A Mysterious Cooking Day

 

Me having a great time in Europe

When, as a teen ager, I was traveling  around Europe, I only wrote to my parents when I was overcome with homesickness.  When I was having a great time, (see photo) I seldom gave them a thought.  Later, as a parent myself and understanding parental worries, when my little family spent a year in Ireland, I wrote faithfully at least once a week.  I guess that summarizes my current trouble blogging.  This is not to say that I had been immersed in the slough of sorrow when I was a faithful blogger.  Au contraire, I enjoy writing, and having you read it.  It’s just that I am just having too much fun with the rest of life.  Not that I wasn’t having fun before, but the fun didn’t seem quite so time consuming.  I am going to try to be a better blogger now.  But don’t hold your breath. 

Abrupt change of subject:::

   

Harkening back to youthful years, I have always, always, since I started reading anyway, been an avid mystery reader.  My mother used to go to the library during my school hours and checked out books for me in addition to those she got for herself.  And those books were usually mystery novels, often ones she had read when she was my age.  So I started life reading mysteries, and old fashioned ones at that.  When I was old enough to go to the library on my own, I headed straight to the horse-novel or dog-novel sections, but usually made a detour to the mystery section. (As you might guess from this, my local library was not organized strictly according to Mr. Dewey’s rules.) 

In high school, I decided that one should not waste time reading drivel, and read only “real literature” or improving books.  Once I graduated from college, and felt fried by all that serious reading, I retreated to my youth and had a spell of reading almost nothing but mysteries. One of my favorite detectives was Nero Wolfe.  Life in The Brownstone with Archie and Fritz seemed endlessly fascinating.   I even had a Nero Wolfe cookbook, from which I prepared many of my favorite dishes.  Once I had read them all, I gave Nero and Archie a long rest. Then, after a huge hiatus, and when in the doldrums bookwise, I decided to give the brownstone residents another go.  But, by this time, my consciousness had been raised, and I realized that Nero and Archie were sexist pigs. I could not abide them.  How could I ever have read this trash, I asked myself. Then for another twenty years or so, I scorned Nero and Archie. I have to confess that I even inwardly sneered at those who liked them.  More recently, when Ana told me that she was a fan, I was shocked. However we watched some Nero Wolfe videos, and I realized that my consciousness had sunken a bit, and my original love of Archie and Nero had raised its ugly head. So we watched lots of videos, and I reread lots of Rex Stout’s soft-boiled mysteries. 

Ana has a Nero Wolfe cookbook too, and she too, likes to experiment with recipes from it.  Here is her “healthier” version of Nero’s cook Fritz’s potatoes.  It is delicious.  Sorry  - the photo is a bit weird.  

Ana's Nero Wolfe Potatoes – somewhat healthier version

Ingredients:

Roasted potatoes:

~600 g potatoes (I used an assortment of baby potatoes, but anything works)

1 tablespoon oil olive

3 cloves garlic, sliced

salt and pepper, to taste

Cut potatoes in to bite size peices, and mix with remaining ingredients.  Spread on a silpat lined baking sheet, and roast in a 350 F oven for an hour, stirring at 30 and 45 minutes.

Bechamel:

2 tablespoons butter

2 tablespoons flour

1 teaspoon granulated garlic

1/2 teaspoon salt

1 cup milk

Over medium heat, melt butter.  Whisk in flour, granulated garlic, and salt, to form a paste.  Cook and stir for about 30 seconds, being careful not to burn.  Whisk in milk.  Bring back to the boil, while stirring.  The sauce will thicken.  Remove from heat.

Other:

1/4 cup grated cheese (original recipe calls for parmesan, but cheedar and others work; use what you like)

4 eggs

salt and pepper, to taste

Combine roasted potatoes and bechamel sauce in an oven proof dish (an 8 x 8 pan or something similar is a good size).  Sprinkle the grated cheese over the top.  If you wish to make ahead and serve later, refridgerate now.  Otherwise, place in a 350 degree oven, for 15 - 20 minutes, until hot through and browned on top.

Poach the eggs using your preferred method, then sprinkle each with a bit of salt and pepper.

Place half the potatoes on your dish, and top with two poached eggs.

Makes 2 servings.

Memorial Day

Here is the final resting place of my parents, my sister, my grandparents, great-grandparents, great-aunties and uncles, dear Tom, and there is a little spot waiting for me. 

An Exerciseful Day

There have been complaints!  In fact, I have complained about myself myself.  Why has that lazy Joanna not done a blog entry in ages?  She has ideas, pictures, but not much blog mojo.  The explanation might be that she just has been doing things that do not involve sitting at a desk staring at a flickery screen, and those things seem way more fun. 

Speaking of way more fun, Rebecca, Rachael, and I went on a 5 K fun run yesterday.  Rebecca had gone on this run in the past and liked it for many reasons – one of which was that it was near her house, and could be walked to.  Another, and I think the primary, charm was that it had a Beer Garden. 

  

Every participant got a free beer - or more precisely, a tiny can of Something-a-rita.  There were three flavors – Lime-a-rita, Straw-a-rita, or Lemon-a-rita.  We decided to each select different one so that we could try them all.  I thought lime sounded best, and was a inwardly smug when this was the one I got. Usually, being the Mother, I get the one that no one else wants. Maybe they were on to something though, because it was not very good.  The strawberry one was better, but sort of weird.  The lemon one was quite tasty.  There must have been minimal alcohol content, because after finishing the whole thing, I did not feel the tiniest bit tipsy.  As a general rule, three sips of wine will make me unpleasantly giddy. 

The theme du jour was Cinco de Mayo / fiesta / taco truck, and there were more taco trucks than I imagined ever existed. 

Those under 21 were  not allowed into the Beer Garden.  These underage folks are feeling quite left out as they wait for their people.  

I wanted a photo with a scenic Seattle bit, so here is a Black Sun photo bomb. One would have to be previously acquainted with it to recognize its significance as a Seattle sight. 

After brunch, we walked to Madison Park for ice cream.  For those not in the know, that is a looooooong walk.  But fun, especially with my girls.  

PS  Pru:  I have gotten new shoes. 

PPS  Why is my nose so red? 

A Resentful Day

I have had a house guest for a few days and those days have been very long ones.   My great-grandkitty, Bunny, was visiting while her Mum was traveling.  Bunny is definitely a character.  As Rebecca would say, she knows her own mind.  As my Aunt Pauline would say, she is a caution, and as my Aunt Dakki would say, she has spirit.  I won’t mention what I would say.

 You can see that Bunny is a beauty, and she indeed does have spirit – much like that of Gloria Swanson or Joan Crawford (or at least their public personas) – a diva to her core.

It was apparent from the start that Bunny resented having to visit Tobias and me.
Initially, she hissed at poor Tobias every time he tried to be affectionate, and would not give me the time of day.  When she settled in a bit, she became friendlier to both of us – letting me pet and caress her, and letting Tobias take his nap next to her.  But her mood was always a bit labile, and her bitterness continued! 

I understand that divas let their displeasure be known, and Bunny has done that.  She obviously resents being left behind by her mother, and feels that she would surely be a sensation if she too were to travel to New York! She showed her resentment is creative ways, as you can see.

The first shock!

The most awful shock!

By this time, not really a shock at all.

                                 I don't want this junk up here on my shelf!

That's better.

When it was time for Bunny to return home, her Mum was super happy to see her again. and Bunny was delighted to be back in her usual environs, and I have to confess that I was not distressed to say "Ciao" to her.  One person though, misses her, and has been looking all over the house for his fluffy friend.

Where is she?

A Spring Day

Van Gogh Spring Ordhards

Spring is finally upon us, in a manner of speaking, i.e., calendar-wise.  The weather has been fairly dull and dark, with the occasional ray of sun peeking through the misty, moisty gloom. On Sunday morning, buckets of rain hurtled down from the heavens, drenching everyone as they walked from here to very nearby there.  The vesting room in the Cathedral basement was flooded, and we had to paddle about to get our Sunday morning treats.  Later, in the afternoon, when the Schola ladies arrived, the water was inches deep, and the Schola burst into song – “Wade in the Water,” as that was what we had to do to get to our cassocks. 

Despite the dull weather, there are many glittering signs of Spring. The cherry trees are in blossom, the primroses are peeking up to greet us with their sunny faces, tulips and daffodils are basking in the occasional glint of sun.  The choir is singing Lenten music, and gearing up for Holy Week.  But the most cheering sign of spring is …….

A few years ago I was talking about my penchant for Peeps with some of my colleagues at work.  “Eeewwww!” they all said in unison, making faces of disgust. “Peeps are revolting!”  I was, of course, offended, but “chacon a son gout.”  However, a day later, another friend brought me a little Easter basket.  It had quite a few Peeps in it.  I was delighted, but as quick as a blink, my co-workers had gobbled up all of my Peeps.  This led me to believe that some must consider Peep-love to be a secret low vice - one which much be kept strictly secret - closet Peep eaters they were.  Rebecca, understanding my springtime needs, got me this new Peep bunny incarnation.  

Another sure sign of spring is Cadbury's Eggs.  Possibly better than Peeps, but one can't comfortably eat quite as many of them.  I had been resisting purchasing one, but Rachael surprised me with this little gift!  Yum.

A Mysterious Day

A few days ago, I was preparing an impromptu dinner for some friends who were in a hurry to get from here to there and didn’t have time to eat.  As I scuttled around, trying quickly to come up with a decent meal from a pantry (and fridge) almost totally bereft of food, I went to grab my sponge, which I had used just moments before…… and it was not there! It frequently is not there, but usually surfaces within a few minutes – twenty at the very most.  The guests arrived, and I still had not found it.  The dinner was eaten, the guests rushed off to their engagement, the dishes were washed (using the new sponge pictured), and still my sponge did not emerge.  Very mysterious.  It was simply gone!  And even more mysterious, it is still gone. 

My mother, like me, was a loser of things. Once on a shopping day, she purchased, among other things, a new pair of shoes.  She was quite pleased with her acquisitions, but did not tell us about them, because her shoes were a bit of an issue at our house.  She had well over a hundred pairs, and the rest of us felt that she did not need more.  (Rachael, who is so like my mother in many ways, seems to have inherited the shoe-love gene.)  Anyway, a week or so later, my Mutti began to get unpleasant whiffs of something amiss in her closet.  She let her nose direct her to the offender, and there, among the shoeboxes, was a packet of formerly frozen chicken, now bloody and stinky.  Yow!  She checked the freezer, and yes, there were her  new shoes.  My mother always liked a good joke, even if she was the victim, and confessed to the shoe purchase and her subsequent absent-mindedness.

Could something like this have happened to my sponge?  I was sure I hadn’t really left the kitchen in the time between its last use and its disappearance.  I checked the freezer, the vegetable bins, the garbage, and the food compost, but no yellow sponge peeked out of hiding.  The mystery remains!

A Fun Reading Day

I just can’t seem to get away from our runs to the U District.  But this is really pretty tangential.  Once I get into really high whine mode, we slow down and smell the roses, so to speak.  In other words, we stop and look around in our favorite book stores.  The first one we come to is Magus Books, which always has a bargain book rack on the sidewalk in front.  We usually check over the current selection, and for the most part snobbily sneer at the offerings.  But every once in a while, there are some gems.  One day, I found several of these delights, priced at a dollar each!  But sadly, the store policy is nothing less that $4 on a debit card.  And I had no cash.  I was about to unhappily put my choices back, when the man said I could take them and pay next time.  Now this is excellent service.  And parenthetically, I actually did pay them the next time.  One of the books I found was “Hitty, Her First Hundred Years.”  I had never heard of it, but it was by Rachael Field, one of my lifelong favorites  - and on the cover, a gold Newberry seal!  How had I missed this?  Admittedly, I am not drawn to books about dolls, but I read Newberrys whenever one comes my way, and I have read Rachael Field since, when I was in grammar school, my mother brought me one (Time out of Mind) that she had enjoyed at my age.  I remember nothing about the story, but do recall sitting under a tree at a church picnic, unable to put it down, and being harassed to join the volley ball game.  (Ugh! Volleyball is a terrifying sport with that giant missile hurtling toward you, seeking to fracture your fingers or wrist, and then there is the verbal abuse you receive if you do the clever thing and duck.)

Anyway, this little book was a surprise and a delight!  I have recommended it to everyone I ever recommend books to, but the story of a doll elicits minimal interest.  In fact, no interest at all.  Sigh!  Poor them!  This was the best new-to-me book I have read in a long time. 

The heroine, Hitty, was carved from a piece of mountain ash by a tinker visiting a Maine sea captain’s family in the winter of 1820 or thereabouts.  The family was snowed in, so the tinker had to winter with them, and made the little doll for eight year old Phoebe Prebble, from a special piece of wood he had been carrying for years, telling her that the wood was good luck, as mountain ash was a sacred tree and one which wards off evil spirits. Phoebe sewed Hitty a chemise with her name stitched on it, and thus through her century of adventures, Hitty’s owners were able to call her by her proper name.  Speaking of “proper,”  Hitty is very.  She is a doll of a delightful personality, much concerned about propriety and her image.  She maintains her modesty and decorum throughout her world travels which include being lost at sea when her family’s whaling ship met disaster, becoming an idol among the cannibals on the island where she washed up, being part of a snake charmer’s paraphernalia in India, finally returning to America with a missionary’s family, traveling the Mississippi in a steamboat  and much more.  She always maintained her dignity, and always has perceptive and pungent comments of the doings of the humans around her.

If you enjoy reading excellent children’s books and you are not anti-doll, this book is a real winner.  And added bonus -- charming illustrations!