twd: lenox almond biscotti

chocolate almond biscotti, intelligentsia coffee, and my favorite black dog cafe mug


When I was working on my Master's degree at Michigan State, I took a fiction writing class for fun. I dreamed up the perfect heroine, named her Aurora (hoping to conjure up allusions to Elizabeth Barrett Browning's poetic bildüngsroman Aurora Leigh), and placed her into fun situations, like playing saucy scrabble matches and munching homemade biscotti with the inscrutable, Kerouac-esque hero Sam.

A few months later, I moved to Auburn, Alabama to work on my Doctorate. Fiction writing courses weren't in my immediate schedule, and so I was thrilled to find a group of women who met every few weeks to workshop creative writing. With great nervousness and trepidation, I printed out eight copies of the Aurora stories and distributed them to the group. They liked the saucy scrabble game, and thought Sam was a suitable hero. But Aurora? She wasn't real. She made her own biscotti, and, really, who did that?

I do! I protested, revealing that the line between fact and fiction was slim at best.

I still make my own biscotti (and still write my heroines as bakers)...Double Chocolate Walnut; Dried Cherry and Almond; Lemon Poppyseed.

This week, TWD baked the Lenox Almond Biscotti, thanks to Gretchen of Canela & Comino. I decided that my playing around would take the form of chocolate chunks and slivers mixed in with the sliced almonds and almond extract. I used white whole wheat flour, without a noticeable difference. The biscotti spread out so much in the pan I was worried they would be too flat, but they turned out alright. After the second baking, the biscotti were still a little soft, so I decided to crisp them up again. This recipe includes cornmeal, which heightens the crunch and textural dimension of the cookies, and also, somehow, makes them seem a little more rustic. I like it, but I still prefer my Dried Cherry and Almond biscotti for overall flavor and texture.

Biscotti are easy to make, and a perfect treat because they last so long out on the counter (unless, of course, you have many hungry eaters roaming your kitchen). They're a moment of joy to accompany that afternoon cup of coffee, and maybe, they'll give you flights of fictional fantasy and help you connect to your inner Aurora--that slightly cooler, more endearing, and quirkily charming version of yourself who is ready to march through the pages of a novel, offering biscotti and poetry to all she meets.

romance and locavores

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I'm taking a break from baking and baking blogging today to share some exciting news: two fun presentations this week!

1. On Friday I'm giving a talk at my College on popular romance fiction, my current research (and creative) specialty and interest. I'm hoping to share my enthusiasm for the genre and to "redeem" this genre in the face of common charges of formula fiction that's simply wish fulfillment fantasy written by "the damned mob of scribbling women" (said by Nathaniel Hawthorne about the 19th century domestic novelists like Fanny Fern, whose books were outselling his, but echoed in many a review and casual conversation even today). I'm making some classic ganache truffles and bringing sparkling wine, and a friend is making other romantic treats.

2. I've been asked to speak at our farmers' market on Saturday on our campus green initiatives, particularly our Locavore Challenge that starts tomorrow! I'm so excited--I love the farmers' market and I'm so passionate about local foods. I'm also thrilled to represent my school and to hopefully build positive connections between the campus and the community.

of things vintage, new, and excluded

This is the famous Zingerman's, in Ann Arbor, home of all that is delicious and good. Oh, Zingy's, let me count the ways I miss you...

Today I'm conjuring up some of their Paesano bread in my mind, and dipping it in the fine Arbequina Olive Oil I recently bought from the Oilerie, an Olive Oil bar in Fish Creek, WI (the most touristy of the Door County towns). Fantasy bread and real olive oil. Hmmm.

And this is me in the photo, wearing a dress that used to be my Mom's, from the late 80s/early 90s, that I like to call vintage, but she doesn't like to hear called vintage.

This is me before I got my hair cut (note to any former students who happen to be reading this blog, yes, I know, I used that abhorrent word GOT)...which I had done right before moving, I'm sure subconsciously it was a symbolic act. I'm still adjusting to my sassy layers that just barely fit in a ponytail...last year this time my hair was flowing halfway down my back. Last year I was also training for a half marathon and confidently running up to 8 consecutive miles with limited difficulty. Today I'm lucky to manage running 1 consecutive mile before sucking air...

But I digress. Today's a day of memories and bits of the past that make me homesick mixed in with my new reality, which is thrilling and positively full of potential.

But. I really wanted to post a mini-rant today about the discrimination against RN's in used bookstores. I've frequented quite a few such bookstores lately, and have noticed that while they include special sections for all manner of odd and esoteric subjects (including the always interesting Circus Book genre), and include sections for other popular, mass-market genres of sci-fi/fantasy and mystery, ROMANCE is no where to be found. A few may be scattered in with the general fiction/literature, but these titles are teetering towards the slightly more "respectable" women's fiction. This exclusion made me mad. I've been formulating reasons in my head--i.e. there are simply too many RNs to even admit any because it is, after all the MOST popular/best-selling genre, and the bookstore would be overwhelmed. But wouldn't this also then mean that these books would come in and out of the store with greater frequency? Surely they could set aside a little shelf space for tales from the heart.

I suspect the exclusion has more to do with perceptions of high/low literature, class/cultural capital perceptions, and suspicion of those damned scribbling women, and their impressionable readers. Again.

boxes, bob dylan, and bookaholicism

photo from wikipedia

This is the week I am forced to start packing. Seriously packing. 25 days 'til moving day. Since college, I have a history of not being completely packed when my dear family shows up to load cars, trucks, and trailers full of my belongings. Over the years, my possessions (mainly books and kitchen supplies) have multiplied, but my ability to be completely packed by moving day has not changed. I could recount many a tearful, stressful, and irritated scene, but will leave this to your imagination. I have vowed publicly that this time I'll be all packed. You know that song by Queen and David Bowie, featured in that film with the cute Josh Hartnett (whatever happened to him, BTW?), *40 Days and 40 Nights,* that's now feaured on various commercials where people are all stressed out, and the refrain is "under pressure"? That would be me.

During my post-prandial stroll (yet another packing stalling technique and sanity saver these stressful days), I listened to a little Bob Dylan, "Shelter from the Storm," which made me think of Sam on the mountain, and, more importantly, coming off of the mountain and finding Lily. "Not a word was spoke between us, there was little risk involved. Everything up to that point had been left unresolved.Try imagining a place where it's always safe and warm..." (Bob Dylan, "Shelter from the Storm")

After walking, I picked up the novel *The Baker's Apprentice,* to read just a chapter before filling the empty boxes awaiting my prized possessions. I realized, several chapters later, that books are my drug of choice. Not exactly an epiphany, but something about my current situation and all the real work I have to do throws my quasi-addiction in relief. "Put the book DOWN, Jessica, and just walk away," I muttered more than once. Does my ability to actually walk away save me? Are books an inherently dangerous addiction? You know how those 18th century folks worried about the influence of novels on impressionable young women...

mojitos and men on mountaintops

photo of the Keyhole on Longs Peak, from wikipedia, taken by J. Benjamin Wildeboer

In some circles, I'm known as Martha, after Martha Stewart, for my cooking craft, and in other circles I'm known for making a mean mojito. One relative-of-a-relative actually calls me Mojito Martha. Last night I made the first mojitos of the summer with some gorgeous, fragrant mint from the farmer's market...this time I actually went to the little trouble of making a mint syrup, but you can just as easily muddle the mint and sugar in the bottom of a glass. Add a shot of golden rum, juice of one lime, ice cubes, and top off with club soda for a refreshing, painless drink. Painless until you realize you've downed two of them and these days one drink is enough to provoke tipsy laughter and true confessions. Have another drink and who knows what might happen...

So I've placed Sam, my RN hero, on a mountaintop. Cliche? Perhaps. But I realized I needed something BIG to provoke his romantic "come to Jesus" moment. Losing his job didn't do the trick, neither had moving back to his hometown. I drew on my own experience climbing Longs Peak, a "fourteener" in Rocky Mountain NP, for Sam's big moment.

Long's Peak can be climbed non-technically--that is, without ropes, harnesses, all of the trappings of "real" rock climbing. In 2001, I spent about six weeks working at Shadowcliff lodge in Grand Lake, CO, and planned a climb with my co-workers. In typical dharmagirl fashion, I read everything I could about the climb, and prepared physically and mentally. The books made the climb sound challenging but not difficult (if that contradiction even makes sense). In reality, the climb was grueling, a 14 hour event that saw several missteps, including losing my footing on a particularly steep portion of the climb, just yards away from the summit. Thank goodness for my friend N, the British bloke who pushed me back up and kept me from sliding into a rocky abyss. This climb was transformative--a testament to my resilience in the face of challenges, and a certain tenacity that isn't always apparent when I feel muddled with insecurity and uncertainty.

So what better experience to give to Sam, who needs something larger than life, larger than himself to propel him back to Lily? I have him stop his climb at the Keyhole, a definitive moment that all the guidebooks say is where most people who fail to summit turn around, as the immensity of the mountain becomes apparent. You have to step through a keyhole shaped opening in the rock to a narrow ledge on the other side to wind up closer to the summit. And this is all at 6.2 miles into the 8 mile hike to the summit...turning around when you're that close takes a certain emotional truth that I want Sam to realize and to redirect.

meta-narration

Happy Birthday to my Dad! I listened to Rascal Flatts' "My Wish" in his honor (he gave my brother and me the CD last fall because that song made him think of us, so sweet). It's an apt song for a time of transition...

Thanks to Laura's encouraging words and a long walk today when all I could write was page after page of dialogue (do these people never shut up?!?), I have developed a narrative structure to allow for the characters' place-based po-mo fluidity. Scarily enough, it involves drawing on some po-mo theory of identity/subjectivity/narrative...which will work wonderfully with a *surprise* meta-narrative device that fell into the story last week. And, Lily's (heroine) Mom happens to be a professor, so this structure can work into the existing character pool and plot...now, if I can only correctly remember the aforementioned po-mo theory from my grad school days when it was de rigueur...

Last night I cooked my first meal of the season using exclusively local produce! Well, not local by locavore standards, but from the greater Holland area where I bought my fruits and veggies at the outstanding farmer's market. I'm reading *The Way We Eat: Why Our Food Choices Matter* by Peter Singer and Jim Mason and thinking about the many implications, personal and political (which are inseperable, yes?), of what we choose to consume. I'll have a whole post on that soon enough. Anyway, the book is as transformative a read as Michael Pollan's *The Omnivore's Dilemma* was last year. Whereas Pollan made me more emotionally connected, Singer and Mason engage a much more complex, analytical perspective. They resist simple platitudes, like the "local, sustainable, organic" mantra, by exploring the multi-faceted ethical quandries such decisions pose.

Finally, my excitement grows for my scouting trip to WI this weekend. Serendipitously, my future colleagues are having a party so I'll have a chance to meet everyone again, this time without the pressure of an 11 hour interview. Yes, 11 hours. (I hope to convince my PhD Friends to blog with me about the insane rigors of The Academic Job Search, in which the full story of that day might be revealed, but I'm afraid our potential blogging will get bogged down in the act of naming. I'm fond of MLAgirl, but know that would only engender a discussion of girl v. woman v. womyn v. grrrl. I miss such debates!)

50 K

No, this isn't some insanely long race I'm training for, but rather the phenomenal news that I've *finally* crossed the 50,000 word count on my RN! Hoorah! I'm fully aware that it's rather arbitrary, and a mark of quantity rather than quality, but I'm pleased just the same.

The weekend was full of family--graduation party for 2 cousins and father's day celebrations. I'll miss my family dearly when I move across the Lake, a move that's becoming more real with every passing day and every packed box. I rented my moving truck today...and will (hopefully) find a new home when I visit WI this weekend.

Strawberries continue to feature prominently in my daily cuisine. Now I can add cherries, sugar peas, and summer squashes to the list of available local foods! Hoorah again! I know I'll be tired of the squashes in a month, but for now, they're a lovely new addition to my meals.