Postcards from the Hedge

A Rousing Round of Croquet

2012-02-26T20:56:00.000-08:00

If you've never played croquet at Meadowood you're in for a treat. Our second time in two weeks.

An hour with the pro so you learn to be ruthless,

and an hour on your own. They cheated, we lost fair and square.

The croquet pitch may look level, but it's not - we are standing on the moral high ground.

Fear of Frying

2012-02-14T22:18:00.000-08:00

When a recipe calls for frying in oil - and using a thermometer - I usually turn the page. Same with caramelizing sugar. But I have a note on my spice cupboard that says "Do one thing you're afraid of every day" and so in spite of my fear of frying I made the Fried Chicken from the current issue of Bon Appetit - you know, the recipe that's on the cover? Go buy a copy. Now.

It's Valentine's Day and fried chicken is Wally's favorite. If you've been reading my blog for a while you'll know I made the Ad Hoc fried chicken for his birthday (a long time ago) and it took three of us all afternoon - after two days of prep.

So this one is simpler, and more bullet-proof. How? Well, I forgot to rub the spices on last night, so I did it this morning. Didn't seem to matter. Plenty spicy.

I also forgot to photograph almost everything until I was halfway done. In fairness it's hard to fry and photograph at the same time.

This recipe is less messy, only one dip in the buttermilk and one in the flour. I used tongs to dip and flour the chicken instead of my hands - it worked fine.

And I used a rack to drain the chicken after it was cooked. Skin side up so the oil can get out.

And even tho I read the recipe several times I screwed up the temperature - I fried the first batch at 350. You're supposed to put the chicken in to the oil at 350 and fry at 325. There was a big warning about the coating burning while the chicken stayed raw. Didn't happen.

And the verdict? We liked the 350 chicken better. It was crispier - the 325 was juicier and you could taste the spices better, so I'll probably fry at 325 next time...but oh that crispy crust.

And of course I forgot to photograph the finished chicken until it was almost gone.

I will make this again, and soon. For a picnic, for a summer party in the garden. For a dinner by the fire when it's raining. For a birthday, for a friend. I have not lost my fear of frying but some things are worth being scared.

it's raining, it's pouring

2012-02-07T16:42:00.000-08:00

We used to drive mommy and daddy crazy chanting that song over and over from the back seat of the car. Even now the words bring vivid pictures of the Santa Cruz mountains in the rain, and the musty cardboard smell of my dad's old green Chevrolet.

It is, finally, raining. And while it is freezing in Europe (great photos at NYTimes) it is green here.

And blooming. Spring is early this year. Daphne pours citrusy sweetness on the air. A branch by my bedside soothes me when I wake at night. It's an all's-well-with-the-world smell. I remember when the plants were so tiny snipping a twig to bring in the house seemed an affront. Now there are three massive bushes, enough to cut and to share.

Hellebores hang masses of bells - from green-tinged white:

to shocking pink:

to almost black.

Remember when all black gardens were the rage? Me neither.

This daphne relative, Edgeworthia chrysanthea, looks (and sounds) like something from Fred Flintstone's garden.

Bright Icelandic poppies, planted in September, nod over blue violas. Planting in September really does make a difference; a neighbor (no, not you) has tiny green tufts with sparse flowers from recently planted poppies.

Summer snowflakes (yes I know they're confused - do you want to tell them?) are blooming on short stems this year.

Clumps of daffodils brighten the slope under the ancient oak, its branches sweeping down to meet them.

And all this just after the last iris just quit.

Victoria Falls bloomed at Thanksgiving, at Christmas, and was still blooming two weeks into the New Year. A swirling wind finally wrenched off the last stalk, and I am iris-less for a few months. Last year they bloomed with the Ice Follies daffodils. This year the Ice Follies are starting to bloom now, and the sensible iris have decided to wait for warmer, more settled weather.

Me too.

A loss of faith

2012-02-04T13:22:00.000-08:00

It's not how I wanted to start - or end - my ski week. And I'm trying to get past the anger.

Who leaves the person they've just smashed into from behind and knocked out unconscious and convulsing on the ski slope? But it happened, and it happened to me. I woke up twenty feet to the left (not downhill) from where I'd been stopped, strapped to a board, my helmet skis and gloves off. I'm not sure who was more surprised, the ski patrol that I was awake or me that I'd been passed out for fifteen minutes.

All will be well. Crashing headaches but no permanent physical damage. But my faith in the human race has been bent beyond repair.

Oh, and I need a new helmet; mine is caved in. If you ski with a helmet, good for you. If you don't, get one. It could save your life. It just saved mine.

Picnic with the Pinks

2012-01-17T21:16:00.000-08:00

Thing 1 and Thing 2 had a school holiday, and we spent the day together. It was the first time they'd been to the top of the mountain...

...where it was still freezing - literally. So we had our picnic halfway down. There are not many things both Things like to eat, so I got up at dawn to roast a chicken (cold chicken isn't one of the things they eat) and it was a huge hit. Then we played Spot Your House.

They did.

Thing 2 wanted to build stuff, and when it got too cold outside we made bath salts for sore muscles.

Epsom salts, essential oils, food coloring.

I may sleep for a week, but I haven't had so much fun since I was a kid. I think there's a lesson in there - if you want to have as much fun as you did when you were a kid, get a kid to be your guide. Thank you Pinks.

Rain Dance

2012-01-11T22:52:00.000-08:00

It hasn't rained here in over a month. Maybe two. It is so dry my hair crackles, and my skin itches. Still we managed to have an almost 24 hour power outage. Wind. Trees. Don't ask.

At first it was charming, going to bed by candlelight and giggling as we snuggled under the covers.

And then came the morning. Who knew the stove wouldn't light, even with a match? I knew about the electric ignition, but there must be a safety thingie in there somewhere to keep us caffeine-deprived sleep-addled people from blowing ourselves to kingdom come. Thank goodness there's a Starbucks on every corner.

We could see our breath lying in bed in the morning. We could have gone to my mom's to sleep - she had power. But we have down comforters and hats and jackets, and a very warm furry dog.

So we had an adventure.

And it has been beautiful, so many clear mornings with fog flowing along the bottoms of the valleys like cream. When Ally and I walk up the mountain I stop to gaze. She stops to do other things.

It's a spectacularly beautiful place to live, but if it doesn't rain soon things could get ugly. My daffodils are dry, the trees look crisp, the vineyard soil is cracked. The grass that sprouted in October when the rains began has not grown an inch since, and the hills, normally screaming green by now are just brushed with green. If you know a rain dance, now would be the time.

Cinnamon Heaven

2012-01-09T19:15:00.000-08:00

It was cold - it's still cold - so I made cinnamon rolls from The Breakfast Book by Marion Cunningham.

I cook from her books a lot. She re-wrote The Fanny Farmer Cookbook, she is an incredible teacher and writer, and if you don't have at least one of her books, get one. Now. Try any of the muffins in The Breakfast Book - persimmon. cinnamon butter puffs. orange. nutmeg. Are you hungry yet?

I shared. They went fast. They're smaller than the cinnamon bombs sold in bakeries everywhere, but they have just as much flavor in a smaller package. You bake them in muffin tins...

You have to start them the night before if you want to have them for breakfast. So forego that last cocktail and mix up a batch. Because it's still cold.

Glazed Cinnamon Rolls from The Breakfast Book by Marion Cunningham. Copyright Marion Cunningham

Makes two dozen reasonably sized cinnamon rolls

1/4 cup warm water

1 package dry yeast

1 teaspoon plus 1/4 cup sugar

4 cups all-purpose flour

1 teaspoon salt

1/2 pound (two sticks) butter, chilled

3 egg yolks

1 cup milk

filling:

1/4 cup (1/2 stick) butter, melted

6 tablespoons sugar

1 teaspoon cinnamon (I use Saigon cinnamon and yes it makes a difference)

glaze:

1 1/2 cups confectioners' sugar

2 tablespoons butter, room temperature

1 tablespoon water (a trifle more may be needed to make a manageable glaze)

Put the warm water in a small bowl and sprinkle the yeast over. Add 1 teaspoon sugar, stir, and let dissolve for 5 minutes.

In a large mixing bowl, stir together the flour, 1/4 cup sugar, and salt with a fork to mix them well. Cut the butter into pieces the size of small grapes and add to the flour mixture. Using either your hands or a pastry blender, rub or cut the butter into the flour mixture until it is distributed and there are coarse little lumps of butter throughout. Stir in the yeast mixture, the egg yolks, and milk. Beat until blended. Cover with plastic wrap and chill in refrigerator at least 6 hours (this dough can be refrigerated for 12 to 14 hours).

Divide the dough in half. On a lightly floured board, roll out half the dough into a rectangle about 10 by 12 inches. Spread 2 tablespoons of the melted butter over the rectangle. Mix the remaining 6 tablespoons sugar and the 1 teaspoon sugar together in a small bowl. Sprinkle half the sugar mixture evenly over the rectangle. Starting with the wide side, roll up the rectangle like a jelly roll. Divide the roll into twelve pieces by first cutting the roll into 4 equal portions, then cutting each portion into 3. Put the rolls cut side down in a greased muffin tin. Repeat these steps with the other half of the dough. Cover loosely and let rise for 1 hour.

Bake in a preheated 400 degree f oven for 20 to 25 minutes. Remove the rolls and put them on a rack set over a piece of waxed paper.

To make the glaze, sift the confectioners' sugar into a small bowl, them beat in the butter and water until smooth. Spoon a little on the glaze over each roll while still hot.

Last Thoughts on Christmas

2012-01-02T14:25:00.000-08:00

I'm not as bad (or good depending on your viewpoint) as my friend Sue who puts up eleven trees (!) but I did have three this year - a garden tree, a kitchen tree, and a traditional tree. And a garland hung with travel ornaments. But this year the kitchen tree was my favorite. As I was hanging the ornaments I thought "this would be better if the ornaments were related" and so:

Breakfast:

Milk, pancakes, toaster, and lots of caffeine.

Baked things and sweets:

cookies, cakes, ice cream.

Junk food:

Hamburgers and hot dogs, french fries, pizza and pretzels.

Cheese and wine.

And you have no doubt noticed cocktails sprinkled liberally all around the tree.

So my friend Cathy comes over and I show her (she also thinks this sort of thing is fun. If you don't, then why have you read so far? Go mess something up).

Cathy takes a tour around my tree, gets a big smile, and says "It's just like your day!"

I so love my friends. Thank you to everyone who made this the Best Christmas Ever.

Space Aliens? Or truffling eggs?

2011-12-26T16:04:00.000-08:00

Okay it looks like an alien - but it's a white truffle from The Pasta Shop in a glass jar...

...with eggs that are being truffled. They absorb the flavor thru their shells, and softly scrambled with plenty of butter they are divine.

A little rice in the bottom of the jar to absorb any stray moisture, a few eggs (gently!) laid in, then the truffle, then more eggs and seal the jar and put it in the fridge for a few days.

I scrambled a dozen eggs for the four of us...

Thank goodness there was plenty of brioche for toasting.

A simple memorable dinner. With dear friends. What could be better?

Stollen Moments From David Lebovitz

2011-12-21T19:26:00.000-08:00

A friend used to bring me a stollen every Christmas - she and her German mother baked them from an old (and secret) family recipe. But the last couple of years as mom grows older, they have baked fewer stollen, and this year they aren't baking stollen at all. So I was thrilled to find this stollen recipe by David Lebovitz, an entertaining and educating blogger who also just happens to be an ex-Chez Panisse pastry chef. And an all-round nice guy. Plus he lives in Paris - I know, I know, not the home of the stollen. Unless they're kisses. But he's closer to stollen central than am I, and he is one amazingly creative i-can-make-that-only-better sort of chef and blogger.

(photo by David Lebovitz and please visit his website. He is fabulousness incarnate)

We've all lost family recipes - my grandmother was ashamed to be a Volga German (look it up) and didn't teach us any old family recipes, though I know there were lots. Being German there must have been a family stollen recipe - alas now lost.

My mom is from the era of Kilpatrick's bread and canned everything, and I am an Adele Davis baby (look that up too) because she knew that stuff in cans could not be good for us and fed us real organic healthy food before any of you know what that was. Lucky me.

Grab your grandma and demand some recipes. Get a voice activated recorder and capture those stories before they are gone. And have some stollen moments.

Hello Cupcake!

2011-12-21T19:16:00.000-08:00

My friend Liberty and I made ghost cupcakes, from the book Hello Cupcake!

And I finally found the frosting tip video I was trying to show her. And yes, the keys on my computer are still a bit sticky. If I'd paid attention to the video they wouldn't be...

JoAnne makes the most gorgeous cupcakes -

She made these for Cathy's birthday and there's a whole berry-filled oreo on top. And marbled cupcakes once you get past the beautiful stuff. They were fabulous.

I'm going to ask if she knows the frosting tip...and then I'm gonna ask for a frosting lesson. Everyone who saw (and ate) these cupcakes wants a lesson. JoAnne, if I bring lunch will you teach us?

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas - again

2011-12-13T21:16:00.000-08:00

Last year we were a bit woodsy - birch logs and white hydrangeas, candles in the snow (okay, candles in the kosher salt, but try singing that) and lots of sparkly silver. Ron Morgan taught me that you need sparkly things and light colors, or the table just dies after dark.

And we had reindeer! Lots and lots of sparkly reindeer.

But this year I was bored with birch. Several trips to the Flower Mart with different friends I came home with all kinds of weird and wonderful stuff. And thankfully it all came together...

...and it glowed at night thanks to all I've learned from Ron.

It even looked good with the buffet stocked -

(about 80 people and yes I am still tired, but I had a great time at my own party).

So thank you to family and friends for making this the Best Party Ever. And thanks to Scot Meacham Wood for his party tips (listed on my older post). I would add a few:

1. Make lists. Lots and lots of lists. Lists of what needs to be done day by day. Revise them as you think of new things, get behind, get ahead. If they're neat you can actually read them.

Grocery lists - first list all the stuff you need for one dish, then the next. Then revise the grocery list so all the produce is together, and all the dairy...sounds obsessive but it will save you going back to the grocery store for the one think you just didn't see on the list. I made three trips before I got this one thru my head.

2. Get help. Serving, cleaning up. Be a guest at your own party. Better to be enjoying your guests than cleaning up after them.

3. Said this before, will say it again. Set the table 2 days before. Put post-it notes on all the platters with what's going there the day of the party.

Do the flowers the day before. If you do they will fall into place. If you're fighting with the flowers when your guests arrive you will look like a deer in the headlights, they will be uncomfortable, you will be weeping...

4. Put food in multiple locations. Avoid the gazelles-around-the-watering-hole syndrome (thank you Scot).

Have multiples of dip dishes and trays so the old one can be whisked away and the new one plopped into place. No washing up in the middle of the party, no scooping new food into messy dishes - it makes a huge difference.

5. And here's my lightbulb moment: get prep help. I don't usually have parties catered; I like to plan menus, to cook. But I was slicing my way through the eighth potato on the mandoline and chopping my way through the seventh bunch of green onions when it occurred to me: I can get help with this!

Happy Holly Daze. Try to remember to enjoy it - it will be over all too soon.

Peppermint Patties

2011-11-28T19:57:00.000-08:00

I am a huge fan of peppermint patties - the creamy white peppermint center, the thin dark chocolate coating on the disc...so when I saw a recipe for homemade peppermint patties I had to try it. The recipe promised they would be far superior to any you can buy.

It took a while to get around to it - I was out of Karo syrup, I don't keep Crisco on hand, and tempering chocolate isn't something I'd ever done, altho Flo Braker made it look easy when she did a demo. But that was a lifetime ago, and Sees really makes good peppermint patties (milk chocolate for you Philistines, dark chocolate for us purists) and the rolling out with powdered sugar sounded like a mess (it was) and freezing the centers in my tiny freezer almost backed me off entirely. Almost.

In between plays (Monday night football) I mixed and rolled, cut and froze, then melted and dipped. And the result?

They are a bit messy around the edges, but it's my first batch. I'll get better. There is chocolate all over the stove...

and I don't care. They are sooooooooooo much better than store bought! So for those of you up for a challenge, here is the recipe from Gourmet. Even if you've never made candy these are easy (messy, but easy) and will inspire you to try other Gourmet recipes...I hope.

I so miss Gourmet magazine!

Peppermint Patties

Gourmet | December 2007

yield: Makes about 4 dozen candies

ingredients
2 1/2 cups confectioners sugar (less than 1 pound), divided
1 1/2 tablespoons light corn syrup
1 1/2 tablespoons water
1/2 teaspoon pure peppermint extract
1 tablespoon vegetable shortening (preferably trans-fat-free)
10 ounces 70%-cacao bittersweet chocolate, coarsely chopped
Equipment: a 1-inch round cookie cutter; a digital instant-read thermometer

Make filling:
Beat 2 1/4 cups confectioners sugar with corn syrup, water, peppermint extract, shortening, and a pinch of salt using an electric mixer (with paddle attachment if using a stand mixer) at medium speed until just combined. Knead on a work surface dusted with remaining 1/4 cup confectioners sugar until smooth. Roll out between sheets of parchment paper on a large baking sheet into a 7- to 8-inch round (less than 1/4 inch thick). Freeze until firm, about 15 minutes. Remove top sheet of paper and sprinkle round with confectioners sugar. Replace top sheet, then flip round over and repeat sprinkling on other side.
Cut out as many rounds as possible with cutter, transferring to a parchment-lined baking sheet. Freeze until firm, at least 10 minutes. Meanwhile, gather scraps, reroll, and freeze, then cut out more rounds, freezing them.

Temper chocolate and coat filling:
Melt three fourths of chocolate in a metal bowl set over a saucepan of barely simmering water. Remove bowl from pan and add remaining chocolate, stirring until smooth. Cool until thermometer inserted at least 1/2 inch into chocolate registers 80°F.
Return water in pan to a boil and remove from heat. Set bowl with cooled chocolate over pan and reheat, stirring, until thermometer registers 88 to 91°F. Remove bowl from pan.
Balance 1 peppermint round on a fork and submerge in melted chocolate, letting excess drip off and scraping back of fork against rim of bowl if necessary, then return patty to sheet (to make decorative ridges on patty, immediately set bottom of fork briefly on top of patty, then lift fork straight up). Coat remaining rounds, rewarming chocolate to 88 to 91°F as necessary. Let patties stand until chocolate is set, about 1 hour.

Venice

2011-11-24T11:35:00.000-08:00

I'm dreaming of Venice...

Love the light in this photo - wish I'd taken it. It's from the Italian Language gadget on Google - so are the ones below.

The Gritti Palace Hotel is my favorite place to people-watch...on the water. People act differently when they're in a boat. Go, have lunch on the terrace, check it out.

Then, when the sun is going down, get in a boat yourself. Everyone should ride in a gondola once...then go for the water taxi - my preferred mode of travel.

I wonder what Venice looks like today? Gray? Cloudy? Sunny and cold? Damp? Some day I want to see Venice dusted with snow. But today I have to settle for photos - and memories.

Truffles!

2011-11-21T17:51:00.000-08:00

Patricia Wells came to Rakestraw Books for a truffle lunch with her latest cookbook and it was wonderful.

It's a great read. I have it by my bedside, and I keep sneaking out to the kitchen for a snack.

Patricia Wells is elegant, adorable, unflappable, and full of funny stories, and we had the most incredible truffle lunch - truffled scrambled eggs, truffled proscioto-wrapped scallops, chocolate truffles - but everyone's favorite, hands-down was the truffled grilled cheese sandwich. With Epoisses cheese and truffle butter. Recipe below.

Truffled Grilled Cheese Sandwiches

About 8 ounces of fresh specialty mushrooms (Michael used brown crimini and chanterelles; you may use what ever you like)

1 white onion, diced

about 2 to 3 tablespoons neutral oil - grapeseed or a mild olive oil

1 round of Epoisses cheese (it comes in a cute little wooden box)

black truffle butter - my local grocery sells this in 3 ounce packages

2 slices brioche for each sandwich (and you will want more than one)

truffle salt - make your own from Patricia Wells' recipe

Sautee the onion and mushrooms in a large skillet over medium-low heat until the mushrooms are soft - first they will give off a lot of water, then as you continue to cook them the water will evaporate and the mushrooms and onion will become soft. Do not brown.

Remove mushrooms from heat and stir in about 2 tablespoons truffle butter.

For each sandwich you will need two slices of brioche. Spread some truffle butter on one side of one slice of brioche. Spread a layer of Epoisses on one side of the other slice of brioche. Put about a 1/4 inch layer of mushrooms on top of the Epoisses, sprinkle with a little truffle salt, then close the sandwich by putting the buttered slice of brioche on top of the mushroom-topped slice, butter side down.

Place in a panini grill (or a non-stick skillet) and grill or toast until the bread is golden - flip the sandwiches (carefully!) and toast the other side. When golden on both sides remove to a bread board, slice in half, and dig in.

I think these would be fabulous cocktail-party fare with the best champagne you can afford. Altho I bet they're great with beer too...

Note: I love arugula in my sandwiches, even grilled, so I'm gonna try adding arugula. I'm also thinking of trying this with shallots instead of onion...I'm on a shallot kick. And any leftover mushroom mixture can be used in an omelette, or used to stuff a pork roast, or I'm sure a million other things.

Get the book - all the recipes can be made with mushrooms instead of truffles, and she has resources for where to get truffles (in case you live in a truffle-deprived zone).

Now if you will excuse me, I'm off to the kitchen for a snack. Maybe a little truffle butter on some toast?

It Could Be So Much Worse

2011-11-18T21:49:00.000-08:00

In this time of global uncertainty it's good to remember it could be so much worse...

At the Flower Market

2011-11-16T22:26:00.000-08:00

My favorite things about the flower market:

1. The smell. It's not just the heavy sweetness of the tuberoses, or the spicy hyacinths. It's the scent of dampness and the cold and the gentle fragrance of decay that hangs over all. How do you photograph a smell?

2. The flowers, of course.

and where they end up...

The colors. These are mostly dahlias...or dahlias, mostly.

But there is bittersweet from the east where it is crisply fall...

Peonies from New Zealand where it is spring. Sprays of small green dates from the Middle East where it is always summer.

And tender-stemmed amaryllis in little coffins.

3. The friends who go with me. Enthusiastically.

4. The time. I leave the house in the middle of the night when even the dogs are sleeping and the newspaper delivery person is not even thinking about getting up. I drive across a deserted bridge (relatively speaking for you sticklers) and turn a lonesome corner in an iffy neighborhood, and there inside the parking gates is a bustling small town. Cars are double parked along Main Street, people are chatting and laughing, criss-crossing between buildings, wheeling flat carts piled high with flowers.

Huge bundles of newspaper-wrapped flowers with legs sticking our below weave their way across the parking lot. No idea how they see where they're going.

Inside the brightly lit warehouses are little stalls, each with a specialty. Orchids in one, branches in another. Chrysanthemums or callas, topiary or tropicals. Roses, ribbons, antlers or amaryllis, candles and cellophane. Flowers from every season, every hemisphere.

5. The parking - where else can you leave your keys in your car and come back to find it moved but not stolen? You leave your keys so the person you blocked when you double-parked can move your car and get out. Or so you can move the beat-up behemoth someone parked behind you.

6. When I emerge for a last trip to my car, arms full of branches, the sun is just coming up, the parking lot is clearing out (it will fill up again later when the public comes in) and the magic is going. You can feel it fade as the sun rises and the ruts in the parking lot and the flotsam and jetsam on the sidewalk come into view.

But just for a while every weekday morning there is a place in San Francisco that is full of magic. Etherial, ephemeral, magic. And how many magical places are left?

Still Life

2011-11-09T20:30:00.000-08:00

Roy Scott is having a show.

Saturday November 12th 11-5
Sunday November 13th 11-5

2230 Tenth Street
Berkeley
510-845-2448

I first saw his work in Pam's kitchen and fell in love.

I now have several of his still life paintings - in museum frames they really shine. And I want another. Or a pair. Or a landscape...

All the photos came from his web site. Check it out. Go see his luminous paintings of fruit - and the odd vegetable. And his evocative landscapes. Buy a pair, buy three. Mine make me happy each time I walk by. And how often can you buy happiness?

Limes, anyone?

2011-11-08T11:40:00.000-08:00

The weatherman keeps predicting "Frost in the inland valleys" and I don't know if he means Fresno or Danville. Although why (and how) someone from Fresno would be watching our local TV news is beyond me. Still, we have had some nights so cold I got up and closed my window a bit.

So I've been picking limes.

More than 50 pounds from one tree, just a bit taller than I. A branch broke in the wind it was so laden, and so I picked about half the limes.

Does anyone want some limes?

Shrink Your Food

2011-11-03T22:26:00.000-07:00

Shrink Your Food. That's Scot Meacham Wood's advice for a great cocktail party.

He gave a talk tonight at Kravat in SF - he was charming, warm, funny, and had a lot of other great ideas, from lovely custom menu cards by Pat McIntosh of Lulalina (who is also warm and charming)

to the coolest wreath created in minutes. The secret? Buy one of those fake pine wreaths. The branches are all wired and you can use them to twist around fresh magnolia branches, some cedar sprigs (okay a lot of cedar sprigs) and a bit of fir. Then you can stick in ornaments, feathers, fruit (real or fake) berries - and they all stay in the fake pine, which by this time has been obliterated by all the cool stuff you've stuffed in. So simple, like Brunelleschi and the egg - but he thought of it, we didn't.

More of Scot's Fabulous Ideas:

1. Shrink your food - think of a meal. Meat, salad, veggies, dessert. Serve miniature open-faced prime rib sandwiches. Serve stuffing baked in mini muffin cups topped with a dab of cranberry relish. Make mini shepherd's pies.

2. Do one show-stopper per party - more and you won't enjoy the party.

3. Plan on one or two pieces of each hors d'oeuvre per person. Two for the show-stopper.

4. If you find someone parked by the food shoveling it in, grab him (or her) by the arm, and drag them away exclaiming "Have you met Lisa? You simply must meet Lisa!'

5. Spread the food around. To prevent the Gazelles Around The Watering Hole syndrome. Or having to find someone named Lisa.

6. Turn off all the lights. Light all the candles. If the party isn't going well turn off more lights, light more candles.

7. If it's a sit-down dinner do something you're comfortable with. Scot's favorite: His grandmother's Chicken Pot Pie. No complicated new recipes. Only complicated familiar recipes please.

8. Set the table and do the flowers the day before.

9. It's a thing. On a thing. With something on top. That's an hors d'oeuvre. It's not rocket science. Have some fun, spread your wings. It's art not science.

10. Serve dessert - passed (preferably by someone you've hired to help) when it's time for the guests to go. They'll get the hint.

And finally: Go to your own party. Have fun. Don't look at the pictures of your party the next day and wonder when that happened - be there. Not in the kitchen squirting something on an hors d'oeuvre. Don't bite off more than you can chew. Hire some help. Have some fun. If you don't, your guests won't.

He also had some fabulous custom-made cocktails (and some great non-alcoholic ideas) but those are for later. I'm off to plan our Holiday Party...I can see visions of sugarplums already.

Flower Power

2011-10-31T20:38:00.000-07:00

If you've never been to a Monday morning class at Loot in Lafayette, you're in for a treat. Ron Morgan, the star and owner, missed a career as a stand-up comic when he chose flowers. Lucky for us.

He has the funniest stories! and great delivery - and he puts together six or eight flower arrangements while telling stories that will make you pee your pants.

He has a fantastic shop full of treasures and inspirations, and while he is making these stunning arrangements...

...he's also showing you how to do it. Even if you don't have any talent (that would be me) you will learn how to put together a credible flower arrangement. If I can (and I can - finally) anyone can.

Call Betsy at Loot, make a reservation, and go! Oh - and the best part? The arrangements are all for sale. Take a class, give a party.

My Garden Thru Her Eyes

2011-10-30T22:28:00.000-07:00

Diedre the fabulous photographer took some photos of my garden a while ago, and I'm looking at them to reassure myself that:

1. Spring will come

2. My garden will be beautiful again

3. Things really are growing - Sometimes it seems nothing is happening, then I look at a photo and realize I can't see that view anymore, it's filled in. Or overgrown, depending on your point of view. But I can't see the growth day to day, and it is a joy to see my garden thru Deidre's eyes.

After a long summer in the Big Black Boot that passes for a cast these days, the garden has run riot. I planned to hack some of the thugs back today - the salvia, a rose that spreads like a bad rash. Then a wasp got in my hair, panicked, stung me, and I've spent the day sleeping off the Benadryl and icing my head. But it was beautiful not so long ago...

And tomorrow I'll try again. Weed by weed, plant by plant.

I must confess I love to garden - I find it soothing, the hours fly by. I like being sweaty and working hard, I like seeing a bed transform from and overgrown jungle into a place where plants have room to show off and are not mugging their neighbors. And I love to sit and catch my breath and listen to the Acorn Woodpeckers argue and the mockingbird singing his heart out and the neighbor's dog barking his head off (okay, that one not so much). I love to feel the breeze come up in the evening, to walk around as the sun is setting and see what I've done, what's blooming, who needs a haircut. This last part is best done when the light is fading or I'll never make it inside.

Last week I dug out some iris that were in shade (who knew the Tulip tree would grow so fast?) and planted icelandic poppies in the brightest oranges and pinks I could find. Now I'm thinking cornflower blue pansies to go with them, the ones with just a dot of yellow in the middle and no faces. I hate faces on pansies. And of course there is always clover to weed out and that nasty little annual grass that can set a zillion seeds without peeking over the alyssum. And the tomatoes are over and the dahlias need dividing.

A garden is a thing of beauty and a job forever.

Fall into Yosemite

2011-10-28T07:00:00.000-07:00

It's fall in Yosemite. Morning mists rise from the golf course at Wawona,

deer feed in the meadows, unafraid.

Either it's not hunting season or they know they're in a national park - the best national park. Wawona Hotel is a throwback: wide porches...

...and lovely cottages.

Old fashioned, charming, recently updated. Get a room with a bath or share with really good friends.

The Mariposa Grove of Giant Sequoias is close by...

... and you can't comprehend how enormous these trees are until you see people standing on a fallen tree.

The leaves will be at their best this weekend - the last of October. Go now, before the snow falls, while the dogwoods are still bright red and the poplars are shaking their gold onto the river. And it's not crowded.

What are you waiting for?

Gift Wrap

2011-10-27T09:00:00.000-07:00

Best tissue: at Bags and Bows. Whether you're in the mood for birds...

(my favorite) or beasts...

or funny colored zebras

they've got it all.

Toiles and stripes,

And lots more - these are just the ones I'm ordering. Share with a friend, they come in huge packages. A lifetime supply, except I'm almost out.

They bring a smile to my face when I'm wrapping. And at this time of year we need all the smiles we can get! (and yes I know it's not even Halloween yet).

Benches and tables and garden design

2011-10-26T20:50:00.000-07:00

Wondering about where to put that garden bench? At the end of the path where you can see it from the window? Or would it be better under the oak tree? And how to mow around it?

Problem solved. Look at the Andrew Crace website for more ideas. Like this wonky bench...

...with the extra-tall back. Or this fabulous table.

Why doesn't any American company make stuff like this? A table where you never have a leg in front of you - brilliant. And so simple.

Function. Comfort. Humor. Every design needs those three things. If it doesn't have all three, you're not there yet.

New Year

2011-10-24T19:04:00.000-07:00

It only took a couple of days after the first rain, and the world began to turn green. At first it was just a thin green shadow under the dried grass, and then suddenly one morning the world was glowing green, as if lit from within.

Even the vineyard is greening...

...the new year starting while the old one is still on the vine.

I count the new year not from the calendar, but from the first green shoots of grass. I have a friend who has had a horrid year, she says she can't wait for this one to be over. Ellen: the grass is growing, it's a New Year!

I still have tomatoes

Huge and meaty they are from seeds Mike at Forli Restaurant in Alamo gave me. The seeds came from his brother in Greece. No idea what they're called, but they are Ginormous. I start them from seed on heat mats in winter. If you come for Christmas dinner you'll have to work around the seedlings.

One year is beginning while another is winding down. Leaves coat the surface of the pool, acorns ping off the metal horse and wake us. Squirrels thump onto the roof and harrumph across to raid the apple tree. There is not enough net in the world. But the apples are almost over, the grapes will be in this week, and we're having the last of the tomatoes for dinner.

The French Laundry and Garden Envy

2011-10-12T22:04:00.000-07:00

I don't have a lot of sun. My garden slopes down, and faces north. It's damp and gloomy in the winter, in summer the ancient oak trees shade everything. Tomatoes struggle. The soil is thin, the water runs off, the oaks steal the sun. I try, but every year brings disappointments. I read about the Beekman Boys smacking seeds in the soil and harvesting bushels of yummy stuff, and I am green. With envy. Here seeds rot, seedlings wilt, there are leaves on the tomatoes and pumpkins but few fruits.

So a level garden in the sun? I covet it. In an old river bottom with deep rich soil? I drool. With raised beds, organic compost and a host of busy gardeners? Oh dear. And grass paths.

The French Laundry has such a garden. I would like to lie down in the compost and stay. I would like to adopt the garden - or have it adopt me. The well worked raised beds are lined with drip irrigation (or as we used to call it in Landscape Architecture school, irritation).

When planted you can't see the drip, just the lovely labels...

...and the gorgeous chard. Or peppers.

Or salsify...

or pumpkins

and chickens!!

they have a chicken tractor! Check out my old blog posting on Chicken Tractors

I should back up. The French Laundry in Yountville is one of the two best restaurants in the world. The other is Per Se in New York, and they are both the creation of Thomas Keller who has changed the way we all eat. And how we eat - from courses (many and small) to plates (many and stacked. All white sculpture with your food).

In France people travel and stay in hotels (sometimes in unattractive towns) to eat splendiferous food. Not so here - until Thomas Keller. Altho the Napa Valley isn't ugly...

Thomas Keller has three other restaurants in Yountville: Bouchon, Bouchon Bakery, and Ad Hoc. Try all three - breakfast at Bouchon Bakery, lunch at Bouchon (oysters and shrimp and a glass of rose - quick before Indian Summer is over). Ad Hoc for dinner (it's really hard to get a reservation at the Laundry) or get take-away at Ad Hoc Thursday thru Saturday. Fried chicken or barbecue. Get the chicken.

Bon Appetit and happy gardening. I will be in my shady garden shedding tears on the thin soil.

More Notes from the Road

2011-09-22T14:26:00.000-07:00

Some of my favorite things about Provence:

The paella at the market in Aix. French fast food. From the biggest paella pan I've ever seen. Beats the heck out of McDonald's, doesn't it?

Sundown. My favorite time of day anywhere, here the evening light glows golden on stone houses in narrow streets.

Streets designed for cars and fire engines don't have this charm. Where I live form does not follow function, form follows parking. Everything is designed around the almighty automobile. Or the almighty fire truck. I suppose if your house is on fire and the fire department can't get down your street you'd go for a bit less charm...but only for a moment.

The B&R picnics. In the most charming locations. One guide was so attentive she took Larry's shoes to the picnic so he wouldn't have to wear his slippery biking shoes.

Only one problem: how is he supposed to get to the picnic?

Oops.

The red houses of Rousillon. With contrasting car. They may not run but they are clearly what the well-heeled Provencal is driving...or decorating his driveway with...

The tree-lined streets. Why can't we do this?

The occasional unexpected companion.

As we rode past the goats, Wally took a sniff and said "That explains the cheese!"

I loved the farms...

...and the clusters of dead snails on every weed stalk and fencepost.

Seems a terrible waste in the land of escargot. But at least they're not eating my garden.

Tasting wine with Dennis McAuliffe, the only American sommalier in France...

...who is very entertaining.

Did I mention we also learned some stuff?

The music...

...the dancing...

...and the local color.

The Most Beautiful Villages Of Provence

2011-09-20T08:02:00.000-07:00

Menerbes. Bonnieux. Rousillon. Gordes. La Coste.

We ride through them all, stopping for coffee, strolling, shopping. And water.

The hills are long but not steep. Think about it - a loaded oxcart couldn't carry your stuff to market if the grade was too steep. And a full cart would run over the ox on the way home. So the climb is gentle.

Still, we're hot and sweaty when we roll into town.

Sometimes it's market day, sometimes's it's just time for coffee and pastry.

It's fashionable to be snarky about these villages: Peter Mayle put them on the "been there done that" list (I heard he'd been run out of Menerbes and has moved to Lumiere...love to know the back story on that...) But they are beautiful, charming, quaint, quirky, fun. And well worth the climb.

In Bonnieux...

...we stop for lunch at La Table de Sylvie. A little terrace with the most spectacular views, simple delicious food, and Cat Stephens and Louis Armsrtrong music coming from...

...this. We start dancing and Sylvie joins us, singing "Oh baby. it's a wild world." When she says wild she points at herself. Yup.

Sally finds her favorite singer, Francis Cabrel

Le Ancienne Poste in Menerbes is owned by a former B&R guide, Phillipe Brown, and available to rent. Check out the photos and don't be put off by the cartoon dog at the beginning - this is a seriously sophisticated house. En suite bathrooms - need I say more?Ancient (I'm talking rocks not Romans here) meets modern and spacious. Very different, very cool. Altho the dog in the website intro has got to go...

After all that climbing the pool at Le Coquilade is so inviting...

...Joyce can't wait.

It has been a day well lived.

On The Road Again

2011-09-14T08:15:00.000-07:00

Day two of cycling - we have a short drive to meet our bikes and find Wally's bike. in a compromising position...

...perched in the fountain. There are some disapproving stares from the locals - this fountain is famous for great water, and people come with jars and jugs to get it. Hope they don't mind the footprints...

The muttering of the locals is getting louder as we ride out of town, and I think to myself, "This is how the revolution got started."

We start the ride thru forests still cool from the evening. As we ride into the shade, it feels like diving into a pool. It's silent except for the morning calls of birds. We know it will be hot later, and of course we'll be going uphill then, but right now a jacket would be nice.

Onto the bike path...

...where even this car can't follow. Just in case the revolution has started.

We stop in Fourcalquier where it is market day. Halloween not being a French tradition, these Musque de Provence pumpkins are sold by the slice - for eating.

Bright pink radishes share a box with their more modest cousins, the heirloom carrots.

There are plenty of cheesy purses and cheap clothing, but there are some gems mixed in.

Laguiole knives with olive wood handles, hand-forged hinges, jacquard tablecloths, and piles of sunny baskets.

A picnic in an old cloister (do you see a theme here? The aforementioned revolution created a lot of empty convents) then on to a modern perfume institute owned by L'Occitane en Provence for a smelly class (in more ways than one. It was a hot sweaty morning)...

We are given a box of scents...

...a basic recipe, and we make our own custom perfumes.

You can let me know if you like it when you see me next. And remember, if you can't say anything nice...

More about Dinner in Sardinia later. Those hills were steep and hot, and I'm off to the pool.

Boules, Petanque

2011-09-13T10:06:00.000-07:00

Butterfield and Robinson's Provence biking trip begins today! We meet our bikes in a hilltop town. Very smart...

...because there is much less whining if the first ride is a screaming downhill. And the first day's ride is really to give the guides a chance to figure out who the troublemakers are. Who's wobbly, who's fighting, who's mist likely to get lost...

...who can dodge the sheep, and their, ahem, slippery deposits.

The sheepdogs have a tense moment deciding whether to stick to herding sheep or take up bicycle chasing. We have a tense moment too. They make the right choice.

We stop for lunch at Le Bistrot de Pierrerue in a charming one-street town too tiny to have a boulangerie. The French government apparently pays the tiny restaurant to open in the mornings so the locals have someplace to gossip, drink coffee, have pastries...maybe in reverse order. Maybe not.

Maryvonne and Marc make us an incredible lunch of vegetable tarts, guinea fowl, lime tart with almond crust (I'm gonna try to duplicate this at home and if you're nice I'll invite you to sample it).

We drink lots of rose. I eat more for lunch than I usually do in a week. So does everyone else. We can barely swing our bloated bodies back onto our bikes.

We're staying at the fabulous Couvent de Minimes, owned by the same people who own L'Occitane in Provence. The nuns never had it this good.

We gather for a Petanque lesson - after showers of course and a quick nap. (Did I mention the hotel is on top of a hill? again?) Petanque is a bit like bocce but more cut-throat. The French say it came first; the Italians say Bocce did.

Wally gets into it, in proper professional Petanque attire...

And scores for the boys. Check out his form.

Ann takes to it like a duck to water...

Note the perfect form AND the perfect attire.

Larry is so serious - and knocks the girls' (previously winning) balls into the next county.

Sally takes revenge...note the perfect form.

We have a lovely wine-fueled dinner in the cloister and I wonder about the nuns - this place was founded in the 1600's and the nun's graveyard is right outside our bathroom window.

Off for a well-earned rest I dream of wrinkled faces, each so distinct I could draw it, all a metallic blue. Creepy.

More adventures tomorrow!

To Market, To Market, to buy a fat fig

2011-09-10T09:11:00.000-07:00

We seem to hit every town on market day. In Bedoin Wally refused to wheel our bikes thru the throngs, but in Vaison La Romain we are on foot and we go exploring.

Locals actually do their marketing here -

It's an odd mix of plastic shoes, cheap souveniers, and the most incredible produce...

Fragrant melons, tempting salumis...

The spices draw us down a side street

...where we find burlap bags of olives...

lined with plastic I hope. Who wants fuzzy olives?

and a New Orleans-style band. A local couple begin to spin, laughing and twirling.

What a great idea!

And we finally find out where the star anise that flavors every dish - and I do mean every dish - comes from.

Enough already!

The Longest Kilometer

2011-09-07T07:27:00.000-07:00

The advantage of staying in a hilltop village is the spectacular views. And getting a jump on the invading hordes.

The disadvantage of staying in a hilltop village is...well, it's a hilltop. And at 3 in the afternoon the ride home is hot and steep.

"Ow! Ow! My hand is cramping!" Wally said half way up the last hill.

And I thought, "Mine probably is too, but how would I know? It's totally numb."

It was cool when we set out this morning - chilly on the ride down, then perfect as we rolled through vineyards and tiny villages.

St-Pierre-des-Vassols, Modene and Caromb, or as we called them The Modern and ay! Caramba!

Beaume de Venise. Lafare. Some of the most beautiful cycling in the world is here, and it's not mobbed with tourists at present. No guarantees for the summer, you're on your own. But who in their right mind would cycle in the heat of summer?

We turn onto the D90a and it's a wall. Straight up to Le Barroux. No mercy. We climb roads not much wider than a tea cozy, praying there was no car coming as we weave our way up the steepest bits. We were rewarded by spectacular views, true, amazing gorgeous postcard perfect views, but we could barely see them for the sweat rolling down our faces and into our eyes, and the trembling in our legs.

Thought about a beer at lunch. Thought about how a beer would make my legs go all jelly and decided unless there was a stretcher option home I would not like to crawl up the hill. Passed on the beer. Home was further away this afternoon than it was this morning - tectonic plate shift is my best guess.

Off for a swim and to get that beer now that we're on top of the world.

Mr Toad's Wild Ride

2011-09-06T02:16:00.000-07:00

The Hotel Crillon Le Brave (yes the same Crillon clan who lent their name to that fabulous hotel in Paris, although not affiliated) is even better than I remembered. Who said you can never go home again?

We were smart - we assumed our luggage would get lost, so we packed one of everything (fancy clothes. bike shorts. change of undies. use your imagination.) in our roll-aboards. And Air France did not disappoint - they lost our one and only checked bag. We felt so smug - neat stacks of carefully edited clothing tucked into the cupboards, our room neat as a pin.

That all ended when our missing bag was delivered to our room...just after midnight.

Some advice: Never take Ambien at 3 a.m. Not even half an Ambien. Not even if you're lying awake stewing about who was the genius who decided it was okay to ring your doorbell and deliver your missing suitcase at midnight effing thirty.

Wally shook me awake at 10 and we stumbled down for breakfast. It had poured the day we arrived - it is sparkling and gorgeous now. And Mt Ventoux, The Giant of Provence lurks in the distance.

Wally wants to ride to the top - on borrowed somewhat abused mountain bikes that weigh as much as a limestone boulder. I, having recently broken several bones and been on my bike exactly three times since, nix the idea. So it's off to Bedoin where it's market day...

...and hundreds of cyclists are setting out to climb Ventoux.

Wally looks longingly - Not me. Not this time.

We cycle a big loop thru tiny villages and end up on a very busy very narrow road. No shoulder, trucks screaming by at 60 miles and hour and sucking you into the roadway with their jetwash, the wolves howling in the fields along the roadway and the buzzards circling overhead. I am weeping when we finally get to Mazan and the traffic circles slow everyone down.

The advantages of the hilltop village: defensible. Important when they were first built.

Great views - important now that they are becoming vacation homes and fancy hotels.

The disadvantage: It's uphill to get home no matter how you slice it.

Clearly we are not the only cyclists staying here...

We dine on an outdoor terrace facing the mountain. The sky turns periwinkle, then purple, then velvet black. The food is delicious...

Off to bed.

Eating From the Garden

2011-09-03T09:39:00.000-07:00

The New York Times had a wonderful article on the tastes of summer. And I have some new recipes to test-drive.

We have been eating from the garden. No peaches this year; the squirrels and rats get there first. But tons of basil and tomatoes, figs and mint, lemons and apples. We made Ina Garten's Baked Shrimp Scampi with garlic and lemons and basil from the garden.

An tabbouleh. Not the traditional Lebanese kind, with more parsley and mint than wheat, but a bastardized American version, an adaptable summer salad.

First bulgar wheat gets covered with plenty of hot water...

...and left to soak it up. A quick drain, the juice of one lemon and some salt...

Lots of mint, the best olive oil you have. Just before serving, and only on the tabbouleh you will be serving, add tomatoes. Cherry tomatoes if you have them. I also like feta, and I would have added some cucumber if I had any.

Tomatoes should never be refrigerated! But you knew that...that's why I put them only on the tabbouleh we're about to eat.

I'm not adding parsley at this time of year because it's old and tough. If it were young and soft I'd throw in a few big handfuls, but I like more mint than parsley.

I don't have a sunny flat spot for a normal vegetable garden, I tuck tomatoes in sunny spots by the front steps. I plant figs and lemons and apples instead of normal street trees. The neighbors can't decide if I'm crazy (probably) or brilliant (did you ever doubt?) but there are more vegetable gardens springing up nearby, and the neighborhood kids are enthusiastic lemon and tomato pickers.

How Do You Know?

2011-08-31T21:01:00.000-07:00

How do you know when your aging parents need help? You can't look to them - Wally's parents refused help until Wally's dad broke his back falling off a ladder (I know, I know, he had no business being on a ladder), and that was several years after they should have had help. The torturing question: If we had insisted on help would he have not broken his back? Would he still be here?

Preserving the remnants of their independence, they refused help at night or on Sunday when their caretaker was off. It used to be an all-day project for the two of them to get Wally's mom into her pantyhose - imagine one person with Parkinson's and a broken back, and one with Alzheimer's. It would be funny if it weren't so sad.

The crowning moment came when Irene (Alzheimer's) awoke in the middle of the night convinced that company was coming and they needed to move into the guest room. The first couple of times she woke him Wally's dad kept his cool, but about the twelfth time he barked at her "For God's sake, Irene, go back to sleep! No one's coming!"

Not happening. Hurt, she took his walker away and went to sleep in the guest room. Alone. He was stranded until the help came at 9 the next morning. He was not amused. We are. You have to see the humor in these things or you will lose your mind. But they got to stay in their home, it was a promise made and kept by their sons. I have made the same promise to my mother.

I asked my sisters when mommy was in the hospital how you know when someone needs help. If there was ever a clear-eyed view from the inside, it's mommy. Carol said, "Well, her house is spotless, her clothes are clean, and she cooks interesting food."

Not the standards I would have applied but so sensible. Crisp and clear. And as I get older I see we all have good days and bad days. When I was younger the bad days were someone else's fault. Now I see - not so much.

I have a favorite saying: "If I die in a rest home every nickel goes to the SPCA." And I mean it.

We should all be allowed the dignity of passing our declining years in our favorite familiar place, our home. Four tiny letters, such a lot of emotion.

Vanilla, or why the neighbors think we drink

2011-08-24T09:48:00.000-07:00

5 beans for every 8 ounces of alcohol. That's what the guy who answered the phone (!! they have a phone! they answer!!) at Beanilla recommended.

I ordered organic Mexican, Madagascar and Tonga beans. He said the Tonga beans are very rare and smell of figs and raisins. I told him I don't like dried figs and I hate raisins. But he had me at rare.

When I opened the plastic envelope I smelled dried figs. And raisins.

He also said don't use good vodka, it imparts its own flavor. Smirnoff, he said.

So I have three big jars of vanilla extract macerating. Different kinds of beans. And neighbors who think not only are we lushes, but we're cheap.

Ah, the joys of the suburbs. Bet they'll be happy when holiday time rolls around and home-made vanilla shows up in their stockings.

Home made Vanilla Extract

For every cup of extract you will need:

5 vanilla beans

1 cup (8 ounces) vodka - Smirnoff works fine, Ketel One is the gold standard. Whatever.

I make it at least a quart at a time. Makes great gifts, and you'll be surprised how fast it goes. More is better than "oh rats I'm out!"

In a clean glass jar with a sealable non-reactive lid (not aluminum, silver etc) place whole vanilla beans. Pour vodka over, seal jar. In smaller jars you may need to fold the beans - no biggie. If you want grainy vanilla you can slit the pods; I love it but it some people think it looks dirty.

Shake well and place in a cool dark spot. The bottom of the pantry, behind your shoes in your closet, or you can try to sneak them into the wine cellar. That's what I did and I am listening for the howls of outrage.

A couple of times a week give the jars a shake. Leave for at least three months (October, November, December...see why I'm blogging about this now?) The longer it steeps the more delicious.

After three months you can:

- pour into pretty jars and give as gifts

- put a quart in your cupboard and go baking crazy

- leave it in the pantry until you're ready to part with it. This may take some time.

- make warm vanilla apple cider. Or vanilla bean cream soda. Or vanilla pear sorbet. Check out the Beanilla web site for these and more recipes.

Treasure Hunt

2011-08-20T08:43:00.000-07:00

If you don't like dogs, go read something else.

Right, everybody cozy? So Leeann and Dan were over for dinner, and of course we were wandering around the garden with wine in hand, and I was apologizing for the - ahem - whiffy-ness in the garden beds, and explaining while I am happy Ally has finally learned to do her business outside, I wish she would do it a bit farther from the outdoor dining room. And not in the areas where I plunge my hands into the soil. And Leeann told me about The Treasure Hunt.

Her friend had a similar problem and it was leaving brown spots on her lawn. So every day she'd take a big handful of kibble, yell "Treasure hunt!" and fling the kibble across the lawn. Dogs won't do their business where they eat, so problem solved.

Ally and I have been going out with treats (yeah, she's spoiled) at first every morning (altho since she's begun to nag while I'm having breakfast I'm mixing up the time) and having a treasure hunt. And the last few days when I've gone out to have breakfast in the garden, or a glass of wine at night, I've noticed something missing. A distinctive and unpleasant odor is gone. I can smell the jasmine and the roses...and the wine.

I don't know where she's going now, and like the parent of an unpleasant teenager said, "I don't care! It's not my problem." Come to think of it, that's what the unpleasant teenager said too.

So please excuse me, I'm taking my tea and toast out into the garden. And I will stop and smell the roses. Finally.

My life in 36 feet, my life in Provence

2011-08-12T18:59:00.000-07:00

I have been reading about life in warm sun soaked stone houses. In Provence, in Umbria, in Tuscany. Charming Carol Drinkwater. The fabulous Ferenc Mate. (get his Tuscany book!! It is hysterical.)
Francis Mayes and Peter Mayle again.

We are going to Ostau de Baumaniere near Les Baux, and Crillon le Brave near, well near nothing really...

...but not far from Avignon. And Mt Ventoux. (Not that I'm riding up Ventoux with a broken foot. Not me.)

And I was feeling envious - of the level and neatly trimmed gardens, of the inviting pools lying lazily in the sun. Of the dramatic terraces. Of the golden stone and blue shutters. Of the vineyards.

Then I looked at the pictures in Carol Drinkwater's book, The Olive Farm. There are weeds gone to seed in the olive grove. I have weeds gone to seed in the vineyard and under the big oaks. Her pool is crowded on a terrace, the seating up some stairs and off to the side. Mine too.

I covet the pool at Ostau de Baumaniere, level with the building...

...until I look at the dramatic terraces at Crillon le Brave

And the fabulous pool.

And then I realize I have a pool on a terrace...

...a warm golden house with blue shutters...

...and a huge mountain just outside the back door. And since swimming is about the only thing I can do (other than eat and sleep and I've gotten really good at those) I have been spending a lot of time in the pool. Back and forth, 36 feet at a time. And I realized: I love it. I don't want to live in Provence, or in Tuscany, I love it here.

How lucky am I?

Monkey see, monkey do

2011-08-12T08:14:00.000-07:00

"Wanna see a really cool way to peel a banana?" Wally asked. "Dave showed me, and it doesn't smush up the end. You don't have to use your thumbnail, and you don't have to fight with the stem. Wanna see?"

Who could resist?

Wally turned the banana stem down and button up, and peeled the banana starting at the button.

"Pretty cool, huh?"

Yeah, if you like bananas. Zoey does not; I only like them if they're slightly green.

Intrigued, I asked "Where did you say you learned this?"

"From Dave" Wally said.

"And how did Dave learn about it?"

"From watching monkeys!"

Something about having too much time came to mind, and then I thought we could all probably learn a little from slowing down and watching the monkeys. With a broken foot slowing me down I'm seeing the world differently.

I watch the hummingbirds dive-bomb in formation over the pool and hover to feed on the lemon blossoms, their wings buzzing softly, their voices scratchy peeps. I watch the hollyhocks tip over and reach for the sun again, all the while throwing out frilly pink skirts of bloom. I hear the baby birds - last crop I hope - peeping for dinner. And I watch Ally play ball by herself, dropping the ball on the stairs, then leaping and dashing after it as it bounces down toward the pool. I swear she grins.

So excuse me, I'm off to check the garden for monkeys. And hummingbirds. And my monkey dog.

Tastes of Summer

2011-08-03T09:42:00.000-07:00

Coconut cupcakes from Ina Garten, The Barefoot Contessa. World's Best All-American Potato Salad from inside the back cover of an old Gourmet. The original recipe called for 1/2 cup of mayonnaise, the revised version says 1/8 cup. Not enough. Jack it back up. And only Best Foods please - mayo is not health food. If you want health food eat tofu. Don't screw up my potato salad.

This is the potato salad that's now famous in East Hampton. If you've been lucky enough to be invited to lunch at Jane's. Or to one of her friends with whom we've shared the recipe. I hear it's gone viral.

I do so miss Gourmet magazine. I love the way Ruth Reichl writes, I would turn to her page first. And every issue would be dog-eared with recipes I wanted to make. Many of my favorite recipes came from Gourmet.

Not so Bon Appetit - they nagged you about health food (if it tasted good we'd all be eating it - we're not stupid and we don't have a death wish), they published the simplest of recipes, nothing interesting or surprising. No delicious prose about foreign lands and the smells and tasted of the bazaar, or the mountain foods of the Massif Central. Ho hum slam-it-on-the-table recipes. Why bother recipes. Although Bon Appetit has finally stopped preaching and started giving us really good recipes. And stories! Not easy recipes, we can get those anywhere. Delicious. Are you listening, Adam Rapoport? Way to go. Keep it up.

Watermelon salad with arugula and feta. It's all the rage now, but when Gourmet first published it (and I first started serving it) it freaked people out...until they tasted it. Yum. Fabulous with a grilled steak. Speaking of steak...

Bistek a la Fiorentina.

This is the simplest most delicious grilled steak. Ever.

1 porterhouse steak for every two people you plan to serve. Or three if they're wimps.
(The best you can get, not from the supermarket. From Lunardi's. Or Rockridge Market Hall's Marin Sun Farms).

Kosher salt. No substitutions.

Pesto. Preferably home made. About 1/2 a cup.

Lemons - about half a lemon per steak plus a few more to garnish the platter.

Heat your grill (gas or charcoal) to medium heat. When grill is hot:

Liberally sprinkle the steaks with kosher salt. This will form a crust, a good bit of the salt will come off when grilling, so this is not the time to be salt-conscious. Lay it on. You're eating steak, for God's sake. But don't do this step until just before you are putting the steaks on or it can pull the moisture out.

Grill the steaks to medium-rare to medium. No I don't know how long this will take - it depends on your grill.

Remove from grill and let rest at least 10 minutes. No Cheating!! I don't cover with foil because I like the crispness and I don't mind if it's not hot hot hot. But if you're that kind of person feel free to tent.

Slather the steaks with pesto, squeeze half a lemon over each steak, then slice (about 1/4 inch thick) and arrange on the platter with extra lemon halves and extra pesto in a little dish. Or drizzled over. And the bones! There's always at least one gnawer at our house.

Light some candles, put Pink Martini on Pandora, and relax. It's summer!

The Sounds of Summer

2011-08-02T16:20:00.000-07:00

Great horned owls calling back and forth, one voice deep and hollow, the answering owl higher pitched and urgent. Sometimes they talk over each other. Just like us.

The cheezy dance music from yet another mediocre wedding band at the nearby country club. Thankfully over by midnight - you can set your watch by them.

The crickets singing me to sleep. When I left for college for weeks I could not sleep without that sound.

The neighbors getting into their hot tub...at 2 a.m... to smoke cigars and discuss intimate things. We really don't need to know.

The springtime frogs. When we had a pond we hired the neighbor kids to find, corral and relocate the deep-throated frog singing his love call all night just under our bedroom window. Great kerfuffle and planning in the hunt, great excitement when they caught him. We had been expecting something the size of a brick, fat and mottled, but he was sleek and bright green and not much bigger than a quarter.

The kids down the hill and across the street (they must be in their thirties by now - why are they still living at home?) at 2 a.m. (I'm seeing a pattern here) drunk, in the street, slamming car doors, playing music, swearing. Loudly. Must every f-bomb be at full volume?

The soft ruffle of a breeze announcing the temperature is dropping.

The mockingbird whose clock is off. He begins at 2 a.m. (there it is again) and the cascading liquid notes are so beautiful I am happy to be awake just to hear him.

The hissing of sprinklers. The late night laughter of children up long past their bedtimes. The soft snoring of the ones I love next to me. Two legs and four - they both snore.

What are your sounds of summer?

Things I loved, things I missed...

2011-07-31T22:45:00.000-07:00

If you've been paying attention you know our sailing and biking in Croatia lasted less than 12 hours. Things I missed: the Nostra Vita at night...

Too bad they didn't have the lights on the night I fell.

We biked a little...

...through some interesting countryside.

After the fall...

I scooted on my butt from the sailboat to the Zodiak for Mr Toad's Wild RIde to the hospital. You can see where the steps are - it looks like a plank in the lower right corner of the photo. In the dark it looked like black velvet. Who doesn't mark the steps?

Oh well, at least with Leslie and the gang we shopped the Venice outlet mall. Leslie got some killer shoes; I got some things from Loro Piana...

...but I can't carry a purse and work the crutches.

And we went to see Aida in Verona in the ancient Roman amphitheater.

Hui He as Aida was breathtaking, her strong sensual voice gave me chills. No vibrato to cover an upper register thinness here, she owned the stage.

Salvatore Licitra as Radames was rich and strong. The spectacle was unreal, at one point Dave counted 292 people on stage. He didn't count the horses.

It's a magical place, a magical evening. Made even more incredible by the woman in the seat in front of Wally.

Bet you won't see that at the opening of the San Francisco Opera.

Ann Gogh (with apologies to Vincent)

2011-07-25T16:02:00.000-07:00

Ann is a painter, her husband is a sculptor and welder. At Risk Welding.

We have one of her paintings, Dog Eating Pizza. in the garden is a pair of steel feet with bright red toes from Larry. Wally has a racy-looking biker in his office. But at their house Larry's latest sculpture is an homage to his wife - Ann Gogh.

Love the name, love the attitude. She's so much fun to be around! and he has captured her spirit, her lilt, her way of looking at the world. And, as Ann pointed out, her chesticles...

So much talent. Love you two.

Busted!

2011-07-20T09:08:00.000-07:00

Not the way I'd planned to come home...

I think I set the record for the shortest B&R trip. On a lovely sailboat...

...for four hours. There were some stairs. In the dark. No lights, no white stripe, no warning to be careful of them. I looked down before I stepped forward to take a photo. Impossible to see, and now I have a broken foot and ankle. 27 hours to get home - that's torture when you're well!

Croatia is beautiful,

the sea just right for swimming

see? sea.

The old fortified city in Dubrovnik is car-free, pale limestone, polished cobbles,

An inviting harbor

weird and wonderful yachts

too big for the harbor they hover offshore

There are pirate ships

and the ship of broken dreams...and ankles, the Nostra Vita, a Turkish Gullet.

At least we have some good memories....

Too few. So sad.

Hotel California

2011-07-16T11:26:00.000-07:00

Walking home from pizza (where they asked where we were from and then had to Google San Francisco to see what state it's in) we happened upon a band playing Hotel California at the Cafe Teatro - (part bar, part gelateria) and Wally being the curious soul he is we snagged the last table. The lyrics were mangled - the Doobie Brothers did not sing "Without love - better to be now." but the band did. Gotta love those mondegreens (look it up).

The long-haired singer recognizable the world over. Children ran between the tables. Young couples proudly showed off their babies. The old ladies in their sensible shoes and modest dresses sat in the back with their smiling slightly bent-over husbands. It was magic. Hotel California will never be the same.

The Road Less Travelled

2011-07-16T00:19:00.000-07:00

We head out early in the morning, before it gets to be 90 degrees, before the mosquitoes are fully awake (we hope) and ride along the banks of the Adige.

Exploring, we chose the roads less travelled. Which sometimes leads to retracing our steps, or even (brace yourselves)

checking the map. Whoo hoo!

In the tiny town of Carpi (think Capri spelled sideways), a town one block long with only one restaurant, Wally finds a Slow Food restaurant, Antica Trattoria Bellinazzo.

Wally definitely has restaurant radar. The owner, Danielle, breaks out a bottle of his homemade beer. He only made ten bottles so don't get your hopes up, but he has other great hand-made local beers. We have a fabulous lunch of prosciutto dolce, cimbro, a local cheese made nowhere else and served shaved into a tiny frilly ice cream cone shape, a salami that melts in your mouth called stortina veronese, and a risotto made by Danielle's grandmother with parmigiano and cinnamon. Heaven.

Off to nap thru the heat of the day, or as Danielle calls it, un reposo.

Night At The Museum

2011-07-15T06:02:00.000-07:00

"Mommy, why do the floors make so much noise?' asked Sam. The wood floors rumbled and creaked as you walked across them.

He was a little freaked out by the house - it's 400 years old, filled with dour portraits of ancestors glaring down from the walls. It's attached to the older house that was abandoned after the flood. Not Noah, but not much later. We are living in a museum and it takes some getting used to.

There is a grand marble entry filled with bikes and children...

...a kitchen divided into two funky little rooms...

...each with its own sink.

Why? Staff. Who cares about a big modern eat-in kitchen when you have staff?

There is a huge breakfast room...

...and a dining room that's officially computer central. It's the only place you get wi-fi, now so essential but not part of the plan when the house was built. 41 wi-fi devices by my count.

"The floors make noise, Sam, because they are old and they have lots of stories to tell," said his mother.

Sam was also freaked out by the painted ceiling in his room.

"Look how beautiful it is, Sam. It will bring you beautiful dreams."

It worked. Sweet dreams.

Villa Bartolomea

2011-07-13T03:17:00.000-07:00

If you're going to share a ten bedroom house with twenty other people there are some basic things that will make it easier...

It's a beautiful old house on the banks of the Adige -

with a killer entry. Remodel, anyone?

You know there's plenty of room when you can test your bike's fit...

...inside.

Sweating in Venice

2011-07-11T08:57:00.000-07:00

Venice. The sauna. If you're on the Grand Canal you can breathe...

Notice how everyone is outside? So are we. The Gritti Palace Hotel has the best views in town. Breakfast on the terrace is delightful. Lunch is just bearable if there is a breeze. Forget cocktails - too hot.

Arrive by water taxi if you can - it's an e-ticket ride (okay of you remember e tickets you're older than you think).

The Biennalle four years ago changed the way I look at the world. This year it looked like a misogynistic high school art show. I kept thinking "Yuck!" and "I could do that" and "Seriously? More melted plastic?"

There were a few thought provoking pieces...

...and a few that looked straight out of a Manhattan gallery.

But it did not change my life. Darn.

There were gondola traffic jams on the Grand Canal...

...the poor sweltering tourists looked miserable.

When you go eat at Al Paradiso. Inside. At midnight outside it was 90 degrees, But the owner is charming and the food was incredible. Have the Branzino Carpaccio and the Spaghetti Vongole. Try the risotto with shrimp. And the grilled whole sea bass. Yum.

The Land of the Large

2011-07-10T01:24:00.000-07:00

Everything is bigger in East Hampton. The potato fields...

and the wheat fields.

At least the ones that haven't been turned into second homes on steroids. Seriously, do you really need a 27,000 s.f. second home? (or first but that's a whole 'nother Oprah, as Des says).

And the signs! Gotta love the street names....

Alewive Brook Road. Soak Hides Road.

Altho it's hard to read down, especially at driving speed.

The sunsets are fabulous.

And The Boathouse on Three Mile Harbor road is clearly Party Central. Gotta be a story behind this.

Too bad we arrived too late for the party.

The shingled houses...

The beach dunes...

...and my new favorite way to garden. This guy has it down.

Hot Stuff

2011-07-04T12:36:00.000-07:00

I didn't plan to have a hot orange and pink garden, it just sort of happened. A pastel garden would have died against my yellow and blue house, so I would come home with hot colors, then wander around with a trowel trying to find homes for them.

The screaming orange roses (no, I don't know their name, I got them from a backyard breeder; when fully open they're ugly and they fade horribly as they age and yes you may have some cuttings) look brilliant next to the hot pink pelargoniums...

...and a bit of lime and blue calm things down, courtesy of Tradescantia 'Sweet Kate'.

No I don't know who Kate is or was. Do you know who John Tradescant was? You might look them up - elder and younger.

The pink hollyhock has volunteered under the orange tree...

...and as it does not get enough sun it's lying down. Makes things more convenient for the snails.

Canna 'Tropicana' has the most amazing leaves - huge, tropical (hence the cultivar name) they come up tight and unroll into striped flags.

A little pale peach at the end of the bed just to calm things down. Don't want to leave visitors with jangled nerves.

Somehow they all play well together.

What if they didn't play well together? What would a 'Runs with scissors' garden look like?

My next project. Any ideas?

Corso

2011-06-27T17:02:00.000-07:00

Hand pulled mozzarella. Stretched to order and served with gypsy peppers, pickled red onions, capers, and little cubes of fire-toasted bread, tasting of summer nights and bonfires. We ate at Corso in Berkeley last night, and I can still taste it. Of course we had to eat at the uncivilized hour of 5:30 because they are booked eons in advance. Every time I've tried to book a table it's been sold out or you can come at 9:15. I will have eaten the upholstery by then. I will be on my second dessert. At another restaurant. I don't do 9:15.

Insalata Caprese will never be the same. Next time I make it I'm adding capers, their salty crunchy burst of acid and caper-ness just the right counterpoint to the blandness of the mozzarella. And maybe I'll substitute slivers of roasted peppers for the tomatoes (which have been insipid in this cold year). Or maybe I'll use cherry tomatoes. And serve it on slices of fire-toasted bread, the true Tuscan crostini. I'm getting hungry.

Chicken Tractor

2011-06-23T21:45:00.000-07:00

When I first heard the phrase, I thought "This green thing has gone too far." I had visions of a weathered old green John Deere with faded yellow wheels and knobby tires, and a large hamster wheel where the engine should be, with a few chickens running like mad, spinning the hamster wheel and powering the tractor - at glacial speed. It's a great visual, but not quite right.

In fact a chicken tractor isn't nearly as complicated, although some are at least as picturesque.

It's a moveable chicken coop. One could argue that in hurricane country all chicken coops are moveable, but that's a different story. Or, as my friend Des says, "That's a whole 'nother Oprah."

Chickens are the new - what - SUV? third car garage? 4.5 GPA child?

I had a client twenty years ago who got chickens - several dozen, just a day old, from the local feed store. He built a coop with aviary wire and stout posts, closed in on all sides with a sturdy top to keep the skunks and raccoons from snacking on his chickens. And his eggs.

At waist height he hung a row of nesting boxes and filled them with straw. He put a lock on the door, hung my seed-starting heat mat on the wall at floor level to keep the chicks warm, and when the chickens grew up he had the best compost I've ever seen. The cook would throw the kitchen scraps in the coop; the gardeners would dump in the lawn clippings. He would run a mower over branches and trimmings and dump them in too, and the chickens would eat any bugs, peck at everything else, scratch to turn the compost and poop on it adding nitrogen. It would eventually mat down into a cake a few inches thick, so every once in a while someone (usually me) would steer the wheelbarrow into the coop, shut the door (chickens spook easily, and they're not homing pigeons) and using a spade, scoop up the lovely rich composted layer and spread it in the garden. I have never seen roses so big, or raspberries so plump and juicy.

My sisters have had chickens. My mom spent a summer chicken-sitting (enunciate carefully) until the owls discovered the sleeping chickens - no roof, for they were in an old horse corral. Oops. All too soon, no chickens. But I have never had chickens of my own.

Five Reasons to Keep Chickens:
1. Compost. Lovely rich compost with no turning. Big fat blowsy roses. Pumpkins! Melons! Tomatoes!

2. The sweet soft sounds chickens make when calm and scratching around together. They sound so social, it's what I imagine the farm ladies from my mother's childhood sounded like when they got together.

3. The eggs. Lovely fresh eggs.

4. Gathering the eggs still warm from under sleepy chickens softly chuckling and cooing.

5. Sharing with the neighbors. Especially the kids.

Five Reasons Not to Keep Chickens:
1. The smell. Buy some organic chicken manure at the nursery and you'll know what I'm talking about.

2. The not so sweet sounds they can make if you get a rooster (despite having paid extra for all girls). Apparently either chicken sexing is an inexact science or a minimum wage job. And what do you do with an unwanted rooster? (No, please, not over my fence! But I can give you a list of names...)

3. Our neighborhood has a rule against them. They also have rules against clotheslines, more than two pets, parking outside your garage, visible basketball hoops...none of which are enforced, so this isn't a biggie. But...

4. Sometimes chickens are not happy to see you, and not eager to have their hard work (ooh, bad pun) removed from under their warm feathers. So they assault you with their sharp beaks and flapping wings. My grandmother called them broody; I call them murderous nasty beasties. That's after I wash well and put on the band-aids.

5. The neighborhood kids. Can you imaging the highway they would wear through the lawn as they checked every few minutes to see if there was an egg? And brought all their friends within a fifty mile radius?

So maybe I won't get a chicken tractor after all. But at Alamo Hay and Grain there are the most astonishing chicks, yellow and green-black, all fluffy and quietly peeping away...tempting. we will see.

Slamming Into Summer

2011-06-21T16:29:00.000-07:00

Last Sunday we rode our bikes up the mountain. In turtlenecks and windbreakers for the ride down. My hands were stiff with cold when we got home.

On Wednesday we went up the mountain again and came home drenched in sweat.

It's official: It's summer. And it happened in about 48 hours. My poor garden is reeling: hydrangeas droop, lovely pale blue flowers tinged with green hang their heads. The dogwood is sad and floppy. Even the dog won't go out. Too hot to swim,

...too hot to water. But some things are happy - the grapes...

...are tiny as pencil dots, but there are forests of them. Cross your fingers, we may finally have a decent crop. The vines are flinging their arms all over the place, trying to catch you as you go up the stairs. Huge leaves are crying out to be made into dolmades. I confess I've pulled a few leaves to place under the Red Hawk cheese from Cowgirl Creamery - my current passion. It's fabulous with white wine on the patio before dinner. It's local and hand made, and it tastes a lot like Epoisses. Smells a lot like it too. But wait until it cools off for cocktails and a stroll around the garden. Where you will find happy poppies...

and roses -

finally not balling up and falling off in the damp. Just in time for the end of the first big bloom and the weeks-long wait for the re-blooming. Grrrr.

The Sally Holmes look moth-eaten...

...but the White Meidland, shoved in at the edge of the big oak's canopy and given little water and no care are gorgeous.

They looked awful in the front, dropped brown balls instead of opening into sparkling white roses. I put them here because I didn't have the guts to throw them out. I figured they would die on their own and save me the decision, and now they light up the dry shade. Silly me.

The campanula, the unfortunately named campanula poscharskyana, is climbing up the New Zealand flax. When it's over, when it has set seed, I will pull the spent stalks and throw handfuls of them where I want campanula next year. Very obliging plant. When the seed stalks begin to brown and look horrid I will give them a shake (to release as many seeds as possible) and throw them under the oak to compost.

It's still blazing out there.

But in a few hours the lawn will be in shade, and I will make gin and tonics in mason jars, grab some Red Hawk and our Boules and head for the bottom lawn.

It's summer. Finally.

Who's Old?

2011-06-14T21:35:00.000-07:00

Dr Ali Hendi, a dermatologist, was talking about the new sunscreen standards tonight on The PBS News Hour, and he said (and I'm paraphrasing here) "Skin cancer use to be a disease of old people - we would see it in forty year olds. And now we're seeing it in young people." And I wondered: when did forty year olds became old people? I know a woman who is forty-two and considers herself barely out of her teens. Though that is true for her mentally, not so much in reality. Lose the bikini.

What's your take? When do things get more difficult? What does it mean to age...or to be in denial like my 42 year old acquaintance? What do you do differently? What do you fear? What are the best things about being older? I can think of dozens...like I really don't give a rat's pajamas about a lot of stuff that would have tortured me in my youth.

Well?

Strawberry Rhubarb Preserves

2011-06-13T22:51:00.000-07:00

'Cause it ain't jam. Stephen, of the fabulous Stephen Saiz Salon on Union Square in San Francisco is so excited about "putting things up." He says he's never done it before. A fantastic cook, it's probably the only thing he hasn't tried. If he invites you for dinner say yes. If he starts talking about something he made recently start taking notes.

He loved the Strawberry Rhubarb Jam; I found it cloyingly sweet. So I tried again. By now you all know I can't leave well enough alone in the recipe department...at least I'm not as bad as my Aunt Nini who thought "If a little fertilizer is good, a lot will be better" and fried her entire garden.

So before the strawberry and rhubarb seasons are over, I tried again. With less sugar. Bliss.

If you're an experienced jam maker you can skip to the recipe. But for Stephen, and everyone else who's not made real cooked jam before, here are the details.

Get the best ripe strawberries you can find. Think Farmer's Market, roadside stand. Not grocery store.

Rinse the berries. Halve them if they are small, quarter them if they're ginormous.

Before we go any further I should tell you this is easier with a few pieces of equipment. That's the bad news. The good news is they're not expensive or hard to find, and they don't take up much room when you're not using them. And they won't go out of fashion, unlike that pair of orange platform shoes I'm thinking about...

You will need:

A jar rack - to hold the jars when they go in a big pot full of boiling water. It's called a water bath. You probably already have a big pot - you can put a cake rack or a dish towel on the bottom to keep the glass jars from contact with the bottom of the pot, but it's a pain, and if you're gonna get serious (and you're gonna get serious, I promise) get the right tools.

A canning funnel. I use mine every day. Today I used it to put roasted nuts in a quart jar. I store everything in glass (you did read that post, right?) and trust me this makes putting things in jars a pleasure not a juggling act. Get one even if you're not gonna jam.

A pair of jar tongs, the funny things with the black handles. For lifting the finished jars out of the water bath. A few dish towels folded on the counter and you're on your way. You already have a ladle, right?

I use the potato masher to smash the berries a little more, but you can skip this step.

Cut the tops and bottoms off the rhubarb...

...and cut into cubes.

Measure the fruit, add the lemon juice.

Dump into a big heavy-bottomed pot. This can more than double in volume when it's boiling. I use a copper 8 quart pan. (you don't have to take notes - the recipe is all in one place below. You're welcome.)

Add the butter - this helps keep the foam down. So does using fully ripe fruit.

In a small bowl stir 1/4 cup sugar into the low-sugar pectin

Mix this into the fruit in the kettle (don't you love that word?)

Over high heat stirring constantly, bring to a full rolling boil. That's a boil you can't stir down. Add the sugar...

...and bring back to a rolling boil. Boil for exactly one minute, then ladle into hot jars, leaving about 1/4 inch headroom.

I use clean well-rinsed rubber gloves to handle the hot jars - more about the jars later.

Wipe the rims clean with a damp paper towel

and screw on two-piece lids - fairly tight, you don't want them leaking in the water bath! Place the jars in the rack

and lower into the boiling water bath and process for ten minutes. This means the water should be gently boiling for ten minutes. It may take a few minutes for the water to return to the boil when you put the jars in - don't start the timer until the water returns to a boil.

Remove from the water bath either by lifting out the whole rack (I find these silicone mitts are great for that)

or by using the tongs to fish them out one at a time.

Set the hot jars on a towel - a cool granite counter can cause the jars to crack.

A few notes about timing: I start the big pot for the water bath about an hour before I start chopping fruit. I also put the jars in the dishwasher then - by the time your jam is ready the jars should be clean and hot, and the water bath boiling away.

Before you put the jars in the dishwasher remove the lids and rings. Pour boiling water over the lids and let them sit until you're ready to use them.

Strawberry Rhubarb Preserves

6 cups smashed strawberries

2 cups rhubarb cut into 1/2 inch cubes

juice of one lemon

1 box low sugar pectin

4 cups sugar

1/2 teaspoon butter

Measure the fruit, add the lemon juice and butter, and place into a big heavy-bottomed pot. (I use a copper 8 quart pot)

In a small bowl stir 1/4 cup sugar into the low-sugar pectin, then stir in to the fruit.

Over high heat stirring constantly, bring to a full rolling boil. Add the sugar and return to a full rolling boil. Boil exactly one minute, remove from heat and ladle into hot jars. Screw on lids, water bath for ten minutes.

Makes about 10 or 11 half pints. You won't want to share. You might think about chopping and freezing some rhubarb for later, the grocery stores carry frozen strawberries for when you get desperate but not rhubarb.

Emily's Botanica, or Letter Writing Is Not Dead

2011-06-05T17:29:00.000-07:00

I keep hearing the letter is dead, replaced by tweeting and face book status (hmmmm, interesting chocice of words) but among my friends letter writing is a competitive sport. Okay, no one can match Des, her intellect, her erudition, her impeccable manners...and yes, that competitive spirit. And she Hand Makes her gift tags!!!

...and ribbons!!!

And don't get me started on her gift wrapping...and the gifts! Home made treats, lavish spa items from the finest stores, you know, the ones you haven't heard of yet? If Des is on it you can bet it will be the happening thing soon. A girl could get a complex.

But my friend Aileen sent me photos of the most luscious cards -

Voluptuous roses. Sculptural iris. Chic pink blossoms that transport me instantly to Paris.

I am ordering a bunch. For thank you notes, for hostess gifts, for birthdays and for cheering people up - like me. And best of all they are made by a friend of Aileen's, a lovely young woman who is just starting out. Emily Schmidt. Remember that name. You can thank me later.

Buy them for your friends. Tell your neighbors. Post on facebook. Right now you can only get them thru:

emilycschmidt@gmail.com

Social media it up, kids, it's a chance to know about something really beautiful before everyone else catches on. And isn't shopping a competitive sport too?

Garlic

2011-06-02T08:34:00.000-07:00

On a cool day last fall day I planted garlic in the sticky clay below the bottom lawn. It was the only place there was sun; it was the only place there wasn't some other plant crowding its neighbors and flinging its arm wildly about. The pumpkins I had planted there hadn't thrived in the cold summer; their leaves were covered with powdery mildew. Their few fruits had been cannibalized by voles, the hollow shells left to rot by those furry thieves who had stolen the seeds. I pulled the thin wilted trails of pumpkin vine out and used a spade to make slits in the clay. Trust me, turning the soil to a fine tilth doesn't work here, the clay just sticks back together.

I shoved garlic in the slits in the soil, not believing it could possibly grow there, and tamped the soil back down with my heel. I only planted about a dozen cloves; it was hard work and I was expecting failure. My friend Leslie came down and watched. I didn't have the heart to tell her these were not good gardening practices.

A few weeks later there were gray-green shoots. Encouraging, but still: wet winter. Clay. Didn't get my hopes up. I thought they might put down some roots over the winter, then grow into grown-up garlic in summer.

Last week when I finally went down to the south forty, there were spent stalks falling over. I wanted to try those Cinderella pumpkins again, and I wanted to see what had happened to the garlic, so I shoved a spade in beside a stalk, not expecting much, and I pried out a huge purple head of garlic.

I should explain: I used to grow lots of garlic, plump heads, braided and hung in the garage to be clipped off as needed. Juicy cloves for roast chicken, whole heads roasted and spread on bread. I thought I was a good gardener. In this new garden my best efforts had produced one or two cloves clinging to a withered white stalk. No juicy fat heads. Humbling. So I wasn't expecting this:

There were strange swellings in the stalk. Expecting some voracious bug that was planning to devastate the rest of my garden I cut open a stalk and discovered...

...two tiny perfect cloves of garlic nestled snugly in the stem.

So I've learned some things:
1) Fall plant garlic here. Spring planting worked in my last garden, just a mile away. But not here.

2) Garlic likes heavy soil. I will mulch and continue to dump compost on the clay, but I won't worry about the garlic.

3) Maybe none of the above is true. Maybe it was just dumb luck. Maybe things will turn out totally differently next year. But that's part of the adventure of gardening. And it's not a bad thing to remember about life.

Strawberries with the volume turned up

2011-05-25T21:20:00.000-07:00

"Have you ever tasted a strawberry right off the vine, warm from the sun?" asked my friend Leslie, mother of The Three Pinks. She had been berry picking in Brentwood. (I had been at the dentist. Who wants to trade places?)

Yes, I have tasted strawberries right off the vine. I grow strawberries. My mother grew strawberries, and my grandmother. But not these strawberries. Not even close.

The taste is somewhere between those tiny fraise de bois (which can be a but mushy, tho food snobs will never admit it) and a really great California grown strawberry. Strawberry with the volume turned up.

I don't know its name, but I will. Oh yes I will. I rarely succumb to the must-have plant, but one taste and I'm on a mission. She also brought cherries...

When I asked the cultivar name, she said "crack." I think it's actually a coral cherry, but the strawberry? definitely crack. Must have more....

Read the Directions

2011-05-24T16:37:00.000-07:00

I bought these beautiful canisters from Chef's Catalogue, one of my favorite places for Kitchen stuff.

I used to be a loyal Williams-Sonoma customer; they had the best return policy: If you're not happy, bring it back. Period. No hassle, no recriminations.

No more. Now if something they sell breaks, you have to take it up with the manufacturer. At their prices? Are they kidding? If you own WIlliams-Sonoma stock, sell it now. It's not the company I knew and loved. I know Chuck Williams had to retire sometime but boy do I miss him.

So anyway, the canisters: unpacking them they were very dusty. And being the slightly compulsive person I am (okay, more than slightly. Happy now?) (And have you checked your compulsive quotient lately?) I wash everything before I use it. I looked at the bottoms: "dishwasher safe" so in they went. When they went in they were labeled - Flour, Sugar, Brown Sugar. When they came out, one had an F - the rest were naked. So I went back to the website, and yup - "Hand wash." Oops.

At first I was upset, and I felt like an idiot. Then I thought "it's my chance to label them in whatever language I choose. Italian, Lithuanian, French..."

I've been having a blast playing with typestyles. And language translators. Shall I label the smallest canister Rudojo Cukraus? or Zucchero di Canna? Cassonade? or with a skull and crossbones? And I can change the labels at will, thanks to an overzealous dishwasher.

Thank you mommy for teaching me to look for the opportunity in every disaster. And thank you Chef's Catalogue for canisters that are actually big enough to be useful. Cookies, anyone?

Thirty one jelly

2011-05-23T15:55:00.000-07:00

Thirty one jars of jelly. Apple jelly with a little pomegranate thrown in for color (so it doesn't look like a urine sample). Eight jars at a time, because that's all the recipe makes, and because that's what fits in my water bath.

My windows are still steamed up.

It was for a bridal shower - fall wedding; apple theme...

It's hot work and sooooooo much more fun to do with someone. Hi Cathy!

Cathy has incredible style and an eye for the details. Her parties are legendary - more later. And as long as we were cooking, why not carrot cupcakes for a friend who'd just had surgery?

So! The party: Gorgeous flowers...

...on every surface.

Delicious food, cool way of serving (I plan to steal this idea), happy tables with garden flowers. So spring.

Piles of presents for the bride-to-be...

...and a quiz. Do you know what a bain-marie is? A tagine?

And could you identify these herbs and spices?

Mary Mac guessed hemlock - and cannabis. Nope, all legal. Tasting and smelling helped, but even the person who put this together (a secret that will go with me to my grave - not soon I hope) mis-named a few. Safety tip: If you're going to taste the Chipotle chili, take a tiny taste. I can still see Stevie's face as she realized what she'd put in her mouth.

I thought we were too old for games. Never! I felt like a little kid at a really fun birthday party. Girlfriends are the Best!

My Bad

2011-05-18T14:42:00.000-07:00

Down to the forties at night. Barely breaking sixty during the day. Rain. Drizzle. A spectacular sunset, then more rain. Come on, you say, this is May. In California. What's going on?

It's my fault. Remember the 90 degree days a week and a half ago? My fault too.

I planted tomatoes and melons - both require heat. That's why it's cold and wet. Mother Nature is messing with me. You're just an innocent bystander - this is personal. And that heat wave? Just after I planted the tomatoes and melons from little tiny plugs (I grew the seeds on a heat mat) I went away for a week. (Hawaii. Took my mom for Mother's Day and yes we did have a good time thank you so much for asking).

I was not here to water. The seedlings should have dried up and died in that heat, but I had given them a good soaking and a 4 inch layer of mulch, so they were snug and happy, and just beginning to grow...

And that's when Mother Nature decided to teach me a lesson. In patience (wait for the soil to warm up), in the true nature of gardening (nothing ever turns out as you had planned and isn't that true in life too?) and so things got cold. Very cold. Happy snails and slugs (except when they come across the Sluggo, the pet-safe snail killer - take that! Mother Nature). But the tomatoes are unhappy. Very unhappy. As are the melons.

If I have to I will replant the melons; I saved some seed (see, M.N., I have been paying attention). and I will hope there is enough summer left for them to grow and set fruit. Last cold summer I got one distorted pumpkin and only a few full size tomatoes, altho the cherry tomatoes must have felt sorry for me, for they outdid themselves and gave me baskets full of sweet tasty fruit. Another good reason to plant cherry tomatoes - they need less heat.

But for now, I'm going inside to wait for the rain to stop. It's too cold out here. I will wait to plant beans until the soil is warmer (and the air) and hope it doesn't go from drippy cold (In May! In California!) to blasting heat. And if it does? I suppose there is a lesson in that too...when does this school of hard knocks get out?

2011-05-14T21:47:00.000-07:00

Stephen Saiz, this one's for you.

Stephen is a most wonderful hairdresser, artist, color genius. When first I sat in his chair, he fingered my hair with a frown.

"Well, what do you think?" I asked brightly.

"Oh, honey, your hair is very middle."

"Huh?"

"Middle age, middle class..."

He was right. It's not anymore. Even my mom loves what Stephen does, and she has very high standards. And she hates hair color...but not mine. A few years ago Stephen cut my hair short, and all my friends said I looked ten years younger. SO I went back to Stephen and Said "If you shave it will I look 20 years younger?" He patiently explained that's not how it works. Can't blame me for trying.

Stephen is also one of the most gifted cooks I know. Some of my best recipes came from him. So Stephen, this one's for you.

When I walked into Lisa's house the smells made my knees weak. I wanted to sit down and weep, then head for the kitchen. Her mother was visiting from Chicago, her mother who grew up in Lucca and can cook up a storm...without a recipe in sight. This day it was zucchini soup. I am not a huge zucchini fan, I'm not a huge soup fan, but she handed me a bowl, steaming hot, drizzled with olive oil and sprinkled with parmigiano....heaven. Maybe the best thing I've ever put in my mouth. And of course Maria Franceschini being the fabulous cook she is there was no recipe. Until now.

Maria Franceschini's Zucchini Soup - it will Change Your Life.

2 onions, finely diced
about 6 cloves of garlic, finely diced (okay I cheat and use a garlic press. Get over it.)
Olive oil to cover the bottom of the pan - I'm guessing 3 to 4 tablespoons or so...
7 small to medium zucchini, diced
about 2 cups chicken stock. Maria uses Knorr bullion cubes; I use Better Than Bullion. Reconstituted and hot please.
a big handful of fresh basil

Extra virgin olive oil and grated Parmigiano Reggiano for garnish

Heat the olive oil in a stock pot, add the onions and garlic and gently saute until soft but not brown, then add the zucchini and cook gently until most of the liquid has evaporated. Add enough chicken stock to just cover, and cook for about 15 to 20 minutes.

Put a big handful of fresh basil in the blender, blend with the soup. Return to the stock pot and heat through.

Serve piping hot and topped with a drizzle of really good extra virgin olive oil and a handful of grated Parmigiano Reggiano. No substitutions.

Every time I make this soup I will hear Maria's voice and see her beautiful face. Thank you Maria Franceschini. I love you. And thank you Lisa for sharing your mom.

the newlywed, the nearly dead and the overfed

2011-05-13T22:19:00.000-07:00

That's who visits Hawaii, according to a submarine driver I met. And I started thinking...

The newspapers are full of ads for sure-fire weight loss. If one of them worked don't you think we'd know it? So what's up? We are fatter than we were thirty years ago, yet there are more gyms, more weight loss ads, more sure-fire systems.

Here I look normal. In France I'm fat. In Hawaii I'm skinny. And it's economic. And cultural. There are not a lot of fat trophy wives, or upper east siders. But we all live with the same health consequences, no matter our beliefs.

I shop the edges of the locally owned market, avoiding the processed middle. I shop the farmer's market. I grow beans and peas, tomatoes and peaches, figs and lemons. I pay attention to what goes on my plate, and I still work hard...to avoid the unpronounceable, to fit into my jeans.

I hate Safeway, and when I see their aisles devoted to processed food I am overwhelmed by despair. Safeway will carry gourmet stuff, organic stuff, more choices when a competitor opens up nearby, but the minute they force the competitor out of business, it's back to few choices.

We have an obesity epidemic, and it's all about what you put in your mouth. High fructose corn syrup (check out the NY TImes article), the products (they are not food, they are products) with ingredients we cannot pronounce that masquerade as food. I've heard if we ate food from the middle ages we would die of food poisoning; if they ate our foods, the preservatives would kill them. Just another form of food poisoning, and we eat this stuff every day, and feed it to our families.

We vote with our dollars. If we don't shop at the local stores, but instead go to the big national chains to save a few cents, pretty soon we will have no choice. There will be no smaller local store, no one paying attention to what we want. Go to the Farmer's Market, go to Lunardi's. Vote with your dollars. Take time to eat real food, to touch and feel, to prepare. Real food is less expensive than processed, and there will be fewer preservatives in your body, less packaging in the landfills - and the taste difference! Try it for one week. I believe it will change your life, It may save your life.

It all starts with what you put in your mouth.

Animals at the table

2011-05-09T16:17:00.000-07:00

My mom tell the story of my dad's cousins having a Very Important Person over for dinner, and finding out during dinner he was a bit of an ass. Mary Jean was of course as polite as could be, she wouldn't say macadam if she had a mouthful, but Ireta did not suffer fools gladly, and became more and more irritated as the evening wore on. When their dog was rubbing up against the guest, looking for handouts, he said "Say! I think this dog likes me!"

Ireta had had enough. "He should," she said, "You're eating off his plate."

The dinner ended rather abruptly, and that was the last time they saw him.

You know I like dogs more than I like most people, and I have a sign in my house that says "If you don't want hair on your clothes, stay off the furniture." But even I draw the line at the table. And cats. Disclaimer:

This Is Not My House.

Blue Spring

2011-05-02T14:42:00.000-07:00

I have taken a major position in blue.

This is the iris that re-blooms - I have had it on my Thanksgiving table. But the year we had water rationing and I didn't feed (didn't want to have to keep all that new growth hydrated) it didn't re-bloom. So now I feed. Organic, E.B. Stone or Dr Earth please - feed the soil, the soil feeds the plants.

It's not really this turquoise, but it's fragrant and spectacular.

There is a darker Tradescantia with lime green foliage - the lime makes the blue pop.

There is an Echium I got from Annie's Annuals hanging over the pool. She has seriously cool stuff, and she usually has an open house on Mother's Day. Check it out.

There is columbine from seeds given to me by dear Carol Read...

...and just when the blue seems too much there is a splash...

...of orange. This is Pat Austen, a David Austen rose. Like a splash of cool water for your eyes. Gertrude Jekyll, the fabulous English garden designer wrote about having a one-color garden, and how just a touch of the opposite color (on a color wheel, silly. You weren't paying attention in Art class, were you?) will make both colors more intense. But this is the height of spring, and even my mistakes look fabulous. I'll be digging them up later, and sweating and swearing. But not today. Today I'm breathless. It is too beautiful, cool and fresh. Go outside!

At Risk Cricket

2011-04-27T23:26:00.000-07:00

When we came home there was Cricket in the garden.

Our friend Larry of At Risk Welding made a sculpture of our darling dog. She died about two years ago - it's so nice to see her in the garden she loved. And our new rescue dog Ally

does not seem to be jealous. For a change. When Cricket died we thought we could never love another dog. Ally the clown has won our hearts. The best advice ever - get another dog. We are smitten, and Ally thinks it's a pretty good idea too. Thank you Patty Casci of Oh Behave in Danville for helping. Could not have done it without you.

Jam Session

2011-04-21T21:51:00.000-07:00

There was a young man on the corner with a big smile selling strawberries. They smelled divine when Ally and I went by on our walk, so we went back for a flat.

This is only four baskets - a flat holds twelve. That's a lot to eat, so I made jam. And since it's rhubarb season I added some rhubarb. I pre-cooked the rhubarb, but I didn't need to, it softens quickly.

I used a potato masher (thank you Ann) to smash the berries. You can use a Cuisinart, but there's always one berry that refuses to cooperate, and with a potato masher you can hunt down the recalcitrant berry. Without turning the rest into mush - always a danger with a Cuisinart.

Two cups of rhubarb puree, six cups of smashed strawberries.

One box of Sure-Jell pectin (yes I know it's better without but I did not have all day) brought to a full rolling boil. Six cups of sugar and back to a full rolling boil (thank you Mrs Westphall my seventh grade home ec teacher). One minute at a rolling boil and then quickly into hot jars, the rims wiped and the lids snugly fastened, then ten minutes in a water bath.

I recycle (Carol are you listening?) so it's a motley collection of jars, but labels from My Own Labels will fizz things up -

and no one's getting more than one jar so who's to tell the jars don't match? Shhhhhhh. It's divine. It may be harder to share than I thought...

a bad day to be me

2011-04-20T21:10:00.000-07:00

It could have been a really bad horrible day. First my car needed what was supposed to be a routine service...that turned out to be a major expensive big deal. Like the price of a used car...and I only found out when I went to sign the estimate. A little warning, please guys. When you tell me it's a little routine maintenance I'm not expecting to need a second mortgage to pay the bill.

Never drive a small black car. It's what I got from the rental company, very cute, and a woman backing out in the Trader Joe's parking lot didn't see me. I was parked, not moving, rolling up the windows. She swung the nose of her car into my parking place as she was backing out and whacked! my rental...and kept going. She left a gash more than six feet long in the side of the car. Thank goodness she eventually stopped or I could have been carried away by the edge of her bumper, never to be seen again.

Not a great day so far, and it could have been a really horrible day, but Eric Nguyen at Traveller's Insurance and Sarah and Peggy at Enterprise Rent-A-Car made it better.

Eric made me laugh, and kept calling people at Enterprise until he found someone who said if Eric would pay I didn't have to leave them a whacking big deposit. Sarah and Peggy kept working and stayed cheerful as my blood pressure went up, and they seriously deserve a raise for keeping their cool cheerfulness.

When I came back the next day for - wait for it - another rental car (my car gushed $73 of gas onto the ground. I think the Alamo Chevron may now be a superfund site)

the Enterprise crew were - gasp! happy to see me and let Ally ride home in the rental car with me (no dogs in rental).

Apparently my car had a bad seal in the newly replaced fuel filter. Seriously, guys? It's a Mercedes - this is not supposed to happen! You'd think they'd check this stuff out before they send you home. I shudder to think what could have happened if I'd been on the freeway when the filter cut loose - I could have been a fireball.

This is not where you want to see your car -

Moral of the story? No idea. Ask me when my heart stops racing and my blood pressure returns to normal.

The Details

2011-04-14T14:20:00.000-07:00

Apparently there is a kerfuffle over German Chocolate Cake - it is in fact German's Chocolate Cake, and the original recipe is on the Kraft website.

Megan McArdle, a writer for The Atlantic, has the story. Anybody remember cake walks at school fairs? I can't remember exactly how they worked but they were a sort of musical squares with your choice of a cake for a prize. When the cakes were gone the game was over. My sister Debbie and I would pick our favorite cakes, and hope our parents won before that cake was gone.

Mom and dad always picked the German (more properly German's) Chocolate Cake. We were kids - we hated coconut, so I always wished they'd picked something else. Now I'm actually thinking about making the Original German's Chocolate Cake.

With all the strife in the world and this country bickering about ideals while we slide toward financial and social ruin, it's nice to know someone's paying attention to the details. Thank you Megan.

Almost there...

2011-04-12T20:14:00.000-07:00

So much almost in bloom! Dogwoods...

...and white Wisteria.

The bluebells that make sheets of blue in Sylvia's garden have spread across my garden too -

thank you Sylvia for sharing. I am happy to share with you too.

The quince my mom got me for my birthday was moved last year and I thought it would die. Today it is covered in sweet white cups and luscious green leaves.

On our walk yesterday Ally and I ran into a friend who was exclaiming over the lily-of-the-valley...except they were allium. White, invasive, perfect for a tough spot that gets no summer water. Lily-of-the-valley don't thrive here - too hot. But not yet. I need a coat in the morning, a tank top at midday and it is too cold for cocktails in the garden. It will be stinking hot later, but these are the days I leave the windows open day and night and rejoice that my parents had the good sense to leave Hardin, Montana and move here. Thanks mommy.

Get Out!

2011-04-10T12:41:00.000-07:00

It is a glorious spring day. Blue sky, green hills, cool. Someone is riding up the mountain. Turn off your computer and go outside!

Bowling for Granola

2011-04-09T08:38:00.000-07:00

"You must really cook a lot" Leslie said as she looked at my stack of metal bowls. Then she saw the stack of pottery bowls.

"Why do you have both?"

Sometimes when I'm cooking I want the bowl to stay put - when I'm making tuna for sandwiches (okay that's not really cooking) or mixing up a batch of lemon bread.

That's when I use the heavy pottery bowls.

And sometimes I want to be able to lift the bowl with one hand while I scoop out the goodies inside. That's when I use the lighter metal bowls. Like when I'm making granola...

Granola is so easy to make, and so much better for you. Fresher, no preservatives You can choose to add dried blueberries or cranberries, almonds or pecans, or macadamia nuts if you're in a tropical mood. If you leave out the wheat germ it's gluten free. And you can make it as toasty as you want...

I kept Deidre in granola for a while (she has taken the most astounding photographs of my garden) and when I was going on vacation I gave her the recipe. It has since become her entire family's breakfast of choice.

Granola - Makes about 8 cups

1/2 cup canola oil

1/2 cup honey or maple syrup (I use local organic honey from the farmer's market)

1 cup raw wheat germ

1 teaspoon kosher salt ( do not use regular salt!)

2 tablespoons pure vanilla extract (not the imitation stuff)

4 cups old-fashioned oats

1 1/2 cups chopped nuts (I use pecans and/or almonds - sunflower seeds make it taste moldy)

1 cup dried fruit (I use blueberries but cranberries are good too)

1/2 to 1 1/2 teaspoons Saigon cinnamon (available at Draegers)

Preheat oven to 375°F

In a large metal bowl mix the oil, honey and vanilla, then stir in the wheat germ. Mix well. Add the oats, nuts (raw not toasted or they will burn) cinnamon and salt and smash it together to get the oats mixed with the gooey wheat germ and honey.

Bake 10 minutes. Stir well, scraping the outside edges into the middle (the outside gets brown faster).

Return to the oven for 5 minutes more. Stir, check for color. When the granola is a golden brown even after stirring, remove from oven and stir again, then cool. If you don't stir it when it comes out of the oven it will harden into a brick. I usually do three stir and return to oven cycles, but two may be enough. I like toasty.

Stir in dried fruit, let cool and store in glass jars.

I have no idea how long this keeps, it never lasts very long around here.

David Brooks does behavior

2011-04-04T20:42:00.000-07:00

Nature or nurture? Hard wired or chemical? Genetics, environment, chemistry, or can we blame it all on our parents? My sisters and I are very different, and I wonder why.

New York Times columnist David Brooks blogs about how we think and behave, and some ideas about why, and things are not as simple as they seem. No kidding. But this really made me think, made me want to dig deeper. To understand mean people, those who lack the ability to empathize. The people who cause pain in my life. The people who bring joy, love and understanding, the treasures in our lives.

He has a new book out. Shameless plug. And he blogged today about something called edge.org, a really cool science site that looks like it could keep me fascinated for hours trying to answer these questions, or at least find out what's the latest thinking. Altho I expect to get distracted...

I am thinking more because I'm reading his blog. First, he blogs every day. If you blog, if you write, you know being brilliant every day is hard work. Most mortals can't do it. And he's not fluffy, he blogs about serious stuff. If you read him in the Times or watch him on The PBS News hour you know he has a dry sense of humor that peeks out even in the most humorless of times. He's on my list of people I'd most like to have dinner with. Who's on your list?

I'm off to read more on edge.com. See you there?

Tulips with a grain of salt

2011-04-03T21:51:00.000-07:00

Leslie has pots of them on her porch. Her favorite flower, her husband planted 400 this year. Guys, are you listening? Way to a woman's heart, right there. Pay attention. There will be a quiz.

Liz has tulips in the most stunning color. I'd love a dress this color. Or a car. Or a snuggly sweater.

Eleanor taught me to plant tulips almost touching in a pot. She taught me a lot about gardens. I miss her.

I thought the dog would keep the squirrels away from the tulips. I didn't know she'd dig them out of the pots and eat them. Still, despite her snacking they turned out pretty well.

I love the insides...

In pots they last a lot longer than cut flowers do. But our tulips don't repeat well in the garden.

An expert once told me tulips need baking summer heat to bloom, not cold as we've all been told. I didn't ask her why my friends in colder climates have tulips that come back every year. Didn't occur to me to question this strident person. She's the expert, right?

She said in Holland they dig up the tulips and bake them in ovens so they will rebloom. So naturally when we were in Holland for tulip time a few years ago, I asked about this. When the tulip grower finally finished laughing, (and saying things in Dutch and pointing at me, and laughing some more), he told me no. No way. Not. Then he laughed some more.

The lessons? Take everything with a grain of salt. Just because a supposed expert says it doesn't mean it's true. Be prepared for ridicule when you ask questions. And keep asking. How else will you figure things out?