As I was saying . . .

Ahem. Where was I? Oh yes. 

5TH OF JULY BUT STILL CELEBRATORY SUPPER

Salad of Bulgar, Steamed Green Beans and Kale, Sautéed Fennel

Fried Veggie Sausages with Caramelised Onions

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Caraway Rye Bread

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Rhubarb and Blueberry Crumble

SALAD OF BULGAR, GREEN BEANS, KALE, AND FENNEL

Mum's been on a Grain Salad kick lately. Now, by "kick" I do not mean "cooking a lot of them." I mean, "leaving the Mark Bittman article in the Times magazine out on the kitchen table and saying things like "That looks really good. I'd love to eat that."

Subtlety = not really her strong point

Anyway. The good thing about her newfound obsession is that I totally share it. I LOVE grain salads because they involve two of my favourite things: veggies and carbs. But the best thing about them (as Bittman says and shows with his handy dandy interactive graphic) is that they are so open to experimentation.You can seriously combine almost anything and still come out the other end with something delicious, healthy, and (importantly) pretty. For Mum's birthday I made the Artichoke, Pea, and Fennel salad with Farro which [that's the sound of a Beetle Horn, you guys] was a success. Plus it had the added benefit of serving artichokes to people who (for some reason that still escapes me and probably always will) like them. 

Whatever. 

For this one, I went a bit lighter with the veggies so that the grain could stand out even more. I felt like the Farro had been more of a taste afterthought than a proper ingredient, you know? It was a plus one as opposed to a legit invited guest. 

That decision was really made by the veggies in question: green beans and kale, both of which were delightfully spontaneous choices at the farmstand. There are few things you need to do to either of them to make them better than they are, and a quick steam for both leaves them still crunchy, green, and flavourful. I am always happy when I get green beans that are not cooked to death, and, um, actually still bright green. The kale in question was even cute little baby kale, which is a) adorbs and b) has a much sweeter, lighter taste than its stronger and sometimes bitter older brother. (did I just write a new ABC primetime drama? I think I did.) 

The green beans steamed first, then the kale in two batches (it goes in so big and yet reduces to nothing almost at once) but literally 6 minutes for the green beans and maybe 3 for the kale and the show was over.

Now, steamed veggies are all well and good, and goodness knows I pretty much live off of them, but one does have to have a bit of flavour. And that's where sauteed fennel comes in. First off, Fennel is amazing. Let's just get that out there. It's got that awesome onion / leek undertone but on top there's this amazing licorice sweetness that you don't get with anything else. When you saute it, that sweetness really comes out, and you get something that's almost a caramelised onion but SO MUCH MORE, YOU GUYS. SO. MUCH. MORE. I sliced it fairly thickly, so instead of tiny pieces you really got these hunks of smoky, spicy, sweetness that were perfect with steamed beans and kale. 

I mean we almost didn't need the bulgar . . . but yeah, we did. 

Bulgar has a very nutty taste almost like quinoa but not quite. Sorry, that's a sucky description but I'm not sure how else to phrase it. I guess maybe halfway between quinoa and brown rice? How's that? I hadn't realised but was delighted to discover that Wooster was one of the uninitiated. So the first few minutes of Friday night supper went thusly: 

W: So what's the grain here?

Me: Bulgar.

W: [happily] I've never had this before!

Me: Really? Isn't it so good? 

W: [really happily] It's really good!

[ten minutes go by]

W: [reaching for thirds, CRAZY SUPER HAPPILY] Turns out, I LOVE BULGAR!

So there you have it, dear reader. Put the bulgar on first as it will take about 25 minutes to simmer. Steam the beans and kale and toss them together in a large bowl with a tiny bit of olive oil and salt. Take the bulgar off the heat, make sure all the water has absorbed, and mix that in. Let the fennel cook for about 15 minutes to really get it good and cooked and brown. Then when it's done spread it over the top (if you can avoid eating all of it directly out of the pan, that is, thank goodness it was still hotter than hell when I did it). 

Spread prettily over the top. Like you do. 

FRIED SAUSAGES WITH CARAMELISED ONIONS

I shall not, dear reader, insult your intelligence by telling you how to fry sausages. It's one of the basic skills of like and if you don't know how then a) you probably aren't reading this blog anyway and b) YOU SHOULD REALLY GET ON THAT ALREADY. Again, contents of your sausage is totally up to you. Meat or soy protein, you call it. Both are delicious. And I know I don't have to tell you that caramelised onions are one of the greatest gifts ever given to mankind. Holy Hell they are awesome. 

AWESOME. 

Fry the onions first (I used two small white ones) and throw the sausages on after that so that they can absorb some of the taste. When the sausages are done (cooking time dependent on what kind, obvs) and nice and brown and awesomely-fried looking [see below, these were GLORIOUS] plate them on top so that they can be served up all together. That is the point, after all. 

The accompaniment for these was the Caraway Rye Bread I'd made the day before. The bread that Beatrice said was "perfect for sausages and mustard." So . . . 

BEATRICE DOESN'T JOKE AROUND, YOU GUYS.
SHE WOULD NEVER MAKE A STATEMENT LIKE THAT UNLESS IT WAS TRUE.

And now for pudding . . . 

I'm sure you know where I'm going with this.

And this. 

Yep.

RHUBARB BLUEBERRY CRUMBLE

Again, I've made this before, and it's the basic Joy of Cooking recipe for a fruit crumble, adjusted to my own personal opinions on just how much topping should be involved, and the fruits being used. Here's a link for a close online approximation of what I was working off. The basic idea here, you guys, is that you can't go wrong. You're making something that involves berries, sugar, oatmeal, and cinnamon. You really have to WORK and screwing this one up to the point that it doesn't taste awesome. 

The best part of this crumble is that WE GOT REAL BLUEBERRIES. Allow me to explain. 

These are not blueberries. 

THESE are blueberries. 

The above are giant, tasteless, genetically enhanced THINGS that have nothing to recommend them to the culinary world at large. They are almost always from New Jersey which . . . I'M JUST SAYING. 

The below are perfect, tiny, sweet yet strong MAINE BLUEBERRIES. They are bursting with flavour, and are the only things that I actually consider "blueberries." In Maine, you literally step out your door and there's a bush of them waiting to be picked. And then you can pretend that you are Sal in Blueberries for Sal and eat them all before they hit the bucket and then maybe run into a baby bear except hopefully not because then the Momma Bear would NOT, as Robert McCloskey would have you believe, let you escape alive. She would in fact eat your head. 

[Beetle Note: It must be noted that however much I love blueberries and blueberry picking, I am sorry but One Morning in Maine is SO. VASTLY. SUPERIOR. in terms of literary merit and awesomeness. I know I'm in the minority here but I don't care.] 

It was lucky, therefore, that the farmstand had actual blueberries. Otherwise it would have been a very different crumble. And that would have been sad. 



It's really almost red white and blue . . . HOW ABOUT THAT? 

I ended up doubling the topping because I like a crumble to be nice and covered. Also, it was a lot of rhubarb and a lot of blueberries. I left it in the oven for a bit longer to compensate for enhanced volume, and I can't really say anything but . . . 

I will close with a few pictures of the table:

And also by saying that in keeping with the "Ostensibly Patriotic yet Really Monarchical" Theme of the weekend, we watched a movie based on a French comic book rather than Mariah Carey signing "Hero" Meghan Hilty singing "God Bless America." We did not regret our decision.

So that, dear readers, is the last big post before I GO OFF TO TEACH. I'm headed out Saturday morning and will be setting up my classroom bright and early on Monday. [eep. starts hyperventilating and dies.] 

I shall I think have a few more baked items to share with you in the next week or so, but please don't forget me if I don't have time to chat as much as I do now. I shall be nurturing young minds and training up the future Pulitzers of tomorrow, etc., and I couldn't be more excited. But I don't like neglecting you.  

I hope that you will still love me when I return . . . 

Freedom from Tyranny, Low Carb Diets, and Recipe Indications

There was A LOT of cooking this weekend, you guys.

Also. IT WAS HOT. 

Put those two together and you get me, in running shorts that have lost the battle with elasticity and a 14 year-old leotard, spinning around the kitchen like a demented ballerina alternately jete-ing to close the oven door with my toe and plie-ing to play Fridge Tetris with twenty different tinfoil wrapped bowls. (All of these, it should be noted, before insertion into the fridge, have their respective contents clearly written on the top with Sharpie and are then organised on the shelves according to date, main food group, and menu pairing.) ORGANISATION IS THE KEY TO SUCCESS, YOU GUYS.

Here's what I would like to think I looked like:

Here's what I really probably looked like:

It was a good thing that our 4th of July guest was not only used to this appearance/behavior, he'd actually seen, I hate to say, much worse. (Demented ballerina actually ranks pretty low on the "how crazy can Beetle go" scale.) 

So Wooster was in no way fazed by waking up from a quick, tranquil nap to the sounds of me screaming obscenities because I had poured boiling water on my own foot. He calmly got up from the couch, sauntered in, said "How we doin' in here?", removed the pot from my hand, got me an ice pack, and drained the pasta - all without missing a beat. This, you guys, is why we're besties. 

SO TO THE FOOD. 

The main criteria for July 4th dinner were as follows:
1. It's bloody hot so the less time spent anywhere near the oven the better.
2. Delicious at room temperature or colder. [see no. 1]
3. Relatively easy in order to maximize time spent on the couch / porch / Netflixing Disney Family movies.

With that in mind . . .

FOURTH OF JULY KICKOFF DINNER

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Tomato and White Bean Pie

Middle Eastern Spiced Spinach, Peas, and Onions over Farfalle

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Caraway Rye Bread

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Finnish Housewife Cookies

The two main courses were, in keeping with the above stated criteria, things I had made before and were easy, things that did not require an oven, and things that were delicious cold. 

TOMATO WHITE BEAN PIE was invented after our Sheepdogging Expedition. Or rather, after the attempted Sheepdogging Expedition that, due to it's failure, needed some serious comfort food therapy. As it turns out however, TWBP is versatile enough that it can range from soothing two severely wounded sheepdog-less souls to being a delicious cold salad-of-sorts that celebrates our nation's Independence. 

I tell you. Tomatoes are capable of pretty much anything.

I made it in a small Le Creuset pan this time, and when it was done stuck it in the fridge for a few hours, bringing it out just before supper was served. Like last time, it definitely doesn't hold a "pie" shape, but honestly, who cares. It's freaking delicious, and the faster you can shovel in large messy spoonfuls, the better. Hey: "When a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security." We set out here to reclaim our rights from "the establishment of an absolute Tyranny" and I don't know a better way to demonstrate that than eating cold tomato pie, in a bowl, with a spoon. Happy Birthday, America. 

MIDDLE EASTERN SPICED SPINACH, PEAS, AND ONIONS OVER FARFALLE

Again, an already made dish from the ever-wonderful Martha Rose Shulman's blog, tweaked a tiny bit to accommodate the classic summer-staple Garden Peas, and served over Farfalle pasta. (Just reduce the broth / water ratio to make it a bit drier.) Same as TWBP above, make it a little ahead of time and let it cool in the fridge. 

We INHALED this the last when I first made it, and it did not disappoint this time round, either. The spices are strong but not overpowering, and because it's cinnamon, nutmeg, allspice, etc., you get "warm earthy" as opposed to "omg my head is on fire." Served over something neutral and carby like pasta, it's absolutely perfect. If you have managed to strain the pasta without severely burning your left instep, then toss it in a bit of olive oil and salt and have it ready to go. Also pat yourself on the back, because you are not an enormous idiot. 

Beetle Note: After the pasta is gone, this makes a stellar stand-alone cold veggie salad. 

CARAWAY RYE BREAD

So of course there had to bread. 

THERE ALWAYS HAS TO BE BREAD, YOU GUYS. DON QUIXOTE WAS RIGHT. 

All sorrows really ARE less with bread.

For the time being, I'd black-breaded myself out. But I felt certain that ol' Beatrice had a few loaves up her sleeve, (probably literally) and so turned so my version of the Bible: The Finnish Cookbook. I opened the book to one of my little sticky out torn scraps of paper, and, I swear, you guys, it was like a shaft of Northern Light had come from the Arctic Circle, and I could hear choirs of reindeer bellowing in exultation. CARAWAY RYE BUNS. At the top of the page, underneath the heading, was written "These are excellent sliced and served with mustard and sausages." 

AND THAT IS EXACTLY WHAT I WANTED TO DO FOR FRIDAY NIGHT DINNER. 

See? I told you. Beatrice is THE SH*T. 

I made Caraway Rye Buns for May Day Breakfast to great acclaim. Why not make them into three glorious Caraway Rye loaves? [see above re: tyranny, despotism, throwing off such Government, etc.] WHY NOT? 

Bread that says "WHY NOT INDEED?"

And now we pause for a bread slideshow: 

When it's 32 degrees Centigrade outside, THIS is how much your dough rises. 

And punching it down becomes insanely satisfying.

Someday I will learn to X it without puckering the top. SOMEDAY. 

X Marks the Spot! In my stomach. 

This one came out particularly rustic looking. I think Beatrice would approve. 

The Bun recipe makes enough dough for three large loaves. They spread out pretty flat on the baking sheet, and come out really crusty (and awesome as a result). Another fun fact: the rising / resting / baking time remains the same whether you are making buns or loaves. I was ready to pull them out of the oven or leave them in longer, but they were browned and hollow-sounding right on time. 

Thank you, Beatrice. I love you. 

FINNISH HOUSEWIFE COOKIES

So little. So tasty. 

These are the best cookies ever, for multiple reasons. Delicious, ludicrously easy to make, and appropriate for pretty much any season or occasion. These are the ones I stress-baked before I left New York, alone in my kitchen at midnight, surrounded by 300 cookies, making individual tissue paper gift bags for everyone coming to my going-away-dinner. 

Hand-forming 300 tiny little balls of butter and cardamom is very, very, very soothing. 

Before the second powdered sugar bath. 

REAL Finnish Housewives double sugar.

The last time I made these was for my Beetle Bakery Mother's Day bakefest. Of the three cookies on offer to that particular mother, these were the favs.

Wooster, upon being informed in the driveway that they had been baked, immediately made a beeline for the large Tupperware in the cabinet and said (through powdered sugar) "I've missed you so much." 

I also brought the last of them to a dinner party on Saturday night where I watched the hostess (who eats no sugar, carbs, or anything that isn't low-fat protein) put one on the serving dish, one in her mouth, one on the serving dish, one in her mouth . . . 

Now, THAT, dear reader, is freedom from tyranny. Delivered via cookie. 

Take a bow, Beetle. 

Girlfriend Weekend of Biscuits and Dinner Eggs

So this happened in the grocery story on Friday afternoon, in the baking aisle to be exact, as I was deciding whether or not I needed more whole wheat flour, and also wondering whether the woman in front of me choosing brownie mix had actually spontaneously died standing up or was just very slow moving:

Me: do I need more . . . did I start that last bag . . . is the one under the kitchen table rye flour or white . . . 
Mum: [as is per usual when shopping, breaking train of culinary thought with something completely unrelated and therefore detrimentally distracting] "Do you need more tofu?"
Me: [blinking out of internal flour debate] "Yes. And when we reach the tofu section clear at the other end of the store I will address that issue. Right now, in the flour section, this is what I'm dealing with."
Mum: [side eye]
Mum: [perhaps attempting, though let's not get ahead of ourselves here, to pose a relevant question] "How about baking powder?"
Me: "No we have enough I used it earlier this week and there's half a can left."
Mum: "You know what I want? Baking powder biscuits. Will you make those?"
Me: [making a flour decision and looking up] "Yes. Give me that new can of baking powder then, and go get me some buttermilk, and meet me in the paper towel aisle."
Mum: "Buttermilk?"
Me: "Buttermilk. With the milk. In the dairy section. Go."
Mum: [side eye. peaces out]

Of course, dear reader, what I knew was that when she asked for Baking Powder Biscuits she meant Buttermilk Biscuits. She doesn't like Baking Power Biscuits because they are "dry and tasteless." It's the Buttermilk ones she likes. She saw baking powder, thought biscuits, and here we are, and because I am a smart Beetle I knew what to do. I'm totally like Helen Mirren in Gosford Park who is "the perfect servant" because she knows what people want before they themselves do. Minus the whole servant thing, totally me.

It was an opportune time to make them actually because it was another GIRLFRIEND WEEKEND meaning my friend Becks (like Posh and Becks except this Becks is a)female b)not an international football star c)not married to an ex-Spice Girl and d)one of my besties) was coming up and in celebration I wanted to make something hedonistic but hedonistic in a Martha-Stewart-summery-comfort-food kind of way. And biscuits seemed the perfect thing.

Obviously if I want to make something that classic, I'm going to turn to my amazing New American Cookbook (discussed previously here) which, bless it, features 15 different variations on your basic biscuit. Yes, some of them are scary and weird (I'm looking at you, Cream of Tartar Biscuits and, um,wtf, Ham Relish Biscuits) but I also can't imagine turning down either a Sweet Potato or a Bran Butterscotch Biscuit. I mean, what kind of person could do that?

I love that these aren't even called "Buttermilk Biscuits." Nope. You want old school? These are "Sour Milk Biscuits." Because that's how Yankees roll.

SOUR MILK except no because that sounds gross so BUTTERMILK BISCUITS
(slightly adapted from the book to remove shortening and "soda" which . . . whatever)

INGREDIENTS

• 2 cups all-purpose flour
• 4 tsp baking powder
• 1 tsp salt
• 2 tbs butter
• 3/4 cup buttermilk

Sift flour, baking powder, and salt together in a bowl. Rub in butter with fingertips. Stir in buttermilk and mix to a soft dough. (It will be very squishy but not that sticky.) Roll out onto slightly floured board to 1/2 inch thickness. Cut with a biscuit cutter and bake in a quick oven (450 F) 10 to 15 minutes. 

Just before being popped into MY QUICK OVEN.

BEETLE NOTES

First. I *super heart* the fact that they use "quick oven" because its one of those period details that makes me crazy happy. I love it. The adjective usage before "oven" in this book is one of the greatest literary experiments of all time. Just looking at the open book next to me right now, we've got: quick, hot, moderate, and pre-heated (interesting, as opposed to . . . ?) Also, the temperature definitions of the aforementioned are totally not consistent. A "quick" oven can range from 400 - 450 degrees, a "hot" from 375 - 425, a "moderate" from 350 to 400. Sometimes they don't even give you the degree equivalent, you just have to guess. Which at least makes it fun. Am I going to burn the house down today or not? Let's find out! Whee! 

I did not, for the record.

As I mentioned above, I don't know what "soda" is and therefore there's no way we have it in the house. So I decided that I would just increase the baking powder by 1 tsp (as per the Baking Powder Biscuit recipe right next to it) and hope for the best. 

And, duh, no shortening. I know, I know, a surprising number of Yankees actually do swear by it for pie crusts, etc., and there is a pretty vociferous argument out there that it's the only way to do certain baking correctly. But I can't get on the shortening train. It just . . . it looks like industrial waste, you guys, I'm sorry. It freaks me out. I just imagine that when you die of fatty degeneration of the heart (which of course you will) whatever builds up in your valves and stuff is literally the same texture and colour as Crisco. It LOOKS like the contents of a clogged artery. I'M SORRY. 

I just switch it out  for butter every time and damn the culinary consequences. Moving on. 

I mean I guess they could be called "drop biscuits?"
Or "shaped and carefully placed biscuits?"

I also totally did not feel like getting out my pastry mat and rolling and re-rolling and cutting and re-cutting and then cleaning flour out of the tile grouting for an hour even though you know you didn't even stand in that part of the kitchen how does that happen. So I just kneaded the dough in the bowl for a bit until it all came together evenly and then ripped off small handfuls and shaped them into what I considered "biscuit-looking" forms. 

Before placing on the baking sheets, I dipped them in a little bit of flour to keep them from sticking and also from an aesthetic perspective I feel like biscuits really should have a dusting of flour on them, otherwise they just aren't biscuits. I know you'll agree. 

Also must say that these reminded me of baking powder biscuit night at Wellesley, when the entire cross country team would eat pretty much two entire commercial-sized sheet pans of these, slathered in honey, for our dinner. (only when our coach was NOT in attendance, obviously, as they did not in any way fulfill our daily protein requirements) They. Were. The. Best. I miss baking powder biscuit night.

[sighs nostalgically]

And the best thing about these is that they can be toasted for brekkie with butter and/or jam, eaten directly off the baking sheet with your bare hands (if you are a certain Beetle mother) or served up for dessert, as shall become clear, for GIRLFRIEND WEEKEND. 

And THAT, dear reader, is my segue. [bows horns to applause]

Poor Becks was SUPPOSED to arrive in Boston at 12.30 but due to an infestation of bus gremlins was significantly later than that. And I felt it was my duty as a bestie to comfort, pamper, and feed her as much as possible. We've all been in the bus gremlin situation. It's up there in terms of unpleasant experiences. She weathered it pretty well I have to say. I would have looked like something out of World War Z, and would probably have been wide eyed, foaming at the mouth, lost the ability to communicate through speech, and be attacking and eating my fellow passengers. She, however, is clearly cooler than me because she seemed pretty blase about the entire thing. But I still decided to feed her as much as possible in the next 48 hours, just to make sure she didn't go for my brains. 

GIRLFRIEND WEEKEND KICKOFF SUMMER FRITTATA SUPPER

Blanket apology for all the photos of this. I am sorry that our kitchen looks like the seventh circle of hell from an ambient lighting perspective. It is NOT actually this orange. It's a much warmer, rosier glow in reality, but if I use the flash then everything just comes out looking like cat vomit and nobody wants that. So I guess if you don't mind pretending you are in Corsica or something . . . ? Yeah? Thanks. 

INGREDIENTS

• 8 eggs, beaten
• 1 medium onion, diced
• 1 cup torn spinach leaves or mixed greens
• 2 cups (roughly) cherry tomatoes, sliced in half
• 2 links vegetarian sausage, sliced
• fresh thyme
• olive oil, salt, pepper
• Shredded Parmesan cheese

Make the filling first. Pour the olive oil in a large frying pan, get it hot, and add the onion, cooking about 5 minutes until it starts to soften. Add the sausages, cook a few minutes more. 

Add the tomatoes, salt, pepper, thyme, and cook for a bit more until the tomatoes have reduced and lost some of their juices. Add the spinach last as it will cook super fast, and keep stirring. Add more oil as necessary. 

Reduce the heat, spread the filling out over the bottom of the frying pan. Slowly pour the beaten eggs over the filling, trying to get it as evenly covered as possible. Tilt the pan back and forth if you need to, and keep tilting it to let the uncooked egg run into little non-egg places if necessary. Sprinkle salt, pepper, more thyme, and cheese on top.

Let that sit and cook for about 10 minutes. Keep running your spatula underneath the edges to keep it from sticking, and also to check how brown it is. When it's golden on the bottom, put it in the broiler for 3-4 more minutes until the top is browning and crackly. Feel free to add more cheese at ANY point during this. You can cook it into the filling too, obviously. 

Sliced perfectly. Glorious. 

I just served it straight out of the pan onto the plate, and it cut into really nice slices. If you are more cultured than I am, slide it out onto a serving dish and do it that way. 

If for some reason it's still runny when you slice into it, just stick it back in the broiler for a few more minutes until it firms up. (I'm assuming here that you are not one of those complete moral wasteoids who like runny eggs because that would be awkward and unfortunate for us both.) 

This is one of those awesome summer dishes that can be made in 15 minutes, can use pretty much anything in the fridge, can be served hot or cold, made vegetarian or non, and, I mean, come on, pretty much EVERYONE likes eggs. Plus eggs for dinner is just . . . awesome. ALSO I know it's a lot of eggs, and a lot of frittata, but it keeps really well in the fridge, and I don't think anyone in the history of the world has ever turned down leftover cold frittata the morning after. It would be like, I don't know, hating kittens or something. Just not done. 

I repeat. Eggs for dinner = Awesome. 

Annnnnd if there is a better way to finish off a delicious summer veggie egg-based dinner than watching Miss Congeniality and eating Strawberry Shortcake, I WOULD SERIOUSLY LIKE TO KNOW WHAT IT IS. 

STRAWBERRY SHORTCAKE

Come on, you knew where I was going with this.

IS there a more classic summer dessert? Maybe a draw with Blueberry Pie . . . but really, no. And we had the biscuits . . . IT WAS FATE.

ALSO DEAR READER. BEETLE ANNOUNCEMENT. 

FOR THE TWO PEOPLE READING THIS WHO DON'T KNOW ME PERSONALLY. 

From mid-July to mid-August I will be posting (hopefully) but probs not "cooking posting" as I will be TEACHING WRITING in upstate New York. I got the gig back in May, but if I've failed to mention it until now it's because I black out with joy every time it comes up. It's a month-long Writer's Retreat for teen girls where I shall attempt to instill in them the wisdom of my nearly-thirty years. We will be covering Creative Writing, Blogging, Poetry, College Essays (blah) and a few other things. I gotta tell you I am having SO MUCH FUN coming up with exercises and lesson plans. Should it feel this fun to work? Should it? 

I will also be a dorm head, so imagine Princess Diaries 2 when they slide down the palace stairs on mattresses, and that's pretty much what's going to happen when I'm on duty. SO. I'll put up a few little brain dumps when I can, and perhaps if the girls in my dorm and I have a baking party then that'll go up too. But I'll be back at the farm and cooking again, before Labour Day never fear. 

And omg you guys it's the 4th of July on THURSDAY which means relatively patriotic food (read: cornbread) but also getting out our Union Jack tea towels and commemorative Coronation mugs and spoons and having a vaguely (ok pretty) monarchistic Independence Day. As we do. 

We will watch National Treasure and National Treasure 2: Book of Secrets, though, that has to count for something. Nothing says "Yay America" like Nicolas Cage deciphering Masonic scrolls. NOTHING.