For Those Unfamiliar with the Pleasure of Chinese Pastry

Chinese Pastries 

As a follow-up to the Chinese New Year post (oh and happy Tibetan New Year today!) I thought I'd share some items from the new Chinese pastry shop in Teale Square in Somerville. Queen's Cafe is definitely still trying to figure out its niche in this Tufts student/working class neighborhood, but I love going in to see what surprises lurk within. The owner, Jean, always has wonderful, fresh Chinese pastry which she purchases in Chinatown each morning and then sells in the shop. In the photo, on the lower shelf on the far right in a little pie shape are the egg tarts, which are basically custard in a flaky pie shell. Yummy! The middle pastry (looks like a dinner roll) is filled with a custard. Another common filling is a sweet red bean paste that is really good once you get past the idea of eating sweet red beans. In addition, the store sells bubble teas and juices and some pretty interesting meal options like soup or rice dishes that look good. I always mean to try those but I get sidetracked by the pastry.

As a side note, I'm sharing these photos as an altruistic educational endeavor, because an absolutely SHOCKING number of my friends and family have never even HEARD of Chinese pastry. I know, I know, I guess they all live in caves somewhere and have been cut off from the joys of sesame balls and red bean paste. Poor things.

Anyway, Jean also offers the jello you see in the photo below which she proudly says she makes herself -- a heartwarming touch especially for me, jello devotee that I am. Notice to the right a tiny corner of a lovely birthday cake that you'll often see in Chinatown. Chinese cakes like this are beautiful to look at and also delicious -- not radically different from our birthday cake but a little bit spongier in consistency.


I love jello 

This last food picture (if you can read around the reflection) would win some contests on scariest food combination. I'd like to say, hey, don't knock it til you've tried it because it is delicious, but, well, that would be a lie since I haven't tried it. Too scary. Even I have my limits. Yikes! So yes, I may foist an egg tart on you in my dessert proselytization project if you come and visit my neighborhood, but you should be safe from any scary milkshakes.


Banana Tomato With Milk Juice 

Happy (Chinese) New Year of the Rooster

Festive Treats in Chinatown 

Happy 4072! As I understand it, today is the big day. I was in Chinatown yesterday after a meeting, and the place was abuzz. Trying to shop there was like, well, trying to shop on New Year's Eve at your local grocery store. Everyone is stocking up on special party foods. Instead of cheese and crackers and champagne, these folks are into tangerines and turnips and bean cakes. Hey, whatever floats your boat.


Funny Spongecakey Good Luck Thingies 

I wish I had someone to fill me in on what the good stuff was for the holiday. I've seen the lotus cakes and the turnip cakes, which may be good but look kinda scary. I did try these spongecakey guys. (see photo) I think they are called Nian Gao. At the bakery where I bought one (for a mere seventy cents), the woman behind the counter said it would bring me prosperity. When I said that was fine by me, I could use a little luck, she corrected me. Prosperity, not luck. Huh. I never really thought about the difference, but I'll take that too.


The Sign of a Good Sandwich 

I love wandering around Chinatowns, in any town. I've seen New York's and San Francisco's. I have heard Toronto has a good one. I do a pretty good Chinatown tour for friends visiting from elsewhere. If you're here in Boston, be sure to look for this sign for Bahn Mi at the Mix Bakery on Beach Street. A banh mi is a yummy sandwich, composed of toasted French bread and various fillings. My favorite is the tofu filling with cilantro, hot peppers and some mysterious spread. I know it sounds bizarre but it is delicious. For those non-tofu lovers, there are also wonderful meat versions. It might look funny, but don't knock the potted meat until you've tried it. And if you don't like it, well, it only set you back $2 so why complain?

Tonight I'm having dinner at a Tibetan restaurant in Somerville because a friend wanted to try it. The Tibetans have their own new year called Losar, coming up next week. Please don't get them confused -- at least I'm trying not to do so. Oh, the cultural gaffe that would be. Whew.

Dynasty

Halftime Cupcakes 

Living in New England, we all were required by law to watch the Superbowl on Sunday evening. It was OK. I can't say I'm a huge football fan. Perhaps I am understating that. My coworkers tried to coach me into sounding somewhat knowledgeable about some guy named T.O. and Vinny Vinnetari or something, but all my ignorance was revealed when I asked if the Phillies had scored yet. Well, I tried.

However, no one minds your ignorance when you bring Halftime Cupcakes to the party, as suggested by the Amateur Gourmet! These don't hold a candle to the beauties done by some other folks out there in blogdom, but I did my best. And my friends thought they were a big, er, hoot.

Small Beauties

Icicles 

Having a camera in your bag allows you to capture moments like this that make me happy. I love water and ice and curlicues on a building. Just thought I would share.

I love the BPL

Seriously Spikey Cool BPL Entrance 

Life working in the Back Bay of Boston isn't all bad. (No one ever said it was, I think the 'working' part is the problem). Because of its proximity to where I work, I've gotten to know the Boston Public Library, which has become one of my favorite places in town. The Reading Room of the Boston Public Library is just a wonderful place to sit and think, and arguably nicer than the world famous reading room of the NYPL. In the wintertime when there are no farmer's markets or sunny park benches to sit and muse during my lunch break, I can frequently be found there, doodling in my journal. I particularly love the ceiling and the lamps.


Reading Room Lamps 

During a recent visit, I spotted something new, or at least something that seemed a bit odd. Tiny plaster birds were scattered on high shelves throughout the room. Where did they come from? Why are they there? Is this one of those whimsical things that people do and wait for someone to notice? Or is there some deeper, more sinister meaning? Hmmmmm!


Mysterious Little Plaster Birds 

Finally, I think this statue out front is really lovely. And I think she is saying to me, get your dang self in your dang studio this weekend, woman! So I may do just that.


My Muse? 

Note to Myself (and anyone else who needs a little comfort)

Wild Geese
by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

from Dream Work by Mary Oliver
published by Atlantic Monthly Press
© Mary Oliver

Very Serious Sledding

After my post whining about grownups not liking to sled, I have been receiving indignant feedback that I just did not ask the right people. Apparently, there are many souls secretly salivating about sledding. Who knew?

Many grownups, shockingly, do not even own a sled. They were not aware that you could buy a sled at just about any hardware store. Heck, you can order them on amazon.com! However, buyer beware: whatever you do, do NOT buy the Sled of Death. I've seen this one and it is ugly. Who on earth thought it was a good idea to create a sled that you strap your knees into? Going downhill on your knees is just wrong, especially strapped in. Sheesh.

Ultimately, the greatest thing about sledding is that it is so simple. That it is just you and the plastic thingie and the snow. Even a cafeteria tray will do, as any college student will tell you. Like anything else in our charming little capitalist country, there are a few very sexy sleds out there. Unsurprisingly, folks have done a lot of thinking about sled technology. (Use bugmenot.com if they try to make you register to read that). And of course, if you are night sledding, in which a glow in the dark snowsuit, a headlamp, and night vision goggles are handy.

If you need some safety tips, you can check out this site.

Those of you returning to the sport from a long hiatus and in need of a brush up, one of the major factors of sledding is the hill. Here are my criteria for a good run:

Degree of slope. No slope, no move. Duh.
Number of folks who know about it. This is a subtle balance. You want enough people to get there before you to pack down the snow (and perhaps put in a ramp or two), but not too many that the place is mobbed and you have to wait turns to go down.
Distance from my apartment. Bonus points if I can walk there. Bringing a sled on a bus or subway does tend to attract throngs of admirers, but it can be awkward, especially during rush hour.
Where the hill ends . Negative points if it ends in a road. Getting hit by a car while sledding sucks. In some places, the town puts haybales at the bottom of the hill to prevent such accidents. And crashing into the haybales can actually be kinda fun, especially followed with snow/hay fights.

My local newspaper has gotten into the spirit, publishing this article about the best sledding locations. Fortunately, they don't know about my secret sledding spot. And no, I won't tell you where it is. What, you want the MILLIONS of people who read this blog to go and MOB the place???? Well, maybe I will tell you but only if you agree to go sledding with me.

Oh and to get your skills warmed up, you can always play this silly game.

Happy sledding!

The Dark Side

Well, it had to happen. You probably have all seen this, but just in case. It just makes me so happy. It's so perfectly ... the essence of what Darth is not. Ah, good ol' Darth. Do you think it is OK that I call him Darth?

Oh and while I am being silly, if you are attending a Superbowl game on Sunday, February 6, please be sure to make these and bring them along. I certainly am planning on doing some baking on Saturday. But shhh, don't tell the folks attending the party. Fortunately or unfortunately, I don't think they read my blog.

OK back to our regularly scheduled very serious programming. Whenever it is time to be very serious, an old friend would tell you to think of Burt Reynolds. It works horribly every time.

Eating My Curds and Whey

At the risk of increasing the number of my friends who think I am nuts, I wanted to share word of my latest endeavor: cheesemaking. It isn't hard to do at home -- and no, you don't need to live on a farm and have a cow; I live in an apartment in the city. It is cheaper than store bought, and it is often better tasting than store bought. So why not try it, I ask?

Because we live in a country where you are supposed to buy everything at the store, it doesn't occur to folks that most things existed first as something you make that then became mass produced. But via the power of the internet and other such stealthy devices I have discovered that some things are wonderful made at home, in fact, much better than their counterparts. Pita bread is probably the best example of something ridiculously easy to make at home and much better than the cardboard stuff. I have also tried making tortillas (another good one although will never match the Mexican fresh kind), graham crackers (hard to replicate Honeymaid but an interesting experiment nonetheless), gingerale (not bad), truffles (wonderful, easy and cheap), mayonnaise (amazing), and roasting coffee (odd, quirky and tricky but fun). Oh and I found a yogurt maker at the Goodwill, so I've been making that at home for a while now -- easy and yummy and much milder than the sour store bought kind.

So, I mail ordered some cheese making supplies and last Friday I tried them out. I need to take some photos next time which I will add to this post. It's all very interesting to play with the amount of fat in the cheese, and I'd bet if you used very fresh milk or even unpasteurized milk you would also have something with which to compare results. One of the most interesting factors is the huge amount of whey you have left over. After making a pound of mozarella, I still had almost the entire plastic milk jug filled with whey. I just learned that boiling this whey is where you get ricotta cheese, so that is the next step. Also, whey is supposed to be a great addition to recipes like pancakes and muffins, and even a nice boost to your houseplants. Who knew?

My grandmother grew up on a dairy farm in Eastern PA so maybe milk is um, in my blood (ew). If I only had a cow or access to fresh milk ... I guess that could be the offshoot of this little project. And then, dreams of owning a goat.

So if you stop by, I may let you try some. And even better, barter with you if you happen to have any crafts to share. PS I'm a sucker for homemade pasta.

Snow Day

My car after the blizzard 

Who doesn't love a free day off of work or school? One way that being off work beats being off school though, is that you don't have to make up the time at the end of the year sitting in a sweltering classroom regretting the big storm back in January. The main disadvantage to being an adult on a snow day is that it is tough to find adults who want to go sledriding or igloo making with you. Grownups, sheesh.

Here in snow-socked New England, they weren't even exxagerating about the blizzard label because technically a blizzard is related to visibility, and we didn't have much of that. If I had to milk the cow, I would have needed to tie a rope between the house and the barn so I wouldn't get lost trying to find my way back to the house, freezing to death like a statue just a few feet from safety. I learned that trick from reading Little House on the Prairie books. Who knew the knowledge I gleaned back in 3rd grade would come in handy here in urban Boston? That is, if I'd had a cow to milk.

I enjoyed being snowed in. I must have cooked about four different new things. White bean chili and ginger pumpkin bread for lunch packing, and crazy tomato sauce, and moist crazy cake for a fresh pasta dinner at a friends'. The crazy cake was a good chance to compare my family's treasured cake recipe with Shirley Corriher's super scientific method. I'd say Corriher's was indeed moist, and I just about swooned when I tasted the batter, but the results were not all that different from the family recipe. So I felt good that I can remain loyal to the family cookbook. The Crazy Tomato Sauce is super easy and what makes it crazy is the use of butter instead of olive oil. The butter gives it a deeper, almost cheese-like flavor that is very appealing.

Because there was no way I was going to drive anywhere in my buried car (see photo), I decided to cross country ski to the dinner party about a mile or so away. Other folks might have stayed home, but they do not have the commitment to fresh pasta that I do. Come hell or highwater or a blizzard and all that. The only place you could ski was on the road, which wasn't too scary since there were few cars out, although was a bit tricky with places that were salted. It is such a satisfying feeling when people stare out their car windows to see someone cross country skiing on Mass Ave in Boston, the equivalent of skiing down 5th Avenue in NYC. You know you are providing fodder for their stories: "That blizzard was so bad that people were skiing down Mass Ave!"

It was terribly gratifying to be the hero of the dinner party, arriving on my skis with Crazy Sauce and Crazy Cake. I was feeling pretty smug about the whole thing.

Although winter has its frustrations, some parts are pretty, er, cool.

Shed a Little Light / The Secret of Life

I'm not sure why but winter puts me in a James Taylor kinda mood. And every MLK day seems to be a day that I have free to be at home and reflect on things, and of course get a little cooking and cleaning done. As part of my MLK Day tradition, I listened to his tribute song to MLK, which is called "Shed a Little Light" and starts off with the lovely lines:

Let us turn our thoughts today to Martin Luther King
and recognize that there are ties between us, all men and women living on the Earth.
Ties of hope and love, sister and brotherhood,
that we are bound together in our desire to see the world become a place in which our children can grow free and strong.
We are bound together by the task that stands before us and the road that lies ahead.
We are bound and we are bound.

Amen!

And the next song on the CD I have is "The Secret O'Life." I'm going to include the lyrics here because they are so simple as to be ridiculous. And like a lot of simple things, it rings true. I seem to need to be reminded of this message on a regular basis. Thanks, JT for sharing the secret. Who knew.

Secret O' Life

The secret of life is enjoying the passage of time.
Any fool can do it, there ain't nothing to it.
Nobody knows how we got to the top of the hill.
But since we're on our way down, we might as well enjoy the ride.

The secret of love is in opening up your heart.
It's okay to feel afraid, but don't let that stand in your way.
Cause anyone knows that love is the only road.
And since we're only here for a while, might as well show some style.

Isn't it a lovely ride? Sliding down, gliding down,
try not to try too hard, it's just a lovely ride.

So it was a good day. Had my JT moment, and I cooked a scary good cake (if you need to register, use bugmenot). I don't know if I would recommend making the cake unless you have the day off, as well as a pound of butter and four cups of sugar on hand. Yikes! But it was so fun to have the day to work on that as well as just relaxing and doing the JT thing, enjoying the passage of time. I need more of these days off.

So I Guess I Really am a Doula

Superdoula! 

Here's me at the hospital with one of my very first teeny tiny clients, just an hour or so after birth. I was so tickled that the parents shared this photo with me and were happy with how the birth went. I'm still amazed that I am able to do this. What an incredible privilege it is to be with a couple during the labor and the first few hours of their new family. Whew.

So I'm just showing off here a little by sharing this photo. Hope you don't mind. Aww. Gee. I really am a doula!

Culinary Pleasures of a Midwestern Christmas

Green Bean Casserole 

I thought I'd share with you a few of my family's specialties. The above, Green Bean Casserole, is a true classic, and a remarkably simple conglomeration of Cambbell's Cream of Mushroom Soup, canned grean beans, all topped by French's Onions. Bake and enjoy! As a kid, I always got busted for just eating the topping (sorry Grandma).

Below is another classic, rutabega. Boy did I hate this as a kid. Weirdly enough, we all seem to like it now. It's hard to believe.


Rutabega! 

And the last photo in the series is a photo of the beloved relish tray. I've been talking about it here for so long I had to get a photo.

It really is a treat to go home and eat home cooking. Although I like to joke about my family's not-so-fancy cooking, it all tastes great and there is nothing like it in the world.

A Proper Relish Tray 

Food Tourism: Or, Thanks Red Sox!

Red Sox Victory is Sweet: Ooey Gooey Butter Cake and Toasted Ravioli 

Over the holiday, a few bets had to be settled.

My brother-in-law is from St. Louis so when the Red Sox went head to head with the Cardinals, there was going to have to be a friendly wager or two. If the Sox won, I would win some toasted ravioli, a St. Louis speciality. If the Cards won (perish the thought!), I would be bringing Boston's chowdah home at Christmas. As anyone who was awake in 2004 might remember, the Sox swept the series. So I won some bragging rights and some toasted ravioli! They are the round pasta-like thingies in the photo, and most importantly, as illustrated in the photo, they come with a yummy tomato sauce.

Even better, because my brother-in-law felt that a series sweep deserved an extra treat, he also brought along a rare but beloved local delicacy called the Ooey Gooey Butter Cake! Anyone reading this blog knows about my food quests, and I've heard wonderful rumors of this confection, basically defined as "a pre-baked cake drenched in butter and sugar." And it was everything you might imagine. Disgusting, sickening and absolutely delicious. Like cake candy. Like liquid, gooey, buttery cake. The sugar rush is so fast and so intense, taking a bite is like a punch in the eye. You don't want to eat this every day but boy oh boy, it ain't bad for breakfast the day after Christmas. I don't know if you can see it oozing in the photo, but it does ooze a buttery goo for sure.

And because I'm such a swell sister-in-law, I brought along some Legal Seafood clam chowdah bought at the airport on the way home. So everyone was pretty happy. And I won't even have to go to St. Louis to check off those items on my food quest list!

Christmas Eve with the Jellies and Seahorses

Jelly (not Jellyfish) 

I had an odd Christmas Eve. I didn't plan it that way, but as most of you probably remember, it was a nightmare of a travel day for those flying. Between the horrible midwestern storm, a fair amount of agents calling in sick, cranky luggage workers, as well as it being a huge travel day, a couple of airlines just fell apart. When I arrived at my gate (after not being able to find it due to the non-working screens), they were already asking for volunteers to take a later flight. After talking to my family and other lucrative negotiations with the airline, I agreed to take a flight four hours later. Fortunately, this all worked out fine and I got home that same evening, unlike other stories I heard where people never got to go home at all, or their luggage was lost, etc.

With four hours to wait for the next flight, a T pass to anywhere in the city, and no real interest in hanging out at the airport, I pondered my options. Revere Beach is quite close to the airport, but being on the beach with a suitcase seemed problematic. Did I have time for a foodquest in East Boston? Again, the suitcase factor seemed a problem. And then I remembered, the New England Aquarium, just two t-stops away, has a show about Jellies (not jellyfish as they aren't fish) that I'd been wanting to see. I'm not that into fish, but I'd seen some jellies at another aquarium and could barely tear myself away from their tank. So off I went to see some new ones. And the suitcase factor wasn't even a problem as I was able to park my suitcase in the Aquarium's stroller park. I highly recommend this as an alternative to sitting around at the airport if you ever have a long layover -- although be prepared to drop $15 to get in.

I took some photos of the jellies which I'm posting here. I just find their undulations and colors to be mesmerizing. Some even generated their own light, which was this wonderful irridescent glow that even the folks at Disney would never have thought up. I learned some depressing facts about them as well: mostly that their population is increasing rapidly because of global warming, which means a decrease in lots of other kinds of fish populations which are preyed upon by the jellyfish. Sigh. Once again, it's all our fault.


Cool seahorse 

I also saw my first seahorses outside of a textbook and they are just as wild as the jellies. Apparently, seahorses ARE fish (unlike jellies). You really don't need science fiction -- we've got plenty of freaky stuff that already exists. The seahorses really do look like dragons. The ones in the photo at the bottom (Leafy and Weedy Seadragons they are called) had such elaborate limbs, such incredibly ornamented bodies that they looked like living jewelry. I was just entranced watching them move. The photos really do not do these creatures justice. And I haven't even talked about the noisy blue penguins or the giant turtle feeding!

So I went back to the airport all wowed and agape and refreshed for my flight home. It was a weird way to spend Christmas Eve, but definitely magical in its own way.


Leafy and Weedy Seadragon 

Boston Holiday Treats

One of my favorite parts of Christmas is the quest for excellent holiday treats to share with the folks back home in Pittsburgh. So I am constantly in search of things that are really different, one of a kind.

In a previous post I mentioned how my family has fallen in love with soft torrone, both a blessing and a curse to me as I love sharing these items with them but the Modern Pastry stores are a bit out of the way for me and I am requested, nay, required to bring some home each time I visit. On my lunch break today I took a long lunch and made the shlep over to the North End to fetch the regular chocolate covered kind that is my family's favorite. When I arrived, I was not surprised to see the line almost out the door because of the holiday, which would have required about a half hour or more wait. However, by peeking at the front where the torrone was kept, I saw they were out, which is often the case over the holidays. Gasp! Does this mean Christmas just won't be Christmas? Nah. I was actually relieved I wouldn't have to wait the long wait, and I had a back-up plan.

So I sauntered over to a few other favorites. Salumeria Toscano to peek at the prosciutto and see if they had candied chestnuts (nope), Polcari's Coffee and Spices (the inside of this store smells like heaven to me) where I bought some chestnuts and found a great deal on quick polenta, and then over to Dairy Fresh Candy for Kinder Sorpresas (the Italian version of the chocolate egg with a toy inside. Supposedly the American versions have no toy as they are a choking hazard). I finished my journey at Maria's Pastry, a lovely place which is pretty much ignored by the tourists because they aren't able to find it. There I found torrone, not chocolate covered but it would have to do. As well as other treats -- a small ricotta pie, um, for me, and these lovely chocolate cookies, some with fig filling with a funny unpronounceable name. Yum!

So my North End quest was complete and I had a few new items to bring home. I'll add these to stash from Formaggio's kitchen -- chocolate covered figs, these wonderful fruit flavored sugar candies that melt instantly in your mouth, and small chocolate covered bits of pannetone. Oh and panforte from Dave's Fresh Pasta in Davis Square -- a truly Christmassy holiday dessert. I think I done good this year. The folks back home better be hungry!

A Palate for Chocolate

While my ability to discriminate between good and bad wine is still pretty weak, I am able to detect notes in chocolate with ease and confidence. Which, I suppose, reveals a bit about my vices, as the palate is much about experience and flavor memory, no?

In chocolate, the most common flavors I notice are similar to words you will hear to describe wine. In certain chocolates, like Vahlrona, I taste a lovely cherry note. In others, like Cadbury's, it is caramel. I've also noticed a burnt taste, smokiness, cinnamon, and sometimes coffee.

A few years back I hosted a wine and chocolate tasting party, asking guests to bring a bottle of their favorite red with the label hidden or their favorite chocolate. Everyone loved the party, and I thought the results were pretty interesting. However, since then I have learned I have broken a cardinal rule of chocolate OR wine tasting, which is that both have strong flavors and therefore should not be combined. Oh well. No one complained at the time. Since then, friends think of me when they think of chocolate, which of course I take as a compliment.

Yesterday, on a quest to buy shampoo for my sister for Christmas (her idea, not mine), I passed a new little corner store in the Westin Hotel near the Copley Mall. It was called something generic like "Gourmet Boutique" and I was ready to dismiss it as a standard overpriced venue for tourists, filled with Toblerone that you can buy at the grocery store and maybe some fancy crackers. But no, they did actually have some unusual items. And even, lo and behold when I was not even looking, they stocked a kind of chocolate bar I had only heard about on this lovely blog and had no hopes of finding here in Boston, the Marquise de Seveigne 70% Noir. I had to choose between one with candied orange peel and another with chocolate nibs. I went with the nibs because I wanted the chocolate flavor to be as unadulterated as possible, although once I tasted it, I have to say the nib action adds more grit than I like. And after I finished at the shop, I proceeded to pass by the new Richart Chocolates in the mall, an odd set-up that looks like some sort of drug store selling colorful jewels. I like their idea of their flavors: balsamic, floral, citrus, herbal, roasted ... As they weren't willing to sell individual chocolates and the smallest box was $20, I decided to wait for a time when I wasn't already feeling a bit overwhelmed with holiday flavors.

So now at home I have three exotic high level chocolate bars, a justly earned pleasure after all of that hunting. The Marquise, an Italian bar from Formaggio's whose name is currently escaping me, and a Green and Black Organic 70%. Personally, the Green and Back is the most pleasant of the three for eating straight.

I know I'm probably a little odd, but if it really good chocolate, I am even happy to eat it unsweetened, as King Arthur Flour sells it. Then I know I'm getting nuthin' but chocolate.

And did I mention my favorite local chocolatier, the very, very fine Burdick's in Harvard Square? The best hot chocolate AND the best truffles I've had, all in one tiny shop.

Whew. Apparently, I could talk about this subject for a long time. I'll stop now but it may have to come up again!

Happy Solstice

Today is Winter Solstice, which happened here in New England at 7:41 AM this morning. I was doing a little reading about it today at this excellent site, and it really is a fascinating marker of time and history.

First off, I was reminded of a great Dar Williams song, the Christians and the Pagans. (for lyrics, click here).

While we all pretty much know that solstice means the shortest day of the year, it is not the time when the earth is farthest from the sun. The difference is actually in the tilt of the earth being the farthest.

Pretty much everyone is familiar with Stonehenge and its probable use as an ancient site of worship. I learned that Stonehenge marks both solstices. In addition, several other ancient sites seem to be designed to mark the moment of solstice with an opening that is lit by the sun at the moment of solstice. One is in Ireland, called Newgrange, one near Scotland, called Maeshowe, and one in New Mexico. Wow. This kinda stuff is so beautiful it just blows my mind ... on an artistic, spiritual, and sociological level. The spirals used at almost all of these sites also demonstrates to me the universal awe that humans experience at the forces of nature and this beautiful planet we share.

People have celebrated solstice throughout the millenia with feast and fire, song and dance and lots and lots of light. Tonight I plan on lighting some candles and to sit and take a moment to watch them burn and think about the turning of the years.

I love Christmas and pretty much all of the holidays. But winter solstice especially has a power and energy around it that is so ancient and true and real, like a portal into the millenia of human existence and even beyond that. Happy Solstice!

German Stollen 

Lebkuchen 

That Time Again: Holiday Baking

Christmas is the one time of year my family's cooking traditions emerge. Yes, we have the stuffed celery on the relish tray for Thanksgiving, but that's more a throwback to the 1950s than an actual tradition. The only recipe I knew of in our family that had been handed down was for Lebkuken, a spicy cookie with an anise flavor that my grandmother always made (and always spelled incorrectly). As kids, we instantly turned up our noses to anything remotely licoricey, so these were not our favorites. Nor did we want to touch my mother's plum pudding with a ten foot pole. As my sisters and I have grown older, the cookies have become an important part of the holiday. Whether this means our palates have become more refined or we've just lost most of our taste buds, it is hard to say. But now there is nothing more Christmasy than the scent and taste of the Lebkuken.

Lebkuchen is simply a German word that means "spice cookie." There are probably dozens of recipes for it, so my family recipe is definitely our own. And much as I'd like to claim that it is hundreds of years old, my family is not German so it was probably just adopted by my great-grandmother who liked a neighbor's recipe. But hey, that's how life in the cookbook goes.

As for the plum pudding, I still can't say I love it, even if it is more authentically of my family's British heritage than the German Lebkuken. It probably doesn't help that mom buys it from the grocery store, heats it up in the microwave and uncerimoniously dumps jarred hard sauce over it. I briefly contemplated making a homemade plum pudding this year to see if I actually like REAL plum pudding, as the home-made version is pretty much always going to be better than the store bought. However, it turns out it takes oh, about a year for plum pudding to be ready to consume. So I guess I better get started now for next year if I plan on trying it out anytime soon.

Instead of trying to make and eat prematurely ripened plum pudding, I decided to tackle stollen instead, a kind of German sweetbread. It was fun to make but a fair amount of work, namely because dicing the peels of four oranges is no small task. But it makes an enormous amount of stollen, easily enough for two families plus leftovers for gifts. And it is so much better than the stale dried out version I've had from the store. I'll try to post a photo of it tomorrow.

I also enjoy making chocolate truffles for the holiday. They are remarkably easy to make and, I believe, once again much better tasting than any truffles you can buy in the store. Yes, I'm even talking about the big fancy places. I think it has to do with the fact that they are fresh and they have no need for shelf stabilizers. And you can flavor them any way you like.

I also tried making some flavored nuts this year for a party and gifts. The Spicy Rosemary Cashews were a hit. Last night I made pralines from Joy of Cooking, which were alarmingly good and pretty simple. My first intention was just those spiced nuts, but the recipe from Joy was more like a candy. Well, I don't think anyone will complain about not getting a straightforward spiced nuts.

Anyhow, I'm having fun. I love holiday baking.

Pralines (with comparison candied cashews on the right) 

I Am So Tired

When you are really tired, the world looks a lot different. Certain pleasures that we take for granted, like closing your eyes for a few moments, suddenly become overwhelmingly blissful. Ah, eye closing. Ahhhhhh. Putting your head down on your desk feels so good too. Much better than it normally does. And certain tasks, like spelling or driving or complete sentences become so ... what was I saying?

I attended my first doula birth Tuesday night. And it was all night. I was beeped at 11 PM, just after I put on my jammies, brushed my teeth, crawled into bed, and entered dreamland and was about to embark on a little trip with my husband (who doesn't know it yet), Mark Ruffalo. So rudely interrupted by this odd beeping noise. Holey moley! It was the call. So I headed on into the hospital, heart a-pounding. Twelve hours later, I packed up to go home, having seen one of the most profound and beautiful and freaky moments that humans can experience. I saw a baby emerge from his mother's womb, silent and gray, then turn his head, open his bluest of blue eyes, and start to howl. What can you say after that? Nothing at all.

So yes, the doula world just became that much more real. And yesterday I was at it again, until this morning at 11 AM, this time a baby girl. I plan on doing a little holiday celebrating with friends tonight, but mostly the agenda for the evening involves a bed and some serious z.

The Turkey Was Good

Beautiful biscuit 

I have been remiss about regular blog updates. Could it be the holiday season? Could it be that I've been attending births which require 12 hour shifts overnight? Yes. It could be these things.

The major successes of the day:

I found tiny little white pumpkins at the farmer's market which became the little piece de la resistance ... check out the place setting (with obliging guest's hands) in the photo below. Note the new dinnerware (gasp, I almost typed the word dishes! how gauche!) and the harvesty cloth napkins!

I do love a proper biscuit and the Cook's recipe is one of the best I've ever tried. Photo attached of one of those babies as well above.

The turkey was good! Thanksgiving was a lot of fun overall. I think being the hostess really gives you the feeling of it as an event rather than simply an overly large meal. I roasted my first ever turkey, trussing and all. I have never wrestled a turkey into place before. Let me tell you, cooking is not for wimps. Just try rotating a 12 pound bird at a temperature of around 175 degrees. The promise of crispy skin by the folks at Cooks was somewhat wasted since no one in my little group was a big skin eater. I think next time, less rotating.

This was my first year with giblet gravy. A little scary working with giblets, but let me tell you, after handling placentas you can handle a lot of scary stuff. That's all I will say about that. However, I learned something new -- I was proud to find the bag with the giblets and neck in the turkey. Then my recipe for the gravy mentioned including the heart and I thought, well, my turkey company does not seem to include that as it was not in the giblet bag. So I proceeded without and all was fine. And then guest Nick began to carve the turkey and found another little bag that got cooked with everything else, hiding in the neck cavity, with a well cooked heart inside. Hmph! Who would think to look there? Talk about having your heart in your throat. However, my guests were forgiving of the mistake, and we moved on.

The pumpkin pie was interesting. Not as firm as I would have liked, but the extra spiciness of the Cooks, yes again the Cook's recipe, was very pleasant. The jello salad simply never materialized. After you've stuffed twenty five pieces of celery with cream cheese and olives, you just start to lose your steam around preserving complicated albeit cherished traditions.

A guest brought over "Supersize Me" for us to watch while digesting after the meal. This was an amusing if not entirely appropriate choice. Watching a movie about how Americans consume enormous amounts of unhealthy food feels a little funny when you've just stuffed yourself silly. However, it was nice to revisit my previous obsession with documentaries. I can't say it was a deeply profound or insightful film, but you know, it was one of those things that people are talking about so you can connect over it.

So yes, overall a successful day. Next year I think I'd like to try the high roast turkey or the spice rubbed turkey. Wait, did I just volunteer to do this again?

The place setting with teeny pumpkin 

The Relish Tray

I'm hosting my first ever Thanksgiving this year. I've got a 12.5 turkey in the fridge. Free range but not organic. I figured at least the turkey was mostly happy even if he ate a lot of junk food. Since free range organic was twice the price of just free range, it was the best I could do. But I feel good about the free range part. If you've ever been on a farm where you see free range chickens versus chickens in cages, the difference is shocking. Free range chickens are really quite attractive birds, have a lot of energy and are just a lot of fun to watch. Caged birds are not attractive or happy in any way. It makes sense. I wouldn't like a cage either. (Nor would I like to be eaten on Thanksgiving but that's a whole 'nother post).
Anyhow, for a great site about preparing for Thanksgiving, Cooks' Illustrated set up a site that is really helpful. It did create a dilemma for me: high roast vs. regular roast? I think for my first ever turkey, I'll stick with the tried and true and just do the traditional. Maybe next time.

I love the midwestern relish tray, typically a fancy dish piled with pickled vegetables, and rue the fact that it seems to fading into obscurity. One of my favorite Thanksgiving family traditions is the relish tray with cream cheese and olive stuffed celery. Who can live without this? Many moons ago when I lived in SoCal and was horribly homesick for Pittsburgh, I went to a homestyle restaurant in Southern California and when they brought out a relish tray, I almost cried with happiness. Funny how food is that powerful, you know?

My fabulous twist on the relish tray this year is using olives that have been stuffed with orange peel rather than the traditional pimiento stuffed olives. Ho ho! That would throw my family for a loop. Going all gourmet n'at.

But my non-midwestern friends up here in New England will probably just think the whole relish tray thing is weird. But only until I bring out the three layer jello salad. That will obliterate any further stuffed celery comments for a while. New Englanders just don't know how to appreciate jello. I myself have a special appreciation of Jello because it is not only my midwestern heritage, but I can claim the inventor as a relative! Yes, I know, not all of us can claim such distinction and I'm obviously not showing any modesty here.

Hope you all have a great holiday. We all have plenty to be thankful for.

Artist as Shaman, or, Is This Another Ego Trip?

I happened to read an article about a Boston artist named Peter Lyons. I like his work, but something he said intrigued me more.

From the article, "About 2 percent of painters are shamans, he said; the rest are crap, choking the life out of the best galleries in New York and London and Paris."
"The artist as shaman is this direct experience with the spiritual world," he said. "Through a metaphor -- a painting on a cave wall, a painting on a canvas, or a dance around a campfire with song -- he takes the other people around him on this journey that only he could take." What he seemed to mean was that the work of the true artist functions as a portal, offering momentary passage to grace and truth. And even if I was wrong, even if I hadn't completely grasped the artist-as-shaman conceit, what of it? Who was I to question Lyons's theories about the metaphysics of the art universe? He was, after all, painting's Next Big Thing.
Unquote.

Huh. That whole art and spirit thing is one of my favorite angles on art. And I certainly have plenty of snootiness about most of the work I see, as I've demonstrated on this blog. Will have to ponder this more.

Factor of One

So the biggest shift for me in the new place, other than the happy duck shower curtain, is of course that it's nothing but me in there. So far I'm OK with this, but I've already noticed myself acting differently in small ways. On weekends in the late afternoon as the light is fading and the November golds and pinks tinge the clouds, I've been sitting with a cup of tea and watching the sun go down from the kitchen window. As the light fades, I'll light a candle. That's it. I just sit there. I never really did that in previous places. When I needed a break I would hide in my room which usually means a nap rather than sitting and doing nothing. I guess for the first time I am comfortable being still. Perhaps I've always been a bit self-conscious about doing nothing, always wanting to appear busy and productive to others.

There are a couple of books out there on the subject of solitude. Although I wasn't too excited to read it on the train where all my fellow passengers might think I was a complete misanthrope, I thought the book, Intimacy and Solitude by Stephanie Dowrick, was pretty good reading. And I have Jonathan Franzen's How to Be Alone on the list although I don't think it is really meant to be instruction. Then of course, there is Bowling Alone, a book by Robert Putnam about how fewer Americans are doing things in groups, reducing their "social capital." I suppose my choice to have my own apartment contributes to this trend.

However, as several friends have pointed out, having my own place makes it more likely I will seek out time with friends as opposed to just seeing them when I happen to do so. And if I get lonely, as my friend who is an expert in social networking tells me, I can simply pick up the phone. Sometimes I ponder a pet. A cat? A fish? A bird? But for now I am OK. I am trying on this new way of being and seeing how it feels. It will be interesting to watch how it affects my art as well. So. I guess this is what you might call an anti-social experiment.

Picking Out Shower Curtains, Or Life as an Adult

In addition to my cool new doula gig, I've also moved into my own apartment. That's right, no roomies, no nothing. Just me and my own self. Kinda cool, kinda scary. It's exciting to decide where things go, to use all of my own dishes, to set up shop just how I want it to be. And I have a remarkable amount of stuff I've been saving over the years for "when I get my own place." And now I'm finally there.

It's really a nice spot. I'm on the third floor and have a back porch where a tree's upper limbs are right there in their autumn glory. I have a bit of a view into the hills in the distance. And I have a claw foot tub which I get to pick out the shower curtain for. I chose the "Happy Duck" motif and I'm very pleased. (If you're dying to see it, you can look at the "Happy Fish" one on the website which is the only one you can get there.) My couch is coming in a few weeks, and after a trip to Costco, I'm all stocked up on Britta filters for the next four years, literally. That place is dangerous, even if they do have yummy food samples.

So yes, I'm settling nicely into my new leafy queendom of one. Hooray for being a grown-up. Oh and if you're nice, maybe tomorrow I'll post a photo of my new hideously cool lamp, a gift from my good friend, Debris. (The trash day in Somerville can yield some treasures for the vigilant).

Doula at your service

I managed to survive the last few weeks of craziness so maybe I'll actually manage to post a bit more in the next few weeks. Part of my busyness was training for my new hospital doula gig.

Typically a doula only works with private clients, i.e. a mother hires you to go to the hospital with her. This is a bit different. It's a part time job working with two Boston hospitals -- MGH and Brigham and Women's as part of a research study they are doing about the fevers associated with an epidural. They need doulas to support the comparison group who are, they hope, not going to get an epidural because they are being assisted by a doula. With the use of a doula, the percentage of need for pain meds (and other medical interventions) in a birth drops signifigantly. Nice to know we're helpful and the docs know it!

It is also good feeling to be part of an important study whose outcome is being closely watched by the birthing community. I am surprised at how much I am enjoying becoming a part of the hospital community. I love my badge and my scrubs and my beeper to the point I drag them out whenever friends come over so they can admire my id photo and tell me how cool my beeper is. I imagine some of the excitement will wear off after I've been beeped at 3 AM and my groovy scrubs are covered with, um, airborne pathogens.

Speaking of which, I promised a placenta story. I won't get too graphic. Part of my job is to take the placenta after the birth to a lab and follow certain procedures to determine if there has been any infection in the mom or baby. These include taking a photo (smile, my friend placenta!), weighing it, swabbing it, and cutting some parts and putting them in liquid nitrogen to be sent away for tests.

In our training, we donned our scrubs, gloves and face masks and got to work on practicing these procedures before doing them with a placenta from the study. Here's where things got a bit interesting for me. This was the first time I'd ever seen any sort of body part in action, shall we say. And I'm covered head to toe in protective gear in a hot room, breathing into a plastic face shield. I'm watching our instructor cut some placenta samples. Although I was feeling perfectly calm and not weirded out at all, some part of my physical system said, uh uh. Nope. The room starts spinning. I say, "I think I need to go sit down." Being healthcare professionals, the folks in the room knew what to do and within moments I was all set up like a queen with a glass of cold water, a cold cloth and a comfy chair (with my head between my knees in a rather unqueenlike manner). I was fine, but I had never experienced such a physical response before. There was no choice about mind over matter -- some part of me did not like what was happening.

A little sheepish and humbled, I recovered and headed back in and was able to get to work with no problem. I kept the plastic face shield a little further from my face which probably helped some in the fainting department. And I went to work and did two full placenta procedures like a champ. How's that for a good day's work. I tell you, returning to my regular desk job the next day felt like I was returning after a trip to Mars. The squeamish should skip the next part: the question most people are asking me is what a placenta is like. It's definitely like an organ -- a fairly firm mass of tissue. Working with it is very much like working with raw chicken. See, I knew all those years of cooking would serve me somehow ...

We are just flesh and blood after all. That's part of what I love about this doula work -- it's about as real as you can get.

Another political note

Continuing on a political theme, it would seem negligent not to mention the election. I have to say, I was truly impressed with the GOTV (get out the vote to those who don't like cool acronyms) effort in this country. Lots of people I know actually traveled to other states to go knock on doors or make calls. They took many days off work to throw their energy behind something they thought would make their world a better place. I'd never even heard of such a thing before. Today someone said their daughter stood in line for 13 hours to vote in Ohio. We're constantly told how apathetic Americans are about politics. This time they weren't. And that is really a beautiful cool thing. To those who worked so hard or waited so long to make their voices heard, I thank you. Even if your candidate did not succeed, you did. You impressed the heck out of all of us and showed us what it means to be American.

Speaking of which, this article may be of interest to anyone who feels like they were punched in the gut on Tuesday. The part about Nixon's re-election gave me a good laugh and overall the article gives a good perspective. Ten Reasons Not to Move to Canada

Kissinger's still talking: MSNBC - America's Assignment

A friend tipped me off on HK's latest deep thoughts. Click on the link above if you want to read what Kissinger thinks should happen next. It fascinates me that he is still considered someone to go to with this question. That he is considered an expert on foreign policy is just gaspingly wild. But hey, I guess a lot of gaspingly wild things happen here in this country.