Downton Abbey recap! Season 3, episode 5.


Previously on Downton Abbey: Isobel hired a hooker (to work as her maid/cook). Bates and Anna grokked Vera’s Evil Suicide Pie plan. Sybil had a baby girl. Sybil died. Violet sobbed raggedly. Cora blamed LG for Sybil’s death.

Dog butt.

Black-clad people depart from Downton Abbey. Matthew tells Tom that he and Mary want to help in any way they can. Tom, looking glazed and robotic (and, frankly, this is the first time I’ve noticed that he’s a Rather Handsome Man [TM]), says, “My wife is dead. I’m past help.” Weep weep weep. LG enters and tells Cora that some of their guests had been looking for her to say goodbye. Cora responds in a perfect blend of sweet curtness, “I was here,” then looks away. Isobel takes this as her cue to GTFO, as does Violet. LG offers that they stay for dinner, but Violet declines, saying, “Grief makes one so terribly tired.” (TRUTH. When my mom died, I slept forever. About a week after her funeral, I remember waking up one day long after Matt went to work, realizing it was noon and thinking, ah, fuck it and slept for another three hours.)

Violet advises Cora to try to get some rest, “now that it’s over.” “Is it over? When one loses a child, is it ever really over?” says Cora.

This calls for some Jeff Buckley.

Downstairs, Alfred mentions that grief seems to have given the upstairs folks a hearty appetite. “Tee hee,” titter some New Maids. “Ex-squeeze me?” says Carson, outraged at their cheek. Anna, ever the kind soul, explains to the New Maids that even the downstairs folk loved Sybil, so even though they’re the help, they’re sad too. Carson barks, “if you want to do well here, you should understand that without being told.” These kids today and their unwillingness to feel blind obeisance to their masters!

Actually, the conversation between Hughesy and Carson here is interesting. Carson: In the old days, their mothers would train them in the basics before they came to the Big House. Hughesy: Maybe their mothers don’t want them to go into service anymore. Carson: What are they supposed to become, bankers and lawyers? Hughesy: Why not? THE TIMES, THEY ARE A CHANGIN’. I think it’s cute that Hughesy thinks that the class system in Britain can be transcended; this moment is mostly meant to demonstrate that Carson remains an old fuddy duddy, while Hughes is optimistic and willing to change her attitudes with the times.

Thomas haz a sad. Jimmy says that Thomas’ sadness speaks well of him. Thomas gets touchy feely in response.

thomasthankyoujimmy

Isobel tells Ethel, who identifies with Cora in her loss of a child, that she wants to have Cora and “the girls” over for a luncheon to help them with their grief. Ethel says she can cook something special, giving Isobel a start. “Well, we don’t have to decide that just now,” she says, panicked.

Mary and Anna talk about Bates and I don’t care.

Cora reads in bed. LG comes in and asks to move back in. Nope, says Cora. LG defends his choice to listen to Tapsell, who has a reputation as an expert. Cora counters with the fact that Dr. Clarkson knew Sybil’s history and, as such, was an expert on Sybil. “You believed Tapsell because he is knighted and fashionable. … You let all that nonsense weigh against saving our daughter’s life, which is what I find so very hard to forgive.” Cora makes it clear in no uncertain terms that the blame for Sybil’s death lies solely on LG. LG peaces out.

At breakfast, Edith asks after Cora. LG has no reply. Tom enters, Carson hands him a plate, rather than making him fetch it himself. Mighty big of you, Carson. Tom envies the baby because she has no idea what’s going on. Tom says he’s not staying, he’ll look for a job. Edith and Matthew wonder what’s the rush, LG says that Tom needs to think of making a life for himself. Edith says it’s time to think of a christening and asks what Tom would like to call the baby. “Sybil,” is his response. NOT MAUDLIN AT ALL, DUDE. (Side note: isn’t Edith being so sweet and lovely?) Tom also announces that because the baby is Irish, she will be Catholic. LG throws up in his mouth a little [I’m sorry; I know that phrase is so tired, but I think it applies here] and peaces out.

Ethel runs into Mrs. P on the street and asks for help with the menu for the lunch party. Mrs. P explains that Carson has forbidden folks from the Big House to consort with her. Ethel says surely Mrs. P doesn’t think she will be corrupted. “Of course not!” declares Mrs. P. “Then why not show a little kindness?” says Ethel. Side note: it was made clear to me this week that calling Ethel an unnecessary plot device is not fair or accurate. Rather, she is a depiction of the invisible casualties of war in the early 20th century, women whose lives were ruined by dalliances with itinerant soldiers. So, I now sort of like this storyline, which maybe recuperates some of these women’s fates and gives their communities a chance to redeem themselves, too.

Bates walks in circles and I don’t care.

Mary tells LG that he needs to unclench on the Catholic thing; also, she disagrees that it’s ghoulish to call the baby Sybil.

Isobel tells Ethel to just get some ham in town and make a light salad for the ladies’ luncheon. Ethel wants to make an effort to show their sympathies; Isobel wants to play it safe.

Violet wants to know what LG’s plan is for baby Sybil, and also what’s up with Cora and warns him that “people like us are never unhappily married.” Then what, wonders LG. “In such a circumstances, the couple is unable to see each other as much as they’d like,” says Violet. “Or she could go to New York and visit That Woman.” LG can’t make sense of any of it. Violet puts on her mom hat: “My dearest boy, I seldom speak of the heart because it is rarely useful to do so, but I know well enough how painful it is when it is broken.”

Alfred and Ivy and Daisy enact their little love triangle. Mrs P busts up the party. Jimmy says that Ivy isn’t his type. O’Brien will probably use this statement to her advantage in trying to convince Thomas to make a real move on him; if Thomas makes a pass and Jimmy calls the cops, O’Brien is shot of Thomas AND has her revenge for starting the rumor that she was leaving Downton.

Mrs. P brings some recipes for Ethel and a shopping list. Ethel is dubious about making salmon mousse. “Anyone who has use of their limbs can make a salmon mousse,” says Mrs. P haughtily. God, I love her. Mrs. P, c’est moi.

mrs-patmore-and-ethel-pbs

Isobel invites Cora and “the girls” for luncheon. “Do I count as one of the girls,” asks Violet, previously unseen. Cora doesn’t want to come, fearing she’d bring her troubles with her. Mary and Matthew enter and Mary accepts the invitation.

Downstairs, we learn that Daisy is going to go visit Mr. Mason at the farm.

Upstairs, the youngsters grill Mr. Travis, who reckons there’s something “un-English about the Roman Church.” Tom’s response, being Irish: “and that’s a problem because …?” Travis has a problem with bells ‘n smells, and reckons it displeases God. Tom: So he’s displeased with the population of France and Italy? [And, uh, parts of England?] Edit: South America, Portugal? Mary: The Russians? The Spanish? Matthew: The non-Christians? The entire Indian subcontinent? Isobel: How about the British empire? [Some really fascinating troubling of British-Anglican national identity here, y’all.]

LG doesn’t think baby Sybil should be baptized into the wrong tribe. Mary reveals that Sybil wanted the baby to be Catholic. LG is flabbergasted. Cora says, “Not everyone chooses their religion to satisfy Debrett’s [a lifestyle guide for the peerage].” ZING!!!!

Downstairs, the staff discuss religion. Anna doesn’t want to talk about it.

Upstairs, Mary and Matthew discuss facing death and not taking things for granted. Matthew wants LG to see that he shouldn’t take Downton for granted. Mary says, “we should never take us for granted. Who knows what’s coming?” A giant anvil falls through the ceiling and lands at the foot of their bed. Matthew: “One thing I will take for granted, that I will love you until the last breath leaves my body.” Another anvil lands on top of the first one. Mary: “OMG, me too, darling. Totes.”

Boring stuff about Bates.

Ivy Alfred Jimmy love triangle + foxtrot.

Daisy arrives at Chez Mason. Mr. Mason wants to bequeath the farm to Daisy, who is dubious because she’s a cook and a woman and always thought she’d spend her life in service. Jaysus, Daisy, can you think outside the box for once? Do you want no good things to happen to you? Financial independence? Sheesh, I just want to shake her.

Violet tries to convince Clarkson to communicate to LG and Cora that there really was nothing to be done for Sybil, in the interest of their marriage.

Matthew consults with Tom about how best to make Downton more efficient, because “there’s a country boy inside the revolutionary.” These two are the future of Downton, I reckon, and it hinges on convincing Tom to stay there with the baby.

Ethel is grateful to Mrs. P for helping her with the luncheon. Carson sees Mrs. P leaving Crawley House.

Bates is boring.

Luncheon. Isobel is stressed because Ethel made real food, not ham and salad.

frolicker

Carson confronts Mrs. P about her helping Ethel, against his strict instructions to give the place a wide berth. Hughesy takes up Mrs. P’s case. Carson is outraged and speechless that Mrs. P would allow a woman of the streets to wait on members of our family! Hughesy reckons he won’t be speechless for long.

Matthew: bad management! LG: fiddle dee dee, we’ll think about that tomorrow. Carson: LG, we need to talk, now.

At the luncheon, the ladies are pleasantly surprised by how tasty the food is. Edith reckons she should learn to cook, which brings up the topic of the column, which gives Cora the opportunity to state her position that LG makes decisions based on archaic values. Mary says that she and Matthew support Edith in her writing career. LG bursts in and, underscoring Cora’s point, insists that the ladies leave, because Ethel is a filthy whore and they are being exposed to scandal. Just then, Ethel brings in dessert and Cora says, “Oh, is that a Charlotte Russe? How delicious.” Ethel explains that Mrs. P helped her with it. “I’m glad to know that Mrs. Patmore has a good heart and does not judge,” says Cora, glaring at LG. LG really must insist that they leave at once, but Cora resists, and Violet wants some of that Charlotte Russe.

pudding

LG peaces out.

Bates walks in circles, boringly, then yanks his former cellmate out of the circle walking, holds a shiv to his neck and says, “don’t interfere in them finding me innocent or I’ll murderize ya, see?” Then he gets back in the circle and walks, boringly.

Carson and Hughesy discuss the luncheon scandal; Carson is miffed that none of the women left, while Hughesy sees it as a sign that the world is becoming a kinder place. Carson reckons it’s weakness and a lack of discipline. “Well, if the Dowager and Her Ladyship can visit Crawley House, I reckon you won’t mind if I do,” says Hughesy. Carson won’t forbid it, but he won’t like it. “But you disappoint me,” he says. “I didn’t think of you as a woman with no standards.” She shoots him a “ninja, please” look and departs.

Mary visits LG and asks how productive it was for him to throw a tantrum about Ethel at Crawley House; she reckons he’s just pissed because the world isn’t going his way. He’s also pissed that Matthew is taking over Downton, and also the christening. “I’m never against you, but you’ve lost on this one,” Mary says. She reminds LG that Sybil loved Tom very much and that they should honor her wishes as far as the baby goes. “I keep forgetting she’s gone,” says LG. “I’ll read something in the paper that would make her laugh. I come inside to tell her that her favorite rose is in bloom, and then suddenly…” Mary implores him to tell Cora that, but he doesn’t think she wants to hear it from him.

Mary and Matthew visit Tom and the baby in a totally stilted and awkward scene.

downtown3_6__span

Poor Molesley is shocked that the ladies stayed at Crawley House after they learned that Ethel had cooked their lunch. “Even Jesus ate with Mary Magdalene,” Hughesy reminds him gently. “We’re not sure of that, but we know she washed his feet,” replies Poor Molesley. “Well, we’ll have to tell Ethel she’s in for a treat, then,” Hughesy shoots back.

Jimmy plays piano, Ivy gets busted for wearing rouge (Mrs. P calls her “Miss Hussy”!), Thomas gropes Jimmy some more. “He’s always touching me,” Jimmy complains to O’Brien. “I’m going to tell Carson. I’d tell the police if it got him to stop.” O’Brien excuses herself to fetch some linen … and to scheme. Daisy tells Jimmy that the music is nice, but it makes her sad because it makes her think of William.

O’Brien runs into Thomas in the hall and tells him that she thinks Jimmy has a crush on him. “Well, he’s got good taste,” says Thomas.

Alfred asks Daisy to teach him the foxtrot. Oh, Daisy. Don’t give your heart – or dance lessons – away.

Anna runs across the grounds to Mary and Edith (really?) to let them know that Mr. Bates will be released and will be home in a couple of weeks. Mary encourages Anna to let LG know to raise his spirits.

Cora brings a note from Violet inviting them over, but she hopes that it’s not a lecture on marital harmony. LG chuckles, then realizes that she wasn’t kidding. They’ll go, but not stay long. “You look lovely today,” says LG feebly. “Don’t try and flirt with me, dude,” says Cora. Awkward. Exeunt Cora. Anna bursts in with Mary and Edith to report that Bates is coming home. LG practically squees.

Jimmy interrupts Daisy and Alfred’s dance lesson and calls out Alfred on only trying to learn foxtrot to impress Ivy. He then takes Daisy in his arms to show him how it’s done. (Does Jimmy like Daisy?) Of course, Carson walks in and tears Jimmy a new one.

keepcalm

Cora and LG arrive at the Dowager’s house to find Dr. Clarkson waiting for them. Clarkson tells them that the chance of Sybil’s survival was “infinitesimal,” that eclampsia is almost always fatal, and that even if they’d done a C-section, she would have died and in great pain. LG and Cora embrace and cry, while Violet looks away discreetly. Poor Dr. Clarkson. Poor Cora.

The end.

Smitten Saturdays: Leave your link for Rosemary Gruyere and Sea Salt Crisps


Tomorrow’s recipe is Rosemary Gruyere and Sea Salt Crisps (p. 294), perfect for serving at holiday parties. Leave your link in the comments if you’re cooking along!

Caprese quiche


This one came to me while driving home from work, wondering what the heck to make for dinner. I’ll add a picture later, as I’m crazy busy at the moment. Just imagine a quiche with a slightly overbaked crust and with gobs of fresh mozzarella oozing out of it and you’re there. It’s a really lovely summer-evening dish.

Caprese quiche

1 crust (I whipped up my own butter-based one)
2 eggs
1 egg yolk
1.5 cup heavy whipping cream
4 San Marzano tomatoes, seeded and sliced and patted dry
several slices of fresh mozzarella
shredded fresh basil
salt
pepper

Heat oven to 350. Blind bake your crust for 10 minutes, if necessary (I recommend it, especially if you’re using a frozen crust). Mix together your custard (cream, eggs, and spices). Layer the tomatoes, cheese, and basil into the crust. Pour in custard. Bake for 45 minutes or until goldeny brown and with an ever-so-tiny jiggle in the middle. Enjoy!

This is the first time I’ve added the extra egg yolk and I have to say that it definitely adds a bit of bounce and fluff to the custard. Will definitely add it to future quiches.

Strawberries three ways


Much of my childhood is pretty hazy, but I do remember really loving going to my Great Aunt Edna’s house in the spring and raiding the strawberry plants in her back yard. My cousins and I would pick as many as we could, snitching unwashed berries while we picked, then taking what remained of our spoils back into her house for a dish of fresh strawberries with cream poured over them.

I think I had forgotten what insanely fresh strawberries tasted like into my adulthood, growing accustomed over time to grocery store berries. I remember getting some strawberries out of season, probably imported from Chile or something, and thinking that they didn’t taste like strawberries. In fact, they didn’t really taste like anything. It was very disappointing and a stark reminder that I just really, really need to always buy produce in season, preferably from local purveyors, because nothing beats the simple pleasure of a strawberry that wakes up your taste buds with the intensity of its strawberry-ness. All politics about sustainability and the like aside, eating local, in-season fruits and vegetables is an unparalleled pleasure.

To that end, back on Good Friday, I canceled my class and took the kids out to Sweet Berry Farm to pick strawberries. We discovered Sweet Berry a few years ago, probably through the Mama Mafia, and have gone once or twice in previous years. We have never really picked very much while there, mostly because the last time we were there, the Big Kid was still pretty small and the pleasures of picking strawberries was pretty much lost on him.

But this time, we were primed and ready! Big and Little Kids attacked the berry plants with gusto, moreso when our friends I and C (and their parents) arrived. The Little Kid wasn’t too excited about the fact that the rows were fairly muddy, which made things a little slippery (and dirty), but we did our best to find the driest rows possible. We picked and picked and picked and picked — I had a hard time stopping because every time I thought to myself, okay, this is the last one, I’d see another perfectly ripe and plump gem a few feet away, calling out to be plucked.

We filled two boxes (I and C’s family filled three!), to the tune of nearly $30 (10 pounds of strawberries x $2.75/pound!). I had strictly budgeted $20 for berries, so I had to borrow $10 from our friends (and I’m reminded that I have, to date, neglected to repay that $10! Whoops!) to cover the rest of the bill.

We fed the goats, took some pictures, picked up some pie at the Blue Bonnet, ate lunch, then headed home. I had the daunting task of hulling those 10 pounds and figuring out what to do with the darn things, and in a hurry. Berries as ripe as the ones we picked had about a 2-day window before going to mush.

I started out with an embarrassingly easy freezer jam, the supplies for which I picked up at HEB for a measly $5 (freezer jars and a packet of Ball freezer jam pectin). A friend of mine had gifted me with a jar of her freezer jam a couple of years ago and I had always wanted to make more. So I did. And that knocked out four cups of the 10 pounds. This jam is really delicious and simple: it captures the sweetness of the fresh berries without sacrificing their inherent tartness. It goes well on bagels, but might be a little runny for a pb&j. I really like to spoon a couple of tablespoons of it over some reduced-fat Greek yogurt for breakfast.

Next, I made a dessert for Easter dinner at my folks. I had seen this recipe on Facebook via my friend Jillian last summer and made it for the family fourth of July barbecue. It was a HUGE hit — people were taking seconds and thirds even after stuffing themselves on burgers and the like — so I decided to make it again.

It doesn’t look very pretty, but believe me: this icebox cake is DELICIOUS and crazy easy. You can even lighten it up by using reduced fat graham crackers and light Cool Whip, depending on your feelings about processed foods. I did compromise and use Honey Maid graham crackers, but I made the whipped cream and the chocolate ganache from scratch.

Finally, because the Big Kid got really excited by the prospect of strawberry ice cream, I used a couple of cups of the berries for that. I used a French Vanilla base, the recipe for which came in the booklet accompanying my KitchenAid ice cream maker attachment; you add the cut-up berries in the last few minutes of freezing. I thought it was delicious, but Big Kid rejected it, saying it was “too lumpy.” (The lumps being the strawberries.) Sigh.

Fortunately, the ice cream did not go to waste. I took it this past week to a house party (hosted by Stephanie and Megan) celebrating the release of Kate’s book. Kate had brought a DELICIOUS rhubarb crisp to the party, and the ice cream paired with it beautifully. In fact, I may need to use the remaining four or so cups of berries (currently languishing in the freezer) to replicate that blissful pairing (or I might just make a strawberry-rhubarb crisp, if I can find some rhubarb at the farmers market this morning).

Two beautiful meals


Obviously I didn’t do a meal plan this week, even though I have one written up. Things have REALLY picked up with the dissertation, which means I’ve got to focus my time on this final chapter revision, then major revisions of the whole project, then writing the introduction. ZOINKS! It’s getting down to brass tacks, my friends, which means that blogging is absolutely the lowest priority until further notice.

That said, I simply MUST share these two recipes with you, both taken from the current (March 2011) issue of Everyday Food. I have made them both this week and while I wouldn’t characterize either of them as being particularly fast (this is called the “FAST” issue), they are incredibly delicious. Not only that, they are very colorful and pleasing to look at. Sadly, my Bloggie camera is better suited to shooting movies than taking still shots, so these photos don’t really do these meals justice. Must remember to charge the regular camera’s batteries.

Pork fried rice

This fried rice is incredibly tasty, with just enough fragrant ginger to round out the flavors. I put extra carrot in there to boost the fiber content (and to offset the presence of pork AND egg). The kids were suspicious of it, but Matt and I both loved it. I took the leftovers for my lunch yesterday and was sad when it was gone. Definitely something to put in fairly regular rotation. I love how light it is (although it’s a bit of a POINTS bomb).

2 T canola oil
2 eggs, lightly beaten
2 T + ¼ t soy sauce
1 garlic clove, minced or pressed
1 T (approx) peeled, minced ginger
1 bunch scallions, white and green parts separated and thinly sliced
½ lb. ground pork
3 carrots, shredded
½ c shelled edamame
2 c cooked white rice (I cooked this in the rice cooker the night before)
2 T rice vinegar

    In a wok, heat 1 T oil on high. In a small bowl, beat the eggs with ¼ t of soy sauce. Add eggs to wok and swirl to coat bottom of pan. Cook until almost set, leaving it flat on the bottom and sides of the wok, then fold into thirds. Transfer to a cutting board and cut into thin strips. Set aside.

    Add 1 T oil to wok and coat the bottom and sides. Add garlic, ginger, and scallion whites and cook, stirring constantly, until fragrant, about 30 seconds. Add pork and cook until it is browned, about 3 minutes. Add carrots, edamame, and rice and stir to combine. Add egg, 2 T soy sauce, and vinegar and cook, stirring unti rice is coated. Let cook without stirring for a minute, until it is warmed through. Top with scallion greens and serve.

Asian chicken salad

I really hate the name “Asian chicken salad.” What about it is Asian? Soy sauce? Mint? Also, it makes me think of Margaret Cho’s “Asian chicken salad” bit.



“This is not the salad of my people!”

At any rate, this salad was delightful. It puts the lie to the “fast” promise because you have to shred the cabbage and the carrots, juice the limes, mince the jalapeno, and shred the chicken. 15 minutes my butt, Everyday Food! But this is super light and refreshing — we will definitely be eating a lot of this over the summer!

1/4 cup lime juice
2 t soy sauce
1 jalapeno, minced
2 t canola oil
1/2 t sugar
2 c shredded red cabbage
2 c mixed greens
3 shredded carrots
1 c shelled edamame
1 c lightly packed mint leaves
2 cups shredded cooked chicken

    In a large bowl, whisk together lime juice, soy sauce, jalapeno, oil, and sugar. Add cabbage, greens, carrots, edamame, mint, and chicken and toss well to combine. Serve immediately.

A variant that the magazine offers is to slice the jalapenos rather than mince and put the veggies on a baguette spread with mayo, top with the chicken and have a sort of banh mi. I did have a baguette, but I just used it on the side. The verdict? TASTY. I have a big tub of leftover salad for lunch today; I plan to take it with me to my Weight Watchers meeting (I’ve switched to a lunchtime meeting so that I can attend with friends) and make everyone else jealous.

Food Blogging as a Hobby: Should we be emulating the pros?


I had the opportunity to meet Dianne Jacob at BlogHer Food back in October; we bonded over chocolate bacon and cherry-pistachio brittle at the closing party while watching Michael Ruhlman demonstrate how to make bacon (which I will attempt and blog about once I get my paws on some pork belly!). I really respect Dianne’s work; in fact, I put her book on my wish list because while I’m sort of allergic to the idea of hiring a writing coach (I had briefly considered the idea of hiring her long-distance, but … no), I am cool with using her book as a resource as I explore my dimensions as a writer.

But then I felt a bit deflated and stung when I read this post on her blog. I am most definitely a hobbyist food blogger. While I do hope to discover or create a career having to do with writing and food, whether that be in academia as an extension of my dissertation work or in another milieu, I harbor no delusions of becoming a professional food blogger. For one, I have zero photography skills, nor can I afford a fancy-pants camera and lenses. What we have of discretionary income goes toward family trips and the like (or concert tickets, as Matt and I both have rediscovered our love of seeing bands at seedy clubs and overpriced outdoor venues with early curfews).

While I do try to post at least once a week, sometimes it doesn’t happen. Okay, more often than not, it doesn’t happen. Sometimes life gets in the way of the hobby (just look at all of my unfinished sewing and knitting projects! Not to mention the shelves of unread novels I’ve picked up or checked out with the best of intentions!). I converted this blog into a food-centric one a little over a year ago not only because I wanted a dedicated angle for my blog, but also because one chapter of my dissertation is devoted to three specific blogs. To that end, it cultivates my own multimodal literacy to keep up an active blog while also thinking critically about other food blogs. But I also just really like thinking, talking, and writing about food. I write here because I can use the recipes I experiment with as a jumping-off point for other things, like family, weight, my dissertation, and the class implications of social media.

Sure, I’d love to have tons of readers and make squillions of dollars off my blog, but that’s not realistic. I take the reality on its own terms. And just as some of the commenters on Dianne’s post pointed out, just because I am running and hope to complete the half-marathon in February doesn’t mean I have aspirations of being a professional marathoner (Ha! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAaaaaa….). Does that mean I should stop running? Should we just abandon all forms of self-expression simply because we won’t ever be good enough as Pioneer Woman (whom I suspect has helper elves) or won’t ever attain professional status?

Jacob argues that because a blog is a public document, we hobbyist bloggers should aim for the high standards she set forth in her talk. Yes, if you want to get more readers and monetize your blog, you should do everything in your power to set yourself apart from the eighty bazillion other food bloggers out there and follow those guidelines. Find an angle. But if you want to use your blog to express yourself and talk to your village, and you’re okay with only getting 25 hits a day (if that), then do your thang. At least, that’s what I tell myself.

Class and Cake: Using your Twitter powers for good


Or, show your class, not your ass.

Earlier today, a professional blogger tweeted, “Hired some drywallers for a project. The pregnant lady in flip-flops on a ladder & smoking? Yeah. She’s with them. #Really #NoReallyReally.” Then, a bit later, “I agree with you guys: perhaps we could coax her off the ladder with a stiff drink. ;) #RethinkingOurHiringStandards.”

I replied rather, uh, stridently, that I found such behavior to be tacky. You can see the blogger’s reply here.

Yes, smoking while pregnant is not the best choice one could make. Neither is climbing ladders while pregnant and shod in flip-flops. No one is disputing that it’s a less-than-safe idea. But you know what else is a bad choice? Making fun of a stranger who’s trying to make a living in front of 1,216,469 followers. And you can justify your comments all you want by expressing concern about safety and lawsuit issues, but once you start making cracks about enticing a pregnant woman with a cocktail, you’ve crossed out of “concern” territory and into mocking someone you consider to be beneath you.

Let me break it down further: I think we can all agree that if you’re drywalling someone else’s house the day before Thanksgiving and you’re wearing flip-flops (and you live in Florida, ZING!), you’re probably not rolling in cash. You’re probably doing what you need to do to keep the lights on and maybe finance a box of Stove Top and a turkey for tomorrow. And if you’re a professional blogger who has access to the funds to hire a team of people to come drywall your house, and you then take to Twitter to make fun of those folks you’ve hired, you’re probably extremely blind to your own privilege. Which you will then, of course, deny (even though you’re not a dude!).

Again, my issue is not with expressing “concern” over a pregnant woman’s (fetus included) safety; rather, it is using a platform such as Twitter when you have a following in the seven digits to perpetuate the hegemonic construct of the woman’s body as public property, available for any- and everyone to comment upon, not to mention perpetuating classist attitudes about working-class individuals. Which, invariably, takes us straight to Eugenics Land.

Of course, if you dare call said professional blogger out on their tackiness, you are of course, branded as the stupid pariah feminist who “us[es] feminism to excuse the woman’s behavior.” Or, when you initially express your frustration with the commentary, you get told you have an unwarranted sense of entitlement. And she’s right, this blogger owes me nothing. But I do think that when you’re a public figure who blogs about silly desserts, and you have 1.25 million followers, you do bear some responsibility for what you put out there. You help set the tone. And it’s not about feminism, it’s about being a decent human being.

Ofrenda


My mom had a long-running joke with her sisters about their collective tendencies to snitch slivers of leftover desserts, usually pie or cake. The malingering treat would rest on the counter of my grandmother’s kitchen or dining room table, perpetually visited by my mother and aunts (and me, as I grew older and more autonomous/prone to snitching), who would whittle off the tiniest slice (or chunk, depending on how brazen they felt) in the interest of “evening it out.”

Desserts, it seems, were forever uneven in our home, an unforgivable condition.

This spiced applesauce cake reminds me of my mom. Not because she was known for a signature apple cake, but because this cake invites endless snitching. It seems wholesome, what with its primary ingredient, homemade applesauce, but also because its comforting fall flavors beckon from wherever you’ve stashed the uneaten portion. It’s particularly gratifying to revisit again and again when you think about the layers of flavor composing the cake, from the tart, cinnamon-tinged applesauce to the gratifyingly fattening spiced cream cheese frosting. It bears a depth of flavor that you can’t say no to, not that you’d want to anyway.

Maybe it’s because I don’t spend as many holidays with my mom’s family as I used to (marriage with children has a way of dividing your attentions, especially on pie- and cake-centric celebrations/holidays), or maybe it’s because we’re (seemingly) all on Weight Watchers these days, but it seems like the dessert-straightening practice faded away after we lost my mom in 2004. But I suspect we’re all honoring her every now and again when we notice anything less than a perfectly straight line on a sheet cake or a precise right angle sliced out of a pecan pie.

I finally had to take the rest of the cake to my students today, who cooed over it and called me an Angel in the House. I felt virtuous (for getting the calorie bomb out of my house), generous (for sharing with my students), and stealthy (because I know that there are two secret pieces left in the back of my fridge, crooked as can be).

Cold fusion


Have you ever made a dish on the fly that you’ll probably never be able to replicate again? I think I did that tonight.

I had bought some multicolored veggie pasta shells on a whim and had a hankering for some homemade mac and cheese. I didn’t really check the cheese supply in the drawer before starting, though, so I pretty much set myself up for failure.

First, I whipped up a bechamel with about a T of unsalted butter, a rough 1/4-cup of flour, and 1.5 c milk. And then, I threw in about 3/4 cup Kraft shredded Mexican blend! Then about a T of shredded cheddar/monterey jack! And then about 1/4 cup shredded Parmesan! And then a slice of Havarti! And then a couple of hunks of Beecher’s Flagship!

Then I drained the cooked shells and had way more cheese sauce than pasta, so I cooked up some mini penne and threw that in!

And it was delicious! (Of course, because my darling boy LOATHES homemade mac and cheese, he had to have the obligatory tantrum about “disgusting mac and cheese!”) And I’ll never be able to make it again. Cold fusion.

Scones fail


Yesterday I made my first-ever attempt at making scones, using this recipe. While they were tasty, they were not scones. Rather, they were, according to my husband, “orange-flavored biscuits with a glaze.”

I like my scones with a bit more heft: coarser, more dense, and with that glutinous bite that is so unique to a well-made scone. So, I am on the hunt for a better recipe. My friend Laura suggested this recipe, and I shall definitely give them a whack, as I’ve not had a bad experience with a single Smitten Kitchen recipe to date. C says that America’s Test Kitchen has a good recipe. These look pretty tasty as well, although my mouth feels dry just thinking about a whole-wheat scone.

Oh, and I have been daydreaming about lemon curd of late. I have to work from home tomorrow afternoon because we’re expecting a repairman; I may have to intersperse writing with standing over a pot of tangy-sweet spreadable sunshine.

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