tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7225139617242604022024-03-13T23:36:06.865-07:00nani and her j'sOn food and (my) people who eat it.nanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10743042259844839047noreply@blogger.comBlogger59125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722513961724260402.post-75212527029247621862022-11-21T07:38:00.002-08:002022-11-21T12:42:13.843-08:00The Short and The Small of ItI come from generations of women who have all been the same size: short. When I was young I knew that I would grow up to be short and now that I’ve grown up I am, obviously, short. It would be impossible to be me, to be in my body for all these years, and not know that I stand inches below the national average height for women in the US, which I just looked up again to confirm it hasn’t changed, and it hasn’t. It’s 5’4. I’m shorter than that by 2 ¼ inches. <div><br /></div><div>Many years ago when I was self conscious about everything (and not just some things), I used to try to boost my height, even just a little bit, by only ever wearing shoes that gave me at least an extra inch. I even wore flip flops that were sort of platformy. It was a ridiculous, sometimes uncomfortable endeavor, bound for failure, and I gave it up at some point in my mid 20s and truly managed to embrace being shorter than nearly every adult I know. There are actually many benefits to being short, you should know.</div><div><br /></div><div>Besides, there aren’t too many situations I find myself in these days that make me actively feel short. One situation is fairly obvious, and it’s when I need something that’s higher up than I can reach, at the grocery store or even in my own home, and I find myself asking for help or standing on chairs or climbing on counters to get what I need. I cannot reach many things. But, on the flip side, I can fit more easily into airplane seats. </div><div><br /></div><div>Another situation that reminds me of my height but is accidentally self-inflicted is clothing shopping, because, it seems, I am preternaturally drawn to long multi-patterned dresses with flowy, drapey fabric and can’t quite get it into my head that taking them from the rack to the fitting room with hope only ever results in me staring, shocked and disappointed, at a preposterous version of myself under sometimes flattering, sometimes not overhead lights. Some dresses are only for tall people. Or tall-er people, at least. </div><div><br /></div><div>The third situation is when I am with my eight-year-old daughter’s best friend’s family because, as my daughter and her friend joke, the friend’s family is the tall family. Everyone in the family, including their dogs, is tall. And at first, when I met them, I thought: oh no. How will this work? How will we ever overcome the awkwardness of this height differential? But that was silly; I got to know them and would want to know them and hang out with them even if I got a stiff neck every single time I talk to them, which I don’t, because we do not live in a cartoon. </div><div><br /></div><div>Sometimes my daughter talks in a way that makes it clear she is hopeful that one day she might grow to be tall. She won’t, ever. 5’4, maybe. But tall? No. </div><div><br /></div><div>But lately I’ve been feeling short in a whole new and different way, one that’s making me somewhat uncomfortable, actually. And it’s because my ten-year-old son is getting… not short. It is not a surprise to see his eyes creeping near level with mine; I always knew he would outgrow me in his adolescence. I have long savored this knowledge, in theory, but the reality of it is making me feel small, which is not the same as feeling short.
It’s not making me feel small in a bad way, exactly, the way a terrible boss once made me feel small or the way someone I love deeply who said bad things about me once made me feel small, but small in a different, new way I’m still trying to understand. </div><div><br /></div><div>I’m pretty sure this feeling of smallness has something to do with the recognition that my identity as The Mother of Three Young Children is waning, or has waned, and apparently I wasn’t quite ready for that. It was, after all, hard enough to say goodbye to my identity as the Young Mother of Children, which I had to do when I realized that after my third came along I didn’t feel particularly like a Young Mother anymore, nor did anyone pay me the courtesy of remarking on my status as a Young Mother because no one in their right mind would have looked at me with my three children under four and my seventeen bags under my two eyes and mistaken me for one. </div><div><br /></div><div>I first realized the ground was shifting a few years ago when my family spent an entire day at the beach. Seven hours, straight. My youngest was still napping then but she didn’t need a quiet room or a crib and after she napped on me for a bit in one of those not-quite-as-comfortable-as-it-looks beach chairs she woke up and kept right on building her castles. We were out of diapers by then and though I’m not quite sure we’ll ever be out of meltdowns, the fact that all three of our children could just… hang…all day, at the beach, was something novel. And so my husband and I mark this memory, that day, as the beginning of a thrillingly new, baby-free season in the life of our family. </div><div><br /></div><div>My husband and I embraced it. We dove right in and took trips with our children that involved tents and long flights and car drives and hikes and foreign languages and weird foods. We watched genuinely good movies together and played card games and board games I actually wanted to play (move over, War and good riddance, Chutes and Ladders and Candy Land!) and we talked with our children about the world in new, fascinating ways as they explored it in real time. </div><div><br /></div><div>It’s true, what they say, that we get so caught up in the moments of intensity and insanity of having really young children and then poof! It’s over. But there aren’t really enough sayings about how the next, post-baby, young-school-aged-children phase goes just as quickly, if not all the more so, and then all of a sudden your son’s eyes are level with yours and you can barely smell the top of his head anymore without making it awkward for everyone, and you need to smell the top of his head because it inexplicably, comfortingly smells like your younger brother’s baby blankets… Not to be weird or anything. </div><div><br /></div><div>The only saying I can think of is “small kids, small problems; big kids, big problems,” which is really a terribly gloomy way of looking at things, but I suppose what’s all the more gloomy is that it actually seems like it might be right, which makes me feel uncomfortable. Though it was physically exhausting to have young children, it was, for the most part (excepting the first five months of my youngest’s life during which time she screamed from 5 PM-9 PM without ceasing), easy to know what they needed and when. I knew when they needed to sleep or to eat a snack or run around in fresh air and I even knew when what they needed most was a bandaid lovingly placed on the most minuscule, non-bleeding cut imaginable. I knew how to comfort, as my mother did, and hers. </div><div><br /></div><div>But now they come to me with their big, hot tears and their bigger kid heart pains and what they need is for me to just sit in their discomfort with them. Sit in my own discomfort with feeling so small and unsure. Unlike when they were learning to walk and I knew that I had to clear the ground to make way for them, now I have to watch them struggle through the debris and learn to clear the ground for themselves.
When they were young I knew how to love them up, and it was easy for me to feel like my love and care was all they needed. I was so big, then. And now that I’m supposed to release them forward and turn them outward I feel so small sitting here watching them go, waiting for their return, for their reports on what it’s like for them out there in the world. </div><div><br /></div><div>There’s a story my family loves to tell. Many years ago my father–a man of average height in his youth, and shorter than average height in his not-youth–delivered a speech in southern Florida that happened to attract a particular audience, by which I mean the place was just full of old Jews. After the program my dad stayed around to chat with attendees and two women approached him to talk. They spoke for a bit and when my father said goodbye and turned to go he overheard what one of the little old Jewish ladies said to the other, with absolute sincerity: “Who knew he’d be so tall?” </div><div><br /></div><div>At 5 1¾ I have felt myself to be, in my family of five, a giant. Who knew I could be so tall? But now, it seems like, with my oldest child’s eyeline quickly approaching mine, the precipice of his adolescence is occurring simultaneously with the precipice of adolescence of my own middle age, and I’m in need of a boost. </div><div><br /></div><div>It is true that I come from a long line of short women. But they also happened to be mighty. They also happened to be the biggest people I have ever known; sharers of immense love, vast wisdom, and expansive comfort. Soon enough, my children will all outgrow me in more ways than I can currently imagine, and we’ll move through to the next phase of our family’s life. It will be uncomfortable and probably also sometimes painful. May I be like the women who came before me through all of it, in platform flip flops, or not. <div><br /></div><div> ~~ </div><div><br /></div><div>Discomfort is… uncomfortable. And since I mentioned being uncomfortable multiple times in this post, I’m going to share the food that is bringing me the most comfort right now, which is cheesy oatmeal. Not everyone will agree with me that savory oatmeal is a good thing or even a right thing, but I really think the haters are simply people who have not yet tried it. The recipe has so few ingredients but the result is surprisingly rich and sumptuous and, yes, comforting. </div><div><br /></div><div>½ cup oats (Any kind will do, but use old fashioned rolled oats if you like a toothier oatmeal and quick oats if you like it with less texture.) </div><div>½ tsp salt. (Or more, to taste.) </div><div>1 cup water </div><div>⅛-¼ cup shredded cheese of your choice </div><div><br /></div><div>Combine the oats with the salt and water and cook in either in the microwave or on the stove, depending on the instructions you choose to follow and how many dishes you choose to dirty. It’s done when the water is all absorbed and the oatmeal looks like it has grown. Add the cheese and stir. Dive in.
</div></div>nanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10743042259844839047noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722513961724260402.post-60872562457878247172022-05-22T06:41:00.008-07:002022-05-23T07:35:29.296-07:00A Bit of Whimsy. A Bit of Change.<blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> <span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A long time ago, or not so long ago but it feels like a long time ago, before we had children, my husband and I used to save our coins in a giant jar. It probably didn't actually have anything to do with not yet having children and more to do with actually having coins, but that's not the point. The point is that we both had coins, my husband and I, all the time, and they were annoying to have. We already had cellphones and therefore didn't make calls from payphones, so really we didn't ever </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">need</span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> coins. So we could collect them in a giant jar and when the jar got full we would bring it to the bank and try to guess how much money was in there and we never guessed correctly but once I guessed pretty close, and when all those coins dropped down that noisy machine we'd get a receipt and we'd take the receipt to a bank teller and the bank teller would give us cash. So much cash! And then we'd go out to a restaurant for dinner and order drinks </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">and</span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> appetizers </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">and</span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> entrees and feel absolutely, filthy rich. Well, those days are over. Not because of the children, like I said, but because of the coins. Or lack thereof. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I actually used to have cash in my wallet. In fact, I still carry a wallet that has a nice little area for cash to be all flattened if I was ever to have any, which, as I've said, I don't. But who even takes cash anymore? Bodegas and taxi cabs and artisans in booths at craft fairs take credit cards now and so many businesses have those little signs about being cash free to prevent robberies, I think. Now people just wave their magic phones in front of machines to pay for things! We used to pay babysitters in cash but then a few years ago they asked us to pay them on Venmo, which I avoided doing at first not because I was worried about internet privacy, but because it sounded like one of those things that would take me forever to set up and for which I'd forget my password a million times. But then I finally did it and now I </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">really</span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> never have cash. Which is fine, except when it's not. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Which is when my son comes home and proudly tells the story of how, when he was eating a sugar daddy given to him by the teacher of his superhero stream afterschool enrichment class, he felt a POP! and then his mouth filled with blood. Yes, the molar had been loose. But not THAT loose. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">And it's not fine when my daughter is casually eating strawberries while I'm reading to her one moment and then the next moment she's looking in the mirror and crying hysterically because she managed to not only lose her first tooth in a strawberry, but somehow, impressively, also managed to then swallow the tooth she lost in the strawberry. Yes, the tooth had been loose, but not THAT loose. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">And it's also not fine when my other daughter loses not one, not two, not three, but FOUR teeth after bouts of pillow fight couch jumping wrestling with my son. And, for the record, those teeth had been quite loose but my daughter was so terrified of losing them and so protective over them that I thought it would never actually happen. Silly me.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">That's when it's not fine to have cash. That’s when it’s a good thing to live in a condo with neighbors who are our friends because sometimes, fairly late in the evening, when we are desperate, we can ask our neighbors if they have any dollar bills or even coins and sometimes, when we are lucky, they do. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Why? Because of the tooth fairy, of course.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Now, as we don't celebrate Christmas or Easter, the tooth fairy is really the one magical creature we allow into our home and in whom our children believe. And boy, do they believe. Or at least my girls still do. My son seems to be in it for the payout at this point. But they all dutifully write the tooth fairy letters asking her questions about her name (Alessandra), her size (small, of course!), her home (see below), and her abilities (isn't flying into bedrooms in the dead of night and replacing teeth with money enough?!) and then outline and draw arrows to where they'd like her to reply on the page. They ask for things like gift cards (what on earth?) in exchange for their teeth, or for her to grant them special powers, like flight. For the record, I have gotten quite good at my tooth fairy handwriting.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The night the babysitter called me while I was at a work dinner to let me know my son had lost a tooth that was </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">connected </span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">to his braces and therefore connected to his mouth even after it had fallen out (well, really he had pulled it out); the night I came home early from said work dinner to cut my son's tooth free with kitchen scissors because we don't have needle-nose pliers, and neither, I learned, do the neighbors who often have cash; the night I made my own finger bleed with said kitchen scissors--while incredibly, amazingly, impressively </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">not </span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">cutting my son's mouth--my son wrote to the tooth fairy to ask her if she might pay him a little extra because she could maybe use the hardware of the brace on his tooth to create a door for her castle. Sheesh.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">One of the things I learned in spring 2020 when my husband and I took turns trying not to pull our hair out or have nervous breakdowns as we sat with our children and their "packet work" (this, before their year of online school was up and running) is that there are a lot of different customs around teeth and what to do when they fall out. From all over the world! Some even dating back centuries! I cannot for the life of me remember which child had to read about these international lost-tooth traditions as I have blocked most of the details of that spring from my working memory--because, well, why wouldn't I?--but I do remember feeling ever so much more equipped to discuss this than I was to try to explain to my children why 6 and 3 makes 9. (It just does.) But I found it interesting. Baby teeth fall out, which is disgusting, and then people have to figure out what to </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">do </span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">with them. And they've been trying to figure it out and tell their children stories or make meaning out of these weird tiny bones for a long, long time. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">My children spend a long time talking about their loose teeth, then they lose them (which often involves blood and sometimes involves tears, and in the case of the kitchen-scissor incident, involved my sweat and blood), then they're told to put them in little ziplock bags (we don't have any of those fancy lost tooth pillow doll things so a ziplock is the next best way to get easy access to the teeth since one child sleeps on a top bunk and another on a loft bed), then they put the bags under their pillows and go to sleep. Once they're asleep my husband and I frantically search the house for bills or change or text our neighbors to ask for cash before sneaking into our childrens' bedrooms while they sleep to trade the tooth for money. It's really strange, actually. But, as my children will tell you, the tooth fairy needs the teeth for her castle. Which is what my mom told my brothers and me. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">A note about the tooth fairy castle: it's conveniently located near us, right off 495, the Capital Beltway. Some people might know this structure as the Mormon church, and an old friend of mine might even have gotten married there in a double wedding ceremony, but I knew it as the tooth fairy castle when I was a child, and so now, too, do my children. It is... made of teeth.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Which, yes, is a lie. Sometimes it's okay to lie to my children. Which might be a lie I tell myself. And mostly, I think, I don't tell them outright lies, but sometimes, maybe a lot of the time, I avoid telling them whole truths when I don't think it's entirely necessary. Bit by bit, as they mature, the world will come into focus for them, and all of its impossible miseries and heartbreaks and injustices will sharpen in their eyes just as the wondrous, inexplicable, surprising beauty will. This is inevitable. It's happening already. And the stories my husband and I tell them will guide the contours of their focus; lies and truths, both. The safety and security of the home and the family we devote ourselves to creating for them is the bedrock from which we hope to launch them into the world, fully formed, reasonable people with healthy adult teeth. </span></span></p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">And what's so wrong with a bit of whimsy–they're not gonna find much of it in the Torah. So we tell this strange, happy story about a little fairy who comes in the dead of night to take their baby teeth for herself in exchange for a dollar. A fairy who pays them actual cash they can use as they please, which is to say, on overpriced, mediocre ice cream from the truck that mercilessly appears outside their school every single day. Soon enough they'll learn the horrors teeth can reap. One day the misery of modern dentistry, second only to the misery of pre-modern dentistry, which, yes, is all better than what was surely the misery of a world without dentistry, will become clear to them. Maybe it's a good thing, starting the whole tooth journey with this little fairy. Maybe one day, when they have children of their own, they'll think back on Alessandra while a drill carves out their deadened, rotted roots, and feel a sliver of joy. Or maybe, at the very least, they'll remember to get some cash on their way home.</span></span></p></blockquote><span id="docs-internal-guid-408248a1-7fff-a555-ecfe-0bc9a9273a8c"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /><br /><br /></span><br /></span>nanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10743042259844839047noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722513961724260402.post-32499030585545619402022-02-07T12:00:00.002-08:002022-02-07T12:02:26.353-08:00Ice Cream: The Routine<p> <span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">In its current iteration, according to my standard of measurement on any given day, my childrens' bedtime routine takes anywhere from six minutes to, oh, say, nine or so hours, depending on a variety of factors including, but not limited to, whether or not one can consider bedtime ever really actually over when a child who has thrown a fit over an evening snack, the order in which books are read, the level to which lights are dimmed, and the exact position of my body while I am singing lullabies, finds his or her way out of the bed I’ve so desperately tried to lure him or her into for so long–ends up sleeping, yes, right next to me in my not-quite-big-enough bed. </span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-b7456bf0-7fff-4b03-31e8-9c2b4262d0a8"><p dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This is, I'm both happy and devastated to report, a vast improvement to the bedtime situation in my home; the lowest periods, thankfully, are in my past. I hope. The evenings my then-toddler son would not stay in his bed unless I was sitting in his room until he fell asleep, or directly outside his door scream whispering "SHHHHHHHHHHHH" through gritted teeth until he fell asleep, were harder. And wasn't that multiple-years-long period during which songs from both The Little Mermaid and Frozen crept their way into the mandatory performance of lullabies more annoying than what currently happens, which is watching my youngest operatically mime singing the "normal" lullabies along with me into a pretend microphone? And certainly the time period during which I somehow wound up sleeping in a twin bed with at least two of my children was worse. Worse, even, than the time period during which I somehow wound up sleeping on a fold out couch with at least two of my children. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"> </p><p dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I know how. Desperation. That's how. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"> </p><p dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Now that my eldest child requires no more than a goodnight blessing and a hug before he reads himself to sleep--or rather, before he calls out "goodnight" to each individual member of our family until he gets an individual response from each one of us, before he then insists on my appearing outside of his bedroom multiple times to ask questions he has absolutely come up with on the spot--I can feel we're heading in the right direction. And now that my daughters (who share a room that is, though they are only six and seven years old, already entirely covered in clothing and other Important Things that cannot be cleaned up before bedtime) sometimes even like to brush my hair and put lotion on my feet as I read to them (sometimes really great books about adventurous children and sometimes astonishingly bad books about singing mice with school crushes); now that they even take turns reading to me and to each other before getting in bed and requesting kisses to be doled out in just such an order and arguing about which child will receive said kisses in just such an order, I can feel we are headed in the right direction. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I think.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And I know this long, drawn out routine is all my fault. I know that. It's the result of some bad decisions my husband and I made a long time ago, when we were novice parents and sleep deprived and desperate. And perhaps we will always actually be novice parents who are frequently sleep deprived and often desperate. But I don't think that's why this routine persists. No, I think it's because during this long, drawn out period I have one goal, and one goal only, which has absolutely nothing in the world to do with making sure these wondrous creatures, my most beloved darling babes, drift off to sleep feeling secure, wrapped in my love, and fully ready for a restorative night. Rather, my goal, by the time a certain point in the evening rolls around and I have snuggled them and talked through the day with them and read to them and managed to stay awake all the while, is to tuck them in and say good night with a kiss and then, without fits or fanfare or questions about belly buttons, escape them for the comforts of my couch where my cherished blanket of the most perfect fabric and weight is waiting for me, where I know I will, when I am finally released to go sit with my husband with our cartons of ice cream, tiny spoons in hand, just be.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Which, of course, isn't as easy as it may sound.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"> </p><p dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Recently, a dear friend and old roommate reminded me that, when my husband and I first started dating, though I so fondly remember the excitement of our boozy, sweaty evenings of dancing at concerts, the lingering conversations we shared over curated meals in low lit restaurants, and the meandering bike adventures we took through Brooklyn, it was, in fact, our shared passion for ending the day with ice cream that was true backbone of our relationship. Or rather, perhaps a bit more romantically, it was who we became together when, at the end of the day, we sat there, cartons and spoons in hand, to just be. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">By now my husband and I have seemingly endless, intricate, individual relationship strands binding us together. Some of these are the kinds of thrilling, magnificent, emotional, magnetic, dramatically looping ties one imagines sharing with one's partner when one watches a certain number of romantic comedies in one's youth. And just as many of them are the kinds of banal, mundane, hum-drum knots that drag us from day to day. We are each-other's best friends and lovers and confidants and cheerleaders and sounding boards just as much as we are each-other's annoyances and exasperations and frustrations and yes, even the home of each-other's disappointments. And we choose this every single day. My husband is the one with whom I want to examine and question and explore life as we live it together. It is his incense I want to wrinkle my nose at unpleasantly and the existential questions he asks me at the most inopportune moments I want frazzling me while I cook dinner no one will eat. And it's all deeply good, but often it's hard and sometimes it's scary and a lot of the time I feel like a kid pretending I know what the hell I'm doing out here in my life as a wife and a mother who is in charge of making sure three human beings get enough sleep, to say nothing of how much sleep I’m getting or not! So by the time we find ourselves communing at the end of the day–mulling over what’s happened in the world and in our days, who we are and what we’re doing, who we want to be and what we want to be doing–we really must have ice cream in our hands.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Also, a lot of the time we just watch TV while we eat our ice cream. TV is really important to us, too. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I hear there will come a time when I miss being asked, after I have already said goodnight for the fourth time, whether a person can reach their eyeball if they stick their finger far enough up their nose or whether lizards have nipples; I will reach a day when I miss being called back into a bedroom after I have left it for the fifth time, to be told that one child or the other has decided upon a blended future profession and can’t wait another moment to tell me (veterinarian and rockstar), and of course, that I'll long for my children to wake me twenty minutes after I have fallen asleep to tell me they just cannot possibly sleep without being able to look at my face. The people who tell me these things obviously have older children. They are the same people who smiled at me with pity and envy both as my toddler children tantrumed on the floor of the grocery store, while benignly, if not helpfully, reminding me to enjoy every minute because it all goes by so fast.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And it does. It goes by fast.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"> </p><p dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I trace the loops of my relationship with my husband, the arcs of our family's creation and movement forward, through the memories of the couches we sat on together eating ice cream. It was an old brown couch, purchased used and carried with difficulty up the slope in Brooklyn to my then-boyfriend's studio apartment where we ate Ben & Jerry's Chocolate Therapy together. A winning combination of textures. It was on a surprisingly comfortable futon-like thing we schlepped as fiancees in a rental car from the one Ikea in Israel to our apartment in Jerusalem exactly 67 steps up that we munched those decadent Magnum bars, the caramel dripping down our chins. It was on the dull brown couch we bought when we moved together back to Brooklyn, the one with the matching chair that made us feel so grown up, that we discovered what we called Shabbat ice cream, the astonishingly expensive and absolutely perfect Jeni's Darkest Chocolate, the expense of which was for special occasions only. That flavor saw me through my first two pregnancies and was our son's first taste of ice cream. He reached for the spoon over and over again. In our DC rowhouse rental on our mass of a gray couch we were introduced to Graeter's French Pot mint ice cream with that satiny chocolate ribbon, where we went from being a family of four to knowing we'd be a family of five. Now, in our DC condo, we have a blue, L-shaped couch and less and less time to sit on it, just the two of us, at the end of the day. In the morning our children wrestle on it, in the afternoon they read and draw. I'm always fixing the pillows and re-folding the blankets. I've traded chocolate for the joys of fruit ice creams. Jeni's is no longer a sacred expense and we routinely have the joyous Brambleberry Crisp in the freezer. Our children peek in the trash can some mornings and laugh with each-other when they see a finished carton. Recently, we discovered strawberry mochi ice cream, though have yet to identify a favorite brand; Trader Joe’s is in the running. On Fridays, our children stack all the cartons of ice cream we have on the counter and examine their options before choosing their two servings. On the best days, we have hot fudge to accompany their Shabbat treat. They eat it at the table or the counter; they're not old enough yet to be trusted with ice cream on the couch. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">One day we won't put our children to bed at all; maybe we'll even put ourselves to bed before they head to their rooms. It's hard to imagine and we have no idea what will be, what's to come. But I hope we'll understand it together, face it together, rejoice in it together, mourn it together, ice cream and tiny spoons in hand. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p><br /></span>nanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10743042259844839047noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722513961724260402.post-30725869209265360012021-08-19T13:46:00.011-07:002021-08-19T18:06:38.501-07:00Tuna Salad Theater<p style="height: 0px; text-align: left;"></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">A few years ago the </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">N</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">ew York Times had a test you could take and the point was they'd be able to tell you within some impressively small mile-radius just where you were from. The battle lines were really drawn on words like water fountain, which some people ridiculously call bubblers, traffic circles known to some as roundabouts, which, if anyone has spent as much t</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">ime </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">as I have</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;"> trying to navigate </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">DC</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;"> traffic cir</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">cles, they'd know they couldn't possibly be called something as charming as "roundabout." Lollipops are apparently also called suckers by some strange geographic groups. And of course there's the great soda debate. When I arrived at college I had a midwestern roommate and a southern one, and it was then that I learned that the central Ohioan called all brands of bubbly beverages, sweetened or not, caffeinated or citrusy, "pop," which actually made a kind of sense to me even though it was wrong. But my North Carolinian roommate claimed it all as Coke. Even Peps</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">i </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">i</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">s Coke! T</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">he expectation when ordering at a restaurant</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;"> was to </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">request a "Coke</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">" and then be asked what kind--Sprite, diet, root beer, and so on. <br /></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">Absolu</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">tely ridiculous. </span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">And now, all these years later, I find myself baffled by a different kind of puzzle having to do with the word theater, which my husband inexplicably pronounces "THEE-der" and my son, doubly inexplicably, pronounces "the-AY-der." My husband was born in St. Louis and grew up in Providence and his parents pronounce the word theater as I do, which is to say, correctly. And my son was born in Brooklyn and is growing up in Washington DC<span>. </span><span>S</span>o you can see why it's all very confusing <span>to</span> me since he says basically every single other word as I do. This is not, as some mispronunciations are, an issue of a speech impediment or childlike pronunciation, with which I am familiar.<br /><br /> </span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">My seven<span>-</span>year<span>-</span>old does a wonderful thing with her R's. At first she couldn't say them at all really, and they came out as W's, which I know is common. Her R's then transitioned briefly to a kind of Hebrew <span>"</span>resh<span>"</span> sound, and now there's something else happening, a kind of folding in of the sound, which is the only way I can really put it, and I absolutely love it because it's like her own sound, her own language, which is not the same thing as an inexplicable mispronunciation. And I know that some day she will be taught to fix this, and that some parents might already have gotten it taken care of, but we haven't yet seen a need. It's not that we are encouraging childish mispronunciations--except when we are, as is the case in our home with blueberries (bupahdees) and cucumbers (cucaboos and cumayas, both), because there is something so utterly charming to parents about the ways in which our children hear words, bring them into their heads and then back out of their mouths with different sounds, and in this case I simply cannot let go of the two-year-old pronunciations. <span>B</span>ut we're also not telling our children they're <i>wrong, </i>even in the case of the mysterious theater, because, it seems to me, as a parent I spend so very much of my time correcting, <span>either gently, or not-so-gently</span>. <br /><br /></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">And maybe it would be nicer to think of all of this correcting as guiding. Is it not, after all, our job as parents to guide these little beings we created? To mold them in the image we believe is best, the one that will lead them to live lives of goodness and meaning and service, to help them to be good citizens, mensches in their communities, and maybe even to pronounce words correctly, or at least within the New York Times realm of their regional dialects?<br /></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> <br /></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">This <span>was easier</span> when all we were trying to teach our children was <span>to</span> not eat bandaids found in the playground sandbox<span>,</span> or not to bite other kids when they're taking too long with the play-doh. But now that my children are older--old enough, even, to notice the very many ways and styles in which other families <span>- </span>other parents<span> - </span>are doing it, are raising their children, guiding them, correcting them--this has become infinitely harder because not only are we still eking out this path for them, sometimes (okay, most of the time) as we go along and as they age, <span>we are now also </span>eking it out while being asked WHY we are doing it the way we are, <span>as opposed to, say, the ways other families are, </span>and we are being asked this by our five<span>-</span>, seven<span>-</span>, and nine<span>- </span>year olds whose intellectual sophistication seems to fluctuate by the minute. So my husband and I are trying to teach our children that, for now, they have no choice but to do the things the way our family does them because we think our ways are best, while at the same time <span>attempting diplomacy on the part of their friends' families' ways</span>, which has led me to be the kind of desperately unlikable person who says things like "well, in our family we only have one dessert after lunch and that's just the way it is."<br /><br /></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">So yes, for those of us who aren't struggling to meet our childrens' most basic physical needs, who are downright lucky enough to be able to spend time thinking about all <span>of </span>this stuff, there are different ways to do it, to love children and give them the platform they need to become all the things we hope for them. Heck, there are different ways to do this within a family according to each child's needs and personality! And we're all just stumbling along, hoping what we want for them is right, praying that the path we're laying for them will guide them there and that they'll learn how to continue on it someday without us. There is no one right way.<br /></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> <br /></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Except, obviously, when it comes to pronouncing the word theater. All of which, of course, brings me to tuna salad.<br /></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> <br /></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">There are many ways to make tuna salad. Many of them are passable, and some of them are even quite good, but there is actually only one fully right way to make it, which is the way my mother made it, and all of the other ways are just inferior. No judgment here, just truth.<br /><br /></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">To make the right kind of tuna salad first you have to buy cans of tuna in water. Bumblebee is best because that's what my mom always bought. You have to squeeze out the excess water before dumping the fish into a bowl. This step is kind of gross but absolutely can't be avoided. Next you have to chop celery into small pieces. Not too small, though. Half an arch should do, and if you don't know what I mean about that I'm sorry. The celery goes in the bowl with the tuna. Now add the juice of a lemon, or two, depending on the size and juiciness of the lemon, as well as so very much mayonnaise (Hellman's is best here) you have to close your eyes while you're spooning it or squeezing it in. Then comes salt and pepper--more grinds of pepper than you think you need. Mix it all really well and taste it and see if you need more mayo. You do.<br /><br /></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Keep it in a sealed container in the fridge and use it for a tuna melt on a bagel. When it's Passover, eat it on matzah. When it's not Passover, eat it on everything else, like toast or pita chips or tortilla chips or crackers.<br /></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> <br /></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">You'll probably make it again soon.</span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Sometimes it's okay for there to be just one right way to do things.<br /></span></span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Sometimes it's easier that way. </span><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><p></p><p style="height: 0px;"></p><p></p>nanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10743042259844839047noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722513961724260402.post-51073208223199506332018-01-02T17:44:00.000-08:002018-01-02T17:44:14.987-08:00in search of entenmann's cake on my mother's birthday<div>
<div>
in entenmann's cake eating, as in many things mothers and
daughters can and should do together if they are well suited to one
another, my mother and i were a perfect match. the little white box
would appear on the counter with its window to the chocolate confection
below. when she peeled back the sides and popped open the box i'd find the
littlest spoon i could and ease the silky chocolate frosting from the
top, ever so delicately, revealing the chocolate cake below. then she
would move in with her fork, making slow headway on the landscape of the
naked cake i'd just unearthed.<br />
<br />
she did not want to eat the frosting. i did not want to eat the cake. and so we shared this delicacy, wasting not a crumb.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaxwr3kO8DNnazIlo5T9wGkK5FTQFkbyKcSlcjC9KHS1DnuLdR1IXEgxjH2-9Kc487aqCSIg3dRXKmdR1mMQkiMkOeZkPWfoxeL2WdX3l800Eybuk5O0rKLKOhKBpel6j2FJhQ6tyj1Dk/s1600/IMG_1102%25282%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaxwr3kO8DNnazIlo5T9wGkK5FTQFkbyKcSlcjC9KHS1DnuLdR1IXEgxjH2-9Kc487aqCSIg3dRXKmdR1mMQkiMkOeZkPWfoxeL2WdX3l800Eybuk5O0rKLKOhKBpel6j2FJhQ6tyj1Dk/s320/IMG_1102%25282%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
</div>
<div>
my
mother, never shy with her opinions, and never short on them, either,
taught by example that it is okay to like what you like and avoid what
you don't. many people do not like marzipan, she explained when i was
disappointed to discover that a friend's homemade yule log decoration--a
small animal i popped in my mouth whole with excited
anticipation--tasted...well... like marzipan. </div>
<div>
<br />
she was right. many people do not like marzipan. i do not like marzipan, even when it is cute.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUg6Z-2_jWmb1boMJUh1IgEax40f2W7l65vZzmy2nCbTydgbrbSOxxQ0nLT9VC2uXrH976mzs-2y9rrW-rSIwvJU2hQrhw_KSBP7DqV3kIzUzC5GaRjJc98tT_6mr1Mnvi3DeEDskba4Q/s1600/Screenshot+2018-01-02+20.14.49.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUg6Z-2_jWmb1boMJUh1IgEax40f2W7l65vZzmy2nCbTydgbrbSOxxQ0nLT9VC2uXrH976mzs-2y9rrW-rSIwvJU2hQrhw_KSBP7DqV3kIzUzC5GaRjJc98tT_6mr1Mnvi3DeEDskba4Q/s320/Screenshot+2018-01-02+20.14.49.png" width="320" /></a></div>
though
my mother did not go around broadcasting her dislikes, she also did not
apologize for them, either. it startled me that she did not regret not
liking things most other people with active taste buds like: hershey's kisses and doritos and starburst. they were not for her, she
did not like them, and that was fine.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaZrlk_4B7BLQhDbRSFPgRNy0F7KMG2me5iNJQtwS7g3Wg3p5WZn9mZs4AHYYB-UJE4mpNCUipo5swcB7UB6E0HmerQr8VHgZ7WhZk6a6cE3yKAmWPxgqtJyWA5NUUWOukWu_l6taazNA/s1600/Screenshot+2018-01-02+20.12.09.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaZrlk_4B7BLQhDbRSFPgRNy0F7KMG2me5iNJQtwS7g3Wg3p5WZn9mZs4AHYYB-UJE4mpNCUipo5swcB7UB6E0HmerQr8VHgZ7WhZk6a6cE3yKAmWPxgqtJyWA5NUUWOukWu_l6taazNA/s320/Screenshot+2018-01-02+20.12.09.png" width="320" /></a></div>
this lesson
extends well beyond food. i just recently stopped feeling ashamed that,
despite both critical acclaim and glowing recommendations from
friends, i have never been able to muster the energy to get beyond the tenth page of <i>1000 years of solitude</i>. i do not like it! it is not for me!
and that is fine!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
so i do not apologize
when i want to eat the frosting off a cake piece for dessert. i do not
feel embarrassed when i simply want to spoon chocolate tahini straight
from the jar into my mouth at the counter as my second dinner after the
children are asleep. because it is okay to want what you want and eat it
the way you want to eat it.<br />
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<br />
i am made fun of for
tailoring dishes to my liking at restaurants. i do this, i hope, within
reason, and with a smile. i ask for the otherwise perfectly
lovely sounding goat cheese and beet salad to be served without walnuts,
which i do not eat in most cases, and for the otherwise perfectly
fitting bowl of roasted vegetables and poached egg to be served without
bacon bits, which i do not eat in any case. i am not ashamed to do this.
my mother taught me this.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
she also taught me it is also okay to agree with people who like something you've made. </div>
<div>
my
mother once told a friend of hers how lovely she thought this friend's
grandchild was and how beautiful. "thank you for saying that" the friend
responded and my mother thought this was very odd, and essentially
another way of saying thank you for the compliment, which is not a compliment that is true. i overheard my mother telling my father this and i was
confused. she explained that it was more the way it was said. and that
when someone compliments her own children, she proudly agrees. i was
young then, and tried to imagine it. <br />
<br />
friend: oh, your daughter is so nice to babies and so good at making friendship bracelets.<br />
my mother, smiling knowingly, nodding: i agree. and you should see how well she plays kick the can. <br />
<br />
i
felt embarrassed that she would so boldly take credit that way, but she
was not. she made us, and she took great, deep, easy, satisfied pride
in us. (which isn't to say she did not see our flaws.) i understand it
better now that i have my own children in whom i take similar pride.<br />
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<br />
i
understood this episode better later, and as it related to food. she
was not a frilly cook. her dishes were not extravagant, and she did not
garnish them. but she was a warm cook, and her food was delicious and
comforting and a happy thing to eat. if someone complimented a particular dish and she, too, was enjoying this dish, she would agree and say
yes, isn't it good? this was her way of saying yes, i am enjoying it
with you, the same as you. but if she did not think a particular dish
was very good, and she was not enjoying with the person eating it, the
same as the person eating it, she would say thank you. that is all.
thank you. which, i think, she understood to be the equivalent of "thank
you for saying that."<br />
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</div>
<div>
sometimes my
mother's confirmations about the deliciousness of her food would
surprise people who might have expected a more subtle response to a
compliment. but why? why is it odd to outwardly take pleasure in
something you've made as a way to share it with someone else? it is not
vanity. it is delight. sharing in delight. she meant the things she
said, really truly, and similarly she only gave compliments when she
felt them to be true, and she did not much care if other people did not
feel them to be true. she used to tell me i looked like a movie star,
which i did not, and which i knew i did not. but i knew that she
believed that. and of course, knowing that she believed that felt deeply
good. </div>
</div>
<div>
she made so many people feel deeply good. she brought delight.<br />
<br />
</div>
today
is her 67th birthday. i meant to bring home a chocolate chocolate
entenmann's cake and share it with my children. my 5 year old would have nibbled at it slowly, more excited by the idea of it than the reality. my 3 year old would have licked the frosting off, discarded
the cake, and asked for more. she, too, prefers little spoons. my 2 year old would have ask for me to cut her piece up, and then she would have eaten it all.<br />
<br />
it wasn't to be. i could find this cake nowhere. not at giant, not at cvs. at safeway, a nice man suggested a carvel ice cream cake. he did not understand. it is my mother's birthday.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEws5M1VBCz-npKaBglcQKudBED2VST5JzQ5MMqIabsHpUz4wiX5FXzhkVnJHwLKM6bq4-JKOEOt7xHRKLTba9E70CUTahPEQyLGgd5rbQ-9ZK6SpHeHepofZs5WXX2N9QEIrJhMqgD5U/s1600/IMG_1104.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEws5M1VBCz-npKaBglcQKudBED2VST5JzQ5MMqIabsHpUz4wiX5FXzhkVnJHwLKM6bq4-JKOEOt7xHRKLTba9E70CUTahPEQyLGgd5rbQ-9ZK6SpHeHepofZs5WXX2N9QEIrJhMqgD5U/s320/IMG_1104.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">my mother's six grandchildren on their birth days</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
after dinner i gave each child a chocolate chip cookie, on top of which i generously spread chocolate frosting. i told them about the way i used to eat entenmann's chocolate cake with her. they smiled and giggled and asked questions with chocolate covered tongues. my mother would not have eaten this dessert. she would not have liked it. but she would have approved of the indulgence of three of her six grandchildren in her honor. she would have delighted at the sight.<br />
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nanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10743042259844839047noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722513961724260402.post-55609326653514274132017-02-01T17:48:00.000-08:002017-02-01T17:48:09.763-08:00winter afternoon blondies. because we all need them.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn460zMpEsC-Q4qbRWLHG2ovlR9zOy7IRuOLl_Kqh1UPigFFhXkDv-W0JcPiyBvddqA-gRejSiA8LGE9UJWoV3hOW-0Bg86foS9rZ4f-jG0GHcdf7WvCt_wTCeyE8Lazxebf1kZLI70mM/s1600/FullSizeRender+%252831%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn460zMpEsC-Q4qbRWLHG2ovlR9zOy7IRuOLl_Kqh1UPigFFhXkDv-W0JcPiyBvddqA-gRejSiA8LGE9UJWoV3hOW-0Bg86foS9rZ4f-jG0GHcdf7WvCt_wTCeyE8Lazxebf1kZLI70mM/s320/FullSizeRender+%252831%2529.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
the moments when a day--once full of promise, once peaking--begins a gentle descent to its conclusion, the air cooling, bowing to the settling darkness, are powerful. afternoon becoming evening is a transition. a separation. an end and a beginning all at once...</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
and for a mother trapped inside a condo with three small children in winter, these are moments of descent into sheer madness. these are the moments in which everyone is tired. everyone is grumpy. everyone wants space. these are the moments in which a drop of water spilled on a shirt is met with a 45 minute crying fest. in which two year olds hug one year olds around the neck with gusto. in which two year olds and four year olds play "the bumping game" which never, ever, ever ends well. these are the moments in which a broken lego construction might actually be the end of the world.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
of course, it isn't always like this. </div>
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<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
in spring, glorious spring, we spend these transitional moments outside. at the playground. scooting. biking. walking. running. rejoicing in the newness of the season. <span style="font-size: 12.8px;">in summer we're at the pool, which we can see from our window, walk to with no shoes, and at which we pass those insufferably swampy dc summer afternoons cooling ourselves. the mosquitos can't get us there.</span><span style="font-size: 12.8px;"> in fall we hike. we collect leaves and acorns and gleefully catch those helicopter things as they spin down from the trees. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
but then winter comes. </div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
and there is no more outside. </div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
not for me, anyway. </div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
<div>
over the summer, in the heat of an august evening, i met a woman who lives on a homestead in maine. her descriptions of life in her cabin in winter inspired me. she braves the northern winds and snows and so can we! this year will be different and we'll play outside no matter the weather and no matter the dark! there's no such thing as bad weather--just bad coats! dark shmark! look at us go! </div>
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</div>
<div>
it's easy to dream when it's 80.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
the very first time we headed for the park under that weak, cloud beaten sun, when the air hovered somewhere in the mid thirties, i could feel my resolve crumbling. by the time we got home i had changed my mind entirely. we would not spend the winter outside, after all. some people just aren't cut out for the cold. so inside we go.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
josh says it's good for children to be bored. he read that somewhere. probably there is some deep rabbinic wisdom in that statement, but josh is not home from 4:30-6:30 pm most of the time, and so he does not know the kind of horrors bored children can reap. </div>
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<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
so here, as i see it, are my options for indoor winter sanity:</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
-playspaces are sometimes great! they are also regularly pretty expensive and sometimes unfortunately smelly. if you are the kind of person who worries about germs, do not go to indoor playspaces, which is where all the germs live. that doesn't bother me, though. what bothers me is the perpetual "watch me do this" and the "are you watching are you watching are you watching" and the "no, that wasn't it, keep watching keep watching keep watching!" sometimes--especially the times i have paid good money for my children to run and jump and climb on padded surfaces indoors--i do not want to watch. sometimes i just want to stare at the wall and wonder how long it is until bedtime so i can just stare at the wall in peace. another risk involved in afternoon playspace outings is the godforsaken nap. the one that happens at exactly the wrong time, for exactly the wrong number of minutes, inevitably resulting in the dreaded waking-the-kids-up-to-get-out-<wbr></wbr>of-the-car-and-walk-up-the-hil<wbr></wbr>l-to-our-condo. there is no longer walk.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
-reading. to three children. who are all different ages. we read, of course we read. we read until everyone fights over my lap or starts grabbing at the book and whining about not being able to see. </div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
-playing. of course we play. my children build with legos and magnatiles. they make believe they're doctors and i'm the patient. they pretend to cook food in a mini kitchen and serve it to me and blow on it for me if it's too hot. we roll and bounce and throw balls but not too hard please. we build forts with boxes and they fill them with stuffed animals and dive into them. nothing ever ends because it was just time for it to end. they play until playing turns into fighting and screaming and hitting.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
<br />-arts and crafts. i love arts and crafts. arts and crafts are quiet and fun! cleaning up glitter paper and glitter glue and regular paper and regular glue is not fun! arts and crafts projects do not last as long as they should. see above. </div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
-fake magic. i once spent 17 agonizing minutes straight doing "magic" with a quarter.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
-science magic. recently we made <span style="font-size: 12.8px;">magical volcanoes that involve alka-seltzer and magical tie dye milk that involves dish soap and magical colorful rice in which we buried treasures. i call these things magical because a) i do not understand the science behind them and b) i hope referring to something as "magical" will buy me at least 6 extra minutes of child involvement. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXR9wiMuMXpA6VbxPX6wX25ff5wi2UF0PcJhfgDkfDOkGybqJdNvUqE2sZlXXW8VWnnZc7XEaq9UGuujoJ2zGfWsKeWUvDta9b3ScCwc1YqfZJNU8uvXPhYxOM5BrrhMvrX80YRDCe8vs/s1600/FullSizeRender+%252827%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXR9wiMuMXpA6VbxPX6wX25ff5wi2UF0PcJhfgDkfDOkGybqJdNvUqE2sZlXXW8VWnnZc7XEaq9UGuujoJ2zGfWsKeWUvDta9b3ScCwc1YqfZJNU8uvXPhYxOM5BrrhMvrX80YRDCe8vs/s200/FullSizeRender+%252827%2529.jpg" width="175" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIBy1ac0DH7gPn98osehDtZAj4GHfO8-0Q7CIXnZnoucOX2AAGFaLrne8xTAOg1oSh018k_kL_obtxIXoX7lZztPW8FLZrVbOGASoaTREsTPbq09ofT1RMtF680DyCudOE9xiObvz2ezE/s1600/IMG_3859.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIBy1ac0DH7gPn98osehDtZAj4GHfO8-0Q7CIXnZnoucOX2AAGFaLrne8xTAOg1oSh018k_kL_obtxIXoX7lZztPW8FLZrVbOGASoaTREsTPbq09ofT1RMtF680DyCudOE9xiObvz2ezE/s200/IMG_3859.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
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sometimes bath time is the activity du jour, thanks to our discovery of foam soap. sometimes i tell them to please just go jump on their beds. </div>
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and yes, we watch tv. because TV SAVES LIVES. </div>
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it's not that i don't want to be with my children during these long, looong, looooooong afternoon/evening hours. in fact, i have lucked into a job and a life that allows me to do exactly that; to spend more time with these incredible beings than i could ever have hoped. it's just that i find it difficult to be with them inside our not-very-large condo between the hours of 4:30-6:30 pm. those are bad hours when the crankiness quotient is turned up to high and the bickering and downright physical fighting just doesn't let up. <span style="font-size: 12.8px;">and i'm not at my best during these hours, either. i get frustrated and frazzled and i have a short fuse. there are days i feel like i'm just barely treading water. and of course they sense that. they sense everything. and of course that makes absolutely everything worse. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAQ50cnurXsJxmQYyXi1ShAsz88_sfjyfZqvnrYoAPz0MwcEL20FSGVu479ty1PA9ZtRY1A2dweUzCOQyDKD5eIokgCauNiF7INv6OqRI5wyh8Gs-JBmxBB-GzXULfGkez6wK-AmLoMy4/s1600/IMG_3024.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAQ50cnurXsJxmQYyXi1ShAsz88_sfjyfZqvnrYoAPz0MwcEL20FSGVu479ty1PA9ZtRY1A2dweUzCOQyDKD5eIokgCauNiF7INv6OqRI5wyh8Gs-JBmxBB-GzXULfGkez6wK-AmLoMy4/s320/IMG_3024.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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what they need, what we all need is fresh air and space. but like i said, it's too cold for me. (i should admit that i'm obviously glorifying spring, summer, and fall. those hours are hard hours then, too. but right now it's winter. and the hours are harder.)</div>
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sometimes, during these hard hours, i'm filled with doubt and worry that i'm not <i>doing </i>enough. that the ever present love that surrounds my children every moment of their existence <span style="font-size: 12.8px;">whether they are being hilariously enchanting and charming or horrifyingly whiny and difficult, is somehow not enough. i wish i knew for certain i'm giving them all they need. but i've never done this before--this raising three children born in less that four years thing--and a lot of the time i'm just winging it. maybe most of the time. and the number one person who was in charge of making sure i had what i needed isn't here to guide me, or tell me to just calm the heck down and have a glass of wine. and my mom would tell me that no one in their right mind would intentionally spend a cold winter afternoon and evening cavorting in the woods with three children this young. or even at the playground, for that matter. my mom would tell me to trust that i have what it takes. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZZVLaUd1i7fTZLmeF5DTkawGDiu9pPhyJOx2Hx7i3x6NOlC96Sun6F0UiZpxIQqB9ZNX3G8zTvlWwvXacwcKW27KkTBd4GWI23lmwrPS7dgaV00NLQ_e6Nl8q7nssEPgFQhI42WS1wHw/s1600/IMG_2894.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZZVLaUd1i7fTZLmeF5DTkawGDiu9pPhyJOx2Hx7i3x6NOlC96Sun6F0UiZpxIQqB9ZNX3G8zTvlWwvXacwcKW27KkTBd4GWI23lmwrPS7dgaV00NLQ_e6Nl8q7nssEPgFQhI42WS1wHw/s320/IMG_2894.JPG" width="291" /></a></div>
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but i still feel this nagging guilt that i am somehow responsible for my children's indoor-related wretchedness at the end of the day. why should they suffer indoors because of my lack of fortitude? </div>
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they shouldn't. they should get bakers reward.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgco8enH9pyRU1NPpDjNkcIxUipNpx0Vbh2JNVMoLCmqJx2MBQ01NotNEz-2XAOvLUgPVod-5xSisFjchlo9b3X5uRxgTEw3Lt5noQtFewl8qfERlmZoxJBdjxiMQY6ogHnUVWhzxve7vo/s1600/FullSizeRender+%252829%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgco8enH9pyRU1NPpDjNkcIxUipNpx0Vbh2JNVMoLCmqJx2MBQ01NotNEz-2XAOvLUgPVod-5xSisFjchlo9b3X5uRxgTEw3Lt5noQtFewl8qfERlmZoxJBdjxiMQY6ogHnUVWhzxve7vo/s320/FullSizeRender+%252829%2529.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<div>
bakers reward is, of course, a real thing in bakeries everywhere. in my house, however, it is nothing more than bribery to participate in the activity i love so very much and find so deeply soothing. a chocolate chip here or there after the baking powder is measured, the butter and sugar whipped. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9Z-1MNSbyQkW9UCvcr3gXXnU_pObrtoZhX9wBqsflYeNveTUP0FlnGApHrovySid6xh7E4fxCKXHOEb0FTwdj3RvEB2k7lmC3ABrvElx9QqY7XznIshwKuHrJJGqqot1hmSmRT-isEec/s1600/FullSizeRender+%252826%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9Z-1MNSbyQkW9UCvcr3gXXnU_pObrtoZhX9wBqsflYeNveTUP0FlnGApHrovySid6xh7E4fxCKXHOEb0FTwdj3RvEB2k7lmC3ABrvElx9QqY7XznIshwKuHrJJGqqot1hmSmRT-isEec/s320/FullSizeRender+%252826%2529.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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after all, one of the ways i show the people i love that i love them is by baking for them. and so my children are learning to bake with me, to take turns pouring sugar and stirring flour, cracking eggs and whiffing vanilla. and i hope, in so doing, they are learning a way, my way, of saying i love you and get well and congratulations and i'm sorry and i'm thinking of you and a finding a way of sharing sweetness with others for no particular reason at all. <span style="font-size: 12.8px;">and so, more and more, i find that we spend at least some of those hard winter afternoons and evenings together in the kitchen. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6uQDuviktuR0AR-oQr5G_la81nZS4x6o30_EP3tiAQXTJUbDV3T-_XdmosPJLkoBUE8j-XgVmrwonj8H4MLFzlrMFEXhIjj2Bl0jaatKOXu2yvZB-Tcj1bsm_fgubtl4eNgZX45xINCs/s1600/IMG_3575.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6uQDuviktuR0AR-oQr5G_la81nZS4x6o30_EP3tiAQXTJUbDV3T-_XdmosPJLkoBUE8j-XgVmrwonj8H4MLFzlrMFEXhIjj2Bl0jaatKOXu2yvZB-Tcj1bsm_fgubtl4eNgZX45xINCs/s320/IMG_3575.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">the recipe below is particularly hands on because instead of using brown sugar we actually make our own by combining white sugar and molasses, which is fun for my children to do with forks and fingers. i keep coming back to this recipe for other reasons, too. something about the balance of sweet and salty, that heavy molasses warmth and tang draws me in. i like to eat these straight from the freezer. josh likes them warmed in the microwave for 13 seconds. my children will eat them any way they can get their hands on them. and cleaning up a baking mess is a whole lot more pleasant than cleaning up glitter. </span></div>
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winter afternoon blondies</div>
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<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
adapted from <a data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?hl=en&q=http://joythebaker.com/2014/11/candy-bar-cookie-bars/&source=gmail&ust=1486084935278000&usg=AFQjCNE_DVQMQOPW0uMDxAGiji3sQqtepw" href="http://joythebaker.com/2014/11/candy-bar-cookie-bars/" style="color: #1155cc;" target="_blank">joy the baker's candy bar cookie bars</a>. i've made them her way, with candy. that's good too, obviously. </div>
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<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
ingredients:</div>
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2 cups all purpose flour</div>
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1 teaspoon baking powder</div>
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1/4 teaspoon soda</div>
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1/4 teaspoon salt</div>
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2 cups granulated sugar</div>
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4 tablespoons molasses</div>
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2 sticks salted butter, melted</div>
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2 eggs</div>
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2 teaspoons vanilla </div>
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1 bag of chocolate chips. or chocolate chunks</div>
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lots and lots of thick, flaky sea salt</div>
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to make:</div>
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1. preheat the oven to 350 F and line a 9x13 pan with parchment paper.</div>
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2. whisk the flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt.</div>
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3. combine the molasses and granulated sugar until there are no clumps. (fingers work best here.) then add the sugar to the dry ingredients.</div>
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4. whisk the butter, eggs, and vanilla, then add this mix to the dry ingredients and stir. it'll be nice and thick. stir in the chocolate. all of it.</div>
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5. bake for about 25 minutes. they should be golden brown and maybe just slightly undercooked when you take them out of the oven and generously sprinkle sea salt all over them. let them cool before lifting them out slicing them. </div>
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6. wait until the kids go to bed and then eat them all. after all, you've had a hard day.</div>
nanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10743042259844839047noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722513961724260402.post-47322205897965174952016-12-08T17:29:00.000-08:002016-12-08T17:30:48.098-08:00ice cream lasagna. (you read that right.)<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">ice cream lasagna.</span><br />
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it exists. (i'm not kidding.)</div>
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i didn't invent it, but i wish i had.</div>
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it's what happens when you take a bunch of absurdly not-homemade-things and put them together in a pan and feel accomplished.</div>
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and it's delicious. (obviously.)</div>
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here's how you make it:</div>
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line a pan with ice-cream sandwiches. </div>
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cover them with room temperature hot fudge.<br />
and then caramel sauce.<br />
and then defrosted cool whip.<br />
and then crumbled cookies. </div>
<div style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">
repeat.</div>
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eat. </div>
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(you're going to need some seltzer...)</div>
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nanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10743042259844839047noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722513961724260402.post-9511189684570731322016-10-25T08:07:00.001-07:002016-10-25T08:10:16.660-07:006th and 60th anniversaries. and cake.<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">a few years ago my younger brother joey said this: it's hard to be a person. he is very wise even though i still like to tell him what to do. it </span><i style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">is </i><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">hard to be a person. </span><br />
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here are just some of the day to day things that make it hard to be a person:</div>
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making appointments for dental cleanings</div>
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calling insurance companies</div>
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choosing the right curtains</div>
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flossing</div>
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keeping the medicine cabinet clean</div>
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waking up too early</div>
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listening to people chew too loudly</div>
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saving money</div>
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going to the post office</div>
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there are others, of course. scary and real things like debt and loneliness and pain and things that change absolutely everything about life, like death. </div>
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october 10th was my anniversary. josh and i have been married for six years. and here is what i know after six years of marriage: it's <i>still</i> hard to be a person. </div>
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it's even harder now, actually, because i am now not only a person, but a wife and the mother of three small children who cannot even get themselves breakfast. no, marriage definitely doesn't make it easier to be a person. but being married to josh, being on his team and having him on mine has made my life so very meaningful. he and my children have filled it with enough beauty, laughter, excitement, and wonder that i'd be okay even if i had to call the insurance company every single day. it's okay for it to be hard. it's supposed to be hard. but it's also supposed to be good. and for me being a person is so very, very, deeply, wonderfully good. </div>
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six years.</div>
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my grandparents have been married sixty. this weekend we celebrated and had a party and in attendance were their thirteen grandchildren and eight great grand children and counting... (NO. I DO NOT MEAN ME. (i have contributed enough.)) their lives have certainly not been easy. i imagine it only gets harder to be a person as we age. but there they are, still laughing together. </div>
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my parents would have laughed for ever and ever, too.<br />
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i know how lucky i am to have witnessed not one, but two generations of marriages that survived all the things that make it hard to be people. marriages that helped those day to day annoyances fade by nightfall, that made those real, true hardships seem surmountable, and those unspeakable heartbreaks seem somehow bearable. and of course, marriages in which life's gifts were emphasized and acknowledged as the real, true blessings they are. marriages filled with interest and understanding and support and laughter.</div>
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who am i to say what makes for a happy marriage? i suppose it's different for everyone. mine might not make it easier to be a person, but i imagine the goodness of our lives together will carry us through for as long as we have.</div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; text-align: center;">i pray our six years turns to sixty, and then more.</span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small; text-align: center;"> </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIY76Vv88qXozBCZXwRe6Z7hf64-1cN5QE4dtxPJVyXmO35EuwMraqVF82P5Lc6k5P0Ifz86L7_M1Ww-2Dc7j8W1LrTqeiyHOhbp2_eKm3acH7O4oJAaKNYfpmKN49HTbGFSTnHxrLDSY/s1600/-488.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><br /></a>we had carrot cake at our wedding. my grandparents had brooklyn blackout cake at their 60th anniversary party. these are superb cakes. but they are not easy. they're both involved and intricate and they that take no small amount of work. but the work is meaningful, and when they're baked and frosted and it's time to indulge, it becomes abundantly clear that the hard is clearly worth it.</div>
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nanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10743042259844839047noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722513961724260402.post-37129632900293117952016-09-27T08:50:00.001-07:002016-09-27T08:50:38.775-07:00portrait of a morning. with children. and oatmeal.<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">this morning i am eating cold, glumpy </span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">oatmeal</span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;"> for breakfast. cold, glumpy, packaged </span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">oatmeal </span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">that has a kind of sad little puddle of melted ice right in the middle. i eat it with a small pink spoon that turns white if it's too hot. the </span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">oatmeal</span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;"> isn't meant to be mine. i do not put ice cubes in my </span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">oatmeal</span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">. i did not mean to have this for breakfast. but sometimes things like this happen. </span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;"> </span><br />
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my husband is reading the paper. he takes 13.8 minutes to make coffee. it has tasting notes. tsk tsk, he says, about The News. you should read this, he says. he sips his coffee.</div>
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i look up at him from the floor. i am on the floor because i am trying to wrangle three small children into clothing. it is not going well. i cannot remember where i put my coffee. it was too hot to drink around all this commotion. my children are always making commotion. </div>
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they are playing. they are running. they are telling me things. at the same time. they do not speak with indoor voices. they are feeling many things. they are laughing. they are crying. or making whining sounds. please do not talk in those whining voices i say. talk in happy voices i say. </div>
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who have i become? </div>
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where is my coffee?</div>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj40p3caCMjufwdH3b7GcJx2hQ_pazBTNHrh5VLG3EAkCuj4SIG70fZyt5S6tcozcNPk61mZneWJypc_iK5Oc5CWomtB4vPLou6BIEdSNC7hfbB6lftuu0PKMVyWVACs58GafzvB-wY62s/s1600/IMG_2661.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj40p3caCMjufwdH3b7GcJx2hQ_pazBTNHrh5VLG3EAkCuj4SIG70fZyt5S6tcozcNPk61mZneWJypc_iK5Oc5CWomtB4vPLou6BIEdSNC7hfbB6lftuu0PKMVyWVACs58GafzvB-wY62s/s320/IMG_2661.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">no words needed.</td></tr>
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last night the baby woke up. she has an ear infection so i can't just let her cry. also i can't just let her cry if she does not have an ear infection. when she woke up i looked down at the mat next to my bed. my son was there. some time between 10 pm and 4 am he wakes up and leaves his bed with the train sheets and comes to sleep on a mat with a blanket for the rest of the night. sometimes he needs water. or to be tucked in. sometimes he comes into our room with toys that he puts on my night table. when the baby woke up i went downstairs to nurse her and then my two year old woke up and asked if we could go upstairs. it's three am i told her. we do not wake up at three am. she does not know what i mean when i talk about ams and pms. when i finished nursing i took her to sleep with me on the bed with the train sheets. the mattress does not have a pillow top. </div>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzmjJp2TrDedz1xYU20ZkXlKpLA698_TzyPNRnSlPp4cSML6Bzq2Be40-cpMfIr5fQGStznh7LcRxtHJ2umvEcFDzLy45wD6FyFNQM1e8TvcbnWdXtaLVKPc4_GZjvzkop7wRlRf0t9y4/s1600/FullSizeRender_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzmjJp2TrDedz1xYU20ZkXlKpLA698_TzyPNRnSlPp4cSML6Bzq2Be40-cpMfIr5fQGStznh7LcRxtHJ2umvEcFDzLy45wD6FyFNQM1e8TvcbnWdXtaLVKPc4_GZjvzkop7wRlRf0t9y4/s320/FullSizeRender_2.jpg" width="189" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">inspecting her cookie for chocolate.</td></tr>
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my husband hands me my coffee. he has small toothbrushes in his hand. toothbrushing and vitamin time, he says. the older ones run to him. i am still on the floor. some of the clothes are still on the floor.</div>
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the baby pulls up on my knee. she is smiling at me with her mouth open. it is a baby grin. i grin back. my two year old trummels by. trummel is not a word but it is what my two year old does. she kisses my shoulder. it is part of a game she is playing that i don't understand. but she kisses my shoulder and i understand that i love when she kisses me.</div>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrHGtmxV1pQ9JtC7QRdvZn4uhXh_uPEChotLUXAuSZ4MMyOMNIPl6o9DxKL7RQzB4dLJGts2EWkeYS3U4CFjrjwxeaCPUcOgENOiizx8-UqHGsD7_iHScSJU_YFikUGVKyL9cos_l7Z3I/s1600/IMG_2654.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrHGtmxV1pQ9JtC7QRdvZn4uhXh_uPEChotLUXAuSZ4MMyOMNIPl6o9DxKL7RQzB4dLJGts2EWkeYS3U4CFjrjwxeaCPUcOgENOiizx8-UqHGsD7_iHScSJU_YFikUGVKyL9cos_l7Z3I/s320/IMG_2654.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">poor baby doesn't know she's eating bamba while her brother and sister are eating cookies.<br /></td></tr>
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i have made a lunch. and put an ice pack in it and a note with a heart and a smiley face and a moon and a sun. i have packed a backpack with stars and constellations on it. i have packed snacks. so many snacks. and water bottles. i have packed diapers. two sizes of diapers. and wipes. i have sent three work emails. four if you count the one i sent at three am when the baby woke up.</div>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggj6pGoW25wcP8pl__1GdmKMMhecWtvZnhcj8_BGUjZOY6a1F9-PwdBBDKDYiGyIGBEjHq6qnv264OZOl1yjA2SXWc1OFOc3-mTQtyL1NZkUUmPywiddgFMujlmyZJugFzaBG4m3sMJ8g/s1600/IMG_2659.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggj6pGoW25wcP8pl__1GdmKMMhecWtvZnhcj8_BGUjZOY6a1F9-PwdBBDKDYiGyIGBEjHq6qnv264OZOl1yjA2SXWc1OFOc3-mTQtyL1NZkUUmPywiddgFMujlmyZJugFzaBG4m3sMJ8g/s320/IMG_2659.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">two-year-old's cookie post chocolate extraction. i ate the rest.</td></tr>
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i take a sip of my coffee. </div>
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my stomach growls.</div>
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my four year old makes a joke. a real joke. my husband and i look at each other with big eyes. </div>
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in seven minutes it will be time to leave. leaving always takes longer than it should. i am in pajamas. i haven't eaten breakfast. please do not look at my hair. i go to clear the table for the second time. the second round of breakfast. there is a bowl of oatmeal. it is cold and glumpy. it has melted ice puddled in it. in it there is a small pink spoon that turns white when it's hot. </div>
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i eat it all. </div>
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(i avoid the spot with the melted ice.) </div>
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i eat it standing over the sink.</div>
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it is delicious. </div>
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it is comforting. </div>
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it is exactly what i want to be eating.</div>
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then i do all the other things. </div>
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i often eat forgotten, rejected oatmeal for breakfast. most of the time it's cold. and that's okay. because oatmeal is one of the greatest, most wonderful foods of all time. All Time. it is simultaneously filling and restoring. luxurious and sturdy.</div>
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when i am feeling indulgent, i make salted oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. when i am feeling even more indulgent i make peanut butter oatmeal cookies with chocolate chips and m&ms. monster cookies, they are called. i do not make them as well as the person who gave me the recipe. her name is ellen. i am not going to share her recipe but i know that The Internet can provide different versions of it. i am sure they are good, too.</div>
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when i am alone and i am not sitting on the floor, i make a bowl of oatmeal like this:</div>
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1/2 cup old fashioned oats</div>
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more salt than any oatmeal package suggests</div>
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two shakes of cinnamon</div>
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packet of stevia</div>
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3/4 cup water</div>
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stir. microwave. (mine takes 2 minutes on level 8/10. oatmeal can also be made on the stovetop, but then you will have to clean an extra dish.)</div>
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stir in a drop of strawberry jam and some chopped banana. </div>
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sit down. eat in silence. drink coffee, if possible.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYrESipVoAKPVloarOF9FhXedXixMO-ddHzrdgGPd5btiq7C-8Ch-1SJ-QjOREp6pujg7Gq-c5lBzoccd4jUenLHBe772omh4LD2tSP-TL2-UoQMypXMxdA3r6UBy-5CPJU4QawQRoG2g/s1600/IMG_2644.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYrESipVoAKPVloarOF9FhXedXixMO-ddHzrdgGPd5btiq7C-8Ch-1SJ-QjOREp6pujg7Gq-c5lBzoccd4jUenLHBe772omh4LD2tSP-TL2-UoQMypXMxdA3r6UBy-5CPJU4QawQRoG2g/s320/IMG_2644.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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nanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10743042259844839047noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722513961724260402.post-342570927648315382016-06-12T10:36:00.000-07:002016-06-12T11:02:30.208-07:00dry walnut cookies (are better than they sound)<div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">you know what's the worst? walnuts. walnuts are the worst. it seems to me they exist largely to destroy chocolate desserts. who in their right mind would want to ruin an otherwise lovely brownie with walnuts? or a chocolate chip cookie? think you're about to take a bite of the best cookie ever? BAM. walnut. ruining everything with its... walnutiness.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRAPRjPtJplXPKdHJspc3D6nvJinEN8faHE7JjRh6Pz75_AEVK_61ruWImr2kT4St5dxs2Ejxu6rse1QrD8-baVkZo2QQB75kYQNtKLInyJVhxQw3c5LXmhbIs1htfcQpYUswm4Nvdh6U/s1600/FullSizeRender_8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: Times; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRAPRjPtJplXPKdHJspc3D6nvJinEN8faHE7JjRh6Pz75_AEVK_61ruWImr2kT4St5dxs2Ejxu6rse1QrD8-baVkZo2QQB75kYQNtKLInyJVhxQw3c5LXmhbIs1htfcQpYUswm4Nvdh6U/s320/FullSizeRender_8.jpg" width="273" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">here is my rating of raw nuts:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">almond</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">pistachio</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">cashew</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">hazelnut</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">peanut </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">brazil nut</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">all the other nuts i can't think of</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">walnut</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">no one just walks around eating walnuts because GAH. that would be like walking around eating bitter, expensive sticks..</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">some people even go so far as to put walnuts in salads. let's not talk about those people.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">here is a good life rule: avoid walnuts.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">THERE ARE TWO EXCEPTIONS TO THE WALNUT RULE. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">1. <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fesenj%C4%81n" style="color: #1155cc;">fesenjan</a>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">2. my mom's dry walnut cookies. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">i know, the name alone makes them sound like sad, sad things that don't warrant the name "cookie." but trust me. they do. my mom used to make them to give as holiday gifts to people she liked but wasn't friends with. mr. kim, the dry cleaner, mr. patel, the package store guy, all the vet techs, etc. and i never understood why she would go to such trouble to make so many cookies that didn't have chocolate. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">and then something happened. i don't know what. but i started loving these dry walnut cookies. i started gobbling them up one after the other after the other as if they were chewy chocolate chip cookies. i ate them straight from the freezer (where my mom kept them) when i was home to visit. who says people never change?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">when my mom died, there was a bag of these cookies in the freezer. and oof, they were like the most valuable cookies of all time. my mom made them with her very own hands. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">last year some time joey started making the dry walnut cookies a lot. it was maybe the first thing he ever successfully baked. (but not the last--he makes bread now!) and he used to text me or call me when he made them. and around thanksgiving, when he was home for a long weekend, he made a few batches for everyone and they were just perfect. so i decided to make them, too. this week was the third anniversary of my mom's death, and i was looking for ways to recognize it, to ritualize it because this year her yahrzeit isn't until july.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">that morning i dressed in a flowing, flowery dress of hers that she wore throughout my childhood. it felt so wonderful to be draped in it, to be wrapped in her, and i took nava to her grave and we sat for a while feeling peaceful and grateful for the bountiful blessings my mom gave me, gave us. and then later, after school pick up and work and errands and dinner and bath, the kids finally went to bed and i was alone. i toasted and then ground walnuts, measured flour and salt, oil and lemon juice. i texted with joey all the while to ask for advice. it felt so, so good and right. and i thought hey, look at me, i'm doing so well. i'm not a weeping mess--i'm honoring my mom by living this beautiful, busy, happy life. la di da. and then i proceeded to have a very bad week. a Very Bad Week. the kind of week that makes me just wish i could call my mom and say come over and rescue me! these kids are driving me nuts! or at least call her and have her tell me nani, you're not messing everything up. you're doing fine. better than fine, you're doing great. she would have. she would have made everything okay. and of course wanting that of course added to the feelings that made it a Very Bad Week. and so it goes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">the salve to all of this is knowing there's a little taste of my mom just a room away in my freezer. it's no small thing. </span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">and the leftover walnuts? they'll sit around forever. or at least until i run out of these cookies...</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio_4Nr_9ZbqZqjd5p55QVF9q9X0ovIdUk9z_NfuVwEX1DYuW240Y9s5uvMxz_9C-XD2pBa7AcnBf3BIdDgFsq1xpmVTVjPNMx-0udjdTb6kmSZvRLxGRj6nD2EyfIZPA4pk7OroffMp-A/s1600/FullSizeRender+%252818%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; font-family: Times; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><br /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">this is the recipe joey had. i amended it slightly and got more info by texting joey throughout.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>DRY COOKIES</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">350 degrees</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">3 extra large eggs</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">2/3 cup oil</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">1 tsp vanilla</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">3 tsp lemon juice (one lemon)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">3/4 cup sugar</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">3 cups flour</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">3/4 tsp salt</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">1 1/2 tsp baking powder</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">1 cup toasted walnuts, ground</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">BEAT WET INGREDIENTS; MIX IN DRY</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">FORM 3 ROLLS ON OILED COOKIE SHEETS</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">BAKE 1/2 HR. SLICE + PUT BACK IN FOR</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">ANOTHER 1/2 HR. TO BROWN (CHECK)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">here's what i did.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">ingredients:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">3 extra large eggs</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">2/3 canola oil</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">1 tsp vanilla</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">juice of one lemon</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">3/4 cup sugar</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">3 cups flour</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">3/4 tsp salt</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">1 1/2 tsp baking powder</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">1 cup toasted walnuts, ground</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">cinnamon and sugar, optional</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">1. preheat oven to 350 and grease a cookie sheet or put parchment on it</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">2. toast walnuts in heated oven in a single layer on a cookie sheet. this should take between 5-10 minutes. don't let them get too brown. when they're cool grind them in a food processor until they're mostly ground with at least a few chunky pieces.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">3. mix the eggs, canola oil, vanilla, and lemon juice in a large bowl.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">4. add the sugar, flour, salt, baking powder, and walnuts to the wet mixture and stir until everything is combined.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">5. form the dough, which will feel quite wet, into two or three oval logs on the cookie sheet and bake for 20 minutes or until they start browning and the center is mostly cooked through.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">6. remove the cookies from the oven and carefully slice them into one inch pieces while trying not to burn yourself. spread the cookies on the cookie sheet on their sides in one layer and return to oven.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">7. bake for another 20 minutes or until cookies are darker shade of brown. depending on your oven and the size of your cookies you might have to rotate them while they're baking, or flip them over, or even remove the ones that bake fastest. it'll be worth it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">8. sprinkle cinnamon and sugar on them while they're hot. i did this because i always sprinkle cinnamon and sugar when it's suggested. joey likes them without it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">9. let them cool and enjoy. store in the fridge or freezer.</span></div>
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nanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10743042259844839047noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722513961724260402.post-49630464035821417562015-07-17T07:25:00.001-07:002015-07-17T07:25:20.481-07:00lemony ricotta cake. with blueberries and plums.we got home from vacation on saturday.<br />
getting home from vacation is sort of the worst.<br />
especially when you have no food in the house.<br />
and your children decide to share your last $2 yogurt.<br />
(YES! sometimes i buy $2 yogurt, okay!)<br />
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josh offered to go to the grocery store because, he told me, i looked too tired to do it. which i was. he took maya with him and i got to sit on the floor and play chutes and ladders with rapha, which i did not win.<br />
<br />
josh is a deeply kind human being.<br />
<br />
they left at 5 something. and they didn't get back until almost 7.<br />
i don't know what happened.<br />
<br />
he asked for a list. i gave him a list. on this list i wrote:<br />
peaches (or nectarines. whatever is ripe.)<br />
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before he left i thought about reviewing what i meant by ripe, since josh once came home with an avocado that seemed like a scientific anomaly in its epic hardness, then claimed he doesn't really know what a ripe avocado feels like. but the thing is, my husband constantly awes me with not only his kindness and patience, but with the depths and creativity of his mind, too. he's always thinking. whether it's about philosophy or religion or belief or the law or shoes or parenting or game of thrones, his mind does not stop twisting and turning in the most fascinating, beautiful ways.<br />
<br />
and maybe that's how and why he came home with one bag full of rock hard peaches and another bag full of rock hard plums. oh, and the biggest container of ricotta i've ever seen. because, he explained, he likes to garnish his french toast with it. (we make french toast once a week, on saturday mornings, with leftover challah.)<br />
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sometimes it's hard for Thinkers to go grocery shopping.</div>
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and i know that right now it probably seems like i'm making fun of josh, but i don't mean to. because sometimes having too much of something, or not the right version of something is a wonderful challenge. and it seemed to me the only thing to do with all of this food we wouldn't possibly be able to eat before we move on monday is bake it. which is what i did.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDlpWiJyA_NpnoQvcc5Voo4wj8UIhJhPRvRzwrnFrnFsjPXLAVEqRdh0C_U_utbkFp9QuNETTw-yPHN2fjWQAM2asmO1dtjgYuH_zKTuC1n8EuHqbzSfbSwQ-XPFzYE_dZNzLGMb-PZrY/s1600/FullSizeRender_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDlpWiJyA_NpnoQvcc5Voo4wj8UIhJhPRvRzwrnFrnFsjPXLAVEqRdh0C_U_utbkFp9QuNETTw-yPHN2fjWQAM2asmO1dtjgYuH_zKTuC1n8EuHqbzSfbSwQ-XPFzYE_dZNzLGMb-PZrY/s400/FullSizeRender_1.jpg" width="400" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgInd5ueqADFtNbAZus0peXd8v-PH7sa_gj7-FJe5N_g3D9EBkcO2GixgXsex_vi8OeZryBGBwjllseXfRX6pCNkZqrLXb-6MjhjaJZ1HCU2hkoT0ND3kMbM2FlvEL74-6QjVxlTWPn98/s1600/FullSizeRender_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgInd5ueqADFtNbAZus0peXd8v-PH7sa_gj7-FJe5N_g3D9EBkcO2GixgXsex_vi8OeZryBGBwjllseXfRX6pCNkZqrLXb-6MjhjaJZ1HCU2hkoT0ND3kMbM2FlvEL74-6QjVxlTWPn98/s400/FullSizeRender_2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>ingredients:</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>1 1/2 cups all purpose flour</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>1 cup sugar</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>2 teaspoons baking powder</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>3/4 teaspoon salt</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>3 eggs</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>1 1/2 cups ricotta (i used whole milk)</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>juice and zest of 1 lemon</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>1 stick butter, melted</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>1/2 cup blueberries</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>1/2 cup chopped plums</b></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>to make:</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>1. preheat the oven to 350 degrees and line a 9 inch round cake pan with parchment paper, then spray with non-stick cooking spray.</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>2. combine the flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt in a big old bowl.</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>3. combine the eggs, ricotta, vanilla, lemon juice and zest, and butter in another bowl.</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>4. dump the wet ingredients into the dry ingredients and stir slowly until combined.</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>5. add in the fruit (i'm sure any kind of fruit would be good here) and stir gently until it's all mixed in. </b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>6. spread in pan and, if you're feeling fancy like i was, gently place some thinly sliced fruit on top.</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>7. bake for about 50 minutes or until the cake is a nice golden color.</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
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<span style="text-align: start;">a wonderful summer cake. enjoy!</span></div>
nanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10743042259844839047noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722513961724260402.post-76961902845948810342015-07-09T04:25:00.002-07:002015-07-09T04:35:25.593-07:00donuts. in cakes. on the cape.when you marry someone, their family is not yet your own, and you have to learn to navigate an entirely foreign dynamic, which, needless to say, can be difficult. you're thrown into another entity--a group that existed as a unit before any of them ever knew you existed--and with your spouse comes a family history, quirks, ways of understanding the world, and traditions.<br />
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if you're lucky, like me, you marry someone whose family comes from providence and has a summer tradition of renting a house in cape cod for two weeks every summer.<br />
<br />
you see, before i met josh, The Cape was a mysterious far off land, somewhere up there on the map, part of a state i knew only for boston and cambridge. people always flexed their arm muscle as they explained the geography of this place with an abundance of hydrangeas and i smiled politely and pictured people with blonde hair wearing pastel shirts tucked into shorts with small marine animals decorating them.<br />
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but, oh, oh, oh, cape cod. how i've fallen for this place with its quaint-but-not-too-quaint towns. its ancient trees. its ever-shifting bay, high tide so high the rocks upon which we collected hermit crabs and went splashing in the tide pools mere hours before are nowhere to be seen, low tides so low the beach is an endless expanse into the calm, blue waters. the gardens here are well tended, full of color, a source of pride. there are ice creameries on what seems like every corner. cranberries actually grow around the corner from the house my in-laws rent. you get the idea. and when we're here, we're on vacation. and i don't mean we don't have to work (i've actually been working a good deal while i've been here), i mean when we arrived a few days ago my mother-in-law said "you're off duty." magical words to the ears of the mother of two toddlers. a vacation, indeed.<br />
<br />
with time to bake.<br />
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one of the traditions that has become essential to these visits, whether they last two days or five, is a baking experiment. you see, we stay just down the road from dear friends of my in-laws, who have children who have become dear friends of ours, who now have children of their own we hope will become dear friends of our children. and so on. and every year rebecca and hannah, wonderful, clever sisters, come up with a baking experiment for us to complete. an example: gluten free cronuts, which were successful probably only because we deep fried them and coated them in powdered sugar, and deep frying anything and covering it in powdered sugar can redeem it from a sad, dry, flourless fate.<br />
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this year it was donut cake. and i don't mean a stack of donuts assembled in the shape of a cake. i mean donuts in a cake. my extraordinarily brilliant grandfather once remarked, "i love all donuts and anyone who doesn't is a pervert." i couldn't agree with him more. and, well, by now it should be quite clear <a href="http://www.naniandherjs.com/2015/06/camp-food-and-chocolate-fudge-cake.html">how i feel about cake</a>. besides which, i've long been a fan of this kind of baking. my hamantashen (sadly, not blogged) this year were peanut butter cups inside chocolate chip cookies inside chocolate sugar cookies with crushed pretzels on top. i believe that <a href="http://www.naniandherjs.com/2012/05/chersweeple.html">putting delicious things inside of other delicious things</a> is almost always a good idea.<br />
<br />
rebecca was inspired by a helpful recipe she found in people magazine. the difference between the way rebecca operates in the kitchen and the way i do is drastic. she is a recipe follower, uncomfortable with veering from the set idea and steps laid out before her. i, on the other hand, find it nearly impossible to follow recipes exactly. i'm a rule follower in life, but not in the kitchen. hannah helped us reach a very respectable agreement: we'd just have to make two cakes.<br />
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yesterday morning the three of us set out for dunkin' donuts bright and early. we stood in line once and ordered donut holes to taste test as rebecca's recipe called for donut holes. we tried four kinds and had a very serious discussion about the merits of each and their suitable cake pairings. (cinnamon donut hole-->coffee cake. glazed donut hole-->any kind of cake. chocolate donut hole-->highly underwhelming. boston kreme donut hole-->not as good as a full size boston kreme donut.) after much discussion we thought we'd made up our minds and marched back to the counter. when we got there we spotted something we'd missed during our first order--a chips ahoy cream filled donut--and, as you can imagine, in a moment everything changed. we ordered one and brought it back to the table, full of hope. it was one of the most disappointing donuts i've ever eaten. the chocolate glaze on top wasn't the issue, nor was the cookie crumble, which neither added, nor detracted from the overall taste of the donut, but the cream was an inexplicable color and taste. a disaster, really. so then, for the third time, we went to the counter and placed our order. two dozen glazed donut holes and four boston kreme donuts. the big ones.<br />
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then we went to stop and shop and had to make more hard decisions. there are just so many cake mixes and frostings. it's even possible to buy a pink and white zebra striped boxed cake mix. what is this, the future? anyway rebecca and hannah settled on a white cake funfetti mix for their glazed donut holes with a blue vanilla frosting with sprinkles. i grabbed the chocolatiest thing i could find--triple chocolate fudge cake, which was a pretty clear choice because three times the chocolate is three times better than regular chocolate cake, and besides, it had the word fudge in it. the frosting gave me pause because i didn't want to go straight up vanilla. i wanted something to match the cream in the boston kreme. and then i saw it. buttercream, of course.<br />
<br />
we went home.<br />
we went to the beach.<br />
we bathed our sandy children and took naps.<br />
and then we baked.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcAhoYvYLxI2TTZ4VVLbv-FMvqpWar5LtQAjG6SmGgG8n2gEhIknHNEqiecqddOPkC4go0u1SWPQBtNIq2P9cS7b2iPv2SVByqOejzD_dXyjZNv46SWdv3XDlGtCDzn1FSe9PP0RriQq0/s1600/IMG_8990.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><br /></a>we followed the recipes on the back of our boxes. (i wish i could meet the helpful person who created the just add water, oil, and eggs box cake mix and shake his hand.) but here is the most ingenious thing the recipe from people magazine suggested. REPLACE THE WATER IN THE CAKE WITH BUTTERMILK. <a href="http://www.naniandherjs.com/2015/06/the-problem-with-buttermilk.html">buttermilk!</a> so that's what we did. and then we poured some of that batter into a greased pans and layered our donuts and poured some more batter on top of them and baked them for longer than the box said to bake them because they were full of donuts. my cake was a little underbaked in the center, and the donuts felt a little hard on top, and i was worried about the cream leaking out and the cake being a total disaster, but there was nothing i could do but frost it and cross my fingers.<br />
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yesterday evening, out on the deck of the single most beautiful beach house i've ever had the great fortune to set foot in, overlooking the high tide with the sun setting over it, we dined.<br />
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the confetti cake was fine. the donuts were a little dry and a little lost in the cake. the icing, however, was very popular with my children. and don't worry, i do feed them food other than cake. (sometimes they eat cookies, too.)<br />
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<br />
but, as it turns out, putting boston creme donuts inside of a triple chocolate cake baked with buttermilk and covering it with buttercream frosting is a Very Good Idea. maybe even one of my very best.<br />
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we're already talking 2016 baking challenge. maybe hannah, rebecca, and i will begin this discussion today, our toes in the sand, boats on the horizon, and happy children at our feet.<br />
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<br />nanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10743042259844839047noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722513961724260402.post-90946071988747426502015-06-30T08:07:00.000-07:002015-06-30T08:07:28.247-07:00camp food. and chocolate fudge cake.<div class="MsoNormal">
we’re at camp. like, for real. sleepaway camp. in a place
called kunkletown, PA. which might sound weird, but it’s a thing for rabbis to
go to reform summer camps for a couple weeks on faculty. we’ve been here for six days. we actually got really lucky and were placed in
a lovely little cabin called the green house, which even has a kitchen. with
this stove.</div>
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<span style="text-align: center;">i haven't been doing much cooking.</span><br />
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so here we are at camp. </div>
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eating camp food.<o:p></o:p></div>
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we do what we can. josh has turned into a carb. i’ve been
eating a lot of cereal and really weird salad concoctions from the “salad bar.” yesterday it was lettuce, three bean salad, babaganouj, and sliced tomato with
some coleslaw on top. for good measure. rapha has taken to hoarding little
packets of the most sticky, sickeningly sweet jelly i’ve ever had the
misfortune of touching, and straight up licking it out of the container when he thinks i'm not watching. i'm always watching. i don’t blame him. like i said, we do what we can. the only one who seems
unaffected is maya, who basically eats whatever is in front of her all day long. <o:p></o:p></div>
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two days ago, after 20 straight hours of cold rain, we left camp and
went out for chinese food. call me an optimist, but sometimes the absolute worst chinese food is the best. or maybe all the canned pineapple and cottage cheese i've been eating at breakfast has turned my palate to mush. </div>
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the above scene might be confusing to you. it was confusing to me. this was the entirety of the decor at the chinese restaurant. (yes, that is a bottle of wine, some red peppers, cabbage, potatoes, numerous other vegetables, and a basket of raw fish...)</div>
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<br />anyway, it wasn’t the first time we left camp. we’ve now twice been to the shop rite about 15 minutes away, which is one of the most wonderful grocery stores i’ve ever set foot in. they even have a thomas the train on a track suspended above the store. everyone was happy there. the other day i even took rapha and maya for ice cream in a town called effort. EFFORT. rapha ordered a swedish fish flavored ice.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW9FFkna2B29hXKv7x_geQGN_ZjgZM7mEaYfG6wLS8RvAtenmEwN9qyXDYzjz1FgIIxYGpnjIyppiOCTiMovXdjQUr-L2fxDtW1RvZkUhAATrXb2bMZO-0_HMvb_g_oRygozP6aVqLFkg/s1600/IMG_8774.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW9FFkna2B29hXKv7x_geQGN_ZjgZM7mEaYfG6wLS8RvAtenmEwN9qyXDYzjz1FgIIxYGpnjIyppiOCTiMovXdjQUr-L2fxDtW1RvZkUhAATrXb2bMZO-0_HMvb_g_oRygozP6aVqLFkg/s400/IMG_8774.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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long before we came here, the rabbi josh works for, who came
to this very camp for some 20 years as faculty rabbi, gave me a charge. he is a
very wise and kind man and i respect him deeply. so when he told me about the
diner down the road called cherry’s, and said i’d have to order the chocolate
cake despite the fact it would disappoint every time, and never taste as good
as it looks, as good as you want it to, i took him seriously. because, you see, to me, chocolate cake is a very serious matter. </div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioV7fVvV0RIIpVKvP_FcQDXCCJEdJORxBQT0K8NXqnfJf17nBkPivuvTP3BOiMaC1k-AmbK-695fFqklfDaEPloC1skE-NmrwQ18b8wVNtjIq8uMFec7YjgW9CtIgYvoAOVCjY2JamiSQ/s1600/FullSizeRender_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioV7fVvV0RIIpVKvP_FcQDXCCJEdJORxBQT0K8NXqnfJf17nBkPivuvTP3BOiMaC1k-AmbK-695fFqklfDaEPloC1skE-NmrwQ18b8wVNtjIq8uMFec7YjgW9CtIgYvoAOVCjY2JamiSQ/s400/FullSizeRender_1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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i think about it
a lot. want it all the time. in almost any combination or form. dessert isn't dessert unless chocolate is involved. desperate for chocolate, i've been known to whip up a chocolate chip laden mug cake despite josh's insistence that it can't be good. it's good. or it's good enough. and sometimes all you need is good enough. like when your dessert option has been brownies that taste like passover.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY-Dd8gIGU8T2sDbE392DUDNEnt9I0u2iU6QvVjMnBOPS2a4s5kq_BIU9WM3l8qXAT_aMMdm04aTm3wRD14_8bZ58QTECm8jsZPr21BoMyok0bDKzcSK_m2ugMOVHt0W_743NsxlcrYjo/s1600/FullSizeRender_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY-Dd8gIGU8T2sDbE392DUDNEnt9I0u2iU6QvVjMnBOPS2a4s5kq_BIU9WM3l8qXAT_aMMdm04aTm3wRD14_8bZ58QTECm8jsZPr21BoMyok0bDKzcSK_m2ugMOVHt0W_743NsxlcrYjo/s400/FullSizeRender_1.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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so after the 30 somethingeth hour of cold rain, and after breakfast and staff-brat day camp for rapha and a harry belafonte dance party for maya and me, and after lunch and a good nap for the three of us while josh was off doing various rabbinical things like playing basketball, the four of us climbed into the car and headed for cherry's. we ordered two pieces of chocolate cake to go. one piece of chocolate fudge cake and one piece of chocolate cake with vanilla frosting. (i do a lot of things for good measure.)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAleXdURBH0owP1q8OhQ8MJtq2Dfmh8CVgvAl_LA4gHMazWOG60etnsCO4D_I-5ouJdt4H1Fq3_5KsztHICIK-ThFSokhseOdBvTt2pLe5_Y1TYlEfI_47k07_h8ZdVIrCxRBVhz1mGZA/s1600/FullSizeRender_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAleXdURBH0owP1q8OhQ8MJtq2Dfmh8CVgvAl_LA4gHMazWOG60etnsCO4D_I-5ouJdt4H1Fq3_5KsztHICIK-ThFSokhseOdBvTt2pLe5_Y1TYlEfI_47k07_h8ZdVIrCxRBVhz1mGZA/s320/FullSizeRender_2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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i'm not going to talk about the chocolate cake with vanilla frosting. it's not worth it. maya is the only one who ate it, anyway. even rapha turned away after eating the sprinkles off the top. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAPCdeugLgJNl_Zl_8Pu5_usb7w8YrBea11L2bFi5zf_ZIq1ZBpc58_sxEBYgiNLt8YCQ9Bw6SQaOquPIbFfnusMIAX-jlO9mzJ9IL6PwSs3kMgEItmHkTIMzeSqsx6w8qTg65rQ1gOKE/s1600/IMG_8823.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAPCdeugLgJNl_Zl_8Pu5_usb7w8YrBea11L2bFi5zf_ZIq1ZBpc58_sxEBYgiNLt8YCQ9Bw6SQaOquPIbFfnusMIAX-jlO9mzJ9IL6PwSs3kMgEItmHkTIMzeSqsx6w8qTg65rQ1gOKE/s320/IMG_8823.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_EU5RpRml3GbJDJLADEqhjQJTf7zYTDrDV4VjtsKzX9y8D87nPw4m3-3h1KYdNdrk7EVqP4ikzTeTqPFSwTsn5AtVwC_WoHizy5wZjX50CCpTo4FFcr_jqrWSqGThPb2J524IebchTBQ/s1600/IMG_8833.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_EU5RpRml3GbJDJLADEqhjQJTf7zYTDrDV4VjtsKzX9y8D87nPw4m3-3h1KYdNdrk7EVqP4ikzTeTqPFSwTsn5AtVwC_WoHizy5wZjX50CCpTo4FFcr_jqrWSqGThPb2J524IebchTBQ/s320/IMG_8833.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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josh took a few bites and said he thought the chocolate fudge cake was delicious and challenged me to say anything different. but i am going to say something different. it was not actually delicious. it was wonderful the way even bad chinese food is wonderful because sometimes your heart and soul just need something rich and sweet and indulgent. but delicious is a stretch. the cake itself wasn't dry, so i'll give it that, but i think that has little to do with the actual crumb and more to do with the generosity of the fudge. on its own the cake would be nearing the camp dining hall brownie situation, but the fudge elevates it to entenmann's worthy goodness. this is a compliment. my mom and i used to eat those little boxes of cake together. inch by inch i'd scrape the frosting with a (preferably small) spoon while she ate the cake i'd revealed below. this does not embarrass me. it was a perfect system. that the cherry's fudge from the fudge cake reminded me of an entenmann's cake is no small thing. i went for it, separating out the cake part from the frosting part. it's okay to know what you like. </div>
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the point is, if a chocolate fudge cake is truly delicious, it doesn't look like this when i'm through with it. like i said, the rabbi josh works for is a very wise man. </div>
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maybe i'll head back to the grocery store today and buy an entenmann's cake. i know i can count on maya to eat the cake part. </div>
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nanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10743042259844839047noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722513961724260402.post-81139215720651123092015-06-22T07:40:00.006-07:002015-06-22T07:40:59.896-07:00the problem with buttermilk<div class="MsoNormal">
here’s the problem with buttermilk: there’s too much of it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
i don’t mean existentially, in the world. i just mean in the
carton. or bottle. they're too big. who needs a whole big
container of buttermilk? i don’t. and i love buttermilk. but i’ve never seen a small container
of it. ever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> a</span>nd i spend a lot of time
in grocery stores. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
there are only so many things you can do with buttermilk
before it goes bad, and you’ve got to be committed. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
here are the things i made with one carton of buttermilk:<o:p></o:p><br />
ice cream<br />
cornbread cake<br />
scones<br />
cornbread muffins</div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjycNJhLlU6S6-KuY2XooXFWk900cJmKP9XIH9J2QcPY2RIp6QRRJXXRAy85QRvylSmbMblWJ-dy8W6PAOtTQ9xF6i4BNcvAqJXlo6WlU76R829SI9SacMiC0FqXOTJIErKMMMM398ZYUs/s1600/FullSizeRender+%25283%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjycNJhLlU6S6-KuY2XooXFWk900cJmKP9XIH9J2QcPY2RIp6QRRJXXRAy85QRvylSmbMblWJ-dy8W6PAOtTQ9xF6i4BNcvAqJXlo6WlU76R829SI9SacMiC0FqXOTJIErKMMMM398ZYUs/s400/FullSizeRender+%25283%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.food.com/recipe/jenis-splendid-roasted-strawberry-and-buttermilk-ice-cream-457502"><b>roasted strawberry buttermilk ice cream. </b></a><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
we went strawberry picking with friends and i imagined us in
lovely hats in a giant field of plump fruit falling off the plant into our stained hands and then tumbling merrily into a giant bucket. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
i pictured my
children with strawberry juice dripping from their mouths as they skipped along
the endless rows. not so much. there weren’t so many ripe strawberries, it
turned out, i forgot my lovely hat and both my children immediately removed
theirs, my three year old ate all the best looking strawberries and the ones
that were left weren’t exactly sweet, so the only thing to do with them was to
roast them. and add sugar. and cream. and buttermilk. and turn them into ice
cream.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMgE1fN_C8UyjJY-3T_r89lcmn-4lWtQdi2xRIHZK8uzcOdO1Hcu2qr6zo5HdqMTh2MuekmVfsEIqLgHv4gqIi3j2IPw0T7EXaiRHtgEp8l0HuzQ4iOcgPw6UfUltpk2hiSyAVDCktZD0/s1600/FullSizeRender+%25285%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMgE1fN_C8UyjJY-3T_r89lcmn-4lWtQdi2xRIHZK8uzcOdO1Hcu2qr6zo5HdqMTh2MuekmVfsEIqLgHv4gqIi3j2IPw0T7EXaiRHtgEp8l0HuzQ4iOcgPw6UfUltpk2hiSyAVDCktZD0/s320/FullSizeRender+%25285%2529.jpg" width="296" /></a></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://thecozyapron.com/sweet-cornbread-cake/"><b>buttermilk blueberry cornbread cake.</b></a><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMgE1fN_C8UyjJY-3T_r89lcmn-4lWtQdi2xRIHZK8uzcOdO1Hcu2qr6zo5HdqMTh2MuekmVfsEIqLgHv4gqIi3j2IPw0T7EXaiRHtgEp8l0HuzQ4iOcgPw6UfUltpk2hiSyAVDCktZD0/s1600/FullSizeRender+%25285%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><br /></a>our neighbors just had twins! a boy and a girl! so i had to
bake for them, something quick they could <span style="text-align: center;">just cut and shove in their mouths in
two seconds because that’s all you have when you have new baby. and they have
two new babies. i thought about cornbread because who doesn’t love cornbread? also i had buttermilk and blueberries. (a really good thing is that this recipe
makes TWO cakes, so we got to eat one, too. it doesn't call for blueberries, but the batter was screaming for some. also, i skipped the frosting, though it looked utterly delicious)</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9UiYRos6H2MvXyO9AqZwE4KOhdfTQdqjsdFkUssIDlfoCDbxuFbvQWZSV9OT065U9fc5H0Jk2RvcA2NgpdLXJjGqH542QVnRr7WcXGxQyCm-33plMvTc_RNdGtvo2obW5BWQYK-Jso3g/s1600/FullSizeRender+%252813%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9UiYRos6H2MvXyO9AqZwE4KOhdfTQdqjsdFkUssIDlfoCDbxuFbvQWZSV9OT065U9fc5H0Jk2RvcA2NgpdLXJjGqH542QVnRr7WcXGxQyCm-33plMvTc_RNdGtvo2obW5BWQYK-Jso3g/s320/FullSizeRender+%252813%2529.jpg" width="304" /></a></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.lastingredient.com/2015/04/10/strawberry-scones/"><b>strawberry scones.</b></a><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
my friend elly made strawberry rhubarb scones AND LEFT THEM
AT MY DOOR AS A SURPRISE BECAUSE THAT IS WHAT SHE IS LIKE and they were
delicious but i ate them all and then i needed more scones so i had to make
more. and it’s almost a sin to not make scones when you have an abundance of
buttermilk. either scones or biscuits. and then i ate all of those scones. because that's what happens. i didn't even take any pictures. so there's this one, instead.</div>
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<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDmEwiSQxW_WwrjZzDzAr0uo0w4czWlIrGmu8-EnA0C6bO8q5bIAR_XFBUYnCGEvZ5M0gAXmNwW6xbAtjztOa4pvdqxuaFDHR4GHs0tyaDtn6lNrxivQpNWN_8DYBPYHStNhmDkC8JqdA/s1600/FullSizeRender+%25289%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="273" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDmEwiSQxW_WwrjZzDzAr0uo0w4czWlIrGmu8-EnA0C6bO8q5bIAR_XFBUYnCGEvZ5M0gAXmNwW6xbAtjztOa4pvdqxuaFDHR4GHs0tyaDtn6lNrxivQpNWN_8DYBPYHStNhmDkC8JqdA/s320/FullSizeRender+%25289%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.thestayathomechef.com/2013/05/easy-buttermilk-corn-bread-muffins.html"><b>buttermilk cornbread muffins.</b></a><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3j44rbpWWH9Y3awfF6PdL_axw6I7a5fHAEcLGiiAonZw5zSD4T8x7lsEzs3FQhdFsFi5PxAOeJwVQ3xwZgrtDgZx2uPensLhWbN5REb3RuW-Yy6htIzC9PKaFNbOTw9vjkReqXcoQRrY/s1600/FullSizeRender+%25288%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"></a>my three-year-old has a friend who’s been sick recently with
some scary stuff so we offered to make <o:p></o:p>dinner for her lovely family and i thought COMFORT FOOD. obviously. i spent a lot of time trying to figure out what to make. lasagna, mac ‘n cheese, baked ziti, etc. but then i thought maybe they’ve had their fill of pasta and i made a kind of improvised vegetarian cassoulet with veggies, beans, quinoa, and a panko parsley parmesan topping. protein, right? and then i made these happy little kabobs with cucumber, watermelon, and mozzarella, because everyone knows eating food off a stick is better <span style="text-align: center;">than eating food that’s not on a stick. josh told me he thought they were weird but i was still so proud of them. and for dessert i made peaches and cream and wondered all the while why i don’t make peaches and cream every day. and, of course, buttermilk cornbread muffins. because that’s comfort in the palm of your hand.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3j44rbpWWH9Y3awfF6PdL_axw6I7a5fHAEcLGiiAonZw5zSD4T8x7lsEzs3FQhdFsFi5PxAOeJwVQ3xwZgrtDgZx2uPensLhWbN5REb3RuW-Yy6htIzC9PKaFNbOTw9vjkReqXcoQRrY/s1600/FullSizeRender+%25288%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3j44rbpWWH9Y3awfF6PdL_axw6I7a5fHAEcLGiiAonZw5zSD4T8x7lsEzs3FQhdFsFi5PxAOeJwVQ3xwZgrtDgZx2uPensLhWbN5REb3RuW-Yy6htIzC9PKaFNbOTw9vjkReqXcoQRrY/s320/FullSizeRender+%25288%2529.jpg" width="310" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
the truth is, my mom made the most delicious cornbread i’ve
ever had and i can’t find the recipe. i know it had tons of butter and tons of
sugar in it because there is simply no way it could have tasted that good
without tons of butter and tons of sugar, but even knowing this i still haven’t
been able to even get close. i'll keep trying though.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> c</span>ome to think of it, it probably didn’t even
have a drop buttermilk in it…</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl33JY5ERzXnQk1VN5xhPtIVhPFve5Fkshdgcw5F1J1tdpipo054VTnVu-hAv39pccYGBR9Hmr1MzFroIPSL5oRS8cEq3XMqoEYHhqhyphenhyphen_S4OHw0cAOoLfkRglCVIlZvxpRNofUuDmeWvw/s1600/FullSizeRender+%252811%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl33JY5ERzXnQk1VN5xhPtIVhPFve5Fkshdgcw5F1J1tdpipo054VTnVu-hAv39pccYGBR9Hmr1MzFroIPSL5oRS8cEq3XMqoEYHhqhyphenhyphen_S4OHw0cAOoLfkRglCVIlZvxpRNofUuDmeWvw/s400/FullSizeRender+%252811%2529.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
anyway, that’s a lot of buttermilk baking, if you ask me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
AND THERE IS STILL SOME LEFT IN THE FRIDGE.<o:p></o:p></div>
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nanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10743042259844839047noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722513961724260402.post-72571309947818785762014-11-23T05:10:00.003-08:002014-11-23T05:10:43.490-08:00The thing about candied yams.<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I haven't tasted my mom's
candied yams in three years. And I'll never eat them again. When I was a kid
they were my favorite part of Thanksgiving. They were the epitome of her
cooking. Mushy and sweet. Uncomplicated and comforting. Perfect. And not, I must
add, covered in marshmallow (which my husband still claims is the
"real" way) or ruined by nuts or any other unnecessary embellishment.
Sometimes your mom just makes things right. </span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">Two
years ago my mom threw a huge Thanksgiving </span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">dinner and her whole side of the
family flocked to my </span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">parent's big house in a DC suburb. I wasn't there. I was
with my in-laws (we trade Thanksgiving and </span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">Passover each year) eating yams that
weren't my mom's. Then, just more than six months after </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjxpazEe2ir4rqmg3uV1uYdYqwkWZ0cm7yZ8NmgG1XGPUG0igtJygmZhi9h_ugHcyeCmr6TS3YGuh9Eib6fbLF9iSInOMkhsGSwAuM79aCBW1v8cxwv2z2YH_lswBfrwUkvwCvNYnzsEY/s1600/IMG_4628.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjxpazEe2ir4rqmg3uV1uYdYqwkWZ0cm7yZ8NmgG1XGPUG0igtJygmZhi9h_ugHcyeCmr6TS3YGuh9Eib6fbLF9iSInOMkhsGSwAuM79aCBW1v8cxwv2z2YH_lswBfrwUkvwCvNYnzsEY/s1600/IMG_4628.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
Thanksgiving, <span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">my mom
died. By the time September rolled around I was five months pregnant with a
baby my mother would never meet and I decided Thanksgiving could go fuck itself
and my husband and 18 month old son and I went to Costa Rica to visit friends
instead. It wasn't for lack of gratitude, which was, after all, my mother's
deepest gift to her family and the most profound lesson my brothers and I
learned from her. I felt </span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">deeply, unquestioningly grateful for my many
blessings. For my incredible husband (who supported my aforementioned
suggestion about what Thanksgiving could do last year), my delicious son whose
existence was and is the light of my life, and for my healthy, uneventful pregnancy
and the promise of new life, despite my </span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">persistent grief and anger that my
mother was gone. On Thanksgiving we lit Hanukkah candles for it
was also the first night of Hanukkah, but there was no turkey or cranberry in
sight. We ate imitation Thai food I made with the lemongrass growing in my
friend's yard. We took walks and ate ice cream and plantains and drove to the
beach and swam in the Caribbean Ocean during a rainstorm and saw a sloth making
its way up a tree in a humid, beautiful jungle. So going to Costa Rica and
skipping Thanksgiving was better than the alternative, which was facing the
first holiday after my mom died in any way. </span><br />
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiINyaf8NQ_Y5MWuOw_neFJmFK32uL65mFj1xB5dcixCXuDFhul8pfi6Aq52SjBOoaZYHRtDGNPYRf6loHN6LCD3DlsnfEloTVDeZNcg0C-LWAkIpG_Bnni5cBixrnffAOhH7WGUlhIgOw/s1600/IMG_4670.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: transparent; clear: left; float: left; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiINyaf8NQ_Y5MWuOw_neFJmFK32uL65mFj1xB5dcixCXuDFhul8pfi6Aq52SjBOoaZYHRtDGNPYRf6loHN6LCD3DlsnfEloTVDeZNcg0C-LWAkIpG_Bnni5cBixrnffAOhH7WGUlhIgOw/s1600/IMG_4670.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">My
dad ended up in Connecticut at the home of someone he'd never met, or met only
once--my younger brother's wife's uncle. My dad was used to hosting holidays
and when my mom died he became rather like a holiday orphan and shuffled where
he could, his three married children divided by obligations to their married
families. So after Thanksgiving last year he wrote us and said let's all do it
at my house again next year, together. And no one said much about it but it
stayed the plan. My brothers, sisters-in-law, and even my younger brother's
in-laws said of course. And so did my mom's parents. And her siblings and
nieces and nephews. Everyone said yes, they'd like to have Thanksgiving
together in my mother's house. Without her. There will be 23 of us. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">When
my aunt and I were divvying up cooking responsibilities I volunteered to do the
yams. I briefly considered taking them in an entirely different direction this
year. I'm a peel-it-yourself, make-it-from-scratch kind of cook and I knew the
yams my mom got came from a can and were then doctored by her diligent hands.
But that idea quickly fizzled when I thought about what it would be like to eat
Thanksgiving in my childhood home, with my family, with yams that were
different on purpose. My aunt told me that she'd tried making my mom's yams in
the past using the exact same ingredients but could never get it right. Maybe
because my mom never used recipes, and instead cooked by intuition, by taste.
My younger brother confessed my mom had walked him through the steps one year
but his yams fell terribly short of the real thing, too. I'm glad you're going
to make them this year, he told me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibioF2J3q6mV6kMQAlETSoTUAM43UrhGBVL4kWgdDCMJk6qWEIuJtzb25nR-ZqnMK3zwAe1ns6v8H7XgQ6GC4ZiLuqwg2ENKuOIPfAeTxtZD29MweOIsksf-mQKnzJ7CtSK7dsU-HShaQ/s1600/IMG_4738.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: transparent; clear: right; float: right; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibioF2J3q6mV6kMQAlETSoTUAM43UrhGBVL4kWgdDCMJk6qWEIuJtzb25nR-ZqnMK3zwAe1ns6v8H7XgQ6GC4ZiLuqwg2ENKuOIPfAeTxtZD29MweOIsksf-mQKnzJ7CtSK7dsU-HShaQ/s1600/IMG_4738.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">Maybe
it would have been easier if I'd ever even made candied yams with my mom
before, but I didn't even know where to start or which brand of cans she
bought. When I tried to picture the image of the can my mind drew a blank. At
the grocery store I wandered back and forth hoping something would spark a
memory but had no such luck so I did what I figured was the next best thing and
I Googled canned yams and bought six large cans of the first result Google came
up with. I've never been good at eyeing how much is the right amount of
something. This year I ended up with three large bags of leftover Halloween
candy. Last year I ran out. Six cans was my best bet. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"><br />Tonight,
as I stood there in my kitchen emptying the sweetened juice out of those </span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">cans I
had a flash of what it would have been like if I had yelped "but I don't
know how to make your yams yet!" as my mom lay dying in front of me. It
was a ridiculous image, but somehow also fitting. Because what I really needed
to ask her was how do I do anything without you? How am I supposed to raise my
children without you? How can it be that your important, shining life will be
reduced to the stories I tell them about you? How am I supposed to understand
the world without you in it to analyze it with me, for me? And how am I
supposed to continue being a person in this world without you? Maybe she might
have been able to answer me about the yams, but I just held her hand instead.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipaE-vUyOCguYUiCs07uVYW1cTpaINUzJqJE1dBpVm6Ke5njYSD4mD8ynhY5oNgAIi1uic3T7jmWOGpLEbqzsH7EMbwrSSedOGBQIPbiDJ5S_irGtD-mVbm713TN8g9DtOXCX12Jh7rK0/s1600/IMG_4736.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: transparent; clear: left; float: left; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipaE-vUyOCguYUiCs07uVYW1cTpaINUzJqJE1dBpVm6Ke5njYSD4mD8ynhY5oNgAIi1uic3T7jmWOGpLEbqzsH7EMbwrSSedOGBQIPbiDJ5S_irGtD-mVbm713TN8g9DtOXCX12Jh7rK0/s1600/IMG_4736.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I
didn't buy enough. My husband offered to run to the grocery store to supplement
what I had and I let him. My mom would never have made too little of anything.
He brought me three more cans. I added some of this, a bit of that. The yams
are sitting on the stove cooling before I freeze them for Thursday. They're
making me feel homesick. And hopeful. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And
here's the thing. I don't know whether I'm hoping everyone will say oh, you did
it! You made her yams just right! Or whether what I really want, what will be
more comforting this second Thanksgiving without my beloved mother, is if everyone
tells me that I, too, fell short of making the real thing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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nanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10743042259844839047noreply@blogger.com32tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722513961724260402.post-66281811489925776352013-10-20T18:39:00.000-07:002013-10-20T18:39:13.313-07:00buttermilk vah-vahs. <span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial;">vah-vah.</span><br />
<div style="color: #222222; font-family: arial;">
(waffle.)</div>
<div style="color: #222222; font-family: arial;">
rapha's fifth word. approximately.</div>
<div style="color: #222222; font-family: arial; font-size: small;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjozz2_o3XuXNAaGg9AdbilaE0ENQ_cxwTGhcQucElXaWPTb2dJNSVLD0pASqQyaHTjSBFJoe3jn42gd2_DRi35BNroF7AK2VVFaamFrJdZ_NyC-2dxDUbmTTdiH8OP_MLfws9wMOykVFE/s1600/photo+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjozz2_o3XuXNAaGg9AdbilaE0ENQ_cxwTGhcQucElXaWPTb2dJNSVLD0pASqQyaHTjSBFJoe3jn42gd2_DRi35BNroF7AK2VVFaamFrJdZ_NyC-2dxDUbmTTdiH8OP_MLfws9wMOykVFE/s320/photo+1.jpg" width="288" /></a></div>
<div style="color: #222222; font-family: arial; font-size: small;">
i must have heard somewhere that frozen waffles are good for teething. so he started on them young. i created a waffle addict. he's not even particular. he'll eat any kind of frozen waffle you can find in the grocery store. square waffles and round waffles and organic waffles and waffles with flax seed and generic store brand waffles and waffles with blueberries in them and whole grain waffles. he really, really, really likes to be in charge of putting the waffles in the toaster. it's not a good idea to do it without him. he also really, really, really likes to take the maple syrup out of the refrigerator by himself. he laughs maniacally when the toaster beeps (or pops, depending on where we are and what toaster we're using) and he is very particular about how much or how little maple syrup he wants. sometimes he wants none, sometimes the waffle is a conduit to the syrup. sometimes he still eats them frozen. he's 18 months old and not always sensible. </div>
<div style="color: #222222; font-family: arial; font-size: small;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfgqRY1a94YqBMNhkmCFNMtDXm7QtiBGFjOlF-Dr9ZLjFbrWWhPvVSay0FoK9WfDg_E7emX4YxYYTpHgyzpYymKJvD_079znVkaLvbSkOr8Snqy2clTT0JaIcjgHHPpkRCWJelE87qtT0/s1600/IMG_4154.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfgqRY1a94YqBMNhkmCFNMtDXm7QtiBGFjOlF-Dr9ZLjFbrWWhPvVSay0FoK9WfDg_E7emX4YxYYTpHgyzpYymKJvD_079znVkaLvbSkOr8Snqy2clTT0JaIcjgHHPpkRCWJelE87qtT0/s320/IMG_4154.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="color: #222222; font-family: arial; font-size: small;">
i actually rarely eat waffles myself. i think they're utterly wonderful, but i'm never inspired to order them at restaurants when we go out for brunch (which is approximately twice a year, sadly) because i'm usually more tempted to get something savory involving eggs and hot sauce. but, if i may make a recommendation, consider ordering a plate of table waffles. table waffles are what you get when you've practiced excitedly proposing to the friends and family you're dining with that it would indeed be the most fantastic idea to order a giant plate of waffles (or pancakes, or french toast) for everyone to share because that way no one needs to decide between sweet and savory and everyone can follow their delicious egg dishes with the taste of something sweet and you propose it so stealthily that no one really knows whose idea it was but when the meal is over people will say "hey, whose idea was that?" and you will tell them and then they will thank you. </div>
<div style="color: #222222; font-family: arial; font-size: small;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPID9okQTUKDa3Zc9oPv4wsk9gb7xlBgUC5L8LxusVkVG0i7uP3raFbOrrl11U0nLWmfY2_RsfhcWuZUDyg4YrHQPgVo93ZPBb2g-njRRlxAerLW6v_LJXnf_WVR_tCyqkYETa9uueSVc/s1600/photo+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPID9okQTUKDa3Zc9oPv4wsk9gb7xlBgUC5L8LxusVkVG0i7uP3raFbOrrl11U0nLWmfY2_RsfhcWuZUDyg4YrHQPgVo93ZPBb2g-njRRlxAerLW6v_LJXnf_WVR_tCyqkYETa9uueSVc/s320/photo+2.jpg" width="302" /></a></div>
<div style="color: #222222; font-family: arial; font-size: small;">
anyway, we don't have a waffle iron. i'd probably feel horribly guilty about buying frozen waffles if we did, but i have an easy excuse, which is that i do not have another single square inch in my kitchen to store any kind of equipment, let alone a large and heavy waffle iron. i don't even have have a half inch to spare. some day though. some day i'll get a waffle iron. (the same day i have a dishwasher and a washer and dryer and more than 1 foot of counter space.) cause really, as i learned at school during our breads unit, there's pretty much nothing as delicious as a homemade buttermilk waffle straight out of the waffle iron, onto the plate, topped with butter and maple syrup. and hey, they freeze pretty well, too.</div>
<div style="color: #222222; font-family: arial; font-size: small;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #222222; font-family: arial; font-size: small;">
so for all you lucky waffle iron owners out there, please try this.<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #222222; font-family: arial; font-size: small;">
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<div style="color: #222222; font-family: arial; font-size: small;">
<b><br /></b>
<b>buttermilk waffles</b><br />
makes 6 big ones<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #222222; font-family: arial; font-size: small;">
<b>ingredients:</b></div>
<div style="color: #222222; font-family: arial; font-size: small;">
1 3/4 cups all purpose flour</div>
<div style="color: #222222; font-family: arial; font-size: small;">
2 tsp baking powder</div>
<div style="color: #222222; font-family: arial; font-size: small;">
1/2 tsp salt</div>
<div style="color: #222222; font-family: arial; font-size: small;">
1 tbs sugar</div>
<div style="color: #222222; font-family: arial; font-size: small;">
3 eggs, separated</div>
<div style="color: #222222; font-family: arial; font-size: small;">
12 tbs butter, melted</div>
<div style="color: #222222; font-family: arial; font-size: small;">
2 cups buttermilk</div>
<div style="color: #222222; font-family: arial; font-size: small;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #222222; font-family: arial; font-size: small;">
<b>to make:</b></div>
<div style="color: #222222; font-family: arial; font-size: small;">
1. heat waffle iron.</div>
<div style="color: #222222; font-family: arial; font-size: small;">
2. mix together flour, baking powder, salt, and sugar in a big bowl.</div>
<div style="color: #222222; font-family: arial; font-size: small;">
3. whisk egg yolks, butter, and buttermilk in a smaller bowl.</div>
<div style="color: #222222; font-family: arial; font-size: small;">
4. mix the wet ingredients into the dry ingredients until the batter is smooth.</div>
<div style="color: #222222; font-family: arial; font-size: small;">
5. beat the egg whites until soft peaks form and then fold the egg whites into the mixed batter. <br />6. use a ladle to pour the batter, which will be thick, into the waffle<br />
iron and cook for 5-6 minutes, or until they're perfectly done. serve with butter and syrup. and maybe some fruit.</div>
<div style="color: #222222; font-family: arial; font-size: small;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRNk3t5nlgF3Q-7HXvhOD1xP7cLI_glaVjujNE5EVu-lZxFDL-V1WZOEMYDjQRw-NJ4XoqweqTMUYIs5Fn6s6qmsj6PXA45nJXQGvp7hPidO_lrJnUeMocvHTgm30Gbk1JuhoKIrUGyQQ/s1600/photo+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; font-family: Times; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRNk3t5nlgF3Q-7HXvhOD1xP7cLI_glaVjujNE5EVu-lZxFDL-V1WZOEMYDjQRw-NJ4XoqweqTMUYIs5Fn6s6qmsj6PXA45nJXQGvp7hPidO_lrJnUeMocvHTgm30Gbk1JuhoKIrUGyQQ/s320/photo+4.jpg" width="238" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2aLjFIMEpHVbm1z1w6Jpp3dVNphW1s6G58qbfoOTek3p688zUA0DOQN3tJXLrNh4386jElhdbbi4ByO27ZivTFHsU85-eljK1QfCy-7yV46PdcGX7D4aIWH8gw3TSPNSFSgMwh5cW_ec/s1600/photo+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; font-family: Times; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2aLjFIMEpHVbm1z1w6Jpp3dVNphW1s6G58qbfoOTek3p688zUA0DOQN3tJXLrNh4386jElhdbbi4ByO27ZivTFHsU85-eljK1QfCy-7yV46PdcGX7D4aIWH8gw3TSPNSFSgMwh5cW_ec/s320/photo+3.jpg" width="223" /></a><br />
rapha approved.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2aLjFIMEpHVbm1z1w6Jpp3dVNphW1s6G58qbfoOTek3p688zUA0DOQN3tJXLrNh4386jElhdbbi4ByO27ZivTFHsU85-eljK1QfCy-7yV46PdcGX7D4aIWH8gw3TSPNSFSgMwh5cW_ec/s1600/photo+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; font-family: Times; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><br /></a></div>
nanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10743042259844839047noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722513961724260402.post-4499566258203733072013-10-03T08:50:00.000-07:002013-10-03T08:50:01.648-07:00here i am. i hope.i've been absent a long, long time.<br />
for a lot of different reasons.<br />
the happiest reason: i'm in culinary school. finally.<br />
but i want to come back here.<br />
and write about food. and share recipes.<br />
and i want to start by sharing the little application essay i wrote for school.<br />
(there were three different prompts.)<br />
<br />
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1. I recall studying my mother as she kneaded challah dough,
her hair tied back in a bandana as she labored over the sweet sticky substance
until it was just right, just so. Though we sat for dinner together every
night—forced, despite whatever inevitable sibling quarrel had taken place that
day, to be civil, to be kind, for the dinner table was a sanctuary—Fridays were
different. On Fridays we ate the product of my mother’s skilled hands, her diligent
knuckles, and it made everything more delicious. My relationship to food:
sometimes it takes work. Sometimes that
work leads to something sacred for a family. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember thinking vanilla extract had some kind of magical
properties. That tiny, dark bottle. That rich, smooth smell. Cookies don’t
taste right without it, my mother told me as I stirred the ingredients at her
side. But you have to add just the slightest bit, she warned. My request for a
direct taste of this essential ingredient was rejected. How did she know I
wouldn’t like it, anyway? Too many things were off limits to me—the cookie
dough itself, because of some awful man named Sal Manella, who somehow poisoned
eggs—and now this, too. I happened to know that cookie dough was the most
delicious substance in the world, so I was quite sure that vanilla extract was
being withheld for its sheer deliciousness. I snuck that small bottle away from
the kitchen in my palm and gleefully made my way to the bathroom with the
contraband. I brought the bottle to my lips and took an expectant sip. I was
utterly shocked and betrayed by what my mouth experienced. My relationship to
food: sometimes the whole is better than its parts. It’s always worth trying
things though, because sometimes you have to see for yourself.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The year I turned 18 I stopped eating meat. It happened
suddenly. I vividly recall visiting the local bagel shop with friends, fully
intending to order a turkey sandwich, but when I approached the counter the
word turkey didn’t cross my lips. It just wasn’t there; gone, as was my desire
for it. I ate lettuce, tomato, and mustard on my bagel that day. It was
delicious. And that was it. I haven’t intentionally brought the flesh of a
mammal or fowl to my lips since that day. It was an unwitting decision, a
moment of change I was only later able to identify. My relationship to food: I
won’t eat that which I do not believe is fit to eat. I do not impose this view.
What’s right or wrong for my body is not the same for others. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My husband and I are busy. (Sometimes how busy we are is the
topic of conversation for us.) And there are never ever enough hours in the day
to catch up. There are jobs and a baby and a commute and sleep deprivation and
too many emails and deadlines and a shared calendar and plans plans plans.
We’re tired and worn and in need of a vacation, just like everyone else in NY
and we don’t stop. We just keep going and then we go to bed and we wake up and
start again. But there is a pause for us, without which the perpetual business
would not be bearable. We pause before we eat. We have an intentional moment in
which we bless our food and its source. My relationship to food: I am grateful
that it sustains me. I must try my hardest to be mindful as I eat so as not to
take for granted the blessing of a full belly.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Certain smells remind me of the shuk in Jerusalem, where I
bought my groceries for two wonderful years. There, surrounded by people and
movement, and noise and color, a man extended his hand, offered a sliver of
yellow orange fruit. Taste it, he said in Arabic accented Hebrew through a lit
cigarette. I did, disregarding the flies buzzing by. It was the sweetest mango
I’d ever tasted, its ripe, dripping flesh a reward for living, a sure sign that
its creator intended for us to experience pleasure. Years later, at a farmers
market up the street from where I live in Brooklyn, I’d have a similar
experience with a mushroom. As I wavered between two unfamiliar fungi, the
smiling forager proposed a tasting. I agreed. And that’s when I discovered
mushrooms for what they are, as they are meant to be. Flavorful, soft, meaty
things; this one nutty, the other sweet. My relationship to food: Its unadulterated
sweetness, bitterness, freshness, essence are gifts. I must remember the way
things taste when they’ve grown from the earth, before I stand in my kitchen
and manipulate them. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My relationship to food is based on wonder, respect,
admiration, and love. It is, I find, not unlike my relationship to my son. I
want to know everything I can about him, to understand his endless dimensions, so
that I can do my very best with him always. So that, when he’s ready, I can
give him to the world and say here, enjoy this creation that is, as surely as
it is human-made, also an ever present reminder of the presence of the
divine. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
2. It was in my mother’s kitchen that I discovered the
world, learned what I know about life. It is in my own kitchen now that I
continue that exploration of the world. I experience life through food—it is the
language I speak and the language with which I share my love of life and the
world with the people around me. My distracted mind wanders daily to thoughts
of recipes, menus, ingredients. I want to turn that distraction to focus. I want
to learn to make healing foods to nourish body and soul; I want to understand
why the foods we eat play this or that way on our tongues, have this or that
effect on our bodies. All my life I’ve been surrounded by people who have
devoted themselves to worthy pursuits based on their passions and it took me
only 30 short years to realize that as there is nowhere I would rather be,
nowhere I am more myself, than in a kitchen, I need a proper education, richer
than love and raw talent alone, if I am to make food my life’s work. I seek the
knowledge and skills Natural Gourmet Institute can provide me and the direction
and guidance it will give. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
3. I’ve never made a decision without knowing where it would
lead me, without a vision of where I’d end up. That’s the result of a combination
of anxiety and determination. But I’m making a decision now, and it’s no small
thing. I don’t have a plan. I don’t know what I’ll do with a certificate from
Natural Gourmet Institute. I don’t know what I want to do, but I am wholly
certain that I want to do something, that I want to pursue food and share food
and spend my life thinking about and creating and writing about food. And
that’s enough for me to apply. In May of 2014 my husband will be ordained as a
rabbi at Hebrew Union College Jewish Institute of Religion and we will begin
our lives anew some place. We don’t know where and we won’t know where until at
least next January. Wherever we go, I will assess what kinds of contributions I
can make with food, be it a small catering company, local bakery, dinner club,
or something I haven’t even yet fathomed. And wherever we go, I know that I will
always write about food, even if my mom is the only one who reads my words. I
have so very many ideas and when I know where I’ll be ready to build them into
realities. <o:p></o:p></div>
<!--EndFragment-->nanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10743042259844839047noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722513961724260402.post-88996694608244965282013-02-25T13:30:00.003-08:002013-02-25T13:30:38.535-08:00mint + chocolate = yes.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjalKc5FzoHisObVZrYX4upJRVUD14Adtkag7BbQtddxmXY49CzbB4fbxvseKIRuYhBOZvur0JzCOGjpgyBVa3uZPheLNVQZmgft9t4x0DWrtorWnAbZQI2Cu3hlt05FI_9RvSHF7W75Z8/s1600/IMG_2774.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjalKc5FzoHisObVZrYX4upJRVUD14Adtkag7BbQtddxmXY49CzbB4fbxvseKIRuYhBOZvur0JzCOGjpgyBVa3uZPheLNVQZmgft9t4x0DWrtorWnAbZQI2Cu3hlt05FI_9RvSHF7W75Z8/s400/IMG_2774.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div>
</div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">mint. </span><div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">it makes everything better.</span><div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">heartburn. belly aches. motion sickness. congestion. breath.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">winter. summer. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhauNlWNJIDBIw-z0Tjrm1nPuKxRvb1A_uVPTQC_2sT9EHQfQhJ6bJZtVwNgYcCkThbE5R6bxoFWPsmMePo0Z5JvON68hTiHVAabbhQG0Va_BrUOfBr2DeE5_Irgt28FdC169V8QPlywZU/s1600/IMG_3040.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhauNlWNJIDBIw-z0Tjrm1nPuKxRvb1A_uVPTQC_2sT9EHQfQhJ6bJZtVwNgYcCkThbE5R6bxoFWPsmMePo0Z5JvON68hTiHVAabbhQG0Va_BrUOfBr2DeE5_Irgt28FdC169V8QPlywZU/s320/IMG_3040.jpg" width="199" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEEdQYKclzJYpj9GtPo8LiZainw-zdCiHwNqb_CVmnc282SuEwoWHJfOOYjP0bY1EhBMuu7FhGKTCLDZUNPxTyxOIoq-lQcQR6p7YcDJv3LiwsmAQY0kDb2amEufgUSPCOU6O1nqUofpA/s1600/IMG_2770.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="368" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEEdQYKclzJYpj9GtPo8LiZainw-zdCiHwNqb_CVmnc282SuEwoWHJfOOYjP0bY1EhBMuu7FhGKTCLDZUNPxTyxOIoq-lQcQR6p7YcDJv3LiwsmAQY0kDb2amEufgUSPCOU6O1nqUofpA/s400/IMG_2770.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">mint is the embodiment of the best of winter and it's what snow would taste like if it always fell in perfect happy little flakes and never ever turned into those brown disasters on street corners that trick you into thinking they're stable when really they're just gushy lakes that will soak your shoes and ruin your day. mint is a clean, energetic burst of winter. it's also the single greatest cooling taste on those desperately swampy, sticky, two-shower-necessary summer days when you wonder why it is you complain about winter and strategically plan your outings so that you're not away from air conditioning for longer than 17 minutes at a time. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2-ziw6USr-Jm2Z87ba8zXxZTKmuz2dcaRFuIVn56qb-unxLwM3mzyjjbFT0Uj7oR_ZVvxVnBg3Ucj5YOQF3mHhrC4lLCQzkUt3eBMVUD-Of4h-zPlW4KMX-jDCkZoBZjfrmjE75a0ToY/s1600/IMG_2768.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="337" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2-ziw6USr-Jm2Z87ba8zXxZTKmuz2dcaRFuIVn56qb-unxLwM3mzyjjbFT0Uj7oR_ZVvxVnBg3Ucj5YOQF3mHhrC4lLCQzkUt3eBMVUD-Of4h-zPlW4KMX-jDCkZoBZjfrmjE75a0ToY/s400/IMG_2768.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div>
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjacMBpsubdVVy-S7h-VuZaY9YoaTuo1Iq_bAgKfhw5i2Wb893A2fT0cHZ-woAzrcyRZHckpk9jmKBP0P6B-fLFSP2KhAIypHiNjggOLfbh3R1dCYP4jBenrRVCKDI7ASaMmD6iSfxaQSQ/s1600/IMG_3038.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjacMBpsubdVVy-S7h-VuZaY9YoaTuo1Iq_bAgKfhw5i2Wb893A2fT0cHZ-woAzrcyRZHckpk9jmKBP0P6B-fLFSP2KhAIypHiNjggOLfbh3R1dCYP4jBenrRVCKDI7ASaMmD6iSfxaQSQ/s400/IMG_3038.jpg" width="160" /></a></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">mint tea is pretty much the most reliable tea.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">mint gum is indisputably the best gum.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">mint is delicious chopped up and thrown on salads. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">mint goes really well with peas. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">mint cough drops make you feel less sad than fruit flavored cough drops.</span></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">and guess what else mint is good for? dessert. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">mint + chocolate = yes.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">homemade peppermint patties.<br /><div style="text-align: start;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9GO-erZbWGSgsFTteyTRlQejTq6NrbejcmOKIsIDy_fwgzSTIWMY9K6yKkTrHNdB0eJJNHsdtE7R8XJ2UPH5NfmY-Wpnuu9pMSXJHzCBqzDJISolEiBI0Vzan2M1mD3XXO2UJTwLMXMY/s1600/IMG_3039.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="362" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9GO-erZbWGSgsFTteyTRlQejTq6NrbejcmOKIsIDy_fwgzSTIWMY9K6yKkTrHNdB0eJJNHsdtE7R8XJ2UPH5NfmY-Wpnuu9pMSXJHzCBqzDJISolEiBI0Vzan2M1mD3XXO2UJTwLMXMY/s400/IMG_3039.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">ingredients:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">1/2 cup sweetened condensed milk</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">1 tsp mint extract</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">2 1/2 cups powdered sugar (or more)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">bag dark chocolate chips</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">a little bit of butter</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">crushed candy canes (highly recommended)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />to make:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">1. beat the sweetened condensed milk and the sugar until it's stiff and not too sticky. add more sugar little by little as needed. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">2. roll little balls and flatten them on a baking sheet lined with wax paper. the bottom of a glass works great for this. if everything feels really sticky coat things with an extra little dusting of powdered sugar. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">3. let them sit out for about an hour and then stick them in the fridge for about an hour. they should feel pretty stiff after that.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">4. melt the chocolate and the butter in the microwave, coat each mint circle in a nice layer of chocolate and place it on a clean piece of wax paper on a cookie sheet. sprinkle crushed candy cane bits all over the top. stick them back in the fridge until the chocolate is set.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">voila! you've just made peppermint patties! they're refreshing and indulgent. a very good dessert.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">if peppermint patties aren't your thing, try these.<br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">chocolate mint oreos.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #313131; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">ingredients:</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #313131; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">6 tbsp softened unsalted butter (i put it in the microwave)</span></span><div>
<span style="color: #313131; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">6 tbsp softened salted butter<br />1 1/8 cups sugar <br />2 eggs<br />1 tsp vanilla extract</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #313131; line-height: 18px;">3/4 tsp mint extract <br />1 1/2 cups flour<br />2/3 cup cocoa powder<br />1/2 tsp baking soda<br />1/2 teaspoon salt<br />1 bag chocolate chips</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #313131; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">10 crushed oreo cookies</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #313131; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">2 crushed candy canes</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #313131; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #313131; line-height: 18px;">to make the cookies:</span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #313131; line-height: 18px;"><br />1. preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. </span><span style="color: #313131; line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="color: #313131; line-height: 18px;"><br />2. beat the sugar, eggs, vanilla, and mint extract in a large bowl until it looks nice and fluffy.<br />3. stir the flour, cocoa powder, baking soda, and salt in a separate bowl and then slowly add this mixture to the butter mixture until it's all combined.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #313131; line-height: 18px;">4. mix in the chocolate chips and the oreos. the cookie batter will be thick so you may need to use the beater to do this.<br />5. place tablespoon sized gobs of batter (or you can make them into giant cookies if you want!) onto cookie sheets that have been lined with parchment paper and leave a little room between the cookies cause they spread a bit.<br />6. bake for 8 to 10 minutes or until they don't look wet anymore. when they come out of the oven sprinkle them with the crushed candy cane.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #313131; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">eat these with hot chocolate. it's winter. why not?</span></span></div>
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nanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10743042259844839047noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722513961724260402.post-50126041315854740262013-02-24T05:10:00.001-08:002013-02-24T07:34:32.391-08:00weeknight dinners. they're what happen before dessert.below are a bunch of dishes i've made recently(ish).<br />
i don't use recipes for these, so forgive the sloppy descriptions.<br />
important note: everything tastes better with really good bread and cheese.<br />
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(i always thought it was silly for josh to take pictures of dinner. now i'm glad he did.)<br />
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<b>deconstructed huevos rancheros. sort of. but not really. </b></div>
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cut sweet potato into small pieces and roast with olive oil, lime juice, cumin, salt, and pepper. put the pieces in a bowl. open a can of black beans and put them in a pot on the stove. cook with cumin, curry powder, garlic salt, cayenne, salt, pepper, and any other spice you think would go well. put the beans on top of the sweet potato. chop up some avocado, tomato, and mango (i like tiny pieces of mango cause it's a nice bright little surprise) and squeeze some lime juice on top. add this, too. throw some roasted, salted edamame on top (i bought mine at the grocery store all ready to go in a little plastic container). combine greek yogurt with some lime juice. dollop this on top. if you have some kind of spicy sausage like thing--i used trader joe's soy chorizo--saute it for a minute and add it, too. fry an egg. put a piece of jalapeno on top of the fried egg. put the egg on the bowl. chop cilantro and sprinkle it on top. serve with plantain chips and hot sauce. call it a day. a very, very good day.</div>
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<b>roasted asparagus with polenta, mushrooms, and white beans. layers are good.</b></div>
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roast some asparagus with olive oil, salt, and pepper. cut thin slices of pre-made polenta and fry them in a little olive oil until they're crisp on the outside and place them on top of the asparagus. saute mushrooms in a little butter (and maybe some white wine if you're feeling fancy) and add salt, pepper, and garlic salt and when they're almost done add some white beans to the pan. plop them on top of the polenta. shave some parmesan on top of the mushrooms and beans, then add some fresh herbs. tarragon gives it a surprising, interesting little licorice flavor. </div>
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<b>herb salad. that's right.</b></div>
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cook some kind of grain like cous cous or quinoa and when it's cool chop up arugula, parsley, mint, tarragon, cilantro, and any other herb you like and combine it all in a bowl. add pomegranate seeds and lots of lemon juice and salt and pepper and some olive oil and toss it all together. this will brighten any dinner. even on a tuesday.</div>
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<b>avocado and brussels sprout bruschetta. is that a stretch? </b></div>
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cut brussels sprouts into thin little ribbons and saute them in olive oil with a generous amount of salt, pepper, and garlic salt until they're nice and brown. mash an avocado with lemon juice, salt, and pepper and spread it on crusty bread, preferably one containing olives. put the brussels sprouts on top of the avocado followed by some shaved parmesan and a fried egg. let the yolk spill out over everything. let the mess happen.</div>
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<b>veggie buffalo chicken sandwich. in case you missed the superbowl.</b></div>
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buy a box of morningstar frozen buffalo wings. it's a good investment. microwave them and then cut them up into chunky strips and douse them in hot sauce like frank's and maybe a dash of bbq sauce. grate carrots, mash chickpeas, slice celery really really really thin and combine them in a bowl. add a bunch of red wine vinegar and some tahini and salt and pepper and stir it all together. melt some yummy cheese on a bun--i used pretzel buns because that seemed sensible--and soft boil an egg. put everything on the bun. sometimes superbowl food is just right.</div>
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<b>ginger miso carrot soup. cause becca told me to. </b></div>
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chop up some carrots and some ginger and some garlic and throw it all in a pot to saute in some sesame oil. add a little curry powder and lots of salt and pepper. pour veggie broth over everything and stir in some miso paste and cook until it's all tender. blend it all together and then add more ginger or miso if needed. chop up some radishes and pour rice wine vinegar over them if you have it or red or white wine vinegar if you don't. toss these on top of the soup for a nice little kick as well as some black sesame seeds you're not sure why you have. cilantro, too. if you're feeling feisty stir a little tahini with a little vinegar and drizzle this on top. who says you can't be feisty during the week, anyway?</div>
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<b>greens with beluga lentils, sauteed mushrooms. and a fried egg, of course. </b></div>
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first, you must discover beluga lentils, which will change everything. then you should cook them in some veggie broth and toss them over arugula or mustard greens or whatever delicious greens your husband brought home for you from the union square farmer's market on a wednesday. throw in some radicchio for an extra, bitter bite. saute some mushrooms in a bit of butter and marsala or sherry vinegar or red wine and throw them on there, too, along with some chopped tomatoes. toss it together in a nice, bright, lemony, mustardy vinaigrette then top it off with a fried egg. or two. maybe wednesdays aren't all that bad. </div>
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<b>salad with squash. and other treats. </b></div>
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first you must become friends with jodie because jodie will introduce you to things like delicata squash, which is better than any other kind of squash in the world, and once you try it you will be hooked and you will spend an entire fall making things with it and stuffing it with other things. cut the squash up into thin semi circles and pan fry them in a little olive oil with salt and pepper until they're tender and brown. cook beluga lentils in veggie broth. toss some delicious, sweet greens in a light, lemony, mustardy vinaigrette and add the lentils and the squash. throw some tomatoes and avocado on top, too. eat this while sitting on the couch. sometimes dinner should be eaten on the couch. </div>
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<b>roasted potato leek soup. sometimes it's cold out.</b></div>
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when it's really cold out and you need some comfort, chop up some red potatoes and leeks and roast them with olive oil and salt and pepper. saute garlic and celery in olive oil and add the potatoes and leeks. cover with veggie broth and cook for a while. blend it all together and add some cream for an indulgent little treat. we all need cream in the winter.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUhpeBtLoqHsYQD3JZsLq46KVjGg6bIO40rhLCOmMrI5Ack7ZBbYcTCs-Zds6sw40JusrVqcH6MDF6UT91ChmEK7rUFXuN801uYxhQGtxIvuJ8dpWKz2_SggWP2V5H8HDywgHM1cPE9To/s1600/IMG_1857.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUhpeBtLoqHsYQD3JZsLq46KVjGg6bIO40rhLCOmMrI5Ack7ZBbYcTCs-Zds6sw40JusrVqcH6MDF6UT91ChmEK7rUFXuN801uYxhQGtxIvuJ8dpWKz2_SggWP2V5H8HDywgHM1cPE9To/s400/IMG_1857.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<b>cucumber mint soup. sometimes it's hot out. </b></div>
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when it's really hot out and you don't feel much like eating, seed some cucumbers and throw them in a blender with some greek yogurt and mint. add vinegar, salt, pepper, and garlic salt to taste. it's like an air conditioner in your mouth. </div>
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<b>root vegetable puree with sauteed mushrooms. for those awful hump nights. </b></div>
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put some celery root, parsnips, and garlic in a pot. add salt and pepper. pour some veggie broth in. cook until the veggies are tender enough to puree. puree them. add a little ricotta. plop it on a plate. saute mushrooms--i'm really into shitake right now--in a little butter and add a dash of marsala or sherry vinegar or just plain old red wine if that's what you have and some salt and pepper until they're tender. put them on top of the veggie puree. toss some crunchy greens like frisee in a little lemon juice to top it off. the weekend will be here soon. </div>
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<b>tomato pie. why not? </b></div>
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combine goat cheese, cream or half and half, and an egg yolk and add salt and pepper. slice really delicious, ripe tomatoes. roll out pastry dough and put it in a pie tin. layer the tomatoes and the cheese mixture a couple times. cover with mozzarella and bake until the dough looks done. bring on a picnic if you can.</div>
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<b>smoked trout. and other things on a plate.</b></div>
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roast some beets then slice them thin and pour a little red wine vinegar over them. grate celery root and add greek yogurt, salt, pepper, celery salt, and a squeeze of lemon juice. spread over the beets. chop some green apple. julienne it if you wanna get fancy. put it on top of the celery root. combine smoked trout, lemon juice, and horseradish in a bowl. add salt and pepper. add this to the plate. chop some parsley and sprinkle it over everything. sometimes things just go together. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjW-RbHJwD-I0sl_cdUbiaz7VF0ECaz_J5qajSdUl6XMutn1eDdTDOw-_8FHYjGlH5B1qlQpbvoSUexmoFOy1OXAT7zJquAe30V8hRaJUhpV_zce-oCSoiyDAha97XzHPcNcEpartD1fU/s1600/IMG_2034.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjW-RbHJwD-I0sl_cdUbiaz7VF0ECaz_J5qajSdUl6XMutn1eDdTDOw-_8FHYjGlH5B1qlQpbvoSUexmoFOy1OXAT7zJquAe30V8hRaJUhpV_zce-oCSoiyDAha97XzHPcNcEpartD1fU/s400/IMG_2034.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b>summer in a bowl salad. </b> </div>
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boil some corn. cut it off the cob. chop some tomatoes. chop some peaches. chop some basil. combine everything in a bowl. add salt and pepper. smile. sigh. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOVAjABE4TrQcBsadh7vl4oGfn0gpOWGvmF6meCoGLHOTt3x4-GqyDRqsRLiVj7m0yQ-p-BroAM8FN_bGdwE5wPCTGKJcPpA8uQVWBu7hhyphenhyphenAQIbxCv1BowBrxQpy4_YPvuZBjPUAYAq4k/s1600/Screen+shot+2013-02-22+at+9.35.28+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOVAjABE4TrQcBsadh7vl4oGfn0gpOWGvmF6meCoGLHOTt3x4-GqyDRqsRLiVj7m0yQ-p-BroAM8FN_bGdwE5wPCTGKJcPpA8uQVWBu7hhyphenhyphenAQIbxCv1BowBrxQpy4_YPvuZBjPUAYAq4k/s400/Screen+shot+2013-02-22+at+9.35.28+AM.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b>seared tuna salad. or seared tuna ON salad?</b></div>
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chop ginger and garlic and add soy sauce and rice wine vinegar and lime juice and salt and pepper and marinate a nice piece of sushi grade tuna in this mixture. throw together some greens and avocado and tomato and cucumber and edamame and make a dressing out of tahini, lemon juice, rice wine vinegar, and a dash of soy sauce. or just use store bought ginger carrot dressing. dip the marinated tuna in sesame seeds--black ones if you've got them--and pepper and sear in a pan with sesame oil for just a couple minutes on each side so the inside stays nice and rare. cut it up and place it around the tossed salad. top with cilantro. throw some chinese noodles on top if you keep them around after not eating them with hot and sour soup. feel fancy.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtr5YM18YE6kjOe9nIQ7PHvQO3QVMu-ruG-OPbgqHmdarS2Kv2ZkdBX9GrmEDCCwanIAJ2ubtGd6OJ2ZVNOm3uaW_leTV2E7Uf1S0PUVpPPux_97rox3lAXoFZGmzsaTgwE9uQ3e1_Sck/s1600/Screen+shot+2013-02-22+at+9.36.00+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtr5YM18YE6kjOe9nIQ7PHvQO3QVMu-ruG-OPbgqHmdarS2Kv2ZkdBX9GrmEDCCwanIAJ2ubtGd6OJ2ZVNOm3uaW_leTV2E7Uf1S0PUVpPPux_97rox3lAXoFZGmzsaTgwE9uQ3e1_Sck/s320/Screen+shot+2013-02-22+at+9.36.00+AM.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b>orange fennel salad. sometimes you need a detox. </b></div>
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thinly slice some oranges and spread them on a plate. cut fennel into thin ribbons and put this on top of the oranges. chop up some salty black olives and dollop them all over the plate. drizze with olive oil, salt, pepper, and chopped fennel fronds. feel grateful for citrus. and for syd lipset, who gave me this recipe. </div>
<br />nanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10743042259844839047noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722513961724260402.post-39899063182926056832013-02-22T05:57:00.001-08:002013-02-22T05:57:08.545-08:00'smores hamantashen. (from cake mix. shh.)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbOrhD3PTmUUdjUhr2fDEQROKEu9fcj3xKW57CI8tBK1GxId9_Pd-SMWZQyxWBlxS7VwUfLYL8gugSHAm6zDQ4c_zzpW99nDZGv436yGX3TrNaIAsQgJB4YuGs2_O4-qgFnOnPbu81O48/s1600/IMG_3115.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbOrhD3PTmUUdjUhr2fDEQROKEu9fcj3xKW57CI8tBK1GxId9_Pd-SMWZQyxWBlxS7VwUfLYL8gugSHAm6zDQ4c_zzpW99nDZGv436yGX3TrNaIAsQgJB4YuGs2_O4-qgFnOnPbu81O48/s320/IMG_3115.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;"></span><br />
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<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />last year i didn't have a baby.<br />
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last purim = <a href="http://naniandherjs.blogspot.com/2012/03/great-hamantashen-project.html">the great hamantashen project. </a></div>
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this year i have a (deliciously wonderful) baby.</div>
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this purim = cake mix hamantashen.</div>
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it's a thing. </div>
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a very, very good thing. </div>
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but not as good as this thing.</div>
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<br /><br /><br />i concluded the post about the great hamantashen project last year with the following promise:<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #313131; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">so, though this project proved slightly ridiculous in the end, and i can really only claim that the cookies might be identified as part of the triangle family, it made me happy to give out soft, moist, interesting, non-brick-like hamantashen to family and friends. but next year i'm only making one kind. i've already decided. 'smores hamantashen!!!!</span></div>
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it's good to keep your word.</div>
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i hereby give you 'smores hamantashen (from a cake mix)!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBn0BojT48qJGHl1FC4uikAJ-EZLw8WyC5VcOLxk-45_Q5Wt3wvV5I1rhbtAnmPIw9UAP-vjpjAUH3DBJGa5SPSuKYORGOn3hztG3u-keLX2Jx8lQ8HrdWCQROuzpFpk0vCN7HWpHZBC0/s1600/IMG_3110.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="152" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBn0BojT48qJGHl1FC4uikAJ-EZLw8WyC5VcOLxk-45_Q5Wt3wvV5I1rhbtAnmPIw9UAP-vjpjAUH3DBJGa5SPSuKYORGOn3hztG3u-keLX2Jx8lQ8HrdWCQROuzpFpk0vCN7HWpHZBC0/s400/IMG_3110.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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1 box yellow cake mix</div>
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1 box gingerbread or spice cake mix</div>
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1 1/2 cups flour</div>
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3 eggs </div>
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3 tablespoons water (or more)</div>
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7 bars hershey's chocolate</div>
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mini marshmallows</div>
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to make:</div>
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1. preheat the oven to 375 degrees F. combine all ingredients in a bowl. you should have a thick, kind of hard dough. add more water as needed. </div>
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2. either roll the dough out on a floured surface and use the top of a cup to cut out circular shapes or roll small balls in your hand and then flatten with the bottom of a cup. </div>
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3. fill with two pieces of chocolate and three mini marshmallows--it's important for the marshmallows to be on top of the chocolate or they'll melt into the cookie dough.</div>
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4. fold the sides up and pinch to form a triangle leaving the marshmallow peeping through the top. arrange on cookie sheets lined with parchment paper. </div>
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5. bake for 7-9 minutes.</div>
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tada!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9wwCHGgoBxxJKIMmoIhI1DhYj5KWeqz2Fz2EzomEEPk7kKkTuDkPImq4Dthe1KevD6ou0HglVTU00wMCdOimL-9Q-XWA7n2edc8fOiIJ0kt4oz63WnFYyoMBxA-nfUq0Pazri4eSIVB4/s1600/IMG_3111.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; font-family: Times; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="367" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9wwCHGgoBxxJKIMmoIhI1DhYj5KWeqz2Fz2EzomEEPk7kKkTuDkPImq4Dthe1KevD6ou0HglVTU00wMCdOimL-9Q-XWA7n2edc8fOiIJ0kt4oz63WnFYyoMBxA-nfUq0Pazri4eSIVB4/s400/IMG_3111.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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if you want to go a more simple route, this will work with a box of cake mix, one cup flour, two eggs, and 2 tablespoons water. give or take.</div>
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next year i'm thinking something involving oreo...</div>
nanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10743042259844839047noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722513961724260402.post-8186312585613544072012-12-28T11:34:00.002-08:002012-12-28T12:28:05.206-08:00caramel : chocolate : candy + pretzel rod<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4_WEqzPBt2nAftq6d-1VRfs-gF0XSMF6MHz0xosAM3QBLdvrnlvsWY3XST3ZfGYgkdXHAPhCwL_oWLUAvlCLlwi9kkw8WZA61-kSylbdHNJQFbEL1c721DMNrnpcIuLuCsFSHTw6Gc2c/s1600/IMG_2824.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: white; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4_WEqzPBt2nAftq6d-1VRfs-gF0XSMF6MHz0xosAM3QBLdvrnlvsWY3XST3ZfGYgkdXHAPhCwL_oWLUAvlCLlwi9kkw8WZA61-kSylbdHNJQFbEL1c721DMNrnpcIuLuCsFSHTw6Gc2c/s400/IMG_2824.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">joey and i went to college together. for a year and a half. the first half of my junior year before i went abroad and all of my senior year. he was accepted when i was a sophomore. at first i had some concerns about this plan, which is a nice way of saying i totally freaked out and had a self indulgent tantrum into my pillow when i found out because nothing would be okay again ever. i mean, i thought it was the. worst. idea. ever. so how else was i going to respond? i went to a tiny college. it seemed like everyone knew everything about everyone all the time. seriously. all the time. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3PtOXFB3j2rESR_0vuXbHxWPSbF-1u8eAdDq-oShbagtkYds3aq5-9L4uw-QYwAhTgHEdsr5NLBwjUdZoWiJOG-CkKxyQB71tJUkSHOYCxdBN4wrL_JagjWGYfVgD2S0wjyWEhnz1CyA/s1600/IMG_2804.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: white; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="261" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3PtOXFB3j2rESR_0vuXbHxWPSbF-1u8eAdDq-oShbagtkYds3aq5-9L4uw-QYwAhTgHEdsr5NLBwjUdZoWiJOG-CkKxyQB71tJUkSHOYCxdBN4wrL_JagjWGYfVgD2S0wjyWEhnz1CyA/s400/IMG_2804.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">i will pause here to say THANK GOD I WENT TO COLLEGE BEFORE FACEBOOK WAS A THING.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSQdFzWr8F5rz4ssPpFcmMLu0fdUPyNOaKRqz96p3UYmz7riuABR0Br1E_KMKB1DegXaKzwh3WvLRoYxY7hiE5Nxxc_Gjok50JKvGh1mpfQSYTsphwSUfBbM9LZ3qpqoX90SlVWIrgotQ/s1600/IMG_2809.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: white; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSQdFzWr8F5rz4ssPpFcmMLu0fdUPyNOaKRqz96p3UYmz7riuABR0Br1E_KMKB1DegXaKzwh3WvLRoYxY7hiE5Nxxc_Gjok50JKvGh1mpfQSYTsphwSUfBbM9LZ3qpqoX90SlVWIrgotQ/s400/IMG_2809.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">the last thing i needed was my little brother around. GLARBH! a little brother! at college! little brothers weren't supposed to go to college with you. they were supposed to come visit and you were supposed to let them get drunk and make a fool of themselves at a party and it was all supposed to be okay because then on sunday evening they would leave. if joey came to kenyon with me, he would never leave. he would just be there being my disapproving little brother all the time. worst. idea. ever.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ4VZToqqkjpxnsvX5dLD4JOthJ2xt3UWMtl5Yub0Hz8mYtbl6rz7lQqJa3b7b5QLOHhyphenhyphenWpU9MchudlVas5iqk8Ah7PBp9QWyKi_ENgLmipM-tpy4ihNj-JUL4I2SbMxDVGEDYKpwFT3E/s1600/IMG_2805.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ4VZToqqkjpxnsvX5dLD4JOthJ2xt3UWMtl5Yub0Hz8mYtbl6rz7lQqJa3b7b5QLOHhyphenhyphenWpU9MchudlVas5iqk8Ah7PBp9QWyKi_ENgLmipM-tpy4ihNj-JUL4I2SbMxDVGEDYKpwFT3E/s320/IMG_2805.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">i was wrong. very, very, very wrong.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgroDpFGR3W3DipE8HQ5Fv_3vilGSMniSyYPpbCxitX7Br3CVHfytZmykqhX8FOfq3k5Ua8hUcoyX_2A5xXEnVilEVU6YObMdHg-t509oS2B7CospEiX5HiA7l1ymgpxtq2NoYkkUt2a-4/s1600/IMG_2823.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgroDpFGR3W3DipE8HQ5Fv_3vilGSMniSyYPpbCxitX7Br3CVHfytZmykqhX8FOfq3k5Ua8hUcoyX_2A5xXEnVilEVU6YObMdHg-t509oS2B7CospEiX5HiA7l1ymgpxtq2NoYkkUt2a-4/s400/IMG_2823.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">having joey on campus was one of the best things that ever happened.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIoLjGVcwKmJNddi5U-00Gj0LxNBilPs9BBUY8bAc3mWVMTA9OWIQwevkYMeox8QwCQy5o9pBX2XGf4KwswPDCUuEaMliyKoPrp_y2826D1iAWzMERrWszMDXnqD3SoezYD4pXvCWzWRs/s1600/IMG_2806.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIoLjGVcwKmJNddi5U-00Gj0LxNBilPs9BBUY8bAc3mWVMTA9OWIQwevkYMeox8QwCQy5o9pBX2XGf4KwswPDCUuEaMliyKoPrp_y2826D1iAWzMERrWszMDXnqD3SoezYD4pXvCWzWRs/s400/IMG_2806.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">as it turns out college freshman and sophomore joey was not at all like high school freshman and sophomore joey. he improved immensely over time! he wasn't annoying anymore! he was hilarious and brilliant and kind and supportive and forgiving and fun. and i loved sharing a tiny campus with him. we got to eat lunch together on random weekdays and randomly bumping into him here or there always made me happy. he made his own interesting friends and i liked hanging out with them just as i liked when he came around to hang out with my friends. going to parties with him was equally fun because he's one of the greatest dancers i've ever known. and, to top it all off, he always filled up the gas tank of our car. being at kenyon with him laid the foundation for the extremely close and happy relationship we share today and i don't know if we'd know each other as well as we do if he hadn't been there. that said, sometimes pillow tantrums are okay. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2EFedPoWCD-tgvBIyp2UNzERJe9XJD-o9rqKXlJH9pBuQZykCBQx4THlDi6yNoUgwOA3aMnK1GPJEO-jM_ayTC3Hto0eW8wBYixReIKGmwy_wsYYK2ACXbv7AtnD091XETJgZGELkGoc/s1600/IMG_2820.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2EFedPoWCD-tgvBIyp2UNzERJe9XJD-o9rqKXlJH9pBuQZykCBQx4THlDi6yNoUgwOA3aMnK1GPJEO-jM_ayTC3Hto0eW8wBYixReIKGmwy_wsYYK2ACXbv7AtnD091XETJgZGELkGoc/s400/IMG_2820.jpg" width="227" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVhQA6pyBnXJ0Ke1Fs8D98qeSKOWKkslLWGuTELByG6F91UdFonVNzX6wsTba905TS4QbV4WQBtvQcE_kelO8pNtfZfxEaKKpQAhPtd0ia5EzT4c_HNYAxwYe1Q-Ahh5lk4NZQZHW37UQ/s1600/IMG_2827.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVhQA6pyBnXJ0Ke1Fs8D98qeSKOWKkslLWGuTELByG6F91UdFonVNzX6wsTba905TS4QbV4WQBtvQcE_kelO8pNtfZfxEaKKpQAhPtd0ia5EzT4c_HNYAxwYe1Q-Ahh5lk4NZQZHW37UQ/s400/IMG_2827.jpg" width="210" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">my senior year i lived in a tiny little house called a bexley and joey used to come and laze around the living room all the time. he frequently came bearing treats, and that was the year he discovered one of the great combinations of all time. pretzel rods and <a href="http://www.google.com/imgres?hl=en&sa=X&tbo=d&biw=1436&bih=783&tbm=isch&tbnid=4Alx-VDqzlgOQM:&imgrefurl=http://munchymart.com/index.php%3Fmain_page%3Dproduct_info%26products_id%3D543&docid=H49KEufvj3E8AM&imgurl=http://munchymart.com/images/quesosalsa.jpg&w=500&h=500&ei=W6XdUJzPIs3p0QHlqYDICw&zoom=1&iact=hc&vpx=4&vpy=114&dur=202&hovh=225&hovw=225&tx=104&ty=109&sig=117427089133806365734&page=1&tbnh=145&tbnw=142&start=0&ndsp=38&ved=1t:429,r:0,s:0,i:91" style="color: #1155cc;">salsa con queso</a>. i ate a lot of questionable things at questionable times when i was in college including, but not limited to, pizza subs made at some extremely late or unreasonably early hour--depending on your perspective--at a gas station called hotrods (all one word) that never closed. HOTRODS. (at least i wasn't eating meat.)</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTEbMPgt1WeXb979sxchEpG1v5Z5ZDE_Uz5i4PcgW4WHVwQ-d7kdmX2NfsETh_WYu8_ssRfy4gEyBHhnZEWZM8AR2ntj7eKtOQdeTiTMuDbGqwObrksm0RLmOOQexe5Tbag-954HmitK0/s1600/IMG_2821.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTEbMPgt1WeXb979sxchEpG1v5Z5ZDE_Uz5i4PcgW4WHVwQ-d7kdmX2NfsETh_WYu8_ssRfy4gEyBHhnZEWZM8AR2ntj7eKtOQdeTiTMuDbGqwObrksm0RLmOOQexe5Tbag-954HmitK0/s400/IMG_2821.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">the last time i was awake and hungry at said extremely late or unreasonably early hour was because of my baby, and not, sadly, because i've been up all night drinking and dancing. anyway these days i imagine it would be hard to get someone to agree to go with me to a 24 hour gas station for a sub. and even if i could find someone to go with me i'm sure i'd leave sub-less, guilt and reason having directed me to purchase a string cheese, a granola bar (maybe some chex mix instead of the granola bar if i was feeling feisty), and a very old now and later. though my questionable foods group has grown considerably since my college days, salsa con queso will always have a place in my home. first of all, i have checked the nutritional information and the first three ingredients of the wondrous substance are water, nonfat milk, and monterey jack cheese, which means it was actually probably providing me with much needed protein and calcium when i was in college, and is more than enough for me to consider it wholesome, and anyway the truth is i'd probably still eat it proudly even if i couldn't pronounce the first three ingredients. it is that delicious. joey seems to share my belief that pretzels are as good or better things to dip in other things and i think we learned this from our mom, who taught us that hummus with pretzels is far superior to hummus with pita. joey introduced the pretzel rod to the queso jar, i assume, to avoid a mess. though i very much prefer regular pretzels to pretzel rods, i understand that there is a time and place for them. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_2QDHyEGzgSerw94bck0GJC4sBQ5bGiO-VI44bMnRUnoSJTYIWq_5wMaoHAyCzW_9L9sEJi1lA2Wkv-pTrfnXIAMi0aIrbfNAS0Wfd1mlWOwT5D70mAP0_xyk3cH0UuYtNVZcDB9I_c0/s1600/IMG_2825.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_2QDHyEGzgSerw94bck0GJC4sBQ5bGiO-VI44bMnRUnoSJTYIWq_5wMaoHAyCzW_9L9sEJi1lA2Wkv-pTrfnXIAMi0aIrbfNAS0Wfd1mlWOwT5D70mAP0_xyk3cH0UuYtNVZcDB9I_c0/s400/IMG_2825.jpg" width="300" /></span></a></div>
</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">like with salsa con queso.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">and caramel. and chocolate. and candy.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">caramel, chocolate, and candy covered pretzel rods. </span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn2yppf_pXE2XkDe46zQv0jX1XoromUNN7ch-16j6mHM91kLlBt2SQpqNyeX8xKNYCBAYesbgTje6vhwWvcjRaY2LR6CLajCkD16otpYh3ip5pe3BABSzV36FZXBY10lOoX-QQYG6Ncdo/s1600/IMG_2828.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn2yppf_pXE2XkDe46zQv0jX1XoromUNN7ch-16j6mHM91kLlBt2SQpqNyeX8xKNYCBAYesbgTje6vhwWvcjRaY2LR6CLajCkD16otpYh3ip5pe3BABSzV36FZXBY10lOoX-QQYG6Ncdo/s400/IMG_2828.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div>
</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">ingredients for the caramel:</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">1 14 oz can sweetened condensed milk</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">1 cup brown sugar</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">1 cup butter (salted or unsalted, depending on how salty you like it)</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">1 cup light corn syrup</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzCJV8d-jStclgjJvWajb1cQdd3cT1GhUfyQmYMZ5Xd_IHzPED_c_hVnthHpUwZ3sLK9aQkLeTpFKUEt9Gt8RoVPbb9UKI3sCp1DrS_Ktg9KYdXpnMy-rZaCS9_guDudmjRXQxIlIQZGw/s1600/IMG_2843.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzCJV8d-jStclgjJvWajb1cQdd3cT1GhUfyQmYMZ5Xd_IHzPED_c_hVnthHpUwZ3sLK9aQkLeTpFKUEt9Gt8RoVPbb9UKI3sCp1DrS_Ktg9KYdXpnMy-rZaCS9_guDudmjRXQxIlIQZGw/s400/IMG_2843.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div>
</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">ingredients for the chocolate and candy covering:</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">two bags chocolate chips of your choice</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">candy or cookies of your choice all ground up</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">little bit of butter</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8IkTDvxhco2uhpgtYluXubozFWXIvVamYjTuLeCOqr7pXoOJ_T16NoWocelNiDv3qUJCsBOoIMdT-4-EgFy8gDJXcKT2uQor3nVHInqhcONDyJnTqSFPbgZQGa_-_-UO27sKLwAhiH28/s1600/IMG_2830.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8IkTDvxhco2uhpgtYluXubozFWXIvVamYjTuLeCOqr7pXoOJ_T16NoWocelNiDv3qUJCsBOoIMdT-4-EgFy8gDJXcKT2uQor3nVHInqhcONDyJnTqSFPbgZQGa_-_-UO27sKLwAhiH28/s400/IMG_2830.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div>
</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">to make:</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">1. line cookie sheets with parchment paper and spray with cooking spray.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">2. mix the caramel ingredients over medium heat and let it boil for five minutes, stirring frequently to make sure it's not burning. when it's done, transfer it to the deepest bowl you have.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">3. spread the caramel over the pretzel rod with a spatula leaving about two inches of exposed pretzel at the bottom. place each caramel rod on the parchment paper and let it set and cool for at least 30 minutes. (i actually ended up leaving them in the fridge overnight but that was because i got inspired a little too late at night and by the time the caramel had set i wanted to go to bed.)</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">4. prepare your candy toppings. i used crushed butterfinger, mini chocolate chips, mini m&m's, a crushed up cookie, little sour gummy things, shredded sweetened coconut, heath brickle, and gold sprinkles. i also used melted white chocolate and peanut butter and melted butterscotch, but those don't have to be ready to go in this step. (i had almost all of these things in my pantry.)</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">5. line more cookie sheets with parchment paper, or if you've run out of cookie sheets just line your countertop if you have the space. melt the chocolate in the microwave with a little bit of butter. if the caramel has pooled away from the pretzel roll it either in your (very clean) hands or on the parchment paper to bring it back, then spread the chocolate over the caramel with a spatula and place it on the parchment paper. (the chocolate may spread a little and if you're one of those people who needs things to look perfect then try pouring the melted chocolate into a tall glass and dipping the pretzel rod in the glass to get nice even coverage.)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">6. sprinkle your toppings over the chocolate before it sets. if you're going to use melted flavored chips of any kind, melt them and drizzle them over the chocolate, too.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">7. let the chocolate and toppings set before moving them. they should set fine on their own, but i put each cookie sheet in the fridge for about 20 minutes (i only had room for one at a time) just to be sure.</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh53k_g8nkC7awnUtOHycI8LpYf4nXZu32Fq9ItsfsWSarnmZRxwI3Xh8JFFPtvk6_H7Z0dXNZBmgOHelRzxk8C3mOVhKk6ckEMPpgJi7F_0c6y9pnsSoJtHgGvQHCuifnzSZO1jyTlfOU/s1600/IMG_2822.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh53k_g8nkC7awnUtOHycI8LpYf4nXZu32Fq9ItsfsWSarnmZRxwI3Xh8JFFPtvk6_H7Z0dXNZBmgOHelRzxk8C3mOVhKk6ckEMPpgJi7F_0c6y9pnsSoJtHgGvQHCuifnzSZO1jyTlfOU/s400/IMG_2822.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">in the end i had 30 pretzel rods which i arranged in threes in fancy little baggies tied with bows which i gave people as gifts. they're really delicious.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmBpxy2l8UHvJY90VkFUyNRzEWN7WJNf1Uqdu8SttQzsROM-fabcncCqlaup6W9VRj9YPzRx52dAKQ07dLcN6ZMP9su5KhqQJ7gSCKMGDw6SseH09K0tFgryGWEvUMWSxkgaSgPovh8Gs/s1600/IMG_2818.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmBpxy2l8UHvJY90VkFUyNRzEWN7WJNf1Uqdu8SttQzsROM-fabcncCqlaup6W9VRj9YPzRx52dAKQ07dLcN6ZMP9su5KhqQJ7gSCKMGDw6SseH09K0tFgryGWEvUMWSxkgaSgPovh8Gs/s400/IMG_2818.jpg" width="300" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">if i haven't inspired you to make caramel, chocolate, and candy covered pretzel rods, i hope i've at least convinced you that salsa con queso and pretzel rods is a winning combination. </span></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhURoAoLilQqb33KzmGK5WieRA-8z8i6oXUCetqijNnbPet2v-JxrFoVck9jkmVz3Nj8uX7pidyp80CbNvuWoIJ7VtEpoG_8iOYLG_mqN_S9xH1e0jHsxDYZiHu7ed4_2E9mM3m7JkQ6Pw/s1600/IMG_2829.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhURoAoLilQqb33KzmGK5WieRA-8z8i6oXUCetqijNnbPet2v-JxrFoVck9jkmVz3Nj8uX7pidyp80CbNvuWoIJ7VtEpoG_8iOYLG_mqN_S9xH1e0jHsxDYZiHu7ed4_2E9mM3m7JkQ6Pw/s400/IMG_2829.jpg" width="300" /></span></a></div>
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nanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10743042259844839047noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722513961724260402.post-45170806959573168012012-12-11T18:35:00.000-08:002012-12-11T18:35:16.012-08:00peanut butter pie. comfort in a few ingredients.sometimes you just need simple, unadulterated comfort. in a pie. <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQoDMwjhhaIt84P4WHBHWDVlCRaTBq5yqTrcO-3fbiK2sNNuuCcp9j-g0getzxtofyREELpJa8ddNeOme_5YyXELLWVgRoqPkvKUXfjT_qNROgJoyg8s-djKvxctqP-cTy2H2n5_-fkxU/s1600/photo(231).JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQoDMwjhhaIt84P4WHBHWDVlCRaTBq5yqTrcO-3fbiK2sNNuuCcp9j-g0getzxtofyREELpJa8ddNeOme_5YyXELLWVgRoqPkvKUXfjT_qNROgJoyg8s-djKvxctqP-cTy2H2n5_-fkxU/s400/photo(231).JPG" width="400" /></a><br />
ingredients:<br />1 jar peanut butter<br />1 container defrosted cool whip<br />1 pre-made pie crust (chocolate, oreo, or graham all work)<br />1/2 bag chocolate chips<br />a little butter<br />
a little milk or cream<br />
about 6 reese's peanut butter cups<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6N15TdDIbHRD47cM1YX_bveIoEGsA7EngYC99EInr5X3XldeQ1ausRZie6RQcNtbjfTSFYwGEb1ppg-rvKDbPXYmmXqqR14JcYyrTUl1U_lcPhb_0oLg2DOcUtR2jK833mHAREeRKeYw/s1600/photo(228).JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="157" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6N15TdDIbHRD47cM1YX_bveIoEGsA7EngYC99EInr5X3XldeQ1ausRZie6RQcNtbjfTSFYwGEb1ppg-rvKDbPXYmmXqqR14JcYyrTUl1U_lcPhb_0oLg2DOcUtR2jK833mHAREeRKeYw/s320/photo(228).JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
scoop the peanut butter and the cool whip into a big bowl.<br />
mix it together until it's combined.<br />
spread it into the pie crust.<br />
lick the bowl. <br />
melt chocolate chips with a tab of butter either in the microwave.<br />
add the milk or cream bit by bit.<br />
a few tablespoons should be fine.<br />
smooth the chocolate onto the top of the peanut butter cool whip combo.<br />
crush the reese's cups up and decorate the top of the chocolate however you like. <br />
put the pie in the fridge to let the chocolate harden.<br />
take the pie out of the fridge.<br />
eat it.<br />
slowly.<br />
it's very rich.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD-TgKM7sDPfmJ6lv_RzV3QK605VXMl-yj-Ub4nuxK-M9j7mjqWM7ApJ0gHqgCzPqqm2_UfARUBQD3S9uo8lfTzu0IuRmaV_M8Y2449I7lq7dkk6mOnLbYeTBSxRCzVZCftQ5XQ6hd4d4/s1600/photo(229).JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD-TgKM7sDPfmJ6lv_RzV3QK605VXMl-yj-Ub4nuxK-M9j7mjqWM7ApJ0gHqgCzPqqm2_UfARUBQD3S9uo8lfTzu0IuRmaV_M8Y2449I7lq7dkk6mOnLbYeTBSxRCzVZCftQ5XQ6hd4d4/s320/photo(229).JPG" width="313" /></a><br />
next time i think i'll incorporate some pretzel...<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxvWSsifoEJ9uTzOrztIixoT1VLeZktzIe4P1365GTbvBz8BTNTpQzybzLAhD1csQY4xWVH188SvG2bVdL4FAW8VDFrc1s2OrVvl7pJe5IDgyIsu0TB-2GTR5ASCjNhpqOG34m_1X6LCA/s1600/photo(230).JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxvWSsifoEJ9uTzOrztIixoT1VLeZktzIe4P1365GTbvBz8BTNTpQzybzLAhD1csQY4xWVH188SvG2bVdL4FAW8VDFrc1s2OrVvl7pJe5IDgyIsu0TB-2GTR5ASCjNhpqOG34m_1X6LCA/s320/photo(230).JPG" width="320" /></a>nanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10743042259844839047noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722513961724260402.post-44634052865848212482012-12-10T12:16:00.002-08:002012-12-10T12:16:13.314-08:00hanukkah donuts. forget the jelly. use peanut butter instead. so it's hanukkah again. i was surrounded by a seemingly endless supply of jelly donuts and chocolate gelt coins at work last hanukkah. and when i say surrounded, i really mean it. they were literally in my actual physical office. i have almost no willpower as it is when it comes to sweets, and last hanukkah i was pregnant. it's no surprise i consumed an astonishing amount of treats. the truth is, i probably would have consumed the same amount had i not been pregnant, but last year i was able to do it shamelessly and with gusto. that's why, when it came time for my own hanukkah baking, i was done with fried things and i decided to go a lighter route and make <a href="http://naniandherjs.blogspot.com/2011/12/hanukkah-treats-that-arent-fried.html">lemon olive oil cookies</a>.<br />
<br />
this year i've been surrounded by cheerios and baby yogurt, and the closest i've come to a holiday sweets binge was on saturday night when i stood a little too close to the bowl of red and green m&m's at the christmakah party my friends were throwing. so i'm all about fried holiday treats now. this year, i decided to make sufganiyot, or fried donuts, for the very first time. <br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3aHkM1cLIZCsMWXbQnrDgiwsYDnahCZMLCNoyVSrC3W-NC3QHPYrdc7xSuteW4c_D7zQ0OBcNTtLE_gVS9akVKT-wCO4TRrzY4mNwvrhoReR9disMf0bf6oj18MgaSg-AVgdBjNLd27A/s1600/photo(222).JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3aHkM1cLIZCsMWXbQnrDgiwsYDnahCZMLCNoyVSrC3W-NC3QHPYrdc7xSuteW4c_D7zQ0OBcNTtLE_gVS9akVKT-wCO4TRrzY4mNwvrhoReR9disMf0bf6oj18MgaSg-AVgdBjNLd27A/s320/photo(222).JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
last night jake, joey, and gaby came over to celebrate hanukkah with us and i made a very healthy, balanced dinner with the delicious things we procured at the farmers market on saturday. that's why it was okay to serve the dessert we served. not just okay, but appropriate. jake doesn't eat jelly anything, so i decided to just skip that whole part (even though i'm a jelly donut convert) and make unstuffed donuts, which are really just like dough bites. i tried, rather
unsuccessfully, to put some chocolate chips in between two donuts and
push them together before i fried them, but i wouldn't recommend it because most of them
just separated and the chocolate fell out. besides, they really didn't
need the chocolate. not when they were topped with powdered sugar, $12 ice cream, and hot chocolate sauce. let me explain:<br />
<br />
every tuesday, when i'm at work, josh takes rapha to a wonderful little cheese shop called valley shepherd creamery where they both sample cheeses and talk to the lovely girl who works there, who, it turns out, graduated from kenyon college 7 years after i did. (is there no end to the smallness of this world??) rapha helps josh decide which cheese to buy. seriously. he has a very discerning palate for a 7 month old. valley shepherd also sells delicious jams and cookies and breads and ice cream. expensive ice cream. the most expensive ice cream i have ever seen in my life. $12 pints of ice cream. josh and i talk about it a lot. what could possibly justify that astronomical price? is this the ice cream to end all ice creams? is there really a discernible difference between this ice cream and, say, ben and jerry's? there was, obviously, only one way to find out. so yesterday, when we stopped in to pick up some cheese for dinner we finally pulled the trigger and bought a pint. the flavors they had available were the good kind of bizarre, but not all of them would go with fried dough. i was having a little trouble choosing between boozy eggnog, brambleberry crisp, salted caramel, and roasted strawberry buttermilk when i saw the obvious choice. <a href="http://www.jenis.com/products/The-Buckeye-State-Pint.html">the buckeye state</a>. peanut butter. ohio. meant to be.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfrA4DpQjKAnVHUSREZ0FeM87tJJI8WOyGZQUWmkz0W6_47r0y8vgF-LvgHb7caGaHOQPsZPdgSzWukHQXj1o3Vyb_yFz0z2-yOmzTOv8Jn9o6jH2pPR2mYqkeeF-FVNyTODmojrCT1c8/s1600/photo(225).JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfrA4DpQjKAnVHUSREZ0FeM87tJJI8WOyGZQUWmkz0W6_47r0y8vgF-LvgHb7caGaHOQPsZPdgSzWukHQXj1o3Vyb_yFz0z2-yOmzTOv8Jn9o6jH2pPR2mYqkeeF-FVNyTODmojrCT1c8/s400/photo(225).JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
after dusting the donuts in powdered sugar i whipped up some chocolate sauce by melting a little butter, some chocolate chips, and a drop of the milk left over from the donuts, which i whisked together and then poured on top of the donuts. that was before the ice cream. it was the right thing to do.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOW3C8zBR84qZyYX1DNKGDe5LMaWwD__RIE5dHKL08r1pURDcGkuqKNR1xxC7dn5VKP3OFYL2tlCV-eP5logZ3w5-7T-ue_Apa14FU52M6f_pmfuPbicHbe0-2maS-0LVSGVRbB_w6PtM/s1600/photo(223).JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOW3C8zBR84qZyYX1DNKGDe5LMaWwD__RIE5dHKL08r1pURDcGkuqKNR1xxC7dn5VKP3OFYL2tlCV-eP5logZ3w5-7T-ue_Apa14FU52M6f_pmfuPbicHbe0-2maS-0LVSGVRbB_w6PtM/s320/photo(223).JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<a href="http://www.chow.com/recipes/10818-sufganiyot-israeli-jelly-doughnuts">this</a> is the recipe i used. i halved it and
used lowfat milk instead. please don't think i have the ridiculous
notion that using lowfat milk would make deep fried pieces of dough smothered in chocolate sauce and topped with peanut butter ice cream healthier in
any way. i used lowfat milk only because there's actually a chance we'll get through it before its expiration date and i'm not much of a whole milk drinker. as far as i could tell, the substitution worked just fine.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvi7xqaZesxfXQu3pJWicOyLRyQJFYnaGLbki8f-C6c0JS31j7E2UQ16eT9ceOazYXkdGQfcCsIy9OwO4KO73msNGwY15NDsn9MiiDAPBpR3FtjeIIq6E4FZ4P2e_gdxBPGzPuYDcKK7Y/s1600/photo(220).JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="292" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvi7xqaZesxfXQu3pJWicOyLRyQJFYnaGLbki8f-C6c0JS31j7E2UQ16eT9ceOazYXkdGQfcCsIy9OwO4KO73msNGwY15NDsn9MiiDAPBpR3FtjeIIq6E4FZ4P2e_gdxBPGzPuYDcKK7Y/s320/photo(220).JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
ingredients:<br />
1 cup flour plus more for dusting<br />
1/8 cup sugar<br />
1 1/8 teaspoons yeast<br />
1/4 teaspoon salt<br />
1 egg yolk<br />
1/4 cup plus 1 tablespoon warm milk (105-115 degrees F)<br />
1 tablespoon room temperature butter (i hal- melted mine)<br />
3 cups vegetable oil for frying<br />
powdered sugar for dusting <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLb8bgCTR02tA3zCReHgMaPGsAPgfd8VEdrfUFFMGlh-tzSJu3PZu6SH3FrtIX95Qtx7AF82EDNXagHB9sk4I3cqvryyDOCNArgBfn7c3qUzyC1G-ec7Lfa5JctaCVQVZu9SIbOHDOnT4/s1600/photo(224).JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLb8bgCTR02tA3zCReHgMaPGsAPgfd8VEdrfUFFMGlh-tzSJu3PZu6SH3FrtIX95Qtx7AF82EDNXagHB9sk4I3cqvryyDOCNArgBfn7c3qUzyC1G-ec7Lfa5JctaCVQVZu9SIbOHDOnT4/s400/photo(224).JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
to make:<br />
1. combine the flour, sugar, yeast, and salt and then add the egg yolk and milk and mix it together for about a minute either using a dough hook or a spatula. add the butter and knead until the dough is shiny and smooth looking. it'll be pretty sticky. form it into a ball, transfer it to an oiled bowl, and let the oil coat it. cover it and let it rise in a warm spot for about an hour or so.<br />
2. punch down the dough and then roll it out on a floured counter until it's about 1/4 inch thick. use any kind of small, 2 inch round glass or cup you can find--i used a candle holder--to cut out dough rounds. i think i had about 18. transfer them to a floured baking sheet. lightly cover the baking sheet with saran wrap and let the dough rise in a warm spot for about 30 minutes. the dough will rise and the rounds will be about 1/2 inch thick. <br />
3. when the 30 minutes is up, heat the oil over medium in a heavy bottomed pot or dutch oven and until it reaches 350 degrees F. line another baking sheet with paper towels. using a spatula, carefully put the dough rounds into the oil one at a time. depending on the size of your pot you should be able to fit 5-10 at a time. fry them until the bottoms are golden brown and then flip them over with a fork until the other side gets golden, too. this could take anywhere between 30 seconds-1 1/2 minutes. the dough will puff up considerably and when its done frying, use a slotted spoon to pull it out piece by piece and drain on the paper towels. (you can use a wire rack if you have one)<br />
4. dust with powdered sugar and serve with whatever decadent toppings you can think of!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDs0Ny2Y74ixTuxhsMzi7eF1yhbU16Mxx1YZW98D1tNb3gWDAAzROUC4dmltR41t74LcBnbHmLKD-ivhDdWDhck9CGV_Rw3vUImLMyyJn4VLHKTZDlmFf5mr4-xXyqh2Ri_cScogbzoOI/s1600/photo(221).JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDs0Ny2Y74ixTuxhsMzi7eF1yhbU16Mxx1YZW98D1tNb3gWDAAzROUC4dmltR41t74LcBnbHmLKD-ivhDdWDhck9CGV_Rw3vUImLMyyJn4VLHKTZDlmFf5mr4-xXyqh2Ri_cScogbzoOI/s320/photo(221).JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIAV8-9yhQmqtT3CE9EQ7LWanixsKBDbtw1JYj5em7XfYLFD2aoXzjie9q-wIRJerWRUAkoKPaK0-kYGZ61_hVm_F5jwGMmj3f7OWmr2hPvl28Mq6drYYU94nniCVeqDEWoWneC5XOWwc/s1600/photo(219).JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
it was a successful hanukkah dinner. jake and gaby gave rapha the loudest toy in the history of the world, we drank great wine, joey <i>finally </i>admitted he likes brussels sprouts, i laughed so hard i nearly peed, we devoured the donuts and licked the plates clean. the pint of $12 ice cream is gone. turns out it was worth every penny. <br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIAV8-9yhQmqtT3CE9EQ7LWanixsKBDbtw1JYj5em7XfYLFD2aoXzjie9q-wIRJerWRUAkoKPaK0-kYGZ61_hVm_F5jwGMmj3f7OWmr2hPvl28Mq6drYYU94nniCVeqDEWoWneC5XOWwc/s1600/photo(219).JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="261" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIAV8-9yhQmqtT3CE9EQ7LWanixsKBDbtw1JYj5em7XfYLFD2aoXzjie9q-wIRJerWRUAkoKPaK0-kYGZ61_hVm_F5jwGMmj3f7OWmr2hPvl28Mq6drYYU94nniCVeqDEWoWneC5XOWwc/s320/photo(219).JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
nanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10743042259844839047noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722513961724260402.post-37262896450565259092012-11-12T16:51:00.002-08:002012-11-12T17:58:58.732-08:00kenyon college and the new cookie.two weeks ago we had a hurricane.<br />
<br />
last year we had a hurricane, too. irene. before irene, the mayor basically put the city on lock-down. the subways closed. people were evacuated. shopkeepers put those lines of tape up in their windows (does that actually do anything?!). we bought spaghettios and water and granola bars and batteries for the flashlights we don't have. friends who live alone came to sleep in our living room. i spent the entire day leading up to it watching the weather channel and talking to as
many people as i possibly could about the impending storm.<br />
<br />
will it
happen? will it be bad? how bad?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqTH_LBWYmSLqsA56xz228-s7VnNcX_7rJ5vf5BM7g23chbN7DWJXOHQIh6_1KZg0YUe3xFARkyHBzzgdHjBaojDJzmvGwV6QpIf93TAtwONKLDC7mNptNAh7tmaCFPCdTtXPS4hPMmg4/s1600/photo(214).JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqTH_LBWYmSLqsA56xz228-s7VnNcX_7rJ5vf5BM7g23chbN7DWJXOHQIh6_1KZg0YUe3xFARkyHBzzgdHjBaojDJzmvGwV6QpIf93TAtwONKLDC7mNptNAh7tmaCFPCdTtXPS4hPMmg4/s400/photo(214).JPG" width="396" /></a></div>
i'm not sure i've written about this before, but i love the weather. i love talking about it. thinking about it. planning around it. i check weather.com compulsively--i generally find it has a more realistic hour-by-hour forecast than accuweather.com--and pride myself on knowing whether or not it's going to be a tom's kind of 53 degrees, or a socks and boots kind of 53 degrees. i think everyone would be happier if they checked the weather at least once a morning.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKGqtyJBq96cJ_zMqqljZFp2BHyxgwyMEnXLK0vOHWzT3t6J9khHNZymILqrW3X_UoBjJfOVeaoBS_MjO_62S2O1k4px80I9H-xJX4ueYxW-TmjQtRBzmvdayzf7L0lgTP5GEgeADtfww/s1600/photo(215).JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKGqtyJBq96cJ_zMqqljZFp2BHyxgwyMEnXLK0vOHWzT3t6J9khHNZymILqrW3X_UoBjJfOVeaoBS_MjO_62S2O1k4px80I9H-xJX4ueYxW-TmjQtRBzmvdayzf7L0lgTP5GEgeADtfww/s400/photo(215).JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
my weather obsession started my freshman year in college when i spent my first winter under the seemingly unceasingly grey ohio skies. it felt as if the sun would disappeared for weeks at a time, which would have been entirely unbearable were it not for two things. first, suicide lights. the entire college campus--i went to kenyon college, by the way, which has actually made a number of "most beautiful campus" lists more than a few times--is about a mile long, and there's a wonderfully romantic, tree lined path that runs the length of it, dividing north campus from south campus. it's called middle path, which is probably the least original part of an otherwise fascinating place full of generally wonderful people generating and sharing interesting ideas, not the least of which is that a liberal arts education is still of some value. every november we'd come back from thanksgiving break to find the trees along middle path wrapped with beautiful, hopeful, soul-warming christmas lights. you can't understand how necessary and helpful these bright little lights were until you've been without sun for days at a time and the ten-day forecast predicts a steady, unremitting cloud cover. by the time the missing sun actually set and darkness enveloped the campus each day, those twinkling lights instantly washed away the dreary grey. they were so necessary and helpful, in fact, that someone actually named them "suicide lights." it's terribly morbid, i know. the second thing that made all this bearable was the inevitable and eventual return of the long-missing sunshine, which was so utterly missed that its reappearance actually changed the entire nature of the campus--the physical structures and student body alike--and like lovers in a long distance relationship, the glorious reunion instantly washed away all the pain and sadness of the separation. what had been bleak and drowsy became, under brilliant (if chilly) sunshine, beautiful, wonderful, exciting, full of opportunity, meaning, happiness.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLW7NtmW2GM8zW3xZvSS_hrURZM9FLmXj621dD5Pdx3AHfLMtXJ7J70Y-GTxCPTKeIsSvYg-n8lHMKelKbPil73YSfEkr83pEzJar8LFaRf8uyjGHeGsATVf0M1Oo7xKjH9dKvkvbkzk0/s1600/kenyon.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLW7NtmW2GM8zW3xZvSS_hrURZM9FLmXj621dD5Pdx3AHfLMtXJ7J70Y-GTxCPTKeIsSvYg-n8lHMKelKbPil73YSfEkr83pEzJar8LFaRf8uyjGHeGsATVf0M1Oo7xKjH9dKvkvbkzk0/s320/kenyon.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
that's why i started checking the 10 day forecast. because i realized that it was pretty much going to determine what i'd be doing and how i'd feel doing it for the next week and a half. i am convinced that weather.com was created by and for slightly compulsive and overly anxious people like me who like to plan and plan and plan! <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCuVaFcF3a_aVgcElTecZ-0kKsjEh648IcpdFYp7DbpBhrWRcSo7KpVFvIAnd3uqjnEQWWT4Bkz7p7v38yOz1WDTz4_0Mm_PeaUtXyVSyIL3teADiye61kpCI3cnqQzV7sodq9xSptbI8/s1600/photo(213).JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCuVaFcF3a_aVgcElTecZ-0kKsjEh648IcpdFYp7DbpBhrWRcSo7KpVFvIAnd3uqjnEQWWT4Bkz7p7v38yOz1WDTz4_0Mm_PeaUtXyVSyIL3teADiye61kpCI3cnqQzV7sodq9xSptbI8/s400/photo(213).JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
so last year news of a hurricane in new york city had me glued to the weather channel. we watched. and waited. and nothing happened. that's not entirely fair--irene did terrible damage to a lot of the northeast. the city was largely spared though, and in the morning sunshine, the preparations seemed laughable. but sandy was going to be different, they said. sandy was going to be bad. really really really bad. the subways closed again. people were evacuated again. shopkeepers put those lines of tape up in their windows again (maybe it does actually do something), and josh and i prepared again. this year, instead of buying gallons of water though, we bought beer and wine and baby food. we went to our local slightly-too-expensive-but-completely-wonderful and fancy grocery store and stocked up on root vegetables and crusty bread and gourmet cheese. we got honey crisps and a box of black bean bisque. greek yogurt and brussels sprouts. fresh parsley and eggs. okay, we got spaghettios, too. and on my way to the cash register i threw a bag of chocolate chips into our basket. just for good measure. i didn't know what i'd grabbed until later. these weren't any old chocolate chips. they were bigger, flatter, rounder discs of chocolate just made for people like me, who think that a chocolate chip cookie is more about the chocolate than the cookie, and they promised an exceptional chocolate chip cookie experience. they're actually called <a href="http://worldwidechocolate.com/shop_guittard_101.html">"super cookie chips."</a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghbGo4yjA0MyqzvLxFYnAAgPQf6Sb_JijYwTiEXBlLLiuVIbSJ1HcJi2gPr3hCozIZasEJhy0MsM8rQiX_5aJVuVoPaGGDEYZDh9UdhH1IsNr7dT7_GI5gL1oqxU0tz-uuA4cAE2yECm0/s1600/photo(216).JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghbGo4yjA0MyqzvLxFYnAAgPQf6Sb_JijYwTiEXBlLLiuVIbSJ1HcJi2gPr3hCozIZasEJhy0MsM8rQiX_5aJVuVoPaGGDEYZDh9UdhH1IsNr7dT7_GI5gL1oqxU0tz-uuA4cAE2yECm0/s400/photo(216).JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
we went home. we sat under our skylight and listened to the wind and flipped back and forth between this weather channel and that one, and we waited. and when the wind finally quieted and the water finally receded, sandy had done her damage. she had devastated parts of this glorious, seemingly impenetrable city in unimaginable ways.<br />
<br />
we're very lucky and park slope lost some grand old trees but little else. but other parts of brooklyn, just a few miles away, are like alternate universes. it's unclear if or when life will be restored for them. every single person i know in my neighborhood has participated in the relief effort in one way or another, and though i haven't yet found the words to describe how happy i am to live in the kind of community that has responded so immediately, so eagerly, so powerfully, to the devastation sandy left behind i will simply say that it's life-affirming. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjYvhsA35wAIDYTIwpWx_1YgngqdKhppK1FKmfmJE2Yq7ICq898dP1ATa6ZT1lcDVJxyjn6zHJkEmZU6z5ScBlqdQzBjeIv_vkGfrOudPbor1ycn_20hyphenhyphen-g_7cfexZOrYtawSCLUpq4vo/s1600/photo(217).JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjYvhsA35wAIDYTIwpWx_1YgngqdKhppK1FKmfmJE2Yq7ICq898dP1ATa6ZT1lcDVJxyjn6zHJkEmZU6z5ScBlqdQzBjeIv_vkGfrOudPbor1ycn_20hyphenhyphen-g_7cfexZOrYtawSCLUpq4vo/s400/photo(217).JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
after sandy the city basically shut down for a week and josh stayed home. we had no trouble cooking up all those gourmet goodies we bought for the storm. it took me the longest, in fact, to get around to using those magical chocolate chips--i just couldn't decide on the <a href="http://designbakerun.blogspot.com/2012/10/thick-and-chewy-chocolate-chip-cookies.html">right recipe</a>. it was worth the wait though. according to josh, the cookies i baked with the super chocolate chips are the best cookies i've ever made. they were so good, in fact, that i made them again two days later.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh22ardruocIla2ScFA1i1OAEgGevBR3HEQV-0W5DdBvBnoyHHLq-ZWd3neb_kFT7flGU0-rTzCcGbHy0SJ_WWzK1I5SoraJqBjPvuESL7XSSI1Sa0wG_iFmKLdOQJgFtuHd-u2sOdhQTs/s1600/photo(218).JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh22ardruocIla2ScFA1i1OAEgGevBR3HEQV-0W5DdBvBnoyHHLq-ZWd3neb_kFT7flGU0-rTzCcGbHy0SJ_WWzK1I5SoraJqBjPvuESL7XSSI1Sa0wG_iFmKLdOQJgFtuHd-u2sOdhQTs/s320/photo(218).JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
ingredients:<br />
2 1/8 cups flour<br />
1/2 tsp salt<br />
1/2 tsp baking soda<br />
1 1/2 sticks butter. use regular salted butter instead of unsalted. trust me. <br />
1 cup brown sugar<br />
1/2 cup white sugar<br />
1 egg<br />
1 egg yolk<br />
2 tsp vanilla<br />
chocolate chips. super chips if you can find them. the whole bag. that's like, two cups.<br />
<br />
to make the cookies:<br />
1. preheat the oven to 325 degrees F. heat the butter so it's about 3/4 melted. mix the flour, salt, and soda. <br />
2. beat the 3/4 melted butter with both the sugars, then add in the egg, egg yolk, and vanilla. when it's all mixed slowly add in the flour mixture and beat until it's incorporated, then dump in the chocolate chips and mix again.<br />
3. make giant cookie balls! forget about walnut sized scoops. this recipe calls for very large cookies. so go ahead and use your hands and grab about two tablespoons at a time. spread them evenly a couple inches apart on a parchment lined cookie sheet and bake for 13-15 minutes, or until the edges start to look kind of crunchy and the middles still look pillowy soft. that's when they're done. perfectly, deliciously, wonderfully done. <br />
<br />
these will go quickly. and you'll want to make them again soon, too.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLObNVCO5FRHICWFgZYXQ8ABNUiRuYnWm29b99y3_7Hh8qaOYgGIpoS0G-2YHbBvkIb6qgr5zpYwQyUSkK4U_YreQ92Exhgvf3r7Sq0O6ktNcFu0sTGG7F1yr7rXPqgr41HwyR38Ort3A/s1600/photo(211).JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLObNVCO5FRHICWFgZYXQ8ABNUiRuYnWm29b99y3_7Hh8qaOYgGIpoS0G-2YHbBvkIb6qgr5zpYwQyUSkK4U_YreQ92Exhgvf3r7Sq0O6ktNcFu0sTGG7F1yr7rXPqgr41HwyR38Ort3A/s320/photo(211).JPG" width="240" /></a>
</div>
i know it's sort of wrong to say this, but it was really nice to have josh home for a week. we went for walks, we took naps, we read, we ate, we ate some more, we got addicted to the show homeland, we smushed the baby and said "look what rapha's doing right now! look how cute he is!" over and over and over again, and we actually managed to watch a movie. during the day. this is quite an accomplishment for people who have a six month old. what movie did we watch? liberal arts, of course, which was filmed at kenyon college. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0LdCkERFra7u-q_g1IjHyX0XRjufBp6moG-x0Qm7MBA4yJ7vxsL-PxOuqhu7utSEb6dCUbdr9pP73Rm9nj5JZEzqrsmTn6_OBb5FvpbwIOZReUISnz1p4uI1fyot1XlZW3B7V3oOfdqw/s1600/photo(212).JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0LdCkERFra7u-q_g1IjHyX0XRjufBp6moG-x0Qm7MBA4yJ7vxsL-PxOuqhu7utSEb6dCUbdr9pP73Rm9nj5JZEzqrsmTn6_OBb5FvpbwIOZReUISnz1p4uI1fyot1XlZW3B7V3oOfdqw/s400/photo(212).JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
it was warm today. sandals and no jacket and make up errands to run just to stay outside warm. but tomorrow it'll be cold and rainy. and i'll be ready. <a href="http://www.weather.com/">www.weather.com</a>. you know you want to. <br />
<br />nanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10743042259844839047noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722513961724260402.post-9857880767121000932012-09-30T07:13:00.000-07:002012-10-01T14:17:25.899-07:00lemon rosemary olive oil cake. and a sweet new year to all!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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last week i was in synagogue and i saw a little girl wearing a striped dress i was absolutely positive was a hannah anderson dress and little folded socks with frilly ruffly things on them poking out of shiny black mary janes and i was transported to the holidays of my childhood, during which i exclusively wore hannah anderson dresses and little folded socks with frilly ruffly things on them poking out of shiny black mary janes. i suppose i rather liked (or at least didn't mind) this holiday and otherwise unspecified fancy occasion uniform, though i'm sure if i'd been in charge of my wardrobe i would have worn only the incredibly ornately puffy and beautiful easter dresses i lingered near whenever we made a trip to a department store. (tutus seem to be all the rage for little girls now and i imagine i would have been perfectly happy to wear a tutu on any given day.) but there was something so wonderfully sweet about this little girl in her stripes and socks and seeing her somehow rounded out the holidays for me.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIdHD3fPtK4XroM0Gt5MR3EoiJFovNcGVWX-XDcTF54k5mRf2SZMr2ubXixX3cgbWaU60Lm7fh9HyIquluN2Twsz-PEdVyh4QrPze0AnRwDO0yoGLEEVYiQpns8TkdCT2kVM-gGBvlhbA/s1600/photo(202).JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIdHD3fPtK4XroM0Gt5MR3EoiJFovNcGVWX-XDcTF54k5mRf2SZMr2ubXixX3cgbWaU60Lm7fh9HyIquluN2Twsz-PEdVyh4QrPze0AnRwDO0yoGLEEVYiQpns8TkdCT2kVM-gGBvlhbA/s200/photo(202).JPG" width="150" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNdSMp88rs8YStDWUOs7dHs078Goqobpe-oJed5aoT29Yv1VI9ynxOIQ7sKFQ0i4gmu4l79BwhNnxSzl2LGpL0pN0aPEfV2X6LAtJgEmGXCXHZKOKpOPpQAbbhtte60VRHlOXAvNcxMNo/s1600/photo(208).JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieEKm3z2efrSbm_ellYaTcyaFVSgaHC9xf0lsndnKN5DkbwNsxj46l5T-VRdXPOj8HKW_-gH3YbTGCPgGsJ8h59dS0aIgSRkBXLSGQd31X3UHOo_gXcPqXQt-NPtUJdnigKATTM_qgkZw/s1600/photo(200).JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="175" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieEKm3z2efrSbm_ellYaTcyaFVSgaHC9xf0lsndnKN5DkbwNsxj46l5T-VRdXPOj8HKW_-gH3YbTGCPgGsJ8h59dS0aIgSRkBXLSGQd31X3UHOo_gXcPqXQt-NPtUJdnigKATTM_qgkZw/s200/photo(200).JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNdSMp88rs8YStDWUOs7dHs078Goqobpe-oJed5aoT29Yv1VI9ynxOIQ7sKFQ0i4gmu4l79BwhNnxSzl2LGpL0pN0aPEfV2X6LAtJgEmGXCXHZKOKpOPpQAbbhtte60VRHlOXAvNcxMNo/s1600/photo(208).JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><br />
there's a certain feeling i get every year around rosh hashanah. it's usually warmish out still, though the summer heaviness is always gone from the air and though i'm left mourning the passing of the deliciously long and easy summer days, when we're able to remove our air conditioners and throw our windows open to the freshness of the still gentle breeze, and when i find myself delighting in the return of my beloved honey crisp apples at farmers markets and grocery stores alike, i'm able to welcome the movement, the change, the passing. and every year it's synonymous with rosh hashanah.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNdSMp88rs8YStDWUOs7dHs078Goqobpe-oJed5aoT29Yv1VI9ynxOIQ7sKFQ0i4gmu4l79BwhNnxSzl2LGpL0pN0aPEfV2X6LAtJgEmGXCXHZKOKpOPpQAbbhtte60VRHlOXAvNcxMNo/s1600/photo(208).JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNdSMp88rs8YStDWUOs7dHs078Goqobpe-oJed5aoT29Yv1VI9ynxOIQ7sKFQ0i4gmu4l79BwhNnxSzl2LGpL0pN0aPEfV2X6LAtJgEmGXCXHZKOKpOPpQAbbhtte60VRHlOXAvNcxMNo/s200/photo(208).JPG" width="200" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiiL9Cgujxay04qQpZgcqiEyt0TS-rC6dkqI7IOfoSsDE-sSQURiywWs7Y1MpGRLa8aezCVXT6EGI7m_Nd2o-3cWh6jUPt3sBHAKG3baj-v3IpenF3TK2c5-vAZXvWOTw-eSN0D17iFNE/s1600/photo(203).JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiiL9Cgujxay04qQpZgcqiEyt0TS-rC6dkqI7IOfoSsDE-sSQURiywWs7Y1MpGRLa8aezCVXT6EGI7m_Nd2o-3cWh6jUPt3sBHAKG3baj-v3IpenF3TK2c5-vAZXvWOTw-eSN0D17iFNE/s200/photo(203).JPG" width="163" /></a><br />
so this year, when i was menu planning with my mom for the 26 people my parents hosted for the joyous new year celebration, chocolate just didn't seem appropriate. and neither did pumpkin. we're not that deep into fall yet. summer's still more than a distant memory. i wanted something bright but savory. fresh but rich. i found <a href="http://amuseinmykitchen.com/2012/04/29/rosemary-olive-oil-cake/">this</a> rosemary olive oil cake. it was almost perfect. but it needed lemon. and pomegranate. and then it would be just right.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiIyGWaKOl22V2HQXU18FLqFMLnflTjEk-m0jm40LmaLX2TZtVWoHwlBzO8yIEaOz_WsxoSpCJLiM2oQ0VEDzwDz1-a-2QESWffOm0YJ7-hwi662ZYCiNdm9umA9cJsPVjGcKLGr7H4Zo/s1600/photo(206).JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiIyGWaKOl22V2HQXU18FLqFMLnflTjEk-m0jm40LmaLX2TZtVWoHwlBzO8yIEaOz_WsxoSpCJLiM2oQ0VEDzwDz1-a-2QESWffOm0YJ7-hwi662ZYCiNdm9umA9cJsPVjGcKLGr7H4Zo/s200/photo(206).JPG" width="103" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8ZLAPUNnbRG38IAUExB6JQBP-SlQUwb-G97L0gPNEr-mf12QzaBIkrgwNb7W667gAl1IIgjS7nGUv7tYyktbMUa-nZ4QdBrpqny0sCZXSnob2XbldKGWkSYmhbV0BEa41OdGdYGmNC88/s1600/photo(204).JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
ingredients:<br />
4 eggs<br />
3/4 cup sugar<br />
2/3 cup good olive oil<br />
1 tbs. honey <br />
2 tbs. rosemary (or more if you'd like)<br />
1 1/2 cups flour<br />
1 tbs. baking powder<br />
1/2 tsp. salt<br />
zest of 1 lemon<br />
juice of 1 lemon<br />
pomegranate seeds<br />
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to make:<br />
1. preheat the oven to 325 degrees F and spray a 10 inch loaf pan with cooking spray, or spread olive oil over the pan if your mom is out of cooking spray.<br />
2. beat the eggs and then add the sugar and beat until the mixture gets a little lighter and foamy and then slowly drizzle in the olive oil and keep beating.<br />
3. add the rosemary, lemon zest, honey, and lemon juice and stir to combine.<br />
4. whisk the flour, baking powder, and salt in another bowl and then slowly add it to the wet mixture and beat on low.<br />
5. pour the batter into the pan and bake for 45-50 minutes, or until the top is nicely browned and a skewer comes out clean when you insert it into the center of the cake.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZx3t-vYVz5Xg-q4Zl6VfLQ7sD7O0XlsRcrj266rY_uFf41LGYgeVtOloYJdkpstTZAYHYR9VagvmGI8EXH-LYDhowxeF3cRTHKFuuOC_vdD__WRYNsMTEryiOOU6VU0LesqrwcZWWj8g/s1600/photo(207).JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="283" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZx3t-vYVz5Xg-q4Zl6VfLQ7sD7O0XlsRcrj266rY_uFf41LGYgeVtOloYJdkpstTZAYHYR9VagvmGI8EXH-LYDhowxeF3cRTHKFuuOC_vdD__WRYNsMTEryiOOU6VU0LesqrwcZWWj8g/s320/photo(207).JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
serve this cake with pomegranate seeds and rejoice in gratitude that you've lived to see the miraculous arrival of another season. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzJpHgDWPP27pKuTTTu60IX7zv_WgOEodZj5jVjEjElqoQ8arlGqj7vc6RFG0LxINnFLZjVKlOW6OdXFsB9pZCkwKlUFkisMdYLiO3WwUtcU0M0MA4akQNkAWs0TIcz4xc1sH3tRb8EFs/s1600/photo(205).JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzJpHgDWPP27pKuTTTu60IX7zv_WgOEodZj5jVjEjElqoQ8arlGqj7vc6RFG0LxINnFLZjVKlOW6OdXFsB9pZCkwKlUFkisMdYLiO3WwUtcU0M0MA4akQNkAWs0TIcz4xc1sH3tRb8EFs/s320/photo(205).JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
shana tova! a sweet and happy and healthy new year to all!nanihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10743042259844839047noreply@blogger.com3