I’m out of practice. Just two days without writing and I feel all creaky rusty.

It takes a lot to keep me in working condition. I think I’m what you’d call A High-Maintenance Person.

In times like these, photos come in handy, prompting me with something to talk about. So—

HEY! I just got an idea! I was going to say that I’d post the pictures and then write about them (whoa—how original is that!), but then I got me an ay-dear. I’m going to post the pictures and let YOU write about them (choose just one or write about them all). Then I’ll do another post (such organization! such planning!) with the same pictures and the best, most creative, most interesting captions. (In this case, truth holds not a drop of water. Live wild!) I’ll eventually tell you what the pictures are really about. Or not. We’ll see.

What say you? Does it sound like a plan?

Okay then. Here goes!

Picture Number One:

Picture Number Two:

Picture Number Three:

Picture Number Four:

Picture Number Five:

Picture Number Six:

Picture Number Seven:

Picture Number Eight:

Picture Number Nine:

Picture Number Ten:

This same time, years previous: kiddisms, getting in fixes

So yesterday, to hoist myself out of the food rut I’ve been in, I sat myself down to make some plans. I listed off food that I have on hand that I want to use up. I asked the kids what foods they wanted me to cook. (I was very clear that their suggestions were just that, suggestions, and that I might not—nay, probably wouldn’t—make what they said.) I sketched a brief menu. (Kind of.) I called my mom. I did a belly dance workout.

All the time I was puttering around, I was prepping myself, marshaling my reserves, stoking up my cooking energy, and then suddenly—BOOM! I exploded into the kitchen, slapping kettles on the stove, running down cellar for food, measuring, grating, stirring, yelling at the kids to get out of my way, and, in general, making one enormous mess.

Oh yes, and cooking up a whole bunch of food, too. I made macaroni and cheese (using up a some leftover Christmas cheeses), cooked carrots with browned butter (Miss Beccaboo’s request), and peas. I made a pan of baked oatmeal for the next morning’s breakfast. I shaped bread loaves and put them in the fridge to proof. And last minute, I popped open a quart of sour cherries and baked them up into a delicious cobbler for our dessert.

It may not sound like all that much food, and it isn’t, really, but I did it all in about an hour. And after not cooking much for a couple days, it was nothing less than a breakthrough. I even washed a small mountain of dirty kettles and bowls before sitting down to eat.

We don’t usually have dessert for supper, so the cherry cobbler was the cause of much cheering and hollering … and scarfing. All of it got eaten up right then and there. And then more than one pair of eyes cast mournful glances at the pan’s sad emptiness.

What’s so wonderful about this cobbler is that it can be whipped up in the thick of crazy cooking, baked while dinner is being eaten, and then brought to the table piping hot. Scooped steaming hot into bowls and then baptized with cold milk, it makes a comfy-cozy winter-time dessert. (Or if you want to dress it up a little, serve it with vanilla ice cream.)

The other thing that’s so wonderful about this cobbler is that it makes use of almost any kind of fruit—fresh, frozen, or canned. At this time of year I’m always searching for ways to creatively use up my canned fruit, so I usually go that route. Stone fruits (peaches, plums, apricots, cherries) are excellent choices, as are raspberries and blueberries.

The other thing that’s so wonderful about this cobbler is that it’s easy easy easy to make. Equal parts flour, sugar, and milk, with some baking powder and salt. Well, at least that’s the original recipe—I reduced the sugar a bit, throwing the even proportions slightly out of whack. Which leads me to the next point…

The other thing that so wonderful about this cobbler is its versatility. Use all white flour, all whole wheat, or a combination. Or add in some different grains: spelt, cornmeal, oat flour, a bit of wheat germ, etc. Add more sugar, or less, depending on your tastes and the tartness of the fruit. Sub in some brown sugar, or maple syrup or honey, or maybe even a touch of molasses. Play around with the spices, add nuts (I added some almond meal to the cobbler that you see in the pictures), candied ginger, or some dried fruit. (Disclaimer: I have not tried all these variations—I’m just thinking out loud. Use your discretion when experimenting and don’t blame me if it goes all wonky.)

Yet another thing that’s so wonderful about this cobbler—and this is perhaps the most wonderful part of the whole deal—is that it tastes delicious and the whole family loves it.

Amen and The End.

Quick Fruit Cobbler
Adapted from the More-With-Less Cookbook by Doris Janzen Longacre

I have doubled the original recipe. A single batch (half of what you see below) is supposed to go in a 9 x 9 pan, so you’d think that a double batch would go in a 9 x 13 pan. However, I have found the 9 x 13 pan to be a little too big. If you don’t mind a thinner cobbler, then by all means go for it, but I think a triple batch works best for a 9 x 13. For the recipe that follows, I use an 11 x 7. There. Did I confuse you sufficiently?

1 cup flour (I use a mixture of whole wheat pastry and all-purpose)
3/4 cup sugar (more or less) (plus 2 tablespoons for garnish)
2 teaspoons baking powder
½ teaspoon salt
1 cup milk
4 cups fruit (if using canned fruit, save about ½ cup of the juice, optional)

Whisk together the dry ingredients and then whisk in the milk. The batter will be quite runny. Pour the batter into a greased 11 x 7 pan.

Distribute the fruit evenly over the top of the batter. (If using canned fruit, drain it first, and then drizzle a little of the fruit juice over the fruit-pocked batter, if you so desire.) Sprinkle the two tablespoons of sugar over top. Bake the cobbler at 350 degrees. The fruit and the batter will exchange places. When the fruit is bubbly and the top golden brown (or after about 30-40 minutes), the cobbler is done.

Serve warm, topped with cold milk or some vanilla ice cream. Leftovers (yeah right) can be stored at room temperature or in the fridge.

This same time, years previous: cranberry relish, spots of pretty, inner voices, the bet

I’m in a food funk. There is no bread in the house. Two nights ago I made (flat) cornbread to go with our soup and then last night I asked Mr. Handsome to pick up some bread and lunch meat from the store on his way home. Supper was ham and sweet Lebanon bologna sandwiches and (leftover) potato salad. We were all thrilled because we love love love bologna sandwiches, but at one point Miss Beccaboo looked out over the table and said, “Wow, Mom. Everything on this table was bought at the store except for the lettuce!”

“Actually, honey,” I said, “the lettuce was bought, too. The only thing not bought”—and here I paused to assess the situation—“is the egg that I used to make the mayonnaise that’s in the potato salad.”

But conditions are improving! I woke up my baby and tomorrow I’ll bake it. (For those of you new here, that’s a sourdough starter I’m talking about—don’t go call CPS on me, ‘kay?) I made a batch of granola last night. Tonight will be a supper of nourishing leftovers (read, there will be much wailing and gnashing of teeth), and I have a few fun recipes up my sleeve.

Actually, thanks to Cook’s Illustrated what I want to make right now is a fresh pork roast. I know! After Saturday’s events and I’m hankering after piggy! And not even disguised piggy, like the sausage we’ve been eating, but a whole honkin’ huge pig leg brined in Coca-Cola. I am barbaric—there are no two ways around it.

But don’t worry. I have no pork leg, nor any Coke, so it’s not going to happen.

Yet.

Hm. What to write about…

I know. I’ll tell you about the three cookies that I just ate with my coffee.

I ate three cookies with my afternoon coffee!

There. Wasn’t that a great story?

Only someone as confused as me would make cookies in the weeks following Christmas. But see, after all the recipe reading that happened in the weeks leading up to Christmas, I got a lot of ideas for more cookies. So, with leftover Christmas cookies still hiding out in the freezer, I got out the butter and sugar and made even more. I’m twisted that way.

But it was totally worth it.

These cookies flashed across my radar during the week between Christmas and New Year’s, the week that Mr. Handsome stayed home from work. One afternoon—I think the only afternoon I went anywhere during that long, lazy week—I took off for town, the two girls in tow. We did some errands and such, but finally we ended up at our main destination: Barnes and Noble. I ordered a large caramel macchiato and two extra cups. After I divided the coffee out between the three of us (I got the lioness’s share, of course), we headed back to the children’s section to stake out our territory.

(Note: when we lived deep in the West Virginia hills, my dad used to stake out his territory in a most literal sense—he peed all around the perimeter of the garden to keep the deer away.)

(Note: I did not pee around the perimeter of Barnes and Noble.)

I snagged some books from the cooking section and then returned to the kids’ table to do my reading and note-taking. Two hours later I informed the girls it was time to go, but they begged otherwise. We stayed another hour after which I told them we really had to leave. We did another errand, and on the way back to the car we passed by the bookstore again. Both girls pleaded to go back in and read some more.

I said no but inside I was rejoicing. I have bookstore accomplices in my very own family! I have produced offspring who cheerfully, happily, ENTHUSIASTICALLY sit for hours in a book store, sipping coffee, listening to canned music, reading till their eyes glaze over. Wow. I have longed for this day for years—through all the stilted (failed) bookstore dates with my husband, through all the years of toddler tyranny, and now. Now. Now they join me in caffeinated and literary paradise! Glory be!

But the cookies. Oh yes, the cookies.

One of the books I snatched off the shelf was a Martha Stewart Cookie Book. I think I jotted down no less than four of her recipes while skimming through the book. (Yes, I carried in a small stack of scrap paper and pen, fully intending to do some recipe copying. It was my goal.)

I was drawn to the butter cookie section. I’m not sure why. I don’t consider myself a butter cookie freak. Butter cookies are rather simple and unassuming, the ones that get left till last on the Christmas cookie platter (unless they’re iced and decked out in glitzy colored sugars). But I do love me a simple cookie. I like the fancier fare plenty much, but they get old pretty fast. (Remember this post about cakes and floozies?) It’s the simple confections that have the most integrity, the ones I want to hang out with over the long haul. Me and cookies—we is some good friends, we is.

Plus, who can turn down a simple butter cookie that’s been jacked up with rum, orange zest, and coconut in such a way that it enhances, rather than detracts from, the cookie’s true core of buttery-ness?

Truth be told, I wasn’t too sure about these cookies at first. I’m not a fan of rum raisin anything (especially not the ice cream, a flavor which was rampant in Nicaragua), I don’t especially care for currants, and well, I was a little tired of cookies. But I went ahead and made them anyway—it was the rum that spoke to me, not to mention the zest and coconut.

Which I already mentioned, I think.

These cookies— Well, I’m not sure how to describe them. The texture is outstanding. Sublime. Different from any buttery shortbread confection I have ever eaten. The cookie is incredibly light, yet nubbly from the coconut and chewy from the currants. There is no alcoholic taste, though there is a depth which I believe can be attributed to the rum. The orange zest adds a light punch that makes you sit up straighter and pay attention.

Which I suggest you do.

Rum Raisin Shortbread
Adapted from the cookbook Martha Stewart’s Cookies

½ cup rum
1 cup currants
2 sticks butter
3/4 cup confectioner’s sugar
½ teaspoon orange zest, packed
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 ½ cups flour
3/4 cup unsweetened, grated coconut
1 teaspoon salt

The day before making the cookies, put the currants in a bowl and add the rum. Press the currants down, trying to submerge them all, and then cover the bowl with a piece of plastic wrap. Let the bowl sit on the counter at room temperature over night.

The following morning, pour the currants into a strainer that is set a-top a bowl. Allow them to rest for 15-30 minutes to thoroughly drain. Reserve 2 tablespoons of the drained-off rum and discard the rest. (Most of the rum will have been absorbed by the currants, so you’ll only be throwing out a tablespoon or so of excess.)

Cream together the butter and confectioner’s sugar. Add the orange zest, vanilla, and 2 tablespoons of reserved rum and beat a little more. Beat in the salt and flour, and then add the coconut. Stir in the drained currants.

Divide the dough into two parts and shape each half into a log about 8 inches in length and 2 inches in diameter. For smaller, daintier cookies, make the logs even longer. Wrap the logs in plastic wrap and chill in the refrigerator for several hours (or several days) until ready to slice and bake.

Slice the cookies into 1/4-inch slices and set them on greased cookie sheets. Bake the cookies at 325 degrees for 12-20 minutes, or until lightly golden brown on the edges. Cool completely before storing in a pretty glass jar on the kitchen counter. (The cookies freeze well, too.)

This same time, years previous: creamy blue cheese pasta with spinach and walnuts