Dear God,

Thank you for allowing me the privilege and responsibility of being a mother. I know that it wasn’t an easy decision for you to make. In fact, it took you eight long years to make it.  Maybe you felt that I wasn’t ready.  The waiting was hard, but I had faith in your plan for me – even though I had no idea what that might be.

I remember the exact moment when I learned that I was pregnant.   It was just a few days before Mother’s Day in 1993.  I was sitting in my sunroom, having my morning coffee when I got the call.  When the telephone rang, I didn’t want to answer it.  I had been disappointed so many, many times before.  But on that day, thanks to you, I finally heard the words that I’d longed to hear.  The waiting was over, and my life changed forever. 

I reveled in being pregnant!  Each day was such a gift!  The sun shone brighter; the grass grew greener; and the flowers bloomed in Technicolor.  It was also the only time I can remember when I was actually encouraged to gain weight!   I didn’t even mind the heartburn or the various other…um…gastrointestinal issues that cropped up.  That time was fraught with anxiety too.  With every little twitch or twinge I felt, I was convinced that something was wrong.  I had my obstetrician on speed dial and burned up the phone lines calling her daily for reassurance.

Do you remember the time I had my first Braxton-Hicks contractions and thought I was in premature labor?  I raced home and put myself on bed rest!  I also made Mr. SGCC sit there with me for two solid weeks playing gin rummy to distract me.  What a dork I was!  What about that one day I was reading What to Expect When You’re Expecting, and the book suddenly flew off my lap?  I looked down and saw, as plain as day, the outline of a tiny, little foot poking out of my swollen belly.  I think that was the moment I realized the magnitude of the miracle you had given me.

When it was time to go to the hospital to give birth, I experienced fear like I’d never imagined before.   I didn’t know how to take care of a baby!  What if I couldn’t do this?  What if something went wrong?  What if I turned out to be a terrible mother?   I felt so unprepared and inadequate!   But in the delivery room, you stayed with me and held my hand the whole time.  And when the doctors told me that I needed a C-section, you whispered in my ear that it would be all right.  I trusted you, like I always had, and felt the calm wash over me.

I’ll never forget when they put my precious, beautiful baby girl in my arms for the first time.  She had a full head of soft, wavy hair and the most perfect little ruby-red, rosebud lips.  I never knew I could feel such utter and complete bliss!   Mesmerized, I gazed at my baby’s sweet face, as Mr. SGCC frantically counted all of her fingers and toes.  (I’m not sure why.  I think his mother told him to do it.)

For the next eighteen years, I shared my baby’s triumphs and sorrows.  I laughed with abandon when she was happy, and cried rivers of tears when she was sad.  I even felt physical pain when she got hurt.  I still do.  But, each ounce of joy has been worth every pound of heartache.

Motherhood has had it’s challenges.  It’s been both the most rewarding and most difficult work I’ve ever done.  I haven’t always known what to do, or had the right answers. I know I’ve made mistakes.   But, I’ve always tried my best.  And, you were always there to guide me along the way.  Thank you for that too!

Remember when we almost lost our daughter in an auto accident last November?   That was the second time I experienced unimaginable fear.  Seeing my child lying bruised and broken was almost too much for me to bear.  All those months during her recovery took a toll on me – mentally and physically.  There were days when I didn’t trust my own legs to support me.  Those were the days that I could feel you holding me up and gently pushing me forward.  I couldn’t have done it without you, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart!

In a few weeks, my beautiful girl will be graduating from high school.  Soon after, she’ll be going off to college to start a whole new chapter in her life.  I pray that her father and I have prepared her well for what lies ahead.  However, I know that when she stumbles, you will be there to hold her up too.  And, if she should struggle with self-doubt, you’ll surely take her hand and whisper in her ear as well.  Thank you in advance for that.

Mother’s Day is recognized as the day that we honor the women in our lives who birthed us, raised us, nurtured us, and most importantly, who loved us.  We treat our moms with flowers and gifts and fancy restaurant meals.  I don’t care too much about those things.   All I want for Mother’s Day this year is to know that my child is healthy and happy, and that you are watching over her.  I believe that you are.  And for that,  Dear God, I am eternally grateful.

All My Love,

Susan

P.S.  Hope you like the sweet treats!

I’ve sat on this post for three whole days, debating whether or not to publish it.  It seemed like a good idea at the time I wrote it, but then I started to get cold feet.  I suspect that there are at least a few of my fellow food bloggers who have struggled with some of these same issues.  So, I decided to put myself out there, warts and all, in the hope that my observations may be of some value.   Consider yourself forewarned. This post is not like the ones I usually write here on SGCC.    There aren’t any gooey chocolate chip cookies or other tasty treats waiting for you at the end. But, if you happen to have any cookies or cupcakes or muffins handy, now might be a good time to grab one to munch on as you read.

Last weekend, I attended the Food Blog Forum conference in Orlando. The event was held at Walt Disney World; and was probably one of the best blogging conferences I’ve attended. I’m not going to spend time in this post waxing poetic about all of the lovely and wildly creative bloggers I met there – although there were many. Nor am I going to rhapsodize about all of the marvelous food that I enjoyed – although there was quite a lot of that too. With over a hundred attendees at the conference, I’m confident that posts about those things will abound. Disney World is already a magical place all by itself. However, I found a deeper, more meaningful magic of my own there, and that is what I feel compelled to share with you. 

Like so many of us do, I’ve spent the better part of my life defining myself by what I represent to others – wife, mother, daughter, blogger, friend. But, the one question I never ask myself anymore is “Who am I really?”. I’ve been wearing so many different hats for so many years that I can’t tell which one fits me anymore. If I close my eyes tightly and think really hard, I can almost conjure up the shadow of a memory of who I once was before responsibility and obligation clouded my vision. I remember being eager, enthusiastic and full of big dreams. I was bright and talented and fun! What I also was (and still am), is a great big “scaredy cat”. I was afraid of failing because I couldn’t measure up; and afraid of succeeding because then the world might expect more of me than I was able to deliver.

I’ve carried that fear like a scarlet letter. It’s always there, lurking in the background – slowly chipping away at the shiny veneer protecting my self-confidence. The funny thing about fear, though, is that it can paralyze you. Doing nothing eliminates the risk of failure – and success.  At some point – I’m not sure exactly when – I must have decided that it was safer to follow the path set out for me by others, rather than forge my own way. That way, my foibles would be on them. I don’t think it was a conscious decision. I don’t even remember making it. What I do know is, that once I started SGCC, I suddenly had to guide myself – be myself. For better or for worse, it was all me. And I think that scared me most of all.

Don’t get me wrong! I dearly love this little blog of mine. For almost five years, I’ve cultivated and nurtured it, and watched it grow. It’s given me the opportunity to share one of my passions, as well as a venue to rant and ramble, when I feel I need to. SGCC also introduced me to this wonderfully supportive food blogging community. Through it, I’ve forged some lasting friendships and rubbed elbows with many brilliant chefs and writers whose work I respect tremendously. (I mean, I got to meet Dorie Greenspan for heaven’s sake! How cool is that!?!?) And, it’s even led me to a new writing career. But, I sometimes feel as though I’m still trying to find my own voice, while at the same time worrying that once I find it, it won’t be loud enough to be heard over the din.

We food bloggers are famous for sharing recipes, both our own and everybody else’s. However, the kind of recipe I’ve been craving lately isn’t edible. When I decided to attend FBF, I was looking for some photography and writing tips, SEO tricks and a little inspiration. Secretly, I was also hoping for a magic recipe that would help me better clarify who I am as a blogger, where I want to go with it and how to get there. Easy peasy, huh? Yeah, right!

During the morning session of FBF, somewhere in between David Leite’s fabulous presentation on how to write badass blog posts and Dawn Viola’s illuminating talk on moving your blog from hobby to professional, my magic happened. Jaden’s charismatic and adorable husband, Scott, who spent several years as a motivational speaker with Tony Robbins, shared his simple strategy for getting what you want from your life. I think I heard angels singing! Seriously. It was so logical and straightforward, that I wanted to thump myself on my head for not getting it sooner. It was exactly what I needed.  And because I love you, dear readers, I want to share it with you. Here is Scott Hair’s magically inedible recipe for success:

1. Know what you want. Be very specific.

2. Make a list of the reasons why you want it. Again, be specific. (You must know why you want something in order to obtain it.)

3. For each reason you list, identify actions that can get you closer to your goal – and take them.

4. Be prepared to make the adjustments necessary to get to #1.

And, because I can never leave any recipe alone, here’s my little tweak on this one: Don’t let fear stand in the way of your goals. Throw it out the window and let it fly away so that you can soar.

Do you sometimes get frustrated trying to find your own voice? Have you ever been distracted from your goals by fear or anxiety? Do you ever not take risks for fear of failure? I think most of us probably have these issues from time to time.  We bloggers are especially vulnerable, because we are so exposed.  The important thing is to keep moving forward and not beat ourselves up over every little thing.

If you ever have the opportunity to attend a FBF conference, do it.  It is so much more than a seminar on the mechanics of blogging.  It was an enlightening experience in a supportive and nonjudgmental environment.  I found it to be a breath of fresh air compared to most of the other conferences I’ve been to.  There were no clique-y, exclusionary events to feel bad about not being invited to.  There was no jockeying for position by frantic bloggers trying to make sweet deals with major brands or book publishers.  There were no “cool kids” there.  We were all treated the same way – like we had value.  I came home feeling like I could achieve anything I wanted if I was willing to do the work.  And, I didn’t have one single stiletto print on my back from someone trying to climb over me to get to the top!

The path on my journey may still be a little crooked, but I’m trying to navigate it as best I can. I’m still a work in progress. But then, aren’t we all? I do, however, think I know what I’m looking for, and have my magic recipe to help me find it. And now, so do you.

If you’d like to learn more about FBF, check out some of these  other excellent posts:

http://www.katiescucina.com/2012/03/food-blog-forum-2012/

http://www.sweetbitesblog.com/journal/2012/3/20/food-blog-forum-orlando-round-two.html

http://jeanetteshealthyliving.com/2012/03/food-blog-forum-orlando-2012-wrap-up.html

http://penniesonaplatter.com/2012/03/22/food-blog-forum-orlando-2012/

http://mysweetzepol.blogspot.com/2012/03/day-of-food-blog-forum-orlando-2012.html

http://fifteenspatulas.com/2012/03/21/orlando-food-blog-forum-2012-a-recap-of-food-blogger-heaven/

http://onecurlyfryinaboxoftheregular.com/2012/03/22/food-blog-forum-orlando-at-walt-disney-world/

http://www.bigbearswife.com/2012/03/food-blog-forum-orlando-disney-trip.html

http://www.merrygourmet.com/2012/03/the-food-blog-forum-orlando-disney-edition/

http://www.ingredientsinc.net/2012/03/food-blog-forum-orlando-disney-fun/

http://thevillagecook.com/food-blog-forum-12-part-1/

http://www.lifebythespoonful.com/2012/03/lessons-learned-at-food-blog-forum-orlando/

http://sarahscucinabella.com/2012/03/21/looking-back-on-food-blog-forum-orlando-2012/

http://www.tablefortwoblog.com/2012/03/20/food-blog-forum-orlando-2012-in-pictures/

http://creativekitchenadventures.com/2012/03/23/food-blog-forum-orlando-walt-disney-world-resort-day-1/

In just a few short days the kids will be heading back to school, and parents everywhere will be breathing a collective sigh of relief. Summer vacation can be tough on us moms and dads! Sure, it was great not having to get up at the brink of dawn these past few months. And, I’ve especially enjoyed not having to fight those homework wars. But I have to admit that I’m really looking forward to getting back into my own groove again.

This school year is going to be a bittersweet one for me. In less than a week, Mini SGCC will be beginning her senior year in high school. I can hardly believe it!  It seems like only yesterday I was telling you that she was just starting high school. There have a lot of changes and challenges in our family these past three years, not the least of which has been my beautiful child’s journey to become the extraordinary young woman she was meant to be.  It’s exciting and scary at the same time. 

I’ve tried to be a good role model for her, sometimes with success, and sometimes with miserable failure.  In spite of our many similarities, we are very different people, and my choices are not always going to be her choices.  One of the hardest things for me to learn has been when to keep my  mouth shut.  I’m still working on that.

These days, our lives revolve around the SAT, the ACT and college applications, while trying to maintain some kind of balance.  My head is spinning.   So is Mr. SGCC’s.  Mini SGCC seems to be taking it all in stride as she hurtles forward a mile a minute.

Although I often feel powerless  on this e-ticket ride to my daughter’s future, one thing I do have some control over is the food goes into her body.  It’s no surprise that teenagers have the worst eating habits, especially in times of stress.  But, I’ve found that if I keep tasty, healthful and easy food choices on hand, Mini SGCC will usually indulge in them.  These Whole Grain Krispie Granola Bars are one of her favorites.

Regardless of your kids’ ages, one universal challenge that comes along with a new school year is getting them to eat something reasonably healthy for breakfast in the morning and as snacks throughout the day.  Granola bars are a popular choice.  But, the store bought kinds are often dry and dense, bearing a striking resemblance to toasted sawdust.   Most kids do love cereal bars, but many of them contain high fructose corn syrup and partially hydrogenated palm oil, which are deal breakers for me!

My way around this dilemma is to whip up these wholesome and incredibly delicious whole grain granola bars from scratch. They’re made with rolled oats, dried fruits, nuts and crisped brown rice, glued together with honey, pure maple syrup and almond butter. Trust me. They are addictive!

The beauty of this recipe is that it takes very little time and effort to put together. Just mix the ingredients in a bowl, press into a pan and bake. Any combination of fruits and nuts will work here, as will any kind of nut butter.  I’ve made these bars many times using both almond butter and peanut butter.  I prefer them with almond butter, but Mini SGCC likes the ones with peanut butter best.  (It figures!)  Use whichever works for you.

Get your kids – and yourself – off to a good start this school year with Whole Grain Krispie Granola Bars. Served with low-fat yogurt for a nutritious breakfast or tucked into their backpacks for a mid-day snack, these bars score an A+!

Not too long ago, I had a discussion with some friends about whether or not Florida is part of “The Deep South”.  A few of us said yes, of course.  After all, it is the southernmost state in the country, so it must be.  But, one enlightened soul disagreed.  She said that while perhaps at one time Florida may have been considered part of the deep South, it wasn’t anymore, because a majority of the people living here are from somewhere else.  She had a point.  The heavy migration of Florida residents from the northern states, Cuba, Latin America and Europe have significantly transformed the state’s population landscape.   Not only do retirees move here in droves, but in the past twenty years we have also seen a huge influx of younger families from all over the world settling here.   South Florida is an urban cultural melting pot,  and most of the state’s other coastal areas have become cosmopolitan mini-meccas.  I’ve seen this happen in my own town.

(Downtown Main Street, circa 1950’s)

When my family first came to Sarasota in 1969, it was very, very different than it is today.  In fact, it is almost unrecognizable now.   Back then, people moved here because they wanted to live in a charming, artsy, small southern town with miles of pure white sandy beaches and an endless expanse of glassy, turquoise waters.  We came here to live a kinder, gentler life.  We assimilated into the existing community.  Somewhere along the way, things got reversed.  People with lots of money began to move here with grand ideas of taking over and turning the town into what they left behind.  Our city commissioners got stars in their eyes and let things slide by.   Some of the changes have been positive.  Many have not.

I’ve seen gorgeous old buildings literally vanish in the middle of the night.  Cherished pieces of our community’s history were reduced to rubble, and ultimately replaced with office buildings or condos -  all in the name of progress.    I know that nothing lasts forever, but it’s sad that our local officials haven’t done more to preserve the past for future generations.     Don’t get me wrong.  This is still a beautiful place, and the quality of life is great.  It just isn’t the same place anymore.

(The beautiful, art deco Lido Casino demolished in 1969 for no good reason at all, and replaced with an ugly, nondescript looking pavilion)

When I was a kid, you could drive along the beach roads and actually see the beach.  These days, the condos and beach houses are three and four deep.  Those million dollar views actually do cost millions now, unless you’re lucky enough to find a parking space at one of the public beaches, which is no small feat!

Several months ago, someone started a Facebook group for people who grew up in Sarasota.  It started out as a place for those of us that grew up here in the seventies and eighties to reconnect and reminisce.  It has since evolved into an historic treasure trove of old photos, stories and other recollections by many that were here long before I was.  I’ve had the best time learning about the “old days”, and wishing that I’d been around then, because so many of the old landmarks and plain old cool places have been demolished.  They’ve paved paradise and put up a parking lot!

So, you might be wondering what does all this rambling have to do with Raspberry Buttermilk Pie.  Absolutely nothing.  Nada.  Zilch.  Except that thinking about that conversation kind of got me on a roll.  And also, that my wise friend happens to be from the Deep South, and this is her family recipe.    Except for the raspberries.  I came up with that all by myself.

Buttermilk pie is a traditional southern favorite. It is a custard based pie made with eggs, butter, sugar and of course, buttermilk. It’s really quite simple to make, and the payoff is big. This is one silky smooth, creamy and incredibly delicious dessert. I can see why it’s so popular!

To prepare the pie, all you do is mix up all of the filling ingredients and pour them into an unbaked pie shell.  You can make your own crust from scratch, like Lily always does, or use a store bought crust, like I sometimes do.  Honestly, it is better with a homemade crust, but it’s also plenty wonderful without – so don’t let that deter you from trying this recipe.

I was betting that the pie’s rich custard filling would make a perfect backdrop for some fresh summer fruits, so I also added some raspberries to it.  I’m guessing that just about any kind of berry or other firm fruit, like peaches or apples would work  just as well.  Oooh!  A peaches and cream pie!  How great does that sound?

Whether you’re from the Deep South, the “Faux” South or no South at all, I guarantee that you will love this pie.  It’s rich, cool and sweet, without being cloyingly so.  The raspberries add a nice pop of fruity freshness and texture as well.

Those cool, retro photos of my hometown came from Sarasota History Alive, a great web site I found maintained by Larry Kelleher, a native Sarasotan and fellow Facebooker.  There is a ton of interesting information about the “old days” there, as well as scads of vintage photos and videos.  It’s obvious that a lot of pride and love went into the site, so if you have a little time to kill, I hope you’ll check it out.

When I was a little girl, my mother had two sets of dishes: the “everyday” dishes” and the “good” ones.  The everyday dishes were, of course, the ones we used for meals every day.  The “good” set only came out for holidays and special occasions. She had a set of “good” glassware too.  They only made an appearance when the “good” dishes were being used.  I never understood why that was.  The  good dishes were much prettier and nicer than the “everyday” ones.  Why didn’t we use them all the time?  What were we saving them for?  Didn’t we deserve to eat off of the good stuff?

My mother had special guest soaps in the bathroom too.  They were shaped like little flowers and they smelled wonderful.   But, we weren’t allowed to use them either.  Mom said they were “just for show”.  We used bars of Ivory or Camay.   I didn’t get that either.  Why shouldn’t we use those pretty and yummy smelling soaps for “everyday”?

Our house was full of things that were only for company or “just for show”.  I remember telling myself then that, when I grew up and had a home of my own, I’d always use the good china and fancy soaps – every day.  But,  I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, because I often find myself doing the same darn thing!   I have to constantly remind myself that my family is the most important thing in the world. They deserve the good stuff – every day! 

Likewise, there are cakes I bake just for company, and cakes I bake for “everyday”.  The “everyday” cakes are usually very plain and uncomplicated little numbers to enjoy with our morning coffee, or nibble on for an afternoon pick-me-up.  Rarely does an “everyday” cake cross over into the more elite “company” category.  With their swooshy, swirly mounds of buttercream, and layers of assorted ooey, gooey fillings, “company” cakes are meant to impress.  Those cakes are the showstoppers.   This Peachy Keen Buttermilk Cake is different.   It isn’t fancy, but it is special.   It’s simple, elegant, and appropriate for almost any occasion.  It’s the little black dress of cakes.

I first saw this unassuming little cake flitting around the blogosphere more than a year ago, only then it was sporting raspberries.  I just knew I would love it,  and I bookmarked it.  Then, distracted by other, flashier showoff cakes, I forgot about it.  The other day I found myself with a container of buttermilk about to expire and a few peaches that were past their prime.  I was trying to think of a way to save them both, when I remembered “the cake”.  Ah yes, the cake!  It was the perfect thing!

With only a handful of basic ingredients, this cake is incredibly quick and easy to make.  Aside from the time it takes for the butter to soften, the batter can be whipped up less than ten minutes – and that includes peeling and chopping the peaches.  Plus, you get the added benefit of having your whole house filled with the most delightful aroma as it bakes.   It has a lovely, light, fluffy crumb, enveloped in a firm, slightly crackly crust.  When cooled to room temperature, it slices beautifully.  The bits of peaches throughout add a little bright pop of flavor to every bite.

This cake was such a huge hit at my house, that I’m already getting hounded to bake another one.  Why not?  I still have some buttermilk and another peach in the fridge.  This time, I think I’ll dig out the good china.   And, maybe even the sterling silver.  Just for us, because we’re worth it.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go and wash my hands with some fancy, schmancy scented guest soaps.

There’s a popular story that’s been floating around my family for years.  My mother revels in telling it, and every time she does, it elicits a mixture of nervous laughs, horrified looks and hasty signs of the cross.  It’s about my mother’s childhood BFF, Rosie.  Rosie and my mom lived next door to each other while growing up, and for most of that time were inseparable.  They played with each other’s dolls, did each other’s hair and practically lived in each other’s houses.  Rosie wasn’t Italian, but my nonna loved her anyway.  After Rosie and Mom graduated from high school, my  mom began dating my dad and Rosie met a nice boy named Tommy.  Of course, they did a lot of double dating too.  And, when they both got married, they were each other’s maids of honor.

After a while, Rosie and Tommy bought their first house out in Long Island and moved away.  Since not many young couples had cars back then, Mom and Rosie didn’t see too much of each other anymore.  So, it was a huge deal when my father bought his first car, and we excitedly drove out to “the island” for our first visit to Rosie and Tommy’s place.   

Now, here is where I need to give you a little background information in order for this story to make sense.  For those of you who don’t know, my father was an Italian immigrant.  He was born and raised in a little hill town halfway between Rome and Naples.  Life in the Italian countryside in the mid-20th century was rustic, at best – especially during World War II.  My father grew up on a farm and everything his family ate, they grew.  Each year during tomato season, all of the women in the village canned tomatoes for use throughout the rest of the year.  They’d never even heard of tomato sauce from a jar, and I’m sure that the very idea would have been abhorrent to them.

My mother’s family was from the same hometown as my father.  When he came to this country in 1956, he naturally settled in the same area as my Mom’s family and the rest of the “paisans” from home.    They carried their food traditions with them across the ocean, and cooked the way they did back in the old country – with fresh, unprocessed, whole foods.   And, every year the women still got together for a marathon tomato preserving session.  The hundreds of jars of tomatoes it yielded were stored in their basements and garages while waiting to be cooked into luscious gravies and sauces made from scratch.

Okay. Back to the story…

So, there we were, out at Rosie and Tommy’s house on Long Island – only I don’t really remember it because I was barely a toddler.   Dinner time came rolling around, as it always does, and Rosie prepared a meal for us.  Now, here’s the kicker.  She opened a jar of Ragu Pasta Sauce, poured it over some boiled spaghetti and put it in front of my “barely off the boat” Italian father.  Oh, yes she did!  Rosie served my father tomato sauce from a jar.  And, this was the sixties.   Jarred tomato sauce wasn’t what it is today.  There were no premium, all natural, gourmet brands.  Just Ragu.  I may have been just a little tyke, but even I knew that serving Ragu to Italian dinner guests was a great, big no no.

My father, being the gentleman that he was, choked down a few bites and then devoured the salad as he sidestepped the canned green beans.  My mother, on the other hand, was absolutely outraged.  Never, even on her worst day, would she serve Ragu – and to company, no less!  Fai scumbari! But, they both held their tongues, muddled through and hoped for a better breakfast.

The next morning, when Rosie whipped out a jar of Tang to make my parents some “orange juice”, my mother announced that I had “swollen glands” and that we had to leave.  On the way home, we stopped at White Castle for a bag of burgers and vanilla shakes.  That was the last time we went to Long Island.

Rosie and Tommy came in to the city to visit us several times after that, and my mother always made sure to demonstrate the “proper” way to feed guests.  No jars, no cans and definitely, no fake orange juice!

After the story I just told you, you will probably find what I’m about to say shocking.  But, every once in a while I – the fruit of my mother’s womb – do, in fact, use jarred tomato sauce.  I know that this must be quite a blow to some of you, but before you boil me in extra virgin olive oil, hear me out.

Although homemade tomato sauce isn’t difficult to prepare, a good meat sauce does take some time.  When I do make a sauce from scratch, I usually make a lot so that I can freeze some for later.  However, sometimes I run out.  And, sometimes I’m just really feeling tired and lazy.  When that happens and I want a bowl of spaghetti with meat sauce, I buy a couple of jars of a good quality premium sauce to use as a base and jazz it up.  A few of my favorites are Rao’s and Dell’Amore brands.

I start out by browning ground beef and Italian sausage meat.  Then, I add lots of onions and fresh mushrooms.  I stir in some white wine and simmer it all together until the wine evaporates.  Then, I add the tomato sauce and fresh basil and heat it through.  That’s all there is to it.  In the time it takes to make the pasta, I have a rich, hearty and incredibly tasty meat sauce ready to go.   And, I’m telling you that if I served this dish to you, you wouldn’t know the difference.  My quick and easy meat ragu is so delicious that my father probably even wouldn’t be able to tell!

Let’s face it.  We’re all busy people and sometimes we take shortcuts in our kitchens.  The trick is to find shortcuts that don’t sacrifice quality and flavor in the process.  My meat ragu doesn’t.  And, I can guarantee one thing.  It’s better than Rosie’s!

When I was a little girl, we lived in house made of pale gray stone.  It was the only stone house on our street.  All of the others were made of red brick.   The front and back flagstone porches were connected by a cobbled path, and the whole property was encircled by a white picket fence.  Yes, a white picket fence.  Really.  Ivy and morning glory trailed up the outer walls like dark green veins  It was our very own country cottage in the middle of the urban jungle.  I wonder who lives there now.  Do they love it as much as I did?   Oh, how I still sometimes yearn for that house!

Our small back yard contained three huge lilac bushes, two Japanese cherry trees and a few other things that frankly, paled in comparison and don’t bear mentioning.  After each winter’s thaw, I’d wait with excited anticipation for them to bud.  When they finally did bloom,  the profusion of color and  intoxicating scent were a feast for my young and tender senses.    The yard became a fairyland of lavender and pink, and I was the resident fairy princess who reigned supreme.  All too soon the flowers would fade and fall, covering the ground with a soft, plush, pastel carpet that was perfect for lying on as I pondered the meaning of life – and waited for the roses.  

Ah, the roses!   I’ve always been in love with roses.  The ones I love best aren’t the sterile, scentless, long stemmed, barely opened blooms that come in a box, although I’ll take them in a pinch.  My favorites are the tangled, unfussy, multi-hued clusters of fragrant blossoms that crown thorny, twining bushes.    The ones that climb and creep and flaunt their velvety, unfurled petals as if they’re smiling at the sun.   These are the roses that, to me, are the loveliest.  With their slightly ruffled, imperfect edges, they are perfection.

Once the lilacs and cherry blossoms were spent, it was time for the roses to make their appearance.  We had over one hundred rose bushes of varying types and colors lining the perimeter of our yard – right along that white picket fence I told you about.   When the roses were in bloom, it was spectacular!  Each year around this time, there were masses of vivid crimson, coral and yellow roses  mingling with blushing, watercolor pinks and creamy whites surrounding the house.   It was a kaleidoscopic masterpiece!  Perhaps that is where my love affair with roses began.

Sometimes, I would try to count the flowers, wandering from bush to bush, stopping to sniff each one.   Did you know that different varieties of roses have different scents?  Some smell slightly sweet, with a touch of spice.  Others have a warm, musky scent.  Some even give off a fruity aroma, like that of lemons, apricots and peaches.   It’s no small wonder that roses are a popular ingredient in Mediterranean cuisine, and have been since ancient times.

The Romans used roses petals in cooking, especially desserts such as puddings and ices.  They even used the petals to flavor wines.  Other cultures, influenced by the Romans, also embraced the use of roses in their cooking.  To this day, tasty rose flavored treats are popular in many European and Middle Eastern countries.   So, when I was looking for an unusual twist to add to my luscious honey chevre ice cream, roses came to mind.

This ice cream is absolutely lovely all on its own, with the subtle tang of fresh goat cheese laced with earthy tones of honey.  But, I wanted to make some kind of topping to go with it.  I thought about doing something with roasted strawberries, but then I remembered a dessert I had once at a fancy, schmancy restaurant that I absolutely loved.  It was also an ice cream made with chevre, and it was served swimming in a sea of lavender-scented caramel.   I decided to swap out the lavender with roses and see how it turned out.

There’s a wonderful little spice shop a few blocks from my house that carries an assortment of culinary grade dried flowers, including rosebuds.  Most people buy them to use in teas, but I thought they would work well for making my “rose kissed” caramel sauce.  Don’t they look pretty?

To make the caramel, I first combined the rosebuds and some heavy cream together in a small saucepan and brought them to a gentle simmer.    Then, I removed the pan from the heat, covered it and let the roses infuse the cream with their delicate, floral essence.

After that, I made my caramel sauce using a recipe from the fabulous new cookbook, Sugar Baby, by Gesine Bullock-Prado.  Instead of the plain heavy cream called for, I added my rose-infused cream, and crossed my fingers.

By the way, Gesine’s publisher was kind enough to send me a copy of the book to try out -  and it is wonderful!   I plan to share a few more recipes from Sugar Baby soon,  and there might even be a giveaway in it for you.

Anyway, I was very pleased with the way this caramel turned out.  It was smooth and silky, with a deep, but not burnt, caramel flavor.  The essence of rose was definitely there, but not in an “in your face” kind of way.  It was delicate and refined, just like an actual rose.  I loved it!

For the chevre ice cream, I again took my inspiration from David Lebovitz.  David’s version doesn’t include honey, but I really wanted to have those earthy, floral notes in the ice cream to play off of the caramel.  It was a good call on my part, because I really think that the whole combination was heavenly.   The ice cream all by itself was wonderful too.  It had a lovely, creamy texture, and just the right amount of sweetness.  The honey balanced out the tanginess of the goat cheese perfectly.  This was one sophisticated ice cream!

Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get a decent photograph of ice cream with warm caramel sauce on top?  Setting it in front of a bright, sunny window didn’t help either.  Oy!

I stuck this one back in the freezer for a few minutes first. Better.

Indulging in this creamy, dreamy treat isn’t quite the same as luxuriating in a field of gorgeous flowers, but it’s certainly worth the effort.  Making it conjured up many magical memories for me of an unfettered time filled with unbridled joy.   Too often we busily rush through our lives, scrambling to keep up with jobs, deadlines and family obligations.  Our lives can become so cluttered!   We forget about, or just don’t have time to really enjoy the exquisite beauty that surrounds us, often in the simplest things – like one perfect rose.  Sometimes, we need to just stop and smell the roses.

I usually shy away from those “apology” posts that some put up when they haven’t blogged in a while.  I find them self indulgent.   I figure that if you miss a few weeks of blogging, the earth will still go right on spinning until you can jump back in.  However, after my last exasperated post about my Buttery Lemon Bars “Recipe in Pictures”, I was afraid that you might think I’d thrown in the dish towel, and that is not the case.

Life has a way of taking us by surprise from time to time, and sometimes, you just have to stop until you can catch your breath.  There have been some very stressful things going on in my life these past few months and I am trying to catch my breath.  The truth is, that lately I simply haven’t been cooking much or baking at all, because I don’t have the time or energy to do so.  And those of you who blog, understand that it’s not just about preparing food.  Putting up a post worth reading involves taking lots of photos, editing them and actually writing something  interesting – all of which  are time consuming and labor intensive.

On a brighter note, I have to tell you that I have the best readers in the world!  Several of you have emailed to check in on me.  It warms my heart to know that there are people out there who actually miss me and this little blog of mine.  Please don’t worry.  Nobody is sick,  dying or getting divorced!  It’s a temporary thing.   In fact, I’m even planning some updates and new features for SGCC.   And, I’m really going to try to spend some time this weekend whipping up some fabulous treats for you – so I hope you’re hungry!   Until then, just breathe!

XOXO,

Susan

Oh, the weather outside is frightful!  And, a fire would be so delightful – if there was one.   Since my fireplace remains in the same pristine state it was in when we built it fifteen years ago, (Don’t ask!), I’ve been looking for other ways to stay warm and toasty during this cold, damp and blustery wave of winter weather.   Of course, hot chocolate and coffee are obvious choices.  But, when I am chilled right down to my very bones, there is only one drink that truly warms me from the inside out, and that is Russian tea.

The first time I ever tasted Russian tea was shortly after I’d  pledged a sorority during my freshman year in college.  The president of our chapter was a senior named Charlotte, and I adored her.  She embodied the essence of everything that a well-bred young lady from the South should be.   Charlotte was cultured, understated, well-mannered and always impeccably groomed.  Even though she was only three years older than I was,  she exuded grace and maturity.   Charlotte was also a direct descendent of one of the actual founders of our sorority more than one hundred and twenty years ago.  And, she wore pearls… with jeans.  You just can’t get any cooler than that!

As a brand new college coed who had never been away from home before, I was always coming up against situations that I didn’t know how to deal with.  Whether my crisis of the day was about boys, a prickly professor or ruining my favorite sweater in the wash, Charlotte’s door was always open to me.  And as we sorted things out, we’d sip from steaming hot mugs filled with Charlotte’s fruity, spicy and infinitely comforting Russian tea.

This Russian tea that I’m talking about isn’t anything fancy or imported from anywhere exotic.  I don’t even think that it has any connection to Russia at all.  All of the ingredients are either already in your pantry or can be easily located in your local supermarket.

The first thing you’ll need is a container of Tang orange flavored drink mix.  Yes, that Tang.  If it’s good enough for the astronauts, it’s good enough for me.

The next thing you’ll need is lemon-flavored, instant iced tea mix.

Does anyone actually use this stuff to make tea anymore?

And finally, you’ll need some ground cloves, cinnamon and lots of good, old-fashioned granulated sugar.

Just mix everything together in a jar with a tight fitting lid and you’re good to go.  Or, you could shake the jar as you dance wildly around your kitchen.  That works too.

So, do you think I’m crazy yet?  I thought so.  But, trust me.  This magical combination of these slightly questionable ingredients makes the most indescribably delicious hot drink that will make you feel cozy right down to your toes.

Russian tea is also a great drink to serve during the Holiday season.  There’s something about a hot, citrusy brew laced with sugar and spice that just screams Christmas to me.  Don’t spread this around, but I’ve also been known to turn a mug of the stuff into a hot toddy by adding some dark rum or brandy to it.  Wassail, anyone?

I’ve seen a few different recipes for Russian tea floating around the web, but this one is the recipe that Charlotte’s grandmother gave to her and that she, in turn, gave to me.   I wouldn’t dream of making it any other way.

I’ve often wondered whatever happened to Charlotte.  We’d lost touch by the time I graduated from college.  I hope she is well and that life has treated her kindly.  And, I hope that she thinks of me fondly every once in a while, as I do her.  The gifts of friendship and sisterhood that she gave me all those years ago were much more than this recipe for Russian tea.

Okay, I know this post is woefully late in coming, but that’s part of the rub about travelling. Once you get back home, you’re bombarded by real life again. And for me, that means family obligations, work backlogs and writing deadlines. Unfortunately, the paying gigs take precedence, so SGCC often has to take the back burner.  Hence, the lateness of this post.  I’m not complaining, though.  I’m very grateful for the paying gigs.  I still have to pinch myself sometimes to believe that I work as a professional writer.  How fortunate I am to have the opportunity to get paid for something that I love to do!

So, I’m actually beginning to get pretty good at this travelling by myself thing.  Last May, I ventured out alone for the inaugural International Food Blogger Conference in Seattle.  I shared with you then how anxious and yet, exhilarated I was to be “putting on my big girl pants” and taking my first solo trip.  Bolstered by the wonderful experience, I trekked cross country again a few months later for BlogHer Food in San Francisco. Again, a wonderful and exciting experience!  So, when the time came to register for IFBC 2010, it was a no brainer. I was an old pro. I signed up without giving it a second thought.  And of course, I am so very glad that I did.

I arrived in Seattle a few days early so that I would be sure to have lots of time to explore the city, especially Pike Place Market.  The market was the highlight of my trip last year, and I couldn’t wait to go back!  I checked into my delightful little jewel box of a room at the Hotel Monaco and planned my attack.

I spent my first day grazing my way through Pike Place Market, the holy grail of fresh produce, meats, cheeses, specialty foods and crafts.  As always, the abundant selection of gorgeous fresh fruits and vegetables left me breathless, as did the magnificent flower displays!  Honestly, I could live at that market! After sampling some of the sweetest, juiciest peaches I’d ever tasted, I bought some to snack on back at the hotel along with some dewy, plump figs and Rainier cherries.

Then, I made my way over to Pike Place Fish and placed my order for fifty pounds of the some of the freshest seafood on the planet.  I swear I saw one of those Dungeness crabs winking at me!  I got a whole King salmon and a black cod, several pounds of halibut cheeks, Dungeness crabs (Mr. SGCC’s fave) and spot prawns.  Spot prawns! Major score! I’d only dreamed about ever finding spot prawns after seeing them prepared on Top Chef!  The folks at Pike Place Fish are great. They shipped my whole order, packed in ice, overnight to my house, so that it got there the same day I did.

I know that fifty pounds seems like a lot, but we love fish.  I also do share with family and friends, and freeze some to enjoy later.  Even flown in from the Pacific Northwest, the seafood from Pike Place Fish is superior to much of what I can find here.  It’s not cheap, but let me give you a little tip. If you buy a whole fish there, you’ll pay an average of six to seven dollars per pound less than if you buy fillets.  And, the best part is that the fish guys will clean and fillet the fish for you before they send it.  So basically, you’re getting the exact same product for a lot less money.  Sweet!

After a luscious crab roll with a crab chowder chaser from Pike Place Chowder, I popped into Beecher’s Handmade Cheese for more tasting and to check things out.  I left with a small wedge of their sassy, aged, Flagship Cheddar and visions dancing in my head of the fab fresh fig and cheddar midnight snack I would enjoy later.

On my way back to the Monaco, I zigged when I should have zagged and ended up right smack in front of Nordstrom.  What luck!  It was obviously kismet. I had to go inside.  I won’t bore you with the details of my little shopping frenzy spree.  Some things are better left unsaid.

One of the “do not miss” experiences in Seattle that I’d been told about was lunch at Armandino Batali’s storefront deli, Salumi. In case you don’t recognize the name, Armandino is the father of celebrity chef, Mario Batali.  After retiring from a thirty year career at Boeing in 1996, Batali decided to go to cooking school. He became fascinated with meat, particularly cured meats, and spent the next few years learning everything there was to know about the art of curing meat, including a stint traveling through Italy to learn with the masters.  Salumi was the culmination of Batali’s culinary journey.

Only open four afternoons a week, this little hole in the wall deli is one of the most popular lunch spots in the Emerald City.  The line to get in regularly snakes down the street and around the block.  Despite the long wait, no self respecting Italian foodie would dream of missing an opportunity of a meal there – especially not me!   So, on Friday morning, I hiked all the way down there to be gastronomically wowed.  Luckily, I got there early and only had to wait about forty minutes.

I ordered Salumi’s signature Porchetta sandwich and what a sandwich it was! My, oh my, oh my!   I held in my hands a masterpiece of glistening, juicy, hunks and shreds of pork punctuated with sweet peppers and onions all enveloped in a massive slab of crusty Italian bread.  The heady aroma of garlic, herbs and pig made me weak in the knees.  I could barely contain myself long enough to snap a picture of it!  On the way out, I ran into several other food bloggers waiting on line. Word gets around!

Thoroughly satiated (and stuffed to the gills), I then made my way to the Filson store.  What? You’ve never heard of the Filson store?  C.C. Filson opened his flagship Seattle sports and outerwear store in 1897, during the Great Klondike Gold Rush.  Among other things, the company manufactures the highest quality jackets, coats, sweaters, shirts, pants, caps and shorts, as well as leather goods and even luggage.  Filson products are a great favorite of Mr. SGCC. It’s no small wonder why, since he is a Filson too.  I promised him that I would make the time to visit (and pick up a few things) while I was in town.  I had to chuckle when I handed the store clerk my credit card to pay for my stuff.  She just kind of stared at it for a minute, looked at me and then back at the card.  Then, she asked the inevitable questions:  “Is your name really Filson?” and “Are you one of THE Filsons?” To which I replied, “Yes, and yes.” That’s right, folks.  Mr. SGCC is distantly, many times removed, somewhere down the line, related to C.C. Filson.  So you see, there was no way I could leave Seattle without stopping by.  And by the way, the staff was just as nice and helpful as could be, even before they knew my name. 

I got back to my digs at the Monaco with just enough time for a quick nap and a quick change before the IFBC opening festivities.   Luckily, the cocktail reception was being held at the hotel so I didn’t have to travel far.  I was beyond excited to see old friends again and hopefully, make many more new ones! But, this post is already waaaay to long!  So, as the immortal Scarlett O’Hara would say, “Tomorrow is another day!”.   I promise you it won’t take me two weeks to post Part 2 of my Seattle adventure.