racheld

In addition to most of the above, there's one from the early 90's that is presumed to be about eating disorders, but they seem to nibble/munch/feast all day. It's called EATING and the only "star" of note is who-shot-JR herself, Mary Frances Crosby. It's a day-long birthday party for two or more of the women, and it extends from one birthday girl's slow---ly picking an immense muffin apart with her fingers at breakfast and eating every crumb, to a late? afternoon meal served with the birthday cake(s) as a first course. They talk food all day, along with marriage, infidelity, dieting, love, dieting, and more food. I saw it only once, as a TV movie, I think, and it's kind of haunting to remember all these years later. And of course, Babette's Feast. And Mrs. Jennings sets a mean table in Sense and Sensibility. And I love the street-food moment in Working Girl when dear earnest Harrison Ford needs to wipe his lip.

I swiped one out of the big glass candleglobe tonight---we had had a lovely big white candle in there for the holidays, surrounded by a dump-in of cinnamon sticks, allspice berries, and star anise. I rinsed the star and threw it into the non-stick skillet as I quickly stir-fried some thin-as-threads shredded cabbage with cracked pepper and garlic...it was wonderful alongside a sissy Stroganoff with bow-tie pasta. Just the THOUGHT of licorice or those horrid pfeffernuse things makes me cringe, but that little hint of the flavor in Chinese dishes...heavenly. And I always add a couple of the pretties to mulled anything---if the originators had had star anise, they'd have included it in the original recipe with the cinnamon sticks and whole cloves. You use whatcha got.

Passionfruit Pavlova We made one a couple of years ago, after watching Miss Nigella work her seductive wiles on those meringue clouds and willing fruit. Lovely.

An often-repeated line in our family came into being quite a few years ago, when my Sis was eighteen. Her boyfriend, later her husband, attended one of the Service academies, and during graduation week, our parents requested that I go with her to another state for the week of attendant festivities to which all the cadets were invited, along with their dates. I had a lovely time, relaxing by the pool, reading, visiting a couple of historic sites and museums, having lunch at the hotel, and going with them to a party or dance in the evening on a couple of occasions. On one of the "free" afternoons, they spent the day out by the pool, then we all went out to dinner together. As we were seated in the lovely Tahiti-themed restaurant, the waitress asked if I would like a drink. I ordered a Mai Tai (going for the whole experience) and then she turned to my future BIL, asking if he'd like one, as well. He blinked, smiled his gleaming nineteen-year-old smile at not being carded, and said yes. Sis chimed in, "I'd like some coffee, please." Waitress turned to her and scolded, "You too young to drink COFFEE!!!"

What a SUPER cake!!! It has everything, and sounds YUMMY! We're headed out to our fave Chinese place tonight; we've been going there for years, have watched the young ones grow up and go off into their lives, and it feels like family. Needless to say, I made a quick trip for red envelopes this week. Please post more cakes!!!

This is all just scrumptious!!! More. There must be more.

My Mammaw's (and in turn my Mother's) dumplings were the roll-out-on-the-counter type, made with some of the stock from the simmering pot. Fat carrot slices, chunks of celery and some leaves, and an onion or two, speared all round with toothpicks, THEN cut into sixths or eighths, gently bubbled in the deep heavy Wearever pot with the biggest old hen from the butcher's counter. The yellow-fat old bird seethed away for a couple of hours, turning the vegetables into smooth, melting mouthfuls, and raising glistening dots of oily fat to the surface of the rich stock. A few peppercorns, a handful of salt from the little crock beneath the counter, maybe a small curl of sage from the bush perfuming the air out by the porch. Two cups of the broth ladled into a small flat pan, inserted into the freezer for half an hour (so the dough wouldn't take a quick-rise as it was stirred together). Flour and broth stirred into a stiff mass, no herbs or salt or butter, then the whole chilly lump dumped onto the flour-dusted white countertop, top dusted with more flour, and rolled, elastic and lively, into a big round disc. Great slashes of the big ole butcherknife made squares and triangles and odd little shapes from the rounded edges. A gentle slip into the bubbling pot, ten minutes lid off, ten with it on, and the dish was ready. The chicken was sort of yanked into presentable pieces, hacked into serving bits, sliding from the bone, with the backbone removed to a small plate for Grandpa's thorough attention and enjoyment. The whole stew was ladled into a huge farmhouse bowl, a big ceramic one with a yellow rim and flowers on the sides. We could have fed a regiment from that bowl. And with side dishes of greens and silverpeas and chutneys and conserves and a big heavy-cut glass each of celery stalks and slender green onions next to the steaming, crusty cornbread or featherlight risin' rolls---Any general or king could have sat down to that table.

Five more, as of two days ago. UPS rang the bell and handed me a hefty package, containing FIVE gorgeous books, immense ones, from a dear new eG friend whose generosity of spirit matches his enthusiasm and talent and kindness. They are: FL Cookbook-----Keller Bouchon-------ditto Bittersweet----Alice Medrich---- all about DARK chocolate---- A Return to Cooking------Ripert and!!!!!! Frank Stitt's Southern Table...a beautiful, mouthwatering trove of good ole Southern cookin'----some gussied up for royalty, and all worthy of a trip to Birmingham, just for a meal at Frank's. Watermelon Margarita!!! you won't believe how good. We pass through there several times a year, on our way to the coast---gonna stop next time. Sounds like Heaven.

What a lovely memory!!! We went to see Julie Harris as Miss D. about 900 years ago...the recipe was for her "Black Cake"---I remember distinctly, because it must have been the recipe which fed the five thousand. DS#2 happened into the doorway one night when I was watching B of A on PBS, got interested, and we watched it again every time it was on that season. So, when the traveling troupe hit Memphis, the whole family went. THEN, we cut the recipe down down to 1/8 size, bought enough black strap molasses and raisins to feed an army, chopped and sifted and stirred and baked, and lo, we had black cake aplenty to eat and give away and freeze for future generations. And it was BLACK---the darkest cake I've ever seen, outside a devil'sfood or two. And it was interesting. Not particularly tasty or memorable, except in the context of something you'd try so as not to hurt the cook's feelings. Like I would imagine that piece of wedding cake from the D&D of Winsor they auctioned off several years ago must have originally tasted. (Or after sixty years; take your pick). But it was fun, and the last I remember was when the boys cut the last loaf into hunks, tied each piece to a tree branch, and the birds had a suety, molasses-y, mouth-clogging Winter feast. There was probably enough body-warming energy in each piece to see them through a blizzard.

That must have been like being attacked by wee hot sticky BB's.

That's more like "Gimme a slice!", Karen. ← Not to mention a swinging paint can in the other hand. Tony Manero LIVES!

I forgot College Cheese.

Be ten again. Stand out in the Mississippi heat for a while. Walk through the little flappyscreen door to the quickmart, as hot in as out. Stand in the cool balm of the freezer case, and ask for a "fudge-seekle."

Today was a very late breakfast, just us two: Scrambled eggs with cracked pepper and extra-sharp cheese. Super-crispy bacon (just short of dark brown---he likes it to shatter to the bite), butter-skillet crisped halves of leftover rolls from the restaurant of last night's rib dinner. The longest, slenderest sweet strawberries, especially good dipped into the warm oozes of creamcheese frosting between the homemade cinnamon rolls. Dark-roast latte for me, cold milk in a frozen mug for him. James Galway on the Bose.

We owe two of our family mis-props to the children: DS#1, at two: Eye-papple (you know, that Del Monte yellow thing) One of the kids, all eventually: Sour Crap (with weenies!!) One from an elderly neighbor, whose daughter had cooked them a strange green vegetable: Ass-pargus Two we don't use, but I cringe everytime a relative says them: Spinnish and Lettish. She has a MASTER'S in Education, people!! And "Food Fair" is one of our local chains down South.

The pictures, the prose, the sights and sounds and smells---all these come through loud and clear. And so do the smiles and the heartbeat of your busy life. This is such a treat to look forward to, and with the time diff and your nocturnal habits, you keep it up longer into the evening...that's a bit of lagniappe to be savored. I feel as if we've been zipped off to the tropics, Japan, semi-Sweden, and much of another place greeted with familiarity by so many, and with welcome newness by the rest of us. Quirky and fun...that's what this one is. I just re-read the whole thing, looking at all the pics anew, and it just dawned that you've cooked one pot of congee at home, and taken us on a rollercoaster of other cuisines and spices and markets and colors of so many foods and sights----what fun. Big smile when I clicked on the menu and found "Vine Ripe Salmon":---only in California.

Five sons, and I step into that one!!!

Though I've never been to California (I have two tickets in the china cabinet---Chris bought them from a charity event, awaiting our trip to SF to visit DS#4 in the Spring), I'm enjoying the heck out of all this. Ducky Dear, I'd give a pot a grits to be there tonight for your event---sounds like a great time. But get yourself right home and get to the keyboard!!! Welcome, Kouign Aman!!! You picked a perfect reason to debut. Hijack: Zuke, I looked at that picture, read the poem, and lured Chris away from Stargate with the post. How'd I miss that blog??? I might like your Haggis---the ones we had in Scotland tasted like Chitlins smell. And what does one stuff a Vegetarian Haggis INTO? Edited cause I typoed the Kid#, and that's just not RIGHT.

We keep a pretty bottle of POM in the fridge almost all the time. It makes a lovely addition to almost all clear beverages, even my "sissy" amaretto and Sprite combination, which is my sipper of choice when others are having cocktails. We have mimosas on Chris' birthday brunch every year, and last year I had the pitcher of OJ all ready, stirred in about a cup of POM, set the pitcher in the fridge, and when all were gathered, whisked out the frosty pitcher of ruby goodness to find a blurky purple concoction, as though milk had been added to Welch's grape. It was certainly not the pretty mixture I had intended, but it still tasted delightful, with or without the champagne. Anybody else seen any unseemly changes in color? Maybe you just shouldn't mix it too long before serving?

You do DP&P in a CAN??? I never heard of such a thing. What you do is, get the GLASS bottle as near freezing as possible, whissssssh the top off and drink down that first icyburn swig. Hold the bottle in one hand, pick up the crinkly packet with the other, tear a strip off the top with your teeth, PUH it off into the grass, and hold the pack carefully, tightly, against the opening of the bottle, keeping your fingers encircled round the cellophane so as to prevent escape of even one of those fat little crunchy fellows, and letting the peanuts rattle out and down for a dip and fizz. If it runs over, clap your lips over the entire bottletop, to capture every delicious, foamy drop--bottle posture is VERY important in this step---make sure it's upright. THEN, you upend the bottle for another hearty drink, getting peanuts in every mouthful. If you're in company, try to chew without ejecting any of the still-fizzing drink, and try to make the liquid/peanut ratio come out even. Getting the last couple of halves unstuck from their grip on an empty, still-wet bottlebottom is dang nigh impossible, even if it IS upside down, being shaken mightily. With a can, how do you know you gottum all? And cheese crackers, indeed. Those are NABS, y'all!!

Ducky Dear, Don't tell me you're going incognito a la Reichl---there's no HATSHADOW in the Jamillah window!!! This is going to be such a romp---looking forward to your sunning up these snowy Heartland days...always good to read your smiling voice.

I want every color of the Yeoward Avington. All those blues and oranges and magentas. And at only 250.00 per cup and saucer... I did, however, pick up a couple of dozen pieces of Limoge a couple of months ago, by standing in my neighbor's yard, rear in air, as I rummaged through an immense gray plastic container of yellowing newspaper crumples from the 50's, pulling out piece after piece of some bird pattern---bought all four c/s and dessert plates for 10.00. Then I unearthed six of the burnt-orange, gold-rimmed plates, in perfect condition---10.00 for those, as well. Then five of the b/b? dessert? plates for those, too---dollar each. They went perfectly on our Christmas table, for course changes with my Mom's Mikasa with the orange-gold rim pattern. Said neighbor is an inveterate yard-seller, and indeed, it's hard to tell if and when a sale is going on, what with the birdbaths, gazing balls, racks of bicycles, assorted in-the-works vehicles and potted plants that punctuate his yard. But he travels all over, bringing back treasures untold in his racy red pickup with the camper shell. He does mostly estate sales, but is not above stopping at your curb and trying out the bedframe/monitor/sofa that you put out on First Mondays. I love his stuff; it's dusty and grimy and gets rained in and on, depending on his inclinations to cover and the number of tarps available. He puts out decanters with the whisper of Prohibition hooch still lingering inside; his acquisition of Beta tapes is legendary and past my understanding; his troves of dishes and crystal and fine china lurk beside ratty doubleknits and stacks, and he's prone to dumping someone's lifetime's collection of name costume jewelry into a glass bowl without brushing out the long-dead spider inside. Over the years, from him I have acquired: a lovely three-tier china cakestand, some fifty pieces of thumbprint, several lead-crystal decanters, quite a few pressed-glass pieces, and many additions to my famous collection of Flintstone mugs. I think the trunk holds about 120 of the things now...and a couple dozen more in the coffee cabinet...haven't counted in a couple of years. We keep the extras out just for coffee now and then, and for dyeing eggs every year. We have a succession of pictures of our oldest Granddaughter, from her very first Easter to the present, wearing the same ridiculous pair of white bunny ears, dipping an egg into orange dye in the same squatty Flintstones cup. Oh, the silly things which form family memories! And I never thought to own any Limoge, really---this has been stored so long, I like to imagine that maybe it's the same stuff that Izak Dinesen was shooing the lookers away from on the traincar. "Shoo! Shoo! That's my Limoge!!"

This is lovely. It's like being talked through your violin lesson by Perlman.

I've said it before, but guess I need to attend another meeting: My name is Rachel, and I'm a Dish Junkie.

Leonard's in Memphis