Saturday, July 23, 2016

Clafouti aka Trip Down Memory Lane 6WS

So last night I was in the mood for some sort of pancake thing for supper, made one of the oatmeal ones, added in golden raisins and blueberries, tasted very good, but didn't turn over well on the pan, so it came out a bit freeform.

Today, bored because after I made a quick trip to the farmers' market, it was already hot at 9 a.m., air not breathable out there, not really up to going out again in heat at high nineties and humid, I thought hm.  How to rescue the rest of the pancake batter?  all good ingredients, but could it do well in the oven instead?  This is how I end up putting the oven on in ridiculous weather, sheer need to do something interesting. I had already played with tshirts and dye, and will duly bang on about that in my art blog.

Anyway, in the midst of this food thinking, I suddenly realized I was talking about clafouti, an old favorite of mine from years ago, from earliest perusing of Julia Child, whose original book I still have with a funny inscription from Handsome Partner.  



He gave it to me in early marriage, even though he only really wanted to eat my curries, mostly from the Bill Veach book.

Anyway, I thought, ah, I have plums galore in the freezer, and this will work lovely. Clafouti is a kind of fruit flan thing with a pancake batter poured over raw fruit, baked in a moderate oven.  Works for breakfast, or teatime.  Or anytime, really, it's very good. Also much simpler than Julia would have you think. True of many of her recipes, in fact.

So I went online and saw Julia's recipe, and thought, no, self, self, this is where you get the original book out and really revisit it.  And found there, in the original book, unhandled for decades, was a little slip of scotch tape marking the clafouti page.

So I accidentally took a nice stroll down memory lane, and ended up with a very good clafouti instead of a moderate oatmeal pancake.  




Right after it came out of the oven, my friend who feeds me her Indian recipes all the time came over with some offerings, and I explained I couldn't give her clafouti until the whole thing had cooled down. 

She's off on a temple visit, will be back Sunday or Monday.  So she booked some clafouti for then, and went off very happy with the exchange, having left me special squash (yes, I know) and chickpeas, all cooked her own way.  Tonight's supper.

Thursday, July 21, 2016

You just missed her!

You know those annoying birders who insist on telling you about the birds that were here last week that you missed?  I have become one of them.  But I do have a good excuse.

Several times this week, I happen to have been home, and to have looked out at the patio about four o'clock.  And to have seen a female hummingbird working over the red lantana plant on the fence.  She stays about ten seconds, tops, so seeing her is a feat, and taking her picture an impossible goal.




So I just wanted to show you this is where she was a minute ago!  she's so beautiful.  Works over every single flower on the red lantana, before swooping away high into the pine tree out back, perhaps to rest or clean her beak.  I'm particularly glad about this, since I'd observed that on the few occasions when I've seen hummingbirds on this street, they have been about five feet from the ground, and in search of red flowers. They used to come to my cardinal flower out front, a wild volunteer not there this year.

So I figured that the planters on top of the fence would also be at the right height, and I got a couple of lantana this year, for the red color. I don't like red in a garden, too hot, but I figured this was a different situation.  She seems to approve, showing up several times already.  I know it's female, because there's no red bib.

And what I see is what seems to be a disturbance in the air, then I focus and realize it's Mrs. H hard at work on the lantana.  



She inspects the whole array usually.  Spiderwort? no, and alyssum, no, then wild phlox, nah, wrong color, but ahhhh lantana, just the ticket.  She reminds me of a picky customer at a buffet.

Speaking of picky customers, I know I swore never to eat squash again, after the glut last year, but oh well, a friend stopped by with fresh summer squash from a farmer's market south of here, and well, steamed, buttered, peppered, salted, it's supper in summer. Just look at the colors, that golden and ivory and touch of green.



Last night was a lively meeting of the Socrates Cafe group, with many interesting thoughts about judgment, whether it's good, and if so when, and what kinds there are, and so on. So today, I simply rested and enjoyed a day of practically nothing, except being so glad about where I am, and how things are, and how luxurious it is to have summer days when you can choose to do nothing.

Not strictly accurate, since I did help a neighbor cut down a huge tree branch that was lying on my roof, and spent  a while lopping off all the small branches once it was on the ground. 

Then I arranged for the friend who brought the squash to take the trunk part home for next winter's fires, cherry being a lovely firewood. And got an incredible number of bites in the process of all this.  I guess the mosquitoes consider me a special delicacy, worth going out of their way to sample. There's probably a mosquito gourmet guide book about this.  And I did go to the library in the next town to get a reserved book before it went back to the main libe.  Other than that, though, quite otiose!

I'm reading one of the Isabel Dalhousie books, by A McCall Smith,  hence the sudden use of an unusual word. She, the professional philosopher,  does this, then agonizes over whether it's fair or proper.  And whether anyone can judge anything, and if so, when. She really should come to our Socrates group, would fit right in.

Sunday, July 17, 2016

Field Trip! to the past, a historic farmstead

I took a field trip today, to a meeting of the Delaware Valley Unit of the Herb Society of America folks, courtesy of Helen H, who drove us there, to the historic Holcombe Jimison Farmstead, right by the Delaware, in Lambertville NJ.



Narrowly saved from extinction by the building of a major highway, the historic society managed to keep a few acres intact and dedicated to the farm around them, and to add all kinds of historical artifacts and interesting preservation of our farming past.




It was a boiling hot July day, a good time to remember that the farmers back in the early 19th century, when some of the barns were built, the farmhouse itself dating back to the 17th century, had no relief from the heat.  

I was there for a tour and a talk on edible weeds, very interesting presentation by a member of the Herb society, but I was most struck by the existence of this treasure of a museum and grounds that I hardly knew existed before.  

So this is my turn to pass on the good news and invite local readers to make a point of going there and enjoying the barns, the museum of farm implements and historic NJ items, plus meet the blacksmith, see the Kean Barn with old carriages and more recent engines, plus the herb gardens.  The herbs were the main reason for my visit, and it was interesting to explore how they'd decided to cultivate herbs to reflect the changing demographics of our population.

Within one small enclosure, are plots for herbs from India, Indonesia, Eastern Europe, Mexico, China, and other cultures. Amazing really to see what has been achieved, totally by volunteer labor.  Most of the people are very knowledgeable, with background at Brooklyn Botanical Garden, research into entomology and other specialties.  




 tour guide with modern water bottle, showing me the wooden water pipe excavated from nearby town when roads were being rebuilt recently.  There are still pipes like this in the infrastructure of New York and Philadelphia
 
 Some of the pictures hark back to my own childhood in the country, without utilities or running water, and I recognized the washday items all too clearly. My mom turning that huge mangle to wring the clothes. And the later, smaller one, that latest best thing she got years later, still hand driven. A poss stick in the background there, too, for possing clothes, all laundry hand done.

Canning and processing of food mainly done by women


 Spot the fruit varieties here, in the collection of stencils used to mark fruit crates


Funeral hearse, restored to 19th century condition, needing only black horses.

My tour guide was a retired teacher who enthusiastically showed me practically everything, untiringly, on the farmstead, then delivered me to the building where they gave me refreshments, and the talk on edible weeds.  A very full afternoon, and I definitely have to go back there.


Such a labor intensive life.  I noted that in the wool processing area, the hand carders are exactly like my own, same design still being made, because it works!  And the office for the doctor/dentist which was also his dispensary, since he did it all, and he installed the first telephone system for the area while he was at it.  Also led the local brass band.  Just too many items for pictures in this post, you have to go there!

And rural electrification is said to have got its start in this region. Hats off to the energy and real bravery of early farmers.  This is why I like to buy food from my local farmers, since many of them are the latest generation on the family farm, and hard work is their way of life. 

While I was there, a young couple came in searching for someone to donate the family parlor organ too. Turned out they were descendants of the original Jimison family and this was the organ that came originally from this farm, so it will probably come back again.

Saturday, July 16, 2016

Saturday at the Farmer's Market

Now that I've switched from the weekday farmshare to the Saturday morning farmers' market, where I shop at a dozen different farmstands, Saturday has become my day of frenzied prep, cooking, freezing, noshing and generally fooling about with great food.

Finally the stone fruit are in, and peaches and apricots -- well, the apricots are nearly out again, but I never saw any before this week -- were part of my shop.  The peach farm lady gave me a free peach over what I'd bought for bringing in my own bag, nice bonus. 

And another keen shopper at the apricot place was buying large amounts, to make jam.  Evidently planning on a major jamboree, you might say.  Nowadays I don't make huge quantities, and the big enamel pot I used to use has long since been coopted for natural dyeing purposes.  But you can make modest amounts very easily, medium saucepan, fruit, sugar, lemon juice, pinch of salt, no pectin needed. 




So I made two jars of apricot preserves this afternoon, using most of a box of apricots.  I do keep a couple of fresh fruit out for just eating, in these frenzies.  Preserves are where there are whole pieces of fruit in the mix, different from jam where the fruit is all reduced.

And the peaches are now sliced, diced, macerated, spiced, sauce reduced and added,  and frozen ready to make into a crumble when the spirit moves me.

Tomatoes are coming in now, still expensive but wonderful, so worth it.  Just diced, bit of sea salt, olive oil, sherry vinegar, perfect. Every lunch is tomato salad plus mixed green salad, easy, no planning needed.



And the redskin potatoes, which look all muddy when you buy them, then when they're washed suddenly turn into rubies, are waiting their turn at potato salad later in the week.

So, after all this excitement, afternoon tea was fresh-baked hot biscuits (about fifteen minutes from thinking of it to eating them!) with sunflower seeds, and a nice spoonful of the apricot preserves, there's simply nothing better.  Hercule Poirot would have liked a spot of this with his breakfast croissant, not being a lover of marmalade.

There's a lovely drama about fruit that was growing on the trees this morning, picked at dawn and brought into market, then home with me and cooked, all the flavor totally still there.  Selected friends might get a bit of this, too. 

Then this afternoon torrential, tropical rainstorms, and I looked out to see an undaunted hummingbird in the rain, working over my red lantana on the fencetop.  I wanted flowers at that level when I planned the container for the flower thing, because I'd observed hummingbirds like to be about there, and they obligingly are.  

The hummer did retreat to the shelter of the pine tree outside but he has clearly spotted the red flowers and I expect he'll be back.  Much better than sugar water, since there's actual nutrition in the real flower.  I'm providing him the hummer equivalent of the farmers' market.

Wednesday, July 13, 2016

Soup, bread, and botanical history

Any break in the hot weather, and I can make soup.  So this week it was asparagus, broccoli and red lentil soup, using spearmint pesto. I really recommend spearmint as a flavoring in this soup, light, springlike, and very good. But you have to use farm fresh asparagus and broccoli.  And if you have any spearmint growing, you probably have too much anyway, plenty for making pesto.



Then, to go with, hot biscuits with walnuts and golden raisins, using half and half ap and wholewheat flour. Which makes these halfwheat biscuits, I guess..sorry, couldn't resist.

Then out in the patio, history and botany continues. I noticed a lovely little three petaled flower, blue, growing happily uninvited among the ground cover, and added it in to a pot on the fence, then noticed that the uninvited plant in there was the same thing. And  it was growing out of the drainage holes of the pot as well as upward.  



Turns out it's spiderwort, tradescantia virginiana, which pleased me no end.  For one thing, it spurred me on to find that this is a relative of the other tradescantia, the stripy one I grow as a houseplant, equally vigorous grower.  And the wild one is native to here, must have come with my long ago seeding of wildflowers.

The name is in honor of John Tradescant and his son of the same name, English botanists and plantsmen of the sixteenth century, who went through all sorts of hair raising adventures in search of plants to bring back from all over the world to English gardens. Including trips to the then English colony in Virginia.  Nowadays we look a bit more sceptically on moving plants out of their native habitats, but the Tradescants are still worth reading up, if botanical history appeals to you.

I'm a purist on moving plants, having turned down offers of cuttings from other states so that we don't inadvertently bring in more trouble than they're worth.  Also I like growing the native plants where I can, much less tiring to go with nature than against her. 

I noticed in the farmer's market recently, gooseberries on sale, and wondered how come, since it's illegal to plant gooseberries in NJ.  I had gooseberry bushes in the old house, but they had been there for decades, probably grandfathered in before the legislation.

The reason is that the white pine, a very tall, straight, tree, useful for all kinds of things, is a major product of the state. Yes, I know people only think of oil cracking plants near the airport, but this is the Garden State.  Anyway, gooseberry is a carrier of the white pine blister rust, a deadly disease, so they have to protect the white pine by banning the gooseberry.

If you've ever picked gooseberries, you have experienced the dagger like thorns protecting the fruit, which run right up under your nail as you pick, ow.  Birds probably have even worse trouble, their eyes being in direct contact, so gooseberries are typically left alone, in my experience.

Back to the garden, I don't like shopping for plants, though I have to buy herb plants, but the ornamentals I'd rather go from local cuttings and divisions and my own seeds.  I do have neighbors who only want the fullgrown plants, in flower.  For them it's more like home decor, for me it's more like what I think of as gardening, I guess. Such as the neighbor who got pachysandra, groundcover, from me, and complained after a week that it hadn't spread to cover the area yet, I must have given her bad plants!!

At a meeting last night of the artists' collective, I was reminded again that in art, too, there are shoppers and makers. People who buy materials and frames all the time, and people who try to make their own tools and materials.  Different strokes.



Sunday, July 10, 2016

Early Sunday Morning

After a night of heavy rain, this morning was all diamond studded, and full of rainbows as the sun came up.





 

Saturday, July 9, 2016

Heirloom tomatoes, burlap and migrating flowers 6WS

Today, despite tropical rainstorms and winds, was farmer's market day, where I get the best eggs in the world and various other exciting things.

Today it was heirloom tomatoes, heard of them, never had them, splurged on some.  Oh, was that worth it.  Just the smell when you take off the stem.  



I just handled them and sniffed for a while.  My mom used to say that if you took off a tomato stem and it smelled of mint, it was fresh.  These smelt of mint and ambrosia! 

I chose a few different colors, and lunch today involved one of the darker ones.  As well as mixed green salad from the same farm. 



You just don't need anything more.

The egg man was there, cheerful as ever.  And, because of all the bad news lately, I gave a donation to the Crisis Ministry, represented this morning and collecting both food and money to pass on.  Glad they gave me a little something to do.

And since my peacock jasmine is looking very sad up there in the bedroom, suddenly not feeling well, I found others at the market, never saw them before, so I got a new one, which I'll put in a different window and see how she goes.  This one already has growth and several flowers, so I'm hopeful.

And back home, I realized that the flowers I got last week from the market, while looking perfectly lovely, smelled perfectly awful. Like a monster rising from a swamp.  So I put them in an old glass vase, and set them up on the fence outside, in the planter box, where you can see them without being knocked down by the smell. Nothing personal, I assured them. 




That's them, with the sunflower in the middle of them.

And the burlap planter is doing okay, too.  




The marjoram is a lot bushier than it looks at the top, because it keeps trying to get behind the nasturtium in the next pocket down.  The bottom two, dill, only one of which is in the pic, look a bit sparse because I harvested them the other day for that salmon recipe, but it will grow back. So all in all, this is good, largely because the squirrels have shown no interest in interfering with it, amazing.

So that's today out and about.

Friday, July 8, 2016

When the news is all bad, the kitchen can supply some respite

So I was wondering yesterday about that leftover phyllo dough from the salmon mushroom thing I made (very successful, by the way, to my surprise after all the mixup over the oven temp), and looked up any recipes that could use any flaky dough or anything. And started some yogurt cheese in case that would be needed.

And friend G. came over last evening and installed my new kitchen light, multitasking as always, since he was on a corporate conference call at the time!  also my eye doctor sent a reminder about getting my vision checked about now.  So things are moving along quite well on those two fronts. 

About the third resolution, to read the recipes more carefully, well, I did fall down on that a bit, forgetting to put parchment paper on the baking sheets, which resulted in some serious scrubbing after the baking was done, because, cherry jam and high temp.

I found a few ideas about making danish. Why danish, I wonder? do Danes like them?  Well, you really need puff pastry for this, and phyllo isn't it, but what's a few flakes between friends.  So I decided to go for cheese danish.  Then I realized that I still had a little package of cherries from my cherry bushes, in the freezer, awaiting jam.  So it could be cherry cheese danish.

I was saving them for strawberry and cherry jam,  but I decided just to make a little recipe of cherry jam right now.  



Sugar and cherries, nothing else needed, plenty of pectin in the cherries, but I added in almond essence.  I didn't pit them, they're tiny, but removed the pits as the cherries boiled, worked fine. You see the jam here at the unboildownable stage.

Then I made a filling using the yogurt cheese I made yesterday using vanilla yogurt, plus some confectioner's sugar, a fresh farm egg, bit of cornstarch, drop of vanilla essence, sorry don't know exact quantities, just shook the packets in, guessing.  



I think I'm channeling my mom who never seemed to measure, but when you asked how much of something to put in, would say, "Oh, enough, not too much, you'll know."  very helpful to a beginner...but she was far from a beginner and was so used to how much was enough that measuring wasn't an issue. 

Anyway I tasted the filling (yes, I know there's a raw egg in there, but it's from a very clean farm), and it was just great.  

So I cut out squares of the dough, put filling then a dab of jam on each, turned the ends over to seal, using a pastry brush with water, and that was that.



Two batches see here, each baked at 400F for 20 minutes, and came out very acceptable.  This is several breakfasts now.  And maybe a little something for afternoon tea.  And some for friends, if they get lucky.  The pastry sort of explodes when you bite in, great fun, but you wouldn't want to eat this if you're with anyone you'd like to impress.  

And there was jam and filling left over, but no pastry left, so I took the cook's privilege and just ate it.

The world is still rapidly going to hell but at least I can have a nice breakfast.  And do my part in speaking up to the right people, and doing what I can to make the world better not worse.

Wednesday, July 6, 2016

Painting done for now, and a wonderful study of birds

These two items are not as unrelated as they may seem.  I've been reading Jennifer Ackerman's Genius of Birds, a great study of the different forms of abilities in birds and of how humans have grappled and often failed, to understand them as forms of intelligence.



She gives many amazing examples of bird behavior which far outstrip many humans' abilities.  If you want an eye opener, go to YouTube and see 007 Crow  here

This bird had an eight part puzzle to solve, and you see him studying the situation, and the parts, then trial and error to get to the next step, and at one point you swear you see a lightbulb going off as he realizes how to make this work. It's wonderful, and quite humbling for those of us who don't always get our front door key to work first time.

Then there's memory, and birds who can hide thousands of seeds in different places and find them again as needed.  Or birds who not only use tools, but actually create them.  And birds who can recognize human faces.  As a person with face blindness -- the inability to recognize people if they're in a different context, different hairstyle, or wearing a hat and so on -- I bow down to a bird who can spot the humans he doesn't like and bombard them with nuts! Not that I want to bombard my friends with nuts, or anything, just it would be handy to know who's who when I meet them.  Oddly, when I had a flock of pet parakeets, I had no difficulty in knowing who was who.

Anyway, this was all in my mind as I taped up the window wall in the front bedroom, used for playing music and growing houseplants, and known around here as The Nook.  I kept wondering if a crow could do this better.  If a crow would make the tape stick better.  And not miss any bits. And plan on how to do the climbing up part and the not climbing part so as to extend my energy. And whether I could hire any crows, come to that.






But back to the painting, the wall came out just fine, though lighting made a pic difficult, in these humble hands, even without a handy beak to use as a tool, and I recommend the book.  She does have one small fault which is that if nine anecdotes about crows using tools works, why, 339 will work better.  I did skip sections on this account.  

But there are some really interesting conclusions drawn by researchers who find that speed is not always good in the long run, and that steady learning might serve the species better.  Speed of comprehension and execution have often been seen as markers of human intelligence and I've wondered about that, having seen some more deliberative learners end up doing amazing scientific research.  But many "intelligence"  tests we give kids do incorporate speed as part of the test. 

And I think I've done my painting quota for the moment, and will retire to read a restful Daisy Dalrymple mystery.

Monday, July 4, 2016

Happy Fourth! with various forms of marking it

Today is a wonderful summer's day, the kind you think about in February, just right for painting the staircase.  What? on a holiday?  well, in fact practically everyone I've talked to in the last few days is busy doing things like this. Fireworks were Saturday night, lovely display, perfect evening, celebratory dinner was Friday night.

But now, on the actual holiday, Handsome Son is at work, maybe to the shore later, next door neighbor driving in a convoy to Florida helping another friend retire there, with all her worldly goods in a UHaul, various relatives driving. 

She refused to let the convoy move off until she'd opened the UHaul trailer to show me the progress of the snake plant that spent a summer with me and was very happy on my patio, never looked back. I hadn't seen it since since she lived north of here, and won't see it again, since it will live in Florida.  It was like saying goodbye to a student!

The move involved many doublings back and forward to distribute people, vehicles, furniture, and so on, made me tired just watching. My part is to water his garden while he's away.

Another friend is busy organizing another household move. So my painting the stairs isn't too much of a departure.

I'm definitely down with using tape.  Got a nice gallon of paint, yes, actually bought one, the two possibles from the dumpster turning out to be solid material.  Taped up the stair wall and around the treads to save the rug, this was the dull bit which I did last night. 



Then today, only painting below the tape, to fix the most beat up part of the wall, the upper part never getting marked up, took a bit over an hour and a bit.  And I noted that ancient law of nature that dictates that when you paint walls, you're sure you've caught all of it, no missed bits, no wobbly edges.  Then as soon as the brushes and pads are washed and all the gear is away again, bingo, you see a little bit here and there.  So you get a little plate of paint and touch them up and nobody knows the difference, unless you blog about it, of course.  And the staircase looks a whole lot better now.

So this is very pleasing, the color named Sunflower Seed, and both arms are still working.

Meanwhile, of course the Dollivers ran up the flag in a waving field of wildflowers, planted from seed saved by Boud from last year, and retired to the Adirondack chair with a big glass of lemonade, and patriotic songs from Elton.  




Boud bitterly suggested Sixteen Tons might be a good theme for her today, but was swept away in a tide of anthems, fruited plains and all the rest of it.



And we all wish you a great day, if it's your Independence Day, happy all of us, and let's keep on working to improve everything, plenty of scope. If it's just a Monday where you live, well, enjoy it anyway!

Thursday, June 30, 2016

Surprises in the plant kingdom

The Chinese evergreen, aglaonema to the initiated, suddenly bust out with a bunch of flowers this week.  




I noticed they're very similar to the flowers on other plants such as the spathiphyllum and the dracaena, and found that they're all members of the lily family.  Which I suppose is why they also look like arum lily flowers.  And I wonder if Jack in the Pulpit is a wild cousin of the clan?  

Anyway, nice surprise.  I always like it when plants bloom, just as when animals reproduce, it means they're happy in their environment.  And when they point out something interesting for me to explore, even better.

And the peacock jasmine, a mail order arrival, too small to photograph when she arrived, back in May, is now developing and has started putting out tiny white flowers, which have the most powerful scent you can imagine, like being in a jungle paradise. 




These are the flowers used in Hawaiian leis, pure white, scented, would be nice to wear.  If you could handle the scent at that range. 

This botanical excursion is meant to distract from the kitchen excitement of this morning.  My overhead light went a few days ago, the replacement has arrived, and I'm hoping my friend next door will get around to installing it.  He's been busy, and it's a favor, so I don't like to press. 

However, cooking by the light of the sink light and the stove light is getting old, particularly since this morning I was making a new recipe, partly to try on Handsome Son tomorrow, partly to have extra in the freezer. 

One of those recipes where you deal with opening canned salmon, wiping and slicing mushrooms, picking and mincing fresh herbs, cooking rice and combining it with yogurt, thawing puff pastry, frying onions, it better be good, that kind.

All went pretty much okay, and I made double the quantities, since the only can of salmon available was twice the size needed, and I am not budgetarily up to salmon steaks.  Sooooo, so far so more or less good, until I read the directions for oven temp. 

I thought they were a bit low, but needing new glasses, and the small type, and the suboptimal kitchen light, I soldiered on thinking well, perhaps they're right, but I thought this pastry needed a hotter oven.

Followed it to where it should have been all done, and it really really wasn't, looked pale and sad, not brown and joyful.  So I irritatedly shoved the temp up a good bit higher and now it started to work better.  I will finish the cooking tomorrow evening, so that it comes out fresh from the oven for dinner. And hope by then it works, because this is two complete puff pastry pie things plus another sort of quiche for the freezer.  All the ingredients were cooked ahead, really, so it's only the pastry that needs to step it up.

Then I was about to make notes on the cookbook indicating that it should be at the temp I put it at in the end, and realized, doh, they had put the celsius reading ahead of the fahrenheit, a reversal of what I'm used to, not being in a decimalized world here.  And the Fahrenheit temp I'd put it at was the one they'd said all along....so now I've circled blackly the correct temps for my use.  Doh, again.

So this points up three needs: get the &*&**& kitchen light installed, make eye doctor appointment, and read the recipe slooooowly..in a good light.

If it comes out well after all this, I'll pic it for you.  All good ingredients as my mom used to say if something came out below expectations.

On a different topic, yesterday was the  Feast of Sts Peter and Paul.  I've always thought this was a sort of canonical in-joke, since they did. not.get.along.at.all in life.  So the Church makes them share the same feast day in perpetuity.  I wonder what Pope thought that one up.  Now, boys, you have to just learn to get along, see what you have in common, not what you always argue about. I bet they would have argued about the oven temp, too.

Thursday, June 23, 2016

Closing talk for art exhibit, with surprise present, and food catchup

Wednesday was the talk for the last day of my textile art exhibit, and it went over so well, nice group came, everyone who promised to come and some more people who hadn't but came anyway, very knowledgeable group to talk with.  

And one guest, Cynthia C., came complete with a lovely present!  a solar light for the garden area, and here it is, set up right away, as soon as I got home, and last evening already charged and  putting out a steady glow.



I thought this was a good home, between daylilies and lavender, and kneedeep in pachysandra.  I will enjoy this for years.

Then, time for a bit of food catchup.  I whipped about in a frenzy and made hot biscuits with poppyseeds, a soup of farm-picked asparagus and red lentil, and a plum crumble.  Some of this is to feed Handsome Son, along with a main dish probably of pasta with my spag sauce,  when he comes over Friday, some to feed Boud anyway.  I make us a big meal on Friday evening, then I have leftovers for a few days!

The plum crumble is starting to be my own recipe, no reference to books or tattered copies now.  I macerated the fruit, great price on plums in the Asian store,  in fresh grated nutmeg, fresh ground cinnamon, a swoosh of lemon juice, and some honey and molasses.  Then reduced the liquid that came off it, added it in, mixed the fruit with cornstarch, just a dusting, and that was the fruit done.  


The crumble was equal parts almond flour and oat flour, both whirred in my coffee grinder from sliced nuts and oatmeal flakes, plus whole oatmeal flakes.  Tart enough to suit me but maybe not other people, so when it came out of the oven still hot, I sprinkled some sugar over, not much.  This is a gluten free crumble, I think, since cornstarch has no gluten as far as I know. And almonds and walnuts don't either.

So that was this morning's cooking done, on a comparatively cool day.  Now back to reading Nightingale, alternating with Buddhist Wisdom.

Tuesday, June 21, 2016

Done. Time elapsed 1.5 hours

Including finding the screwdriver to get the lid off the can.  All the bits the painter could reach, now looking very spiffy. It's some of what was left over from when I painted the studio.

Painter is v.v. chuffed about this, partly because it looks so much better, and partly because she lived to tell the tale.  The electric cords are waiting for the outlet to be dry and pluggable in.



So now I have ambitious plans to get on with the staircase, too, now that I seem to have established I can do this stuff again.  And the taping will be a feature there, too, since as usual, it's the bottom few feet that get the traffic, and the rest of it, soaring way up there, looks just fine.  

What I used today was one of those big pad things with a handle, rather than wave a roller about in such a small area. When I find a longer rod I can screw the pad onto, I might return and fix the bits I couldn't reach.  Not easy leaning over immovable appliances, and having rather short arms is a bit of a liability.

I rarely buy paint, usually getting full unopened gallons at the dumpster from the surplus bought by excited homeowners overestimating their area.  So the colors are a bit of a lucky dip. At the moment I have the rest of the flat latex in peachy beige, very nice, the rest of the shiny green from the kitchen, perhaps not for the stairs, though, and a full gallon of eggshell white, which might be just the ticket.  

Eggshell finish at the bottom of the wall, flat white at present the rest of the way up.  Might be nice.  And I might even get all carried away and put in a racing stripe of the laundry area color.  I think Handsome Son might be recruited to help with the taping, so as not to have wavy lines. 

Of course, if anyone suddenly puts out new colors at the dumpster, I might rethink my interior design ideas. You have to allow for these possibilities.

Total cost today: about ten dollars for the pad and replacement pad. Labor free. Well, two Advil for the laborer.

Monday, June 20, 2016

Cure for Dudgeon revealed

See I can do clickbait titles with the best of them..

Lately I have for various reasons been in a state of fairly low spirits and high dudgeon, partly because my aging bod is resisting doing as much as I like to do, and fighting back with some pain to the point where I have to choose what to do, rather than plunge in and do it all. And I have to time it, too, so as not to be all froze up at the wrong time.

One of my biggest grievances was the fear that I might not be able to get back to painting my own walls, a very therapeutic and satisfying sort of job, but hard on the very joints that are kicking and fussing.

However, I decided, heck, let's at least give it a shot and do the laundry area which has been annoying me for years.  So I emptied the shelf, chucked away some containers with a quarter inch of material in them, why do we do this, instead of just finishing it at a go, anyway, I did that.  And sorted out the painting stuff I'll need.





And realized that in fact it's not half as bad as I thought.  I must have painted it more recently than I realized. The upper half is pristine, no need to do anything with it.  All the bits I don't like are the bottom half.


So I had a rush of brains to the head and taped up where I will paint down from, nice peach color paint that I found I'd put up on the shelf for this very purpose.  Chucked a cloth over the appliances. And now it's all ready for me to work on tomorrow. And it's not half as big a job as I thought.  So this will be a test of whether I can do this.

I also retired the curtain that had been hanging across this opening (you can't have folding doors and cats), and have ordered a very pretty replacement with a design of green plants and things on it, fits right in with the plant-ridden upstairs.

Then, bloated with pride, I retired to my other vice, recorder playing.  I can now do this again, shoulder being at least willing to allow that, as long as I don't play the bass recorder, that being a bit heavy for my hands, and requiring some angles my fingers don't like doing.

So I practiced some Handel, largely because he's full of the blasted high notes that my playing partner and I are determined to master in this life.  I realize that it's not everyone who considers Handel a good fingering exercise, but he won't know.  And he puts a lot of notes in the C6 register, that's two octaves above Middle C., for them as cares about this.

And I sorted my lovely Elizabethan and late medieval music, the recorder being at home in this era, as I am.  So my Morley and Machaut and others are now organized in a way that means we can just play instead of fumbling about on the floor sorting pages. This happens when you play, you get into another sort of mindset that cares nothing for organizing bits of paper, then later you realize what a mess it is.




Oh, what a great day, such joy playing music. Woodwind is particularly good for your spirits because it involves using a lot of oxygen and breath control, and anyway it's just fun.  



You see here the three instruments I can still handle, well, there's a fourth, the sopranino, but its range is so high most people don't compose for it.  You know the Magic Flute? those high runs? that's sopranino territory.  

Anyway these here are the component parts of the soprano, alto and tenor recorders, the alto being what I was mainly playing today, the tenor being in two bits there.

And now I am going back to continue reading Donna Leon's essays on Venice, and checking various musical references on youtube to catch what melodies she's referring to.She would be horrified that I use Handel merely as fingering work, since she's a total Handelian oratorio nut, but she won't know either.

Friday, June 17, 2016

Berries and Biscuits

Here's the latest haul from the farm stand, strawberries, almost the end of the short season, and the first raspberries of the year.  They are precious, since you have either to grow them or get them from a local farm, since they are too fragile to ship, so you are unlikely to find them in a store.  I used to grow them back when I had a big garden, and give them away freely to very happy friends.

One year I offered a week of prime picking time in my patch as an auction item for a services auction in aid of a local women's organization, and that went for a nice price for the cause.



Back to my own current harvest here: you see that little bag of tiny bush cherries? the harvest in total to date.  But at least it's in double digits now.  They are tart and lovely, big pit for small berry, but okay, and I think they will make a great team with the strawberries I have lurking in the freezer for whenever I get the urge to make jam, a tart component of the flavor.

Not that you need to make jam.  Tip from a lazy cook: take a couple of berries, any berries, and squash them onto a split hot biscuit like the ones here, and eat and they're as good as jam with no labor and no added sugar.



These biscuits look pretty rock solid, but in fact they're a little crusty on the outside and wonderfully tender inside, since I use olive oil for the fat content, and skim milk soured with lemon juice for the buttermilk component.  They take about two minutes to mix, ten to bake, and they're very good indeed.  When you serve them later, about 15 seconds in the microwave gives your teatime guest the impression they just came out of the oven.  Oh well, now you know, if you've had tea here..my secret is out.

And today's farmstand haul also included kale and broccoli, both fresh in from the field this morning, and prepped and frozen and in the freezer within an hour of coming home.

Tonight's Handsome Son menu includes a lovely kale and Chinese sausage soup, then breaded white fish name escapes me, possibly pollock, or is that an artist, and roasted french fries.  Dessert is about berries, with maybe a shortbread cookie or an almond macaroon.  They've been going over a treat.  Incidentally, for people for whom gluten is an issue, almond macaroons don't have any.  Homemade lemonade or moscato sparkling white wine to go with all this debauchery.

After all that effort on my part, slaving over a hot farm stand, then frenzied prepping at home, HS will be required to make us a pot of tea.  And carry a couple of heavy items for me. He's very happy when it doesn't involve repotting seven foot trees, complete with screams, I mean firm instructions, from Boud.

Thursday, June 16, 2016

Bloomsday 2016

Bloomsday again!  for those who weren't reading here last year, June 16 is the day on which all the action of James Joyce's novel Ulysses takes place in Dublin.  The protagonist is Leopold Bloom, aided and abetted by Stephen Daedalus (late of Dubliners), hence the name of the celebration. Joyce fans invented it.

And, I think they knew, my potatoes burst into flower overnight and here they are, celebrating their writer!  




who knows what Joyce would have had to say on this coincidence, probably a 600 page novel full of allusions to the potato, its vital significance to the Irish people, the tragedy of it, the comic sidelines, the in depth history of its literature, its current ironic imprisonment in a little American container situated on a huge continent, and who knows what else.

Anyway, as the granddaughter of an Irishwoman, I proffer my humble bit.  



You will see, bottom left of the Kindle, showing a high percentage read, that I'm getting down to the finish line on reading Ulysses, which I will do before it does me in.  You'll see the potato in blossom, down on the patio, to the left of the word "feelings".

It's wonderful reading, but so packed with allusions and references that you just have to find out more about, that it's slow going.  Good thing I have it on my Kindle, otherwise my shoulders, always a bit iffy nowadays, would have packed in completely holding it up. Each year I think I will have finished reading it by Bloomsday, and up to now each year I haven't managed it.

Well, next Bloomsday, perhaps that will be true.  Either that I've read it or haven't managed it. This campaign promise will work either way.