not that good. But why would that be? As I remembered, the old recipe, buried somewhere in my archives, had all the same ingredients. Excepting chocolate chips. I left them out because coffee cake should not have them. It’s wrong. It had to be something else, not the chocolate. So I dug out the old recipe from Nancy Fyke to compare. The difference was: twice as much sugar, a little more fat, and twice the amount of cinnamon filling and topping.

So. If you’re going to make a coffee cake, and it comes once a year, perhaps on Christmas or Easter morning, then don’t skimp on this, just go for it. I mean. It really DOES make a difference.

Here’s the winner’s recipe – No more difficult than the “Loser’s” and way, WAY better.

Sour Cream Coffee Cake

1 c. butter softened

2 c. sugar

2 c. flour

2 eggs

1 c. (8 ounces) sour cream

1 t. baking powder

1 t. vanilla

½ t. salt

Cream butter, sugar and vanilla beating until light and fluffy. Add eggs one at a time, beating after each addition. Add half the dry ingredients and stir with a spoon until blended. Add sour cream, blend with spoon. Add remaining dry ingredients. Do same thing. Don’t over stir.

Cinnamon mixture:

1/2 c. sugar

1/3 c. brown sugar

2 T (tablespoons) cinnamon

1/2 c. chopped almonds or other nuts

Combine all ingredients in small bowl.

Sprinkle 1/3 of the cinnamon mixture in bottom of a well-greased, floured Bundt pan (you can use a 9x13 cake pan, but then skip putting the cinnamon mixture on the bottom and add to middle and top only). Spoon in half the batter. Sprinkle with another third of the mixture. Add remaining batter. Top with final third of cinnamon mixture. Bake at 350 degrees for 60 -75 minutes. Cool 1 hour before removing from pan. (Otherwise it comes out in chunks. I know from another of my loser experiences. Still tastes good but looks like a squirrel dug it up.) Also. This might look like any old boring coffee cake, but it is fantastic.

Blog for Pie

The sun shone for about two hours last Saturday. The flow of rays onto the kitchen counter was strong enough to melt butter and keep the French press warm. I was rooted there and to justify standing in one spot absorbing vitamin D – justification being the saving oil for souls who think worth is measured by what they do, among other complex cravings and addictions – demanded pie. The answer to many moral questions. We still have several freezer bags full of blackberries that Anita picked in Washington last summer. Blackberry banana vanilla soy milk smoothies have had their place this winter, but it’s been a long time since we’ve had a lip-staining blackberry pie. I wasted thirty minutes looking for a recipe that didn’t call for tapioca. No sense making Denis feel sicker than he did with fisheyes. Couldn’t find anything, but with shameless audacity I thought adding 2 T. of cornstarch to a cup of sugar and 5 cups of blackberries would be just perfect.

The pie looked gorgeous when I took it out of the oven. But it wasn’t perfect. Why couldn’t it be? Why is nothing ever perfect? Why does my eye always settle on that little flaw – the dot of wall paint left on the white ceiling, the stain on the floor where I dropped India ink, the scratch I put in the car when the train gate dropped on the trunk, and na-nah, na-nah, na, na.  It wasn’t just the decorative leaves and berries I’d made for the top crust that now looked like flying-bird dropping poop; it was the juice leaking along the edge and flowing onto the catch pan below. Turns out 2 T. of corn starch isn’t nearly enough. Nor was the sugar. I cut the first piece and poured ¾ cup of juice out of the pie remaining in the pan and dumped more sugar on each piece.. Denis loves soupy anything from lasagna to pie, so, happy, happy Denis. Sweet Denis. I admit my crust is a ten, a thing I can’t help or really claim. It’s like Kristi Yamaguchi doing a sit-spin, just nothing to it. But happy Margie, I did stand in the sun for thirty minutes and you can hardly go wrong with that even if you don’t get the thickening right. 

Good for now

 Sitting at home watching snow gently falling straight down, amassing by the second, almost white-out. Coffee at hand. Oatmeal pancakes digesting. A bit of glory between battles. 

L’Abri conference last weekend. Very good. Wonderful speakers. Especially Denis, of course. Despite the fact that I was relieved of teaching workshops I still talked my head off.  No, not totally true, I listened a lot. Lots of people, as usual – all good. That is, in the way of connecting with people. So much suffering, though. You hear people’s stories. But there seemed to be a balm, an infusion of courage, a seeing with new eyes that comes from being together and being reminded that we are a great company of people living and sharing in the hope of  Regeneration that is coming. Inexorably. It will arrive. On some days this language sounds insane, but not today when I read: “I was filled with delight day after day, rejoicing always in his presence, rejoicing in the whole world…” (Prov. 8:30)

Anita got really sick with the flu starting last Sunday – lasted all week. Amazingly, so far, neither Denis nor I got it. From this week’s cooking we’ve ended up with a lot of left-overs. Like mid-eastern lamb patties, roasted tomato mint salad, saffron rice, hamburger gravy (a comfort food around here) a box full of clementines, and who knows what all. So, yea, no work on this Sabbath day.

Tomorrow Honeysuckle gets sheared. Her wool must be six-seven inches long. And with temps in the 30s she’s feeling hotter n Hades. Panting out there on the back porch.