Runny Rhubarb and Sloppy Strawberries

It's high time I posted another recipe here. And since it's strawberry season, what could be more appropriate than my favoritest strawberry pie ever? I'm preforming an experiment this year, though. When I made this last year, I ended up with strawberry rhubarb soup in a pie crust bowl. Delicious, but hard to eat. So I did some snooping and discovered that wheat flour does not make a very effective thickening agent in fruit pies, as it tends to break down in acidic environments. The original recipe uses wheat flour. So this time I'm substituting tapioca flour for the wheat flour, as tapioca flour does not break down. Also, I'm macerating the rhubarb in sugar overnight to coax out some of the excess juice. Hopefully these measures will produce a less soupy pie.

I took ingredients from the original recipe (which can be found in The Fannie Farmer Cookbook) and the idea to macerate the rhubarb in sugar overnight from Greg Patent's Baking in America.

Strawberry Rhubarb Pie

1 1/4 cups granulated sugar
3 Tbsp tapioca flour
4 cups (1/4 inch peeled pieces) rhubarb stalks
2 Tbsp unsalted butter
1 cup sliced strawberries

1. Mix together the rhubarb and sugar in a bowl and let sit overnight or for 6-8 hours (refrigerate if your kitchen is warm).

2. Stir the rhubarb mixture to dissolve any remaining sugar. Set a strainer over a bowl, transfer rhubarb mixture to it, and let drain for about 1 hour. Measure the juice, adding water if necessary to equal 3/4 cup.

3. Adjust one oven rack to the center position and set a baking sheet on the rack (to catch all the gooey stuff that inevitably bubbles over). Preheat oven to 425 degrees F. Line pie pan with dough.

4. Whisk together rhubarb juice and tapioca flour and stir in the rhubarb and strawberries. Spoon the mixture into the bottom crust, mounding it slightly in the center. Dot with the butter.

6. Roll out remaining dough, wrap it around the rolling pin and unroll it over the top of the pie. Make slits in the top in a pinwheel pattern (or make a lattice top, which is how we've always done it). Crimp edges.

7. Place pie on top of the baking sheet and bake for 10 minutes. Reduce heat to 350 degrees F and bake for 40-45 minutes more until juices start bubbling up and the crust is browned. Cool pie on wire rack before serving (filling will be runny if cut too soon).

Easy Pie Crust

2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon sugar
2 sticks chilled unsalted butter, cut into pieces

1. Mix 2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour and 1 teaspoon each salt and sugar in a medium-size bowl. Cut 2 sticks chilled unsalted butter into pieces. With a pastry blender, cut in butter, working until mixture resembles coarse meal.

2. Add 4 tablespoons ice water; work with hands until dough comes together. If dough is still crumbly, add more ice water a tablespoon at a time (up to 4 more tablespoons). Do not overwork.

3. Divide dough in half, and flatten halves into disks. Wrap disks separately in plastic; refrigerate at least 1 hour.

4. To form the pie shell, roll the dough on a floured surface into a 14-inch round. Wrap around rolling pin and carefully unroll over a 9-inch pie plate.

5. Fit gently into bottom and side of plate. Use kitchen shears to trim dough to a 1-inch overhang; fold under, and seal to form a rim.


The result?

Pie perfection! It didn't run at all! After convincing myself I would never be able to make a fruit pie that didn't have to be eaten with a spoon, this is a thrilling triumph! Wahoo!

So to sum up: Tapioca flour ROCKS in fruit pies. Take note.

Oh, and it tasted awesome, too.

Sacraments, Soap Nuts and Swamps.

If I had been more on the ball I would have had a post ready to be automatically published on Easter Sunday celebrating the Resurrection like a good little Catholic blogger. But I'm relatively new to this enterprise and still learning the ropes of good blogging, so I hope you'll forgive me my omission.

Dominic's first Easter went much better than I was expecting. He's been settling into a pretty regular nap schedule, which makes him primed and ready for bed at about 7:30 or 8pm. If he skips any of his naps he's a grumpy bugger until he goes to bed. So we started our Triduum fairly well. Holy Thursday Mass was at 7pm so we were cutting it close but still able to keep him relatively good tempered until it was over. On Good Friday we were not so lucky. I had to skip out because Dominic missed his afternoon nap (our fault...we were out looking for dress shoes for his Easter outfit) and he was not going to cooperate. We were worried that there would be a repeat performance the next day and I would have to miss out on the Vigil Mass and instead go to Mass in the morning without my darling husband (as the Director of Religious Education he had to be at the Vigil for the Sacraments of Initiation). So we took extra precautions and got him down for an extra nap right before we had to leave for the Vigil, which started at 8pm. Lo and behold! he handled it beautifully, especially considering it was very much past his bedtime! I had to pace with him in the ring sling near the doors to get some air during Communion, but that was the extent of it. Moral of the story? Babies can and will exceed expectations...and they are remarkably resilient. Oh and a ring sling is a must-have for long Vigil Masses.

Now, in my attempt to switch entirely to natural household products, I have finally delved into the world of soap nuts. We all know the saying "Money doesn't grow on trees." (Or, as I like to say, "My money tree isn't producing this year"). But guess what does grow on trees...laundry detergent! These soap nuts (or soap berries, as they are more accurately named) contain a natural detergent called saponin in their hulls. When you soak them in water they release the saponin, which reduces the surface tension of the water, allowing it to penetrate fabrics and thus clean them. Cool, right?

I have been making my own laundry soap for over a year now, but, after experiencing some problems with leaking due to possible detergent residue on my cloth diapers, I decided to give soap nuts a try. I got mine from NaturOli because their prices were the best and they don't use plastic in their packaging. I got a 1/4 lb. bag, which can be used for over 40 loads of laundry. That works out to about $0.25 per load (if you buy the 4 lb. bag, it works out to $0.08 per load)! I have been using them on my diapers for over a week now and I'm impressed! My diapers come out clean and soft and I have no leaking problems. My laundry smells clean...no not the "fresh" scent so commonly associated with cleanliness, but actually clean. And if you really like your laundry to be scented, you can throw a towel with a few drops of essential oil on it into the dryer with your load.

What's even better is that NaturOli offers 50% off their soap nuts and Extreme 18X liquid concentrate in honor of Earth Day. Unfortunately, the sale ended Tuesday at midnight, so you can't take advantage of this deal (yet another example of how I need to be more on-the-ball about getting posts up quicker). But it's still cost-effective, even without the sale. I was able to purchase a 2 lb. bag before the sale ended at $19 with $10 shipping, which works out to $0.09 per load! Hooray for natural and cost-effective!

Now if only I could hang my diapers out in the sun to dry...

I mention that merely as a segue into my next topic, which is, of course, RAIN.

Lots, and lots, and lots of rain.

Normally, rain is a good thing for a gardener. Unless, of course, your soil is mostly clay and it pours buckets for a week straight (or longer, I don't know. I've lost track). Our lawn looks like a prairie, which is not in and of itself a bad thing if you're going for that look. The weeds next to our shed have grown nearly a foot since this all started (and no, I'm not over-exaggerating). My garden beds are now more suited to rice paddies than anything resembling a vegetable bed. Had I known this deluge was on its way, I wouldn't have planted my lettuce seeds. My neat little rows have been scattered all over the bed, so I'll have to wait until they get their true leaves to figure out which variety is growing where. Ugh!

I would have taken a picture of what basically amounts to a bird bath in my backyard, but it was too depressing at the time (and my camera ran out of batteries).

It looks like my tomato and pepper plants will have to wait for the soil to dry out a little before they can be planted.

Got [Raw] Milk?

I recently drove 45 minutes for a gallon of milk.

Yup. I did.

And it was worth it.

Some of you may be wondering, "But Amy! You're lactose intolerant! Why would you go through all this trouble for milk if you can't drink it?" Well, here's the thing. I can drink this milk.

"But Amy! How can this be?!?"

Alright, enough buildup. I'll spare you the rest of this quirky vignette and get to my point. The reason I drove 45 minutes for the only gallon of milk in the world I can apparently drink is because we are now getting raw milk straight from a local farm. It's an awesome setup because the milk comes from 100% grass fed Jersey, Guernsey, and Normande cows (all cows known for the high quality of their milk) and it costs no more than the store-bought organic milk we were purchasing previously.

Now before you bombard me with the dangers of drinking raw milk, let me just say that this was not a decision made on a whim. We weighed the risks and benefits thoroughly. The risks seem to be greatly exaggerated, and are far outweighed by the benefits:

• Raw cow's milk has all 20 of the standard amino acids.
• Raw milk contains lactoferrin, which is an iron-binding protein for improved absorption of iron and also anti-cancer properties.
• Contains CLA, or conjugated linoleic acid, a polyunsaturated omega 6 fatty acid which has many health benefits such as raising the metabolic rate, strengthening the immune system, lowering food allergy reactions, and is also a cancer-fighting agent among other things.
• Contains vitamins and minerals including calcium which has many benefits in itself including reduction in cancer, lower risk of osteoporosis, higher bone mineral density, strong teeth, and lowered risk of kidney stones.
• Sixty-plus fully intact and functional enzymes.
• Contains beneficial bacteria.

This is a rather simplified list that really just scratches the surface concerning the health benefits of drinking raw milk. Pasteurization destroys most of these factors or greatly diminishes their effectiveness. Enzymes are the best example. Raw milk contains phosphatase for calcium absorption, lipase for fat, lactase for lactose, and many others. One of the tests to confirm pasteurization was successful checks for the absence of these enzymes! Not to mention the loss of many of the heat-sensitive fat-soluble and water-soluble vitamins: up to 66% for Vitamins A, D, E and F, 50% or more for Vitamin C, and the total destruction of Vitamins B6 and B12.

So if pasteurization is so bad, why is all our milk pasteurized? Simple. It allows conventional diary operations to continue producing thousands of gallons of milk daily. Without pasteurization these operations would have to change their farming practices drastically in order to assure the quality of their milk. As it stands right now, they don't have to worry about contamination or disease because their milk will be pasteurized anyway. Nevermind that pasteurization doesn't prevent contamination.

This is why, as is true for much of our food, it is so important to know where your food came from. If Horizon Organic started selling raw milk at Kroger (a highly unlikely event given the current food climate) I would most likely pass it up considering I have no idea how they feed and care for their cows, whether they are allowed to graze or kept in confinement, if they've been screened for tuberculosis and brucellosis, and how often they're milked. Which is why we're going to a local farm for our milk.

I can't tell you how excited I am about this! Before we committed ourselves to a cow share we were able to visit the farm and see where the cows are milked, housed, and grazed. As a matter of fact, the day we went was the first day the cows were sent out to graze, so we went out to the pasture to "meet" the cows. Two of the younger, more curious ones came trotting up to us to investigate. Dominic kind of just looked at them, non-plussed, and proceeded to stare at the ground (which was apparently far more interesting than the large ruminant sticking her nose in his face).

The owner introduced us to all the cows, including some cute tidbits about the temperaments of a few of them. They were all happily munching on some the greenest, most lush looking grass I'd seen in a while. As I told the owner, "This makes me wish I ate grass!"

After we saw the cows, we made our way to the other end of the pasture to see their herd of mama sheep and their brand new babies (squeeeee!!!!!!). The lambs stayed safely behind their mothers and most of the mothers kept their distance, but the owner was able to get one of them to come over so we could pet her. Nick was kind of obsessed with the one spotted lamb and kept trying to get a picture of her, but she kept hiding behind her mama. He ended up getting some cute ones though.

Then she took us to see the brand new calf and the milking stall. They only milk one cow at a time to minimize the likelihood of contamination. She showed us the stainless steel tank where they keep the milk chilled, explained how they sanitize the equipment (very thoroughly was my impression) and showed us where they keep the bottled milk for pickup.

And then...

...we got to taste the milk!

Think back to any time you've ever had a craving for something, let's say French fries (I craved them a lot during my pregnancy). In your mind they taste exactly as a French fry ought to taste: salty, starchy, with just the right ratio of crispy exterior to soft interior. Then, when you finally have a pile of fries in front of you, you're disappointed to find that they're too crispy/mushy, too salty/not salty enough, too thin/too thick, etc, etc. Your expectations find no match in reality. So you resign yourself to sub-par potatoes and hope dousing them in ketchup will make up for it.

That has been my experience with milk (and, really, all dairy products) up to this point. I would think about milk and imagine something creamy, slightly sweet, full bodied. I was always disappointed by the store-bought variety and had resigned myself to the fact that there was no such thing as what I was expecting.

No more!

This milk tastes exactly how I always thought milk should taste. It is divinely delicious, rich and creamy. We signed up for a share on the spot. Now, I get a craving for a glass of milk...and I have a glass of milk. It is extremely satisfying, especially since it is not only delicious, but also health promoting.

I highly suggest looking into finding fresh milk and trying it yourself. Make sure you're getting it from a good source, one that keeps healthy, disease-free cows (no hormones or antibiotics), feeds them an organic, grass-based diet, is meticulous about the cleanliness of their milk and has it tested for contamination regularly. Clean, raw milk is highly nutritious and just as safe, if not more so, as its pasteurized counterpart.

Raw milk. Does the body good (really).

Mothering, Feelings, and Great Expectations

I remember taking the Myers-Briggs Personality Type Indicator test during high school at our diocesan Christian Leadership Institute one summer. I think back then I figured myself out to an ENFJ, because all the people I most wanted to be like were ENFPs or ENFJs. I took the same test a year later as a member of the Maine Diocesan Council of Catholic Youth and came out as an INFJ, because both of my best friends at the time were INs. Is there a point to all this? Yes, yes there is. I'm simply trying to show how easily manipulated such a test can be. And how little stock I actually put into its results. Which is why I was surprised when this quiz, based on the Myers-Briggs Types, actually got it right.

The 'Know Thyself' Mother

Sensitive and family-focused, the INFJ mother looks for and encourages the unique potential of each child. Self-knowledge may be her byword. Her aim is to help each child develop a sense of identity and cultivate personal growth. In fact, she may value the mothering experience as a catalyst to her own personal growth and self-knowledge.

The INFJ mother spends time observing and understanding each child. She is drawn to intimate conversations and seeks a free exchange of feelings and thoughts.

Sympathetic and accommodating, the INFJ mother strives to meet the important yet sometimes conflicting needs of each family member in harmonious and creative ways.

She is conscientious and intense as well. Probably no one takes life and child-raising more seriously than the INFJ. She approaches mothering as a profession requiring her best self.

It gets really eerie when it starts discussing the particular struggles this personality type may have to contend with:

Details. The INFJ mother may gravitate toward the idea of getting the family and household organized and in order, only to exhaust herself with nitty-gritty follow through. Regular baths for small children, weekly laundry, daily meals, picking up clutter, and ongoing repairs can be overwhelming.

Real life vs. the ideal. Because she lives with an ideal in her mind, the INFJ mother often has unrealistic expectations of herself and others. She may feel inadequate and critical of herself when reality falls short of her ideal.

Yes and YES!

I am SO like this! I have this marvelous picture of a perfectly organized household that never seems to come to fruition for one reason of another. I'll be all gung-ho and rarin' to go about my FlyLady routine one day and just go crazy organizing, folding, putting away, washing, drying, etc, etc. Two or three days go by and my laundry baskets are all full of clean laundry I have yet to put away and the dirty clothes are just piling up on the floor around them, I can't see my counter top or the inside of my sink for all the dishes, and the mail is spilling over onto the floor. Meal planning? Maybe. If I get to it. Ugh!

It's that ideal, of the perfectly organized household, that ends up making me feel inadequate. As if not being June Cleaver makes me suck as a human being. Don't worry, the self-loathing doesn't last long. But it rears its ugly head on occasion, no denyin' that.

So what's a mom to do when faced with such difficulties?

How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time.

h/t to Just West of Crunchy.

Muffin VS. Cupcake

What's the difference between a muffin and a cupcake for breakfast?

The cupcake is just wearing a hat.

The Resurrection of the Starter

This is Wilson.

Wilson was my beloved sourdough starter before I got pregnant.

Yes, I said was, for Wilson has since passed on. He was hidden in the back of the fridge during my first trimester and neglected for so long that he eventually turned grey and went into extreme hibernation. When we moved from our apartment, I wasn't in the mood to try and revive a clearly troubled starter so I let him go to Sourdough Heaven. Besides, he was starting to smell like potato chips (not a good smell for a starter).

Why am I telling you about Wilson? Because I am going to reincarnate Wilson! Yay Wilson!

I'm following the "recipe" for a wild yeast starter here. I'm using Hodgson Mill whole grain rye flour and R.W. Knudsen organic pineapple juice.

Why pineapple juice, you ask?

Mixing just flour and water creates an environment that is almost neutral pH, but the yeastie beasties we want prefer an acidic pH. The neutral environment is good for other organisms in the flour that produce acids as a by-product, thus lowering the pH to a level where the yeast can grow. But this takes longer and can be very frustrating because the starter will look like it's doing awesome around day 3 and then appear to "die" on you. This is because gas-producing bacteria cause the starter to grow and then die out when the environment is no longer to their liking. It's only after these bacteria die out that the yeast is allowed to grow. By using pineapple juice, we bypass that initial phase and go directly to an acidic pH favorable to the yeast. The yeast get a foothold right away and don't have to do battle with the gassy bacteria.

Make sense? If not, don't worry. You don't have to know why something works for it to work (thank goodness!)

So last night I mixed 2 tablespoons rye flour with 2 tablespoons pineapple juice in a mason jar.

I will continue adding 2 tablespoons each flour and juice for the next two days until it starts bubbling and then I will start discarding and feeding (if I didn't discard some of it every time I fed it, Wilson would take over my kitchen in about a week! First stop kitchen, next stop...WORLD).

Stay tuned!

Just Roll With It

I so relate to this post about getting nothing done when you have a baby. It's been a while since I've had the time (and both hands) to sit down and type out a blog post, let alone do the laundry, make dinner, take a shower, wash the dishes, clean the bathroom, sweep the floor, organize the bookshelves, sort through baby clothes, solve world hunger, save the whales. etc, etc.

People, especially those with kids, always have some words of advice to give you when you're pregnant with your first child.

"Your life will never be the same again!"

"Be prepared for some sleepless nights!"

"I hope you're ready!"

My response to these people was always, "Oh yes, we're prepared. We're looking forward to it!" (not referring to the sleepless nights, mind you, as we planned to co-sleep from the beginning). I heard what they were saying, but I never really reflected on what kind of impact this kid would have on our lives until he was born. I was prepared (some would say over-prepared) for my labor and delivery, but what I was not prepared for was the near-complete loss of my independence once he was born.

Don't get me wrong, I love being a mom. There are significant rewards to this lifestyle (the contentedly sleeping child I'm currently "wearing" being one of them...and OMG he just let out a sigh...HOW CUTE IS THAT?!? Ahem...anyway...) However, I have to admit, in all honesty, that there are times when I miss being able to veg out and watch Jane Austen movies all day, or bake whenever I feel the inclination. Nowadays I have to run all my activities by a certain small person, who does not much like my attention being focused on anything but him. He's gotten better at entertaining himself in his bouncer while I do simple tasks like make myself breakfast, throw the laundry in the washer, or take a quick shower, but for the most part, he needs my full attention.

It got better once I became accustomed to babywearing. I learned how to wear him on my back so I could accomplish some things while still fulfilling his need for semi-constant contact. It took a month or so to surrender myself to this new life. I'm not just living for me now. This little guy is depending on me, as his primary caregiver, for all of his physical and emotional needs. The dishes will just have to wait.

Speaking of which, I think someone needs a diaper change...

Just Checking In...

Yes, I am still alive, and no I haven't gone into labor yet. There have been a lot of changes going on in my life here recently (not the least of which being my increasingly beach ball sized belly) and I haven't been able to find the time nor the inspiration to blog. I promise there will be a new post here as soon as I'm feeling up to it.

Until then...try to guess what I'm doing in this picture!

Monkey Balls!...Er, I Mean Bread

One of my favorite memories from my childhood is of visiting my grandparents, where we would pop open canisters of refrigerated biscuit dough, cut them into pieces with scissors, cover them in butter and cinnamon-sugar, and pile them all in a Bundt pan to bake. My grandmother always called them Monkey Balls, a moniker which her grandchildren found truly amusing and entertaining (for obvious reasons....giggle). I remember on more than one occasion we would somehow miscalculate the bake time and/or temperature, and end up with a very crunchy exterior and a rather doughy interior (which we still ate, of course).

Well, since then my standards have changed just a little bit, to where the use of refrigerated biscuit dough would be tantamount to culinary murder (sorry Gramma!). So you can imagine my delight when I stumbled upon (and when I say "stumbled upon" I really mean actively searched out...because I'm pregnant and I crave things) a recipe on smitten kitchen for homemade monkey bread...sans Pillsbury! She takes her version from Cook's Illustrated and adds a cream cheese glaze, which I omitted because 1) I was craving the Monkey Balls from my childhood, which did not include a glaze, and 2) I didn't have any cream cheese on hand. The result was an even better version of the one my grandmother made. Glory! And I polished most of it off by myself...because I'm pregnant.

Monkey Bread

Adapted from smitten kitchen

Dough
4 tablespoons (1/2 stick or 2 ounces) unsalted butter, divided (2 tablespoons softened, 2 tablespoons melted)
1 cup milk, warm (around 110 degrees)
1/3 cup water, warm (also around 110 degrees)
1/4 cup granulated sugar (I used organic cane sugar)
1 package or 2 1/4 teaspoons rapid rise, instant or bread machine yeast
3 1/4 cups unbleached all-purpose flour, plus extra for dusting
2 teaspoons table salt

Brown Sugar Coating
1 cup packed light brown sugar
2 teaspoons ground cinnamon (I added an extra 1/2 teaspoon, because I love cinnamon)
8 tablespoons unsalted butter (1 stick or 4 ounces), melted

1. Adjust oven rack to medium-low position and heat oven to 200°F. When oven reaches 200, turn it off. Butter Bundt pan with 2 tablespoons softened butter. Set aside.

2. In large measuring cup, mix together milk, water, melted butter, sugar, and yeast.

To proceed with a stand mixer, mix flour and salt in standing mixer fitted with dough hook. Turn machine to low and slowly add milk mixture. After dough comes together, increase the speed to medium and mix until dough is shiny and smooth, 6 to 7 minutes. The dough will be slightly sticky. Turn dough onto lightly floured counter and knead briefly to form a smooth, round ball.

To proceed by hand, mix flour and salt in large bowl. Make a well in the flour, then add the milk mixture to the well. Using a wooden spoon or dough scraper, stir until dough becomes shaggy and is difficult to stir. Turn out onto lightly floured work surface and begin to knead, incorporating shaggy scraps back into dough. Knead until dough is smooth and satiny, about 10 minutes. Shape into taut ball and proceed as directed.

3. Coat large bowl with nonstick cooking spray or a tablespoon of neutral oil. Place dough in bowl and coat surface of dough with more cooking spray or roll around to coat in oil. Cover bowl with plasti-crap and place in warm oven until dough doubles in size, 50 to 60 minutes.

4. Place melted butter in one bowl. Mix brown sugar and cinnamon in a second one.

5. Flip dough out onto floured surface and gently pat into an 8-inch square. Using a bench scraper or knife, cut dough into 64 pieces. Gently roll each piece of dough into a ball. Working one at a time, dip balls in melted butter, allowing excess butter to drip back into bowl (a fork helps). Roll in brown sugar mixture, then layer balls in Bundt pan, staggering seams where dough balls meet as you build layers. Cover Bundt pan tightly with plasti-crap and place in turned-off oven until dough balls are puffy and have risen 1 to 2 inches from top of pan, 50 to 70 minutes.

6. Remove pan from oven and heat oven to 350°F. Unwrap pan and bake until top is deep brown and caramel might begin to bubble around edges, 30 to 35 minutes (mine didn't bubble, but it was definitely done). Cool in pan for 5 minutes (no longer, or you’ll have trouble getting it out) then turn out on platter and allow to cool slightly, about 10 minutes. Serve warm.

Basically, you just pull the thing apart with your fingers. I was a tad impatient and probably dug into it too soon because I burned my fingers more than once, but it was divine!

In the immortal words of Julia Child: Bon appetit!

Confessions of a Northern Transplant

It was almost 90 degrees Fahrenheit today...in the middle of September...when I'm supposed to be unpacking my hoodies and drinking hot beverages in the crisp, slightly chill air.

Instead, I'm trying to stay cool by running the air conditioner and the ceiling fan at the same time (being pregnant has turned me into a walking furnace).

I don't know if I'll ever get used to the weather here in the south. While there are many positives to living here (loads of barbecue, friendly people, "Red State", etc.) I don't count the weather as one of them. Some of you may say, "You won't be saying that when winter comes!" Oh yes, I will. See, I actually don't mind winter. Some of my fondest memories are of the various blizzards I have weathered during my childhood and adolescence. There's nothing like curling up in front of the window with a gratuitously large mug of coffee and watching each snowflake make its balletic descent into obscurity. I was lucky last year to experience one of the snowiest winters this area has seen in a long while. It made leaving the north a bit easier.

As much as I love snow, however, autumn has always occupied a special place in my heart (hence why it was chosen as the preferred season for our wedding last year). And I suppose my internal clock has yet to reset itself, because I've already switched over into "Fall Mode"...a tad early for this climate, methinks.

For example, I desperately want to mull some cider. "You want to do what to that cider?" I want to mull it. No, I do not want to ruminate on it, although I have found myself in a very contemplative state whilst sipping apple cider. I want to mull it in the following sense:

To heat, sweeten, and flavor with spices for drinking, as ale or wine.

 Mulled, or spiced, cider is a favorite of mine. As a matter of fact, just this evening I purchased a bottle of home fragrance oil from Bath & Body Works in that very scent. It typifies autumn to me (probably because my mom makes a massive batch of it every Thanksgiving)...and it's damn good!

So last week, when the weather was beginning to look like it could be cooling off, I became a little overzealous and made my own mulling spices, fully intending to mull the gallon of cider I purchased back when I made my apple pie (also in a fit of zeal). I will share the recipe for the spices with you and hopefully you live in a climate that will allow you to actually use them without having to run the air conditioner full blast. I found this particular recipe on Love to Know:

Basic Mulling Spices

Makes 1 1/2 cups

6 cinnamon sticks
1 small whole nutmeg
1/2 cup whole cloves
1/2 cup whole allspice
Grated peel of one whole orange

Put the cinnamon and nutmeg in a zippered storage bag and chip into medium sized pieces with a hammer or the flat side of a meat tenderizer. Place in a storage container (in my case, another plastic bag) with the cloves, allspice and orange peel.

To use, place two tablespoons full of the spice in a square of cheesecloth, tie with twine, and add to four cups of cider (or wine). Sweeten to taste (I used about 1/2 cup of sugar for four cups). Simmer for three or more hours and serve hot. This works best in a crock pot, but you can do it on the stove, just make sure not to boil it.

This mix smells heavenly! Whenever I walk by the cupboard where it is kept I stop and inhale deeply. Ahh, fall...

Pants are the Devil...and Make You Look Fat

Apparently there has recently been a debate of sorts circulating around the Catholic blogosphere on the moral standing of pants vs. skirts. Yes, pants vs. skirts. We're still having that discussion. This particular bout is being fought in response to an article over at CatholiCity, a website closely associated with a man who divorced his wife for no reason and gained custody of their four children by demanding she stop homeschooling them. Awesome, right?

So basically, the article pleads with women everywhere to discard our "damned pants" for the sake of modesty and femininity. We should wear dresses and skirts all the time in order to avoid being a stumbling block into temptation for all those poor men who want to respect us, but just can't if we insist on wearing form-hugging, flaw enhancing, evil, evil pants (actual points about pants made by the author...with the exception of "evil" although it is consistently implied).

Now, I'm an unabashed skirt wearer....especially during my pregnancy because, well, they're the only things that fit comfortably under my increasingly rotund belly. But I wear pants on occasion, especially during the wintertime or when I'm planning on engaging in an activity that will make the wearing of pants particularly convenient (like bungee jumping). I am, however, one of the weirdos that is sincerely, truly and honestly more comfortable in skirts. Given the choice between a pair of jeans and a long skirt, I will almost always choose the skirt. That being said, I take issue with the idea that women must wear skirts, or any particular article of clothing.

 My comments on the article follow:

Almost every style of pants reveals private information about your figure (by way of contour) what only your husband (and if not him, no man, including your sons, if you have sons) should perceive.

And some styles of skirts reveal just as much as a pair of tight pants. So is it the pants themselves that are the problem, or the fit? Can we not wear a skirt just as immodestly as a pair of pants? Is it really the pants themselves that are the problem? Hmmm.

Thus, even a woman endowed with the most spectacular genetic form, in the bloom of her youth, can be given the illusion of ugliness, if not cheapness, by wearing pants. Likewise, pants rarely do anything but exaggerate extra volume on our figures.

Wait a minute. First pants are an occasion for temptation, and now they merely serve to accentuate our wobbly bits? Make up your mind!

Of course, we defer and appeal to our male readers to make clear your moral clothing preferences to the women and girls within your realm of responsibility or influence.

...Um, what?

In the day-to-day reality of the suburban lives most of us live, men almost always delegate the purchase of clothing to their wives. Women then make virtually all the fashion choices, mistakenly relying upon the opinions of other women (who know either too little or too much about how fashion choices affect men morally). Good women are always tempted to buy the styles they see other women and young girls wearing; inevitably everyone, men and women, are pulled downward by the undertow of the constantly lowered bar of our sexualized and superficial culture.

Heaven forbid a woman purchase her own clothing!! It's too bad we're too weak-minded to make the right decisions about such purchases. The corrupting influence of society is too strong! WHO WILL HELP US?!?

May we suggest (or perhaps you wives and daughters might suggest) that your husbands and fathers take you shopping for the expressed purpose of choosing everyday clothing for you.

Oh thank God! I thought I was doomed to harlotry!

Can I just say that the idea of my dear father going shopping with me to help me pick out clothes makes me want to laugh so hard I would actually pee (pregnancy will do that to you). Not that he has poor taste, but I can just picture this scene in the women's department of JcPenney's:

Me: "So, um...what do you think of this?"
Dad: "Heck, I don't know. Get whatever you want. I'll be in the men's section..."

And while I take my darling husband's opinion into account, he by no means determines what I wear. He thinks I'm just as beautiful in a pair of pants as in a skirt, and he most definitely sees the practicality of pants for certain situations.

The fact that this has been turned into a moral issue is ridiculous. The pants themselves are morally neutral...they're just pants! It's how they are worn that constitutes the real moral issue, and I can definitely agree that there are some styles of pants that should never be worn. But if I wear a pair of pants to weed my garden I shouldn't feel like I'm breaking some moral code. I also shouldn't feel like I'm betraying my femininity. I affirm my femininity every day I bear this child in my womb, and I will continue to affirm my femininity once he is born by mothering him and raising him to be a respectful Catholic gentleman.

Now where are my maternity jeans?

Lookie, Lookie! I Made a SCARF!

I've actually been working on this project for a few months now, but never got around to uploading pictures because 1) I am a lazy procrastinating preggo and 2) I kept going back and forth over whether to wait until I steam blocked it to take pictures. Of course I never ended up steam blocking it (see number 1) so I finally took some (OK) pictures of it to post:

It's really long so I couldn't get the whole thing in the picture without hyperextending my arm (I was both holding the scarf and trying to take a picture of it). This way you get a basic idea of what the pattern looks like. I made it with Misti Alpaca Lace yarn and a 3.75 mm crochet hook.

Here you can see what the ends look like. If I were to steam block it, the ends would look more scalloped, but again, I am lazy.

A closeup of the lace pattern. It's really soft and warm, despite how lightweight it is. I can't wait until it gets cool enough around here for me to wear it (which probably won't be until February...c'est la vie).

If you're interested, the pattern is the Isosceles Shawl by Amy O'Neill Houck from Tension Magazine.

Homemade Apple Pie

I'm from the northeast, and right now it's the perfect weather for apple pie, warm spiced apple cider, and caramel apples. When I was a kid, our family used to go apple picking as soon as humanly possible so that my mom could then transform our bounty into these delicacies...particularly apple pie. My mom is known for her pies. Every Thanksgiving she makes at least five different varieties (and at least one cheesecake), and one of them is always apple.

Now I live in the south...it is not apple pie weather here. Does that stop me from making one anyway? NEVER! So I dragged my husband out to Reid's Orchard, bought a half peck of Empire apples and a gallon of cider, and stopped by the grocery on the way home to replenish my butter stash...cause I was makin' a pie!

There are three phases to pie making. The first is to make the crust dough and chill it, the second is to prepare the filling, and the third is to bake. I should probably add a fourth phase to that...consume with reckless abandon...since that is what usually happens after the bake phase.

On to the first phase, the crust.

I found my pie crust recipe via The New Homemaker, and adjusted a few things based on my understanding of pie crust and some trial and error. The original recipe calls for more water, but for some reason I always end up with a very wet dough when I add the amount suggested, so I've cut it back here. If your dough seems too dry, add more water.

Double Pie Crust

2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour
1/2 cup cake flour
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon sugar (optional)
1 cup cold unsalted butter, cut in small pieces
1/4 cup shortening
4 to 6 tablespoons ice cold water

1. Cut the fat into small pieces and add to the measured flour. Cut the fat quickly into the flour using a pastry blender or pulse in a food processor. The mixture should resemble coarse meal, with pea-sized lumps of fat (bigger lumps are OK, too). Try not to over mix as the butter will start to soften and you want it to remain cold.

2. Slowly add the water a tablespoon at a time. The mixture should still look fairly dry. When you squeeze a portion of it in your hand, it should hold together. If not, add more water.

3. Divide the dough in half and place each piece in plasti-crap. With the plasti-crap, form the dough into a flat disk. Refrigerate for an hour or more.

4. Remove the dough from the refrigerator, unwrap, and place on a floured counter top or a piece of wax paper. Roll out from the center until it is large enough to fit your pie pan (I use Pyrex). Gently fold the disk in half and place in your pie plate. Repair any splits by pinching together or use spare dough to fix any cracks.

5. Roll out the top crust the same way and follow the instructions for your particular pie.

Now it's time for the filling!

Apple Pie

6-8 Jonathan, Macoun, Rome Beauty or Empire apples (apples should form a mound above the pie dish), peeled, cored and sliced.
1/2-3/4 cup granulated sugar
1/4 cup light brown sugar
1/2 tsp salt
1 tsp cinnamon
1/2 tsp freshly ground nutmeg (you can use preground, but freshly ground is SO much better!)
1/4 tsp ground cloves
1 1/2 Tbsp unbleached all-purpose flour
2 Tbsp unsalted butter

1. Preheat oven to 425 degrees F. Line pie plate with 1/2 the dough (we already did that, so we proceed onward).

2. Mix sugars, salt, cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves and flour in a large bowl. Toss sliced apples in sugar mixture. Pile them into the lined plate and dot with the butter.

3. Wet the top edge of the dough with warm water. Roll out the top crust and drape it over the pie. Crimp the edges and cut several vents in the top.

4. Bake for 15 minutes at 425. Lower the heat to 350 degrees F and bake for 50-55 minutes more until the apples are tender and the crust is browned.

TaDa!