A moment of silence. My brows arched.

“Is he a boy?”

That’s where it started and since then it’s been a few of us old biddies hatching plans and match-making in the best of traditions.

Why? Just a goof really. But also more about lightening up and not taking the kitchen so friggin’ (or froggin’) seriously.

That’s why even though Celeste insisted on the back cover of Hippie Kitchen as her exclusive preserve, she did allow HH to appear within its pages. Also, why after a year, she finally said yes to HH’s overtures.

We had their engagement party on Valentines Day and even made a video. Sort of a first try, but it was a good time–and many ideas generated on how to make the upcoming wedding more of a blow out. So stay tuned. Wedding’s scheduled for apple blossom time.

In the mean time, here are some photos from the engagement party in case you didn’t watch the vid.

The happy couple.

Celeste sporting HH’s engagement gift of a diamond heart necklace. You can see that Celeste is not a spring chicken–and even has a bad eye. Also that she makes no bones about her commodious belly. We think that’s partly what attracted HH–Celeste’s quiet dignity in the face of what life has brought.

Lastly, the “cross my heart and hope to love” polenta waffles we made for the engagement party. A play-play adaptation of Bob’s Polenta Waffles and Cashew Cilantro Pesto from Cooking Beyond Measure, pages 42 and 75. There are also vids of me making these posted here on the blog.

That’s why I’ve been smiling since watching Meryl Streep bring Julia Child alive once again on the big screen. Ah, yes. Wasn’t our Julia a grand dame.

And the Sole Meuniere scene. No way but that writer-director, Nora Ephron, would include Julia Child’s epiphany. That moment, when seated across from her debonair husband in Rouen, France, Julia Child tasted her first morsels of Sole Meuniere:  dover sole boned tableside and decked out in a buttery wine sauce.

It wasn’t more than two days after I saw the movie that I queued up at the fish counter. No dover in sight so I bought some cheap little Rex sole fillets. A quick dredge in flour (whole wheat of course, since the white stuff is sooo paste-y) and a quick pan fry. Then the sauce, which was the real reason for all this business. And I made so much of it that there was plenty leftover the next day to spoon on some zucchini.

Tak, Julia. Tak. Beurre Blanc made my eyes roll, too, right here at my own table.

You were right. We Americans do need to splash the wine about more in our kitchens–and get the butter out, too.

Olive oil’s good, definitely. But butter and wine? Mais oui!

At least that was the take home message I got from this latest film dedicated to your refined, magnanimous, brilliance.

Tak, Julia. Tak.

Those who have a copy of Beyond Measure will recognize Celeste from the back cover. Indeed, she’s become a bit of a mascot and will most likely ensconce her lovely self on Hippie Kitchen’s (forthcoming 2009) back cover as well. While we’re not sure if this shot will make the final cut, she did want to pose her green, froggy self with the salsa doings.

As well she should, since she bellies up so nicely to the gypsy, Serrano, Anaheim, and jalapeño peppers I used for this salsa. Beyond that, the salsa is just onion, garlic, lime, and lotsa red plumpers. Cilantro is always called for in the formal recipes, but I didn’t have any around. Also, between me and thee, I didn’t even have limes on my first go round (we go through a batch every few days right now with harvest bringing on the peppers and tomatoes) and used a few shakes of regular old cider vinegar. Celeste thought it was cool–and it was close enough for the guys I go with.

Longtime family friend Matt Loggins was here over the weekend so we grilled. It was such a snap.

I brined the shrimp for a half hour in salty water, made a salad out of leftover quinoa, garden lettuces, onion, and cashew cilantro pesto (Cooking Beyond Measure, page 75).

Other than that it was just making the rounds in the garden for squash and peppers–all of which went directly onto the grill without even venturing into the kitchen first. (They were washed well enough from the mornings watering, needed nary a speck of oil, and I had a pocket knife handy.)

Yes. From the garden to the grill. My kind of cooking.

The vines grandpa planted out back sixty years ago are in full flourish this year. The first of the berries ripening now. It’s as it should be since I want to give some to Paul. He’s been bringing the mail to our street for close to twenty years–and it’s his last week.

If Paul didn’t know my grandparents, he certainly knew my aunt on her watch. And we knew him. Indeed, we could always tell when Paul was off. It was those days the mail came crumpled or to the wrong address, via a letter carrier who didn’t seem to know how to stop a minute and say hello.

Ah, yes. You’ve been so very righteous, Paul. We’ll miss you.
Adios, amigo. Happy trails to you and your wife…

As far as the berries go, there’s really nothing like raspberries and good old fashion cream. But given that Cooking Beyond Measure is just weeks away from our hands, I mixed and matched with a couple recipes from the cookbook.

Bob’s Golden Polenta Waffles are the easiest things in the world–and so cute when you inherited a heart-shaped waffle iron from your Scandinavian auntie.

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The creamy white stuff you see in the photo above is Cottage Cream. Here’s a sneak preview from Cooking Beyond Measure on that as well:

It took 5 minutes to pull these vegetables together. There’s carrots to sweeten things. Cabbage just because. Dark leafy greens since we’re ‘sposed to eat ‘em. And a little onion, garlic, and leftover spaghetti squash–the trio I love so dearly.

The secret’s high heat. And a cast iron wok that I can’t recommend too enthusiastically. But even if you’re wokless, you can pull this off.

Start with enough water to keep things moist and forge ahead. In my kitchen, the steam is roiling while I’m finishing whittling down the cabbage and giving the greens a rough chop.

But, you say–all those vegetables and then what. How do they go from healthy and seasonal to delicious?

It’s true a person can eat a dab of them alongside some fish and wild rice, but that’s still a meat and potatoes kind of approach to dinner that keeps us from getting as many vegetables as our physicians say we need. So I thread the line somewhere between an Asian stir fry and a composed warm salad searching the refrigerator for tidbits.

It could be leftover legumes of some kind like black beans or regular old pintos that I’d toss into the vegetables. If I went that route, I almost surely would warm some corn tortillas to eat with and grate some cheddar to mound on top. Maybe even some sour cream.  As you see, things can get interesting right way, and we haven’t even got to the cruets of good olive oil and vinegar that you can pass around at the table. Clearly, since there was no oil spared making this meal, folks can enjoy some front and center where it invariably steals the show.

Yes? Kind of a Mexican dish? Maybe even a dish a crushed red peppers to pass? And a cervesa?

No? Not to either a carnivore’s or vegan’s liking? For the carnes there’s always some shredded chicken with maybe some chunks of fresh pear. And vegan-style, nuts and nutbutters know no end. (Think cashews with dried cranberries.)

There. Everyone should be happy, including mamma. That’s important, of course, since if mamma’s not happy…

I can’t help thinking of Ruby–the little dust mop kerin terrier who lives next door–when I work with pomegranates.

Indeed, once the glistening ruby red seeds are freed from their leathery husks, they do as much to garnish soup, cereal, or warm salad as little Ruby-do does to dazzle her doting mommy.

More’s the pity that I shunned these fruits for years. That was when I thought of them as apples to be eaten in one sitting. Now I consider them critters to be shucked and readied for all manner of garnishing, pomegranates have taken their place in my kitchen.

Breaking down a pomegranate half takes all of 5 minutes, and then you have a bowl of seeds to play with plus half the fruit in reserve for the next go-round.

If you’re intrigued get with the program pronto. These righteous round lovelies with their tart Ruby-do seeds shine for us only a few months each autumn. By January, they’ll be a fading memory.

I came home from farmer’s market table with 5 peaked bouquets of cilantro last Sunday. The first couple days I chopped up leaves for any number of meals, but then on a whim I made pesto.

If you’re still buying jarred pesto, you might have a gander. It’s so easy–and nothing tastes as good as fresh.

Breakfast for me is usually oats or some whole grain like quinoa or amaranth steamed up nicely with enough flax meal to keep my brain going after a fashion. I also usually put some Cottage Cream into the works so I don’t get hungry before the lunch hour whistle blows.

But it’s the fruit that keeps me coming back. Fruit that changes with the seasons. Right now, my fig tree’s leaves are yellow and it’s giving up the last of its lovely fruits. They’re so plump and marshmallowy–if I can compare such gorgeous food to those weirdo white creations.

You can also see some tiny kiwis in the photo. Chad and Meredith across the street went out to a upick place and brought these thin-skinned gems back. So green and luscious. Along with a brew of organic fair trade coffee beans ground fresh, this fast breakfast was as delicious as it was affordable–and something that would have worked with apples or pears just as easily.

Note on Sweetness: Cinnamon is quite sweet and marries with fruit without overshadowing its flavor like high test sugar and honey does.

It’s time for the old ice cube tray trick. Make some pesto with your extra fresh basil and freeze it up in the trays. Once hardened you can pop the cubes out for storage in a plastic bag. Come winter a couple cubes thawed whenever you’ve a yen for a dollop of sunshine can lighten up an otherwise dreary day.

My all time favorite by far is pesto tossed into baked spaghetti squash that I’ve fluffed with a fork. I also plop a cube or two of it into soups to do all manner of magical things to the broth. It’s also a hit on more mainstream things like grilled cheese sandwiches, baked potatoes, and pasta.

The first time I tried this freezing business 15 years ago I thought I had to go full bore. So along with the sweet basil leaves, into the blender went all the usual ingredients: garlic, Parmesan, walnuts, salt and olive oil. These days, though, I’m not so particular, having figured out that the goodies can be added after the fact in the winter. If I have things on hand I will go ahead and make the real deal up, but often I don’t. So I just add enough olive oil to get things going in the blender and toss in the garlic as well so I won’t have to chop it later on.

I thought I had it pared down as far as I could go, but friends and fellow gardeners in Northern Arizona just messaged and said they put theirs up with nothing more than water. I’ve not tried it yet, but plan to.

I imagine it will work nicely, although without the oil I’m wondering if it will darken more than it does when the oil is added. The idea here is that as soon as the cut surfaces of the basil are exposed to air, they darken–and that oil sort of films them to dampen the process and protect the color. But I could see doing the pesto with water and just floating a little oil over the top to preserve the color.

Yet, dark evergreen like the glorious Ponderosa pines of Northern Arizona or a lighter shade, there is nothing like your very own pesto from the freezer in the dead of winter. This heavenly goop brings a heady dose of chlorophyll and along with memories of the sun on your shoulders. More, putting pesto is a flash. So head on out to your herb plot and do a little harvesting or watch for bargain prices on fresh basil at farmer’s markets and whole foods stores. Come those long January nights, you and those around your table will be glad you did.

If you have a copy of Cooking Beyond Measure, there’s a pesto recipe note for Clifford’s Mary Pesto on page 63. My late brother, Clifford, used to have such a whimsical way about him, including using words like marvy.