whoopies #2

The perfectionist in me is both cringing at the non-mouth-watering-ness of this picture and chiding me to stay accurate about my whoopie count...so here you go.

I didn't get a single picture that captures how decadent these all-American S'mores whoopies were...or how messy. Suffice it to say, the newbies & skeptics ate them with forks, while the rest of us just licked our fingers a lot (in true s'mores fashion).

Happy Memorial Day, everyone...I hope your holiday was safe, fun and relaxing!

student academy award winner

Intricate sets, subtle story, stop-motion animation, simple music, empty of dialogue...beautiful.

Created by three KC Art Institute students (only two of whom are credited on the SAA site?).

Dried Up from Cecil on Vimeo.

a healthy evening, plus cream and butter

Naps are incredibly good for your health.

So, incidentally, are stalks of rhubarb simmered in sugary water and drenched in rich custard over buttery brioche bread.

recipe here

Also good for your health: seeing a wonderful friend and her boyfriend gardening together, making dinner, and generally enjoying each other's company as much as always.

No pictures of that, but you can let your mental images be cute as possible.

whoopies #1

classic chocolate cakelets + candied ginger cream filling

mennonite sales & whoopie pies.

A little over a month ago, I had the good fortune to attend an exciting event in Hutchinson, KS, called the MCC Sale -- or, if you prefer the elongated version, the 42nd Annual Kansas Mennonite Relief Sale, an event benefitting the Mennonite Central Committee (MCC).

The website for the event charmed me from the get-go. Clunky lettering, a smiling clip-art sun plopped over a classic half-arc rainbow, and a row of links listing the main attractions: Auctions, Quilts, Food, Crafts, and More! Well, what more could a girl possibly want?!

But before I (or you, heaven forbid) get too big(ish)-city condescending about it, you should know a few things. First of all, in case it's a little fuzzy in your mind like it was in mine, Mennonite is not the same as Amish. There are different Mennonite denominations, whose practices vary, but overall, there were far more people dressed like this than like this. And second, you should check out how much the MCC does. In brief -- a LOT. For instance, I didn't know that Ten Thousand Villages, an established fair trade organization that sells handicrafts made by artisans in developing countries, is run by MCC.

It was incredibly cool to witness such a well-attended, well-supported event whose proceeds benefit people around the world. And it clearly held such a place in people's hearts and families. I loved seeing a dad and his daughter pouring a huge sack of coins into a big change-counting machine, each supporting the shifting mass while onlookers gazed upward at the total amount collected, projected on the wall. Every building was full of families and friends milling about, catching up, referring to German foods I'd never heard of before, and, of course, eating. Which didn't make me feel at home at all...no, sir. Not that I had a russian pancake and a whoopie pie for breakfast or anything. Or regular pie later, after a stomachful of BBQ. Or cheese curds...ever.

But hey, while we're here, let's linger on an important topic: whoopie pies. Have you heard of them? They are tender, cakey cookie halves sandwiching airy cream filling. Also known as childlike joy in quasi-cookie form. Or breakfast, part deux.

Finding the chubby little cakelets was my first task at the sale, and munching one in the simple setting of the Kansas fairgrounds was pure pleasure.

So hold that thought and fast-forward a few days...and imagine my delight when my amazing roommate, without my even saying that I'm in love with the pillowy little confections, gives me a whole book about them!

The volume is even a little squishy -- the binding is puffy like those raised stickers I couldn't get enough of as a kid. It's filled with sweet illustrations and instructions for making whoopies both traditional (chocolate + marshmallow fluff) and inventive (pistachio-cardamom + rosewater buttercream). And as if the stars hadn't aligned quite well enough...

...it's got a recipe for candied ginger filling.

Thank you, Laura!! Our kitchen will transform into a fairground of Pennsylvania-Amish desserts in no time.

too true...and well-designed, too

more funny (and true) pairs at recoveringlazyholic

jessica is my role model

distance, as they say...

I spent the last few days in NYC, visiting my older brother (who just graduated from grad school!) and spending most of the time either walking or eating. Which at least balances out when it comes to calories.

But given my setting, a sparkling city with exotic, new-to-me restaurants every two paces, and my temperament, marked by growing curiosity toward foodstuffs of most every ilk, I didn't expect to miss my homey little kitchen in KC.

Seriously! My asparagus in the fridge, and the poor little basil plant I bought just before leaving...what would become of them, untended? Would my chives wilt? Un-used ingredients patiently waiting their turn in the spotlight haunted my thoughts. And not just that -- I was missing cooking, like you might miss a person. Why?

I have a couple theories.

First: restaurants cost money. Especially in New York. Home-based cookery? Not as much. Even though my awesome parents were willing to pay my way everywhere, I felt anxious about it, and wanted to be able to do something other than argue about the bills.

Second: active domesticity, for me, equals creativity. I love using my hands & head. All that got exercised in NYC were my feet & belly. (Still a good experience, though!)

Third: cooking challenges me. I love putting stuff together and finding out what happens. And the more I explore, the bolder and brighter my dreams get. (Relatively speaking, of course.)

And fourth -- I'm on a roll with ginger, people, so please don't stop me.

There's not a whole lot to take away from this revelation (unless it causes a similar one in you). But I'm kind of excited to know that cooking means more to me than I had thought, at least at this time in life. Apparently it's a form of expression and challenge that I need, and want. And that's exciting.

And more practically, and excitedly, speaking...

A girl still in possession of raw rhubarb must be in want of the time to use it.

But not for long, friends. Not for long.

permission

you must do

(simply be)

you must please

(you may enjoy)

you must make reason

of your space here

(let your presence be enough)

you must achieve

(you may rest)

you must listen

(you may speak)

you must do all,

and see all, and mark all things

(you must only give

what you have,

and no less,

love it)

when I fear that I'm not useful.

Black Oaks

by Mary Oliver

Okay, not one can write a symphony, or a dictionary,
or even a letter to an old friend, full of remembrance
and comfort.

Not one can manage a single sound though the blue jays
carp and whistle all day in the branches, without
the push of the wind.

But to tell the truth after a while I'm pale with longing
for their thick bodies ruckled with lichen

and you can't keep me from the woods, from the tonnage

of their shoulders, and their shining green hair.

Today is a day like any other: twenty-four hours, a
little sunshine, a little rain.

Listen, says ambition, nervously shifting her weight from
one boot to another -- why don't you get going?

For there I am, in the mossy shadows, under the trees.

And to tell the truth I don't want to let go of the wrists
of idleness, I don't want to sell my life for money,

I don't even want to come in out of the rain.

on toons & pop-tarts

I like baking. That's no secret to most people reading this blog.

A few friends have said I should start a food blog, which I definitely should not do (because I don't cook often enough, and my photography's not that good, and the list goes on...). But I'm still charmed by the idea.

Well, a few days ago, I was similarly charmed by a recipe via Smitten Kitchen for mini homemade pop-tarts.

So I made 'em.

And took pictures of them.

And then, after pondering long and hard and sitting inside on a rainy night...I decided to blog about them.

(And so begins a maybe-possibly, we'll-see-how-it-goes, not-making-any-promises, foodish-bloggy-thing.)

***

I spent a lot of hours on these little tartlets. And while biting into one, I'd tell you it was worth it. Most of the rest of the time, though, like while washing the food processor for the 3rd time or waiting at 2:00am for the tarts to finish chilling before baking, I'd recommend you coerce a friend into making them for you.

They're not easy.

Still, rather like fussy newborn babies, their cuteness compels you to raise them right. Mine didn't turn out quite as cute as SK's, but the flaky crust had something crazy-good going for it (we'll call it "butter"), and the at-a-glance factor was aww-inspiring. Couple the tender, yet sturdy exterior with three tasty fillings -- Nutella for the first two batches, then apricot-strawberry jam and blackberry jam -- and you've got 64 tiny tartlets and one sleep-deprived yet self-satisfied momma cook.

Admittedly, I wouldn't haul out my rolling pin this many times for just any occasion. It helped that I knew these pop-tarts were going to feed a fun batch of friends after one of the best mornings on record: cartoon-watching + cereal-eating in the film vault of the downtown library.

It was a morning I'll hold on to for a long while.

(Nostalgic toaster pastries, on the other hand, shouldn't be held on to for much more than a week, stored in an airtight container.)

the pencil is mightier...

My dad has a sweet, earnest, and uncontrollable habit of buying things for my mom and I while he's out fleamarketing (and antiquing and swapmeeting. Sorry, spellcheck, I'm doing it anyway). We were out to lunch together this week, and he started fishing around in his shirt pocket like he had something to give me. I wondered what was going to emerge -- who could say? Would it be an old nickel dispenser from the '20s? No, that was a few weeks ago. A note from my tax guy? A new title for my car? A small odometer from a rare British motorcycle in the '70s?

Nope, none of that-- Instead, he handed me this pretty little sheath, decorated with mosaic. I used to collect mosaics -- I loved the intricate details, fun shapes and colors, and it gave me a way to participate in the family perusals through antique malls.

And then he showed me this.

I'm in love with it. It's so delicate and covert -- it makes me think of Jane Austen, who wrote brilliant, lengthy novels on tiny sheets of paper.

She was careful that her occupation should not be suspected by servants, or visitors, or any persons beyond her own family party. She wrote upon small sheets of paper which could easily be put away, or covered with a piece of blotting paper. There was, between the front door and the offices, a swing door which creaked when it was opened; but she objected to having this little inconvenience remedied, because it gave her notice when anyone was coming.

(source)

I would love to turn this little artifact into a necklace -- and may yet do that -- but I'm a little afraid the pencil would fall out. Still, it's an amazing little piece, and it'll remind me of the hobby I adopted with my dad, and the reasons we love antiques. They're a good reminder that life wasn't always the way it is now, and people adapted and invented and conceived of innumerable ideas -- always. From rocks scratching on walls, to pencils in mosaic sheaths, to clicky Sharpies and fingers clicking on keyboards (or phone screens) -- we're quite the same, still. Just -- now we stare at screens all day, while years ago, people built pyramids.

i'm an animal

After hearing Mary Oliver speak at the Lied Center tonight, the words of Neko Case are ringing even louder in my ears. Acknowledgment of basic instinct, heightened by human soul and longing. Plus some simplicity and humor. Here's the song by Neko Case, and a poem that echoes it.

---

Wild Geese

by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting --
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

---

Favorite quote from the night:

What is, in your mind, the perfect day?

A little work...a little love...and a good lunch.