A Mouse in the Pantry

Thankful for him

 

 

On this longest of winter nights I am so very thankful for one man in particular.  Robo-dad, camping chef, date night partner and pirate of the high seas. The same man who committed to me on a winters solstice seven years ago. I am thankful for finding the love of my life.. (#88)

"Pancakes in the morning, we all love them!"

Exposing my soft underbelly has ended up turning several people against this blog this last week.Things written have been misunderstood. I am sorry for that.

So I'm going to set something straight here.

This blog is not a call for help.  This blog is an exploration of relationships.  It is an exploration of food and happiness and sadness, and grief.  It is a examination of parenthood, and childhood.  It is a deeper look at my obsession with food and eating and entertaining.  It is mine.

I try very hard not to exploit people in my life. My husband reads every blog I post before I post them with the understanding that we are talking about a common thread.  A common life occurrence for all families. Everyone likes pancakes in the morning! We are excruciatingly normal after all.

If Mouse in the Pantry is not your cup of tea then  please feel free to un-subscribe at your will. 

*******I am thankful for those of you who have forgivingly come along with me on this journey.  I'm thankful for this blog. I'm thankful for my Dad, who taught me to make pancakes. I am thankful for my best friend Ed. (that's 4)

Chocolate Peppermint Spritz Cookies and bitterness

There is nothing quite like the holidays to bring out the best in everyone.

This last weekend we got our tree.  A grand 7-foot beauty with one massive ring around it's middle with no branches.  My son chose it because it had excellent places to stash large objects. I laughed all the way to pay for it and all the way home.  It's a sight.

So this last Sunday we invited our dearest little friend over to help us decorate the tree while her mom was out and about. Bea (as we'll call her) was very helpful in unpacking and organizing the ornaments on our floor.  How exciting to look through someone else's life history, particularly when so much of it is glittering and full of snowmen.

I watched as I lost control yet again over our tree. Yes, this is a very debbie-downer moment in this blog.  I am a tree control freak and my husband takes time to point that out every year.  He accuses me of micro-management.  I fuss and fume and reject this notion that I am overly involved. And then, on schedule, I surrender control and feel horrible. Hmm, I have begun to think this is his ploy.

And this year the accusations turned into small arguments, into tussles, into an all out family brawl in front of little miss Bea. She watched in amazement. There is no dad at her house to argue with mom. We were like some strange alien family who took christmas ornaments way to seriously.

"Oh 1978! Look Mr. Coast Guard, another of YOUR ornaments, why don't you find a place for it!" I said.

Bea watched.

"Whats your problem Grumpy Wife? Throw them out if you don't like my ornaments" He said

Bea eyed the 1978 ornaments to see if there were any keepers to score.  Any with glitter were definitely NOT going in the trash on her watch.

"I'm not throwing them out, I'm just saying, this is YOUR tree every year.  What about US, what about OUR kids." I say.

Bea leans in close to whisper to me, "He's not in a very good mood, is he?". Three points to Bea for joining my team.

"Look, sweetheart, why are you riding me about this?" he throws out there.

Bea looks at me.

"Oh, oh, oh... WHY am I riding you? WHY? you ask" I'm now fuming.

And here's where it hit me. It dates back to the first year we were married.  We were wed four days before Christmas and in all the hustle and bustle and joining of families and traditions and travel, we still managed to get a tree up in our little apartment. When all the ruckus had ended and January was at our doorstep, we went to put our ornaments away and drag the tree outside with the wedding gift boxes and holiday leftovers.

I picked up one foreign ornament after another, examining them carefully, breathing in my husbands childhood. His Mom kept him well stocked with bits and baubles from his past. Happy memories he took with him from coast to coast with his job.  I had only a few ornaments of my own.  I was young and probably only needed a small shoebox to hold them all.

"What are you doing?" he asked when he walked in the door of our apartment.

"Putting the ornaments away" I said as I wrapped each one and tucked them into a tupperware I had picked up.

We had been married for 11 days.

"Oh" He said.

"What?" I said.

"Well, I was thinking, maybe we could wrap my ornaments  up separately? You know, store them in their own box." He said this so casually that you might not have seen the dart that flew from the tree and pierced my heart with a tiny drop of poison, if you didn't look carefully.

I cried. I unpacked the box and put mine into a the old shoebox.  I, after all, had very few in comparison to him and he needed the space.

We fought. We fought long and hard. I called his mother to tell her what he had asked, and she gasped in pain for me.  I love her.

Back to 2009.  We have since stopped putting the ornaments away separately.  There have been too many Christmas that he missed completely while away on one of his big ships. I mostly handle the clean up and tucking away, and I ran out of energy for all this stubborn doing it just because.  But each year, when I begin to decorate our tree, and this year in front of Bea, I am a little hurt. And we get a little mad. And I think we better find some more ornaments just for us. Perhaps, just perhaps, I need to give one ornament marked 1978 to a certain 6 year old girl I know (if my mother-n-law doesn't mind too much).

Chocolate Mint Spritz
Makes 5 dozen

1 ¼ cups unsalted butter, softened
1 cup granulated sugar
2/3 cup brown sugar
2 eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla
¼ teaspoon mint extract/flavoring
¼ teaspoon salt
2-1/4 cups all-purpose flour
¾ cup cocoa powder
¼ teaspoon baking soda
½ cup crushed candy cane
Confectioners sugar for dusting

 
Preheat oven to 375°F.

In the bowl of an electric mixer, fitted with a paddle attachment cream butter and sugars at medium high speed until light and fluffy. Add eggs, one at a time, beating well after each addition.
Add vanilla and mint and beat briefly.
Sift together flour, cocoa, baking soda and salt. Add flour mixture gradually to butter and beat well.

Scoop a small amount of the dough from bowl and form into a small log.  Place in cookie press. Press cookies onto cool ungreased baking sheets. Sprinkle carefully with a few bits of candy cane – making sure not to get any on the baking sheet!

Bake for 9-10 minutes, or until just beginning to turn golden brown around the edges. Remove from sheet and cool. Dust with powdered sugar.

Copyright 2009 Meloni Courtway.  All rights reserved.  Unauthorized reproduction prohibited.

"It might take awhile, but you'll figure yourself out"

Had the pleasure last night of experiencing the new happenings at Lagunitas Brewery here in East Petaluma.  Bar fare and dinner nibbles are now on the menu at LB to compliment their expansive list of home-brewed beers, and our gooey panini sandwich with bacon tomatoes and turkey was well liked by the whole family. It's great to find food at this fantastic, if oddly placed venue (though I will miss Pizza politana if they're no longer included).

Luring us out on this particularly chilly evening was the appearance (more like the blur) of my brother Chris as he played guitar for the crowds warming themselves over a sandwich and a mighty mason jar of beer.

As happens to me every few years, when I manage to find my brother playing in a venue where kids are allowed, I was struck by how brilliant an artist he is. And what an image this man is on stage, lost in his musical world, darting back in from time to time to say hello to the audience and give shout outs to his niece and nephew as they dance uninhibited in front of him. 

This place on stage behind an instrument is safe for him.  If there were a world where only playing music mattered, Chris would be king.

(#94:  I am thankful for music)

There is a picture floating around somewhere out there in the universe, of my sister and I sitting naked (except for diapers and undies) on the dining room table, stuffing a Turkey.  I was probably three years old and she just about a year. Not only is the photo striking, two toe-headed naked angels working away cross-legged on a wooden table, it's a striking memory logged in my personal books.  I remember the feeling of that day.  I remember the surprise as we plunged crumbly herb infused stuffing into that cold turkey.  I remember the house we lived in on the hill in Sausalito.  I remember my older brothers, all teenagers, coming and going from the house with girlfriends and more friends, and old cars and basketballs. I remember the first time I touched the stove, and my mom let me, so that I would never do it again. I remember a soccer ball rolling down the hallway, one of the many toys in a house with five kids (and three boys). I remember the shape of our drinking glasses and how they stacked ont eh shelf. I remember the look of them upside-down in the sink.  I remember my mother, her scent, her laugh, the look of her standing in the kitchen.

All of these memories I can link to that photo of my sister and I on the table.

And last week as I went about preparing our thanksgiving dinner, my sweet blue-eyed angel wondered in full of questions, as he does, and got himself fully in the mix.  Without hesitation he plunged his hands into the turkey, this time filling it with oranges and onions and rosemary. He joyfully grabbed great chunks of butter and rubbed the turkey, talking to it, telling it he was "sorry old bird, but your going to taste good aren't you!".  He micro-managed that bird all the way to the oven and then asked, before slipping it in, whether we couldn't freeze it "forever" in a bag? We took some photos instead.

This photo then is his.  Perhaps he will remember the look of the unfinished kitchen walls. Maybe he'll remember the roasting pan or the compost bucket. Maybe he'll remember his uncles arriving that day, no longer teenagers, but graying men. Maybe he'll remember me. 

I am thankful for what this turkey symbolized to us. (#97)

I am thankful for this moment. For my blue-eyed boy and his go-to attitude. (#96)

I am thankful for my Mother. (#95)

99 & 98

I told you I was going to do this.  Some of you doubted.  Some of you still doubt.  But hang tight my friends because here they come.

#99: I am thankful to the friends that have gotten me through this last year - you are wonderful, beautiful woman (and men).  I am lost without you believe it or not.  Absolute rocks (and gems).  Bootstrap friends who pull you up when needed.  Thank you.

#98: I am thankful that my car works, no matter how shabby it is.  I have a car and that's more than a lot of people can say.

100

As if you are so shocked that Mouse in the Pantry's Thanksgiving blog is days after the actual date of! You're not, and that's ok, because I know you love me, despite my inability to be on time for anything. Well, actually I was on time and published a couple of timely recipes too, but this blog, this blog I wish had made it to you last Thursday.

And that brings me to the point.  This last year and a bit have been full of wishes.  Lots of missed opportunity for perfection that was dwelt upon for way too long.  I wished that I could have had a normal pregnancy and birth with my daughter, I wished my husbands job and love of country hadn't taken him so far from us, I wished we could have moved into our first home - with him... I wished for a live in nanny who could miraculously and seamlessly slip in and out of our lives just when we were most exhausted, but not be around so much as to fill every family video with her, and to find her at the table with my children calling her "mommy" (there was not such a person, but the darker sides of me ponder the thought often).

So many wishes stacked one on top of another.  Wishing, I'm afraid, can sometimes lead to regretting.  And in all that regretting we can forget to be thankful.  I forget.

So I'm doing something early. Yup, you heard me - EARLY! (Shock and ah is what I'm going for here).  

I'm making a resolution.

32 Days before the new year, I'm resolving to be thankful 100 times.  I suppose that means I will have to double up on some blogs.  Ok, let's be realistic (so that I'm not regretting this), I'm going to have to name quite a few things each time, but here is goes anyways (because I've already said it and now I have to follow through - unlike the cookies for the last contest winner which are still yet to be delivered - how lame am I?).

I am thankful for this reminder this last Thursday of what a blessed life I live. My extended family, friends, brothers, around my table. Wine in our cups and cider in our mugs. Children running about, one toddling on her own. My husband carefully placing beautifully carved moist meat on a bountiful platter. Sweet potatoes with marshmallows (you heard me). Pecan pie. Walnuts from my yard in every dish. A family portrait posed in a clean kitchen before guests arrived. I am thankful.

Ok, that was one.  99 to go.

Homemade cranberry sauce - because you can!

Oh come on, you know you want to make it this year. If you feel any love for Mouse in the Pantry, PLEASE put away the canned sauce and whip out a bag of real berries!

Homemade Cranberry Sauce

2  12ounce bags fresh cranberries
2 oranges 1 zested, both juiced
1 stick cinnamon
3 cups sugar
1 cup water (maybe a bit more if you are going to let it simmer for several hours)


In a medium sized pot combine cranberries, cinnamon stick, sugar the zest of one orange and the juice from both oranges. You can also add the whole leftover skins of the zested and juiced oranges to the mix at this point and just remove them after the cranberry sauce is done. Stir mixture and turn on  low on the back of the stove and cover.  Let simmer until berries begin to pop. You can turn it to a very low setting at this point and let it simmer till it thickens.  Or, just turn it off and let sit on the back of the stove for a few hours.
Enjoy

Pumpkin Pie from scratch

It wouldn't be the holidays without a few recipes.  So if you're out their searching for a little thanksgiving flavor, here is a great (and completely from scratch) recipe for Pumpkin pie - but you better get started today roasting those pumpkins!

Roasting Sugar Pumpkins

1 to 2 sugar pie pumpkins
Double layer cheese cloth
Rimmed sheet pan

*Select firm dark skinned sugar pumpkins.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.  Lightly grease a rimmed baking sheet with olive oil.

Slice each pumpkin in half.  Remove seeds and pulp.  Lay pumpkins open side down on pan.  Place in oven, and pour water around pan until it is 1/2 inch deep.
Bake for 35-50 minutes or until pumpkin can be easily pierced with a knife.

Cool pumpkins before scooping meat from skin. 

Using a double layer of cheese cloth, wring the pumpkin meat out over a large bowl to remove excess fluid.  Puree drained meat in a food processor for 2 minutes to make smooth.

Store pumpkin in refrigerator for two days or in freezer for 3 months.

Each small sugar pumpkin will provide 1-2 cups pumpkin meat

Sugar Pumpkin Pie
By Meloni Courtway

2 cups fresh pumpkin (or 1-15oz can pumpkin puree)
3 large eggs
½ cup heavy whipping cream
½ cup evaporated milk
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1-teaspoon ground cinnamon
½ teaspoon ground ginger
1/8 teaspoon ground cloves
Pinch of salt

Egg Wash: 1 egg white & two tablespoons cold water whisked together in a small bowl.

 


1.    Preheat oven to 375 degrees.

2.    Grease and lightly flour a 9-inch pie tin or dish.

3.    In a large bowl whisk eggs slightly. Add pumpkin, milks and spices and whisk again.  Set aside while preparing dough.

4.    Working on a lightly floured surface, roll out ½ recipe pate brisee in a ¼ inch thick round.  The dough should be roughly the width of a #2 pencil eraser.

5.    Working with cold hands, lift the dough into your prepped pie dish. Press gently into dish, making sure to make contact all over tin.

There are several ways to address the edges of your pie:

6.    Fluted edge: Trim dough, leaving 1½ inches of overhang.  Again working with cold, and lightly floured hands, fold the outer edge of the dough under itself and tuck into edge of dish.  Using your thumb and index finger of one hand and the index finger of the other hand, crimp the entire edge of the dough into fluted shape.  Chill dough for 10 minutes to firm up.

7.    Decorative edge: Trim dough to edge of pie tin, only leaving a ¼ inch overhang.  Using various dough cutters, or mini leaf shaped cutters make several cutouts (This ca even be creatively done with the edge of another larger cookie cutter). Using an egg wash, lightly brush edge and firmly apply cutouts.

8.    Pour pumpkin mixture into dough, only filling to just below fluted edge, as the custard will expand.

9.    Using a pastry brush, brush entire crust with egg wash.

10.    Bake for 40-50 minutes or until crust is browned and filling is set.  A knife inserted in center will come out clean. Chill completely before serving.

Serve with homemade whipped cream:

1-cup heavy whipping cream
3 tablespoons confectioners’ sugar
1-teaspoon bourbon vanilla
In the bowl of an electric mixer, combine all ingredients. Whip on medium high speed until stiff peaks form. Keep chilled until serving.





Copyright 2008 Meloni Courtway.  All rights reserved.  Unauthorized reproduction prohibited.

Sleep little child

I am insanely furious this evening with my  husband.  H has the pleasure of getting up at 4:30 a.m. every morning to spend an hour by himself as he commutes to work, and another whole hour on the way home.  More time even if he's lucky and hit's traffic.

I however wake at the chipper hour of 6:30a.m. (but don't think I have really been sleeping, as our current early morning bed mate has been tossing and turning and begging for snuggles since 3 a.m. or so), and I haven't slept a sound wink. No, I digress, I have slept a couple of winks since 3 a.m., but none of them holy and peaceful.

So, anyways, I get up at 6:30 to follow the blue eyed girl off the bed and into what ever mess has been left from the night before.  And we begin.

We drive to school, we read, we hug brother goodbye.

We drive home, chanting, "Stay awake, stay awake!".  And I tap the breaks to jostle her eyes back open.  "Almost home!".  And into the house past the jumpy dog, to the crib for a dry diaper and a hug and some late morning rest.  And she goes to sleep. 

For twenty minutes.

And we're up again and about, and oh so happy to have rested, and play, play, play "Mama".  And we scream when mom puts us down to do the laundry (which mom won't finish), because we honestly haven't gotten enough sleep for a 1 year old. 

Back to school to get big brother and screaming all the way home. Into bed for an afternoon nap.

For twenty minutes.

Interrupting with more screams big brother and I doing his reading work.  Shes up  and shes mad, and I leave her for twenty more to fight it out as I work with the older one on some Mama time. 

And I can't pinpoint exactly why I hate my husband so much right now, but I know I do, and I can't tell him because he's in traffic on the way home and the radios turned up.