Monday Blues, Monday News...

It's a bleary Monday and I've been feeling a little bit under the weather - so I thought I'd take it easy on myself and send out some linkage for you, which is really just a small compilation of articles I've read whilst snuggled up on the couch, that I thought you might enjoy...

Firstly, sad news for all you cooking mag readers. Gourmet, the food magazine beloved by all is being shut down. Bummer. Now's probably a good time to head to your printer and print off recipes from their website and snag their last issue. *sniff* You'll be missed, Gourmet!

The New York Times ran an article yesterday about a young girl who was poisoned by a lethal strand of E.coli from a burger she ate, packaged by Cargill. (In the article they reveal how one patty has beef from at least six different places. ) It's a tragic story, but more than worth reading. Also, it's an outrage when our country can't sell a package of ground beef from the same cow. Article here.

Have a laugh (because I'm guessing I've depressed you a little bit with today's linkage) while reading this article. Honestly, it's unbelievable that the food industry would put a health sticker on a box of Fruit Loops... but they do, and get away with it. Here's to hoping people are smarter than that!

And lastly, find out what it means to be southern, and cook southern food, by the charming Edna Lewis.

The Milk-Drinker's Dilemma

My second article for Flagpole was printed today. This one was a bit of a doozy to write (it took me several weeks and it took me away from TwinYolks for a spell). It's about raw milk vs. pasteurized milk. I thought many of you would enjoy reading about the issue - which is, I soon discovered - kind of a controversial one. Let me know what you think! It is right here waiting for you. Enjoy.

A Crafty Little Housewife.

I'm writing in honor of a friend of mine, Lauren Anne, who was married this past April to her husband, Zach. Shortly after their wedding, they moved together into a little stone cottage in Athens. The cottage was a dreamy, cozy little place down a gravel road surrounded by fields and rustic barns. It is a magical place tucked away in the woods - a hidden gem in this crazy city. They had everything a newly wedded couple could want: privacy, peace and quiet, a stone fireplace... The only downside was... the kitchen, or lack thereof.

For months my dear friend - who loves to bake - has been cramped up in this little hallway with no oven, a refrigerator the size one would find in a hotel room, and a two-burner stove. Needless to say the situation was less than ideal, especially for a brand new bride who has to stifle that ever incessant yearning to entertain, show off some of those registry items, and of course feed Zach.

She managed to do all of the above - and even succeeded in inventing a recipe that works for those who either don't have an oven or don't have much affection for their kitchens (you'll note she doesn't have a dishwasher, either). And she managed to do it all with locally grown food from ALG and the Farmer's Market.

(Look at her showing us all up in that lil' kitchen!)

So, thanks to ingenious Lauren Anne, we have an easy, local, end-of-summer recipe. These quesadillas are delicious, and I daresay you'll enjoy making it in whatever kitchen you have. (Although if you are displeased with your home kitchen setup, or if you just feel like drooling over magnificent kitchens, check out my other friend's design blog, Nest Egg, for some amazing design tips!)

Also, I'm pleased to announce that this story has a happy ending. Lauren Anne and Zach are now homeowners and she'll have to suffer no longer in her teensy weensy little cottage kitchen. Though, as thrilled as I am for them I must say I'm going to miss that gorgeous barn...

ENJOY!

Zucchini Quesadillas with Whole Wheat Tortillas

Olive oil

1 onion, coarsely chopped

Salt

4 cloves garlic , minced

2 medium zucchini (about 1 pound), halved lengthwise and thinly sliced crosswise

1/4 cup chopped fresh cilantro (optional)

4 (8-inch) flour tortillas

2 cups grated pepper jack cheese

Directions

In a large skillet, heat 3 tablespoons oil over medium heat. Add onion and 1 teaspoon salt; cook, stirring occasionally, until onion is soft, about 5 minutes. Stir in garlic; cook 1 minute more.

Add zucchini cook, stirring occasionally, until zucchini is soft about 6 minutes. Remove from heat; stir in cilantro.

Brush one side of all tortillas with remaining tablespoon oil; lay 2 tortillas, oiled side down, on a baking sheet. Place half of the filling on each, and sprinkle with half the cheese. Place remaining 2 tortillas on top, oiled side up; press down gently with a spatula to seal.

Bake until cheese has melted and tortillas are golden brown, top with fresh salsa! ((adapted from http://www.marthastewart.com/recipe/zucchini-quesadillas)

Full Of Good Things.

The season I love most has always been - and always will be - autumn. And every year, toward the end of summer, fall starts seeping into the air and it makes me crazy with delight. I put on courduroys and sweaters far too early. Also, I fill my head with thoughts about how fast time flies... and I wonder if it's just me or does everyone get so reflective around the coming of this season. I love that it isn't distinguishable by the tree's color change yet, but you can still smell its subtle approach - especially in the mornings. It's in the air somehow, and it grows, this feeling...

And it's full of good things.

I'm waiting for the perfect day to make this... and am excited about squash, pumpkins, sweet potatoes... all the yummy fall foods that are rolling in. I'm not quite ready to let go of the summer foods yet (I might cry when tomatoes are gone...), but right now is that perfect in-between stage, where you can enjoy a little bit of both.

Anyway, I wanted to share with you one of my favorite thoughts on fall, by George Eliot, who was actually a Georgina, but no less poetic.

"Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth
seeking the successive autumns."
- George Eliot

Delicious Autumn indeed.

Happy weekend, happy Fall!

First Publication - Hooray!

Remember our stint out on Greendale Farms?

Turns out all that pig feeding and egg collecting paid off! I was given the opportunity to write about it for a weekly magazine in Athens called Flagpole. The story was published today and I just had to share it with you. (It is, after all, one of the reasons, for my spotty appearances over the summer. And you, after all, are to be credited for all the writing encouragement you've given me.) Hope you enjoy the read!

Purple Rain.

The weather in Athens has been about as dreary as weather can be. The rain keeps falling, and the forecast keeps predicting more rain. John wakes up in the morning, peers out the window and sighs. As I drove to a local coffee shop (Walkers, my favorite) to get some writing finished, the DJ announced thunderstorms for the rest of the week, and then decided to commemorate the weather with a rather depressing tune by Tom Waits.

When I heard the song I realized I wasn't feeling as miserable about the weather as most people. Secretly, I love the rain. Nothing validates a cozy visit to the couch and with an alluring novel and a hot cup of tea quite like an overcast backdrop. However, I realize that some people (my husband included) get a little stir crazy with all this rain about, and so I have decided to commemorate what may end up being over two full weeks of scattered thunderstorms with a nod to the eggplant.

"Why the eggplant?" you ask. The obvious answer is that it looks - with its plump arresting figure - exactly like a raindrop. And right now it is fully in season. I love the way it sort of dangles down on its stem like a giant sized raindrop waiting to fall from a child-size umbrella. I also love to touch its glossy-slick exterior. The skin itself looks refreshing and clean, like it's just been polished by an adoring housekeeper.

Though it isn't the kind of vegetable people line up at market stands for, those who do know how to prepare an eggplant aren't the sort who would pass it up. One of the most popular presentations for it is the ever-delicious Eggplant Parmigiana. John and I made this dish on a sopping Saturday night, and have found it to be a perfect recipe in its entirety. (The link will take you to the Kitchen Bible's recipe, which is the recipe we used). As an aside, I'd like to gently insist that you never buy any of your cheeses pre-shredded. I've learned (the hard way) that the flavor evaporates quickly once cheese is shredded so it's best to buy the block and shred yourself.

You won't be sorry. And believe me when I tell you that the results of this Parmigana are divine. And right now is the time to snatch up the last of the tomatoes and pluck a few sleek eggplant from your farmer's market - along with some fresh basil - and make this adoringly sweet, fragrant, mouth-watering dish. Play your own homage to the rain - and to the eggplant (Purple Rain, perhaps?) with this dish, because before you know it, the rain will clear out and it'll be gone.

New Mexico, I Love You.

OH that we all could just eat delicious food and travel to exotic lands.

(Sometimes I wish that were what life was about...)

I've been at the beach, it's true, but I also packed up my husband and snuck away to Santa Fe for a visit with my brother and sister-in-law. You've met them before, I believe. They are the ones who I admire so much in that little sister kind of way.

They're out west, living the dream, or at least their surroundings are the dreamiest one could ask for. New Mexico is full of astonishing beauty,

culture,

peppers,

chilies,

and an amazing, farm-fresh salad bistro called Vinaigrette that John and Bea help grow for. (Their slogan is "Saving the Planet...One Salad at a Time." Does it get more wonderful than organic salads? Just the thought of their deliciousness makes me want to go start shaking olive oil and balsamic like a celebratory rattler in a Mariachi band. Clearly that's my cup of tea, but my guess is that if you love impossibly fresh salads combined with decadent wine, it's yours too.)

John and Bea also took us to the Santa Fe Farmer's Market, which is a spectacular market. People were flocking around the pepper roaster, vying for samples of the different flavored peppers, which were also strung in hefty clumps looking electric and bright, like Christmas lights. There were people selling downy sheepskin rugs, a man fire-roasting mild green peppers over a spit, sausage links hanging languidly for sale from the top of the sausage tent and happy bright sunflowers peering out at you from all over the alleyway. It was blissful.

I don't have a recipe for you today, but I do have a little expression of admiration for Santa Fe, and its Farmer's Market. Not to mention my dear brother and sister-in-law, who are out there relentlessly farming, growing, contributing, and being wonderful examples to us all.

Beachy Keen

Hey yall.

I'm headed out of town... but wanted to tell each of you

to have a wonderful weekend.

And have some chilled

peaches in white wine (or champagne)

while you are at it. You deserve it.

Disco Squash.

When I glance at this photo, even I have to remind myself that these waxen-looking psychedelic flowers are in fact edible. Yes, I agree with you, they really do look like useless decorative trinkets straight from the 1970's. If you stare at the above photograph for too long you might find yourself having to resist the urge to slap on some bell bottoms and spin around your kitchen to Stayin' Alive. And when I say spin, I mean in your old rollerskates (you know you kept them). So why not. This recipe is radical. And it's so much fun to make that getting into character would only enhance the experience. My advice is to get your groove on while making a delicious meal and let the taste of it send you to your happy place. If that happened to be the 1970's... well, groovy.

Psychedelically Stuffed Patty Pan Squash

(adapted from THIS recipe)

4 Patty Pan Squash

1 onion, chopped

1/2 lb. lean sausage

3/4 lb. fresh parsley, chopped

*1 1/2 cups bread crumbs

1/2 tsp. fresh cracked pepper

1 tbsp. olive oil

pinch of goat or feta cheese for topping

serves 4

Preheat oven to 350. Halve squash horizontally and hollow out each slice with a spoon, as indicated in photo. Set aside. Crumble sausage into a pan and cook. While sausage is cooking, chop onion and parsely and blend In a food processor until finely mixed but not mealy. Remove sausage when cooked and drain. Over medium high heat, add onion/parsely mix to sausage fat and cook for two minutes or until softened. If there is an excess of grease in the pan scoop some out, you really just want some of the flavor mixed in with the onion and parsely.

In a large bowl, combine breadcrumbs, salt, pepper, sausage, onion/parsely and the water. Stir to mix very well. Set squash halves in a baking dish just big enough to hold all slices. If you have trouble with them toppling over trim the bottom with a knife. Divide the mixture among each squash and, using a spoon, scoop the mixture into each half. Tamp down the mixture into each squash half with the spoon so they are nicely packed and place in the dish. Pour 1/2 an inch of water into the dish and cover with aluminum foil. Bake for 30 minutes and then remove the aluminum foil and bake for another 15 minutes or until the mixture is nicely browned and looks crisp. Remove from the oven and sprinkle preferred cheese atop each squash. Serve when cooled just a bit.

*Homemade breadcrumbs - In a food processor take rustic bread (I prefer sourdough) and chop or tear into 1 inch pieces. Blend until the crumbs are smaller than a dime. Pour crumbs into a pan lightly coated with olive oil (should be heated to medium/medium high) and cook the breadcrumbs over medium heat for about five minutes. Add sea salt as desired and shake the pan occasionally. Remove crumbs and let rest on a paper towel and leave them uncovered - they will get crispier the longer they are exposed to the air. Set aside until ready to use.

At Long Last.

Where were we? Ah, yes... parfait. It took me a little while to get my hands on the exact ingredients for you to recreate this summertime gem of a breakfast recipe, but at long last I have succeeded.

You see, there's this melon it requires, and it is so cool, crisp, perfect and popular that it's become kind of tricky to get your hands on. That's my excuse for being gone so long, but anyway... LOOK AT IT! It's beautiful, don't you think? Yes, of course it is, that must be why it is called a Sun Jewel Melon. Here before us is the reason why it is so captivating to shop directly from a farmer: they grow strange and delightful foods that are mysterious, unfamiliar and (drumroll please)... out-of-this-world delicious. When I see the cheery yellow of the Sun Jewel Melon, I am reminded of how dingy and droopy my own garden turned out this summer and I realize: not just anybody could grow this...

It's true. And especially not easily without Roundup or some other pesticides. Not only is this an Asian variety, but it was also grown organically - which is another way of saying "the hard way." So gratitude, awe and high praise for Sundance Farm is in order, but also genuine appreciation for the toil that is organic farming. It's easy to stroll into a grocery store and purchase foods without a second thought, but if you have ever tried to grow even a few tomatoes (much less a melon) then you know how difficult (and hot outside) it really is. But lucky for those of us who can't grow food very well, some genius nearby is doing it, and so I'm going to stop yakking and give them my money.

Then I'm going to run home with my special melon and hack it into juicy chunks and place those chunks atop the most genuine, rustic, fresh granola I can find (ahem, Mertie's), and I'm going to add whichever fruits I adore most (but raspberries and blueberries especially - because they are in season) and I am going to drizzle heavy cream over this pile of heavenly goodness and eat it up. After that I am going to feel as bright-eyed and special as a jewel sparkling in the sun.

That's the recipe.

So, if you can't find the Sun Jewel Melon I suggest you purchase a very fragrant cantaloupe as a substitute, but you are not allowed to skip out on the heavy cream, ya hear?

Bon Appetit!

Last evening, as promised, John took me to see Julie & Julia. We both loved it. Yes, you heard right… we both. How could we not? Meryl was as spot-on, hilarious and boisterous as ever, and Amy Adams was an accurate, melodramatic version of pretty much every woman in America, me included. The movie was adorable. So much so, that there was a surprising burst of applause from the theatre when it ended. My husband and I continued to chuckle over it as we walked to the car. Clearly, I can’t shut up about it, so… off you go.

In addition to your movie review, I wanted to say that my extended absence has been due to a lot of I don’t even know what. Insufficient though that answer is, it’s also true. Instead of trying to sit down and write I’ve been trying to figure out why I don’t seem to have any thoughts for the sharing. I’ve come to the conclusion that I have been too tired and too busy from the farm week(s) to put forth the energy. I guess I needed a little break. I wish I had the foresight to tell you that I am going to take a break but it never seems to work that way. I will sit down at my computer and desperately type senseless gobbledygook, and then bemoan my loss of talent before I will come to the conclusion that my brain needs a rest. That’s how the process apparently works. It is to both of our disadvantage, I assure you.

Anyway, I should remark on the fact that I have the most gracious, patient, understanding and thoughtful readers a blogger could ask for, and I want to thank you for sticking with me even when it seems I repeatedly abandon my TwinYolks post without so much as typing a “goodbye.”

But take heart! I have not abandoned my TwinYolks post. I am here to say, “Hello! I’m back!” and tell you once again, that local, farm fresh food is the most worthy food in the world, and that you are going to want to get cooking after you see Julie & Julia and you might as well surrender to purchasing local foods or else your Boeuf Bourguignon will forever be sub par.

So I can't prove it, because I have yet to make Boeuf Bourguignon, but if you don’t believe me, then just view my treasure trove of tiny little bejeweled Mexican Midgets – a type of small tomato. If these adorable beauties don’t appeal to you, I don’t know what will. I pop them into my mouth whenever I so desire, and when I do, I feel like I am eating shiny marbles that Willy Wonka turned into candy. They are that good.

Still unconvinced? Stick around. I’ll be back in no time with my tasty summer parfait recipe, as promised. Enjoy your weekend, and the movie.

Life In The Sticks.

My original plan was to write more during the farm sitting days. Seems the main thing I've been doing more of over the past two weeks is drinking coffee. I'm sorry. The days out here have been unpredictable, long and pretty dang exhausting. I don't want to sound like a whiner, I love it out here and I think you would too. So, in case you are interested in ever running an animal farm, here's a little preview of what to expect...

- Pigs and chickens must be fed, even in the rain.

- Pigs and chickens smell worse after a heavy rainstorm.

-Risk of falling into pig mud is worse after said rainstorm.

- Wonder is everywhere.

(a moth...but what kind?)

- Companions make all the difference.

-They (sort of) make you feel safer, when surrounded by unsettling sights.

- Hard work makes relaxing much more gratifying. Relaxing is best with a little friend.

And last but certainly not least...

- Country livin calls for country food.

Delicious sauteed sweet corn with carmelized onions, tomatoes & lightly fried okra. For the best results, gather heirloom tomatoes from your farmer's market and the freshest corn & okra you can find. This recipe is ideal for summertime and exhaustion. It may not seem impressive, but it is, I promise. Check it out HERE.

I Think We Should All Go.

I think this looks delightful.

John thinks it looks a little too chick-flickish,

but he's taking me anyway.

Of Cabbages And Kings.

Maharajah John...

and his shy Maharani would like to give you a cabbage recipe today, one that doesn't make us want to yawn and start setting up picnic tables (that would be cole slaw...). Cabbage is a little bit of a threat to creativity, as it seems to represent two uninspiring cooking options: one already noted and the other being Sauerkraut.

Don't get me wrong, both coleslaw and Sauerkraut are tasty accoutrements. Yet, in my humble opinion, they are a little bit too fail safe in capturing one's imagination. And since I've received via Athens Locally Grown a cabbage the size of a bowling ball, perhaps it can't hurt to try for some artistic mileage.

I know. It's cabbage. The word alone sounds particular, crabby and disenchanting. It resembles something you would kick around out of boredom. Yet I would argue that anyone who is glum at the thought of working with cabbage doesn't realize what a relenting and agreeable vegetable they're using. It not only has remarkable health value, but also partners up well with any sort of spice, meat, or cooking method one could imagine. For example, cabbage can be sauteed into an Asian stir-fry, grilled alongside a burger or submerged into a hearty soup.

In trying to figure out to do with this great ball of boredom, John and I each manned cookbooks and scurried through their respective "C" indices. What struck our fancy was the cabbage rolls, yet we were ill supplied to make them. However, they are impressive looking, and I would bet the farm (were it mine), that they are delicious, maybe even fit for a king (that is, you).

Recipe HERE.

Also, are you enjoying Ratatouille...? Or perhaps chocolate cake?

Let me know!

A Borrowed Life.

There is something about this place. Green Dale Farm, that is. John and I are back here for the next two weeks. In case this seems confusing, we did a four day stint a few weeks back to grow accustomed to the daily routines, and now the owner is in South Africa with his family while we manage their farm.

We've been entrusted with the care of countless hens, two dogs, two cats, one fish, one bunny, six ducks and twelve muddy pigs, one of which is expecting. In addition to providing for them, we also collect around two hundred eggs per day. (Sidenote: double twinyolks for breakfast this morning!)

Maybe that sounds like a lot of labor under the Southern July sun, but we are enjoying every moment we have out here. Perhaps not the initial moment of waking up, which is at a godforsaken hour, but once the coffee reaches our bloodstream we become aware of how magical and pleasant this farm life is: it is almost like waking up to find you get to play around in a dream.

The 3 Winners.

Dear Readers,

A while back, perhaps about three weeks ago, I was in a little bit of a cooking funk. Nothing I seemed to produce was worthy of neither photograph nor paragraph. With a small smile and a little nudge I managed to prod my husband into more and more dining out ventures, and I suppose it is also true that for that spell he was eating quite a bit of cereal. As the days went by my beautiful vegetables turned from freshness, and I let them slip through my fingers and fall, rotten and whole, straight into the compost.

The three recipes up for your vote were each significant into bringing delight back into the process of cooking. And I think you all deserve to have each of them. However, before I reveal all the "secret" ingredients I want to tell you a little secret, if I may.

When I cook for myself, I might as well not cook at all. The endeavor usually ends poorly. This idea is mysterious to me, but it is a reinforced truth. Food ought to be prepared with someone else in mind whenever possible. Food ought to be cooked and shared with love. Always. Whether it be a decadent chocolate cake or a lunchtime pb&j - I've learned that if you make it with love, then you'll fall in love with the process of making it.

With LOVE,

Annie

P.S. I would also like to recommend some Edith Piaf for the Ratatouille-making, and be sure to note that you cannot rush delicious Ratatouille. Be patient, go slow, and enjoy yourself. That, and this dish is (even more) pure bliss with a poached egg.

Roasted Eggplant Ratatouille

(yes, it's a Molly Wizenberg recipe, but it is NOT on her website. Buy her book!)

1 lb. eggplant, sliced crosswise into 1 in. thick rounds

olive oil

1 lb. zucchini, trimmed, halved lengthwise, & sliced into 1/2 in. thick half-moons

1 medium yellow onion, thinly sliced

1 lg. red bell pepper, cored, seeded, and chopped

4 lg. cloves garlic, thinly sliced

5 Roma tomatoes, seeded and chopped

3/4 tsp. salt

3 sprigs fresh thyme

1 bay leaf

1/4 cup finely chopped fresh basil

Position a rack in the middle of the oven, and preheat the oven to 400F.

Arrange the eggplant rounds in a single layer on a rimmed baking sheet. Pour 2 tbsp olive oil in a small bowl, and brush onto the eggplant. Flip the slices and brush the second sides as well, taking care that each has a thin coating of oil. Bake for 30 min, flipping the slices halfway through, until soft and lightly browned on each side. Remove from the oven and cool. Cut into rough 1 inch pieces. Set aside.

Warm 2 tbsp olive oil over med-high heat in a large, deep skillet. Add the zucchini and cook, stirring occasionally, until golden and just tender, 10 to 12 mins. Remove from the pan, taking care to leave behind any excess oil, and set it aside. If there is no oil left in the pan, add about 1 tbsp; if there is still some remaining, proceed to the next step. Reduce the heat to medium, and add the onion and cook, stirring occasionally, until slightly softened, 4 to 5 minutes. Add the bell pepper and garlic and cook, stirring occasionally, until just tender but not browned, about 6 minutes. Add the tomatoes, salt, thyme, and bay leaf and stir to combine. Reduce the heat to low, cover, and cook for 5 minutes. Add the eggplant and zucchini, stir to incorporate, and cook until everything is very tender, 15 to 20 minutes more. Taste, and adjust the seasonings as necessary. Discard the bay leaf, and stir in the basil.

Serve hot, warm, or at room temperature, with additional salt for sprinkling.

Note: Ratatouille is even better on the second day or the third (although John and I ate it immediately, this is probably true... oh well) If you can, plan to make it ahead of time, so that the flavors have time to meld and ripen. Also, be sure to have some crusty bread on hand for sopping up the slurry at the bottom of the bowl.

OTHER WINNERS

• Don't worry, I didn't forget desert, but I must give credit where credit is due - John's birthday cake is HERE. If you want to give yourself an added treat, read the story. This may be one of the best cakes in the world. If you don't believe me, ask John.
• As for the parfait, dearest voters, stay tuned :)

Reader's Choice.

I'm popping in for a second, embarrassed and ashamed at my extended absence to apologize to you for again not having the time to write to tell you about all of the following delicious food stories:

1. John's outrageously mouthwatering birthday cake.

2. the French classic, Ratatouille, with slow roasted summer vegetables

3. the happiest, tastiest summer parfait in the world

But I don't want them to pass by unnoted, either, so I present to you a Reader's Choice, if you will. You can *vote for which recipe you want in the comments section, either 1. 2. or 3. and the winning "vote" gets the recipe.

So let me know what you feel like cooking!

*(Votes are counted Friday at 8 pm EST.)

26.

It is safe to say

TwinYolks

(or its logo)

wouldn't exist

without

John.

He tastes

all recipes: the

good, the bad,

and the ugly,

and he proof-reads

every draft.

He's the best.

Happy Birthday John!

The Dutch Baby.

When you love someone, anyone, and you want them to know it, I recommend you make them a Dutch baby pancake for breakfast.

Sure, you could scramble them eggs, or flip flop some pancakes or even go grab a coffee. These are all very nice, but if you really love them, and want to prove it first thing in the morning, you will make the Dutch Baby, out of the blue, for no reason at all, other than to express said love.

"Why the Dutch baby?" you ask.

"You'll see," I say, with a devious grin.

Dutch Baby Pancakes With Lemon and Sugar

from "A Homemade Life" by *Molly Wizenberg

2 tbsp unsalted butter

4 lg eggs

1/2 cup unbleached all-purpose flour

1/2 cup half-and-half

1/4 tsp salt

freshly squeezed lemon juice

powdered sugar, sifted

"Preheat the oven to 425 F.

Put the butter in an 8-inch cast-iron skillet and place over low heat. Alternatively, put the butter in a similarly sized cake pan or pie plate, use a pastry brush to coax it up the sides of the skillet.

Meanwhile, in a blender [or food processor] mix together the eggs, flour, half-and-half, and salt until well blended.

Pour the eggmixture into the warmed skillet. Slide into the ove, and bake for 18 to 25 minutes. The mixture will rise and puff around the edges, like a bowl-shaped souffle. The Dutch baby is ready when the center looks set and the edges are nicely risen and golden brown.

Remove from the oven. Drizzle-or splash, really; abundance is good here - with lemon juice and sprinkle generously with powdered sugar. Serve immediately."

*(I really love her, and if you do too, you might do yourself a favor and buy her book.)

When You Realize You Have No Idea.

Out in the country you can see hundreds upon hundreds more stars more clearly. It is an astounding sight, amidst astounding quiet, and while gazing up at them, you remember you are ever so small and you feel ever so humbled.

Especially when you realize you have no idea which one is the North Star.

And then you might consider that at one time your Grandfather told you, but you have since forgotten.

And you wonder if you have forgotten because you were young and forgetful or because you can't see the stars well because you live in a smoggy city.

Then you find yourself coming to the conclusion that it is both.

Which makes you want to move somewhere you can see the stars.

Because, for some reason (perhaps literature or poems), you know deep inside that reflecting upon the stars is important. You aren't exactly sure why it is important, but you think it might be because doing so makes you aware of the fact that you are tiny, which makes you a little humble at the idea you are relatively insignificant.

And you also know that those are important things to realize from time to time. And you think, hey, these stars are pretty neat, and you like the way they keep you in perspective, just by looking at them.

Then you find yourself hoping that one day your children will be able to see them too, and in your optimism you think how great it would be to be able to show them the North Star, and want them to remember where it is...

in case they ever get lost.