Posts tagged ‘linkedin’
barbecue: it’s personal. controversial. food wars have been fought over it and those who have won, crowned victorious. the bottom line? there really isn’t anything better than a tender, succulent pulled-pork sandwich. at least, not in this scout’s handbook. i can’t say i’ve traveled far and wide in search of the perfect pig sandwich, because that would be a fib. suffice it to say i’ve done Austin. and all parts of North Carolina. and yeah, they have some pretty tasty barbecue. but you don’t have to be south of the Mason-Dixon Line to find the kind of pork that tantalizes the tongue and makes the heart sing. you can be right in downtown Seattle.
on Monday – Friday, at the southeast corner of 2nd and Pike (hours, weekend locations), you’ll find Maximus-Minimus—a fusion of the visions of Seattle food entrepreneur Kurt Beecher Dammeier and designer Colin Reedy. this urban-assault pig (i.e., riveted, sci-fi retro, steel-clad pork mobile) serves up a very simple menu of bold flavors, which i recently had the opportunity to try for the first time on a rare excursion downtown.
heading into Seattle on a brisk, windy day with a bald head and without a hat didn’t earn me the scouting preparedness badge (yes, it’s street food and literally standing room only). i wasn’t starved when i arrived; i just wanted that little something. so, i ordered a pulled-pork Minimus sandwich, with a side of Maximus slaw. 
the pork: rubbed, grilled and then braised. Minimus style? super tender, smoky-flavored (thanks to the addition of lapsang-souchong tea) pork coated in a tangy, sweet sauce of tamarind, honey and molasses, topped with sprigs of cilantro and served on a fresh, soft bun. if your taste buds crave spice, you can consider the Maximus option. the bright, crunchy Minimus slaw (a mix of cabbage, radish, cilantro, onion and parsley)—splashed with a feisty light chipotle vinaigrette—popped pleasantly in my mouth.
the tidy little menu also includes chips (thinly sliced potatoes, beets and sweet potatoes, fried in rice oil, topped with fried green beans and jalapeños) and two drinks (ginger lemonade and hibiscus nectar). i plan to bring more of a hearty appetite on my next jaunt to Seattle.
to each, his or her own barbecue true north. for me, i’ll fondly remember Maximus-Minimus’s pig’s feet on the street. (i even enjoyed the leftovers.) perhaps the license plate sums it up best: some pig.
for pure, simple, delicious Pacific Northwest barbecue, you can track the pig: Twitter and Facebook.
as you’ve likely discerned from my posts, i have an affinity for all things tart. and raspberries are no exception. they, along with hearty rhubarb, grew wild and uncontrollably in my parents’ Massachusetts backyard. my dad would cut the plants back, and they’d reappear more robust and plentiful than ever, mocking his every effort to contain them. much like one of his children, but that’s another story entirely. in the early morning, i’d go out and carefully pick the raspberries, so we could toss them on our cereal. or after dinner, on our ice cream. i think my dad was secretly elated that the berries refused to vacate the premises.
this season’s northwest berries have sadly vanished. but i found some rather puckery California raspberries to help me bid a fond farewell to the wonderfully temperate weather.
the rustic tart pastry was flaky and just melted in my mouth. i found handling the dough a bit challenging, though; kind of fussy when pulsed it in the food processor, apparently one too many times. think it recovered nicely, when i added a little flour.
Rustic Raspberry Tart
a slight variation on a kerrygold recipe
INGREDIENTS
1 cup unbleached organic flour
1/4 teaspoon salt
6 tablespoons cold unsalted kerrygold butter (i used european-style butter)
1 large egg yoke (reserve the egg white)
3 – 5 tablespoons water
2 cups fresh raspberries
3 tablespoons sugar
2 teaspoons flour
DIRECTIONS
- preheat oven to 400F.
- in a food processor, combine flour and salt.
- add butter, pulsing until mixture resembles coarse meal.
- slowly add egg yoke and water, one teaspoon at a time; process until dough clumps together and begins to form a ball.
- gather dough and place on a sheet of flour-dusted plastic wrap.
- flatten dough into a disk about 6 inches wide.
- place another piece of plastic wrap, floured side down, on dough.
- with rolling pin, flatten into an even 11- to 12-inch round; lift and smooth plastic wrap and continue rolling as needed.
- remove top sheet of wrap and invert dough into a 2 x 15-inch baking sheet lined with parchment (i just used a cookie sheet); remove remaining plastic wrap.
- place raspberries in center of pastry, leaving a 2-inch border.
- in a small bowl, mix sugar and flour; sprinkle evenly over the berries.
- gently (truly be vigilant, as the pastry seemed very fragile) fold the edges of the pastry over the berries, pleating the edges as you go. leave a 4- to 6-inch-wide opening in center.
- brush pastry with reserved egg white; sprinkle some sugar over the pastry.
- bake on the lower oven rack until crust is golden and juices bubble, around 25 minutes.
- cool on sheet for at least 15 minutes.
- while tart is still warm, use a wide spatula to loosen tart from pan and transfer to a serving platter.
cut in wedges and serve warm, dusted with powdered sugar or topped with whipped cream. a light, sweet, juicy, tangy after-dinner treat.
as each day passes, i embrace fall a bit more graciously. i remember my father, who, each year, welcomed fall with open arms. i would help him rake large piles of leaves and was amply rewarded when he let me jump in them. he’d yell and cheer me on as i obliterated all the work we’d done to tidy the yard in the first place. he never complained that he had to rake it all again and would insist that i go in and warm up, instead of helping him finish the task (i’m sure he also thought doing it himself was a heck of a lot faster).
my dad loved to cook, but i think he loved to eat even more. as any good New Englander would say, i always thought it was wicked cool when he would drive us out to the orchards in Bolton or Stow, Massachusetts to pick apples. in retrospect, the apple picking was a pretense; he was really after apple cider donuts and a few generous cups of steaming apple cider. oh, we’d get the apples, but they were tertiary to the other goodies procured at the farms. driving home, the sun would reflect on leaves ablaze with color: orange, red, burgundy, yellow. and sitting in the back seat, i felt content.
i can calculate precisely when i stumbled upon this recipe by the condition of the cookbook that houses it: the cookbook binding, nibbled on by my basset hound, Dewey, when he was a puppy. the pages tarnished from Dewey’s teething and from decades of use. Dewey and my dad have been gone for many years, but they both had an affinity for apple crisp (or for page 280, where the recipe can be found).
apple crisp
a wicked-simple variation based on a recipe from the vegetarian epicure
Alex in the U.K. gathering his Bramleys
INGREDIENTS
5 – 6 medium-size Bramley (or other tart) apples
1/2 cup sugar
1/2 cup brown sugar
3/4 cup unbleached organic flour
1/2 heaping teaspoon cinnamon
1/8 teaspoon nutmeg
1/8 teaspoon ground cloves
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup butter (1 stick)
DIRECTIONS
- preheat oven to 350F.
- whisk all the dry ingredients in a medium bowl.
- cut the butter into the dry ingredients, until well combined.
consistency of topping, prebaking
- peel the apples, and slice thinly.
- place the apples only in a round casserole dish.
- sprinkle the mixture over the apples; don’t combine the apples and the mixture.
- cover and bake for 35 or 40 minutes.
- remove the cover, and bake for another 15 or 20 minutes, until the topping is crisp (hence the name) and golden brown.
serve warm, topped with whipped cream, ice cream, or half and half. it’s especially lovely when accompanied by profoundly insightful (and very funny) composer and folk singer Cheryl Wheeler’s When Fall Comes to New England.
according to the Farmers’ Almanac (and no doubt other authoritative scientific resources), autumn has officially arrived. to grudgingly usher in the season, i made my annual trek out to Jones Creek Farm in Sedro-Wooley, WA. 
there, friendly, knowledgeable farmers Les and Talea Price give TLC to their orchard laden with an extensive variety of heirloom apples. while i appreciate Jones Creek’s apple cornucopia, scenic Skagit Valley location and genuinely nice growers, i go out to the orchard for one simple reason: Bramleys.
this year marks the bicentenary of the Bramley apple (i.e., 200 years since British youngster Mary Ann Brailsford planted the pips in her garden that ultimately become the apple tree that bore the fruit that was named after the man who purchased the cottage where the tree was rooted and insisted that the apples be named after him—the abridged version). touted by apple pundits (and by me) as the best cooking apple on the planet, Bramleys retain their tart flavor because they contain more acid and less sugar than their inferior counterparts. and they produce an unbeatable melt-in-your-mouth texture, again, unlike more mundane varieties. somehow, the Bramley apple made it across the pond and to the top of my best-ever-fruits-of-all-time list.
with a bushel of Bramley apples, four sugar pie pumpkins and Elroy in the back of the car, i hightailed it home from Jones Creek Farm. later that afternoon, i made the recipe that follows with only three Bramleys; these guys were mutants. 
i dedicate this pandowdy to my dear friend Alex, a true U.K. renaissance man, who tends his own Bramley apple trees. and whose curiosity and thirst for knowledge have led him on many great adventures, from flying and stone henge site exploration to archaeologic digs. a man of generous spirit and an even bigger heart.
Apple Pandowdy
a dish concocted by combining a recipe from Sunset and one from Emeril Lagasse/Food Network and an idea or two of my own
INGREDIENTS
for the crust
1 1/2 cups unbleached organic flour
1 1/2 tablespoons sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt
7 tablespoons cold butter
4 tablespoons ice-cold water (add more as needed)
1 tablespoon sugar for sprinking
for the filling
4 large Bramley apples (or, if you must, 6 – 7 Granny Smith), peeled, cored and thinly sliced
2 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice
1/2 cup sugar
1/2 cup light brown sugar, packed
2 tablespoons flour
1 1/2 teaspoons cinnamon
1/8 teaspoon nutmeg
1/8 teaspoon ground cloves
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon butter cut into small pieces
DIRECTIONS
- in a large bowl or food processor, mix the flour, 1 1/2 tablespoons sugar and salt.
- cut the butter into the flour mixture, until coarse crumbs form.
- sprinkle water evenly over the crumb mixture, until a dough forms; add more water, if needed.
- turn dough out onto a lightly floured mat and pat into a flat disk.
- wrap disk in plastic wrap, and place in fridge.
- preheat oven to 350F.
- in a large bowl, toss the apples and lemon juice.
- in a medium bowl, whisk all the filling dry ingredients.
- add the mixture from the medium bowl into the large bowl filled with the apples and lemon juice; toss to coat, and let sit for 10 minutes.
- spoon the apple mixture into a 10-inch-deep ceramic pie dish.
- top the mixture with the small pieces of butter.
- remove dough from fridge and let stand at room temperature until pliable.
- with a lightly floured rolling pin, roll the dough into an 11-inch circle, about 1/4-inch thick.
- place dough on top of apple mixture, rolling edges under (trim off any excess, as needed).
- place pie dish on a cookie sheet covered in non-stick foil, and bake for about 30 minutes, or until crust is golden.
- remove from oven, and with a small, sharp knife, score the crust into 1-inch squares.
- with the back of a spoon, gently press the crust into the filling, so the juice flows over the edges of the squares.
- sprinkle the sugar over the crust, and return to the oven to bake for another 30 minutes, or until the apples are tender when pierced and the juices are thickened.
serve warm, topped with fresh whipped cream or vanilla or cinnamon ice cream. ok, i even like it for breakfast, without anything on it. well, maybe a splash of half and half.
i’m neither psychologist nor psychiatrist. some theorize that who we are is determined when we’re very young; others that our core beliefs and values aren’t fully formed until we’re nearly 20. i affirm that who i am has been shaped, in great part, by those who’ve touched my heart and left an indelible imprint.
at the tender age of eight, as told in previous tales, i began to spend a portion of my summers at girl scout camp. shy, i hung back from large groups of campers, happier to find a few friends with whom i shared burning passions. like cooking over an open flame. and paddling. and music. whether singing grace at the dining hall or songs around the campfire, i poured my heart and soul into every word and note. camp became the wellspring of my repertoire.
in my naivete, i didn’t realize that what i identified as girl scout songs were actually contemporary folk songs. songs that were the expressions of an American generation who wanted to make a difference. weaving the harmonies and the fabric of the stories were Peter, Paul and Mary. and Mary Travers became a role model for this young scout.
i didn’t have her long, straight blonde hair or signature bangs. her willowy form. or her vocal chops. but i did have a burning admiration for her spirit and conviction. she influenced the kind of music i listened to then—and to this day. courageously, she taught me the importance of openly and honestly expressing my point of view. and by exuding a sense of confidence, she inspired me to take a step out of the shadows—at least every now and then.
as an undergraduate, i began to listen to Judy Collins and Joni Mitchell. but i never left Mary behind (Peter and Paul came along, too). i continued to sing the songs, accompanying myself on my too-large Gibson J55 wide-body acoustic. and when i became a camp counselor, i passed on the folk tradition to newbie scouts. If I Had a Hammer. Blowin’ in the Wind. 500 Miles. (i hope you’ll take the time to go see and listen to some of the original videos; they’re so great.)
i was traveling last week when i heard of Mary’s passing. as i watched the CNN ticker pass across the bottom of the screen, vivid memories of Mary and of her impact on my life brought tears and a huge lump in my throat. for the last week, i’ve flipped through the channels night after night, hoping that someone would broadcast a tribute to my folk hero. media disappointment prompted me to seek out YouTube videos and to watch a 2004 PBS special i had recorded last spring (Peter, Paul and Mary: Carry it on, a musical legacy). the passion and commitment expressed through Mary’s music will live on. in me. and in all those others to whom she was a divine inspiration.
last Saturday night can be summed up simply: dreary. rainy. cold. Winnie, observing the weather with disdain, had gone to bed early—flipped on her back, with legs protruding in the air. i could hear Elroy snoring deeply and rhythmically. to combat a total case of where-the-heck-did-summer-go blues, i decided to switch the remote to Ghost, crank up the KitchenAid stand mixer and whip up a batch of one of my favorite foul (um, i mean fall)-weather treats: chewy ginger cookies.
as soon as the first batch’s spicy scent began to permeate the family room, i started to feel a whole lot better. i made a cup of tea. put a few cookies on a plate. and contentedly settled in to watch one of my favorite modern-day classics. the love inside, you take it with you. grateful that you also leave some of it behind.
Chewy Ginger Cookies
from Country Inn and Bed and Breakfast Cookbook
makes 4-dozen cookies
INGREDIENTS
2 cups sugar
1 1/2 cups butter
2 eggs
1/2 cup molasses
4 1/2 to 5 cups unbleached organic flour
3 1/2 teaspoons baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 1/2 teaspoons ginger
2 teaspoons cinnamon
1 1/2 teaspoons cloves
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg
turbinado sugar for rolling
DIRECTIONS
- preheat oven to 350F.
- in a mixer with paddle attachment, cream together sugar, butter, eggs and molasses.
- in a separate bowl, whisk together all dry ingredients.
- add dry ingredients to creamed mixture, until a dough forms.
- create small, walnut-size dough balls, and roll each in sugar.
- place about 2 inches apart on a cookie sheet covered with parchment paper.
- bake for 8 – 10 minutes, or until crinkled and slightly brown.
these easy-to-make cookies retain their spicy, sugary, buttery essence in an air-tight container—ideal to send to faraway family members and friends. if they’re really, really nice to you.
friends have expressed absolute delight about the advent of fall. in Colorado, i hiked on paths, where the sun shone brightly on golden aspen leaves, quaking in a light wind. in Washington, i paddled on glassy Baker Lake, where the reflection of the majestic peak mirrors its distant counterpart. ordinarily, it’s my favorite season. but this year, i’m simply not ready for summer to end. clinging to the vestiges of heirloom tomatoes and sweet corn, i’m going down kicking and screaming. that firmly stated, last weekend i acquiesced to my mother’s request to make something with northwest-grown butternut squash. and since the nearly two-pound fruit had tumbled out of the fridge and hit her squarely on the foot, i felt obligated to make something of substance. hence, my reluctant foray into fall.
regardless of the time of year—or state of mind—this butternut squash recipe is phenomenal. i serve it with a small spinach salad, splashed with vinaigrette. i’d encourage you to explore the original recipe to determine your own butternut squash true north. you can find mine here. the preparation is a bit of a process, so consider setting aside enough time to devote to it. the result is entirely worth the effort!
Butternut Squash Lasagna
a variation based on a recipe from Giada De Laurentiis/Food Network
INGREDIENTS
1 (1 1/2- to 2-pound) butternut squash, seeded
sunflower oil
salt and pepper
1/4 cup butter
1/4 cup unbleached organic flour
3 1/2 cups whole milk
dash of nutmeg
some chopped fresh thyme or fresh sage leaves
6 lasagna noodles
2 1/2 cups shredded whole-milk mozzarella cheese
1/2 cup grated Parrano (or Parmesan) cheese
DIRECTIONS
- preheat oven to 350F.
- cut squash lengthwise and remove seeds.
- brush surface of each half with sunflower oil.
- cover cookie sheet with non-stick foil, and place squash on the cookie sheet pulp side down.
- bake for about 1 hour, 10 minutes or until the squash is soft.
- after the squash has cooled, remove pulp and transfer into a food processor.
- puree the squash, adding salt and pepper to taste. set aside.
- boil some water, and cook/drain lasagna noodles.
- at the same time, melt the butter in a medium-size saucepan over medium heat.
- add the flour and whisk for 1 minute.
- gradually whisk in the milk.
- whisking frequently, bring the mixture (aka bechamel sauce) to a boil over medium-high heat, then reduce to medium heat and let the sauce thicken. keep whisking!
- whisk in the nutmeg and chopped, fresh thyme or sage.
- add salt and pepper to taste.
- lightly butter a 13 x 9 x 2 glass baking dish.
- prepare your assembly line of ingredients: sauce, lasagna, pureed squash, grated mozzarella, Parrano.
- spread 1/2 of the bechamel sauce on the bottom of the baking dish.
- arrange three of the lasagna noodles on top of the sauce.
- smear 1/2 of the squash over the noodles.
- sprinkle 1/2 of the mozzarella over the squash.
- sprinkle 1/4 cup Parrano over the mozzarella.
- repeat the process with the remaining ingredients.
- tightly cover the baking dish with foil and bake your lasagna for 45 minutes.
- carefully remove the foil and pop back in the oven for another 15 minutes, or until the top is golden.
- let stand for 15 minutes before serving.
in late August, i made my biweekly run to the closest organic grocery store. as i emerged from the car, an aroma from my too-distant past wafted through the air. unmistakable. unforgettable. totally unbelievable. the fragrance of roasting green chiles. i looked around to get my bearings. i was still in the state of Washington, right? yeah, i definitely wasn’t lost. but i was immediately transported to a long-ago summer road trip to New Mexico.
a quest for Hatch green chiles—and some much-needed time off—prompted my partner and i to plan the getaway when the crop was in season. in my cherished VW Eurovan MV (i’ve had a lifelong love affair with VWs, but this one spent more time in the shop than any VW mechanic), we hopped on I-25 and traveled south from Colorado to Taos, then on to Santa Fe. we passed by miles of scruffy brush and stretches of pinon pines—all covered by bright blue, cloudless sky.
rotating between sleeping in the bus with the top popped and treating ourselves to a B&B, we’d frequent some of our favorite comfort-food eateries: Zia Diner for the hot roast turkey plate with cornbread stuffing and cranberry sauce. or meatloaf with green chiles and toasted pine nuts, followed by a slice of homemade pie. 66 Diner for green chile cheeseburgers and banana shakes.
our schedules didn’t allow us to travel all the way to Hatch to pick up our Big Jims, a green chile that delivers a delightful medium heat. locals directed us down to south Albuquerque, where we picked up two bushels of freshly roasted green chiles and loaded them into the back of the bus. in the same split second, we stopped and looked at each other: how would we keep the chiles from spoiling before we got home?
clearly, it would take some time for the chiles to cool from the roasting process. so, just before we went bed, we purchased the biggest bags of ice we could find, wrapped them in towels and tucked the chiles in tightly next to them. the chilled chiles made it through the night (whew), and we happily returned to Colorado with our prize. one of the best parts? the chile scent lingered in the van for weeks. sigh.
while some people clean chiles before freezing, i don’t. experience has taught that scraping chiles is one of those laborious tasks i prefer to deal with one small bag at a time. the Big Jims were separated into portions, popped into freezer bags and tossed in our extra freezer, so i could spend the next year making dainty batches of green chile at whim. over the years, we took quite a few jaunts to New Mexico. and though i’ll always be a northern girl, i left a piece of my heart south of Raton Pass.
startled back into reality by grocery store traffic, i went directly to the area where boxes marked Hatch green chiles were piled high. the roasters took my order for half a bushel, which i merrily picked up after my shopping.
here, i’ve shared my basic recipe: spicy and rich. it can be varied by using different kinds of tomatoes (my friend David likes romas, blanched and peeled), or adding ingredients like finely chopped garlic and tomatillos. whatever your approach, it’s hard to go wrong with a batch of Hatch green chiles. if you can’t find Hatch chiles, you can substitute Anaheims—but, in my humble opinion, it won’t be quite as sublime.
scout’s Green Chile
INGREDIENTS
3/4 pound pork shoulder blade steak (or small pork butt roast)
2 – 3 tablespoons flour
cayenne
salt and pepper
12 Hatch Big Jim green chiles, roasted, peeled and cleaned
12 cherry tomatoes, halfed
2 cups chicken broth
2 cups water
salt and pepper
2 tablespoons butter
2 tablespoons flour
DIRECTIONS
- heat medium skillet on medium-high heat.
- pat dry pork, and dredge in a mix of flour, salt, pepper and a tiny bit of cayenne.
- sear the meat on all sides until a brown crust forms; remove from pan and place in a crock pot.
- cut cleaned green chiles into strips and add to crock pot with halfed cherry tomatoes.
- cover the pork, green chiles and tomatoes with chicken stock and water.
- add some salt and pepper.
- place the lid on the crock pot and cook on low about 18 hours, or until the pork is tender and falls apart.
- melt the butter in a small saucepan, and add the flour to create a roux.
- with the green chile mixture on the stovetop over medium heat, add the roux, stirring constantly until thickened.
enjoy the green chile in a bowl, topped with grated cheddar, a little chopped cilantro and a dollop of sour cream. or over your burrito of choice. i also serve it over omelets. truth be told, i eat it on top of just about anything.
inspiration comes in many forms. and i welcome whatever form it takes. through my posts, you may have already learned how much i admire my backyard bees (front yard, too, guys…no offense intended). as fall begins to crowd out summer, the lavender menu becomes sparse. but the bees continue to savor every bit of every lavender head remaining in bloom. it is to their tenacity and commitment i bake and dedicate this recipe.
and so it isn’t missed by including as an endnote, i want to thank KPLU (Seattle’s NPR News and All That Jazz) host and food-lover Dick Stein for giving me the jolt of inspiration i needed to actually begin this blog. after ruminating about it for many months, a segment of Food for Thought, hosted by Dick and Seattle Times food critic Nancy Leson, put me over the edge (um, in a good way). the topic of that week’s broadcast? donuts (see the scout’s truth north very first blog post). Dick was also kind enough to point me to the totally hip recording of The Ink Spots’ Donuts, played during the segment. caution: like donuts themselves, the recording can be addicting.
Bee-Inspired Lemon-Lavender Shortbread
a variation based on a recipe from Everyday FOOD
reported to make 36 cookies; in my sometimes imperfect kitchen, it makes more like 24
INGREDIENTS
1 cup (2 sticks) butter (i don’t use unsalted as noted in the original recipe), at room temperature
1 cup confectioners’ sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 cups unbleached organic flour
1 1/2 tablespoons culinary lavender
grated zest of 2 lemons
yellow sanding sugar (optional)
DIRECTIONS
- beat butter, sugar, vanilla and salt with an electric mixer until smooth. on low speed, add flour, mixing just until a dough forms.
- mix in lavender and lemon zest.
- divide dough in half; place each half on a piece of parchment paper. with floured hands, gently roll each into a 1 1/2-inch-diameter log. if you are so moved, sprinkle sanding sugar on logs, roll to press in.
- wrap the logs tightly in the parchment and stick in the fridge until firm (60 – 90 minutes).
- preheat oven to 350F.
- with a serrated knife, slice dough into 3/8-inch-thick pieces. if dough begins to crumble, stop immediately and let stand at room temp for 5 to 10 minutes.
- place slices on cookie sheets, about 1 inch apart (i put parchment paper on my sheets).
- bake about 15 minutes, until the cookies are very lightly golden around the edges.
- let sit on cookie sheets for a minute or two, then completely cool on wire rack.
i actually think the serrated knife makes these cookies look a little ratty around the bottom edge; next time i might try an alternative. the shortbread keeps wonderfully in an air-tight container for a week or perhaps even longer. but i wouldn’t know; they’re snarfed up too quickly. not my best photography, but the shortbread is lovely—light and buttery.
dogs are like people (my dogs would say that’s a myopic point of view). some are simply more perceptive. empathetic. able to put their own wants and needs aside to focus on the needs of others. and to uplift their objects of attention and devotion to a far, far better place.
tonight, our English bulldog Elroy sensed my heavy heart. as i sat on the edge of the bed, feet dangling, he stretched to rest his head on my knee. ears down and big brown eyes peering up, his attempt alone brought comfort. grateful—and because he was clearly too short to reach me—i jumped off the bed and rubbed his head with thanks. he returned the favor with a little bulldog snort. um, if you’re already down here, would you mind scratching my back??
Hannah, my beloved bloodhound, shared some of Elroy’s admirable qualities: there when i needed her, asleep if i didn’t. well, unless something piqued her delicate sense of smell. then i could expect to be completely abandoned. sweet and generous to a fault, she forgave me for all the times i came home late from work. one hundred twenty five pounds of loose skin and wrinkles, Hannah’s constancy got me through some of life’s most-challenging transitions. i treasure every bit of her slobber that remains on my furniture to this day. 
in contrast, Winnie, the English bull terrier, is the center of her universe. excuse me, bark, it’s time for my breakfast (or lunch or dinner). helloooo, bark, i want to go out now. hey, bark, can you open the door to the deck, so i can go sun bathe? oh, bark, when you open the pantry door, don’t forget to give me my treat. but she’s as endearing as she is demanding. and if i hadn’t catered to her every whim for the last 12 years, she would have an entirely different attitude. or not. she is, after all, a terrier. 
to all of them, thanks for being there for me. hope i’ve done the same for you.
littlebirdbaking.com 