All posts filed under: what we want when we feel mopey is something from a spoon

holiday baking for the slightly demented

holiday braking

Are you feeling it? Not the amnesiac impulse that leads to you to truly believe you can operate a sewing machine, pastry bag (or whatever instrument is your personal Martha Stewart Waterloo) like a boss, not the bubbly energy that suggests you can mingle cheerfully and with durably good hair at multiple holiday gatherings in a single day, not the vain hope that you can get to (and out of) the post office three days before Xmas with your dignity and errand timetable intact.  Not those things.  We are all (right?) grappling with those demons.  I am wondering if you are feeling what Mrs Wroblewski, my sister’s college-era landlady, called “too much party.” The tiny houses are done.  This year I managed to avoid a 3peat of the ‘Bake Em Wrong First‘ fiasco, which is a significant advancement.  But the process is not automated yet.  It continues to be lunacy. This year it was lunacy in good company, as two friends enabled joined me. Blessings on their heads. So that’s done.  And the little hoggies …

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lamb

spoon fed

I will not bore or horrify you with further scenes from the front.  No blow-by-blow on the ewe with the prolapse and the vet’s MacGyver-esque repair thereof ( let’s just say he put the “butt” back in buttons), no cataloging of the rest of the week’s adventures with intramural swapping of head cold and stomach flu germs, no tally on the number of dirty towels generated by cold lambs taking a spa break by the woodstove indoors. None of that.  Just a little gooey lamb photography, and a travelogue of cooking fantasies.  You will note my armchair travel was mainly routed through pudding territory.  What I want, when I feel taxed, is something from a spoon. Not pudding, but visually appealing: this blog (I can tell that both her kitchen and her sketchbooks would be very tidy, which is inspirational), and these cake servers, for the casually elegant, hip and funky, mismatched vintage groovy stylish life I lead in my mind. This king of all rice puddings, which I devoured, despite making it absolutely wrong …

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baked custard with anise

eating light

I am back. Mostly. I have just spent a week taking care of someone I love who has been very sick for a long time, something a circle of us have been doing in rotation for over a year.  We travel, short distances and long.  We do what we can and often that takes the form of things we thought we couldn’t. This time I crossed an ocean. Now I am in that odd physical state of suspension between time zones, where I want to check my watch when I am hungry to see what meal I should eat, and my heart is in at least two places, too.  And there is what my West Indian friend used to call “ruction” all around me, beyond this gnarly situation of mine: one friend lost her dad two weeks ago, and now her brother is in the hospital facing terrible odds.  Another friend’s mother died, and her brother is in the same condition. Flu and blizzards.  Falls and accidents. I want light, just a morsel of it, …

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