Isn’t it a thing of beauty?!?! This is one of the most delectable things you will ever encounter, and I just had to share it.
***This recipe was posted on my previous blog, back in the dark ages of Xanga, a few years ago. I just pulled it out to make for my birthday dinner and, once again, it was too good not to share.
Momma brought the recipe and made it for us one night and all I can say is OH…MY…GOSH. Fabulous! I like to give credit where credit is due, but I’m not sure from whence it came – Mom loves Everyday Italian, but I can’t be sure that’s the source. Whoever it is, they deserve a big ‘ol kiss…
I think I remember that line from a Strawberry Shortcake cartoon of my youth, but regardless of where it came from it ran through my head incessantly Saturday afternoon.
He was so warm, and so generous. “We actually don’t open until tomorrow, but let’s see if we can set you up, anyway.” Three buckets later we had our fill of lovely pesticide-free organic strawberries, for which Paul charged us only the fee for 1 1/2. Perhaps this is because many [most] of Olive’s berries were still green… but trust me, she had eaten plenty of ripe ones, too.
Olive, Violet and I had headed to Natura Farms in Forest lake to go strawberry picking – a now annual event that started last year. It’s the most marvelous place – on a lake (though what isn’t out here?), veggies, herbs and berries in glorious rows. I am in utter heaven when we’re there, and Olive simply couldn’t get enough. She would pick one and say to herself, “Oooh, good berry, Olive!”
But beyond the heaven of fresh food and warm earth was Paul Otten. He welcomed us heartily and spoiled us rotten with horrendous discounts – we came home with freshly picked lettuce, tomato plants, potted basil and oregano, a flat of zinnias and our two boxes of strawberries (which, unfortunately, I decided to wait until the next day to slice up and freeze – and since they haven’t been genetically engineered to keep well for cross-country travel, many of them grew mold. I still have enough for jamming, though, thank heavens, and we’d already eaten our fill). All this for a mere pittance.
AND he gave gardening and composting advice and hooked me up with someone who could help me get my garden plot soil in tip-top shape! I’m in love!
So, out of the vast generosity and spoil of the weekend, I continue the giving spirit by sharing with you the world-famous recipe we make each year with our freshly picked strawberries….
This cake is simply too good not to share. It’s been a family Fourth of July tradition for years and I whipped it up yesterday for a BBQ with some long-traveled friends and my in-laws. My father-in-law, in fact, said it was the best he’s ever had (you can tell how good it was by the fact that this is all that remains!). So, with that ringing endorsement, here is the recipe that will make people love you:
For a year in my twenties I lived with three lovely ladies (who I still adore) in a hilltop house that was perfect for entertaining… so we did. A lot. And, to be honest, we weren’t the best cooks ever – we rarely followed recipes, chose the most difficult things we could to make (with no practice rounds, naturally), and we nearly always had a substitution or two. BUT we were fabulous hostesses (if I do say so myself).
(yep, that’s me in the middle)
We were the Greenfield Girls, living on Greenfield Drive overlooking all of El Cajon, California – which, while not the most highbrow location on the coast (understatement), was awfully pretty when viewed from a distance. Like from our back windows and yard.
A brief Cliff’s note version of some of our escapades:
cornish game hens that took six hours to make (the guests arrived two hours before they were ready)
spaghetti sauce with waaaaaay too much pepper (finely ground packs a lot more punch than coarsely ground!)
pumpkin pie made with the larger size can rather than the 15oz, making pies even starving boys wouldn’t eat (literally)
too dry pot roast, recycled into chili
packaged macaroni and cheese disaster (how do you mess that up, you ask? believe me, it’s possible)
Despite our various challenges, there were many lovely brunches, dinners, parties, showers… and I have a homemade cookbook to prove it (replete with pictures). Theresa and I decided to document it all when Michele got married, so recipes, stories and pictures were assembled together – just for the four of us.
A week or so ago this Italian lady I sometimes watch Saturday mornings on PBS was making palachinke, and it brought to memory a Greenfield Girl experience. Vanessa, the fourth Greenfield Girl, made these once – a little piece of her Yugoslavian heritage. Basically, I think, palachinke are crepes with a better name – thin, pancakey things you can slather with butter, sugar, jam, nutella, or your sweet of choice and then devour.
Never one to pass up an opportunity to cook something fun (that’s the Greenfield Girl way), these were our Father’s Day treat today. And, should you want an adventure, they can now be yours.
Melt a pinch of Crisco (butter flavor is great) in the pan.
Pour a thin coat of batter into the pan, and move the pan around so it coats the bottom.
Flip once the edges get good and browned and there are bubbles coming through; cook a couple of minutes on the other side.
Serve warm with your choice of topping (we used cinnamon sugar and blueberries).
Palachinke = pa-la-chin-kay :)
***And, because I simply can’t post this without it, here is the introduction Tee wrote for our cookbook:
As you venture into the cooking world, there are some important factors to remember. First, you survived a year of cooking in the Greenfield Drive kitchen. This means that you overcame missing ingredients, over-cooked and under-cooked food (but never dangerously so!), too many ingredients and not enough ingredients. You survived piles of dishes and improvising what dishes were to be used to carry all of the food. Remember: You are a survivor. Whatever disasters come your way, based upon your Greenfield Girl experience, you can rest assured that you will come through on the other side, and that you will be blessed with a true treasure: A MEMORY.
This is an absolute favorite around here – my adaptation of a recipe I found in Cooking Light. My mom rearranged it into her own version – it’s very versatile and absolutely delicious. Perfect for brunches, potlucks, showers – good hot or cold.
As I’ve mentioned many times, our Christmas family tradition has always been strufoli, which I believe just means “honey balls” in Italian (my Norwegian husband thought we were calling them strudel nuts).
Here is our family recipe.
WARNING: this is very time intensive. My mom always put us all to work in stations; she would be frying and we would all be seated around the table, rolling out the dough and chopping tiny bits.
Strufoli 2 cups flour
1/3 cup sugar
dash of salt
1/2 tsp vanillaKnead all ingredients together for 5 minutes, then knead in another 1/4 cup flour.
Turn out the dough on a floured surface and roll it out to 1/8″ thick.
Use a pizza roller to cut the dough into thin strips, about 1/4″ across.
Cut each strip into small squares, keeping them as equal in size as possible.
It helps to divide the strufoli into fry batches as you go – I had 8, divided onto small plates. Fry each batch in 350 degree oil till golden (I use a deep fryer). Drain them well and set aside. Fresh fried strufoli are irresistible, and we usually end up eating a ton (thus I make two recipes at once so we can munch to our hearts’ content).To prepare the strufoli, mix 1 1/2 cups honey, 1/4 cup sugar, and cinnamon in a large soup pot. Heat the mixture till it bubbles and then mix in the fried strufoli.
Traditionally the strufoli, once cooled, are adorned with little round sprinkles. I don’t like how those catch in my teeth, so my mom and I have always toasted sliced almonds and mixed those in, along with mini chocolate chips.
Since both Jeff and I AND our friend Kim have eaten carmel corn for dinner in the last week, it counts. I didn’t say it was especially nutritious, but it counts.
This recipe is the best I’ve ever had, and it’s all thanks to Mrs. Kanagi, my first grade teacher. She wasn’t my favorite; she thought I did my work too fast so I could get to the crafts projects (never mind that it was done correctly) – one time she was determined to teach me a lesson and gave my math paper back till I could get them all right. 8+3=…. I had written 11. It was marked wrong. Mrs. Kanagi insisted it was wrong. I was in an impossible situation, so I sat at my desk all day wound tight as a clock, choking back tears. That night my mom wrote a note, and if I remember correctly Mrs. Kanagi apologized and let me do my crafts after that, but I never really forgave her for the whole incident (and apparently still haven’t).
BUT, despite all that, she DID teach us to make carmel corn, which we stuffed into contact-paper-covered coffee cans as Christmas gifts for our parents. I don’t know if my mom & dad got to eat any – I may have swiped it all – but they must have gotten a taste because the recipe that was attached to the can lives on to this day. And now, I pass it on to you. Let Mrs. Kanagi’s positive contribution continue, sullied as it may be by my recitation of the earlier story.
8-9 quarts popped popcorn, plain (airpopped works best)
2 cups brown sugar
1 cup margarine or butter
1 tsp salt
½ cup clear corn syrup
1 tsp vanilla
½ tsp baking soda
Boil the first five ingredients together for five minutes, stirring occasionally.
Remove from heat. Stir in baking soda. Place popcorn in baking dishes (it took three 9x13s for me). Pour sauce over popcorn and stir to cover.
Bake in 250 degree oven for 1 hour, stirring every 15 minutes.
Store in sealed plastic bags, or coffee cans, or your stomach.
And on other fronts… Olive has learned how to give kisses and deigns to kiss my cheek many times a day. Needless to say, I melt utterly into a puddle of gooey mommy happiness. Olive at ECFE – she’s like a puppy – running around, wagging her tail (seriously) so that her whole body is waggling, unable to stay in once place and visiting everyone in the room in turn. What are you doing over here – oh, look at the truck Brodie has – a slide! a slide! – wanna be my friend? – gimme that marker – ooh, pretty! That is she’s like this EXCEPT at the SENSORY TABLE! – we spend the first hour of each session there, playing in water or Cream of Wheat.
I can only take the whole thing so seriously – I mean, “Gilly gilly gilly goodbye?” What kind of song is that?!?! I really just have to swallow my eye rolling urges and force myself to sing and do the hand motions. Particularly because Olive doesn’t do them – she stands in the middle and dances or laughs. Smart girl.
We’ve discovered the joys of coloring, so I got her some washable markers. She thinks they’re delicious.
My fingers are black with ink still, after two washings – I was fingerprinted today. Every time I look down I feel like I’m guilty – of what, I don’t know. BUT I am officially an employee of Minneapolis Public Schools, and I am thrilled. January 7, 2007 I will be starting as a… preschool teacher. Does this mean I have to sing those songs?? I didn’t see any when I sat in on the class… but we DID do Mousercise for recreation. I quite enjoyed it, if I do say so. So maybe I AM in the right spot. And it’s special ed, after all.