Tag: Food

Christmas Spirit in a Cookie

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c is for cookie

Typically, baking is not my bag. Hand me a jalpeno and I’m a much happier girl. Pie plates, measuring spoons, and proofing are just words I can’t be bothered with. Call it the Christmas spirit (or just plain crazy), but this year is just a little different. It all started with a resourceful review and a rug remnant. There are some people in my work life who have just gone above and beyond to keep my sanity. I owe them something – nothing short of my soul – for making my life just a little easier. So, I decided to bake cookies. Everyone loves a cookie, right? Never one to take the easy road I decided against plain old chocolate chip and ended up with:

  • mint chocolate chunk (2 dozen)
  • peanut butter chocolate chunk (2 dozen)
  • butterscotch (1 dozen)
  • butterscotch with almonds (1 dozen)
  • oatmeal with tuaca soaked raisins (2 dozen)
  • cinnamon chocolate chunk (2 dozen)…and finally…
  • plain old chocolate chip (2 dozen)

Luckily, I had really good company for this cookie quest – otherwise I would have gone insane. She and kisa sampled as I went, making sure my baking was on par with yummy. I could have easily gotten off track with the measuring with all the gabbing we needed to do! Here’s a teaser for an upcoming blog – I started the cookie quest on Saturday night because Sunday was another house hunting day. We were to visit the twin of the house I fell in love with in August! More on that later!

But, for now let me say I’m still not a baker. But, I have to admit – there was something very warm and homey about the smell of cookies baking in the oven; there was something very simple and childlike about being able to lick the big wooden spoon caked with dough; there was something very comforting and personal about creating something from scratch to say thank you.

Happiness is a fresh baked mint chocolate chip chunk cookie.

Bread and Jam

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Bread & Jam

I love it when a plan comes together. Things you don’t intend to happen just do and for the better. I didn’t intend for the Sean night to be just Kisa and I but I’m glad it turned out that way. We haven’t been to see a show, just the two of us, in a really, really long time. We took the opportunity to prowl around a new town scoping out the real estate it had to offer. I didn’t intend to see a twin of my first “dream house” but there it was, in the same town on the same street. They are mirror images of one another…including the price. I dared to dream for just a minute about having a second chance at a first house.
I didn’t intend for us to stop in Albany for dinner. I mentioned a place, said I had no idea where it was or even what it was really called. Kisa pointed in Tom’s direction and said, “ask him.” Tom knew the place and even how to get there (or should that be the other way around because how to get there is a given?) and so we went. Better blog about bombing Bombers later…
I didn’t intend for us to sit front row for Sean’s show. I was hoping for a quiet corner, something with candles and coffee. Instead, we found a couch with cinnamon sweet cider and a chocolate brownie to split. Sean, as usual, was amazing. I’m never, ever disappointed after seeing a show. Here’s the setlist:

  • Bluegrass Baby
  • Night (awesome, awesome tune)
  • Into the Mystic
  • Surprise (new album song) 
  • The Blues (?)
  • Tomorrow Loves a Long Time
  • Draw the Line
  • Black Lightning

Set break

  • Old Black Dodge
  • Trademark of Fools (still an old favorite)
  • Wrong Side of the Bed (new album song)
  • Jonathan (new album song – still one of my favs)
  • Wet (new album song)
  • Everybody’s Talking
  • Check It Out
  • American (new album song)
  • Alone (old fav – almost didn’t think I was going to hear it!)

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Cranberry Crazy

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feastMy in-laws didn’t want me to bring anything to the Thanksgiving dinner. They are gourmet all the way so I wasn’t really all that surprised. “We’re all set. Just bring yourself” they told me. But, that didn’t mean I didn’t offer – Stuffing? Done. Green bean casserole? P has her recipe. Sweet potatoes? Covered. Dessert? Five pies and counting. Mashed potatoes? Check. Finally, finally it was decided I could bring the cranberry sauce. Cranberry sauce! Instantly I thought: citrus, spicy and adult. One of each. Something raw (relish), something cooked (sauce). And…if they all sucked, I could always grab a few cans on the way out of town (hey, I used to eat that stuff straight from the can – STILL love it).

So, the citrus relish was in honor of my husband’s niece. Pineapple, tangerines, lemons, lime, maple syrup, and honey. If I had thought about it I would have added raisins and nuts since this was an uncooked, crunchy relish. Something for next year, maybe?

The spicy sauce was intended just to be a sauce for kisa and I – something a little kicked up. Cranberries, chipotles, Mexican cinnamon, sugar, ancho chili powder, and red wine vinegar. Simmered for a long time on really, really low heat. If I had thought about it I would have added shallots and garlic since this was a savory sauce. Something for next year, maybe?

The adult sauce was intended to be a port – a traditional cranberry sauce that everyone makes. I decided at the last minute to make a tribute to September 18, 2004 with some Tuaca – a vanilla orange liquor. Those of you who attended the festivities on that day will know exactly what I’m talking about! *wink*wink* So, it was a mixture of mustard, cinnamon, cardamon, cranberries and Tuaca. If I had thought about it I would have soaked dried fruit in more Tuaca for a really adult kick. Something for next year, maybe.
But, here’s the thing – they loved the sauces, all of them. Even the spicy sauce disappeared. Who knew?

So, I have officially been put in charge of cranberry sauce from here on out and my husband won’t stop calling me the Queen of the Bog. I’m already thinking of next year – sweet with strawberries? Spicy with jalapenos and tomatoes? Adult with sangria? Any ideas are greatly appreciated!

Pushing September Out

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I decided to push September out the door a little earlier than any calendar would suggest. Yeah, yeah. I have three more days, but who’s counting? Certainly not me. It’s been a hard month.

Truth be known I am always itching for October 1st. My Halloween has 31 days. My thrill time lasts all month. Better than Christmas. Don’t ask me why. I think it started when I was a kid. Mom would make these outrageous costumes (extremely elaborate, creative, funky…but on a frayed shoestring budget – we’re talking tinfoil and spray paint). My all-time favorite was a gigantic pumpkin made out of coat hangers, a bed sheet and lots of paint. I barely fit through doors, couldn’t sit down all that well and my face itched for days on end, but man! it was a cool costume. Another time sis and I were Miss Piggy and Kermit the frog. I remember being embarrassed by the ginormous breasts and blue eye shadow. We were a sight to see! Us kids would pile into the back of a pickup truck and bounce all over the island looking for treats while the older boys played tricks. Scary all the time they were worse on Halloween. Dusk brought eerie shadows to our faces as we tried to peer into plastic bags for goodies. Whoopie pies spilled from my mother’s kitchen as big as your fist. Apple cider simmering on the wood stove.

These days I don’t run around wearing orange and green paint pretending to be a vegetable from the patch. If I’m lucky I will get my kisa to take a walk among the trick or treaters so I can count the goblins. Every year someone on my block plays Nightmare Before Christmas on the side of his house. Candles glow from jack-o-lanterns on every stoop. Leaves crunch beneath our feet. There is some sort of magic in the air. I can’t really explain it. The sugar shacks start up their boils and put on breakfast feasts.
What I need to do now is find my way to the basement, locate the big box marked “Halloween”, drag it up to the living room, and unpack my spooky friends. Who cares if it’s still September? Who cares if I’m in the wrong month. It’s time to get back to the right state of mind.

Cosmic

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When it comes to music I need advance notice. I need a schedule. I need a plan. I think that’s why last month’s trek to Worcester was so weird. It’s really rare when I catch a performance on a whim, when I don’t know the whole game plan. It’s like a perfect storm – everything needs to be aligned – conditions exact.

Why am I saying this? Where am I going with this? Sean Rowe. I caught his live radio show completely by accident. Here’s what happened:
Today was a farm day. Depressing. Everything is started to die. Damp, sour, rot. There is decay in the fields. Tomatoes and tomatillos lie dirt bound, their green leaves history. A quietness in the raspberry bushes. They no longer buzz with the frenzy of bees and butterflies. It’s getting too cold. I didn’t stay long. I stocked up on carrots, purple onions, bok choy, spinach, arugula, and kale. Carefully cut bouquets of basil, oregano, flat leaf parsley, thyme and rosemary… then sadly turned away.
At home the sadness hung off my shoulders, made me heavy and tired. Determined to get lost in sunny California I read The Nowhere City by Alison Lurie until sleep dropped my book and closed my eyes. When I woke I checked email and found Surprise and sheer luck. Sean was live in the 97.7 wnex studio and shock of all shocks, I hadn’t miss it. I had 2 minutes to spare, even. Shocker. I connected without confusion. Here’s the setlist:

  • Jonathan ~ did NOT expect to hear this one. It’s one of my favorites.
  • Wrong side of the bed
  • Surprise
  • Night

It was nice to hear Sean talk about the music. Don’t get me wrong, I like hearing him sing. But, But! There is something to what he says when he sings. There is something to where he is going with his songs. I like hearing about that, too. It makes the music move in different ways, if that makes sense.

So, thank you wnex, thank you Sean for the nice surprise. Can’t wait for the new album! It will be ‘Magic’ (pun completely intended)!

Tonight Tonight Tonight

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Miss You cds
Miss You cds

 Could I be anymore freakin’ excited about tonight? Probably not. I can’t remember the last time I saw Rebecca perform. Wait. I think it’s coming back to me…she had just sat next to Aaron Neville on a plane and had been to the CMAs. We hung out for a little bit to hear about her jetset life in Musical Capital Nashville, TN. Okay, so even though I can remember the time I still can say it has been way too long. Waaay too long. As you all know, Rebecca Correia is one of my favorite people in the whole wide world and, and, and she just happens to have one of my favorite voices, too. Her Miss You cd is amazing, lyrically and instrumentally. I think it goes without saying she puts more heart into her music than 75% of what’s on the radio today. Seriously.

So – tonight. Tonight! Tonight we will sit in incredibly uncomfortable wooden chairs that creak, we’ll be incredibly squooshed together, we’ll be enjoying incredibly BadForYou food like pulled pork sandwiches and nachos laden with cheese. We’ll indulge in wickedly evil Wicked Wally desserts dripping with chocolate slime. We’ll laugh at each other and enjoy Rebecca’s goofy stage presence while her voice fills a void. At least, that’s what will happen for me anyway!

August Was…

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Where did August go? Sweet August raced by me like lightning in a stormy sky. For reading I was all messed up. I read two books out of turn and one completely by mistake! So much for planning! Anyway, August was:

  • All is Vanity by Christina Schwarz (Others will tell you Schwarz has put out better, but I say this one was good, too!)
  • Boy with Loaded Gun by Lewis Nordan (really, really interesting book)
  • A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius by Dave Eggers (another nonfiction…okay, I admit it. I read this out of turn!)
  • Postcards by E. Annie Proulx (really dark!)
  • Devil in a Blue Dress by Walter Mosley (I need to explain this one!)

What I admitted defeat on was Far Field because it just wasn’t light reading for the last month of sumer. I’ll pick it back up again eventually.

For the Early Review Program on LibraryThing:

  • Blackbird, Farewell by Robert Greer ( a really fun whodunit about a basketball star murder before his big NBA contract even began).

For the fun of it:

  • Top Chef: The Cookbook by Brett Martin
  • Islandsby Anne Rivers Siddon

August was also Sean Rowe, the Police, and Swell Season. It was getting a chance to hang out with really good friends, even for a second. It was Monhegan and a restoration of resolve.

Happiness Game

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Happiness is…taking a half day to visit the farm. Happiness is knowing everything is going to be alright, eventually. Happiness is….

I play this game all the time. Whenever I am overcome by being happy I have this habit of identifying the source of emotion. I haven’t acknowledged my feeling until I can fill in the blank. Something I picked up from therapy. A little weird, but there it is.

Today, coming back from the farm I felt giddy, euphoric even. My impulse was to think “on the verge of a psychotic snap” because I had just spent 40 minutes standing in the pouring rain, searching for tomatillos, the ones that had burst through their paper-lantern shells. I had given up on the cherry tomatoes 10 minutes earlier. We were allowed two quarts and for some reason my heart wasn’t in hunt. The recent storms have knocked down all the trailing twine and posts so picking tomatoes off the vine is literally hunching over, pulling up sodden leaves to look for orange orbs. We already have so many! So, I opted for just one quart and moved onto my goddess, the tomatillo.

I don’t think I can fully express my obsession with this green tomato-like, apple-like, hint of lime wonder. As the rain continued in sheets, soaking me to the bone, I stood there quietly, carefully surveying the harvest. Only the ones that had successfully burst through their paper shells were ready for picking and in the pouring rain it was impossible to tell. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted a cobalt blue raincoat standing and staring on the other side of the row. “Are we crazy?” the man under the cobalt asked me when our eyes met. “I wouldn’t be out here if it weren’t for the tomatillos.” I replied as I raised a hand in greeting. My hand said “Yup, we are crazy” even as my voice made excuses. Soon he came around to my row and said “what’s a tomatillo?” I pulled one of out my bag and launched into cooking school mode. “They’re like a tart tomato, think granny smith – think Mexican food…”  Meanwhile an obese drop of rain hung on the man’s nose, another in his eyelashes. A mosquito bit my neck. “Ah…” the man nodded. Why, I’m not sure. He told me the raspberries were worth the rain. I was anxious to move onto Italian flat leaf parsley but didn’t say so. Instead, I laughed and admitted the raspberries might have to wait a week. My sneakers were filled with silt. My canvas pants clung to my calves. Mud graced the cuffs. Grit was in my teeth from sneaking a cherry tomato. Dirt was under my nails and I’m sure, smudged on my face. Rain’s wet had found it’s way through my raincoat. It started to run down my back. Still I wished my picking companion a nice weekend and grinning like a fool, made my way back to the car.

Green peppers, zucchini, summer squash, onions, carrots, hot peppers, cucumbers, eggplant, lettuce, kale, cilantro, dill, honeydew, watermelon, arugula, thyme, sage, plum and cherry tomatoes…and tomatillos. Happiness is all that.

Culture Crisis

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Fly High

I don’t know how to say this. Well, I don’t know how to say this without coming off as a cultural snob, but there is no refinery in my life right now. I wanted to see two nights of Natalie at the symphony. I was willing to pay someone’s way just to have a second night w-i-t-h someone (and not just sharing a table and maybe a bottle of wine with a complete stranger). Call me generous but my motives were selfish. Call me selfish but I would have paid the way. The whole way. The problem was I couldn’t think of a single person who would sit through orchestral music. No offense, but I’m having a culture crisis.

I need people in my life who want to look at art from the back of the room. The kind of person who not only sits and stares at art, but collects it as well. Cherishes it rather than chucks it. Someone who doesn’t get their wall decore from A.C. Moore. I want to know people who hear a cello live and call it an experience to remember. Music that moves them beyond screaming teenage fantasies. I desire people who would rather savor their food than chew, choke and swallow it. Can close their eyes and say, “cilantro…with a hint of lime” rather than, “there’s something funky with this rice…”

Show me someone who reads poetry, watches documentaries, understands fresh basil, and can handle a song without words. Show me someone who reads biographies, goes to the theater, knows a good Alfredo sauce, and hears the protest in folk music. Show me because I’m tired of Cosmopolitan magazine, Dumb & Dumber, dried oregano, and Hannah Montana.

*Edited to add: When I voiced this angst rather than post it, a friend took me to the theater. Another friend said, “I’ll go with ya!” I guess all I had to do was ask. I don’t know if that would have worked for the Boston Symphony Orchestra, but now I know…It doesn’t hurt to ask!*

Could Have Stayed

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Week Two of the FarmI could have stayed at the farm all day. Today, I introduced myself to Liz. She’s always eating something from a bowl when I come in (well, she’s two for two so far)…I guess if I lived on a honest-to-goodness working CSA farm, I too, would be munching on something several times a day! I let her know we wanted to donate next week’s share to the homeless shelter.

The week was an interesting mix: beets, turnips, green onions, green garlic, summer squash, kolrabi (I need to check the spelling on that one), and there was even broccoli! For greens we were allowed one head of romaine, one bag of a mix of arugula, mustard greens, kale, etc; one huge bag of spinach…I bring my own recycle bags and by the time I went through “my” share they were filled to the gills.

The u-pick selection was awesome: flowers (I didn’t), herbs (got a little oregano and thyme), and and and strawberries! A huge quart! I washed and froze half of them. Tonight I’ll surprise Kisa with fresh strawberries on his icecream. Yummy!

The sun felt nice on my shoulders. Sky blue overhead. I spotted a lone cloud in the shape of a heart. Kids ran in and out of the rows of peas (not ready yet), screetching. Mothers looked under leaves for strawberries while fathers whistled for loose dogs. Sitting in the bed of thyme I inhaled an Italian kitchen and a future stew. Recipes ran through my head.  I could have stayed all day.

Kobe Pizza

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We won

It’s hard to be a Laker fan around my husband. Especially during the finals. Especially when it’s the do or die game for Kobe and the gang. Unfortunately for Jason’s aunt she’s not only a Laker fan, she had to watch the Celtics demolish the Lakers…in front of Kisa. She was a good sport, though. She didn’t have to be – it was her house. She could have kicked us out. Instead, she donned her Red Sox gear and yelled at the tv almost as loud as her nephew. Whenever the Celtics scored she yelled, “Go Red Sox!” cracking everyone up. But, that didn’t last long. As soon as it was obvious the Lakers were giving up the fight she was cursing Kobe instead. We had pizza and alcohol and the Lakers for dinner. I can’t say much for the Lakers, but when it comes to food Californians are different. Californians are cool about their cuisine. Their pizza comes on whole wheat crust with a fresh, lovely green, healthy salad on the side. Yummy.

The Celtics had the Lakers for dinner, but I had something better. I will miss California pizza!

Forest Gump Stumped

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How many times have you seen the movie Forest Gump? How well do you know the story? How about the details? Well, if you ever go to Bubba Gump’s for lunch, you better bone up on your Gump trivia. As soon as we sat down our waiter pounced on us with “What were the name of Forest’s friends? What sports were played in the movie? What actress played his mother?…” All we wanted was to read the menu.
Here’s another thing. If you are trying to eat clean, Bubba’s is not the place to go. Almost every item on the menu was fried-fried-fried. Either that or it was drowning in mayo and disguised as a “salad.” The healthiest thing on the menu didn’t even have shrimp in it and sounded incredibly boring and tastless (I don’t even remember what was in it except the main ingredient was “iceburg lettuce”) so I went for the only nonfried, nonmayo’ed shrimp dish – the dipping pot. Crusty bread (white) and sweet, nutty Jasmine rice served with a pot of steaming hot shrimp “soup.” The shrimp were swimming in a stew of butter, garlic, fresh herbs, and seafood broth. The concept of the dish was to have fun with this very interactive meal. I needed to fish out the shrimp from the broth and eat it with a scoop of rice. The bread was for the dipping pot. Very entertaining.
When the meal was first placed in front of me I was impressed with its presentation. So much so that I took the above picture. What I didn’t know was that the lid to the “soup” was roasting hot. As I was innocently snapping my pic our flamboyant waiter approached and demanded to know who brought us our meals. Guy or girl? he snapped? Red shirt or blue? Bewildered, we told him what we knew and without another word took a dishtowel to remove the lid of my pot. “Seriously hot” he snarled as he walked away. Woah. We all looked at the pot in amazement. That would have hurt. Seriously. I snapped another picture.

Orgasmic Mesa

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Heaven on Earth

This could also be called Ode To Bobby Flay or Where are the Damn Statues?! We went to Caesar’s Palace four times. Not for the gambling. Not for the shopping. For the statues. When my mother visited Vegas she had all these great stories of moving statues. I wanted to see them for myself. I had always told myself that if I ever made it to sin city I was going to find the statues in Caesar’s Palace.
The first time we went it was early morning. Nothing was really opened yet. Spotless and quiet, even the slot machines seemed muted. We didn’t find the statues.
The second time we passed through Caesar’s it was mid-afternoon. We followed signs to the moving statues and came up empty. So empty I felt lost. Where were the statues?
The third time we deliberately went to Caesar’s we asked someone for directions and were led to a cheesy, theatrical fountain show with mechanical puppets and lots of fire. Not what I was picturing. Not at all. Rather than wasting a trip I convinced Kisa to have lunch at Mesa, one of Bobby Flay’s restaurants.
Never before have I eaten at a place where the food is so good my eyes literally rolled back in my head. I ordered the southwest breakfast burrito with chorizo, scrambled egg, goat cheese, cilantro and three kinds of sauces.
On our fourth trip to Caesars I found the statues my mother had been talking about. Finally. I recognized them from the pictures she took. I was surprised to discover they are not LIVING statues but rather, moving mechanical statues. Just like the ones I found the day before. Admitting defeat I finally moved on from Caesars but I will never forget Mesa.

Breakfast

Mercy Me Mocha

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Serious FaceCar Cat
I wanted to wait a little while before writing about Sean’s gig because, well, because I needed to take it all in. It’s funny how music works that way on me. Sometimes it just reaches out and takes hold and won’t let go. Sometimes it thieves my heart away and other times it just leaves me silent.
In the past I wanted to drag as many people as possible to see shows. Promote, promote, promote! It got to the point where I had exhausted the friend list and got nothing in return. It got to that been-there, done-that, same ole-same ole routine. Some fans didn’t stick while others have stuck around to this day. It use to stress me out – that line of lovers and haters. These days I go where I want to go and don’t worry about the fan base, the fanfare. It’s gotten simpler. Much.
So, seeing Sean started out as something unexpected. Back when I first heard his music I froze in the middle of the floor. I must have looked ridiculous and I’m sure I got laughed at. I’m going to skip the oft-mentioned review of how his voice sounds and tell you what really grabbed me. I hear drums in this one-man, one-guitar show. I hear a beat so loud and solid I can do nothing more than stop and stare; barely breathe. Combine that with absolutely amazing lyrics and I have been hooked ever since.

So, the four of us made the tiny trek north. We wandered around town, peering into shop windows, our minds tasting the menus plastered there, lazily looking for the best place for a bite. We settled on a new place – first night open to the public. Good food, better atmosphere, great service. I made a mental note to come back. I know someone who would think it perfect.
Mocha Maya’s. Just in time for music. Sean Rowe (Speaking of perfect). 

I have to admit I had to ask Sean for a set list because a) he has new music I haven’t heard before & new(er) ones I have yet to commit to memory. Here’s what he remembers:
Surprise
Jonathan (the song I called ‘creepy’. I don’t expect anyone to understand that…It’s why I love Halloween). 
Wet
Rock me baby
Shorty
why i sing the blues

I also think In the Diamonds was in there somewhere, but I have no idea why. We did listen to Sean on the way up to the gig…

My new favorite song: Wet. Beyond beautiful. Sean doesn’t have it on his website as a free listen-to, but it will be on the new album due out Sept 4th, 2008 (hopefully)…

My next gig: July 4th!

ps~ I’m including Mocha Maya’s website because the people there are really super cool. They”ve let me know they loved Sean and will get him back as soon as they can. As soon as they do, I’m there!
Pumpkin Lights