They’re looking at each other.  Do you feel the love?

When we first got our cat Paris (14 1/2 years ago!), and her personality revealed itself (half fruit, half nuts), our vet recommended that we get another cat.  To be precise, she said a male kitten to help bring her out of her shell.  The vet being the professional, we admitted our ignorance and presumed she was absolutely correct.  So, at our first opportunity (a nice house and yard for everyone to live happily ever after), we got Milo, a tiny male kitten, just what the doctor ordered.

Eleven years later, despite his utterly adorable face, we are still paying the price.  Paris, Ms. Half Fruit Half Nuts has NEVER gotten over becoming a big sister to this oafish little man.  Moreover, Milo has never ceased to be confused (and riled, look at him – he’s not entirely innocent) by his big sister’s puzzling behavior.  Paris will initiate play, and the two will romp happily together for approximately one minute before we suspect this dialog occurs in the mind of our little princess, “Whoa!  Whoa!  What am I doing playing with this evil interloper?  He took away my lush life!”  Then the screaming begins.  This is no exaggeration either.  Paris screams, very LOUDLY, all because the vet said she needed a friend and her stupid humans believed this sorely mistaken person.   Bless her heart, what Paris really needed was a throne.

Oh, but they are cute, and cuddly, and our kitty cats.  I am grateful for them and all they bring into our lives, well, maybe except for the vomit and the dirty litter box!

Mad Men

Not having cable, and perhaps, being generally behind the times (in a good way), the hubster and I have only recently discovered the merits of Mad Men.  I heard a great interview with Jon Hamm and Matthew Weiner on Fresh Air with Terry Gross (she is awesome, by the way) that convinced me to move the videos to the top of our Netflix queue.  Boy, am I ever glad I did.

We just finished the first season (no spoilers if you’ve seen more!) on Wednesday and hope we receive the first of season two for our weekend viewing pleasure.  This is such a terrific show, one that we love watching together.  We both love settling in for the evening, as we can’t just watch one, ready to be dazzled, flummoxed, and delighted (especially by the fashion).  Though we are quite late to the party, it’s great to finally have arrived.

The video is a little Saturday Night Live bit Bridget told me about – fun and ever so true!

Beyond the Leaves

See into life – don’t just look at it.

Anne Baxter

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Hi there.  It’s fruitcake season in Under a Red Roof country, but don’t all of you holler in excitement at once, we might lose a bulb!  Just kidding.  Seriously though, if you’ve ever had really good fruitcake, you’d probably be as excited as I am.  I love fruitcake.  Well, to be more precise, I love my fruitcake, as I have yet to eat any others that warranted admiration.  I remember the first time I tried it.  It was at Grandma Tess’s house.  On a beautiful tray of sweets (my family, especially my mom, did amazing things with flour, butter, and sugar when I was a kid, and not just at Christmas) were slices of cake so beautiful as to be kaleidoscopic.  I put a piece on my plate, along with susperos, fudge, Holiday Cake, Peanut Brittle, and Christmas Crescents.  I took one bite of the fruitcake and thought I might die from disgust.  It was utterly saturated with booze, maybe whiskey (my appreciation came much later), and had an awful spongy texture, not to mention the weird, otherworldly “fruits” studding it.  How could it be?  It looked so beautiful and inviting to actually be so wicked.  Thank goodness for the other sweets on my plate and a bit of eggnog to get rid of the hell in my mouth.  As you might imagine, I swore it off from that point.  It turned out that Johnny Carson was right.  I just didn’t get the joke until I ate it.

Thankfully, Martha Stewart had an article on fruitcakes and their ultimate worthiness, gosh, maybe it was ten years ago?  I don’t remember.  She described, nearly to the letter, the awful experience I’d had years earlier and why, if I made her cakes, that all would be fine.  And it was.  I’ve made these variations nearly every year since, pleasing many non-believers (including the hubster) in the process.  These are dense, moist, and rich cakes, allowed to bathe in sherry, rum, or brandy for a month’s time, before being slowly devoured, slice by slice, with a nice cup of hot tea.  They are so worth the time and care.

Sherried Fruit Cake

2 cups softened butter

2 cups sugar

4 cups flour, sifted

5 eggs

1 1/2 cups blanched slivered almonds

1 1/2 pounds candied citrus peel (look for the tubs in the produce section) I use one each of orange, lemon, and citron

zest of 1 lemon and 1 orange

1 tablespoon vanilla

3 tablespoons sherry, plus more for weekly dousing (don’t use cooking sherry!)

1 package cheesecloth

Preheat oven to 300 degrees.  Grease six mini-loaf pans.  Cream together the butter and sugar until fluffy.  Add eggs, one at a time.  Stir in vanilla, sherry, and citrus zest.  Add flour, one cup at a time, just until blended.  Add candied citrus and almonds, mix well to combine.  Divide batter between prepared pans.  Bake until golden and a skewer comes out clean, about 1 hour fifteen minutes.  Douse each cake with 1 tablespoon of sherry and allow to cool.  Remove from pans.  As you can see in the photo, I use a large plastic tub that slides under the bed (you’ll need to store them in a cool, dark place) and line the bottom with cheesecloth, place the cakes, and then use another layer of cheesecloth over the top.  Of course, you can use any configuration you like, but this has been the most efficient for me.  Douse each cake with another tablespoon of sherry once a week for the next month.  The syringe pictured is ever so helpful in this endeavor.  The people at the pharmacy were kind enough to give it to me for free.  It keeps measurements precise and the the precious liquor from going anywhere but on the cakes, though a steady hand and a measuring spoon work pretty well, too.

Brandied or Rummied Fruitcake

2 cups softened butter

1 cup sugar

1 cup brown sugar

4 cups flour

1 teaspoon baking powder

1 1/2 cups blanched slivered almonds (walnuts or pecans would work well, too)

1 pound mixed dried fruit – I use cherries, cranberries, golden raisins, blueberries, and apricots.   Whatever fruits you choose, keep them at about the same size, dicing apricots or pineapple, so as not to overwhelm the flavors of the other fruits.  As the hubster would tease me – it is all about even distribution!

1 tablespoon vanilla

3 tablespoons brandy or dark rum, plus more for dousing

The directions here are pretty much identical, just sift the baking powder and flour together, mixing the rest of the ingredients (but no zest this time) and baking, dousing, and storing as you would for the sherried version.  Hopefully you’ll give them a try.  They really are worth it.

Enjoy!

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Good afternoon, gentle readers.  I hope this post finds you well and that you had a weekend as lovely as mine.  We had fine enough weather for a walk to the Academy to see The Informant! with Matt Damon.  I must admit that, while the movie was good, as was the pizza and popcorn, it didn’t hold a candle to the walk.  Though it was rather brisk out, and the skies were grey, it never rained, and the air smelled so wonderful – leaves, pine, and wood smoke.  As well, we found roads we had never taken before and discovered some pretty neat houses and fine landscaping in the process.

We saw the charming toadstools painted on a telephone pole just down the street from our friend Mara’s house (at which we did not stop but waved hello).  How kind and generous of the person who took the time to add this charming bit of art to our Portland streets.  I love how the world is full of delights like this, just waiting for us to notice.

When we got home, it was rather chilly, so we cozied up for our first fire of the season, reading books, listening to our collection of Bob Dylan, snuggling with cats and each other, and relishing a life that couldn’t be much more perfect.

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