Morsels

It takes days for the tension of everyday life to drop away. Even here where there is mostly silence and acres of nothing and no one around us. Every night I’ve dreamed of work; meetings, proclamations, very involved, hushed conversations. But the country is seeping in. Today I drove down to the Shur-Fine market which is only 8 minutes away instead of the 20 it takes to get to the nearest Wegman’s. Shur-Fines is where you go when you need a quick quart of milk, or two rawhide bones for the dogs. Or…. the best mixes I have EVER had.  I remember Mom and I picked up one of these mixes on a whim when we were shopping for a few extras and such (this is that kind of place for me — basic, easy, close). We got the Gingerbread mix and made it up. Best ever. Today, I made sugar and spice cookies and they, too were tremendous. Here’s the link.  Order some of this. Seriously.

I drove the pick-up to the market in olive green Columbia pants, LL Bean Boots, Dennis’s Navy fleece. Yeah, I looked a mess. But everyone else did too! When you go to Heinen’s in Bay Village, there’s make-up and making sure your clothes aren’t on inside out or are even wrinkly for god’s sake. Here at the local Shur-Fine just about anything goes.

So, the fire is going, the dogs are sleeping. Dennis is playing chess on his i-touch. It’s a cozy family scene. Bless us everyone.

Writing about food is so interesting — for me, the act of considering, creating and serving food to those I love is a central way that I express how much I love them. I remember, at some point this year, serving something, lord knows what and it being pretty roundly rejected by one of the kids. They are usually appreciative and complimentary about whatever I’ve served. But not this night and I think whatever I made was not a great success (note how I have conveniently forgotten exactly what it was). I may have been in hyper-sensitive mode (no eye-rolling please) and I believe my eyes may have misted up a bit. My older son leaned across the table and said, “you know Mom just because we don’t like the food you serve doesn’t mean we don’t like you.” He hit it on the head. Naturally, I started to cry. Oh well, some dinners are like that.

Which reminds me that I want to give an update on the cake/birthday post. Pies never came. Lobsters were very well-behaved and delicious (you can’t ask for more). Salt and vinegar chips were a perfect counterpoint. But the best, best part of it all was the Cloud Cake which was made by my very own non-cooking husband. I came home to him in an apron, Christopher (who is a cook) at the counter doing his math and occasionally lifting his head to offer a tip and the beating of egg whites, the melting of chocolate. It was quite remarkable, really… and the cake was delicious. So I may have to re-name it the Cake-that-even-your-non-cooking-husband(or wife or friend or etc)-can-make. Cloud Cake does have a better ring doesn’t it? It was probably the best birthday dinner I have had in a long time. I just felt…in my place, with my family and so happy to be here another year, another day.

I started this post off wanting to expound a little on why writing about food is so great, so all-encompassing. I do find it a wonderful frame for my own experience and perception. And I thought I would, in this blog, share quotes from wonderful cooks and/or writers… people who inspire me with the way they experience food and, in the end, life. Here’s the first quote. It is from Edward Espe Brown, author of the Tassajara Breadbook. He has been practicing Zen since 1965 and is a head teacher at the San Francisco Zen Centers. Here is in a passage entitled, “How Could I Have Ever Known (It Would Be Like This).”

What’s today? Tuesday? I made about 2 dozen of my Aunt Mary’s Molasses Cookies on Sunday afternoon — thinking there would be some for boy lunches at least until tomorrow?

This is not an unreasonable expectation. But I came home from work last night and Christopher gestured forlornly at the empty container on the counter. Cookies-all-gone he said. And they were.

I wonder how to teach the delight in the one warm cookie? The chew and sweetness and fulfillment? (this is not to say that I wouldn’t have wanted maybe ONE more for myself) But the whole concept of restraint and consciousness of what-we-have-before us is not a native characteristic of the american male teenage species. Nope. Not happening. And the cook must be naive in the face of appetite. Yes, I want to feed and nurture. But I’d also like to think my labor might last a bit longer than one day. This is a metaphor (as I think about it) for the swiftness of our time together, me and my boys. Arthur is a breath away from moving out.

In the meantime, I cook and am glad that we are all together as much as we can be at the table.

And also in the meantime, winter rolls on and I feel like a cross between a slug and some sort of dark hibernating being. Dennis and I spent some worried time trying to figure out how to hit the gym together. It’s a story problem:

If spouse A works from 7 am to 3 pm and is on homework/house duty from 3 pm on and spouse B works from 8:30 to 5:30 and rushes home to make dinner, etc. How do either A or B fit in a workout? We came up with meeting at the gym at 5:30 and coming home by 7 pm for an “easy to fix” meal — spouse A’s words (guess who spouse A is and who spouse B is for bonus points).

So, I’m thinking on it. It’s a challenge and I do like those. I wonder how often people make compromises with fast food or prepared food so they can fit in a work-out…shit ain’t right, as they say. So my plan, naturally (pun intended) is to try and figure this out so I can feed us good, healthy and quick. More to come.

In the meantime, if you want to hear a good audio essay from Michael Pollan on how to navigate through the health claims in today’s food market, check this out.

It’s is cold, cold outside. The wind is blowing upwards of 40 mph and the temperature gauge outside my kitchen window says it is 15 degrees. Brrrrr. Only thing to be done is make Aunt Mary’s Molasses Cookies. These are absolutely delicious with just the right amount of spice and kick and sweetness. Mom brought us some over christmas and told me that my Aunt Mary had made them when they were all staying down in the house on Virginia Beach (my mother’s old childhood haunt). Mary had made up the dough, rolled it icebox cookie style and would make up a small batch for the restrained cookie munching group. I love to think of them all, mom, dad, Aunt Mary and my Uncle Kinloch sitting on the porch, listening to the waves and each other’s happy crunches. Making these cookies today is my way of driving February far far away.