Peach syrup. We have two cases of peaches simmered in syrup and jarred; this is the reduced, strained remainder and it is AWESOME. This was hard to do because I hate getting sticky stuff on my paws.
A Beauty Way To Go
Category Archives: compote something
What I Want Any Old
Label time. Just looking at this, you could get a cramp.
Before Too Long I’d Fall
Peaches, ready to strip down and skinnydip in spicy syrup.
That Heaven Is Like TV
Seven quarts of peach pie filling and four jars of roasted tomato halves with salt and olive oil. Yippee!
If A Picture Paints
Siobhan warns me not to overproof my breads and what do I do? Overproof! In the process, I learned that cookbook proofing times are twice what a baker should use in New Jersey in July and August. I get it! Fortunately, these are tender and the flavor is a knockout.
But there is more to learn! Do they freeze well? I do not know! Ask me in a week!
Rendez Rendez Rendezvous
Eggplant slices, salted and now stashed in the fridge, awaiting frying and freezing.
In the Streets In the Town Of
Sweetpea sweetly snores.
While weeding my window box carrots, I pulled up these little thumbs, which Pete thinly sliced and tossed into tonight’s pasta.
Talk Like Lovers Do
Pickled beets, at the scene of its improbable triumph: the great outdoors. Later, we will try hiking.
No, we will not. We will not try that with glass.
My Friend Neither Do I
Holy Toledo! You can learn useful stuff on the internets! I have blossoms from three or four kinds of squash plants and I know blossoms are food, but how?
That couldn’t be any clearer, could it? I struggled a little with the cleaning, but figured out a trick with a slowly dripping faucet. Before I knew it, Pete and I were eating about a dozen of these. It wasn’t even difficult!
Confession: if you stuffed it with pesto and cheese, then breaded it, I’d probably eat a washcloth.
I Heard It Through the Grapevine
I spent much of my weekend preparing for a totally meaningless and fun Edible Book Festival at the unnamed university’s library. The Festival offered few rules and tiny prizes, but that didn’t matter. I was in it for the festive business of wild artmaking.
Art project. You can tell by the way you suddenly feel inspired to throw eggs at it.
I had an idea I loved and loved thinking about and loved imagining how it would be received. Tiaras, bouquets and double-stick tape aside, it was fun thinking. It was fun to buy pie crusts and phyllo and I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter in spray form. No, I didn’t use butter and a basting brush because I am an artist, not a pastry chef. This is art. No one is going to willingly eat it. Anyhoo, my first attempt turned out beautifully on Saturday, two days before today. It didn’t stand a chance of surviving to this morning, except that it did. Last night, I made another, slightly larger pastry book that turned out just as crunchy but less elegant. I packed them both to transport 2.2 miles and hoped one would make the brief trip. To my surprise, both survived. I put them on a marble lazy susan borrowed from my boss Gianna and put the pastry books out among the exhibits.
It won a small prize I will put toward a science kit for my grandchildren, which is great because baking is science and science kits for my grandchildren are also fun – for me.
Poor Impulse Control 