Well, I’m finally making good on my promise to record the funny things Addie’s been saying these days. I think it’s been well over two months since you started nagging kindly asking me to do it. Up until now, I’ve had the best intentions without any follow through.
But the other day at breakfast, as Addie was telling me (in her garbled way of doing so) that she was drinking coffee and eating oh’s and the oh’s fell over and she was all wet, too — that I realized if I didn’t do it now, I wouldn’t get it done. Seize the moment while I’ve got it, right? So here I am, watching Addie eat her bark and drink her soy-milk-only pretend “coffee” while she’s talking to the picture of Mickey, Pluto, and Minnie on the empty Huggies box that’s sitting on the kitchen table waiting to be relocated to my parents’ house. (Whew. That was a mouthful.)
Addie started talking in two-word sentences about three weeks ago. Out of nowhere, it just sort of happened, and when it did, I looked at her in utter confusion, as if she was this grown up person who was having a real conversation with me. For the life of me, I can’t remember what she said, exactly, (and I’m kicking myself for not recording it), but now she pretty much only speaks in two-or-more word sentences. Gone are the days when she’d only say milk or more, or up.
In fact, her speech is getting so sophisticated that that she’s making up her own words, words like shick-a-bah shake (which she uses when she pretends to read by herself) and moh-cha-nayne (which she uses as an expression of contentment or happiness, it seems). Blueberries are known as birdies around here, raisin bran is chips, and bars of all kinds (granola, cereal, and energy) are all bark. And Sloppy Joe’s are Jo Jo’s.
We discovered this a few nights ago while I was out for a jog. When I got back, you said she’d been saying “joe-joe’s?” ever since you cleaned her up from her dinner. At first, you thought she was asking to watch G.I. Joe’s, because you know, a 21 month old little girl just loves to watch that. (But as it turns out, she actually does like to watch it, and often asks you to watch it with her.) When she made it clear that was not what she meant, though, you tried again to figure it out but were left stumped. When I got back, you asked if I knew what it meant, and I thought for sure I had the answer: earlier that day we had pulled out a bunch of baby toys to show Mia, including Addie’s toy giraffe named Jo-Jo. Addie had a particularly good time showing him to Mia, so I figured that she must be talking about that toy. But you assured me that wasn’t it, as you had already thought of that and discovered that wasn’t it. So, I did what any mom in her right mind would do: I asked a 21 month old to show me what she meant.
Addie took me by the hand and led me back into the kitchen and pointed at the pan of Sloppy Joe’s that was still warm on the stove and with a look on her face that screamed “duh, mom,” she asked, “Moh-wah joe-joe’s?” she asked. How did both of us fail to put two and two together? Of course she was asking for more Sloppy Joe’s. And despite feeling silly that I hadn’t figured out what she meant on my own, I was ecstatic that she wanted to eat more. It was a huge success as far as I was concerned. Getting this picky eater to eat just about anything has been particularly difficult lately. So back in her chair she went.
I wish I could take all the credit for this recipe, but I admit that I used one of my favorite go-to cookbooks, Great Food Fast, as the inspiration. I made a few modifications (ie: red bell pepper instead of green; more celery than called for; etc.) What I came up with was a great solution for our little problem, since it uses lots of fresh veggies in addition to the meat. In fact, one could even add more than the recipe calls for – no picky eater would be the wiser, the flavor is so good and the consistency is perfect. It’s low-sugar, too, so it really is the best of both worlds: kid friendly and super healthy.
Be prepared to eat lots of them over the years, and be prepared to hear Addie as for “Moh-wah joe-joe’s peese?” and then exclaim “Mommy? Moh-cha-nayne!” mid-bite. You know, until she learns the words for “These are good!”
Love, Scratch
Addie’s Favorite Joe-Joe’s 1 T canola oil
1 medium onion, finely chopped
1 medium red bell pepper, ribs and seeds removed, finely chopped
2 celery stalks, finely chopped
2 garlic cloves, minced
1/2 tsp garlic powder
course salt and fresh ground pepper
1 pound ground beef or ground turkey
1 15 oz. can tomato sauce
1/4 cup ketchup
1 T Worcestershire sauce
2 T sugar
Hamburger buns
Method: In a large skillet, heat oil over medium-high heat. Add the onion, red bell pepper, celery, garlic and season with salt, pepper and garlic powder. Stirring frequently, cook for about 5 minutes, or until veggies are soft.
Add the meat to the skillet and cook (breaking up the meat as you go) until the meat is no longer pink.
Stir in the tomato sauce, ketchup, Worcestershire sauce and sugar; simmer until thick. Make sure to stir occasionally. Adjust seasoning with salt and pepper as needed. Serve on hamburger buns.
Remember how it was just yesterday that I was telling you how hard I find it to pass up a brownie when it’s sitting there, staring me in the face?
Well, be that as it may, I caved and made a batch today. (Don’t scold.)
You see, I’ve had chocolate on the brain for the past several days now, as the desserts we’ve had lately haven’t been anywhere near the sort that makes eating it really, truly satisfying. Plus, there were two additional factors at play today that convinced me to go ahead and just make the brownies I wanted so badly.
First: We’re having a meeting with a realtor tonight, here at our house, and whether you agree or not, it’s just good manners to have something sweet to offer him besides the standard fare of decaf coffee or a cup of tea.
Second: There is a cookbook sitting in our living room, one that is supposed to be the cookbook, the one that teaches how to make just about anything one might want to know how to make: Mark Bittman’s How to Cook Everything. It’s massive, intimidating. It’s sort of an authority in the cookbook world– and I had never heard of it until this week. I checked it out from the library first thing on Monday morning, but as comprehensive as it is, it has been exceedingly difficult to choose just the right recipe to see if it lives up to its promise. This afternoon, I realized that the choice was simple, really: if Mark Bittman gets brownies right, then he probably gets most things right.
Ah, brownies. I know they’re not fancy or terribly special, really, and Lord knows I am hoping against all hope that the realtor isn’t allergic to or disinterested in chocolate. But on a nerve-wracking evening like tonight that could change things dramatically for us (key word, could), I figure it makes good sense to have a good friend around to lend some support, and for me, today, that friend is Mark Bittman’s brownies.
And you, of course.
Love, Scratch
Mark Bittman’s Brownies
These brownies absolutely, hands down, blow their boxed-variety cousins out of the water. I have tried many, many homemade brownie recipes with mixed results, but never have I found one to be so simple to make and yet taste so incredible. They are moist and chewy, not overly rich, and above all else–they satisfy my deep, deep need for a good, chocolatey dessert.
Ingredients: 1 stick unsalted butter 3 oz unsweetened chocolate 1 cup sugar 2 eggs 1/2 cup all-purpose flour 1/2 tsp vanilla extract pinch of salt Method: Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Prepare a 8×8 glass pan by lining it with aluminum foil and greasing the foil slightly (I used PAM).
Gently melt the butter and chocolate together in a saucepan over low heat. Transfer to a mixing bowl when melted and mixed and add the sugar. Stir.
Beat in the eggs one at a time, then add the flour, vanilla and salt. Pour into the prepared pan and bake for 20-25 minutes (do not over bake).
Remember how it was just yesterday that I was telling you how hard I find it to pass up a brownie when it’s sitting there, staring me in the face?
Well, be that as it may, I caved and made a batch today. (Don’t scold.)
You see, I’ve had chocolate on the brain for the past several days now, as the desserts we’ve had lately haven’t been anywhere near the sort that makes eating it really, truly satisfying. Plus, there were two additional factors at play today that convinced me to go ahead and just make the brownies I wanted so badly.
First: We’re having a meeting with a realtor tonight, here at our house, and whether you agree or not, it’s just good manners to have something sweet to offer him besides the standard fare of decaf coffee or a cup of tea.
Second: There is a cookbook sitting in our living room, one that is supposed to be the cookbook, the one that teaches how to make just about anything one might want to know how to make: Mark Bittman’s How to Cook Everything. It’s massive, intimidating. It’s sort of an authority in the cookbook world– and I had never heard of it until this week. I checked it out from the library first thing on Monday morning, but as comprehensive as it is, it has been exceedingly difficult to choose just the right recipe to see if it lives up to its promise. This afternoon, I realized that the choice was simple, really: if Mark Bittman gets brownies right, then he probably gets most things right.
Ah, brownies. I know they’re not fancy or terribly special, really, and Lord knows I am hoping against all hope that the realtor isn’t allergic to or disinterested in chocolate. But on a nerve-wracking evening like tonight that could change things dramatically for us (key word, could), I figure it makes good sense to have a good friend around to lend some support, and for me, today, that friend is Mark Bittman’s brownies.
And you, of course.
Love, Scratch
Mark Bittman’s Brownies
These brownies absolutely, hands down, blow their boxed-variety cousins out of the water. I have tried many, many homemade brownie recipes with mixed results, but never have I found one to be so simple to make and yet taste so incredible. They are moist and chewy, not overly rich, and above all else–they satisfy my deep, deep need for a good, chocolatey dessert.
Ingredients: 1 stick unsalted butter 3 oz unsweetened chocolate 1 cup sugar 2 eggs 1/2 cup all-purpose flour 1/2 tsp vanilla extract pinch of salt Method: Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Prepare a 8×8 glass pan by lining it with aluminum foil and greasing the foil slightly (I used PAM).
Gently melt the butter and chocolate together in a saucepan over low heat. Transfer to a mixing bowl when melted and mixed and add the sugar. Stir.
Beat in the eggs one at a time, then add the flour, vanilla and salt. Pour into the prepared pan and bake for 20-25 minutes (do not over bake).
There are many things I am notgood at that you may or may not be aware of.
I’m not good at showing restraint when there’s a brownie nearby. I am not good at keeping my purse organized, which has since translated into being unable to keep the diaper bag organized. I am not good at changing out of my pajama pants until well after twelve o’clock, and I am not good at painting my toe nails.
But, there are many things I am good at, like reading a book from cover to cover in one day, or sticking with my favorite brand of mascara, or making a good cup of coffee in the morning, or dressing both girls and myself in stripes on the same day without being aware of it, or even painting my nails the same shade as the Jell-O I made last night–without realizing it.
I know that’s a weird thing to tell you, but it’s true all the same. It wouldn’t be a big deal except for this: I paint my fingernails about as often as I make Jell-O (read: just about never), and yet somehow I did both within the span of 24 hours, choosing to use the same bright shade of red for both. (Is it weird that I find that interesting?)
Anyway, I was motivated to paint my nails this morning because it had been three months since my last pedicure, and there was a bottle of bright red polish that happened to be sitting in my line of sight when I found a spare moment to actually do my nails. I was motivated to make Jell-O last night because I knew you would be asking me what was for dessert almost immediately after we finished dinner.
But we were out of nearly everything, and the only real option for dessert was the box of Strawberry-Banana Jell-O that was sitting in the pantry. But I really didn’t want to make it because if I did, then alas!– what would I have for dessert?
I’m more of a chocolate dessert eater. If it’s not chocolate, it’s just not really all that worth it, in my book. That’s sort of how I feel about nail polish: if you’re going to do something, do it right, and in my case, going and having my toenails done for me is “doing it right.” But alas, with no resources to go have my nails done for me, and with nothing in the house for dessert except for Jell-O, what options did I have?
So on with the Jell-O I went, choosing to make it with applesauce like my mom used to do. The end result was actually quite pleasant, much nicer than the end result of my botched nail polish job. It was tart and sweet, and not too sweet, with an interesting texture that I found much nicer than regular Jell-O. Plus, it was a pretty shade of red.
Now that I’ve told you this story, I can’t believe I bored you with it. Thanks for humoring me and making me feel like even the not-so-interesting stories are worth telling.
Love, Scratch
Applesauce Jell-O
I’m sure any flavor Jell-O would taste great prepared this way, but I really liked the way it turned out when using Strawberry-Banana flavor. It’s tart, it’s sweet, it’s light and refreshing, and it has a bit of redeeming nutritional value from the applesauce (small as it might be). Plus, it’s simple to make.
Ingredients: 1 3-oz pkg Jell-O 1 cup boiling water 1 cup unsweetened applesauce
Method: Dissolve the Jell-O completely in the boiling water. Stir in the applesauce, cover and chill until well-set, about 4-5 hours.
I deserve an award for making it through the day yesterday on very little sleep, only one cup of coffee, three poopy diapers, one vomiting baby, an unexpected bout of loneliness, and facing one of my fears–all done without crying.
It all started when Mia got up super early and didn’t want to go back down until Addie woke up. I’m telling you–they’re out to get us, Joey. They’re testing our resilience, and some days, I’m convinced I’m failing.
But as I’ve told you many, many times (when you ask why in the world I start buzzing around the kitchen before finishing a proper cup of coffee), I wake up to the day much better if I just keep moving. Yesterday was no different. But boy, did I choose the wrong thing to keep me occupied. It seemed to curse me all day long, it’s fragrance mocking my efforts and making me come this close to declaring myself a vegetarian.
Grandma’s Chicken & Noodles. Sounds innocent enough, right? In some ways, it is. And my memory of it takes me back to more innocent times of my life when a simple bowl of those plump, juicy noodles set down in front of me made me feel that the world was an ok place to be.
Growing up, it was Grandma who was the master of Chicken & Noodles, although my mom made it for us on several occasions. Still, Grandma’s version always tasted a little bit better than Mom’s (I’m sure my mom would agree with me). But Grandma, when we asked for her secret on how to make it, would apologize for the way it always turned out, frustrated that the noodles soaked up all the broth. (Told you I come by it honestly.) But I digress.
The recipe was simple enough: boil a chicken, cook the noodles in the broth, shred the chicken, add it to the noodles and ta-da! You’ve got Chicken & Noodles. A simple, kid-friendly dish that fit right into my current plan for getting Addie to eat more than just chicken nuggets or PB&J. Yesterday was the perfect day to do it, too, since we were up early and didn’t have plans to leave the house. (Simple as the dish is, it takes a bit of time.)
Perhaps it was my sleep-deprived state that made me stupid enough to think I could face my fear of chicken on the bone and tolerate working with a whole chicken. Then again, being sleep-deprived could be responsible making me more sensitive to working with a whole chicken. Maybe it was both.
In any case, touching a raw, whole chicken and putting it in the pot was hard, but it wasn’t anything compared to taking the meat off the bone. I’ll spare the grisly details, but let’s just say that when (if?) I make Chicken & Noodles again, I will not be doing it the way Grandma always did it.
Truth be told that when it came time for Addie to eat the finished product for dinner, I couldn’t blame her for not really wanting to eat it. After working with a chicken on the bone, I was so grossed out that I had a hard time even watching her eat it. (Sorry, Grandma. I’m not made of the the same stuff you are.)
At first, I thought she liked it. After the first bite, she declared, “Good. More?” After just two more (small) bites, though, she refused to even look at the stuff anymore. And then, of course, she threw a fit when I took away her bowl. One of the many joys of having a toddler.
Oh well. There are worse things than a child not eating the meal you slaved over all day. Like having the sort of day that makes you realize how badly you need a friend around, the kind who is close enough (and willing) to come over and de-bone a chicken for you when you just don’t have the stomach to do so, or who would scrub baby vomit from the living room floor while you rocked the over-tired baby to sleep, or who would even just come over to bring you an Iced Soy Chai Tea Latte because she could hear it in your voice that you were desperate for one when she talked to you for the fourth time that day.
That’s why after both girls were in bed and the house was finally cleaned up and quiet, I told you that I didn’t know about you, but I was having popcorn for dinner.
Lucky for me, you said that sounded good to you, too.
Love, Scratch
Grandma’s Chicken & Noodles
This dish is really a simple chicken noodle soup in which the noodles have absorbed all the broth. Apparently Grandma didn’t intend for the noodles to do so the first time she made it, but it was a happy accident that resulted in one of her classic recipes. There aren’t any veggies in the original, but you could easily add some if you wanted to (I added peas to ours, and it turned out quite good).
Although not the way Grandma did it, you could really use about four chicken breasts if you don’t have the stomach for working with a whole chicken. It won’t have the same amount of fat in it (and thus, it will change the richness of flavor), but on the upside, it would be lower in fat.
Ingredients:
1 whole chicken
1 pkg. egg noodles
salt
pepper
Method:
Put the chicken in a large pot; cover with water. Give the water a good bit of salt, and bring it to a boil. Simmer the chicken for at least 1 1/2 hours. When it’s done, remove the chicken and strain the liquid, reserving the broth. Do not skim off the fat.
Return about 4 cups of broth to the pot. Bring to a boil and add the noodles. Boil for about 10 minutes, then turn down the heat and let the noodles simmer until they absorb all the liquid.
Meanwhile, once the chicken has cooled, shred the meat. Add all of it to the noodles. Add salt & pepper to taste. Add frozen peas (or other vegetables) if desired.
I deserve an award for making it through the day yesterday on very little sleep, only one cup of coffee, three poopy diapers, one vomiting baby, an unexpected bout of loneliness, and facing one of my fears–all done without crying.
It all started when Mia got up super early and didn’t want to go back down until Addie woke up. I’m telling you–they’re out to get us, Joey. They’re testing our resilience, and some days, I’m convinced I’m failing.
But as I’ve told you many, many times (when you ask why in the world I start buzzing around the kitchen before finishing a proper cup of coffee), I wake up to the day much better if I just keep moving. Yesterday was no different. But boy, did I choose the wrong thing to keep me occupied. It seemed to curse me all day long, it’s fragrance mocking my efforts and making me come this close to declaring myself a vegetarian.
Grandma’s Chicken & Noodles. Sounds innocent enough, right? In some ways, it is. And my memory of it takes me back to more innocent times of my life when a simple bowl of those plump, juicy noodles set down in front of me made me feel that the world was an ok place to be.
Growing up, it was Grandma who was the master of Chicken & Noodles, although my mom made it for us on several occasions. Still, Grandma’s version always tasted a little bit better than Mom’s (I’m sure my mom would agree with me). But Grandma, when we asked for her secret on how to make it, would apologize for the way it always turned out, frustrated that the noodles soaked up all the broth. (Told you I come by it honestly.) But I digress.
The recipe was simple enough: boil a chicken, cook the noodles in the broth, shred the chicken, add it to the noodles and ta-da! You’ve got Chicken & Noodles. A simple, kid-friendly dish that fit right into my current plan for getting Addie to eat more than just chicken nuggets or PB&J. Yesterday was the perfect day to do it, too, since we were up early and didn’t have plans to leave the house. (Simple as the dish is, it takes a bit of time.)
Perhaps it was my sleep-deprived state that made me stupid enough to think I could face my fear of chicken on the bone and tolerate working with a whole chicken. Then again, being sleep-deprived could be responsible making me more sensitive to working with a whole chicken. Maybe it was both.
In any case, touching a raw, whole chicken and putting it in the pot was hard, but it wasn’t anything compared to taking the meat off the bone. I’ll spare the grisly details, but let’s just say that when (if?) I make Chicken & Noodles again, I will not be doing it the way Grandma always did it.
Truth be told that when it came time for Addie to eat the finished product for dinner, I couldn’t blame her for not really wanting to eat it. After working with a chicken on the bone, I was so grossed out that I had a hard time even watching her eat it. (Sorry, Grandma. I’m not made of the the same stuff you are.)
At first, I thought she liked it. After the first bite, she declared, “Good. More?” After just two more (small) bites, though, she refused to even look at the stuff anymore. And then, of course, she threw a fit when I took away her bowl. One of the many joys of having a toddler.
Oh well. There are worse things than a child not eating the meal you slaved over all day. Like having the sort of day that makes you realize how badly you need a friend around, the kind who is close enough (and willing) to come over and de-bone a chicken for you when you just don’t have the stomach to do so, or who would scrub baby vomit from the living room floor while you rocked the over-tired baby to sleep, or who would even just come over to bring you an Iced Soy Chai Tea Latte because she could hear it in your voice that you were desperate for one when she talked to you for the fourth time that day.
That’s why after both girls were in bed and the house was finally cleaned up and quiet, I told you that I didn’t know about you, but I was having popcorn for dinner.
Lucky for me, you said that sounded good to you, too.
Love, Scratch
Grandma’s Chicken & Noodles
This dish is really a simple chicken noodle soup in which the noodles have absorbed all the broth. Apparently Grandma didn’t intend for the noodles to do so the first time she made it, but it was a happy accident that resulted in one of her classic recipes. There aren’t any veggies in the original, but you could easily add some if you wanted to (I added peas to ours, and it turned out quite good).
Although not the way Grandma did it, you could really use about four chicken breasts if you don’t have the stomach for working with a whole chicken. It won’t have the same amount of fat in it (and thus, it will change the richness of flavor), but on the upside, it would be lower in fat.
Ingredients:
1 whole chicken
1 pkg. egg noodles
salt
pepper
Method:
Put the chicken in a large pot; cover with water. Give the water a good bit of salt, and bring it to a boil. Simmer the chicken for at least 1 1/2 hours. When it’s done, remove the chicken and strain the liquid, reserving the broth. Do not skim off the fat.
Return about 4 cups of broth to the pot. Bring to a boil and add the noodles. Boil for about 10 minutes, then turn down the heat and let the noodles simmer until they absorb all the liquid.
Meanwhile, once the chicken has cooled, shred the meat. Add all of it to the noodles. Add salt & pepper to taste. Add frozen peas (or other vegetables) if desired.
Surgery days are the best days around here because it means you get to spend a bit of the morning with us instead of rushing out the door before one or both of the little girls wakes up.
These sorts of mornings start early, of course, whenever one of the little girls decides it’s time to be up and around. Sometimes they wake up at the same time. Perhaps they’re starting their conspiracies against us early?
Today wasn’t so bad, I guess. It was nearly 7:00 by the time the littlest girl was ready to be picked up. You had already gotten Addie out of bed a few minutes before, and it would have been harder for me to roll out of bed had I not heard you making good on your promise to clean the kitchen first thing in the morning.
Even though going to work later than usual means helping out around the house when you’d otherwise be exempt from it, you take it in stride because it also means you have time to enjoy your favorite breakfast–a bowl of cereal, shared with your daughter, while watching GI Joe.
I admit that when this trend first started, I wasn’t so keen on it. Flicking on the TV first thing in the morning, lounging around with Addie for awhile, and not changing her diaper or giving her breakfast until after I got up and asked about both of those things. (I know, you were tired.)
Soon, though, it turned into the two of you sitting on the couch and munching on the same bowl of cereal. This helped, but watching TV with a bowl of sugary cereal doesn’t really count as a good breakfast in my book.
But now, I realize that “good” is subjective, really, because it is a good breakfast in many ways. It’s good because it’s you with your girl making a memory. It’s good because it’s you sharing something of yourself with her. It’s good because it gives me a moment of freedom (short-lived, though it might be). It’s good because it’s a constant that she and I both have come to count on, one that would be sorely missed if we didn’t enjoy it once in awhile.
But really, GI Joe?
Love, Scratch
Joey’s Favorite Breakfast Cereal, any kind (but preferably Honey Nut Cheerios, Blueberry Crunch, Berry Kix, or any number of sugary cereal) Vanilla Soy Milk 1 bowl 1 spoon Classic episodes of GI Joe (or your own favorite cartoon from childhood) A little girl eager to share
Pour cereal into the bowl. Splash on some soy milk. Take to the couch. Turn on GI Joe and start eating. Before long, a little girl will come asking for a bite. Pick her up, let her munch, and when she’s done, she’ll probably keep snuggling with you (and as a result, end up watching your favorite cartoon with you…).
I just want you to know that I’ve never actually described chocolate cake as comical before. Let me be very clear on that point. To me, chocolate cake should never be something to laugh at. It’s far too serious a matter.
But when you came home from work and saw the catastrophe that was our kitchen — the sink piled high with bowls and spoons and sippy cups and reject cake pans–and said, in a very tentative voice, “I guess I did get home early today, didn’t I? So what exactly are you making?” the only thing I could think to say was, “Aunt Helen’s Comical Chocolate Cake.”
Comical because it took far more effort to make it with two babies around than it would if it were just me in the kitchen alone. Comical because I planned to bake it in two cake pans that, as it turns out, I don’t even own. Comical because every time my mom and I talk about the cake, we remember how proud Aunt Helen was that there were only 3 Tablespoons of cocoa in the whole cake. Three tablespoons. That’s it!
Aunt Helen’s cake, though absolutely delicious in its own right, is anything but chocolatey. It tastes like one of those tried and true sheet cakes that has good ol’ fashioned powdered sugar frosting, the kind that would show up at church potlucks all over the Midwest. (This cake probably did make an appearance at many such events since Aunt Helen was a pastor’s wife in the Midwest.)
In my memory, the cake is absolutely delicious in its own right, whether it’s super chocolatey or not. (And for reasons I’ll never be able to explain, I always taste a hint of cinnamon when I think of that cake.) Whenever I think of this cake, I think of Aunt Helen and how “tried and true” she is in my memory. I don’t know her, not really. She came to visit when I was a kid, and my memory of her is wonderful, but it’s really Grandma’s Teague’s stories of her that make me admire her the most: stories of singing together, harmonizing while they washed the dishes; stories of how they both wore the same wedding dress only a few short days apart from each other; stories of how her life was strikingly similar to the story of The Poisonwood Bible. Resourceful, creative, and compassionate, with a laugh that (in my memory, at least) sounds like the tinkling of a glockenspiel.
But back to the cake. As I stirred together the batter, I couldn’t resist adding more cocoa than the original recipe called for. I mean, if you’re going to do something, do it right. (Right?) So I doubled the cocoa content, wondering if Aunt Helen would be offended if she knew what I was doing. To make matters worse, I added some cinnamon so that I wouldn’t be disappointed when the cake doesn’t taste like it does in my memory.
As the dishes piled up, I couldn’t help but hope that Addie and Mia will sing together while they do dishes one day, just like my grandma and Aunt Helen did. But my day dreaming was interrupted by Addie, who didn’t exactly appreciate the noise I was making with the hand held mixer. She whined until I picked her up so she could see what I was doing, and even then she was still unsettled. So, I gave her a taste of the batter, which worked. Suddenly she didn’t care about the noise anymore. It was as if she was saying, “Bring on the noise if it means I get a treat that tastes like this!” I took that as a good sign that the cake was shaping up to be something good. (I mean, come on. Look at her attack that spatula.)
But in my efforts to keep her interested and not scared of the mixer, I misread the recipe and only added in 2 cups of flour, not the 3 cups originally called for. (And I only realized this after the cake was already baked…).
So to be sure I hadn’t ruined Aunt Helen’s legendary chocolate cake, I took it to Grandma’s house the next day so she could taste it. Her assessment? Delicious. And I agreed–how could I not? It was chocolatey and very moist (a result of leaving out 1 cup of flour!). Addie’s assessment? She happily took one bite, asked for more, and promptly spit it out.
I’m glad you didn’t do the same thing when you tasted it. I took that to mean you liked it, which leads me to believe that it’s ok to reinvent old classics for modern tastes, right? (Even if a 21 month old spits it out? Heck, more for us.)
Frosting Ingredients: 1/4 butter, at room temperature 2-3 Tablespoons (or more) cocoa 2 – 2 1/4 c confectioners sugar milk
Method: Preheat oven to 325 degrees. Grease and flour a 9 x 13 cake pan. Make the sour milk by adding 2 Tablespoons plain vinegar to 2 cups lowfat milk. Stir and set aside. Mix dry ingredients together. Set aside. Cream together the sugar and shortening; add the eggs and vanilla and mix until creamy. Add 1/4 cup sour milk and mix; add 1/2 cup dry ingredients and mix. Repeat until milk and dry ingredients are all incorporated. Mix on high until creamy and smooth. Pour into prepared pan and bake for one hour, or until a toothpick comes out clean when inserted into the middle of the cake. Cool on a wire rack.
While cake is cooling, make the frosting. Use about 1/4 cup butter at room temperature and dump some cocoa in the bowl (maybe about 2-3 Tablespoons or so). Add 2 cups confectioner’s sugar and blend with a mixer (or a hand held whisk if your babies are in bed, like mine were). Splash in some milk and mix until incorporated; the mixture should be smooth and thick. If it’s too thin, add some more confectioner’s sugar (I added another 1/4 cup).
Spread evenly on top of the cake and let set. After it is fully dry, it’ll be semi-hard, like a super-thin candy shell on top.
A few months ago, back when we had just found out we were going to be parents all over again, we got the itch to travel. Great timing, right? Just when we were finding a bit of normalcy again as the little girl became just that–a little girl, we realized another baby meant we would be tied to home again for quite sometime. We weren’t the kind of people who could jump up and go anywhere we chose with two babies in tow. First, we didn’t have that kind of extra money just laying around waiting to be spent on a European vacation. Plus, we knew from experience that our babies needed routine, a quiet place to sleep, and a stable place to call home. (We needed it too, as it turns out). Suddenly traveling felt like an elusive dream, one that older and wiser couples with kids told us would happen if we didn’t travel together before we started our family. Why didn’t we find a way to follow their advice?
I’ll never forget that night in October, sitting at that little Mexican Restaurant on the first date we’d had in months, eating chips and salsa and Arroz con Pollo and dreaming of all the places we would go if we could, and how an idea was born (perhaps out of our immense creativity, and perhaps out of sheer desperation) that was actually doable.
We would bring the world to us. Cook traditional food. Listen to traditional music. Watch a travel video. Perfect plan. The only problem was, it took months for us to follow through.
Finally, in March (right after Saint Patrick’s Day), we made our trek to Dublin, Ireland. On the menu was a traditional Dublin Coddle, Mills Inn Brown Soda Bread, and Apple Fool, recipes we chose together out of The Irish Heritage Cookbook.
The Dublin Coddle sounded good (bacon, sausage, potatoes–what’s not to like?), but it was rather lackluster. It was bland and a whole mess of trouble to make. If you ask me, for a peasant dish, this one was complicated. Perhaps I made it wrong or something. I would rather have browned the sausage and mashed the potatoes and eaten them both with sauteed onions over the top. But alas, we had to do things by the book to make them as traditional as we could, right?
Dublin Coddle
The Apple Fool was … gross. I’m sorry, but it was. I know you liked it, but all I could taste was cloves, and I really just don’t like cloves. It was a lot of work, too – cook the apples, let them cool, puree them, whisk the egg whites; mix the two together and let set for a few hours. The fool part of the name must come from people being foolish enough to take the time to make it. (Is that terrible of me to say?). To me, it was so bad that I didn’t even bother taking a picture. Guess I really didn’t care to remember it, huh?
Thankfully the brown soda bread salvaged the evening for me. It’s delicate tart-sweet flavor was complimented beautifully by lemon curd, so much so that neither of us cared whether it was authentic or not. (Would the Irish berate me for putting something so English on this bread?)
I don’t remember what travel video we watched, but that’s probably because it was so boring that we both fell asleep. Luckily we still learned something valuable – namely that we didn’t have to actually travel at all to have a stunning picture to prove we were there.
This bread was the clear winner of the evening. It was simple to make, sort of like stirring together one giant biscuit, but with a more complex (and in our opinion, superior) flavor than a regular ol’ biscuit. Though we’re sure it’s not the traditional way to eat it, we liked it best when eaten straight from the oven, slathered with butter and lemon curd.
Ingredients:
2 cups white whole wheat flour 2 cups all purpose flour 1/2 tsp. salt 1 tsp. baking soda 1/2 tsp. cream of tartar 1/4 cup sugar 4 T cold butter 2 cups buttermilk
Method:
1. Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Grease one 8″ round cake pan.
2. Stir together flours, baking soda, cream of tartar and sugar. Then, use a pastry cutter to cut in butter until it forms a crumb-like texture.
3. Make a well; fill with buttermilk. Stir together flour mixture and buttermilk until it forms a soft dough.
4. Turn onto a lightly floured surface and knead just a little bit (just until you form a ball). Then, flatten the ball a little bit and make a cross-shaped slit on top.
5. Bake until lightly brown or it sounds hollow when you tap the top of it, about 35-40 minutes.
It’s summer, so don’t be surprised if I answer your daily question of “What are we doing for dinner?’ with Chinese Chicken Salad. You know the one: it’s the salad that I make more times a year than probably any other salad, the one that my friends ask me (beg me?) to make when it’s too hot outside to think about cooking, the one that makes me happy just thinking about it.
My mom got the recipe from my kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Terry, who made the salad with cabbage and peanuts and a very oily dressing. Over the years the recipe became my mom’s recipe, and eventually it became my own (as these things often do). Sometimes we make it with cabbage and peanuts, but most often (and especially when I make it for friends), it’s the version using romaine and almonds that shows up. UPDATE: we only ever make it with almonds now that we have a child who is allergic to peanuts.
The reason I make this so much? Well, I guess you could blame my mother (at least I come by it honestly). It was her go-to dish for church potlucks, the easy answer to the “What’s for dinner?” question on hot summer nights, and one of the few salads that my brothers and I would all voluntarily eat and enjoy. It just wouldn’t be summer without having it at least a dozen times, if not more.
Good thing you like it, huh?
Love, Scratch
Chinese Chicken Salad, Two ways
This salad is cool and crisp, light but satisfying, and easy. It’s also very versatile. Make it with romaine and almonds or with cabbage and peanuts (or try whatever combination of those things that sounds good to you). You could really prep the ingredients any way you like and toss them together in any proportion you like, but here’s how I do it. Whatever you do, you won’t be disappointed. It’s all around the perfect summertime meal. But I make it all year long because it’s just that good.
Made with Lettuce:
2 Hearts of Romaine, sliced into ribbons
1/2 English cucumber, sliced into half moons
2 carrots, sliced
3 green onions, sliced
2 grilled chicken breasts, sliced
toasted almonds (omit for NF)
crunchy chowmein noodles (omit for GF)
Made with Cabbage:
1 medium head of cabbage, chopped
3 green onions, sliced
2 grilled chicken breasts, chopped
salted peanuts (omit for NF)
crunchy chowmein noodles (omit for GF)
Here’s where the salads are the same…
Dressing Ingredients:
1/4 cup water
1/4 cup plain vinegar
1/4 cup low sodium Tamari (gluten free soy sauce)
1 1/2 T sesame oil
1/4 c sugar, plus more if you like a sweeter dressing
Method:
Toss everything except crunchy noodles into a big bowl and coat evenly. The more dressing, the better. I find that it tastes better if you let it sit for about 15 minutes before serving. Add the crunchy noodles and enjoy.
But the other day at breakfast, as Addie was telling me (in her garbled way of doing so) that she was drinking coffee and eating oh’s and the oh’s fell over and she was all wet, too — that I realized if I didn’t do it now, I wouldn’t get it done. Seize the moment while I’ve got it, right? So here I am, watching Addie eat her bark and drink her soy-milk-only pretend “coffee” while she’s talking to the picture of Mickey, Pluto, and Minnie on the empty Huggies box that’s sitting on the kitchen table waiting to be relocated to my parents’ house. (Whew. That was a mouthful.)
Love, Scratch 