Miss Beccaboo turned nine years old underground. Being underground at 10:44, her time of entry into this world, had nothing to do with her birthday, really. Well, it kind of did. She had requested we skip church, a request I’d vetoed, but then the day dawned so bright and sunny and the kids were so jolly and the thought of getting presentable just to sit down inside for an hour felt so cumbersome, that I changed my mind.

Let’s skip, I said under my breath to Mr. Handsome.

He, not surprisingly, was delighted by my derelict behavior. So we packed kids, jackets, and water bottles into the car and headed over the mountain to Luray Caverns.

The kids loved it. Mr. Handsome loved it. And even though I’d been there before with my English students ten long years ago, I loved it.

It’s a magical place, totally worth three hours of our time and 79 dollars.

Afraid that we had just jacked expectations for birthdays sky-high, I gave the kids a big lecture about how our trip to the caverns had nothing to do with Miss Beccaboo’s birthday. Nor did skipping church. It was something their father and I had been discussing for months and months and months. That we decided to do it on the Sunday that Miss B turned nine was a fluke. I delivered the lecture coming and going. Let’s hope it sticks.

Three hours of the afternoon were devoted to lunch. There was shrimp to bread and fry (and be disappointed by).

There was a cake to decorate with brand new cake decorating equipment.

There was cake to eat.

There were presents.

Hugs.

A hat.

And the promise of six horseback riding lessons.

The day ended with a showing of The Black Stallion and giant bowls of popcorn.

End of birthday.

Now for the icing.

Vanilla Buttercream Frosting
Adapted from Aimee of Under the Highchair

I realize the frosting on the birthday cake looks gross, especially the side icing (which you can’t see because I’m not showing it to you because it looks like caterpillar poo). It curdled, which, shockingly enough, is totally normal for this icing, but not a disaster at all. That is, if you have patience to stir it back together. No big deal, really. You just have to do it. I stirred subsequent bowls of icing a few strokes longer and was rewarded with lush creaminess.

The first time I made the icing several months ago, it did not curdle. The icing also went straight from mixer to cake, no refrigeration sandwiched in the middle, so this could be the reason. The icing also contained lemon curd which could be the other reason. But yesterday’s icing was refrigerated and I was impatient and so I messed it up. And it could’ve so easily been perfect. Oh well. The bottom line? Do not be afraid of this icing. Be patient.

On the other hand, this icing contains three sticks of butter so you might want to be just a leeetle bit afraid. And conservative with portion sizes. (Miss Beccaboo cut her own piece of cake, the right of birthday kids in this house, thus the obscene size.)

4 egg whites
1 1/4 cups sugar
½ vanilla bean, just the seeds
½ teaspoon vanilla extract
1 ½ cups (3 sticks) butter, cut into cubes and at room temperature

Put the egg whites and sugar in a large mixing bowl (I use my Kitchen Aid mixing bowl) and set it in a large kettle that has a little water in the bottom of it, creating a double boiler effect.

Heat the water on medium heat, constantly whisking the eggs whites and sugar.

When the sugar is dissolved and the mixture is mildly warm to the touch, remove the bowl from the kettle and set it on the mixer stand. (Or, if you don’t have a Kitchen Aid, just use a hand-held mixer.)

Using the whisk attachment, beat the frosting on medium-high speed for 6-8 minutes, or until stiff peaks form. Swap the whisk attachment for the paddle attachment.

Turn the mixer on medium speed and add the butter, one or two pats at a time, waiting for them to incorporate before adding more. Scrape the seeds from the vanilla bean into the bowl and add the vanilla. Beat gently, just until combined. If the frosting curdles, continue beating till it is smooth and creamy.

Refrigerate the frosting if not using immediately. Before icing the cake, return the frosting to room temperature. If it curdles, beat it vigorously with a spoon till creamy.

Yield: Ample frosting for a 9-inch layer cake. If it’s high summer, keep the iced cake in the fridge.

About one year ago: Tangential Thoughts
About two years ago: Birthday traditions, Strawberry Cake

After three weeks of blue skies and sweltering temps, it finally rained.

The first drops fell during our drive back from picking up Yo-Yo at camp and I yelled so loud that Miss Beccaboo, who was quietly lounging in the back seat listening to Yo-Yo chant meaningless camp diddies, nearly wilted. I must have scared the clouds, too, because I only got to swish the windshield wipers a couple times.

An hour later it started again. I whooped and hollered and grabbed my camera to take pictures of the drops of water—better than the first snow of the year!—that were falling from the sky. I contemplated stripping off my clothes and tearing around the yard with a broom, but refrained. Still, my camera and wild thoughts were enough to make the clouds dry up and retract. Again.

My friend advised me to hang up laundry. I seriously considered it, but there were hamburgers and poppers to reheat on the grill, an exciting proposition that momentarily distracted me from my obsession with the meteorological conditions.

After supper I headed out to meet my sister-in-law for a walk. Raindrops started falling just as I stepped off the porch. Yeah, right, I sneered at the heavens. Like you think you can rain, or something.

“Think we can make it?” my sister-in-law asked when I reached the top of her drive.

“Oh yeah. It’s not going to rain anyway,” I said, all bluster and peeve.

We made it halfway down the dirt road before the threatening white cloud obscuring the mountain ridge convinced us to turn back, and by the time I got home it was raining gently. I took a risk and shouted out the obvious to the entire world: It’s raining! WHOO-EEEEEEEEE!

And the rain came down faster.

The kids tore around the yard, from trampoline to puddles to the five-gallon bucket of dog water which they dunked their already-wet heads into. Bodies plastered with wet clothes, they shivered and shrieked. Mr. Handsome and I were more reserved, stately rocking on the porch swing and discussing weighty matters like where I could find black mustard seeds (I don’t think Mr. Handsome fully appreciated the importance of this question) or if our town would still host their outside viewing of The Princess Bride. (They did, we went.)

This might sound crazy, but it’s because of these dramatic shifts in temperature that I’m glad we don’t have air conditioning. The irritability, lack of sleep, swollen ankles and slight nausea, our very pores weeping for mercy, all these things serve to intensify the glorious relief when the skies finally dump.

This morning is cool and cloudy. The breeze is blowing through the house, setting the fly tape and hanging spider plant a-swaying. Two loaves of bread are cooling on the table. The kids are sleeping in.

I am rejuvenated.

Our garden is a rice krispy mess. We didn’t mulch this year and it’s going on three weeks without rain, so the ground is rock hard. We can’t even water (much) for fear the well will run dry. When I walk through the garden, which isn’t often anymore, it crackles and pops. The whole situation makes me cranky.

However, the potatoes are doing splendidly. Last year they all rotted after we dug them, and since I suspect the same thing will happen again this year (I’m across-the-board pessimistic when it comes to the garden), I’m making lots of potato salad while I can. I have two kinds that are my favorite: Simple Creamy Potato Salad and French Potato Salad.

I was raised on Creamy Potato Salad. My potato-loving mom taught me how to make it—more a process than a recipe—though she is forever changing her mind about what she likes, moving on to greener pastures, or creamier tatey salads, as it were.

The French Potato Salad entered my life last year when my aunt served it at her annual soiree. It’s a warm—or room temp—salad, no chilling necessary (though chilled leftovers are plentilicious), starring red-skinned potatoes lightly dressed in a white wine and chicken broth dressing.

There are capers, too. Perhaps they’re the French in the salad? I’m not for sure. But don’t be scared of them. They’re just pickled green peppercorns, and they’re kind of fun. (Note: this peppercorn-capering deal is a complete lie [see comments]. Disregard anything I ever say.)

Simple Creamy Potato Salad

Confession: the proportions are guesstimates.

To make this a one-meal dish, add chopped boiled eggs, some crumbled bacon or cooked ham, sliced and cooked carrots, peas, grated cheese, etc.

You may sub sour cream and/or plain yogurt for some of the mayonnaise.

3 pounds potatoes
½ onion, cut into small dice
1 rib celery, small dice
½ – 1 cup mayonnaise
1 teaspoon apple cider vinegar
1 teaspoon sugar
1 teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon black pepper
½ teaspoon Dijon mustard

Put the potatoes in a kettle and cover them with cold water. Bring the water to a boil and simmer till the potatoes are fork-tender. Check frequently, removing the smaller potatoes as they finish cooking. (Otherwise, you’ll have potato smash. Which, come to think of it, is still quite good, but probably not the effect you’re after.)

When the potatoes are cool enough to handle, peel them. Chop them into ½-inch cubes, or smaller, and put them in a large bowl. Add the onions and celery.

In a small bowl, stir together the sugar, vinegar, salt, pepper, mustard, and ½ cup of the mayonnaise. Add to the potatoes and stir gently to combine. Add more mayo, salt, and pepper as needed. Chill and serve.

French Potato Salad
Adapted from the August 1999 issue of Bon Appetit, via my aunt, Dr. Perfection

3 1/4 pounds red-skinned potatoes, large dice
1/4 cup chicken broth
1/4 cup dry white wine
1/4 cup olive oil
½ cup minced onion (or 4 green onions)
2 tablespoons Dijon mustard
2 tablespoons drained capers
½ teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper

Cover the potatoes with water and simmer till fork-tender. Drain. (Sometimes I cook the potatoes whole and chop them later, unpeeled.)

In a separate bowl, mix together the remaining ingredients and toss with the potatoes. Taste to correct seasonings. Serve.

About one year ago: Tempero
About two years ago: Grace’s Vanilla Pudding, Apricot Pandowdy, What to do with brown bags.