All posts filed under: cream

breeding joy

In 2004, our family was a bit worn by a run of fairly epic events: illness, strife and woe, though strangers for the most part up until then (lucky us!), took up residence in our solar system with a vengeance. When the dust settled (for good, we innocently thought) my husband and I did a hugely greedy thing: we had another baby. It was greedy by planetary standards, and that gave me some major pause. But it was also greedy for joy. I can run circles around most circular thinkers—but this! But that! But this and that!–and though I continue to visit and revisit many of my big decisions, I feel pretty confident that the joy grab was a sound move. Illness, strife and woe have not been as strangers since then. But the boy continues to compound the happiness of those around him. This week Vitamin A turned 10, a noteworthy milestone. We always have his Party after the holidays, when his school chums are more available, and mark his official day with a …

truffled baked pearl onions / a raisin and a porpoise

greyed expectations

We had, or at least we aimed for, a modest Thanksgiving feast.  “Modest,” like most terms, is relative.  In our case, that meant scaling back to an absurd overabundance of food, instead of the usual preposterous superabundance.  The Thanksgiving menu is a hard one to narrow, if you are fortunate enough to be only meaningfully limited by the number of waking hours you are willing to stand in the kitchen.  As the holiday nears, I bookmark this recipe and pin that one, thinking of branching out here or there, but the fact remains that there are absolute non-negotiables on the menu, so you can’t really kick up your heels without edging into superfluous territory.  You may not, for instance, replace the regular mashed potato with some alternate rendition.  You may supply an additional starch, yes.  But if you fail to provide the basics, be prepared to hear about it. Our modest goals this year were informed by many relativities (as is always the case with relatives), and one absolute, this being the first Thanksgiving since …


good to the last drop

After I made that lemon mousse the other day, I kind of got mousse on the brain. It’s comfortable there.  Right at home, you might say.  Among other things, I have always been perfectly content to eat a bowl of whipped cream when I had the chance; as a child, the task of licking the beaters and the bowl were my exclusive domain, and my college roommate used to take me right smartly downtown for a large creampuff when I showed signs of extreme distress, so clearly I failed to grow out of the fondness. Having tackled the lemon, I set my sights on a coffee mousse.  Drinking coffee is one youthful habit I have surrendered; though I love the flavor of it, I abused its powers so severely during the last two years of high school that I hung up my mug of my own volition, alarmed by the jitters and headaches that went along with the admittedly delightful aspects of the ritual.  I consigned the use of the cup of joe to medically …