I'm back from my blogging hiatus. In the meantime I have retired from my corporate presence and gotten to work on the important stuff - painting, pottery, travel, and baking. Lots of baking. I recently wrote a guest post about cupcake baking for the delightful blog, Yankee Crafty Bitch. Find it here:
Sweet A’s beloved friend, Adorable D, is
getting married in June and the bridesmaids gave her a bachelorette party last night. It was a
wild night in the city from what I hear. Yesterday afternoon Sweet A and Crazy K dressed all in black with hoodies drawn tight around their faces and hid behind the restrooms at Hampton Beach, where Adorable D's fiancee, Trusty G, promised to deliver her. Not to be outdone by other transparent kidnapping ruses, A and K literally bagged D, tied her up with a rope, and put her in the car. (They had let hints drop so Adorable D would
not freak out or have a heart attack or, worst of all, bite them, but apparently the kidnapping had its desired
affect including screams, jumping back, and best of all, assuming a Ninja pose of defense).
The day and evening went on to include a big limo with an entertaining driver,
much drinking, a feisty, full participation visit to a female impersonator club, a blow up man doll named Tyrone who
accompanied them around the city, more drinking, club dancing, more drinking, and collapse in the wee hours at a
nice hotel in Cambridge. Needless to say when they arrived here at noon today they were badly in
need of coffee. And food. They are a lovely, funny bunch of young women… just
delicious. Here’s the menu:
Sweet A created a CD of their favorite music to
play in the limo as they cruised around the city, beginning with, of course, Beyonce's "All the Single Ladies". She made a (legal) copy for each of the ladies and left them with me. A CD was tucked into a little Easter basket filled with tiny Dove
chocolates and gummy bears placed at each setting.
Having eaten and downed gallons of coffee, they are all mellow
and dozing on the sofa in the living room, chatting away, laughing, wonderful
sounds.
The house will be all too quiet when they leave all too soon.
I haven't posted in a while - I am holding my breath waiting for the resumption of the kitchen drama - but I am unable to hold my silence in the presence of the most glorious of baking visions. There's nothing quite as beautiful as cherry pie.
I'm not talking taste here - I'll take a good apple pie over cherry any day - but for the knock yer eyes out pure beauty category, cherry pie wins hands down. It's just so extravagantly RED and oozing sweet deliciousness through its lightly browned lattice crust, unable to keep its color inside the lines, sweet buttery crust glittering with crystals of sugar. Oh my. And right out of the oven, still warm, topped with a humble scoop of excellent vanilla ice cream, well, um, I have to go now... cherry pie gone... must bake more... now...
Dad's surprise 89th birthday party went off without a hitch, much to the delight of all involved. Dad seemed truly astonished when Sweet A, Lovely L and I strolled into Seawatch and asked if there was room at the table for a few more. He burst into happy tears and everyone cheered, including people at surrounding tables and we settled in for a lovely meal of fresh seafood and beautiful views of south Florida's exquisite stretch of the Atlantic ocean.
As with any of our family dinners, there is much laughter and vast quantities of food. On these occasions everyone tends to eat the garlic bread, over-order, and select dishes that are drowned in butter and garlic, or breaded and fried. It's a party, right? On the other hand, Lovely L and Sweet A are light eaters who have in the past been vegetarian and for years, vegan. Although both now eat dairy and fish, there is still endless interest in hearing and commenting on what they eat or don't eat. So an ears-pricked, eyes-wide hush comes over the table as they begin to speak to the waitress. I'll have the orange roughie with no sauce and salad with no dressing, says one. I'll have the shrimp with no garlic and no sauce, says the other. Heads nod very slightly and a few barely audible aaahhhhhhs escape, as if the Dalai Lama had ordered peace on earth. In a Jewish family of fressers, these are the words of the ascetic saint. After a brief, respectful silence chatter picks up again and zip lock bags of matzoh come out of purses and hit the table (it's Passover). Others begin to order, each with her own dietary restrictions - absolutely no dairy of any kind, with arms waving above the head for emphasis; and with the umpire's gesture for "he's safe!" we have no flour on the fish, no rice, no breading, no croutons on the salad (again, Passover), no honey on the carrots, no onions, no peppers, no tomatoes, extra dressing, no sour cream on the potato, the sauce in a cup on the side, and on and on.
Our waitress, Mother Teresa, is infinitely patient, accommodating, ever pleasant, even when the din of calls of "Miss! Miss!" drown out all other conversation. She is an ace at dealing with a population over the age of 80 and completely unflappable. I admire her deeply.
After dinner we go to a lively area along the beach road where a live band performs nightly and diners and drinkers enjoy the lovely evening ocean breezes. This is heaven for dad and he immediately takes his granddaughters out onto the dance floor and boogies down, bopping to the music, doing the swim, shuffling along, dancing with all the many pretty girls, who of course adore him, this elderly gentleman with the beautiful white hair, a decent jacket, and all the moves.
But at 89 Dad tires after a half hour or so and we head for home to end a wonderful birthday celebration. When asked if he was truly surprised Dad confesses he had an inkling I might be trying to surprise him. He said that every year I call him a few days before his birthday and also on the morning of his birthday, and when he didn't hear from me he thought I might be coming. Clever fellow. Interestingly, I did call him a few days before and again around noon on his birthday, but he didn't remember the earlier call and I of course did not remind him.
Now on to planning the Big Bash for his 90th next year. Dad is uncooperative on this topic, claiming that at his age he does not buy green bananas - how can he plan for a party a year away?
A typical Finnish breakfast seems to be a sandwich - very much the kind Americans would have for lunch, with meat and cheese and good bread. They drink gallons of good, strong coffee. I understand that eggs are eaten for breakfast maybe once a week, on the weekend. I don't think Finns relate to the American "hungry man breakfast" with eggs and sausages and pancakes. Of course, with the homogenization of culture brought to you courtesy of a shrinking world and tourists galore, American fare is readily available in many places.
I mostly stopped in cafes for lunch, where I found nice selections of open faced sandwiches of smoked salmon and egg, or herring, or meat. The smoked salmon was fantastic - light, mildly smoky, unbelievably fresh and delicate. I found pre-brewed strong tea available in most places, too. Lots of self service cafeteria style restaurants with very high quality food.
And since Finland is so close to Russia there is a lot of authentic Russian food available, too. We had a wonderful dinner in an old Russian restaurant right near the harbor. The menu reminded me of my grandmother's kitchen - borscht, dumplings in mushroom gravy, blini, dark pumpernickel bread, chicken kiev, tea served in a beautiful silver tea glass holder with lumps of sugar on the side. My grandfather would grip a cube of sugar in his front teeth and drink the tea through the sugar. And there was drinking. Lots of drinking (in the restaurant, not bubbe's kitchen). We star
ted with vodka right out of the freezer, ended with cognac, and had multiple wines in the middle. Yee ha. Of course, dinner ran well over four hours, so there was ample time to metabolize.
I had reindeer a second time in a Lapland restaurant. They served traditional Lappish food, and on the menu was salmon, reindeer, and elk. I ordered a very traditional main course made from a less fancy cut of reindeer. The waitress, dressed in Lapland garb, looked apprehensive when I asked for something very traditional. This made me worry that I had perhaps gone too far. Maybe I had ordered reindeer private parts. Or pickled reindeer tongue. Big sigh of relief when a plate of potted meat mounded on a huge pile of mashed potatoes arrived. The meat clearly had been cooked for many hours and had its own intensely flavored gravy. It had a strong aroma... very wild... and a nice flavor, much more mild than the aroma would suggest.
I'm in Helsinki for the week on business... never been before. I have reserved a day and a half at the end of the trip to explore this lovely city, but this evening our generous hosts brought us to Hvittrask for dinner.
This is an absolutely magical place, early 20th century home to the iconic Finnish architects, Herman Gesellius, Armas Lindgren and Eliel Saarinen. We went after sunset (5PM in February in Helsinki) and the drive through the dark pine forest to reach the estate adds mystery and atmosphere to our arrival.
After a tour of the truly beautiful, classically Finnish Saarinen house in which every detail is considered, chosen, hand crafted, hand hewn or hand painted, we had dinner in the gracious restaurant in the Gesellius house. First course included a rich, lightly smoked salmon served with the pale pink roe of what I believe is trout. This is a very Finnish dish. It was artistically arranged with a calligraphic swirl of a buttery rose colored sauce, a bit of chopped tomato and a few narrow slivers of julienned pickled beet all served on beautiful china. It was a feast for the eyes as well as the palate. With this course we had a light German Riesling, not too sweet.
The main course was a fillet of reindeer with a bit of a rich reduction and a dash of pureed root vegetable. The reindeer was unbelievably tender and seasoned with rosemary, making it aromatic and absolutely heavenly, to which the sighs and rolling eyes of the dinner guests attested. This was served with an Argentinean Malbec. Oh my.
Desert was a pretty cube of redcurrant sorbet served on a thin sliver of cake with just a drizzle of a berry sauce, accompanied by cognac and coffee. Heaven? Why, yes, I believe this is the stuff food dreams are made of. Eternal thanks to our Finnish hosts.
Aah, the wonders of dim sum. There is no better way to
celebrate Sunday than to get up late, read the paper (do the crossword puzzle
of course), and then head over to meet
friends or family at the local dim sum joint for a couple of hours of divine
dining. Tiny bamboo steamers filled with
moist, aromatic bundles of mouth joy. Big sigh… Just remember that dim sum,
like all worthy Sunday pursuits, is best enjoyed in elastic waist pants.
Weight Watchers compliant, it is not!
I love the family atmosphere of weekend dim sum, with little
children, elders, and yes, even teenagers, eating and chatting against the
musical backdrop of women pushing their carts, chanting their wares in
Chinese. It’s the ultimate communal
activity. Dim sum alone or in twos just
doesn’t make it. You have to gather together a good number to sample the dozens
of treasures pouring out of the kitchen at an astounding rate.
And what better way to avoid tackling anything on the
Endless List? Belly full of soporific wonders, I spent the afternoon catching
up on Oscar nominees – it was a blood soaked weekend of movie watching – “There
Will be Blood” on Saturday and “Sweeney Todd” on Sunday. Both deliciously dark.
What is it about human nature that makes the gory and horrific so very appealing?
Even when tragedy is all too real and not just “entertainment”, we can’t pull
our eyes away. We look for the smallest detail. There is so much information
about this week’s horrific events in Kenya, mob violence that took the
lives of so many, but rather than focus on causes and solutions, the media
spews forth brain-cringing details that no one should have to know. And we lap
it up, yes we do. It’s a little discouraging.
Well, all the way from dim sum to human nature’s evil bent. A
fast journey, yes?
(This photo was created by Flickr user wEnDaLicious, some rights reserved.)
