Caretake this moment: Seasonal Berry Tart

"Caretake this moment. Immerse yourself in its particulars. Respond to this person, this challenge, this deed. Quit the evasions. Stop giving yourself needless trouble. It is time to really live; to fully inhabit the situation you happen to be in now."                     -Epictetus

My life has been anything but expected in the past several months, and I'm finally grateful (and not a teary mess) for being given this golden opportunity to rethink where I was and where I want to go. I also want to have much more fun, to let my hair down, to soak up the sun, to let go of being so self-critical and fearful, and try new things and have new experiences.

Fried Chicken with Granddad

Cool neon sign, located in Clinton, Mo., where John Hammond lives and fries chicken.

I've written about my favorite guy before (See Fried Zucchini), but he's such a charmer that I had to bring him back. John Dee Hammond is my father's father and my terrific granddad. He's 84, but he'll turn 85 on August 25, 2010. For someone who was born in Warsaw, Missouri in 1925, he's pretty hip.

My granddad has always believed women should be educated long before it was the norm (take that misogynist jerks), never really freaked out when my sister or I came home with tattoos or weird piercings, though he did say, "I survived WWII as an enlisted man in the Navy without getting that crap," and he rolls with the punches (from the Great Depression to losing my grandma to lung and colon cancer in 2003, whom he was married to for over 50 years) by embodying his favorite phrase, "hang in there." Honestly, he's my hero and one of the people in my life who has always loved me as-is, which is pretty damn special. I love my granddad without reservation. He's had my back from day one, even if he didn't want to call me Michaella (he thought I wouldn't be able to spell my name) but Mindy (after the TV show, Mork & Mindy).

So it brings me great pleasure to pass along a family recipe, one he learned from my grandma Anna Lee: Fried chicken. And if you haven't noticed the pattern, Granddad is our go-to man for all things fried.

The Procrastinator's Peach Raspberry Crisp

The two handsome men pictured at the end of this Animoto flick are Dave, my fiancee and overall swell guy, and Reese, my cute and funny and smart little brother, age 21.
Peach and Raspberry Crisp
The Barefoot Contessa, Ina Garten

Serves 10 (or in my little brother Reese's case, 1)

4-5 pounds firm, ripe peaches (10-12 large peaches)
Zest of 1 orange
1 1/4 cups granulated sugar
1 cup light brown sugar, packed
1 1/2 cups plus 2-3 tbsps. all-purpose flour
1/2 pint raspberries
1/4 tsp. salt
1 cup quick-cooking oats
1/2 pound cold unsalted butter, diced

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Butter the inside of a 10 x 15 x 2 1/2" oval baking dish.
2. The tricky part: Immerse the peaches in boiling water for 30 seconds, then submerge peaches in ice-cold water. Peel peaches and slice them into thick wedges. Place peach wedges into large bowl and then add orange zest, 1/4 cup granulated sugar, 1/2 cup brown sugar, and 2 tsps. of flour. Toss well. Gently mix in raspberries. Allow the mixture to sit for 5 minutes. If you're like me, you'll have too much liquid. Add 1-2 more tbsps. of flour to the mix. Pour ooey gooey peach & raspberry mixture into the baking dish and gently smooth the top.
3. Combine 1 1/2 cups flour, 1 cup granulated sugar, 1/2 cup brown sugar, salt, oats, and the cold, diced butter in the bowl. Stir with a wooden spoon until the butter is pea-sized and the mixture is crumbly, hence the "crisp" part of this creation (wink).
4. Sprinkle dry mixture evenly on top of raspberry and peach mixture.
5. Bake for 1 hour, until the top is browned and crisp and the juices are bubbly. The scent will be heady, way better than a candle.
6. Serve immediately with vanilla or cinnamon ice cream. Repeat & enjoy.

Hugs and high fives,
Kella

A Girl and Her Stove: Cooking with Granddad (Fried Zucchini)

I've been a very bad blogger lately. Blame it on the post-Europe sinus infection, the spreading of news to family and friends that the girl is getting hitched to Dave in the fall of 2010, or the fact that I've enlisted a personal trainer on July 27 to whip the post-injury girl into bride-fighting shape. I'm still gonna bake, but I'm not going to put as many of my tasty creations into my mouth. The girl has some sit-ups to do while the oven timer is running.

This week's installment, however, does not count calories but rather childhood memories of swimming with my granddad and kid sister Jenna in the Pomme de Terre Lake (which literally translates to Potato Lake; you've got to love Midwesterners and their earnest sense of French flair), eating homemade vanilla ice cream that my granddad spent a whole day making, and sipping sassafras tea by the wood-burning stove of my grandparents' country home in Weaubleau, Missouri, Pop. 518 (9 years ago that is... I think it may be less now).

My grandfather, who I always call Granddad, now lives in Clinton, Mo., former Baby Chick, as in fowl, Capital of the World. I went to visit him July 10-12, and we participated in our regular routine of reminiscing, watching the Gameshow Network, and eating at the Golden Corral on Sunday.

Saturday, well before the insipid buffet that is Golden Corral, was magical. We drove to the Clinton town square and purchased peaches, tomatoes, zucchini and cucumbers from a little produce stand that procured its wares from an Amish greenhouse in Windsor, Missouri. My granddad John Dee haggled with the other elder statesman behind the wall of zucchinis about the quality of his tomatoes. True to my granddad's hard-scrabble, skeptical "show me" nature, my granddad threatened that he would be back if the tomatoes weren't good; and while I would never have the chutzpah to say something like that to a roadside vendor, my granddad comes from a time period (b. August 25, 1925) where what you sell should be quality, or else.



Thankfully, Granddad had nothing to worry about. The tomatoes were juicy and steak-like in their thickness. The cucumbers were "dressed" quite nicely, as Granddad would say, with white vinegar, sugar, a little water, and salt and pepper. The peaches were the best I've ever had, and that's saying something for a girl who doesn't really like the fuzzy texture of a peach. Forgive me, readers. Based off of the peaches I ate in Clinton, I've seen the error of my ways. Peaches can be delectable if ripe, juicy and cut with a serrated knife so the sweet fruit can be bitten into first. But the highlight of our Saturday afternoon adventures was my granddad's fried zucchini.

Fried Zucchini
Recipe by John Dee Hammond (aka, Granddad)

Ingredients

3 healthy sized zucchinis, sliced into coin-size pieces
A skillet full of bacon render (this ain't low-fat cooking)

Batter:
1 large egg
1 cup of flour
salt and pepper to taste
1/2 to 3/4 cup whole milk

1. Prepare the batter by whisking the egg into the cup of flour. Add milk to this mixture until the batter is the consistency of a medium-thick liquid. Note: the batter should be able to coat the slices of zucchini easily without falling off the zucchini before it enters the frying pan.


2. Heat up the skillet full of bacon render at medium heat until it's a lake of glistening fat. You'll know it's ready when you drop a dash of batter into the pan. The batter will fry into a tiny, crispy golden-brown dot. You're ready!


3. Fry the zucchini for 2-3 minutes on eat side until golden brown. Turn once and repeat. Then place the fried zucchini (which looks and tastes like a croquette) on paper towels or newspaper to soak up the excess grease.
4. Serve hot with other summertime produce. Enjoy!