colds, homemade

In days of past, people put up all kinds of fruits and vegetables and remedies for one reason: to fill a need not yet foreseen but which, in due time, will exist.

Apples can be stored in the cellar, and must be separated from the onions or they will start to taste the same. Tomatoes are juiced, canned, cooked down into sauce, reduced further into paste, and perhaps frozen. Onions and garlic are kept out of the sun, yet handy for all the warmness they bring to winter's fury. Fruit is frozen or put up in cans, juiced or covered with sugar alcohol and intended as a cordial.

I knew yesterday morning that I was going to wake up sick when the night before I felt a little discomfort in the back of my throat. When I woke up, the one thing I wanted to complement my sister's strawberry waffles  was my mother's blackberry cordial.

For me, berry cordials are deliciously good at two basic things: relieving a scratchy throat and giving one the excuse to slowly sip liquor from morning to night.

My mother, although not the feisty young woman she was in college, is quite adventurous. She'll find a recipe for almost anything, and will not let an overabundance of yield damper her interest in finding a new way to prepare everything from the garden. One year, for example, we had so many onions that they fit side-to-side all around the balcony of our porch, with more in waiting. My mother is the one to call when the zucchini are coming out of your ears and you need something to do with them. She's great at finding obscure, interesting, and mostly delicious recipes to use almost anything.

And now, this same woman took the berry harvest from the farm where my sister worked, and made cordial. Lots of it; in whiskey jars, canning jars, even small lady-figurine limoncello jars I bought in Sorrento

It could be said that most parents think ahead, and stock their pantries diligently. But most of the time, those medicine cabinets are full of over-the-counter syrups and gelled capsules, medicine cups and extra tissues.

My mom was just doing what she could do, as she always does, with anything which can be saved. Ounces of leftovers do not make it past her watchful eye; surely you'll find them in the fridge, waiting. She likes sweet things, and made them, for fun, and keeps. Best of all, she made them to kick us back in gear, and able to enjoy all the rest of treats she will be found making.

A sign

Last week, I did some traveling.

As a rule, I would like to believe that I support my friends; that I would do whatever I can when they ask me for something. That when they ask me to be present at a meeting, or a seminar, I would attend and agree to their request without having to think about it.

But then, when push comes to shove, and the facebook messages start piling up, what really happens?

I wait. I deliberate. I try to figure out ways of being that good friend, but not being there, in a vulnerable position where others are able to ask questions of me--especially about my life Now.

But in the end, all that took was a deadline. Being told that I had to give a definite answer by a certain date, and feeling that if my presence was enough to warrant a strict deadline, there was no way I could avoid it and still save face.

So I informed my friend, on the deadline, that I was going.

And now, of course, I'm so thankful for that. Attending allowed me to support a great, wonderful, energetic young woman and provided for me the opportunity to connect to all those lovely people who, it turns out, I was more than willing to talk about my 'Now' with. Saying 'yes' to my friend's request gave me the chance to remember how much I have shared in the past with so many people, and how great it is to hear kind words straight out of the mouths of friends, who happen to be standing exactly two feet away from me.

And when I got home, after exuberant travels, what did I find? Nothing except for the Food section of the News and Observer, exactly in the path of my walk. And do you know what was so great about it? That all I found was one page, of nothing but recipes, food questions, and advice about cooking.  Which, I may add, I wouldn't have found if I hadn't traveled away from home, come home and spent time thinking about the future, and then deciding a walk might help me to see things clearer.

And it did.

Bread of Life

Pan de Vida? Have you had it? Do you know where I can get some? Because my bread-baking skills need something of an attitude adjustment.

Today, was a normal-ish day. I had a phone interview for this Creamery. It's a funny thing about that creamery--the wife of the man whose family has passed down the ownership of the farm for over 100 years, this woman, she happens to have the same name as I do. With the same spelling and everything. How would that be, to go to work:  "Hello Clare," Clare replied to Clare's early morning greeting, shared while milking twin cows or stirring the same pot of curds. Just another day.

I guess I should have preceded my anecdote with another one about my morning. I had a bright idea to make bread today. We ran out of the store-bought seedy multigrain bread that I like and I wasn't at all excited about more plain store-bought wheat bread with no seeds or nothin'! So I found a recipe, took out our R2D2 lookalike bread maker, and hit the grocery stores with my open wallet and reusable bag, although in hindsight two bags would have really hit the mark. I bought three kinds of flour, sunflower seeds, celery for great soup my sister made for dinner (I will only buy celery if it was someone else's idea!) and after my 12 pack of seltzer leaking all over me in the parking lot, after which I got my money back and a free 12-pack, I hankered home to start my bread-making bravado. It was great until I spilled yeast everywhere and had to start over. Then, after my phone call, in a bit of foolishness, I forgot to put in the rubber stopper. As far as I knew, everything was getting stuck in the bottom of the mixer, and not going into my bread! Lo and behold, I appropriately then forgot to jerry-rig the counter (necessary because the bread maker gets a little carried away while it's kneading) and well, it fell on the floor and made a huge noise. My bread dough popped out and now the bread machine does not fit happily together anymore. However, I finally had an opportunity to put the stopper back in!

So, since I broke the machine, I had to do it myself. Who would have ever seen that coming?

I must say, although the top is a little concave (weighed down by sunflower seeds which do not adhere easily, as thought) the bread is good.

In honor of my noble experience today, tomorrow I plan on making Dark Rye bread, from scratch.

my piece will never look like your piece...

To be in college, one needs to know something, or at least know that they would like to one day learn something. When you receive that padded envelope in the mail (do they still do that nowadays?) you are not automatically transfused with an abundance of knowledge about science or English or most importantly to the adults of the house, Your Future Job. You are just another person, moving along in the swarm of persons looking here and there for something, something, to find attachment with. And of all those who do not receive a padded envelope, or decide that at least for the moment, an envelope at all is what they currently want, I cannot speak. I cannot forget or politely pass them (you?) over, either.

For I could have been you, and you could have been me. The paths that we take are nothing less of extraordinary. How did I discover that I like what. I. like? How did you somehow come into yourself, as particular and unique as you are, without some detailed plan or synthesis? When life seems not to be detailed, but just a bumbling of moments and people and STUFF.

For most questions, I do not have the answer. I do know a few things, though, of perhaps nominal importance. Like how funny it is to not like beer and then all of a sudden, like it. Life is often like that: something comes around and it isn't at all what we think we like, and then all of a sudden, we can't live without it! (for long periods of time perhaps). And about the way seltzer water always makes me feel like I'm European--it's nothing short of amazing. Food comes from so many different places and soils and yards and tables and factories--and yet all of those places have their own story. Over the course of our lives, we develop a liking or repertoire of 'food likes' from so many different places, and more often than not, those 'likes' are very different from the person next to us.

Sometimes it's just amazing to me.

Cookies to write home about

When I was in college, I loved receiving packages. I loved checking my mail, opening the small box in a sea of other small boxes, hoping for a yellow card with my name handwritten upon it.

One particular day, during my freshmen year, I received a great care package from a very sweet aunt of mine. She included all kinds of sweets and cookies and candies. I loved  and couldn't believe that she was so thoughtful to send me a package. I even cut out her address from the package, perhaps either to send another package, or just to be occasionally reminded of her goodness, when coming across it in my travails.

It was the same too, but perhaps more intense, when I worked as a camp counselor during the summers in college. After dinner everyone would gather outside in the gravel by the flagpole and wait, wait, wait! The popular campers were almost always to receive at least one postcard, very often twice or three times a day. The smiles on their faces were huge!

Although I wouldn't say that I was jealous of them (if I don't say it does it still count?) sometimes I just hoped and hoped that those packages were for me. And sometimes, SOMETIMES, they were. 

Perhaps that is where I've developed my love of sending packages. I can easily spend a whole day just planning the package of a package, let alone baking or writing or shopping (sometimes). I LOVE to send packages. I love to send homemade packages, especially when they will be a surprise for the recipients.

Last night, I baked cookies for just such a package. I made little sugar cookie gingerbread men, and finger painted them with a green Werder Bremen jersey (if you close your left eye and cross your fingers..).  I made German flags with cheez-wiz gold, and very dark greyish black. They were extra sweet (I had to sample at least one!) and hopefully their fragility will last in the post.

In all, they were great fun to make. And I hope that when the young man who receives the package opens them up, they'll make him smile, too.

If all fails, the soccer coated chocolate balls should be enough for at least a few moments of sugar-high giddiness.