Food, life

Well Cheesed & Well Pleased

Today is National Grilled Cheese Day and as good fortune would have it, my daughter has the day off.

So we headed to Commonwealth.

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As soon as you walk in the door you know the sandwich is going to be good.

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Ah, there it is: Manchego, Boursin + grilled Halloumi cheeses on ciabatta w/ tomato soup for dipping.

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The ciabatta was perfectly light and fluffy with a thin, crispy outer layer. The cheese combo was brilliant with the nice little kick of the tomato soup.

Upon taking the first bite my daughter exclaimed, “This is the best grilled cheese sandwich I have ever had!”

I’m pleased to say it was one of the best I’ve had, too.  Though I myself have made some darn good grilled cheese sandwiches in my day.

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Sunshine, blossoming trees and grilled cheese.

Happy Day!

#wellpleasedandwellcheesed

 

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faith, family, Food

Kneading Prayers

The sweet potato rolls I make every Thanksgiving require 8 minutes of kneading, which works out perfectly. I knead 1 minute of prayers into the dough for the families of each of my six sisters, a minute for my family and a minute for my mom and her husband.

I’ve been kneading prayers into various doughs ever since Sarah gave me the idea two years ago.

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Tomorrow I’ll spend most of the day making the rolls for a support group that meets weekly at my church.

And though they are strangers, I’ll be kneading 8 minutes of prayers into the dough for them, too.

Friday I get to help serve the Thanksgiving feast.

And meet the eaters of my prayers.

If I have time, I’ll make them a pie, too.

Or maybe these apple blossoms.

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Sweet Potato Rolls

Combine 1/4 c. warm water with 1/4 oz. dry yeast. Let it get foamy.

Scald 1 cup milk in a small saucepan, remove from heat.

Stir in the following:

1/3 cup unsalted butter
1/2 cup sugar
1 1/2 tablespoons coarse salt
1 teaspoon ground cardamom

Let cool slightly.

Place 2 cups roasted, peeled sweet potatoes in the bowl of your stand mixer.

Combine them with 1 teaspoon fresh lemon juice. Beat until smooth.

Then beat in 1 large egg, the milk mixture and the foamed yeast.

Mix in 7 cups of sifted, unbleached all-purpose flour, one cup at a time.

Switch to your dough hook and knead until smooth, about 8 minutes. The dough will be sticky.

Transfer dough to a large oiled bowl. Cover and let stand in a warm place until doubled. (approx. an hour)

Punch dough down and knead again with your hands just until smooth.

Line 2 baking sheets with parchment paper or silpats.

Using a bench scraper cut the dough into 20 equal pieces. I weigh each piece because I’m a spaz and they bake better if they are uniform. Shape each piece into a roll.

Place the rolls on the prepared baking sheets and cover with a towel. Let rise in a warm place until doubled, about 40 minutes.

Heat oven to 400 degrees.

Snip an X in the top of each roll with a pair of kitchen scissors. Brush each one with melted butter.

Bake until tops are brown, about 20 minutes, rotating pans half way through.

Cool on a rack.

I make two batches: a rounder, smaller dinner roll and a larger, slightly flattened roll like the ones in the front of the picture. I use the larger rolls for turkey sandwiches.

You can make the dough the day before, shape it into rolls and put the sheets in the fridge. Take them out of the fridge about 45 minutes before you want to bake them, snip, brush, bake and serve fresh from the oven.

It’s the cardamom that makes them so good.

Bon Appetit.

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Food, Michigan

Michigander

The hub, my shingles and I went up north for a long weekend.

Yep, shingles.

Woke up Wednesday morning with a raised rash on the back of my neck. I couldn’t see it but I could feel it.  Thought maybe I brushed against a poison ivy leaf when I was picking raspberries.  But it wasn’t itchy.

The hub noticed it while I was making dinner, said it was pretty red. It was starting to itch a little.

I wouldn’t normally go to Urgent Care for a red, mildly-itchy rash, but I had been pretty tired and a little off for a couple of days and we were heading out of town in the morning.

I didn’t want to take something contagious with me.

The doc said it was shingles and that it isn’t contagious. I could, however, give chicken pox to anyone who hasn’t had them, but only if they come in direct contact with the rash.

So I packed the antiviral he prescribed, some Benadryl, in case it got really itchy and Motrin in case it started to hurt. Doc said he’d give me Norco if it got real bad.

Norco if it gets real bad?

God, I hope not.

I’ve heard stories, I’ve seen fear-mongering commercials.

We headed north Thursday morning as scheduled. First stop: Harbor Springs.

We walked the pier at twilight. Felt like a date.

Next morning we snubbed the hotel’s complimentary breakfast and went into town in search of something good. No offense to the lovely, hospitable hotel.

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High atop a hill sat Small Batch at the Cupola, with its welcoming porch.

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Oh. Linen tablecloths. This is going to be expensive.

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But the little cow creamer was cute.

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Flash-fried spinach is my new favorite thing.

The hub ordered a Hansel and Gretel Waffle – gingerbread waffle topped with a maple and peach syrup and a cinnamon cream. He gave me a bite. Oh. My.

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I had to snag this photo from their Facebook page to show you because his didn’t last long enough…

After breakfast we headed to Mackinac Island, taking the long, coast-hugging way so we could see the property on which my sister’s retirement dream house will soon be built; the final resting place for her ashes.

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Men arrived and began clearing trees.

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Arriving at the Island never loses its thrill.

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You (meaning me) can’t visit Mackinac Island without saying “hi” to John.

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John is the extraordinary father of my delightful niece, Mary.

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He’s also the Senior Vice President of the Grand Hotel. If you don’t know the Grand, click here. It’s quite special. If you’ve been reading my blog from the start you’ve been there before.

One of these days I’m going to interview John and tell you all about him. In the meantime, this is his bike.

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It’s the coolest thing I’ve seen in a long time.

Many who visit Mackinac Island never venture beyond the town, except to rent bikes and ride around the entire perimeter of the island.

I prefer the interior.

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I like to hike to Arch Rock.

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And check out the view.

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If you know anything about Mackinac Island, you know there are NO motorized vehicles (except an ambulance).

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It’s all horses, feet and bicycles.

After lunch we strolled along the boardwalk, strolled past John’s house.

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Browsed some shops. Bought some fudge.

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And caught the 5:30 ferry back to the mainland. That’s the Mighty Mac in the distance.

The hub wanted to show me something so we took another short detour on the way back to Harbor Springs.

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In a beautiful park-like setting behind a Catholic church in the middle of nowhere waits a magnificent bronze sculpture.

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It weighs 7 tons and is 28 feet tall from head to toe.

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Truly a site to behold. Love the glow of the late-day sun on the tip of the cross.

Back in Harbor Springs we prowled the streets looking for somewhere not-fancy for dinner.

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There was a bar on the corner, down by the water, with a note taped to its door: “Friday Fish Fry $10.99.”

As we stood inside waiting to be seated, the hostess asked if we were there for the fish.  The hub nodded. “I’ll save you one,” she said, “there are only 3 left.”

In the morning I took my complimentary envelope of oatmeal to go as we checked out of the hotel and went forth.

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Early morning coffee in Charlevoix.

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Lunch in Leland.

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I make friends with beagles wherever I go.

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This is Bella. And her mom.

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You (meaning me) can’t be on the Leelanau Peninsula without stopping at Karl’s aka Brisling Pottery.

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Who am I to disobey?

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Treasures in tow, we headed to the hub’s favorite Leelanau wineries.

I lost a round of miniature golf. Only because I’m sick.

And then over to the Mission Peninsula to check into our B & B.

Dinner was pizza at a picnic table at the old State Hospital grounds.

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Those are pickled pears julienned on that pizza. A little tangy and very tasty.

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Yes, we did go back for breakfast the next day. I mean, look at that stuff.

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Rain Man.

The final day of our get-away began with fruit, yogurt, peach and lavender jam on english muffins, pleasant conversation and a goodbye to our B & B hosts.

It was another weather-blessed day so why not head to the tip of the peninsula, to the lighthouse and climb to the top?

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On no-more-than-four-inch steps.

While I climbed and took photos, the hub struck up an over-the-fence conversation with a stranger. It was all about fishing Lake Charlevoix.

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Hey, why not stop at a couple more wineries on the way back down the peninsula?

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The vines were pregnant, ready to deliver.

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Harvest is this week.

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With the warm weather we’ve had, Chateau Chantal says 2016 is going to be a very good year. Keep that in mind when you buy Michigan wine.

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I can’t have any because I seem to have developed an allergy to sulfites.

But you go ahead. I’m going back to the Pleasanton Bakery. Yes, I did already have breakfast. So what?

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Pleasanton Bakery chocolate almond croissant + Higher Grounds brew of the day = good.

Some coffee shops charge $5 for a cafe miel and I pay it. But at Higher Grounds I buy a $2.75 cup of their daily brew and add the honey, cinnamon and cream myself. And it’s really good.

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As you know from a recent post, I love it when old things are re-purposed. That’s why I love the old State Hospital. The old asylum.

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I wonder what this building will be.

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The hub isn’t going to read this post. He’s going to think it’s way too long. But he wanted to show me one more thing as we headed home.

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He ignored the “Private Property, No Tresspassing” signs like he owned the place and drove me through the woods and onto the grounds of the Pere Marquette Rod and Gun Club. He’s been there fly fishing a couple of times with my brother-in-law, Mike. He’s going back again in a couple of weeks. He wanted to show me and that’s okay. I like show and tell.

Stopping for lunch in Clare on the way home is kind of a tradition. A tradition we haven’t kept in several years. Lunch at Bob’s Broasted Chicken in the Saturday Evening Post Bar.

Back when the rooster was white, you could feed a family of four for $20.

Now that he has a new paint job, it’s $14 for 2.

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This photo-bombing patron ought to be in church.

I don’t know if it was the broasted chicken or all the ground we covered, but the rest of the ride home was kinda’ rough.

Might have been a little too much fun for an old gray mare with shingles.

Rainy day today.

 

 

 

 

 

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Food, the friends

Pumpkin Time

I’ve been cooking pumpkins.

I read somewhere that Libby’s actually cans kabocha squash puree, not pumpkin puree, and they get away with it because squash and pumpkins are in the same family. That’s why when you open a can of their puree it is much more orange than the yellowish flesh of the pie pumpkins you cook and puree yourself.

Plus kabocha squash are sometimes called “Japanese pumpkins,” even though kabocha is the Japanese word for squash.

I’ve been cooking pumpkins and “pumpkins” in my crock pot ever since they showed up in the market a couple of weeks ago. I cut up two pie pumpkins, stuck them in the crock pot on low for about six hours – ’til they were nice and soft – and then pureed them.

There is something really satisfying about having two jars of pureed pumpkin in the fridge. To feed the friends.

Two jars of pumpkin only lasts a few days because it is a staple of their diets.

So I cooked a green kabocha. And then I cooked another one.

Raw kabocha squash is REALLY hard to cut. So I didn’t cut it.  I just scrubbed it and stuck the whole thing in the crock.  After three or four hours I cut it in half, scooped out the seeds and put it back in the pot to finish cooking.  I cut the second squash just around the stem once it was soft enough – didn’t even take it out of the crock –  to release some steam.

I was experimenting to see how lazy I can get away with being.  Really lazy, as it turns out.

Alas, my stash is running low.

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So today I put a red kabocha in the pot.

The market had it labeled a red kuri, but I think they’re wrong.

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It has the squat shape and the creamy striping of a red kabocha.

The red are supposed to be sweeter than the green variety, so good.

Because my friends have not been the only beneficiaries of all this fiber and vitamin A.

I stirred some of the pie pumpkin into my pasta sauce last week.

I made “pumpkin” (kabocha), chocolate chip cookies late, late Friday night – even though I had to be up at 5:30 Saturday morning for a meeting. When you gotta’ have ’em, you gotta’ have ’em.

Annnnnd I made pumpkin pancakes this morning.

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Mix 1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour (150 grams), 2 Tbsp. sugar, 2 tsp. baking powder, 1 tsp. cinnamon, 1 tsp. ginger, about 40 scrapes of a nutmeg against a grater and 1/2 tsp. salt in a large bowl.

In a smaller bowl whisk together 1 egg, 2 Tbsp. melted butter, 4 ounces lowfat kefir, 4 ounces milk (I used fat-free) and 6 Tbsp. HOMEMADE kabocha squash puree. Whisk in some smugness if you want.

They were delicious.

“Absolutely delicious,” according to our guest visiting from Toronto.

Speaking of pumpkins, we took this little pumpkin eater and her brother on an outing this gorgeous almost-autumn day.

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She spotted a leaf floating in the lake and apparently thought it was alive because she kept licking her lips. She was so determined she had to be carried off the pier.

She was like me and those pumpkin cookies…

Tomorrow I’m writing about God.

#passionateaboutrealfood

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Food, Jesus, Michigan

Sparkle and Roar & a February Fix

Sundresses, cotton skirts, khakis, good jeans and tidy shorts were streaming toward the Tabernacle. Our casual beach clothes were swimming against the current, heading for the beach.

“I’m starting to feel kinda’ like a heathen,” I whispered.

“I’m not,” she replied with confidence.

“It’s not so much that I feel like a heathen,” I corrected, “it’s more that I kinda’ feel like they might think I’m a heathen.”

“And I feel like I’m dissing my people by walking right past them.”

“Why?,” she asked. “You don’t care about ‘dissing your people’ any other Sunday.”

True, I thought, funny how I consider fellow Christians “my people” when I don’t know them, when I’m out of town.  They look so much shinier and friendlier as strangers. I think I just like the Christians I don’t know better than I like the Christians I do know.

“Maybe it’s not the people, maybe it’s the music, the call to worship. We’re walking right past the call to worship.”

“God is calling me to the beach,” she said with certainty as she steered me toward the path that leads to the lake.

In order to get on the path you have to walk right alongside the Tabernacle, with its open windows and full pews and wafting music.

The walk of shame.

“Must have been an intentional design,” I said, “back when the church was that way: ‘Sure you can go to the beach instead of to worship, but we see you. And we’re praying for you.’”

“Good, they can pray for me,” she quipped, “I’m going to go be dazzled by God.”

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And we were.

I recorded the surf for about five minutes. For a February fix, when it’s -2 degrees Fahrenheit.

Here, you can have 35 seconds of it, in case you need it in February, too.

The sparkle and roar of the waves is as much a call to worship as any man-made song. I love the way the waves hit the beach and then scurry sideways along the shore.

After I made my movie,  I thumbed through a couple of books. My daughter, Stephanie, and I were away for the weekend on a personal retreat. The retreat center had a library, which was great because I forgot to pack something to read. If there had been WiFi or a decent cell signal, I would have read you, my blogging friends, but, alas, I borrowed a biography on Hudson Taylor and one on George Sweeting.

“Never suppress a generous impulse.” – George Sweeting

Every waitress and barista we encountered for the rest of the weekend benefited from that quote.

So did the panhandler and the street musician we encountered on Monday. Except it kind of bugged me afterward that I gave the same amount to both. I should have given the musician more. He, after all, was contributing something beautiful to my day.

We encountered a panhandler on Saturday, too, and I didn’t give him a dime. 1) I hadn’t yet been inspired by George 2) I felt no impulse toward generosity 3) He annoyed me.

I probably would have given him a dollar if he had just simply asked me to help him out. But he gave a long, annoying tale of woe about being from Chicago and being left by his buddies and it costs $15 for the megabus and his buddies were arrested in their hotel room and his story went on and on and changed as it went.

If we had been a scene in a movie, I would have held up my hand to stop him and said, “No, ‘cuz I’m not liking your vibe.”

But in real life I’m nicer so I just listened and nodded and, when he was finally finished, said, “Maybe I’ll have some change on the way back.” Knowing I wasn’t going that way back.

In real life I can be a tiny bit of a liar.

After spending the morning on the beach, we headed to town for lunch.

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lunch with legends

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Can you identify all four?

After lunch Steph ducked into a public restroom before our long walk through town, along the canal and out to the end of the pier.

She returned with a story:

Senior Lady 1: “I’m so glad I brought that chair with me, it puts NO pressure on your body.”

Senior Lady 2: “Oh yeah, when we walked over to the other bathrooms we saw those chairs everywhere.”

Senior Lady 1: “I didn’t want to be rude to Mary, but they only hold up to 250 pounds.”

Senior Lady 2: “She shouldn’t buy one.”

Restroom fell quiet for a minute.

All of a sudden one of the senior ladies started singing “Blessed Assurance” to herself in the stall.

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The pier at sunset on Saturday.

Sunday night we watched The Joy Luck Club on my laptop because there are no tvs on a personal retreat. I’m going to have to read the book now because I have unanswered questions.

I wondered whether there is some thing I should tell my daughter, something that will free her, show her her worth.

But I couldn’t think of anything.

It was beautiful in Grand Rapids on Saturday.

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That’s my lemongrass, rose, holy basil iced tea third seat from the left.

But it was really hot and steamy on Monday.

We thought it would be a little cooler along the river.

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It wasn’t.

We got coffee as soon as we arrived in GR Monday, right after putting our names in at our beloved Wolfgang’s.

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I don’t like coffee shops or restaurants that are new and shiny.

I like coffee shops and restaurants that are old and re-purposed.

And good.

There are so many good restaurants and coffee shops in Grand Rapids. Especially in Eastown.

If they ever re-purpose a bank or some other cool old building into a boutique hotel, we’re staying there. We’re going to park ourselves in Eastown for a whole weekend and merrily eat and drink coffee.

Back home now listening to the rumble of thunder in the distance and the soothing sounds of my sleeping beagle right next to me.

Hopefully the coming rain will cool things off a bit.

Life is good.

P.S. If you find yourself in western Michigan:

The Electric Cheetah

Madcap Coffee Company

Snug Harbor

Electric Hero

Hearthstone

The Sparrows Coffee, Tea & Newstand

Wolfgang’s

 

itsparklesmorethantwinkles

 

 

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Food

Please Roast Some Garlic.

Pasta could be considered a vice, I suppose, if you start looking forward to lunch tomorrow even before you finish dinner today. Like I did yesterday.

A jar of soft, sweet garlic was calling to me from the top shelf of my fridge. It had been there since last week, when I roasted way more garlic than I needed. It was demanding to be transformed into deliciousness.

So I complied.

I minced a large shallot and then pulled the jar of garlic and a small bowl of minced sweet onion – leftover from Sunday night’s dinner – out of the fridge.

I boiled a pound of spaghetti. Easy enough. Make sure you dump in at least 2 TBSP of salt once the water starts boiling.

While the pasta was boiling, I grated a big pile of parmigiano reggiano.

When the spaghetti was cooked, I dumped it into a colander and then used the same pan to make the sauce. ‘Cuz who wants to wash more pans than is absolutely necessary?

I dumped a hunk of butter – about 3 TBSP worth – into the pan with some good olive oil – about 2-3 more TBSP worth.

I used unsalted Kerrygold butter made from grass-fed cows. I like to imagine that all cows in Ireland are fed nothing but grass and that none of them are given unnecessary antibiotics and growth hormones. I like to imagine that Kerrygold Irish butter is made in Ireland.

When I was done imagining I dumped in the shallot, the onion and the garlic – mashing the soft garlic into a paste with the wooden spoon as I stirred.

Hmmm, lots of dumping was going on. That’s okay.

Next I sprinkled in some salt and pepper. I used my fancy/shmancy light gray Celtic sea salt, just FYI. Then I gave it a light dusting of cayenne pepper.  Just a LIGHT dusting.

As soon as the shallot, onion and garlic were a nice caramelized brown, I dumped in the cooked pasta and folded until it was completely coated with garlicky goodness.

That’s it.

The hub and I piled it on our plates (the daughter doesn’t like pasta but who cares?, she wasn’t home).

Then we topped it with the parm regg.

Oh My Goodness. It smells and it tastes sooo good.

I went for seconds. I wanted to eat the whole pan of it except I knew I’d be sick if I did.  That’s when I started looking forward to the leftovers for lunch.

I awoke looking forward to them.

I’m eating them right now, as I type.

I probably shouldn’t have heated up ALL that was left, and I probably shouldn’t have dumped it ALL on my plate, but I did.

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I also shouldn’t have snapped a pic of such a plain-looking dish.

Fortunately, I picked more basil than I needed the other day and behold – emergency dried out basil leaves right there on my counter!

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There, that’s a little better.

This is a seriously delicious dish. A SERIOUSLY delicious dish.

Really, go roast some garlic!

Meanwhile I’ll be looking forward to tomorrow’s lunch, when I’ll enjoy the leftover leftovers because I REALLY shouldn’t have dumped it ALL on my plate.

#gluttony

 

 

 

 

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Food

Light lemon-lavender blueberry scones

I was in the front yard gathering hazelnuts – or was I in the backyard on a treasure hunt? (you dog owners know what I mean) It doesn’t matter, I was out in the yard picking up something or other when I had a thought – which may or may not have been profound.

I was thinking that maybe I should have parlayed my brains into considerable cash rather than taking the path of ministry.

‘Cuz Facebook is full of fabulous pics of fabulous trips. And it might be nice to have a lot of dough.

But then I started remembering Moses.

And how his feet stood atop a high mountain here on earth AFTER he was dead and gone.

Remember the pow-wow he and Elijah had with Jesus?

Scripture doesn’t name the high mountain, but most scholars think it was Mt. Tabor in Israel.

In the promised land.

Moses, as you will recall, was not allowed to enter the promised land while he was alive because of a breach in attitude. But AFTER he was a resident of heaven, he stood right there on Mt. Tabor, IN the promised land.

Because God is cool that way.

So I’m thinking that even if I never have enough dough to take a fab vacay, my glorified feet WILL stand on The Emerald Isle.  In the land of my people.

Or anywhere else they want to stand.

I don’t think I’ll miss out on anything by choosing a low-paying life of ministry.

‘Cuz I think God is going to turn out to be way cooler than any of us bargained and saved and worked all our lives for.

I trimmed my raspberry bushes way back so I’ll have a bountiful second harvest in the fall.

Then I gathered more hazelnuts.  ‘Cuz my gorgeous hazel rains nuts all day long.

After working hard in the yard – kinda’ hard, it’s hot – I didn’t feel like working hard in the house.

So I made scones instead.

I’ll walk you through the recipe in case you want to make them, too.

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Wash and dry 1 cup of blueberries and then stick them in your freezer.  Why? I don’t know. I read somewhere that you should so I do.

Preheat your oven. 400 degrees for a conventional oven, 375 degrees for a convection oven.

Put the mixer’s bowl on your kitchen scale and dump 240 grams of all purpose flour into it.  It’s a lot easier than measuring.

Don’t have a kitchen scale?  Get one.  And just for today measure out two cups of flour.

Add 1 TBSP baking powder, 1 tsp kosher salt and 1/2 cup lemon-lavender sugar.

Don’t have lemon-lavender sugar? Make some. And just for today use plain sugar.

Mix well.

Cut 4 oz. (1 stick) of cold, unsalted butter into tiny cubes and add them to the dry ingredients.  Mix well on low.

Whisk 1 large egg and 4 oz. (half cup) heavy cream together.  While mixer is still on low, add the cream/egg mixture until just combined.  Don’t overwork the dough.

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Dump in the blueberries.  Fold them in gently with your clean hands to keep the blueberries from breaking.

Form into a rectangle.  Cut into 8 triangles. Try to separate them a little.

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Pour a little more cream into the bowl you used to whisk the eggs and cream and brush it on the scones.

Sprinkle with more lemon-lavender sugar.

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See all the bits of lemon and lavender in there?

Bake for 20-25 minutes.

When the hub comes home he’ll say something smells really good.

Then he’ll ask what’s in the oven.

You’ll say “blueberry scones” and he’ll say, “yay!”

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While you’re finishing your post he’ll have one and say, “I’m going to eat five of these for dinner.”

Which is good, ‘cuz you worked too hard in kitchen to cook.

#profound

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