Cooking

Wednesdays end up being fairly hectic in my life. I teach from early through the afternoon, work out then go to Writer's Group. So I rarely cook on Wednesdays.
Then comes Thursday, lovely Thursday where the day stretches out before me and slowly unwinds any way I want it.
I start with a run and get all kinds of ideas. This morning, as I neared the end of my 6-mile run, I decided to make muffins. I shared that recipe with you last week.
When I walked in from the 32-degree morning, Grace and Earl were in the kitchen making breakfast before leaving for work, and Grace made a sad face that muffins wouldn't be ready until later, but there should be some here when she gets home (depending how many Tucker and I eat).

I added raspberries to this batch since I was running low on blueberries.

I'd already decided yesterday that I'll make lasagna for dinner. So after I finish grading, and catch up on Facebook, I'll head out to the grocery store to get lasagna fixings and that may take a bit of my time this afternoon.
I'll make it early, before Tucker heads to his evening class and Grace goes to rehearsal.
Cooking, when I have the time, is a joyful activity. Eating is even better.

Dreaming of France -- Dèjá Pre-Vu

Please join this weekly meme. Grab a copy of the photo above and link back to An Accidental Blog. Share with the rest of us your passion for France. Did you read a good book set in France? See a movie? Take a photo in France? Have an adventure? Eat a fabulous meal or even just a pastry? Or if you're in France now, go ahead and lord it over the rest of us. We can take it

This post may have a tenuous link to France, but it does deal with my feelings about France.
Yesterday afternoon, my daughter Grace and I made strawberry jam together. I was wondering whether people in other countries made homemade  jams or whether that was something that goes back to our pioneer roots here in the United States.

It was while I was stirring the long metal spoon in the thick strapberry mixture, watching it ripple and bubble in a rolling boil that I had a flash, a moment, where I suddenly saw myself and my daughter cooking in France and the idea filled me with joy. I felt sure the intuition took place in Arles, in that little restaurant that Van Gogh frequented and painted so beautifully. Then it was called The Café Terrace on The Place du Forum.

Here's a picture from a trip my husband and I took to Arles. The cafe now goes by the name of the artist who made it famous.

Maybe I had this vision because I've been reading lots of books about France. Maybe it was because my daughter stood next to me in her La Chatelaine uniform, still smelling like the coffee she helps serve in the French bistro. Or maybe I'm actually prescient and it will happen someday that Grace and I will be cooking at Café Van Gogh, even though we've never had any inclination to run a café in France.

As we continued the jam-making process, the steam rising up like so many dreams, I told Grace about my vision.

"Oh," she exlaimed. "I had a dream last night that we were running a restaurant."

"See!" I squealed. "Maybe it will come true."

"But, there was a werewolf too," she remembered.

"Well, maybe just part of it will come true," I said. 

How are you dreaming of France today?

I'm also linking with Paris in July today, and many days throughout the month.

Catching Up on Cooking

I left on Saturday to take Spencer back to college. He didn't really need me since we flew, but I wanted to spend some time with my parents who live about an hour and a half from Spencer's college.
I flew back on Wednesday and was in my back door by 10:30 a.m. I love flying rather than driving for 16 hours.
While in Florida, I received a call from my baby boy (17 years old)  who was home with his father.
He claimed there was nothing to eat in the house.
"How bout all those frozen meals I bought?" I asked.
"The only one left is baked ziti.  You know I don't like ziti."
I had no idea that he didn't like pasta if it was shaped differently.
"I've only been eating Raisin Bran Crunch all week and now we're out of milk," he complained.
So from my parent's house in Florida, I got online and ordered, plus paid for, a sandwich from Jimmy John's that he could eat after his swim practice. Jimmy John's delivers.
I could have argued with him, but I was on vacation, plus he's my third kid and I rarely have the energy to argue with him.
When I came home Wednesday morning, my first stop after home was the grocery store. I planned a meal, homemade pizza, salad, brownies with white chocolate chips.
When Tucker walked in from play practice Wednesday  night and said, "Is there any food?" I pulled the pizza from the oven. He went back for seconds of salad too.

After five years working evenings, usually 4 to midnight, my husband Earl started on days this week. I wasn't there to greet him on Monday or Tuesday evening, but Wednesday evening, as he let me know he was on the bus ride home from downtown, it suddenly hit me. I needed to greet him like a 1950s housewife with a drink at the door.
I couldn't put the "kids" to bed, since he was 17 and it was 6:30 p.m. But I did put on sexy dress with high heels and twisted my hair up into a chignon. Then I put on an apron and poured a glass of red wine. I stood in front of Tucker and warned him, "I don't want to scare you. I'm just playing a joke on Dad about being a housewife for him now."
"Whatever." Tucker's eyes might have rolled up into his head.
But Earl was thrilled when he walked in the house. Unfortunately, it won't be a habit since I start back to work next week.

The cooking continued this week. Before Tucker left for school Thursday morning, I pulled cinnamon rolls from the oven.
Thursday night, I had steaming potato soup on the stove when he walked in and a baguette.
 Since Earl worked evenings, I often skipped making meals for dinner. Now that my husband is working days, guess I'll have to be more diligent. But if I don't feel like cooking, I'll just suggest we head to a nearby Chinese place.