Ice Cream Social

I grew up going to church ice cream socials, eating casseroles, cakes, and ice creams from generations-old recipes. Some of those things weren't too tasty (I have a particularly strong memory of some dis-GUST-ing meatballs), but some flavors from those rambling dinners stay with me. One that comes to mind (and one I'm going to try very soon) is a particular kind of ice cream that was made by one of the parishoners at my grandparents' church when I was little. The texture was airy, but a little icy. Not so rich that you couldn't eat three bowls, but so tasty that you couldn't not eat three bowls. Preferred flavors at those socials were vanilla (naturally), strawberry (always made from hand-picked strawberries, most likely), and butter pecan (heavy on the butter).

Ice cream is a habit that seems to follow me around from place to place. During my three happy years in Northampton, trips to Herrel's or Bart's (incidentally, Bart's was the scene of my most spectacular - and hilarious - lack of inhibitions ever. It resulted in such a shock that my dearest friend was accidentally punched in the face by another of our friends. I'll tell you that story someday.) were nearly daily occurrences (featured flavors: oreo mint, Caramel Heath Bar). On the days we didn't go there, we went to Davis (and later the Campus Center) for mudslides (mint chip ice cream - some chose coffee, oreos, chocolate syrup, blender).

I spent a year in Hamburg, where they are rumored to eat more ice cream per capita than anywhere in the world. Needless to say, I ate a lot of ice cream there (Generally I ate lemon or strawberry, as the ice cream more nearly resembled gelato and those are the superior gelato flavors. Late in the year, however, I discovered Eiszeit, where I stuck to anything with Caramel in the name. Or anything I couldn't identify.)

And now I'm in Boston, which as it does in so many things, resembles Hamburg in the natives' feelings about ice cream. Now it's J.P. Licks (Cake Batter Oreo) or Christina's (Chai or Khulfi) or Toscanini's (Bourbon or Burnt Caramel). When I was a kid it was Lic's all the time (grape sherbert, please, or caramel praline).

You see, I like ice cream. I'm not always in the mood for it, but when I am, absolutely nothing else will satisfy.I've got a whole stack of those old Ice Cream Social recipes that I want to try, but a few weeks ago, I found myself in possession of a craving and a pile of clementines on the brink and I decided to try something new. The result? Delicious, creamy, light, but intensely flavored Clementine-Cinnamon Gelato. (By the way, I'm convinced that orange-cinnamon is the next Great Flavor Combination.) It's like being smacked in the face by a bag of clementines, but liking it and asking for more. It's like drowning in a sea of clementine and preferring the juice to air. It's an avalanche of clementines and, rather than run for cover, you stand there and wait to be bowled over. It's not subtle, but why should it be?

I suggest trying this while you can still get your mitts on some good citrus. You might come out the other side slightly battered and orange-stained, but you'll thank me. I promise.

Clementine-Cinnamon Gelato

• ~8 clementines, pureed and strained
• 1 t cinnamon
• 1 c water
• 1 c sugar
• 1 t egg white, beaten until foamy

1. Mix everything but egg together until blended.
   
2. Chill in the fridge for 30 minutes.
3. Fold in the egg white.
   
4. Bang all this in your ice cream maker and press go.

Way back: Hobo Packs

When I was little, there were a few meals that inspired dread in me like nothing else I knew - Stuffed Peppers (which I oddly now crave) and Polynesian Chicken (which I still loathe to think of) come to mind. There were other meals (Spaghetti Casserole, Chili, Pasta) that would, without fail, improve a bad mood or turn a proverbial frown, proverbially, upside-down. Another of those, one that my grandma (who was not an adventurous cook, and whom I miss every single day) made often, is very, very simple - it's the kind of dish that makes it feel wrong to write down a recipe, but it's also the kind that everyone - but everyone - should try, at least once.

I speak of hobo packs. I know, I know, how hard can it be to bang some ingredients into an envelope of aluminum foil and pop it in the oven? It's not hard at all, but the taste - oh, it's divine.

Hobo packs. I always thought my grandma's adherence to this recipe was a result of her having grown up in The Depression and I always imagined my grandpa and his friends dressed as hobos (battered trilby hats, patched clothes, a hankie tied onto a stick) poking around in the fire waiting for the meat to cook, breaking into the packets with pocket knives under a starry sky. My grandpa wasn't a hobo, but I thought it would have been so cool, if he had been.

Instead of huddling around a fire, we busted into the steamy packets while gathered around the dining room table, me always sitting next to my grandpa and waiting impatiently for one of the grown-ups to open my hobo pack since I always burned my fingers. I always ate mine with lots of ketchup.

The taste of my hobo packs wasn't the same. I don't have home-grown, home-canned green beans (with bacon in) to throw in there, and I did add some mushrooms and broccoli for good measure. The taste wasn't the same, but the spirit was. I reverse engineered my version from a rather distant memory, but a few things I remembered paid off. Most important, I remembered the bread squished into the meat, which makes for a few smooth, almost custardy bites in between meaty morsels. That's an important thing. Don't leave it out.

So, with no further ado, here's today's dinner.
Hobo Packs
(campfire optional)

• 1/4 lb ground pork
• 1/4 lb ground sirloin
• 1 T olive oil
• salt and pepper
• dash cayenne pepper
• dash garlic powder
• 1 t balsamic
• 1 piece white sandwich bread, torn into pieces
• 1 large yukon gold potato, cut lengthwise into eighths or so, steak-fry style
• 1/2 head broccoli, cut into florets
• mushrooms, cut into chunks

1. Squish meat and seasonings together with the bread and form into two patties.
2. Place meat patties, potatoes, mushrooms, and broccoli on top of large square of aluminum foil.
3. Sprinkle food with salt and pepper and drizzle with olive oil.
4. Place another piece of aluminum foil on top and roll the edges up to seal each packet.
5. Place on a cookie sheet and bake at 350 for about 40 minutes.
6. Break into aluminum foil packet with a fork and enjoy.

Good morning - and a new addiction

Oatmeal.

I've always loved breakfast food - pancakes, waffles, scrambled eggs (as a kid, less so as an adult), muffins, bagels, and I've documented my deep love of biscuits and gravy more than once. Oatmeal, however, is a pretty new addition to my breakfast routine, but, oh, it's entrenched. It's not going anywhere.I enjoyed oatmeal for the first time in college - it was one breakfast food that never went wrong in good old Tyler House. Add some raisins, a little butter, some brown sugar and sometimes a tiny squeeze of lemon and it's delicious.
Last winter I lapsed into instant oatmeal. It's quick, but it's pretty nasty. Done with that.

Anyway, this is how we do oatmeal around here lately. It's good.

To-die-for Oatmeal

• 1 c Old Fashioned Oats
• 1 c milk (I use 2%)
• 2 c water
• 2 t butter
• 1/2 t salt

1. Melt the butter in a pan. Throw in the oats and toast them until they absorb the butter and begin to brown and smell nutty.
2. Just before the oats start to burn, add the milk and water to the pan. Bring to a boil, then turn the heat way down.
3. Go take a shower. Or check your email. Or read the front page of the newspaper.
4. Come back in 15 minutes. Add the salt, stir.
5. Go away for another 5 minutes. Then you'll want to be near the stove to be sure you get your oatmeal just the right consistency, stir it frequently so that it doesn't burn or stick, and smell the lovely, oaty scent of breakfast.
6. When it's done (or when you can't wait any longer), plop some oatmeal in a bowl. Garnish with your choice of toppings. I usually go for another little pat of butter (obscene, I know), a sprinkle of cinnamon and a spoonful of brown sugar. Or occasionally I just plop in some of my favorite preserves (lately, home-canned apple/pear butter or spiced plum jam). Or top it with raisins and nuts.
7. Eat. This recipe should serve two people rather large bowls of steaming happy.

Thanksgiving roundup

Liveblogging Turkey Day

6:02 PM - Mission accomplished.

3:09 PM - First rounds of eights out of the oven. Fluffy and delicious.

2:51 PM - Turkey done, stuffing done, corn souffle done, first round of eights in the oven, gravy done.

1:56 PM - Beans blanched, ginger grated, bacon being chopped, turkey at 140°, stuffing and corn casserole in oven, potatoes for mashing on the stove. Eights rising.

1:11 PM - T-2 hours, approximately. Potatoes being peeled, beans being blanched, turkey still in oven. For me: last minute snack to take the edge off so that I don't nibble from now until dinner. Leftover shepherd's pie from last night should do the trick.

12:44 PM - Corn Souffle, stuffing ready to go. Eights cut/formed/ready to rise. Now cleaning up, then starting the green beans.

12:12 PM - Time to make eights!

12:00 PM - Turkey breasts IN

11:45 AM - Using a lull in cooking time (pecan pie in oven) to set my mom up with her own blog (finally). Details TBD.

10:30 AM - Roasting the turkey on a bed of celery to keep it off the bottom and give the stock good flavor.

10:11 AM - Executive decision to add apple to the stuffing.

10:03 AM - Getting a bit of a late start with the liveblogging today - I woke at 8 to the smell of onions and celery cooking down in butter (the start of the stuffing). After trundling downstairs and waking myself up a little more, we had Yukon Gold Cinnamon Rolls (best cinnamon roll recipe ever - like a certain unnamed mall chain, but without the sickly sweetness and the chemically after taste). After breakfast, things shift into a higher gear - stuffing being assembled (onion + celery + mix + lots of mushrooms), homemade dark turkey stock coming out of the fridge for stuffing and, eventually, gravy. Corn 'souffle' being mixed up (that's a recipe that you'll be seeing soon). Philosophical discussion of eggs in stuffing (mom says no, her grandma said yes). Last night was a thanksgiving prep orgy: dough for 'eights' (potato dinner rolls), cinnamon rolls, pie crust for pecan pie, orange pieapple fluff.

Spice Season Opening

Recipe: Pumpkin Bourbon Spice Cheesecake with Bourbon Mascarpone Whipped Cream

Let this be known: I do not buy into the phenomenon of coy female food guilt. I don't feel guilty about feeding myself good things. I don't feel guilty about eating sweets when they're around. If I do happen to binge a little (like the run-in I had with a pack of Oreos earlier this week), I don't make myself feel bad about it, though I do try to do better next time.

However, I increasingly believe in the value of delayed gratification. When I want to buy myself fancy, shiny new things, I do try to wait. In fact, there was once a jacket that I visited weekly for three months before allowing myself to buy it. Of course, when I did finally bring it home with me, I could barely afford food for the next couple of weeks. But wearing the beautiful, buttery thing around the house made me feel better about my growing hunger and dwindling bank account.Another thing I believe in delaying is my annual sugar-and-spice binge. From Thanksgiving through, approximately, February, I allow myself obscene quantities of all things involving any or all of the following: cinnamon, cloves, ground ginger, allspice. However, I don't really dip into these flavors until the third week in November. I like to keep these warm fuzzy flavors to the season in which they're most needed. Every year, it's worth the wait.
This year, I'm inaugurating the Spice Season with a new-to-me recipe: Pumpkin Bourbon Spice Cheesecake with a Spiced Pecan-Graham Cracker Crust. You got that right - the word SPICE appear TWICE in the title of this dish. That's the way we like it, this time of year.The recipe comes from Baking Illustrated, but I did tweak it a little, as I generally do. I decreased the sugar in the filling by about a tablespoon and added about a tablespoon of Maple Syrup at the same time as the Heavy Cream. (Maple's another exclusively Winter taste, as is pumpkin, obviously.) I also added almonds in an equal amount to the pecans in the crust. These things were good decisions.It turns out, this dessert is perhaps the greatest baked good ever known to man. It's creamy, spicy, sweet, and yet almost light (as light as cheesecake can be) and its crust is nutty and spicy and crunchy. The cream that I whipped up to serve with it is a dense, sweet, bourbony rich addition and every bit good enough to eat on its own. This cheesecake is kind of the sweet, supple, beautiful dessert answer to my lovely jacket. If I could slip into this cheesecake and wear it around, I would. It's truly spectacular. Make this for your holiday crowd. They'll thank you and you'll thank me.

Pumpkin Bourbon Spice Cheesecake with a Spiced Pecan-Graham Cracker Crust
adapted from Baking IllustratedFor the Crust

• 5 1/2 graham crackers (3 oz.)
• 1 oz chopped pecans (original recipe calls for 2 oz)
• 1 oz slivered blanched almonds (my addition)
• 4 T unsalted butter, melted
• 3 T sugar
• 1/2 t ground ginger
• 1/2 ground cinnamon
• 1/4 t ground cloves

1. Heat the oven to 325.
   
2. Butter the bottom and sides of a 9" spring form pan.
3. Process crackers, nuts, sugar, and spices in a food processor until finely ground.
4. Place crumbs into medium bowl and mix butter evenly into crumbs.
5. Turn crumb/butter mix into the spring form pan and use the bottom of a drinking glass to press the crumbs evenly into the bottom of the spring form pan. Use a spoon to create a neat edge and press crumbs all the way into the corners of the pan.
6. Bake about 15 minutes until fragrant and browned around the edges.
7. Cool on a wire rack until room temperature.
8. When cool, wrap the outside of the pan with a double layer of aluminum foil. Set the wrapped spring form pan into a roasting pan.

For the Filling

• 1 1/2 c sugar (minus 1 T)
• 1 t ground cinnamon
• 1/2 t ground ginger
• 1/4 t ground cloves
• 1/4 t ground allspice
• 1/2 t salt
• 1 (15 oz) can pumpkin puree
• 1 1/2 lbs cream cheese, cut into small chunks, at room temperature
• 1 t vanilla extract
• 5 large eggs, at room temperature
• 1/4 c bourbon
• 1 T maple syrup
• 1 c heavy cream

1. Bring about 4 quarts of water to a simmer in a stockpot.
2. When the crust is done baking, whisk the sugar, spices, and salt in a small bowl and set aside.
3. This part is ODD: line a baking sheet with a triple layer of paper towels. Spread pumpkin puree onto paper towels and place triple layer of paper towels on top. Press on paper towels until they are saturated. Peel back the top layer of paper towels. Flip the pumpkin onto a new layer of paper towels and repeat. Discard the towels.
4. Beat the cream cheese at medium speed for 1 minute. To save myself typing, I will just say now that you should scrape the sides and bottom of the bowl as well as the beater after every step from here on out.
5. Add about a third of the sugar mixture and beat at medium-low speed until combined.
6. Scrape.
7. Add half of the remaining sugar mixture and beat at medium-low until combined.
8. Add the remaining sugar mixture and beat at medium-low until combined.
9. Add the pumpkin and vanilla and beat at medium speed until combined.
10. Add 3 eggs and beat at medium-low until combined.
11. Add the remaining 2 eggs and beat at medium-low until combined.
12. Add the heavy cream, bourbon, and maple syrup and beat at medium-low until combined.
13. Pour the filling into the springform pan and smooth the surface.
14. Set the roasting pan in the oven and pour enough simmering water to come about halfway up the sides of the springform pan.
15. Bake until the center of the cake is slightly wobbly and the center of the cake reads 150 degrees on an instant-read thermometer, about 1 1/2 hours. (Beware, the cake can bake much faster depending on oven temperature and temperature of ingredients.)
16. Set the roasting pan on a wire rack and cool until water is just warm.
17. Remove the springform pan from the water bath, discard the foil and set on a wire rack.
18. Run a paring knife around the inside edge of the pan to loosen the sides of the cake. Cool until barely warm, about 3 hours.
19. Wrap with plastic and refrigerate until chilled. Up to 3 days.

serve with Bourbon Mascarpone Whipped Cream

• 1 c heavy whipping cream
• 1/2 c light brown sugar
• 1/2 c mascarpone cheese
• 2-3 T bourbon
• pinch salt

1. Mix mascarpone cheese with bourbon.
2. Mix brown sugar and salt into whipping cream.
3. Add mascarpone/bourbon mixture to whipping cream and sugar. Whip on high speed until peaks form.

On second thought, it would also be interesting to try substituting some maple sugar for some of the sugar in the cream. The maple taste I tried to introduce into the cheesecake was lost a little and putting it in the cream might be a good way to bring that flavor out without running the risk of changing the (perfect) texture of the cheesecake.

Vote for me! Go to the Bon Appetit Blog Envy Contest and vote for my cheesecake! Be sure to vote in all categories.

Feel-good food

Last week I was sick. Fevers, aches, stuffed up head, headache, no energy, etc. I won't go into details because if you're halfway smart, you really don't want to know. On Thursday, though, I started to feel a little better. Well enough, anyway, to start craving lots of good-tasting, healthy-making food. So I dragged myself off of the couch and made for the Crock Pot. Potato Soup it would be.

Now, let me explain to you, I have a long standing and pretty intense love affair with potato soup. From the Baked Potato Soup cups of O'Charley's meals past to similar, bacon-heavy potato soup at Sunday lunch at Rafferty's to my mom's lighter, more delicious version that I usually beefed up with a couple of generous handfuls of cheese and oyster crackers. I've made a number of attempts in the past to make delicious potato soup, but somehow they've always fallen a little short.

This time, though, I just threw a little of everything that we had in the house into a big steaming vat of chicken stock and let it be for a few hours. The result? Tasty enough to make me feel better. Here's what I did.

Crock-Pot Potato Soup
Ingredients

• 5-8 potatoes, depending on size
• 3 small carrots
• 3 cloves garlic
• 2 onions
• Bunch thyme, rosemary, couple of sage leaves
• 1 bay leaf
• Stick butter
• Pepper
• salt
• 6 c chicken broth
• Dollop Sour Cream
• Couple of glugs of half and half

Preparation

1. Peel and cut the potatoes into 1" chunks.
2. Peel and thickly slice the carrots.
3. Peel and smash garlic cloves.
4. Peel and chop the onions.
5. Place all these things with herbs (remove woody stems from herbs) and bay leaves into a Large Crock Pot. Pour chicken (or veggie) broth over the veg, cover, and cook on high for about 5 hours.
6. When potatoes and carrots are tender, fish out the bay leaves, and puree the soup in batches. I used a blender, but you can also use a food processor or one of those wand things.
7. Return soup to the crock pot, add the sour cream and half and half (basically until it's as creamy as you like).
8. Pepper and Salt GENEROUSLY to taste.
9. Serve with cheddar cheese on top and oyster crackers on the side.

Note: This soup is much much better if you either 1. cook it longer or 2. wait a day to eat it. The second day is peak, taste-wise. Of course, it's tasty when you first make it, too, but don't you DARE throw away the leftovers. Also, in the future, I think I'll cook the onions down a bit first to release some sweetness.

ALSO, if you don't have a crock pot, you can do this on the stove as well. Just keep an eye on it, that the liquid doesn't all disappear and that it doesn't burn. Otherwise, everything's the same.

Fall Break

Yesterday, Dan and I and the Little Dog took our annual Fall trip out West to Northampton and environs. We were out for a little leaf-peeping, a little escapism, and a little taste of the Autumn That I'm Having a Hard Time Getting Used To (TM).
Fig. 1. Leaves were peeped. Though I didn't get any really spectacular photos of blazing trees or impressionistic hills, I think this fall is the most spectacular I've seen in a long time. I guess that's a good reason to be thankful for the cold snaps of the last couple weeks, yes? Fall always makes me all shades of nostalgic, and never more than when I'm taking the fall drive out to Northampton. There's this one rise in the road on the Pike near Brimfield that affords an amazing sloping view down into the valley as you come over the top of it. I know I don't live out there anymore and it's likely to be some time before I live out there again, but it always feels a little bit like coming home. There's simultaneously a drop in my stomach and a bubbly feeling of excitement that never fails to make me feel choked up. The same thing happens to me after turning onto 91 North, after passing the Holyoke Mall, when it starts to look more like Northampton. The view out across South Hadley just south of Mt. Tom is another spot, as is the first view of the Connecticut river, just before Exit 18. And the whole Pioneer Valley is speckled with spots that make me catch my breath and want to cry happily, and yet out of a sense of nostalgia for lost experiences and fading, but still warm memories.
Fig 2. Cider Donuts were consumed. These were still warm when I bought them. Still warm. It was the kind of day where there was a line waiting for the donuts to come out of the kitchen. Crispy on the outside, sugar and cinnamon crackling with each bite. Little puffs of cider-y steam. Divine. If anything tastes like fall, it's these donuts. We enjoyed them with a half gallon of cider that we drank from the jug. A perfect meal, all in all.
Fig. 3. Dan ate some donuts too.
Fig. 4. We drank delicious beers at the Northampton Brewery. I had an 8 ounce (very petite) Hoover's Porter, which was one of the finest beers that has ever passed my lips. Why, oh why don't they sell it in bottles?!Fig. 5. As we hit the road back home, we made a pitstop for a strawberry shake at the Whately Diner. This was another college haunt and definitely a place I wanted to share with Dan - he's also a big diner fan. The pink neon glow and the shiny metal of the diner's exterior is frozen in time, I think. It's fabulous, but still somehow unsettling. Dan said it seemed like an X-Files episode should have been happening around us. It's true. Places that stay static while the people who inhabit them (however temporarily) are uncanny. Places that change, although we expect them to stay the same, however, moreso.

More photos here.

Security Blanket

Sometimes something terrible happens and, even when everything resolves itself miraculously well, you can see cracks forming in an edifice you had previously held to be unshakable, unchangeable, permanent. Whether you have any warning or not, this kind of occurrence has the power to shake even the most staunchly positive Pollyanna of us all to the core.

When these things happen, as they have of late, what do I do? First, I keep a stiff upper lip. Second, I have a private and generally very dramatic meltdown. Third, I pull it together and cleave to something comfortable, reliable, something that is always the same as it always was and something that will, for all eternity, remain comforting, reliable, warm.

Obviously, I'm a stress eater. After all, what besides food (provided you have a reliable ingredients and a good relationship with the particular stove and oven at your disposal) is so reliable and comforting? When under normal stress, things like cake, Cheez-its, chocolate, and cream cheese do me just fine. On the other hand, when things get really out of hand, I need something a little more serious to prop me up. Most recently I turned to Mac and Cheese.

If you're running off to the cupboard to zap some Easy Mac, HALT. Go no further! A far superior Mac and Cheese awaits you. And if, like me, you find yourself soothed by procedure, routine, and production, then this, friends, is the Mac and Cheese for you. There is no microwave involved. No vaguely-cheesy orange powder. No tablespoon of butter and half cup of milk. This is a much more involved Mac and Cheese but let me assure you: as with so many things, what you get out of this Mac and Cheese is directly proportional to what you put into it. If you're lucky, it may even give you back more than you bargained for.

Luckily, my recipe-source (and inadvertent source of this month's stress) had recovered fully enough to dictate this recipe and help cook it by the time I was up to needing some emotional sustenance. I can't take credit for this recipe. As ever, all credit to my mom.

Reliable Comfort Food
Ingredients

• 1 box macaroni noodles (I used Barilla Elbows)
• 1 stick butter
• 1/3 cup flour
• 1 t dry mustard
• nutmeg to taste (ca. 1/2 t)
• 1/4 t salt
• 1 quart milk
• 1/2 lb White American Cheese
• 1/2 lb Monterey Jack Cheese
• 1/2 lb Cheddar Cheese (medium sharp)

Assembly

1. Pre-heat oven to about 400.
2. Cook pasta in generously salted water for approximately 3/4 of the suggested time. Drain and set aside.
3. Shred American, Monterey Jack, and Cheddar Cheeses on the largest holes on a box grater. Set aside
4. Make a roux: Melt the stick of butter over medium heat. Add the flour and whisk until smooth. Add milk and cook over medium-low heat until sauce bubbles, thickens, and just begins to brown. Add dry mustard and nutmeg.
5. Add cheese and stir until melted and smooth.
6. Add pasta to cheese sauce and stir until well coated.
7. Pour pasta and sauce into a (large) oven-safe dish- in my case this was a 9"x13" stoneware baking dish AND a 9"x9" brownie dish.
8. Bake at 400 until it begins to brown on top. If you're lucky, your oven will brown it more or less evenly. If you're me, your oven will beautifully brown one side and leave the other more or less raw. It tastes fine either way.

We all ate this as a "side dish" to accompany a sesame-ginger marinated pork tenderloin, alongside some delicious lima beans, (see image above) but we all knew that the Mac was the main attraction. It's okay to exercise a little denial when it comes to this dish. We all know that you just want to eat carbs saturated with cheesy fat. And sometimes there's just nothing at all wrong with that.In other news, look what my orchid has been doing! He's (I'm firmly of the opinion that anything named after testicles should be called he, though perhaps orchids could be the drag queens of the plant world - hence my deep and abiding love of them) certainly been up to the task of brightening up the house the last couple weeks! I like how that last little bloom is cocking its head at the camera and being so coy to open up. What a tight little ball of joy.

Jellies and jams and pickles, oh my!

**A lot has happened since I began writing this post. I'm sitting in my mom's hospital room now, as I finish it. She's on the mend, but it's been quite a scary few days. So, this post is for my mom, with whom I look forward to many, many years of canning, cooking, and all those good things.

I remember many Augusts of my childhood, especially in those early, pre-preschool days, spent as my grandmother's and mother's side while they (we, I thought) canned the mountains of vegetables that my grandpa coaxed out of the earth in his garden (which was, gothically, located on the State Hospital grounds). Hour after hour, just as the Summer heat peaked for the year, leaving most of us breathless, they'd stand over the stove, milling tomatoes into juice (which would become vegetable soup or chili when Summer's sweat became a distant, almost longed-for memory), stringing, trimming, and finally packing green beans into quart jars, ready for the pressure cooker.

I remember (fondly) helping by peeling the wax pencil and writing dates on the lids as they came out of their hot bath. I remember dozens of jars of tomato juice and beans, and in a few banner years, hundreds, lining the shelves under the basement stairs in my grandparents' house, where it was cool and dark and there were commonly spiders. I took a special pleasure in sneaking into that small space and scaring myself out of my wits at the thought of spiders and other unknown things creeping out of the dark.
At some point, I grew bored of watching the women in my family putting up Summer produce for the Winter. At some point my grandpa stopped gardening on such a large scale. And at some point my grandma stopped canning and this all became relegated to memory, a somewhat peculiar habit held over in my family by those Roosevelt Democrat elders who were worried about potentially lean Winters, even though we always had more than enough to eat in our homes.

I suffer no illusions that my canning now will make up for the years I missed canning with my grandma while I could have, but trying my hand at it makes me feel a little closer in a tiny way. In my case, there was only a very little salt and no tomatoes in sight and I shied away from the pressure cooker (I have visions of Arroz con Pollo stuck to my ceiling - and if you don't know what I'm talking about, look it up) and decided to give jelly and jam a go. (And pickles, but I can't take credit for that idea - more about that later.)

Remembering what seemed to a very small child to be a very large production, I decided to tackle this task with help rather than on my own. Luckily, my newly-minted-Somervillian friend Christine was excited at the prospect of giving all this ridiculousness a go and we spent today up to our elbows in brine, pectin, and produce.
Experiment #1. Dill pickles. Christine expressed a great deal of interest in trying to can pickles. So, we stopped off at the Harvard Farmers Market and bought 20 or so pickling cukes and a big handful of dill. With a few mishaps on the way (dill pickles without the dill, briefly, but caught in time), we managed to make eight beautiful jars of tiny dill pickles, steeping (mellowing?) away in a fragrant, herby brine.Experiment #2. Grape Jelly. One of the finest things about the apartment where the Brit and I are living now (since May) is the beautiful back yard that we share with the other five apartments in our little corner of Cambridge. There is a rather stunning grape arbor that, this Summer, became overburdened with a bumper crop of big, fat, purple Concord Grapes. Christine and I went out, armed with one puppy and two big grocery bags and picked, conservatively, 15 pounds of grapes. Our recipe called for three pounds of grapes, with the goal of producing 4 cups of grape juice (but you can add a little water if you don't have enough). Our three pound batch rendered more like eight cups of juice, so we ended up making two batches of grape jelly. And there's about 12 pounds of grapes in the freezer, waiting for a (cooler) rainy day. Result: many, many jars (of both 4 oz. and 8 oz. varieties) of grape jelly.Experiment #3. Spiced Plum Jam. The Harvard Farmers Market also boasted a lovely array of late Summer produce, of which we selected Plums as our final ingredient of the day. As the chopped, pitted plums cooked down into a happy, syrupy slurry (Thank you, Seven Spoons, for the phrase "a warm slurry of bacon and sweet shallots" which reminded me that slurry can be a good word, too.), I decided to add some spice. "I feel like some spice would make sense with plums," I said to Christine, already a little delirious from the jars upon jars of grape and pickles we had done, and I threw in some ground cloves and ground cinnamon. Suddenly it smelled like Christmas and I knew it was a good idea.**Note: While we had plums on hand, I made this plum cake. It was delicious. This picture is before baking.After eleven hours of this business, with aching feet and back, and more than one burned fingertip (and a couple burned spots on face and feet from flying, boiling jelly), I can say with confidence that canning is a LOT more work than you think it is, no matter how much work you think it is.

Also, I can't wait to do it again.

Two things: one happy, one not

First, the Bad. A friend posted this link on Facebook. A school with no books. They've decided to buy 18 Kindles instead. Unless the school only has an enrollment of 18 students, this horrifies me. The students who can't get their hands on a Kindle are meant to read on the internet (or maybe the school expects everyone else's parents to BUY them one - hello class distinction!). Gross. My happiest school hours were spent in the library, surrounded buy books hundreds of other students had read over the years, discovering things I wouldn't otherwise have learned. Ugh.

Second, the Good.A Back-to-School (where, at MY school, we still have books) Breakfast of Champions

• 1 package fat free vanilla yogurt
• 6ish blackberries
• 8ish strawberries
• some flaxseeds
• a glug or two of almond milk (thanks, Sweet Amandine, for suggesting these last two!)
• two ice cubes (if your blender can take it)

Blend.

The Haul

Yes, they're scrawny and imperfect, but I grew them myself and I love them.Also, they'd better taste DAMN good, since they're clocking in at, oh, about $4,000 a pound.

Simple pleasures

While I was home last week, I daily indulged in the treats of the season. Farm-fresh produce is abundant in Indiana throughout Summer, but I was extra lucky to arrive when the corn, blackberries, and melons were all reaching the height of their juicy, colorful, fullness. This type of tasty, natural beauty is great fun to photograph as well, so here's a little taste of late Summer in
IN.Figure 1. Zucchini.Figure 2. Corn.
Figure 3. Blackberries with Greek yogurt and honey.

So many odds and ends... and a wee clip show

Figure 1. They like straight lines in Indiana.

Yesterday I winged my way home to Indiana for a brief, but much-needed visit. Since then, I've been wallowing in puppy-love, eating too much good Mexican food and my mom's mushroom soup (Stay tuned for THAT recipe. It will make you weep.), going to the movies (which is the official pastime of my home town), and sleeping in my old bed. All in all, the perfect first twenty hours home.

Figure 2. The Liberty Hotel. Perfect place to toast your own personal ball-and-chain.

But! Before I came home, there was an anniversary to be celebrated. My dear Brit and I have been married (legally, though not with huge, froufy fanfare) for one year and two days now and it still seems like the best decision we could ever have made. To celebrate on Saturday I did not cook. So I have no nuptially-themed recipe to share. But we did go to Clink at the Liberty Hotel and eat a lot of really delicious food, drink a couple of delicious cocktails, and some really delicious wine. Figure 3. Seared scallops with lobster, mushrooms, parsnips (puree), and dates. Holy. Crap.

This all followed a lovely day spent at the ICA and wandering downtown and snapping photos. You can see the initial results here, with medium format goodness to follow when I'm home and developing again.Figure 4. Boston view from ICA.

For now, though, I'll share with you the recipe for the World's Best Banana Pudding, courtesy of my mom. Again. She's getting accustomed to my frantic, last-minute "Please tell me how you make x dish!" emails and is responding with aplomb. I only hope one day I have the memory for recipes that she does.

(The occasion for this recipe was my sister FINALLY coming back to town after being away for altogether too long. She's always been a sucker for banana pudding and I thought it might be appropriate for some welcome back comfort food. She approved of the end result, as I'm sure you all will, too.)

Banana Pudding (courtesy My Mom)
Figure 5. I used miniature trifle dishes.

• Combine 2 small packages of Instant Jello pudding—French Vanilla Flavor (sometimes hard to find—but def. better than regular vanilla) with 3 cups of milk (I use skim milk!)
• Add 1 can of Eagle brand condensed, sweetened milk and beat with mixer until it starts to thicken.
• After you stop beating and as the pudding thickens add a 9 ounce container of Cool Whip (I use the light variety) Fold this in gently to avoid deflating The Cool whip (the purpose of this is to lighten the pudding).
• Layer Vanilla wafers, sliced bananas, and the pudding mixture to create the finished product. It looks pretty to do in a trifle bowl. I usually crumble some vanilla wafers on top for panache! Do not leave bananas on top—as they will darken when exposed to air.

As ever, I suggest you note the ingredients (and quantities) before going shopping. If, however, you find yourself at home with, oh, I don't know, only one (1) package of French Vanilla Instant Pudding, you can halve the recipe. The proportions are very approximate and really, short of using stale vanilla wafers or rotten bananas, I'm not sure how you could screw this up. I recommend it for hot-weather colds, broken hearts, or warm welcome-backs. Also, as my mom suggests, pot-lucks.

Culling Time

I have, as you all know, a little window-box herb garden. Unfortunately, my basil (beautiful flat-leaf Italian basil from Pemberton Farms) grew a little out of control and was choking out my thyme and sage. There was only one thing to do. I trimmed and cut back and culled and ended up with a pile of fresh basil that just didn't know what to do with itself.

So, I pulled out my food processor, grated up a big chunk of parmesan, threw in some pine nuts, added the basil and processed until it smelled nutty and cheesy and fresh. I then added olive oil until I liked the color and consistency. My best guess as to quantities: 1 cup basil leaves, 3 T pine nuts (all I had left), and about a cup of oil. Also, salt and pepper.**I tossed some of the pesto with penne (which we ate alongside some delicious chicken sausage), but there was a lot left over. What to do? I pulled out an ice cube tray, discarded its cubes and filled up six of the little wells with pesto. I left them in the freezer overnight and am now left with six delicious little green cubes, just waiting for a craving to hit. I highly recommend you all kill some basil today. The results are stunning.**Note: I did not add garlic. This was simply an oversight, but it did result in a mild and versatile pesto.

July's End Dinner Party, Part the first

Whenever I'm invited to dinner, I ask, "What can I bring?" like a dutiful guest. I then proceed to forget about it until the day of and then go way, way overboard. This time, I was asked to bring "something to drink or something nibbly." "Okay," I thought to myself, "I'll figure something out."

I decided yesterday to go way overboard.

It's important that you know that I have a passionate love of gelato. And avocados. Maybe, in fact, it's a thing for all food-stuffs ending in -o. In any case, when I saw this recipe for Avocado Gelato, I was intrigued. I set out to the grocery to procure missing ingredients (avocados, corn starch) and on the way decided that a pure avocado flavor might be good, but wouldn't it be better with a little something to jazz up/brighten up the flavor and make it a little sunnier? So, I got to thinking about other O-ending foodstuffs and landed on mojitos, which also make me very, very happy. I concluded that I would make Avocado Mojito Gelato. (I'm also of the opinion that an Avocado Mojito - in beverage form - is a very good idea.)

The result was, perhaps, my best kitchen effort yet and, perhaps, the cooking product of which, to date, I am most proud. At the dinner party for which I whipped up this gelato, we served it in green teacups with a sprinkle of fresh blueberries, which added a lovely tang. It could also be served with a sprig of mint as garnish or with a dash of rum over top, for that mojito experience.

Here's what I did.

Avocado Mojito Gelato

Ingredients

• 2 c Whole Milk
• 3/4 c Sugar
• zest of (approximately) half a lime - in strips
• 2 T cornstarch
• 2 ripe avocados (approximately 1 pound)
• 1 vitamin C tablet, crushed to powder (I used 1000 mg, but less would probably work just as well)
• juice of 1/2 lime
• generous handful of fresh mint leaves
• pinch salt

1. Combine sugar and mint leaves in a food processor. Process until mixture is homogeneous and pieces of mint are very small.
2. Bring 1 3/4 c milk, 1/2 c of the sugar/mint mixture, lime zest, and salt to a simmer in a heavy saucepan over medium heat.
3. Meanwhile, whisk together the remaining 1/4 c milk and 2 T cornstarch until smooth. Once combined, stir this mixture into the simmering milk, whisking continually.
4. Bring to a boil (while whisking) and boil for one minute.
5. Transfer the hot milk mixture into a metal bowl and place that bowl into another bowl filled with ice and cold water. Let the mixture cool completely and mix frequently.
6. Meanwhile, quarter, pit, and peel avocado. Place in food processor with the remaining mint sugar, juice of 1/2 lime and the crushed vitamin C tablet. Puree until smooth.
7. Add cooled milk mixture and puree until smooth.
8. Freeze avocado mixture in an ice cream maker. Transfer to airtight container and freeze until hard (1+ hour).

My gelato took a quite a while to freeze and after the subway trip to the dinner party, was a little runny, but set up again quite nicely upon being put in the freezer there. It's a pretty low maintenance gelato, so don't worry. The beauty of this recipe is that the avocado is creamy and rich enough that you can skip the heavy cream and eggs that would be necessary to get that texture otherwise. And anyway, avocado fat isn't bad for you. The vitamin C tablet is necessary, according to the recipe I adapted, to keep the avocado's color. The lime would proably take care of this on its own, but who wants to run the risk of producing brown Avocado (Mojito) Gelato? Not me.