It's Like Buttah.....

Last night Bill and I went out to dinner with our son, his wife, and their two daughters, ages 5 and 3. Both of them are dealing with colds, so their appetites weren't necessarily up to par. Nevertheless, here is what they ate for dinner:

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, their dinner consisted of eight or nine packages of butter. They started out with bread-and-butter, and then I guess they just figured the bread slowed them down.

Being the nana, I pretended to act shocked. The truth is, were I but 55 years younger, I would also eat plain butter.

Here is a recipe that satisfies my love for butter:

Kentucky Butter Cake

Ingredients
3 c. flour
2 c. sugar
1 t. salt
1 t. baking powder
1/2 t. baking soda
1 c. buttermilk
1 c. butter
2 t. vanilla
4 eggs

3/4 c. suguar
1/3 c. butter
3 T water
2 t. vanilla

Process
Preheat oven to 325 and grease and flour a 10 in. bundt pan.
Mix together the flour, 2 c. sugar, salt, baking powder, and baking soda. Blend in the buttermilk, 1 c. butter, 2 t. vanilla and 4 eggs. Beat for 3 min. at medium speed, and pour batter into prepared pan. Bake for 60 min. or until a wooden toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean. While still warm, poke holes in the cake using toothpicks or a fork. Let cake cool completely.

Butter sauce:
In a saucepan, combine the remaining 3/4 c. sugar, 1/3 c. butter, 2 t. vanilla, and the water. Cook over medium heat until melted and combined, but don't boil.

Once cake is completely cool, pour sauce over the entire thing.

Yum.

Friday Book Whimsy: The Unseen, by Katherine Webb

Almost nothing makes me happier than beginning to read a new novel, heavy with loads of pages, especially if it is British, romantic, takes place in a manor house, spans several generations, and involves a mystery. I love the bulky feel of it in my hands. I love the knowledge that I’m going to meet new people, some good and some evil. I love that it will probably take me places I’m not likely to be heading off to very soon. Yep. Give me a mysterious diary and a crazy woman in the attic, and I am a happy woman.

It is at this point, before I proceed any further, that I have a confession to make. I read almost exclusively these days on my Nook. I certainly wasn’t a fan when ereaders first were introduced. I tried to keep an open mind, but I simply love the feel of a book in my hand and the look of books on my shelf. I didn’t judge others, but for myself, I would continue to buy used paperbacks or get books from the library.

Over the course of the months, however, what I have come to find is that a small ereader is easier to hold with my arthritic hands and wrists than a heavy book. When I travel, taking the ereader allows me to bring along a plethora of books without having to carry an entire separate suitcase or give my husband a hernia carrying it. When I leave my house, I tuck the ereader in my purse and it is available to me when I have to wait for something, am riding light rail, stop for a bite to eat, and so forth.

So, having gotten that off my chest, let me tell you about a lovely manor mystery I recently read called The Unseen, by Katherine Webb. It has everything I love about a fine manor mystery except the manor. Instead, the story takes place largely in a vicarage in a small Berkshire village, jumping back from contemporary times to 1911, when the vicar and his wife actually lived there. The vicarage and church are no longer active.

Leah, a newspaper reporter, is shown a photo of a dead soldier, along with some rather confusing letters, and challenged to figure out who he is and what the letters mean. The author takes us back and forth in time as the truth is slowly revealed to us. Along the way, characters are introduced, and then truly revealed to us through their actions.

The story revolves around a phenomenon that apparently actually took place back in the early 20th century – belief in real-life fairies. That supernatural belief, along with a vicar who is interested in nature and the supernatural, a highly naïve wife, a mysterious woman, recently released from prison for fighting for women’s suffrage who comes to work as a housekeeper , and an equally mysterious stranger who is allegedly an expert on fairies provide the mystery that is pursued by the newspaper reporter.

As with Webb’s first book,The Legacy, I noted that the story moves somewhat slowly, but towards a satisfying conclusion that keep me reading even after I should have turned out the lights.

Spoiler alert: No crazy woman in the attic.

Eating With Bugs

When it comes right down to it, I’m not sure why people like picnics. While you have the opportunity to eat your food at a clean and dry kitchen table without getting bitten by mosquitoes, you choose instead to eat at a very dirty table surrounded by bugs and other of God’s not-so-stellar ideas (though I’m sure they are all part of his plan and he didn’t ask me), eating with and on plastic.

Having said that, I will tell you that I love picnics. Always have. Always will.

My mom was a good picnicker. Several times in the summer she would pack up a basket or box of picnic standbys -- fried chicken, cole slaw, deviled eggs, and her Three-Day-Dill pickles – and schlep it all out to Pawnee Park, along with the rest of us. She would lay a tablecloth on the picnic table and set out the picnic. My brother and sisters and I would play on the playground toys for a bit and then join her and my dad for our picnic dinner.

My husband and I picnicked our way through France a few years ago. We speak no French, and since the language is not intuitive to me (what with all them thar silent letters), and the French people have little-to-no interest in helping out, ordering food in a restaurant was a bit intimidating. Picnics were the answer. We could sign language our way in the grocery markets to getting a baguette, some pate, some olives, a hunk of smelly cheese, and some wine. Many a meal was spent at a table along the side of a road (ideally underneath one of the really beautiful crucifixes many French grape growers had at the corner of their vineyards) or even just on the bed of our hotel room.

I’m happy to say that my love for picnicking has been passed on to my grandkids, all of whom love to take food out to the nearest park and eat. They agree with me that, despite the bugs, everything tastes better outdoors.

Here is my mom’s cole slaw recipe.

Let's Make a Dill

The members of my family are big fans of the pickle. Really, fans of anything that is pickled. And I’m not just talking about adults. As a toddler, one of the few vegetables my great-nephew will eat is my dilly beans.

Every summer when the pickling cucumbers were in season, Mom would make her delicious Three-Day Dill Pickles. My assumption is that they were called Three Day Dills because once you made them, you were supposed to wait three days to eat them. They never lasted three days in my family. In fact, after about an hour, one of us (usually my father if he was home) would quietly take one of the barely-pickled cucumbers out of the brine and begin snacking. By the third day, there was nary a pickle to be seen.

At one point, she had a big porcelain jug into which she would submerge her cukes. I don’t know what happened to that jug. I mostly remember her placing the cukes into a big green porcelain mixing bowl, pouring over the hot vinegar, adding the dill, and putting a dinner plate over the cucumbers. She would set a big can of tomatoes on top to make sure the cukes remained submerged. We got good at fitting our fingers under this plate.

Three-Day Dill Pickles

Ingredients
1-1/2 lbs. small pickling cucumbers
2 pints water
1 c. vinegar
1/8 c. salt
4 large sprigs of dill (or two fresh dill heads)

Process
Wash the cucumbers in cold water. (I let them soak for a couple of hours in ice water. My mother never did.) Cut the cucumbers in quarters and place them in a large non-metal bowl. Place the dill over the top of the cukes. Bring your remaining ingredients to a boil and pour over cukes. Cover with a plate so that the liquid covers the cucumbers.

Let sit for three days on your counter. Right. On the off-chance that you have any left after three days, they may be stored in a jar in the refrigerator.

Hi there!

As I set off on this blogging adventure, I am reminded of all of the nature shows I have watched, or all of the children’s books I have read, that show a little baby chick pecking its way out of its shell to enter the world. That’s me. Just another chick entering the world of blogging.

And from what I can see, there are plenty of other chicks out here on the internet telling their stories. And many of the blogs (and the stories) are very good. My story might be a little unique in that I am telling it from the perspective of a very happy, um, more mature adult instead of a 20- or 30-something mother of small children (whose stories, by the way, I love to read, even if only to breathe a sigh of relief that my children are grown.)

I turn 60 at my next birthday. That is by no means old in this day and age. If it was 1850, I would be the old crazy woman living up in the cabin in the woods smoking black, stinky cigarettes and making medical potions from herbs. As it is, I am not old, arguably not crazy, I live smack dab in the middle of a city with my husband of 20-some years, and have never smoked a cigarette in my life.
They say life begins at 50. They say 50 is the new 30. And so on. However, when I pick up a Glamour or Shape magazine while waiting to undergo my bone density scan, I notice the headline says, “How to Stay Beautiful at 20, 30, and even 40!) I am serious. Apparently there is no hope post-49. Luckily, my husband thinks I’m beautiful.

I am lucky enough, though, that I have been able to retire at a fairly young age, after being in the workforce nonstop in some capacity since I turned 14. Furthermore, except for twinges of arthritis, I am pretty darn healthy. I am also lucky enough to have nine wonderful grandchildren, seven of whom live very near us. I am Nana. Being Nana is the best job I have ever had. I am also Bill’s wife (another good gig), a mother and stepmother, a mother-in-law, a sister, an aunt and great-aunt, and a friend to many. I have been truly blessed by God.

What do I do all day? Quite honestly, I am rarely bored. I stay very busy exercise. I take care of our home. I cook. I work on puzzles. I read voraciously (I probably average two-and-a-half books a week). I geocache (do you know what that is?) I spend time with my grandkids. And now I write.

As time goes on, I hope you will enjoy meeting and getting to know my quirky family and friends. We are plentiful in number, if nothing else. When gathered together, there is always a lot of energy, a lot of laughing, a lot of children, and always, always, always, a lot of food.

This week, I want to share some of my mom’s best recipes. It won’t be the last time.

I grew up in east central Nebraska, in an area not known for its peaches. Corn, yes; peaches, not so much. Nevertheless, every summer my mom would make peach pie out of fresh summertime peaches, and it was oh so good.
Now I live in Colorado, where our Western Slope peaches are arguably some of the best in the country. Take that Georgia. You have better football teams.

One of the things that prevents many people from making homemade pies is the crust. It’s intimidating. If you find it too intimidating, use a store-bought crust. They aren’t as good, but they’re good enough. However, consider making this crust, as I find it simple and tasty. The vinegar does something that makes the crust flaky and delicious.

Peach Pie
Ingredients
5 c. sliced, peeled peaches (about 7 medium peaches)*
1 t. lemon juice
1 c. sugar
¼ c. all-purpose flour OR 2-1/2 T tapioca
¼ t. cinnamon
2 T butter
Sugar

Process
Mix peaches and lemon juice. Stir together sugar, flour or tapioca, and cinnamon. Mix in with the peaches. Turn into your lined pastry pan, and dot with the butter. Put on your top crust, and crimp. Using a pastry brush, brush top with an egg wash or cold water. Sprinkle a generous amount of sugar over the top crust. Take a scissors or sharp knife and cut several holes in the pastry. Place pie on a baking pan and bake at 425 degrees for 35 to 45 mins. until top is golden brown.

Flaky Pie Crust
Ingredients
2 c. flour
1 t. salt
1 c. cold shortening
1 egg
½ c. ice cold water
1 t. white vinegar

Process
Mix the flour with the salt. Using a food processor**, cut in one cup shortening.
Break the egg into a measuring cup and mix; add enough of the ice water to bring it to ½ c. Add the vinegar to the ice water. Pour into the flour mixture and pulse it until it’s mixed. It is a very sticky dough.
Divide in half and wrap each half in wax paper. Chill for at least an hour before using. This step is critical as I cannot emphasize enough, it is a very sticky dough.
Roll out into a 9-inch pie pan. Keep the other half in the fridge until it’s time to top your pie.

Notes
*To easily peel the peaches, drop them into boiling water for 45 to 60 seconds, remove them, and drop them in ice water. If the peaches are nice and ripe, the skins will come right off. If the peaches aren’t quite as ripe, it will take a bit more work.
** Pioneer women didn’t use a food processor, so you don’t need to either; it just makes it a bit easier. If not using a food processor, just mix together using a wooden spoon.