All posts filed under: dessert

stacked|gluten-free chestnut sandwich cookies for love and happiness from a raisin & a porpoise

that old chest nut

Watch now while I do something that I feel certain has never even been attempted before. As you sit back and take it all in, I will deftly weave Kim Kardashian, breastfeeding, Margaret Atwood and chestnut shortbread all together in a single post. And people say New England is dull in February! In addition to having, and nursing, three children of my own, I worked for ten years or so as a counselor to new mothers. All of this made me kind of a boob nerd. [As an aside, may I say blessings on your path however you feed or fed any babies of your own. I hope you have or had all the support you need or needed on whatever path you took, and that your babies and you thrived, which is the point. A boob nerd is not the same as a boob zealot.] Here is a bonus, unadvertised mention of Madonna, to illustrate the extent of my boob nerdishness: I was at a party once where the host had Madonna’s big book …

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chocolate pear jam, from a raisin and a porpoise

pear of aces

I have a new piece up over here, if you are of a mind to read it. Meanwhile, our cavalcade of apples continues unabated.  “I have never in my life seen so many apples,” said my sister, who has seen a lot of apples. Mind you I am not complaining about the apples, though I am a little tired. Are you making lots of pies? ask innocent persons who don’t deserve a black eye.  Pies. Indeed.  WHO HAS TIME TO MAKE A PIE? Sometimes there is a dessert emergency when I am making applesauce or apple chutney or dried apples or apple juice or something else made of apples, and then I whip a pan of baked apples through the production line. Those are tasty.  I toss them with butter or olive oil, or a combination, and some sugar, or coconut sugar, or maple syrup, and maybe some hot pepper or lemon zest or something like that which is sitting still near to hand, and then I roast the little dears.  They are heaven with …

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make friends with chocolate sauce

we’ve got answers

  There was a moment last week when Justice Roberts reminded us that marriage is at the core of our solidarity with the bush people of the Kalahari.  Now, way back a long time ago I was an anthropology student. Did you know that the fat surrounding the heart of an antelope (specifically the eland, a close cousin of the oryx) is a traditional bush-groom gift to the parents of the bush-bride?  I think that’s fascinating.  So fascinating, in fact, so utterly absorbing that I confess I lose my way through what was no doubt a very nuanced legal and moral argument.  Simpleton that I am, I can’t really feature why my sense of solidarity is being called upon to persuade me to exclude some people from this and other joys of a recognized union. Mountaintops, bees, oceans, good sense…so many things are losing out in our generation.  It is deeply calming to be able to say to our children–well, there was this one time when people thought clearly, engaging their hearts and minds together, and …

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