tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-80167226178447062592024-03-12T20:51:09.139-04:00BEAN AND BARLEYRecipe Stash. Silly Stories.Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12770338619376455716noreply@blogger.comBlogger42125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8016722617844706259.post-68214380200280374402011-03-13T18:43:00.002-04:002011-03-14T00:41:44.449-04:00MARCH OF THE SMOOTHIES: THE DEMETERNumber two in this month's lineup of delicious and nutritious smoothies:<br />
<br />
<b><i><u>THE DEMETER</u></i></b><br />
<b><i><u> </u></i></b><br />
For the goddess of the harvest and of earth's fertility, here is a bright green smoothie that's rich, creamy, and packed with all sorts of goody-good-for-you goodness!<br />
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1 ripe kiwi<br />
1/2 ripe avocado<br />
1/2 bunch watercress (use leaves and tender stems)<br />
1/3 cup plain low-fat yogurt<br />
1 tablespoon honey or agave nectar<br />
dash almond/soy/coconut milk<br />
<br />
Blend all ingredients until smooth. The avocado gives this one a delightful thickness, but feel free to add more milk if you prefer a thinner consistency. And that watercress blends up nicely--you'll still notice its interesting peppery taste amidst all the other flavors. <br />
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This sure would make a fun snack for St. Patrick's Day--and that's no <i>blarney</i>!<br />
<br/>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12770338619376455716noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8016722617844706259.post-22115564612453267742011-03-10T13:14:00.002-05:002011-03-10T13:19:26.630-05:00A QUESTION FOR YOUWhat are your favorite food books?<br />
<br />
I am currently savoring Julia Child's memoir "My Life in France" and I have found it so enchanting that I know I will want to devour more food-related reads when I finish it. (I have been rationing the chapters; it is such a pleasure that I don't want to turn the last page for another couple weeks.)<br />
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When I'm out and about today I'm going to attempt to find a copy of Samuel Chamberlain's "Clementine in the Kitchen", which promises to be a delight.<br />
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And Laura Esquivel's luscious "Like Water for Chocolate" has long been a favorite of mine.<br />
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Aside from these titles, does anyone have a recommendation for me?<br />
<br />
I'm hoping to compile a delicious spring reading list. Help! And thank you!<br />
<br/>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12770338619376455716noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8016722617844706259.post-37664728970698739192011-03-06T14:52:00.002-05:002011-03-06T14:54:17.668-05:00MARCH OF THE SMOOTHIES: THE ATHENAHelloooo March. I just have one question:<br />
<br />
WHO'S READY FOR SPRINGTIME?!<br />
<br />
Lemme tell ya, that vernal equinox can't get here fast enough. Daylight Saving Time too. Daffodils. Sunny afternoons. Warm breezes. T-shirts. I'll take any and all of the above starting now.<br />
<br />
My winter appetite for fatty foods is waning (thank goodness) in direct response to the recent increase of not-just-apple-and-root-vegetable items at the farmer's market....the variety could bring a tear to one's eye.<br />
<br />
During the month of March, as a tribute to the lush produce displays popping up across the land, I am going to feature a different fruit smoothie every week. So go ahead, grab that extra carton of strawberries and that extra pound of peaches, baby! Bring it all home, dust off your blender, and drink to your health. First up, we have: <br />
<br />
<u><i><b>THE ATHENA</b></i></u><br />
<u><i><b> </b></i></u><br />
For the goddess of wisdom, here is a smoothie with superfoods for the brain.<br />
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1 ripe banana<br />
1/2 cup plain low-fat yogurt<br />
1 heaping tablespoon natural almond butter<br />
1 tablespoon unsweetened cocoa<br />
1 tablespoon honey or agave nectar<br />
pinch cinnamon<br />
pinch cardamom<br />
dash almond/soy/coconut milk<br />
<br />
Throw all ingredients into your blender. Blend until velvety. This one is sure to get your noggin goin'.<br />
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Enjoy! And be sure to check back all month for more smoothie concoctions!<br />
<br/>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12770338619376455716noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8016722617844706259.post-52378086167625044242011-02-24T22:24:00.001-05:002011-02-24T22:25:23.361-05:00FOOD FOR THOUGHT THURSDAY<div class="MsoNormal">"Non-cooks think it's silly to invest two hours' work in two minutes' enjoyment; but if cooking is evanescent, well, so is the ballet."</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">--Julia Child </div><br/><br />
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<br/>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12770338619376455716noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8016722617844706259.post-81573661476362781092011-02-22T18:01:00.005-05:002011-02-22T18:15:55.147-05:00BONNIE LASS BLUEBERRY SCONESI'll certainly be the first to say that I have lots of recipes that are not the very, very best in the world. In fact, <i>most</i> of my recipes are still works-in-progress. Why have you not yet heard about the secrets of my corn chowder, my tamale pie? Ah, well, the chef is still working out the kinks with those.<br />
<br />
I do, however, have a few prizewinners up my sleeve; the following recipe is one of my favorites. After long years of experimentation and adjustment, trial and error, this one has achieved the status of Baking Gold. Top honors, seriously. I promise you perfection.<br />
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Ladies and gentlemen, for your consideration and enjoyment, I do proudly present:<br />
<br />
<i><u><b>BONNIE LASS BLUEBERRY SCONES</b></u></i><br />
<br />
2 cups all-purpose flour<br />
1/3 cup sugar<br />
1 1/2 tablespoons baking powder<br />
1/4 teaspoon salt<br />
1/2 cup unsalted butter<br />
2/3 cup buttermilk<br />
1 beaten egg<br />
1 teaspoon vanilla extract<br />
1 cup succulent, fresh, so-ripe-your-toes-curl blueberries<br />
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The scones are laughably simple to make.<br />
<br />
First, mix the dry ingredients in a bowl. <br />
<br />
Combine the wet ingredients (buttermilk, beaten egg, and vanilla) in a separate bowl. Mix in chunks of the butter, which should be right around room temp; I like to use a fork for this step. The result will be a little lumpy but that's ok.<br />
<br />
Then slowly add the wet bowl's contents to the dry one's. Fold in the blueberries as you go.<br />
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<b><i>Very important: </i></b>do not overmix.<br />
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At this point, some people like to roll the dough out on a floured surface and cut it into scone-y triangle shapes. But in keeping with the simplicity we've already established, I'd recommend just scooping up large blobs of the dough and plopping them onto buttered baking sheets. Smush them down a little, but don't worry about making them perfectly flat. Sprinkle 'em with sugar if you like.<br />
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Then it's into the oven they go! Bake at 400 degrees for 16-18 minutes. They're done when the tops have turned golden.<br />
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And here you go. The finished product. YUM TIME.<br />
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</script>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12770338619376455716noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8016722617844706259.post-15945923640588513272011-02-16T14:15:00.002-05:002011-02-16T20:23:23.467-05:00SOOMSOOMThere is a whole lotta falafel in NYC. You can't really turn a corner in this city without bumping into a cart dispensing the ubiquitous three-dollar "falafel sandwich", or pita stuffed with lettuce, tomato, and 3-4 of the fried chickpea balls. If you're really strapped for cash this makes for an unparalleled on-the-go meal, especially if you're vegetarian like myself.<br />
<br />
But if you've got a few more bucks in your pocket, and a few more minutes to spare in your day, there are also gazillions of tiny eateries where you can pop in for a sit-down falafel experience...Taim in the West Village comes to mind, along with the Maoz chain which has locations all over the city. <br />
<br />
Soomsoom, at 166 W. 72nd St between Columbus and Amsterdam, is another great little joint. Cheap, fresh, and delicious. All vegetarian and kosher. Plus an open salad bar with toppings and condiments galore: orange curry sauce, onions with sumac, red cabbage, and interesting herbed croutons are just a few of their options.<br />
<br />
My roommate Oscar and I had a great experience there last night--here is a look at what we ate.<br />
<br />
First, The Sandwich.<br />
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The falafel.<br />
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The sweet potato fries.<br />
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The Hagalil fries: a battered spiral potato on a stick.<br />
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Our tahini/ketchup mixture turned out to be a tasty fry dip!<br />
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The mint lemonade.<br />
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Big bite.<br />
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Before.<br />
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After.<br />
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The menu.<br />
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Warning: as with all falafel places worth their tahini, the seating is limited. Be prepared to stand or wait until a spot at one of three tables opens up.<br />
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<br/>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12770338619376455716noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8016722617844706259.post-11276208321827185282011-02-12T13:40:00.006-05:002011-02-12T14:00:43.576-05:00HUBBA, HUBBA: RUBY DUTCHESS CUPCAKESWhen it comes to domestic bakers, there are cupcake people and there are cookie people. (There are also those oddball brownie people out there, too, but their numbers are fewer.) I, Caitlin, am a cookie person.<br />
<br />
Name every cookie you can think of in 30 seconds. Go ahead.<br />
<br />
I've probably made them all at some point in my baking life. <br />
<br />
But cupcakes, on the other hand, are unfamiliar territory for me. I have never made cupcakes for birthdays, for parties or potlucks. Although I certainly admire their fluffy whipped all-around cuteness, cupcakes just usually aren't my bag, baby.<br />
<br />
But a few weeks ago, to my surprise and delight, the good folks at POM Wonderful found this blog somehow and contacted me with an interesting proposition: they would send me a free bottle of their new POM Concentrate if I used it in a recipe for their Valentine's Day Cupcake Contest.<br />
<br />
I said yes. Emboldened by the challenge, I armed myself with the huge bottle you see below, and launched headfirst into CupcakeLand. <br />
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Firstly, since it's Valentine's Day and all, I wanted to conjure up a cake/frosting combo to fit the holiday. Romance, seduction...something ritzy and unexpected.<br />
<br />
Strawberry-pomegranate? Hmm...too acidic.<br />
<br />
Dark chocolate-pomegranate? Nehhh...overdone.<br />
<br />
What about....champagne? Oooh, yeah! YEAH! Champagne cake! With white chocolate?! Yes! And pomegranate! Phew. Done. That was actually the easy part.<br />
<br />
The harder detail was figuring out a catchy name.<br />
<br />
<i>Valentine's Day Cupcakes</i>? Lame.<br />
<br />
<i>Cupid's Cupcakes</i>? Ugh, worse.<br />
<br />
<i>Fuego de Amor Cupcakes, Kissy Cupcakes</i>? Lord, no. Thank goodness my roommate Oscar waltzed into the kitchen at that point.<br />
<br />
"Oh there's that champagne/pomegranate cocktail...what's the name of it? The <i>Ruby Dutchess</i>? That would be a good name," he suggested casually. After a quick search online, I discovered that yes, it was real, and it even originated in New York's Dutchess County, of which Poughkeepsie is the county seat. Come on now...Poughkeepsie and romance? Synonymous.<br />
<br />
Thanks Osckie. Your check is in the mail.<br />
<br />
<u><i><b>RUBY DUTCHESS CUPCAKES</b></i></u><br />
<u><i><b> </b></i></u><br />
<i>Champagne Cake:</i><br />
2 2/3 cups flour<br />
3 teaspoons baking powder<br />
1 teaspoon salt<br />
2/3 cup unsalted room-temp butter<br />
1 1/2 cups sugar<br />
2/3 cup champagne (spumante works well)<br />
1 egg + 5 egg whites<br />
<br />
<i>White Chocolate Pomegranate Buttercream Frosting:</i><br />
2 sticks unsalted room-temp butter<br />
1 tsp vanilla<br />
12 oz bag of white chocolate chips<br />
1 1/2 cups powdered sugar<br />
7 tsp POM Wonderful Concentrate<br />
<br />
Preheat oven to 350 degrees and line cupcake pans with baking cups. Then, prepare the batter. In a bowl, combine flour, baking powder, and salt. In a separate bowl, cream the white sugar and butter and fold in the champagne. Then slowly stir in the flour mixture. In a third bowl, beat eggs for 3-5 minutes and gently add to the batter.<br />
<br />
Fill baking cups 2/3 full with batter,<br />
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and bake for 18-20 minutes or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. Who cares if the tops get messy? They'll be slathered with frosting soon enough and the secret will be yours.<br />
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Meanwhile, make the buttercream frosting. Place a heat-proof bowl over a pot of boiling water and add white chocolate chips; stir gently until they have melted through and then remove them from heat. In another bowl, combine butter, vanilla, and melted white chocolate. Slowly beat in the powdered sugar, until the frosting begins to fluff and thicken. Finally, add POM concentrate and beat frosting to desired texture.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TrfDsg3VGK0/TVbBzr_PSKI/AAAAAAAAAM4/rB0uqB6A8A0/s1600/018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TrfDsg3VGK0/TVbBzr_PSKI/AAAAAAAAAM4/rB0uqB6A8A0/s320/018.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
I love the designs an electric mixer makes. They always remind me of Turkish <b><a href="http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OthT1uwNPBs/S1D4n-7EhMI/AAAAAAAABu0/yS9E-NA9VmY/s400/paper.jpg&imgrefurl=http://artstheanswer.blogspot.com/2010/01/art-of-ebru.html&usg=__a8vPtZ6A9PqIx20-XxwhY_GB7uk=&h=253&w=400&sz=52&hl=en&start=0&sig2=BEJZAtcKYTIqLg_wlsRhQA&zoom=1&tbnid=BWLeXOwML78ZjM:&tbnh=175&tbnw=246&ei=6bNWTYDNPMjSgQfg9fCRDQ&prev=/images%3Fq%3Debru%2Bpeacock%2Bpaper%26um%3D1%26hl%3Den%26biw%3D1280%26bih%3D619%26tbs%3Disch:1&um=1&itbs=1&iact=rc&dur=376&oei=hrNWTcaeNoS8lQea1oTjBg&page=1&ndsp=17&ved=1t:429,r:5,s:0&tx=110&ty=99" target="_blank">ebru</a></b>.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fFlkznAv1RI/TVbB7IVWt3I/AAAAAAAAAM8/_sG8Pq2WJhI/s1600/020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fFlkznAv1RI/TVbB7IVWt3I/AAAAAAAAAM8/_sG8Pq2WJhI/s320/020.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
When the cupcakes have finished baking and cooling, top them with buttercream to your heart's content. A sprinkling of red decorating sugar adds sparkle.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-F7q76R6o9Qs/TVbCNGNq40I/AAAAAAAAANE/P02A_W5q_nU/s1600/025.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-F7q76R6o9Qs/TVbCNGNq40I/AAAAAAAAANE/P02A_W5q_nU/s320/025.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
And here she is, the lady dressed for the ball:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-21ke5kVwzas/TVbCUH_VQLI/AAAAAAAAANI/yOpAeqeMnj8/s1600/023.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-21ke5kVwzas/TVbCUH_VQLI/AAAAAAAAANI/yOpAeqeMnj8/s320/023.JPG" width="247" /></a></div><br />
If you get a wild hair, check out Miss Ruby Dutchess on the POM Wonderful website and vote for her February 14th-28th.<br />
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<center><a href="http://www.pomwonderful.com/cupcakecontest/?recipe=7843"> <img border="0" height="150" src="http://www.pomwonderful.com/media/cupcakecontest/CC_Badge.png" width="150" /></a></center><br />
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Happy Valentine's Day, lovers.<br />
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</script>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12770338619376455716noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8016722617844706259.post-26823644728293089552011-02-09T22:16:00.005-05:002011-02-12T00:06:18.653-05:00FAT, ON THE ROCKSWow. The <b><a href="http://www.nyc.gov/html/doh/html/pr2011/pr001-11.shtml" target="_blank">NYC Health Department</a></b> ain't foolin' around with these PSAs.<br />
<br />
Cup o' fat, anyone?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FB9hiRAV6Lo/TVNTXuBunbI/AAAAAAAAAMg/0NMf-kM0uf8/s1600/pouringpounds1.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="319" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FB9hiRAV6Lo/TVNTXuBunbI/AAAAAAAAAMg/0NMf-kM0uf8/s320/pouringpounds1.gif" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Take a closer look at these. Ick-factor achieved. I dig it.<br />
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Now, I am a firm believer that life is too short not to have yourself a cookie or two. But <i>wow.</i> Americans consume a lot of sugar. A lot. And the numbers get larger every year. Don't believe me? Take a gander at the bewildering stats <b><a href="http://www.ers.usda.gov/Briefing/Sugar/Data.htm#yearbook" target="_blank">here</a></b>.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DHNpxP_8nGY/TVNVztz8mzI/AAAAAAAAAMk/NNDHW2NvA8w/s1600/pouringpounds2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DHNpxP_8nGY/TVNVztz8mzI/AAAAAAAAAMk/NNDHW2NvA8w/s320/pouringpounds2.jpg" width="286" /></a></div><br />
You've gotta be pretty shocking if you want to catch a New Yorker's attention. I hope that these ads will at least earn a few double-takes from the public, and maybe even spur them to take some sort of action. If a cup of bloody, yellow fat doesn't get you thinking, I'm really not sure what will.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GrE7G3E3Lbc/TVNX6eiyAnI/AAAAAAAAAMo/oSuyXDyxp6o/s1600/pouringpounds3.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GrE7G3E3Lbc/TVNX6eiyAnI/AAAAAAAAAMo/oSuyXDyxp6o/s320/pouringpounds3.gif" width="307" /></a></div><br />
Slurp, slurp.<br />
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<br/>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12770338619376455716noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8016722617844706259.post-65993188748406264382011-02-07T00:01:00.002-05:002011-02-07T00:13:43.480-05:00HAVE FUN AT YOUR PAPER BAG PARTY! LOVE, BETTY CROCKERI collect a lot of paper stuff. Paper <i>ephemera</i>, if you want to get fancy. I have a box with ticket stubs, postcards, cookie fortunes, old photos, notecards, lithographs, bookmarks, magazine clippings, paper doilies, vintage valentines, you name it. I was sifting through some of this huge mess today and found my collection of 1971 Betty Crocker recipe cards in the rubble. <br />
<br />
I purchased the entire set of cards, which came neatly filed in a seafoam green tin, for about two bucks at a Goodwill in Georgia several years ago. Since then I've lost some, given some away, and the collection has dwindled; roughly twenty-five or so remain in my possession. While something tells me that no one has actually prepared these recipes in quite some time (just a hunch), they sure are gems to read. Here are a few highlights, each complete with Betty's own wholesome party ideas from the backs of the cards.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">***</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Balloons--how carefree and fun! For this party, inflate balloons, write invitations on each with marking pen and deflate them. Slip each one into an envelope with instructions to blow it up to read its message.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TU9vGAGJO1I/AAAAAAAAAME/NZREiU1P0UU/s1600/003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TU9vGAGJO1I/AAAAAAAAAME/NZREiU1P0UU/s320/003.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i> ***</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>For a winter birthday or the hottest day in summer! Go on an around-the-house explorers' party, ending at the North Pole with box lunches, sugar snow, funny little gnomes and Igoo Cake.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TU9viAfVw_I/AAAAAAAAAMI/HS9duyqGLQo/s1600/008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TU9viAfVw_I/AAAAAAAAAMI/HS9duyqGLQo/s320/008.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>*** </i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>"Come for a tea party and bring your favorite dolly!" How many little girls will love to walk over in their mothers' heels for a special little party under the mock orange bush. Instead of the usual cookies, why not surprise them with Rag Doll Salads? To drink? Why, tea of course, generously mixed with milk.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TU9wJOo7NJI/AAAAAAAAAMM/QzVguynUETc/s1600/004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TU9wJOo7NJI/AAAAAAAAAMM/QzVguynUETc/s320/004.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>*** </i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Circle party invitations with large and small question marks--"What does a lolligog look like? We don't know! If you come dressed like what you think a lolligog looks like, perhaps we'll find out!" For favors, give jolly homemade lollipops with faces. Build a lolligog centerpiece with lollipops, wooden pointed sticks and spools.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TU9wsR2W9PI/AAAAAAAAAMQ/yytbU8-GHcg/s1600/006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TU9wsR2W9PI/AAAAAAAAAMQ/yytbU8-GHcg/s320/006.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>*** </i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Bright paper streamers from the ceiling make a circus tent table; a loaded camera will inspire your clowns to do their funniest, wildest tricks!</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TU9xDEAx36I/AAAAAAAAAMU/zJRfJGO5Usk/s1600/001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TU9xDEAx36I/AAAAAAAAAMU/zJRfJGO5Usk/s320/001.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>*** </i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Everybody's talking about astrology, so find out the birth month and day for each child and give horoscopes as favors. Ask a friend to dress up as a gypsy and tell fortunes. Serve a bowl full of rainbow-colored ice-cream ball "planets" with your sunshiny Zodiac Cake.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TU9xjQAS6yI/AAAAAAAAAMY/y0TWLDaFgao/s1600/005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TU9xjQAS6yI/AAAAAAAAAMY/y0TWLDaFgao/s320/005.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>*** </i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>How versatile paper bags are! You can cut them, paint or color them, paste curly paper eyelashes and noses on them, make masks or stuff them with paper and shape into puppet heads. You can put popcorn balls into a paper bag slipped over a styrofoam block for edible table decorations. Have fun at your paper bag party!</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TU9yTSZrZKI/AAAAAAAAAMc/Tj_IFq0j3bg/s1600/007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TU9yTSZrZKI/AAAAAAAAAMc/Tj_IFq0j3bg/s320/007.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">According to these cards, the early '70s were pretty wild times: funny little gnomes, paper bag parties, that newfangled astrology everyone's talking about...not to mention whatever the heck a rag doll salad is. Hey Crocker, lay off the hallucinogens, will ya?</div><br/><br />
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<br/>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12770338619376455716noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8016722617844706259.post-42645677348632483312011-02-04T17:43:00.005-05:002011-02-06T21:24:42.444-05:00PAMPLEMOUSSEThere was a time when I despised the grapefruit. The smell alone made me imagine its juice a noxious chemical not intended for human consumption.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TUxw7P6ra-I/AAAAAAAAALk/vHTR3N7m5tQ/s1600/005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TUxw7P6ra-I/AAAAAAAAALk/vHTR3N7m5tQ/s320/005.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
But oh, how I wanted to love the grapefruit. Just look at it.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TUxxvu_Gi1I/AAAAAAAAALo/BVEyxgscIKI/s1600/008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TUxxvu_Gi1I/AAAAAAAAALo/BVEyxgscIKI/s320/008.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
The color can only be described as grapefruit. Not really coral, not really peach, and certainly not pink or even ruby red. Just grapefruit. Or <i>pamplemousse</i>, as one says in French.<br />
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The word is, incidentally, my favorite French word. Say it.<br />
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<i>Pamp.</i><br />
<br />
<i>Le.</i><br />
<i> </i><br />
<i>Mousse.</i><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TUxyib18ChI/AAAAAAAAALs/H6jX4N7d7Xg/s1600/007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TUxyib18ChI/AAAAAAAAALs/H6jX4N7d7Xg/s320/007.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
Not that I know more than ten or so French words anyway. But I still imagine <i>pamplemousse</i> is probably the most fun of them all. And it can be used as a term of endearment too, which makes it even more appealing. <i>Mon pamplemousse, mon petit pamplemousse!</i><br />
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So yes, I wanted to love the grapefruit. For many years, I watched others take its succulent halves from hotel breakfast bars and devour them lustily, the fine colored chunks of citrus<i> </i>sprinkled with sugar and scooped spoonful by spoonful. I wanted to be one of those people. And for years, I occasionally bought them two or three at a time, with great hopefulness, but came home from the supermarket only to let them sink into slush mold in a bowl on the counter. <br />
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After 26 years on this earth and never a grapefruit enjoyed, I had resolved that it was just a lost cause. That I should just stop trying. That I'd never be the girl with the spiky spoon and the singing fruit at the breakfast table.<br />
<br />
Until...<br />
<br />
I suddenly experienced a moment of curious desire at the market last week.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TUx5AjL4x-I/AAAAAAAAALw/XOHPP_Bpb84/s1600/012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TUx5AjL4x-I/AAAAAAAAALw/XOHPP_Bpb84/s320/012.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
I was at the store and happened upon a gorgeous pile of them. I smelled them, and they called to me. <i>Mon petit, mon petit pamplemousse! </i>Wait, wait. Could it...be happening? Could I...actually want some of that bitter taste? After all this time with no luck??<br />
<br />
Why, yes! Wow, yes indeed! I'd even call it a craving! I threw a few into my bag, raced home, and chopped one in two. I dug out a nice, big, drippy chunk and stared it down: ALRIGHT, YOU! YOU'VE GOT ONE MORE CHANCE! <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TUx6Zj-XLwI/AAAAAAAAAL0/mboB7nghY60/s1600/004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TUx6Zj-XLwI/AAAAAAAAAL0/mboB7nghY60/s320/004.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
I took a bite, and that was that. Call me a changed woman. I ate the whole thing in a matter of minutes. <br />
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WHY oh why could I enjoy it now, and never before? Well they say one's tastebuds change every seven years, so maybe that's an explanation...but who knows. I certainly don't. I do know, however, that I get to be the person with the pretty fruit at breakfast now.<br />
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I even bought my own spiky spoon,<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TUx80UrLgVI/AAAAAAAAAL8/ckuhz9oBIe0/s1600/016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TUx80UrLgVI/AAAAAAAAAL8/ckuhz9oBIe0/s320/016.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
giddy with anticipation of future grapefruit mornings<i>.</i><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TUx7EpsTajI/AAAAAAAAAL4/ptzDPEKJQrg/s1600/002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TUx7EpsTajI/AAAAAAAAAL4/ptzDPEKJQrg/s320/002.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<i> </i><br />
<i> Pamp.</i><br />
<br />
<i>Le.</i><br />
<i> </i><br />
<i>Mousse.</i><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TUx9TflA84I/AAAAAAAAAMA/RR3C-rdbZc0/s1600/015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TUx9TflA84I/AAAAAAAAAMA/RR3C-rdbZc0/s320/015.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br/><br />
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<br/>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12770338619376455716noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8016722617844706259.post-55141804720928122772011-01-30T15:29:00.002-05:002011-01-30T15:35:19.566-05:00LEMON LAVENDER LOVELINESSThere's something about citrus in wintertime. And for me, there's something about lavender allthetime.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TUW_WADGFjI/AAAAAAAAAKw/FypVgMeEL24/s1600/012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TUW_WADGFjI/AAAAAAAAAKw/FypVgMeEL24/s320/012.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
Combining the two felt like a natural step.<br />
<br />
<i><b><u>LOVELY LAVENDER LEMON BARS</u></b></i><br />
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<i>Crust:</i><br />
1 1/2 cups flour<br />
1 1/2 sticks unsalted butter<br />
3/4 cup powdered sugar<br />
2 tbsp dried lavender flowers<br />
1/8 tsp salt<br />
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<i>Filling:</i><br />
<i> </i>4 eggs<br />
1 1/2 cups white sugar<br />
3/4 cup fresh squeezed lemon juice<br />
2 heaping tbsp grated lemon zest<br />
2 tsp cornstarch<br />
1 tbsp flour<br />
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Preheat oven to 350 degrees. To prepare crust: in a bowl, combine flour, sugar, salt, and lavender flowers; mix well.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TUXCtmeSbKI/AAAAAAAAAK0/CL76u5r2BoY/s1600/003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TUXCtmeSbKI/AAAAAAAAAK0/CL76u5r2BoY/s320/003.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
Then, slowly work in chunks of room-temperature butter. I like to use my hands for this. It will be crumbly, but that's OK.<br />
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Lightly grease a 9x13 baking dish and pour in the crumbles. Smush them evenly with fingertips into the bottom of the pan, forming one solid flat mass. Pop in the oven and bake until just golden, about 13-15 minutes.<br />
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Meanwhile, make the filling. Whisk eggs in a bowl, then slowly add in the sugar, flour, and cornstarch. Whisk thoroughly, as the flour and cornstarch may try to get clumpy.<br />
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Last, stir in the lemon juice<br />
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and lemon zest.<br />
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Look at all the spent lemons!<br />
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When the crust has finished its first round of baking, remove from oven and press lightly with a spatula to flatten any air bubbles. Then you can pour your lemon mixture over the crust, and bake for another 15-17 minutes.<br />
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When the bars are finished, pull the pan out of the oven and allow to cool. Dust with powdered sugar and a few lavender flowers if you like.<br />
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The finished product is a tart kick-in-the-pants, gooey, with a soft floral finish! Perfect with a cup of hot tea.<br />
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Eat one, and you'll swear spring is already here.<br />
<b><i><u> </u></i></b><br />
<br/>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12770338619376455716noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8016722617844706259.post-50638429487008819992011-01-27T00:13:00.002-05:002011-01-27T00:14:11.596-05:00FOOD FOR THOUGHT THURSDAY"Cooking is like love. It should be entered into with abandon or not at all."<br />
<br />
-Harriet Van Horne, columnist<br />
<br/>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12770338619376455716noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8016722617844706259.post-23982067037981370352011-01-25T14:29:00.003-05:002011-01-25T14:34:34.994-05:00PRETENSION IS SO VERY UNCOMFORTABLE, OR: 3PM VISIONS OF FINE CHINAAchtung, ladies! Chins up, hands folded, ankles crossed!<br />
<br />
It's time for a visit from Auntie Manners herself:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TT5VegKF58I/AAAAAAAAAJ8/OHMVdQiKWqo/s1600/003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TT5VegKF58I/AAAAAAAAAJ8/OHMVdQiKWqo/s320/003.JPG" width="253" /></a></div><br />
Yep, you may have guessed her: the one, the only, the formidable <b><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amy_Vanderbilt" target="_blank">Amy Vanderbilt</a></b>.<br />
<br />
Now...how many of you girls have ever caught yourself, mid-afternoon, daydreaming of another time? With yourself (the heroine, the empress!) at the helm of the ship, guiding your thoughts to false memories of the lives you never actually lived? Perhaps some of you picture yourselves toga-draped and trident-wielding, goddesses of violent Hellenic seas; or perhaps some of you envision Elizabethan courtyards, where you sit counting jewels to pass the time. And perhaps yet another small percentage of you gals have imagined yourselves queens of the roaring '20s, Charleston-ing your way from jazz club to cocktail lounge to Gatsby soiree in some low slung Deco gown...<i>oh, Daisy!</i><br />
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My point: wouldn't we all love to go back in time, if just momentarily, to experience a slice of life? How grand. In our minds we can even place ourselves in different eras without all the icky real-life details that muddled things up back in the old days (famine, plague, lack of toothpaste...you get the idea). Our minds have the ability to make history appear quite, quite quaint.<br />
<br />
Reading Amy Vanderbilt's famous treatise on proper etiquette, which was completed in 1952 and written for a dying class of gentlewomen, does just that for me. Icky realities aside, it extends a delicate gloved hand and guides me to images of red lips and powdered noses, tea-length dinner dresses, gorgeous home suppers laid out on family wedding china...the whole dream just reeks of pot roast and Shalimar. I can see myself front and center, coiffed and polished, gleaming, with a souffle on one arm and a baby on the other: Hostess.<br />
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(And all that minus the boredom, disappointment, and social oppression of the 1950s housewife, of course! Pish. Posh. My, how sumptuous is life without gritty details!)<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TT5lu7cQiuI/AAAAAAAAAKA/0Mdifw-7vRU/s1600/007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TT5lu7cQiuI/AAAAAAAAAKA/0Mdifw-7vRU/s320/007.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Did we burn our bras only to later dream of the days when we still had to wear them, PLUS girdles? Ha. Well...yeah: as young women in 2011, we're now so far removed from that lifestyle that it's been lumped into our general consciousness almost as a sort of story, or scene from "Mona Lisa Smile", filed under pretend-games like boys might do with Cowboys and Indians. Call it Homemaker and Hostess, whatever you like. Obviously I don't say this to offend women who actually lived pre-women's lib, or to trivialize their struggles. But for a twenty-something who was born when ladies had long been wearing sweat pants to the grocery store, visions of Amy Vanderbilt and her time of decorum--kindly romanticized by the mind--are right up there with Guinevere and Helen and Juliet and Cleopatra. For me at least. All characters. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So here is an ode to the mid-afternoon daydreams of lives never lived, of rosy-colored scenes from days gone by, the pretty glossed ones that only ever existed in our minds. Off we go to polished silver, off we go to steak tartare. And please, as you read, for the love of doilies don't think about the fact that Amy was not <i>actually </i>a direct descendant of the Cornelius Vanderbilt bloodline; worse, don't you even PONDER the fact that our Queen of Manners threw herself from her apartment window to an early death at the age of sixty-six...now that would just ruin the whole facade! Duh.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Below are a few choice lines, most noted by me with a nod to their laughable obsolescence, from Ms. Vanderbilt's writings regarding food and the table. Enjoy.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><ul><li style="text-align: center;"><i>Who needs a book of etiquette? Everyone does. </i></li>
</ul><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TT5rKtivYeI/AAAAAAAAAKI/pAOYj5LDo6A/s1600/010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TT5rKtivYeI/AAAAAAAAAKI/pAOYj5LDo6A/s320/010.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><ul><li style="text-align: center;"><i>A man or woman may take on a superficial patina of breeding, but it is very difficult to overcome slipshod table manners.</i></li>
</ul><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TT5sqUxKR7I/AAAAAAAAAKM/m8FMvpPgDi8/s1600/011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TT5sqUxKR7I/AAAAAAAAAKM/m8FMvpPgDi8/s320/011.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><ul><li style="text-align: center;"><i>If the nose must be blown at the table, it is done as quietly as possible, without excuse to draw attention to the fact.</i></li>
</ul><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TT5tcu0AkTI/AAAAAAAAAKQ/Pt0RBbWI4do/s1600/014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TT5tcu0AkTI/AAAAAAAAAKQ/Pt0RBbWI4do/s320/014.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><ul><li style="text-align: center;"><i>Conversation and laughter should always be modified at table. Loud guffaws are disturbing at any time but worse from a dinner partner.</i></li>
</ul><ul style="text-align: center;"><li><i> It is rude to the point of insult to refuse to drink a toast to anyone. If you can't drink wine, you pretend to do so. A toast with water is no toast at all.</i></li>
</ul><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TT8ebWn-aII/AAAAAAAAAKs/tCnKxyv7-j8/s1600/026.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TT8ebWn-aII/AAAAAAAAAKs/tCnKxyv7-j8/s320/026.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><ul style="text-align: center;"><li><i>Grapes: Cut a bunch or section of bunch from bunches in bowl with knife or scissors (never absent-mindedly pull off grapes from centerpiece or arrangement of fruit).</i></li>
</ul><i></i><br />
<ul style="text-align: center;"><li><i>Birds, Frogs' Legs: The impression of gnawing the bone must be avoided. It is no shame, by the way, for a lady confronted with a squab or half a broiled chicken to ask assistance from the gentleman with her in dissecting it...this is better than running the risk of having the meat land in her lap or, on the other hand, going hungry, if she is really inept. </i></li>
</ul><i> </i><br />
<ul></ul><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TT5v3jeRuWI/AAAAAAAAAKY/_OJGG95LuiM/s1600/016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TT5v3jeRuWI/AAAAAAAAAKY/_OJGG95LuiM/s320/016.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><ul style="text-align: center;"><li><i>Very few homes in the land these days can accommodate the traditional thirty-four guests at one dinner table--or even half that many--in comfort. Who indeed has the space to store all the silver, glassware, and china for such dinner parties...?</i></li>
</ul><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TT8eNzwtNRI/AAAAAAAAAKo/-RkKv9_dEAk/s1600/024.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TT8eNzwtNRI/AAAAAAAAAKo/-RkKv9_dEAk/s320/024.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><ul style="text-align: center;"><li><i>Pretension is so very uncomfortable.</i></li>
</ul><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TT8eDtezpdI/AAAAAAAAAKk/VxxXHl7ToZs/s1600/021.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TT8eDtezpdI/AAAAAAAAAKk/VxxXHl7ToZs/s320/021.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><ul><li><i>Afternoon tea as a gentle means of relaxation should be encouraged in this country. Surely it is a pleasant, and incidentally inexpensive, way to repay small social obligations...</i></li>
</ul><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br />
</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TT8d5VI7RfI/AAAAAAAAAKg/w2GcoTW8N_Q/s1600/022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TT8d5VI7RfI/AAAAAAAAAKg/w2GcoTW8N_Q/s320/022.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br />
</i></div><ul style="text-align: center;"><li><i> A hostess should never try too hard to get her party going.</i><i> </i></li>
</ul><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TT8dB8CIAuI/AAAAAAAAAKc/VsJwy6-LejE/s1600/020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TT8dB8CIAuI/AAAAAAAAAKc/VsJwy6-LejE/s320/020.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The end. Bless your poor, privileged heart Amy Vanderbilt. Now could someone pass the martini tray, damnit?</div><i></i><br />
<br/>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12770338619376455716noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8016722617844706259.post-36565221082118000252011-01-21T13:53:00.003-05:002011-01-21T14:00:01.118-05:00KASHA/KE$HAHow are the New Year's resolutions working out for everyone? Still hitting the gym six days a week like you said you would? Eh, well, I'm not...so kudos to you if you are.<br />
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What about those of you who are trying to eat healthier? If you're looking to incorporate more whole grains and delicious greens into your diet, have a look at the recipe below. I felt creative the other night and decided to browse my kitchen cabinets for inspiration; I ended up finding a long-neglected box of kasha, which I popped open for this recipe. Kasha has a robust, earthy flavor that may not suit all palates, but paired with this familiar combination of vegetables it may become a bit more approachable if you've never tasted it before.<br />
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Oh, and that's <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kasha" target="_blank">kasha</a>, not <a href="http://www.keshasparty.com/us/home" target="_blank">Ke$ha</a>. (Although both entities apparently have origins in Eastern Europe.)<br />
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<b><i><u>Kasha with Wilted Chard and Pan Fried Mushrooms</u></i></b><br />
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1/2 cup kasha<br />
large bunch Swiss chard<br />
5 or so large cherry tomatoes<br />
3 small shallots<br />
3 cloves garlic<br />
5 or so extra large white mushrooms, thickly sliced<br />
olive oil<br />
salt and pepper to taste<br />
cornmeal, for dusting mushrooms<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TTnN783fPEI/AAAAAAAAAJc/Oatdxy4KK-k/s1600/003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TTnN783fPEI/AAAAAAAAAJc/Oatdxy4KK-k/s320/003.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
First: in a medium pot, bring 2 1/2 cups water to boil. Add the kasha, along with a pinch of salt and a dash of olive oil. Let it all boil for about a minute, then reduce heat and cover. Stir occasionally until the kasha is cooked and soft, then remove from heat and set aside. Some people eat it grainy like rice, and some people enjoy it more like a porridge--I usually cook mine the porridge-y way, so feel free to add a little more water if it gets too dry.<br />
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Next, chop your pretty little shallots into quarters, and throw them with some olive oil (about 1 tablespoon) into a frying pan or skillet at medium heat. Let them sizzle for about 2 minutes. <br />
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Then grab your tomatoes and garlic.<br />
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Chop the tomatoes coarsely, the garlic finely, and throw those in with the shallots. Stir them up, and cook for another two minutes or so, until the tomatoes start making a thin sauce.<br />
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Then you're ready to add the chard. Be sure you've cleaned it well beforehand, and chopped the leaves into large manageable pieces.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TTnR7l5el3I/AAAAAAAAAJo/4WDiuEU_GzU/s1600/015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TTnR7l5el3I/AAAAAAAAAJo/4WDiuEU_GzU/s320/015.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Sautee the mixture until the chard is just wilted, but still bright. Don't let it get mushy!<br />
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When the vegetables are done, scoop them into a bowl and set aside. Add a bit more olive oil to the same skillet, and place the sliced mushrooms flat onto the hot surface to cook.<br />
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Let them sizzle until crispy on high heat, about 3-4 minutes on each side. Sprinkle with a bit of cornmeal for extra crunch and flavor. Add salt and pepper to taste.<br />
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Spoon the cooked kasha onto a dish, and top with your chard mixture. Dress with those beautiful mushrooms and it's ready to serve.<br />
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Cheers, to health!<br />
<br/><br />
<br/>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12770338619376455716noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8016722617844706259.post-14905863635136446922011-01-18T00:31:00.001-05:002011-01-18T00:34:01.731-05:00ANOTHER WINTER IN A SUMMER TOWN<i>The beach is empty<br />
They covered the pools<br />
The patio umbrellas come down<br />
Oh God, my God...</i><br />
<br />
Sorry, I had to go there. Grey Gardens, Coney Island...opposite ends of Long Island, sure, but equal amounts of wacky. <br />
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I kinda feel sorry for Coney Island, the same sorriness I felt for Little Edie I suppose. I just want to shout, SOMEBODY THROW A NEW DRESS ON THAT GAL AND CHEER HER UP! <i> </i>We all know what happened to Edie in the end, but the saga of Coney Island is still playing itself out every single day; and what a fascinating saga it is.<br />
<br />
I traveled down there this weekend with my friend Ali (<b><a href="http://www.aligrieb.com/" target="_blank">actress</a></b>, mother to a pit mix named Ruby, and all-around lover of life). There's just something about the cheap glitz, the grotesque glamour. The palpable desperation for What Once Was. Plus eerie remnants of the sideshow culture that once indulged the basest of a paying customer's curiosities. Coney Island is infested with the ghosts of itself. <br />
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And that's just in the summertime, when cheerful beachgoers swarm the streets in flip flops and sunburns. So to visit this place in winter, when the boardwalk is quiet and the surf is cigarette-free, it feels so haunted you'd swear you hear the delighted century-old screams of some Luna Park visitor of yore still wheezing through the air.<br />
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And as it is now the middle of January, it will be a long time before anybody will line up for an Italian ice here.<br />
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Months before the shops will open their doors to sell sand pails and tacky hats.<br />
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Weeks and weeks and weeks before any kids will mow their mom down on an overzealous dash to the water.<br />
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The signs of life will return, but not for awhile. What is a midwinter visitor to do?<br />
<br />
Hm. <br />
<br />
Well thank God the hot dog place is still open.<br />
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<b><a href="http://www.nathansfamous.com/" target="_blank">Nathan's Famous</a></b>, folks. Opened in 1916 and still selling bazillions of its signature product today.<br />
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As a vegetarian, I did not partake of the meatier items on the menu...but these onion rings sure hit the spot.<br />
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Supposedly the hot dog itself was invented right there in Coney Island. I guess Nathan just did it better than everybody else. And here's proof: look at all that hot dog trash! Yummy.<br />
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So, there you have it. The Island in winter. Some might say she's nothing more than a classless breath of her former glory.<br />
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But--you want to know something?<br />
<br />
Truth be told...<br />
<br />
I don't wanna know a Coney Island that <i>isn't </i>classless.<br />
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And I'll toast an onion ring to that any day. See you when the snow melts, Coney.<br />
<br/><br />
<br/>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12770338619376455716noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8016722617844706259.post-12832131653896998952011-01-15T18:47:00.004-05:002011-01-15T18:58:45.671-05:00YELLOW CORN MEAL DOES NOT A BOWL OF GRITS MAKEI don't have any pretty pictures for this post.<br />
<br />
I'm writing it in a huff.<br />
<br />
Allow me to explain.<br />
<br />
Yesterday I visited the <a href="http://www.grownyc.org/unionsquaregreenmarket" target="_blank">Union Square Greenmarket</a>. Don't get me wrong, I really love the place...with its pretty produce and its fresh pies and its strapping, ruddy-cheeked farm men sent straight from some idyllic pasture in Vermont. It's great. It's refreshing. It's really great and refreshing.<br />
<br />
The Greenmarket is obviously a little sparse this time of year, so the few farm folks who actually show up to do business are selling items of winter, like root vegetables and hardy greens. Plus there are stalls with the occasional selection of cheeses, jams, and dried grains. My last stop yesterday was at a stall with said dried grains.<br />
<br />
I perused their offerings, which included tidy little sacks of wheat berries, oats, rye, and a special table with larger bags of cornmeal and polenta. I was glancing over this special table, which happened to be near the register, when I looked up and caught the eye of a lonely cashier. I attempted friendship.<br />
<br />
"You guys have lots of interesting stuff here. I'm surprised there aren't any grits!"<br />
<br />
Ok...I mentioned grits because a) they're a "rare" food item in New York, and since it was obvious that the little booth prided itself on its "rare" grains I truly was surprised that they weren't offered, and b) I'm from the south and I know what I'm talking about. But I wasn't looking for a fight.<br />
<br />
"We <i>do</i> have grits," she said. Snobby-like. Reeeeeal snobby-like.<br />
<br />
"They're right here." And with that she snatched up a big package and dangled it with two fingers near her face. I thought, <i>Oh, am I mistaken? Her blatant assuredness sure tells me I am! Is there really a bag of grits that I had somehow missed? My bad INDEED! I'll have to buy this little bag, this little bag of grits!! </i>Then I blinked, looked down at the label, and read:<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><u>YELLOW CORN MEAL</u></b><br />
<br />
<u> </u><br />
Oh no. Oh, no no nooooo. No she didn't. This woman had no idea what she was talking about. Not. A. Clue. Summoning etiquette, I threw her a bone of social grace and didn't call her out right away. I pretended to think she was making a joke.<br />
<br />
"Ohhh, haha," I chuckled. "Oh that's what you use for cornbread, though, right?" (The irritation in me was mounting, but I played dumb.) She looked at me with a patronizing smirk.<br />
<br />
"Well yeah, of course you can make cornbread with it, but I always make grits with this. These make, like, <i>real </i>grits," she declared. This human, this brazen creature, then raises her eyebrows and adds, "Definitely not the instant kind you're probably making in the microwave."<br />
<br />
<i>The kind I'm making in the microwave, huh?</i> The nerve! I was so insulted I could not speak. She not only questioned my food knowledge, but my very integrity as a home cook! What, did I look like the kind of woman who COOKS IN THE MICROWAVE?? Not that there's anything wrong with that, I suppose, but come on...why would she say such things to a complete stranger like myself? I would've forgiven her little food faux pas if she had nixed the condescension, but after that last remark I was left with no option but to smile and walk away. I could have told her that her lipstick looked cheap. But I didn't.<br />
<br />
In the end, though, the joke's on her. Anyone worth their salt, and certainly anyone working behind the counter at a chichi organic grain booth in Union Square, should know that there is a difference between corn meal and grits. Of course it's all corn; but there's still a difference, be it ever so slight. I ultimately decided not to publicly embarrass her with the truth...turns out, a knowledge of grits is not the only thing that defines a person as Southern. It's also a knowledge of good manners.<br />
<br />
Ha. Have fun with that cornbread batter you're eating, sweetie. <br />
<br/><br />
<br/>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12770338619376455716noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8016722617844706259.post-77932997604950041492011-01-13T20:47:00.008-05:002011-01-14T09:55:16.349-05:00TIME OF PLENTYFinishing up<i><b> <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Grapes_of_Wrath" target="_blank">The Grapes of Wrath</a></b></i> today, and was struck, profoundly so, by these certain passages in Chapter Twenty-Five.<br />
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Although there is still much food waste to be concerned about in our country today, I am thankful that we can at least go to the grocery store and come away with reasonably-priced goods that will feed our families and ourselves. We now spend around 10 percent of our disposable income on what we eat; in the 1930s, Americans spent almost <i>one quarter</i> or more of their take-home pay on food. Of course there are many complicated reasons as to why we can spend so much less these days--and yet eat so much more--but that's another discussion for another time. The American food system is a strange and wondrous thing.<br />
<br />
On a very basic level, I am just grateful I've never had to wake up and stand in a bread line. Never had to wonder if my future children will grow up malnourished. Never had to see a friend starve, and never had to sleep on an empty stomach. I fully recognize that we take these things for granted now, and that even mentioning them feels silly or redundant or gluttonous in this time of plenty that we were born into and consider normal. But I'm thankful anyhow.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TS-hWEqsv4I/AAAAAAAAAIM/-fgOaB-kf9A/s1600/grapes1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_P5Elr9EATyA/TS-hWEqsv4I/AAAAAAAAAIM/-fgOaB-kf9A/s320/grapes1.jpg" width="210" /></a></div><br />
<i> "The spring is beautiful in California...</i><br />
<i> ...And first the cherries ripen. Cent and a half a pound. Hell, we can't pick 'em for that. Black cherries and red cherries, full and sweet, and the birds eat half of each cherry and the yellowjackets buzz into the holes the birds made. And on the ground the seeds drop and dry with black shreds hanging from them.</i><br />
<i> The purple prunes soften and sweeten. My God, we can't pick them and dry and sulphur them. We can't pay wages, no matter what wages. And the purple prunes carpet the ground. And first the skins wrinkle a little and swarms of flies come to feast, and the valley is filled with the odor of sweet decay. The meat turns dark and the crop shrivels on the ground.</i><br />
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<i> And the pears grow yellow and soft. Five dollars a ton. Five dollars for forty fifty-pound boxes; trees pruned and sprayed, orchards cultivated--pick the fruit, put it in boxes, load the trucks, deliver the fruit to the cannery--forty boxes for five dollars. We can't do it. And the yellow fruit falls heavily to the ground and splashes on the ground. The yellowjackets dig into the soft meat, and there is a smell of ferment and rot.</i><br />
<i> Then the grapes--we can't make good wine. People can't buy good wine. Rip the grapes from the vines, good grapes, rotten grapes, wasp-stung grapes. Press stem, press dirt and rot...</i><br />
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<i>...The little farmers watched debt creep up on them like the tide. They sprayed the trees and sold no crop, they pruned and grafted and could not pick the crop...</i><br />
<i> ...This little orchard will be part of a great holding next year, for the debt will have choked the owner. This vineyard will belong to the bank. Only the great owners can survive, for they own the canneries too. And four pears peeled and cut in half, cooked and canned, still cost fifteen cents. And the canned pears do not spoil. They will last for years. </i><br />
<i> </i> <i>The decay spreads over the State, and the sweet smell is a great sorrow on the land. Men who can graft the trees and make the seed fertile and big can find no way to let the hungry people eat their produce. Men who have created new fruits in the world cannot create a system whereby their fruits may be eaten...</i><br />
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<i>...The works of the roots of the vines, of the trees, must be destroyed to keep up the price, and this is the saddest, bitterest thing of all. Carloads of oranges dumped on the ground. The people came for miles to take the fruit, but this could not be. How would they buy oranges at twenty cents a dozen if they could drive out and pick them up? And men with hoses squirt kerosene on the oranges, and they are angry at the crime, angry at the people who have come to take the fruit. A million people hungry, needing the fruit--and kerosene sprayed over the golden mountains.</i><br />
<i> And the smell of rot fills the country.</i><br />
<i> Burn coffee for fuel in the ships. Burn corn to keep warm, it makes a hot fire. Dump potatoes in the rivers and place guards along the banks to keep the hungry people from fishing them out. Slaughter the pigs and bury them, and let the putrescence drip down into the earth.</i><br />
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<i>There is a crime here that goes beyond denunciation. There is a sorrow here that weeping cannot symbolize. There is a failure here that topples all our success. The fertile earth, the straight tree rows, the sturdy trunks, and the ripe fruit. And children dying of pellagra must die because a profit cannot be taken from an orange. And coroners must fill in the certificates--died of malnutrition--because the food must rot, must be forced to rot.</i><br />
<i> The people come with nets to fish for potatoes in the river, and the guards hold them back; they come in rattling cars to get the dumped oranges, but the kerosene is sprayed. And they stand still and watch the potatoes float by, listen to the screaming pigs being killed in a ditch and covered with quicklime, watch the mountains of oranges slop down to a putrefying ooze; and in the eyes of the people there is the failure; and in the eyes of the hungry there is a growing wrath. In the souls of the people the grapes of wrath are filling and growing heavy, growing heavy for the vintage." </i><br />
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<br/>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12770338619376455716noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8016722617844706259.post-18884060650937444952011-01-10T12:13:00.006-05:002011-01-10T12:21:34.557-05:00A MESSAGE TO SUMMER, FROM WINTERHow quickly the post-holiday doldrums of winter set in...it's only January 10th and I'm already dreaming of opening my windows to warm spring breezes. Ho, hum...<br />
<br />
Here's to the memory of a beautiful June day I spent picking peaches, pounds and pounds of peaches, with my mom last summer. It was one of those bright-white early summer afternoons in Georgia, where the heat was so direct and penetrating that the big plush peaches were warm to the touch when we plucked them from the trees.<br />
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In the days that followed, I had so much fruit to use that I barely knew what to do with myself. Peach cobbler, peach pie, three varieties of peach salsa, and a batch of finicky peach chutney that went nicely with goat cheese on toasted baguette rounds. Peaches comin' out my ears...ahh, the surpluses of summertime.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>From Blossoms</b></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><b>by Li-Young Lee</b></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">From blossoms comes</div><div style="text-align: center;">this brown paper bag of peaches</div><div style="text-align: center;">we bought from the boy </div><div style="text-align: center;">at the bend in the road where we turned toward </div><div style="text-align: center;">signs painted <i>Peaches</i>.</div><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">From laden boughs, from hands, </div><div style="text-align: center;">from sweet fellowship in the bins, </div><div style="text-align: center;">comes nectar at the roadside, succulent</div><div style="text-align: center;">peaches we devour, dusty skin and all, </div><div style="text-align: center;">comes the familiar dust of summer, dust we eat.</div><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">O, to take what we love inside, </div><div style="text-align: center;">to carry within us an orchard, to eat</div><div style="text-align: center;">not only the skin, but the shade,</div><div style="text-align: center;">not only the sugar, but the days, to hold</div><div style="text-align: center;">the fruit in our hands, adore it, then bite into </div><div style="text-align: center;">the round jubilance of peach.</div><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;">There are days we live </div><div style="text-align: center;">as if death were nowhere</div><div style="text-align: center;">in the background; from joy </div><div style="text-align: center;">to joy to joy, from wing to wing,</div><div style="text-align: center;">from blossom to blossom to </div><div style="text-align: center;">impossible blossom, to sweet impossible blossom.</div><br />
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<br/>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12770338619376455716noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8016722617844706259.post-73411281971341863242011-01-08T18:06:00.005-05:002011-01-15T19:06:27.636-05:00WATERCRESS: NOT JUST FOR SNOBS!Alright, folks. After all that rich holiday feasting, it's time for a cleanse. Something green and cancer-fighting would be ideal.<br />
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Watercress!<br />
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Now that's a major closeup of course. These little plants are so light and fragile that they seem to wilt just at the touch of a fingertip. I love them. I've always noticed bunches of watercress at the grocery store, dewy and alert atop beds of shaved ice, but have consistently passed them up for years...I know not why. Once I picked up a bunch at a farmer's market in Atlanta, and while I was inspecting it this ancient little man popped up out of nowhere, and in some sort of broken English told me to blend it with saltwater and drink daily (I think that's what he said...). I honestly considered it, and even went so far as to purchase the springy bunch in my hand, but a week later I'd forgotten about the recommendation from that bald apparition and found my watercress leaves wrinkly and faded in the bottom fridge drawer. Oops.<br />
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I've come to discover the old man was actually onto something with his blender concoction--watercress is widely acknowledged for its health benefits, mainly in regard to cancer prevention. It also contains high levels of iron, iodine, calcium, and vitamins A and C. So it's purty good for ya. And it has an interesting history, too--the Greeks believed it cured insanity, the Romans cultivated it for salads, and Victorian England had it brought to London by the trainload for those particular little tea sandwiches.<br />
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But here in America I'd say it hasn't really caught on the way it did elsewhere in the world. Sure, it's sold in farmer's markets and health food stores nationwide, but I'd venture to say that a hefty percentage of folks in the U.S. have never tasted it. Myself included of course, until just recently. Perhaps the reason is this: watercress seems snobby. Think about it... the little greens are always caught in the middle of stuffy teatimes and invite-only dinners, where everyone at the table seems overly starched and mildly displeased. Consider my own first encounter with watercress, or "cress" as it is called in this clip, from the wonderful 1990 film <i>The Witches</i>:<br />
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Yeah. Boy, what a (humorous) jerk. No wonder it took me so long to cook with the stuff.<br />
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Nowadays, however, my mind is changed: I say we let watercress, so healthful and delicious, shed its uppity reputation. Let's give it another chance, and by golly let's invite it into our soups, salads, and sandwiches here in America! No necktie required! <br />
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<u><i><b>Cream of Watercress Soup</b></i></u><br />
<u><i><b> </b></i></u><br />
<u><i><b> </b></i></u>1/2 cup minced green onions<br />
5 Tbsp butter<br />
4 cups watercress leaves and tender stems<br />
1/2 Tsp salt<br />
3 Tbsp flour<br />
4 cups boiling low-sodium vegetable stock, plus 1 1/2 cups boiling water<br />
2 egg yolks<br />
1/2 cup heavy cream<br />
salt and pepper to taste<br />
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I worked out this vegetarian variation on the Julia Child classic--and let's face it, that woman was all about trying to make fancy European cuisine accessible to the average American home cook. <br />
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First, give your watercress a thorough washing.<br />
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Then take your green onions and 3 tablespoons of butter,<br />
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and lightly cook them for 5 minutes or so. Just until the onions are translucent. Then you may stir in the watercress and 1/2 teaspoon salt. Cover the pot and cook the greens until wilted.<br />
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When the watercress is tender, add the flour in slowly while stirring, and cook for another 3 minutes or so. Remove the pot from heat, and add in the boiling vegetable stock/water mixture. Once mixed together, pour the whole amount into your blender and puree for about a minute. Return soup to original pot. (It's times like this when I really wish I had one of <b><a href="http://www.google.com/products/catalog?hl=en&expIds=17259,18167,27493&sugexp=ldymls&xhr=t&q=kitchenaid+hand+blender&cp=16&qe=a2l0Y2hlbmFpZCBoYW5kIGI&qesig=1maLW9bQkQz_gf-D32ktXw&pkc=AFgZ2tkesfYAjOwALN9-ZZ4GnTYj6Qy1r5B2EeM74NrCzLNcMPryLYeaBrOH_JbZ-mOFFCjK9ERXSaBWo1uXABhm_Feean0sLg&um=1&ie=UTF-8&cid=1759188176680121976&ei=fekoTcXCDMaqlAebtdW0AQ&sa=X&oi=product_catalog_result&ct=image&resnum=1&sqi=2&ved=0CDEQ8gIwAA#" target="_blank">these puppies</a></b>)<br />
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The result should look something akin to this:<br />
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In a separate bowl, whisk together the egg yolks and cream and then gradually beat in a cupful of the hot soup. Next, slowly add the egg mixture into the pot, stirring all the while over moderate heat.<br />
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Cook another 2-3 minutes, but do not let the soup come to a boil. Plunk in the remaining 2 tablespoons of butter. Once the butter is melted through, ladle the soup into bowls and serve with salt and pepper to taste.<br />
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You may also want to garnish the dish with watercress leaves blanched for 30 seconds in boiling water--this gives a lively, peppery kick to an otherwise delicate soup.<br />
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Bon appetit--errrr, uhh, DIG IN!!<br />
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<br/>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12770338619376455716noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8016722617844706259.post-50559138408397616642011-01-01T12:41:00.005-05:002011-01-14T17:26:18.868-05:00TOFFEE TIMEOf all the holiday treats presented to me throughout the years, all the cookies, candies, chocolates, and cakes--it is my mom's Christmas toffee that wins the blue ribbon in my book. Sweet, buttery, and crunchy. First prize.<br />
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I can't really recall a Christmas without it. In the '90s I remember coming home from elementary school and seeing the large puddles of it, spread on sheets of tin foil, cooling outside on the back porch. I was always worried that pine needles or bugs would fall into the oozy chocolate coating, but they never did; and to this day the best way to cool the toffee is outside in the frosty open air. When I went away to college and came home for the holidays, I usually missed out on the cooking and cooling process; Mom would make it ahead of time and have it waiting for my arrival, all gussied up in a holiday tin or red and green basket. Needless to say, the toffee didn't last long in our house and was usually looong gobbled up by December 25th.<br />
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So this year I decided it was high time that I learn how to make the stuff on my own. And while the toffee and Christmas are synonymous for me, now that I know its secrets I can't promise that I'll be able to hold out for a full year without making some more...so if you show up at my door in July, don't be surprised if you spy a mid-year batch sitting prettily on my kitchen table.<br />
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<b><u><i>JAN'S CHRISTMAS TOFFEE</i></u></b><br />
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2 sticks butter<br />
2 cups white sugar<br />
2 teaspoons vanilla extract<br />
1/4 cup water<br />
1 bag chocolate chips<br />
1 cup chopped pecans (optional)<br />
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For such a decadent dessert, it's sinfully simple to make. Dump the butter, sugar, and vanilla into a large pot; stir on high heat until the butter is melted down.<br />
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When the mixture begins to bubble,<br />
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pour in the water and keep stirring at high heat. Be very careful to stir the ENTIRE time, to keep your toffee from burning!<br />
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The mixture will soon begin to thicken and bubble vigorously. Scrape the bottom and sides of the pot to be sure that the toffee does not stick. Stir, stir, stir.<br />
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The cooking time for your toffee is the trickiest part of the recipe; you really have to eyeball it. You must let it go until it <i>almost</i> burns, but not quite. For me, on the electric stove of my mother's, that meant about 7 minutes. I imagine the time could be longer or shorter on a gas stove, where the heat can be more finely controlled. You can do a little test by quickly dipping an ice-cold spoon into the mixture; when you pull it out, a finished toffee will harden nicely.<br />
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Then it's time to pour the gloop onto two sheets of buttered tin foil.<br />
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Immediately sprinkle on the little Hershey's morsels! The toffee is so hot they'll melt before your eyes.<br />
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Painting with chocolate...candy/art, art/candy...<br />
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You can make a pretty design with the brush if you like. This would also be the time to sprinkle on the optional chopped pecan pieces; I would have done so if we hadn't run out the day I made this recipe. When the decorating is finished and the candy has hardened just enough to form two large solid pieces, carefully place the sheets in a cool area. This may mean in your refrigerator if you have space; but as I said earlier, the quickest way (and the Jan Way) is to lay them on a table outside. The December air will do good things for them.<br />
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When the sheets have cooled, break them up into large shards.<br />
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Now you can arrange them on a plate, store them in a gift tin, hang them from the Christmas tree, decorate a sweater, whatever you like. The pieces are so delectable that you'll probably start wanting to coat the holiday ham with them. I've even heard they're good on Brussels sprouts. Whatever you do though, just be sure to make like Mama Jan and share them with those you love.<br />
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But remember, they won't last long.<br />
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I hope everyone had a very merry holiday season, but as it is now January 1st of 2011, I'll have to stop writing about Christmas foods for now. Until next year!<br />
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<br/>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12770338619376455716noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8016722617844706259.post-1089713362730717512010-12-30T23:41:00.003-05:002010-12-30T23:48:08.379-05:00A CHRISTMAS FEASTChristmas dinner in Georgia, accompanied by a light snowfall outside the window. For mama, brother, and me.<br />
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Clockwise, starting with the big yellow rectangle on the left: macaroni and cheese, green bean casserole, collards, potatoes and carrots, pot roast, corn, and baked sweet potatoes. That's a lot of good eatin' for just three people. 'Twas a pity that Tiny Tim wasn't around to join the fun.<br />
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Mom prepared the pot roast, which was cooked in her trusty Crock-Pot along with these here root vegetables. <br />
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I did the collards. Not exactly true to the Southern tradition, as they were not simmered with a ham hock, but they came out tasty nonetheless with vegetable stock and chopped onions. <br />
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The macaroni and cheese was just...baked heart attack, basically. But Christmas ain't Christmas without a little baked heart attack.<br />
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<b><a href="http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/paula-deen/the-ladys-cheesy-mac-recipe/index.html" target="_blank">Paula Deen's Cheesy Mac</a></b><br />
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Ditto for the green bean casserole. But hey, at least there were real vegetables hidden deep in all that butter.<br />
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<b><a href="http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/paula-deen/green-bean-casserole-recipe/index.html" target="_blank">Paula Deen's Green Bean Casserole</a></b><br />
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It all made for quite a lovely table. Notice that there are no place settings; we decided to go buffet style.<br />
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And of course it was all set off by my mother's lovely centerpiece, featuring pine, eucalyptus, and magnolia leaves from her own yard. The candy canes added a festive bit of whimsy!<br />
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Merry Christmas to all.<br />
<br/><br />
<br/>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12770338619376455716noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8016722617844706259.post-20529448969037837742010-12-16T12:46:00.003-05:002010-12-16T13:10:09.049-05:00BRING US A FIGGY PUDDING!If anyone has been out a-caroling yet this season, it's likely you have encountered the curious "figgy pudding" line in "We Wish You A Merry Christmas". I cannot tell you how many times I've sung that little phrase while simultaneously wondering:<br />
<br />
<i>What the H-E-doublecandycanes is a figgy pudding?</i><br />
<i> </i> <br />
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So this year I did some research. Found this article. From here on out we can all hopefully sing a little easier. <br />
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<b><a href="http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=17356371"target="_blank">NPR, All Things Considered: Now, You Can Bring Us Some Figgy Pudding</a></b><br />
<br />
<br />
Now...howz about that "cup of good cheer"?<br />
<br/>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12770338619376455716noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8016722617844706259.post-12876070216378548392010-12-11T19:44:00.005-05:002010-12-13T16:17:20.366-05:00COOKIE MANIA, PART ONELadies and gentlemen...let the Christmas cookie season begin. What, I ask you, is more merry than a Christmas cookie?<br />
<br />
Not snowflakes.<br />
<br />
Not Bing Crosby.<br />
<br />
And definitely not the mechanical Rudolph nodding in your neighbor's yard.<br />
<br />
There's just nothing that's not fun about a Christmas cookie. Santa-shaped, thumbprinted, or rolled and smushed with a fork, cookies are the shining stars of holiday foods. Oh of course they're delicious, that goes without saying; but the reason we love Christmas cookies, deep down, is because of the memories they draw up in our minds every December. For example, I was fortunate enough to grow up with a grandmother who baked approximately one million Christmas cookies during my childhood. She would put them in tins and lay them out on the dessert table for all to graze on, and let's just say that no one ever really touched the fruitcake with those things around...Christmas just wasn't Christmas without them. Gramma Betts, as we called her (short for Betsy, short for Elizabeth), took so much pride in making them for her family every year, and the special care she took in carrying on her traditions was certainly not lost on me. I remember her cookies every year, and I like to think that now I can carry on her tradition. Can love be expressed through food? Without question. <br />
<br />
So, like I said, there is nothing more merry than a Christmas cookie.<br />
<br />
And let's pause for a minute to consider the astounding number of varieties: sugar cookies, peanut butter kiss cookies, oatmeal raisin cookies! Gingerbread! Shortbread! Tassies, teacakes, sandies, snickerdoodles! And, of course, macaroons...how it is a sin to forget the macaroons.<br />
<br />
I made my first batch of the year tonight, and chose macaroons to kick off the season. I do recommend running--not walking--to the nearest home kitchen and doing yourself a favor by whipping these up as soon as humanly possible. Cheers.<br />
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<u><i><b>ORANGE CHOCOLATE MACAROONS</b></i></u><br />
<u><i><b> </b></i></u><br />
2 2/3 cups sweetened shredded coconut<br />
2/3 cup white sugar<br />
1/4 cup all-purpose flour<br />
4 egg whites<br />
1/2 cup finely chopped pecans<br />
2 teaspoons grated orange zest<br />
2 teaspoons vanilla extract<br />
4 ounces dark baking chocolate<br />
<br />
Mix together coconut, sugar, and flour in a large bowl. The result will look like a tiny winter wonderland! Who wants to ski?<br />
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Then mix in the egg whites. I have yet to master the technique of separating the whites from the yolks.<br />
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Then you add in the vanilla extract, chopped pecans, and orange zest,<br />
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and this is what you get.<br />
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Scoop them with a spoon onto a cookie sheet, and bake at 325 degrees for about 20 minutes. Make sure you use the right kind of wax paper when lining your pans, however...I definitely used the wrong kind and had a TIME trying to get the little buggers unstuck after cooling.<br />
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And now to the fun part! Put the chocolate squares into a ziplock bag and melt them in the microwave until they're just squishy enough to become liquid, about one minute. Snip a hole in the corner of the bag and pipe on the chocolate to your liking. And if "to your liking" means piping half of it directly into your mouth, that's ok too. It's Christmas for crying out loud.<br />
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Gosh they're pretty. Here's to you, Gramma Betts.<br />
<br/><br />
<br/>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12770338619376455716noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8016722617844706259.post-3930189583513333382010-12-10T22:24:00.001-05:002010-12-11T14:27:14.351-05:00NO-DIET DECEMBERGoodness gracious! Apparently the holidays just snuck right up on me and I haven't written a thing in almost three weeks. But that doesn't mean I haven't been busy in the kitchen!<br />
<br />
This is the time of year when <i>all </i>we really think about is food. Well, that and presents. And perhaps goodwill toward man or something of that nature...hopefully, anyway, heh...but let's face it: a good chunk of the holiday season is just about good eats. Your neighbors come rap-tap-tapping on your front door with plates of shortbread, your coworkers lay out boxes of chocolate to share before the workday begins. And at dinner parties, when your guests bring out the big guns--say, Grandma's classic mac and cheese recipe from the '60s or Uncle Herb's prizewinning gutsticking chili--you know that Kris Kringle must certainly be around the corner. It's the only time of year when people stop counting calories and stop eating lettuce and just say to hell with it. Gimme butter. Gimme sugar. Gimme seconds.<br />
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In fact, I was so busy cooking food and enjoying it with my friends on Thanksgiving, that I managed to take only a few blurry photos of the mess after it had been ravaged by the crowd...so I won't bother posting those. But luckily, we all know that Christmas dinner is really just a repeat of Thanksgiving dinner with some Christmas tree cookies thrown in at the end. So I'll be sure to document every moment come December 25th...from teaspoon to table.Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12770338619376455716noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8016722617844706259.post-9206340202614188442010-11-18T14:27:00.004-05:002010-11-18T14:52:31.665-05:00BAKED IN A PIE<i>Sing a song of sixpence,</i><br />
<i>a pocket full of rye.</i><br />
<i>Four and twenty blackbirds,</i><br />
<i>baked in a pie.</i><br />
<br />
<i>When the pie was opened,</i><br />
<i>the birds began to sing;</i><br />
<i>wasn't that a dainty dish,</i><br />
<i>to set before the king?</i><br />
<br />
<i>The king was in his counting house,</i><br />
<i>counting out his money;</i><br />
<i>the queen was in the parlour,</i><br />
<i>eating bread and honey.</i><br />
<br />
<i>The maid was in the garden,</i><br />
<i>hanging out the clothes;</i><br />
<i>when down came a blackbird,</i><br />
<i>and pecked off her nose.</i><br />
<br />
<i>There was such a commotion,</i><br />
<i>that little Jenny Wren;</i><br />
<i>flew down into the garden,</i><br />
<i>and put it back again.</i><br />
<br />
-English nursery rhyme, circa 1740s<br />
<br />
<i> </i><br />
<b><a href="http://www.bonappetit.com/recipes/2010/11/mushroom_and_lentil_pot_pies_with_gouda_biscuit_topping" target="_blank">Mushroom and Lentil Pot Pie with Gouda Biscuit Topping</a></b><i> </i><br />
(thanks to my dear friend Marcy for passing along this recipe--her blog is <b><a href="http://www.evilmiscreant.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">here</a></b>)<br />
<br />
Well, no blackbirds in this pie. And it didn't quite come out dainty as it did hearty and comforting. Here, with a side of sauteed swiss chard.<br />
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Oh, and for dessert: roasted pear halves and ice cream.<br />
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For these, I melted half a stick of butter, half a cup of brown sugar, half a cup of apple butter, three tablespoons orange juice, and three tablespoons water in a saucepan, and then poured the mixture over six pear halves in a baking dish. Roast at 400 degrees for about 40 minutes, or until the pears are soft. Spoon over vanilla ice cream.<br />
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Happy Fall, y'all.Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12770338619376455716noreply@blogger.com0