Make Mud Pies

Dicey ladies...

2012-02-12T15:48:00.002-08:00

I met Charlie’s mother on a spring afternoon. Home from college on semester break, Charlie and I decided that it was time I visited the family homestead and make an official appearance as the “new girlfriend.” Perched high atop San Rafael hill, the custom-built mid-century home with sweeping views of Mt. Tamalpais and a large open living room with high-beamed ceilings had been built by Charlie’s locally prominent grandparents as an entertainer’s paradise.

Recently passed down to Charlie’s parents, the pristine home bore no battle scars that would hint to the fact that these same parents raised four now-grown children…no tattered basketball hoop in the driveway, no rusty swing set in the yard, not a hint of crayon on the wall or faded Kool-aid stain on the sofa.

A campaign publicity photo from the 50's...that's Alice on the right of the hearth.

As I passed across the manicured front walk, through the big double doors, I was struck by a sense of meticulous order that was bracingly unfamiliar to me. The white sculptured area rug was immaculate, a glistening sterling silver tea set sat perched atop the dining room sideboard, and beams of sunlight shone through a huge, smudge-free picture wall of glass, highlighting a polished wooden floor oddly free of dust bunnies or crushed Cheerios.

Yes, there we are...the happy young couple, and that's me carrying not only the freshman fifteen, but an enormous hunk of cake to-go.

Back at my family’s suburban split level, evidence of an “active” family life was in full swing. Piles of laundry from two visiting college-aged kids littered the worn sectional couch and muddy cleats, half-completed science projects covering the breakfast table and a fridge plastered with magnets, Little League schedules and homework served as countless clues that a young boy still lived at home.

Yes, walking into Charlie’s family home was like nothing I had ever seen but I think the thing that struck me the most was that it appeared to be “bridge day.” Poised between the cream colored sofa, the marble fireplace and the long maple hi-fi were three card tables, each strategically positioned and neatly covered with a starched, hand-stitched little table cloth created distinctly for this purpose. A white notepad, a sharpened pencil and a crystal dish filled with chocolate-covered mixed nuts completed each vignette.

Was Alice having a bridal shower? What was up with the paper and the pencils? I had only heard of bridge on repeats of the Dick Van Dyke show. Did people really play this game…and in the middle of the day?

At our house, a deck of cards came out only after the big ravioli platter and our mismatched service station juice glasses had been cleared from the kitchen table, and enough red wine had flowed to turn dinner with the neighbors into a late-night Pinochle party. Bridge? Ladies? Tidy white linens? I was intrigued…

Fast forward 25 years and it was time for Charlie’s folks to bid farewell to the family home. Choosing to downsize, they decided to hold an “estate sale” of sorts -- all items free and the only customers, their four children and spouses. With our color-coded Post-its in-hand, each “child” circulated from table to table sticking tags to the items we hoped to bring into our homes to cherish and care-take for future generations.

As the only sister-in-law, I was prepared and willing to take the back seat and scoop up the remnants...a couple of pieces of Tupperware and maybe a Pyrex if I was lucky. To my delight, his sisters had little interest in so many of the treasures I coveted: Alice and Ole’s sliver baby porridge bowls, mini monogrammed sterling ashtrays, tiny enameled jam spoons and yes, those starched card table cloths, hanging over an arm chair, still in their dry-cleaning bags, calling to come home to me.

I gathered my treasures and tucked them away, pulling them out every so often to admire while pondering what life would have been like as one of those “bridge” ladies. But, somehow, when I’d catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I’d trudge between the home office and the washing machine only to see the familiar reflection of a bedraggled woman in a flannel nightie and worn out Uggs, it occurred to me that perhaps my beautiful little linens would never again feel the tippy tap of manicured nails on their starched little selves.

That is, until I discovered a little game called Bunko.

After all, Charlie had his golf buddies, and this girl was starving for some sister-love. It had been years since nights out with “all the single ladies” had given way to nights up with the "all the cranky babies." Now that the kids were a little older, old enough to boot out of the house with Daddy for one evening a year, it seemed time to gather some girls for some good old fashion fun.

I hit the Internet looking for a reason to lure a bunch of gals around a few card tables on a regular basis. A book club…hum, no time to read. A dinner club…yikes, I do that every night. Bridge...I heard you actually need to think.

No, there really was only one option: Bunko… 12 women, 12 bottles of wine, 12 five dollar bills, 9 dice, and one Friday night a month. No thinking is required. In fact, it’s discouraged.

Three card tables, each set with three dice, hold four women who roll for maximum points while each respective group counts out in unison as points are accumulated. “One…two…three!” we shout out in chorus like twelve ESL students on their first day of Junior College. The counting and rolling proceeds until someone bursts out “Bunko” signifying a lucky roll of three like dice. At that point, everyone grabs their glass of wine and their score card and marches on to roll again at the next table over.

The rules tend to change to suit our needs and our murky memories but somehow, someone always walks off with some cash for “high score” or a bottle of wine as the consolation prize going to the biggest loser of the night.

I have a feeling that this is a little different than an afternoon of bridge with Alice and the ladies. For some reason, I envision their gatherings to have been more like a scene from “The Help”, complete with tidy coiffed hair-dos, snappy little purses and sandwiches served with the crusts cut off. Our evenings tend to be a bit more colorful…

The group has evolved over the years and is motley by design: a hair stylist, a poet, a teacher, a dentist, a realtor, a couple of mortgage brokers, a few part-time stay-at-home moms, a wine distributor and several combinations thereof.

Gals with kids, some without, and a grandma to-boot…we’ve come together through school, through work, through family, through neighbors and through friends of friends of friends, but somehow we have gelled into a crew of unlikely comrades who share an addiction to belly laughing till we’re sore, a tolerance for loud music and off-color remarks, and an insatiable need to commune in the unique way we do.

The smokes are candy...by the way

We eat an un-dainty meal of pasta Bolognese or pozole, drink tons of wine, and snack on cake and cobbler and chocolates while we pretend to keep score.

Sometimes, so caught up in conversations ranging from night sweats and new shoes to varicose veins and Vegas, we don’t even get to the game. During our last get together, my mom, the adopted grandma of the crew, professed during a lively debate on cosmetic procedures (who’s had ‘em, who wants ‘em) “You girls are my Botox!” Well said, Mama, well said!

Last month was my turn to host and here's a little something my poet friend wrote on my chalkboard on her way out the door. It's still on my wall even though it makes William crazy, "Mom, I don't get it!" Son, you never will...

A couple of days before the big night, the ceremonial preparation began as I trudged my card tables in from the garage, hoisted my buffet plates down from the high shelves, pulled out those beloved little cloths and began to drape them lovingly over each table.

I smoothed my hand over the laundered linens, smiling to myself as I noticed little grey ghosts of parties past. I closed my eyes and chuckled, remembering red wine flying from either Paula's signature expressive style of conversation or Lizzie's new twist on flinging the dice with flair. Hummm, I guess they drank club soda back in the bridge days because these cloths did not look like this when I got 'em.

As usual I used the girls as a testing ground for a recipe that was new to me but one chock full of my favorite and familiar Moroccan flavors: Chicken Tagine. I served it with a beet, orange and fennel salad, couscous with parsley, and for dessert, a polenta pound cake with wine-poached pears, dried cherries and whipped creme fraiche. Yes...yum.

So my friends, I urge you to grab some dice, gather up eleven feisty friends and simmer up this dish which I hope you find as sweet and spicy as the ones you hold dear. Why?

"Because there is night

Because there is wine

Because tangled female love nests

creep through song

Because stories are born on Friday dice

Because cake."

Chicken Tagine with Apricots and Almonds

Note: Do not let the long list of ingredients scare you off. Basically this is just chicken stew using Moroccan spices. If you are out of cilantro, don't sweat it. If the preserved lemon is too much trouble, leave it out. Feel free to improvise!

Mix in a large bowl:

2.5 tsp ground cinnamon
2.5 tsp ground ginger
1.5 tsp turmeric
1.5 tsp black pepper
2 tsp salt
5 Tbs olive oil

Add and toss to coat:

6 pounds boneless chicken thighs, cleaned and dried

Heat in a large Dutch oven:

2 Tbs butter
2 Tbs olive oil

Brown chicken in batches on both sides, transfer to a plate.

Saute slowly until soft in the seasoned Dutch oven:

1 large red onion, thinly sliced
1/2 tsp salt
5 garlic cloves, minced

Add the browned chicken and reserved juices back to the pot and add:

5 fresh sprigs of fresh parsley and cilantro tied with kitchen twine
1 1/2 cups water or chicken stock (or enough to cover the meat about 1/3 of the way up)

Cover and simmer slowly for 30 minutes. While the chicken is simmering add to a separate small saucepan:

1/4 cup honey
1 1/2 cups water
1 cinnamon stick
1 cup Turkish dried apricots, separated into halves

Bring to a boil then simmer, uncovered until apricots are nicely softened. Remove apricots and simmer sauce until it is reduced to a thin syrup. Return apricots to the saucepan.

Heat in a skillet over moderate heat:

3 Tbs olive oil

Add and cook until golden then drain on a paper towel:

2/3 cup slivered or whole blanched almonds

Add the apricot mixture to the tagine, remove cinnamon stick and herb bundle.

Add to the tagine and warm:

1 preserved lemon*, rind only, quartered and sliced thin

Serve tagine over couscous, sprinkle with almonds and chopped fresh parsley.

Serves 12, generously with left overs

*http://www.myrecipes.com/recipe/preserved-lemons-10000000600612/

GI Janet

2012-01-03T14:51:00.000-08:00

Ladies and gentlemen...Christmas has left the building.

Tree...untrimmed. Halls...undecked. Cookies...consumed.

The only hint of holiday that remains is a stack of green and red Rubbermaid boxes perched patiently in the corner of the room waiting to be slid into the rafters...hopefully sometime before Easter.

Yes, we have even carried out our ceremonial gingerbread demolition: an admittedly twisted tradition of New Year's catharsis designed to ring out the old with a flying flurry of petrified ginger cookie, neon sprinkles and hardened icing.

As I sat on the curb this morning observing the aftermath of the gingerbread Armageddon, watching the kids scoop up the last remnants of Christmas 2011, I couldn't help but wonder, when I look back at this Christmas, what will I say it was "the Christmas that..."?

My mind started to drift, as it does, and I thought for a minute about happy ghosts of Christmas past and a parade of holiday memories marked by people and places and presents that,for one reason or another, stick to my psyche like a wayward piece of unwrapped candy cane hiding at the bottom of my purse.

I remember the Christmas that Greg and I got a new baby brother and Mom let me wear my go-go boots to church.

I remember the Christmas that Diane got chosen to be Mary in the class Nativity tableau and all I got to be was a stinkin' angel.

I remember the Christmas that Charlie and I celebrated together for the first time as husband and wife in our very first house. Yes, I am wearing a jumpsuit and yes, the star at the top of the tree is made of aluminum foil.

I remember the Christmas that we thought it would be clever to photograph our 3-week-old infant as if she was popping out of a Christmas package only to realize that it was probably ill-advised given that she couldn't even hold her head up on her own. The photos ended up looking like she was being sucked down into some sort of Christmas vortex by Thing from The Addams family.

Then there was the next Christmas that we had better luck with the whole baby-in-a-box concept...

There was the Christmas that Carly got her two-wheeler...

...and the next Christmas that she got her baby brother.

And, a few years later, there was the Christmas that baby brother finally got his two-wheeler too...

There was the Christmas that Mom got a pair of real diamond earrings, the Christmas that I got mono in high school, the Christmas that I sat on the couch most of the day holding my breath, and my water, hoping that I could get to the 26th without giving birth (thankfully William waited another week).

But, of all my "Christmases that...", the one that brings the biggest smile to my face is the one when GI Janet came to dinner.

It was 1974 and, as we did every year, Christmas was celebrated with Grandmas and Grandpas, Auntie Janet, Uncle Jack and their three kids. Each year we would alternate venues, one year at the cousins' home in Concord then the next at ours in Fairfax.

This particular year, Christmas was at home and was filled with the usual hopped-up holiday antics: kids running up and down the stairs dodging cousin cooties, an endless flow of crumpled wrapping paper swirling overhead, Karen Carpenter belting out Christmas tunes from the hi-fi and this particular year, it seems, an abundance of Almaden Chablis flowing from jug to glass.

The cousins, juiced on chocolate cake and adrenalin, thought it would be funny to heist the cigars my parents kept for guests in a cut glass jar on the coffee table and march around the house holding them between our teeth like a squad of tiny little Castros.

Not to let a parade pass her by, Auntie Janet put out her cigarette, grabbed a cigar for herself, lit it up, snatched my little brother's official General Patton plastic army helmet from beneath the tree and led her minions in triumphant splendor past the spectators laughing and raising their glasses of Creme de Menthe in tribute.

Ah, such a proud family moment. Check out Michael with the cigar in the lower right of the photo...I think he was about three.

Poor Auntie Janet never lived it down and has since been lovingly referred to as GI Janet. Even 25 years later at a family party, my Dad stuck a bowl on her head, gave her a cigar and had her strike a pose for posterity...

...at 5 or 55 I guess big brothers never really stop teasing their baby sisters.

Aside from her military fame, Auntie Janet is also a legendary cook. Perfectly prepared roasts, creamy mashed potatoes, meticulously decorated cakes, holiday meals were always a treat when Auntie Janet was at the helm. But, no matter who hosted Christmas each year, she would always be the one to belly up to the stove and take her place as the official gravy-maker in the family.

One year, when I was in high school, I think, she summoned me to her post and told me it was time I learned the tricks of the trade. For a couple of years after that, until our families started to grow and spend the holidays apart, I stood by my Auntie's side and assisted as she patiently coaxed a silken gravy out of what started out as the seemingly unsavory dregs of a steaming hot roasting pan.

One year, I realized that, without any pomp and circumstance, the whisk had been passed to me and I had become our family's "Queen of the Gravy."

This year, I asked Carly to babysit the pan while I tended to some brussel sprouts or the like. Little does she know that I have begun her clandestine initiation and my little heir, like it or not, will one day wear the dubious crown. There she is, in action below..."just a little more stock, Princess...that's it...keep whisking...".

So, if you were to ask me how I will remember this Christmas, I'm actually not quite sure how I would respond. Maybe it's the year that Patti gave me that killer Toasted Pine nut and Rosemary Brittle recipe or the year Laura made me that vintage Christmas apron complete with red dingle ball trim. Or maybe it's simply the year that an unspoken family tradition began it's journey from one generation to the next.

It's kind of OK, I think, that every year isn't a big fat "Christmas that..." marked by a landmark gift or a special event, so I'm just fine looking back at Christmas 2011 and remembering with a smile that we got through the year just fine, thank you, and stand together walking strong into the new year.

In hopes that you too might give my gravy a go and share it with your family, I roasted a chicken and snapped some photos to walk you through my version of Auntie Janet's yummy goodness. It might not fit into your January resolution for low fat living, but promise me you won't wait until next Thanksgiving to give it a try.

Here's what the roasting pan looked like after I pulled out the bird to rest on a plate nearby. Not so pretty, I know, but this is where almost every bit of the gravy's flavor originates. Before roasting,I had rubbed the chicken down with generous amounts of butter, chopped garlic, salt and pepper and shoved an onion and a lemon into it's nether regions which, despite the indignity for the chicken, gave this gravy a really, really delicious, tangy, roasted garlic flavor.

Pour the pan juices off into a measuring cup or a gravy fat separator. The fat will rise to the top and the flavor-packed drippings will sink to the bottom. Reserve it all.

Straddle the roasting pan over two burners on the stove top and set the heat to medium-high. Pour about two tablespoons of the fat back into the pan, add two tablespoons of butter and, using a wooden spoon, scrape up the brown bits from the pan.

Sprinkle about 4 tablespoons of flour over the melted fat and blend together over the heat being careful not to burn your concoction.

Now you have a roux. Cook this for a few minutes until it starts to thicken, darken and bubble.

Start to add your stock (chicken if you have roasted a chicken, beef if you have roasted a beef), slowly incorporating it with a whisk, waiting for the gravy to thicken slightly before each addition. My gravy took about two cups of stock this time to get the the consistency I wanted.

When your gravy is almost where you want it, skim as much fat as possible off the drippings you have reserved and add the gooey goodness that remains to the mix for a real flavor boost.

Adjust your seasoning with salt and pepper if you need it and serve warm over your perfectly roasted meat. This gravy ended up light brown with little flecks of roasted garlic...one of my best I'd say. Your version may be darker or lighter depending on the state of your drippings to start. If you look at the photo of Carly working the turkey gravy above, you can see that it was really deep and dark which had a lot to do with the hours and hours of roasting and the basting of butter and white wine...yum! Any way you slice it, it's good stuff.

GI Janet's Pan Gravy

Ingredients:

Pan drippings
2 Tablespoons butter
1/4 cup flour
2 cups stock

1.) Pour all of the roasting liquid from your pan into a glass measuring cup or gravy fat separator and reserve.

2.) Straddle the pan over two burners, set the heat to medium/high, add the two Tablespoons of butter and two Tablespoons of the reserved fat which has risen to the top of your measuring cup. Scrape brown bits from pan with a wooden spoon.

3.) Sprinkle flour over melted fat and cook the roux for a few minutes until it is thick and darkened.

4.) Begin to add the stock and little at a time, incorporating fully and letting thicken after each addition.Continue adding stock until you reach your desired consistency.

5.) Remove any remaining fat from your reserved juices and add to your gravy the rich dark drippings that remain.

6.) Season with salt and pepper if needed.

Makes enough to accompany one roasted chicken and some mashed potatoes on the side.

Gratitude and Granola

2011-12-05T21:13:00.000-08:00

Today I found a penny on the pavement. I picked it up and made a wish. It made me happy.

I tossed the rusty brown coin into my purse, fumbled for my keys, wrangled myself into the car and shut the door. Immediately, I was enveloped by the sun-baked, silent squishiness of my mobile cocoon.

Ah, silence, solitude…I took a deep breath and thought to myself, no one can find me here…at least for the next few minutes.

Click. I locked the door, put back my head, closed my eyes and let my mind drift freely, for just a minute or two, beyond the gallon of milk I forgot to buy, the dentist appointment I just remembered, and the distinctive aroma of soccer socks and four day-old lunches wafting from the nether regions of my SUV.

I started to think about that penny.

Would my wish come true? What a gift to just sit for a minute, there alone in the middle of the mall parking lot, and think good thoughts…all for the price of someone’s lost penny. “It’s the little things”, I thought, "those little injections of emotional B-12 that transform ordinary days into a string of bite-sized extraordinary moments…if we let them."

I began to rewind my day, my week, my month…focusing less and less every second on my marinating car and that forgotten gallon of milk and more and more on the penny and some of the countless other opportunities someone or something recently gave me to smile. I thought about…

The rumpled stranger just minutes ago in the check-out line who said “God Bless You” when I sneezed…and really meant it.

An old school-mate I ran into at my reunion and our conversation about my Mom and the cardboard costumes she made for our second grade Christmas play.

The fact that Mom still lives down the street and helps me with every costume I make to this day.

The distinctive humor of an 8-year old boy aptly demonstrated when he is given a set of markers and asked to decorate his sister’s birthday gift wrap...

..and a teenage sister still sweet enough to sit with him and his buddies and help them decorate gingerbread houses.

The smell of coffee drifting upstairs and the confidence that every morning, without fail, Charlie will grind me a fresh batch of beans and perch them atop my favorite cup, ready for me to brew when I eventually stumble down.

This morning's milk in reindeer glasses and knowing we get to use them for a whole month.

Christmas ornaments made from macaroni.

A perfect pear plucked from a friend’s tree.

Sunsets.

Gratitude is a powerful elixir and I felt quiet and full from its effects. I slowly lifted my head. It was time to go. My groceries were melting, I needed to call that dentist before his office closed for the day, and it was my turn to pick up the kids from the Dojo. I would probably be late. I should call.

I looked down at my phone and realized that my outdated Star Trek mock flip communicator-style phone had died...again. Now I’ve really gotta go. I looked back, began to pull out and caught eyes with the woman who had been waiting for my parking spot. She glared back at me, raised her hands in frustration and tapped on her steering wheel as I pulled away.

"Someone needs a penny," I thought. So I shot her a sincere smile and said a little prayer that her day would get better.

I started to think more about the little things I try to do to create bright moments in friends and strangers’ days and challenged myself to work consciously toward creating more of them.

Maybe tomorrow morning I’ll sneak out to Charlie’s frosty car-sicle a few minutes early and blast the heater for him. Perhaps I’ll pull my neighbor’s garbage cans in from the street for her today before she gets home from work. And, for sure, the next time I drop a penny on the ground, I’ll leave it there for someone else to find. I hope their wish comes true.

With the holidays here, it is no surprise that one of my favorite ways to spread good cheer, so to speak, is through the gift of something yummy. Although I don’t always have my act together, I try to almost always have, on-hand, something homemade to bring to friends' homes when we go-a-visitin’.

There’s something so retro-licious about the whole "hostess gift" thing. Nothing big…just a few little hand soaps, a set of taper candles or a jar of Farmer’s Market local honey; it’s a lost tradition for the most part, it seems, but one of those little niceties that is worth bringing back...don't you think?

So, here’s an idea for you to chew on: homemade granola. It doesn’t get much easier (note my four-year-old jammie-clad assistant in the photos below) and makes for a fun and unusual presentation. I grabbed some cool little jars at the new Dollar Store in town (OK, I admit it...I'm excited) whipped up a crunchy batch and set it aside to bring to Mike and Lib’s party this Saturday night.

I’m guessing they won’t be getting a jar of homemade granola from any of their other guests and I’d like to think it will bring a smile to their faces Sunday morning when they push aside the half-empty bottles of wine and find it on their counter…that’s the effect I’m going for anyway!

Here's what you will need...most of the items are simple pantry basics...

Sprinkle the nuts over the oats on a rimmed baking sheet (no need to butter or oil the pan).

...then drizzle the decadent goo over the oats and nuts...

...and toss to coat.

Sprinkle and mix with brown sugar, cinnamon and kosher salt.

Bake at 350° for about 5-10 minutes until the nuts begin to turn very light brown, checking and stirring once or twice along the way. Remove from the oven, add the coconut, stir well, return to the oven and bake for another 5-10 minutes or so, making sure nothing scorches and the coconut toasts just right.

Remove from the oven, sprinkle in your dried fruit (I used golden raisins and cranberries this time), toss and cool.

Honey Almond Granola

Preheat oven to 350°.

Mix on a rimmed baking sheet:

2 1/2 cups oats
1 cup slivered almonds (or other nuts)

Melt:

1/4 cup unsalted butter

Add to it:

1/4 cup honey

Drizzle mixture over nuts and oats, mix well.

Sprinkle over, mix in and bake, stirring often, until lightly browned:

1/3 cup packed brown sugar
cinnamon to taste
kosher salt to taste

Sprinkle over, mix and bake until golden brown:

1 cup flaked coconut

Add, mix in and toss to cool:

1 cup dried fruit to taste (try raisins, cranberries, apricots...)

Enjoy!

Makes about 4 cups

My Formerly Feathered Friend

2011-10-18T13:22:00.000-07:00

Fall is here.

First day of school...check. Umbrellas and rain boots pulled out of storage...check. Gutters cleaned...check. First runny nose of the season...check.

Yep. It was Typhoid Willy and I must say, I felt a little ill-prepared.

It seems that just last week we were wearing floppy hats, dangling our feet off the back of the boat and sucking down snow cones.

But suntans gave way to sniffles last week so I found myself running to the trusty medicine basket only to find that our anti-viral arsenal was pitifully depleted.

A couple lingering Airbornes rattled in the plastic vial, an oddball Emergen-C poked itself out of a re-purposed sippy cup with some calcium chews stuck to the bottom, and a dusty tub of assorted Gummy-Vites snuggled up against a vat of Kirkland Ibuprofen...this isn't gonna do it, I thought...this calls for the big guns: chicken soup...STAT!

Time to drag out the cauldron and start brewing my witchy elixir...good old Grandma's penicillin...guaranteed to cure what ails ya.

I don't really know what it is about chicken soup but somehow, just putting it to simmer on the stove, makes me feel like I've got the answer. The answer to what, you ask. Well, I'm really not quite sure. Every time I plop a roaster into a pot filled with veggies and herbs, it just feels like I'm doing something right...something healing, something nurturing...unless you're the chicken, I guess.

Every year it seems I start to "soup up" sometime around Halloween only to hoist the big copper stock pot back onto the garage shelves shortly after the last spring sniffle.

During those months, you'll likely find a pot of stock simmering on my stove most murky Sunday afternoons. Generally I find motivation in my crisper drawer as I clear out for the week's fresh produce.

Ahhhh...a few floppy celery stalks, a carrot or two that have seen better days, a a couple of onion halves shoved toward the back of the drawer, wayward remnants of Tuesday's stir fry and Thursday's spaghetti sauce...together with the chicken-sicle I usually keep handy in the freezer, the dregs of my pantry are mere hours from transforming into something magically delicious.

So, into the pot it all goes: a decent-sized bird, about four stalks of celery or so, a few carrots, and an onion. If I have a bunch of parsley in the drawer, I rip of the stems and throw them in for good measure too. If you've got organic goods, all the better, but this time, I'm using the good old pesticide-ridden, hormone-laden stuff I have.

Next, fill the pot with water...enough to cover the chicken and veggies but not so much that it will boil over when your brew starts to bubble. At this point, I toss in a few peppercorns and a bay leaf or two.

Now, let the games begin. Turn the heat up to high until it starts to boil. Skim off any yucky stuff that starts to float to the top then reduce the heat and let it simmer for about 45 minutes or so (or until your chicken is cooked through). This will depend on the size of your formerly feathered friend.

Carefully remove your chicken from the broth and place it in a bowl to rest until it is cool enough to handle then pick all of the meat from the bones and return them (the bones) to the pot. Reserve the meat for your soup.

At this point, the house should be filled with the smells of homey goodness. Look to the couch and find whatever loved one happens to be stretched out at the time and snuggle on up. Doze off to the muted sounds of cartoons, football or trashy TV and take deep breaths of the warm, steamy air wafting from the kitchen.

Now, let that stock simmer for at least a couple more hours or so on low heat to complete it's transformation from bath time for chicky to rich chicken stock.

The stock will look pretty ugly at this point: tired old veggies, chicken bones and all. Time to strain everything out and reserve the broth. I used a cheesecloth to remove any sediment this time as my stock was a little more murky than usual. Note: try not to let the pot boil beyond the initial heat up as this can make your stock cloudy.

Toss out the gross stuff (veggies and bones) and place the stock in the fridge. Most of the fat will rise and solidify on the top so you can easily scoop it off. Feel free to reserve the fat for later...it's good stuff! In Jewish cooking, it's called schmaltz and is a key ingredient in making matzo ball soup...rumored to be a more potent cure than penicillin! If nothing else, save it just cause it's fun to say the word schmaltz when someone asks what the gunk in the fridge is.

So, you've got your skimmed stock and your beautiful poached chicken...time to make some soup.

For a big pot of soup, I use about 2 cups of celery, about the same of carrots and about one cup of onion (all fresh...not the droopy stuff). Sometimes I like my veggies chunky but lately I've been in a small dice kind of mood. I find that if you plan to freeze your soup, the veggies can get a little rubbery if they are too big.

Saute your diced veggies in a combo of olive oil and butter until they are tender.

Add your yummy stock and the reserved chicken. I usually like to shred it into irregular pieces but feel free to cube it or whatever suits your taste at the time.

Time to season. I like to add a handful of finely minced fresh parsley, about a half tablespoon or so of dried crumbled thyme and lots of salt and freshly cracked pepper to taste (you'll be surprised how much salt it takes).

A couple of notes about seasoning: 1.) Under-salt the soup at first. Put a little in a bowl and let it cool. Taste it warm, taste it cool and go from there. I find that after smelling soup in my house all day, my taste buds are a little off...easier to add salt when you serve it than try to remove it later (no can do). Also, if you are making this for sickies, their taste buds are probably off too so they may need to adjust as well 2.) Feel free to experiment. I like my soup simple...just parsley, thyme, salt and pepper but you may have other ideas. 3.) I generally add noodles or rice at serving time. Boil them separately and add to the bowl as you serve. That way, you get an even distribution of the goodies and they don't soak up all of the broth during cooking or storage.

This recipe is the perfect base from which you can create a million different meals. In our house, we pour it steaming hot into a bowl filled with a big mound of shredded cheese (just like my Mama does). Eat the first batch like this, then freeze some for later and try these add-to's:

Matzo Ball Soup: add parsnips, dill and matzo balls (use that schmaltz)!

Tortilla Soup: toss in some diced roasted Ortega chilies, diced tomatoes, a little cumin, chili powder, some tortillas strips, shredded Mexican cheese cilantro and diced avocado to garnish

Chicken and Dumplings: grab a box of Bisquick, mix up some dumplings, plop them in to steam and yum!

Asian Noodle Soup: throw in some rice noodles, cilantro, fresh ginger, bean sprouts, a splash of fish sauce, soy sauce, chopped scallions, maybe some chili paste and a squeeze of lime

Minestrone-Style Soup: add big fat rigatoni, white or kidney beans, diced tomato, oregano, shredded Swiss chard or other veggies on hand,chopped garlic and lots of Parmesan sprinkled on top

Last Sunday, I just happened to be going to see a friend who was down for the count so I thought I'd fill a Mason jar, steaming hot right off the stove and bring it on by. This time, I had some ABC pasta on hand and decided to toss it in...I thought it might make her smile. It did.

Chicken Soup

Place in a large stock pot and cover with water:

1 roasting chicken

about 4 stalks of celery

about 4 carrots

about 1 onion

maybe a handful of parsley stems if you have them

a few whole peppercorns
a bay leaf or two

Bring to a boil, skim off scum, reduce heat to simmer until chicken is cooked through (about 45 minutes). Remove chicken, cool, remove meat from bones, reserve meat, add bones back to pot and simmer for a couple of more hours until stock is rich and concentrated. Strain stock, chill and skim fat.

Saute in a large pot:

2 Tablespoons olive oil

2 Tablespoons butter

about 2 cups of diced celery

about 2 cups of diced carrots

about 1 cup of diced onion

about 1/2 Tablespoon dried crumbled thyme

Add:

reserved shredded chicken

Season with :

a big handful of chopped fresh parsley

salt and pepper to taste

Enjoy in good health...L'Chaim!

Dear Food Diary...

2011-09-21T14:57:00.000-07:00

Dear Food Diary,

I am proud to report that today marks Day 7 of Gluten–Free living for Carly and me. Not a speck of wheat has touched our lips: no wayward crust off a trimmed PB&J, no nibble off the edge of a lone McNugget, no cookie, no cupcake, no cream puff…no way.

Why gluten-free? Well, we’re not quite sure. To be honest, it seemed like the trendy thing to do and we both wanted some sort of framework to help thwart our inborn gravitational pull toward anything toasted and slathered with a cube of butter. Perhaps cutting out wheat would be the first step toward some sort of self-discipline come feeding time at the zoo.

Well my dear diary, I am not so pleased to report that our results have been less than glowing. After one week of deli sandwich deprivation, our cheeks are not rosier, our teeth do not shine with the brilliance of a thousand suns, our skinny jeans remain too skinny and if Miss Frizzle and her Magic School Bus took a field trip through our lower intestines, she’d travel a windy path still fraught with just as many road hazards as before.

Were our expectations too high? Perhaps. But you know what I’m guessing? I’m guessing that our lack of promised physical, spiritual and emotional transformation has something to do with the fact that both of us have found every wheat-free way to crush our carbohydrate cravings.

Oatmeal is a proven cholesterol-fighter, is it not? Dark chocolate…how else would we get our anti-oxidants? Frozen yogurt…Doc says we gotta get that calcium.

Of course, we might have overlooked the fact that our oatmeal is generally topped with brown sugar and cream, we buy our dark chocolate in Trader Joe's "pound-plus" bars ,and nonfat, soft-serve, frozen yogurt has become a daily obsession, slathered with scoops of crushed Heath Bar, Gummi worms and hot fudge.

Oh, dear food diary…do you think we may have missed the point?

None-the-less, we've been having a little bit of fun with it anyway…trying to cheat the system by creating tasty concoctions sure to fool even the most discerning of palates. Recipe resources are plentiful: the Internet, cookbooks, the lady next to me in line at the grocery store…all of a sudden, it’s a gluten-free world!

It’s funny. You know when you get a puppy, then, like magic, it seems that everyone you know has a puppy too? I remember, that’s how it was when I was pregnant; never noticed all those full-bellied girls before then low and behold, I join the club and I feel like I’m, living in the land of Oompa-Loompas. This past week it seems that everyone from the mailman to the goalie on Carly’s field hockey team considers wheat to be the devil’s grain.

But, back to our adventures in baking…

A few days ago, I finally got to Good Earth in search of a few wacky ingredients I would need to make a zucchini bread recipe I found on the Internet. Why not? Gotta use up that giant mutant zucchini from our garden. The recipe suggested peeling it in stripes which I thought was cool-looking if nothing else.

Perusing the aisles, somewhere between the seaweed snacks and the soy milk, I found the baking section. “Let’s see…sorghum flour? Check. Tapioca flour? Check. Xanthan gum…seriously? Sounds like something you would use to remove rust from a marine propeller. By golly there it is! Check.”

Thirty nine dollars and eighty-eight cents later, I had everything I needed to make that loaf of bread. It better be good.

Guess what…it was delicious! I even had some left over supplies so Carly whipped up a dozen vanilla cupcakes for a gluten-free gal pal who turns “Sweet Sixteen” today. She found this recipe on the same site noted below.

I must admit, they were yummy too! We had our doubts as the batter was weirdly gummy but when the timer buzzed, we eagerly pulled those funny-looking little cakes steaming hot out of the oven and waived one around for a few minutes until it was cool enough to slather with homemade butter cream before sending it down our deprived gullets. So what that it was 11 pm at night and we were eating cupcakes…they’re gluten-free!

Here’s the recipe for the zucchini bread if you ever feel the need to hop on the wheat-free love train. Me and Carly? Not sure how long we’ll be along for the ride but at least we’re having a few laughs along the rails and learning some new stuff while we’re at it.

First grate the zucchini, squeeze it with a paper towel until it is as dry as you can get it, then set it aside.

Cream the wet ingredients, mix the dry in a separate bowl, then add them to the wet. Mix into this battter the zucchini and the walnuts (say "yes" to Omega-3s).

Spread into an oiled loaf pan into which you have previously placed a sheet of parchment like this.

And, voila...gluten-free goodness: sweet and moist with a crisp but tender crust!

After all of this baking, maybe next week we’ll go Atkins…bring on the bacon!

Gluten-Free Zucchini Bread

Cream together:

1 cup brown sugar

1/3 cup coconut oil

Add in:

2 egg whites
¼ cup coconut milk
1 tps lemon juice
1 tps lemon zest

Stir together in a separate bowl then add to wet ingredients:

1 cup sorghum flour
½ cup tapioca flour
2 tsps baking powder
½ tsp baking soda
¾ tsp xanthan gum
½ tsp salt
1 tsp cinnamon

Stir in to the batter:

1 rounded cup fresh grated zucchini (really squish out as much moisture as you can using paper towels then fluff with a fork to measure)
1/3 cup chopped walnuts (optional)

Bake at 350 degrees for 50-60 minutes or until tester comes out clean.

Adapted from recipe found at http://glutenfreegoddess.blogspot.com/

Grandpa "Cheese"

2011-09-02T20:00:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking a lot about my grandpa lately...which is a little odd since we really never met.

Maybe it's that we were just in Tahoe and I think of him every time we drive by the old King's Beach bar he built with his own hands in the 30's. That's him chopping down the trees...

And here is the finished product! Over the last 80 years it's lived through many incarnations and today, us young folk know the spot as Caliente.

Maybe it's that my Mom just had a birthday and each year I am reminded that, that day many years ago, he welcomed his third baby girl into this world while, sadly, he watched his wife leave it forever.

Here is my beautiful Grandma Alice with her first two girls, my aunts. When Grandma Alice passed in childbirth, her sister Josephine (we called her Grandma Finy) would leave all she knew back home, come to America and raise Mom as her own (and that, my friends, is another story)...

Maybe it's that I heard on the news that the old building in Alameda that housed their dairy and soda fountain in the 20's and 30's is being restored and, under layers of siding and stucco, they found a faded sign touting their State Fair-award-winning cream.

Maybe it's that everyone in the family called the old Swiss dairyman "Grandpa Cheese" and sometimes the thought of that just makes me smile.

Growing up in my family, you probably wouldn’t have found it odd to have a Grandpa named “Cheese.”

Every morning, his daughter (we called her Mom) served our toast with a slab of butter as thick as a deck of cards. "Special" occasions, from Arbor Day to Hanukkah, were frequent, and always warranted a free pass to top anything with a Matterhorn of whipped cream.

The freezer was always jammed with at least four flavors of ice cream and when we’d unwrap the mystery square of waxed paper in our lunchboxes, we’d often find a hunk of Swiss cheese partially covered by an afterthought of two thin slices of Roman Meal wheat bread posing as a sandwich.

French Brie, Danish Blue, Irish Cheddar, Greek Feta…Mom did not discriminate. A United Nations of cheese products always filled our fridge, hurriedly wrapped in a waif-like sheet of Saran and crammed into one of three dedicated drawers like dairy delegates waiting their turn to represent the motherland.

Why would we not have a Grandpa named “Cheese?” He was a huge part of our lives. He had everything to do with who we are today. But, the funny thing is, us kids never really knew him. We were just babies when he died...

Grandpa Cheese was born in 1889 in the Kanton of Uri Switzerland. His given name was Ambros Furrer and he thrived as a young man along with his brothers and sisters in his mountain home along with the other real-life mountain-dwelling, cow-herding, lederhosen wearing dairymen. Here is the mountaintop village where he was raised, complete with cow.

Here's the way up...

And here are my cousins who operate the lift...to this day...yikes! That's Mom in the black jacket visiting them a few years back.

This is where they live. Come on...does it get more Swiss?

There he met the beautiful and adventuresome Elisabetha (she came to be known as Alice in the new country). They married in 1922, set out to America on their honeymoon...and never looked back.

Doesn't this photo taken on the deck of their honeymoon cruise ship remind you of a scene from The Titanic? A little spooky, I think, until you peer through the mist and notice the sweet smile on my grandmother's face and the proud posture of her loving groom.

Two little girls soon made a family of four.Together, they settled in Alameda and opened a creamery on Webster Street. Along with making and delivering milk, cream and cheese, word has it that their soda fountain was the place to meet! Grandma ran the business, Grandpa worked the dairy and my aunts were the coolest cats in town.

Even though my mom was never a part of their lives together, I like to think about those days and imagine that somehow they are a part of ours.

So, by now, you've probably figured out that my thoughts and feelings usually manifest themselves eventually into something edible. I've been wanting to experiment with making cheese for a long time, and given my recent need to get in touch with my milkmaid roots, I thought it would be fun to finally make it happen. I got my hands on the ingredients, dug up a recipe on the Internet, and dove in without a whole lot of forethought. Mom stopped by so I handed her the Flip camera and we documented our journey through curds and whey.

I'm pretty sure that the laughs we had along the way were more delicious than the actual end result but, for our first try, I'd have to say that the cheese wasn't half bad. We're looking forward to our next go at it, with modifications, but know that "Grandpa Cheese" would have been proud to see two generations up to their elbows in the family business.

So, here's my thought for the day...take a minute to think lovingly about the ones who came before us...the ones who came from so far away, some by choice, and some by need, to make a better life for themselves and their families. Dig out Auntie Nora's old Irish soda bread recipe or the closely guarded formula for Uncle Guido's famous Bolognese and fill your home with the tastes and smells that bind families across generations.

Bon Appetit, Buon Appetito and Guten Appetit!

Coconut and Karma

2011-07-05T19:38:00.000-07:00

Funny how the universe has a way of working things out. Sometimes it takes twenty years...but when payback is due, one must pay.

You see, it was about twenty years ago that I asked two of my best girlfriends to make my wedding cake.

Seriously?

What was I thinking?

Were these gals professional pastry chefs? No. Were they trained in food service or food preparation in any way? No. Were they particularly crafty or foodie? No. Did they even like to cook? I think you know the answer...

The fact was that one of them (Onnie) had recently taken a cake decorating class with her sister and I made the executive decision that she, bolstered by the moral support of our other friend Susi, would be more than adequately qualified to bake, decorate, assemble, and transport a four-tiered wedding cake for 200. Wouldn't they be honored by my request? Wouldn't they be relieved to have their wedding gift choice made for them? Wouldn't they think it would be "fun?"

Never mind that Onnie's experience went as far as the remedial weekend course at Cake Art. Never mind that, at the time, Susi's idea of fine cooking meant that she actually took the tortilla chips out of the bag before serving them. Oh yes...did I mention that Onnie was about 22 months pregnant? No problem.

So, of course, my dear, dear, friends said yes...and the adventure began.

Needless to say, I dictated the cake recipe (one ladened with rich almond paste, sugar and eggs), the filling (wouldn't lemon curd be a lovely addition?), the frosting (a cream cheese buttercream) and a detailed piping pattern straight out of a book called "Weddings" by some new upstart named Martha Stewart). Not to worry about keeping the rich, buttery, concoction cool. The wedding was in January after all.

Well...it doesn't take Einstein to do the math.: twelve logs of almond paste, ten pounds of butter, eight pounds of cream cheese, four dozen eggs, a small tree full of lemons, a giant sack of cake flour and a bigger one of sugar...add a pinch of inexperience, a 75 degree January day, and what do you get...the leaning tower of cake.

It gets better. Charlie's dad was, at the time, the president and long-standing member of the golf club where our reception was held. As my friends walked through the door, gingerly transporting each tier to the cake table, the layers continued to shift like lemon-filled tectonic plates before their eyes and the catering manager watched in horror, shaking her head, as the tower began to buckle.

"Do you realize who's wedding this is?" she said to them as they stacked and centered and shimmed. "The groom is the son of a very important member and we just can't have this!" My friends stood there shaking in their patent leather pumps.

She had no idea that they weren't professionals...that they were my faithful friends, delivering a a labor of love filled more with their blood sweat and tears than sugar, eggs and flour.

The florist (thank goodness, another old friend) came to their aid, scurrying around the layers like a frenzied worker bee, shoving ferns and flowers under every divot until, when you looked at it from just the right angle, it shined like the masterpiece it was. I can still see them intercepting me at the entrance of the club before I could make my way to the cake table. They each took me by the hand, looked me sheepishly in the eyes and said, "at least the cake is moist."

It was beautiful. It was delicious. And, I can't imagine a more perfect cake.

Now the payback.

About a year ago, my friend Cherie announced that she was engaged, a wedding was in the works (yay!), and, by the way, would I make the cake (huh)?

OK. So I do like to cook, I've baked a cake or two in my day, I am a little bit crafty, but my "customers" are generally a bit less discerning and my home spun, boxed Betty Crocker creations usually take the shape of a pink barbie doll, a fire engine or a space shuttle designed to serve 10-12 sugar-crazed kids who's only concern is if they get the piece with the rose.

Will insisted that his macho fire truck have pink roses like all of Sissy's bday cakes

A wedding cake? A creation that will be showcased and immortalized in photos on one of the most important days of my friend's life? I broke into a flop sweat. "OK kiddo," I mumble to myself, "you're in the big leagues now."

Well, a couple of months passed, the wedding got postponed due to a move and I figured that I had fooled fate and dodged the cake bullet....until I got the call this May. "We're doing it. The wedding's on, it's in June and, by the way, you will still make the cake...right?"

Thank goodness Cherie scored much lower on the "Bridezilla" scale than me. Her only four requests were that the cake have a coconut flavor, that it not be dry, that the flowers match her bouquet and that I use the hand-crafted, monogram topper she ordered that was to arrive a couple of days before the wedding.

Alrighty then...I can do this. For three weeks, I'd lie in bed at night, visions of coconuts dancing in my head. What recipe would I use? How would I prevent a reenactment of the leaning tower? Should I risk adding a flavored filling? Would the layers slide? Was my fate already sealed?

Why even try?

But try I did
.

In the weeks that followed, my family and neighbors ate more coconut than the combined cast of eight seasons of Survivor. Don't like coconut? Don't care. I forced a bite on anyone that came through my door, seeking any opinion on the perfect combination of flavors and ratio of frosting to cake.

So here is my first attempt. I went for alternating layers of super-tangy lemon curd and cream cheese frosting. The thick curd oozed out the sides as I frosted and the unevenly-baked dome-shaped layers really looked awful when sliced...even if I did try to level everything out with gobs of icing. I tried a new coconut cake recipe too, looking for an alternate to my old standby (a recipe from a local cafe) that Cherie remembered as dry!

Ok...test cake #2. Let's try a less cloying frosting: a Vanilla Swiss Meringue Buttercream and a more subtle lemon curd. I'm gonna use my old standby recipe too (I don't remember it being dry). Let's even throw some flowers on from the garden to get in the mood...

OK. We're getting somewhere. The layers were not so humpy, the new lemon curd recipe and a combo of filling and frosting in each level versus alternating proved much more subtle. I was way less heavy-handed on the frosting repair too and, dog-gonnit , I'm using my coconut cake recipe...the bride just got out-voted. We also tried a little toasted coconut in the filling layers but nixed that idea...too chewy.

OK. T-minus two days until the wedding...time to get organized. First, under cover of darkness, we stole our lemons from the neighbors trees.

Next, we made four trips to the store for the ingredients...is it really possible I will be using all of this butter? We even had to buy more!

Now, time to make the lemon curd filling and get it chillin'. Butter, sugar, lemon juice, lemon zest and eggs, heated and stirred until you can run your finger across the back of a wooden spoon and it leaves a track.

Time to bake us some cakes...

Here's what happens when a teen-aged girl is your sous-chef...

God forbid, our layers aren't level (or someone find a long blonde hair in their slice)...

So far so good: 2 batches of filling made, twelve layers of cakes baked...time to whip up four batches of Vanilla Swiss Meringue Buttercream (that means four pounds of butter), recipe compliments of our friend Christa, a real live pastry chef!

Carly...let's do this thing. First, a little lemon curd...

...a little buttercream...

...just right.

Can't stop...must keep going.

Oh, did I mention that the cake topper (a shell-encrusted monogram of their last name) arrived...

...and although gorgeous, it was almost as big as the cake. No problem. "Carly...get out the glue gun and the hula shells. We've got us a topper to make."

Do you think Cherie will notice that we made a new one half the size? Gonna have to roll the dice on this one.

Let's start to put this puppy together.

We loaded all three tiers and ourselves into the car and arrived at St. Vincent's kitchen in close to one piece. We crossed our fingers and started to build. Sturdy wooden dowels inserted at each level did their work...

...and the improvised topper glued firmly to the top of a sharpened dowel got skewered through the whole tower...this thing was a brick house. Thank goodness Onnie and Susi took the bullet for me on Cake Construction 101. Had mine not buckled, I'd never known the questions to ask to make sure this sucker stood.

I dare you to knock it over!

Now the best part of all...flowers! Carly was genius. I couldn't have done it without her.

Carly...quick...take a picture with your phone! The wedding is about to start!

To our delight, the catering staff had moved the cake to the reception area while we enjoyed the beautiful ceremony. Phew...better them than us! High fives all around when we saw it safely in place.

I think it's safe to say they liked it!

So, when all was said and done, I'd have to say that as far as karmic payback goes, I got off pretty easy on this one. Convinced that the universe would not let me succeed after my torturous request twenty years ago, it turns out that the beautiful gift my friends made for me back then was one that kept on giving. Not only do I smile from ear to ear every time I come across those old photos but , twenty years later, I was able to learn from their stumbles and pay their gift of love forward.

Cheers to you Cherie and Jason. May you look at these photos twenty years from now and smile like I do about times shared with friends and gifts given with the love only a "sister" can give.

Vanilla Swiss Meringue Buttercream

Whisk in the bowl of a stand mixer and place over a water bath (bain-marie) and heat, whisking constantly (be careful not to scramble the egg whites), until the mixture is warm and sugar is completely melted (you should feel no graininess when you rub it between your fingers):

4 egg whites
1 cup plus 3 Tablespoons of sugar

Remove from heat and whip at high speed until it's cooled to room temp and is light like marshmallow fluff. With mixer on medium-high speed, add soft butter a few tablespoons at a time, allowing each addition to fully incorporate before adding another:

1 pound unsalted butter, softened

Add and beat well:

2 teaspoons good quality vanilla

*Note buttercream will look "broken" part way through the mixing process but will come back together as soon as all of the butter is added. May be refrigerated for 5 days or frozen until needed. Return to room temp and beat with a paddle attachment of a stand mixer until smooth.

(The Art and Soul of Baking by Cindy Mushet adapted by Christa and Donna)

Here are the links to the lemon curd and cake recipes...

Lemon Curd: http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/ina-garten/lemon-curd-tart-recipe/index.html

Comforts Coconut Cake: http://www.tastebook.com/recipes/1283401-Comforts-Coconut-Cake-with-Cream-Cheese-Coconut-Frosting

Amen to Asparagus...

2011-05-20T10:28:00.000-07:00

I don't think I'm supposed to admit this, but I think I might be a bit of a "Cafeteria Catholic"...you know, the type that strolls through the believers' buffet line scooping up a tasty morsel here and a juicy nugget there rather than gobbling up everything that is served.

I'm going to go ahead and trust that this confession is not going to send me straight to the fiery pits of hell and believe that I am a better person for admitting my inconsistencies. I'm also going to go out on a limb and claim that, by the time I reach the end of that blessed buffet line, my plate is more full of God-lovin' goodies than most who check the Catholic box.

I have witnesses that can attest to my presence at church on a somewhat consistently inconsistent basis. Anyone that knows me has admired the collection of shiny little gold Jesuses, Marys and Guardian Angels that swing from a long gold chain around my neck. They've seen me wave them like a voodoo priestess with a charmed chicken bone over anyone or anything in need of a little blessing. And, I bet you don't have a cool, glow-in-the-dark St. Christopher medal clipped to your car visor like I do.

You get my point. I may not be the perfect Catholic but I do have faith, I want to believe, and most importantly, we try to teach our kids by example that the good ole' "Golden Rule" should be the litmus test for any choices they make now and in their adult lives.

So, "Donna," you ask, "what in heaven's name can any of this have to do with asparagus?"

I'm so glad you asked.

Last weekend was Will's First Holy Communion and I've gotta tell you...my plate runneth over.

Watching those little second grade soldiers, all primped up and pious, march up the aisle suited in their First Communion finery was enough to bring any lost lamb back into the fold.

Can it really be 40 years ago that we made that march?

Check out little Charlie's sweet tie clip...

Yes, the wallpaper is olive green and gold foil stripes. That's Grandma Anna in the mirror taking the photo.

Hey, Charlie and I even put a decent little chunk of change into the offertory basket and when the second collection came around, I didn't feign distraction, pretending to urgently dig a tissue from the depths of my purse. We actually reached into our wallets and served it up again! Go Team!

Well, what would any sacrament worth its salt be without a healthy helping of food and booze to follow? So the thirty-five in our brood caravaned back to our pad to properly feast on bread and wine...like good Catholics should.

Yes, the cake was compliments of Safeway...sometimes you've just gotta let go...

Aside from the bread and wine, we served up yummy cheeseburgers (Willy's request), Auntie Mary Kay's world famous potato salad (Charlie's request), Fatoosh salad (Heidi's recipe from Insalata's), a gorgeous tropical fruit platter crafted by Grandma Liz and my little tribute to spring...grilled asparagus with lemon vinaigrette and toasted hazelnuts. The appetizers and dessert were tasty too but I'll save that for some other time.

OK, so I did make iced sugar cookie favors...crosses with Willy's monogram

I love this asparagus dish for a buffet because it's bright, colorful, looks a little bit fancy but is relatively inexpensive (when asparagus are in season), super easy, and totally OK to do the night before.

Start by snapping the woody ends from the asparagus stalks. Choose fresh veggies with firmly packed tips, pinch them with two hands toward the end, then gently bend in what you guess might be the weak point until the tough part snaps right off...as demonstrated below by my trusty assistant.

You'll be left with a pile of tender stalks. Another way to go is to peel the tough ends with a vegetable peeler. This saves more of the stalk and makes for a fancier presentation but who has time for that?

Drizzle them to coat with olive oil...

Then pop them on a hot grill and roll them around until they are heated through and have lovely marks...

...like the photo below. Don't overcook...keep them crispy as they are tastier this way and they will continue to steam in their own heat as they cool. If an outdoor grill isn't practical, use an indoor grill pan or roast them in the oven in one layer on a baking sheet. After cooled, you can cover them and refrigerate until it is time to plate and dress just before service.

Whip up your vinaigrette the night before too. A couple of tablespoons of fresh lemon juice...

...a tablespoon of Dijon mustard, minced shallots, olive oil, a bit of sugar, pepper and voila! Good stuff. I like to dump all of my ingredients into a little jam jar and give 'em a good shake. Makes for easy storage too.

Drizzle the dressing over the grilled veggies and sprinkle with finely chopped, toasted hazelnuts. After munching on these for dinner last night, I think I'd go a little finer with the nut chop than pictured here so the nuts don't roll off he stalks so easily.

Get 'em while they're still in the stores and enjoy!

Grilled Asparagus with Hazelnut Vinaigrette

Trim, coat with olive oil, and grill until just tender:

2 pounds fresh asparagus

Dump into a jar, close the lid tightly, shake until emulsified then drizzle over plated asparagus:

2 Tbs. fresh lemon juice
1 Tbs. Dijon mustard
1 1/2 Tbs. finely-minced shallot
1/3 cup extra-virgin olive oil
1/2 tsp. sugar
freshly ground pepper to taste

Toast, skin,chop until fine and sprinkle over to taste:

1/4 cup hazelnuts

Serves 6

The Need to Feed...

2011-04-14T23:45:00.000-07:00

Everyone has their own special way of expressing love, don't they?

Whether it's hand-holding and a heartfelt Hallmark or skywriting and something that sparkles, isn't wonderful to be shown how much you are loved?

Charlie? It appears, he prefers to say it with Charmin. Yes, this is the love note I awoke to the other morning...it's perfect and it made my day.

Me, on the other hand? I find the need to say it with soup...and bread, and cookies and pies and jam and pickles...anything made by my hands and with my heart.

The rolls Will and I made for Grandpa Ole's 80th.

But love, it seems, isn't the only emotion that fires up my burners.

When I'm angry and the world seems cold and wrong, there's nothing like beating a big wad of stiff bread dough into submission then watching it transform into something warm and soft and pure and good.

When I'm frustrated that I don't have the power to cure my kid's croupy cough, I take up arms with a stock pot and a raw chicken and proceed to fill the house with steamy goodness and the eternal hope that chicken soup really does cure everything that ails you.

When I feel guilty about cancelling Sunday night dinner with the in-laws...again...I make a lasagna and leave it on their doorstep.

When I'm worried about one particular friend, I make her butterscotch pudding. When I'm happy for another, I make her cupcakes with sprinkles. And when I get the news that yet another is bracing herself for a round of chemo, I know that sweet and creamy baked custard (the one that my mother-in-law makes for me when I'm sick) is one of the only things that will soothe and settle and nourish.

Sad?
Tired?
Lonely?

Chocolate.
Chocolate.
Chocolate.

Put simply...I have the need to feed.

I don't know what it is about cooking for the people I love...

Is it that cooking gives me power to do "something", to somehow try to "fix-it", when all too often life is completely out of control?

Is that I have an even greater need to feed my own ego as I eagerly anticipate the gratifying sights and sounds of my friends and family enjoying the fruits of my labor ?

Is it that I love to eat so much that I'll take any excuse to open a bag of chocolate chips?

I don't know for sure but I'm guessing the answer, quite simply, is: yes, yes and yes.

It's what my mother does. It's what I do. And, quite frankly, I could think of less productive ways to work through my issues! Ya think?

Mom and I with the Jack-O-Lantern cookies we made for Kindergarten.

Mom and I teaching a kids' cooking class.

So, the other day, I got a wonderful email from a friend who is two months into a long recovery from a brutal car accident. It seems that their scheduled homemade meal deliveries had come to an end and my name was on a list of those who signed up to help out but didn't yet have the chance...and I jumped!

One of my favorite meals to deliver a home bound friend and their family is pozole with all of the fixins'. It's an authentic, Mexican, one-pot pork and hominy stew which is surprisingly simple to make yet rather fun and spectacular when adorned with all of the fresh toppings that go with it. I like to surprise my friends with it when I know that they just can't take another Pyrex full of lasagna or creamy chicken casserole! I always make a double batch and we eat it for days too and freeze a little for later.

It starts with dried New Mexico chiles...they're pretty mild as chiles go but still have a little kick. I couldn't believe it when both of my kids gobbled the pozole up the first time I made it (they call it Mamma's Spicy Soup). They're not culinary wimps mind you but they are kids none the less...I think there is something magical about this stuff.

After the chiles are soaked, they're blended with onion and garlic to make this killer, potent, puree that gets dumped into the stock pot with the pork that has been simmering for a while...

Here's what the pork looks like when it comes out of the pot. It has been simmering with chicken stock, water, Mexican oregano and enough garlic to ground a coven of vampires, then removed, cooled, shredded, and added back to the stock with lots of hominy and the chile sauce.

Once everything is added back to the pot it's almost ready to go. While it simmers, you are preparing all of the tasty stuff that gets piled on top to your liking...diced onion and radish, avocado, shredded Romaine, lime juice, and...

...this is the best part...lot's of freshly fried tortilla strips sprinkled with salt.

Here's how I like mine. I just love the combination of warm and hot, spicy and cool, stewed and fresh.

Pozole Rojo (Mexican Pork Stew)

Ingredients:

• 1 large head garlic
• 12 cups water
• 4 cups chicken broth
• 4 pounds country-style pork ribs
• 1 teaspoon dried oregano crumbled
• 7 dried New Mexico red chiles (2 ounces)
• 1 ½ cups boiling-hot water
• ¼ large white onion
• 3 teaspoons salt
• 3 15-ounce cans white hominy
• 8 corn tortillas
• 1 ½ cups vegetable oil

• Accompaniments: diced avocado, thinly sliced romaine lettuce, chopped white onion, diced radishes, lime wedges, fresh cilantro, sour cream

Directions:

Peel garlic cloves and reserve 2 for chile sauce.

Slice remaining garlic. In a 7- to 8-quart heavy kettle bring water and broth just to a boil with sliced garlic and pork. Skim surface then add the oregano. Gently simmer pork, uncovered, until tender, about 1 1/2 hours.

While pork is simmering, discard stems from chiles and in a blender combine chiles with boiling-hot water. Soak chiles, turning them occasionally, 30 minutes. Cut onion into large pieces, add to the blender and purée with chiles and soaking liquid, reserved garlic, and 2 teaspoons salt until smooth.

Transfer pork with tongs to a cutting board but save the broth mixture! Shred pork the pork when cooled, and discard bones. Rinse and drain hominy. Return pork to broth mixture and add chile sauce, hominy, and remaining teaspoon salt. Simmer pozole 30 minutes and, if necessary, season with salt.

While pozole is simmering, stack tortillas and halve. Cut halves crosswise into thin strips. In a skillet heat 1/2 inch oil until hot but not smoking and fry tortilla strips in 3 or 4 batches, stirring occasionally, until golden, 1 to 2 minutes. They get dark fast so watch 'em! Transfer tortilla strips with a slotted spoon as they are fried to paper towels to drain (I place my paper towels over a flatened brown grocery bag for added absorbtion). Transfer tortilla strips to a bowl.

Serve pozole with tortilla strips and bowls of accompaniments.

Serves: 8

Adapted from Gourmet Magazine

Note: This is a great do-ahead recipe. Make the pozole a couple of days in advance, no problem. Fry the tortillas the day before and prep all of the fixins' morning of.

Caraway and confessions...

2011-03-17T14:35:00.000-07:00

Bless me Father for today I ate half a loaf of Irish Soda Bread.

This morning on the way to school, the kids reminded me that tonight's corned beef and cabbage dinner would not be complete without that soda bread I make every year. Do I really make it every year...well, if they say so...

Anyway, God forbid that I disappoint, so I ran back home, mixed up a double recipe (miraculously I had almost everything I needed on hand and improvised the rest) and fashioned three loaves: one for us, one for my momma and one for my neighbor.

As I slid the loaves into the oven, the phone rang. It was that same neighbor calling for the recipe! How fun that I was able to offer her instead a piping hot loaf delivered to her doorstep. Yep, it's true, I really am that easily amused.

About and hour later the aroma of toasted caraway seeds, sweet juicy raisins and tangy, browned buttery dough wafted out of the oven, crept up the stairs and tapped me on the shoulder, calling me down to take the loaves out to cool. I had every intention of waiting to eat our little loaf with dinner but, alas, the temptation was too great and I am too weak. I sliced right in and and slathered a big chunk (the end piece, my favorite) with perfectly softened sweet butter that had been left out on the counter since this morning's green pancake feed.

Yes, I did save some for Charlie and the kids (and maybe just a little more for me). Dad already picked up his loaf to take home to Mom and I'll make the neighbor delivery on the way to pick up Willy from school. In the meantime, let me shut up and give you the recipe in case you have time to whip up a loaf before your corned beef comes out of its briney bath. Happy St. Patrick's Day everyone!

Irish Soda Bread

Preheat oven to 350°

Mix and let stand 5 minutes:

1 1/2 cups whole milk (I had 2% and a little cream which worked fine)
1/3 cup apple cider vinegar

Whisk together in a large bowl:

3 cups flour
1 tsp. kosher salt
1 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. baking powder

Cut in with two knives or a pastry blender:

4 Tbs. cold unsalted butter

Mix in:

1 cup wheat bran (I used a combo of oat bran and whole wheat flour which worked fine)
1/8 cup caraway seeds
1 cup raisins

Add the milk/vinegar mixture and mix together until just combined but still sticky. Turn out onto a clean, floured counter and pat into a round dome. Place on a baking sheet lined with parchment or a Silpat, sprinkle with a little flour and cut an X into the top of the loaf (about 1/2 inch deep or so).

Bake, turning around half way through, about 70 minutes or so until browned and a tester inserted in the middle comes out clean.

Note: I made a double recipe which made three nice, smaller-sized loaves. Bake time was about 50 minutes for the smaller versions.

Honey Buns

2011-02-23T10:43:00.000-08:00

It was 1974 and his name was Matt...I was in 5th grade and he was my first crush. He had wavy hair, sparkly blue eyes, big teeth that were too big for his head and a face full of freckles. He looked a lot like this.

You might recall that 5th grade is the year we all studied American History. My groovy teacher was Ms. Hartnett and she wore short polyester skirts, Leggs suntan pantyhose and "open-toed" platform shoes...she was almost as cool as Lori Partridge. Anyway, that year, she came up with the bright idea that her students would put on a presentation for our parents where the boys and girls would pair up as famous "first couples" and depict life in the White House during each respective era. The couples would be drawn randomly...at least that was the plan.

Matt reached into the hat and pulled President Harding. President who? Whatever.

I reached in and pulled the name Sarah Polk, but it only took the bribe of two week's worth of Lady Baltimore devil's food cake from my bag lunches to trade Lori Merrill for the slip bearing the name Florence Harding. I can't remember much about the presentation itself, but I do remember that the cotton balls Matt had cleverly stuck to his bald wig to simulate grey hair kept falling off...and I got to hold his hand.

Matt moved away that summer and so did my fleeting crush, but I did eventually find the true freckle-faced boy of my dreams. Yep, that's him in the upper left. That's little Charlie Christensen.

It was eight years after the infamous Parade of Presidents and I met him at our off campus dorms my first day at UC Davis. At the time, he looked a little more like this. Was he badass or what? Did I mention he drove a cobalt blue Scirocco with a big white Starsky and Hutch stripe down the side?

Little did I know he was the reincarnation of my first crush. The freckles had faded (just a little) and his head had grown into his teeth, but that sparkle in his blue eyes and his San Rafael High Bulldogs football half jersey (not to mention the four foot speakers blaring ACDC and a perpetual keg on tap) drew me and my roommates in like a moths to a flame. It was a fun year...

Speaking of his roommates, they were cool too: a handsome blond trust fund baby, a long-haired rocker with a real mustache, an older intellectual "man" (I think he was a junior) and a Chinese/Greek guy who actually owned his own computer which took up half the room he shared with the rocker. They were awesome...outrageous, fun, cute and a little bit naughty...how could an uncaged Catholic girl like me not take a bite from that forbidden fruit?

Well, twenty-nine years and twenty nine pounds later...Charlie's still blaring ACDC (much to our neighbors' dismay), those blues eyes still rock my world and he's still just naughty enough to keep this choir girl on her toes. We celebrated 20 years of wedded bliss last month...well, as much as we could given that Charlie was barely conscious from 2 1/2 hours of shoulder surgery the day before...ahhh to grow old together!

But, here's the beauty part...a new generation of Christensen boy is on the scene and he melts me more than I ever knew any boy could.

His 8th birthday was also in January and we celebrated with pizza, pals and this awesome castle cake made with love by Mamma.

But I think the most fun was delivering three dozen piping hot homemade honey buns to Will's classroom on his birthday for the whole class to enjoy. Of course, there was the test batch the week before and the leftovers the days that followed. I believe January is now officially the month of the "honey bun" in the Christensen household.

So, in honor of my two honey buns, I'd like to share the recipe with you. In the words of the illustrious Pillsbury dough boy, "nothin' says lovin' like somthin' from the oven..." and guaranteed...these will say it loud and clear like nothin' else!

I adapted a recipe for cinnamon buns and substituted honey for sugar. It makes for darker buns (you'll see in the photos) but the honey adds a nice flavor and it makes it so I can call them honey buns, which is enough reason for me. The full recipe follows as usual but here are some photos and a few tips...

Here's my secret weapon...really good vanilla. Never use imitation! This stuff is pretty pricey but Santa brings it to me every year in my stocking instead of perfume. I've been known to rub a little on my wrists and dab a little behind my ears so I figure Santa gets off easy if you look at it that way.

Do you ever notice that your recipes seem to call for too much flour? Here's the deal...when you measure your flour, don't forget to scoop it lightly into the cup then level it off, not pack it in like brown sugar. Real live bakers (which I am not) actually measure their ingredients by weight. A packed cup of flour vs. a properly measured one weighs almost an ounce more!

After mixing the wet stuff with half of the flour and letting it sit for a bit (this makes something called the "sponge") it's time to add soft butter and salt.

After adding the rest of the flour, you will have a soft, just a little bit sticky dough. Turn it out onto a floured surface and knead away...

When it's soft and silky, place it in an oiled bowl to rise for an hour or so...Now comes the fun part...punch it baby!

Time to shape your buns, so to speak. Roll the deflated dough into a 12 x 16 rectangle then spread with softened butter. If the dough wants to keep springing back, let it rest again for a few minutes and try again.

Sprinkle evenly with your sweet and cinnamony filling. I used dark brown sugar because that it was I had on hand but I recommend light. I think the dark sugar also contributed to the slight over-brownness of my buns.

Then roll, baby roll. Moisten one long end of the rectangle with water. Start at the other long end and begin to roll, tucking with your fingers as you go. You'll end up with something like this.

Use a long serrated knife and cut into 12 even slices then place evenly in the generously buttered pan, brushing the outer edges with melted butter to prevent them from sticking to each other.

Cover and let rise until they look something like this. Aren't they cozy?

Bake for about a half hour until they are golden brown and cooked through. The honey makes them a little dark. Substitute sugar for the honey if you like your buns on the lighter side, so to speak.

I thought the pan made a cool design after I turned the warm buns out and just had to share. By the way, make sure you turn the buns out while they are still warm or the sugar will harden and they will become permanently fused to your pan. Not delightful on so many levels...

Drizzle your cooled buns with the sweet glaze all fancy like this or just smear it all over...that works too. I'm a big fan of the glaze and usually rip off pieces of the buns and scoop up the glaze left in the bowl. Whatever works for you!

Cinnamon Honey Buns

Dissolve in a large bowl and let sit for 5 minutes:

1/4 cup quite warm but not hot water
1 package (1/4 ounce) active dry yeast

Dissolve in a small bowl then add to above:

1 cup warm milk
1/3 cup honey (or sugar)

Add to large bowl, mix well with wooden spoon 100 strokes or so until mixed (I use my standing mixer):

1 large egg, slightly beaten
2 tsp. vanilla extract
2 cups flour

Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and leave undisturbed for about 15 minutes until it is spongy.

Stir in:

1 1/2 tsp. salt
4 Tbs. soft butter

Add 1/2 cup at a time until a stiff but sticky dough forms:

2 plus cups more of flour

Turn out onto a clean floured surface and knead until smooth and elastic (about 5-8 minutes). Place in a large oiled bowl, turn once, cover and let rise in a warm place until double in bulk (about 1 hour).

For the filling mix and set aside:

3/4 cup light brown sugar
3/4 cups chopped nuts (pecans or walnuts)
2 tsp. cinnamon

When the dough has risen, punch it down a couple of times, turn it out onto your clean, lightly floured surface and knead for a minute or so. Let it rest while you generously butter a 13 x 9 baking pan.

Roll out the dough with a rolling pin to a 12 x 16 inch rectangle and spread with:

4 Tbs. soft butter

Sprinkle your filling evenly over the butter then roll and shape as described in the photos above. Cover and let rise about 45 minutes until about doubled again and bake at 350 for about 30 minutes, until golden. Run a knife around the pan to loosen, invert onto a rack then turn upright to cool about 20 minutes before glazing.

For honey glaze, mix:

1 1/2 cups powdered sugar
2 1/2 Tbs. whole milk or cream
2 Tbs. melted butter
1/8 tsp. vanilla extract
1/8-1/4 tsp. grated orange zest
Big squeeze of honey

Makes 12 buns for your honeys

Martha Stewart Makes Me Hyperventilate

2011-01-03T12:08:00.000-08:00

I’ve loved magazines ever since I was a little girl.

I can still see the stack of Woman’s Days and Ladies' Home Journals piled up on the family room coffee table, dog-eared from Mom scouring them for the latest weeknight recipe ideas or shoestring home decorating tips. On weekends, I’d sit curled up with her, pouring through every page, reading about things from health tips on hot flashes to the miracle of modern microwave cooking.

We’d usually have an old Shirley Temple rerun on in the background and systematically organize our piles of plans for making over a room or transforming my next homemade birthday cake into some kind of gravity-defying masterpiece.

One of many Barbie cakes...

Every now and then we’d come across an especially inspirational tip and set it aside in a special pile reserved for enterprises sure to make us millions if we could just get them into mass production. I think my favorite was the DIY greenhouse I spotted one spring in Sunset Magazine and attempted to build, by myself, with a staple gun, scrap wood and sheet plastic. I think I was twelve and it lasted a whole summer until it buckled then collapsed under the weight of the macramé plant hanger I hung from the inside “beams” to make it look homey.

Making my macrame...check out the wallpaper.

When I turned thirteen I started to receive my very own Seventeen Magazine and a whole new list of must-dos materialized. The prom issue, of course, was the highlight of the year and arrived just in time for me to dream about my eighth grade graduation dance dress (the first Catholic school-sanctioned boy/girl event of my elementary career).

My favorite dress in that issue was a peach eyelet number with a halter strap, empire bodice and a floor-length tiered skirt…dreamy! Mom and I marched down to the fabric store and picked out a pattern, fabric and trim and set out to create our own couture piece. It was fabulous (although a bit maternity-looking in hindsight), with matching shawl…too bad my hair was growing out of a Dorothy Hamill wanna be debacle and I didn’t quite achieve the overall swingy, flowy, carefree, Seventeen, off-to-the-prom look I was going for…do ya think?

That's me in the pink...I wore it to freshman homecoming too. Doesn't my date look impressed?

That summer before my freshman year, there was an article on how to organize your high school locker with a handcrafted, pocketed fabric hanging door contraption (remember, this was the olden days before magnetic Container Store gadgets). I did my best to replicate the ingenious plan using only my wits and my Montgomery Wards starter sewing machine, and arrived the day before school to install my masterpiece. I remember being so proud as it “sort of fit just right” on the inside of my first locker door. I can’t remember how it attached but, being that it was before Velcro really took off, that thing flapped and swayed every time I opened my locker. I stubbornly suffered with it daily as my pens, pencils and Bonnie Bell Lip Smackers regularly flew into the breezeway, until the last day of freshman year.

Then came Martha Stewart…

I thought my plate was full before, but in walked Miss Martha with her monthly list of must-do’s from laminating just about every piece of paper in the house to breeding, drying, labeling, storing, sprouting, growing, harvesting, canning and then cooking with her extensive collection of heirloom tomato seeds. Oh, the guilt when I go to open a jar of generic marinara sauce and pour it over reconstituted, store-bought spaghetti. Let’s not forget that I still need to build that chicken coop and create handcrafted hot water bottle cozies out of last winter’s outdated cashmere sweaters. Did I mention the Hefty bag full of discarded men’s silk ties that I am unable to part with because I am supposed to use them in a five step, three day process that will transform lowly eggs (from my imaginary chickens, of course) into spectacular Faberge-style Easter decor? How can I live without those in my life?

So, you get the idea. I have issues (no pun intended). Aren’t magazines designed to provide escape and entertainment? Not for me. When I open my mailbox and see that a new issue has arrived, I get that same feeling in the pit of my stomach when yet another box of See’s chocolates arrives at our doorstep over the holidays; on the one hand, I can't wait to dig in and devour what's inside…on the other hand, I anticipate what will grow after my gluttonous feast. In the case of the chocolates…it’s my hips…in the case of the magazines, it’s my list of magazine, must-do’s.

So, “why,” you ask, do I bring this up now? Well, it is that time of year again and, even with my vow to keep it simple, I still managed to send myself into conniptions as I attempted to create homemade edible gifts for some of Charlie’s friends in business…one that would put a grin on even Martha’s pursed little lips.

After a few lackluster experiments with new recipes, Charlie suggested that I just share some of our family favorite Christmas cookies. Sounded reasonable enough and I did like the idea of going with the “tried and true.” What I forgot was that there is a reason why I only make these creations once a year…it takes forever!

Our sweet minions...

Ready to "ship out"...

Each recipe is really no biggie…it’s just when you have to make 240 of the little buggers, prepared and packaged in sanitary conditions (no licking the spoon), all delivered fresh and in tact…that’s when I remembered why my original plan of a simple bag of Cashew Brittle dumped in a cello bag and tied with a ribbon may have been the better way to go!

Here's the package we did end up with...

Oh well, after the first three batches, I knew I was in for it but the "toothpaste was already out of the tube," so to speak, and I knew there was no turning back. Carly helped me decorate the Fresh Ginger Boys and Girls, thank God, but she was also in the midst of finals so that was about all I could squeeze out of her. I was on my own for the next 180 little darlin’s.

Sugar and spice and everything nice...thank heavens for my little girl!

A bald ginger girl just won't do...

The Russian Tea Cakes were the easiest, I think. I love them any time of year and by any other name. I’ve also heard them referred to as Mexican Wedding Cookies and my neighbor Laura says her family calls them Swedish Heirloom Cookies.

Just one more sprinkle of powdered sugar...

Who doesn’t love a Thumbprint Cookie and this is my favorite recipe for them…another one out of my Mom’s old Betty Crocker cookbook (the Russian Tea Cakes are from there too).

Roll 'em in nuts and bake 'em for a few minutes...

Make the thumbprint, then bake 'em again...

Fill 'em. Eat 'em.

A while back I taught a holiday baking class for kids and added chocolate to the dough, deleted the nuts and used red jelly in the center divot. I called them Rudolph the Red-Nosed Cookies and the kids loved them even more!

What would I do without this cookbook?

Then, there are the infamous Candy Cane Cookies. I have no idea where this recipe originally came from but no Christmas is complete in our house without them…but they really are a pain in the patooty to make. The dough is easy enough (just a few ingredients)…it’s just that they are so labor intensive, each one needing to be hand rolled and twisted. The dough is super soft to work with and it takes a while to get the hang of twisting the two colors together without the cookie becoming a big gooey pink blob.

Gee…I bet you can’t wait to get started! It’s worth it though…trust me. They’re beautiful and delicious, albeit fragile (as carefully as I packaged them, I wonder if any of mine survived the ride in Charlie’s car as he made his deliveries).

Here they are all snuggled up and ready to be boxed...

Well, it's New Year's Eve as I write and I am happy to report that the last of the Christmas cookies has left the building. Much like out of town relatives, we loved them while they were here but are happy to see them gone! I think I'll go clean the fridge and get ready for all of that organic produce I plan to buy tomorrow.

Tonight's another story...it is New Year's Eve after all and we must ring in the year with a beautiful feast. As I reach to make my shopping list I find myself thinking WWMD (What Would Martha Do?). I start to gasp for air...fight it, Donna, fight it!

I think I've found my New Year's resolution!

For my cookie recipes, go to the following link. http://makemudpies.blogspot.com/p/christmas-cookies.html

There you'll find tattered copies of the four recipes mentioned above...no frills, handwritten notes and all. If I had taken the time to retype these, all pretty-like, I'm not sure if they would have made it to you by next Christmas. Tip: double click on each recipe to enlarge. Happy New Year!

Dressed to Kill...

2010-11-23T10:12:00.000-08:00

At our Thanksgiving table, we serve Mom's turkey dressing with a side of baby aspirin and a glass of red wine.

Laden with butter-drenched croutons and three kinds of sausage, her killer concoction could damn up even the mightiest of arteries...just by looking at it. But, every year, we look danger square in it's beady little eye and snuggle that stuffing up to the turkey and mashed potatoes on our plate then drench the whole lot in golden gravy.

Last year, and I don't really remember why, the dressing duties fell upon me. Determined to make my own mark (and convinced I could not duplicate Mom's signature sausage surprise) I dug through my ripped up magazine archives looking for a perfect dish that I could call my own. Not to worry, tradition would be upheld featuring all of the other usual suspects (green beans with bacon, mashed potatoes, fresh cranberry sauce...), but this was my chance to see if a bird of a different feather, so to speak, would fly.

Scattered among my tattered tear sheets were many recipe options from which to choose...all touting to be the best: some with cornbread, others with oysters, some with sausage, some without. But, as I went round and round, I just kept coming back to the one with pancetta, prunes and chestnuts...just the departure from tradition I was looking for without completely risking a mealtime mutiny.

I just can't throw away a November issue!

I'd substitute bacon for the pancetta ($6 vs. $30 per pound, you do the math) and no one would be the wiser. The prunes were a little risky but I just wouldn't advertise they were in there until someone asked what the delightfully sweet surprise inside was.

Chestnuts...hum...never cooked with them but I think Grampa put them in his stuffing one year. Not that I paid much attention to those things back then, but the "kids table" was in the kitchen and I have a foggy memory of him leaning over the turkey, stuffing a chestnut studded concoction mercilessly into its cavity. I think that was the year my cousin Ricky laughed so hard at the dinner table that spaghetti shot out of his nose...but that's another story.

Does he or does he not look like the kind of kid who would shoot spaghetti out of his nose?

Speaking of stuffing, it begs the question: is it "stuffing" or is it "dressing?" To that I say, you say "toe-may-toe", I say "toe-mah-toe." In other words, it's all the same. Technically speaking, I think it's stuffing if it cooks within the nether regions of your formerly feathered friend. Dressing is baked in a casserole separate from the bird. That said, we call it stuffing in our family, even though we haven't actually stuffed it for years...go figure (too many scary salmonella stories on the news).

Anyway, my new-fangled recipe was a big hit last year so I'd like to share it with you today...just in time for Thanksgiving...if you dare.

Me? Well, Mom said she's doing the stuffing this year and actually, I can't wait. There's a lot to be said for tradition and knowing that the only ingredient she uses with more abandon than butter, is love, makes hers some of the healthiest dishes I know.

I'm bringing the pie (for the perfect crust, check out the recipe under "Recipes You've Requested" to the right of this post) or click on this link: http://makemudpies.blogspot.com/p/basic-flaky-pie-crust.html.

I made this pie last night...threw some peeled and sliced Golden Delicious apples tossed with sugar and cinnamon into the crust and topped with streusel...I think I'll have some now.

A big juicy hug to you and yours during this season of thanks. I am so grateful that you sit with me at my virtual table and indulge me in my ramblings and recipes. Like we do at our family table, pass it on...

Now, let's get that bird stuffed or dressed or whatever!

Start with the bread. I used Bordenaves Extra Sourdough bread which is one of our local favorites. For this recipe, I used 3/4 of a 1# loaf.

Preheat oven to 400°. Dice the bread into 1/3 inch cubes and spread the cubes out onto a shallow baking sheet. Toast until the bread is golden and dry and looks like this. Then place in a big bowl.

Dice your veggies.

Set aside.

Then quarter your chestnuts and prunes (the original recipe said to cut them in half but we all decided the flavors were more subtle with smaller pieces). Set aside.

Chestnuts (not water chestnuts) aren't the easiest ingredient to come by, I've found. I think it must be more of an east coast thing. Anyway, I found these at Trader Joe's and this one 6.5 ounce package seemed about right for the recipe (although the original recipe called for more). I saw some canned ones at Andronicos yesterday (a local market) but none at Safeway. Last year I actually roasted and peeled whole chestnuts in the shell because that was all I could find. It was a pain. Moral of the story...don't assume your market will have them...be prepared to make a call or two.

Cook the bacon until it is crispy, remove it from the pan with a slotted spoon and drain on a paper towel. Pour all of the fat into a clean, heat proof bowl, wipe any burnt bits up from the pan then pour two tablespoons of fat back in the pan with 1/2 stick of butter! Saute the onions and celery until softened (about 10 minutes) then add fresh sage, the cooked bacon and salt and pepper. Cook for a minute or so more.

This sage is all that's left of my pitiful little garden!

Whisk together the stock and eggs and mix everything in the big bowl with the bread. Bake in a buttered 9x13 Pyrex, loosely covered with buttered foil, for about 30 minutes, then uncovered for about 10 more or so until it reaches the brown-ness you love. Charlie likes his stuffing really wet, I like mine crispy on top and this recipe seemed to please us both.

When I made this last week to see if it was as good as I remembered, I served it to the hubby and kids with brined grilled pork chops and homemade apple sauce (I knew we'd be turkey-ed out this week). It was yum!

Chestnut, Prune and Bacon Stuffing

Preheat oven to 400°. Cube, place on a baking sheet, toast until browned an place in a large bowlt:

3/4# sourdough bread

Cook until browned:

1/2# bacon, cut into bite-size pieces

Drain the bacon, set aside, pour off the fat into a bowl, wipe out the skillet, put two tablespoons back into the skillet and melt:

1/2 cube of butter (4 Tbs)

Saute until soft:

2 cups celery, diced
2 1/2 cups onion, diced

Add the cooked bacon to the skillet plus these ingredients and cook for a minute then add to the big bowl:

1 Tbs chopped fresh sage
3/4 tsp salt
1/4 tsp pepper
3/4-1 cup pitted prunes, quartered
6.5 ounces (or about) peeled, cooked whole chestnuts, quartered

Whisk together then gently mix with other ingredients:

2 large eggs
2 1/2 cups turkey stock or store-bought chicken broth

Empty the mixture into a well-buttered 9 x 13 Pyrex, loosely cover with a buttered foil, and bake for 30 minutes. Remove the foil and bake for another 10 minutes or so until it has reached your desired crunchy-top-ness.

Serves: 6-8 (I'd say closer to 8)

Falling...

2010-10-31T11:42:00.000-07:00

Last night it rained buckets.

Charlie pulled out his rubber boots, trudged out to the wood pile and built us our first fire of the season. We turned down the lights, turned up Neil Young and sat there for what seemed to be hours watching the flames roar until the embers began to spit and crackle and fall in a glowing pile under the andirons. As Charlie says, we're "fire people" and we love any opportunity to gather our little tribe around the hearth.

This morning, the sun was shining so brightly through my passenger side windshield that I could barely see through Carly's toe print smudges...evidence of last week's 90-degree barefoot weather. Fall in Marin County is officially here and even with its split personality, I love everything about it!

I love the smell of the driveway after the first drizzle and the mad dash to unearth last winter's rain gear. I love the look of surprise and delight on Willy's face when he dons his old jacket, holds up his arms and proudly exposes his lanky little wrists...a sure sign that the escalating Sharpie marks on our makeshift door jam grow chart do not deceive.

I love the neighborhood "fire tree," as we have named it, that we observe every morning on our back road trek to school. As maple trees go, it's actually not that impressive. Not so tall and not so grand, it stands alone amongst a row of evergreens, shouting out loud like an angry little red-headed man with an inferiority complex. Tracking its transformation from the first day of school until the last leaf has fallen has become a morning tradition...watching it turn from lush green to flaming red then stark and bare.

I love the new season of fall shows on TV. Yes, it's true, and I'm not particularly proud to say it, but we do love our TV in the Christensen household. Even though we have a million more choices than when we were kids, I still get a little bit excited about the promise of a fresh dose of our favorite drug of choice (we are so going to miss LOST and "24" this winter)!

Remember when the three (yes, there was a time when there were only three) networks had their Saturday morning fall cartoon previews? We'd gather around the TV to see what was in store, knowing that all too soon summer would be over, the first day of school would come and Saturday mornings would again actually matter.

Saturday mornings were sweet but we also had our precious prime time, complete with new episodes of the Brady Bunch and Partridge Family. Remember the season the Brady men showed up with perms? That was the year they went to Hawaii with Mike on his big architectural gig, I think, and they had all that trouble with the ancient idol. Oh...that Bobby...what a rascal!

Cindy,on the other hand, had nothin' on me...I rocked her pigtails. But do ya think someone might have noticed the whole bow tie thing as I posed for my first school picture! I'm still scarred by this fashion faux pas.

But...I digress...

I love the way our porch looks in the fall...

...and especially how it looks on Halloween...

I love the little paper Jack-O-Lanterns the kids cut out and tape to our stair lights.

And, speaking of Halloween, I love that Charlie carves pumpkins with the kids every year, even if he does use power tools...

...and teaches my son how to make his pumpkin puke...

But, you know one of the things I love the most, permission to eat all of that cozy fall food that seems politically or practically incorrect to eat during the heat of summer. Braised stews, home-baked breads and my favorite sweet and starchy fall vegetables, I love it all with butternut squash at the top of the list. I kind of think of these foods as the "white pants"of the epicurean world: God-forbid you use them out of season.

So, in honor of Halloween and our SF Giants I thought I'd share a recipe that's good and orange...Roasted Butternut Squash Lasagne with Rosemary and Garlic (it also happens to be my most-requested recipe)! PS...it happens to be vegetarian too...but no one will even notice since it's so decadent and delightful.

Happy Halloween and GO GIANTS!!!

Gather your ingredients:

Peel your butternut squash with a sharp peeler or paring knife. 3 1/2 pounds is about 2 medium squash but it will vary.

Cut into 1/2" cubes. This is the most time-consuming part of the recipe. If you want to cheat, have at it. Trader Joe's sells cubed butternut squash ready-to-go but it's quite a bit more expensive. I timed myself and estimate it took about 15 minutes, uninterrupted to peel and cube two squash...you make the call.

Toss your cubes in oil and roast in a hot oven for about 14 minutes, tossing and seasoning with salt 1/2 way through. This is what they should look like. Don't overcook them...they'll shrivel up!

While the squash is roasting, make your cream sauce. Don't freak out if you've never made a cream sauce. There's really no big mystery. You basically make a roux* then whisk in milk until it becomes cream sauce.

Start by bringing your milk to a simmer with the rosemary for about 10 minutes, then straining it into a large measuring cup with a spout.

Then melt your butter over moderate heat in a large heavy saucepan, soften your garlic in the butter (for this recipe, not all cream sauces), add an equal amount of flour and cook it until it darkens and thickens a little (don't burn it!) and it starts to smell great. *You've just made a "roux"...the basis of your cream sauce.

Next, take the pan off the heat, add your milk in a stream in batches, whisking in between to keep out the lumps. Cook about 10 minutes or so until thickened to the consistency of melted ice cream.

Add the roasted squash and season with salt and pepper.

Butter your Pyrex and begin to build your lasagne in this order: start with a cup of sauce (it will not cover the bottom...no worries), layer three sheets of pasta, add half of the remaining sauce, 1/2 cup of Parmesan cheese, three more sheets of pasta, the rest of the sauce, 1/2 cup more of Parmesan, three more sheets of pasta...

...then, yes it's true, whip 1 cup of heavy cream with 1/2 teaspoon of salt to soft peaks and spread it over the top with no apologies. Sprinkle with 1/3 cup more Parmesan.

Tent with foil and bake at 375° for 30 minutes. Remove foil and bake for about 10 more minutes. Let stand for 5 minutes and enjoy!

Roasted Butternut Squash Lasagne

with Rosemary and Garlic

Preheat oven to 450° and oil 2 rimmed baking sheets.

Toss and roast in the two pans for 7 minutes:

3 1/2 pounds butternut squash, peeled, seeded and cubed into 1/2" chunks.
3 Tbs. vegetable oil or olive oil

Season with salt, toss, switch racks and roast for 7 more minutes. Remove from oven, set aside then lower oven temp to 375°.

While squash is roasting, add to a small saucepan and simmer for 10 minutes:

4 cups milk (I used 2% but whole is probably better)
1/4 cup loosely packed fresh rosemary or 2 Tbs dry

Strain through a fine sieve into a large measuring cup with a spout.

In a large heavy saucepan over moderate heat melt:

4 Tbs butter

Add and soften:

1 Tbs minced garlic

Stir in and cook for a few minutes:

4 Tbs. all-purpose flour

Take the pan temporarily off the heat and add rosemary milk in a stream in batches, whisking till smooth. Put back on heat and cook until thickened, stir in the roasted squash and season with salt and pepper to taste.

Layer lasagne as described above using:

prepared sauce
9 sheets dry no boil lasagne (7" x 3 1/2")
1 1/3 grated or shredded Parmesan cheese

Then whip to soft peaks and spread over the top of the lasagne:

1 cup heavy cream
1/2 tsp salt

Bake as directed above. Serves 6 hearty main course portions.

Adapated from Gourmet Magazine December 1995

Anna Banana

2010-09-22T14:49:00.000-07:00

My cousin Karen sent me an email the other day.

After seeing herself in a vintage family photo I posted a couple of months ago, she thought it would be fun to reminisce about Gramma Anna, the patient, simple, fun-loving, albeit vertically challenged better half to our fiery French-blooded Grampa Henry.

Among her many virtues, I think the thing we loved most about Gramma Anna was that she was consistent. As the self-appointed family historian, Gramma Anna wrote smack dab on the front of every photo...most of which she took with her old Brownie box camera. Formal portrait or family snapshot, it really didn't matter, Gramma would record the facts on each photo. It drove us crazy then...but what would we do without those notes today!

"Anna-Banana” she’d say to us kids in her deliberate, syllabic way as she'd peer through the little Brownie viewfinder and we’d shriek with delight each time at her wacky wit. “Anna-Banana”…how clever! It really didn’t take much to make us smile.

Topping off at an honest four feet-eleven, Grandma Anna also faithfully served as the family’s human grow stick. Posted like a diminutive sentry at the threshold of their Outer Mission headquarters, she would stand at the top of those terracotta steps, hand held high in the air, waiting to tap the top of our heads as we walked through the door to gauge where we measured up against those almost five feet of hers. With a smooch on the lips, she'd proclaim how much we’d all sprouted since our last visit and how she must be shrinking too…and she was!

At every family event we’d gather at "Eight-Ee-Se-Ven-Na-Va-Ho" (pronounced by Gramma as seven separate words) and the six of us grand kids would run off to the back of the house not to be seen until the turkey made its way onto the crochet-clad dining room table. We’d leave the grown-ups to their chit-chat, their log of Gallo salami and their jug of Carlo Rossi red table wine and be off to explore the wonder that was Gramma and Grampa’s house.

We’d rifle through the designated toy drawer in Auntie Janet’s old bedroom, and fight over the same old trinkets that waited patiently for us to abuse at every visit. We’d play Circus Bingo and Yahtzee and when we were bored with that, we’d explore Gramma’s jewelry drawer and admire her precious “Oh-Pal” (pronounced as two separate words) and Grampa’s silver dollar bill clip.

And, on the rare occasion that Mom and Dad needed a babysitter, we were treated to a city sleepover where Gramma would give us her undivided attention, teaching us how to play poker for dimes or letting us transform a loaf of Wonder bread into stacks of fake hosts so we could practice for our much anticipated First Holy Communions.

When we got a little older, we’d descend into the basement wonderland where Grampa kept his tools and wood scraps that the boys would consistently craft into some form of weaponry. The girl cousins loved the easy access into the garden where we’d mix up muddy concoctions and bury coffee cans full of treasure stowed to unearth on future visits.

The old chest freezer was down there too and if we were feeling especially naughty, we’d pick the lock and steal a nibble of the Carnation coconut-covered vanilla ice cream snowballs that were always there around the holidays, nestled between 40 pounds of butcher-paper wrapped red meat and stacks of thin white boxes filled with frozen ravioli. We learned that if we repositioned the decorative plastic holly leaf just right over the tell-tale bite marks, no one would know that the snowballs had been compromised.

That basement was our clubhouse and we were happy to share it with the old, early-70’s model Oldsmobile (which Grampa insisted on calling a Cadillac) that faithfully ferried them to our house almost every weekend. They were professional fans and never missed one of the many Little League games or dance recitals that commanded their attendance.

Wearing a floral polyester, long-sleeved dress and sun visor, Gramma Anna would sit patiently in the bleachers, notepad in-hand , meticulously recording statistics and observations. At the end of each event, she’d tuck her notepad into her well-organized purse and announce that it was time to go home to “San-Fran-Sis-Co-Watch-My-Fist-Go” (pronounced like eight separate words) and off they would ride into the Sunset, so-to-speak.

As they’d pull into the driveway of "Eight-Ee-Se-Ven-Na-Va-Ho" Grandma would reach into the glove box for yet another notepad, record their mileage and fuel consumption, neatly re-secure it with a rubber band and stow it back away. She’d then hop out of the passenger seat, stand in front of the open garage door and waive Grandpa in as if together they were landing a fighter plane on the deck of the USS Nimitz.

Sometimes Grampa would make it through the narrow portal unscathed, but the deep battle scars stretching down both sides of the Olds proved that their success rate was less than 100%.

When we’d come back upstairs, our first stop would always be the kitchen. After a couple of hours in the tunnels, we’d worked up quite an appetite and could always count on finding handfuls Oreos in the chipped, glued and re-glued Raggedy Ann cookie jar (which I now proudly display in my kitchen) and an opened, less-than-fresh box of chocolate-covered Hostess mini-donuts on the counter.

We’d wash it all down with a cold glass of Tang (pronounced by Gramma as “Tanj”) and while we were in the fridge we’d sneak a spoonful of chocolate pudding (the cooked, Jello-brand kind, of course) digging beneath the characteristic surface skin to find that familiar, chocolaty, lumpy, goodness. Yes, it’s true, Gramma Anna wasn’t known for her culinary prowess, but a visit to their house wouldn’t be the same without those donuts, that pudding, and that “Tanj.”

So, as a gift to my brothers and my cousins, but most of all to celebrate our “Anna Banana”, I share with you my version of chocolate pudding that I hope you will all enjoy in good health. It may not be Jello-brand, but it is cooked, it is chocolaty and it is guaranteed delicious. I make it today in the shadow of that Raggedy Ann cookie jar and as I put it in the fridge to cool, I look up, and raise a cold glass of “Tanj” to our beloved Gramma Anna. Enjoy the pudding, my brothers and my cousins…enjoy one-and-all. I think I’ll play some Yahtzee tonight.

Get all of your ingredients together...this recipe cooks up fast...no time to go searching for the vanilla or you'll get lumps! My favorite chocolate to use is the Ghirardelli 60% Cacao Dark...and it comes in a 4 ounce bar. Carly made a double batch last night and brought it to school today with 10 spoons. She used Trader Joes Dark (which is what I had on hand) and it was good too...and way less expensive!

Throw the sugar, cornstarch and salt into a heavy saucepan and whisk it together...

Add the chopped chocolate then whisk the egg yolk into the milk and add it to the pot...keep whisking...

Melt everything down until it looks (and smells!) like hot chocolate then gently bring it up to a boil over medium high heat. When it starts to thicken remove it from the heat (about one minute).

Add a tablespoon of butter and the vanilla and whisk it until it is smooth and glossy. Pour it immediately into two 8 ounce ramekins or whatever fancy dish or dishes you'd like and chill. The recipe serves two but I think the portions are too huge...it's sooo rich! I suggest putting it into two smaller dishes then leaving a big glob of it in the pot to eat right then and there sharing spoonfuls with whomever is in lips' reach.

Bittersweet Chocolate Pudding

In a heavy saucepan whisk together:

1/2 cup sugar
2 Tablespoons cornstarch
pinch of salt

Add:

4 ounces bittersweet chocolate, chopped

Whisk together then add to the pot:

1 1/3 cups whole milk
1 large egg yolk

Keep whisking over medium-high heat until the chocolate melts and when it starts to bubble watch it until it thickens then remove it from the heat (about one minute). Add and mix until smooth and glossy:

1 Tablespoon unsalted butter
1/4 teaspoon vanilla

Pour into two to four serving dishes, chill and garnish with:

whipped cream and chocolate shavings if you've got 'em.

Serves two to four

Life is just a bowl of cherries...

2010-08-24T11:27:00.000-07:00

Ten years ago, almost to the day, Charlie and I clutched the dimpled paws of our baby girl as we marched her off to her first day of Kindergarten. I can still remember the nostalgic scent of white paste and construction paper wafting out the door into the warm morning air as we entered the Lilliputian world that would be Carly's first classroom.

She lost her first tooth, and made her first friend that year.

Today, I dropped Carly off at her first day of high school. Funny. I don't really remember shedding a tear the day we left Carly at Miss Woodman's door ten years ago. But today, I cried like a baby as I pulled away from the front steps of Carly's new home-away-from home for the next four years (and my Alma Mater). Yes, I am ten years older and my hormones (as well as some other things) aren't quite as balanced as they used to be, but I think it's more than that...perhaps.

As Carly bopped eagerly out of the car, bid Willy and me a hasty "bye" and ran off into her new world, a flush of excitement washed over my body in a wave of tiny electric sparkles. Like the powdery pop of one of those old-time photographer's flashes, a million images fired through my brain: lockers, classrooms, teachers, guys, tests, rallies, football games...friends. Friends! That was it. That was what I was most excited about: the new relationships Carly gets to explore as she navigates her way from the placid pond that was 8th grade into the high seas of high school life.

Almost 30 years later and we're still whining and dining...

So, yes, I did compose myself and luckily made my way out of the rat maze of a parking lot without completely exposing myself as a rookie parent. I came home, plopped down in front of my computer and, just like any other day, watched a flood of emails populate my in-box. But it really wasn't any other day. Something changed.

Instead of scoffing at yet another Costco mattress event special offer or dreading the inevitable slew of mundane to-dos that would come, I smiled as I watched a parade of my friends stop into my in-box to say hi. Costco, your special offer is going to have to wait...I'm pouring myself another cup of coffee and stopping to chat.

Carol, wants to know if we've picked a hotel yet for our second Las Vegas high school girls get-away. "This time we're not sharing a double bed!"

Check out our Cindy Brady pig tails. I think mine were a little springier than Carol's

Amy, my "first house" best-neighbor-friend, wants to see if I am free to work with her at an upcoming non-profit event she is planning. "Yes...it's the only way I get to see you!"

On her way home from the hospital, two days after she was born, Carly (we were there too!) stopped at Amy's house first! They have been pals ever since...

Kathy, my "second house" best-neighbor-friend wrote on my Facebook wall that her oldest daughter is off to Davis. "Go Aggies!"

Onnie and Suz (my sorority/surrogate sisters) want to know when we can celebrate summer birthdays. Maybe by Christmas...but let's keep trying!

Paula, my bawdy buddy mom from Carly's grammar school class emailed to coordinate the next time we can take our shared boat out. "Can summer be almost over already?"

We may not be on the boat, but picking roses amongst the grape vines ain't so bad either...

Someone's at the door...it's Laura, "my third house" best-neighbor-friend here to pick up some hand-me-downs and return a Tupperware. "Can you pick up Will from camp?"

Back to email...Cynthia, my oldest friend from college, wanted to say thanks for dinner the other night (more on that later).

Here is one of the first desserts I made for her...!

Oh, and Lizzie, my first college roommate emailed today from NY too...no wait, that's her old address that I know not to open (it's usually a pirated, virus-filled spam touting male enhancement products)..."Lizzie, that email's gotta go!"

Anyway, you get the picture...so to speak. Somewhere along the line, after years of school, and roommates, and new homes, and kids, my big fat cherry bowl of life got filled with friends, each one juicier than the next. So here's to you...my friends. You make my life delicious and I love you. And to you, my Carly, may your bowl runneth over.

Back to Cynthia. What a treat to have her to dinner the other night. After years of travelling the globe, she's back in town to stay for a while...so I did what I do... I made her a cherry pie. It's a little different than your run-of-the mill cherry pie but Cynthia's a little different than your run-of-the mill kind of friend...so here you go!

Start with my two favorite ingredients.

Add a couple of egg yolks.

Add the dry stuff and mix till it looks like this.

Press half of the dough into your tart pan.

Then, roll out your other half of dough.

Chill your dough while you prepare your cherries. I don't have a cherry pitter so Carly and I improvised by poking through each berry with a plastic chopstick...

...worked great but it was a mess. Nothin' wrong with that!

Pour your prepared cherries into the chilled tart shell.

Cover with the chilled dough disc then sprinkle with sugar. Nothin' wrong with that either!

Bake it baby. Here's what it looks like before being sliced to pieces. I think the bubbly, pitted crust is so cool in an alien, surface-of-the-moon sort of way.

Cherry Tart with a Cornmeal Crust

Beat with a mixer on medium speed until smooth:

1 cup butter at room temp.
2 large egg yolks
3/4 cup sugar

Stir in until well-blended:

2 1/2 cups flour
2/3 cup yellow cornmeal
1 tsp. baking powder
1/4 tsp. salt

Divide the dough in half. press one portion into the bottom and up the sides of a 10-inch fluted tart pan with removable rim. Place the other half on a sheet of waxed paper and roll out with a floured rolling pin into a 10-inch round. Slide onto a baking sheet and chill with the shell at least 1/2 hour or more until firm.

Mix in another bowl and let stand at least 10 minutes:

1 1/2 lbs. clean pitted cherries (this is the only cherry pie I've ever seen that didn't use the sour cherries that we can't get easily here on the west coast)!
2 Tbs. quick cooking tapioca
1 Tbs. lemon juice

Pour into your chilled shell and spread evenly. Place chilled round over the tart and press the edges to seal with the shell, trimming off any excess. Sprinkle with a bit of sugar for extra sparkle and crunch.

Place tart on a baking sheet and bake on the lower rack at 375, rotating once half way through, until golden brown (about 35-40 minutes).

Serve warm or at room temperature with ice cream (how about lemon buttermilk?). Serves about 8.

In a pickle...

2010-07-21T11:19:00.000-07:00

Plum trees laden with sweet, swollen fruit, bushy bushes bursting with robust ruby berries, sturdy stalks of beans climbing towards the heavens worthy to bear the weight of both Jack and his cow...my garden is bursting with the bounty that is summer!

OK, now I'm just lying.

My zucchini aren't zippy, my tomatoes are too tart and my pickles have yet to pop (that's a little pickle pup above). Yes, my garden does show some signs of promise this year but it's time to do some canning and I just don't have the patience to wait for my few measly little plants to produce enough cucumbers to stock our larders with homemade pickles to keep my family puckered up the winter through.

So, the other day, the kids and I set out for the Farmer's Market to pick up a couple dozen cheaters. But, as it turns out, in addition to cukes, dill and garlic, we just couldn't pass up the flat (that's 12 baskets) of juicy, ripe, organic strawberries that were offered to us as an end-of-the-day-half-price deal (not to mention some peaches and nectarines for good measure). Guess I'm making jam too...it's gonna be a late night cause these puppies aren't gonna make it through the night. Boil some water...stat!

So, I'm here to tell you, that if I can can, so can you. You see, canning is really no big mystery. It's fun, it's easy, and there's nothing like having a case of your homemade goods ready at any time to pop into a pretty little bag and proudly present as a last minute hostess gift (it lasts for over a year). Yes, you too can have your very own "Martha" moments.

So, pop on your gingham apron, put your hair up with an old clothespin, download the soundtrack of Oklahoma and get jammin'...it's so County Fair.

I've experimented with lots of different recipes and techniques with varied results but, if your gonna try this just once, I suggest going with the tried and true recipe you'll find in your box of Certo pectin (the stuff that helps make your jam gel).

You'll need a big pot to sterilize the jars and to process the cans once their filled. I got this one at Costco years ago during our homemade beer making phase. A big soup pot will work as long as it is tall enough to cover the height of the jars with water plus and at least an inch. Take your clean jars (I put them through the dishwasher first) then and add them to the pot of water to boil for a while to sterilize even further. Remove them from the water with tongs and set to dry face up on a clean towel next to the stove. Take a small bowl and place the jar lids (not the rims) in it and pour boiling water over them while you make your jam. This softens the wax seal.

This is a shot of the side of one of my boxes of jars...you get the idea...so retro...I love it! There are usually 12 per box and come with the jars, lids and bands. Note: the jars and bands can be used over and over but you will need to buy new lids each time you can to ensure a good seal.

Here are some other handy tools to have...a wide-mouthed funnel, special jar-lifting tongs (although you can use regular tongs if you are careful) and and ladle. All of these items are super easy to find and inexpensive (under $5).

Start with firm, sweet fruit.

Wash, stem, and slice...

Place the fruit in a stainless steel soup pot (not the huge one you are using to process) and mix with your sugar and a little bit of balsamic vinegar. Squish it as you stir with a metal potato masher. Bring to a full rolling boil (that doesn't stop when stirred), add the pectin and boil another 60 seconds (careful not to scorch it). Remove from heat. Skim off any foamy impurities.

Now you're ready to ladle your jam into the hot jars you have set next to the stove. Use a sterile ladle and a wide-mouthed funnel and fill each jar to about 1/8" below the rim. Place a warm jar lid on each jar (make sure the rim is clean) and screw the rim band just finger tight. Lower the jars into the boiling water (CAREFUL!) and process (gently boil) for about 10 minutes making sure that the water covers the jars and that the jars are not touching.

Lift the jars back out of the water with your handy jar lifter and place back on the counter to cool. Be careful not to slip as you grip...boiling hot water splashing back up as the jar plops back into the pot is a less than delightful sensation. As they cool, you'll hear a happy little popping sound as the vacuum seal is made. There is a little dimple at the top of each lid which will compress when a proper seal is made. If the dimple is still up after an hour or so (you can feel it by running your finger over the top), your seal did not happen. Put your jar in the fridge and enjoy now. The directions say to reprocess but this always makes me nervous. Otherwise, if your seals work...and they should...you're good to go. Label and store in a cool, dark place.

Alright, it's 10 pm but...gotta make those pickles...it just takes a few ingredients...

Cut the little stem end off of the cucumber as it will muck up your pickle juice.

Sterilize your jars, take them out of the boiling water, place on the counter and add the fresh dill, mustard seed and garlic cloves to your hot jars...

Next add your washed and stemmed cucumbers...really pack 'em in as they shrink as they pickle. I think I got about 6-7 pickles per quart jar.

Boil the vinegar, water and salt until the solids are dissolved then pour over your pickles in the jars. Add the lids and rims (as above) and process for abut 15 minutes.

Here are the recipes:

Homemade Strawberry Jam

Place in a large soup pot and bring to a rolling boil:

4 cups crushed strawberries
7 cups sugar (!)
1 Tbs. balsamic vinegar

Add and boil 60 more seconds:

1 pouch Certo liquid pectin

Ladle into sterile jars and seal as directed on your Certo package directions and above. Label and store in a cool, dark place.

Makes 7-8 cups of delicious homemade jam

Garlic Dill Pickles

Wash and cut the little stem off:

18-20 small pickling cucumbers

Boil:

4 cups white vinegar
4 cups water
4 Tbs. pickling salt

Shove equally into three hot sterile quart jars:

A big bunch of washed fresh dill
6 small peeled cloves of garlic
2 Tbs. mustard seed

Pack in your cucumbers, pour hot liquid into the jars to about 1/2" below the rim. Place jar lids on (that you have softened in hot water), screw on bands and process in your big pot for 15 minutes making sure that the water covers the jars by one inch. Remove from water to cool and seal.

Label and store in a cool, dark place.

Makes three quarts of puckerlicious pickles. Note: try adding dried red chili peppers, bay leaf, and/or pickling spice for variations and/or a little sugar for sweetness.

Say peas...and thank you...

2010-06-14T14:10:00.000-07:00

At the beginning of this past school year, I was standing near Carly's locker helping her juggle a pile of shelves and books and magnets and mirrors and noticed an unfamiliar face nearby. I heard that a new boy was joining her class and thought "This must be him...I'll say hi and hook him up with a couple of classmates.." Turns out, he was actually a returning student from another class and I had just never met him...but here's the weird thing...

Instead of giving me a bewildered "Who are you and why are you talking to me" look like most awkward thirteen-year-olds would, he smiled right back at me, put out his hand, reached for mine, gave it a firm shake, looked me in the eye and politely introduced himself...to me...an adult, no less!

Don't ask me why (and to tell you the truth, I don't even remember this kid's name) but I was completely floored. Big deal...a kid shook my hand...why was I so blown away? Then, it occurred to me...in the words of Ward and June Cleaver, "kids these days!"

Manners...where have they gone? I'm not asking for the moon and stars here, really I'm not. I'm just talking about the basics: please, thank you, hello, good-bye, have-a-nice-day-kind-of-stuff. And God, forbid...how about giving your seat to an elderly person or opening the door for a lady...or how about a little eye contact and a sincere smile now and then? Where has it gone?

Don't get me wrong...I do believe this behavior still exists...every now and then and, for the most part, at family funerals under the watchful eye of Aunt Gladys. But, here's what I'm looking for: quite simply I want our kids to feel, and enjoy, and cherish and be accountable for their personal connections.

No cell phones here...this is connecting!

It feels that we have somehow silently slipped into a virtual reality where we condone the sad fact that our kids are forming their social skills in a world devoid of touch and tone; where cousins sit at the family table texting their friends while they should be interacting with each other, teasing the "baby in the brood" and bonding through the mutual mockery of Grandpa's ear hair...like we did.

The only things bigger than baby Michael's diaper and the bow in my hair were Grandpa Henry's ears.

Guess who I blame...us!

If our kids can teach us to program our Bluetooths or use canvas bags at the grocery, don't we owe it to them to share the good stuff that used to be expected of us? And, you know how we're gonna do it...by doing it ourselves!

Dads...when's the last time you pulled out the chair for your wife and nudged your son to do the same for Sister? Moms...when's the last time you closed your cell phone before you reached the grocery checkout so you could be sure to give your clerk a proper "have a nice day?"

Remember this little guy...I think it's time to bring him back.

OK...so here's my plan...here are the three things we're gonna work on this summer to unplug our over-amped connections.

1.) Say please and thank you...sincerely. Until I really made an effort to actually take note, I was shocked how many times my kids just took the Popsicle and ran. It's up to us to grab them by the ear, yank them back to the scene of the crime and give them the gift of stopping for a second to feel and express gratitude.

2.) As my cousin from Texas used to say in her southern drawl, "drive friendly now." I'm going to slow down, get off the phone, talk to my kids in the car, not my automated bank teller, let the other guy into traffic and smile at him when he let's me in...or one better, even when he doesn't.

3.) Simply put...be nice...especially to old folks. Let's face it...I practically am one! I figure if I teach my kids to show good old-fashioned respect for their elders, it just might rub off onto the way they treat each other.

Carly still remembers her weekly visits with Great Grandma Finy (and the cold 7-up Grandma Liz let her buy from the vending machine).

We're going to spend more time with grandmas and grandpas and I'm going to give the kids a nudge to note when Grandpa Don holds Grandma Liz tight around the waist leading her when they dance or when Grandma Alice puts her napkin on her lap at the dinner table and places her fork correctly on her plate when she is finished.

20 years ago at our wedding...and Mom and Dad are still dancing.

Looking back at this manifesto, it's hard to believe I started this post with the intention of sharing a great recipe using "peas.". Guess I had something I wanted to get off my chest! Phew, I feel better now. Let's make some ravioli..

So, the peas in my garden are going crazy right now and are so fun to watch as they grow and change from day to day. Last week, we picked the young shoots right off the vine and ate them whole.

This week, they're plump and tender so we're grabbing them by the handfuls, unzipping their snappy little jackets and tossing the little buggers almost raw into salads and pastas...yum! The heat's officially here though so soon they'll get too fat and starchy to enjoy.

So, I thought I'd find a way to use a heap of them at once. After searching my cookbooks and the Internet for inspiration, I decided on a pea ravioli. I did the mad scientist thing with ingredients I had on hand and, if I don't say so myself, the results were awesome! Here's what I did...

Since I didn't have enough ripe ones ready last week when I was experimenting, I used bagged frozen petite peas...worked great! The dregs of my fridge also produced goat cheese, ricotta, shallot, garlic, and bread crumbs...this should do.

After sauteing the shallots and garlic, I tossed everything into a food processor and mashed it up until it looked like guacamole...

We tasted it and decided that something was missing.... lemon zest! Carly nailed it.

Next, I blobbed a heaping teaspoonful of the concoction onto squares of pasta (OK, I made mine from scratch because I didn't have won ton wrappers but, unless you're into it, go for the convenience and buy the wrappers at any market...you should find them in the fridge section near the tofu).

Place a bowl of water next to your work area and lightly wet the edges of the dough using your finger then fold them like this, pushing out extra air as you go and pressing the edges to seal. Charlie thinks they look like little houses. But, then again, given his line of work, he would.

Carly pulled some fresh chives, oregano and thyme from the garden. I chopped them fine then floated them with some fresh peas in a chicken broth I infused with lemon and garlic.

Next, we gently boiled the ravioli for a few minutes, drained them then slipped them into the broth...light, aromatic, sweet and tangy...it was crazy good! Charlie liked it too but called the broth "too fast!" Huh? Too fast? "Yah," he said, "It was frustrating trying to chase the ravioli around the bowl as they slipped around in the thin broth!" Give me a break...

He asked for his next plateful to be plain with just butter and cheese. "OK," I said, "as long as you say peas..."

Spring Pea Ravioli in Fast Broth

Saute:

1 small shallot
1 small garlic clove
1 Tbs. olive oil

Pulse in a food processor with:

1 cup of thawed frozen peas or fresh that have been blanched
3 heaping Tbs. goat cheese
2 heaping Tbs. ricotta cheese
1 Tbs. Parmesan cheese
3 Tbs. bread crumbs
1/4 tsp. lemon zest or to taste
salt and pepper to taste

Place 1 heaping teaspoon of filling in the middle of a won ton wrapper and fold. Boil gently in water for a few minutes until al dente and serve about 5-6 per person with "fast broth"* or butter and cheese.

Garnish with

fresh peas
chopped herbs

*1 quart of chicken stock with just a touch of lemon zest and garlic to taste.

Serves about 6 as a first course or light lunch

He may not be a snappy dresser...

2010-05-21T14:57:00.000-07:00

...but he sure knows what to say to make a girl swoon.

Although you may not know it by the Spiderman underwear he's wearing on his head in this vintage photo...my boy is wicked smart.

You see, the other day I received a love note from him and I've gotta tell you, he could have asked for anything after I read it...a trip to Disneyland, the inappropriately expensive Star Wars Death Star Lego set he covets, a personal audience with George Lucas himself...I would have found a way to get it for him. Here's the note:

This kid knows how to play to his audience. Did he think I would want to hear, "Mommy you're so pretty," or, "Mama, you give me the best hugs"...well...yes, I guess! But when you think about it, what would be the ultimate compliment my child could bestow on me; the one guaranteed to drop me to my knees..."You give me the right food at the right time!" My boy knows what feeds Mamma's soul! He gets me.

I think the fact that it was so unexpected was what made it that much more of a gift. As I sat at my desk, banging on the computer keys posting yet another bill into Quickbooks, Will puttered around at my feet building something with the Lincoln Logs I keep close by in an attempt to temporarily stave off his ritual zombie-like communion with Sponge Bob or one of his fellow mind-mutating cartoon minions.

With my back to him, I couldn't see that he had put aside his three story wooden masterpiece, sneaking a sheet of discarded paper from the recycling bin and a pencil off the floor to go to work on a his spontaneous prose. Yah, Will is funny...he's cute...and the kid can dance but "Mr. Sensitivity" he is not (as opposed to Carly, my love bug, who at 14 still crawls into my lap and won't sleep until I tuck her in). So you can imagine, when I take priority over a play date, a Wii session or a bean and cheese burrito, I feel like I've won the lottery. Happy belated Mother's Day to me...I must be doing something right!

So, for all of you who want a way to give your kids "the right food at the right time" too, here's one of my favorite make-ahead snack solutions...one alternative to the industrial-sized packages of Costco chicken nuggets and petrified potstickers we all keep in our freezers to keep the hungry tribe at bay.

Try these mini pizza's with a wholewheat crust (trust me, they won't even know it's healthy). Or, if you're chicken, I'll give you my standard white flour pizza dough recipe as you ease yourself in to the wonderful world of whole grains.

Willy is a cheese and olive fan...check out those big boy teeth!

Start with warm water in a measuring cup with a spout, add the yeast and a squirt of honey to feed the little yeasty beasties.

While the yeast is doing it's thing, pulse the flours and salt in a food processor fitted with a dough blade until it is mixed and fluffy.

Add the olive oil into the measuring cup with the bubbling yeast mixture and pour it through the feed tube with the motor running until the dough comes together. Note: if your yeast is not showing signs of life (bubbly and foamy) toss it and start again. Your poor little fermented friends have gone on to the big bakery in the sky (the yeast may have been bad or maybe your water was too hot).

Here is some overachiever yeast but yours should be good and bubbly too.

Time to knead...

Turn the dough out onto a clean, lightly floured surface and knead until it is relatively smooth and elastic (about 10 minutes).

Enjoy the process. Get into it. Use your body weight, rocking back and forth into the dough versus pumping with your arms. Hard to believe this is coming out of my mouth but...take your time! I'm all for instant gratification, but making homemade yeast dough is one process that just can't be rushed (as simple as it is)! Give yourself this ten minutes, knead, think nice thoughts and breath in the smell the wonderful warm yeasty aroma wafting up from your dough as it transforms. Can you tell? I think bread (and especially making it with your own hands) is magical!

Shape the dough into a ball and place it into an oiled bowl. Cover with plastic wrap, put in a warm place and let rise until it is doubled in bulk. If it's a cold day, I turn on the oven for a minute, just until it clicks on, then turn it off and place the bowl inside the toasty space...like a perfect warm day, not hot.

Punch down the dough and separate it into about 12 little balls. Preheat the oven to 450 degrees.

While the oven is preheating, pat the dough balls into mini rounds or use an awesome muffin top pan. It makes perfect little deep dish pizzas. I don't remember where I got mine but I did a quick search and saw that they are available at Target, Bed, Bath and Beyond, Sur la Table...all over the place. Buy one...they're fun to have.

Spoon on some sauce and your favorite toppings. I like fresh basil, garlic and tomato...

Here's a "mean" trick...dice up some zucchini or julienne some spinach and hide it under the cheese. The kids won't know it's there and you'll be sneaking in some additional goodness...

But...the kids do like to make their own. Willy's is the one in the middle with the pepperoni and cheese. Check out Carly's...

I've made a ton of these with the kids' friends too. It's a great rainy day play date thing...

I make a bunch of 'em, stack 'em and freeze 'em. They're the best after school snacks. I tend to microwave them because I'm always hungry NOW but I must admit that they do turn out pretty chewy. I recommend using a toaster oven...if you can wait!

Whole Wheat Pizza Dough

Dissolve together in a 2+ cup glass measure:

1 Tbs. honey
1 1/4 cup very warm (not hot) water
1/4 ounce packet of active dry yeast

After it is bubbly, add:

2 Tbs.olive oil (plus extra for greasing bowl)

Pulse together in a food processor fitted with a dough blade:

1 1/4 cup white flour (plus extra for kneading)
2 cups whole wheat flour
1 tsp. salt

With the motor running, slowly add the wet mixture to the dry through the feed tube of the food processor until the dough comes together.

Turn the dough out onto a clean, floured surface and knead until smooth and elastic (about 10 minutes). Shape into a ball, place in an oiled bowl, cover with plastic and let rise in a warm place for about an hour until it is doubled in bulk.

Punch down the dough, shape, top and bake at 450 degrees for 9-12 minutes depending on the thickness of your dough. If you make them free form (without the pan), preheat your oven to 500 degrees with the cookie sheet in the oven. Shape your pizzas on a cutting board, piece of cardboard or pizza peel sprinkled with cornmeal so they don't stick. Carefully slide your pizzas onto the super hot sheet (BE CAREFUL!!!). This is the trick to a crispy crust if you don't have a pizza stone (like me). Bake for about 10 minutes but watch them to make sure they don't burn.

Makes 12+ mini-muffin top pizzas depending on how thick you like the dough.

White Pizza Dough

Follow directions for whole wheat dough using these ingredients.

1 cup warm water
1 Tbsp. sugar
1/4 ounce packet of active dry yeast
3 cups white flour (plus extra for kneading)
1 tsp. salt
1 Tbs. oil (plus extra for greasing bowl)

Sticky Situations...

2010-05-11T10:55:00.000-07:00

April was full of 'em!

So...I'm sorry I haven't had even a minute lately to stay in touch.

I've missed you so!

I promise to post a real post really, really soon but, in the meantime, I wanted to draw your attention to the right hand side of this page* where I have added a new feature: "Recipes You've Requested." From hasty shouts across supermarket checkout isles to in-depth conversations over margaritas and bean dip, it's easy for me to lose track of the many oh-so-wonderful recipe requests I receive at random times throughout the week.

Soooo, until I figure out a better way to do it (which I will need to do), as soon as I get your request, I'll try to hop on my computer and slap the recipe up on the site, no fuss, no muss. There probably won't be any photos and there's a chance you'll get a scanned copy of crumpled piece of stained paper out of my files ... but at least you'll have it before next Christmas!

Today I'm adding recipes for the Black-Eyed-Pea Salsa and the Cinco(!) Leches Cake I served on Cinco de Mayo. For a "school night", it turned out to be a pretty fun fiesta (note evidence below). Thanks to our amigos who joined us!

I hope you also enjoy the other recipes I've added throughout the past month including a killer, no fail, recipe for Milk and Honey Whole Wheat Bread...it's the one I make every year with our school's second graders as part of their Lenten tradition.

Together, those 60 sticky little hands produce 36 loaves of beautiful brown bread in one chaotic but memorable morning. I cherish this day every year and revel in the gift I receive by sharing this tradition with them.

So, please enjoy the few recipes I've shared to the right* and stay tuned for more Mudpies really soon.

*Note: if you receive Makemudpies via a feed (i.e. if it comes to you by email) you probably can't see the columns on the right including "Recipes You've Requested," my Twitter feed, blog archive etc... Simply access the blog via http://www.makemudpies.com/ to see the entire blog in all it's glory!