Acting Not My Age

Last Saturday I was home, in my house.  That seems obvious and redundant all at the same time but I have really taken on the belief that home is kinda wherever you and your people are.  Maybe I've actually adopted a traveler's heart.  Or I'm just mildly crazy.  Or both.  It's hard to tell really.  

I woke up in my house on a Saturday morning for the first time in ages.  I stood in my kitchen with a coffee cup in hand and weighed my options.  A cycling class?  Running outside?  

A text went to Karen that read something like this...let's drink slow coffee and do nothing.   

Then I found myself sitting on her couch with a coffee in hand and nothing in the air other than visits and sunlight streaming in.

  

Then, with more caffeine than would sufficiently fuel a giraffe, we proceeded to have an Amy and Karen Saturday reminscient of summer style.  There was boot shopping and kitchen dance party-ing to Taylor Swift's shake it song and homemade pizza on the grill and two batches of pumpkin dark chocolate chip cookies and sunshine on our faces. 

 

Her girls made us water complete with fruit garnishes.  Made us water.  That sounds funny but that's really what I would call it, they were so cute and proud.   

 

Then, we went to go for a walk and after a quarter of a mile I said, "Let's drive out to see Summer."  Karen said, "Okay."  So off we went to see Sil and the kids which led to me getting this idea stuck in my head that I had to learn how to do the sideways jump click your heels off to the side thing that looks like oh so much fun.  Karen could do it right away and I had to work on it.  But work I did and soon was clicking right along.  

And then?  Then I pulled a classic acting not like my age stunt and started wrestling the kids.  After a sneaky leaf tickle move in which I felt rather helpless, I took a kick to the face and stood up with, "I think my lip is bleeding."  That's what I get for acting my not age and I wouldn't have it any other way.  

Once back in town, we walked.  Got our lungs moving while the sun went down, which was how I orignally planned on starting the day.  I'm sure glad all that happened in the in-between happened first though.  The in-betweens tend to be where it's at.   

A Few More I Believes

I believe in holding a coffee cup with two hands.  And I believe in holding a wine glass with one.  

I believe in sitting in the morning sun with myself and a book.  And I believe in sitting in the evening sun with a best friend after she grabs a hat and sunglasses from my car sitting in her driveway.  

I believe in friends.  And I believe in friends sharing everything.    

I believe in learning new things like making homemade pizza completely from scratch.  And I believe in passing on those nuggets of new to others; this time to Karen and her daughter Emma, who is now the sauce making princess. 

I believe in the feeling of home being the favorite.  And I believe in the feeling of a friend's porch having the exact same nostalgia.  

I believe in the changes of the seasons, each one bringing its own ebb and flow.  And I believe in soaking every last bit of one up before jumping to the next.  

Peach Bars

Last Sunday morning, I experimented around a tish in the kitchen with some peaches that were ripe and needing to be used.  Crisp was what I had on the brain but I wanted it to be a good for your body version, not just a good for your soul version.  

Remember how I mentioned I sat in a semi with my brother and ate part of his lunch while we waited for the tractor and grain cart?  Well...the part of his lunch I ate was a homemade granola bar my sister-in-law whipped up.  It was delicious in its chewy peanut buttery and dark chocolatey and oats combination.  

So when I was standing in the kitchen the next morning holding my coffee mug and staring at the peaches - literally staring - waiting for some idea of what to make to appear from thin air, I thought of the granola bars and made a phone call to that fabulous sister-in-law of mine.  

After a quick discussion, we determined peaches could be added and they would just be a chewier bar because of the extra liquid.   

The dough looked sketchy at best but the final result was rather delicious.  My parents stopped over for lunch and when I brought out the mug of coffee and peach bar to my dad, I waited for him to take a bite and say something about it tasting healthy.  But, he didn't.  He ate it and seemed to enjoy.  I texted Sil that we had ourselves a success story and then made her a pan and Karen a pan.  The peaches I stared at on the counter with my coffee cup in hand were gone, used up in some good for your body peach bars. 

The original recipe that Sil found for the granola bars came from Kitchen Stewardship and here's how we tweaked it to make some peach bar business.  

1/2 c. peanut butter (the kind that is like just peanuts chewed up and spit back out - ingredients of peanuts and that's it, maybe a little salt)

1 c. honey

1 tsp. vanilla

4 1/2 c. old fashioned rolled oats

1 1/2 c. whole wheat flour

1 tsp. baking soda

2 c. sliced into tiny bits fresh peaches 

Whip together the peanut butter, honey, and vanilla.  In a separate bowl, mix the whole wheat flour and baking soda together.  Add that to the creamy mixture and stir.  Then, throw the oats in a cup at a time until all mixed together.  

At this point, it will be thick.  As in thick thick.  Add in the two cups of peaches and then like magic, the dough becomes workable again.  

Pour in a buttered or greased or nonstick (whatever floats your boat in that land) 9 x 13 pan and bake at 325 degrees for approximately 25-30 minutes.  The edges will be light brown but they will still look gushy and that's okay.  

Take the pan out of the oven and let cool completely.  THEN here's the step that is the coolest for the cool bars.  Cut them up, place parchment paper on a baking sheet, and then put the cut bars on the sheet so they aren't touching each other.  Re-bake them at 325 for about another 13-16 minutes.  Let cool again and they become a little bar that really holds together.  I packaged mine individually and threw them in the freezer.  They are perfect for grabbing on the run for breakfast or for a pick me up snack.

Lunches Then to Now

There was this one time several years ago, back when I lived in a tiny house in the tiny town I graduated high school, when my little sister came over for lunch.  She would have probably been about a freshman in high school at the time.  In she popped with a, "Hello!  I'm here."  

And I fed her hamburger.

Not as in a cheeseburger or a hamburger on a bun with a nice side or two, but rather just chopped up and cooked hamburger.  That's it.  

That was before my cooker days and we still laugh about it now.  Who feeds someone that and tries to convince them it's a meal?  

This summer, as a soon to be junior in college, my little sister came to my house for lunches when she was working at the bank in the bigger town I now live.  In she popped with a, "Hello!  I'm here."  

And I would do two things.

Number one, comment on her outfit because love a duck, Sister Pister can put together some cuteness.  Number two, feed her a wholesome and homemade meal.  

Never just cooked up bits of hamburger.  

Things change.  I'm grateful I can now call myself a cooker and make a real something out of random ingredients which are mostly usually on hand.  I'm grateful I no longer live in that tiny house, the one I had basically fold myself in half to crawl backwards down the ladder chute to get to the laundry in the old as the hills basement.  

Things don't change.  I'm grateful my little sister still wants to come to my house and spend time with me when she can.

Much Prefer

I much prefer weekends over Monday mornings, especially when weekends include things like tomatoes, basil, and mozzarella paired with a red and Monday mornings include snow and slush and a gray sky.  It's like not even a competition really. 

If I had to pick foods that I could not live without, the list would include cheese and olives - any kind of olive.  Amen. 

Triple D

While we are on the topic of new and opportunity, I'll continue right on here by sharing the first ever experience of eating at a place featured on the Food Network's show Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives with spiky hair Guy.  He is my favorite.  I try not to like him sometimes because I think, he should be annoying right?  Spiky hair that's bleached, loud voice, talks non-stop, etc...  All leads to annoying.  But the truth?  The truth is I love him.  I could watch Triple D all the live long day and then get super hungry and find myself in the kitchen trying to make chips-salsa-macaroni-apple pancake-with a side of-fish taco.  

Does this happen to anyone else?  

I sometimes have to swear off the Triple D for awhile because of its dangerous tendencies to lead to eating at odd times.  Odd things at odd times.

But inevitably, I come back for more. 

There was a Phoenix episode one day so when I was there in March with my parents and my sister, after an afternoon of lounging and swimming, off we went to St. Francis.

I knew when we pulled up, it was going to live up to the expectations.  An outdoor movie was playing, there was vintage chairs to sit in while waiting for a table, and the food was out of this world once seated.

Goat cheese and marinara, fingerling potatoes with thyme, the meatballs-the meatballs, and pizza.  Pizza with figs for me and pizza with lots of red for Sister Pister followed by Momma Debi sharing with everyone.  



I Love the Raisin

My sister-in-law is the very best sharer of fabulous recipes.  She researches and tries and tweaks and then passes along the delicious to me.  How lucky am I?  Lucky.  I'm often uncertain of how that lady gets all that she gets done with four little people under tow.  

The last one she shared with me was a cinnamon raisin bread of only goodness and it is freaking delicious.  Just follow that recipe to a tee and you'll want to eat the entire loaf.  I don't have a bread machine so I did the normal bread making thing which is to knead the dough for about 8 minutes and then let it rise for about 45 minutes and then rolled it out and rolled it up and put in the pan to rise again to sufficient baking height.  Bread dough is not scientific, it's more of a feeling so one can't give precise kneading and rising directions.  

Then, I baked the loaf at 325 degrees for 20 minutes with a tinfoil tent over it to keep it from getting crispy on the outsides and then took the tent off to bake for about another 30-35 minutes.  

Last night, Sister Pister and I had the kind of chat sisters have about nothing as I was on my way to and from the bank.  She was all, "I'm just pulling a loaf of that raisin bread recipe from Sil out of the oven and I'm totally eating that, and only that, for supper."  Then I was all yelling into the phone because I tend to yell, "I know!"

And I must say, this dough is oh so pretty.  Like pretty pretty.  The entire process is really rather beautiful.  Nerd herd card punched for saying that sentiment aloud to real people instead of keeping it as an inside thought.

I made this particular loaf on Saturday afternoon because it's totally a weekend thing.  It belongs with Saturday, Sunday, and a side of sun streaming through the windows.  

That sun is a deceiving little bugger these days, flirting with spring but not actually delivering.  I soaked up its warmth while kneading the bread on the counter, while knowing if I stepped outside I'd be slapped with freezing.  At any rate, the sun warmed my back and caused me to move my rising place from the normal spot in front of the fire to right on the kitchen floor.  Flirting with spring around here.  

Every single time I manage bread dough actually rising, I do a little jig.  It's jig-worthy.

Here's a secret about this bread, it's so simple.  I'm often reminded how a simple process paired with only a few ingredients work together to be the tastiest.

Here's another secret, an even better one.  After you get the mixing and kneading done, your hands will smell like coconut oil for the rest of the day.  In my book, that's a very good thing.   

I love grapes and all of their life cycle.  Grapes, raisins, and wine.  I love the raisin.  Just as I love bread raisin' on the floor in my kitchen. 

Yes, that just happened.  Nerd herd card punched again for punning when one shouldn't.  

One more time.  Say it with me here...dry ingredients in a bowl are pretty.  Dry ingredients in a bowl are real pretty.