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...Otherwise known as - The Day the Pie Flew
It all began one Christmas long ago, back in the era of the 1980’s. I was single, pretending to be a cowgirl in Texas, near both brothers and their families. While we often made the journey to our parents’ home in Mississippi, we were known to stay in Houston some years. (Those trips to Mississippi are another story...)
This particular Christmas pulled on my heartstrings. I was teaching English as a Second Language to immigrant junior high students. It was a great experience, as my students were eager to learn and thankful to me for helping. Somehow, I also found myself volunteering as a Student Council co-sponsor for the 8th grade. Part of our “helping others” program that year was a collection of foods brought in by students to prepare Christmas Food Boxes and toys for families in need. It turned out that many of those in need were my students’ families. Yet, they brought in food to donate to others. Witnessing this was a lesson in grace and gratitude for me, but I had more to learn this particular Christmas.
I helped the vice-principal deliver the food boxes on the last afternoon before Christmas holidays. Many of the families lived in trailers, not really mobile homes, just small trailers that had seen much better days. There were holes in the floor of one; they had been carefully covered with a bit of wood and cardboard. Another family had a new baby; there was no room for a crib. The baby was nestled in blankets in a drawer that had been removed to use as a bed. The drawer was under the kitchen sink, where it was warm next to the stove. And yet – these families greeted us kindly and thankfully. They knew we were coming, and many had prepared food for us! It was another lesson for me: to appreciate what I had always taken for granted – a warm bed to sleep in and food on the table.
Somehow, I’m embarrassed to say, the lessons from this whole experience weren't learned immediately. Instead, I became impatient and slipped into a “bad mood” – thinking my own family's Christmas was excessive and needless. Those two words had never occurred to me during Christmas, but that year they were stuck both in my head and my attitude.
My parents traveled from Mississippi to celebrate with my brothers and me. Christmas Day was at my brother and sis-in-law’s (Jackie and Jane’s) house. I was told to bring not one, but TWO chocolate pies. This was not just any chocolate pie. It was Mama’s chocolate meringue pie, well-known during Thanksgiving and Christmas for its fluffy meringue top and its firm and creamy chocolate custard filling. I had tackled it before, but never on my own. Mama was always around to supervise. This year, however, during my time of need, she decided to spend quality time with her grandchildren instead of me.
I tried very hard to be patient and joyful, but that miserable mood was still hanging over my head and somehow transferred itself right into those two pies. I’ve always heard that the finest cooking ingredient is love and that our emotions transfer into what we are cooking. I was about to become a believer.
I didn’t give the famous chocolate pies quite enough love. Stirring endlessly is as necessary to any combo of hot milk and eggs, as it is to a gumbo roux. One must have either infinite patience, or a glass of wine to accomplish the deed. In hindsight, I should have poured an infinite glass.
I made the pies, and thought they looked runny, but decided they would firm up after being in the refrigerator overnight. Nope, on Christmas morning, when we packed up gifts and food to go to my brother’s, those darn pies were trying to slosh right out of their pie plates. They were neither firm, nor creamy. Mama, being a kind-hearted person, said they were fine and only needed to sit for awhile. I looked at her incredulously, as the pies had literally “sat” in a cold fridge all night. My miserable mood was back in spades.
Daddy and I put the pies on a dish cloth on the backseat floor of my NEW car. At the last turn onto my brother’s street, the pies slid into each other and sloshed chocolate filling all over the carpet of the new car. As a wise person likely said in times like this - that was the last straw!
I pulled my car over and jumped out like a wasp was after me. As luck would have it, my brother’s house was on a street with a huge drainage ditch running along one side of the road. I grabbed one of those pies. My miserable mood magically disappeared with one swing of my arm, as I hurled that famous chocolate meringue pie into the ditch.
Mama and Daddy just looked at me, probably wondering if was safer for them to walk the rest of the way to my brother’s. Daddy, never one to waste food, decided to play bodyguard to the second pie, before it could meet the fate of its pie sister. He grabbed the remaining pie and held it to his chest, protecting it from me and declaring that he would eat it no matter what.
At that moment, I snapped out of THE MOOD and my ridiculous sideshow. I apologized and we drove on safely for two whole minutes to my brother’s house. Jackie came out to meet us and to help carry gifts and food inside. He took one look at the pie in Daddy’s chocolate-covered hands and said, “What happened?” As one, Mama and Daddy answered, “Don’t ask.” By this time Daddy was licking his fingers and declaring the pie to be delicious. I felt like such an idiot, but my miserable mood had flown into the ditch with the pie. Lessons were finally learned from the best "teachers" standing in front of me: No gift was as great as having parents and family so patient and good-hearted. This was my lesson for that Christmas and remains so even to this day.
The moment we walked inside, my brother, Jackie, grabbed a spoon and dug into the pie. A big brother teasing grin was on his face that dared me to say something. The salvaged chocolate pie, soupy though it was, got eaten and enjoyed. By day’s end, we all had a good laugh over my “moody” pies. That wasn’t the end.
The story has been retold and laughed at over the decades by family and friends. During the holidays, I’m often asked, “Remember that pie? Are you going to make one this year?” I did go on to make more of those pies, patiently stirring, but always with a bit of trepidation. Have they ever turned out to be runny again? I’ll never tell; let’s just say I’ve never again hurled one into a ditch.
~~~Dedicated to my dear friend, Steve Wannamaker, who never lets me forget the day the chocolate pie flew into the ditch~
Mama's Chocolate Meringue Pie recipe on MissCookbook.com
It all began one Christmas long ago, back in the era of the 1980’s. I was single, pretending to be a cowgirl in Texas, near both brothers and their families. While we often made the journey to our parents’ home in Mississippi, we were known to stay in Houston some years. (Those trips to Mississippi are another story...)
This particular Christmas pulled on my heartstrings. I was teaching English as a Second Language to immigrant junior high students. It was a great experience, as my students were eager to learn and thankful to me for helping. Somehow, I also found myself volunteering as a Student Council co-sponsor for the 8th grade. Part of our “helping others” program that year was a collection of foods brought in by students to prepare Christmas Food Boxes and toys for families in need. It turned out that many of those in need were my students’ families. Yet, they brought in food to donate to others. Witnessing this was a lesson in grace and gratitude for me, but I had more to learn this particular Christmas.
I helped the vice-principal deliver the food boxes on the last afternoon before Christmas holidays. Many of the families lived in trailers, not really mobile homes, just small trailers that had seen much better days. There were holes in the floor of one; they had been carefully covered with a bit of wood and cardboard. Another family had a new baby; there was no room for a crib. The baby was nestled in blankets in a drawer that had been removed to use as a bed. The drawer was under the kitchen sink, where it was warm next to the stove. And yet – these families greeted us kindly and thankfully. They knew we were coming, and many had prepared food for us! It was another lesson for me: to appreciate what I had always taken for granted – a warm bed to sleep in and food on the table.
Somehow, I’m embarrassed to say, the lessons from this whole experience weren't learned immediately. Instead, I became impatient and slipped into a “bad mood” – thinking my own family's Christmas was excessive and needless. Those two words had never occurred to me during Christmas, but that year they were stuck both in my head and my attitude.
My parents traveled from Mississippi to celebrate with my brothers and me. Christmas Day was at my brother and sis-in-law’s (Jackie and Jane’s) house. I was told to bring not one, but TWO chocolate pies. This was not just any chocolate pie. It was Mama’s chocolate meringue pie, well-known during Thanksgiving and Christmas for its fluffy meringue top and its firm and creamy chocolate custard filling. I had tackled it before, but never on my own. Mama was always around to supervise. This year, however, during my time of need, she decided to spend quality time with her grandchildren instead of me.
I tried very hard to be patient and joyful, but that miserable mood was still hanging over my head and somehow transferred itself right into those two pies. I’ve always heard that the finest cooking ingredient is love and that our emotions transfer into what we are cooking. I was about to become a believer.
I didn’t give the famous chocolate pies quite enough love. Stirring endlessly is as necessary to any combo of hot milk and eggs, as it is to a gumbo roux. One must have either infinite patience, or a glass of wine to accomplish the deed. In hindsight, I should have poured an infinite glass.
I made the pies, and thought they looked runny, but decided they would firm up after being in the refrigerator overnight. Nope, on Christmas morning, when we packed up gifts and food to go to my brother’s, those darn pies were trying to slosh right out of their pie plates. They were neither firm, nor creamy. Mama, being a kind-hearted person, said they were fine and only needed to sit for awhile. I looked at her incredulously, as the pies had literally “sat” in a cold fridge all night. My miserable mood was back in spades.
Daddy and I put the pies on a dish cloth on the backseat floor of my NEW car. At the last turn onto my brother’s street, the pies slid into each other and sloshed chocolate filling all over the carpet of the new car. As a wise person likely said in times like this - that was the last straw!
I pulled my car over and jumped out like a wasp was after me. As luck would have it, my brother’s house was on a street with a huge drainage ditch running along one side of the road. I grabbed one of those pies. My miserable mood magically disappeared with one swing of my arm, as I hurled that famous chocolate meringue pie into the ditch.
Mama and Daddy just looked at me, probably wondering if was safer for them to walk the rest of the way to my brother’s. Daddy, never one to waste food, decided to play bodyguard to the second pie, before it could meet the fate of its pie sister. He grabbed the remaining pie and held it to his chest, protecting it from me and declaring that he would eat it no matter what.
At that moment, I snapped out of THE MOOD and my ridiculous sideshow. I apologized and we drove on safely for two whole minutes to my brother’s house. Jackie came out to meet us and to help carry gifts and food inside. He took one look at the pie in Daddy’s chocolate-covered hands and said, “What happened?” As one, Mama and Daddy answered, “Don’t ask.” By this time Daddy was licking his fingers and declaring the pie to be delicious. I felt like such an idiot, but my miserable mood had flown into the ditch with the pie. Lessons were finally learned from the best "teachers" standing in front of me: No gift was as great as having parents and family so patient and good-hearted. This was my lesson for that Christmas and remains so even to this day.
The moment we walked inside, my brother, Jackie, grabbed a spoon and dug into the pie. A big brother teasing grin was on his face that dared me to say something. The salvaged chocolate pie, soupy though it was, got eaten and enjoyed. By day’s end, we all had a good laugh over my “moody” pies. That wasn’t the end.
The story has been retold and laughed at over the decades by family and friends. During the holidays, I’m often asked, “Remember that pie? Are you going to make one this year?” I did go on to make more of those pies, patiently stirring, but always with a bit of trepidation. Have they ever turned out to be runny again? I’ll never tell; let’s just say I’ve never again hurled one into a ditch.
~~~Dedicated to my dear friend, Steve Wannamaker, who never lets me forget the day the chocolate pie flew into the ditch~
Mama's Chocolate Meringue Pie recipe on MissCookbook.com
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The first day of spring is here! The bees are buzzing on blooms, the asparagus is sprouting upwards, Benny the cat is rolling in the garden beds, and Sam the Border Collie is a overseeing it all.
Spring is by far my favorite season. When I was a little girl, Mama always sewed a new dress from me from seersucker fabric - the quintessential spring fabric in pastel stripes.
Spring is by far my favorite season. When I was a little girl, Mama always sewed a new dress from me from seersucker fabric - the quintessential spring fabric in pastel stripes.
A new seersucker dress and my freshly-washed white Keds and I was always ready for spring. Mama and Daddy grew beautiful roses and Mama specialized in sweet peas. Oh, how I loved the smell of sweet peas and the colors! One whole side of our house was a flower bed of sweet peas each spring. Daylilies, amaryllis, and shrimp plants made up the front beds!
Spring, growing up in my hometown meant Easter time with a new outfit, complete with hat and matching purse! There was no Easter Parade, but there was a parade of women and girls arriving at the Methodist Church on Easter morning to show off their new duds!
Spring meant ballet recitals from ages 4 to 18 and Hi Jinx Social Club spring dances in high school. Both occasions meant fancy costumes and dresses, all sewn by Mama!
Spring from college all the way into my 40's meant SPRING BREAK! As a student and a teacher, I returned to Mama and Daddy's house to spend my Spring Break. Those were wonderful visits, full of laughter, love, and fried shrimp in Mama's kitchen!
Springtime in Houston was a mixed bag. There was gardening to do with flower beds, window boxes, and vegetable beds. There were dances to chaperone at the junior high where I taught. However, there were tornadoes and flooding, as well.
Spring in the Texas Hill Country could also mean tornadoes. Look at me pictured below with our Border Collie, Max, taking shelter in the bathroom during a tornado warning! With spring showers, came wildflowers - all colors of them in our yard - even bluebonnets.
Spring has sprung!
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The gaucho parade is here again! This year, we decided to skip the crowds that thave descended upon Pueblo Edén for the past couple of years, in favor of snapping photos of them as they travel towards Minas from Pueblo Edén to the gaucho clubhouse for lunch.
Yes, we stayed away from the village festivities, but it was too overwhelming for us this year to battle the crowds.
Yes, we stayed away from the village festivities, but it was too overwhelming for us this year to battle the crowds.
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"Let me tell ya 'bout the birds and the bees and the flowers and the trees and the moon up above - and a thing called love." - Herb Newman
Well this is a different kind of Christmas post! It's summertime in Uruguay and the bees are buzzing, the flowers are blooming, and the birds are chirping their little bird brains off.
I'm still not used to a summertime Christmas, but it's hard to not be jolly in the beautiful sunny weather. (even without the holly)
I've been out and about with my camera lately. There are so many images to capture. I've complied my favorites for a Christmas delight. There's no better way to feel love than to be out and about in nature.
I'm still not used to a summertime Christmas, but it's hard to not be jolly in the beautiful sunny weather. (even without the holly)
I've been out and about with my camera lately. There are so many images to capture. I've complied my favorites for a Christmas delight. There's no better way to feel love than to be out and about in nature.
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"Dogs have their day, but cats have 365." ~ Lilian Jackson Braun
As this year comes to an end, I have to give thanks for our pets. We now have 5 cats, 2 dogs, and 2 horses. The horses just visit from next door, but we'll count them in!
I was once a no-pet kinda woman. I didn't even want a goldfish. Once I met my husband, he turned my way of thinking around 360 degrees.
Here's how we got our first pet in Texas: Hubby (then live-in boyfriend) told me he'd seen a cat on our courtyard deck. I said, "Gah!!!! No cats; I hate cats. I hope it leaves soon. Whatever you do, don't feed it. Then it will never leave!"
"But it's a pretty neat cat and looks hungry," he said sadly.
A couple of days later, he suddenly needed to make a trip to the supermarket. He looked suspicious, so once again, I said, "Don't you get cat food. We'll never get rid of the cat." Of course he bought cat food and milk and put it on the deck.
A week later on a very rainy Friday afternoon, I came home from work. I went back to the office to find Hubby. Well, who was sitting on his lap at the computer? That cat - all nice, warm, and dry. At that point, I threw my hands into the air and gave up. We had a cat! We named him Franz and he was the best cat ever. He was a Snowshoe - very Siamese looking with white paws. His ears were very, very short, but we didn't know why. Turns out most of the neighborhood knew him.
We took him to the vet, who lived 2 houses down from us. She said, "Oh, yes. This poor baby was left when the neighbors on the corner moved and deserted him. Their teenage boys put firecrackers behind his ears one time and that's why they're short. The firecrackers burned the ends off." Horrific - now i really fell in love with this little guy.
We installed a cat door in the garage at first, to let him venture in and out. After we'd had him about a month, I came down with a terrible case of the flu. As I was lying in the bed, half asleep with a high fever, I awoke to find Franz standing on my stomach with a note attached to his collar. I thought I was hallucinating from the fever.
I pulled the note off and read it: "Dear neighbors. We saw his collar and want to thank whoever has him now. We've been feeding him for months since his owners left him. We named him Boots."
Franz didn't seem to want to leave the house anymore, so we deemed him an indoor kitty and sealed up the cat door. Instead of going out, Franz loved to sit on the sill of our front window and look out at the sidewalk and the park across the street. The cat ownership was real!
Franz's first Halloween with us was eventful. Two adorable little girls came giggling up to our door, yelling "Trick or Treat!"
When I opened the door, they said, "You have White Socks." Huh? I asked them what they meant.
"We see White Socks, the cat, sitting in your window every day. We used to see him around the neighborhood and pet him. We call him White Socks."
At first, I was terrified that they wanted him. I could NOT give up this cat. Turns out they'd just loved to pet him as he roamed the neighborhood. Whew! Turns out Franz has many personas!
After all his mistreatment by others, Franz was a people-lover. When we had parties, he begged to be picked up so much that he would actually be sore the next day! What a lover-boy. He lived a long and happy life with us.
Our pets are all blessings - they've taught me to be a better person, to love unconditionally, and to be forgiving.
I was once a no-pet kinda woman. I didn't even want a goldfish. Once I met my husband, he turned my way of thinking around 360 degrees.
Here's how we got our first pet in Texas: Hubby (then live-in boyfriend) told me he'd seen a cat on our courtyard deck. I said, "Gah!!!! No cats; I hate cats. I hope it leaves soon. Whatever you do, don't feed it. Then it will never leave!"
"But it's a pretty neat cat and looks hungry," he said sadly.
A couple of days later, he suddenly needed to make a trip to the supermarket. He looked suspicious, so once again, I said, "Don't you get cat food. We'll never get rid of the cat." Of course he bought cat food and milk and put it on the deck.
A week later on a very rainy Friday afternoon, I came home from work. I went back to the office to find Hubby. Well, who was sitting on his lap at the computer? That cat - all nice, warm, and dry. At that point, I threw my hands into the air and gave up. We had a cat! We named him Franz and he was the best cat ever. He was a Snowshoe - very Siamese looking with white paws. His ears were very, very short, but we didn't know why. Turns out most of the neighborhood knew him.
We took him to the vet, who lived 2 houses down from us. She said, "Oh, yes. This poor baby was left when the neighbors on the corner moved and deserted him. Their teenage boys put firecrackers behind his ears one time and that's why they're short. The firecrackers burned the ends off." Horrific - now i really fell in love with this little guy.
We installed a cat door in the garage at first, to let him venture in and out. After we'd had him about a month, I came down with a terrible case of the flu. As I was lying in the bed, half asleep with a high fever, I awoke to find Franz standing on my stomach with a note attached to his collar. I thought I was hallucinating from the fever.
I pulled the note off and read it: "Dear neighbors. We saw his collar and want to thank whoever has him now. We've been feeding him for months since his owners left him. We named him Boots."
Franz didn't seem to want to leave the house anymore, so we deemed him an indoor kitty and sealed up the cat door. Instead of going out, Franz loved to sit on the sill of our front window and look out at the sidewalk and the park across the street. The cat ownership was real!
Franz's first Halloween with us was eventful. Two adorable little girls came giggling up to our door, yelling "Trick or Treat!"
When I opened the door, they said, "You have White Socks." Huh? I asked them what they meant.
"We see White Socks, the cat, sitting in your window every day. We used to see him around the neighborhood and pet him. We call him White Socks."
At first, I was terrified that they wanted him. I could NOT give up this cat. Turns out they'd just loved to pet him as he roamed the neighborhood. Whew! Turns out Franz has many personas!
After all his mistreatment by others, Franz was a people-lover. When we had parties, he begged to be picked up so much that he would actually be sore the next day! What a lover-boy. He lived a long and happy life with us.
Our pets are all blessings - they've taught me to be a better person, to love unconditionally, and to be forgiving.
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"Maybe happiness didn't have to be about the big, sweeping circumstances, about having everything in your life in place. Maybe it was about stringing together a bunch of small pleasures. Wearing slippers and watching the Miss Universe contest. Eating a brownie with vanilla ice cream." - Ann Brashares, The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants
It's a low-key Anniversary and Christmas this year. I'm not sure why, but it's my guess that we might both be a bit homesick for family. Having a son and daughter-in-law, granddaughter, siblings, nieces, and nephews so far away is not for the faint at heart. It's downright tough.
Here's a scenario:
So yes, I'm a liar sometimes. But then again, who isn't?
On that note - be happy, be joyful, and be forgiving this holiday season. Love is what matters in the end. Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and much love to you and yours.
Here's a scenario:
- Walk up to me and ask, "How do you like your life in Uruguay?"
- I'll likely smile really big and say, "Oh, we love it here. Everything is great."
So yes, I'm a liar sometimes. But then again, who isn't?
On that note - be happy, be joyful, and be forgiving this holiday season. Love is what matters in the end. Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and much love to you and yours.
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I'm thankful to spend Thanksgiving once again at our friends' ranch, surrounded by old and new friends here in Uruguay. I'm missing my family something fierce, but at the same time, I'm happy to be in Uruguay.
We Americans, Canadians, and Ecuadorians somehow manage a Thanksgiving meal complete with everything but the turkey; we cook chickens instead. We all gather and bring food. There was dressing (stuffing for those who say that), sweet potatoes, pies, cheesecake, rolls, and more.
Here's the link to my ever so wonderful PUMPKIN PECAN CHEESECAKE - a bit of Thanksgiving in every bite! It was a big hit! I've also made a SWEET POTATO CHEESECAKE for our Thanksgiving celebrations. Both versions of cheesecake scream fall and Thanksgiving!
Our hosts are always so gracious to have us. This year was highlighted by the mighty men gathering together to move a coffee table and carpet. No idea why - I was into the wine by that time. It was our entertainment! I swear they wanted to take measurements...
We Americans, Canadians, and Ecuadorians somehow manage a Thanksgiving meal complete with everything but the turkey; we cook chickens instead. We all gather and bring food. There was dressing (stuffing for those who say that), sweet potatoes, pies, cheesecake, rolls, and more.
Here's the link to my ever so wonderful PUMPKIN PECAN CHEESECAKE - a bit of Thanksgiving in every bite! It was a big hit! I've also made a SWEET POTATO CHEESECAKE for our Thanksgiving celebrations. Both versions of cheesecake scream fall and Thanksgiving!
Our hosts are always so gracious to have us. This year was highlighted by the mighty men gathering together to move a coffee table and carpet. No idea why - I was into the wine by that time. It was our entertainment! I swear they wanted to take measurements...
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Here's my recipe for PAELLA from MissCookbook.com.
I love, love, love paella. It's a traditional seafood, chicken, and sausage dish from the Valencia part of Spain. I first ate it in Spain - way baaack in the early 1970's and my tastebuds fell in love at first bite.
It took another 10 years to taste it again. My tastebuds were longing for it badly when my second mom, Lynne Young, made a rip-roaring version of it in Houston, Texas one night.
Never had it again until we moved to Uruguay. It's a traditional New Year's dish here. One of the large supermarkets has a giant paella pan (which looks somewhat like a wok). We're talking more than a meter in diameter. You can buy paella by the kilo!
This year we decided to make our own. We drove to Piriapolis, a smaller coastal town in Uruguay, about 45 minutes from us. No hardship, as it's a beautiful spot with great seafood vendors. We bought shrimp and mussels for our paella at the beach and made a quick stop at the grocery for some chicken and chorizo (sausage).
Here's the thing - my husband had never eaten paella. He thought it was a soup (which he loves) and more like gumbo. Nope, it's thicker, more like an etouffee or jambalaya. I only have Cajun food references, as that's how I grew up! He was in for a surprise, but he did like it,
Try it sometime for yourself - it's easy to make! Here's the link to my PAELLA RECIPE on my cooking website: MissCookbook.com.
It took another 10 years to taste it again. My tastebuds were longing for it badly when my second mom, Lynne Young, made a rip-roaring version of it in Houston, Texas one night.
Never had it again until we moved to Uruguay. It's a traditional New Year's dish here. One of the large supermarkets has a giant paella pan (which looks somewhat like a wok). We're talking more than a meter in diameter. You can buy paella by the kilo!
This year we decided to make our own. We drove to Piriapolis, a smaller coastal town in Uruguay, about 45 minutes from us. No hardship, as it's a beautiful spot with great seafood vendors. We bought shrimp and mussels for our paella at the beach and made a quick stop at the grocery for some chicken and chorizo (sausage).
Here's the thing - my husband had never eaten paella. He thought it was a soup (which he loves) and more like gumbo. Nope, it's thicker, more like an etouffee or jambalaya. I only have Cajun food references, as that's how I grew up! He was in for a surprise, but he did like it,
Try it sometime for yourself - it's easy to make! Here's the link to my PAELLA RECIPE on my cooking website: MissCookbook.com.
Piriapolis, Uruguay
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Get our family recipe for German Dumplings (SEMMELKNÖDEL),
Traditions, traditions, traditions!!! We all have made fun of our own or those of others, but I'm convinced that traditions are the stuffing that shape a culture.
I'm a Southern woman who married a German Guy, lived in Texas, then came to Uruguay. Boy howdy, do we ever have some mish-mash of traditions at our house! I'm not complaining, as I get the best Christmas traditions from all three cultures: pecan pies and divinity (Southern); lebkuchen cookies and semmelknödel dumplings (Germany); summer watermelons at the beach (Uruguay).
These semmelknödel, are fun to make! I looked at Hubby like he was nuts when he asked for a piece of cloth or dishtowel for making these. I had no idea. The cloth or dishtowel is wrapped around the dumpling tube to hold it together while cooking. It all made sense once I watched it cook.
No matter where we are, we love to eat these on Christmas Day with a pork loin or a roast chicken and some great red cabbage. Here's our grandmother's recipe; it's yummy: Maria Schlehuber's Red Cabbage. And here's my mother-in-law's recipe for Lebkuchen Spice Bars.
Whatever your holiday traditions may be, always cherish them and don't be afraid to change things up and add new ones.
I'm a Southern woman who married a German Guy, lived in Texas, then came to Uruguay. Boy howdy, do we ever have some mish-mash of traditions at our house! I'm not complaining, as I get the best Christmas traditions from all three cultures: pecan pies and divinity (Southern); lebkuchen cookies and semmelknödel dumplings (Germany); summer watermelons at the beach (Uruguay).
These semmelknödel, are fun to make! I looked at Hubby like he was nuts when he asked for a piece of cloth or dishtowel for making these. I had no idea. The cloth or dishtowel is wrapped around the dumpling tube to hold it together while cooking. It all made sense once I watched it cook.
No matter where we are, we love to eat these on Christmas Day with a pork loin or a roast chicken and some great red cabbage. Here's our grandmother's recipe; it's yummy: Maria Schlehuber's Red Cabbage. And here's my mother-in-law's recipe for Lebkuchen Spice Bars.
Whatever your holiday traditions may be, always cherish them and don't be afraid to change things up and add new ones.
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"A skunk is better company than a person who prides himself on being frank." - Robert A. Heinlein
We had a beautiful Christmas dinner party for close friends and their visiting family. Everything was perfect! The meal was delicious, the wine flowed, dessert was delightful. After dinner, in the holiday spirit, everyone gathered around the piano, singing Christmas Carols. The scene was marvelous - straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting or a Hallmark Christmas movie!
Then what to my wandering eyes should appear - certainly not Santa and reindeer. I spotted Grace, our Border Collie, on the back porch. (She was supposed to be inside!) I opened the door. Gracie dashed through the house, running right past the piano. Moments later instead of caroling, I heard yelling and shrieking. "What is that smell?" "Ewwww..."
Then what to my wandering eyes should appear - certainly not Santa and reindeer. I spotted Grace, our Border Collie, on the back porch. (She was supposed to be inside!) I opened the door. Gracie dashed through the house, running right past the piano. Moments later instead of caroling, I heard yelling and shrieking. "What is that smell?" "Ewwww..."
Yep, an unexpected guest for our Christmas dinner party had arrived. Last name: Skunk!! Gracie had been skunked. She must have mistaken the skunk for our outdoor cat, Sissy, whom she kisses frequently. No amount of pine boughs or Christmas candles could compete with Gracie's stench.
Party entertainment quickly switched to watching my husband bathe Gracie outside, near the front porch. The men all sat on the porch and watched, while we women (smart creatures that we are) sat indoors out of the way and drank large amounts of wine.
Party entertainment quickly switched to watching my husband bathe Gracie outside, near the front porch. The men all sat on the porch and watched, while we women (smart creatures that we are) sat indoors out of the way and drank large amounts of wine.
