A visit to Duke Gardens

A couple weeks ago, I explored part of the Sarah P. Duke Gardens at Duke University in Durham. I went with some friends and was surprised to discover just how massive the gardens are. We could have spent days there looking at all the plants and blooming flowers but chose to focus on the Culberson Asiatic Arboretum.

It was hot, and I forgot sunscreen. There were also at least two weddings happening there, so the line to the bathroom was long. I watched two mothers-of-the-bride pace in front of separate bathroom stall doors, their arms full of bride paraphernalia. I entertained some bittersweet feelings watching them, but in the end, was vastly relieved not to be sharing in the pre-wedding mania. I’ll take perusing beds full of blooming irises under the hot sun to squeezing into a floor length gown and posing for endless photos.

I had forgotten just how many kinds of trees and shrubs come from Asia. Tulip Poplars and rhododendrons are two examples. The smell of the Chinese Fringe Tree in bloom is heady. It almost smells like honeysuckle but possesses a “thicker” scent. The bees were busy, because almost everything was in full bloom.

One of my favorite aspects of the Asian garden was the incorporation of elements. Water, stone and wood were all in evidence as we walked the grounds.

They even had a tea house that held tea ceremonies on weekday afternoons.

Spring, New Projects and Brussels Sprouts

Spring is here. The snowdrops and daffodils are blooming and the trees are erupting in new buds. Little Bear and I have moved into a new house, and we’re working on making it our home. There are lingering boxes to unpack *gasp!* but we’re settling into our new environment happily and with an open heart.

The blog has moved as well (no kidding, you’re here!) and I’m working on publishing Lulabelle’s Southern Fried Serial in ebook format for this summer.

As you can see from the picture, Little Bear is in fine form. She’s adjusting to having two homes, and both her father and I are trying to keep her schedule the same no matter where she’s staying.

She had her three-year-old check-up with a new pediatrician and passed with flying colors. She told the doctor that she drank ten cups of juice a day, and unfortunately gross exaggeration wasn’t one of the criteria on the evaluation.

A quick five minute walk from our house finds us at a park with a lake and a running trail, so we go see the ducks and geese regularly. Mudslide is getting crotchety in his dotage and likes to pretend he’s fierce, and not a giant baby, by growling and barking at every canine that passes us. As you can imagine, it makes us immensely popular.

Little Bear has discovered my Barbie collection from eons ago (I shudder to call them “retro”) and although she can’t manage the clothes yet, she amuses herself by undressing them. She’s fascinated by Malibu Ken and his inability to bend. Yesterday she handed him to me wearing nothing but a lady’s cowboy hat. Clearly, he was all set to go to the club. Today she attempted to make Ken kiss Western Barbie but was thwarted by his thick immobile neck. Barbie ended up headbutting him repeatedly in frustration. I wanted to intervene but was laughing too hard. Bad kissing is a serious offense in these parts.

In writing news, my short story THE SAINT OF OFFICE HELL was accepted into the erotica anthology Felt Tips. The anthology has forty-two short stories full of humor and intelligence and, of course, sex.  All proceeds go to Adopt-A-Classroom. More details coming Winter 2012.

I’m also doing freelance admin work and writing content for any website that will hire me. I must say, I love our new life and I love the direction I’m growing. I especially love this recipe for roasted Brussels Sprouts. So much that I’ve eaten them for several weeks straight.

Using a paring knife, I trim a small slice off the stem and peel away any wilted outside leaves. I cut the larger sprouts in half so that they’re all a uniform size. In a large bowl, I drizzle the sprouts with olive oil and salt and pepper. I toss them until they’re evenly coated and then spread them in a casserole dish in a single layer. I bake them at 375 for 40 minutes, stirring them every so often. When they’re tender, I take them out and finish them with two teaspoons of honey.

This is almost as good as sauteing them with bacon and red onion. *sigh* I need to go make some now. I have a hankering!

homemade mayo is genius

the foundation of mayonnaise

I’ve talked about homemade mayonnaise before, specifically in egg salad. But Boy Howdy, do I need to talk about it again. I discovered a new recipe from my Dear Mama and just had to share it. Really, if you haven’t tried making your own mayonnaise, you haven’t lived. Well, lived properly, that is.

The beauty of the emulsification process in this delicious little chemistry experiment happens right in your own blender or food processor. It’s beautiful! And tasty! And amazing! And incredibly simple! (and now I shall cease the exclamations, because that’s just downright irritating)

I don’t particularly care for mayo under normal circumstances, but homemade…oh rapture!

ANYWAY…the recipe:

Blender-Made Mayonnaise

2 eggs
1 tsp dry mustard
1 tsp salt
1 tsp sugar
½ tsp paprika
¼ tsp celery salt
dash black pepper
dash cayenne pepper
¼ cup lemon juice
2 cups vegetable oil (depending on my mood, I vary the kind of oil I use)

Add all dry ingredients plus lemon juice and ¼ cup oil. Blend for five seconds. Add remaining oil in a fine, steady stream while blender is running. Mixture will thicken, and you’ll have mayonnaise in around 60 seconds.

the finished mayo

just in time for Halloween…

My latest writing project is a short story called THE NURSERY, a contribution to THE CHRONICLES OF HELL vol. 1. I'm lucky to be included in a wonderful company of authors including Colin Barnes, who is also the editor and publisher of the anthology, Anne Michaud, Belinda Frisch, Kendall Grey, Victoria Griesdoorn, and Ren Warom.

As I wrote and rewrote and edited my story, I couldn't help pinching myself over and over again. I'm thrilled to be a part of this writing crowd. My fellow contributors are super-talented, published writers. There's the Coffin Hop blog tour winding its way through Anne, Belinda and Colin's blogs (with prizes!), and Ren has an on-going, darkly addictive story posted, Umwelt. Kendall currently has a project called "Manual Transmission" which is a collection of pictures taken by writers of their hands. The pictures are beautiful and interesting and show just how varied we are as writers (and humans). Victoria is a scientist and writer, and frankly, her powerful mind has me in awe most of the time. In awe and mostly incoherent. But don't take my word for it. Check them out. They're 100% swoon-worthy.

All of our stories are different although they share the same premise:

There is no god, no angels, no redemption; only suffering. The Ant-headed Old One ‘The Great Maurr’ has risen and brought hell to earth. The land is scorched and the human race decimated, eaten or tortured. Only three cities remain, a crumbled dying version of their former selves: London, Moscow and Hong Kong.The Great Maurr’s own City of Hell dominates most of North America. Its diabolical influence has turned ordinary citizens into torturers, debased slaves, lunatics and zealots.

With an eruption at Yellowstone, the likes of which humanity has never seen before, The Old-One tore apart the land, and ascended to rule, aided by its faithful army of acolytes. From the core of the earth it crawled up on to the land, spreading disease and insanity to all corners of the globe.

The City of Hell Chronicles tell the tales of survival, death and debauchery.

The first anthology features 8 stories from 7 international authors.

Volume 1 of the chronicles will be released in December 2011 in eBook and Paperback versions.

For more details, click here to go to the City of Hell Chronicles website.

 

I will be devoting Mondays to writing news and posting more about my story and the other writers as we approach the December release date. And I promise that it won't always be spooky stuff. We may be dark, but we're also hysterically funny. Trust me on this.

Now I'm off to squeeze a Little Bear into her lion costume and then prepare the candy bucket. Yes, we have a bucket of candy. No, I won't tell you how much of that chocolate has already found its way into my gullet. *sniff* That would be oversharing, my dears.

Happy Halloween!

 

City of Hell badge

emergency cheese

Technically it wasn’t an emergency. I stepped out onto the porch and was greeted by a brisk breeze and fairly comfortable temperatures. I thought, Holy Carp it might actually be autumn! I took the Hound on his morning constitutional and didn’t sweat. At all. What madness was this? Oh, in northern parts they call it “the change of seasons.” (Say that with awe in your voice and a gong sounding in the background.) It might actually be happening. Here!

I did what every self-respecting person does when faced with the mere thought of using a quilt in the very near future. I cooked up a batch of macaroni and cheese. Now I’m the type that is continuously searching for the best mac n cheese recipe. It’s a compulsion really. I started with Martha’s recipe and have been on a quest ever since. Not because I didn’t like Martha’s version (her buttered bread cube topping is swoon-worthy) but because I also wanted easy to throw together. And we all know that Martha isn’t necessarily known for her ease of recipe.

I discovered an Epicurious recipe that had high promise with a bread crumb topping, but it was bland. So bland that we could barely finish the pan. However, the topping idea stuck with me. My general philosophy in life was that bacon made everything better. In this case, it was magic.

Topping

½ stick unsalted butter

2 cups panko bread crumbs (I used homemade)

1 ½ cups coarsely grated extra-sharp cheddar

½ cup grated Parmesan cheese

4 strips bacon, cooked crisp and crumbled

Sauce

1 stick unsalted butter

6 TBS all-purpose flour

5 cups whole milk

6 cups coarsely grated extra-sharp cheddar

½ cup Parmesan cheese

1 lb. elbow macaroni

Topping:  Toss everything together in a bowl except butter. Melt butter (I did this in the same pan that I cooked the bacon.) then pour over mixture. Combine until evenly coated.

Then try not eating the topping as you cook the rest. I had a lot of extra topping, so I froze the excess.

Cook elbow macaroni according to instructions and drain.

Sauce:  Melt butter in saucepan over low heat. Stir in flour and cook roux for three minutes then stir in milk. Whisking constantly, increase heat and bring to a simmer for three minutes. Stir in cheeses, 2 tsp salt, ½ tsp pepper, and 1 tsp dry mustard. Continue whisking until sauce is completely smooth. Remove from heat.

I combined the pasta and sauce in the pan then poured it into a 12×9 pyrex pan. Sprinkled it (heavily) with the topping and baked it for 20 minutes in a 375° oven. Keep an eye on it because 1. It may bubble over and 2. The topping will brown quickly.

 

the lemons of life

Oatmeal Scone with Lemon Curd

Some days it just doesn't do to write a blog post. There have been times recently when I couldn't sit down at the computer and write a single positive word. All that came out was angst and general snittiness. Yes, that's an actual word. Those of us who are capable of epic snits know that word well, thank you very much. During one of these emotional days of dark clouds and impending storm fronts, I found myself at the grocery store eyeing the lemons. I don't buy bags of them, you see. Their yellow skin was so cheery, so bright that I felt compelled to purchase an entire bag, as if they'd somehow impart their glowing good nature.

They looked gorgeous on my counter but even better in the sauce pan. Oh yes, with so many lemons at my disposal I indulged in my favorite lemony pastime…lemon curd. LEMON CURD! (Sorry for the shouting. It's the sugar rush.) Have you had it before? Have you slathered it over scones or spread it between layers of sponge cake? Great googly-moogly, I love the stuff. Which is why I rarely make it, because if left to my own devices I would eat an entire jar in one sitting. Yes, I'm mad. MAD FOR LEMON CURD! (Apologies once again for the shouting.)

Lemon Curd

3 oz. (6 TBS) unsalted butter, softened at room temperature

1 C sugar

2 large eggs

2 large egg yolks

2/3 C fresh lemon juice

1 tsp grated lemon zest

In a large bowl beat butter and sugar with an electric mixer about 2 minutes. Slowly add the eggs and yolks. Beat for 1 minute. Mix in the lemon juice. The mixture will look curdled, but it will smooth out as it cooks.

In a medium, heavy saucepan, cook the mixture over low heat until it looks smooth. The mixture may look foamy, keep stirring over low heat until it begins to thicken, about 15 minutes. Don’t let it boil. The color will turn a clear lemon color, and you’ll know it’s done when you draw a spoon along the top and it leaves a path.

Remove the curd from the heat; stir in the lemon zest. Transfer the curd to a bowl. Press plastic wrap on the surface of the lemon curd to keep a skin from forming and chill in the refrigerator. It will thicken further as it cools. Covered tightly, it will keep in the refrigerator for a week and in the freezer for 2 months.

 

The next step for my lemon curd is to be the lovely companion to a sponge cake. Maybe even a roly-poly. Stay tuned!

 

Lemon Curd

 

 

does this sweater vest make me look Minion of Misery?

Tennis you two

"Remember, Tommy, this next serve is mine. Muss my tennis vest with your wild swing again, and I'll lock you in the basement. Now who's mommy's little minion?" 

(This is proof that exercising in sweaters will only lead to heatstroke and cheerful madness.)

 

Ah yes, who doesn't love a minion or need one? One could argue that children would make ideal minions, but no, as a responsible parent you must raise them to be independent and differentiated from you. Minions need to be subservient and useful, not filled with their own opinions and agenda. They need to be able to facilitate your plan for world domination without giving a second of consideration to whether it's a good plan or not. Minions are with you day and night, rain or shine, jail sentence or not. Frankly, I need twenty of 'em, but they're still on back-order. 

Although my minion dreams are still unatainable, I had a small ray of minion hope in my life recently. (let the excitement build…) I was awarded the prestigious Minions of Misery Award! The award is the brainchild of Anne Michaud and Angela Addams, two brilliant authors. The recipient of the award must do the following: recommend a dark book, suggest a dark movie and admit one dark secret to their blog readers. Then the MoMA must be passed on to three other deserving bloggers. Muahahahahaha!

Colin Barnes was the previous MoMA winner who tagged me. You can read his dark musings here and claim that I'm "secretly very dark behind all that baking and craft work." It's true, of course. All you have to do is read my stories to catch a glimpse of it. (Mom, close your eyes.) 

So without further ado, here are my dark recommendations:

Drood

Drood is based on the autobiographical events surrounding Charles Dickens in the final dark days of his life. I think I had a permanent case of goosebumps the entire time I was reading it. Imagine the thick fog clogging the twisting alleyways of Victorian London as we follow Dickens and his growing obsession with mystery of Edwin Drood. The reader can never see too far ahead to anticipate what awaits around the corner. I admit that I had to put the book down periodically so I could go take a walk outside in the sunshine to combat the haunting dread that overwhelmed me.

Drood is the name and nightmare that obsesses Charles Dickens for the last five years of his life. On June 9, 1865, Dickens and his mistress are secretly returning to London, when their express train hurtles over a gap in a trestle. All of the first-class carriages except the one carrying Dickens are smashed to bits in the valley below. When Dickens descends into the that valley to confront the dead and dying, his life will be changed forever. And at the core of that ensuing five-year nightmare is Drood.

Guillermo del Toro (writer and director of Pan's Labyrinth) summarized it best. "A dazzling journey through a crooked, gaslit labyrinth and a tenebrous portraiture of the tortured minotaurs that dwell within. Genius is the true mystery, and its edge – the abyss." It was this quote that sold me on the book. How could I resist a man who used the words tenebrous AND minotaur in the same sentence? (I have a soft spot for minotaurs.)

 

The_Shining
This movie scares the ever-living-snot out of me every time I see it. Yet I still want to watch it again. (By peeking through the cracks in my fingers as they cover my eyes.) I generally avoid scary movies, but this movie is so perfect in its balance of suspense and horror that I'm unable to resist. The Shining is a mind-bender full of ghosts, madness and an evil presence that haunts the Overlook Hotel. The novel by Stephen King is also damn spectacular, but it was Stanley Kubrick's cinematic vision that took this story to the heights of dark cinema. Plus, we can all relate to writer's block being slightly maddening. Right?  

 

And finally, there's my dark secret. I had to give this some thought, because my secret list is long. Too long for this entry, as a matter of fact. (Mom, close your eyes again.) I don't want to horrify anyone unduly, so I'll start of slowly.

My dark secret is that I enjoy fresh Cheetos straight out of the bag. AND I lick my fingers afterwards. Now, if you've read my blog, you know that I'm a bit of a food snob. So you'll understand just how hard it is for me to admit that. I LOVE Cheetos.

Sigh.

I really, really do. 

that’s how the custard curdles

Custard 002

My mother tells me that I loved the custard my Great-Grandma Viola used to cook. I don't remember the custard specifically like I do her soft boiled eggs and roasted squash, or how she kept a steady supply of Honeycomb cereal stashed in the tin pail that used to carry her girlhood lunches. That was the first sugared cereal I ever tasted, and my cousins and I raided that tin pail every chance we got. Not only did she supply us with forbidden sugar, but Great-Grandma also had CABLE TELEVISION. Not that we had a chance to watch anything remotely scandalous like Happy Days reruns. (That Fonzie had very tight pants.) No, Great-Grandma had an inexplicable fondness for religious programming, specifically Jerry Falwell. Even at that tender age, I would have rather cleaned the cat box with a teaspoon than watched Mr. Falwell in action. But I digress…

CUSTARD, my friends. It's glorious, don't you think so? I began my custard ruminations after a lively discussion with some UK writer friends about its fine qualities. I kept testing the limits of their custard devotion until finally I proposed digging a giant pit in the back yard and filling it with the stuff. This is what happens when writerly imaginations run amok, you end up battling your editor in custard. In our hypothetical bout my money's on Ren. She's an Essex girl who hates to lose. (Apparently being from Essex makes you terribly gritty and determined.)

As organizer of the event (and trainer of otters, but that's a completely different flight of fancy that we shan't explore at the moment) it's my job to make the custard. Believe it or not, I'm a complete and utter custard novice. I dug out my trusted 1965 Fanny Farmer Cookbook and set about cooking. Within minutes I had a curdled icky mess in the double boiler. Fanny made it seem so quick and easy. My mother's reply when regaled with the tragedy was, "didn't you temper the eggs?" Um, no. Fanny didn't tell me to. Clouded by custard confusion, I surveyed my culinary friends. 

Erik is a chef, and when he says things like "break down the proteins" and "ice bath," I sit up in attention and take notes. As y'all know, cooking chemistry just rings my chimes. He took my basic recipe and tweaked it significantly, all the while explaining how the ingredients would react and come together. I didn't follow his instructions exactly, because his recipe was for a stiff custard that would be baked in cups, as for a creme brulee. I wanted soft velvety custard. 

Custard

3 eggs, 1/4 Cup sugar, 2 Cups cream, 1 Tbs vanilla, dash salt

Combine eggs and sugar in double boiler and whisk. (this is where the proteins are being broken down) I put the saucepan on very low heat. 

In a second saucepan combine cream, vanilla, and salt. Heat until just under boiling. Remove from heat.

In tiny increments, drip scalded cream mixture into eggs, whisking the entire time. (This is advice from a different culinary friend who makes custard tarts. I'm already bothering him for the recipe.) It's imperative that you do this slowly and in tiny quantities so the eggs don't cook rapidly and chunk up the custard. Continue whisking for seven minutes or so until mixture coats a spoon. Take it from someone who has done this several times now. It's a thin line between curdled chunky custard and smooth as satin custard. The second it clings to a spoon, pour the custard into an ice bath. This halts the cooking and will allow the custard to set. After a few minutes, place it in the fridge to finish chilling. 

Custard 022

After the ice bath, Erik advised to pour the custard into cups, place in a water bath and bake at 225 degrees until custard had firmly set. I skipped the final steps, mostly because I'm lazy. Instead, I allowed it to chill several hours and then gleefully ate it.

 

Custard 030

I'm fully aware that this is actually a chocolate cup, but it's still too hot to contemplate hot chocolate. It turned out to be perfect for custard, and it didn't make me sweat. (I borrowed Little Bear's wee spoon to compliment it.)

 

Custard 036

the bears and the bees

Honey Bear 026 

Contrary to her bear nature, Little Bear isn't a fanatic about honey. She has recently discovered the joy of peanut butter, as have my pants, my hair and the window sills. She dissects her prey, I mean sandwich, with the precision of a surgeon, carefully peeling apart the slices of bread and then licks it clean of peanut butter. Sometimes she eats the bread, but most of the time it is abandoned in ragged pieces on the plate. Recently I've begun adding just a dollop or two of honey, and after a tentative lick, she proceeds with her usual enthusiasm.

Have you ever noticed the differences in honey? At one point I blithely purchased honey at the grocery with nary a thought as to the source. It wasn't until my friend, Phil, began keeping bees that I gave it much consideration. The average grocery brand is actually a combination of honey from a variety of hives, and as one of my friends put it, is only good as an addition to yogurt. Or when you're desperate, was the implication. 

My favorite honey is orange blossom or clover which I buy from the organic Amish farmer when I head north to visit my mother. During my first trip to the farmer's market here, I purchased a small jar of honey from a local farmer that declared, BLESSED BEES! across the front. The jar was $8.00, and my mother muttered that it cost that much to have the preacher drive out to the hives every day for a blessing. The honey is good, light and sweet, but at that price it should have healing properties.

For Little Bear, honey and peanut butter is only an appetizer. Real breakfast consists of her favorite food, bacon. The bear is a bacon bandit. I have to place the cooling strips high up on the counter or else she steals them. She acts like she'll share, but I know better.

Honey Bear 046
 
Honey Bear 062

snap out of it!

Nothing like a dramatic title to herald a new blog entry! It's a quote from one of my favorite movies, Moonstruck.

Moonstruck

Moonstruck is the story of widowed Loretta Castorini, a middle-age book keeper, determined to marry Mr. Right. She believes that due to a cloud of bad luck (she married her husband down at City Hall) her husband was hit by a bus. She lives at home with her mother, father and Italian grandfather with his collection of mutts. The Right Man in question is Johnny Cammareri and after she coaches him through the correct way to propose, they become engaged. Trouble begins when Johnny must go to Sicily to say goodbye to his dying mother. He tasks Loretta with calling his estranged brother, Rohnny, to invite him to the wedding. Johnny alludes to the bad blood between them, but Loretta has no idea what she's in for. Hilarity ensues.

My favorite theme of the movie is summed up by Ronny.

"Loretta, I love you. Not like they told you love is, and I didn't know this either, but love don't make things nice – it ruins everything. It breaks your heart. It makes things a mess. We aren't here to make things perfect. The snowflakes are perfect. The stars are perfect. Not us. Not us! We are here to ruin ourselves and to break our hearts and love the wrong people and *die*. The storybooks are *bull****. Now I want you to come upstairs with me and *get* in my bed!"

I'm not a big romcom fan, but this movie has smart dialogue and amazing performances. Olympia Dukakis almost steals the movie as Loretta's mother. Because it's a romantic comedy, everything goes wrong in a delightful way and the prerequisite happy ending isn't obnoxiously saccharine sweet. Dramatic gestures and fantastic quips abound. Plus there's food and beautiful music, two of my favorite things in life.

This movie was my first introduction to egg in a basket. Or toad in a hole as my mother says which is just gross in my humble opinion. In the movie Mrs. Castorini made eggs in a basket with a side of roasted red peppers. The first time I watched it (which was 954 times ago) I thought the peppers were bacon. Note to Self: make it with bacon next time.

Egg in a basket is simplicity itself. Made with homemade white bread and creamy farm butter, it's heartily satisfying. Just cut a circle in the middle of the bread for the egg and cook the buttered bread in a skillet until the bread is toasted and the egg slightly runny. That's the trick, not overcooking it.

Part of me says it's still too hot for comfort food, but when you need it, you need it.

Egginbasket 007

 

 

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  • Writing, bear wrangling, baking and the madness that accompanies it.