This time, though, he wasn’t quite sure why he was leaving. He didn’t have to, yet, there were still a few air conditioners that needed repairs at LouAnn’s Bunkhouse, and the manager, Skeeter, had been pretty happy to have someone to fix things so he wouldn’t have to do it himself. And yet, it felt time to leave. He’d gotten too close this time, too close to actually settling down, staying awhile, and that scared him.

It was mostly Debbie’s fault. Debbie, who didn’t bat an eyelash when he sat down at the counter of her diner and ordered a coffee with a shot of maple syrup in it. She just smiled, nodded, and passed him the bottle of syrup so he could pour as much as he liked. After awhile, she’d have a hot beef sandwich and a slice of blueberry pie waiting for him around six, when he’d finish with the day’s repairs. Sometimes he’d even stay and talk till her shift was done, and they’d go for a drive around town. She would point out all the local spots, with local gossip included, and he would nod and try not to look at the way her hair curled just behind her ear, where she continually tucked it back throughout the day. She caught him looking a few times, and just smiled. She knew he would be moving on soon, knew he wouldn’t try anything with her, that he respected her. So she let him moon over her a bit, and she enjoyed the drive.

Once in awhile Debbie would mention moving on herself, but mostly to move to the next town over, go to school at their community college, maybe be a teacher. She never did move though, mostly resigning herself that she’d always be the waitress at someone else’s diner in that little town. Les didn’t like when she talked like that, she sounded like a caged animal then, trapped and not seeing a way to escape.

The more time he spent with Debbie, the more Les felt it would be time to move on soon. He was getting too attached to this place, to her, really, and attachments made it hard to do what he did. So one evening, when he went in for his sandwich and pie, he told Debbie. Once again, she didn’t flinch, as though she’d been expecting this day to come, waiting for it. He was almost sad about that. He finished his meal, and didn’t wait for the nightly drive, claiming he needed to pack. He tipped her and left.

The next day, after letting Skeeter know, he checked out of his room ad loaded his things in the trunk of his old beater car. When he slammed the trunk shut and looked up, there she was. Debbie was standing beside the car, duffel bag in hand.

“Where are we going?” She smiled at him. He nodded, took her bag and placed it in the trunk alongside his own.

“I don’t rightly know. Why don’t we find out?”

Enter Raddish Kids. They send a box to your home each month with illustrated recipes, tools, and a special patch showing the skills learned in that kit to sew onto an apron that comes in the first box. The thing I've loved about it is that we've tried new foods (we all learned to like tomato soup, something previously unheard of), and Jonathan is the head chef through it all. He can follow the instructions, assemble the ingredients, and for the most part, prepare everything himself. (Chris and I are still on onion and meat chopping duties.) Jonathan is proud of what he's making and is more willing to try new things as a result. Also, since the recipes are new to all of us, it's easier for me to let Jonathan be in charge, and do things the way the recipe shows him to! All around, this has been a great blessing for us. (Thanks Mom and Dad for the fantastic gift!!)

Jonathan measuring spices for Chilly Night Chili. We all loved it so much, he'll be making it for our church chili cook-off this Sunday!

This time around, I made pumpkin oat muffins. Chris loves pumpkin just about anything, and I thought that he might remember breakfast if it was something really appealing. (He had to be early this time, I didn't.)  These muffins have the advantage of being firmly established on the breakfast muffin side of things, (as opposed to the cake muffin, mostly a dessert) and as such I was happy to give my son one for breakfast as well, without worrying about a sugar high and subsequent crash. Their base is whole wheat flour and oat bran (ground up oatmeal) as well as rolled oats. The recipe hails from the era that feared the egg yolk, the 1990s, and so there are two egg whites, but you could probably use one whole egg if you so desire. The recipe also calls for canned pumpkin, but I can attest that if you find yourself without plain canned pumpkin, but with canned pumpkin pie filling, that will definitely work just as well.

Pumpkin Oat Muffins, from Kitchen Magic, S.D. Extension Homemakers Cookbook, 1992, recipe from Hazel O'Bryan

Ingredients:

1 1/3 c. oat bran (ground up oats, throw some in a blender, food processor, or spice grinder, grind to a powder)

3/4 c. whole wheat flour

1 c. rolled oats

1 1/4 c. milk

2 egg whites (1 whole egg would probably work too.)

2 T. vegetable oil

1/2 c. raisins

1/2 t. nutmeg

1/2 t. ginger

1 t. cinnamon

3/4 c. pumpkin

1/2 c. brown sugar

1 T. baking powder

Opt. Streusel topping:

3 T. flour

3 T. brown sugar

1 T. cinnamon

(The recipe doesn't call for this, but I would add a bit of butter to the streusel next time, to help it stick a bit more.)

Directions:

Combine milk, bran, and rolled oats in a bowl. Mix flour, brown sugar, baking powder, and spices. Blend in pumpkin, egg whites, oil and raisins. Add oat mixture, then add flour mixture and stir until just blended. Mix streusel ingredients together, if using. Put batter in muffin tins. Top with streusel, if using. Bake at 350ºF for 20 minutes. This made 16 muffins for me. Enjoy!

I'm planning out what to plant for next year, changing out the watermelon for some sort of squash, probably, picking a new variety of green beans and cucumber, trying to remap where I'll plant things. I enjoy this planning, despite things rarely turning out the way that I plan. It's good to hope for next year, while settling into this season a bit more. This is my favorite season, and I intend to enjoy whatever it brings.

Margaret started tugging at one of her braids and fiddling with the end of it. It was something her mother couldn't stand her doing, since she usually ended up working the band out and unraveling the braid, but her mother was focused on getting her sister's dress settled just right at the back of the church.  Allison got to be the flower girl for their cousin June's wedding, and Margaret was stuck sitting behind her grandmother, bored. Her mother finally came and slipped into the seat next to her. The music started, and she leaned out of her chair a little bit and looked up the aisle to her sister. Allison started to toss rose petals on the church floor by giant fistfuls, and she stuck out her tongue at Margaret. Margaret looked around quickly to see if anyone else saw her do it, and would yell at her, but they were all looking behind her at the bridesmaids.

The bridesmaids, all seven of them, wore hot pink heels and dark blue dresses that only reached their knees. Margaret loved their shoes. They reminded her of the shoes that came with her Barbie. She felt bad for the bridesmaids though. Her mother had made her wear her pink cowboy boots and her brown scratchy pants, because they were warm, and there was snow outside. The bridesmaids looked cold, and they were still inside. They didn't even have sleeves! They walked up the aisle so gracefully, though, that Margaret soon forgot about the cold. She watched them arrive at the front of the church, release the arms of the groomsmen escorting them, and step, wobbling slightly, up the steps to wait for the bride.

The music changed. Margaret looked back again and watched as Cousin June walked in the room on Uncle Robert's arm. Margaret gasped. She looked like a princess! Her dress was poofy and sparkly, with a dark blue sash tied in a giant bow around her waist, and she had a big bouquet of hot pink roses in her hand. She would be warm enough, too, Margaret decided. Her dress reached the floor, and she even had pretty lace sleeves all the way to her elbows. June kissed Uncle Robert on the cheek and walked up the steps.

Margaret decided she'd count the candles around everyone on stage, but there were so many she lost count. The pastor started talking and she snuggled into her mother's side. Before she knew it, her mother was gently shaking her awake. The ceremony had ended, Cousin June was now married, and it was time to get up.

"Time for cake?" Margaret had been looking forward to the cake all day.

Her mother smiled. "Yes, time for cake."

One note before launching into the recipe: This recipe requires ancho chile powder. Ancho chile powder is dried poblanos ground to a powder. As such, it is much milder than other chile powders, and some say even a bit sweeter. I couldn't find any this time around and ended up substituting chipotle chile powder, which is much hotter and has a smoked flavor, being made from dried and smoked jalapeños. If you end up having to do the same, be sure to reduce the amount. I used 1/4 teaspoon to the 1 teaspoon called for, though I think I'd increase it to a half teaspoon next time, as the flavor was good but there wasn't much heat. DO NOT sub in "chili powder", which is a whole different animal than the various "chile" powders. Chili powder is a blend of chile powder, often ancho but not always, and spices like oregano, cumin, and others. If you use chili powder, you risk throwing off all the seasoning, and also ending up with a much hotter dish, depending on what type of chile they used as a base.

Arroz con Pollo, from Poulet, by Cree LeFavour

Ingredients:

8 to 10 bone-in, skin-on chicken thighs

1 T peanut oil, plus more for the chicken

kosher salt

1 yellow onion, coarsely chopped

1 t ancho chile powder or 1 dried ancho chile (see note above)

1 t cumin seeds

1/4 t ground cinnamon or 1 cinnamon stick

3 garlic cloves, thinly sliced

1 cup long grain white rice

1 cup black beans, cooked from dried or rinsed and drained canned beans (We used kidney beans here, as Chris isn't a fan of black beans)

4 cups chicken stock

1/4 cup cilantro leaves (left these out, can't stand cilantro!)

Flaky salt for finishing

1/2 cup mexican crema or sour cream

Directions:

Rub the chicken with peanut oil and sprinkle with kosher salt. Let rest on your counter to take the chill off, about 30 minutes.

Heat the 1 T peanut oil in a 12 in. or larger cast iron frying pan or a 5 qt. or larger dutch oven. (We went the dutch oven route and were very glad for the high sides. Ours is a 6 qt., and we had a bit of room at the top by the end of this, but not much.) Working in batches, lay the thighs in the pan, skin side down. Cook until nicely browned on both sides, about 10 minutes. (I was a bit impatient, so mine aren't as 'nicely browned' as they could have been.) As you finish each batch, transfer to a plate lined with paper towels to drain the excess oil. When all the chicken is browned, pour off the excess oil but don't clean the pan. Return it to heat.

Add the onion, chile powder, cumin seeds, and cinnamon to the pan and cook over medium heat until everything is fragrant, about 7 minutes.

Add the garlic and rice to the pan and cook, stirring until the rice is translucent and begins to brown, 3 to 5 minutes. Add the beans, stock, and 1/2 teaspoon of kosher salt and stir. Return the chicken to the pot. Cover and cook until the rice is tender and the chicken in the thickest part is cooked through. The temperature should be at 175ºF and should be just barely pink at the bone, with clear juices. There will be a lot of liquid left simmering around the chicken at this point. Resist the urge to let it simmer and reduce, since as soon as you stir and the rice is no longer stuck on the bottom of the pot, you will need that liquid.

Sprinkle each serving with the cilantro and flaky salt. Pass the crema at the table. Enjoy!

Fast forward to a couple years ago, when I'd had my own kitchen for awhile, and hadn't really resorted to either product in quite some time. A cookbook came out, one I kept seeing reviews of on other sites. It's called The Homemade Pantry: 101 Foods You Can Stop Buying and Start Making. On the cover, none other than pop tarts. Purely aside from the fact that Alana Chernila, the author, was clearly leading with a great recipe, it had never really occurred to me that pop tarts were something you could make. They were, in my mind, in that category of highly processed, not real food category, and were fairly well off limits for me, who goes crazy around too much sugar. Looking at this recipe though, the filling could be as sweet, or not, as I chose, and the crust was simply pie crust. I could handle that. There was even a suggestion to fill them with tomato sauce and cheese, and make a sort of pizza pocket. SOLD. I bought the book, intrigued by this and many other recipes, and have not regretted it for a moment. 

While I've yet to make the hot pockets, I did take the time to make the pop tarts, partly as a treat to my son for starting first grade, and partly just because I wanted to see how they'd turn out. They were great! I've got a few tweaks in mind for next time, mainly in my assembly method, but the recipe is solid. I even tried the recommended pie crust recipe to go with it, and I'm glad I did. I probably won't stop making my mom's recipe, but this is a great recipe to have in the freezer for when I need some pie crust readily available, or when I'm just not in the mood to make some right then. The pie crust is flaky and delicious, and, as pop tarts, worlds better than the original inspiration. I filled mine with homemade strawberry jam and lemon curd, but the options are endless.

Toaster Pastries, from The Homemade Pantry, by Alana Chernilla

The longest step in this recipe is making the pie crust. You can skip it if you want, and go with store bought, but this recipe makes GREAT pie crust, and it's easy.

Ingredients:

For the pie crust:

1 cup cold, unsalted butter

2 1/4 cups all purpose flour (I ran out, so I subbed in whole wheat pastry flour for the last 1/2 cup or so, and these turned out great for me)

2 tsp. apple cider vinegar

1/2 tsp. salt

1/3 cup water

For the toaster pastries:

1 large egg, beaten with 1 tablespoon water

flour for the counter

One of the fillings suggested below, or your own

Opt. powdered sugar or frosting of choice for topping

Optional fillings:

Sweet: Jams, Curds, Nutella, cinnamon sugar, puréed fruit, chocolate

Savory, pizza sauce and cheese, pesto, cheese

Both: Peanut butter and jam/jelly/honey for an 'uncrustables style' sandwich

Directions:

To make the pie crust:

Make sure you have space in your freezer for a mixing bowl and a measuring cup. You'll need it in a moment.

Cut the butter into 1/2 in. squares and combine with the flour in the bowl of a stand mixer. Using your hands, toss the mixture to coat the butter in the flour. Put the bowl in the freezer. In a measuring cup, combine water, vinegar, and salt. Stir until the salt is dissolved and then put the measuring cup in the freezer as well. Freeze everything for 10 minutes.

Take just the mixing bowl out of the freezer and blend the mixture on low speed with the paddle attachment until it starts to become the texture of crumbly meal. Take the measuring cup out of the freezer and, with the mixer still running on low speed, slowly pour the wet ingredients into the bowl. The dough will be crumbly, then after about 20 seconds, it will come together in a ball. Stop the mixer.

Turn the dough out onto the counter and press it into a large disc. Cut the dough in two equal parts, wrap each piece in waxed paper (I used saran wrap) and press into a disc. Refrigerate for at least 1 hour, and up to 3 days. (You can also freeze at this point, in a freezer bag for extra protection. It'll be good for about 6 months. Thaw in the refrigerator before rolling.) From here you can make the toaster pastries, or you have great pie crust ready for a pie!

For the toaster pastries:

Preheat the oven to 375ºF. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper.

Roll dough into a rectangle, roughly 9x12", cutting away any errant edges with a sharp knife. Cut into six smaller rectangles of roughly equal size. Transfer to baking sheet with at least 2 inches between them. (Mine were closer, and it wasn't too much of a problem, except when filling leaked a little out of one and got on the one next to it.) 

With a pastry brush, brush the egg mixture onto each rectangle. Save the leftover egg mixture, you'll need it again.

Scoop about 1 tablespoon of filling onto each rectangle in a thin line down the center.

Roll out the second disc of pie dough, and repeat the process to make rectangles. Lay the new batch of rectangles on top of the rectangles with filling, and seal by pressing a fork around the perimeter of each rectangle. Using the pastry brush, paint the tops of each pastry with egg wash and poke several times with a fork.

Bake for 20 to 25 minutes, or until golden. Let cool on a wire rack for at least 20 minutes before dusting with powdered sugar or spreading frosting. Enjoy!

Jonathan loves this area. He's standing on the top deck of a space shuttle, getting ready to go through the launch sequence. There are buttons throughout the cabin, that, when they all get pressed at the same time, the whole thing rumbles and shakes. From the outside, or possibly from the window right behind him as well, you can see the boosters mounted outside releasing "smoke". (Large gray smoke-shaped bags inflate for a minute.) As soon as it's done, the kids run around, push all the buttons, and do it again.

This room is pretty cool. There's a projected image on one wall that you can manipulate thanks to a camera watching where light is blocked. The falling sand goes around your shadow, or thereabouts, and you can even hold your arms up and gather some in the "bowl." We had lots of fun in here.

Ashley looked up the beach. Other blankets were spread out here and there, fellow watchers, mostly. There were people who came here to see, to take a break from their own lives and imagine a bit about the lives of others, and there were those who came to be seen. They were mostly the people walking around in their swimsuits who never seemed to get wet, and the people who perhaps walked and ran a bit too closely to the blankets, who made sure they couldn't avoid being seen. There were also those who came here to be in their own world, who couldn't care less about whether they were seen, or saw others. Ashley suspected the elderly couple to be of this sort.

She could hear the waves coming in, and the seagulls calling to each other about the food they found. She heard kids in the shallows, where the water only splashed their knees when the waves came in and they'd laugh, every time. She heard the scratching walk of one very determined hermit crab, trying to sneak by unnoticed at the edge of her blanket. Ashley sat up and he scurried away, startled. She opened her sandwich and took a bite. One seagull had clearly spotted her already, and landed nearby, She didn't mind sharing her sandwich with him, but she didn't like the mobbing swarm of many seagulls, so she tossed him a crust about six feet away, and kept a steady stream of bread tossed to him to keep him quiet until the sandwich was gone.

When she was done, she stood, shaking the blanket and folding it. The seagull had come closer to peck at the laces of her shoes, which had been near the bottom of the blanket, so she shooed him away and emptied the sand out of them. Lacing them up, she took one last look up the beach. There were clouds rolling in now, and many other watchers were packing up to go. A few oblivious people who'd fallen asleep would be woken up with the rain on their backs soon. Ashley smiled. It had been a good day.

Zucchini Chocolate Brownies, from Baltic Maid 

The recipe is completely dairy-free if the chocolate chips are dairy-free.

Ingredients:

2 eggs

1 tbsp vanilla extract

1 cup sugar

1/4 tsp salt

1/4 cup applesauce

1 cup whole wheat flour

1/2 cup unsweetened cocoa powder (I used a mix of dutch processed and regular, so mine brownies turned out a bit darker)

1 1/2 tsp baking soda

1 tsp cinnamon

1/4 tsp ground cardamom

2 cups grated zucchini

1 1/2 cups semi-sweet chocolate chips (I used a mix of semi-sweet and milk)

some mini chocolate chips, for sprinkling on top

Directions:

Preheat the oven to 350°F, and grease an 8x8 or 9x9 pan..

In a bowl, combine the eggs, vanilla extract, sugar, salt, and the applesauce.

Sift the flour and the cocoa powder into another bowl.  Add the baking soda, the cinnamon and the cardamom.  Stir together.

Add the flour mixture to the egg mixture and combine until the dry ingredients are mixed in well. Add the grated zucchini and the chocolate chips. Mix once more.

Pour the brownie batter into your prepared pan. Top with mini chocolate chips.

Bake for 30 to 40 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out somewhat clean. There will be batter stuck to the toothpick, you just don't want it to be thin and goopy. Thicker, with a few crumbs is better. Mine took closer to 40 minutes, but they were a bit more cake-like, rather than fudge-like.

Allow to cool completely in the pan. Enjoy!

Jonathan of course wanted to make a silly face while posing with his friend. They had a great time together!

Some recipes I may never make, such as the matrimonial cake whose base is a pound of dates cooked down into a paste, and others, like her peanut clusters she used to make every christmas and has recorded in three separate places in the book, I may bring back in time. I came across one recipe that I couldn't wait to make though, called Butterscotch Biscuits. It reads more like pie dough than biscuits, or cookies, as it really turns out more like, but it did not disappoint. While I was making them, I was picturing my Grandma making them in her kitchen, and I couldn't help but smile. Some things are meant to last.

Butterscotch Biscuits, from Elsie Van Camp

Ingredients:

2 cups Flour

1 tsp salt

4 tsp baking powder

4 tsp Crisco (I used softened butter)

3/4 cup milk

2 Tbsp melted butter, plus more for pan

3/4 cup brown sugar

Directions:

Mix together the flour, salt, and baking powder. Either with your hands or on your mixer’s lowest speed, mix in the crisco/butter. Slowly incorporate the milk. (I mixed everything by hand and found that using a rubber spatula to fold in the milk worked relatively well.) The dough will seem sticky, but workable.

Roll dough out on clean, floured or buttered surface (I used butter, might use flour next time.) Shape roughly into a square. Spread surface with the 2 T melted butter, and sprinkle 1/4 cup of the brown sugar on top. Roll up like a jelly roll (into a log or tube) and cut into 1/2 inch pieces. Place cut side down in a pan which has been spread with melted butter and 1/2 cup sugar and bake. (I simply rubbed some softened butter on the pan and then pressed the brown sugar into the tops of the cookies. I may try putting the brown sugar directly on the pan next time, for more of a caramel sauce. Make sure if you do that, that your pan has edges.) Bake for 15 minutes in a 350ºF oven.

When Jonathan heard I was planning to make a cake, he asked to help. We made carrot cake, of course, as it's been his favorite at least three years running now. I think we may be reaching the end of that run now, as he's asked for "vanilla cake with vanilla frosting" for his party on Saturday, but he still wanted to make this for his actual birthday. I'll take it.

Carrot Cake, from my Great Aunt, Alice Hanson

Ingredients:

For the cake:

2 cups white sugar

1 1/2 cups vegetable oil

4 eggs

2 cups flour

2 t. baking soda

2 t. cinnamon

3 cups finely grated carrots, loosely packed

For the frosting:

6 oz. cream cheese

Almost one stick of Oleo (I use one stick of butter)

1 lb. powdered sugar, or more

1 t. vanilla

1 cup chopped walnuts (opt., I always leave out)

Directions:

Preheat oven to 350ºF.

Sift flour, baking soda, and cinnamon together.

Mix oil and sugar together, and add one egg at a time. Beat until fluffy.

Add sifted dry ingredients to the egg mixture. Mix well, then add carrots.

Bake in a 9x13 pan for 45 minutes to an hour. (I baked this cake for about 48 minutes, and the edges were slightly toasted, but not burned.) Let cool, and make frosting.

To make the frosting, cream together the cream cheese, butter (or oleo), powdered sugar, vanilla. Once mixed well, add the walnuts, if using. Spread on cooled cake, and enjoy!

“Stasi?” Martin called out from the front seat. “What do you think of this place?” She shook herself out of her reverie and looked around. 

“No, it’s too bright. We won’t be able to see anything beyond the lights.” Tom eased the car back into gear and moved on. Greg and Ruth pointed out a few other spots they could try, but each was eliminated upon closer inspection. 

“Perhaps we should head back to the church, dear. It is beautiful there too.” Freya took her daughter’s hand. “The important thing is that you’ll be married, it doesn’t really matter where it happens.” Stasi was about to concede when she saw it. There was a large corporate building of some kind, all its lights and signage shut off at this time of night, with an outdoor courtyard, no doubt for the employee’s to eat lunch in when the weather complied.

“There. It’s perfect.” Tom pulled into the parking lot, and they looked around.

“Are you sure, honey?” Martin started to look back. Immediately Ruth stretched her scarf out and held it up. 

“You’re not supposed to see her yet!” Ruth protested. Martin laughed and turned back around.

Stasi nodded. “I’m sure sweetie. It’s perfect. No one else will have gotten married here. It’ll be ours.”

“Yours, and ‘Pacifico Pharmaceuticals’, during the day at least.” Greg teased. Ruth elbowed him.

“Here it is.” Martin announced, and Tom put the SUV in park. Everyone except Freya and Stasi got out. Freya took Stasi’s hands in her own.

“Honey, I’m so proud of you. Your father would be too. He loved Martin, and I do too. You are suited for each other perfectly. May the Lord bless you both, and guide you every day.” She kissed Stasi’s cheek, and tucked a handkerchief into Stasi’s gloved palm. “Just in case you need it.” Stasi smiled.

When they stepped out, they found the others waiting for them in a small courtyard, cleared of any tables or other furnishings. The area was faintly lit by small landscape lights sunk slightly into the ground. They gave just enough light for all to find their way, but not so much that they couldn’t clearly see the stars overhead. Stasi stepped up to take Martin’s hands, and the rest circled around them. Pastor Tom opened his Bible.

Martin leaned forward to whisper in Stasi’s ear. “You look stunning tonight, my dear.” Stasi reached up to straighten Martin’s tie, and then cupped his cheek.

“My darling, it’s all for you.” They smiled at each other.

Pastor Tom smiled and cleared his throat. “We are gathered here this evening to witness the union of two very special people, Anastasia Grace Quentin and Martin Reynaldo Diaz…”

Clara loved her job. It was frustrating at times, trying to bring balance to a kitchen that was inherently and insanely unbalanced. She managed one of the kitchens for Essensgeld Catering, and nothing could go out without her approval. She wasn’t sure it was a normal catering practice to so fully trust one person’s tastes, but this was her first job of this sort in years. And she was happy, so she didn’t really mind what the other companies did.

She’d been a stay-at-home mom for years, one of her greatest work experiences, she would joke, but her kids were grown now, and she needed work, needed to feel useful. Her husband had encouraged her, seeing how restless she was, and had suggested calling her friend Marjorie to see if they needed any help. Marjorie offered her the kitchen manager position at her South Bay location, saying she trusted Clara’s taste, having shared many dinner parties with her. I simply can’t be in two places at once, She’d said. You’d really be doing me a favor. Clara knew Marjorie was really the one doing her a favor, but she didn’t argue. She was especially thankful for the job now that John had passed on, and the house was too still. She loved the hours the company asked of her, so she was never home alone at dinner. Breakfast she could handle, John had always left early for work, but dinner…dinner was awful. And so she threw herself into her work.

She slid her tasting spoon along the edge of a plate of enchiladas and tested the sauce. She turned to cough. “Who plated this?” She called out to the hectic kitchen before her. A young man, Eric, she thought, stepped forward out of the chaos. 

“I did, Ma’am.” He was visibly shaking, never having been called forward before. He’d been here for maybe a week now. Who told him to start plating? He should still be doing dishes! She shook her head.

“You topped this dish with pure cayenne, not paprika, as instructed. If you can’t tell the difference on sight, dash a bit on your finger first and taste it. If your mouth burns, don’t put it on the food.” Clara turned to move the plate to the staff area, knowing that the food wouldn’t go to waste even if it couldn’t be served to a customer.

“It’s supposed to be spicy, I thought.” Eric spoke. It was rare for Clara’s tastes to be challenged, and she stopped mid-motion in surprise.

“Eric, is it? The dish is spicy. My job is to make sure it is the exact level of spice desired. There are green chiles in the enchiladas and ancho and guajillo peppers simmered in the sauce. It is more than spicy enough for today’s purposes. You like it spicier, fine. Make them for yourself, at home, away from the customers. In the meantime, back to dishes.” She turned and walked away, shaking her head. He didn’t know how lucky he was that it was Clara that had to chide him instead of Marjorie. Had he been in her kitchen, he probably would have lost his job.

Clara walked over to the dessert table, nodded to Bernice and Tommy, who stepped back from their creations for her to approve. She’d tasted the samples they’d made for her earlier that day, so she simply had to approve the design. Tommy’s cakes were impeccable works of art, perfectly painted gum paste flowers atop delicate cakes with perfect crumb, surrounded by small chocolate curls. In contrast, Bernice had made flan for this particular event, and it was freshly turned out onto plates, caramel sauce oozing everywhere. 

“Bernice, wipe the plate rims, and you’ll be fine. Tommy, make sure you put the chocolate curls at the base just before the plates go out. This one is warming too quickly in here. Lovely work, you two.” She walked back through the kitchen, in search of Wallace, her head waiter. He was leaning on the counter near Daisy, his girlfriend, who was burning the corn. 

“Wallace, let her work, or she’ll continue to burn my side dishes and I’ll have to send her back to dishes.” Daisy had just earned her way out of the dish washing area two weeks prior, and she straightened and gasped when she saw the state of the corn. 

“It’s alright, Daisy, we’ll call it charred, and they’ll love it. Pay attention though, I can’t save everything with wording.” Clara turned to Wallace.

“Time to work. Please let the hosts know that everything is running according to schedule and dinner is prepared and ready at their leisure.” Wallace nodded, brushed his vest and strolled out.

Clara nodded to herself. Ok. Here we go.

This is currently my favorite flower growing in our yard. It's a lovely rosebush that produces lots of vibrantly hot pink roses. I've already clipped some and brought them in for a small bouquet to enjoy, and there's still half a dozen more. I normally wouldn't have chosen a long stem rosebush, but I really love this one, so much so that I may end up getting another to plant nearby, if I can decide on a color!

Our peas are growing like crazy now. I'm considering whether or not i need to add more twine for them to grow up to, but we'll see. They're about a third of the way up the current trellis. No buds yet, but I'm hoping soon there will be.

My sage bush came back after the hard winter. I've never had sage flower for me, normally because I always kept it in pots, and it would get all spindly and die. It's one of the plants that actually is thriving in my soil. :)

This is my swiss chard. It's a little spindly, and there's still some weeds, but I pulled out a lot of weeds yesterday from this area, so they're doing a lot better now.

I have a plan for my beans here, to hang cattle fence against my fence as a trellis. I simply have to get it done! Hopefully soon...

I weeded around this watermelon three days ago, and you can't even really tell now. The purslane is growing like crazy!!

This is what purslane normally looks like. It's supposed to grow low, as ground cover. It can actually spread out quite a bit. The above pictured is a small one, but if I left it it would eventually cover all visible soil.

This is what purslane grows like in my garden. It gets tall. If I let it, it grows tall enough to brush my knees as I walk through. It is edible, and I have eaten some, but there is more than my family could ever hope to eat, even if we liked it. (The leaves are thick and juicy, like a succulent plant, and as most succulents are poisonous, I have a really hard time getting past that. I do have a recipe that I'm going to try when my tomatoes come in, for Purslane salad. (Thanks Kit!) Hopefully that will be better. We'll see...) 

Overall, my garden is growing quickly, and some things are doing well. I have a lot of weeding ahead of me, to give the carrots, onions, peppers, broccoli, watermelon, and tomatoes some breathing room. Chris and I are discussing options for a layout next year to keep weeds down, but for now, good old fashioned ripping them out of the ground is what we're working with. (Roundup didn't even phase the purslane...) Hopefully I can get some more weeding in this evening as I get some shade back there. The whole garden is roughly 32' by 15', so we'll see if I can get ahead of the weeds before they spread across the whole plot. Wish me luck!

They had rules for who got to eat it all. One would quiz the other on the looming test’s topic, and if the person answering the question got it right, they got to have a cheese of their choice. If they answered wrong, the questioner could either have a piece themselves or choose a piece that the other girl had to eat. The wrappers disappeared almost immediately, so all they had to go on for choosing their cheese was looks and smell. Often by the end both would be so full they'd swear to each other they'd not buy so much cheese next time, but they always did. It was high stakes enough that they got serious about studying, but funny enough that they enjoyed it.

Jessica was quizzing Natalie tonight, for her American History exam the next morning. “What major dam did Hoover construct?”

Natalie laughed. “Too easy! Hoover’s dam!” She surveyed the cheese and picked a soft white one with a creamy center. “Mmmm…it melts so quickly, and it’s just barely salty. So good…”

“When was the transcontinental railroad finished?” Jessica asked and then took a swig of her soda.

“Umm…1868?” Natalie asked as she swallowed the last bite of the cheese.

“Wrong! 1869!” Jessica crowed happily. She surveyed the cheeses and then chose one with thick blue ribboning throughout. “You have to eat this now. Remember this tomorrow. 1869.”

Natalie took it hesitantly from her. Blue cheese was her least favorite. She gave it a sniff. It didn’t smell terribly strong, like most blue cheese did, so she popped it in her mouth. Her eyes grew wide as she chewed. “What? What’s wrong?” Jessica asked, worried it’d been too much. They hadn’t needed a spit bucket in a long time. Natalie swallowed just as Jessica rose to get one. “Well?”

“Pesto! Not blue cheese, pesto ribbon! That was great!” Natalie laughed as Jessica rolled her eyes and dropped back into her seat.

“Alright, alright. Who were the two vice presidents for Grover Cleveland?” 

Natalie nearly choked on her root beer. “He had two? Well crap.” She took another sip of root beer and wracked her brain. “Um…Thomas Hendricks and….why does he get two?” 

Jessica laughed. “I’ll take that as concession that you have absolutely no clue. Adlai Stevenson.” She held her fingers suspended over the plate of cheese, then grabbed a hard yellow chunk. “Please be good cheddar, please be good cheddar…” She popped it in her mouth and a look of satisfaction crossed her face. 

“Good cheddar?” Natalie smiled. 

Jessica sighed. “Mmmm, very good.” She took a drink of the butterscotch soda after finishing the cheese and then picked up the study cards again.

“Okay, next question….”

We ended up choosing the Nepalese Guesthouse Chicken recipe last night for dinner, and it was SO. GOOD. My son, who usually is hesitant to try new things, actually said, “Wow! This is good! Can we make this again?” That is the ultimate compliment he can given, and to my knowledge that compliment has only ever been given to mac and cheese before this. :)

The tea leaves may seem odd in this, but I think if you used leaves from a tea bag, rather than loose leaf, like we did, the texture would be improved, as the leaves going into a tea bag are cut much smaller. If you use loose leaf, just smash them up a bit so they break into smaller pieces.

Nepalese Guesthouse Chicken, from Poulet, by Cree LeFavour

Ingredients:

8 to 10 bone-in, skin-on chicken thighs

1 tsp cumin seeds or 1/2 tsp ground cumin (for this and all following I used pre-ground spices)

1 green or brown cardamom pod or 1/2 tsp ground cardamom

1 Tbsp peanut oil

1 Tbsp Darjeeling tea (about 1 tea bag) (I used loose leaf Assam tea, as it's what I had)

1 tsp kosher salt

5 peppercorns, crushed, or 1 tsp ground pepper

1/2 tsp smoked paprika

Directions:

Grind the cumin seeds and the cardamom in a spice grinder or a clean coffee grinder. (Skip this if you're using ground spices, like I did.) In a small bowl, combine all the ingredients except the chicken to make a paste. Spread the paste on the skin of the chicken. Let stand at room temperature for 30 minutes or so before cooking.

Build a medium-low fire in a charcoal or wood grill, or heat a gas grill to medium-low. Use a clean, well cured grate. If you're using charcoal or wood, you want hot embers, not flames.

Put the thighs, skin side down, on the grill and let them cook for five minutes or so without moving them. After that, flip every five minutes to keep from sticking and burning the skin. Plan on standing and flipping the chicken every five minutes for 30 to 40 minutes.

If the chicken is burning or the fat is lighting flames, turn the heat down or move the chicken to a cooler spot, or douse the flames with a squirt bottle. Work slowly and you'll be rewarded with a crispy, delicious skin and a juicy interior.

When the chicken is done, the meat should be firm but with a little give when you poke it with your finger. An instant-read thermometer should register 175ºF/80ºC. If you're still not sure, cut into a piece and check the color. The juices that run should be clear, not red or pink, and the meat should be opaque, and only barely pink at the bone.

Remove from the grill, let stand for a minute or so while you assemble other sides, and dig in. Enjoy!

Usually when I am considering whether or not to buy a new cookbook, I have a rule. I have to at least intend to make at least half the recipes in the cookbook to actually buy it, otherwise it’s good to check out from the library to read through the couple recipes I’m interested in. Often, if the cookbook has them, the breakfast and the dessert sections are a lock. (It’s hard not to like those…) Its the main dish sections, usually the reason I’m interested in the cookbook in the first place, that tends to disqualify them. As a rule, we eat beef, chicken, and vegetarian recipes most often. If a cookbook is heavy on pork/ham recipes, or seafood, I usually pass it by. This is why, when I came across Poulet, a cookbook entirely comprised of chicken and side dish recipes, I was so excited. Most of the recipes call for either a whole chicken, something I’ve finally gotten used to working with, or chicken thighs, which are, admittedly, easier, but don’t make as frequent of an appearance.

I still hesitated, as Poulet doesn’t just explore American-style preparations, but also Bistro (french-influenced), Latin, East Asian, South Asian, and Middle Eastern and African preparations. Some (Roadside Chicken Tacos!!) immediately sounded good. Others, (such as the Chicken-Vegetable Kadhi) I simply have no point of reference for, and so I didn’t know if we’d like them or not. Still, I ended up buying Poulet, and have never regretted it. I’ve pushed myself, (and my family) to try new things, all while still having the familiar comfort of a food we’re all used to, and genuinely like. I would definitely recommend this cookbook if you are trying to branch out in your cooking, if you want some easy recipes that will quickly become family favorites, or if you want to save money by buying bone-in chicken and whole birds. Poulet is great for all of that. I hope you’ll enjoy it as much as I do.

He watched the lawn and remembered – remembered their two boys, Gilbert and Oscar, running through the yard with towels as capes, his wife scolding them when they ran through her flower beds. He remembered Oscar’s wedding, held here in the garden because he loved the sun and the flowers as much as his mother. He remembered Gilbert bringing Mary, his oldest, by every Thursday until they moved to Florida last May. He also remembered coming home from the doctor’s office in June, holding Betty’s hand tightly and steering her here, to the garden, where they could sit and process what the doctor had told them. That Betty was physically healthy, yes, but that she would begin to slip away as the Alzheimer's took her memories one by one. That she may forget things, people, even Walter, near the end.

The doctor had said it could be months, or it could be years before anything noticeable happened, but he had been wrong. It had only been weeks, weeks, before Betty began forgetting pots on the stove and the iron face down on Walter’s best shirt. Soon, Betty didn’t want to talk to Oscar on the phone anymore, didn’t know why the ‘strange young man’ kept calling. Gilbert had suggested putting Betty in a nursing home, but Walter couldn’t bear it, not yet. He could still care for her for a while longer, and she seemed to still want him nearby. He couldn’t take even that small bit of familiarity away from her now. Thus, they continued with their lives, Walter taking over the cooking and cleaning, and Betty often staring out the window or watching their old tv in the den. And every day he could, Walter brought her out to her favorite place, hoping to keep her with him a bit longer.

Betty shivered against him, and he realized that she’d fallen asleep on his shoulder. The sun had passed behind a cloud and the air took on a slight chill. He gently rubbed her arm to wake her, and he helped her stand to go in. He glanced around the garden once more before turning. Until tomorrow.

Winnie was a slight girl with bleached blonde dreadlocks adorned with clay beads, who always looked like her thin tank top and peasant skirt were three sizes too big for her small frame. She loved to dance, took every opportunity to do so, and really, she seemed most herself when she did. “The Galway Girl” came on the speakers, and Winnie laughed. “Time for the saddest dancing song ever!” She winked at Amelia and then jumped up on one of the long tables Rodney had left out from sorting inventory. She danced and spun and stomped along to the music.

Amelia laughed again and clapped along to the beat. “How is this depressing? It’s romantic!”

“Have you listened to it? It’s about a one-night stand and he never sees the girl again!” Winnie hitched her skirt just enough to jump down from the table as the song ended. A string quartet came on. It was the first song that Amelia couldn’t place.

“Wow, Rodney really went all over the place with the mix this time, didn’t he?” Winnie commented, and then the song sped up, sounding for all the world like the Black Eyed Peas mixed with Middle Eastern music played on strings. It was almost hypnotic. Winnie raised her hands high and began to spin. She turned her head quickly, so she was always looking towards Amelia even as she spun away. She reminded Amelia of a video she’d seen in her history class, of men spinning as fast as they could, hoping to reach religious ecstasy. Winnie collapsed to the floor as the song came to an end, wobbling a bit from spinning too much.

“I think I’m going to dye my hair. What do you think? Should I go purple? Or maybe teal…” Winnie fingered her dreads in consideration. “Maybe I should just cut it off. Spike it up, short and black?” Amelia smiled at her. 

“Whatever you do, Dylan will follow you to the ends of the earth.” Dylan was her slightly younger, slightly annoying boyfriend. Somewhat ironically, Taylor Swift’s “Love Story” was currently blaring, and Winnie’s feet were independently tapping along.

“I’m not worried about what Dylan thinks. I’m just bored. The dreads are a pain, and I’m ready for a change.” She lifted them up and waved them at Amelia to emphasize her point. Amelia backed up a bit, after one tickled her nose. 

“School will be out soon, that’s change enough for me.” Amelia ruffled her short, mousy brown hair and then shook her head. “Full day shifts here, with Rodney’s mixes and a book are all I need for a change.”

“Suit yourself. I’ll see you in an hour. I think I’ll get a peacock blue pixie cut.” Winnie stood, brushed her skirt a bit to shake out any wrinkles, and waved at Rodney coming out of the back room. La Roux’s “Bulletproof” came on. Winnie danced out the door, and continued dancing down the street as though she could still hear the music.

“She finish her dance routine already?” Rodney came to a stop a few feet from Amelia. 

“Mmm. Good mix today.” Amelia smiled at Rodney and then picked up her book and settled into the chair behind the counter to read.

“Don’t go ignoring the customers with that, now.” Rodney smiled at her as she glanced up quickly to check the store, hoping someone hadn’t slipped in unnoticed. “No worries, we could almost close when its dead like this. Then you’d miss out on my awesome mixes though, so better not.” 

Amelia grinned. “Wouldn’t want to miss out.” 

Rodney chuckled and turned. “Off to do inventory. Call me if we get swamped.” He walked away, chuckling still at his own jokes.

Amelia opened her book and smiled.

I have found with this recipe that super thick chicken breasts don't cook through before the breading is burned. If that is the type you are working with, as I often am, I've found making cutlets makes things go a lot better. (I usually just slice the chicken in half lengthwise, like this.) That being said, my favorite part of this particular recipe is when the breading is a little crispy. :)

Mediterranean Chicken Breasts, from Kraft

Ingredients:

1/3 cup grated parmesan cheese 
1/4 cup dry bread crumbs 
1 tsp dried basil leaves 
1/4 tsp paprika 
1/4 tsp salt 
1/4 tsp ground black pepper 
6 small boneless skinless chicken breast halves (1-1/2 lb.) (or two large breasts cut into cutlets)
1/4 cup greek yogurt 
3 cups hot cooked couscous 

Directions:

 Mix the parmesan, bread crumbs, basil, paprika, salt and pepper in a medium bowl.  
   
 Dip chicken in yogurt, then in parmesan mixture, turning to evenly coat both sides of each breast.  
   
 Cook in skillet with a bit of olive oil on medium heat 5 to 7 min. on each side or until done (165ºF). Don't stir of fuss over it too much or the breading comes off. If it does come off, (some always does,) scrape off pan and serve atop chicken. Serve over couscous. Enjoy!

She noticed they were beginning to run low on cup lids, so she ran in the back room to restock. As soon as she got back into the shelves, she heard the shop’s door jingle. Of course, she sighed. She grabbed the lids and hurried back.

“Can I help y–“ Sam smiled at her, stopping her mid-sentence.
“Where would you like me to put them?” Gabi shook herself out of her dazed stare and noticed the large sack of green coffee beans slung over Sam’s shoulder.

“Oh! Over here, please.” Sam followed her to the end of the counter and around to the large roasting area at the back of the shop. He set the bag in the corner where Gabi pointed and then turned back to her. Gabi realized how close she was standing and awkwardly took a step back.

“Do you need help with anything else? I noticed one of the lights was starting to flicker.” Sam sometimes helped as the shop’s handyman as well as delivering their coffee when it came in.

“Uh, yeah, that’d be great. I’ll grab the ladder.” Gabi turned to go get it out of the back room, but Sam grabbed her shoulder. 

“That’s alright, I know where it is, and anyway, it looks like you might be getting busy.” He pointed, and a few people walked in and began lining up at the counter.

After she finished the last customer’s rather complicated order, she looked around. She sighed. Sam must have left while I was busy. Gabi turned to take out the trash. She pushed open the back door of the shop and collided with Sam. He caught her elbow to help keep her from falling and then took the trash bag from her hand. 
“Allow me. It’s the least I can do after nearly knocking you over.” Gabi smiled and slid around him to hold the door open for him. He lifted the dumpster lid and tossed the bag up and over the high edge with ease, (something Gabi idly envied, as she was 5’2” and always fought with the dumpster.) He walked back and took the door from her and motioned for her to lead in. She walked back behind the counter to wash her hands, and he followed. He bumped shoulders with her, and she laughed. She splashed him lightly in the face with water, and he sputtered, which made her laugh harder. Some businessmen meeting in the corner looked up and glared at the noise, but her regulars smiled. Gabi tossed a towel to Sam, then grabbed a fresh one from under the counter. He grinned at her as he dried his face off.

“So, Gabi, I was thinking.” Sam stepped closer to hand her the towel. “I think we should date.”  Gabi’s eyes grew wide.

“Are you sure? I mean…that’s not what I meant. But, just, really? I need to stop talking now.” Gabi put her hand over her mouth to stop the flow of questions. Sam arched an eyebrow.

“Well, you’re funny, for one. I like being here, with you, so I figured it might be fun being other places with you too.” Gabi smiled.

“We could do that.” She gave him a light kiss on his cheek and then blushed. 

“I’ll pick you up after your shift tonight, we can do dinner?” Sam took her hand and kissed it. Two of her favorite customers, Mavis and Edna, started cheering. The business men looked disgusted and left. Gabi blushed even more and Sam walked to the door, took a bow for the older ladies’ benefit and left.

Gabi made a cup of tea and grinned to herself. It’s been an exceptionally good day.

“WHAT, Maude?” Ira leaned out of the bathroom, toothbrush still hanging out of the corner of his mouth.

“Ira, I think you’d better come look at this!” Maude yelled back, sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at her feet. Ira walked over, scratching his side as he moved, then tugging his white undershirt back down again.

“What am I supposed to be looking at, Maude?”

“Look, Ira, there’s a bump on my pinky toe that wasn’t there before! LOOK!” She held her foot up higher for him to look. He harrumphed.

“Maude, you’ve had that lump for twenty years now, and each spring you notice it again. I would think you’d remember by now!”

“Well, it rubs on my nice sandals, that’s why.” Ira threw his hands up in the air.

“Your nice sandals? The ones your mother bought you FIFTEEN years ago, just before she passed, God rest her soul?”

“Yes, you know my mother had an eye for quality!” Ira harrumphed again.

“An eye for price, that’s what she had. She could walk into any store, find the most expensive thing in five minutes flat, and walk out happy knowing no one else could have it because she already did.” Ira went back to brushing his teeth.

“Well, Ira, she definitely found things that lasted, unlike someone I know.” Ira leaned around the corner again.

“What is THAT supposed to mean? Are you talking about my coat? You’re talking about my coat, aren’t you? I’ll have you know that that coat has lasted me twenty-five years now, and I’ve not been cold one winter!” He smirked and leaned back to get the mouthwash.

“Lasted?! The only thing holding that coat together is three coats’ worth of patches and five spools of thread!” Ira spit out the mouthwash. 

“Three coats’ worth? Why, there’s only the patch on the elbow, and the one on the pocket!”

“And the new collar, after I turned the other one, twice. And the new lining, which was from your son’s outgrown school jacket, I’ll have you know. AND...” Ira stormed out again. He returned minutes later with the coat in question.
“THIS. This is quality! This is WORTH the thirty dollars I spent on it. Coats shouldn’t have to cost a hundred dollars just to keep you warm! This...” But as he shook it, one of the sleeves became partially detached and started sliding off the hanger. Then the front pocket drooped a bit, and the stitching began to relax on it so that it hung away from the coat, just a bit more. Ira slumped.

“Ira, dear, do you want me to fix it for you?” Maude asked gently. Ira set the coat on a nearby chair and slipped into bed next to Maude. He turned out the light and gave her a kiss.

“No dear, tomorrow I was thinking you could take me to get a new coat. Something of quality.”

My sister Sara brought some fun toys for the kids to play with in between photos. Some ended up being used as photo props. :) Grandma wasn't sure she wanted to join in, but we convinced her for this one shot.

She was on her own this year, her first year where she couldn't drive home over Easter break because her parents were in Wisconsin visiting her brother and his family, and anyway, she had a test to study for that she Could. Not. Fail. Violet had thought her art history class was going to be an easy one this year, since it was her favorite subject, but the teacher had a habit of springing pop quizzes on them, and she'd not fared well enough to be able to skate by on a planned test. So, she sat home, alone in her apartment, as her roommates had all left the day before to visit their families. She studied, ordered pizza, and watched the peeps.

Eventually, Violet grabbed the peeps and stuck them in the back of the nearly empty fridge. If she couldn't see them, she wouldn't eat them early. She closed her books and popped in The Thomas Crown Affair, the remake, because at least watching a movie about an art museum heist was a little like studying art, and she needed a break from all the dates she was supposed to remember. Her mind kept going back to the peeps though, and she finally got them out and took a bite. Delicious. 

Maybe it was time for a new tradition...

For those of you that don't like oatmeal, when served a bowl like that, I understand. But this. THIS. You must try it. This method is so ridiculously easy and delicious, that I rarely put anything on my oatmeal anymore, except a splash of cream, a sliver of butter, and a pinch of salt. (I learned of pairing these toppings in a book I'd read awhile back, where the main character considered oatmeal prepared as such comfort food. I can't recall the actual book, but the preparation definitely is worth trying.)

Megan Gordon, of A Sweet Spoonful, has released a lovely book called Whole-Grain Mornings. While I've tried quite a few recipes out of the book, from throughout the seasons, (her book is divided seasonally, so you can eat whatever is freshest each season. I love that!), and as much as I love many of the other recipes, this one is the one that I keep coming back to, if only because it makes my beloved oatmeal so very much better.

The Very Best Oatmeal, from Whole-Grain Mornings, by Megan Gordon

Serves 2

Ingredients:

1 Tbsp. unsalted butter

1 cup rolled oats

1/4 cup milk/nut milk

generous pinch salt

pinch of cinnamon (optional, I use it every time)

3/4 cup plus 1 tablespoon water (or 3/4 cup plus an extra splash, as I do)

heavy cream, for serving (optional, I use half and half, as it's what I usually have.)

brown sugar, for serving (optional, I use the butter and salt as mentioned above)

Directions:

Melt the butter in a large skillet over medium heat, then add the oats and toast until fragrant, about 5 minutes or so. (If you put them on at the same time as the water mixture up next, I've found they're ready about the same time.)

In a medium saucepan, bring to a slow boil over medium heat the milk, salt, cinnamon, and water. Add the toasted oats to the mixture, stir gently, and then cover and turn off the heat. Let sit for 7 minutes. DON'T STIR!!! The oats have never stuck for me, and stirring tends to break them down and make them gummy. Resist the urge to lift the lid and peek, just leave the whole thing alone. After those 7 minutes are done, uncover and check on the oats. If they are more watery than you'd like, let them sit, covered, for a few more minutes. I've always found them to be done at the 7 minute mark. Serve however you enjoy your oatmeal.  Enjoy!

P.S. This recipe doubles wonderfully. I imagine it triples well too, though you probably have to let it sit a bit longer. (I've only got three in my family, and so have no need to triple it. If you test it out tripled, let me know how it works!)

They didn’t really expect her to cook for them. Her mother didn’t cook, and didn’t want to. While her dad enjoyed it, he loved to make those elaborate creations that wowed everyone at family get-togethers, and he was content to otherwise order takeout. Madeline had practiced cooking in her free time, now that she was on her own, partly because she enjoyed it too, and partly because she simply couldn’t afford takeout every night the way her parents could.

And so, Madeline wandered around the kitchen, preparing bits and pieces of their meal. She had a roast simmering away in the crockpot, the one she’d found in her parents basement, still in its original packaging from when they’d received it as a wedding gift. To her mother it was the representation of servitude, that women were still expected to home-cook meals while holding down a job just like their men. To her, it meant she could have good, cheap food ready when she got home, so she didn’t have to be on her feet a minute longer. Her mother had rebelled against social norms, well before it was popular to do so, and Madeline found it funny that she would have a daughter who so enjoyed domesticity for its own sake. 

For this reason, when her parents arrived, Madeline had the table set with her nice tablecloth, (a gift from her grandmother,) and cloth napkins by each plate. There was a bouquet of flowers in the center of the table, some that Madeline had grabbed in the hospital gift shop on her way out. Madeline had even turned on her favorite jazz album, Jaimee Paul’s album, At Last.

Her mother walked in first, looked around, and rolled her eyes. She gave Madeline a hug though, and kissed her lightly on the cheek. Her father came in next, hauling her mother’s and his bags. He dropped them in the doorway and wrapped Madeline in a bear hug, picked her up off the floor, and planted a loud smacking kiss on her cheek.

“Maddy! It is good to see you. What smells so delicious?” Madeline laughed as her father followed his nose to the kitchen, peeking under pot lids and tasting the pudding setting up on the stove.

“Madeline, dear, you know we would have taken you out to dinner! You didn’t have to cook for us!” Her mother looked a bit dismayed at how well she’d laid out the table.

“Mom, I simply didn’t have the energy to go out tonight. It’s been a long day, and I’d rather settle in here with you. Speaking of which, I’m going to go change, back in a moment.” When Madeline came back in the room, freshly out of scrubs, and into a nice blouse and jeans, her mother rolled her eyes again.

“Are we meeting your man tonight, dear? Why all the effort?” Madeline smiled.

“Only three places set Mom, and no man in sight. My parents are here, why not the effort?” She walked into the kitchen and her father gave her another kiss on the cheek.

“Maddy, this all looks delicious. When do we eat?” Madeline hadn’t seen her father so excited for a pot roast in a long time.

“Now. Dad, why don’t you dish up?”

After dinner, her father put their bags in her room, as they’d be using the one bed in the apartment that night and Madeline would be taking the couch. Her mother complained while he moved them in, “I don’t see why we couldn’t just get a hotel. There’s no need ousting her out of her own bed!”

Madeline just smiled wearily, and said “Mom, its ok. I don’t mind. I’d rather you be here. I hardly get to see you, this way I get as long as possible. Now, do you want to watch a movie?”

They settled on to the couch, discussed various choices, and settled on a family favorite, High Society. Well, it was her father's and her favorite. Her mother wasn’t terribly fond of how it all ended, but she did appreciate the jazz. Madeline was so tired at this point, she fell asleep twenty minutes in.

She woke the next morning at six, tucked in, to the smell of eggs and bacon for breakfast. Her father heard her stir, and turned and winked at her.

“Good morning, sleepyhead! Get enough rest? Your mother is out for her morning jog.” Madeline sat up, quickly combed her hair down with her fingers, and stood. Louis Armstrong streamed quietly through her kitchen speakers. Her father had a stack of perfect looking french toast next to him, under a few paper towels to trap the warmth. The maple syrup bottle was warming in a saucepan filled with water, and eggs were being stirred around in the leftover bacon fat from the mountain of bacon just behind the french toast, draining on more paper towels. Her father was wearing her apron as he cooked, the pink one with white stripes down the front and lace around the edges, a gift from a friend. She kissed his cheek and stole a strip of bacon.

“I don’t normally get a fry-up like this for breakfast.” She smiled.

“Neither do I! Your mother prefers a protein smoothie after her jog, and I don’t see the point in doing all this for just me.”

“What’s going on with Mom? She doesn’t seem terribly happy to see me.” Madeline leaned back against the kitchen island while her father spooned the cooked eggs into a large bowl.

“Oh, Maddy, she loves seeing you! You know how she is. She assumes that you must not be happy if you’re putting all this work in at home. She doesn’t see the pleasure in it, and she worries about you. She loves you though. She just wants whats best, and  she doesn’t see how any way but hers can be best.” It was the first time Madeline had heard her father disagree with her mother, if only indirectly. “Maddy, you are happy, right?”

“Of course! I could do with a bit of romance sometimes, but mostly I like my life here.” Her father kissed her forehead.

“Good. Then don’t worry about your mother. I’ll talk with her, and she’ll see that in time. You know how stubborn she is.” He smiled, and they heard the front door open.

“Hi Mom! How was your run?” Madeline called around the corner. Her mother walked in, toweling her forehead and smiling.

“Such a relief to be able to do that. I hate traveling when I have to miss my jog.” Her hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail, and she looked more relaxed than Madeline had seen her in years.

“Maybe next time you’re here I could go with you?” Her mother grinned.

“Sounds perfect. It’s a date.”

After breakfast her parents packed their bags, and Madeline walked them down to the car, so she could leave for work as they left. She gave each of her parents a tight hug. 

“Come back soon!”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, my dear.” Her mom hugged her again, and her father winked at her. She waved as they drove away, and then climbed into her own car, and left.

Recently I bought a cookbook called Whole-Grain Mornings, by Megan Gordon of A Sweet Spoonful. I've loved cooking out of it, despite the fact that I have actually had to try out a few new ingredients, such as amaranth and rye flakes. I also have finally purchased some whole wheat pastry flour, and I don't regret it one bit. :)

This recipe is actually not from Whole-Grain Mornings, but from another lovely cookbook, Super Natural Every Day, by Heidi Swanson of 101 Cookbooks. Did I first see this recipe there? Probably. Did I pay attention? Not even a bit. I came across this recipe, again, on the lovely Amelia's site, Bonappétempt. Combined with recipe for masala chai, which I love, I finally noticed these gems. Hopefully, you won't hold out as long as I have before making these!

P.S. Possibly my favorite part about this recipe, besides the fact that the biscuits taste great, is that it pulls together in about 30 minutes, faster if you're faster at measuring and mixing than I am. Wonderful for those nights, like we had last night, where we wanted something else with dinner, and had just enough time while everything else was prepared. Lovely.

Yogurt Biscuites from Super Natural Every Day by Heidi Swanson, via Bonappétempt

Ingredients:

1 1/4 cups whole wheat pastry flour (or spelt flour)

1 1/4 cups unbleached all-purpose flour, plus more if needed

1 1/2 teaspons fine-grain sea salt

1 tablespoon aluminum-free baking powder

1/2 cup unsalted butter, chilled and cut into tiny cubes

1 1/3 cups Greek-style yogurt

Directions:

Preheat the oven to 450ºF. Place an ungreased baking sheet in the oven to preheat as well.

Combine the flours, salt, and baking powder in a food processor. Sprinkle the butter across the top of the dry ingredients and pulse, until the butter is incorporated and the mixture has no chunks larger than peas. Add the yogurt and pulse a few times, or until the yogurt is just incorporated. You may need to stop and move things around inside, if your dough forms a large clump before really fully mixing. (Mine did.) Avoid overmixing; it's fine if there are a few dry patches. Gather the dough into a ball and turn it out onto a lightly floured surface. Knead for a minute and press into an inch-thick square. Cut in half and stack one on the other. Repeat two more times--flattening and stacking, then cutting. Add more all-purpose flour to prevent sticking when needed. Press or rollout the dough into a 3/4-inch thick rectangle, but no thicker; if the dough is too tall, the biscuits will tilt and tip over while baking. Cut the dough into twelve equal biscuits. (I cut into 16, as apparently I cannot count, but the biscuits turned out lovely regardless.)

Transfer the biscuits to the preheated baking sheet leaving 1/2 inch between each biscuit. Bake for 15-18 minutes, until deeply golden and the biscuits are cooked through. Enjoy!

"What do you want to know?" He focused on her while the nurse hooked similar tubes into his arm. She was interesting, approachable, much more so than most of the people in the room. Most were absorbed in their own misery and unaware of those around them. She watched him closely, thinking.

"Well, for starters, what are you in for? What do you do, and what do you like to do when you're not otherwise occupied in this little shop of horrors?" She grinned. "My name is May, by the way."

"I'm Paul. I've got chronic lymphocytic leukemia. When I was younger, I was a private in Vietnam. I thought I was going to be a lifer, but after three months there, when they started pulling us out, I decided I was done. I got out as soon as I could, when my tour was over. I went to work for my father after that. He was a handyman, and I learned how to fix pretty much any problem folks had, well, the ones that could be fixed anyway. It's steady work, and sometimes interesting. Pop kept saying that I needed to go to college, meet a girl, and settle down, but I liked my own company well enough. I just never got around to it."

"My dad thought I was too quick to get married." May smiled. "My husband Rick and I got married when we were 19, and he enlisted. We've been all over the place since. He's overseas right now, actually." She leaned forward a bit. "So why don't you get married now?"

"Well, that involves actually approaching a woman and talking to her, in complete sentences, mind you!"

May laughed hard at that. "You're talking to me now!"

Paul harrumphed. "You're too young for it to be good for me to get nervous talking to you. Anyway, you're married."

"I'm only 29! You're what, 50? That's not too much of a difference."

Paul grunted. "I'm 57, actually, and that's old enough to be your father! Heck, at 50 I'd have been old enough."

May's eyes twinkled. "You never did answer what you like to do in your free time."

"Long walks on the beach and cuddling." He deadpanned until May laughed again. "Actually, a book and a comfortable recliner suits me just fine. How about you?"

"I like to garden. I've not had the energy, lately, but I hold out hope that I will soon." She touched her blue flowered scarf, wrapped tightly on her head. "I wear this as a reminder that I'll be back out there soon, that there is an end to this." Paul pictured her deep in dirt, weeding, with dirt smeared up her arms and across her forehead and color in her cheeks. It would definitely suit her.

They talked about the weather, the President, trips they had been on, and favorite movies before the nurses came back to disconnect the IVs.

"Thank you for making this bearable." May reached out to shake his hand.

"I look forward to seeing you next time!" Paul said as he took it. She paused, her hand in his.

"This was my last session. I'm done with treatment now. Now I wait, and hope that nothing bad happens. Waiting is worse, somehow. I'm not looking forward to it." She frowned a bit, the first Paul had seen since he met her.

"You'll be fine. Besides, you need to get out there and whip that garden into shape!" She smiled again.

"Goodbye, Paul. Good luck." And she was gone.

When Paul walked into the chemo room for his next session, there was a young man seated in May's seat. He looked nervous, and almost queasy.

"Hi. I'm Paul." 

"Uh, Carl." He watched him as Paul settled into the chair and the nurse came to hook him up.

"Everybody has a story, Carl. What's yours?"

Gertie had planted her flowers years ago. She planted roses, tulips, daffodils, and zinnias, often replanting when some or others didn't survive the winter. She wanted to be surrounded by color and scent. Every moment she could she was out in her garden. She insisted on keeping it, even as her back began to ache and her knees grew shaky. Her son Tom insisted one year that she stop, but she had ignored him, insisting that the dirt was good for her arthritis. That had been her undoing, actually. She'd fallen in the garden one morning, fallen next to her roses and her zinnias, and found that she couldn't get up again. She'd crushed the tulips, sadly, and for awhile that was all she could think about, her poor tulips. It helped to keep her mind off of her hip, and her ankle, both of which were screaming in pain. She knew she shouldn't, but eventually she just closed her eyes and rested, mostly to find relief from the pain.

It was Kate that found her. Dear sweet Kate, she was only nine at the time, but had been allowed for many years to go alone to visit her grandma, just two houses down. Kate, who knew right away not to move her but to run for help. Kate, who held her hand until the paramedics came, talking about school and her dog, Sugar, and whatever else she could think of to help her Grandma Gertie smile. When the paramedics were lifting her into the ambulance, Gertie caught a glimpse of Kate waving wildly at her and blowing kisses. It was as though she were heading off on an exciting trip, and not to the hospital to have her hip replaced and her foot cast.

The next weeks were a blur of doctors visits, physical therapy, and long talks with her son. He insisted she couldn't live alone again. She insisted that she could, and would. When the doctor told her her foot wasn't healing correctly, and would need another surgery, her hope dimmed a bit. When her son found her a 'recovery center' to live in while she healed, they were all but dashed. The recovery center was also an assisted living home, and she soon had a permanent room.

At first, she hated it. On principle, of course. They didn't do things right. They made the bed wrong, cooked her chicken wrong, vacuumed the hallways wrong. But eventually, she grew to enjoy that she didn't have to vacuum the hallways or make the bed. She missed cooking though, and her flowers. Oh, how she missed her flowers.

A knock on the door interrupted her musings. Nurse Hannigan stuck her head in the room. "Gertie, you have a visitor!" She swung the door open a bit and Kate slipped in from behind her.

"Grandma!" She flung her arms around Gertie's neck and gave her a kiss on her cheek. "I missed you." Gertie smiled and hugged her tight. Some things were definitely more important than flowers.

Making stock is one of those things that yields great rewards, even with seemingly few resources going in. All you need are leftover vegetable scraps, an onion, maybe some herbs, and possibly some meaty bones of some sort if you want to make a chicken, beef, ham, or fish stock. I typically make chicken stock, as that's what I use the most in my cooking, and what I usually have on hand to use. I have made both beef stock and vegetable stock, and the same basic technique applies to all varieties.

I usually use the ends and bits and bobs of many recipes' worth of vegetables. I keep a large ziploc bag in the freezer to throw scraps into for stock so when I'm ready to make it I have all that I need. To these I add a few whole veggies, (stronger flavor than just the scraps,) and a leftover roast chicken, stripped of most of its meat. Alternately, I have used a whole chicken in the broth, which results in wonderful flavor, and you can strip the chicken afterwards for casseroles or soups. I usually only do this when I'm making chicken noodle soup, as all the stripped off chicken can go back into the pot once the broth has been strained. Once the stock is made, I cool the stock and refrigerate it. (You do want to let the stock cool on the counter a bit first, as putting it into the fridge while still warm can cause the stock to sour.) Once its cool, I remove any fat from the stock, as it's now cooled and hardened on the surface and can simply be lifted off. Then I freeze it in small portions so I can get as much stock as I need when I need it.

Assemble your vegetables. (This is the last time anything will look somewhat pretty, so enjoy it while you can.) You can use nearly anything, but an onion is a good base, skins, roots, and all. Carrots and celery back it up nicely, and from there, use whatever you have. Some people don't like using potatoes in their broth, as they can make it a bit cloudy, but I don't mind cloudiness and the flavor is nice. Tomatoes, also, are often questioned, as they can add a mild sweetness to the broth, but again, I don't mind, and in fact don't really notice that too much. You can add some fresh or dried herbs as well, but I honestly just plain forgot to, so they won't be in the pictures. :)

Throw everything in a large stockpot, including meaty bones if you're using them. I had a frozen roast chicken ready, so that's what I used this time.

Cover everything with water. Vegetables and bones tend to float, so this is within reason. The more water you add, the thinner the broth will be, unless you simmer for hours and hours. That's actually what I did, so I added lots of water.

Those bubbles, (and the stuff clinging to them) are something that you can choose to skim off for a clearer broth. I tend not to, as most of the stuff you're skimming will get stuck in the cooled fat. If you're using the broth the same day, skim. If you're making vegetable broth, don't worry! That stuff comes from meat, so it's not your problem. :)

This is what your stock will look like after a few hours of simmering. It will have reduced some, which is code for concentrated in flavor, and will be a golden color. (Unless its beef, and then it will be more brown.) Take a spoon here and taste a bit of the stock, and adjust for salt. Remember, its a really big pot of water, it'll probably need at least a tablespoon, but you can adjust to taste.

It's time to strain it! I don't have photos for this, as its hard to pour and take pictures at the same time. Basically, set a really large bowl in your sink, and place a colander or mesh strainer inside. Pour the stock into the strainer. Be careful of steam here! You may have to do this in batches, depending on the size of your bowl, and the size of your strainer. You can mash the vegetables in the strainer if you wish, which is great for getting extra flavor out, but also often means you have to strain again to get the bits you pushed through out.

Lovely finished stock! You can use this now, or let it cool overnight to get the extra fat out of it. Mine's a bit grainy looking because I didn't skim, as I'm planning on cooling it. Make sure you let the stock cool to room temp, or nearly to room temp, before putting it in the fridge. If its too warm going in, it can sour, and all the effort is wasted!

This is what the stock looks like the next day. A thin layer of fat covers the whole bowl. Obviously, if you have a deeper, narrower bowl, the layer of fat will be thicker and even easier to pull off, but it takes longer to cool down in a deeper bowl, so I went with my widest one. Take a spoon, or your fingers if you don't mind it, and peel off the fat. You may get a bit of stock coming off with the spoon, but mostly the fat will cling to it and the stock will drain. If you end up with a few small pieces left in the stock, not a problem! The moment the stock is heated the fat will reincorporate.

You're done! Freeze in various sized containers as you'll use it, or turn it into a lovely soup right away! (May I suggest chicken noodle soup?) Enjoy!