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“You promised when summer was here!”

“Look outside.” I pointed to the window as I glared at my child, “You call that summer… it’s raining!”

My child’s bottom lip quivered, and her head hung on her chest.

What modern-day mother has never been intimidated when she realizes she is trapped; trapped by the promises of, “Yes, you can have a pet–BUT, not till summer comes.”

Summer’s here.

Wearing a grin and holding a large sandwich bag with a zip lock top, my 3-year-old proudly brought home her first pet. Not just one but two goldfish gleamed at me through the plastic.

“I promise to feed them and love them every single day,” exclaimed my child. Somehow I knew it would be a long, hot summer. So we plopped Salt and Pepper (the fish, not the spice) into their brand new fishbowl.

How can something the size of my thumb make so much trouble? By morning they were swimming gaily in fresh, clear water. By afternoon they were in LA smog. Every other day they had to have a major overhaul. My daughter’s eagerness to feed them left them, well…dead.

Every day during the entire third grade, every note to Santa Clause, the Easter Bunny, and birthday wish list all said one thing, “P-L-E-A-S-E when summer comes, may I have a hamster?”

I am as crazy about animals as the next guy but face it; you really know when a child is serious about a request because they become relentless. They keep their room neat, don’t slouch, stop snapping their gum and send you “Love You” notes.

That summer, we picked up the hamster for $1.50 and his bedroom set for $69.95. We let it run up and down our arms. In our sleeves and up and down our pant legs for about a week. He was cute. He was all furry with a twitchy nose: he had to have clean shavings and water—a little more complicated than the goldfish. But then our daughter was now older and more responsible. Right?

The darn thing about the hamster, though, was that it had this annoying habit of sleeping all day; as soon as the lights were out, he would hop into the driver’s seat of his exercise wheel and, like an army marching through potato chips, go around and around all night long.

Then one night, it happened. I was alone in the house, quietly sitting in my chair, when something scurried across the room out of the corner of my eye. My heart stopped. Yuck! A mouse in the house.

I heard it behind the fridge. I must have clipped it right with the broom because it lay in the broom straw, looking up at me. How could (Marshmallow) the hamster have escaped his cage of steel?

After the funeral, we were all too sick to think of getting another. So we took his deluxe condo, covered it with a towel, and put it in the garage on top of the fishbowl. We missed the sound of the wheel at night.

Thanks to a relative (you know who you are), our daughter got her first gift certificate…for a bird. Two birds, in fact, they were supposed to mate. Their cage was decked with all the latest amenities: nest fluff, egg and fruit sticks (to maintain strength), a nesting bowl, and plant foliage. They lasted for years and sang beautifully. Though they never did reproduce. We changed their names from Fred and Wilma to Goldie and Tina.

As your children grow strong and independent, you would like the summer pet urge to cease. This summer? Say hello to Chocolate (the brown kitty) and Peanut Butter (the orange calico kitty).

Here we go again!

A summer treat for Mom (AAT short for Alias Animal Trainer)

ESPRESSO ICE CREAM

2 – 1/2 cups sugar

2 tablespoons flour

1/4 teaspoon salt

2 – 1/2 cups hot espresso coffee

2 – 1/2 cups half and half

6 egg yolks

5 cups heavy cream

one vanilla bean, split in half

Mix together the sugar, flour, salt and espresso, half and half, and vanilla bean until well mixed with a wire whisk.

Add egg yolks and creme. Mix well. Freeze in the ice cream freezer. Before serving, remove the vanilla bean.

(Shanna Celeste is a Bothell resident who enjoys sharing her recipe ideas and stories with readers. Her column appears regularly in the Citizen.)

Marriage is fattening…

Back in my unwed days, I would hop to the grocery store and merrily pick up a box of gourmet lobster tails, grab a can of imported artichoke hearts, and splurge on a $3.95 chocolate pound cake. And best yet…I would walk right out of that store with not one pound of guilt under my arm because that is all I would eat all day!

Suddenly, when you find someone else in your life and begin to discover the joys of cooking, you also find that you have a captive audience! And if you are one of the lucky ones, he is very receptive, and that is all it takes to acquire great inspiration.

I discovered exotic dishes. If it wasn’t oozing in creamy butter, I would smother it in wine.
Breakfasts were fit for a King (and more). But, oh-the Piece De Resistance was dinner.
If it wasn’t flaming, it was on ice. Puffed or stuffed, it was delectable, delightful, and terribly fattening.

Unconsciously, as I stirred my Bernaise sauce, stuffed game hens, and dolloped cream on my meringue pies, I was popping crumbs and testing sauces until I was more stuffed than the game hens.

It is a good thing time cools everything. I’ve learned that it takes more than just good cooking to keep mystery and romance in a good relationship, and even delicious dishes don’t have to be rich and gooey to prove you’re a good cook.
A little variety now and then, plus one very special dinner a month, makes marriage a little less fattening on both of you.

And what a better occasion than St. Patrick’s Day!
Leafy vegetables are the best buys in March. Spinach is at the height of its season. Why not combine the two?
Spinach for the green of St. Patrick’s Day and Irish Pasta for a fun and special dinner!
Enjoy.

Have a Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

IRISH PASTA
Manicotti are pasta tubes about four inches long and one inch in diameter. They are filled with savory stuffing and served with tomato sauce.

8 Manicotti
1 pound fresh spinach
1 Tbsp. butter
1 cup milk
1/4 cup flour
2 cups finely diced cooked chicken
2 1/2 cups tomato sauce
1 cup Parmesan cheese
Salt and Black Pepper
Wash the spinach thoroughly and put it in a large saucepan. Add two tablespoons of water and cover with lid—Cook over low heat for about 10 minutes. Drain the spinach through a colander, squeeze firmly with a wooden spoon, and remove all the moisture. Chop the spinach and set it aside.

In a medium saucepan, melt the butter and stir in the flour. Cook gently for one minute, then gradually blend in the milk, stirring continuously to get a smooth sauce. Bring to a boil, then simmer gently for two to three minutes, or until the sauce has thickened—season to taste with salt and pepper.

Take the saucepan off the heat and stir the chicken and spinach into the sauce. Put the manicotti in a pan of boiling salted water and boil until the pasta is just tender. Drain and cool for a few minutes.

Using a large pastry bag with a plain tube, pipe the stuffing into the manicotti. Arrange the manicotti in a buttered baking dish, pour the tomato sauce over them and sprinkle with half of the grated Parmesan cheese. Place the casserole on the upper half of a pre-heated oven and cook at 400 degrees for 20 minutes or until bubbling hot and brown.
Serve with the remaining cheese, and I suggest a good wine for this dish would be a red Bordeaux or a well-aged Cabernet or a real good Irish Beer!

My curiosity, such as it is, was piqued the other day as I glanced at a flyer in the Sunday paper. Our own local Darigold was on a quest for a new ice cream flavor. So If you want to see a flagrant and spectacular violation of the known laws of physics, watch how fast a half-gallon of ice cream can disappear when I am near.

So being the ice cream hound that I am, I immediately sat down and sent them 23 flavors. I thought I had been clever with fun names and whimsical ingredients: Maui Waui, Shanna Banana, Seattle Grunge, and was counting the days until September 20 when the finalist would be notified. But as the countdown continued, the complacency gave way to the grim, clear-eyed reality that I lost.

Whipped into an emotional frenzy, I had almost succeeded in driving the thought of doing two of my favorite things–eating and eating ice cream goodbye, when I received this letter:

“Dear Darigold Concoction Contest Entrant: Congratulations! While your ‘flavor’ was not one of the winning entries, your letter convinced us that you deserve a seat on Darigold’s Feature Flavors Selection Panel as a VIP guest taster. You will be sampling 48 different flavors of ice cream to help us select the flavors that will be included in next year’s Darigold Feature Flavors program.”

I naturally was delighted, yet became delirious when Jan Roberts, consumer scientist for Darigold, informed me that there were over 10,000 entries!

“They had all been very clever,” she explained. “Some went as far as sending ingredients with their recipe. However, out of all the entries, there seems to be a trend towards coconut, pretzel, lemon, and mint flavors.” And she continued chuckling as it was quite a challenge to narrow 10,000 entries down to four flavors, one for each category of fruit, nut, chocolate, and candy.

How long did it take to compose one of the four winning flavors? Four weeks. The flavor was sent to the manufacturer, who took about a week with special instructions from Darigold. A quart would then return to the consumer science lab, where the staff would taste and approve the flavor. When approved, the design for the box would start, and ample ice cream would be made for the VIP taste testers who would choose the winners.

First, we started with fruit and used the two-spoon method. I was ready for the big one-spoon method, but rules are rules. We had 20 minutes to take ice cream from a big metal spoon and put a scoop of ice cream on a little pink plastic spoon. Savor the flavor (as many times as we wanted), then rate it on a scale of 1-5 for the overall reaction to the flavor, name, and carton design.

I will not here or anywhere describe what I remember of eating 48 flavors of ice cream in 2-1/2 hours, which is almost everything. But, enough to say that having not eaten 48 flavors of ice cream in one sitting before, I was surprised that by the time we had reached the fourth category (candy), I wanted to shout, “Enough already! My teeth are getting fuzzy!” But I did not because the four finalists and the 17 invited guests would have turned on me, and my lifeless body would have been found later in a butter vat, covered with tiny plastic spoons.

I was incredibly full. Me–and ice cream addict who in a million years would never have thought ice cream could be filling. But each taste was better than the last. Every bite burst with creamy, rich flavor. With wonderful ingredients and surprising names such as Mud Puddle, Cloudy With a Chance of Cookies, Chocolate Freckles, Muddy Snowshoes, and Cluster’s Last Stand.

The winning flavors for the four categories were:

Mad About Chew (chocolate category) with chunks of brownies, mini candy-coated chocolates, ribbons of peanut butter, and chocolate-flavored ice cream.

Red Hot Java (candy category) with cinnamon red hot candies and cinnamon-coffee-flavored ice cream.

Internut (nut category)with roasted almonds, white chocolate chunks, webs of chocolate fudge, and pistachio-flavored ice cream.

English Lemon Meringue Custard (fruit category) with lemon meringue swirl, pie pieces, and lemon-custard flavored ice cream.

They were all delicious.

My favorite. Even though I am a chocoholic, was the English Lemon Meringue Custard. It was delightfully different.
As a parting gift, Darigold each gave us a talking Ice Cream Man scoop.
It yells, “Ice Cream,” and then you hear bells ringing from an old-fashioned ice cream truck.

Unfortunately we ice cream addicts don’t like a lot of noise when we are sneaking the last bites out of the box, so I think I will keep that hidden in the drawer.

There’s a lot of talk about mankind and all of his failures, but why do so many things in our world work? If people haven’t asked themselves these questions, perhaps they should.

Why, when nature blows, the power out for three days, we can’t live without our TV, microwaves, computer, we don’t consider what absolute horror is—living in the Middle Ages without hair conditioner.  We get angry at traffic jams and long lines at the grocery store. However, would we rather be trying to find a nut and berry out in the bog?

Never in the history of the world has mankind ever stopped and patted himself on the back and said, “Good job. You never gave up.”

Answer me this. Isn’t it time we started to have pride, and shouldn’t we be proud of our neighbors like Bev and Elias Meiki?   Elias is from Lebanon, where Kahill Gibran, the author of “The Prophet,” was born (another amazing human). Elias has been in America for 13 years and is doing what humans do best—trying.

Bon d’ Elle is a line of gourmet foods that the couple has owned and operated since 1987. After many years of hard work, they were able to design and build a commercial kitchen in their home.

The kitchen stocked like a miniature Middle Eastern Costco, with pounds of peeled garlic, small towers of sea salt, cases of frozen lemon juice, and bags of garbanzo beans.

Elias and his family are taking a gamble that the food that he ate 10,714 miles away in his hometown will find its way onto our dinner table and that we will relish it as much as he did when he was a boy.

His mom would serve the roasted richness of Baba Gannoj and the exquisite tang of Tahini sauce mixed with molasses and used as a dip with pita bread.
“Were these the traditional foods your mother cooked for you when you were little?” I asked Elias as we all seated ourselves in the comfortable living room of their home.

“The same food that made me homesick. I was 32 years old when I came to America. I was very lonely and very hungry for my home food, so I learned to cook myself,” he explained as he brushed his dark hair from his forehead. “Our table at home was always laden with lots of vegetables, cheese, beans, and beer.”

“Little boys drink beer?” I questioned mischievously. Elias looked at Bev. She was standing at the large picture window watching their two small children playing in the front yard. Then, pointing to his wife, Elias asked Bev to get the Arak.

‘In Lebanon,” continued Elias, ‘There are no age restrictions, and children never abuse alcohol.”

Bev returned with a bottle with a lot of Arabic writing on the label. “You must try our national drink, Arak; it is 100 proof!” Elias chuckled.
I asked if it had been a dream to come to America and open his business. Elias grinned and smiled at Beverly. “I had no plan to fall in love with an American citizen.” He smiled.

He took a deep breath, his voice touched with an accent, and spoke softly and very slowly. “I lived in Lebanon for 30 years and two years in France when I followed my younger brother to here. Bev and I met at the print shop where we both worked. I would bring my dinner, and all the other employees always teased me about the unique and different foods I brought to work. But Bev found them very interesting, and soon I brought a little extra to share.”

Bev shared that she often helped Elias figure out the right spices to use in his dishes during their courtship. She was translating English by the smell and touch of the spices.

After marriage and children, they started contemplating a business out of their home. “We believe in a close family,” Elias said confidently as he led the way downstairs toward their commercial kitchen.

“This is where we make our Bon d’Elie frozen food products,” Elias said, ushering me toward an enormous wok (big enough to sit in).  “Our most popular product is our Garlic Sesame Tahini sauce which has many uses.”

“Here is a taste,” Bev said as she came over with a spoon.

“Garlicky,’ I smiled.

Just before I left, Elias looked around at his clean, bright, fresh-smelling kitchen. He saw the refrigerator and brought out their newest product, Falafel, which is not a dip but can be shaped like a patty, fried, or baked in a muffin pan. It is rolled on top of pita bread like a sandwich, with or without tomatoes and lettuce.  “For you,” Elias said as he generously offered me samples of all his product lines.

As my car pulled out of the driveway, I thought how thankful I was that someone rolled up their sleeves and invented the freezer and all the other goodies of modern life that our ancestors had made a stab out of trying something else one day instead of the same old nut and berry.

If you are a garlic lover, you will most certainly enjoy Lebanese food. Here is a dish Bev serves her family often. Eaten hot or cold it is called;
LUBIA
12-16 oz Frozen green beans
20 oz can chopped tomatoes plus three large ripe, peeled, and sliced tomatoes
One whole head of garlic with each clove peeled
One large onion
One tablespoon olive oil
½ tablespoon tomato paste
One cup water
Chop onion and brown in olive oil until clear. Add all of the garlic–brown together. Add frozen green beans. Stir until soft and done. Add tomatoes. Salt to taste. Cook 10 minutes. Add tomato paste and water. Let simmer on medium. Add more paste or water as needed.

‘Twas the night before Christmas,

When wrapping gifts in the spare bedroom,

Mom and Dad were sitting in a puddle of ribbon, paper, and warranties.

By midnight it was plain to see that they were getting cranky.

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

In hopes that Santa would soon be there.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,

With flashlights and blueprint’s to catch Santa, danced in their sleepy heads.

And Mommy in her bathrobe, tape stuck on her nose, and I in my ski jacket
raced out into the cold.

The easy-to-assemble dinosaur diorama (with 99 parts and one -soon to find
out-missing) in the car I went to pluck.

When out on the lawn, there arose such a clatter,

I hit my head on the trunk, like to see what was the matter.
Away to the street, I flew like a flash.

I tore open my jogging pants and fell across the grass.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,

Gave a luster of midday to our roof’s clogged gutter.

When what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer,

With a lump in my throat and noticing a beaming light in the kid’s room, I ran

like crazy and tumbled into the living room.

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

Now, Dasher! Now, Dancer! Now, Prancer and Vixen! On, Comet! On, Cupid! On, Donder and Blitzen! To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall! Now, dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!

I gasped for air and calmed my jitters,

By laying underneath the Christmas tree glitter.

It was a shiny silver aluminum tree,

With red and green strobe lights sitting below, they twirled and danced and splashed all over me.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof.

The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.

As I drew out my head, from under the tree,

Down the chimney, Santa came to greet me.

Tarnished with ashes and soot, he was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf.

With a bundle of toys he had flung on his back, he gave me a lecture on yearly chimney cleaning, sighting a danger that was sitting there brewing.

We talked of life and what the last year had brought,

I told him we paid off the freezer and tried to be good.

He paused and drank the glass of milk,

And ate the plateful of cookies the children had left.

He went straight to his work,

Filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk.

With a wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

He spotted the bowl sitting by the fireplace ledge.

I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself.

My wife’s homemade caramel corn had glistened from the bowl.

One bite and with a shout of glee,

He asked for the recipe, please.

7 quarts popped corn

2 cups brown sugar

1/2 cup white Karo syrup

One teaspoon salt

Two sticks butter

1/2 teaspoon baking soda

l teaspoon vanilla

Boil the brown sugar, Karo, butter, and salt for five minutes. Remove from heat and add soda and vanilla. Pour over the popcorn and mix well. Pour into cookie sheets and bake in a 250-degree oven for one hour. Stir several times during baking. Delicious!

Do you remember your last family meeting?  You all exchanged sheepish
glances, a chair scraped the floor, a relative started to get up, then sat
down, and finally, you stood up.

You had been busy keeping your child’s fingers out of Uncle Bud’s toupee and
missed the part about the first person to stand up would be cooking
Thanksgiving dinner this year.

Not to panic you, but when was the last time you made gravy?  Do you
say you can not remember?  Unless you grew up in Erma Bombeck’s family,
where gravy was considered a beverage, you might have only made it twice in a
whole year.

No other holiday feast celebrates the importance of good gravy and not to
put a large guilt complex on you but pay attention here; we’ve got a lot of
ground to cover.

Lumpy, bumpy, pale, or runny gravy does not have to be!  Give yourself
a little time and try this quick practice recipe.  Take one tablespoon
butter, one tablespoon flour, and one cup chicken broth.  When melted,
heat the butter in a skillet, slowly sprinkle the flour on top and stir with a
wire whisk briskly until the flour and butter are well blended.  Stir
vigorously in your cup of broth and cook on medium heat.

Now don’t run off and do a load of laundry.  It’s when you turn your
back that the lumps emerge.  It honestly doesn’t take much time, just a
lot of patience.  You need to stand by your gravy and stir it—constantly.

Now, if you have kept stirring, you should have smooth and thickened
consistency—and really, it took you the length of one song on the radio. 
And without even knowing it, you have also learned the basic rules for creating
any brown sauce and the versatile cream sauce: white sauce.

Butter, flour, and milk create a white sauce nothing short of miraculous,
for there is no end to its variations and uses.  One tablespoon of flour
for one cup of liquid gives a thin white sauce.  Three tablespoons of
flour for one cup of liquid will provide a very thick white sauce. 
Remember that the sauce thickens immediately after the flour is added, with
patient stirring, of course.

Now don’t be flattened by Aunt Em’s pesky eyes over your shoulder on
Thanksgiving; make our gravy the night before!  It will be our secret but
believe me, and you don’t have to wait for the drippings in the pan to have
rich dark brown gravy.

In the 1950s, moms knew that before there was Kitchen Bouquet, the only way
to get that nice rich brown color in gravy was to cook the flour thoroughly
with the fat.

After taking the cooked turkey out of its roasting pan, all the juices from
the pan are poured into a cup so that the fat would rise. Next, the roasting
pan is set on the stove over low heat, and about four tablespoons of fat are
added, stirred, and cooked while the brown bits left in the pan are loosened.

The ¼ teaspoon of sugar added (to help with the flavor and browning) is
cooked and stirred until brown.  One quarter cup flour was added to the
fat and slowly stirred until a rich, dark brown.  The heat increased until
the gravy was at the boiling point, still stirring.  Then the heat is
lowered, and the gravy is left to simmer for 5 minutes and seasoned with salt
and pepper.

Unfortunately, today we are all too aware of fat.  Are you afraid of
gravy because of the fat?  Believe me; you can still make a great gravy
with some or none of the fat.

Next time you roast a chicken, take ½ cup chicken bouillon and ¼ cup water
mixed.  Spoon this over your chicken every 15 minutes during the
cooking.  After taking the cooked chicken out of the roaster, add the
juice of one lemon to the drippings in the pan.  Scrape and stir, then
season to taste.  Easy gravy.

For a clear gravy, perfect over a frittata, use either chicken or beef
bouillon and thicken it not with flour but with one tablespoon cornstarch.

To make gravy for stews, just mix measured flour and cold water.  I
prefer to use cold milk or even cream to make a smooth paste.  Pour this
mixture into your stew, cook until thick.

EASY LOW-FAT GRAVY

4 cups chicken broth

½ cup dry white wine

¼ cup water

1/3 cup cornstarch

½ teaspoon pepper

In a saucepan, mix cornstarch with ¼ cup water until smooth; add broth,
wine, and pepper.  Stir over high heat until boiling; keep stirring for
about five minutes—season to taste with salt and pepper.  For a roast, use
beef broth and red wine.

Be creative with your gravies, don’t just season with salt and pepper.
Instead, try adding thyme, marjoram, lemon juice, red wine, or even a trace of
instant coffee.  It will make any meal special.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

Fall brings a season of delicious harvests.  But who cares?  It is October!  I can feast on apples and pears any ol’day. But at the end of this month, it is Snickers and Mars bars.  Bite-size, King-size, oh-h-h-h for a chocolateholic, is there any better holiday than Halloween?

What other holiday do you send your child out to roam the streets in the dark to come home and deposit $100 worth of candy on the kitchen table?  There… gleaming under the kitchen light: Butterfingers, M&M’s, Baby Ruths, Dots, and Hershey bars.

You beg and cajole with your children to pleaaassse share that tiny Tootsie Roll, only to have their grubby (oh, I meant chubby) little hands grab it and yell, “NO!”

Halloween is such a wonderful time for children, full of spooky stories, costume parties, games, and good things to eat.

With all that, Trick-or-treating children will be thirsty. So have big pitchers of cold apple cider or have a large bowl of punch or grape juice, and tell the children they have to stir it well to make their spells jell!

Let’s face it.  Halloween is sugar, sugar, sugar! So let’s get the kids (and Mom) started now!

Trick or Treat!

P.S.  It is October–the beginning of the frightful threes:  Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas.  Soon we will be plunged into heavy holiday eating. 

But stop right there because the fact is, like a lot of us, I need to regain my composure and admit there are only two months until Christmas! 

We have got to paint the living room, sew drapes, hook a carpet, make matching outfits and bake!

Help!  Share your favorite quick and easy recipe.  Keep those e-mails coming!

MONSTER MUNCH

1 cup chocolate pieces

1 cup shredded coconut

1/2 cup peanuts

1 cup corn Chex cereal

Melt chocolate pieces until all are smooth—mix the remaining ingredients with the chocolate.  Shape into round balls, place on wax paper. Chill.

KEEN HALLOWEEN ICE CREAM

One gallon of any flavor of ice cream.  Width-wise, slice one inch thick and place each slice on top of a graham cracker.  You have an ice cream sandwich!  Freeze on wax paper until serving time.

TRICK OR TREAT BASKETS

Cut firm oranges in half and scoop out the pulp.  Be careful not to break the skins.  Save the pulp and press through a strainer, and use for juice at breakfast.  Fill the empty orange halves with canned or fresh fruit cocktail, and before serving, top with scoops of vanilla and orange sherbet ice cream.

JACK O’LANTERN CAKE

Mix together: 1/2 cup sugar, 1/2 cup butter, 1 tsp. Ginger (powdered) 1 tsp. Cinnamon, 1/2 tsp. Salt.  Set aside.  In a large bowl, beat one egg until fluffy.  Add 3/4 cup milk and 3/4 cup dark molasses.  Sift 1 tsp. Baking soda with 2 cups flour and add to above mixture.  Bake at 325 degrees in an ungreased round cake pan for about about 35 minutes.  Cool before icing.

ICING:  1 cup confectioner’s sugar, 1 Tbsp. Butter, 2 Tbsp. Milk, orange food coloring.  Mix the sugar and butter in a bowl with a fork.  Add the milk slowly.  Stir until creamy.  Add drops of food coloring, stir until you get a pumpkin color.  Spread icing on the cake

PUMPKIN FACE:  You will need gumdrops, candy corn, and red licorice.  Arrange some gumdrops in a triangle shape to make the eyes. Arrange the candy corn in a triangle shape to make the nose. Finally, use the licorice whole as a strip or in pieces to outline the shape of the pumpkin’s mouth. Presto! You have a Jack O’Lantern cake!

GLOWING JACK O’LANTERN COOKIES:  Carve each pumpkin, then put in the “glow.”

1/2 cup shortening

6 Tbsp. butter

3/4 cup sugar

Beat shortening and butter with an electric mixer in a large mixing bowl—about 30 seconds.  Add sugar and beat until the mixture is fluffy.

One egg

1 tsp. vanilla

1 Tbsp. milk

Add egg, vanilla, and milk to the shortening mixture.  Beat well.

2 cups flour

1/4 tsp. salt

1  1/2 Tbsp. baking powder

In a separate mixing bowl, combine flour, salt, and baking powder.  Gradually add flour mixture to shortening mixture, beating well—cover and chill for three hours.

Roll out half of the dough on a floured surface.  Cut into 4 to 5-inch circles.  With a sharp knife, cut pumpkin eyes, nose, and mouth out of each circle.  Fill holes with crushed hard orange sour candy.  Attach cut out stems.

Place cookies 2 inches apart in a foil-covered cookie sheet.  Bake at 375 for 10 minutes until cookies are light brown.  Cool.  It makes excellent pumpkin-head cookies that you can see through.

I made a mental note to myself that I would not let another year go by without apologizing. But, you see, it started way back at the beginning of the very first school year, when I received your first parent handout…on the last day of school.

When I originally suggested that as parents, we would appreciate some sort of weekly correspondence to the other moms, they all turned and looked at me like they had never heard a simple suggestion before. Then, as years went by, I grew suspicious when I found out there was a… weekly handout.

But I considered that small potatoes when my children came home in their pre-school years and could finally tell that a nickel was not more money, just because it was bigger, than a dime.

I was pleased to see the few notes that did come my way.  If you’re keeping track, I have given notice as a volunteer. So how did I know that the entire homeroom phone tree collapsed because I did not get my weekly notice?  The request seemed reasonable.  Call parents in case of an emergency.  Unfortunately, they sent my list of parent’s names home with the weekly notice.  As for poor Barb Shertzer, homeroom parent, I apologize.

It never occurred to me that you may not realize the true reason why I am writing you today.  It is–well–it’s embarrassing.  I mean, I wouldn’t bring it up, but yes–that was–my signature on all those excuses and notices that did make it home.  You–did get them, right?

I know what you’re thinking; how could anyone have such bad handwriting.  Well, let me tell you, it wasn’t easy.  I was never in a relaxed upright position, with glasses on, a cup of coffee next to me, sitting in my easy chair.  Oh…no.

I don’t think that there is anything that can make my moment like hearing a hysterical 11-year-old brooding over the urgency of a school note that must be signed NOW!  There was no doubt in my mind that she was talking directly to me even though I could not see her, as I had an armful of laundry, the newspaper in my teeth, just hit my crazy bone while going down the stairs.  I had to sign my John Henry with my toes.

Or the time I was on my hands and knees, hoisting the mattress on my back trying to flip it over, when Junior, who I had just seen kiss the dog on the lips, kisses me goodbye.  Leaving for school, tears welling in his eyes, he explains the crumpled paper in his hand is the note to allow him on today’s field trip.  I used my teeth to glide the pencil across on that note.

Let’s see, and there was the time in the car I had to use the steering wheel to write my name; while being kicked from the back seat by the neighbor’s kid…What the heck.  This is like yesterday’s leftovers.  Old news.  I promise that next year will be different.  There I feel better.

Sincerely,

A Parent

P.S.  I have never found it sound practice to compare myself to other people (up until a few days ago), so I would like to share with you this great recipe.  I know you might get a lit–tle bored this coming summer without your students, and cooking is a practical hobby.  “Aw, c’mon forgive me please…”

TROUT FOR TEACHER

4 Large Trout

1 Tablespoon olive oil

Sauce: 2 Tablespoons Dijon Mustard, 2 Teaspoons wine vinegar, two egg yolks, salt and pepper, 6 Tablespoons unsalted softened butter, 2 Tablespoons chopped fresh chives, ½ cucumber sliced thin.

Wash and clean the trout.  Cut off the heads and dry the fish.  Wrap each trout in a piece of oiled aluminum foil and put them in a baking dish.  Bake in the center of a preheated oven at 425 degrees for 15-18 minutes.

Remove the dish from the oven and open the foil packages to allow the trout to cook slightly.  Slice each fish among the underside and, with an appointed knife, carefully loosen the backbone. Ease the backbone out gently so that most of the small bones come away with it.  Set the trout aside to cool.

To make the sauce:  Beat the mustard, egg yolks, and vinegar together until well blended; season to taste with salt and pepper.  Gradually add butter to the egg mixture, beating all the time until the sauce has the consistency of thick cream. Finally, stir in the finely chopped herbs.

Before serving, peel the skin from the cold trout.  Cut each into two fillets.  Arrange on a serving dish.  Pour the sauce over the fillets.   Lay thin slices of cucumber on top of trout.

Deep thinkers throughout the ages have devoted themselves to solving the mysteries of life. So, where are these guys when you are trying to find your car keys?

Anxious moments are spent looking on top of the fridge and in drawers (stopping to put the cap on the toothpaste and straightening pictures on the wall) then finally, all hopes exhausted, there they lay…inside a sweaty tennis shoe, under a pile of wet towels in the laundry basket.

As usual, I was in my typical morning panic.  There was nothing in the pantry to make a decent kid’s lunch.  So I had to cleverly create with the half-wrapped saltines way in the back.  I slapped them together with honey.  I sequestered all the loose grapes in the bottom of the fruit bowl and threw them in a baggy.  Thank goodness there was a string cheese stuck in the corner of the fridge light bulb and alone pickle in the pickle jar.  No drink.  Do you think she will mind?

Who am I kidding?  I will hear about this rotten lunch for days.  There is no more dragging my feet.  I have got to buy some groceries.

It was of no comfort to me knowing that I had found my car keys only to misplace the grocery store coupon book.  Without it, I knew the consequences: looking around each isle cautiously, as an onslaught of little red tags attached to all the items I need that day to wag their tongues at me chanting, “What a dim bulb you are for missing all these exceptional savings.”

I dropped everything and took a deep breath, and tore through the house.  I couldn’t leave without it.

Twenty minutes later, I finally arrive at the store. I grab a cart (which by the fourth aisle is a third full of groceries)the wheel wobbles and squeaks.  (Why me?  I always get the bent fork at dinner, too.)  I breathed a sigh of relief when I remembered what a luxury it was to shop without children.

It is downright expensive to grocery shop with that toddler strapped to the front of the cart.

Your mind is trying to decipher a mathematical equation “Is the two for $5 a good deal?” when out yells, “I’ve got to go to the bathroom. Now.”

After three turns down the aisle, you have noticed 17 items, “sticky fingers” has flung in the cart, a headache, and a broken vinegar bottle you left in the last aisle.  You spend more time picking them up and putting them back in the cart than shopping. Finally, you end the whining and get the cookie, only to have them take one bite and fling it.

It was bad enough that they insisted on wearing the Halloween cape they have had on every day for 40 days and nights and the Burger King crown. By the time you get to the check-out stand, your hair is standing on end, and you have spent the entire month’s budget.

Call it woman’s intuition, but I’ve never trusted the grocery clerk who is chewing gum and wants to talk about everything you’re buying.

“Hmmm, I see we’re having pork chops tonight,” they say knowingly. Then, they tilt their head and accusingly ask if you’re going to have those canned cherries for dessert, too.  Or, they hand you the candy bar with a bit of wink and say, “Bet you want this now.”

‘Ohhh, nooo,” you say, “Throw it in the sack.”  Even though it is the only thing you have thought clearly about all day- but the heck if you’re going to let this squirrely guy know that.

Or the box boy who thinks he can stuff your $100 groceries all into one bag and is proud of it.

But my personal favorite is the guy who picks up the perfect peach. You spent 10 minutes checking for bruises and rolls them down the counter as you watch them bang against the wall.  Then the box boy picks it up, throws it in the air, and slam dunks it into the grocery sack, and the whole time they are talking to each other about that lousy clerk who takes too many breaks.

You know life is out of control when your only form of entertainment is to find the longest line and speed read every magazine in sight, hoping the clerk doesn’t pick you to start a new line so you can finish that article on Jean Claude Van Damme.  Or when you see a magazine you would love to have and suddenly realize that you do, and it has been sitting on the coffee table for a week, and you have never opened it.

For a reason I can never understand, I always get the box boy who walks out behind me pushing my loaded cart, and when I reach my car, I turn around, and he is across the parking lot following another woman.

But I know we agree. Of course, the best part is getting them home and finding someone else to take them out of the car!

Oh, by the way, since school is out early tomorrow, maybe when the kids come home, we should have an extra special lunch, considering…

A GREAT KIDS LUNCH

This crunchy stir-fry is easy to put together.

1-1/2 cups cooked, chopped chicken

1 -10-oz package frozen stir-fry vegetables

1/4 cup water

1/4 teaspoon ground ginger

1/2 cup orange juice

Two teaspoons cornstarch

One 3-oz can chow mein noodles

Mix in saucepan chicken, vegetables, water, and ginger.  Stir.

Set pan on medium-high heat.  Cook till bubbly.  Cover. Turn to low heat cook for five minutes.

In the bowl, put orange juice and cornstarch.  Stir.  Stir juice mixture into chicken mixture.  Cook and stir till thick and bubbly.  Then cook and stir for two minutes more.

For each serving, arrange one-quarter of the chow mein noodles on each plate. Then, spoon the chicken mixture over the noodles.  Makes four servings.

My shoulders sagged.  My mouth was drawn, and tears filled my eyes. I sat cowering in the corner of my airline seat.

I would be gone only three days visiting a relative; however, the car was barely out of the driveway when my husband announced his plans.

“What are you going to do with yourself?” I lovingly asked my husband as he drove the car.

Coughing slightly, he whispered, “Move the washer and dryer out of the kitchen.”

My head jerked up, and my eyes flashed widely.

‘What! Oh no, don’t start any remodeling projects while I’m gone,” I pleaded.

But I knew it was too late.  The look was there. As I sat in my airline seat, I envision what was going to happen.

I suppose I have myself to blame if I hadn’t been so vocal about the fact that some fool who designed the house put the most used appliance (the washer and dryer) in a 58 ¾ inch space inside a closet! In the kitchen?

May that person be cursed with a breadboard on top of their silverware drawer.

You see, for years, I had struggled with this dilemma. I was dragging the dirty laundry down the hall, squeezing it into the washer with naturally no place to put it after the dryer cycle but on the kitchen table.

Did this architect just assume that the kitchen table would be empty? 

Architect, you are either naive on the subject of living space or think that games, toys, bills, mail, patterns, keys, and fondue forks have drawers with names on them?

Naturally, on my busiest of laundry days, the doorbell rings. I tiptoe to the curtain, peek through, and there stands Aunt Mable and Aunt Violet, who has never been to my home, and I haven’t seen in two years.

You know darn well that they won’t stop ringing the bell; they will be turning the doorknob next.

Of course, they will give you the obligatory “Don’t worry about your messy house, dear, we just came to see you,” as their eyes roam wildly about in fright.

Desperately, I swooped the laundry off the table (after kicking the table contents under the floor mat) race down the hall and fling the laundry onto my bed.

They don’t leave until 11:30 pm that night. Somehow, managing to keep them out of the bedroom exhausted, I collapse.  Too tired to fold the laundry, I gently roll them on the floor where they mingle and mate with dirty clothes.

I realized the next day, to my dismay, I have to start the entire process again.

But now, the problem had worsened. My husband, the world’s handiest handyman – NOT! – was tired of hearing the whining and decided to do his favorite project – FORMICA.

This man learned how to apply Formica on toilet partitions during a part-time job in college.

He has had the fever ever since. We have a lovely array of colors on a Formica coffee table, sewing table, chest of drawers, closet door, and TV trays.  I have no idea what wood looks like.

I had an inkling that removing the washer-dryer would leave a large (well 58 ¾ inch gap)in our kitchen.

What does this mean?  I will tell you what it means. A total kitchen remodel!

Lucky, you say? Huh. I don’t think I will be seeing quartz countertops and oak cabinets. Oh no, it will be FORMICA.

CROCKPOT DINNER

Cooks all day while your husband destroys your kitchen into no-man’s land. You need a Crockpot.

Remolding? Get one soon.

2 lbs stew meat, cut in 1-inch cubes

¼ cup flour

1 ½ tsp salt

1 ½ cups beef broth

1 tsp Worcestershire sauce

1 peeled clove garlic

1 bay leaf

1 tsp paprika

4 carrots, peeled and sliced

3 potatoes, peeled and diced

2 onions chopped

1 stalk celery, sliced

Place stew meat in Crockpot. Mix flour, salt and pepper. Drench meat stir to coat.  Add remaining ingredients and stir.  Cover and cook low 10+ hours.