September Morning

 

Our garden is a fine place to be on a cool sunny September morning with a "scarf of blue mist around her shoulders."

I try to snap a clear picture of BreeBree and James Mason as they chase madly around trying to pick up the scent of Chester, resident chipmunk.

Hummingbirds zoom in and out to the tiny red flowers of an unknown plant. On one day the flowers dwindle down to a few and I wonder if they should be cut back to encourage more blooms but then the very next morning it is loaded with red blooms, and hummingbirds. Over and over.
 

The hydrangeas are past their peak. This year I'm not cutting bunches for drying. 

We haven't taken down the Fourth of July bunting yet. Hopefully it will come down before the Christmas wreath goes up.

 I'm letting go of summer a little bit at a time this year but a September garden with BreeBree and James Mason is a fine place to be.

September comes to us as a woman blessed with a great inheritance, whose lines have fallen in fair places. She has the flash and frame of leaves that begin to turn, she is colorful with blossoms, and she wears a scarf of blue mist around her shoulders. But to think of all the glories that have been handed down to her from August.

Richardson Wright, Truly Rural

A Decision and Richardson Wright

 This past week has been a happy week full of sweet family visits and good conversation, both in person and over phone and texts. 

I loved every minute of it and was left with temporary sadness when it ended. There's never enough pictures taken and what I do have I'll share soon on Dewena's Window where my granddaughters and their mom brought the party to me! 

This post here today is just a way of tackling feeling overwhelmed about where to start after an absence.

So I'll just post by saying that in celebrating what is my last year of the seventh decade I came to a decision. 

Decision: this is the year I will try to do more of what  makes me happy and less of a no-end-in-sight To Do List. Because, if not now, when?

Now, it's a given that some things on the daily to-do list have to be done or I won't be happy and neither will RH. Some things have to be done, period. But there can be a limit and I intend to recognize it. 

Yesterday I did only what I had to do and at 1:15 I hung up my homemaker apron and sat down to spend the entire afternoon with one of my favorite literary crushes, Richardson Wright. 

I have almost all of his few books on a special bookshelf but it had been ages since I treated myself to time in them. I luxuriated in Richardson Wright's life in the country with his wife and his Georgian New England home and his gardens where he lost 30 pounds  away from his desk as editor-in-chief of my favorite vintage magazine, House & Garden, for thirty-five incredible years, from 1914 to 1946.

I think I've had Richardson Wright in my labels here and at Dewena's Window more than any other author except for Gladys Taber. Today I'm not going to put a single sentence from the charming man as yesterday I read him just for myself, not as a blogger.

But here is his picture, once again. 

Richardson Wright, my literary crush....

 

 

Tail End of September

 September has been lovely here at Home Hill, ending with comfortably warm days after delicious four days of chilly nights and days where the AC was off and windows open. 

I am ready for frost on the pumpkins, even though we haven't bought our pumpkins yet.

Yesterday there was a flash of orange in the garden, a monarch butterfly that tantalized me by flittering here and there but not landing long enough for a good photo snap.

 

If it were not for these late migrating beauties I would be more than ready for a good frost. The garden is dingy, no doubt about that. I'm ready to move on, ready to welcome October and praying it won't bring the record breaking heat we had in October of 2019. 

It would be nice to order up the weather we'd like, wouldn't it? Or maybe not. That's probably in better hands than mine. 

Still....

By the end of September one becomes surfeited with garden beauty...So come quickly, sharp early frost! Obliterate some of this beauty! Clear decks for the majesty of Autumn!

                                   Richardson Wright

                                   The Gardener's Bed-Book

 

In honor of Richardson Wright's birthday and a good roast beef recipe.

 Dipping my toes back in blogging water once more. 

This dear man, Richardson Wright, motivated me to attempt it while I was reading his The Gardener's Bed-Book yesterday. It's something I do most days and I noticed that the next day, today June 18, is his birthday. 

I have seven posts in this blog under his label and nine at poor neglected Dewena's Window so why not add one more in honor of the day of birth of House & Gardens' longest serving editor in chief, from 1914 to the early 1950s. (In my opinion, the magazine went downhill fast after he left.)

I remembered that in February of 2020 I made one of the recipes from my 1943 first edition of his The Bed-Book of Eating and Drinking, found the pictures I made but never used and turned to the recipe that he included in the book on April 30. 

My shopping trip to Whole Foods that winter day of 2020, before the unheard of possibility of shutdown ever existed, produced a beautiful cut of roast that I can't remember the name of but it was a better cut than Richardson's suggestion of top sirloin of beef. 

Now I'll let Mr. Wright's directions accompany my pictures:

A lone and unprotected male can never know beforehand what will happen to him when he ventures into the farther reaches of Long Island. My purpose in going there was to deliver a lecture--with dinner before...On this occasion the strange people turned out charming, and the hostess, a Naval wife fresh from Pearl Harbor, covered herself with honor by serving Hawaiian spiced beef. She graciously gave me the recipe.

For a night and a day, 24 hours, to be exact, soak a 5-pound piece of top sirloin of beef in the following mixture: 1 cup vinegar, 2 cups brown sugar, 3 onions coarsely sliced, 2 bay leaves, 2 cloves of garlic, 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon, 1 teaspoon cloves and 1 of nutmeg.

When it has marinated in this conglomeration of spices the appointed 24 hours, put the whole mixture into a kettle without adding water, and boil for 3 or more additional hours.

I remember this roast smelling so good while it was cooking. And it was delicious eating, a little something like the beloved Spiced Round, a Tennessee 1950s Christmas dish that I used to make, except that spiced round marinates for almost a week. 

 And the sauce is delicious over rice or mashed potatoes.

The sauce is thickened with a little flour and water to which salt is added. Wild rice and string beans are companionable with this magnificent dish.

I forgot to take a picture after I poured this sauce through my old gravy separator to remove the oil on top but it was a very good meal. Not as good as my favorite two roast beef recipes that I alternate between but good for special occasions.

Father's Day is coming up and RH always requests a roast beef that day but I know better than to give him anything but a chuck roast with onions, carrots, and potatoes. Substitutions have been tolerated but not the absence of a pie of some sort.  

There will be a day of rest for him, maybe. You just never know. He's a little bit like Richardson Wright in that way, the garden is always calling. 

Happy Father's Day to RH and to two of my sons who sometimes read their mother's blogs--if Feedburner has not stopped sending out email notifications by the time they look. I'm told that July 1 is the big day that we will no longer get email notifications of blog posts through them. 

And Happy Birthday in heaven to Richardson Wright, the former editor in chief who spent much of his retirement time serving as a lay Episcopalian. When he wasn't in the garden.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Swim, By Golly

Have you cooked any meals during this Safer At Home time that left you unimpressed? I have. Most of mine have been well thought out and planned because there is no chance of saying "Honey, I don't feel like cooking tonight so can we go out to eat?"
 

Although there was that lunch I had where I microwaved a package of Seeds of Change brown rice and topped it with a can of sardines, mashed it all up and stirred in green Tabasco sauce and lemon juice when there were no leftovers from supper the night before. I got it down.

Canned sardines--that ever-present help in slight emergencies and when the imagination runs low.

 Richardson Wright 

The Bed-Book of Eating and Dining (1943)

I agree with my hero most of the time. I use the best canned sardines I can find in an Orzo Sardine Salad, Rotini and Sardine Pasta Salad, in cream cheese spreads, and with Trader Joe's wonderful Garlic Basil Linguini with capers, scallions, chicken broth and herbs. And I love grilled fresh sardines. But I hope never to repeat that one quick lunch.

 

One night a couple of weeks ago, totally uninspired for supper plans, I stared into my pantry (a former coat closet that RH turned into a pantry a few days after we moved in) and hoped it would send me a message. I spotted a box of macaroni and remembered a recipe idea that I had recently come across in another one of my old Richardson Wright books.  

Richardson is my man from the early mid-century and I remembered he had a frugal recipe called Swim, By Golly that called for macaroni and ground beef--or hamburg steak as he called it. I loved the By Golly part of the name because I grew up saying it and one day in 5th grade got reprimanded for it by my teacher. Major blush that I still remember.

The Swim, By Golly looked nice when I dished it up for supper with some steamed broccoli and Bridgeford rolls.

The only clues Richardson had given me for his red-haired Texas sister's Swim, By Golly was:

Hamburg steak cooked with a rich and spicy sauce served on a big round platter on a bed of macaroni. It is, as you can readily appreciate, a simple dish, inexpensive and filling."

Richardson Wright

A Small House and A Large Garden (1924)

 

I chopped an onion and garlic and sautéed it in olive oil, added 1 pound of lean ground beef and browned it. 

I added salt and pepper, cumin, and oregano, red pepper flakes, a can of Muir Glenn fire roasted crushed tomatoes and cooked it for 10 minutes, then added some Worcestershire sauce, a dollop of Calabrian Chilies in Oil, beef stock, red wine and minced parsley and let it simmer about an hour. I cooked the macaroni (the whole box, big mistake) and stirred it in with some of the pasta water. 

It should have at least been okay, but it wasn't. We were hungry so ate it and I saved the leftovers for lunch the next day, thinking it would improve with age. It didn't and by then the macaroni had absorbed even more liquid and felt like giant pasta shells in my mouth. Trash can time.

Richardson, I know you were Editor-in-Chief of House & Garden magazine for half a century and had impeccable taste in house and garden and wine, and every other recipe of yours that I've tried was delicious--not to mention that I simply adore you--but this recipe is not a keeper.

My dear small group of readers of Across the Way, have all your meals during this time at home been yummy or have you had any failures? It's okay if you tell me all your meals have been award-winning. 

You won't be able to see me crying here.

Carking Cares

I've turned back to my favorite comfort novels during this unsettling time and to favorite garden and food writers.

In one of my Richardson Wright books the longtime editor-in-chief of House & Garden Magazine writes of admiring one breed of wine enthusiasts, "a small coterie of rare souls, who write in true humility, men endowed with the sure and penetrating touch of the mysteries."

One he quotes often in his books is André Simon, often enough that I squealed with delight when I found an old book written by Simon in a thrift store. More on that another time, possibly, but here is the quote that Wright, a layman Episcopalian, was taken by:

Wit is not sold in bottles over the counter. Wit is in us as the spark is in the flint; wine strikes the flint of the intelligence and sparks cheer in the gloom; but it must be flint, not chalk, if there are to be sparks. Nor will any quantity of the best wine remove carking cares. Carking cares are a physic trouble not of the body but of the soul, and the soul liveth by the finest wine of all, a wine that is a food with a drug action a hundredfold greater than that of the best red or white wines; its name is Faith.

I had never heard the term carking cares but found that it is a Middle English term that means "to be burdened with trouble; worry."

Anyone experienced that recently? I have.

Those that be are searching for cures right now but maybe André Simon is right and the cure for our present personal carking cares is faith. 

I've known that all along and consider faith as my personal spiritual gift but it sure is good to be reminded, daily and often, especially at 3:30 a.m.

Know what I mean?
 

 

January Goodbye

I almost forgot about a January Goodbye post and will hurry to slip this one in before midnight.

Tomorrow I'll turn the first page of the 2019 Kevin Dodds calendar. It seems like only yesterday that I closed the 2018 calendar. 

As usual the beginning of a new month meant a few changes on my kitchen shelves, always something I enjoy doing, and the very last bloom of amaryllis 'Caprice' lasted a long time in a juice glass away from the sun in the big window.

All the Christmas decorations were packed away earlier than I had anticipated I would, the few in my bedroom being the last as they were cheerful at night before bed. Mainly only an old Waterford wreath and a German book of the Nativity.

One book that I've enjoyed every night before bed is this day book by one of my very favorite authors, Richardson Wright, editor of House & Garden from 1914 to 1950. 

I try to buy his old books as I can and I dearly love day books so this one has been such a pleasant surprise. As many of his books that I have that were written while he was with the magazine, it was only in this one, published after he retired, that I learned he was an Episcopalian lay preacher. There's been a little gem on almost every page.

RH has been busy working this month but managed to do a day of yard work last weekend on a mild day, transplanting a few small trees to better locations and digging up one of the two butterfly bushes in the back garden and moving it to a front bed for more room for both of them to spread.

He also hung the new coat rack above, a sweet bargain from our trip to Goodwill for under $5. When I spotted the Smith & Hawkin label on the back I knew it had to be quality. It gives him space for gloves and knitted hats in the cubbyholes.

He also found two half-price things at Costco in the January clearance and brought them home hoping I'd like them.

Would I like this green ceramic olive oil jar? Be still my heart!

This porcelain cookie jar not only had the best chocolate cookies in it, it's now a great jar for homemade treats!

I'm still using cranberries from my freezer, making three loaf cakes of Orange Cranberry bread from an old recipe in Romantic Homes magazine that was amazing, pictures forgotten, but twice making this simple apple-cranberry crumble with oat topping that was so very good! 

Our precious James Mason is doing better, we hope and pray. Time will tell. This last week has been devoted to him.

His little sister has gotten her share of attention too. This has been dachshund week, just can't keep our hands off them! 

I am afraid the sofa is now off limits to them, their stool taken away and the sofa forbidden even for BreeBree. Dachshunds backs are just not made for jumping, even though they like to fly like the birds.

I'm publishing this with no proof reading because they are both letting me know that it is time to go night night, so forgive any errors, please.

Goodnight to all, goodnight to January!

Vinegar Faces

No, his is not the vinegar face I'm speaking of here. This portrait of Richardson Wright, editor in chief of House & Garden from 1914 well into the years of World War II, had to have been the result of photographer Doris Ulmann's coaxing him to look editor-in-chief-ish. 

I love reading anything he has written, from two of his Bed-Books that I own, one original and one reprint, to articles he wrote in my vintage House & Garden magazines. I just ordered another old book of his and will be totally useless for hours when it arrives in the mail.

In her introduction to the reprint of his The Gardener's Bed-Book, Dominique Browning, who claims to have cornered the market on his books, says that "Wright was a gentleman of breeding and discernment. He was worldly, and at the same time he was devoted to the domestic arts. He believed in living well, and thinking large. They don't make too many like him."

Here's what Richardson Wright wrote on his 28th of November entry about Vinegar Faces.

In my Winter tramps hereabout, I have been encountering the dour faces of the natives, the grim look of men and women on isolated farms far back in the hinterlands. And I'm wondering why people must be so grave and sour and vinegary. Certainly our coming into this world is painful enough, and the manner of our leaving it is, in most instances, nothing to boast about. Between these two momentous events, Life spreads no bed of Roses for us. To some it's a springless couch. To most it's a bumpy one. A rare few find it pleasantly circumstanced, like an old bed with curtains to keep out draughts. The best of us seem to lie unprotected, in all the night winds of the world. Since so unfairly does Life deal the cards, let those of us who can, laugh: let girls giggle and boys shout and old men chuckle in their stomachs and old ladies titter behind their fans.

So today I'm sharing this with anyone who needs it--and no one needs it more than I do, especially by around 5:30 p.m. each day.

For those of us who have not lost our homes to voracious wildfires, for those of us who have not lost a beloved person or pet, for those of us not greatly suffering from one of Life's unfairly dealt cards...

Come, would you, and sit by me?

Join me while I titter behind my fan.

5:30 p.m. would be a perfect time.

[I know, I purloined this image with its watermark, but is it not too perfect to pass up? And I love my green dress!]

September Dew

Dusk Dew. There is a quality to Autumn dew that cannot be found in the dew of Spring or Summer--it sharpens the nostrils, the way a dish of bloater paste on toast edges the appetite of a cold morning. Dusk is the time to enjoy it. In the valley the mist softly gathers and mauves steal across the farther hills. From the ground rise faint and penetrating fumes--the honey aroma of late Phlox, the spice of Yarrow foliage and of Helenium flowers from the near-by border, the saccharine fragrance of a late Clematis star, and overlying all these subtleties, the persistent, sweaty spice of wet soil and damp fallen leaves.

Richardson Wright

The Gardener's Bed-Book

Pork Thoughts

I'm beginning to have a slightly uncomfortable relationship with pork on my menu.

I've always liked pork: pork chops, ham, good country sausage, and oh my goodness, bacon.

I can hardly get scrambled eggs down without a bite of bacon for every bite of egg. And then there's that delicacy of pork, the tenderloin. Marinated, roasted and then sliced and stuffed in my homemade buttermilk biscuits and served with stone ground grits and a salad is a family favorite, with leftover stuffed biscuits frozen for quick breakfasts. Can't be beat.

But lately pork has just not appealed to me. And beef hasn't been far behind. Actually, I don't even crave chicken, never have. I don't think I have ever once ordered chicken when eating out. It's always seafood or fish, or a filet if we're in a steak place. Unless it's a Krystal hamburger, a food group of its own.

I recently bought two pork tenderloins packed together in a pack where normally I only buy one small one. It was on sale. I tried a recipe out of Elizabeth Bard's book Lunch in Paris: A Love Story with Recipes, Pork Tenderloin with Apples. I marinated it overnight in garlic cloves, thyme, rosemary, apple citer vinegar, red wine and olive oil.

After drying the meat well and browning it all over in butter and olive oil, I put them on a platter and sautéd apple quarters and shallots, put the meat back in the pan and added a cup of apple juice as I didn't have the hard cider Bard called for.

And I added a lot of yellow fennel flowers because I read somewhere, can't remember where, that pork and apples love the addition of fennel flowers. 

[8/20/18: found it! Frances Mayes in Everyday in Tuscany said to scatter yellow fennel flowers in pork dishes and apple dishes because "They dance to the same tune." I love that!]

After the pork finished roasting in the oven, I put all the solid pieces on a platter, covered it with foil, then added a couple of tablespoons of brandy to the pan juices. I didn't have the Calvados the author called for. I adore Calvados, used to buy a new bottle every fall to use for my white fruitcakes, but then the stuff went to over $80. Even my brandy was from the tiny bottles Santa Claus puts in my Christmas stocking so no way was I going to put out $80 for a pork dish.

That reduced sauce was out of this world! I put it in an old USA creamer that was from RH's mother's dishes and then added a sprig of fennel flowers for garnish to the platter.

It was all excellent, it really was, the meat flavorful and tender and the apples like the very best homemade applesauce. But I couldn't face eating much of it or the leftovers.

Maybe because it's summer? Maybe I'll crave pork chops when frost comes just like I'll crave chili when we have the first really cold spell? 

Could it be because of this recent Goodwill picture coming home with me? Surely not. I jokingly told this cute little family that I loved them but it didn't mean that I was going to stop eating bacon.

Right underneath them were photographs of my father, a man who knew how to grill the best pork, beef and chicken ever, and my mother's father who had his own butcher shop. I reminded my new little Oink Family that I was from carnivorous lineage.

They didn't give me the evil eye, I don't think. The little shoats kept on frolicking, Mama Sow didn't get up from the mud she wallowed in and Papa kept on watching over the whole pig sty.

I've grown to love their black spots and their curly little tails.

Does this mean I won't ever again eat ham or country sausage--or bacon? Probably not.

My pork philosophy is that hogs are food for man just as cattle and chickens are. I think I'm just not as comfortable eating it the way I always have, bought at the average supermarket. Not when I keep seeing stories about how resistant these chains are to committing to the Gap Animal Partnership (GAP) standards that stores like Whole Foods are adhering to. 

Even better would be knowing that pigs and cattle and chickens had had a decent life before becoming my dinner.

Richardson Wright, editor of House & Garden for decades, wrote this in one of my favorite books, Gardeners Bed-Book, back during the Depression:

When they first arrive, I delight in their cute tricks, their squealing and running around the sty. Through the summer, I rejoice in their sensuous mud-wallowing. With Autumn my thoughts turn to size and weight. Their ration includes Corn, with an occasional bucket of windfall Apples for dessert. Soon we shall start feeding them Peanuts as they do in Virginia, to add (so I hold the childish faith) a nutty flavor to the meat. Like condemned men awaiting execution, they are given a rich and abundant cuisine.

Yep, I guess I am a little hardhearted like Mr. Wright was. Pigs are for meat, even for me, depending on how fond I might become of the future grandpig I keep hearing I might have someday. 

I don't really have a fight with their purpose. I do have a big fight with how they are mass produced and crammed into cages while awaiting my dinner table. 

My father grew up on a farm that his father sharecropped. He and his six brothers and sisters worked hard to help their parents feed the family. They ate seasonally from what they grew or produced, bought very little in a store. When something was finished for the year, it was gone except for what my grandmother and aunts had preserved and canned.

When cold weather came in November it was hog butchering time. My father, being the youngest, didn't help with the actual butchering. But he did help his mother render the lard. He told me: "That's where the cracklins came from. Mama wouldn't have what she called compound shortening (Crisco) in the house. The best cornbread was when we had cracklins in it."

 His family didn't even get to keep all the pork they ended up with. They sold the hams. They kept the shoulders, made sausage and then canned jars of it, covered with grease. It was spiced plentifully with Grandma's dried hot peppers.

I imagine everything but the oink was put to use. I remember seeing my father eating pickled pigs feet out of a glass jar when I was a child so I know his mother must have pickled the trotters. 

The real treat of hog butchering day was the tenderloin. My grandmother cooked that fresh that very day, according to my father. Maybe she had it with homemade buttermilk biscuits. If so, that was probably one fine meal.

That tenderloin that my father and his siblings ate that day was a cut they called "hog killing meat." That's realism for you.

Farmers are tough. Most don't keep pigs for pets. You can tell that from this family photograph that I call our Grapes of Wrath family portrait. My father is the young teenager in overalls standing up behind the others.

I probably won't stop eating pork but I would like to have it only occasionally and then only from a store that adheres to the Global Animal Partnership. 

Here is a link to more information about that.

Perhaps by the time my granddaughters grow up and have their own families there will be enough stores participating in this that large chain stores will have to comply too, which means that producers will be forced to comply.

I'm not asking for pork to be eliminated from the national diet. I just wish that the pigs could have a decent life before they become pork for the table. 

Serendipity

Richardson Wright, editor-in-chief of House & Garden from 1914 to 1946, wrote this:

"Here is a nice word that collectors will enjoy--Serendipity. It was coined by Horace Walpole out of the fairy tale, 'The Three Princes of Serendip,' the heroes of which were always making discoveries by accident. And that is its meaning--the faculty of making happy and unexpected discoveries by accident. When you wander into an antique shop in search of a pewter candlestick and find a unique piece of Irish glass for next to nothing, you are blessed with Serendipity."

I felt blessed with Serendipity one day last spring when R.H. and I had an hour to spare before going to a birthday party in a town near us and dropped into the local Goodwill. On the bottom shelf in the dish section, pushed to the back, were two stacks of luncheon plates taped together.

I loved the hand painted look of them and put them in our basket after turning one stack over to look at the back. It read "Martres" and "France" and were 50 cents apiece!

Once home I searched online and found only two like them, in Belgium for about $14 each. Not exactly diamonds and rubies but nevertheless, it was Serendipity.

I almost felt like Serendipity had blessed me again when I went outside to look for something to make a centerpiece for the table and found these few blossoms on one side of the hydrangea bush, the other side turned brown.

And old-fashioned bouquet for an old square blue Mason jar.

These plates were just right for chicken salad. The well loved and much missed novelist, Laurie Colwin, wrote: "Chicken salad has a certain glamour about it. Like the little black dress it is chic and adaptable and can be taken anywhere. You can dress it down and feed it to a child, or dress it up and serve it at a dinner party. You can accessorize it in an interesting way and astonish your friends at lunch."

Everyone has a favorite recipe for chicken salad. I started with the Barefoot Contessa's recipe and then changed it to include green apple slivers after tasting the delicious chicken salad at the Storie Street Grille in Blowing Rock, North Carolina [here].

I also made one of my favorite soups from Lee Bailey's Soup Meals with leeks, celery, onions and shallots. If you love soups you won't go wrong looking for Mr. Bailey's soup cookbook on used book sites. The recipe for Carrot-Dill Soup I made last winter [here] is also in this book.

Since I can't go to Serendipity in New York for this (at $25,000.00)....

[here]

I will go to Goodwill and hope for Serendipity. Where have you found Serendipity?