Blueberry Lime Thyme Cocktail or Mocktail Idea

This evening, as I put together my daily cocktail / mocktail, I wanted something pretty that would balance either with the alcohol or without, and I wanted something both refreshing and smoky. Here’s what I came up with:

Idea / Recipe hybrid:

Blueberry Lime Thyme Cocktail / Mocktail

1 tablespoon blueberry syrup (recipe follows)

1/2 teaspoon orgeat (no recipe follows, though a friend made mine)

1 ounce lime juice

1 twist lime

1 sprig thyme, crushed, left in the drink to taste

Bourbon to taste

Water to taste

If you’re more of a recipe person or just too worn out from decision-making:

Add 2 oz bourbon for an actual cocktail

Add 1 tablespoon bourbon and 2 oz water for a hint of bourbon

Add 2 oz water for a Mocktail

Stir and serve over ice.

Yes, this is what I came up with after nearly a month off from daily posts, or rather, in the twenty minutes before writing. You might think after a hiatus from daily posts that I would have beautifully crafted essays or at least something worth posting. The fact that I don’t is testament to the power of the daily post: it enables writing and posting that doesn’t have to be “good enough.”

The last few weeks have been somewhat impossible, and I enjoyed not posting. And I missed posting. The idea of a weekly post resulted in bigger ideas but not in completion. So now that I have more or less wrapped up the semester of crisis, I’m back to the daily, not-necessarily-worth-posting posts.

Today’s recipe idea seems strangely perfect.

The Satisfaction or Baking Bread

I’ve been baking more bread lately. Other people have too. There is no better time to have previously been a flour collector: I normally have many different kinds of flour—cake flour, three kids of all purpose, bread flour, assorted whole wheats, to say nothing of semolina, almond flour, potato flour and other speciality items. On a practical note, I keep many of them in the freezer.

Yesterday, I made King Arthur Flour’s Pain de Mie . I usually have trouble with the second rise. But this time, when I forgot to set a time and got interrupted, and messed up the timing and temperature to the point of over-rising, which I find is generally worse than under-rising…The bread turned out beautifully.

It is an undeserved success and I may not be able to replicate it, but I’m going to enjoy it.

Collaboration and Creative Freedom

Collaboration can be a great way to jolt your creative process. Sharing control can be frustrating, but knowing that you have to let go is freeing.

Also, for the purposes of creative exploration, I’m not focusing here on collaboration where one person follows another’s directions.

I recently have been inveigled into a number of this sort of collaboration by my kids. One of them will start a drawing, and then firmly request my assistance. Sometimes my job is to “add ten caterpillars,” each with a red head like the quintessential very hungry caterpillar. Sometimes my job is to “add a touch of blue to the brown soil so it’s wet.”

I’ve tried to assert myself a bit here. Collaboration is a back and forth, a conversation: I made a floral pattern and let one of my young artistic partners have at it. The result is whimsical and better than you’d think possible under the circumstances, and the process was a pleasure. Collaboration is letting yourself communicate creatively, letting yourself go, and letting yourself get inspired.

Maple Acorn Cakelet Party

Sometimes you just want a party. As every kid knows, a party means cake, or, in this case, cakelets.

We had a lot of fun with this two day party project. On the first day, we baked the cakelets and on the second, we made the frosting and decorated with red, green, purple and rainbow sprinkles. We ate tasty cake both days.

We used this acorn-shaped cake pan that makes absolutely adorable tiny acorn cakelets. We followed the recipe for maple spice cakelets, more or less (no nutmeg, no maple flavoring, water instead of milk).

They were delicious, and we were happy, and we’re planning to have a doughnut party this weekend. Sometimes you’ve got to treat yourself, and there’s nothing quite like a party.

Intruder in the Dust and Vintage Paperbacks: A Book Review

I love vintage falling apart paperback mysteries. The covers are so melodramatic and often tacky. The physical books do not stand the test of time, or the test of having their pages turned. Sometimes the pages fall from the binding before I can even finish reading the book the first time. 

I cannot resist. 

One of my favorites is William Faulkner’s Intruder in the Dust (1948). I have two 1962 Signet paperbacks -- the one with the author’s name in yellow across the top, a black and white illustration, the feet of a menacing crowd encircling two men, one kneeling. I also have two other editions of this unloved failed mystery. I even wrote about this book for my dissertation. Its mystery plot is so illogical and baffling; its treatment of race so troubled; its most annoying character so long-winded. 

On the front cover of my favorite 1962 editions, we read: ““The superb novel of murder and violence in a small southern town by one of America’s greatest writers.” And on the back, we are assured that this is the “explosive story of an arrogant old man who faced death rather than relinquish his identity… and a young boy who broke the law to save him” (ellipses in original). 

As you’re reading Intruder in the Dust, you’re probably wondering: Did I lose track of something that would make this all make sense? Critics relentlessly point this out, but: Isn’t that what people wonder when they read Light in August (1932) too? But Light in August is serious Faulkner, from his prime. Light in August may be more worth reading than Intruder in the Dust, but here’s the thing: I don’t actually care. 

People say Intruder in the Dust is terrible because the plot is terrible.

People, with ample justification, read Yoknapatawpha County’s Gavin Stevens, a lawyer, as Faulkner’s mouthpiece, which is awkward, because Gavin is wrong and in a way that aligns all too beautifully with Faulkner’s own argument in a piece published in Life magazine on March 5, 1956 as “A Letter to the North: William Faulkner, the South’s foremost writer, warns on integration—‘Stop now for a moment.’” 

And also: Just shut up Gavin Stevens. This guy really likes to talk, and it’s way too easy to get lost in his monologues. 

People say Intruder in the Dust is a pot boiler. They saw that cover and knew Faulkner needed money, and the book was popular. As Lawrence H. Schwartz puts it in Creating Faulkner’s Reputation: The Politics of Modern Literary Criticism, “In January 1948, Faulkner dropped work on the fable and began writing a short detective novel that he was sure he could complete. It was Intruder in the Dust. Faulkner finished the manuscript in April but wanted to delay in order to sell segments of the novel to magazines for additional income” (61). Yes, this bad mystery was written fast and it was written for money. It sold well and Faulkner got a $40,000 movie contract from MGM.

But here’s the thing: If you want to read a real Faulkner pot boiler, read Soldier’s Pay. 

I have a vintage copy, complete with a brooding man seated in the background and a beautiful woman with a pensive expression and a voluminous yet revealing pink garment in the foreground. 

I only have one copy of Soldier’s Pay.

Sour Cherry Pie Cocktail and Anne with an e

Drink pairing! 

Sour Cherry Pie Cocktail:

1.5 oz sour cherry vodka (I made this by leaving cherries in vodka for a while)

1.5 oz sour cherry juice (frozen, from aforesaid cherries)

.5 oz dry vermouth

Dash of bitters (optional)

Splash of sparkling water or more, depending on taste

Serve over ice. 

While sipping, read with Anne of Green Gables (published 1908), the first and best of the Anne series by Canadian author Lucy Maud Montgomery. This is a comfort read, but manages to be wholesome and energetic in a nineteenth century way that is very suitable for a cocktail with the word “pie” in its name. Anne is the poetic redhead who says, “I can't help flying up on the wings of anticipation. It's as glorious as soaring through a sunset... almost pays for the thud.”

The cocktail is extremely simple, as long as you’ve arranged to procure sufficient sour cherries during their very brief moment of being in season to make your own sour cherry vodka. Since I don’t live near sour cherry orchards, it’s kind of a project and involves ordering ahead by the five gallon bucket. It’s simple in a wholesome nineteenth century way, innocent just like Anne, with an e. Like it, it’s the kind of thing that actually exists later.

Dispatch 6 from a Novel Formerly Called Red State: Weekend Fiction

If you’re interested, start with Dispatch 1

“Test test test test news…”

Liza spoke into her pocket dictaphone with her formal practiced newsreader diction recording every detail of the scene. Her parents had started sending her to diction lessons when she was nine. Every afternoon, after normal school, she would walk to Miss Scutton's house to recite old newspaper cuttings while the strict old widow listened carefully to correct any slip ups. If you wanted to get anywhere in journalism or politics, you had to be able to speak Commonwealth diction. It was a voice you could trust. You'd never hear a bark of a yankee or the honk of a midwesterner on the radio. You'd certainly never hear a southern drawl. Being only half-Kentuckian and having spent her early childhood in New England, Liza would need to learn to be a Commonwealther. But not just a normal Commonwealther. That was the point of Miss Scutton.

 "'Looavuhl', not looiville" corrected Miss Scutton. She had seemed ancient with her piles of old browning newspapers and shelves of old books. She served tea in a cup and saucer, and you didn’t drink your tea — you sipped it.  It was good for your voice, she said.

Those newspaper clippings. Some of them had been ancient, dating back even to before Kentucky separated from the Virginias. She even had some out of state newspapers. Why would you want to read those? Liza had wondered. She had quickly learned that you couldn't trust what other states wrote about us in Kentucky.  They couldn't possibly understand anything. They were foreigners. But she read them, because she had to. Every day Miss Scutton had a new pile of cuttings selected and every day, Eliza read through the pile, stumbling over the carefully chosen words and trying hard not to say them wrong.

Now Eliza had her own collection of news clippings. She cut out anything that might lead to a new story. And of course, she cut out any of her own wires or stories that made it into print.

Morning Post

Extra

Commonwealth of Kentucky Aug. 2, 20__

Tres Amigos Dead in Crash

Little View, Kentucky

By Elizabeth Owle

We can now confirm that the three highest ranking party members of the Commonwealth of Kentucky are dead in a small plane crash. Their plane crashed into a dry corn field and they were found in the early hours of the morning, their charred bodies surrounded by popped kernels.

Little View resident Andrew McCurtain, a local corn and soy farmer, saw smoke coming from his corn field and, upon making his way through several other corn fields, came upon the crash site. "I was just heading toward my tractor barn," he explained.  "It was ‘bout time for me to get started for the day. Saw the smoke rising. So I went over to it." 

Why was there so much popped corn? Eliza wondered to herself. You would expect just the area around the streak where the fuel was  and where the plane itself was to be burned. Of course she hadn't put that in. She hadn't described McCurtain's stammers and anxious glances, either. He was obviously afraid, though his fear could be due to any number of unrelated factors. Eliza was a slick and intimidating city reporter. Maybe she was attractive enough to make a successful country farmer nervous. Or maybe McCurtain had been doing something questionable that morning. Maybe he had something unofficial planted in one of his corn fields.

"I saw the smoke,"  he repeated stubbornly, regardless of what Eliza asked him. There was no reason for him to say more to her, and really, Eliza told herself, there was no reason for her to be bothered.  

If she put any of this in, it would never get printed and she would find herself suddenly promoted to a job that sounded better, but wouldn't actually let her do anything. She kept her theories to herself.

The Secretary of Energy, the Secretary of Alcohol and Tobacco, and the Secretary of Gaming were universally recognized as the three most powerful posts in Kentucky. The current three were colloquially known as the Tres Amigos because they came to power at the same time in the recent take-over of the Party and were thus assumed to be friends. Somehow, they had managed to secure support from enough distillers, tobacco men, coal runners, and casino owners. From White Hall, too. Liza was in a position to know that White Hall pulled strings, but she didn’t know quite how, and, in this case, she didn’t know why. Why would White Hall want the Tres Amigos in? Or did he just want the Mountain Boys out? 

Liza knew that the Tres Amigos had editorial support, too. So it was not exactly a surprise when, out of nowhere, as it were, the eastern-commonwealth-based Mountain Boys were out of the top posts, and three relative unknowns from the central knob region, rose to prominence: The Tres Amigos. They were suspected of blackmail. They were suspected of smuggling and murder. At first, they were suspected of being the pawns of a Hoosier railway magnate with designs on the commonwealth’s stellar, state-subsidized rail system. There were rumors of all kinds. Then the Tres Amigos announced a new state holiday for the Monday before the annual Derby race. It would be the one day of the year during which Commonwealthers could gamble at the casinos, and the rumors stopped. Liza noticed these kinds of things. She couldn’t help it. But she had earned the right to cover this crash. She wouldn't jeopardize that. 

Almost anyone could want these power brokers dead—mainstream political rivals from within their branch of the Party, or it could be the recently ousted Mountain Boys, or other domestic terrorists. Or a neighboring state trying to destablize the commonwealth in order to step in. Or it could in theory be an accident. Until she knew the whole story, she would play it straight.

Multiples

Make multiples. It’s calming and promotes creativity. I made 27 butterflies today, with help.

Once you select what you’re making and give yourself a goal, you’re set. You have a specific task. You can pursue mastery of this task; you can explore widely within the confines of the task. It’s much easier to explore within the confines of that task. And your goal will be motivating.

If you happen to be trying to keep kids busy with a craft for more than long enough to pour yourself a coffee. multiples might help do that too. That depends on the kid , though. I make no promises.

Today, our house began a 100 butterflies project. We chose butterflies because we have a butterfly hole-punch, and it’s fun to punch them out, and then everyone can color them. It’s great because we have the confining butterfly shape and then anything goes. It is an almost all-ages collaboration. We are making a kaleidoscope of butterflies. Some are semi-realistic. Some are patterned—polka dots, chevrons, stripes, rainbows. Some have flowers and succulents . Some have scribbles.

One of the kids has already asked if we have to stop when we complete our 100.

Leftovers are the Best

I made corned beef for St. Patrick’s Day, in true American tradition. I did not have cabbage, which had been far more popular than meat and potatoes at the grocery store I visited. Apparently the prospect of a pandemic quarantine makes people want to buy cabbage or perhaps it just means that restocking the cabbage takes a back seat to more significant items. I had Brussels sprouts instead.

The best part wasn’t the March 17 meal, but the subsequent grilled corned beef sandwiches on rye, with mustard and quick pickled onions. Similarly, the best part of making a big bean soup isn’t the soup. It is having leftover bean soup for tacos.

Why, you could be forgiven for asking, must we have the corned beef and potatoes and cabbage and carrots? Why must we have the bean soup?

Part of the charm is the deeper flavors and the complex combinations facilitated by the leftover meal, of course.

Part of the charm of the glorious leftover meal is that the preparation of the ostensibly main meal takes on much of the labor and virtually all of the decision-making of the leftover meal to come. The leftover meal is a bonus! This is meal-planning for those who don’t meal plan.

Simply starting a day ahead and waiting could result in those two goals. And I am here to suggest that this would be a big mistake. The disposition (definition 2 d on https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/disposition ) would be wrong. The process would be wrong. The corned beaf sandwich would not be the same in a new, efficient context. Just make the bean soup and eat it. Look forward to having the tacos tomorrow.

Corned beef on March 17.