Sometimes you just can't bake it

There are times when life is good.

Work is interesting and productivity is high.  Your teenager smiles at you for real.  Your bank account balance is surprisingly fat, and your thighs are surprisingly thin*.

At times like these, one can tackle epic, multi-step dessert recipes with aplomb. Store-bought ice cream?  Caramel from a jar? Puh-lease! In fact, I'll just be making my own damn mascarpone cheese and zabaglione for that tiramisu, thank you very much.

Then there are times when life is just plan f$@%ed up.

People who are supposed to love you are impossibly cruel and the cat barfs on the carpet and despite your best intentions, your email box is the one on the right.

From this posting on Twitter

For those days, and for someone I love very much who is having a particularly cat-barf-y time of it right now, there are these No-Bake Chocolate Oatmeal Nut Butter Instant Happiness Treats.

I found the recipe online, and made a batch almost on a whim.  But the minute I took a bite, I was immediately transported back to a summer during elementary school.  I'd been sent away to a science and nature camp for city kids with a bunch of people I didn't know and they were all really mean to me.  I hated everything about it...the dingy bunks, the creepy-crawly woods, and the smelly labs, but more than anything, I loathed the girls I was grouped with. I was utterly miserable the entire time, except for one day, near the end of camp, when the cafeteria ladies served these exact same treats at lunch.  I vividly remember the taste and how happy I was, just for a minute, to be eating something so delicious in the midst of that horrible place.  I swear these saved me by making the experience, if not good, at least bearable.

I polished off my treat. Only the happiness and none of the hurt came back to me.  Life really is good sometimes.

Believe me, I do not wish the horrors of pre-teen peer ostracism or any other kind of emotional turmoil on anyone**, but just in case, it's good to be able to make your own instant ray of hope out of chocolate, peanut butter, and sugar***.   While you're waiting for the pain to fade away with time (and getting that inbox cleared out) these will definitely tide you over very nicely.

P.S.  If you are truly having a tough day, I found watching this video made me ridiculously cheerful.  As in, howling with laughter. Via Kottke.

The word of the day

When my kids were little, whenever my sister was visiting she'd give them a "Word of the Day". We'd be at the breakfast table, and she'd look seriously at my four year old son and eighteen month old daughter and say:

"OK guys.  The word of the day is...FOYER!"

They would stare intently back at her over their Cheerios. She'd continue:

"It's related to the one we had yesterday.  Do you remember?"

My son would leap up from his chair and shout happily:

"VESTIBULE!"

Then they would spend the rest of the day finding ridiculous ways to use the word FOYER in every conversation.

It was hilarious.  But it was kind of brilliant*.

My sister isn't here right now,  so I'll take over for her.  

"OK guys. The word of the day is...CINNAMON TOAST CAKE!"

Crap. That's three words. 

She's obviously way better at this than I am. 

But you should still try to find ways to add Cinnamon Toast Cake to every conversation.  It's kind of brilliant.

Thank you note

It's tomorrow, gang.  Thanksgiving.

I have no idea if your house is in an uproar, or if you are relaxing on a beach somewhere.  Are you waiting excitedly at the airport for your kid to come home?  Or are you standing in line at the supermarket with a cart full of potatoes and apples and string beans?  Perhaps the in-laws are driving you mad, or you have the wine all picked out to bring to a gathering of friends far from home. Maybe you are at the gym, frantically trying to burn calories ahead of time, or looking helplessly at tail lights on the freeway as you head out of town.

Maybe you are standing on a street corner in Missouri, weeping.  And praying for families everywhere who will have trouble finding ways to be grateful.

Source:  The Atlantic

Wherever you are, and whatever you are doing, I'm thankful for you.

I am in my sister's kitchen.  The fridge is bursting, but we have a plan*. It involves tried-and-true mac n' cheese, award-winning apple pie, and a total experiment in grilled, flattened turkey.  There will be sausage stuffing and mashed potatoes and challah in case that goes terribly wrong.  Even if everything goes awry, it won't matter in the great scheme of things.

We spent the afternoon yesterday at Arlington National Cemetery, watching leaves drift down as shots rang out in salute to a newly fallen soldier joining so many others there.

 Then the sun went down and the sky was so stunningly on fire we just sat in the car, gaping**.

Two days ago, my daughter and I had a giggling fit in the National Gallery, and ninjas brought us popcorn in recliners. My niece and husband have started this year's Lego project.

My son is here...giant and loud and perfect.

Soon, we will hold hands over our full plates and take turns awkwardly trying to express aloud the feelings of profound gratitude that fill our hearts.  I will likely not mention the sunset, the giggles, the comfort of my husband's warm feet against my cold ones in the night, my sister's indulgent spoiling of all of us, my niece's shrieks of laughter, or the way my son felt when I hugged him.

I will probably just say, "I'm thankful for my family" and squeeze the hand I'm holding a little tighter.

Here are a few ideas for leftovers you can thank me for later:

For the turkey: Diane's Turkey Enchiladas
For the stuffing and mashed potatoes: Thanksgiving Eggs

And, for the cranberry sauce:  Shortbread Jam Tart

Intriguing, but untested:  Mashed Potato Waffles from Serious Eats and Crispy Stuffing Cakes with Eggs from iamafoodblog.

Virtual thank you's are fine on these, folks. No hand squeezing required.

* It is a ridiculous plan, involving two complete Thanksgiving dinners within 24 hours and hijacking her neighbor's refrigerator. Don't ask.
** There was traffic on the beltway, so we kind of had to slow down anyway. No photo can do this sunset justice, as my stricken daughter wailed at us repeatedly from the back seat.  She was bereft not to be able to blow her Instagram followers away.  Speaking of Instragram, you can follow me there now.  Although, according to my daughter, I'm doing it wrong.

Care Packages

I don't know about you, but when I was in college, there was nothing more exciting than seeing a flash of pink peeking through the little window in your PO box.

The slip that meant: YOU HAVE A PACKAGE.

It meant a brown paper box with Mom's neat handwriting on it and stamps clustered in the corner was waiting for you behind the counter.  It would be filled with homemade treats, a clever note, a forgotten special something.  The goodies would be shared, of course, but the feeling of being unexpectedly touched by home was a magically selfish thrill.  Everyone else at the post office would look on enviously, waiting for their own miracle package slip to appear*.

Of course, that was a long time ago.  Before Amazon Prime and drone deliveries.  Before FedEx. Before email and Skype and the Internet.  Before parents and kids could text and talk with unlimited minutes any old time they wanted to.  Times have seriously changed.

I'm all for convenience and online everything, but when this company sent a brochure touting their "automated care package delivery service",  my heart broke just a little.

Then I shredded the damn flyer and started baking.  No kid of mine was going to get a pre-made box of corporate crap.  He was going to get a good, old fashioned, Mom-turned-on-the-oven-and-then-went-to-the-actual-post-office-so-I-could-get-a pink-slip-in-the-mailbox** kind of day.

I sent his favorite chocolate chip cookies*** and waited for the grateful call.
Instead, he posted this tweet.

Upstaged by my daughter's two second strike of the pen.  Hrumph.

Then I sent deep dark chocolate brownies****

I got this text:

Not exactly gushing.

I sent brown butter cookie brittle with mini chocolate chips*****

Silence.

But when I sent this pre-packaged corporate crap for Halloween?

I get this:

Sigh.
Too bad, kid.  These are on the way.******

Flaming Bananas

When we were growing up, my parents threw a lot of dinner parties.  My dad would spend hours making special mix tapes for the reel-to-reel player, usually with a lot of Al Green on them, and my mom would dress up in these fabulous form-fitting pantsuits*.  Our cupboards were full of artsy plates, hand-crafted ramekins, individual bread boards, mini paella pots, and tons of Marimekko placemats for setting the dining table.  Her speciality, though, was making the meal itself an event.

Her secret weapon?

The electric frying pan**.

The guests would be seated in their own polyester finery, and mom would emerge from the kitchen with a tray and the pan.  She'd plug it in, drop in a stick of butter, and the show would begin.

Smiling as she added the brown sugar, bouffant hair not moving an inch, all conversation among the group would grind to a halt.  The smell was intoxicating.

The perfectly sliced bananas tumbled in. Around went the wooden spoon, then she'd pick up the canister of fireplace matches.  Fireplace matches!!!

My sister and I peeked from the kitchen, shivering with repressed excitement, knowing what was coming.

The bottle of rum was opened with a flourish.  The lights dimmed.  Then came the unmistakable sound of a single long match being struck.  All eyes upon her.

Woosh!  The pan erupted in gorgeous blue and orange flames.  Mouths dropped.

She fearlessly stirred on, chatting amiably as though this was nothing special.  Just an ordinary night.

An ordinary night with my magical, marvelous mom.

She died three years ago today, so this will never be an ordinary time for me.
In her honor, dear guests, may I treat you to some flaming bananas?

A simple request

We went a little nuts with the baking for this year's Holiday Open House, even more so than usual.

Mini pecan tarts.  Chocolate Chip Cookies with Sea Salt.  Peanut Butter Fudge Bars.  Mocha Cupcakes with Peppermint Chocolate Buttercream Frosting*.  Lemon Icebox Squares. 

Apple Molasses Cookies**.  Crispy Chocolate Truffle Shortbread Bars.  Mom's Christmas Cut-Out Cookies with homemade icings.  Butterscotch Cherry Granola Cookies with Lemon Drizzle.  

Thumbprint Cookies with Fig Butter.  Apricot Rosemary Cocktail Cookies.  Two different kinds of challah. And my sister's famous Cream Cheese Pound Cake.

My husband was appalled.

Him: Why do you do this to yourself? I think the ovens have been on for a week straight.  I'm begging you, please, for Christmas Day: keep it simple.

Done***.

These still involve the oven****, but are about as uncomplicated as you can get.  

Here's to a notably simpler new year all around.  

The Charlie Browniest Time of Year - Part II (with Brownies!)

Yep. Walmart and Target were open on Thanksgiving Day this year.  I just read an article about a Toys 'R Us store in Times Square that is going to stay open for 586 hours straight so people can buy toys every single minute from now until Christmas. I cannot click anywhere on the web without running into glossy, adjective-laden gift guides featuring the "must have" items for each and every person I have ever had even a passing acquaintance with. Amazon wants me to know they deliver on Sundays, and that time is running out.   Fortunately, I'm going to be saving Big Bucks, thanks to all the one-day sales, 4 hour sales, lightning deals and first-come-first-served, once in a lifetime bargains out there.

It's literally insane, this frenzy.  It's like nobody even pays attention to old Christmas specials anymore.



In the spirit of the Whos, and in case you are panicking a little and don't live near that Toys 'R Us in Manhattan, I thought I'd share some alternative ideas for Christmas giving.  I've been on both ends of all of these on one Christmas morning or another, and love them.*

1.  Treat to something they'd normally do for themselves.  Call the place down the street where Mom escapes for a manicure, does yoga, or gets her hair done, and arrange to chip in for the next one.  If your daughter stops at Starbucks every day on the way home from school, pick up the tab for the week.  Fill a tank with gas and get your teenager's car washed.  You get the idea.  It shows you notice, and want to take one little thing off their list.  My sister does this for me, and now I do it for her.  I literally feel like a fairy godmother, and it's so easy.

2.  Spring for tickets. It's like magic, seeing someone open a stocking or a box and finding seats to a concert, a play, a basketball game, or even a pair of movie tickets and popcorn money.  You are giving not only the actual experience, but the anticipation of the event, and the planning and the hoping and the talking about it after and all those photos on Instagram.  Plus, tickets take up zero space in anyone's room, and you don't have to take them to Goodwill a few months later.

3. Take them away.  Book a room in town and whisk your spouse away for the night.  Send your son on a flight to see Grandpa, or your daughter to see a friend that moved to a new city.  Wrap up a travel poster from a vacation spot you have in mind for Spring Break and put it under the tree.   Sign up for a scavenger hunt or walking tour around town as a family.  You might wind up with a little souvenir clutter afterward, but its a small price to pay for that break in routine.

4. Classes.  Find one that will kindle an interest, or feed a passion. There are baking classes, wine-tasting evenings, photography workshops, guitar lessons, trapeze instruction, beer-making, cheese-making, getting scuba certified, surfing camp, improv lessons, Drivers Ed (yikes!)...it's kind of incredible how many options there are.  The trick is not to imply that the classes are actually needed:  e.g. "Your pot roasts suck, so I'm getting you cooking lessons."  Tread carefully.

5.  Upgrade something worn or replace something lost.  Find a jacket just like one that was lost and sorely missed.  Get new running shoes so the ones with the lopsided heel can be retired, a wallet to replace the one that is fraying around the edges, or a favorite pair of jeans in the next size for a kid who is sprouting like a weed.   Can be as small as keychain or as large as, say, a Sub Zero refrigerator. Hint. Hint.

Above all, use the person you are buying for as the gift guide, not some magazine or website**.  You know what will make them happy.  Put a whimsical colored spatula in a chef's stocking. Get a jersey from a favorite sports star, or frame a picture they made in school and hang it up. Pick up the next book in a favorite series, or the missing quarter from their 50 state collection.  Send a funny e-card. Donate a rabbit in their name. Take a girlfriend out to lunch, buy her a glass of wine and just listen for an hour.  It might be the most perfect gift they've ever received, and it might not. But they'll love it anyway, because you took the time to think about them, and it shows.



If you do want some kind of insurance policy though, you might want to make them these brownies.

And an Ice Cream Cake from Mom

I received some amazing gifts for Mother's Day:

I slept in, got some exercise, then read the paper and this excellent post.

Elena gave me roses.

My daughter gave me a gorgeous bowl she made in her ceramics class.

My sister and niece sent me gourmet Fig Balsamic Vinegar* and Basil Olive Oil

My son hijacked this blog**.

My husband got me a new toilet seat (not pictured), and made me pay for lunch.  

But he did clean up the entire kitchen after I made my own Mother's Day dinner. (recipe soon)

Then, right in the middle of everything, I got the idea for this cake from Mom***.  

It was nice, after a day as a mom, to have a small moment to feel like a daughter again.  Happy Mother's Day, all around.

Cherry Blossom Picnics - A memory for Mother's Day

My birthday is in the springtime, mostly. Sometimes it is a cold, chilly day, or a hot blue one, but more often than not the afternoon is barely but definitely warm. We are in the blue Volvo, braids tight and socks folded down over our matching Mary Jane shoes…the white ones, because summer is coming. Dad is driving, and Mom is quiet but smiling a little, because we are almost there and she has a plan in her mind that is coming true.

The car is parked, somehow (I don’t remember that part), and we are on bicycles. Mine wobbles a bit, and I am trying my best to avoid steering myself into the water, the way the bike wants to go. Dad has the picnic on the back of his bike, keeping an eye on my sister with training wheels scooting along. Mom is walking across the grass in another direction, but she is not lost.

We circle the path, and above us are millions of petals, an impossible shade of pink-white, bursting from gnarled branches in a riotous, splendid show. It’s amazing and yet it is exactly what I expect, because my birthday is when the cherry blossoms come out, every year.

It is crowded here. Tourists are taking pictures, people are walking home from work, other children and parents are playing, and cyclists are passing through. A memorial in marble, usually the main attraction, is the backdrop. And all of us are reflected again in the shiny surface of the basin that we are riding around.

Mom has laid out the scratchy wool blanket. I put my kickstand down and run to see, the dirt from my shoes getting onto the blanket. It’s there. The small, round bowl with the Saran wrap on top, next to the big wooden bowl full of Ruffles (it is always Ruffles) waiting for me to go first. We surround it, us four, but my chip is ready and in there before anyone else’s.

Clam dip. Smooth and cream cheesy and slightly fishy, in an oddly approachable way, and tangy-onion-lemony. My mom’s recipe. My favorite. Made just for me, always, on my birthday.

I’m 48 now. My mother is gone. I make the dip on ordinary days. And yet, at the first taste on my chip (it is almost always Ruffles), I feel my mom loving how happy I am.  I see cherry blossoms, the back of my Dad’s bike ahead of me, and my sister’s small Mary Janes furiously pedaling along under a fluffy pink-white sky.

Making a Fort

When we were little, my sister and I used to make forts under the dining table and living room couches.  Only we didn't really call them forts, we called them houses.  We would drape bathroom towels over upside down dining chairs, drag cushions in to make furniture, set up our little china tea sets and populate the various "rooms" with accessories.  Then we'd visit each other, crawling on our hands and knees through makeshift entry ways, comparing notes on the decor and inviting each other over again soon.  We'd have snacks, sometimes pretend ones and sometimes real ones.  Other times, we'd have our guinea pigs join us.  I can't quite remember how old we were then, or when we stopped giggling and started bickering and slamming doors instead.

We're back to being friends again now.

Sadly, my kids never really made forts.
But I still do.
Forts are good things.  Especially the cheese kind.

What I did on my Christmas Vacation: A photo essay*:

Yes, Ma'am.
I do know this is about two weeks late.
I'm hoping for partial credit.

What I Did on My Christmas Vacation

by Sharon 

Marked my daughter's birthday with cinnamon rolls, swirly straws, and the traditional birthday skunk:

Cranked up the tunes, made vast amounts of chili, and used every single cookie sheet in the house:

Corresponded with Santa, with excellent results:

Dug into Christmas breakfast.  Saved room for Christmas dinner.  And dessert!

Hung out with Blake Griffin and his deltoids after dinner**.

Stopped to smell the roses (and see them glued onto floats and rolled through the streets of Pasadena):

Roared my head off with 93,358 of my closest friends...

 ...and my amazing sister.  

Having this time with her was the absolute best part of the whole spectacular, ridiculous, calorie-laden, magical marathon of overdoing everything that is the holidays at our house.  The memories we make for our families together are worth every minute of each sleepless night, and I could never pull it off without her***.

The End (of 2012)

* Doing my essay in pictures is probably going to lower my grade even more, but honestly? If I had to write it all down in words it would be summer vacation already and this blog would never get back into gear.
** We scored highly enough on my husband's "Clipper Quiz" to win court side seats to the Christmas night game.  I don't think there are words in the English language to describe exactly how thrilled and elated my son was with this gift.  For like, weeks, after.  In fact, he's still grinning like an idiot right now.
*** For example, she took almost every single one of these pictures, since my camera was buried under a mountain of piled-up paperwork I'm going to get to sometime next week