Bill’s son Dave visited us this weekend, at least when he wasn’t playing in a rugby tournament in Scottsdale. Much fun, but no time to write a blog post. Here is a post from January 21, 2021, about my dad.

Monday, after my French bread came out of the oven, I called my brother Dave, who is a professional baker, to ask him a question. The recipe I had used (and most of the recipes for French bread that I perused) was different from most bread recipes. After the bread had been kneaded, instead of putting it in a bowl and allowing it to rise to double its size, the recipe had you leave the bread to rest for 10 minutes under a damp cloth, and then punch it down. You did this a total of five times. Why do it this way, I asked him.

He agreed that it is an unusual style, but said doing it that way really got the gluten going, making the bread yeasty and with a larger crumb than a regular white or wheat bread. Interesting, and good to know.

My brother went on to talk a bit about our father’s bread when he owned Gloor’s Bakery in Columbus. Dad’s bread was renowned, or at least as renowned as anything can be in Columbus, Nebraska. He sold so much of his white bread that it was hard to keep up. On weekends, the farmers would come into town, and Gloor’s Bakery was one of their stops. They bought enough bread to freeze and last a few weeks.

The bread was sliced in an electric slicing machine. Its blades went up and down, and the loaves of bread were placed on the slide. We would push the loaves of bread down through the slicers. When it got to the final loaf, we would use one of the other loaves to push it through. “Never use your hands,” my mother firmly instructed us. She had a way of instilling the fear of God.

My brother told me a few things that I didn’t know. Every night, Dad would go down to the bakery and “set sponge.” The so-called sponge consisted of flour, salt, water, and yeast. It was mixed and dumped into a large trough to rise overnight. “The trough seemed huge to me,” said Dave, who was only 11 or 12 when my family sold the bakery and moved to Colorado. “I would love to see it now. I’ll bet it isn’t nearly as large as I imagine.”

The next morning, Dad would arrive early at the bakery. One of the first things he would do would be to punch down the dough. Bread makers know that deflating the dough — or “punching it down” — is a step in all bread making. Imagine punching down a dough that size. Then, according to Dave, throughout the day as Dad made his various kinds of bread — white, cottage, vienna, buns, etc. — he would take some of that dough and put it in with the other bread ingredients. “Like a starter dough for sourdough?” I asked Dave. “Yep, except it wasn’t sour,” he answered.

Dave also told me that when Dad and Mom bought the bakery in Leadville, Dad tried like the dickens to recreate that sponge dough. To this day, Dave doesn’t understand why he was unsuccessful, but try as he might, Dad wasn’t able to make sponge dough. Probably something to do with the altitude.

I’m always amused at myself when I make bread. To get the water temperature just so, I heat it up, take the temperature, cool it down if necessary, take the temperature, heat it more if necessary. It takes time for me to get the temperature JUST RIGHT for the yeast. I am pretty darn sure that Dad knew the temperature without ever touching a thermometer, just as he could measure out enough dough for hamburger buns without weighing.

“You know what?” my brother asked me. “I would give anything to go back in time and be able to watch Dad bake again.”…..

So would I.

Bill and I went to our favorite neighborhood pizza place the other day for lunch. The staff have new shirts that made me laugh out loud……

Now, that’s how I like to cut carbs!

Have a good weekend.

It’s no secret to people who know me that Lidia Bastianich is my favorite television chef. I have watched her from the beginning, and have been lucky enough to eat at Becco’s, one of her dining establishments, this one on famed Restaurant Row in New York City, near the theater district. Yum.

Because she is my favorite, I knew that she had grown up in an area that was once part of Yugoslavia, and now is part of Croatia. To escape communism, Lidia, her mother, and her brother went to Trieste, Italy, on the pretense of visiting a sick aunt. Her father escaped on foot a bit later. The family was eventually placed in a refugee camp, where they lived until they were able to travel to the United States.

Bastianich’s story is fascinating, beginning during her time in Yugoslavia, where she spent much of her time with her grandmother, learning to live off of the land. Her descriptions of eating what they grew and raised are vivid and enlightening. I was astounded to read how none of the vegetables of animals was wasted, from the intestines to the hooves of the pigs. As a result, her love of food and nature is inherent in her life.

Life in the United States was vastly different. Her mother and the kids adjusted, but her father never got used to life outside of Europe. It wasn’t until she married that Lidia became entrenched in a life that involved providing food for others in restaurants. She and her husband became fairly successful restauranteurs, and Lidia continued in this life even after divorcing her husband.

Reading about her life as an immigrant, and how she became a very proud American citizen was eye-opening as compared to immigration today. Times have changed.

I enjoyed reading about this woman’s journey very much, and recommend the book highly.

Here is a link to the book.

The Weather Outside
My first thought on this lovely day is how happy I am that we spend our winters in AZ. I miss all of our family, but we sat outside this evening and had our glasses of wine while our family back in Colorado and Vermont were experiencing tiresome cold weather. When I checked the temperature in Denver yesterday evening, it was 9 degrees, with a windchill temperature below zero. March in Colorado is tough, because you begin to get enough nice days that you think spring might be in the air, and then Mother Nature splats the crap out of you with 9 degrees and snow.

And Look Who’s Experiencing the Cold Weather
Jen and Winston left yesterday morning to return to their Fort Collins home. Jen had knee replacement surgery, and she was lucky enough to be able to recover in the nice weather. She was UNLUCKY enough, however, to return home to a snowstorm. Bill and I will miss the two them a lot. Every morning, I woke up first, but as soon as he heard my bedroom door close, he came around the corner to greet me. Yesterday morning, despite the fact that I knew full well that the two of them had spent their last night in AZ at Jen’s daughter’s Maggie’s house, my heart was sad to not see that fuzzy face greet me. Oh, and I miss Jen too.

But Look Who’s Getting Out of the Cold Weather
Bill’s son Dave is coming in this afternoon to spend a few days in the Valley of the Sun. I’m sure he is not sad to get away from the cold and snow. He is going to be here for a rugby tournament in which he will participate. We will pick him up at the airport, and have him overnight and most of Friday. Then he moves on to Scottsdale where the tournament is being held. Bill and I will travel to the games to see one team pummel another. It will be fun to see him and spend some time showing him around the area.

New Guy on the Block
Broncos Country is excited to welcome our new quarterback, former Seattle Seahawks QB Russell Wilson. When I heard of the acquisition, I texted my son Court to see what he thought about his much-loved football team’s latest move. “It was my dream scenario,” he replied. “We will be an instant Super Bowl contender.” Are you listening Russell?

These Feet Are Made For Walking
I am slowly, but surely, getting stronger and stronger on my foot. Yesterday morning, for the first time in two months, I actually went for a walk. A short walk, it’s true, but a walk nonetheless. I made it a block to our mailbox. By time I got back home, my foot was sore. I think it is swelling less than it was a week ago, and that gives me hope for a speedy recovery.

Ciao!

I was in third grade when I decided I wanted to be a writer. I don’t, however, have one of those stories in which writing was all I ever wanted to do for my entire life. I guess I wanted to be a writer until about sixth grade, when I discovered that I liked pretty clothes and boys and going to the movies and listening to 45s while I sang along with the Beach Boys. It wasn’t that I wanted to be something else; I just never gave it another thought.

And then it was time to go off to college where knowing how I wanted to spend my working life was actually important. The trouble was, at that point I had no idea what I wanted to be when I graduated and went into the world on my own. I’d forgotten that I wanted to be a writer, and wouldn’t have known what to study even if I had remembered.

This led to that, and I quit school and didn’t return until 1975. The good news is that by that time I knew just what I wanted to be: a writer. Between graduating from high school and going back to college, something happened that changed my life: the Watergate Scandal. Of course, it changed President Nixon’s life a bit more than mine, but what it did for me was make me think that I wanted to be a journalist. A person who writes the news.

So, I selected journalism as my major when I returned to school, and while it turned out that I hated being a newspaper reporter, J-School taught me to write. It also taught me that I didn’t want to write the news; I wanted to write about life.

For the next 30 years, my various jobs entailed at least some writing, though most of it wasn’t about life. Instead, most of it was marketing in nature. But even within those parameters, I enjoyed writing.

Having said all of the above, I got to thinking recently about what I would like to have been when I grew up if I could choose any career. Before I tell you what I would choose, I have to mention that my choice comes with the caveat that I would have had to have had a different kind of brain than I do, one that likes biology and physics and chemistry, all subjects that in real life I not only HATED, but were difficult for me and in which I did not perform well.

So, here goes: If I could choose a career, I would be a forensic pathologist. Yes, friends, I would be that person who is first on a murder scene, and when the detectives show up, I will already be examining the size and shape of the wound, checking rigidity to determine time of death, and checking to see the identity of the body. Soon I would be in the laboratory, cutting a y-shape into the torso to examine the organs for signs of poisons.

To be honest, my gag reflex is acting up even as I write these words, so it’s a good thing I didn’t choose that field in real life. Still, the idea of examining a body to solve the mystery of the person’s death is very appealing to me.

Besides, in all of the mystery shows I watch, the forensic pathologist is always the most interesting person at the crime scene.

I try really hard to remember that it’s the 2022, the 21st Century. Unfortunately, I don’t know most of the new actors or musicians. But I watch American Idol and The Voice in an effort to keep up with what’s new. I try not to cringe too much, or ask the question asked by my grandmother all those years ago as we watched Judy Collins perform: Is that music?

Technology provides me the biggest kick in the ass. I’ve told you before that I have no inherent understanding about how technology works these days. I have an iPad, an iPhone, a computer, an Apple Watch. I don’t know how any of them work. I memorize. Someone shows me how something is done. I watch. I absorb. I do. But when it changes, I am lost.

My newest technological challenge is streaming television. For a million years, Bill and I have paid Dish Network every month so that we can watch our favorite programs. Within the past few months, however, I realized that we weren’t really making much use of the channels beyond regular network television. A little of Food Network. NFL Network to watch the football games. Some ESPN. Yellowstone on Paramount. That’s about it.

So, I began to wonder if it wasn’t time to tell Dish ba bye, and go completely streaming. It made sense to me except for the fact that I don’t really know how streaming works. When we came to AZ for the winter, I signed up for a number of streaming services. In addition to Amazon Prime and Netflix, I now pay for Paramount Plus, Hulu, ESPN2, Disney Plus, and Peacock Plus. Oh, and I continue to pay for Dish.

That, my friends, is the rub. I am simply too nervous about streaming to break up with Dish Network, even though they kept me from watching NBC for many months because the two couldn’t get along. I don’t know who was right or who was wrong. But I wanted to watch Sunday Night Football! So I was mad at them both and got Hulu. And then, one by one, I got the rest.

On several occasions, I have gotten to the point where I am ready to pull the switch on Dish. About that time, my internet goes down. I am faced with the fact that without Dish, I would be without television if my internet isn’t working. I would be forced to (yikes) read a book.

I am taking baby steps towards what is the inevitable switch to total streaming. After all, this year the CMA awards program was exclusively streamed live on Amazon Prime, as will Thursday Night Football starting next season.

The handwriting is on the wall.

The other day, I placed an order on Amazon for Bill. I have already told you I have become the Queen of Amazon. That, and 15 pounds, was a gift from COVID. How easy it is to sit in my La-Z-Boy and press buttons for whatever it is that I want to own. I also became thiiis close to becoming used to ordering my groceries online during my no-weight-on-my-foot phase of foot surgery. I owe it to the fact that I don’t want a pimply 19-year-old selecting my chicken or squeezing my tomatoes that has brought me back into the grocery store.

I’m an advocate of Amazon, because they sell everything but human kidneys (although I think in the beginning they even sold body parts). But I have to learn self-control. Do I love my new Cuisinart Smart Stick hand blender? Yes, I do. But I have to stuff it into the top shelf of my closet because I have nowhere else to put it.

Nevertheless, there are certain things I simply can’t resist. Generally, they are kitchen items. So as I was ready to push the button for whatever it was that I was ordering for Bill, Amazon waved something in front of me that somehow Alexa knew I NEEDED……

Here’s the thing: I love to bake. I bake a lot. About 94.78 percent of the time, I can get by very well with measuring cups that hold 1/4 c., 1/3 c., 1/2 c./, and 1 c. of flour or sugar or cocoa. And generally measuring spoons that hold 1/4 t., 1/2 t., 1 t., and 1 T. are sufficient for my purposes. But baking life is just a bit better if the measuring set also includes 1/16 c., 1/8 c., 2/3 c., 3/4 c. measuring cups, and 1/8 t., 3/4 t., and 1 T. measuring spoons.

I might die of old age before I ever use the 1/16 c measuring cup, but if I ever need it, I have it. And in bright, cheerful colors to boot. The truth is, since I started following recipes intended for two people (Zona Cooks), there is a possibility that all of them will be used.

But whether or not I use it is beside the point. The point is that there are certain items that, if dangled before me, I can’t resist. Mostly they have to do with cooking and baking.

I wonder what else Alexa thinks I need.

My sister Bec and I went to see a movie yesterday, and she told me a story that made me laugh out loud. Earlier that afternoon, she had been in the Apple Store. The woman helping her asked Bec what her plans were for the afternoon. She told the woman that she was going to the movies with her sister. They began discussing the high cost of concessions, and Bec admitted that — on occasion — she secretly brings in a box of Dots that she buys at the grocery store because they don’t sell them at the theater. What’s a movie without Dots, right?

The woman told her that several years ago, her grandfather gave her and her siblings gift cards that he got at Costco that allowed the cardholder access to unlimited movies at Harkins Theater. “It was a wonderful gift,” the woman told my sister. “We saw more movies that year than we ever have since. If we were at loose ends, we would just go to a movie, even if it wasn’t something we were eager to see.”

She went on to tell Bec that they would always sneak in a treat or two. In fact, the woman told Bec that it became a competition. Each time they would go to the movies, they would get more and more ambitious about what they would bring.

“We finally got caught,” the woman admitted. My sister asked the obvious question: What did she sneak in that the ticket taker caught?

“Fondu,” the woman answered.

Have a great weekend.

Just about the time that I think I’ve had it up to HERE with novels set during World War II, a book like The Last Night in London, by Karen White, comes along with an interesting twist, and I think, well, I can read one more…..

Eva Harlow, born a poor woman with high ambitions to better herself, and her best friend, American-born Precious Dubose, are enjoying life as London fashion models in 1939. They, like many others, are certain that the war will be over soon, and it is unlikely Great Britain will be involved at all. Eva, in particular, is determined to marry well and live a good and safe life. She falls in love with, and agrees to marry, wealthy Graham St. John. Life is going just the way she planned.

But unfortunately, the war does hit Great Britian. The Blitz destroys the world around the two woman, and changes the life plans of Eva. She falls into a situation where one slip could destroy all of her plans, the lives of those around her as well.

But in 2019, journalist Maddie Warner travels to London to do a story on Precious Dubose about life as a fashion model just prior to World War II. She isn’t prepared for the stories that Precious has to tell, nor is she prepared for Precious’s nephew, who is very protective of his beloved aunt whose stories could destroy the lives of many of the people they loved the most.

I love Karen White’s writing. Her descriptions of London just prior to the bombs beginning to fall during the Blitz were descriptive and very vivid, and spun a tail that hits very close to home, especially during these trying times.

Here is a link to the book.

House Hunting
You may recall that last spring, a pair of quails made a nest and laid some eggs in my pretty geranium plant. The two took turns sitting on the eggs. The eggs hadn’t hatched yet when we left at the beginning of May, but when we returned for my niece’s wedding early in June, most of the eggs were hatched — hopefully, successfully — and the nest was empty. Later that week, we saw what I presume to be a mama quail and a papa quail, followed by three or four baby quails. I realize that I am creating a story, but I’m sticking to it. Earlier this week, I glanced out the window and saw two quails standing on the counter where the container sat last spring, and where the eggs were laid. Again, in my world, the quails were checking out potential nesting spots. I quickly drove to Lowes and bought a geranium plant to set on that same counter. We’ll see. I’m like a nervous grandmother.

Bootless
As I had hoped, at my doctor’s appointment on Monday, he gave me permission to lose the boot. I am once again free to put both feet on the ground. In fact, he released me from the boot with no restrictions. I can get a pedicure. I can wear flip flops. I could polka (if only I could polka). My foot continues to be swollen, especially if I spend too much time on my feet. I am not complaining because it is nice to be able to get up from my chair at my whim and walk around the house, not sounding like Frankenstein’s monster. It might take some time for the swelling to go down, but I will be patient. And my toe is as straight as can be.

Fore
Bill has spent the past week or so concentrating on golf. Our Canadian neighbor Dale has accompanied him a couple of time to the driving range, where he claims to have gone from awful to passable. So passable, in fact, that he bought himself an inexpensive set of clubs. Today or tomorrow, there is talk of playing a round of golf. The weather has certainly been cooperating. Yesterday was near 90 degrees. Straight from heat to air conditioning.

Meatless
Yesterday was Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent. Catholics (and maybe others) abstain from meat on Ash Wednesday, and every Friday during Lent. As I have said many times before, eating fish is no sacrifice for me, but it is for my husband. Last night it was my turn to cook. I made a delicious meal that included shrimp and garlic and lemon and butter, served over rice. It was delicious, and certainly didn’t feel like a sacrifice to me. For the first time ever, I took the shrimp shells and made a shrimp broth which I intend to use for Friday’s meal. It’s between gumbo and risotto. Thoughts?

Ciao.