2007 in Brief and 2008 in Dream

Two Thousand Seven

Made me gasp: harrowing rise in Kiehl's skin care pricing.
Highly enjoyable: the card swap group and pertaining card creations
Most memorable book: The Great Fire by Shirley Hazzard
Poetry of interest: from Author Mary Oliver
New perfume: Miette pour Moi by L'Artisan Parfumeur Paris

Two Thousand Eight

Write a book of poetry or verse
Obtain authentic fleur de sel at any cost
Display favorite dishes in a glass fronted cabinet
Display LEGO magnets
Practice b/w photography

End of Year Spring Clean

Gone are the days of airing out the mattress ticking and beating the curtains in the prairie breeze. I feel a bit left out I have never slept on a hay filled mattress. Feathers is the closest I've come to nature. The season changes are a good time to let go and begin anew.

Our new year is also traditional. I have committed to deleting much of my email inbox before 2008 dawns. This may be my only nod at a fresh start. I do have several goals for the new year though which is good for me (obviously I need to make some changes . . . ). Often I have none, but possess a trace desire to improve this or that. I may improve on that record this year. What is in your book of tricks?

Anniversary of the Death of the Testator

What did you do on Dec. 10? According to my very accurate calendar, I did nothing. I went to my journal and see I ate dinner at Milton's with my friend G. We then went across the parking lot to Book Works and browsed. I didn't work as much as I had planned. I ordered some books for gifts (which arrived yesterday in case you care). I spoke on the phone to A. And, I made buckwheat butter cookies with cocoa nibs. Strange, I also made them yesterday. They are quite yummers.

And you?

On Dec. 10, my goal in life is to be in Sweden for the Nobel Award presentations and of course, the banquet. It happens every year and if the weather holds, I'll be around for a few more Dec. 10s at least. I am hopeful.

Doris Lessing did not make it to see her award for literature to physical fruition: the diploma, the medal, and the prize money. I imagine she stayed in the comfort of home in front of the fire.

But, if I went to the ceremony and the banquet, I would want to leave with a diploma. I don't need or want a medal. I would feel beholden to the Royal Family if they gave me a significant spot of money.

But, that diploma is right up my alley. I have a weakness for paper products in general and anything in ink. This is Orhan Pamuk's diploma from 2006 in literature. And, dramatist Harold Pinter's from 2005.

If you are unfortunate enough to be asked to share your Nobel with another or several, your diploma will be similar but different. A variation on a theme as it were.

I may need to marry into the Royal Family or become a chef to them to attend, but I look forward to it nonetheless.

From the Sidelines

Imagine a morning in late November. A coming of winter morning more than twenty years ago. Consider the kitchen of a spreading old house in a country town. A great black stove is its main feature; but there is also a big round table and a fireplace with two rocking chairs placed in front of it. Just today the fireplace commenced its seasonal roar.

A woman with shorn white hair is standing at the kitchen window. She is wearing tennis shoes and a shapeless gray sweater over a summery calico dress. She is small and sprightly, like a bantam hen; but, due to a long youthful illness, her shoulders are pitifully hunched. Her face is remarkable—not unlike Lincoln's, craggy like that, and tinted by sun and wind; but it is delicate too, finely boned, and her eyes are sherry-colored and timid. "Oh my," she exclaims, her breath smoking the windowpane, "it's fruitcake weather!"

The above is the start of Capote's A Christmas Memory, a story to make you hum.

I decided on mostly sides for our Thanksgiving dinner. This is the final menu.

corn casserole

cider-glazed carrots

green beans with sage and pancetta

roasted turkey

read all about it rolls

southwestern cornbread stuffing

mashed potatoes

cranberry sauce

gravy

all-in-one holiday bundt cake

tollhouse pie

pumpkin pie

apple pie

We decided there was not a dud in the bunch. I strongly recommend the carrots, beans, and stuffing. The holiday bundt cake was wonderful and a brilliant solution for non-pie people (like moi). I think I was done eating by then but will enjoy it more in a few days. I've linked two recipes above and here are the remaining two.

Southwestern Corn Bread Stuffing
The All-New Good Housekeeping Cookbook

2 C yellow cornmeal
2 t baking powder
1 t baking soda
1 t salt
2 C buttermilk
1/2 C butter (1 stick), melted and cooled
1 can (14 3/4 oz) cream-style corn
2 cans (4 to 4 1/2 oz each) chopped mild green chiles
8 oz Monterey Jack cheese, shredded (2 C)
4 large eggs, lightly beaten
1/2 C chicken broth

Prepare corn bread: Preheat oven to 350 degree F. Grease 13" x 9" baking pan or deep oven-safe 12-inch skillet.

In large bowl, with spoon, mix cornmeal, baking powder, baking soda, and salt. Stir in buttermilk, melted butter, corn, chiles, cheese, and eggs and mix until thoroughly blended. Pour batter into baking pan.

Bake corn bread until top is browned and toothpick inserted in center comes out clean, 60 to 65 minutes. Cool corn bread in pan on wire rack. (The cornbread can be used after cooling to make stuffing, but it will make a firmer stuffing if allowed to stale slightly. If desired, cover and reserve corn bread up to 2 days.

Prepare stuffing: Crumble corn bread into large bowl. Drizzle with broth; toss to mix well. Use to stuff 12- to 16-pound turkey, or serve in baking dish alongside poultry or ham: Spoon stuffing into greased 13" by 9" baking dish; cover with foil and bake in preheated 325 degree F oven until heated through, about 45 minutes. Makes about 11 cups stuffing.


All-in-One Holiday Bundt Cake
Baking: From My Home to Yours, Dorie Greenspan

2 C flour
2 t baking powder
1/2 t baking soda
2 t ground cinnamon
1/4 t freshly grated nutmeg
Pinch of salt
1 1/2 t grated fresh ginger (or 1 t ground ginger)
1 1/4 sticks (10 tablespoons) unsalted butter, at room temperature
1 C sugar
1/2 C (packed) light brown sugar
2 large eggs, at room temperature
1 t pure vanilla extract
1 1/4 C canned unsweetened pumpkin puree
1 large apple, peeled, cored, and finely chopped
1 C cranberries, halved or coarsely chopped
1 C pecans, coarsely chopped

Getting ready: Center a rack in the oven and preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Butter a 9- to 10-inch (12-cup) Bundt pan. Don't place the pan on a baking sheet—you want the oven's heat to circulate freely through the Bundt's inner tube.

Whisk together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, cinnamon, nutmeg, salt, and ground ginger, if you're using it (not the grated ginger).

Working with a stand mixer, preferably fitted with a paddle attachment, or with a hand mixer in a large bowl, beat the butter and both sugars together at medium speed until light and fluffy. Add the eggs one at a time, and beat for 1 minute after each addition. Beat in the vanilla. Reduce the mixer speed to low and add the pumpkin, chopped apple, and grated ginger, if you're using it—don't be concerned if the mixture looks curdled. Still on low speed, add the dry ingredients, mixing only until they are incorporated. With a rubber spatula, stir in the cranberries and pecans. Scrape the batter into the pan and smooth the top with the rubber spatula.

Bake for 60 to 70 minutes, or until a thin knife inserted into the center of the cake comes out clean. Transfer the cake to a rack and cool for 10 minutes before unmolding, then cool to room temperature on the rack.

Just before bringing the cake to the table, dust it with confectioners' sugar.

Playing around
Maple Syrup Icing
To make a maple-flavored icing for the cake, sift 6 T confectioners' sugar into a bowl. Stir in 2 T maple syrup. Add more maple syrup little by little, until you have an icing that runs nicely off the tip of the spoon—you might need another 1/2 T syrup to get the right consistency. Put the cooled cake on a sheet of wax paper and drizzle the icing from the tip of the spoon over it. Let the icing set for a few minutes before serving.

Thanksgiving: Where's the Feast?

When my eldest nephew was young he and I marched into the dining room for Thanksgiving and he took in the view. He then said to me quietly, where's the feast? He had attended preschool and learned of the native Americans and the pilgrims. Folk ate at long tables laden with maize and horns of plenty.

For an undisclosed (and unknown) purpose, my bank offered me six months of free magazines. I chose Bon Appétit, Food and Wine, The New Yorker, Victoria, and Home and Garden. This is like offering candy to a pre-Halloween child. I am fixated on Thanksgiving and have started a list of dishes.

In my family, we all make a few things and bring them to the table. Of course, a few emails prior lets everyone have dibs on what they want to make. My mother is normally saddled with the turkey which she does not complain about as she ties up the roasting bag. My sister makes highly touted rolls. My brother cooks potato buds and Stovetop and then monitors how much of the real stuff is consumed versus the box delights.

Though we have enjoyed a variety of winners, I always make something new and have the magazines to blame for it. I am a patriotic subscriber of Gourmet and Saveur and MS Living. I have not received Saveur and fear they are doing a Nov/Dec issue or the plant burned down.

As mentioned, I am getting a bit giddy. Here is my list thus far. I will eventually narrow down to 3 or 4. It is going to take some doing.

From Bon Appétit:
Cornbread Dressing with Roasted Fall Vegetables
Sweet Potato Hash
Pumpkin Mascarpone Pie
Sweet Potato Pie with Marshmallow Meringue (this could be it)
Lemon-Herb Turkey with Lemon Garlic Gravy (if this was all I was cooking, I might go for it)

From Food and Wine:
Butternut Squash Bread Pudding
Roasted Turkey with Tangerine Glaze
Tortilla-Corn Bread Dressing
Creamed Onions with Thyme and Sage

From Gourmet:
Bittersweet Chocolate Pecan Pie
Butternut Squash with Pumpkin-seed Pesto
Coconut Tart
Sugared Cranberries and Sage Leaves
Plum Pumpkin Tart

Non-Thanksgiving fare from Gourmet:
Cider-glazed Lamb Chops
Shrimp in Garlic Sauce
Spicy Green Salad with Manchego and Pears
Napa Cabbage Salad with Buttermilk Dressing
Shrimp with Indian-spiced Potatoes

Non-Thanksgiving fare from Bon Appétit:
Roasted Butternut Squash with Lime Juice
Carmelized Pears with Dulce de Leche Ice Cream
Sage and Honey Skillet Cornbread
Sage-Scented Shortbread

Non-Thanksgiving fare from Food and Wine:
Apple Cake with Toffee Crust

Non-Thanksgiving fare from MS Living:
Cranberry Compote Layered with Lemon Ricotta

Thirst: In the Clear

The settlers are moving back. The smoke is clear; the rain came today. I spent a novel week in Newport Beach with little Rachie in her new digs. I made three visits to Paper Source and at least four to Pacific Whey Cafe, both Crystal Cove and South Coast. Shameful to some, obvious to others. Must recommend the crème brulée bread pudding and the cinnamon custard triangle.

When the Roses Speak, I Pay Attention
by Mary Oliver

"As long as we are able to
be extravagant we will be
hugely and damply
extravagant. Then we will drop
foil by foil to the ground. This
is our unalterable task, and we do it
joyfully."

And they went on. "Listen,
the heart-shackles are not, as you think,
death, illness, pain,
unrequited hope, not loneliness, but

lassitude, rue, vainglory, fear, anxiety,
selfishness."

Their fragrance all the while rising
from their blind bodies, making me
spin with joy.

The Girls

Today I met a friend at The Bookworks immediately after church meetings. The Sabbath is a good day to visit friends. So, the slight woman next to moi is Alice Waters. I have known her for a long time. She just met me today and judging by the look on her face she found me fascinating.

I met Katya in the parking lot and we descended on the store in typical fashion. There was no lecture and the only thing to represent food in clear sight was the table Ms. Waters sat by to sign The Art of Simple Food. Having no book to sign, I plonked down with her and Katya snapped us. Ms. Waters has a kind voice. There was wine and cheese tasting elsewhere in the store.

I relived the Jacques Pépin lecture and signing at this same location a few years ago. It was a night to remember. Was it night? I scarcely know. But, I have his signed (en français) book to enjoy. There were fraises des bois and various creations from Fast Food My Way. KTG and I attended (and paid $10) to have Martha Stewart sign our books at a Design Expo in Salt Lake. KTG engaged her in conversation. I had her sign an asparagus page and she commented on the healthy growth of her own that year. I attended a presentation (Q & A?) and booksigning by Amy Tan also in Salt Lake. She brought her pooches in Vuitton dog carriers. I remember little else.

Today, the couple in line in front of us brought a menu from Chez Panisse, 2003. She signed it for them. They became engaged at the restaurant that evening. I heartily congratulated the fellow while his wife picked up their reserved copy of the book.

The Junior League: Who are They?

I don't belong to any civic group for which I am the poorer. If I decided to join one, it would probably be The Junior League about which I know nothing and know no one who is a member. I do know of their fruits. It appears that many of the city leagues have produced one or more cookbooks. This is no doubt to raise funds for volunteerism. But what do I know? Maybe they are like me . . . cookbook fiends. In fact, if I collect anything at all, it is matchbooks and cookbooks. Two different book forms but I do find some parallels. Statement of location, artful packaging, and tools within. Matchbooks are a dying breed in some establishments. Cookbooks have never enjoyed a wider audience.

This summer, my mother and I enjoyed sun in the pool carping about the titles from some of these small and well-mannered collections. You see, she possesses The Junior League Centennial Cookbook: Over 750 of the Most Treasured Recipes from 200 Junior Leagues. You may draw breath in the scope and let me assure you, the tome is worthy of readership. The titles of the books that make up this composite were fodder for our afternoons. We tried to find the best title (many are named for location): Gold'n Delicious from Spokane, I'll Taste Manhattan from NYC, Simply Simpático from Albuquerque. Others are simply an evocation of style: Applehood & Motherpie from Rochester, Magic from Birmingham, Posh Pantry from Kankakee, IL. The page layout in the centennial edition is quite excellent.

I don't possess any of the geographic cookbooks but I know my mother has A Pinch of Salt Lake. I did indulge to make the Pain Perdu from Epicure in Orange County on page 292. Lemon rind and nutmeg add. My family was especially pleased with the Roast Barbeque (Applehood & Motherpie) and I happily shared a container with ma très jolie soeur. She tripled the recipe a few weeks ago to feed her gigantic horde of inlaws. I would serve this with a vinaigrette coleslaw. Next on my list to try is Aunt Kay's Sesame Chicken from page 237. It hails from Utah Dining Car of the Ogden League.

Imagine my wonder as I happened on both books from Palo Alto a few months ago at the library sale in SB. One with a dust jacket, one without. Old and slim. Oddly, I had even told myself as I read the centennial that I would never find these two books. I thought they were long gone to history (after looking them up online). Truly, a find for the ages: Private Collection and Private Collection 2.

River Heights and Cair Paravel

I was babysitting two children and a dog until yesterday night. It was a delight to read their books, study their pantry and cupboard layout, and spend time with the best people in the world, the children.

On Thursday, I happily indulged in Nancy Drew: The Clue In The Jewel Box (Nancy Drew Mystery Stories # 20). Nancy models in a fashion show for Helen Corning's Eastern Euro designer friend, she meets an Eastern Euro princess in a department store and ultimately reunites her with a long-lost grandson, and rides the Ferris wheel with Ned Nickerson. Twice in the book she comforts small children and once teases Bess about her appetite. In the chapter A Ferocious Dog, she alights three times. No one alights in our day and it is disappointing. Nancy and her friends and family were created to "alight."

Back at home, I finished the last pages of an illustrated The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. In pursuit of the White Stag in the Western Woods, King Peter addresses King Edmund, Queen Susan, and Queen Lucy:

"Fair Consorts, let us now alight from our horses and follow this beast into the thicket; for in all my days I never hunted a nobler quarry."
"Sir," said the others, "even so let us do."
So they alighted and tied their horses to trees and went on into the thick wood on foot.

Instead of leaving the house for the ward luau tonight, I will consciously alight to the party. Alighting means to me: moving quickly to or from in a gracious manner. You will not find this definition in the OED. Usually those who alight are willowy and silent (not exactly me). I used to quit the house and now I will alight.

Luau Punch

2 46-ounce cans pineapple juice
1 orange
2 bananas
1 1/2 C sugar
3-4 large 7-Ups

In the blender, chop the orange peel until fine. Add the orange, bananas, sugar, and 2 cups of pineapple juice. Pour in the remaining juice and stir. Freeze in Zip-locs. Remove from freezer until slushy. Pour in 7-Up and serve in a punch bowl.

Stargazers

I am sitting, lying, and basking in heaven. This house has a fabulous collection of children's literature. In fact, as I chose my first stack this morning, I felt like I was at the library. I began with The Pinkish, Purplish, Bluish Egg by Bill Peet. There is a good number of Peets so I will intersperse them in my reading. Followed with a familiar favorite, The Secret Three by Mildred Myrick, drawings by Arnold Lobel. The cross-hatched children and the sea and the bottle are Harriet Welsh's childhood. Blue and yellow make green. It is inscribed by the author to J. H. M., who has sent many messages. I hope I am the kind of person of whom it is said, she sent many messages. Snippets from Happy Times in Noisy Village by Astrid Lindgren, illustrated by Ilon Wikland is good for those wanting to read of Lisa, Karl, Bill, Anna, Olaf, and Britta. Further on, there is Lotta. I ended the sitdown with Stargazer to the Sultan by Barbara K. Walker and Mine Sümer, illustrated by Joseph Low. I enjoy a palatable moral. Next to go: Lonely Scarecrow (if you can get through it, says the mom) by Tim Preston, illustrated by Maggie Kneen and The Three Golden Apples by Nathaniel Hawthorne. They also have a piano. I am pleased.

You've Arrived

During college years and those that followed, we discussed what we would have or where we would be when we knew we had arrived (i.e., financial security, well-being, adulthood, etc. Unbeknownst to most of us, it would take a while and we are still in it). My friend S. would own multisized Zip-locs and foil and Saran Wrap. She would use them indiscriminately, not washing the used Zip-locs for later. At one point, she also said she would have an iPod.

I remember my focus was a deep freeze full of white packaged meats, casseroles, and ice cream and popsicles. Why these? A sense of well-being sometimes comes from having things at the ready. I am not an extreme carnivore but do eat numerous glacial desserts. I would also like good windows and fruit trees. I wanted to go to See's candy for a pound of selected chocolates to keep in the fridge and eat at will (not as a gift).

A garden is a world of well-being. This week my two gifted plumeria are blooming simultaneously. It makes me renew my quest for a bit of dirt to plant them in for years to come. For now, they grace the pool at the complex and gladden the eye. Potted.

Bright Copper Kettles

I hope I am not an overly greedy person. It is always a joy to happen upon something you find perfect, appropriate, so well done. Following is a personal list of such treasure:

Book Title: The Heart is a Lonely Hunter, Carson McCullers
Comforter: Fraulein Maria's dark gold satin in her bedroom most noticeably showcased in My Favorite Things. Had she used this for the children's play clothes, they would have plumped up.
Albacore Salad: Waters Fine Foods
Black Pants: Worn by Kenneth Branaugh in Hamlet
Floor: White marble worn smooth as water
Color: Ocean
Pre-dinner Tasting: Olives
Idea: the library
Art Form: the book cover

Midsummer Meal

Yesterday I finished all 853 pages of Five Smooth Stones which took twenty moons to complete. It is the current read of the Reading Society and we look forward to discussing in September after our summer hiatus. We try to resemble Congress in our vacation schedule. I was surprised to pick up Nathaniel Hawthorne's The Birthmark soon after putting down the tome.

To celebrate any small victory, it is nice to plan a dinner party. I have not entertained in twenty moons either. So tonight was it. Here is the menu.

Wild Smoked Salmon

Mint, Feta, and Watermelon Salad (recipe on an earlier post)
Pasta with Sun-Dried Tomatoes

Chocolate Chip Peanut Butter Cookies

Peach Infused Water

My guests were kind and appreciative. We discussed everything: counseling, Sunday School rooms, kids, relationships, counseling, bosses, GPS, trapeze class, taxi drivers, counseling, bitterness, first grade, summer vacation, and counseling. It was well rounded. One of my happier moments of the day was finding a bottle of red wine vinegar in the cupboard which I started yesterday to worry over (thinking I had none). I was going to barter with my neighbors for 2 tablespoons of the stuff for a Zip-loc of chocolate chip peanut butter cookies. I am not the type to not know my neighbors. I borrow too many eggs.

The Woman in Sunshine

I have done some interesting things this week. Here are a few of them. I made chicken and hominy soup. It is corny and hot-ish and liquid. Perfect for summer you say, shaking your head. I have eaten it every day with these chocolately cherry cookies. I explained to someone who Almanzo James Wilder is. Tonight I toppled a full bowl on warm soup on my person. The carpet will not recover. The clothes were removed and replaced. Drip dry. Reviewed the film Becoming Jane with the expected apprehension which was grounded (not being rooted in fact, concern for the actors, etc). Blindly, I enjoy all period pieces. Called a woman Grace whose name was indeed Frances. I blame the era these names were à la mode. I wore goggles for the second time this summer in the attempt to become a champion swimmer. I happened upon this fitting poem and knew it should be passed on.

The Woman in Sunshine
Wallace Stevens

It is only that this warmth and movement are like
The warmth and movement of a woman.

It is not that there is any image in the air
Nor the beginning nor end of a form:

It is empty. But a woman in threadless gold
Burns us with brushings of her dress

And a dissociated abundance of being,
More definite for what she is—

Because she is disembodied,
Bearing the odors of the summer fields,

Confessing the taciturn and yet indifferent,
Invisibly clear, the only love.

Outfoxing the Hounds

Last night I returned from puppy sitting for ten days. The home was not far from me but you know a change of environment is always a destination. There were eight pooches plus their mother (who I will expose was no help at all). Three brown, three yellow, and two black laboradors. I know next to nothing about this breed, least of all how to spell it. I found the brown ones visually appealing. One of the browns had an asthmatic rumble that I took to. The mother was a loon who lived for ball playing and games of this sort. I welcome lightheartedness in spurts but found the incessant demands obtrusive and wearing. When one is coralling, sweeping, hosing, resisting mutinous escapes by the deckhands, or in other ways doing one's duty, the last thing said person wishes for is to be barked at. The puppies were a pack of swarming bees when I entered their part of the house/yard. We got along though they progressed to eating my shoes, toes, and clothing within reach. With the young, all is forgiven.



While ignoring the barking requests for another round of Take Me Out to the Ballgame, I picked white nectarines, tomatoes, eggplant, basil, and smelled mint. The figs and red grapes did not ripen in time for me to enjoy them.

I performed hundreds of back and front dives and even used goggles one day to look under the surface. It was a pastoral region and peaceful.

Fish Eyes

On my mission in the city of Dijon we dwelt in peace and laughter. The missionaries and the members both. There was a missionary from Florida who was quite the funny bone. He didn't try to be. One day we left the chapel and hopped on the bus adjacent to return to town. We were discussing caviar and he expressed much distaste. He winced and told us he couldn't understand why people would eat fish eyes. Hilarity ensued.

This recipe is for all you standing there with an eggplant in hand, wondering what to do with it.

Yesterday I made the elegant eggplant caviar from The New Basics Cookbook by Rosso and Lukins. Some of you are attached at the hip to The Silver Palate (SP) and would benefit by this publication as well. As you know I just returned from the wild west and was presented with the 25th anniversary edition of the SP. The publisher and authors have outdone themselves. Charming color imagery and the feel is still home. Most of the kooky line drawings are gone but I don't hold them hostage. It's a beaut so if you don't own the first, choose this one. I read the review of it in Saveur today and was moved. It is a lovely tribute.

I wouldn't choose the title caviar for this dish if I ate it blindfolded. Perhaps the nuts crunch like fish eggs. Your guess is as good as mine. I would mince the onion smaller and chop the walnuts finer. I overdid the lemon juice for which I'm patting my own back. Who among us is there who doesn't love an eggplant?

Note to the wise: I shun the microwave daily. This recipe is labeled with an alarming lightning bolt to signify the method of cookery. I plowed ahead. It is a quick and easy way to deal with the eggplant. Who doesn't want to see an eggplant collapse?

Elegant Eggplant Caviar

Serve on the end of crisp Belgian endive leaves, atop soft scrambled eggs, or spread on grilled peasant bread toast. (I spread it on the round sesame crackers from TJs.)

1 eggplant
1/2 C walnut pieces
1/4 C minced onion
1/4 C minced fresh parsley (I used dried flakes)
1 to 2 teaspoons minced hot finger chile pepper, depending on taste (I used red pepper flakes)
1 clove garlic, minced
1/2 t salt
Freshly ground black pepper, to taste
2 T extra virgin olive oil
1 T fresh lemon juice

Prick the eggplant in several places with a fork. Place it on a microwave-safe dish and cook at full power, uncovered, until soft and collapsed, 10 minutes. Set it aside to cool.

Arrange the walnut pieces on another microwave-safe dish and cook, uncovered, until fragrant and toasted, 2 1/2 minutes. Chop fine.

Scrape the eggplant flesh into a wooden chopping bowl and coarsely chop.

Stir in the walnuts, onion, parsley, chile pepper, garlic, salt, and pepper. Then slowly beat in the oil and lemon juice. Adjust the seasonings if necessary.

Cover loosely and let stand at room temperature for several hours before serving.

1 1/2 cups
The New Basics Cookbook

Summer Sun

by Robert Louis Stevenson
A Child's Garden of Verses

Great is the sun, and wide he goes
Through empty heaven without repose;
And in the blue and glowing days
More thick than rain he showers his rays.

Though closer still the blinds we pull
To keep the shady parlour cool,
Yet he will find a chink or two
To slip his golden fingers through.

The dusty attic spider-clad
He, through the keyhole, maketh glad;
And through the broken edge of tiles
Into the laddered hay-loft smiles.

Meantime his golden face around
He bares to all the garden around,
And sheds a warm and glittering look
Among the ivy's inmost nook.

Above the hills, along the blue,
Round the bright air with footing true,
To please the child, to paint the rose,
The gardener of the World, he goes.

We celebrated the fourth with a community pancake breakfast, homemade hamburger buns, blue cheese burger, sautéed onions, and an evening fireworks party at Fawn's. The summer sun shone bright in this desert. The buns raised in record time.



Fawn's balcony lends onto the city center where the taxpayer's contribute to a show of fire. We enjoyed root beer floats, were regaled by stories of Turkey and travel, and father was jovial. He complemented my teeth twice. This land is your land, this land is my land.

Refreshments are Served

Last night I cut desserts, arranged them on trays in an attractive fashion, and mingled. My mother is the new activities chair and I am in town. After the fireside, refreshments were served. I brought to the task what I learned in my few short months in a new relief society calling where catering figures into our duties. I am pleased with my new-found knowledge and rejoiced in spreading this wealth to a desert with the goal of improving life as we know it and making things lovely.

About 8 to 10 were scheduled to bring desserts. I waited in anticipation, trays and knives ready. My mother made a square pan of Ghiradelli brownies from the package. I showered it with powdered sugar and cut them into 1-inch squares. The first offering to arrive was a paper plate with oatmeal-y chocolate chip cookies covered in foil. A homely and homey start. I hoped for variety and thanked the giver.

The next time I turned around there were two 9 x 13s with frosted cakes. One a spice cake with cream colored frosting and one an orange cake with white frosting and much moisture. I worried how to cut these and arrange the pieces on the trays. I gave the orange cake squares center stage for its color. The spice cake suffered in comparison only because it was not exciting (dull brown) and most likely from a box. Short shrift. (We dished more out later but it was not the first picked for the team.)

We came out grandly with a eye-pleasing variety: baby cream puffs filled unfortunately with heavy raspberry frosting (not a light cream as desired), Hello Dollys that were excellent in every way (baked in a jelly roll pan for thinner crust), tiny chocolate chip cookies, chocolate and caramel cookies bars, mint brownies. I sampled a bit of each. May I explain the fascination? I have always been taken with the results of a pot luck. One day an important article will be published.

In a traditional mealtime potluck, the baby cream puff maker equates to a main dish. Someone who knows not everyone has time or inclination and who delivers each time. My friend Andrea is a main dish person with a middle name of Chicken Casserole. I enjoyed the tiny cc cookies for their cunning size and charm. Improving the visual with a change of shape or size. Easy and important. The maker is a beautiful person I don’t know well . . . we seem to have become friends in recent visits. She lived in NYC until recently but is from this area. She is now back and misses her friends who were so interesting . . . artists and doctors (a delightful pairing, no?). A husband and small baby in tow who is christened something lovely and foreign. I enjoy this quick and wonderful interchange. It is always good to know there is someone who understands who is seated on the other side of the room.

Bar cookies must be my favorites. I enjoy them all. One cannot tell if our efforts were overwhelmingly restorative but I believe they were. Someone complimented the serving platters and trappings brought from home. Another praised the small size of the desserts. I suggested they have cheese, crackers, veggies, and dill dip next time.

Summer Solstice

Unlike most people in the U.S., I'm heading away from the shore. Approximately 475 miles away if the odometer serves. My nephew's birthday is on Sunday. He will be one. We are all gathering for cupcakes. The next day, Donn and Nancy will be there and we'll celebrate once more with a baseball cake and gifties.

Armed for the journey: Eggs, Beans and Crumpets by P.G. Wodehouse read by Jonathan Cecil. (I was so taken with Young Men in Spats that I'm giving this one a go.) Sesame crackers, seedless red grapes, celery, m&ms, a fig bar, and water.

Most looked forward to stop on the way: Williams-Sonoma outlet in Primm, NV.

Deck chair leisure: Middlemarch (all 747 pages of it) by George Eliot and The Sea Runners by Ivan Doig (a wildcard). I have a respectable paperback issue from the library and the font and layout are intensely magnetic to me. I want to read it no matter what it says.

Recipes we may sample: ranch dressing (this region is known to use only ranch; I want to see what they think of a housemade version), sweet corn salsa, watermelon sorbet, a variety of chocolate cakes (in view of my mother's birthday on 7-7-07), alice waters's coleslaw (yummers), coconut milk pudding rolls (on a special occasion morning).

Baggage: gently used clothes (laundry), cameras, a hanging pocket I am going to paint and turn into a spice rack, the makings of memory books for Bodie and Maysen (both birthdays), a summer wrap for an evening venture, an ice cream maker (they have one but I am used to mine), lemons, red pepper flakes, honey, balsamic vinegar, pineapple shampoo and conditioner, a choice of swimsuits (I finally let go the old rags of yesteryear and paid several successful visits to Marshalls and Ross).

Entertainment: Ratatouille, The Matchmaker (at the Shakespearean Festival . . . yes, I know it's not Shakespearean), Joseph . . . Dreamcoat, water fun, watching Bodie, holding Bodie, smiling at Bodie.

What is your favorite route to travel?

Where Everybody Knows Your Name

I held out for years. I thought of the gym as a group sport, an easy outlet for the weak who really didn’t want to exercise, and perhaps worse, a place to meet people. I always knew it wasn’t for me.

I started jogging with my dad. We went outdoors, not far from home. Why would I pay a monthly fee to exercise indoors? Well, rocket scientists, I wouldn’t. Indoors sports is not my thing. Hence, my refusal to join the WNBA, Ice Capades, and gymnastic squads. Jogging alone outdoors is time to reflect, to not think, so that running becomes breathing. For body and spirit. Canvassing the earth.

I am a simpleton in that I don’t need to acquire much (in comparison to those in North America). I have always loved the idea of carrying around everything you own on your back. Perhaps this dates from following the pioneers and living in the West. Sadly, I own far more than I could pack on my back but my conscience tells me not to buy most things and to keep it small and if possible light. Of course, I love to pack light too. With jogging, one requires minimal equipment and is not dependent on a machine.

A couple years ago, I had an injury. Plantar faciitis in my right foot. It was a long haul. I couldn’t do any weight bearing exercise (walking was painful) and told myself firmly not to loose my mind. I tried everything: physical therapy, ultrasound, cortisone shot, aspirin, hot and cold water, a night splint, inserts for my shoes, acupuncture for about six to eight months, and rest.

I knew it was inevitable. I had to join a gym for any exercise. I had to sit and bike. I hoped the elliptical machine would work but it was too much weight bearing at first. I sat and biked with the same three each morning. There was G, a woman who showed up in full make-up and talked like a NY dame. She came from Rochester and spent the evenings and weekends gardening and seeing a number of men. She always ended in the hot tub with a glass of wine. Sometimes she showered before she left for work, sometimes she didn’t. This produced some comment among the locals.

The other two were sane men, T and D. D has two children, a boy and girl. Both have begun college since our meeting. I fear he is now experiencing marital difficulties. He has a voice that carries (because he talks loud) and is a very pleasant fellow. I think he is an engineer. T is a finance guy but his calling card is his responsible nature and advanced vocalization of right and wrong. He is an active Catholic with four children. The daughter married two years ago. G threated to show up in her pajamas. Of course none of us were invited and it was all in good fun. He is an excellent father and husband and travels a lot for his work. He works from home. T brings the newspaper every morning and comments on the articles. D makes jokes. G (until she stopped coming) told stories full of innuendo and complained about her daughters and her job.

It was like a club and we called each other by name and wished each other good morning and later, good day. We all sat and pedaled in the early morning. After some time, I drifted away, able to be upright little by little.

Those of us who go early in the morning know each other. There is T and K (married), L and R (married and neighbors), J who is also in yoga and went to aesthetician school last year, K who works for the school board, S who complains about squeaky equipment, and a whole lot more.

During this time I also started yoga classes (at the gym). They have helped me to no end and I embrace it now (it took me a while to love).

We call each other by name. From the co-owners to the trainers, the clients and the instructors. My idea was to get in and get out, preferably addressing no one. A solitary endeavor. I was wrong. It has been a life shaping experience. I love my gym.