they might not be that pretty, but they do smell amazing.

And now, a few choice shots from the family vacation up north:

casey and nat choosing the hard way across the headwaters...

I also recently got the chance to take a few engagement photos for Chris (a friend of mine from high school) and his fiancee Kaitlin.  A few of my faves:

When tomato time came around last year, we were the only ones picking them.  We told Mark and Kajsa to go out and collect the bounty from our eight tomato plants whenever they wanted to, but I don’t think it ever actually happened.  Consequently, when we came over for our weekly gardening/harvest visit, there would always be a tomato or two on the far side of ripe.  These mushy lovelies got chucked into the daylily patch.

This year Mark sprayed the daylilies with round-up and we roto-tilled the dead bits into the ground.  Along with a hearty crop of weeds — mostly nettles — we were pleased to see a couple tomato plants growing.  Thirty-six tomato plants, actually.  Some of them have been absorbed by the squash patch and some have gotten lost under the weeds (Lazy Gardener, remember?) but the rest of them grew into a sort of tomato thicket that we currently get about 30 plum-sized tomatoes from every other day.

With all the rain last night, I knew some of the tomatoes on the plants would split their skins and start to rot on the vine if I didn’t pick them, so this morning I collected a total of sixty-seven tomatoes.  Add that to the nineteen that had been sitting on the counter for the past few days end you have a lot of tomatoes that need to be processed right away.

Nat was supposed to be building a contraption for me that would make it possible to dry the tomatoes in the backyard.  Even if it had ever been finished, it seems like it would be too humid for anything to dry anyway.  I don’t have a rig for canning yet, and in this 90 degree heat with no air-conditioning, I wouldn’t choose to stand over a pot of boiling water anyway.  So… how to preserve the harvest?  I use the oven.  I know, the oven heats up the kitchen too, but what choice do I really have?  So.

After washing the tomatoes, what I end up doing is this:

1) Set the oven to 250.

2) Cut each tomato in half along its equator.  Squeeze out the seeds with your pinkie finger into a bowl.

if you want to make oven-dried tomatoes:

3) line a cookie sheet with parchment paper

4) take each tomato half and partially flip it inside out, then place it cut side up on the baking sheet.  The tomatoes can all touch, just try not to overlap them.

5) sprinkle the tray of tomatoes with about a teaspoon each of sugar and salt.  Place in the oven until they look dry enough to you.

6) when dried, either pack them into jars and cover with oil (these should last about a month in the fridge) or freeze them on trays and then put them into freezer bags (these should last about a year in the freezer).

Dried tomatoes are a great addition to pasta dishes or pizza or salads or grinding up into a tasty paste.

if, however, you want a real treat, roast your tomato halves instead:

3) drizzle some olive oil all over the bottom of a 9×13 pan (or whatever size pan your tomatoes will fit in that has sides tall enough to come to the tops of the tomatoes)

4) place the tomatoes cut side up in the pan — make sure they are close together — sort of holding each other up.

5) sprinkle about a teaspoon each of sugar and salt over the tops of the tomatoes, then sprinkle on about a tablespoon of oregano (or more — it can’t hurt) and drizzle olive oil over them until each tomato has a little oil inside.

6) bake for about an hour, then flip the tomatoes over with tongs.  Bake another hour, then flip again.  If they seem really mushy and delicate, they are done baking.  If not, bake them a little longer.

7) let the tomatoes cool a little bit while you finely chop some garlic — for a 9×13 pan size, I use 2-3 cloves, depending on size.  Take a jar/dish/tupperware container that has a lid and transfer enough tomatoes to it to cover the bottom, then sprinkle some chopped garlic over it.  do another layer. then more garlic. and so on and so forth until they are all in the dish.  Take the oil/juices from the roasting pan and pour them over the tomatoes.  Are the tomatoes covered?  Good.  No?  Then top them off with some fresh olive oil.

Voila.

serve with yummy bread, like this lovely focaccia I whipped up, and maybe a smear of goat cheese.  You will love it. Cheers!

Anyway, it’s long been a dream of mine to finish what most consider to be the greatest bicycle race in the world, occurring every July. You know, the one filled with untold suffering, heroic feats, devastating climbs, intense competition, bitter rivalries, media-embellished scandals, smelly foreigners, copious performance-enhancing (and de-hancing) drug use, gourmet food, adoring fans, and a pleasing mix of shameless commercialism and bucolic countryside. That’s right: RAGBRAI.

So, when I found out about a ragtag bunch of people I sort of knew who were undertaking the epic seven-day cross-Iowa ride, I lost no time in insinuating myself into their group and demanding to be taken along. So without further ado, here’s the last week in pictures:

I know you've all been dying to see it, so here's a shot of the finished Ultimate Road Bike. Ended up with Campy Ergo mated ingeniously to the Shimano drivetrain (more on that in a further post). I can't even begin to tell you how awesome brifters are. Everyone who thinks biking is tough or inconvenient or (insert excuse here) needs to try a good indexed gear-shifting system that's integrated into the brake levers. It will change your life (and your gears. aw snaps!). It's almost as essential of an invention as clipless pedals...

Just had to get in one more picture of the bike.

I knew RAGBRAI was going to be an intensely spiritual experience, and as is the case for nearly all intensely spiritual experiences, I didn't want to look or feel awkward doing it. So, instead of changing myself to be a less-awkward person, I simply enlisted the help of the only two guys in the Minneapolis-St. Paul metropolitan area that could make me look only moderately lanky by comparison: Johnny Bennett and Darin Dalida. Together we formed the Minnesota contingent of what would later variously be called Team Chippy, Team Clammy Chammy and Team Team.

Once we got down to Sioux City, we decided a "Relaxing at camp with bikes" shot was in order. No sooner had the shutter snapped than this guy we later came to call "Gookin" for some reason weaseled his way into the frame. This was an official team shot, and rules is rules, so we let him onto the team. He turned out to be the most hilarious (both intentionally and otherwise) person I've ever met and I'm very glad we had him along.

Things got off to a great start the first night when it was confirmed that RAGBRAI did indeed have fun down to a science.

The next morning. Sunday. First day of RAGBRAI starts with the ceremonial tire dip in the muddy Missouri River. That's Jake on the right, final member of Team Chippy. He was a quiet bloke and the only bad thing I can say about him is that his bike clothes didn't fit tightly enough, as all good bike clothes should. His other salient feature is that he looks identical to Jake Gyllenhaal. He told me that a gay friend of his likes to wear a shirt that says "Gyllenhaalic," which is nice.

My favorite bike maker in the whole entire universe is called Mercian and they're from England. This was the first time I'd ever seen one IRL so I almost crashed into the guy trying to snap a picture of his gorgeous bike. Note to Johnny and Darin: See, I told you it was a frame pump, not an extra top tube. Can we maybe just accept that I know everything there is to know about bikes and leave it at that?

Case in point, here's me showing Gookin how to fix a flat. Dumb move because then this other guy thought I was a super nice guy with nothing better to do than stand around in the ninety-degree Iowa sun and explain to people how to mount tires. Tip number one, unnamed guy from Colorado: bring tire levers along.

My favorite shot of Gookin ever. Pitch perfect. His best quote from the trip? In response to my suggestion one morning that we travel down the road a spell before finding something to eat: "Wait for breakfast?!!!!"

Darin's a fan of snazzily colored bike kits. Johnny's a fan of sunburning easily. They're good guys to have along to distract homeowners while you're peeing on their front lawn.

Iowa is for lovers, they say. Thankfully a witty public service campaign called "Avoid the Stork" was busy handing out condoms throughout RAGBRAI.

Speaking of which...Gookin, for shame! I only include this admittedly in-poor-taste photo because my parents are both Iowa State alums and there's only so much Hawkeye mascot one can take before ordering one's friend from the University of Northern Iowa (go Panthers!) to get a little fowl.

Thankfully, not too far down the road was a shrine that quickly expurgated any and all prior unseemly acts. I believe the cleansing ritual went something like saying, "Dang, that's a lot of jagged rocks glued together," adjusting your chamois to get all the furniture together in one room and getting back on your bike to wobble on down the road. RAGBRAI is a spiritual experience, I keep telling you!

As with any collection of more than ten thousand humans, your gonna have a few that feel they need to be different. Bitter irony then that these so-called Penny Farthing bicycles were once upon a time known as "ordinaries." Everyone was inpressed when the guy had to lift his feet off the pedals to coast down the hills, but I think his greater feat was rolling over Iowa's innumerable rumble strips while eschewing in Amish-like fashion that fabled contrivince of the late, great Dr. Dunlop: the pneumatic tire. You sure are lucky your narrator knows so much about bikes....quick, look, a double complete rainbow!!

And maybe that's the great spiritual lesson of RAGBRAI: in this chaotic meaningless world, all we can do is try and stand out from the crowd. Like this guy, who hand painted his entire semi truck. Nice pose, Gookin.

Note the artist's fidelity to human pathos while maintaining a decidedly pre-Rafealite aesthetic.

Rope swing in a corn field! It was hot and it only cost five bucks, but the line was ridiculous, even by RAGBRAI standards, so we satisfied ourselves by booing furiously whenever someone didn't do an amazing trick and instead merely slipped off the handle and spun out of control toward the unsettlingly blue water. Which was every time. Wouldn't you know it, the cops shut the thing down on account of nudity right after we left.

Ever the libertine, Ron Paul even got in on the action.

This guy did a pretty sweet 180 backflip.

For an event as crazy as RAGBRAI, you're always surprised to be reminded that the median age of the cyclists is like fifty. Or some other gawd-awfully high number.

People actually gasped when they heard the sound his face made as it smacked the water.

Probably the best pre-entry body language/facial expression of them all. I give it a ten.

Enough of the weird sideshow stuff, here's another classic sight on RAGBRAI: attention-starved middle-aged guy on a recumbent bike, affectionately referred to by cyclists everywhere (and his wife) as "Bananaman."

The young racer-types can't help making a spectacle/obstacle of themselves either though...

Is that a Campy Nuovo Record crankset in there?

Even Gookin agrees: RAGBRAI. Spiritual. Nobody could dunk her until this little old Lutheran lady stepped up to the line.

And now for something completely different. All kidding aside, these next photos show the true spirit of RAGBRAI: thousands of people in front of and behind you biking along in an unending line through some of the Midwest’s most beautiful country.

A man can breathe out here. Well. Actually. Gookin explains that Iowa does produce one third of the nation's pork...

Journey's end. A quick dip in the mighty Mississippi. Darin and Johnny decided they wanted to spend the last day of the ride subjecting themselves and the rest of our team to a constant and repetitive stream of the most inane green-related quips and questions imaginable from every rider we passed. Thanks guys.

Well there you have it. Seven days. 450 miles. 7,411 grams of trans fat.

Adventures not catalogued in the photos: six hours of hypothermia-inducing rainstorm during almost the entirety of the second-to-last day; Darin getting crashed into by a guy with Tourette’s; the lady mayor of North Dale, Iowa’s winemaking husband who let us get buzzed on his wine because I was able to keep peppering him with a steady flow of wine miscellany picked up from my dad; and Iowa’s one and only hill: Potter Hill outside of Graf, which, owing to the fact that the Iowa Department of Transportation doesn’t understand the concept of switchbacks, is actually steeper than any of the roads I climbed while in Colorado.

Team Team is now accepting applications for RAGBRAI 2011. Good luck and God speed.

So I pretty much cornered her before anyone else asked and begged her to let me tackle the job.  Results are as follows:

me: Oh man, we had this great dinner and I made some roasted beets to go with it.  I ate so many beets.
them: Oh…I don’t really like beets…
me: Have you ever had them roasted?  With olive oil and salt?
them: No, just the canned kind…  they have that pink juice…
me: …that goes everywhere and gets onto your other food?
them: yeah.  I don’t really like that.
me: yeah, me neither — roasted beets are totally different though, and not sweet or pickley at all.
them: yeah… I just don’t really like them.

So.  thanks, canned beet company, for ruining a delicious, nutritious, and very economical vegetable for a large portion of the population.

I’m pretty sure I owe my love of roasted beets (and the fact that I even gave them another chance after all the beet-juice-stained potatoes and rice of my childhood) to my friend Jen Anderson-Tarver, whom I probably would never have met if it weren’t for our husbands and their college friendship.  She also introduced me to such favorites as ratatouille and sesame tofu, and is one of the realest people I know.  I don’t know how to explain that any better — she just is exactly who she is, with all of her gifts and her flaws and her creativity and her love.  I’ve been inspired by her in many ways, but most of all, I think, in the kitchen.

I had the beet juice issue as a child, but ate them anyway.  I think it was the color.  Other than summer raspberries, what food is that lovely and impossible shade of dark magenta?

Imagine you are seven and live in Minnesota.  It is deep winter, and the sun went down almost as soon as you got home from school.  You had spent your day learning to write in cursive (which would be completely undone by your eighth grade shop teacher, who forced you to perfect your printing during the section on drafting) and listening to Mrs. Sydnes read Charlotte’s Web to you and watching out the window as snow too dry to be formed into anything fell out of a grey sky.  You had done your homework and fed the dog (getting her a fresh bowl of water and taking the one from the morning feeding down to the basement utility sink to thaw out).  It is too cold to play outside, so you watched maybe an hour of television — something by disney, no doubt — and had smelled the pork chops and rice baking for a while now.  You are hungry.  You are bored.  You finished one little house on the prairie book and don’t have the next one from the school library yet, so you go into the kitchen to “help” your mom get dinner on the table.  This consists of having her open a can of beets and pour them into the little saucepan.  You want to do that part, but let’s face it:  you are seven, and a clumsy seven at that.  There is every chance in the world that you would spill them all over yourself and the counter and the floor, quite possibly staining the white (and always thoroughly clean) linoleum.  The little pan of beets is put over a burner on low and you are allowed to sprinkle some salt from the shaker with the harvest gold screw-on top.  You stir it in with a metal tablespoon from the drawer with the country-blue contact-paper liner.  The color of the beets is mesmerizing under the odd light of the hood over the stove.  Primal, even.  Beet blood.  Warm and living beet blood in this season of cold and grey.  The rest of the meal is a series of tan and brown and yellow, now stained vaguely pink.  The cubes of beet on your plate, however, ooze their juice out onto your plate, more vivid somehow than anything else in your world.

It’s still very real to me — all the feelings of that dinner table with my family.  The round wooden table from my great-grandma’s house, always covered by the blue tablecloth with strings of gold woven through.  My sister who wouldn’t eat peas.  My dad, quiet and loving — simply happy to be home.  My mom, tired but pleasant after a long day of work.  She fed us and taught us how to wash the dishes and still somehow had enough patience to read us the boxcar children (which, much to her disappointment, never became one of my favorites) before taking turns with dad  to make sure we were clean and tuck us in.  When asked about her mothering methods, she always comes up with things she did wrong, but I can’t really remember any of them.  Just the love, really.

Everything about making roasted beets is a pleasure to me now — picking out the beets at the farmers market, watching water in the sink turn pink when I cut off the greens.  Turning the sink pink again when I peel the beets and promptly washing it out to avoid stains.  The first slice into a sturdy beet, and the miraculously red rings revealed once that slice is complete.  The rich smell in the kitchen and the glossy, slightly burned look of the beets when they are pulled out.  The best part, though, is eating them — the salt and toasted flavors hit you first, then you bite in and there is a sweetness and a tang that makes saliva spring from both sides of your tongue.  Today I made my beets with inch-long sections of green onions, which crisped up like piquant little rolls of paper.  Onion, garlic, rosemary, whatever — beets like something with a little zing to heighten their sweetness.

Simple and delicious oven-roasted beets

note: the number of beets per person depends on the size of your beets.  Once peeled, with the inedible top part pared away, there should be one beet slightly smaller than the size of a racquetball per person who will actively partake.  If your beets are more baseball-sized, you will need fewer beets.  They reheat quite well (and might be even more delish when reheated because they will, at that point, soak up some butter) so don’t be afraid to make too many.  Smaller beets are typically more tender, but if you roast them long enough, it probably won’t matter too much.

preheat your oven to 425-450 (if you have something else in there, don’t bother changing the temp, as veggies are very forgiving)

peel desired amount of beets and cut them into 1/2 to 1 inch cubes — if cut small, they roast faster, if cut large, they retain more of their sweetness.

put beets in a baking pan large enough to hold them all in one loose layer and toss them with enough olive oil to coat them and a sprinkling of coarse salt.  If desired, add 1/2 sliced onion or several cloves of garlic still in their skin and a sprig of rosemary.

roast for 30 minutes, stirring about halfway through, and prick one beet with a fork to test for doneness — if it is soft and yielding, they are ready to eat.  if the inside is still a bit tough, bake them for another 10 minutes.  test one for seasoning, and add more salt and cracked black pepper to taste.

The more substantial news, however, relates to my vague desire to do something professionally with my love of baking.  This is where Cal’s mom comes into the story.  Bari Mader works at a gluten free bakery called Bittersweet in Eagan.  She arranged for me to come in and meet the owner, and starting August 2nd I have a job.  We can be honest.  Gluten free was never something I had even considered — I love gluten, and feel like I have finally just gotten the hang of certain bread doughs.  When I went in for my interview, though, I felt calm — like I would have a good time working there.  So I’m going to try it out.  Maybe it will be wonderful, or maybe it won’t.  To be perfectly honest, I am not totally sure how I feel about it yet — I wasn’t even sure I wanted to post about it.  It is a change, and we never really know how things will work out when they change.  Also, I feel like every time I get too excited about something it ends up not working out.  So I’m keeping it cool.  I’m going to ask you to do the same.  Seriously.  I respectfully request no gushing — it makes me anxious.

In unrelated news, today is my birthday.  Everyone has been sweet — my parents got me a camera bag that I really wanted.  I don’t have it yet because the maker can’t seem to keep it in stock, but I am hoping to have it by the next time I shoot a wedding.  We had family dinner last night and made pizzas on the grill.  Lacey made delicious cupcakes and Olive helped decorate them:

I’m not sure if she enjoyed the decorating part or the eating part more…

This morning, Nat took me to the store and bought me a box of Kix, which does not sound exciting to you, but it is something I would not buy for myself, even though I love them.  We went to lunch at El Tejaban, where Abby King joined us.  With a full stomach and the cooler weather and a comforting cup of strong black tea, I feel ready for a birthday nap.  There is more birthday planned for later on — like tomorrow night, when Kajsa doesn’t work.

It’s funny:  I am trying to think of exciting things to say about today, but I guess now that I have had all the freedom I wanted for a while, there is not much “special” that I want for my birthday.  Just people —  My family.  Nat’s family.  Some good friends that I will see this week.  My cats, who are so grateful for today’s fresh breeze.  With so much love surrounding me, what more could I want?

The Richfield Farmers Market is in a pavilion at the same park where we play mini-golf (about once every three years) with Nat’s family — Veterans Memorial Park.  Last week, for the Fourth, the park was filled with carnival rides and food vendors.  At one point I drove past and saw someone selling tamales from a folding table by the side of the road.  While it sounds a little shady, I am still regretting that I didn’t stop.  I do love a good tamale.

At the market, which definitely fills the pavilion, there were all manner of vegetable stands, people selling delicious-looking local honey, meat, eggs, bread, nuts, raspberries and cheeses.  I only saw one non-local stand, and people seemed to be avoiding them pretty effectively.  I bought some sweetcorn out of the back of a truck, knowing that it is probably from florida or something, but that Doreen would love it.  Even with our desire to eat local foods, I am still totally willing to get florida corn or colorado peaches if it means that someone who normally doesn’t get enough fruits and/or veggies will enjoy it.

A few market-haul glamor shots to whet your vegetable appetite:

Total take:  one dozen extra-large local brown cage-free eggs, 13 ears of sweet corn, one bunch each of carrots, beets, and bunching onions, approximately 15 small zucchini (green and yellow), one bunch of sweet basil, and a large enough bunch of mint to keep us in mojitos until the next farmers market.  I love mojitos, and thanks to the Gourmet Today cookbook, I make a pretty darn good one.  I’ll add the recipe at the end.

Last Monday we had a nice lunch at my parents’ house with my sister and her family, my grandma, and my cousins Paula and Jason.  My dad had talked to me about the show primal grill previously, but I had never seen it.  He had tivo record it for him, and we watched a couple of episodes together.  I got all geared up, partly because I have been craving meat lately, partly because the food looked so good,  and partly because it is so fun to have a new common interest with my dad.  This week I suddenly had a craving, rode my bike to the grocery store, and got some chicken so I could make yakitori.  I didn’t actually make enough sauce, so these should be darker and more caramelly than they are.  I will remedy that next time!

... with rice noodles and some pan-roasted sesame green beans. Cal came over at just the right moment and, even though he had already had dinner, indulged me by eating a kebab and a few green beans. Cal left, and then we all (Nat, Kajsa, Bryn, and I) watched Pirates of the Caribbean III (we watched one per night for three nights straight).

the perfect summer drink:  Mojitos — adapted from the Gourmet Today cookbook.
makes 1 drink

into a cocktail shaker or largish jar (that you have a lid for), put 2-3 large sprigs of mint, 1 Tbsp of sugar, and 2 Tbsp lime juice.  We squeezed limes by hand the first time, and then went and bought a bottle of lime juice.  Guess which way we are more likely to actually make drinks?

With a muddler (if you have one) or the handle of a wooden spoon, crush the mint leaves and grind up the mixture until all the sugar is dissolved.  Add 2-3 Tbsp of rum.  The recipe calls for light-colored rum, but we just used what we could find in the cupboard and it was great.  Fill the shaker/jar  3/4 full of ice and also fill a tall glass 3/4 full of ice.

Put the lid on the jar/shaker and shake vigorously for 15-20 seconds.  Strain into glass with ice and add 1/3 cup of club soda or sparkle water.  Garnish with a twist of lime zest or maybe even a mint leaf.  Its up to you.

Actually, I didn’t meet Abby until later — once we were home for good, I think.  We immediately bonded over a mutual irritation, and, with some twists and bends, have transformed the bond from acquaintance to true friendship.  There have been times when I have avoided going somewhere because I knew there would be people who would ask what my future “life plans” were; if you have never been planless and adrift, you will not understand the irritation and anxiety this question can cause.  Abby understands.  She consoles and strengthens, and gives me back the verve I need to say back to people, “I don’t really know.  What are YOU doing next year?”  which can put things in perspective for most people.

Beside the strength that I draw from her, Abby has many qualities: She is interesting (She is interested.  In just about everything.  Next time you want to seem interesting, get interested.)  She is English.  She is thoughtful and patient with people.  She is generous with her time and with her heart.  She doesn’t put up with bad manners from others, but does not chafe at them either — she just shucks them off like an unneeded crust and moves on toward something better.  You know that verse about thinking about all the lovely, holy, beautiful things in life?  She lives it.  She lives worship, and when she gets up in front of the church to lead, she helps us all live worship too.  And you know what else?  She is always willing to drive up to Minneapolis to spend time with us.  South of the river people, I am so sorry, but going to Fat Lorenzo’s does not equal actually coming to Minneapolis.  There is nothing to be afraid of.  Trust me, you can do it — and if you are brave enough, you will end up with much better pizza.

One night I decided to make pizza, and then Kajsa decided to make one of the most involved cakes ever.  While the dough was rising we ran to the store for supplies and started phase one of the cake.  Then we decided we should call Abby and see if she wanted to come up for pizza.  Lo and Behold, she was perfectly willing — spur of the moment! — to drive up after worship practice.

When we started pre-heating the oven for pizza, we realized that some plastic had melted in there the night before.  Dough doesn’t really wait, and I didn’t want to either, so we decided to make the pizzas on the grill.

the dough

the toppings

on the grill

to the table, and into our hearts.

After dinner we resumed cake-making — Hot Chocolate Cake, it is called.  I won’t post the recipe here, because it is about eight pages long, but I will show you how we:

made a pan each of fudgy frosting and homemade marshmallow

cut up the marshmallows and tossed them in powdered sugar so they wouldn't stick to each other

and the finished cake, which wasn't actually finished until the following afternoon.

Then about a week later we had a lovely birthday party for Abby.  We ate outside and had, if I may say so, a lovely dinner.  I was a little busy during that part, though, and didn’t get any photos.  We had tilapia in the meunier style, with a baked rice pilaf (that I forgot to add the raisins and nuts to), a salad with avocados and mangoes, and some dry-braised brussels sprouts that I fell in love with and will share with you at the end.  I actually had them again yesterday, and was so busy eating them that I forgot to take a picture.

Anyhow… the party:

guests around the table

the guest of honor with her cake and a baby (Cora)

celebrating with a morning glory sparkler, which warn you, "light one at a time" in letters as big as the name. They are my favorite.

The next day, Abby flew back to England for a visit with her family and to officially graduate from bible college.  Her blog is at talesofasojourner.wordpress.com.

Also of note (to me, anyhow) is the exciting times at the farmers market lately.  We’ve gotten bunches of basil and made pesto with fresh garlic and garlic scapes.  We have shelled and eaten lovely fresh peas.  We have concocted perfect mojitos with the aid of a dazzling bunch of mint that I picked up for a buck.  You may frown at me, but I skipped church yesterday to go to the farmers market…

I got little zucchini, some of which are now quick pickled and in the fridge.

and I got beets and roasted them, eating them with butter and missing my good friend Jen in Denver.

Then Kajsa and her friend Gina showed up and we all went over to the house of someone Kajsa works with.  And do you know why we went there?

because of these beautiful babies. I love raspberries. love. love. love. We got to pick them for free, and brought them home to make this:

raspberry freezer jam. it is delicious.

Seriously.  If you can make jello, you can make freezer jam.  Buy a box of sure-jell and some plastic containers and make use of the cheap strawberries right now.  Because the fruit doesn’t actually get cooked, it tastes so much better than store-bought jam.  Do it.  And if you honestly feel like you need help, call me — just know that I will make you do all the work and I will still take a jar of jam as payment.

Dry-Braised Brussels Sprouts (for people who think they don’t like brussels sprouts)

Allot about 6 smallish sprouts per person — smaller sprouts work better for this recipe, so get them if you can.  Trim off the hard nubbin at the end, but not so much that the sprout completely falls apart.  Peel off any leaves that don’t look good.  Cut the sprouts in half, stem to top.

Put your largest skillet (is it cast iron?  that’s what worked best for me) over low heat and pour in a glug of olive oil.  Wait until the pan is hot.  No really — wait until the pan is hot.

okay.  Now put the sprout halves in, cut side down.  Leave them there for about 4-5 minutes, without moving them at all.  You will not see it, but they will be getting all goldeny crusty on the bottom.  Stab one with your paring knife — does it feel soft enough to eat or is it still a little too hard?  Too hard?  Put a lid on the skillet and wait another minute or two.  Soft enough? Turn up the heat to high, and start flipping those guys over, revealing their caramelized undersides and toasting their outer leaves.  Sprinkle on some sea salt and grind on a bit of black pepper.   Don’t be shy.

When they look too delish to resist (which happens almost immediately for me) put them on a plate and really enjoy eating your veggies.

I have promised several people that I would post some photos from Mark’s birthday party here today, which I will do, but first I want to give you a little rundown of the situation.  The past week or two have been crazy at the McIntyre house, and especially crazy for me.  Grandma Wanda came to visit on the 25th, which was also the day that Nat & Kajsa decided to try to start a fire Survivor Man style in the backyard.  If you have never watched Survivor Man, you might not know that this means making a bow (like bow and arrow) out of a stick and your shoelace, and using it to twist another stick in a groove that you have made in a piece of wood.  Eventually, the friction causes the stick to heat up and start to smoke, and if the stick accidentally flings out of the shoelace trap you have it in at that moment, it will burn your leg.  No fire ever actually happened, but four hours of making smoke and getting really sweaty was a good start.

That Saturday, I shot a wedding with Pat Steege of Still Beauty Photography.  She shot our wedding 3 1/2 years ago, so it was fun to work with her.  The wedding was at a church downtown that I used to walk past all the time when I was in college — St Olaf’s Catholic.  It has a gigantic pipe organ and plenty of stained glass.  The couple was, thankfully, less traditional than the church, and the wedding party all seemed to be fun people.

Now, onto bigger news:

Tuesday was Mark McIntyre’s 60th birthday.  That night, we went out to dinner at a french bistro called Pierre’s, which is only about 2 blocks away.  I had never been there, even though I had been shamelessly hinting to Nat for the past 8 years that I wanted to.  Problem solved.  We went, and Nat was completely convinced that he needs to take me there again sometime soon.  It is not all that beautiful inside, but you really should go for the food.  What I ate:

Brie cheese baked in puff pastry with just a hint of apricot jam

Escargot with more garlic butter than anyone should ever eat (yes please!)

A few of Nat’s pommes frites, which were super thin and perfectly fried, one mussel out of the enormous plate that Nat ordered — excellent flavor and texture.

My own entree, which was a fabulous duck confit with braised brussels sprouts (so delicious) and dauphine potatoes which were so amazing that I had to look up a recipe when we got home.  We tried making them, but instead of deep frying, we fried them in a skillet.  Deep frying produces better results, but our homemade ones were still totally tasty.

Then we had some trifle for dessert, but that was at home, not at my new favorite restaurant.

Wednesday night, after we had gone to bed, Doreen got a call that there was the possibility of an available kidney.  If you don’t know my mother in law, I will give you a short version of her story:  Doreen found out she was type one diabetic when she was a child.  She lived with it until after Kajsa was born, when it got to the point where her kidneys were damaged.  She was fortunate enough to get a kidney and pancreas transplant at that time, which means she is no longer diabetic.  The anti-rejection drugs they put you on to keep the organs functioning in your body eventually poison your kidneys.  Hence, she recently needed a new one.

All Thursday we were waiting to find out if the kidney would actually work for her, and finally Thursday evening we find out that it would, and she would go in for surgery on Friday.  The surgery went from about 11am til 430-ish pm.  During that time, and the days preceding it, the McIntyre kids were preparing for Mark’s big birthday party.  And suddenly you are wondering why we are still planning this party when we have a mom with a kidney transplant to consider.  The problem was this:  we didn’t really know who planned on attending, and had no real way to contact everyone.  Also, the planning was a great way to keep us busy so we didn’t just sit around and worry.

The good news:  The kidney is, as far as we can tell, a great success.  Doreen feels great, has been up and walking around, and will be home very soon.  I don’t know how to express how amazing this is, or how wonderful it is to see her face when we visit and be able to clearly read the relief from worries there.

The other good news:  even though it rained for 2 days before the party, and right up until about an hour before the party started, people came.  The house was clean, we had flowers and desserts, peanuts and pretzels and a keg of Summit Extra Pale.  Nat had rigged up hanging candle lanterns outside and Kajsa and I made a bunch of little paper boats so that we could have candles on the pond.  I think these were my favorite part of the whole thing, and will definitely make a reappearance.  Sparklers were lit and the planes and chinese yo-yo party favors were enjoyed.  Almost all of the desserts were eaten.  Mark had a good time, and I think everyone else did too.

the lanterns Nat made, with paper cuffs at the top to stop the wind. Below, lit.

sparklers. what could be better?

our floating candle boats. did I mention that I love them?

Yesterday, then, was our niece Pippa’s dedication, so we went to Oak Hills for church and stayed for the dedication afterward.  When it was time for Pastor Rod to hold Pippa, she laid her cute little head on his shoulder and smiled, putting her hand up in the air as though saying “what can I say?” instead of crying, which is apparently the dedicated baby default action.