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Hot enough for dresses (thanks Martha), cool enough for sleep, summer has finally arrived in Portland! I love my perch on the porch. I bird watch, read, sometimes sleep, swoon at the flowers and the achingly beautiful sky. By daylight or candlelight, life is fine by me.
I hope you have a marvelous day, dear readers!
Hello friends - Welcome to The Oregon Garden! Located just outside the picture post card town of Silverton, it’s about an hour’s drive from our red roof, and a pleasant one, to boot. My friend Rob and I journeyed there a few weeks back while he was in town.
With eighty acres and a myriad of different gardens, there is a whole lot to see.
This photo and the yellow flowers in the one above are part of the eco-roof, a great way to filter rain water and keep a structure cool. I like the look of the plants, too.
This is the cottonwood forest. These trees are crazy tall, something like a hundred feet, and grew over a very short period of time – most impressive Obi Wan.
Funny that I should type that, for Rob, my fellow traveler, is a huge Star Wars fan, probably the biggest I know. He even has a super cool Jedi costume, complete with light saber.
These two pictures are from the conifer garden. The needles on both were surprisingly soft.
There is a tram at the garden, and though I would generally pooh-pooh something of this ilk, I was glad we took it. One, it is nice to get an overview of the garden before deciding on specific areas to explore. Two, the driver was a cute and friendly retiree with many funny anecdotes. He also highlighted the best places to get married, this series of pools being among them. I have to admit that the light was awfully romantic.
I think these are the seed pods of a sweet gum tree, but please don’t hold me to it. Whatever they are, I like the look of them.
Always stop to smell the roses.
This was my favorite part of the garden. It is an oak grove that dates back more than four hundred years. Can you imagine living that long? What a testament to the power of nature – so beautiful and inspiring.
Daisies are such happy flowers. Are you smiling yet? Go ahead, it feels good.
Oh deer. She tried to pretend she was a statue, but we knew better.
I love this whisper of a flower. I almost expect it to turn into a sweet fairy. May I have three wishes?
Pretty.
We’re almost at the end of our visit.
Calalilies are so beautiful.
And now, for a shout out to my traveling companion: Thanks for always being up for adventure, for your kind and generous spirit, for your marvelous humor and taste in music (Wilco!), your creativity, but mostly your friendship. You’re a keeper!
Have patience with all things, but chiefly have patience with yourself. Do not lose courage in considering your own imperfections, but instantly set about remedying them — every day begin the task anew.
St. Francis de Sales
Happy Birthday Colleen, Chaz, and Alan!
Two bits of deliciousness for you this morning, pizza and cake. I read an article on pizza in one of the fancy food magazines. It was rather long and somewhat interesting and highlighted a small town back east that has two very famous pizza joints that have been there a terribly long time. I guess there is quite an either/or dichotomy going on. You aren’t, apparently, allowed to like the pizza at both places. I have to say that I abhor (strong word, I know) rules like this. I don’t like being told whether or not I should have certain feelings. This is not up to other people. It is up to me. Anyway, as I was reading, I had this rather cinematic a-ha moment. She and Him was playing in the background and I swear Zooey Deschanel hit a high note when I read this sentence: Let the pizza dough rise for twenty-four hours.
I don’t know how many of you make your own thin crust pizza and wondered why it just isn’t as good as those places in the article, or for the hubster and I, Lombardi’s in Manhattan, and Grimaldi’s at the foot of the Brooklyn Bridge. I am savvy in the kitchen, but ever since taking a bite of that gooey, chewy deliciousness on an idyllic summer day, I was pretty stumped. The crust never tasted as good as theirs, never had that wonderful texture. Then that sentence jumped off the page, and I had it. The secret wasn’t in the yeast or the flour or the water. It was all about time. Give it time. So, the day before you want your pizza, make your favorite dough. Punch it down the next morning and let it rise again, until the oven is smoking hot (we put ours at 500) and your ingredients are ready. Then wait for the magic moment when you slide that bad boy out of the oven and you take your first bite. Heaven.
Though we didn’t follow our pizza with dessert – we were too full of cheese for that, I am following my thoughts on it with this delicious upside down cake. There is a restaurant in town, which shall remain nameless, that actually has the gall to put instant butterscotch pudding as the brown sugar and butter layer. Words cannot describe the horror of my first bite. This is not cake; it is a travesty. This recipe is the real deal, and, to be honest, it is probably easier and cheaper than buying that instant stuff, seriously. You can make it with pineapple, peaches, apricots, nectarines, plums, or apples. It’s really hard to go wrong.
Fruity Upside Down Cake
adapted from the Better Homes and Gardens Cook Book, 75th Anniversary Edition
2 tablespoons butter
1/3 cup brown sugar
1 tablespoon water
Enough fruit to cover the bottom of the pan – I used two sliced nectarines and three maraschino cherries
1/2 cup whole wheat flour
1/2 cup all purpose flour
1/3 cup sugar
2 teaspoons baking powder
2/3 cup milk
1/4 cup butter, grated with the small holes of a cheese grater
1 egg, beaten
1 teaspoon vanilla
Preheat oven to 350. Melt two tablespoons of butter and 1/3 cup brown sugar in a small saucepan. Add the water and stir until combined. Pour into an ungreased 8″ square pan. Carefully arrange your fruit in a pretty pattern over the syrup.
In a medium mixing bowl, stir together the flour, sugar, and baking powder. Add the milk, butter, egg, and vanilla. Stir until combined. Spoon the batter over the fruit in the prepared pan.
Bake for 30-35 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. Cool for five minutes. Run a knife around the edge of the pan to loosen, and invert onto a plate. This is best served warm.
Enjoy!
p.s.
When I called the hubster down to have some cake, he said, “Wow! That’s pretty. Did you take a picture?” This coming from the guy who likes to tease, “Um can I eat, or do I have to wait for the camera?”
Can’t you just hear the Jackson Five? A-B-C, as simple as 1-2-3, do-re-mi, 1-2-3, baby you and me girl!
I’d like to start with a shout out to our fabulous neighborhood newspaper, The Southeast Examiner. It’s a neat publication of, as you would imagine, all things local. It’s always worthy of an afternoon. One of my favorite sections has listings of fun activities in the area. Without it, we would not be here today, or, for that matter, out at that fine square dance, for both were found there. I also scored a 10% off coupon for one of our favorite wine shops Mt. Tabor Fine Wine, getting a delicious Toro Albala 1982 PX Sherry. We had a glass at Genoa (a phenomenal meal in celebration of our 17th(!) wedding anniversary a few weeks back) and liked it so much that a bottle had to be procured. Unlike any other sherry I’ve tried, it’s very dark, starts out tasting like a port but finishes like a sherry. Delicious.
Anyhoo, to today’s topic. Last Sunday, when the weather was utterly fine, unlike the steady drizzle of today (good for pulling weeds and spreading bark mulch, however), we got up early and rode our bicycles to the Viking Pancake Breakfast. It’s been listed in the Examiner for ages but this was our first time giving it a try. It’s located in the basement of the Norse Hall (no surprise there, I hope), a fine building erected in the late 1920’s.
It’s kitschy and lovely and filled with sweet people of all ages noshing on crepe-like pancakes with berry compote, the breakfast links of my childhood, fresh strawberries and cantaloupe, orange juice, and a bottomless cup of coffee or tea, if you so choose, all for $6. We loved every bite and moment. One of the highlights was the cute gentleman serving coffee and telling joke after joke about a funny couple named Helga and Olaf. We’ll definitely be back and maybe upstairs, too. They also have dances! Square dances sometimes. Yippee!
After all of that eating and drinking, and because it was so lovely out, we took full advantage of the weather, riding south on the Esplanade and Springwater trail to Sellwood, then back north, and home. It really could not have been a finer day.
Happy Father’s Day!
Happy Birthday Bridget!
Well, actually, I should say that I prefer his films of this era, because I still think he’s pretty terrific as a person. He seems like a good guy: affable, likable, decent, and any time I’ve seen him on Ellen he’s been game for pretty much anything. As a matter of fact, he’s probably the best celebrity I’ve seen play Humdinger, so there. I’m just not crazy about the movies he’s made lately.
It all started with his breakout role in Swingers, and Trent, of course. He’s ballsy, a natty dresser with a cool car (a 1964 Mercury Comet), and the best cheerleader of a friend any fella could ask for. He’s got so many great lines that, at least for me, never get old:
” Baby, you’re so money and you don’t even know it!”
“You take yourself out of the game; you start talking about puppy dogs and ice cream, and of course it’s going to end up on the friendship tip.”
“I don’t want you to be the guy in the PG-13 movie everyone’s *really* hoping makes it happen.”
Then, in what I consider his best year of film, he played what I now realize is kind of the serial killer version of Trent in Clay Pigeons. He’s Lester Long (the name does have a killer ring to it), a guy’s best friend, with an edge, though he’s decked out in western wear gear this time (come square dancing!).
In A Cool Dry Place, he’s divorced and raising his son in a small Kansas town when life gets complicated by a new romance, a life changing job offer, and the return of his ex wife.
Return to Paradise pairs him with Joaquin Phoenix again (he’s the Clay of Clay Pigeons), in a rather sad tale of good times gone bad. A trio of men meet in Malaysia, do a lot of partying and drugs, before two return home. Unfortunately, they leave their drugs and the third, played by Phoenix, is accused of drug trafficking as a result. Two years go by and they are contacted and asked to go to jail in order to prevent the third from being hung for his “crime.” It’s a beautiful tale, one that asks some pretty interesting questions, too.
So Vince, since I know you read my wildly popular blog, how about some more 1998? It would make this fan very happy!
Never get so fascinated by the extraordinary that you forget the ordinary.
Magdalen Nabb
I’m feeling pretty grateful Under a Red Roof today. I received some super kind comments about yesterday’s post, was treated to an awesome early birthday lunch at Stickers, one of my favorite places, by Petra, my friend, boss, and naturopath extraordinaire. I received a super sweet card and gift subscription to Sunset Magazine from the best and most hardworking financial adviser we could ask for, Sean Stansfield (call him – he’s terrific!), and am loving our new fly through bird feeder with the help of my favorite Backyard Birdshop employee, Laura. It is clearly a day for soaking up the love and caring of the generous people in my life. Thanks everybody – your sweet ways go straight to my heart!
Add to that, the veritable cherry on the top, last night we went to our first square dance, or at least first square dance since being the age of single digits some thirty years ago, that is. As you can see from all of the smiling, it was mighty fun, too. A come, as you are affair, minutes from home, we twirled, stomped, did more than one do-si-do, held hands, laughed, whooped, and hollered more than I can ever recall. We can’t wait to put on our Western wear duds and do it again.
Many thanks to the mighty talented Rabbit Foot String Band, Paul Silveria and his fine and instructive calling, and all the friendly, happy dancers, especially Etienne and the really tall guy who kept us all on track. We’ll be seeing you!
Well friends, I have what is surely the last of the peony photos this year and a broken record alert! Aren’t they pretty? Aren’t they pretty? Well they are, and these two smell quite lovely, too. Yes, yes they do. We also managed to get two dry days in a row to enjoy them, but the clouds are rolling in, and I’m pretty sure that means Mr. Rain will be up to his old tricks in no time, which is okay. The little break of sun was enough to tide me over until next time.
I have no clever segue way to what comes next. I’ve been thinking a lot about what it is that I want and how to get it. I came to a conclusion that probably should have been obvious, but wasn’t, but now that I’ve made it, I feel as though I’ve been hit over the head with a hammer in a Bugs Bunny cartoon. Yet, instead of stars, I am seeing what I do with greater clarity than ever before.
I have never called myself a writer. I have always said, “I’ve written a book,” or “I’ write a blog.” In some ways, I didn’t want to pigeon-hole myself in the “I am not what I do” way because I feel I am so much more than a single word. I also didn’t think I deserved the title of Writer without being published. Yet, in this way, I believe I have been selling myself short, for who will believe I am a writer, especially one who is worthy of publication, if I don’t? It also diminished my work, made it less important. Well, dang it, it IS important, even if only to me.
So, a change. A “this is it” moment: I, Colleen Sohn, am a writer. Gosh, I got weepy typing that last sentence. I am a writer. I wrote a novel that I hope to get published one day. I write a blog. I write poems. I dream up worlds. Words dance in my mind and through my finger tips. They are alive, just like me and you.
That felt good. Thanks for reading. I love sharing my writing with you!
I just finished reading the book Heat by Bill Buford. It chronicles the time he spent learning everything about cooking from Mario Batali’s kitchen at Babbo to learning the art of pasta making and butchering (more than that – an appreciation for quality meat) in Italy. It is a pretty good, and not surprisingly, rather hedonistic read. These people don’t just make food, they eat it in mass quantities and wash it down with plenty of wine! Though there aren’t any actual recipes included, there are descriptions of them. The following is my best approximation of one. Five ingredients, phenomenal flavor.
You may also be pausing a moment, thinking stew? Really? In June? Well, non-Portlanders, the weather has been wet, very wet, even for us, and something that simmers in the oven all day is really not out of line but quite appropriate.
Peposo
1 1/2 pounds stew meat – mine was diced, but you could easily buy one shank and shred it at the end.
1/2 bottle Chianti
1 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon freshly ground black pepper – or more, if you like
3 cloves garlic, peeled and sliced
Combine ingredients in a covered oven proof pot. Place in 400 degree oven for 15 minutes. Reduce the temperature to 200 and continue cooking for another 10-12 hours. The final product will be melt in your mouth tender and ever so yummy.
Serve with crusty white bread, generously spread with butter, a glass of the remaining bit of wine, and the company of a good friend.
Enjoy!
