Judy Alter's Blog, page 318
July 10, 2012
A taste of Iowa
I went to a small liberal arts college in a small Iowa farm town for two years. It definitely was not a match for a city girl from the South Side of Chicago who was madly in love with an "older" medical student back home. My mom claimed my girlfriend, Barbara, and I chose that school because the recruiter who visited our high school was young and very good-looking. Probably so. But I didn't like Iowa, didn't like 3.2 beer--we weren't allowed to drink anyway. When you signed in from a date at night, a monitor asked if you had a good time, putting her face close enough to yours to smell your breath. I never felt comfortable with the social life, though Barbara loved it and has gone back to reunions. I guess I got a good enough education, although when I transferred to the University of Chicago as a junior, they made me take freshman English because I had "passed out" of it at the college and taken a substitute course in Henry Adams' The Education of Henry Adams. It was a fascinating experience that I recall with intellectual fondness--whatever that is. But Chicago deemed my writing skills inadequate--a nice irony since I've been a writer for almost forty years. Chicago also deemed me unable to qualify for an advanced degree based on my exit exams--another nice irony since I have a Ph.D.
All of that is beside the point, except to say that I carry good food memories of Iowa. In the basement cafeteria in a Cedar Rapids department store I learned to love a turkey sandwich with mayonnaise and blue cheese. I carried that idea home to my mom, who immediately adopted it. She used to pack a lunch for me when I was in school and working in Chicago, and she sometimes surprised me with that sandwich. I also remember visiting the Maytag cheese factory in Newton, Iowa--Mom and I were a bit dismayed that one of the workers dipped his bare arm into a vat of cheese to stir it. But later Mom used to send a wheel of Maytag blue cheese for Christmas, and it's the kind I buy to this day. I also remember visiting the Amana Colonies--a German self-sustaining commune--and encountering for the first time a family-style meal. The simple food--corn, green beans, potatoes, whatever--was served in bowls big enough to serve everyone at the table. A party of three? Didn't matter. You sat at a table for eight or ten and shared it with folks you'd never met. I loved it--and loved the plain, simple and oh-so-good food.
But what I've longed for ever since--and believe me, that's been a long time--is a good pork tenderloin sandwich. It may be that I remember those also from my time in the northeast corner of Missouri, but after all that borders on Iowa. Breaded pork tenderloin is served on a hamburger bun and to my memory the meat was always slightly peppery--and delicious.
I don't remember if we ate them at a Maid-Rite or not, but I read recently in local food critic Bud Kennedy's column that Maid-Rite has come to the Fort Worth area and brought their iconic pork tenderloin sandwiches. My good friend Betty and I usually go to a nice restaurant once a week, but I'm tempted to suggest we get to-go food from Maid-Rite and bring it to my porch next week. I'll present it as a food adventure.
Maid-Rite is also the home of loose meat, which is just what the name says--ground meat not formed into a patty. In fact, that's their signature sandwich. Ground meat is sauteed with onion on a special grill so that the grease drains off and then piled on a hamburger bun. It depends on the franchise--some season the meat and some don't.
But me? I'm ordering the pork tenderloin sandwich. After all, where can you get dinner for $4.99. And then, maybe a giant shake to go with it. Hey, Maid-Rite, welcome to the Metroplex.
All of that is beside the point, except to say that I carry good food memories of Iowa. In the basement cafeteria in a Cedar Rapids department store I learned to love a turkey sandwich with mayonnaise and blue cheese. I carried that idea home to my mom, who immediately adopted it. She used to pack a lunch for me when I was in school and working in Chicago, and she sometimes surprised me with that sandwich. I also remember visiting the Maytag cheese factory in Newton, Iowa--Mom and I were a bit dismayed that one of the workers dipped his bare arm into a vat of cheese to stir it. But later Mom used to send a wheel of Maytag blue cheese for Christmas, and it's the kind I buy to this day. I also remember visiting the Amana Colonies--a German self-sustaining commune--and encountering for the first time a family-style meal. The simple food--corn, green beans, potatoes, whatever--was served in bowls big enough to serve everyone at the table. A party of three? Didn't matter. You sat at a table for eight or ten and shared it with folks you'd never met. I loved it--and loved the plain, simple and oh-so-good food.
But what I've longed for ever since--and believe me, that's been a long time--is a good pork tenderloin sandwich. It may be that I remember those also from my time in the northeast corner of Missouri, but after all that borders on Iowa. Breaded pork tenderloin is served on a hamburger bun and to my memory the meat was always slightly peppery--and delicious.
I don't remember if we ate them at a Maid-Rite or not, but I read recently in local food critic Bud Kennedy's column that Maid-Rite has come to the Fort Worth area and brought their iconic pork tenderloin sandwiches. My good friend Betty and I usually go to a nice restaurant once a week, but I'm tempted to suggest we get to-go food from Maid-Rite and bring it to my porch next week. I'll present it as a food adventure.
Maid-Rite is also the home of loose meat, which is just what the name says--ground meat not formed into a patty. In fact, that's their signature sandwich. Ground meat is sauteed with onion on a special grill so that the grease drains off and then piled on a hamburger bun. It depends on the franchise--some season the meat and some don't.
But me? I'm ordering the pork tenderloin sandwich. After all, where can you get dinner for $4.99. And then, maybe a giant shake to go with it. Hey, Maid-Rite, welcome to the Metroplex.
July 9, 2012
Thoughts on a power outage
Everyone should have one power outage a year. It makes you humble and renews your gratitude. The one at my house was not nearly as long or in such hot weather as folks in the D.C. area suffered through, and I felt like a wimp for whining.
Apparently our electric distributor, Oncor, had to deal with multiple outages after a brief but severe wind storm blew through Saturday afternoon. I had been napping and missed it, but when I went out around five to give the dogs fresh water (they were still napping inside) and fill the bird feeder, I noticed it was pretty windy and there were clumps of leaves scattered over the yard. When I went back inside, I wondered why the kitchen was so dark--the fluorescent soffit lights that I leave on day and night were out. Then I heard it--that stillness that only happens in a house without power. Not alarmed because I was sure it would be brief, I called the power company and was told it would be repaired by eight that night. Longer than I expected, but still okay.
I had company coming for supper, but a cold summer meal was already prepared and in the fridge. Serving it meant that we opened the fridge a lot more than I liked. And they didn't get the hot pita/feta bread I planned on making. We ate on the porch and all was well. But eight came and went. After they left, I stumbled around with a candle and/or flashlight, getting the dogs fed and inside for the night, getting my nightly toilette accomplished, and finally reading on my iPad which was mercifully charged. Not exactly happy but not miserable. I found myself conserving water (always a good thing) and then telling myself, "No, it's power, not water."
At 2 a.m. I sat up in bed and announced to the dogs, "I am officially miserable." At 7 a.m. I decided they would be cooler outside. I did the clean-up I'd ignored in the dark and packed a bag. As soon as it was a decent hour I called my daughter and asked if I could come shower and have breakfast. They were off to a swimming lesson for Jacob, but I let myself in. Thirty minutes later, when they returned, I was a new and clean person happily reading email. I stayed there until noon, playing Legos with Jacob and working on stuff on the iPad. I charged it, the phone, and, just in case, the Kindle. The power company said two o'clock.
Big thanks to Jordan, Jacob, and Christian for making me welcome, feeding me a huge brunch, and, to Jordan, for packing an ice-chest lunch for me. Things I learned: you cannot click on "Like" by an Amazon title on the iPad, nor can you share Facebook images. The iPad doesn't get Facebook or new email in a house with no power--therer is no internet connection. The phone did those things just fine.
At two o'clock, Oncor told my neighbor five o'clock and added the wounding comment, "There are only twenty-two of you." Did that make us less a priority? One square city block?
The power came on about four, and I reluctantly threw out chicken salad, curry sauce, ice cream and a few other things.My losses were not anywhere near as great as those of residents and businesses in the East. But it was still a miserable experience, and I was exhausted--from not sleeping well, from worrying about the food in the fridge and freezer, and from the tension of expecting the lights to pop on at any minute. I wandered around the house enjoying the sound of the a/c, eating a snack dinner of mostly veggies, and reading. Too tired to do any constructive work. The dogs and I slept well, and today I am grateful for a cool house with all my electronic gear working. And a bit humbled.
Apparently our electric distributor, Oncor, had to deal with multiple outages after a brief but severe wind storm blew through Saturday afternoon. I had been napping and missed it, but when I went out around five to give the dogs fresh water (they were still napping inside) and fill the bird feeder, I noticed it was pretty windy and there were clumps of leaves scattered over the yard. When I went back inside, I wondered why the kitchen was so dark--the fluorescent soffit lights that I leave on day and night were out. Then I heard it--that stillness that only happens in a house without power. Not alarmed because I was sure it would be brief, I called the power company and was told it would be repaired by eight that night. Longer than I expected, but still okay.
I had company coming for supper, but a cold summer meal was already prepared and in the fridge. Serving it meant that we opened the fridge a lot more than I liked. And they didn't get the hot pita/feta bread I planned on making. We ate on the porch and all was well. But eight came and went. After they left, I stumbled around with a candle and/or flashlight, getting the dogs fed and inside for the night, getting my nightly toilette accomplished, and finally reading on my iPad which was mercifully charged. Not exactly happy but not miserable. I found myself conserving water (always a good thing) and then telling myself, "No, it's power, not water."
At 2 a.m. I sat up in bed and announced to the dogs, "I am officially miserable." At 7 a.m. I decided they would be cooler outside. I did the clean-up I'd ignored in the dark and packed a bag. As soon as it was a decent hour I called my daughter and asked if I could come shower and have breakfast. They were off to a swimming lesson for Jacob, but I let myself in. Thirty minutes later, when they returned, I was a new and clean person happily reading email. I stayed there until noon, playing Legos with Jacob and working on stuff on the iPad. I charged it, the phone, and, just in case, the Kindle. The power company said two o'clock.
Big thanks to Jordan, Jacob, and Christian for making me welcome, feeding me a huge brunch, and, to Jordan, for packing an ice-chest lunch for me. Things I learned: you cannot click on "Like" by an Amazon title on the iPad, nor can you share Facebook images. The iPad doesn't get Facebook or new email in a house with no power--therer is no internet connection. The phone did those things just fine.
At two o'clock, Oncor told my neighbor five o'clock and added the wounding comment, "There are only twenty-two of you." Did that make us less a priority? One square city block?
The power came on about four, and I reluctantly threw out chicken salad, curry sauce, ice cream and a few other things.My losses were not anywhere near as great as those of residents and businesses in the East. But it was still a miserable experience, and I was exhausted--from not sleeping well, from worrying about the food in the fridge and freezer, and from the tension of expecting the lights to pop on at any minute. I wandered around the house enjoying the sound of the a/c, eating a snack dinner of mostly veggies, and reading. Too tired to do any constructive work. The dogs and I slept well, and today I am grateful for a cool house with all my electronic gear working. And a bit humbled.
July 6, 2012
Summer Pleasures
One of my summer pleasures is driving home from my daughter's just before dark. It's about a twenty-minute drive, and I put the top down and blast out the Alex Beaton tape (see how old-fashioned I am? No CD player in my car!) of Scottish ballads. I go back roads, through residential districts shaded by trees and then through the park. Lovely. No hat--don't care what my hair looks like.
Jordan has instituted a new tradition for the summer--Friday night potluck. Tonight between fifteen and twenty people in their late thirties and early forties--and me. I've known some of them since they were in high school, and I am so blessed that they always seem glad to see me, hug me, and start conversations. We talk about books, dogs, jobs, whatever. Pure pleasure. And the food is good.
Now I'm home, looking forward to spending much of tomorrow cooking. I seem to have an overcooking problem lately. I was to make Italian/cheese pinwheels (out of crescent rolls) for tonight--somehow I made them smaller than the directions but cooked them the same amount of time. They tasted okay but sure were crisp. I added a round loaf of Parmesan bread, which Rob told me was great--Rob is one I've known forever and he now works with Jamie.
Today I tried to make a curry sauce for a complicated chicken salad recipe I'll make tomorrow--and burned it. I've never been good at reduction sauces, I think becuase my patience quota is low, and this one has apricot jam in it, so in the process of reducing it, I scorched it. Threw it out and made it again late this afternoon, paying much closer attention to it while it reduced--at a lower heat.
Went to pick Jacob up at day camp midway through the sauce preparation--and he announced he didn't like the smell. I thought it was the curry sauce--which does linger even tonight when I came home. But it seems he thinks my car smells bad--we won't go into his description of the bad smell. 'Nough said.
I'm reading Susan Schreyer's Bushwhacked and ready to get back to it. Susan is one of my heroes--she got tired of the agent/traditional pubishing game and became a self-publisher. This is her fourth mystery, and I'm captivated by her characters and plots. We hear complaints all the time about the poor quality of unjuried self-publishing with no gatekeepr. Susan stands out as a shining example of the best of the new opportunities for writers.
Jordan has instituted a new tradition for the summer--Friday night potluck. Tonight between fifteen and twenty people in their late thirties and early forties--and me. I've known some of them since they were in high school, and I am so blessed that they always seem glad to see me, hug me, and start conversations. We talk about books, dogs, jobs, whatever. Pure pleasure. And the food is good.
Now I'm home, looking forward to spending much of tomorrow cooking. I seem to have an overcooking problem lately. I was to make Italian/cheese pinwheels (out of crescent rolls) for tonight--somehow I made them smaller than the directions but cooked them the same amount of time. They tasted okay but sure were crisp. I added a round loaf of Parmesan bread, which Rob told me was great--Rob is one I've known forever and he now works with Jamie.
Today I tried to make a curry sauce for a complicated chicken salad recipe I'll make tomorrow--and burned it. I've never been good at reduction sauces, I think becuase my patience quota is low, and this one has apricot jam in it, so in the process of reducing it, I scorched it. Threw it out and made it again late this afternoon, paying much closer attention to it while it reduced--at a lower heat.
Went to pick Jacob up at day camp midway through the sauce preparation--and he announced he didn't like the smell. I thought it was the curry sauce--which does linger even tonight when I came home. But it seems he thinks my car smells bad--we won't go into his description of the bad smell. 'Nough said.
I'm reading Susan Schreyer's Bushwhacked and ready to get back to it. Susan is one of my heroes--she got tired of the agent/traditional pubishing game and became a self-publisher. This is her fourth mystery, and I'm captivated by her characters and plots. We hear complaints all the time about the poor quality of unjuried self-publishing with no gatekeepr. Susan stands out as a shining example of the best of the new opportunities for writers.
July 5, 2012
Pet grammatical peeves
I read a lot of email every day, a lot of posts on various listservs for authors--and you'd be amazed at the grammatical mistakes in them. How do these people think they can write a book? Sure, some are typos--but not all. Below is a list I've gathered recently--and not all are from professional writers.
There is unbelievable confusion over lay and lie. "My dogs were laying next to me." No,they weren't! They were lying next to you. "Laying on the beach was a good idea." Wrong! Lying on the beach might be a good idea. You lay an object down; you yourself lie down. Honest, this distinction is pretty straightforward and can be learned.
Another error that I find all the time, even in pubolished books, is the dangling modifier: "Sitting on my patio, a lovely red cardinal flew by." How could he fly by if he was sitting on your patio? The writer meant, "While I was sitting on my patio, a lovely ....." Or, "Tall, dressed in baggy chinos and a work shirt, his long graying hair was tied in a ponytail." Hmmm. How do you get chinos and a work shirt on a ponytail? Seems to me if you would read this aloud, you'd see it makes no sense.
Your, for you're, as in "Your welcome," in response to thank you. Or this one I found the other day, "If your in to dogs..." You're in to dogs? What does "in to dogs" mean anyway? Into dogs? as in liking them?
Hope for our countries future--that robs me of a lot of hope.
Site the owners for animal abuse, instead of cite.
"The dog was unable to be caught." Wow! Talk about passive voice. Was he trying hard to be caught and unable to do it How about, "We couldn't catch the dog"?
I'm sicken tired. OKay, I'm sick and tired of syntax problems.
Site the owners, instead of cite the owners--for abuse of an animal.
To cast shadows and dispersions on something.... Don't think you can cast dispersions, but maybe aspersions? Why don't people check these things? As you type these days, if you're not sure about a word, it's really easy to just google it and get a meaning.
And there's always the time that I spoke to my granddaughter's first grade class. Her mom and the teacher had arranged this, but that day there was a substitute. She introduced me by saying, "Maddie's grandmother is here because she has wrote some books." No wonder I see these errors pop up--kids hear that kind of incorrect language in their early years.
I'll keep collecting. I know the English language isn't easy, but these are so blatantly wrong that, for me, it's like a fingrnail scratching on a blackboard. I admit there's one I never get right myself: bad and badly. I keep saying, "I feel badly for someone," and both my English prof friend and my daughter jump on me. I feel badly means you don't feel well, or your fingers can't feel the person well. You feel bad for someone. Oh, help--get me out of this.
There is unbelievable confusion over lay and lie. "My dogs were laying next to me." No,they weren't! They were lying next to you. "Laying on the beach was a good idea." Wrong! Lying on the beach might be a good idea. You lay an object down; you yourself lie down. Honest, this distinction is pretty straightforward and can be learned.
Another error that I find all the time, even in pubolished books, is the dangling modifier: "Sitting on my patio, a lovely red cardinal flew by." How could he fly by if he was sitting on your patio? The writer meant, "While I was sitting on my patio, a lovely ....." Or, "Tall, dressed in baggy chinos and a work shirt, his long graying hair was tied in a ponytail." Hmmm. How do you get chinos and a work shirt on a ponytail? Seems to me if you would read this aloud, you'd see it makes no sense.
Your, for you're, as in "Your welcome," in response to thank you. Or this one I found the other day, "If your in to dogs..." You're in to dogs? What does "in to dogs" mean anyway? Into dogs? as in liking them?
Hope for our countries future--that robs me of a lot of hope.
Site the owners for animal abuse, instead of cite.
"The dog was unable to be caught." Wow! Talk about passive voice. Was he trying hard to be caught and unable to do it How about, "We couldn't catch the dog"?
I'm sicken tired. OKay, I'm sick and tired of syntax problems.
Site the owners, instead of cite the owners--for abuse of an animal.
To cast shadows and dispersions on something.... Don't think you can cast dispersions, but maybe aspersions? Why don't people check these things? As you type these days, if you're not sure about a word, it's really easy to just google it and get a meaning.
And there's always the time that I spoke to my granddaughter's first grade class. Her mom and the teacher had arranged this, but that day there was a substitute. She introduced me by saying, "Maddie's grandmother is here because she has wrote some books." No wonder I see these errors pop up--kids hear that kind of incorrect language in their early years.
I'll keep collecting. I know the English language isn't easy, but these are so blatantly wrong that, for me, it's like a fingrnail scratching on a blackboard. I admit there's one I never get right myself: bad and badly. I keep saying, "I feel badly for someone," and both my English prof friend and my daughter jump on me. I feel badly means you don't feel well, or your fingers can't feel the person well. You feel bad for someone. Oh, help--get me out of this.
July 4, 2012
Happy Fourth of July
I couldn't get a good picture of the flag at the foot of my driveway--not enough breeze--so this clip-art will have to do. It's about as celebratory as I got today. Even forgot--or got so wrapped up in what I was doing--to go out on the front porch and see the neighborhood parade head for the school across the street. But it's been a good lazy day--cleaned my desk of all sorts of odds and ends, wrote a book review blog I promised someone (the book was William Marsh Rice and His Institute, meaning Rice University--great story; he was murdered!), filed some papers, whittled my "to do" pile down and cleared out the cooking magazines. All this is a way of saying I avoided work on the novel in progress.
Also got a nap and did my yoga routine. If you read yesterday's blog, you may remember I mentioned, cryptically, the piriformis muscle. My right hip has been sore off and on, especially in going up steps, althoiugh it's much better lately. But my yoga/wellness guru thinks it may be the piriformis muscle (a small muscle behind the gluts) and has given me exercies to strengthen and stretch it. So far, no hip pain.
Capped the day off with dinner with Sue, my former neighbor who calls me her Fort Worth mom. We headed for one spot but it was closed--a place I'd never been and was curious to try. Driving down Magnolia was like driving down a ghost street--eveything was closed. We came to one restaurant that was open--in a location I'd been to before in previous incarnations. I didn't even get the name this time, but it was Mexican, and I had great ground sirloin tacos, filled with fine fresh vegetables and a bit of cheese. Sue had paella which she said was good but oh so rich. We talked--and argued, as we always do. I said something about the difference between Bush and Obama, and she said, in her own forthrigt manner, "I think that's complete bullshit!" We have fun because, with a generation between us, we are a lot alike but oh so different--she's a lot tougher than I am. She says it's because she works for lawyers. I think it's just a personality difference. But tonight was lots of fun.
Rat race the rest of the week.
July 3, 2012
Fiction becomes reality--or is it the other way around
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If I had something in mind to blog about tonight, it's gone--because I just got this wonderful cover for the third Kelly O'Connell Mystery, due out in August. Actually, I think I was going to blog about yoga and the piriformis muscle, but surely you can wait for that, in light of this new development. Kim Jacobs, publisher of Turrquoise Morning Press, did this cover herself and as always I think it's terrific. The top part looks like it could be Magnolia Avenue and the bottom is unmistakeably an out-of-place big-box store. Many thanks to Kim for yet anothergreat cover. There's a lot of talk these days about branding--and Kim manages to "brand" the covers of my books.I particularly like this book (is it boastful of me to say I like my own book?) because it has to do with a big-box store moving into a neighborhood of mom-and-pop stores. Shortly after I finished the manuscript, fiction became reality when a WalMart was scheduled to open not in Kelly's beloved Fairmount but in the adjoining neighborhood, also an enclave of gracious older homes. As far as I know that store is going in, despite neighborhood efforts to stop it. And I have heard vague rumors of a big box wanting to move to Magnolia, which is the heart of Kelly's neighborhood.My editor, who lives in Wales, didn't like the title of this book. She thought Kelly was going to find a big box at her front door. I assured her people in this country would know what a big box meant--please don't prove me wrong. But recently, we've had some incidents where the crime preceeded the fiction, leading one of my neighbors to say, "Stop the madness!" and another friend to say she needed Kelly in her neighborhood. In the first instance, a body was found in a vacant field near railroad tracks in our neighborhood. I actually wrote that into the work in progress. But then a young girl was found shot in an upscale neigborhood in back of a house where the occupant did not know her. My neighbor was jokingly saying Kelly was causing the madness, but my friend lived just behind that house--her side patio adjoined that property, and she and her husband heard the gunshots. Shakes you to have violence come that close, but that incident probably won't make it into the fourth Kelly book. You never know though.Then another friend wrote from far west Fort Worth that a body was found in her neighborhood that same night. She didn't ask for Kelly, however. Glad--that girl is getting stretched thin, and she's in the middle of finding her way through the as-yet untitled fourth story of her adventures. Wish her luck--and me as I try to write it.Meantwhile, watch for Trouble in a Big Box, due in August.
July 2, 2012
Hope is the thing with feathers/that perches in the soul
I am so proud of my Houston daughter-in-law Lisa, who has just returned from a mission trip to a remote mountain village in Haiti. That's her above, loving on a baby. The trip began with what she called a hiccup--I so would have called a 24-hour delay in Miami a huge burp. But the team finally reached the village of Marmelade (really, that's the name) and began their work--saw 540 patients, from infants to elderly, in three days and left so many more in need of medical help. 
Lisa, a teacher, also was part of the education aspect of the trip, meeting with teachers, talking with them about styles of learning, teaching techniques, offering them ideas for activities, some of which involved a deck of cards. Each teacher who attended left with a backpack full of supplies, including a deck of cards. This is market day in Marmelade.
Lisa reports the people were warm, welcoming and friendly, but taking cup baths in water from a pump and doing without a/c was a bit much. The food, however, was delicious--prepared for them by one woman. Need to get details on that! They were, she said, sad to leave Marmelade--and apprently will go back--but grateful to get to a resort with a/c and a swim in the ocean.
In my church Sunday, the minister preached on despair, desperation, and hope. It occurred to me that, beyond medicine and educational tools, the huge gift Lisa and her team brought to these people was hope. As I said I'm proud of her.
That sermon stuck in my mind. The minister stressed that we must all reach out to give hope to those who need it, and I thought about the people I know. One or two people came to mind that I might reach out to but in the most part I am surrounded by people who are always hopeful, always looking to a bright future. Whether that's a subconscious choice or not, I don't know, but I do realize we cannot surround ourselves with people who drag us down. There's a fine line there, and I'm not sure where to draw it.
I think Lisa knows about that fine line. She gave the people of Marmelade hope; they in turn, rather than dragging her down, enriched her life. And that makes me proud of her.
June 30, 2012
Cooking is good for the soul
Yep, I've decided--cooking is good for the soul. I'm reading a novel that is so zany I might have put it down if it weren't for the fact that the protagonist, Teeny Templeton, calms herself by cooking. And she can do what I can't--dream up recipes, combine things, and come out with something wonderful. Of course, she can dream up things like Skewer Your Ex Kabobs, complete with oleander. And she gets into bizarre situations--like catching her fiance playing naked badminton with two long-legged lovelies. The novel is full of eccentrics, from the fiance's Aunt Dora, who married into Charleston society but knows how to pay it like a harp, to a crude private eye named Old Red. As I said, I'd have done what the novel's title suggests, Gone With a Handsomer Man, except I got hooked, partly by food and cooking.
I am not, sigh, an inventive cook, but last night I invented a sandwich in my dreams. I was in a small cafe in a picturesque old town--think a small Scottish village, at least that's what appeals to me--and they had on the menu a sandwich of cream cheese, blue cheese, and chives. I emailed Jordan about it, and she, who puts cream cheese on everything, thinks it sounds delicious. Maybe we should add mayo? And use scallions instead of the milder chives? But then I have a lovely pot of chives on the porch.
But today I spent much of the day cooking--from recipes, not my own imagination. Such experiments usually turn out badly, like the recent chicken breast I cooked only to find out it was a thigh, not a breast. But, following recipes, I made lemon potato salad--a friend brought that to a potluck and was generous enough to share the recipe. It's scrumptious. Then another friend sent me the recipe for what she says is the world's best gazpacho. Most gazpacho has bell peppers--I don't like them and they don't like me. But in this one I can easily leave that out. I made a huge batch--need gazpacho? Come on over! This one calls for a couple of weird things--you mash a couple of garlic cloves, sprinkle with salt, and then mash a hard-boiled egg into that mixture. Stir all that into the soup. Then at the very end stir in a half cup plain bread crumbs. I'm having guests tomorrow night who are gluten free, so I'm waiting for them to bring them bread crumbs. I imagine that's a texture issue.I didn't even test this huge batch--just set it into the fridge to chill. I'll "taste for seasoning," as they say, tomorrow when the bread crumbs get here.
Meantime I managed to do small household chores, edit and post a Potluck with Judy guest blog and write a blog that will appear later in the month on Sweethearts of the West. So I've done a bit--but I've got to keep reading and find out what happens with Teeny. Right now, she's out on bail, accused of murdering her fiance, the naked badminton player. Can you believe I'm drawn into all this? It's the cooking I tell you.
I am not, sigh, an inventive cook, but last night I invented a sandwich in my dreams. I was in a small cafe in a picturesque old town--think a small Scottish village, at least that's what appeals to me--and they had on the menu a sandwich of cream cheese, blue cheese, and chives. I emailed Jordan about it, and she, who puts cream cheese on everything, thinks it sounds delicious. Maybe we should add mayo? And use scallions instead of the milder chives? But then I have a lovely pot of chives on the porch.
But today I spent much of the day cooking--from recipes, not my own imagination. Such experiments usually turn out badly, like the recent chicken breast I cooked only to find out it was a thigh, not a breast. But, following recipes, I made lemon potato salad--a friend brought that to a potluck and was generous enough to share the recipe. It's scrumptious. Then another friend sent me the recipe for what she says is the world's best gazpacho. Most gazpacho has bell peppers--I don't like them and they don't like me. But in this one I can easily leave that out. I made a huge batch--need gazpacho? Come on over! This one calls for a couple of weird things--you mash a couple of garlic cloves, sprinkle with salt, and then mash a hard-boiled egg into that mixture. Stir all that into the soup. Then at the very end stir in a half cup plain bread crumbs. I'm having guests tomorrow night who are gluten free, so I'm waiting for them to bring them bread crumbs. I imagine that's a texture issue.I didn't even test this huge batch--just set it into the fridge to chill. I'll "taste for seasoning," as they say, tomorrow when the bread crumbs get here.
Meantime I managed to do small household chores, edit and post a Potluck with Judy guest blog and write a blog that will appear later in the month on Sweethearts of the West. So I've done a bit--but I've got to keep reading and find out what happens with Teeny. Right now, she's out on bail, accused of murdering her fiance, the naked badminton player. Can you believe I'm drawn into all this? It's the cooking I tell you.
June 29, 2012
Loverly Day
Today I feel like borrowing a word from Eliza Doolittle of My Fair Lady--it was a loverly day! Not sure why that came into my mind, but it did. Started the morning at Central Market, which always pleases me because I love the fresh fruits and vegetables--and I bought lots. I've been keeping cucumbers in vinegar in the fridge, so had to stock up on those, and I'm making gazpacho this weekend--a big batch that will last a while--so I bought things for that. And potato salad. And corn on the cob--going to try roasting it in the oven in the husk. I've never been one to shun using the oven in summer--come on, it doesn't heat up the kitchen that much! I didn't quite shop till I dropped, but I had fun.
Then at noon, a signing at Z's Cafe--an eclectic place to say the least. How many small cafes have art on the wall and welcome authors for signings? It became a reunion of journalists as former employees of the Star-Telegram came to lunch and buy my book. I loved visiting with Cissy Stewart Lale, Doug Newsom (she didn't work at the paper--she was TCU faculty), Betty Bob Buckley, and Ann Miller-Tinsley. At another table, good friends Mary Rogers and Melinda Mason--gosh I hate to say how long Melinda and I have known each other, but I will say her mouth dropped open when I introduced Jordan to her. Jordan, sweet girl, came to support her mama--and visited with Mary and Melinda while eating Z's famous chicken salad. Others came--a former neighbor, the former principal of Jacob's school (who has a part in the books, much to her pleasure), a couple of women I didn't know but who knew Z's Cafe. It was all cheerful, upbeat, and delightful. And the food is so good. Special of the day was quiche, which those who had it said was wonderful--but they ran out before I got some. Next time. Meantime I had a terrific ham sandwich--not sure when I've had ham that good, and I eat a lot of ham. Sold 15 copies of No Neighborhood for Old Women and three of Skeleton in a Dead Space--not a bad lunch hour at all.
Home for a brief nap. Then I picked up Jacob and got us ready to go to his house for a Mexican pot luck supper. I had made an enchilada casserole--a cheater's casserole--but it had too many tortillas in it. Needed to be less bready. I am always so grateful that Jordan's friends welcome me so happily, and I was delighted when I told Jacob no, he could not have any more to eat because we were going to his house for supper, and he said, "Are you going too?" Of course, he wanted the top down, even though it was beastly hot.
As I always do, I came home early and then was grateful for the top down. Alex Beaton's Scottish ballads blasted out of my car (maybe I need a new Scottish tape for variety!). I even went the long way home so I could enjoy the drive and the music. Okay, I also admit a little voyeurism--there was a body found on a street where you wouldn't expect such to happen, and I went a bit out of the way to pinpoint the location. Man said he came home and found a dead woman, whom he didn't know, on his back doorstep. Absolutely fodder for a mystery. We recently also had a body found near the RR tracks in my neighborhood. My neighbor Susan says she's not sure but what my books are causing all this, as fiction becomes reality. Other way around, I'm going to work reality into fiction. My mind is whirling with thoughts.
Tomorrow, a lazy stay-at-home day fixing that gazpacho and potato salad--and maybe writing a piece about Etta Place.
Then at noon, a signing at Z's Cafe--an eclectic place to say the least. How many small cafes have art on the wall and welcome authors for signings? It became a reunion of journalists as former employees of the Star-Telegram came to lunch and buy my book. I loved visiting with Cissy Stewart Lale, Doug Newsom (she didn't work at the paper--she was TCU faculty), Betty Bob Buckley, and Ann Miller-Tinsley. At another table, good friends Mary Rogers and Melinda Mason--gosh I hate to say how long Melinda and I have known each other, but I will say her mouth dropped open when I introduced Jordan to her. Jordan, sweet girl, came to support her mama--and visited with Mary and Melinda while eating Z's famous chicken salad. Others came--a former neighbor, the former principal of Jacob's school (who has a part in the books, much to her pleasure), a couple of women I didn't know but who knew Z's Cafe. It was all cheerful, upbeat, and delightful. And the food is so good. Special of the day was quiche, which those who had it said was wonderful--but they ran out before I got some. Next time. Meantime I had a terrific ham sandwich--not sure when I've had ham that good, and I eat a lot of ham. Sold 15 copies of No Neighborhood for Old Women and three of Skeleton in a Dead Space--not a bad lunch hour at all.
Home for a brief nap. Then I picked up Jacob and got us ready to go to his house for a Mexican pot luck supper. I had made an enchilada casserole--a cheater's casserole--but it had too many tortillas in it. Needed to be less bready. I am always so grateful that Jordan's friends welcome me so happily, and I was delighted when I told Jacob no, he could not have any more to eat because we were going to his house for supper, and he said, "Are you going too?" Of course, he wanted the top down, even though it was beastly hot.
As I always do, I came home early and then was grateful for the top down. Alex Beaton's Scottish ballads blasted out of my car (maybe I need a new Scottish tape for variety!). I even went the long way home so I could enjoy the drive and the music. Okay, I also admit a little voyeurism--there was a body found on a street where you wouldn't expect such to happen, and I went a bit out of the way to pinpoint the location. Man said he came home and found a dead woman, whom he didn't know, on his back doorstep. Absolutely fodder for a mystery. We recently also had a body found near the RR tracks in my neighborhood. My neighbor Susan says she's not sure but what my books are causing all this, as fiction becomes reality. Other way around, I'm going to work reality into fiction. My mind is whirling with thoughts.
Tomorrow, a lazy stay-at-home day fixing that gazpacho and potato salad--and maybe writing a piece about Etta Place.
June 27, 2012
Summer, wildfires, and cabin fever
After an extended and unusually pleasant spring, it's a shock to realize that summer has come to North Texas with some of the vengeance of last year's horrific season. The top stays up on my convertible, the windows closed, the a/c on--not the way I like to drive. Yesterday, when it hit 106, the air felt like a smothering blanket when I ventured outside. My dogs spend the hottest part of the day inside. This afternoon Sophie acted like she wanted to go out, so I started toward the back door. She followed for a bit but then sat down firmly in the middle of the kitchen, as if to say, "I'm not going back out there!"
I've spent most of this week at home on my computer, and I'm beginning to get cabin fever. I had a bunch of errands that could easily have been done in one day, but I chose to do the little ones today, saving the grocery for tomorrow, so that I get out each day. The grocery is not exciting, but the clerks are pleasant and you get to talk to people. I value my solitude, and Lord knows I have plenty of work to do, but I am not a loner. I need people. To my delight Jordan and Jacob stopped in about eight this morning--Jacob demonstrated the new break-dancing techniques he'd learned at yesterday's lesson.
Being at my computer has meant that I've been glued to the reports of the apolcalyptic fires in Colorado, particularly Colorado Springs. Years and years ago (in the '70s) my brother lived there and we visited often. Then seven or so years ago, Colin and Lisa lived there, and we visited again. Both John and Colin lived close to the Garden of the Gods, and I treasure a picture of my whole family in front of the rock with Garden of the Gods written on it. From this distance, it's easy to feel dismay over the possible destruction of the Air Force Academy and the Broadmoor; it's harder to comprehend the tragic loss to so many families, with countless homes burned, the trauma of rapid evacuations, the desperation of first responders. I read that police directing evacuation traffic wore T-shirts over their faces so they could breathe in that smoke-filled air, and hospitals have treated many people with respiratory problems. I've thought of a line from Anna Quindlen's book, Lots of Cake, Plenty of Candles. "Catastrophe," she wrote, "is numerical. Loss is singular." We can pray and worry over the catastrophe, but we can never share the loss experienced by so many. Makes it seem petty to complain about 106.
I read with amusement a newspaper article about Texas food, with recipes, that purported to give author Dan Jenkins' recipe for cheese enchiladas. I emailed Dan with a comment to the effect that I didn't realize he cooked, and he wrote back to say that he doesn't. About the only cooking he does is to open a can of Wolf Brand chili. But you know, the recipe sounded kind of good. Jordan plans a Mexican potluck Friday night, and I think I might go and take an enchilada casserole. The article gave a chili recipe, but it occurs to me you could fill the enchiladas with Velveeta, as suggested--I'd add onion--and top with Wolf Brand. I'm debating whether I can do it the new way I've discovered for enchilada casseroles of any kind, by layering flat tortillas instead of softening in grease and rolling. At the least, I'll soften them in the microwave.
Life should get busier this weekend with a signing, some cooking (always fun), church, Jacob on Sunday afternoon, and company for Sunday supper.
And so the summer settles in, and so does my summer routine. Back to the manuscript I'm editing.
I've spent most of this week at home on my computer, and I'm beginning to get cabin fever. I had a bunch of errands that could easily have been done in one day, but I chose to do the little ones today, saving the grocery for tomorrow, so that I get out each day. The grocery is not exciting, but the clerks are pleasant and you get to talk to people. I value my solitude, and Lord knows I have plenty of work to do, but I am not a loner. I need people. To my delight Jordan and Jacob stopped in about eight this morning--Jacob demonstrated the new break-dancing techniques he'd learned at yesterday's lesson.
Being at my computer has meant that I've been glued to the reports of the apolcalyptic fires in Colorado, particularly Colorado Springs. Years and years ago (in the '70s) my brother lived there and we visited often. Then seven or so years ago, Colin and Lisa lived there, and we visited again. Both John and Colin lived close to the Garden of the Gods, and I treasure a picture of my whole family in front of the rock with Garden of the Gods written on it. From this distance, it's easy to feel dismay over the possible destruction of the Air Force Academy and the Broadmoor; it's harder to comprehend the tragic loss to so many families, with countless homes burned, the trauma of rapid evacuations, the desperation of first responders. I read that police directing evacuation traffic wore T-shirts over their faces so they could breathe in that smoke-filled air, and hospitals have treated many people with respiratory problems. I've thought of a line from Anna Quindlen's book, Lots of Cake, Plenty of Candles. "Catastrophe," she wrote, "is numerical. Loss is singular." We can pray and worry over the catastrophe, but we can never share the loss experienced by so many. Makes it seem petty to complain about 106.
I read with amusement a newspaper article about Texas food, with recipes, that purported to give author Dan Jenkins' recipe for cheese enchiladas. I emailed Dan with a comment to the effect that I didn't realize he cooked, and he wrote back to say that he doesn't. About the only cooking he does is to open a can of Wolf Brand chili. But you know, the recipe sounded kind of good. Jordan plans a Mexican potluck Friday night, and I think I might go and take an enchilada casserole. The article gave a chili recipe, but it occurs to me you could fill the enchiladas with Velveeta, as suggested--I'd add onion--and top with Wolf Brand. I'm debating whether I can do it the new way I've discovered for enchilada casseroles of any kind, by layering flat tortillas instead of softening in grease and rolling. At the least, I'll soften them in the microwave.
Life should get busier this weekend with a signing, some cooking (always fun), church, Jacob on Sunday afternoon, and company for Sunday supper.
And so the summer settles in, and so does my summer routine. Back to the manuscript I'm editing.
