Eat This Poem

Dear Mouse,

In honor of apple season, I wanted to share this poem. My friend Famous Poet Guy was commissioned by this organization to write about kids' health and nutrition. Good message, good to remember in a time when it's easy to get conned into thinking "it isn't a problem if they can't sell you the cure".

Plus that kinetic typography just looks cool.

I'm going to eat a freshly-picked apple for breakfast right about now.

Preach it, Eat it, Reheat It, Repeat it.

(See? I'm a Slam Poet Too!)

Love,

The Boo

PS. Fresh cranberries are finally in the grocery store!!! Making muffins right now.

A Brooklyn Barn-Raising (with Quiche!)

Dear Mouse,

"I like New York in... October...

How about you?"

Oh, Autumn. I think it's only fair to say that probably my next three posts will be dedicated to this, my favorite season. Anyone who is not as enthralled as I am by fiery gold and magenta trees, boots and jackets, chill winds and bright sunlight, apples and pumpkins and squash, and the subtle surge of excitement as the Wheel of the Year turns once again...

Still Life w/apples and homemade challah (or "Jewish Egg Bread" according to the recipe that came with The Poets' breadmaker. Uh-mazing.)

Oh, as if there could be such a person. (What's the Fall version of Scrooge?). Anyway, my point is that once again we have entered the glorious Season of Change, and this one is more exciting than most. First of all, there is YOUR wonderful, exciting news that "The Boyfriend" is now a free handle for use in this blog. :-) Secondly, last weekend, I attended a gorgeously autumnal New England wedding on 10/10/10 and am now convinced that the October wedding is THE way to go... and, thirdly, THIS weekend ...I made quiche.

(Oh, and I'm gonna be in my first movie. !! But you can't eat that.)

Not just any quiche. Life-affirming, celebratory, in-with-the-new quiche. Also, really really easy to make, so I thought I'd share the details.

Not far from The Mouse House, in another part of the forest, another lovely couple were preparing themselves for a new chapter. My dear friends Mr. and Mrs. Poet, who regularly welcome what seems like NY's entire literary/performing community to their Friday Night table, are about 2 months away from a more permanent form of dinner guest. One who needs a room to sleep in, with a fresh coat of paint and cute stencils on the walls. And probably one or two embarrassing, rock & roll-themed onesies. Only time will tell...

"Come help us paint", said Mrs. Poet, "and we'll feed you."

Basically, I was at the door five minutes later bearing a large box of Dunkin' Donuts from the set. (Side bar: why, WHY, is there so much of this kind of food on movie sets? Why would you lock a bunch of actresses in a room together to prepare to be in your film and then buy them pastry? It's hilarious. There is more food available than at one of our family gatherings, and no one eats. )

Mr. Poet and I rolled up our sleeves and began to paint Little Poet's room a lovely dove gray. We hauled a set of bookshelves out to the curb and stained them dark brown as the sun began to slide orangely (orangely?) down the Williamsburg sky and the building's heat clicked on.

"One more coat", said Mr. Poet, "and then let's break for dinner." I thought about how there is something really satisfying about food that is eaten after manual labor, as replenishment and reward for a tangible, self-evident job well done. I thought about Amish communities, who all get together to build somebody's house. " I feel like I'm at a barn raising", I said.

Over glasses of Mr. Poet's father's buttery-toffee-scented, peat-smokey-flavored HOMEMADE WHISKEY (which it pains me to inform you that you can't get anywhere but at their house), Mrs. Poet (she was drinking seltzer, don't worry) said "I think I'll make a quiche for dinner with the eggs from our CSA."

Crust awaiting farm-fresh friends.

When I arrived for the Barn Raising, Mr. and Mrs. Poet were already busy in the kitchen. Their kitchen table was covered with tomatoes, potatoes, prune plums, turnips, a golden, dusty head of garlic, and a carton of eggs of delightfully varying sizes. It was their latest Farm Share haul, and they were sorting it into piles to muse on before tucking away into the fridge. Mouse, when I move back to your hood, we need to go in on a CSA together. It's crazy not to. For the uninitiated, a CSA (Community-Supported Agriculture) is a win-win situation where, for a yearly fee, you get to pick up a 'share' of fresh vegetables, fruits, eggs and/or even meat, sometimes flowers, that come straight from local farms. As the East Williamsburg CSA site says, "you are purchasing a direct link to the freshest local produce, providing farmers with much-needed capital at the beginning of the growing season, and investing in sustainable farm practices". Further info is at many web sites, but here's one for NYC folks, for starters.

AND more to the point.... you can taste the difference.

Farm-Share, Baby-Welcoming, Fresh-Egg Quiche with tomatoes, cheddar, and some kinda greens, I forget what, I was so enthralled with the taste of the eggs. Hard to describe, just delicate, super-fresh, and HEALTHY. And as always when eating REAL FOOD, I wondered "why would you eat anything else?"

This quiche was made out of local eggs and tomatoes (& store-bought grated cheddar thrown in, but it could easily have been farmer's market goat cheese, picked up on the way home from work). And - as all cooking is when you have stellar ingredients - it is SO, SO EASY. Mrs. Poet taught me this trick for the filling: Break the eggs into a measuring cup and whisk them. Then, just thinking "1/2 cup milk per egg" (because it doesn't actually measure out that way), pour milk into the same measuring cup til it reaches that line. ie, if you're using 4 eggs, pour in the milk til the "2 Cup" line has been reached. Then, whisk to combine and pour into a bowl.

Then, put ANYTHING you want in with the egg mixture -- a package of grated cheese, diced tomatoes, chopped fresh herbs, salt & pepper --- to heck with measurements - and pour it all into a prepared pie crust (yes, you can buy one). Bake it at 350 for probably 30 min (check at 20) or until a fork inserted in middle comes out clean and it isnt runny. Serve with a big green salad, and of course, movie-set-reject donuts afterwards. Expectant Moms will thank you.

What? What did I say? No pressure.

:-)

Love,

The Boo

Snapshot of a Dinner

Dear Boo,

What you see pictured here is not my most inspired creation, nor the most aesthetically appealing dish to grace our table, nor the most perfectly seasoned. In literal terms, its roasted pears and fennel, with a bit of balsamic and a healthy dose of blue cheese, intended to top a salad of mixed greens. In not so literal terms, it is love.

There are, as our mother has astutely noted, some times in life when you find yourself, for some reason unknown to any but the deepest, most primitive, wisest, most tucked-away part of your soul, taking a mental snapshot of a moment. Years ago, before the Boyfriend was even a twinkle in my eye, before I could even imagine imagining where we'd go, when all I knew was that around him I laughed harder and wilder than with anyone else, producing snorts and whoops and wheezing I barely knew I was capable of--one night, I sat across from him at a rehearsal table and before my mind had a chance to process it, before it had even occurred to me (I swear!), a tiny voice I didn't even recognize as my own, peeped up from inside me and told me that some day I would kiss this person and that it would change everything. I remember that moment. I remember where I was sitting in the room. I remember what our chairs looked like. I remember the wood grain on the table. I remember the lights from the windows of the apartment building across the street.

Years from now, I will close my eyes and call up a snapshot of our dinner table. I will remember the candles. I will remember the light blue of the napkins we always use. I will remember dipping our hands into a giant bowl of mussels, trying, as we always do, to eat slower. Talking, as we always do, between bites of broth-soaked crusty bread. Laughing, as we always do, our mouths full.

I will not, however, remember this salad.

We never ate it.

For once in my life, I was actually too happy to finish a meal.

And so was The Fiance. :)

Love,

The Mouse

There's No Denying It.

Dear Boo,

Though this has probably been obvious for quite some time, it's only just been made blatantly clear to me that I am, in fact, a food geek. What clued me in, you might ask?

Exhibit A:
I recently donned pigtails and a gas station work shirt emblazoned with a name tag reading CARL, got on a ferry one early Saturday morning, and spent the day slinging pork for the Pig Island Event on Governor's Island, at the Grill-A-Chef booth.

If foodies attend such events, food GEEKS volunteer for them.

It was a blast.

Read more about it (and get the recipe) here.

Exhibit B:
The other morning, on a crowded subway platform on 168th Street, elbowing my way into the elevator up to street level, trying not to spill my coffee or drop my umbrella, I actually shrieked when, while listening to a podcast of the Sporkful, I heard the host mention my name and QUOTE me!

If a food nerd listens to a podcast called the SPORKFUL, then a food dork writes in to said podcast, and a food GEEK gets overly excited and texts everyone she knows.

I can't even touch the fact that the episode was about oatmeal and my comment was an impassioned vote for a savory breakfast version you see above. I don't even know what to call a person who does that.

Listen to it here! Or download the Sporkful podcast here! (I'm right towards the end. You can call me The Closer.)

Yours in Geekdom,

The Mouse

Hot Dogs for Breakfast (Chicago, IL)

Dear Mouse,

So there I was. A beautiful, autumnal Monday morning in Chicago, at I'm gonna say, 10AM (which was 11 for me, still on NYC time, but still - !), attempting to answer this question:

"So how would you feel about hot dogs for breakfast?"

...!!!

The speaker was my host and companion Vitamin A, who my friend Dave likes to call "Abe Froman" (as in, Ferris Bueller's "Sausage King of Chicago"). I was pondering the irony of this when I realized A was waiting for an answer. He couldn't possibly be serious, so I just laughed ... and then, in the pause that followed, heard the unmistakable sound of a carefully-crafted itinerary crashing onto a hardwood floor. Hastily, I scooped up the shards and plastered them back together into something that sounded like:

"I mean, why not? That sounds great!"

and then, weakly,

"But I think maybe we should do EITHER hot dogs OR pizza "(which I knew was coming at dinnertime), "not both."

Here was breakfast:

"Chicago-style hot dog, with Everything" (pickle slice, onions, tomatoes, relish, mustard)

Marsala and Roasted Garlic Wild Boar Sausage. What.

and, as I'm sure will not surprise anyone, here was dinner:

Deep dish w/pepperoni, green olives, mushrooms, and fresh garlic.

There was a long walk in between; that's gotta count for something.

Vitamin A is one of those entirely suspect people who a) claims he rarely eats, b) eats, c) has out-consumed me every time we've eaten, and d) shows absolutely no evidence of this on his physical frame, du tout. You would never know, for example, that this was by no means his first time eating both "Hot Doug's" and Pequod's Pizza in the same day. Live and learn...

...and, when in Chicago, eat these things:

For Breakfast ... MILK and HONEY
Allow me to suggest a rich, cake-y, big ol' slice of banana bread with an umistakable cardamom streak and the crunch of sugar crystals throughout. Fabulous coffee. Natch.

For Alternative Breakfast... HOT DOUG's
This "Encased Meat Emporium" boasts a menu that includes Alligator, Wild Boar, Chicken, 'Bacon Sausage', Bratwurst, Andouille, and His Eminence the "The Dog", as seen above.

For Rainy Afternoon "Tea"...THE GAGE outside the Art Institute (where you should go for, you know, Art).

OK: Poutine is french fries doused in gravy and covered in melty cheese curds. I know, it totally sounded gross to me too. It's awesome. At this joint, it's fancified, involving "Elk Ragout" and bits of meat in the sauce. Also on the menu are brussel sprouts w/melted brie & bacon and if you don't order that you are Wrong. If, like me, you are not a beer drinker but are somehow seduced by the list of craft beers you can get a glass of beautifully autumnal Southern Tier "Pum-King" Pumpkin Ale. Pumpkin pie spice "on the nose", is what I'd say if I talked like that, and a flavor aptly described by our server as "roasted pumpkin". I loved it. If like A, you are an actual beer drinker, you probably will not. Order something more like Bell's Best Brown Ale, which is deep and nutty and I still can't drink more than half a glass of that kind of thing. It helps if it is a grey and blustery day outside. It does not help if you leave your umbrella there. Just FYI.

For Just-Off-The-Plane Kinda Fancy Dinner... West Town Tavern

"Contemporary Comfort Food". Yep. Pesto Gnocchi, Duck Confit, Trout, Apple Crisp. Done. Vitamin A claims that whenever I taste something delicious for the first time, my eyes inadvertently close, and this may be why I can't remember what the trout looked like.

For Last-Night-in-Town Flourish, We-had-Hot-Dogs-For-Breakfast Dinner...

Pequod's Pizza.

Oh the honor and the glory. Chicago Deep Dish, I bow before you. As a New Yorker, I am obligated to balk at calling this "pizza", but can embrace it as just plain Joy on a Fork. Fresh garlic is IT; totally 'makes' the whole pizza and it is best to be sharing it with someone who is also eating it as they are not kidding about the garlic and it will seep out of your pores for the whole night (worth it). I carried a leftover slice in my purse all the way to NYC on the plane. Better the next day.

So long Chicago. I'll be back soon - you're a Hard Habit To Break. An Inspiration. (Couldn't resist!)

By the way, did you know that there really is an Abe Froman? I didn't.

Love,

The Boo

Cheap Date

Dear Boo,

I've been suffering lately from a painful condition called Broke, brought on by prolonged exposure to graduate school and a severe income deficiency. It's been difficult. So when the birthday of a certain tall person with whom I share an apartment rolled around, I realized I'd have to make a few adjustments to my celebratory plans. In other words, no Per Se for us. Now, while the Boyfriend has never been one for big, overblown, expensive celebrations, if there's one occasion that I believe calls for splurging, it's a birthday. So I was determined to find a way to plan a worthy date, sacrificing none of the exuberance, specialness, or sexy, while conserving some of the cash.

What I came up with, I think, has taught me a few things about dating on the cheap. And birthdays. And cake.

Going somewhere out of the ordinary automatically = special.
Unless, of course that place is Guantanamo, within reason, getting out of the usual neighborhood or the haunts where everybody knows your name, feels good. In fact, it's scientifically proven. Ever wonder why vacation makes you feel like you're falling in love all over again? It's because you are. Just changing your environment tricks your brain into thinking everything is new--it actually mimics that feeling you get when your partner is brand new and everything feels exciting and special. I told the Boyfriend we would be--gasp--Brooklyn bound. Shudder. Tremble. Flutter.

If you're going to go cheap, at least go clever.
The Boyfriend loves fried chicken. And has been known on a few occasions to suggest that one of the great tragedies of our era is that no one goes out for a slice of pie anymore. Not long ago, I read a post on this blog about Pies n Thighs in Brooklyn, a humble establishment devoted to just that--fried chicken and pie, and pleasantly reminiscent of that classy Providence offering, Legs n Eggs which had a slightly more x-rated take on things. It's cheap, it specializes in two of the best things on the planet, and the answer to the Boyfriend's ubiquitous question: Can I wear shorts? would be a resounding YES.

But I had to find at least one thing to splurge on. Sorry, it's just my nature.

An expensive drink is still cheaper than an expensive meal.
I asked around to those more in the Brooklyn-know, and found Hotel Delmano, a hipster paradise just a short walk from our final fried and greasy destination. If we were going low-brow for dinner, we'd go high-brow for cocktails. Candle-lit, and of course, lacking any visible signage, the bar is a converted tattoo parlor with fogged mirrors and a long wooden bar. We sidled up, elbowing our way through the handlebar mustaches and high-waisted pants, and ordered a Smoke & Flowers for me (St. Germain, sherry, dry vermouth, Ardberg single malt scotch) and a Rattlesnake for the Boyfriend (rye, absinthe, lemon, egg white). Both delicious. Both strong. Both excellent with the oysters we ordered to round out the experience. Our appetites whetted, and before we could end up waist deep in a sea of hipsters, we struck out for our next stop.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again. Eating with your hands is sexy.
There was a wait at the restaurant when we got there, but when you're on a good date, a little standing around under a streetlight never hurt anyone.

At a table for two, in the courtyard out back, we dug into our Chicken Boxes, three pieces of perfectly fried, juicy and crispy chicken, alongside a biscuit the size of a frisbee, flaky, warm and the essence of butter. The Boyfriend got collard greens, and I had the waitresses favorite, a special of green beans in a tomato sauce, over the creamiest bowl of hot grits. And I have to say, knowing the bill would be well within my means (the box is $11), freed up some mental guilt space to spend on the fried chicken and biscuit. And spend it, I did. We took a banana cream pie for the road. Because it's true. Going out for a slice of pie is a lost art.

It's not a birthday without (this) cake.
The next day, on the Boyfriend's actual birthday, I made a cake. But not just any cake. It's a special cake because a) it's probably hands down the most delicious chocolate cake I've ever made. and b) it was made during my fast for yom kippur and baking a cake for someone--a big huge, frosted, chocolate cake--when you have not eaten all day and your stomach is talking LOUDLY to its neighboring organs, well if that's not love, I don't know what love is.

It's a combination of a few recipes--the cake is from a recipe given to me by our Uncle, after hearing about it on some Morning Show, as Epicurious' most viewed recipe. And lemme tell you, there's a reason for the hype. It's deep and rich and perfectly moist, with a texture that I can only describe as having just the right amount of air in between the crumbs. And, because I always have to complicate things, I decided to make a milk chocolate frosting. It's a little fussy, but it's so worth it. And you get to exercise your custard-making abilities which is good not only for your cooking repetoire, but your stand-up routine, because let's face it, custard is comic gold.

In the end, a good date is a good date, no matter how much you end up spending. Duh. And a birthday? Well, they're more complicated. But nothing makes the future look a little brighter than a slice of chocolate cake.

Love,

The Mouse

The Best Chocolate Birthday Cake Ever
(with thanks to Gourmet)

For cake layers
3 ounces fine-quality semisweet chocolate such as Callebaut
1 1/2 cups hot brewed coffee
3 cups sugar
2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 1/2 cups unsweetened cocoa powder (not Dutch process)
2 teaspoons baking soda
3/4 teaspoon baking powder
1 1/4 teaspoons salt
3 large eggs
3/4 cup vegetable oil
1 1/2 cups well-shaken buttermilk
3/4 teaspoon vanilla

For frosting
2/3 cup whole milk
3 large egg yolks
1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon all-purpose flour
1 1/3 cups confectioners sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla
3 sticks (1 1/2 cups) unsalted butter, cut into tablespoon pieces and softened
8 oz milk chocolate, melted and cooled
2 oz unsweetened chocolate, melted and cooled

Make cake layers:
Preheat oven to 300°F. and grease pans. Line bottoms with rounds of wax paper and grease paper.

Finely chop chocolate and in a bowl combine with hot coffee. Let mixture stand, stirring occasionally, until chocolate is melted and mixture is smooth.

Into a large bowl sift together sugar, flour, cocoa powder, baking soda, baking powder, and salt. In another large bowl with an electric mixer beat eggs until thickened slightly and lemon colored (about 3 minutes with a standing mixer or 5 minutes with a hand-held mixer). Slowly add oil, buttermilk, vanilla, and melted chocolate mixture to eggs, beating until combined well. Add sugar mixture and beat on medium speed until just combined well. Divide batter between pans and bake in middle of oven until a tester inserted in center comes out clean, 1 hour to 1 hour and 10 minutes.

Cool layers completely in pans on racks. Run a thin knife around edges of pans and invert layers onto racks. Carefully remove wax paper and cool layers completely. Cake layers may be made 1 day ahead and kept, wrapped well in plastic wrap, at room temperature.

Make frosting:
Heat milk in a 1- to 1 1/2-quart heavy saucepan over moderate heat until hot. Whisk together yolks, flour, 1/3 cup confectioners sugar, and a pinch of salt in a bowl, then add hot milk in a stream, whisking. Transfer custard to saucepan and bring to a boil over moderate heat, whisking. Reduce heat and simmer, whisking, 2 minutes (mixture will be very thick), then transfer to a large bowl. Cover surface of custard with a buttered round of wax paper and cool completely, about 45 minutes.

Add vanilla and remaining cup confectioners sugar to custard and beat with cleaned beaters at moderate speed until combined well, then increase speed to medium-high and beat in butter, 2 tablespoons at a time, until smooth. Add chocolates and beat until combined well.

Frost cake. Make sure the cakes have cooled COMPLETELY. I thought I was good, only to discover the middle layer of frosting had melted and oozed out. I must have gotten a little impatient. Learn from my mistakes.

Baker's Dozen 4: The Baker, Brendan Corr

Dear Mouse,

Happy Rosh Hashanah! *Sneeze, Sneeze. Cough.* Love that traditional post-show, change of season head cold.
So while it sucks that I can neither smell nor taste anything on the night of our family's (arguably) most delicious feast, it brightens my spirits a little to bring family and food together in another way: with the latest Baker's Dozen Interview - !

This time, I checked in with The Baker himself, our cousin-in-law, Brendan Corr, who is currently working dough-related magic as Chef de Cuisine at Co., the classy west-side Pizza and Snack Palace. Although he was characteristically cagey about certain things (he claims his recipes are "not ready for publication"), he is never shy about sharing his opinions or his enthusiasm. Here we go.

1) What are your earliest food memories?

Being in the kitchen as a toddler while my mother made pancakes. I would hang onto her leg as she tried to cook.

2)When did you know you wanted to make food professionally?

Somewhere between my first professional baking experience at The City Bakery, and managing the Greenmarkets. At the Market I got to know a lot of chefs. Some of them would let me trail in their kitchens. I was eager to learn, and being surrounded by food and knowledgeable people made it fun and exciting. In the kitchen at City Bakery I was happy doing the work. It was constant, precise, and required the use of body and mind.

3) You grew up in Ohio and Maryland, currently live in NYC, spend/spent a lot of timein Vermont, and did a brief sojourn in Los Angeles, about which we usually do not speak. What is your favorite food city?

New York. (Almost) everything is here. That being said, the Northeast Kingdom in VT, where I've spent a lot of time, is becoming an interesting pocket of creative and delicious food. Jasper Hill is doing a lot of good work for small cheesemakers in VT., not to mention little known breweries and other food producers in the region. I also think that NYC doesn't do regional American cooking well. I am from Baltimore, so my first 8 summers were spent consuming a lot of Crabs and Crabcakes. I haven't found anything close to that in New York. I actually broke up with a girlfriend after she took me out for crabs here and they were bad.

4) If you did not work in food, what do you think you'd be doing?

Something scientific that kept me outdoors most of the time. Marine Ecology? Biologists? Out on the sidewalk asking for change?

5) What are the top mistakes home cooks make that could be easily solved?

Overthinking things. Ingredients tend to prefer minimal processing to be delicious. A lot of recipes I see for home cooks overcomplicate by either adding steps, or adding ingredients that aren't really necessary.

6) Most annoying food trend at the moment.

-Pizza
-Standing in line for food.
-People on yelp. It is obvious to everyone that you are an unhappy person. Please don't share your complaining.
-Following David Chang like a smitten teenager. Someone announce him as prom king and get over it please.
-Chefs that go on about what annoys them...

7) Fall is coming!!! What should I make with fresh pumpkin?

Pumpkin Bread. I have a recipe that I love.

8) Favorite hangover cure?

Stage restaurant, large coffee, couch.

9) One food you simply could not live without.

Bread

10) Have you ever used your powers for evil?

Depends on what you mean by evil.

11) What do you do when you go to someone's house for dinner and the food is really terrible?

Have some more wine.

12) I've heard chefs like to play a game of "last supper"--as in, what your final meal would be if you could choose. What would yours be?

It would involve meat and potatoes, I know that much.

13) You and I share an enthusiasm for peaches. Yet somehow I have not cooked with them or eaten more than two all summer. Do you have any interesting peach-related recipes/ideas to share before it gets cold?

Get them while you can. I like them in almost any form. Peach yogurt? Totally. You can make it at home, I'll show you how.


And that's the latest. On a personal note, I would like to apologize for the pathetic, ran-out-of-brown-sugar-and-I-was-too-tired-to-buy-some apple crisp I will be bringing to the festivities. The Baker would be horrified. (Sneeze. Cough. Repeat)

Love,
The Boo

Meditating on Jam

Dear Boo,

The other day, in a state of that kind of agita that makes your chest feel hot and your breathing short and your limbs feel like they might go flailing off at unnatural angles, I decided maybe it was time to sit down and try meditating again. I picked a spot near the window with a nice breeze, pulled out my meditation cushion, or as we refer to it in our house, the place you sit when the laptop is charging and the cord doesn't reach the couch. I took a deep breath, crossed my legs under me, relaxed my face and let my eyes go half mast, fixing gently on a spot on the hardwood floor in front of me where the wood grain comes together in a swirling pattern, and tried to let go. I remembered what I'd been taught, to focus on my breath and whenever the mind wanders, which it inevitably will, to notice it, acknowledge it, let go and return to your breath. I can't say my attempt on this day was too successful--I know, I know, not that one should approach such things with the judgments of success and failure--I did, after all, succeed in sitting down quietly for five whole minutes, which let's face it, is half the battle--but I can't say my mind was stilled in any way. I emerged those five minutes later, breathing a little more slowly, my knees a little stiff, the agita tentatively abated, thinking about...apricot jam.

You see, what was really on my mind was the whole idea of holding on and letting go, and how, I dare say, 90% of my life, my decisions, my passions, my feelings, my resistances, my fears, my joys, come down to this balance between those two things. It's been on my mind lately, what with all the panic-attacking about being forced to let go of summer before I might be ready, and came up again this week as I closed this show and went through that familiar dance of denial, mourning, relief, and grief that happens when we come together in art and friendship and intimacy with a group of previous strangers, only to part again when the calendar dictates it's time. The Buddhists among us would say that all suffering comes from holding onto things we have no business possessing, desiring, or controlling, and that we may only transcend this suffering when we let go of that need to attach ourselves to things. Most of the time this makes sense to me, when I find myself tying myself in knots over expectations and goals that I've long outgrown or have been shown to be neither desirable nor realistic, nor in any way pleasant. Or when I was talking last week with a fellow cast-mate about those nights when you find yourself on stage, holding so tight to the performance you WANT to give, the one you gave last night, the one you PLANNED for, crafted, did all that GD homework for, but the tighter you hold onto it, the further away it feels, the more impossible, the more irrelevant it becomes and all you can do, (all you should have done to begin with!) is LET GO of all of it, what you thought it would be, what you want it to be, what you thought you knew....sigh. So easy to say, and so, so so hard to do.

Apricot Jam and Apricot Syrup

But sometimes, sometimes, I wonder if there isn't something to this whole holding on thing. After all, if we didn't hold tight to some things, sometimes too tight, how would we know the joy, the calm, the freedom that comes with letting go? Which brings me back to my apricot jam. Knowing my steadfast desire to hold onto summer as long as possible, to eke out a few more weeks of fresh berries and tomatoes, sandy toes, balmy, homework-free evenings, could there be anything more illustrative of my destructive, non-enlightened need to HOLD ON than going through the process of canning and preserving seasonal, perfectly ripe fruit? Instead of being in the moment, popping a fresh apricot in my mouth as I stood by the open window, enjoying the late August breeze, I chose to add sugar, cook down those beautiful fruits until they fell apart, and seal them up in glass jars to sit on my shelf.

So, what's my point? Well, it's twofold. First, the jam is delicious, like apricots to the Nth degree, sweet but tart, perfect with butter and toast, heaven on greek yogurt, and this fall, perfect for the roast apricot chicken Grandma used to make. And Second, in the process of making this, I found myself a couple of steps closer to letting go. There was something about spending an afternoon in the kitchen, immersed in the scent of summer fruit, filling jar after jar with the most beautiful peachy liquid gold, that made me feel a little bit okay with the approaching Autumn. I'll still kick and scream all the way back to school, and probably go off on another fresh corn binge before the summer is out, but I feel like I've loosened my grip a little. And thank goodness for that. Because as much as I like to tell myself otherwise, there are actually a few things I don't have control over.

Apricot syrup with seltzer: homemade apricot soda!

A Mouse Royale: prosecco with apricot syrup. Let it come to room temp first for maximum dissolve... (other cocktail ideas: vodka, soda and syrup, or vodka, ginger beer and syrup, a twist on a mojito...)

So, my advice to you? Buy a batch of apricots. Stand in the market and wonder at the mountain of pink and gold in front of you. Take them home. Eat half fresh, standing in front of an open window, with your eyes closed. Breathe. Then take the other half, and make this jam.

Love,

The Mouse

P.S. Any more ideas for what to do with the apricot syrup??

Apricot Jam, yoinked from David Lebovitz

2 pounds fresh apricots
1/2 cup water
6 cups sugar
1 tablespoon freshly-squeezed lemon juice
optional: 1 tablespoon kirsch

1. Cut the apricots in half and extract the pits. If you wish, crack a few open and put a kernel in each jam jar you plan to fill (isn't this nuts? I thought those things were poisonous, and apparently they contain cyanide if you actually eat them. So don't do that, but do try this if you want to give the jam a slightly almondy flavor).

2. Place the apricots in a very large stockpot, and add the water. Cover the pot and cook, stirring frequently, until the apricots are tender and cooked through.

3. Put a small plate in the freezer.

4. Add the sugar to the apricots and cook, uncovered, skimming off any foam that rises to the surface (do not throw this foam away! Save it and you'll have a batch of apricot syrup. Make homemade soda, cocktails, ice cream sundaes, add to pancakes, yogurt, a spoon...). As the mixture thickens and reduces, stir frequently to make sure the jam isn’t burning on the bottom.

5. When the jam looks thick and is looks slightly-jelled, turn off the heat and put a small amount of jam on the chilled plate. Put back in the freezer for a few minutes, then do the nudge test: If the jam mounds and wrinkles, it’s done. If not, continue to cook, then re-test the jam until it reaches that consistency.

6. Once done, stir in the lemon juice and kirsch, if using, and ladle the jam into clean jars. Cover tightly and let cool to room temperature. Once cool, refrigerate until ready to use.