Wednesday, July 16, 2014

Panmarino becomes Italian Chive Bread


Chester chooses chestnuts, 
cheddar cheese with chewy chives. 
He chews them and he chooses them. 
He chooses them and he chews them. . . . . .
those chestnuts, cheddar cheese 
and chives in cheery, charming chunks. 
- Singin' in the Rain 

I never know when something will please my son and when something won't. Homebaked, homemade goods fill him with dread and suspicion, and he jumps to the conclusion that there is something odd and horrid hidden within. Tiny flecks of green or orange convince him that I have secreted vegetables, something healthy, into a cake or bread, any red meat in a stew means fat that must be dissected away, chunks mean the dreaded mushroom. Even a plain chocolate cake if not THE chocolate cake he loves fills him with mistrust, questioning my baking integrity, assuming that I am trying to pull the wool over his eyes and trick him into eating something… weird.

Monday, July 14, 2014

The Best, Old Fashioned Cherry Blueberry Cobbler


Summer afternoon—summer afternoon; to me those have always been 
the two most beautiful words in the English language. 
- Henry James 

Not much to do these steamy Florida afternoons. Locked in the house but to dash from inside to out to car to shops. Even inside with the sometime chill of the air conditioning when it is working one feels a summer sloth, hot and tired, too lazy to cook or bake. Infused with summer vacation. I keep mom entertained, drive her from errand to errand, and every afternoon we head to brother and sister's-in-law for a meal, talk and movie night.

Tuesday, July 8, 2014

Yoohoo/Mocha Frappuccino Panna Cotta


Home is a place you grow up wanting to leave, and grow old wanting to get back to. 
- John Ed Pearce 

The first morning, my mother and I sat in her kitchen cleaning out the cabinets as we awaited news of my wayward suitcase, which chose to remain in Paris as I flew off to Florida. First thing emptied was her large, state-of-the-art oven whose existence has been relegated to storage rather than baking. I pulled out box after box of cookies, candy bars, overly-sweetened, chocolate-studded treats trying to pass for granola bars, sweetened oatmeal and more cookies. I yanked open the tall pantry cupboard and unloaded can after can, many expired, of baked beans, tuna, soups and corn and stacked them on the counter. Out came more boxes of cookies, granola bars, cookies, sweet cereals and, yes, cookies. 

Wednesday, July 2, 2014

Peanut Butter on Toast


Gone — flitted away, 
Taken the stars from the night and the sun 
From the day! 
Gone, and a cloud in my heart. 
- Alfred Tennyson 

I've been eating peanut butter on toast, lunch and dinner, for the past two days. To be more precise, peanut butter on baguette, fresh or toasted, but that's just semantics. Fastidious. Under the circumstances. I've been eating a lot of peanut butter on toast. Peanut butter on toast is my ultimate comfort food. I eat it when I am sick and I eat it when I am sad. I woke up Tuesday morning, logged onto Facebook, as is my habit first thing after coffee, and discovered the death of a friend. A man just a year older than I, killed in an automobile accident in Orlando, Florida.


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