My Practice Sour Cherry Pie

I’ve been meaning to tell you about the sour cherry pie I baked on Saturday with Warrant's song,  Cherry Pie, rattling around in my head. I was a complete ignoramus on the subject until last Saturday.  Sour cherry pie happens to be my friend Cindy’s favorite birthday dessert and her birthday is in February.  As you all know, I’m busy learning how to make my friend’s favorite birthday treats this year.  Because for me there is no greater cooking high than baking something special for my friends and family to enjoy. 

Anyway, I was nervous about this whole cherry pie thing.  Because, using great cherries is crucial and I didn’t know where I could find sour cherries.  Sour cherries are ripe for only two weeks a year.  My concern melted away after my first call to Joe’s Place, a local orchard; they sell sour cherries pitted and frozen in two-pound bags. Major score.  Then, I was left to pick a recipe for my first attempt. 

I turned to Melissa Clark’s sour cherry pie recipe because I enjoy her soup recipes.  Nonsensical criteria, I know…but it worked for me this time.  Her sour cherry pie recipe is delicious; I know this because I only got one bite of the whole stinkin’ pie.  And her tip to run the instant tapioca through a coffee grinder before adding it to the pie is brilliant.  It cut the tapioca into a fine flour and the juices of the pie looked beautiful without any white bits floating in it.

My friend Cindy loved the practice pie with a scoop of vanilla bean ice cream.  It was a little runny, just the way she likes it.  And next time, I’m going to use a little less sugar, to bring out the tartness of the cherries.  You really need to try this pie!  I know that I’m looking forward to having a whole slice to myself.  And make sure to bake two pies so you’ll have enough to share with your loved ones.

Please follow the link to Melissa Clark's sour cherry pie recipe!  

The Assistant loves to help make pie.

Visiting My Grandpa's Grave

Ever since I opened my Mom’s Christmas card and learned that my Grandpa had died last May, I have felt like scattered confetti.  I have missed appointments and meetings for no other reason than I simply forgot or forgot to even read my email.  And when a fellow master gardener wrote to ask if I was OK, I realized that my head is full of static and my heart is full of sorrow and I didn't know what to do.  So, yesterday, I found my Grandpa’s gravesite through an online search and I went to talk to him.

I picked him a winter bouquet of grass seed heads, ferns, and beauty berry from my garden.  And then we drove to the cemetery to find his grave. He is at rest alongside his fellow soldiers from World War II in a large spacious field surrounded by plantings.  And I was surprised that my Grandma, the love of his life for 70+ years, isn’t going to be buried beside him. 

For a fleeting moment, I remembered visiting this cemetery as a young child with my grandparents.  And while they placed flowers on my great grandmother’s grave, I ran through the grass doing cartwheels.  I remembered how the plaques felt underneath my young fingers before I understood what the plaques signified.

I stood in front of my Grandpa’s plaque, wiped it clean with my hand, and placed the bouquet on it.  Soft rain surrounded us, and I talked to him for the first time in 11 years.  I thanked him for all of the beautiful memories and even told him a few stories.  I updated him on My Kid being a teacher now.  Then I told my Grandpa that he had broke my heart, but that I have forgiven him. I ended with telling him about how much I love my garden (which he would hate!) and how he had passed down his gardening affliction/addiction to me.  I invited him to come visit my garden as long as he doesn’t prune it or power wash the moss off of everything.  That man adored his power washer.  I finished by telling him that I’d do my best to honor his memory. 

My Pirate held me close and then we left.  I took My Kid out for sushi and tea last night and we talked about our memories of my Grandpa.  And for a moment, I was overwhelmed with gratitude, to be sharing time with one of my favorite people. Then I went over and enjoyed time with my friends and watched American Idol.  This morning, I feel like my pieces are coming back together and I no longer feel lonely. I simply feel sad and free to remember the good times.

An Angry Bird and Freezing Fog

On Sunday, a freezing fog encapsulated the garden.   I shivered as I took shots of the ice crystals using my new tripod. 

Doesn't this Rugosa Rose hip look like a spider?

Cars slowed down and people waved at me as I took pictures of the ice lightly decorating the plants like frosting.  

I was happily minding my own business taking pictures of the Cape Fuchsia while listening to the Anna’s hummingbird nonstop litany which sounded vaguely like a cursing rapper, when the Anna’s hummingbird took action and dive bombed me.  The hummingbird’s left wing pivoted off my left cheek and it swooped behind my head and around. And I screamed out, “Really?” 

Cape Fuchsia seed heads

Then the hummingbird resumed its tirade. This hummingbird obviously has the bird version of small dog syndrome. It has all the nerve endings of a bald eagle in that tiny little body. I’m going to put a new hummingbird feeder out front, as a gesture of peace. 

Later in the afternoon, the cold winter sun melted the ice off of the massive fir tree and I watched a glowing rain storm in my back yard on a sunny day.  It was a beautiful day.

Creamy Scrambled Eggs and Freezing Fog

This morning, I captured a few shots of the garden cloaked in a glistening layer of freezing fog while my coffee brewed in my French press.  When I came back inside, I poured the coffee and starting making scrambled eggs while My Pirate slept. 

I stood at the stovetop, slowly stirring my egg mixture and lifting newly formed curds off the bottom of the nonstick skillet, and I reflected back on scrambled eggs.

I remember the first time I tasted the potential in scrambled eggs. My gymnastics team coach, Elejhue, a hilarious black man made scrambled eggs for our team after a sleepover at one of the girl’s house.  The eggs were moist and minced and so close to raw, I almost gasped.  But I piled them onto my piece of buttered toast and took big doughy mouthfuls.  They were nothing like the rubbery scrambled eggs with shattering edges that I’d eaten before.  

Over the years, I’ve played with my scrambled egg recipes, until one morning, 11 years ago, I stumbled upon my very own recipe.  I poured cream into my bowl of scrambled eggs until it turned a soft creamy yellow and added a pinch of sea salt.  I cooked my eggs over medium, while stirring with a heatproof spatula to convect the heat through the mixture until creamy soft pillows of eggs formed.  I turned the heat off and watched the last shimmer of moisture turn matte and then I served them beside oven roasted mushrooms.

I took a bite and gasped when the pillow of egg melted in my mouth.  And I knew that I had found my recipe.  I make these eggs on holiday mornings or when I simply want to demonstrate my love to My Pirate and My Kid. I’ve even served them to a 200 member marching band in a parking lot on competition days.  This recipe is flexible and works great in breakfast burritos and scrambled egg sandwiches, but I prefer them with oven roasted mushrooms and buttered crostini.

Creamy Scrambled Eggs

Servings: 2

1 tablespoon butter

6 eggs—use the best quality eggs you can afford

¼ cup cream—use pasteurized, avoid the ultra pasteurized

½ tsp. kosher salt

tiny pinch of red cayenne

Melt the butter over medium heat in a nonstick skillet. 

Crack the eggs into a colored bowl and double check for any eggshell bits.  Whisk the eggs and add the salt and cayenne.  Whisk in the cream until the mixture turns a soft creamy yellow.

Pour the egg mixture into the skillet.  Continually  stir the eggs with a heatproof rubber spatula to convect the heat through the egg mixture.  Slowly scrape the egg curds off the bottom of the skillet and lower the heat if they start to form too quickly.  When the soft curds have formed and they are no longer shiny, they are done.  Remove from heat and serve. 

Returning for a Sandwich

Remember that pastrami sandwich that I told you about on Monday?  The one that got away.  Well, I returned to Olympic Provisions, yesterday, to try it and turns out it's a ham panini.  They refer to it as their Hot Sweatheart Ham with gruyere, pickled cucumbers, dijon on ciabatta.  Their ham is sweet and smokey and the gruyere was oozy and their pickles were the prefect finishing touch.  It was delicious!

I even saved half for My Pirate.  Well, kind of...

I felt so virtuous until I ate it for lunch this afternoon. 

I owe My Pirate half a ham panini at Olympic Provisions.   I better get on that.