tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1453995663935503882024-02-20T22:05:37.243-08:00Bean and PieA little blog about food and familyUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger92125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-145399566393550388.post-90059194900349901202015-04-23T16:41:00.000-07:002015-04-23T16:41:33.025-07:00Farewell Rosie, Hello Matzah <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFr8Bp54klk36maJJv0WKUGaaiVTrbUtjcTfoU0xcSroo2YPo1H1WLX4Qk83GUTCxMwmfE88kYhH4dWERivysOc35xh7LE17IhMt2a3YPznzHfae_dvCzkd9ulAkutGAIAWGM9u1h5jkjI/s1600/Unknown.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFr8Bp54klk36maJJv0WKUGaaiVTrbUtjcTfoU0xcSroo2YPo1H1WLX4Qk83GUTCxMwmfE88kYhH4dWERivysOc35xh7LE17IhMt2a3YPznzHfae_dvCzkd9ulAkutGAIAWGM9u1h5jkjI/s1600/Unknown.jpeg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The <a href="http://www.cnn.com/2015/04/23/living/rosie-the-riveter-dies/" target="_blank">model for Rosie the Riveter</a> died today, at age 92.
Besides being a woman who deals with holes on a regular basis, what, you may
ask, is the classic icon’s connection with this week’s baking project: matzah?
I’ll tell you: BICEPS, baby, BICEPS!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If I had to choose someone with whom to flee those nasty
Egyptians, and wander in the desert for forty years with only the sun on my
back to bake my flattened bread, I’m counting on a woman like Rosie. She’s a
can-do kind of girl. And with those muscles, I bet she could pound out a matzah
faster than you could say “Let my people go.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Back in the 40s, Rosie the Riveter changed the face of the war effort at
home. This little baking project, while not exactly single-handedly taking on
Hitler, still has defeated a fearsome foe of it’s own at the Passover table this year. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Slide over Streitz; move on, pasty Manishevitz. We don’t
need your colon-clogging cardboard anymore. Oh, tender, homemade,
sesame-tinged, peppery roundish matzah —where have you been all my life?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Despite the muscle needed to roll out the dough, I’d highly
recommend that you make your own matzah for a Passover seder next year. It’s worth the
extra effort. Please believe me. Your mother, your Great Aunt Rosie, and
especially your biceps, will thank you. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here's the photo album:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTPB27pp80btR8aT_x7G7nf-pvFyAIfXEJarVg3uUWJ93y9SPuzzNQPJvf8fPfp8K5OGywcSMYpdm2gyHkGt8hBtYuVYZC8jLjSYKTVCzTaPew4HxDVc81IY2IHqaAnp6TKFxLxTXPA1MO/s1600/IMG_0792.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTPB27pp80btR8aT_x7G7nf-pvFyAIfXEJarVg3uUWJ93y9SPuzzNQPJvf8fPfp8K5OGywcSMYpdm2gyHkGt8hBtYuVYZC8jLjSYKTVCzTaPew4HxDVc81IY2IHqaAnp6TKFxLxTXPA1MO/s1600/IMG_0792.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bronzed and gorgeous</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcrS0mw0gDcWuO0ZayHxMX5ggN984xU-yWX76EGGU6G-nP6ll9-a5_hBOBbXusGTVUqmHue1GzM4C93nsZrDldQYnlcpt3sfdeJi4tX5VILLfP7uUObYj01MTBN3ehUx-dkJYwATvplQOd/s1600/IMG_0793.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcrS0mw0gDcWuO0ZayHxMX5ggN984xU-yWX76EGGU6G-nP6ll9-a5_hBOBbXusGTVUqmHue1GzM4C93nsZrDldQYnlcpt3sfdeJi4tX5VILLfP7uUObYj01MTBN3ehUx-dkJYwATvplQOd/s1600/IMG_0793.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Loving my new bread bags! Perfect for traveling to the seder.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoDlxN8mxlJ7wbwragPb2uCvHq9guTDKPe-AHtIDFtZ0OeLOm5ZT0U4ygJXv8AQDaUOB0-YIGsVp9V2BFFgxOzNfvMwkzUZBkf9ux84vnoU_PRtaCqaQclGsZcy36zcesz2BGhcm8h6y1d/s1600/IMG_0791.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoDlxN8mxlJ7wbwragPb2uCvHq9guTDKPe-AHtIDFtZ0OeLOm5ZT0U4ygJXv8AQDaUOB0-YIGsVp9V2BFFgxOzNfvMwkzUZBkf9ux84vnoU_PRtaCqaQclGsZcy36zcesz2BGhcm8h6y1d/s1600/IMG_0791.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On my mother's matzah plate</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The process, from the <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Baking-Julia-Savor-Americas-Bakers/dp/0688146570" target="_blank">Baking With Julia</a> cook book, via the incomparable <a href="http://www.laurengroveman.com/" target="_blank">Lauren Groveman</a>, really is
quite simple (for the full recipe <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Baking-Julia-Savor-Americas-Bakers/dp/0688146570" target="_blank">buy the book</a>):</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1. A quick mix for the dough (include the pepper and the sesame
seeds – it needs them); no rising time for obvious reasons.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">2. Divide the dough into smaller balls, and use those strong arms to roll it all out as thin as you possibly can.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">3. Poke tons of holes in the dough with a fork. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">4. Bake each piece on an upside-down baking sheet for approximately one minute on each side. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">No problem. We're strong, capable, independent women (who may or may not have enlisted the help of a big strong husband to roll out the dough when the going got tough). Aren't we?</span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></o:p>
<o:p><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This project was part of the <a href="https://tuesdayswithdorie.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Tuesdays with Dorie</a> bake-along. Check out other bakers' experiences <a href="https://tuesdayswithdorie.wordpress.com/2015/04/20/bwj-lyl-matzos/" target="_blank">here</a>.</span></o:p></div>
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Tammyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05408286714267415521noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-145399566393550388.post-42321629411349396082015-03-24T09:47:00.001-07:002015-03-24T09:47:21.008-07:00I'm Short! (listed, that is)<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm thrilled to announce that my story was short-listed for a flash fiction contest hosted by Mash Stories. You can read (and vote for it, and comment on it) <a href="http://mashstories.com/competition/current-shortlist/" target="_blank">here</a>.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here are the guidelines:</span><br />
<br />
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's a flash-fiction contest, which means my story had to be 500 words or less, using three key words somewhere in the copy. (This round included "criminal," "fashion," and "ankle" -- you'll see these words highlighted within the text.)</span></li>
</ul>
<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Because it's on the short-list, Mash Stories will have a professional voice actor read my story and turn it into a podcast. How cool is that? So keep an ear out for that on the Mash Stories website as well.</span></li>
</ul>
<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Your vote, and your thoughtful comments, matter to the judges, but the final decision is up to them. Grand prize is $100 and a free Skype chat with a professional writing coach to discuss career growth. Again, kinda cool, right?</span></li>
</ul>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So spread the word and comment away, please! Thank you for your support.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>PS: For those of you haven't met me, I really am short. And short-listed. (</i></span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I just wanted an excuse to say short-listed again.)</i><br />
<br />Tammyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05408286714267415521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-145399566393550388.post-6124763707624497872015-03-24T08:13:00.000-07:002015-03-24T08:17:53.580-07:00Coconut-Topped Brown Sugar Bars: An OK Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtTTzZC1L9P74IU_X5uEqmMDfUNchUc9tdJSBMc6npOcBe_e4p5G3bTiSo8x4w_QB9Uh6zBsmcK_nf_Zc7bjHHeTkJw9JtWQ9B6O6RKstZn1LzMJA7tpMY8BNyWKy8O8_FPWWA3DZc8cOp/s1600/IMG_0728.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtTTzZC1L9P74IU_X5uEqmMDfUNchUc9tdJSBMc6npOcBe_e4p5G3bTiSo8x4w_QB9Uh6zBsmcK_nf_Zc7bjHHeTkJw9JtWQ9B6O6RKstZn1LzMJA7tpMY8BNyWKy8O8_FPWWA3DZc8cOp/s1600/IMG_0728.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As days go, yesterday was pretty ordinary. Nobody died, but
nobody won the lottery either (nobody I know, anyway). We did ordinary things –
we went to work, went to school, made lots of dishes. We bickered too much and
hugged too little. It was an OK day.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And that’s appropriate, because yesterday was National OK
Day. March 23, 1839 is the date the word entered the lexicon, and there are folks who still celebrate this milestone today. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Of course, OK can mean
dozens of different things. It can mean “oll korrect,” or signify approval,
agreement, resignation, or simply mediocre. The <a href="http://www.history.com/this-day-in-history/ok-enters-national-vernacular">fabled
history</a> of the word is much more interesting than the coconut bars we made
and ate yesterday, which were also OK -- in the “meh, it’s fine. I probably
won’t make them again,” sense. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This recipe, from Dorie Greenspan’s <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Baking-Chez-Moi-Recipes-Anywhere/dp/0547724241">Baking
Chez Moi</a> cookbook, leans heavily toward candy. With the coconut and
chocolate, I achieved the Mounds Bar quality I’d been searching for. But
even though I combined sweetened and raw coconut to cut back on the sugar, I
still felt the urge to brush my teeth within seconds of wiping the crumbs from
my face. Also, the brown sugar base was too crunchy and sweet, even though I under baked
it, as other bloggers had suggested.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’m happy to see that other <a href="https://tuesdayswithdorie.wordpress.com/2015/03/24/bcm-lyl-crispy-topped-brown-sugar-bars/">TWD
BCM bloggers</a> (“Doristas” as we’re now calling ourselves) enjoyed the bars
more than I did. Clearly these bloggers didn’t have a problem using the caramelized Rice
Krispies topping that originally was called for in this recipe. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Let’s face it, I’m just a cereal snob. I’m OK with that.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
Tammyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05408286714267415521noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-145399566393550388.post-68704699147523063262015-01-20T10:13:00.001-08:002015-01-20T10:13:33.981-08:00Bialy-Blended Eastern European Rye<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrL1cCJK6MQsj-ZqcRxVqwZ-DqhqZlt9SV3Zjm4_h6YvRBvTHLGFR2x5h8u2QH9ZKgSqkDVOfUvSu_vr-oAngWZ_3L3dPCKHYRHDVuOo8sy28AaO2dhdjrBj9gQ4_yKrezfOlmvZGFgtNb/s1600/IMG_0598.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrL1cCJK6MQsj-ZqcRxVqwZ-DqhqZlt9SV3Zjm4_h6YvRBvTHLGFR2x5h8u2QH9ZKgSqkDVOfUvSu_vr-oAngWZ_3L3dPCKHYRHDVuOo8sy28AaO2dhdjrBj9gQ4_yKrezfOlmvZGFgtNb/s1600/IMG_0598.jpg" height="179" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: center;">Inspired by a recent visit to New York, I played with this recipe for Eastern European Rye, from </span><a href="http://www.laurengroveman.com/" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: center;" target="_blank">Lauren Groveman</a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: center;">, via </span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Baking-Julia-Savor-Americas-Bakers/dp/0688146570" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: center;" target="_blank">Baking With Julia</a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: center;">. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the window at Zaro's Bakery, I noticed a rye loaf with poppy seeds and onions. Genius! I thought -- what could be better than a bialy-blended rye bread?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I still think this two-for-one bread idea is just this side of a miracle, but my execution of it was a bit off. Here's what I'll change when I make it again:</span><br />
<br />
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">First, I'll start with my favorite rye bread recipe, from the <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Cooks-Illustrated-Baking-Book/dp/1936493586/ref=sr_1_5?ie=UTF8&qid=1421766443&sr=8-5&keywords=cooks+illustrated+cookbook" target="_blank">Cook's Illustrated Baking Book</a>. This is the bread that's in regular rotation in my house, and the one that we sing about. (Think One Direction: "Best Rye Ever.") It is simple, richer, and slightly healthier, in that it calls for canola oil instead of butter and vegetable shortening. Also the texture is not quite as soft, and therefore makes slices more spread-ready.</span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Though I sautéed a full onion in a large hunk of butter, the flavor got lost in the dough. Next time I will use dried onion flakes as well as onions sautéed in oil. (Maybe a few for the top as well?)</span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As much as I love caraway, the Groveman recipe called for double the amount of seeds as our favorite recipe (some whole and some ground). As a result, it overpowered the mere tablespoon of poppy seeds I added. One tablespoon of each, plus a little extra for the top of the loaf should be perfect.</span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I will skip the sling rise, and just use a floured towel or couche. I've tried the recipe both ways, and the results are the same, with less fuss.</span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'll also skip the salt on top. Although my gut told me this would pump up the intensity of the crust, it turns out sometimes your gut can be wrong. The salt just didn't blend well with the other flavors in the bread.</span></li>
</ul>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<ul>
</ul>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcJcu_GUmxL8glO665rqtD2zdYBZL9CM6heR1HX3DTYSOlKTNm9KzC7ARjkzckfeG_o3f9LSLMVip8Q6MQBBpV3LfPDul5od3NFnOOdxBWuboAgsO8XEeCaHqRS2Iu-N92mbrLVErgTbv6/s1600/IMG_0602.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcJcu_GUmxL8glO665rqtD2zdYBZL9CM6heR1HX3DTYSOlKTNm9KzC7ARjkzckfeG_o3f9LSLMVip8Q6MQBBpV3LfPDul5od3NFnOOdxBWuboAgsO8XEeCaHqRS2Iu-N92mbrLVErgTbv6/s1600/IMG_0602.JPG" height="305" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Still, I'm looking forward to perfecting the bialy-rye loaf. Stay tuned for more adventures in bread-baking.</span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">To see how other bakers fared, check out their links <a href="https://tuesdayswithdorie.wordpress.com/2015/01/19/bwj-lyl-eastern-european-rye/" target="_blank">here</a>.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
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<br />Tammyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05408286714267415521noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-145399566393550388.post-67754641453437872482014-12-16T11:01:00.001-08:002014-12-16T11:01:43.084-08:00It Seemed Like a Good Idea<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk1mDjS3YbQF0nI7Ks3wk62U99I99gYfRgojpRIIezEFjew0YECDup9TFTIVQv9clrfNK62DQF6fiFgnmjJDujFOK7XtuEighsW3orxhRvZAFH8EKljVrLV-YpUOZAyE4R2zf-lfcG2teT/s1600/IMG_0342.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk1mDjS3YbQF0nI7Ks3wk62U99I99gYfRgojpRIIezEFjew0YECDup9TFTIVQv9clrfNK62DQF6fiFgnmjJDujFOK7XtuEighsW3orxhRvZAFH8EKljVrLV-YpUOZAyE4R2zf-lfcG2teT/s1600/IMG_0342.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here's another "cookie" from <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Baking-Julia-Savor-Americas-Bakers/dp/0688146570" target="_blank">Baking With Julia</a>. </i>They're called<i> </i>mint-chocolate nightcaps. The nightcap refers to the 'hat' of ganache on top. Cute, huh?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Mint, chocolate, cookies, ganache. What could go wrong? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Turns out, quite a bit.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When you're hoping for a gussied up homemade mint oreo* and you end up with this, there's bound to be some disappointment among the wee ones (and among the big folks too). </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The cookie sandwiches were really cake in disguise, which was very difficult to eat with your hands. More importantly, the cookies did not compliment the texture of the filling. Perhaps I was a bit heavy-handed on the mint in the ganache, because what I ended up with as both stuffer and sombrero could only be described as mint chocolate toothpaste. Sounds delicious, right?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Wrong.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After snapping a few photos, we ended up scrapping the ganache all together. Then, after licking the sticky chocolate remains off our fingers for a few more days, most of the cookie-cakes also landed in the trash.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ah well, they can't all be winners. It looks like some of the other TWD bakers may have fared better. Check out their results <a href="http://tuesdayswithdorie.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">here</a>.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">PS: It turns out there really is such a thing as mint-chocolate toothpaste. Check out these <a href="http://www.crest.com/be/mint-chocolate-trek-toothpaste" target="_blank">food-inspired toothpastes</a>, from Crest. The flavors were created based on customer feedback, so somebody must have thought it was a good idea. Yeah, me too.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">_____________________</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">*I can't remember the last time I actually ate an Oreo, mint or otherwise, but they definitely made an impression.</span></i>Tammyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05408286714267415521noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-145399566393550388.post-61280956939159959752014-11-19T11:26:00.001-08:002014-12-18T12:29:59.398-08:00Where I'm From: Food Edition<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; mso-para-margin-bottom: .01gd; mso-para-margin-left: 0in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: .01gd;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am a different
eater now, but I have not forgotten where I am from.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am from Lauren’s salty
chocolate chip cookies, from Good Season’s Italian dressing on iceberg lettuce, and take-in double-cheese Bocce Pizza while we watch the game on Sundays, always. I am from weekly chicken fingers
at the Four Seasons Diner, hands and face dripping with chunky-tangy Rudy’s
blue cheese.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">I am from home-baked
chicken dinner with steamed broccoli and Uncle Ben’s wild rice pilaf. Four
people at the dinner table, every weeknight; TV off. I am from Lauren and Arthur,
bickering, bickering. A kiss. A smile. Bickering more. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">I am from “how was
school today?” and “pass your chicken bones to Dad” and “yes you can have
seconds on dessert.” My sister talks about Grease rehearsal<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>while Dad Hoovers the drumsticks clean. They
wait forever for me to finish my broccoli stalks (tops go to mom).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am from thumbs on
the wishbone, pulling hard, and taking turns for chores: Aimee set, so Tammy clears.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">I am from a camera shop
owner and a Catholic-turned-Jew. I am from a boy scout troop leader and a
dentist who found chickens and eggs on his doorstep as payment for pulled
teeth. I am from theater people. They wrote their own stories and sang them. I
am from travelers. I am from Poland and Russia and New York and Syracuse and Buffalo.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am from
sloppy/sappy/noisy/crowded Christmukkah in our brown living room, where dozens
of family and near-strangers gathered to devour a mountain of presents and bagels and lox
and sweetsweet kugel. High on holiday spirits, dripping brisket juice and applesauce onto the shag rug, the guests pledged lifelong devotion to my
parents. They made good on their word. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am from 30 Jews and
adopted Jews stuffed around the Passover table, helping themselves to seconds
on everything except the lousy kosher desserts. They sing about four flawed
brothers to the tune of <i>Clementine</i>
and belt out <i>God Bless America</i> in
honor of Irving Berlin. Slowly I progress from "the one who cannot ask at all" to "the wise son."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am from shore lunches
on the rocks of the Georgian Bay and Sahlen’s hot dogs charred and steaming
from the grill, indoors or out. I am from Lauren’s fresh blueberry pie at family
reunions by the stream. I am from Easter in the woods with The Woods, where I helped peel potatoes for thirty. I stole my annual taste of ham and gorged on peanut butter cups from my Easter basket while Aimee was
off fishing with the boys. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Today, I am the keeper of half-forgotten
recipes. I’m from “add a little of this and a little of that” followed by the
shock of “yours doesn’t taste like mine.” I am from much more sugar. I am from
a significant amount of real butter. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; mso-para-margin-bottom: .01gd; mso-para-margin-left: 0in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: .01gd;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; mso-para-margin-bottom: .01gd; mso-para-margin-left: 0in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: .01gd;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">I am the owner of Synagogue
cookbooks and the handwritten matzah ball soup letter (“because someday you’ll
want to know how to make my soup and I won’t be around to tell you.”) I have bound
copies of the close-enough zucchini bread recipe card and the transcribed, “best
I can remember” ratios of potato to egg for Aunt Robin’s scalable potato kugel. </span>My own
record-keeping has not been much better.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; mso-para-margin-bottom: .01gd; mso-para-margin-left: 0in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: .01gd;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; mso-para-margin-bottom: .01gd; mso-para-margin-left: 0in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: .01gd;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And my children will
inherit this tangled mass of edible history. They will know that the food we eat is bound up in our identity. It is part of every story we tell about ourselves and about our families. As in all cultures, our food links us to our past and helps define our future. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My childen will understand their place in my history and reconcile it with their place in their father’s very different food legacy. They will eat
with us at the table (screens off); they will hear our stories, and they will add their own. They will know their food, and they will know where they a</span><span style="font-family: Arial;">re from.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; mso-para-margin-bottom: .01gd; mso-para-margin-left: 0in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: .01gd;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"># # #<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; mso-para-margin-bottom: .01gd; mso-para-margin-left: 0in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: .01gd;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; mso-para-margin-bottom: .01gd; mso-para-margin-left: 0in; mso-para-margin-right: 0in; mso-para-margin-top: .01gd;">
<i style="font-family: Arial;">Thank you to <a href="http://www.brainchildmag.com/2014/04/where-im-from/" target="_blank">Nina Badzin, via Brain Child Magazine, </a>and <a href="http://mamalode.com/story/detail/where-im-from/" target="_blank">Galit Breen, via Mamalode</a> for introducing me to <a href="http://www.swva.net/fred1st/wif.htm" target="_blank">this template</a> and prompt. Also thanks to <a href="http://www.mamakatslosinit.com/2014/12/best-gift-ever-2/?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+MamasLosinIt+%28Mama%27s+Losin%27+It%29" target="_blank">MamaKat's Writer's Workshop</a>, for reviving the template again. It was a perfect jumping-off point to help remember the food that defined my childhood.</i></div>
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Tammyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05408286714267415521noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-145399566393550388.post-57939145295353773532014-11-18T09:29:00.001-08:002014-11-21T09:28:07.982-08:00Surrender.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP3SY6o4BsT8s3jwcjca1ERKPdHO_8pLE2EPwYGRH6p7JJn_oj4xXugrU-tOC2sxXPt5gTRHWxaBdpHQ0sdc_Io9GAZaAL7aYbauGLREFlggrLKeQFHvEZTqWeu7MFRJ5j8HSkdambGAGI/s1600/IMG_0335.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP3SY6o4BsT8s3jwcjca1ERKPdHO_8pLE2EPwYGRH6p7JJn_oj4xXugrU-tOC2sxXPt5gTRHWxaBdpHQ0sdc_Io9GAZaAL7aYbauGLREFlggrLKeQFHvEZTqWeu7MFRJ5j8HSkdambGAGI/s1600/IMG_0335.jpg" height="320" width="303" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They look cute, but don't be fooled.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I've faced off against my perpetual enemy, Italian pastry, and I've lost.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm admitting defeat but I'm taking a stand. I've had it with those anti-butter, anti-flour cookie fascists. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">From this point forward, I'm swearing off Italian desserts. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I WILL NOT EAT A SINGLE AMARETTI.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At least not one that I bake.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Because my amaretti are truly atrocious.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I tried to make friends with this recipe, I really did. I chunked up the almond paste, eggs and sugar, and piped my little heart out, giving them a friendly pat with a wet finger, and a tiny chocolate chip peck for good luck. (Somehow I knew that investing in pine nuts would be a waste.) I had my doubts, but I baked on in good faith. Really I did.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Apparently the almond paste I used had an arsenal of it's own sugar, because the cookies I baked came out of the oven ready for battle with my teeth. They were helmet-hard and cloyingly sweet -- brutally mocking my attempts at a truce. After one bite, I knew the Jewish-Italian cultural cookie divide could not be breached. An entire plate of amaretti -- trashed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This TWD recipe was enough to turn me off Italian desserts forever. Except maybe for cannoli. I'll take the cannoli.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtb03TswHl9nUyMadgKCCOhlCT_Uv2jDRaDQWl2zfRlOnVOuHxdVYhoT4xMlzEUByD-FfbiRoA5W8a_bVqmTzOvvVsOPS3jk0GlAbzt1VifoMnMfQRRaCNMEZ9bZhbWVshrlKU22j80Vr-/s1600/IMG_0329.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtb03TswHl9nUyMadgKCCOhlCT_Uv2jDRaDQWl2zfRlOnVOuHxdVYhoT4xMlzEUByD-FfbiRoA5W8a_bVqmTzOvvVsOPS3jk0GlAbzt1VifoMnMfQRRaCNMEZ9bZhbWVshrlKU22j80Vr-/s1600/IMG_0329.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Weapons of cookie destruction: plastic bag for piping, scissors for snipping the corner off the bag, and Rollerworks ruler (acquired at a birthday party circa 1987) for ensuring consistent size of cookies.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Other bakers fared better than I did, it seems. To learn more, check out their posts at <a href="http://tuesdayswithdorie.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Tuesdays With Dorie</a>.</span>Tammyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05408286714267415521noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-145399566393550388.post-750412134803543052014-11-14T11:03:00.000-08:002014-11-14T11:08:09.477-08:00New Beginnings with Baking Chez Moi and Ladies Pucks<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">How fortuitous is it that the beginning of a new bake-along coincided with the beginning of hockey season? And, as fate should have it, we baked these beauties, literally translated to "Ladies Pucks," from <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Baking-Chez-Moi-Recipes-Anywhere/dp/0547724241" target="_blank"><i>Baking Chez Moi</i>.</a></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Many thanks to <a href="http://doriegreenspan.com/" target="_blank">Dorie Greenspan</a> and the <a href="http://tuesdayswithdorie.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Tuesdays with Dorie</a> group for timing the birth of this book and baking group so perfectly to fit the Yale Bulldogs' home season opener. I'm sure that was at the top of their mind, right?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The only way it could have gotten better is if the cookies had been called Palets de Monsieur, since it was technically a men's hockey game at which my cookies made their debut. But I won't quibble: I'm a lady, I eat dainty, vanilla and lemon frosted white cookie "pucks" in the literal way. These men, they eat pucks in a "take my teeth out with a three-inch vulcanized black rubber disc going 90 miles an hour at my mouth" kind of way. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But I digress.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">These cake-like cookies bear a strong resemblance to the classic black and white, minus the black. My chocolate-lovers balked a little at this ("what's the point of a cookie without chocolate?"), but they settled down once they tasted them.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I've written about our </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">hockey obsessions <a href="http://beanandpie.blogspot.com/2013/04/underdog-stories.html" target="_blank">before</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">, so for now, let me just say this:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The super-simple recipe came together quickly and performed well under the scrutiny of some of the most discriminating fans. Unfortunately, we can't say the same for the Yale bulldogs this year. We could be looking at a long and torturous hockey season. Thank goodness we've got Dorie's incomparable recipes to see us through. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">You can download Dorie's recipe</span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #674ea7;"> <a href="http://doriegreenspan.com/print/2014/09/baking-chez-moi-3-recipes-you-can-download.html" target="_blank">here</a></span></span><span style="background-color: white;">. Check out the other Tuesdays with Dorie participants take on this recipe </span><a href="http://tuesdayswithdorie.wordpress.com/" style="background-color: white;" target="_blank">here</a><span style="background-color: white;">.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-CZrUblqB0qiipo52cFKB9Zts2oOYXjYwPUKQJWP8GUxmmUbiZgsIyRg2oRDKLDOLUOv62xQOCeogLkTStpPEUGOd9slxilBRG6xN-UnffJXd1HGxsdPYeXaOkmSwlp4-RiZKmM5khlkT/s1600/IMG_0307.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="189" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-CZrUblqB0qiipo52cFKB9Zts2oOYXjYwPUKQJWP8GUxmmUbiZgsIyRg2oRDKLDOLUOv62xQOCeogLkTStpPEUGOd9slxilBRG6xN-UnffJXd1HGxsdPYeXaOkmSwlp4-RiZKmM5khlkT/s320/IMG_0307.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Isn't this a beautiful tray? My mother painted that flower!</span></div>
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Tammyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05408286714267415521noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-145399566393550388.post-13006462163350893082014-09-30T10:56:00.001-07:002014-09-30T10:59:36.734-07:00I'm Headed to Bread Mecca<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oui, I made that.</td></tr>
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I'm going to Paris.<br />
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Let me say that again: I'm going to PARIS!<br />
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After four years of studying bread baking from my kitchen and living room, I am going to the bread mecca. Immediately after we arrive, I plan to drag my jet-lagged body, suitcases and all, straight to <a href="http://www.poilane.com/pages/en/company_univers_histoire.php" target="_blank">Poilane</a> bakery. <br />
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I don't think I'll have any problem ordering bread. There are a total of 23 words in my French vocabulary, and 20 of them relate to dough. I think that's a pretty good ratio. (Stupid American bakers.) Finding a bathroom or a hospital might be a problem, but gosh darn it, I can find bread. <br />
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By happy coincidence, a recent <a href="http://tuesdayswithdorie.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Tuesdays with Dorie</a> project was the lovely French batard pictured above. I was so pleased with this project that I made it twice just to prove I could replicate the slashes. (I did it!) Lovely, aren't they? And tasty, too. For a bread, the recipe is pretty straightforward and quick (maybe 4-5 hours, start to finish), but it doesn't yield a real depth of flavor. Still, the loaves are perfect for sandwiches and a million times better than store-bought bread, so I will keep this in the repertoire for the many occasions when I need a pretty, fast solution for kids' lunches or when I need a dinner date for my soup.<br />
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In the meantime, I've immersed myself in Chad Robertson's inimitable <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Tartine-Bread-Chad-Robertson/dp/0811870413" target="_blank"><i>Tartine</i></a><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Tartine-Bread-Chad-Robertson/dp/0811870413" target="_blank"> <i>Bread</i></a> cookbook. Having now memorized the entire 78-page basic bread recipe, I'm battling on the front lines with a sourdough starter, metric equivalents, and (usually) floating leavens. I've entered a whole new stage of bread-ucation, and it's not for the faint of heart. Case in point: My family has been forced to eat 7 loaves of gummy, vinegary breads sporting nearly impenetrable crust in the past 10 days. Butter helps, but still, that's a lot of bad bread.<br />
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My technique is improving with each loaf; it's just a lot to learn. In the movie of my life, this would be the "Tammy tackles the hardest bread recipe in the world" montage. At the end of the montage, I emerge, a victorious and confident sourdough breadmaster. But we are nowhere near the end.<br />
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The haj to Paris will give me a much-needed break from my studies, and it will allow me to obsess about someone else's bread for a change.<br />
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If you've got any leads on good food in Paris, I'm all ears. (Yes, that was a bread pun. But I also really want to know where else to eat!)<br />
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Au revoir!<br />
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<br />Tammyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05408286714267415521noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-145399566393550388.post-52148325812298588652014-09-02T11:49:00.002-07:002014-09-02T11:49:59.319-07:00Crisis. Averted: TWD oven-roasted plum cakes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Can we walk to school without you this year?”</span></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I should have been singing with joy when I heard this last
week. They are in 6<sup>th</sup> and 4<sup>th</sup> grade, after all. They’d be
walking with their friends. And there are about a thousand friendly neighbors
to help them find their way, if god forbid, they should get lost. But still, they
were taking a flying leap out of the nest, and I was in no hurry to let them
go.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">But I resisted my usual obsessive-compulsive-mother-hen
instincts. Instead I put on my bravest smile and kissed my little chicks
goodbye at the front door. Then I got busy with the vacuum cleaner so I
couldn’t flutter into the car to follow them. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">And would you believe it? They survived! </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">At pickup time, there they all were – smiling and proud and
eager to walk home. Without me. “We’ll meet you there, Mom. Can we just go?
Please?” Ouch. Give ‘em an inch…!</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">And suddenly, there it was again – swooping down on me like
a shrieking, red-taloned bird of prey. The mid-life crisis was back. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">These little creatures I’ve created – they can feed
themselves! They can clean themselves (if they choose to). They can cross the
street alone! The enormity of the fact that they can survive in the suburban
wild sent me into a tail-spin of the familiar old-mommy questions.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">What now? The kids are aging, so am I… Why did I dump that
corporate career? What’s next for me? The questions go on and on like a broken
smoke detector, chirping in my ear every ten minutes to remind me that
something <i>more</i> must be done. Soon.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Of course I know that the mommy-ing is never really over. These
kids have simply gnawed off another chunk of my heart and carted it off with
them in their big-kid backpacks. They still need me for a few things -- at
least until they learn to drive. But this walking milestone can’t be ignored.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">And so I turned back to the places that give me comfort: the
familiar, honeyed luxuries of baking and writing and dance. I Jazzercised every
day for a week. I baked challah and ciabatta and whole wheat bread. And I
returned once again to the <i>Tuesdays with
Dorie</i> project, which this week featured warm, fruity mini
cakes. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Oven-roasted plum
cakes: a reprieve. </i></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The cakes were a promise that my kids would stay with me for
at least as long as it took to finish dessert. With this bribe, I could keep
them home and safe for a few minutes longer. </span></span></div>
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</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">So I tucked my head back down into the satisfying whirl of sugar
and butter and vanilla and eggs. I actually squawked with delight as my plums
split perfectly on the first try. The house bubbled up with the reassuring
scent of warming sugar and all was right with the world.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpJhn0FtGBYtKZTVqa9TdeHQQsyBdMbOHGIPoG2znwLTLnhfaAIPBy3n2s63uinZq7oX2c_yhhGZ_v78J_-MZ-7a-umUfsOEzJ1NDuWirpd3b5XrDwnru1KVBmtr2c8fn8CZwKKRcoDnXB/s1600/IMG_0073.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpJhn0FtGBYtKZTVqa9TdeHQQsyBdMbOHGIPoG2znwLTLnhfaAIPBy3n2s63uinZq7oX2c_yhhGZ_v78J_-MZ-7a-umUfsOEzJ1NDuWirpd3b5XrDwnru1KVBmtr2c8fn8CZwKKRcoDnXB/s1600/IMG_0073.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">After their long migration home (12 minutes!) and a light
dinner, we shared these adorable desserts. Each ramekin housed little
half-moons of plum, all sleepy and resting in a downy pillow of brown sugar
cake. </span></span><br />
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</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The mid-life crisis was averted, at least temporarily.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> The kids slurped down their dessert in two gulps, and raced
each other to the door. Their friends were ready to play.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We’re going to need a lot more cake to make it through.</span></span></div>
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____<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> To read more about this recipe, check out the <a href="http://tuesdayswithdorie.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">other bakers' posts</a>, or go <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Baking-Julia-Savor-Americas-Bakers/dp/0688146570" target="_blank">buy the book</a>. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></span>Tammyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05408286714267415521noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-145399566393550388.post-70977413894949641502014-06-17T11:16:00.002-07:002014-06-17T11:16:31.944-07:00Phyloccine Ice Cream Sandwiches -- In 3 or 4 Simple Steps. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVj4prBg6tRxiIy52R8AyawOALBgw3dw9TYSklNGbVfwi6J7oHBBkUkSvo_Uee3a5dzzRX8BOAxrqZz1qrNXBGIfPOX298cVTOJTBoQ1ukxdHLSL_CW-7W6f-uUuSmAr1h2Wxk6DYvlqiV/s1600/IMG_3225.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVj4prBg6tRxiIy52R8AyawOALBgw3dw9TYSklNGbVfwi6J7oHBBkUkSvo_Uee3a5dzzRX8BOAxrqZz1qrNXBGIfPOX298cVTOJTBoQ1ukxdHLSL_CW-7W6f-uUuSmAr1h2Wxk6DYvlqiV/s1600/IMG_3225.jpg" height="261" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Phyllo + fetuccine = phyloccine. Brilliant!</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Ice cream + anything = immediate win with the kids.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Fruit + stick = immediate win with pretty much anyone.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Sugar + butter = count me in. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">_______</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">In the spirit of throwbacks from the days of yore, I present to you a pared down recipe from <i>Baking With Julia, </i>care of our inimitable<a href="http://tuesdayswithdorie.wordpress.com/the-rules/" target="_blank"> Tuesdays with Dorie baking group </a>(more than two years into the project and still going strong!). </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">If you really need more details, check out the <a href="http://tuesdayswithdorie.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">other bakers' posts</a>, or go <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Baking-Julia-Savor-Americas-Bakers/dp/0688146570" target="_blank">buy the book</a>.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Step 1:</b> Roll and slice phyllo dough and separate strips into little "nests." Sprinkle with sugar and butter and bake for 10 minutes at 375, or until golden brown.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnuB9naMjzjvhx7NJIq_bhgw7c4mwCyOp4AaXrSLaLh-EhWJvSm1hyR578OxzfLtaX1y7xx4-8tBoPy1qmJf-E3zS0pL4Q7_3U7G6jofjbd0CIwGGr5yKaqPd3mgP4BqzzKbERL4FTtT9t/s1600/IMG_3224.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnuB9naMjzjvhx7NJIq_bhgw7c4mwCyOp4AaXrSLaLh-EhWJvSm1hyR578OxzfLtaX1y7xx4-8tBoPy1qmJf-E3zS0pL4Q7_3U7G6jofjbd0CIwGGr5yKaqPd3mgP4BqzzKbERL4FTtT9t/s1600/IMG_3224.jpg" height="224" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Step 2:</b> Assemble fruit skewers and make raspberry compote (raspberries + sugar + five minute macerate. Add a little mint to the compote if you're feeling inspired.)</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWPhVj46S9MNxPrA5Mcoi-vtgZbFyEnONNDEEV06EhDhcYh37QtCizKrTLsEIsoLi4YeCRGv6fhPUKXpv6jNuaNrgUDesphP_hMvJk5cmRIuFm3rsH2ybQw63lzjqg-JHpbEgiF7g9GCky/s1600/IMG_3222.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWPhVj46S9MNxPrA5Mcoi-vtgZbFyEnONNDEEV06EhDhcYh37QtCizKrTLsEIsoLi4YeCRGv6fhPUKXpv6jNuaNrgUDesphP_hMvJk5cmRIuFm3rsH2ybQw63lzjqg-JHpbEgiF7g9GCky/s1600/IMG_3222.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Step 3</b> <b>(Optional):</b> Make whipped cream if you want. No photo available, since I didn't use it. But I'm guessing you know what whipped cream looks like.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Step 4:</b> Assemble layers: phyloccine nest, compote, ice cream, phyloccine nest, skewer. Whipped cream goes on the bottom as "glue" and wherever else it feels good.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTSzHa_xcU3AalGhOqM7pBdlbxeb5_Wixa0xECpPbVjlJn_GzUZ0h1O3-I0YD6GgBA98K6WBxFC2BXDjsZC7B_ExXyouOd3IVZC5s3EYb2ezijDlijIkqMcYc2R3mNIAA8dGL6XfAf4aIS/s1600/IMG_3225.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTSzHa_xcU3AalGhOqM7pBdlbxeb5_Wixa0xECpPbVjlJn_GzUZ0h1O3-I0YD6GgBA98K6WBxFC2BXDjsZC7B_ExXyouOd3IVZC5s3EYb2ezijDlijIkqMcYc2R3mNIAA8dGL6XfAf4aIS/s1600/IMG_3225.jpg" height="261" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">TA-DA! You've got a tall, retro, kid-friendly, low-stress dessert that is certain to win friends and influence loved ones. You're welcome.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<br />Tammyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05408286714267415521noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-145399566393550388.post-46330566894577742762014-05-05T19:38:00.002-07:002014-05-05T19:38:30.302-07:00Party of the Year<style>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiME-trZjDoD8JZNbjiXwwcNJdwKqp-42JBWZZfbxBMWO1bqCvjlA7Sd-EYYJN8Khkabg_-2QioZgdCBMEImrp-DBDaqnrTP0ayp8aqHNTezkscE0-bwCTfd50JQnNVCvyPZOMUmJzCyI6W/s1600/IMG_3161.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiME-trZjDoD8JZNbjiXwwcNJdwKqp-42JBWZZfbxBMWO1bqCvjlA7Sd-EYYJN8Khkabg_-2QioZgdCBMEImrp-DBDaqnrTP0ayp8aqHNTezkscE0-bwCTfd50JQnNVCvyPZOMUmJzCyI6W/s1600/IMG_3161.JPG" height="253" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Once upon a time, before the reign of Reality TV, I was
the star of my own social experiment. The setup reads like the beginning of a joke: </span></span></div>
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<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">What happens when a lowbrow, mid-western young Jewish girl (me), lands a PR job at a posh New York City investment firm … run by the bluest blue
bloods still surviving today … and THEN… gets put in charge of the 80 year-old CEO’s social
calendar? </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I'll tell you what happens: there's a major culture clash. Comfort-zone-wise, it was worse than <i>Wife
Swap</i>. Hilarity ensued.</span></span></div>
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</div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Although I had had plenty of experience planning fundraising
events in my previous job, I had no idea of the mountain of etiquette I'd need to scale in order to organize
this company’s soirees. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I couldn't figure out the rules about how to address
envelopes to Lords and Ladies; where to seat the dinner guests at a formal
dinner party; even placing a stamp on a return envelope became a lesson in
class distinctions. (“If they can’t afford the stamp on the return envelope,
they shouldn’t be attending the event,” I was told.)</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I was reprimanded for wearing blue suit pants, rather than a skirt, to the office. I flubbed the menu for the Board meetings at the 21 Club and
miscounted the guest list for the dinner at LeCirque. And the wine lists! Our CEO
had a very specific idea of what should be served, and I didn’t know my
cabernet from my claret. Thank God for the sommeliers (a word I learned on the
job).</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Then there was the annual trip to the Ascot races and the after
party in London. I planned every detail of the lodgings, food, travel and
entertainment -- long-distance -- for months in advance, but was not invited to cross
the pond with the team. Talk about class distinctions!</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Our grandest event of the year was held the first Tuesday in
December, in conjunction with the lighting of the Rockefeller Center Christmas
Tree. For this party, 200 of New York’s high society hovered above the
festivities taking place in the freezing plaza below, observing the lighting ceremony from the
floor-to-ceiling windows in our office. Dom Perignon flowed as swiftly as the ancient aristocratic blood in our CEO’s veins, beluga caviar disappeared by the tinful, and 24-carat-gold encrusted hors d’oeuvres whirled around the room on gleaming
silver trays. The elite of New York City were dazzled.</span></span></div>
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<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Does it surprise you that my time at the investment firm was brief? Alas, I only regret that it had not been filmed. "The Blue Blood Chronicles" would have made great TV.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I</span></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">t is in this spirit of Gatsby-esque decadence that I
embarked upon this week’s culinary adventure, sponsored by Julia Child and her
featured guest baker, Gale Gand. Our <a href="http://tuesdayswithdorie.wordpress.com/" target="_blank"><i>Tuesdays with Dorie</i></a> project was scallop and pesto “purses”.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The recipe itself was simple enough, but I did visit five
different stores to gather the choicest ingredients. After making the pesto and melting
the butter, it was all about assembly. (But first place the scallop in a strategically lit dramatic pose for the blog photo op.)</span></span><br />
</div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJEYOeysQa1ZfwMikpBAMjYtHUqARyIsZe1mXB2Eqo0a5-bJLDSGjEbCYDx-exq2faEaw7_0gFnbC8FHrcLES9EHRgEnvliQiEOWxz_TtL8lRPJfC_-8N_02A9KecZ5U_xwEU3LRqp0BXL/s1600/IMG_3150.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJEYOeysQa1ZfwMikpBAMjYtHUqARyIsZe1mXB2Eqo0a5-bJLDSGjEbCYDx-exq2faEaw7_0gFnbC8FHrcLES9EHRgEnvliQiEOWxz_TtL8lRPJfC_-8N_02A9KecZ5U_xwEU3LRqp0BXL/s1600/IMG_3150.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">14 minutes in the oven, and the party began. The phyllo/parmesan
dough purses were appropriately buttery, and the scallops inside, dripping with
pesto and garnished with scallions, devolved into an opulent, fleshy indulgence
that inspired sighing and fawning from my honored guests: my 8 and
10 year old. </span></span><br />
</div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We slumped in my worn out Ikea kitchen chairs, decked in our coziest pajamas after a long
sweaty day on the baseball field, happily licking cheese and butter off our
chins. Seating arrangements be damned. The ornate purses were served on white,
Stop and Shop paper napkins, paired with nothing but tap water. There was not an ounce of gold plating to be seen, and yet, it was
the party of the year.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbW99gOuSUJoIfPfXThcfe7l4pjF_kQKjVyB9H3JhfTbijoIZEC3yGY0VGaBcz-w75MrdtRX3Z1evomtxCA6tZHGutBmeoY_h0t2hEE-ekRYu6NUMQdYC6ESSn_KUdpJa0ZhjlpmGg6Wr2/s1600/IMG_3156.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbW99gOuSUJoIfPfXThcfe7l4pjF_kQKjVyB9H3JhfTbijoIZEC3yGY0VGaBcz-w75MrdtRX3Z1evomtxCA6tZHGutBmeoY_h0t2hEE-ekRYu6NUMQdYC6ESSn_KUdpJa0ZhjlpmGg6Wr2/s1600/IMG_3156.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">___________________</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">To see how other bakers from Tuesdays with Dorie fared,
check out their <a href="http://tuesdayswithdorie.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">links here</a>. For the recipe, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Baking-Julia-Savor-Americas-Bakers/dp/0688146570/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1399342036&sr=1-1&keywords=baking+with+julia" target="_blank">buy the book</a>!</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"># # #</span></span></div>
Tammyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05408286714267415521noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-145399566393550388.post-82322047912478937332014-04-01T11:53:00.001-07:002014-04-01T12:24:03.066-07:00Six Signs You’re Turning Into Your Cat<style>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">It was just a matter of time before I submitted to the
supreme will of the Internet and started posting about my cat...
</span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">There’s been a lot of speculation about whether or not pets
take on the personality of their owners, but I think in my case, the reverse is
true.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Slowly but surely, I’m turning into my cat. (But not a
<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Werecat" target="_blank">werecat</a>: those are scary.)</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi0enWCH1P0OUt2a3OOVlChz3al4yVOhCSfXZNzQjCnbAqTxkbrMrfBwKG57RLJBJuDcAcTBUixI55RILFbodOV8bKzXRgkUq4I8WLPpLqoE7EOlScApq5GC17OZKu8XAS9wLUMwC0byZ_/s1600/IMG_2917.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi0enWCH1P0OUt2a3OOVlChz3al4yVOhCSfXZNzQjCnbAqTxkbrMrfBwKG57RLJBJuDcAcTBUixI55RILFbodOV8bKzXRgkUq4I8WLPpLqoE7EOlScApq5GC17OZKu8XAS9wLUMwC0byZ_/s1600/IMG_2917.jpg" height="235" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Let me introduce you to Wolfie: he’s a black, 8-year old, short-haired
domestic who just joined our family a couple of months ago. Wolfie and I spend lots of time in the house alone together, so it’s only natural that
we should influence each other's behavior. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Still, I’m concerned that I might actually be morphing into
a feline. Here’s why:</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">1. <b>During the day,
all I want to do is nap.</b> I’m good for about an hour or two of productive
work – whether that’s exercise or laundry or cooking or writing – and then I’ve
had it. My entire being is yearning (yawning?) for sleep. Just give me half an
hour, and then I’ll be human again. Mostly.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">2. <b>I usually want to
be left alone, unless I need you to scratch my back.</b> I’ll curse a blue
streak at anyone who comes near me when I’m trying to rest, or anyone who –
heaven forbid -- tries to talk to me when I’m watching Idol. Just leave me
alone, thanks. Unless you can reach the Lubriderm over there…</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">3. <b>Dental floss is my
new best friend</b>. Really. I found a new brand, and my gums have never been
cleaner.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">4. <b>I prowl around the
house all night long. </b>Between practicing for Jazzercise classes, scrubbing
the pots, and straightening up after the kids, who has time to sleep? Good
thing I did all that napping during the day. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">5. <b>I’m starting to
crave fish at every meal.</b> This could mean that I’m breaking feline, or it
could just mean that spring has finally arrived and I’m ready to eat lighter
meals. You decide.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">6. <b>My night vision is
getting better all the time.</b> I’m now able to sense the moment before I’m going
to kick the cat in the dark. Somehow, that still doesn’t stop me. And that
stealth laundry basket is another story.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">On Wikipedia, there’s actually a name for the shape-shifting process:
feline <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Therianthropy" target="_blank">therianthropy</a>. If it’s on the Web it must be true, right? </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">What do you think? Should I invest in my own scratching post
and some catnip toys, or should I just stop spending so much time on the Kitty-Interweb
and start interacting with the real world?</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">And what about you? How much do you have in common with <i>your</i> pet? I can’t be the only one who
worries about this kind of thing. Do tell, in the comments below.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">But I'll have to get back to you later. Right now it's time for my nap.</span></span></div>
Tammyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05408286714267415521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-145399566393550388.post-20665845681027394052014-03-26T14:14:00.000-07:002014-03-26T19:57:51.734-07:00Jesus Lives at Comcast<style>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I’m sitting at Panera Bread trying to do my writerly thing,
but it’s almost impossible to concentrate because this lady at a nearby table
is on her cell phone and she’s a yeller. I’m not trying to eavesdrop, but it’s
hard not to listen.
</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">She’s doing some research with a Comcast representative. There’s
lots of talk about monthly rates and cancellation fees. She yeses and uh-huhs a
bit, and I start to think maybe the phone call will be ending soon. Good, maybe
I can get back to the essay I’m supposed to be working on.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">But then the conversation takes a different turn. Apropos of
nothing, the woman says into the mobile, “Can I ask you a question? Are you a
Christian?” </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Remarkably, it appears that the Comcast representative is
indeed a Christian, since the woman on my end responds, “I knew it! Because,
you know, I felt the presence of God!” </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I think about the phrase, “Presence of God.” I have felt the
“Presence of God,” only a few times in my life. I suppose, if I were a true
believer, I’d say I felt the Presence of God the first time I held each of my
children, the first time I heard Beethoven’s Ninth, and the first time I made
love to my husband. Major milestones, all.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">But this woman felt the Presence of her God in an everyday
transaction. Her search for a phone carrier was an extension of her search for
salvation. That’s pretty impressive.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">She continues, “I wasn’t going to call you guys, ‘cause I
already talked to Verizon. I called them first. But something was telling me to
call you, and now I know: it was God! I’ve accepted Jesus Christ as my savior,
and he brought me to you!” The joy and optimism in her voice nearly makes me
gag on my spinach.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">It takes every ounce of my self-control not to look around
to find some sympathetic neighbor at whom I can roll my eyes. Also, I’m
desperate to get a peek at this loony tunes who thinks her savior is with her,
speeding through the invisible telephone wires.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">But I can tell this is just the beginning, so I bide my
time. And now she’s saying, “You know, I was having the worst day, and I’m so
glad I called you. My day was just terrible until now, and now that I know
you’ve accepted Jesus too, my day just got so much better...” </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“…But don’t give the devil an inch,” she warns, “‘cause
he’ll take a mile.”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The easy thing to do would be to laugh. I’m an agnostic – a
“cultural,” barely practicing Jew sitting in a public space listening to a very
loud woman proclaim the glory of her God. But the hard thing to do, the hardest
thing for me, is to stop judging. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I think about this woman’s “terrible day,” and try to
imagine what terrible means to her. It could mean that she spilled coffee on
her blouse and was late for work, or it could mean that her husband left her
and she just got diagnosed with terminal brain cancer. The point is, we never
know how others are struggling. If this woman is having a rough day and this
connection to a stranger has made her life a little more bearable – who am I to
judge?</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Isn’t that what we all need – a sympathetic ear when we’re
feeling down? A tiny connection in this universe of fast-talking strangers? A
belief that maybe there’s a purpose to all the little decisions we make
throughout our day, and throughout our lives? Decisions even as simple as which
company to call up for a quote on phone service?</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">And still, compassion is hard. The rational, ironic,
post-post-modern side of my brain is screaming: oh man, this will make a great story
at book club tomorrow night! But the more honorable side of my brain says Stop.
This is someone’s life. This is important to her. Right now. Don’t presume to
understand her pain or how she could ease it.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Then there’s the Comcast rep: why was he still on the line
with her? A cynic would say he’s going along with anything she wants to hear. He
gets paid on commission after all, and studies show that the longer he keeps a
customer on the line the more likely she is to buy. Maybe this is true, but the
pauses on her side of the conversation are getting longer and longer as she
listens ever more attentively. She seems to have found a soul mate. And I begin
to think, “wow, maybe he really is providing a little comfort to this woman who
is howling in the wilderness. Maybe, just maybe, strangers can be kind to one
another just for the sake of being kind.” I’d like to believe that was true.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">A friend once said to me, in all seriousness, “You make a
great Christian, for a Jew.” What she meant, of course, was that I had acted
like a decent person; a kind person. I don’t even remember what act prompted
that statement, but since my friend is a devout believer, I took her words as the
highest form of compliment. The truth is, we all need to strive for compassion,
especially when that’s not the easy choice. We all need to accept that others
are struggling to make sense of the world. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I’m not always great at showing compassion, but I’m getting
better. I’m trying to be more sensitive to the ways in which people cry out for
help, and I’m trying very very hard not to judge.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Who knows? Maybe this woman yelling into the phone was onto
something. If Jesus himself doesn’t live within the Comcast cable lines,
certainly those lines allowed his spirit to appear at Panera today.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Tammyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05408286714267415521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-145399566393550388.post-57958536880087063692014-03-04T18:59:00.000-08:002014-03-04T18:59:54.683-08:00Scones: A Baking Muse Sings Again<style>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I have very strong opinions when it comes to scones. In the
US, we’ve found many ways to massacre this deceptively simple tea time treat.
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Originally, scones were eaten in Scotland and eventually
found their way to the US via the United Kingdom and Canada. When I refer to
scones, I’m talking about the fully Americanized version. A good American scone
should be medium-density, dry, fairly buttery, and nubby-textured. It can have
a range of flavors, and even a variable amount of sugar, but it really shouldn’t
be round. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">In my quest for the perfect scone, I’ve been lured into
buying, basically, a croissant in triangle form, or a hockey puck with
currants, or what amounts to a giant mound of chocolate chips glued together
with a little butter and sugar. If you enter a bakery and sense that any of
these are in the offerings, exit the store immediately and run for the hills.
Or better yet, run to your refrigerator and pull out a stick of butter to start
making your own. Scones don’t take that long to make, after all. It is almost
always worth the wait to do it better yourself.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">A couple of years ago, I went on a scone-baking bender. I
baked for four consecutive days, trying out a new recipe each day. (For those
who are keeping score, that equals 48 scones in four days for a family of
four.) Eventually my husband had to shut the operation down. And, truth be told, after all that
baking, I’d mastered the art of pressing butter into flour, if not the perfect
scone recipe. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">But lately the muse has been singing her siren song again, and here I
am, obsessively fantasizing about flavor combinations and texture profiles. And
so I’m back in the kitchen. Here’s a recent winner made with buttermilk, figs and orange zest, from <i>Baking with Julia</i>, by contributing baker Marion Cunningham:</span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi664Wxp60-J_PsB5aHL-HzVqTyZV588r2ow4qg2bO28d1v92mPM6SMx553S9762CDIUeiehE92iHPniHh9KrekRPwAg1evPi1hkykeKU0ILGvDPpC-2AwmiERpINdz1ZwH_hLz8lUSEEi2/s1600/IMG_2962.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi664Wxp60-J_PsB5aHL-HzVqTyZV588r2ow4qg2bO28d1v92mPM6SMx553S9762CDIUeiehE92iHPniHh9KrekRPwAg1evPi1hkykeKU0ILGvDPpC-2AwmiERpINdz1ZwH_hLz8lUSEEi2/s1600/IMG_2962.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Since I was taking these to a book group meeting, I opted
for the mini-scone shape (I caved and used a biscuit cutter – inauthentic shape,
gah!). The technique of brushing the scones with extra butter and a dusting of sugar
just before popping them into the oven gave the scones a nice sweet crust, but they were a bit firm from over
baking, so the quest continues. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I’ll report
back when I’ve decoded the ideal scone recipe, or when my husband drags me – flour
sullied and pastry blender flailing – out into the light. Whichever comes
first.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">For the original recipe, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Baking-Julia-Savor-Americas-Bakers/dp/0688146570/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1393956621&sr=1-1&keywords=baking+with+julia">buy
the book</a>. To see how the other bakers in the group fared (some great ideas
here!), visit <a href="https://www.blogger.com/tuesdayswithdorie.wordpress.com">Tuesdays with Dorie</a>.</span></span></div>
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Tammyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05408286714267415521noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-145399566393550388.post-91066307330670561352014-02-12T09:39:00.000-08:002014-02-12T09:39:09.532-08:00What? You've Never Had a Bialy?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVQkhTrL0lzEZZRLyvY4ejyaZK4_qXdul0Wcy8P4OgrOT7qpSZqSweok-lZC2NnR1CH-Lf9lT5SKEIV3T8XASjqTzExApiw5mhEcws71xM45R5WsoKzspPMXkkpct0uMwYmoE8M9yGGLbK/s1600/IMG_2848.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVQkhTrL0lzEZZRLyvY4ejyaZK4_qXdul0Wcy8P4OgrOT7qpSZqSweok-lZC2NnR1CH-Lf9lT5SKEIV3T8XASjqTzExApiw5mhEcws71xM45R5WsoKzspPMXkkpct0uMwYmoE8M9yGGLbK/s1600/IMG_2848.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
Why is it that no one outside the New York metropolitan area seems to know what a Bialy is? Among New Yorkers and Jews everywhere, the bialy is the exalted deep-dish cousin to the plain old NY bagel. Though both originated in Poland, the bialy sports onions right inside the dough, and it's pitted center is filled with sauteed onions and plenty of poppy seeds. I've always preferred these to regular bagels, and now that I know how quick they are to make, I expect they will become a Sunday morning staple in our house.<br />
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This bialy recipe, from <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Baking-Julia-Savor-Americas-Bakers/dp/0688146570" target="_blank">Baking with Julia</a>, was simpler even than making bagels -- it omits the boiling step and bakes for just 10-12 minutes. The recipe calls for a full teaspoon of pepper in the dough, which added tons of flavor, but proved a bit strong. Next time I'll reduce the pepper to just 1/2 tsp. for more balance. But either way you do it, you'll be fine. Just remember to poke holes -- lots and lots of holes -- in your dough before baking, and you're all set. <br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG-99US4h9YwNiQp52MwM_u31FAaTW-69UqMSQf3NDoy_p5IDB3aV69uYV47rw7uk85IYqtRJHNTfehR1xaRNWQA5Z6bC_vVlnwSqmDks7w1ltIky0n1rNiL1758Iphi5MyVp6nv4roGXo/s1600/IMG_2847.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG-99US4h9YwNiQp52MwM_u31FAaTW-69UqMSQf3NDoy_p5IDB3aV69uYV47rw7uk85IYqtRJHNTfehR1xaRNWQA5Z6bC_vVlnwSqmDks7w1ltIky0n1rNiL1758Iphi5MyVp6nv4roGXo/s1600/IMG_2847.jpg" height="320" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bialystock and Bloomin' Onions: first attempt.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"></td><td style="text-align: center;"></td><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSW6SBQ37JNPHf5wjoNhkMyaaMk1tBgEdo5CwVdfTAOo3vYUYZb4EhTepdhkqbiFyVaYb3AXcmgJaohgSGSyAELPughRvFXlM_MhrDjYXvVFhN5YwgrNZ1rIyHczfM2SNsW-VOot0R4HNq/s1600/IMG_2842.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSW6SBQ37JNPHf5wjoNhkMyaaMk1tBgEdo5CwVdfTAOo3vYUYZb4EhTepdhkqbiFyVaYb3AXcmgJaohgSGSyAELPughRvFXlM_MhrDjYXvVFhN5YwgrNZ1rIyHczfM2SNsW-VOot0R4HNq/s1600/IMG_2842.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Poke lots and lots of holes. Or else you'll end up with a big
poof (Which is appropriate for The Producers, but not for a bialy.)</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
In the meantime, you should know that bialys are named for Bialystok, Poland, which of course brings to mind the classic Mel Brooks movie/play,<i> The Producers</i>. Throughout the shaping, baking and serving of these bialys, I couldn't help singing to myself in a high pitched voice, over and over again: "Bialystok and Bloom, Bialystok and Bloom!" (Though I passed on the miniskirt and gogo dancing -- much to my husband's disappointment.) <br />
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Inevitably, the word bialy spins me into a vortex of 1960's movie images involving Nazis, comb-overs, pretzel bras and lederhosen. Thus I feel obliged to take a moment to reflect upon these classic quotes from The Producers. See if you can recall:<br />
<ul>
<li>"I'M HYSTERICAL! I'M HYSTERICAL! ... I'M WET! I'M WET! I'M WET AND I'M HYSTERICAL! ...I'M IN PAIN! I'M IN PAIN AND I'M WET AND I'M STILL
HYSTERICAL!"</li>
<li>"I'm not so sure about this year. I'm supposed to be the Grand Duchess
Anastasia, but I think I look more like the Chrysler Building." </li>
<li>"Hold me, touch me. Hold me, touch me. Where is hold me, touch me?"</li>
<li>"Ulla dance!" </li>
</ul>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVy7HofE2NDLc2rdYZug6cwmN28TVUCwiGPg_7yUuLL8a5l9rZ72S-D99F-M5LjETAPEW2NBtF_cbgrxHrHKJIsGnmyyi1Baaohijz2H4LqUwfv5mM1jYRezxIFAhxDNoGJ_jUcoDlShSU/s1600/IMG_2849.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVy7HofE2NDLc2rdYZug6cwmN28TVUCwiGPg_7yUuLL8a5l9rZ72S-D99F-M5LjETAPEW2NBtF_cbgrxHrHKJIsGnmyyi1Baaohijz2H4LqUwfv5mM1jYRezxIFAhxDNoGJ_jUcoDlShSU/s1600/IMG_2849.JPG" height="284" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Baked bialys, properly poked.</td></tr>
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And of course, in the middle of yet another snowstorm, we could all use a little "<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kHmYIo7bcUw" target="_blank">springtime</a>" pick-me-up. (Go ahead, you know you want to follow the link.)<br />
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For more detailed accounts of the bialy-making experience, visit the other bloggers from <a href="http://tuesdayswithdorie.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Tuesdays with Dorie</a>. For the recipe, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Baking-Julia-Savor-Americas-Bakers/dp/0688146570" target="_blank">buy the book</a>.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE-VDqsWQKDdTjoa8jmKC0Ou0NVd4v0NyjDu_lnousOIEkSQRRIQT7jjcxVkjtTT5eS6YeAWRCyq3LQcaMb5N0qmLYwWlK4GPt0dUWygsSlPBqYrl86AEYtVhHnhdxD1hwMKr7JRGSFRe1/s1600/IMG_2858.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE-VDqsWQKDdTjoa8jmKC0Ou0NVd4v0NyjDu_lnousOIEkSQRRIQT7jjcxVkjtTT5eS6YeAWRCyq3LQcaMb5N0qmLYwWlK4GPt0dUWygsSlPBqYrl86AEYtVhHnhdxD1hwMKr7JRGSFRe1/s1600/IMG_2858.jpg" height="400" width="327" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My favorite phood photo yet!</td></tr>
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<br />Tammyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05408286714267415521noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-145399566393550388.post-67289828003705954082014-01-29T11:46:00.001-08:002014-01-29T11:46:27.609-08:00I Told Myself I’d Never Do It Again<h4>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Linking up with MamaKat's pretty much world-famous <a href="http://www.mamakatslosinit.com/blog/" target="_blank">Writer's Workshop</a> today. </i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;">She was tiny, like me. Curly brown hair, pert nose, eager to
please. She was quiet and timid;
overshadowed by her vivacious big sister. And she stank.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">It’s true, I’ll admit it. Despite regular bathing, my toy
poodle Pookie trailed a constant stench of bodily waste and decay, especially at the
end. But I get ahead of myself.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Pookie was my first pet -- I think she was presented to me when I
was still in diapers. Eventually, I learned to control my bodily functions, but
poor Pookie never did. She was awarded her name, our family’s term for ‘fart’,
during her first days at home, because we quickly realized it would become her
primary form of communication with us. Pooks were her signature party trick;
her calling card; her drafty personal contribution to family conversation. From
the day we met her until the day she died, she was gassy.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">It got worse. Despite our halfhearted attempts to train her,
throughout her life, skinny, nervous little Pookie seemed to prefer to relieve herself on my green shag
rug or in the laundry room, where at least we had a linoleum floor. Inevitably,
the odors, Pepe LePew-like, followed in her wake.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Still, Pookie was my dog, and I loved her unconditionally. She
was my confidant and my playmate. She’d lick my tears when I was sad, and
steady my breathing when I slept. I fed her and brushed her and bathed her;
cleaned up after her many “accidents;” dressed her up in doll clothes; took her for walks – everything you'd expect from a girl and her pup.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Each night we’d drift off to sleep together – me: corpse-like
on my back, fist balled into my hip, Pookie: wound up in the crook of my arm,
resting her doll-sized poodle head on my shoulder. And each morning, I’d find my dog stone asleep at the foot of my bed as I stepped out into a reeking
wet circle on the rug, or worse.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Pookie was 13 years old, and I was a delicate 16, when she began to die. She had been
growing sicker for many months. Her small body was more skeletal than ever.
Her fur had been falling out, and what was left clung to her frame in matted
patches. Most of what she ate she vomited out. After we
found a mess she’d cower in the corner, reduced to a shamed heap of small, shivering
bones. Her body was literally wasting away, as bodies will do. She smelled of
approaching death.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">At last the day came when my parents decided to take Pookie to the vet for a lethal injection. They told me to say goodbye. In the foyer I held my dog close,
cried into her sour hair one last time, and gingerly passed her to my mother.
Pookie, for her part, seemed to know what was up. She didn’t
complain. I’m told that she passed away even before they arrived at the vet.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I was inconsolable after Pookie
died. I lashed out at friends who had teased me about the dog’s filthy habits
and I cried myself to sleep for weeks. I moped around the house and wept in the
bathroom at school. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I knew that I should have been grateful that I had so many
“good years” with her. I should have been happy that I’d lived to the ripe age
of 16 without ever having to say goodbye to someone (something?) I loved. But the
cuts ran deep. Never again, I told myself. I swore that after Pookie broke my heart I’d never again let
myself get attached to a pet.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Yet time moves on, and though there are scars, wounds do
heal. Now, 25 years and two kids later, I am finally opening my home to a new animal. I hope that since Pookie died, I have gained
some wisdom and distance from my pain.
While I am saddened at the thought that my children will have to endure
the same kind of loss that I did, I realize that caring for an animal is a character-building opportunity. It is a chance to learn how to love and care for something beyond ourselves. It teaches responsibility and generosity, patience and sharing. Sooner or later, the suffering will find us. It is how we deal with that suffering that makes us who we are. Better to have loved and lost, and all that.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">If there’s one thing children teach us, it is to open
ourselves to all of life's possibilities – to welcome the joy and the agony, and yes, even the
stink – because in the end, our lives will be richer for it. I know this now. My kids have been lighting the way for years. I think I am finally ready to follow.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">So welcome, Wolfie the cat, to your new home. Let me show
you where we’ll keep the litter box…</span></span></div>
Tammyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05408286714267415521noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-145399566393550388.post-5575824220305866792014-01-24T13:37:00.002-08:002014-01-24T13:42:25.034-08:00No Country for Old Bread<style>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>With apologies to </i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sailing_to_Byzantium"><i>William Butler Yeats</i></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">That is no country for old bread. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The fresh in one another’s mouths, the crumbs on lips</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Those dying generations – at their crunch,</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The focaccia-loaves, the ciabatta-crowded shelves,</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Boule, bun, brioche, commend all summers' brunch,</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Whatever is risen, baked and yeasty smells.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Caught in that sensual music all neglect</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Monuments of stale rye imperfect.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">An aged bread is but a paltry thing,</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">A tattered coat upon a stick, unless</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">For every tatter in its mortal dress </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">It finds new life in a cubed refresh.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Once out of nature I shall ever take</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Such a form as true bakers bake,</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">And turn this bread to mush</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">With eggs and cheese and other slush.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">And set it upon a wooden board to sing</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The praises of a bread pudding.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">___________________________________________ </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">This week’s Tuesday’s with Dorie <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Baking-Julia-Savor-Americas-Bakers/dp/0688146570/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1389987642&sr=1-1&keywords=baking+with+julia"><i>Baking with Julia</i></a> project, Country
Bread, sat on my counter like a Byzantine stone monument until I finally turned it into a savory bread
pudding with spinach and a variety of cheeses. (Basic pudding recipe care of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Nick-Malgieris-Bread-Delicious-Recipes/dp/1906868743/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1389987763&sr=1-1&keywords=nick+malgieri">Nick
Malgieri</a>.) Once the “tattered coat” had a new form, it was commended by
all. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Forgive the terrible florid poetry. I never did understand
meter. Please check out the original “<a href="http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/20310">Sailing to Byzantium”</a>
here. And see the other <a href="http://tuesdayswithdorie.wordpress.com/2014/01/14/lyl-country-bread/#comments">TWD
baker’s blogs</a> to learn more about this passable, if not immortally
memorable, bread. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
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<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>Tammyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05408286714267415521noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-145399566393550388.post-1911765238567415392014-01-09T18:42:00.001-08:002014-01-09T18:42:39.511-08:00Well What Would You Call Them?
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqnIJzdZjmNOxsbYh4-IVAlzz9mBgIJXW4stmDDHS91Gw0KrzSA7Tpfep9jHI1gTRXEtdl0uAGM80keTfTXeP41TMX71Fr_LoYJhJGU0_tK0dej1pGN8bUjZt7dTgb2G94Sg6eDDxBxFHd/s1600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqnIJzdZjmNOxsbYh4-IVAlzz9mBgIJXW4stmDDHS91Gw0KrzSA7Tpfep9jHI1gTRXEtdl0uAGM80keTfTXeP41TMX71Fr_LoYJhJGU0_tK0dej1pGN8bUjZt7dTgb2G94Sg6eDDxBxFHd/s1600/1.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Dorie Greenspan always gives her confections clever names
like “The Cake That Got Me Fired” and “<a href="http://food52.com/recipes/25372-pierre-herme-dorie-greenspan-s-world-peace-cookies" target="_blank">World Peace Cookies</a>,” not to mention my
favorite name ever: “Chocolate Spice Quickies" (all these recipes can be found in <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Baking-Home-Yours-Dorie-Greenspan/dp/0618443363/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1389311733&sr=1-1&keywords=baking+from+my+home+to+yours" target="_blank">this masterful cookbook)</a>.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">So in honor of Dorie, I’m in search of a name for the
cookies I made tonight, which were a version of her “<a href="http://doriegreenspan.com/2009/03/chocolate-chunkers-the-cookies-that-didnt-get-me-fired.html#more" target="_blank">Chocolate Chunkers</a>.”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Please leave your vote for one of the following
names in the comments section:<b> </b></span></span></div>
<ol>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>National Bittersweet Chocolate Day Cookies</b>. January 10, 2014 is officially <a href="http://www.daysoftheyear.com/days/bittersweet-chocolate-day/" target="_blank">National Bittersweet Chocolate Day</a>. I'm convinced that these holidays exist so food bloggers have something to write about. Always.<b> </b></span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Bake Your Hormones Happy Cookies.</b> A great deal of chocolate is involved with these cookies.
Bittersweet, unsweetened, semi-sweet, cocoa powder, and white chocolate if you’ve got
it (and you count it). This much chocolate should cure pretty much anything that ails you. </span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Spotless Pantry Cookies</b>. No white chocolate? No peanuts or pecans? No
worries. I used walnuts, extra raisins, and extra bittersweet chocolate instead. Use what you've got, then take advantage of the empty shelves to clean the pantry before you restock.<b><br /></b></span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Hit and Run Accident Cookies.</b> Don't fret: Everyone is safe, and it’ll be much easier to find my
car amid all the other Toyotas in the Stop and Shop parking lot now. That’s all you
need to know. But after you file the police report, talk to your third-rate insurer, pacify your husband, and call your mother, it's time to engage in a little bake therapy. <a href="http://doriegreenspan.com/2009/03/chocolate-chunkers-the-cookies-that-didnt-get-me-fired.html#more" target="_blank">This cookie recipe</a> will do the trick.</span></span><br />
<br />
</li>
</ol>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh2B0e1vZDT55iTR0hxV-vtcYvF-QSPXZgUUFSmvt3nDjeWBczBB2ydrPjOhgvlOFzX7iy5-y3MlFTBFgSHEEhneEstbCkuyEh6x7HBP3xmN4jdxWYmAGX5kl8ZdrguFOg6feI3Z5Su6PX/s1600/IMG_2813.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh2B0e1vZDT55iTR0hxV-vtcYvF-QSPXZgUUFSmvt3nDjeWBczBB2ydrPjOhgvlOFzX7iy5-y3MlFTBFgSHEEhneEstbCkuyEh6x7HBP3xmN4jdxWYmAGX5kl8ZdrguFOg6feI3Z5Su6PX/s1600/IMG_2813.jpg" height="248" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Don't like any of these naming options? Feel free to share your own ideas. And if you're local, I'm happy to provide samples so you can make an informed decision. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">All votes will be tallied and a winner chosen sometime before National Bittersweet Chocolate Day 2015. Thanks for playing!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>Tammyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05408286714267415521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-145399566393550388.post-14288052341160028302013-12-18T09:12:00.001-08:002013-12-18T09:12:12.416-08:00As You Wish: A Party from the Pantry<style>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Be ready. Stock the fridge and the pantry with big, happy,
wintry foods that set up quick and settle deep (beany-beery chili,
corn chips and hearty veggies, a few good breads and cheeses). Make sure you’ve
got plenty of firewood, some beer and wine. Pull out the folding table, extra
chairs, some board games, plastic utensils. Nothing fancy. All you need now are
one or two very good friends and a miracle.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">With almost no planning and a great deal of luck this
weekend, I conjured such a miracle in the middle of a storm of foul moods and
foul weather. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Every December my husband’s impending birthday seems to suck
him down into the Pit Of Despair. He’ll shackle himself with worry over possible ideas
for celebrating. He’ll list, and then methodically reject, all kinds of outings,
meals, cakes, and general family merriment. He will mope around the house for
days, terrorized by the threat of another year passing with nothing to show
for it.</span></span></div>
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</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I don’t want a party,” he’ll declare. But then, inevitably,
about 18 hours before the big day, he will realize that only being around
friends and family will cure him of his annual birthday blues. </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNOzp7W85uJnIMZmxPJlNVRtKlFFFJ0_Tgx4j7LmX2iejxgx8s7Ci-sn89XMZYbn0VBHyb_r3dEZ8l6b4966AmlAwal34pNG9ujR9jB0nL1SUgNkhAvO37JSgSrE-dcNIdI_PHC41I7f6E/s1600/76996.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNOzp7W85uJnIMZmxPJlNVRtKlFFFJ0_Tgx4j7LmX2iejxgx8s7Ci-sn89XMZYbn0VBHyb_r3dEZ8l6b4966AmlAwal34pNG9ujR9jB0nL1SUgNkhAvO37JSgSrE-dcNIdI_PHC41I7f6E/s320/76996.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I’ve spent the last twenty years building up an immunity to his
birthday malaise, so I refused to be sucked into his Fire Swamp of drama.
Instead, like the raspy old Albino, I set about nursing my poor husband back to
his pre-birthday health.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Thankfully this year the winter weather predicted for his
big day forced the cancellation of many regularly scheduled activities, and our
neighbors were feeling a bit restless. So when we summoned them over on the
morning of the event, they gratefully agreed to storm our castle for a few
hours of merry-making.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We spread out a lavish buffet of mis-matched munchies. Ben happily
chunked together a pot of his famous turkey chili while I steamed up some
ciabatta (<a href="http://www.americastestkitchen.com/recipes/4666-ciabatta">recipe
here</a>). There was no time for cake, so our friends brought a big tray of homemade
holiday cookies. (Even with no chocolate coating, they went down easy.) </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Brave
wet friends tramped in, dragging dominoes and soggy children behind them.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Wine flowed, fire crackled, sarcasm reigned. Songs were
sung, games were played, and no one bothered to keep score. My husband was
revived. Love and laughter had conquered all. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Ironically, this is the second consecutive year that we’ve thrown
an impromptu birthday party for my husband. I should have known it would come
to this.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Next year, I’ll be ready for my true love’s annual drama,
but still I’ll wait for him to figure out the solution. Just when he’s almost dead
from the stress of facing another birthday, I’ll remind him that we simply need
to take stock of our assets, then call in the reinforcements. With my brains,
his chili, and maybe a holocaust cloak thrown in for good measure, we’ll be
prepared to be spontaneous.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="border: medium none; padding: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">As you wish, dear, As you wish.</span></span><br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="border: medium none; padding: 0in;">
<i>(photo credits: MGM)</i></div>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Ben’s Turkey Chili:</b></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b> A Loose Guideline</b></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">2 lbs ground turkey</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">5-6 peppers (sweet red and green, banana, chili – whatever
combination you like)</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">6 cloves garlic</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">2 cups celery</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">6 dried ancho peppers, reconstituted and seeds removed</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">28-oz can of crushed tomato</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">1-2 bottles of dark, malty beer</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">4 tablespoons cumin</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">3-4 cans of beans (pinto, black, roman, cannelloni –
whatever combination you like)</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Garnishes: chopped cilantro, tomatoes, shredded cheddar,
chopped jalepeno peppers, variety of hot sauces, sour cream, etc.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">In a large skillet, brown turkey and remove to a large pot.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">In the same skillet, sauté peppers, onion, celery and garlic
until soft. Add this to the turkey.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Place dried anchos in blender with a little water and grind.
Dump this into the pot with meat and vegetables.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Add beer, tomatoes, cumin and beans. Throw in a little water, until pot is 1/3 full</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Bring to a boil, then simmer for 30 minutes. Taste. Add more
water if necessary, or replace with beer.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Add salt and pepper to taste. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Simmer for another 30 minutes or all day until guests start
getting cranky.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Serve warm with fresh bread and allow guests to garnish to their hearts’
delight.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Tammyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05408286714267415521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-145399566393550388.post-56045305919369587482013-11-19T12:24:00.002-08:002013-11-20T18:02:21.675-08:00And May the Cookies Be Ever In Your FlavorIf you understood the reference above, then you need to see <a href="http://www.buzzfeed.com/ellievhall/you-have-to-watch-this-amazing-sesame-street-hunger-games-pa" target="_blank">this hilarious Sesame Street video</a> that's been circulating in the media. <br />
<br />
For those of you who are fans of young adult fiction, or fans of the <a href="http://tuesdayswithdorie.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Tuesdays with Dorie </a>project, I offer you this, a parachute from our sponsor, Rick Katz's Double Chocolate Cookie:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqpZsqgvTuHzKjb35vSlcw731WHOmXE0C6POhSY8rET17AfKWSZUCVNQTd2Pho2m9IL8GV2QBzOMR6rdgGrHayIBP-ntIJunWCpuatsJdG0plxSIu2t8bg0CsUFyeKn-8W1oi5dGjjOQrw/s1600/Slide1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqpZsqgvTuHzKjb35vSlcw731WHOmXE0C6POhSY8rET17AfKWSZUCVNQTd2Pho2m9IL8GV2QBzOMR6rdgGrHayIBP-ntIJunWCpuatsJdG0plxSIu2t8bg0CsUFyeKn-8W1oi5dGjjOQrw/s400/Slide1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
Alas, these particular cookies were <i>not </i>in my favorite flavor. (I guess I'm too Finnicky.) I've never been much of a chocolate lover. But I love those who love chocolate, so this project was worthwhile for their sakes. Here's what the Master of The House (the MOTH) had to say about it, after a long stressful day at the office:<br />
<br />
<i>"</i>(When I tasted the cookie...) <i>I was transported to one of my favorite places—<a href="http://www.thechocolateroombrooklyn.com/">The Chocolate Room</a>
</i>(disclaimer, we know the owners)<i>. Now with two locations in Brooklyn, The Chocolate Room serves fantastic desserts, and we don’t get there nearly as often as we would
like. Tammy's cookie was tasty and soft <a href="http://www.archwaycookies.com/products/dutch-cocoa/">(much richer and chunkier than
store bought),</a> but the flavor and texture was not why eating it made me
think of the cafe. </i><br />
<br />
<i>Taking a bite of that cookie was a moment for me to close my
eyes, savor, breathe deep and then be transported to my “happy place.” The cookie triggered memories of being with friends and
family, enjoying a treat made with love, and being in a safe place like The Chocolate Room. Nothing but
smiles with chocolate-coated teeth. I’ll brush and floss later.</i>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Tammy, and her cooking, often do this for me. She can make me forget about the stressful side of my career. The challenging work, the
endless hours, the long commute, the non-stop environment of the office -- these things all
melt away when I get home and there is food—made with love—on the table.
Sometimes, I’ll admit, that feeling lasts just a moment before the kids
climb on me, the blackberry buzzes, and the stack of bills catches my eye. But
I have that moment."</i></div>
<br />
He's a real gem, that MOTH. This alliance is one I plan to keep.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, the Thanksgivukkah preparation continues at a furious pace, so our time together is brief. Tick tock!<br />
<br />
Check out more bloggers' versions on this double chocolate cookie <a href="http://tuesdayswithdorie.wordpress.com/2013/11/19/lyl-double-chocolate-cookies/" target="_blank">here</a>. For the recipe, from guest baker Rick Katz, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Baking-Julia-Savor-Americas-Bakers/dp/0688146570/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1384891725&sr=1-1&keywords=baking+with+julia" target="_blank">buy the book</a>. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Tammyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05408286714267415521noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-145399566393550388.post-90746527063496671262013-11-12T10:35:00.000-08:002013-11-12T10:35:12.947-08:00My Grandmother's Teeth<style>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2ogJtwqZPanSM2U1KjC6CNE5hmib_j7og4AxfpOeS_aQ7sLnyQkAptcftlI5fEcW1o5vP4KgPVPpwW20sfJmIwQIrtcDU-iIAtlBNqtcNQBwv4ygUpU_bia6qNMPLYdZdOGH5nacZgff1/s1600/IMG_2733.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2ogJtwqZPanSM2U1KjC6CNE5hmib_j7og4AxfpOeS_aQ7sLnyQkAptcftlI5fEcW1o5vP4KgPVPpwW20sfJmIwQIrtcDU-iIAtlBNqtcNQBwv4ygUpU_bia6qNMPLYdZdOGH5nacZgff1/s320/IMG_2733.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Images of my grandmother stick to me like tiny crumbs from yesterday’s
lunch. The images are tenacious but incomplete, telling an imperfect story.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I remember:</span></span></div>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> <i>A faded
bowling ball bag in the trunk of her sedan.</i> (Yellow/green? Leather handles?
Circa 1972?)</span></span>
</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>Grandma clutching
her purse to her bosom in terror as we walked through Grand Central Terminal at
rush hour.</i></span></span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>Thick warm
arms around me, snuggled in bed as she recited </i>The Story of Tammy<i> for the
thousandth time. </i>(“First there was Grandpa Alfred and he married Grandma
Ann. Then they had two boys… and then, and then…”)</span></span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>Drinking
coffee together at the Pizza Plant restaurant in Buffalo, where she met my
fiancé for the first time.</i> He was a fellow New Yorker, so Grandma’s blessing
was granted immediately. “Just don’t hit her,” she warned on her way out. </span></span></li>
</ul>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">But the image that recurs most often, with the most clarity,
is a mouthful of teeth. Perhaps because I spent so much time watching her talk
when I was small, those teeth remain for me the most fascinating memory of my
grandmother. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Off-white, not bright, but impeccably aligned and enormous, Grandma’s
teeth demanded attention. Even with her unusually large mouth, the teeth seemed
too big for her face. They took up so much room that there was little space for
anything else.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">What’s more, the teeth seemed to be in constant motion – punctuating
stories and clacking opinions incessantly. If her mouth was empty, the teeth made
a pleasant little click as she talked. If her mouth was full – which never
deterred her from voicing an opinion – your only option was to duck and cover. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Yet even under the constant threat of a bagel/spit ambush, I loved spending time with my grandmother. With her, I was smart. I
was funny. I was interesting. With her, I was special. So I ignored her table manners. I tried to avert my eyes from
that mouthful of oversized teeth, simultaneously working their way through a
meal and a treatise on my father’s naughty childhood antics. No matter what was
in her mouth, Grandma Ann was the best storyteller in our family. So of course I
looked forward to our time together.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Imagine my surprise when, one fateful sleepover, I wandered
into her bathroom and found Grandma’s teeth fizzing away in a cup of water. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Grandma was unfazed. She calmly informed me that her teeth
were false. Her dentist husband had replaced her real teeth years before, and
now she had to clean her dentures every night in a glass of water with
mysterious bubbles. “It helps with the coffee stains,” she explained.
Eventually I got used to the idea of Grandma having false teeth. But when I slept at her
house, I still kept myself far away from the bathroom after bedtime. A set of
teeth with no mouth was just plain creepy.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">But as it turns out, a mouth with no teeth is far worse.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I visited my Grandmother for the last time when she was on
her deathbed. She was unconscious and breathing irregularly. We knew that she
would be gone in a matter of days or even hours, and yet when I saw her, my
first thought was how strange and shrunken her mouth looked without its dentures.
I remember looking for the cup of teeth in her hospital room, thinking that if
I could just put them in her mouth for her, maybe she would wake up and start
spitting at me again. Then maybe if I could hunt down a bagel or a good Jewish
rye, she’d perk up and start yelling at my uncle or my father, leaving shrapnel
of crumbs in her wake.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">But of course that didn’t happen, and my grandmother’s death
came with the wistfulness and relief of knowing that she had had a long life,
well lived. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I often try to revive my memories of her, to mold them into
a fuller version of this woman who was my father's mother. In my imperfect catalog of the past, it seems that Grandma
Ann and I shared bagels together at least weekly, and her first choice,
inevitably, would be the pumpernickel. As a child I didn’t understand the
appeal of that flavor. I preferred the sweeter, and decidedly less authentic,
cinnamon raisin bagels. (Perhaps I already was traumatized by Grandma’s
persistent spittle.) </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">But now that I’m an older, wiser Jewish mama myself, I
appreciate the rich, chocolaty, earthy allure of a good pumpernickel. This week's <i>Baking With Julia</i> recipe for pumpernickel bread incorporates prune lekvar, caraway, chocolate and rye – making this bread
worthy of any Jewish Grandma’s approval. As I sink my own teeth into it, I’ll be remembering Grandma Ann and her big
beautiful dentures.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div style="-moz-border-bottom-colors: none; -moz-border-left-colors: none; -moz-border-right-colors: none; -moz-border-top-colors: none; border-color: -moz-use-text-color -moz-use-text-color windowtext; border-image: none; border-style: none none solid; border-width: medium medium 1.5pt; padding: 0in 0in 1pt;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="border: medium none; padding: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">But I’ll still try to chew with
my mouth closed.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="border: medium none; padding: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
</div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Thanks once again to Julia Child, Lauren Groveman and Dorie
Greenspan, for giving us another opportunity to bake up memories. This bread is complex, dense, and worth all the fuss – even the elaborate sling-rising process.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">For more information about the TWD project, check out the
links to our <a href="http://www.blogger.com/tuesdayswithdorie.wordpress.com">fabulous other bakers</a>.
For a perfect poem about Grandmas and their pumpernickel, check out <a href="http://saucygander.wordpress.com/2013/11/05/pumpernickel-poems-and-party-season/" target="_blank">this post</a>.
For the recipe, I hope you’ll <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Baking-Julia-Savor-Americas-Bakers/dp/0688146570/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1384280535&sr=1-1&keywords=baking+with+julia" target="_blank">buy the book</a>. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Tammyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05408286714267415521noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-145399566393550388.post-48365796643397209302013-10-17T17:00:00.000-07:002013-10-17T17:00:01.465-07:00This One Wouldn't Let Me Go<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3lsPkjg3Hgx-D7sRxz9b4bOqf4iIcalvFank3enb8Vx40T21Fu55RhyphenhyphenmYq_C1Z2cL6_3memllvA-2cZYFHdnAbKcN0n6rkufeyjSODtWwAhOWfK3ch06KHjWD7ztkp1szCYuLkuUW9d-q/s1600/Raspberries05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3lsPkjg3Hgx-D7sRxz9b4bOqf4iIcalvFank3enb8Vx40T21Fu55RhyphenhyphenmYq_C1Z2cL6_3memllvA-2cZYFHdnAbKcN0n6rkufeyjSODtWwAhOWfK3ch06KHjWD7ztkp1szCYuLkuUW9d-q/s320/Raspberries05.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">photo source: en.wikipedia.org</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Did you ever have an idea that grabs hold and won't let go until you pay attention? That's what happened to me a few weeks ago, when I was driving to pick up the kids from school.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I was thinking about the delicate process of raspberry picking, and how it parallels the ripening process of adolescence. This idea came, as ideas will, at a very inconvenient time. But like a needy child at bedtime, it refused to loose it's grip on me until I spent some time with it.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">So with urgency, in my car in the school parking lot, with parents and children hustling past me, I pounded out a short essay on my laptop. That night, I sent the piece out into the world before I could lose my nerve.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I'm happy to report that the parenting magazine, <i>Mamalode</i>, is publishing my essay on its website today. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://mamalode.com/categories/essays/" target="_blank">Head over to Mamalode</a> to read about how we're coping with this season of ripening, but not yet ripe.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></span></span>
Tammyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05408286714267415521noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-145399566393550388.post-36087366877326174212013-10-09T06:24:00.001-07:002013-10-09T06:28:30.390-07:00I can’t believe I used to be embarrassed by this.<style>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">For the first six months that I was a Jazzercise instructor,
I was too embarrassed to tell anyone. I wasn’t sure how my family and friends
would react. I knew my loved ones would have questions, whether or not they
gave voice to them:
</span></span></div>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>What is Jazzercise
anyway? Isn’t that a fad from the 80s? The one with the legwarmers?</i></span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Why aren’t you focused
on getting a <b>real</b> job?</i></span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>You’re spastic,
remember?</i></span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>You’re too fat to be a
fitness instructor! </i>(This was a variation on an old theme from my mother,
who once claimed I was “too fat to faint.”)</span></span></li>
</ul>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Still, I’d known I wanted to get up on that stage from my very
first class. The dance-fitness program’s combination of theatricality, fun, and
physical intensity appealed to me. Regular classes had already improved my
endurance, energy and fitness level. Instructors often commented on how I
smiled through every class. It was obvious that I enjoyed the workout. With its
endless variety of moves and super current music, I was never bored. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">But I was ready for the next challenge.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I had been immersed in the world of nursing and diapers and
mommy groups for five years after quitting my corporate job, and I was in no
hurry to return to an office setting. With the kids in preschool and a husband
supporting us, the timing seemed right. So after many, many weeks of testing
and training, I finally became a Jazzercise franchisee. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Becoming an instructor was a form of reinvention for me,
though not in ways I’d expected. I lost more weight and toned muscle, of
course. But I also began to feel more graceful and walk with better posture. I
smiled more than ever – on and off the stage. I gained confidence as a public
speaker. I led my children in nightly dance parties. I gave myself permission to
act goofy. I made lots of mistakes on stage in front of large groups of women.
And as my customers forgave me, I learned to forgive myself. Perhaps most
surprisingly, I began to see myself as a role model for my kids, my husband,
and my customers.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Slowly I gained more confidence in my abilities, and began
telling family and friends about Jazzercise. I corrected their ideas about
legwarmers and leotards, and encouraged them to check out a class. But by the
time I got around to sharing my news with family and friends, it no longer
mattered what they thought of me. I was hooked.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Now, six years later, when I’m on that stage four times a
week, I am still a version of my former self. That spastic, nerdy girl comes
out when I occasionally flub a move, or when I make a geeky reference to Pi Day
or Glee and I’m greeted by blank stares.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">But I’m also a new, better version myself. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">On that stage, I am a performer, a mentor, a sadist, a
cheerleader, a therapist, a conspirator, a ringleader, a troublemaker, a choral
director, a friend, and I’m the host
of the hottest party in town. I’m good at what I do, and I’m thrilled to share
it with others. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">If I can make just one other person smile and sweat with me,
I’ll have done my part in making the world a kinder, healthier place. How many
people can say this about their jobs, or even their pastimes? </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">These days, I’m not so shy about telling people that I teach
Jazzercise. It is not everything that I am or all that I do, but I hope it
always will be a part of me. This version of myself – the confident, strong,
flexible and charming Tammy that comes out on stage and occasionally spills
over into the rest of my life – this is a version that I’m happy to keep
around.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></span>Tammyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05408286714267415521noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-145399566393550388.post-91646493801176548782013-10-01T10:34:00.000-07:002013-10-01T10:44:26.371-07:00X Cookies: Coulda Woulda Shoulda<style>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8hjsPORxXbQzEEUQDYAdjKuIvU57OivrLbwq5gaz5tHW2w15HhW6syeQT_Eg0mtAvJKbLOC2BlaAWUMd9xqpyj7YYceMC_7q09hUbrNcukUZQ6-ZJGrwomiJlQhJvq78Eci11wnVRL2sp/s1600/IMG_2658.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8hjsPORxXbQzEEUQDYAdjKuIvU57OivrLbwq5gaz5tHW2w15HhW6syeQT_Eg0mtAvJKbLOC2BlaAWUMd9xqpyj7YYceMC_7q09hUbrNcukUZQ6-ZJGrwomiJlQhJvq78Eci11wnVRL2sp/s320/IMG_2658.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">X Cookies, our latest adventure with the <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Baking-Julia-Savor-Americas-Bakers/dp/0688146570/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1380646830&sr=1-1&keywords=baking+with+julia" target="_blank"><i>Baking With Julia</i> </a>cookbook project, look
very impressive. This “grownup fig newton” could have been a showstopper of a
cookie.
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">If only.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">If only I’d picked up the 1/3 measuring cup instead of the
½, when measuring the sugar for the dough.</span></span></li>
</ul>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">If only, when I opened the jar of apricot jam that I’d
bought THAT DAY, I hadn’t found this:</span></span> <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR70FcE9IRf_N922zz1zhGGQSxW8GhN2Ut4Bjpf1aTOM9m1PHxYASVO3TgAiIeAr0pbxC36GNBVdYTOCMG_Ukc-79cT93yGSYKEWCqZG_C-S8Ho-0Jx_9PiiCTCGyVVWwZOlhgfaUDacf-/s1600/IMG_2664.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR70FcE9IRf_N922zz1zhGGQSxW8GhN2Ut4Bjpf1aTOM9m1PHxYASVO3TgAiIeAr0pbxC36GNBVdYTOCMG_Ukc-79cT93yGSYKEWCqZG_C-S8Ho-0Jx_9PiiCTCGyVVWwZOlhgfaUDacf-/s320/IMG_2664.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don't worry, I didn't use it. But the filing was definitely lacking something as a result.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></span></li>
</ul>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">If only I hadn’t substituted candied orange peel for a
splash of fresh orange juice. </span></span></li>
</ul>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">If only I’d remembered the egg wash before I rolled up the
filling, and perhaps trimmed the edges of my dough.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFhoi_wPHGNYHArqY3DMw6dNEWG4PFShz-AQGJ3lwLtaWDZtMrYnn5GYodK4VE8MRo7Q-6sG3_inyveHmd-SaGsVInCOsOFQxkDplAq6jwcXrAXwiNq96Gbs7gFQ0y1wN4Yp4fdwC09AAy/s1600/IMG_2652.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFhoi_wPHGNYHArqY3DMw6dNEWG4PFShz-AQGJ3lwLtaWDZtMrYnn5GYodK4VE8MRo7Q-6sG3_inyveHmd-SaGsVInCOsOFQxkDplAq6jwcXrAXwiNq96Gbs7gFQ0y1wN4Yp4fdwC09AAy/s320/IMG_2652.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I know, there's nothing attractive about this photo either. But you need to see how the sausage was made.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></span></li>
</ul>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Alas, the recipes in this cookbook are not about cutting corners. Lazy cooks
are rarely rewarded in Julia’s world. And really, can you blame her?</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I’m hopeful that my other <a href="http://tuesdayswithdorie.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">TWD</a><a href="http://tuesdayswithdorie.wordpress.com/" target="_blank"> friends</a> fared better than I
did. If only the recipe didn’t take me FOUR HOURS to complete, I’d try it
again. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">If you’re game, I’m
sure X cookies could be addictively delicious. You can find this recipe, from guest baker Nick Malgieri, in <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Baking-Julia-Savor-Americas-Bakers/dp/0688146570/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1380646830&sr=1-1&keywords=baking+with+julia" target="_blank">the book</a>, or a slightly
altered one on <a href="http://www.nickmalgieri.com/recipes/x-cookies/" target="_blank">Nick’s website</a>.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">In other news from my kitchen: I made this cool marbled rye, from Peter Reinhart's <a href="http://www.abebooks.com/Bread-Bakers-Apprentice-Peter-Reinhart-Ten/10496563840/bd?cm_mmc=gmc-_-gmc-_-PLA-_-v01" target="_blank"><i>The Breadbaker's Apprentice</i></a>:</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfVdyYzi48LkPGeufLQ73kmBL-PuIctCVvfluyOdbNG2jJVXt6vSMBf1Rh1utYv40bJygA-P9YXt85yOp8Bm1XG5c5CXX4wnFWRkwKeIygAApjHgy9sW-nVlVbvWK7EtG16CuL_PKd8XsT/s1600/IMG_2650.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfVdyYzi48LkPGeufLQ73kmBL-PuIctCVvfluyOdbNG2jJVXt6vSMBf1Rh1utYv40bJygA-P9YXt85yOp8Bm1XG5c5CXX4wnFWRkwKeIygAApjHgy9sW-nVlVbvWK7EtG16CuL_PKd8XsT/s320/IMG_2650.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Except I should have been a little gentler with the shaping,
because I think I pressed out most of the air in the dough, and this made the loaf a bit bricky. </span></span></div>
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</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Some weeks, I should just get out of the kitchen. Some weeks, I should just purchase my baked goods from a professional.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Coulda woulda shoulda.</span></span></div>
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Tammyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05408286714267415521noreply@blogger.com9