Category Archives: Whimsies

Olives: They’re Not Just For Martinis Anymore

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When traveling in Italy, I am always struck by the beauty of the olive groves that you see just about everywhere you drive or ride a train. The sage-green color (I so desperately wanted to say olive green) against the almost-always blue sky is spectacular. And the delicious olives and flavorful olive oil are renown.

But it turns out I don’t have to travel to Italy to see a grove of beautiful olive trees. In fact, the Queen Creek Olive Mill is a mere 30 minutes or so south of our AZ house. The olive trees, contrasted by the dark green cypress trees, looked just like the views we saw from our window while living a month in Tuscany…..

In lieu of exchanging gifts this past Christmas, Jen and Bec and I decided to share some sort of adventure. We struggled to come up with something both interesting and fun, until Bec remembered Arizona’s own olive mill. She had visited it in the past, and thought we would enjoy it. She knows her sisters well…..

It’s true that I should not be allowed to take selfies.

We met for lunch…..

Yes, that is an olive oil stain in the middle of the menu.

…..and a tour of the olive mill itself. Our tour guide explained that though this is what was used in years past to squish the olives (that is NOT a technical term),…..

…..they now have fancy dancy modern pieces of equipment that do the picking and squishing in a much less time consuming and more efficient manner.

She told us about the difference between olive oil, virgin olive oil, and extra virgin olive oil. (It has to do with the pressing.) She also told us that there is no such thing as light olive oil, since olive oil is olive oil. So-called light olive is olive oil mixed with less delicious oils. I’m glad I always buy extra virgin olive oil. And, by the way, cold pressed means oil collected early in the process before the presses warm up.

Our timing was impeccable, because at this time each year, the mill offers its limited edition of olive oil…..

….which is very freshly milled and never makes it to the grocery shelf. The bottle is black, as you can see. Olive oil should always live in a dark bottle. (Note to self: use my clear bottles for something else.) The flavor is intense and delicious. I bought a bottle that I will share with my son Court.

And speaking of flavors, Queen Creek Olive Mill produces a plethora of all-natural flavors, from smoky bacon to spicy three-chili. Since their oils are vegan, I’m not sure how they get the bacon flavor, but it’s there. Our guide suggested using it as a finishing oil for roasted veggies. Yum.

Our lunch, by the way, was amazing, and worth the drive in and of itself. Plus, it allowed us to drive past The Pork Shop, another road trip for another day.

Saturday Smile: Appreciation

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According to my National Holidays calendar, yesterday was National Caregivers Appreciation Day. Bill was kind enough to give the caregivers a shoutout at his boxing class yesterday, making him a Big Hero with all of the care partners there to support their loved ones. It’s nice to be appreciated for what we do.

Oh, and , by the way, it was also National Sticky Bun Day, but I didn’t see any sticky buns come my way…..

Have a great weekend.

Friday Book Whimsy:The Lager Queen of Minnesota

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I’m not particularly a fan of beer. Oh, if I’m at a Mexican restaurant and the wine list looks suspect, I might make do with a Corona. For the most part, however, I stick to wine, gin, or whiskey.

But even non-beer-lovers would be unable to ignore a title like The Lager Queen of Minnesota. The author — J. Ryan Stradal — wrote what was one of my favorite books of 2017, Kitchens of the Great Midwest. I liked it so much that I was delighted to learn that he wrote another, even if it was about beer.

The story revolves around two sisters. Helen loved beer from the moment she tasted it, and was determined to learn to brew beer, no matter who stood in her way. Her sister Edith, on the other hand, was a baker, renown for her delicious pies, and couldn’t hurt a fly. Helen convinces her father to leave her his entire inheritance, which she uses towards her goal of being a beer brewer. Helen’s actions drive the two sisters apart.

Helen meets and marries the son of a Minnesota brewing family whose beer business was tanking. Using the inheritance, Helen and her husband begin making Blotz Beer a household name once again.  However, Edith and her husband are barely able to make ends meet. But this led to that, and eventually Edith’s granddaughter Diane (who isn’t even aware of Helen’s existence) becomes a master brewer of craft beers.

There is a lot of descriptions about brewing (and tasting) craft beers. Despite my lack of interest in beer, I must admit that I found the art of beer brewing fascinating.

While beer is the star of the show, the story is really about family and forgiveness and entrepreneurship and strong women. I loved every single page of the novel, and was sad when it ended. I can’t wait for the author’s next story about life in the Midwest.

Here is a link to the book. 

Thursday Thoughts

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Sailing,Sailing
Last Sunday afternoon, Bill and Jen and I drove up to Saguaro Lake to checkout the newly renovated beer and wine bar that floats on the lake. They recently upgraded and there is retail on the first floor and tables setup on top with a gorgeous view of the lake. There were numerous choices for beer, but only a couple choices for wine — sold in those little bottles that you get on an airplane. No matter, because the view was beautiful and the weather was glorious. It didn’t even matter that they didn’t have glasses for the wine and I had to drink it out of the bottle!…..

Dirty Harry
Bill and I watched Dirty Harry on Netflix last night. Bill remembers taking his toddler son Allen to see the movie when it was first released because the line to the Disney movie to which he was supposed to be taking him was too long. It’s a classic. You’re asking yourself, do I feel lucky? Well, do you Punk? I love the 70s clothes, hairstyles, and cars.

Treasure Hunt 
I know Jen is feeling tippy top because she showed up the other day with her grandkids and said, “Let’s go geocaching!” I had taken Lilly one time last year, so she had a vague idea of what was happening. Austin, however, was somewhat confused. He caught on quickly however, and before long, the two of them had found a great prize…..

Quick Trip 
Bill and I will be heading back to Denver for a quick trip in mid-March. He has to check in with his doctor, and it will give us the opportunity to see the kids and grandkids. We arrive March 12 and return to AZ March 17.

Ciao!

Land On My Feet

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When I was in third grade, I wanted to be a writer. I wanted to write mysteries, my favorite type of novel then just as it is now. I wish I could say that writing was my passion from that day on and I never wanted to be anything else. The fact is, as I grew up, I forgot about my plans to write and wanted to be lots of other things. A pre-school teacher comes to mind, until I realized I really didn’t like 3-year-olds that much. But I eventually earned a degree in journalism and the rest is history.

As I sat in the chair at the podiatrist’s office yesterday afternoon watching him examine my feet, I wondered if he always wanted to be a podiatrist. When he was a toddler, did he make his mom and dad take off their shoes so that he could wiggle their toes around and check for pretend corns and calluses? Did he take his sister’s baby doll and do pretend bunion surgery on her feet?

I didn’t ask him that question, but I did ask about all of the White Sox paraphernalia he had on his wall. He said he grew up on the south side of Chicago, but admitted he wasn’t really a baseball fan. Still, one of his patients bought him a White Sox poster and he put it up to be nice. From that time on, people started bringing him White Sox baseball caps and White Sox coffee mugs and White Sox autographed tickets. “At least it’s not Cubs stuff,” he said with a smile.

My suspicion is that he became a podiatrist in a similar manner. This led to that which led to him looking at feet all day. I gave this more thought than necessary because I have a knee-jerk reaction to feet. I hate them. My mother once asked if I would trim her toenails, and I looked at her dear, sweet, elderly face and said, “That’s a big N-O, Ma’am.” I don’t even like my own feet.

I went to the podiatrist because unfortunately I inherited my mother’s terrible feet. I have had no corns to date, but I have my fair (actually, probably unfair) share of calluses, and that’s a true story. I also have bunions on both feet, despite the fact that I rarely wore high heels. I inherited my mother’s bunions just as I inherited her smile.

I have had bunions for a while, but without any pain. Well, that’s not exactly true. I feel no pain as in hurting-pain, but it’s a real pain in the butt to find shoes that will comfortably fit my crooked toes. But since my feet have begun hurting lately, it occurred to me that perhaps it was my bunions causing the pain. While I’m not particularly vain, it would be nice to have feet that look normal, and nicer still to have insurance pay for the surgery.

Alas, it is not to be. “Sorry, Ma’am,” he told me as he wriggled my toes around.” If this doesn’t hurt, then it’s not the bunions causing the pain. It’s probably arthritis.”

Ugh. My nemesis Arthur Ritus.

He gave me a prescription for a strong anti-inflammatory drug. I’ll put it next to my other strong anti-inflammatory drugs in my medicine cabinet. I enjoyed the foot massage and he used about the same tools that the nail techs use when I get my pedicures as he cleaned up my feet.

And remembered that they, too, look at feet all day, but get paid considerably less than the podiatrist.

Excuse me now, while I go out an purchase a White Sox t-shirt to send to the doctor. Or wait, maybe I should get a Cubs shirt instead!

Big Fun

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Jambalaya and a crawfish pie and fillet gumbo
Cause tonight I’m gonna see my ma cher amio
Pick guitar fill fruit jar and be gay-o
Son of a gun we’ll have big fun on the bayou.

We’re over a week away from the real Fat Tuesday, but that didn’t stop our family from celebrating Mardi Gras yesterday in typical fashion: lots of food and lots of fun. Son of a gun.

My day started out early as it always does, only this time, at 6 o’clock yesterday morning, I was chopping, chopping, chopping — preparing what Cajun cooks call the Blessed Trinity. Onion, green pepper, and celery. My job was to prepare the red beans and rice for our Cajun dinner…..

As in years past, Bec hosts our family for this celebration of good food. Erik is the prime cook, and he did himself well this year with his jambalaya, prepared with chicken, andouille sausage, and shrimp. Yum. Bec made her traditional maque choux — creamed corn on steroids. Jen pitched in with Cajun cole slaw, a cooling match to the spicy jambalaya and my red beans and rice.

As usual, however, we started out our meal with muffaletta sandwiches — ham, salami, swiss cheese, provolone cheese, and yummy chopped olives…..

While, we love the food, what we most enjoy is the gathering of family…..

This year, Carter was the lone boy. He made the best of it all, however, and spent much of his time watching the NASCAR race on his nana’s television.

l-r: Lexi, Kelsie, Jenna, Kenzie, and Ava.

Of course, it wouldn’t be a Mardi Gras celebration if it wasn’t for the King Cake, a traditional cake that includes a tiny baby doll somewhere within. This year, there were two cakes, thereby offering two opportunities to bite into a baby! The kids, in particular, await with hope to be the lucky one with the baby in their piece of cake…..

This year, Lexi was the first one to find a baby in her cake…..

Carter was lucky enough to find the second baby in his piece.

When all is said and done, we all agree that this particular gathering is perhaps our favorite of the year. And it couldn’t happen if this amazing woman didn’t make the necessary arrangements. Thanks, Bec, for a wonderful day. We have big fun, even if we don’t have a bayou…..

Saturday Smile: You Asked For It

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In my Thursday Thoughts, I mentioned that I used my Kitchenaid stand mixer to make delicious lemon bread. I got many suggestions — requests, really — that I share the recipe. The reception to my bread made me smile.

The recipe really comes from our neighbors here in AZ. She brought us some of the bread when Jen first got out of the hospital, and we all thought it was delicious. We thought it was delicious because, well, it is.

With thanks to my friend Jan, here is the recipe for lemon poppy seed bread……

Lemon Poppy Seed Bread

1-1/2 c. flour
1 c. sugar
2 t. baking powder
1/2 t. salt
2 eggs
1/3 c. sour cream
2/3 c. milk
1/3 c. olive oil
2 T fresh lemon juice
zest from 1 large lemon
3 T. poppy seeds

Glaze
1 c. sugar
2-3 T fresh lemon juice
1 T. lemon zest

Preheat oven to 350 degrees, and grease a loaf pan.

Mix dry ingredients. Add dry ingredients to wet, and mix together. Add the poppy seeds.

Pour into pan. Bake for 35 – 45 minutes, or until toothpick inserted in middle of loaf comes out clean. Let bread cool for 10 minutes, and then remove from the pan. Let cool for 15 minutes. Pour glaze over slightly warm bread.

Enjoy!

Have a great weekend.

Friday Book Whimsy: One for the Blackbird, One for the Crow

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One for blackbird, one for the crow, One for the cutworm, and one to grow. – Traditional

Followers of my book reviews will recall that I am drawn to books that take place in middle or western America during the period from the middle 1880s through the Great Depression. You know, ala My Antonia, by Willa Cather. And furthermore, I judge books by their cover, no matter what anyone says. I mean, really!…..

One for the Blackbird, One for the Crow, by Olivia Hawker, not only has a title that caught my attention immediately, but it takes place in rural Wyoming in the late 1870s. And look at that beautiful cover.

The Bemis family and the Webber family farm out in the middle of nowhere, miles away from the nearest town in rural Wyoming. One day Ernest Bemis is out hunting and comes upon his wife Cora having sex with his neighbor Substance Webber. Before he has time to think, he shoots Substance dead. He subsequently turns himself into the town sheriff and is sentenced to two years in the town jail.

Winter is upon them, and Cora is left to fend for herself and her children. At the same time, Substance’s wife Nettie Mae and her son Clyde are in the same boat. Needing each other to survive, the Cora and her kids move in with Nettie Mae, who naturally hates them. However, Nettie Mae knows she needs their working hands and stored food as much as they need hers.

What follows is a lovely — simply beautiful — account of how forgiveness and friendship and love for nature and one another can overcome unbelievable hardships and obstacles.

Don’t misunderstand — this is not a book of action. It’s lyrical and slow-moving and doesn’t contain a lot of dialogue. But the writing is so beautiful it’s almost poetic.

One for the Blackbird, One for the Crow will be one of my favorite books of 2020.

Here is a link to the book.

Thursday Thoughts

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Food Frenzy
The other day while watching Bill at his boxing class, my phone rang. Well, it wasn’t really my phone, because I keep my phone in my purse in the trunk of the car while attending the class, so it was my cool sooper dooper Apple watch that rang. Normally I don’t answer my watch because I can’t really hear the other person that well unless I’m in a quiet room, but more important, because I think I look silly talking into my watch. Like Maxwell Smart talking to Agent 99. Anyhoo, a woman identified herself as being with some organization which name I couldn’t hear. Did you recently spend time in the hospital, she asked me. I told her I had, excited because I could actually understand something she said. She went on to say that 14 days worth of food is being sent my way to help me feed myself and my loved ones as I recover from my hospital stay. Now, my readers know that I have frequent hospital stays; however, this is the first time any person or organization was worried that I wasn’t able to cook. Be on the lookout for 14 days worth of frozen food that will be delivered on Tuesday, February 11, she sternly instructed me. Yes Ma’am, I answered meekly. When I got home, I told Jen that we needed to clean out our freezer so that I could fit all of the food that would be delivered in a few days. She understandably was confounded as to why I said yes to the frozen food delivery, but it was a question that I simply couldn’t answer. It all happened so quickly and via my sooper dooper Apple watch. (I’m trying really hard to blame it on Apple.) When Tuesday came and went, I gave a sigh of relief. Perhaps I had imagined the call. But yesterday morning, Jen, who was reading in her room by the window, announced that Fedex had just pulled up and the delivery person had pulled two enormous boxes out of his truck. Yes, friends, it was my food delivery. I opened up one of the boxes, expecting there to be stacks of frozen dinners. Nope. Instead I saw the FIXINGS for 14 dinners — things such as bread and juice and desserts, and who knows what (because we only opened one box and the other probably contained 28 cans of tuna). So, yesterday afternoon, we put the boxes in our car and carried them to the Superstition Food Bank in nearby Apache Junction where I hope someone needier than I receives the food. But I will think twice about answering my Apple watch in noisy confines.

Whiskey Row 
The other day, following a visit to a flooring store where we began the task of choosing new flooring for our AZ home, we drove to Dierks Bentley’s Whiskey Row restaurant in Gilbert. For the uninformed, Dierks Bentley is a popular country singer who hails from AZ, and has opened a number of his restaurants around the area. The food was delicious, but Bill was slightly taken back at the glass in which his Bud Light was served. “I’m 77 years old, and I’ve never had a beer from a glass that looked like this,” he said…..

The look in his eyes says it all.

Last Laugh 
Bill is 11 years older than me. When he turned 50, I was only 39. However, at 50, he received his AARP membership. The thing is, as his spouse, I was automatically a member as well. And boy-oh-boy, did he LOVE that. He gave me my membership card with such glee that I should have filed for divorce immediately. Everyone seemed to think it was very funny. The other day, I got a text message from my 42-year-old-stepdaughter Heather, with an attached photo of her new AARP membership letter.  It said Look what I got today!!! I’d like to apologize for teashing you when you became a member when Dad turned 50. Now I know what it feels like. Aging doesn’t get any easier from here on out my dear!