daily bliss: love

at a minor league baseball game, May 2010

One year ago today, I walked down to the lake on a gorgeous, yet chilly, late Spring evening. I strolled down the hill, breathing in lilac fragrance. I breathed deeply, and propelled myself forward, nervous and hopeful. Possibility shimmered in the air.

On our first date, G and I shivered on a picnic table for three hours, talking. Meeting. Laughing. Wondering.

If you've stuck with this blog (which has been written in fits and starts this year), you've picked up on some threads of our story. Perhaps you've even sensed some of the magic.

Reader, I fell in love.

And I've never felt more myself.

I could write an extensive but not exhaustive list of everything I love about G, but since I haven't let him know I'm writing this post (and will be overseas, without him when it posts), instead I will say that our lives together have expanded. Love provides the foundation to be vulnerable, to be true, and to be authentic. Whether it's someone strumming an air mandolin to Train's "Hey Soul Sister" or someone calling the bed Cloud, we're not afraid to be our goofy selves.

And there are tears. Ask G about my stress response, which is to imagine extremes and dissolve into tears. This is the hard part to share. But it's still me.

We're now in the process of merging our daily lives, as G left his village behind and moved to the city, and to our home. Boxes, bags, and misplaced furniture surround us. Daily routines stutter and flow. We're learning to adapt. Together.

At the end of our first date, as I walked up the stairs, I sensed that life was about to change. I had no idea.

I've never been happier.

Happy first anniversary, Gregg. I love you.

daily bliss: paris

All my bags are packed.

I'm (mostly) ready to go.

I have a custom made google map of deliciousness. And a 14 page handout on Paris Eats and Treats culled from David Lebovitz and Dorie Greenspan pics.

I suspect it won't seem quite real until I, along with 22 others (including a co-leader, students, community members, and...my Grandma!) board the Air France flight this evening.

And then...the sights and sounds and tastes of Paris beckon.

Oh, the tastes...

Au revoir, mes amies.

daily bliss: fresh, local salad

Yesterday I paid a long overdue visit to the T's, my gardening, foodie, progressive friends. After a long chat while T worked on hand carving a decorative door panel, we walked to the garden. T snipped lettuce while I plucked spinach. J arrived home and we chatted some more. I promised to share some Poilane bread in return for this taste of summer.

I whisked together a simple cherry balsamic vinaigrette, toasted pecans, shaved Bellavitano cheese, and tossed in a handful of dried cherries. Bliss.

Welcome back, summer. I missed you so.

twd: quick classic berry tart

Today, the last day of English 101, I reminded my students that APPM (audience, purpose, persona, message) is their key to writing success.

"Remember, you need to think about your audience. Who is reading your writing? What is your purpose? You have to have a point! And don't forget to consider your persona. Your tone makes a big difference when delivering your message."

Somewhere in the back of my chaotic mind, I thought about this little blog. I need to conduct some serious APPM prep time when I sit down to craft these entries.

And yet, here I am tonight, fumbling for words and stories to make you want to read.

Gah.

My writing process needs serious attention, which it will receive, and you all will enjoy the fruits of, when I return from Paris in a few weeks. Until then, it will be a cobbled together dish, a last minute entry here and there.

Cue the segue...

And this is why I loved this simple berry tart. I almost didn't make it, as no berries are in season. (it actually snowed around these parts last weekend. berry bliss is some time coming). But, I doubt I'll be able to make the next two recipes, so I wanted to fulfill my monthly quota. I read through the variations of pastry cream, and I thought about a mish-mash solution.

My favorite berry jam. Cook frozen berries with sugar until thick. If industrious, add citrus zest and juice. I chose raspberries and meyer lemon.

I then made a meyer lemon pastry cream.

I assembled the tart speedily, and hoped for the best.

The tart is lightly sweet and plenty tangy. Delicious.

Thanks to Christine of Cooking with Christine for selecting this week's recipe.

twd: burnt sugar ice cream

[photo to be added tomorrow]

Caramel.

Custard.

The two dreaded C's.

The last time I attempted caramel, cussing ensued.

Custard, well, I've seemingly mastered the tempering technique and can produce a smooth product.

This week's recipe tested my resolve by requiring both dreaded C's.

My first attempt with the caramel today was problematic. Lacking vanilla extract, I blended vanilla bean with my sugar, then added the water, and applied heat. A too big pan and too high heat resulted in a sugar that failed to dissolve and instead returned to a granular state. Mustering up my chemistry memory (I did start college as a pre-pharmacy major and took a year of Chemistry before seeing the light and leaving a life of jet-setting and drug company perks for the glamorous life of an English professor on furlough), I added more water and dissolved the sugar, this time slowly and carefully.

Conquering my fears and applying sugar savvy, I crafted an ice cream so delicious, it's dangerous. I subbed 1% milk for whole and half and half for cream. Mmmm.

Thank you, Becky, of Project Domestication, for selecting this wonderful, rich, and complexly flavored ice cream.

twd: chocoblock cookies

Kudos to Mary, of Popsicles and Sandy Feet, for selecting a delicious, over-the-top cookie just when I needed some tart nutty sweetness. Please visit her blog and read her baking manifesto. It rocks.

I would love to wax poetic on these cookies. I love them, and could descend into Ode territory declaring their goodness.

But. Moving day is four days away. My Mom and Grandma are coming to visit tomorrow. Strange dudes are coming to fix a leaky roof at 7:15 tomorrow morning. I'm leaving for Paris in three weeks and four days.

Life is full. And chaotic. And absolutely, life-changingly wonderful.

As are these cookies, which I filled with toasted coconut and walnuts, dried cherries and cranberries, and chocolate chips. Mmmm.

Happy.

Chockful.

daily bliss: making space, part two

This past week, I've been cataloguing single girl behaviors that will change when G moves in nine days from today:

* piling clothes on the bathroom chair or bedroom floor at the end of the day

* accumulating socks at the bottom of the bed, a different pair kicked off during sleep each night

* leaving the bathroom door open

* saving toilet flushes (to be green. i swear it's not gross.)

* eating ice cream directly out of the carton

* surrounding myself with pillows in bed each night

* sleeping with assorted writers. Michael Perry and the gang at the Oxford American are popular lately (clarification: i tend to slip whatever book or magazine i'm reading before i fall asleep over on the other side of the bed, under the pile of pillows).

***

We're making progress, slowly, though most rooms are in disarray. The CD's are expertly alphabetized and arranged. Closets are emptying and refilling in the best use of space. We've moved Cloud (the new mattress) from the green room to the other bedroom.

soon to be book-lined study

And how do you know someone really truly loves you?

When they put up with you naming inanimate objects (see, Blossom (mixer), GSexy (car), and Cloud (bed)). And, when they willingly sleep in . . . a pink room.

That, my friends, is love.

I painted the pink room last memorial day weekend, less than a week before our first date.

What a difference a year makes.

Cloud, in the pink room

twd: sweet cream biscuits

As I posted on facebook yesterday, some days, the desire to be a barista nearly overwhelms me.

I'm having a bit of a writerly crisis these days. The kind of writing I've been trained to do (scholarly, literary criticism) increasingly seems pointless to me. And, I feel like I'm not good at it. Or maybe I lack the desire to be good at it. Or maybe my position, primarily an introduction college writing professor at a nearly open access two year college, seems so far divorced from the theoretical suppositions this kind of writing demands that I just can't bridge the chasm.

Such days call for simple comforts.

A warm biscuit, spread with still-warm homemade jam. A mug of hot cafe au lait.

When I arrived home this afternoon, disgruntled and confused, I turned on the oven. I tossed frozen strawberries and sugar in a pan on the stovetop. I opened Baking: From My Home to Yours. I mixed together simple ingredients, cut out five biscuits (I made a half recipe), slipped them in the warm oven, all as the fruit bubbled into jam. I heated and frothed milk and brewed coffee. Within twenty-five minutes, I sat down with my new copy of Saveur (the mac and cheese on the cover is swoon-worthy, btw), and cleared my mind.

Melissa of Love at First Bite selected this recipe, which is simple and delicious. My biscuits didn't raise very high, but the flavor was delicious. I usually make Mark Bittman's yogurt biscuits--tangy and light and also much less fattening--but Dorie's biscuits are a wonderful addition to my quick bread list of favorites.

daily bliss: making space, part one

what happens when you blend 700+ CD's?

Since 1995, I have lived in eleven places. Garden level apartments, graduate student housing, my old bedroom at my parents (for six weeks. thanks again, mom and dad!), a hardwood lined 1920s duplex, and, now the upper apartment in a house with a lake view and a fantastic kitchen.

I'm used to the rituals of moving: gather boxes; sort belongings; pack boxes; give belongings away; stack boxes; reserve moving truck; recruit helpers; and start fresh in a new place. Blank walls, empty cupboards waiting to be decorated and filled and personalized.

This time, I'm not moving. Instead, I'm making space. I'm packing up belongings, donating clothes, storing furniture, and attempting to tame all this girly pinkness, because...

...to quote Monica from Friends, I'm going to live with a boy!

Yes, dear readers, G is moving in! He's packing boxes and we're loading trucks. We have a storage unit, which we visit several times a week. We're blending our belongings and re-imagining this space, and, more importantly, our lives...together.

I've never been as happy to make space.

twd: swedish visiting cake

The only Swede who has visited my home since I made the Swedish Visiting Cake on Sunday is...me (and that's stretching it, as Swede competes with a handful of other European heritages)...and somehow, half of my eight inch cake is...gone.

It's that good. Dense yet moist. Buttery and fragrant with almonds. And, as Dorie promises, a sugared crust.

This cake's utter simplicity of preparation—one bowl, one pan—complements its pure deliciousness.

And, the best part of all is this week's host, Nancy, of The Dogs Eat the Crumbs (and Corner Loaf, a delightful and impressive bread blog). Nancy does math for the rest of us, scaling recipes down and up, providing weights instead of traditional measurements, and overall giving solid, kind, and generous advice to the baking blogoverse and twitterworld. I look forward to reading her blogs every week, and appreciate her warm comments. My mom is also a fan and reads Nancy's blog and appreciates her comment too.

Thanks, Nancy, for selecting this delicious recipe!

daily bliss: over-the-top cake

The first crocuses have pushed their way through the warming earth.

A late snow and several rain showers have greened the grass.

Trees are on the edge of bursting, spilling their sneeze-inducing pollen everywhere.

My soul stirs, my heart expands, my mind drifts.

Spring!

To celebrate Spring, I crafted an Easter cake that admittedly took the notion of cake above and beyond the usual boundaries.

I began with a coconut milk-laced layer cake, using the recipe I found at Tender Crumb's blog. I made two eight inch layers, which I split in two.

Then, I made homemade raspberry jam—cooking a bag of frozen organic berries from Oregon with sugar until thick.

I improvised a cream cheese frosting.

I colored coconut both pink and green.

I made a baby pink meringue frosting.

I bought speckled malt eggs and a chocolate bunny.

And then, I put it all together:

Layers spread with cream cheese buttercream and jam, cake covered with meringue icing, sprinkled with coconut, and topped with candies.

For once, the reality lived up to the vision in my head.

The cake was all whimsy and cuteness...and deliciousness.

As expected, G's niece clamored for the big bunny (I gave each of the kids a mini chocolate bunny). We enjoyed slices of cake with rich coffee and a lovely torte of chocolate and pudding, topping off a traditional, tasty Easter meal.

The bunny? He came home with me, and is still intact, though I think he might lose his ears this afternoon:)

Happy Spring, dear readers!

npm: william carlos williams

by the path between

two lakeshore towns, dead brown grass

begins to awake

William Carlos Williams, "Spring and All"

npm: george herbert

a wing shaped poem

of human sin and holy

resurrection joy.

George Herbert, "Easter Wings"

npm: geoffrey chaucer

april's sweet showers

wash away winter, lead us

giddy, on the path

Geoffrey Chaucer, Prologue to The Canterbury Tales

npm: emily dickinson

possibility

making a fair house a home

place of paradise

Emily Dickinson, #657

npm: wallace stevens

To celebrate National Poetry Month, I will write one haiku a day that references, echoes, or is inspired by an existing poem.

To begin, Wallace Stevens, "Sunday Morning."

prosaic pj's

coffee, grapefruit, early sun

my divinity

twd: coconut tea cake

I'm in a Southern frame of mind.

This time of year, as Spring comes so achingly slowly, I miss the Southland in the Springtime, to quote the Indigo Girls. Green and blossom and sunshine and warmth arrive earlier, unlike the Midwestern come hither, play hard to get dance.

I'm reading the Oxford American Food Issue and missing Southern foodways...(If you don't know this magazine, please check it out. Superb writing, engaging stories. It is my mother's goal that I will one day be published in its august pages.)

And, after an epic conversation with one of my dear, Southern grad school friends, I long to host a tea party on my screened in porch as I did many Springs in Auburn.

Alas.

This week's selection, a simple coconut tea cake would be the perfect sweet treat to end a tea party of cucumber sandwiches and champagne punch.

The cake, which I made a half recipe in a loaf pan, is moist, dense, and redolent of sweet coconut, in both shredded (sweetened, untoasted) and milk (lite) forms. I made Dorie's lemon variation, and the slight citrus tang contrasts with the sweetness of the cake.

As I nosh the coveted end piece and sip a mug of Chunmee green tea, I think of S, K, S, and J. I think of our wide ranging discussions of literature, life, and love. Mostly, I think of the distinctive sound of each woman's laughter.

And through my missing, I smile.

There's something about the Southland in the Springtime, and all year long.

Thank you, Carmen, of Carmen Cooks, for selecting this delicious, simple, and satisfying recipe.

twd: thumbprint cookies for big kids

I was convinced I didn't have time to bake these cookies.

Until I read a few blogs this morning, and salivated over the photos of buttery cookies welled with crimson jam.

I multitasked at work, stopped at the store for organic frozen raspberries, and headed home to make jam and a half batch of cookies in between class prep and a few important phone calls.

They're fast. Simple. Stunning.

Thanks, Mike of Ugly Food Dude, for selecting this quick-to-make delicious treat.

daily bliss: artisan bread baking

Spending the day with my friend T is always an adventure. From learning gardening tips to how to make yogurt, to sampling homemade cured Italian meats, T always teaches me something. He invited me to join him on a massive bread baking adventure, and I happily accepted.

the wet mixture

Friday morning I arrived in time to mix together the sponge and the remaining ingredients for a pecan and raisin studded whole wheat loaf. Considering that there was enough dough to make 12+ two and a half pound loaves, this entailed heavy kneading, especially once the fruit and nuts were added to the dough.

a shaggy dough

adding fruit and nuts

We divided the dough in half and each set about working the dough, though T's long arms and superior strength made his kneading time about half of mine.

the lovely kneaded dough

After the doughs were ready, T loaded me up with various vegetables from last summer's garden—onions, garlic, carrots—and a bag of frozen san marzano tomatoes. My next task was to go home and make a simple red sauce, for we would have time to cook a few pizzas alongside the bread.

At home, I sauteed garlic in olive oil while I skinned the tomatoes by popping them under hot water until the skins, almost magically, peeled off. I added Italian herb mix and a pinch of salt, and reveled at how quickly my kitchen smelled of summer.

breads awaiting baking

After a quick lunch and my sauce making adventure, I followed T's map to his friend's farm, where they have a brick oven nestled in a building that used to be the summer kitchen. The oven is over 140 years old.

I drove through prime Wisconsin dairy land, watching cows slowly meander across semi-frozen fields, admiring the old farmsteads that are still operational.

When I stepped into the building, I was surprised by the simplicity of the room. T had rigged up a propane torch to add heat to the building and warm the loaves of rustic french sourdough that take a long, slow rise, as they lack added yeast.

breads baking in the brick oven

Our first task was to egg wash, score, and seed the large loaves of rye bread before adding them to the heated oven. T showed me the technique for transfering loaves on and off the long cherry wood peel he fashioned himself. I need practice at the clean jerk, which leaves the bread in one spot.

the bread baker's apprentice:)

As we waited for the breads to cook, we set about making pizzas, by shaping the dough, and placing it in the hot oven. We added simple toppings: the aforementioned sauce, roasted red peppers, kalamata olives, asparagus, fresh mozzarella, and basil. With a crisp, chewy, and slightly charred crust, the pizzas tasted almost as good as the pies from my favorite restaurant, Il Ritrovo.

rye breads

Once the rye breads were done, it was time to make another fire in the oven to add heat, which increased the smokiness in the little building and had us seeking refuge outside. After the fire died down, we added the raisin pecan breads to the oven. They baked in about 40 minutes, and then I showed off my newfound skills and removed three at a time on the long peel.

pecan raisin bread

When I left, the sourdough breads had another two hours or so of rising, but home was calling. I wanted to read, and to start a veggie stock for a winter vegetable pot pie for Friday night dinner. Today I'll stop over at T's house to pick up a loaf.

This day was just the kind of Friday I needed—a day to learn something new, to connect with a friend, and to create something beautiful, sustaining, and delicious.

daily bliss: natal day

in from the cold

Today I turn thirty-six.

Last year I made my peace with thirty-five.

My thirty-fifth year was just really very good and nice.

I expect year thirty-six to similarly blossom with new adventures (Paris, anyone?), new paths, and new possibilities yet unseen. I cannot wait.

I hope to meet each new opportunity with grace and compassion, and, above all, with gratitude. To be alive, to be surrounded by loving people, to feel the sunshine on my face and the earth under my feet, to share my passions with others everyday: what wonder.

What bliss.

Thank you, dear readers, for being part of my life.