::: a giveaway :::

Hannah makes cookies.
Hannah makes cakes.
Hannah makes beautiful pictures.
Hannah made my blog header photo.
Hannah made a giveaway on her blog.
Go see Hannah!

::: i found my thrill on chili hill :::

Every year, around the third week in October, our friends Steve and Sara host a chili supper at their home and invite all of their friends (and a few people they don't even know!) to enjoy it with them. A big pot of wood-fire cooked chili, a couple of hayrides, some hot cider, and lots of friendly faces make for a delicious event that our whole family looks forward.

This year, I baked a batch of Brown Butter Toffee Blondies from a recipe I saw on one of my favorite food blogs, honey & jam. I happened to have a big bag of toffee bits that Bo had brought home from the chocolate factory and had been wondering what to do with them, so when I saw the blondie recipe that Hannah had posted, I knew that's what I'd take to Chili Hill.

This year, Steve and Sara's eldest daughter, Laura, is a senior. Because this might be the last Chili Hill Laura, who has been accepted to West Point, will attend for a while, I wanted to get lots of photos. And that I did. :-)

Mastering the Art of Midnight Cooking

It was a long day of soccer practice, piano lessons, cleaning to prepare for the upcoming graduation party of Houdin, and, as if we weren't busy enough, a service planning meeting at church. Sometime during the day, I decided that it would all end with loveliness, so on the way to our meeting, I implored of my husband to not begin any lengthy discussions, to not bring up new topics, to cut to the chase, and I would do the same. I didn't want to sound short or bossy, but I knew I had to tell the other meeting attendees up front that we really needed to leave by 8:30. And I was pretty serious about it. I'm afraid I may have pushed the meeting on a bit--so I guess I was bossy in spite of my best mediocre attempts not to be.

And when we finished our meeting at 8:26, I think I actually hooted with glee.

My husband and I were going to go home, rush our two eldest and our young friend Lemony into the car (the two younglings were at a friend's house for the night), stop long enough to transfer Monet from another soccer parent's minivan to ours, and head north to the Medium Sized City for a 9:55 p.m. showing of Julie and Julia. My dear husband, who had awoken at 5:30 a.m. and would have to be to work at 7:00 a.m. the following morning, was completely game. We even scraped up enough money in this economically depressed month to pay for all of our tickets, the elder children chipping in all that they had. And when we got there? It was bargain Tuesday. $4.25 for tickets. Bonus!

No popcorn. No milk duds. Straight to the theater we strode, because I knew that, waiting at home for us, was a fresh batch of pesto and some crusty bread.

Bad idea.

See, the film was just packed full, as might be expected, of incredibly mouthwatering foods. They walked by amazing foods. They talked about amazing foods. They ate amazing foods. And we, hungry and amazed, watched helplessly, drooling, oohing and ahhing. Loudly. We were, by some miracle (maybe that it was the 9:55 p.m. showing) the only people in the theater, giving us the freedom to laugh loudly, discuss the food, and make slyly disparaging comments about the film's antagonists.

Meryl Streep was, as you've heard, amazingly incredible. Stanley Tucci was adorable. My only regret was that I had not been Julie Powell, had not stood in a moment of quiet desperation and committed an act of psychotic cooking bloggery. I could have done it (as everyone says). It could have been me. And, just like Powell's character in the film, I would have loved Julia, and I would have believed that Julia loved me, in spite of any evidence to the contrary.

I had decided that the day would end in loveliness, and I got my way. Julie and Julia was delightful, even with its flaws (my middle child got half-way through the film before he realized that the parallel stories were taking place during different decades..and he's a pretty bright kid). I found myself with the perfect opportunity to practice my very limited, very sad excuse for French. I nudged my daughter in the row ahead of me when Julie visited Julia's Cambridge, Massachusetts kitchen at the Smithsonian, because I, too, had been there just a short month and a half before. And after the film was over, as we were driving the long trip back home to my Little Village just after midnight, I was taking a mental inventory of what ingredients were scattered around my kitchen at home. My hope was to crack open my thrifted copy of Mastering the Art of French Cooking and duplicate, albeit more successfully, the poached egg scene in the film. I'd never poached an egg. I've never liked eggs.

Alas, it was not to be. My copy of Mastering the Art of French Cooking is Volume 2, which doesn't contain the egg-poaching pages.

But my eyes landed on a recipe that featured eggplant, and, as luck would have it, I'd just plucked a few nice eggplants from my garden and a few more from the farmer's market just that morning, so I gathered all of the ingredients (can you believe I actually had scallions in my kitchen? I rarely have scallions in my kitchen! But there they were, as was everything else, and so, at 1:00 a.m., my husband, kids and Lemony were eating pesto and peeling eggplant as I made the sauce and chopped the tomatoes.

This dish is supposed to be eaten cold, but I just couldn't wait. I'd already lost my husband, who had finally staggered off to bed, and Monet, who couldn't stay up any longer due to an impending early-morning soccer practice (they're doing two-a-days this week), so as soon as I folded the tomato/basil/garlic sauce into the simmered/sauteed eggplant, I was ready to eat. Houdin heaped it onto a piece of crusty bread, but I just scooped it into a dish and grabbed a fork. Delicious.

A small dish was set aside and refrigerated so that I can see what it's "supposed" to taste like once it's chilled.

With just a few short hours left of this morning before I have to rise and begin another day, I'm heading to bed, garlic on my breath, dreaming of my next meal.

The Great Cupcake Adventure: Day Three!

Well, we're half-way done! Today, we made Pistachio Raspberry Cupcakes, and while they were really more like sweet muffins. they were certainly delicious (but the Ginger Molasses ones are still my favorite so far!). These cupcakes were unique from the others in that they were mixed entirely in the food processor. I used salted pistachios, since I couldn't find unsalted ones, and I omitted the added salt. Also, I used frozen raspberries because the fresh ones are out of season and quite expensive.

I can't remember what tomorrow's cupcakes are! I'll have to check with Sweetheart. Of course, I'll know soon enough, since tomorrow will come quickly!

The Great Cupcake Adventure: Day Two!

Today was a busy day, filled with doctor appointments, haircuts, fiddle lessons, a lunch outing and various errands. But we wanted to make sure we got our cupcakes in today, so we made them first thing this morning. What a wonderfully decadent breakfast!

Today's recipe was Ginger Molasses Cupcakes with Whipped Cream Topping. They were definitely a hit! I added four tablespoons of powdered sugar to the whipped topping. Just the right amount of sweetness. When we made the cupcakes, they really puffed up over the top, so I'd recommend only filling the tins half full. They also flopped when they were taken from the oven, which didn't affect the flavor one bit, but made them difficult to remove from the pan. I wonder if the "melted" butter was a typo? Not sure.

Anyway, they were very delicious!I venture to say they might end up being my favorite of all of them. Four more days and four more cupcake recipes to go! Tomorrow, Pistachio Cupcakes with Raspberries.

The Great Cupcake Adventure: Day One!

The Baby is going to be six years old soon. To celebrate, we decided to dive into the latest Martha Stewart Living Magazine and make a different batch of cupcakes every day for six days. Today was Chocolate Chip with Chocolate Chip Buttercream Frosting. The verdict? Very, very sweet! If you make these, add a dash of salt to the icing to cut down on the sweetness!

Tomorrow, it's Ginger Molasses with Whipped Cream frosting.

Today's Project: Basil Bread

When the basil comes in, the eatin' gets good. Today's basil project was Genovese Basil Bread. Hop on over to my food blog, Time to Cook, for the recipe and pictures of my helpers. :-)

I'm also working on the No-Knead Bread from the New York Times. You can check out that recipe and an article about it here, but I won't post it on my food blog until I see how it comes out.

If you want to see some *real* food blogs, check out Simply Recipes and Farmgirl Fare. Good stuff, I tell ya!

I'll skip F for now. G is for...

...grape juice! Bo and I just canned 12 quarts of grape juice concentrate from two bushels of Concord grapes we picked yesterday. You can read more about it here.

Pizza Party!

I hurried home from church yesterday to begin making pizza dough. It was important to start early, because I needed to make enough dough to feed nineteen children and seven adults, and prepare enough toppings for them to each make their own custom pizzas.

Last night was our homeschool group's family fellowship night. Once a year, during January, we skip the monthly meeting and meet in small groups in homes. This year, our family hosted and I took Bo's suggestion of preparing all of the ingredients and crusts and letting people create their own culinary masterpieces.

Guests arrived just as I was finishing the top crust on the Spinach and Onion Deep Dish Pizza Pie. I'd purchased a bunch of pizza screens in both 7" personal and 14" sizes. We have two ovens, so we fired them both up and got to work. I showed the kids how to stretch the dough and put it on the screen, then they took their turns heaping their pizzas with toppings while one of the dads treated us to a few selections on the piano. Very, very nice! It was really a fun time. My favorite pizza was the white pizza with feta cheese, spinach, fresh garlic, parmesan and olive oil. Delicious! I had enough sauce and dough balls left over to freeze and the ladies helped me clean up.

I'd love to do it again. Pizza party, anyone?

Time to Cook: Introducing a New Blog!

I should take showers more often.

After a day of feeling pretty yucky and under-the-weather, I took a shower so that I could head out to the grocery store looking more like a human being than a monstah. While showering, I got an idea for a new blog.

Time to Cook.

Basically, it's about the basics. It's about slowing down and making meals from scratch, from good, basic ingredients.

It's about taking time to cook.

I'd love to see you there!

Time to Cook!

Yogurt!

I posted a short list of what I wanted for Christmas here, and my darling husband Bo read it. I'm happy to say that, out of the eleven things I listed, I'm a happy owner of four of them. One, the Asics shoes that were recommended to me by TrueVyne, were a gift to myself. I found a used pair on eBay for $24, including shipping, and the money went to a nature preserve in North Carolina. I've been very thankful for them. I think they're the first good pair of walking shoes I've ever had, and they really make a difference. Thanks, True!

The second gift I received was a membership to Feminists for Life of America. This was supposed to be a surprise, but Bo accidentally notified me a few days before Christmas. I'm looking forward to receiving the newsletters, which have always been interesting and challenging for me.

And the third gift from my list was candles. Two of my children gave me candles for Christmas and candle holders to go along with them.

The last gift from my list is probably my favorite, though the shoes are pretty close. On Christmas Day, PeacefulLady came for a visit, bringing with her a quart of homemade yogurt which was absolutely scrumptious. As we were discussing home-yogurt making, Bo confessed that he had also ordered the yogurt maker that I'd asked for which makes a quart of yogurt at a time. It came a few days later, and I've made four batches of yogurt since, thanks to PeacefulLady's yummy recipe, which I now impart to you. PL makes it in gallon batches, so I am including both the version I make, which makes one quart, and her version, which makes a gallon.

Quart Version:

1 quart of milk (I use whole raw cow's milk)
3 oz evaporated milk (which, I think, is a little less than 1/2 cup)
1/4-1/3 cup sweetener (I used 1/4 honey in one and 1/2 cup honey in one, and neither were super sweet. Today I used 1/3 cup sugar)
1/2 teaspoon vanilla
1/4 cup yogurt which has live active cultures. PL says it doesn't matter if it's plain or vanilla. I've used both with the same results. Once you make your first batch, you can use yogurt from your own batches to keep it going until the cultures weaken, then you have to buy more.
(PL adds gelatin to hers, but I couldn't figure out the right ratio, so I left it out. Because we use whole jersey milk, it thickened just fine without the gelatin.)

Partially fill a sink with cold water and get all of your ingredients ready and measured. It goes quickly, so you want to be ready. Temperatures are very important for good yogurt.

For raw milk, heat the milk to 180 degrees F. I was hesitant to do this because I wanted the good health properties of the raw milk, but my first batch didn't come out so well. When I called PL, she said that heating it creates a creamier yogurt. I tried it, heating it to about 186, and she was right. Very creamy.

Turn of the heat.

Add the evaporated milk, sweetener and vanilla. Stir well.

Place your pan in the cold water and stir. Your goal is to quickly cool the milk to between 110 and 115 degrees. This happens more quickly than you'd think.

When the milk has cooled, add the yogurt using a very clean whisk. Bad bacteria can take over and make your yogurt clumpy and yucky. Very thoroughly mix in the yogurt.

Pour the mix into a quart jar or yogurt maker.

This is the tricky part, and this is why I asked for the yogurt maker. The yogurt must incubate for between 4 and 10 hours at around 100 degrees. Too hot, and you'll cook the yogurt. Too cool and it won't incubate properly. Some people fill a cooler with hot water, place their jars or containers in it and leave it alone until it sets.

Don't touch it. Don't open it. Wait for about four hours, then very carefully check it. If it seems thickened and creamy, you can taste it to see if it's tart enough. If it is, put it in the fridge until it's cool, then you're done!

Add fruit and stuff after it's done.

One Gallon version (makes five quarts):

One gallon of milk
2 T gelatin
1/2 cup cold water
12 oz can evaporated milk
1 1/4 cup sugar or 1 cup honey
2 t vanilla
1 cup yogurt with active cultures

Follow instructions above, except that you should dissolve the gelatin in the water before you start, if you plan to use it. Add the gelatin when you add the milk, sweetener and vanilla. Follow the rest of the directions, pouring your mixture into five quart jars or containers (doesn't matter if it's glass or plastic, just as long as their really, really clean).

90-120 degrees makes yogurt, so keep your temp within the range. I think around 90-95 is optimal.

Enjoy!

::: the attack of sweet tooth :::

Every year for Christmas, all of the kind people in our whole neighborhood distribute plates of home-baked goodies to each other. Because the majority of my neighbors are Amish, we have some absolutely amazing baked goods on Christmas day and before, and plenty of them.

Beginning a few days before Christmas, they come. They walk up the driveway in their plain clothes, men in black hats or stocking-caps worn way up high on their heads, women in their white bonnets, strings dangling over their shoulders, and they bear plates full of home-baked pies, sugar cookies, thumbprints, Buckeyes, chocolate chip, snack mixes, pretzel clusters, chocolate-dipped Oreos...the list goes on. They bring them early so that folks can serve them on Christmas day.

Though my intentions are always good, I tend to bring up the rear. We pretty consistently deliver our gifts on Christmas Eve or, more often, the days following Christmas. For me, I guess, that extends the season a bit, gives folks something they can savor after all of the other stuff has run out. Sounds like a good marketing strategy, doesn't it? It's not all that intentional. It's actually justification for my being too busy to get it all done. What am I usually busy doing?

Why, baking, of course.

The explanation of where all that baking goes is simple. I have a dishonest, unrelentless sweets addict in my house who will devour anything that is not totally and completely hidden, locked-up or removed from the premises, and, furthermore, will stop at practically nothing find and consume the sweets.

My father, who lives with us, is notorious for eating sweets in large quanitities. The kids tell the story of how they locked their holiday candy into a little locker. He literally ran over it with the car to get it open. They go to great lengths to secure their goodies, but he always finds them somehow, and gets all angry and self-defensive when he's discovered. The kids have actually created a comic strip series where he is the bad guy, Sweet Tooth, and they are doing their best to prevent him from doing his dastardly deeds. When I bake cookies or make candies, buy cookies or candies, they must be completely secured, or they will, definitely, be gone. Ice cream doesn't stand a chance. Since I don't have a freezer with a lock, I must buy ice cream in massive quantities if we expect to have any. Last year, there was a sale on Breyers--$2 a half-gallon--and I bought about twelve half-gallons. Before I knew it, he had eaten over half of it. He'll consume a half-gallon in one night during a series of midnight snacks. It doesn't matter how I threaten or beg. It doesn't matter if I guilt or coerce. It doesn't matter if his blood pressure is up or his cholesterol is high. He'll just take a new medication to fix it. And, since he rides a bicycle ever day for 20-30 miles, his body doesn't look any worse for the wear (though, at a little over 60, all of his teeth literally rotted and fell out and he had to have very expensive dentures made last year). He has a sick addiction. And what's worse, if the goodies are forbidden, that's even better. If I buy him a sack of candy just for himself, he will hardly touch it. He'll give it all away to the children. But if the children get an Easter basket full of goodies, he'll have them gone before you can say Peter Rabbit.

This year, I made dozens and dozens of cookies, several kinds of shortbreads, hand-dipped Buckeyes, and a batch of vanilla caramels that had to be boiled to the right temperature, cooled for several hours, cuts into bite-sized pieces, and wrapped in little hand-cut squares of wax paper. These last little treats were placed in a grocery bag and hidden deep in the confines of my closet. All of the other goodies were consumed almost as quickly as I could make them. If they weren't hidden well enough, they would become part of a midnight snack, which I would not realize had occured until it was time to break them out to make the gift plates. This is a struggle every year, for every holiday, and during every baking session.

One evening, two of my former co-workers from the cheesehouse came by and brought us dinner. It was such a lovely thought and such a delicious dinner, and I was so glad to have them here, that I decided to show my appreciation by breaking out the caramels and giving them each a few. Goodbyes were said. Hugs were given. Greetings of the season were tossed over shoulders as they headed out the door. And I, in the busyness of it all, forgot to confine the caramels.

When it was time to make the goody plates, the entire bag-- several pounds of hand-wrapped caramels--were completely gone.

You would think I would learn. Because this, my friends, is not the first time this has happened.

Several years ago, during the Christmas of 2000, the kids and I made a half-dozen batches of caramels and hand-pulled molasses taffy. We wrapped them each in their little wax paper blankies. Our plan was to make up plates for all of our friends and neighbors (we lived in the city at the time) and go caroling. I never would have dreamed that all of those candies, probably ten to twelve pounds in all, would have disappeared. Yet when I went to take them from the cupboard, they were all gone. Every last one of them. When I asked the sweets thief about them, he confessed (which came as more of an announcement than a confession)to taking them with him to work and distributing them to his co-workers.

He gave our caramels away to people I don't even know. Without asking. All that work and time and hope was gone.

When I reminded him of this after his last caramel-scarfing episode, he didn't remember that at all. Or, more accurately, he pretended not to remember.

Because that's his other maddening trait. He pretends he didn't do it. He pretends to forget he did it. Or, with a terribly annoying smirk on his face, he blames it on The Baby (or whichever child happens to be the baby at the time). Or the dog. Or a burglar. Or the potbellied pig.

I don't know why this gets under my skin so much, but it does. It absolutely infuriates me. I feel my heart begin to race, and I feel my temper flare, and I feel I have no control, and I lose it. I say the most angry things to my dad. I guess, mostly, because I know how much work it took to make those things, or how, when I or the kids get candy as a gift, we savor it, keep it for when we really want it, and he doesn't. It doesn't mean anything to him. The time doesn't mean anything. The effort and care doesn't mean anything. It's just sugar. And there's never enough. He just scarfs it down with no apology and no compassion. Just lame jokes and a stupid smirk.

So, with all of the pre-holiday cookies being devoured as quickly as I could bake them, and all of the caramels and Buckeyes stolen by the despicable candy thief, I arose early on the day after Christmas and baked. And baked. And baked. And baked. And I stood watch over every cookie and every piece of toffee and every little peanut butter cup-- feeling guilty for being a greedy, selfish, ungrateful daughter (his indignant comments certainly never help)-- until the goodies were safely arranged on plates, sealed into baggies and shuttled to our car. Then Bo and I delivered each treat to the kind, thoughtful neighbors who had delivered their treats to us a week before. Only then was I able to relax.

Well, except for the nagging guilt that is mine as the daughter of a manipulator.

Today, I will bake several batches of Tasha Tudor cutout cookies, and I will place them on a big, important-looking plate. I will not stand guard. I will not offer them (because he won't touch them if I do).

I will just leave them sitting unattended and say nothing.

It's my feeble offering to the guilt gods.

Of desserts, departures and Dark Lords

I can't sleep.

I know I'm not the only one in this house who's still awake. Bard's awake. Bo's awake. Houdin's awake.

In less than six hours, we will be standing in an airport waving goodbye to our dear daughter as she boards a plane to China.

China.

Half-way around the world.

I think I'm going to puke.

We all tried to occupy our minds today by keeping busy. Since it's Houdin's birthday, and since I've been promising him that I would teach him how to make cheesecake since Christmas, and since there are too many "sinces" in this sentence, I spent the morning in the kitchen, first making bread (which turned out loverly) and then assisting Houdin with his first Milk Chocolate Cheesecake with Oreo Crust. He insisted on tempering the melted chocolate before adding it to the cream cheese/sour cream/egg mixture because Alton Brown said that was the thing to do. I have to admit, it was the first cheesecake I've ever made that didn't crack on top.

While the cheesecake cooled in the fridge, Bard, Houdin, Monet, Bo and I hopped into the car to drive the 45 minutes to the movie theater to see Revenge of the Sith. All I can say is that Anakin should have noticed when people's eyes turn inhuman colors, that they're most likely evil and should not be trusted. Oh, and I can say this, too; Am I the only one who knew from Episode I that Darth Sidious had the same horrible chin and pointy nose as Senator Palpatine? Bard insists that none of the Jedi had ever seen Sidious, but I find that hard to believe, what with all the "I sense great confusion in you," stuff. Couldn't they sense great EVIL when that creepy Palaptine sauntered into the room? Mace Out-the-Window didn't get the "I sense great freakiness in you and can tell that you're going to do me in" message from our pal Palp? Sheesh. But I suppose George Lucas knows what he's doing. He's just a tad wealthier than I am, after all, so I suppose I can't argue.

After a brief jaunt to Don Pablos for shared appetizers, we drove back home to cut the cheesecake. It was absolutely delicious and Houdin was quite proud, repeatedly drawing everyone's attention to the flawless, uncracked top of the decadent dessert.

And now...oh, my. It's after midnight. I'm going to have to wake up before I even get into bed. Did I mention that I can't sleep?

In less than six hours, my daughter will be flying half-way around the world.

I think I'm going to puke.