Notes from Val's Kitchen

The Modern Art of Composting

2011-11-01T05:57:00.008-04:00

It seems that now everyone not only knows about compost, they are all doing it, too. In homes, schools, restaurants they are dumping decomposable leftovers into buckets and turning them into nutrients for the earth. But I'm not sure anyone would call it an art form.
The idea began when sister's friend, Mark B. came over our house to rehearse for the Falmouth High play they were both "starring" in. Mark was a jokester and made me, the younger sister laugh. More importantly, he let me in on the joke, which I thought was a pretty big deal at the time- still do. I remember him coming home with Karyn after school, into our kitchen through the back door, both of them starving and looking for something to eat before they went upstairs to practice their lines. Mark hungrily looked into the big silver mixing bowl that sat on the corner of the counter top. He may have even taken a big whiff before he realized...What was it, trash? He looked quizzically at me and Karyn.
"It's compost!" I shrieked and fell into a fit of giggles as only a 13 year old girl can do.
"Compost?" Mark said. Back in the early 1980's, it wasn't very popular to throw your scraps in a bucket to make mulch instead of throwing them along with everything else into the landfill. What a weird thing to do!
Val came in and calmly explained why banana peels, egg shells, and used tea bags were taking up space on our kitchen counter. I'm sure she explained the benefits of the seemingly insane process while we kids made fun. As always,she offered everyone a delicious homemade snack then ferried me away so that my older sister could have some privacy with her friend.
Mark declared the pile of discarded food scraps, "Modern Art" and insisted on inspecting the contents of our compost bowl every time he entered the house. It became our running joke. That somehow what was trash could actually end up in a high end gallery where someone might pay large sums of money to own this work was very funny to us. We thought this idea to be very "punk rock". After all, it was the era of Blondie, the Clash and the Sex Pistols, all anti establishment heroes. Who knows where Johnny Rotten really got his name?
On Sunday mornings, when my father comes over for breakfast, he takes my overflowing hot pink compost pail and dumps the coffee grounds, and vegetable ends into our larger receptacle outside. As he wipes out the pail and lines it with newspaper (his own technique) to be filled again, he asks, "What did Karyn's friend, Mark call the compost?"
I always laugh when I'm reminded and say, "Oh yeah, He called it Modern Art!"

Late Night with Chocolate Milk

2011-06-14T06:07:00.018-04:00

My adorable,sleeping 5 year old son drooled all over the clean sheets on my bed. Not only did he wake me up with a loud thump and screaming wail, when he managed to fall out of bed at 1:30am, he pleaded to come into my bed and since my nerves were so rattled, I agreed. This little peanut then proceeded to hog my half and then his father added some loud snoring to ensure that I would not get back to any sort of restful sleep. I was driven to the couch downstairs. I knew that turning on the TV would mean I would be up for at least 2 more hours before I would finally drop of to 15 minutes of blissful sleep before my alarm went off.
When I need to use the TV as a sleeping aid, it's important to select the right show.
One that will not quite hold my attention so that I can actually drift off. The subject matter must be light but, again, in no way engaging- not too funny where I find myself listening to the jokes and absolutely no competition shows that will suck me in since I have a need to know who finally wins. Certainly nothing disturbing or jarring to add to my building middle-of-the-night anxiety. (You would be surprised at what kinds of freaky programing is on in the wee hours.) I continued to flip through the channels, squinting my dry eyes to read the digital information at the bottom of the screen. I finally settled on something mindless and burrowed down into the couch pillows when I realized that I was into it, I was actually watching... Why did I care what Paris Hilton was doing? AARGH! My fail safe, Food Network does no good either. "Cup Cake Wars" is not only a competition, it's arguably the worst show in their line up which causes me to be annoyed rather than helping me to get any shut eye. So I continued to flip, flip, flip, there are a million channels but I had trouble finding a suitable sleep aid. Finally! "St. Elmo's Fire", a truly horrible, classic movie from the 1980's featuring the "Brat Pack" that I probably saw in the theatre when it first came out. (Don't judge, I saw you there.) I've never been so thankful to see something I have probably watched a portion of a zillion times before but have never enjoyed so much to be immersed in the subject matter. Perfect. As I felt my body begin to relax and I snuggled up under the blanket, there it went, my stomach growled. Seriously? Now I have to take care of this issue? Before I flung off the blanket and got up to check the fridge, I mentally went through the inventory. What will work to take the edge off and still get me back to sleep? Liquor? Probably a bad idea. Tea? Takes too long to make, then I have to let it cool before I take a sip so I don't scorch the roof of my mouth (which I pretty much always do). Hot milk? I have no idea why this works for some people, it just leaves an icky taste in my mouth so I have to go and brush my teeth before I can settle in again and then there's that scorching problem. All right, I finally got it. Chocolate Milk. But not just any chocolate syrup will do. It must be rich and dark. Nothing imitation. (Yes, I am still a food snob in the middle of the night.) Thankfully, I made up some chocolate syrup for the kids yesterday afternoon. Yes! There was still some left; those kids would eat it by the spoonful, if I let them. I quickly mixed the sleep elixir and settled into the scene where Demi Moore's character, "Jules" hits rock bottom in her tacky, trendy totally 80's apartment complete with a monster sized likeness of Billy Idol on a hot pink wall.
Declan is no worse for the wear and has survived last night's episode. However, he claims he hurt his back. As he sings a song about it while laying on his bed tossing his stuffed dog in the air, he yells out to me, "Mom, did you know I write my own songs?: "I hurt my back, back, back, yeah!"" I'm amazed by the energy level. I've been dragging my ass around all day even though I only lost about 2 hours of sleep. I guess I'll have to use what's left of the chocolate syrup to make a mocha coffee caffeinated pick-me-up to get me through until I can put on my pajamas and go to bed.

This chocolate syrup is really runny and works best when mixed with other liquids rather than as a dessert topping.

Chocolate Syrup
3/4 water
1/2 cup sugar
5 heaping tablespoons unsweetened cocoa
1/3 cup strong brewed coffee

Place water and sugar in a medium sized sauce pan. Heat on medium high until sugar dissolves. Add cocoa and coffee. Whisk to combine. Bring mixture to a boil, then turn down to a simmer and cook for 3-5 minutes until mixture thickens. Remove from heat and let cool. Pour into squeeze bottles and refrigerate until ready to use.

"Peepers!"

2011-05-10T11:33:00.003-04:00

It's a sure sign of Spring when I hear the sound of the peepers in the early evening as darkness falls. Hearing them always reminds me of the time Val pulled our brown Nova 4 door to a halt with me and Jenny in the car one late April night back when I was in high school. Val cranked down her window and commanded us to do the same. We were parked next to a salt marsh somewhere in West Falmouth, I think it was near the post office. She yelled out, "Peepers!" to our horrified teenage ears. We had no idea why my totally "queer" mother was so excited about a bunch of loud noise filling the air. So, it became a joke year after year. You know the kind,when you are a teenager and you mimick your parents out of embarrassment for their lack of coolness?
These past couple of weeks I have found myself putting the windows down and driving slower to hear the song of the peepers. Even my friend Sheila gets excited about the sound that heralds warmer days and longer nights. Last year, at the end of her annual Derby party, she ran out as we were getting into the car. She wanted to know if I had heard them, too. We hugged and enjoyed the springtime moment together. I never thought about how "queer" I must now seem, getting excited about of all things, "Peepers!"

Making Dirt

2011-02-05T09:20:00.006-05:00

I am the proud owner of a brand new compost bucket complete with a lid so I no longer have to use a salad plate to cover up the used coffee filter and eggshells. The new vessel looks like Oscar the Grouch's famous house only hot Pepto-Bismol pink. I love it. Val purchased it for me after I admired her new stainless steel compost can sitting on the wooden counter top in her kitchen. Although this bucket is not an official composting tool, it does the job nicely, much better and far more attractive than the margarita mix bucket I have been using for the past couple of years.
I have been recycling my scraps for quite a while now and the compacted, rotting mess inside the black Darth Vader looking composter sitting in the corner of my yard needs to be put to good use. I know I need a lesson in aerating and turning it so the worms can do their work. The pile of fermented orange peels and tea bags has been neglected for far too long. The squirrels have figured out how to loosen the lid or maybe its because we don't properly tighten it. And Stella, the dog, has been known to chew on corn cobs peeking out of the hole in the top. After she ingests too much of the indigestible roughage, she comes in to throw up on the carpet as if to remind me of the project that so desperately needs attention. That should provide enough motivation to deal with the compost once the ground thaws out. But for now, I am happy to fill my hot pink pail with leftovers from soup making, and apple peeling. I can't wait to have some dinner guests over to see my new counter top fixture. Especially my brother-in-law. He always used to look in the old bucket to see what was in there. Now, when he lifts the lid, hoping to find cookies or some delightful confection inside, he will instead encounter the cast offs of my labor.

Just Dessert

2011-01-01T10:18:00.005-05:00

Last night, I engaged in a gluttonous dessert extravaganza that left me wanting to only eat lettuce for the next three days without even the tiniest flavoring of vinegar and oil.
My thirteen year old nephew, Ryson and I got together to create a confectionery feast for our family New Year's Eve celebration. To prepare his requested menu, we worked in my kitchen for two days beating eggs and scalding cream for creme brulee and dipping cookies to line our tiramisu. We melted chocolate, cooked caramel and set out potato chips, pretzels, Dunkin Munchkins and ginger snaps to dip in the sweet fondue. Oh yeah, we sliced some fruit for that, too. Hot, buttery and salty popcorn and spiced nuts rounded out the buffet with rich hot chocolate and cream soda to wash it all down. Since it was New Year's Eve, champagne garnished with blackberries and POM juice was featured as well but let's face it, champagne, proseco really any bubbly is welcome to the party ANY TIME.
Teenage boys especially love flames so the sterno under the fondue pot and the kitchen torch were Ryson's jurisdiction. He took on his responsibility with gusto, sugaring the individual Amaretto flavored creme brulee and blasting it with the blue flame until the sugar crystals melted into a hard, golden brown shell.Overindulgence came to a head when Ryson announced that he couldn't eat another bite of his umpteenth serving and Grampa Dick was so full, he went home to go to bed.
Gramma Val kept the party going by playing a spirited game of "Operation" with the little ones while Rob made Karyn and me a special holiday favorite beverage, "Nuts and Berries". When we broke out the "Apples to Apples" game, Uncle Dana was already fighting sleep even though he tried by drinking a Red Bull and some coffee.The kids could have stayed up all night but I couldn't make it. Even though I really wanted to see the "Wig Drop" on Bravo, I overfilled. So, just as I have in the past seven or so years since Ava came along, I went to bed before 10:00pm and woke up to a beautiful new year and the need to detox at least for breakfast, anyway. This morning, when I reached for the healthy egg whites (left over from all the baking), I think I saw some creme brulee hiding in the back of the fridge that I just can't let go to waste.

CREME BRULEE
(Makes 12 small ramekins)

2 eggs
6 egg yolks
3/4 cup sugar
4 1/2 cups heavy cream
1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla
1 1/2 tablespoons Amaretto liqueur
large crystal sugar for top of each ramekin

Preheat oven to 300 degrees.
In the bowl of an electric mixer, mix the eggs, egg yolks and 3/4 cup sugar until just combined. Meanwhile, heat the cream to scald until its very hot but not boiling. With the mixer on low, slowly add the scalded cream to the egg mixture. Add the vanilla and Amaretto. Pour into ramekins. Place the ramekins in 1 or 2 large pans and pour boiling water around them until the water comes about 1/2 way up the sides of the ramekins. Bake for 30-35 minutes until the custards are just set when gently shaken. Remove from oven and water bath and cool to room temperature, then refrigerate until firm.
To serve: sprinkle 2-3 teaspoons of large crystal sugar over the top of custard. Using a kitchen torch, heat sugar until it caramelizes and turns golden brown. Let sugar harden and cool for a few minutes and serve.

Poop Broom

2010-12-17T09:39:00.008-05:00

I know this is completely inappropriate subject matter for this blog but it needed to be written. It's my gift to all the mothers and fathers out there who will have a good laugh at my expense. You're welcome.

"It's green just like the other one. She'll never know!" Declan stage whispered to his dad. Well, maybe if I was not the one to request that Rob and he purchase a new broom, I could possibly have been tricked.
The old one was working fine. A little ratty on the ends and the top of the handle was missing, but it still got the job done. That is until the other day when I threw it out the door in anger and frustration.
I began to sweep the white linoleum floor that runs from the slider in the kitchen to the door to the driveway and into the downstairs bathroom. Everyday, there seems to be enough sand, food and dog hair to fill a gallon jug. So there I was about to tackle my daily (sometimes twice daily) chore. This time I started in the bathroom. I spotted a small brown rock that probably fell out of Declan's pocket (He always seems to picking stuff up in the yard.) and I decided to just sweep it into the pile. The only problem was that the rock, sort of smudged along the floor and got caught up in the plastic "straw" of the broom. By the time I stopped sweeping to get closer for further inspection, there were 3-4 brown streaks on the floor.
Suddenly, it hit me and I knew what it was. Declan had just been in the bathroom. I was still a bit puzzled wondering how this rock/poop ended up on the floor on the other side of the room, far away from the toilet. Then I began to freak out thinking, "How gross is all of this smearing and broom clogging?" AAARGH! I immediately opened the outside door and hurled the broom out of the door into the driveway. Then my head exploded.
"DECLAN!!!!! WHAT HAPPENED IN THE BATHROOM???!!!"
"Oh, I pooped my pants." He casually said from the desk where he was playing a computer game as if he were telling me that the phone was ringing or something benign like that.
"WHAT??? AND YOU DIDN'T TELL ME SO I COULD HELP YOU??!!"
Of course, that prompted tears and a bit of fear. Not the sort of emotional upset you want to make happen when you want someone to admit to something.
It took some calming down but we both got ourselves together and came to an agreement. Declan will tell me if he has an accident in his pants and I will not get mad. No problem, accidents happen but covered up or ignored accidents are always an issue.
I'll never know about the new broom, Indeed! Declan has a lot to learn about a mother's memory and blackmail for later use.

Soup is Good Food

2010-12-10T05:54:00.005-05:00

I have had a lot of jobs. In high school, I worked in restaurants, then in retail clothing sales after college. At one time, I did a stint promoting Diet Coke on various college campuses across the country. I settled into being a cosmetics sales manager then got tired of that and began working for Origins as a make up artist, district manager and ultimately an account executive. Once that gig burned me out, I got my licence to do nails and did that for a while, went back to Clinique as an AE and got burned out again. Went back to school for my skincare license and did that along with nails for a few years. Clinique lured me back to do interviews from home which I don't feel is all that exciting but it helps to pay the bills so I began searching for something more interesting and fulfilling; hence the writing thing. Oh yeah, and I still do a few of my nail clients on the side.
I also make soup. It began with that crazy business venture that I got into last February where I almost ended up in the hospital from the stress of it all. You would think I would have thrown in the towel completely. But there were a few people who supported me every week, buying soup, entrees, desserts, you name it. If it was on the menu, they wrote a check for it and a happily ordered again for next week before they even tasted what was in the brown handled bag. It was so hard to tell them that I was bowing out of the business and that my partner may or may not keep things going. (She did not.) So, how could I say, "No" when a few of them asked if I would possibly consider just making soup?
Elaine,Carol,Lynne and Janice. When I hand each of them a bag with their soup bread and butter,say, "Thank You" and explain next week's soup flavor, each one shakes her head and says, "I don't care what it is, just bring it." I'm not sure if its out of kindness to help me make a buck or if they truly don't care because they always seem to like how it tastes. I hope its the latter although extra cash is always helpful. Elaine once told me that she doesn't like mushrooms so I refrain from making cream of mushroom as an offering but I did make hot and sour soup loaded with them on two occasions and she didn't balk. And believe, me she would mention, in a gentle way that something was not her favorite. Carol used to say, "I don't care what it is as long as it's not chicken noodle" It seems she had an unpleasant experience with the chicken soup that stays with her to this day. However, I have made the Greek version with orzo, spinach, eggs, chicken and plenty of lemon a few times. She really seems to like it. Lynne seems so happy each Thursday when I bring her soup since she doesn't have to cook that night. I hunt her down in the wing where the kindergarten classrooms are at the East Falmouth School. She can always be found bending over one of the kids, helping to spell a word or doing a puzzle. Janice is probably my biggest supporter. I bring her soup when I do her nails on Thursday afternoon. She is always trying to figure out new ways to help me make some cash, whether by buying a pie from me at Thanksgiving, or buying my cookbooks and giving them away in the hopes that someone will see how "promising" an author she thinks me to be.
The soup, bread and butter are all easy to make. But I really like tweaking the recipes to make each item extra special. I enjoy choosing the new soup flavor and begin to think about what herbs i should mix with the butter that will go on the bread to accompany it. I think,"How can I improve the bread or maybe I should change the regular yeast dough to cornbread if I am offering chili that week?" I want to continually make it better, more delicious, exceed their expectations. After all, these ladies do more for me than give me money for my work. Their praise is uplifting. They seem truly excited and I believe they look forward to their soup delivery every week.
There are post it notes with descriptions of how I have adjusted various recipes all over the pages of my favorite soup cook book. I'm looking forward to making the Chili Con Carne recipe for this week. I don't know what extra pizazz it will need until I begin to taste it. I think I'll add mild green chilis to the cornbread for some interest and flavor and make some cilantro and lemon butter to accompany it. I hope the ladies will like it. I know its really only soup but its the best way I can show how much I really appreciate them.

Little Man Bread Snob

2010-10-09T05:55:00.003-04:00

The preschool bus drops Declan off at 12:00pm. As we walk into the house,I ask him about his morning: who did he play with?, did he give the note to the teacher? Declan throws his Spiderman back pack on the floor in the office then tries to pull his sneakers off without untying them; the double knots I tied this morning are too difficult for him to undo.
"What do you want for lunch?"
"Uuuum. Butter sandwich." Declan says as he nods his head and smiles, trying to get me to agree.
"How about grilled cheese with ham on bread and butter?"
"No, Just bread and butter. On the bread that is shaped like this." Declan makes a circling motion around his head. What bread is shaped like that?
"I don't know what you mean. What kind of bread is that?"
"You know, mama, the kind you make!"
There you have it. Not only do I have a problem with my son's choice of sandwich. Where's the protein? Bread and butter sounds like jail food. But, he also wants this "bread and butter" on fresh home made bread, at that. I figured that any homemade bread would do. After all, the kids (my daughter, Ava is also a bit of a bread snob. Although she will eat her peanut butter and jelly on store bought whole wheat)both enjoy Val's Delicious white bread especially when toasted and coated with butter, affectionately known in my house as "butter toast". With this in mind, I made a lovely foccacia bread recipe and instead of making the usual rectangle, I shaped it into loaves. Sounds good, doesn't it? No chance. The kids will eat it as garlic toast at dinner time but not as a bread and butter sandwich after school.
The bread in question is actually easy to make but time is a huge factor. A few ingredients are merely mixed together and left to rise on their own. The problem: the first rise is at least 12 hours. Obviously this requires a bit of advance planning if I am going to serve bread and butter for lunch.
The other day I only had wheat bread from the store left in the drawer. I managed to talk Declan into eating a yummy grilled cheese and ham with lots of butter on the bread. He sat down in front of the t.v. eager to enjoy his chocolate milk, sandwich and an new fangled episode of Batman "with wings". He said "Thank you" and took a big gulp of milk, his eyes glued to the t.v. A few seconds later, from the kitchen I could hear him whine, "AAAWWWW! This isn't the bread!" I can't believe I actually had to explain to him that mommy can't always make the special bread. And when he bent his head down and began to pout, I recovered quickly before he could whine again, "But I'll try and make it tomorrow, o.k.?"

This bread recipe is supposed to be baked as a large loaf in a preheated dutch oven. It's from Jim Lahey's "My Bread". (It's definitely worth purchasing the book for all the other great recipes, too!) I have made it that way and it's quite delicious, perfect for a larger group. It also has a chewier, thicker crust. I now separate the dough into 4 small free form loaves which yields a softer crust.

Special Bread (Shaped like Declan's head)

400 grams all purpose flour (I like to weigh the flour),or 3 cups
1/2 teaspoon yeast
1 1/4 teaspoons salt
1 1/3-1 2/3 cups warm water

Mix flour, yeast and salt in a large mixing bowl. Slowly incorporate water until a dough is formed. (It will be hard to mix, don't add too much water.) The dough will be slightly dry. Cover tightly with plastic wrap and leave in a warm area away from drafts. Let rest for 12-18 hours. At this point, the dough should be bubbly, doubled in size and sticky. Grease a cookie sheet. Remove dough with a rubber spatula onto a generously floured board. Using spatula (or scraper) turn the dough over so that all sides are coated with flour. Do not knead!!! Cut into 4 equal pieces. Gently form each piece into a ball shape by tucking edges under and place on greased cookie sheet. Sprinkle the top of each ball with about 1 tablespoon flour. Place a towel on top and let rise again for two hours in a warm spot. (Be sure to use enough flour on top of dough so that the towel will not stick.) After two hours, preheat the oven to 475 degrees. Slash tops of loaves with a sharp knife and cook for 10-15 minutes until light brown. Remove to wire rack to cool. Share if you want to.

Rain, Rain, Go Away.....

2010-08-24T14:28:00.006-04:00

I'm crabby. I have a sore throat. The kids are fighting and they are driving me crazy. They want to do craft projects that not only require my supervision, they are frustratingly difficult for even an adult to accomplish. The kids begin to lose patience easily and before I can vacuum up the tiny beads and throw away the celophane wrappers, they are on to the next game of hitting each other over the head with my throw pillows.
AARGH! I'm even more short tempered than usual. I'm trying not to shout and aggravate my achy throat or make my voice shatter through my stuffy head. This stupid craft- a pseudo stained glass kit with little, itty bitty beads that must be carefully placed in a metal frame, then baked in the oven at a high temperature. I can think of a lot of better things to bake in the oven rather than trying to melt toxic plastic to make a tchotchke that will inevitably end up lost in a pile of rubble along with the broken prizes from Happy Meals and birthday party favors my kids won't let me throw away.
As I open the oven to check on the plastic creations, the fumes almost knock me over. Thankfully, we don't have a parakeet. Otherwise I would have to add the explaination of the bird's death to the list of fun for the day. The smell makes me dizzy but I come to my senses and decide to brew myself a cup of my favorite ginger tea. On second thought, since I've made it past 12:00pm with two crazy kids cooped up on a rainy day, I think I'll add something special to the hot beverage to help me during the long afternoon to come.
I feel better already!

Soothing Ginger Toddy
1 cup hot brewed ginger tea
2 tablespoons Canton Ginger Liqueur
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
optional: sugar to sweeten to taste

Brew tea according to package directions. Add ginger liqueur and lemon juice. Drink up.

Summer Sign Language

2010-07-08T07:38:00.009-04:00

An old man gave me the finger today. He flipped me off as I was taking a left out of Seacoast Shores onto Rte 28. My first reaction was, "Seriously, Dude?!!!" He was at least 200 yards away when I initialized my turn. His big, red Buick Le Sabre was hard to miss as it inched along the road. That is, it was inching along until he noticed me, then he clearly sped up to claim himself "King of the Road". After I regained my wits, I regret to say I recovered quickly enough to retaliate with my own hand gesture. However, I'm not sure if he saw it. It made me feel better, anyway.
I'm usually pretty tolerant of the tourist influx beginning in late June,even when it peaks in July and August to just waning before Labor Day weekend but this is where I draw the line. There are rules of common courtesy, civility, especially when you are visiting, which I suspect this man was since he didn't understand the love we extend by letting people out in front of the line of traffic especially when the guy in opposite lane has stopped to let someone go. This old man is the type to cut of the UPS driver who is still delivering packages at 8:00pm on a holiday weekend, just trying to make his last stop before finally going home for the day. This old bag probably skimps on tipping the waitress, calculating down to the penny exactly 15% even though the service was excellent and the food even better. I know this guy, I think he cut in front of my four year old in line for the ice cream truck at the beach the other day. Well, maybe that wasn't him, but you get my point.
Why doesn't he just come to enjoy his vacation and relax? I implore people like him to please treat the locals well, tip their bartender and if they don't, I'll flip them the bird.

When I'm not employing lewd hand gestures, I keep myself busy by inventing a cool treat like this:

Smoothie Pops

(makes 10)

Ingredients:

1 cup vanilla low fat yogurt
1 cup fruit juice
2 cups chopped fruit

5 oz. paper cups such as Dixie
popsicle sticks

Blend all ingredients until smooth. Pour smoothie into 10 5 oz. Dixie cups. (Fill each cup about half way). Place in freezer for 1 hour. Insert a popsicle stick into the center of each partially frozen pop. Continue to freeze until solid. To serve, peel off paper cup and enjoy.

Serenity Now

2010-06-02T05:37:00.004-04:00

"What a great idea!" so many people said about the Gilded Lily, and it was. However, I couldn't handle the stress and the juggling of obligations that goes along with starting a new business. Sara was on a high every week after we prepared dozens of meals, salads, desserts, soups and bread. I was bringing her down with my clenched jaw and anxiety.
It all hit the fan after I stroked out over the fried chicken and ribs. Which is a bit ridiculous since I cooked neither the fried chicken nor the ribs. Sara was the one who worked the smoker at 2:00am in the middle of a hurricane. In the end, it was the red velvet whoopie pies that pushed me over the edge and I don't know how many batches of mac 'n' cheese I made to fill all the orders. All I can say is, it took driving the long way home by the beach after all the deliveries on Thursday to get my breathing back to normal. Maybe it was the madness of constantly flying by the seat of my pants. By now, most of you must know that I can be a bit anal and need my life to be as organized as possible. So, in order to preserve my sanity, I resigned from the company.
Sara may continue on with the venture in some form. After all, it was her brilliant idea in the first place. She came up with the logo, the name and the concept. I just went along for the ride. I'm hoping all the adventurous customers we got hooked will still be able to eat her incredibly delicious food. As for me, I'll be organizing my silverware drawer until all is right in my world and driving by the beach to regain my composure.

Hell's Biscuits

2010-04-26T06:58:00.004-04:00

According to my family, Gordon Ramsey’s got nothing on me. They think I am a wild woman in the kitchen: having tantrums when things don’t go my way and berating all those around me with curses. In fact, I do get irritated when the ingredients won’t cooperate but I’m really just a pussy cat with a few bon mots. At least compared to the characters I have worked for in the past, I am really as gentle as a lamb even when things are falling apart around me.
My nephew came over the other day to help me prepare a slow cooked, southern inspired feast for our families on New Year’s Eve. Our time was tight and I chose to make recipes that I had not made before. (Yes, I know you are not supposed to do this when planning to entertain, but I like to live on the edge!) I should have known we were in for it when the meringue cookies fell flat due to my choice of using pasteurized egg whites from a carton instead of fresh. My kids were raising hell, as usual and creating the type of distraction that slowly wears me down to a nub by the end of the day. So, poor Ryson arrives in the middle of my chagrin over the floppy meringues and the occasional yell at the kids to go play and to stop fighting. After melting chocolate to spread on the cookies, (almost anything can be salvaged by dipping it in chocolate) we decided to make the biscuits and then onto the corn spoon bread.
AARGH! The biscuit dough was ridiculous! Not only was it dry but the recipe claimed it made 24. I could tell we may only get 6-8 out of it. After the first attempt was a bust and ended up in the trash, I was determined to make the second one work. However, I am no southern belle and I don’t really know what I am doing with biscuit dough so, on a whim and a prayer, the dough went into the refrigerator and we began work on the corn pudding.
Ryson’s job was to cook the bacon while I focused on the now chilled biscuit dough. Rolled out, it did not even cover the area of a cookie sheet. And they were rolled out so thin, it seemed they would be more like crackers than fluffed up vehicles for my BBQ pork as intended. Damn it! Ava stop turning up that music and leave the dog alone! Shit! I almost dropped the whole thing on the floor. Stupid biscuits!!! I cut them out anyway and we baked them. Upon tasting a little piece (we barely had enough to serve), they were deemed tasty but not what we /I hoped for.
Amid the madness we almost omitted half of the corn spoon bread recipe before sticking it in the oven; the most critical ingredient, the eggs. Well we managed to get it all together after pouring it into the large baking dish then the smaller then the large one again.
When the guests arrived, I was still p.o.’d over the stupid biscuits, knowing I could have done better and angry at myself for using this unknown recipe. Everyone enjoyed the spread and actually fought over the biscuit tidbits. The pimento cheese was a hit with us northerners and the tweaked cole slaw was a perfect match to the tangy barbecue and creamy corn spoon bread.
During dinner, Ryson ribbed me about getting mad in the kitchen, seemingly shocked at my behavior. Everyone else at the table raised their eyebrows when they heard I said a few expletives over the stove and got mad at my children for adding to the chaos. Well if they think I’m like Gordon Ramsey, so be it. Just don’t get in my way when the meringues flop and the biscuit dough misbehaves!

P.S. The biscuits in this photo are from a different recipe and another day!

GETTIN' FANCY BISCUITS
4 cups flour
4 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
8 tablespoons cold butter
4 tablespoons crisco
1 1/2 cups cold buttermilk
1/2 cup heavy cream
4 tablespoons butter, melted

Preheat oven to 450 degrees.
Combine flour, baking powder, baking soda and salt in a food processor. Pulse to combine. Add the cold butter and crisco. Pulse a few times until the butter is the size of peas. Add the buttermilk and pulse until mixture just begins to come together.
Place dough on a lightly floured board. Roll out to about 1/2" thick. Cut with biscuit cutter and place on parchment lined baking sheet. Press together scraps of dough and repeat until all dough is used. Brush the tops of the biscuits with the cream and bake for 12-15 minutes until golden brown. Remove from oven and brush with melted butter.

High End, Low Profile or Gourmet Food and Fuzzy Slippers

2010-02-04T18:55:00.001-05:00

You may have seen Sara and me kibitzing in the corner of Coffee Obsession and gallivanting down 495 to procure packaging for our new venture. You may be wondering what we are up to, or maybe not. If you are at all curious, you’ll be glad to know, it’s time for the unveiling.
We are ready to announce menu offerings for Gilded Lily Gourmet Foods. How many times have you arrived home from work to a cold stove and an empty refrigerator? The kids are hungry and all you really want to do is change into your pajamas and pour yourself a glass of wine. Wouldn’t it be great to dunk a crust of freshly baked bread into a big steaming bowl of Authentic Cape Cod Fish Chowder without having to lift a finger? How about Red Wine Braised Chicken and Wild Mushrooms followed by a Chocolate Cannoli Sandwich Cookie for dessert? After you place your first order you’ll realize you are eating restaurant quality food in the comfort of your own home at 1/3 of the cost. Then you will say to yourself, “I should do this every week.”
We take our favorite recipes and tweak them by adding layers of flavors and extra naughtiness. Everyone likes mac ‘n’ cheese, so how about Sharp Cheddar Mac ‘N’ Cheese with Chorizo? Sure, cupcakes are great but have you had an Espresso Chocolate Glazed Devil’s Food Cake? That’s what we mean by “Gilded Lily”: delicious food with a little something extra while at the same time affordable and convenient.
Here’s how it works: we post a menu every week on the web, face book, email, smoke signal, however you like to receive information. Choose what you like and call or email to place your order. Ask for Sara and she will guide you through the process. Pick up days are Tuesday and Thursday (5:30pm-7:00pm) but we’re pretty flexible so let us know how we can make it work for you. There will be plenty of variety to keep you satisfied. That means you only have to order pizza or eat toast possibly 3 nights out of seven.
We hope you enjoy our delicious offerings as often as possible. After all what can be better than indulging after a hard day in a warm meal lovingly prepared by someone else? No one will care if you wear your sweats and put your feet up while you savor our Slow Cooked Beef with Rosemary, Onions and Carrots served over Crispy Polenta. A “High end…Low profile” dinner is just a phone call away. What are you waiting for?

(202) 744-2307
gildedlilygourmetfoodstogo@hotmail.com
http://www.gildedlilygourmetfoodtogo.com

Holiday or Anyday Medication

2009-12-28T16:33:00.005-05:00

I ignore my children. Sometimes when they are really going at each other, I do my best to not notice it's happening at all.
I hide from my children. When they are completely making me crazy with their bickering and my husband is super impatient with them, I curl up on the couch in my office between the throw pillows and hope no one notices where I am.
Of course, there are times when I can neither ignore them nor hide from them. That's when medication is in order. I prefer red wine or even a nice stiff drink like the one Karyn made on Christmas to battle the insanity of a holiday filled with multiple personalities all in the same family. Right around the hour when the children begin running around the house and generally acting like they had been raised by wolves, the teenagers become even more sullen and mopey and the husbands seem completely devoid of any helpful behavior, that's when it's time to reach for the shot glass and the shaker. Karyn and I clear the decks and make our drinking glasses ready for the restorative elixir. We say, "Salut" or "Bottoms UP!" and send the magic potion down our throats until all is right in the world or at least we are better able to deal with it otherwise.

Karyn's Holiday "Nog"
(makes 1 large drink)
2 oz Baileys Irish Cream
2 oz Creme de Cocoa (white)
3 oz vodka
Place ice in shaker and pour all ingredients over the ice. Cover and shake until your fingers stick to the outside of the shaker. Pour into a martini glass and garnish with some kind of good chocolate you have on hand and are hiding from your husband and children.(The good stuff i.e. dark chocolate Lindt balls)

Attention Deficit Bread Baking Disorder

2009-11-17T13:05:00.007-05:00

My friend Kim says that I have Adult ADD. She diagnosed me one day when we were sitting in a traffic jam. I was getting really angry that someone didn't properly do their job to set us up for a make up event with a big retailer and I was getting really annoyed at the situation on rte 128. To be quite honest, I don't know why my behavior made her think I am ADD. Seriously, anyone who gets a little agitated while sitting in a parking lot of cars on a major highway in MA might as well have the same diagnosis.

However, I do know that an overload of technology, reality shows, facebook, twitter, email, information, cell phones, video games, you name it has led me and just about the rest of Western society to become totally schizo and over saturated. I start to spiral out of control, trying to ingest everything I find interesting, holding on to magazines and books thinking one day I will read them, piles of crap invade my space as I acquire things for a project I would like to someday work on. How do I filter out what is important?

The only way I know how is to regain some sort of focus. That isn't to say that I in any way deal with all of the chaos. I merely shut the door on it and act like its not there. Then I make bread.

Here's the deal with bread. For the short time period required to proof the yeast and mix the dough, I can make my addled brain pay attention to one thing. If I were to try anything else more time consuming, I'm sure my mind would wander so 10-15 minutes is the max I can handle. (My generation thanks, you MTV!) Then I can go back to the madness, the answering of the emails, the pile of junk mail that I am compelled to "go through" while the dough rises. Once the first rise is complete, I am able again to focus my thoughts for the 10-20 minutes required to punch down (very therapeutic) and knead (more therapy) the dough. While I form the dough into loaves, my mind begins to chatter about all the tasks that are building themselves up around me. When in reality, if I left them undone, it would surely not end the world. In fact, I would probably be more sane if I left them all behind. O.K., I'll just do one or two little things while the dough rises again.

My oven beeps to signal 400 degrees and it's time to bake the bread. Maybe I'll force myself to relax? What about my "to-do" list that is a mile long and still growing? What about my sanity? How the heck do all of those perfect mothers manage to have such clean houses? Enough already! Since the kitchen is covered in flour, I might as well start the process again. Maybe this time I can calm myself down long enough to stop and smell the roses or at least the aroma of the bread baking!

Check out the madness by cutting and pasting this web address into your browser: http://www.facebook.com/#/album.php?aid=39643&id=1067705752&ref=mf

Val's Farm House White Bread
Makes 2 loaves

Ingredients:
1 package dry yeast
2 cups warm milk
2 tablespoons sugar
1/4 cup melted butter
pinch of salt
5-6 cups all purpose flour

Place the yeast in a small bowl. Heat the milk and the sugar in a small pan until luke warm. Pour 1/2 cup milk and sugar mixture over the yeast and let rest for 10-15 minutes.
Meanwhile, add the butter to the remaining milk and sugar mixture and place over low heat until the butter is just melted being careful not to let the mixture get too hot. Add the salt.
Once the yeast mixture has started to puff up, pour it into a large mixing bowl. Add the remaining milk/sugar/butter and salt mixture. Mix in enough flour to form a sticky dough.
Turn dough onto floured board and knead for 5-10 minutes. Place in a greased bowl and cover with plastic wrap. Let rest in a warm spot until doubled in size.
Punch down dough and turn out onto floured board. Knead for 5 minutes and form into loaves. Place in greased bread pans and cover with plastic wrap to double in size.
Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Bake bread on middle rack for 25-30 minutes until golden brown and loaves sound hollow when tapped. Remove from pans and cool completely on wire rack before slicing.

Vanilla Chocolate Souffle or Betty Crocker Ready to Spread Frosting

2009-07-29T18:34:00.024-04:00

Tonight I had a fleeting good moment that spurred a memory flashback. I say fleeting because as a parent with little kids, every moment is fleeting, the good ones and the bad ones. As soon as you recognize it and your brain labels it "This is good..." it can suddenly turn into a tantrum and the older one scratching her brother on the face and barely missing his eye. You know what I mean.
Anyway, back to the "good" moment and the memory.
Just as I gave Ava and Declan some ice cream in small bowls for dessert after dinner, Ava proclaimed that she was making "vanilla and chocolate souffle" as she whipped her ice cream into a milky consistency. Declan, of course, copied his sister and said that he was making the same although he ate most of his in the process.

As Ava stirred and Declan ate, I thought about the time my sister Karyn and myself, ages 9 and 5 made our own invention out of ice cream at the "dining room" table in the house at 540 Old Meeting House Road where we grew up. Our inspiration came from an advertisement broadcast during our favorite tv show. We spent our young and formative years watching "Little House on the Prairie" on our old black and white with rabbit ears while our mother wished that "Calgon [would] take [her] away". TV was influential and it motivated us to pretend to transform Breyer's (considered pretty gourmet back then) chocolate ice cream until it became as thick as frosting. It was the 1970's and Betty Crocker had just come out with the incredibly innovative frosting in a can...ready to spread complete with a mouth watering televised advertisement and catchy jingle that made all the kids sing for the delicious, trans fatty prepared frosting. We sang the last line "Betty Crocker ready to spread frosting!" with a flourish on "ing" as we spread our melting ice cream on Nilla Wafers and popped them into our mouths. I'm sure my mother couldn't wait for us to finish and get up from the table so that she could wash the dishes and be done for the night. Just as I implored my two to "eat up" and "wipe your mouth and hands with your napkin" in anticipation of baths and thankfully, bed time. As children will, they had no concept of time or the fact that their mother might be tired after a long day of discipline, tears, laughter and hugs..(where's that Calgon?). Ava and Declan were having a great time, making a mess and getting themselves covered with sticky ice cream. Yes I am tired but I must admit, there is nothing better than having a few laughs and playing with your food with one of your siblings.

Don't Plan On It

2009-06-29T09:54:00.004-04:00

Back in my partying days, well before children, I remember the best and most fun times were when I didn't really want to go out at all. On the nights when I had to be coerced to come along, it always seemed afterwards that I had such a good time when I obviously thought I wouldn't. I never learned from this lesson. I always had high expectations for well thought out evenings that very often turned out to be a bust.
Later, this feeling of expectation and need for planning drifted into my newly married life and came to a head soon after I had my first child. My hyper organized mind, the one that ate up all the information from parenting magazines about developing perfect little geniuses, creating lasting experiences and important life memories eventually careened out of control. I turned into the robot mom in the eighties song, "I Don't Like Mondays" the silicone chip inside her/(my) head has switched to overload...My only salvation was to let it all go.
Easier said than done, however. The balance between a little planning and organization and trying to completely orchestrate every situation is a fine line that was difficult for me to learn. It wasn't a light switch moment or advice from a book that made me turn the corner. More likely, it is a lesson I have learned after each time that I became disappointed that my expectations, my anticipation of a planned outcome of perfection did not come true. Each one wore me down like the incoming tide washing away a sandcastle on the beach. At times I am still not the master of it all but at least I am able to beat it back with a stick when it gets unruly.
My brother is coming home with his wife and new baby next week. Ethan and Catherine have not been back this way for a year and a half, so the baby hasn't ever been to the "Motherland". It's an exciting time for them but also full of family baggage on both sides and expectations as you can imagine, are plentiful. As for myself, I don't want to think about it, preferring to arrive at each day as I would in a chapter of a new and riveting novel that I am reading. I want to be excited about the unexpected outcomes. It makes for better copy, anyway. The hard part is, I understand how he must feel, wanting the visit to be perfect in every way. After all, being far away from the rest of us is hard enough, he wants the limited time back home to be everything he expects and more, the perfect memories, photo ops and all. But he knows just as I do, that people are imperfect at best. Kids get chicken pox on the way to Maine to visit Grampy and Norma, sometimes they even through up in Mom's lap on the ferry. Shit certainly does happen.
I hope he reads this and lets down even just a little bit. I hope he closes his thoughts to the plans and the expected outcomes and just decides to read the novel that is his life, waiting to see what happens with the imperfect homecoming and family gatherings where someone has a few beers and "falls out of the yard". And if he doesn't, that's o.k. too, it will just be part of the story.

For my part, my pledge is to only a plan a little bit. I'm making ice cream which can be kept in the freezer for whatever impromptu gathering may occur. And if nobody eats it, so be it. We'll have ice cream sundaes later.

Vanilla Ice Cream

Add whatever mix ins you like at the end, by hand before pouring the ice cream into containers.

5 egg yolks
1 1/2 cups whole milk
3/4 cup sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 1/2 cups heavy cream (cold)
1 tablespoon vanilla extract
1 1/2 cups crushed Oreos or crushed Heath Bars

In a double boiler over simmering water, mix the egg yolks, milk, salt and sugar. Heat while stirring constantly until mixture thickens and coats the back of a metal spoon (about 10 minutes). Transfer to container and cool in refrigerator for at least 4 hours.
Set up ice cream maker. Combine cold custard mixture, cold heavy cream and vanilla. Pour into ice cream maker and process according to manufacturer's directions. When ice cream is ready, stir in Oreos or whatever you want and transfer ice cream to two 32 oz containers. Freeze for at least 4 hours before serving. Lay wax paper directly on top of ice cream under container cover to keep from developing a leathery crust or freezer burn.

I'm Not Pretty, Not Pretty At All

2009-05-30T09:25:00.008-04:00

When my anxiety rears it's ugly head and takes firm hold, I know I can rely on my family and friends to wrestle me back to reality. Although, I am aware,this can be quite an undertaking.
The past month has been wrought with high anxiety which manifests itself by generally spastic behavior (beyond my normal level)and in my difficulty to breath because of my control "issues". I've become manic about clean floors, washing every bit of clothing in sight as well as disinfecting anything I deem full of germs. Anyone who deviates and does not behave exactly how I want them to (read: my husband, preschool age children and dog) are subject to my yelling like the crazy lady I have become. Ultimately, all my antics tend to do is make me feel worse. I'm afraid I might die and the only memory people will hold is me acting like a raving lunatic.
It's for times like these that my people deserve my undying (Ha! Ha!) thanks. They not only willingly put up with my mania but they also step in and help, performing their own type of intervention.
A couple of weeks ago, when my gulping for air and constant yawning in an attempt to get more oxygen into my lungs was at its peak, Ted attempted to get me to laugh my way out of my syndrome during one of our weekly coffee sessions. After an hour of collaboration on a ridiculously made up story about a serial killer and the deranged woman who loves him, he said,
"So, is the anxiety all better, now?"
I laughed. Funny, just like a man to think he can "fix" it so we can all move on. But it was heart felt, so I truly appreciate the sentiment.
Throughout the madness, Debbie has been dutifully inviting us over for dinner and supplying Proseco and plenty of red wine along with love and understanding.
My mother's daily phone calls to check in have helped abate some of my more chronic symptoms. Not to mention the trips to get ice cream at Smitty's to feed the kids "dinner" and get my mind off of things.
My fear of "doomsday" behavior I'm sure has thrown my husband over the edge but he continues to keep it in check. He continues to fold the laundry and wash the dishes after dinner all in hopes that I will come back to a quasi-normal state of being.
Perhaps the best thing that happened or was planned at the last minute was the drunken stupor and hangover that followed the weekend before I went under the knife. My good friend and former roommate, Sarah came down Saturday to go out on the town (such as it is) that evening. Coincidentally, Rob had secured a babysitter to take me out to dinner so our driver was in place for the night. It all started innocently enough, dinner and some wine at Phusion. When we finished, the night was still young so it was decided that we would make a few stops in Woods Hole before heading home. When I stood up from the table, I felt a bit light headed but quickly ignored it. After all,I ate dinner and only had two glasses of wine, equivalent to any night at home.
At the Cap'n'Kidd, I chose to go for vodka, thinking this would be my best bet for a few more drinks. My favorite is a Greyhound with fresh squeezed grapefruit juice, never the stuff that is poured out of a tin can. Since the "Kidd" does not offer my choice, I went with vodka and soda with a splash of cranberry and the squeeze of a lime.
Next, we were off to Shuckers where they always have the fresh squeezed option but are only open for the summer season. I should have known I was in trouble when I claimed that "I lapped" Sarah and Rob by downing two Greyhounds to their one beer each. I remember walking to the "Leeside" and asking Joe, our favorite bartender and old friend repeatedly why they took the condom machine out of the ladies room about 10 years ago. Then Sarah and I played some tunes from the juke box and I refused to leave while Huey Lewis and The News sang, "Do You Believe in Love".
Good friends know when to hide you from the fourteen year old babysitter to save you from future embarrassment and help you to get into bed safely. The next day I woke up with an excruciating headache and still wearing most of my clothes and jewelery from the night before. I could barley peel open my eyelids that were caked with smudged mascara. I can't remember the last time I was this sick. I really don't think I have ever been in such bad shape. The good news is, I realized I would rather have anxiety than a hangover like that any day. And I've never been more thankful for my friends and family who try to understand and actually put up with me.

Here's how to make your own medication:

The Greyhound (bad dog!)

ice
1 ounce top shelf vodka
5 ounces fresh squeezed pink grapefruit juice

Place ice into pint glass. Pour vodka then grapefruit juice over ice and shake 2-3 times. Pour into glass. Drink up.

Field Hockey Cupcakes

2009-04-14T10:20:00.004-04:00

Facebook is a funny and great thing especially when you are able to "friend" people from your past. Yesterday, my old freshman field hockey coach got in touch with me. (By "old" I really mean former since she is most likely only about 5 years older than me!)
When I saw Maura's name on my friend list, I immediately recalled the white frosted chocolate cupcakes decorated with crossed sticks and each of our jersey numbers which she made for our end of the season celebration. I can't remember any big games or a tie breaking goal in the last seconds of a critical game, just the cupcakes and all the fun we had. C'mon, if you know anything about me by now, it's that everything leads back to the food.
Maura came to us when we needed her much like a 1980's Mary Poppins with big hair and a bigger smile. The Falmouth High School athletic department didn't know what to do with all of the freshman girls who went out for the team in the fall of 1983. A few of my classmates went to the JV team and the rest of us were left to wonder what would become of our season. We were sceptical. I think Maura arrived late on her first day which added to our teenage attitude. One of the things that saved that first day was our desire to have fun and play the game, the other thing was Maura's enthusiasm. It won us over.
Some of the best times I had playing high school sports were spent with the girls on that team. We laughed a lot and became a tight knit group of ragtag players wearing cast off uniforms. We may not have had the skill to make the JV team but after that first day, we no longer cared. Our team was special: the first girls field hockey freshman team coached by Miss Maura Jepsen.

From March Madness to April Fever

2009-04-03T11:21:00.006-04:00

Now that the insanity of the birthday month has passed, it's time to get down to the thank you notes which will include the many thanks for remembering me, Declan and Ava on our special days. For those of you who don't realize or know, there are far more than 3 people who celebrate during March. My aunt Nancy starts things off on March 5th and is followed by Declan on the 7th, Karyn's and my joint birthday on the11th, Val's on the 17th (also St. Patrick's day), Ethan calls his day the 21st, my nephew Ryson demands a cake on the 25th and Ava rounds out the month on the 27th. I have not even begun to mention all of the friends and extended family who claim their own days and double up on a few dates already mentioned. The whole thing is festive and makes the last lingering month of winter go by a little faster but it is exhausting. I hate to say it, but I'm glad its over!

I'm attempting to turn my attention to springtime activities and events but the weather doesn't seem to be cooperating. Coonamessett Farm opens today but if you are in Falmouth right now, you know its cold and rainy. In April on Cape Cod, this means you don't want to spend the day outside and neither do any of the resident farm animals. I checked out Spohr Garden (known for it's amazing display of daffodils as far as the eye can see) yesterday but only saw about a dozen daffodils in bloom. I don't know what I was expecting. I know that it's to early for the kind of weather that encourages flower gardens and bare feet. Maybe I've been cooped up in this house to long over the winter. Cabin fever has finally struck me down. I've fallen and I need spring time to help me up!

You Should'nt Have, But I'm Glad You Did!

2009-03-13T22:16:00.004-04:00

Yesterday, (Thursday) I spent a good amount of my time griping that I told my husband I wanted a party and it did not look like I was going to have one. I also told just about everyone that I had to buy myself a birthday cake so that my children could celebrate me blowing out the candles. (Which is very important when you are 3 and 5 years old.)
My lovely friend, Debbie who is not only going to babysit so that I can go out for a grown up dinner this weekend, invited me over for dinner. I enjoy cooking and serving meals to my friends and family but I love it when someone else cooks, especially when it is in honor of ME.
When I arrived, Sheila with her amazing energy and her husband Jeff who is the pickiest eater I know (worse than most children, even) and Craig, Debbie's husband who bought an array of wines to please my palate, along with all of our children and, of course, Rob, too (I like to complain about my husband even though I know he orchestrates quite a lot behind the scenes) greeted me with a big "Surprise!!!" at the door.
I started feeling even more special when I read the board Debbie made which featured me starring on the cover of my own food and lifestyle magazine a la Rachael Ray and detailed happenings from 1969 and 2009.
I guess after all that complaining about the Roche Bros cake, it is obvious that someone would make me a scrumptious, homemade cake. You better believe it. Sheila made a beautiful, moist lemon cake with raspberry filling and her aunt Sheila helped her decorate it at about 11:00pm the night before, or so it is rumored.
All I can say is "Thank You" I honestly feel super special after a night like this. It's one thing when your mom cooks dinner on your birthday. You feel special and safe in that consistent, family love way. But when your friends take the time out of their crazy, busy lives to grill swordfish and make salads with vinaigrette and goat cheese, it seems like the whole world loves you.
Thanks, guys. You actually make it fun to finally belong to the "40" club!

You Shouldn't Have

2009-03-13T21:59:00.003-04:00

I really should have posted this on 3/11/09 (Wednesday) when it was far more relevant but here goes:
I realized today when Ava said, "Mommy, you didn't blow out any candles, yet." that there would be a problem if there was no cake tonight. Since I certainly did not want to make myself a birthday cake and no one else seemed to be planning to make one or even buy one for me, it was going to be up to me to procure the cake.
Val was very kind and took pity on me. She rescued me from my children by taking them back to her house so that I could have the afternoon alone.
Off I went to Roche Bros, since they have the closest thing to a decent bakery. On my way, I decided I also did not want to cook dinner on my birthday, either. I called Rob to drop a hint. The conversation went something like this:
me: "Hi. What do you want for dinner, tonight?"
Rob: "How about chicken parm?"
me: "Are you crazy??? I don't want to cook that on my birthday!!"
Rob: "Then how about something easy like a roast chicken with rice and some vegetables?"
(Honestly, I don't know why he thinks this is at all easy, he has never roasted a chicken in his life! Clearly, he is not getting it.)
me: "Never mind, I'll think of something, bye."

As I was browsing the bakery area, my cell phone rang.
Rob: "Do we have stuff for a stir fry?"
(What is he thinking? He doesn't cook stir fry!)
me: "What did you have in mind? What is the sauce?"
(The sauce is very important to me. It must have the right flavor and consistency.)
Rob: "Oh, I thought I would just use some soy sauce and brown sugar."
me: "I appreciate the thought. But, I really don't like it when you don't use a recipe."
(Give me a break, if he was Daniel Boulud, he can do whatever he wants without a recipe. Rob is many things but he is not Daniel Boulud.)

I know what you are thinking. I maybe should have been happy with some stir fry with questionable sauce. Well, I would have been happy with take out pizza. At least I like the sauce.

Steak Revival Birthday

2009-03-11T12:15:00.005-04:00

Thanks to Val for reviving the long lost "Rolled Steak" yesterday for the dual birthday extravaganza. Yummy!

I'm anxiously awaiting her notes so that I can have the recipe for myself. I'm also trying to brush the crumbs of my computer keyboard from the delectable, 100 calorie per portion?! dessert filled with semi sweet chocolate and ricotta cheese. I will need this recipe, too.

It was a great birthday celebration and the kids enjoyed it as well. Now if my two lovely children would understand the fact that #1 I'm now 40, officially an old lady and deserve, make that demand the respect I am due. #2 Stop fighting already and let me enjoy my afternoon. #3 Quit wining and let me have some peace!

What should you really be doing right now?

2009-03-10T14:35:00.002-04:00

I've finally finished editing the first edition of "Lessons from Val's Kitchen Volume 1, 2008" Available now on blurb.com!! I'm hoping that there aren't to many hideous mistakes. Now, I should be able to get back to the original idea, the BIG cook book: Val's Cape Cod Kitchen. I know you are all anxiously waiting for it!

Now, if I could only motivate myself to do all of the things I don't want to do like write assessments for the company that actually pays me money and cleaning the kitchen.

Tonight, Val is making rolled steak from one of the lost recipes that we cant find. It should be really good. We had to change the actual date of the Birthday dinner from Wednesday night to tonight because of a certain family who shall remain nameless but suffice it to say, they fly by the seat of their collective pants and send the rest of us who actually try and be organized into complete turmoil. (I mean this in the nicest possible way. Really, I do.)

Sadly, instead of photographing the making of this delicious meal, I am waiting for the cable guy because our phone is acting crazy and Rob actually got called into work today.

I know what you are thinking. Just get the assessments done so that you can get paid while you wait for the cable guy instead of writing on this silly blog.

Who are you? My mother?

Home Ec, Babysitting and Friendship

2009-03-02T12:28:00.003-05:00

Right now, I am working on my March article for the Falmouth Bulletin. It's about after school snacks or my memories of afternoon snacks at Val's house. (The fact that it is already March 2 is a bit of a problem, I know.) Since I am reminiscing about school days, it is inevitable that I think of Jenny. Often, my thoughts include her funny "code" words and silly stories that we shared. Most of them may not seem funny to the outside world and some are just to sordid and un P.C. to tell. In particular, I am thinking about one that goes back to the year we met. Seventh grade is such and awkward and insecure time of life. Meeting a friend like this was like grabbing onto a rope after being thrown overboard. Enough of that. What really has been on my mind and way to inappropriate to print in the Bulletin is a song that Jenny and I made up during the babysitting "module" of our Home Economics class. Sorry, Mrs Leonard.

"Never drop a baby on a hard wood floor,
Never drop a baby on a hard wood floor,
Never drop a baby on a hard wood floor.
Unless you're sure it's dead!"

Please forgive our adolescent humor.

I hear that Home Economics is now called "Life Skills" and that the wood shop where we pounded nails while we got out our teenage frustrations is now closed. This is all very sad to me as I recall that these classes let out some steam and if nothing else allowed us to form lasting bonds over botched sewing projects and splintered wooden birdhouses.

Back to the snack research.

French Onion Souper Food

2009-02-03T17:06:00.008-05:00

"Plums are the new super food!"
"Eating dirt is good for you!"
These were two top headlines on the news Monday morning. Great. What if you can't get to the super market for the latest uber fruit? What if the ground is so frozen you can't even scrape up a teaspoon of dirt?
Why not try a novel approach to nutrition...like cooking from your pantry?
How about French onion soup? How about freshly baked bread and melted cheese? How about red wine? (I actually think that is a super food, or drink, that is.)
Onions...the new fabulous February food! Find them in your pantry today!
As long as you have beef broth and onions, and possibly some brandy, you can pull it off. If you happen to have vermouth, all the better. The next time you go to town, pull into Kappy's and stock up on cognac, vermouth and lots of red wine. Then go to Shaw's or Stop and Shop and get a big bag of onions, a couple of boxes of beef broth, a bag of flour and some yeast. Don't forget to get some Gruyere or other sharp cheese that melts well. Continually keep all of these ingredients in stock until the sun shines, around July fourth. Don't worry, you won't notice that it has snowed for days if you keep enough red wine in your cabinet and in your glass.

French Onion Soup (adapted to serve 2-4 people from Julia Child's "The Way to Cook")
1 tablespoon butter
2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
4 cups thinly sliced onion (about 4-6 onions)
1/4 teaspoon each salt and sugar
1 tablespoon flour
1 box beef broth (32 oz.), heated
4 tablespoons cognac
1/2 cup dry white French vermouth

Using a large sauce pan or pot, melt butter and olive oil on medium heat. Add the onions the cover and cook slowly until tender and translucent, about 10 minutes.
Blend in the salt and the sugar, raise heat to moderately high, and let the onions brown, stirring frequently until they are dark walnut color, 25-30 minutes.
Sprinkle with flour and cook slowly, stirring, for another 3-4 minutes. Remove from heat, let cool a moment, then whisk in 1/2 of beef broth. Blend well and bring to a simmer and add the rest of the broth, cognac and vermouth. Cover loosely and simmer slowly for 1 hour adding more liquid if necessary. Correct seasoning.

Herbed French Bread
(makes 2 loaves)
5 1/2 -6 cups all purpose flour
2 tablespoons yeast
1 teaspoon dried basil
1/2 teaspoon dried thyme
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 cups warm water (115-120 degrees F)
cornmeal

Combine 2 cups flour, yeast, basil, thyme and salt in a stand mixer bowl. Add 2 cups warm water and beat at low speed for 1/2 minute. Beat at high speed for 3 minutes and stir in as much remaining flour as you can. Knead to stiff dough 8-10 minutes. Shape into ball. Place in greased bowl and turn to coat. Cover and let rise until double in size, about 1 hour.
Punch down and divide dough in half. Let rest 10 minutes. Roll out each piece to a rectangle, roll up and shape loaves, seal well.
Place formed loaves on a greased cookie sheet. Spray with water and sprinkle with cornmeal. Make diagonal cuts across the top of the loaves. Let rise until double, about 45 minutes.
Place a pan of water on the bottom shelf of the oven. Preheat to 375 degrees. Place bread on middle rack and bake for 40-45 minutes until loaves start to turn golden. Remove from oven to wire racks to cool.

To Make crostini:
Slice cooled bread on the diagonal. Brush slices with olive oil. Cover slice with grated cheese such as Gruyere and broil for 5 minutes in the oven. Serve on top of soup.

Those Were The Days...

2009-01-06T10:49:00.008-05:00

When I was a child, I loved the illustrations of Beatrix Potter. I loved her stories, her animal characters and best of all, I loved the clothes she dressed them in. I think I received this cook book from Val, although I could be mistaken. (I'll have to check with her as her memory is so much better than mine.)I must have been about nine or ten years old when I baked "Littletown Farm Carrot Cookies" for a party in my elementary school classroom and "Little Black Rabbit's Orange-Honey Carrots" for a special family dinner Val was preparing. It surprises me as I thumb through it that this is not necessarily a cook book for a child although the illustrations would lead one to think this at first glance. However, it is a cook book for a beginner cook as the explicit directions in the recipes indicate. Even so, my mother must have had a lot of trust in me to allow me to boil water and bake at such a young age. Of course, she was always there to supervise but still allowed me to do everything from measuring, mixing, placing the dough in the oven and giving me the responsibility of properly timing as not to burn the results! Opening this slightly musty and stained cook book reminds me of the brick red colored stove and the white Formica counter top in our sunny kitchen. Mixing the stiff cookie dough by hand with an old wooden spoon and licking the bowl are memories of a simple pleasure.

LITTLETOWN FARM CARROT COOKIES
INGREDIENTS:
5 carrots
3/4 cup water (more if carrots go dry)
1 cup unbleached white flour
1 cup whole-wheat flour
2 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
1/8 teaspoon nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup soft vegetable shortening
1/2 cup butter or margarine
1 cup brown sugar
2 eggs
3/4 cup golden raisins
extra shortening

Wash the carrots, scrape them with a vegetable peeler, rinse and cut them into 1/4 inch slices with a sharp knife. Measure 1 1/2 cup carrot slices and put them into a small saucepan. Add the water and a pinch of salt, cover and cook for 15-20 minutes over medium heat or until the carrots are tender when you test them with the tip of a knife. Drain the cooking water and save to use in soups.
Preheat oven to 400 degrees.
While the carrots are cooking, put the white flour, whole-wheat flour, baking powder, cinnamon, nutmeg, and salt in a mixing bowl. Stir them lightly with a fork until they are thoroughly mixed. Put the cooked carrots in another mixing bowl and mash them with fork. Add the soft shortening, butter or margarine and brown sugar and mix well. Beat in the 2 eggs.
Add the dry ingredients to the carrot mixture and stir until they are completely blended. Stir in the raisins.
Grease 2 cookie sheets with the extra shortening. Use a spoon to drop the cookie mixture onto the sheets about 2 inches apart. Bake for 10 minutes. Use pot holders to take the cookie sheets from the oven. Remove the cookies from the cookie sheets with a spatula and put them on wire racks to cool.
Makes 4 dozen 3-inch cookies.

Extreme Holiday Cookie Baking

2008-12-19T08:44:00.012-05:00

(Jam Thumbprints)

I noticed that I am my at my happiest when I am able to be in my kitchen, cooking without interruptions. Alone with my thoughts and my hands rolling the dough, no sounds except the whir of the mixer and the hiss of the gas oven. Don't get me wrong, I love teaching my children and having them help on occasion, that is, when they are invited. So, since Tuesday was a school day for both of them, I decided to take some time for myself and indulge in softened butter and teaspoons of vanilla. Here are the fruits or I should say, the confections of my labor. Many of the following recipes can be found on http://www.valscapecodkitchen.com/ as they are almost all Val's recipes. The one that is not posted there, can be found below. I wish you Merry Baking!

(Pecan Balls)

(Chocolate Walnut Crumb Bars, this time without nuts)

(Frosted Sugar Cookies)

(Coco Loco Brownies)

Adapted from Everyday with Rachael Ray, November 2008

Ingredients:

1 2/3 cups sugar

1 stick (4 oz.) unsalted butter, room temperature

1 cup unsweetened cocoa powder

3/4 teaspoon salt

2 teaspoons vanilla extract

3 large eggs

1 cup flour

1 1/2 cups roasted almonds, chopped

3/4 cup semisweet chocolate chips

2 cups shredded coconut

1/2 cup sweetened condensed milk (about 1/2 a can)

Preheat oven to 325 degrees. Grease a 9"x13" baking dish and line crosswise with parchment paper allowing ends to hang over the edge.

In a large saucepan, cook the sugar and the butter over medium heat, whisking occasionally, until bubbling. Remove from heat and stir in the cocoa powder and 1/2 teaspoon salt. Let cool for 10 minutes. Whisk in the eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition. Stir in the flour, then the almonds. Pour the batter into the prepared baking dish and spread evenly with a spatula. Top with the remaining 1/2 cup almonds and the chocolate chips.

In a medium bowl, combine the coconut, sweetened condensed milk and remaining 1/4 teaspoon salt. Spoon the coconut mixture in dollops over the surface of the batter. Bake until the coconut is golden brown and the brownie layer is just set in the center, about 35 minutes. Let cool completely before cutting. Makes about 16 bars.

Ode to Kathy

2008-11-03T05:34:00.008-05:00

Hostess extraordinaire, beer bully, travel agent, tour guide, translator.
I think this only explains a small facet of Kathy. To truly understand how she made our trip to Europe fantastic, here it is in a nutshell:
First off, there were the emails. Back and forth about what we might like to do once we got to her apartment in Luxembourg which would serve as our home base for six days. Ultimately, she came up with a great plan that included wine tasting in France, a tour of Bastogne, Belgium and a quick trip to Trier, Germany. Not to mention all the other fun stuff peppered in between.
Kathy met us in Pisa, Italy where we all melted from the heat. After visiting the cathedral next to the leaning tower, she claimed it was "Time for a beer and a gelato!" This may seem benign but it was 10:00am! Lunch and dinner included lots of wine ordered and translated by Kathy complete with hand signals to illustrate the requested size " Una grande Picher de vino"...numerous ones. Needless to say, I woke up with a bit of a headache. I needed to learn how to pace myself.
Once we arrived in Luxembourg for the next leg of our trip, "Shall we get a drink before we go out?" or "Let's stop for a beer." Thankfully there were two sizes available. Kathy and Rob always ordering "Grande" and I got what looked like a kid's size in comparison.
After a delicious meal at a local Asian restaurant and numerous "GRAND pichers de vin rouge" (by the way, even if she doesn't speak the language, and she doesn't, she still manages to get anyone to understand that she wants wine and lots of it) and a sake in a rated "x" shot glass, I tumbled into a very comfortable bed after cleaning up in my own bathroom. Pure Luxury.
Sleeping late in the morning and waking up to coffee and an offer to go to the local pastry shop for breakfast, this is my kind of vacation. We were off on a car trip chauffeured by Kathy and her GPS. The car was already set up with snacks, wine, water, soda, napkins, you name it. Like I said before, hostess extraordinaire.
The Thomases mini bagels and the People Magazine with the Clay Aiken coming out story that we brought will never be enough to thank her for the wonderful memories and great times we spent in Europe together. Thanks, Kathy. You made our vacation!

Smitty's For Dinner

2008-08-18T16:17:00.008-04:00

Most people know that Val always ran a pretty tight ship. Bedtimes were almost always respected. You made your bed in the morning and did your "list" of jobs before going to the beach, Don't even question it. But when it comes to ice cream and "sweets", that's when she still bends the rules and often.
It wasn't until I lived in Boston in my early twenties that I learned of her weakness. I would arrive home on every day off I had during the summer months with dirty laundry in had. Usually, I went to the beach and then out to the bars until all hours with my friends. Sometimes I opted to stay in at night after a long day in the sun. I enjoyed an evening of having my parents all to myself since I grew up as the middle child with someone older or younger constantly vying for their attention. We ate dinner at the picnic table in the back yard and lingered until dark or at least until the mosquitoes came out. But it was on the nights my father worked late that the truth came out. Val would say,
"I don't feel like cooking, let's go to Smitty's for dinner."
Music to my ears. I salivated in anticipation and thought about the ice cream flavors I would choose.
"You drive and I'll treat." She grabbed her purse and we were out the door.
We dined al fresco, sitting under the tall oak trees at a weather worn picnic table. There was enough of a breeze off the pond next door to keep the bugs away. I indulged in two scoops. Coffee Oreo so rich in coffee flavor you swear it will keep you up all night and amaretto cherry chip with huge chunks of semi-sweet chocolate chips and dried cherries set in almond flavored ice cream. Val had her usual: a hot fudge sundae with thick fudge over chocolate chip ice cream and topped with fresh, homemade whipped cream, chopped walnuts and a cherry, of course. Smitty's Homemade Ice Cream in East Falmouth,MA is hands down, her favorite.
I now live only four miles away from my parents in East Falmouth. Instead of having Val cook for me, on numerous occasions I have taken over and cooked the barbecue chicken or another one of my mother's famous recipes while she and my father pay a visit to my house. But there are some nights when my husband works late and I am feeling too tired to make dinner after chasing after my two young children on the beach all day. That's when Val rescues me by saying,
"Get the kids in the car. You drive and I'll treat."

Here's a yummy alternative if you can't get to Smitty's. You will need an ice cream maker. I bought one at Wal Mart.

Coffee Ice Cream With Heath Bar and Honey Roasted Peanuts
5 egg yolks
1 1/2 cups whole milk
3/4 cup sugar
1 1/2 cups cold heavy cream
1 teaspoon vanilla
3 tablespoons instant coffee
3 smashed Heath bars
1 cup honey roasted peanuts

In a double boiler over simmering water, mix the egg yolks, milk and sugar. Stir and cook until the mixture coats the back of a metal spoon and becomes the thickness of custard. Transfer mixture to a bowl and refrigerate for up to eight hours until it is completely cold.
Start up ice cream maker. Quickly mix together cold custard, cold cream, vanilla and instant coffee. Add to ice cream maker and mix according to manufacturer's directions (about 25 minutes) until ice cream is formed. Manually mix in Heath bar and peanuts. Immediately transfer ice cream into an air tight container, cover with plastic wrap and seal with top (to prevent freezer burn). Chill for up to eight hours until solidified.

Andrea Norris a.k.a. Sarah Vallely or Who's Ribbon Is It, Anyway?

2008-07-28T05:38:00.008-04:00

Here's how it began: A couple of weeks ago,Sarah and I were chatting on the phone when I told her that I was entering my Banana Trail Mix Muffins (which is an official blue ribbon winner this year, by the way)and my Chocolate Chocolate Chip Cookies (which did not get the recognition they deserve)in the Barnstable County Fair. She said,
"Oh you should enter my peanut butter balls. They are so good, they are like 'crack', you can't stop eating them."
Considering I didn't feel right about entering someone else's recipe, I offered to make them and enter them under her name. She emailed me the recipe and was specific about the type of cornflakes and chocolate to be used.
I bought the exact ingredients and set out to make the peanut butter balls with ample time for hardening in the refrigerator. After dipping half the balls in the approved chocolate, I ran out and had to use another brand I had on hand. The night before, I taste tested to choose the best flavor, it was indeed the ones with chocolate Sarah had recommended. Thursday morning, the day to deliver the entries, I chose 6 of the most delicious looking and uniform balls, displayed them on a plate an wrote out the recipe embellishing the name to:"Chocolate Covered Crispy Peanut Butter Balls". My mother, Val and I delivered all of our entries to the fairgrounds for judging.
Val reported the winners on Sunday evening as she stood in the adult exhibit hall. Sarah's balls had won a blue ribbon! I was happy and annoyed. What the heck, my efforts delivered a blue ribbon to my friend. It's a good thing my muffins also won, or I would have definitely been a sore loser.
I refused to tell Sarah the news on a voicemail and made her play phone tag with me for a few days to get the info. The suspense was killing her. I had to make her suffer somehow.
"You won a blue ribbon, you bitch!"
"I'm sending out emails to everyone I know!!!!"
And she did. She copied me on all of them.
Those of you who know Sarah, probably do not know one of her deepest, darkest secrets. You all know her as a superstar runner and athlete. What you probably don't know is that she won the school home economics award her senior year in high school.
I've never seen her cook and I've never seen her drive (another Sarah mystery). I'm not sure she can do either one. However, I can attest to something for sure, those balls taste like 'crack'.

Chocolate Covered Crispy Peanut Butter Balls or
Sarah's Crack Balls
1/2 cup unsalted butter
2 cups organic cornflakes
2 cups creamy peanut butter (not organic,Skippy or Jiff works best)
2 cups dry milk powder
2 cups powdered sugar
15 ounces semi-sweet chocolate chips (Nestle only)

Line two baking sheets with foil. Melt butter. Cool slightly. Combine cereal, peanut butter, dry milk, and powdered sugar in a large bowl. Mix in butter. Moisten hands and roll 1 tablespoon of mixture into a ball. Place on baking sheet. Continue with rest of mixture. Chill overnight.
The next day, melt semi-sweet chips in a double boiler over low heat. Stir occasionally. Remove from heat and roll peanut butter balls to coat using a fork or a spoon. Place chocolate covered balls back on foil lined sheets and refrigerate until hardened. Keep refrigerated until ready to serve. Enjoy your 'crack'!

City Guys At The Beach

2008-07-15T05:40:00.007-04:00

Relaxing on the beach is one of my favorite summer pastimes. On Sunday afternoons, I often get together with some friends and we hang out on the Heights Beach in Falmouth, MA to enjoy the sun, surf and conversation. That is, until the "City Guys" show up.
A posse of 4-6 young men in their 20's-30's tossing a football and lugging large coolers always park themselves close to us, behind the lifeguard chair that sits about 10 feet away. They announce themselves in loud voices as if projecting on stage so that the rest of the beach going population can "enjoy" the performance. In a matter of minutes, we all know their silly nicknames and which one of them drank to much last night. That's about when "Sully", "Cheese", Whitey", "Fitzie" and "Dopey" started throwing the football around. Anyone else would have noticed the large sign mounted on the back of the adjacent lifeguard chair that listed the rules of the beach. Especially since the ball missed its intended target a few times and bounced off the sign. Maybe such rules don't apply to them. It's still a mystery to me. Anyway, for as long as I can remember, the sign has stated: NO BALL PLAYING. After the third errant pass that almost hit the lifeguard....

"Hey guys, no ball playing on the beach"
"We can't just toss it around?"
"NO. No ball playing."

Now the fun has to end. The entertainment is over. All seems quiet and we resume the conversation we started before this special presentation. But wait...
One of the city guys has climbed onto the jetty right in front of us. He is bear walking along the rocks that are covered in slimy seaweed. This is a dangerous act. One could slip and fall off bleeding with jagged cuts into the water below. We whisper and motion to each other to watch. Was the lifeguard going to...

"TWEEEEET!!!" a piercing whistle blew through the air.

Everyone on the beach looks over to the guard who is motioning for Fitzie or maybe it is Dopey (yes, it's definitely Dopey) to get off the rocks. Everyone that is, except Dopey. As the guard continues whistling and motioning, it is obvious that Dopey has not seen the sign that clearly reads: "DANGER:KEEP OFF THE ROCKS". Finally, as the guard jumps down from the chair and walks over to address the offense, Dopey realizes all the commotion is directed at him.

"Uh, sorry, man."

Once all his friends finish clapping him on the back, it's time for some refreshment. The city guys pull beers from their coolers and take a rest for now. Please don't make me tell the rest of the story. I sincerely hope all of you are smart enough to know. The sun, the ocean and alcohol make for a very unpleasant mix.

P.S. These events are all true but names have been changed to protect the not so innocent. To all of you "City Folks", please don't be offended. I know you are not all bad. I married a guy from Dorchester.

Summer Fun From Moths to Margaritas

2008-06-06T06:44:00.007-04:00

I'm half asleep on my 60's style daisy printed lounge chair as I watch Ava flinging her brother's toy rake while she sits in my original seat (which she stole), the Adirondack chair complete with comfy pillow. I wonder what she is thinking about. She's either singing a made up song or muttering something under her breath...I'm to far away to hear exactly but the perfect distance for observation without being noticed. She is clearly in her own world as she bounces the plastic rake up and down on her knees. I find myself drifting off into a memory: I remember the summer Jenny and I spent most evenings on Val's back porch. We were about 14, to old to go to bed early, to young to go "out". One of us sat in the wicker rocker with the flowered cushion and the other in an old director's chair rescued long before from the "Island Queen" ferry boat. We talked forever on those nights. Who knows what the topics were but it was important stuff and it often sent us into fits of laughter until we were reprimanded and told to quiet down. (My father, Dick went to bed very early and the windows were all open.)
That's when it was time for the moths. Once we started to get a little bored, Jenny took my brother Ethan's fishing pole, handily resting against one of the walls of the porch, and pried one of the many moths who made their home around the porch light, loose from the dark chestnut colored wood. It fluttered awake, disoriented and annoyed. The winged thing was usually large with great spots and horny growths and it inevitably would fly into one of our faces and get caught up in some one's hair. Of course, this caused us to shriek, freak out and do it again, choosing another icky looking moth for our next "victim".
"MaaaaaMaaaaa! Aya Top It!" Suddenly, I am ripped from my own day dream as Ava has abandoned her throne and bored herself, has started to harass her little brother. Here we go again. Back to reality. I think Jenny would agree, by 4:00pm after a full day with "The Fighting Irish", it's time for:

Mommy's Favorite Margarita

(Makes 1 16 oz. drink)

Ingredients:

Ice cubes

1 1/2 oz. gold or silver tequila (I like Sauza Tequila)

1/2 oz. triple sec

1/2 oz. Chambord

3 small lime wedges

1 cup sour or margarita mix

1 teaspoon coarse kosher salt

Directions:

Fill a pint glass to the top with ice. Add tequila, triple sec and Chambord. Squeeze the juice from 2 lime wedges into the mixture. Top off with sour mix or margarita mix leaving 1/4 inch at top of glass. Shake until mixed thoroughly or our back and forth into another glass to mix ingredients well.

Spread salt onto a small plate. Using the last wedge of lime, rim the margarita glass and place glass upside down in salt so it coats the edges of the glass. Pour mixed drink into margarita glass and enjoy!

Stubbed Toes and a Fractured Metatarsal

2008-05-03T05:53:00.006-04:00

Last week, for school vacation, we couldn't have had better weather. It was a bit of a tease-bright sunshine, warm and balmy everyday. Instead of the usual middle of April weather, we were transported, briefly to the end of May.

This is the kind of weather that makes young children (and some grown ups eager for summer to arrive) take off most of their clothes. One afternoon while playing outside at Gramma Val's house, Ava decided she didn't need her shoes. No sooner did I warn her of the dangers of bare feet and concrete ("Get your shoes back on before you hurt yourself!"), did she trip and tare the skin from the top of both of her big toes. According to Ava, there was lots of "bleed". Thankfully, there were not lots of tears, at least until we got home. She screamed bloody murder when I put her in the tub to soak her injured "tootsies". ScoobyDoo bandaids helped to sooth the wounds.

Ava's "condition" improved after a few days. Which means the drama ended, or so I thought.

Ava's new bed with its thick, mattresses making it just shy of 3 feet high seems to be very enticing to her two year old brother, Declan who stands at about the same height. The problem isn't that he wants to climb up and lay on it. It's the flying leaps off the bed that pose the problem. If you don't properly "stick" the landing, you may get injured. Declan learned this when he landed and planted his big toe into the carpet with the rest of his body weight on top. Considering he was only wearing a diaper and no other "protective" clothing, his bare foot took quite a beating. Of course, all of this happened while I was trying to make myself look presentable for the day. My goal was to get to the supermarket before going to work and I was more focused on what I wanted to accomplish than what my children were doing in the next room. I was just relieved that they weren't torturing each other.

After a lot of screaming, crying and rolling around on the floor in pain, I finally figured out the injury was to his foot. I really didn't think it was to bad so I tried to put his shoe on. Declan's screams let me know this was not a good idea. Still convinced that my agenda was in the plan for the day, I went to find his sandals. I put Declan down. My plans clearly changed when he let out a howl and refused to walk or put any weight on his foot. You can imagine the rest: pediatrician's office, xrays at hospital, diagnosis: fractured 1st metatarsal.

Believe it or not, the trip to the hospital wasn't so bad. We scored some free frozen yogurt in the cafeteria. ( I must have looked pretty pathetic juggling a 25 pound toddler, a tote bag full of toys and diapers with my only helper a precocious 4 year old who kept dropping all of our snacks on the floor.) And Ava got to "look at Declan's bones on the puter" when they took the xrays. Hey, I'll take my week of foot injuries any day compared to someone I know whose kid had diarrhea the whole vacation.

Ticks And The City

2008-05-03T05:27:00.009-04:00

Do they even have ticks in the city?

Last night, my husband, Rob had me look at a small growth on the back of the dog's neck. It looked like a whitish, yellow large kernel of corn.

I gagged and told him it was a tick, swollen with blood. The expression on his face showed his disbelief.

You see, he's been a city dweller (Dorchester to be exact and if you know Bostonians, this is important!) his whole life until his move to Cape Cod. He seems to know what a tick is supposed to look like: small and brown, the size of a nail head. However, I guess his boyhood dog never spent most of its days exploring wooded areas.

Which brings me to my gripe. Our dog, Stella enjoys most of her days outside. Although we don't live in the "woods", we do have grass and trees. Thankfully there is a product called Frontline that keeps the fleas and ticks away...provided you (Rob), as the human in charge, remember to apply it to your "best friend".

Admittedly, I spazzed out when he came up from the cellar with and empty box, having used the last of the Frontline probably at some point last fall. (Leaving empty boxes and not writing things on the shopping list are criminal offenses in my mind.)

"Oh, you're awesome!" I proclaimed in a tone that was both sarcastic and degrading, while I was on the phone with my mother.

This was not nice, I admit and Rob was rightfully mad at me. However, here is my defense:

I don't believe he has ever accidentally stepped on a swollen wood tick with his bare feet.

This entry is dedicated to my brother, Ethan. As a teenager, it was his job to spend summer evenings on the back porch deticking our dog, Spock.

Greetings from New Hampshire!

2008-04-17T05:01:00.015-04:00

Last week was what is becoming our annual family vacation. We went to New Hampshire, Attitash Mountain. Let me answer the first question:
"No, we didn't ski."

Do you honestly think skiing with these two would be fun?

Our days consisted of mainly waking up at the same insanely early hour, trying to keep the children occupied until the indoor pool is open while wishing we were still sleeping and trying our best to enjoy a cup of hot coffee.

Once the pool opens (9:00am), it's time to help them "swim" for about 45 minutes. Even though I absolutely hate the thought of putting on my bathing suit, it's all worth it when they are so tired out that Declan will nap and Ava will actually chill out for an hour or two while I read a book!

After the pool and a big snack, it's time to explore the town. Which really entails me scouting out good places to eat. You may be surprised but the little village of North Conway,NH has a lot to offer.

Super fabulous bakery, off the beaten track and located next to a barber shop full of dogs. (Yes, dogs.)

Old Village Bakery, 50 Seavey Street, North Conway, NH. Incredibly delicious and fresh baguettes (among other types of breads) as they make them in house, daily. No place to sit, but definitely worth the stop. Be sure to get some of their other treats that are big enough to share.

The Red Fox Bar and Grill in neighboring Jackson, NH practically saved our lives, but not for the reasons you think! They have a play room adjacent to the booths in the back. This was by far the most relaxing night for me and Rob as the kids played while we ate and had a few. (Thanks for the tip, Deb!)

Chef's Market, Main Street, N. Conway, NH is not what I thought it was going to be: a place to buy a few things to take home...like a market. No, it's better! A funky sandwich and gourmet take out place with comfy chairs, great music and beer and wine. That's my kind of sandwich shop! Our best meal and coolest place award goes to Moat Mountain Smoke House &Brewing Co., N. Conway, NH. We were actually on our way to Horse Feathers on Main Street when we happened to stop in at the Bavarian Chocolate Haus, Rt 16, N. Conway, NH. Not only did we get some delectable hand-dipped chocolates but we got a great recommendation from the very informative and chatty 20 something chocolate man to check out Moat. It seems he just recently had a great steak there.

Not much to look at from the outside. (This is why we drove by every day, sometimes twice a day and never stopped until our last night in NH.) Super cool old farmhouse with neat murals on the walls inside and big tables all around. Nice looking bar, too. I'd like to check that out sometime!
Anyway, killer fries, great beers and super attitude. Rob had a flavorful steak with some kind of buttery shallot sauce and I had barbecued beef nachos. Mucho delicioso! (Bet you didn't know I speak Spanglish.)
We decided to bring a souvenir home to share with the gang. It went pretty quickly. I think we have some converts!

This trip was short but relaxing. Lots of good places still left to explore. Who knows? We may end up here again next year. Rob thinks we might do some skiing!

March 27, 2008:Pizza Diet

2008-03-22T05:27:00.033-04:00

My recent birthday as reminded me that although at times I still think of myself as twenty five, the harsh reality reveals forty looming on the horizon. The twenty plus pounds of baby weight that has taken up residence on my small frame needs to go to prevent a list of potential health issues (physical and mental) including the anguish I feel when summer arrives and I have to wear the required Cape Cod uniform. My dreaded bathing suit emerges from the back of the bottom drawer where it has been out of sight and out of mind for the better part of nine months and dares me to try it on my winter pale post baby (of two years, way to long!) flabby body. I'm ready to throw in a tent sized towel.

You may be thinking that I shouldn't be complaining. Based on my articles, it appears that I am constantly indulging. Yes, I recall the doughnut article (Falmouth Bulletin 3/20/08 and falmouthbulletin.com/food) and yes, I do sample all of my recipes. (What kind of food writer do you think I am?) My behavior does not make it easy to shed the extra flesh. However the birthday mentioned before reminds me that now is the time to take another stab at it. But how? My love for all things fatty and naughty (extra butter, anyone?) as well as my work on the cook book and the column present challenges like brick walls I must hurl my Rubenesque body over.

A stack of mocking magazines showing gorgeous, super slim women in bikinis with uber abs on the covers litter my bedroom floor. Headlines scream, "Get Fit in 10 Days!", "Super Abs in 5 Minutes!" and (my favorite) "Eat Your Way to Thin!". The list goes on and they suck me in every time. The most annoying to me have to be the fashion magazines featuring the latest celebrity mom on the front photographed 2 days after giving birth and fitting perfectly into a size subzero designer gown. (Don't even get me started on the article inside where she is quoted about motherhood. That's a subject for another diatribe.) Obviously, for me, this magazine reading technique will not work.

Since my taste buds have a detrimental love affair with all things decadent, a touch of willpower is required. I must control myself at least a little bit and try not to dive in with such reckless abandon. Breakfast and lunch do not present a problem as I am at home with the "fighting Irish". My two year old and four year old make it nearly impossible to eat anything while it is hot or before the bread on my sandwich gets hard and stale. No, my friend, the witching hour for me arrives at 5:00pm when the wild ones are splashing in the tub and I give myself permission for the first glass of wine. It all starts innocently enough: I begin to cook dinner, nibble a few bites, drink a few sips, imagine, create, nibble, sip some more, create and taste again. By the time my husband gets home and "helps" by finding something for the children to watch on television, I've already had an entire meal consisting of tiny bites here and there accompanied by some glistening Merlot with nice legs. Now I'm ready to sit down and enjoy the meal I've made (this time on a plate) as well as another glass of wine. Let's not forget dessert.

Revamping my favorite recipes as well as developing new ones with less caloric ingredients is my only hope. (That along with counting calories, portion control and a stepped up exercise program, all way to boring to mention here.) Of course, reworking a recipe holds its own host of problems. I recently attempted a low fat version of cheesecake. The author of the article and recipe promised, "Once you have this one, you won't miss the real thing."

Liar, liar, pants on fire.

Woman cannot live on celery sticks alone. So, here's the dilemma: find real food that satisfies which will also pass when doing the dreaded calorie count for the day. I'm talking about cookies made with real sugar, not some substitute, sandwiches put together with 2 pieces of bread and even PIZZA! Yes, I said, "PIZZA!" There must be a way to make a diet friendly yet flavorful version of the famous, so called, "junk food".

While I'm still searching for the ultimate guilt free cookie and I continue to ration slices of bread, I've managed to come up with a pizza recipe that will keep me from gaining 10 pounds by merely inhaling its cheesy aroma. It make not make the list of "Top 5 Diet Foods You Must Eat NOW!", but this recipe rocks. This is not a miracle pizza that has zero calories but tastes like 1000. However, you can eat a few small slices and have a glass of wine. If you have been really good for the day, eat a Dove Chocolate for dessert (only 42 calories for one). Just don't claim I gave you permission to eat the whole pie. I haven't yet lost enough weight to walk on water.

Basic Pizza Dough
makes 3 12" medium crust pizzas

I think King Arthur Flour for all types of flour mentioned below is the best brand.

A Kitchen Aid fitted with a dough hook is my favorite tool for this recipe.

2-3 cups all purpose flour, divided

1 teaspoon sugar

2 packages dry yeast (4 1/2 teaspoons)

2 cups warm water, divided

1 cup whole wheat flour

1 cup self rising flour (substitute: 1 cup ap flour, 1/2 tsp salt and 1 1/2 tsp baking powder)

1 teaspoon salt

2 teaspoons olive oil

cooking spray

for brushing edges:

1/4 cup olive oil

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/4 teaspoon ground black pepper

In a large mixing bowl, combine 1 cup all purpose flour, sugar, yeast and 1 cup warm water. Let rest for 15 minutes until bubbles form in mixture. Add remaining cup of warm water, whole wheat flour, self rising flour , salt, olive oil and 1 cup of all purpose flour. Mix well. Add enough remaining all purpose flour, one tablespoon at a time, until dough pulls away from sides of bowl. Transfer dough to lightly greased bowl (use cooking spray) and cover with greased wax paper and kitchen towel. Place in warm area to rise to double its size for 30-45 minutes.

Place pizza stone on middle rack in oven and preheat to 500 degrees. Flour hands and punch down dough. Remove dough from bowl onto floured board and knead to remove air bubbles. Divide dough into 3 equal portions. Roll out into 12" rounds.

Using a pizza peel, place well floured dough round onto pizza stone and partially cook for 3 minutes until dough is just firm enough to hold its shape. Remove from oven. Keeping it on pizza peel, brush edge with olive oil, salt and pepper mixture. Continue with other desired toppings (see recipes). Place back in oven for 8-10 minutes until pizza crust is golden brown on edges and cheese is bubbling. Remove from oven and place onto cutting board. Let pizza rest for 5 minutes and cut into desired pieces.

Zoomin' Shroomin' Pizza

topping for one 12" pizza

2 lbs mixed mushrooms (I use white and bably bella)

6 slices turkey bacon

1 teaspoon butter

2 teaspoons olive oil

6 green onions

juice from 1/2 lemon

1/4 teaspoon salt

1/8 teaspoon pepper

5 oz. Monterey Jack cheese, grated

1/4 cup fresh parsley, chopped

Slice mushrooms to 1/4" thick and set aside. Chop bacon into 1/2" pieces. Heat medium sized pan on medium high. Add bacon and cook until just started to crisp, about 5-8 minutes. Add butter and olive oil. Add mushrooms and stir once to coat. Let cook for 5 minutes and stir again. Add green onions and cook for 3 minutes. Season with lemon juice, salt and pepper. Remove from heat.

Using a slotted spoon (to drain any juices), arrange mushroom mixture over prepared pizza crust (partially cooked and oiled on edge, resting on pizza peel.) Sprinkle with Monterey Jack cheese. Cook in preheated 500 degree oven, on pizza stone for 8-10 minutes until cheese is bubbling and crust is golden brown.

Remove from oven, let rest on cutting board for 5 minutes and cut into desired pieces.

Mexicali Masterpiece (or, Debbie's favorite)

Topping for one 12" pizza

1 chicken breast

2 tablespoons tequila

juice from 1/2 lime

1/4 teaspoon garlic salt

1 teaspoon honey

pinch of cayenne pepper

1 cup salsa (I like Stop & Shop Simply Enjoy Black Bean and Corn Salsa)

5 oz. extra sharp cheddar cheese, grated

1/4 cup fresh cilantro, chopped

garnishes:

sour cream

chopped black olives

chopped pickled jalapeno peppers

Place chicken between two sheets of plastic wrap. Using rolling pin, pound until chicken is 1" thick all over. In a small bowl, combine tequila-cayenne pepper. Heat a grill pan to high. Brush chicken on both sides with tequila mixture and grill for 3 minutes on each side to sear. Turn down heat to medium and continue cooking until chicken is cooked through. Remove from heat and let rest on plate for 5 minutes. Remove to cutting board and shred into small pieces. Pour any juices from plate over shredded chicken. Set aside.

Top prepared pizza crust (partially cooked, brushed with oil and resting on pizza peel) with salsa , chopped chicken and cheddar cheese. Cook in 500 degree oven on pizza stone until cheese is bubbling and crust is golden brown (8-10 minutes). Remove from oven to cutting board. Sprinkle with cilantro. Let rest for 5 minutes then cut into desired pieces. Serve with list of toppings.

March 13, 2008

2008-03-13T19:13:00.000-04:00

The name says it all. Behold the birthday gift from my brother, Ethan. He's known me through the best of times and the worst of times (sorry, Charlie). Drunk in ecstasy over espresso martinis. (Really, the best of both worlds in my opinion.) Horribly hungover and jonesing for a strong, black coffee after a night of revelry that somehow got out of control. (It happens.) Caffeine: both a blessing and a curse. To little and your head throbs all day, to much and you are schizo, out of control.

In the immortal words of one of my dearest friends:

"Let's drink coffee until we shake."

March 12, 2008

2008-03-12T13:28:00.000-04:00

So, I just turned 39. Yesterday. Nothing exciting planned as I am the mother of 2 beautiful and unruly toddlers. I like to call them, "the fighting Irish" when they act the way they did all day on my birthday.

My sister, Karyn and I share the same birthday even though there is a four year difference. Now that we are adults, we like to celebrate together. (Sometimes we like to include our husbands and sometimes we don't like to even look at them.) This year, was no exception and we planned (or so I thought) to get together at her house with her family and mine.

Since she would be working all day, I offered to make dinner and bring it. O.K. settled.

The only problem, Karyn left and obscure message on my machine at about 9:30pm the night before stating "I can't stand my family and I really don't know what is going on for tomorrow night." (If you know her, this could really mean anything.) I thought it best to let it rest for the night and call her early in the morning.

Starting at 7:15am, I began calling and leaving messages on her cell phone. Unfortunately, even though I left about 4 throughout the course of the day, I never heard back from her. This could have meant a few things:

1. She forgot her cell phone (likely)

2. She forgot how to pick up her messages (highly likely)

3. She thinks the plan is in place and all is well. (also likely)

What would you do? Here I am essentially in charge of the birthday celebration so that all of our children (she has two) could feel that they had done something nice for their mother(s). I kept the faith and moved forward with the plan.

In an effort to simplify our lives at the "witching" hour (about 5:00pm when most children are ready to come completely unraveled and Mommy really needs a glass of wine), I prepared as much in advance as possible. This included baking chocolate cupcakes and mixing butter cream frosting so the children could decorate them. I proofed the pizza dough and partially cooked 3 large pizza crusts. While this was happening, I grated the cheese, cooked off some turkey sausage, caramelized onions and sauteed a gourmet mix of hamburger and spices. Once all was complete, it was packaged up and ready for travel. I continued to wait for the return call from my sister.

At 4:45pm, when I had decided to throw in the towel and have dinner at home, her call finally came:

"I CAN BARELY TALK TO YOU ON THIS STUPID PHONE!"

(Car alarm honking in the background.)

"I DON'T KNOW WHAT'S GOING ON TONIGHT, BUT I NEED TO GO AND WORK OUT NOW BECAUSE MY FAMILY IS DRIVING ME CRAZY!!!"

So, I'm thinking dinner is off:

"Why don't you call me later?"

Fast forward to the rest of the evening:
My children eat pizza and have baths as if it was any typical night at our house. My husband arrives home with the spatula I wanted as a gift from the kids. I open it.

Karyn calls as I am on glass #2 of wine:

"I don't know what happened?!"

Now everyone at her house is bummed out that there is no celebration.

"Operation Crazy Bitch" goes into motion:

We get the Norris children into the car, cupcakes, frosting, sprinkles, remaining ice cream from Declan's party, hot fudge from the pantry...oh and a bottle of wine thrown into my purse (I have a big one...purse that is.) We arrive at Karyn's as the cleanup is happening for the coffee grounds that were spilled all over her kitchen. Don't ask.

Finally the wine is poured, the ice cream and cupcakes decorated and being eaten, we are relaxing with our make shift celebration.....

Wham! Blind sided again! One lone, full glass of RED wine not only gets knocked over and spilled down the front and inside the white cabinets, it shatters into a million shards of tiny knives. We spent the rest of the time, cleaning crevices in the kitchen, vacuuming up, comforting the hapless victim "No the birthday was not ruined, blah, blah, blah."

Oh, let's just go home and go to bed.