Is this kitchen a place for caring or an escape?

 

Jean cutting the matzo crack

In my mind, major religious holidays and food are always connected. It has something to do with feeding the body while feeding the soul, with nurturing as a way to express caring and love and, yes, faith. I’m not sure I can put it into the right words, but cooking becomes an altruistic gesture. At the same time, it is, for me, a self-pleasing activity. At least that’s my story this weekend, and I’m sticking to it.

I have been cooking for two days, dishes for Easter and supper dishes for tonight. Sure, I could have ordered much of it online, but that would rob it of its significance. So yesterday, I made black bean soup and salmon rillettes (a spread that mixes fresh and smoked salmon, though I subbed the good canned I get from Alaska for the fresh). I hard boiled eggs to be deviled tomorrow and made crab bites for company last night. Yeah, I was tired, but I was also exhilarated. Cooking somehow frees my mind.

Matzo crack
So rich, so good

Tonight Jean came for supper—the bean soup and salmon rillettes had her name on them, and she seemed to enjoy them thoroughly. When she came in, I asked her if she knew about those parties where you go expecting a nice evening of conversation, but the hostess greets you with “Hi, we’re going to play charades” … or Monopoly or Canasta or whatever and you wish you had called in sick. Jean looked alarmed and said yes, she knew. Well, I said, I have a joint cooking project for us but only if you want to. And that’s how we came to make matzo crack tonight.

Matzo crack, for those who didn’t read last week’s Gourmet on a Hot Plate blog, ends up like good English toffee with chocolate—only with a matzo base. It’s a seasonal thing, because you don’t find much matzo in stores except at Passover. The reason I didn’t make this dessert myself is that it involves the toffee mix of boiling sugar and butter—and my balance is not good enough that I am comfortable going from oven to work surface with that scary a hot mixture. So Jean did the hard parts, while I did the prep and supervised, calling out instructions. It was actually a lot more fun to make it with someone. We refrigerated the finished product for 30 minutes, per the recipe, but the chocolate was still soft and runny, the toffee part congealed nicely. I refrigerated it more after Jean cut it, and now the chocolate has hardened. We’ll offer some with brunch tomorrow.

We’ll go to virtual early church in the cottage—the Easter crowds at our church are difficult for the able-bodied to manage and intimidating if you have a walker or wheelchair as I do. So we’ll stay home.

At noon, friends who usher at the church will join us for brunch—Christian will scramble eggs, and I have made a ranchero sauce. If they’re good, we’ll give our guests some matzo crack. In the evening, Jordan and Christian and Jacob will go to meet Christian’s father at a P. F. Chang’s restaurant somewhere between here and there, and I will go to friends for—wait for it!—grilled salmon. I’ll take a creamed spinach casserole and devilled eggs—finishing those eggs is the only cooking chore I have left for tomorrow. I’m really anticipating a lovely day.

Today in my small writer’s group, one sister was bemoaning that anxiety-laden period between projects when you seem suspended in time, not sure where to settle next. She said she envies me the escape to the kitchen, but I told her not to let me fool her. The kitchen is just a place to hide for a bit, to forestall the inevitable. I know that Monday morning, the real world will pick up again, and I’ll be at my desk, facing my computer, challenged to decide which of the many loose threads I will pick up. These two days of cooking have been a nice interlude, not a long-lasting fix. Still, I’m lucky that the cooking gives me so much pleasure, and that I can escape to it however briefly.

May you each find blessings in whatever faith you celebrate on this historic weekend when the spring renewal festivals of three of the world’s major religions coincide. The stars, you might say, are aligned.

The very fragile Easter egg Jean brought me.
Yes, it's a real eggshell.

Cooking fun

 

Holiday view from my window

As I write, Jordan is making Christian’s request for dinner: taco salad with Catalina dressing. A bit ago, she asked if I would pull up a recipe. I told her we didn’t need a recipe. You just make some taco meat, dice tomatoes, grate cheese, drain beans, chop lettuce and mix it all together. She wanted something printed in her hand that would give her quantities. So she went to Pinterest, but when she was following the recipe, she complained it didn’t tell her how much lettuce. I said you just add it until you have enough. Cooking styles clash.

Taco salad

Since we’re quarantining and trying hard to make the holidays special and festive, I suggested we should have Beef Wellington on Christmas Eve. Jordan’s response was that it’s really hard to do. But I set off on an internet search for recipes. Found one I really liked, hit the wrong thing, and never could find it again. But I found recipes for hamburger Beef Wellington, a vegetarian version, and several that were close but not quite Cooking funright. Some called for paté, but I knew even the thought of paté would not sit well with either Jordan or Christian; most called for duxelles, that combination of mushrooms, shallots, thyme, and whatever—I like the idea of adding a bit of sherry.

Most recipes called for searing the meat, which sounded good to me. One or two suggested then rubbing it with mustard, such as Dijon. And the ones I liked called for laying out overlapping pieces of prosciutto on plastic wrap, putting the duxelles on that, and then wrapping it around the meat. Sounds good to me. I announced that I could put together a recipe from what I’d found. That scared Jordan. One recipe said 25 minutes prep time, 20 minutes cooking. I doubt that would happen here.

When Christian heard all this, he agreed it might be just as cheap to buy it already prepared. Jury’s still out, but the entire evening has suggested to me the difference in the way Jordan and I approach cooking. She wants a recipe; I’m willing to wing it. I must add that her taco salad, sort of made with a recipe, was delicious.

And last night she made a crescent-roll ring filled with pesto chicken. It was not a recipe I would have tried, but she followed the instructions and came out with a dish that was attractive and flavorful. We agreed to put it on what she calls the rotation list.

Pesto chicken in a 
crescent-roll ring

What I do think is that we’re lucky that we can eat so well with such a variety during pandemic. It’s one thing that has kept us from staring mindlessly at the TV and given us an occupation that interests us. I’m learning a lot more about food as we go, and I’m sure Jordan is too. Christian, who sometimes cooks for us, is also the beneficiary of what we fix. Jacob would just as soon have mac and cheese, but I hope that’s a passing phase.

Aside from cooking, life goes on in our little compound. As the picture above shows, Jordan has us all decorated for Christmas. Jacob has virtual school until early afternoon, and today he had a golf lesson. Jordan keeps after her travel business, does all our errands including grocery shopping, and keeps the household running. And I sit at my computer and write—some days it goes better than others, but today was a good day, and I think I nailed the first chapter of Irene in Danger, sequel to Saving Irene.

I’m hopeful as 2020 draws to a close about the vaccine and about a new presidential administration. 2021 is bound to be better if we can all just hang on until then.

 

Gearing up for the holidys—and a sour note

“I heard a bird sing in the dark of December/A magical thing. And sweet to remember/We are nearer to Spring than we were in September/I heard a bird sing in the dark of December.”

― Oliver Herford

One of my favorite lines of poetry. Thanks to “Texas Booklover” on Facebook for bringing it to attention this holiday season.

I have a friend who spent Thanksgiving in Santa Fe. When someone asked what they did there, the reply was, “Well, we pretty much eat a meal and then sit around and talk about where we’re going to the eat the next meal.” To me, that’s pretty much what happens in the holiday season as well as in Santa Fe.

I’ve been dragging one foot reluctantly out of Thanksgiving, still eating turkey-and-blue cheese sandwiches, reheated potato casserole and green bean casserole. Even served a raggedy chunk of cheeseball for happy hour last night. Today, I think I’ll pretty much clean up the leftovers, except maybe for the cranberry cake that turned out to be a delightful surprise. Thanks to a neighbor for the recipe—you can watch for the recipe tomorrow in my “Gourmet on a Hot Plate” column. And yes, I baked it in my toaster oven.

But I’m also looking ahead to all food that speaks of Christmas. Spent a long, happy time last night paging through the December issue of Southern Living and cut out lots of recipes, half of which I will never make. I mean, really, who around here do I think will eat roasted oysters  with bacon-saltine topping? And do I really think I’m extravagant enough to serve beef tenderloin crostini or an eight-pound standing rib roast? Jamie, whose birthday is in January, loves prime rib but he rarely comes home for a birthday dinner. No, beer-cheese fondue is probably more my speed. Or maybe the family would like a good, old-fashioned trifle.

Meantime we have to eat until the big day—or week. Some restaurants are on my calendar—I had a lovely lunch yesterday at Nonna Tata, though my friends chided me for ordering potato salad at an Italian restaurant. “Where,” they demanded, “is the pasta?” Tonight I’ll have a low-key, early dinner with a good friend, and tomorrow night it’s a happy hour birthday celebration at a Clearfork restaurant. I’ll be ready to stay home and wrap packages this weekend. Sunday dinner? I’m thinking a Mexican casserole.

The other all-consuming December occupation of course involves gifts—buying and wrapping. It rarely makes me friends when I announce that my shopping is done, but it mostly is. I think only one grandson is a hold-out. And I have wrapped three gifts—a start. Being as compulsive as I am, I plan to spend this weekend wrapping. Trouble is that in the cottage, there’s precious little room for all those packages. I’d put them on the couch, but Sophie would bat them onto the floor when she wants to sleep there. She barely tolerates the Christmas pillow and bunny, although this morning when I got up, she was wrapped around that bunny. I wasn’t fast enough to get a picture.

A decidedly un-holiday-like sour note this morning. We had a leak in our water meter box, on our side of the meter (of course! it’s never on the city side!). The plumber has “patched” it—his word—but warns that the next leak will probably mean replacing pipe (and digging up the lawn) all the way to the house. He speculates the pipe is original to the house, which makes it almost a hundred years old. As I count my blessings, I’m grateful that we can fix this without cancelling Christmas. I know that would be the choice in many households.

Christmas comes to the cottage

On this cold blustery night—29 by morning--Christmas finally came to the cottage. We’ve been so wrapped up with x-rays and MRIs and dental extractions and doctors and dentists, that we sort of overlooked the season. Tonight, though we opened the doors to Christmas and the Christ child…and pulled the shades against the cold.

Megan has been here since Thursday, taking me to the doctor, fixing meals, sitting in the cottage with me of an evening. This afternoon we sat on the patio in 70+ sunshiny weather Tonight because of the cold we sent the caregiver home early. Truly there was another reason—I got to spend the evening with just my two daughters, wrapping presents, laughing, talking, and truly anticipating the holiday. For the first time this season it feels like Christmas, though a very different holiday from past ones in this family—no tree trimming party for a hundred of my nearest and dearest, no planning the huge meal, no last-minute shopping desperation. I’ve warned the family that my gifts will be slim but my love for them and gratitude overflows my ability to express it. I think this Christmas, with much to be grateful for, may be the best Christmas ever..I also think, though we’ve always been a close family, this health crisis of mine has brought u+s even closer together.The Lord has truly blessed me, and I am grateful at this season celebrating God’s goodness to us.

If you haven’t already done so, I hope you too can throw open the doors and windows to welcome the Christ child into your homes and hearts.

Thanksgiving 2015

I’m not sure about this but I think tomorrow will be the first morning I’ve ever woken up on a major holiday in a house by myself—in my whole seventy-seven years. I was always with family. This year Thanksgiving is the holiday that my children go to their in-laws, although a couple of them would always welcome me. But I’ve decided to spend the day at my brother’s with his extended family…and he seemed pleased when I invited myself. I will take two old family favorite dishes—the best blue-cheeseball in the world and raw cranberry relish, which I wrote about the other day. I made it this morning and what I thought would be a simple task turned out not to be—my back screamed at me to sit and rest three times during the process.

Because this is not “my” Thanksgiving, it will be “my” Christmas, and I will have all my children and grandchildren together. What a joy!

A nice day today. Jacob spent the whole morning propped up in my bed with his iPad. When his mom arrived for lunch, she was astounded he hadn’t eaten. I said, “He didn’t ask, so I didn’t offer.” Bad grandmother, I guess. But he had four Eggo waffles for breakfast/brunch/lunch while we ate tuna salad—Jordan makes great tuna with lots of lemon. I did explain that he was the reason my bed wasn’t made at noon.

After they left I suddenly got on a tear and took care of a lot of little details, which included several emails to Jordan. She said tonight on the phone she wanted to scream, “Go take a nap and quit emailing me!” Eventually I did just that.

So tonight I’ve been reviewing a book I am to blog about but otherwise being generally lazy.

For each of you I wish a bountiful Thanksgiving. Not all of us want the big family celebration (though I do), so I hope you celebrate in whatever way is comfortable to you. But as you give thanks in your own way for all that is bestowed on us, please pray for our divided country. I don’t remember a time of such dramatic and nasty divide, with hateful rhetoric. I’ve been impressed with a Molly Ivins quote to the effect that dividing a country is a sure way to bring it down. Whatever your belief—admit Syrians, turn them away; repeal Obamacare or not; approve women’s right to privacy of health care or pass rules governing it—please pray for our good old U.S. As you give thanks remember that it is our country and our freedom that makes us thankful.

Blessings on y’all.

What are you looking forward to?

A good friend asked me the other night over dinner what I was looking forward to this fall. “Any trips?” This is a woman who travels all over the world, sometimes alone, sometimes with a friend. She knows I’m not much on travel, but that was to her the automatic question. Tonight, another friend said, “I get antsy if I don’t travel. I haven’t been anywhere since August.” August? Barely a month ago.

They got me to thinking about what I look forward to, because I suppose everyone has to have something in the wings that pulls them forward. My idea of travel is pretty much limited to visits to my kids, all of whom live in Texas. So I am looking forward to an October visit with my oldest daughter, Megan, and her family in Austin. My former colleague and now good friend, Melinda, and I go for Texas Book Festival. I used to spend Saturday and Sunday working at the festival, but now that I’m retired I leave that to Melinda and I hang out with my family. Megan said this year they’re expecting some humongous number of people at the festival and her advice was to avoid it—I think I’ll do just that. But Melinda and I stop for lunch at carefully picked places on the way down, then have happy hour with a good friend of hers a Z Tejas, and Monday morning breakfast with Barbara Whitehead, who has designed books for TCU Press since I can remember.

But beyond that trip, I look forward to small things. I told Sue (my Canadian daughter) tonight, that I was looking forward to her visit. I’m looking forward to a visit the last weekend of the month from old friends who moved away many years ago. They wrote they’d be in Dallas, and so I invited them for Sunday supper—when their daughter, my godchild, was young they always came for Sunday supper (that girl is now 26 or 27). I asked if there was any special dish they remembered, and got the answer “King Ranch Chicken.” So my menu is already set. It will be good to catch up.

I’m always looking forward to a call from The Millionaire (remember that old TV show?), and more realistically I’m hoping to hear from the agent to whom I sent three chapters, at her request, of my historical novel.

And then there’s a cocktail hour reception to preview the reunion of the cast of Lonseome Dove. Not sure how I got on the invitation list but I did, and Subie and I will go.

Before we know it, Thanksgiving and Christmas will be upon us. I’m thinking this year I might spend Thanksgiving at my brother’s ranch, and then Christmas will be an Alter holiday with all of us together.

Yep, I may not travel much, but there’s a lot ahead to look forward to. And I think that helps keep a person young—something that’s been on my mind lately. After my “Meltdown” post last night I have to report that I am back “at myself” though I wore my back out with trips to two groceries and the hardware store. And that lamb chop that wasn’t last night? I had such a good one tonight, cooked just right on my Jenn-Air grill that I chewed on the bone.

Life is good. Blessings on all of you. What are you looking forward to?

The Christmas Curmudgeon

A Christmas picture of most

but not all the Alter bunch

 

Facebook has been reminding us a lot lately that for many people the holidays are not the joyful family time that most of us dream of. Some are grieving, or sick, or lonely. It can be a hard time to face, with memories of happier times making the bad times all the harder. It's good advice, and something we should all keep in mind. Tonight I am, as I have been every Christmas of my life, surrounded by family, so I can't speak for the deep depression that some feel at the holidays.
But I've decided that joy at Christmas and feeling the spirit is a two-way street. If you're blue and alone, go serve at a soup kitchen, go to a church carol sing, reach out to a neighbor who may be alone or not realize that you are. My kids are off caroling tonight while I babysit the youngest who was too tired to go. But they'll come back, full of hot chocolate and cider, and bringing the Christmas spirit with them.
I sat at a mall table today with a young woman who was alone. Actually I asked if she minded if I sat there while my family decided what to do next. It was, I explained, like herding cats. She smiled and was gracious, but when several of my family descended on the table to eat cupcakes, she excused herself. I said we didn't mean to rush her off, and she said no, she really needed to go. But I worried about her the rest of the day. She didn't seem capable of reaching out to me like the woman I met in line tonight waiting for our turn at the restroom. By the time we parted, we were old friends. Christmas does that to some people. I wish others could get that spirit .
Last night I decided I was a being a bit of a curmudgeon myself, withdrawing into myself. Maybe I was remembering Christmases when the grandkids were young, cuddly, and awed by the whole thing, or maybe it was even my children's early Christmases. But everything seemed hectic and loud and disorganized to me. When I went to bed, I talked to the Lord about it and resolved not to think so much about how I was feeling and to think more about how my family was feeling. I wanted to make them glad I was in the midst of them.
This morning when I got up the first thing I did was to wash my hair and put on makeup. It made an enormous difference in my attitude, and I've had a terrific day.
I wish for each of you a joyous Christmas. If you celebrate, I wish you may feel the spirit of the gift of the Christ Child bringing joy, hope and peace to the world. If you don't celebrate the holy day, I wish for you the joy of the season.