Happy shortest day! Things will get brighter here shortly…
Author: TadMack
Rose Apples and Toms
While photographing these wee birds, a neighbor pulled around us in her red car and took off down the hill. Most of the turkeys gave chase! Ridiculous beasts.
Imagine being the first person to decide to eat one of these things. What on earth possessed that person? Now, granted, this is not an omnivore criticism; people must have had these same sorts of first thoughts about artichokes – great thorny beasties, what makes you think they’re edible? – or asparagus – foul-smelling and rather thick grass; are you sure you want that? – but turkeys are as ugly as buzzards (not the British kind, which are just large raptor-hawks. ACTUAL turkey vultures are commonly called turkey buzzards, so called because of their egregiously naked red turkey-like heads), their naked wattles looking like elderly plucked skin, and they have spikes on their foreheads! Imagine – Benjamin Franklin wanted this to be the national bird. One wonders how many times he was struck, playing with that lightning…
This time last year would have been our first show – Christmas at the Musicals, which was always fraught, since inevitably there were storms or high winds or something to make the mostly over-sixty crowd of musical aficionados only come to the matinee showing, leaving the late show virtually empty. Singers this time of year get used to that, and sing anyway. We wish the best to the City of Glasgow Chorus as next weekend is their last show of 2012! We miss you guys, and will think of you and glitter and flashing lights during the intermission. ☺ Meanwhile, we have two programs left here as well – one the 22nd, and one the 24th, and then we’re looking forward to doing a great deal of nothing in particular until a few weeks in January where we’ll be singing The Mass of the Nativity again. While our church choral groups are small and don’t come with massive orchestras, there is something to be said for the intimacy of singing with a string quartet or just a piano, and actually hearing all voices and all parts at all times. We are grateful that it has been a good experience so far.
Experimental foods are on offer every winter, when we have time and inclination to bake, but T’s not often the one getting too involved. This time she jumped in with an easy and quick dessert to take along for chorus potluck this weekend. Critical response ranged from cautious to enthusiastic, and we’re excited to have a willing audience for which to bake and cook again. We also wished we’d remembered to photograph these pies after they were baked, and when they were cut, but it’s a bit hard to do that in a group – “No, wait, don’t eat it! I’m photographing! – so you’ll just have to take our word this time that they were pretty. Next time we’ll maybe use two apples per pie – and we’re looking forward to experimenting with bases and other flavorings.
Apples have long been associated with the rose, because they’re part of the same family. (Surprise!) It’s common enough to see people use peels to create apple roses, but T. decided to use the entire apple to make a very fast rose tart. The only regret she has is forgetting to splash rosewater on the crust and top of the pie post-baking, while the fragrance could be imbued, but she will remember to do so next time…
This easy pie (which should have been a tart, but the tart pan was hiding) begins with homemade cranberry sauce, which is easy enough to make. Here’s our basic recipe: – 1.5 cups of fresh cranberries, a cup of sugar, and two tablespoons of orange juice and orange zest simmered over low heat. Many recipes call for additional water, but we don’t add any until the berries are popped. To enable this sauce to double as pie filling, add a heaped tablespoon of cornstarch dissolved into a half cup of water. (Note that we added this to cold sauce; if you added it to the hot, it will thicken quickly, so be ready for that!) Then add a tablespoon of molasses, 1 tsp. ginger, cloves, and allspice (or 1 tbsp. garam masala spice blend) and a half cup of additional sugar. If the mixture gets too thick, add another half cup of water, but you want the flavor fairly intense, so only add as much as you need.
Next, we assembled pastry crusts – quick cheater crusts from the freezer section of the grocery this time, but homemade, if you have time/inclination, is obviously better. We filled each crust to the halfway point. Our pans are deeper than traditional pie pans, and we’d quadrupled our sauce recipe, so we had plenty of extra. (If you have limited supply, just try for a single pie!) And then came the fun part – the apples.
If you have an old-fashioned corer-peeler as we did (no idea what happened to that, either. It’s with the tart pan), it’s easy enough to crank out thin ribbons of peel and spiraled apples… but unless you have a VERY shallow pie pan, this isn’t really what you want. The wider the peel and apple, the more rose-like your pie will be, so grab a simple cheese-slicer and peel the apple as carefully as possible. Pieces will break – don’t worry about them. Just peel as cleanly and as evenly as possible.
Arranging the apples is subjective, of course – what looks rose-esque to us will look dahlia-like to you. The one trick we can suggest is to be sure to begin each piece of new apple with an overlap of about a quarter inch inside of the previous strip. Also, using the peeled edges up reinforces the flower idea.
We baked the pies for twenty-five minutes at about 350°F/175°C. Don’t go overboard – it’s easy to over bake these, but as they cool, the filling will settle. Have faith in them – apples contain pectin, and together with the cornstarch, they will gel that molten cranberry lava! Serving these pies when they’re slightly overdone is somewhat tricky, as, after cooling the apple peels are difficult, but if you make that tiny mistake, no fear – snipping them with a kitchen scissor first and then cutting along the snip-line worked. Again, a soupçon of rosewater would have made these match in both fragrance and appearance, but that’s for when the pie is served hot.
We did a lot of music this weekend, a lot of baking, a lot of decorating. We broke out the garlands and the old clay crèche. Glitter glue, pine cones, ribbon – all in the spirit of decorating, something which, while wandering the world, we’ve kept at an absolute minimum, or ignored altogether for years upon years. We kept the stereo playing a mix of classical music and the less invasive carols, and we kept outside media to a minimum – with good reason. Sometimes, it’s best to keep the broken world at bay. It’s as T’s friend, Gregory K. wrote this morning on his poetry blog (which we’ve borrowed without his permission, but we don’t think he minds):**
Untitled, 12/16/12
Greg K Pincus © 2012Sing, dance, quilt, make art
Share the work that’s in your heart
Sculpt, act, paint, and write
Answer dark with waves of light
Last night, we placed a tea light in the secondhand wire angel T. brought home, and turned out the lamps. The lone candle was a pinpoint flicker in a too-large room. But even a small illumination is the difference between blindness and sight.
Hold to the light.
**Please, DO attribute if you use anyone’s poem, including Gregory K’s.
Autumn Daze
Hard to believe that Thanksgiving has passed, and yet this Gang of Ten is still wandering ‘through the neighborhood unmolested. From the original gaggle of juveniles which terrorized the neighbors’ lawns comes this meaner, leaner troop – an alert and pushy tom and his harem. The olives on the neighbors’ tree are now history, and in return the trees have been well fertilized for the next growing season…
Thanksgiving was fun for the reasons it usually is – food coma, unlimited family chitchat – plus a new reason – we didn’t have to go anywhere. The horde descended upon us, and there was the usual festival of experimental foods and fancy table-setting, with the first rose from the hacked back bushes making its delicate peach, pink, and yellow debut. We put in both leaves for the table, and borrowed extra chairs, and with putting the table kitty-cornered we juuuuuust fit everyone into the teensy dining room, even the Weans, who had their own folding table and plastic-ware and piano bench.
The around-the-table Thankfuls tradition netted a few surprises, mainly that an auntie whose beau we’ve never actually met is engaged, and that the niecelet has managed to gather all of her transcripts before the deadline – oh, happy day, indeed, since it means she can finish her grad school program on schedule. Much to be thankful for, as usual, but the best part of any family gathering – at least amongst our clan – is the games. We played our usual two-team Taboo and found that the Francis girls are uniformly bad at this game. REALLY bad. Laughably bad, to the tune of shouting out guesses for the opposing team, etc. We were unbelievably entertained, and plan to make sure they’re on the same team next time. :ahem:
The weather has been so mild thus far that the series of storms which shook, rattled, and rolled us came as a delightful little surprise. The brown-outs overnight led to some pretty crispy cold mornings with the heat only intermittently coming on at night, but it was the BOOM! explosion of the transformer Sunday evening, which apparently left neighborhoods in a five mile radius without power for over nine hours, which was truly problematic. After the big rain and wind, it was clear and verrrrrrry cold without heat for hours and no cloud-cover. T and D actually began reminiscing about life without a boiler – and not in a nice way. Fortunately, the property owner is converting the fireplace in the music room to gas, and soon we’ll have at least one heat source in case of emergency!
Last year at this time we were slogging to make it through the last several Christmas shows before bugging out to Iceland for a week. We think affectionately of all of our music teacher and Music Minister friends, who are beginning the holiday slog through myriad shows and performances – we think especially of Ms. D., who has eighty-eight little choristers below the age of five… oy. Thank you in advance for all of your hard work, guys! Your listening public really does appreciate it…
Remember, remember…
There was frost the second week of October in Cambusbarron. One of D’s coworkers took some lovely photographs, and we felt both envious and relieved that we have not yet had to resort to myriad layer. Autumn weather here has been ridiculously spoiling – mild sunshine, cloudless skies. T. visited her favorite stand of ginkos at the library, and photographed them to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating the effect of their very yellow leaves, viewed against the bowl of blue… they glow. All of the autumn color this year has just been the best. And, except for the endless raking involved, we’re really enjoying having a maple tree this autumn as well.
And, D. would like to point out, except for the endless sneezing involved with whatever autumnal spore/dust thing is going on, he’s enjoying it, too. (We think it’s the raking.)
Sometime last night, we heard the series of arrhythmic pops that signaled fireworks. We looked at each other in bewilderment — fireworks are generally illegal within city confines, and though it was a foggy night, it has been a fairly warm day. “Bonfire night already?” D asked, and for a moment, that seemed to be a perfectly sensible answer… except, no one here has any antipathy against Guy Fawkes, Catholics, or the memory of such, and the wee neds in this neck of the woods are more likely to be blowing up toilets than setting off bottle rockets.
We chalked it up to a surfeit of high spirits, or, lacking that, someone’s significantly big birthday, and went back to reading. But, when we woke this morning we realized: The Giants won the World Series.
OH.
Sometimes we are amusingly out to lunch.
It’s been a weekend of remembering — we’ve been digging through things we haven’t seen since the beginning of May, after all — but more than that, the relentless reporting of the storm reminded us of what some of the last few years were like in Glasgow. Remember the indelicately named hurricane which received international attention? We remember our first winter — and having to plant a foot against the side of our building to yank the door open with both hands — and then having it flipped out of reach to slam against the building, and then being unable to shut it again. We remember the first building we lived in, swaying, one night. We remember hearing pings as hail hit the lovely stained glass windows in the church where we lived — and T remembers seeing the tops of D’s shoes as he fell down the icy stairs in front of that church.
One year, T stood in the cloisters at the University and leaned into the wind… and leaned some more… and leaned some more… until she was literally supported only by the wind. That was scary-exhilarating. We loved the thunder and lightning and the gale-force… until it dropped the mill building in Cambusbarron. And then we realized what could have happened to us.
And so we’re thinking of our friends back east today. Remembering what it feels like to be safe in a storm, and praying that for them.
All plans for this weekend…
…are off.
Incinerated on Reentry
(This might be a blog post to skip if you’re over hearing about how much the world, for us, has changed. We do realize we’ve kind of been going on about it.)
“I don’t think anyone expects the reentry to be as hard as it is. We hear a
lot about culture shock, but there’s a reverse as well. Coming home is hard. It’s still home, but it’s also not. And we get frustrated with ourselves because it doesn’t all happen naturally and easily, the way we think it should.” — A Pilgrim
In the past two months, we’ve had some interesting conversations with acquaintances and friends who have lived abroad – ambassador’s kids, travelers, international business folk. As we’ve found our present circumstances fitting us about as well as a scratchy shirt, we’ve been wondering if we somehow missed a memo from the universe on how to live now. Everything is … mostly normal, but somehow still vaguely… wrong. And to those of you whose quick snarky reflex is to write us an email about “obviously, America has changed in the past five years,” please don’t. Things are a little less than obvious from where we’re standing.
It has been good to realize that other people have struggled in the same way. We have watched friends move – and and move again. An acquaintance who had been educated abroad, and lived abroad for five years after college, had to take a weekend alone to balance between fear and anticipation about going home. Others have had children to help create the transition – planning schooling and finding a roof for the whole family gives one time to think and decompress and prepare for the personal stuff. But, in the end, it’s all a little bit of background noise and distraction. When the quiet moments come, it still hits you: everything is changed. Everything.
It probably would have been good if we’d been forewarned. Instead, it was one small disaster after another – stupid visa drama, stupid house stuff – which is the way life always goes. In some ways, we were whirled around and spat out on these shores, completely unprepared. In many ways, we shouldn’t have needed to prepare — after all, this is home, right? …sure, sure, there’s that cliché about never being able to really go there, but that was a cliché, right…?
“…I think once an expat, always partially an expat. That square peg feeling will recede, but it never entirely goes away. You lose the person you were before … Life continues there, as it does here, and we can’t be in both places at once. And in some ways, we can never only be in one place again. Part of us is always there.” — An Observer
It’s peculiarly comforting to know that other people have found themselves in the same conundrum. An irritating restlessness, a maddening inability to just settle – whether this is settling in or settling down. Something is always wrong, like the three bears’ chairs — too soft, too hard, too this or that. We’ve been house hunting in various nations and towns since June, when we arrived, and we’re hurtling toward September (ED: Or, we were when T. started writing this. And now we’re IN), still sleeping in the guestrooms of friends and relatives, still depending on the kindness of, if not strangers, people who themselves have their own needs and their own plans and agendas.
We’d started to feel, frankly, a little insane. And we knew — we know — that some of you think we’re crazy, too. Some of you have been quite clear on that fact.
We will settle if we can. We will choose when we know the parameters of our choices. We would give much to simply sit down like normal people and get on with the business of living, instead of longing desperately to just go home — to a place where we no longer live, to lives that no longer exist — and maybe never did, as hindsight and nostalgia eventually colors everything.
[When I came back]”…I found other people are not so interested in other cultures. They don’t understand our need to explore new places or our nostalgia of places once lived. I still have a certain fondness for anything [from that place]. I think moving away … is a good thing. You still have ties … So, it’s not like you’re never going back, which was my fear — That I was stuck. Maybe that’s what ails us. We got used to always learning new things and going to new places, trying new foods.” — An Expatriate
The good thing about building again, from the ground up, is that it is possible. Entire nations, razed by war, learned to salvage bricks and make from the shattered stones a new mortar. We’ve certainly not been decimated by violence, rather than by the ever-moving stream of life, of the things that just are — and so it’ll be a simple matter to find a few cords that are familiar, and set ourselves to weaving them again, into making a life. To thoroughly mix metaphors.
It’s funny, but the last five years of our lives are a real issue for not us, but for landlords and banks and people who like to account for who we are and where we’ve been. It was tricky getting started in the UK for the same reason, but we had the excuse that we were students. Now that we’re back… well, who are we? And what do we have to show for our years away?
“It’s surprisingly hard, in a confusing way. And it’s sort of this unseen wound or ache. It’s worse because no one expects it — not you, not your family.
But if it makes anything better, everyone I know who has come back — even just from long-term travel — has experienced something similar. And it takes everyone by surprise. Everyone.” — A Pilgrim
We’ve been kind of through the fire… but someone finally took a chance on us. It took filling out long applications, pulling tax forms, check stubs, and bank statements. It took an act of faith — a real one — for the people who own the house. But, we’ve made the first tentative stab of putting down roots — maybe just shallow ones for now, but roots. We’ve got an address.
Step 1.
-D & T
Liz Gets the Joke
Our buddy in Perth, Scotland, reveals the enormously funny and badly told – joke that she overheard — and finally got — a mere ten years later.
Ach, Scotland, we miss your “poyeums.” And your bizarre sense of humor. And your multiplicity of cows.
Working on trying to get one…
…more tales of good food and news, as it comes…
Turning Leaves
Okay, not really. We got a couple of days of morning fog and some breezy afternoons, but it’s still quite lovely and warm, and we’re at the peak of harvest. That’s as touchy as Autumn gets for early September. Fortunately. We think of our friends who were flooded out in Bridge of Allan, or so hot in Iowa and Ohio — or flooded in the Southeast, and are sympathetic. And grateful for what we have, and even for our circumstances. Better to be safe and dry and at peace – though homeless – than to be otherwise.
Still, there’s a bit of curling to the edge of the leaves, and it’s only dimly light at 6 a.m. — the last of the recalcitrant have finally started school with this week, and the year is beginning to turn. Time for some hard squash.
We usually make this as a Thanksgiving side, but it’s so tasty – and economical, as you use quite a few leftovers – that it’s good to make again and again. We’ve made variations using sausage, sweet potato, and leftover naan as fillers, with a sharp cheese and broth instead of milk, or a variation using the delightfully sweet Delicata instead of butternut squash. This time we used butternut, kale, mushroom, carrots, and creamy curried corn, just to add some variation. (The corn was the leftovers from a big pot of fresh corn chowder made with coconut milk and curry – which we appear to have forgotten to photograph and blog. Oops! The creaminess made itself manifest, and was really, really tasty.)
While we made a large pan, we’re eating it as quickly as possible, since tomorrow we’re embarking on the 21 Day Vegan Kickstart and neither eggs nor feta are on the menu for awhile. The Vegan Kickstart is sponsored by the PCRM – The Physicians Committee for Responsible Medicine. This is a body devoted to providing common sense alternatives to medication and medical care – by caring for oneself at home… which simply means eating well, drinking a lot of water, exercising, and sleeping. Simple cures are the cheapest! And this time, we hope the best. (This kickoff is a great prelude to the Vegan Month of Food<, which is in October; if you’re REALLY TRYING to be healthier, it’s best to start these things with a support group. And, possibly, a chef.)
Meanwhile, we hope you’re enjoying the last gasp of summer, are looking forward to changing temperatures, good books, films, games, and the fine company. We’ve been concentrating on old card games lately, and an eighty-one year old friend is teaching us to play Spite and Malice. There’s something particularly hilarious about a relatively sweet person insisting you must play Spite & Malice with her, but we’re enjoying it. It’s good to drag out the games every once in awhile – after all, there’s more to life than watching other people play.
More dispatches as the week goes on.
Celebrating St. Julia With Faux Crab Cakes
It’s not that the French never eat crab cakes – we daresay that French omnivores do – it’s just that Julia Child never got around to putting them in a cookbook. Never mind; we celebrated what would have been that grand dame’s 100th birthday on the 15th of August by taking chances, making mistakes, and getting messy. (And, if that sounds more like Miss Frizzle than Julia Child, well. They have that same adventurous, crazy lady spirit in common.) We made faux crab cakes, as they’ve been called around the blogosphere, but what we’ve always referred to as veggie latkes.
It’s the perfect time of year for it — there are just tons of zucchini – or courgettes – overrunning the Farmer’s Market on the weekends and perhaps your own home gardens. It’s a summer staple we can count on, dry season or wet, and they’re especially fat and good-looking this year. The recipe is simple, and once you’ve done the first steps, it’s quick – but it’s only, as all recipes are, a guideline. Use up the dry seasonings and possibly less fresh crackers around your house for some tasty variations.
Summer Celebration Veggie Latkes
Allow yourself an hour for this.
- 2 cups coarsely grated zucchini, pattypan, or crookneck squash
- Salt
- 1 cup bread crumbs (we used panko, but you can use crackers or old baguette)
- 1 Egg, beaten
- 2 Green Onions, thinly sliced – use entire scallion
- ¼ cup finely diced sweet red pepper (optional)
- 1 ½ teaspoons Old Bay seasoning
- 1 teaspoon Dijon Mustard
- 1 Tablespoon Mayonnaise (or plain yogurt)
- Juice of ½ Lemon
- a pinch or two of cayenne flakes – or a dash or two of Tabasco
- vegetable oil, for shallow frying – no olive oil, as its smoke-point is low. Try canola, peanut, or sunflower.
(You might notice with aggravation those skosh, smidge, and pinch measurements in our recipes. If, unlike us, you don’t have measuring spoons which use those words ☺ just substitute about an eighth of a teaspoon for these words.)
- IMPORTANT: After grating the zucchini, place it in a colander; sprinkle lightly with salt (NOTE: DO NOT use koshering salt – its fine flakes stick to the veg, and you’ll end up with squash that is WAY TOO SALTY. Can you extrapolate that we know this from experience?), allow to stand for 30 minutes then drain it by dumping it into a towel and twisting it. Squeeze to remove additional liquid – zucchini should be fairly dry – pat it dry, dump it in a bowl, and …
- Heat your oil in your skillet,
- Dump onions, peppers, seasonings, egg, and finally, breadcrumbs into your bowl, and stir to combine. We add the bread crumbs absolutely last, in order to keep them as crisped as possible. Using your hands or an ice cream scoop, form the zucchini into golf-ball sized rounds, and then flatten them.
- Fry both sides until brown. Or, we put them from two-to-five minutes into an oiled waffle iron. We think shallow frying them produced a crispier finish, which was tastier.
There are all manner of sauces people serve with crab cakes – citrus based remoulades (which is just a heavily citrus mayonnaise), lemon-dill sauces, or ranch-style mustardy dressings, but what we enjoyed the most was tzatziki. It’s a light, bright, yogurt-based sauce which refreshes the palette from the sometimes rich and oily latkes (some people use cheese in their latkes, which makes them heavier) and is a quite tasty contrast.
To make a tzatziki, place a container of plain yogurt in a cheesecloth lined colander overnight. This thickens it to a Greek-yogurt style consistency (Or, you can just start with Greek yogurt – but none of that garbage inferior nonfat stuff, please). Peel and finely chop two cucumbers – and then use the same towel-wringing trick to remove some of their excess water – it can make a runny sauce, otherwise. Four cloves of roasted garlic, 1/2 red pepper, finely chopped, 1 small shallot, chopped, four Tbsp. of lemon juice, one Tbsp. of canola oil, 1 Tbsp. finely chopped mint, AND cilantro, 1 Tbsp. sugar, salt to taste — and you’re nearly there. Tzatziki varies from different areas of Greece, no doubt, and this version is hardly authentic. But it was tasty on our inauthentic crab cakes, and you can fiddle with it until it works for you.
Enjoy these last few mouthfuls of summer, and cheers to St. Julia, who reminded us of the joy of cooking.