Queenly Things

In the Sunshine of My Lo-oo-oo-oove

It's gettin' near dawn,

When lights close their tired eyes.

I'll soon be with you my love,

To give you my dawn surprise.

I'll be with you darling soon,

I'll be with you when the stars start falling.

I've been waiting so long

To be where I'm going

In the sunshine of your love.

It was a Thursday afternoon. We were on our way back from a drive to Oxford where we did not run into Inspector Morse nor Inspector Lewis. We passed through one storybook village after another on our way back to our self-catered thatched-roof cottage in Market Lavington and it occurred to us that we'd been in England for four days and had yet to have Tea. We spied a little pub in Pewsey, right along the water and pulled in. I don't remember what the others ordered but I pointed to a tall yellow cake filled with cream and berries and said, "I'd like that, please." It was, I came to find out a Victoria Sponge sometimes referred to as a Victoria Sandwich. Maybe it was the ambience  out on the grass near the canal in a fairy tale village in England with friends, but that cake was something I'll never forget, it was a whole lotta scrumptious.

Making a good Victoria Sponge is an honored accomplishment. But I came across Nigella's recipe and thought I could master the cake part. No, my stumbling blocks were; a.) what to do with all that cake since only two one of us here eats cake and b.) what to do about getting the Devon cream that cushions the layers of cake. A large crowd that wanted to eat Victoria Sponge never presented itself at my house but I thought if I deconstructed the cake I could eat a little and freeze the rest. Also, I could travel the 20 miles to the British grocery store to get Devon cream but I knew I would never buy just the cream, because there would be brown sauce and Fox's golden crumbles, and Irish bacon and golden syrup and...and...and... so I'd have to settle for something I could wrangle at the Safeway.

I found this substitute Devonshire Cream recipe online. Blimey!!! It is some of the best creamy goodness I have every tried. I'm thinkin' even if you CAN get the real Devon Cream you should still give this a whirl, it's that good.

Here's my deconstructed Victoria Sponge with black cherries instead of berries or jam

And here's your piece.

And here's the recipe for the "fake" Devon Cream

4 ounces mascarpone cheese

1 cup heavy whipping cream

1 tsp. vanilla

1 - 2 Tablespoons sugar

Beat until sturdy. Lick the beaters and the bowl, the spatula and your fingers, put the rest in the fridge maybe keeping a spoon nearby so you can occasionally test it to make sure it's still okay. Wouldn't want it to go bad, or anything. I like to test mine a couple of times a day. Just in case.

And about putting the extra cake in the freezer? Yeah, that didn't happen. I'm still nibbling at it.

(to the first person who gets the connection between the song lyrics and today's post I will send a little something)

We're the Kids in America

 
Have a safe and fun-filled Independence Day. Pork out on the ribs and sign your name in sparklers and picnic 'til the cows come home. Hug your family and sing all those red, white and blue songs that make tears come to your eyes. Throw a frisbee, eat the potato salad right out of the serving bowl, take a nap on the grass and pass me that tub of fried chicken, please. Oh, and a napkin. 

Absolute Chaos

The chaos theory, if I understand correctly, which I'm not sure I do, but I think it's the whole "a butterfly moves its wings in Tierra del Fuego which makes a leaf fall and a squirrel scurry, then a car swerves to avoid the squirrel and so on and so on and so on, and chaos ensues until - well, until something really momentous occurs. Read about it here but trust me, put on your glasses and your thinking cap for this one and don't blame me if your eyes roll back in your head and you fall over faint, it's clearly obviously written by scientists.

 In any case, suffice it to say that chaos reigned (and has reigned for months) in the Queen's craft room. Fabric and scraps were piled nearly to the ceiling in very unorganized hillocks. Something really momentous needed to occur here to start moving some of this stuff along. Then I came across something called the Chaos Crumb technique of creating quilt squares. For a wonky cat like myself it is the plus ultra of quilt squaring. I mean no measuring - well, hardly any - nothing much in the way of precision AND it eats up scraps like a mighty Hoover.

It has to do with crumbs and strings (there are always strings, ne c'est pas)? But this kind soul has published a tutorial that is fairly comprehensive. I had to actually work along with the pictures but once I got it there was no stopping me. Yesterday I ground through a massive mountain of cotton scraps.

I started small and a little apprehensive, but once I started, mystery lover that I am, I couldn't wait to put on the next round and then the next round to see how it was all coming together. And once again - NO measuring!!! Pinch me, am I dreaming?

I whipped up a good part of 36 squares just yesterday afternoon. I have a few more rounds to go and then I will put them all together to make my very first patchwork quilt. Yay!!!

The plan is to back the quilt with this super-soft vintage 100% cotton sheet and then quilt away. I've got butterflies in my tummy from the excitement of it all. Watch out.

Hoisted by My Own Rhubarb

Even in sunny California, where it seems that everything grows all year long, there are still some things you can only get in the good ol' summertime. So when I see stalks of rhubarb in the market, I know that vacation days are near.

Maybe rhubarb is an old lady's delight,I don't know. It seems that most kids these days have never heard of it, much less tasted it. All I do know is that I can't wait until it makes its appearance each year. Many an August had me begging for rhubarb pie instead of birthday cake. It was my favorite-of-all-favorites pie. It was a once-a-year deal. 

I remember in the Little House series, when Laura Ingalls was newly-married, she gathered up some stalks of "pie plant" to make a treat for her husband. He dug in to his dessert and the expectant smie on his lips turned in to a pucker because - ack - the mrs. had forgotten to sweeten the rhubarb. I remember biting into  a hunk of that beautiful pink plant once. Pa-tuey! But cooked up right with a little sugar - mmmmmm, makes my mouth water.

I couldn't resist grabbing a bit of rhubarb at the framer's market this morning, after all its time is running out. But there would be no pie today as temperatures soared to 97º - no oven was going on in this house, oh, no. A Rhubarb Pudding, now? That seemed perfect. ( Rhubarb Pudding - sounds so much nicer than STEWED Rhubarb, doesn't it)?

Rhubarb Pudding

1 lb. rhubarb, peeled and chopped

3/4 cup sugar + a couple more tsps.

2 Tbsp. cornstarch

1/4 cold water

Bring 1 1/2 cups water to a boil. Add 3/4 cup sugar, let it dissolve then throw in the rhubarb. Cook until soft, about 10 minutes. Dissolve cornstarch in the cold water, then stir it into cooked rhubarb. Bring to a boil again, stirring constantly until thickened. remove from heat.

Pour into serving dish and sprinkle with some more sugar. Let cool.

Serve lukewarm or cold with milk or custard or...

this. 

And no, I did not put the nozzle in my mouth and fill up my cheeks with sweet creamy (light creamy btw) goodness before I swirled it over the luscious rhubarb. I did not.

What's the Word, Hummingbird?

One week into my summer and what do I have to show for it? Well, I've read a murder of mysteries.

 

Sewn up a bulging of bags.

Taken a simmering of siestas.

And done a fling of thrifting.

And there's still seven weeks left to go.

'Scuse Me While I Kiss These Guys

Hmmmmm, Ranger or Morelli? Eeny meeny...Oh, and then there's Diesel. This could take a while, girls.

Could You Be Mine?

It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood. Come on. I'll just put on a slouchy ol' sweater and some sneakers and we''ll be off on our walk. Let's turn down Brown Street so named by me because all the houses are brown. This is a cul-de-sac as are several of the streets around here which is why I rarely get to see what's going on in my own little hood.

This is a neighborhood of condos and townhomes mostly built in the seventies. They are in the style of suburban hippie chic. These were meant to be starter homes but with the price of houses 'round these parts people have stuck around and just really snazzed up their places.

A breath of fresh air in an otherwise dung-colored world. I love the inner courtyards on these places. All the beautiful big mulberry trees stretching their shade across the asphalt lent a very peaceful filling to the little lane.

Until I came by this house. That yellow sign says something mean in German. How do I know? Well the first two words were really long and had mostly hard sounding consonants and the last word was verboten. Also, that bird house there up in the tree? A camera!!! These are my backyard neighbors and let me tell you, I was a little scared.

Until I saw this which was at their curb and led me to believe that...

they had a hand in this which is the round-about in the curve of the street. 

Maybe that cautionary yellow sign said, "don't pick the petunias". But that camera? Yeah, a little freaky. Let's head on over to the next street.

 

Magnolias are everywhere in this town. Except at my house. I wish we had one because I've always wanted to make a wreath with leaves. Here's a big old flower just waiting to bonk someone in the head.

Here we are at the end of the next street where there's a community garden. We are the waiting list for a space but at the rate plots are becoming available I'll never have to worry about my brown thumb.

This morning the gate was locked . Usually you can get in for a stroll. I love to see what people are growing. Today we'll just peek through the fence,shall we?

Poppies. Don't tell the DEA.

Chamomile.

Roses are popular. These big yellow ones perfumed the area as I poked my camera through the chain link fence.

I just loved this old blue Chevy truck. This whole area was once small farms and the houses were little shotgun shacks where the fruit pickers lived during the season. The last of the little homes was demolished last year. 

But way before farms and farmworkers there was this adobe - the oldest building in our town.

 

Surrounded by elderly pepper trees and manzanitas (or madronos, I'm not sure how to differentiate) sits a beautiful 250 year-old relic. It had a lengthy overhaul and is looking mighty spry.

My daughter had her wedding here a few years back. It was beautiful and convenient, being just around the corner from us.

So the last little house that stood around here was demolished last year as I mentioned. In their place someone has plopped down pretty good-sized homes. Nice big places that have no yards at all - just the legal 10-foot easement all around. Poor little kids who live there. But I spy, as I 'round the bend back to our place, that kids will never be thwarted in their fun-making. Here is a tree that is chockful of hand-painted birdhouses and in front...

a mermaid and an octopus appear.

A wonderful day for a neighbor.

Gotta Break a Few Eggs

Two facts I know you know about me; I love to travel and I love to eat. And I always try to combine the two. If you go with me, let me tell you, we're going to eat - not at McDonald's either. Well, except that time on the Big Island where McDonald's was selling Haupia (Creamy Coconut) Pie instead of Molten Apple, then, for the first time in decades, I searched out the Golden Arches.

Haupia pies in Hawaii, fried cheese curds in Wisconsin, corn cob jelly in Iowa, fried dill pickles along the Mississippi, gooey butter cake from Missouri, tuna Frenchies out Omaha way, pimento cheese in Charleston - these are the things travel dreams are made of. Not the recipes you find in regional cookbooks but the quirky little local delicacies you come across quite by accident. Home food.

And so it happened a few years back out on Cape Cod. It was our last day of vacation and we found the Daniel Webster Inn in Sandwich. It was pouring rain and, in fact, the week had not been quite what we'd expected when we toodled into Sandwich - a town that was exactly what it should have been; quaint and cute and full of charm. The Inn was magnificent and clearly a place where the locals liked to dine. It was fancy but it was our last day so we splurged. I had a Cranberry Martini (my sister was driving), a Chicken Pot Pie and for dessert, what I learned was a Yankee favorite - Grapenut Custard.

Mostly, I don't try to duplicate the local delights I taste while traveling, part of their appeal is enjoying them on the scene. But Grapenut Custard - this I could do. I thought. The pudding I sampled at the Daniel Webster Inn was a tall square of custard with Grapenuts as a crust on both the bottom AND the top - three inches of creamy egginess in the middle. On returning home I queried a few chefs who came from places like New Hampshire and Maine and they directed me to the back of the Grapenuts box. I searched the web and made more than a few tries but the results were never as delicious as the custard I'd tried that rainy day in Sandwich, Mass.

In all of my attempts the Grapenuts either mixed themselves up with the custard or dove to the bottom of the pan. I could not figure out how to convince them to make a lovely crispy layer on top. Then just a week ago I came across a recipe on a website that said to sprinkle Grapenuts over the top of the uncooked custard and then spray them with Pam to make it set. Although that sounded just a tad disgusting,  I was willing to do it to get that top crust. Was I finally going to get my here-to-fore dreamed about Grapenut Custard?

I was not. Don't let that browning on the top fool you. All the little Grapenut devils sunk to the bottom despite all the Pam I'd sprayed on top which caused the above-mentioned browning.

What's a foodie to do? I'll just work my way through this pan of eggs and cream and then try again, I guess. Would you like a fork?

The Unsavory and Oft Times Conniving Ways of a Certain Ms. Q.

Long ago, could have been the past December, but I really believe it was much longer ago than that - guilt has wiped the exact month from my brain - I checked out a bulky bag of books from my local library. In rapid succession, I read the handful of mysteries. Then quite languidly strolled through the four cookery books - all of them on the topic of Southern delights. I marked with sticky markers all the recipes that intrigued me with the full intention of copying them down for later use.

All the mysteries went punctually put back into the drive-up return box but the recipe books stayed by my bed waiting for me to transcribe. Some recipes were indeed copied but then my wrist got tired and my enthusiasm lagged and before I knew it, those books were cringing underneath my bed and below my dresser where they nearly froze last winter despite a healthy layer of dust bunny residue that coated them. (Perhaps that's why they wear dust jackets. Who knows).

Long about March their whispering pleas to get back to their home finally got through to me and I pulled out all the sticky markers and in the dead of one night returned the very, very, very overdue books to the library. And that, dear friends was the last time I set foot in that austere but respected building. However, now with summer vacation looming I couldn't bear my self-imposed exile from the golden stacks any longer. I was sure to face Consequences for my slackery and selfishness. But suffer I must. Trying to avoid the furrowed brows and disapproving stares of the Librarians, I paid my not-insubstantial fine online last week then laid low to see if any screaming e-mails would follow.

Not a whimper, so this afternoon I parked my car way around to the far side of the library in case there were retriever dogs roaming the grounds, then deftly insinuated myself in the middle of the crowd of good library patrons who were waiting patiently for the doors to open at 1 p.m. I slipped in to the lobby  unnoticed and raced to the new book shelves, dying to see what I had been missing all these long, cold months. Don't get me wrong, I've been reading all along, but only those books that my enabler friends would allow me to borrow. I wanted more much more. My hands darted, practically unseen, to the shelves as I filled my book bag with mysteries. I was certain that at any moment gorgons would fly from the ceiling to snatch the them away so I scurried quickly up the stairs to the non-fiction aisles.

Here was the test. I picked two cookbooks from their place in the 641's and when buzzers did not go off to announce me, the overkeeper of recipe books, in the building I took it as a sign and all but flew back down the winding steps. Only one hurdle left  - the checkout. I tiptoed past the busy librarians, certain that they must have photos of us delinquent borrowers taped near their stations and would, undoubtedly come roaring forth to grab back all the books I'd chosen. I was sneaky enough to avoid their attention and get all the way to the computer checkout machines without detection. 

I did just as that smiling albeit sinister screen instructed - no more than five books at a time did I allow to rest on the electronic pad. Scan card, it said. Ack!!! This was it. The jig would certainly be up and bells would ring, people would shout, firemen with hoses would surround me and little children would point their fingers and laugh. At me. I sucked in my breath and held it then gingerly scanned the card, closing my eyes in case the machine was set to spit slime at me.

And? Nothing.It kindly asked me to " have a nice day" and scrolled out a receipt. I stuffed all the books back into the canvas carryall and hightailed it out of there to my car, turned the key in the ignition and burned rubber right down the street. 

Phew!

Now, I'd like to keep my luck going for a while and so am enlisting you all to remind me to return or renew by the date on the above slip of paper. I don't think this old heart can take that kind of adventure again.

Thank you.

Once More with Feeling, Alice

This is, basically, why I work at a school - those two beautiful words at the bottom of the June calendar.

Whoo hoo!! I have a few more days next week to clean up but, for all intents and purposes, I'm done.

This, too, is a great benefit of working here - free carb-loading and

high-fat feeding frenzies. On a daily basis. Well, not quite but it seems that way at certain times of year. Yep, that's pretty much the whole reason why I stay at this job year in and year out - all the food and the vacation days. Ah, huh.

Also, this could have a little influence on my choice.

And this. (Don't you love their text/tag spelling? OMG!)

Oh, alright this stuff kind of keeps me going, too. What can I say?

Okay Mr. Cooper, queue the chorus if you will.

Out for summer
Out till fall
We might not go back at all

School's out forever
School's out for summer
School's out with fever
School's out completely