It’s always in the back of the cookbook, right before the index of recipes and kitchen tips: Miscellaneous. They are those how-tos and recipes that don’t quite fit a particular category. Aunt Martha’s Red Hot Hot Sauce, Great Grandma Sue’s Apple Cider Punch, or Homemade Honey Marshmallows: all great recipes, but where to place them in the cookbook? Maybe they’re the only recipe of their kind submitted for the church or family cookbook, so they get shoved to the back.
This twelve months of waiting has been my Miscellaneous Year. Life has been the tab in the back of the book, where nothing really jumps out at you. Great family experiences have taken place, but there has been a shadowing over them or maybe I’ve watched them through a scrim, like the dream sequence in a play. Each event has had meaning and value, but where they will all come together in my life as puzzle pieces to form the big picture, well… Insert shoulder shrug and nonplussed expression.
This morning I put together my favorite midmorning, work-week snack. If included in a cookbook, it would be placed behind the miscellaneous tab. Trail Mix. There’s no cooking for this one. The only seasoning comes from the dry roasted cashews and that flavor is a great compliment to the sweet raisins and chocolate covered craisins. Maybe one day the pieces of my life in transition will come together and I’ll see the bigger picture and taste all of the trail mix- the savory and the sweet in one big mouthful.
Chocolate covered craisins, pecans, walnut pieces, raisins and dry roasted cashews equals Trail Mix.Dump everything in a great big bowl and toss with your fingers till everything is mixed up evenly.Storing in an air tight container with an easy shake out spout, makes for easy dispensing.
We were teased with a hint of Fall last week, with morning temperatures down in the 60s. This weekend it’s back to being warm, not too hot, but still warm. The skies have been glorious from horizon to horizon; blue like only September can create. Pots of mums sit along the porch railing, like old friends come to visit. The hummingbird feeder has been getting lots of buzzes, as the migration has started.
I’m cooking like crazy this morning. First was banana nut bread for the college man to take back to his dorm. As that was baking, I put together one of my favorite recipes for Fall: Ms. Hudy’s Apple Cake. Mrs. Hudora Lewman is a long time member of our church and local historian.This recipe was included in our church cookbook in 2012. The cookbook was compiled for a fund raiser and also to celebrate the congregation being together for 150 years.
Ms. Hudy’s Apple Cake recipe straight from the cookbook. It calls for a glaze, and even though the cake is perfect without it, go ahead and gild that lily.
The most important step in the whole recipe is to grease and flour the pan. This cake is very dense and could stick to the pan without this step.
Grease and flour the panIt’s apple season. This recipe calls for 3 mellow apples. I used Gala apples because they’re a good apple for cooking and have a slight lemon flavor. As the apples were on the small side, I used 4 instead of 3.
This cake bakes for an hour and ten minutes; don’t fudge from this step either. The apples need every minute to bake- this cake is so good and will make any house smell like home.
Remi recommends the yogurt and fruit parfaits from the Golden Arches
I didn’t cook anything this weekend. It’s been rather busy. Another road trip-this time to Petal to celebrate my brother’s birthday. I put together a coffee basket for his gift: Community Coffee, Pepperidge Farm Milano cookies, Almond Joy coffee creamer and an insulated mug.
My brother and I are only 17 months apart. He gave up his baby bottle for me, so the story goes. We have always been very close. I was two years behind him in school and when I reached 9th grade he was a cool 11th grader and wanted nothing to do with me. I was persona non grata. I was ‘she who was not to be spoken to’. When we passed one another on the high school campus, I would say, “Hi.” Older brother would shoot me that look that only brothers give their sisters, as if to say, “Get lost, twerp!”
Well, let’s just say that he should have known better. He just thought saying hello to me would cramp his style. I remember it like it was yesterday…
It was a warm, early afternoon and first lunch break. My friends and I were sitting under the live oak trees outside A-Hall, when I saw my brother and his group of cohorts changing class. As they sauntered down the sidewalk, I called out to him, “Hi, Chris!”
No response. So, I did it again, a little louder.
“HI, Chris!”
He kept on walking, ignoring me. I thought to myself, ‘Oh, I’ll fix you.’
“Hey, there, Chris! Hey, Chrissy. Oh, Chrissy-kins. Hi! Hi!” All spoken in a sing-song voice.
His friends erupted into laughter.
“Ha!” one of his group poked fun at my brother, laughing. “She got you-Chrissy!”
My brother, who had ignored me for weeks, stopped on the sidewalk with his arms akimbo. His expression was one of disgust. I held my ground, matching his stance and purse of his lips, the squint in his green eyes.
“What, Chrissy-kins? Can’t speak to your sister?” I kept on, tauntingly.
He kept looking like Mr. Bigbad, staring a whole in me. Then the bell rang.
“Alright, Mandy,” he said, trying not to smile. “Or should I say Mandy-kins? You win. See ya.” And he went on to class.
Wow, that was, let’s see…1979? Maybe. We called each other Chrissy-kins and Mandy-kins for years after that show down on the high school campus. Both nicknames got shortened to just ‘kins’. He’s now endearingly named Unc, by my three boys.
Today is Unc’s birthday. I’ll let you do the math to figure out how old he is. He has a sweet young family (we didn’t think he would ever get married, but he finally found someone to put up with him). Unc got to sleep in this morning, and his little boys and I were hungry, so I went to the Golden Arches for sausage biscuits and fruit and yogurt parfaits for everyone. Remington (Remi for short – even the dog has a nickname) is their mixed breed and he is allowed in the kitchen. During meal times, Remi hangs out under the table waiting for something to hit the floor. The dog is a freak for yogurt! We finished our parfaits and then the cups were offered to him to lick clean. The dog was very appreciative.
It’s Labor Day weekend and the last hooray of summer. The pots of tired impatiens, planted in the spring, have been pulled up and replaced with perky purple chrysanthemums. Even though it’s September, you wouldn’t know it by the temperatures. Fall just doesn’t seem to want to make an appearance, as the air is still muggy and HOT!
So, this morning I was thinking of something cool to make. An old tried and true came to mind. Here ’tis; quick and easy. The longest thing about making it is waiting for it to set.
Jello Fluff
Ingredients:
1 box Jello ( your choice)
3/4 cup boiling water
1 fruit cup ( liquid drained and reserved)
Enough ice and water to make 1 1/2 cups liquid ( you’ll see in a minute)
1 carton of Cool Whip
What to do:
In a large bowl mix gelatin and boiling water, till gelatin is desolved. Next, in a 2 cup measuring cup add the juice from fruit cup, ice and water together to make 1 1/2 cups liquid. Pour into gelatin mixture and stir till ice is almost melted. Remove any unmelted ice. Fold in the entire carton of Cool Whip and the fruit cup. Cover with plastic wrap and chill in the frig, till it has set. Enjoy this cool dessert after supper or as a light snack.
This mornings breakfast was grits, bacon, toast and coffee. On my kitchen table is a mixed bouquet of flowers bought at the store with the big W on it. I rarely bought flowers, when I lived in the country.
I grew my own. Giant sunflowers, zinnias, coreopsis, day lilys, and of course, roses. Forth of July roses, red with white stripes, smelling like cinnamon apples, grew to cover the front of the hen house. A row of yellow SUNSPRITE Roses flanked the fence, at a safe distance from the bull pen and the long, hungry tongues of the bovine. On a recent trip to Washington D. C., I was pleased to see that the Smithsonian grew these in their rose garden. Another favorite rose was a selection called Easy Does It: Medium sized, coral blooms that open up and turn pink. All of these were easy to care for and prolific bloomers up to the first frost.
My roses are now in the care of another. I hope they appreciate them.
The other week I ran to the local grocery store for a few things. On display at the front of the store were pots of miniature roses. They were nearly dead and marked down to just pennies. I bought four of them. On the patio, I repotted them, cut off the dead stems and fertilized them.
I was not real hopeful that they would survive our sweltering summer, but wonder of wonders, two of the four have made it! One, after pruning the dead away, is only about four inches tall. Yet, it is as green as can be and makes me smile, when I look at it. I believe it will have tiny red buds when it blooms. The other rose that survived is doing more than that; it is thriving. The little bedraggled plant has doubled in size and has put on four buds. The buds are on solitary stems, miniature yellow tea roses.
Yellow roses are my favorite, partly because one of my dear aunts loved them. Different colors mean different things. Yellow means friendship, joy. Red, of course, is for romance. Pink symbolizes love and appreciation. White roses impart purity (think wedding bouquet) spirituality, sympathy. Orange roses evoke passion and desire.
We never know what may be around that blind corner. Life is short. Life is tough. Whether a bouquet from the big chain store or worn out pots from the local grocery, buy the roses.
My survivorTwo bouquets from the store with the big W on it
This Saturday morning I awoke early. The day that I had thought about for 18 years had come: My youngest son went off to college. Not by himself, I followed him up to the school he will be attending. His father also went.
This day was not as I had imagined all those years ago. To say it was bitter-sweet is trite. As a family we did everything that we were suppose to do: Checked in, arranged my son’s dorm room, got his student ID, and parking decal. But there was a huge, wheezing pacaderm in the room with us and it followed us around campus. As I’ve mentioned in an earlier writing, I am going through a divorce. The tone of the whole day was shadowed by my marriages demise, even though it was a sunny, late summer day.
When we took our older two sons to college, those days were much more like celebrations. Sad yes, a little- okay, a lot with the second one. The oldest son had such bright hopes and an attitude to match. We knew he would do great things and when he made the dean’s list the first year, we were confident he would finish well. I’ll just say that he did finish. Junior year of college was a challenge for us all, to say the least.
Sending our second son off to college was harder. We knew what expect. We were broken in. He was a prepared, confident, bright young man who knew what he wanted to do. I remember hugging him good-bye and hearing a heart-wrenching intake of breath. He was crying. I started to cry and did so all the way back home; it was a four hour trip.
Today was just odd, different, though I tried and his father tried to behave as normally as possible for the sake of our son. The initial tension between my soon-to-be ex and I relaxed after the first tasks were completed. Conversation became easier. I found myself making jokes. My son and his father laughed.
On the ride back home, a thought struck me. For the better part of our 29 year marriage, my biggest goal, desire had always been to make my husband laugh. The first night that I met him I wanted to feed him (he’s 6′ 1″ and at the time only 165 pounds), iron his shirts, and make him laugh. For the first 28 years, I seemed to do a really good job of all three. The 29th year, yeesh!
So, today, when I’d say something and he would laugh there was no payoff for me. My goal wasn’t to make him smile or chuckle. It was unconscious to say something funny, just part of who I am. Why he laughed, who knows? Habit? Trying to be pleasant? I guess what I’m saying is that over the course of a years seperation, I’ve learned that my self-worth is not and should not be found in making someone else happy. Not solely. Yes, supply a happy homelife, possess a pleasant demeanor, but don’t wrap yourself up in the payoff that one day might not be there.
Here’s where I have my self-worth; I am closer to God now than I have ever been in my whole life. He is the only one I try to please. People are fickle, contrary. God alone is constant. He is the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow. Pleasing Him is my goal. I have a feeling that He laughs at me quite a bit and there’s a payoff worth striving for.
A pie guard keeps the crust from getting g too brownSweet potato pie: good for breakfast, lunch, supper, snack, hot or cold
It’s a little cooler this week. The temps are only suppose to be in the high 80’s to low 90’s, instead of triple digits. Even though it’s still August, here in our part of the world, school has started. There was a big jamboree at my kids’ old high school yesterday. Proud to announce that their Alma mater pulled out the win over a school in the area that they’ve never played before. This other school is a big public school and the one that my boys attended is a small independent school. There has been a lot of boasting over the years from both schools; both believing that they could beat the other. Well… that was settled last night. Good sportsmanship prevailed on both sides. Each school did the county proud.
I mentioned all of that to bring up autumn. The start of school always ushers in cooler temperatures with skies clear and high. Next month is my favorite month. Ah, Septrmber. The air is less humid, the leaves start to fall ( mainly because we don’t get much rain this time of year). Mums on the porch. Potted pansies. Stacked pumpkins in an old rusty wheel barrow.
Two favorite staples in this Southern Exile’s kitchen are sweet potatoes and pecans. Please, people, it is pronounced peh-cons. I don’t eat, cook or bake with anything called a peecan! A peecan is what an environmentalist takes with him to the woods. Now, what do you want to eat: pecans or peecans? Ain’t no amount of sugar or butter gonna make the latter taste good. Peh-cons. Pecans. Say it. Dig down deep and say it right.
Okay, enough of that. Sweet potato pie starts making its appearance at the table this time of year. It’s good warm from the oven or cold from the frig. Here’s one way that I make it:
4 medium sweet potatoes, peeled and boiled till tender
1/2 stick of butter
1 can of sweetened condensed milk
1 teaspoon pumpkin pie spice
1 egg
1 partially baked pie shell
Whole pecan halves
What to do:
Drain and mash sweet potatoes, along with the butter. Pour in the entire can of sweetened condensed milk and pumpkin pie spice. Mix together. In a small bowl, whisk egg, adding a little bit of sweet potato mixture to it. This is tempering the egg; adding the egg straight to the warm sweet potato would cook the egg. Not good. Not what you want. Add in your tempered egg and mix it in thoroughly to your sweet potato. Pour into your partially baked pie shell. Around the edge of the pie, place a ring of pecan halves perpendicular to the crust ( and you thought you’d never use geometry). Place the pie on a sturdy cookie sheet, and bake in the oven at 350° for 35 to 40 minutes or until a knife inserted in the middle comes out clean.
Tip: Check the pie crust half way through baking, to make sure it isn’t getting too brown. A pie guard is a great tool in the kitchen. If you don’t have one, cut out the bottom of an aluminum pie plate and it will do the trick. Covering the edges with loose tinfoil will work, but the pie is hot by this point, etc.
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