racheld

I'm with Smithy---it's been like a wonderful book with adventures and colors and all sorts of lively entertainment, an assortment of foodstuffs to rival Bordain's dreams/nightmares, and a fine excursion on a fast-moving train. Quite delighted but huffing and puffing just to keep up, rachel Paging Evelyn Wood--- you're needed over at eGullet

I just finished my third cup with a "little sprink a cinnimin" (according to my fave coffee companion, DGD#1, who actually favors a little coffee-nilla in hers). I've been using my Senseo for three years now---a Christmas gift from DD, and I got in the habit of retiring it for Summer, going with the lighter drip or perk methods, but this year, I just let it sit in its counter-place, and had the good thick foamy stuff almost every morning, with just a few days of presspot-under-a-tea-caddy at the table. I'm intrigued by the press-it pods, and will be off this p.m. in search of one of my own (Winter's a-comin'!). I did use the Excedrin-bottle method for a while, making up pods with the teensy filters, but this looks perfect, and I've got a LOT of lovely flavored coffees from gift bags from the children to use up. Andie, you just know the BEST STUFF!!!

For anyone following Bourdain's TC blog---this HAS to be the defining moment in his descriptatory powers, which are considerable. Re: an unfortunate anise-flavored sauce under Sara's salmon: If you've ever been on an ouzo bender and woken up the next day with your head in a bidet, burping up licorice? That was pretty much my in-flight meal on Air Sara. Sorry I didn't find it sooner, when it was relevant, but it's too good not to share, late or not.

Inveigling coffee and a wall of garlic---sounds like Paradise to me. And we have our own garlic wall, located somewhere out the back door, and depending on the breeze, somewhat beyond the potting shed and not quite to the arbor---the strip mall hidden behind our immense back shrubbery (Sleeping Beauty's Prince would STILL be trapped en vert) has a Chinese buffet/Mongolian Grill which cranks up those woks about ten of a morning and sends a siren call out for blocks around. I'll be in the garden, and suddenly---whoosh!---a breath of garlic to set the tastebuds on point and play havoc with any vampiric types still about in the light of day. It's deliciously-scented, but about two p.m., you just wanna smell flowers for a while. Loving the travels, the cooking, your home; your little one is beautiful (and handy in the kitchen).

A smushed banana mixed with extra-chunky Jif and a little squirt of honey. Sock it in the freezer for a while, and eat with a teensy spoon. Wonder what the proportions to cream would be to stick it in the Salton.

These are absolutely gorgeous!!! I can only imagine all the lovely tastes and textures. For a competition in which they require aspic, do the judges actually TASTE the gelee-enhanced plate, or would that detract from the excellence of the original dish? Is there a "judges' plate" which does not have the shiny skin? And are hot dishes similarly cloaked and presented cold for viewing? Congratulation on your beautiful presentations and on your prize! rachel who can only stand and admire

Count us in---same brand, cooked a bit dry-er than just creamy, with little raggedy, torn-up edges standing away from the spoon. Chris is a S&L/milk-stirred-in, and I am a moat-of-milk around the circle of the bowl, with Turbinado sugar sprinkled over the center, for that burst of sweetness in every bite, and a satisfying crunch between the molars now and then. This has been a lovely glimpse of a world as far away as Madagascar---all the tides and the fishing---I miss the pier-nights of listening to the Gulf as the guys plied their lines into the dark water. And Owen, I do hope you're all well now---it's been an awkwardly un-me Summer, with several hospital trips, and one more this week, so I sympathize and send my best wishes for your good health. Thank you both for the tours of your area---I've enjoyed every minute and every jaunt. (Though, coming from a habituee of bait-shops from here to the coast, the kind that feature everything from stuffed alligators to deep-fried twinkies, with all manner of stuff in between and denizens just awaiting discovery by John Waters, I would not have entered that dark door, either. It was stark and scary). All else was bright and lovely, and I hope to see it all someday.

Your title caught my eye, and though I haven't made one in years, there IS a dignity and memorable quality to this crushed-pineapple cake, no matter how you feel about the humble, canned origins. I can only hope that your cake is as meaningful to your friend as this recipe and its remembered anticipation and taste is to me. It's from a little book of remembrances I'm making for all our children and Grandchildren (the newest two, a little girl in August and a wee grandson just yesterday---I'm still in the clouds!!). I hope that they will someday read and savor and try to capture that lovely, sunlit essence of baking with my Mammaw: In the big Hoosier cabinet, redolent of vanilla and spices and good baked things, there was always that three-layer pineapple cake with 7-Minute, waiting on that same battered shelf every day of my young life. Mammaw made one every Friday afternoon, after she had cleaned up the noon-dinner dishes and mopped the kitchen floor. I got to sift the flour from the built-in sifter in the cabinet, and measure it out, along with the baking powder, sugar, salt and soda. And sometimes I would go out to the chickenyard for four fresh orange-yolked eggs (a MUST for cakes---they made the layers a lovely deep gold). She'd crank up the big old Sunbeam mixer and get that cake in the oven in ten minutes flat. The whites would go into the top of the double boiler with cream of tartar, water and sugar, to be beaten every minute of the seven minutes. I did the careful timing, watching the little red second hand of the old white Bakelite Philco clock as it made its slow journey. The runny, slimy whites mixed into a magical, creamy concoction the glossy-white of mountain snow (though I had never seen any). A "tall can" of Del Monte crushed pineapple was drained in the big strainer and further squeezed as dry as possible by hand. The layers were placed one by one on the big round platter and sprinkled with the pineapple syrup, then smeared with the white frosting. Onto the frosting went tiny fingertip dabs of the pineapple, little clumps all over the surface. All the layers were stacked this way, then a final coat of the frosting, with the requisite swirls and curlicues, then the last of the pineapple dabbed all over the top. The Friday-night cake was elegant and beautiful, its golden layers falling tenderly beneath the knife. The Sunday cake was a little disheveled, with its frosting beginning to droop a bit, and the little pineapple divots sinking further into the snowy cushion. By Monday, the frosting had taken on the receding look of Winter's last snowfall, with craters and show-throughs and bits of brown crumb emerging through the white, but the taste just got better and better, the layers moister and more flavorful. The Midweek cake, what there was left of it, was still standing, though the layers were listing to one side, testament to their valiant days of patience in the dark of that cupboard; the frosting was just bits and crumbs of crystals, sugary crunches that fell prey to all passing fingers. The crumbs left on the platter were gummy and drying, better than the best bar cookies or lemon squares or chess diamonds. Thursday night, the scrape of fork tines claimed the last rich, fruit-essenced bits, and the week was done. Friday was cake day, and all was right with the world.

Children!!! Am I gonna have to turn the HOSE on Y'all?!!!!! I just tune in and watch people cook. What kinda COOKIN' Y'all been watching? rachel tottering away to find the brain bleach and read some more Bourdain, who is a Gentleman in all aspects

Visions of tweezers in use, to make the pattern JUST SO. Just a wee pause now and then to get a sip of Snapple and turn the Broadman page. _________________ is in the details. Insert Deity or obscenity of choice.

Why, thank you, My Dear---it was well worth waiting for, and a fitting tribute to a best-forgotten culinary and ecological disaster. (And thanks for letting me know that this thread had been "bumped up" once again). It was fun re-reading all the queasy-making and outright funny reminiscences. It is to be hoped that none of the cooks described here will ever find eGullet---we'll all have to head for the hills. (And on second reading, in which I had to SKIP ahead in my own post, out of fear for the lovely lunch I was just treated to, I DO apologize again. Abjectly).

This is The FUDGE Stirrer. It gets quite a workout during the weeks leading up to Christmas, and is in constant use the rest of the year, as well. It's so much more effective than a mere spoon for completely clearing the bottom of the heavy-bottom pan (The FUDGE Pan, of course), than just scritching a hairline with a spoontip, no matter how hard or faithfully you stir as it cooks. I loved the waterfalls, and envy your proximity to a lake---those big guys give the next best thing to a Gulf tide, and I'm SO homesick to hear it. And by happenstance, our own dinner last night was shredded cabbage stir-fried for a moment in olive oil, then dressed with garlic, a few glugs from the light soy sauce bottle and three drops of sesame oil, then left to steam for about three minutes under a lid. Our pasta inclusion was some tri-color farfalle, bought just this weekend for prospective vegan houseguests (as was the dish planned for them) but they had to leave earlier than planned, and will be back this way end of the month. This is a lovely, comfort-food dish, and we had ours with a kidney-bean salad with minced Vidalias, three colors of bell pepper, and a splash of juice from the dill-pickle jar. And some of the last tomatoes---our garden, alas, fell prey to the rainless days of August and my own inability to get out there and care for it properly. The guys cleaned and tilled and smoothed it away this past Monday, and this rack of tomatoes (plus lots of green beans, etc., in the freezers) are all that's left til Spring promises. And your Coffee-Scented Days!!! I could almost smell the screen.

Grumpy, in-curled tomatoes We didn't have a single one this year, just round ones. I like this twin-blog thing---two viewpoints, and views of lots of things.

I'm glad CarrotTop linked this thread---hadn't seen it before. And just WOW.

I'd SWEAH that was a red velvet cake I baked once, and used too much milk in the creamcheese frosting. But mine was round. And not so inclined to drool.

There WAS one, about fifteen or so pages back.

Is there no one left in the ranks of walk-on, movie-extra, face-in-the-crowd who could provide a warm body at the tables when they need "customers" or "party guests?" WHERE ARE THEY GETTING THESE PEOPLE??? I cannot imagine choosing such folks if there were alternates available. The restaurant "critics" and the yacht hangers-on seemed a greedy, unpleasable group, all teeth and grab, eager to broadcast their expertise and cleavage to the airwaves, and having no other seeming use in the scheme of things. And that pompous snippet they chose for guest of honor? Camera time away from the chefs, from the cook and prep process sheerly wasted on such drivel. Maybe that's the rub, especially to all of us who only stand and wait. And observe. The sheer pomposity of the entitled-to-be-there, to partake of those gloriously-arranged bites of ambrosial flavors---far too few of the cast seem to be taken from real life. A calm, smiling woman who voiced her enjoyment of a dish; the couple who shared their meal in a small bubble of togetherness, those are the hoped-for guests we would all aspire to set our best efforts before. The judges' own noses seem perpetually lifted in disdain, from beginning to end, and what kind of expectation is THAT to try to live up to in fifteen minutes? I'll still watch. I WILL begrudge the time wasted on peripheral bores and royal pains whose legend fills their minds, to the loss of all else. The contestants deserve much better. WE deserve better. But we'll watch anyway. Especially this week. AB ETA an errant "o". What I shoulda done was take out some a the TACKY. Nah. I ain't as sweet as I useta be. (Thanks, Oiuser, for a credo we can all live by)

I took a careful look at the BIG bike gathering, and did not see any/many helmets---is there a helmet law in NJ? That was only AFTER you mentioned picking up MIL for a AAA day---which I took to mean "Best of the Best" (until the mention of towtruck). I just had this lovely vision of you two ladies, hair streaming in the soft breeze, whirring you way across bridges and open roads, on the way to see wonderful sights and buy good things. Rumblesisters And your Girl-Booze---I have a little collection like that, of my own SISSY stuff nobody else will drink. Pale sherry, Tawny Port, Amaretto---the kids have always teased me for my Kool-Aid choices in liquor. Just a teensy sip in a tiny goblet---that's plenty for me. Four sips and I can't find the kitchen. And the BUTT---just gorgeously, scrumptiously, evilly perfect!!! Tell me you ate your sandwich slaw-on.

Oh, Sir Henry!!! I knew we could count on you! Did you box the pastry with your own cool hands?

Ah, Chef, the Days, the Days. Too evocative, too strong---even to second-hand-by-Cronkiters. Will say more later when the wash of memory is not so freshly kindled. PS I do notice that your C-list is absent the Interdental Stimulator of the MRE kit.

and SOUL!!! (leaving to search MapQuest)

Hello, Sweetpea!!! I was hoping you'd do this soon. And Chris will be all over these pictures---anything FIRE kindles his interest. After all the grills, smokers, etc. dotting our back landscape, he came back to the car from GROCERY shopping yesterday with a little kettle Weber---just wanted to try it on a chicken or two for supper last night. And they were mighty good. Got any sides going yet?

Chris has mentioned his Aint Maggie's Lane Cake several times in the past couple of years---I'll have to see where the recipe's hiding in my Mother's great drawerful of clippings and jottings and saved-from-Farm Journal and McCall's bits and pieces, all accumulated over a LONG kitchen life, and scooped up by me, drawer and all, to be tumbled into a big box and put on "our" truck when Daddy sold our family home a year after Mother's passing. His Aint Maggie was a sweet woman, I've been told, taking in a teenage brother-in-law and being GIVEN a niece my age when she was two---there were seven children in her family and her Mom thought Aint Maggie would like to have one. And Chris' Dad went to stay for weekends every Saturday and Sunday of his life until he was married, though the two houses were less than half a mile apart. I'm sure when the Lane Cake was made in their house, the baker might have mentioned, as did my own Aunt Lucy, whose recipe I will seek out soon, that the cake was "Made backerds" in that the whites went into the layers and the yolks made the "fillin.'" And I don't know what spirits are in Aunt Lucy's recipe, but Aint Maggie made a special "run" of blackberry wine every Summer just for making Lane Cakes. And those three gentlemen of her household---those upright, hard-shell Baptist fellows, had better NOT be caught with a purple smear on their lips anytime between---oh, no.

Sandy, you Smarty-Pants!!! Gotta love a man who can name quarks Suzi---I'm enjoying this no end---not replying much (you know why)---but love hearing all about your life. Happy First HawkDay!!