• Mowing and Muffins


    Yesterday morning locked all the doors and went outside to mow. But first I dug thistles and hung laundry and then I mowed. The kids were riding bikes and playing some imaginary game. But after a bit I noticed The Baby Nickel wasn’t with them. Where was he? Inside. I must have forgotten to lock a door (or when Yo-Yo Boy came outside after playing his game, he forgot). Anyway, The Baby Nickel was inside, up on the kitchen counter. He had pulled the bread out of the bag, and the one piece was smashed flat in the middle. He must’ve leaned his weight on it, maybe when he was leaning forward to call out the window to me, kindly, boldly, informing me that “I ih’side, mom.” Also, he had removed the heavy lid from the cake plate and taken bites out of the tops of the last three lemon donut muffins.

    Lemon Donut Muffins
    Adapted from Orangette

    Beat 1 ½ sticks butter. Add 3/4 c. plus 2 T. sugar and beat awhile more. Add two eggs and beat more. (Get the picture? There’s a lot of beating going on.)

    In a separate bowl, mix 3 c. flour, 2 ½ t. baking powder, 1/4 t. baking soda, and 1 t. salt, scant.

    In another bowl, mix 3/4 c. plus 1 T. milk and 2 T. of buttermilk or yogurt. Add the juice of ½ lemon and the zest of one lemon.

    Alternating wet and dry, add the mixtures to the beaten butter. But this time, do not over-beat.

    Bake in greased muffin tins at 350 degrees for 25-30 minutes. (I use mini muffin tins, so they take less time.) When cool enough to handle, brush all over each muffin with a mixture of 6 T. melted butter and the juice of ½ lemon, and then roll the muffin in powdered sugar (about 2 cups).

    One recipe makes 24 mini muffins and 6 regular-sized muffins.

    The original recipe called for ½ t. freshly ground nutmeg and no lemon. My next experiment is to increase the nutmeg and add a couple tablespoons of rum to the batter, as well as mix some nutmeg into the powdered sugar. I’ll keep you posted.

    And since I really like to eat an entire muffin, tops included, with my coffee, I’ll do a better job of locking the door when I go out to mow.

    Update: I got a call from a friend to whom I had given a little loaf of the nutmeg donut muffins. She called to thank me and to let me know that her husband had licked the plate clean. Literally. Just wanted you to know. They really are that good.

  • Reasons

    I’ll be honest with you. I’m doing a blog because I want to pretend that my life is more interesting than it really is. I haven’t adopted 38 kids and I don’t live on a ranch with thousands of cows. I’m not a gourmet cook and I don’t have any pressing need to communicate with family and friends. Nope. No such noble reasons. Mine is a mundane existence. Husband, house, kids, chores… That I’m needed isn’t enough, I guess. I want to be recognized. Putting my life down on paper, or in cyberspace, will make it all worthwhile, right? Now thousands will flock to read my words. They will be inspired, challenged, entertained, and moved.

    Right.

    So now I’ve put it out there. I’m weak and needy and shallow. I’m bored. I’m a barefoot, lactating mother who shouts orders at her kids. I yammer on the phone with my friends, trying to rise above the minutia of my day. This blog is just one more effort. We’ll see if it works. If it doesn’t, I’ll quit.

    There’s gotta be another good reason to write this blog, since I’m pretty certain the above reason will fail. Perhaps, by dissecting the daily minutia and turning it into printable entertainment, the little pieces of my life will gain beauty and interest. And my life will become more inspiring, challenging, entertaining, and moving. For me, anyway.

    I could write in a private journal, if that was all I was after. With this, however, there is a sense of mystery and boldness. Someone out there might find my life entertaining. So, this blog is for you, even though it’s really for me (this is turning into a vicious cycle). I’ll write to entertain you, dear reader, to force myself to notice my life more, to make my pathetic life feel a bit less pathetic (I’ll try not to lie and ham it up too much). And if nobody else reads it, I’m sure my mother will.