racheld

How lovely--every nuance of tea, from the dainty cup to the workman's mug and back again. Every word connotes a lifelong love of the beverage, and you have a turn of phrase to convert any non-tea person on the spot. I've been fascinated with tea in all its concepts and forms for all of my life, beginning with a most frustrating fifteen or so years in which good ole 40-weight iced tea was the ONLY incarnation under our roof. No one I knew drank "hot tea," the Deep South distinction between "tea" (with ice, sugar, lemon, etc., a daily drink in almost every household we knew) and the effete, strange brew taken only by Northerners, the British in literature and film, and a very few, VERY odd local citizens whose morals and tastes were in question on general principles anyway. Only when I conquered the kitchen, learning to cook so well that my Mother passed the torch before I left High School, did I venture to prepare a pot of tea destined for anything other than the big cut-glass pitcher for the suppertable. Tea was always made IN a teapot, but could just as well have been steeped in a boot, for all the lasting effect or aesthetic appeal. Poured over ice and quaffed from huge heavy goblets, it became the vernacular "house wine of the South," served at a minimum of two meals a day. Even as a teenager, I longed for the IDEA of tea, the ceremony of it, the gentility and the charm. My meagre attempts at a proper tray, with a doily filched from the linen-press, were soon squelched by the indignant Mother who had crocheted said doily, with stern remarks about spillage and stainage. So I saved up, bought a little cutwork cloth, embroidered it with pale daisies, and "made do" with a ceramic pot, the sugar and creamer from the everyday set, and one of my Mammaw's one-of-a-kind handpainted cup-and-saucer sets, a dainty footed one with maroon flowers and gold trim, ordered by her from Sears for one dollar apiece back in the fifties. And so, in those hot, long sunny afternoons, I would set the kettle to boil, arrange my tray with all the necessaries (bringing out a cup and saucer from the china cabinet should a friend be invited), and pour out. The conversation would sparkle, the tea would be a golden stream linking my teatime to other generations, and the ceremony would be all that I had dreamt and more. No pinkies raised, just a good honest cup of Lipton or Earl Grey (again purchased by me, just for my own consumption---my parents were still wary of the odd stuff) and a solitary delve into Austen or Trollope, Dickens or Poe, whilst the heat and the dust raged round the house. Perhaps a gingersnap or two, or on occasion, a little plate of bread-and-butter cut small, and my longings were fulfilled. The beautiful of it will never cease to fascinate. We have hundreds of teapots, Halls and Fiestas and Harlequins and Imari and all manner of Made in England. I myself have passed the torch in the last few years, to a Granddaughter who loves the idea herself. Every time she comes to visit, we have a teaparty, squeezing our knees under her little pine table, lifting our small Blue Willow cups to sip air and call it delicious. For her I wrote the Fairy Tea poem, for her will wait the great number of beautiful pots and cups and the shining spoons. I understand the heritage of tea, and have made it my own, despite the great amount of time it took me to get there. And we still have the pitcher of iced at suppertime---best of both worlds.

This is just the most beautiful trip we're taking---it's the first thing I tune in to when I get a firm grasp on my first cup every morning. The scenery is spectacular---you've done more for tourism than Disney commercials, I think. The view through the trees to the vineyard, that bracket of geraniums across the water to the snowy mountaintop, the grapevines just framing the rows beyond---just artistry of the best kind. And the food photos, with all the lovely light from just the right spot---what an album! I wish it could go on for another week.

Chris just walked up beside me, looked at the menu and said, "What is he, a Hobbit?"

TOLD YA SO!!!!! See Ann's blog today. And I guess the confit delivery truck was right on time---gotta get me a subscription to that service.

Now, Daniel, you KNOW you'd separate the salad into all its components, dress each one with a different vinegar or oil, and range them in interesting array around the plate. But probably AFTER you took the DIVE into that sandwich. First things first.

This is just a spectacular thread to wake up to!! All the dining out and the cooking---my, my. Lucky Sandra---that's MY KIND of visit. That lovely bacon, all sandwiched between the juicy tomatoes and that crispy, crusty bread---Heaven. And the shiny, perfectly cut vegetables, cooked to a turn. Miss Martha would be SO envious!! That chicken is a marvel, with its hidden secrets revealed by the slice of a knife, and the juices that you soak up every drop. And the Hand-pie!!! That's just perfect, with its golden wispy crust and the berries bursting out. And is that Angelica I see? Or a candied violet? Haven't used either in a long time, but I've always thought they gave the MOST elegant touch of anything on a dessert.

Can someone from Canada tell me about that fizzy raspberry stuff we were served when we ordered iced tea a couple of years ago? This happened in two restaurants a couple of hundred miles apart, and when we asked what it was, they said "Iced tea. That's how we make it up here--everybody loves it." The food was spectacular, and was not at all complemented by red Koolaid in the glass.

Of COURSE I'm reading your blog!!! I read and enjoy every thing of yours that I see. This is just lagniappe to have so much at once, and all in one place.

Whimper. ← And a couple of weeks ago, we were cruising a Flea Market in Tennessee, awaiting the arrival of our kids and Grands for a visit, and I spied a Larousse (in French) all tucked into the obviously-expensive precious stuff in a tall glass case. It stood between satiny old leather copies of Twain and Melville, and I was expecting a whopping price tag. I opened to the price-page, and saw $150.00 printed in a sketchy, light, pencil hand. It was well worth it, but not to ME, at that time, if that makes sense. It's one of those things that, if it were MINE, and I were offered $150 for it, it would change hands in a heartbeat. But then I took a second look. My quick glance had erred, and the $15.00 that I saw caused a little heartblip and handquiver to occur. I laid it quickly on the countertop, slid it gently toward the cashier. "I'll take this one, please." And I hoped that she would not sense a moment of MAYBE, of discrepancy in the price and the obvious age and value of the book. She rang it up with the nonchalance of a clerk at Kroger, just skimming the keys, though she DID give it the reverence it deserved in the packing. She swished out three sheets of newsprint, the new kind---no printing and that pesky stainy ink---and wrapped it with an aplomb seldom seen outside 84 Charing Cross. It's a 1926 edition, NOT just the gastronomie edition, but a compendium of many things---the cover lists "6200 Gravures, 220 Planches et Tableaux, and 140 Cartes" along with a lovely sort of bas relief picture, in several colors, of a lovely maiden sniffing a flower mongst the hills and trees (Persephone, maybe?). A fun find, but I'll probably have to have my F/E dictionary at hand for a long read. And on a later trip, I happened upon a trifling little thing, but one of slight wonder---a pretty little ceramic pot, wee matching spreader included, which is a perfect match for a printed tablecloth I bought WAY back in the Spring, AND for the pretty painted wooden tray all in shades of pale green, painted with charming pots of violets, found on another expedition weeks later, in another town, another store.

Wow!!! The photos are amazing, as is your choice of travel---everything is just beautiful. I could pay that restaurant check for NO lunch; just the view would suffice. I LOVE ocean. It's so good to have LOTS of your posts, all in one place. Looking forward to the rest of your travels and dining and cooking.

I left the HOTTTTT South to move here for the weather, and it's been 90's for a week here!!! (So we went to Sunny Tennessee for the weekend---another story). Last night we had lemon/pepper red snapper on the grill, with leftover fried rice DD made whilst we were gone---several tomatoes from the garden for salad. Right now, there's a morning-simmered wild rice salad in the fridge, with chives, pimientos, slivered water chestnuts, baby peas, thyme, soy and a drop of sesame oil. The tiniest of the green beans, blanched whole in salted water, shocked, and tossed in a rice vinegar/sugar/black mustard seed vinaigrette, with soft Northern beans, sliced Vidalias, a chopped tomato and green peppers from the garden. Chicken paillards are soaking in a yoghurt/salt mixture, and will go on the grill PSSSST PSSST for just a minute. Fresh crusty baguettes from DD's bakery. Lots of lemony iced tea. All INDOORS. ETA: Welcome, ThatGrrl---your avatar shows that you haven't changed a BIT!! Do you still wear those little twinkly Piccolinos? And I used to have a kitchen Just. Like. That. I so badly wanted to cut a hole in the back wall and put in an exhaust fan. A really big one.

Just get yourself going, and we'll do more than just darken the door. We'll be there often (despite the 350 miles)---just got back not ten minutes ago, unloaded the car, and lit up the grill. We met kids and Grands in Murfreesboro again, and had a great time (though we ended up at LOGAN'S, instead of for BBQ ) Can't wait til I can say "Come with MEEEEEE!!!" and we saunter in for ribs and PP (slaw ON, remember) and I'll even join the rest in toasting your new endeavor with that good old 40-weight tea. And I'll bet there's enough "shine" left from our rowdy youths to christen the doorpost (and host) in a proper fashion. I'm so glad you're almost there, and blogging about it. My favourite blogs are usually works-in-progress, seeing the developing store, restaurant, education, etc. blossoming into a full-blown flower of a life-change, and all through hard work, sweat and a dare to take a dream and draw a line around it, paint it in, and fly.

We're traveling for a couple of days, so I may not be back to add my thanks and say farewell to this lovely trip you've invited us on. It's been KEW-ell, Dude, like those laid-back buildings on the beach, modeled on surfers skimming the waves, their blonde 'do's blown back in the seawind and their snazzy shades gleaming in the California sun. Thank you for all this bounty, and I hope your birthday was wonderful. rachel

Just had a hankerin' to try that beautiful pate' but can't find the recipe in recipe Gullet under any incarnation of the word. And are there still more pictures?

A Boo Radley moment, to be sure. (Sympathy smilie)

No diving, perhaps, but might a nice refined lady say Wallow? This all sounds too good to be true. And I've been following your posts and pics since you joined, and had NO IDEA you were one of the Young'uns!!! You never referred to age or school that I remember, and the caliber of your cooking led to a belief that you were much older than you are. So now we have at least FOUR Wunderkinds, all spreading the good cooking gospel from Australia to NY to NJ to TX---what a treat for all us readers, and what a DAY for the group of friends!!! Your birthday promises to be a MAKE-Happy one, indeed. (envy smilie)

The BEST sweet tea in history was dispensed by a neighbor lady, whose little brewing-pot was bequeathed to me by her daughter. Story of the pot, really the little two-handled top half of a double boiler, is somewhere in the thread about family kitchen heirlooms. Mrs. P would set the old white "teakittle" on to boil a couple of hours before noon dinnertime. A handful of crackly fragrant Lipton leaves went into the dry little pan, along with a BIG scoop of Godchaux sugar. Boiling water poured over, steeping time of five or six minutes, then a quick strain into the battered old silvery aluminum pitcher with its fat belly and the ice-catcher lip. Filling to the top with cold water from the tap, ice into the big old footed Mammaw goblets, squeeze of lemon (which we NEVER used at home---my Mother abhorred sweet tea, and lemon was just "wasted" on the plain kind). I drank my tea in big savoring swallows, the cold sweetness of it delighting my child's palate better than any Koolaid concoction. And it was the better for being forbidden---Mother also thought the neighbor to be less than tidy in her ways, and cautioned me about partaking of anything in that house. So I never participated in the tea-on-the-porch-after-dinner ritual, just the big glass swigged down indoors, whenever offered. I can also see neighbor lady's own mother, sitting down to dinner, crushing a wee sack-a-reen tablet between two spoons. The resulting powder went straight into her tea glass. After all, it was "for diabetics" and thus negated all the sugar's evils.

Takes bubble tea to the stratosphere. And how do you regulate the "hot" of the contents so it's just a comfortable heat on the tongue and not like a jelly donut right out of the microwave?

Yes, though one daughter is known as the family "picky eada" (her words, but uttered by her or parents at every meal, no matter whose cooking is on the table---though usually mine). It's spoken in the tone you'd use for "Valedictorian," with an accompanying beaming glance toward said daughter. As I remember, they all ate the lasagna and salad. The broccoli thing is lost in the fog of merciful Time, though I seem to recall a small sneer from p.e. Well, it COULDA been an Elvis lip.

To reproduce this delightful taste of the past: Boil water and pour over Jello powder in heatproof bowl. Immediately strap on a covering of Saran, really tight, so steam cannot escape. Put right into fridge til set. It will have a skin that you could tattoo. Or make a jacket out of.

Okay, maybe not DIVE, but it's certainly the Bounce-shot of all time. What does it DO exactly? Is it solid gel? Is it a one-bite wonder, bursting flavor onto the tongue? Please explain for the masses, we who have not the experience nor the magic wands.

We hoped it would be you!!! (And the picture of all those gizmos and thingamabobs from Jane Jetson's kitchen confirmed it). Wow---a whole week of travels and cooking and dining and alchemy with those amazing tools. And a birthday, as well. Nice. You're a Tuesday's Child, and on the day you were born, we were on our Honeymoon. With all you've added to eG, I consider that a special gift. Could you work in a hand-written grocery list or recipe, please. And a shot of your hands at work. This is gonna be a great weeeeeeek!!

Thanks for all your time and work---it's been a fabulous week, especially our trips with you and your little M. She finds SUCH good groceries!!! And all the food prep and the finding---what a revelation about what CAN be done. Not to mention that caramel corn and ice cream!!! I envy you your bright little helper---I used to have one her age living here. She has always loved to help me cook; still does, but she visited last week and didn't need the little stepstool any more This was over too soon. Just amazing.

Whimpershot Wow, Daniel---you've certainly celebrated with a lot of wonderful dinners out. Not quite on the standard of your OWN kitchen, but no dishes to wash. Looks like it's been a great birthday. . .day. . .day.

Oh, My!!! You win. Blistered fingers for a week and Howdy Doody cheeks in the choir do not equal this. And I looked it up---despite what HAD to be a memory lapse, or a brain cramp, your memory served you well. Lappin Kulta is exactly right---it means "precious drink" in Finnish, I think. And there WERE more than four to the fireplace fiasco dinner---four were present at the first dinner I ever ate the stuff, and the heater at that one was a nice electric lampy thing that just glowed pleasantly over on the buffet, cozying up to the cheese and melting it into a nice tasty puddle. There were about a dozen at the BAD evening, laughing and talking and needing MORE cheese NOW, as I sizzled and scraped and re-skewered the darn thing repeatedly in the heat of that crowded, loud, unbearably hot roomful of hungry drinkers. Kind of funny now that you remind me of it. The deelybob looked kind of like if you took your desk fan, sliced the little cage-cover right down the middle, bottom to top, took out the fan, and slid the round side of half a cheese wheel into the handy-dandy pocket. Then there were little square holes in the half-moon cage, through which you inserted the short skewers, which kept the cheese from tumbling out or sliding out into the fire, like a drunk would slide feetfirst from a slopy chair into the floor, or a child at the end of a playground slide. The whole thing lay back into a flat holder, sitting with the cut side toward the heat. As it melted, you scraped downward into a tray or onto a plate, passing the plates back as they were re-cheesed. No numbering. I kept up pretty well with who was who, and after a while, I was ready to call it a day, and they had had enough wine that they could have been eating it off the spokes with a spoon for all they cared. But Grub is the hands-down champeen of THIS thread. Just two other thoughts: Don't they have lampshades in Switzerland? And Never, EVER, let Fresser find this thread.