Raina, Emmett, and I got up early this morning to go out for breakfast. We ate at a place that I’ve long heard about but never tried before and it was just as good as was foretold. I had zucchini migas and Raina had a spinach omelet so stuffed with greens that the eggs were positively green.
There was a long period of my life when I was always on the lookout for vintage waffle irons. It started when I was around nine years old and my dad’s 40 year old chrome model blew a connection and stopped heating on one side. He tried to replace it with a new model, but found all those made after 1970 to be entire inadequate to his needs. And so, it was a family effort to search out the old ones. It was never enough to have just one, either. Must like the British aristocracy, we needed to have both an heir and a spare.
When I moved out to Philadelphia, I continued the hunt and any time I found an old chrome bodied one for less than $10, it would come home with me. There was a time when I had four or five, but I’ve slimmed down the collection considerably since then.
One way that I divested myself of waffle irons was by shipping one to my sister a couple years back. This morning, we pulled it out and cooked up waffles for a crowd. Raina whipped up a gluten-free batter and I managed the iron. The first one was a complete disaster (as they so often are), but once the sacrifice to the waffle gods had been made, the rest came off gloriously brown and ready to receive syrup.
Truly, there’s nothing like a vintage waffle iron.
We did a lot today, but I didn’t manage to capture any of it with my big camera (I could tell you a long, boring story about how my purse is empty in the bottom of my suitcase because I carried a guitar onto the plane yesterday and so I’ve been walking around with just a phone and wallet, but I’ll spare you anything more than that). So moments before I climbed into bed, I snapped a picture of said bed.
The true picture that best represents today is this one that I shot with my phone, of being in the kitchen with my sister, making dinner. We cook together so naturally and it is such a pleasure.
Certainly it helps that we were raised in the same household and so learned to cook from the same person, but there’s something more than just that in play when we make a meal together. We share a rhythm, a culinary temperament, and a desire to balance flavor with virtue. It makes for darn good, fun food and I only wish we got to do it more often!
Today felt like two in one. I woke up a few minutes after 5 am, in order to shower and get myself to the airport for a flight to Austin, TX. After six hours of reading and doing a little work on an airplane (we stopped in Tampa on our way), Raina and Emmett met me at the airport.
Once I had retrieved my bag, Andrew drove around to pick us up with Trevor and Reese in the back of the minivan. (Trevor is an old camp friend of my sister’s who is in town for an Acro Yoga workshop. Reese is an old buddy of Andrew’s who came to see The Mother Hips perform). It’s quite the party at Casa Rose/Press this weekend!
When we were all tucked into the van, we had lunch at a Tex-Mex spot (that oddly, I’d eaten at once back in 2009 with some Philly people while in Austin for SXSWi) and then hit the Whole Foods mothership for groceries. After that, it was back to the ranch to play with Emmett, make dinner, and catch up. All told, I ended up being awake for nearly 20 hours straight.
It might be hard to tell, but the photo above documents the position Emmett worked his way into while sleeping. Because who doesn’t sleep best when their head is wedged underneath the arm of a foam armchair?
It might look like a regular old wooden spatula, but it’s actually a handmade spurtle (purchased at the PA Farm Show_. What’s a spurtle, you ask? It’s a traditional Scottish cooking tool. Pretty darn appropriate for this McClellan!
There aren’t many animals in my life these days. When I was kid, we always had pets. My parents adopted Freddie, a poodle-schnauzer mix, just before they got pregnant with me. After Freddie was hit by a car, we got Toasty, a sweet dog of unknown parentage. A black and white cat that accidentally ended up with the name Dinky joined the family when I was 13.
After Toasty died in 1995, we picked out Bonnie at the Troutdale animal shelter. She was a boarder collie/blue heeler mix and I still miss her. When I was in college, my parents picked up Uma, a massive calico, at a rest stop in Umatilla. Later, Raina started traveling for a living and her cat Woody moved in with my parents. These days, my parents have Little Pearl, a two-year-old cat they adopted a year ago when Woody’s absence became too much.
I am a pet person living in a building that doesn’t allow animals of any kind. Seeing all the sweet bunnies at the Farm Show reminded me how much I miss co-existing and caring for a little, furry creature.
Today was spent at the Pennsylvania Farm Show. I did three canning demos and sold 16 books (fingers crossed I sell another 20-25 tomorrow!). Scott and I also spent some time wandering the massive complex and checking out the vast array of farm animals, best of show entries, and the mind-boggling food court. We ate several cardboard boats of fried foods (I particularly enjoyed the rounds of friend zucchini) and shared a half chocolate, half vanilla shake.
As someone who lives in the city, it’s always humbling to be around giant animals. They are put life into scale.
The weather the Philadelphia region is pretty lousy at the moment. However, instead of staying safely tucked in at home, Scott and I drove to Harrisburg earlier today (moving slowly and deliberately over wet and sometimes icy roads). I’m doing a handful of canning demos at the Pennsylvania Farm Show tomorrow and Tuesday in conjunction with Fillmore Container and Scott came with me to help haul and sell books. Neither of us have ever been to the Farm Show, so we’re curious to see what we’re in for tomorrow morning.
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Back in October, my Uncle Wallace died unexpectedly of a massive heart attack. He was my mom’s older brother and he is greatly missed. I’ve not been able to participate in any of the memorial events for him, as they’ve been all held around his home in Hawaii. However, I had a dream last night that very much felt like a gift of a goodbye.
In it, I was standing at a concert or gathering of some kind, talking to a my friend Harfijah (who I don’t think I’ve seen since her wedding 9 1/2 years ago). As we stood there talking, I looked up and Uncle Wallace was standing off to the right, smiling widely at me.
I stopped the conversation by saying, “Excuse me, but my Uncle Wallace is standing over there. He died recently, so I don’t want to miss an opportunity to see him. I’ll be right back.”
I walked over, he opened his arms, and we had a long, loving hug. There was some good, joy-filled eye contact, but no words. Then it was over and he was gone.
There was nothing weird about it. It felt totally normal to see him, though in the dream, I knew the opportunity was fleeting.
It was such a rare and lovely chance to get to say farewell like that.
I tried a new recipe for cornbread tonight. The recipe didn’t include any baking power or baking soda for leavening. Against my better instincts, followed the recipe exactly and didn’t add any. Big mistake. The flavor was good, but it is dense and pudding-y. I hate it when ingredient intensive recipes don’t work out.
We got so much snow over night that Scott’s office was closed and I had to cancel a scheduled canning class. We hunkered down for a snow day at home and I pulled out my two vintage sandwich makers. They are a little bit of a pain to clean, but make for a fun treat.