Marla in the Kitchen

Flow: Chicken breasts with Port

Posted on June 16, 2018 by warmkn

Rest in peace, Anthony Bourdain. To watch the video featuring Bourdain at Les Halles, click on the post title to go to my blog’s website.

I was watching a TED talk the other day about Mihaly Csikzentmihalyi (had to watch a YouTube on how to pronounce the name) and his concept of “flow.” I remember buying his book, “Flow: The Psychology of Optimal Experience,” in the 90s, but found the read too New-Agey and I never did finish it. In the TED talk, the presenter described flow as the mental state achieved when a person is focused on performing an activity for its intrinsic value and is fully present, immersed, and in the moment. A state that is relaxed but intense, where time flies but stands still, and where actions are effortless within a challenging situation. Think of Michael Jordan “in the zone”, or an individual who is rock climbing, mountain biking, or surfing.

Csikzentmihalyi applied “flow” specifically to artistic endeavors such as playing music, writing, dancing, painting and intellectual pursuits such as scientific research, concept development, and inventive design. Although TED didn’t mention blue collar work, I remember times cooking on the line in a restaurant kitchen when, apparently, we were in a flow state.

It began like any other night: each station set up for the rush, manned by a professional with skills that matched the challenge. Service started at 5:30 with a few early birds; gradually picking up steam—then let the circus begin. The expediter shouts orders from chits coming through the Remanco in a tappity blur—“ordering one monkfish, one lobster, three chicken breasts with port, three poussin, two skirt steaks—one SOS; salads out on the 12-top; pickup four breasts with port; fire three New Yorks; 3 out on those hushpuppies; where’s the skirt for 13; ordering one risotto on the fly; ordering two clam spags; draggin’ two side salads; pick up cheese plate for a deuce; 86 the branzino; hold table 23; that’s five breasts all day; order/fire one ribeye—blue; kill one New York; stretch the soup; VIP on 24; fire the 12-top; Ruth Reichl’s in the house.” Cooks echo each call-out, “Yes Chef! One monk, one lobster, three breasts, three poussin, two skirts—one SOS.”

The heat intensifies, the fryer boils over, sauté pans hiss and sizzle, bursting into flame as bourbon is added: HOT BEHIND, YES CHEF, I’M IN THE WEEDS, WHERE ARE YOU ON 24, DROP FRIES FOR 23. Dishwasher sidesteps onto the line, shouting BEHIND!, stretching to put clean plates on the pass, picking up bus tubs heavy with sauté pans.

No motion is wasted: bend down to pick four steaks, three chicken breasts, three poussin, one monkfish, and four swirls of pasta out of the low boy, run to the walk-in to grab a live lobster, pin him down on the table and cut him in half, spin six sauté pans onto the hot top, a round of oil in each one, brown the poussin, drop the pasta, slide the dead lobster down to the grill man, check the chicken, sear the steaks, breasts in the oven, steaks out, bourbon in, pasta in, drop the hushpuppies, poussin out, plate poussin, cream in the bourbon, pasta out, drag a little pasta water into the pan. Second push comes, repeat over and over in varying iterations until the rail is clear at 11:30.

We look up at each other and wonder, “What happened?” The hours didn’t exist, only the dance—we were one beast moving in slow-motion but at a full tilt.

When I’m just cooking for me and the Sweetie, I still try to focus on the techniques, enjoy the ingredients, and remember what Michael Roberts used to say, “The easiest way isn’t the best way.” So I whack whole garlic cloves, peel tomatoes, fine dice the onions, trim the skin off the ham slice, make a fruit coulis for the salmon, fry the tortillas to soften before stuffing them for enchiladas, and brine the chicken breasts. I don’t achieve “flow”, but then I don’t limp all the way to the bus stop either.

Michael Roberts’ Chicken with Port

Add butter to hot sauté pan. When foaming has stopped, brown chicken breast, skin side down. Pour off fat. Add 2 T. shallots, 2 parts red Port to one part chicken stock to sauté pan with chicken. Roast in oven for 10-12 minutes. Remove pan from oven, remove chicken breast and keep warm. Reduce liquid (port/chicken stock) to syrup. Add 1⁄2 c. heavy cream—reduced until thickened. Add 2 T. stilton cheese, and whisk in 2 T. cold butter. If the cream sauce separates, just add a little water to the pan and swirl around.

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Posted in Chefs, Recipes, Restaurants | 1 Comment

Memorial Day

Posted on June 2, 2018 by warmkn

Each Memorial Day I write a post about our creative, generous friends from We The North and their ingenious, theme-based dinner party. This year on the way into Vancouver, we stopped a mile from the Canadian border crossing, on the Washington side, and went no further. We waited patiently, at first, for 90 minutes before The Sweetie bolted, made a U-turn and headed for home. According to the border wait-time app, we had another 70 minutes until it was our turn to lie about bringing food into Canada.

I hemmed my skirt, polished my boots, washed my hair, brought a gift sack full of new favorites from Trader Joe’s, and was reluctant to bail. But faced with another hour’s wait to cross and heavy holiday traffic into downtown Vancouver, I too was willing to flee. I regret missing the event, not seeing our friends, and giving such short notice to our hosts but there you have it. We were given lemons, but didn’t make lemonade.

Speaking of lemons, the other day the Sweetie and I were wondering about one of our vagabond friends who left the Chicago project early. Where is he now? Is he working, relaxing, snowboarding? Does he still live in California? We looked for him on WhatsApp, Marco Polo, LinkedIn, and Instagram, but no trace. Suddenly Bob had an epiphany—“I’ll call him on the telephone!” He dialed the number (actually, he told Siri to), and our friend answered. He and Bob chatted about work, life, the joys of a good mattress, and exchanged new project information—now we are up-to-date.

I wanted to make amends for bailing on our friends Memorial Day, so I considered texting—way too impersonal; emailing—does anyone even read their emails these days; Facebooking—I don’t have an account and neither do our friends; Snail Mail—who knows if and when a letter will come; so I went with old-school, but satisfying, telephone calls.

In the early days to check in with someone, we hitched up the horses, walked a few miles into town, or started a signal fire; now we can receive the latest information instantly. Today, calling on the phone, sending a letter, or even emailing is somehow old-fashioned. I like the peer-to-peer method, I like not having to squeeze my thoughts into 160 characters, I like seeing or hearing the subtleties of facial or verbal interaction. If I can’t do face-to-face, ear-to-ear will do.

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Posted in Uncategorized | 1 Comment

Keep Knoxville Scruffy: Beet orange salad

Posted on May 26, 2018 by warmkn

In a 1980 Wall Street Journal story titled, “What if you gave a World’s Fair and no one came,” journalist Susan Harrigan criticized the choice of Knoxville, Tennessee as the location for the 1982 World’s Fair, dismissing it as a “scruffy, little city.” Residents refused to retreat with wounded pride and have celebrated the label ever since.

1982 World’s Fair’s Sunsphere

Knoxville sits by the Tennessee River with the Great Smokey Mountains in its backyard. Fifteen years ago when I started visiting Knoxville to see my daughter and her family, the grands were young and we did kid things: feeding the ducks at Fountain City, picking apples at a local orchard, taking autumn drives to Cade’s Cove, and spending time hiking in the beautiful mountains. Now, the Smokies are indeed beautiful, but from a Washingtonian’s point of view, they are more like furry green hills than majestic mountains.

Our family’s “the hills are alive” moment

When they were young

As the kids grew older, we focused on downtown activities: shopping at Mast General, listening to live music at the Blue Plate Special, buying fresh produce from local farmers in Market Square, eating pizza at Tomato Head, drinking coffee at Katie’s Third Creek Coffee, or watching the rock climbers at Lauren’s River Sports.

Sister Antics, Blue Plate Special

Downtown Knoxville, Market Square

Knoxville reminds me of Tacoma: a red-headed stepchild, stuck between two cooler cousins. Tacoma—“Grit City”—forever in the shadow of Seattle to the north and Portland to the south and Knoxville—that “scruffy, little city”—stacked up against Instagramable Ashville to the east and Music City Nashville to the west. Seattle sold its soul years ago to Amazon and Portland is way too self-aware but let’s hope that Knoxville and Tacoma, on the verge of being declared cool, can hold on to their scruff and their grit.

Ashville

The light posts and parking meters are crocheted on Wall Street in downtown Ashville!

Early Girl Eatery

If only it were a 1962 VW bus

Woolworth Walk art gallery and diner

“Flat Iron,” Reed Todd

Bob found peeled, cooked beets, cryovaced in four packets of 6-8, the other day at Costco for $6. They’re not quite as tasty as the ones you roast, but way more convenient. So far, I’ve made beet soup, a beet lentil salad, beet pasta, beets and greens, beet, feta, and walnut salad, beets and cooked carrots (He also bought 10 pounds of carrots at Costco), and the below beet, orange salad. Can beet crisp be far behind?

Beet, orange, avocado salad

3-5 small cooked beets, large dice
2 avocados, cubed
2 navel oranges, supremed (see video below)
Halved grapes are good too
1/2 minced shallot or thinly sliced green onions
2 cups spinach or assorted greens, or none!
1 tablespoon toasted salted sunflower seeds or walnuts
Slight squirt of agave or honey
Squeeze of lemon juice
Salt and black pepper to taste

Heat oven to 425 degrees. Wrap beets tightly in foil and roast until tender, about 1 hour. Once cool, remove skin and slice. Or buy already cooked at Costco.

Combine salad ingredients, serve with chopped nuts or sunflower seeds, and either attached dressing, Ranch, or dressing of your choice.

Dressing:

1 spoon Dijon mustard
1/2 spoon minced garlic
Salt
2 teaspoons vinegar
1/4 cup olive oil
1 tablespoon orange or lemon juice
Coarse salt and freshly ground pepper

Crush garlic, mustard, and salt with the back of the spoon.

Add vinegar, orange juice.

Whisk in olive oil.

Season with salt and pepper.

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Posted in Family and friends, Recipes, Travel | 1 Comment

Oh, the places she’ll go: Pound Cake

Posted on May 19, 2018 by warmkn

“You’re off to Great Places

Today is your day

The Mountain is waiting

So…get on your way!”

Dr. Suess, Oh, the Places You’ll Go

She talked in sentences at eleven months and ran before she walked. Born with a beautiful smile, a curly head of hair, and a tender heart, my granddaughter Lauren lights up a room with grace and kindness, can do a mean dance to Michael Jackson’s “Beat It”, and climbs a sheer rock wall like a gecko.

Last Saturday I was part of the proud crowd of parents, grandparents, and friends who watched and waited for their special one to walk across the stage and receive their diploma. I’ve been sitting in early summer commencement audiences for ten years now and we’re getting down to the last few graduates.

Unlike previous years, the scholarly types in charge didn’t scold and warn the collective group about preemptive celebration, so the procedure stretched a bit as each robed walker received a well-deserved round of hoots and hollers. Bridg brought out the caramel M&Ms when our peanut gallery got boisterous and somehow our family row stayed awake and alert until it was our girl’s turn.

Sixteen or so years later

Katie, Lauren, Leah

Bridget, Lauren, Katie, Caleb, Ronnie

Lauren received a Batchelor of Arts degree, majoring in Spanish and ESL, and will start working full-time at Thrive, a local non-profit that assists at-risk youth and immigrant families. Her family is so proud of her, enjoys her sweet nature, and is confident that she will turn her world into an even better place.

Graduation Pound Cake

3 sticks butter, room temperature
3 cups sugar
6 room temperature eggs
one 8 oz. block cream cheese, room temperature
1 tsp vanilla
3 cups flour

Bring all ingredients to room temperature—trust me, it makes a big difference.

Preheat oven to 300 degrees.

With an electric mixer and paddle attachment, beat butter and cream cheese until smooth.

Add sugar slowly or in several increments; beat on moderate speed until light and fluffy, about 2-3 minutes.

Add eggs, one at a time, beating well after each addition. Mix in vanilla.

Combine flour and salt. With mixer on low, add flour/salt mixture in two additions, beating until just combined.

Generously coat one large Bundt pan or two 1 1/2 quart loaf pans with cooking spray; immediately pour in batter (pan will seem full). Tap pans on work surface to eliminate any large air bubbles.

Bake until golden and a toothpick inserted in the centers comes out almost clean, for 90 minutes (if the tops begin to brown too quickly, tent with aluminum foil).

Cool 10 minutes in the pan. Turn out the cakes; cool completely, with top sides up, on a wire rack.

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Posted in Family and friends, Recipes | 5 Comments

Art Institute of Chicago

Posted on May 5, 2018 by warmkn

Although I was only a ten-minute Red Line ride away from the Art Institute, I put off going until our last week in Chicago. Home to a permanent collection of 300,000 works of art and more than thirty special exhibitions, the Art Institute of Chicago is my Swann’s Way, my Finnegan’s Wake, my Infinite Jest—I know it is worth the time and effort, but size and culture fatigue sent me to Jo Nesbo and the Museum of Contemporary Art instead.

The Art Institute of Chicago is huge—topping off at a daunting million square feet, the eight buildings house eleven curated departments, five conservation laboratories, two architectural libraries, sculpture gardens, four restaurants, the Renzo Piano-designed Modern Wing, 20,000 photographic works, textiles that span cultures from 300 B.C. to the present, Edward Hopper’s Nighthawk, Pablo Picasso’s Old Guitarist, and Georges Seurat’s A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte, to name just a few.

Edward Hopper, Nighthawk

Pablo Picasso, The Old Guitarist

A day trip to the Art Institute of Chicago is like trying to see Europe in two weeks—you’re better off choosing a neighborhood in Paris. My neighborhood of choice was the Modern Wing, so I zipped past the European Decorative Arts, Etruscan artifacts, Japanese screens, and African masks straight to Renzo Piano, Andy Warhol, Roy Lichtenstein and a few new favorites.

Willem de Kooning, Interchanged

Jim Nutt, Untitled

Man Ray, Departure of Summer

Pablo Picasso, The Red Armchair

Otto Dix, Pregnant Woman

Anyways, my Art Institute of Chicago visit was overwhelming yet exhilarating and given twenty or so more visits, I might just have a sense of the place.

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Posted in Museums, Travel | 1 Comment

Too easy? Southwestern Chipotle Macaroni Salad

Posted on April 28, 2018 by warmkn

I didn’t have a clothes dryer until my son was born. My daughter, the first born, wore diapers that swished around in a washer on the back porch until I decided they were clean enough, put them through the wringer, and hung them outside on the clothesline. In the winter my fingers were numb by the time the diapers, stacked up like cordwood, were thawing in the basement. Laundry day was indeed a day of doing laundry.

Now don’t be rolling your eyes, this is not a tale of how I survived in the olden days, walking a mile to and from school, and not having my own radio until I was seventeen. No this is a tale of, as Tim Wu in a New York Times article called it, “The Tyranny of Convenience.”

I enjoyed the laundry-day ritual—watching the clothes roil back and forth, squeezing each wet sock through the rubber wringers, and hanging out in the fresh air, but I enthusiastically embraced the convenience of an automatic washing machine. Convenience is changing our world as surely as global warming is. Amazon has taken Walmart’s #1 Villain of the Year spot as it rolls over bookstores, fabric stores, grocery stores, hardware stores, and record stores. Gone are our face-to-face interactions with small store owners and sales clerks, no more browsing the aisles of Ace Hardware looking for that special screw, squeezing peaches to find the ripe one, and choosing just the right pair of socks by feel. Simply touch the “Buy” button, and before you can change your mind, it’s there at your front door.

Social media has eliminated the need for live, personal interactions. How many times have you watched families in a restaurant who ignore each other to connect with their smartphones? Who even uses their phone to talk anymore? And why put your shoes on, start the car, and drive somewhere to see a friend—just FaceTime or Marco Polo them?

What ever happened to just waiting? When we were at the hotel in Chicago, elevator riders couldn’t even resist the scroll while descending to the Sixth Floor. When I looked out the hotel window at pedestrians on the sidewalk below, most of them walked heads down, reading their phones, narrowly avoiding the icicles crashing down around them. Recently at our local Kaiser pharmacy, five out of six waiting members were on their phones. One grandmother-type accompanying a five year old girl brushed off her, “Look Gramma look!”, interruptions to continue playing Candy Crush.

Convenience marginalizes quality. Pouring boiling water over Starbuck’s Via is easier than brewing your coffee, but it is not as good. Using garlic powder instead of peeling and mincing a clove or two is enticingly quicker, but flavorless. Relying on Spotify to create your morning playlist is more convenient than finding a good radio station, becoming a regular listener, choosing your favorites, going to a record store, buying vinyl, returning home, and cranking up the Victrola; but something is lost in the trade.

Using Instagram’s convenient format lessens individual creativity in favor of a pre-packaged communal appearance. It takes more time to find a pencil and paper and think up a birthday card, than it does to choose from a provided template and click “Send.” Digital assistants can shop for us, read to us, lock our doors, heat or cool our houses, and order pizza. Refrigerators make automatic shopping lists, ovens turn themselves on and off without the hassle of getting off the couch, and washers can be turned on remotely with a smart phone. Who knew that Clap On Clap Off lights were cutting edge?

On the whole, convenience has liberated us from drudgery. But what we create through the individual struggle of mastering something difficult—planting a garden, balancing our checkbook, leaning to play the cello, making a quilt—is worth the challenge.

Anyways, I wanted to make good, old Iowa macaroni and pea salad for dinner the other night, but had no peas. I did have a bit of a roasted red pepper, a hard-boiled egg, a half an avocado, an overripe tomato, a few black beans, and a lot of cilantro—so Southwestern Chipotle Salad showed up instead. It’s all in the name.

Southwestern chipotle macaroni salad

Cooked macaroni
Diced tomato
Diced celery, radish, or jicama (or all of the above)
Diced fresh serrano, jalapeño, or Mrs. Renfro’s
Diced avocado
Diced hard-boiled egg
Cooked corn kernels (TJ’s frozen roasted corn is perfect)
Fine diced red onion
Diced roasted, or not, red pepper
Cooked black beans, rinse canned ones thoroughly or the salad will be grayish (not a good look)
A lot of chopped cilantro

Salt a little as you add ingredients. Add salad dressing, top with crunched up corn tortilla chips—or roasted pumpkin seeds would be good.

Dressing:

1 part mayonnaise

1 part yogurt or sour cream

1 part Bottled Ranch dressing

A squeezed lime or lemon or two

Some red sauce from a can of chipotle peppers (careful, it’s hot)

A slight shake of ground cumin

A clove or two of minced garlic

Salt to taste—don’t skimp

Mix or blend

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Posted in Family and friends, Recipes | 2 Comments

Every Brilliant Thing: Salmon rub, Vegetable pilaf

Posted on April 21, 2018 by warmkn

HBO’s documentary Every Brilliant Thing is a one-man play about a young boy’s attempt to cure his suicidal mother’s depression by creating a list of “everything that was brilliant about the world, everything worth living for.” In the play, the actor gives hand-written notes to members of the audience as they arrive, asking them to read out their assigned brilliant thing when he calls their number. Included in the list: #1, “ice cream,” #5, “things with stripes,” #998,997, “the alphabet,” #4, “laughing so hard you shoot milk out of your nose”—the brilliant things got more sophisticated as the boy grew up.

It is inevitable that a viewer will make up their own list, and high on mine are good sheets—I love good sheets. When I was a kid, I slept on coarse flannel sheets in the winter and muslin sheets in the summer. The good percale ones were used only on the mom and dad bed. I didn’t feel slighted, it was just part of life as a kid before children were the center of the world. But as soon as I became the sheet buyer, I spent as much as I could afford on crisp, cool, all-cotton sheets. If I were rich, every day would be clean sheet day.

My own list of brilliant things so far: the smell of a baby, mayonnaise, i before e except after c, checking off items on a to-do list, a sharp knife, new gum, ceiling fans, lying in bed watching the moon, sleeping in, listening to someone else make dinner, and successful parallel parking.

Last week I put two more brilliant things on my list—a visit from my son and a new set of frosty-grey, sateen sheets from my daughter-in-law. Jon is a smart businessman, a kind, generous son, a stellar husband, the involved father of three special girls, and a new practitioner of 9Round, a high-intensity circuit training fitness program that emphasizes kick-boxing. His wife, Lara, is a dear with a great sense of humor, a big heart, and a Julia Roberts’ face.

Anyways, my son, the Sweetie, and I ate salmon, rice pilaf, and asparagus at the table like grownups, then watched the NYYs, caught up on family news, and after hugs all around, Jon drove back to his hotel room and flew home early the next morning to his four special girls.

Tom Douglas’s salmon rub

3 tablespoons brown sugar
2 tablespoons smoked paprika
1 tablespoon salt
2 teaspoons thyme
Black pepper, to taste

Mixed grain/vegetable pilaf

One part cooked rice—Brown, basmati, Korean red
One part cooked grain—quinoa, bulgar wheat, ferro, barley
1/4 part diced onion
Some smashed, minced garlic cloves
Ginger, if you prefer
Maybe some diced celery, if you have some
Or perhaps, diced mushrooms
What about that wilty carrot in the bottom of the crisper?
Diced cabbage or shredded Brussels sprouts work
Diced zucchini or a couple spears of asparagus
*Chop all the vegetables in a smallish dice
Roasted nuts or seeds—walnuts, hazelnuts, pine nuts, almonds, sunflower seeds
A splash of lemon juice or chicken stock

Heat some olive oil in a largish sauté pan to a medium heat, add onions, garlic, ginger, celery, mushrooms, carrots, a half shake of red pepper flakes, and a high sprinkle of salt. Continue to sauté over medium until onions are soft.

Turn up the heat a bit. Add cabbage, or Brussels sprouts, or zucchini, or all three, add another small high sprinkle of salt, and cook until vegetables are soft. Add cooked rice and grain, sauté until hot (sometimes I just microwave the rice and grain, then add).

Squirt a bit of lemon juice, chicken stock or both around the edge of the pan. Combine with rubber spatula or spoon and cook until liquid has disappeared.

Fold in roasted nuts or seeds. Serve with another squirt of lemon juice, yogurt, tahini sauce, ranch dressing, or all of the above.

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Posted in Family and friends, Recipes | Tagged Every Brilliant Thing, Rice pilaf, Salmon rub | 4 Comments

In the swim: Strawberry rhubarb upside down cake

Posted on April 7, 2018 by warmkn

I’m swimming in local waters again—the pool at the Lodge is a few minutes away and if I time my visits, I can avoid the aerobic bouncers who take over the pool five times a week for six hours a day (not complaining, just reporting). In Chicago, I swam in a lap pool that was usually empty—one of the benefits of living in a hotel. Now I queue up and select my swims carefully (again, not complaining, just reporting).

The Lodge pool, Lacey

Our first Chicago hotel didn’t have a pool, so I searched for alternatives. Concierge guy called the East Bank Club, a toney athletic facility a fifteen minute bus ride away, and set me up with an interview. We were clearly not a match—$25.00 for a one-day guest pass, a $500 membership initiation fee, $195 a month for “pool privileges,” plus an out-of-state annoyance fee. But what a beautiful place to swim!

East Bank Athletic Club, Chicago

Second stop—Elkhart Pool in the West Town neighborhood of Chicago, the journey was as good as the destination. I picked up the #65 bus a block from the hotel and took it to the end of the line. I was ready to move in as soon as I stepped off the bus. I walked five blocks to the pool past residential brownstones, independent coffee shops, small ethnic restaurants, neighborhood taverns, a bakery, vintage retail stores, and no big box stores, chain restaurants, or high-rise apartment buildings. Think Ballard, forty years ago. More my speed, no initiation fee, ten swims for $5.00, or $25.00 a month. But once the temperature dipped into the frigids, the bus ride back to the hotel with wet hair stopped me cold.

West Town, Chicago

Eckhart Park pool, Chicago

I hit the jackpot when we moved to our third hotel—a beautiful four-lane lap pool with a view. No bus necessary, I rode the elevator from the eleventh floor to the nineteenth floor and usually swam solo.

Homewood Suites pool, Chicago

I know it’s early—just getting ready. Saw this several places on line, so it must be true.

Strawberry rhubarb upside down cake

1 1/4 cup butter (equals 2.5 sticks of butter)
1lb strawberries (cleaned, stemmed)
1lb rhubarb (sliced into chunky cubes)
1 1/2 cups sugar
1/2 cup brown sugar
2 cups flour
1 1/4 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 heaped teaspoon kosher salt
1 lemon (zested, and juiced)
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
4 large eggs
1/3 cup sour cream
2 teaspoons cornstarch

Preheat oven to 325 F degrees. Sift flour, baking powder and salt together in bowl, set aside.

On low heat in a cast iron frying pan (10” – 12” works fine), simmer brown sugar and 1/4 cup of butter for 2 minutes while whisking to incorporate; remove from heat.

Cut rhubarb into chunks and clean strawberries, leaving small ones whole and large ones sliced in half. Toss fruit with cornstarch and 1/2 cup of sugar, set aside.

Whip 2 sticks of room temperature butter until fluffy, about 2 minutes. Add one cup of sugar and zest of one lemon. Cream until smooth, about 4 minutes.

Add vanilla extract, then add eggs, one at a time, mix well. Add sour cream and lemon juice, mix well. On low speed, add all of flour mixture 1/4 cup at a time.

Add fruit mixture to the warm frying pan, coating fruit with brown sugar and butter mixture. Pour batter on top of it, and smooth it out.

Place frying pan in oven at 325 degrees F. Bake for approximately one hour or until a toothpick comes out clean. Remove from oven, cool for at least 15 minutes, and flip over onto large serving plate.

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Posted in Recipes, Travel | 4 Comments

An old

Posted on March 24, 2018 by warmkn

This morning, I hooked my bra in the front (cups to the back), spun it around, and put my arms through the straps. Now that may not mean much to you, but to me it’s another sign that I am an old. When I was in sixth grade, my mom took me to Yonker-Martin’s in downtown Sioux City to buy my first bra. Along with starting my period, I had been both dreading and anticipating this day since fifth grade. A prune-faced sales clerk wearing a brown skirt and sensible shoes ushered me into a dressing room and brought in a stack of “training bras.” She firmly turned me around, slipped my arms through the straps, directed me to lean over and do a “quick jiggle,” then she straightened me up, scooped my “breasts-in-training” into the cups, and hooked the bra into place.

Once we found the perfect one, I was on my own. When I fumbled hooking the bra behind me, the sales clerk showed me the “easy” way: bra back to the front, hook up, turn bra around, slip arms into straps, stuff small breasts into cups and Viola! “But that’s cheating,” she said, “A real woman puts her bra on cups to the front and just knows where the hooks fit in.” Which I did until today when my left hand would not cooperate.

This afternoon, I went to see my doctor about a hand transplant. I have two titanium hips, why not a new hand? I would settle for a new ring finger and a new pointer but I’m holding out for the complete deal. I used to be able to flip a cast iron skillet with my left hand, now the Sweetie has to help. What indignity is next? Well, I’ll tell you.

I asked my doctor if she would schedule another cortisone shot for my knee, which she did. Then she added, “I also have another suggestion that you’re not going to like—a cane or walker would be helpful.”

“But canes are for olds!” I said.

Struggling not to roll her eyes, she looked up at me over her readers, “Use hiking poles if you want to look sporty—but think about it.”

Anyways, Chicago is over, project is done, and we’re back in our almost-moved-in house. I enjoyed the view from the eleventh floor, my hotel friends, swimming on the nineteenth floor, having a Trader Joe’s two blocks away, and not having to drive, but I love more being home with the Sweetie.

Marina City, also know as “the corn cobs”

Here are a few random Chicago-related musings:

For a city the size of Chicago there’s not much local coffee. When I google “coffee,” Starbucks shows up in seven out of ten listings.
Despite the abundance of sunny Winter days, you seldom need or see sunglasses in downtown Chicago.
Children should be banned from hotels, especially on weekends and in the swimming pools.
Never accept a hotel room booking next to the elevator or near the “Storage” room.
Elevator logic suggests that potential riders wait until the elevator empties before entering with their bags, strollers, and breakfast trays.
Beeps from annoyed horn honkers sound like quarrelsome children—“Did not!” “Did too!”
Those big-city movie scenes where someone walks partway into a busy downtown street, waves their up-stretched arm, and hails a cab in a few minutes are true. No kidding, there is always one right around the corner or down the street.
Pedestrians should wait up on the sidewalk for the light to change. All street lanes are active and you will be squashed like a bug if you’re in their way.

I’ve thought about it and I’m not using a cane or sporty sticks.

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Posted in Family and friends, Travel | 3 Comments

Beauty and the Beast

Posted on March 17, 2018 by warmkn

In the late 1980s, the Sweetie and I watched the television series, Beauty and the Beast—a fantasy/romance/crime drama about the relationship between noble Vincent, the man/beast who looked like a lion, and beautiful Catherine, the smart, successful Manhattan lawyer. Vincent lived in “the World Below”, with like-minded misfits who had been shunned by society, and Catherine moved freely between the World Below and the World Above. The secret, subterranean community, hidden in caves and tunnels miles below Fifth Avenue, was furnished with books, artwork, and faded elegance taken from the World Above. The imagery of the World Below was as romantic and appealing to me as were the story’s plot and characters.

So, when a breakfast-room acquaintance told me about Chicago’s “Pedway”, a complex, forty block underground passageway linking more than 50 buildings in the Loop to the CTA’s Red and Blue lines, I planned my trip that day. Construction to provide weatherproof passage between the buildings began in the 1950s and has continued haphazardly ever since. Each section is independently owned and maintained by the building above and has different lights, different wall and floor composition, different decoration or lack thereof, and even different air temperatures.

The route is illogical, with hidden entrances leading to dead end exits and dark, mysterious hallways. Signage is sketchy and obscure, so there are urban legends of lost souls still wandering the Pedway looking for a way out. There’s an entire world under those fifty buildings: the beautiful, ornate, old Marshall Field’s (now a Macy’s), an LA Fitness swimming pool, restaurants, bars, barber shops, and a Walgreens. Old-school Chicagoans pride themselves on being able to use the Pedway and are usually willing to help, while some long-time residents don’t even know that the Pedway’s exists.

My subterranean tour was brief but spectacular—I was there to see the 22 American Victorian, non-religious stained glass window installation displayed next to the Wabash Street Macy’s entrance. The windows are backlit, adding a strange glow to the dimly lit corridor.