Commonplace

Pearl's Recipe Box

I can't remember how I came to have

this box.

It belonged to my grandmother, Pearl and has been in my possession for years.

Pearl died died in 1986 when I was seventeen. Her husband, my grandfather, Fred, died when I was six. After that she married once and moved to Montréal from New York City for a brief time. When she returned, I remember her as being sad. During my high school years I had dinner with her once a week in her apartment on East 73rd Street. (I think it was Tuesday nights.) She always cooked for me. The meals were basic and delicious. One dish that stands out in my memory was something she called Chicken-in-a-Pot. Her salad bowl was wooden and before loading it up, she was in the habit of rubbing it's inside with a garlic clove. She had embossed green glass goblets that we drank our water out of and velvet upholstered dining chairs. She once showed me the scar from her mastectomy. My mother was furious, but it didn't bother me. I'm told I look like her.

I don't know exactly why I've let this box sit closed for so long or what compelled me to finally open it, but last weekend I did.

I knew it was her recipe box but I was unaware of exactly what treasures lay inside.

The papers were yellowed and musty and almost too brittle to unfold. The writing, familiar and foreign, only partially legible. Niall suggested that perhaps my father (her son) would be able to decipher the codes.

She collected recipes on little bits of clues about her life. One written on notepaper from The Hotel Webster Hall on Fifth Avenue in Pittsburgh. I like to assume that she was visiting my father who went to college there. Another written on a page torn from a date book marked — Thursday, April 30, 1964. The year of my parents' marriage. Still more written on old checks and curious receipts. 

The recipes fall into three major categories: Jewish cooking, recipes passed along from friends and those cut out from newspapers. Some fall into multiple categories.

Among the Jewish recipes I found:

Easiest Potato Kugel
Cauliflower Pudding
Matzo Brie
Charoses For Seder and Kneidlach for a Meat Meal (New York Post Monday, April 1 1968)
Potatoe (this is how she spelled it) Soup
Potatoe Pancake
Sour Cream Pancake
Mother's Matzo Balls

Some of her friend's recipes:

Pot Roast - Miriam
Baked Chicken - Lois
Chocolate Cake - Ruth
Chicken Fricasse - Irma
Goulash - Mrs. Schaer
Veal Cutlet - Jenny
Veal Loaf - Esther
Cold Slaw - Faith (Faith, I suspect, is my mother)
Dip - Ruth
Cake - Edith

There were also multiple recipes for types of 'moulds' (also her spelling) including: Beet and Horseradish Mould, Apple Mould and Strawberry Mould. I vaguely remember these being all the rage in the seventies.

A list of recipes I hope to try one day:

Sunday Morning Coffee Cake
Cheese Cake
Chocolate Bar Cookies
Icebox Cookies
Banana Cake

(Notice a theme?)

Here is something she called

Cookies Charlotte

1/2 pound of butter
1/2 cup cream cheese
4 cups flour
1 cup sugar
2 teaspoons baking powder
2 egg yolks (put whites aside and brush on top of cookies)
1 teaspoon vanilla

Roll into shape of salami (Yes, that is exactly what it says. Salami.) in wax paper and chill for about two hours. Cut cookies. Brush on egg white and sprinkle with cinnamon and sugar or chopped nuts.

I never did find the recipe for Chicken-in-a-Pot.

Thanks for visiting.

Keeping On

Thanksgiving was a welcome day of celebration. As expected, the fire was warm, the family was extended and the food was plentiful.

The children were adorable. And loud.

By way of describing the spirit of my family I'd like to point you to this post from last Passover (in particular, the video about my cousin, Zach). The same feeling abounds at our Thanksgiving Feastavil. Zach's translator Abood, his wife and two of their daughters celebrated their second Thanksgiving in the United States with us. Really, there isn't more that needs saying other than: I'm proud to be a part of this family.

I would like to thank everyone who left a comment on my last post. It's a source of amazement for me that the words of encouragement from people I've never met can mean so much. To know that others before me have weathered rough seas is comforting. I think there is catharsis for me in the writing as well. There is no room for denial in journal-keeping. It's easy (although less so daily now) to avoid the tough stuff while keeping busy, but to sit down and put it into words sure makes you look it straight in the proverbial eye.

Anyhow, as I promised myself — I'm keeping on. And here are a few things that help me do it:

That first one was in the pile of unbound quilts that was sitting on my desk for, well, a very long time. Of course, once I set out to bind it — it was only a matter of hours. It's now officially the first item in a new etsy shop which I may reveal here eventually.

As for the cheerful zig-zag quilt — it was a commissioned piece. Nothing original here. You've seen multiple zigs and zags a la the purl bee, but it never gets old for me. I had grand ideas of heavily quilting the whitespace but time was of the essence. I think my next one of these may be all one color instead of the two.

Lastly, it's December. The race is on. How many of you have vowed to make this holiday season different? Less expensive and pressured? All handmade? About the traditions and not the mad rush? All worthy goals in my book. Traditions in my house may be different than in most of yours as I'm Jewish. But I live in America and I partake in the holiday gift-exchange madness. Teachers and postal workers, bus drivers and neighbors and all of the others who touch our daily lives. It's always a challenge to enjoy the giving instead of seeing it as work, but I'm once again bound and determined and I hope you'll join me in discussing it.

Second Chances

Three years ago today I married My Love. Fifteen years, one failed marriage, one child, one graduate degree, three houses, three jobs and countless late night phone calls after our first date.

We met and dated in another lifetime when we were young. This is a family-friendly blog so I'll spare you the details, but it's important to know that the draw was intense and the affair, full of attraction. But it wasn't to be our time. Yet.

Our lives progressed separately. His went the way of graduate studies in Texas, and I struggled with depression and life's decisions. I married Sean and we had our beautiful son. We set about the business of making a life together but weren't happy. As it did for so many, our story turned on September 11, 2001. The realization that life is short. Anything can happen. We opted to cut our losses and move on. We separated and began the process of divorce and overcoming disappointment. A phone call to an old friend. Reaching out during a difficult time. Months of phone conversations and then a visit. Just a meal and a movie. But that draw, the old attraction still pulled. And so it went. Only this time there was a child an an ex-husband in the story. Things progressed but slowly. Logistics and fears loomed large. Then, finally, our time came.

And so, four years later, we married in my parent's back yard. I was walked down the aisle by my then seven-year-old boy, where he kissed me and turned to sit with his father. I continued down the aisle to meet My Love, ready to begin our next chapter.

Happy anniversary Nye.

*Photo credits: Todd France Photography - click over and click on 'Country Wedding' to see more photos from our day.

Labor Day Recap (and a Fruit Crisp Recipe)

Thank you for all of your good wishes for Jackson. It's hard to watch him fail but it helps to remember the years of companionship and sloppy kisses he has given to us.

We spent this Labor Day weekend (as we usually do) at my parent's. Last year Quinn was four weeks old and we took him for his first swim.

This year he took his first steps.

The first photo was taken on his due date—five weeks after he was born. He weighed around six or seven pounds. The second was taken yesterday, and he weighs more like twenty seven pounds. It is an amazing thrill to see the year's progress side by side like this.

My mother and I spent this morning in her garden harvesting the end of summer bounty.

And then we spent the afternoon in the kitchen.

The carrots are going to be cupcakes. We had a heated debate about the difference between a cupcake and a muffin. If you have an opinion, please weigh in below. Finding the definitive answer could mean the return of family unity. My stand is that it's all about the frosting. My mother says it has something to do with fruit.

My mother's garden was abundant this year. Even more than usual.

She even grew this pineapple from the top of another one. It won first prize at the Bridegwater County Fair!

Niall says that pineapples growing in Connecticut are a sure sign of global warming. He may be right but I'm impressed nonetheless. 

For those of you who are interested, the crisp is peach-rhubarb. There's not much to it. I combined two cups of half-inch pieces of rhubarb with six or seven peaches cut into large chunks (skin left on) in a casserole dish. I sprinkled 1/4 cup of flour and 3/4 cup of sugar over the fruit along with a little lemon juice and some crystalized ginger. For the topping I combined 1 stick of cold butter with 1/4 cup of flour until the pieces were pea-sized. To that I added 1 cup of rolled oats and some cinnamon. It baked at 400 degrees for about 25 minutes and, of course, served it with vanilla ice cream.

I hope you all enjoyed your end-of-summer activities as much as we did here. I'm goint to try and take some of the mood with me as I jump into the whirlwind that is: September with kids.

I didn't forget the County Fair photos from Martha's Vineyard. Look for them this week!

A Sad Day

Today I attended a funeral. Niall's cousin Sandy lost her husband Chris this week. Sandy is pregnant with their seventh child and Chris was thirty-seven years old. Sandy lost her mother, Niall's Aunt Beth, when she was about the age that her eldest child is now and she lost her father earlier this year.

A multitude of cliches have been bouncing around my head since I heard the news. I don't want to let go of my children. I want to take back every petty argument I've ever had with my husband. I think and rethink my religious beliefs and try to understand how such things can happen.

I've made Chris' death all about my life, and how to live it to it's fullest. Every time I confront such sadness I am reborn to these thoughts and slowly, over time, annoyance creeps back in. I feel grumpy. There isn't any time for smelling flowers. Perhaps Sandy's unspeakable loss can be my gain. Maybe I can learn—this time—to keep the fleeting nature of our days in my heart and go to sleep each night with no regrets. I don't imagine that to be fully achievable, but it seems a worthy goal for today.

Birthday Festivities

There were decorations

and fresh food.

Tomato, Corn, and Avocado Salad from Everyday Food.

There was family and friends (and some finished objects)

There were funny faces.

The cake was Lemon Buttermilk (recipe posted below) and Quinn found it to be a bit tart.

This mobile was Aunt Katha's clever contribution.

A good time was had by all.

Lemon Buttermilk Sheet Cake
(Adapted from Cooks Country)

Cake
2 1/2 cups flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
3/4 cup buttermilk
3 tablespoons grated lemon zest
1/4 cup lemon juice
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 3/4 cup granulated sugar
12 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened
3 large eggs
1 egg yolk

Glaze
3 cups confectioners' sugar
3 tablespoons lemon juice
2 tablespoons buttermilk

1. For the cake: preheat oven to 325 degrees. Grease and flour 13- by 9-inch baking pan. Combine flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt in medium bowl.

2. Combine buttermilk, lemon juice, and vanilla in small bowl.

3. Beat granulated sugar and lemon zest until moist. Transfer 1/4 cup sugar mixture to small bowl, cover, and set aside. Add butter to remaining sugar mixture and beat until fluffy. Beat in eggs and yolk, just until incorporated. Add flour mixture and buttermilk mixture alternately. Mix until smooth.

4. Pour batter into prepared pan and bake until top is golden brown and toothpick inserted into center comes out clean, 25 to 35 minutes. Transfer cake to wire rack and let cool 10 minutes.

5. For the glaze: Meanwhile, whisk confectioners' sugar, lemon juice, and buttermilk until smooth. Gently spread glaze over warm cake and sprinkle evenly with reserved sugar mixture. Cool completely before serving.

Birthday Preparations

Next week is Quinn's first birthday. I don't know what could possess me to start three projects that I expect to have finished in a week. Yes. Three. Granted they are not gigantic projects, but seeing as I haven't finished much of anything in a year, it seems silly to start, and plan to finish, three in a week.

When Quinn began crawling all sewing has been relegated to the bedroom. I haven't really set myself up with any productive arrangement so this is what it looks like when I'm working.

When I'm mid-project(s) I've given up on putting it all away each evening. The baby-naps are too short and unpredictable to pull it all out again and get anything else done.

The project on the bed is a fabric banner. I've seen this project done multiple times on some of my favorite blogs and filed it away in my "I'll-get-to-that-one-day" file. Apparently yesterday afternoon was that day. I'm combining the techniques described in this tutorial with those in this tutorial. It's a great stash-busting exercise and should be very festive for the party.

The other projects are a quilt and a (another) birthday bib for photos.

It's been great fun pulling out fabric from the beginning of time and remembering what they were originally purchased for.

I hope you like the new banner. It's about how I'm feeling these days — like my life is pieced together from multiple colorful scraps forming my whole. It's a continuing fascination with all things patchwork.

Moving On

Breastfeeding with Jake was very hard for me. I think I knew back then that his concentration level was going to be an issue. From the time he was just weeks old, we had to nurse in a dark, quiet room in order to be productive. I opted out of the struggling well before the end of the first year.

It was very different with Quinn. Even in the hospital, every minute of it was a joy, and for months my neck was stiff from craning over to witness the wonder of it up close. I just assumed it would go on (at least on some level) through the beginning of toddler-hood. It never occurred to me that he would stop on his own. He'll be one in a matter of weeks and he doesn't seem to want to be bothered with breastfeeding anymore. He went through this a few months ago and the doctor said "I guess he's finished". I concluded that my nine-month-old baby didn't get to say when he was finished. After all, isn't it my job to decide what's best for him? Or was it for me? In either case, we muddled through that tiny nursing strike and made it to this point. And now he really seems ready to move on. I, however, am not. I'll nurse him when he'll have me, and begrudgingly give him a cup the rest of the time. But I won't like it.

Here's a photo, taken by Niall, on our recent vacation. When he took it, I didn't know it would be among the last times I would nurse my baby.

Vacation

We're home!

We went here.

It's an annual trip that we make with old friends. We did a lot of watching the kids do this

and this

Jake* learned how to do this

We saw one of these**

and some of these**

and these

We went here

and picked lots and lots of these

and ate them while sitting in these

and gazing at this

And drinking these

Frozen Strawberry Margaritas

Ingredients
4 cups frozen strawberries
1/4 cup sugar
4 tablespoons frozen limeade
2 cups ice
2/3 cup tequila
2/3 cup orange juice

Instructions
Place all ingredients in a blender and blend until desired consistancy

We hiked here

The kids got to play with fire in their pjs

I hardly did any of this

There was none of this

And Quinn* hardly wore clothes at all.

My favorite moment was in the car on the way home. I was feeling sad that vacation was over when I had a realization. Niall, Jake and Quinn were all coming home with me and we would  be together when we arrived home, when we went to bed in our own beds and when we woke up the next morning. Who needs vacation?

*I'm giving up on the 'website-safe' nicknames.
**Moose and Loon photos from nationalgeographic.com – I'm just not that fast with my camera.

Softie

Does/did your baby have a special lovie or stuffie that they hold tight while they sleep? Maybe a blanket that they rub when they're sad? My Big has Lambie. Lambie is basically a small fleece blanket with arms and a cute little lamb's head at one end, and a satin ribbon across the other. I might have considered it an unlikely choice for a security blanket if I'd given such a thing any thought - especially in light of the fact that it was a gift from my Mother and Father's real estate agent. (Seriously.) When he was little Big couldn't sleep without Lambie. He would rub the ribbon between his fingers until he drifted off. For years we pretended that all lamb dishes were 'steak'. We were made to address Lambie by name and never, ever, call him a 'toy'. Big is ten now and is somewhat less attached to Lambie (somewhat). Here's a photo from Lambie's fifth birthday party (already showing quite a lot of wear).

We tried inserting multiple Lambies into the mix for (our) security but Big only bought it for a short while and once, when he saw two Lambies in the same place, his head almost exploded.

Little has Softie. Softie is a fleece blanket measuring about 12" x12" backed and bound with satin. This time I was going to plan the whole thing better. We began planting Softie in his crib as soon as it was safe to do so. Once he caught on that when he was near this thing he was supposed to sleep, we considered our experiment a success and strategically began rotating Softie with two others. Now, as soon as he is finished nursing, I hand Little to his Da along with Softie and a book and before they even sit down, Little's head is on Da's chest, his thumb is in his mouth and he's got Softie up against his cheek.

It's the little victories in everyday parenting that make me happy.