EIGHT MAIDS AND HONEY PIE

Chaco is a Honey Pie

     Really.   There is such a thing as Honey Pie.   And it’s quite delicious.  I also thought it was appropriate to maids a milking because of the butter content, and because - well, really, I think you can figure out the metaphor for yourself.    

     I found out about it, appropriately, because my son’s fiancee, Amy, made it for Thanksgiving.  I mean, honestly.  Can you get a better future daughter-in-law?   

     As you read, you may think this pie isn’t so good for you, but you must remember that honey is full of nutrients.  So eat it, enjoy it, and thank the honeybees.

      The excerpt for today is from Feeding Christine, a Christmas novel which is ever so much about the language of food.   

     Excerpt from FEEDING CHRISTINE:  The food of love.

     Teresa and all her friends agreed that sexy food involved time and love.  Time to eat or lick or look at or enjoy, and the love necessary to think about making it right. 

     For Christine the sexiest food was champagne, licked from all the appropriate places.  It bubbled and frothed against the skin, making the most delicious frissons along the surface.    

     Teresa thought of honey, which was supposed to be good for the skin.  She had a very vivid memory from her childhood of watching her grandmother getting ready for her bath, wrapped in a thick terrycloth bathrobe, mixing honey and milk in a ceramic bowl.  She took this mixture and, as the water ran hot and steaming into the tub, slathered it on the deeply wrinkled skin of her face and neck.  

     Teresa could still hear the deep sigh of pleasure she'd given, and could still see her grandfather standing in the doorway, watching his wife do this.  He laughed and said something in Italian.  Grandma laughed right back, but there had been a look in her eyes Teresa never saw before, and she knew it had something to do with being married and in love.   

     At the time it had surprised and embarrassed her to think old people could still be in love, but she never forgot it.  When her own husband left her, she got herself a jar of raw  honey from a woman who kept hives outside of town, and before her bath she made herself a mixture of honey and milk to slather on her face and neck. 

     When she lowered herself into the steaming water, she thought of her grandmother, her grandfather, and what they felt for each other through years of marriage, of trouble and joy.     

       Feeding Christine is also available at Amazon as ebook, paperback, or hardcover.    

   

Two Honey Pies - Matthew and Amy

HONEY PIE

Preheat oven to 350F.  Make one shell of the pie crust of your choice, and pre-bake it.  

Filling:

1/2 c butter melted

3/4 c white sugar

2 Tbsp white cornmeal

1/4 tsp salt

3/4 c honey

Yum!  Big Yum!

3 eggs

1/2 c cream

2 tsp white vinegar

1 tsp vanilla paste, sugar, or beans

1 or 2 Tbsp flake sea salt for finishing 

Melt the butter and combine it with the sugar, salt and cornmeal to make a thick paste. Add the honey, vanilla and vinegar and mix together.(NOTE:  Some versions like to add Cinnamon, ground roasted hazelnuts or pecans, or herbs such as lavender or basil.  I can’t vouch for it, but go ahead if you want because you know the rule: PLAY WITH YOUR HONEY!)

 Fold in the eggs, add the cream and blend until all these ingredients are singing in harmony, which will be no time at all.

Pour the filling into a pre-baked pie shell and bake at 350 F for 45 to 60 minutes. The filling will puff up like a marshmallow and the center will be a bit wobbly, as if mildly drunk on its own perfection

Cool for an hour, then finish with a sprinkling of flake sea salt.  Pink Himalayan is pretty, and worthy of fairy attention.  Slice and serve with freshly whipped cream.

    An original version of this recipe comes from Pie Stars Melissa and Emily Elsen 

Hanukkah's Green Energy Lesson

‘TWAS 176 BCE AND THROUGHOUT THE LAND

WICKED KING ANTIOCHUS MADE ALL FOLLOW  HIS COMMAND

HE SAID, “JEWS SHALL WORSHIP THE GODS OF THE GREEK,’

BUT OLD MATTHATHIAS WAS NOT SO MEEK.

HE GATHERED TOGETHER HIS SONS AND SOME OTHERS

AND THEY HID IN THE HILLS, STRIKING  BACK UNDER COVER.

THEY SHOWED THE SYRIANS AN AWESOME FIGHT

LED BY JUDAH MACABEE, A HAMMER OF MIGHT.

TIL THE FORCES OF ANTIOCHUS WERE FORCED INTO FLIGHT.

 

BY DECEMBER 165 BCE

JERUSALEM  WELCOMED THE TRIUMPHANT MACABEES.

WHO ENTERED THE CITY WITH  SUCH  A GREAT CLATTER

 EVERYONE GATHERED TO SEE WHAT WAS THE MATTER.

‘THE TEMPLE’S A MESS,” JUDAH EXCLAIMED.

“IT MUST BE REDEDICATED, AND RECLAIMED.”

“BUT JUDAH,”  THEY SAID, “ THERE’S NOT ENOUGH OIL

TO KEEP THE SACRED LIGHT GOING.  I THINK WE’RE FOILED.

WE NEED 8 DAYS OF OIL AND WE ONLY HAVE ONE.”

NOBODY KNEW WHAT WAS TO BE DONE.

 

FOLKS SITTING HERE NOW MAY STOP AND WONDER

HOW THEY HAPPENED INTO SUCH A BLUNDER.

BUT ASK YOURSELF  - -  ARE WE ANY BETTER?

OR IS OIL AND ITS SHORTAGE STILL GOT US IN FETTERS.

IN THOSE DAYS,  A MIRACLE MADE EVERYTHING STRAIGHT.

THE OIL MEANT FOR ONE DAY, LASTED FOR 8.

SO TODAY EVERY HANUKAH WE REMEMBER A TIME

WHEN OIL WAS SHORT, BUT FAITH HELD UP JUST FINE.

 

AND NOW  COMPARE OUR PLIGHT TO THE MACABEES.

THEY NEEDED ENERGY, AND SO DO WE.

THEIR   RESOURCES WERE SCARCE AND HARD TO GET.

OURS ARE NO BETTER, THEY’LL RUN OUT ON US YET.

BUT THE JEWS LOOKED UP, AND KNEW THEY  WEREN’T BEAT.

THEY FOUND A BETTER SOURCE OF HEAT.

 

WHILE YOU MAY THINK THAT TIME IS DONE,

AND THERE’S NO MORE MIRACLES FOR ANYONE,

OUR MIRACLE, TOO, IS ALL AROUND.

LISTEN, AND YOU’LL HEAR THE SOUNDS:

WIND WHISPERS OVER AND THROUGH THE HILLS,

WATER RUNS IN RIVERS AND IN RILLS,

AND TOMORROW WHEN YOU RISE

THE SUN WILL HELP YOU OPEN YOUR EYES.

 

HANUKAH STILL TEACHES US  TO DO OUR PART.

GREAT ENERGY IS WITHIN OUR HEARTS.

FOR HERE IS SOMETHING THAT THE MACABEES  KNEW.

ALL MIRACLES BEGIN, WITH ME AND WITH YOU.

BRINGING EAGLE MITCH HOME     

 

    November 8, 2010

 

    Yes.  We did it.  In the first snowstorm of the season, I drove Mitch from his USDA quarantine in Newburgh to Berkshire Bird Paradise, outside of Troy, NY.  Mitch was agitated when we loaded him into the rented SUV at Newburgh  (I usually drive a Civic, but they don't fit eagle kennels), but he got a good St. Francis blessing from Father Macken, which we needed badly given the road conditions.   There was press all around, but I had a moment to just look at this eagle I'd worked so hard for.   And here's the thing about raptors.  They don't look at  you.  They look into you.  Through you.  Of course, though intellectually I know Mitch is wondering if I have food, or am food, the impression is that he's reading my soul, considering what he reads.  In this case, the result was, "Oh.  It's you.  And will you get me where I need to go?"

     I certainly hope so, as I drive past half a dozen cars off the road, and come to halt for a jacknifed trailer tractor.   

    Let me mention something here.  If you haven't read Feathers of Hope  (and you should!)  you don't know that every bird rescue I've ever attempted ended badly. My karma is riding with me as I make my way through icy rain, then downright sleet, then snow, on my way to bring this bird home.  All along the way I have visions of accidents, of Mitch breaking his neck because I can't brake properly, of anything that can go wrong doing so.    I don't think my knuckles have ever been this white.

     But in the back of the SUV Mitch is calm.  Occasionally I hear him moving about, but only to adjust his perch as we round corners.   And we do make it.  

       By the time we pulled into Berkshire Bird Paradise, a sort of hysteria set in - 137 days, and two hard hours in a snowstorm, but we're here, where it's safe, with Pete Dubacher, who knows everything there is to know about taking care of birds.  I feel like those people who go to Cesar Milan with their dogs. I have made it to the bird whisperer.   This bird is home.

      Alright, I'll admit it.  I cried.  The Pretenders are singing Hymn to Her on my IPod, and I can finally say I accomplished this task, did right by the young men who saved this bird, and for the first time in my life, saw a rescue to completion.   This, I think, is a big karma shift.  This, I know, is good.

      When we bring Mitch into his new home, Pete has him set up in an aviary with Helga, an older, placid, blind eagle.  He says that raptors feel more comfortable with others like them around, and who can blame them?  I mean, how would you feel if you'd lived in a world of eagles, and suddenly saw a human.  Pretty happy, I'd bet.   

    But Mitch immediately turns his back on Helga, and goes to the back of the aviary, beats his wings against the netting there.   "Oh,"  Pete says,  "I think he wants to be with Eddie."

    Eddie is an eagle in the area beyond the netting.  He's from Buffalo NY, and he was shot there by someone who wanted to sell his feathers.   Mitch apparently feels sympatico with him.  He states a clear preference and Pete responds, opening the area to him.   Right away, Mitch hops in, and cozies up to Eddie.  They are instant Best Friends.   

      And here's the thing.  We don't imagine that birds have a preference in such things.  We don't think of them as aware enough, conscious enough, to make such choices.  And we're wrong.  They do.   Mitch settles his feathers, and he and Eddie perch together as if they've known each other forever.  

      What a bird.  What a day.   What a joyous and strange life.

      Thanks to all who followed this story, and please do continue to support Mitch by either buying Feathers of Hope  (a portion of proceeds go back to the sanctuary, and you can share the story with others)  or by donating to Berkshire Bird Paradise, and buying Mitch a frozen rat or two.   

Donate here:  

   BirdParadise.org

 

Buy Feathers of Hope here:  

Suny Press     or        Amazon.com

Zucchini Contraception and recipe suggestions

 During this time of year, when zucchinis grow like baseball bats under the August sun, I feel I must broach the delicate issue of vegetable contraception.
    With no intent to offend, I must ask my gentle readers if they have considered the possibility of contraception for their garden friends, and in particular those friends known formally as cucurbita pepo, and informally as marrow, courgette, summer squash, or zucchini. 
    Of course, if you think about it, you're already assisting many of the little green people with their contraception needs. I mean, you eat peas, right? And neither do you let the seeds of the tomato fall upon the ground. At least, in my house we don't. We snatch them tomatoes right up and scarf 'em down. Sometimes with salt, sometimes without. 
But zucchini, prolific and insistent in their belief that Size Matters, require a special approach, and a little more effort to restrain. 
    What we do at my house, dear readers, is eat the flowers. 
    Now don't give me that shocked look. Lots of flowers are good to eat - nasturtium, violets, little lemon gem marigolds. Ignoring their pitiful cries for mercy, we toss them into salads indiscriminately and say yum. Or Miam. (cf. 'strawberries, wild and tame). 
    Zucchini flowers, plucked early and often, cut down on the overarching tendency of the fruit to loom large and threatening to your children - or your neighbors, who'll have to eat all that zucchini bread. And if you don't want to waste what you pick, there's lots of ways to prepare them for the palate.
In fact, the bloom of the marrow are a particular summer treat for me, bringing back memories of Grandma Campilli and Netty Fabiano's kitchens. What they did, and what I do is make a sweet batter - there's a good one in Joy of Cooking, dipped them in it and fry them, then serve sprinkled with confectioners sugar. 
    Others stuff them with Ricotta and herbs, use a savory batter and fry and serve. And you can also chop the flowers to be added to risotto, or made into a gnudi. I'll also serve them in crepes. 
    The long and the short of it - so to speak - is that an ounce of flower consumption will save you pounds of zucchini, so start snipping those flowers, and enjoy. 

To Save An Eagle

 Save and Eagle

     If you were a soldier in the Vietnam war, would you spend your money and your time setting captive birds free?  If you were serving in Afghanistan, would you stop to save a bird that was shot?  Pete Dubacher did when he was in service in the Vietnam era.   Two US servicemen in Afghanistan did the same just a few weeks ago.  Now they need your help.

      For 35 years Pete has been running Berkshire Bird Paradise, a sanctuary for more than 1200 birds, many of which are permanently disabled.  His residents include 18 disabled eagles, which breed and raise young that are later released into the wild. When Pete was in service in Panama, he saw caged birds caught from the rainforest for sale in the markets.  Feeling bad for both the people and the birds, he chose a solution that's typical of him.  He bought the birds and set them free.

    Because of that experience, he very much wants to help two young servicemen stationed in Afghanistan who rescued an eagle after it was shot.  In spite of difficult conditions, these young men have continued to care for the bird, building it a cage, feeding it, doing whatever they can to keep it alive.  But it's clear that the bird will never fly again, and they're worried that it won't survive beyond their deployment.  They asked Pete if he'd take it in, and help them get it to the US.   

    Yes, and yes.  Of course he will.  However, that's where the hard part begins.  Pete knows how difficult it can be to bring a bird into the US, so he called me, asking for my help.  I'm author of the book Feathers of Hope, which is about Berkshire Bird Paradise and the human connection with birds, and I'm a long-time admirer of his work.  Knowing that we'd need political and media support, I called Senator Schumer's office, and found a young woman named Caroline who is very eager to expedite this.  She contacted Federal Fish and Wildlife, and was able to find some nice people there who are also interested.  

    

As it turns out the bird is a Steppe eagle, more easily brought into the US than a golden or bald eagle, and we're trying to get through the paperwork and permits as quickly as possible, because the bird is beginning to develop some problems and we don't want it to die of red tape.   

     

  As we wait, we're seeking help in two different ways. Send emails to Fish and Wildlife in support of Eagle Mitch, wounded in the war and waiting to come home. Encourage them in their fine work of speeding this along. Or email the White House to do the same. Or if you know anyone in the media who would be interested in this story, let them know as well, because media coverage will grease the wheels of transport. And speaking of transport, we might need that as well. . . .

     In my book I talk about how we long to save what's wild because that also honors what is wild and free in ourselves.  Even to try to save a bird is, in many ways, to save your soul.  I want to honor what's wild and free in these boys, and in this eagle. The young men did a most admirable, compassionate, and human thing in a difficult situation. My goal is to see that they get exactly what they want as their reward.   

     

Feathers of Hope

  Letting everyone know that my interview on WAMC's Roundtable is still available for those who missed it.  The topic:  My new nonfiction book, FEATHERS OF HOPE: Pete Dubacher, Berkshire Bird Paradise, and the Human Connection With Birds.   

   You can hear it on WAMC's Podcasts

    Enjoy!

Strawberries Wild and Tame -Recipe and Reflections

We have a big patch of tame strawberries, and our yard is full of wild ones. The tame ones are juicy and sweet. The wild ones look and taste like tiny stars. As the French say, Miam. I nurture the patches of wild strawberries, and someone suggested that means they're tame but I say no. 

I am not taming them. I am nurturing their wild nature. 

How can I tell? Well, the wild ones make a lot of noise at night, frolicking with fairies and so on. Their high-pitched laughter often fills my dreams. The tame ones read books and go to sleep early. That's how I know my wild ones are still wild. 
The Mohawk, who have a ceremony of thanking everything that precedes all their other ceremonies,  celebrate strawberry time, sending special thanks to this leader of the berries. At the traditional Mohawk Community of Kanatsiohareke, in Fonda, NY, there's an annual strawberry festival. (You can find out more about it on their website) In Mohawk, the word for strawberry is Eryahsa, which also means heart. An Intercultural Moment: Eryahsa. Miam. 
Here's a recipe for strawberry chocolate mole (pronunciation - molay) dip. Best for tame strawberries: Dry fry a mix of ground fennel seeds, cumin, cinnamon, ground almonds, ancho chili powder and hot smoked paprika. Add to melted dark chocolate and stir. Dip your tame ones in it and watch them go wild. For more wildness, check out my website, http://www.wildreads.com/