use real butter

Daring Bakers: I’m sorry to say there is no Dobos Torte here, my friends. For sanity’s sake, I punted this month’s challenge.

Admin: I’ve been falling behind in answering comments and I think this is a problem that will continue to snowball until it sucks me under. So instead of answering every comment, as I have done in the past, I’ll now address those comments with questions or discussions about specifics. Hopefully this will get you more timely answers to inquiries regarding the recipes. Thanks for understanding.

On Friday I drove down to the flats for a gathering of some bodacious ladies. It’s a collection of local bloggers, ski buds, friends from my old workplace, friends of friends – great gals all around. We keep calling these events stitch-n-bitches but really, it’s an excuse to eat and share stories and enjoy one another’s company. There is less and less knitting (in fact, none this time) as we are driven to the point of distraction with full on multi-course meals being served and about 4 or 5 conversations going on at any given time. It’s a party. I didn’t even bother bringing any knitting or sewing because I knew better. I did contribute some chocolate French macarons and two flavors of homemade ice cream since Manisha was making fabulous Indian street food for all of us.

babes who blog: indian food rocks, urb, the kitchen witch, the kittalog

You could take away the “stitching” and the “bitching” – you could even take away the food (but you’d have to pry the drink from Dana‘s cold, dead fingers!) and it would still be a wonderful time because the people make it so. One of the ladies I know through Manisha has stage IV brain cancer. When I met her, my hair was very short as it was finally growing back months after my chemo had ended. She smiled and said she recognized the “cut”. At the time, her brain tumor was shrinking with a radical treatment. Everyone was hopeful. She’s a delight to be around, a lovely woman, calm and sweet with a smile like a million tiny wildflowers.

Her tumor is back and has been unresponsive to treatment. When I offered her a macaron, her hands shook as she reached for one. She had difficulty explaining the next course of action in her treatment because she couldn’t think of the words. That’s all the tumor’s doing – the deterioration. We don’t know how much time she has, but the fear is that it isn’t much longer. Her loved ones are rallying around and making the moments count. She met a lot of new faces at the stitch-n-bitch. The point was for her, for everyone to have a good time. And we did.

Despite leaving my knitting and sewing projects at home, I did have a project that had to be completed at the stitch-n-bitch. I wanted portraits of everyone. I take pictures of my grandmother whenever I visit with her. She used to frown and mutter in Chinese, “Why do you need a picture of an old person?” and I’d tease, “because you’re my favorite old person,” and she’d laugh. She’s so used to my camera now that the last time I saw her she squared her shoulders and grinned, “Take a good one so I can use it at my funeral.” I know she’s only half joking and I oblige not because I want these pictures for her funeral, but because this is a small way to hold on to and remember those we cherish. So we piled into the backyard as soon as it had cooled off and I was able to capture the laughs and goofy antics of these hilarious and beautiful women. It’s something we sometimes overlook. It’s something I used to take for granted – that the people we care about will always be there. They will not. That is why the time we have together is precious.

Recipe: blueberry lime pound cake

Jeremy can tell I’m feeling like my old self again when I walk into the kitchen first thing in the morning and start cleaning. It helps me to reset after being sick and before tackling all manner of projects and tasks. He’ll say to me ever so sweetly, “Would you like a glass of orange ju-” and I will hold a wad of dirty dish towels in my hand and say, “THESE? These needed to go in the hamper three days ago. They’re filthy!” and walk off to dump them in the laundry. This indicates that Jen is back and fully operational. Just in time too – there is much to get done. This week we have retired my trusty old PowerBook to kitchen service. Thank you, Apple, for not sucking away countless weeks of my time the way a crapass Windows platform would (and has). Here is proof that form and functionality need not be mutually exclusive.

i dub thee: little buddy

That is just the first in a series of upgrades this month. Hold on to your seats, kids. Please keep all arms down inside the car while the ride is in operation…

I can’t tell if we’re experiencing a short respite from the heat or if this is a trending cool down. It’s 50°F on my deck this morning and the rest of the week is looking pleasant. You know what that means, don’t you? Autumn. It’s my favorite season. Then after autumn comes – SKI SEASON. *eeep!* What this means for use real butter is that I need to move all of these summery recipes out because before you know it, there will be four feet of snow to shovel off our driveway. For now we are snow free, but I’m really loving the cooler temps.

don’t mind me – i’m just chillin’ out… nice digs you got here

**Jump for more butter**

Recipe: chopped greek salad

I’m feeling so much better now! Thank you for all of your kind wishes. I have to say, when I have a cold the foods that comfort and heal me most are: 1) Mom’s congee made with homemade broth, chicken, ginger, and green onions 2) Mom’s ginger-brown sugar tea and 3) Mom’s sweet fermented rice soup (jou nian – I call it boozy sweet rice). I always forget about these goto “feel better when sick” foods until I talk to my mom. So there I was, croaky voice sitting on the couch telling my mom that I’m slowly improving when she rattled off the foods I should be eating. I think just hearing her say it in Chinese made me feel that much more improved. When I was little, the only thing that made me feel better was having my mom or Grandma (boy, I was *spoiled*) pick me up and hold me. I was notorious for standing with my outstretched arms and saying, “bao bao?”

I haven’t taken a photo in a week, which feels like a lifetime to me! Trust me – that’s my one week this year without photos because from here on out it is going to be busy. *straps on helmet, tightens laces*

The recipe today is one I made before our trip to southwestern Colorado. I was in a salad state of mind because the heat makes me want to eat things like a cold giant hunk of watermelon or a bowl of grapes or ten popsicles for dinner. After I had made the chopped shrimp waldorf salad my eyes wandered to the previous page in my Fine Cooking issue… chopped Greek salad. Can do. Can do.

Salads in summer make me happy because they usually involve chopping (I love my knives and I love to use them) and minimal cooking if any. In this case, the croutons require a bit of stove and oven time. I highly recommend making your own croutons if you’ve never tried. I can think of very few foods in this world that are better store-bought than made (properly) at home.

[Crouton tangent] We made tons of homemade croutons when I was in Chile for field work as a graduate student. The bread we bought was barely passable right from the store – forget about 5 days out in the bleeping desert! All we needed was oil, garlic, salt, and stale bread cubes. Those were both good and bad times for me (particularly the time when I said, “I’m sure that ham is still good – give it here.”) The one person who really made my entire field season tolerable was my “field assistant”, friend, and fellow grad student, Greg. I put field assistant in quotes because HE taught ME about geomorphology and we worked really well together in the field. Greg saved me from going batshit as we dealt with all manner of interesting obstacles like land mines, equipment issues, logistics, rethinking the science, 8.0 earthquakes, navigating over roadless terrain in thick fog on top of a cliff that plunged 3000 feet to the ocean, and so much more.

at salar del huasco, chile

**Jump for more butter**