tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14129985953107581502012-01-09T21:42:52.647-05:00Food ... and poetry. Delicious and nutritious.Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.comBlogger1501100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-20353688491878048572011-03-13T14:24:00.006-04:002011-03-13T14:36:13.548-04:00

A couple of weeks ago, the fine people at Oh! Nuts contacted me to see if I was interested in trying some of their products gratis if I would discuss my experience on this blog. To which I responded: but of course! I was initially tempted to request hordes of walnuts and pistachios – I keep them in my desk drawer and munch on them whenever I’m snackish at work – but that seemed disingenuous.

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-79417934131638221552011-02-26T16:38:00.002-05:002011-02-26T16:38:50.804-05:00

So these are the easiest thing ever.  I always thought biscuits were pretty painless – cutting fat into flour has never struck me as an especially onerous chore – but this recipe eliminates even that minor step.  There is no butter.  Repeat: no butter.  Nor is there any lard, shortening, margarine, or other solid fat ingredient.  With this recipe, you just whisk together the dry ingredients, dump

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-43136595145827079132011-02-06T16:13:00.001-05:002011-02-06T16:16:01.512-05:00

So I live in Connecticut which, if you haven’t been paying attention, is ground zero for this season’s snowpocalypse. It wouldn’t be so bad if we had a garage, but since we live in a city, we have street parking only – which means we have to dig the car out after every storm. My mother, who lives in Florida, has been demanding pictures. Here’s the street in front of my apartment: And here’s

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-88578245020486854162011-01-17T18:00:00.004-05:002011-01-24T19:42:56.559-05:00

I know I’ve been gone a while, but this recipe should prove adequate peace offering. These tasty treat depicted here not be photogenic, but don’t let that dissuade you. I make a lot of cookies, and I flatter myself that most of them are quite tasty. These, however, are in another category of tasty altogether. I think they might be my favorite drop cookie ever. Yes, ever. This is not a

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-50393792199673316592011-01-08T14:33:00.002-05:002011-01-08T14:37:44.150-05:00

I've been quite busy lately -- this year's holidays were of the "go forth and travel" rather than "stay home and bake" variety.  In lieu of recipes or poetry, I give you ... holiday pictures.  The first few were taken by Richard, my Aunt Wanda's significant other, and show my family in Avon Park, Florida.  After spending a few days with them, husband and I went down to Key West, up to the

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-27310900532208586352010-12-19T15:56:00.005-05:002010-12-19T16:13:57.690-05:00

T.S. Eliot is quite the polarizing figure. He was kind of a jerk. He badly mistreated his (admittedly difficult) first wife before abandoning her to an insane asylum; worse, along with his friend Ezra Pound, he traded in the basest, most pernicious anti-Semitic stereotypes. One doesn’t have a sense of him as a warmhearted person. He was also a bit of a priggish Anglophile. Born and raised

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-75291326182668053792010-12-05T12:30:00.002-05:002010-12-05T21:56:04.802-05:00

I suppose we’ve just had a food-based holiday; another is rapidly approaching, but I’ve been determinedly absent. This post will not remedy the deficiency of holiday-appropriate recipes, though if you’re inclined to seasonal baking, I would direct you here, here, here, here, or here. Or here. What I’m saying is: we’ve been there, and I’ve been busy. I did bake two pies for Thanksgiving, so

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-24127384606756719362010-11-14T16:09:00.002-05:002010-11-14T16:24:53.131-05:00

This is something like the fourth banana bread recipe I’ve posted, which perhaps speaks to a dearth of culinary creativity – but I quite like banana bread. Besides, given how often I over-estimate my weekly consumption of said fruit and end up with brown, cloyingly sweet-smelling bananas rotting atop my countertop, I find it best to have options for how to dispose of them. For whatever reason,

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-90336345338552891612010-11-07T17:17:00.001-05:002010-11-07T17:17:29.707-05:00

So, apples: this is their season, after all. Apples are on the EWG’s list of highly pesticide-soiled fruits, so I always try to buy them organic. I’m not persuaded that buying organic really make a difference – either to my health or the planet – but my tendency is to err on the side of caution, though there are times I suspect myself a bit of a Whole Foods stooge. At least the stores have a

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-19727438590680101152010-10-31T14:53:00.005-04:002010-10-31T14:56:45.492-04:00

I'm in the mood for a bit of juxtaposition.  Neither Seamus Heaney nor James Wright are among my great favorites, but each has his moments.  I do keep telling myself I ought to read Heaney's translation of Beowulf, but I fear my ambitions outpace my diligence. Both of these poems are "epiphany" poems.  I go back and forth over whether I find such poems charming or tiresome.  The final

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-48321878031138423402010-10-23T17:54:00.000-04:002010-10-23T17:54:16.558-04:00

This is a bit of a lazy recipe. I bought some cream cheese a month or two ago with vague ambitions of making danishes, but danishes only stay fresh for a day or two, and I doubt the capacity of my two-person household to consume an entire batch of danishes. I suppose I could be munificent and send the extras into my husband’s lab (as I often do with cookies), but I’m not sure they’d travel.

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-86960471047206257942010-10-10T14:29:00.001-04:002010-10-10T14:30:50.709-04:00

I didn’t use to be a big brownie-eater, but lately, I’ve been more amenable to the charms of America’s favorite bar cookie. You can make them in one bowl (though you do obtain better texture if you use two); they need not be painstakingly scooped and molded into dollops of dough like regular cookies; they’re easy; and lately, I’ve come to recognize that they’re eminently satisfying. I’ve

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-52603652193574611972010-10-03T12:49:00.004-04:002010-10-03T12:52:53.216-04:00

I've been feeling fairly chipper and busy, which can only mean that for you, dear readers, it's time for something dark and indolent.  One of the things I miss about living down south is the sense of atmosphere.  New England has an atmosphere, but it's a spare and etiolated thing, redolent of the pilgrims and puritans and characterized by restraint.  There's not much excess here -- perhaps

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-19353304154277572032010-09-19T13:55:00.001-04:002010-09-19T13:56:06.061-04:00

My mother-in-law likes to vacation in Maine every year, and where husband and I live is a convenient near-halfway stopping point between the pine state and her Pennsylvania home. For the return leg of the trip, she has adopted the excellent habit of toting back huge quantities of wild blueberries for us to enjoy. I am not kidding about the large quantities part: this time, she brought us a

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-82751736731424773302010-09-12T17:27:00.004-04:002010-09-12T20:44:02.558-04:00

Like many cooks, I find myself far less drawn to the kitchen during summer months. We don’t have central a/c, and our kitchen is ill-served by the lone wall unit that keeps the living room tolerable on the warmest days. This doesn’t usually bother me, but it does make one give pause before baking something like pie that requires an hour or so of oven time. Husband’s favorite pie is apple pie.

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-1078340192407473442010-09-06T17:53:00.001-04:002010-09-06T18:00:03.763-04:00

I'm feeling a touch maudlin and sentimental, and that can only mean one thing: it's time for Tennyson.  I have no defense of the following poem except to say that I like it.  It possesses the virtues of my current mood (which is to say maudlin, sentimental, excessive, inflated).  It practically bleeds pathos.  My love for it flies in the face my (admittedly mild) convictions about what

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-84173655800982776072010-08-29T12:36:00.003-04:002010-08-29T12:38:48.221-04:00

You needn’t fear that I’d abandoned my hankering for peach cobbler. I’m firmly in the “biscuit crust” cobbler camp. Pate brisee is a fine thing for pie, but that’s my primary use for said pastry. Cobblers demand a hefty biscuit crust, all the better with which to sop up delicious peach (or other fruit) juices. This recipe is very, very generously adapted from the The America's Test Kitchen

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-82595302100049268392010-08-22T11:43:00.001-04:002010-08-22T11:44:42.927-04:00

As summer emits its last gasp, I’m trying to make the most of my beloved ice cream maker. New England seems to already have turned the corner from hazy summer to early fall. Those of you in more southerly climes probably can’t imagine how quickly and sharply the seasons turn the corner up here; one can literally go from all shorts and tee shirts to sweaters and fleece in the space of a

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-73154844784611709362010-08-14T15:29:00.002-04:002010-08-14T15:31:02.041-04:00

Since the beginning of the summer, I’ve been hoping to lay my hands on some fresh figs. I’m not so keen on them plain, but I love them in baked goods. I had some fig “pizza” – really, something very similar to what’s shown here – when I went to the local farmer’s market with some friends a few of weeks ago, and that only strengthened my resolve to locate these delectable, eminently perishable

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-68850883830627679852010-08-04T18:08:00.003-04:002010-08-04T19:58:28.041-04:00

Apparently, we just had the hottest month ever recorded here in Connecticut. Usually, I scoff and pish at those who whine about New England’s meager heat and humidity, but July was excessive even by my standards. I fear this means I’m getting soft. I’ve been up here for over six years now; perhaps it’s impacted my capacity to distinguish oppressive heat from the merely uncomfortable. Ice

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-77099386722770393602010-07-29T18:24:00.000-04:002010-07-29T18:24:02.674-04:00

Clearly, I am not the only one borderline obsessed with True Blood. Its near-pornographic violence and sex make me feel like I need to wash my soul out with soap after each episode. And yet: I am transfixed. The show is an addiction I have no intention of forsaking. Given that we are amid prime True Blood season, I thought I’d give you a poem about vampires. There really aren’t enough of them

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-21620613205835545322010-07-25T14:57:00.001-04:002010-08-04T18:02:52.298-04:00

There’s a local ice cream parlor that serves the best Almond Joy ice cream I’ve ever had. Since my husband got me an ice-cream maker for my birthday, I’ve been promising myself I would replicate it at home. And yet: it hasn’t happened. The stores at which I shop have been curiously lacking in sweetened flake coconut in recent weeks, and for ice cream, I just don’t think unsweetened coconut

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-2842821519958139882010-07-18T16:21:00.002-04:002010-07-18T16:22:48.155-04:00

These were supposed to be Black Bottom Cupcakes, but something funny happened in the heat of my oven. Essentially all of the cream cheese filling I had carefully dolloped in the midst of my cupcakes was overpowered and encased by rising cupcake dough. The cupcakes depicted are actually a minority, the resolute few whose cheesecake filling refused to be wholly submerged in a tide of rising dough

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-78053797725243490632010-07-11T09:00:00.003-04:002010-07-11T09:15:23.118-04:00

Don’t be fooled by the lengthy title. This is a simple dessert that can be ready for the oven about 20 minutes flat. I’ve actually done it in ten, but I don’t want to inspire false confidence for those of you who don’t spend such a great portion of your waking hours in a kitchen. This is a light, tender-crumbed cake that makes a perfect weeknight dessert. It’s so bright-tasting that I do

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-4362196614235581412010-07-05T11:01:00.003-04:002010-07-05T15:08:50.936-04:00

So I may not be from the northeast, but one thing that I think they get absolutely right up here is thin-crust pizza. I also love deep-dish Chicago-style pizza. It’s what I think of as Midwestern pizza that really gets to me (though it’s pretty common in Florida and is what you’ll find as the default from any of the national chains): medium-crust pizza. For me, a pizza is all about its

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-21916229204783498012010-06-30T10:51:00.003-04:002010-06-30T10:55:41.431-04:00

Well, this feels rather lazy. I’ve taken my own recipe, swapped out some of the flour for white wheat, and acted as if this is something new. But look: the pictures are different! I made one large loaf instead of two mini-loaves. You can’t pretend as if this doesn’t add visual interest. What’s more, I added raisins. Raisins. Plump, juicy, organic raisins. Surely you cannot fail to be

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-21859512198627623742010-06-24T06:52:00.004-04:002010-07-05T15:11:04.857-04:00

Did you know that pumpernickel bread gets its dark color from cocoa powder? I didn’t – I presumed it had to do with the flour or the caraway seeds. Since regular rye isn’t dark, it should hardly have shocked me that cocoa was behind the pumpernickel hue we know and cherish. Since we’ve cleared up that mystery, let’s talk pumpernickel. Despite the inclusion of cocoa powder, it tastes nothing like

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-53283519490538656562010-06-22T18:03:00.000-04:002010-06-22T18:03:00.325-04:00

I’m in a bit of a nonsense mood and in the humor for nonsense poetry. “The Owl and the Pussycat” is among my favorite nonsense poems, though I feel the terminology does injustice to such a well-wrought little piece of verse. I used to read the lovely, Jan Brett-illustrated The Owl and the Pussycat to my little brother when he was a baby. It was my favorite of his picture books. Edward Lear

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-56736904288301139472010-06-17T18:41:00.005-04:002010-06-17T18:54:39.900-04:00

Husband was kind enough to buy me an ice cream maker for my birthday. A more cynical person might wonder if this were an entirely disinterested purchase, but I had placed it on my amazon wishlist and lobbied hard for its purchase, so I’m willing to let him off the hook. The nice thing about homemade ice cream is that it’s actually kind of hard to screw up. For example, I enjoy the richness

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-23647626671410115862010-06-12T15:36:00.003-04:002010-06-16T18:37:09.728-04:00

As is usual this time of year, I keep finding myself besieged with over-ripe bananas. Each week, I tell myself that if I buy a blend of ripe and green bananas, I’ll be able to make them last without another trip to the store. It doesn’t work. During the latter half of each week, I inevitably wind up buying fresh bananas because I can’t abide the thought of squeezing banana mush, in lieu of

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-5083253406421554302010-06-07T18:47:00.007-04:002011-01-16T10:20:19.886-05:00

So I had a birthday last week, and while I’m sure I could wheedle the husband into baking or buying me a cake, such entreaties would deprive me of the opportunity to make my own. When given the chance, I always prefer to have the control over my cake that baking it myself provides. I decided to bake myself an Angel Food Cake. This wasn’t prompted by health and/or caloric concerns – I genuinely

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-67570240671323644122010-06-04T17:02:00.000-04:002010-06-04T17:02:53.022-04:00

After my recent homage to Robert Browning, it seems only fair to give props to Elizabeth Barrett Browning. During their lifetimes, she was by far the more noted poet; his renown grew only after her death. She is most remembered for Sonnets from the Portuguese and, of course, the ubiquitous “How Do I Love Thee?” sonnet therein. They’re nice if formal love poetry is what you’re after – and we all

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-48384631930829299942010-06-01T18:02:00.001-04:002010-06-01T20:23:26.547-04:00

I know I’ve already posted white chocolate chip and macadamia cookies on this blog -- and posted them fairly recently at that.  Variations are good, right?  And I think this recipe is a slight improvement on the original, though it remains highly recommended if you don't have easy access to the almond butter the depicted version demands. This particular batch of cookies was earmarked for the

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-66899362629251523162010-05-28T06:15:00.002-04:002010-05-29T07:58:19.568-04:00

As part of my recent healthful living kick, I’ve been trying to eat less refined white flour. Luckily, my friends have clued me in about the magical substance known as “white wheat flour.” I thought at first that it must be some sort of food industry hoax – like probiotic-added yoghurt, say, about which I remain deeply skeptical – until I read up on it and discovered that it really is genuine

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-34071411422427478002010-05-27T17:40:00.001-04:002010-05-27T18:35:01.420-04:00

Robert Browning is probably best known, in popular culture terms, for his whirlwind romance of Elizabeth Barrett (later Browning). She was six years his elder and a bit of a recluse; her father wished for her never to marry, so they eloped. By all reports, it was a happy union, though their spoiled only child was feckless and disrespectful and Elizabeth, whose health was always fragile, did not

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-48784124293126392692010-05-18T05:17:00.004-04:002010-05-18T08:15:38.502-04:00

Sometimes, my urge to experiment in the kitchen takes me to strange places. I’ve been on a bit of a healthy eating kick lately. I don’t know if it’s the warm weather and the more flesh-baring clothes that such weather demands or just a passing intellectual fad. It’s been difficult to reconcile my love of baking with my new desire, which may well prove fleeting, to consume

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-58395419064780579642010-05-16T12:27:00.002-04:002010-05-16T12:29:00.519-04:00

Don Paterson is a Scottish poet. I find his output a bit uneven, but he is capable of scribing fine poems. His most appealing work is a book called The Eyes that consists of very loose, homage-esque (rather than literal and faithful) translations of Antonio Machado. This is a simple, wistful poem from that volume that I have often read myself before going to bed. Chords Perhaps when we’re

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-20827553938300605722010-05-12T05:47:00.004-04:002010-05-12T08:13:22.118-04:00

I am insanely enthusiastic about these crème brulee and crème brulee-like desserts for two. They’re so much simpler than cookies and pastry and so much easier to scale to a two-person household. This is the first time I’d used my ramekins without also whipping out my crème brulee torch. It’s not that this wouldn’t be good with the crème brulee treatment – I seriously considered dusting each of

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-67634167495240217972010-05-08T09:46:00.005-04:002010-05-08T15:36:31.517-04:00

I realize I’ve been light on poetry lately. Something about the weather makes me feel un-literary and pro-food. Or perhaps I’m just trying to squeeze in some last-minute baking before the summer heat makes baking intolerable. I think I forgot for a moment that I live in New England, where it’s almost always cold enough to bake. We get maybe one oppressive heat snap a year; otherwise, baking is

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-11527733817803129792010-05-02T16:37:00.000-04:002010-05-02T16:37:49.414-04:00

So, cupcakes: I’m at a loss as to why I had a bee in my bonnet to whip up a batch. I don’t think I’d ever actually made cupcakes before, which is a touch odd when you consider my willingness to tackle layer cake on a semi-regular basis. I lifted this recipe (making only minor changes) from Culinary Concoctions by Peabody. In the pros side, we have excellent chocolate and malt flavors and

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-39541938408862809892010-04-28T17:12:00.005-04:002010-04-29T09:31:44.885-04:00

This is another cookie that I just sort of threw together. And I did it for you, gentle readers: I was hankering for peanut butter chocolate chip cookies, but I wanted something new for the blog. I had a full container of oatmeal in the refrigerator and thought to myself: self, why not make a new, healthier cookie that contains the aforementioned craved ingredients with an added healthful bonus?

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-18210455119991441622010-04-24T15:37:00.004-04:002010-04-26T13:46:10.078-04:00

So spring is here, the weather is lovely, and all I want to do is wander about outdoors and stare at blossom-laden trees.  Here's a whimsical poem in honor of spring by ee cummings.  He seems never to have taken himself or his art too seriously but remains an excellent poet all the same -- perhaps all the more.    Bonus points to anyone who can identify the little lame balloonman. in Just-

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-84166946770399716082010-04-22T07:07:00.008-04:002010-05-30T21:12:03.065-04:00

Please ignore the crack. I didn’t drop it, exactly; it flopped onto the counter in a funny way as I was attempting to ease it off my cooling rack. The resultant break did nothing to diminish the flavor of the cake, nor my enjoyment of it … but it did make photography a bit of a challenge. This was so tasty I had to share it anyway. It’s a first for me in that it’s a gluten free recipe. I didn’t

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-51083378836702512622010-04-17T17:29:00.006-04:002010-04-26T15:00:58.345-04:00

I think of this as my traditional banana bread recipe, but it’s actually quite atypical in its way. It’s loosely adapted from Mark Bittman’s How to Cook Everything Vegetarian, but we’re talking about a pretty aggressive adaptation. Mostly, I just really like his suggestion of adding dried coconut to the batter. Before I started making this, banana bread was near the bottom of my list of

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-33459169668039820662010-04-12T08:01:00.002-04:002010-04-19T08:19:10.034-04:00

I bought a new tart pan a while back, and at the time, I had been concerned that this was a frivolous and superfluous kitchen indulgence. Did I really need it? Would I ever use it? When I married, I didn’t know what size tart pan was standard and registered for (and received) a shallow 11” tart pan. I learned shortly after the wedding that 9” is the norm and I’ve been kicking myself ever

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-49967043455415321512010-04-10T09:18:00.000-04:002010-04-10T09:18:54.960-04:00

One wonders if his morose attitude contributed to his eventual suicide.  He appears neither a bored nor boring figure in photographs. Dream Song 14 Life, friends, is boring. We must not say so. After all, the sky flashes, the great sea yearns, we ourselves flash and yearn, and moreover my mother told me as a boy (repeatingly) "Ever to confess you're bored means you have no Inner Resources." I

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-44118610161404669442010-04-06T06:17:00.005-04:002010-04-06T10:24:17.546-04:00

So this is going to be an oddity of a blog entry. I’m showing pictures of one version of gougeres, but I’m going to recommend a non-depicted recipe that I made two days before. Both were done in a bit of a rush – one for a friend’s birthday party, and one for a French-themed dinner with some other friends. I only had a moment to photograph the second batch of gougeres, but I thought the first one

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-17284000865253645772010-04-01T06:54:00.006-04:002010-04-01T21:19:10.589-04:00

So this is a very rustic, very slapdash loaf that I threw together to get rid of some near-stale almonds and dried apricots. And it works! This loaf is delicious. On occasion, I fall victim to ill-advised Trader Joe’s impulse buys. A cupboard full of almonds and dried apricots was the fruit of such impulsive purchasing (pun … intended?). I thought they might be a nice change from endless

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-76252871924799744582010-03-29T09:27:00.004-04:002010-03-29T09:35:27.984-04:00

This isn’t really a post about Edith Sitwell, about whom I know next to nothing. This is about poems whose pleasures reside in the sounds and texture of the words themselves, rather than in the intellectual or emotional content of those words. The poem below the cut is a fine example of such a poem. My favorite part is the lovely lines “Made of painted notes of singing birds/ Among the

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-84172227664235008622010-03-25T06:18:00.003-04:002010-03-28T07:17:18.578-04:00

It had been a while since I made something cake-y as opposed to a cookie or tart. I was starting to hanker cake, but I lacked the ambition to make a layer cake or something that needed to be frosted. I had spied this recipe some time back and bookmarked it, thinking it looked so very delectable. The contrast of the rich red of the plums and the gingerbread-y cake itself made me wish I could

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-48875227784864157822010-03-22T08:05:00.004-04:002010-03-22T08:36:19.170-04:00

Despite my lukewarm attitude toward cinnamon, I’ve always been a huge fan of cinnamon raisin bread – especially when it has a cinnamon sugar swirl in the middle, all the better for nuggets of butter to nestle in to make the sweetest combination of fat, gluten, and carbs conceivable. I thought that husband didn’t like cinnamon raisin bread, so imagine my surprise when I got back from my trip to

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-32370327311811324082010-03-20T11:20:00.001-04:002010-03-20T11:24:09.136-04:00

It’s federal grant season at work, and as such, kind of a stressful time for me. The following poem suffices to remind me there are more grueling fates than white-collar office labor, though I presently lack the intellectual energy to provide much else by way of explication. I like Philip Levine; he’s a competent but not earth-shaking poet whose virtues are rather evocative of his Midwestern

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-39537237009017389242010-03-17T06:31:00.002-04:002010-03-17T17:57:59.054-04:00

One of the lovely simple desserts I tried in France (on the few occasions I was able to resist gorging on tarte tatin) was a custard raspberry tart. Emily and I were starving and needed a bit of a snack before making the uphill trek to the medieval walled city of Perrouge. Luckily, we passed a modest café that had coffee and pastries, and their raspberry tart looked especially appealing. I

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-34465754669148464072010-03-13T09:42:00.018-05:002010-03-14T15:53:30.385-04:00

I’ve been itching to make a Shaker Lemon Tart for some time. For the uninitiated, a Shaker Lemon Tart (or pie) includes whole lemons, sliced very thin, that have been macerated in sugar and combined with eggs before being poured into pie crust and baked. Because one uses the whole lemon, it seems advisable to use organic lemons, and those can be kind of hard to come by – although they are less

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-35809418652128725872010-03-12T17:47:00.006-05:002010-03-15T08:58:03.300-04:00

As promised, here’s my favorite Auden poem. I think it’s as fine as example of a villanelle as the much more famous “Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night,” which seems to be the ur-exemplar of the form in English and the only villanelle that has vaulted into the realm of much-known poems. If the following poem has a flaw, it’s sentimentality; but to me, it feels like earned rather than ersatz

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-6529711077335649172010-03-09T07:15:00.007-05:002010-03-09T18:03:22.061-05:00

If you’re tiring of all the French food, I have the remedy in this fine American cookie. Inspired by this recipe from Baking Bites, these cookies are just the thing to bring a hint of the tropical to a New England mid-winter. We’re finally getting glimmers and intimations of spring, but I baked these up before my recent vacation. In mid-February Connecticut, reminders of the tropical are in

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-86118684938032869672010-03-06T10:09:00.005-05:002010-03-08T10:22:38.429-05:00

So I totally wasn’t kidding about how it’s all French Food all the time at my house. I’ve made two tarte tatins in the past week. I think I’m going to throw in a lemon tart next week to shake things up, but tarte tatin shows every sign of becoming my new go-to dessert. And how has it achieved this exalted status? Like my apple pie cookies (and yet: so unlike), tarte tatin has all the great

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-77031155469939690362010-03-05T06:06:00.000-05:002010-03-05T06:06:00.094-05:00

You’ll have to wait another few days for my favorite Auden poem, as I’ve gotten stuck on this Berryman poem instead. It occurs to me that I use this blog rather as a means of dislodging troublesomely adhesive poems from my mind. It’s similar to the strategy I employ to get songs out of my head: I listen to them compulsively and find that this works better than avoidance for getting them to go

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-11606447440476628812010-03-03T07:17:00.011-05:002010-03-04T18:47:29.752-05:00

So everyone loves scalloped potatoes, and it’s not as if they’re a difficult food. Even my mom makes a passable version – she basically whips up a béchamel sauce with cheese, as one would do for macaroni, and bakes fairly thick-cut potato slices in this cheesy goop. Other American versions of scalloped potatoes that I’ve had have been pretty similar, and while I enjoy this dish just fine, I’ve

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-47006064703871982902010-03-02T17:13:00.004-05:002010-03-02T17:51:44.600-05:00

This post is non-food and non-poetry related.  No, this post is an entreaty.  I need help with Facebook. Because of a Facebook glitch, I have been unable to log into my account for nearly three months now.  When I try to log in and/or change my password, I get a message that my e-mail account is invalid.  However, I continue to receive messages to this inbox from this same Facebook that claims 

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-9522097194499414602010-02-28T10:31:00.033-05:002010-03-02T08:23:52.136-05:00

I've finally gotten around to posting pictures from my most recent vacation.  As many of you know, my husband is a scientist and very devoted to his research.  I like my job just fine, but it's not so high-pressure that I feel any compunction about wringing every last drop from my vacation time. Because husband doesn't really want to take more than one big foreign vacation a year -- and because

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-62532931195576572562010-02-26T18:04:00.001-05:002010-02-26T18:04:00.177-05:00

Auden has been one of my favorites for many years. His poems seem to me like cat’s cradles woven around emotional abysses in an attempt to bear himself aloft. It’s as if in the process of writing, he is attempting to cross a treacherous stream, and each word is a foot placed uncertainly on a small rock jutting above the water. The damage of the process is – I was going to say ironically, but

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-11126263729756101712010-02-23T20:00:00.000-05:002010-02-23T20:00:52.781-05:00

Hello All, I just wanted to drop a quick note that I'm back from my latest European vacation (and exhausted from jet lag at the moment).   Thanks so much for the positive comments and wishes in my absence -- I will do my best to respond to everyone tomorrow. Thanks for sticking around in my absence, Becky

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-19041694476241946932010-02-23T15:43:00.004-05:002010-02-27T20:23:03.444-05:00

This is really just a variation on the Peanut Butter Swirl Brownies I posted a few weeks ago, but as with so many things, it’s amazing what an difference a few of small tweaks can make. I liked the original recipe but felt that the batter was insufficiently chocolate-y and was slightly too cake-like. The flavors also seemed kind of one-note. For this batch, I ignored what I said I would do in

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-71309002894447280892010-02-19T15:14:00.002-05:002010-02-25T20:34:35.621-05:00

In honor of the vacation that I’m on, I thought I’d post some French and German (language) poetry. The first is a poem by Baudelaire translated by Donald Justice. As you may recall, Justice is one of my favorite poets, and I think his translations are as delightful as his own compositions. I’m not a huge fan of Baudelaire – I missed that 15-year-old goth phase that generally precipitates

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-64007337117441708392010-02-15T09:41:00.000-05:002010-02-15T09:41:00.233-05:00

I can’t begin to tell you how enamored I remain of my crème brulee torch.This is the fifth or sixth batch of crème brulee I’ve made since Christmas. I’ve made chocolate crème brulees several times, but I’m still perfecting that recipe – the first batch tasted like heaven but was a bit too firm; in the second batch, I erred too far the other way and ended up with something too pudding-y – but

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-31242914783547695022010-02-10T17:24:00.002-05:002010-02-10T17:34:45.617-05:00

I hesitate to share this recipe because I am such a slapdash bread baker. In fact, I realized that my very casual approach to cooking and baking that has made me somewhat irritated with The Bread Baker's Apprentice. This was given to me as a Christmas gift, and while it’s resulted in three superior loaves of bread so far (including this one), something about its tone makes me want to argue with

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-35066663737889188792010-02-08T09:08:00.001-05:002010-02-08T09:09:39.555-05:00

I don’t tend to follow contemporary poetry all that much. I made a show of so doing when I was in grad school, and keeping up with writers was part of the job description, so to speak – but one of the reliefs of finally earning my MFA was the feeling that I could safely return to my determinedly anachronistic reading habits. This is by way of concession that I would probably know more about

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-83788255104444156572010-02-04T19:08:00.013-05:002010-11-14T21:55:58.147-05:00

Apple pie is a baked good for which husband constantly clamors. Alas! For peeling, coring, and slicing apples are among my most-dreaded kitchen tasks. He doesn’t get pie often, yet it seems cruel of me to remain deaf to such oft-repeated pleas. I thought he might be placated if I devised a simple cookie that had all of the lovely flavors of apple pie but took half – nay, a quarter, if that – of

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-81465353337566400032010-02-01T17:27:00.008-05:002010-02-01T22:12:24.665-05:00

I love scones. How much do I love scones? When I travel, I do a lot of walking around and am constantly famished. On this account, I permit myself both morning and afternoon between-meals snacks while on vacation. When I went to London last year, I ate scones with clotted cream and strawberry jam for both of my daily snacks. I like them that much. And I didn’t tire of them – I could have

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-82078002986231255012010-01-31T12:00:00.003-05:002010-01-31T12:55:37.864-05:00

The problem with doing multiple Emily Dickinson posts is the paucity of available photos of said authoress. I thought I’d go with this hilariously frilly one, which was devised by publishers of a bygone era (based on the picture in my last post on Emily D.) in order to make her seem more attractive and feminine. It’s a pretty safe guess that she didn’t much resemble this image. The following

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-17006317006796557342010-01-28T19:04:00.001-05:002010-01-29T08:42:26.313-05:00

Rum balls are one of those treats that sound great in theory but usually fall short in execution. I think this is because one often encounters them in grocery store trays of over-processed, over-colored “holiday cookie treats.” The rum flavoring is either artificial or absent, and the texture is akin to that of a gummy bear. And yet they ought to be deliciousness incarnate. I mean, it’s crumbled

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-63198068954660930272010-01-26T07:27:00.000-05:002010-01-26T07:27:00.094-05:00

I’m not really that huge on brownies but ever since I saw this recipe on Smitten Kitchen, I had been itching to try it. The problem: it took me over a year to get my hands on some chipotle chili powder. Every time I thought to look for it at the store, the store would be out, or I would think to look at stores that don’t carry it to begin with – I’m looking at you, my beloved Trader Joe’s.

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-29483377373598845292010-01-24T09:05:00.000-05:002010-01-24T09:05:01.175-05:00

Emily Dickinson is among my favorite poets, which makes it difficult to write about her. The relationship between her work to some internal conception I have about what a poem should be or do renders dispassionate analysis a daunting task. Dickinson, as you may know, led what many consider a cramped and narrow life. She never married, lived with her parents and family in Massachusetts her

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-1610657895189181502010-01-21T07:32:00.003-05:002010-01-21T22:03:16.595-05:00

This is the quick bread which I so tragically under-baked and then dropped in the days leading up to Christmas. Naturally, I was a bit chary of attempting this recipe again, but it’s ridiculously tasty, easy, and a nice way to use up those last couple of bananas of the bunch that always go over-ripe before you’ve had a chance to eat them. It’s also a nice way to use up flake

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-51457505048788426552010-01-18T09:13:00.010-05:002010-01-24T20:23:55.900-05:00

My mother-in-law gave us a huge jar of cashews (among other lovely culinary gifts) for Christmas. Both husband and I are unable to resist those rich, buttery nuts when the urge to nosh strikes, so there was no need to exhaust them quickly. However, I really love cashews in baked goods and wanted to make an easy cookie that could be thrown together in less than half an hour. Enter the Malted

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-82385323897080389222010-01-15T18:04:00.005-05:002010-01-15T18:53:26.636-05:00

The poetry reading I’ve been doing lately is different from my usual dips in short-to-medium-length poems. No, I’ve been cozying up to my old friend Chaucer. I’m not here to scold you for your failure to plow through all of the Canterbury Tales in un-annotated Middle English. I’m not even going to scold you if you failed to make it through the General Prologue in your freshman-year survey of

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-42205136254755877032010-01-14T17:04:00.011-05:002010-01-14T18:28:00.997-05:00

I hope it goes without saying that if you have anything to spare, it would be good of you to donate a bit to the Haitian earthquake relief effort. A few charities that seem worthy to me are: ADRA, the Adventist emergency relief agency. I haven't been an Adventist in a very long time and would not otherwise counsel giving to a church-affiliated agency, but ADRA does exceptional work during

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-54759988833419000262010-01-13T18:30:00.010-05:002010-01-14T13:03:00.738-05:00

I realize this blog has been light on poetry lately, but I’ve been doing more cooking and baking than poetry reading. Last week, I immersed myself in The Children's Book– highly recommended if you’re an anglophile and literature nerd like me – and such sustained fiction-reading seems to have crowded all of the poetry out of my head for the moment. I’m sure it shall return before too terribly

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-37508395532735205602010-01-10T17:15:00.004-05:002010-01-11T18:17:05.808-05:00

Husband had a birthday last week, and I am in the habit of baking him layer cakes each birthday. Husband also has a ridiculous and overpowering affection for apples and apple-spackled baked goods, so when I spied this recipe on the Martha Stewart web page, I had a suspicion he would be unable to resist its allure. I’d complain, but he used to ask for carrot cake every year, and something about

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-44851800667662344822010-01-07T18:29:00.007-05:002010-01-08T18:30:10.647-05:00

I’ve been searching for the perfect peanut butter brownie recipe for some time. Plain brownies don’t much do it for me, but throw a little peanut butter in the mix, and you have a treat worthy of the extra time on the treadmill. One wouldn’t think it would be hard to find a good recipe, but prior attempts failed to achieve what I’d hoped by way of flavor and texture. When I was

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-14773535743340248122010-01-05T17:43:00.002-05:002010-01-05T19:06:43.195-05:00

I have to confess that just about everything I know about Howard Nemerov comes from Wikipedia. I stumbled across this poem a few months ago on the Inward Bound poetry blog and found myself returning to it until I finally succumbed to its charms by pinning it to my cubicle wall at work. Much like the work of the artist under discussion, I find this poem to be soothing and clarifying. I suppose

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-87179729784420640452010-01-03T08:37:00.010-05:002010-01-05T13:12:25.899-05:00

The Bread Baker's Apprentice is one of those tomes I’d been seeing everywhere on the internet. The book has been roundly and effusively praised, and I’d seen so many scrumptious-looking breads on various food blogs that I was itching to get my hands on my very own copy. My in-laws were the kind santas who bestowed this particular gift this Christmas. We spent the holidays with

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-83639847876678337512009-12-31T15:00:00.003-05:002009-12-31T17:32:36.378-05:00

This Christmas yielded a bumper crop of exciting new kitchen gadgets and cookbooks. Hint for those of you with under-stocked kitchens: start a food blog, and the gift-giving people in your life will really get the message that you are serious about this whole cooking-and-baking thing. It probably doesn’t hurt that I blatantly publicize my amazon.com wish list before holidays and birthdays.

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-3350665899221480382009-12-29T17:37:00.003-05:002009-12-29T18:19:49.139-05:00

Pavese was an Italian poet who had an unhappy life. This, of course, does not much differentiate him from many other writers discussed on this site. Born in 1908, he resisted Italian fascism and joined the communist resistance to Mussolini on behalf of a girlfriend. His subversion did not remain undetected, and he was thrown in jail for three years. When he got out of the clink, he learned his

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-84409355742535402522009-12-28T17:13:00.018-05:002009-12-29T11:31:13.226-05:00

I made these cookies because I wanted a third variety for the bins of Christmas Cookies I toted to my in-laws places this year. While flipping through the same magazine I used to find the recipe for my Chewy Molasses Ginger Cookies, I spotted a recipe for Currant Bourbon Cookies. I have a stash of currants in my fridge – still waiting to be turned into scones (I’ll get to them soon! Maybe ...) –

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-74713346879075736902009-12-24T08:57:00.000-05:002009-12-24T08:57:24.330-05:00

I, for one, will be celebrating the fact that most of my culinary ventures are more successful than the one depicted. I had realized it was a bit  underdone, but hadn't realized how very liquid the center remained until I dropped it -- which had the effect of making that question rather moot. Merry Christmas!

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-24542791234985168092009-12-22T05:47:00.001-05:002009-12-22T08:13:11.825-05:00

I love the flavors of gingerbread, but too often, gingerbread turns out dry. Store bought gingerbread in particular suffers from this affliction. Cookies that should be warm and rich with spice have the flavor and consistency of chalk. I felt like I could do better. This is a heavily doctored recipe based on one from a Martha Stewart Holiday Cookie magazine that my in-laws gave me a few years

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-79725298794498049882009-12-19T11:45:00.005-05:002009-12-20T12:15:30.390-05:00

Anne Sexton was troubled. Good-looking in an intense, nervy, raw-edged way, she worked briefly as a model before marrying young and quickly having two daughters. She began writing poetry at the suggestion of her therapist. I suppose posterity should thank him, but her case rather illustrates the shortcomings of poetry-as-therapy: after repeated bipolar breakdowns and progressive alcoholism, she

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-6097805840372675282009-12-17T18:25:00.005-05:002009-12-18T15:53:27.083-05:00

Even though I love chocolate, I tend not to bake with it often. I’m so enamored of plain chocolate, preferably of the darkest-of-dark variety , that there seems little cause to dilute its impact by mixing with flour, sugar, eggs, and butter. Feel free to remember this anecdote should you feel compelled to shower me with culinary gifts. However, it’s also hard to go too wrong with chocolate.

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-36365808403666439042009-12-15T06:54:00.015-05:002009-12-15T20:19:32.083-05:00

This is a rare recipe that I’ve been making for my whole life. Since these are called “Florida Christmas Cookies,” and my family has been in Florida since the 19th Century, I thought it might be an old family secret. I’ve heard that my maternal great-grandmothers were both good cooks, so I used to imagine that this recipe had been lovingly handed down for the past hundred

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-40997481634122752122009-12-14T12:27:00.003-05:002009-12-14T13:45:09.175-05:00

Presented without comment for your Monday. After Long Silence Speech after long silence; it is right, All other lovers being estranged or dead, Unfriendly lamplight hid under its shade, The curtains drawn upon unfriendly night, That we descant and yet again descant Upon the supreme theme of Art and Song: Bodily decrepitude is wisdom; young We loved each other and were ignorant. William

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-54655244139549220732009-12-13T09:05:00.002-05:002009-12-13T09:07:06.703-05:00

I feel as if I need to create a more comprehensive profile page in case you're wondering who I am or why you should care. I would rather do this in a Q&A format rather than writing a couple of tedious paragraphs about myself.  This is a long way of saying: if you have any questions, please leave me a comment.  I'll try to answer these inquiries (or cleverly elide them) when I put up a real "

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-13343276417779258622009-12-12T09:57:00.010-05:002010-06-04T10:28:14.933-04:00

Even though my last attempt at Turkish Spice Bread was pretty tasty, I knew I would be going back to the drawing board. The recipe I came up with was good, but it wasn’t as faithful to the bread we had in Turkey as I had hoped. Last time, I omitted several key spices and honey. I hoped that adding these items this time around would give me something more “authentic.” Of course, “authentic” in

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-20048306562511391362009-12-09T18:17:00.003-05:002009-12-09T18:17:00.182-05:00

Evidence suggests that Philip Larkin was a pretty miserable human being. A never-married librarian, he carried on simultaneous long-term affairs with several women, some of them his coworkers. He was misogynistic and racist – his extant letters are full of repugnant condemnations of blacks and immigrants – and apparently quite the collector of pornographic images, large stashes of which were

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-2278105841736300582009-12-08T20:51:00.003-05:002009-12-10T19:01:08.511-05:00

I like to think of myself as adept in the kitchen. I whiff a recipe from time to time, but even when things don’t turn out just so, I can usually pinpoint the reason why – I’ll add too much salt or spice, for example, or ignore my batters’ warnings that I didn’t use enough fat or liquid. But I know better. My failures are more often the result of laziness than they are of ineptitude. The

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-80836978262975657782009-12-06T09:23:00.025-05:002009-12-08T13:14:48.874-05:00

I do not come from a family of cooks. My mother has a handful of dishes that she makes well – most of them odd Adventist concoctions such as Chik’n Rice and fried Fri-Chik – and she can even make a decent filling for an apple pie, though my powers are insufficient to persuade her that butter makes a much nicer crust than margarine. Old habits die hard. My grandmother also has a handful of

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-86647637097362624172009-12-04T17:09:00.005-05:002009-12-04T17:09:00.193-05:00

Today, I give you a short, perfect love poem by Akahito, a Japanese poet of the 7th Century. That's pretty much all I know about him.  The translation is by Kenneth Rexroth. I wish I were close To you as the wet skirt of A salt girl to her body. I think of you always. The salt girl of the poem is one who gathers and/or processes salt, rather than a Lot’s wife-style person composed of it. All

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-62744830421288858312009-12-03T17:57:00.006-05:002009-12-03T18:23:28.593-05:00

As promised, I wanted to provide instructions for making your very own candied citrus peel.  This process is mildly tedious, but the final product is so vastly superior to store-bought peel that I can only recommend it. I used this recipe from about.com as a guide in preparing the peels. The others that I found on the internet suggested boiling the rinds in plain water several times before

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1412998595310758150.post-46824983400066449882009-12-02T18:08:00.004-05:002009-12-04T15:10:13.518-05:00

Antonio Machado was a Spanish poet. Born in 1875, he was briefly and happily married, but his wife died young. Things didn’t improve from there: he fell ill while fleeing fascist forces during the Spanish Civil War and died shortly after scaling Pyrenees and crossing the French border in 1939. Machado is reckoned to be the great Spanish modernist poet, but the translations of his work that I’

Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15505933658153917045noreply@blogger.com0