Traditions

 I set out with this post to tell a story about Easter.  This curious mind knows the Christian version quite well, but that story doesn't really tell you where the word and the traditions come from.

 Turns out it's not so simple.  As with many things in our world, there are lots of stories to go around.  Most of them are valid, some not so much.  Traditions start, people move, events happen, cultures assimilate and change.  We believe the stories that provide us with the most meaning, the ones that are the most plausible in our mind's eye.

Easter egg dying has a history that dates back to the time before Christ was even born. Or to the 13th Century, take your pick.  Either way, the egg has been revered as a symbol of rebirth and renewal for many generations.

And as for the word Easter?  The foundation for that depends on which translation you prefer the most.  Eostre, a goddess in Norse mythology, represents the sunrise and the spring.  The East, where the sun rises, is named for her.  It's easy to get to "Easter" from here.  Another version of the origin of the word Easter is that the celebratory word "alba" used to represent the resurrection of Christ was translated in to the German word for sunrise "ostern" and from there it readily converts to the English usage of the word as "Easter." 

The people over at PAAS have been helping people celebrate whatever version of Easter they choose to believe in for over a century.  Did you know that they named their company after the Pennsylvania Dutch word for Easter which is Passen?  I didn't either!

 I really don't think you can go wrong when you can get super concentrated food dye, stickers, clear wax crayons, glitter, shrink warp, cardboard egg wrappers AND a handy egg tray AND copper egg dippers for $2.99.  Try to find me a craft project for that price that provides two hours of fun and you'll be searching for a long time. 

What's even better is that in the many years since I've dyed eggs, the colors have gotten more exciting and the glitter that you dump in to the egg dye cups is a really nice touch.

I love sharing my childhood traditions with the kids.  We all had fun, they took great pride in what they made, and I have lunch all planned out for today even though it's only 7:30.

Egg salad, anyone?

Gentlemen Prefer Mochas

I suckered him into it last weekend.  With a hankering for Bitterroot valley apples and pears, and several years' worth of missing the scene, we headed to the Missoula farmer's market last Saturday morning before the football game.  With both kids wanting to go with me, guilt was piling high on Danish Cowboy to hop in the vehicle with me and head downtown.  He isn't a farmer's market sort of guy.

Especially not a Missoula farmer's market type of guy.  He was shamed both before and after by all the people familiar with the market and also familiar with him.  "Granolas.  Bicyclists.  Hippies.  Medical marijuana prescription cardholders.  These are the kinds you will see there," they said.  Not his usual bunch of pals.  But before long, even he was getting into the spirit of things.

The Missoula farmer's market is special for many reasons, not the least of which is the fact that it is actually in Missoula.  Beyond that, though, are the people and the attitudes.  A large portion of the vendors are of the Hmong culture.  In the Vietnam war era, the Hmong people of Laos were recruited by the American military to fight against the enemy.  Largely abandoned and the target of Vietnamese agression after the war, many of that culture emigrated to the United States and settled in various communities, Missoula being one of them.  The continue to maintain their traditions and have some of the finest looking produce available at the market.  In August and September, they often have mountain huckleberries for sale.

The most important part of the market from my perspective is the attitude that comes with it.  Yes, there are some very "crunchy" people there, but the Local Food Movement that they promote is so, so important.  Many of the people at the market are also the same ones that help to run community gardens and bring agriculture in to our schools.  All too often, kids in our society come to believe that food comes from cardboard boxes, plastic containers, and drive through windows.  Progressive towns like Missoula are trying to change all of that.  Community supported agriculture keeps local farmers in business, keeps people and the earth healthy, prevents urban sprawl, and often contributes an overabundance of produce to local food banks.  It tastes pretty good, too. 

People are led to believe that eating fresh, organic produce is for the rich man's world.  Guess what?  It's not.  Grow your own.  Buy locally and in season.  Be happy.

Of course, I'm not the perfect one to talk about this since I live in what could almost be considered a food desert (another subject for another time), but the local food movement is something I really believe in.  Searching out farmers markets wherever I go is one way that I can support it.  I can't think of a finer way to spend a Saturday morning. 

 

Neither can Danish Cowboy, apparently.  With the local food-ers also comes coffee.  Really good coffee, locally roasted, though not locally grown (we're all hypocrites at some point, eh?)  I think country boy is starting to see the benefits of this liberal type of life. 

Jesus & the Peanut Butter Egg

There's probably not a passage in the bible that says "thou shalt distribute multi-colored eggs filled with candy and goodies on the day before Easter,"

but by golly, I love this tradition! My kids have been practicing for weeks and though they have now tired of Easter Egg Hunts and the pressure to perform, we'll certainly look forward to them next year.Yes, even though one got cactus stuck in her pants and we were the last family to the finish (we couldn't leave any eggs uncollected, of course), it was a delightful experience.And for the parents like myself, I'm also thankful for that little known passage in the bible that decrees "thou shalt consume peanut butter eggs during March and April."
I can remember as a little kid looking forward to going to church during Lent because there was the possibility that it would be our week to take home a peanut butter egg. We probably received more than one peanut butter egg during the season in those early years, but they disappeared so quickly that the number seemed minimal. When my dear mom sent me six (yes, six!) of these eggs this year, it seemed as though I had hit the jackpot. But there was something different about them.

I remember a peanut butter egg in a generic piece of waxed paper stapled shut. A permanent marker was then taken to them to denote either a C for coconut or P for peanut butter. There were no ingredients listed, no display of origin. Back then, parents had to be responsible for discerning that a peanut butter egg did indeed have peanut butter in it, so they had best not let their allergic child consume it.

Oh, how the times have changed! They are now hermetically sealed with a distinct listing of ingredients. Thank goodness today's parents no longer have to worry about their child consuming peanut butter AND the staples in the wax paper.

I really don't care how they arrive, though. The packaging is quite nice and the peanut butter egg is still to die for! Creamy on the inside with just a hint of chocolate. As in days of old, we slice the peanut butter egg in pieces so as to save some for later. We then become surprised when, 45 minutes later, the entire egg has been consumed. No worries, though. Danish Cowboy says that there's peanut butter in them, so they're not that bad for you.

Thanks for the present, Mom and Dad!

The 12 Days of Christmas #12

Christmas is over, the goose got fat, did YOU put a penny in the old man's hat?

Oh, the fun we had this month! The excitement of putting up a Christmas tree and marveling at the decorations, the Christmas cookie making, the exclamations of "Christmas!" whenever Little L saw something remotely beautiful in shades of red or green. Not to mention the special times spent with family and friends starting way back in early November with a trip to Pennsylvania.
And speaking of Pennsylvania, I've carried some really great traditions this way -- many of them food related. When I was growing up, my family traditionally went out for a nice meal on New Year's Eve. We always looked forward to it and my sister and I often chose the restaurant weeks in advance. It was an opportunity to dress up and act like an adult in a special place and we loved it!Sometimes I still get the urge to dress up and act like an adult , but anyway, Danish Cowboy and I will take the kids to the local bar/restaurant tonight where they are serving prime rib and scampi and that's it and don't order anything else or you'll be tossed out. Not really true on that list bit -- the proprietors are very good to our family and my kids love to go eat there! It's the last day to celebrate our good fortune this year and we like to end it with a special treat. For tomorrow, we'll also follow the Pennsylvania Dutch tradition of pork and sauerkraut.
I was told growing up that we had pork and sauerkraut on New Year's Day because if you start the year poor, you'll end up rich. A similar philosophy held by the Pennsylvania Dutch is that the pig is a symbol of luck and cabbage a symbol of money, thus preparing it together and consuming it as a family will bring you prosperity and good times for the coming year. I never liked pork and sauerkraut until I grew up and carried the tradition into Danish Cowboy's world. He is a man who believes greatly in tradition (and being a farmer needs all the good luck he can get). He now insists that we have it every year.


So tomorrow, break out the crock pot. Throw in a pork roast, some sauerkraut, a diced apple and some brown sugar. At meal time, make some mashed potatoes (real mashed potatoes, please). And enjoy your luck and fortune in 2010. See you on the flip side!

The 12 Days of Christmas #2

I have a problem with food. Here's the thing: my family used to think highly of my cooking. They would ooh and aah over my creations. They would turn to me to bake something yummy. And then something happened about 10 years ago to change all of that.

This dude appeared and married my sister. Just look at him with his homemade pizza dough with red onions and fennel and sweet potatoes and sausage and some funky cheese and a light olive drizzle all grilled to perfection on a ... grill. And his brownies with some ganache topping with pink sea salt to add a little punch that still tingles in my mouth even though it was a year ago that I tasted these delicacies. He rocked my family's view of the world of food upside down. So now I'm the one that can be counted on for crock pot roast beef and homemade mashed potatoes and fatty gravy and maybe some store-bought white bread with store-bought jelly if you're lucky.

However, what really caused this food situation to reach the boiling point were his Christmas cookies that were so meticulously decorated with such unique colors that you almost did not want to eat them for fear you would never see something so beautiful in your life. Please note: these cookies shown above are not his cookies; these are my vain attempt to copycat him last year. The situation improved slightly in February with my oddly orange-ish valentines.
The situation for this Christmas started out looking pretty grim with this creepy anatomically uncorrect gingerbread goth.

But I kept on keeping on, saving the Christmas trees for the kids to help me decorate,
and letting them take part in a few sprinkle garnishments prior to baking some of the cookies.
Most of the work was done secretly, though, while the young ones were sleeping. I'm fairly pleased with the way things turned out.

Although I did not manage to achieve the smoky gray snowflakes with wisps of white coursing through them like my brother-in-law, Cookie Decorating Take #3 could have been much worse.

The kids even did a most excellent job with their sprinkle-dunking duties. They were so proud of these and that makes it all worth it. (I, however, was not proud of the tree trunk brown color that I created. Dear brother-in-law probably knows the proper colors to mix together to achieve such a thing, but I, being who I am, do not know these things.)
As an added bonus for the weekend (and for you!), I made these Moravian Gingerbread Crispy Wafer cookie things. If you're not stressed and your kids are in bed, try them! You'll like them!

Recipe taken from the Joy of Cooking cookbook (with snarky adaptations from yours truly):

1 cup all purpose flour

1.5 tsp cinnamon

1 tsp ground ginger

0.5 tsp ground cloves

0.25 tsp ground cardamom

1/2 tsp baking soda

Whisk all of that together and set aside. Then beat until well blended:

0.3333333 cup molasses

0.25 cup Crisco or lard

0.5 cup packed dark brown sugar

1 tsp vanilla

Slowly stir flour mixture into molasses mixture, then knead until very smooth, about 3 to 4 minutes. Divide dough in half and wrap each half in plastic wrap. Place in a cool spot (but not the refrigerator). The bottom of a drafty farmhouse door on a day where the temperature is projected to reach a high of minus 17 degrees works well, although the dough may freeze slightly in this condition as it sits on your living room floor. Cool in your chosen location for 6-12 hours.

Preheat oven to 300 degrees (not 350 as I did).

Pour a glass of wine for yourself. Or make a margarita. Proceed with rolling the dough out on a well floured surface. Get it as thin as you can. Curse as the dough acts too wet and sticks to your rolling pin and then curse 10 seconds later as it acts too dry and cracks into tiny shards. Add flour or water as necessary. Cut cute shapes into it but, warning!: don't use shapes that have lots of appendages or curly-cue edges. Transfer to greased cookie sheet with thin spatula. Ball up the leftover dough as well as half of the shapes that you cut out but did not successfully transfer to said greased cookie sheets. Repeat the rolling process.

Bake for 6-8 minutes, maybe less. Do not overbake. They'll tase funky.

Smile as your kids enjoy eating the gingerbread people body part by body part. Enjoy the holidays. Be merry.

Charcoal Sale!

When it's Tuesday and the charcoal at the local True Value is on sale, that can mean one thing and one thing only: it is time to dig the old school grill out of storage in the barn and hose off the cobwebs and other unsavory items (the heat kills everything the hose misses, don't worry)! Tuesday steak and s'mores night! Tuesday steak and s'mores night! Tuesday steak and s'mores night! This might turn into a weekly habit.

Being re-introduced to the world of charcoal grilling, I seriously underestimated the time it would take to get the grill prepared. Thankfully my kids will patiently pretend that they are sleeping,

and happily spend time playing outside before supper while mama waits for the coals turn to gray.

The prelude to the main s'mores event was steak and roasted new potatoes and shallots fresh from my garden. Mmmm...tenderloin. Home-grown. Grass-fed. Sound rich? Well, when you live on a Montana cattle ranch, it's acceptable to eat steak often. Very often, sometimes. And after ten years of vegetarianism, I have a lot of catching up to do.

I found the graham crackers in the cupboard, slightly stale. Hershey's bars on sale at 5 for $3.00. Marshmallows only $9.00 per bag at our local rural grocery. Do you think the owners know that we are many miles from any other sort of food proprietor?

Okay, they weren't really $9.00, but sometimes it feels that way. Danish Cowboy demonstrated his technique of perfectly toasting the marshmallows in a patient and methodical manner.
I chose the route that leads to instantaneous gratification and burnt them. If you're wondering why we don't just build a campfire out here in the middle of nowhere, Danish Cowboy won't let me. Something about 50 mile an hour winds and crispy brown grass beyond our yard. And also wood is scarce given that there are no trees. I could go gather old cedar fence posts thrown by the way side, but it's rattlesnake season and besides, the charcoal was on sale. Remember?

Can I tell you how much fun it was to introduce the kids to the magic of s'mores? It was really fun.

Really, really fun.

Good, old-fashioned fun to see them enjoying this treat on a random Tuesday night. It's the stuff that childhood memories are made of. Like catching fireflies while dressed in pajamas on a clear, calm summer evening. Or running down the beach finding magic in each and every seashell that you happen upon.
But all good things must come to an end and it happened when the s'mores stuck her fingers together. So we turned the sprinkler system on and played in the water and went to bed way too late. In preparation for next Tuesday when everyone across the United States will join us for steak and s'mores night (or at least s'mores night), ask yourself this:

What precious memories have you made for your loved ones lately?