Welcome Home

One of the things I try to do is to surround myself with warmth and beauty.  I love our home.  I have carefully chosen colors and furnishings that soothe my soul.  I want my home to be a haven.  This morning I was looking for a recipe and grabbed one of Ina Garten's books.  I never just head to the index.  I peruse.  Here is what she wrote about her home...

"A good home should gather you up in its arms like a warm cashmere blanket, soothe your hurt feelings, and prepare you to go back out into that big bad world tomorrow all ready to fight the dragons. I want my house to feel serene and beautiful, like the way you feel when you get into a bed piled high with down pillows: you're safe"

Ina Garten and I are sisters under the skin, perhaps cooking and decorating twins separated at birth.  I love her calm manner and the soft, slow cadence of her speech.  If you have never seen her, there are videos on Youtube.  One of the things I do to soothe myself is to give myself a fresh cut flower allowance monthly.  I allow myself 40$ per month.  I'm not the type of person that seeks change.  I like what I like for the reasons I like it and I stick with it.  I also don't like mixing things together.  I don't ever buy bunches of mixed flowers.  I find it all distracting and overwhelming to my sense of sight and smell.  This relates to my fresh flower allowance in that in the winter I buy gladiolas, usually white or if I can find them, a deep crimson (never mixed together) and in the summer, Alstroemelia, again either white or a deep crimson.  A few weeks ago I was forced to go with yellow and it sort of jarred my little personal planet in its orbit.  I survived.  Both the glads and the Alstroemelia last for almost 2 weeks.  Each costs ten dollars for three bunches.  I put them in my favorite vase, a huge heavy rolled rim glass vase from Pottery Barn.  The vase is 18 inches high and with the flowers in now it is 33 inches high, a real eye catcher.

This morning I took my little camera and wandered the yard.  I wanted to share with you the things outside my home that bring me joy and serenity.  I've carefully chosen and tended each of them.  My proudest achievement is growing Hydrangeas here in tropical southeastern Florida.  They are not supposed to survive  here.  I have worked very hard to figure out what they need to survive here and think I've got it.  They live under a stand of small palm trees protected from direct sun, receiving only shafts of filtered sunlight.  They remind me of my Grandmother.  Right now the humidity and heat loving tropical plants are just glorious...take a look.  We live in  a golf community of smallish yards.  I think if one loves plants, a garden can be made lovely anywhere. 

A Lamb Tale...

 

 

Anyone who has ever read me or knows me in the flesh world, knows that I am married to an Englishman.  I mean, I whine about it a lot.  I adore my husband, don't get me wrong.  I don't whine about him the person (well, yes OK, I do, but we're not going there in this little narrative), I sometimes whine about his "Englishness."  Listen up Americans, we're not like them.  As much as you would like to think we are, we are not.  And furthermore, we do not even really share a common language with a different accent.  We do not say "whilst" or "Hark! Did you hear that sound?" or even "Stop giving me "agro."  Also, culturally, we're really different.  Just look at our huge bruhaha over a national healthcare plan.  That should be your first clue.  We won't discuss guns or capital punishment.  Of course to good ol' liberal Me, the  English ideas about these issues are the right ideas.  All this being said, this little tale (tail) isn't about the esoteric, but rather the mundane, a bonless, rolled leg of lamb available at any Costco store nationwide. (Ignore the dates on the package, some of these are photos I took last Easter)

We were at Costco last Thursday.  As usual I was lollygagging along at the meat counter dreaming of recipes yet unmade.  Husband flitted over and said, "Oh, can  we get a leg of lamb?  I fancy (see?...some more real English venacular) some lamb."  I said, "But of course, My Darling" or something to that effect.  Maybe I said, "Oh, OK, but if you get lamb, I'm buying that big box of frozen enchiladas you never want me to have, deal?"  So we got the lamb AND the enchiladas.  Yay Me for knowing how to negotiate.  Donald Trump should invite me to be on The Apprentice tv show.  I had a lamb plan.

 

Usually lamb at our house is regular roast lamb.  We have it with roasted potatoes and vegetables and sometimes Yorkshire puddings.  It's all veddy veddy English.  It's always good, but rather ummmmmm, meaning no offense here, English...plain.  Yes, that's it.  Tasty but plain.  If the English style roast leg of lamb could sing, it would croon a rendition of "There'll be Blue Birds over the white cliffs of Dover."  I want my leg of lamb to belt out "Jerimiah was a bullfrog."

 

While channel surfing, I had recently come across an episode of  that Food Network madman, Guy Fieri.  He's the kind of guy I would have dated in my younger days.  Do you know of him?  If not and you're an American with cable television, catch his show.  It's great entertainment and he features some fantastic recipes.  This particular episode featured Tandoori-style lamb done on the bar-b-que grill.  My ears perked up.  as I watched him prepare the dish I was enthralled.  As much as I love roasted lamb and potatoes English-style with all the trimmings, I began metally kissing those Yorkshire puddings and rich gravy good-bye.  I was scheming how I could don my imaginary Bedouin outfit and sneak this tandoori lamb recipe into my repetoire of cooking tricks.  Our trip to Costco and husband's plaintive request for the leg of lamb, unbeknownst to him, provided the impetus for my nefarious  Tandoori-style grilled lamb escapade.  I was giddy with the pure joy of executing the plan.

 

The plan began with me making the marinade.  It was easy to make and I had all of the ingredients called for, including plain Greek yogurt.  I did change the recipe around a bit.  Fieri's recipe calls for whole cumin seeds and whole coriander seeds that are smoked and  then ground in  a processor.  I had jars of ground cumin and ground coriander so I smoked that.  I mean, why cause extra work for oneself just to feel like a gourmet chef, right? 

 

Once I had the marinade made, I called husband in to help me with the lamb.  Usually, when I make a boneless leg of lamb, I have husband un-net it.  I lay it flat and slather it by hand with a mixture of olive oil, rosemary, salt and pepper made into a paste.  Then, I re-roll the lamb and husband, using both hands, stretches the netting open (It's elasticized) and we work cooperatively to stuff the leg of lamb back into the netting.  It's somewhat like trying to help a fat lady into a girdle, lots of huffing and puffing, but we get it done.  So husband comes in  a undoes the lamb's netting/girdle. 

 

I say, "OK, lay the lamb out and make some slits in it with the knife going into the middle but not through."

 

I see him start to squint his eyes a little, but he does it. 

 

I hand him a two gallon ziplock bag and say, "Lay the lamb flat in here."

 

I grab the bowl of marinade from the refrigerator and say, "Dump the marinade in the bag and......."

 

At this very point, my husband turns into someone I have never known.  Wait, I take that back.  At this point my husband turns into my ex-husband and I remember why we divorced.  My very gentle, sweet English husband begins screaming at me...

 

"I am NOT putting that mess on this perfectly good lamb.!"  "What are you doing with my lamb?"

 

He starts trying  to pull the lamb from the bag.  I did not know who this man wearing my husband's face was.

 

I am not English.  I am very American.  Therefore,  I always operate under the premise that a good offense is the best defense.  I begin screaming back at husband,

 

"First of all, it's not YOUR lamb.  It's our lamb.  Secondly, I am one of the few wives we know who cooks every single night.  Thirdly, I try so hard to make you meals that are interesting and flavorful and I read cookbooks like other women read People Magazine.  You eat four things, roast lamb with roast potatoes, roast chicken with roast potatoes, shepherd's pie and bangers and mash and I am sick to death of those damn french-cut frozen green beans you like.  I try so hard.  I slave away for you.  You appreciate nothing I cook."  

 

 I was running out of steam and things to scream at this point so I closed with "And, if you think that dog likes you better, well, you're just  wrong, wrong wrong.  Get out of MY kitchen!!!!!"

 

Husband stomps out and I finish the lamb myself.  I make sure that I am sniffling very loudly and muttering to myself about how hard I try to please my husband even with my bad hands, how he has no palate for the finer things in life gastronomically-speaking and so on and so forth.  I start washing up the dishes, sniffling into the dishwater.  Husband slinks into the kitchen, turns me around, hugs me and makes this huge apology.  My husband seldom apologizes so this really was score one for the Gipper for me.  I squeezed a couple of more tears out (it took every ounce of my dramatic ability to do this) and forgave him. 

 

In reality, I could give two hoots if husband liked the recipe.  I wanted to try it and if he ate it, good for him.  If not, oh well, he could always make himself a cheese and Branston pickle sandwich.  It was the principle of him acting like he was in charge of that lamb that rankled me.  I am the chef and he's the sous chef and it's as simple as that.

 

I let the lamb sit in that marinade for two days in the refrigerator.  We were having a friend whose wife was out of town for dinner friday night.  I served the lamb.  I started with iceberg lettuce wedge with blue cheese and bacon bits.  We had zucchini and yellow squash sautee'd in a bit of oil, the onions grilled with the lamb and home-made peach cobbler (Yes! I am still using up those Costco peaches!)for dessert.  I did not make a starch.  Everything was so flavorful that it was unnecessary.  We didn't miss potatoes or rice.

 

Both husband and our guest raved about the lamb.  It was delicious and absolutely the most tender lamb I've ever eaten.  The lamb was not spicy.  The flavors were very very subtle.

 

Grilled Tandoori Lamb

 

Ingredients:

 

• 1 tablespoon whole coriander seeds ( I used coriander powder and upped it to 3 TBS)
• 1 tablespoon whole cumin seeds (I used cumin powder and upped it to 3 TBS)
• 3 cups plain yogurt
• 1 lime, zested and juiced
• 2 tablespoons paprika
• 2 teaspoons ground ginger
• 1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
• 1 teaspoon turmeric
• 1/2 teaspoon cayenne pepper
• 1 tablespoon sugar
• 1 tablespoon coarse kosher salt (I used French fleur de sel)
• 1 tablespoon freshly ground black pepper
• 1 (4-pound) boneless lamb shoulder, butterflied
• 3 tablespoons chopped garlic
• 2 onions, peeled and quartered with root end attached (I used 4)

Method:

 Toast the coriander and the cumin in a saute pan over medium heat until the spices become fragrant and just begin to smoke, 2 minutes. Set the spices aside to cool.

Combine the yogurt, lime, cumin, coriander, paprika, ginger, cinnamon, turmeric, cayenne, sugar, salt, and pepper in a medium bowl.

 

Poke the lamb several times with a fork (I made slits and hand rubbed the marinade in) and place in a large resealable plastic bag with the garlic and the onions and pour in the yogurt mixture. Move the lamb around in the bag to coat completely and place in the refrigerator to marinate for 4 to 6 hours.(I did the 2 days in the refrigerator and when I removed the lamb, there was very little marinade left in the bag.  The meat had absorbed most of it). 

Remove the lamb and the onions from the marinade and let sit at room temperature for about 20 minutes. Discard the marinade. Heat the grill to high, sear all sides of the lamb and adjust grill to indirect heat, about 350 degrees F. Grill the lamb for about 45 minutes per side for medium. When the lamb is cooked, remove it to a platter to rest for 15 minutes before cutting. **

** our grill is a big infared grill.  I turned on all four burners to start.  After searing the meat, I turned off the two center burners and had to turn the two remaining lit burners to medium-low to keep the grill temperatire at 350 degrees.  My lamb took 40 minutes (maybe a little less) per side.  It was a nice pink color in the middle and a bit more well done at the thinner ends.

Add the onions to the grill and cook until caramelized and tender, about 10 minutes. I did this while the meat rested.  Remove the onions from the grill and serve with the lamb.

  

 

  

The Help - A Book Review

 

I am reading the book reviewed below.  It contains some of the most richly written dialogue I have ever read.  I see each and every character and conversation taking place as if I am watching a movie.  I can see it as a movie casted with Jennifer Hudson, Angela Bassett, Kate Blanchett and Julia Roberts.

I haven't finished the book yet, but from page 1 I knew it was a winner.  I do not consider it Chick Lit either.  I don't usually read that.  I wish  I could write like Stockett.

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Book Review: The Help by Kathryn Stockett Posted on February 9, 2009 by Rebecca @ The Book Lady's Blog Set for publication February 10, 2009 from Amy Einhorn Books (a division of Penguin)

Kathryn Stockett’s phenomenal debut novel The Help, set in Jackson, Mississippi in 1962, is told from the perspectives of three very different women. Eugenia “Skeeter” Phelan is fresh out of college and back at her parents’ home in Jackson, Mississippi. Her dream is to become a writer. Her mother’s dream is for her to find a well-to-do Southern boy from a good family with a healthy trust fund and get married. Bored with her friends and frustrated by the way they talk to and about their maids—the help—Skeeter dreams up an idea that could change life in Jackson for the better, but it is quite a dangerous proposition. Aibileen Clark is a fifty-something black woman who works as a maid for Elizabeth Leefolt, one of Skeeter’s close friends. Aibileen has spent her life raising other people’s children and is still mourning her son Treelore, who died in a horrible accident three years ago. Aibileen is stoic and strong, and she knows her place, but she understands what the ladies she works for are really all about.

" Only three things them ladies talk about: they kids, they clothes, and they friends. I hear the word Kennedy, I know they ain’t discussing no politic. They talking about what Miss Jackie done wore on the tee-vee"

. Aibileen views Mrs. Leefolt and her friends as superficial and sadly disconnected from their children’s lives. She does her best to treat the children with kindness and to teach them, albeit secretly, that color should not matter. But she overhears the ladies’ conversations—lately, they focus on the need for separate restrooms for “coloreds”—and she knows that color still does make a difference. And it’s a very big difference. After a social gathering at the Leefolts’ home, Skeeter stops to say hello to Aibileen and asks her if she’s really okay with the way things are, or if she wants things to change. Taken aback, Aibileen responds that things are all right, but she can’t stop thinking about Skeeter’s question. At first, she thinks it’s an impossible suggestion. \

"Miss Skeeter asking don’t I want to change things, like changing Jackson, Mississippi, gone be like changing a lightbulb."

But as Aibileen reflects on the women in her life—other strong black women who work hard only to be treated like dogs—she begins to change her mind. I think about all my friends, what they done for me. What they do for the white women they waiting on…And all of it roll on top of me. I close my eyes, say the Lord’s prayer to myself. But it don’t make me feel any better. Law help me, but something’s gone have to be done. As Aibileen warms up to the idea that change just might be possible, Skeeter hits on what she believes is a great way to launch her career as a writer. Reflecting on her affection for Constantine, the maid who raised her, and increasingly agitated by her friends’ insistence on supporting segregation, Skeeter decides that it’s about time someone told the other side of the story. She asks Aibileen to tell her the truth about working for white women. It takes some time, but Aibileen gets on board with the project and feels so freed by writing her own story that she sets out to recruit her friends to the project. Aibileen and Skeeter have a difficult time finding women who are willing to talk openly about their experiences because so much is at stake. If they are found out, the black women’s jobs–and even their lives—will be in jeopardy, and Skeeter risks losing her friends and her career before it even gets off the ground. Finally, Aibileen’s friend Minny, the third narrator of The Help, agrees to participate despite her resistance and fear. Minny tells us she couldn’t pass up the opportunity because It’s something about that word truth.

"I’ve been trying to tell white women the truth about working for them since I was fourteen years old."

And later: "Truth. It feels cool, like water washing over my sticky-hot body. Cooling a heat that’s been burning me up all my life."

Not one to keep her mouth shut, Minny, who is much closer to Skeeter’s age than Aibileen’s, has been fired from more jobs than she can count. When we meet her, she is embroiled in an all-out battle with Skeeter’s close friend Hilly Holbrook, who just happens to be heading up a movement encouraging whites to build separate bathrooms in their homes for their colored help. Minny isn’t the only one who has a problem with Hilly, and the drama surrounding Hilly’s constant agitation and posturing are a key focus of the action in this novel. Skeeter, Aibileen, and Minny are an unlikely trio, but their work on the project unites them under a common cause and proves to them that women can connect with each other regardless of their color. As they collect stories from more and more women, Skeeter, Aibileen, and Minny are deeply affected by what they hear. For Skeeter:

"These things I know already, yet hearing them from colored mouths, it is as if I am hearing them for the first time."

Though telling her stories is often painful, Minny discovers I like telling my stories. It feels like I’m doing something about it. And she begins to think about the possibilities of freedom—from racial segregation and from her abusive husband—in a way she never has before.

"Who knows what I could become, if Leroy would stop goddamn hitting me."

The women undertake this project with the hope that the book will be published and will instigate change in Jackson and throughout the country. Regardless of the results (which I won’t spoil here), the process of sharing their stories and the journey they take together is more than enough. Skeeter, Aibileen, and Minny come to understand that the point of the book was For women to realize, we are just two people. Not that much separates us. Not nearly as much as I’d thought. Along the way, we get to know the women that Aibileen, Minny, and their friends work for, and we understand these women through their maids’ eyes and from Skeeter’s perspective of them as her peers and former friends. We also see the melodrama of Skeeter’s interactions with Hilly Holbrook and her society friends, her frustrating relationship with her mother, and her forays into dating. We see Aibileen and Minny in their formal clothes at work and in their comfortable living rooms at home, where they let their hair down and support each other like women friends do. Kathryn Stockett paints a full and vivid picture of life in a small Southern town that is just on the cusp of civil rights and great change and is caught up in all of the controversy and heat that go with it. She succeeds in giving Aibileen and Minny realistic black Southern voices that the reader can just almost hear. Stockett peoples her small town with characters that we come to know and feel we’d be able to recognize if we passed them on the street. The types are familiar—all of us know a Hilly Holbrook and a Celia Foote—but the individuals unique. The Help is addictively, compulsively readable. I couldn’t put it down. Stockett’s debut is well-written, and it is clear that she really understands Southern life and has made great efforts to understand what life was like for black women who served white families. She presents sad stories that leave a great glimmer of hope, and though she examines our differences and our mistakes, she highlights our humanity to wonderful effect. And while this is a serious book, it also has wonderfully lighthearted moments, humorous moments, and strikingly funny insights into women and their behavior. I loved this book and can’t recommend it highly enough. This is a wonderful first novel that hints at the promise of a very bright career. 5 out of 5.

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Peach Cake - I've Returned and Brought You a Present

I apologize for leaving you and for neglecting this poor little blog of mine.  I just haven't felt up to the task.  I'm forcing mysel to write again.

I'm not feeling great...very tired, very weak.  I'm waiting for the infusions to start.  My ten percent co-pay for the first round is over two thousand dollars...so, you see that's twenty thousand total just for the start.  It's ridiculous.  I pay six thousand per year for my health insurance coverage, almost all for my prescriptions and now I'm restarting this infusion stuff.  I really wish I could just die and get it over with.  The people who don't want a national healthcare have never had an expensive illness.  You can't see me. my hands, my struggles etc.; I'm a mess and sometimes it's all quite exhausting.  I thank whomever or whatever being in charge that the mind is the last to go.

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Husband came home with peaches, gorgeous peaches.  A whole lot of gorgeous peaches.  I needed comfort food.  Just yesterday my Gourmet magazine came and I was perusing this morning.  For the past forty years my mother tried to recreate my grandmother's apple cake.  She never got it quite right.  Hers was always dry and tough.  I saw a recipe in Gourmet for a simple nectarine cake.  I don't know why, but as soon as I read the recipe and looked at the magazine photo I "knew" it was the apple cake recipe, but with nectarines.

Husband peeled and sliced the peaches for me.  I've saved the stone.  When I was a llittle girl, my grandfather would carve a little handled basket out of the peach stone and I'd wear it on a string around my neck.

This cake is very very simple to make.  It is THE cake my grandmother made.  Any fruit will do I am sure.  I cried when I ate the first bite.  I have no grandmother.  I have no mother.  I baked the cake to comfort myself.  We had no dinner...just the cake.  A simple comfort needs to stand alone.  I love my husband.

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Nectarine Golden Cake

Serves8

• Active time:15 min
• Start to finish:1 1/2 hr

September 2009

The nectarine, a subspecies of peach, generally has a sharper, more intense taste. The homey yellow cake here is studded with wedges of them, their summery, sunshiny essence set off by a trace of nutmeg. It’s buttery and flavorful yet not too rich; a sprinkle of sugar on top gives it just enough crustiness to hold up a dollop of softly whipped cream, but it’s delicious stark naked as well. View more of our favorite recipes from this issue.

• 1 cup all-purpose flour
• 2 teaspoons baking powder
• Rounded 1/4 teaspoon salt
• 1 stick unsalted butter, softened
• 3/4 cup plus 1/2 tablespoon sugar, divided
• 2 large eggs
• 1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
• 1/8 teaspoon pure almond extract
• 2 nectarines, pitted and cut into 1/2-inch-thick wedges  (I used 2 very very large peaches)
• 1/2 teaspoon grated nutmeg

• Equipment:

  a 9-inch springform pan

• Preheat oven to 350°F with rack in middle. Lightly butter springform pan. (Use butter!!!! It's not going to kill you and is what gives the wonderful tast to the batter and fruit)
• Whisk together flour, baking powder, and salt.
• Beat butter and 3/4 cup sugar with an electric mixer until pale and fluffy. Add eggs 1 at a time, beating well after each addition, then beat in extracts. At low speed, mix in flour mixture until just combined.
• Spread batter evenly in pan, then scatter nectarines over top. Stir together nutmeg and remaining 1/2 Tbsp sugar (OK, I upped the vanilla and the almond extract AND I really upped the sugar/nutmeg mixture...1/4 cup sugar and 1 Tablespoon nutmeg) and sprinkle over top. Bake until cake is golden-brown and top is firm but tender when lightly touched (cake will rise over fruit), 45 to 50 minutes. Cool in pan 10 minutes. Remove side of pan and cool to warm

** Note to UK readers.  Unlike most Americans, I have a convection oven (fan oven to you).  I can never bake again in a regular oven.  It's barbaric.  My stove automatically will convert standard bake time and temperature to convection/fan temperatures.  For this cake it baked at 300 degrees (150C, gas mark 2 to you Brits et al) for 43 minutes.

Curry Chicken Salad with Free Joke

Joke: Why did the Buddhist rotisserie chicken quit crossing the road?

Answer: So she wouldn't have to keep being reincarnated as a new dish/recipe at Dana's house

Yuck, Yuck, Yuck...OK, not so funny, but I just made it up and humor isn't my forte'.

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I was determined to use every last bit of that chicken.  About three years ago I had a wonderful Curry Chicken Salad at the Norton Museum of Art restaurant.  I tried making it once, but couldn't quite nail it.  Today though...well,  today was a home run.  I used what I had on hand.  Be creative when you try this.  The salad at the Norton had grapes and almonds.  I had dried apricots and cashews.  Recipe follows: (ALL MEASURES ARE APPROXIMATE)

 Curry Chicken Salad

2 cups diced chicken

3/4 cup diced onion

2 stalks diced celery

1/2 cup chopped cashews

3/4 cup diced dried apricots

1/3 cup chopped fresh parsely

2T curry powder*

1T cumin

salt

freshly ground pepper

3/4 cup sour cream OR plain yogurt OR yuck, but if you like it, ok...a high quality mayonnaise like Dukes

*my advice is to start with lesser amounts of spices, sour cream etc and keep tasting until your taste buds start doing the happy dance...you can always add more seasoning if needed, but you can't remove it once added.

**this version is soo good it's a sacrilege to overpower it with bread.  We ate it naked (the chicken salad, not us...those days are long gone) accompanied by multi-grain crackers...wonderful!