Category: summer

Rosé, you make me blush

~ Katherine ~ 2 Comments

Summer for me means time on our deck, looking out over the vegetable garden, the flower bed and the lawn, green, but for the brown divots leading up to our kids’ soccer net. This holiday weekend, I plan on spending an evening or two leaning back in my chair, watching the bats dive for mosquitoes in the twilight and ducking soccer balls all while sipping a cool glass of rosé to the soundtrack of Frank Sinatra.

I recently learned a bit about this delightfully crisp and chill wine, so very pretty to look at. According to the article “Everything’s Coming Up Rosé” in the June issue of Food & Wine magazine, author Ray Isle, tells us not to think too deeply about this summery wine, but to enjoy it thoroughly. My favorite quote from Isle is “(If, at a party, someone starts talking to you about the raspberry nuances and subtle spice notes of the rosé you’re drinking, you’re officially allowed to push him or her into the pool.)”

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Provence is where rosé calls home, but, lucky for us, rosé can be pleasantly and inexpensively produced just about everywhere. Here’s why, according again to Isle: “Producers simply need to pick grapes on the early side (to keep acidity high and alcohol low) and allow minimal skin contact during fermentation (hence the pink hue), and that’s most of the rosé in the world.”

This weekend (beginning tonight) I’ll be opening a bottle of the “Blushing Rose” a local American semi-sweet rosé from Wollersheim Winery of Wisconsin. Made from the Seyval Blanc and Marechal Foch grapes of New York, this wine wants to you desire a picnic basket of cold fried chicken, your favorite cheese, Rhubarb Blueberry Mint Kissed Jam and a loaf of bread.

Epicureously yours,

Kathy

Lemonade Wisconsin-style by way of cherry pie

~ Katherine ~ Leave a comment

 

 

I kept the juice from the cherries I bought to supplement the cherries given to me by a neighbor from her tree.  I should’ve made a straight-up cherry pie which is what I was craving, but the husband doesn’t like cherry pie, so I looked for a compromise.

There in my Pie:300 Tried-and-True Recipes for Delicious Homemade Pie book was a recipe for Dense Cherry-Almond Coffeecake Pie.  I figured I like coffee cake.  He likes coffee cake and the cherries would be so dispersed throughout that he could easily avoid them.  So I set to work on an all-butter crust, in the middle of a humid August afternoon, with the kitchen windows open.  I know, I know, all you pie crust makers out there.  What was I thinking?  See photo.  I don’t even want to talk about it.

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I will tell you that I egg-washed the crust to death to fill in the cracks hoping only at that point to save my back from all the scrubbing I would have to do to get a whole mess of leaked-out, cooked cake filling off the pie plate later.

As for the finished pie.  They say anything in a pie crust is delicious and I say, Delicious?  No.  Passable for a few mornings with coffee?  Sure.  And now I am a proponent of keeping your coffee cake separate from your pie.

Back to the cherry juice.  I made lemonade for the kids the other day and right before I served it to them in their little cups with paper straws (Pizzazz!), I added a good splash of sweet cherry juice (Double pizzazz!).

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After taking their first sips, Long live the Queen!–they chanted wildly.

One of, if not the very first recipes I clipped our first summer living in the Midwest was for, romantically so, fresh-squeezed lemonade. and is called Carson Gulley’s lemonade.  Mr. Gulley was head chef of the University of Wisconsin-Madison from 1927-1954 and had his own weekly cooking show, “What’s Cooking” on local television.

The recipe is for a full gallon, but here’s my version, cut in half.

Begin with four lemons and 3/4 cup of granulated sugar.   Thinly slice one of the lemons and place in a pitcher with the sugar.  Using a wooden spoon, lightly press the lemons into the sugar.  Leave rest for 30 minutes.

Speaking of rest…while the lemon slices and sugar are getting to know each other, I’ll be reading a book in my favorite chair outside beneath my favorite tree.

After 30 minutes is up, juice the remaining three lemons into the pitcher.  It’s easy to catch the seeds if you squeeze your lemons into a small strainer over the mouth of the pitcher.

Finally add enough water and ice to fill the pitcher (a half-gallon).

You have successfully captured one of summer’s fleeting moments!  Enjoy!

 

 

Last night’s last-minute pasta dinner

~ Katherine ~ 1 Comment

 

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Last night’s dinner was thrown together around 6:30 when everyone was beginning to get fidgety, taking turns opening the refrigerator door and cabinets.  Since I hadn’t had anything planned, I did the most sensible thing I know and set a pot of water on the stove to boil while I opened a box of spaghetti–the one ingredient the whole family can agree on (some will have it with butter, some with salt, another with olive oil and salt).  Then I began to look around for what would satisfy me.

I saw a couple of ripe tomatoes from our CSA (Community Supported Agriculture) share sitting on a dish on the kitchen table.  Next to them, a few stems of fresh basil I picked from our garden the other morning and arranged in a recycled jam jar, which got me thinking that I still had some of last summer’s pesto in the freezer.

Since I had frozen the pesto without the cheese and butter, a tip I learned from Marcella Hazen in her book Essentials of Classic Italian Cooking I got to grating a wedge of local SarVecchio Parmesan cheese from The Sartori Family of Wisconsin and began softening a couple tablespoons of butter.  The frozen cubes of pesto, parmesan and butter, I placed near the simmering pot of water, using the heat to warm it all nicely together.

In the meantime, I roughly chopped a couple of tomatoes and placed them in a large bowl.  Before I drained the pasta I added some of the pasta water to the pesto mixture a couple of tablespoons at a time, mixing it together until I had a nice not too thick, not too thin consistency.

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I placed the hot spaghetti on top of the fresh tomatoes, spooned the pesto, cheese and butter mixture on top and gave it all a gentle toss.

Within an hour, dinner was served.  The kids ate their bowls of pasta plain or buttered or oiled however they liked along with some string cheese on the side.  They munched on sweet carrots from our CSA while chatting to each other about this and that.

The husband had had a big lunch that afternoon so picked on a few carrots and called it a night.

Everyone seemed content and I got to eat something I enjoyed, so I called it a good night.

 

 

 

 

 

A 1970-Something Summer

~ Katherine ~ Leave a comment

 

 

When I was little and it was summer, I would run.  Run to get where I needed to go.  I was always up for a game of tag–of running bases between the sturdy poles of the clothesline.  I would run barefoot over the grass for as long as I could (before the grown-ups would insist I put my shoes back on).

You would think with all this running that I grew up on acres somewhere in the country.  But I didn’t.  I am from a small backyard, squished between two other small backyards each with their own secret things.

One side of my yard was a wooden wall–the color of mint chocolate chip ice cream.  It was the wall of the neighbor’s garage.  We had pussy willow growing against it.  And one day, Nick ran too fast–tumbled right into those woody branches and got one caught in his leg.  I followed him inside, while holding my ears against his screams as the flustered moms, interrupted of their coffee and cigarettes, pulled it out.

There was a low fence (made of chicken wire, maybe?) that lined the backside of the yard.  Along it grew our vegetable garden–peppers, tomatoes, eggplants.  This fence was not sturdy, and any strong, lithe and backyard-wise girl of eight or so, knew instinctively not to climb it.

The third side was built of a rusty cyclone fence softened with sweet, yellow and white honeysuckle. This belonged to Grandma and Grandpa.  Just on the other side grew rose bushes, blue hydrangeas and delicate Lily of the Valley–pretty things that don’t belong where children play.

Most days I was happy enough contained within a space of those sweet honeysuckle, blades of grass, bitter dandelion, and blushing clover.  I tasted it all, took sips from the hose and delighted in my self-sufficiency.  I didn’t know it then of course, but I was learning how to feed myself.

 

 

 

 

A Midsummer Foodie’s Dream

~ Katherine ~ 1 Comment

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I’ve been reading, planning, scheming.  What to make — what new recipe to try during these midsummer days…..

Normally, I prefer to tell you the results, for better or worse, of what I’ve made.  But today, I thought I ‘d share with you my hopes of what I’d like to taste before the end of this ephemeral season.  And, you can expect a full report over the next few weeks with recipes included.

Let’s start out slow, with bon appétit’s Editor-in-Chief, Adam Rapoport’s recommendation for two fast and easy salsas (July 2014): Tomatillo Salsa Verde — with onion, garlic, serrano chile and cilantro all whirled in a blender; and Salsa Roja Asada — smoky flavor as a result of charring the tomatoes in a piping-hot cast iron skillet with onion and serrano chile, finished in a blender with garlic and fresh cilantro.

Then we’ll move on to Pescados Asado Three Guys (Grilled Fish Three Guys Style) — Miami’s Glenn, Jorge and Raúl’s perfectly charred salmon that’s been marinated in garlic, cilantro, lemon, lime and olive oil.

Next, and I’ll need to really plan ahead for this one: Pan Cubano (Cuban Bread).  With only five ingredients, it looks easy enough, but we’ll need to consider rising time of at least an hour (I’ll figure two hours to be safe) and about 40-45 minutes of baking time.

But I have high expectations with this one.  It’s a recipe from the late James Beard found in my Memories of a Cuban Kitchen cookbook.  Here’s the best part, after it’s baked, you cut the bread in long strips, butter on all sides, then toast.  Finally we are going to dip all this crisp deliciousness in our morning and afternoon coffee…..

Before I forget, did you know that “lobsters release a toxic by-product that renders them inedible if they die before cooking, so they must be either precooked or shipped live”?  Just learned this in the June/July 2014 issue of Saveur magazine.  I’ll be talking with our local fish guy to find out how a squeamish cook like myself can make lobster with her own two hands.  Will get back to you on this one.

Lastly, from my favorite American Frenchman, David Lebovitz, his recipe for a super simple salad dressing which I made again just last night…

From his book, The Sweet Life in Paris

  • 1/2 teaspoon red wine or sherry vinegar
  • 2 teaspoons extra virgin olive oil
  • 1/8 teaspoon Dijon mustard
  • Coarse salt

Into a jar with a tight-fitting lid, shake it up.

* I usually double, sometimes triple this recipe depending on the volume of salad greens.

Voilà!

 

Summer Morning Rituals

~ Katherine ~ Leave a comment

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It’s early yet.  Though the day is building and quickly so.  Another cool day with another promise of low humidity here in the northern Midwest.  I’ve been concerned the tomatoes in the garden wouldn’t grow in this cool weather — don’t they just burst into fat jewels in the sweltering heat typical of July?

Every morning, I wake before six.  The breeze coming through my bedroom windows has been so soothing this past week, that it’s been a good half an hour before I’m actually ready to leave my cool sheets and cotton blanket.

Softly I walk into the kitchen, trying not to rouse the rest of the family, I get the coffee started and use the time to empty the dishwasher; put away what I left to dry on the sink overnight.

In the downstairs bathroom, I stand in front of the mirror, run the water cool, let it splash over my swollen fingers and in small handfuls of gratefulness, relieve the night’s sleep from my puffy eyes.

Then it’s into the garden, where I not only survey a new wildflower bloomed bright pink or iridescent purple over night, but I also notice the latest slight of the chipmunks and rabbits — a few tender buds of the rose bush I planted this year, chewed clean off (I finally put up some chicken wire.); one of the red head’s of yarrow — gone.

Back on the deck, the sun getting higher and feeling the weight of my sweatshirt now, I think of feeding my family.  Last night, I grilled chicken breasts and kept them absolutely naked.  Carrying over Marcella Hazan’s advice to drizzle olive oil on steaks only after they come off the grill, rather than before, because “the scorched oil imparts a taste of tallow to the meat…,” I reasoned I’d do the same with the chicken.  I made a lemon vinaigrette from the recipe I found in the recent issue of Cook’s Country.  The acidity of the lemon tempered by honey was just right.

I left the vinaigrette on the side, leaving the family to eat their chicken as they please, or as two of my children chose to do, grab their own bowls of cereal instead.

Lemon Vinaigrette, Cook’s Country, August/September 2014

  • 1 small shallot, minced
  • 2 teaspoons honey
  • salt & pepper (to taste)
  • 1/2 teaspoon Dijon mustard
  • 1/4 teaspoon grated lemon zest, plus 2 1/2 tablespoons (about 1 lemon) juice
  • 2 1/2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil ( I used about 3 tablespoons because I like the flavor of a really good olive oil to stand out in a vinaigrette.)

Put all ingredients in a jar with a tight fitting lid and give a good shake to bring it all together.

Voilà!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Kitchen Is Quiet

~ Katherine ~ 1 Comment

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The kitchen is quiet.  The garden is wild.

The house is straightened, piano is dusty, four baskets of laundry wait around lightly folded.

The kids in their swimsuits kick soccer balls over the lawn

past dusk, the goal stretches into the neighbor’s backyard.

Cheeks and noses glow pink on their pillows.

Brown shoulders and backs — their bodies tattooed by the sun are lean.  They sleep in their beds, so solid must their dreams be, while the cool night air, like a mother’s soft hand,

brushes back their curls (tousled and French Toast – golden) from their smooth foreheads.

The kitchen is quiet, except for clinking spoons in empty cereal bowls, scrunching of cheese stick wrappers, tin foil yogurt lids being ripped off,

peach pits, egg shells hitting the trash can sometimes smacking the tile floor beneath, empty bags of cashews, baby carrots — wadded up like mini basketballs and tossed — all net, but sometimes backboard too, empty jars of peanut butter left for me to wash.

The garden is wild with salad greens, basil, nasturtium leaves (no flowers, but hope is alive), chives, tender green, fuzzy tomatoes grabbed and fondled by four lush, strong, adolescent, hopped-up cucumber plants.

 

 

Summer “Vacation” Has Begun

~ Katherine ~ 1 Comment

 

The first weeks of the kids’ summer vacation have been stormy wet, with breaks now and again from a sweating sun making every strand of my middle child’s wavy hair curl up like a fiddlehead.  A slow start and yet, I feel like I’m being dragged through this summer “vacation” by my children’s busy schedules: Little League baseball, swim practices, music lessons and martial arts.

I keep replaying a recent Facebook quote that a friend shared: “Have a 1970’s Summer”.  For me having begun my life in that decade, that means lots of time playing in the backyard, riding bikes to the park and free-swimming (no lessons) at the community pool, all out from beneath the watchful eye of parents.

Have a 1970’s Summer means, “Go! Outside and play! Just be home in time for supper!”

Because, yes, it is indeed summer vacation for the children, but in-between all the taxiing here and there and back and forth, I must still get basic housework done: laundry, dishes, meals prepped, served and cleaned up.  I’m not even talking about the big stuff: cleaning bathrooms, washing floors, dusting, vacuuming, ironing.

Just because school is out for the next couple of months doesn’t mean we stop eating.  And some of us in this house would prefer to wear clean underwear.  The rhythm of housework is what keeps me grounded throughout the scheduled summer chaos.

Lately we seem to be eating a fair amount of concession stand hot dogs and chicken fingers.  Ugh.  I really hate that last statement.  But it’s true.  Rarely have we been home long enough or early enough to enjoy a slow family meal together. The most we’ve done is plop down on the living room floor on a recent rainy late afternoon, watch a movie together and share some popcorn.  Which, now that I think about it, was kind of nice.

And easy.  Did you know you can make microwave popcorn in a regular brown paper sandwich bag?  Just place a 1/4 cup of popcorn kernels (no more, no less) into the bag, fold the top part down once or twice, and microwave for about a minute and twenty seconds.  Just like the microwave popcorn you buy at the grocery store: stay nearby and listen.  When the popping slows, you’ll know it’s done.

A special thank you to my friend, Kimberly Aimee, over at Badger Girl Learns to Cook at: http://learntocookbadgergirl.com/ for sharing this very simple, life changing tip!

 

 

 

 

Today is Cloudy

~ Katherine ~ 3 Comments

Twelve years ago today, on a beautiful, sunny, warm, blue-not-a-cloud-in-the-sky day, I walked my husband to our front door and kissed him good-bye.  I told him to have a good day.  Then I listened for the train a few blocks away as I sipped my coffee and counted the minutes of solitude before our infant son would wake from his early morning nap.

Today can be both a tough day and a day for gratitude.  Gratitude that on that horrific and unimaginable day I got my husband back.  When by nightfall, so many cars were left unclaimed at the train station, my family went to sleep that night in tact.  That day I received so much love and concern from neighbors and family who kept vigil at my home waiting for the phone to ring.

Today I am grateful that I wake to thunder and rain.  That I have another chance to kiss my husband good-bye at our front door, tell him to have a good day.

Tell him I love him.