Wednesday, August 30, 2006

Safe

I had to stop watching E.R. when I was pregnant with Ben. The September 11th attacks had just happened, and I was all too cognizant of the dangers of the world. I didn't need to invite them into the living room.

I had to stop saying "Drive safe" to Tony when he headed off on his 45-minute commute. After a few months of the ritual, he worried how I'd fret if I missed my chance one day, how guilty I'd feel if somehow my ritual words failed to protect him.

I had to stop stepping directly in to crosswalks, insisting bodily on my right of way, when I started pushing a stroller in front of me. "You can be right," remarked my reasonable husband, "Or you can be safe."

I had to tell Ben last spring that a child in his preschool had died in an accident.

I had to watch yesterday, my heart in my mouth, as a mad driver swerved toward a dad walking his son into our preschool. I was a few steps back. We'd both heard the crash behind us as the driver hit a car, the squeal of the tires as he pulled away, and the scream of a police car's siren. The siren made me feel momentarily safe, until I looked back and saw how cautious the police car was in pursuit, until I saw the other car, its front end smashed, race up the street toward us. The dad scooped his son up into his arms. I pushed Ben and our carpool companion behind me, then hustled them onto the ramp in front of the school, which is protected (somewhat) by a metal railing. Ben and his buddy were delighted; they love to run up and down that ramp after school, playing a game they call "Dong!" I kept an eye on the car--which had strangely, thankfully, swerved away from our schoolmate, roared up the street, but then u-turned and headed back toward us--as I hurried the boys into school. I was glad it was my school workday, so I didn't have to say goodbye to the boys but could stay and play. They never knew that for a moment, for them, it hadn't been safe.

I have to think today of all the people who weren't safe yesterday, and hope that those who survived will heal.

I live in earthquake country. I'm a parent. I don't need to read the paper to know, really know, that I'm not safe. I don't dwell on it; we keep earthquake kits in the car and garage, we have an emergency plan. But I don't much like to be reminded of it, either. When danger swerves so close, it makes me want to gather the family close and hunker down.

After 9/11, after the tragedy last spring, we gathered friends around the dinner table. Yesterday, I came home to find Tony, unaware of the news, frying tofu, boiling noodles, steaming vegetables -- making a fabulous meal. I'd brought (a different) one of Ben's preschool friends home, and she and her parents wound up staying for supper. After those scary moments earlier in the day, sharing a meal together made me feel truly safe.

posted by Caroline @ 7:57 PM  

Tuesday, August 29, 2006

20Something Essays by 20Something Writers


Who even remembers their 20s?! Now on the cusp of forty, I've been reminiscing about my thirties a lot. It was a good decade: I earned my PhD, married my husband, had two kids, and started to publish my writing.

But my twenties, though I was happy to be out of them at the time, were a good and productive decade, too. After all, that's when I moved to California and started graduate school, lived on my own for the first time, did all the work for my doctorate, and met my husband just weeks before I waved hello to thirty.

The writers in this great collection aren't thinking too much about thirty right now--they are keeping way too busy for that. Raising kids; nursing a boyfriend through terminal illness; maturing in Kuwait; working at Wendy's; learning to dance with their OCD; logging on to Friendster, Facebook, MySpace and Nerve accounts -- they've got a lot going on, and it was fun to check out of my life for a bit and listen in on theirs.

My favorite essay, of course, is Elrena Evans' "My Little Comma," first published in the section I co-edit over at Literary Mama. I've read this essay, in various versions, over a dozen times in the past year and it never gets old. This is my favorite section today:

I just got off the phone with my advisor, and if my daughter weren't watching me, I swear I would spit. The pressure is on, he admonishes me: finish your project or lose our funding. I wonder: if he knew how close I was to leaving, what he would say? I wonder what would happen if I left in the middle of the year, just scooped up my plump little baby and left. I wouldn't wait until the end of the semester to go, and I wouldn't leave everything tidied up behind me. I'd simply up and leave, tear myself out of the university and leave a gaping, jagged hole in my wake. My spine prickles guiltily at the thought. What a lovely mess I would make. Part of me just wants to say "I don't care" and wait for the lion to eat me.

Meanwhile, the conversation about mothering and graduate school that Elrena's essay started is turning into a book (stay tuned to see how it all turns out!)

Other essays I particularly loved... Jess Lacher's "California" reminded me of how strange and unfamiliar it all seemed when I first arrived here myself: the "gentle and mysterious suggestions" of the seasons; the intense and exotic plants; the sense of being on a "vacation life" (yeah, that ended for me a while ago). Emma Black writes about teaching elementary school and learning how to "Think Outside the Box But Stay Inside the Grid." For the sake of her students, I hope she keeps trying. Radhiyah Ayobami spends "An Evening in April" getting a treat for her son before the curfew at their shelter; they give some change to a woman on the corner, and Ayobami imagines someday going to the park with this stranger and her kids: "People would look at us, and instead of seeing two beggars, they'd see two mothers with children, and they'd smile. I had big plans for that woman, if only I could see her again." In Shahnaz Habib's gorgeous "Backlash," written the day of the bomb blasts in Delhi, she worries about an old friend and thinks sadly of the secret relationship they have now lost.

When I started reading this collection, I was thinking I don't know too many people who are in their twenties, but now I kind of feel like I do. That's some fine writing.

posted by Caroline @ 9:19 AM  

Monday, August 28, 2006

Mom's Fruit Crisp

There are lots of delicious things to do with fresh fruit, but this is one of my favorites, and it's also just about the easiest. Despite all the baking I do, I can never remember a recipe well enough to make it without referring to the recipe (or sometimes a couple of recipes); this is one simple enough that I can do it by heart. It scales easily, so you can make it for two or for a crowd. I've been making it since I was about 8 years old, and although every once in a while I'll try a different recipe, just to see if there's something I'm missing, I keep coming back to my Mom's.

I'll give you the recipe for 6 peaches (approx. 6 cups of sliced fruit); use more or less fruit and adjust your topping amounts accordingly. Of course, you can also make this with apples (peeled or not), nectarines, plums, pears, some berries, etc.

for filling:
6 peaches
1 tbsp lemon juice (or juice of one lemon)
1/2 tsp cinnamon

for topping:
1/2 c butter (1 stick)
1/2 c flour
1/2 c oats
1/2 c brown sugar
1/2 c wheat germ
1 tsp cinnamon

Preheat oven to 375.

Peel and slice the peaches. Pour into a shallow gratin dish and sprinkle with lemon juice and cinnamon.

Melt the butter in a container big enough to mix the crisp topping. Add remaining ingrediants and stir well with a fork. Sprinkle over fruit, and bake until browned on top and bubbling around the edges, about 40 minutes.

posted by Caroline @ 12:11 PM  

Thursday, August 24, 2006

Team Player

Tony and I met with a financial advisor today. He was recommended to us by our tax guy. The fact that we have a tax guy, someone we pay to do our taxes, makes me feel more grown-up than the fact that I have a mortgage. Or kids.

But I digress. It was a very boring meeting, and he used a lot of jargon I didn't understand, but it seemed important that I attend, and look, shall we say, present. So I tried. Good student that I am, I started to take notes. But it's hard to take notes on information you don't entirely comprehend. So then I started jotting down ideas for my next column. Then I tuned in to the meeting again and started writing down the sports metaphors he used. I wish I'd done this from the beginning, so that I could offer you a complete list, but he did pretty well in the last half hour:

That's our bogey...

We won't try to swing for the fences...

It does you no good to have a roller coaster ride...

We wade into the pool, we don't dive in the deep end...

We'll keep these positions covered...

We're meeting another such person next week; will it be sports metaphors again? Can we choose an advisor based on their figurative language?

posted by Caroline @ 9:29 PM  

Monday, August 21, 2006

Proof of Global Warming


Al Gore's movie is pretty convincing, but this has put me over the edge:

Ripening tomatoes in our foggy garden.

Time to start researching solar panels...

posted by Caroline @ 9:25 AM  

Friday, August 18, 2006

Something Sweet To Do With Bread Dough

Are you making ricotta cheese yet? And saving the resulting whey (previously, and less appetizingly referred to as the thin, milky liquid that drips off the cheese) to bake with? If I tell you can make cinnamon rolls really, really easily will you make them? I must credit my mom here, who on a recent visit reminded me how effortlessly this can be done.

OK, you don't have to start with ricotta cheese. But do start with this bread recipe; then, when the dough's risen once and you're ready to shape loaves, make one loaf of nice sandwich bread, and one nice pan of cinnamon rolls. Or skip the loaf entirely and make a whole lot of cinnamon rolls, I won't tell.

Sponge
2 tbsp dry yeast
1/2 c lukewarm tap water
2 c warmed buttermilk (or the liquid that drained off your homemade ricotta cheese)
2 c unbleached bread flour

Dough
2 tbsp melted butter
1 tbsp honey
2 tsp salt
3-3 1/2 c unbleached all-purpose flour
2 tsp olive oil or more melted butter

Combine water and yeast in a large glass or ceramic bowl. Add the buttermilk and bread flour
and stir well. Cover with plastic wrap and let ferment overnight at room temperature. It may bubble up and then fall -- that's fine. In the morning, it will be bubbly and fragrant.

In the morning, add the butter, honey, and salt to the sponge and mix well. Stir in flour until the dough is smooth and pulls away from the sides of the bowl.

Rub your hands with oil or melted butter and lift the dough out of the bowl onto a lightly floured surface. Knead once or twice. Now let it sit a minute while you rinse out the mixing bowl with warm water, towel dry, and coat with olive oil. Put the dough in the oiled bowl, cover with oiled plastic wrap, and let rise about 1 hour.

At this point, you can butter or oil either two 8 1/2 x 4" loaf pans, or one loaf pan and one 9x9" square baking pan (the one you use for brownies), or a larger, lasagne-size, roasting pan. Just use metal pans; glass ones don't give you as nice a crust.

Divide the risen dough in half. To make sandwich bread, form the dough into a vaguely loaf-like shape (really, you can pretty much drop the dough into the pan and it will find its shape), place in the pan, cover and let rise until the dough reaches the rim of the pan, about 30 minutes.

To make cinnamon rolls, take your half lump of dough (even if you're turning all the dough into cinnamon rolls, working with half the dough at a time makes life easier), and roll it out into a rectangle, about 12" long. Dot it with butter, then sprinkle brown sugar and cinnamon on top (or you could mush the butter, sugar and cinnamon up together in a bowl and spread it on the dough). Do this to suit your own taste; I used about 2 tbsp each of butter and sugar, maybe a teaspoon of cinnamon. Toss on a bit of orange zest if you have it, and sprinkle with raisins and/or walnuts if you like. Roll the dough the long way into a cylinder, and slice the cylinder into 3"-thick slices. Lay the slices in the baking pan cut side down, cover and let rise about 30 minutes.

Preheat oven to 420. Bake for 25-40 minutes. Check for doneness by turning one loaf out of the pan and tapping the bottom; if it sounds hollow, it's baked through. For the rolls, check by lifting up a corner and seeing if the bottom is crusty and brown. If the breads are browning too much but don't seem quite done, cover loosely with foil for the final 5-10 minutes of baking. Cool on a wire rack.

posted by Caroline @ 9:31 AM  

Wednesday, August 16, 2006

Crazy Cake

Everyone has particular food routines when they're sick. For me, recovering from a stomach bug means plain toast, white rice, and ginger ale. Once I've really turned the corner, I move on to Tony's hot & sour soup and chocolate cake. Don't ask me why, but when I've been without food for a couple days, I want strong flavors, and that peppery, vinegary soup always does the trick. For the cake, Tony used to run out and get me a slice of Just Desserts' weekend cake (a triple-layer chocolate cake), but the bakery moved out of the neighborhood and nothing else has really filled the gap. This week, it occured to me that I was feeling well enough to make my own recovery cake.

Crazy Cake is the first cake I ever made. I think I made it with Libby, and I may be to blame for the salt-for-sugar debacle. The recipe is all over the place: in Peg Bracken's I Hate to Cook Book (a fabulous book even for those of us who like to cook); in Moosewood Restaurant Cooks at Home (where it's called, accurately, 6-Minute Cake; even in my fevered state, I had the batter together in half the time it took for the oven to preheat), and it goes by many names (cockeyed cake; vegan chocolate cake, which is also accurate, but less appetizing). All you need to know is that it's good, quick, and plenty chocolatey. I don't know why I don't make it more often.

1 1/2 c white flour
1/3 c unsweetened cocoa
1 c sugar
1 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt

1 c water or coffee
1/2 c vegetable oil
2 tsp vanilla
2 tbsp vinegar (any old vinegar will do, though I grabbed a fancy red wine vinegar this time and it was particularly good)

1/2 c semisweet chocolate chips (optional, but what's not better with some chocolate chips?)

Preheat the oven to 375.

Combine the dry ingrediants in an ungreased 8" square or 9" round baking pan. In a 2-cup measure, combine the water, oil and vanilla. Pour the liquid ingrediants into the baking pan and mix the batter with a fork until smooth (make sure to get into the corners so that you don't get dry floury bites in the finished cake!). Now add the vinegar and stir quickly. There will be pale swirls in the batter from the baking soda and vinegar reacting. Stir just until the vinegar is evenly distributed. Sprinkle the chocolate chips on top. Bake for 25 minutes, cool a bit, and enjoy.

posted by Caroline @ 7:54 PM  

Tuesday, August 15, 2006

Movie Minutes

Skip Scoop. Unless of course you're such a fan of Woody Allen that you want to see Scarlett Johansson act like Woody Allen. I love her, I really do (though I think I loved her more before she got quite so beautiful; check out Manny & Lo to see her as a tomboyish tween), but after an hour I got tired of her all ticks and jumpiness and had to flee.

March of the Penguins. Beautiful, informative, anthropomorphizing. Not a kid's movie, but it doesn't seem to have scarred Ben.

The Beach. Blue Lagoon meets Lord of the Flies. It's very pretty and all (Leonardo di Caprio, the beach), but who really needs it?

Monster-in-Law. See, after three days stuck at home, sick, I'm scraping the bottom of the barrel. This is even worse than you would expect. Although I must admit that the last scene between Jennifer Lopez and Jane Fonda made me tear up a bit. But I still miss my mother-(never a monster)-in-law. Plus, I was feverish.

posted by Caroline @ 10:04 PM  

Sunday, August 13, 2006

Under the Weather

Once you become a parent, you pretty much say goodbye to the days of "enjoying ill health." No more days on the couch with the TV on, drifting in and out to the lineup on Food Network, no more lying in bed with a box of tissues, a bottle of Tylenol, and a couple fat novels. No, once the little people enter the picture, you're up and doing no matter how lousy you feel. I'll never forget the first time I came down with a stomach bug after Ben was born; we cuddled up in a nest of blankets and towels on the bathroom floor. Occasionally, I'd haul myself up and get quietly sick, then lie back down and nurse Ben. Or last summer, which I think of now as the Summer Of Strep (4 cases in as many months), when I had to drive across the Golden Gate Bridge to get a throat culture and antibiotics, running a 101 fever and, once I got to the doctor's office, hauling Eli along in the sling. It felt like a good day, in the end, because I'd only had to take care of one kid.

This weekend, though, as I deal with my mystery bug (is it a cold? is it a stomach bug? is it strep again? who really knows?), I've had a taste of those old days. Tony took the boys for 3 days straight, leaving me to watch a couple movies, read a couple books, and spend more time in bed than I have in ages. Last night, I even pulled Ben briefly into my slothful state, as we cuddled up together, eating chocolate and watching March of the Penguins (this morning, he gave Tony an accurate census both of chocolate pieces consumed and penguin deaths witnessed).

The thing is, though, despite how lovely -- and I'm sure restorative--it has been to rest, I'd much rather be up and hanging out with the guys, clamorous arguments and all. Turns out the old days have gotten a little old.

posted by Caroline @ 7:27 PM  

Friday, August 11, 2006

A Day in the Life

I keep thinking that I'll have a normal day to report on this project; maybe next month!

Dark o'clock I roll over and realize Ben is in bed with us. For the next couple hours, I sleep fitfully as his slow scissor kicks push me into the middle of the bed. I don't know how Tony is managing to stay in bed. He must have the kind of gear climbers use to sleep on the sheer face of El Capitan.

5:40 Ben wakes with a little squeak and trots back down the hall to his room. I hear him shut the bedroom door behind him.

6:30 "Dah!" Eli's awake. It's my turn to sleep in, which means Tony goes to get him, brings him to me in bed to nurse.

6:45 Eli sits up and gestures toward sleeping Tony (how can he get back to sleep so fast?) like a pointer, every muscle taut. "Are you ready to go play?" I ask. He dives back onto my chest. That'd be a no.

6:50 Done nursing. Tony picks him up, and Eli blows kisses and waves as they leave the room.
I read an essay, roll over, and go back to sleep. I dream that midgets are breaking into our house and I'm offering them stuff if only they'd leave, but they keep rejecting my offers.

8 Ben comes in and says hi. I can't move or even open my eyes. He leaves. I hear him go downstairs, and hear the happy terradactyl shrieks as Eli greets him. I listen to the zoo sounds awhile, then roll out of bed and go downstairs. Raucous play ensues.

8:30 Finally get to my breakfast. I serve myself more cereal than I need, knowing that Eli (who's already eaten a big bowl of oatmeal with Tony) will mooch. We eat our granola and o's together, then play with Ben.

9:15 Tony takes Eli upstairs for a nap. Ben pulls all the dining room chairs into train formation and we play train for awhile. It's a commuter train, so I'm allowed to read the paper.

9:30 Ben sits down to an episode of Sesame St; I go upstairs to take a shower and get dressed.

10:00 Ben and I settle in to play trains.

11 It dawns on me that I have a cold. It also occurs to me that since Eli won't nurse again till tomorrow morning, I could take some cold medicine. The mind reels -- this makes having a cold kind of exciting! But I can only find some advil. Better than nothing.

11:30 Realize I'm feeling way too lousy to take the kids to the zoo as planned; Tony rearranges his day in order to take the boys and I climb back into bed.

2 Wake up, completely disoriented. If I'm in bed and the clock says 2, it must be the middle of the night, right? But it's so bright in the room. I stare at the clock for several minutes trying to make sense of the situation. I don't think I've taken a nap in a year.

3-something Tony and the boys return, but my cold keeps me on the fringes of the family for the rest of the day. We'll try another Day in the Life report next month when I can fully participate!

posted by Caroline @ 9:38 PM  

Thursday, August 10, 2006

It Must Be Summer Watermelon Salad

I know I've posted this recipe before, but now I've taken such a pretty picture of the salad, I had to bring it up to the front of the queue. Plus, apparently now watermelon is so hip, even the folks at Design Within Reach are talking about it.

This is from Nigella Lawson’s Forever Summer. People might look at it and, mistaking the pale pink watermelon for lame supermarket tomatoes, think it’s a bad Greek salad, so just assure them that it is something delicious and new. They’ll be so pleased.


1 small red onion
2-4 limes, depending on their juiciness
3 1/2 pounds watermelon
9 oz feta cheese
1 bunch fresh flat-leaf parsley
1 bunch fresh mint, chopped
3-4 T olive oil
4 oz pitted black olives
black pepper to taste

Peel and halve the red onion and cut into very fine half moons. Put in a small bowl to steep with the lime juice. Two limes should do it, unless they seem dry; you be the judge.

Remove the rind and seeds from the watermelon and cut into large bite-sized, triangular chunks. Cut the feta into similar sized pieces and put them both in a large, shallow bowl. Tear off the sprigs of parsley so that it’s used like a salad leaf, rather than garnish, and add to the bowl along with the chopped mint.

Now add the onions (with the now oniony lime juice), olive oil, and olives, and toss gently so as not to break up the watermelon and feta too much. Add a nice grinding of black pepper and taste to see whether the dressing needs more lime. Keep at room temperature till serving.

posted by Caroline @ 2:30 PM  

Wednesday, August 09, 2006

What Can You Do?

Mary, over at Mom Writes, blogged about three things she can do that make her life easier and more pleasant, and her funny, useful list has got me thinking about how my expectations have shifted since having kids. There was a time when a productive day ended with half a dozen pages of my dissertation written (I was a slow writer), or a couple hundred pages of a novel read, or maybe twenty or thirty student essays graded. Those days generally included something homemade for dinner, a clean apartment, and time for a conversation with a friend.

My days don't end like that anymore.

When I was first pregnant, slowing down and frustrated at how little energy (mental and physical) I had, Tony would remind me that my to-do list needed to shrink down to one thing: Grow the Baby. I was working full time until 3 days before Ben was born, but tried to keep in mind that the main thing, despite my colleagues' and students' demands, was getting through the day with the baby still happily inside. After he was born, my to-do list didn't change much, of course. Despite how much else I might have wanted to do, I tried to focus on that one big check box: Grow the Baby. And he grew, and now he's been joined by a little brother, and during the first few postpartum months last summer, I was generally pretty satisfied by days that ended with both boys still alive.

Now, however, they are big strong taking-care-of-themselves guys of one and four. Betweeen preschool and a babysitter, I can rely on 3 whole hours without them each week. I have ambitions, well, maybe just aspirations... a column to write, a book to edit. And some days, between those three hours and other random hours achieved when Eli's naptime and Ben's traintime magically overlap, by staying up till midnight even though Eli wakes up at 6am, by checking email on my way to the dinner table and reading essay submissions while brushing my teeth, I get some real work done. And some other days, instead of getting anything done, I just get slapped upside the head (metaphorically, mostly) for trying.

So I'm trying to focus again on the little things. It's not quite Grow the Baby anymore, but the balance is still tipped in favor of the little guys for now, and that's ok.

Meanwhile, making a list for Mary's blog was a good reminder of three little things I can do that add some ease and some pleasure to this life: I can bake a loaf of bread without breaking a sweat; I can change Eli's diaper without taking his legs out of his footie pajamas; and I can pick up just about anything with my toes.

What can you do?

posted by Caroline @ 9:20 AM  

Tuesday, August 08, 2006

Magic

Despite being the daughter and granddaughter of gardeners--farmers, practically--I've never had a vegetable garden until now. And I love it. Now, don't talk to me about your tomatoes; I live in foggy San Francisco. Even during this uncharacteristically warm summer, we're not getting red tomatoes around here. But the chard and the green beans, they are thriving, and we are watching one single artichoke develop, a tightly closed purple fist in its forest of prickly green leaves. We're eating out of the garden every night. And it feels like magic.

posted by Caroline @ 5:38 PM  

Monday, August 07, 2006

Mama at the Movies

My new column is up now at Literary Mama. Go unplug your cell phone charger and then check it out!

posted by Caroline @ 2:54 PM  

Sunday, August 06, 2006

Ricotta Redux

Alright, as I reported last time I blogged about ricotta (do you suppose anybody has ever used that exact phrase before? ah, probably...), there are other ricotta recipes to try, and now I've tried another (from Suzanne Dunaway's No Need to Knead), and it's the one. Seriously, make this cheese. It's easy. It's quick. It's delicious enough to eat by the spoonful. It will elevate your desserts and lighten your lasagne. I made this to spoon onto peach pizza, but I think we all wound up eating as much of the cheese, plain, as we did the pizza.


Here's what you need:
1/2 gallon whole milk
1 cup plain yogurt
1/2 cup lemon juice
a saucepan, a strainer, some cheesecloth, and a large bowl

Here's what you do:
Combine the milk and yogurt in a large saucepan. Bring to a simmer. Turn off the heat, pour in lemon juice, and let sit for an hour. No need to stir in the lemon juice -- just pour it in and let it curdle the milk/yogurt mixture. Toward the end of the hour, get out your strainer, line it with cheesecloth, and set that over a bowl. Pour the curdled milk into the strainer and let it sit another hour, at which point it's ready to serve (or refrigerate), or let it sit longer (you could leave it over night). The recipe suggests gathering up the ends of the cheesecloth and hanging the dripping cheese from your sink faucet, but I don't think it's necessary. You can save the milk that drips off the cheese and use it for baking, as I do, or pour it down the drain. If you want to get a little fancy, you could steep a cinnamon stick or some rosemary or something in the milk while it's heating, but trust me, the ricotta is delicious enough to eat absolutely unadorned.

posted by Caroline @ 7:07 PM  

Ben's Essay About Reading

I am trying, and so far failing, to write an essay about watching Ben start to read. Since he dictated such a lovely succinct essay the last time we talked about writing, I asked him what he would say about the subject. Here's his response:

Ben is learning to read words. He's so proud of himself. We're proud too. Whenever we play Scrabble and Caroline plays a word, and tells me to read it, I always just read it!

I just have nothing to add to that.

posted by Caroline @ 7:57 AM  

Saturday, August 05, 2006

Cooling Chocolate Lime Pie

Some friends went on vacation last week and emptied out their fridge for us, so suddenly we had a windfall of limes. Tony made a great avocado-tomatillo-lime salsa (Eli was eating it by the spoonful), and I made lime curd to spread on biscuits with blackberries (inspired somewhat by this Gourmet recipe). But there were still more! So I dug through my folder of recipes clipped from newspapers and magazines, and found this.

I know most of the country is still sweltering (and we're back to unusually warm weather ourselves), so this dessert won't make you break a sweat. No oven required, very little labor, and each bite is meltingly cool. All it takes is a bit of advance planning, since it needs to sit in the refrigerator for a couple hours (or overnight) to firm up. Maybe you can find room in your fridge to join it.

1 3/4 c graham cracker crumbs (from about 15 graham crackers)
2 tbsp unsweetened cocoa
6 tbsp melted butter

4 limes
1 14-oz can sweetened condensed milk
1 1/4 c heavy cream
1 one-oz square bittersweet chocolate

Combine graham cracker crumbs, cocoa and butter in a bowl. Press into a 9-inch springform pan, covering the bottom and pushing crumbs halfway up the side of the pan. Refrigerate until needed.

Grate 2 tbsp zest from the limes, then squeeze the juice (you should get about 3/4 c). Combine the juice and zest with the sweetened condensed milk and cream. Whisk until it thickens up a bit (the recipe says to keep whisking until it holds peaks, but I got tired way before that, and it all turned out ok). Pour the batter into the prepared crust and refrigerate at least 2 hours, or overnight.

To serve, remove the side of the springform pan and grate the bittersweet chocolate on top. Serve immediately, as the pie will melt away if you leave it at room temperature.

posted by Caroline @ 10:17 AM  

Wednesday, August 02, 2006

Train Time

Ben doesn't want me to play trains with him these days, he really just wants a witness. Or so I thought, since he was always shooting down my innovative track ideas, disagreeing with my notions of which train car could attach to which other train car, etc. So, the other morning, I stood up and started doing some yoga. Ben tolerated this for a couple minutes before saying, "Caroline, how about a little less yoga and a little more trains?"
Duly chastised, I sat down and started pushing my Mike engine (see, he doesn't even let me touch the Thomas engine) around the track again.

posted by Caroline @ 10:43 PM  

Tuesday, August 01, 2006

Barbequed Peach Pizza!

Usually, my favorite thing to do with fresh summer peaches is to just slice them up onto my morning bowl of O's and granola. But occasionally, I want something fancier, something to share with the whole family. Then, peach pie is a great way to go, but that heats up the whole kitchen. So then I saw this recipe. Brilliant! I couldn't resist; we've been outside grilling food a lot anyway, why not grill dessert, too?
Now, I'm giving the recipe as I found it (torn out of a long-forgotten magazine). Next time I make it, though, I might spread the ricotta directly on the crust, before putting on the peaches. Someone try that and let me know how it goes.

4 large ripe peaches
juice of 1 lemon
1 pound of pizza dough
1 16-oz container ricotta cheese
1/4 cup plus 2 tbsp supgar
1 tsp ground cinnamon
2 tbsp melted butter
1/2 c pumpkin seeds or pistachios


Preheat a gas grill to high; adjust to low after 15 minutes.
Peel the peaches, cut each into 16 slices, and drizzle with lemon juice. Set aside.
Combine the ricotta with 1/4 c sugar, set aside. Now combine the cinnamon and remaining 2 tbsp sugar and set that aside.
Lightly flour the back of a large baking sheet or pizza peel. Roll out the pizza dough to 1/4" thick. Place the dough on the baking sheet, brush it with half the butter, and slide off the baking sheet directly onto the grill. Cook until the underside of the dough starts to brown, about 5 minutes (don't worry if it bubbles up a little). Use tongs to slide the dough back onto your baking sheet, then flip the ungrilled side onto the grate. Brush the cooked side of the dough with the remaining butter. Arrange the peaches on top, and sprinkle with sugar & cinnamon and pumpkin seeds. Cover the grill and cook for 8-12 minutes, o runtil the underside of the crust browns. Slide off the grill and serve warm with the sweetened ricotta.

posted by Caroline @ 7:36 PM