use real butter

Recipe: green chile cheeseburger

Have you heard about the Threadcakes contest? It’s a fascinating event where entrants select a favorite Threadless t-shirt design (really cool t-shirts, by the way) and make a cake based on that design. Wait a second – they don’t just make a cake, they create edible works of art. This year (the second Threadcakes) I was one of the judges for the competition and WOW! I always talk about how less is more to me, and with regard to cakes it’s because I suck at cake decorating. So to flip through and marvel at each of the entries was an exercise in shouting out to Jeremy, “Come look at THIS one!” again and again until he gave up and just sat down next to me to see all of the lovely interpretations. Please hop over and have a look at the Threadcakes winners – while you’re there, you can grab a discount code for a purchase at Threadless too. Nice. Congratulations to the winners!

soaking up that september sun

I’ve noticed the light is changing around here. The sun is dropping lower as it crosses the sky and my local mountains are starting to take on a faint hint of autumn. It is ever so faint and the shift is subtle. In a couple of weeks it will be that familiar and welcome golden light streaming through the glowing yellow aspen leaves against our deep blue, gorgeous skies. That is Colorado autumn and it is my favorite time of year.

Many years ago, Jeremy and I flew from Ithaca, New York to Albuquerque, New Mexico to attend his grandfather’s funeral. Grandpa was the kind of gentleman who quietly walked you out to his garden in March to show you his tomato seedling projects. When he spoke to me, he would lean forward, smiling sweetly as if sharing a joke. One Thanksgiving when the entire family (and I do mean the ENTIRE family) sat around the long dinner table as dessert wound down, Grandpa sat down next to me and opened his genealogy project notebook. He showed me how much progress he had made in his research by connecting with people on the internet. He eventually turned to the later pages and pointed to Mom and Dad, and then to Jeremy and his brother. His finger moved back to Jeremy’s name which had an empty space next to it. “I’d be honored to have your name there some day.”

The funeral was in October – not a time we typically visited New Mexico. Hot air balloons dotted the skies and you could find Hatch green chiles roasting on several street corners and markets. This is quintessential Albuquerque in October. But for me, there will always be the memory of the sleepy, warm light of fall filtering across the speeding landscape as we transported Grandpa to The Santa Fe National Cemetery. So it was last week when I spied a little chalkboard sign outside of Whole Foods advertising Hatch green chiles from New Mexico. Inside, an employee was loading bags of diced chiles into a small freezer – these were not what I was hoping for. He pointed me to the cauliflower and said there were fresh chiles right next to them. While I stood running my hands over the chiles, the mental associations came flooding into my head. I remembered Albuquerque, Jeremy’s parents’ old house, his old pups (black and chocolate labs) Smudge and Chaco, Grandpa, Grandma, Uncle Bill’s awesome pies, looking in wonder at the dozens of colorful and odd shapes that drifted over the horizon during the Balloon Fiesta.

finally, i can show you fresh hatch chiles

for scale

**Jump for more butter**

Recipe: prosciutto-wrapped grilled peaches

I get it. I do.

There are folks who want to make money and garner fame through their (food) blogs. And if food blogging is something they truly love, then good luck to them. It’s not terribly unlike people who want to make a living in let’s say, photography – although you can make a living as a photographer without heaps of cash or adulation. I think what bothers me is the overemphasis on (more) fame, (more) money. And you know there are those who will never be satisfied, they just want MORE. They’re easy to identify and in my case, avoid. I’m not a more kind of person. I see a lot of positives in LESS. Maybe if you slapped a pack on your back and hiked into the sticks for a week, you’d get a good sense of what is necessary and important. Maybe not.

I recognize that my priorities don’t always jive with the rest of the flock. I’m cool with that.

What’s funny (and by funny I don’t mean ha ha) is how some are pointing their fingers at those of us who frowned upon gearing blogs to maximize traffic and SEO. “I see your ads and your badges on your blog!” The implication being: having ads or badges on your blog means you have no right to criticize those who want money and fame. In essence, I’ve invalidated my rail against the SEO/traffic machine by hosting an ad and some badges.

Not true.

My blog is my space. I use my blog on a daily basis. Remember, I’m a little OCD and I love to archive. I look up old recipes. I use it to jog my memory (we DID go to so-and-so’s for dinner on such-and-such night four years ago). It tells me what time of year the columbines bloom in the high country. The fact that I can pull revenue to cover the costs of my hosting service (which became necessary when my home grown server could no longer handle the traffic), materials, and conferences is pretty damn sweet. This is not lost on me. The fact that urb is self-sufficient helps me to continue doing it without burdening our finances. That some publications I respect happen to like my mindless drivel is merely icing on the cake. But I’m not filling my posts with tag words (Angelina Jolie boobies chocolate cheesecake chili porn?) and altering content to drive more traffic to my site. Are you kidding? I can barely manage writing what I think in a coherent manner.

What I object to is the cookie-cutter mold for food blogging and the desire to blog just for money and fame. They all start to look the same when everyone is clamoring for and getting a recipe on how to get rich/famous off your food blog. I don’t think much of trend-chasers and disingenuous people. I prefer the blogs that are grown organically, with their own sense of style and voice. Be yourself.

There’s one last thing I wanted to address that some of my dear readers brought up in the comments. …it’s easy not to care about traffic when you have lots of it already! I understand that people want a response for their efforts. They want to know that someone is out there reading and connecting. I had a woman in all sincerity ask me on the Food Blog Forum why on Earth I would blog if I didn’t care about getting readers. As much as I love all of you wonderful people, I would be perfectly happy blogging to no one because (as I’ve said in the past) I blog for me.

My website started in 1994. It was well before the advent of blogs. I had pages dedicated to backcountry trip reports and some recipes. I knew that someone somewhere was going to find that information useful someday. I did this because I found other trip reports to be incredibly helpful. It was about sharing information and helping others. Feedback was unheard of then. I got an occasional email (like every 3 months) asking about weather and trail conditions. Traffic, comments, and SEO had no meaning. Fast forward 16 years (*gulp!*) and I have added urb, a photo blog, and a personal blog. My photo blog gets a few comments, but can go for months without a peep. That’s fine! I just keep dumping my pictures there so I can keep track of my noodlings. My personal blog has a few dozen readers and they rarely comment, but they read to keep tabs on what I’m doing and thinking.

So it’s about me, but it’s not about me. I need the outlet, but not the attention and I’m happiest that way. I learned long ago that placing my happiness and validation in the hands of others is a good way to get really pissed off (and screwed).

frost this morning on the deck

We had our first frost this morning. This means a couple of things. First off, it means SKI SEASON is coming. I hope it arrives before March this time. Second, it means fall colors will be making a (hopefully) grand entrance in a few weeks to Colorado. Third: this is my busiest time of year. Fourth: this is my favorite time of year! But before I get ahead of myself, I need to clear out the summer recipes so they don’t languish in the queue for 11 months. I’m enjoying local peaches like they are going out of fashion.

beautiful, cheeky things

a few slices of prosciutto

**Jump for more butter**

Recipe: blueberry pie

We watched as two young men played around in the snow, trying to impress their female companions. They were goofing off, acting stupidly. I turned to Cory and said, “So if one of those guys got himself into trouble, would you go rescue him?” Cory squinted under his sunglasses and looked in their direction then looked back at Jeremy who was setting an anchor in the snow, “Yeah, I would.” Cory, our wise Zen Master of the Mountain, taught us crevasse rescue several years ago. More than that, he taught us to be mindful of the mountains and their weather. Most of the time when we are in the backcountry, Jeremy is the most cautious one of the bunch. I think that’s partly his nature, but it’s also because of his training and experience in high-angle search and rescue. Cory is the only person I’ve met who is more careful than Jeremy. Cory is good people.

jeremy on the flanks of mount baker

You might think that if someone were in trouble, it’s a no-brainer to go and help them out, right?

We were hiking Saturday morning on a favorite trail of ours, making good time toward Pawnee Peak. As we neared the last set of switchbacks to the pass, we heard rockfall in the distance and hollering. Rockfall isn’t all that uncommon, but hollering – it sounded like someone was getting mauled. The wind was strong and I stopped, straining to listen. I asked Jeremy if he heard what I heard and he said yes. Then there was a distant shout to the east. Jeremy left the trail walking to the edge of the plateau that looked across a basin to a craggy ridge. I followed and we listened. Calls for help. We scanned the steep, loose slopes below the ridge for signs of a person, but nothing was visible. Jeremy said we needed to head back down the trail to get closer and see if we could locate the person. We returned to the trail and quickly made our way back across the plateau. A woman rounded the corner and we asked her if she had heard anything. Yes, she had. We asked if she had cell reception (we tried the iphone – nada). She said she had a spot transmitter – that it would notify authorities with her GPS location. Jeremy’s face lit up, but she said, “It won’t do any good because they’ll come here to me.” She asked if we were heading down and we said yes, that at least one of us was planning to go to the trailhead to get help and we were going to try and locate the person calling for help. She said, “Oh good, then I won’t bother going if you’re going.” She told us she was going to continue on up. We offered that there was no way to reach the person by going up. She insisted that this was the only way she could help, by maybe spotting him from above and she forged ahead. Really?! REALLY?! We were astonished. Neither of us believed her.

Jeremy was annoyed, but he didn’t want to waste any more time and we continued down. Why wouldn’t she offer to help? She could have handed that spot transmitter to Jeremy and if he located the fellow, could have sent for help right away with coordinates – it’s all about time. We figured she was just a selfish woman (not the word I used) who wanted to finish her hike. Nevermind that a man’s life could be on the line. I paused to listen and shouted back several times on the way down (because as Jeremy says – I’ve got the pipes) and we heard a few more calls for help. When we reached the closest point on the trail to the basin, a woman was there with two packs. Her husband had gone into the basin to try and locate the victim. Jeremy handed me unnecessary stuff that would slow him down. I gave him what little food we carried, and anything first-aid worthy. He said he was going to try and find the guy and maybe stabilize him if he could and that after I contacted authorities, we’d meet at the trailhead. With that, he set off – his sights on the scree slopes above. I took off down the trail and encountered a hasty search team a few miles later. I stopped to give them information. Someone who was climbing with the victim had run out for help ahead of me. That’s whose pack was on the side of the trail at one of the junctions. When I hiked out, the parking lot was full of Sheriff’s, emergency, and mountain rescue vehicles.

lots of commotion

I spoke to an officer who was taking witness accounts. The young man sitting across from the officer was the one who had run out for help. He looked so shaken. The officer took me to the search team and I showed them on the map where we thought the voice was coming from. The gentleman asked if they should approach from Blue Lake. No, no, I said. He’s on the south side of the ridge, approach from Long Lake. I realized that he wasn’t familiar with this part of the backcountry – rescue teams come from a wide area to help. I waited for Jeremy as teams of two and three carrying all manner of emergency equipment: a litter, oxygen tanks, racks of climbing gear, braces, first aid, marched into the forest. Helicopters thumped overhead. A couple of hours later, Jeremy emerged. Two other well-intentioned hikers had wandered about with no progress, but Jeremy got to within a few hundred feet of the victim. Turns out it was a father and his adult son. The father had fallen, the son went to find him and we assume was the one calling for help. Jeremy communicated a little with the son, but couldn’t get up to the rock chute without climbing gear. He heard coughing, some rock movement, but then nothing more. He went down and met with a search and rescue pair. They told him several SAR members were already on the plateau headed for Pawnee Peak. Jeremy said they wouldn’t be able to reach them from Pawnee Peak because of the technical ridge. They didn’t know where the victim was, so Jeremy pointed to the easternmost chute on the ridge and said he located them there. The safest way to reach him was by helicopter.

from an old photo of mine, jeremy showed me where the victim was

We learned via (really poorly reported) news that the man was airlifted out and that he was alive, albeit with severe injuries. We were relieved. Then we were angry because of this report (now defunct). Apparently, the woman we ran into on the trail whose hike was more important than helping someone in trouble was the one in the story. She most certainly didn’t activate her rescue beacon as soon as she heard the rock fall. We heard the accident around 9:05 am and we ran into her around 9:15 when she insisted it would do no good to signal for help. Even better than that, we now know why she wanted to finish her hike so badly… to write up a bloody trip report (also now defunct) published at 5:51 am Sunday morning. Despicable woman. What is wrong with some people?!

Okay, enough about that (I hate wasting energy on jerks). I’ve got quite a bit of travel coming up and I wanted to post this summer recipe before mid-autumn came and smacked me upside the head. You don’t see a lot of pies on urb. I love pie. Love pie. If I make a pie – especially a fruit pie – I will eat it. It beckons. That’s why I don’t make pie. I know, it’s an odd form of self-control, but it works.

summer’s bounty – blueberries

and butter, how apropos

As a I’ve mentioned in the past, my favorite way to eat fruit is straight up and fresh. The most wonderful thing about summer fruit is the (almost) overabundance. That’s when you don’t feel so guilty about using some of that bounty in a dessert… like pie.

add cold, cubed butter to dry ingredients

pulse, add water, gather the dough in a disk (or two)

Pies are dangerously simple. It’s a little scary how simple, because after you make one you think to yourself, “I should do this more often.” I made two of these pies because we dug into the first one so quickly, I never got a photograph. Following Elise’s recipe for blueberry pie, I used flour the first time around. That was excellent, but very oozy.

roll out chilled dough

line the pie plate

**Jump for more butter**