Mainly Maine

In Maine

we are glad to be part of a land

that remains so beautiful under it's green skin

of woods and open fields, that is glitteringly

bordered by thousands of miles,

of breaking waves, and that is lovely

too, with an unbroken tradition

of concerns, with the kind, enduring grace

of it's neighborliness.

-From Neighborliness by Kate Barnes

I love New England. I loved the idea of it before spending 4 years of college there; and my notions were not disappointed while living outside Boston- from the age of 18 to 22. I have quietly loved New England for a long time now. So I always try to steer family summer trips Northwards. All year long my affection sleeps, as I focus my passion on the City. But when Summer arrives my tenderness for New England stirs itself.

This adventure begins in Portland, Maine. Hub's Sis Deene is visiting from Israel with her husband and three boys, so we really wanted to present them with something grand and striking and American. The colonial architecture and aspect of the old port town was definitely something different for our Israeli cousins. As was the chilly summertime rain.

We brought my mom with us as well, because we wanted her to spend some time in this beautiful part of the country. Until this trip, her experience of New England was limited to the Comfort Inn, Waltham MA. I knew she'd love it- and she did. While the boys took a three hour boat trip, Mom, Girlette and I explored the shops and cafes around Congress street. And it was at a cafe called Paris in the Morning that I tried my first Whoopie Pie. It was maple pumpkin, and I've since come to realize that it was mini-sized. The cake part was soft and spongy and tasted like sweetly spiced pumpkin quick bread. The cream filling was subtle in it's maple-ness but undeniable in it's cream cheese-iness. Hmmm interesting, I thought to myself, more research was needed.

Mt. Desert Island Ice Cream on Exchange St. was also another delightful discovery. Flavors like Chocolate Wasabi, Thai Chili, and Sweetcorn made it apparent that this wasn't your Gramma’s ice creamerie. I decided on the Fig. And I can really say that I've never had anything like it before. The ice cream had a deep caramelly sweetness to it and the chopped dried figs interspersed throughout my generous sized scoop provided a pleasing texture and reinforced the sweet figgy taste of the ice cream. I was off to a wicked good stahht!

The afternoon spent with Les Kiddos (six in all) at the fantastic Portland Children's Museum provided me with plenty of time to review in my mind the wonderful taste discoveries I had just enjoyed. A simple plan was hatched: I was to sample as many Whoopie Pies as I could handle during our stay in Maine, in the hope that I’d be inspired to concoct my own version for the cookbook. The fig ice cream was shelved mentally in my Possible Truffle Flavor file.

Get ready for the revelation of the Century: Travelling in a group of eleven is difficult, especially, when more than half of the group is under the age of ten. Notions of fine dining and elegant sight-seeing are hurled out the window. After a dinner at Denny's whose memory I wish I could surgically remove from my brain, I knew that I would have to sneak away every now and again, to maintain my sanity as well as make any delicious discoveries.

My mother kindly granted Hub and I a date night opportunity, which we eagerly spent at Becky's Diner on Commercial St . Becky's is a very ordinary looking diner, but what is contained between the laminated pages of a very ordinary looking diner menu explains the attention it recieved from Bon Appetit. Our waitress was a plain spoken Yankee girl, who described the specials with an economy of words and evenness in expression- that still managed to convey the scrumptiousness of the items. Hub decided on the broiled haddock and I had the fishcakes. As we waited for our food, I studied my fellow diners. Locals and tourists, a few Hipsters thrown into the mix (Portland has a strong hipster element- kind of like a Brooklyn up North feel). New England thriftiness was exhibited by the single piece of bread we each recieved as we waited for our dishes.

The food was....mouthwatering. It was delicious. It was a joy to eat. From the moment I took the first forkfull until I walked out the door, I was smiling. I was as happy as a kid enjoying her favorite birthday meal. I could not stop eating until every scrap was gone. The cole slaw was crunchy and sweet, the fries were crispy and well- seasoned. Every part of our meal was marvellous. Our astute waitress capably steered us in the right dessert direction. And she had the good sense to make a fresh pot of coffee for us to enjoy with our Blueberry Cream Cheese Layer Cake. A die-hard sweet tooth can always sense what a fellow sweet tooth needs. With a lightness in my heart and a belly full of good food, my fondness for New England was reconfirmed.

One of the things that I really appreciate about New England is the plain-spoken character of it's people. They speak simply. They use less words. There is an editing that occurs in their daily vernacular. There is a reserve to their attitude. This kind of stoicism makes my exuberant verbosity seem frivolous and even over-the-top. But I'm OK with it. I'm not a Yankee. I’m not a Maineahh.

After Portland we went up to the Moosehead Lake region where Hub’s bro, his wife and 2 kids joined us for three days of camping in the rain. It wasn’t so bad, it was actually fun in a rustic, once-in-a-lifetime, roughing it kinda way. The campground was just outside the town of Greenville, and believe me when I say that I took every and any opportunity to make runs into town. Be it for paper plates, milk, or to do laundry at Wishy Washy. And it was on one of these laundry runs that I made another great discovery: Northwoods Gourmet Girl. This little gem is located across the street from the Laundromat. Unable to watch our clothes tumbling for another second, I did a little investigating.

The room is large with clean lines and is on the spare side. I sat at the bar and exhaled gratefully. All was quiet and calm, the lighting was soothing, my sneakers were drying, and I was alone. No one was asking me for anything, there was no crying, whining, fighting or shouting. And I now know what to serve with my Krab Kakes: roasted corn, tomato and pepper salsa and a spicy remoulade. And then there was the dessert… a blueberry cobbler that felt like it was beamed down to me directly from God. A soft cakey biscuit sandwiched pleasantly between warm, syrupy and deep dark violet blueberries and a scoop of slowly melting vanilla ice cream in a fine dusting of cinnamon. Surely this must be a gift from God when you’re damp, cold, and cranky after dealing all day and night with damp, cold, and cranky kids.

Upon further investigation I learned that this was the same Gourmet Girl whose bottles of homemade ketchup and jams grace the shelves of the high end kitchen supply store in Portland where I spent an hour and about $60 in (Tupelo honey, Dishing Up Maine cookbook, and assorted gourmet chocolates). My prediction: Gourmet Girl will be as big and wide ranging as Stonewall Kitchen in a few years. Except she’ll be for the Hipster Foodie. Who can resist an ingredient list that includes TLC?

After camping, we moved on to the Sunset Cabins in Rockwood. Never before has a bed been appreciated as audibly and by so many. Flushing toilets as well. The cabin’s kitchen beckoned and I responded by broiling up some salmon and haddock. We enjoyed our fish and the variety of salads I assembled (pasta, garden, and Asian cole slaw) while sitting at picnic tables in front of beautiful Moosehead Lake.

By this time in our trip there were several conclusions I was able to make about Whoopie Pies. Wicked Whoopie Pies are my over-the-counter choice. It has a good cream-to-cake ratio, and is not overly sweet. My favorite flavor is the vanilla chocolate chip. I did not like the peanut butter one that the competition makes.

It’s hardly surprising that the best Whoopie Pies are homemade. The Maple Whoopie I had in Portland was a great intro to this regional treat. I had a tightly saran wrapped Pumpkin Chocolate Chip Whoopie at Jamo’s General Store in Greenville, that was also darn good. Sadly, I do not think I will be whooping it up at next month’s dental appointment.

We climbed Mt. Kineo, the lot of us (minus a grown up or two and a kid or two). It rained and we kept on going. We kept on climbing through tantrums, tussles, and terror until we reached the top. I was very proud of us.

On Sunday we packed up the cars and crossed the border into Canada. S’ long Maine, Bonjour Quebec! This time I was shameless in my desire to learn more French. I broke my teeth at Subway when ordering our 6-pouce sandwiches. I perservered at the Hotel Jardin in Veille Quebec while checking in as my Mari (aka Le Hub) found parking. I ordered my vin blanc at Portofino the Family-style restaurant that was smart enough to give us our own room and isolate us from civilized company. I hissed “Arret!” (and about another half a dozen angry epithets) as my Kiddlers had epic melt-downs in a couple very public spaces. Hub, Deene, sis-in-law Mishtophe, and I clinked “Salut” after everyone was at last, quietly sleeping. Not fluent yet, not by a long shot- but a little more suave.

We went through Vermont on the way home. Vermont is my all-time favorite state. Burlington is just such a great town. The amount of young people and the vibrancy of it’s food scene really makes it gleam. Tried to get into American Flatbread but it was packed three deep at the bar on a gloomy Monday night (rain, rain go away…).

Our drive home the next morning in clear and gentle sunshine showed the green pastures and sloping fields that hem the country road in their most beautiful light. The Vermont countryside is soft and rolling and wonderfully green. It is in contrast to the craggy and rugged Maine landscape where forests of pine trees line the road for miles and miles on end. Both states are natural beauties, but one is more severe and ascetic. The other lush and curved.

“I love her valleys broad and fair,

The pathless wood, the gleaming lake,

The bold and rocky bastions, where

The billows of the ocean breaks: “

From New England by Albert Laighton

Progress

Done with the Hanukkah chapter, and I'm pretty happy with it. Hope to wrap up July 4th Chapter in the next few days . Testing summer salad-as-a-meal recipes. Grilled Steak and Veggies Summer Nicoise Salad, has potential- needs to be expanded and the garlic grilled pitas need to be served immediately for it's full effect. Note: Include grilled corn in next version.

Hub's sis and fam arrived today from Israel . More captive Tastebuds- yippee! Perfect crowd to test out cherry cola ice pops. Tonight's Bibimbop was hopeful. I seared tuna in a crust of sesame seeds, cracked pepper and a little salt, made some gochuchang which is a spicy Korean pepper paste which is mixed into the jasmine rice that the seared tuna, matchstick carrots, snow peas, and bean sprouts rest colorfully atop. I also brewed up some spicy sweet soy sauce which is the dressing for this filling yet light summer salad. On the whole very delicious- except I might suggest serving the gochuchang on the side for the benefit of milder palates.

The Blue Cheese dressing that I shook up last night was also noteworthy. I plan on serving it over a wedge of iceberg lettuce garnished with cherry tomato halves. A nice side to the simple tuna sandwiches I plan on serving tomorrow night for dinner. Might make a salad pizza for Thursday Pizza Night (TPN). I'll report back from the tastebud set.

Blue Cheese Dressing

1/2 c. sour cream

1/2 c. buttermilk

3 tbsp. mayonnaise

1 tbsp. minced red onion or shallot

1 tsp. worcestershire sauce

2 tsp. garlic powder

pinch of sugar

salt and pepper

1/2 c. blue cheese crumbles

Mix up all ingredients in a large jar.

The Sweet Taste of Summer- The Bright Side of Winter

Like everyone I have taken some lumps, but on the whole life has been pretty good to me. I am currently living my dreams of being a writer and a mom. OK, so I had to readjust the setting of the dream, but in this version I'm only 30 minutes away.

That's just the thing about dreams, you have to be flexible to let them come true. Nothing is perfect, except for a dream that just lingers softly in your mind and heart. Making the dream come true, working on it, bringing it into being- well, that's where flexibility and effort and a little heartbreak come in.

The first chapter for the book is due in two weeks. After my initial baffled "Huh?" reaction, last week I sprung into action. We decided that we would start with Hanukkah, which 10 days into the process I'm having another "huh?" moment, this time with irritation. I'm smack dab in the middle of the loveliest summer weather I have enjoyed in a long time. So while working on Hanukkah I'm also doing July 4th. I'm serving fried food for dinner, accompanied by light crunchy summer salads, and fresh, sweet, fruity desserts. I haven't heard a complaint from the tastebud set yet.

Donz and I are trying to figure out the format of the chapter introductions and recipe headers. Being a writer I care as much about the words as I do the food. The two go hand-in-hand, without one there cannot be another. Donz is breakneck-speed busy, with a show a day, and a couple of meeting sprinkled into the mix, in addition to her homelife. And we are trying to figure how this all works, and how we work ourselves into it. As is my way, I'm figuring it out as I go along, sometimes I'm a few steps behind- once in a while I'm a little ahead.

For guidance I have turned to books. I have consulted with Julia Childs editor; Judith Jones. She was very helpful, informing that many of the best cookbook authors were unschooled culinarially. She also told me that many were over 40 when they got their start. But her best nugget of advice was to have passion and a point of view.

I also turned to a contemporary. Molly Wizenberg's "A Homemade Life" is based on her blog Orangette. In addition she was a contributor to Bon Appetit, and that's how I became acquainted with her food and words. Since I didn't follow her blog, the book is fresh and new to me. She has a charming style, I say this through gritted teeth. She is very very talented. And she deserves the attention and acclaim. She has passion and a point of view, which she expresses often-times with beauty and grace. What more can you ask for?

So here's what I've come up with: My best offering so far, the one that delights everyone the most - is the summerfruit kuchen. It's a snap to make and can be personalized to taste. I like it with plums personally, but nectarines, peaches, or apricots work just as well. The cake layer is soft and sweet thanks to the juices of the fruit layer on top. I made this stonefruit dessert every day last week, for many of my taste buds. It will fit nicely into my Fourth of July menu, which has been a pleasure to devise. Summer is my muse, and the plentitude of fresh fruits, veggies, and herbs provides me with real inspiration.

My Hanukkah menu, which calls for an inspiration that takes me in the opposite direction, has been a little more challenging. Why we decided to start with a holiday that is placed in the heart of cold and barren (vegetationally speaking) winter, mystifies me, and makes me think that my intuitive powers may need some fine tuning. I have recipes for three different kinds of fried fritters so far, that are solid. My jelly donut muffins are good, and the chocolate dipped dreidels are adorable. I'm still playing with a couple of crispy-fried ideas. Trying to get myself back into a winter-state-of-mind, which happens to be a difficult time in the year for me to begin with, is a bit of a drag. But, on one of our hot and sticky days, it's not hard to yearn for the cool austerity of winter. I need to idealize winter, and get that Brighter side of Winter in the Hanukkah menu.

Summerfruit Kuchen

1/2 c. butter/marg

1 c. sugar

2 eggs

1/2 tsp. vanilla

1 c. flour

1 tsp. baking powder

1/2 tsp cinnamon

1/2 c. reg milk, soymilk, almond milk, coconut milk

4-5 thinly sliced peaches, plums, apricots, nectarines (or a combination)

2 tbsp. sugar (I like turbinado)

1 tbsp. butter/marg

Preheat oven to 350F

On medium speed and in a medium bowl mix together butter/marg, sugar, eggs, and vanilla until a batter forms. In a sperate small bowl whisk together flour, baking powder, and cinnamon. Add to wet batter and mix in until combined, the batter will be thick. Fold in milk to make a smoother more spreadable batter. With a spatula smooth out batter evenly over bottom of greased baking pan. Place fruit slices in whatever design you desire over batter, overlapping, and ensuring the top is completely covered with sliced fruit. Sprinkle sugar over surface and dor with butter/marg that was cut into 6-8 little slivers. Place in oven for 40-45 minutes, the fruits will be shrubken and golden around it's edges, and a toothpick inserted will come out mostly clean (save for a few clingy crumbs).

Enjoy this fresh taste of summer with ice cream, whipped cream, or on it's own.

Montreal

Bonjour tout le mond! Just back from Montreal. This French weekend getaway was well-placed, so much so that if it wasn't for it, I might have found myself in the loony bin or receiving a visit from the coppers. Last week was tough. It contained several scenes that I am ashamed to even recall. Sometimes you gotta hold on for dear life, and last week was one of those weeks. Clutch onto sanity, balance and equilibrium; scrounge around for even a shred of patience and kindness, dig deep and try to find your better nature. It ain't easy. There are a whole lotta excuses: The flooded basement fills the house with the rank odor of cat piss, it's that time of the month-my exclamation point. The first draft of the book is due in three months and I am paralyzed wondering what to do next? And the collective culture in chez nous is that Maman has no other purpose in life other than the blind and unyielding service to Hub and Kids many needs. And last week there was a lack of female adult conversation that serves as a crutch sometimes. Crutches are necessary when one feels themselves stumbling and hobbling around in discomfort and pain. But it doesn't stack up, for me the measure of a successful person is how she overcomes her situation. I didn't overcome nuthin' this week.

The purpose for our visit up North was a wedding, our long-time friend Zelig was getting hitched to une fille Canadienne. They had the good sense to pick the perfect spot in the Montreal Summer Calendar: Jazz Fest. Friday morning I threw a few sundresses in my bag, my pink batik caftan with the plunging neckline for the wedding which called for "Shabby Chic" attire (?), and as an afterthought a few lacy undergarments for Hub's sake. And of course Judith Jones memoir: The Tenth Sense, My Life in Food". She was Julia Child's Editor, as well as many other reknowned food writers.

To further set the scene: As La Mother-in-law pulled up to pick up les jeunesses, I hosted the battling impulses of Motherdom; wanting to hold onto them and be with them and make up for all the horrible lost moments of the past week. But also needing to breathe, wanting to be unattached and unhindered to experience life on my own terms. And then they were gone, and we were off. Vive La Liberte!

A recollection of the weekend's best moments: Waking up in an elegant and stylish hotel room, to the thrilling notion that the day was all mine, to do as I pleased. With that delicious thought, I closed my eyes and drifted back to sleep next to Hub.

Sauntering through the fashionable shops and boutiques near L'hotel (two summer blouses and a bangle). Forcing myself to speak French, dreadful accent be damned!

Brunching with Hub at a Super-Duper French Brasserie. Decent Mimosa. Sampled a Montreal bagel, and am not ready to give up the New York ones yet. The Montreal bagels are smaller and sweeter and chewier. Hub's Oeufs en Cocotte were delicieux! His Bloody Mary was just right.

Our meandering path to Old Montreal cut right through Jazz Fest. The sights! The sounds! The chance to just walk, observe, and enjoy! The revived inclination to flirt!

Dinner at Kitchenette was good. Texas home cookin' fare; comfy, cozy, flavorful stuff. But the dessert is what made the good 'n tasty meal great. Sticky Toffee Pudding Sundae with Cracker Jacks- it was gone in two minutes. A sweet and dense square of toffee pudding topped with a dollop of classic vanilla ice cream and bathed in warm homemade caramel sauce, with a homemade cracker jacks as a garnish (which I thought were more of a distraction).

Then there was brunch and a brief hike up Mont Royal with NY friends also in for the wedding.

The wedding. Zelig was previously married, and after his divorce he went through a bit of a rough patch. This wedding was a triumph of Romance and Second Chances and all that good stuff that makes a lump rise in your throat. It was clear to all how happy and in love Zelig is with his bride. Instead of the usual speech Zelig crooned a love song to his new wife. It was a heart-melter. The wedding band was phenomenal. Even if I wanted to, I could not stop dancing. It was as though all the stress and aggravation of the previous week was released on the dancefloor.

Late to bed, early to rise. It was back to New York the next morning. I return with the desire to be better. To be a better mom, to write a better book, despite feeling overwhelmed by both assignments.

Book

Just as I imagined it would be. It took what felt like forever to get the contract, and then to get it finalized. And the first draft is due in three months from yesterday. Of course, this to me really is a dream of a problem. But I am shit-scared. I am so worried that I won't be able to harness it and express it in a beautiful and effective way. I think I have 2/3's of the recipes that I need. I have to figure out the last third, while coming up with the narrative with Donz. I am now exiting overwhelmed and entering pre-panic concern. How do I do this?.... you just do it. That'll be my answer- whenever I ask that question.

A book! Me writing a book- look at me world, I am writing a book.

Emilie's Sweet 'n Silent Visits

“It’s a decent pie…it’s fine” she said unenthusiastically after swallowing a forkfull of the triple berry pie that she baked for dessert. “It’s great! It’s delicious!” the women countered as they happily devoured their wedges. She rolled her eyes as she stared at her plate, poking at the crust with resentment. “Well, what’s wrong with it?!” asked an exasperated Dina.

“I would be so proud if I made this pie. And my husband? He would be thrilled!” was Amanda’s contribution to the pie’s defense.

“I’m berry happy right now” came from Anna, ever the goofball .

“Roxanne, you’re never, ever satisfied with anything you make, no matter how tasty and perfect it is” Caren correctly observed.

“It’s just missing something” Roxanne said with the slightest tinge of bitterness in her tone.

Now it was their turn for eye rolling. “You always say that!” said Caren as she placed the last of her piece in her mouth.

Roxanne took a swig from her mug of black coffee, and then chased it with a gulp of white wine. She felt drowsy and keyed up all at once. Her friends had never tasted Emilies’s baking, she reminded herself. If they had her chocolate cake or peanut butter tart, or carrot cake or peach pie or anything Emilie made they would realize the difference between Roxanne’s “good” baking, and Emilie’s magical desserts.

She briefly considered explaining Emilie to her friends, but as usual she dismissed the impulse. How could she describe Emilie without making it sound like a juicy nugget of coffee klatch gossip? She knew her friends would seize upon the details of Emilie’s late term miscarriage, they’d make shows and sounds of pity, but like Roxanne, they would never really understand how this could result in this woman’s complete silence.

“I’ve had cake that tasted so good that it made me cry.” Roxanne said without sentiment.

“I don’t think cake could make me cry- no matter how delicious” said Dina

“Maybe if it was chocolate” mused Amanda

“I don’t know about crying, but if it was good chocolate I could come” this, of course, belonged to Anna.

“By cry do you mean a single tear or were you full on sobbing?” asked Dina the skeptic.

Roxanne remembered when she dropped off a lasagne for Emilie and her family, days after her miscarriage. She wanted so badly to say something comforting, to offer her some kindness, she stumbled around for words, Emilie’s emphatic silence making her act more and more awkward. She retreated from her house feeling spurned and embarrassed. And pissed with Emilie, which then made her feel bad. But still, hadn’t she gone to the trouble of caring, and making a freaking lasagne! Her better side reminded her of the trauma Emilie had just suffered.

For three weeks Roxanne’s phone calls, emails, and texts to Emilie went unanswered. The day that Roxanne decided that there was just no excuse for such rudeness, Emilie turned up at her door holding a big and beautiful carrot cake. With a wary smile she extended the cake to Roxanne. Roxanne felt shamed as she received the double decker cake covered in a light and swirling layer of fluffy white frosting. She looked from the cake to Emilie’s face. A flatness had settled over her fine features. Her blue eyes had a dull gray aspect to them. “For me? Wow…” Roxanne clearly remembered being a little confused by the cake. Emilie just stood at the door, looking at Roxanne, as if trying to organize her thoughts. “How are you doing, Em?” Roxanne asked feeling trepidation as she waited for her friend’s answer and reaction. Emilie smiled thinly, nodded, and turned to leave.

“ Well, if you don’t like it. I’d be happy to relieve you of it and take it home with me and give to my kids, they’d love it with some whipped cream” Caren offered helpfully.

“It’d be great with vanilla ice cream” suggested Dina

“ Ben and Jerry’s make THE BEST vanilla ice cream. It has actual vanilla beans in it, so it looks and tastes very gour-met” Anna took pains to pronounce the T.

Roxanne recalled the cream cheese frosting that topped Emilie’s carrot cake in a flash. It was flecked with those delicate little vanilla beans. She was confused, and more than a little unsettled after her strange interaction with Emilie. Roxanne placed the cake on her kitchen counter, and with her pointer finger took a swipe of the frosting. First it was a gorgeous and simple sweetness, followed by a fresh tartness, which flowed into a luscious creaminess. With a plastic knife she indelicately carved out a piece. The carrot was bright orange and flecked the spice colored cake, much like the vanilla beans decorated the frosting. It was soft and fluffy to her fork. And it tasted like home, it tasted like warmth, it tasted like a mother’s loving touch. The cinnamon and nutmeg was like a hug. The beautiful flavor filled her heart and almost made it burst. Tears sprang to her eyes.

Emilie’s sweet ‘n silent visits. That’s how Roxanne came to refer to the semi-frequent visits from her long-time friend. She’d show up at her door and wordlessly hand her a different dessert every time. On a crisp mid-autumn afternoon she received a maple pecan bundt cake that was sturdy and dense and mellow in it’s golden sweetness. It made Roxanne think of the turning leaves outside. And begged for a mug of coffee and some friendly chatter to go along with it.

The day before Passover it was a flourless chocolate cake, that took her seder from dark, rich bitterness to an exaltant sweetness and ended in the brightness of the infused orange rind.

Change just takes some getting used to, fighting against it only increases the discomfort. Roxanne knew this instinctively. But she struggled with Emilie’s new non-verbal way of being. Her husband, Greg, was no help. He hid his unease behind caveman humor. “ A woman who bakes cakes and pies instead of talking? Sounds almost too good to be true!”

She ran into Edward, Emilie’s husband, at the wine store, and noticed the extra pounds added to his frame.

“What do you think goes with a dark chocolate truffle tart?” asked Edward conversationally.

“When in doubt, I always say Cab”

Edward selected a mid-priced bottle. “I don’t know if she ever made this tart for you before, but it’s…. magic. The chocolate is endless … and even a little bit sexy, if it‘s possible for a baked good to be sexy .”

Roxanne wondered what to say. On the rare occasion she saw Edward since Emilie’s miscarriage and subsequent silence, Roxanne followed Edward’s cues and pretended that everything was fine and that Emilie had just discovered a new-found talent when it came to the obsessive baking.

“Mmmm sounds incredible! That Cabernet will do nicely, I’m sure” Roxanne said jauntily.

“My friend Jordan is going through a divorce. Her kids are having a really hard time with it. The daughter was kicked out of school, and her son got some girl pregnant. And I‘m sure Jordan, has that thing…what‘s it called? Workout Anorexia, y‘know what that is? It’s when you workout obsessively.” said Caren sadly.

“Who left who?” asked Amanda

“ Jordan found out he was cheating with a co-worker” Caren revealed in a stage whisper.

“Ugggh how predictable!” Amanda shuddered

“Yeah, she was suspicious for all the usual reasons, and then she did some snooping and found a few texts that she says are beyond obscene- perverted shit apparently”

Anna reached for the triple berry pie and cut herself another slice. She gestured to the coffee pot. “Any more of that left? Let's make another pot”

5/28-6/4

Had to back away from the Van Gogh re-edification project. Thought of the Alexander McQueen exhibition in short spurts. Came up with a few really refreshing and tasty ice pop ideas. And one sweet li'l truffle named Blueberry. I was tinkering around with the blueberry filling of last week's pie. The blueberries, sugar, cinnamon, and lemon juice was cooked down down to a thick and juicy compote-like consistency. Swirled with fresh frothy cream, it was a beauty to behold. Although sweet, creamy, fruity, and lovely to taste it is not the summer thirst quencher that the mango-lime-strawberry popsicle is.

The leftover pie filling was the starting point for a delightful new truffle flavor. The replayed image of a wedge of blueberry pie in a beautiful puddle of vanilla bean flecked ice cream led me to fill vanilla bean infused white chocolate ganache with tiny spoonfuls of soft jammy blueberries. I had to hold back on the inescapable sweetness and introduce a dark and slightly bitter note in the form of the dark chocolate coat it wears. But the dusting of cinnamon graham crumbs takes it back to it's homey dessert origins. The initial response has been overwhelmingly positive.

Recognizing where chocolate was most needed, a few bonbons were quietly slipped into a few needy hands, as all eyes were focused on our First Graders who performed so well onstage. The smiles and the deep sighing is all that is needed to know. However, the tale of a terrible day full of in-law friction, morphing into a fine day after enjoying the truffle, was happily received.

The fish in chips recipe made for the kiddles the other night needs a lot of work, but might be something in a few more tries. The mac 'n cheese is solid- especially when topped with french fried onions.

As for Hub's birthday Open House, we are not on the same page. Considering it's next week- we need to figure it out. Being a man who is turning 40, he wants to eat red meat and celebrate his deepening masculinity, while beating his chest. Visions of fat slabs of beef and stein's filled with ale fill my head whenever his ideal birthday party is imagined. But when left to my own devices, bowls of fresh,crispy green salads thinly slicked in flavorful aromatic dressings occupy my vision. And platters of cheeses and fruits, and every kind of bread to soak up the pitchers of fruity sangria's and exotic punches. Of course, all of this is just biding time until Dessert. A table covered in jewelled toned pies (blueberry, strawberry, peach), A tall and proud chocolate layer cake, a devious little chocolate tart, a couple cream pies (key lime, banana peanut butter). Of course a sturdy bundt ( Lemon? Maple Pecan?), caramel sandwich cookies, salt caramels with pink peppercorns (?!) an assorted truffle platter, shooters of butterscotch pudding. And a fanciful cheesecake.

The obvious question is how to coalesce the two? How to make it work without too much dissonance? Serve the sangria in beer steins? Make a garden deli party? Trays of meat tastefully arranged and garnished, served alongside finger friendly potato knishes, and bowls of fresh green salad, and an gourmet inspired cole slaw- OK, maybe, but dessert is all mine.