about bliss

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

twd: all in one holiday bundt cake


November usually descends with grey skies. Cool temps. Naked trees. Snow flurries. Early darkness. 

I usually respond to these changes with increasing gloom. Extra introversion. Hearty meals. Seasonal desserts. 

I planned a weekend of baking such hearty meals and seasonal desserts, tucking into November with culinary comfort. 

And then...sunshine, glorious sunshine! Unseasonably warm temperatures! 

I eschewed a weekend of baking, and settled on making just one of the delicious picks for this month, the All in One Holiday Bundt Cake selected by Britin of The Nitty Britty

Late Sunday afternoon I mixed up the cake, using canned pumpkin, a grated Ida Red apple from my mom, and a cup of local cranberries from G's mom. My two bundt pans, rose and sunflower shapes, don't seem to match the seasonality of this particular recipe, so I made two loaves instead. They baked for about 50 minutes and perfumed the house with spicy warmth. 

After the loaves cooled, I topped them with the optional maple glaze and chopped pecans. G and I enjoyed thick slices with cups of hot vanilla green tea as our weekend came to a close. 

Both of us were impressed by the density of the cake and the interplay of flavors. Delicious! I wrapped up a slice for G to take home, placed the partial loaf in the freezer, and set aside the other whole loaf to take to coffee hour at work tomorrow. 

G raved about the cake and how the flavors improved overnight. While his direct comments are off-the-record, his overall impression of this cake is *very* favorable. A perfect autumnal cake, suitable to November days in all their manifestations. 

Monday, November 09, 2009

daily haiku: 48/100

one perfect pink heel
shiny, seductive, slingback
flying through the air

Sunday, November 08, 2009

daily haiku: 47/100

dark way too early
sunday night blues descending
waiting for the moon

Saturday, November 07, 2009

Friday, November 06, 2009

daily haiku: 45/100

whitecaps heave and wail
crashing pluming over piers
gales of november

Thursday, November 05, 2009

daily haiku: 44/100

watching the sun set
a lone tree burns golden orange
against all the grey

Wednesday, November 04, 2009

daily haiku: 43/100

friendships ebb and flow
lives move at varying speeds
hold them together

Tuesday, November 03, 2009

daily haiku: 42/100

honking geese fly south
dry leaves pile on frosty lawns
something in the air...

Monday, November 02, 2009

daily haiku: 41/100

driving endless miles
crisscrossing states our laughter
filling the warm car

Sunday, November 01, 2009

daily haiku: 40/100

perched in the roar zone
drunken virgil leads the crowd
lions inferno

Saturday, October 31, 2009

daily haiku: 39/100

drive around the lake
miles slip away between homes
sharing family



*drive around the lake
date at uncommon grounds with
an uncommon friend

*last two lines written by ggg

Friday, October 30, 2009

daily haiku: 38/100

so many circles
lapping the social walkers
wish i was outside

Thursday, October 29, 2009

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

daily haiku: 36/100

some days haiku bloom
continuously. other
days, they hide away.

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

daily haiku: 35/100

walking the lake shore
scrawling wishes in damp sand
please don't wash away

Monday, October 26, 2009

daily bliss: on the road

During my angsty grad school days, I wrote a dissertation on the spiritual quest in male and female Beat writers' works. 

There's something about that particular pilgrimage—the spiritual, not so much the Beat—that appeals to me. A journey for something ineluctable, intangible, and yet transformative. 

I like to think we're all searching, each in her or his own way, for something infused with meaning. 

***

I love road trips, those times when the miles slip away under the humming car wheels, when scenery shifts and slides from one landscape to the next. Those times when the small space inside the car seems to contain the whole world, whether you're traveling along, accompanied by good tunes and your own meandering thoughts, or with a traveling companion (or two or four), whose own thoughts dance with your own, filling the hours with innumerable tangents. 

***

Is life more about the journey than the destination? Endless thinkers, poets, seekers, and musicians pose this question, and some go as far to answer (thank you, Miley Cyrus).

***

Are we there yet?

***

The world shifts, tilts, and rearranges itself when the car door opens. 

***

Are we where we were before?

***

Does "a journey of a thousand miles begin with a single step?" (Lao Tzu) and "what is this self I will loose if I leave what I know?" (Joanne Kyger)

***

A warm car, eclectic tunes, car snacks, laughter, real soul talk, travel games, and a hand to hold. 

***

The journey is here. 
The journey is now. 
The journey has just begun. 

(don't stop believin'/hold onto that feelin')




daily haiku: 34/100

inky pens, empty
pages, ready for the raw
open honest scrawl.

Sunday, October 25, 2009

daily haiku: 33/100

long drives and deep talk
through golden leafy splendor
feels like home to me

Saturday, October 24, 2009

daily haiku: 32/100

rain slick leaf strewn roads
winding through city and town
a rural escape

Friday, October 23, 2009

daily haiku: 31/100

petals fall open
soften, crinkle at the edge
bittersweet beauty

Thursday, October 22, 2009

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

daily haiku: 29/100

wrapped up in white tulle
everything's translucent moist
and somewhat hazy.

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

daily bliss: apple layer cake with cream cheese frosting

When I heard of Gourmet magazine's demise, I felt shock. It was the first foodie magazine I subscribed to, back in the late 1990s when I started to cook for myself. 

Now, in addition to Gourmet, my mailbox is filled with Cooking Light, Saveur, and Bon Appetit. I regularly buy Gastronomica when I can find it, and still love Food and Wine

Yes, friends, I am a cooking magazine addict. 

And, so many recipes I mark—with dog eared corners—go unmade, as I fall into old patterns or search the blogosphere for a tried-and-true recipe from one of my fellow bakers. 

But Dorie Greenspan's latest selection of apple desserts in the October issue of Bon Appetit stuck in my mind. 

Early Saturday afternoon I declared to G, "I'm going to make a cake!" 

He did not protest. I showed him the magazine photos of the Fuji Apple Spice Cake. When I told him the frosting was cream cheese, he grinned. 

I left for the grocery store to purchase supplies, and he headed out for an unnamed errand. When I returned, a dozen roses and a smiling G greeted me. [insert schmoopy sweetness]

And so, in making the cake, I made a large, two layer eight inch cake to share with whomever, and a little four inch babycake just for G. 


I also bought a pint of Haagen Dazs five brown sugar ice cream (when you don't have time to make homemade, this is a more than fine substitute), and later that night, after making Vietnamese summer rolls for dinner, and after the babycake was assembled, I presented it to him as a token of sweetness. 


He shared his little cake with me, and I sent him home with a quarter of the big cake. 

Readers, this cake, like most Dorie creations, is a marvel. With warm autumn spices, diced apples—I used a mix of empire and cortland—as well as applesauce—I made homemade—and nuts—I used toasted walnuts—the cake is chunky and texturally pleasing. It's moist, dense, and yet inexplicably light. 

Since I have an oral allergy to raw apples, I can only eat this, one of my favorite fruits, cooked. I revel in this cake, which delivers fragrant appleness in every bite. It's the essence of fall, of sweetness, of homeyness, of comfort. I'll definitely be baking this cake again!

twd: sweet potato biscuits

Martha's Cream Biscuits. Bittman's Yogurt Biscuits. Dorie's Sweet Potato Biscuits. All delicious, all favorites that I've made and enjoyed with simple soups and roasted veggie meals. 

And yet...

Nothing quite has the emotional pull of Mom's biscuits, often served with sausage gravy...or accompanying my standard birthday meal of fried chicken, succotash, mashed potatoes and gravy. Mmm. Even now, this vegetarian hungers for those tastes of home, of Southern heritage kept alive in the Midwest where I was born and raised. 

Sigh. Now, my standard birthday celebration meal is a Neopolitan pizza at Il Ritrovo, shared with my family when possible. A little more foodie, a little less socio-cultural-emotional-familial. Something in me longs for those earlier meals...

But this post is supposed to be about Dorie's sweet potato biscuits, selected by the awesome blogger Erin, of Prudence Pennywise. I made half a batch after work yesterday. I baked two medium sized sweet potatoes, mashed their vibrant interiors, and stuck them in the fridge to cool a bit while I worked the rest of the dough. A pinch of cinnamon and a sweep of nutmeg over the grater added a hint of autumn warmth to the biscuits. 

These were a lovely treat alongside roasted veggies and sauteed chickpeas and spinach. I love their orangeness, and the hint of sweetness. I imagine they would be tasty with a thick slice of aged cheddar tucked inside. Or drizzled with a little vegetarian white gravy laced with cracked black pepper, a modern update on former comfort foods...

daily haiku: 28/100

darkness descends soon
nude branches pierce the grey sky
tears spill to the ground

Monday, October 19, 2009

daily haiku: 27/100

scribbling in white heat
dash—Capitalize—allude
vivid imagery


Sunday, October 18, 2009

daily haiku: 26/100

so much depends on
what is/not there: the edge of
possibility. 

Saturday, October 17, 2009

daily haiku: 25/100


one dozen roses
from the sweetest guy i know
such a lucky girl. 

Friday, October 16, 2009

daily haiku: 24/100

geese soar over pond
curving through the autumn air
my body flows too...

Thursday, October 15, 2009

daily haiku: 23/100

thirty three years ago
steve and katie said "i do"
i was flower girl.
happy anniversary, mom and dad!

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

daily haiku: 22/100

wednesday afternoons:
twelve minute drive to starbucks
between two classes.

daily bliss: sunday dinners


There's something special about a slow cooked Sunday dinner, the delicious smells wafting through the house as the chatter of commentators, roar of the crowd, and smack of helmets and pads drifts from the television. 

Such multi-sensory moments bring me back to childhood in the old "garage house"—the first house my Dad built for our family, which would eventually be converted to a garage when he built the second, larger home next door, fifteen years later. Throw in the panic induced by unfinished homework, and my past Sundays are complete. Delicious dinners, football on TV, and school stress. 

Since living on my own, these rhythms have changed. Subtract the football, replace it with quiet classical music, increase the school stress, and toss in an often over-the-top dinner preparation for a typical dharmagirl Sunday these past five years

This fall, my life is a little different. Add in one awesome, football enthusiast boyfriend who I'm teaching all about my crazy foodie ways, and suddenly Sundays feel and sound and smell a little bit more like those of my past, and feel more like home

"What do you think—soup or lasagne?" I asked this past Sunday as I surveyed a bulbous butternut squash. 

"Mmm, I can't decide that," he said, giving me free reign in plotting our dinner. 

I decided that lasagne would be easier, since the butternut squash soup I most like making also involves homemade cheese ravioli, and I didn't want to spend all afternoon fiddling with tiny pasta. 

I tackled the squash with my handy Wüsthof chef's knife, cubing it, tossing it with olive oil and salt, and placing it in the oven to roast. 

Note to self: always set the timer when roasting vegetables, or they just might become a little too black and crispy... 

After salvaging the squash cubes, and after the first football game finished, we laced up our shoes and went for a walk in the chilly, brisk bluesky world. 

As afternoon faded into evening, I assembled the lasagne: layers of pasta, a ricotta shallot chard garlic saute, squash chunks, and bechamel. The top layer was garnished with expertly grated mozzarella (thanks, G:). 

Add side dishes of roasted broccoli and cauliflower, garlic bread, and glasses of pinot noir, and slip into Sunday evening mellowness. 

Try to forget that tomorrow is Monday, that another weekend has ended, that numerous football teams didn't perform as you hoped, that the grading hasn't been completed, that it's cold outside, that we have to say goodbye for now. 

not TWD, but still muffins


This week, the TWD group baked allspice crumb muffins, a simple spiced muffin that sounded delicious...however, pumpkin chocolate chip muffins sounded even more delicious to me, so I went rogue and baked different muffins. 

Back when I lived in Okemos, Michigan, I would purchase honey whole wheat bread from the Great Harvest Bread Company. Their ingenuous marketing strategy is to offer free slices of any of their breads when you step into their warm, yeasty shop. This time of year, they would offer a pumpkin chocolate chip bread so moist and fragrant of fall that I nearly swooned. 

I decided to try to recreate this bread at home, with some success. Then, I moved, lost track of recipes, and can no longer remember whose version I followed before. A quick survey of my baking books and my cupboards directed me to the King Arthur Flour Whole Grain Baking recipe, which relies on all whole wheat flour, three eggs, and one stick of butter for 24 muffins. (the original recipe is for bread, but I simply adapted the baking time—about 25 minutes—for muffins). 

These muffins are moist, lush, spicy, chocolatey, and just the right amount of pumpkiney for someone not super jazzed by pure pumpkin flavor.  

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

daily haiku: 21/100

candy corn pumpkins
pumpkin chocolate chip muffins
but not pumpkin pie.

Monday, October 12, 2009

daily haiku: 20/100

crimson tipped yellow
leaves shine against grey cloud filled
sky pregnant with snow.

Sunday, October 11, 2009

Saturday, October 10, 2009

daily haiku: 18/100

the bus grows quiet,
sleeping, sweeping across miles,
rolling toward home.

Friday, October 09, 2009

daily haiku: 17/100

three giggling young girls,
rakes in hand, gathering leaves:
pile, spin, and dive in.

Thursday, October 08, 2009

daily haiku: the explanation

Several weeks ago, G mentioned a neat idea he saw from a writer on twitter. For the last 100 days of the year, choose something to do every day until the end of the year. If you miss a day, you start over at day one. If you don't miss a day, you'll finish on the last day of the year. 

After some deliberation, I decided on two tasks I wanted to integrate into my days: daily haiku and tiny yoga. I learned about tiny yoga from Kiki at Yogademia, who credits Sark with the concept. 

I hope to post the haiku here most days. And the tiny yoga varies from day to day, though usually I flow through a few sun salutations in the morning while my oatmeal bubbles and cafe au lait heats. 

I like the tiny-ness of these tasks—they're manageable moments of creativity and connection, and I can see envision these moments lingering into the new year. 

daily haiku: 16/100

olive oil, sea salt
sweet potatoes, cauliflow'r
spicy beans and greens

Wednesday, October 07, 2009

Tuesday, October 06, 2009

daily haiku: 14/100

fourteen: waves meet shore
familiar and new, same yet
changed forever. you. 

twd: split level pudding


Football Sunday: a cool, grey day, leaves beginning to spill across still verdant lawns. During halftime I headed to the kitchen to mix up the pudding. 

"Cinnamon, espresso, or vanilla?" I asked G, who was diligently checking football scores around the NFL.

"Mmm, vanilla."

I happily agreed, and cut a two inch chunk of plump vanilla bean.

"Have you ever smelled a vanilla bean?" I summoned G to the kitchen.

"Mmm." [note: more descriptive comments are not allowed as G said he wasn't quote worthy this week, and I allowed all such comments to be strictly off the record.]

I made half of Dorie's recipe, using skim milk, the vanilla bean, as well as vanilla extract, to cut down on the fat and amp up the flavor. I eschewed her food processor method, and used just a saucepan and a bowl, which worked beautifully.

By the time the game started again, the pudding was done, and we sampled the still warm mixture. Our eyes widened as the fragrant smoothness coated our mouths. 

"Mmm."

I divvied up last week's leftover ganache into two custard cups and topped each with the pudding. I settled back in to watch the Bears trounce the Lions. (boo!)

After a post-pummeling and pre-next-game walk, we ate the pudding. 


Full. Voluptuous. Simple. Pure. 

This recipe's utter ease requires the finest ingredients, as the flavors shine through, unmuddied by anything extra. 

Comfort. Homeyness. Warmth. 

Thank you, Garrett, of Flavor of Vanilla, for this week's delicious selection. 

Monday, October 05, 2009

daily haiku: 13/100

raindrops dishwasher
football commentators crowds
and your soothing voice

Sunday, October 04, 2009

daily haiku: 12/100

shimmy, shake, and strut
strip off your gossamer gown
exuberant nude.

Saturday, October 03, 2009

daily haiku: 11/100

full white cotton bolls
puffy like cumulus clouds
something pricks within

Friday, October 02, 2009

daily haiku: 10/100

color my mom hates:
daffodils and coldplay songs
eggs sunny side up

Thursday, October 01, 2009

daily haiku: 9/100

season of pumpkins
leaves turning crimson and gold
corduroy and wool

Wednesday, September 30, 2009

daily haiku: 8/100

stacks of magazines
a sapphire lake michigan
the view from my couch

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

daily haiku: 7/100

stuffy runny nose
wanting to retreat to couch
first cold of the year

twd: chocolate-crunched caramel tart


"Doesn't this tart look amazing," I whispered on Saturday afternoon, as the sky greyed and raindrops threatened to fall.

"Okay, I'm just not sure why this is called a tart," G said, as I showed him the photo in Baking: From My Home to Yours before we embarked on the baking process.

"Well, a tart is, um, not just for fruit! It's baked in a pan like this one!" I showed him the round, fluted edged pan with a removable bottom, the one he was about to butter for me. (is it cruel to delegate such tasks? he does a much more thorough job of buttering and flouring, as needs be, than i do). 

"I still don't get it," he said, shaking his head. 

I walked out of the kitchen...

...and into the study, where I selected my trusty pocket Oxford dictionary. "A tart is an open pastry creation!" I remarked, and then made a slightly risque joke involving the second definition of tart (consult your dictionary).

With that bit of banter established, we set about making the pastry. G buttered the pan, careful to fill each tiny pleat of the edge, as I mixed up the dough. We set it into the freezer and began the business of caramel and ganache making. 

I delegated the ganache making to G, as he's a huge fan of the versatile creamy chocolate concoction. He chopped 8 ounces of bittersweet Scharffen Berger chocolate, and whisked meticulously as I poured over the boiling cream and added the chunks of butter. 

Meanwhile, I faced the hot, tedious task of caramel making. I've successfully made caramel, in many stages and versions, on several occasions. I'm always nervous, though, as molten sugar foams and bubbles, threatening to harden and blacken in an instant. The caramel crafting was hot, steamy, and touch and go. I may have uttered a few profanities as I stirred and checked the candy thermometer. The color test was not reliable, as I used my favorite beige colored Florida Crystals organic cane sugar to intensify the flavor, and pale yellow star thistle honey in place of corn syrup. 

As I struggled with the caramel, and the tart shell baked, G chopped the cashews—Planters Harvest Jumbo cashews, roasted and lightly salted.

Our tasks complete, we sampled the components, eyes lighting up at the voluptuous flavors and textures of the ganache and caramel. 

We covered the cooled ganache and caramel, and set them in the fridge overnight. I decided to freeze the tart crust to keep it as fresh as possible. 

On Sunday, we assembled the tart and brought it to G's parents' home for an early fall Corn Roast and family get-together. 


After a delicious meal of grilled meats and soy products, roasted corn, salads and salsas and fruits and vegetables, we sliced the tart into sixteen slivers. 


With mugs of coffee in hand, the adults surveyed the tart and began eating...

Delight! 

The children were not fans, eating everything but the ganache, or declining outright. (next time i'm going to bring cupcakes adorned with pink sprinkles for the girls!). 

"This tart is not (a) tart," M said, delving into his second, nay, third sliver a few hours later, "but it's good anyway!" 

Conviviality and celebration filled the air as we watched the Detroit Lions finally, finally win a football game for the first time since December 23, 2007. 

I adore this tart, as it marries several of my favorite flavors—chocolate, caramel, nuts, and buttery pastry. Next time I'll use salted and roasted pecans, and I'll share it with my Mom and Dad and G, perhaps the night before the Lions win yet another game. 

Thank you, Carla, of Chocolate Moosey, for selecting one of the recipes I most wanted to bake! 

Monday, September 28, 2009

daily haiku: 6/100

one dozen cupcakes
and one tiny chocolate cake
i love babycakes.

Sunday, September 27, 2009

daily haiku: 5/100


warm maple syrup
thick homemade bread french toast
bourbon soaked peaches

Saturday, September 26, 2009

daily haiku: 4/100

bright kid, drug problem
eighteen months of jail time
two weeks out, he's dead

for LS, a former student, who died last week of a heroin overdose

Friday, September 25, 2009

daily bliss: madison memories

a lovely little venue 

Last weekend G and I attempted to live like we're still twenty-something years old (we're not.even.close.) and attend three concerts in three days:

Sugarland, in a stadium venue in Milwaukee. Jennifer Nettles and Kristian Bush (and band) played and rocked and danced and generally made merry on a gorgeous stage.

Andrew Bird, perhaps the best whistler I've ever heard, lulled me into half-sleep with mad violin skillz and cerebral lyrics at the Overture Center in Madison.

Stephen Kellogg and the Sixers and Carbonleaf jammed, rocked, ballad-ed in the intimate Majestic in Madison.

We survived...

On little sleep (staying with G's friend C! who hosted us and several others for a UW football weekend, which made for some interesting late night conversations).

On caffeine.

On adrenaline.

On lazy Sunday afternoons column writing (check out the full story of our Madison Farmers' Market meanderings at Corner Table for Two) and football watching, er, listening to.

We traveled from one concert to the next, alert and awake until sometime after midnight Sunday night/Monday morning as we wended our way home, two and one half hours, on dimly lit highways. We took turns driving, keeping one another awake until the miles disappeared just as the raindrops gathered into a shower.

Between the concert going, we explored Madison.

I've waxed poetic about Ann Arbor before, a city with a certain urban liberal hippiness that I adore. In many ways, Madison reminds me of Ann Arbor, except it's not quite as urban. It's less...snooty. And more easygoing.

We spent several hours promenading around the Capitol Square Farmers' Market, observing the varieties of human behavior—a man carrying a tiny dog in a special backpack, a man decked out in prison orange playing Bach on a piccolo—and purchasing novel vegetables—edamame and cranberry beans.

We spent time—and money—in foodie shops, including Fromagination, a cheese and gourmet foodstuffs store, and Barriques, a "wine cave" featuring a wall of 100 wines under $10.

We ate. Oh, we ate well. Couscous and hummus dishes at Kabul, an Afghan restaurant on State Street.

vegetarian couscous

Roasted veggie and montchevre omelets at the Daisy Cafe and Cupcakery. (and cupcakes—mocha chocolate, raspberry lime—to take home).

roasted CSA veggie and montchevre omelet

Summer rolls and red curries at Sa-Bai Thong.

spicy jungle curry

And we drank.

Some wine (thanks, C!).

A fabulous glass of fresh squeezed orange juice.

Lots of lattes and au laits.

what am *I* doing with a latte?!?
***

Monday I walked around work on a Madison high, sharing my experiences with anyone who would listen.

Tuesday I crashed.

Tonight I'm wishing for my next trip to Madison to happen...soon.

daily haiku: 3/100

red berries bubble
white loaves rise, fall, rise again
jam and fresh hot bread

Thursday, September 24, 2009

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

daily haiku: 1/100

quiet damp grey sky
roads still slick from last night's rain
traveling inward.

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

daily bliss: autumnal equinox

pie pumpkins at the madison farmers' market. photo by ggg

The alarm buzzes. NPR's "Morning Edition" flows through my bedside radio. I roll over and groan. Six a.m. is not going to happen this morning. I stay in bed, willing myself to roll over one more time and land, gracefully, on my feet, on the floor, and start the day. 

Welcome to the Autumnal Equinox, a day I spent wishing I was wrapped in a blanket on my couch, drinking steaming beverages, watching incense undulate, and listening to the interplay of raindrops and foghorns. 

Alas. I had to spend six hours at work, explaining Aristotelian rhetoric, sitting through (boring) meetings, and grading student blogs. 

But when I came home from work, I slipped Simon and Garfunkle's Greatest Hits in the CD player and worked through 30 minutes of thoughtful yoga. Then, I turned on the Gilmore Girls and drank cafe au lait. I shopped online. I prepared for class tomorrow. I ignored the stack of final drafts needing to be graded. I diced veggies for black bean soup and mixed up corn bread. 

In short, I gave myself the afternoon to settle into the increasing interiority of the new season.

And, I felt peace. 

Monday, September 21, 2009

daily bliss: farewell, summer


Dahlia, a late summer blossom

Despite overwhelming sleepiness, I walked to the Lake after work today, wanting to enjoy one more hazy summer afternoon of wave watching and sun drenching. 

Trees everywhere are loosening their leaves, and the nights come quickly and chilly. I reach, once again, for my trusty fleece jacket and lightweight scarf, before heading out in the evenings. 

My stomach yearns for warm soups and cornbread, for red wines over whites, and for quiet days at home, spent holed up with hot beverages, meandering conversations, and long cooking projects. 

Farewell, oh Summer of Fun, a summer beyond imagination, a summer beyond wonderful, a summer beyond full. My heart overflows with gratitude for the sheer abundance this season provided. 

And now, we begin Fantastical Fall...

I can hardly wait:)

Friday, September 18, 2009

daily bliss: fresh from the garden

In a byzantine system that's too complicated to explain here, my English Department colleagues are sprinkled across the great state of Wisconsin. Occasionally, conferences, workshops, and/or projects bring us together. 

Yesterday I headed North to join a few of my favorite English Dept. friends to work on a Lesson Study project. Afterwards, I stayed at A and R's farmstead, and we set about exploring the garden. 

This week the weather shifted—the air suddenly smelled of fall, the chill came quicker in the evening, and lasted longer in the morning. As we walked through the garden, tomatoes and beans gave way to hardier squashes and tenacious herbs. Cute pie pumpkins and one baby watermelon lay plump amongst dying vines. 

We clipped and snipped and lifted, and headed indoors. R marinated tofu with a mixture of honey, soy sauce, sriracha hot sauce, sesame oil, and rice wine vinegar. The tofu baked until it was golden and fragrant. I julienned zucchini, lemon cucumbers, and one lone carrot while A cooked rice noodles and set out the goodies—including mint, basil, pea shoots, and arugula—on the table to create our own Vietnamese Spring Rolls. 

These rolls were beyond fresh, and absolutely scrumptious. I quickly learned the process: place a rice paper spring roll wrapper in boiling water until it was thin and flexible. I spread the wrapper on my plate, squiggled hoisin sauce on the wrapper, and then began layering the tofu and vegetables. I rolled and tucked until I had a somewhat neat looking packet, dipped it in peanut sauce, and took a bite. 

Each flavor, from pungent to spicy to sweet, melded together in most bites, and I eagerly rolled my second roll. 

We sampled, er, drank a paper bottle (read: box) of organic Torrontes, and talked and laughed as we continued to fashion our own dinner from the abundant ingredients on the table. 


To finish the meal, we ate the flaky peach and apple turnovers I made for TWD before processing tomatoes from their garden.

***
This morning, I experienced nirvana in the form of a tiny BLT—sustainable bacon, local lettuce, cherokee purple tomato, and homemade buttermilk bread. As I drove home, I gave seriously consideration to eating some sustainable pork products on occasion. They're so delicious, and sometimes I have a hard time remembering why I'm not eating it in the first place...stay tuned. 

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

twd: flaky apple and peach turnovers


mini apple turnovers with hot pink sanding sugar 

"These itty bitty turnovers are...a pain in the ass!" 

This sentence bounced around my head for the 30 minutes it took me to assemble the little treats last night. The fruit, particularly the crispy apple bits, wouldn't be folded under the increasingly soft dough. My frustration grew, and I folded and stretched the tiny bits of dough into a rough semi-circle. 

I decided to make the turnovers diminutive because, well, my stomach is becoming less tiny by the day and I partially blame the delectable, irresistible weekly TWD treats (as well as a bevy of beverages I've enjoyed this summer). I would sample one of each kind—apple and peach—and then give the rest away, or tuck them into the freezer for a craving day. 

The turnover dough is fairly simple to make, and nicely waits in the refrigerator when you need to leave for an impromptu Sunday afternoon corn roast with your boyfriend's parents. 

The fruits take no time to prepare. A tiny dice, especially for the apples, makes the folding easier. 

It's the turnover assembly that's tedious. 

But well worth it—these tiny little pies are delicious, with a dab of fruit surrounded by flaky, tangy crust. Mmmm. 

Thank you, Julie, of Someone's in the Kitchen, for selecting these tasty tiny treats!



mini peach turnover

Tuesday, September 08, 2009

twd: chocolate souffle

Ahhh, souffle. The breath of life. The magical transformation. The delicacy. 

The intimidation.

Reader, souffles are...easy. They're easier than pie, simpler than cake, and so very delicious and satisfying. Think of the voluminous eggs as a vehicle for flavor, and you have the secret to souffle. 

I whipped up a quarter recipe of the souffle Sunday evening when I was a) beyond sleepy; b) drying out from a little too much boxed pinot grigio the night before; and c) attempting to unpack from the weekend, pack for the school week, catch up with my family via the telephone, and prepare for classes today. 

My batter filled three small ramekins, and while the rise wasn't super impressive, they still billowed aloft for a few shining moments before sinking, gracefully, into deliciousness. 

I enjoyed my souffle with Dorie's vanilla ice cream and felt almost virtuous eating this simple dessert. (yes, i am aware that this is stretching matters a bit). 

Thank you to Susan of She's Becoming DoughMessTic, for selecting this recipe and allowing me to discover the truth about souffles. Check out her delightful blog, filled with recipes and culinary adventures.  

Monday, September 07, 2009

daily bliss: bittersweet

Friday: the neighborhood is awash in haziness. The Western sky suggests a watercolor pastel painting, each shade of sky and clouds, of trees and ponds, melding into one another under a gentle fuzziness. 

My feet trace the steps of so many summer days, following the sidewalk's curves under trees that are beginning to turn from green to gold, unleafing themselves over lawns. 

I stop by the elementary school playground and pull myself aloft on a swing, pumping my legs until I reach that shimmering moment of queasydizzyecstasy, and shiver my way back down to the ground. Gradeschool aged girls, playing on the other swingset, tease one another, "do you have a boyfriend?" they ask one another amidst peals of giggles. Yes, I want to answer, imagining one of those girls is my lovesick fourth grade self always watching from the outside as other girls walk hand-in-hand with the cute boys to the edge of the playground and—some of them—beyond. 

In a spot of undeveloped long grass, a family of deer sits, munching the blades, turning their pert heads this way and that to watch me watch them. 

As I meander by the pond, swarms of gnats and lake flies fill the air with so much mad life, or lust, I'm not really sure. I watch a graceful, long necked bird sweep through the air, hovering just over the water's edge. 

The neighborhoods are quiet at first, and then loud music bumps out of a room here, and a voice breaks into laughter there. "Come on over Sunday, we're going to fry out," booms one man, from a screened porch party. From an upstairs window I hear "Hi!" yelled by a brave boy, right on the edge of puberty, his voice betraying his hormonal tumultuousness. "Hey Blond Girl!" they all yell and giggle, as I, already walking by the next house, raise my hand in a wave.

The mainstreet is lined with flags to celebrate one more summer holiday, the last in the trifecta that marks the passage of time from Spring's potential through Summer's fruition to Fall's harvest.

I feel a collective effort to savor this long, last weekend of Summer before Fall demands our attention, with vibrant color and inescapable intensity, with heartier fare and savory vegetables. With school days and football games, increasing grey skies and chilly nights. Corduroy and cashmere, clogs and heels. 

I pack my weekend bag with the fabrics of summer: light cotton tees and dresses, khaki shorts and miniskirts, shiny spandex bathing suit tops, sandals. I add in the layers of fall: fleece, scarves, hooded sweatshirts. 

Saturday and Sunday: We drive North, and the road through the reservation pops with autumnal color. The hot days quickly give way to chilly nights, which we stave off with warming beverages and hot campfires. Sunday night we all settle around the fire, laughing, talking on the surface and diving deep. Slowly, we leave the circle of the fire and settle into sleep, knowing that the morning will bring about a bittersweet ending to this last fling with Summer's sun.

Monday: We drive South, and think of fall. Somehow, the colorful trees seem more prevalent today. The coffeehouse radio station obliges our quiet introspection with a steady stream of quality songs, old and familiar, new and true. 

I climb the stairs to my apartment and ignore the bags that need unpacking. I recline on my couch, willing a little daytime sleep to come, but despite the fullbodied tiredness after a long weekend, my eyes won't stay shut. I lace up my walking shoes and head outside, determined to drink in just a little more sunshine. 

I cook dinner, check in with my parents and brother, all of whom I dearly miss. I have to remind myself that work beckons tomorrow, that students are submitting their first paper drafts. My brain can't quite wrap around this return to responsibility, and all I want to do is blog and journal and daydream just a little while longer...

Ahhhh. 

Potential. Fruition. Harvest. 

Ahhhh.

Spring. Summer. Fall. 

Looking for my new rhythm. Trying out this new balancing act. Thinking of my favorite yoga poses—half moon, tree, dancer—which rely on drishti (focused gaze), balance, and a letting go of fear-of-falling.

I bake a bittersweet chocolate souffle—tackling a dish that requires, above all, patience, to allow the air to expand in a glorious breath, allowing the cakes to rise to such great heights and nevermind the fall. A touch of sweetness with an edge of something a little sharper and bitter, like the crisp note of autumn air after a warm summer day. My heart aches, wanting just one more moment, day, week, month of summer enchantment...

I oscillate between acceptance of the changing seasons and longing for summer to linger. I ride the edge of liminality, I sojourn in the spaces in between...

Tuesday, September 01, 2009

twd: espresso cheesecake brownies


One year ago I joined TWD in hopes of baking more adventurously, blogging more regularly, and finding "my people" on the internet. These hopes have been fulfilled doublefold. Although my blog contains as much "food for thought" as actual "food," it has become a place where I can connect with my bloggie friends all over the world. And, although I've missed a few weeks of baking fun and don't always comment as frequently as I'd like on your blogs, I treasure my TWD readers. Thanks, y'all! Here's to another year of deliciousness. 

***
Several months ago I blogged about making a fabulous chocolate cream tart while Mom and Grandma, visiting for the weekend, watched. I wrote about how I like to bake alone, being particular (control freakish?) about the process.

Lately, my boyfriend G and I have been cooking on the weekends, and I've been teaching him how to cook some of my favorite dishes and sharing some of my comfort foods: summer succotash, peach pie, panfried okra. 

He must enjoy these lessons, since he suggested we create a newspaper column and a new blog to chronicle our adventures in the kitchen. It's definitely a work in progress, but you can stop by our Corner Table for Two.

This weekend, we planned on making several variations of guacamole to bring to our monthly wine club gathering, and this week's TWD offering, espresso cheesecake brownies.

Reader, I invited him to help me bake.

G buttered and floured the pan and basically—and flawlessly—executed all of the brownie layer steps while I attended to the cheesecake layer. 

I feel like I have grown as a baker as I've given up some of the control and accepted help in the kitchen. It's—gasp—fun. And the brownies?!? They turned out swell. 

The wine club loved the tri-layer treats, and offered up rave reviews:

"It's like a coffeehouse on my fork!" and "If I was hungry I'd eat the whole thing." 

Today my friend K requested that I bring them to school next week for our first coffee gathering. 

Thank you, Melissa of Life in a Peanut Shell, for selecting this tasty recipe!



Monday, August 31, 2009

daily bliss: teachers

This summer I saw my two favorite elementary school teachers. 

Mrs. M taught first grade and crated a fun classroom, complete with a corner called Australia that students could visit when they were having a "no good terrible very bad day." On one memorable occasion, she had to explain the concept of tardy to me, as my little friend and I would walk the short distance from my home to the school, meandering in ditches, following our whims and keeping a lackadaisical pace. In general, though, I was an excellent, albeit quiet, student, a bookworm with her own reading group (aptly named "pink") until I started joining the second graders for reading lessons. 

I saw Mrs. M at Morningstar Cafe, home of my favorite pancakes. Having seen my Mom a few weeks earlier, she knew the general details of my life, and kept repeating "how cute are you?" I beamed, suddenly that little girl again, so happy to be pleasing my teacher. 

Mr. K taught fifth grade, and he was innovative and fun. We read long chapter books in his classes, and played softball outside on warm Spring days. I remember heading outside to play ball, the song "Let's Hear it For the Boy" echoing in my head. Long after I was a student of Mr. K's, he took to playing Santa around town. One year we visited him, and my brother L, nine years younger than I, was astounded that somehow Santa knew so very much about him. 

I saw Mr. K at the Holland Farmers' Market, and he was in the thick of things, making a promotional film. He stopped action to talk to me and he kept repeating how proud he was of me and my achievements. He remembered the adjustments I faced in fifth grade, what with a new brother and a new last name. 

***
As I sit here on the Eve of Back-to-Schoolness, I think of my favorite teachers and how seemingly effortlessly they encouraged, inspired, and engaged me and many of my fellow students. I always loved school and I attribute much of that affection to my excellent teachers, who reached out to a quiet, nervous, imaginative girl and reeled her into the world of words and ideas and greatness. 

I often joke that my current job is a way for me to stay perpetually in school, and in many ways it is. Though I teach, I'm constantly learning. Students have so much to teach us about their lives, struggles, needs, dreams, stumbling blocks. The day I stop being open to learning from my students is the day that I should stop teaching. 

After an amazing summer far outside of my academic role, I'm eager to return to the not-so-Ivory Tower with my renewed energy and optimism, my new dreams and my new supports as strong foundations for the work I do.

I can't wait to talk about the joy of words, the frustrations of the blank page, the challenges and opportunities of college, and feminist approaches to vampire romances with my students. To engage, to learn, to delight.

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

daily bliss: what i did this summer



A grey, drizzly night, humid yet chilly. Summer is slipping away. All day I've been melancholy. All day I've been off: burning my finger with a rookie baking error, overcooking my vegetables, snapping at my Mom.

I vowed several weeks ago to follow the rhythms of nature's calendar, marking the seasons with solstices and equinoxes, but now that I'm on the eve of my official return to work, to the academic year, it's hard to remember that summer is still here. For another month.

My heart is so full that I don't even know how to gather the words and share them with you. Or maybe I do and I'm still scared to write them here. "Just write for yourself. You have to. You can't worry about who might be reading," he says, and I know he's right. And yet...

I queue up a selection of summer songs, lyrics of home and moments echoing in this otherwise quiet pink room. I make a mug of vanilla black tea laced with milk and sugar, which I sip for courage and sweetness and comfort. I resist the urge to pick up the phone and instead I tap these keys, my burned fingertip aching with every "c" and "d."

I sift through blog entries written on the other edge of this summer, when I had a simple goal—to enjoy a Summer of Fun, a summer of being me and not thinking about work, allowing days to unfold as they would. And as they did.

I read my bittersweet melancholy at the close of a school year, with all the summer before me, wondering how to find the rhythms of relaxation. A smile lights up my face as I realize just how simple it was to find myself, to fill my days with words and laughter and companionship and walks. A tear traces down my cheek as I now try to remember my way back to that other rhythm of alarm clocks, bubbly encouragement, efficient productivity, firm compassion.

I find an early "to-do" list for the summer, including 14 items, the 14th one being the pivotal item around which everything shifted into a kind of happiness I had almost given up on: love.

And I know there will never be another summer quite like this one, a magical season in which time flew and lingered, in which days stretched into forever and whole weeks disappeared. Moments that seemed inexplicably predestined, somehow, strange and familiar all at once. Hours that melded into one another and any worry of accomplishing anything other than just being alive and happy and real disappeared like the fog over Lake Michigan on a hot summer afternoon.

All I want is to bring this zen-like ability to savor life as it's unfolding into the next season—fantastical fall— and those stretches of time in which I wrangle more with others' words than my own, weeks that demand an extroversion that I've tucked away in favor of quieter connections, months that challenge the soul with ever more greyness and chilliness.

And yet. I know, somehow, magically, elementally, that these seasons too will be full of heart, of discovery, of bliss. And so I settle in, ready to slip into heels and shoulder school bags, ready to walk into classrooms and meetings, ready for new writing ventures, ready for music and trips, and ready for long meandering conversations that never end.

I'm ready for the fall...

Monday, August 24, 2009

daily bliss: i am...

...standing in my kitchen, peeling and slicing peaches.

...walking down the stairs, carrying trays of food to put on the grill.

...sitting on my couch, talking about a book.

...standing in my kitchen, saying a long goodbye.

...walking down the lakeshore trail, talking about blueskys and picnic tables.

...sitting in my living room, drinking in conversation and sauvignon blanc.

In all these moments, I thinkfeel happy. My heart swells with gratitude for whatever good fortune has aligned all these moments, this feast, these friends, all together on this day.

Wednesday, August 19, 2009

daily bliss: risk



"The day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom." Anaïs Nin


roses, the american club, kohler, wi, august 2009

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

daily bliss: meteor showers

A cool August night. I step out onto my deck, talking on the phone as I watch the sky, looking for familiar landmarks of dippers and myths.

"If you can catch a few, it's amazing," he says.

My reply is interrupted with an involuntary "ooooh," as a long, bright meteor streaks across the panoply of stars in the blueblack sky.

Magic.

I hang up the phone, layer on fleece, and wrap my trusty pink pashmina scarf around my neck. I brew a cup of vanilla scented tea. I perch on a cold chair on my deck, arching this way and that for views of the whole sky. Nothing. I stand, eyes scanning the sky for a streak of brightness against the pinpricks of dying light, traveling so far across space and time. I bend my back, yogi style, to see the sky more perfectly.

I think of special relativity, and my most basic understanding of the phenomenon that perspective alters how we experience space and time and distance.

I think about this summer, how moments have seemed to stretch beyond eternity, how months almost seem like years, how new conversations seem to have been started before I was even born.

I catch a tiny meteor on the edge of my vision, nearly imperceptible as it trails across the bowl of stars.

I drink in the quiet of this summer night, the stillness even in my city neighborhood, the gentle din of air conditioners the only sound. And then the sudden, swift rustle of a small animal scaling the neighbors' tree, startling me into spilling the steaming tea all over myself.

I breathe in the sheer magnificence one last time, eyes searching the sky for moments of wonder, finding plenty, even if not of the meteor variety, and then head inside to sleep, perchance to dream serendipitous dreams.

"the most beautiful and most profound emotion we can experience is the sensation of the mystical. it is the sower of all true science. he to whom this emotion is a stranger, who can no longer stand rapt in awe is as good as dead. that deeply emotional conviction of the presence of a superior reasoning power, which is revealed in the incomprehensible universe forms my idea of god." Albert Einstein

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

twd: brownie buttons



In honor of these diminutive treats, I--along with a small cadre of others--am writing a tiny post, in which I claim that these are good, but not great, simple to make and cute, but not, ultimately, the most satisfying of brownies I've ever made or eaten, all in the space of one sentence (though no limits were set on the length of said sentence, though the understanding is that it should be grammatically sound, yes?!?); Jayma of Two Scientists Experimenting in the Kitchen selected these wee goodies for our weekly recipe, and, as always, you can check out the other TWDers' narratives, whether long or short (select the full blogroll , or here for a list of one-sentence groupies).

Monday, August 10, 2009

daily bliss: rainy weekdays

Back when I was a young girl and teenager, I spent most of July and August out in the blueberry fields, hand picking fruit. Or in the packing shed, watching berries spill down a conveyor belt, attempting to perform quality control. Rainy weekdays were blessings: days we couldn't work on the farm, and days that we packed with everything good and fun and non-agricultural related. Trips to the library to check out towering stacks of books. Back-to-School clothes shopping at Rogers Department Store in Grand Rapids. Days spent reading or baking cookies.

Rainy August weekdays like today are perfect days to fill with syllabus planning, and brownie baking, and closet cleaning, and vacuuming, a mix of intellectual and domestic work rather than play. Days to work ahead so that when the sunshine returns I can linger outside under the dappled light. Days to work ahead so that when I go back to school I have a handle on the weeks unfolding.

(although i just may need to do a little preliminary online back-to-school clothes cyber window shopping:)

Sunday, August 09, 2009

daily bliss: julie & julia


julia's kitchen, smithsonian, seen *just* before they added her pans:(


"It seems to me that our three basic needs, for food and security and love, are so mixed and mingled and entwined that we cannot straightly think of one without the others." M.F.K. Fisher, "The Art of Eating"

What I love most about Julie & Julia, the film, is how well Nora Ephron evokes Fisher's famous statement throughout the film, though particularly in the Julia storyline. Every foray into eating and cooking and writing is filtered through a deep abiding love of life, of discovery, and, most certainly, of Paul. And the film beautifully captures the power of this trifecta of food and security and love, illustrating how blissful life can be when these elements are strong and true.

And then there is the writerliness. We see Julia feed onionskin paper and carbon sheets into a typewriter; we see Julie settle in with her laptop, tapping keys, and creating an online narrative confessional of her search for something more. The sheer joy at possible publication, the thrill of comments, the sense that our words can give shape and pleasure to others, the arrival of that first finished book, well, aren't these the kinds of validation that most writers crave?!?

Oh, and the food. The sizzle of melting butter. The playfulness of a chocolate and slivered almond covered cake. The sparkle of champagne in coupes. The pleasing, rhythmic thud of a chef's knife meeting a wooden cutting board. The smiles, the joy, the little happy sounds when people eat said food. A revelation in simple, elemental happiness. The surprise that something so wonderful and tasty and transcendent can be created not in a four star Michelin restaurant, but right here, at home, in crowded kitchens.

Watching the film made me long to write and cook and share, to write and cook and not be alone. And that's exactly what I/we did. And it was lovely.

Saturday, August 08, 2009

daily bliss: bridges


southbound

The waters were not troubled. They were bluer than blue. I paid my three dollars, and deliberated whether to drive on the inside or outside lane. The inside lane turns to a thick metal grate that rumbles under the tires 1/3 of the way up the five mile bridge, whereas the outside lane is concrete all the way, but it is...close to the edge. The road crews working on the outside lanes made my decision for me. As I left da UP behind and crossed over to the Land of the Trolls, my spirit soared and the word home echoed throughout my being. I was sorta almost there, to my summer getaway and favorite place I've ever been, the Leelanau Peninsula.

On the way back to Wisconsin today, I drove over the bridge again, stopping and going along the highest spans of the structure, imagining the air rushing up under the metal grate, feeling every rumble of car tires, sensing my heart accelerate, and my fear of heights and weightlessness activating. I may have shed a tear or two or four at leaving my LP (lower peninsula) home behind, and facing the long expanse of da UP before reaching my new home.


lost highway, us 2

I often ponder how this lake I adore has shaped my life--through presence in childhood and absence in young adulthood, and now, largely, through making journeys farther than they would be if it weren't there. But, if it were not there...I wouldn't be here, or there, or even me.

One time a tourist approached my friend B and asked her where the bridge was.

"What bridge?"

"The one to cross the Lake," she insisted, even as B told her there was no such bridge in our town, and that the only bridge "across" the Lake was the Mighty Mac.

On days like today when I make epic drives around Lake Michigan's curvaceous shores, I almost wish for such a bridge, or at least a really swift boat, or, better yet, people with Trekkie powers to beam me home, making the transition between my past, present, and future smooth and quick and painless.

And yet. The time, the distance, the space between, whether traveled on slow boats or long two lane roads or congested freeways or delay-prone trains, clears a space in my heartmindsoul to feelthinkbe. And that's where I usually find...me.


northbound

Monday, August 03, 2009

daily bliss: road trip + restoration


Look for me to cross the bridge noon-ish tomorrow...

Eight hours of sheer beauty.

Eight hours of swell music.

Several days relaxing with one of my best friends and her family at the most magical, restorative place I know. Long walks on the beach. Splashing in the waves and digging in the sand with my "niece" S. Tasting (and buying) bubbly wine with H. Enjoying meals with the whole gang. Sharing 'sconnie goodness (a sampling of cheeses and a bottle of prairie fumé). Exploring the city and the smallish resort towns. Marveling at towering dunes.


from atop the 200 foot dune at sleeping bear dunes national lakeshore, 2008

Endless satisfaction in a mini-vacation before work and routines begin anew.


H and I, 2008

Sunday, August 02, 2009

daily bliss: community

The windows are open and a cool breeze blows in. I hear neighbors singing happy birthday and then clapping. I imagine a towering cake, a smattering of candles, wavering flames, and a rush of smoke. I wonder what flavor the cake is, if it's homemade, whose birthday it is, and whether or not they're happy...

I walk past the rustic ball diamond at the elementary school around the corner from my house. A group of boys practice softball on the diamond. On the side of the field, on the shaggy lawn, a handful of girls practice softball. Parents watch, encourage, clap for both groups. Hands twist in the air, and balls land with a thud in the center of gloved palms...

My friend B and I take her two boys for a walk/bike ride. M shows me all the toys in the garage, and covers his face with his hands when I have to go home. Little B smiles a bright eyed, full toothed grin before ducking his head on B's chest...

Young G sits on my lap at BW3 and we talk about fashion shows and the proper technique for applying lipstick (it's important to use a color and a gloss, I say, for maximum effect). She smooths my wayward bangs across my forehead in a glamorous swoop, and tells me we should fill our hair with tiny pink and blue braids *or* buns for the aforementioned extravaganza...

A roomful of sixty+ people gather on a late July evening to hear poetry and music, clapping, laughing, and sitting transfixed as poets--professional and amateur--musicians--polished and raw--take the stage...

I help J sell vegetables at the farmers' market, and love the diverse conversations with customers who clearly love and appreciate good food. Recipes are shared, smiles widen, and bags fill with the season's harvest...

I, slightly nervous, bake and take a warm blueberry crisp to G's family gathering, offering something from *my* family, from my kitchen as a sign of goodwill. They, in return, offer kind words, laughter, and praise (for said crisp), as well as a delicious meal. Later, as orange campfire flames lick the sky and throw up showers of sparks, I feel nothing but warmth.