racheld
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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.
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Rachel, somehow, I've lost track of who Caro is. A daughter?
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.
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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.
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What a lovely post!! I've been wondering where you were---that furry debauch of a cat is memorable, and I've missed him/her. We seem to have quite a few members from the Downs Under. (Is that still politically correct? I can't keep up).
We now have all sorts of greens and condiments and some fruit and all kinds of goodies which are NOT turkey. That's the good part.
Asian market yielded these nice supplies:
The makings of a good many bowls of Pho as the weather chills this week; noodles, snow peas, bean sprouts, limes, some lovely little already-fried shallots, and some raw water chestnuts and ginger, with a couple of shiny pomegranates for dessert.
They are on the counter in the upstairs kitchen, where the loud bird and the crockpot live, and savory broths are born.
These greens are snugged away to stay crisp and green in the fridge:
Baby bok choy, some kind of spinach-type greens, some pale ones that we cook like Savoy, and long beans.
We also picked up a new kind of soy sauce and some really pretty tapioca, just for the novelty of it---it's strange; the colored ones are odorless, and the white pearls smell like fruit. A bottle of vinegar, some jasmine tea, and a can of something I cannot remember---perhaps lychees for Chris, who grew to like them when we met and befriended a young doctor who was born in Viet Nam. He and his family were on one of the last boats out, and all the siblings finished medical school. He was a member of the National Guard during Desert Storm, and was sent here to give soldiers their medical checkups when they returned home. He sort of got stuck here for longer than he thought, for they didn't send a replacement for quite some time.
He missed his home and family in Ohio, and loved to come and have dinner at our house. He would bring a jar of lychees, a box of bean paste candy in fanciful shapes and colors, or a small cake, almost jelly in consistency, covered in coconut or chopped nuts.
I love the look on the baby bok choy faces, as they cuddle up like piggies to their mama:
And the grace with which they compose themselves:
The icy coldness of water from the faucet keeps the leaves crisp and fresh. They will be bagged with paper towels, and used tomorrow.
Just the words "crisp" and "fresh" are enticing, somehow, after this week of preparing and eating so much rich food. A simple broth with a little lime, a few snow peas dropped into the bowl to turn bright green, a few crispy bean sprouts---that sounds like the lunch we've been needing.
Perhaps tomorrow, I'll finally get the time to show some of the "Goodwill" which featured in the title.
And that fishfry. We wanted it in nice weather, and we got it. Couldn't press our luck much longer.
And I'll bid you all good night, and a bright day tomorrow.
moire non
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Okay. We do NOT have yeast in our blood. It just seems so this week, in that we've trekked you through enough baked goods to supply a small country, and they are all just SO beautiful. This last one is the one I was planning to do originally, because it's within smell-the-fragrance distance down the street, and their stuff is delicious.
The Nautilus shells are so pretty, as are the matching scallops:
However, I couldn't miss this: We walked into the local bakery, Panaderia las Americas, and asked if we might photograph their lovely wares. We were passed from hand to hand, each saying that they would have to see, and finally were just handed a cell phone, on which I spoke to the owner. He needed a lengthy explanation of WHY and what I was doing and perhaps if I could just repeat that. I explained that he’s less than three blocks from I-465, EASY to find, and there are streams of thousands of cars going by every day, never knowing how close they are to those wonderful baked goods.
I also said we had thousands of Internet members, and he said “How much?” It seems that two young men had offered to “Put him on the Net” several months ago, but wanted $800 to do so. So he was persuaded, and we proceeded to make pictures. Or, rather I did; Caro picked up a pan from the stack and a pair of tongs, and selected quite a few items for supper dessert. Busman’s Holiday, if anyone remembers that phrase.
And so we filled our tray, not for the hunger of it, but for the sheer variety and the new experience of some of the items. And who can resist a rubber duckie, even a baked one?
When the word spread through the store and kitchen that we were allowed to make photos, Magic happened. Doors were opened, partitions in the display areas slid aside, and great trays of fresh items brought proudly forth from the back rooms.
Every time I wandered off to another display, Javier came out of the kitchen with another fresh tray:
The diamond-incised bread was Heavenly---rich and moist and vanilla-flavored, like a not-too-sweet cake layer, and the rivulets of vanilla atop, almost like a crème anglaise, are delicious.
Delicious on-a-mold baked horns, with a creamy center:
These are like more-elegant little religeuses, with a jauntier wardrobe:
They treated us royally, and we had a lovely time. One young woman looked at my camera view and wrote down names of things, by the numbers on the camera---little did I realize that those don’t apply after you actually take the card OUT of the camera. But everything was magnificent, just a teensy bit less sweet than our doughnut-accustomed palates have come to expect. This is what we brought home:
We were stunned to learn that the grand total was less than eight dollars.
This was a glorious afternoon, with meanderings and lookings, buying of baked goods, of greens, of spices and condiments to feed our tastes for the salty, the crisply fresh, the sizzled-with-garlic. No more butter-laden casseroles for a while, not til Winter sets in or Christmas Dinner comes. We will, however be having a fishfry tonight; Son promised me a get-out-the-black-pot real downhome fishfry, and I've got to get to work on the slaw and tartar sauce.
So, one more foray into the richness of fish and hushpuppies and fried potatoes, with several sauces and wedges of lemon to offset the scent. I'd better get going at that, and will post the supper pictures later.
moire non
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We're about to be out and about, pillaging markets and seeing one more bakery, within aroma distance of our back door. We don't go SHOP on the day after Thanksgiving, but today will be a little tour of some more places we like to go--an Asian market or two, for some good fresh GREENS after all those carbs and for just getting out into this glorious sunshine. We could not have ordered a week of better weather for the holiday.
But first, COFFEE, as I have it every morning, S&L and skim. It makes me human in just a few sips, and I love the throaty little chuckle as my little pot leans to pour:
And breakfast, the pastries brought from work by Caro, still warm:
I keep meaning to ask how they make that rectangular one look as if it's turned inside out---the little stretch-marks take on a wonderful crispness around that soft, yeasty interior. The others are twists and two raspberry-filled for Chris.
And we shared:
Soft scrambled eggs laid over slices of provolone on rye; the melting and melding was amazing. But this has been a heavy-food weekend, and I could only bite the tip off one of the twists, after that half sandwich. Shoulda had a yogurt.
I missed showing our distinctive skyline building; we were riding around after going to Shapiro's the other night, and Chris would stop, I'd hop out with the camera, and hope to catch something on that lovely clear night.
This is the tallest building we have, from whose windows I showed the War Memorial in the teaser photo last week.
Where he stopped the car, I just had to walk a little bit to sort of line up three of the downtown landmarks, though they are blocks apart: The tall building, which at night with the roof lit, reminds me of stadium seats, lit brightly and rising to a point in the sky; the War Memorial, with its pyramid lost in the darkness at the top, and the obelisk in the park.
One of the guesses pointed out the War Memorial to be the same style building as the Scottish Rite Temple in Washington. This is our OWN Scottish Rite Temple, which won an award for best architecture of the year when it was built. When it's all lit up at night, it's an immense wedding cake with towers and swoops.
Ours is more Wren-ish, I think. It's beautiful.
Chris is feeling fine, and is off to a camera show. Caro and I are going out for green stuff.
moire non
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I missed our family Thanksgiving this year due to a viral thingy..I feel like I just had Thanksgiving because of your blog..and it was one of the best ever! Thank you for your Southern hospitality!
You're just WELCOME!!! I'm glad you're all better and can enjoy it.
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I wish your blog could go on indefinitely.
Ann
Me, too. I want to live with Rachel - not in any scary, internet stalky way
, I just love everything I read and see and experience in all of your posts here, Rachel! I am so glad you printed your entire Fairey Tea poem. I just love the poem and the story behind it. The artist is wonderful, too! Thanksgiving dinner looked wonderful. I really missed my pimento cheese this year. MIL has a little yankee in her and never has it! Oh, well, I am in charge of Christmas Eve dinner and it will be there!
Kim
Oh, Kim; you would be most welcome. I had friends once say that they wanted to go live at to Camp Rachel.
This has just been such a nice experience, and I SO appreciate the warm reception. I'm so very glad you liked our little story. And you go get out that Paminna Cheese recipe and make you some, right now.
Thanksgiving was quite a day, and I hoped to convey some of the rich, longtime heritage of the Southern Thanksgiving. I thought of so many occasions in the past in which family or friends celebrated the holiday, and the ways and little rituals and handed-down recipes that are included year after year.
My own memories and my book memories and family tellings all swirled together into one huge history, and I had to sift among them for the best of my own.
To my knowledge, we never celebrated the DAY anywhere except our house and our one Mammaw's house, and then at my In-Laws home after I married. My first Mother-in-Law would get up at three a.m., even after having boiled the turkey the day before. She almost invariably had Thanksgiving dinner on the table by eleven a.m., so that the deer hunters could be on their way to camp, full of dressing and pie, their camo and John Deere caps disappearing into revving pickups with guns and leftover food, leaving the disheveled, stripped feast table to us stay-behinds and the relief that comes after hard work, a swift, rowdy meal and the departure of enough preposterone to fill a stadium.
My MIL was a FINE cook---Miss Emma could get in that kitchen WAY before daylight, crank up that shiny white stove, and turn out pans of biscuits, ham and bacon and eggs, grits and home-canned jams and jellies and preserves, just to get the farmers into the fields. They usually came home for noon dinner, and it was a hot meal, fried chicken or pork chops, meat-laden spaghetti dishes, several dishes of beans or corn or potatoes, with a hot bread coming out of that oven, steaming and crusty, at every meal.
I just knew she must long for a graceful moment, a little corner of respite from the cooking and laundry and all those rough garments bustling through the door with whoops and appetites and elbows. She DID have the little peace of quiet afternoons, the time right after the noon dishes were done, the dishrag wrung and hung, the floor swept. A bath in that huge old clawfoot tub, her hair up in a little terrycloth band, a fresh outfit from her closet, and she had a little time to regroup and gain peace.
Everyone worked hard, ate heartily, and the day-to-day labor of it, running those planters and tractors and cotton pickers, spending nights lugging the irrigation pipes from field to field, working in the midnight dust-haze, the bright beam of combine lights cutting the hazy darkness like alien ships as they waited for the plates of heavy sandwiches and pie to sustain until breakfast---so farmers passed the days.
One year our farm planted many acres of okra; the contractors came in and picked it, and when they finished, all the rest of the season was ours, and we had okra to give away for miles. A neighbor usually contracted with a bean company to raise bush beans, another for cucumbers and those contractors picked ONCE only, mowing at those bushes like our combines stripped the soybeans. We were then invited into the flattened fields and harvested whole winters' worth of beans for the freezerm and cucumbers enough to satisfy Heinz.
But the best part was the farmer who grew potatoes. He'd say, "They'll be here on Monday," and we knew that by Wednesday, the churned-up fields would be ours to share. We'd take lugs and tubs and baskets, and rootle around in that turned-earth for the pinky-brown potatoes. My children treated it with the delight of an Easter Egg hunt, gathering and digging and grabbing with shouts of discovery and whoops of victory when a particularly immense one was unearthed.
Those were just a few days a year, and not hard work, but it was so nice to have all those good vegetables just handed to us, and the canned and frozen bounty was like riches to look at, stored in cabinets and storerooms and under beds and in tidy rows up the attic stairs. The potatoes went onto racks and planks and old screendoors set onto sawhorses under the no-longer-in-use egg sheds, to dry from the wet earth so we could store them inside the storehouse.
And our own garden covered a good three acres, including the corn patch and the watermelon and cantaloupe patches. We were blessed with great stores of foodstuffs for the winter days, and I could not IMAGINE the people who had to cook straight out of the grocery store.
Our Thanksgiving table held the work of our own hands, sometimes a fresh-shot wild turkey from our woods, and the corn and beans and sweet potatoes, potatoes and peas and turnips and greens; our peach and apple and cherry trees had borne bushels, to be frozen or canned and to go into desserts all year. Our one persimmon tree, little golden lanterns dangling in the sunset, was just for PRETTY, for no one liked the fruit very much, but the bowl on the dining table was like a ray of light.
The pecan orchard is well-grown now, from the time that my boys and their Great Grandfather planted it, laying out the plotting with stobs and string, setting those strong young trees into a grid that marched straight in whatever direction you looked.
And I'm just as thankful now, for a loaf from Caro's bakery, for the store-bought produce from lands I can't imagine, for the ease of self-rising and the convenience of Pillsbury. We put together a tableful of the old foods, some cooked in new ways, all tasting of the THEN, blessed by the work of our hands and of those we'll never know. And we bow for the Blessing, break into a hot, buttery roll, taste the old familiar tang of cranberry and the rich, redolent steam of gravy, and we ARE blessed.
And thankful we were. We were farm people, of the land, though I had been raised in the little town a few miles distant. Our living depended on the rain and the soil, and I think having to work and pray hard for your livelihood makes you ever so much more grateful for whatever you ARE granted.
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Terrific food, and a really charming poem.
(The tea set is darling, too!)
Thanks, Miz D---I love the teaset as well; it's so small, a fingertip would fill the cup. The fairy asleep in a nutshell was a gift from them this past Christmas.
I do, however, feel that in contrast to all that cold china, the fairy folk would have been much better served had they been offered sanctuary in your tres elegant hat.
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It's so nice to finally have time to sit with your blog, so cozy and homey and old-fashioned in the best possible. Thank you for sharing your week with us, Rachel!
Three of the best attributes possible---thank YOU, Abra!!
rachel
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That's a WONDERFUL story, and the pictures to go with it are PERFECT. How fortunate: for you, that the fairies were willing to pose for the artist; for Gracie, that's you're so insightful and clever; for us, that you're so willing to share.
You've added yet another blessing to this holiday season. May the blessings return manifold to you.
AWWW, Smithy!!! And blessings on you as well.
We're all just so fortunate that magic IS.
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well, Rachel now that our Thanksgiving is over I can allow myself the pleasure of reading about yours--I'll be back tonight to read every page--it will be a midnight treat!
Zoe
I hope you'll enjoy it---the lovely pale turquoise soap graced the upstairs bath.
Thanks again,
rachel
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rachel,
What a beautiful blog and spectacular Thanksgiving Dinner. It made me feel as if I was back at my Aunt's in the Midwest for Christmas.
Thanks so much!
Thank you so much; we're right here---two guest rooms, good cookin' if you travel.
rachel
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Rachel,
Your Thanksgiving feast looked amazing, and that fairy story is so cute!
I thank you, sir, and wish I could be in some of your concert halls this holiday season.
rachel
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What a wonderful story!!! You really should publish it -- it could become a classic.
My goodness!! What a lovely thing to say!! I wish we could, but it takes time and depends on lots of things. But the artist is amazing, isn't she?
Thank you so much,
rachel
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Rachel, thank you SO much for sharing your wonderful holiday, brilliant poetry and magnificent illustations. You've turned what promised to be a rotten day into a lovely one!
I'm SO glad. Wow.
Thank you so much, and I hope tomorrow is wonderful.
rachel
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Oh Rachel, to think I almost missed your Blog. What a tragedy that would have been.
Your poem and the story behind it brought me to tears. The relationship you share with Gracie is something very special.
I wish your blog could go on indefinitely.
Ann
Well, I'm glad you found it---always good to hear from you. I'm glad you enjoyed today's little surprise, and I appreciate your kind words. I, too, wish I had more time to do justice to what I meant to do, but I'll give it my best in the next two days.
Thank you,
rachel
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You know I've had the good fortune to have read in full that poem of yours before, Rachel.
Thank you for sharing your magic with us this week.
You're quite welcome, and have been tossing around a little magic, yourself. Always glad to hear from you, and thank YOU.
rachel
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Steve and Zach will be there.
Ahhh!!! We'll be delighted. Five lumps or six?
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Always loved your various signature lines from Fairy Tea. Nice to see the whole thing in one place.
Hope your Hall pots are well & whole.
Thanks for this wonderful blog.
Thank you so much, fellow pot-collector!! I appreciate your kindness, and the Halls, McCormicks, et al, are all well, but perhaps dusty during this hectic time.
I'm glad you are enjoying this; I certainly am, and wish I had had more time to do it justice.
rachel
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That is beautiful Rachel and the watercolors are also very beautiful. What a wonderful Grandmother you are.
Thank you so much---I can take no credit for the pictures; I picked her off the internet, and she just ran with the idea. The Grandmother part is one of my favorite and proudest accomplishments. I'm glad it provided you with a good memory to savor.
rachel
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Marlene,
That was more touching and more valuable to me than all the publication in the world. What a sweet thing to do!! I've known from your posts that you have a very special young man there.
Thank you for telling me.
rachel
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I assume this has been published? If it hasn't, what are you waiting for?
It takes a LONG time to paint all the pictures for a verse-by-verse book, and she's quite in demand by firms that actually PAY her the fees that her work commands. I just started out needing a few little things to print out and stick in a booklet, and it's just such fun to see the pictures in and on books, and little snippets of the verse inside, with credit to Gracie and me.
But it's very nice that you think it should be.
We'll save you the moustache cup.
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Thank you all for reading so far. It's been just a delight to be able to share our home and our Holiday with you.
I've mentioned earlier that we'll be traveling in a couple of hours to visit with our children and Grandchildren, who are now a couple of hours South of here, at their other Grandparents' house. I'll be leaving you until late tonight, but I want to leave you with a little gift that's been a long time in the making, and still has a way to go.
The STORY:
Several years ago, our daughter and Granddaughter came to live with us, and stayed a year and a half. Gracie was just two-and-a-half when they came to us, and was with me every day, in and out of the kitchen, the garden, out and about for groceries and museums and parks. We formed a wonderful bond, and are still marvelously close to this day, despite the distance between us. She has her Mom and a wonderful new Stepfather, as well as a dainty/sturdy little sister, who is now the age that Gracie was then.
That Christmas that they lived here, Gracie and her mother gave me a tiny teaset, a doll-sized little affair, with wee cups and saucers, and all the needfuls for doll-tea.
That next Summer, after they had moved away, they were back for a visit. We were sitting around the table after a good supper together, when Chris said, "Why don't we all go Maggie Moo's for ice cream? My Treat!!" I said I'd just stay and do up the dishes, and Gracie said, "I'd rather stay with you."
What a lovely compliment!!! And as we cleared the kitchen, she pointed to the little shelf with the teaset. "I want to wash THAT," she said. And so we got her little step-stool; I put a small plastic pan into the sink to avoid mishaps, filled it with warm soapy water, and she washed. I dried, and then she wanted to have tea. So we sat down; she poured; we sipped.
Then she looked up, reached, caught, and put something into the teapot. She kept at this until she heard no more, and said, "Now they're safe, the Fairies."
We continued our tea, Family returned, and so to bed. I sat down here and dashed off a little story for her, and then months later, I decided to make it into a little booklet for her Christmas present. I found some enchanting fairies online, and wrote to ask the artist if I might use some for a one-of-a-kind little booklet.
She asked to read the poem, and wrote back that she'd like to do some watercolors for it. So she did, and is still sending sketches of the ongoing group of paintings.
Some of them have been in "faerie books" published in England, including one of her own, and the latest Linda Ravenscroft features the teapot as its backcover art.
So, for all of you who have children, please accept this and read it to them; for all of you who just enjoy a little story, please enjoy, and for all of my eGullet friends, thank you from my heart for being so kind and supportive of my little scribblings.
rachel
FAIRY TEA
One nice summer day in August, everyone was out and gone;
Save for Gracie and her Ganjin, who had stayed at home alone.
They were sitting at the table, both enjoying Fairy Tea,
After washing up the teaset, gently, oh so carefully.
In the pan of soft warm water, they so gently washed each cup
Gracie did the careful washing; Ganjin did the drying up.
Tiny muffins, crumpets, teacakes, set upon on the table there
All beside the steaming teapot---Oh, what tasty fairy fare!!
Fairy tea has its own magic, for it never does run out,
And the flavor you imagine will come streaming from the spout.
So each person at the table conjures up her favorite kind--
Lemon, thimbleberry, moonbeam, what the drinker has in mind.
And you never spill it on you, even if you drop your cup,
Its enchantment keeps it safely; you just reach and pick it up.
And the pot stays warm forever, until washed and put away.
It will last the longest teatime, for an hour or a day.
So they sat there sipping, pouring, tasting different kinds of tea;
When they heard a noise above them, a soft humming like a bee.
And then Gracie looked up, listening, hearing hums of fairy flight;
Then she reached up, caught one gently, put it safely out of sight.
In the sugarbowl it rested, lying softly in the sweet
As she reached for several others, placed them gently on their feet
On the cakeplate, where they sampled tender crumbs of cake and pie,
While she kept on catching fairies, as they kept on floating by.
Some she put in cups and saucers, and a few she hid away
In the creamer, where they frolicked, swimming, giggling in their play.
In the teapot went a dozen, with the cover, softly laid,
And they yawned and stretched and nestled, as the light began to fade.
Gracie made the fairies welcome, with a place to spend the night,
With a lot of downy pillows, cushions, blankets softest white,
Then she laid some bits of napkin all across the cups and bowls,
So they’d all be safe and comfy, air-conditioned by the holes.
Gracie worked her childhood’s magic, as the night grew soft and deep,
And she leaned down close and whispered: “You’ll be safe here; go to sleep.”
But somewhere a Fairy Poacher tracked their whereabouts to there,
And he took a Bumbletaxi, coming buzzing through the air.
For it’s a fact, and we all know, that Poachers cannot fly,
And could not catch a fairy, when they’re soaring through the sky.
So he had to catch them sleeping, but he could not find their nest.
They surround themselves with magic, when they lay them down to rest.
He’d been sent to find some fairies, for a circus far away,
He meant to catch some, and be gone, before the break of day.
But he’d been a long time traveling, and was hungry from his flight,
So he sat down on the table, and ate everything in sight.
Crumpets, muffins, little cupcakes, all the sandwiches cut small;
Jam and cream and scones and teacakes—he sat there and ate it all.
Then he reached for that small teapot, tried to pour himself a cup;
But he couldn’t make the tea pour; magic had the spout stopped up.
So he peeked down through the spouthole, and he saw them lying there,
And he squeezed into the teaspout, so’s to catch them unaware.
But those crumpets, scones, and teacakes made his tiny self too wide
And he woke them with his shouting, as he tried to squeeze inside.
He was stuck, and could not move, and thus was trapped inside the spout.
He was dangling, just above them, though his feet were hanging out.
And his little face grew redder, from his being stuck so tight;
So the fairies all took pity, and they freed him from his plight.
Then the Poacher was SO sorry, and he swore to mend his ways;
Now he’s poaching eggs at Denny’s, and he’s cooking Hollandaise.
As for Gracie and her Ganjin, they still hostess Fairy Tea,
People come, and sit, and visit, but the only ones who SEE
Are those who believe in magic, and that dreams, indeed, come true.
You’re invited ANY teatime. And we all BELIEVE----Do YOU?
I hope so.
rachel
eG Foodblog: racheld - Thanksgiving and Goodwill
in Food Traditions & Culture
Posted
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.