Quiet Day
A strange and quiet day. I woke to the unreal news that our governor had been selected as the Republican running-mate, news that left me feeling both excited and bemused. There's more on that topic over at my Northern Life blog.
So, while I listened to the morning news programs on television, I made some coffee and did some baking.
I'm not a coffee-yuppie but this stuff is better than almost as good as sex. On one of my last days at work, one of my colleagues made a pot of this coffee and I was smitten. It is one of my small indulgences.
And since I had a pot of coffee to linger over, I had a hankering for some pastry to nibble on as I did so, so I whipped up a batch of chocolate/peanut-butter chip cookies with walnuts. While those were in the oven, I tried to figure out what to do about the plums.
They had been sitting in the refrigerator long enough that they were beginning to get soft.
Where we lived in Washington, there was a wild orchard of cherry and plum trees on the property. I learned plums--the hard green buds turning into purple fruits, the fine sheen of plum dust over the dark reddish-purple skin, the feel of a ripe plum--not too hard, just on the verge of softness under the skin. A too-soft plum holds no appeal to me.
I know that people stew prunes and thought I would cook the plums into a sort-of compote. But a cooked-fruit paste sounds more tempting to me if it's between a pie crust. So, I thought I would mix the stewed plums in with some canned pie-filling and make a pie. But--alas--no canned fruit in the pantry. So I mixed some dried cranberries (Craisins--orange-flavored) and a little tapioca in with the pitted plums and juice. Stuck between two frozen pie crusts and dusted with cinnamon-sugar, it didn't look half-bad. (Pie-crusts are not my strong-point.)
The results of my morning's work.
It was a fine late-August day, with an on-shore breeze keeping the air cool despite the sunshine. Downtown was fogged-in most of the day, so sometimes we get a benefit from living on the bluff.
Like most Alaskans, I cherish my quiet life far from the mass of humanity. I live on the edge of wilderness. There are bear- and moose-tracks through my yard. But I can look up and watch the over-flying jet airliners miles above me. Their shadows move across my rustic home on their path connecting the major cities of the world. As the news of the day reminds me, the rest of the world is not really that far away.
So, while I listened to the morning news programs on television, I made some coffee and did some baking.
I'm not a coffee-yuppie but this stuff is
And since I had a pot of coffee to linger over, I had a hankering for some pastry to nibble on as I did so, so I whipped up a batch of chocolate/peanut-butter chip cookies with walnuts. While those were in the oven, I tried to figure out what to do about the plums.
They had been sitting in the refrigerator long enough that they were beginning to get soft.
Where we lived in Washington, there was a wild orchard of cherry and plum trees on the property. I learned plums--the hard green buds turning into purple fruits, the fine sheen of plum dust over the dark reddish-purple skin, the feel of a ripe plum--not too hard, just on the verge of softness under the skin. A too-soft plum holds no appeal to me.
I know that people stew prunes and thought I would cook the plums into a sort-of compote. But a cooked-fruit paste sounds more tempting to me if it's between a pie crust. So, I thought I would mix the stewed plums in with some canned pie-filling and make a pie. But--alas--no canned fruit in the pantry. So I mixed some dried cranberries (Craisins--orange-flavored) and a little tapioca in with the pitted plums and juice. Stuck between two frozen pie crusts and dusted with cinnamon-sugar, it didn't look half-bad. (Pie-crusts are not my strong-point.)
The results of my morning's work.
It was a fine late-August day, with an on-shore breeze keeping the air cool despite the sunshine. Downtown was fogged-in most of the day, so sometimes we get a benefit from living on the bluff.
Like most Alaskans, I cherish my quiet life far from the mass of humanity. I live on the edge of wilderness. There are bear- and moose-tracks through my yard. But I can look up and watch the over-flying jet airliners miles above me. Their shadows move across my rustic home on their path connecting the major cities of the world. As the news of the day reminds me, the rest of the world is not really that far away.
Comments