racheld

We, too, did the ISF this week. We went for a couple of hours on Wednesday night, nice cool evening which turned out to be above post #54 redux. Nice juicy cheeseburger for me, ribeye sandwich for Chris; we shared the same good beans, a plain old baked potato and a huge slice (seemed like a quarter or AT LEAST a fifth of a pie) of homemade coconut pie, not meringue, but a creamy cold topping. It was just sweet enough, with LOTS of coconut in the deep-yellow custard and a melty-tender crust with uneven, crumbly edges attesting to its being rolled-out homemade, not an assembly-line, molded-in-the-pan crust. Even had that good lardy tongue-slick feeling of a REAL handmade piecrust. And after all our walking and looking, we passed the Sati Babi stand as we strolled back toward the parking field. We asked each other if we knew what that was, and sort of murmured, "Looks good, but I'm too full." Sorry we missed it. Lovely evening. Another Summer drawing to a close.

We had a late, ordinary breakfast: Soft grits for Chris, topped with two Jumbo butterfried over easy. We shared a split baguette, skillet toasted. He likes to scumble the soft yolks into the grits, so I had the buttery pan-salted whites along with my tartine, which we spread with leftover chevre/mascarpone/dried cherry spread. Two cups of double-shot cap for me, Dr. Pepper for Chris.

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!! An almost-frozen FROSH, right out of the back corner of the fridge, whissssssspped open and upturned for the throatburn of that first long swallow!!! Count me in, though I've been to Detroit only twice. I just like Faygo. And we just encountered a new breakfast food: Goetta. (Pronounced GED-a---we asked, and then when we saw it on another menu the next morning, the waiter said it exactly the same). The first time was on the placemat menu of a little diner we encountered on a highway exit (their blackberry cobbler praised ad nauseam in the "Cake or Pie?" thread). We were ordering dinner, but Chris sometimes likes breakfast at that time, so we asked about the new word. "Steel cut oats" were the first words out of the proprietress' mouth. And "ground-up sausage and bacon and ham---you know--whatever is left over in bits and pieces." It seems to be an acknowledged, well-known staple in those parts, and all over Indiana and Ohio, for all I know. I asked if it resembled scrapple (still untasted by me, but I know about it) and she said "kinda, but from here." So we passed on the goetta and eggs and had burgers. Then next morning in Cincinnati, it appeared on the menu of our favorite breakfast place: The Red Squirrel. So he DID try it this time. It came as a little square patty, thin as party rye, fried on both sides on the griddle with those heavenly potatoes. (I digress here to mention the potatoes. They are pre-baked, peeled, cut into chunks and sizzled on all sides on a griddle the size of a countertop. With the browning chunks are equal chunks of onion getting caramelly and golden, adding their own aromas and tastes to the dish. A steady hand with the salt, a patience to see the sides crusty brown before turning with the big old flipper, and a quick dash to the table while you can still hear the SIZZZZ from the plate. Never have there been such potatoes in all the history of the spud. They are what potatoes aspire to be, what they long for in all their long burial in the warm earth to resurrection into daylight and transport to market. GOOOD Potatoes). The Goetta, presumably cooked on that same Magical Grilltop, was another matter entirely. It was a nice brown, but that's where the compliments end. I took one tiny fraction of a corner, rubbing it ruminatively between tongue and mouthroof. It was porky, in a subtle way, but mostly that oatmeally slick on the tongue was off-putting. No seasonings discernible, just a thin-fried rendition of Indiana Haggis. I just Didn't. Get. It. Decker melons and Silverqueen corn. Now those are local products worth bragging on.

This is an absolutely stunning account of a life so far removed from my own, yet so kin in the everyday tasks--cooking for family and guests, breadmaking, laying the table to befit the occasion. And the markets, the bakeries, the scenery---all breathtaking in their own right, with the colours and the depths bringing out the flavour of each. The rocks of the Negev, the bottomless mirrorpool between the timeworn cleft---I did not notice the people until I had gazed for a long moment---the clouds drifting over the rock-strewn landscape---all combine to create a moment, an eon, a history of a land and a people. Just wonderful. And I do think it oddly endearing that the most repeated/quoted picture in the whole blog is of the shopworn bride in her finery reminiscent of one of those Barbie-as-she'd-look-today cakes, the too-long-in-the-sun, footless pick inserted into too-sweet ribbons of frosting made by a well-meaning Mom intent on having every party detail JUST SO for her child. You have captured a most memorable image, just in that one photo. Thank you for your time and your dedication to your task---it's been a glorious tour and an enlightening lesson. Thank you.

I LOVED this piece, and hope it will be followed by MANY more. It was a tale told matter-of-factly, with good humour and great wit. It brought lovely memories of one of the favourite people of my childhood, a young schoolteacher who "roomed" with an elderly neighbor. Miss VanDeventer was a cheerful, smiling, charming young woman, always dressed in the prettiest clothes, hair and nails perfectly done, and seemed to take no thought whatever to her missing limb. Children LOVED her, flocked around her like pigeons in the park, and seemed to be the only ones NOT to offer her unwanted assistance at every turn. We just basked in her smile and it never occurred to us that she might be in any way different from all the other teachers, except in her gentle temperament and welcoming manner. She was in a constant whirlwind of social activities, chairing committees and traveling here and there, and had a steady procession of ardent young men at her feet. Every couple of evenings, a car would arrive, an eager swain leaping out to go to her door. They would emerge in a cloud of Shalimar, get into the car, and whisk off to who-knew-what wonderful entertainment and dining experience. I don't suppose she ever did cook at that time, as her landlady had a long-time, marvelous cook in her boardinghouse kitchen. But whatever she did, wherever she is today, I still think of her and wish her well. She was a lovely person, a complete, kind, INTERESTING human being, and her goodness and sweet memory are still with me. I thank you for the memory, and for the wonderful glimpse into your own life; it was well-written and conveyed an insight beyond the mere words. I look forward to all your posts and articles, cheese reviews included.

Our back gate opens onto a tiny paved alley, behind a strip-mall which contains a VERY large grocery store. Though our back fence and gate are entirely shrouded in vines and twenty-foot shrubbery, I can hear and sometimes catch glimpses of a steady foot-and-car traffic, checking out the several big dumpsters behind the store. When we step out to go around to pick up an item or two from the store, we usually see someone loading items into a car or even the bed of a pickup. And there's no yukky garbage smell coming from the site, though I'm sure meats and seafoods are thrown in when they're past date...someone must grab them up immediately and take them away. AND---we HAVE retrieved items ourselves (do not grimace or laugh). There were once three turkeys, still frozen, with a "sell-by" date several days in the future; a whole tray of those Spunkmeyer muffins, neatly shelved on a rack, and sitting atop the side-load dumpster; frozen hams and entire shrink-wrapped pallets of ramen and dry beans and rice. We retrieved and cooked our first and only goose, solidly-frozen and Dickens-delicious when roasted with onions and prunes. The bakery workers now roll out several grocery carts, park them in the shade, and do not toss the packages amongst the debris---I think that's a wonderful thing, and am glad to see and hear the people out there getting food for their families. The muffins, ramen, and dry items, as well as the hams and turkeys, were taken immediately to our favourite charity, a convent which houses an elder-care facility. They are so sweetly grateful, and such dear, dedicated women, who lost one of their biggest suppliers, a local bakery, several years ago. A woman who had retrieved a cake from a the bakery's dumpster in another neighborhood sued for some imagined damages, won, and so caused the bakery to purchase their own compactors---so every item which could have gone to stock countless charity-kitchens, all the cakes and bread and rolls, are thrown in and smashed together with their plastic containers and wrappers. What a waste, and what a shame.

So, how WAS your first year? Did you DINE, or merely eat? I hope it was wonderful. And the cookie offer still stands. rachel

There's a mention in "Bringing it Back From London" thread---Post #12. Another person tasted, bought, then could not find again. La Palme D'Or, I think. Then found it at Williams Sonoma. Can't hurt to look.

I'd recognize that BEEHIND anywhere!! It's SHAW-Dog!!

Wow, what a nice thing to say!!! That's a great compliment. (Or are you trying to sucker in the LOUDEST mouth on the CAKE contingent?---that would be a coup, wouldn't it?) I am unswayed, but very humbly appreciative of the lovely words. Ms. Fisher was a delight and a genius.

Sean, you've got your SIG LINE!!! Welcome to eG---home of the industrial-size case of Bandaids.

Thank you for this sharing of the colours and flavours of your life---the photos are just glorious, all the reds and yellows bold and beautiful, the purples and deep greens mysterious and enchanting. I especially liked all the soups---home in every bowl, wherever home may be. And I loved the pryaniki, especially the ones on the far left---the startlement on those little kitty faces made me smile. The svekolnik dinner was beautiful, all the hands in repose, in action, lingering gracefully around the table, and the small, small glasses---are they refilled often? Is it an alcoholic beverage? I wish you well in your new home; settling in to a new place is a wonderful adventure, and you have the memories of the BEFORE to enjoy as well. This was a wonderful week. I did not at all miss the childhood-imprinted snow and sleighbells---the warm, modern world is equally enjoyable, and you have made it really interesting and enjoyable. missed a letter

Kent, You KNOW you weren't drunk enough to eat THAT---after all, you remember the recipe.

HEY!!! First time I've been here in a month, and I find you invoking my words to calumnize cake!!??? Fie and for shame!! whispering now I tuned in because I wanted to mention (though it in no way diminishes the importance of CAKE) that we stumbled into a little country diner this past weekend, partook of unimportant hamburgers, and asked what kind of pie. That's what you DO in a diner. And sometimes you order some of every kind, just to be friendly. This time the choices were apple and pecan; the hostess (and owner) tilted her head slightly toward the kitchen-cutout and said, "Let me see if the Blackberry Cobbler has come out of the oven yet." She returned with a bowl the size of a dinnerplate, two spoons, and a quite visible trail of fragrant steam. In the bowl was a BIG river of beautiful purple, little rivulets of lavender and mauve spreading as it melted the two huge scoops of vanilla atop the sugar-crusted lattice. It was too hot to eat at first, but we were determined to dig in before it melted the ice cream into liquid, so we did. Spoon after spoon, it was the essence and life and vitality and round dark sweetness of every blackberry that ever swelled on the bramble. It was the most delicious cobbler I've ever tasted, big ole whole blackberries with their shapes altered just enough to let free all those pent-up Summer juices. I hope we can find that little out-of-the-way place again. It in no way abrogates or invalidates my vote for cake---no hanging chads or recounts or concessions---it's still cake for me. But that was GOOOOOD cobbler.

Welcome, Walter, and what a story!!! A new paint job in the kitchen is always a good thing, just not as a result of a MESS. (Mine's butter-yellow---bet yours isn't )

Verticality does not discernment make, nor even consciousness. Do not get your hopes up that they will ask for, or even remember, the pleasant little tidbits. Tabasco, however, DOES cover a multitude of sins.

Wooo, Man!!! Wish I could do that. It skipped a generation, from my Mom to my Daughter. Not me, I'm just an appreciator. The colors were beautiful, showing right through the hazy picture. And you did all that before lunch? Good JOB!!!

My Monday Mornin' Hee-Haw!!! Grub, you do beat all. Glad it wasn't your cast iron skillets.

AWWWWWW, Benny!!! I'm sorry you had to start out with a sad story But Welcome to eG, anyway!! It's only UP from here!! And you, too, Shal---hope your speckles didn't burn long, and you've recovered.

The photos were wonderful---it must be a lovely thought in a hurried week to know that timeless place is there, just waiting to bring calm and content. I think my favourite picture is the fence with its cloak of vines, the tendrils hanging on to that weathered wood, reaching for as much as they can, for as long as light and warmth last, to grow that last tiny bit, reaching for sun and sustenance. Lovely weekend, I'm sure, and we enjoyed it with you. The sauna looked particularly welcome, warm weather or no; is the custom to share? Hot rocks or just baths? And speaking of baths, both bowls of borscht are particularly DIVE-worthy, with no coming up til time to depart for that enchanting dascha. My movie-fed mind still recalls the frost patterns on the windows of Lara and Yuri's country house, as well as the sea of yellow which greeted them in the spring. And if you made pictures of your Mom cooking, it's not too late---we'd love to see.

I'm so delighted you're blogging!! I love the IDEA of Moscow, from childhood reading---troikas and furs and dashes through the snow; always, always I imagined the sound of bells in the air---to histories, to the arts and literature and all that food! Your glorious photography will do justice to the steam and the colours---the crumb of a loaf, the shine of chocolate, and just the enticing array of your dishes. Your eye combined with a camera lens: forces to be reckoned with. Your kitchen looks brand-new, like your life-change---a ready, clean white canvas for painting wonderful things. I'm SO looking forward to hearing about your week.

Intentions: Endearing. Recipe: enchanting, dismaying, hilarious. Description: Priceless. And is the comparison from real life? You gotta love a guy who tries so hard to make cornbread. Your soy-milk and olive oil concoction was fairly OK, but the truffled pecorino was the only "appropriate" cheese? What else did you HAVE? Tripe Brie? Candied Swiss? Next week: Grits. Batten down the hatches.

Oh, yes. Both, please. One of my favorite moments in Cali-P's first blog was the purchase of honor-system eggs from a roadside fridge.

I'm getting a "cannot be displayed" when I click on the blue above. I did go in through the one up earlier---what a tag team you had going...sledgehammers and toolbelts---beats a Porsche and lotta money in the appeal department. Glad you can take your time---in your part of the country, Summer is almost everlasting, anyway. I used to live WAY South of there. And BBQ is NEVER out of season.

Is it THIS weekend? I lost track of the schedule. Anyway, best wishes for good smoke and great food, kind weather, sweet tea and a BIGGGGGG crowd.