Just something I wrote earlier which obviously shows too much time on my hands.  This is written listing apple varieties.


Red Delicious!

I just heard Granny Smith yell out to McIntosh...."Little apple dumplin' didn't fall too far from the tree! I'll just roll on over there and give that little feller some homemade cinnamon applesauce." Uncle Ben Davis peeks over his bowl of Captain Kidd and exclaims "Ah, Mama, it's still early harvest and his Mother, you know Priscilla, the one men call the pink lady. Remember her-- she wears that yellow dress with the polka dot puffy sleeves? They say she's a real rome beauty, got all that red wealthy, old family money. Shes not much on company. I hear her husband's not round. He's a real wine sap who got into his yellow newton and took off real fast screamin' somethin' about a goldrush way over yonder in Gloucester county. Yep, took off yellin' and screamin' discovery! while poppin the top on another twenty ounce. We all thought Lord Lambourne! and raced to find Doc Hogg. Poor fella, still thinks he's Jonathan some kind of northern spy." "Stop that right now!" Granny said. "You just have yourself another bowl of Delicious while I go get ready for the gala of the season. I'm gonna put on my Sunday best and dance the waltz with old Lord Nelson. Were gonna ride off into the sunset sippin' Canada Red." Uncle Ben Davis just shook his head. He knew Granny Smith had stories to tell, stories that would make the maidens blush. He stepped onto the porch and sat in his favorite rocker. Back and forth, dreaming of Edith Smith and their trip to Fiji, where he was careful not to get a sunburn on his benoni. He remembered smoothees shared and felt like blushin golden.
 

For some reason this line tickled me:

I hear her husband's not round.

*

Dear Sherry,

Thank you and greetings—

                                        . . .  but need more juice on notion of the apple as entrapment. As some imagine
                                        this kind of story to be more an entréé— Thx again.

Best wishes,



Dax


8

“There are no mistakes”  my Lorilynn states.  “Take your journal and write or doodle.”   I can’t draw but my new friend Martha can and I am learning to write but my grammar stinks.  I’m learning to be married (again) and I’m learning to compromise and how to breathe when he does something not so right.  I’m learning to be a mom to the most incredible sixteen year old but I am in a continual struggle with  his independence and the need to nurture the brown haired boy holding a colored ball outside his Aunt Kristie’s house on Thanksgiving day.  I’m learning that my parents are getting old and how I’m scared as hell to let go.  I’m learning that friendship is more than a word and how mine can be misinterpreted.  I’m learning that saying goodbye can hurt and how memories center in my heart which aches.  I’m learning to garden and to knit.  I’m learning to limit checked out library books to five and that it is OK to remember my sister when I look into her son’s blue eyes.

I may as well buy the darn library books. I check out too many, keep them too long. I can't help myself.

Yesterday, I returned about twenty and still have two MIA's.  I always have a fine and the librarian knows me by name.  Barnes and Noble and Borders are a whole other obsession entirely.  Thanks, Lavonne.

Sherry

Lets not even mention all the books on CD I have in my car. LOL

Yellow is the sunflowers she loved
and the lemonade I made for her memorial service.
Yellow is my disposition
and the sun that shines on tulips.
Yellow is a bright bug
and teeth from too much coffee.
Yellow is Old Yeller that made me cry
and the flag that flies over my garden of daffodils.
Yellow is my ragged sweater
and the gumball that rolls round and down the track.

And yellow is the color of sunshine, and yellow roses, which are my favorite color roses cause they remind me of sunshine, which is what I want to feel on my face more than anything else in a day.... my face in the sun.  Think of it more than just the sunburn you might get, or the warmth... it's just more than that.

laura

Yellow is the first day of spring when birds chirp and honey bees fly by. Yellow is homemade banana pudding and the color of a Texas rose. Yellow is Forrest Gump and "it" happens. Yellow is a yo-yo traveling first class around the world.  Yellow is Paris and the color of Matisse...

Yellow is the color of a butterfly in my butterfly garden that I don't have yet, because Red is the color of the clay that is the soil, that I can't dig, because I don't have the strength to dig the clay to make the garden, to lay the soil that is needed to nourish all the Yellow santana, and Yellow salvia, and Yellow flowers that the Yellow butterfly wants in something other than Yellow sugar water in the bowl where the garden wants to be.

Yellow is how I remember white bed linens when I am downstairs and out the door, in my car and on the way to somewhere else and the light that came in through the window over my bed is still lingering there, just where I left it.

Yellow is one of the shades in the organic weave of my journal, that is identical to my sherry's journal, that is identical to our maggie's journal, that is also the same as our tina's -- wherein we write and let the words sprout the worst sorts of acne and the phrases can break out in boils, and the paragraphs be poor, lame and crippled things that wander about in great pain with little meaning.  We write and we put rehab off to another day, a day we can leave early enough to stop by the clay yard where the yellow wants to bloom and feed the yellow butterflies.  Yellow is the #2 pencil I jot down the title of a book, Lasagna Gardening, by, I. Doan Know Who, but do recollect it has a cure for clay. 

Nine minutes 'til six in the evening and the mellow of yellow yet resides in the mind from the morning.  g'bye

His ad read "Single Moms Only" and hers replied "Paris for Two" He dreamed of children laughing in the yard and pups playing in the house.  He wanted a space with a yard that he could call home.  He had sailed the world searching for her, never knowing that in a distant place she was there waiting, his hometown girl.

Firefly's Fist Fight

"I'm Mary Margaret McGee but daddy calls me Firefly because of my wild red curly hair and because my name is a tongue twister and tough for Daddy to say when I'm in trouble (which is most of the time.)

We live in Sister Oklahoma and own the Cooking Connection, a little cafe on Main Street. Daddy makes the savories and Momma bakes cakes. I'm learning to do both along with my big brother Georgie (who is eleven).

Yesterday we had the Monte Cristo sandwich, fries and tea for $6.95. That must have been a good deal because the cafe was packed with people and the phone kept ringing. "Cooking Connection, Mary Margaret speaking..." "Yes, sorry but we don't take reservations and lunch is almost over..." "Sure, two Monte Cristo specials to go."

Just then the bully Ricky Polley and his gang walked in. "Hey, Mary Margaret, what about me? I'm tired of waiting and we want to sit down and have some of your Daddy's sweet tea."

"It'll be a few minutes" I said.

Ricky stood there and shook his head and turned to walk away but then he stopped and with his mean bully stare he said "No way are we're gonna wait for a seat in this run down cafe."

Getting madder, I followed him outside. I was running to catch up with Ricky and his gang. I did catch him alright. I tapped Ricky on the shoulder. He turned and said "What do you want, Firefly?"

I answered him with my good aim and a punch to his left eye "You should have ordered dessert. Me and my Momma make a wicked chocolate fudge pie."


Firefly's Monte Cristo Sandwich

8 slices bread
2 eggs
1/2 c. milk
1/2 tsp. salt
Pinch of pepper
Sliced breast of chicken or turkey
4 slices cooked ham
4 slices Swiss cheese
Prepared mustard (optional)
butter for frying

Cut crust from bread. Beat eggs, milk, salt and pepper together; dip bread slices in mixture. Let soak well; drain. Arrange some thin slices of chicken on 4 bread slices. Cover with slice of ham; top with slice of cheese. Spread lightly with mustard; cover each with another slice of bread. Press down well; cut across diagonally.

Heat butter in frying pan and cook the sandwich until golden brown.


Chocolate Fudge Pie

4 ounces unsweetened chocolate, cut into pieces
5 ounces (10 tablespoons) butter
2 large eggs2 large egg yolks
1-3/4 cups sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 cup flour
1/4 cup orange juice
2 tablespoons orange marmalade
1 refrigerated unbaked pie crust, pressed into 9-inch pie pan
Powdered sugar and whipped cream for serving

Preheat oven to 425 degrees (see note).

Melt unsweetened chocolate and butter in top of a double boiler. Combine eggs, egg yolks, sugar, salt, vanilla and flour. Whisk to combine. Whisk in orange juice, orange marmalade and reserved chocolate mixture. Pour mixture into prepared pie crust. Bake for 25 minutes until puffed, set and slightly crusty on top. Cool completely before serving. Sprinkle the pie with powdered sugar and serve with whipped cream. Makes 8 to 10 servings.

Note: This pie bakes at an unusually high temperature to create its ultra-creamy interior and contrasting crusty exterior.

Oh, don't even tempt me with cooking.... I LOVE to cook!  All I need is a recipe; I mean how hard is following instructions, unless of course the recipe calls for Clarified Butter!  Sounds.... yummy!

Laura

Yum Sherry - we need to talk Jay into giving us a page just for our poetic recipes!
No really, I'm going to make that pie.

Thanks, Laura.  Well if you like to cook you've come to the right place.  I am beginning to work on a character for a children's book idea I have.  Hopefully, the clarified butter mystery is solved.

Sherry

Lavonne, that would be a wonderful idea!  I'm working on my poetry cookbook idea again and Lynn has given me great inspiration.  Wouldn't it be wonderful to have a food poetry book compilation? .  I'd act as editor...hmmmm..or should I say yummm?

Sherry

an idea is born!

I love the idea.  And I am going to make that pie too!  I am popular with my tasties for work colleagues except now they have all gone on diets and the current task is to come up with a name for them.... I thought of "the artistic losers" but it didn't go over too well.... lol! 

Laura

Here’s something different and I know it sounds strange.

Bourbon and Melon Pasta - a summer dish with a twist.

one pound penne pasta cooked separately
one-half cantaloupe, peeled and diced
one-half honeydew, peeled and diced
two ounces of lemon juice
one-half teas, kosher salt
one tbls chopped parsley

toss fruit in lemon juice and salt, chill for at least one hour.

sauce -

one quart heavy cream
two cups chicken stock
six ounces of bourbon
one-half cup shredded swiss
one-half cup fontina
one-half tbls chopped garlic
one-half tabls kosher salt
one teas cracked ground pepper

combine cream, chicken stock, bourbon, garlic, salt and pepper in a saucepan.
bring to a simmer and reduce by half. 
add cheese stirring continuously until melted and fully blended.
toss with penne, melon, and top with parsley (optional) then serve!
(or chives, I sometimes use a bit of chives rather than parsley - back to work.)

Interesting.  Fruit , pasta and...bourbon? Is this on the menu?  The sauce gives an interesting spin to the dish.  I don't even care to recall the number of prosciutto wrapped melons I've done.  Nora, for a different spin, I wonder if you could saute a little onion with the garlic and add a little panchetta (careful not to burn the garlic) then add the cream, stock, et all and reduce down to half.  This reminds me a little of my tomato-vodka sauce recipe. You should try that in your cafe.  It is always a hit and unfortunately for me a busy station.  (I'm usually on saute.)

Fun to talk food with you guys.  It makes me feel like I actually know what I am talking about :)

Sherry

  I've used prosciutto before, but tend to go a bit cheaper if I have time. I simply start the charcoal grill and throw in some apple wood chips, when it starts to smoke I place a shallow pan of bacon sprinkled with brown sugar and let it go, (but not enough to cook the bacon)  I then render it and chop.  Yes, it's on the menu, today's special in fact.. coupled with a blended drink of peach nectar, sangria, and rum, not to mention a bit of potion thrown into the mix . . . lol.  Don't remember if I told you, but I'm only open for the summer and early fall this year - lakeshore property and all that.  We'll see how it goes as the area becomes more populated. ;)
 (it's a drive to be sure!)

I LOVE food!!!!

So, you are a destination establishment.  Good luck on your first season. Here is my tomato vodka sauce recipe and a poem by Lynn.

Tomato Vodka Cream Sauce Recipe

Ingredients:
1/4 pound (1 stick) butter
1/2 teaspoon red pepper flakes
1/2 cup vodka
1 can Italian crushed tomatoes
3/4 cup Parmesan cheese
1/2 cup Romano cheese
1 cup heavy cream
Pasta, prepared according to package directions

Instructions:
Melt butter over high heat until bubbly.
Add red pepper flakes.
Remove from heat.
Add vodka.
Return to heat.
Add tomatoes to mixture.
Simmer tomatoes with the two cheeses for three minutes, then add 1 cup of heavy cream and simmer reducing the cream.
Prepare penne pasta, cooking just until al dente.
Mix completely with the sauce and serve immediately.

Garnish with shredded parmesan and chopped (fresh) parsley


Lynn Doiron’s excellent poetic response:

Tomato Vodka Cream Sauce

There are cheeses necessary—
parmesan, Romano—and cream
not light but heavy, and ethnic tomatoes,
Italian, that must be crushed.

There is butter that must bubble, high
with heat, and pasta of the penne sort
that one must cook “al dente.” There
are pepper flakes that should be red
and vodka (I’m thinking, Absolut) and

I’m wondering about the phrase “al dente”
and if that means “stick to the wall when
pitched” and I’m wondering who will dine
with me, should I buy the bundled parsley,
should I prepare the luscious sauce, and

will he burn his tongue?

yellow is the weave of whispers
edged on marigolds
where depth relies on secrets kept
to hold the bugs in check

I know I promised to limit myself to a maximum of five library books. But today I found myself standing in the library (again) with about ten books to donate (after the ten or so I donated yesterday.) I am proud to announce that my MIA poetry books "Late Wife" and "Southern Selves" resurfaced after a good search and after a bit of my Irish luck drew them out of their excellent hiding places. Now don't get me wrong, I love the public library and my husband and debit card breathe a sigh of relief every time I forgo my pilgrimage to Barnes & Noble or Borders.


Today, I found books on appetizers, a collection of recipes for the modern "cook", a lovely book on the recipes of Monet (I can't wait to dive head first into that one) and a book on Italian cookery called BABBO by executive chef Mario Batali owner of a restaurant that shares the same name. You may recall Mario from the Food Network and his show "Molto Mario."

Interestingly enough, along with exquisite food photography, Mario fills the book with recipes on antipasti, pasta (I adore the name Pumpkin lune with butter and sage, for full moon shaped pasta), Mare (from the sea), as well as recipes for duck, veal, pork and venison. Mario caps these with delicious recipes for cake, compote, ice cream, fruit, and finishes with the cookie platter served with affogato- a tiny cup of chilled espresso with a scoop of gelato and whipped cream.

I imagine osso bucco with toasted pine nut gremolata or a perfectly grilled guinea hen with pomegranate vinaigrette  followed by a dessert of olive oil and rosemary cake. But tonight I cater bacon wrapped scallops, thai steak skewers, mixed field greens with hearts of palm, lemon chicken and orzo. I will cook nothing especially Italian and my customer will provide her own dessert.  It would be lovely to plate a  cool meyer lemon semifreddo with huckleberry sauce but tonight I will do as I must.  As I work beside my excellent staff, I will dream of home and a hot cup of camomile tea while  sitting on my vintage black and brown sofa with my feet propped up studying Monet.

Sherry, do you read Art Culinaire? It's stupendous.
http://www.getartc.com/

Thanks so much Lavonne.  I do not read Art Culinaire but will certainly check into it.  Thanks for the Link.  I'll place it on my blog. I peeked in and they are talking about pumpkin seed oil.  Sounds wonderful!

Sherry

It's mostly pictures and recipes from prominent chefs around the world. My sister-in-law (Recently of the Culinary Institute and now a research chef for a large chicken company) turned me on to it. It's a very large hard-cover magazine. I use it to get presentation ideas mostly. I absolutely love it.

I LIKE this kid.  She goes to the wall over sandwiches and pie!

Rick

Five more minutes,
chapter 10,
lost without my syllabus.

Pushing forward,
reading back,
Shakespeare class
in 4 weeks then
crap hits the fan.

I'm looking in nooks,
books and cubbies
for poems.

Brush, brush, brush-
the hair
looks good painted
brown sugar.

My Secret,
violets and sweet peas;
a dab of Eternity
between the breasts.

I roll down the band,
sliding into
his khaki shorts.

Five more minutes-
before racing towards
the next big thing.

I like this Sherry. Not sure about S3, mm, what do we lose without it?

I love the last stanza though and also the looking for poems. I know that one - searching cubbies nooks and favourite books.

Speakin of which, when you run away to that forest with my wife, what books u takin?

B.

Funny you should ask.  My mother and I went to the Bella Monica for lunch yesterday and I asked her the same question (probably as a result of my impending trip to the forest).  She said that she would choose a survival manual.  I pondered and thought that I would take a dictionary. She is much more logical than I am.  I still think I'd take a dictionary. Would you please tuck a survival manual in your wife's backpack? Oh yes, and coffee.  Thanks.

Regarding the stanza, my husband didn't get it (although he particularly liked the stanza about his shorts, what a guy). As children we were taught to brush our teeth for so many seconds each.  That is where the one Mississippi came from but I think you're right.  It might be a stretch or asking too much from my readers.

Thanks so much.

Sherry

I like the rewrite. Also, typo in next to last /khacki shorts/ should read khaki.

B.

Oops, thanks for catching that.

Dear Sherry

I enjoyed your blog spot.....
and i saw that Lavonne has thrown in a dash of Art Culinaire.....
so i thought i might do the same and mention my cousin Michael Roberts's book "Secret Ingredients"
as well as the last article about exotic cooking he wrote for "Gourmet" when visiting my brother
then in Pondicherry ( now Puducherry )
before passing over to the other side in March of 2005.

Muse Of Masala.......by Michael Roberts
http://www.gourmet.com/magazine/2000s/2005/09/museofmasala

Here an excerpt....


For me, Indian food was like a Mahler symphony, its beauty evident but its construct encrypted. Although in Western cooking things are basically one- or two-dimensional, Indian cooking is far less obvious. The most basic flavors are fairly simple—garlic, onion, ginger, mustard seeds, curry leaves, red chile powder. Then there’s the second tier of spices—cardamom, fenugreek, asafetida, tamarind—and, ascending even further, saffron, poppy seed, cinnamon, fennel seeds, star anise, the list goes on. It’s incredible how many different-tasting dishes can result from these ingredients.

Indian culture itself is layered more densely than an artichoke. This is a country where the verses of songs were once painstakingly etched into palm leaves, where it can take three months to hand-weave five meters of silk for a sari, 30 years to hand-carve an entire temple from a single 70-ton piece of granite, and where the great epic story the Mahabharata runs more than 10,000 pages. One could hardly expect such a people to eat plain boiled vegetables. It was to southern India, then, that I turned to restore my culinary soul.

In the Pondicherry flower market, pale petals were meticulously woven into garlands, worn in celebration or offered to the Hindu gods at temple. Here are some of the poorest people in the world, yet they buy flowers that will last only two days. There is a trust in fleeting beauty.

Indeed there is poetry in the kitchen.

a warm smile
silent lotus

Thanks so much for sharing the article.   He was an incredible writer and chef.  I searched his name on Google and it seems that he was a forerunner in our culinary scene.  I would have enjoyed meeting him.  Sincerely, thanks again.

Sherry

LOL Happy 10th Anniversary! I read at blogspot that you graduated from culinary school in 1998.

Yes, in 1998.  Now back to school again.  My ten year plan was to work in the culinary industry for ten years and  go and finish my creative writing degree.  I hope to graduate next December.  Poetry is much more fun and to me hardly school at all.  I'd love to eventually work for a culinary magazine.

Thanks, Lavonne. Ten years passed fast.

Sherry

I'd say you plan is working out very well.:)

Bella Monica
(Recipes from Nana’s kitchen)

He requests café seating on black wrought iron,
a place to nuzzle between the braided ficus
and potted flowering plants.

They chat  above
the noisy clatter of passing cars
and dinner forks that tap porcelain plates.
Water goblets wet with condensation
are wiped clean with dry linen cloths.
She gazes across mustard-colored walls
and notices framed artwork for sale.

He wants Amore, flatbread pizza
covered with baby spinach, sliced roma tomatoes,
toasted feta and provolone cheese.

She searches for the exotic,
an arugula salad with mixed greens,
tumbled with gorgonzola & toasted walnuts,
tossed lightly in a dressing of pear and thyme.

Or perhaps the portobello
and sun-dried tomato lasagna,
filled with spinach and fresh mozzarella,
smothered in a sauce of cream and white wine.

But he insists on Amore,
putting her menu aside.
She nods already full with disillusionment.
Without surprise, he gazes into her hazel eyes
and instantly knows that he shouldn’t have
ordered the damn pizza.

`

Sherry it would be nice to have you come back and do some more pondering with us !

silent lotus



`

Agreed!

Thank you so much. It's good to be missed. I've been busy working in the Whole Foods kitchen.  I've missed my writing world. Yes, it would be good to poetically ponder with you all once again.

I thought I'd pop over into the Poetry Circle world for a quick update since I haven't been here is quite a while. I've been working two full-time jobs since February which has kept me rather busy--especially with my recent promotion to kitchen supervisor with Whole Foods Market. I have been given the opportunity to write a food blog for them:

http://northraleigh.wholefoodsmarketcooking.com/blog/3108_cooking_with_sherry


I would like to get back to writing or at least reading more poetry.

Please let me know how you are all doing. I've missed it here.


Sherry