It's needless to explain that I haven't been much for blogging...for a while. Since The Staff Sergeant returned, I have fallen more deeply in love with cooking for the 567,436th time in my adult life, and that has taken up more of my creative time than I would like to admit. It's probably my truest north but like everything else that I love deeply, my passion for it ebbs and flows like the tide. Since my sudden infatuation for growing fresh veggies in the spring, my interest in seasonal and organic cooking has grown exponentially. Here are a few of my latest cookbook recommendations. Despite a large library of others, these have found homes all over my house in easy to reach stacks. Their luscious photos are like food porn--really.

will the circle be unbroken

Life at the end of a semester is something like I imagine Plath's bell jar was, or rather the motive for her crawling beneath the house, taking pills, and truly hoping not to be found. At any rate, try to understand the madness and the always-tingly-tightness of anxiety as a physical symptom - strung across the muscles of a lower back - and the lack of sleep and the gnashing of teeth and pulling of hair. That has been the last two or so weeks. Then there was my invitation for a Mother's Day weekend, which was mostly kind of okay except for the lingering anxiety and equally tingly-tightness of muscles prolonged by comparisons to my father or early afternoon drinking or the mention of a man friend. I wanted a couple of days to lavish in the freedom of my first year of grad school completed but it didn't work out that way. Tomorrow morning (earlier than I had planned for) my father, who just today compared me to my mother, is picking me up for a week long road trip to the coast of South Carolina. While a suburban is a fairly spacious vehicle, I often feel that the 250 miles between here and home is not enough area of space. If I had had the time to myself, the luxury of surfacing slowly enough to avoid the bends, I would likely not be so dreading the next 7-8 days.

It's difficult to understand what has happened over the last four months. Mom kindly pointed out that she was worried about me having spent so much time alone - a comment spawned out of one of my explanations of these new lifestyle changes. But something has changed in me. I used to be this independent before I left their house, before I had the physical escape of leaving the tumultuous energy of home. I would sit in my room and do god-knows-what for hours without being bored. I mostly recall painting in the floor, the oatmeal carpet stained multicolored with acrylic pigment, the therapy they never funded.

When the rooms here felt too silent I looked to those memories for reassurance. Then one day I was strong enough to just look forward. The unsettling part has been realizing that I have re-arrived here, that I am somehow enough and that I am content. As I was talking to a friend about this very phenomenon, she used a phrase that struck home, "false independence," as in feeling needless in the front of one's mind while holding tightly to the security that remains in him, even if he's not here. It's like her daughter - able to walk but refusing to take a step without the aid of an adult's finger gripped within her tiny fist. Maybe I've only sold myself on the hype, just like I'm supposed to, distanced myself through days upon days of the mantras, the whatever-it-takes methods of coping. In the process I have fallen in love with my little piece of the world. This house is my domain. This house that I thought I could only loathe and curse is my niche, and I kind of hate the thought of leaving my security if only for a week. Leaving means breaking all of those habits that I've built my independence on. In moments like these, on the eve of variation, I dread packing and driving away from the reliability of home. I miss him more. I feel like a traitor to the routine that keeps me from flying apart in all directions. I start to feel short of breath.

He sent a couple of pictures the other day of him Over There. His smile is still perfectly heartbreaking and his eyes and his form and his skin-just-out-of-reach, and what I first thought was how much I wanted to touch his hair. He in his uniform and my bags waiting to be packed make the earth shift underneath my steady footing. Yesterday all of this seemed so much easier, and coming full circle, it would seem that my sense of independence is completely false. I have wagered my ability to survive on the continuation of a domestic cycle of old things done in new ways and old passions reignited. I've gone back to my savior, Creation. As long as my hands are busy, as long as I can dovetail the pieces that I've made, I'm fine. You would never know how much it hurts to be apart from him - most of the time these days I don't.

soakin' up some rays

...in hopes of some natural bleach action. These beauties were the $3 deal of the century at a little antique shop nearby. They are each cross stitched, by hand I'm sure, with the brightest and cheeriest colors. The only problem is typical vintage yellowing, which I'm trying to take care of with last night's 24 hour water and vinegar bath and now the first glimpse of sun in days.

a little like heaven

I don't even like peanut butter cookies, but these babies tested my will. As I vacuum sealed them, acutely aware of the Pavlovian effect occurring inside my mouth, I had to remind myself of the happiness they would bring to The Staff Sergeant. I only had one but it was memorable enough to warrant the need to share this (whole grain) recipe, along with my minor alterations.

Peanut Butter Chews

1 c. smooth peanut butter

1/2 c. packed dark brown sugar

1/2 c. granulated sugar

1 lg. egg

1/4 c. water

2 T. honey

1 t. vanilla extract

1 t. baking soda

1/2 t. salt

1 1/2 c. whole wheat flour

1/2 c. lightly salted dry-roasted peanuts, finely ground in a food processor (I used 1/2 c. steel cut oats intsead)

added: 12 oz. bag peanut butter chips

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. LIghtly grease 3 baking sheets or line with parchment paper.

Cream PB, sugars, egg, water, honey, vanilla, baking soda and salt in a med. bowl, beating until smooth. Add flour and peanuts (or oats), beating until well combined. The dough will be very stiff; an electric stand mixer is the best bet here.

Drop the dough by Tbsp's onto baking sheets. Press the top of each cookie with a fork, flattening to about 1/2 inch thick. Dip fork in cold water if it starts to stick.

Bake cookies, reversing the pans midway through (top to bottom, bottom to top), until they're very lightly browned, 11 to 12 minutes. Remove the cookies from the oven and transfer them to a rack to cool. Repeat with the remaining dough.

the span of my happiness...

...is from my kitchen to just beyond its back door, and then all the way to the other side of the earth where a soldier keeps my heart safe with his.

working toward the upgrade, a few bedrooms and some acreage. We all have dreams that breach the hold of Ben and Jerry's and Rachel's Yogurt, though they are few. Roll call: (from left to right) sweetie tomato, sweet pepper, straight 8 cucumber, beefsteak tomato

Wild irises, the complementary Nature Feature. And all along, I swore they would be tulips (evidence of my not-so-green thumb).

The teens: patio tomato and his entourage of marigolds, lavender, echinacea, chamomile, marigolds pulling security, the zucchini squash - we'll name him Flash, lazy sweet onions, a few more marigolds, and my little runt of a summer squash. [it's really obvious that this has become too much a part of my life, right?]

English muffins - Maiden Voyage. Rating: 6 out of 10. Better luck next time. Less wheat flour, more of something that will keep them airy.

I'm seeing how long I can go without buying wheat/bread products. It's all a part of the same itch needing to be scratched. On Sunday morning my mom called at 9:30am, asking about the "little homestead." While she mocks because she thinks it's cute, I am realizing that in all of my other lives, I never would have been gardening at 9:30am on a weekend or any other day for that matter, nor would I have been contemplating the right recipe for English muffins because I refuse to buy them. (well, I take that back, there was that one time.)

I'm turning into her. It's really quite frightening.

On the agenda for sometime this or next week: another attempt at a sandwich loaf, tortillas, and wheat thin crackers. And this weekend, the seedlings spread their wings and test out the real world that lies on the other side of window sills.

i saw a modest dream, the kind that can't speak up

There is a story to tell, though it hasn't found its way through me yet. It hasn't formed the words clearly enough. They are still unfolding and forming into cohesive groups as I type. I work in phases like my father - life becoming a series of desperate love affairs quickly burning down the wicks that bore them until there is no more fuel. Maybe that's all this is too, a thing to keep me warm at night, an exciting idea whose end is deliciously unknown. Or worse perhaps, this is my True North.

I am a product of a swarm of things, but as my dad reminded me the other day, "I guess you can't take the country out of the girl." Part of me cringes and withdraws from those words, the part that still lusts after a tiny, 1000 flight walk-up in Manhattan, the bustle, the peace-like-waves of hurried traffic, the need for human life tucked closely around me. And yet time and time again, no matter what my heart is most currently fixed on, I arrive at the question: Why are my loves and inclinations unprofitable desires? Ah, the prompt.

[and as I proof what's written so far, I can see a difference in my headspace, that I like very much]

Let me tell you about the limbs that grew before me. My mother. One of my earliest memories is picking peaches with her before I tortured the tree with my need to climb it, and it died and rotted. Making cobbler in the kitchen with brown perpendicular linoleum rectangles and her hair, curly. She would spend what seemed like days in her gardens, always in that lavender terry-cloth get-up, shorts and tube top connected, slender work gloves and sun visor. In those memories her hair is also curly. Her bounty would be bright roses and okra, bell peppers, tomatoes, summer squash. Cooking the harvest promoted such blissful Southern staples as fried green tomatoes and fried squash, and fried okra for that matter. And when it wasn't gardening season I would still watch her move in the kitchen. No matter how many hours in the week she worked, dinner was always relatively homemade. As I got older she developed an affinity for figs, and soon we had numerous fruit bearing trees growing along the chimney side of the house. She made preserves, although I can't recall this being an intensive process, so there may not have been bundles of them. Nevertheless, this was very normal in my existence, not critical or praised like faith from the stem or from the hands, but performed like rituals with great reverence and joy.

My late great aunt, Mom's side. Influenced by The Depression, she developed a need to horde, cultivate and feed. Another dated memory is being put in a highchair hooked to a diner table in her self-named restaurant. She manned the register and the kitchen simultaneously, along with several acres of row gardens heavy with everything: grapevines, cherry trees, vegetable plants, nuts, fruits, leafy greens, etc., etc. And canning was an event, a near daily event. I still have jars in my pantry waiting for the right rainy day to make peach pie with her filling, and green beans that rival anything store bought. She did it all even until the end. After a partially paralyzing stroke the walker accompanied her garden work, and the kitchen was never empty of something earthy and quaint in its conception, but radiantly and perfectly full of Home. She served humanity from the ground and from humble hands.

These are the only ones that I know or have known. I hear that my mom's mom was quite thrifty as well, and my dad's mom had the chickens that I want now. Maybe he's right. Maybe some things are so vital to a person's make up that they can't be denied. This somehow seems to edge up awfully close to a vast pondering of the meaning of life. My "mother in law" asked if I expected the economy to get bad enough to warrant all of this simplifying, which caused to me to look at my motives. The economy was never behind it. I answered that part quickly and with ease. That explanation is a part of the story that hasn't quite formulated. There is something crucial feeling in watching a seed grow or kneading dough that will become the foundation of sandwiches, and in knowing that if all the world fell down around us, I would, in some small capacity, be able. And besides, it's in my blood. This, whatever it is becoming, feels like faith and purpose, like joy.

30 of 31: back home

My alarm, or rather my army wife friend's alarm spun up a Keith Urban CD at 5am. I woke up somewhat rested, which only furthers my belief that my mattress is dunzo, took a shower, got dressed, packed almost everything (except the black wedges I left behind) and headed for the airport. By 9:45am I was back in my driveway, ready to watch Baby Girl before class.

New Orleans was a great little get away. Friday night I was welcomed with an invitation to her sister's house for a crawfish boil. Very interesting, very tasty, very local. Saturday we got coffee and bagels, pedicures, did a little shopping, lunched in the French Quarter at Pat O'Brien's, went for a walk by Lake Pontchartrain, had dinner at Jacque-Imo's and passed out in her living room while talking. Sunday was a little less busy. We got coffee again and went walking in a park near Tulane, hung out at Borders for a while, killed ourselves with a cardio kickboxing dvd, lounged at a neighborhood bar on the patio with sunshine and strawberry Abita beers, ate leftovers, read a bit, stopped by TCBY and watched Twilight at her sister's house. The movie was terrible, but the weekend was quite relaxing.

When I walked in my house, it had assumed the temperature of the flighty Spring weather, a delicious 34 degrees. I quickly turned up the heat and checked on my seeds. Many are still little containers of dirt, but my spinach is sprouting into delicate green tendrils. It was an incredibly exciting discovery, which says a lot about my increasing level of dullness. I can't wait for The Staff Sergeant to come home. I'm probably not actually super interesting, but he makes me feel so much more substantial. At any rate, I've got spinach in the works. I'm still holding out hope for the other veggies and herbs.

I also took a walk today, found a recipe for a homemade facial toner, picked up organic potting soil from a small local hardware store and went by the grocery for a few things I needed to complete my dinner attempt at Dahl with brown rice. I still need to get some poetry homework finished before spending tomorrow with Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, and I have my fingers crossed that I'll get a call from a certain soldier before the day is done. Right now I'm going to finish my wine and chocolate covered soy nuts before mixing up my rosemary and apple cider vinegar toner. Hopefully today's high spirits and productivity are telling for the pace of the week.

25 of 31: a breath of fresh air

Now that Spring seems to be less hesitant in its arrival, I am full-swing into Spring Cleaning! I'm also a whore for Amazon, and books in general, really. These are the latest purchases. I'm all about detoxing the house and my body and my lifestyle. I tend to be fickle in things like this so I just hope that it sticks this time. There was once upon a time that I wanted a little coop with chickens in my backyard and fresh eggs mere steps from my kitchen door, a big veggie garden, self-sustainability, and that was a little bit before it was cool. I had the garden and the bounty and the drive until about mid-July, when I decided that I liked air conditioning more than home-grown tomatoes. That was a classic example of running out of steam. I threw up my hands and let the sun scorch the rows of cucumbers and squash and eggplant and peppers. It was a beautiful patch. I was 20.

So I'm biting off something a bit less ambitious with what I hope will be an equally beautiful container garden. The chem-free stuff just seems to follow suit with taking better care of myself, and eventually The Staff Sergeant, too. I'm also developing a slightly obsessive addiction to the idea of urban homesteading, a more ambitious version of the aforementioned goals that does include my lost-dream-chickens. It probably won't be in this house, but if the vision holds, maybe at the next one.

Full of non-toxic cleaning recipes and tips on how to be more eco-friendly with the less replaceable cleaners

Notes on food, home cleaners, personal care recipes

Hailed as the best of the best in vegetable container gardening. I'll let you know how it turns out, that is unless my seeds rot in their little starter homes and never sprout...

22 of 31: phase 1

It's actually kind of rare for me to follow through on plans, immediately at least, but I did get up, spend 20 minutes with Rodney Yee doing morning yoga, make a class-A Sunday morning breakfast of whole wheat waffles, Trader Joe's cherries and chocolate chips (360 cals). I took a shower, put on lazy Sunday sweats and headed for...Lowes. That's the low point of the story. The local co-op was closed, as was the nursery on the way to Lowes, so it won out. I got my mom on the phone so she could talk me through all of the logistics of this great plan I concocted. Right now I'm just trying to get something to sprout. Everything after that will be a day at a time too. I'm a notorious killer of plants. While I'm not shy about my domestic goddessness, I am no gardener. My mom failed to share those genes, but she advised and suggested and I left with $18 worth of organic seeds and soil. Soon I hope to share photos of tiny green whispers of growth.

We'll call this "phase 1" of yet another attempt to tap into my inner green thumb

The good stuff

And we wait ("sweetie" tomatoes, beefsteak tomatoes, summer squash, sweet basil and cilantro)

My crop of spinach

21 of 30: giving (some ideas and reflections)

• I went back by Borders to re-browse the Gaiam section while DVDs and cds are still 50% off - this is one of the ways that the digression of corporations makes me happy (even though I really love Borders in particular). I picked up cardio burn sculpt, cardio burn dance for weight loss, and cardio burn kickbox. After last night's cardio burn yoga success, I opted to give dance a try. I really like Patricia Moreno, who happens to lead both videos. I had a blast reliving my many years in tap, and when I finished I dabbled in the strength plan listed in this month's Health magazine. My arms feel that kind of tired sensation that means they will ache all day tomorrow and then more so the next, but it's wonderful to think that I might be able to obtain Madonna-arms one day. [a girl can dream]

• I made it another day within my caloric goals and that even included the Ben & Jerry's chocolate-brownie-fro-yo-heaven-in-a-carton this time, and a beer. I've been a little tired of pre-packaged food so I searched for something yummy I could make and landed on Cooking Light's blackened chicken and grilled avocado tacos. Quite tasty!

• Band of Brothers totally captivated me today. The History Channel was airing a marathon, so I sat in the living room floor researching Middle Eastern food after stumbling across a recipe for Za'atar flatbread in my artisan bread book last night. I was hours into this before I realized how funny it was considering the army-ness my life is so steeped in these days. I wrote The Staff Sergeant [another] e-mail to tell him how blatantly on my mind he was.

• Tomorrow I've got tentative plans to hunt down some herb seeds so I can get some sprouts growing for the plant stand on my side porch. I'm thinking Basil, Cilantro, Mint, Lavender, and I've been toying with thoughts of upside down tomato plants, although I'm not sure where I can hang them. I may have to settle for the normal growing method, right-side-up with cages.

• My interest has been piqued by the idea of homemade cleaners and skin care. I'm not completely sold on the commitment of that kind of self-sustenance but I like it in theory. I added several books to my Amazon wish list this afternoon just to keep the titles handy while I mull it over.

• I'm thinking about sending dinner to my soldier - making and canning a yummy tomato sauce and a batch of homemade pasta. I can't send prime rib or anything, but that would just be a matter of boiling noodles and heating up the sauce and it's still all home cooked. (Now he'll start reading my blog and the surprise will be lost...)

bring on the beer

I just finished batch number one of Irish Beer Brownies. They'll be starring in the St. Patrick's Day care package that's coming up shortly.

Something about the recipe intimidated me at first, I think it was the bitterness of beer against the chocolate heaven of brownie batter. Whatever it was, I felt compelled to give the recipe a test drive before shipping them overseas only to hear how bad they tasted later.

The only trouble I had was with the cook time. Twenty minutes turned my mix into hot soup. Something closer to sixty minutes fluffed these babies into a very spongy-delicious consistency. You can taste the bitterness, but in a mature-palette kind of way, like dark chocolate or coffee.

Irish Beer Brownies

4 eggs
3/4 C. superfine sugar
8 oz. bittersweet chocolate, chopped
4 oz. white chocolate, chopped
6 T. unsalted butter
3/4 C. all-purpose flour
3/4 C. cocoa
1 1/4 C. (Irish Beer) stout
Confectioners' sugar for dusting

Preheat the oven to 375° F. Butter an 8-inch-square pan. In an electric mixer, combine the eggs and sugar. Beat until light and fluffy. In a medium saucepan over medium heat, melt the bittersweet chocolate, white chocolate and butter, stirring until smooth. Remove from heat and beat into the egg mixture. Sift the flour and cocoa together and beat into the chocolate mixture. Whisk in the beer. Pour into the pan and bake for 20 to 25 minutes, or until a skewer inserted in the center comes out almost clean. Remove from the oven and let cool on a wire rack.

To serve, dust the cake with confectioners' sugar and cut into squares. Serves 8 to 10.

(recipe from cookie-recipes.net)

Look out, Martha...

It was a very crafty day at Chez Moi.  I finally conquered those pretzels and might I say, they look and taste fabulous.  I'm not sure I have completely mastered the twist, but I'm not going to complain.  They'll go great with the raspberry honey mustard pretzel dip I'm sending.  I care package gourmet style.  I did not, however, make it to the post office in time.  I crossed my fingers that they were open until 5:30pm.  They weren't.  I'll have to send it off tomorrow but a couple days late isn't so bad.  He hasn't asked for a thing, it's my freak schedule I'm trying to keep to - every two weeks, sent on Thursdays.  We all get through this differently.  It's probably okay that I turn into the package Nazi, right?  

After my failed attempt at the post office, I went by Hobby Lobby to pick up the print I got yesterday.  It wasn't ready but they assured that if I occupied myself for a half hour they could have it ready to come live on my dining room wall.  Of course, what would a day in my life be without 100 totally absurd things going awry?  Naturally the print was printed crooked.  Naturally I had to double mat it for an extra $14 to center it up.  Naturally I got it home and noticed the middle mat was off center.  So I'll be back, Hobby Lobby, tomorrow.  Grr.

While I killed what ended up being about an hour, I browsed for a few little things I needed and considered this sweet idea I had seen in a magazine recently, probably Domino, for monogrammed stationary.  Since I'm a whore for a good notecard set, I grabbed a little something here for myself and then there for a couple upcoming occasions that call for gifts.  Who doesn't love a hand crafted surprise...as long as it's sober-looking?  Then I came home, got cozy in the floor, turned on House and stamped to my little heart's content.  These are some samples of what happened:

Mmm...Tiffany blue, I love you.

[and in other news, I had the phone surgically attached so as to avoid any further missed calls.]

Happy Valentine's Day to me.

The most sizzle I can expect will be coming from my kitchen.  This ruby red Kitchenaid grill pan is en route thanks to Amazon, and my extreme levels of excitement speak highly of the sexual dry spell occurring in these parts.  

The recipe that made it irresistible: grilled pineapple rings, Mascarpone dollops in the center, warm Nutella drizzled overtop, and chopped hazelnuts sprinkled for a little festivity.  

The road to Domestic Goddesstry continues...

I've had a new burst of domestic inspiration in the last day or two, most of which followed the great triumph of taming my dining room.  It wasn't that it was waiting, packed in tidy boxes, but instead that the whole house had been unpacked in that single room and never again touched.  But now I can breathe easy and walk taller.  It has been rescued from disaster.  

My focus has now turned to streamlining it's beauty.  The bar needs to be stained and I'm hunting down a mini-fridge for mixers and white wine; it will fit just bellow the bar/counter/recycled IKEA shelf.  I took some art to Hobby Lobby to have it framed for wall accessorizing, picked up some silk Gerber daisies for the table, and the super cutest best part - big gold letters in his and my first initials with a swirly "&" to go between them.  I think they will have to hang above my bar-in-progress, the pièce de résistance.  The Container Store (online) is next.  I need to find some hardware for holding bottles and barware.

But before that, I wanted to share these recipes from this morning's Rescue Chef.  This menu most certainly screams, "Welcome home, Sweetheart!" especially since I don't eat red meat.  It will reappear for a certain homecoming-to-be later this year-- 

• Flaming Filet Mignon with Chive Butter
  
• Pan-fried Asparagus with Shallots
  
• Potato Gratin "Boome-style"
  
• Molten Chocolate Baby Cakes
  

It hasn't felt like home [before you]

The end of another day, and a busy one, busier than most Mondays. I stayed at his place last night to do laundry, and yes, also to be around his stuff. But I overslept and had a babysitting commitment this morning. Even rushing I got my coffee made and drove his monster truck to keep the battery charged. I pulled in a mere seconds before Jen and baby, luckily. Then an hour coaxing her stand, and because we are both so fashion forward, Baby Girl and I paid our daily homage to What Not to Wear.

After Children's Hour at Chez Moi, I had to go back to his house to get my clean clothes and drop off his gas-guzzler...and take the trash to the dump before my afternoon class. I also stopped by an antique store to look for a subject for my latest project idea--a bar for my giant, beautiful dining room.  In one of the latest Domino issues, they made a bookshelf into a bar/sideboard.  Something kind of like this:

(thanks apartmenttherapy.com)

...except I want a dark wood for the outside and an orange background, something warm and pumpkin-ish, not periwinkle.  I devised a plan for said [untouched] dining room: if I can get myself excited enough about decorating it, then I will surely be compelled to fill the china cabinets with china and stemware currently forgotten in boxes, and to clear off my sprawling dining table turned catch-all and care-package-central.  To accomplish this task I raided Pier 1 this weekend, stocking up on an armful of [fake] poppies and varied greens and four curtain panels in rich browns and firey red-oranges.  It's the final room to be tackled and my favorite, not to sound like the rest of the house is finished.  My bedroom is painfully in need of painting and cleaning, and all of those clothes that hang so gracefully on the closet bar are still scattered in my floor.  Still, the dining room has been neglected and it's time to wrap up this "getting settled" bit.  

I got to give The Staff Sergeant a virtual tour when we spoke via chat/webcam.  He said that the living room at least, looked completely different in a good way, which made my efforts seem momentarily worthwhile.  Until it's all finished, I power on.  I've hung curtains continuously for weeks...ok, maybe not exactly continuously, and found places for crap that laid homeless and lost in the corners of chaotic rooms.  All of this has reminded me of how much I dislike the moving process, and yet I know within a year I'll be doing it all again.

How good is a man that lets you look past the strife of separation, of uprooting, of packing all the minuscule pieces of your existence painstakingly in boxes to leave places that feel like home for new uncharted ones and then each night, also leaves you drifting off to sleep with a smile? 

Friday

I finally started working.  I didn't really mean to but it happened anyway.  I have a few starter tasks before I can do any organizing in the English department.  One of those is a newsletter for the new semester, and while I really only intended to look at some possible templates, I somehow got sucked into the project and spent almost all day piecing together articles and important dates and a pretty, Spring-ish layout.  At 2pm I had to stop, take a shower and get dressed - I was needed in the Languages and Lit. office to sign some paperwork.  

Now I'm swiftly wrapping up some baking for my first army-sponsored event (lacking The Staff Sergeant) - a cookie swap.  I've got 8 minutes left on the last batch of Kitchen Sink Cookies and then I'm off.  They smell de-lish!  After meeting some of the wives and of course, swapping cookies, I'll be headed to Nashville to continue the birthday celebrations.  

I could get used to classwork and working from home.  It's doing little to discourage me from being a lifer.  It's been a wonderfully relaxing Friday.  Here's to a good weekend for everyone else!

Snow Day

Yesterday the ice came as predicted, though the worst of it was north of here [thankfully].  The skeletal limbs looked sugar-dipped and enchanted, and I can say that because I didn't lose power.  Paducah stole the spotlight on this morning's Today Show.  That's what I mean by "just north of here" - not so far North.  Driving into Nashville was incredible with the glimmering tree lines on either side and the frosted fields and rock walls adorned with icicles as tall as them.  For part of the day I didn't have cable or internet, but that's small in comparison to some others' inconveniences.  A friend of mine spent the night in a hotel after an outage at her home, making a memorable first birthday for her daughter.  

Today the weather softened with snow, weightless wafting snow that fell momentarily so thick that it was hard to see down the block.  It makes me wish that he was here instead of cooking in the desert.  It does this so rarely in Tennessee that even as an adult, it makes me giddy and excited, and I put on boots early in the morning to go out to snap photos and stomp around in the whiteness.  Unfortunately, I can't find the cord to upload my pictures from today, but trust that they look similar to that one up top and less like the ice-encased berries that I stole from a local news website to illustrate yesterday's conditions.  

I'm making snowball cookies to commemorate the snow day he's missing, thus increasing the cheese factor but I care not.  I care package with no shame.

Just when I thought sweet Tennessee wouldn't let me down, Winter returned quite unusually. Tonight, in fact, there are warnings of a second "ice storm" for this season. There's too much drama in that forecast, I think. It's more like, "possible inclimate weather," but you know how the news is these days. If they don't get your pulse racing, what's the point?

While I do like a justifiable excuse to spend my day in sweats doing lots and lots of nothing, I also DESPERATELY need a trim.  I'm still getting used to this small town business and having to drive an hour for a quality cut.  I have an appointment scheduled for tomorrow morning that I would very much like to make.  That's Plan A.  The contingency includes icy asphalt and a trial run at soft pretzels from this new cook book  I'm so itching to break in.  They are in the line-up for one of February's care packages. [Yes, I've planned that far...and further.]  But I'd like to practice at least once before shipping off a box of failure that he has to pretend was wonderful.

  

I live in the house of Murphy's Law, the bloody-cold house of Murphy's Law - with frozen kitchen pipes and my feet are numb.  And that's just the latest thing that could go wrong and did.  I hate this house...

But in the house of Murphy's Law cookies are love.  I made a special batch this afternoon with all of my heart and longing thoughts to find him in far off places:

Chocolate Peanut Butter Chip Cookies

2 c. all-purpose flour

3/4 c. cocoa

baking powder

1 tsp. salt

1 c. dark brown sugar

1 c. granulated sugar

1 c. unsalted butter at room temperature

2 tsp. vanilla

2 eggs

6-8 oz. peanut butter chips

Preheat oven to 325 degrees, line 2 baking sheets with parchment paper; sift together flour, cocoa, baking powder and salt in a medium sized bowl

In a large bowl beat butter, brown sugar and granulated sugar until fluffy.  Add vanilla and eggs and beat well.  Stir in the flour-cocoa mix, then fold in peanut butter chips

Drop the cookie dough by the tablespoonful onto the prepared baking sheets.  Bake 8-10 minutes, then let cool on racks.

someone's in the kitchen...

Our sense of seasons in the South is different than in other regions. We only sort of have four of them: 6 months of summer, 4 months of mild-winter, 1 week of spring, 1 week of fall and at least 6 weeks of wild-card weather amid the hinges of definite change. So it was strange and luxurious when Summer tapered off many weeks earlier than expected and spared us August's usual heat advisories and 300% humidity. An eerie cool graced September long before the trees became rusty and the days became notably abbreviated. Only now the mornings and evenings are marked with a reliable chill and I've pulled out my lazy hoodies and I've started craving apples and steamy drinks and comfort food and NYC. Something about Autumn feels like home and it brings about a force that I cannot fight, drawing me to the kitchen, making my fingers ten tireless little chefs.

Tonight I'm paying homage to my roots with black-eyed pea stew and cornbread (and Woodchuck draft cider). I have wild hopes that it will indeed make you wanna slap your grandma!  Cheers to Autumn and southern de-liciousness!

*kudos cookinglight.com