I’m having trouble coming up with stuff to write about. My energy levels are low and I just want to veg, preferably in a refrigerator somewhere. However, a glass of iced coffee (with a spoonful of sugar, yum) and a ceiling fan are the closest I’ll get to a chilling experience. And truth be told, it’s not too shabby of a substitute, either.

So now that I worked that one out—hmm, what else to say…

My littlest child has been having trouble sitting still during the times he’s supposed to sit still, like church. We weren’t ten minutes into this morning’s service before he started writhing all over the chairs, kicking his feet up in the air, moaning, and rubbing my skirt in the wrong direction (as in UP, yikes). So I hoisted the twit onto my hip (no small feat—the kid weighs a solid fifty pounds) and marched out of the sanctuary to a Sunday school room where we practiced The Art of Sitting Still for Church.

We reviewed the basics, like how to quietly ask a question, when he would be allowed to look at books (during the sermon), when he could color (any time), whether or not feet were allowed up in the air (they’re not) and if he might put them on the chair to sit cross-legged (he might), and above all, HOW TO KEEP HIS BUTT ON THE CHAIR AT ALL TIMES. Then we walked sedately back into church and he behaved like an angel for the rest of the service and I felt very successful and like I should totally get a gold star for my Smart Mommy Move.

Yesterday my oldest put on my sports bra, stuffed it with somethingorother, smacked on a set of fake lips, and whooped it up big time.

I especially loved his I Love Lucy eyes.

This past week we zipped up to John’s sister’s house in PA to meet up with his brother’s family come south from NY and his other brother’s family come east from The West Coast.

I think the two days can be summarized with two sentences:

1. The kids played nonstop.
2. The grown-ups talked nonstop.

Here are two of the brothers…um…communicating? Counting teeth? Singing?

Doing breathing exercises?

Aren’t brothers awesome? And to think my husband has six of them (and two sister gems). Lucky man!

I spent all of Friday at a water park with the kids. The place was crawling with dripping wet, scantily clad people. (Which led me to the radical conclusion that most of us humanoids look best when more than fifty percent of our skin is under wraps.) The whole entire huge complex was very, very wet and very, very loud, so I guess that means it was a rip-roaring success? I had eight hours to enjoy the thundering wetness and to resent my littlest for being such an unadventurous wimp and cutting my fun off right after his single terrorizing ride on the (very sedate) lazy river. Little twit, again.

And in those same eight hours, my oldest daughter, in spite of TWO vigorous applications of 50 SPF sunblock, managed to burn to a crisp. Her shoulders are like two pieces of Kentucky fried chicken, but red instead of brown. I feel horrible for her, of course, but I’m pissed more than anything because for once I did everything right—I even scrutinized the bottle’s expiration date! Next time I’ll make her wear a body suit. After all the pain she’s been in, I have no doubt she’ll readily agree to such a get-up.

We’ve taken our Sunday waffles up a notch. Instead of buttermilk, we’re now doing a sourdough that rocks something serious. The crust is crispy-ispy-ispy, and the insides are moisty-oisty-oisty, and the flavor is tangy-angy-angy. We’re all in love.

Those of you who don’t have a sourdough starter in your fridge might be tempted to roll your eyes and skip the rest of the post but please don’t. Surely you can obtain a starter somewhere? somehow? (Local people: I’m all about sharing—call me.) Because you really need to have some starter so you can make these waffles once a week, every week, for the rest of your life. They are that good. And the upkeep is minimal. Seriously. I don’t even measure.

This is what I do: I keep a cup or two of starter in a half gallon jar. On Saturday afternoon I take it out and feed it a equal parts flour (often I use whole wheat) and water. I do that once, or twice, depending on how strong the starter is and how many batches of waffles I think we’ll eat. Sunday morning I measure out the starter I need for the waffles and to the remaining starter—the starter I’m not using for the waffles—I add some more flour and water. I let the just-fed starter sit at room temperature for about an hour (so it can begin to digest its latest meal) before putting it in the fridge to snooze until the next waffle meal. A once-a-week waffle dinner is enough to keep the starter happy and healthy … and my family sated with waffles.

Back to the starter that I measured out: to that I add the butter, milk, more flour, sugar, and salt. I stir it up real good, cover it with a shower cap, and leave it to do its thing till I call it into service at lunch time or late afternoon or evening. (If you want waffles for the ayem, do the batter mix up the night before.) (And for a lunch time waffle feast, you can mix them up the night before, too.) (Ideally, the batter should rest/rise/ferment for about 8-14 hours.) (I hope this isn’t sounding too complicated and parenthetical.) (Because it really is easy.)

Sunday pee-em, or whenever it is you want to actually eat these waffles, all you gots to do is stir in some baking soda (that’s been mixed with a couple tablespoons of flour to help the soda disperse more serenely in the thick batter) and some beaten eggs and—(I was beginning to lose hope that I’d ever get to the end!)—make your waffles.

Which is what my husband is doing at this very moment, bless his heart. Sunday evening waffles, here I come!

Sourdough Waffles
Adapted from Breads from the La Brea Bakery by Nancy Silverton

Butter lover that I am, I actually cut back on the amount of butter. Nancy calls for a half cup, but I make it more like a third and find them to still be plenty rich.

I use part whole wheat—during the fermentation process it softens so much that you can’t even tell it’s part whole grain.

½ cup butter, melted and cooled to room temperature (see head note)
1 cup milk
1 cup starter
1 ½ cups flour
1 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon brown sugar
2 eggs, well beaten
1/4 teaspoon baking soda mixed with 2 tablespoons flour

Roughly 12 hours before Waffle Time!:
Mix together the first 6 ingredients. Cover with plastic wrap and let rest at room temperature for 8-14 hours.

Waffle Time!:
Sprinkle the baking soda-flour mixture over the bubbling dough and whisk briefly. Whisk in the beaten eggs. Make the waffles. Serve with berries, whipped cream, butter, and syrup.

Amen, and amen.

(I’m submitting this post to yeastspottings.)

This same time, years previous: strawberry shortcake (the fancy kind)

I’ve already written twice about strawberry shortcake—there’s the fancy scone kind that deserves a cap of whipped cream, and there’s the barely sweet down-home drop biscuits that, when smothered in berries and drowned in milk, can stand for a meal’s main course.

The shortcake that I’m sharing today is somewhere in the middle. It has extra sweetness and fat, but gets baked up in a pan like cornbread or simple sheet cake.

When we eat this shortcake, I usually dub it “Course Two” because I serve it after a simple one-dish first course of something vegetable-y like say, a giant chef salad. It’s too sweet to stand by itself as dinner (except in special circumstances), but because I let the kids eat all they want, I don’t qualify it as a dessert either.

Sheet Shortcake
Adapted from my Aunt Valerie’s recipe

Feel free to sub in some whole grains, use yogurt or buttermilk in place of the milk, or dial back the sugar—whatever floats your boat.

5 tablespoons butter
2/3 cup sugar
2 eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla
2 cups flour
3 teaspoons baking powder
½ teaspoon salt
1 cup milk
lots of sugared strawberries, for serving
milk, for serving

Cream the butter and sugar. Beat in the eggs and vanilla. Slowly beat in the dry ingredients and then add the milk, mixing just until combined. Pour the batter into a greased 9 x 9 pan and bake at 350 degrees for about 30 minutes, or until an inserted toothpick comes out clean.

For serving: place a square or two of cake in a bowl, add several spoonfuls of strawberries, and douse the whole mess with milk.

This same time, years previous: fresh tomatillo salsa, white chocolate and dried cherry scones, stirring the pot (thoughts on homeschooling), preserving cilantro

I already told you about strawberry daiquiris. Now it’s time to share some other creative methods.

1. Stick your head over a fan hang-dog fashion.

Let the wind whip through your curls.

Quit when your eyeballs dry out.

2. Get a shower and then lay on in the shade on the front porch and draw pictures.

3. Pluck flowers and stick them behind your ears, in your hair, and between your lips.

This has nothing to do with staying cool but who cares.

4. Put a scratchy polyester lace ballroom gown over your clothes and stand over a fan.

Do not be dismayed when young bohemians stick their heads under your billowing skirts to see your underwear, or shorts, as the case may be.

If you are still not cool enough, stuff two rolls of toilet paper into the bodice of your gown.

Now, even if you aren’t cool temperature-wise, you are certainly cool in the other, clearly more important sense.

5. Sit under the fan in the cool-ish living room and read books.

6. Close the kitchen blinds.

7. Make up fan games, such as affixing a large hanky to the fan so that it billows madly.

Then drop clothespins onto the hanky and watch them fly all over the room.

8. Fill up five gallon drums with icy water and submerge.

Get out when your fingers curl.

9. Make mint tea and guzzle it frequently.

10. Sigh happily when the sun slips over yonder mountain ridge.

Last week was the first time I ever made a mint tea concentrate. And due to all the dire weather predictions for this summer, I have a hunch this new skill of mine will get called into service more than once.

To make the tea, simply cut an enormous pile of mint sprigs (I used apple mint) and rinse them off in a sink full of cool water.

Make a sugar syrup, pour it over the leaves, and let it steep for a goodly number of hours. Strain, add some lemon juice, and ladle the concentrate into containers and freeze. (For step-by-step instruction, see Zoe’s post.)

This recipe makes a huge amount of concentrate—I put several quart jars of concentrate in the fridge and the rest in pint jars in the freezer.

As for the tea itself, it is delicate and refreshing. Last night my exhausted husband guzzled a whole glass and then smacked it back down on the table hard enough to make the ice rattle.

“This tea is perfect!” he roared.

“Not too sweet?” I asked.

“No way! It’s perfect!”

Mint Tea Concentrate
Adapted from my cousin Zoe over at Whole Eats & Whole Treats

Zoe says that a 12-quart kettle full of leaves equals about 2 ½ pounds of mint. I didn’t weigh mine.

I keep fretting that the tea is a little too sweet. Even after running the numbers and learning that there’s only 3 ½ tablespoons of sugar in every 2-quart pitcher of tea, I think I might cut back on the sugar next time I make it, maybe only use 2 ½ pounds instead of 3.

Also, her recipe calls for the juice of just one lemon. I used a couple lemons and several glugs of lemon concentrate and still think the tea could stand some more acid. My husband disagrees.

12 quart kettle stuffed full of mint sprigs
3 pounds sugar
1 gallon water
juice from 1-6 lemons

Gently rinse the mint leaves and pack them into a large clean stockpot. Put the sugar and water in a separate kettle and bring it to a boil. Pour the hot syrup over the leaves, pushing the leaves down into the syrup and then placing a heavy plate on top to keep them submerged. Put a lid on the stockpot and let the tea steep for 12-15 hours. Strain the leaves, add the lemon juice, and ladle 1 ½ cups concentrate into little plastic containers or pint jars. Freeze. (Or store in the refrigerator if using within a couple weeks.)

To make tea: mix 1 ½ cups concentrate with 6 ½ cups cold water to make 2 quarts of tea.

This same time, years previous: nothing is lost on the breath of God (Wayne’s death)