It’s been intense and desperate, folks. Downright dire. For a few days there I felt like a little white mouse with a pink tail on a treadmill, peddling frantically but never going anywhere. But now things are slowing down. I’ve caught up in the race against ethylene oxide production and time, and the jars are filling up. I don’t have the final stats yet, but I’m pretty sure we’ve emerged victorious.

Yesterday, the kids were amazing. So often I kvetch about their bad attitudes and bickering but not yesterday. Yesterday was golden. They stuck with me all day long. In fact, the eldest was at my elbow up until 7:30 last night when he finished up a huge stack of dishes and we booted him out the door to go play.

The kids unscrewed the jar rings, chopped the peaches, nectarines, tomatoes, and peppers, peeled garlic, filled and emptied the dehydrator sheets, halved and pitted the nectarines, hung up and folded laundry, emptied trashes, washed dishes, and opened doors for me.

One of them also managed to break two glasses on two separate occasions and I managed to keep my cool. (Though the second time around I did contemplate screaming, “Forget about cleaning it up. JUST WALK ON IT.”) Silver lining? The kitchen floor stayed fairly clean.

Their helpfulness was so impressive that I called Mr. Handsome at work and told him to pick up a treat for the kids. He brought home a box of Froot Loops (with sprinkles—the newest fad), and they ate almost the entire thing for dessert whilst I showered them with lavish speeches detailing my deep and abiding appreciation.

So how about that little earthquake, yeah? I had just gotten the kids settled for rest time and was walking back out to the kitchen for my coffee when I heard a roaring sound like a logging truck driving by. But everything was rattling and shaking like when the washing machine gets unbalanced and starts wigging out. And then I thought, Oh dear, the kids are all out of bed and silently—that’s odd—jumping up and down really hard—and that’s when it hit me: EARTHQUAKE! I froze in my tracks, a Get Out of the House Right Now scream poised in the back of my throat, just waiting for permission to let loose, but then I went to the bathroom to make sure it wasn’t the washing machine (‘cause you don’t want to interrupt rest time unless it’s absolutely necessary), and it wasn’t, of course, because I wasn’t doing any laundry, and by then the shaking had stopped.

Mr. Handsome was so bummed he missed it. He talked about it all evening long. He even declared he was going to have a t-shirt made that said: “August 2011—Where were YOU when It Happened?”

When I came downstairs this morning with my hair sticking straight out on one side because I went to sleep with it wet (after three days of very little personal hygiene, I absolutely had to wash my hair even if it meant I’d be stricken with a frightful case of bedhead), Mr. Handsome was puttsing around the kitchen, a sheepish look on his face. I glanced at the calendar and then said real quick, “Happy Anniversary!” because I’m always the first to remember and he always forgets. He calmly returned the platitudes and smiled. Weird.

“Did you check the canning?” I asked, referring to the previous night’s canning that was still out on the picnic table.

“Yeah, they all sealed.”

I was fixing my coffee when I happened to glance out the window and see that the canner was belching steam. HUH? I shot a glance at my husband but he kept his eyes lowered, and then, understanding dawning like a bright new glorious day, I raced out the door and peeked into the canners: twelve quarts of nectarines, hoo-boy!

When I returned to the kitchen, he said, “Now you don’t have to do nectarines. They’re all caught up for the day.”

So of course I made him his lunch: three hotdog buns (we were out of bread and the first loaves wouldn’t get baked for another couple hours) filled with eggs, ham, and cheese, plus sides.

And then I sat down at my computer and discovered an email from myself, or rather, from my account. It read, “ Thank you for 15 years of friendship, wonderful food, 4 creative children, love, and a willingness to work thru life’s challenges with me. I love and respect you deeply. Happy Anniversary!”

So then I was left with no choice but to go give him a bear hug and get his neck a little wet with my eyes that had suddenly sprung a leak.

This same time, years previous: whole wheat buttermilk waffles, wedding memories, so why did I marry him?, Valerie’s salsa (made 5 batches of it this year!), canned tomatoes, how to make butter, earthy ponderations, part two, cold curried corn soup

So I’m in the middle of making enough applesauce to last a year (that’s a good thing) and my feet are killing me (that’s a bad thing) so I plunk down at the computer for just a sec to catch my breath (that’s a stupid thing) and then I spy a post for a two-minute peanut butter chocolate cake (that’s an exciting thing). (And now I’m going to stop with the parenthesis. That’s a smart thing.) Quick like, I (mostly) commit the recipe to memory, and then, all sneaky like so my husband who has been working even harder than me for even longer doesn’t see, I grab a bowl and some measuring spoons and set to. When the phone rings and my friend—the one who has spent her whole day putting up all the juice tomatoes I threw at her the night before—chirps, “Whatcha doin’,” I hiss into the phone real quiet like and say, “Making peanut butter chocolate cake,” and then I cringe while she screams in my ear, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING MAKING A PEANUT BUTTER CHOCOLATE CAKE ON A DAY WHEN YOU’RE MAKING APPLESAUCE? WHEN YOU MAKE APPLESAUCE YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO DO ANYTHING ELSE! DON’T YOU KNOW THAT?”

“But it’s two-minute peanut butter chocolate cake,” I whisper defensively. “I’m almost done right now!”

A measure, stir, and beep-beep-beep later, I am dumping the ramekin of cake onto a plate, and the kids and I are stuffing it into our mouths. My husband never even knew enough to bleet. Shazaam!

Later, after the mountains of clean-up (most of which my husband did while I took the kids to the pool for a little blow-off-steam time), I turned out another two-minute cake. I was rather tickled with my new skill, but there were drawbacks, too.

Like the little problem of texture. The cake is kind of spongy and boing-oing-oingy, like what I’d expect microwave baked goods to taste like and thus the reason I’ve never baked with microwaves before. Perhaps it needed less time in the zapper? Forty-five seconds? Thirty?

Also, the cake turned an unappetizing gray—perhaps due to the type of cocoa I used?

But the flavor was yummy, and the pockets of melty chocolate were pretty close to glorious. And then I realized that, hey, the cake is practically GOOD for me what with the egg, peanut butter, and only one tablespoon of brown sugar, whoa baby.

So this afternoon I made it again, but this time without the cocoa. The cake was much easier on the eye, but the texture was still spongy, and the insides were drier while the edges were gooey. Weird. But good? Maybe?

I’m still not sure what to think. Is this cake a good idea, or a super-duper bad one and I’m just too mired in applesauce to see clearly? Am I going all cliché on the world if I start nuking my desserts? Is it like getting giddy over jello? (No offense, jello lovers. Jello’s just not my thang.)

I can’t seem to get a grip on the matter, so I’m passing it off to you. Pretty please, go hang out in your kitchen for two minutes, make a cake, and then report back here so we can talk about this microwave baking phenomenon, will you? It’s all for the noble sake of science (and my insatiable curiosity).

Thank you, darlings. I’m much obliged.

Two-Minute Peanut Butter Chocolate Cake

Adapted from Dinner with Julie and Back To Her Roots



I’d like to try whole wheat flour next. Also, a much higher ratio of chocolate chips might be a good thing, like maybe ½ cup?

This is supposed to make one serving, but I think it should be divided between two small ramekins, or maybe even three.

1 egg

1 rounded tablespoon flour

1 tablespoons brown sugar1 tablespoon cocoa, optional

2 tablespoons peanut butter

1/4 teaspoon baking powder

2-4 tablespoons chocolate chips

Dump all ingredients into a cereal bowl and stir with a fork. Dump into a greased ramekin and “bake” (zap, nuke…) in the microwave for 30 to 60 seconds. Invert onto a plate and top with a scoop of ice cream or some whipped cream.

Eat and report back. Thanks.

My updated version, August 28, 2001

After multiple experiments and reading through your comments, I’ve come up with the perfect recipe. It is GOOD! The recipe is as follows: 2 tablespoons beaten egg, 2 tablespoons peanut butter, 1 tablespoon flour, 1 tablespoon brown sugar, 1/4 teaspoon baking powder, and 1/3 cup chocolate chips. Divide the batter between two small, greased ramekins and microwave on high for 30 seconds.

This same time, years previous: red raspberry ice cream, oven-roasted Roma tomatoes, earthy ponderations, part one

Not only did my last post bore you to tears, it may have killed you. Or at least left you speechless. For not a one of you made a peep.

Which confirms what I’ve feared all along: my unadorned life is woefully dull, boo-hoo.

But I’m not crying about that today. No, today there was no boredom to be found. Just lots of crazy.

This, my bored-to-tears dearies, is what crazy looks like.

Ain’t she purdy?

Crazy is four-and-a-half bushels of apples getting mushed into 81 quarts of sauce.

Crazy is four bushels of nectarines and three bushels of mini cantaloupe-sized peaches spread out all over the downstairs room.

Crazy is red raspberries getting picked and tomatoes getting ignored.

Crazy is my new best friend, cuckoo!

This same time, years previous: how to get your refrigerator clean in two hours, two morals