Under a Red Roof

Strong Opinions

June 21, 2010 in Cooking + Baking, Learning, Remembering by Colleen | 1 comment

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?”

Tags: Cooking and Baking, Recipes

A Honeymoon Memory

April 5, 2010 in Remembering by Colleen | 1 comment

My mind is mushy, and I have been glued to my seat for nearly two hours trying to write a post. I’ve deleted a lot of sentences and looked at a lot of pictures. I kept coming back to this one. I love that smile. It is so alive and full of content, a pleasure every time I see it. It reminded me of the times I was happiest to see it, like our wedding day, and when I woke up from my surgery last year. I was groggy, and a doctor was asking me my name and if I was okay, and then Greg’s face appeared and I felt such a rush of love. He was there and smiling at me, too!

I then remembered another occasion, long ago. We were midway through our honeymoon, a two month backpacking adventure across Europe. We decided to take a vacation within our vacation in Nice, as spending a couple of nights in a city before moving on was wearing on us, so we found a neat hotel that had a full kitchen where we could make our own food, enjoy cold beverages from an actual refrigerator, eat bowls of cereal, and loll about on the beach. It was grand.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t quite enough. We found that we not only needed a vacation from our vacation but one from each other as well. So we made plans to spend the next day apart. Gregory wanted to find a book to read, and I was keen on doing a little shopping and wandering the streets on my own. It started out marvelously, for it was June, and the weather lovely, and Nice is a very walkable city. I was strolling and enjoying the sights when, rather unfortunately, I encountered a man who perhaps took my street walking a bit too literally? He decided he would walk with me, despite my sincere protests to the contrary. I was not at all happy with this arrangement, but this guy would not leave me alone. Thankfully, his shoe came untied, and as he stopped to fix it, I made a break for it. I don’t think I’ve ever moved as swiftly as I did then. When I looked back and realized I was free of his company, I was so elated! But the exhilaration of losing him didn’t last long, as I fretted that I would see him again, and I returned to the hotel, slightly defeated.

Upon entering the room, I saw the hubster lying on the bed, his magical smile looking back at me, and all was right with the world! As it turns out, his day was less than ideal, as well. He tried to buy a book, but it wouldn’t ring up correctly, and the women at the store asked him questions, to which he could give no reply, for his interpreter (moi) was not with him, and the only sentence he knew was of ill use. “I don’t speak French, but my wife does.”

It was a great reminder of how wonderful it is to be together, and so we have stayed.

America

March 12, 2010 in Listening, Remembering, Spotlighting by Colleen | 1 comment

The hubster and I went on a bit of an MP3 bender this past weekend, buying a wide range of songs, including the awesome “Empire State of Mind” with Jay-Z and Alicia Keys. That tune really gets me going, so full of hope, possibility, and power! It got a lot of play around the house, though not nearly as much as this bunch. America – the ultimate seventies band. We’ve had “A Horse With No Name” for a while, but yearned for some of their other greats, so here’s the new play list:

“Ventura Highway”

“Tin Man”

“Sister Golden Hair”

“Riverside”

“Sandman”

“A Horse With No Name”

This music has always possessed a certain magical quality for me. It is as if, through the listening, I see the world through a slightly blurry Super 8. It is a warm summer day, and I am ageless and dancing, arms extended, with the sun in my eyes. The colors are washed out and my hair, wild and twirling, is like laughter and abundant joy.

Have a fantastic weekend!

Tags: Music

Such a Good Feeling

March 8, 2010 in Admiring, Remembering by Colleen | 2 comments

Hello Neighbors.

Ahh, Fred Rogers. I once won a scoop of ice cream for knowing his first name. I think I chose cinnamon. Another time, at the same scoop shop, I knew that “Video Killed the Radio Star” was the first song played on MTV. See Darin, trivia can serve a very special purpose, beyond board games. Though, of course, the name of the ice cream shop escapes me. It was on 15th and Market in Denver. Anyone else remember? Anyone? Bueller?

Anyway, my fondness for the man goes beyond the fact that he helped me score delicious ice cream. I wish I could pinpoint exactly what it is about him. His sweaters were pretty terrific, all knitted by his mother, by the way. One is even hanging in the Smithsonian. I made a special trip to see it when I was there and was surprised by it’s size. It’s funny, most people I have heard are surprised by how petite famous people are in person (We saw Kelly Ripa in New York, and she was tiny), but I had the opposite reaction. For such a soft spoken man, his sweater seemed huge. Which, I suppose, is appropriate, considering the impact he’s had on the lives of so many, including me.

Perhaps, it is the fact that he truly believed in children, and adults, too. He loved people, kindness, music, and the joy of discovery (did you ever see him tour a factory?). He was never embarrassed either, willingly admitting when he didn’t know or understand something. A model citizen in blue sneakers.

p.s. The story floating around the interwebs about him being a war hero aren’t true, nor are the tattoos. Though wouldn’t it be cool if he had one of a zip-up cardigan?!

The Same Wavelength

February 24, 2010 in Drinking, Eating, Exploring, Loving, Remembering by Colleen | 3 comments

Have I ever told you about how the hubster and I share a preternatural ability for wanting the same thing at the very same time? And not just once in a blue moon, either. It is a rather regular occurrence and doesn’t stem from nineteen years of being a couple – it’s happened all along. The most memorable and thrilling example occurred rather early in our relationship. We’d been dating for a few months, and I knew, deep in my heart of hearts, that this man was IT, I-T, IT, so, as we were lying in bed one morning, I asked him to marry me. Never one to lose his temper, and much to my surprise, he slammed his fist on the bedside table and said, “I was just going to ask YOU!” We laughed, kissed, and hugged, and knew we were off to a great start. The same goes for moving to Oregon. I got it in my mind that we should leave Colorado. Lo and behold, on the very afternoon I decided to tell the hubster, he came into our apartment and said, “I think we should move.” Magic.

So, it should come as no surprise that we were both itching to go for a drive in the country this past weekend, to do a little something different, decide to eat at one restaurant, hear about another equally enticing one and (without mentioning a word so as not to disappoint the other) want to eat at said establishment rather than the first, only to discover that the first restaurant was closed for a private party, and we both got what we wanted again (insert giggles and smiles here). Life really is grand, especially when you are on the same wavelength.

McMinnville, our delightful destination, is a neat town or maybe city? It has a population of 32,762 (I am trusting the sign and my memory of it are both correct), with some great architecture and restaurants. Being in Oregon wine country, there are lots and lots of places in town to sample the delicious fruits of their labor. As serendipity would have it, we just so happened to be there on the monthly art walk and wine tasting, buying a bottle of Coelho Pinot Noir and some blackberry honey, too.