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Inspired by the dark pink fruits ripening on the prickly pear cactus growing in the median of the road that leads to my parents’ house, my mom decided that after 20 years of living in the desert it was time to see what she could do with its bounty. And so she conscripted my aid to brew up a batch of prickly pear jelly. Jelly is one of those adventures in the kitchen that I had never undertaken and so I eagerly agreed to be party to the event. There are so many skills such as this that I somehow failed to acquire during my childhood years. My mom learned all this as she grew up in Oklahoma. As a kid, I was too preoccupied with riding my bike, swimming, playing pretend and hanging out with my friends to worry too much about how to make jelly. After all, why make jelly when you could go to the store and find rows and rows of all the jelly varieties you could ever want?! As an adult I can see the value in learning the ins and outs of home-making; economically and health-wise it makes good sense to purchase ingredients as far down the processed scale as possible. Also, there is so much pleasure to be had putting time and effort into the food you eat.
Our first task was to go out and harvest the prickly pear fruits. While removing cactus fruits from the state trust land that surrounds my parents house is a bit of a no-no, we did not see any issue in removing them from the landscaping in the median. After all, the rotten fruit would be bagged and tossed at the end of the summer and at least this way some of it would go to good use. To harvest prickly pear fruit all you need is a pair of tongs and a paper bag. Clamp the fruit gently with the tongs, give a little twist and the fruit comes off easily enough. My first attempt was not so very graceful and went something to the tune of “death grip on fruit, pull.” Half the fruit stayed attached to the plant and the other came away smooshed between the tongs. My mom raised her eyebrows at me. “Well, that one is no good. Do we need to switch tongs?” I gave a good-natured grumble; if I thought it was anything other than user error, I may have taken her up on her offer, but I was pretty sure a different set of tongs would have made exactly zero difference. I watched her execute the picking procedure and gave it another try. Success! Between the two of us, it did not take more than 10 minutes to harvest enough of the fruit (although in hindsight, in order to avoid a little mishap with fractions, we should have kept going another 5 minutes). We triumphantly paraded back to the house, desert bounty in tow.
The first step done and over with, the fruit of the cacti then sat in my mom’s refrigerator for several weeks. There is no real need to let the fruit sit for any length of time other than the general hectic nature of life. But finally a day came about when we had the time to devote to the project.
Like I said, I had never made jelly before and so I was amazed at the simplicity of the process. (Though I’m informed that the use of packaged pectin was to thank for much of that ease. Maybe next time I will learn how to use apples for the pectin.)
Before you start in on the actual jelly prep, I would highly recommend starting the sterilization process on the jars. The following recipe makes about 36 ounces of jelly; plan accordingly. Place open jars right side up in a stock pot and fill until the water is one inch above the lips of the jars. Place the lids in a separate pot and fill with water. Put both pots on to boil. They will take a while to reach boiling so go ahead and start with the jelly prep. The jars must be at a full boil for at least three minutes, so take note of when they start to boil. After they have boiled for three minutes, take them out of the water using a pair of tongs and place mouth down on paper towels laid out on the counter. After a few minutes (perhaps while boiling the jelly concoction) flip the jars over so that they can finish drying out and be ready to receive the jelly. Leave lids in the hot water. Leave both pots on the stove, turn the heat on the large stock pot down, but not completely off.
So here it is, the making of the prickly pear jelly:
Recipe:
2.5 cups of prickly pear juice
1 1&3/4 oz package pectin
3 Tbs lime juice
3.5 cups sugar
Also: Blender, cheese cloth, strainer.
First, make the fruit puree. Ignore whatever else you have read, because this is the easiest way to prepare it (if you don’t believe me, Google agrees).
Using leather gloves and a sharp knife, peel the skin from the prickly pear fruit. I found this very reminiscent of peeling a kiwi; a very spiny kiwi. (I recommend having a pair of tweezers present. The tiny spines ended up on my shirt and from their transferred to my elbow and forearm. Although my mom didn’t have that problem. Maybe I’m just less graceful.) The fruit should be a beautiful deep pink. Put it in a blender.
Once you have peeled all the fruit, puree it.
Bust out the cheese cloth, strainer and large bowl. Line the strainer with cheese cloth and place a bowl under the strainer. Pour the puree over the cheese cloth. To get all the juice from the pulp (there really is no way around this part) bundle the cheese cloth over the top of the puree, give a twist to seal and squeeze. Delight in getting the sticky juice all over your hands. Take a moment to ooo and ahh over the absolutely beautiful fuchsia color. I love it when cooking is this pretty.
Pour the juice into a measuring cup. Hopefully you have about 2.5 cups.
We had 1.75 cups.
So here is where we took a break to argue over fractions. This really should not have been difficult considering the number of degrees represented in the house, but I quickly abandoned the attempt to do it by hand and broke out the calculator on my smart phone. As my mom declared that we needed to multiply everything by 7/18, I declared, “.7″ and my dad said “7/18 isn’t .7.” This went on longer than I care to admit when I finally, exasperated, said, “You guys are not listening. All we have to do is divide 1.75 by 2.5 to get the conversion and it’s .7!” Sometimes what you really need to do is stamp your foot and throw a little tantrum.
Having agreed on the conversion, we got the rest of the ingredients together. I stared at giant measuring cup full of sugar and tried not to be a little aghast. I stuffed my objections to mounds of white sugar underneath the joy I got from making jelly from scratch. Cooking from scratch means actually facing up to what goes into the final product, a truth which can simultaneously be a luxury and an inconvenience. No preservatives or additives but, wow, that’s a whole lot of sugar. You catch my drift. But pure pleasure came from the simplicity of the ingredients: prickly pear fruit juice, pectin, lime juice, sugar.
The next steps mirrored the simplicity of the components:
In a saucepan, bring prickly pear fruit juice and pectin to a boil, stirring constantly. Again, admire the deep, rich hue and texture of the mixture, which should now be giving off a delicately sweet aroma.
Add lime juice and sugar, stir and bring to a hard boil (one that cannot be stirred down). Boil for three minutes. Be sure you have the mixture at a hard boil for three minutes so the jelly sets properly.
Pour or ladle jelly into awaiting glass jars. Seal.
Place sealed jelly jars into the large stock pot and turn the heat back up. Boil the jars for 10 minutes and then remove the jars from the heat. Sometime in the next 30 minutes you will hear the lids POP, which means jars are sealed and safe to store.
When the jars have cooled off enough, label them. Be creative…or at least give it your best shot.
Before I was ever born, my mom tasted a delectable combination: prickly pear jelly and brie. When living in Houston, my dad had a colleague who would arrive to staff potlucks bearing the delicious dish. With this in mind, my mom had picked up some brie from the grocery store that same day along with some strawberries. Looking at the strawberries and brie my mom commented, “If only we had some champagne.” My palate agreed with her lament. ”Oh, I wish you hadn’t said that. I would love some champagne.” She looked thoughtful for a moment and said, “You know, we actually might have some.” Sure enough, in the back of the beverage refrigerator she found a chilled bottle of champagne left over from some special occasion, possibly New Years. The cork gave a loud pop, and our evening was complete.
Warmed brie on crackers topped with prickly pear jelly complete with fresh strawberries and champagne to drink.
As always I got caught up in life and forgot to be a diligent blogger. But here I am back in action and ready to update you on why I have been so carelessly absent for the last few weeks.
My primary reason for truancy is my new job at Goodfellow Farms. I work in the country store where they sell an assortment of fruits and vegetables, quality meats and cheeses and goods that can be desperately hard, or impossible, to come by elsewhere on the island. Essential items such as, oh, tahini. They also serve lunch and a damn fine one at that, most of the dishes beautifully arranged over the top of their island grown greens complete with in-house dressing made from the herbs as fresh as herbs come. Working their is an experience in and of itself that I am sure will get plenty of blog time, especially considering the potential new development. What’s that? I am going to start baking goodies to sell in the store. The idea came upon me when staring at a slice of CostCo apple pie that had been in the walk in fridge for a week, sliced up and set out for a day, put back in the fridge overnight and then finally sold for $6. The sad piece of pie at that point was practically wilted. Besides, it was a pie from CostCo, which in my opinion just is not worth the calories in the first place. I happen to make a fantastic apple pie with simple, delicious ingredients that is also quite aesthetically pleasing. And so I am going to bake one to sell in during lunch time. I pitched the idea to the boss and he was all for it – in fact, he gave me the go ahead to add ingredients for other baking projects to his “Florida list” and bake my little heart out. That is exactly what I am going to do.
In other baking news, I am somewhat proud and somewhat sheepish to announce that at the end of the day I will have baked not one, but TWO batches of cinnamon rolls. Here’s the story, and a common tale to be sure. Last night I told Chris I would either do cinnamon rolls or waffles in the morning – both recipes requiring night-before preparation. He chose cinnamon rolls and since I am not in possession of the tried and true Hester recipe, I went to tastespotting and sorted through their selection. I chose one that required a long rise because that usually means a lighter, more delicate roll. So I prepared my dough and set in the fridge to rise. First of all, the 7 hour rise should have been at 60 degrees, but try achieving that in the Bahamas in May (though putting them in the bedroom where we run the AC would probably have been the better option). I woke up at 7 am and took them out of the fridge and placed them on the counter, disappointed to see that they had not risen nearly enough. Two and a half hours later I got out of bed and looked at them again. Progress. I went to look at the rest of the recipe. For the first time. Yes, I did not read through the whole recipe, assuming that the long rise was the overnight rise and would surely be followed by a short rise. I was wrong. The sequence of this recipe is long rise, over night rise, short rise. Well, we were not going to be having those cinnamon rolls any time soon. So I left them on the counter to rise, deciding that letting the dough rise at 85 degrees during the day would mean that I could bake them in the evening and at least have them as a sweet treat. But the truth remained that I had promised Chris cinnamon rolls for breakfast. I had noticed the previous night a couple of recipes that declared themselves “quick”. I had scoffed then, but “quick” is just what I needed. And I found it. Cinnamon rolls in less than an hour.
I set out to make them. The trick, of course, is that you use baking powder and baking soda instead of yeast. First I realized that I didn’t have quite enough white flour, so about 1/4 cup of whole wheat got incorporated into it straight away. Then I realized that I had still yet to knead about a half cup more flour into the dough to make it into a dough and not a batter. The recipe does not detail this little fact, nor does it warn the first timer that it makes an absolute mess. You spoon the “dough” onto a flat surface, “sprinkle” with flour and gently knead it until the dough becomes smooth and pliable. Yet at the end of it, I actually came out with a tasty product – though these were definitely rolls that called for the powdered sugar (and vanilla) glaze.
This shot was taken in the evening, so imagine them a bit more shiney and gooey.
My first batch certainly fulfilled the cinnamon roll requirement. But take a look at the second batch – now just enchiladas away from being put in the oven.
They are huge and beautiful and yeasty and light – everything cinnamon rolls should be. I rather doubt they will require any icing. Recipe to come – once I take time to actually figure out what I actually did and put it on a time line that produces cinnamon rolls at 9 am and not 9 pm.
The oven is currently occupied, however, by these:
Homemade enchiladas ready to go in the oven. That’s homemade cornmeal tortillas and homemade enchilada sauce. I cannot take credit for either – that was Chris’s handiwork. We needed a little Mexican food and a couple Coronas as a little shout out to Cinco de Mayo. One day I’ll share the recipe for this enchilada sauce because it beats any enchilada sauce I have had. And I grew up in Arizona where you get good Mexican food. But that is a treat for another day.
By the look of things it may seem like we spent all day in the kitchen. I assure you not. We managed to drive all the way around the island too – or 3/4 the way around the island. We cut off the western edge. Along with our culinary escapades, Chris also embarked on a little home improvement project. Summer time is here and so happiness now depends on having the front and back doors open allowing the fabulous evening breeze to cool off the house. Unfortunately, the breeze is not the only thing that comes through the open doors and I am no fan of mosquitoes. Today, however, we went to Kelly’s and bought screening to hang in the doorways. And so now we sit, doors open and guarded against bloodsuckers.
We also went and visited Gidget. Oh Gidget – how could I not have taken some time out to write about her? The short tale is that we found her at the Mall at Marathon and after a little loving she practically followed us home. Okay, we had to coax her into the car with a piece of chicken. She is the sweetest potcake you’ll ever meet. We took her home, bathed her and gave her a flea treatment. Here she is that first night:
You’ll have to excuse the fact that the picture is not quality – I had a few other things on my mind. Like petting Gidget.
The next morning we took her to the humane society where we had to wait 10 days to make sure she was not someone’s lost pet. Of course she wasn’t – we knew that from the get go. Now she is getting treatment for a fungal skin problem and will be spayed in the next few days. After that she’ll be ready to be taken home.
When we found her she could not put weight on her back right leg and today she was bouncing all over the place. The foot healed – though it is turned in a little bit. We were so happy to see her doing well. We are still trying to figure out if we are going to get to keep her. So far our landlord says no because of the neighboring dogs, but we’re still hopeful that we can convince her that it won’t be a problem. She’ll be an indoor dog and I’ll take her elsewhere to walk her.
So now, a couple hours after starting this post, I am full of enchilada and the house smells like delicious cinnamon rolls. A fantastic ending to the day!
For breakfast this morning: Homemade sweet potato gnocchi sauteed in butter and cinnamon with slices of banana. Highly recommended. Make the gnocchi from scratch. Expect a mess.
Lesson learned this morning: Remove banana peel BEFORE freezing banana. This I should have known and admit that I put the unpeeled half a banana in the freezer to find out if you could unpeel a frozen banana. You can’t.
Tasks for the day:
Be utterly and absolutely lazy until I have to leave to teach my 11:00 AM Bikram yoga class.
I half wish that I had simply told people that there were no classes this weekend because there is quite a good chance that no one is going to show up. After all, today is the Saturday between Good Friday and Easter and Monday is also a holiday. People go out of town or get into the groove of relaxing. I don’t really blame them since, honestly, yesterday was a perfect blend of sleeping in, reading and subsequently finishing Michael Chriton’s Pirate Latitudes, practicing yoga, prowling facebook and watching the new episode of Bones on Megavideo. The evening followed suit with an easy dinner of garlic sauteed vegetables and gnocchi on a bed of spinach (along with a slice of cornbread that Chris made as part of his first attempt to make something resembling corndogs without a deep frier) and a movie (Bruno…not nearly as clever as Borat). Back to why I offered class today: I felt that I should at least give people the option of practicing since Friday and Monday classes were canceled. Besides, the worst that will happen is no one shows up in which case I am already half way to City Market and Starbucks where I needed to go today anyway.
That brings me to the second task for the day: Teach yoga.
I have already covered this one but I will take a few moments to cross my fingers that all my dedicated students decide to rally and vindicate my decision to offer class today.
So on to the third task: errands.
I have everything I need for Easter brunch except broccoli, strawberries, bananas and possibly grapes (pending price). The broccoli is for the quiche and the fruit for a fruit salad. I am perhaps the most excited for the fruit salad, having little occasion to justify the purchase of all that fruit (especially the strawberries, hoping they are still on sale!). So far the mix is bananas, oranges, kiwi, strawberries and grapes with maybe some pineapple thrown in there. You might not think that is very glamorous but I am one excited fruit lover. Before heading to City Market I have to swing by Starbucks for coffee because we killed the last of ours just this morning. I have not decided yet if my willpower is strong enough to resist ordering an iced coffee or cafe misto. I would love to sit for an hour or two upstairs on their lanai and write. I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.
Now my next task is to bake an apple pie. I decided to bake the apple pie tonight leaving all day tomorrow for the hot cross buns and quiche. The question is can I keep Chris out of the pie until tomorrow? Only time will tell.
Here is what I love about today: Everything on my list of things to do is quite common place, but I get to carry them out on a gorgeous day in the tropics. The wind is low, the sun is out and a good portion of my drive winds along the coastline where the water is sure to be a crystal sea of vibrant blues from turquoise to deep sapphire. I will carry along my camera so that I can share with you the background of my everyday life.
Coming up: Island living photo essay.
Task one? Check!
I must be spending too much time in the kitchen and not enough time out on the water. This afternoon I will remedy that, having finally realized that I need saltwater, and not just sweat and tears, to keep my sanity. I have been out of the ocean for almost four weeks and that, of course, is unacceptable. To be fair, I have been preoccupied with getting my Bikram classes started and beginning my running routine again. And when I was not emailing and facebooking about yoga or running along the roadside toward the beach then I was probably pouting that people are not yet flocking to my classes to find wellness in the form of a 90 minute hot yoga session. I have decided to keep the Bikram time and the running time and nix the pouting time. In its place I will make diving time. I can run and work in the afternoons four times a week and dive a couple days a week. No time for pouting and more time enjoying the Bahamas.
Back to why I must be spending too much time in the kitchen: I have another cooking tale for you. This one is actually a few weeks old, but the story is too fun to keep to myself and the recipe is absolutely delicious. That’s right, you get a story AND a recipe today. We’re coming into summer, but we haven’t left the cold weather completely behind and so now is perhaps the last opportunity to share this soup with you during an at least semi-appropriate season. I am not opposed to soup in the summer, but let us be honest, it just is not the same as soup on a chilly night after a cold day in the water (or snow or whatever brand of winter your home offers). Sitting, in fact, exactly in the spot I now occupy in the Starbucks in Cable Beach, I had the pulled chicken epiphany. The brainstorm spawned two fantastic dishes: chicken chili and chicken tortilla soup. The latter is the subject of the day. There are a multitude of renditions of tortilla soup, but all share some common elements. To make a successful soup, you need tomatoes, onion, garlic and cilantro. Ingredients and spices vary from this point, but I maintain that without those four you may as well not make the attempt. I may seem rigid on the matter and in theory I remain so, although my steadfastness was shaken when push almost came to shove.
The day I made the soup, Chris and I went shopping for ingredients only to find everything except the cilantro. Choosing not to despair, we headed to another market a little down the way. One danger, living on an island this small, is that one store being completely out is often a harbinger of all other stores also being completely out. Such was the case and in the basket where the cilantro should have been, we found only parsley. The next best option was to investigate the spice isle and look for dried cilantro. I was not nearly as excited about this prospect, being a firm believer in fresh herbs whenever possible. We found the dried cilantro, but the only brand available cost $5.50. Since I 99% of the time opt for fresh cilantro over dried, I could not see the logic in spending that amount. Fresh cilantro is only $1.87 per bushel. I shook my head and told Chris to put the dried stuff back. I would make the soup sans cilantro. Thankfully, Chris was scandalized by the suggestion and so led us back to the produce section to make one last sweep in our search. We lifted bushels of parsley but found only rogue sprigs of cilantro. Rogue…sprigs…
“How much do you need?” Chris asked me, pulling the sprigs from the parsley. I only needed 1/4 cup to make the soup and so we delved in, searching for more cilantro. And we found just enough cilantro to give that oh-so-important flavor to the soup. But now we had another dilemma because cilantro was not priced by the pound, but by the bushel and we had far less than that. We did not want to pay full price for a tenth of the product and we also did not want to try leaving the store pinching a few stems of herbage. Luckily, celery has leaves that camouflage cilantro quite nicely. We bought the celery after tucking the cilantro in amongst its leaves and left the store with the conviction that we had found a mutually beneficial solution. We got our cilantro and some celery and the store made a sale and did not lose anything since no one else was going to pay for that cilantro anyway.
And so here it is! The priceless ingredient for the soup!
To go along with it, the recipe:
Ingredients:
1/2 bag black beans (actually a little less) – precooked; a can of black beans rinsed and drained would suffice, but the fresh ones make a big difference I think
1 lb boneless skinless chicken breast
14 oz whole peeled tomatoes
1/2 onion chopped – divide into 1/3 and 2/3 portions
1 red bell pepper chopped- divide in 2
3-4 corn tortillas (more for thicker soup) roughly chopped
1 can corn, drained
1/4 cup chopped cilantro
3 cloves garlic chopped – divided in 2/3 and 1/3 portions
4 cups chicken stock
3 TBS oil
1 bay leaf
1 Tbs cumin
1 Tbs + 1 tsp chili powder
1/2 tsp cayenne (how much you use depends on taste)
1 lime
salt
cheese of preference topping
Method:
Of course, first you need to prepare the black beans – I did this the day before so that I didn’t have to worry about timing.
Boil enough water to cook the chicken in – boil the chicken breasts 15-20 minutes or until done
While the chicken cooks:
Puree the peeled tomatoes
Heat 1 Tbs oil and saute the 2/3 garlic, 2/3 onion, 1/2 bell pepper and tortillas about 5 minutes
Add the pureed tomatoes, stock, cilantro, bay leaf, cumin and chili – Bring to a boil, reduce and let simmer for 20-30 minutes
The chicken should finish cooking while the broth boils. Take the chicken out of the water and using two forks, shred the chicken.
Remove the broth from the heat and the bay leaf from the broth and puree the mixture – a hand mixer works well if you have one, but so does a blender. Return to pot but do not place back on the heat quite yet. At this point if the soup looks a little thick you can add a bit of water to thin it out to your liking.
Heat 2 Tbs oil in a large pan – I used a little hot oil, a nice addition if you have any – and saute 1/3 garlic, 1/3 onion and 1/2 bell pepper for 1 minute. Add shredded chicken. Spice with cayenne and 1 tsp chili powder. Squeeze the juice of 1 lime onto the chicken. Cook for about 3-5 minutes, stirring frequently. Add the beans (drained) and the corn (drained). Cook for five minutes, stirring frequently.
Put the broth back on the heat and add the chicken mixture. Bring to a boil and then simmer for 15 minutes. Don’t simmer for too long or the soup will get very thick.
Enjoy topped with shredded cheese
Other toppings you might consider: avocado, tortilla chips, sour cream
Here’s another special tidbit about the soup: Chris made the corn tortillas from scratch. Since he rarely writes down or tells me his recipes, I don’t have that to share with you, but a recipe should not be difficult to find. I highly suggest that whenever you have the chance to do so, make things from scratch. Store bought tortillas, pita and bread are quite convenient, but also packed with sugar and preservatives to guarantee a long shelf life. Making them from scratch is also cheaper than buying them packaged. If you have the time, save yourself the money, a few grams of sugar and compounds you were never meant to consume and whip up these corn tortillas yourself. You can even add some salt and bake them crispy for the tortilla chip topping!
Enjoy! (And don’t forget the cilantro!)
I absolutely adore kitchen gadgets. This is one of my girliest shopping addictions, second only to my irrepressible love of sparkly things, namely diamonds. And let us be honest, I do not go around buying diamonds on anything resembling a regular or even occasional basis. Purses sporting brand names like Coach or Dolci and Gabana sunglasses or cute $10 sundresses do not hold much temptation for me. Okay, maybe the $10 sundress catches my eye, but I can easily walk away without it since I have plenty of clothing options (looking in my closet you might raise an eyebrow and ask, “really?” but I get by just fine with my tattered wardrobe). I do enjoy clothes shopping and admit that I get frustrated sometimes when another tiny hole appears in one of my few shirts, but I divide my time fairly equally between the yoga room, the dive boat, my kitchen and my couch. We just do not go out all that often and so my nice “going out” clothing does not get too much love. My point being that I can forgo clothes shopping without much regret.
But oh how I love to accessorize my kitchen! I spent five years building my kitchen and even moved it all the way to Hawaii. I had a Kitchen Aide blender, garlic press, muffin tine and baking sheets, a bundt pan, wok, all sorts of utensils and mixing devices, a set of MesserMeister knives, bamboo cutting boards, pyrex mixing bowls and measuring cups, a coffee percolator and bean grinder, a cabinet chock full of spices, and the list continues. Then I left Hawaii and the majority of my kitchen stayed behind. The knives made it to my parents’ house in Arizona and the coffee grinder made it all the way to the Bahamas with me. The rest was donated to my last place of residence. Now I am learning to make due with my tattered kitchen as well as I make due with my tattered wardrobe.
Here is the summary of my kitchen here: we have a broiling pan, plastic mixing bowls, a spatula, a large spoon and a slatted spoon. We have a glass baking dish and recently acquired a loaf pan and a small baking sheet. Our one ‘sharp’ knife was recently replaced by three stainless steel blades with an actual edge on them. Chris found them at Kelly’s for half off the same day we got our baking sheet. We only have plastic cutting boards so how long they will remain sharp is a question I try not to ponder. We don’t have measuring cups or spoons. We don’t have a rolling pin. We don’t have muffin tins or Bundt pans or cake pans or a pie plate. Forget about a hand mixer. Currently we are in the possession of a blender, but it is only on loan. We have one large pan, one tiny pan and a large stock pot and three smaller pots (of which, one is retired with a broken handle). We also have a cheese grater and potato masher.
Cooking in a makeshift kitchen means having to be creative. We have three white mugs that turned out to be exactly one cup. One can of Coke Zero is 12 oz and fills one and a half of these mugs. The mug works almost as well as a true measuring cup with fourth cups and half cups just a matter of eyeballing it. Among our silverware we have big spoons, medium sized spoons and little spoons: Tablespoons, half tablespoons and teaspoons. After all, these are what the measurements were named for in the first place. Baking is not an exact science, at least not in our kitchen (though the reproducibility of our results is at times questionable). Before the addition of the baking sheet, we struggled with items like biscuits and cookies. We tried just oiling the broiling pan, but it always charred the bottoms before the morsel was cooked all the way through. We tried the glass casserole dish but came across the same problem. Aluminum foil only seemed to exacerbate the problem. I was so pleased when a baking sheet became part of our kitchen, which brings me back to shopping for kitchenware.
One Wednesday, Chris and I headed out towards the mall to get a few essentials and to replace the casserole dish that I had recently destroyed in an impressive show of dimwittedness resulting in explosion. My first mistake was broiling chicken in it. My second mistake was putting cold water on it before it had cooled. Yes, boys and girls, my background is in the lab sciences and so, yes, I did know better. The fact remains that the casserole dish was shattered and we needed a new one. While at Costless, Chris suggested we find a baking sheet but all the ones they had were in bulk and so we headed to Kelly’s to search their kitchen section. Wandering down the isles lined with shelves full of kitchenware had me as giddy as a kid in a candy shop. Choosing a baking sheet did not take long – we went for the cheapest option. We considered a skillet, but the truth is that duty on kitchen goods must be sky high because we could not find one for under $40 and don’t even get me started on the prices of the electric skillets. Chris found a three knife set for half off that would make our dicing and slicing lives much easier. Then he patiently waited for me as I fantasized about outfitting our kitchen.
I delicately touched a Bundt pan, my fingers as gentle as if I were handling a silken blouse. My mind flipped through my recipe catalogue and then transported me into my kitchen where I merrily poured in the Brooke’s Cake batter, a family favorite full of lemon and cinnamon goodness.
“What’s that for?” Chris’ quarry brought me back to the present reality.
“Making Bundt cakes.”
“What else?”
“Umm…making Bundt cakes.” There are two good reasons why we would not spend money on a Bundt pan. First of all, we did not even own muffin tins yet. Perhaps more so, for the sake of our blood sugar and waist lines, I did not need to be making Bundt cakes all the time. Muffin tins would be far more practical since at least muffins come in healthy type varieties while Bundt cakes are, well, cakes. My focus off the Bundt pans, it was free to travel towards those muffin tins. There, only a little ways down the shelf, were the deepest muffin tins I had ever seen. The muffin bottoms were the hooker heels of muffin tins, standing three inches tall. These held only the appeal of the awe inspiring. I am a sucker for muffin tops myself and so the regular sized muffin tins suit my taste far better. Kelly’s had giant muffin tins and mini muffin tins but no muffin tins that were just right. Besides, I had taken to putting muffin batter into the loaf pan with successful muffin-loaves resulting and so muffin tins could surely wait. My eager gaze shifted targets and landed on the crock-pot of all crock-pots. I should not even refer to it as a singular item since it had three separate pots in a single stand. This was the slow-cooker’s dream (except perhaps that they were all roughly the same size whereas it would be useful for at least one to come in a sauce size since three dishes of entree proportions is a little unrealistic barring entertainment occasions). Again, my reaction was simply awe, having absolutely no use whatsoever for a three pot slow-cooker. The third item after the Bundt pans was again back on my list of desired accessories. A simple rolling pin.
As I mentioned earlier, we do not own a rolling pin. So how do I roll out dough? While we do not have a rolling pin, we currently have eleven empty liter bottles of rum sitting on top of the refrigerator. One of them, oddly enough the one with engraved writing down the side, is the designated rolling bottle. On a functionality scale of one to ten, ten being a rolling pin and one being my hands, I would rate this rum bottle a solid seven. Points are scored for it being round and of proving its worth while points are taken away for it leaving the raised wording [] and being somewhat slower and more cumbersome than a pin. A seven is a respectable score, however, and our kitchen shopping budget being maxed out for the day, I had to stick to window shopping. There comes a point when window shopping turns from good healthy fun to simple masochism. A trip down the appliance isle and a quick look at the food processors pushed me over that line and so I finally pried myself away and let Chris lead me to the check out line. Once away from the high priced glamour of the food processors I was free to admire my little $8 baking sheet. My head filled with homemade pitas and biscuits and cookies, all missing the crispy bottoms that had plagued my baking career thus far. Thus far we have made all of the above and our pan has performed remarkably with all bottoms remaining unburned.
On Saturday I had a fantastic, wonderful day. I taught two classes back to back, went for a three mile run and then immediately jumped into the hot room for my own practice. I got all nice and clean and then headed out the door to go get Chris from work. I jumped in the car feeling all sassy and turned the key. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Utterly confused I checked to make sure that the lights had not been left on. The lights were off. Some how or another I must have managed to drain the battery but had no idea how. I did not have time to sit around and think too deeply about how it happened, I just needed a jump. Luckily Melrose is chock full of people who work with Chris and also luckily, one of them was home. We hooked up the jumper cables and tried to start the car. Nothing. Realizing that there were two batteries we hooked it up to the other battery. Nothing. Now I began to sweat because if this car broke down it would not be a pretty thing since we only have one car and do not have four thousand dollars sitting around to replace it. Now I do not know anything about cars so I did not even attempt to look under the hood to try and spot the culprit. All I could do was accept Neil’s gracious offer to let me use his car to get Chris from work.
I was disappointed that I now had to offer Chris the bad news instead of just a happy, smiling me. I especially was sorry to have to tell him that it was not just the battery, since we tried jumping both of them without any success. To further our plight, the next day was Sunday and in the Bahamas nothing much more than grocery stores and bars are open on Sunday so there was not much of a chance that we would find an auto parts store or a mechanic open. And the cherry on top of it all? I teach a 6 am class on Monday morning. I repeat, I know nothing about cars and so I had no way to even guess what the issue was and so decided to not jump to any conclusions until Chris popped the hood and gave his verdict. We came home and thanks to daylight savings time had plenty of sunlight left in the day. Turns out that it only took Chris a brief moment to diagnose the problem.
“Okay race car driver, I thought you said you hadn’t been taking corners fast.”
To my defense, I really had not been taking corners any faster than I usually do and I would not qualify my driving as reckless. Unfortunately, the evidence worked against me.
“The whole battery slid over and snapped this bracket completely off! Of course it wouldn’t start and a jump didn’t work. Didn’t you notice that the thing was broken?”
Again to my defense, it was Neil that connected the cables. Although I admit that my eyes had peeked at the battery as well and had not caught that it was completely disconnected from the engine. I will take this moment, now being sure that it was only a battery-related problem, to point out that karma completely failed me in this department. Only a week prior I had given a stranger a jump in the grocery store parking lot. Surely that should have deposited at least a few bucks into my car karma account. This, however, was one of those sad reminders that the universe does not work on a sort of simple checks and balances. Apparently I took a corner too quickly and no amount of good deeds for fellow car owners was going to save me from snapping that bracket. Physics wins in the end.
“At least it is something stupid and not a short. Can you think of anything metal that we have that has two holes in it?”
“Only thing that comes to mind is a pop tab. And that is no good.”
“No, it needs to be steel or copper.”
Our hunt around the car and the apartment was fruitless and we came back inside defeated for the evening. Chris went into the yoga room to practice and I sat down to read. An hour and a half later Chris announced that he had found a possible solution to our problem. We were going to go strip car parts off an abandoned car that had been sitting two miles down the road for several months.
Sunday morning arrived, and we slept through most of it but immediately after a breakfast of banana pancakes we grabbed the pliers and screwdriver and started the two mile trek to the rusted out, abandoned Oldsmobile. Walking along the side the road is not the safest endeavor since sidewalks are a feature only found in the wealthier, touristy parts of the island. Speed limits have no meaning here and while some cars sail down the windy two lane road at breakneck speed others creep along, seemingly no faster than their cars idle. WIth the limited visibility around bends this is a dangerous combination and can turn out badly for anyone strolling along the shoulder. With this in mind, I was quite happy to see white bags of clippings lining the side of the road where overgrown brush had until recently hugged the blacktop. The sun was shining and the wind was blowing just enough to have a cooling effect without becoming nettlesome. I had to hand it to this Sunday morning. Sleeping in, banana pancakes, unpaved sidewalks and sunshine.
Reaching the Oldsmobile took climbing over a dilapidated chain link fence and winding our way through knee-high brittle grass. There it was on the top of a knoll as non-sequitur as the circular stone landscaping feature next to which it was situated. There, inside its rusty innards Chris found the wire to which the bracket we needed had been attached. Someone else had beaten us to our bracket and probably only took it because cutting the wire was easier than unscrewing the attachment. I wonder if they know what a valuable piece they carried away with them that day. Fortunately, Chris is one of those problem-solver types and was not easily discouraged. We poked around the stripped car for a while longer until Chris saw the solution in what I can only describe as a wire attached to a steel washer. He attacked the wire about four inches from the washer with the pair of pliers. We had not thought to bring a tool for cutting, but with resolute pinching and twisting, Chris had soon separated the needed piece from the rest.
Our walk back was just as sunny as our walk there, made even more so perhaps by the possibility of a running car on the horizon. Chatting merrily on the jaunt home, we were back in no time at all it seemed. Chris popped the hood, inserted the wires into the unbroken part of the bracket that still encircled the battery pole and hammered it down tightly with the help of the wrench. He placed the washer between the washers that had been liberated when the bracket broke and screwed all three together. He hopped into the front seat of the car, turned the key and the Beast roared to life. I let out a grateful sigh and promised to take corners with more care. Despite it being Sunday, Chris had come through and figured out how to get me to work the next morning and the process had even been rather enjoyable. Thank the Bahamas for sunny days and abandoned Oldsmobiles. Even if, as it turns out, a thunderstorm chased all my morning yogis away and my shoulders are tender from sunburn.
Food blogging is one of the marvels of modern times. I am an amateur foodie. A wanna be foodie. Or maybe I am a closet foodie who is just waiting for the time and place to come out. The fact of the matter is that I love food: picking ingredients, preparing ingredients and then putting everything together to create an aromatic symphony that tantalizes the taste buds. I really am not that great of a cook, but I like to fancy myself someday being able to wear a chef’s hat and apron without looking too pretentious. Okay, so a chef’s hat looks pretty pretentious even on a chef – after all, isn’t that kind of the point? Anyway, back to food blogging and how it is absolutely revolutionizing my food experience. The most obvious advantage is the sheer number of recipes that are now available online, complete with taste tests and tips and detailed instructions on what to expect and how to avoid the pit falls. Food blogs come in all sorts of flavors, some focusing on breads or Mexican dishes or noodles or vegetables or chocolate, while others represent the reality of most modern kitchens, sharing an eclectic mix of recipes from the every day to the gourmet. Whatever you are looking for, I can almost guarantee that you will find multiple recipes with different spins and tricks to get that taste you crave. Besides, having three or four or ten recipes at your fingertips gives you an idea of the basic ingredients and proportions and ideas on how to create variations based on what just happens to be in season (or in the fridge in my case). Most cookbooks will have one recipe for one dish and learning by yourself how to modify can be a lengthy process. Now, with the help of an entire community, you have a head start.
I won’t lie. I love cookbooks. I especially love a cookbook that is so loved that it lies flat on all my favorite recipes and has pages splattered with cooking oil or cake batter. You know, the books that have been through the battle of the rogue hand blender or exploding pyrex dish and have witnessed victory. If I could I would carry my cookbooks all over the world with me, but the truth is that my scuba gear gets top priority and my clothing second. Moving from mainland to island to island, I just had to give up the luxury of having my collection on hand. Here-in lies another beauty of the food blog network – even though I cannot carry a library with me, I can still access a diverse array of wonderful recipes. My favorite spot to begin any search or just to browse is tastespotting.com. Take a look, I know you will love it! Here are noteworthy recipes that have been taken from the thousands of food blogs out there and I have to tell you, I have never been disappointed by one of their recommendations! Merely flip through and click on a dish that looks interesting. It should link you to a blog that includes the recipe. Take your time and have a look around at other recipes on the site. You may just find a hidden treasure in those entries.
A huge part of food for me is the community and culture behind it. I have a highly associative relationship with food, both cooking and eating it. Tomato soup will always comfort me because it reminds me of dinners alone with my mom (even if it was only Campbell’s tomato soup). On nights when it was just the two of us, she would often pop open a can, add a bit of milk and we would sit down with our soup and a stack of Ritz crackers and talk about nothing imparticular. Even though I no longer eat beef, the smell of barbeque beef ribs take me back to summer time in Arizona when we would spend all day in the pool, my sisters and I putting on water shows and hosting diving competitions, until it was time to jump out, dry off and sit down for an outside feast. Salad and corn on the cob and barbeque ribs; our smiles shining in faces covered with sauce. I could go on for countless pages about different dishes and what they mean to me. Doubtless more of those associations will come out, which brings me to the point. Food blogs are a fantastic way to celebrate the culture and meaning surrounding the food that we eat. Recipes are only part most posts with the story behind the recipe a huge part of what the author wants to share. We do not love food only for its taste but for the way that it makes us feel, bringing together the family or celebrating the coming of summer or warming us up on a cold night. Today I came across the blog of an Israeli woman who was cooking all her mothers recipes and sharing them with the world. How wonderful to give such a treasure to the rest of us simply to share the passion for this food; not just the recipes but also her thoughts and memories that go along with it. These blogs are a sort of community, a way to share our experiences, whether we are cooking for one or for many.
