Remembering

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It’s baking time Under a Red Roof: spritz cookies, pumpkin bars, mint sandwich cookies, sandies, and walnut fudge, yum, yum!  It’s a lot of work, but like the jazz on the hi-fi during it all, there is a certain pleasure and flow in the mixing, rolling, tasting (just a little), and packaging.  It is endlessly satisfying, especially when I think about someone I care about enjoying bite after bite.

It also reminds me of one of my favorite holiday pastimes, reading Truman Capote’s A Christmas Memory aloud with the hubster.  It is a magical time when I am transported, via the power of the word, to a place I have never been but know as intimately as my own home.  Buddy and his cousin are there, rolling the wicker buggy with Queenie trotting along side.  We dream, explore, hide our money in a coin purse under the floor boards, and make fruitcakes and high flying kites.  It is the purest form of love.

Just as much as I love the story, I love the act and rhythm of the reading.  The hubster and I sit on the sofa, impossibly close, and I begin, my voice as clear as the sky on that first morning, until it isn’t, and the tears come.  He smiles and wordlessly takes the book from me, taking up where I left off, continuing until the tickles in his throat signal it is my turn again, beginning the cycle over: clear words, tears, exchange, clear words, tears, exchange.  Then it is over, and I marvel at the distance traveled in twenty-nine pages.

Hello Peeps!

I don’t suppose that expression is in vogue any longer, or that last one for that matter, but I am terribly inept at keeping up with such things, and I suppose, rather tragically unhip.  It’s okay.  I am also feeling summer slip through my fingers, along with keeping up with the blog.  We’ve had so many activities in our normally quiet life that I am having a hard time balancing anything.  Today, however, I am making a little extra effort, one that you can capitalize on, too.  Believe me when I tell you that this recipe can change lives and elevate dinner parties to great heights.  I can’t tell you how many people swoon over this.  The best part?  Two ingredients!  Three if you need salt.  No kidding!

Greg and I first had this mighty fine sauce at Juanita’s Uptown (sadly it disappeared years ago) in Denver with our super fun and rather cosmopolitan friends the Dews.  They lived in an apartment straight out of Dynasty, complete with an elevator.  The fun part (aside from their ebullient personalities and crazy personal histories) was the consternation on the part of the elevator operator when Susie hollered, “Beam them up Scotty!”

Anyway, the sauce came as an accompaniment to steamed mussels, which I love.  But it tasted so totally yummy that had I not been on good behavior (despite one of Bill’s stellar and killer margaritas in my belly) in the company of friends and strangers, I could have forgone the mussels and warm tortillas, eaten the sauce with a spoon, and licked the bowl.  I kid you not.

I tried for ages to replicate the magic concoction with dried chipotles, cheese, flour, and just about everything else I could think of.  Then I was lucky enough to have one of the waitresses in a Geography class (hello college days) and she divulged the not so secret ingredients.  Chipotles in adobo sauce and whipping cream.  Seriously?  After all my hard work?  That was it?  Yup.

Whipping Cream

Chipotle Chiles in Adobo Sauce (available in the Latin section of the market)

In a small saucepan, add some cream.  You decide how much – I use anywhere from 1/2 cup to 1 1/2 cups, depending on how many people will be eating it.   Add a little bit of the chipotles (I blend the entire contents of a can, as it is usually whole chiles, in a food processor until fairly smooth and store in a jar in the refrigerator), stir, and taste.  Add more if the flavor seems too creamy or you want more spice.  It’s really up to you.  Heat the sauce over medium until bubbly.  Allow it to reduce until thick.  Pour it over whatever strikes your fancy – chicken, pork, beef, mussels, enchiladas, a firm white fish, or a bowl full of beans.  You could also stand next to the stove, grab a stack of tortillas, dip them in the pan, and go to town.  It’s all good.

Enjoy!

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I’ve been thinking all morning about the past year, the 365 days since I had my hysterectomy.  So much of what I feel is a jumble, of memories, and emotions, and wonder.  Did all of that pain and suffering really happen, and to me?  Despite the fact that I have four scars to prove it, it is hard to fathom that I ever was different from the woman I am now, one glorious year later.

For right now, all I feel is gratitude and a deep in my bones feeling that all is right, utterly and perfectly so, with the world.  Part of it is the physical progress I’ve made over the past year.  I feel so much better.  I am not in constant pain.  I’m on a very minimal dose of hormones (soon to be none, I think), and I’ve lost the weight I gained on the awful ones.  I no longer need to take iron to cope with the massive surgical blood loss, not to mention the huge deficit every time my period came calling.  I am a healthy woman, inside and out.

Most importantly, I feel an immense sense of gratitude for the ways I took care of myself by letting go.  I let go of the notion that my pain was okay, that it wasn’t interfering with my life.  Sure, I had innumerable ways of coping, of managing, but, looking back, I can’t honestly say that I was truly living.  To be even more honest, I didn’t believe I deserved to experience that other life – the one where I was a good and valuable person, one who didn’t need to suffer.  What a difference a year makes!  Now I know, and in this moment, the only moment that I have, feel truly deserving of a joyous post surgical life.

In this life, I don’t have to fix myself to be a success.  I can ask for the help of doctors, nurses, and the people I love.  In this life, I am not ashamed of what I cannot do and very proud of what I can (Write! Bake! Garden!).  I matter.  I am important. I am worthy of all that is good, great, and spectacular!  So are we all.  Thanks for being part of my journey.

Happy Birthday Buddy!  I love you!

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I know that your heart lies shattered,

Pieces strewn about the floor,

Waiting for your attention,

Waiting for your care.

Until that time arrives,

Until you have shed the tears still welling within you,

Tears for your brother and and the delicately fierce bonds of family,

Know that you are not alone.

The small hands you’ve enveloped in joy,

The eyes that have gazed upon you in admiration and wonder,

The ears that have heard your laugh and been made better by it,

The hearts touched by your caring,

Are collective souls hoping to buoy your spirit in this time of mourning

And return in small part what you have given so freely.

Colleen Sohn

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When I was in high school and college, I worked at an Italian family restaurant.  It was very homey, decorated for every holiday, and served really good food.  It was red sauce galore, pizza, great steaks, pepperoni on the salad, and one of the best sandwiches in the world – The Sausage Special.  Made on garlic bread with green chiles and just a touch of that sauce,  it made me ever so happy.  Whenever I visit my parents, a visit must be made to indulge.

It was the eighties, and there was lots of drama at the restaurant, not to mention make-up, big hair, big clothes, and personalities to match, save one.  The sister of the owner, Aunt Liz, was a hostess on one of the shifts I worked.  I loved her.  She was soft spoken and kind, beautiful without a stitch of make up, had great style, close cropped hair, and made this awesome strawberry cake.  She brought it in a 13×9 pan with a metal lid that slid across the top, like the lip gloss that I loved.  To be honest, the cake could have been pretty average, and I may still have liked it, just for the sake of the container.  I am that kind of person.  But, it wasn’t just the tin, the cake was gorgeous and delicious.  So strawberry!  So summer!

I got the recipe from her but never made it, but it has been on my mind lately.  The memories of it have been clearer.  So yesterday, when I got an awesome deal on organic strawberries (three pounds for two dollars!) I made these cupcakes in homage to her.  They aren’t Aunt Liz’s recipe – hers were the frozen in syrup kind – but boy oh boy are they delicious and cute as a button.  We shared them with the neighbors, but mum’s the word if you want to eat them all yourself.  You just might.

Adapted from 1 Mix, 100 Muffins, by Susanna Tee

Strawberry Cupcakes

1 cup flour

1 cup whole wheat flour

1 tablespoon baking powder

1/8 teaspoon salt

1/2 cup sugar

2 eggs

1 cup milk

6 tablespoons sunflower or other mild oil

1 teaspoon vanilla

1 cup strawberries, hulled

Preheat the oven to 400.  Grease or line a 12 cup muffin pan.  Sift the flour, baking powder, sugar, and salt, in a large bowl.  Puree the eggs, milk, oil, vanilla, and strawberries (I used a large measuring cup and my trusty hand blender).  Pour over the dry ingredients, and stir gently until just combined.  Do not overmix.

Spoon the batter into the prepared pan.  Bake for about 20 minutes, or until well risen, golden brown, and firm to the touch.  Allow to cool for five minutes in the pan before transferring to a wire rack to cool completely.

Strawberry Frosting

1/4 cup strawberries, hulled

4 tablespoons butter, slightly softened

1/4 cup shortening

pinch salt

1 1/2 – 2 cups powdered sugar

1 teaspoon vanilla

Puree the strawberries (again, the hand blender in a measuring cup – or mash with a fork), set aside.  Beat together the butter, shortening, and salt, until light and fluffy.  Reduce mixer speed and slowly add 1 1/2 cups powdered sugar, beat until combined.  Add the strawberry puree and mix just until blended.  You may need the extra 1/2 cup of powdered sugar here, if the frosting is too wet.

Frost your cooled cupcakes and top with strawberry halves, if you like.

Enjoy!

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