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I've let two days pass. Thank god I live in a country where freedom of speech is granted, but never to be taken for granted.
I was appalled to open the paper and read yesterday's headline in the Post-Dispatch regarding the "legitimate rape" comment. No, let me restate that, I was trembling mad. I re-read the piece twice just to be sure I hadn't missed any detail.
What I cannot come to grips with is this: Republicans can't seem to release themselves from wanting to legislate a woman's body.
Get out of our bodies.
I make no apologies for being a woman. A strong woman. A woman who was always told by her mother to stand up for her rights. Don't ever be afraid. Don't ever allow intimidation influence your opinions. Stand tall.
I was a kid who aspired to be an attorney. In grade school, I took pen to paper to write a letter to President Gerald Ford expressing said hopes and--received a letter back! The local paper ran a column about my letter.
The world I was entering was slowly reckoning with the fact that women were no longer relegated to being second class citizens--submissive "types". My generation would have more choices than any female generation prior.
I don't need to elaborate or dredge up my own personal scars, or explain why I had such a visceral reaction to this unseemly comment. I simply need to vote. And I will. And because we live in a democracy and because other great women before me fought for this right, I will absolutely take the only action I can in the face of this insult.
As of my writing, an apology has been issued.
Apology not accepted.
25 Şubat 2013 Pazartesi
"So For My Next Act, I'll Limit Women's Rights"
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Really? So went the general direction of the narrative from one side during last night's debate. So much so, I lost sleep over it. Did I just step off of 2012 and step into the 1950s? Pre Roe v. Wade days were dark for women. Very dark. I remember the first "talk" I had with my mother on the subject of my responsibilities and rights as a woman. And it went something like this: Be careful. Be vigilant. And above all else, do not EVER walk into this house unmarried and pregnant. Period. And the story of her being left in an orphanage followed. One may assume given this history lesson, I might have different thoughts on the matter of birth control. One would be wrong to make such an assumption. And my mother would have been the first to tell you why.
I made a conscious decision to not have children. Thus, I took personal responsibility for ensuring I would not become a mother. Thankfully, I did not have to make this decision in a back alley somewhere. I met with our family physician instead. And nothing about my meeting with him was awkward. In adulthood, my option for maintaining my choice to eschew motherhood was never something I imagined might be at risk. It never once occurred to me that, in my lifetime, a movement would be underway to undo my say in this matter.
I have faith in our democracy. I have faith in both the women and men in congress to see that the right to make the choice never gets taken away.We do not live in a Utopian society where adults behave themselves All. The. Time. That's why there are protective measures in place to keep us from harming ourselves, or from harming others. In the ugliest parts of humanity there is an abominable force which causes some stronger types to prey on weaker types. These forces are referred to as rape and incest, and most often occur against women. And at its deepest moral indecency, the "women" may be as young as fourteen. As I've learned over the years this happens to be the age at which young women are most vulnerable to such an assault. I personally know this to be true.
Before any single human being thinks for one moment that they know what's best for women as it relates to "good moral behavior" and sees removing the option of birth control protection for women as prudent, they need first walk a mile in my shoes or a mile in the shoes of any number of young victims of date rape, uncle rape, father rape, neighbor rape and tell them why their birth control options are no longer on the table. Why corporations employing them cannot "in good conscience" provide the medical benefit of simple protection when women know first hand what being a victim feels like. We know first hand "just saying NO" isn't a guarantee of protection. And all this finger pointing, posturing and holier-than-thou, "Goodness gracious, why would a single woman ever allow herself to have a child and NOT be married and able to provide a decent life. . . a good moral life!" stuff is naive at best. Criminal at worst.
I made a conscious decision to not have children. Thus, I took personal responsibility for ensuring I would not become a mother. Thankfully, I did not have to make this decision in a back alley somewhere. I met with our family physician instead. And nothing about my meeting with him was awkward. In adulthood, my option for maintaining my choice to eschew motherhood was never something I imagined might be at risk. It never once occurred to me that, in my lifetime, a movement would be underway to undo my say in this matter.
I have faith in our democracy. I have faith in both the women and men in congress to see that the right to make the choice never gets taken away.We do not live in a Utopian society where adults behave themselves All. The. Time. That's why there are protective measures in place to keep us from harming ourselves, or from harming others. In the ugliest parts of humanity there is an abominable force which causes some stronger types to prey on weaker types. These forces are referred to as rape and incest, and most often occur against women. And at its deepest moral indecency, the "women" may be as young as fourteen. As I've learned over the years this happens to be the age at which young women are most vulnerable to such an assault. I personally know this to be true.
Before any single human being thinks for one moment that they know what's best for women as it relates to "good moral behavior" and sees removing the option of birth control protection for women as prudent, they need first walk a mile in my shoes or a mile in the shoes of any number of young victims of date rape, uncle rape, father rape, neighbor rape and tell them why their birth control options are no longer on the table. Why corporations employing them cannot "in good conscience" provide the medical benefit of simple protection when women know first hand what being a victim feels like. We know first hand "just saying NO" isn't a guarantee of protection. And all this finger pointing, posturing and holier-than-thou, "Goodness gracious, why would a single woman ever allow herself to have a child and NOT be married and able to provide a decent life. . . a good moral life!" stuff is naive at best. Criminal at worst.
Vegan Red Velvet Cookies (My Best Friend: Thirty-Five Years And Counting And Why I'll Drop Everything To Be There)
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The story of this cookie began last week when I received a phone call from my best friend. Sometimes you think life couldn't possibly hand you one more thing. And then it does. The time of the call (early) told me all I needed to know. Something terrible had happened. I'd barely said 'hello', was going down the list: Are the kids okay? Are you okay? Is your mom okay? Dad? Do you have the "C" word. . . what happened?! As it turned out, something horrible had happened. It involved her mother. Which in turn, involved me. Gayle would then travel a thousand miles in one afternoon. I'd see her in six hours. Then we'd travel another two hours to her mom.
This post will be about a bit more than this cookie. It has to. I was drawn to it by way of a tragedy. Like most things involving food and memories, I had to share more than just the food part in telling you about it. Jump to the recipe below if you are so inclined. But I have a story to tell.
During the crisis, Gayle and I were able to steal brief moments away for "nourishment". Which, given the town we were in did not include Whole Foods. I'll refrain from naming said town. Let me just say it is quite southern in nature. Quite. (At least for this girl's Yankee roots.) But I love the drawl and at times can be heard carrying one on myself. It just creeps in.
Were you able to raise her? Translation: Did she answer the phone?
I found myself back where I'd gone to high school. Back in the town where my mother drug my sister and I kicking and screaming. Back to where our mother would take her last breath. Just back. But it was here in this town I met my best friend, some thirty-five years ago.
We settled on The Bread Company (that's what we call it here in St. Louis--because even though the chain has gone "national"--locally, it will always be known as TBC) for lunch during breaks from the hospital. Gayle spotted them first. These cookies. These glorious little packages of red joy. They were the size of dinner plates! I thought I couldn't possibly eat one by myself. Certainly not something under normal circumstances one would eat by oneself. But these were not normal circumstances. We were in major stress mode. Gayle ordered two. Then I ordered mine. There was no sharing. We devoured them.
I cared not whether they were vegan. I was ravenous. We both were. (We both love to bake. Both love to cook.) I said, "I have to veganize these . . . as soon as I get home." On my trip back, I stopped by the store to pick up another cookie to go--one for Dr. Thyme, and for taste testing--just to be sure the food memory stayed with me. He loved them, too. And then I began telling him of all that had happened. The tragedy. The tears. The utter disbelief of it all. Of how fragile and swift life can be. How in one moment, all can be changed. Forever. And it has.
Apparently red velvet is making a come back. I couldn't be happier. One of my all time favorite red treats were Hostess Zingers (RIP Hostess). Red cake and coconut and creamy filling. What's not to love? So my partiality to red foods goes waaay back. And if you tsk-tsk the use of red food coloring for your eating pleasure, that's a shame. Because to my mind, it's the red food coloring that gives this cookie--and its cake namesake--an unmistakable yum factor. As for amounts--this cookie does not require a full bottle of red coloring. (The cake does.) I was able to to eek by with only 2 teaspoons. 
Heavenly. .JPG)
This is my best friend Gayle. We are in the parking lot of the hospital this past weekend. Both of us wanted a picture of the two of us for our phones. We acknowledged that given the stress, crying and "our age", sunglasses were in order. A moment of laughing was good for us. I sent a copy of it to my sister who said, "You guys look exactly like you always do. . . I've seen this picture a hundred times." And it's true.
She and I met at a horse barn where her father and my mother both stabled their horses. I was new to town, as was mom and my sister (who is a bit younger than I). Mom came home one day asking if I'd ever met Gayle. The only people I'd "met" were the neighbors, and kids in my classes (junior high--oh the horror)--and briefly at that because I was still super bitter over being uprooted at such a vulnerable age. (This was to be our mother's third husband. Yes. third. And not her last.) Basically, I hadn't branched out "socially" yet in our new home town. Apparently our mother had. More mentions of Gayle and her dad. Then one day, mom brought me to the stables (I grew up riding horses because our mother had an affinity for them). I finally met Gayle. We agreed to catch up some time at school. And that was all she wrote.
I'm not going to tell you we were attached at the hip. But we were. And as you might imagine in all these years, there have been ups and there have been downs. Moments of sheer joy. Moments of pure hell. Shared celebrations. Shared sorrow. Spans of time without one another. We are both women after all.
When my mom was in the hospital during her last few months, Gayle's mom was, too. I could barely stand watching my mom going through all her "stuff". My sister and I were taking turns nursing to her when we could. My mom adored Gayle. (They shared a kinship of sorts, Gayle was an only child, so was our mother.) When Gayle couldn't stand watching the poking and prodding her mother went through and I couldn't stand my mother's tests (and pain affiliated with them)--we'd switch. I'd go sit with her mom and stand along side for the tests and whatnot, and Gayle went to be with my mom and hang out with my sister. They were in different hospitals. . . at the same exact time. Ultimately, her mother got to leave the hospital. Ours did not.
But that was one of the many too-many-to-count memories. There is her father's role in my life as well. After her parents divorced, he would call for Gayle to visit him--she'd always drag me along. (Okay "drag" may be too strong a word-especially for that trip to Denver.) Then on and on life went with both her mother, her father, her aunts, uncles and usually at some point were Gayle and me. In and out of each other's lives so many times.
She called me once and asked if I wanted to go on a vacation together. . . again. I was never much for "traveling" vacations--my jobs in the past required me to be on the road entirely too much. I can't stand hotels to this day. But this time she wanted to do Memphis: Graceland. We did the whole nine yards. Bought the CDs. Bought the Elvis t-shirts. Wept at the grave site. The. Whole. Nine. Yards.
We stayed at the Peabody. Yes. We watched the ducks, too.
On a much earlier vacation--with her mother and her two children (now grown, both in college and amazing)--we all spent eight days on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. She took this picture of me. We both laughed about how Kennebunkport this looked. We called it "The Postcard from Dahling" shot. (And yes, I had to go brunette at least once in my life. I wanted people to take me more seriously. It was the only time in my life gentlemen stopped holding doors open for me. So I said "screw this" and went back to being a blonde.) 
She has always had something of an affinity for bikes and things that go varoom-varoom. (She gets that from her father. That's who took this photo.) She owns her own Harley. She will never get me on that damn bike. Okay?
I got home this weekend completely exhausted. I slept for thirteen hours straight. Then woke up and took a nap. I'm still emotionally spent. We all are. There is much to be done. More for Gayle and her family to manage through. I am praying for them all, and I am especially praying for her mom.
I told her over the phone last night that I'd come home determined to make that damn cookie vegan. Baking was a great salve. DH said he couldn't believe I'd even had the energy to bake. But I did. It somehow righted me. I can't wait for Gayle to try them. And my sister--who will be here in a few short weeks! Dr. Thyme gave them a big thumbs up. Gayle told me she went back for more cookies, took one up to the hospital yesterday and gave it to her mom. The nurses busted her. Hard to hide a giant red cookie in the sterile white backdrop of a hospital! But her mom loved them.
Vegan Red Velvet Cookies*Adapted from Great Cookies by Carole Waltermakes appx. 24 cookies
6 tablespoons unsalted vegetable margarine (at room temperature)6 tablespoons vegetable shortening (at room temperature)3/4 cup sugar1/4 cup molasses2 teaspoons red food coloring1 1/2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour (*use the scoop and sweep method of measuring the flours)3/4 cup white whole wheat flour2 tablespoons baking cocoa (*I used Ghiradelli) 1 teaspoon baking soda1/4 teaspoon salt1 1/2 teaspoon Ener-G Egg Replacer mixed with 3 tablespoons water1/3 cup chopped pecans1/3 cup white chocolate chipsextra granulated sugar for rolling cookiesextra powdered sugar for rolling cookies
Preheat oven to 350. Line two cookies sheets with parchment paper. Place about 1/4 granulated sugar in a small bowl, and next to it, 1/4 cup powdered sugar. Set aside. In the bowl of a stand mixer, cream together the butter and sugar until smooth. Add the molasses, egg replacer and then red food coloring. Mix until well blended. In a separate bowl, whisk together the flours, baking soda, salt and chocolate baking cocoa. Slowly add the dry ingredients to the wet (in thirds)--mixing just until the dough begins to form clumps. Fold in the pecans and white chocolate chips. If the dough won't form a solid dough ball, add a teaspoon more water. Take a tablespoon of dough and roll it in the palm of your hands to form a small ball. Roll the ball in the granulated sugar first, then the powdered sugar. Place on cookie sheets spaced about 2 inches apart. Bake for 13 minutes. Remove from oven and allow to cool on trays for about three minutes, then remove to cookie rack to cool completely. Store in freezer for about two weeks. Or store in an airtight container for a week.
The story of this cookie began last week when I received a phone call from my best friend. Sometimes you think life couldn't possibly hand you one more thing. And then it does. The time of the call (early) told me all I needed to know. Something terrible had happened. I'd barely said 'hello', was going down the list: Are the kids okay? Are you okay? Is your mom okay? Dad? Do you have the "C" word. . . what happened?! As it turned out, something horrible had happened. It involved her mother. Which in turn, involved me. Gayle would then travel a thousand miles in one afternoon. I'd see her in six hours. Then we'd travel another two hours to her mom.This post will be about a bit more than this cookie. It has to. I was drawn to it by way of a tragedy. Like most things involving food and memories, I had to share more than just the food part in telling you about it. Jump to the recipe below if you are so inclined. But I have a story to tell.
During the crisis, Gayle and I were able to steal brief moments away for "nourishment". Which, given the town we were in did not include Whole Foods. I'll refrain from naming said town. Let me just say it is quite southern in nature. Quite. (At least for this girl's Yankee roots.) But I love the drawl and at times can be heard carrying one on myself. It just creeps in.
Were you able to raise her? Translation: Did she answer the phone?
I found myself back where I'd gone to high school. Back in the town where my mother drug my sister and I kicking and screaming. Back to where our mother would take her last breath. Just back. But it was here in this town I met my best friend, some thirty-five years ago.
We settled on The Bread Company (that's what we call it here in St. Louis--because even though the chain has gone "national"--locally, it will always be known as TBC) for lunch during breaks from the hospital. Gayle spotted them first. These cookies. These glorious little packages of red joy. They were the size of dinner plates! I thought I couldn't possibly eat one by myself. Certainly not something under normal circumstances one would eat by oneself. But these were not normal circumstances. We were in major stress mode. Gayle ordered two. Then I ordered mine. There was no sharing. We devoured them.
I cared not whether they were vegan. I was ravenous. We both were. (We both love to bake. Both love to cook.) I said, "I have to veganize these . . . as soon as I get home." On my trip back, I stopped by the store to pick up another cookie to go--one for Dr. Thyme, and for taste testing--just to be sure the food memory stayed with me. He loved them, too. And then I began telling him of all that had happened. The tragedy. The tears. The utter disbelief of it all. Of how fragile and swift life can be. How in one moment, all can be changed. Forever. And it has.
Apparently red velvet is making a come back. I couldn't be happier. One of my all time favorite red treats were Hostess Zingers (RIP Hostess). Red cake and coconut and creamy filling. What's not to love? So my partiality to red foods goes waaay back. And if you tsk-tsk the use of red food coloring for your eating pleasure, that's a shame. Because to my mind, it's the red food coloring that gives this cookie--and its cake namesake--an unmistakable yum factor. As for amounts--this cookie does not require a full bottle of red coloring. (The cake does.) I was able to to eek by with only 2 teaspoons. Heavenly. This is my best friend Gayle. We are in the parking lot of the hospital this past weekend. Both of us wanted a picture of the two of us for our phones. We acknowledged that given the stress, crying and "our age", sunglasses were in order. A moment of laughing was good for us. I sent a copy of it to my sister who said, "You guys look exactly like you always do. . . I've seen this picture a hundred times." And it's true. She and I met at a horse barn where her father and my mother both stabled their horses. I was new to town, as was mom and my sister (who is a bit younger than I). Mom came home one day asking if I'd ever met Gayle. The only people I'd "met" were the neighbors, and kids in my classes (junior high--oh the horror)--and briefly at that because I was still super bitter over being uprooted at such a vulnerable age. (This was to be our mother's third husband. Yes. third. And not her last.) Basically, I hadn't branched out "socially" yet in our new home town. Apparently our mother had. More mentions of Gayle and her dad. Then one day, mom brought me to the stables (I grew up riding horses because our mother had an affinity for them). I finally met Gayle. We agreed to catch up some time at school. And that was all she wrote.
I'm not going to tell you we were attached at the hip. But we were. And as you might imagine in all these years, there have been ups and there have been downs. Moments of sheer joy. Moments of pure hell. Shared celebrations. Shared sorrow. Spans of time without one another. We are both women after all.
When my mom was in the hospital during her last few months, Gayle's mom was, too. I could barely stand watching my mom going through all her "stuff". My sister and I were taking turns nursing to her when we could. My mom adored Gayle. (They shared a kinship of sorts, Gayle was an only child, so was our mother.) When Gayle couldn't stand watching the poking and prodding her mother went through and I couldn't stand my mother's tests (and pain affiliated with them)--we'd switch. I'd go sit with her mom and stand along side for the tests and whatnot, and Gayle went to be with my mom and hang out with my sister. They were in different hospitals. . . at the same exact time. Ultimately, her mother got to leave the hospital. Ours did not.
But that was one of the many too-many-to-count memories. There is her father's role in my life as well. After her parents divorced, he would call for Gayle to visit him--she'd always drag me along. (Okay "drag" may be too strong a word-especially for that trip to Denver.) Then on and on life went with both her mother, her father, her aunts, uncles and usually at some point were Gayle and me. In and out of each other's lives so many times.
She called me once and asked if I wanted to go on a vacation together. . . again. I was never much for "traveling" vacations--my jobs in the past required me to be on the road entirely too much. I can't stand hotels to this day. But this time she wanted to do Memphis: Graceland. We did the whole nine yards. Bought the CDs. Bought the Elvis t-shirts. Wept at the grave site. The. Whole. Nine. Yards.We stayed at the Peabody. Yes. We watched the ducks, too.On a much earlier vacation--with her mother and her two children (now grown, both in college and amazing)--we all spent eight days on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. She took this picture of me. We both laughed about how Kennebunkport this looked. We called it "The Postcard from Dahling" shot. (And yes, I had to go brunette at least once in my life. I wanted people to take me more seriously. It was the only time in my life gentlemen stopped holding doors open for me. So I said "screw this" and went back to being a blonde.) She has always had something of an affinity for bikes and things that go varoom-varoom. (She gets that from her father. That's who took this photo.) She owns her own Harley. She will never get me on that damn bike. Okay?I got home this weekend completely exhausted. I slept for thirteen hours straight. Then woke up and took a nap. I'm still emotionally spent. We all are. There is much to be done. More for Gayle and her family to manage through. I am praying for them all, and I am especially praying for her mom.
I told her over the phone last night that I'd come home determined to make that damn cookie vegan. Baking was a great salve. DH said he couldn't believe I'd even had the energy to bake. But I did. It somehow righted me. I can't wait for Gayle to try them. And my sister--who will be here in a few short weeks! Dr. Thyme gave them a big thumbs up. Gayle told me she went back for more cookies, took one up to the hospital yesterday and gave it to her mom. The nurses busted her. Hard to hide a giant red cookie in the sterile white backdrop of a hospital! But her mom loved them.
Vegan Red Velvet Cookies*Adapted from Great Cookies by Carole Waltermakes appx. 24 cookies
6 tablespoons unsalted vegetable margarine (at room temperature)6 tablespoons vegetable shortening (at room temperature)3/4 cup sugar1/4 cup molasses2 teaspoons red food coloring1 1/2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour (*use the scoop and sweep method of measuring the flours)3/4 cup white whole wheat flour2 tablespoons baking cocoa (*I used Ghiradelli) 1 teaspoon baking soda1/4 teaspoon salt1 1/2 teaspoon Ener-G Egg Replacer mixed with 3 tablespoons water1/3 cup chopped pecans1/3 cup white chocolate chipsextra granulated sugar for rolling cookiesextra powdered sugar for rolling cookies
Preheat oven to 350. Line two cookies sheets with parchment paper. Place about 1/4 granulated sugar in a small bowl, and next to it, 1/4 cup powdered sugar. Set aside. In the bowl of a stand mixer, cream together the butter and sugar until smooth. Add the molasses, egg replacer and then red food coloring. Mix until well blended. In a separate bowl, whisk together the flours, baking soda, salt and chocolate baking cocoa. Slowly add the dry ingredients to the wet (in thirds)--mixing just until the dough begins to form clumps. Fold in the pecans and white chocolate chips. If the dough won't form a solid dough ball, add a teaspoon more water. Take a tablespoon of dough and roll it in the palm of your hands to form a small ball. Roll the ball in the granulated sugar first, then the powdered sugar. Place on cookie sheets spaced about 2 inches apart. Bake for 13 minutes. Remove from oven and allow to cool on trays for about three minutes, then remove to cookie rack to cool completely. Store in freezer for about two weeks. Or store in an airtight container for a week.
Vegan Buffalo Chicken Melts (I've put my hormones on "notice". . . and pass me more hot sauce, please!)
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If anyone ever tells you menopause is "easy", turn around and smack them. I am on the door step of fifty. The. Door. Step. I am not ever going to state exactly when this milestone hits. That little blog section of mine entitled Almost Fifty will quietly be switched to something like On Death's Door. It will be quiet and uneventful. You might notice it one day and be shocked to see such a dramatic "label" within my search box. But it will appear and the day will have passed and all will roll on as it has: Sporadic postings of food and life ramblings. The usual. But with a tad more urgency perhaps.
The whole idea for the Vegan Buffalo Chicken thing came about because I was a ravenous, menopausal mess. I wanted really BAD food, but in a good, vegan way. (We all know being vegan is not a panacea for all of life's ills, but just knowing we're at least trying by sticking to the whole "only plants" theme does ease the mind a bit, especially when you're talking about one of my past life loves: buffalo spice anything!)
I'll walk you through this play-by-play. Then I'll tell you about my week. Or I'll tell myself.
I had to do some freezer cleaning--came across three of my favorite rye burger buns. First, preheat the oven to 425. Next, line a cookie sheet with parchment paper, then place said buns, cut in half, face up like so.
Spread a gob of vegan mayo on first. I browned up a couple Gardein chicken patties, then cut them into small pieces and put a layer of those on next.
Then came the good stuff--the Buffalo sauce mixture. This is super easy--in a medium saute pan, add 2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil over medium heat and combine: 1 chopped onion1 chopped green pepper1 stalk celery*Cook these for a few minutes to soften them up. Then add the following:2 tablespoons Earth Balance Butter2 teaspoons dried oregano1 teaspoon paprika1 tablespoon garlic powder1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper2 tablespoons Franks Hot Sauce*Cook for few minutes to allow the flavors to meld, then in a small bowl, whisk together the following:3 tablespoons unbleached all purpose flour1 cup veggie brothAdd this to the pan. Turn heat up a bit until the mixture begins to bubble a bit and thicken. Then turn down the heat, add another cup-to-2 cups of veggie broth--depending upon how thick you want your sauce. You're not done adding hot sauce, but keep tasting the mixture to test the heat level. I have found that adding a splash of red wine vinegar to this also takes up the flavor a notch. Once you have the desired consistency you want--I wanted medium--not a paste, but not a runny gravy either, spoon this over the prepared buns. 
Top with Daiya vegan mozz. cheese. THEN, add a dash more of hot sauce to each patty. Bake for 20-25 minutes. 
Serve like this! Yum!
Okay, now for the week's happenings. I've been a bit sleep deprived. So much so, I'd decided I might be suffering some of those symptoms--the ones marking a woman's CHANGE! And the onset of "other" symptoms have confirmed my suspicions. It's like a little bell has gone off in me. A place on the time continuum marking You Were Here and Now You Are There. It was not unexpected. I imagine it's what Heathcliff felt about Cathy.
I made an appointment to see my Ob-Gyn. When I phoned, they'd said it had been two years! since my last appointment. (I am not one who enjoys visits with people in white coats.) Overall, I am quite healthy. Why take up their time? The receptionist said the earliest annual appointment (that's what they call the lady doctor visits--"annuals") they had was for end of February. I was like, Okay. Then I mentioned this: Oh, would you mind making a note to discuss my NOT sleeping. It's been nearly a month since I've had a full night's sleep. Just sayin'. To which the reply went exactly like this: We have an appointment available tomorrow at 1:30. . . for "problem" cases. Well, I guess to the medical world, a woman not sleeping is going to set off alarms buzzing. After all, we DO run the world. I was a little taken aback. So soon? Suddenly I can be seen tomorrow? vs. February.
So the visit. For the record, I would rather have my eyelashes removed one at a time with tweezers than to go through this. But because my visit was of the "problem" sort, the tweezers were not required and it was more of a chat and minimal look-see sort of thing. I was cool with that.
Then the HRT conversation began: Hormone Replacement Therapy. Now, to be honest, I am quite familiar with the HRT debate. I have polled women in my life and close friends about the subject of "To use or not to use HRT". Which all of my Almost Fifty girlfriends have admitted, we are THERE. IT is HERE. That is: menopause has reared its ugly head.
Every single one of us has had to confront this change with eyes wide open, pencils to paper and ears to the news--investigating, questioning, reading. The hormone debate has lingered in the news for the last twenty years. It's a confusing, hot mess. Sort of like our hormones. Which makes the decision as to what we do next that much more complex. My doctor, a woman who will be sixty this year--smiling and jovial and perky mentioned the HRT options. I asked whether she took them? To which she replied, No. I said I was skeptical. She nodded. I shared my concerns. I brought a notebook with lists of questions AND my concerns, not least of which was the risk for breast cancer, hair LOSS (as if turning fifty weren't bad enough!), depression and last but not least--my numero uno enemy: wight gain--oh the horror! But could really, really use some sleep. (Just ask my husband.)
She answered a few of my questions, we discussed a bit more, then she handed me a script--just in case this might work. It was worth a try, she said. (But in the back of my mind I kept thinking about her NOT taking anything herself--and here she was sixty!). On my way I was sent. Pill order in hand. Doubt in mind.
I know her job requires seeing plenty of women of a 'certain age' and I imagine we all begin to sound like a broken record. But here's the thing--we are all different. She said so herself. No one case of menopause will be identical to another. You'll have some women who will fight the battle through with barely a sweat. Others not so much. I don't really know where I fit. I am leery of a one-size-fits-all for anything. I am by nature a doubter. Pills were suggested. I read the fine print, shocked myself nearly into a fit and thought they might as well have said, for the sake of ink and paper conservation written in bold, black type:
You could damn well possibly kill yourself on these! . . . Or not.
Any decision regarding my health is not to be taken lightly. And nothing about changes in life are. Just ask Oprah or Suzanne Somers--both have touted bioidentical hormone methods to quell their menopause "symptoms"--books and interviews with these two clearly outline the battle being fought to overcome their own transition. Again, more news/prescriptions on hormones and their use, more confusion for women.
I have since deployed several new regimens. I am happy to report that I have had not only one, but two full nights of sleep. (*I am well aware this could have something to do with my complete sleep deprived state--but for now, let's just state I am feeling a bit better.) And who knows, maybe just talking to my doctor has contributed to this overall awareness of the state I am in.
I told Dr. Thyme that evening after my visit my thoughts on the matter. I said, You know what I think, I think the pills are designed to make ME more tolerable to the rest of the world. . . he nodded in kind agreement. He's been that way lately, SUPER kind and compassionate.
Meantime, after I got home from the doctor visit, someone thought it might be fun to ROLL in the thawed ground and give herself a makeover!
Hello!
Moments like these make it all worthwhile (even if it did take half the rest of the night to dry and brush the dirt from her entire body!)
If anyone ever tells you menopause is "easy", turn around and smack them. I am on the door step of fifty. The. Door. Step. I am not ever going to state exactly when this milestone hits. That little blog section of mine entitled Almost Fifty will quietly be switched to something like On Death's Door. It will be quiet and uneventful. You might notice it one day and be shocked to see such a dramatic "label" within my search box. But it will appear and the day will have passed and all will roll on as it has: Sporadic postings of food and life ramblings. The usual. But with a tad more urgency perhaps. The whole idea for the Vegan Buffalo Chicken thing came about because I was a ravenous, menopausal mess. I wanted really BAD food, but in a good, vegan way. (We all know being vegan is not a panacea for all of life's ills, but just knowing we're at least trying by sticking to the whole "only plants" theme does ease the mind a bit, especially when you're talking about one of my past life loves: buffalo spice anything!)
I'll walk you through this play-by-play. Then I'll tell you about my week. Or I'll tell myself.
I had to do some freezer cleaning--came across three of my favorite rye burger buns. First, preheat the oven to 425. Next, line a cookie sheet with parchment paper, then place said buns, cut in half, face up like so.
Spread a gob of vegan mayo on first. I browned up a couple Gardein chicken patties, then cut them into small pieces and put a layer of those on next.
Then came the good stuff--the Buffalo sauce mixture. This is super easy--in a medium saute pan, add 2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil over medium heat and combine: 1 chopped onion1 chopped green pepper1 stalk celery*Cook these for a few minutes to soften them up. Then add the following:2 tablespoons Earth Balance Butter2 teaspoons dried oregano1 teaspoon paprika1 tablespoon garlic powder1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper2 tablespoons Franks Hot Sauce*Cook for few minutes to allow the flavors to meld, then in a small bowl, whisk together the following:3 tablespoons unbleached all purpose flour1 cup veggie brothAdd this to the pan. Turn heat up a bit until the mixture begins to bubble a bit and thicken. Then turn down the heat, add another cup-to-2 cups of veggie broth--depending upon how thick you want your sauce. You're not done adding hot sauce, but keep tasting the mixture to test the heat level. I have found that adding a splash of red wine vinegar to this also takes up the flavor a notch. Once you have the desired consistency you want--I wanted medium--not a paste, but not a runny gravy either, spoon this over the prepared buns. 
Top with Daiya vegan mozz. cheese. THEN, add a dash more of hot sauce to each patty. Bake for 20-25 minutes. 
Serve like this! Yum!Okay, now for the week's happenings. I've been a bit sleep deprived. So much so, I'd decided I might be suffering some of those symptoms--the ones marking a woman's CHANGE! And the onset of "other" symptoms have confirmed my suspicions. It's like a little bell has gone off in me. A place on the time continuum marking You Were Here and Now You Are There. It was not unexpected. I imagine it's what Heathcliff felt about Cathy.
I made an appointment to see my Ob-Gyn. When I phoned, they'd said it had been two years! since my last appointment. (I am not one who enjoys visits with people in white coats.) Overall, I am quite healthy. Why take up their time? The receptionist said the earliest annual appointment (that's what they call the lady doctor visits--"annuals") they had was for end of February. I was like, Okay. Then I mentioned this: Oh, would you mind making a note to discuss my NOT sleeping. It's been nearly a month since I've had a full night's sleep. Just sayin'. To which the reply went exactly like this: We have an appointment available tomorrow at 1:30. . . for "problem" cases. Well, I guess to the medical world, a woman not sleeping is going to set off alarms buzzing. After all, we DO run the world. I was a little taken aback. So soon? Suddenly I can be seen tomorrow? vs. February.
So the visit. For the record, I would rather have my eyelashes removed one at a time with tweezers than to go through this. But because my visit was of the "problem" sort, the tweezers were not required and it was more of a chat and minimal look-see sort of thing. I was cool with that.
Then the HRT conversation began: Hormone Replacement Therapy. Now, to be honest, I am quite familiar with the HRT debate. I have polled women in my life and close friends about the subject of "To use or not to use HRT". Which all of my Almost Fifty girlfriends have admitted, we are THERE. IT is HERE. That is: menopause has reared its ugly head.
Every single one of us has had to confront this change with eyes wide open, pencils to paper and ears to the news--investigating, questioning, reading. The hormone debate has lingered in the news for the last twenty years. It's a confusing, hot mess. Sort of like our hormones. Which makes the decision as to what we do next that much more complex. My doctor, a woman who will be sixty this year--smiling and jovial and perky mentioned the HRT options. I asked whether she took them? To which she replied, No. I said I was skeptical. She nodded. I shared my concerns. I brought a notebook with lists of questions AND my concerns, not least of which was the risk for breast cancer, hair LOSS (as if turning fifty weren't bad enough!), depression and last but not least--my numero uno enemy: wight gain--oh the horror! But could really, really use some sleep. (Just ask my husband.)
She answered a few of my questions, we discussed a bit more, then she handed me a script--just in case this might work. It was worth a try, she said. (But in the back of my mind I kept thinking about her NOT taking anything herself--and here she was sixty!). On my way I was sent. Pill order in hand. Doubt in mind.
I know her job requires seeing plenty of women of a 'certain age' and I imagine we all begin to sound like a broken record. But here's the thing--we are all different. She said so herself. No one case of menopause will be identical to another. You'll have some women who will fight the battle through with barely a sweat. Others not so much. I don't really know where I fit. I am leery of a one-size-fits-all for anything. I am by nature a doubter. Pills were suggested. I read the fine print, shocked myself nearly into a fit and thought they might as well have said, for the sake of ink and paper conservation written in bold, black type:
You could damn well possibly kill yourself on these! . . . Or not.
Any decision regarding my health is not to be taken lightly. And nothing about changes in life are. Just ask Oprah or Suzanne Somers--both have touted bioidentical hormone methods to quell their menopause "symptoms"--books and interviews with these two clearly outline the battle being fought to overcome their own transition. Again, more news/prescriptions on hormones and their use, more confusion for women.
I have since deployed several new regimens. I am happy to report that I have had not only one, but two full nights of sleep. (*I am well aware this could have something to do with my complete sleep deprived state--but for now, let's just state I am feeling a bit better.) And who knows, maybe just talking to my doctor has contributed to this overall awareness of the state I am in.
I told Dr. Thyme that evening after my visit my thoughts on the matter. I said, You know what I think, I think the pills are designed to make ME more tolerable to the rest of the world. . . he nodded in kind agreement. He's been that way lately, SUPER kind and compassionate.
Meantime, after I got home from the doctor visit, someone thought it might be fun to ROLL in the thawed ground and give herself a makeover!
Hello!Moments like these make it all worthwhile (even if it did take half the rest of the night to dry and brush the dirt from her entire body!)The Best Meatball Pizza Ever (Or. . . how my search for a lesson on "short row knitting" lead to Peter Reinhart's lesson on "pizza". It was a Good day.)
To contact us Click HERE
I'm not new to the homemade pizza making world. It's our second favorite food group next to chocolate. And while I try not to make pizza night an every night affair (I easily could), when I do throw down for some pizza crafting time, I am always amazed at how different the crusts seem. It's one of my favorite searches--like for the next best chocolate chip cookie--I've made over a dozen of each (pizza crusts and cookies), and after each try I tell myself, "That's it!". Invariably, I forget what and where it was I'd found said "it" recipe, and find I'm at it again with a whole new recipe search.
I suppose you could say I had a very lucky day this week.
I was in a snit over a knitting pattern I desperately wanted to begin. I am nearly finished with my first Downton Abbey gauntlet, and half way through the second. (BTW, was last week's DA episode just the bleakest episode ever?) No spoilers here.
Anyway, the new project bug had bitten me. I found a shawl that seemed perfect: Sideways Ripple Shawl designed by Kyoko Nakayoshi, appearing in Knitscene Winter 2012. Its beauty, to me, was in its simplicity, and the fact that I could totally see myself wrapped in this while going to the store for eggplant. It's not too frilly, not too lacy, just a really cool, sort of understated wrap. However, the idea of stripes to me as wearable design has ranked repulsive for most of my adult life. No one looks good in them. I'm from the school of thought that they should be reserved for criminals and Waldo and thus, have avoided them. Even through last year's fashion push with stripes this and stripes that. Ugh.
. . . Until this shawl. (And what in heck does this have to do with PIZZA?) Hang on a second and I'll tell you.
What's unique to this shawl design and most of the rest of this issue of Knitscene, is that the patterns all require Short Rows. In knitting terms, for me that spells: Don't even think about it, Kelly. And I move on past said knitting requirements to find something less challenging--a throw, a hat. But as I lingered on the Ravelry site, admiring other knitters relishing their finished designs, I was drawn further down the stripe hole. Except for the Short Row problem. Some knitters proclaiming the shawl a quick knit! (Which I laughed at because you cast on 320 stitiches--and my gauge swatch told me I'd be knitting this on size ONE needles, no less!) That, even to a non-knitter screams: OMG--how long will it take you to knit ONE row? About four minutes. Maybe five.
I began looking for short row tutorials. There are a ton out there. Mostly geared toward sock knitters because this is where the short row issue creeps in nine times out of ten. But then, my stripe obsession wouldn't let go--besides, I'd found the perfect color combo: brown and teal! Perfect!
Which lead me to a free Short Row tutorial on Craftsy taught by Carol Feller--one of my favorite knitwear designers, which then lead me to another Craftsy lesson (I was already there, why not look around?)--and Whoa. What's this?
Perfect Pizza at Home taught by Peter Reinhart. Yes, that Peter Reinhart! Oh, and did I mention they were free? It truly was my lucky day.
I suppose you can guess which lesson I took first. Well, it was the Short Row lesson by Carol--nine o'clock at night. Okay, so I got sleepy before I could finish. And went to bed not yet convinced I could handle Short Row knitting. But the next morning, yarn and needles in hand, I was ready. I swatched along with Carol through every step. And Loved it. I am now a huge fan of Japanese Short Rows. Why you'd make a short row any other way is beyond me. But I digress. (As usual.)
Finally. With my speakers hooked up to my laptop, my flour, yeast, salt, water, etc., at the ready, I started my next lesson on pizza. It was just like having Peter Reinhart in my own kitchen. Well, he sort of already takes up space in my kitchen with my collection of his cookbooks. But this was waaay better. Plus, you have crisp clear video, printable lesson material and all. . . And Free! For as many times as you need!
I don't know why this was such a big deal for me. I know his pizza recipes. I think it was HIM! Who in the bread baking world doesn't love this guy? And why would you NOT? And yes, I have seen his other lessons on YouTube, but this Craftsy course was somehow better. He teaches professional bakers for crying out loud.
I'm sure he'd balk at the heavy hand I used with my toppings. But the crust was one of the best I'd ever made.
So now you might ask: Why the meatball pizza? Because the night before I made one of Deb Perelman's recipes (again!) from the Smitten Kitchen cookbook and her Tomato-Glazed Meatloaf recipe. These were the BEST (I've overused the word "best" in this post, but work with me, okay?)--things since sliced bread. I'll make these over and over. (Lest you all forget, vegans rejoice: I used Match Meats --which worked perfectly.)
As you can see--they are the perfect little handful of yum. I added 1/4 cup of oats and some Italian bread crumbs to my mixture--just a wee bit of coaxing to get the Match Meats to hold together. But for the rest of the recipe, I stuck pretty close to her directions. We had leftovers. And you now know where they went.
Yum. Super yum served over her brown butter mashed potatoes. We LOVED this dinner.
And as for the pizza and all--we loved, loved that, too.
No recipes, but feel free to take the Peter Reinhart course, or the Carol Feller course. Or go to the link I have above for Deb's meatloaf.
Dinner and knitting.
I couldn't have been happier.
I'm not new to the homemade pizza making world. It's our second favorite food group next to chocolate. And while I try not to make pizza night an every night affair (I easily could), when I do throw down for some pizza crafting time, I am always amazed at how different the crusts seem. It's one of my favorite searches--like for the next best chocolate chip cookie--I've made over a dozen of each (pizza crusts and cookies), and after each try I tell myself, "That's it!". Invariably, I forget what and where it was I'd found said "it" recipe, and find I'm at it again with a whole new recipe search. I suppose you could say I had a very lucky day this week.
I was in a snit over a knitting pattern I desperately wanted to begin. I am nearly finished with my first Downton Abbey gauntlet, and half way through the second. (BTW, was last week's DA episode just the bleakest episode ever?) No spoilers here.
Anyway, the new project bug had bitten me. I found a shawl that seemed perfect: Sideways Ripple Shawl designed by Kyoko Nakayoshi, appearing in Knitscene Winter 2012. Its beauty, to me, was in its simplicity, and the fact that I could totally see myself wrapped in this while going to the store for eggplant. It's not too frilly, not too lacy, just a really cool, sort of understated wrap. However, the idea of stripes to me as wearable design has ranked repulsive for most of my adult life. No one looks good in them. I'm from the school of thought that they should be reserved for criminals and Waldo and thus, have avoided them. Even through last year's fashion push with stripes this and stripes that. Ugh.
. . . Until this shawl. (And what in heck does this have to do with PIZZA?) Hang on a second and I'll tell you.
What's unique to this shawl design and most of the rest of this issue of Knitscene, is that the patterns all require Short Rows. In knitting terms, for me that spells: Don't even think about it, Kelly. And I move on past said knitting requirements to find something less challenging--a throw, a hat. But as I lingered on the Ravelry site, admiring other knitters relishing their finished designs, I was drawn further down the stripe hole. Except for the Short Row problem. Some knitters proclaiming the shawl a quick knit! (Which I laughed at because you cast on 320 stitiches--and my gauge swatch told me I'd be knitting this on size ONE needles, no less!) That, even to a non-knitter screams: OMG--how long will it take you to knit ONE row? About four minutes. Maybe five.
I began looking for short row tutorials. There are a ton out there. Mostly geared toward sock knitters because this is where the short row issue creeps in nine times out of ten. But then, my stripe obsession wouldn't let go--besides, I'd found the perfect color combo: brown and teal! Perfect!
Which lead me to a free Short Row tutorial on Craftsy taught by Carol Feller--one of my favorite knitwear designers, which then lead me to another Craftsy lesson (I was already there, why not look around?)--and Whoa. What's this?
Perfect Pizza at Home taught by Peter Reinhart. Yes, that Peter Reinhart! Oh, and did I mention they were free? It truly was my lucky day.
I suppose you can guess which lesson I took first. Well, it was the Short Row lesson by Carol--nine o'clock at night. Okay, so I got sleepy before I could finish. And went to bed not yet convinced I could handle Short Row knitting. But the next morning, yarn and needles in hand, I was ready. I swatched along with Carol through every step. And Loved it. I am now a huge fan of Japanese Short Rows. Why you'd make a short row any other way is beyond me. But I digress. (As usual.)
Finally. With my speakers hooked up to my laptop, my flour, yeast, salt, water, etc., at the ready, I started my next lesson on pizza. It was just like having Peter Reinhart in my own kitchen. Well, he sort of already takes up space in my kitchen with my collection of his cookbooks. But this was waaay better. Plus, you have crisp clear video, printable lesson material and all. . . And Free! For as many times as you need!
I don't know why this was such a big deal for me. I know his pizza recipes. I think it was HIM! Who in the bread baking world doesn't love this guy? And why would you NOT? And yes, I have seen his other lessons on YouTube, but this Craftsy course was somehow better. He teaches professional bakers for crying out loud.
I'm sure he'd balk at the heavy hand I used with my toppings. But the crust was one of the best I'd ever made. So now you might ask: Why the meatball pizza? Because the night before I made one of Deb Perelman's recipes (again!) from the Smitten Kitchen cookbook and her Tomato-Glazed Meatloaf recipe. These were the BEST (I've overused the word "best" in this post, but work with me, okay?)--things since sliced bread. I'll make these over and over. (Lest you all forget, vegans rejoice: I used Match Meats --which worked perfectly.)
As you can see--they are the perfect little handful of yum. I added 1/4 cup of oats and some Italian bread crumbs to my mixture--just a wee bit of coaxing to get the Match Meats to hold together. But for the rest of the recipe, I stuck pretty close to her directions. We had leftovers. And you now know where they went.
Yum. Super yum served over her brown butter mashed potatoes. We LOVED this dinner.And as for the pizza and all--we loved, loved that, too.
No recipes, but feel free to take the Peter Reinhart course, or the Carol Feller course. Or go to the link I have above for Deb's meatloaf.
Dinner and knitting.
I couldn't have been happier.
24 Şubat 2013 Pazar
"So For My Next Act, I'll Limit Women's Rights"
To contact us Click HERE
Really? So went the general direction of the narrative from one side during last night's debate. So much so, I lost sleep over it. Did I just step off of 2012 and step into the 1950s? Pre Roe v. Wade days were dark for women. Very dark. I remember the first "talk" I had with my mother on the subject of my responsibilities and rights as a woman. And it went something like this: Be careful. Be vigilant. And above all else, do not EVER walk into this house unmarried and pregnant. Period. And the story of her being left in an orphanage followed. One may assume given this history lesson, I might have different thoughts on the matter of birth control. One would be wrong to make such an assumption. And my mother would have been the first to tell you why.
I made a conscious decision to not have children. Thus, I took personal responsibility for ensuring I would not become a mother. Thankfully, I did not have to make this decision in a back alley somewhere. I met with our family physician instead. And nothing about my meeting with him was awkward. In adulthood, my option for maintaining my choice to eschew motherhood was never something I imagined might be at risk. It never once occurred to me that, in my lifetime, a movement would be underway to undo my say in this matter.
I have faith in our democracy. I have faith in both the women and men in congress to see that the right to make the choice never gets taken away.We do not live in a Utopian society where adults behave themselves All. The. Time. That's why there are protective measures in place to keep us from harming ourselves, or from harming others. In the ugliest parts of humanity there is an abominable force which causes some stronger types to prey on weaker types. These forces are referred to as rape and incest, and most often occur against women. And at its deepest moral indecency, the "women" may be as young as fourteen. As I've learned over the years this happens to be the age at which young women are most vulnerable to such an assault. I personally know this to be true.
Before any single human being thinks for one moment that they know what's best for women as it relates to "good moral behavior" and sees removing the option of birth control protection for women as prudent, they need first walk a mile in my shoes or a mile in the shoes of any number of young victims of date rape, uncle rape, father rape, neighbor rape and tell them why their birth control options are no longer on the table. Why corporations employing them cannot "in good conscience" provide the medical benefit of simple protection when women know first hand what being a victim feels like. We know first hand "just saying NO" isn't a guarantee of protection. And all this finger pointing, posturing and holier-than-thou, "Goodness gracious, why would a single woman ever allow herself to have a child and NOT be married and able to provide a decent life. . . a good moral life!" stuff is naive at best. Criminal at worst.
I made a conscious decision to not have children. Thus, I took personal responsibility for ensuring I would not become a mother. Thankfully, I did not have to make this decision in a back alley somewhere. I met with our family physician instead. And nothing about my meeting with him was awkward. In adulthood, my option for maintaining my choice to eschew motherhood was never something I imagined might be at risk. It never once occurred to me that, in my lifetime, a movement would be underway to undo my say in this matter.
I have faith in our democracy. I have faith in both the women and men in congress to see that the right to make the choice never gets taken away.We do not live in a Utopian society where adults behave themselves All. The. Time. That's why there are protective measures in place to keep us from harming ourselves, or from harming others. In the ugliest parts of humanity there is an abominable force which causes some stronger types to prey on weaker types. These forces are referred to as rape and incest, and most often occur against women. And at its deepest moral indecency, the "women" may be as young as fourteen. As I've learned over the years this happens to be the age at which young women are most vulnerable to such an assault. I personally know this to be true.
Before any single human being thinks for one moment that they know what's best for women as it relates to "good moral behavior" and sees removing the option of birth control protection for women as prudent, they need first walk a mile in my shoes or a mile in the shoes of any number of young victims of date rape, uncle rape, father rape, neighbor rape and tell them why their birth control options are no longer on the table. Why corporations employing them cannot "in good conscience" provide the medical benefit of simple protection when women know first hand what being a victim feels like. We know first hand "just saying NO" isn't a guarantee of protection. And all this finger pointing, posturing and holier-than-thou, "Goodness gracious, why would a single woman ever allow herself to have a child and NOT be married and able to provide a decent life. . . a good moral life!" stuff is naive at best. Criminal at worst.
Vegan Red Velvet Cookies (My Best Friend: Thirty-Five Years And Counting And Why I'll Drop Everything To Be There)
To contact us Click HERE
The story of this cookie began last week when I received a phone call from my best friend. Sometimes you think life couldn't possibly hand you one more thing. And then it does. The time of the call (early) told me all I needed to know. Something terrible had happened. I'd barely said 'hello', was going down the list: Are the kids okay? Are you okay? Is your mom okay? Dad? Do you have the "C" word. . . what happened?! As it turned out, something horrible had happened. It involved her mother. Which in turn, involved me. Gayle would then travel a thousand miles in one afternoon. I'd see her in six hours. Then we'd travel another two hours to her mom.
This post will be about a bit more than this cookie. It has to. I was drawn to it by way of a tragedy. Like most things involving food and memories, I had to share more than just the food part in telling you about it. Jump to the recipe below if you are so inclined. But I have a story to tell.
During the crisis, Gayle and I were able to steal brief moments away for "nourishment". Which, given the town we were in did not include Whole Foods. I'll refrain from naming said town. Let me just say it is quite southern in nature. Quite. (At least for this girl's Yankee roots.) But I love the drawl and at times can be heard carrying one on myself. It just creeps in.
Were you able to raise her? Translation: Did she answer the phone?
I found myself back where I'd gone to high school. Back in the town where my mother drug my sister and I kicking and screaming. Back to where our mother would take her last breath. Just back. But it was here in this town I met my best friend, some thirty-five years ago.
We settled on The Bread Company (that's what we call it here in St. Louis--because even though the chain has gone "national"--locally, it will always be known as TBC) for lunch during breaks from the hospital. Gayle spotted them first. These cookies. These glorious little packages of red joy. They were the size of dinner plates! I thought I couldn't possibly eat one by myself. Certainly not something under normal circumstances one would eat by oneself. But these were not normal circumstances. We were in major stress mode. Gayle ordered two. Then I ordered mine. There was no sharing. We devoured them.
I cared not whether they were vegan. I was ravenous. We both were. (We both love to bake. Both love to cook.) I said, "I have to veganize these . . . as soon as I get home." On my trip back, I stopped by the store to pick up another cookie to go--one for Dr. Thyme, and for taste testing--just to be sure the food memory stayed with me. He loved them, too. And then I began telling him of all that had happened. The tragedy. The tears. The utter disbelief of it all. Of how fragile and swift life can be. How in one moment, all can be changed. Forever. And it has.Apparently red velvet is making a come back. I couldn't be happier. One of my all time favorite red treats were Hostess Zingers (RIP Hostess). Red cake and coconut and creamy filling. What's not to love? So my partiality to red foods goes waaay back. And if you tsk-tsk the use of red food coloring for your eating pleasure, that's a shame. Because to my mind, it's the red food coloring that gives this cookie--and its cake namesake--an unmistakable yum factor. As for amounts--this cookie does not require a full bottle of red coloring. (The cake does.) I was able to to eek by with only 2 teaspoons. Heavenly. This is my best friend Gayle. We are in the parking lot of the hospital this past weekend. Both of us wanted a picture of the two of us for our phones. We acknowledged that given the stress, crying and "our age", sunglasses were in order. A moment of laughing was good for us. I sent a copy of it to my sister who said, "You guys look exactly like you always do. . . I've seen this picture a hundred times." And it's true.
She and I met at a horse barn where her father and my mother both stabled their horses. I was new to town, as was mom and my sister (who is a bit younger than I). Mom came home one day asking if I'd ever met Gayle. The only people I'd "met" were the neighbors, and kids in my classes (junior high--oh the horror)--and briefly at that because I was still super bitter over being uprooted at such a vulnerable age. (This was to be our mother's third husband. Yes. third. And not her last.) Basically, I hadn't branched out "socially" yet in our new home town. Apparently our mother had. More mentions of Gayle and her dad. Then one day, mom brought me to the stables (I grew up riding horses because our mother had an affinity for them). I finally met Gayle. We agreed to catch up some time at school. And that was all she wrote.
I'm not going to tell you we were attached at the hip. But we were. And as you might imagine in all these years, there have been ups and there have been downs. Moments of sheer joy. Moments of pure hell. Shared celebrations. Shared sorrow. Spans of time without one another. We are both women after all.
When my mom was in the hospital during her last few months, Gayle's mom was, too. I could barely stand watching my mom going through all her "stuff". My sister and I were taking turns nursing to her when we could. My mom adored Gayle. (They shared a kinship of sorts, Gayle was an only child, so was our mother.) When Gayle couldn't stand watching the poking and prodding her mother went through and I couldn't stand my mother's tests (and pain affiliated with them)--we'd switch. I'd go sit with her mom and stand along side for the tests and whatnot, and Gayle went to be with my mom and hang out with my sister. They were in different hospitals. . . at the same exact time. Ultimately, her mother got to leave the hospital. Ours did not.
But that was one of the many too-many-to-count memories. There is her father's role in my life as well. After her parents divorced, he would call for Gayle to visit him--she'd always drag me along. (Okay "drag" may be too strong a word-especially for that trip to Denver.) Then on and on life went with both her mother, her father, her aunts, uncles and usually at some point were Gayle and me. In and out of each other's lives so many times.She called me once and asked if I wanted to go on a vacation together. . . again. I was never much for "traveling" vacations--my jobs in the past required me to be on the road entirely too much. I can't stand hotels to this day. But this time she wanted to do Memphis: Graceland. We did the whole nine yards. Bought the CDs. Bought the Elvis t-shirts. Wept at the grave site. The. Whole. Nine. Yards.We stayed at the Peabody. Yes. We watched the ducks, too.On a much earlier vacation--with her mother and her two children (now grown, both in college and amazing)--we all spent eight days on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. She took this picture of me. We both laughed about how Kennebunkport this looked. We called it "The Postcard from Dahling" shot. (And yes, I had to go brunette at least once in my life. I wanted people to take me more seriously. It was the only time in my life gentlemen stopped holding doors open for me. So I said "screw this" and went back to being a blonde.) She has always had something of an affinity for bikes and things that go varoom-varoom. (She gets that from her father. That's who took this photo.) She owns her own Harley. She will never get me on that damn bike. Okay?
I got home this weekend completely exhausted. I slept for thirteen hours straight. Then woke up and took a nap. I'm still emotionally spent. We all are. There is much to be done. More for Gayle and her family to manage through. I am praying for them all, and I am especially praying for her mom.
I told her over the phone last night that I'd come home determined to make that damn cookie vegan. Baking was a great salve. DH said he couldn't believe I'd even had the energy to bake. But I did. It somehow righted me. I can't wait for Gayle to try them. And my sister--who will be here in a few short weeks! Dr. Thyme gave them a big thumbs up. Gayle told me she went back for more cookies, took one up to the hospital yesterday and gave it to her mom. The nurses busted her. Hard to hide a giant red cookie in the sterile white backdrop of a hospital! But her mom loved them.
Vegan Red Velvet Cookies*Adapted from Great Cookies by Carole Waltermakes appx. 24 cookies
6 tablespoons unsalted vegetable margarine (at room temperature)6 tablespoons vegetable shortening (at room temperature)3/4 cup sugar1/4 cup molasses2 teaspoons red food coloring1 1/2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour (*use the scoop and sweep method of measuring the flours)3/4 cup white whole wheat flour2 tablespoons baking cocoa (*I used Ghiradelli) 1 teaspoon baking soda1/4 teaspoon salt1 1/2 teaspoon Ener-G Egg Replacer mixed with 3 tablespoons water1/3 cup chopped pecans1/3 cup white chocolate chipsextra granulated sugar for rolling cookiesextra powdered sugar for rolling cookies
Preheat oven to 350. Line two cookies sheets with parchment paper. Place about 1/4 granulated sugar in a small bowl, and next to it, 1/4 cup powdered sugar. Set aside. In the bowl of a stand mixer, cream together the butter and sugar until smooth. Add the molasses, egg replacer and then red food coloring. Mix until well blended. In a separate bowl, whisk together the flours, baking soda, salt and chocolate baking cocoa. Slowly add the dry ingredients to the wet (in thirds)--mixing just until the dough begins to form clumps. Fold in the pecans and white chocolate chips. If the dough won't form a solid dough ball, add a teaspoon more water. Take a tablespoon of dough and roll it in the palm of your hands to form a small ball. Roll the ball in the granulated sugar first, then the powdered sugar. Place on cookie sheets spaced about 2 inches apart. Bake for 13 minutes. Remove from oven and allow to cool on trays for about three minutes, then remove to cookie rack to cool completely. Store in freezer for about two weeks. Or store in an airtight container for a week.
The story of this cookie began last week when I received a phone call from my best friend. Sometimes you think life couldn't possibly hand you one more thing. And then it does. The time of the call (early) told me all I needed to know. Something terrible had happened. I'd barely said 'hello', was going down the list: Are the kids okay? Are you okay? Is your mom okay? Dad? Do you have the "C" word. . . what happened?! As it turned out, something horrible had happened. It involved her mother. Which in turn, involved me. Gayle would then travel a thousand miles in one afternoon. I'd see her in six hours. Then we'd travel another two hours to her mom.This post will be about a bit more than this cookie. It has to. I was drawn to it by way of a tragedy. Like most things involving food and memories, I had to share more than just the food part in telling you about it. Jump to the recipe below if you are so inclined. But I have a story to tell.
During the crisis, Gayle and I were able to steal brief moments away for "nourishment". Which, given the town we were in did not include Whole Foods. I'll refrain from naming said town. Let me just say it is quite southern in nature. Quite. (At least for this girl's Yankee roots.) But I love the drawl and at times can be heard carrying one on myself. It just creeps in.
Were you able to raise her? Translation: Did she answer the phone?
I found myself back where I'd gone to high school. Back in the town where my mother drug my sister and I kicking and screaming. Back to where our mother would take her last breath. Just back. But it was here in this town I met my best friend, some thirty-five years ago.
We settled on The Bread Company (that's what we call it here in St. Louis--because even though the chain has gone "national"--locally, it will always be known as TBC) for lunch during breaks from the hospital. Gayle spotted them first. These cookies. These glorious little packages of red joy. They were the size of dinner plates! I thought I couldn't possibly eat one by myself. Certainly not something under normal circumstances one would eat by oneself. But these were not normal circumstances. We were in major stress mode. Gayle ordered two. Then I ordered mine. There was no sharing. We devoured them.
I cared not whether they were vegan. I was ravenous. We both were. (We both love to bake. Both love to cook.) I said, "I have to veganize these . . . as soon as I get home." On my trip back, I stopped by the store to pick up another cookie to go--one for Dr. Thyme, and for taste testing--just to be sure the food memory stayed with me. He loved them, too. And then I began telling him of all that had happened. The tragedy. The tears. The utter disbelief of it all. Of how fragile and swift life can be. How in one moment, all can be changed. Forever. And it has.
Apparently red velvet is making a come back. I couldn't be happier. One of my all time favorite red treats were Hostess Zingers (RIP Hostess). Red cake and coconut and creamy filling. What's not to love? So my partiality to red foods goes waaay back. And if you tsk-tsk the use of red food coloring for your eating pleasure, that's a shame. Because to my mind, it's the red food coloring that gives this cookie--and its cake namesake--an unmistakable yum factor. As for amounts--this cookie does not require a full bottle of red coloring. (The cake does.) I was able to to eek by with only 2 teaspoons. Heavenly. This is my best friend Gayle. We are in the parking lot of the hospital this past weekend. Both of us wanted a picture of the two of us for our phones. We acknowledged that given the stress, crying and "our age", sunglasses were in order. A moment of laughing was good for us. I sent a copy of it to my sister who said, "You guys look exactly like you always do. . . I've seen this picture a hundred times." And it's true. She and I met at a horse barn where her father and my mother both stabled their horses. I was new to town, as was mom and my sister (who is a bit younger than I). Mom came home one day asking if I'd ever met Gayle. The only people I'd "met" were the neighbors, and kids in my classes (junior high--oh the horror)--and briefly at that because I was still super bitter over being uprooted at such a vulnerable age. (This was to be our mother's third husband. Yes. third. And not her last.) Basically, I hadn't branched out "socially" yet in our new home town. Apparently our mother had. More mentions of Gayle and her dad. Then one day, mom brought me to the stables (I grew up riding horses because our mother had an affinity for them). I finally met Gayle. We agreed to catch up some time at school. And that was all she wrote.
I'm not going to tell you we were attached at the hip. But we were. And as you might imagine in all these years, there have been ups and there have been downs. Moments of sheer joy. Moments of pure hell. Shared celebrations. Shared sorrow. Spans of time without one another. We are both women after all.
When my mom was in the hospital during her last few months, Gayle's mom was, too. I could barely stand watching my mom going through all her "stuff". My sister and I were taking turns nursing to her when we could. My mom adored Gayle. (They shared a kinship of sorts, Gayle was an only child, so was our mother.) When Gayle couldn't stand watching the poking and prodding her mother went through and I couldn't stand my mother's tests (and pain affiliated with them)--we'd switch. I'd go sit with her mom and stand along side for the tests and whatnot, and Gayle went to be with my mom and hang out with my sister. They were in different hospitals. . . at the same exact time. Ultimately, her mother got to leave the hospital. Ours did not.
But that was one of the many too-many-to-count memories. There is her father's role in my life as well. After her parents divorced, he would call for Gayle to visit him--she'd always drag me along. (Okay "drag" may be too strong a word-especially for that trip to Denver.) Then on and on life went with both her mother, her father, her aunts, uncles and usually at some point were Gayle and me. In and out of each other's lives so many times.
She called me once and asked if I wanted to go on a vacation together. . . again. I was never much for "traveling" vacations--my jobs in the past required me to be on the road entirely too much. I can't stand hotels to this day. But this time she wanted to do Memphis: Graceland. We did the whole nine yards. Bought the CDs. Bought the Elvis t-shirts. Wept at the grave site. The. Whole. Nine. Yards.We stayed at the Peabody. Yes. We watched the ducks, too.On a much earlier vacation--with her mother and her two children (now grown, both in college and amazing)--we all spent eight days on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. She took this picture of me. We both laughed about how Kennebunkport this looked. We called it "The Postcard from Dahling" shot. (And yes, I had to go brunette at least once in my life. I wanted people to take me more seriously. It was the only time in my life gentlemen stopped holding doors open for me. So I said "screw this" and went back to being a blonde.) She has always had something of an affinity for bikes and things that go varoom-varoom. (She gets that from her father. That's who took this photo.) She owns her own Harley. She will never get me on that damn bike. Okay?I got home this weekend completely exhausted. I slept for thirteen hours straight. Then woke up and took a nap. I'm still emotionally spent. We all are. There is much to be done. More for Gayle and her family to manage through. I am praying for them all, and I am especially praying for her mom.
I told her over the phone last night that I'd come home determined to make that damn cookie vegan. Baking was a great salve. DH said he couldn't believe I'd even had the energy to bake. But I did. It somehow righted me. I can't wait for Gayle to try them. And my sister--who will be here in a few short weeks! Dr. Thyme gave them a big thumbs up. Gayle told me she went back for more cookies, took one up to the hospital yesterday and gave it to her mom. The nurses busted her. Hard to hide a giant red cookie in the sterile white backdrop of a hospital! But her mom loved them.
Vegan Red Velvet Cookies*Adapted from Great Cookies by Carole Waltermakes appx. 24 cookies
6 tablespoons unsalted vegetable margarine (at room temperature)6 tablespoons vegetable shortening (at room temperature)3/4 cup sugar1/4 cup molasses2 teaspoons red food coloring1 1/2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour (*use the scoop and sweep method of measuring the flours)3/4 cup white whole wheat flour2 tablespoons baking cocoa (*I used Ghiradelli) 1 teaspoon baking soda1/4 teaspoon salt1 1/2 teaspoon Ener-G Egg Replacer mixed with 3 tablespoons water1/3 cup chopped pecans1/3 cup white chocolate chipsextra granulated sugar for rolling cookiesextra powdered sugar for rolling cookies
Preheat oven to 350. Line two cookies sheets with parchment paper. Place about 1/4 granulated sugar in a small bowl, and next to it, 1/4 cup powdered sugar. Set aside. In the bowl of a stand mixer, cream together the butter and sugar until smooth. Add the molasses, egg replacer and then red food coloring. Mix until well blended. In a separate bowl, whisk together the flours, baking soda, salt and chocolate baking cocoa. Slowly add the dry ingredients to the wet (in thirds)--mixing just until the dough begins to form clumps. Fold in the pecans and white chocolate chips. If the dough won't form a solid dough ball, add a teaspoon more water. Take a tablespoon of dough and roll it in the palm of your hands to form a small ball. Roll the ball in the granulated sugar first, then the powdered sugar. Place on cookie sheets spaced about 2 inches apart. Bake for 13 minutes. Remove from oven and allow to cool on trays for about three minutes, then remove to cookie rack to cool completely. Store in freezer for about two weeks. Or store in an airtight container for a week.
Vegan Buffalo Chicken Melts (I've put my hormones on "notice". . . and pass me more hot sauce, please!)
To contact us Click HERE
If anyone ever tells you menopause is "easy", turn around and smack them. I am on the door step of fifty. The. Door. Step. I am not ever going to state exactly when this milestone hits. That little blog section of mine entitled Almost Fifty will quietly be switched to something like On Death's Door. It will be quiet and uneventful. You might notice it one day and be shocked to see such a dramatic "label" within my search box. But it will appear and the day will have passed and all will roll on as it has: Sporadic postings of food and life ramblings. The usual. But with a tad more urgency perhaps.
The whole idea for the Vegan Buffalo Chicken thing came about because I was a ravenous, menopausal mess. I wanted really BAD food, but in a good, vegan way. (We all know being vegan is not a panacea for all of life's ills, but just knowing we're at least trying by sticking to the whole "only plants" theme does ease the mind a bit, especially when you're talking about one of my past life loves: buffalo spice anything!)
I'll walk you through this play-by-play. Then I'll tell you about my week. Or I'll tell myself.I had to do some freezer cleaning--came across three of my favorite rye burger buns. First, preheat the oven to 425. Next, line a cookie sheet with parchment paper, then place said buns, cut in half, face up like so.Spread a gob of vegan mayo on first. I browned up a couple Gardein chicken patties, then cut them into small pieces and put a layer of those on next.Then came the good stuff--the Buffalo sauce mixture. This is super easy--in a medium saute pan, add 2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil over medium heat and combine: 1 chopped onion1 chopped green pepper1 stalk celery*Cook these for a few minutes to soften them up. Then add the following:2 tablespoons Earth Balance Butter2 teaspoons dried oregano1 teaspoon paprika1 tablespoon garlic powder1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper2 tablespoons Franks Hot Sauce*Cook for few minutes to allow the flavors to meld, then in a small bowl, whisk together the following:3 tablespoons unbleached all purpose flour1 cup veggie brothAdd this to the pan. Turn heat up a bit until the mixture begins to bubble a bit and thicken. Then turn down the heat, add another cup-to-2 cups of veggie broth--depending upon how thick you want your sauce. You're not done adding hot sauce, but keep tasting the mixture to test the heat level. I have found that adding a splash of red wine vinegar to this also takes up the flavor a notch. Once you have the desired consistency you want--I wanted medium--not a paste, but not a runny gravy either, spoon this over the prepared buns. Top with Daiya vegan mozz. cheese. THEN, add a dash more of hot sauce to each patty. Bake for 20-25 minutes. Serve like this! Yum!
Okay, now for the week's happenings. I've been a bit sleep deprived. So much so, I'd decided I might be suffering some of those symptoms--the ones marking a woman's CHANGE! And the onset of "other" symptoms have confirmed my suspicions. It's like a little bell has gone off in me. A place on the time continuum marking You Were Here and Now You Are There. It was not unexpected. I imagine it's what Heathcliff felt about Cathy.
I made an appointment to see my Ob-Gyn. When I phoned, they'd said it had been two years! since my last appointment. (I am not one who enjoys visits with people in white coats.) Overall, I am quite healthy. Why take up their time? The receptionist said the earliest annual appointment (that's what they call the lady doctor visits--"annuals") they had was for end of February. I was like, Okay. Then I mentioned this: Oh, would you mind making a note to discuss my NOT sleeping. It's been nearly a month since I've had a full night's sleep. Just sayin'. To which the reply went exactly like this: We have an appointment available tomorrow at 1:30. . . for "problem" cases. Well, I guess to the medical world, a woman not sleeping is going to set off alarms buzzing. After all, we DO run the world. I was a little taken aback. So soon? Suddenly I can be seen tomorrow? vs. February.
So the visit. For the record, I would rather have my eyelashes removed one at a time with tweezers than to go through this. But because my visit was of the "problem" sort, the tweezers were not required and it was more of a chat and minimal look-see sort of thing. I was cool with that.
Then the HRT conversation began: Hormone Replacement Therapy. Now, to be honest, I am quite familiar with the HRT debate. I have polled women in my life and close friends about the subject of "To use or not to use HRT". Which all of my Almost Fifty girlfriends have admitted, we are THERE. IT is HERE. That is: menopause has reared its ugly head.
Every single one of us has had to confront this change with eyes wide open, pencils to paper and ears to the news--investigating, questioning, reading. The hormone debate has lingered in the news for the last twenty years. It's a confusing, hot mess. Sort of like our hormones. Which makes the decision as to what we do next that much more complex. My doctor, a woman who will be sixty this year--smiling and jovial and perky mentioned the HRT options. I asked whether she took them? To which she replied, No. I said I was skeptical. She nodded. I shared my concerns. I brought a notebook with lists of questions AND my concerns, not least of which was the risk for breast cancer, hair LOSS (as if turning fifty weren't bad enough!), depression and last but not least--my numero uno enemy: wight gain--oh the horror! But could really, really use some sleep. (Just ask my husband.)
She answered a few of my questions, we discussed a bit more, then she handed me a script--just in case this might work. It was worth a try, she said. (But in the back of my mind I kept thinking about her NOT taking anything herself--and here she was sixty!). On my way I was sent. Pill order in hand. Doubt in mind.
I know her job requires seeing plenty of women of a 'certain age' and I imagine we all begin to sound like a broken record. But here's the thing--we are all different. She said so herself. No one case of menopause will be identical to another. You'll have some women who will fight the battle through with barely a sweat. Others not so much. I don't really know where I fit. I am leery of a one-size-fits-all for anything. I am by nature a doubter. Pills were suggested. I read the fine print, shocked myself nearly into a fit and thought they might as well have said, for the sake of ink and paper conservation written in bold, black type:
You could damn well possibly kill yourself on these! . . . Or not.
Any decision regarding my health is not to be taken lightly. And nothing about changes in life are. Just ask Oprah or Suzanne Somers--both have touted bioidentical hormone methods to quell their menopause "symptoms"--books and interviews with these two clearly outline the battle being fought to overcome their own transition. Again, more news/prescriptions on hormones and their use, more confusion for women.
I have since deployed several new regimens. I am happy to report that I have had not only one, but two full nights of sleep. (*I am well aware this could have something to do with my complete sleep deprived state--but for now, let's just state I am feeling a bit better.) And who knows, maybe just talking to my doctor has contributed to this overall awareness of the state I am in.
I told Dr. Thyme that evening after my visit my thoughts on the matter. I said, You know what I think, I think the pills are designed to make ME more tolerable to the rest of the world. . . he nodded in kind agreement. He's been that way lately, SUPER kind and compassionate.
Meantime, after I got home from the doctor visit, someone thought it might be fun to ROLL in the thawed ground and give herself a makeover!Hello!Moments like these make it all worthwhile (even if it did take half the rest of the night to dry and brush the dirt from her entire body!)
If anyone ever tells you menopause is "easy", turn around and smack them. I am on the door step of fifty. The. Door. Step. I am not ever going to state exactly when this milestone hits. That little blog section of mine entitled Almost Fifty will quietly be switched to something like On Death's Door. It will be quiet and uneventful. You might notice it one day and be shocked to see such a dramatic "label" within my search box. But it will appear and the day will have passed and all will roll on as it has: Sporadic postings of food and life ramblings. The usual. But with a tad more urgency perhaps. The whole idea for the Vegan Buffalo Chicken thing came about because I was a ravenous, menopausal mess. I wanted really BAD food, but in a good, vegan way. (We all know being vegan is not a panacea for all of life's ills, but just knowing we're at least trying by sticking to the whole "only plants" theme does ease the mind a bit, especially when you're talking about one of my past life loves: buffalo spice anything!)
I'll walk you through this play-by-play. Then I'll tell you about my week. Or I'll tell myself.
I had to do some freezer cleaning--came across three of my favorite rye burger buns. First, preheat the oven to 425. Next, line a cookie sheet with parchment paper, then place said buns, cut in half, face up like so.Spread a gob of vegan mayo on first. I browned up a couple Gardein chicken patties, then cut them into small pieces and put a layer of those on next.Then came the good stuff--the Buffalo sauce mixture. This is super easy--in a medium saute pan, add 2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil over medium heat and combine: 1 chopped onion1 chopped green pepper1 stalk celery*Cook these for a few minutes to soften them up. Then add the following:2 tablespoons Earth Balance Butter2 teaspoons dried oregano1 teaspoon paprika1 tablespoon garlic powder1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper2 tablespoons Franks Hot Sauce*Cook for few minutes to allow the flavors to meld, then in a small bowl, whisk together the following:3 tablespoons unbleached all purpose flour1 cup veggie brothAdd this to the pan. Turn heat up a bit until the mixture begins to bubble a bit and thicken. Then turn down the heat, add another cup-to-2 cups of veggie broth--depending upon how thick you want your sauce. You're not done adding hot sauce, but keep tasting the mixture to test the heat level. I have found that adding a splash of red wine vinegar to this also takes up the flavor a notch. Once you have the desired consistency you want--I wanted medium--not a paste, but not a runny gravy either, spoon this over the prepared buns. Top with Daiya vegan mozz. cheese. THEN, add a dash more of hot sauce to each patty. Bake for 20-25 minutes. Serve like this! Yum!Okay, now for the week's happenings. I've been a bit sleep deprived. So much so, I'd decided I might be suffering some of those symptoms--the ones marking a woman's CHANGE! And the onset of "other" symptoms have confirmed my suspicions. It's like a little bell has gone off in me. A place on the time continuum marking You Were Here and Now You Are There. It was not unexpected. I imagine it's what Heathcliff felt about Cathy.
I made an appointment to see my Ob-Gyn. When I phoned, they'd said it had been two years! since my last appointment. (I am not one who enjoys visits with people in white coats.) Overall, I am quite healthy. Why take up their time? The receptionist said the earliest annual appointment (that's what they call the lady doctor visits--"annuals") they had was for end of February. I was like, Okay. Then I mentioned this: Oh, would you mind making a note to discuss my NOT sleeping. It's been nearly a month since I've had a full night's sleep. Just sayin'. To which the reply went exactly like this: We have an appointment available tomorrow at 1:30. . . for "problem" cases. Well, I guess to the medical world, a woman not sleeping is going to set off alarms buzzing. After all, we DO run the world. I was a little taken aback. So soon? Suddenly I can be seen tomorrow? vs. February.
So the visit. For the record, I would rather have my eyelashes removed one at a time with tweezers than to go through this. But because my visit was of the "problem" sort, the tweezers were not required and it was more of a chat and minimal look-see sort of thing. I was cool with that.
Then the HRT conversation began: Hormone Replacement Therapy. Now, to be honest, I am quite familiar with the HRT debate. I have polled women in my life and close friends about the subject of "To use or not to use HRT". Which all of my Almost Fifty girlfriends have admitted, we are THERE. IT is HERE. That is: menopause has reared its ugly head.
Every single one of us has had to confront this change with eyes wide open, pencils to paper and ears to the news--investigating, questioning, reading. The hormone debate has lingered in the news for the last twenty years. It's a confusing, hot mess. Sort of like our hormones. Which makes the decision as to what we do next that much more complex. My doctor, a woman who will be sixty this year--smiling and jovial and perky mentioned the HRT options. I asked whether she took them? To which she replied, No. I said I was skeptical. She nodded. I shared my concerns. I brought a notebook with lists of questions AND my concerns, not least of which was the risk for breast cancer, hair LOSS (as if turning fifty weren't bad enough!), depression and last but not least--my numero uno enemy: wight gain--oh the horror! But could really, really use some sleep. (Just ask my husband.)
She answered a few of my questions, we discussed a bit more, then she handed me a script--just in case this might work. It was worth a try, she said. (But in the back of my mind I kept thinking about her NOT taking anything herself--and here she was sixty!). On my way I was sent. Pill order in hand. Doubt in mind.
I know her job requires seeing plenty of women of a 'certain age' and I imagine we all begin to sound like a broken record. But here's the thing--we are all different. She said so herself. No one case of menopause will be identical to another. You'll have some women who will fight the battle through with barely a sweat. Others not so much. I don't really know where I fit. I am leery of a one-size-fits-all for anything. I am by nature a doubter. Pills were suggested. I read the fine print, shocked myself nearly into a fit and thought they might as well have said, for the sake of ink and paper conservation written in bold, black type:
You could damn well possibly kill yourself on these! . . . Or not.
Any decision regarding my health is not to be taken lightly. And nothing about changes in life are. Just ask Oprah or Suzanne Somers--both have touted bioidentical hormone methods to quell their menopause "symptoms"--books and interviews with these two clearly outline the battle being fought to overcome their own transition. Again, more news/prescriptions on hormones and their use, more confusion for women.
I have since deployed several new regimens. I am happy to report that I have had not only one, but two full nights of sleep. (*I am well aware this could have something to do with my complete sleep deprived state--but for now, let's just state I am feeling a bit better.) And who knows, maybe just talking to my doctor has contributed to this overall awareness of the state I am in.
I told Dr. Thyme that evening after my visit my thoughts on the matter. I said, You know what I think, I think the pills are designed to make ME more tolerable to the rest of the world. . . he nodded in kind agreement. He's been that way lately, SUPER kind and compassionate.
Meantime, after I got home from the doctor visit, someone thought it might be fun to ROLL in the thawed ground and give herself a makeover!
Hello!Moments like these make it all worthwhile (even if it did take half the rest of the night to dry and brush the dirt from her entire body!)The Best Meatball Pizza Ever (Or. . . how my search for a lesson on "short row knitting" lead to Peter Reinhart's lesson on "pizza". It was a Good day.)
To contact us Click HERE
I'm not new to the homemade pizza making world. It's our second favorite food group next to chocolate. And while I try not to make pizza night an every night affair (I easily could), when I do throw down for some pizza crafting time, I am always amazed at how different the crusts seem. It's one of my favorite searches--like for the next best chocolate chip cookie--I've made over a dozen of each (pizza crusts and cookies), and after each try I tell myself, "That's it!". Invariably, I forget what and where it was I'd found said "it" recipe, and find I'm at it again with a whole new recipe search.
I suppose you could say I had a very lucky day this week.
I was in a snit over a knitting pattern I desperately wanted to begin. I am nearly finished with my first Downton Abbey gauntlet, and half way through the second. (BTW, was last week's DA episode just the bleakest episode ever?) No spoilers here.
Anyway, the new project bug had bitten me. I found a shawl that seemed perfect: Sideways Ripple Shawl designed by Kyoko Nakayoshi, appearing in Knitscene Winter 2012. Its beauty, to me, was in its simplicity, and the fact that I could totally see myself wrapped in this while going to the store for eggplant. It's not too frilly, not too lacy, just a really cool, sort of understated wrap. However, the idea of stripes to me as wearable design has ranked repulsive for most of my adult life. No one looks good in them. I'm from the school of thought that they should be reserved for criminals and Waldo and thus, have avoided them. Even through last year's fashion push with stripes this and stripes that. Ugh.
. . . Until this shawl. (And what in heck does this have to do with PIZZA?) Hang on a second and I'll tell you.
What's unique to this shawl design and most of the rest of this issue of Knitscene, is that the patterns all require Short Rows. In knitting terms, for me that spells: Don't even think about it, Kelly. And I move on past said knitting requirements to find something less challenging--a throw, a hat. But as I lingered on the Ravelry site, admiring other knitters relishing their finished designs, I was drawn further down the stripe hole. Except for the Short Row problem. Some knitters proclaiming the shawl a quick knit! (Which I laughed at because you cast on 320 stitiches--and my gauge swatch told me I'd be knitting this on size ONE needles, no less!) That, even to a non-knitter screams: OMG--how long will it take you to knit ONE row? About four minutes. Maybe five.
I began looking for short row tutorials. There are a ton out there. Mostly geared toward sock knitters because this is where the short row issue creeps in nine times out of ten. But then, my stripe obsession wouldn't let go--besides, I'd found the perfect color combo: brown and teal! Perfect!
Which lead me to a free Short Row tutorial on Craftsy taught by Carol Feller--one of my favorite knitwear designers, which then lead me to another Craftsy lesson (I was already there, why not look around?)--and Whoa. What's this?
Perfect Pizza at Home taught by Peter Reinhart. Yes, that Peter Reinhart! Oh, and did I mention they were free? It truly was my lucky day.
I suppose you can guess which lesson I took first. Well, it was the Short Row lesson by Carol--nine o'clock at night. Okay, so I got sleepy before I could finish. And went to bed not yet convinced I could handle Short Row knitting. But the next morning, yarn and needles in hand, I was ready. I swatched along with Carol through every step. And Loved it. I am now a huge fan of Japanese Short Rows. Why you'd make a short row any other way is beyond me. But I digress. (As usual.)
Finally. With my speakers hooked up to my laptop, my flour, yeast, salt, water, etc., at the ready, I started my next lesson on pizza. It was just like having Peter Reinhart in my own kitchen. Well, he sort of already takes up space in my kitchen with my collection of his cookbooks. But this was waaay better. Plus, you have crisp clear video, printable lesson material and all. . . And Free! For as many times as you need!
I don't know why this was such a big deal for me. I know his pizza recipes. I think it was HIM! Who in the bread baking world doesn't love this guy? And why would you NOT? And yes, I have seen his other lessons on YouTube, but this Craftsy course was somehow better. He teaches professional bakers for crying out loud.I'm sure he'd balk at the heavy hand I used with my toppings. But the crust was one of the best I'd ever made.
So now you might ask: Why the meatball pizza? Because the night before I made one of Deb Perelman's recipes (again!) from the Smitten Kitchen cookbook and her Tomato-Glazed Meatloaf recipe. These were the BEST (I've overused the word "best" in this post, but work with me, okay?)--things since sliced bread. I'll make these over and over. (Lest you all forget, vegans rejoice: I used Match Meats --which worked perfectly.)
As you can see--they are the perfect little handful of yum. I added 1/4 cup of oats and some Italian bread crumbs to my mixture--just a wee bit of coaxing to get the Match Meats to hold together. But for the rest of the recipe, I stuck pretty close to her directions. We had leftovers. And you now know where they went.Yum. Super yum served over her brown butter mashed potatoes. We LOVED this dinner.
And as for the pizza and all--we loved, loved that, too.
No recipes, but feel free to take the Peter Reinhart course, or the Carol Feller course. Or go to the link I have above for Deb's meatloaf.
Dinner and knitting.
I couldn't have been happier.
I'm not new to the homemade pizza making world. It's our second favorite food group next to chocolate. And while I try not to make pizza night an every night affair (I easily could), when I do throw down for some pizza crafting time, I am always amazed at how different the crusts seem. It's one of my favorite searches--like for the next best chocolate chip cookie--I've made over a dozen of each (pizza crusts and cookies), and after each try I tell myself, "That's it!". Invariably, I forget what and where it was I'd found said "it" recipe, and find I'm at it again with a whole new recipe search. I suppose you could say I had a very lucky day this week.
I was in a snit over a knitting pattern I desperately wanted to begin. I am nearly finished with my first Downton Abbey gauntlet, and half way through the second. (BTW, was last week's DA episode just the bleakest episode ever?) No spoilers here.
Anyway, the new project bug had bitten me. I found a shawl that seemed perfect: Sideways Ripple Shawl designed by Kyoko Nakayoshi, appearing in Knitscene Winter 2012. Its beauty, to me, was in its simplicity, and the fact that I could totally see myself wrapped in this while going to the store for eggplant. It's not too frilly, not too lacy, just a really cool, sort of understated wrap. However, the idea of stripes to me as wearable design has ranked repulsive for most of my adult life. No one looks good in them. I'm from the school of thought that they should be reserved for criminals and Waldo and thus, have avoided them. Even through last year's fashion push with stripes this and stripes that. Ugh.
. . . Until this shawl. (And what in heck does this have to do with PIZZA?) Hang on a second and I'll tell you.
What's unique to this shawl design and most of the rest of this issue of Knitscene, is that the patterns all require Short Rows. In knitting terms, for me that spells: Don't even think about it, Kelly. And I move on past said knitting requirements to find something less challenging--a throw, a hat. But as I lingered on the Ravelry site, admiring other knitters relishing their finished designs, I was drawn further down the stripe hole. Except for the Short Row problem. Some knitters proclaiming the shawl a quick knit! (Which I laughed at because you cast on 320 stitiches--and my gauge swatch told me I'd be knitting this on size ONE needles, no less!) That, even to a non-knitter screams: OMG--how long will it take you to knit ONE row? About four minutes. Maybe five.
I began looking for short row tutorials. There are a ton out there. Mostly geared toward sock knitters because this is where the short row issue creeps in nine times out of ten. But then, my stripe obsession wouldn't let go--besides, I'd found the perfect color combo: brown and teal! Perfect!
Which lead me to a free Short Row tutorial on Craftsy taught by Carol Feller--one of my favorite knitwear designers, which then lead me to another Craftsy lesson (I was already there, why not look around?)--and Whoa. What's this?
Perfect Pizza at Home taught by Peter Reinhart. Yes, that Peter Reinhart! Oh, and did I mention they were free? It truly was my lucky day.
I suppose you can guess which lesson I took first. Well, it was the Short Row lesson by Carol--nine o'clock at night. Okay, so I got sleepy before I could finish. And went to bed not yet convinced I could handle Short Row knitting. But the next morning, yarn and needles in hand, I was ready. I swatched along with Carol through every step. And Loved it. I am now a huge fan of Japanese Short Rows. Why you'd make a short row any other way is beyond me. But I digress. (As usual.)
Finally. With my speakers hooked up to my laptop, my flour, yeast, salt, water, etc., at the ready, I started my next lesson on pizza. It was just like having Peter Reinhart in my own kitchen. Well, he sort of already takes up space in my kitchen with my collection of his cookbooks. But this was waaay better. Plus, you have crisp clear video, printable lesson material and all. . . And Free! For as many times as you need!
I don't know why this was such a big deal for me. I know his pizza recipes. I think it was HIM! Who in the bread baking world doesn't love this guy? And why would you NOT? And yes, I have seen his other lessons on YouTube, but this Craftsy course was somehow better. He teaches professional bakers for crying out loud.
I'm sure he'd balk at the heavy hand I used with my toppings. But the crust was one of the best I'd ever made. So now you might ask: Why the meatball pizza? Because the night before I made one of Deb Perelman's recipes (again!) from the Smitten Kitchen cookbook and her Tomato-Glazed Meatloaf recipe. These were the BEST (I've overused the word "best" in this post, but work with me, okay?)--things since sliced bread. I'll make these over and over. (Lest you all forget, vegans rejoice: I used Match Meats --which worked perfectly.)
As you can see--they are the perfect little handful of yum. I added 1/4 cup of oats and some Italian bread crumbs to my mixture--just a wee bit of coaxing to get the Match Meats to hold together. But for the rest of the recipe, I stuck pretty close to her directions. We had leftovers. And you now know where they went.Yum. Super yum served over her brown butter mashed potatoes. We LOVED this dinner.And as for the pizza and all--we loved, loved that, too.
No recipes, but feel free to take the Peter Reinhart course, or the Carol Feller course. Or go to the link I have above for Deb's meatloaf.
Dinner and knitting.
I couldn't have been happier.
Apple Tart Cherry Crostata (The Dahlia Bakery Cookbook. . . And Showing Off the Mitts!)
To contact us Click HERE
Never in my life have I craved a pie as much as this. And being alone in this world of pie, I was left to my own devices as I went about my merry crostata-baking way. (Because it would have been too much bother to lift dough into a pie plate, pinch the border, bake the shell, fill the shell, bake again. You get my point.)
The husband craved cake. I craved pie. In between cake and pie, we had two batches of cookies we'd shared. One batch of molasses ginger spice for him. One batch of anything-I-can-put-Reese's-peanut-butter-chips in for me. (There now resides a jar of said PB chips next to the other afternoon "snack" of M & Ms.)
*With a massive winter storm headed this way, it's important to be prepared.
I guess I need to back up. For Valentine's Day, I was gifted the Dahlia Bakery Cookbook by Tom Douglas. I instantly fell in love. It was the English Muffin recipe that did it for me (and for DH). And subsequently, the recipe for flaky pastry dough I used in this crostata. So after only having this cookbook for a little over a week, I have baked five times from it. That means it's "a keeper" in this house.
I have never, ever had a better English muffin in my life. Yes, I said "life". The EM recipe is quite "involved", i.e., a very wet dough (very), several mix and let sit moments, then manipulating said gooey dough into several smaller balls before baking--all the while with a TON of flour covering the kitchen counter and gobs of dough in my hair and on my apron (totally not the recipe's fault--I can be a messy baker).
The result: super-craggy English Muffin happiness! *I will add that I put my dough in the fridge over night. I'd highly recommend doing so.
I like my muffins a little "jammy" topped. Mmmmm.
More from the Dahlia Cookbook: Old-Fashioned Molasses Cookies with Fresh Ginger (p. 135). Yum, but sitting next to these are my oatmeal, chocolate and peanut butter chippers, yum again. 
Remember these? The Downton Abbey Knit Along? Well, first off, Sunday's DA season finale episode just about did me in. Right before the end, Dr. Thyme asked: I wonder who's going to get the ax? Sigh.
Finished. . . and I LOVE them! One small detail missing is the lace-up ribbon through the eyelets. Still must decide on proper ribbon/color/texture for that. They fit perfectly. I won't talk about my panic moment of realizing my dyslexia had caused me to accidentally knit the eyelets on the thumb gusset row on my second pair, and how after nearly two days of knitting I'd finally realized this as I went to try on my not mirror-image pair of gauntlets. At first I was like, Oh well, who'll notice? The sensible woman emerged and said, Put on your Big Girl Panties and rip those rows NOW. 
My crostata came together in a jiff. You could certainly use all apples in this if you wish. You could use dried cherries. You could use frozen cranberries. Pears. Blueberries. Whatever. All that really mattered to me was that I had pastry crust and some fruit sitting in front of me. I have a major crush for cherries. I happened to have a can of tart cherries in the pantry. The fruit combined together with the apples beautifully. One thing to remember--almond extract for the filling. A must.
Apple Tart Cherry Crostata*Crust adapted from The Dahlia Bakery Cookbook by Tom Douglas
For Crust:1 cup whole wheat pastry flour1/3 cup spelt flour1/3 cup unbleached all-purpose flour1 tablespoon Raw Sugar (turbinado)1 1/4 teaspoon fine sea salt1/2 cup unsalted vegetable margarine cut into 1/2" cubes (cold)2 tablespoons vegetable shortening cut into 1/2" cubes (cold)1/4 cup ice water mixed with 1 teaspoon white vinegar
Place the flours, sugar and salt in a medium bowl. With a pastry cutter or two butter knives, begin to add pieces of butter and shortening to the mix. Incorporate the fats into the flour mixture until you have pea-sized pieces of dough. Next, add the water/vinegar mixture one teaspoon at a time and continue mixing. The dough will begin to come together a bit more. When you can pick up a handful of the mixture and it holds its shape, and you can form it into a flat disc, you are ready to place the dough in the fridge. You will have pieces of dry dough throughout. This is okay, as the dough cools in the fridge, it will all come together. Place dough in fridge for at least an hour. Meanwhile, you can work on the filling.
For Filling:3 medium apples cored and cut into 1" chunks (you can leave the skins on)1 can of tart cherries, drained (reserve the juice!) 1/8 teaspoon almond extract1 tablespoon corn starch1 1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon1/4 teaspoon ground nutmegpinch of salt1/3 cup Raw Sugar (or regular sugar, but I really love the raw kind)*You will have some filling left over. I did. I just stored mine in the fridge for the next crostata.
Place the drained juice from the cherries into a medium sauce pan. Add the sugar, corn starch, salt, cinnamon, nutmeg and extract and whisk together well over medium heat. The mixture does not need to boil, just warm up a bit--you want the corn starch to dissolve some--about 2 minutes is all. Next, add the cherries and apples and toss well together in the pan--for another minute. Remove from heat. Allow to cool for ten minutes before filling dough.
Preheat oven to 375. Remove dough from fridge and roll between two pieces of parchment paper to make a 12-14" circle. Place the dough with the parchment paper onto a cookie sheet. Place about 2 cups of the filling onto the flat dough--being careful to lift one side of the circle up around the filling as you go--so as not to have the yummy juice spilling out all over the sides. This is a bit tricky, but because it's a free-form pie, it really is okay to have some spill out. Just keep folding the dough up over the filling as you go around the circle. Leave some of the filling showing. Pinch any seams around the sides that look like they might need it. Sprinkle a bit of raw sugar on top. Place in oven and bake for 50-60 minutes. Remove from oven and allow to cool. Store in airtight container at room temperature for three days.
Never in my life have I craved a pie as much as this. And being alone in this world of pie, I was left to my own devices as I went about my merry crostata-baking way. (Because it would have been too much bother to lift dough into a pie plate, pinch the border, bake the shell, fill the shell, bake again. You get my point.)The husband craved cake. I craved pie. In between cake and pie, we had two batches of cookies we'd shared. One batch of molasses ginger spice for him. One batch of anything-I-can-put-Reese's-peanut-butter-chips in for me. (There now resides a jar of said PB chips next to the other afternoon "snack" of M & Ms.)
*With a massive winter storm headed this way, it's important to be prepared.
I guess I need to back up. For Valentine's Day, I was gifted the Dahlia Bakery Cookbook by Tom Douglas. I instantly fell in love. It was the English Muffin recipe that did it for me (and for DH). And subsequently, the recipe for flaky pastry dough I used in this crostata. So after only having this cookbook for a little over a week, I have baked five times from it. That means it's "a keeper" in this house.
I have never, ever had a better English muffin in my life. Yes, I said "life". The EM recipe is quite "involved", i.e., a very wet dough (very), several mix and let sit moments, then manipulating said gooey dough into several smaller balls before baking--all the while with a TON of flour covering the kitchen counter and gobs of dough in my hair and on my apron (totally not the recipe's fault--I can be a messy baker).
The result: super-craggy English Muffin happiness! *I will add that I put my dough in the fridge over night. I'd highly recommend doing so.
I like my muffins a little "jammy" topped. Mmmmm.
More from the Dahlia Cookbook: Old-Fashioned Molasses Cookies with Fresh Ginger (p. 135). Yum, but sitting next to these are my oatmeal, chocolate and peanut butter chippers, yum again. 
Remember these? The Downton Abbey Knit Along? Well, first off, Sunday's DA season finale episode just about did me in. Right before the end, Dr. Thyme asked: I wonder who's going to get the ax? Sigh.
Finished. . . and I LOVE them! One small detail missing is the lace-up ribbon through the eyelets. Still must decide on proper ribbon/color/texture for that. They fit perfectly. I won't talk about my panic moment of realizing my dyslexia had caused me to accidentally knit the eyelets on the thumb gusset row on my second pair, and how after nearly two days of knitting I'd finally realized this as I went to try on my not mirror-image pair of gauntlets. At first I was like, Oh well, who'll notice? The sensible woman emerged and said, Put on your Big Girl Panties and rip those rows NOW. 
My crostata came together in a jiff. You could certainly use all apples in this if you wish. You could use dried cherries. You could use frozen cranberries. Pears. Blueberries. Whatever. All that really mattered to me was that I had pastry crust and some fruit sitting in front of me. I have a major crush for cherries. I happened to have a can of tart cherries in the pantry. The fruit combined together with the apples beautifully. One thing to remember--almond extract for the filling. A must. Apple Tart Cherry Crostata*Crust adapted from The Dahlia Bakery Cookbook by Tom Douglas
For Crust:1 cup whole wheat pastry flour1/3 cup spelt flour1/3 cup unbleached all-purpose flour1 tablespoon Raw Sugar (turbinado)1 1/4 teaspoon fine sea salt1/2 cup unsalted vegetable margarine cut into 1/2" cubes (cold)2 tablespoons vegetable shortening cut into 1/2" cubes (cold)1/4 cup ice water mixed with 1 teaspoon white vinegar
Place the flours, sugar and salt in a medium bowl. With a pastry cutter or two butter knives, begin to add pieces of butter and shortening to the mix. Incorporate the fats into the flour mixture until you have pea-sized pieces of dough. Next, add the water/vinegar mixture one teaspoon at a time and continue mixing. The dough will begin to come together a bit more. When you can pick up a handful of the mixture and it holds its shape, and you can form it into a flat disc, you are ready to place the dough in the fridge. You will have pieces of dry dough throughout. This is okay, as the dough cools in the fridge, it will all come together. Place dough in fridge for at least an hour. Meanwhile, you can work on the filling.
For Filling:3 medium apples cored and cut into 1" chunks (you can leave the skins on)1 can of tart cherries, drained (reserve the juice!) 1/8 teaspoon almond extract1 tablespoon corn starch1 1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon1/4 teaspoon ground nutmegpinch of salt1/3 cup Raw Sugar (or regular sugar, but I really love the raw kind)*You will have some filling left over. I did. I just stored mine in the fridge for the next crostata.
Place the drained juice from the cherries into a medium sauce pan. Add the sugar, corn starch, salt, cinnamon, nutmeg and extract and whisk together well over medium heat. The mixture does not need to boil, just warm up a bit--you want the corn starch to dissolve some--about 2 minutes is all. Next, add the cherries and apples and toss well together in the pan--for another minute. Remove from heat. Allow to cool for ten minutes before filling dough.
Preheat oven to 375. Remove dough from fridge and roll between two pieces of parchment paper to make a 12-14" circle. Place the dough with the parchment paper onto a cookie sheet. Place about 2 cups of the filling onto the flat dough--being careful to lift one side of the circle up around the filling as you go--so as not to have the yummy juice spilling out all over the sides. This is a bit tricky, but because it's a free-form pie, it really is okay to have some spill out. Just keep folding the dough up over the filling as you go around the circle. Leave some of the filling showing. Pinch any seams around the sides that look like they might need it. Sprinkle a bit of raw sugar on top. Place in oven and bake for 50-60 minutes. Remove from oven and allow to cool. Store in airtight container at room temperature for three days.
23 Şubat 2013 Cumartesi
Nigella's Cherry Trifle revolutionised - a.k.a. made paleo!
To contact us Click HERE
This is the paleo version of Nigella Lawson's famous Cherry Trifle, which is insanely good and gave me raving comments on my Hungarian blog. I thought that on such a rainy and cloudy days, this would really cheer up any fellow, so I would give it a go and share it with you.
I made this recipe when I was at the beginning of converting to paleo diet (gluten-, wheat-, sugar- and milk free diet) and I did use cornstarch in the recipe but you could totally leave it out, since I made the custard many times again and never needed cornstarch.
Hope you will enjoy! :)
For more thoughts on the recipe and for the actual recipe, please click on the picture below!
Did you like my recipe? Let me know here or on Facebook or on Twitter! :)
This is the paleo version of Nigella Lawson's famous Cherry Trifle, which is insanely good and gave me raving comments on my Hungarian blog. I thought that on such a rainy and cloudy days, this would really cheer up any fellow, so I would give it a go and share it with you.
I made this recipe when I was at the beginning of converting to paleo diet (gluten-, wheat-, sugar- and milk free diet) and I did use cornstarch in the recipe but you could totally leave it out, since I made the custard many times again and never needed cornstarch.
Hope you will enjoy! :)
For more thoughts on the recipe and for the actual recipe, please click on the picture below!
Did you like my recipe? Let me know here or on Facebook or on Twitter! :)
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