Carrot Top

From an ex-brother-in-law (no, it wasn't the cocktail weenies in sauces fault ) here's a combo: red currant jelly and prepared horseradish. Sort of gourmet-like with that la-de-dah red currant jelly, huh?

A chick-pea soup that my Italian mother-in-law used to make. I'll see if I can find a recipe later tonight. Beef broth. . .chick peas. . .tomatoes and aromatics of course. . .and the final step was a pour of olive oil straight into the soup (immediately before eating) with a final sprinkling of fresh herbs. Luxurious, really. A luxurious peasant soup.

Hmmm. Perhaps this story will set off a new dieting craze?

Last year about this time. . .the week before Christmas. We'd decided to go out to dinner at the best Italian restaurant in town. Now that may not be saying a lot in some ways, here in this small university town. But nevertheless, the restaurant is one that is considered "fine" by the people that live here. It is *famous* for its wine list, even. Saturday night, a fine weekend holiday crowd. Grandparents and Moms and Dads dressed up in starchy-looking suits and dresses just slightly too-tight and little red dresses with ribbons for the little girls and horrid bow ties for the little boys popping slightly sideways as they bounced in their seats. Holiday celebrations. Family dinners. No expense spared. Only the best. Christmas. We went in and sat down (no of course we were not dressed that way but that was not really the worst, though it was slightly "off"). Myself, my beautiful twelve year old daughter who is taller than me, and my adorable ten year old son with his dimples and silliness. We ordered. Lots of food. My son loves Italian food. And he was hungry. First course came - calamari. Gobble gobble. Yum. Next course came- some sort of pasta, and chicken. Gobble gobble. Yum. Dessert. Cannolis. Yum. All of a sudden my son starting tilting slightly sideways. "Mom." Uh. "Mom." Then came the famous words. "I think I'm going to throw up." "NO no you aren't! No, Drew, you aren't!! Breathe deeply! Calm down! Sit up!" "Mom." "Okay then, let's find the bathroom. Quick!" He turned to me and all of a sudden there was an explosion. An explosion of vomit. All over me. I grabbed the napkin and held it up towards his face. It wasn't enough. More. And more. I have never seen so much vomit in my life. It was all over me, all over him, all over the chairs. And it kept coming. (If you have seen the movie "Team America" there is a similar scene. . .but with a cartoon character, not a real boy. . .) Meanwhile his sister sat across from me (I was next to him) and in her best supportive sibling style, she shouted out loudly while making hugely wild distorted faces. . ."UGH! YOU ARE DISGUSTING! UGH!" endlessly as I tried to mutter "Shut up. Shut up. Please." Drenched in vomit, I weakly smiled at the horrified other people at tables nearby who moments earlier had been enjoying their familial dinners. As the waitress arrived and I handed her the credit card just barely touched with vomit (oh yes a big big tip was left) we slunk out and slunk home. Too much of a good thing, I guess. "Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!" Urgh.

Several days ago I made some mulled wine. Katie is right that it should definitely be a part of life during the season of brisk cold winds. It can be a sort of warming substitute for sunshine. This time I stopped into the local wine store and chose something different than usual (generally I use a merlot/zin for they seem to be sold everywhere and are relatively cheap). This time I chose a Rioja. (Antano Tempranillo 2003). Grand pricetag of five dollars and twentyfive cents for the bottle. At that price, I didn't expect too much but was, instead, surprised. With some cinnamon sticks, a few cloves, a toss of sugar, some peel from a clementine, and a slow few moments of heat on the stove. . .it did seem like a bit of magic was produced from the lowly dark quiet bottle. Best mulled wine I've had in years. If you happen to see this bottle, it is worthy and more of mullery.

Of course, you may wish to forego the usual Christmas altogether and simply celebrate The Night of the Radishes.

I find that the act of playing klezmer music very loud (on a CD, silly, not all on your own) is the only way to inspire the right sort of mood for Christmas cookery. It works so very well with turkey. Just imagine how much more marvellous it would be with a pig in hand. Indeed, the entire thing is so fulfilling that it is almost worth moving to a quiet surburban neighborhood to enjoy the full effect as the music and savory aromas waft out to the surrounding neighbors as they sip their tall gin and tonics in anticipation of Santa and his elves!

Sir John Suckling (as Washington Irving so fondly called him) would be welcome at any time or place, I would imagine. Indeed an entire menu could be organized round the pig and his parts. Jolly! Bring on that mistletoe, I say!

The answer could be this, perhaps. Delicious.

Thanks for all the ideas - it seems that black walnuts are high-maintenance, aren't they. This year I think they will serve as mulch. A useful thing. As to next year, who knows? Either my neighbors will see my car backing up and down over and over again in the driveway as if I've lost my mind - or - well. There appear to be not one but two of these huge trees towering way over the roof of the house in the backyard. Lots of gunstock wood there. Shame on me.

In the back yard of my house (that we moved to this summer) is a huge tree. This fall it started dropping huge green golfball-like things all over the yard and onto the roof by the hundreds with resounding thuds! for about a six week period. I looked at them and smelled them. They smelled a bit like camphor. I'm not a country girl, though I did do a stretch in rural Appalachia for four years where I learned lots about hay and fescue. So I did not know what these green golf-balls were. The guy that mows the lawn was here the other day so I asked him. "Black walnuts" was his reply. "Pain in the neck." They do look rather awe-inspiring in terms of cleaning and prepping. I'm thinking I need a porch and a rocking chair for the task, with a lazy hound dog to lay at my feet for hours to keep me company while I hull and clean them. Have you ever prepared black walnuts straight from the tree? Is it "worth it"? Are there any tips on how to best do it? What recipes have you used them in?

Zuke, your lunch sounded (ah. . .now here's a chance to use this word!) divine. The iced tea ritual in particular. There *is* something highly ritualistic about the ladies lunch. Interesting. Sandy, tea sandwiches- perfect! I love cucumber sandwiches and could definitely make a meal of them! That is an excellent temptation. I've decided that my lunch *must* start with cucumber sandwiches. And I'd like a Bloody Mary, please. A good one, a strong one, a big one. With a celery stick perching at a merry angle from the top. That is a good old-fashioned sort of drink. Maybe some iced tea later. . .maybe some sort of chicken thingie in puff pastry for lunch. A tad of salad, a mere tad, on the side. The most important thing, though, is that there must be a dessert cart. They must roll it over to me for service. On the cart will be at least twelve choices of desserts. Some Viennese pastries, some vaguely French or Italian pastries, one towering American cake, and at least one total show-stopper of a novel sort. Naturally, they will also offer to make zabaione or crepes tableside. Small scaldingly hot double or triple espresso. This would have to be in San Francisco. I don't know why. Before going to San Francisco, though, I would have to stop in New York. An afternoon the day before would be required for shopping for the right outfit. Bergdorf's for the clothes. . (sale rack, of course darling. . .where I will be *saving* money!!!) and all, and I mean all, accesories. A good lunch deserves getting dressed up for, doesn't it? Fekkai is still there, isn't he? He can do my hair. My hair is short, very short, for I can not do *big* hair. It would have killed me during my lifetime if I'd tried - I surely would have needed to be hospitalized with the stress of it all. But a quick little two-hundred fifty dollar tousle of my locks by Freddie and hey babe, I'd be ready! (Heh. Poetry.) Who would I be lunching with? I've decided to choose a bunch of women just. . .from anywhere. "Random women" as my thirteen year old daughter says. ("This random girl came up to me and said blah blah blah today, Mom" she says. Apparently people are now defined as "random" if you don't know them. . ). Random women. That would be fun. Because you'd have no expectations as to what they would say. Sigh. That's my ladies lunch, Zuke.

Italian black pepper bread rounds or lard bread (with bits of crunchy salt pork or prosciutto). . . .

I thought it was a piece of headcheese at first wearing an orange beret. With spawn. I sort of still like to think of it that way.

I hope your lunch went as swimmingly as expected, Zuke. No snags in the stockings or hair that refused to "big". It sounded quite exciting! The ideal LWL lunch. . .that's a tough one. I tried to decide this but keep having this thing with the "time". I can imagine dinners quite well of this sort, having done it often in the past. But move the thing to the middle of the day and something wierd happens. My mind just sort of slams shut and won't accept the idea! Maybe I need to go to some sort of transitional training course to move me from the category of "Woman Who Dines" to "Lady Who Lunches". It seems quite impossible! But I'll keep working on it. . .

I didn't think you were, Susan. Just trying to tell you how bad the weather is here. Cold. Almost snowing. Grey. Not like New Mexico. And we have absolutely no good tacos here either. I like the idea of volunteering. It seems like an excellent thing to do. Hope all things that need being done get done and that you do find bits of joy in the day. As for me, I will post my Pranksgiving meal when it happens. Might even take some - - - photos.

Ah, there. . .you see? I went to great thoughtful lengths *to* be pitiful about it, Susan. A long time ago, I discovered that sharing yucky stories with my best friends, when they had their own troubles, was really a great thing to do. Sort of a competition, you know, as to who has the absolutely worst story ever that happened to them. Makes everybody feel better. So let me tell you right now - the weather here is dreadful.

I can see how it might look that way - that there might seem to be that lurking sense of entitlement in asking for a taste. In my case (I can't remember ever doing this but it is possible that the urge might hit me one day) the place that the request would flow from would be a deep curiosity about the food, a wish to not make a mistake on what was a sort of important dinner, a sense of being comfortable in the restaurant, and also almost perhaps feeling that the kitchen might be pleased to have someone interested enough in the food to sort of "closely examine it" as someone once said about cheese, before eating it - a form of flattery, really, to the kitchen.

Rinsewind reminded me of something when she mentioned sports. My son is also not a "team-sports" type of guy. Also like reading and art. Last year he decided to take karate lessons. Excellent. In many ways. (And as a note, there is a boy who joined about the same time - about fourteen years old and getting to the point of being extremely overweight. This year he is trim and strong. He is happy and also has even taken to working part-time at the place.) Karate is a really good thing. Edit: Cross-posted with TPO - karate was in both our minds at the same time!

If his interests tend towards reading and drawing, maybe you can find a cookbook or two at the library or bookstore that he might like to delve into. Let him choose a recipe he likes (with the limitation that it should be more focused on healthy food than "not") and then go to the grocery store together to buy the stuff for the meal and help him cook it (with him in the "lead", you "assisting"). The colors and textures of vegetables and fruits - the idea of being able to create something "from a book" - the pride in accomplishment *can* lead some younger people into the kitchen instead of to the nearest fast food place. If you are busy, it will be difficult to do this on a weeknight, I'm sure. But for a weekend project, perhaps. Another idea is to visit the Farmer's Market if there is one near you, with him choosing what to buy. The life, vitality, and tastes of the things there are so much more enticing than the neat bland rows at the grocery store. The difference is almost like day and night. I've never been able to leave a Farmer's Market without my kids eating half of what we've bought there as we walk home. Best of luck, pamjsa.

Great minds must think alike. The distance between Hawaii and Vancouver is only a short strand of pickled cabbage: Powerkraut

I am often at a loss at to how to do this thing of being a single parent. The fact that I am alone on Thanksgiving is always a reminder of this. Thanksgiving will soon be here and the children will have gone off on a plane to their father’s house. This has been the way of things since the marriage ended – they live with me and spend holidays mostly with him. Any holiday takes on a special shape because of this circumstance, Thanksgiving, most poignantly for me. I am thankful to have a few days completely to myself, free of the every moment demands that having children brings, the sense of always watching ready to help or direct, the constant parental inner eye always vaguely focused. Thoughts of what has happened, this dissolution of the idea of family, enter into the Thanksgiving day, and there is nothing to do for it but to mourn the loss. Tears are indulged in, for tears are a part of life – and to stem them seems to create a false bonhomie that does not sit well nor seem appropriate in some important way. As we have things to be thankful for, we also have a sense of our losses or lacks on this day, whether we are young and missing our family and friends, or older and doing the same thing from a different angle. The children will at their father’s for Thanksgiving. As for me, I’ll eat some things, read some things, and try to refocus on the things that I do have that I am very thankful for. And the meal that invokes the idea of thanks in fullness given to the universe-at-large will be on another day, when the children return. This year, I am thinking of re-naming it “Pranksgiving” and eating foods that surprise. Fun for the kids! And somehow just right as a reminder of some of the things life sometimes holds for us. But if I were you, and if you can manage it, I would do just as Katie *and* as Pan have suggested. A Spa Day, combined with Chinese take-out? How could you beat that.

Nothing at all wrong with your request. A lot wrong with their response. ......................................................................... If you have been there before and have been accomodated, it would seem even more off-putting to have it happen this time. Perhaps it was a new or inexperienced server. . .maybe a new guy on the line who had some definite ideas of how the food should be uh, "approached", hopefully *not* a new written or verbalized policy. The only other explanation I can think of is if they have gone to computerized tabs and whoever was manager at the time could not figure out how or if they should or could charge you for these changes to standard procedure/menu pricing. Fear of foodcost f**kups, you know.

I have eaten this one too. Sometimes it is absolutely the best thing on the pot-luck table.

I'm confused. You want to be spanked with profiteroles? Messy, dear, messy.