she's just saying...

What's in your cupboard?

I love and admire my big sisters. They're role models and (now that they're no longer babysitting me) friends. And they're both great cooks.

Sister #1 (the eldest) visits me at Christmas about every other year. She loves to take on cooking the big fancy meals and I love to let her. She always has a new recipe or approach she wants to try as well as the old favorites. We're both "foodies" (I know, I hate that word too) and use what some might call exotic or gourmet ingredients. But every year, there's an ingredient she needs for a dish that I don't stock.

The first year, it was white pepper. I'm a black pepper fan and had never seen the need to use any other color, but after not having it that year, I was sure to keep it in stock. (It's a more delicate flavor and doesn't mess up a white dish with unsightly black flecks, if you have to know.)

The next year it was capers, which I do normally have, but had run out and not restocked. Two years ago it was Kitchen Bouquet. "You don't have any Kitchen Bouquet???" she asked incredulously. I'll confess I had no idea what it was, though I'd seen in in my mom's cupboard. I also don't cook beef so didn't use it in gravy, which was what S#1 wanted it for. This sticks in my mind because my niece innocently asked what was wrong with the gravy, and was informed that it looked that way because "Melissa doesn't have any Kitchen Bouquet!" You better believe I went and bought some after that.

This year, I carefully checked my supplies, laid in several more pounds of butter and a quart of half-and-half and figured I was good. And I was, pretty much, except for dried tarragon and white wine vinegar. Honestly, how can you make Bearnaise sauce without tarragon and w.w.vinegar?  (I didn't get any points for growing fresh tarragon as it had already died. And I had FOUR other kinds of vinegar, but oh well.) 

Well, S#1 managed with fresh parsley and shallots (both of which I did have on hand), and the Bearnaise and the entire meal was incredible. Then she made Hopping John for New Year's and that was delicious as well. (I ran out of onions for that one but the neighbors came through.) It was a wonderful visit and I'm glad she made the trek across the continent to see us.

Of course, now I'm a little paranoid about the deficiencies of my pantry -- what will it be next time? Any guesses?

The mysterious "Kitchen Bouquet"

Taa-daa! The finished objays

Now that all the recipients have opened their gifts (except BigBro), I can reveal the results of my knitting marathon (except BigBro's).

First: felted clogs:

Next, many headbands ("Calorimetry" for my Knitty and Ravelry buds):

The ever-popular knitted mitts:

an apple cozy (THIS WAS BY REQUEST)

and a little gray mouse.

Gee, it seemed like I made a lot more than that. Of course, this doesn't show the items that were ripped out, abandoned, half done or just begun. Now to get to them... (January birthdays coming)

PS: the answer to this riddle can be found in the first photo.

You don't need to card me. Really!

As a single mom with a full-time job, some things just have to go.

(Note: this is a terrific excuse to get out of just about anything. Who would question it?)

For me, one of those things is Christmas cards. I know it's wonderful to send (and receive) a personal holiday greeting, but it's just not going to happen from this house. I don't even send my garbage bill by mail -- either it's on-line or it doesn't get paid.

Since my primary means of communication with my friends is through this blog or facebook (even those who live a few blocks away), it follows that those are the vehicles I'll use for my Christmas messages. It's not called social media for nothing.

When I was a girl, I remember my father sitting in his study every December, smoking his pipe and working on our Christmas card list. Adding those folks who sent us one the year before, removing long-forgotten acquaintances, typing it all out on his (now collectible) manual typewriter. It was a responsibility taken seriously.

As a result of course, I now carry guilt about not sending out cards myself. For many years, I bought cards with all good intentions, and maybe sent out 4 or 5, but one of the things that come with getting old is the wisdom of knowing yourself, so I no longer attempt the effort.

So, though I love getting your cards, I really don't mind if you take me off your list. It lessens the pangs of regret I feel around the mailbox this time of year. Not to mention being more environmentally-friendly: another quite useful justification for not doing things.

Just some of the cards you won't be getting from me...

Big Steve Weighs In

I love guest bloggers! Here's a post from MyBigBro:

My current situation, illustrated:

My fantasy career:

My goal:

My past:

Where I am now:

 

Next step:

And finally:

My dream date:

Party like it's April 15th

Anybody out there not filed their 2008 taxes yet? Just me? And I'm getting a refund!

Well, the deadline for those extensions is this Thursday. And since my taxes are going out tomorrow, I'm AHEAD of schedule. Don't call me a procrastinator!

To be honest, I'm really a highly skilled procrastinator. I somehow can sense the exact minute when I have to start a project in order to finish right before (or on) the deadline. And then and only then do I buckle down. Often I'll actually start it early, then let it slide til the bell goes off in my head that says FINISH NOW. Is it that I need the adrenaline rush of pressure to motivate me, or am I just a slacker? Dunno, but it's unlikely I'll change the habit at this point.

My mother blames it all on the infamous Frog Pages of second grade, which I didn't finish and the teacher let slide or something. Frankly, I can't remember, but it made an impression on her that I hear about to this day. "It all started with the Frog Pages!" is the familiar refrain.

What can I say? It's been working for me ever since.

This is not from my frog pages, but go ahead and color it if you wish.

Zucchini risotto, a la Susan

 

 

I've made this a lot, as you can see

Note: This subject is now in the running with fowlwear as the highest searched phrase that leads innocents to my blog. So I'm republishing this with my sister's notes. Enjoy!

Henry will eat an entire pan of this, and that's at least a couple zucchini right there. Save this for when we actually have the warmth to grow something in Central Oregon and it turns out to be zucchini.

My sister Susan won a cooking contest with this recipe many years ago, and it is truly a winner. However, two of my sister's four major food groups are cream and butter (merlot and chocolate being the other two), so I've lightened and simplified her recipe. This is easily a work-night dinner, providing you have risotto rice and zucchini. Or a great side to anything. And it lasts and heats up great for leftovers.

Zucchini Risotto

Buy the real Arborio rice - even Safeway carries it now. And for the love of god, don't use Kraft parmesan. Though I know you don't, do you?

2 T butter (down from my sister's 6 T - if you want to go there, be my guest)
1 C Arborio rice
4+ cups chicken stock (free-range organic, of course)
1 egg yolk (I use the whole egg, actually)
1/4 cup half-&-half or milk (Susan's original calls for heavy cream - right!)
1 T olive oil - but who measures?
3 small zucchini, sliced thin or grated if easier
1/4 cup parmesan or more
2 lg garlic cloves (admission: I use jarred chopped garlic - nothing would get cooked here if I didn't)
1 bunch scallions or chopped onions or shallots - whichever
salt/pepper
1/2 c chopped ITALIAN parsley - don't ever use the frilly garnish kind - no flavor
juice of 1/2 lemon
1/3 cup or so of white wine - whatever you're drinking at the moment

So, if you've never made risotto before, it's way easier than its reputation.First, melt 2 T of the butter and the olive oil, add the onion and saute slowly.

(Mmmm, the smell of frying onions - guaranteed to make men go wild, if you're looking for that sort of thing.)

Once they're soft, throw in the garlic (so it doesn't burn), then all the rice, with a little more oil. I know, seems weird with no liquid, but that's risotto. Stir fry the rice for a few minutes, then add about a cup of broth. Traditionally, it should be hot, which you can do in a glass pyrex cup measure in the microwave. But you don't have to.

The key to risotto is to keep adding the broth as the rice sucks it up - it should never be dry or conversely, drowned. You do have to stir regularly, though not continuously as the books would say.

Now, my sister sautes the zucchini with garlic in a separate pan, but I don't because I'm all about one-pot meals. The cheater way is to add the zuke when the rice is almost done, along with the cream, egg and parmesan, lemon, wine, salt/pepper and parsley. I throw it all in together and it comes out fine.

You'll need to correct the rice with broth or hot water if it isn't done enough or is too dry. Cook til it's done. This is where my sister adds the additional 4 tablespoons of butter. Because it's not rich enough.

I'm realizing it's really hard to write recipes down when you cook intuitively. If you'd like a step-by-step explanation of risotto, you'll need to use a cookbook.

Notes from my sister:

"Oh, for heaven's sake-- one-quarter cup of heavy cream in a recipe with a quart of chicken stock isn't going to kill you. I won the cooking contest many years ago, when risotto was wildly ambitious. The reason you should saute the zucchini beforehand is that it holds its shape better. If you just add it raw (wrong! wrong!) it turns to mush and becomes one with the rice. There. The genie has spoken."

Blogcation

(If trend-spotters can name the time-honored practice of staying home "staycation," I can coin the term "blogcation." I may not be the first but I'm laying claim.) That's why you haven't heard from me for a few days. I'm at our annual family reunion at my parents' house, before the rest of the family shows up.

I'm currently in the western hills of North Carolina (which sounds a lot more scenic than it is, IMO) after a disastrous journey that included an unplanned drive to Portland, an unplanned overnight in Atlanta (paid by me, not the airline) and a lot of chicken nuggets. Plus, the only way to return to Portland (and our car) is leaving the morning of the 4th. Whatever, we're here.

The weather here is much nicer than usual, i.e. my hair is only twice its normal size, not 4 times, and I'm not "glowing" with sweat. I've remembered the secret to hanging out with family in the South:  gin. So I'm cool. Henry is enjoying the pool and awaiting the cousins. I'm enjoying the quiet before the hordes. [Who I can't wait to get here, if you're one of my siblings. Really!]

What are your plans for the 4th? Are fireworks involved? As customary in Bend, we're waiting to see if the Butte catches fire again, but that's another post.

In memory on Memorial Day

I'd like to share this again with you. This is a repeat of last year's post, updated for the anniversary date.

Jay Zemotel, Fairbanks, 1978

I didn't realize til just this moment that it is May 25, the 24th 25th anniversary of my husband's suicide. What a long time ago that seems. Truly another world, another lifetime.

Jay was a bluegrass guitar player and singer from Boston. He and his friends had a band that was very popular in Fairbanks, the town we lived in in the late 70's. When we met, it was love (or something like it) at first sight. He was wild and smart, funny and fatalistic. He did everything to the extreme: music, motorcycles, drugs, alcohol, love. He had a ponytail and a crazy dog and I thought he was everything I'd never experienced. I was a sheltered, suburban, private-college girl and he was the real world. He could walk into any bar and be at home. At the time that seemed like something.

I grew up during our short time together. Learning to live as a couple, on my own truly for the first time, trying to mesh very different backgrounds and values. There was love, fighting, fear and finally awareness. I was in way over my head and was going to drown with him or remove myself from that quicksand. Before the divorce was final, he succeeded too well at one of his occasional attempts at suicide, something I still believe he didn't mean to do.

For years I couldn't listen to a certain type of bluegrass without crying. Now it brings me closer to him. I have nothing left of our life together except some photos, and the only people I know who remember him are my family. He lived hard, tried to be happy, and loved me the best he could. I remember you, Jay, and you live on in my heart.

Big Steve's little kitteh

My brother has now gotten into kitten fostering. Here's one of his latest.
moar funny pictures

Strapping on, buckling in and tightening up

Well, for all you people who thought this might be an exciting bondage post (or is it just me whose mind travels along those paths?), this will be a disappointment because it's about KNITTING! Peripherally at least.

As you may remember, I painstakingly knit my big sis an entrelac purse um, a few months ago. Knitted, felted, blocked. But months later, it's still awaiting a strap. We agreed that a webbing strap might be most comfortable (neck issues) and I found a purse strap set all ready to go with nice hardware. But it wasn't adjustable, and I couldn't figure out how to sew the rings on without a bunch more work. Let me just say here that I'm really tired of looking at this purse.

So, inspired by my nylon briefcase, I decided to go get the adjustable ring hardware and do it that way. After hours on the internet ("she has no life!"), I found out the thing above was called a tri-glide, a center-bar, a rectangular slider, or a number of other labels, and you can buy them from buckleman.com. Not wanting to pay $7 shipping on a .45 cent item and wait, I went out to find one, and FOUR STORES later, I'm admitting defeat.

Popped into Joann Fabric and came up empty on the hardware, though props for the large webbing selection. At Michaels Crafts, nothing even close. Home Depot had industrial tie-downs that seemed a bit much. I then had a brainwave and hit Sportsman's Warehouse to find backpack straps/buckles. [Note: I'm always a bit apprehensive walking into a store that has on its signage: "Camping, Outerwear, Reloading."] They had a huge amount of bizarre and arcane implements of mass destruction, and actually came close to a buckle repair thing, but not really. So I gave up.

So, Susan, I apologize, but I'm now going to have to order on line and hope for the best.

To clean or not to clean: is that really the question?

Once again, I'm losing the battle in my fight against the evil axis of clutter, dust bunnies, projects and piles of paper. (I realize that there's a direct inverse relationship here: the greater my knitting and blogging output, the messier the house. I don't know why that should surprise me, but it just dawned on me tonight. It was during the thought process: "Geez, this house is really a mess... I think I'm going to finish that baby jacket. Or wait, maybe I'll just write about it!")

I really don't want to spend all my "free time" (ha) cleaning, but I'm not comfortable with the level of disarray that results. I'm conflicted. I blame it on my mother.

I grew up in a messy casual home, with piles of clothes and papers everywhere and toast crumbs and jam spills on the counter. As a reaction, as an adult with my own place, I strive to have the kind of home Henry's friends all seem to have, where visitors can drop in any time, there aren't hammers sitting on the dining room table and everything is tidy and spotless (albeit a bit dull, IMO).

On the other hand, clutter is in my genome, and cleaning isn't. So I have a constant tug of war with cleaning up and making a mess, picking up and spreading out. Sometimes I'm on the winning side and the house hums with organization and rectitude. Other times, it veers dangerously into the hovel state. Which is where it is now.

Back when I had a non-non-profit income and a house cleaner, all was under control. I had to pick up regularly for her (a family tradition: "Clean up for the cleaning lady!" which we thought was ridiculously funny.) Frankly, it was great. A lot of money went toward that peace of mind, which is now unavailable (the money and the peace of mind). 

After a full day of work, gathering Henry, cooking dinner, doing dishes and the inevitable homework/bed wrestle, cleaning is the last thing I want to do. So I wipe off the visible part of the counter, shuffle papers around, cart stuff from room to room and move piles from chair to floor, not making much of a dent.

But here I am, writing to you, and I've made a lot of progress on the Baby Surprise Jacket:

taking shape

The Big C

Hmmm. I though you guys would leap at the "Two Things" challenge. Maybe you're still working on it. Well, anyway, moving on...

My old roommate's mom was a very proper Southern lady from Nashville. We used to laugh about how she would carefully mouth the word "cancer" rather than speak it out loud: "Well, you know Betty Lou's husband has c a n c e r," she'd say, relegating it to the same impolite category as herpes  or mental illness. Cancer has a scary sound to it - she wouldn't mouth the phrase heart disease, for example.

Don't worry, I'm not about to announce I have c a n c e r, except for a little skin lesion now and then (loved that baby oil when I was 14!) Since half my immediate family has had the real thing (all survivors!), it does lurk as a possibility, but so do a lot of things.

It's on my mind today for two reasons. First, I went in this morning for my annual skin check, and for those who haven't done this, let me tell you: there could be nothing more fun than having a handsome young doctor examine every inch of your bare skin under fluorescent lights. Then he cuts away bits of it to examine even more closely. Ah, yes, I did look great with a tan all those years...

But, more important than my skin, another member of our knitting group is preparing for surgery in a few days for breast cancer. Like any fanatical devoted knitter, Julie's looking at it as an opportunity to get a lot of projects done. I'm standing by for emergency yarn shop runs as needed. 

You can head over to her blog and leave some encouraging words if you'd like. While you're there, be sure to check out the breast prosthesis (aka the titbit) she's knitting up. Hilarious, and quite practical, really.

Julie's had quite an eventful year, so here's a wish that 2009 is quiet in all the best ways.

Top Ten: Year in Review edition

You know the purported Chinese curse: "May you live in interesting times." This has been an interesting year, both globally and personally. Because this blog is ALL ABOUT ME, here is a top ten list of interesting things that happened in my life this year. (in chronological order - I'm not about to rank them!)

1. I started the Bend Knit-Up, which grew from six people to over a hundred in a year.

2. My dad turned 90, and we all celebrated together in NC and everyone got along.

3. AT&T bought Edge Wireless, and we no longer had any work, though we still had jobs.

4. Neighbor X and I broke up, got together, and finally broke up.

5. I taught myself the whole blogging thing, that which you are reading at this instant.

6. Henry and I went back east for a family trip and went to Fenway. Go Sox!

7. We were finally released from AT&T, though were still paid, allowing me a summer off.

8. I spent the summer off shoveling dirt and hauling rocks for my waterfall.

9. I got a new job at the High Desert Museum - yay! and patted a badger.

10. My dad broke his hip and I flew back east for the third time.

What were your interesting times?

The F.O.'s of '08

(knit slang for finished objects)

So here is the panoply of Melissa's Knitting Gifts for Christmas 2008:

Some of the many mitts for friends, nieces, teachers:

(I should be a hand model!)

Sweater for Beanie, the whippet. (awaiting a fitting)

(pre)Felted clogs for Mark (unfinished objects, or UFOs)

Pouch for my bro's earphones (not as garish as shown)

Re-fashioned bag for my mom

Socks for sister #2

Nothing showing yet for sister #1, who fortunately has a birthday in January, or for Henry or my dad, neither of whom will wear anything hand-knitted.

Coming down the home stretch on Sister #1, the dog sweater and the clogs for Mark. Then in January, knitting will be...

ALL ABOUT ME.

Ooo, the anticipation!

CC #2: Cookies

I'm counting yesterday's from-the-road posts as Christmas Countdown #3: traveling. So, onto #2: COOKIES. Another element of what Christmas is all about to the Hochschild family.

Sister #1 tends to outdo herself with cookie baking every year. I think she does six types, five of which are classics and one new one each year. Or something like that. 

Since it's just Mark, Henry, me and assorted passers-by this year, I'm staying with four varieties, plus add-ins from neighbors.

Rum balls made with cocoa and vanilla wafers are a must. Also Russian teacakes, doubled.

Gingerbread men (which we've been known to decorate the day after Christmas), brownie bites frosted with peppermint icing, and oh, right, I made mixed nut brittle (NO peanuts) already which counts. Really, that's all.

Then, starting Christmas Eve, we prepare the Cookie Plate, which is refreshed all week.

Stop by to have some or I'll be forced to eat them into January like last year.

Such a problem.

Last year's plate

CC #6 (belated): Fambly Christmas

 This may be an off-year Christmas for my family. It's the first time in years that Sister #1 and I (and the kids) haven't had Christmas together, and I'm seriously bummed about it. This year was Henry's and my turn to fly back east, but after three trips back there already and a new job, it was not going to happen.

Sister #2 has an interesting relationship with Christmas. She's a converted Jew and they've raised their kids in a Jewish household, but old memories die hard, so she gives and receives presents at Christmastime slash Hanukkah. I'm always careful to wrap theirs in blue and white non-denominational paper. 

Big Bro is not in the Christmas mood this year, for various reasons. He'll be at the parents' house but both he and my mom have said they're not planning to do much for Christmas this year "except for the food." Of course, with my dad still in rehab and my mom coping alone, we don't expect her to have energy left for making merry. We're sending presents anyway.

It will be a quiet Christmas here, but we're looking forward to it. No travel, no guests; except our bestest friend Mark who's flying up from LA to be with us again - we've shared Christmas with him for seven years now. Mark's the fun, bad-boy uncle-figure for Henry, and a funny, supportive partner for me. We plan to play in the snow (Henry), drink a lot (Mark and me) and not do anything we don't want to. We might even (shock of shocks) go out for Christmas dinner. That to me would be the ultimate Christmas treat.

So, what are your plans? Full-on tradition or a more unconventional approach?

CC #8: Nog

Christmas Countdown #8: Eggnog

I love eggnog. I like it homemade, and I like the over-sweet sticky stuff straight out of the carton. I only buy “light” eggnog (there’s an oxymoron) – I can’t handle the sugar and fat shock of the full-strength variety. I'm sort of obsessed with Starbuck's eggnog lattes, and I especially like eggnog with some rum and bourbon laced in. In fact, I’m sipping some right now!

Eggnog reminds me of a Christmas morning long ago when my husband Jay and I were driving our old VW bus from Boston to New Haven for Christmas with my sister and family. The bus (which we bought used and then drove across the country) seized up on the turnpike near Groton.

We had our Siberian husky, Buns, in the back, along with our presents and a pitcher of real homemade eggnog, complete with whipped egg whites, full cream, alcohol and all, that was my big Christmas morning food contribution. We ground to a halt halfway down an exit ramp and waited for the highway patrol. I opened the bus's sliding door and Buns jumped out, knocking over the eggnog and running up and down the highway. The bus reeked of hard liquor and was covered in sticky alcoholic goo. We suddenly weren’t as excited about flagging down the highway patrol.

Jay hiked down to some ratty-looking apartments to call my sister while I tried to catch the dog. I don’t actually remember much of the rest of the visit, other than renting a U-Haul to tow the bus back to Boston. I always regretted losing that eggnog, though, and when I make it I remember Jay and that crazy dog.

10 day countdown...going postal

Stealing a great idea from Hack Bend, I'm going to initiate a countdown to Christmas. Why? 'Cause I'm always looking for easy blog content, silly!

So, since I missed the 12 days of Christmas start date, I'm going to do the 10 days til Christmas, starting with:

10. Mail Anxiety

I've got to get packages in the mail immediately or pay the convenience cost of three-day shipping or less. Since each family member lives in a different state, it's a process every year, including finding small boxes and then bigger boxes, scissors and tape; wrapping, labeling and sealing; getting to the mailing store and getting the damned things out.  Weirdly exhausting. I normally wait til the last minute to try to include all the presents in one box, which include our family's tradition of buying a huge sockful of stocking gifts for each person. In the end, I usually turn to amazon.com to fill in the gaps, at its (very-convenient) pricey convenience charge.

So, enough of this blog-crastination. Time for Mr. Zip and me to get busy.

The secret to time travel

I've discovered how to instantly travel through time, both past and future. Visit your parents. 

Alone with my parents, with no siblings or children to anchor me in the present, I became the lonely eleven-year-old again, or a self-conscious fourteen, or maybe a sullen sixteen, trailing along after my mother, carrying grocery bags of stuff and sighing deeply. My parents reminisce about some cute (embarrassing) thing I did when I was ten, my dad says I'm a good little nurse, my mom gives me chores. They even call me by my childhood nickname (which I despise).

Then, suddenly, I'm the adult caretaker. Clearing up the AT&T bill, fixing the answering machine, driving everywhere, showing my mom how to use the cellphone, cooking meals and cleaning up. 

Seeing my father in a nursing home (for his rehab) was a shock: sort of a ghost of a possible Christmas future. I wondered how he felt: completely lucid and healthy, surrounded by his age cohort but not of them in a way, but unable to leave. Good motivation to get through rehab and get back home. 

All in all, an unsettling trip, reminding me to appreciate the present time once again.

Visiting the 'rents

Nothing like the grinding drag of boredom to exhaust you to the point of torpor. So how's your day going?

Whoops. Back to my happy place. I'm realizing that I like being home. I like my house, my clothes, my kitchen, my music, my TIVO, my bed, my neighbors, my refrigerator, my bathroom, my washing machine, my pets, my son, my car... I'm looking forward to being home again.

So, I'm getting a LOT of Christmas knitting done while visiting my parents. How about you guys? I'm now on my sixth pair of mitts, including the two pair I did that I screwed up on and use myself. I'm loving Debbie Bliss Cashmerino Aran, my new favorite yarn. It's the perfect yarn, period.

My dad is doing well, considering. They have him walking already (with a walker and two assistants), even putting some weight on his new hip. The xray is crazy - a lot of Home Depot nuts and screws in there. I'd be curious to see this surgeon's home repair jobs.

North Carolina is stultifying (a great crossword entry). I have nothing more to say on that. Somewhere in the world things are happening. Just not here.