This Saturday I participated in the blogger-organized NYC Bake Sale to support No Kid Hungry – a charity organization dedicated to eradication of child hunger. I’ve been feeling spring-tastic, so I decided to get fresh and floral with some lemon lavender bars. And to package them in ridiculous pastel-colored boxes with teacup cutout windows.
You may remember that I made hamantaschen last year around Purim, and that I used a dough recipe from The Jewish American Cookbook – but got a little crazy with the filling. This year, I stuck with the dough, and kept the filling traditional too: poppy seed.
I’m terrible at keeping my own secrets, so I’m spilling some of the beans about next week’s super=exciting post: it’ll be Scottish themed. I’m working on an exciting main dish but, in the meantime, I thought I’d post one of the accompaniments: Scottish shortbread – or “petticoat tails” as these biscuits are traditionally known.
A teaser: I’m getting a new camera lens (finally), and will be celebrating by going super-traditional in two weeks – keep an eye out for a seriously historical post. Meantime, here’s a little newfangled something I tried out: gorgonzola-fig rugelach.
Sometimes I order groceries online, and sometimes I get confused about quantities and order ingredients in larger packages than I need. And then there are the exceptional times – like last week, when I not only ordered a massive bag of golden raisins, but managed to accidentally place two in my shopping cart and check out in such a check-out out state that I didn’t notice. This avalanche of raisins, however, shook loose some creativity: I came up with a great recipe for Rum Raisin Bars.
There’s a reason the James Beard Awards have the namesake they do. These chocolate chip cookies are ample proof. I’ve been filling out my collection of vintage classics to complement the oddball books I hoard – I now have Julia, Craig, and James sitting on my shelves alongside volumes like The Gay Nineties Cookbook.
My mom’s mother Maureen passed away last Monday afternoon. She had just turned 86, and she was my last grandparent. I both started calling my grandmother “Grandma Mo” when I was too young to say “Maureen,” and it stuck; my younger cousin grew up calling her “Mama Mo.” My Grandma Mo is not as linked with food in my memories as my Grandma Viv is; my mom’s mom was British – from Wales – and was married to an Italian. Her main signature dishes were cheesecake (already posted here) and roast beef; she was a solid meat-and-potatoes cook, except when she made Neapolitan dishes at my grandfather’s request. I will, however, always associate my grandmother with one particularly unique meal: tea. She lived on Twining’s English Breakfast, and would always have a cup in the afternoon. Often with Walker’s shortbread. So, I’ve made biscuits and a cuppa for my grandma, and am going to sit down to reminisce for a bit. I’m much better at writing about humor than I am about feelings, so bear with me…