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Glop

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If you’re looking for culinary extravagance, Glop is not for you. It is a simple, comforting down-home medley of flavors, baked in the oven. I refuse to call it a ‘casserole.’ It is Glop, and I love it. 
I’ve been eating Glop for years. The recipe came to me from my friend Bonnie, a wonderful home cook who seriously underestimates the beauty and goodness of Glop. It’s just rice, chicken, sour cream, mushrooms, white wine, onions, oh-so-many good things baked together in the oven, but you’ll want to curl up to a dish of it again and again and again. The Glop is that good.

2 whole chicken breasts
bay leaf, parsley, garlic, any other delights you’d like to taste with your chicken
1 large onion, sliced thin and sauteed in butter
8 mushrooms (baby portobello, button, whatever kind you want; I usually use a lot more than 8, though), sliced and sauteed in butter
1 cup sour cream
1/2 cup white wine (that you would be happy to drink)
1 can cream of mushroom soup (the most glamourous of ingredients)
1 cup long grain rice (uncooked)
salt and pepper (to taste)
Cook chicken with herbs and garlic (boil, roast, whatever you want); let it cool, then debone and shred chicken into bite-size pieces. Combine chicken with all of the other ingredients, mixing thoroughly. Put in greased baking dish and bake covered at 350 degrees for 1 1/2 hours. 
(P.S. I usually double the recipe so that I have a bunch to freeze.)

So. … I tried.

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Don’t mind the glare. Or the flour dust on the shelf.

We were surrounded. For weeks. By cookies. Crisp and buttery. Rich and fudge-y. Crumbly and chewy. Gloriously fattening. They were all there, for a long time. After New Year’s I thought I wouldn’t want to see, let alone bake, another cookie for a while. Six whole days went by before I decided I needed one of them (really, I thought I could go longer). That’s when I made these chubbers: Bittersweet Chocolate Chunk Cookies.

That Does It

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Just when you think you can’t lift another shovel of snow, when you begin to whine that you’ve made no progress despite your hours of toil in the driving snow and blizzard winds, when you curse yourself for never having made friends with folks who own plows, one sweeps into your driveway.

This is one of the many reasons why I love Vermont and Vermonters.

There I was late this morning, standing a few feet deep in snow, not yet realizing a true plan of attack for where, exactly, I was going to push and heave all this snow, blinded by the white wind. I plugged away with my sad little shovel for a long, long time when, in front of my wondering eyes did appear, a bright blue pick-up with orange snow-plowing gear. (Sad, huh?) The gentleman who disembarked from said shiny vehicle asked if I would like some help, if he might plow the driveway. He and his family live a half-mile up the road, he explained, and he saw me (pathetically) shoveling and thought I could use a hand. For the record, there was no hesitation on my part. Oh, please, thank you, thank you, thank you. I’ll just stand over here, out of your way. Have at it. Thank you, thank you, thank you. 
We chatted when he finished. He wouldn’t take any money, or cocoa, but smiled broadly as he waved goodbye. Little does he know he made my day. My Christmas, for that matter.

Scenes from Vermont

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Early October 2011: Fall colors emerging
•••
June 2011: Lush views and baby goat sightings
Green Mountains as seen from our road


Rocking steady at a nearby farm


Finally Beginning to Look Like Spring Around Here (May 1, 2011)
The homestead
Hammocks are even more comfy when they are handmade by someone you love.
Signs of life
Exploring Quechee Gorge

•••
Still Thawing Out (April 2011)
Chipmunk and I enjoyed some sunshine today, finally, and a balmy 56 degrees.
Sweet, pudgy cheeks

•••
The Not-So-Big Thaw (March 2011)
Sap lines mean syrup in my belly … soon.



Ha. Ha. Ha.

Home is that way.

First spring issue of a favorite cooking mag.

Quiet light at the meetinghouse.

Mt. Ascutney — nearly snow-free.

The Big Dig.

Bee stops giving chase — for a minute, anyway.

Moving Water 1.

Moving Water 2.

Moving Water 3.

Look, Ma. No snow boots.





•••

Icy Afternoon (March 2011)



•••
The homestead (February 2011)

Welcome (December 2009)


Slightly Mangy Snowman (January 2010)

Mom's Ginger Cookies in a Snap

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This is my mother’s recipe, simple and economical. Not really a snappy cookie but chewy, spicy and delectable. I’m a butter girl, but my mom sometimes substituted vegetable shortening. No one ever complained.


1 1/4 cups butter, softened, OR vegetable shortening
1 cup sugar, plus more for rolling
1 egg
1/4 cup molasses
2 cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon ginger
1 teaspoon cinnamon
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease baking sheets (I use nonstick cooking spray).
Combine flour, soda and spices; set aside. Cream butter (or shortening) and sugar until fluffy; add egg and molasses to combine. Add dry ingredients to wet. Mix until fully incorporated.
Using your fingers or a small (say, 1-inch) scoop, form dough into balls and roll in sugar. Place on cookie sheets and bake for 10-12 minutes. The cookies will flatten and crinkle as they bake, and fill your house with the scent of holiday spices. Remove from sheets to cool on wire racks.

The Tree

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Complete with its homemade tin-foil star.

I inherited my love for the Christmas tree from my mother, who would spend at least two full days perfecting its glory. This involved fully decorating it in one corner of our living room only to take everything down and start from scratch in another corner. Because she thought it would look better.

She was a lovable maniac.

It wasn’t only the tree which garnered her enthusiasm. She loved all things Christmas and always came out with the big guns, despite the fact that it had to be tough as a single mother of five who worked the third shift as a nurse’s aide. She made dozens of Christmas cookies not only for us but for our classmates, her co-workers, our neighbors, and just about anyone else willing to be stuffed with butter and sugar.

And I, brat that I was, oh ye of little faith, doubted her ability one year. I remember lying in my bed, about 2 a.m., worrying that my mom wouldn’t be able to whip out her famous gingerbread cookies in time for me to take them to school to share with my fourth-grade class. You see, she was still at work, in the middle of her shift, and I couldn’t fathom how she would get home, make cookie dough from scratch, chill the dough, roll and cut out cookies, let them cool, decorate and package them (not that I really comprehended all the steps involved) in time for my school party.

But she did. And threw in some finger sandwiches for my classmates as well.

This is the fifth Christmas since she died. I miss her every day, but even more so at Christmas. The cookies I bake —gingerbread and sugar cookie cut-outs, snowballs, black-eyed susans, rugelach, pecan tassies, bittersweet brownies — I bake for her. It doesn’t matter that our household of two couldn’t possibly down all these cookies without going into cardiac arrest. My mother taught me that everyone loves a cookie, so we share.

My Second Vermont Christmas

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It’s been nearly two years since my somewhat spur-of-the-moment move to Vermont.

I called many places home during my 20s, from Florida to Connecticut. But I didn’t really mean it. Like many 20-somethings, I was searching for myself, my dream job, on occasion my dream man, but never really getting it together.

Until now.

Only now do I feel at home. Even when the temperature has plummeted well below zero and the pipes freeze. Even when it takes endless hours to shovel the driveway. And, yes, even when I quit the job that originally brought me here because I realize it’s not what it’s cracked up to be.

It’s been non-stop nesting since January 2009. When work doesn’t get in the way, I bake. Then bake some more. Then maybe make dinner. And bake again. I will talk about all of this earth-shattering stuff here, on my blog, a diary of sorts giving voice to my Vermont life, scraps and all. If you like to bake, if you like to cook, if you like to eat, if you like snow, if you like tales of folks blindly starting over in life in their 30s, I hope you will stick around and let me know what you think, what you bake, what you cook for those you love, what model shovel you have. I really want to know.