racheld

These are such rich, wonderful remembrances, and I'm so glad the thread is revived, year after year. It will have another smile-inducing run-of-season, then again will go into the closet with all the decorations, to rest and await another season for sharing old memories, old recipes, old tales and new, as traditions are honored, created, and carried on in family after family. Our tree is up already, the upstairs one, what we call my "Victorian Tree," a big round one to the top of the windows, pink gauzy angel on top, and all decorated in burgundy, silver, gold, pink, white, and many ornaments, old and new. Lots of the decorations have come from thrift shops, the crackly old boxes signaling long use and numerous holidays; the shine is gone in places, the paint a bit chipped, the lace on the doilies a bit careworn, but that tree SHINES. Caro chose it year before last, one of the lights-on-already ones, and we have it in progress, with a cloth over the glass of the coffeetable for laying out the hundreds of ornaments, bows, angels, golden apples, swans, blown glass spheres and hearts and bells, the kugels and the ropes of pearl beading, all taking their places, with white silk roses and bunches of burgundy something-flowers stuck into gaps and filling all the spaces around that top-to-bottom spiral of gold-edged satin ribbon. KittyDear has already adopted one spot on the velvet skirt, and has made a wispy-gray little nest beneath the boughs. The button-up skirt will require removing, a good shake out into this crisp Winter wind, and perhaps a cool trip through the dryer to be the same. Tomorrow will come the "downstairs" tree---a small version to sit atop the buffet, perhaps a yard tall, and totally covered with HUGE ornaments---silver, gold, white and clear. I would never have thought to put such large icicles and balls and bows on such a small tree, but the effect is magical. A white-robed Santa stands waiting beside, tiny satin-wrapped presents in each hand. And the old, yellow Santa will be present, as he has been for the past five years or so, since we rescued him from the 25c bin at Goodwill. He stands grinning, his tightly-rounded little cheeks shining, one booted foot aloft, as his entire being shows his years of being companion to a heavy smoker. His beard, hair, white fur trim---all have taken on the jaundiced tinge of an over-ripe banana; he's grimly, smilingly ugly, and we love him. That's the way of the South, I suppose. Our oddities and eccentricities, our crazy uncles, our drama-driven aunts, and our slapdash-mannered kin are not hidden away from prying eyes. We trot them right out, set them up in the parlor, and introduce them to all callers. When my children were growing up, we always had an artificial tree---royal command and sovereign decree from my Dad, who just KNEW a spark from the fireplace would conflagrate the place the minute a cut spruce entered the room. So we decorated it the Sunday after Thanksgiving, a nice way to continue the thanks and usher in the giving season. It was handy, also, to have the decorations already up, because the first Sunday in December was Cookie House Day. We started out with about five little ones from our tiny church, who came over after Sunday Dinner. I had cut little cardboard patterns, duct-taped the forms together, then taped those to thick cardboard squares. On the long bar, paper plates of all kinds of "bought" cookies and candies and pretzels, gumdrops and canes and crackers stood ready. I usually made a gallon of the butter-powdered sugar--flavoring frosting we used for birthday cakes, but for this one, I always used a drop or two of orange extract. Each child got a paper plate, to choose all the building materials and attach them to the roof first---it was a rectangle a bit wider and longer than the housetop; the hangover made neat eaves for applying icicles. A gentle score down the center, and the flat board bent in the middle to set neatly onto the house. The finished roof dried while the house was decorated. Everyone also got a little plastic punch cup filled with icing, and a small plastic spatula for spreading. And when, at time for icicles and other decor, we handed each a filled pastry cone, eyes widened and faces lit up even brighter. Children just LOVE being trusted with pleasant grownup tasks, and this was not the TIME for "no, you can't do this; it's too messy." They strewed icing with merry abandon. Licking fingers and arms for stray icing, even an experimental squeeze into an open mouth---that's what the BIG bowl of homemade dill pickles and the bowl of salty pretzels was for. When all was finished, handfuls of the leftovers, the broken cookies, the unused candy, pretzels and other edibles, all went into the house, and the roof was set on, its weight of icing and cookie-shingles keeping it in place. We made pictures, Moms returned to carry the sticky carpenters home, and we cleaned the kitchen. And I never waxed my floors for the holidays until after the party. After about the third time, several adults requested to come make a house for their dining tables or for an upcoming party in their home. So several years, we had a wine-and-cheese party on Saturday night, everybody brought bags of goodies to decorate with, I made the icing and cardboard forms, and when it was over, they all helped clean up and set out the decorations for Sunday. This got to be so popular over the years, I had people wanting to reserve a place as early as October, and we finally had to move it to the Fellowship Hall of the Church. Several Moms in other churches around the county called for instructions; I gave out the icing recipe and they started having parties of their own. I wonder if they still do---I haven't been there for Christmas in years. Too much reminiscing on a Saturday night---maybe more later of the Eve dinner, the morning presents, the dinner on Christmas Day. And this year, even another dinner party on the 26th---hats and crackers, games and toys---Gracie will be here!! moire non, rachel

AWWWW. That's just the most wonderful imagery. And idea. Do you still have them?

Mine are Charlie Brown amongst all these splendid images---I sort of decorated around these pots, a gift from my Dad years ago, and the colors are magnificent: Even the old teapots want to cuddle up and echo those hues. On one side wall, above a dark old windmill Springerle mold, is a monochrome charcoal-on-canvas of a shiny kettle, a bottle, a crock, in every shade of tan and brown there is. It's a bit wounded now, for I made the mistake of spritzing a bottom corner with the cleaner when I was scrubbing the adjoining wall, and my drying/rubbing left a smudgy patch the size of a teacup, just swirly beige. The little strip of wall with the "art" itself holds four pieces, marching up in a downpointing arrow fashion. The three bottom ones are cross-stitch, product of my idle hours several years ago and added to the fruit-mix. I seem to have used up all my image space while blogging last week, and this is the only image I have already loaded---Sorry, but it needs flipping---you have to put your head over to the left, like trying to nap and watch TV at the same time: The topmost piece is signed "C. John," which I think must be the daytime/painting persona of Freddy Krueger, as it's dark and grim, with black carrot-stems and keenly wicked blades---a mise from Hell: But it "ties together" all the fruit kitsch and the black, black stove. Just a little HGTV reference---can't spend ALL the time on FN, you know.

John, I scrolled ALLLL the way to the top and back, and see not a glove in sight. Is it because of the occasion, or is there a bias against having those crinkly condoms between the chef and the WORK? They're a pesky nuisance, and are they not required except in the USA?

Okay, Birthday Twin. I'll give you all the above, but swirl 'em in a bit, let them get golden and caramelly, THEN throw on a handful of the mini-Campfires, just on MY serving, OK??

Broccoli and licorice, which is what Sue Grafton's Kinsey Milhone said she'd rather eat than marshmallows on sweet potatoes. A scurrilous smirch on the cuisine of our Dear Southern Cooks, and makes me want to go read Harlequins . Frowny pout.

Slightly disheveled Giuseppe?

Swoony-smiley for the technique, I who do not care for lamb. This is just the most wonderful cooking lesson. Fire. Yes, more FIRE.

John--- El Bulli is far out of my realm---I will never sit and savor on that hallowed ground, but your telling makes it of the utmost interest. The ability to convey an experience is a lovely gift, and I'm sure that the majority of the readers will gain their insight from the written word, not from the tastes and aromas and atmosphere and the plated landscapes of the ACTUAL. Your descriptions of the rich history being made in those kitchens are outstanding, and I'm looking forward to the next chapter.

The sun is setting, and I'm sure the "Closed" sign will blink on at this address very soon. Thank you, Thank you all for the dear, kind messages. And Sandy---stop at our house---we're just as close.

Hey, there Coffee Man!!! I'm so glad to see you on here again. I'm looking forward to a wonderful week in your presence. rachel happy and recuperating

it's a fairly busy morning here---Caro, on her day off, is upstairs thumping big plastic containers full of Christmas decorations about; Chris is getting all the calls in order before he takes off, the Cable Guy is outside swinging from wires and doing his magic, and I am here, about to bid a warm farewell to this blog and to all of you who made my week so special. We had a quiet evening last night, a sweet little Hallmark program to soothe and to set the Season, and Chris had PROTEIN---a big, blackened, purple-middled steak, with some caramelized ears of corn and a salad with avocado. I made a little skillet of tender pork chunks, cooked slowly in chicken broth, then a last-minute addition of chopped red bell pepper, sliced celery, some onion and a handful of snow peas, with a little garlic, a little soy, and the merest whisper across the top of the sesame oil bottle. A little cornstarch slurry stirred in, and dinner on trays. A small pot of pearly Calrose rice and a salad, and a calm evening to close and begin the week. I just thank the thousands of you who have peeked in, said lovely things, added your own questions and answers. And most of all---the Grandmother stories and names and remembrances. They have enriched us all this Holiday Season, those times with our kin, those days and celebrations and kitchen memories. Thank you for sharing these most personal, most wonderful, most evocative stories. And just thanks for being here; it's been like a teaparty with old friends. moire nother day, rachel

I've been meaning to post the Thanksgiving cheese course---I left it out til Caro could name them for me. She did the choosing and composing, and even the plate is terrific; it's glazed on top, terra cotta on the bottom, for cooling like those nifty wine coolers. Clockwise from Cracked-pepper Brie at 8:00 Morbier at ten, Gorgonzola at twelve English Mild Cheddar--crumbly and deep, rich gold---at three Maytag Blue at five Should this be my last post of the evening, I thank you all for your kind words, your support, your tech help, and for just dropping in to see the next bit of our week. It's been a great experience and I'm grateful for being trusted with this week's writing. Thank you all for the privilege. Cue Jim Nabors: "Back Home Againnnnnn. . . "

Tammy---When I have time tomorrow, I'm going to read this from start to finish. I'm devoting every minute to spare to my week-blog, which ends at midnight. I just wanted to mention that I used your wonderful port-glazed walnuts for a party and the picture is posted---they are a garnish on some stuffed endive---credit for the recipe to you.

My Antipodean friend---I don't know how we meet up at such odd hours, but thank you for your post. And thank you for the kind words.

Thank you all for writing---this has been quite a week. I just mentioned to Caro that I don't see who might be taking over at midnight, and we both decided you all probably NEED A REST. Maggie--I loved your long-distance meal coordination---job well done. Mr. Crab-Man---why didn't you let me KNOW? We'd have given you lunch on your travels, or at least a rest-stop. And Pan---thank you. It feels good here, with the colors and things we love. The neighbors are terrific, the location is in wonderful distance to everything we like to do, and we have the best tree for blocks.

Since there was so much interest on the Flea Market, Yard Sale, etc., thread, I had thought I would show you a few of the items which mean a lot to us, and but cost us very little at thrift stores, especially Goodwill. Chris has long called me a Dish Junkie, and I DO love glass. The day after Thanksgiving, the ready-to-put-away dishes and silver looked like this: The china and goblets on the left were the ONLY things on the table that did not come from Goodwill. Looking at the entire scene, except for the two cabinets, the lamp and heart, and the two dishes standing in the shelf of the right-hand cabinet---EVERYTHING in the picture is a thrift store find---chairs, chair covers, curtain, mirror behind the curtain, decanters, pink glasses, table (twice---we bought the sheet of glass with other legs, then found this nice table-bottom). We love the relaxation of it, the wandering the aisles, the looking at dim inscriptions on the bottoms of things, the gentle handling of memories not our own. We are not looking for something for the Antiques Roadshow, but have found quite a few items worth many times their sticker price. I don't care---I just like the things we choose; valuable or expensive has nothing to do with it. I want to live with them, use them, set them out on special occasions or grab them for a picnic---it doesn't matter. Maybe it's just the HAVING that's the thing. My only collecting yen runs to books and dishes. These are the shelves of the left china cabinet: Top Shelf---only the stack of white china on the left is a family item, and most of the small clear items were found in one day, tumbled in one bin, for .49 each. Middle shelf---the orange-flower china was my Mother's, but all else was thrift store---Mottahedeh, Limoge, English Ironstone coffeepot, Doulton candystand, some Wedgwood--a perfect little breakfast set. Bottom shelf has some Luray, two sets of everyday fruit-painted plates, lots of clear glass plates for salad-y meals or parties, and several pieces of pressed or cut glass. Most items were less than a dollar each. And in my coffee/tea cabinet, the three coffee-bowls in lovely satiny-finished colors, plus a few Fiesta mugs. I always pause at the cup/mug shelf, keeping my eyes open for the perfectly-round little handles, and one day, there were four, for the usual cup price of .49. His is the huge old plastic cup behind the Pocky. He likes to carry a big cup into the bath, and I'm afraid of breakage on all those tiles. Earl Grey with S&L and a shot of Pet milk---that's his morning brew. Along with a lot of lovely teas and coffees, sweeteners and flavorings. We love to sit down with a pot of tea on a cold afternoon when he's in from work early, just pouring another cup and talking about our day, or the plans for the next. On nice days, we take pot and cups to the patio, to enjoy the outside for as long as we can. We nibble a cookie, pour another cup, and gain much more than a pick-up in energy. There's a lifting of the spirits in the togetherness, the sharing, the uniting power of a pot of tea. If only people who frequent bars knew: A smile over a teacup trumps one over a martini every time. My four most-used pots, in a handy spot---I love the colors against the cooking pots, heavy painted enamel ones, a gift from my Dad years ago. The two Aladdin pots are McCormick, giveaways by the tea company back in the Forties. They are some of the couple of hundred pots collected over the years by Caro and me. Just a little jaunt through our Goodwill house. (I will not mention the hundred Flintstones clear glass mugs stored in the trunk).

When you used that word, I thought immediately of these: They sit magnetized to the top of a picture frame containing a picture of Gracie, in a pair of Ganner-enhanced, Photoshopped fairy ears. We've never mentioned the ears, and perhaps someday HER grandchildren will see them and wonder. The little dogs were a favorite toy of my childhood---I could play with them for hours, standing them on opposite sides of a pane of glass, making them move each other along like skaters, or knock each other away with that mysterious force. So I thought our walk-opposite-sides-of-the-Earth community might relate to this rightside-upside little duo. It's fun and interesting to hear ideas and recipes and life stories from people in all points of the globe. Foodstuffs themselves have drawn us closer; we buy and cook and enjoy items that our own parents have never heard of. Not much seems to outre or too exotic, just interesting and delicious, and our willingness to give the NEW a try, to embrace the cuisines and customs of others, is a hopeful sign for us in more realms than the kitchen.

I totally missed this post the other day!! The plate is a one-of-four, purchased for our Granddaughter when she lived here---the other colors included yellow, I remember, because it's still in the china cabinet, along with an attached-straw cup which her baby sister drinks from when she visits, as well. They are just shiny plastic, but far more valuable than Doulton or Spode.

Charmer, she is, but she's a Jack Russell, a bit taller than most, and a BRILLIANT little GrandDog. And quite balletic, as well. She'll whirl in place for the teensiest nip of whatever you're eating.

I certainly meant to get some little personal touches in here, and seemed to spend all my time posting OUTSIDE stuff. I always enjoy the blogs where people show their kitchens, their bookshelves, their favorite coffee-spots, etc., and so here are a few of mine, in no particular order: My dear old stove, which greets me every morning with her shiny red handles, which we call her earbobs---every lady deserves good jewelry. She served meals to Son #1's elementary school for probably thirty years before we acquired her in 1995. Lots of pots and pans have passed over those burners, and the oven has turned out everything from immense cake layers to black skillets of cornbread, and everything in between. The little decoration/guard on the back is this: Some past owner took a can of silver paint to the thing, and it's weathering over time. I love the picture, and though the artwork was probably just right for the time of its creation, I think that the scanty clothing might have shocked a Victorian housewife who had to cook on the stove. The silver piece was purchased years later, and is the door from a much-older kitchen or parlor stove. I just couldn't resist the little pastoral scene and the weary-worn paint. And there's my little kitchen corner, with jars ready to hand: Pastas, dried beans, coffees, rice, tea; on down to the right are several more clear cannisters of coffee, various sugars, several ever-smaller containers with different types of salt. The downstairs fridge, full-to-bursting, though the Thanksgiving leftovers are mostly stored in the one upstairs. Our little house is a 50's Ranch, and our favorite/living part is the downstairs, which WAS a basement, and is finished with two bedrooms, a good-sized sitting area, a big dining area with two tables, a computer/TV section, a perfect-sized little kitchen, and a laundry/pantry. We spend most of our time down here, and there's a whole other house upstairs, occupied by Caro and KittyDear and the BIG blue bird, and is mostly just for PRETTY, and for company. My little sitting area upstairs---lovely for morning coffee. This is the inside view of the big red bush shown outside in a previous picture. And downstairs, an army of pitchers stand ready to serve cold beverages: Waterford to Wal-Mart; Grandma to Goodwill---the contents of the glass-front dining-room cabinet made by my Dad fifty years ago, to match the knotty-pine walls of the dining room. Almost everything on these shelves actually DID come from Goodwill, except for the Waterford and the Mammaw goblets, seen on the Thanksgiving table. We're inveterate Goodwill shoppers, and have furnished almost the entire house with lovely finds over the years. On the fridge above, only one pitcher was a gift, all the rest were GW. We love to go and stroll quietly, looking at the things owned and loved by people we'll never know. And when we pick up a piece to claim for our own, they and their lives ever-so-gently become a whisper into ours. Some of Chris' camera collection, along with old B/W photos of people we do not know--we just liked their faces, and rescued them from flea markets and thrift stores, for just pennies. A few family pictures are scattered in the group, including on the far right---the two, one atop the other, are Chris on his second birthday. And if you look closely at the top one, you'll see he's living every little Alabama boy's dream---standing on a stump with his new shotgun. The left half of the bookcases in the dining area---the top shelves all the way across hold lots of my Martha Stewart, BA, F&W, Gourmet, and a couple of years of Romantic Homes and Southern Accents magazines. Daddy and I built the bookcases on his last trip here in 2003; he was a carpenter of great talent, and left many beautiful wood items, both furniture and toys, as well as rooms, as his legacy. He WAS funny, though, sawing planks on my big wooden dining table, letting the sawdust fall where it would onto the carpet. A few of my cookbooks: And I have one of our own eGullet members to thank for several of these, bless his heart Faerie books, some of them containing the teapot pictures, with a snippet of the poem and credit to Gracie. And my THIRD kitchen, extra small for Very Special Guests. It's one of the last remaining bits from my childhood, along with a Blue Willow teaset, with plates, cups and saucers, lost for perhaps thirty years, and found after my Mom died. It was safely packed in tissue in a stationery box in her closet. There are a few more to come, but my personal image-box is almost full. I'll wait til Chris returns from his errands before I choose the last few that will fit. ETA my very great thanks to tejon ---I just could NOT make that stove picture stand upright.

Indianapolis---500, Colts, Pacers, and I haven't mentioned a one because we don't follow the sports scene very well. We love it for all the good stuff to do, the WEATHER, and the wonderful friends and neighbors we've met. I intended to get at least one shot of the famous Speedway, didn't ever get by there, and then, Wednesday, I was driving Chris on a service call because he wasn't feeling well, and we drove right UNDER the thing, on a beautiful, bright sunny day, just perfect for pictures, if I had brought a camera. Okay, everybody, imagine a checkered flag. There.

Our evening involved MORE cooking, but with the bulk of the work done outdoors, by Son#2, who had promised that we'd do a home-style fishfry before we let the black pot retire for the Winter. We couldn't have picked a better day/evening---it was lovely weather and we had a nice dinner together (despite my not caring for fish AT ALL, and my great gratitude extended to there being no residual fish-frying odors in the house when I awoke this morning. We started with mango daiquiris, made by Chris, with a mix and then a littla this, littla that. Quite tasty, and equally sneaky---the sweetish, fruity smoothie kinda snuck up on you. They had oysters as a starter, whilst all the work was going on: My children learned to like oysters early, from the time they were just toddlers, and their Grandfather would come back from the coast with several coolers. He'd stride into the house, disheveled from the long ride, and odorous of the several days on a deep-sea fishing trip, and thump down big old croaker-sacks of the briny marvels. Everybody would set to, working those little oyster-openers like magic, but never leaving them half-shell---there were too many waiting mouths and hungry diners. The meats were scoop/scraped into bowls, with the liquor, and passed on to whoever was holding an eager fork, poised for the spearing, the dip into the cocktail sauce, and a quick slurp of satisfaction. One uncle insisted on seating each oyster atop a "soda cracker" before dabbing the top with a little sauce, then working that cracker like a puzzle piece between his lips. I was the sauce-maker, and learned who liked it hot, who needed an extra hit of horseradish, who would like a lot of lemon. All this activity was usually going on out in the backyard, with gatherings of hunting dogs and sometimes a pet duck or two, happy to wait endlessly for a chance at a taste. Inside, the skillets were going, three on the stove---two with fish and one with hushpuppies. The odd pan was a still-silvery old battered Wearever Dutch oven, the plastic handles just burned-away nubs from all the oven-use. This pan was the potato pan, and required several "fryings" to turn out enough fries for the crowd. It was filled several times with Maw's special recipe for French fries. She cut the potatoes into fry-sized pieces, threw them into cold water, drained them, and then dumped a handful of flour on top. A scatter of salt, pepper, maybe a shake of powdered garlic, a toss and toss with two big spoons, til the flour was wet and clumpy and sticking to the potatoes, and into the sizzling oil. They came out crisp and flavorful and covered with little clinging crispins which were just delightful to crunch. This time, I did not batter the fries; time snuck up on me whilst I was cutting the cabbage for the slaw, and since he called for "potatoes first" I missed the boat. There's an order to the cooking---fries first, to satisfy nibblers; then the fish, which takes the most time, then the hushpuppies, which come out hot and crisp and fragrant, just as you're ready to sit down. Potatoes in: You have to be careful leaning over the pot---it will steam up your camera lens something awful. Fish Dive!! And then the hushpuppies go in. Not long now. HAND OVER THE HUSHPUPPIES AND NO ONE GETS HURT!! Checking the fish to see if it's ready---not quite brown enough. Maddy doing her famous Taylor-Turn for a bite: At LAST!! Mississippi-raised catfish, cooked whole with the tails on---Chris' special treat. Everybody snaps the tails off theirs and gives them to him, and he crunches away happily. Fried potatoes, hushpuppies, and some crappie filets, brought back from Son's last trip South---caught in one of their favorite fishing spots. Everybody to the table. I've done my little part---Blue Slaw, with a little grated carrot, cider vinegar, a touch of sugar, salt, and celery seeds: Tartar sauce---mayo, grated homemade dill pickles, minced sweet onion, a bit of the salty brine from the pickle jar. Plate: They really enjoyed it, and I'm just thankful for a glass tabletop and lots of paper towels.

Yes---it got lengthy referring to her as Daughter in so many posts. She's newly-registered eGullet member caroled, of few posts, but great cooking and baking talent.

Caro does most of the Chinese cooking---she's hooked on Ah Leung's tutorials, and will stir up a dish as soon as she arrives home in the early morning. And you'd be surprised how you get to CRAVING Ma Po Tofu for breakfast. Somewhere back in this thread, I think there's a step-by-step featuring her at the battered old pan. She does Pho and a couple of things that include some Vietnamese condiments and sauces, and just today brought home a bright, hefty book with LOTS of good wok-type dishes. I've said here before that we probably had the first wok in our area that did not belong to an Asian family---we were doing stir-frys and all sorts of dumplings and sauces YEARS ago, making satays and other goodies on sticks way before anyone WE knew would even eat it, let alone cook it. She's a fantastic cook, and I'm a really good chopper. I just love a good knife, and my two favorites look like a cross between a chef's knife and a cleaver, and keep a SHARP little keen blade. And we all love pad thai, though that's the only Thai dish that we make, except for duplicating the curry chicken at a place we like, though I don't have a clue of the authenticity. I just chimed back in to say: Please remember to tune in---I promised Chef I'd remind you all---he thinks this site is just amazing. ETA: To find the Heidelberg Cafe, take I-465 to Exit 42, Pendleton Pike. Go East and get ready to make an immediate right turn into the parking lot. Good Night.