Merry & Mod at home

Handmade for Valentine's

My husband and I haven't celebrated Valentine's Day in a romantic way in years.  After a few years of marriage, with many romantic anniversary and birthday celebrations (not to mention romantic random Tuesday nights), Valentine’s Day started to feel commercial and contrived. Forced. 

But with children in our lives, I always relish an occasion to make something together. So as our kids have grown older, I've been scrambling to add a bit of festive fun into this ‘holiday’ for our family.  

This was our first year exchanging Valentine's at school. We kept it simple - and handmade - card stock folded into thirds (with rounded corners, of course), potato stamps, a little glitter, a sweet sticker closure. We worked on them a bit at a time over the course of a few days. Just the right pace to keep the project enjoyable.  

We hosted my sister-in-law for a festive dinner on Tuesday night. Our table was graced with sparkling wine and sparkling cider, candlelight arranged by our sweet six year old, and the most romantic grilled cheese ever. The combination of luscious pears, oozing brie and thinly sliced turkey is incredibly seductive. Add in the sweet dark/light rye hearts, and everyone at the table was charmed. 

 

 

creativity and hot cocoa

This winter has been depressingly mild. Warm temperatures and not enough snow. About the same level of gusto as my creativity, in fact. 

Over cocktails with a girlfriend last week, I mentioned that I am not making much of anything. No jewelry, no blog posts, no journal entries, neglected crochet...it's a long list. I couldn't articulate why the urge to create seems to have left me. She expressed sympathy, saying, in her gentle and sweet way, that she loves the creative side of me, describing it as unique and special.  

I need to find more time for the facets of me that I miss. This morning, I have cleared off the messy piles in my studio, and over the weekend I worked a few rows on my erstwhile cardigan. Slight progress. While I get myself in order, I have some hipstamatic photos to share with you. This silly iPhone app makes even the most humble pastrami sandwich look like something worth writing about. Expect to see more of this funky vintage style in this space....

Years ago I watched Chocolat and coveted the little pan the heroine uses to make hot cocoa. Just the right size for a few cups of milk and cocoa, with a spout for perfect pouring. It's a frivolous thing to want, but I thought maybe I'd find one in a thrift store some day. Unbelievably, years later, that is just what happened. Sweet serendipity. We had popped into the Humane Society Thrift store to collect a basket to hold a thank you gift for the cocktail companion mentioned above when I discovered it. 

A vintage red le Creuset pot with a worn wooden handle and two pour spouts for $4. Yes, four dollars! Both my boys were with me when I saw it in September and I absolutely, unashamedly, boisterously crowed my joy right there among the mismatched coffee cups and rusty cheese graters. It didn't matter that we were in the throws of an Indian summer; hot cocoa was served the very next morning at breakfast.  

Again I’ll mention the same girlfriend, for she introduced me to this hot cocoa recipe last year at Christmastime. It's so simple, and so delicious, that it has become a family staple of snow days, camping trips and après-ski ever since. In a large bowl, add two cups of sugar, one cup of excellent cocoa, a large handful of your favorite bittersweet chocolate chips, and one split and scraped vanilla bean. Whisk this together and decant it into a quart mason jar, along with the vanilla bean. In your new, beloved hot cocoa pot, add two tablespoons of this mixture for every cup of milk. Whisk over a gentle flame until steam rises and all the chocolate has melted. (Also delicious for adults with coffee liqueur, peppermint schnapps, brandy, whiskey, etc.) Enjoy. 

 

 

Ella Bella laid an egg.

I have a chicken and she laid an egg. That's a fairly mundane announcement - chickens are bred to lay, after all. But for our family, discovering a tiny, pale brown, perfectly shaped egg in the nest box was nothing short of miraculous. All the waiting, tending, and building came to fruition and each of us experienced a thrill of delight.

There was a brief discussion over how to taste this first egg. Scrambled? Poached? Then my oldest requested a classic preparation: sunny side up. I heated a pat of butter and some oil in a skillet, waited until it bubbled, then cracked the shell on the side of the pan and dropped it's contents into the fat. The little egg sat up high and firm - the freshest I've ever experienced. We gathered around one plate with four forks and cut into it. The yolk ran deep orange: proof of her healthy diet, fresh air, happy existence.

 

 

Banana Bread

The three-year-old and I had some time at home alone together last weekend. We put our energy, plus our three over-ripe bananas to use, and ended up with some banana bread. I've mentioned this recipe before and I'll state again how I love it: one bowl! no oil or butter! lots of chocolate chips! super kid-friendly recipe!

The result is one 8 x 8" pan full of chewy, gooey goodness. Released from the pyrex, it fit perfectly into a TJ's pie box (homemade is nice, but sometimes a purchased desert is just right) and traveled with us to a free afternoon concert.  

Banana Bread with Chocolate Chips and Cinnamon Sugar

Adapted, a little, from Orangette

3 super ripe bananas

2 large eggs

1 1/2 cups whole wheat flour

1 cup granulated sugar

1 tsp. baking soda

2 tsp. ground cinnamon

1 tsp. pure vanilla extract

3/4 cup semisweet chocolate chips (I followed the original recipe and used 1 cup chips, but I think it would benefit from less)

For topping:

2 Tbsp. granulated sugar

1/4 tsp. ground cinnamon

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees.  Butter an 8-inch square pan.

In a medium mixing bowl, mash the bananas well with a potato masher. Add eggs and stir well to combine. Add flour, sugar, baking soda, cinnamon, and vanilla; stir to mix.  Add 1/2 cup of the chocolate chips and stir briefly. Pour batter into prepared pan and set aside.

In a small bowl, stir together the remaining sugar and cinnamon. Sprinkle the mixture evenly over the batter in the pan and top with remaining 1/4 cup chocolate chips.

Bake for 35 to 40 minutes, or until a cake tester poked into the center comes out clean. Allow to cool for 15 minutes or longer before serving.

 

 

good mornings stretch

I spent a few moments in front of the stove last night, heating oatmeal with water and some cinnamon. While the oatmeal cooked I quartered a few dried figs, ran a sharp knife over a handful of almonds, and measured a bit of brown sugar into a small dish. A lid covered the oatmeal on the stove, the tray of toppings was covered by a napkin and placed on the table; I went to bed. 

Now: I understand that oatmeal is not a revelatory blog entry. It is simply breakfast after all. But having breakfast organized in advance in a way that involves my children - to choose their toppings and practice pouring milk from a small pitcher - seemed to set the tone for the rest of my day. There were smiles, cooperation, and we even arrived early at preschool.  

Later, as I flowed through my Thursday yoga practice, I considered variations on this dish. Warm quinoa with berries. Dollops of yogurt and drizzles of warm honey. Slice your own bananas, sprinkle your own cinnamon. Following that thought, I see many good mornings stretch into good days...flowing into weeks, months, years.  

Also, now I have leftover oatmeal to make Mark Bittman's oatmeal pancakes this weekend.  (Except now they must be called flapjacks and tossed into the air for an intrepid eater to catch on their plate!)

 

 

counting

 

It's been quiet in this little space recently.  I try to keep my silence when I don't have anything to share, lest I venture into insipidity.  So I will simply state a few truths:  I am blessed to be so well loved, and to love so deeply.  

our daily bread

 

Before I moved back to Oregon, I used to read blogs written by women who feed their families exclusively home-baked bread.  This seemed a noble goal, very Laura Ingalls Wilder and all that.  It became one of those dreams on the long list of when I move to Oregon....  

Little did I know it would be so easy; I could have been doing it all along.  Baking your own bread is incredibly affordable, fills your home with a delicious aroma that evokes hospitality and warmth, and shrinks your carbon footprint while simultaneously eliminating all kinds of questionable ingredients from your lunchtime staple.   

Sometimes, I use the stand mixer or knead by hand.  But most days, I use a bread machine on long-term loan from my brother and sister-in-law.  (I try to return it to them every now and then, and they politely decline.  Occasionally, I share a loaf with them.  But so far I'm reaping the lion's share of the rewards from the bargain.  Thanks, K & T!)  

After some experimentation, I've found a mostly whole wheat loaf that slices easily, features the hearty wheat flavor I love, with sufficient white flour to ensure a pillowy rise.  My kids even eat the crusts. 

To simplify preparation, I've begun measuring the dry ingredients - less the yeast - into several mason jars.  This assembly line concept leaves fewer dishes in the sink and eliminates hauling the dry goods out of the pantry every other day.  This means, in theory, that we enjoy our daily bread everyday.    

Wheat, Honey, Oat Bread

yield: a 1lb loaf

1 cup water

1 cup white flour

1 1/2 cups whole wheat flour

1 T dry milk powder

1 tsp salt

3/4 cup rolled oats

1 1/2 T canola oil

1 T molasses

1 T honey

2 tsp active dry yeast

Measure all ingredients into your bread machine and process according to manufacturer instructions.  Bread slices best when left to cool to room temperature.  

blueberry harvest

 

 

 
We picked nearly thirty-four pounds of blueberries, and brought home a box of apples and a box of pears.  All this produce can be rather intimidating.  And putting it up is somewhat time consuming, but I feel comforted knowing where my food comes from.  That it came from the berry patch to my freezer (and ultimately, my muffin!) by my own hands. 

putting up the sauce

Since I don't really know what I'm doing - and we've had a few projects on the burners this summer - we've kept our vegetable patch to a minimum this season.  This may prove a fortuitous compromise, given summer's tardy arrival and the possibility of an early fall.  (Should such a tragedy occur, I'll console myself with new yarn.)  Last week, I tossed homegrown zucchini and a long, skinny eggplant into our stir fry and enjoyed a simple satisfaction for our evening meal.  I pulled a handful of peppery radishes out of the dirt and served them on top of my homemade crusty bread with butter and salt.  We have the potential for spaghetti squash and little tomatoes of all colors, provided September is warm enough. 

 

This evening, I was enjoying the quiet duet of the dishwasher and dryer humming in productive unison, about to head upstairs for a relaxing end to my evening when I remembered the bushel of rhubarb I snapped off before dinner and left on the front steps.  Visions of rhubarb bread, muffins and bundt cake were quickly abandoned for a considerably more practical batch of sauce.  Now, fancy folks will call it rhubarb compote, but when I was growing up I spooned it over plain yogurt or smeared it across peanut butter toast, and called it sauce.  It's a simple concoction of chopped rhubarb, sugar, a little water and maybe some orange peel or sliced strawberries added at the last minute (I used orange oil tonight because I'm lazy), brought to a boil and then simmered until it's not quite as thick as applesauce.  I didn't even follow a recipe.  There's enough in the pot for tomorrow's breakfast and a few extra quarts for the freezer.  When it's cold this winter, and I'm dreaming up plans for strawberries, basil, rainbow chard, and a namesake melon, I'll enjoy a taste of summer and count my blessings.  Starting with sauce. 

Christmas Snaps

For the first time ever, we are celebrating Christmas in our own home.  There is something magical about preparing for the holiday this year.  I have found immense satisfaction in the making, baking, mailing, shopping, wrapping, shipping that surrounds this holiday and that is a rare acheivement.   

 

We found a skinny little tree in the woods and decorated it with tiny white lights, my favorite glass ornaments, and glittered trains, planes and racecars. 

 
Presents are wrapped, festive foods are prepared, friends have arrived.  I won't bore you with a list of everything I've crafted, baked and cooked.  Instead I'll just share an idea for a festive and refreshing winter cocktail:

In a crock pot, combine the zest of one orange (I used a vegetable peeler to make long, thin strips), three bags of mulling spices, and one bottle of inexpensive, full-bodied red wine.  Cook on high for two hours.  Strain wine and return to empty bottle with the help of a funnel.  Serve chilled over ice with a splash of sparkling mineral water and a thin slice of orange.  

Enjoy, dear friends.  This year, I'm remembering that Christmas is not about how much you can accomplish, but about the amount of love you can cultivate to warm you and yours through the long, cold winter nights.