Hopscotch Cookie-Baking

Saturday, Jun 27, 2009 | Recipes | 3 comments

Baked these cookies with Fooey on one of the hottest afternoons so far this summer. Because they’re made with peanut butter, I’ve been waiting till school’s out to try the recipe (what’s the point of whipping up a huge batch of non-lunch-box-friendly treats?). Due to the weird and wonderful hotscotch world of Facebook, I acquired this recipe via my Facebook friend, Laura, who is actually the childhood friend of my real-life friend and neighbour, Nina; Laura got the recipe from Nina’s mom, Bonnie, and dug out the recipe and posted it on her Facebook account; I’d asked Nina for the recipe several years ago after eating them at a birthday party, but neither of us followed through. So I was pretty excited to discover Bonnie’s recipe within my grasp. Laura’s recipe noted Nina’s substitutions, but came without any directions, which I’ve added. Bonnie doubles it. Here’s the recipe:

Bonnie’s cookies

1 cup lard (or butter; or peanut butter), creamed with 1 and 1/2 cups brown sugar (Bonnie uses 2 cups). Add in 2 eggs beaten with 1 teaspoon vanilla. In a separate bowl, sift together 1 and 1/2 cups flour, 1 teaspoon salt, 1 teaspoon baking powder, and 1 teaspoon baking soda. Combine with wet ingredients. Then using your very strongest arm, add in 3 cups of oats, and 1 cup of smarties or other bright coloured round candy, or chocolate chips. I ended up kneading the oats and smarties into the stiff batter. Place by tablespoons onto tray. Bake at 375 for … well, here is where the controversy sets in. 8 minutes if you want them gooey and soft, like Bonnie makes them (remove from the oven before they look remotely baked). I baked them 10 minutes and they were much harder, but transportable, and still soft on the inside. But not like Bonnie’s, I was informed by Nina, who tested them in our backyard yesterday.

Enjoy.

Because There Just Aren’t Enough Messy-Baby-Face Photos in Blogland

Thursday, Jun 25, 2009 | Local Food | 0 comments

One strawberry: that’s all it took to cover our lad from head to toe. I like how Kevin’s hand is the only element in this composition that is actually in focus: the calm, still element. Yesterday was our first CSA pickup (Community Shared Agriculture; our fourth year participating), and CJ chose the box (er, the one with the strawberry already half-eaten), and then he proceeded to decorate himself with said strawberry all the way home. Is it possible to have too much local food? We’ll explore that question in-depth this summer with a series of practicums. Right now, I’d say it might just be possible to have too much local lettuce, though now that it’s all washed and de-slugged and spun and tucked into bags in the fridge it looks quite appetizing.
Tonight’s supper plot: DIY taco salad (ie. unmixed for those whose individual foods Must Never Touch; not to mention to accomodate our variety of intense food preferences and abhorrences. Tomatoes! Gak!).
Right now, I’m sitting here obsessively checking the weather radar, trying to determine, with my imaginary PhD in forecasting, which part of this massive summer storm is going to hit us, and when, and whether or not it will arrive with the promised golf-ball-sized hail (please, no!). I was so looking forward to picking the big kids up from their Last Day of School, strolling as always; but have Kevin on alert (he’s got the vehicle today). If I press the panic button, he will meet them in my stead. I’m still hopeful despite rumble, rumble, eerie black sky.

Easy Freezie

Tuesday, Jun 23, 2009 | Uncategorized | 0 comments

Recipe for a happy after-school transition: pour any flavour of juice into molded plastic and freeze; meanwhile, raise the temperature outside and throw in plenty of sun with judicious sprinklings of shade; collapse on porch or yard or sidewalk with magical ingredient in hand; dig for ants, read a magazine, lounge, wander, bliss out. This too can be yours, if for ever so fleetingly (how long does it take a popsicle to melt?).

Good Old Crumbs

Monday, Jun 22, 2009 | Chores | 0 comments

To summarize our weekend: rain, putter, party, mojito, party, mojito, party, slumber, wake, drive, bridal shower, munch, drive, coffee coffee coffee! mud! laundry! piles!
Yesterday evening, Kevin and I engaged in how-much-tidying-can-you-squeeze-into-fifteen-minutes-honey? And managed to dislodge a few crumbs, if not the bulk of the disorder accrued over days upon days of general household living. A place for everything and everything in its place: fundamentally, I’ve got that down. In practice, however, I am accomodating more and more the notion that layers, spills and dirty dishes add character.
In stroller news: friends have gifted us a replacement, and I’ve stopped creeping ebay and kijiji in a vain effort to find our old one. I want such losses to make me better; or at the very least not to make me bitter. Bitterness is such a self-disfiguring emotion. Life is loaded with hardships to overcome, and this weighs very lightly on such scales. So, better not bitter, better not bitter, better not bitter. Onward.
Supper plot: green pasta (arugula, sunflower seeds, olive oil, garlic, and fresh basil ground together into a pesto-ish paste over whole wheat pasta; add-your-own parmesan), and a side dish of tofu stir-fried with green garlic and asparagus and tamari sauce. To be continued …

Eat, Cry, Try

Saturday, Jun 20, 2009 | Local Food | 2 comments

Fooey and I, lying side by side in a play tent in our living-room, talking (subjects: camping trips we’ve taken, going to the beach, marshmallows on graham crackers, etc.). “Do you know what we’re doing, Mommy? We’re having a chat!” The wonder and pleasure in her voice.

Does that plate at the top of the page make you hungry? Bacon, fried potatoes, open-faced egg sandwich on local greens, local tomato (must be hothouse). That entire meal is made from ingredients sourced at Nina’s buying club. Local, local, local, and good. I am using her club as my grocery store, though since we still like to eat apples and bananas and drink coffee, we have to visit the actual grocery store (or our neighbourhood health food store, Eating Well) for odds and ends. Buying club was last night and my fridge is stuffed.
If you have Simply in Season (cookbook), I highly recommend its spring quiche trio recipe. We made one with a crumb crust and one with a grated potato crust (pictured above); both very very good indeed, and filled with what seemed very little but became plenty: we filled the potato crust with uncooked chopped green onions and grated garlic cheese, and the crumb crust with leftover hamburger and sliced apples (don’t tell the kids; the apples were scavenged from their lunch boxes). Over top of each was poured three beaten eggs and one cup of milk. It was supposed to be evaporated milk, but we used regular. And, yes, the “we” is deliberate: these were made by group effort. It was that brutal witching hour after school, and CJ was short on his nap, everyone exhausted from too many late nights in a row (we’re heading toward the longest day of the year), the noise a pure cacophony of misery (here’s what it sounded like: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mi6ksjFSg-k) … yet food needed to be prepared. Why can’t I be like Soule Mama? I asked myself somewhat despairingly. There must be some way to involve these kids.
So I did. Albus cut the butter into the flour for the crumb crust and stuck it into the pie plate, and Fooey whisked the egg/milk mixture. CJ was not going to be cheered under any circumstance, however, though he stood in his high chair at the counter and with irritation and occasional screaming (whoo, this boy can scream) he pawed at and rejected the edibles I kept tossing at him. What he wanted was his Mama, and his favourite spot on the couch. Soule Mama, how do you do it? I would file this experience under Mixed Success … the older children were pleased to help, their moods greatly improved; but their participation only reminded the babe that he wasn’t being treated with equal respect. He thinks he’s their size, of course.
Yesterday, after buying club, he attempted to follow Apple-Apple’s lead at the little park. She easily steps off the play structure onto a ladder about a foot away; he was sure his legs were just as long. They weren’t. He would have walked confidently into thin air had I not been right behind him.