baking adventures: tuesdays with Dorie

cupcake tower for M and B's wedding

I really love Dorie Greenspan's baking sensibility--her cookbooks are wonderfully written, the recipes delicious and diverse, and her overall joie de vie infectious. I'm thrilled to announce that I've joined the group Tuesdays with Dorie, a group of bloggers/bakers, who all bake the same recipe from Dorie's masterpiece Baking: From My Home to Yours each week and then blog about it on Tuesdays. (note: I am aware that the name is a riff on the popular bestseller Tuesdays with Morrie, a book I've deliberately shunned). So, look for regular baking posts from yours truly, sans photos (still no digital camera), but with fabulous written commentary.

The inaugural recipe for September 2: Chunky Peanut Butter and Oatmeal Chocolate Chipsters on page 73.

This project will expand my baking repertoire, connect me to other baking bloggers, and further endear me to my colleagues and friends who will be sharing the treats of my labor.

book meme from B

So, my friend B has a lovely blog, and she writes such funny, witty stuff. I'd share a link to her blog but I need to ask her first if I can out her as a blogger:) Anywho, she recently posted two memes--an adventurous eating meme and a book meme. Of course, I immediately decided to ditch the list of entries in my queue in order to add this book meme. Now, I need to say that I have no idea who chose the books for this meme, and believe me, I'd have a few things to say to them about their choices: it's very Anglo-centric and not at all multi-cultural. But I'll try to leave the English PhD behind and have fun with this list.

Bolded books: I've read in their entirety; italicized books: I've read parts of; commentary is for your pleasure.

1 Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen a good choice to start the list
2 The Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien - never had any desire.
3 Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte
4 Harry Potter series - JK Rowling
5 To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee
6 The Bible
7 Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte; this used to be my favorite novel. the moors...the passionately doomed love...heathcliff, the ultimate bad boy...
8 Nineteen Eighty Four - George Orwell
9 His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
10 Great Expectations - Charles Dickens - to quote B, "oh god. miss havisham!"
11 Little Women - Louisa M Alcott
12 Tess of the D’Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy; Hardy's a total downer
13 Catch 22 - Joseph Heller
14 Complete Works of Shakespeare; undergrad, with Dr. O
15 Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier
16 The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien
17 Birdsong - Sebastian Faulks; what?!? is this a book i should know?!?
18 Catcher in the Rye - JD Salinger
19 The Time Traveller’s Wife - Audrey Niffenegger -
20 Middlemarch - George Eliot; it took me MONTHS to read this, but i loved it
21 Gone With The Wind - Margaret Mitchell
22 The Great Gatsby - F Scott Fitzgerald; one of THE best American novels. Who can resist that green light and the hope of an "orgastic future"?!?
23 Bleak House - Charles Dickens
24 War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
25 The Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams -
26 Brideshead Revisited - Evelyn Waugh
27 Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky; have read parts of The Brothers Karamazov. I have issues with the Russian Realists.
28 Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck
29 Alice in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll
30 The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame
31 Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy; see above for my issues with the Russian Realists
32 David Copperfield - Charles Dickens
33 Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis
34 Emma - Jane Austen
35 Persuasion - Jane Austen; okay, I adore Austen, but seriously, three Austen novels?!? Share the love...
36 The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe - CS Lewis; once again, I want to leave B's original comment: "Er, duh, this is one of the Chronicles of Narnia. Who's in charge of this list? Moron."
37 The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini
38 Captain Corelli’s Mandolin - Louis De Bernieres
39 Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden
40 Winnie the Pooh - AA Milne
41 Animal Farm - George Orwell
42 The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown
43 One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
44 A Prayer for Owen Meany - John Irving
45 The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins
46 Anne of Green Gables - LM Montgomery; the entire series, multiple times. i've also visited prince edward island...i'm a bit of an anne fanatic:)
47 Far From The Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy
48 The Handmaid’s Tale - Margaret Atwood; I've read other Atwood...
49 Lord of the Flies - William Golding
50 Atonement - Ian McEwan; I liked On Chesil Beach better
51 Life of Pi - Yann Martel
52 Dune - Frank Herbert
53 Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons
54 Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen; OMG! Too much Austen! How about some Edith Wharton...
55 A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth
56 The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon
57 A Tale Of Two Cities - Charles Dickens
58 Brave New World - Aldous Huxley
59 The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon
60 Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
61 Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck
62 Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov
63 The Secret History - Donna Tartt
64 The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold
65 Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas
66 On The Road - Jack Kerouac; The Dharma Bums is my favorite Kerouac. Ask me about Jack and the Beats...I wrote my dissertation on the Beats:)
67 Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy; what's up with all the Hardy on this list?!? This is starting to look a little Anglo-centric...
68 Bridget Jones’s Diary - Helen Fielding
69 Midnight’s Children - Salman Rushdie; I saw him speak at Michigan State...
70 Moby Dick - Herman Melville ; a surprisingly delightful and thought provoking novel
71 Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens
72 Dracula - Bram Stoker
73 The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett
74 Notes From A Small Island - Bill Bryson
75 Ulysses - James Joyce; are you kidding?!? I've read Joyce-lite--Stephen Hero, Portrait, Dubliners...
76 The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath
77 Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome
78 Germinal - Emile Zola
79 Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray
80 Possession - AS Byatt
81 A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens
82 Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell
83 The Color Purple - Alice Walker
84 The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro
85 Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert; Emma Bovary annoys me so much that I can't finish the novel
86 A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry
87 Charlotte’s Web - EB White
88 The Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Albom
89 Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
90 The Faraway Tree Collection
91 Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad
92 The Little Prince - Antoine De Saint-Exupery; my Aunt B gave me this when I was a young lady
93 The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks
94 Watership Down - Richard Adams
95 A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole
96 A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute
97 The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
98 Hamlet - William Shakespeare
99 Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - Roald Dahl
100 Les Miserables - Victor Hugo

total: 35 read in their entirety, 7 read in bits and pieces.
I swear I'm well read.
Really.
I'm not at all feeling inadequate in my profession.
I really don't sit around and only read Harlequins.
Not that there's anything wrong with that.
I'm just saying.

both sides now

I love Lake Michigan, that gleaming body of water rimmed with towering dunes, rocky beaches, rolling dairyland, and magical vistas. I suppose I'm lucky to say that I've lived on both sides now, and I never want to become accustomed to the sublimity of life by the Lake. But when it comes time to leave this side of the Lake for the other, my heart is heavy, my soul deflated, and my mind anxious.

Maybe if I think of the Lake itself as my home, the distance between two of my home places--my childhood home and my present home--will disappear, and home will again be one. Add my "third place" (a concept I promise to explore in some depth later) and the Lake seems even more my home (that is, forgetting my time south of the Mason-Dixon line, a time in which my Lake ties were stretched thin).

Gretel Ehrlich, an insightful nature writer, writes that home is many places. I believe Thomas Wolfe wrote that you can never go home. The mnemonic HOMES helps kids memorize the Great Lakes. Home is more of a state of mind, but cannot be entirely divorced from place--geographical, literal, on the map place.

Lake Michigan. Home. My Place. My primary residence amongst many HOMES. Whether here or there, then, I'm always already home.

sweet somethings: captain sundae

It's 9:45 p.m. on a balmy August night, the air sweet with flowering weeds, and tangy from Lake Michigan breezes. I'm craving gelato or ice cream, something cool, refreshing, and quintessentially summer.

Last week I lingered over a dish of Palazzolo's cafe mocha gelato at the Coral Gables Annex in Saugatuck, but that's too far of a drive tonight.

Visions of creamy, smooth, flavor-laden gelato dissipate and now I'm thinking of a Tommy Turtle sundae from Captain Sundae, just a ten minute drive from my parents' house. I look at the clock. I call. They're open until 11:00 p.m. Hooray!

Mom, Dad, and I climb into my G6, and drive under a golden moon to an assortment of tunes on my road trip mix CD, starting with Kid Rock's blend of Alabama and Michigan in "All Summer Long," followed by Brad Paisley's flirtatious banter in "Ticks."

The parking lot is full, and entire families crowd together on faded wooden benches next to the new Captain statue (chained down, since the old one was stolen). Cars whizz by on Douglas Avenue, the road that eventually becomes Ottawa Beach Road and leads to Holland State Park, home of Big Red Lighthouse and Mt. Pisky.


Big Red, Holland Harbor Lighthouse, photo by Bill Konrad, wikipedia commons, licensed by creative commons



Mom orders a chocolate cone, Dad holds out for the last piece of blueberry pie at home, and I order the aforementioned Tommy Turtle: vanilla soft serve draped with achingly sweet caramel, thick hot fudge, toasted buttered salted pecans, whipped topping, and a plump stemless maraschino cherry.

One bite and I'm back in High School, sitting on the bench closest to the road, hoping a car will honk, hoping someone will see me sitting here and be smitten.

The artificial sweetness is jolting me awake, and I wonder just how much high fructose corn syrup is in this plastic cup. I'm fairly certain I don't want to know.

"I can't believe you're eating that whipped cream," my Mom says, knowing all too well that this is no cream but topping, of sketchy moral turpitude. One time I argued the virtue--or lack thereof-of whipped topping with a friend. I rightfully asserted that there was no dairy to be found in a tub of whipped topping, and he believed there was. We reached an impasse. I avoided whipped topping, and I still do.

But tonight, the past pulls stronger than my desire for fresh, pure, whole foods, and I revel in the momentary bite of the past, the tug of the caramel on my teeth pulling me into memory, the brights illuminating the corn and blueberry fields keeping me grounded in the place where memory and present meet. Sugarland and friends sing "Life in a Northern Town," and my heart swells.

peninsula meditations: door county

beautiful flowers at door county peninsula state park

When I decided to take a new job in Wisconsin last year, several people pointed out that I would be relatively close to Door County. Suddenly, Door County references proliferated--articles in Midwest Living magazine, blurbs in the local Sunday paper, in conversation with friends. I was eager to investigate this shapely peninsula.

Studying the atlas, I noticed that the Door Peninsula almost mirrors my favorite stretch of land, the Leelanau Peninsula in Michigan. In my mind this geographical parallel certainly conveyed a deeper similarity. But, as Japhy Ryder tells Ray Smith in Jack Kerouac's novel The Dharma Bums, "comparisons are odious." I often forget this gem of wisdom. My first visit to Door County, when I was expected the undulating orchard land and breathtaking lake vistas, the charming towns with tasty treats, of my dear Leelanau, was an utter disappointment. Door County did not fit into the Leelanau model I so adored, and therefore I found the Peninsula lacking.

This summer I was determined to give Door County another try. After all, I was much closer to Door than Leelanau, and I had a year of living in the Dairyland State to my credit. It was time for me to challenge my first impressions and make some new memories. I wanted to love Door on its own merits, not as a substitute for a truly unique place.

So, one Sunday afternoon my friend B and I set out for Algoma, a small town towards the base of the Peninsula. Two places in Algoma enchant visitors. The Flying Pig art gallery and garden shop, features artworks by local, regional, and even national artists. The plants are arrayed in gorgeous gardens that are also sprinkled with art work, and the selection of terra cotta pots is phenomenal. I purchased a tall, narrow French style terra cotta pot, a round terra cotta bowl with three feet to set it on, and a gorgeous lavender plant.

Also in Algoma, Cafe Tlazo serves delightful fresh sandwiches, from wraps to paninis; salads; and a bevy of espresso drinks. I'm partial to the Honey Latte myself. Their lunch choices overwhelm--this is one of the most vegetarian friendly places I've encountered in Northeast Wisconsin, and each time I go it's hard to decide what to order. On that Sunday, I enjoyed a Mediterranean wrap with a side of kettle chips. Yumm!

B and I also stopped in an antique mall in Kewaunee on our way back down the Peninsula, where I was tempted by a pink and chrome dinette table, but left it behind for someone else to purchase.

Several weeks later, I decided to venture farther up the Peninsula on a sunny Sunday. I packed a picnic lunch in my cooler, packed my day pack with essentials for a short hike or two, and set out. Driving the Peninsula affords spectacular views of gently rolling dairy farm land that stretches right to the shore of Lake Michigan. I drove past my favorite Algoma stops and continued on to Egg Harbor, where I stopped at the grocery store for chips and a drink to round out my picnic lunch. I also wanted to peruse their wine selection, as I had remembered it fondly from the previous year's ill-fated trip. They have many nice bottles, but nothing I had to buy that day.

I drove the few remaining miles into Fish Creek, the most kitschy and overtly touristy of the towns on the Peninsula. I motored on by the crowds of confused tourists thronging the sidewalks and headed for Peninsula State Park.

This state park hugs Green Bay and offers a lovely interplay of densely wooded forests, rocky beaches, and towering stone cliffs. Bike trails and hiking paths lace the park, and features like a four story lookout tower, golf course, and campgrounds, appeal to many different ideas of recreation. I found a semi-sunny picnic spot along the beach and enjoyed my lunch. The clouds kept building, hiding the sun and threatening rain, but I bundled up in extra layers and made the best of my time. I then drove up to the aforementioned lookout tower, where several trails begin.


a perfect spot for a picnic

I selected the Sentinel trail first, thinking it would be decently busy, because less strenuous. The trail winds through varying landscapes--woods, meadows, tall grasses, and features interpretive signage along the way. I kept mosquitoes at bay by maintaining a brisk pace, stopping only to skim the signs and snap a few photos.



Invigorated by my time in the woods, I decided to tackle the Eagle Trail, rated the most difficult in the park because of rocky ledges, small boulderfields, and large hills. I expected this trail to be less traveled than the Sentinel, but it was actually filled with hikers--most of the amateur-not-so-polite and/or ginormous-extended-families-blocking-the-trail variety. The excellent views of rock walls and dense, varied foliage kept me company as I stepped off the trail to let others pass: good hiker etiquette.


eagle trail

My day ended as I wended my way back down the Peninsula, bypassing the myriad fruit stands since my fridge was well-stocked from the previous day's trip to the farmer's market. I stopped at Door County Coffee Company for a little latte caffeine infusion to fuel my drive home, and dreamed of my next trip--in the fall, with friends, camping overnight and enjoying the gorgeous color explosion of hardwoods in their autumnal finery.

Has Door County entered my soul like Leelanau? No. Leelanau still lays claim to bucolic farmlands, orchards, and lake views; their wineries produce nuanced, flavorful, not syrupy sweet local wines. Plus, I have a nearly fifteen year history of summer jaunts with friends. But Door stands on its own merits now, of breathtaking and accessible state parks and a closer geographic if not emotional distance, and I'm beginning to love it too.

leelanau + traverse city

rolling hills, orchards, lake swept vistas, wineries, lots of local food culture, film festivals, vintage clothing stores, old friends, relaxation: bliss.

food, friends, fellowship, and road trips

I love this time of year, when everyone is eager to soak up the sun when it's at the hottest, when gardens and farms are overflowing with fresh, local produce, and when summer school is over and before the hectic pace of fall semester is upon us. I have a whole list of blog entries in my head, begging to be written (along with a series of super short stories I want to play with), and in the coming weeks of freedom I shall.

Last night I enjoyed a delightful meal with my friends H and J. We reminisced about our great adventure in the Apostle Islands, shared photos, and ate delicious farm fresh foods: chocolate zucchini bread, toasted rolls, pan fried eggplant, cucumber salad, bibb and spinach salad with feta and olives, and the best beets I've ever tasted, roasted with maple syrup and spices (that said, I'm still not a beet fan, but these were tasty). We drank riesling and coffee and finished the evening al fresco, swatting mosquitoes and eating angel food cake with berries and whipped cream. My friends have a warm, welcoming home--they've put a lot of work into refinishing an old farmhouse, and it's gorgeous.

I've been packing my car: yoga mat, camping gear, fun reads, school reads, clothes for any occasion, shoes for any occasion, road snacks, my bike on my new Yakima bike rack, gifts, road trip CD's...

Tomorrow I'm heading out on my epic road trip (well, epic may be hyperbolic, but anyone who knows me well knows that I tend towards hyperbole when given the chance). I'll drive to the WI/MI border, where I'll stay at A and R's farm and share more food, fellowship, and friendship, before venturing across the wilds of DA YOO-P, EH. I'll follow the curves of Lake Michigan, cross the Mackinaw Bridge by myself for the very first time, and then continue my arc around the shore, through northern towns Petosky, Traverse City, before hitting the Peninsula and feeling like I'm back at my summer home, leaving M-22 behind and finding my way to the M's home on curvy, hilly back roads dotted with orchards and farm stands and wineries and all those quotidian pleasures that make my soul sigh and relax.

My journey will continue later in the week, as I follow the Lake through Manistee, Ludington, Grand Haven, and finally, pull in to my parents' long driveway where bright geraniums and Mom and Dad will greet me.

Ah, summer, Lake Michigan, friends, family, food, fiction, fun. HOME.

remembering berry bliss

Here's a photo of the delicious strawberry cream cake I made in June. If you missed the entry describing this marvel, you can read it here. Ahh, for one more slice of that luscious cake...I wonder if I can recreate it using raspberries, which are now in season.

paddling inward

"To sit on an island, then, is not a way of disconnecting ourselves but, rather, a way we can understand relatedness," Gretel Ehrlich, "Islands"

Months ago I signed up for a five day kayaking adventure in the Apostle Islands, a National Lakeshore in northern Wisconsin. When I signed up, I didn't know the others who would be joining me on this adventure--a group of students and colleagues--very well. New to Wisconsin, I had heard that the Apostles were stunning, secluded, and stuffed with wildlife--especially bears. Between relatively unknown tripmates and potential wildlife encounters, I had much to fear.

I had little kayaking experience, but a good bit of adventure experience, backpacking the Appalachian Trail and summiting Longs Peak. I missed my adventurous streak--something elemental to my survival, which had wilted as I became a creature of habit, of worries, of virtual and indoor worlds.


siskiwit lake

Out on Siskiwit Lake, seated in a bright red kayak, my heart skipped a beat as I prepared to tip myself over and execute the requisite wet exit that would be used in emergencies. tuck, tap, pull, and push, I chanted, as I flipped the boat and flailed out of the cockpit and bobbed to the surface, anxious but accomplished. do something everyday that scares you, said Elenor Roosevelt.


rafting up on Lake Superior

As we took to Lake Superior the next day, I found my balance as I wiggled in my seat, and tested out various paddle strokes and leans. We paddled to the mainland sea caves, huge outcroppings of sandstone that have been etched and carved by wind and wave. Angling my boat between towering sandstone cliffs, I worried about darkness, enclosure, and waited for the panic response to kick in. As my eyes traveled up the crack between the rocks, I saw white birch, abundant foliage, and azure sky above, contrasted to massive rock on each side, and gently undulating water below. My eyes filled with tears at the hushed holiness of the sublime space where beauty and fear mingle.


mainland sea caves

Cave after cave offered new vistas, striations of rock, ledges with hungry baby birds with wide open mouths, and green moss. The deep hollow thunk of water meeting rock intensified as the weather shift and the wind stirred up more, bigger waves. It was time to return.

Sleepy from heavy paddling, I laced up my dry shoes and headed out for a hike to lost falls, a play of dense foliage, falling stream, and slick rock that reminded me of twelve mile creek, on the outskirts on Great Smoky National Park, my favorite moment from the last real foray on the AT in 2004.

Sleep came swiftly and soundly that night, and the next morning we packed up for our three mile water crossing. We stopped in the quaint town of Cornucopia for lattes and fresh blueberry scones before heading to the launch point. Butterflies kept me company as I stole peeks at Sand Island in the distance--with so much cold, deep water in between where we were and where we needed to be. As we packed out boats with gear for two days on the Island, the waves grew and the wind shifted, and our paddle would take a bit more effort. In an hour and a half we reached the sandy beach of our campsite, and we set up camp.

A group of us set out for the Sand Island Lighthouse, where we played on slabs of sandstone and watched deer stalk the privy.


J, J, and H play on the rocks

After dinner we shared revelations around the campfire, until we were called away by a dramatic red moon rising over the distant horizon.

We ventured our in boats the morning to see the island sea caves, and played a game of chicken--tossing floppy rubber chickens at one another on our paddles. A lazy afternoon of beach yoga and gymnastics helped stretch my tight muscles and relax me for the six mile round trip paddle to York Island. The lake was gentle until we rounded the tip of the island and faced reflective waves. After an intense twenty minutes of strong paddling, we landed on a shore of coarse sand. We slurped large wedges of watermelon and noshed on ubiquitous granola bars before heading back into the western sun.

I was determined to catch one sunrise and so crawled out of my tent the last moment to absorb the changing colors and dramatic cloud formations of a sunrise to the East and an inexplicable rainbow to the West. Everyone was quiet and reflective as we tore down camp, shimmied into our wetsuits and spray skirts, and slid into our cockpits for the last time. Tranquil, glassy waters that reflected the puffy clouds accompanied us back to the mainland. I tried to stretch the moment as long as possible, but with each paddle stroke moments became memories and the island faded into the distance.

We cleaned, unpacked, and lingered over good-byes, knowing that this particular group would not be together again. The strong camaraderie, lighthearted teasing, in-jokes, pirate songs, shared moments were becoming a memory as well.

As we sat together one last time to share our moments from the trip, all I could think was how strong and alive and whole I felt. After a year of great challenges, I had shrunk to a tiny, scared version of myself, hovering indoors and afraid of life. The ever-changing Lake, the steadiness of rock carved by wind and wave, the power to propel and right myself with my upper body alone, filled me with a remembrance of strength, of perspective, of a natural rightness, and a renewed awareness of the constant impermanence of life.

I can soar like an eagle, undulate like a wave, arc like sandstone shaped by water, be pristine, remote, and at once accessible to those willing to make the arduous journey inward.


dharmagirl, ready for adventure

spectacular sunrise

sand island, apostle islands national lakeshore, 24 july 2008

haiku: old friends

driving to miltown
lattes and french cafe fare
catching up a year

door county afternoon

rocky eagle trail
picnic lunch on a windy beach
windy two lane roads

community

Today was one of those days--rare but becoming more common as the slower pace of summer allows--when I do feel connected to this place where I've lived for not quite a year.

My neighbor/friend B and I headed to the town just North of here to investigate their farmer's market, and to drink some tasty java and nosh delicious scones at S--my favorite local coffee shop. To back up, yesterday I rode my bike all the way to the S--(about 5.5 miles one way) only to discover that it was closed! Egads! My visions of scones and hot coffee after a long hot/cold ride (hot sun, cold lake breeze). But, M was there and we had a nice chat before I biked back. Well, today the owner of the S--wanted to make it up to me so he gave me some beans for home.

Then, we went to the farmer's market in our town, which was Krazy (tangent...I really dislike cutesy spellings like that) because of a big sidewalk sale fiesta. I talked to some of my favorite vendors and artists, ran into a few colleagues, and had an overall great time selecting my goodies for the week to come: spinach, lettuces, cherries (from my Michigan!), mozzarella balls. Add this to the broccoli I purchased at the strawberry farm yesterday and the peas from M's booth at the other market and I'm set for a week of good eating.

I then "helped" a new colleague move--more like visiting with said new colleague and spouse plus my colleague/friends because the truck was already unpacked!

After a delicious farmer's market lunch of roasted organic yukon gold's (from the Holland, MI market last week) with rosemary (chez dharmagirl); mixed lettuces with lemon, olive oil, salt and pepper; omelet with spinach, garlic, peppers (supermarket, I confess), chives and parsley (from B's portion of our shared garden space) AND mozzarella...I headed back downtown to investigate the sale.

The library book sale was winding down, so a bag of books cost $1 and a box $3. I bought a few faves to add to a raffle basket I'm putting together for a campus fundraiser, and then a stack of harlequins, some relatively recent and some from the early 90s. The latter are fascinating for their covers, which feature women in big shoulder-pad suit jackets. Hmmm.

I stopped by my favorite cafe for a big coffee and chatted with the owner, stopped by the Natural Foods store for some yummy greek yogurt, and then found some treasures at an Artique shop--full of vintage goodies and artistic creations. I bought a few gifts for my friend S's bday, and an adorable lamp for myself. I chatted with the owner, and then made my way home to deal with all these strawberries...

So, as much as I may rail against this town and this place where I now live, I am starting to make connections and starting, ever so slowly, to feel at home. The summer weather and the Lake, my Lake, my clearest connection to Michigan, helps ever-so-much.

And now, before I dig into one of those retro-romances, I'm off to eat chocolate strawberry shortcake, the perfect ending to a lovely day.

another berry post...

Yesterday I bought a flat of berries, containing approximately 10 lbs. of crimson gems. I felt blessed and wealthier than I have in a long time, driving away from the farm with a huge cardboard container of berries.

I've been using Russ Parson's recipe from How to Eat a Peach, and since several people have asked me about this recipe, I'll take the time to give you more details of the process than I did in my previous jam entry. First, you slice the berries into bite sized chunks. Then you place them in a big pan with half as much sugar (i.e. 8 cups of berries and 4 cups of sugar). Add some lemon or orange juice, which will help the berries maintain their ruby red hue. Bring the mixture to a boil and cook just until the juices are clear--this means the sugar has dissolved. Let the mixture sit in the fridge for a few hours or overnight.

On the second day, I fill my stock pot with water; place 4-5 half-pint jars, lids, and bands around the bottom; and boil for 5 minutes to sterilize the jars. At the same time, I start cooking small batches of jam. I boil 3-4 ladle-fuls of berries/juice at a time until the mixture is thick. You can tell when it's ready when the foamy bubbles start simmering down into a thick molten mix. I then transfer the hot jam into a big bowl and start over with another batch.

When your jars are sterilized and your jam is ready, fill the jars, leaving a scant 1/4 inch of head room, and then place the lids and bands on firmly. Lower the jars back into the water and boil for 10 minutes. Lift the jars out--I use a handy pair of tongs--and set on the counter to cool. If all has gone well, you'll hear little pings as the lids seal. What a lovely sounds!

What I love about making jam is the quiet and fragrant rhythm, the stirring and bubbling and boiling. I feel a deep sense of joy in the pleasures yet to come, as I wrote in my last jam entry.

I have another pot full of sliced berries in sugar ready for the final transformation for tomorrow...

haiku: beach yogini

sun salutation
folding towards the cool waves
enshrouded in mist

big ship, stormy night

rain. lightning. the sky cracking open in shades of violet, aubergine, and then back to sightless black. the woman with slightly matted fuzzy hair reading a magazine, her mother placidly working sudoku puzzles for hours. a small band of neo-hippies, fresh from rothbury, playing "banana pancakes" on acoustic travel guitars. the rhythmic shuffling of a deck of cards, the scrape of a plastic chair on faux-wood plank decks. rain dripping down the window panes in endless tears. the lingering scent of a half-smoked cigarette from the sole hippie chick in the bunch, who loudly claims innocence and proffers apologies when told this is a non-smoking section of the boat. twin indentations on my inner wrists from the sea bands pressing, pressing out the motion sickness that would otherwise wash over me in undulating waves. outside, the walkways filling with water. trying to keep gordon lightfoot's masterpiece "the wreck of the edmund fitzgerald" out of my mind. sticky from damp, humid air, wanting a hot shower, steaming tea, and an enormous hug before succumbing to sleep tonight, at home, in my plush bed.

jam (and) bands

I just made jam! I mean, I've made jam before--the quick kind that you store in the fridge because you're going to eat it soon, slathered on biscuits or with some koeze's peanut butter in a delicious sandwich. But this time I CANNED the jam. I have visions of gleaming berry jewels stored on my shelf to carry me through a long winter, and today was the first step in realizing that vision.

Yesterday I drove to the berry farm and bought 2 quarts, sliced and sugared them, cooked for 5 minutes until the sugar dissolve, hit with a splash of orange juice, and then refrigerated overnight, a la Russ Parson's advice in How to Eat a Peach (a delectable and useful book in its own right). I was rather cursing myself for buying the berries and starting the project amidst a hectic and stressful week, but Parson was right--it's not that hard. Today I cooked the berries and juice in small batches on the stove as the jars sterilized, and then ladled the hot molten jam into the jars and plunked them in a water bath for 10 minutes. Simple. And all to the jammin' rhythms of the Dave Matthews Band.

I bought pint jars--in retrospect I would buy smaller jars because after this whole process I only have 2 pint jars. But oh, they are lovely, an opaque ruby-crimson that promises sweetness to come. I'm thinking of how much our ancestors lives were filled with labor to provide for the future--all the canning and preserving of foods available now that wouldn't be available later. They knew the heady power of delayed gratification, as well as the treasure of the taste of sweetness when the snow whirls outdoors. It was a necessity and now, in many ways, it is a luxury to have the chunk of time to devote to preserving our own foods. Does this not seem somehow skewed, slant, wrong?

I just heard the first ping...

those summer days...

walks along lake michigan, the contrast of hot sun and cool breeze sending shivers across my skin...
afternoons on the deck, vintage tunes pouring out of the stereo inside, hot sun beaming down, a good read in hand...
laid back small classes, with time to ask those deep philosophical questions that make all our heads ache and explode...
dreams of adventures to come, new cities to explore, new tales to write, new people to meet...
cool summer showers, sending me indoors to practice Surya Namaskar (sun salutation)...
quiet moments to reflect, dream, analyze the past, present, and future...
travels to favorite places, to various "homes," with dear family and friends...
gloriously delicious and fresh foods to create creative experimental meals...
innovative experiments in daily living, trying to strike that ever-elusive balance...

the best cake i've ever made...and no, it's not chocolate!

Yesterday I headed to a local farm to purchase peas and strawberries, and came home contemplating where I should take these foods...

The peas: I stir-fried them with green garlic, spring onions, yellow pepper, and tofu, and served over coconut bulgur. I bit into the fat shiny pea pod and realized these peas were meant to be out of the pod, as the pod was too fibrous to eat. I slipped the peas out of their jackets and enjoyed my dinner.

The coconut bulgur was an experiment--I was planning on making coconut brown rice but was too hungry to wait the obligatory 50 minutes for rice. The bulgur made a lovely substitution, and the leftovers made a delicious breakfast. I added walnuts, cinnamon, flax oil, maple syrup, and shredded coconut for a tasty alternative to my daily oatmeal.

But I digress. I promised cake...

The strawberries: so glossy and red, they are delicious eaten plain, but I was besotted with visions of a towering strawberry cream cake, all red and white and luscious. I pored over all my cookbooks and, as usual, settled on a recipe from the illustrious Dorie Greenspan, an aptly titled Party Cake. I read the recipe, called my friend B to see if she and her fam wanted to join me for cake on Sunday afternoon, and then strategized. I cut out parchment circles for my cake pans, read over the recipe, and went to bed with visions of berry goodness dancing in my head...

After enjoying the aforementioned bulgur for breakfast, I walked to the closest thing to a market, a Kwik Trip gas station to buy a tiny bottle of whole milk (for the cake) and a Sunday Chicago Trib. I brewed a mug of strong coffee and tied on my summer apron, and I was ready.

The cake is fairly simply to make, and in no time the layers were baking, and I was slicing berries into a sauce pan to make a quick jam. This was good practice for my upcoming BerryJam 08, in which I will can 8-12 jars of strawberry jam to carry me through a year without fresh, local berries. The cake was golden, the jam bubbling, as I made not one but two types of frosting, following Dorie's suggestions for playing around. I made a simple vanilla buttercream (the kind without eggs) and a mock creme fraiche (whipped cream + greek yogurt).

As the layers and jam cooled I pressed my new vintage hostess apron, which features a red sash and a charming strawberry print. I carefully assembled the cake, slicing the layers horizontal to make a four layer cake, and spreading jam and buttercream between each layer (they ended up blending all into one). I enrobed the cake with the mock creme fraiche and then carefully arranged strawberry halves in concentric circles on top of the cake like so many sparkling rubies. A final berry in the middle of the cake was framed with mint leaves. Ahhh. I traded my "work" apron for my berry apron and relaxed.

I took about 5 pictures of my masterpiece, but since my camera is antiquated (i.e. 1999), you will have to wait for pics. The cake had just enough time to set before my guests arrived. What joy to share a cool, overcast summer Sunday with good friends and delicious cake! Perhaps a new tradition is in order? I think back to my great grandma, Cookie Grandma, who entertained the family every Sunday after church. I don't know if I could make such a treat every week, but maybe once a month we could gather for our own version of food, fellowship, and faith.

uncovering the process

photo of tank car full of corn syrup courtesy of wikipedia

Yesterday I watched the documentary King Corn, an interesting peek into the world of corn growing and corn ubiquity. Did you know that the typical American's carbon profile is largely corn based? As the movie illustrates, a great portion of the SAD (Standard American Diet) is corn based, from added starch, flour, meal, to the primarily corn fed meat in our food supply, and, most significantly, the heretofore cheap sweetener, HFCS (high fructose corn syrup). The problem is that in its processed forms, corn is not very nutritious, and so much of the food in the SAD is composed of poor to empty calories.

I've been on a "eat as few processed foods as possible" kick for the past several years, and I'm mostly pleased with my dietary choices, but I'm thinking about doing a little experiment and cutting out as much processed food as I can. Last night I started listing foods I eat on a daily basis, and trying to determine the degree of processing so I can figure out what I need to eat instead. The problem is deciding what level of processing is acceptable for the purposes of my experiment, since most of the foods I eat are at least minimally processed...for example...

No Processing
fresh fruits and veggies, in their whole, natural state
fresh herbs
eggs
water
dry beans
dry whole grains in their natural state

Minimal Processing
milk
orange juice, 100% pure, not from concentrate
coffee
spices
grains that have been processed, like rolled or steel cut oats, flours
raw sugar
honey
maple syrup
wine
nuts
canned beans
cheese
yogurt
tea

More Processing
Boxed cereals
breads
tortillas
crackers
corn chips
pasta, couscous
chocolate

And these are most of the foods that I eat on a daily basis. What I'm thinking of doing is making all items (except for chocolate) in the "More Processing" category from scratch. And, I'm thinking of switching to steel cut oats or another less processed grain than rolled oats for my breakfast, making my own yogurt, and cooking my own beans from the dried state to make a difference in the "Minimally Processing" category.

Any suggestions for me? Am I missing something here? Am I categorizing a certain food the wrong way? How long do you think I should run my experiement?