Sage, honeydew, eating the colors

The sage is blossoming, with flowers like those of antirrhinum, snapdragon. I don't know the botanical name of this flower shape. This plant seems to blossom every other year.

Have you noticed how many herbs and wildflowers are in the blue to purple range? I wonder if it's a default color.

Years ago I read that a good guide to a varied healthy normal food intake is to eat all the colors.  That way you'll eat fruit and veggies, since meats and potatoes are less colorful but can be included. 

I don't like insistence on one way to eat. If it suits you, lovely, just don't be trying to get everyone on your wavelength. This has been a public service announcement.

Don't be like the (then) friend who, about to carve into a ham to cut the small piece I'd chosen on request, waved the ham knife in my face and demanded: dietary or  principle? I felt a little intimidated, as you do with a knife in your face. 

So I try not to put anyone else on the spot. I don't like red meat, but I try not to act as if that's the Chosen Way, nor to get into a discussion of cattle farming practices. I have been getting a bit of pressure on other websites in case you wonder what brought this on. Sometimes friends get a bit carried away.

It occurs to me then that my fun food capers might be read as a message. Noooooo. No food police around here! Anyway I've been meaning to say this for a while, in case anyone wondered. I just invite you to watch the fun.  And I do like seeing a lot of colors on my plate.

I expect there are readers who think what a lot of bother she goes to, before they order takeout. Or well, she never grills a nice piece of meat, she's missing out, poor lady, but I plan on steak tonight. Good! Chacune (most of us are women) a (insert grave accent) son gout (insert circumflex). That saying might have been more trouble than it's worth.

Anyway, there's joy in Butternut Boy's heart, since I tossed out honeydew seeds and rind. And some sweet potato trimmings.

Enough on one sweet potato for two meals

Roast sweet potatoes and a baked egg. A version of egg and chips really. Bunch of fresh thyme. 

The green of the honeydew melon is heart lifting. So beautiful. No need to season.

The rest of the sweet potato will be mashed a bit and included in a mushroom and sweet potato pasty today. Thyme chopped in.

It's as hot as the clappers today, 90s f. Too hot for me to go out. I don't do well with sudden heat. There's a certain irony in my finishing my warm Mitered Squares jacket today, sheltering in a cool house.

Misfits and other surprises

One surprise came when I was creeping about in the early morning on the patio, getting awake, not a morning person, seeing what was new. 

What I had taken to be a new spurt of the yellow golden showers climber, turns out not to be.

Red roses are emerging. This is an even older regrowth, from a sad little red rose I rescued from a friend's garden at her request when she moved years ago. 

It never flourished for me, either and I finally dug it up maybe three years ago. And here it's having a whole new life. There must have been a stray root biding its time.

It might be the result of my tossing out my tea leaves routinely around the yellow rose roots. Roses like the extra acid. But who knows. I guess it will survive the fence project.

The yellow potatoes are growing well now.

And I'm going to leave the chives to blossom, because they're great for pollinators. Look at that beautiful structure. Cruciferous, cross shaped for us nonposh folks. Amazing artwork. I swiped a better image from a botanical public domain site, here

I really have to get myself a new hand magnifier. My old one fell apart.

And finally late in the day, must have been the last off the truck, came the Misfits box. Missing the cauliflower, for which they're apologetically refunding me. 

And here's the Friday evening salad. Some friends have a Friday martini, some honor their inner rabbit.

Which I did. For once I thought I'd eat it just as it came without rushing to salt, oil, vinegar, mayo, just taste the nude food. 

I recommend this. It was great, deep tomato flavor, crunchy romaine, sweet blueberries. Very satisfying sometimes to listen to the food instead of acting on it. There's a lot already going on in good produce without our helpful additions.

Long time no figs, and other shouts from the past

Ages since I made Figgy Snack Cake, and I've had great Misfits dried figs in the freezer for a while. So last night I got one package out and left the figs overnight in water to soften and shape up.

Which they did, then I hauled out the Melissa Clark recipe, which you see here, not to squint at in order to use, just to get the reference if you're interested.

 

Usual disclaimers: I don't have demerera sugar and couldn't be bothered to mix molasses with white as a sub, so white it was. I don't have brandy, so added in extra milk for the liquid missing.  None of these makes a discernible difference, to me.

So here's the dough in process about to have an egg added. After this, alternating flour mixture and milk, and it's done, a spreadable dough. This makes a ton of cake.

And you halve the figs, press them in cut side down. The whole container did it. You could use any sturdy stone fruit.

And since I noticed the oven temp needed was 400°f, just right also for a pasty, I put the cake in the oven, then rolled out a chunk of dough to make a chicken pasty.

The cake was in for 45 minutes, so the pasty went in for the last 20. Worked fine.  

The filling was the rest of the chicken salad I'd made using a fancy flavored spreading cheese I found at a terrific price in my recent grocery outing. Close to sell by date, but I planned on using it right away, it was reduced from 4.99 to .99 that is not a typo. And it's Rondele, a brand I haven't thought of for years. 

You forget these little occasional treats when you don't shop at Western supermarkets for years. Between farm and Asian store and Misfits, I'm a stranger in the supermarket. 

Not a sad heart though. Do you know Randall Jarrell's A Sad Heart st the Supermarket? Wonderful writing, wonderful person, gone too soon.

Anyway here's lunch ready to go in.

And the cake and pie a while later. Both pretty good. After the cook's sample, there are containers in freezer and fridge. We're caked to saturation point for now.

It's fruit and whole wheat flour, milk, all suitable for breakfast. Or any time really.

Which is good because I have plenty of stuff to attend to. This is the latest Maisie Dobbs, and it's excellent. Runs from 1940 to  late 1941 in Britain. 

Great complications of spies being smuggled into occupied France, French spies in Britain liaising with secret operations, you never knew who would turn out to be an agent. 

Historically accurate even to the fast running little schoolboys acting as foot couriers for MI 5, under bombardment, everything, incredibly brave little kids, news to me. But the author's father was one of them, so she can attest.

And since I'm ready to assemble these pieces any time now, I need listening material, too.

Turns out this will be my Martha Stewart skirt, it evidently being a MS pillowslip, nice quality cotton, drapes well.

So here's an Angela Thirkell, she wrote a lot and you think of the books as thirkells like a unit of currency. 

I can't read her much in print, but with a terrific narrator like this one, known under various names, Nadia May, Wanda McCarron probably because she did a lot of work, it goes well.

She is excellent, well worth finding. Great perception of the subtleties, knows how the rhythm goes, plenty of energy but doesn't draw attention to herself. 

Thirkell wrote comedies of manners, similar social context as Austen, Pym, Benson, very wry, gentle but astute. Great to sew by.

And here's an ancient one I put on my Kindle for old times' sake, classic advice to writers which I read long ago, as a kid, and even then the library copy was tattered. 

This is a bit of memory lane as much as a reading event. It's about writing without trying to impress on the reader how hard it is to write material that's easy to read. She realizes there's no need, they'll find that out soon enough. It's encouraging instead, what a concept.

The decks are cleared for the arrival of the Misfits box this afternoon, all being well.  Then it's a frenzy of washing and slicing and chopping and freezing. And gloating, don't forget gloating.

Purses of various kinds, edible and otherwise

 Breaking news from the White House: 

A letter from Joe telling me to look out for the relief payment which arrived several weeks ago, and not to spend it all in one place. I expect he was carrying it around in his pocket for weeks forgetting to drop it in the mail.

I wonder if I should let him know I did spend it in one place, but it added to the sum of happiness for at least four  humans that I know of. 

On to the other breaker: the Changing of the Purse. 

I doubt if I'm the only person who has several purses and ends up using one most of the time. 

Here's a selection for your viewing delight

Reading clockwise from seven o'clock, a hand made Indian bag brought back for me from an Indian friend whose philosophy is that a lady can't have too many purses. This one is Gujarati I think, with those windows, and the shells. 

Next an African handmade woven straw with leather handles, from an organization selling their crafts in the West at fair prices. 

Then one I crocheted freeform using hardware twine, and lined with a scrap of linen.  

Another Indian embroidered bag, different region, same friend. 

And finally, a freeform Tunisian crochet one I did, lined with a scrap of black satin, and closed with Dorset buttons.

And another bunch

Top, a knitted one I made, with an Icord handle, lined with linen, to house the Dollivers for travel to photo shoots. I said they were gowned and bagged, they claim I meant bound and gagged.

Moving on to a little group of sparkly antique purses another friend found at a great flea market she used to go to, Columbus, if you're local, and decided I couldn't live without.

And here's the Winter Suede, free cycled to me, lovely quality, now divested of its vax stickers, emptied of an interesting variety of contents and ready to rest.

To give way to the Summer Crochet, from the thriftie, and often mistaken for my work, which is nice but not true in this case. And now stocked up with pretty much the same stuff from the Winter Suede. Loyalty, that is.

Future edible purses are in progress. The pasties I'm so devoted to for using up tasty items and being great when I can't think what to make, to be exact.

Here's a bowl of various ingredients. This is the equivalent of what Renaissance and Elizabethan musicians had in the way of sheet music. 

The composer, knowing they'd got professionals out there, would write a few intro measures, might indicate sharps and flats, not always, then say there you go, lads, that's the idea, embellish at will until you think it's gone on long enough or the queen's looking fed up, then finish with these few measures. Done. That'll be fifty three ducats please.  I've seen music exactly like this.

Modern feeble musicians need it all filled in, I ask you. Especially the ones I play with, most of whom, well, me, haven't even found out what the circle of fifths even is for.

Anyway back to pasties,  edible purses. The contents, since we are modern cooks and need to know (old recipes were as sketchy as old music, aren't you glad you live now?), anyway the contents are:

Mixed mushrooms which, cooked in butter, smell whoah! a hot Italian sausage, cooked in olive oil, a bunch of cilantro I found in the freezer, and the rest of the crumbled blue cheese. The other bowl, oiled, houses the dough, resting for an hour while I played with purses.

Now I'm off to play with dough.

And read the latest Maisie Dobbs, which I picked up this morning from the library.

Weather, weaving and watering

 Lovely stroll out this morning before it got too warm, chat with a neighbor I haven't seen for a while along this section

She was happy to see me, said she looks out because she knows I walk regularly, and everyone likes to check up on me! Which is true. If I change my walk I hear from someone who hasn't seen me. 

We went on to grumble about the fence project, which has now caused the departure of the site manager, so who knows what next. And so home again.

Then,  outdoor knitting and napping, I heard my neighbor watering her extensive plant collection and noticed it was time to set up for an online textile event, started to move indoors. 

Whereupon neighbor runs to the fence: did I water you? I notice you're going in. No, no, time for something else, no problem. Poor lady thought she'd drenched me in her enthusiasm.

Anyway there was, despite technical hitches, a great presentation about coverlet weaving, traditional in the Appalachians, by Cassie Dickson, native of Mississippi now living in north Carolina. 

These are some of her many artworks. Ed note: the Whitney Young mentioned below is also Cassie's niece. I think that's how they snagged her for this event. 

Dickson is also a natural dyer, and grows her linen thread from seed, the entire process, to spinning and weaving, as fine as 36-40 threads per inch.

And does it all traditional style. She weaves linsey-woolsey, one fiber for warp, one for weft.

She dyes with local plants, rhododendron, madder, walnut, marigold, and others. 

And she raises silkworms, feeds them on mulberry leaves,  and weaves the resulting silk thread.

Here's the silk process at different points

And here's this brilliant artist researcher and teacher. Worth checking her IG account.

Since HGA kindly sent me the link even though I'm no longer a member, I thought I'd give them a shout-out.

After this amazing work, down with a bump, found a piece of cotton fabric I think I'll make a skirt from. Haven't hand stitched anything to wear for a while.

I'm nearing the end of the Mitered Square jacket, so this is next, along with embroidering the black Robe now that the light has returned. I haven't forgotten the Robe. And there's the linen samples, too.

Always like a new idea or three out in front to think about.

Power house spring soup

 I still like soup, even when the weather warms up. Here's the current one. Powerhouse Green Soup. Dandelion greens carrot greens, and pinto beans, cream of. With fresh thyme garnish.

I noticed while I was thinking about this that garnish has two really different meanings. One's like this one, some extra thing added to food, and the other's about having some of your wages taken to satisfy a debt. 

So I checked it out and it turns out there's a weird parallel. Evidently the idea of an extra part applies to garnishment. It's one of the few laws going way back in time where the subject had to be formally informed, with a document, ahead of time, before the swiping could happen. 

So the garnish was in fact the piece of paper, not the taking of wages, though over time it's been applied to the taking. But the fancy extra, the sprig of thyme, was the paper. So now we know.

Wonderful day, warm enough to sit outside and knit while listening to Mansfield park with an earbud. And for looking up and finding the neighbor has been talking to me a while, unaware that I was unaware.

Views from the lawn chair  Just lovely. And as long as I remember my mask, a minimum of sneezing.

I'm told several more days of this are expected.

Movie for grown up kids, and other pursuits

After the excitement and stress lately I thought I'd catch a nice unstressful movie so here it is

It was lovely, funny, you knew nobody would come out traumatized, and the voice of Paddington was just right. Diffident, polite, a bit of a Bertie Wooster, very appealing. Maybe I'll watch more kid stuff. Not Disney though, they're sadistic, deliberately upsetting and off-putting. 

I know too many people my age who first saw Snow White at about age 6 and were terrorized by it. Well meaning parents taking them to see it as a treat, after said children had experienced bombing, war terror, rationing which was close to starvation. 

To this day I can't eat a red apple because of the poisoned one. And the wicked queen coming after the little girl, like our imagined enemy invaders. Nooooo.  

And don't get me started on the Wizard of Oz, with the writing in the sky, which meant death coming from the sky to my mind. I can't sit through it. 

And the witch under the house like a bomb casualty, I can't bear to think of that scene, or the melting. It took three tries to type that last word. That's about Hiroshima. Never assume young children are unaware of world events.

Moving on from the inferno of my childhood trauma, I'm reading Emma with my Tiny Email Book group. We started Mansfield park, but the other member said nah, not into it, let's do Emma instead. The beauty of a tiny group! Emma it is.

I usually look for an illustration of what I'm reading, more interesting for you and might be a lure to reading or rereading yourself. 

I don't write about books I don't like or respect, of which I start a lot, somebody went to a lot of trouble to write them, after all.  But some books I do love are not always well served by marketing.

Here's a bodice ripper version of Emma, created I guess to present it as an olde worlde romance novel.

And here's an inadvertently comic one just asking for a caption. Please offer one in your comments.

And here's what looks like Emma taking a rest while dragging a bag of laundry to the washer's house.

This one plays it safe with historically authentic silhouettes and maybe wallpaper, but still thinks it's all about coupling, rather than the brilliant comedy of manners it is.

 

It's still a rattling good novel, great set up for how it unfolds. And whatever cover it comes in, highly recommended. 

Meanwhile back at the ranch

 The honesty seedpods are starting to develop.

And the yellow potatoes are growing, their foliage different from the foliage of white potatoes I've grown.

The chives blossoming. Usually I've cut them to eat before they get the chance.

And no, I didn't throw that melon rind up there. It's in Butternut Boy's territory. 

I saw him yesterday busy on the bench, where he'd taken an armload of canteloupe seeds, and another squirrel was carrying this rind along the fence. One look and a threatening move from BB and the other guy hopped it. Whereupon BB put it up here for himself.

There's a world of action out there.