C.D. Hersh's Blog, page 56
February 17, 2022
Friday Feature Yes, Boys and Girls Are Different
Ten years ago, I found myself escorting a 15-year-old into my home. I hadn’t really thought about it much when I agreed to become a foster mom. All I knew was this small boy – who’d previously been my student – found himself alone. The spur-of-the-moment decision set me on the path to foster mom school – yes, there is such a thing – where one learns the proper ways to nurture children who’ve suffered in their lives.
As you can imagine, it wasn’t easy. Teenagers in the foster care system are hard to place, because, well, they’re teenagers. Not the most pleasant time to be a parent. Still, we persevered.
Later, two more boys who’d spent time in the foster care system called me mom.
While the boys are younger in this picture, they’re not often in the same place at the same time.
Today, my three boys are all in their twenties working toward their goals. They are positive, contributing members to society, working at their chosen professions. Which is a really big deal. The reason? Twenty percent of kids who age out of foster care become homeless immediately. Another 20 percent are homeless within four years. Twenty-five percent end up in prison within two years. Only 2.5 percent graduate from a four-year college, so when my youngest boy – now a junior at Arizona State University – graduates, he will be one of the very few who’s earned a degree.
As you can imagine, I’m very proud of my boys and I’m excited to see what they become.
Ryan is with our two sons Troy and Brandon.
Ziggy is our budding director.
I must mention here what a good sport my long-time partner has been, since Ryan was thrust into parenthood as abruptly as I was. He’s wonderful with the boys, all of whom needed a dad, maybe more than they needed a mom.
That said, recently, we had a change in the family dynamic. A young lady has come to stay. Also, a former student, Makayla, is a sophomore at ASU. She’s bubbly and determined and a student at the Walter Cronkite School of Journalism.
So now Ryan has a girl, which is just a wee bit different. And this spirited young woman is teaching Ryan that girls really are different than boys.
“How does my hair look?” Makayla positioned herself in the living room, a tight bun situated atop her head.
“It looks nice.” I smiled.
Then she turned to Ryan.
“It’s OK,” he said.
I cringed. Makayla frowned and walked out of the room.
“What’d I say?” Ryan looked bemused.
“Not the right thing.”
Ryan spread his hands.
“Honey, she’s a girl. Just say she looks nice.”
“Of course, she looks nice.”
“Then say so.”
Poor guy. I almost laugh when he listens to Makayla talk about boys and clothes and hairstyles. He just looks so damned lost. “It’ll be OK, honey. You’ll catch on.”
The next evening, Ry and I were in the kitchen preparing dinner. Makayla walked in with a big bow in her hair.
Ry looked up. “I like the bow,” he said. “You look nice.”
Makayla graced him with a radiant smile.
Who knew my sweetie pie was such a quick learner?
Here is a look at my latest thriller for your reading pleasure.
Ancient ruins, haunted memories, and a ruthless criminal combine with a touch of mystic presence in this taut mystery about a crime we all must address.
Maggie, a National Park Ranger of Native American descent, is back at The Castle—an ancient pueblo carved into a limestone cliff in Arizona’s Verde Valley. Maggie, who suffers from depression, has been through several traumas: the gang rape she suffered while in the Coast Guard, the sudden death of her ten-year-old son, and a suicide attempt.
One evening, she chases a young Native American boy through the park and gasps as he climbs the face of The Castle cliff and disappears into the pueblo. When searchers find no child, Maggie’s friends believe she’s suffering from depression-induced hallucinations.
Maggie has several men in her life. The baker, newcomer Jim Casey, who always greets her with a warm smile and pink boxes filled with sweet delicacies. Brett Collins, a scuba diver who is doing scientific studies in Montezuma Well, a dangerous cylindrical depression that houses strange creatures found nowhere else on Earth. Dave, an amiable waiter with whom she’s had a one-night stand, and her new boss Glen.
One of these men is a serial rapist and Maggie is his next target. In a thrilling and terrifying denouement, Maggie faces her rapist and conquers her worst fears once and for all.
Available at Amazon and all major vendors.
Anne Montgomery has worked as a television sportscaster, newspaper and magazine writer, teacher, amateur baseball umpire, and high school football referee. She worked at WRBL‐TV in Columbus, Georgia, WROC‐TV in Rochester, New York, KTSP‐TV in Phoenix, Arizona, ESPN in Bristol, Connecticut, where she anchored the Emmy and ACE award‐winning SportsCenter, and ASPN-TV as the studio host for the NBA’s Phoenix Suns. Montgomery has been a freelance and staff writer for six publications, writing sports, features, movie reviews, and archeological pieces.
When she can, Anne indulges in her passions: rock collecting, scuba diving, football refereeing, and playing her guitar.
Learn more about Anne Montgomery on her website and Wikipedia. Stay connected on Facebook, Linkedin, and Twitter.
February 15, 2022
Wednesday Special Spotlight SOUP’S ON!
Now that winter has arrived in the Northern Hemisphere, the human residents of Carpenter Country have started thinking about soup. And quackers too of course. My husband and I are duck fans and ducks generally show up in our neighborhood this time of year. However, much as we like both, we restrain ourselves from combining soup and quackers.
Speaking of combining things, did you know January is National Soup Month in the US? What we don’t understand is why April is national grilled cheese sandwich month. Those two celebrations belong together. Someone should right this wrong.
We think we’ll have soup while we work up a petition.
Won’t you join us in a bowl? It’s big enough for all.
Easy Potato Soup
1 tbsp. butter
4-5 potatoes, peeled and diced
Chopped or diced onion to taste
1 tbsp. cornstarch or flour
¼ cup water
2 cups water
1 cup milk (whole, evaporated, or 2%)
1 tsp. salt
1 packet chicken bouillon
Shredded cheese optional
Melt butter in 2-quart saucepan.
Add onions and potatoes and cook until soft (5-10 minutes).
Mix 1 tbsp cornstarch with ¼ cup water (pre-mixing prevents annoying lumps). Add cornstarch mixture, water, milk, salt, and bouillon to softened potatoes and onions in saucepan.
Bring to a boil, reduce heat and simmer 20-25 minutes.
Serve with a topping of shredded cheese and a chunk of fresh bread.
Bonus goodness:
Crave added richness? Substitute ½ cup whipping cream for half of the milk.
Are you a vegetable fan? Toss in the veggie of your choice, either frozen or fresh, when you add the milk and water. We like frozen carrots and corn. They add color and they cook right along with the potatoes.
Like things meatier? Put in leftover ham or chicken.
Bland potatoes? Mix in sweet pickle juice. Six teaspoons give the soup a little zing.
Want some zest? A ½ teaspoon dry mustard provides zip.
Need more soup? Add more stuff. The converse works too.
Fighting off vampires? Switch out the regular salt for a teaspoon of garlic salt. If you have a bad infestation, add ½ teaspoon crushed garlic to the soup and serve with a wood spoon.
Once upon a time there was a mother/daughter author duo named Helen and Lorri, who wrote as HL Carpenter. The Carpenters worked from their studios in Carpenter Country, a magical place that, like their stories, was unreal but not untrue. Then one day Lorri left her studio to explore the land of What-if, and like others who have lost a loved one the magical place lost much of its magic. But thanks to family, plus an amazing group of wordsmiths named Authors Moving Forward (AMF), the magic is slowly returning.
Helen Carpenter loves liking and sharing blog posts from other authors. She lives in Florida with her husband of many years and appreciates everyday, especially those without hurricanes.
Stay connected on her blog and Facebook .
February 14, 2022
Tell Again Tuesday Tooting our own horn
Grateful for my Fellow SouliesBy De Ann Smallwood
In this season of Thanksgiving, I wanted to acknowledge all for which I’m thankful. Of course, I’m grateful for my husband and all the amazing people in my life. During this pandemic, we have all learned how valuable human relationships are and how much being separated from friends and family grates on the soul. As a teacher, I’m also grateful for days off when I can indulge in reading, and I am very thankful that I am part of a talented group of writers at Soul Mate Publishing.
Recently, I read a novel entitled Can’t Stop the Music by fellow Soulies C. D. Hersh, that intrepid . . .
For the rest of the blog go to:February 10, 2022
Friday Feature Mystery In The Garden
For years I chastised myself for the plants that died in my little kitchen garden. Located outside my window, I envisioned enjoying the beauty of the perennial flowers as I sipped my morning tea and ate breakfast. (I gave up coffee years ago.) Year after year I tried many plants and shrubs: roses, coneflower, coreopsis, it didn’t matter what I tried. Even the Bradford tree we planted a few years ago failed to thrive. It hasn’t died yet, but not a healthy branch on it. This story has different characters that all play an important part in the mystery.
Elm treesSpirea shrubsBearded irisA wild flower called ‘Elecampane,’ an elegant, tall perennial in the sunflower family.They all combine to hint at a solution that should have occurred to me years ago but didn’t.
Everyone knows of the sad demise of the majestic elm trees. This property, an older home, had stumps in both front and back yard. One of the neighbors suggested they were once the poor dead elms. On the way ‘back forty’ there were piles of huge trunks which we assumed were the elms.
The kitchen garden was formed in an oval adjacent to one of those large stumps. Chip monks made happy trails all through and I imagine underneath. They played riotous games of tag visible out my over-looking window. It was such a perfect location to build a garden already growing in my imagination.
Now on the edge, native winterberry, male and female, reside happily with pink spirea, a low shrub, one of the first to bloom in the spring.
An off shoot thrust out from the oval is planted in happily thriving deep purple iris. That’s it. Nothing else has survived over years of trying. The center is full of opportunistic weeds with no redeeming traits.
I have a fondness for wildflowers and have gathered enough seeds over the years that many thrive around the yard. Enter our last character in the mysterious failure of my kitchen garden. Elecampane colonizes, slowly and non-invasive, but it likes company. I welcomed each and every single one of those graceful and elegant tall perennials as they established themselves in a circle around my non-existent kitchen garden.
As I sipped my tea, with chin in hand, I studied those plants. “Like guardians around the failure of a garden,” my muse whispered. Epiphany is a strange word with unclear meaning in my opinion. However, I do think I had one as I gazed at my poor weedy garden in which nothing much ever grew. That was NOT an elm tree stump.
Recently an enormous walnut tree had had to be removed. I learned the meaning of the word ‘allopath,’ a chemical repellent emitted by the roots of the walnut tree and select other plants. Even after the tree is removed, the chemical will remain in the soil effectively repelling, or even killing most plants that try to invade its perimeter. I knew of that wicked talent. It never occurred to me that an elm. . . .it wasn’t an elm, was it? That stump was clearly something different and more ominous. It was obviously a walnut or some other species with the same ability to deter any invading plant.
There stood the soldiers (large stalks of elecampane) arranging themselves just on the edge of the bed broadly hinting to me the root (sorry) of the problem. I am not a terrible gardener, just a bit dense. Once I dismissed the idea of that being an elm stump, everything else fell in place. Shew. Now for the solution.
A willing creator of a mini patio for plants only has just finished placing the last of the concrete blocks. It’s still a work in progress. I need to move the large blue birdbath and more pots of flowers, but at last, I have a kitchen garden. Already I sigh with pleasure at the sight first thing in the morning.
Here’s a glimpse into my latest Cozy Mystery. It is 4TH in the Detective Kevin Fowler series.
When is it not fun to be a blond?
What happens when a blond beauty hits town like a tornado stirring up memories and causing turmoil? Detective Kevin Fowler and his wife, the former Beverly Hampton, owner of the local newspaper, are settling into blissful married life. Although Beverly is sanguine over the demand on Kevin’s time by the good people of Hubbard, she is more than dubious when his duties include the escort of a drop-dead gorgeous female from his past.
There is some concern over the persistent vandalism of residential mailboxes, but an infamous arsonist has decided peaceful but dull Hubbard would make a great place from which to operate. He brazenly locates down the block from the detective and his wife.
What bait and tackle shop in the village has a dual purpose? Kevin ponders why two goons have invaded town shooting at and attempting to kidnap and murder three women. A state patrolman, aptly nick named Rooster, teases Fowler at the riotous scene of a traffic accident where the press, not the police, wins the day.
Another mystery and adventure with a satisfying ending that unfolds in peaceful Hubbard, New York, small-town Americana, where Detective Kevin Fowler keeps an ever-vigilant watch.
Emma Lane is a gifted author who writes cozy mysteries as Janis Lane, Regency as Emma Lane, and spice as Sunny Lane.
She lives in Western New York where winter is snowy, spring arrives with rave reviews, summer days are long and velvet, and fall leaves are riotous in color. At long last she enjoys the perfect bow window for her desk where she is treated to a year-round panoramic view of nature. Her computer opens up a fourth fascinating window to the world. Her patient husband is always available to help with a plot twist and encourage Emma to never quit. Her day job is working with flowers at Herbtique and Plant Nursery, the nursery she and her son own.
Look for information about writing and plants on Emma’s new website. Leave a comment or a gardening question and put a smile on Emma’s face.
Stay connected to Emma on Facebook and Twitter. Be sure to check out the things that make Emma smile on Pinterest.
February 8, 2022
Wednesday Special Spotlight Baby It’s Cold Outside!
This is a fantastic soup to serve to your crew and freezes well. Salad, hard rolls, and wine (red or white) complete this meal! You can make it 24 hours ahead of time without the noodles and wait to add noodles when you reheat the soup to serve.
SAVORY SAUSAGE SOUP
1½ pounds sweet Italian sausage*
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 small onions, chopped
2 (16 ounce) cans whole peeled tomatoes
1¼ cup dry red wine
5 cups beef broth
½ tsp. dried basil
½ tsp. dried oregano
2 zucchinis, sliced
1 green bell pepper, chopped
3 tbsp. fresh parsley, chopped
1 (16 ounce) package spinach fettuccine pasta (or plain, whatever your heart desires)
Salt and pepper to taste
In a large pot, cook sausage over medium heat until brown. Remove with a slotted spoon and drain on paper towels. Drain fat from pan, reserving 3 tablespoons. If desired, instead of ground sausage, cut sausages in thin slices.
Sauté garlic and onion in reserved fat for 2 to 3 minutes. Stir in tomatoes, wine, broth, basil, and oregano. Transfer to a slow cooker, and stir in sausage, zucchini, bell pepper, and parsley.
Cover, and cook on low for 4 to 6 hours.
Bring a large pot of lightly salted water to a boil. Break pasta into smaller pieces and drop into boiling water. Cook until al dente, about 7 minutes after the water returns to the boil. Drain water and add pasta to slow cooker. Simmer for a few minutes, and season with salt and pepper before serving.
Serve topped with grated parmesan.
* Use ground sausage or links you’ve broken into bits or sliced thin.
This recipe can also be made on your stovetop. Follow the directions, but instead of the slow cooker, combine all your ingredients in your original pot. Simmer partially covered for 1 hour.
Give yourself a well-deserved break while your soup simmers. Sit back, prop up your feet, and open a book you’ve been meaning to read. Why not pick up one of The Last Timekeepers adventures, and peruse the latest mission with Treena and her time traveling cohorts?
Only a true hero can shine the light in humanity’s darkest time.
Fourteen-year-old Jordan Jensen always considered himself a team player on and off the field, until the second Timekeeper mission lands him in Amsterdam during World War Two. Pulled into the world of espionage, torture, and intolerance, Jordan and the rest of the Timekeepers have no choice but to stay one step ahead of the Nazis in order to find and protect a mysterious book.
With the help of the Dutch Resistance, an eccentric baron, Nordic runes, and an ancient volume originating from Atlantis, Jordan must learn that it takes true teamwork, trust, and sacrifice to keep time safe from the evils of fascism. Can Jordan find the hero within to conquer the darkness surrounding the Timekeepers? If he doesn’t, then the terrible truth of what the Nazis did will never see the light of day.
EXCERPT
“I wonder what else is down here.” Drake beamed his cell phone across the basement, hitting jars of jams, pickles, and relishes. His stomach growled.
Jordan pulled the cheese from his pocket and handed it to Drake. “Trade you for your phone.”
“Best. Trade. Ever.” Drake passed his phone to Jordan.
Jordan walked over and grabbed a jar of pickles off the dusty shelf. At least they wouldn’t arrive at the baron’s place hungry. He hoped his uncle had managed to stop Amanda’s bleeding. His hand tightened over the jar, the ridges of the lid cutting into his palm. A scrape from behind the shelves made Jordan jump.
“Hello?” he asked, pushing jars aside. He flashed the cell phone into the small, dark area.
“Who ya talking to, Jordan?” Drake asked with his mouth full of cheese.
“Shhh, Drake.” Jordan listened. Hearing nothing, he shrugged and turned back around.
“I thought I heard—” Jordan stopped and pointed the phone at Ravi. His jaw dropped. “A-Are you serious, Sharma?”
Drake spat out his cheese, snorting with laughter.
“Is there a problem?” Ravi asked, tying the bowtie of his tuxedo.
“You look like a penguin with attitude!” Drake slapped his knee.
“Say what you want, but I’m glad we didn’t hit the cleaners on the way to school now,” Ravi replied, pulling down his sleeves, “or else I wouldn’t have these dry clothes.”
Jordan chuckled. Suddenly, he heard a door creak open, followed by heavy footsteps squeaking down the stairs. Panicking, Jordan stuffed Drake’s phone in his track suit jacket’s pocket and waved Drake over by the shelves. Drake slipped behind Jordan just in time, before the small light bulb above the bottom of the stairs clicked on. Jordan swallowed hard. There, staring directly at Ravi was a portly man in a blood-stained apron. Tufts of blond hair sprouted from the sides of his balding head. His brown trousers were pulled up past his waist, making him resemble an evil garden gnome. In one of his hands, he held a huge butcher knife, its blade flecked with blood.
Wielding the knife, the man pointed at Ravi. “Who are you?”
Ravi licked his thick lips nervously. “The name’s Bond. James Bond.”
BUY LINKSMirror World Publishing: Paperback – eBook Amazon – Amazon.ca – KOBO – Barnes & Noble
Sharon Ledwith is the author of the middle-grade/YA time travel series, THE LAST TIMEKEEPERS, available through Mirror World Publishing, and is represented by Walden House (Books & Stuff) for her teen psychic series, MYSTERIOUS TALES FROM FAIRY FALLS. When not writing, researching, or revising, she enjoys reading, exercising, anything arcane, and an occasional dram of scotch. Sharon lives a serene, yet busy life in a southern tourist region of Ontario, Canada, with her hubby, one spoiled yellow Labrador and a moody calico cat.
Learn more about Sharon Ledwith on her website and blog. Stay connected on Facebook and Twitter, Google+, Goodreads, and Smashwords. Look up her Amazon Author page for a list of current books.
Sharon Ledwith is the author of the middle-grade/YA time travel series, THE LAST TIMEKEEPERS, available through Mirror World Publishing, and is represented by Walden House (Books & Stuff) for her teen psychic series, MYSTERIOUS TALES FROM FAIRY FALLS. When not writing, researching, or revising, she enjoys reading, exercising, anything arcane, and an occasional dram of scotch. Sharon lives a serene, yet busy life in a southern tourist region of Ontario, Canada, with her hubby, one spoiled yellow Labrador and a moody calico cat.
Learn more about Sharon Ledwith on her website and blog. Stay connected on Facebook and Twitter, Google+, Goodreads, and Smashwords. Look up her Amazon Author page for a list of current books.
February 7, 2022
Tell Again Tuesday on what platform do you stand
Update Your Author Platform with These 3 Easy TipsBy Penny Sansevieri
I talk a lot about your author platform and how important it is. Your author platform is how your author persona shows up in the world and -unsurprisingly- it can impact your sales!
So, if you have spent some time on your author platform, but you know it needs some updating, or if this is your first time really considering this, I have good news: . . .
For the rest of the blog go to:February 3, 2022
Friday Feature Independence Day
Leo’s passport photo
January 18th is a very special day for me and my husband Leo. In 1991, on this day, we arrived in the United States. Every year Leo and I celebrate January 18th as our own Independence Day.
Between the two of us, we carried $260 in our pockets, all that we were allowed to take with us, two small suitcases, and an unbreakable will to be free and happy.
Stella’s passport photo
But first, we had to survive. Literally. Yes, life was a precious commodity in those days. You see, we are Armenian Christians, who were born in Azerbaijan, a Muslim country, one of the former republics of the former USSR.
In the late 1980s there was a national and civil conflict largely provoked by the government. A conflict about a spec of a land that two nations, Armenians and Azeri, had argued about from the dawn of time. That land was called Karabakh. Located in South Caucasus, this tiny space was always home for the Armenian people. They call it Republic of Artsakh. But located on the Azeri territory, this region was a sore spot, and a reason for a long-lasting dispute between two nations.
That slowly-brewing disagreement finally erupted into a riot, and then war.
Since then, several wars were fought, and a sea of blood poured over Karabakh. The two nations, that were friendly once upon a time, became the worst enemies. Hatred replaced love, lies replaced truth, and white became black.
The horrors of those days are impossible to describe. Chaos. Fear. Death.
Friends and neighbors became adversaries; many mixed-race families were destroyed, and peace was replaced with war of the worst kind: racial/religious war.
Even though we lived in the capital of Azerbaijan, Baku, long away from that disputed land, we, Armenians, became the enemies simply because of our nationality. Blood-thirsty crowds of fanatics boosted on alcohol and narcotics, ran around our beautiful city, vandalizing, destroying, raping, murdering.
At first, people couldn’t believe that this situation would last. Everyone waited for the government to step up and put a stop to it. But…
I don’t want to go into a political aspect of that horrible war. I’m just saying that somebody higher-up— somebody evil— needed it and made those atrocities possible.
When it became obvious that no one was going to interfere and help us, people took matters into their own hands. Many ran away, but even more died trying.
My family was very fortunate. We didn’t lose anyone, and we were able to run away first to the former republic of Georgia, and then to Moscow. We still harbored hope that our government, not the local but federal, would somehow help our situation. Guess what? No one in our nation’s capital cared that millions of people were left homeless, penniless, and victimized. And no one cared about the dead.
At that time, when hope was the only thing that keep us afloat, the United States officially recognized the situation in Karabakh as war against humanity, acknowledged Armenians from Azerbaijan as political refugees, and opened the doors to my people. And that’s how we first met, my then future husband and I: in line in front of the American Embassy in Moscow. That day fate was hard at work. She brought us together, and opened the doors to our new life. Thirty-two years later, we’re still living that life, and couldn’t be happier.
But back then, it would be another year of hardship before we landed at JFK airport. A horrible year of struggles, sacrifices, humiliations, and personal tragedy.
That year we lost my mom just a few months before we were due to leave Moscow. We are still not sure whether the surgeon who performed her simple procedure made a terrible mistake or it was a broken thrombosis, but she died overnight in a hospital. The autopsy was inconclusive. But what does it matter? We lost our anchor, our rock, the glue that kept our family together. She was just 48 years old. In a matter of days, my dad, a vibrant man of 53, became a shadow of his former self. Our family was shattered.
Scared and emotionally beaten, we resembled a bunch of survivors of a terrible disaster. And that’s exactly who we were back then. We all went through hell and back, but somehow our spirits weren’t broken. Even dad managed to drag himself from the abyss of grief. We all were determined to survive. Freedom was our mantra and our God. And so, with my mom’s ashes, we finally left the old country.
New York 1991
And every January 18th I remember my first glimpse of New York, and those first scary and confusing emotions. We were so young, but my hero was confident.
At first, there was the nerve-racking illusion of being deaf because I couldn’t understand a word spoken all around me. I remember people, so many people, laughing, moving, eating, talking… And the noise! The lights! Everything so bright and sharp and loud. I remember clutching my husband’s hand like an anchor and afraid to let go. But most of all, I remember Leo looking at me with his dark tired eyes, and telling me, “We’ll make it, you’ll see.”
And we did.
Even though the events that brought us here were tragic and horrible, we look at it now as a blessing in disguise. If not for that bloody war, we would never cut our ties with the old country, and would never know what true freedom is.
We would never know what it is to be true patriots, and to love your country with everything you are. And it doesn’t matter that we weren’t born here. The old wisdom says the real parents are those who raised you, not who birthed you.
Such a simple and untarnished truth!
We are proud to be American citizens.
God bless United States of America.
God bless my wonderful beloved country.
Stella May is the penname for Marina Sardarova who has a fascinating history you should read on her website.
Stella writes fantasy romance as well as time travel romance. She is the author of ‘Till Time Do Us Part, Book 1 in her Upon a Time series, and the stand-alone book Rhapsody in Dreams. Love and family are two cornerstones of her stories and life. Stella’s books are available in e-book and paperback through all major vendors.
When not writing, Stella enjoys classical music, reading, and long walks along the ocean with her husband. She lives in Jacksonville, Florida with her husband Leo of 35 years and their son George. They are her two best friends and are all partners in their family business.
Follow Stella on her website and blog. Stay connected on Facebook, Twitter, and Pinterest.
February 1, 2022
Wednesday Special Spotlight Life Biting at You?
There comes a time when everyone needs a little comfort food. Lovely hot soup with fresh bread and a glass of wine always does it for me. Maybe this recipe will do it for you, too.
Photo Courtesy of Monovareni Pixabay
Cream of Asparagus Soup
2 lbs. fresh asparagus
6 cups chicken stock
7 tbsp. butter
½ cup flour
3 tbsp. shallots or scallions, chopped fine
¼ cup dry sherry
2 egg yolks
¾ cup heavy cream
2 tbsp. butter, softened
White pepper to taste*
Slice off the asparagus tips and set aside. Trim off ¼ inch or so from the bottom ends of the stalks and discard. Chop the rest of the spears into ½ inch lengths.
Use a medium-sized saucepan to bring the chicken stock to a boil. Drop in the tips and lower temp to medium-low or soft boil. Cook tips until just tender, 5 – 8 minutes. Drain the stock into a bowl and spoon the tips into another one.
Melt 5 tablespoons of butter in a 4 -5-quart saucepan over moderate heat. Stir in the flour. Lower heat and cook, stirring constantly, for 2 minutes. Be careful not to let this roux brown or the soup will be bitter.
Remove pan from heat, let cool 30 seconds or so. Pour in stock. Stir constantly with a whisk to thoroughly blend the stock and roux. Return pan to moderate heat and stir until this soup base comes to a boil, thickens, and is smooth. Lower the temperature and simmer gently.
Melt 2 tablespoons of butter in a large skillet. When the foam subsides, stir in the stalks and shallots. Toss them in the butter over low heat for 4 minutes or so. You only want to soften them so don’t allow them to brown. Stir this mixture into the soup base, add sherry, and cook, stirring occasionally, for 15 minutes or until asparagus is tender.
Purée soup in a blender or food processor. Pour into a strainer set over the pot. Stir with a spoon or spatula to extract soup from the pulp. Discard pulp.
Whisk the egg yolks into the cream. Stir in 5 tablespoons of hot soup at a time until you’ve added about ¾ cup. Reverse the process and slowly whisk the now-warm mixture into the soup.**
Bring soup to a boil over medium-high heat. Boil 30 seconds, stirring constantly. Remove the pan from the heat. Stir in the softened butter 1 tablespoon at a time. Taste and season with pepper if necessary. Add the asparagus tips.
Serve from a tureen or in individual bowls.
This recipe makes 6 bowls.
*No need to buy white pepper if you don’t have it. Use black pepper only a little more as it is not as strong as white pepper.
**This may seem like extra work, but if you don’t do it the yolks and cream will curdle.
May you enjoy all the days of your life filled with good friends, laughter, and seated around a well-laden table!
Sloane
Sloane Taylor is an Award-Winning romance author with a passion that consumes her day and night. She is an avid cook and posts new recipes on her blog every Wednesday. The recipes are user friendly, meaning easy.
To learn more about Taylor go to her website. Stay in touch on Blogger, Twitter, and LinkedIn.
Taylor’s cookbooks, Date Night Dinners, Date Night Dinners Italian Style, Sizzling Summer, and Recipes to Create Holidays Extraordinaire are released by Toque & Dagger Publishing and available on Amazon.
January 31, 2022
Tell Again Tuesday Celebrate your finished book
6 Things I Tell Myself Once I’m Done Writing a BookBy Jody Hedlund
I just finished writing my last novel of 2021. I always feel like breaking into the Hallelujah Chorus from Handel’s Messiah after typing the last word of a book. However, as usual, right on the heels of my relief comes a burst of anxiety. I start second-guessing the plot, characters, and a hundred other issues. And then I wonder if I should just throw the whole thing in the trash.
Over the years, I’ve learned to talk myself off the ledge by telling myself these six things: . . .
For the rest of the blog go to:January 27, 2022
Friday Feature Drowning in Plastic
I worry about the planet. I have since I was a child. Maybe it was the camping and fishing trips my parents took us on where the adage leave nothing behind was drilled into our young heads. Or maybe it was those anti-littering ads that ran on TV and billboards, or the lessons I learned as a Girl Scout about the importance of protecting nature.
Whatever sparked my concern was enough to make me pause one day as I overlooked a small stream near my home. A rusted bicycle stuck up from the water as an eddy of garbage swirled around one wheel. The vision so disturbed my 12-year-old self, that I waded into the river and extracted the bike and some of the garbage. When the stream again flowed free and clear, I rejoiced.
As an adult, I have worked hard to do my part, so much so that family members sometimes derisively call me Eco Annie when I complain about who forgot the reusable cloth shopping bags or who put the wrong stuff in the recycle bin. I ball up plastic bags to return to grocery stores. I compost, feeding the insects that make beautiful soil for my vegetable garden. I purchase products that are biodegradable and, when I scuba dive, I retrieve garbage that has found its way into the sea.
I mention this because of an article I just read, one that has me damned depressed. “More than a million tons a year of America’s plastic trash isn’t ending up where it should. The equivalent of as many as 1,300 plastic grocery bags per person is landing in places such as oceans and roadways,” said the Associate Press article, “Study says much trash is going astray.” While the U.S. was not previously ranked in the world’s top-ten worst offenders for plastic waste in oceans, the study says we now sit as high as third on that list.
One of the problems is the fact that many countries no longer take our garbage. According to the study, U.S. exports of plastic waste have declined nearly 70%. And those countries that still accept our recyclable plastic, are not doing their jobs. Fifty-one percent of the plastic waste we ship abroad is routinely mismanaged.
Consider, as just one example of our plastic trash problem, that The Great Pacific Garbage Patch is estimated to cover an area twice the size of Texas, a swirling storm of mostly floating plastic, one of five such patches in our oceans.
Industries are trying. Modernized recycling operations are being funded and there’s a push for new packaging standards. But, let’s face it, if we, the people, don’t do what we can our world may one day resemble a vast garbage dump.
There are those who say other countries must also bear the burden of cleaning up the Earth, and while they’re correct let’s remember that the U.S. is the number one generator of waste in the world, with one study estimating that each of us produces 1,600 pounds of garbage annually.
Jena Jambeck, an environmental engineering professor at the University of Georgia, had the last word in the AP article. “The best thing you can do environmentally is to produce no waste at all.”
While that’s probably an impossible goal, I believe we can, at least, do better.
Don’t you?
Here’s a little from my suspense novel based on a true incident. I hope it intrigues you.
As a Vietnam veteran and former Special Forces sniper descends into the throes of mental illness, he latches onto a lonely pregnant teenager and a group of Pentecostal zealots – the Children of Light – who have been waiting over thirty years in the Arizona desert for Armageddon.
When the Amtrak Sunset Limited, a passenger train en route to Los Angeles, is derailed in their midst in a deadly act of sabotage, their lives are thrown into turmoil. As the search for the saboteurs heats up, the authorities uncover more questions than answers.
And then the girl vanishes.
While the sniper struggles to maintain his sanity, a child is about to be born deep in the wilderness.
BUY LINKS Amazon Paperback – Kindle – Midpoint Books
Anne Montgomery has worked as a television sportscaster, newspaper and magazine writer, teacher, amateur baseball umpire, and high school football referee. She worked at WRBL‐TV in Columbus, Georgia, WROC‐TV in Rochester, New York, KTSP‐TV in Phoenix, Arizona, ESPN in Bristol, Connecticut, where she anchored the Emmy and ACE award‐winning SportsCenter, and ASPN-TV as the studio host for the NBA’s Phoenix Suns. Montgomery has been a freelance and staff writer for six publications, writing sports, features, movie reviews, and archeological pieces.
When she can, Anne indulges in her passions: rock collecting, scuba diving, football refereeing, and playing her guitar.
Learn more about Anne Montgomery on her website and Wikipedia. Stay connected on Facebook, Linkedin, and Twitter.
