Tested

Hi, my name is Allen, what's yours?

With this simple question, I am redeemed. Years earlier I watched from my kitchen window as Allen was taunted by a teenage boy.  Even though Allen is mentally disabled, I did nothing to help him.  I did not dart out of my apartment to defend someone who was weaker than myself.  I did not call the police or ask my neighbor for help.  I simply watched and waited and eventually the teenager went away.  For years, I felt guilt.

There are moments in life when we are tested. I admit that I haven't always shown as well as I would like. Parts of me are fearful, selfish and small. I am not part of the bone marrow registry. I do not have a donor sticker on my ID.  It is not something that I've neglected or never thought about. It is something I decided not to do.  I am left neither here nor there.  Not comfortable being a donor.  Not comfortable opting out.  Is not helping the same as harming? 


One afternoon, Allen came up to me as I was sitting on my porch and asked me my name.  With this simple introduction, I felt I was given a second chance.  Forgive me Allen.  I should have helped you.  I looked at Allen, shook his hand, and told him my name.

Umm...no excuse really

There is no new post. You haven't written anything in a month. You haven't written anything in two months. Are you ever going to write anything again? Umm...well... I don't have an excuse really. There have been things to write about. For Little Red Apron there was a rabbit gumbo and svinina v kislo-sladkom souse (pork stew with dried fruit). For the Ox and the Scorpion there were relationship bumps and a recent first date. For Adventures of a Shopgirl there was a shirt to improve you sex life. I just haven't felt like writing (or staring at a blank Blogger window as the case may be). But it's a new year, and here we are. Perhaps you'll hear about all the things that went unwritten or maybe we'll move on. Welcome back everyone...if you're still out there.

Click: Bonifacio

Mon baggage...perdu...il n' est pas ici.... After 30 hours of travel, I find myself at the Air France counter in Figari, Corsica trying to explain in very bad and very broken French that my bag didn't make it with me. Finally I find my baggage claim ticket, and the woman helping me understands. As she's processing my lost baggage form, she tells me that it is going to rain for the next 3 days. This is not how anyone wants to start off their vacation.

My friend and I finally manage to find a taxi and we begin the last leg of our journey to Bonifacio, Corsica. The taxi rounds a corner, and the driver points in the distance. "Bonifacio!" our driver exclaims. I look out in the distance and spot the city on a hill. Suddenly it seems all worthwhile. Bonifacio is absolutely beautiful.

Be Back Soon

Once again I'm off exploring! This time the destinations are Bonifacio, Corsica and Toulouse, France. The Grocer's Daughter will resume on Sept. 21st...

The Ox and The Scorpion: Internet Dating

I confess to trolling Craigslist personals lately. It amazes me what you'll find on a given night. Posts range from upfront and honest to detailed and amusing to gimmicky but cute. I will spare you the ones that we can only hope is some sort of social experiment. (Note to the boys out there: the word "obedient" and pictures of penises generally do not encourage response.)

Writing a personals ad is an art in itself, especially on Craigslist. Just writing the subject line is enough to make one break out in a sweat. Each page consists of a hundred posts, and if you post on "men seeking women," you get maybe an hour on the first page. In one line, you have to write something that will distinguish you.

So what makes you click? According to Levitt and Dubner's Freakonomics, women are looking for men who want long-term relationship, have high incomes, and are military men, lawyers or financial executives. They do not want men who are short, have red or curly hair, are balding (shaved is okay), who are laborers or work in the food service industry. Men want women who are blond, are looking for occasional lovers, are good looking, have middle of the road incomes (not too low, but not too high), and who are students, artists or veterinarians. The do not want women who are in the military, are overweight, or have salt and pepper hair. Apparently not posting a photo is death to both men and women.

And while these things are interesting (you will notice how closely they follow the stereotype), they are not really helpful for those of us seeking response. Of course you can leave out what you feel is unappealing, but the facts remain. If you are a laborer, you are a laborer. If you are overweight, you are overweight. I wonder how much these things matter in real life.

If a woman meets a man and finds him charming, does she really care that he has red hair? If a man turns his head to take a second look at a woman and finds out later she's army, does that kill the deal? There are so many factors, and they are all subconsciously balanced and weighed. Is what makes us click what we really want?

And if you were to write an ad for yourself...what would it say? How do you distill yourself into a single post? Female, 32, seeks male, 29-42. Must enjoy food. Boys who read, always a plus. I am not outdoorsy so you better not want me to come camping with you...

Little Red Apron: Guinness and Chocolate Ice Cream Floats

I had the most perfect high recently. I held my friends' newborn daughter in my arms. I was holding her awkwardly at first. She squinched up her face in protest. My friend adjusted my hold and immediately she burrowed into me. She rooted around trying to find my nipple and then gave up and fell asleep. We all just stared at her for over an hour...and she doesn't even do much yet.

This may seem a strange way to start off a post about Guinness and chocolate ice cream floats. But when I think of pregnancies, I think of ice cream floats -- root beer with vanilla ice cream to be exact. When my mother was pregnant with my sister, we had a lot of root beer floats together. During the first months of her pregnancy, my mother often invited her best friend and her daughter over. While my mother and her friend talked out on the front lawn, my friend and I poked at the rolypolys with blades of grass. Great amusement for three-year-olds. Everyone had root beer floats in hand. Even now when I drink root beer floats, it reminds me of sun, hot concrete, and the smell of grass.

Thoughts of ice cream floats are out there. Maybe it's because the summer's almost to an end. When I read a recent post on Orangette, I was reminded of a float my friend introduced me to, Guinness with chocolate ice cream. At first I was a bit horrified by the thought. Mess with a Guinness? Leave well enough alone. I'm the type of girl who likes to drink her coffee black. But then I thought of all the chocolate-y flavors in Guinness, and I had to give it a go. And my friend is right, it's really very good.

Needless to say, there's not a complicated recipe for this. Put one or two scoops of chocolate ice cream in a glass (I use Haagen Dazs, but it would be better to use a brand that freezes harder). Pop open a can of Guinness, tilt the glass, and pour.

The Ox and The Scorpion: Communication

Thomas? Thomas. Clarabel. Clarabel. Henry. Henry. I am at work and having a conversation with a two-year-old boy that consists entirely of first names. The two-year-old says a name, and I repeat it. If I don't hear him correctly, he says the name again. His father explains that they are names from the Thomas the Tank Engine series. Harold. Harold. Cranky. Cranky. Elizabeth. Elizabeth. The two-year-old and I are both having a very good time. I leave to help someone and when I come back, he smiles and says, "Thomas?"

As I tell the new boy I want to be friends, I realize that I am not communicating everything that I mean. I don't have the words to express this self-preservation instinct that has kicked in. I can't explain the confusion and the unfamiliarity of the terrain. I just know that somehow this is what I need. He is holding me and talking to me, but I know that I can't really hear. I am reminded of my conversation with the two-year-old. It would be so much easier....Thomas? Thomas.

Little Red Apron: Blueberry Pancakes

Many years ago, I suggested to a friend that we make waffles for dinner. Waffles for dinner? He was stunned. Waffles were not dinner food. (Clearly he had never had the strange but yummy fried chicken and waffle combination.) Eventually he came around and soon he was even planning waffle dinner parties.

I was never one to limit food to a particular dining time. When I was a child, my mother hardly ever served breakfast food in the morning. It was not uncommon to find quesadillas, bowls of soup, or heated leftovers waiting for my sister and me when we woke up. If you can have dinner food for breakfast, breakfast for dinner wasn't a leap.

During our first date, I discovered the new boy had fond memories of eating pancakes for dinner growing up. And thus our third date came to be. In the smallest kitchen I have ever cooked in, we made blueberry pancakes with sides of organic strawberries and bacon from the Fatted Calf.

He didn't mind that my pancakes failed to turn golden brown. And I didn't mind that he only had one fork. We spread everything out and ate with our fingers. And while everything was very good, I suspect the company made it better.

Blueberry Pancakes
Makes about sixteen 4-inch pancakes, serving 4 to 6

1 tablespoon juice from 1 lemon
2 cups milk (if desired, buttermilk can be substituted for the milk if you omit the lemon juice)
2 cups (10 ounces) unbleached all-purpose flour
2 tablespoons sugar
2 teaspoons baking powder
½ teaspoon baking soda
½ teaspoon salt
1 large egg
3 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted and cooled slightly
1 to 2 teaspoons vegetable oil
1 cup fresh or frozen blueberries, preferably wild, rinsed and dried (I use Wyman's brand)

1. Whisk the lemon juice and milk in a medium bowl or large measuring cup; set aside to thicken while preparing the other ingredients. Whisk the flour, sugar, baking powder, baking soda, and salt in a medium bowl to combine.

2. Whisk the egg and melted butter into the milk until combined. Make a well in the center of the dry ingredients in the bowl; pour in the milk mixture and whisk very gently until just combined (a few lumps should remain). Do not overmix.

3. Heat a 12-inch nonstick skillet over medium heat for 3 to 5 minutes; add 1 teaspoon oil and brush to coat the skillet bottom evenly. Pour ¼ cup batter onto three spots on the skillet; sprinkle 1 tablespoon blueberries over each pancake. Cook the pancakes until large bubbles begin to appear, 1 ½ to 2 minutes. Using a thin, wide spatula, flip the pancakes and cook until golden brown on second side, 1 to 1 ½ minutes longer. Serve immediately, and repeat with the remaining batter, using the remaining vegetable oil only if necessary.

Lemon-Cornmeal Blueberry Pancakes: Follow the recipe for Blueberry Pancakes, adding 2 teaspoons grated lemon zest to the milk along with the lemon juice and substituting 1 ½ cups stone-ground yellow cornmeal for 1 cup flour.

Source: America's Test Kitchen, season 4
Also in: The New Best Recipe by The Editors of Cook's Illustrated, p. 648-649