More than we'll ever need

We did a new thing this year: we adopted some apple trees from a community apple orchard. We paid a small fee (about 20 apples' worth, if you're buying them at the store), did some pruning, and stepped back to let rain and shine do their thing.

In early Fall, we got the call that our apples were ready.

These are organic apples — not the waxed-up, pesticide-soaked supermodels that you'd find at the grocery store. Your first reaction might be that they weren't any good... but oh, they were, they were.

Deborah asked for a basket for her birthday, spcifically for harvesting things.

The kids enthusiastically picked the low-hanging fruit...

...while Risanna munched.

Pretty soon, the allure of a climbable tree plus the lack of low-hanging fruit led to the logical solution.

I lost count at 360 apples. The Zipper proved very handy, as not only could we move things around, but it could drive on the grass, and provided a handy place to climb on to get upper branches.

The apples needed to be cleaned up, but looked great with a little washing...

Beautiful apples.

They did need to be cut up to get the worm holes out. For all the apples we had, this took days.

After several hours of cooking and a trip trough a food mill, we ended up with more than 20 quarts of really good applesauce.

What Summer Tastes Like

This is what summer tastes like to me: Zucchini spaghetti. Zucchini and tomatoes from our own garden. Sweet, slick onions. A dash or so of olive oil and parmesan. Ahhh.

Screeeee...Crash! ...yum, yum, yum.

One of our favorite daily reads around here is Cake Wrecks ("When professional cakes go horribly, hilariously wrong.") Deborah is so much a fan that, while her mother (being an erstwhile pro cake decorator herself) was here, they made a Cake Wreck of their own.

We think the pink cake was at fault.

I've heard of fender-benders, but fondant-benders?

Actually, it wasn't just Deborah and her mother; most of us, including Paul, got into the act, staying up well past midnight. It was fun. (My contribution? I used my mad color-matching skilzz to turn what threatened to be an orange-and-pink cake into a pink-and-dark-pink cake, and then also matched the fondant to that same color. Oh, and I twirled some fondant strips around pencils.)

The police cake has yet to arrive on the scene. Think the insurance cake will cover us?

* * *

Often lampooned on Cake Wrecks is the subject of spelling. (How many ways ARE there of mis-spelling "Birthday"? You'd be amazed.) Fortunately, they don't take the over-used Grammar Nazi approach, but try to be funny, instead. (I define "Grammar Nazi" as anyone who would rather correct your wording than respond to the substance of what you've said. I've known many.)

But what do you do when you know you're writing for someone whose grammar skills vastly outstrip your own? What if your intended recipient is a renowned editrix and and proofreader for an academic publisher? Well, if you're my friend/co-worker Amy, you get a cake with three deliberate mistakes...

...and a tube of red frosting to make corrections:

Amy found nine!

(You can read the full thing over here. Thanks for sharing the photos, Amy!)

The best part of these "wrecks," though, is this: No matter how it was decorated, you get to eat the evidence. Yum!

Cookie Love

We were still working through our stash of Halloween candy when Deborah bought candy canes for Christmas. I groaned: We're given enough sweets, and we go through them so slowly, that I figured I'd be finding dessicated, sticky canes at the bottom of the candy bowl next Halloween. I was still occasionally pointing this out around Valentine's day when Deborah told me she had plans for those candy canes.

Well. I can complain no longer.

Deborah sealed the candy canes in bags, and let the kids go at them with hammers. Then, she took her already-excellent dark chocolate cookies — the ones that burn delightfully with unexpected cayenne, and instead of decorating them in the usual way, mixed the candy cane fragments into frosting, and made sandwich cookies together with the kids.

Did I say I complained? Let me go back and strike out all mention of my complaining. Deborah can buy all the candy canes she wants at Christmas. These were good. Dangerously good.

Fiona made this one especially for me. I melted.

It got me thinking about the nature of love, as well. The more I looked at this cookie, the more I realized how much had gone into it. How many analogies for love could I find in this one cookie?

I came up with a bunch: Love is ...generous and overflowing; dark, and surprising (particularly when red pepper is mixed in!); drawn from the past, and applied to the present; giving good things despite whining... but in the end, I kept coming back to one that defined it all:

Love is inexpertly applied, with great enthusiasm.

Fiona wants to know....

...what this symbol means:

She found it on the lid to a jar of applesauce. She said I could look it up on the internet (the source of all answers, obviously!) but I haven't had any luck so far. Maybe you know?

Young Perspectives on an Old Beverage

We were having chili, and nothing goes with that like a good glass of Guinness. The kids were intrigued.

Fiona studied the glass very carefully, and announced that it was beautiful, a sunset with fluffy clouds over a darkening sky, with fireworks. (And yes, that's pretty much how she said it, too.) I took a picture to document her description.

Aiden, on the other hand, wanted a taste. I let him have a tiny sip in his glass. "What's it like?" I asked. He considered for a moment. "It tastes like trains."

Forget what they say on labels about fruity overtones or a dark amber color, or all that frou-frou. We need to have kids describe things for us.

No-Spit Candy

My first year of college, I got adopted by a family in my church. It wasn't something any of us intended — I just needed a ride, as it would be nearly another year until I had my driver's license, and mountain biking in the snow while keeping warm was a stretch in my still-adapting wardrobe. So I rode with them. Problem is, they liked to stay and chat after church for a long time, until well after the cafeteria at Grace had closed. So they took me home for lunch. Those Sunday afternoons at their house were something I treasured then, and now. The kids — the oldest was, 10, I think — thought I was fun and cool (as much as I could tell) and the parents were wonderful to talk to and learn from. They became one of my first resources on figuring out how life on my own worked.

Now, I tell you that story, to tell you this one.

A few years later, when Deborah and I were "going out" — as much as one can "go out" when normally separated by a thousand miles — Deborah came down to visit me for Spring Break. Now, I didn't really have anyplace to go — my nearest relatives were well over a hundred miles away — and I certainly didn't have anyplace to put Deborah, so I asked if I could stay with them for the week. And, oh, can my girlfriend come, too?

Turns out we could.

The second or third day she was there, Deborah bounded out in her spritely way, and announced that she'd like to make candy. Resistance was slim, so she set to making up a big batch of coconut balls. This involved a large amount of powdered sugar, and Deborah, concerned that the kids would be... well, kids, dramatically emphasized that there was to be no added moisture to the mixture, lest the candies be reduced to balls of goo. If you sprayed when you spoke, you were banned during the first part — this was NO SPIT CANDY. She actually had me stand guard at the doors to the kitchen, which, in addition to making it more fun, made the candy nearly irresistible. It didn't hurt that they tasted really, really good, too.

Years later, when we were married, they invited us to join them for Thanksgiving. When we asked what we should bring, the answer was immediate and unanimous: NO SPIT CANDY! I think they were all gone before the meal was even served...

And now, year later than that, I see a renewed, plaintive plea in the comments on this blog, asking for the recipe for No-Spit Candy. So, here it is, guys. Enjoy.

Mix:

2 lbs. powdered sugar
1 can condensed milk
1 ½ cups shredded coconut
1–2 cups chopped walnuts
½ stick (¼ cup) butter or margarine
1 teaspoon vanilla

Coating:

1 bag chocolate chips
½ block of paraffin (wax)

Mix the ingredients together and form into 1" balls. Place in the freezer until ready for dipping. Melt the paraffin (you can get this wherever they sell canning supplies) and the chocolate together in a double-boiler (or, as we did, in two nested pans with water in the bottom of one.) Dip the balls with toothpicks, and cover the hole with drizzle from a spoon. Enjoy!

Paul and Deborah demonstrate the dipping technique.

'Cause cheese isn't crunchy enough?

The latest trend in fine dining here at Patience Corners? Adding carrots to your grilled cheese sandwich.

Both Fiona and Aiden heartily recommend this new recipe. According to Fiona, this makes the sandwich smell like tuna, although neither Aiden nor I were able to confirm these findings in an independent study.

Saucy Pictures

You know you're in trouble when the recipe calls for ingredients in bushels. But, when you have several bushels of tomatoes, that's the sort of recipe you reach for. We'd already made a few weeks' worth of salsa (which is saying something for us), and several months' worth of pizza sauce; why not take another crack at that spaghetti sauce that gave us so much trouble last year?

Wash, rinse, and photograph tomatoes. (Sorry, I dig the reflections here...)

Batch two of six. (The cherry tomatoes were for snacking; they didn't go into the sauce.)

Chop and add other ingredients. Never, ever, did I imagine that I would look at this pot and think it was too small...

Cook it all down for 2½ hours...

Take turns running it through the food mill, and blending the bits that won't go through the grate...

Cook it again... (Note how much less the volume is here. We poured off a lot of liquid to make a thicker sauce.)

Rack 'em...

Boil 'em to disinfect and seal the jars...

...and you're done!

Costs: 6-7 hours of time, one dead blender (RIP, Oster; you had a long and interesting life), and marginal increases in the gas and electric bills.

Yields: Seven quart jars of spaghetti sauce.

Yeah, I'm still trying to figure out if it was worth all the trouble, too!

Indefinite Shelf Life?

Three years ago, Marti, the customer service manager at Eisenbrauns, bought five Twinkies that had just reached their expiration date, and set them aside in a desk drawer with notes on each of them as to when they should be opened and tested. Does the urban legend of an indefinite shelf life had any truth to it? You can see the results yourself...

I felt surreal and light-headed for about half an hour afterwards. Then I had an apple, and that made me feel better. Thanks to James for recording and posting the video (his first ever!) I think it came out pretty well, especially since I wasn't working from a script!

Are Pickles and Ice Cream Next?

We're halfway to the due date now, and one thing I'm consistently hearing out of Deborah is that she's hungry, and almost as often, that she needs something to eat right away. This particular combination put in an appearance a few days ago: homemade apple sauce with cinnamon imperials melted into it.

Odd. But really quite good, actually.

Can I have some more, please?

To the anonymous person who left a whole bag of groceries on the front porch last night....

...thanks.

Chez Winona with Fiona and Aiden

Always include your children when cooking. It just tastes better.

Build, build, ooh, ah, chomp, chomp, chomp

I'm still catching up on my backlog of Christmas pictures.

Since we moved to California back in 1980, my family has been making graham cracker houses at Christmastime. This year, however, my mother-in-law got us a gingerbread house kit, complete with house-shaped cookie cutters and frosting tips. We thought is was overkill for everyone to build their own, so we just made two, and several people helped with each.

We had a professional cake decorator (my mother-in-law) on one team, and a professional graphic designer (moi) on the other, so I figured we were pretty even as far as artistic direction.

This is serious business, folks.

Deborah and Carolyn's finished house.

Isn't that a nice roof?

Paul and I acquit ourselves nicely, too, I think.

Yum!

I'm Dreaming of a White Thanksgiving...

In Winona Lake, for as long as I can remember, the first appreciable snow of the season has, more often than not, occurred on Thanksgiving or the day before. This year falls right into line.

Can we eat yet, daddy?

We had a fairly quiet day; since there were only two adults, we (again) eschewed turkey in favor of something simpler, in this case, steak. We've been married for more than 10 years now, and we've never made turkey. Ever. Grilling duties fell to me, and everyone got their order just right... once I got the fire started. For some reason I have abysmal fire-starting skills.

We did go around the table and share a few things we were thankful for; Aiden, when asked, said he was thankful for "that" — a bowlful of cranberry sauce. Fiona was thankful for necklaces. I was thankful that all the bills were paid, we both have jobs we like, and everyone's healthy.

The Ristra of Damocles

The garden, to our amazement, continues to produce, despite predictions of snow. So we had to do something with all those peppers....

We call it, "The Ristra of Damocles."

We've still got a whole box left, though, so we need to make a few more.

Not Your Average Bear

We made cookies. It was all very straightforward until we got to the part about decorating them...