I had a work acquaintance years back who annoyed the living daylights out of me. She started every day with a three-mile run, worked long days and yet made fabulous meals from scratch every evening for her perfect husband (who had left his lucrative job as an attorney to teach high school English because “there are things more important than making lots of money”) and her two perfect children. She would bore us with her endless stories of quilting and knitting and making her children’s clothes, taking a break only to spatchcock a chicken and harvest her home grown organic garden. Puke.

The straw that broke the camel’s back was one day when she came to work and announced that she had made s’mores for her family’s dessert the night before. “Wow, I’m sure they enjoyed that,” I said, thinking to myself that she probably built a campfire using sticks and a magnifying glass. But the reality was even worse. The s’mores were made using graham crackers and marshmallows she had made from scratch. Who does that? Marshmallows are a buck a bag at King Soopers. And if God had meant us to make our own graham crackers, he wouldn’t have invented Nabisco.

I thought about those made-from-scratch s’mores yesterday when I gave a glance at my National Holiday Calendar to see what delicious sweet treat was being honored that day. You guessed it: August 10 is National S’Mores Day. A day honoring that snack that millions of children the world over (well, maybe not France; they eat petit fours) have made by roasting a couple of marshmallows over a open fire and sticking them between two graham crackers along with a piece of Hershey’s chocolate. I wonder how much Hershey and Nabisco had to pay to make a designated day happen.

I’m not particularly a fan of s’mores. I like the act of making them — not myself, but watching my grandkids carefully build perfect layers of gooey and chocolaty goodness. The reality is that I’m not particularly a marshmallow lover, unless they are in Rice Krispie treats. Then, the gooier, the better.

There are several schools of thought when it comes to roasting a marshmallow over the grill or campfire. While I never ate a s’more until I was an adult, my siblings and I did roast marshmallows over the hot coals of the grill once Dad was finished cooking our steaks or pork chops. I favored then — and still do today — cooking a large marshmallow until it’s a golden brown, turning it constantly so that it caramelizes but doesn’t burn. Hot outside, still cool, yet gooey, on the inside.

It wasn’t until I met Bill and we had our first foray into the act of s’more making that I saw what I considered then — and still do today — a travesty of the first order. He puts the marshmallow on the stick, places it into the burning flame, and when it starts on fire, he pulls it out and blows out the flame. What’s left is a black, charred marshmallow. “Perfect,” he’ll say.

But at least he doesn’t make them from scratch.

Here is the proper method of EATING a s’more…..

If there is no marshmallow and/or chocolate on your lips, you’re doing it wrong.

Happy belated S’Mores Day.

I love summer. I have to admit, however, that when August rolls around, I’m starting to get a little bit cranky about life. I’m hot. I can’t think what to cook any more. My pest control guy told me he was afraid of wasps, so they are still buzzing around my back yard with looks of victory in their beady eyes. Japanese beetles are eating my black-eyed susans, and last night I realized they are also munching on my basil. Ugh.

What lifts me up is that five of my favorite people (all of whom I’m related to in some way) celebrate birthdays in August. My sister Bec comes in August to visit and get out of the REAL heat. While my flowering plants are starting to look leggy and tired, my vegetables are flourishing. Well, except for my basil which now has little chomps in the leaves. Anyone know how to get rid of Japanese beetles?

If you will recall, this year I went entirely to pots. I’m talking planting my veggies in pots, not what you were thinking (though I do live in Colorado). It was so successful that I will probably never plant an in-ground garden again. I have never had herbs grow as successfully as in this pot…..

You can’t really see, but there are also chives, thyme, and dill in that same pot. The parsley really took off this year. I plant parsley every year, and almost never remember to use it. The chives and thyme yes. And the dill when I make my pickles. But the parsley gets forgotten. Cream of parsley soup?

I have tomatoes, tomatoes, and more tomatoes. My early girl tomatoes are nearly done, but I have plenty picked. We are eating BLTs, sliced tomatoes, tomato salads. I plan on making up a pot of my mom’s gazpacho, a soup that Bill won’t even consider eating. More for me.

And for the first time ever, my grape tomato plant is flourishing…..

I can eat those like candy.

In this year of Hardly Anything Good Happening, I am pleased as punch that we now have a composting bin sponsored by the City and County of Denver. I had a composting bin of my own years ago, but it never really worked out for me. I was supposed to turn it regularly, but I have no pitchfork, nor any inclination to buy one. I was also supposed to buy worms to put into the compost bin to break down the garbage. Talk about not having any inclination to buy something! Maybe that would be a job for those rotten Japanese beetles.

It doesn’t matter, though, because see above: I plant in pots these days. But for a mere $100/year, the City and County lets us use a green composting bin that we can put out on the curb on every garbage collection day. So I have become a composting fool….

It is bittersweet seeing the hot days of summer heading towards a conclusion. Still, we have autumn to look forward to, plus a visit from our Vermont family.

Plus, I have chili roasting season to look forward to.

Bill, in his never ending determination to live life to the fullest and keep moving and having fun to keep his Parkinson’s at bay, has taken up golf. He started last winter when he joined our very kind Canadian neighbor at a driving range several times, and even played a round of golf on a par 3 course. Then COVID hit.

However, he recently purchased a set of golf clubs, and has spent just about every day since at a nearby driving range. Yesterday, he invited me to go along. I agreed, as long as he understood that I wasn’t going to hit balls myself. It was fun to watch him hit the ball. He has a long way to go to beat Tiger Woods (or even one of his grandchildren), but he had some good shots. More important, he is having fun.

But what made me smile is that the man who was hitting next to him — who appeared to my novice eyes to be quite a good golfer — took time to give Bill some tips. He even gave him a half of a basket of balls. Bill thanked him, and explained that he had PD. The man was duly impressed.

I too was so grateful to the man. So grateful, in fact, that I cried for the next 10 minutes while Bill finished his half-basket. It really is true that there are such good people in the world.

I’m also endlessly proud of my husband, who attacks life with gusto, no matter what…..

Have a great weekend.

Take a Hike 
A few weeks ago, Bill and I drove the 35 minutes it took to get to Daniels Park, a pretty park just south of Denver. I loved it so much, and immediately thought about how much Bec would love that park. So yesterday, she and I drove to Daniels Park and walked one of the trails. The views are spectacular, despite the fact that we didn’t see a single bison. It was nice to get out of town for a bit, and we certainly enjoyed the view…..

Declaring War 
Last night while Bill and Bec and I sat outside watching the sun go down and drinking our limoncello, we also watched a mouse come out from underneath the house where there is a gap between the patio and the house to gather up the leftover crumbs from our fun dinner with Jessie and Rob. The mouse would come from under the house and begin sniffing around under the table. When one of us would move, the mouse would scramble. Well, I hope it/they are prepared for war, because Bill McLain is declaring GAME ON…..

One for Mighty Mouse; one for Mickey Mouse, one for Tom, and one for Jerry. I’ll keep you posted.

But It Could Be Worse 
I got a text from my brother in AZ the other morning. He told me that when he stepped out of his house that morning to get his newspaper, there was a rattlesnake enjoying the peace and quiet. Luckily for Dave, the rattlesnake was as caught off guard as was he. It was not coiled to strike, and took off the other direction moving nearly as fast as he did the other direction. A few years ago, the same thing happened except that the rattler that time was coiled and ready to strike. Dave struck first, using a shovel to cut off its head. And that’s why I don’t live in the desert.

Pesky Pests 
Day before yesterday, we had a scheduled visit from our pest control service. I had told them in advance of my primary concerns: Mr. Mouse, a couple of centipedes that I had spotted, but most of all, the wasps, which are increasing in number as the summer goes by. He promised he would look for nests. After he was finished, he rang the bell to say farewell. “Did you find any wasp nests?” I asked him. “No, he replied. “To be honest, I’m really afraid of wasps.” Perhaps he needs a new line of work, I thought.

Ciao!

I have heard all number of people complain that they are sick and tired of cooking. I don’t know what to make anymore, they’ll say. I just want to go to a restaurant and let somebody cook for me for a change, they proclaim.

I’m pretty much with them all the way. BC (before COVID), I cooked probably five or six evening meals in a week. I generally made sandwiches for lunch about half the time. The rest of our meals were cooked by someone else. And when I say someone else, you can count on the fact that the someone else wasn’t Bill. Prior to saying I do 28 years ago, he made it very clear that he didn’t cook. He promised that he would take me out to dinner any time I wanted, but I mustn’t expect to come home from work to a sit-down dinner prepared by him.

Who knew that some 28 years later, all restaurants would be closed, ground beef would be close to ten bucks a pound, and we would all be masked?

Here’s the thing: There’s nothing special about my cooking abilities, though somehow I have fooled people into thinking I’m a good cook. I follow recipes. Period. I am unable to improvise. If I am preparing a meal that calls for cumin, and I don’t have cumin, the meal is dead to me. I am unable to look in my spice rack and come up with a replacement.

“Google it,” said my sister Bec.

Having said all of the above, and speaking of my sister Bec, I have learned in the past few days that cooking with my sisters makes all the difference in the world. Having been brought up loving food and cooking, it comes as no surprise that to this day, the kitchen is where we gather. I loved sitting at the counter at Mom and Dad’s little house in Summit County and talking to Mom as she cooked.

Last evening, we invited my niece Jessie and her boyfriend Rob for dinner so they could spend some time with Bec. The weather was nice and we knew we could eat outside. We decided to grill steaks. But we also decided to make a pot of green beans,…..

…..my grandmother’s macaroni and Swiss cheese, and a tomato and avocado salad. By the way, every time I make macaroni and Swiss cheese, I put the plate of grated cheese into the cupboard. Why? Because that’s what my mother always did. She did it because she wanted to keep our grubby little hands out of the cheese. I do it because she did it….

For dessert, what else? A pie, this one blueberry…..

As we cooked, we talked about our kids and our grandkids, told funny stories about Mom and Dad, shared cooking tips, and had a extraordinarily splendid time.

Perhaps looking forward to this helped…..

It made me realize once again that cooking is so much more than providing sustenance for the bodies of your loved ones. It’s all about gathering and creating and laughing and family.

Too bad Jen wasn’t there with us.