On My Plate

2009-06-21T10:24:00.006-05:00

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
I turned fifty on June 14! We celebrated with a backyard garden party at our house, with family, friends, coworkers, neighbors, and even a couple dogs as our guests. The theme was Paris, complete with a gorgeous Eiffel Tower cake, Paris gifts, and a flamenco performance by our good friend M. Okay, so flamenco isn't French....

Photo 1 The cake, made to order by McHattie's
Photo 2 My Laduree tote, the inspiration for the cake
Photo 3 The flamenco diva

2009-05-29T09:26:00.000-05:00

LIVING ON THE CHEAP
Earlier in the month, Astronave wrote on her blog about living on limited income in the twenty-first century. Her piece inspired me to ask our father, on his most recent visit, to talk about growing up during the Great Depression. He was born at home in 1931 in a Milwaukee immigrant neighborhood and entered his teens during World War II.

I asked my father how his family and community made ends meet during lean times. As with Astronave's experience, creativity, determination, and entrepreneurial spirit are required. Below are some of my father's memories.

Fun and Games
Without television, radio brought news and entertainment for free to most homes during the Great Depression. And boxing was second only to baseball as American's favorite sport. In the photo above, from the late 1930s, my father (left) and his brother Tony (right) box for the camera as their sister Vi referees in the background.

Billy Conn, known as the "Philadelphia Kid," debuted as a professional boxer in 1934 and won the world Light Heavyweight title in 1939. He went on to fight Joe Louis in 1941, a match my father still remembers. Billy Conn was his man.

Gotta Have Wheels

Americans of my father's generation were not as mobile as we are in the twenty-first century. But motorized traffic was well established by the 1930s. The photo above shows downtown Milwaukee in the early 1940s.

On weekends, my father borrowed the neighbor's transit pass to ride the city's streetcars (transit map booklet below). He could be gone the whole day, riding wherever he wanted and at no expense to him.

Scooting Around

With no money for new bikes or scooters, kids in my father's neighborhood scrounged for empty orange crates and 2 x 4 planks. They nailed the crates in an upright position onto the boards, then disassembled skates for the wheels, which they nailed onto the bottom of the planks. Wooden handles were optional, and voila. Homemade scooter for free (above).

In 2009 you can buy one of these orange-crate scooters (above)--made to order--from Mountain Boy Sledworks in Silverton, Colorado. Hold your hat. They cost $120! Plus shipping.

Toys on Loan

If you couldn't make a scooter, kids could borrow one from
toy-lending centers around town (logo at left). Milwaukee had twenty of them. Toy-lending centers around the country accepted toy donations from residents of more means. They gave ice skates, dolls, doll houses, steam shovels, miniature cars you pumped with your legs, scooters, and other popular playthings of the era.

The County Delivers

My father had nine siblings (four sisters and five brothers). To feed the family, my grandparents relied, in part, on assistance from the county. They went to food distribution centers, which were organized to give away surplus agricultural products subsidized by the federal government to keep farmers solvent. Depending on what was in season, families would get rations of raisins, prunes, ring bologna, white flour, butter, lard, honey, barley, sugar, peanut butter, potatoes, and canned peas, carrots, and string beans.

The county distributed milk directly to homes. In Milwaukee, the Golden Guernsey dairy delivered daily in my father's neighborhood. But unlike the photo above of a Golden Guernsey delivery truck from 1938, the dairy delivered via horse-drawn wagons, such as the one pictured below from the mid-1940s.

Gotta Have Caffeine!

Coffee is a must in Sicilian families, and to stretch the supply of A&P Eight O'Clock brand, my grandmother--Rosaria DeNicola--reused coffee grounds. She dried them in the sun on newspaper and then percolated a new pot of coffee, adding a small amount of fresh grounds to the old ones. (The ad pictured at left is from an April 1940 edition of Woman's Day magazine.)

Music Man
During the Depression, the Works Progress Administration (WPA) supported music and the arts in a variety of ways. In Milwaukee, my grandfather--Vincenzo--played the tuba for the WPA orchestra. They played at events all over town, and the salary he earned allowed him to supplement the family's diet with 20-pound boxes of spaghetti, wooden crates of anchovies, olives and olive oil, and Genoa salami.
The poster below from the Illinois WPA orchestra is representative of the era.

Fuel for the Body
Music fuels the soul, and according to advertisements of the 1940s (below), candy fuels the body. When my father was growing up, all the kids in town knew where to get a Baby Ruth candy bar for free--at the gospel tabernacle near the downtown movie theater. In truth, they weren't exactly free. You had to stay for a 15-minute sermon, after which the candy bars were put out--just in time for the first showing of the afternoon movies.

For more information about the Great Depression and World War II years, the Internet and historical societies around the country are great resources. The Minnesota Historical Society, for example, recently launched a comprehensive exhibit called Minnesota's Greatest Generation: The Depression, The War, the Boom. The companion website is a rich trove. Check out your local historical society for more information about your community and its history.

2009-05-22T08:57:00.006-05:00

EXPERIENTIAL PARIS
It's a beautiful spring morning. The sky is clear, the sun bright. The flowering crab (picture above from last week) outside the window by my computer is no longer in full bloom, but the scent of lilacs and lilies of the valley is wafting through the house, in competition to see which will dominate the olfactory senses. I can see from my neighbors' gardens that iris will be blooming next, and that means that my birthday flower--the peony--is not far behind.

Lilies of the valley were in bloom in Paris earlier in the month. I know because I occasionally check Paris Daily Photo. Blogger Eric lives in the 9th somewhere and posts a single photo every day from somewhere in the city. It's a great way to keep up on events in Paris and to feel, at least for a moment, that you're in the city. Give it a peak!

2009-05-15T07:00:00.005-05:00

EXPERIENTIAL PARIS
Create a taste test for yourself while you're in Paris. For example, one year my father and I went around town looking for the best financiers (small bite-sized almond cakes). Another year, we were on the hunt for the best baguette. On yet another trip, we stopped in every patisserie we passed to try their tarte citron (lemon tarte; photo above).

Last week, SJG and I hosted former colleagues and now friends for a spring dinner. We started with asparagus soup with a dollop of creme fraiche in each of the big white serving bowls. Then came grilled lamb chops and spring greens topped with roasted pecans, blue cheese, and slices of red pears. I used the honey balsamic vinegar our neighbor brought us from Oregon at Christmas to make a light vinaigrette dressing for the salad. And for dessert? French tarte citron!

My lemon tarte recipe is adapted from Paule Caillat's, of Promenades Gourmandes fame. She's become a friend over the years, and it is she who introduced me to the best tarte crust ever . It's also the easiest crust recipe I've run across (as long as you use a fluted, two-piece tarte tin; the type where you can separate the bottom from the side ring), and it works equally well for sweet and savory affairs.

When my father and I first made lemon tarte with Paule, we agreed it was the winner in our search for the best lemon tarte in Paris. Try it. It wowed the dinner guests last week!

Lemon Tarte
1 parbaked tarte crust (photo above) a la Paule Caillat
(See this recent entry on David Lebovitz's blog devoted entirely to making Paule's crust. It's a perfect introduction to the how-to of it.)

For the filling:
3-1/2 ounces unsalted butter, melted
1/3 cup (75 grams) sugar
3 eggs, separated
1/2 cup lemon juice (about 3 lemons)
zest of one lemon
powdered sugar for serving

1. Melt the butter.

2. Beat the sugar into the egg yolks until the mixture becomes almost white. This happens quickly (a minute or two).

3. Slowly add the melted butter, then the lemon juice, then the zest.

4. Beat the egg whites until stiff and then gently fold them into the batter.

5. Pour filling into the parbaked tarte crust. Bake the tarte for about 23 minutes in a 350-degree oven.

6. The tarte is done when the top is lightly browned and the filling is set. Depending on your oven, that may be a little more or a little less than 23 minutes, so check the tarte after 20 minutes and go from there.

7. Allow the tarte to cool for about 30 minutes before removing the side ring and placing the tarte on a serving plate (don't bother to remove the bottom of the tarte tin).

8. Just before serving, sprinkle the tarte with a little powdered sugar (by passing the sugar through a small sieve for a fine dusting). I sometimes add a spring of fresh mint in the middle for color contrast, although I didn't this time. The recipe serves about 6-8 people.

Bon appetit!

2009-05-08T09:38:00.001-05:00

EXPERIENTIAL PARIS
There's nothing like a massage to relieve aching muscles and the fatigued spirit after a long transatlantic flight to Paris. If I'm staying at least a week, I like to schedule a massage for the day after arrival and another one for the day just before departure.

Paris offers a variety of options for massage. Treat yourself to one of them!

Espace France-Asie
Founded in Paris by master masseuse Micky Suwanachoti, Espace France-Asie (France-Asia Space)is a center for Thai massage just around the corner from the Madeleine. The EFA center offers a range of options, from traditional Thai massage to Swedish massage and aromatic herbal treatments.

Micky and her staff are bilingual (actually trilingual, since most of the staff is from Thailand), and all of them have been trained by Micky. She also offers regular courses in the techniques of Thai massage to the general public.

When you arrive for your massage, you are invited to relax on wooden chairs in the lobby and to sip a cup of tea amid flowering orchids. The massages take place on futons in small, wooden "cabines" (private rooms) as soft instrumental music floats over the sound system. The atmosphere is quiet, relaxed, and gentle.

My father and I have been to EFA so many times that we now get the "bise" (cheek kisses) from Micky when we arrive. Check out the website for more information. You'll want to go back too!

Hammams in Paris
Another fabulous way to relax is to treat yourself to a massage and steam bath at one of the many hammams (Turkish-style steam baths) in Paris. This can be a much less expensive way to enjoy a massage, and it's a wonderful opportunity to try something that's not so easily available at home.

For example, the hammam at the Grande Mosquee de Paris (Grand Mosque of Paris, photo above) is very close to the Jardin des Plantes (conservatory) in the 5th. The entrance fee is 38 euros, which includes a 10-minute massage, a scrub, all the time you want in the steam bath, and tea. Women's days are Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays. Men go on Tuesdays and Sundays.

Check out this article for more information about hammams throughout the city.

2009-05-01T19:54:00.000-05:00

POPCORN INTERLUDE

Popcorn: 1/4c pcorn in sm papr bag; close w/1 stple. Mcrowv pcorn set x 2. Salt.

How about that for a recipe? I learned of it from a colleague, who found it some time ago in a Mark Bittman column in the New York Times. I was inspired to create the haiku version after reading an article in the Times Dining In food section on April 22. It highlighted a woman named Maureen Evans and her penchant for tweeting recipes. She's a master. Take a peak at the article and try it yourself.

Oh, and the popcorn recipe is: ez hi-fbr snk 4 wrk.

Experiential Paris will be back next Friday!

2009-04-17T10:57:00.014-05:00

EXPERIENTIAL PARIS
Paris is a city that's easy to get on top of. It's not overwhelmed with skyscrapers, which means you don't have to go very far or very high to enjoy a marvelous panorama. Below are four places with terrific views and that, together, offer a perfect introduction to the city's top attractions. Try making a day of it!

BIRD'S-EYE VIEW OF PARIS

La Tour Eiffel

The Eiffel Tower is the Paris icon, instantly recognized round the world. My favorite refrigerator magnet is a little metal Eiffel Tower that I bought several years ago from one of the bouquiniste stalls along the Seine.

The tower is definitely worth a visit. Elevators take visitors to the top. If you're in good shape and want exercise, try walking the stairs to the second level
(115 meters up) and take an elevator to the top from there. Walking is less expensive than taking the elevators the whole way--and there's never a line! Think about going at night, when the tower lights sparkle for five minutes on the hour. It's enchanting.

La Cathedrale de Notre Dame
Gothic Paris is on display at the cathedral of Notre Dame in the heart of the city. A visit to the top of the South Tower offers a view out over the river Seine, although be forewarned. There is no elevator to the top of the tower, so be prepared to walk all 387 steps. The gargoyles will be there to reward your effort.

Le Musee d'Orsay
The Musee d'Orsay is an easily recognized landmark along the Seine. It was once a train station (above), whose rail hall is now filled with sculptures (below). I especially love the museum's elegant grey roof. From a distance, it looks like a light covering of snow has settled on the building, even in summer.

If you've worn yourself out walking up the steps of the Eiffel Tower and Notre Dame, wind up your day with an easy stroll through the museum's well known collection of impressionist art.

Then have a late lunch at one of the museum's lovely restaurants. The casual Cafe des Hauteurs is at the top level of the museum and offers a magnificent view over the river and toward the Louvre museum, the Opera (the Palais Garnier), and the basilica of Sacre Coeur in Montmartre.

For a more elegant dining experience in another Left Bank museum, make reservations for dinner at Les Ombres. This restaurant (above), designed by Jean Nouvel, is on the terrace level of the Musee du Quai Branly (MQB). The museum is one of the city's newest and has an impressive collection of indigenous artwork from around the world. And you'll love the view of the Eiffel Tower, where you started your day!

Note to readers: Experiential Paris will not be posting next week, so look for the next entry on May 1.

2009-04-10T14:30:00.018-05:00

EXPERIENTIAL PARIS
Movies transport us to other places, other mindsets, and other cultures. I love to watch movies about Paris before traveling there. And I love them even more when I get back. It's a perfect way to prolong the pleasures of the city.

Below are three movies to get you in the mood for Paris. I've chosen them according to these criteria: (a) because I love them, (b) because each offers good footage of the city itself, and (c) because there's something classic about each one.

I'll add more recommendations over time, but if you're wanting more right now, go to this entry on Ann Althouse's blog. About three years ago, she invited commenters to create a list of favorite movies set in Paris. The list is a treasure trove. (And she ended up engaged to one of the commenters!)

CELLULOID PARIS

DIVA
Diva (1982) is one of my all-time favorite movies. And it's set in Paris. It's a quirky love story set in the crime thriller genre, and there's a scene with a baguette that I would put on any list of classic movie moments.

There's also a tears-streaming-down-the-cheeks scene set in the Chatelet theater before it was cleaned up and beautified in the early 1980s. On a bare, crumbling stage, the diva of the movie's title performs "Ebben? ne andro lontana" from Alfredo Catalani's La Wally for a lone spectator. It'll make an opera fan of you.

Although reviewers at the time criticized weaknesses in Diva's plot, they all conceded this: the movie has Style with a capital S.

A BOUT DE SOUFFLE
(BREATHLESS)
A Bout de Souffle is a 1960 New Wave classic directed by Jean-Luc Godard. In the twenty-first century, we take jump cuts, handheld cameras, ambient noise, and natural lighting for granted, but fifty years ago, they were revolutionary. (Read this excerpt from Richard Brody's Everything Is Cinema (2008) for more about the genius of Godard.)

Not so long ago, I saw the movie on a big screen and loved it. I can't say the plot holds up, but then again, New Wave wasn't driven by story. What sticks in the mind are the images: Jean Seberg selling the New York Herald Tribune on the streets of Paris (above), Jean-Paul Belmondo's obsession with Bogart (photo at top of this entry), and the extended death scene at the end of the movie. If nothing else, the film will give you a sense of the French take on derring-do.

BEFORE SUNSET
This 2004 sequel to Before Sunrise (1995) finds Jesse (Ethan Hawke) and Celine (Julie Delpy) in Paris. In what is essentially an 80-minute conversation, the movie follows the pair (above) as they wander the streets and canals of Paris, catching up on nine years of life. (Recognize the Left Bank bookstore in the still above?)

While Godard was known for introducing quick cuts, the director of Before Sunset, Richard Linklater, revels in the long take. Single shots last several minutes, creating a sense, according to Roger Ebert, that the film is taking place in real time.

I'm about ten years older than Delpy and Hawke, so, to be honest, I wasn't terribly interested in the content of their Before Sunset conversation (the script for which they co-wrote). But I did love the street scenes of the city, and paired with 2 Days in Paris(2007), also starring Julie Delpy, it's great viewing after you get back from Paris. Delpy has a knack for capturing French-American culture clash. She is very loving about it--and wickedly funny. You'll catch yourself nodding in recognition.

Happy viewing, and don't forget to check in next Friday for more tips from Experiential Paris!

2009-04-03T11:17:00.013-05:00

EXPERIENTIAL PARIS
Both my parents, in their different ways, enjoyed leaving home for other places. Through them, my siblings and I had a chance, as children, to begin our travels.

In the early 1970s, for example, we accompanied our father on university sabbatical to Copenhagen. We were there during the winter months, and Denmark in the winter is dark and dreary. To relieve the blues one afternoon, my sister and I went to see a rerun of the 1965 Beatles' movie Help!

In Denmark, as in France, the price of a movie ticket depends on where you sit in the theater. Because our purse was light, we bought the cheapest tickets, which were in the very front row. My sister and I both prefer to sit toward the back of a movie theater. Yet even with our noses to the screen, we loved every minute of the movie.

Ever since, I've included movies on my list of things to do while in a foreign city. It's a great way to see the town and be with the locals, and in some cases, to see a film before it's released stateside.

Below are suggestions for three movie houses to visit in Paris.

AT THE MOVIES IN PARIS
Parisians are cinephiles, with a long tradition of making, talking about, and loving movies. Remember France's Lumiere brothers? These days, you can watch footage of their earliest movies, which date to the1890s, on YouTube. Amazing.

Paris in the twenty-first century offers a wide array of movie theaters all over town, and I suggest starting with one that's close to wherever you're staying or wherever your day's itinerary is taking you anyway.

Le Reflet Medicis
On a family trip to Paris in the mid-1970s, my sister and I went by ourselves to see Woody Allen's Sleeper at Le Reflet Medicis, a Latin Quarter favorite not too far from our hotel on rue Monsieur le Prince. The hotel is no longer there, but the movie house is. It's still known for showing English-language films, along with film noir revivals and independent films from all over the world.

Centre Pompidou Cinema
If you're already visiting the Centre Pompidou in the 4th arrondissement for an art exhibit, check to see what's playing at their cinema. They're known for programming retrospectives of film directors, and the museum website will tell you what's playing when. (Note that, for whatever reason, the French-language version of the site has more information about the movie offerings than does the English-language version.)

La Pagode
A Paris movie house that's on my list is La Pagode. Built in the 1890s close to what is now the chic Bon Marche department store in the 7th arrondissement, La Pagode is a Japanese-style pagoda. A revival house of sorts, La Pagode also shows English-language films, both current and classic.

To practice your French and learn a little about the history of La Pagode at the same time, you can watch a short French-language spot from Cap 24, a French television station, complete with shots of the theater itself, on YouTube. Amusez-vous bien!

Be sure to check in next Friday for Experiential Paris's recommendations for movies to get you in the mood for Paris!

2009-03-27T09:28:00.019-05:00

EXPERIENTIAL PARIS
I'm a foodie, and Paris is a city for the gastronome. It's true that the culinary excitement in Europe has shifted to Spain (think Barcelona and Ferran Adria and El Bulli), but the influence of French culinary tradition is deeply entrenched even there.

The idea of a learning vacation has become popular in recent years, and one of the things I love to do in Paris is to take cooking classes (albeit with more success than Audrey Hepburn's Sabrina at Le Cordon Bleu, above). The city is full of cooking schools, and below are three suggestions. And don't worry. All three instructors are totally bilingual.

COOKING IN PARIS:
THREE FOODIE TREASURES

(Photo credit: Paule's Lacanche stove, by ddip)

Paule Caillat and Promenades Gourmandes
This red Lacanche stove graces the kitchen of my friend Paule Caillat, who offers cooking classes out of her home in the Marais neighborhood of Paris's 3rd arrondissement. The groups are small and hands on, and you share the meal together when it's all done. It's a great way to learn basic French dishes and techniques, as well as to meet people while you're at it.

As part of the package, Paule takes the group to one of the city's many food markets to shop for ingredients, and if you like, she'll also take you on an afternoon shopping excursion to some of the city's best culinary stores.

Check out Paule's Promenades Gourmandes website for more details, and tell her I sent you!

(Photo credit: tile outside a boulangerie, or baker's shop, on the Rue de Grenelle in the 7th, by ddip)

At Home with Patricia Wells
The food critic for many years at the International Herald Tribune, Patricia Wells runs cooking classes out of a former artist's studio on the charming Rue Jacob in Paris's 6th arrondissement. She also offers classes in Provence in the south of France, and her popularity means it's good to sign up early.

Unlike Caillat, Wells offers week-long classes, so this option is for those who want more than a glimpse of French cooking--and who are willing to make the commitment in time and money. A less demanding introduction to the depth of Wells's knowledge is available through the fourth edition of her Food Lover's Guide to Paris. Even with a copyright in the late
1990s, it's still one of the best print resources for Things Culinary in Paris that I know of.

Check out At Home with Patricia Wells for more details.

(Photo credit: camembert on baguette at L'Esplanade de St. Eustache cafe in the Les Halles area of Paris, by ddip)

Eric Fraudeau and Cook'n with Class
One of the newest cooking schools in Paris is in Montmartre. At one point an artist's haven (think Gene Kelly and An American in Paris), this neighborhood surrounding the Basilica of Sacre Coeur (in Paris's 18th arrondissement) fell on hard times for many decades. Lately it's begun to gentrify, and classy restaurants (and people) are moving into the area.

Along with many other Parisians, my father and I marked Valentine's Day in Montmartre last month with dinner at Le Chamarre. (Note that, even though Le Chamarre's website is in French, everyone speaks English there.)

Eric Fraudeau's Cook'n with Class offers a range of hands-on cooking classes, market tours, and cheese and wine tastings out of a studio not too far from Le Chamarre. His website (which is currently being updated) also provides good information about Paris in general, and if you're interested in learning a little French while you're in Paris, sign up for a French-language cooking class with him! (For more information, email him at info@cooknwithclass.com)

Take a leap with any of these cooking schools, and don't forget to check back next Friday for more tips from Experiential Paris. Bon appetit!

(Photo credit for top photo: imdb.com, Audrey Hepburn, as Sabrina, in Billy Wilder's 1954 classic film Sabrina. Tip of the nib to my sister for pointing me in this direction.)

2009-03-20T10:14:00.026-05:00

EXPERIENTIAL PARIS
A neighbor asked me if I could make recommendations for a friend who is visiting Paris for the first time. The friend takes an "experiential" approach to travel. This idea intrigued me and got me thinking about how to formulate a response away from the usual guided tours that are genuinely helpful and interesting for first timers--but not experiential in the way this friend is seeking.

I put together what turned out to be a three-page email of suggestions, and because it was received with such enthusiasm, I decided to share the information in a series of posts I'm calling "Experiential Paris." This first post will focus on gardens, parks, and walkways in Paris. Enjoy, and feel free to share with your traveling friends. (Photo credit above: flower market at the Madeleine by ddip)

GARDENS, PARKS, AND WALKWAYS:
THREE TREASURES

Paris is a horticulturalist's dream. Visiting one of the city's gardens, parks, or walkways for an afternoon is one of the best ways I can think of to experience Paris as Parisians do, with an appreciation for slowing down and taking in the aesthetics of place.

Any print or online guide to the city will offer good information on where to start. And take a peak at Elaine Sciolino's piece for the New York Times in June 2008. It focuses on lesser known gardens in the city and has a companion slide show for visuals.

Below are three of my favorites in the city.

(Photo credit: the Luxembourg ruche, or apiary, by ddip)

The Luxembourg Gardens
The centrally located Luxembourg Gardens off the Boulevard St. Michel are not to be missed. Everyone goes there, and you'll find amazing things tucked in various corners—an apiary (above), a fruit orchard, a fish pond, pony rides and miniature sailboats for kids, boules (a ball game using small steel balls on a flat gravel surface) for the adults, ice cream, and everything in between.

(Photo credit: Eugene Atget, Luxembourg Gardens, Masters-of-Photography.com)

The plantings change regularly, and when we were there last month, tulips and daffodils were already pushing through the ground with their bud sacks ready to burst. Stroll through the park leisurely or choose a chair to sit in the sun and read for a while. It's what any self-respecting Parisian would do.

Afterward, go to the Dalloyau patisserie for coffee and pastries. It’s on the Boulevard St. Michel side of the park and has a lovely little tea room on the second floor. Parisians sit there for hours reading, writing, talking. And on your way to Dalloyau, don’t miss the free photography exhibit that usually lines the fence of the park on that same side.

(Photo credit: Allee des Cygnes, by Alemsk.tos on flickr.com)

Ile des Cygnes
My father and I walked to this little known island in the Seine after Mass at St. Eustache one Sunday afternoon. He thought it would be a relatively short walk, but hiking from St. Eustache in the 1st arrondissement to the
Ile des Cygnes in the 15th is not for the faint of heart. It took us about two hours and remains a peak Paris moment, partly because we walked the whole way along the Seine, taking in an amazing swathe of people and sights.

The fun of the island is the approach to its far end along the enchanting tree-lined Allee des Cygnes (photo above). The reward: a miniature Statue of Liberty at the very tip of the island. The Metro is aboveground in this part of the city, so it's fun to catch a ride from here to wherever you're going next.

(Photo credit: St. Cloud, Eugene Atget, from Masters-of-Photography.com)

St. Cloud
I love some of the parks just outside of Paris. The grounds at Sceaux, for example, are lovely. Versailles is magnificent and an easy day trip. But the park at St. Cloud is my very favorite, and not many people seem to go there.

I learned about St. Cloud many years ago through nineteenth-century French photographer Eugene Atget, who took some classic images (above) in this park along the Seine in the town of St. Cloud. You can see the flowing waters of the magnificent terraced fountain, known as the Grande Cascade, on certain days of the week and take tea or coffee at the little concessionnaire that's open in good weather.

The park is an easy ride on the Metro from Paris, and if you're so inclined, you can combine a visit there with a stop at the nearby National Museum of Ceramics.

(Photo credit: Musee-Ceramique-Sevres.fr website)

At the museum, you'll be introduced to Sevres beauties (left) along with the idiosyncracies of French museology
--a sort of "figure it out yourself" approach to displaying a museum's collection. It's a lovely space and a lovely collection, so even if you aren't exactly sure what you're seeing, you'll go away happy.

Tune in next Friday for more tips from Experiential Paris!

2009-03-13T10:55:00.016-05:00

HOT FLASH FROM PARIS AND BARCELONA:
Guest Blogger (My Father!)

I invited my father to contribute an entry about our recent trip overseas. Below are his observations.

(Photo by ddip: Ecole Militaire metro stop. Guest Blogger is on the platform. Can you spot him?)

PURSE FROM A SOW'S EAR
Every aspect in the planning of our recent trip seemed fraught with problems, all of which of human origin. It did not bode well for this journey. Despite the signs, our vacation turned out exceedingly well.

With few exceptions, usually I do not pay attention to individual acts while traveling. This time, perhaps because of the initial experiences, I was more aware of them, and they added an interesting and enriching component to our trip. Here are a few examples, listed by city.

PARIS
Champagne in Three Acts
DDIP and I enjoy La Table de Joel Robuchon (an expensive restaurant, but worth it). In Paris I have two quests: one is for the perfect lemon tart (thus far to be found at a patisserie on the Rue du Temple near the Hotel de Ville); and the other for the best kir vin blanc (a kir made with white wine), thus far found in my own home.

(Photo by ddip: lemon tart)

At Robuchon, I had ordered my preprandial kir while ddip ordered water. The director of the restaurant came over to greet us and noticed ddip’s empty wine glass. He could not tolerate such a situation. He turned to a waiter and instructed him to pour champagne for us. Madame could not have just water!
***
Several days later, we had lunch at Casaluna--a Corsican restaurant singled out by Pudlo (a French guidebook to restaurants in Paris). It was such a fine experience that we decided to return for lunch on the following Sunday. When we arrived for our second visit, we were welcomed like old guests.

We went to use the rest rooms before sitting down. When we went to our table, there to greet us were two glasses of champagne. A little special welcome for two "old friends."
***
Marcel and Ginette were our downstairs neighbors. We had met Marcel at the elevator, and he had told us of his lamentations about people who had previously stayed in our apartment. He was acutely aware of our comings and goings and remarked that we had gone to bed early the night before.

Toward the end of our stay, ddip bought a primrose plant as a thank you for Marcel and Ginette putting up with "our noise." Later, Marcel knocked on our door and invited us for an aperitif on the following afternoon.

I thought we would have a simple glass of wine. Instead we arrived to a spread of hors d'oeuvres and desserts. And then came the champagne and an expressed regret that we had not met earlier.

Invalid Credit Cards
On one occasion, neither of my credit cards would work. Fortunately, ddip’s card did. Later, at Casaluna, ddip asked what would happen in instances where people’s cards would not be accepted. Our waiter casually said that they would be taken to the forest, tied up, and never heard from again.

The Failed Thief
There was a new scam being run in Paris. As one walks along at a popular place, a person "finds" a gold ring on the ground and engages you in conversation about it. DDIP spotted the ruse quickly and moved us on.

We ran across the scam several times! In one instance while crossing the Seine (on the Pont des Invalides, I think), someone tried the game on us. I just laughed. The response was also a good laugh of acknowledgement of his failed attempt.

(Photo by ddip: Eiffel Tower, a prime spot for con artist scams)

BARCELONA
The Curious Waiter
In the mornings, we took breakfast at our hotel. Basically because it was "un-Spanish." Breakfast was served from 7:30 to 10:30! We ate closer to the latter time.

The meals was charged to our room. When the waiter came with the bill for us to sign, he noticed our name. Not quite sure, he asked if I was American or Italian. We remarked that we were of the former, but of the latter ancestry.

DDIP suggested that my nose gave us away. No, the waiter said, it was all of me.

The Button Sewer
We had dinner one evening at La Dama--a Michelin one-star restaurant. (DDIP did not inform me of this for fear that I would refuse to go.) When we entered through locked doors and removed our coats, a button fell off ddip's coat. She proceeded to put it into her pocket, but two La Dama persons--the maitre d' and the head waiter--refused to permit this. No, they would have it sewn on while we dined.

After an excellent meal, they presented us with our coats, and there was the button properly affixed but not at its original place. The coat had been missing another button at mid-line; so they had resewed the button but in the more "strategic" location. Then it was “Buenas noches y hasta la proxima vez” (Good evening and until next time).

The Toilet Counselor
While visiting at La Sagrada Familia--Gaudi's fanciful church--ddip wanted to use a restroom. She asked a guard, who suggested she use the facilities at the nearby McDonalds. A woman who had been chatting with the guard frowned (in distaste) and insisted that ddip not go there but to use the public toilet, which was in the park across the road. We went to the preferred facitity.

(Photo by ddip: peppers at La Boqueria market)

The Worker
For lunch one day, we decided to go to the Boqueria, which is a large and fascinating market on La Rambla Catalunya. We decided to have a Spanish tortilla, which is like a fritatta. DDIP asked to have it heated, and the woman agreed.

DDIP then said thank you, to which there was no response. I told ddip that she said thank you too often. A faint smile crossed the woman's lips, and without raising her head said, "Es mi trabajo" (It’s my job).

AMSTERDAM
The American and the Security Officer
Our flight home took us through Amsterdam's Schiphol airport. While standing in line to go through the security check/interview (I was once interviewed by a cook because there were not enough security officers!), an American woman tried to bypass the line. She was distraught because she had a baggage problem.

The security officer stopped her and explained that she would have to go to the end of the line. In an exchange about her luggage, he explained that the responsible people were taking care of that, but that she was at a different station and she would have to join the queue.

The woman looked at the officer and told him not to be angry. As she walked away, he replied: "I am not angry; just disappointed."
***
The rest of the trip was uneventful, except that I lost every game of 20 Questions as we flew across the Atlantic.

2009-03-06T12:59:00.026-06:00

HOT FLASH FROM PARIS: Pet Cemetery

"Allons Bonhomme/Let's Go, Buddy"

"Whatever I do/
Wherever I am/
Nothing will erase your memory/
I'm thinking of you/
I'll never forget you"

"To my beloved Bigoudi"

Le cimetiere des chiens (the pet cemetery) in Paris is on the left bank of the Seine in a northwestern suburb called Asnieres-sur-Seine. It's a short Metro ride from the city and an easy walk from the station. The cemetery came to be as the result of efforts by attorney Georges Harmois and journalist Marguerite Durand, and it first opened to the public in 1899. The Art Nouveau entrance gate to the cemetery was designed by architect Eugene Petit, who also designed a number of buildings in the 14th arrondissement in Paris.

In the twenty-first century, the cemetery is managed by the city of Asnieres-sur-Seine, and the care of the resident cats is the responsibility of a cemetery association and of various unofficial but approved volunteers. For more information, go to this site. (It's a good way to practice your French!)

Photos: by yours truly, excepting the one of me with the black kitty and the one of the plastic beaded dog headstone, both of which were taken by my father

2009-03-01T19:39:00.005-06:00

HOT FLASH FROM BARCELONA: Graffiti Art

Photos: Graffiti in Barcelona's Barri Gotic, the medieval and oldest section of town, along the waterfront

2009-02-25T10:10:00.009-06:00

HOT FLASH FROM BARCELONA: Strawberry Report
Strawberries are in season here in Barcelona. They're on the menus at all the restaurants we pass, and the market stalls of the fruit sellers at La Boqueria, the big outdoor market on La Rambla, are filled with boxes of red strawberries glowing with freshness. We decided to have them for dessert last night at Tragaluz, a hip restaurant in the Eixample neighborhood of the city.

I'm not generally a big fan of strawberries and will usually choose raspberries instead. But the strawberries last night were out of this world. Served in small white bowls, they were sliced over a scoop of hyper cold vanilla ice cream. The waiter brought a little pitcher of strawberry emulsion (a fancy word for the syrup of the berries), which he poured over the berries in our chilled ceramic bowls.

I love my life at home and all the many privileges that come with being American. But we don't do justice to the food we eat. We should be in love with strawberries the way I was last night, dreaming about them, and choosing them every time as the only possible dessert. I know I'll yearn for my Barcelona strawberries when I get home and will remember them as the thing that transcends all the grit and grime and noise and bustle and stink of this Mediterranean port city.

Photo: Ready-to-eat fruit at La Boqueria, the outdoor market on Barcelona's La Rambla (pedestrian street)

2009-02-24T10:28:00.008-06:00

HOT FLASH FROM BARCELONA: Weird Things

I've wanted to come to Barcelona ever since I saw All about My Mother. It's the movie that turned me into an Almodovar groupie. Watching his movies is like eating. It's a sensual experience, and this movie, set in Barcelona, is a feast for the eyes.

Aside from physical beauty, Almodovar also sees the beauty in freaks and weird things and life on the margins. I thought about that today at Gaudi's Park Guell, a hilltop park overlooking Barcelona and the sea, with walking paths, mosaics, small fountains, flowering crabs, and blooming mimosa trees.

A scene in All about My Mother (or is it Volver?) is set here, and as we wandered the grounds, I read about Gaudi's patron, wealthy industrialist Eusebi Guell i Bacigalupi. He happened to meet Gaudi at an exhibition in Paris in the late 1800s, and from that chance encounter flourished a productive relationship, one result of which is the Park Guell in Barcelona. According to my National Geographic guidebook, Gaudi and Guell overheard passersby complaining that one of Gaudi's buildings was too "weird." Guell is said to have remarked, "Mr. Gaudi, now I like you even more!"

Photos: mosaic tile at the entrance to Park Guell; mimosa tree in bloom in the park

2009-02-24T03:01:00.007-06:00

HOT FLASH FROM BARCELONA: Penelope Takes One Home
We're in Barcelona for a short visit before returning home, and the city is quite a contrast to neat and tidy Paris. Street sweepers here brush light trash off the sidewalks into little plastic paniers in the evening, but everything else, at least down by the waterfront where we are, sports graffiti and layers of grime, no doubt from the heavy car exhaust that permeates the air. And yet it's a lively, happy place to be, and the weather is fabulous. Now in late February, it's sunny and close to 60 degrees, and while locals bundle up in winter coats, my father and I enjoy light sweaters as we walk past swaying palm trees and flowering cacti. It's a nice way to prepare for the six inches of snow awaiting us on the other side of the ocean.

The Spanish newspapers today are filled with coverage of Penelope Cruz's win at Sunday's Oscars. Full page articles in all the rags show her in her vintage Pierre Balmain evening gown, kissing the statuette, and the news reports on television replay parts of her acceptance speech over and over. (It seems she did not faint after all.) Spain is proud.

Photo: Me calling home from the phone booth just outside our hotel in Barcelona. The city seems to have a phone booth on every block, and I love this photo of me looking like an Almodovar character who's hopped off her Vespa to make one of many calls to a crazy character who is, no doubt, ever elusive.

2009-02-21T04:29:00.005-06:00

HOT FLASH FROM PARIS: Romancero Gitano
The historic Folies-Bergères is a dump. Once the Montmartre haunt of Toulouse-Lautrec, and the inspiration of many of his drawings and paintings, the theatre is now crumbling--peeling paint, threadbare carpeting, sagging seats. But it came alive last night with Cristina Hoyos and her Ballet Flamenco Andalucia, who are in Paris to perform Hoyos's choreography for the Romancero Gitano (Gypsy Ballad) of Andalusian poet and playwright Federico Garcia Lorca.

The troupe performed for two hours, without intermission, bringing down the house with wild cheering, rhythmic clapping, and shouts of "Bravo, bravo!" We jumped to our feet along with everyone else, in total admiration of the troupe's precision, costumes, and sheer joy of dance.

Below is the original Spanish and two English-language translations of the first and fourth stanzas of the famous fourth ballad, which Hoyos chooses to open and close the ballad's exploration of constraints on personal freedom:

Romance sonambulo
Verde que te quiero verde.
Verde viento. Verde ramas.
El barco sobre la mar
y el caballo en la montana.

****

Verde que te quiero verde.
Grandes estrellas de escarcha,
vienen con el pez de sombra
que abre el camino del alba.

Sleepwalking Ballad (I)
(my father's literal translation)
Green as I love you green.
Green wind. Green branches.
The ship upon the sea
and the horse in the mountain.
****
Green as I love you green.
Great stars
come with the shadow
that opens the white road.

Sleepwalking Ballad (II)
(transliteration by Carl W. Cobb, University Press of Mississippi, 1983; Cobb's transliteration is so-called because he works to preserve the rules of the ballad in meter, rhyme, syllabification, etc., to be true to the musicality of the form rather than constructing a translation that cleaves to the literal meaning of the words. The two approaches are irreconcilable, so go with the one that speaks to you.)

Green grows my love, my love grows green.
Green wind. Green-branching tree.
Stallion on the mountain heights
And ship upon the sea.
****
Green grows my love, my love grows green.
Great hoar-frost stars come down
And join the shadow fish that frees
The pathway of the dawn.

I'm ready for Spain.

(Note to readers: We leave Paris for Barcelona on Monday, home on Friday.)

2009-02-21T04:02:00.012-06:00

HOT FLASH FROM PARIS: Les Restes du Roi (The King's Leftovers)
La chef, for whom I served a stint as sous chef three years ago, invited us for lunch yesterday at her new apartment in the Marais. It's close to her old place but is bigger and has more natural light coming in through a streetside wall of French doors. La chef still leads cooking classes through her Promenades Gourmandes business and is branching out to a culinary salon approach through her new Salon Culinaire, offering her space for artistic and corporate team-building and brainstorming sessions, publicity events, private dinners, gatherings with culinary experts, and the like.

As la chef prepared lunch--les restes (leftovers) from a big dinner the night before
--we nibbled thin slices of Lyonnais sausage with small salted sablés (crackers). Her companion poured wine (white and red), and we sat down to a first course of individual truffle soufflés with mushroom emulsion (mousse) in little verrines (glass cups). Talk moved quickly from professional chitchat to local politics (city elections, garbage collection, library services) as la chef brought out the plat principal (main course): blanquette de veau (veal) in a cream sauce accompanied by lemon basmati rice (basmati with chopped preserved lemon).

We wiped up the sauce on our plates with pieces of baguette, and I asked about the difference between the "croissant au beurre" (butter croissant, photo below) and the "croissant ordinaire" (croissant made with margarine). The butter croissant is made in a straight or slightly curved shape, while the margarine knockoff is typically overly crescent shaped or even square. La chef and her companion had a long and lively dispute about the tax base imposed by the French government on these two types of croissants. Basically, it gets down to the fact that you pay more for the butter-based croissants. But it's worth the extra sous (pennies) for the superior flavor, even if you do have to lick your fingers afterward.

A simple salad of walnuts and chopped endive (red and green) in a light vinaigrette followed. Then cheese--reblochon, a soft, cow's milk cheese from eastern France. Then dessert--chocolate orange tart topped with chopped pistachios. Then small cups of espresso.

We ate everything with gusto and oohed and aahed over it all. "It's nothing," remarked la chef. "Just an easy lunch for a busy day."

Photos: la chef's new Lacanche stove (they're made in Burgundy); a classic croissant au beurre, with little pots of Bonne Maman jam (a very common brand)

2009-02-21T03:44:00.005-06:00

HOT FLASH FROM PARIS: La tarte tatin
The classic tarte tatin (apple tart) has been on dessert menus all over town this visit. It's a very traditional, tasty French dessert that is also easy to make. Below is a recipe from La Carpe's winter catalogue. (La Carpe is a culinary store on the tony Rue Tronchet at the Madeleine).

Tarte Tatin
6 ounces sugar
2 ounces unsalted butter
6 apples, cut into big slices
1 pate brisée (see Julia Child or any other good French cookbook)

1. Place the sugar in a heatproof 8-inch deep-dish pie pan (or in a tarte tatin mold) on top of the stove.
2. On medium heat, allow the sugar to melt. Be patient, and do not add water. When the sugar is a nice caramel color, add the butter and stir til blended.
3. Take the pie dish off the stovetop and add the slices of apple in concentric circles or in whatever pattern is pleasing to the eye.
4. Cover the apples with the pate brisée, crimp the edges, and place the tarte in the oven for about 40 minutes at 350 degrees.

Serve warm with crème fraiche, whipped cream, or vanilla ice cream. It's great plain too. Serves 6 people.

Photo: panel from the window of Le Champ de Delices patisserie/boulangerie on rue St. Dominique in the 7th arrondissement

2009-02-18T05:46:00.006-06:00

HOT FLASH FROM PARIS: Street Fashion
Street fashion in Paris falls into a few obvious categories this year:

--fur, fur, fur. Fur coats, fur hats, fur collars and neckpieces, fur gloves, fur everything. I have to admit to feeling sad about this. I was working on a book about animal rights just before coming to Paris, and you don't want to hear how we get our furs. At least not on this blog.

--tight jeans, although you do see some wide-legged sailor-style jeans too.

--pointy-toed boots, flat heeled or high heeled.

--the ubiquitous scarf around the neck, usually in an interesting contrasting color.

--the "boule" dress, form-fitting at the bust and waist and then ballooning out at the knees and loosely cinched there (with elastic, I think). You wear the dress with leggings or tight-fitting pants. I saw a woman jogging along the river the other day in such an outfit. I thought she looked ridiculous, but the get-up is everywhere.

Photo: one of the elegant streetlamps at the Pont Alexandre III (think Les Invalides and the Grand and Petit Palais)

2009-02-18T04:57:00.008-06:00

HOT FLASH FROM PARIS: Le Cimetière des Chiens

My sister and I have been sharing stories of our menopausal angst lately, and she suggested I call my posts from Paris "Hot Flash from Paris" as a sort of double entendre (menopause gone front page). I haven't actually had a hot flash while here (thank heavens), but the name works.

Yesterday, my father and I took the Metro out to Le Cimetière des chiens (the pet cemetery) at Asnières-sur-Seine, a northwestern suburb of Paris along the Seine. I'd read about the cemetery online while fact checking a book on American cemeteries that we recently published at work.

The cemetery has a sad charm counterbalanced by the welcome of a family of very alive resident cats--all well fed and cared for by the official cemetery association and by unofficial but authorized (in true French fashion) volunteers.

A small black female cat with rich red undertones greeted me as I entered the cemetery and accompanied me along my stroll. Toward the end of our exploring, she jumped onto the bench I chose for a sit-down and began to groom. I sat quietly, admiring her coat and self assurance. As my reward, she eventually sidled up to me, stretched out along my hip, made it clear she wanted to be stroked, and began to purr softly. We sat together for quite some time, and yours truly fell totally in love.

When it was time to leave, the little cat accompanied me to the gate, and I bid my farewell, thanking her for her friendship. "Ils ont leurs tetes" (They have their ideas) one of the volunteers told me later about cats and whom they decide they like. Little "Princess" had decided she liked me.

I don't know if Princess even has a name, but if she does, it might have been chosen from among this selection of names from the headstones throughout the cemetery. In alphabetical order (more or less), they are:

Bibi-Bibiche-Bimbeau-Bijou-Bisou-Bigoudi-Catiche-Chouchou-Calinou-Coco-Dadou-Doudou-Fripouille-Filou-Fifi-Gigi-Gribouille-Gapi-Joujou-Lolotte-Loulou-Micha-Minouchette-Moumouche-Milou-Mimi-Miquette-Mamou-Nenette-Nounouche-Nanou-Nini-Ninine-Pompon-Pilou-Patou-Pipoune-Pikouche-Pacha-Poupette-Titi-Titoune-Toutou-Titite-Totoche-Youpi-Zizou-Zoé-Zouzou.

Try reading this list aloud. It's so much fun and so French--and you might even find a name you like for your pet!

Photos: Headstones and decorations at the cemetery; me with Princess

2009-02-16T09:17:00.006-06:00

HOT FLASH FROM PARIS: La Ville d'Obama
As I was paying for Valentine's Day dinner at Le Chamarré (a Mauritian restaurant in gentrifying Montmartre), the server noted the Italian name on my VISA card and seemed confused. He looked at me, a little unsure of my nationality, and asked, "You must be from New York?"

I gave up a long time ago trying to explain to Europeans the location of my Midwestern home (a city of at least one million people). They know the coasts of the United States and seem to imagine the interior as a Great Desert, not unlike American pioneers did in the nineteenth century. So I've taken instead to saying I'm from Chicago. Normally, Parisians show a vague recognition of this city; they often associate it with gangsters like Al Capone. But this year, they link it immediately to our national pride and international hero. "Aaah," cooed the server (a somewhat flirtatious young man), "la ville d'Obama (Obama's city)!"

What a thrill of relief and happiness I felt. No need to explain that I hadn't voted for Obama's predecessor and didn't support the war; no need to clarify that I didn't have a "thing" against the French for not going with us to Iraq; no need to feel apologetic for my homeland. It's a good feeling. And it's been a long time coming.

Photo: Saint Valentine's Day bread in the window of Le Pain d'Epis, an artisanal boulangerie near our apartment in the 7th arrondissement

2009-02-06T10:02:00.009-06:00

EGG BAKE
Never heard of egg bake? It's a sort of breakfast hot dish, a crustless quiche baked in a 9 x 13 cake pan. It's billed as quick and easy, but it actually requires planning, a lot of puttsy preparation a day ahead of time, and good timing. I even crashed my computer searching for egg bake recipes online. Nonetheless, egg bake has proven to be a very tasty crowd pleaser, which we brought to brunch last weekend with friends. I found the recipe below on a website years ago and have adapted it to our tastes and methods.

Egg Bake
6-7 slices white bread, with the crusts removed
8-12 ounces ham, chopped into bite-sized pieces (meat is optional)
4-5 cups grated cheddar cheese (a mix of yellow and white cheddar is nice)
1 large head broccoli, chopped into florettes and blanched in boiling water for 1 minute
1 large yellow onion, chopped and sauteed in butter
8 eggs
1 teaspoon salt
2-1/2 to 3 cups half and half or milk (or a mixture of the two)

1. Start by removing the crusts from the bread slices.

2. Butter a 9 x 13 pan. Butter each slice of bread lightly, cut in half, and arrange slices in the bottom of the pan.
3. Chop the ham, blanche the broccoli, sautee the onion, and grate the cheese.
4. Layer these ingredients on top of the bread, ham first, then broccoli, then the onion. Sprinkle the grated cheese on top.

4. Beat the eggs in a large bowl. Add the salt and stir in the cream and/or milk. Blend well.
5. Pour the egg mixture over the bread, ham, broccoli, and cheese.

6. Cover the dish with foil or plastic wrap and refrigerate overnight.

7. The next morning, take the egg bake out of the refrigerator, remove the foil or plastic wrap, and allow to come to room temperature (about 15-20 minutes).
8. Meanwhile, preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Bake for about 35-45 minutes, until cheese has melted and egg bake is lightly browned on top. Let stand a few minutes before serving so the eggs firm up.

We had our egg bake with homemade cinnamon rolls and fresh fruit. The 9 x 13 pan served four adults and two children, with enough leftovers for a light lunch.
Note to readers: I'm off to Paris and Barcelona next Thursday for two weeks. Watch for a post from the City of Lights!

2009-01-30T10:08:00.005-06:00

A DIFFERENT PITCH
Henry James wrote about the pleasure of travel (visiting Paris specifically) in terms of "looking...with eyes attuned to a different pitch" (Portraits of Places, 1883). My father and I will be in Paris in two weeks, and it is precisely the different pitch--of language, colors, flavors, attitudes--that I look forward to. The idea that there are a million different ways to do the same thing, and that by looking through a slightly different lens or from a slightly different angle we might expand our understanding is one of the basic joys of stepping out of one's own life.

When my father and I travel together, we think mostly about food. What we'll eat, where we'll eat, and when we'll eat. Last time we were in Paris together, we went all over the city sampling baguettes. The time before that, we sampled financiers (small, rectangular almond cakes). Before that it was sables (butter cookies), and before that, tartes au citron (lemon tarts). This visit, I will be stocking up on my supply of Valrhona chocolate chips, so the search may well be focused on Things Chocolate. (Photo above of a chocolate "criollo," from the Stohrer website. Stohrer is an elegant patisserie on the rue Montorgueil in Paris. It's been around since 1730 and has one of the best display windows in town. Click on this link to see what the Paris Breakfasts blogger has to say about patisseries in Paris. It's a Jamesian feast if I ever saw one!)

2009-01-23T10:41:00.002-06:00

WHAT A WEEK!
SJG and I haven't cooked much since my last post, and here's why:

Barack Obama was inaugurated on Tuesday January 20 as our forty-fourth president, the first African American to serve as the nation's leader. We've been glued to the television and the radio for several days, and I think I've finally, happily reached my saturation point.

I loved the inauguration, its pageantry, its awareness of sacred duty, the fun of the closing prayer, Aretha's hat and oh that voice, and dare I say it, the patriotism of the whole affair. Along with many, many Americans, I wept, as much for the historicity of the event as for the hope it has engendered. It's such a brave thing, hope. And I know I haven't felt much of it these last eight years.

And then Buddy had knee surgery last week. He's recuperating well and his mood is good, but imagine the effort involved in restraining a dog from running, jumping, playing, and walking. And we still have five more weeks of it! But by then, spring will be in the air and it won't be long before the daffodils on our table will be from my very own garden, not from a greenhouse.

2009-01-11T12:41:00.011-06:00

CHOCOLATE TART WITH SUGARED PISTACHIOS
Our longtime friends G and M came over for dinner last night to ring in the new year. SJG and I made our pork dish with juniper berries (see the recipe) and served cooked carrots for contrasting color on the side.

For dessert, I made a chocolate tart (above) garnished with sugared pistachios from an Alice Medrich recipe in this month's issue of Fine Cooking. Raving about the successes I've had so far, I showed the magazine to M, and she asked if I had yet made the chocolate cake on the cover. It's gorgeous, with a shiny chocolate glaze and garnished with bright red pomegranate seeds. (See the photo and recipe.)

I laughed heartily, because I had indeed been tempted, but in reading the recipe, it had become obvious that it was more of a chemistry experiment than anything else. And the chocolate glaze is a cooked, candylike affair, for which I am known for...well, let's just say that everyone knows my 7-minute frosting slides off any cake.

The chocolate-pistachio tart is a stunner, with an intense, smooth chocolate mouth experience enhanced by the saltiness of the nuts and the fleur de sel. Below is the recipe, adapted to my methods).
For the tart crust:
1 stick unsalted butter (at room temperature)
¼ cup sugar
pinch of salt
1 teaspoon orange zest
1 teaspoon vanilla
4-1/2 ounces (1 cup) flour

1. In a medium bowl, cream the butter, sugar, and salt. Stir in the orange zest and vanilla. Add the flour and mix until blended.
2. Press the dough into a 9-1/2-inch fluted tart pan (the kind with the removable bottom). Start with the sides and press the rest of the dough evenly over the bottom. At first, it will seem as if there’s not enough dough, but there is. As you carefully work the dough, using your fingers and palms, it will eventually fill the pan.
3. Let the crust sit for about 30 minutes while you make the filling.

4. When ready to pre-bake the crust, heat the oven to 350 degrees. Put the tart pan onto a cookie sheet and bake in the lower third of the oven until the crust is golden brown (15-20 minutes). Check the crust at about 15 minutes and use a fork to press down any puffiness. Shortbread cooks more slowly than a regular pie crust so this isn’t too long to bake it.

For the chocolate filling:
1 cup half-and-half
2 tablespoons sugar
pinch of salt
7 ounces semisweet chocolate, chopped or in chips (I used 70% cacao, but you can use a lower percentage for a less intense chocolate experience)
1 egg

1. In a small saucepan, slowly bring the cream, sugar, and salt to a simmer over medium low heat. Take the pan off the heat to add the chocolate, whisking until melted and smooth. (A whisk really does work better than a spoon.) Keep the chocolate warm (by covering it rather than heating it) until ready to pour into the pre-baked crust.
2. Just before you’re ready to take the crust out of the oven, add the egg to the chocolate and whisk well.
3. Take the crust out of the oven when done and reduce the heat to 300 degrees. Pour the chocolate into the hot tart crust and return it to the oven (still on the cookie sheet).
4. Bake 10-15 minutes more, until the edges of the chocolate filling have set but the middle still moves a little in the center when you tap the pan. Cool completely on a rack before taking the ring of the tart pan off.
5. Serve the tart at room temperature with a spoonful of the sugared pistachios and a light grinding of fleur de sel on top. The salty-sweet combination really works.

SUGARED PISTACHIOS
1/2 cup salted, roasted whole pistachios (shelled)
¼ cup water
½ cup sugar
pinch of sea salt

1. Line a cookie sheet with tin foil.
2. Heat the nuts in the microwave for a minute or two. You want them to be warm when you add them to the hot, melted sugar.
3. Pour the water into a 3-quart saucepan. Add the sugar and the salt to the center of the pan and pat down until evenly moistened. There should be a ring of water around the sugar when you’re done. (It'll happen naturally.)
4. Cover and cook over medium-high heat until the sugar dissolves (about 4 minutes).
5. Uncover and cook without stirring until the sugar syprup begins to color a little (2-4 minutes). Reduce the heat to medium and continue cooking, swirling the pan if necessary for uniform coloration of the syrup.
6. When the sugar is a pale to medium yellow (a matter of a few minutes), add the warm pistachios. With a spatula, stir gently to coat the nuts. Continue to cook until the sugar turns an amber color. (This is supposed to happen within a couple minutes, but it never happened for me, even though I cooked it for almost 5 minutes. It’s still delicious if the color isn’t perfectly amber.)
7. Quickly scrape the sugared nuts onto the cookie sheet and spread as thinly as you can before it all hardens.
8. When slightly cooled but still warm, slide the foil with the nuts into a plastic bag and seal. Cool completely, then chop or crush or otherwise break apart. You can make the nuts a couple days ahead of time; store them in an airtight container until ready to use.

2009-01-03T13:20:00.010-06:00

RED CURRY PASTE FOR THE NEW YEAR
I knew I had hit a new level of culinary endeavor when I began making my own curry pastes. It's extremely rewarding to know that you've roasted and ground your own spices and shopped at your favorite Asian grocery store for fresh lemongrass and shrimp paste. We have a large Vietnamese population where SJG and I live, so we usually shop for our Asian specialty ingredients along one of the streets that has a high concentration of Vietnamese groceries and restaurants.

Our New Year's dinner plans fell through this year, so SJG and I are ringing in 2009 this evening with a Thai dish of pork and butternut squash, the base of which is coconut milk and the red curry paste I made this afternoon. If you have the right ingredients and the right equipment, it's easy to make.

Below is the recipe for red curry paste, adapted from Nancie McDermott's Real Thai: The Best of Thailand's Regional Cooking (Chronicle Books, 1992). I also like her Quick and Easy Thai: 70 Everyday Recipes (Chronicle Books, 2004) for when I have less time to cook. However, these quick recipes do sacrifice complexity of flavor by leaving out certain ingredients and time-consuming steps. If you have the inclination and the time, the recipes in Real Thai are somewhat more involved and, in the end, more satisfying to the palate.

Red Curry Paste
3 large dried New Mexico chile peppers
1 tablespoon whole coriander seeds
1 teaspoon whole cumin seeds
10 whole peppercorns (I use a French mix of black and green peppercorns)
4 stalks fresh lemongrass
1 tablespoon chopped fresh cilantro (with roots if you can find it)
1 tablespoon chopped fresh ginger
2 tablespoons chopped garlic
1/4 cup chopped shallots
1 teaspoon lime zest
1 teaspoon shrimp paste (the brand I buy is packed in canola oil)
1/2 teaspoon salt

1. Stem the chile peppers and shake out the seeds. Tear peppers gently into pieces and set in a medium-sized bowl. Cover with hot water (I bring a kettle almost to the boil) and let soften while you prepare the rest of the ingredients.

2. In a small frying pan, dry-fry the coriander seeds for about 4 minutes. You'll know they're done when you can begin to smell the distinctive coriander scent and the seeds have begun to brown a little. Place in a small bowl to cool while you do the same step for the cumin seeds. The pan will be hot by this time, so it may only take a minute or two to roast the cumin seeds. Set aside to cool.

3. The roasted spices will cool fairly quickly. Transfer them to a spice grinder, a food processor, or a mortar and pestle. Add the peppercorns and grind to a smooth powder. I don't have a spice grinder, and my mortar isn't fully seasoned yet, so I took a compromise approach by grinding the spices in the food processor first and then finishing off with a small bowl and my pestle. Set aside.

4. Prepare the lemongrass by chopping off the root stub and all but the tenderest 3 inches or so (much of the top part of each stalk is too tough to use). Peel off a layer or two of the tough outter part of each stalk. Chop each stalk crosswise into small slices and put in the bowl of a food processor.

5. Add the chopped cilantro, ginger, garlic, shallots, and lime zest. Process until well blended.

6. Drain all but about 1/4 cup of the soaking juice from the chile peppers. Add the pieces of pepper and the 1/4 cup soaking juice to the food processor and process until you have a smooth paste.

7. Add the shrimp paste, ground spices, and salt and process again briefly until blended.

8. Store the curry paste in a glass jar in the refrigerator, where it will keep for about a week. It freezes well too. The curry paste recipe makes enough for three or four of your favorite curry recipes, depending on how generously you use the paste.

Happy New Year!

2008-12-26T14:38:00.007-06:00

ORANGE-PECAN BISCOTTI
I learned how to make biscotti from my Sicilian grandmother. She always made the ones with almonds, and for many years, I didn't realize there was any other kind of biscotti. I know better now, and for a change of pace this holiday, I made a batch of orange-pecan biscotti. Like so many of the recipes I post, this one is not difficult, but it does take a little bit of time. When you dunk your biscotti into your coffee the next morning, you won't regret the afternoon of baking!

Below is the recipe (adapted from a recipe in the Fine Cooking cookie issue and from my grandmother's recipe).

Orange-Pecan Biscotti
12 ounces white flour
1-1/2 cups white sugar
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 cup orange zest, finely chopped (zest of two oranges)
1 cup chopped pecans
3 large eggs
5 tablespoons olive oil (yep, it's fabulous)
2 tablespoons fresh orange juice
1 tablespoon Grand Marnier (for a stronger flavor, you can double this)
To make the dough:
1. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Line two cookies sheets with parchment paper or Silpat mats.
2. In a large bowl, mix the flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt.
3. Put a little of the flour mixture into a small cup and add the orange zest. Mix to keep it from clumping and then add to the rest of the flour mixture.
4. Add pecans.
5. In a small bowl, blend the eggs, olive oil, orange juice, and Grand Marnier until well blended.
6. Make a well in the center of the flour mixture and pour in the egg mixture. Stir until the dough is blended. (It will be a sticky dough.)

To make the logs (or loaves):
1. On a heavily floured surface, cut off six pieces of dough of equal size. Roll each one into a log about 12 inches long. Place three logs on each cookie sheet, allowing room between each one. Flatten each log so that it's about 2 inches wide. (An easier method--for bigger, longer biscotti--is to divide the cookie dough in half. Form a loaf from each half, about 12 inches long by 2 inches wide. Place one loaf on each cookie sheet.)

2. Bake until the logs are golden and the tops are firm, about 23 minutes. Rotate the cookies sheets halfway through this first cooking (from top to bottom shelf and vice versa) to ensure even baking. (For the loaf method, follow this same step with about the same timing.)
3. Remove the logs or loaves from the oven and cool for a few minutes (until cool enough to handle).
4. Transfer logs/loaves to a cutting surface and with a serated knife cut the logs into cookies about 1/2-inch thick. (Cut the loaves into bigger slices, about 1-inch thick.)
5. Put the slices back onto the cookie sheets, one of the cut sides up, and return to the oven for another 10 minutes (for the log biscotti) or for another 15-20 minutes (for the loaf biscotti). You can't really go wrong with the baking time (unless you truly burn the biscotti). A shorter baking time makes chewy biscotti, while a longer baking time makes crunchier biscotti. Follow your preference.
*Makes about 65 small cookies (and roughly half that if you go with the loaf method)

2008-12-19T11:48:00.012-06:00

MOLASSES COOKIES
One Christmas several years ago, I made a batch of molasses cookies, and as is my wont, I overbaked them. Instead of chewy cookies, they were hard. But because I hadn't actually burned them, they were still edible. A couple days later, SJG made a batch, and hers were perfect. We packed up all the cookies, SJG's and mine, to divvy up between my mother's Wisconsin household and my father's, where SJG and I were spending the holiday that year.

SJG's cookies were a hit, of course. Mine were ignored until all the others had been eaten up. They didn't go to waste though. When we had returned home, my mother called. "I've found a way to eat those cookies" she chortled. "They are PERFECT if you dunk them in milk! Why don't you send me some more," she continued. "But send me SJG's, not yours!"

This year, in fond memory of my mother, I made a batch of those molasses cookies. And I didn't overbake them.

Below is the recipe, adapted from the cookie edition of Fine Cooking that came out last month. The dough requires refrigeration before baking, so plan accordingly.

MOLASSES COOKIES
2 cups flour
2 teaspoons baking soda
1-1/4 teaspoons ground ginger
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground cloves
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup butter, at room temperature or softened in the microwave (I like to use premium butter for baking)
1 cup brown sugar
2 tablespoons canola oil
1/3 cup molasses (I like the strong, full flavor of blackstrap molasses, but any unsulphured molasses works well)
1 egg
granulated sugar for rolling the cookie dough in

1. In a medium bowl, sift together the flour, baking soda, spices, and salt.
2. In a separate bowl, beat the butter and brown sugar together with an electric mixer and add the canola oil.
3. Add the molasses and the egg to the butter mixture and blend well.
4. Stir in the flour mixture and combine well.
5. Wrap dough in plastic wrap or put it in a plastic bag and refrigerate for about 3 hours.

To bake:
1. Heat the oven to 375 degrees.
2. Pinch off a walnut-sized piece of cookie dough and roll it in your palms to form
a smooth ball. (It's a messy process, so you may want to wash your hands after you've rolled a sheet of cookies.)
3. Roll the ball in granulated sugar to coat. Place on a lightly greased cookie
sheet (or you can use a Silpat mat instead of greasing the cookie sheet).
4. Repeat the process until you've used all the cookie dough. Sprinkle each ball
of dough on the cookie sheet with a little extra granulated sugar.
5. Bake 8-9 minutes until the center surface of the cookies is dry. Avoid the
temptation to overbake.
6. Cool the cookies on the cookie sheets for 5 minutes after you've taken them
out of the oven. Cool completely on a wire rack before storing. These cookies
freeze well.

*Makes about 2-1/2 sheets of cookies (roughly 36 cookies)

2008-12-12T09:12:00.004-06:00

INTERSECTIONS
My mother killed herself six years ago this week. I felt close to her in the many months after her death. Really close. She came to me in my dreams, in frequent unexplained waftings of her perfume, in unanticipated bursts of the Mozart she used to play strong in my mind. I never really felt she’d completely left me behind. It seemed we inhabited a grey space somewhere between the living and the dead.

Years later I find we no longer live there together. I’ve shifted back to the realm of the living, and she to that of the dead. I miss meeting her in my dreams and have begun to wonder if, after a certain passing of time, the living and the dead lose their point of intersection forever.

My study is one of my favorite rooms in the house. It has my books, SJG’s clothes, all my personal papers, favorite framed prints, a comfortable reading chair and one of my mother’s lamps, and an assortment of the framed family photographs and artworks I gathered from her apartment after she died.

On a recent evening, I was in my study looking for something to show SJG when suddenly my bridal bouquet, dried and fragile now, fell from the bookcase behind me onto the floor. Wondering how the bouquet could have jettisoned from its sure perch, I bent down to pick up the scattered petals. Just as suddenly, one of the wooden hair sticks flew out of my tightly knotted bun, skidded across the floor, and split in two.

And then I noticed the photograph. The square black-and-white one from the 1950s. Fallen from its corner of my grandmother’s cross-stitched sampler, where it’s been tucked for six years. The one of my mother holding me, an infant, in front of her face. Where we’re smiling at each other as if there is no one else in the world worth smiling at. That makes me smile again and forget all the suffering. And that confirms for me that it is she, with me now in this room, at our point of intersection.

2008-12-05T10:17:00.005-06:00

POTATOES AND FIGS
SJG and I love roasting as a culinary method. It's easy to do and brings out the sweet, complex flavor of so many foods. So when I saw a recipe recently in the November 18, 2008, New York Times food section for roasted fingerling potatoes, figs, and garlic (photo above by Francesco Tonelli for the New York Times), I decided to give it a whirl.

Everyone to whom I've mentioned this recipe says, "Oooh, that sounds awful," but I'm here to tell you that SJG--who had the same negative reaction--was fighting with me for the leftovers afterwards! Below is the recipe, adapted, as usual, for my tastes and methods.

ROASTED POTATOES, FIGS, & GARLIC
1/2 to 3/4 pounds dried black mission figs (available at most coops)

1-1/2 to 2 cups brewed black tea (I used Twining's English Breakfast, but plain old Lipton black tea is fine too)

2 to 3 pounds small potatoes, sliced in half (you can use Yukon golds, fingerlings,
or banana potatoes, a fingerling-style potato we discovered recently at our local coop)

2-3 heads fresh garlic, separated into individual cloves with the paper still on each one (choose big heads with big cloves)

10 sprigs thyme (I used dried sprigs from a pot I have in our kitchen)

1/3 cup olive oil (enough to lightly coat everything)

salt and pepper, to taste

1. In a large bowl, soak figs in tea overnight. (Don't skip this step since it allows the dried fruit to withstand high heat during the roasting process.)
2. When ready to prepare the dish, preheat the oven to 400 degrees.
3. While the oven is heating, wash the potatoes and slice them in half the long way (to provide the biggest, broadest surface of flesh).
4. In a large bowl, combine the garlic cloves, thyme, drained figs, sliced potatoes, and olive oil.
5. Place on a large roasting sheet (a heavy duty cookie sheet is fine) and sprinkle with salt and pepper, to taste. Roast for about 30-40 minutes, tossing the potatoes with a spatula at about 15 or 20 minutes to ensure even baking. The potatoes are done when they have a nice golden brown color and you can easily pierce the flesh with a fork.
6. Serves 2-4 people. (Note that diners are meant to remove the paper of each garlic clove as part of the meal and eat the sweet roasted garlic meat with a bite of potato and fig. My photo below. Delicious!)

2008-11-24T08:17:00.004-06:00

COOKIE CUTTERS & FACEBOOK FRIENDS,
TEXAS STYLE
I was in San Antonio this weekend to present on a publishers panel at a teachers conference. The event forced me (willingly) to learn PowerPoint, which was fun to put together and even more delightful to put into practice, complete with remote control.

While in Texas, I found time to enjoy some of the local flavor and came home with two terrific new cookie cutters (above), Texas style. I also pondered
this literary challenge, which came to me via a colleague at home. I'm not particularly good at "what ifs," so I was pleased to attend a session at the conference devoted to ideas for using wikis, Facebook, text messaging, blogs, and the like in the classroom. One presenter wondered if Huck Finn and Holden Caulfield would be Facebook friends, and the challenge was solved. Click on the link above and see what combinations you come up with!

2008-11-09T18:11:00.003-06:00

WANT A COOKIE?
SJG and I raked leaves this morning, which somehow put me in the mood for baking cookies this afternoon. The temperatures have begun to dip below freezing lately, and since cold weather often makes me want to do things with food and the oven, I took a look at the latest issue of "Fine Cooking" to see if I might be inspired by something in its pages.

In anticipation of holiday baking, this month's issue is devoted to cookies. I was immediately drawn to the section on shortbread and chose a recipe for espresso shortbread cookies dipped in chocolate. They're gorgeous--and delicious!

Below is the recipe, which I adapted for my methods and to make fewer cookies overall.

Chocolate-Dipped Espresso Shortbread
(Makes about 30 cookies)
COOKIES:
1-1/4 stick cold unsalted butter, cut into pieces
1/4 cup sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt
5 ounces flour
1 tablespoon finely ground espresso beans

CHOCOLATE FOR DIPPING
5 ounces semisweet chocolate chips
1/2 tablespoon canola oil

1. In a large bowl, blend the butter, sugar, and salt. (I had better luck doing this by hand than with a mixer.)
2. Sift the ground coffee into the flour and add to the butter mixture, combining until the dough pulls together and forms a ball easily.
3. Prepare two cookie sheets by placing parchment paper or a Silpat baking mat on each one.
4. On a lightly floured surface, roll out the cookie dough to 1/4-inch thickness. Using a cookie cutter of the desired shape (I used a bell), cut out individual cookies and place them on the cookie sheets.
5. Chill the cookies on the cookie sheets in the refrigerator for 20-30 minutes.
6. When ready to bake, preheat the oven to 300 degrees. Bake both sheets of cookies at once, using racks in the upper and lower thirds of the oven.
7. Bake the cookies for about 35 minutes total, until the tops look dry and the color has darkened a bit. For even baking, switch the sheets about halfway through cooking so the top sheet is on the bottom and the bottom sheet is on top for the final baking time.
8. When done, allow the cookies to cool completely before dipping in chocolate. (I took them off the sheets and cooled on clean parchment paper.)

TO DIP THE COOKIES:
1. Melt the chocolate with the canola oil in a double boiler. If you don't have a double boiler, put the chocolate in a small saucepan placed over simmering water in a larger saucepan.
2. When the chocolate is melted, turn off the heat and dip half of each cookie into the melted chocolate. Don't separate the sections of the double boiler, since the chocolate needs to stay warm and smooth for the dipping. Set each dipped cookie onto parchment paper and allow the chocolate to set (about 2 hours) before storing.

2008-10-26T16:39:00.006-05:00

BACK IN THE KITCHEN
We ate so well in San Francisco that when we returned home, we were inspired to try some new recipes we've wanted to make for a long time. With an abundance of local autumn squash to choose from, I right away made stuffed acorn squash and a beet salad topped with goat cheese and fresh mint. I served the meal with foccacia, baked with roasted red peppers and artichoke hearts, from our local coop. It was a fabulous, filling, and beautiful dinner.

The squash recipe comes from the Fall 2008 edition of a glossy grocery-store magazine called Real Food, published by Greenspring Media Group. Below is the recipe, adapted to my methods.

STUFFED SQUASH WITH PEPPER SAUCE
2 large acorn squash, cut in half through the "equator" and seeded
2 leeks, cleaned and chopped
2-3 tablespoons olive oil
1 large eggplant, cut into small bite-sized cubes
2 small to medium zucchini, chopped into bite-sized pieces
2 large tomatoes, peeled and chopped coarsely
1 cup milk (I used 2 percent)
2 teaspoons fresh thyme, chopped
1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ancho chile powder
1 teaspoon ground cumin
3-4 cloves garlic, pressed through a garlic press
juice of 1 lemon
salt and pepper, to taste
shaved Parmesan

1. Wrap each squash half in tin foil and bake at 350 degrees for 45-60 minutes, until the meat of the squash is soft. Set aside to cool.

2. In a large frying pan, saute the chopped leeks in the olive oil for about 3-5 minutes over medium heat, until the leeks are soft and starting to brown.

3. Add the eggplant and cook for about 5 minutes over medium to high heat, stirring often. Add the zucchini and cook for 5 minutes.

4. Add the tomatoes and cook another 5 minutes.

5. Add the milk, thyme, spices, and garlic. Cook until the mixture has softened and thickened (about 20 minutes or so).

6. Add the lemon juice, salt, and pepper. Stir until combined.

7. Fill each squash half with the vegetable filling, and top each one with shaved Parmesan. Bake at 350 degrees until heated through (about 10-15 minutes). Meanwhile, make the pepper sauce below.

PEPPER SAUCE
2 large sweet red peppers, seeded and chopped into big pieces
3 cloves garlic, cut in half
1/2 cup water
2 tablespoons butter
salt, to taste

1. Place pepper pieces and garlic in a medium saucepan with the water. Bring to a boil, cover, and lower the heat. Simmer for 15 minutes until the peppers are soft.

2. Transfer the contents to a blender or food processor, add butter, and blend until smooth. Add salt to taste.

For color effect, serve the squash on white plates. Drizzle the pepper sauce generously over each piece. Serves 2-4 people.

2008-10-12T15:40:00.004-05:00

WE'RE LEGAL!
SJG and I tied the knot before a judge at City Hall in San Francisco on Wednesday October 8, 2008, with friends and family in attendance. We're legal!

2008-08-22T16:21:00.008-05:00

DID YOU SAY BEER?
At work, I normally avoid all the sweets that people bring in. Partly, it's because I don't like to eat sugar, and then crash, at work; partly it's because many of the things people offer aren't homemade and don't appeal to me. But this week a coworker brought in chocolate cupcakes made with Guinness--yes, beer--and topped with espresso cream frosting. They are the best cupcakes I've ever had. I ate two of them.

The recipe has a lengthy lineage. My coworker found it on a blog called A Mingling of Tastes, which adapted the recipe from The Detroit Free Press newspaper via another blog (devoted to cupcakes) called Cupcakes Take the Cake, and from a recipe by the Food Network's Dave Lieberman from Dave’s Dinners cookbook(Hyperion, 2006). The frosting is adapted from The Betty Crocker Cookbook (I can't verify which edition). I've adapted it additionally for my own methods and tastes, and the photo credit goes to A Mingling of Tastes.

Guinness Cupcakes with Espresso Cream Frosting

For cupcakes or cake:
1 stick unsalted butter (premium butters are great for baking)
12 oz. Guinness
1 teaspoon vanilla
2 cups flour
2 cups sugar
¾ cup cocoa powder (use a high-quality powder such as Penzey's)
1 teaspoon salt
1-¼ teaspoon baking soda
¾ cup sour cream
3 eggs

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Fill two 12-count muffin pans with paper baking cups or grease a 9 x 13 cake pan for a single layer cake.

2. In a small saucepan over medium heat, combine the butter, Guinness and vanilla. Stir occasionally until butter is melted. Pour into a large mixing bowl and set aside to cool for at least 10 minutes.

3. In another large bowl, combine the flour, sugar, cocoa powder, salt and baking soda. Gradually combine with the Guinness mixture. Beat in the sour cream, then beat in the eggs one at a time.

4. Pour the batter into the prepared muffin pans (or cake pan), filling each cup about three-quarters full. Bake cupcakes for about 25 minutes (30 minutes for the cake) or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. Leave cupcakes in the pan to cool for 5 minutes, then finish cooling on a wire rack. Frost cupcakes or cake when cooled completely.

*Makes 24 cupcakes or one 9 x 13 layer cake.

For frosting:
3 cups powdered sugar
1/3 cup butter (at room temperature)
3 tablespoons espresso (make your own or use instant powder)

In a large bowl, combine the sugar and butter. Pour in the espresso mixture and beat until frosting is smooth and creamy.

2008-08-17T12:25:00.004-05:00

OH, THE BLUEBERRIES
Just about every summer, SJG and I spend a week in a cabin on a lake in the North Woods. Over the years, we've developed a daily routine of morning walks, afternoon swims and sunning on the dock, and yoga and reading in the early evening. We bring our entire kitchen battery with us to cook. For dinners this year, we made a broccoli-artichoke-pepper pizza, pesto with garden tomatoes and green beans, burgers and roasted potatoes, and a Shore Lunch (fried walleye, mashed potatoes, and cooked carrots).

Part of the pleasure of our North Woods trip is picking wild blueberries along a rocky outcropping just a few miles down the road from our cabin. We generally pick about a quart of blueberries every visit, but this year we brought home two gallons. A huge forest fire last year, followed by a cool, wet spring, produced a bumper crop of blueberries this year. They're big and fat and everywhere. Even SJG, who loses patience after about five minutes of harvesting, was gleeful--and grasping. When she spotted a party of pickers emerging from their foray loaded down with ten-gallon buckets, she said, "Knock 'em over the head, grab the buckets, and run!"

Naturally, our breakfasts have been on the blueberry theme: blueberry waffles, blueberry oatmeal, and blueberry scones. Back in the city this morning, SJG made a triple batch of blueberry bran muffins, and I'm drying off three big cookie sheets of blueberries in preparation for freezing the remainder. It's blueberry heaven around here!

Below is my recipe for blueberry scones, adapted from a recipe my sister found years ago in an English recipe booklet.

Blueberry Scones
1 cup white flour
1/2 cup finely cut oats
3 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
3 tablespoons sugar
3 tablespoons butter, room temperature or slightly colder
1 egg + buttermilk to make 1/2 cup total
3-4 tablespoons fresh blueberries
milk + sugar for coating the top
1. Combine the dry ingredients in a large bowl. Cut in the butter to make a nice mealy mixture.
2. Beat the egg and the buttermilk lightly, until blended. Stir into the flour mixture.
3. Gently stir in the blueberries.
4. On a floured surface, gently pat out the dough into a circular shape until about 1/2-inch thick. (Don't overwork the dough.) Use a pastry brush to spread a little milk over the top of the dough, then sprinkle about 3 tablespoons of sugar over the top for a crispy, sugary finish.
5. Cut the dough in half down the center and then in half again for four triangular scones. Place on a greased cookie sheet and bake in a hot oven (450 degrees) for 11-12 minutes. Serve straight out of the oven.
*Serves two to four people.

2008-08-08T08:17:00.011-05:00

CHOCOLATE HEAVEN
I'm not a chocoholic the way SJG is, but I do recognize chocolate heaven when I come across it. Last weekend, our good friend Jeff paid a visit on his way home from seeing his parents. He and his boyfriend are our best foodie friends, and we go back a long way. Jeff's also just been appointed chair of his university department, so to welcome him and to celebrate his august duties and responsibilities, I made a chocolate torte of equal grandeur. Below is the recipe. (The recipe has several steps. If you have the right ingredients and equipment, you'll find that it's an easy easy recipe. And you'll wow your convives with the results!)

Chocolate Mousse Torte
(adapted from Fine Cooking magazine/March 2008)
1 recipe ganache (below)
2 tablespoons espresso coffee (optional)
6 eggs, at room temperature
1/2 cup sugar
1/4 cup flour
1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon (optional)
butter for the springform cake pan
confectioner's sugar to decorate the cake

Ganache

12 ounces high-quality semisweet chocolate (at least 55-60% cacao), chopped coarsely
1 cup heavy cream

1. Grind the chocolate in a food processor for 30 seconds. It'll look sort of like cornmeal.
2. Bring the cream to a boil in a small saucepan. Add to the chocolate in the food processor and blend about 10 seconds, until smooth. Add the espresso coffee and blend again briefly. Transfer the ganache into a large mixing bowl and set aside while you make the torte.

To Make the Torte:
1. Use about one tablespoon of softened butter to generously butter the inside of a
9- or 10-inch springform pan.
2. Wrap the outside of the springform pan with a sheet or two of heavy-duty tin foil. Set the wrapped pan in a roasting pan. (Don't skip this tin-foil step, otherwise you'll end up with a soggy torte.)
3. Bring a full kettle of water to the boil. Preheat the oven to 400 degrees.
4. In a large bowl, whip the eggs, sugar, flour, and cinnamon with an electric mixer until doubled (or even tripled) in volume. This takes 6 minutes (use a timer).

5. Add about one-third of the egg mixture (above) to the ganache and mix gently with a rubber spatula until combined. Add the rest of the egg mixture to the ganache and fold in until well blended and no signs of egg remain.
6. Pour the batter into the springform pan (which you've already set in the roasting pan). Add 1 to 1-1/2 inches of boiling water to the roasting pan.
7. Bake the torte until a dry crust forms on the top and the edges are set but the center of the torte is still wobbly when you jiggle the pan. This takes about 20 minutes for a 9-inch pan, and about 23-25 minutes for a 10-inch pan.
8. When the torte is done, remove it from the roasting pan and take off the foil. Cool the torte (still in the springform pan) on a wire rack to room temperature. Refrigerate the torte (still in the springform pan) until completely set (at least 3 hours, or overnight).

To Unmold and Serve the Torte:
1. To unmold the torte, remove the springform ring. Put a piece of plastic wrap over the top of the torte and invert the torte onto a cookie sheet.
2. Using a long, thin-bladed knife or metal icing spatula, carefully remove the bottom of the pan. Invert the torte again onto a large serving plate and remove the plastic wrap.
3. To decorate the torte, place about 1/4 cup of confectioner's sugar in a small sieve and dust the top of the cake. Or you can use a stencil (I chose a crown pattern, above) to dust a confectioner's sugar design onto the top of the torte.
4. To slice the torte, run a thin-bladed knife under hot water, wipe dry, and slice a piece of the torte. Repeat for each slice. Serve plain or with a dollop of lightly sweetened whipped cream. Wow!

2008-08-01T13:17:00.007-05:00

BASIL WHAT?
Ice cream! When my sister and her friend Bink went to Sicily last spring, they came back raving about the basil ice cream. My sister begged me to make it, and I kept putting it off, thinking it sounded....odd. This year, I've noticed that local shops and restaurants are offering basil ice cream on their menus. So I decided to bow to my sister's wisdom when my father was in town a couple weekends ago (see "Movie Memories" post below). Served with a light drizzle of crushed strawberries in their own juice or with a scoop of chocolate, strawberry, or vanilla ice cream, basil ice cream is absolutely heavenly. Here's the recipe:

Basil Ice Cream
(adapted from Gourmet, as posted on epicurious.com)

2 cups milk (I usually mix whole milk and 2 percent; the higher the fat content, the more quickly the milk will churn and the creamier the final texture will be)
3 generous tablespoons chopped fresh basil
1/2 cup sugar, divided in two
pinch of salt
4 large eggs, separated (you won't need the whites)
1 cup chilled whipping cream, whipped until barely stiff just before churning

1) In a medium-sized saucepan, bring milk, chopped basil, 1/4 cup sugar, and a pinch of salt to a boil very slowly. (Doing it too quickly can lead to curdling.)
2) Remove from heat and let the mixture steep for 30 minutes.
3) Transfer to a blender (not a food processor, which won't get the blend smooth enough) and blend until basil is finely ground and the mixture is totally smooth (about 1 minute).
4) In a large bowl, beat together the yegg yolks and the remaining 1/4 cup sugar with an electric mixer until thick and pale (about 1 minute). Slowly add the milk-basil mixture, beating until combined well.
5) Transfer to a saucepan and cook slowly over medium-low heat, stirring constantly with a wooden spoon, until the mixture reaches 175 degrees F. Do not allow mixture to boil.(I use an old-fashioned meat thermometer to register the temperature, but a digital thermometer is more precise and easier to read.) This heating step ensures the safety of the eggs, but be sure to heat slowly since rapid heating and/or boiling leads to curdling.
6) When the temperature is at 175 degrees, remove from heat right away and strain the mixture through a sieve a couple times (the finer the mesh the better) into a metal bowl. Allow mixture to cool to room temperature (about 10-15 minutes) and then cover and put in the refrigerator to chill (at least 2 hours or overnight).
7) Just before you're ready to churn the ice cream, beat the whipping cream until it's barely stiff and stir it into the chilled dairy-basil mixture. Follow the directions of your ice-cream maker to churn and/or freeze the ice cream.

*Basil ice cream is surprisingly mild in flavor, so I like to serve it plain or with a very light drizzle of crushed fresh strawberries. For visual effect, you can also serve it with contrasting ice cream(s), such as vanilla, strawberry, or chocolate. Serves about four people.

Tip A: Although it's tempting, don't skip any of the cooling and chilling steps. The colder the dairy mixture, the more quickly it will churn and/or freeze and harden.

Tip B: Making ice cream is easy, but it can be time consuming. I often divide the process into two stages over two days. On day 1, I prepare the dairy mixture up through step 6 (overnight refrigeration). The next day, when I'm ready to churn the ice cream, I beat the whipping cream and carry on with step 7.

2008-07-25T09:30:00.021-05:00

MOVIE MEMORIES
In the family tradition of tackling one thematic topic during my father’s summer visit, the four of us—SJG, my sister, my father, and I--sat on the back porch all afternoon last Sunday to discuss “movie moments.” In a wide-ranging discussion, we made lists of favorite movies, memorable quotes from movies, iconic American movies, best international movies, groundbreaking movies, and everything in between. Later, as I pondered how to organize our stream-of-consciousness observations, it came to me that my father has the most emblematic film memories. Below are his top five.

The Firefly (1937)
My father has loved movies his whole life. As a young boy, he went to the Comet movie theater in Milwaukee every week for double features and, along with all the other children in the audience, shot paper clips at the movie screen and released the flatulence that gave the movie house its "gas house" moniker.

As a six-year-old boy, his favorite movie was The Firefly (above), a smash hit of the late 1930s, starring Allan Jones (left) and Jeannette MacDonald. In this musical romance, Allan Jones--mounted on a white steed--serenades Jeannette MacDonald as she rides in a coach through a desert landscape accompanied by her dark-haired duena. Crooning "The Donkey Serenade" in a robust tenor voice, Jones is able to catch the attention of his seemingly insouciant love interest. As the song comes to a close, Jones raises his arms in a swell of dramatic feeling--and falls off his horse. The carriage continues along, and the horse makes his way back to Jones, who kisses him on the nose. To this day, my father can still be caught singing to himself, "There's a song in the air/But the fair senorita/Doesn't seem to care/For the song in the air."

Pearl Harbor (1941)
Just a few years later, on December 7, 1941, my father learned of the Japanese attack on the U.S. naval base at Pear Harbor, Hawaii (above)--at the movies. Instead of the usual Movietone News reels that preceded and followed each feature film, staff at the Jackson theater had quickly scrawled on a piece of paper (with a backwards "N") and projected onto the screen, "JAPAN BOMBED PEARL HARBOR!" Even as a nine-year-old boy, my father understood that the announcement meant war for the United States.

The Sands of Iwo Jima (1949)
After World War II, in which two of my father's brothers served, he saw
The Sands of Iwo Jima, a 1949 film starring John Wayne as Sergeant John Stryker. The Academy Award-nominated film re-creates the drama of the 1945 battle, in which some 28,000 American and 21,000 Japanese soldiers died in the struggle to gain control of the Japanese island. The battle was forever captured in the American psyche through the classic image (above) by AP photographer Joe Rosenthal of the Allied flag raising atop the island's Mount Suribachi. My father denies that he is an impressionable romantic, but it's an empty claim. After the movie, he charged up Wells Street all the way home.

Fanfan La Tulipe (1952)

By the early 1950s, my father had left Milwaukee to study in New York City. There, at the Fine Arts theater, he saw Fanfan La Tulipe, a 1952 French costume drama starring Bosley Crowther's "Italian doll"--Gina Lollobrigida(left). In this swashbuckling romance, Lollobrigida plays Adeline, a luscious young gypsy woman in eighteenth-century France. She fabricates for Fanfan--a handsome peasant played by Gerard Philipe--a prediction of a glorious, romantic future.

My father's memory of the film is the way in which dialogue--in the era of censorship mania--captured lust without showing very much at all. From a tree below which Adeline is standing at one point in the film, Fanfan looks out over the landscape, remarking, as the camera highlights Adeline's revealing peasant blouse, "I can see right down the valley!" Indeed, Adeline's "valley" is irresistable, and her romatic vision comes true. She and Fanfan fall in love, marry, and live happily ever after.

Last Tango in Paris (1973)
Twenty years later, in 1973, the United States was at the height of a sexual revolution. Romantic notions of bucolic love had vanished, replaced by unblinking, graphic portrayals of human sexual drive. Perhaps no other film captured the era so well as Last Tango in Paris, Bernardo Bertolucci's 1973 film about a chance encounter between Paul, an American expatriate in Paris (played by Marlon Brando), and Jeanne, a much younger Parisian woman (played by Maria Schneider). The encounter turns into a loveless three-day, sex-only affair in which the couple (above) engage in every sexual act imaginable. Viewed as obscene by some and critically acclaimed by others, the film was known for the "Go get the butter" scene--an explicit portrayal of anal sex that takes place on the floor with butter as the lubricant.

My father denies that the sexual revolution impacted him, despite the fact that he and my mother divorced at about this time and were young enough, each of them, to move on to other relationships. The Tango scene that sticks in my father's mind as the heart of the movie is not the butter scene. It's a scene in which Paul and Tom, Jeanne's fiance (played by Jean-Pierre Leaud), sit on the end of a bed to commiserate about their shared experiences of Jeanne's betrayals. Amazingly unaware of the fact, they each wear matching robes given to them by her.

My father says he had the same experience--minus the butter scene. In high school, he and another boy were in love with the same redhead, who jilted them both for a third fellow at a beachside party. My father and the castoff lover shared their grievances on the sands of Lake Michigan that night. Which proves to me that we bring our own lives to the movies--a giant reflecting surface for the human story.

2008-07-20T09:44:00.012-05:00

CALIFORNIA, HERE WE COME!

This weekend, SJG and I reserved the date and bought the Gehry ring (right) at Tiffany's. So mark your calendars for Wednesday October 8, 2008. At two o'clock in the afternoon, at City Hall in San Francisco, we'll do the paperwork for our marriage license, and at three o'clock, the marriage ceremony will take place!

2008-07-13T16:00:00.005-05:00

THANK YOU, MR. PRESIDENT!
You know you're an adult when you spend your economic stimulus package on a new boiler--and you're excited about it. SGJ and I spent ours on the boiler at left (we have radiator heat, so it's technically a boiler, not a furnace). The crew came out on Friday to do the job on what turned out to be the hottest day of the summer so far. With high humidity, the heat index was well above 100 degrees. And then they had to test the boiler after it was installed, so it was roasting at my house that day.

I've read that a large percentage of Americans are using their checks to pay down debt, others are putting the money into savings, and the rest are spending it outright. My sister gave a big chunk of her "free" money to a program that provides laptop computers to children in underdeveloped countries. My father is using his for travel. What are you using yours for?

2008-07-09T19:54:00.009-05:00

ON THE ROAD--III
(Sunday)

For breakfast every day, my father makes four-grain hot cereal. For my visit, he's bought fresh berries to put on top. Unlike him, SJG and I make our cereal double-boiler style, with milk, the way my Missouri grandmother taught me. It makes for an extra-creamy, smooth texture. Here's how:

Four-Grain Hot Cereal Double-Boiler Style
1-1/2 cups dry cereal grains (we mix oatmeal, rye flakes, wheat flakes, and bran flakes in equal measure)
3 cups milk

1) Put water to boil in the bottom of a double boiler.
2) Measure out the cereal grains into the top of the double boiler. Add milk.
3) When the water begins to boil, turn down the heat to a low to medium flame and cook the cereal (covered) for about 45 minutes, until smooth and creamy.
4) Serve with your favorite toppings. SJG and I like brown sugar, fresh fruits, and nuts, plus a little extra milk.

Note: This recipe makes about 4 servings, and you can adapt the amount of cereal by increasing or decreasing the amount of grains and liquid. Whatever you do, just do it in a 2-to-1 ratio (2 parts liquid to 1 part cereal grains).

After breakfast, it's time to head home. I kiss the cats good-bye, and my father helps me pack up the car. On the way out of town, I fill up with gas. It's $3.99 a gallon, which by this time next year will probably seem like a bargain.

All along the interstate in Wisconsin, roadside vendors offer fireworks for sale. Since it's illegal to sell them where I live, I stop at one of the tents to see the selection. I choose a small box of old-fashioned sparklers. SJG and I never get around to lighting them on the Fourth of July; I think the fun was in buying them.

Five long hours later (I'm a rotten solo driver), I pull into my driveway. Buddy flies out the back door of the house and down the porch steps to greet me as if I've been away for months. I'm home.

2008-07-05T12:11:00.011-05:00

ON THE ROAD--II
(Saturday)

Harry (above) loves windows and spends most of the night sleeping in a windowsill in my father's bedroom. In the early morning hours, Harry comes to check on me, jumping onto the bed to investigate, leaping into the nearby windowsill, and jumping back onto the bed for attention.

Saturday is a sunny, breezy day, perfect for walking downtown along the lakefront. I've asked the Soap Opera to set aside fifteen bars of Tallba soap. I can't find this Swedish, pine-scented soap where SJG and I live, even though our part of the world was settled by Scandinavians.

After we pick up the soap, my father and I drive into the country to
the Flower Factory. This nursery offers more than four thousand varieties of hardy perennials. I love the drive through the rolling hills of southeastern Wisconsin and have filled my gardens at home with Flower Factory plants. On this visit, I choose deep red Asiatic lilies, to pair with purple Veronica, and maltese cross (Lychnis chalcedonica) in a variety of colors, placement to be determined.

My father waits for me in a shady display garden. It's a quiet day at the nursery, and we sit together on a bench holding hands and watching the hummingbirds at the feeders.

Dark clouds roll in, bringing heavy rain and high winds. We race to the nearest hoop house to wait out the storm. When the skies clear, it's time to go home. Filets mignons await us there.

2008-06-30T19:54:00.009-05:00

ON THE ROAD--I
(Friday)

These are my father's hands. I drove to Wisconsin to visit him this weekend.

On the way, I stopped at the roadside Carr Valley cheese shop. They have great baby Swisses and aged cheddars. The cheese mouse (above) looks out over the access road that leads from the interstate straight to the shop.

Lavender spiderwort carpeted the median and the shoulder of the interstate the entire trip--all 275 miles of it.

Traffic is steady all the way. The interstate at Portage (above) was flooded the weekend of my birthday, which is why I had to postpone the visit to my father's house until this weekend. The area smells bad now, and fields in low-lying areas are still swamped. They look like lakes.

When I arrived, my father and I went out for Friday night fish fry--a Wisconsin institution--at the popular Avenue Bar. We each had deep-fried cod, cottage fries, cole slaw, and pint-sized beers. After dinner, we played 20 Questions and stumped each other with "maps" and "digital television converter box." We go to bed looking forward to Saturday.

2008-06-26T08:23:00.006-05:00

CARROT VELOUTÉ

While waiting for SJG to help our aged friend Marion through the checkout line at the supermarket the other day, I idly picked up the store’s glossy food magazine, which focused in that particular edition on summer cooking. In it, I found a wonderfully simple and delicious recipe for curried carrot soup. The name doesn’t have much romance, so I prefer the Frenchified “carrot velouté,” which, even if you don’t speak a word of French, sounds like the velvety smoothness that any cream soup offers.

The soup takes less than an hour to make and is beautiful when served. Pair it with a cold couscous salad and a piece of pocket bread for a light yet filling summer meal.

Carrot Velouté
• 1 pound carrots, peeled and cut into chunks
• 3 cups veggie or chicken broth
• 1 small onion, chopped
• 2-4 cloves garlic, paper removed and chopped
• 1-2 teaspoons peeled, chopped fresh ginger
• 1 teaspoon curry powder (use the mildest, sweetest variety you can find so
as not to overwhelm the carrot flavor)
• ½ teaspoon ground cumin
• ½ teaspoon salt
• 1 cup milk (or 2 cups for a milkier, milder, thinner soup)
• ½ cup plain yogurt (I like thick Greek-style yogurt, and you can use way
more than ½ cup, depending on your tastes)
• ¼ cup chopped fresh cilantro

1) In a large saucepan, combine the carrots, broth, onion, garlic, ginger,
curry powder, cumin, and salt.
2) Bring to a boil, cover and simmer over low to medium heat about 15-20
minutes, until the carrots are soft.
3) Using a ladle, transfer the soup (solids and liquids) into a blender. Puree
a little bit at a time until very smooth. (Don’t use a food processor for
this. It won’t puree the soup to the desired smoothness.)
4) For a hot soup, transfer the pureed velouté to the original saucepan and
stir in the milk and yogurt. Heat slowly, to avoid curdling the yogurt.
5) For a cold soup, transfer the pureed velouté into a bowl and stir in the
milk and yogurt. Cover and refrigerate for a couple hours before serving.

*To serve, choose bowls in a contrasting color (green or yellow are lovely). For extra panache, serve the velouté in low-ball glasses. Either way, top each serving with a dollop of yogurt and a sprinkling of chopped cilantro.

2008-06-20T10:36:00.010-05:00

UPSIDE-DOWN BIRTHDAY

Since all was akimbo for my birthday this year, I made a pineapple upside-down cake (above) as this year's birthday cake. SJG thought it quite odd to stray from my favorites: white cake with coconut frosting or an almond cream cake, with its luscious whipping cream base. But I wasn't in the mood for the traditional thing, and since I hadn't made this cake for years and years, it seemed fun to do.

As these things go, we didn't even eat the cake on my birthday. Our neighbor and friend, Peter, announced Plan C shortly after I posted the Plan B blog entry below. Feeling sorry that my birthday plans had gone amuck, Peter treated SJG and me to birthday burger and beer at a trendy neighborhood eatery. There, for dessert, they served us an on-the-house slice of red velvet chocolate cake with cream cheese frosting--complete with a sparkler candle. After that, too full for even one more bite, we waited until the next evening to eat the upside-down cake, which my cake-baking friend in Chicago reports is included in his latest favorite cookbook, Birthday Cakes, by Kathryn Kleinman and Carolyn Miller. This gorgeous cookbook (published in 2004) is devoted entirely to birthday cakes and pulls recipes from great chefs such as Julia Child, James Beard, Alice Waters, Patricia Wells, and others. Who knew I was among such good company?

Here's my recipe for upside-down cake. It comes from my mother's recipe box and is written out on a yellow index file card in her handwriting and mine, complete with cake batter stains. Feel free to substitute other fruit toppings if you don't like pineapple. Halved plums, apricots, or figs work well, for example.

Pineapple Upside-Down Cake
2 cups flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 cup white sugar
1 stick unsalted butter, softened to room temperature, + 2 tablespoons butter
2 separated eggs
1/2 cup buttermilk
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 cup brown sugar
1 can sliced pineapple (about 8 rings)

1. In a small bowl, sift together the flour, baking powder, and salt.
2. In a separate big bowl, cream together the white sugar and the stick of butter.
3. Separate the eggs, putting the yolks directly into the creamed butter
mixture. Put the whites in a separate bowl to whip later.
4. Measure the milk and add the vanilla to it.
5. Add the milk and flour alternately to the creamed butter mixture.
6. Beat the egg whites to the soft peak stage. Fold gently into the cake batter.
7. Melt the 2 tablespoons of butter in a lightweight, oven-worthy frying pan. (I use
a Farberware skillet.) Add the brown sugar and spread it out as evenly as
possible over the bottom of the pan.
8. Drain the pineapple rings and place them in a circular pattern, as pictured above,
on top of the brown sugar.
9. Spoon the cake batter on top of the pineapple.

Bake the cake for 45 minutes at 350 degrees until the cake is nicely browned on top and a toothpick inserted into the middle comes out clean.

When done, immediately turn the cake onto a large, round plate or platter. (To do so, place the plate over the top of the skillet and, using hot pads, quickly flip the skillet and the plate together so that the plate ends up on the bottom and the cake can drop out of the skillet.) Don't remove the skillet for a few minutes, so as to allow the cake to slide out smoothly on its own.

This cake is best served the same day when still slightly warm.

2008-06-14T16:38:00.007-05:00

PLAN B

Today is my birthday. SJG and I were supposed to be in southeastern Wisconsin, celebrating with my father and his cats. But we can't get there. Major sections of the two big interstates that connect us to where he lives are closed indefinitely in Wisconsin because of the flooding that is devastating parts of that state, much of Iowa, southeastern Minnesota, northern Illinois, and likely Missouri. It's a catastrophe, with thousands of people evacuated and homeless. And the rain just keeps coming, day after day after day.

I'm grateful that my father is safe, that my family and friends are safe, and that SJG and I are safe. I can only imagine the shock and grief of the people in flood-stricken areas across the Midwest. But I'm also just plain old sad for me because I'm not with my father on my birthday, as has become tradition in my middle age.

My father and I are talking a lot on the phone this weekend. He called once yesterday; I called twice after that. And then we talked again this morning, and I'll call tomorrow for father's day. When he asked how SJG and I were going to mark my birthday today, I said, "There is no Plan B," and we laughed. But actually, there is a Plan B: I mowed our lawn this afternoon with the push mower (pictured above).

SJG and I used to have a lawn service, but they kept killing the grass with too much this and that, and they mowed the grass so short last year that it died during the hot summer days of July and August. So we decided to do the job ourselves this year, and I'm hooked on the mowing. I love the whir of the blades and the slight resistance of the grass--especially when it's long and thick--as I push the mower across the lawn. I love the green smell, the methodical back and forth of the effort, and the delicate covering of clippings when I'm done. I like having Buddy with me, too, enjoying his rubber balls, his bones, and the sun. And today, I thrilled to the sight of my peonies (below), which opened just as they always do every year. On my birthday.

2008-06-06T12:41:00.006-05:00

STATISTICS TO THE RESCUE

California's going to make an honest woman out of me. This week, the California supreme court refused all appeals to the court's recent decision legalizing gay marriage in that state. This means that gay men and lesbians can begin legally marrying in California at 5:01 P.M. on Monday June 16. With this news, I ran straight to Tiffany's to look at the wedding bands I'd picked out from the Tiffany website last week.

A very nice young sales associate, let's call her JN, helped me. She did what all good sales associates do: she listened to what I was saying. As often happens with online shopping, the rings that looked perfect onscreen weren't exactly what I was hoping for. I want something big. Something bold. Something distinctive. Yet something simple. So JN said, "How 'bout this one?" She showed me the ring above. It's perfect. I love it. Even if it costs more than you might imagine.

Since I was by myself, JN wondered if the ring was for a wedding, my wedding. And you know what? I hedged. I fudged. I obfuscated. I thought of the days within my own lifetime when it wasn't safe to be the least bit out. But then I remembered the polling statistics my father's been telling me about recently that show that the younger a person is, the more likely that person is to (a) know someone who's gay, and (b) support gay marriage. So I decided to put those statistics to the test. I told JN the whole story about going to California with SJG to get married, and a big smile spread across her face.

"Congratulations!" she said. "That's so exciting! One of my colleagues is going to do the same thing." I almost wrote out the check on the spot.

2008-05-30T09:49:00.004-05:00

WE'RE GONNA DO IT!

If the California decision to overturn the ban on gay marriages sticks, SJG and I have decided to head west to tie the knot. After almost twenty-six years together, we've shed all our fears of commitment and are ready to take the plunge. It should be clear by mid-June whether the courts will stay the decision; if they do not, we're off to the airport, so stay tuned!

2008-05-23T10:16:00.009-05:00

LIVE RADIO!

The editor, Kari Cornell, of The Gardener's Bedside Reader in which my "Ashes to Ashes" essay was recently published, will be the guest on HearSay with Cathy Lewis, a live public radio call-in show out of Virginia on June 11! For live-stream listening that day (at WHRV at 11 am CST), click on the radio's website. Or to access the interview after the fact, you can go to the station's archives. I'll post a reminder again in June. Maybe my name will be mentioned on live radio...!

2008-05-16T12:48:00.009-05:00

LOOKS CAN BE DECEIVING

When I showed this torta della nonna (grandmother’s cake)--warm and beautiful and just out of the oven--to SJG one recent afternoon, she remarked dismissively, “It looks rustic.” Crushed, I retreated to the kitchen, where I grumbled privately about her lack of imagination. After all, I’d plucked the recipe for this custard-filled, polenta-based cake from a romantic account of Tuscany in Under the Tuscan Sun—a book by Frances Mayes about buying and restoring an old villa in Tuscany that was later made into one of my favorite chick flicks, starring Diane Lane.

When the cake had cooled, I cut myself a large piece, fully convinced that it would live up to Signore Martini’s assessment. “Perfetto!” he had exclaimed dreamily when Frances served him a piece of her freshly baked torta. But it was awful. I mean awful. Worse than rustic. I choked down a few bites and tossed out the rest. SJG was kind. She didn’t say “Told you so.”

This latest experience of cooking from literature reminds me of a Grapes of Wrath dinner many years ago. Convinced that the Joad family’s roadside meals of biscuits made with bacon grease, black coffee in tin cups, and crisply fried bacon sounded great, I recreated the Depression-era meal for my family when I was an impressionable teenager. After one bite, we ran to the nearest steakhouse for big, fat, juicy steaks, baked potatoes with sour cream, dressing-drenched salads, and generous pieces of pie for dessert.

SJG and I made dinner together the evening of the failed torta della nonna, and we stuck to the Italian theme: beef scallopini, roasted asparagus, and spaghetti a la puttanesca. To my eye, this particular meal doesn’t look very pleasing when served, but believe me, we licked our plates clean.

Spaghetti a la Puttanesca
Pasta a la puttanesca gets its name from the Italian word for prostitute. It’s a staple among my Sicilian relatives, who find the name delightful. Reputedly this dish was popular among ladies of the evening because it’s quick to make in between…clients, shall we say.

¾ pound spaghetti (we like whole wheat spaghetti these days)
several cloves of garlic, peeled and chopped (or try ramps, which are in season now)
1-2 tablespoons olive oil for sauteeing
3-4 tablespoons capers
1 small 14-ounce can chopped tomatoes (we like the fire-roasted variety)
small container of pitted Kalamata olives, chopped (about 1/2-¾ cups)
grated parmiggiana, romano, or pecorino (grate as much as you like)

1) Bring a kettle of water to boil and cook the spaghetti according to package directions.
2) While the spaghetti is cooking, sautee the garlic (or ramps) in olive oil. Add the capers at the end, just to warm them and pick up a little of the garlic flavor.
3) When the spaghetti is done, drain it, saving a little of the pasta water in the kettle (maybe ¼-1/2 cup).
4) Put the warm spaghetti back in the kettle. Toss in the sautéed garlic and capers. Add the can of chopped tomatoes and chopped olives.
5) Serve with a generous topping of grated cheese.

*Makes enough for 2-4 people, depending upon appetite and whether it’s served as a side dish or as a main course. Buon appetito!

2008-05-09T16:47:00.004-05:00

SPRING IS HERE

It's undeniable. My tulip garden is in full bloom, even the little anemones I interplanted last fall. The catalogue said the anemones wouldn't do well in this part of the world, and indeed only a fraction of them survived the winter, but that makes the survivors more beautiful. My rose bushes are leafing out, the cluster of merry bells in the back garden droops under the weight of its yellow blossoms, and the stalklike shoots of the peony bushes are several inches high already. Even the Russian sage, which I thought had died, shows signs of newly unfolding greenery.

I can't actually claim that the tulips in this photo are from my own garden; they're field tulips from our local upscale grocer. The gas-and-electric fellow--a towering Scandinavian named Chip--came out to the house this morning to give us an estimate for a new furnace. He stopped dead in his tracks when he spotted the vase and its beauties. "Wow!" he exclaimed. "Those are incredible!" I think he was caught by the height and size of the tulips, by how wide open they are to the light. A little vulgar almost. Enough so that we stared at them for a minute in joint admiration. I think we recognized ourselves in the blooms, eager for light and warmth and open to life. Spring is here.

2008-05-02T13:24:00.012-05:00

HERE'S LOOKING AT YOU, MUFF

I love accidental learning, the way you discover things by stumbling across them on your way to something else or by falling upon them by doing another task the "wrong" way or by coming at them from an unanticipated angle. That's how I learned to make movies on my digital camera. I hit the "wrong" setting on my camera one afternoon as I was taking what I thought would be a still photo of SJG eating our very first home-grown brandywine tomato. When we looked at the photo, it moved! it spoke! it said, "Mmmmm, this tomato is sooooooo good!" And from there, I started intentionally creating short movies of friends and family, one of which is a very recent clip of our diva kitty, Muffin.
Muff is our very first. SJG chose her because she was the only kitten available for adoption at our local humane society the day we showed up. She was tiny, and very young. She's eight now, but we still say to her "Five weeks, one pound, make sure she eats" when we remember, in a rush of feeling, our first days together. In this clip, you can see what she thinks of technology in general, and being its subject in particular. Here's looking at you, Muff!

2008-04-23T20:37:00.006-05:00

WOK STIR FRY

I love my wok. I love its sensual curvature, the way it smells, the way it sounds when the spatula clacks against the sides as I mix ingredients, and the fact that I've finally seasoned it to perfection. Not to mention the fact that it was cheap. Okay, not dollar-store cheap, but well under fifty dollars.

As part of our asparagus kick, SJG and I pulled out the wok the other evening to make stir fry. Technically speaking, you don't have to have a wok for stir fry--a high quality skillet, such as a well seasoned cast iron variety, works just as well. But I like cooking with the wok, and fun is a key ingredient in any recipe.

It makes things a lot easier if you have a handy sous chef like SJG to help with all the chopping, grating, marinating, and the other prep work that goes with any stir fry. The recipe below that we use is adapted from Betty Crocker's Chinese Cookbook (General Mills, 1981). Or you can browse one of my favorite sites for recipes, epicurious.com, to find other variations.

Asparagus Stir Fry

Marinade
1 pound beef tenderloin, sliced thinly
1 tablespoon canola oil
1 teaspoon cornstarch
1 teaspoon each, salt and sugar
1 pinch pepper
1 tablespoon tamari

Vegetables
1-2 cups small shitake mushrooms (whole)
1 bunch fresh asparagus, cut into large bite-sized pieces
1 red pepper, seeded and sliced into thin strips
1 teaspoon grated or chopped ginger
4-6 cloves garlic, chopped

1/4 cup chicken broth
1/4 cup oyster sauce (you can cut this in half and substitute tamari)
2 tablespoons cornstarch

2-3 tablespoons canola oil for the wok

1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup chicken broth

Topping
2 green onions, chopped (greens too)
1 cup roasted, salted cashews

For the beef marinade:
1) In a large glass bowl, toss the sliced beef with the oil, cornstarch, salt, pepper, sugar, and tamari. Cover and refrigerate for at least 20 minutes.

For the stir fry:
1) Prepare the vegetables and set aside.
2) Prepare the ginger and garlic and set aside.
3) Mix the chicken broth, oyster sauce, and cornstarch in a measuring cup and set aside.

To wok the beef and the veggies:
1) Heat the wok on the stove over a high flame until a drop or two of water beads on the surface. Add 1-2 tablespoons canola oil and rotate the wok to cover the sides.
2) Working quickly, add the beef, ginger, and garlic and cook--tossing constantly with a spatula--until the beef is browned on both sides, about 3-4 minutes. Remove the beef from the wok (you can put it in a bowl or on a plate).
3) Add another tablespoon of canola oil to the wok and rotate to cover the sides. Add the shitake mushrooms, asparagus, red pepper, and 1/2 teaspoon salt. Cook for 1 minute, stirring all the while.
4) Add 1/2 cup chicken broth and heat to boiling. (This happens fast.)
5) Add the beef and heat again to boiling. (This happens quickly as well.)
6) Add the chicken broth-oyster sauce-cornstarch mixture and cook another 30 seconds or so until thickened.
7) For visual effect, serve the stir fry in large bowls or big plates, sprinkled with the chopped green onions and cashews, to taste.

Serves 4.

2008-04-20T09:35:00.004-05:00

ASPARAGUS QUICHE

Like a lot of people, SJG reads the newspaper online every day. She called me at work one afternoon this week to tell me she'd seen a great online recipe for an onion and blue cheese quiche in the Washington Post and shouldn't we make it for dinner this weekend. We haven't had a quiche since my last trip to Paris, so I agreed to the plan.

The Post's recipe called for edible lavender as well, but since the lavender in my garden is still dormant, we decided to substitute asparagus instead. An odd mental leap indeed, but asparagus has started to show up in groceries in town, tempting us with its slim green spears. (The best asparagus comes from the asparagus man at the farmers market. I blogged about him a couple years ago--see the Early Harvest entry. The farmers market doesn't start until May 1, so we have to settle for out-of-state asparagus for the time being.)

I've been making quiches since I was a young cook, and all I needed from SJG to make this quiche was a list of the ingredients: asparagus, blue cheese, caramelized onions, and bacon. I did check Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking (Knopf, 1983) to verify the baking temperature for quiches, and then we were set. Late in the afternoon yesterday, as a reward for the first spring raking, we headed to the kitchen to begin our baking. Served with a green salad, our quiche brought a taste of France to our midwestern dining table!

Asparagus Quiche

1 partially baked savory crust (use an 8- or 9-inch-diameter baking dish)
3 large sweet onions, sliced and caramelized
2 tablespoons olive oil for caramelizing the onions
1 bunch of fresh asparagus, cut into bite-sized pieces and steamed for 8 minutes (from a cold-water start)
6 thick slices bacon, cut into bite-sized pieces and fried until done
1 generous piece of creamy Italian gorgonzola (about 1/2 pound), cut into small pieces
6 eggs
1 cup half-and-half (or 1/2 cup half-and half + 1/2 cup milk)
salt and pepper to taste

1) Start caramelizing the onions in olive oil. Salt to taste. This takes about 30 minutes over a low heat on top of the stove. Prepare the crust, the asparagus, and the bacon while the onions are cooking.
2) Make the crust and set aside. You can leave the oven on after the crust is partially cooked, though lower the heat to 375 degrees for baking the quiche.
3) Steam the asparagus. When it's done, take it off the source of heat (including the boiling steamer water) right away to avoid soggy asparagus.
4) Fry the bacon and set onto a paper towel to drain off the grease.
5) Cut the gorgonzola into small pieces.
6) In a separate bowl, whisk the eggs and the cream with a fork. Add about 1/4 teaspoon salt and the pieces of cheese to the mixture.

To assemble the quiche:
a) Spread the caramelized onions over the bottom of the partially baked quiche crust. Then add the steamed asparagus and a layer of fried bacon on top of that.
b) Pour the egg-cheese mixture over the quiche. Grate a little pepper over the top.
c) Place the quiche in the oven and cook at 375 degrees for about 40 minutes, or until the quiche is set, a bit browned on top, and a toothpick inserted into the middle comes out clean.

Bon appetit!

2008-04-16T20:25:00.004-05:00

IT'S HERE!

About two years ago, a former publishing colleague invited me to contribute an essay to an anthology of writing about gardens she was compiling. She had been reading this very blog and wanted to include me as one of the new voices she was choosing to accompany well known essayists and gardeners such as Vita Sackville-West, Michael Pollan, Diane Ackerman, and Susan Orlean, among others. I was honored by her request and agreed to participate.

The book's schedule was delayed a time or two, and periodically I would forget I'd even written the essay. Spring 2008 eventually became the targeted release date, and today--a breezy spring day--as I pedalled home from work and up my driveway, I spied it. The box with my author copies.

The book, entitled The Gardener's Bedside Reader, is gorgeous. More gorgeous than I could have imagined, filled with crisp, clear photographs, colorful period illustrations and advertisements, images from old seed catalogues, historic hand-colored photographs, Redoute illustrations, and delightful knock-outs throughout. My essay is called "Ashes to Ashes," and it's about, well, about some truths my mother--and my garden--taught me about life and death. Go to amazon.com for details, and if you buy the book, turn to page 241. That's me!

2008-04-12T14:04:00.008-05:00

PORK WITH JUNIPER BERRIES

It's cold and still snowing where I live, and that's unusual for this time of year, when the temperatures should be in the mid-50s and the bulbs should be pushing through the ground to send up their sprintime greenery. But since it's chilly and wet today, we're making a pork dish for dinner from an

Elizabeth David recipe in French Provincial Cooking, a cookbook my mother used for many years. The recipe, like all David's recipes, is easy, and it includes an unusual ingredient--juniper berries (above)--that gives the pork a slightly piney flavor. And indeed, juniper berries are the female seed cones of various junipers (in the cypress family, according to Wikipedia). Balanced against the contributions of bacon, garlic, and white vermouth, the juniper berries in this dish are subtle in the seduction of the taste buds, and for that reason, the dish is extremely satisfying.

To find juniper berries, try your local coop grocery or visit Penzey's--my favorite spice store, where everything is extremely fresh and beautiful.

PORK CHOPS WITH JUNIPER BERRIES

(adapted from French Provincial Cooking, Penguin Books, repr. 1970)

1-1/2 pounds potatoes, peeled and sliced thinly

1 medium onion

4 pork chops

4 small cloves garlic

8 juniper berries

olive oil for browning

salt and pepper, to taste

4 slices bacon

8 oz white vermouth

1) Layer half of the sliced potatoes and half of the sliced onions in the bottom of a Dutch overn (mine is cast iron and works beautifully for this dish).

2) Near the bone of each pork chop, put a clove of garlic and two juniper berries. In a large skillet, brown the chops on both sides in a little olive oil.

3) Put the browned chops on top of the potatoes in the Dutch oven. Cover with the rest of the potatoes and onion.

4) Season with salt and pepper to taste and cover with the sliced bacon.

5) Add the vermouth.

6) Put a piece of tin foil over the top of the pot, cover with the lid, and cook in a very slow oven (325 degrees) for about three hours.

Serves 4 and is delicious with cooked carrots for the side dish.

2008-04-07T11:03:00.005-05:00

WELCOME HARRY!

My father's beloved cat Kanga died three weeks ago from heart failure. He's buried in the backyard, up on the hill, where my father can see the grave as he drinks his coffee every morning. I drove down to see my father this weekend to help say farewell, and we joked that you can see the letters "K-A-N-G-A" from outer space. My father carved them into the log that serves as the grave marker, and that's where we perched ourselves on Saturday afternoon to drink a glass of ale and recall with fondness the life of a white Persian.

As we reminisced, the neighbor's two cats--both of whom were originally strays--strolled past us, just out of reach, to pay their respects. Butterflies floated past in the light warm breeze while chickadees and cardinals hopped from branch to branch in the trees that populate the back hill. Just in front of Kanga's resting spot, we lit sticks of Japanese incense and placed a small cluster of French lavender--still fragrant from a trip to Paris my father and I took together several years ago. We wept and laughed together, I got a little tipsy, and my father commented on the human tenderness that sends us up to a hill, in the sun, to talk to a dead cat.

And then came Harry, an orange tabby (above) whom my father chose this weekend at the local Humane Society to be the new companion for him and for Roo, the resident Himalayan and Kanga's former mate. Harry is about a year old and has a long sleek body with a tail that curls at the end when he arches it over his back and neck. He loves my father's house, with its many piles of assorted materials, its big windows, and the toys he's rescued from underneath furniture and from forgotten corners. And, when I got home last night, my father called to report that Harry loves something else too....roast chicken!

2008-04-01T08:55:00.005-05:00

EGGPLANT PARMIGGIANA

Growing up with a large Sicilian family on my father's side, I learned to love eggplant early in life. It was most commonly served sliced, dipped in egg yolks, breaded, and fried in olive oil. By layering the slices with cheese and tomato sauce, you end up with eggplant parmiggiana--a beautiful and delicious meal. Below is my recipe, adapted from Moosewood Restaurant Low-Fat Favorites (Clarkson Potter/Random House, 1996):

Eggplant

2 large eggplants, cut into 1/2-inch slices (about 24 slices total)

4 egg whites

1/4 tsp salt

1-1/2 cups bread crumbs

1/3 cup grated parmiggiana or romano

1/4 tsp powdered garlic

1-2 tsp dried basil

1-2 cups ricotta

1 lb sliced provolone

3-4 cups tomato sauce (about 2 28-oz cans or recipe below)

1) Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

2)Slice the eggplant. In a low-rimmed pie dish, beat the egg whites and the salt together with a fork. In another pie dish, mix the bread crumbs with the cheese, garlic, and basil.

3) Dip each slice of eggplant into the egg white mixture to coat both sides lightly. Then dip the eggplant in the bread crumb mixture to coat both sides.

4) Set each slice of dipped eggplant onto a lightly oiled cookie sheet. (You'll need two cookie sheets.)

5) Bake the eggplant for 20 minutes. While the eggplant is baking, make the tomato sauce.

Tomato Sauce

1-2 tbsp olive oil

1 medium onion, chopped

several cloves garlic, chopped

1/3 c white vermouth

2 28-oz cans chopped, diced tomatoes

1 28-oz can tomato sauce

2-3 tbsp chopped parsley

salt, pepper, and dried basil (or Italian seasoning mix), to taste

1) Heat olive oil in a large kettle. Add chopped onion and garlic and saute until translucent, about 3-5 minutes.

2) Add vermouth and cook off alchohol, about 3 minutes.

3) Add tomatoes and tomato sauce; stir in parsley, salt, pepper, and basil. Heat thoroughly. Set aside until you're ready to assemble the eggplant.

Assembling

1) In a 9 x 13 baking dish (I use glass, a Le Creuset baking dish, or another nonreactive dish), spread about half the tomato sauce in the bottom.

2) Place about half the eggplant slices on top of the sauce in slightly overlapping rows.

3) Spread the ricotta on top of the eggplant, then add about half of the provolone slices in slightly overlapping rows.

4) Add the rest of the eggplant on top of the cheese. Cover with the rest of the tomato sauce, a light layer of the remaining bread crumbs, and the rest of the provolone. (You'll probably still have leftover bread crumbs; toss them.)

5) Bake uncovered for 35-45 minutes, until the eggplant is thoroughly heated and the cheese is nicely melted.

*This recipe amply serves 6-8 people and is a great dish to serve with a simple green salad and a baguette or two at a dinner party. Or like SJG and me, you can make it on the weekend for easily reheated lunches and dinners during the week.

2008-03-28T09:55:00.005-05:00

RIVER SIGHTING

I work in the historic downtown warehouse district, and my building is only four short blocks from the Mississippi River. The city has put effort into developing the river in this part of town, so there's a lovely pedestrian walkway all along the water, places to sit, and an old railway bridge across the water that is now a popular path for joggers, pedestrians, and the tourist trolley that runs through the city in the spring and summer.

One day this week, wanting to clear my head, I went to the river at my lunch break. I like walking across the railway bridge for its view of the lock and dam, for the little garden at the far end, and for the ducks and geese that congregate in the warm waters near the power plant along the river's banks. As I was meditating on the things that were bothering me, I looked casually toward one of the small streams that feeds the river by the power plant and locked eyes with an eagle perched in the tree branches. We stared at each other, and I slowly approached his side of the bridge for a closer look. He kept me in his sight as I moved toward him, studying his markings and colors to make sure it was an eagle. And, indeed, when I got home that evening and checked my Peterson field guide, it was indisputable. I'd seen an eagle. A bald eagle.

Turns out the Mississippi River is a major flyway for the birds, who, just like the more prosaic ducks and geese, are attracted to the warm waters near the power plant. The water there is fairly shallow, the fishing is good, and there's even a little sandbar that peaks above the surface--a sort of bird beach. As I continued on my way, I realized I felt happy and lighter in spirit. So next time I feel the weight of human folly, I'm heading back to that spot along the river for the Raptor Cure!

2008-03-23T13:58:00.005-05:00

FRENCH TOAST FOR EASTER

Every Easter for the last several years, SJG and I have hosted our friend Marion for breakfast at our house. We often make up a small Easter basket for her with her favorite candies. This year the Easter basket was pot roast and mashed potatoes from last night's meal. Marion is almost 94 and doesn't cook much for herself anymore, so she was more excited about her Easter basket than you might imagine.

For Easter breakfast this year, I made my absolute favorite French toast recipe, which I found in the local newspaper many years ago. It requires overnight soaking but is otherwise an easy, no-fail recipe that will wow your guests.

French Toast Extraordinaire

6 eggs

1-1/2 cups half-and-half

1 tsp vanilla

2 tsp sugar

1/4 tsp salt

1/4 tsp cinnamon

one day-old baguette or ciabatta loaf, cut into 1-inch slices on the diagonal for maximum surface (you can also buy a fresh baguette or ciabatta, slice it up, and allow the slices to dry for several hours ahead of time)

1) Mix the eggs, cream, vanilla, sugar, salt, and cinnamon in a medium-sized bowl.

2) Arrange the slices of dried bread in a large, shallow baking dish (9 x 13).

3) Pour the egg mixture over the bread and turn the slices at least once to make sure the liquid soaks into each slice. Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate overnight.

4) The next morning, heat the oven to 450 degrees.

5) While the oven is heating, fry the slices of bread in butter on a hot griddle until browned nicely on each side.

6) Transfer the fried slices onto a lightly greased baking sheet (or two) and bake in the hot oven for 5-7 minutes until puffy. Serves 3-4 people.

*Sliced fresh fruit is a lovely accompaniment. We served fresh strawberries this time, along with thick-sliced bacon and freshly squeezed orange juice.

**Notice the tea towel in the photo above? I embroidered it when I was 10 years old. Embroidery is a skill that my mother forced upon my sister and me but for which I am now extremely grateful.

2008-03-16T11:42:00.000-05:00

SHRIMP MOLCAJETE

I've been looking for a recipe for shrimp molcajete (public photo above from flickr.com). In surfing for information this morning, it appears that, like SJG and me, many vacationers have been introduced to this lovely dish while in western coastal Mexico or in parts of the American Southwest. Recipes abound for making guacamole or salsa in a molcajete (mortar and pestle), but I found only one recipe--on the BBC website--for making the stewlike dish we had in Mazatlan. My adapted version goes something like this (and doesn't quite match the looks of the photo above, by the way):

Salsa

2 cloves garlic

1 chipotle chili

1 small onion, chopped

1 bunch fresh coriander

1 small can of chopped tomatoes

salt and pepper, to taste

Meat/Shrimp Base

1-2 chicken breasts, 3/4-1 lb sirloin steak, or 1 lb peeled and deveined shrimp
1-2 tablespoons olive oil
salt and pepper, to taste
1-2 bunches green onions
several whole jalapenos (on the large side), seeded to reduce the heat

Trimmings
8-12 warm flour tortillas
1/2 bunch coriander, chopped
1-2 avocados, sliced
1-2 limes, sliced
1-2 cans refried beans, warmed up

1. FOR THE SALSA: mash the garlic, chili, onion and coriander in a large seasoned molcajete.
2. Add the tomatoes and mix to combine. Season to taste with salt and pepper.
3. Place the molcajete over high heat and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer for 15-20 minutes. Keep warm until ready to serve. (In Mexico, each person gets an individual molcajete, so this step may take up the entire stovetop.)
Caution: the molcajete gets very hot. Use hotpads or kitchen mits to handle.

4. FOR THE BASE: Season the meat or shrimp to taste. Saute in olive oil in a large skillet on the stovetop or grill under the broiler or on an outdoor grill until done. Slice the meat into strips. Shrimp can be served as is.

5. Briefly grill the green onions and the jalapenos on the broiler setting of the oven or on the outdoor grill until nicely browned.

6. TO SERVE: place the meat or shrimp (or combination of the two) in the molcajete(s) with the warm salsa. Drape the grilled onions over the sides (with the onion head in the salsa and the green stems lying over the edge) and garnish with grilled jalapenos, chopped coriander, and sliced avocado. Serve with warmed tortillas and refried beans on the side. As in the photo above, beer is a nice accompanying beverage for this dish. Fresh lime can be squeezed into the beer or over the meat just before eating.

2008-03-01T10:29:00.001-06:00

FISH HIT

Last February, in Tucson, you'll remember I was hit by a flying hamburger (see the February 24, 2007, posting entitled "In Such a Landscape"). This year, in Mazatlan, as SJG and I were strolling along the beach on our afternoon walk, I was hit by a fish, released from on high by one of the many gulls for whom our stretch of beach was prime feeding grounds. It was a small white fish, not as lovely as the carp in the print above by Aleah Koury, but a fish all the same. The gull seemed confused and circled above us in search of his lost fish. The sea waters carried it back into the ocean before the gull could retrieve it, and SJG and I moved on, wondering why I seem to be a prime target for these kinds of things.

At work this week, SJG reported the Fish Hit to one of her colleagues. He claims that it's well known that being hit by a fish is very good luck. I did a little googling this morning to see if this is indeed true but didn't easily find anything to confirm the assertion, other than the fact that fish are generally omens of good luck in Asian cultures. I'll have to do a little more research on the Fish Hit in particular, but in the meantime, my googling did turn up a CNN video clip from 2007 that documents a variety of very funny fish hits. Here's the link: http://www.cnn.com/video/#/video/moos/2007/06/23/moos.fish.smacked.affl

(then click on "Fish Smacked" option to the right of the video screen)

Good luck!

2008-02-25T10:29:00.000-06:00

MOONSET

We watched the lunar eclipse from a neighborhood street in Mazatlan, where we had come for dinner at the invitation of the Mazatlan in-laws of one of SJG's colleagues. They sat us like royalty at a long table on their front patio and served us homemade gorditas and quesadillas, stuffed with grilled beef. Only after we'd finished our meal did the family sit down to eat.

The next morning, I awoke at 6 o'clock--unusually early for me--and walked out onto the hotel patio facing the sea. To the south, the full moon was setting in a sky blushing pink from the rays of the rising sun. Pelicans skimmed the crests of the waves as they crashed onto the beach, and a lone fisherman cast his net into the waters from a rocky point under the moon.

2008-02-12T20:13:00.000-06:00

FINNA!

Finna is our bruiser cat, the one who talks tough but has a marshmallow heart. The one who loves to snuggle under the covers when I crawl into bed at night and who purrs when you look at her. She's the smartest of our three cats, too. She knows how to open doors and cupboards, while the other two watch and marvel. She's the one who bit our toes and climbed the curtains when we brought her home. But she's the one they said was "bunny soft." And she is. Who can resist?

2008-02-06T19:51:00.000-06:00

CAUCUS 2008!

I live in a caucus state. I am not, however, a group person and so have stayed clear of participation. I feared the pressures of public declaration of my political sentiments, some of which are gut feeling as much as rational intellectual thought. I feared the long night of arguing arcane resolutions and suffering the monologuists. And I didn't like the idea that, at a caucus, they don't serve cookies and cake.

This year the state Democratic party (okay, so I'm a Democrat) changed the way they organize caucuses and it became possible to simply show up, vote, and go home. I decided I could handle that, so last night--the night of our Super Tuesday presidential caucus--SJG and I headed to a nearby high school to be in line as they opened the doors at 6:30 pm.

I have to say it was fun. With triple the number of participants, the caucus was overflowing with people eager to cast their vote. I waved happily at all my neighbors, most of whom I know from walking Buddy every day and meeting their dogs. And since I live in a place where order is next to godliness, the entire caucus process went smoothly and efficiently. I wrote the name of my candidate on a little yellow post-it note (they'd run out of ballots) and pushed it into the slot of the Folger's coffee can the precinct volunteer held out to me. And then she pointed me to the table behind her, where cookies and cake awaited voters like the prize I had long imagined they should be.

2008-02-01T11:45:00.000-06:00

NO BAD WORDS WERE FOUND

I rated my blog through the following link: http://www.justsayhi.com/bb/blog_rating

It's like rating a movie to see what the target audience might be. My blog rating came back as "G: General Audiences All Ages Admitted" with the delightful commentary that "no bad words were found." Whew, what a relief.

I don't quite believe that the rating is particularly valid, however, because my sister's blog came back with an NC-17 rating (No One 17 and under Admitted) based on the usage of the following "bad words," some of which occur on my blog too:

death (27x) dead (10x) pain (9x)
fuck (8x) fucks (3x) dyke (7x)
suicide (4x) breast (1x)

I haven't quite decided if I should up the quotient of "bad words" on my blog or not (I probably already have by listing the above "bad words"). Which is a more desirable audience, the general family crowd or those naughty adults?

2008-01-22T07:06:00.000-06:00

WHAT'S FOR DINNER? (Monday)

Chili! SJG makes her chili with a variety of different meats and beans. This week's chili has pinto beans and pork tenderloin. Try ground beef and black beans, or ground turkey and red beans as alternatives. We put chopped green onions and grated cheddar (a mild four-year Widmer) on top of each serving, with a dollop of sour cream or cottage cheese on top of that. With a piece of cornbread, this is a satisfying meal on a cold winter night. (Tuesday's high will be ten degrees above zero where we live!)

2008-01-19T13:57:00.000-06:00

WHAT'S FOR DINNER? (Friday)

Pizza margherita! We order pizza for home delivery every Friday, as a reward for our week of work. The last few weeks, we've tried a new, hip pizza joint but have decided that it's really only good for meat pizzas. Last night, we were in the mood for a classic pizza margherita--mozzarella, fresh tomatoes, and basil chiffonade--and for that, we prefer to order from the Italian deli in our neighborhood. They're generous with the cheese and the basil and make a nice light crust that doesn't overwhelm the toppings. With a green salad on the side, it makes a very satisfying meal.

This pizza is named for Italy's Queen Margherita, by the way, who wore the crown in the late nineteenth century and for whom Italy's earliest pizzas were apparently made. (Pizza originated in subcontinental Asia, not in Europe.)

2008-01-17T22:11:00.000-06:00

WHAT'S FOR DESSERT? (Thursday)

Galatopoureko! It's a Greek dessert made of phyllo dough filled with nutmeg-flavored custard and drizzled with honey. My sister and I shared a piece after dinner this evening at our favorite Greek restaurant in her neighborhood. In the kitchen, they make the galatopoureko when you order it and sprinkle the plate with decorative flourishes of ground cinnamon. In the restaurant, with its white and blue walls and the flowering plants all along the bank of windows that faces the street, it's like stepping into a little corner of Greece far away from the frosty cold of our city, where tonight, the air temperature is 9 below zero.

2008-01-16T19:46:00.000-06:00

WHAT'S FOR BREAKFAST? (Wednesday)

Raspberry-bran muffins! For five years, I made bran muffins every Sunday. But then I tired of it. So, ever since, it's been SJG's job. She doubles (or maybe triples) my original recipe so she doesn't have to bake every weekend, and she adds all kinds of extra ingredients that I would never have dreamed of--millet, ground flax seeds, raw sunflower seeds, oat instead of wheat bran, and more bananas than you really want to know about. I eat two every morning at my desk. They're delicious, and they do the trick!

2008-01-14T19:39:00.000-06:00

WHAT'S FOR DINNER? (Monday)

SJG usually makes a pot of soup on Sunday for the week. She consults with me, and this week, I had a vision of red beans and rice, so that's what she made. She adds dinosaur kale, for the dark green leafies, and heads over to the other side of town for smoked ham hocks. We serve this soup with homemade cornbread, the recipe for which I've posted below.

CORNBREAD

1-1/4 cups flour

3/4 cup cornmeal

1/4 cup sugar

2 teaspoons baking powder

1/2 teaspoon salt

1-1/2 cups buttermilk

1/4 oil (melted butter is even better)

1 egg, beaten (2 eggs is even better)

1 cup frozen corn (creamed corn is even better)

1. Mix the dry ingredients together.

2. Stir in the buttermilk, oil, and egg. Add the frozen corn. Do not overmix.

3. Pour into a greased cast iron skillet (8-in diameter) or other low, flat baking dish of about the same size. (Greasing the pan with canola oil is good for you, but melted butter is even better.)

Bake at 400 degrees for 20-25 minutes until the top is golden and the cornbread has started to pull away from the sides of the pan.

2008-01-13T10:38:00.000-06:00

MORNING COFFEE

I start every day with a cup or two of espresso, latte style. The paraphernalia all (well, mostly all) has links to my family: the green and white ceramic mug comes from my sister; the slim white English porcelain creamer in which I foam the milk is from my mother; the silver spoon is something my father got at a long-ago auction in Missouri; and the espresso maker, well, that's standard-issue Ikea, my new favorite place to shop.

2008-01-07T11:04:00.000-06:00

THEME PARTY

We celebrated my father's seventy-seventh birthday (January 8) this past weekend. The theme? Antarctica, heavy on the penguins. All the presents had something to do with penguins, including the cake!

2008-01-05T19:57:00.001-06:00

IN ANTARCTICA

And here's my father's snow penguin onboard the Nordnorge in Antarctica!

2008-01-01T09:13:00.001-06:00

POBLANOS RELLENOS FOR THE NEW YEAR

SJG and I dispensed with traditional roast turkey for holiday eating this year and instead prepared Mexican feasts. For Christmas Eve, we made fajitas with beef tenderloin, and we rang in New Year 2008 last night with poblanos rellenos, inspired by a version I had in San Antonio this fall. A simple dish to prepare, it looks beautiful on the plate and tastes heavenly. Happy New Year!

Poblanos Rellenos

(adapted from The Border Cookbook by Cheryl Alters Jamison and Bill Jamison, 1995)

6 large, fresh poblano chiles--roasted and slit from one end to the other
one medium yellow onion, chopped
4-5 cloves garlic, chopped
1-1/4 pounds ground beef
1 tablespoon ancho chile powder
1 tablespoon regular, mild chile powder
1 teaspoon ground cumin
salt, to taste
1/3 cup raisins
3 tablespoons chopped, fresh cilantro
1 tablespoon worcestershire sauce
juice of 2 limes
2 cups grated Monterey jack (or other mild white cheese)

1. Core and seed the poblanos. Roast in the oven on a cookie sheet until the skins soften and begin to turn black. Set aside.

2. In a large skillet, saute the onion and garlic in a little olive oil (about one tablespoon).

3. Brown the beef in a separate pan.

4. When the onions and garlic have softened, add the browned beef.

5. Stir in the spices, raisins, cilantro, worcestershire sauce, lime juice, and half of the cheese.

6. Place the poblanos on a cookie sheet lined with tin foil. Stuff them with the spiced meat and sprinkle the rest of the cheese over the peppers.

7. Heat the peppers in a 375-degree oven for about 5 minutes, until the cheese has melted.

Serve with refried beans (with a little melted cheese and green onions on top), rice, guacamole, and chips. Delicious!

2007-11-16T07:42:00.000-06:00

INTO THE MIDDLE DISTANCE

They came to the surface in bright red blotches, some the size of a fist, and in all the worst places--groin, armpits, nape of the neck, scalp. They erupted on the inside of the bottom lip, pushing the flesh forward into a collagen pout, Hollywood style.

Waiting in the emergency room lounge, she wondered if other people could see her hives ballooning under her clothes, like she could see the raw wound on the ankle of the man next to her. Yet most patients avoided eye contact, staring straight ahead into the middle distance or up at the wall-mounted television. They weren't looking at anything really, just waiting in silence for their turn with a doctor.

A few days later, the antihistamines and steroids had cleared up the hives, and the first round of allergy tests had revealed nothing. So, equipped with a bag full of EpiPens, she headed to the airport for the business trip to Texas, balancing her fears of another outbreak against the perky optimism of her sister.

"It's a one-off thing," her sister had said. "It'll never happen again. You're fine."

On the flight, half empty, the passengers sat quietly, many of them still groggy from the early morning departure. She greeted the travelers on either side, falling into conversation with the man in the window seat to her left. His accent marked him as a Southerner, Texan she assumed, although he quickly set her straight.

"Morgan City, Louisiana," he said. "But I'm going to Trinidad." In the oil business, he clarified, building platforms. Six weeks on, two weeks off.

He had left his wife up north with their son at the big university hospital there. "A blood disorder," he said. "We've been tracking him for six years now. It was finally time for the bone marrow transplant this summer. But I don't know. His white count keeps going down...." His voice trailed off as he looked down at the seat cushion separating them, a sort of no-man's land where answers might lie.

She offered a few words of sympathy, wondering if he could see in her, and in her words, the knowledge of sorrow she carried too. He turned toward the window and she to her book thinking that, maybe like the patients in the emergency room, we most of us carry our wounds outside of plain view, and only through chance, or magical X-ray vision, do they come into view. Or maybe they're always there, bulging at the surface like red, angry hives. It's just that we're staring so hard into the middle distance that we safely avoid them.

"I wish the best for your son," she said to the man as they walked off the plane. He nodded. " 'Preciate that," he said, as they headed their separate ways, she to the shuttle that would take her to her downtown hotel, he to the far end of the airport for the long flight to an oil platform in the middle of the sea.

2007-10-26T18:02:00.001-05:00

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

My father often comes to visit for Halloween so we can carve pumpkins together. It's an all-day affair involving much planning and an ever-changing set of tools. One of the best discoveries came to us via Martha Stewart, whose show my father used to watch at the gym. She says that an ice cream scoop is the best implement for carving out the guts of a pumpkin, and indeed it is.

One year, my father brought his power drill, and we drilled patterns in our pumpkins. He created a witch on a broomstick, and I made random geometric patterns. Another year, we stenciled our pumpkins and cut out moons and stars.

This year, my father's not coming for pumpkin carving, and I haven't been inspired to do it on my own. But, one day this week while I was walking Buddy, I noticed that the little shop around the corner had two pumpkins on the stoop, each one decorated with various pieces of hardware and twisted wires. Delighted, I ran out to choose my own pumpkin, and today I dug around in the basement to collect an assortment of hardware odds and ends of my own. I even found a spool of wire and a pair of wire cutters to make twisted lengths of hardware hair.

The beauty of this approach to "carving" a pumpkin is that it requires no carving. Once you have the pumpkin and the hardware, you simply screw in the hardware eyes and nose and mouth and ears and hair in whatever arrangement is pleasing to you, and voila! Hardware Pumpkin Man is ready. Happy Halloween!

2007-10-08T08:23:00.000-05:00

SJG

What is she to me?

She is the one they wave to, bus drivers, children, all the neighbors, colleagues in the elevator, mechanics, strangers too.

She is the dancing girl, grinning for the camera in the Luxembourg Gardens.

She is softness in the dark, warm hands that cup my curves.

She is memory, Helen’s kitchen, its pies, fried chicken, eggs and bacon and coffee, Swiss steaks, TV dinners (just the good parts); Bud and Bob’s on Sunday afternoons; Edna’s Christmas cookies, pork cutlets fried just right, pickles (no garlic), endless Jell-O salads, and the fudge the dog ate (was it Tinkerbelle?).

She is the Big Pool, cold limbs pulling in cement’s warmth, plunging back into the waters to start the cycle again, cool waters, warm cement, cool waters, warm cement, a body-firing in summer’s heat.

She is radiance of golden energy, the aura that pulls me in.

She is the one to make me laugh (even though I did once say she isn’t funny), to show me humor in tragedy in absurdity in myself sometimes.

She is the one who knows sorrow, balancing joy on its precipice.

She is the one who sees beauty in silence, snowflakes drifting out of grey sky, yellow leaf settling on lake’s surface, orange fire-moon rising from the horizon.

She is the girl in the dark alley, the one to whom I said, “I need you.”

She is the woman I love.

--on the occasion of our twenty-fifth anniversary

2007-08-21T17:19:00.000-05:00

AUGUST BOUNTY

Phlox bloom in my garden in the hot, humid days of August, when the nights begin to cool and the gentlest touch of autumn is in the air. In this part of the world, the harvest is at its ripest now. Roadside farmers secret extra ears of corn into each bag, green beans spill out of marketplace baskets and cartons, and luscious, ripe tomatoes, once treasures, weigh the basket as commonplace loads.

Saturated with bounty, August yet calls forth a note of sadness in the evening cicada’s song, its single-note melody somehow lonesome, its empty carapace a morningtime souvenir of another lifetime. As children, we prodded the insect’s shell and sipped the tender sap of phlox’s flower. Still these tokens take me there, to that youthful place of song and fruit and endless, wondrous mystery.

2007-07-08T16:26:00.000-05:00

GRILLED PIZZA

Oblivious to the ozone warning on a recent hot, steamy day in our nation’s capital, my father and I headed out for sightseeing. We took the Metro and then the city bus to Mount Vernon, the property just outside of Washington, D.C., that George and Martha Washington called home. The house itself is surprisingly modest, yet it is in an incomparable setting. Perched on a bluff overlooking the Potomac, the site commands a wide, impressive view of the river and surrounding lands. We took full advantage of the Washingtons’ verandah and the cooling breezes that wafted up to us there from the river below. Sitting on simple wooden chairs, we wondered if Martha served George iced tea or mint juleps on hot summer days more than two hundred years ago.

Today, back at home, it’s similarly hot and muggy. Air temperatures are in the high nineties and the dew point is somewhere close to seventy. We have more pedestrian concerns before us than to wonder what George and Martha sipped on their back porch. We have dinner to make, and in oppressive heat. The solution? Pizza on the grill outside. It’s amazingly quick and easy!

Pizza Dough
To make things simple, buy prepackaged pizza dough. Otherwise, you can make your own dough as follows:

1 package quick-rising yeast
1 teaspoon sugar
1 cup hot water (between 105-115 degrees)
3 cups flour
1 teaspoon salt
¼ cup olive oil
1 tablespoon fresh rosemary, choppped

1. Sprinkle the yeast and sugar into a cup of hot water. Let sit for about 10 minutes, until the yeast bubbles nicely.
2. Meanwhile, mix the flour and salt in a large mixing bowl. When the yeast is ready, pour into the flour and stir. Add the olive oil and rosemary. Stir until well blended and slightly tacky to the touch.
3. Knead the dough on a lightly floured surface for about 10 minutes.
4. Place the dough in a large bowl lightly oiled with olive oil. Cover with plastic wrap or a kitchen towel and let the dough rise in a warm, draft-free place for about an hour. The dough will easily double in size.
5. When the dough has risen, punch it down gently and divide into four pieces.
6. Shape each piece into an 8-inch round (or as close thereto as you can). You can either do this with your fingers and hands or with a rolling pin.
7. Place each piece of dough onto an individual, oiled pizza pan, cutting board, or large plate. Cover with towels or plastic wrap and allow to rise another 30-60 minutes. Meanwhile, prepare your toppings.

Toppings
You can use your favorite prepackaged pizza toppings: grated cheese, sliced meats, olives, sliced vegetables (which you’ll then want to roast or sauté ahead of time), and whatever else appeals to you. I roasted my own garlic (one big bulb in the oven early in the morning), roasted my own vegetables (two eggplants and two red peppers; see the previous “Rear Window” blog entry for how-to information), bought two small containers of local goat cheese, and grated about 3 cups of domestic mozzarella.

To prepare the pizzas:

1. Preheat the grill.
2. When the grill is ready, turn to medium heat. Brush a little olive oil on one side of each pizza round. Place the pizza rounds directly onto the grill, oiled side down. My grill fits two rounds at a time, but if you have a larger grill, you can do all four at once. I found it easiest to pick up the rounds with my hands and place each one gently onto the grill.
3. Grill each piece quickly for about 1 or 2 minutes, with the lid down, just until the dough has set. It may begin to turn brown and take on lovely grill streaks.
4. Remove each pizza round from the grill, using tongs. Take them back into the kitchen and lightly brush the ungrilled side of the dough with a little more olive oil. Then arrange the toppings of your choice onto the grilled side of each round. I started with the roasted garlic, then a little grated mozzarella, then the roasted veggies, then the goat cheese and a bit more mozzarella. Drizzle each pizza with a little olive oil or vinaigrette (homemade or bottled both work).
5. Return the pizza rounds to the grill, topping side up and ungrilled side down. Close the lid of the grill and allow the cheese to melt. This takes about 5 minutes.
6. Remove the individual pizzas from grill using tongs. Serve the pizzas with a simple green salad. Enjoy!

*Makes four individual 8-inch pizzas, enough to feed 4-6 people.

2007-06-29T19:20:00.000-05:00

REAR WINDOW

An alley. Three adult men and a young boy pass by, their laughter and voices floating up to where we sit on a back porch three flights up. Loud music blasts out of an apartment across the way. A light comes on in a nearby window. A man comes into view, wearing only his underpants. He walks over to the computer in his study. The window at his desk is shaded and the man disappears into shadow profile. The music stops. An alley inhabitant, drinking his evening beer at the dumpster below, applauds. Summer in Chicago.

We’ve come to visit friends in the city for my birthday weekend. The alley scene is our own private rear window, like the memorable Hitchcock film starring James Stewart as the voyeur and Grace Kelly as his intrepid love interest. As in that movie (set in New York), here in Chicago we have a view into the lives of strangers whose stories we can only guess at. Poverty and affluence, loneliness and camaraderie, tragedy and comedy all in this one spot, in this one evening.

As the man at the dumpster opens another beer, our hosts bring out the cold tapas for our evening meal: garbanzos with mustard greens; potato salad with chopped boiled eggs and a touch of horseradish; a salad of green and black olives and crunchy pearl onions; and roasted eggplant and red peppers in a garlicky marinade. An egg-based tortilla topped with fresh asparagus precedes the main course—seafood paella.

It’s hot and muggy, and when we drive home the next day, the weather hasn’t changed at all. We decide to make the eggplant tapas for our evening meal. It’s quick and easy, and by grilling outside, we can keep heat out of the house. As we eat our meal on the back deck, we’re serenaded by cardinals at the birdfeeder and by our neighbor’s electric saw. Our cats stretch out along the screen door where the breeze is best. We humans provide the rear window action in their feline world.

You can make the roasted eggplant tapas on your own grill. In the heat of the summer, it’s a perfect meal.

Roasted Eggplant in Marinade
2 eggplants, sliced thickly
2 large red peppers, whole
2 lemons, seeded and juiced
¼ cup – 1/3 cup olive oil
4-6 cloves fresh garlic, pressed
Salt, to taste

1. Preheat the grill.
2. Cut the ends off the eggplants. Then cut each eggplant into slices about an inch thick each. Brush a little olive oil onto each side of the slices.
3. Place the eggplant slices and the whole peppers on the heated grill. Turn frequently, keeping the heat somewhere between 350 and 400 degrees.
4. Roast until the skin of the peppers is black and the eggplant slices are nicely blackened and soft—about 20 minutes or so. The peppers and the eggplant will be done at about the same time.
5. Take the vegetables off the grill and allow them to cool before handling. Cut the eggplant slices into bite-sized chunks. Then remove the blackened skin from the peppers along with the stem, seeds, and any remaining pith. Slice peppers into strips and combine with the eggplant in a large serving bowl.
6. To make the marinade, combine the juice of 2 lemons with the olive oil. Stir in the pressed garlic and salt. Drizzle over the eggplant and peppers. Serve at room temperature or cold, whichever you prefer, with slices of crusty baguette or wedges of pita bread.

*Serves 6

2007-05-25T13:00:00.000-05:00

YOGA DIARY

Part of teacher training at the Iyengar yoga studio where I attend class is to keep a daily practice log. I'm not in the teacher training program, but I do sometimes keep notes on my practice just to see what it amounts to on paper and to master the Sanskrit names of the asanas (poses). Today's practice looked something like this:

INVOCATION to Patanjali, the codifier of yoga. As I begin chanting, the dog and the cats come racing to see what's up. Buddy (the dog) licks my face energetically.

STANDING POSES
--Urdhvahastasana
--Uttanasana (2 minutes, with head supported on block and blanket)
--Adho Mukha Svanasana. I alternate legs in the one-legged variation we learned this week to get the heel on the floor closer to the ground.
--Trikonasana. As I extend to the right side, I catch the slatted blinds reflected in the framed photograph of the House on the Hill, my mother's great uncle Virgil Hines's home in southern Missouri. I've just been to that part of the world to scatter my mother's ashes. I like seeing my life (the blinds) overlaid onto hers (the House on the Hill).
--Utthita Parsvakonasana
INVERSIONS
--Adho Mukha Vrksasana (full arm balance). We're learning to do this pose free standing. Going up into the pose farther away from the wall is the first step. I start nine inches from the wall, and as I kick up, my foot scrapes hard against the marble top of my great grandmother Covert's parlor table. China goes crashing, and the animals come racing to see what's up.
--Sirsasana (6 minutes, without wall support). I took a year off my yoga practice recently because of hamstring problems. I returned about four months ago, a little creaky but still strong. Before my leave, I'd been able to routinely go up into and come down out of headstand in the center of the room. I've been frightened to do so, until today. I am able to stay up for six minutes and come down, for the first time in a long time, without crashing to the floor. Legs poker stiff and core muscles firm.
FORWARD BENDS AND SEATED POSES
--Janu Sirsasana. This forward bend incorporates a difficult hip/groin rotation and demands an intense stretch of the extended hamstring. It has never come easily, and I resist the pose's difficulties. So I keep at it.
--Padmasana. Another difficult pose requiring openness in the hips and knees. I'm getting to the point where I can fold both legs into the body for the full lotus pose instead of only one leg at a time. I close my eyes and fold my hands in front of my chest in namaskar. The animals sense a change of energy and come racing to see what's up.
SUPINE POSES
--Supta Virasana (4.5 minutes)
--Supta Baddha Konasana (5 minutes)
INVERSION
--Sarvangasana (5 minutes). We learned a variation of shoulder stand this week whereby the practitioner somersaults up onto a bolster or pile of blankets to get into the pose. The bolster helps lift the body and prevent the settling into the hips and stomach area that often comes as the practitioner remains in the pose for some time. Sarvangasana is meant to soothe the nerves, which in the early years of practice seemed laughable. I am better able today to relax the neck and throat and to unclench the teeth. My shirt slips down a bit in front, exposing my stomach muscles, which I admire. I pull my mind away from this momentary distraction.
FORWARD BEND
--Paschimottanasana (3 minutes). Another difficult pose for me these days, so I keep at it. We are taught to exhale tension in the stomach and groin to better surrender into the pose. Just as I feel a bit of surrender, the timer goes off (2 minutes). Our teacher says a true yoga pose begins only after the practitioner stops fighting against the asana, so I set the timer for another minute.
END OF PRACTICE
--Savasana (22 minutes). This pose always concludes a yoga practice. We've been doing increasingly longer savasana in class. This is the first time I've done such an extended savasana at home. I work on letting go of words and on allowing the energy to release into the back of the body, like blood settles in a corpse (savasana means "corpse pose" and is practiced to tame the breath and the mind). The oldest cat, the one who is most keenly attuned to shifts in energy, settles into the narrow space between my ankles. I feel contentment.

2007-05-04T14:38:00.000-05:00

SOUTHERN STYLE

"Grease and gravy," commented the desk clerk. "That's what we're all about down here!"

I chuckled in response to her comment, a coda to the discussion about Southern cooking we'd had with the hotel desk staff since arriving the night before. Just off the interchange of Interstate 70 and state highway 63 in Columbia, Missouri, the hotel was our stop for the night en route to the Missouri Ozarks to scatter my mother's ashes in the landscape of her family roots. The city is also the place where my sister and I were both born.

For dinner that night in Columbia, we indulged in chicken-fried everything, green beans with ham, mashed potatoes, white gravy and biscuits, and coconut cream pie. When we got back to the hotel, the young woman at the desk showed off her own meal--brought to her by her roommates--of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, gravy, biscuits, and greens. "We mix greens with cabbage down here and add hot spices," she clarified.

The next morning, news of our meal had spread, and the morning staff asked for a full report of our choices. They listened intently and with genuine interest, smiling with a kind of pride as we talked about the central ingredients of Southern cuisine.

The fried chicken recipe we make at home, in the faraway North, was given to SJG long ago by a coworker from the Deep South. It's spicier than the fried chicken my mother used to make (she seasoned the chicken with salt and pepper only). It is delicious, easy to make, and tastes even better the next day.

Southern-Style Fried Chicken
6 skin-on chicken thighs or drumsticks
1 or 2 cups white flour for dredging
1/2 cup canola oil
4-6 bulbs fresh garlic, squeezed through a garlic press
salt, pepper, paprika, dried dill, and cayenne--all to taste

1) Rinse chicken in cool water.
2) Put the flour in a plastic bag; dredge the chicken in the flour.
3) Heat the oil in a heavy frying pan (we use a cast iron pan) until nice and hot.
4) Put the chicken in the hot oil, skin side up.
5) Squeeze the fresh garlic into the sizzling oil (rather than directly onto the chicken pieces).
6) Season the chicken with salt, pepper, paprika, dried dill, and cayenne.
7) Brown the chicken on both sides.
8) Line a cookie sheet with aluminum foil. Place the chicken on the foil, skin side down. Re-season with the spices (except the garlic).
9) Bake in a 350-degree preheated oven for 30 minutes.
10) After 30 minutes, flip the chicken so that the skin side is up. Bake another 30 minutes more.

Serve with mashed potatoes, white gravy, biscuits, and greens or green beans. Enjoy!

2007-05-01T17:11:00.000-05:00

Crossing the Piney

I crossed the River Styx today,

Its current hard and swift.

In swallows' dip and swoop,

In vultures' circle dance,

I let her go at last.

Sparkle sun and light-blast lustre

below the limestone bluff;

All green and smooth

the water there,

While down below

In rippling current's flow

The petals loosed, the ashes too,

I gave her back at last.

On memory's tide

In fading golden hues

I crossed the River back again.

The water cold

Its promise sure

To take her home at last.

--for my mother (above)

1934-2002

2007-02-24T14:29:00.000-06:00

IN SUCH A LANDSCAPE

Thwappp! A flying object smacked into my thigh. Ketchup oozed down my leg and bits of pickle shattered across my hand. A hamburger hit. Tossed out of a speeding car, already long gone, right under a perfectly cloudless desert sky. Who could imagine, in such a landscape?

I suppose I was the perfect target. A lone pedestrian along a busy speedway strip. Head down in meditative reflection, walking back to a neighborhood spa to meet up with SJG, who had been convinced, rather reluctantly, to do a mud wrap on our first day in Tucson. As I wound through the quiet streets off the speedway, admiring the orange trees and the small adobe homes with their cactus gardens and brightly colored doorways, a young woman and her two friendly dogs came out of an alley ahead of me. The dogs made a beeline for my sticky legs and eagerly licked up the ketchup as I fell into conversation with their owner. She reassured me that Tucson is an otherwise friendly town, and I felt better for the encounter.

I later learned that burgers-as-food-missile is a growing trend on the West Coast. There, in LA in particular, the trick is to toss fast food into the car next to you just as you’re taking off from a green light. While it is unnerving to be struck by flying food, there’s an element of absurdist humor to the whole thing. After all, we’ve been tossing tomatoes and eggs and pies at one another for a long time, and various comedic entertainers have played on this expression of hostility to great effect. We laugh at the Three Stooges, at Johnny Carson, at Debbie Reynolds and Martin Short, at their glee at tossing a pie or at their feigned shock as victim. Go to http://www.piesintheface.com for an entire catalog of such humor. And sure enough, SJG doubled over with laughter as I recounted the adventure, as did the other guests at our bed and breakfast later that day.

So, in a spirit of good humor, and for another truly memorable burger, try this recipe, which we make at our house on the grill in summer or under the broiler during the winter.

TURKEY BURGERS
1 pound ground turkey
1 egg
½ cup oatmeal (finely cut flakes)
2 cloves crushed garlic
1 small chopped onion
2 tablespoons Dijon mustard
1-2 tablespoons Worcestershire sauce
salt and pepper, to taste
a couple shakes of Tabasco sauce (optional)

While the grill is preheating, mix all the ingredients together in a large bowl. Shape into patties. Place a sheet of tin foil on the heated grill. Place the turkey patties on the tin foil and grill on both sides until done.

2007-02-11T15:14:00.000-06:00

BLOOMING CYMBIDIUM

Orchids produce flowers on their own schedule. A catleya I bought long ago after a trip to Key West bloomed well initially, then sat dormant for several years before coming alive last winter after I put it in the warmth and humidity of the upstairs bathroom. Five Decembers ago, when my mother died, my sister chose the cymbidium plant pictured above for its profuse flowering. We cut the stems, wrapped them in satin ribbon, and placed them atop our mother's casket to be cremated with her. I haven't had the heart to toss the plant, even though it too has remained dormant all these years. True to the mysteries of the species, six buds appeared suddenly last week, opening slowly to reveal a delicate beauty well worth the long wait.

2007-01-20T17:12:00.000-06:00

A BEAUTIFUL BOULE

My father and my sister are the breadmakers in the family. Their loaves always turn out like pieces of art--crisp golden crusts, airy light interiors--with no special effort on their part and with very little attention to the recipe itself. I, on the other hand, slavishly follow every step with scientific precision and end up with dense, disappointing loaves.

While in town for his seventy-sixth birthday earlier this month, my father made a loaf of no-knead bread. It requires very little yeast and relies instead on time (about 20 hours) to raise the dough. He's sloppy and impatient as a baker, rushing through every step to get the thing done with. When he was finished, the kitchen was covered in flour, as was he, but the result was stunning--a gorgeous golden boule, split open at the top, flowerlike, and dusted in a sprinkling of flour.

I tried to recreate the boule this weekend, and though mine is lovely enough (see photo above), it's not truly splendid. But, I'm determined to keep trying, using the very easy recipe (below) that my father saw in the New York Times last year.

NO-KNEAD BREAD
(from the New York Times as adapted from the city's Sullivan Street Bakery)

3 cups flour
1/4 tsp yeast
1-1/4 tsp salt
1-5/8 cups water (warmed in a pan, just to take off the chill, and to no more than about 120 degrees F)
flour, cornmeal, or oat bran, as needed

1. Combine flour, yeast, and salt. Add the warm water and stir until blended. The dough will be sticky and shaggy. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and let is rest for 18 hours in a warm room. (I set the bowl on top of a towel or two and put the whole thing on top of a warm radiator.)

2. Eighteen hours later, check the dough. It is risen sufficiently when the surface is covered with small bubbles.

3. Place the dough on a lightly floured surface and sprinkle a little more flour over the dough itself. Fold it over on itself once or twice. Cover loosely with more plastic wrap, and let it sit for 15 minutes.

4. Then gently shape the dough into a ball. Coat a cotton kitchen towel with flour, cornmeal, or oat bran. Put the bread, seam side down, on the towel and dust with a little more flour, cornmeal, or bran. Cover with another towel and let the dough rise for 2 more hours.

5. Half an hour before the dough is ready, heat the oven to 450 degrees. Put a heavy covered pot (I use a cast-iron Dutch oven) in the oven as it heats. When the dough is ready, remove the pot from the oven. Turn the dough into the pot, seam side up. Shake the pot a time or two to more evenly distribute the dough. Cover with the lid and bake 30 minutes. Then carefully remove the lid (watch out for escaping steam!) and bake for another 10-15 minutes to brown the crust.

Cool on a rack. Makes excellent toast!

2006-12-21T18:56:00.000-06:00

WINTER SOLSTICE 2006

After a long, dry autumn and early winter, it is finally snowing. Looking out my window, I see tire tracks through the snow in the alley across from my office, and coworkers are popping in to express their excitement about the weather. We live in the Upper Midwest, where we expect to have snow on the ground, and lots of it, by Winter Solstice.

This is the time of year that marks the fourth anniversary of my mother’s suicide, and I’ve been thinking about the people who have helped me during the years after her death, often in unanticipated and surprising ways. I’m a list maker, and today I’ve made a list of those people and the various things for which I'm grateful to them.

SJG, for loving me, for doing all the housework in the months immediately afterward, and for giving me space to mourn in my own way

My sister, for listening without judgment

My father, who found just the right poems

MFO, for her letters and knowing heart

ML, who pointed me to the right stories

Ann G, who trusts in my mother’s choice

Kay, Marion, and JZ, who understand what it’s like

Jon, who gave me his copy of Kaddish

Luci, who came into this world on the heels of my mother’s departure

And Finna, for her joy.

2006-12-09T10:40:00.000-06:00

UNCLE LARRY’S SUGU

A young colleague, who, like me, has Italian roots, was quizzing me the other day about family recipes. She wanted to know if I had any favorite Italian recipes, and I immediately thought of my Uncle Larry stirring a giant kettle of sugu (spaghetti sauce) in his summer shorts and black knee highs. Uncle Larry is married to my father’s sister Mary, and the two of them often hosted the yearly August birthday party for my Italian grandmother, the family matriarch, now long dead. The gathering was always huge (ten adult children and their families), and Uncle Larry and Auntie Mary’s suburban home and yard accommodated everyone. It was in the basement kitchen that Uncle Larry made his famous sugu and served all the other fixings of an Italian lunch—spicey olive salad, spaghetti, warm loaves of sesame-seed encrusted Italian bread, and every kind of Italian cookie you could think of.

Lunch was buffet style, with Uncle Larry smiling his giant toothy smile as he ladled the thick sugu over each guest’s plate of spaghetti. Only recently did I receive a copy of his recipe, which serves 30 people, so do your math if you want to make less!

UNCLE LARRY’S SUGU*

2 lbs ground chuck
2 lbs mild Italian sausage
½ cup olive oil
1 large onion, chopped
Several cloves garlic, chopped
3 28-ounce cans crushed tomatoes
1 quart tomato sauce
1 6-ounce can tomato paste
½ tsp pepper
1 tsp salt
1 TB sugar
2 TB dried basil
1-1/4 cups white vermouth
1-1/2 cups chopped parsley
½ pound mushrooms, chopped

1. Saute the meat in an 8-quart kettle until cooked through.
2. Drain grease and set meat aside.
3. In the same pan, sauté the onion and garlic in olive oil until translucent.
4. Stir in the crushed tomatoes, tomato sauce, and tomato paste.
5. Bring to a boil, then add the spices, vermouth, parsley, mushrooms, and meat.
6. Simmer for 2 hours, stirring occasionally. Serve over the pasta of your choice.

Makes 7 quarts
Serves 30

*For a spicier sauce, use hot Italian sausage and more garlic, pepper, and basil, to your liking

2006-11-26T16:04:00.000-06:00

LUSTING IN TENNESSEE

Earlier this month, right after the hard drive on my home computer crashed, I went to Nashville, Tennessee, for a conference. Afterwards, my father joined me for a weekend to visit some of the area’s Civil War battlefields. That Saturday night, we headed into downtown Nashville for the early show of the Grand Ol’ Opry, where it crossed my mind that Garrison Keillor must have had this in mind when he created his long-enduring “Prairie Home Companion” radio show. (And indeed he had, as confirmed in an interview I happened across shortly after returning home.)

One of the battlefields we visited—Chickamauga—is in northern Georgia, just across the Tennessee border. Driving from Nashville through the colors of the forested borderland mountains took me back to southeastern Missouri, where we picked persimmons with my mother's parents in a similar vista one long ago Thanksgiving. The Civil War battlefields breathe history too, though I found myself seduced instead by the omnipresent Baptist billboards announcing all manner of saving grace and redemption. One church offered a Seven Deadly Sins weekly series from its pulpit. The sin of this, Week Three: “Avoid the Lure of Lust!”

Regional linguistic flair is enchanting, and this euphonic admonishment stayed with me all day and through dinner, where our waitress insisted we sample the restaurant’s famous bread pudding slathered with Jack Daniels whiskey sauce. Not normally enamored of bread pudding, I chose a different dessert, but the sighs of pleasure from my father were too much to ignore. One bite convinced me. Impossible to avoid the lure of this lusty bread pudding!

Below are approximate recipes for the pudding and a sauce, adapted from the waitress’s orally rendered version, from Betty Crocker, and from a must-have regional desserts cookbook by Richard Sax called Classic Home Desserts (Chapters Publishing, 1994). Unlike many recipes for bread pudding, the pudding that lured us in Nashville relies on day-old sweet rolls instead of bread as the base. You can easily double the pudding and sauce recipes if you want a larger amount.

BREAD PUDDING

4 cups cubed day-old sweet rolls, sugar doughnuts, croissants, and/or raisin bread
1-1/2 cups milk
1 cup heavy cream
4 eggs
½ cup brown sugar
½ cup white sugar
¾ teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 tablespoon vanilla
¼ teaspoon salt

1) Put the cubed sweet rolls in an 8 x 8 pan and set aside. Heat the milk and cream in a large saucepan until hot.
2) In a large bowl, combine the eggs, sugars, cinnamon, vanilla, and salt. Slowly whisk in the hot milk.
3) Pour the hot egg-milk mixture over the sweet rolls and let stand for 15-20 minutes to allow the rolls to absorb the liquid.
4) Meanwhile, preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Bake the pudding until the custard is set but not too dry (about 40 minutes). Make the whiskey sauce while the pudding is cooling outside the oven.

Serves about 6 people.

WHISKEY SAUCE*

½ cup sugar
1 egg
½ cup unsalted butter, melted
¼ cup whiskey (Jack Daniels is the whiskey of choice in Nashville, where this whiskey is made; you can use any whiskey or bourbon to your liking)

1) Whisk the sugar and egg together in a double boiler until warm and a little fluffy.
2) Whisk in the melted butter and add the whiskey. Pour the warm sauce over servings of warm bread pudding.

*If this recipe doesn’t appeal, you can also make a classic hard sauce and add whiskey or bourbon to that recipe. Or, you can make crème anglaise and flavor it with bourbon or whiskey. Any such butter-based sauce will be excellent over the pudding.

2006-10-20T08:41:00.000-05:00

MORNING'S MINION

Earlier this month, SJG and I watched migrating hawks in Duluth. With the lake in the distance and yellow gold trees in fall vestment below, we admired the birds floating past the overlook on columns of air known as thermals. Volunteers at the site let me hold, barefisted, a female sharp-shinned hawk. I stroked the back of her neck, leaning close to smell her. As the winds picked up, she squirmed in my hand, eager to be released to her journey south toward warmer climes. I opened my fist and, barely breathing, watched her dip toward the ground, spread her wings in wide embrace, and move skyward into the sun on large wingstrokes.

I told my sister about this hawk, and she pointed toward the first stanza of "The Windhover," a poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins:

I caught this morning morning's minion, kingdom
of daylight's dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn
Falcon, in his riding
Of the rolling level underneath him steady air,
and striding
High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing
In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,
As a skate's heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend:
the hurl and gliding
Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding
Stirred for a bird, -- the achieve of, the mastery
of the thing!

2006-09-13T16:52:00.000-05:00

PEACH JAM

Every summer when we're doing just about nothing in the North Woods, SJG comes up with exactly one culinary challenge for our doing just about everything life. This year, she said, "Let's make peach jam." We've canned pickles, stewed tomatoes, harvest mix (stewed tomatoes, peppers, and garlic), and cranberry chutney, but never jam. So last weekend, we went to our favorite cooperative grocery to buy peaches and pectin to do just that. The next afternoon, a cool drizzly Sunday, we put up four pints of peach jam (above), as lovely in its amber glow as it is sweet and delicate on the tongue. Below is a recipe cobbled together from a variety of sources. Follow instructions carefully and make only one small batch at a time. (Note that peach season is pretty much over, though the jam will be very tasty with less than perfect fruit.)

Peach Jam

3 pounds fresh peaches, peeled and pitted

2 tablespoons lemon juice

1 packet pectin

5 cups white sugar

canning equipment (pint jars and screwtop lids and rings; kettles for cooking the peaches and sterilizing the jars; a metal canning ring for processing the jars after they've been filled; a plastic funnel; a ladle; tongs; a cooking fork; a rubber spatula)

1. Sterilize four or five pint jars in the dishwasher and leave them there until ready to use.

2. At the same time, set a large canning kettle full of water on the stove and bring to a boil. Bring a smaller kettle (8 quarts) of water to boil at the same time.

3. When the smaller kettle of water comes to a boil, set it in the sink and add the peaches. Let them sit in the water for a minute or two, then remove them, and while still warm, pull of the skins. It should slide right off.

4. Take out the pit of each peach and any brown or otherwise blemished sections. Remove the tough red fibers around the pits. Slice the peaches into chunks and place them in a large saucepan or 8-quart kettle. Mash the peaches with a potato masher, leaving some small chunks for texture. Add the lemon juice to the peaches and stir briefly.

5. Meanwhile, bring a small saucepan of water to a simmer and place the screwtop lids and rings in the water to allow them to sterilize while you're making the jam. The water in the large canning kettle should be boiling by now; place the pint jars in the boiling water and keep them there until ready to fill.

6. Add the pectin powder to the peaches and stir until dissolved over medium-high heat. Bring to a boil and add the sugar, stirring constantly.

7. Continuing to stir, bring the mixture to a full boil and allow to boil at a rolling boil for one minute.

8. Remove from the heat and skim off any foam with a slotted spoon.

9. Use a ladle to spoon the hot peach jam through a canning funnel into the sterilized pint jars, one at a time, leaving about 1/4- to 1/2-inch space between the top of the jam and the top of the rim of each jar. Use a rubber spatula to press out any air bubbles. Place a sterilized lid on top of the jar after you've filled it and carefully screw the accompanying ring onto the jar until finger tight.

10. When the jars are filled and capped, place them in the large canning kettle of boiling water, cover it, and boil for 10 minutes exactly. This helps prevent spoilage.

11. When the 10 minutes are up, turn off the heat and remove the cover of the canning kettle. When the water is no longer boiling and bubbles are no longer rising to the top (about three minutes), processing is complete.

12. Remove the jars with a pair of canning tongs and set them upright to cool and set undisturbed for 24 hours.

13. The next day, place the jars somewhere cool and dark for storage. Best eaten within the first six or eight months, after which time the jam will begin to darken and get runny.

* for extremely helpful tips, photos, recipes, and other useful information about canning, go to www.pickyourown.org

2006-09-08T14:10:00.000-05:00

EIGHTY-ONE...AND DRUMMING

On behalf of my sister, I brought a length of braided sweetgrass to my Aunt V. in Milwaukee this past holiday weekend. For now, she's enlaced it with a heart of grapevine stems and berries (above) on her living room wall, but once it dries, V. will use the sweetgrass for smudging at drumming circles, which she hosts in her backyard. She and the women with whom she drums tie red prayer cloths around the slim trunk of the crabapple tree V. planted in memory of her older sister (my aunt) C., who died three years ago. The drummers invoke their higher spirits and say a prayer of honor and thanks before smudging the tree and the sacred circle around it in which they will drum. They learn rhythms together and then turn to silent meditation to the beat of their drums.

I came to know my Aunt V., who last month celebrated her eighty-first birthday, when I was about fourteen years old and she was the age I am now. My parents dropped off the three of us--my sister, my brother, and me--to spend a week with her (she is one of my father's older sisters) and our Uncle G. in the small house they shared with G's two older brothers and a large dalmatian. My parents were headed to an august medical facility many hours away where my mother underwent a battery of tests, which eventually ruled out cancer and determined her to be in robust physical health.

In those years, my aunt and uncle led a very private life, and in retrospect, I see that, in welcoming three children whom they barely knew--two teens and a three year old--my relatives had said yes to an intrusion into their privacy, and to a lot of work. As mistress of the house, V. kept us occupied all day and every day with activities we thought she undertook on a lark but that must have required much forethought, planning, and organization.

That summer, we learned to sew with Vogue patterns and to make pasta by hand, stringing lengths of hand-cut fettucine to dry on hangers before cooking. At some level, we recognized our aunt's efforts, for on her birthday, which arrived during our visit, we proclaimed her Queen for the Day. To start the morning, we served apricot sugar toast and coffee to her in bed and executed an ambitious dinner that evening, an undertaking that proved the wisdom of avoiding the temptation to prepare a new recipe as the centerpiece of a special meal. In tackling salmon croquettes, I discovered, too late, the difficulty of replicating neatly shaped and perfectly browned patties as displayed in lustrous glory in the pages of V's Bon Appetit magazine. No matter the meal's imperfections, the memory is one we still recall fondly, and the visit cemented a relationship that has endured for more than thirty years.

In remembering that week with her, and in learning more about her drumming this last visit, I admire more than ever V's willingness--and ability--to choose yes as a response to life, even when many and sometimes most of the variables are unknown. It's impossible for me to avoid contrasting her, now long widowed, with my mother who, though fearless in her imaginative life, was, unlike V., largely overwhelmed by the physical, tangible realities that come with being human. I hope I'm not deluded in imagining my own life as some mix of the best of the two approaches, and I like to envision that when I'm eighty-one, I'll still be saying yes to life and finding sacred possibilities in my own backyard.

2006-08-24T08:01:00.000-05:00

SUMMER BERRIES

For the last couple years, we’ve been stopping in Duluth for lunch on our way to the North Woods. This harbor city, which we used to whiz past, is becoming known for independent-minded restauranteurs with a desire to serve simple yet delicious food from seasonal, locally produced ingredients. We ate lunch this year at the Nokomis Restaurant & Bar (www.nokomisonthelake.com) on the scenic stretch of old highway 61 just outside of town. The restaurant occupies what was once a lakeside supper club, and with its large plate-glass windows offers a spectacular view of Lake Superior just across the road.

We started our lunch with a salad of field greens encircled with a long strip of thinly sliced cucumber and topped with roasted tomatoes, thin slices of radishes, white enoki mushrooms, roasted pumpkin seeds, and Maytag blue cheese dressing. For the entrée, SJG chose a hamburger of grass-fed beef and shredded short ribs on toasted focaccia. I opted for vegetarian fare: slices of toasted ciabatta spread with black olive tapenade and layered with fresh basil, slices of red and yellow tomatoes, and quenelles of ricotta. SJG raved about the molten chocolate cake she chose for dessert, while my warm blackberry-raspberry cobbler brought back memories of my Missouri grandmother’s recipe for a blackberry dessert that was part-cobbler, part-crisp, part-buckle—a recipe I’ve never seen replicated in any cookbook. Below is an approximation of that summer berry recipe.

Missouri Ozarks Blackberry Cobbler

Berries:
1-1/2 pints blackberries
1/3 cup sugar
3 TB cold water

Topping:
6 TB unsalted butter (room temperature)
½ cup sugar
Pinch of salt
½ cup flour
½ cup old-fashioned pearl tapioca
Ground cinnamon (optional)

1) Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Place the berries in a 9 x 13 baking dish. Sprinkle with the sugar and pour in the water, combing gently with your fingers.
2) Cream the butter, sugar, and salt. Stir in the flour, tapioca, and cinnamon (if using).
3) Sprinkle the topping over the berries. (If you like a lot of topping, as I do, feel free to make more of it. This is up to the individual palate, though it may prolong baking a little.)
4) Bake until done (roughly 20 minutes; check frequently just to be sure).
5) Cool briefly, and serve warm with vanilla ice cream.

2006-08-20T15:16:00.000-05:00

THE NORTH WOODS

Set on the edge of a lake in the northern wilderness, a much-loved cabin is the place we go every summer to recuperate from the year’s frenzy. We bring pillows, our favorite pajamas and fleece socks, piles of books and periodicals, and, above all else, the determination to avoid the urge to do.

This year is no exception. On the long drive north, we discuss whether or not we’ll take naps like we did the year the temperature soared into the nineties every day. At a minimum, we agree, we’ll be certain to put in twelve-hour nights, heading to bed as soon as the sun slips behind the ridge of pines to the west, leaving a rosy glow behind the canopy.

We arrive late, unpack and settle in quickly, and take a brief walk with the resident dog. Then we head to bed, adding a feather quilt to the pile of blankets and opening the windows to let in the pine-scented air. It’s very dark here, with no glow of city lights or flickering of the neighbors’ motion-detector floodlamps, and as we settle under the covers, darkness calls forth the silence of the place. It’s a still night, with no breeze to filter through the leaves, and we lie still, breathing as quietly as possible, listening for any noise that might break the spell.

The silence is stubborn, and though we anticipate a bird’s call or the crunch of a neighbor’s footstep on the gravel pathway, we hear nothing. Tired from the long day’s drive, and eager to stay true to our pledge, we drift to sleep as the three-quarter moon rises high in the black sky above.

2006-08-06T10:07:00.000-05:00

SUMMER ICE CREAM
Every summer for the last several years, my father and I have made ice cream using the electric ice-cream machine he and my mother bought years ago. One summer they made ice cream every week from whatever fruit was in season at the moment. Their peach ice cream stands out, smooth and delicately flavored, tasting almost exactly like the scent of the fruit itself. This year, my father and I made vanilla lavender ice cream with goats' milk as the dairy base. It brought back memories of the long-ago peach ice cream with its special satisfaction of merging senses.

Vanilla Lavender Ice Cream

Lavender Milk:

1 cup goats' milk
6-8 sprigs fresh lavender

Put the milk and the lavender in a small saucepan over medium heat. Just before it starts boiling, remove from heat, cover, and allow to infuse for 20 minutes. Strain the milk into a small bowl, discard the lavender, and let milk cool for another 10 minutes.

Ice Cream:
6 egg yolks
1 cup sugar
3 cups goats' milk (or, half goats' milk/half cows' milk)
lavender milk (see above)
1 cup whipping cream
1 vanilla bean (or 2 teaspoons vanilla extract)

1) Put the egg yolks and sugar in a big saucepan. Beat with a whisk until pale yellow.
2) Put 3 cups goats' milk and lavendar milk in another saucepan. Cut the vanilla bean in half and gently split each half open and add to the milk. Slowly bring just to the boil.
3) Add about 1/2 cup of the warm milk to the egg yolk and sugar mixture, beating constantly. Stir in the remaining milk. Scrape the seeds from the vanilla bean into the custard. Stirring the whole time, slowly bring the mixture again just to the boil, at which point it will be smooth and custardlike. (Just under the boil is 180 degrees F, which assures the safety of eating the eggs.)
4) Pour the custard into a chilled bowl and allow to come to room temperature. If a vanilla bean was not used, stir in the vanilla extract. Then place the custard in the freezer for about 30 minutes to make for faster churning.
5) When ready to churn the custard mixture, whip the whipping cream until just under stiff-peak stage and fold into chilled mixture. (This makes for more volume.) Pour the mixture into an ice cream maker and churn according to manufacturer's directions. Chill in freezer for several hours before serving. Makes about 1 quart of ice cream.

2006-08-04T09:41:00.000-05:00

MATERNAL BODIES

Our neighbors, Peter and Gaye, have two little girls aged nine and three. The other day, Gaye and the girls were in their backyard, and as the four of us talked, the girls climbed and slid across their mother's body as she lounged on the grass. Into my mind sprang the memory of this feline mother and her offspring, who, like Gaye, lay patiently in grasses on another continent while her cubs claimed the maternal body as their own.