Hot Water Bath

Summer In the Kitchen (or Not)

2009-06-21T21:27:00.004-04:00

Laurie Colwin related in her delightful cooking memoir Home Cooking the story of a friend who wondered about the herald-of-spring quality in the picnic staged by students at the seminary across the street from Colwin's apartment. "What is it about Episcopalians," the friend asked. "Is it their genes to barbecue?"

I think that when the friend in the story said barbecue she meant grill, although I cannot say for sure because I knew neither party to the conversation. The key to understanding what she meant, I suppose, is knowing whether or not the noun or verb form of barbecue was meant. Given the context, this Episcopalian is going with the verb and is very happy to do so. Grilling may not be in my genes but it's certainly among my preferences for getting good food on the table with a minimum of fuss, a maximum of flavor, avoidance of burgers and dogs where possible, and leaving ample time to pursue some of the other great joys of summer (swimming, gardening, sitting on the back porch watching fireflies, and - shocker! - canning).

In the warmer months, I rely upon three tools (a grill basket, a small cookie sheet that was perhaps meant for a toaster oven, and a set of skewers), a selection of condiments (if you're wondering what on earth made you concoct a batch of jerk sauce now you know) and two bread products (8 inch flour tortillas and garlic bread). From this modest list of necessities, great things can be achieved.

The basket can hold diced potatoes or cauliflower spears or mushrooms or whatever. Sprinkled with a bit of olive oil and seasoned with salt, pepper and/or some of that Adobo spice stuff (the bitter orange is really great) and plunked right on the grill, you've got a side dish fit for all comers. The skewers make short work of cooking any combination of meats/fish or veggies, all marinated overnight in Chiavetta's Italian Dressing or the jerk sauce (or even the Hot and Sweet Dipping Sauce). Thread 'em up and put them right next to the basket. They'll cook in minutes in a well-heated grill.

The teeny cookie sheet holds more fragile veggies - zucchini ribbons, say, or maybe red onion strings - salted and peppered and sprinkled with a spare amount of red wine vinegar (or that cheapie balsamic stuff in the green bottle). That, too, can go right on the grill. As for the bread, wrapped in foil (or not), either tortillas or garlic bread will warm sufficiently within minutes.

And that's dinner, prepared and served in roughly 40 minutes, with little cleanup in terms of pots and pans (the foil, once cooled, can be rinsed and used again and again and...). Salsa or steak sauce (Helen Witty has a recipe I've been meaning to try) are nice, as is a bit of yogurt with mango pickle or diced hot peppers. If I've got some good fruit, I might add a bowl or maybe a plate of sliced tomatoes and cheese for company, but these are frills and not at all necessary. A glass of wine, however, improves even this wonderful meal immeasurably.

When the dishes are cleared away and the minor post-dinner cleaning chores are done, it's no small gift have time to spare, something that I suspect even the grilling-suspicious Laurie Colwin and her friend would understand.

The Reason For It All...

2009-06-13T18:42:00.007-04:00

...or at least most of the reason for most of it all.

We had these pictures taken last fall to capture what seemed to be an almost magical time. The children were in that wonderful in-between state of needing and independence, not so old as to want to shrug away from publicly-offered hugs and not so young as to require constant and exhausting vigilance. Despite my personal fondness for near countless throngs in the next generation I am not exactly comfortable with actual babies (mine included, regrettably). I do toddlers really well, though, and preschoolers and I get along famously.

Now that we're halfway through the Boy's elementary school experience and the Girl has been promoted from pre-K, rendering my preschool parent days well behind me, I am almost eager for the next era. I hope that in my excitement I don't forget to remember this time when it seemed we'd be this way forever.

Not a NY Times Review Site

2009-06-06T17:36:00.007-04:00

So, yes, that canning article was pretty interesting, no? I loved the inclusion of Edon Waycott, the woman who acted as my canning gateway drug so many years ago (and who, honestly, covered the same territory as the piece's focus but better and first) and the mention of community-based preserving co-ops. Lovely! And, like Ace Commenter Catherine I appreciated the nod to resisting the temptation to profile home canning as the next big retro craze.

I did chafe at the bit about canning being a "quasi-political act" if only because there is little more polarizing in our world than politics and even people who share wide swaths of common ground fall out all too easily when politics are brought into the act. You like to make jam, your neighbor also likes to make jam and although you may make it for different, unfathomable-to-each-other reasons (perhaps you're a locavore while he's feverishly preparing for the zombie apocalypse, say) make it together anyway. You might find lots of stuff will taste better as a result.

In other New York Times news, I was fascinated by a recent Op-Ed concerning Michelle Obama's off-the-cuff remarks that, now living in the White House, she doesn't miss cooking. Now, I adore the piece's author, Amanda Hesser, and have gone to great lengths to defend her whenever the opportunity arises (you'd may be surprised how often this actually happens, it's strange the lightening she attracts). But! I think she's off base on this one.

Not that she didn't touch on the right notes. Frugality, health, self-reliance all get shout outs, and rightly so. And I've said often enough (here and here and here and here) that I bemoan the current state of family cooking and wish more kids could be lured into the kitchen, of which the happy byproduct would be less of a burden (yes, Amanda, even for someone who loves to cook the process can be a chore) for the one person who usually finds herself with the job. (For the record, Michelle Obama and I both have two children, full-time jobs - although I'm willing to cop to the fact that hers is a wee bit more demanding than mine - and husbands whose work takes them out of the house more often than not. There the comparison of our lives breaks down - I rarely travel, I have near complete privacy and I seldom am held up as a role model of anything but, still, if someone offered me a highly trained chef to "help" on a daily basis I would require less than a heartbeat to accept. And I really like cooking.)

I don't think this is really Michelle Obama's fight. As much as I share the desire for a very charismatic roll model showing families the way back into the kitchen together, I don't think the solution is to tsk-tsk women who admit that it's just not their thing. Moreover, reading that Obama's well-documented toned arms somehow prepare her for whisking duty leaves me with the same faint queasy feeling I get whenever I hear someone demand of my very tall brother-in-law why he never played basketball. Poor form, that.

And? I'm uncomfortable with the idea that there is one way to be First Lady. Is it really so hard to work with the idea that First Ladies, just like us regular, er, ladies will come with some variety?

Finally, and on a completely different topic, I've been for some time mulling a post about my enduring but conflicted love for All Recipes. Enduring because I almost always find a good starting point for whatever it is I've got a notion to make. From flourless chocolate cake to fish tacos, All Recipes has never let me down. Conflicted because, my word, is there any other site out there which has user reviews so consistently useless (if entertaining)?

Turns out I don't have to write that post because the New York Times did it a little over two years ago,making all the points I'd make if I were going to write about it, which I nearly did but now won't. Go read the article instead. Very entertaining.

No Quote From Me?

2009-05-27T06:55:00.002-04:00

The New York Times has an article about canning today. I haven't read it yet (making breakfast, getting dressed, etc.) but will. Do the same and come back to tell me what you thought?

Not Too Far From the Tree

2009-05-17T12:50:00.004-04:00

Yesterday when the Boy asked, after spying a cello carton of basil, if we could make a pesto for lunch I was tempted to demur. “Basil’s not in season here yet,” I might have said. “This carton came all the way from California.” Or maybe I could have appealed to the his inclination to be more frugal than I with “You know, we could buy two whole basil starts for the same price. Can you wait until July for your pesto?”

Fortunately, good sense carried the day and I recognized that that my son, bless his heart, 1) saw and recognized basil in a container that did not actually say basil, 2) remembered that basil is a key component in a traditional pesto and 3) did not ask me to make him pesto for lunch but rather asked if we could make it together and 4) unlike many of his pals, will actually eat something that doesn’t actually look all that great (green + slimy is so attractive to eight year old boys in so many ways but why not in the form of food?). After only a moment’s prevarication, I decided that these points ought to be rewarded. We bought the basil.

His job: everything. He stemmed, rinsed and dried the greens, shredded the cheese and figured out proportions of nuts, garlic, oil, salt and pepper, grinding and tasting his way to a rather nice sauce.

A mom could get used to this. And if it's true what some guy in the New York Times said about pesto maybe being a wee bit less than au courant, I suggest humbly that he run out at the earliest opportunity to find himself an unjaded eight year old for whom pesto is less a cultural touchstone and more just a delicious lunch he can make (mostly) by himself.

2009-04-26T20:34:00.002-04:00

I've just sung the last song of our increasingly elaborate bedtime ritual and have used my most lovingly stern voice to remind my cherubs of our shared interests in their staying in bed for the night. With that, a glass of wine and a bit of surfing I'll end my own day, a tiring (if pleasant) one that as capped off an amazingly exhausting five day stretch.

If there are any words that are beginning to terrorize me more than, say, anything that the news can drum up, they would have to be preschool rummage sale. Held in the church with which the school is affiliated, the annual sale is an epic event demanding superhuman effort on the part of half a dozen volunteers and the vast inconveniencing of an additional score. Moving a couple hundred chairs, a grand piano, bell tables and assorted altar furniture in and out of the worship space and in between holding court as several hundred shoppers poked, picked and peaked around the thousands of donated items for sale which had been sorted and tagged during the preceding five nights, well, it's enough to tire a girl out. And make her sore in all kinds of not-usually so used places.

The sale was successful so the tiredness is abundantly worthwhile. Our scholarship fund is newly plumped and community bonds are strengthened so you'll hear no complaints from me. That I was able to score a brand new Sookie Stackhouse box set of the first seven Southern Vampire Mystery books for a single U.S. dollar is icing on the rummage cake.

There seems like there's a ton more I ought to share - the linen-ish skirt I've nearly finished sewing for myself, the daisy-bedecked sundress made for the Girl, recent cooking adventures with the kids (the Boy can now make pancakes more or less on his own, shocking me tremendously...if he can feed himself reasonably well, I am very nearly obsolete, yes?), my delight that strawberry season is upon us and my increasingly desperate search for a humdinger birthday present for Brainiac. For now, though, sleep. Lots and lots of sleep.

Go On, Make Me Happy

2009-04-01T21:19:00.002-04:00

The word "things" can be made to be so ugly. Especially in times such as ours when the notion of taking a shine to material goods is used as shorthand for those sorts of people who aren't as enlightened as we, those who haven't embraced the simple joys so much more appropriate to difficult times. (See also: my belief that people who want me to stop "coloring within the lines" really just want me to start coloring within their lines, or "why my acquisitive/religious/literary/residential/educational choices are more authentic and spiritually/economically/morally/environmentally/socially sound than yours".) Whatever. I don't much care. We've all got enough on our plates and surely enough to worry about without having to parse and/or footnote that which brings the joy, yes?

Today was a difficult day in the middle of a not-so-pleasant week in what just might turn out to be a year of notable disquiet. Do I dwell? No. Instead I visit my happy place, which is currently stocked with the following things:

1. OPI's "Baby It's Coal Outside"
2. The Hothouse Flowers
3. Pansies
4. Rose's Lime Juice
5. Pink glitter
6. The novels of Victoria Dahl, Jo Goodman and Sherry Thomas. Oh, and Georgette Heyer
7. Really thick ecru writing paper
8. Needlepoint pillows
9. Lemon oil
10. Rose Poivree
11. The Book of Common Prayer
12. Blackberry jam
13. Picking the first tomato
14. My monogram (MJW or MWJ in case you want to buy me something)
15. That I am the fifth generation to use "my" lusterware tea service
16. Filling Christmas stockings
17. Swimming laps
18. Folding laundry
19. That Nine West shoes fit me without having to try on
20. My friend Jen's taco dip
21. Pretty cocktail napkins
22. Almond paste
23. The way Brainiac and I hardly have to talk to have a conversation
24. Easter hats on little girls
25. My kids' love of crayons
26. Tea, iced or hot
27. My car's seat warmer
28. My old Laura Ashley catalogs
29. The picture of a German Shepherd that I drew in 7th grade
30. The idea of a brocade and velvet skirt I'd like to sew for myself

There. That's better. What's in your happy place?

Togetherness

2009-03-29T12:25:00.004-04:00

We're fixin' to take the pressure canner for a spin this weekend. It will be interesting doing a canning project with Brainiac. Not that he's not usually involved to some degree, if only to calmly listen while I complain about all the tomatoes or peppers or...but this time I want him pretty close by. An inaugural run of any new equipment that involves buttons, a power source, gauges or instruction manuals of any level of complexity is boundto have me too jittery to think clearly. His sciencey, rational demeanor will do be good this first time out.

To prepare I've concocted what looks in the fridge to be a lifetime supply of chicken broth. In reality it's probably less than a month's worth, since it and veggie broth are staples around here. I find store-bought broth to be perfectly acceptable but making my own appeals to my inner frugalista, that secret corner of my personality that freezes carrot peelings.

Yes, it's true. My method for broth making is simple: freeze chicken carcasses (we have a roasted chicken maybe every other month) and also freeze veggie peelings from carrots, onions and the like (including also celery tops, onion sprouts and garlic that's a bit past it's prime). So now you've got chicken(s) and an ever-filling container of veggies. Eventually the twain shall meet and you can 'em all in a pot with water and a couple peppercorns to make broth. Easy as pot pie.

In times recently gone by I'd freeze the broth. With the acquisition of the pressure canner we'll be able to keep the broth while also preserving precious freezer space for something else. Excellent.

Now, I realize that on the face of it, all this is kind of silly. Freezing already-cooked (chicken) or processed (veggies) stuff only to cook it into something else and then process it for storage when more broth than I could ever use is on offer at a perfectly nice store not five miles from me...well, yeah. Silly. That's not the point. Not my point, anyway (although I know it may well be the point for you) and I'm o.k. with that. I like not wasting perfectly good raw materials and knowing what's in the food on my shelves. Realistically, I can't do that for everything but where I can (ha! can? get it?), I will.

The Best Sauce

2009-03-16T20:09:00.004-04:00

If my kitchen smells a bit peculiar at the moment, it's only because I embracing a notion to be productive. The oven is packed with a peach-blueberry crisp, chocolate chip muffins and a pumpkin pie while the stove top entertains my largest stockpot simmering the makings for chicken broth (for pressure canning experiments) and a bit of roasted veggie pasta sauce. The aroma around here isn't bad, just strange.

Some of these will find their ways to friends' houses and others are meant for us here at home, but what almost all have in common is that they would not have been possible today had I not canned, frozen or otherwise stored the key ingredients months ago. I haven't been able to do any food shopping for almost three weeks and not for the first time am I thankful for spending the time I do stocking our pantry. Remind me of this, will you, when come late summer I complain about drowning in apples or tomatoes or whatever is vexing me at that moment?

The fruit crisp is our dinner party offering. I rashly promised to bring dessert without actually thinking about what I might produce. With the day upon me, I peered into cupboard and freezer until - a ha! - inspiration struck in the form of two bags of frozen blueberries to pair with a pint of canned peaches. A quick crumble on top and off we go. I love fruit crisps hot, warm or cold, with cream or without and will take almost any opportunity to share my devotion. If peach is good and blueberry is better, surely together they'll be fantastic, right? Let us hope.

The roasted veggie sauce is saving tomorrow's lunch. I've got some wagon wheel pasta on hand - my favorite for brown bagging because they don't have to be cut, twirled or slurped - but no commercial sauce. No problem. I pulled a pint of the roasted veggie sauce off the shelf, poured in a half a cup of leftover merlot and just like that, there's tomorrow's lunch.

These are just two examples of the sheer convenience of having a stock of homemade convenience foods. On other recent days I've opened salsa for snacks, pickles to brighten a plain meal, and diced tomatoes for dirty rice. Blackberry jam filled thumbprint cookies made to cheer a friend, while tomolives graced more than one martini glass. In nearly three weeks of what I had thought of as sub-optimal food procurement I've been astonished again and again by how little we actually needed and missed.

Even while I extol the virtues of home canning, though, I have to confess that it's true that similar benefits could be had with careful shopping for commercial goods. Still, I think we can't overlook the empowerment that taking more charge of one's food brings. I know the origin of every ingredient in every jar I opened, hugged the people that stood beside me filling them, pint after pint after pint.

This week the pantry associated with the local medical clinic put out a call for assistance, looking to fill their rapidly dwindling stocks. With three weeks of near-zero food-related expenditures thanks to decisions we made six or seven months ago, my family's mandate is abundantly clear.

What an extraordinary privilege.

Quiz Show

2009-03-09T22:14:00.002-04:00

Like many folks these days, Brainiac and I are trying to be more mindful in how we spend our increasingly limited discretionary cash. Some changes were a long time coming and we're grateful to have the kick in the pants to take care of them. Other fiscal adjustments are more nuanced and may not even look like much to the outside observer but are making quite an impact to us personally (I recently learned that I can buy four bottles of nail polish for the cost of one manicure! Laugh if you must, I will merely smile the smug smile of someone whose nails look fantastic at a fraction of the usual cost + a bottle of Seche Vite). For shorthand we might call these line items NO and MAYBE.

We have a third category, let's call it YES, in which we have, if anything, expanded our spending. You might think of it as covering anything which could be considered tool-like. Under this rather large umbrella we placed things like chain saw (although now unnecessary because Brainiac trashed picked and repaired one from a nearby posh 'hood's curb - can you say score?), printer ink, drying rack(s) and so on (I should point out that the YES list isn't really a license to spend, it's really more a wishlist of practical items for which we are willing to exchange actual money, although we hope the situation doesn't actually come to that). Anyway, last week I indulged my inner spendinista in a highly responsible way by purchasing an item off of the YES list. What did I buy? How about a quiz? I'll give you three hints. My purchase:

1) Relates to the, uh, theme of this here blog,

2) Requires me to read a gauge (Brainiac cracks up at this one), and

3) Enables me to can non-acidic foods like broths or plain green beans.

So what do you think I bought? Oh, here's a bonus fourth hint: It just might be more fun that all those bottles of nail polish.

Red Beans and Ricely Yours

2009-03-03T21:29:00.005-05:00

Lately I've noticed a steep uptick in the number of people brought to my little interwebby home with searches on things like "Dave Ramsey rice beans" or "beans and rice rice and beans" or even "ramsey bean rice do i have to" (yes, really). In the year and a half since I posted my thoughts on the subject of Mr. Ramsey's dietary recommendations the hits have been steady, if not numerous. A few a week, here and there, with the occasional e-mailed question of what, exactly, did I mean by paneer or how dare I compare the man to Martha Stewart. All very workaday. In the last month those weekly few have turned into a daily few dozen.

It's not hard to understand why. Some folks are getting serious about their personal debt load and are embracing Dave Ramsey's methods for coping with and eliminating it. Others are just trying to figure out how to put a decent meal on the table while using as few of their scarce dollars as possible. One doesn't have to be an, ahem, news analyst to make sense of their interest in Ramsey's anti-debt empire or his ever-so-catchy admonishment.

To the extent that my referrals are economic coalmine canaries (o.k., they aren't at all, but go with me, yes?) there's more that brings me pause. The same day that CNN.com posted an article about white-collar, educated, professional folks utilizing foodbanks in California I received two separate e-mails and perhaps half a dozen hits all asking essentially the same question: can home canning help me feed my family cheaply.

Leaving aside the many unpalatable issues brought to bear in the CNN.com article - and I believe there are many besides the regrettable fact that people are hungry - it, the e-mails and referrals all underscore a key point that I've made before (here and here and here) and which I am going to make again right now. Knowing how to cook, how to can and even the basics of shopping for food are not luxuries, they are shields against all manner of weapons. Choosing a steady diet of rice and beans for any reason can be a grand and noble thing, but better if one can do it in a way that doesn't feel like a punishment or, worse, a consequence for decisions made in meeting rooms in far away cities by people never encountered. If one knows how to cook, there is endless (frugal) variety and pleasure to be found in beans and rice. If one knows how to shop for ingredients and is able to use them, the household impact of ever-increasing costs for pop tarts or boxed soup mix or anything else might be diminished (although admittedly not eliminated - there are limits, after all).

The talking heads have been agog at their wondering what the economy might mean for family life. Might people entertain at home more? Throw less elaborate home parties for birthdays? Vacation closer to home, camping perhaps? I suppose any or all of this is possible (although I remember the early-90s recession-influenced fashion of flannel and tightwadery didn't last all that long, did it?) I'd like to throw another possibility out there.

Maybe we'll learn to cook. For real, like with cutting and mixing and applying heat and measuring. Maybe we'll learn to do it with our kids, filling their metaphorical toolbox with the skills they'll need to be not as vulnerable as their parents to the vagaries and whims of large corporations. Maybe we'll be more ant-like, shunning our internal grasshopper voices to pick fruit and make jam, even when the day returns that we don't have to. Maybe we'll do it because it's a good thing to learn to do with our families, working together side by side to feed ourselves and each other. Maybe.

And to answer the question, yes, it's possible that preserving food at home can contribute to a lower grocery bill. For all of you who asked, I hope you found what you're looking for in your search here. Stick around and we'll learn even more together. As with most things, cooking and canning are more fun with friends.

Spiced Honey, At Long Last

2009-02-23T20:38:00.014-05:00

Spiced honey falls under "not really thrifty, but cheaper than in a store" category of home food preserving. A frugal indulgence, if you will. One can pay a pretty penny for a very similar commercial product, but spicing and canning honey at home is so easy and it's such a perfect winter canning project that it would be a shame not to try it at least once.

There are those who believe that cloves and cinnamon sticks are the order of the day. Purists adhere to one or the other. I say go big or go home and load up on star anise. Beautiful, aromatic and delicious, star anise adds an ever-so-slightly licorice flavor to the honey alongside an indefinable what is that that lends the whole affair a decidedly mysterious bent.

I buy honey from a hobbyist-turned-microfarmer who lives a few miles down the road from me. If you can, try to find someone close by your neck of the woods from whom you can do the same. We're all a little spooked by the dying bees thing and, whatever the cause of the trouble, we'll all do well to help however we can. This does not mean that I believe you're disqualified from spiced honey if you can't locate a local provider. Not at all. File it under "trying" and carry on as best you can. This is supposed to be fun, not guilt-inducing.

So. You've got your honey, about 2 pounds of it, I'd say. All you need next is a bit of citrus juice, maybe a tablespoon, and some kind of spice. Lemon is canon, but I also like lime and what I've got tonight is a pink grapefruit (from my grandmother's tree! wheee! I love grapefruit) so that's what I'm using. For the spice, do what you will. You don't need a lot of it because you'll be infusing the flavor and don't have to include the spices themselves in the jar (unless you want to - the effect can be lovely).

Combine all your ingredients into a saucepan and warm over low-to-medium heat, stirring frequently. Keep on like this, tasting liberally, until you get something you like. Then jar according to the directions on the box, straining the spices out and leaving half an inch of head space, and process in a hot water bath for 10 minutes. If you have an odd amount that's too small to process, strain it into a clean jar and put it in the fridge. The honey will crystallize, but will be perfectly good for spooning into a beverage or spreading onto toast.

That's it. For maybe 15 minutes of hands-on time you've been rewarded with a few jars of pure sunshiney gold, not to mention a few tricks you can change up and switch around depending upon your mood the next time. And I can't imagine how there wouldn't be a next time.

I used half-pints tonight since I'm embracing honey-based selfishness with these and don't intend to share (but probably will anyway). For gifting I might go with quarter-pints (you know, those teeny tiny jam jars) and pair with some white tea or a loaf of really good white bread. If you've got a sick friend, a jar coupled with a small bottle of brandy and a new tea cup probably wouldn't go amiss. If you hang with unrepentant sweet mongers, then spoons are probably the best accompaniments.

But you didn't hear it from me.

Birdie Call

2009-02-19T19:29:00.001-05:00

For four mornings running I awoke to the sounds of birds singing and emerged from my bed with thoughts of spring and sunshine on my mind. What I actually discovered was...something else entirely. We are still mired in the grey and gloom so characteristic of this month and have also enjoyed a few freeze/thaw/rain cycles which have gifted us with significant mud to boot. Not exactly what those singing birds promised. Maybe I dreamed of them? It wouldn't be the first time my delusions came with aural manifestations.

Still. Spring may be some time away yet but a girl's got to plan. In odd moments I'll jot a recipe here, an idea for a new hot pepper garden there or a maybe a reminder to buy gingham for sundresses on the corner of an invoice. I've found myself daydreaming of blackberry picking while, say, in a meeting most definitely not about such things. Last summer I didn't have nearly as much fun as I might have and I am determined to right that old wrong. Bread will be baked! Flowers will be planted! That old annoying yew? The dying/dead one? Along the front walk? Will be removed!

Work will be nuts, of course, with the news that my employer, an enormous company, is being bought by an even bigger one. What will this mean? I have no idea. There are the usual family worries, well worn, plus a few new ones that I'd just as soon not visit us. But there they are nonetheless. There will be bills and deadlines and annoyances in spades - things that make it all too easy to retreat from personal plans and goals. I will have to work hard to remind myself that the sun still will come up regardless of my employment status, the birds (not imagined ones, at that) will sing no matter how many meetings on my calendar and that gingham sundresses for one's daughter don't exactly sew themselves even when the family is completely happy and hale. I will have to work to remember that the meetings and expenses and errands and sorrow will always be with us, in one form or another, and that it's my responsibility to give them no more due than absolutely required.

Easy promises to make, harder to keep. I'd better get started.

The March Hare

2009-02-16T07:57:00.007-05:00

I am not going to belabor how much I hate February. I refuse. I will only say that for a short month is has a heck of a long list of offenses to answer for. How does one month become so terrifically ambitious in the dismay and mayhem department? It boggles the mind.

Beyond the regular old economic news which, honestly, is like background noise at this point (futures? oil? jobs? it's all almost quaint) my own rather quotidian worries have been rather rapidly overtaken by events that, if made into a movie or a book, no one would ever believe. Typical of my incredible good fortune, these things don't happen to me, rather they happen around me, to those to whom I am to closest. I'd rather they didn't happen at all, of course, but I suppose that's an unrealizable request.

On Friday, when news of the crash of Flight 3407 started filtering into the news, friends and colleagues started saying things like, "Oh, I heard Buffalo and thought about your family but then realized that the town isn't that small What are the odds?" My response? You'd be surprised.

Clarence Center is a difficult place to describe to suburbanites accustomed to towns that run into one another in one unceasing flow of buildings and cars. Clarence Center abuts my hometown of Williamsville, New York, more or less. In between the towns there is a ruralish, sparsely-populated area and then you come to the hamlet of Clarence Center. Three, maybe four blocks long, there's a church, a coffee house, a gift shop, a bank and a firehouse. And an elementary school. The cross streets - the few of them there are - are almost entirely residential but for a contractor here or a day care center there. It's a short drive out of town into the horse, dairy and green bean farms. It's the kind of town people think about when they talk about those all-American places that Norman Rockwell might have painted.

It's surreal enough that a place I know so well, even after being away longer than I lived there as a child, was involved in something so awful and completely random and weird. The thing is, my sister lives in Clarence Center, about 100 yards from the single house that was destroyed. She now shows identification to a sheriff's deputy to return to her home after work or errands. She has described the smell in the air, one that promises to get worse before it gets better. My niece takes cover under the dining room table when a plane or helicopter is heard in the sky (just a few miles from the airport, this is not an infrequent event). The good men of the firehouse next door are doing their best to assist the federal departments that have descended, trying to do what they can before the next snow blows in mid-week.

My sister, and the town, are hurting. Survivor guilt is the talk of the day and veterans in the area speak knowingly of PTSD. There's little I can do but be as understanding as possible in that thoroughly insufficient way of someone who isn't there, hearing the crackles of the still-smoldering fire, who isn't organizing grief counseling for the many school kids who live on that block, who isn't wondering how to begin to talk about something so totally, horrifyingly random and from which there is no protection.

The Last of the Car Posts (I swear)

2009-01-27T21:44:00.005-05:00

So Brainiac has this new GPS thing. I wasn't exactly what you'd call supportive of the purchase but instead of arguing or getting all logicky with him ("But, honey, we don't actually go new places" or "But, honey, our own home can't even be found with the device so how much utility could it actually have?") I decided to just keep my mouth shut and let the poor man follow his geosynchronous bliss.

Shows what great ideas I have.

There is now a little black box perched on my car's dash. The kids have named the little black box Mrs. Ashi (yes, the box gets an honorific. me? I am almost always referred to as "she") and I am NOT allowed to speak over her clipped guidance. In case it's not clear, let me spell it out: Mrs. Ashi is allowed to speak her piece while I am routinely talked over and argued with. And! The Boy knows enough about maps and direction in general (plus, we do go to the same places over and over again) to know when I am not doing what Mrs. Ashi has instructed me to do and he is vocal in his dismay. It's humiliating. Of course, if I could get anywhere without being lost perhaps I wouldn't be in this situation.

It's not really my fault, though. I live in a place where, within just a few miles of my house, one can find the following roads: Valley, Old Valley, North Valley, Valley Hill, Valley Creek, Valley Forge, Old Valley Forge, South Valley, Valley Park and Orchard Valley. A little farther afield we can find even more variations on this theme (and, by the way, type "valley" enough and it stops looking right). How on earth is anyone supposed to have any directional sense in such an environment is completely beyond me.

The rest of the family is devoted to Mrs. Ashi even as I question her utility so I am trying to be welcoming. I suspect that if Mrs. Ashi were to develop opposable thumbs, an interest in marathon sessions of Shoots and Ladders and learned how to order a pizza I might be replaced altogether.

Automotive Ennui

2009-01-22T21:38:00.003-05:00

So, you remember the car that caught fire, right? Although the manufacturer took care of the situation and expressed great dismay for our plight, we thought perhaps we ought to consider a replacement vehicle. This isn't a decision made lightly, of course; besides very compelling macroeconomic concerns there is also the very simple matter of my consuming resentment of almost any amount of money spent on automotive requirements. I really, really, really hate parting with even the smallest sums on cars or their maintenance and this, you might understand, interferes somewhat with the car buying process. How it came to pass that I married a man who loves nothing more than to tinker on, shop for, or talk about cars is a mystery for the ages. It's probably true that we create many of our own challenges, don't you think?

I've been playing along with the whole new (to us) car idea because I take a pretty dim view of the whole catching-fire-while-driving thing. The dimness of the view shifts a bit when presented with the costs of automotive acquisition and I don't know where we'll end up with it. Since I first offered a tentative agreement that a new car would be a good idea Brainiac has probably visited every dealership within a 20 mile drive. To say he's excited is a gross misrepresentation and I feel a little bit the killjoy when I remind him that despite my consent I'm not that happy about it and I'll probably be a little miserable about the whole thing. For a while. Poor guy, but I can't fake this. You either feel the car thing or you don't, and I don't.

I especially didn't feel it when Brainiac called to tell me one day that he'd been in an accident with the other car on his way to work. Some guy tried to occupy the same space as he, it seems, and physics being what it is, they collided and now we've got the thread of totaling hanging over the car we had hoped to keep. It's really more than I can bear. One new car? With medication, therapy and a few bottles of wine I might see my way clear to becoming fully functional again someday.

Two new cars? Excuse me while I go to my Happy Place, if only virtually. I'd visit in person but I'm afraid I'd have to drive.

The Old Gray Mare

2009-01-14T20:59:00.008-05:00

I suppose by now you've come to the same conclusion as I. It's true, I'm the worst blogger ever. I make bloggy promises and walk away, drop philosophical anvils and scoot, post idly about plans for fun little themed series and pfft. I am, not to put too fine a point on it, not to be relied upon, blog-wise.

It wasn't always thus. Hot Water Bath has been around now for nearly seven years (that's, like, 49 in blog years) and my words here have been much of a journal as I've ever kept. It occurred to me recently, though, that part of the challenge to my ability to keep posting as I used to is precisely that the longevity is working against me. My life isn't the same as it was when I started but I keep trying to post about the same sorts of things as always. Clearly that idea is a non-starter.

So where does leave us? I don't know. Let's take a leaf from my workaday life and do a bit of an analytical exercise, shall we?

Marsha's Life
Year: 2002	Year: 2005	Year: 2009	Advantage
loves house	hates house	loves house	2009
town o.k.	town tiresome	town awesome	2009
no time to read	serious reading	vamps in lurve!	2009
canning = hobby	canning = duty	canning = diversionary	2009

See what I mean? I could go on: For a long time I believed that I could save the world by shopping at a farm market. Now it's more like, "eh, buy your kale and move along, lady, there's a line forming". I used to bake a lot more, but now I rely on a few standby items that I can make with my eyes closed, thereby freeing up time for polishing my nails (oh, how I love this new OPI color I scored on my birthday) or sitting on the back porch with Brainiac and sharing a cigar. My life has changed so it's only fitting that my blog should, too.

I need to consider things a little more before I go off and make tons of changes but I think I can safely say that things might be a wee bit different soon. I understand now that I, myself, am a whole lot different and I'm going to be dragging the blog alongside. Tally ho!

Not Exactly Speed Racer

2008-11-26T07:09:00.002-05:00

Item: The older car's been making a funny rattle which had been thought to be due to recent ridiculously sub-normal temperatures. Turns out? Water pump. Undriveable for now, part in transit, work to commence at some unspecified point in the near future.

Item: The newer car (newer being relative; it's a 2001 model year) started smoldering on the much-dreaded Route 202S last night. The summoned brother-in-law, a fireman, grinned while delivering the news, "Yep. Your car is burning." New oxygen sensors, at minimum, required. Work to commence at some unspecified point in the near future.

Consequences: Behind on laundry, dishes, errands, packing, wrapping, sewing and canning. Gift posts coming, and I mean it this time, after the holiday. For those of you in countries without a holiday this week (lots of referrals from Uzbekistan lately - hi Uzbekistan!) and have no idea of what I am speaking this means, more or less, that I'll start posting again on Sunday.

Until then, amuse yourself with cranberry chutney or making your own relish tray or otherwise having a splendid week. As for me, the kids and I are outta here. I have tons for which to be thankful and I may as well start now.

Blood Drive

2008-11-20T21:13:00.002-05:00

The spiced honey post is being delayed just a bit because a friend-related emergency has arisen which requires my complete attention and a small amount of time (which nonetheless interferes with canning ops). My friend is, I feel compelled to note, rational, mature, intelligent and even-keeled.

She also wants to see Twilight. Tonight. At midnight. Not alone.

When a friend needs me, who am I to turn away? Sure, we both have to parent and work tomorrow and we both have Saturdays that look terrifying on paper. But we both also like a little vampire lurve (she specifically with these characters, with which I have no experience) so why not? It's not like opportunities to recapture one's youth come 'round every day.

I haven't been to a movie theater since the first Harry Potter film which I think was, what?, 2001 or something? I scarcely know how to act in a theater anymore since they got indoor plumbing.

Wish me luck.

Eighteen with Twenty-Two Years Experience

2008-11-19T20:23:00.002-05:00

On December 31 - a mere 42 days from today - I will ~~celebrate~~ ~~observe~~ experience my 40th birthday. Despite my natural inclination to draw attention to myself and insist upon adoration and fealty from all who cross my path on that sacred day, I suspect that this year might be significantly quieter than past such events.

In my youth a New Year's Eve birthday was splendid. I never had to go to school on my birthday and friends were almost always home to attend an afternoon party. When I grew up enough for sleepovers, my friends' parents were only too delighted to send their darlings to my house clearing their own out for duration. In still later years I enjoyed a surfeit of entertainment options and always had a date (or two) at the ready to assist with whatever celebrations came my way. I rarely had to organize anything because the world (well, my world) was only too happy to thrust merriment upon me and cook up outrageous fun on my behalf. This delightful truth held until recent years.

These days I have only one date in the form of Brainiac, a wonderful man who'd really rather not bother with the whole thing at all and in the process throws the baby of my birthday out with the New Year's Eve bathwater. If we go anywhere we're the couple that bugs out around 11 p.m. so that he can be home safe and sound and in pajamas before counting down of any kind begins. If we stay home he's zonked well before Barry Manilow ever takes the stage.

Getting together with friends can also be tricky. Some have established traditions, spending the holiday with other friends or family or a set combination of both. Others travel, making a point to be somewhere besides cold and grey southeast Pennsylvania. Many of my friends have children and there simply are not enough babysitters to go around while a kid-friendly party does little to thrill those friends who don't share their daily lives with younger folk. What to do?

I've decided that I need an Official Birthday. You know, like Queen Elizabeth? She has a day for celebration - Trooping the Color? How fantastic is that? - entirely separate from the actual day on which she was born. I've long thought that if it's good (key word being "good") for Queen Elizabeth, it's good for me. So with that in mind, I need a day when 1) there is little chance of mass public drunkenness, thereby enticing Brainiac to activity, 2) the weather is likely to be good, 3) friends are inclined to be in town and available. Brainiac's birthday is in May and almost always coincides with the long Memorial Day weekend and my first thought was perhaps to tie my Official Birthday to Labor Day, thus book ending summer nicely. But darn near everyone we know locally takes off to the beach or the mountains for Labor Day, in clear violation of requirement number 3. So maybe the Saturday after Labor Day? Or perhaps the one before? Mid-October is good, too.

This is going to require some thought. Although I am not really sad about turning 40 or finding it particularly problematic, buying myself another nine or ten months before the event is, well, official is kind of nifty. I'll even make it easy by not demanding my very own parade.

Seeing Stars

2008-11-17T21:25:00.001-05:00

Although I posted that I'd be making the White Wine-Sage Mustard next, I've had so many e-mails looking for the spiced honey that I'm going to put that up this week and save the mustard for the the first week in December. I've actually been a little afraid of the honey idea - honey being so sticky and hard to control - and I'm glad that the interest is there to keep me on task. I'm going to make two kinds; one with cinnamon and clove and one with star anise. Both are insanely delicious, really not at all hard to make (stickiness aside) and wonderful to give (or not). Watch for the honey post by the end of the day Thursday.

In the meantime, I've been also trying to finish up some crafty gifts in time for my Thanksgiving trip to Buffalo. The kids and I are heading up for the long weekend and I'm very keen to be able to have all the presents wrapped and ready to go. I'm way more organized this year than in the last few and that makes all the difference between good intentions and actual gift production. Being organized! I'm amazed someone didn't think of it sooner.

We'll be arriving back from the trip up north on the first day of Advent and in the spirit of organization I'm putting together plans for the activities and projects that truly add to our observance and am being very bold about declining to participate in engagements that would diminish our enjoyment of the season. The short list so far includes a nice balance of private reflection and friendly togetherness with people I don't see nearly enough. I've decided this year not to have a big gingerbread house party - we've had a few shindigs this year and I don't think there's harm in skipping just this once (maybe I'll defer that energy to a 2009 Easter egg hunt?). Similarly, Brainiac and I have decided to forego work-related events, instead demonstrating collegiality and all-around fitness for continued employability by sharing the results of what I hope will be marathon and highly pleasurable cookie- and candy-making sessions.

Speaking of cookies, I'd be remiss if I my annual tradition of sending you all to Susie J.'s Christmas Baking site. The Advent Calendar alone will make you weep and Sue makes her own mixed peel for fruitcakes, an activity I wholly and enthusiastically endorse. When I last saw her during a run to Penzey's, I obtained her promise that the site is backed-up thoroughly because I would be lost without several of the recipes (despite being too lazy to actually write them down anywhere), specifically gingerbread, Albertle, Ausstecherle and mokka. In case she needs proof that no good deed goes unpunished, I may just invite myself to her house for a lesson in zimtsterne since I remain in total paralyzing fear of making them on my own.

You know, now that I think of it, zimtsterne and tea sweetened with cinnamon honey would make an excellent winter snack. The combination might be just the thing to bring into our respective offices to promote a little goodwill toward men, not to mention peace on Earth (or at least the Philadelphia suburbs).

Thai Hot and Sweet Dipping Sauce

2008-11-11T21:45:00.009-05:00

I found this recipe first online at the Fresh Preserving website and then again in the Ball Complete Book of Home Preserving that Lauren Devine sent me a few months back. I was struck right away how perfect this sauce would be for the Homecanned Gift project - simple enough for beginners to follow easily while also being different enough from the usual jams and pickles to interest the more experienced among us.

With only five ingredients and requiring no long cooking time or chemical reaction for success, it's the perfect choice for making a quick, inexpensive and utterly unique and delicious gift at home. Making 10 half-pint jars took only 20 minutes of hands-on time. The longest part was waiting for the water bath to boil, a lull of which I took advantage by typing this post.

To make the sauce, you need:

Start by starting the water bath to boiling, simmering lids and rings and sterilizing your jars.

Combine the chopped garlic and salt in a glass or ceramic bowl and set aside. I chopped up a little more than a head of garlic to get a half a cup. I suppose you could use a garlic masher thingy or buy a jar of pre-chopped garlic as well.

In a stainless steel saucepan, bring the vinegar to a boil. For the love of Ball, don't put your face over the pot while you do this - boiling vinegar is not something you want to inhale. After the vinegar comes to a nice boil add the sugar and stir until dissolved. Lower the heat and allow to simmer for five minutes.

Remove the vinegar from heat and stir in both the garlic mixture and the pepper flakes, stir to combine.

Ladle the sauce into your hot, sterilized jars. Seal according to package instructions and process in a boiling hot water bath for 15 minutes.

When the processing is complete, remove the jars from the water bath (carefully!) and place them on a double thickness of dish cloth or tea towel to cool. Allow plenty of room for air to circulate and try not to disturb them for at least 12 hours. Try, too, to resist pressing the little button on the top of the lid to check for a seal. I know you'll want to, but try to avoid it.

And that's that. You now have 8 to 10 half-pint jars of Thai Hot and Sweet Dipping Sauce with which to bless a friend (or yourself - we eat a lot of steamed dumplings around here and I may need to make a second batch). Next time you can add a bit of lemon grass or galangal or ginger, but for now you've made something perfectly excellent and of which you hold your head up high. As for cost, assuming you'll get the same ten jars I did and pay similar prices I'd say you're looking at a little less than a dollar a jar (for jars and ingredients but not including energy costs for processing and cooking).

In a few weeks we'll talk about embellishing the jars for a nice presentation. This sauce doesn't require much in that regard - it has a lovely amber color and a fun snowglobe-like effect from the pepper flakes and garlic. It could be given exactly as is or, if you're feeling expansive and generous, bundled with a recipe and perhaps a dumpling press, which can be had for a couple dollars apiece.

Whatever you decide to do in the way of gifting, be proud that you have made something delicious, useful, frugal and beautiful. Happy holidays, indeed!

Next up: Lemon-Sage Wine Mustard. Yum!

My Dear Mr. Slater

2008-11-07T19:37:00.005-05:00

Earlier this year I went on a bit of a Nigel Slater glom, reading every one of his books I could access through my local library system. I can't remember how it started or if I had any particular goals in mind - I only recall feeling a little let down with his pedantic style and presentation and not getting whatever it had been I was expecting. Laconic nearly to the point of inducing slumber, Slater's writing betrays little of the passion he says he feels about food and cooking. I read and read trying to find a clue as to why he is so beloved and respected until in The Kitchen Diaries he made disparaging comments about home-canned items given as gifts. This, as you might well imagine, I feel is a deal breaker and an appalling position for one who claims to support micro producers and local foodways.

In my own small way I feel called upon to try to rebalance the scale in favor of homecanned fabulousness - especially for gifting and for hosting. What I wouldn't give to be offered a piece of poundcake glazed with homemade apricot jam this holiday season instead of a gooey oversweet whatsit from the freezer section. Or be able to open a jar of chutney to pair with whole grain crackers rather than heat up some pre-made pastry thing. Or, or, or... You, too? Then let's do something about it.

Over the next weeks I'll be making and posting about a variety of canned foodstuffs that are not only delicious but also easy to make and suitable projects for home canners from novice to expert. Any can be given as wonderful gifts on their own or matched with inexpensive additions or can be kept aside for those days when you'd like to have friends over* but aren't up to the task or expense of shopping. If you don't already have water-bath canning gear and want to play along check out this post and consider about spending some of your grocery budget on supplies (including half- or quarter-pint jars) - or chip in with a friend or borrow if it's your first time. My own canning kettle is in use throughout the year and I count the money it cost as among the best I've ever spent, repaid many times over in savings and enjoyment.

What shall we make? These are the ideas I have, but I am nothing if not flexible. If there's something you'd like to try, do let me know and we'll see what can be done. I'll start with the following:

For each of these projects I'll post the recipe, some pics and a few ideas to maximize its gifting potential. If you're inspired to try some canning on your own, I'll hope you'll leave links to your projects in the comments so we can all learn together.

If Mr. Slater's been disappointed by gifts of homemade lusciousness in the past, my guess is he never received a present from one of us.

* You know how you're always saying you should have people over more? Yeah, me too. I'm seriously thinking that should be my New Year's Resolution - more people, more often.

Plus ça change

2008-11-01T07:21:00.005-04:00

For as long as humans have memorialized religious and cultural events with feasts and gift-giving there have been corresponding backlashes seeking to return such celebrations to the way they used to be. No doubt the second observance of any given holiday is beset by plaintive wailings of "but we didn't to it that way laaaast year" which are repeated with gathering and indignant alarm every year thereafter.

Which brings us to the Holiday Season 2008. Happy Diwali everyone!

This year I am taking a position on the vanguard of So It's Not Like Last Year (or Any Year Prior to That). I read a lot of old books, books which are just as rife with complaints about immoral excess amongst celebrating citizenry as our current blogs. I'm struck by the similarity of arguments over the centuries - that children are given too much, that adults eat too much and overshop, that religious institutions don't do enough to stem the tide of modern intemperance. The dismay of 1800 isn't so very different from ours today.

Not that I think that we can turn a blind eye to any problems, micro or macro, that may arise from both public and private observances. I groove on the Handmade Holiday and the Buy Handmade movements as much as the next girl. I adore Etsy with the heat of a thousand white-hot suns. And yet I recognize and wince more than a bit at the creeping temptation and encouragement to use such sensibilities and resources as shorthand for how well someone "gets" any number of issues, from transforming any given holiday into some ill-defined notion of past celebrations to making an economic statement.

Who among us wants to be the one who tells a working-two-minimum-wage-jobs mom that she needs to be getting online (digital divide, anyone?) and ordering artisanal puppets for her children because that's better for the environment and a more authentic gift? Or that she should kitting up to make those puppets, with the required expenses of fabric and glue gun and needle because that's what moms of yesteryear would have done (o.k., maybe Ma Ingalls did without the glue gun...) and those women would have been ~~satisfied~~ thrilled with such modest, within-budget expressions of affection? Meanwhile, the dollar store has adorable puppets in a range of styles that are deemed by a privileged class to be less-than because of where they were made or how much energy they required to get here. Well, that's not a conversation that I am willing to have.

There's an awful lot that vies to detract from our wholehearted engagement in whatever celebrations appear on our personal calendars and much to make us doubt any celebration in which we indulge is sufficient by one measure or another. Goodness knows that a glance the headlines is enough to make anyone want to call the whole thing off, or at least attempt to dial things back to an imaginary golden time when we believe that people didn't face such scariness as a matter of course. But of course they did, humans always have (there were no good old days, after all, where children and adults were perfectly pious in their merrymaking). This is part of the reason we have such celebratory seasons as the one we are entering. It's no accident that so many of us are preparing for festivals and holidays relating to various notions of finding light, literally and metaphorically.

I like walking into stores this time of year and taking note of the many types and varieties of candles, rich in color and scent. I love the strings of lights as suitable for Diwali as for my own Christmas observance. My local "designer discount" store has a collection of gorgeous Menorahs for sale - Jews mark the miracle of the oil with nine candles on a Menorah, candles which could also serve well for Sweden’s St. Lucia day or Thailand’s Loi Krathong festival.

The message is clear to me. In a time of deepening darkness, the best response is to find the light in each other. Let us avoid trying to find our own search lacking as compared to current false ideals papered over past realities. Humans are united in the search for illumination. This season, may we all find it, in every sense.

2008-10-22T20:04:00.005-04:00

My search for a new go-to perfume has been much more interesting than I could have ever predicted. I've long since given up the spray-and-smell method of fragrance selection as being not at all sufficient. Stalking my local perfume counters got me a whole bunch of nothing but a headache and some boring conversation with sales folks who know not much more than I outside the marketing materials plastered all over every glass and chrome surface. Even more frustrating is the fact that any given perfume counter sports exactly the same perfumes as any other (why I thought it would be otherwise when stores all seem to have the same clothes I couldn't tell you). Turns out there's a whole world of perfume blogs and books and websites and...did you know that the New York Times has a perfume critic? It does, in the dreamy Chandler Burr.

Googling phrases like how to pick a perfume and what perfume should I wear if I liked Magie Noire brought me to Perfume Smellin' Things. An excellent beginning, this blog helped me frame my search more as a quest for how I want to feel alongside how I want to smell. From there I ended up at Bois de Jasmin and spent hours reading review after review and then moved into a third perfume blog with a great post sharing the 411 on how to get testers. See? I'm not alone in my disinclination to shell out for a scent that might be a disaster (Angel? I'm looking at you.)

Finally, I ended up at The Perfumed Court (TPC). Score! These lovely folks decant bottles of expensiveness into smaller portions of the merely indulgent. Registering for their newsletter I found myself in possession of a coupon code that allowed me to try six teeny bottles of promising perfumes selected via blog reviews cross-referenced against TPC's "scents by notes" study guide and my lists of Brainiac's and my favorite smells. Mine: roses, pepper, leather, port, almond. His: roses, chocolate, leather, Scotch and cigars.

Most of what I ordered from TPC didn't work out as I had hoped, although they were perfectly pleasant (with a notable exception that was more Deep-Woods Off than anything else). One, though, came through in a way that I could not have possibly predicted having read about it - I'd ordered more as a dare to myself than with any real expectation of success. As I type I'm wearing Rose Poivree (by The Different Company) and keep stopping to smell my wrist. It's rosy - but not in a tea-rose-boutonniere way, it's something more genteelly decayed and altogether less cute - and peppery and a wee bit naughty smelling (this article by the aforementioned scrumptious Chandler Burr explains why, but trust me that YOU DO NOT WANT TO READ IT. Consider yourself warned and don't come crying to me if you get grossed out. It's interesting, though.)

Not unlike myself, Rose Poivree has a bit of a mixed reputation. Some consider it a masterpiece, others a catastrophe. In the article linked above (which, remember? you don't want to read) Chandler Burr calls it "...unsettling and gorgeous, the perfume that Satan’s wife would wear to an opening at MoMA", a perspective that makes me laugh since I am so very far from embodying that kind of menacing glamour. The companion review gives Rose Poivree 5 stars. On me Rose Poivree smells deep and rich, peppery but not very spicy and rosy but not at all sweet. I love it.

The downside is that Brainiac can't smell it. Either I go around like a romance novel heroine smelling of peppered roses all the time and he can't tell the difference or it's just not a fragrance that registers for him (there's a word for this, but I can't think what it is). I'm keeping it anyway and will likely order a slightly larger bottle soon since my itsy decant is nearly gone and I'm feeling proactively bereft.

Rose Poivree is for me so I can smell my wrist all day long and be deliriously happy and just a teensy bit not-office-appropriate. But what of my quest to replace Magie Noire for encounters more romantic than sitting at my desk? I'm not giving up. The next round of contenders has been selected. Seeing as they involve more roses and spice and perhaps a surprise or two, something more ladylike, almost the exact opposite of the Rose Poivree?

This is so insanely fun.