The birthday celebrations are over. My girl is now completely ten.

Her first-ever birthday party was on Friday. I think she had a good time.

I was a little worried that we didn’t plan more activities for them to do, but every time I brought it up to Mr. Handsome, he’d just wave at me like I was a gnat and say, “They’ll just go play. It’ll be fine.”

He was right. As soon as the girls arrived, they all holed up in the clubhouse and it was perfectly quiet.

Which was a startling contrast to my son’s party where all the boys ran around waving sticks and yelling. They played hard, threw popcorn, gorged on candy, and were sound asleep by 11:30.

The girls, on the other hand, were generally quieter though a little screamy, perhaps. They made up organized games, play-acted intensely (when delivering some popcorn, I unwittingly interrupted a childbirth), had deep discussions (“Isn’t it ridiculous how women used to be treated?”), pooled all the pinata candy and then divided it out evenly, and stayed up till two and got up at 5:30 (and a couple of them reportedly stayed up all night).

The birthday supper was a little controversial. My daughter wanted fried chicken and corn-on-the-cob, but I had a better idea, I told her: raclettes! Having never eaten them before, she was noncommittal. And after showing her the one I was borrowing from a friend, she remained apprehensive. “I thought the birthday kids get to choose what they want to eat,” she said sadly.

Despite my certainty that my idea was a good one, I started to doubt myself. Mr. Handsome was no help. “You’re going to make them cook their own supper? Are they even going to want to do that? Wouldn’t it be easier to just feed them hamburgers or something?”

“Oh, come on!” I huffed. “Of course they’re going to love it. They get to sit around and cook. It’s the perfect meal for a bunch of little girls!”

And you know what? I was right! The girls were totally enthused. One of them kept saying, “This is the greatest meal! We get to cook whatever we want!” I think she said that fourteen times. At least.

And when my daughter told them what they would’ve eaten had I not gotten the raclette maker, they said, “That would’ve been good … but this is better.” My daughter was visibly (to me) relieved. I think she was a little nervous about what her friends would think of her mother’s weird idea.

What I gave them to cook with:
Fat: butter, olive oil
Veggies: onions, garlic, steamed broccoli, boiled new potatoes, tomatoes
Dairy: two kinds of cheese
Meat: eggs, chicken, beef, sausage, ham, bacon
Condiments: barbecue sauce, soy sauce, fresh basil, ketchup, S & P
Also: a double batch of breadsticks, which was really smart (if I do say so myself) because it takes a little while to cook and eat, cook and eat, and the girls needed something to munch on while they were waiting for their food. And munch them down they did, every last one of them.

Later, when I was cooking my own dinner, I pulled out the heavy whipping cream. My garlicky chicken simmered in cream with basil and bacon was super-duper lush.

(The next evening, after the house had been cleaned up and everyone had baths, we had a relaxed family meal with the leftovers, of which there were many. The kids are head-over-heels in love with the new discovery. I’m thinking we may need to make an investment…)

After supper was cleaned up, there was the cake and presents.

She had requested a mint-chocolate cake. The dumped ice cream cone was my own personal touch.

Then there was the long night where I slept a little and the kids slept even less, and the next morning there were mountains of blueberry (and plain) buttermilk pancakes, sausages, and milk before the parents arrived to pick-up their bleary-eyed little girls.

I always feel semi-guilty, sending home such exhausted children. Like I should slip an apology letter into their backpacks—something that says, “Your kids are going to be bears for the rest of the day and I am so very sorry. A long afternoon nap and lots of vegetables may help.”

This same time, years previous: bacon-wrapped breadsticks, zucchini parmesan frittata, shrimp with coconut milk, the sex talk, alfredo sauce

Just when I think I have a handle on some recipe like, say, ice cream, I go and learn a bunch of new things that completely blows my afore-perceived expertise out of the water. This constant putting-of-me-in-my-place ought to be discouraging, but I can’t help not minding, especially when my mouf is full of ice cweam.

I discovered my latest obsession in the food section of our little newspaper. Usually the section’s two or three pages are full of recipes (that call for processed food) and info (calorie counting) that don’t interest me, but every now and then there is a nugget and I have to run for the kitchen scissors and cut it out right quick.

This week I clipped an entire article (not a recipe in sight) about a woman named Jeni Britton Bauer who purportedly makes the most fabulous ice cream ever. Her tricks? No eggs to eliminate the coating-on-the-tongue effect (not something I usually dwell on, but totally true), a little cornstarch to thicken it up, and a nub of cream cheese to give the ice cream body and heft.

At first I thought I’d have to create the recipe on my own, working under the little guidance that the paper provided, but then I started the Googling process, and after watching some videos about her shop and reading a couple articles and interviews, I finally happened upon a basic recipe.

Two nights ago, I made the ice cream. Oh! My! Stars! It is wonderful! The texture is clean and sharp and smooth, and the taste is full-on vanilla, rich and fragrant. The cream cheese doesn’t give flavor as much as it gives body—plus, they say it makes the ice cream scoopable. And because there are no eggs, the ice cream is a brilliant, classy white.

If any ice cream can surpass this one, I’ll eat my hat. (Or else the ice cream, because it would be stupid to fill up on hat if there is good ice cream around).

Next on my to-do list, incorporating other flavors into this base. The article mentioned something about a salty caramel….

Jeni’s Best Ever Vanilla Ice Cream
Adapted from Food and Wine

2 cups milk, divided
1 tablespoon, plus 1 teaspoon, cornstarch
1 1/4 cups heavy cream
2/3 cups sugar
1 ½ tablespoons light corn syrup
1 vanilla bean, split and scraped, or 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 ½ ounces cream cheese, at room temperature
1/8 teaspoon salt

Put the cornstarch in a small bowl and add 2 tablespoons of milk. Set aside.

Put the remaining milk in a heavy-bottomed saucepan, along with the cream, sugar, corn syrup, and vanilla bean. Bring the mixture to a boil and boil for 4 minutes. Off heat, stir in the cornstarch paste. Return the pan to the heat and boil for one more minute, whisking constantly. Take the pan off the heat and remove the vanilla bean.

Put the cream cheese in a medium-sized mixing bowl and gradually whisk in the hot milk mixture. Add the salt, and if using vanilla extract in place of the bean, add that now. Set the bowl in a pan of ice water to cool, or if you’re not pushed for time, put it in the fridge to chill.

Freeze the ice cream according to your maker’s directions.

Yield: about one quart.

This same time, years previous: preserving stone fruits, pasta with roasted tomatoes and summer squash (I’ve been craving this for weeks now), cooked oatmeal

*I brought these humongo lollipops back from NYC. My kids thought I was the bomb.

*This is what happens when hot weather hits before I buy our season pass to the pool.

*Punk Kid.

*A kid with a bad case of lip. (Waxiness aside, she really does. We’re working on it.)

*This is what happens when my kids beg me to buy them flip-flops and I never get around to doing it.

When I’m old and decrepit, I’ll try to recall the feeling of pudgy arms squeezed tight around my neck, the baby kiss-smacks, the oxytocin buzz from breastfeeding, but all I’ll remember is the mismatched flip-flops. Acute and agonizing bouts of guilt will then ensue.

*We turned three bushels of Lodi apples into sauce. Each year my husband attempts to improve our system (drives me nuts) and this year was no different. Instead of simply washing the apples by hand in the sink, he pressure washed them.

And yes, it was faster and less work and a very nice step-up.

*Splashes of color on a splashy-wet day.

*Towel Toga.

*Morning quiet.

*Table reading.

Some friends gave us the books “What’s Happening to Me?” and “Where did I Come From?”. I read then out loud and all but one kid (can you guess which one?) loved them. I highly recommend the books, but do read them pre-puberty, before the subject gets excruciatingly embarrassing.

*I like to add a few frozen red raspberries to a glass of white wine. It’s pretty, and the wine-soaked berries at the bottom of the glass are a tasty ending.

*July Garden (the corn is majestic!)

*My daughter, using all her appendages to scrub the floor, a la Curious George.

*Crossed wires. They clutter up my view and bug me to pieces.

*Wikki-Stix, one of The Birthday Girl’s gifts.

*Listening to stories (note the dazed, I’m-in-la-la-land look) on a brand new CD player, another birthday present.

*Mama! There’s a mushroom growing out my ear!

*A makeshift porch swing bed.

*Back porch hoe-down.

*Belly Dancing and Weed Smoking Boy in a Blue Bonnet.

*A new great way to use up all that zucchini.

Tons of raw zucchini (sprinkled with salt and then drained to get rid of excess moisture and a less raw taste), chewy whole wheat pasta, creamy-sharp Parmesan cheese, crunchy almonds, and a tangy olive oil and lemon dressing makes for a refreshing dinner on these hot summer nights.

Zucchini Pasta Salad
Adapted from Smitten Kitchen

Lots of room for improvisation here: onions (raw or caramelized), feta cheese, grain instead of pasta, cooked beans, some crumbled bacon, etc.

12 ounces whole wheat spiral pasta, cooked al dente, drained, and cooled
2 pounds zucchini, cut in half and then thinly sliced
1-2 teaspoons salt
2 ounces Parmesan cheese, grated
2/3 cup slivered almonds, toasted
½ cup olive oil
1/4 cup fresh lemon juice (from 1-2 lemons)
black pepper and salt, to taste

Put the zucchini slices in a colander and toss with the salt. Allow them to sit undisturbed for about 30 minutes. Taste—if too salty, rinse with water and pat dry. (I used 1 teaspoon of salt and mine were not too salty.)

In a small bowl, combine the olive oil, lemon juice, and a bunch of black pepper.

In a large bowl, combine the pasta, zucchini, and Parmesan. Add the dressing and toss. Taste to correct seasonings. Immediately before serving, add the almonds.

This same time, years previous: peas with prosciutto, red beet salad with caramelized onions and feta