Baking a cake amid chaos

 

I baked a cake today. It’s probably the first time in twenty years or more that I’ve done that. I love to cook, but I am not a baker. Baking requires precision—the recipe I followed today advised measuring ingredients. I dutifully hauled out my kitchen scale and measured the bittersweet chocolate bits--three ounces is a lot more bits than I thought. But measure flour? Naw, not me. There are too many other things to be done. But I did try hard to follow the directions step by step and not succumb to my usual slapdash method of thinking I could outsmart the recipe. The thing that got me into this is that I have been intrigued by the idea of olive oil cakes--I expect them to be flourless cakes. Time will tell, because this cake is for dinner guests tomorrow night, and I have done no more than sniff the finished product and satisfy myself that it smells quite chocolatey. It’s also a cake in a springform pan—I even bought a new such because my old one is warped and unusable—it leaks. I didn’t exactly buy the pan to make this one cake—I frequently find recipes that call for a springform and I’ve been ignoring them. But in a way, this cake is why I bought it right now. What I really needed was another good-sized pan to fit into my oh-so-limited cupboard space.

Baking this cake weighed on my mind all day. I was on the phone with Colin today, discussing business things and trying to figure out why my phone won’t talk to my TCU email account—or why the account suddenly cut off my phone. We were both frustrated—he because he couldn’t see what I was doing on my phone, and me because baking the cake hovered over me. No one else gave me that deadline—it was self-imposed, but it might as well be cast in stone.

Truth is, we are still not settled in after the chaos of Christmas. Take, for instance, the new composter. Jacob came out at noon today to unpack it, but it proved more of a chore than either of us anticipated. It has, according to his estimate, a thousand screws. And he got the frame mostly put together before he announced the parts were wrong and it wouldn’t work—and oh yes he had something to do at one o’clock. He left, with parts of the tumbler spread all over the couch and the coffee table. I looked at the frame for a long time, and I suspect he has one part in the wrong place. I was prepared to ask Katie, my dinner guest, to help me shove it all on to the couch, but Jordan came out and did it. I could have left the thing in the box where it would have taken up a lot of room in the cottage, but school starts next week, and I thought if I didn’t get us started on it, the composter would still be in its box come Spring. Besides I cooked a lot this week and was struck by how much I put in the garbage that could have been compost. Lots of vegetable scraps—peelings from onions and garlic, almost half a head of lettuce that had been in the fridge too long, some cabbage, and so on.

The composter isn’t the only problem. Tonight I finally got the computer cords so that I can recharge my remote keyboard and mouse—but I need help to connect them. This cord business is a real puzzle—we re-hooked the computer after I was away at Thanksgiving, and all was in order; got to Santa Fe at Christmas and I didn’t have the right cords. Once home, they are nowhere to be found, and the cords I have don’t fit. Colin told me what to order, and that’s what came today. They fit—but the back of the computer is in the same narrow space as Sophie’s crate, so my walker and I can’t get in there. I will pounce on the first person who comes out here tomorrow.

Then there’s the problem of canned dog food. I am out. For days Amazon has been warning me they couldn’t fill the standing order. But they said they’d send my first-choice substitute. Apparently, they forgot that part because I’ve had only a notice chicken and wild rice is unavailable; no notice of shipping a substitute. Cricket’s supply is out too. Jordan bought one can today at the grocery. Sophie is not fussy and wolfed down her evening supper. But tomorrow will come—and I shudder to think of my strong-willed dog if she doesn’t get her meat for supper. Kibble is not going to do it.

My sense of chaos was lightened by friend Katie who came to dinner. Her late husband, a man I thought was wonderful, was a cook; Katie is not. So she’s always pleased with my dinners. I told her I thought I was in a rut, serving her casserole and salad, but she pointed out she’s never complained. And she went home with a baggie of tuna casserole. Katie and I have kids and grandkids about the same age, and we share an outlook on life—including on national and Texas politics. So we always have lots to talk about. It’s good to share, though her outlook on the upcoming elections is not quite as optimistic as mine. Still, I am grateful to her for good company and for taking in stride the chaos and making it, in my mind, a little less urgent. Besides, she Is a Sophie fan.

Friends are, always, a permanent blessing; chaos is temporary. Thanks be to God.

Twelfth Night, neighbors, and an ongoing tradition

My family has along tradition of celebrating Twelfth Night, or Epiphany, with a roaring fire in the fireplace. Each person, in turn, throws a small sprig of evergreen into the fire and makes a wish for the coming year. If you tell your wish, it will not come true. A Chicago neighbor, who was like an aunt, started that when I was very young. I have no idea if she made it up or where she got the idea. I’ve heard of other Epiphany traditions—King’s Cake, for instance—but never heard of anyone else burning branches.  What it could have to do with the arrival of the three kings at the stable in Bethlehem is beyond me, but I like traditions.

I kept it going with my children when they were young, and we’ve done it with Jacob every year, I think. In recent years, Jordan, Christian, and I have included a few neighbors, as we did last night. Jordan had a lengthy list of friends, but several declined for various reasons, so there we were ten of us. The evening was pleasant, only a little chilly, and the Burtons have a new (to them) outdoor firepit, so we burned our branches on the front porch.

Every Christmas Jordan longs for the chocolate chip bars I always made for my annual tree trimming party. It’s been at least four years since I’ve given that party, so it’s been four years she’s been talking about it. So for last night, nothing would do but I had to make those bars. It was always a project, but more so in my tiny kitchen. The dough is like chocolate chip cookie dough only much stiffer—to make bars instead of cookies. I took it as far as I could but had to call Jordan for the final stirring.  My arms have lost strength, and I mostly cook from my Rollator which makes an awkward  angle for heavy-duty stirring. By the time Jordan came to help me, I was covered with flour and had a good smear of chocolate across my chest. Not only that but I had dropped a whole egg on the floor—it literally jumped out of my hand.

            The chocolate chip bars were a hit, the firm warm and cheering, the wishes silent – I’ll never tell! Even Sophie got to be part of the festivities though neighbor Greg, who ended up with her, said it was apparent she doesn’t spend much time on a leash. After the ceremonial burning, we sat in the living room and caught up with each other’s news.

Chalk the evening up as another nice memory.

A day of domestic disasters

Diner tonight: lamb meatballs from the freezer, with an

impromptu tzatziki sauce, and fresh 

beets and greens with butter and lemon

Only thing that went right all day

Ever have a day when everything seems to go wrong? Nothing big, just little stuff. Today was such a day for me.

It started with wrapping Christmas gifts. I targeted four large, heavy gifts that would be my goal for the day. Too big for bags, each required wrapping the old-fashioned way.  I thought it would be a relief to get them done, but whatever could go wrong did. I dropped the scissors or Scotch tape repeatedly--bending down to get them from a seated walker is sometimes an iffy experience. I had to cut the paper on the coffee table, the only surface I have that is large enough, except maybe my kitchen cutting board, and I was afraid that would get the paper greasy. But the paper, too long wrapped around a cardboard tube, had a life of its own and rolled up and fought back as I tried to cut it. The result was uneven jagged edges—not pretty on a wrapped package. For at least one package, I cut the paper and then realized I had not measured correctly--a wasted piece of paper unless I find small packages that need to be wrapped.

Bending over the coffee table from my Rollator made my back ache, so when I got the paper cut, wrapped around the package and secured, I moved it to my desk where I can work more comfortably. Except the one breakable package slipped out of its wrappings and crashed onto the floor—I didn’t hear the tinkling of something broken, so I just went ahead and rewrapped it. We’ll see on Christmas morning if it’s intact.

Inevitably the scissors and tape would be on the coffee table when I needed them on the desk, and vice versa. It took me an extraordinarily long time to wrap four gifts. Then I decided I would wrap a fifth one—lightweight but an odd shape, as tall as it is wide. My best effort, after three or four tries, was a mess. I gave up and put it aside for Jordan.

Tonight I wanted to bake brownies for Jacob, so I asked for an eight- or nine-inch square pan from the kitchen. Jacob arrived with an oblong glass pan, and when I laughed and said, “That’s not a square pan,” he replied, “You don’t have to be mean about it.” Made me feel guilty but didn’t stop me from asking if he’s taken geometry yet. The answer was a mumbled “No.” He didn’t get my joke. I guess thirteen-year-olds are not tuned to grandparents’ humor. Eventually he came back with a nine-inch pan, and I mixed the batter.

Here’s where I’ll whine about aging. I have no strength in my left hand, the hand with a slight tremor. So when I held the mixing bowl in that hand and tried to scrape batter into the baking pan with my right hand, I dropped the mixing bowl into the baking pan, getting a good schmear of batter on the outside of the bowl. With patience and small steps I finally got most of the batter into the baking pan, but it was a chore. The reward was that the brownies are delicious—I’ve had two and had to restrain myself from having a third. I told Jordan she better come get some for Jacob before I eat them all, but she’s gone gallivanting with neighbors and Jacob is at a buddy’s house. Brownies are all mine.

In between my domestic disasters, I finished a mystery I was deep into, had a nap, and fixed myself a good dinner. The day was by no means a loss, but I’ll be grateful if my world goes better tomorrow. Christmas can really be exhausting, but hey! You all know that.

Gratitude

After two years of not being able to drive and another six months of “supervised” driving while the kids made sure I still knew how to do it, it’s a great joy to take off on my own and run errands—and save Jordan some bothersome trips on my behalf. Today I went to the podiatrist—seems like every time I go to the doctor there’s some new wrinkle, something “that is concerning” or “we just have to check it out.” So it was a delight to go to a doctor who said, “You’re doing so much better than so many people I see.” When asked if my shoes were okay, he countered with “Are they comfortable.” I said yes, and he said “Then wear them. All you need is something to cushion the bottom of your feet.” What a lovely man!

Next, I went to the only gas station around that does full service. I’m sure the attendant thought I was a dotty old lady—I couldn’t find full service, and when I did it had a cone in front of it. So I pulled up to the cone, and this nice young man said, “Ma’am, you’re going to have to pull up farther—the hose won’t reach your gas tank.” I said, “But the cone,” and he advised me to pull up next to it. By then I guess I was a bit flustered—he had to patiently ask me to turn off the engine, unlock the gas cap. I didn’t really need gas, but I got it, so I could get my tires checked which someone told me looked soft. The attendant gently said, “Just so you know, ma’am, we have a $20 minimum on full service.” I assured him I’d pay $20 for my $15 worth of gas, tire check, and clean windshield, but he brushed it away. Next time I go back there, I’ll be much smarter about the protocol.

Finally, I went to pick up a sweater at the cleaners. The owner himself brought it out and said, “Hey, Mrs. Alter. Written any new books lately?” So we talked a bit. He went to school with my oldest son.

So my gratitude is for people who are so kind about my wanting curbside service and for living in a neighborhood where people are so friendly. How lucky am I!

Finally baked that gingerbread today and learned a toaster-oven lesson—things with baking soda that rise don’t do well. The gingerbread rose beautifully—and burned the top. But we cut away the burned and doused it with the ginger/brown sugar whipping cream I’d made—delicious. And not too hard. Because I get mixed up on ordering spices by weight, however, I now have a lifetime supply of ground ginger. Anybody?

Neighbor Mary Dulle brought fresh homemade applesauce tonight, and I discovered that it too goes wonderfully with gingerbread—complimentary flavors. And she brought dried morel mushrooms—I will have to research to find out what to do with them.

And should you want to watch an interview with me, here’s a link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ndFlUpusk88 .  This was done this fall by the marketing manager at TCU Press—she came to the cottage, and I cleared my desk, as you can see.

The geese are getting fat--and it's not even Thanksgiving yet!

I see all those cautions about not putting up Christmas decorations until after Thanksgiving, and this year I can only laugh apologetically. I have felt so rushed, ever since I found out that most but not all of my family will be here the weekend of Dec. 6. We may do Alter Alternative Christmas--at the least I'll send their presents home with them. So I've been in a frenzy of baking, wrapping and decorating--far earlier than I normally would have, though I'm pretty compulsive about getting things done ahead of time.
One morning last week I wrapped a lot of presents, and Friday night I baked a Bundt cake to freeze. Saturday I went to the grocery, came home and made two pans of Toll House bars--it wore me out. The batter is stiff and hard to work with and though I softened the butter, blending four sticks of butter into three cups of sugar (brown and white) with a hand mixer is a challenge at best--I had dough bits all over the kitchen. I told Jordan next time she orders those she'll have to do the mixing. After I got them made and baked--with one pan not done in the middle, no matter that I left it almost twice as long and the edges were getting crisp--I was exhausted.
I spent the rest of yesterday being lazy. Cool, grey day, comfortably warm house, good book to read--Maya Corrigan's By Cook or By Crook, which I thoroughly enjoyed--and a long nap. It ended up a self-indulgent day and did wonders for my soul.
But of course I woke at four in the morning with thoughts of all I had to do. So today I almost finished decorating the house, separated out things that didn't need to be done by Dec. 6 (principally gifts wrapped) and made cookie dough, though I just didn't have the oomph to roll out the cookies--the dough is in the fridge for tomorrow. I realized I needed to pay attention to the writing end of my life. So I sorted through chili pictures and worked on the neighborhood newsletter. Once again ready for a nap, though Sophie decided to bark frantically at the rats in the attic during my nap--not restful.
Jordan is in Italy on a business trip (poor girl) so Christian and Jacob came for supper. I made hamburger Stroganoff, which wasn't as good as it sounded, and a good salad plus broccoli for Jacob because he loves it and won't eat salad. Christian worked on the greens and lights for over the door, and we sat and visited by the fire. Pleasant evening.
I've about given up on the novel I'm working on until I get this Christmas thing--and all those fat geese--in hand. But tonight I will go back and correct one scene. Where was my brain when I had a man, two days post-op from being shot in the belly, demand chicken fried steak? Rethink that one!
Have a good week everyone.
 

Christmas a little early

I know many people say "Let's get past Thanksgiving before we think about Christmas," but not me. I have a lot to do for Christmas--some of it by Thanksgiving when I'll be with all my children and can deliver gifts so I don't have to mail. So I begin to think about the holidays early--many of my presents are wrapped, my lists are all made.
And I have started baking. This year I did something really smart. I made a list of what I wanted to bake and then made a list of all the ingredients I'd need. But instead of rushing out to the grocery, I rushed to my cupboard to check in back corners and see what I already had. Narrowed down my shopping list a lot and saved myself from buying some fairly expensive items such as chopped pecans and good dark cocoa powder.
Last night I made double chocolate banana bread--cocoa in the batter and chocolate chips in the final dough. Of course,  it didn't come out of the pan smoothly, so  there were bits for me to taste. Good, but I thought the banana was overpowered by the chocolate.
Today, chocolate chip/dried cranberry cookies with an astounding two-and-a-half sticks of butter. I never can cook without making some major flub, no matter how careful I think I'm being and how carefully I think I'm reading the recipe. Got the batter all made--a good, stiff one, hard to stir. Put in the nuts and the cranberries and thought, "Wait! It's supposed to have chocolate chips." You got it! I put in nuts that weren't in the recipe. Too late to retrieve them so I added the chocolate chips and now have chocolate chip/dried cranberries/pecan cookies in the oven. You know, if that's the worst mistake I make, I'm pretty well off.
Still to come--good old-fashioned peanut butter cookies, because Christian likes them. One year I dipped two edges of each cookie in chocolate and crushed nuts. He'd really like me to do that again, but it's too much trouble and work. Then I'll do some chocolate bars with a basic dough bottom and chocolate spread on top. Recipe calls for Karo syrup which should make them both good and different. And Oreo cookies truffles (hide that idea and the cookies from Jacob!) but they have to be made just before I serve them.
I can hear those Christmas bells ringing already!

Rethinking my world

Maybe the holidays are a good time to stand back, look at your life, and rethink what you're doing. I've been charging merrily ahead, eyes always on the mystery I'm working on or the next one, but suddenly I've begun to wonder if that's what I want to do, if that's what I do best. All sorts of questions arise--if not mysteries, what? I won't, can't, don't want to give up writing, and I'd like to make money at it, but do I want to be in the oh-so-competitive world of cozy mysteries? Don't get me wrong--mystery writers are more supportive of each other than any group of people I've ever known, but there are so many of us that all except the stars are little fish in a big pond. When I was at TCU Press, I focused the list on Texas literature because that ultimately made us a big fish in a small pond. Is that my problem? Is it an ego problem?
In this day when independent authors are so much more accepted, and some making big bucks, do I need a publisher? Can I do for myself what they do? The answer is I doubt it, unless I come up with a smashing, unusual idea for a series. So far my cozies are, if I do say so, run-of-the-mill--they fit the genre nicely, they have interesting characters, they are a good cozy evening's read--at least I hope all those things are true. But they aren't breakthrough, mind-bogglingly wonderful.
I've just read the second of Susan Elia MacNeal's Maggie Hope series, about a young woman in England in the early years of WWII who ultimately becomes a spy--first a private secretary to Prime Minister Churchill where, believe me, she's privy to all sorts of secrets, and then in the second book as a "maths" tutor to Princess Elizabeth (now the Queen) and a spy sent to protect the young Lilibet. The history behind these books is solid, the plots good, and I'm hooked. It's the kind of thing I'd like to come up with.
When I first determined to write a mystery, I wanted one published mystery under my belt. Then, I told myself, I'd be happy. Of course it doesn't work that way--I've published three, a fourth is at the publisher, the fifth is written in draft, and I have plans for the sixth. Is that where I want to stop? I have no idea.
But the holidays are a good time to put all that on the back burner, where I truly do believe things simmer in your subconscious. I've started wrapping presents, and tonight I did my first baking--chocolate banana bread. This weekend, with everyone else already out of town, I'll decorate the house. I do love this time of year, and I do tend to put everything aside and focus on the holidays.