Remembering summer: soft pretzels

Every once in a while I have to remind myself and all those around me that, although my calendar is bulging and my odometer is spinning, I am a stay-at-home parent who values staying at home. Some of our best times as a family are our free mornings. Those days when we paint, dress up, dance, bake, build, paste at will. I've learned to look forward to them and cherish them.

During the summer, when school was not cramping our playtime, those days were easier to come by. And for me, nothing says "Free Morning" better than making our own soft pretzels. This super-simple recipe is from the magazine Highlights High 5.

On this August occasion, we invited our charming 4 -yr-old neighbors.

First you gather up all the ingredients.

Next, mix a package of yeast (or 2 and 1/4 teaspoons yeast) and a tablespoon of sugar into 3/4 cup warm milk. Let it stand until it's foamy (10 minutes or so). If you are lucky, the kids will do something quiet while they wait.

Then mix the yeast mixture with 2 cups flour and 1/2 teaspoon of salt in a large bowl.

Knead until smooth.

Then, split the dough so everyone has some. Shape away! Most of these girls opted for their initials.

One overachiever spelled her whole name.

Place shapes on a cookie sheet. Brush with beaten egg. Sprinkle your choice of salt, garlic powder, herbs, or cinnamon sugar. Bake for 15 minutes at 400 degrees.

Somehow I always forget to get pictures of the finished pretzels. Maybe that's because the warm, herby aroma, combined with the olive oil that we bring out for dipping, completely captures my attention. And who can think about photography when they are busy ingesting the proof of our lovely, free morning?!

Look What's Growing in my Grandma's Basement

My grandma's basement is:

1) a treasure house of books, dolls, fabric, metal toys, paintings.

2) storing a ping-pong table on top of a pool table.

3) a study in psychology.

4) a visual representation of 7 people's hobbies.

5) messy beyond belief.

6) referenced as a way to measure one's own messiness, as in "my closet is almost as messy as Grandma's basement, but not quite."

Now that my grandmother is living in a nursing home, my mother and her sister have undertaken the monumental task of sorting through this basement. It's a process.

A few months ago, my mom dropped off a gigantic bag of fabric from my grandma's basement. Here are some of the sweet swatches I found.

Despite the charm of the fabric, I was not inspired to make anything special. That is, not until I was invited to this grandmother's 90th birthday celebration in Traverse City this past weekend.

I also happened upon this book:

And I had to get myself to the sewing machine. And fast.

I decided to make a fast, mini, memory quilt on a pillowcase.

After the first step, I had a beautiful winter tree.

And after the thing was finished, the tree was old-fashioned and timeless, similar to the creativity that I believe my grandmother passed to me.

The birthday weekend was colorful and beachy.

The party was a beautiful tribute to my grandmother, Ruth Schiller Fabis, her life, and her artwork.

'Tis the season: Applesauce

Recently we made a trip to our favorite orchard and came home with this bag of beauty.

But within hours after bringing them home, we pulled out our favorite Apple Torture Device

and started making applesauce.

It's painfully easy.

First wash the apples.

Then shove them on the machine and have a child do the cranking.

Pull off the apple spiral and discard the core and skin for composting later.

Chop the spiral into quarters.

When your apples are all sliced, toss into a pot with a bit of water.

Simmer till tender, then mash with some dashes of cinnamon. Serve warm or cold.

I'm still not sure which is my favorite: the joy of the orchard,

or the aroma of the apples simmering on my stove.

The Final Harvest

Last week I went out in the garden to put it to bed. I had in mind: pulling the last of the gourd vines, composting spent tomato plants, taking stock of the work to be done next spring, saying "Goodnight" to the garden.

I was totally shocked, yet again, at what I found hidden under dying plants.

That's right. Sixteen peppers. Sixteen.

I think some stuffed peppers are in order.

The Year of the Boxed Lunch

Last year was the Snacking Year. I meant to write about it but I was too busy slicing apples, bottling water, and packing peanuts.

With my new 9pm activity of packing my first grader's lunch, I've realized that this year is different. We're on to boxed lunches.

So to commemorate this new school year, I tried making something called Granola Balls. To be honest, the recipe calls them Protein Peanut Butter Balls, but who could sell that to kids?

The recipe goes something like this:

Mix together 1 cup peanut butter, 1 cup honey, 1 cup protein powder. Then add 4 cups of any combination of oats, sunflower seeds, flaxseed, wheat germ, raisins, chopped dried apricots, chocolate chips, whatever else sounds good.

I chose most of that.

Mix all that together. Adjust the consistency by adding more honey or oats, as necessary to make it neither gooey, nor crumbly. A very scientific process, you can see. Next, form 1 inch balls, place on a cookie sheet, chill, and store in fridge.

This recipe made about 50 balls. It would have made more, except some sneaky adult kept on having taste tests. This person was having her 1st day of 1st grade, no doubt eating the lunch I packed for her.

(I'm not sure why that string of hair looks like an earbud.)

And this person is clearly not an adult.

Oh, wait, I was the only adult in the house at the time.

These will be going into today's lunch!

Update: these turned out too sweet for my taste, so now I use about 1/2 of the honey. Maybe a tad more than 1/2 if they seem too dry to hold together.

When life gives you green tomatoes...

When life gives you lemons, you're supposed to make lemonade. But what do you do when life gives you green tomatoes?

Fry them, of course!

That's what happened last week. My neighbor called saying that she was going out of town and would I please do her a favor and pick up her farm share (weekly bundle of random and abundant vegetables), and by the way, could I eat it all too?

I call that a gift, not a favor. But, not to waste time with semantics, I assured her that, yes, I would gladly pick up her farm share and eat it all.

What an adventure! I headed out to the farmer's market with 1 6-year-old on a bike, 1 4-year old who insisted on walking, an empty stroller to accommodate someone/anyone/box of veggies, and an enthusiastic dog on a leash. We walked downhill to the market and meandered through it till we spotted the farm truck. The gentleman then proceeded to fill my neighbor's farm share box with a bit of everything in the back of his truck: peppers of various kinds, potatoes, garlic, shallots, corn, a cantaloupe, baby eggplants, basil, red tomatoes, yellow tomatoes, and GREEN tomatoes.

What to do with hard, green tomatoes?

Walking back home, uphill, I had plenty of time to think about it.

Then I remembered that quirky movie from the early 90's. And I fried them up.

How? Well, a different neighbor showed me how about 5 years ago, so I did my best to remember.

First, slice the tomatoes into 1/4 or 1/2 inch slices. Dip the slices in beaten egg. Then dredge them in cornmeal/flour/salt to coat. I took a shortcut and dipped them in dry cornmeal mix. Next, fry them in a hot pan with a generous about of olive oil.

Keep in mind, that when I say generous, I don't mean an inch of oil. I mean enough to cover the bottom of the pan and then maybe a dab more.

Finally, flip them like pancakes when they are good and brown and crispy. Fry on that side, adding a tad more oil if necessary. Flip them onto a plate when done. Fry in batches, like pancakes.

I guess I was feeling extra crusty that day, because I served them with breaded tofu.

This whole doing-a-favor-for-my-neighbor has me seriously considering purchasing a farm share next year.

That pesky battle: form vs. function

It was mere moments from the time my mother-in-law brought these into my home

that I had a batch of shortbread cookie dough ready for pressing.

Her dear friend and roommate was cleaning out a cupboard and thought of me. Should I be this tickled to be associated with cupboard cleaning? "Send these to Keri and the girls!" the dear friend declared.

I love her declarations.

And I love the synergy between my mother-in-law and her long-time creative comrade.

Back to the cookie presses:

Seeing these made me reach almost reflexively for the butter.

Earthy, yet shiny. Strong, yet delicate.

The girls had a blast pressing the quaint images into the dough.

Alas, the shapes tended to spread and the cuteness was mostly lost. It's a good thing the cookies tasted like a crisp, buttery heaven.

Oh, well, it's a good excuse to try a new recipe.