racheld

Whatever the fee to your bookseller, it was worth it for this line alone. Thanks for sharing it for free.

Or check the temp by reaching out ONNNNE fingertip to gently rub that bit of steam off the little glass window over the numbers. Ouch.

Thanks, Pam...happy Holidays and GET SOME REST!!

My first thought in the thread was the clouds of Arpege spritzed about by dorm mates in college lo these many years ago...a distinctly unpleasant food additive. And that segues into hot glue and boiled Velcro? Is there any taste transference? I've never made either recipe, but somehow have acquired just the SPOONS for the dish...don't know whether to hang head in shame or make the eggs for dinner.

I've nothing to add re: wraps except that you have to take a look over on the "Regrettable Foods" thread---post #426. Some enterprising chef has spelled out "Buon Compleanos" INSIDE the rice---not on top. The nori is twisted into the letters and goes all the way through---I asked.

I bow low and kiss your sweet-encrusted hands. The idea of all of you, in a swirl of sugar and butter and flour and chocolate and all the creamy, dreamy, crusty, luscious variations thereof---sugarplums dancing, indeed! You all have my admiration and vicarious delight, with a wish for a warm footbath and comfy cushion at the end of those long, exacting days. And a shower the minute you get home---all that deliciousness floating in the air, dripping onto surfaces, sticking to hands and aprons and sleeves---I am reminded of every trip to Cafe' du Monde---their staying open 24 hours seems to omit a time to mop the floors, so every step is accompanied by a little scritch scritch of shoesoles on the sugar-snowed floor. I especially envy those of you who are making the BIG look-into sugar eggs---the rich kid across the street had one when i was a child, and she'd let me look into the magical scene of bunnies and a far-off castle---I probably left eyebrow traces on that thing. It was the most transporting, lovely thing I had ever seen, at seven, and I longed for one of my own with a fervor usually reserved for bikes and dates with Davy Jones. I wish you all well on these long, bone-wearying days. The fruit of your hands will delight all the senses, give joy and pleasure and great memories, and will be remembered longer than you realize.

Well, Live It Up, it looks as if you did exactly that, to your guests' great enjoyment. Catering your own wedding is a BIG endeavor, and you seem to have carried it off with great aplomb and style. Welcome!!

In the beauty of all the arranging, I didn't even SEE the "Buon Comp" until just now!! Was it written with a writing tip AFTER? Please tell me it's not spelled out with intricately-curved bits of Nori arranged inside the rice, spanning from top-to-bottom with every slice like that Christmas-tree-in-a-piece-of-hard-candy thing. That would just be too MUCH, somehow.

I came on to post a couple of verses also set to "Turkey In the Straw," but things here are best left just as they are. Just for today. Neither Mozart nor Eminem could follow that at this moment. (wandering off to replay BoRap, just for reassurance)

Cerise Octopi and Bento Bunnies!!! This thread gets a new life of its own and grows and grows. Well, AWWWWW is better than EWWWWWW any day, and certainly beats and .

Yep---nine nice packages in the freezer, from a foray South by DS#2 last weekend. He and DS#1 (who still lives down there) and a friend from here had a good ole time fishing midst the greening and the coming of Spring...they were even there for Time-Change and figure that by rolling home on Sunday, they lost TWO hours in the exchange of mileage and time--one in the night and another as they drove home. They count it well worth it for these nice fish and the two great gatherings they had out at the Huntin' Camp. #2 already cooked a nice mess for his family, and we'll have some probably tomorrow, with hushpuppies and slaw and maybe some special fried potatoes, with the nice flour batter with garlic and salt and pepper and paprika, making little crispins all over the fluffy, crisp slices. Homemade tartar sauce with our own last-year-canned dill pickles and some sweet onion. Big frosty glasses of 40-weight tea with lemon, maybe a cobbler out of that last couple of bags of peaches I put up last year. All this to say: I cook fish, and gather raves and compliments. I just don't like eating it. And Fishing, itself---the calm of the lake/stream/river, the soft sigh of the water against the boat---all that is just delightful, but speaking as one who married into a family of Huntin'/Fishin' fanatics, it just ain't fun when you have three little children, all a year apart, and you spend part of your lake-time escorting the girl one back to the house to weewee and the rest of the time either baiting a hook, taking a fish off a hook, or getting someone's hook untangled from his screaming sister's hair. I learnt my lesson, and now, I just let the fish come home to me. PS: Big Hoss, whatever happened to Uncle Bud's Catfish place? We used to stop several times a year on our way South and back---have they all closed now? It was Chris' favorite place for catfish, besides our house.

Girl Scout campfire round: Great Green Gobs of Greasy, Grimy Gopher Guts, Musculated Monkey Meat........ Please somebody else continue this one, if you dare...I cannot bear writing down the rest. add grimace and blush smilies; when have I been so embarrassed? edited because I had blocked out some of the horror, and thus misquoted

Gotta make THAT, Brooks!!! Sounds terrific. (besides, there's all that pesky leftover blood orange oil hanging around in the cupboards)

Then count me amongst the weird phalanx, as well. An ancient, arthritic Presto percolator, though I bring it out and set it amongst an espresso machine, a Senseo, several presspots and drip pots, and somewhere in there is a little Aladdin-shaped bottom-to-top Mediterranean thingie that makes luscious syrupy brew. My parents loved perked coffee, and the SHAPE was even important...none of those little-perkynosed-top-pour things...a nice SPOUT was necessary, and the Presto has quite a nice profile to its credit. I'd always set up the pot the night before, and when I emerged from my bedchamber, the smell of that brew and the sight of Daddy, feet up, in the pool of golden light from the good reading lamp, in my easy chair with a copy of Louis L'Amour---those are some nice memories. And I wouldn't part with my old Franklin stove for all the stainless-steel, console-like-a-rocketship marvels of this or any other age. She's a black, gleaming, six-burner whiz, with a WIDE oven (whose idiosyncrasies run to blowing out the pilot when you open the door without turning on the gas first). I LOVE her, and she has a lovely family history, as well, having nourished a generation of middle-schoolers (including DS #1) in our little town before coming to me some twenty years ago. And my Mammaw's chipped Homer Laughlin pieplate---I'm not a cracked-crockery user, but this one---it's turned out more lemon icebox and coconut cream and chocolate pies, all nestled into that never-fail family-recipe crust and topped with egg whites just stolen from the hen, than any lineup of pans in a restaurant kitchen. It's a pretty ceramic plate, with faded roses in the center, and just a whisper of the gold inscriptions all round the edge. I not only JOIN the Weird Ranks, I'm a founding member.

Avon Lady demonstrating Rose scent in a spritzer + curtains and carpets holding smell for several days, til laundered and steamed = YUCK.

Oh, Ducky, Dear, That entire page was hilarious!!! Especially the amorous bull. I will add a bit of a caveat: years ago, a dear friend had as a guest a young Japanese woman with whose Mother my friend had carried on a church PenPal correspondence for some thirty years. The daughter was to be in the USA on business, and her Mother had requested that she take a side trip to meet her only-by-mail friend. SO. They were to be so busy with little outings and sightseeings, etc., that I invited the family and their guest to our home one evening. Then I somehow got it into my head that I needed to cook something Japanese. I checked out books from the library, I inquired of another local family, I read and perused and tried to think how I would find all those exotic ingredients. So I just gave up and did a good old Southern Sunday Dinner, for an evening meal: Baked ham, green beans right out of the garden, with tiny pink pearls of new potatoes, coleslaw, devilled eggs, tomatoes still warm from the vine, Powderpuff Rolls and sweet tea, banana pudding and fresh peaches right off the trees in the yard. Good old Carb Central, but quite a number of typical Southern dishes. And I was, in essence and afterthought, offering a guest the best fruits of our labors, with the plants that produced them only a few yards from the table. And the guest LOVED it. She ate and ate, marveling at the fresh juiciness of the tomatoes, and the perfect baby beans in their pot liquor. Then she said: "I'm so glad you did some typical American food---everyone else I've visited here cooked some kind of sukiyaki, to make me feel welcome, and I didn't think I'd ever get to eat any American food. This is wonderful." I was glad that she felt that way, and in retrospect, felt a bit of relief in that I did not go bumbling about trying to make something she might find find familiar, yet regard as an amateur venture, much as if I'd been in her home, and she had whipped up one of those mushroom soup-bean casseroles. I look on that time as a moment that I escaped trying TOO HARD to do something unneeded in the first place. Favorites are favorites, but it might be a particular recipe, or a particular cook making that dish so special to him...it's just that old thing about not serving your guests a dish you're making for the first time. (All the above wordiness brought to you by my own absolute abhorrence of the horrid stuff--I watched Bourdain grimace down the rotted shark and thought, "I'll bet that tastes just like lutefisk!"). edited because I had forgotten the peaches---Aiko took a bite and looked up with tears in her eyes. After all the hustlebustle of cooking and arranging, how could I forget a reaction like that, from something so simple.

Tea bags, S&L, fruit, bag of cashews or almonds, chocolate anything, one of my little sharp Radas, sometimes one of the small cleavers, spices (depending on destination), Chris' little silver flask w/scotch or CR, Some kind of salty crackers, a big travel mug, his pillow, my journal, Cryptic Crosswords (Aeronaut ), a pen, our books and a lot of pretty cooking and decorating magazines for relaxing. And when we go to his parents' house, I usually take a cake, pies, banana bread or muffins, everything needed for breakfast, and several Tupperwares of salads--chicken and tuna and pasta, along with several frozen casseroles and some loaves from DD's bakery. The crowd gathers, reaching eighteen or twenty for dinner for a couple of nights. We travel 700 miles with coolers of food, and only one SIL brings a contribution to dinner: a box of Kraft M&C, cause that's all her children will eat. I can't complain---we lived there for several years, and I spoiled them. It's also much easier to cook everything here and have it all ready when the hordes get hungry. I also take a percolator and several measured-out baggies of coffee, because they buy only instant. His Mom beams and smacks her lips over the good brewed coffee; one of my favorite memories of her is that every morning we wake her with a cup, sit on her bed in our jammies, and talk for a long time. His Dad comes in and serenades us with one of his dozens of harmonicas, the brothers begin to arrive, and we all go have muffins and sausages and laugh a lot. ETA: the only thing we left behind at customs was one apple, confiscated when we returned from England. BIL had carried a five-pound bag over, distributed amongst his suitcase and his carryon, and no one said a word. He bought a couple at a street market in Bath, and they took away the lone survivor at Gatwick. He didn't care---he'd been sampling Scotches in the duty-free since five a.m. They also sheep-dipped our shoes, because we had been to a farm in Scotland; the weird thing is that they didn't ask if they were the shoes we were actually WEARING at the time.

Well, this was over quicker'n Christmas!!! My server was down for the day, and here it is, all finished. I hate to see you go---the glimpse of another world so far away, yet so kitchen-kin, has been mesmerizing. Thank you for your words and pictures, your kindness and your respect for your workmates. It all came through the page, and we'll remember your generous, welcoming spirit taking such good care of your guests and staff. Please feel free to hop in with updates any time. They'll always be welcome, and we'll look forward to more views out that sunny window into the BLUE.

Is this perhaps the work of THE Artist? Lovely. If not, do you share? We'd love to see.

To get back onto the subject of takoyaki though, you're mistaken about the pan they had. The pan, called a takoyaki-ki, is of special design, which has round cup indentations in it, which along with turning the batter when it's cooked enough, forms the balls of takoyaki. It's not surprising to make that mistake, considering how much batter was all over the pan though! ←

Loved the "in the kitchen" pics. More, more!! I also love my Senseo, but it takes a bit to get it just right, awaiting the blink to stop, placing the pod to get a good seal, heating the milk separately (micro), etc. And just this morning, I made the first pull with YESTERDAY'S yukky pod!!!. I'm not at my best at Oh Dark Thirty, and my clock runs FORWARD into WeeWee time, perky and goingoingoing into the late hours, but awakening to them is something else. So, I think your personalized "pods" for your coffeemakers are just right. One of our favorite hotels has these in the rooms, and I like their taste. And, speaking from a Deep South perspective, would the warthog be anything like a Wild Hog in flavor, do you think? We've been gifted occasionally with a roast or a loin, and it's like a game/pork, just as you would expect, though it does not require all the "traditional" vinegar soakings and salt baths so beloved of the Southern kitchen. I'm also trying to get my mind around a Warthog farm, if indeed they are farm-raised---or did I misunderstand that bit upthread? Little corrals of the lusty beasts, snorting their way to the trough, stamping those pointy feet and marking their territory, gazing out onto the far horizons with their squinty, calculating eyes. And I love your respect and consideration for your staff...some of mine were with me for twenty years, and we always fell right back into that easy comradeship and caring for the work. Do you ever serve a cold bread---my Mom's banana loaf is in the fourth generation now...Granddaughter #1, now seven, has been measuring and mixing those wets and drys since she was three. It's a favorite here, and requested by all returning guests and family for brunch or breakfast. Little slices surrounding a small dish of cream cheese or mascarpone---a nice thing to have on the table til the "hots" arrive, or just waiting by the coffee and tea station to nibble whilst gazing out at that glorious horizon framed in your windows. This is one of my favorite blogs of all time.

I saw just a few minutes of the Bourdain travels last night, and the takoyaki cooking was like magic!! It seemed to be a great square pancake spread out on the pan with layers of minced bits scattered over. I could not imagine how that liquid, solid mass would shape itself into the round golden balls they were eating. And then, all of a sudden, with four pairs of chopsticks dabbing and pinching and arranging, there they were, and just beautiful. Like a more sophisticated version of everybody round the hotpot. I'm looking forward to watching the whole two hours tomorrow. And I loved all the octopi logos and toys and demos nodding and "cooking" in the shop windows. I can see SUCH possibilities. Fried dough with STUFF in it!! Gotta order a pan NOW.

Out of all the dinners, lunches, breakfasts, dining-outs and ins, preparations, cooking, shopping and cruising markets ad infinitum, this has to be a first. Only on eG. eta: Sorry, Hathor---I stepped on your post---didn't see it til after. Something like this is worth saying twice, anyway.

What a lovely way to end the day!! Such a fulfilling thought. Looking forward to seeing your staff at work making the breakfasts. And some closer views of the sand and water...your photos are spectacular, and make me miss our whitesugar sand back home.

I was just musing last night on that delicious line, "I had a FAAAAHM in Africa," and here you are, bright and early this morning. What a delicious present!! The teasing picture last week set my imagination soaring, and your words and pictures have already fulfilled expectations. A visit to your place would be heaven, and I doubt that I'd spend much time in that charming dining room---I'd be out there beyond the big windows, mug of coffee in hand, wandering just down there near the water, soaking in the sound of the faraway waves come home. Proceed slowly, tell much, show all. And I take my coffee with skim, please.