When I was a child and regularly attending Mass across the street, I remember being so bored with the green garments the priest wore during what seemed like the interminable “Ordinary Time”—the Sundays between Easter and Advent, those celebratory holidays, marked with bright vestments. Ordinary Time seemed to go on forever.

Today, Ordinary Time sounds pretty good considering the tumultuous political world, our globally disrupted climate, and my own aging body with daily reminders that good health is fragile and fleeting.

Now I celebrate Ordinary Time, the more ordinary the better. Gathering with friends for a sunset potluck on the mountaintop, the sudden visit of an old friend, and our annual drive to South Jersey. Hold on to that which is good.

We have been coming to Stone Harbor annually for 45 years, since our boys were babes in arms. The town has changed a lot; half a century can make a difference. Most of the small beach houses are gone, replaced by McMansions that look hermetically sealed. We are so fortunate to rent one of the originals and keep all the windows open for the sea breeze and the sounds of the birds in the sanctuary behind the house. Many of the businesses downtown are the same—McCoy’s 5 and 10, Fudge Kitchen, Springer’s for ice cream—and we patronize them. But the advertising planes draw banners for lawyers who want you to sue instead of “Eat at Zaberer’s.” There’s a different message in the air.

As we loaded the car and did last-minute gardening projects, my old friend Anne-Lise, the Norwegian bellydancer who taught dance classes in State College during the mid-70’s, showed up for a quick visit with her partner Mike. Anne-Lise turns 91 next week and is a force of nature. She is finished with belly dancing, but she still creates art. No longer her beautiful pottery, because the clay got too hard to haul around, but fine medallions. She works at Gallery North in her hometown of Port Edmonds, Washington State, every week and proves that age is a state of mind. I’d venture she is about 39 by that reckoning.

The evening before we drove “down the shore,” which is the Philly-speak, we gathered with our pals at the top of the mountain. It’s hard to catch us all in town at the same time anymore. We seized the day and were rewarded with a spectacular sunset that bathed us all in Alpenglow, central PA style.

I stopped at Bailey’s in Port Elizabeth on the way down to see what local fish they had and was happy to see drum in the case. I purchased a side at $7.95/pound, for our first dinner. Bailey’s is a local spot, where pick-up trucks pour in and out with bushels of hard-shell crabs. It was delicious, brushed with garlic butter and pan-roasted. The rule with fresh seafood—the simpler the preparation, the better.

Our first visitors were my brother and his wife, Barbra, the hard-working artistic couple who are our first beach visitors because they are the Original People that we vacationed with over the decades. We had two seafood dinners while they were here, scallops and clams the first night, and flounder and crab cakes the second. Served with store-bought side salads, dinners were easy and allowed time for beach art.

It’s not all about eating while in Stone Harbor. There is also Yoga on the Beach in Wildwood, which requires a 20-minute drive but is so worth it. The class is held every day at 9 am, with a small number of attendees during the week (there were 8 of us on Wednesday) and large numbers on the weekend (there were 40 of us on Saturday). But it’s a very worthwhile $8 worth of exercise for 90 minutes. One dolphin rhythmically rose and fell just beyond the waves both times I attended this week, enchanting all of us as we faced the ocean and followed teacher Charla’s cues for Warrior 2.

Our second visitor, my sister Mary, made it to the Saturday class, and then we went to Marvis Diner for breakfast, Jersey diner style. Our server, from Bulgaria, was efficient and courteous, explaining that he was just here for the busy summer season because his wife is still at home. He is cautious these days.

On Friday afternoon, we did something we had never done before, which was as much fun as doing the things you love over and over again.

I am a firm believer in the power of the library. Whenever you get somewhere new, check out the library schedule to see what is going on in the area. There are art classes, lectures, cooking demos, and language classes all available for free or at nominal cost. A couple of months ago, I looked ahead at the library schedule for Cape May County and found a conversational Lenni Lenape class at the Lower Cape May library held every Friday. I had forgotten all about it until 10 minutes before the class started on Friday, when I received a notification about it. We were involved in a drapery changing project, but dropped it and flew out the door and drove over to Bayshore Road in Villas, NJ, and joined the class in progress.

The teacher, Teri Hisplop, and her nine students were very welcoming, and we went through introductions in Native and in English. Then we played a Go Fish game with wildlife cards that was a hoot.“Kèku hàch ksisileyo?” Do you have any bison?

John tied the winner of the game at the end, with his three sets: mountain lion (kwèn’shùkwënay), opossum (òpinkw), and grouse (popokus).

The class went a bit late with lots of good fun over blunders. And we found out a little about the culture of the true Original People of the area. There’s a powwow next week, as well as a Lenni Lenape Blessing of the Fleet in Cape May.

After class, we went out for a late lunch/early dinner in Wildwood at a place on the bay that we stumbled upon. It’s good to explore new worlds—and to celebrate the old ones.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch and still decompressing from their Big Apple adventure, the Country Mouse is making his own breakfast, and Kitty Princess had her first spa night with mommy.

Here’s the recipe for one of our potluck dishes, Cauliflower KuKu, which is great anytime of day. Serve with plain Greek yogurt (from Musser Dairy, if that is available to you), enhanced with lemon zest and minced tarragon, thyme, and parsley. Very nice with spicy arugula on the side. Bon appetit!

Rose’s film, Butterfly in a Blizzard, was nominated for two Sports Emmy awards, which predicated a trip to the Big Apple with the two kiddos. Daddy was off on a work trip to Iceland, so next in line for childcare was—the G-force. John and I were happy to go.

The train ride from Washington, DC to Moynihan Train Hall at Penn Station got me into the city as John was picking up Rose, Kirk, and Iris at the Newark airport. We rendezvoused on the Upper West Side, thanks to the generosity of Donna and Pat, Bryan’s parents, who made their apartment available to us. Since it was in the same building, and just two floors down from niece Celia, Bryan, and their two daughters, Bernie, 15, (going on 35), and Eliza, a sweet 12-year-old, it could not have been more convenient.

Celia had provisioned the apartment for us with fruit, cheese, wine, etc and there was snacking from the git-go. And then spicy Chinese food for dinner that magically appeared at our door. That’s how you do it in The City. No photos, as I was rattling along the train rails of my mind.

The next day, Saturday, Rose and Celia took everyone 12 and under downtown. They hit Russ & Daughters for New York bagels with lox and whitefish, and then cleansed their palates at the Museum of Ice Cream. Eating ice cream for 3 hours agreed with them, and they came home in good moods. We had a family dinner at “our” apartment that evening. Linette, Rose’s friend, joined us and regaled the table with tales from the financial office where she works. Both Bernie and Eliza were wide-eyed listening to Linette’s colorful stories and shared some of their own NYC adolescent cogitations that Linette weighed in on with authority.

Dinner featured red beans that Celia had received from her Rancho Gordo Bean Club subscription. What a treat! The Rojo de Suelo beans were cooked to perfection using a Serious Eats recipe by J. Kenji López-Alt, who always takes things seriously. That big ole bean pot was the centerpiece of our table, and we all kept dipping in for more. The sheet pan spiced chicken thighs, sweet Italian sausage and spicy chorizo, broccoli, and leftover rice were sidelights.

Another tour de force was the Blueberry Lemon Loaf Cake prepared by Bernie. The crumb and crust were masterful, and she wisely whisked it away after we all had a slice. She made sure there was cake for her Dad, who was working nights throughout the holiday weekend.

The kids went upstairs for bath after dinner, since there is a walk-in shower in “our” apartment, and we ended the night with yet more ice cream—a split sandwich this time. Thanks, Donna, for having a stocked freezer in your well-ordered kitchen.

Sunday was rainy and mommy slept in since she and Linette had gone out after dinner. It was a quiet day, well-earned. We rested up for Monday, the Memorial Day holiday, which was also a bit damp. We missed our usual Boalsburg festivities, but it was different this year. No pie contest! Instead, a big cake. Donna and Pat, who were our guests the two previous Memorial Days, will have to return next year if they reinstate the contest. That event is the highlight.

On Monday, Rose went to meet a colleague for coffee downtown, and John and Kirk went out exploring via subway. Eliza came down to play with Iris, and the three of us went to Riverside Park and then brought home sandwiches from the Soha Deli down the street. The sun eventually came out, and the two cousins, Celia and Rose, enjoyed some late afternoon sunshine on the roof. Rose went out to have dinner with her film team, who had all rolled in from points west, and we had an easy, homey evening playing games with the kids and eating pizza and Italian fare, again, delivered to our door. Tomorrow was the big day.

Rose headed out midday for a NYC haircut, and John and I took the kids to the Manhattan Children’s Museum, which was a perfect choice for a 3 and a 5-year-old. We strode down the street singing our anthem of the weekend, “The Worst Stroller in the World,” which had been an emergency Target purchase on day 1. The kids had a ball. Many balls, and crafts to celebrate Eid with plates depicting holiday foods, and lots of cosplay throughout the 4 floors of the building.

We had dinner on the street just outside the museum, and then it was time to jump in a cab to get home in time to bathe them and watch the awards ceremony. Though it didn’t end the way we wanted—Butterfly in a Blizzard did not win either of the nominations—being a part of the festivities was a reward.

The film team went out afterwards to celebrate with the winners who beat them out of the “Best Sports Documentary Long Form” because they knew and admired their work. The loss in the other category, for Editing, drew snarls from our own at-home watchers, none of whom were Celtics fans.

Here’s a short video of the crushing moment of defeat, with the kids paying no attention at all. Why the academy chose not to use a clip of Kimmy snowboarding down a mountain, I cannot fathom. And I’m sure her husband Chris, shown in the pirate hat, doesn’t either.

The next day, Rose took the kids to Battery Park to meet another colleague in the morning, and John and I put Donna and Pat’s apartment back in order. I had hidden the breakables and had to remember where they went. Goodbyes to the girls and Bryan upstairs, since the girls were out of school for Eid. Celia, though, had to go to her job as a public health officer at the CDC—a lot is coming down the pike to prepare for the World Cup. We were lucky to have her chill companionship over the long weekend

Linette had invited us to her office so the kids could experience a skyscraper. We went to the World Trade Center and took two elevators up to the 84^th floor. Gulp. That was a great thing to do as we were leaving the city. I’m curious to see how the view affects Kirk’s tower building with his Magnatiles and Legos. And Iris—she will be all about kitten heels. Meow!

Two years ago, I visited England for the first time and received a royal welcome from the Pratts. This year, they visited Central PA, and I was able to return their kindness—with help from my friends.

They dropped in very lightly. Their two brand-new American Tourister suitcases didn’t make it. What ensued was a battle of wills with British Airways and Fed Ex that flummoxed us for a few days.

But it didn’t stop us from partying. The first night, after picking Liz and Tom up from the Flix bus stop at the State College airport, we drove immediately to TJMaxx for a knickers run. They bought some necessities, and afterwards we relaxed over a light supper of penne with local asparagus, ramps, and walnuts. Sweet Italian sausage, Roma tomatoes, and eggplant—all roasted separately—added some color to the pasta dish. Because I know that Tom, in particular, loves a pudding (that’s what they call dessert), I made a Rhubarb Delight with some rhubarb from neighbor BJ’s patch—with current resident granddaughter Laura’s approval. BJ was smiling down from heaven, seeing rhubarb served with Meyer’s Dairy ice cream.

The Pratt’s arrived at JFK on Friday night to a soft landing with Carolyn and Jeff in Forest Hills. That is, after the big bump on arrival, when they found out their bags were missing. The whole plane-load of people were missing their bags. The plane had departed Heathrow with no luggage at all. The immensity of the problem became evident at the empty baggage claim carousel when the beleaguered BA rep announced to the waiting crowd that no luggage was to be collected. Liz and Tom described how the crowd quietly queued up to file claims. Had that plane landed in Texas with a load of cowboys, the announcement may have triggered a far different response from the crowd.

On Sunday morning, we commenced with phone calls to track the bags. Tom was assured that they would be delivered shortly. Since our State College address was nine miles beyond the 250 mile delivery limit, we gave the address of friends and seasoned travelers in Rebersburg, 239 miles from JFK. We had to drive east to pick them up on Tuesday, but had planned to ride down Penns Valley anyway. It was all still good.

So, we started the next morning with Strata on the deck, serenaded by chirping song birds.

We went to the Penn State Palmer Museum and to the Arboretum, but the line was too long at the Creamery to get an ice cream. Instead, we drove to Bellefonte for Americanos and Affogatos at My Café Buzz in Bellefonte.

The Bellefonte Art Museum proved a pleasant stop, and we viewed the current exhibits, the permanent Underground Railroad installation, and the kids’ creative corner with interesting twig sculptures.

Dinner that night was the first round of the Pennsylvania Pot Pie Throwdown. A contest between the southeastern PA Crusted Chicken Pot Pie in Gravy and the southwestern PA Ham and Noodle Pot Pie in a savory broth. Since our oven decided to conk out on Sunday night, quite randomly, we opted for the Ham Pot Pie that could be heated on the stovetop. Served with delicious boiled green beans and a crisp cabbage slaw, the Ham Pot Pie was a new dish for them, and they both enjoyed the shortcut version made with Grandma’s Frozen Egg Noodles.

Monday morning I got up early and made scones, completely forgetting that the oven had conked out—but it worked! We went to Shingletown and visited Sam and Nina for their garden tour, toting scones. We missed seeing the snake in their yard, and Liz was glad about that.

Next, we packed a lunch for a picnic at Black Moshannon after a tour of Jeanne’s farmhouse on Rattlesnake Pike. We met up at the park, our own “riviera” in use on the hot day. Sitting under the white pines, we snacked on sandwiches, delicious fruit, and chips. We walked near the bridge, the site of the ghost town of Antes, a thriving lumber village in the mid-1800’s. On the way down the mountain, we filled up a gallon jug at the spring near a plaque commemorating the Rattlesnake Hotel, a hotspot in those lumbering years.

Once down in Bald Eagle Valley we stopped at the Soaring Eagle Wetland and enjoyed the wildlife. Ducks in the pond, cedar waxwings overhead, and snakes in the stream where the local kids splashed in a swimming hole. Liz got out of her comfort zone and stood on rocks in the stream observing some local water snakes while John sat in the stream to cool off.

There was no need for dinner on Monday after our late picnic, but we sat on the deck listening to the evening birds. We focused on the luggage arriving at noon in Rebersburg, so we planned our day around that momentous event. Missing clothes were not so much at issue as missing medication and some whiskey gifts; we were all eager to be reunited with the bags.

Penns Valley was in early-summer glory that morning, and we drove to see Penns Creek near Coburn, with fishermen knee-deep in several spots. Our hoped-for tour of Woodward Camp was a bust. We couldn’t talk our way into seeing where their grandson Thomas had spent a week a few years ago at the skateboard camp. We drove on to Main Street in Rebersburg for our noon date with the luggage.

Only—no luggage arrived. We drove over to Kinfork, an Amish café near Madisonburg, and had a delicious lunch, and then circled back to find that FedEx agents who promised delivery were wrong. We spent the next few hours in a limbo of calls to a central FedEx center that repeatedly gave wrong information, and speeding up and down the ridges and valleys of Central PA, tracking Dollar Stores that are designated FedEx drop-off points. Like Dorothy on her quest to see the wizard, we met many quirky characters, but they all gave directions like the scarecrow.

Verklempt, we went home and had dinner—the other Pot Pie. A flaky pastry crust with peas, carrots, and potatoes in a golden Chicken Veloute Sauce made from boiling the chicken. Liz picked up a jar of pickled vegetables at Kinfork, though Amishly sweet, they were crisp and a good foil to the rich chicken in gravy. We fortified for further arguments with Fed Ex.

Which we had, until I finally lost all decorum and shouted: “May I speak to your supervisor!” Then we got somewhere. We were assured, again, that the bags—which had traveled way beyond the 250-mile “limit”-- would be held in Duncansville the next day, and we could pick them up on our way to Frederick. Dare we believe it?

We took a quick hike up to the vista at Oak Hall Park to bid goodbye to Happy Valley and to await confirmation that the bags were indeed in the FedEx depot.

Lo and behold--they were!

Which Pot Pie won the challenge? The Chicken Pot Pie in Pastry. Though Liz preferred the rich flavor of the ham. I need to experiment with a Ham Pot Pie in Pastry next time they come, with carry-on luggage.

Before the event is a full week old and relegated to the dusty annals of time, I’m taking a moment to call out last Saturday’s Kentucky Derby. The winner, Golden Tempo, ridden by Jose Ortiz, was groundbreaking in many ways, and not just by the pounding hooves.

If you missed it, catch a short NBC video of it here.

What does it sound like when 150,415 jaws drop? Fernando Villena, a friend from LA who was in the crowd, answered my question with a video of that moment. It was an eruption. Fern is in the background at the end of the vid holding a big camera to the left of DeVaux as she melts down.

The lightning bolt trajectory of coming from dead last to the winning position was a victory for more than the horse and the righteously proud owners, the Phipps family, of Phipps Stable, and co-owners of the horse with partner St. Elias Stable. The win thrust Cherie DeVaux, the horse’s trainer, into the spotlight as the first female horse trainer to win the Derby. The jockey, Jose Ortiz, whose pantalones were emblazoned with the words “Horse Whisperer”, beat out his older brother, Irad Ortiz, by a neck. Big bro was riding Renegade, the favorite with odds of 4-1, the morning of the race. Golden Tempo was 23-1.

Jose’s emotional interview with Donna Brothers after the race, in which he called out his family, especially his grandpa, moved me to tears, mirroring his. Donna Brothers expertly encouraged him to share tips with kids in Puerto Rico who aspired to become jockeys, as he had when he was a child. His words ring true: have a good attitude, try to learn English, learn more every day, and respect people. “Dream, but dream big.”

This year I was invested in the race after interviewing several students and the chef instructors from The Pennsylvania College of Technology who were headed to Churchill Downs for food service support. You can read the Centre Daily Times article here. I thought of them and their mission throughout the week and enjoyed watching the Kentucky Oaks 3-year-old fillies race on Friday night before the Derby. Jose Ortiz was the victor there as well, on Always a Runner, trained by Chad Brown. Jose was having a big weekend.

Our Centre County Kentucky Derby celebration is always with friends Bob and Kim, who live nearby and are diehard fans. Bob and John handle the making of the Mint Juleps, and Kim and I wrangle dinner to the table—after the race. Kim is always coming off a busy Spring Saturday with her hands in the dirt at Tait Farm Harvest Shop. She brings the perfect Julep mint, freshly harvested.

When we arrived a half hour before the race, she was busy washing herbs for Green Goddess Dressing and slicing radishes. The washed greens were a vibrant mix that included Miner’s lettuce. The pretty, round succulent leaves mixed well with other leafy greens to create the perfect spring blend for the creamy dressing. We deflowered chive blossoms, and she assembled the salad masterpiece.

We started dinner with a Thai Curried Squash and Red Lentil Soup with a generous dozen ramps thrown in at the end when I was searching for some green to brighten the earthy potage. Topped with Musser Dairy yogurt, chile crisp, and chopped cilantro, the first course jolted our palates and then eased once the yogurt was blended.

A rustic tart followed to put out the fire. John had provided a bowlful of morels that I sauteed, reserving one oversized one for a garnish. Prepared earlier in the day, the dish made for a ready-to-eat dinner.

We all like our salad at the end, and it proved a delicious counterpoint. Wine choices tended to be light and bright after the Mint Julep, and Kim magically conjured up mini bites of dessert from Dolce Vita—a lemon bar and a chocolate brownie, each cut into small squares—that are sold at the shop.

The Derby is over for another year, but this race will not be forgotten. The culinary students who watched the show from the rooftop after a week in the trenches will be forever changed. And many children around the world may have caught a spark that could start a fire.

Morel and Ramp Tart

Serves 8 (or 4, if people have seconds)

Piecrust for a 10-inch tart shell

2 tablespoons unsalted butter

6-8 ounces of cleaned morels, cut in half if large (a medium-sized bowlful). Feel free to substitute with any other kind of mushroom.

6-8 ounces of trimmed ramps, chopped (about 2 dozen). Substitute leeks if ramps are unavailable.

3 eggs

1 cup heavy cream

1 cup grated Gruyere

1/2 cup freshly grated Parmesan

salt and pepper to taste

Preheat the oven to 350°F. Prepare the pie crust and line a 9 or 10-inch tart pan with the pastry. Dock the crust by piercing with a fork, and prebake for about 10 minutes. Remove from the oven and set aside to cool. Line a baking tray with a sheet of parchment paper. Increase the oven temperature to 400°F.

Heat the butter in a saute or cast-iron pan, and when it is smoking hot, add the morels. Season with a little salt and pepper while cooking, and stir them around to get them a bit seared. When cooked, transfer to a bowl and add the ramps and additional butter if needed. Cook until they are wilted and bright green. Remove from the heat and add to the bowl with the morels.

Lightly beat the eggs in a bowl with a whisk, then add the heavy cream and the grated Gruyère and Parmesan. Season the custard lightly with salt and pepper.

Place the parbaked tart shell on the parchment-lined sheet pan. Lift the morels and ramps out of the bowl, leaving any liquid behind. Place the vegetables on the pastry crust and pour the liquid that drained into the custard mixture. Mix the custard until combined, then pour it over the vegetables. If you have a showpiece morel, make sure that’s on top. Place the tart into the hot oven and bake for 30 minutes. Reduce the heat to 350°F and bake for an additional 15-20 minutes, until a knife inserted into the custard comes out clean.

T.S. Eliott opens The Wasteland with “April is the cruelest month…” and Pennsylvania vignerons and home gardeners who lost baby grape leaves and asparagus beds agree. It was a capricious month, one day winter and the next, brilliant sunshine with the promise of spring.

Here in Pennsylvania, terra firma is forested and lush with an early green that seems lit from within. Bright pink redbuds, cherry and crabapple blossoms precede the dogwoods and lilacs. It’s one show after another; just keep your puffer jacket handy.

Sandwiched between the Atlantic Ocean and the Great Lakes, we are moist. We have the delicious ephemerals of the forest—morels, fiddleheads, ramps—and delicacies of the nearby coast—blue crab and oysters. And thanks to the influence of German forbears, we have a strong bread-and-sausage culture.

Last weekend, my friend Joann and I drove up to the Allegheny National Forest to look for ramps, aka wild leeks. We drove two hours north, beyond our old stomping grounds, S.B. Elliott (no relation to T.S.) and Parker Dam State Parks, over rollercoaster Routes 153 and 219, through Ridgway, where the Chainsaw Rendezvous was in full roar, to Kane, sometimes called the “Ice Box” of the East.

It was good that we started the visit at Bell's Meat Market because we were still dry. After our forest foray, we were drowned rats. We stocked up on wild leek sausage, sweet and hot, Greek sausage, Boudin, kielbasa and bratwurst. We bought some of their leek dips, regular and Cajun, and we watched the seasoned meat be extruded into hog casings right behind the counter. Though Jack Bell has passed away, his legacy of excellent meats and exceptional customer service lives on in Kane. Here is a story about Jack from 2013, published in Pennsylvania Magazine.

Bells Meat And Poultry Proof

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We drove north of town and turned left into the national forest to hunt for the ramps, armed with shovels and trowels. The wild spring allium is the first edible to green the forest floor, next to the Mayapples and Trillium. But it was soggy business. After an hour of digging, we were ready to find our way to the Kane Manor Inn and dry out.

The Kane Manor Inn is under new management, and we were impressed with the improvements that owners Ben and Deb Miller have made. It is a very historic structure, but they have been thoughtful and artistic with the renovations. The Inn has recently been named number four in the nation in its category of historic bed and breakfasts by Newsweek’s Reader’s Choice Awards, and the speakeasy that is under reconstruction in the basement should catapult that rating once it opens.

We went into town for dinner, trying out what seemed to have the highest ratings in town, Table 105. The Onion Soup Joann ordered was the best part of the dining experience, but maybe we should have known better than to order mussels and fish tacos in the PA Wilds. People around us with burgers and steaks looked happy.

The next morning, we enjoyed breakfast at the Manor before heading out early. The dining room had two other tables of overnighters, and it was a convivial crowd, comparing travel tips.

I took the bucketful of ramps that we gathered home and hosed them off outside while Joann went to work. Our split came to about 8 dozen ramps each, which John was happy to trim. I froze all of mine, since the next day we were going to Baltimore to visit my brother who is adamantly non-allium much to his wife, Barbra’s, dismay.

Monday lunch in Baltimore was a quick stop at the Broadway Market at Fells Point where we had lunch at the counter at Sal & Sons. The crabcake and fried oyster sandwiches, both liberally dusted with Old Bay set next to the grill, were perfect.

We were a part of the commuters as we drove from Baltimore to Frederick, which just made us grateful that the drive is not our everyday reality. In spite of her birthday, and being the de facto guest of honor, Barbra prepared a beautiful charcuterie board that I forgot to photograph. The ramp dips were nice accompaniments—and my bro could avoid them easily.

Their friends, Susan and Chris, joined us for dinner, and Susan brought a dessert that was not a cake. Instead, it was a Crème Brulee that Susan brightened with lemon zest and lemon juice in lieu of a missing vanilla bean. The substitution proved to be genius, just the right sunny flavor to channel the hiding sun.

Geoff’s grilled marinated flank steak, grilled slabs of Barbra’s sourdough bread for bruschetta, a bulgar pilaf with feta, and grilled vegetables were crowned with morels that John flambeed with Cognac. With the added drama of Susan torching the sugar on the Crème Brulee, we didn’t need any more than the one candle that Barbra held while we sang to her.

We had a visit with our friend Moira in the morning, and the two of us engaged in what is popular at our ripe old age—exchanging complaints about our health. But we are still standing, mostly.

That afternoon, we wound our way home and made an easy dinner of baked potatoes and leek sausage. My hack for a quick baked potato cuts the baking time in half. First, I microwave a pierced Russet potato for 5-10 minutes, depending on size. Then I brush it with olive oil, sprinkle it with flaky salt, and place it on a baking tray in a preheated 400° oven for about 30 minutes.

The two leek sausages that I first browned in a little olive oil in a hot cast-iron pan. Then poured on a half-cup of apple juice, sliced up an apple, and filled in the sides of the pan. We had some baby carrots that I threw in the pan as well. I let it all cook, covered, for about 20 minutes, then sliced the massive sausages into 5 pieces each to ensure they were cooked through.

Next time, I’ll take before photos!

Here is Susan’s recipe for her Lemon Crème Brulee. I knew Susan was my kind of person when she shared that she had ordered the flan dishes on Amazon the night before, when she realized that she needed them. They were on her doorstep in the morning. Now there’s a person who goes the extra mile! Thank you, Susan!

There are two words that are whispered in certain circles at this time of year. “They’re up.” Those words refer to morels, and they are indeed up and quite fruitful this year. But this post is not about morels. Morels are insistent and manly; their conical emergence lights a fire in some, breeding competition. This year, I’m focusing on the feminine side of a spring ephemeral—violets. Gentle flowers, demure; even their name is a soft sigh. There are plenty of those around; they are mostly ignored and readily available. And they make a beautiful jelly.

Years ago, my friend Moira and I used to attend annual symposiums called “Herbal Delights” organized by the Pennsylvania Heartland Chapter of the Herb Society of America. The events were as charming and old-fashioned as they sound. At the 1988 symposium, Leona Woodring Smith, author of The Forgotten Art of Flower Cookery, presented a talk on “St. Fiacre—Patron Saint of Gardeners.” I don’t remember the talk about the 7th-century Irish monk, but I purchased Mrs. Smith’s book at her book-signing afterward and still find it enchanting.

The chapter on violets contains 30 recipes and tips for using the flowers. Some show their age, as in the Violet Canapes recipe made with a jar of pineapple cheese spread and a can of deviled ham, flavored with Madeira, curry powder, and garlic salt. But many have a lingering appeal—a salmon salad with cucumber or avocado, capers, and fresh tarragon. Both dishes are garnished with violets.

I tried two recipes from the chapter, which required quite a lot of violet gathering. The Violet Jam was very easy and quick to make, though I would caution using a Vitamix for blending the violets and sugar, and then for adding the hot pectin mixture. I don’t think a domestic blender could handle the amount of sugar, since it bubbled over the top of the Vitamix. Caution is advised.

The Violet Jelly recipe recommended a double infusion for a deeper color and flavor. I picked another small bowl of violets, infused them with boiling distilled water in a glass jar, and let the mixture rest in the refrigerator overnight. The next day, I drained the infusion, heated the pale blue liquid, and infused a fresh batch of blossoms. The result was worth the effort.

These three recipes are from The Forgotten Art of Flower Cookery by Leona Woodring Smith

Violet Jam

Makes 6 medium jars (what size, Leona?)

1 1/2 cups violet flowers

1 1/2 cups water

3 tablespoons lemon juice

3 cups sugar

1 package fruit pectin (Sure Jell)

Put the violets, 3/4 cup of the water, and the lemon juice into your blender (use a Vitamix!) and blend at high speed for 1 minute. Add the sugar and blend for another 60 seconds.

Stir the pectin into the remaining water and boil for a full two minutes, stirring constantly. Pour this hot mixture into the blender and blend for another 2 minutes. Pour into jars and seal. Store in your freezer.

No vitamins are lost in this process and you retain the fresh flavor of the violets.

Violet Water

Violets release their flavor and coloring very readily if placed in a glass jar or crock (do not use metal) and boiling water to cover them is added. Place a lid on the container and let stand overnight. (Use distilled water for best results.) Strain and use the liquid to color drinks, gelatin, icings, sauces, etc. If you prefer stronger flavor or coloring you may reheat the liquid and pour over a fresh batch of flowers.

Violet Jelly

5 medium jars (Again, size? not the 8-ounce ones that I used.)

1 1/2 cups violet water (double-infused for deeper color)

1 tablespoon lemon juice

3 1/2 cups sugar

1/2 bottle fruit pectin (Certo) (I used the entire pouch of liquid pectin)

Combine the violet water, lemon juice, and sugar in a large pan. Place over high heat and bring to a boil, stirring constantly. Stir in the fruit pectin and boil hard for one full minute, stirring constantly.

Remove from the heat. (Leona recommends one or two drops of both red and blue food coloring here for deeper color, but I don’t. These recipes are from a different time.)

Skim off the foam with a metal spoon and pour into glasses.

To some glasses, add a rose-geranium leaf for additional taste and eye appeal. (I wouldn’t do that either.)

Note: I did not process the jelly in a boiling water canner because there was no actual fruit or veg in it. I used sterilized glass jelly jars and put new lids into hot water so they would seal. I did hear them pop, so I know that they are safe. And there aren’t many jars—they won’t last long.

For the true violet aficionado, here is some more lore.

The following two paragraphs, recipe, and photo were from my Centre Daily Times article published on May 9, 2001.

Violaceae, the viola family, includes wild violets, cultivated violas, pansies, and Johnny-jump-ups. In Europe, v. tricolor, with its yellow, purple, and white markings, is known as “heart’s ease.” The Latin word viola means “sweet-smelling flower,” and indeed V. odorata has been treasured for millennia as an herbal medicine and a food. The ancient Greeks, who named the flower the emblem of Athens, were not the only ones enamored of the plant. Chinese, Native American, and Ayurvedic health practitioners across temperate climate zones used the plant's many parts in tinctures, poultices, and as a salad herb. A cure for a variety of ailments, the viola family was listed in John Gerard’s Herball, first published in England in 1597: “It has power to ease inflammations, roughness of the throat and comforteth the heart, assuageth the pains of the head and causeth sleep.” As far back as 500 BC, it was used as a poultice for skin cancer and lesions, a practice that continued in various parts of the world until the twentieth century.

Violets have long been associated with innocence, faithfulness, and love. They were the favorite flower of Napoleon, who marked his anniversaries with Josephine by sending her violets, and who was buried with a locket containing faded violets from her grave. In ancient Persia, sherbets were flavored with the flowers, and in Rome, a perfumed wine was made from the blossoms. This decoction was also considered a love potion.

(Here’s a recipe not included in Leona’s book, but it can only be made in the spring. One of these days, I’ll make it again. It’s a keeper.)

Lemon Crepes with Violet-Vanilla Cream Filling and Violet Syrup

Serves 8

Crepes:

2 large eggs

1 cup milk

3/4 cup unbleached flour

1/4 teaspoon sea salt

1 tablespoon sugar

2 tablespoons melted unsalted butter

zest of one lemon

Syrup:

1 cup water

4 tablespoons sugar

1 1/2 cups violets, stems removed

1/2 teaspoon white wine vinegar

Filling:

One cup heavy cream (Meyer’s Dairy cream is best)

3 tablespoons sugar

1/2 teaspoon real vanilla

15 ounces ricotta cheese

freshly grated nutmeg to taste

1 cup violet, Johnny-jump-up, or pansy petals, snipped with scissors if large

Garnish:

1/2 cup heavy cream, whipped until stiff

Additional perfect violet blossoms

Crepes:

In a blender or in a bowl with a whisk, combine the eggs, milk, flour, salt, sugar, and melted butter. Blend or whisk until smooth, and then allow the batter to rest for at least an hour. (Can be prepared a day ahead.) Add the lemon zest when you are ready to prepare the crepes. Heat a crepe pan over medium heat until hot. Spray the pan with cooking spray, then pour in just enough batter to coat the bottom as thinly as possible. Cook for about 30 seconds until the top surface of the crepe appears dry and the edges begin to curl. Flip the crepe over and cook the other side briefly, taking care not to brown it. Stack the crepes on a plate, cover tightly, and refrigerate until ready to fill.

Syrup:

Combine the water and sugar in a small, heavy-bottomed saucepan and bring to a boil to dissolve the sugar. Add the violets and simmer over medium-high heat for about 15 minutes or until reduced by half. Stir occasionally. The liquid may appear greenish due to chlorophyll in the plant. Add the vinegar and observe the color change as the anthocyanin (reddish-purple) pigment reacts with the acid. Voila—violet! Strain the syrup through a sieve, pressing to remove all the juice from the petals. You will have about 1/2 cup of the syrup.

Filling:

Whip the cream with the sugar and vanilla until stiff peaks form. Fold in the ricotta, nutmeg, and flower petals.

Assembly:

Fill each crepe with about 1/2 cup of the filling mixture, then place it on a plate with the seam side down. Drizzle about 1 tablespoon of the violet syrup around the crepe and garnish with several dollops of whipped cream topped with violet blossoms.

.

My flight from Jackson back to Pennsylvania included a layover in Denver that I stretched into a visit. It had been too long since I had seen Lilah, and she is finishing up middle school this year, headed into the morass of high school in the fall.

Our good buddy Ed picked me up at DIA, and he and his wife, Janet, provided safe haven for a night. Is there anything that smells better than a house warm and redolent with the aroma of a roasting chicken? Janet had nestled the bird on a bed of onions, no less. Ed had prepped his Caesar Salad, perfected when he made it tableside as a waiter at the Victorian Manor in Lemont. Our dinner was on the table in a flash, accompanied by an Alsatian dry Riesling, a style they learned to enjoy on their recent European river cruise.

In the morning, Janet and I took a walk along Cherry Creek while Ed drove off for his Wednesday morning volunteer session at Project Angel Heart. He is not making Caesar Salad there; rather, he is making “medically tailored” meals for Coloradans with severe illness and no access to nutritious food.

Janet drove me the hour up to Longmont to our son Joe’s house, where the dogs greeted us with manic enthusiasm. After an easy lunch of Easter leftovers—Quiche, Ham, Potatoes au Gratin—it was soon time to pick up Lilah from Westview Middle School. After we collected her, we drove into downtown Longmont for a beverage at a new clothing-and-coffee shop on a Main Street that has upscaled a bit over the past five years. Juniper Goods made delicious beverages, and the store’s eye candy was very tempting. We walked the main drag and visited Simply Bulk zero-waste market, one of my favorite stops when I lived in Longmont from 2017 to 2020. A new independent bookstore, Composition Shop, was where we lingered longest, exploring the well-curated books, games, and stationery.

We realized we were approaching dinnertime, and the dogs and people needed food. Neian would be home soon from work and hungry. Joe made dinner in under 30 minutes, grilling some miso-marinated chicken breast and asparagus outside, and popping wedges of cabbage into a hot oven and painting them with a soy-miso-butter paste. As a first-night guest, I got off easy, setting the table. Neian put together a green salad with carrots, and Lilah whipped up a light lemon and olive oil dressing. The Ferrari Carano Fume Blanc we had paired well with the umami overtones of the Asian flavors.

The next day, I had a lunch date with my friend Kristin, who lives in a tiny home behind her daughter’s home in Boulder. Joe dropped me off there, and we Ubered over to the Hotel Boulderado, a short walk from the Pearl Street pedestrian mall. Kristin and I met on the playground during our grandkids' weekly playdates, when their mommies took them for some outdoor fun, and we went along. The grandmas had fun too, and we called ourselves the Senior Playground Players. We toted snacks and bevs (even some adult bevs) separate from the juice boxes. Another granny from our group is Liz, from England, and we so enjoyed our time that we still get together for monthly video chats.

After lunch, we strolled through the Pearl Street mall and ended up spending most of our time at Peppercorn, a bougie kitchen store. After Ubering back to Kristin’s, we drove to Jackie Michelle's for more shopping, then needed refreshments, so we grabbed affogatos at the nearby coffee shop. The combination of vanilla ice cream and espresso pepped us right up, even if mine was decaf.

As the clock ticked, Joe arrived on time to pick me up and then pick up Lilah at school. On Thursdays, she goes to a math tutor, and I used that hour to text, drop in, and have a quick visit with my bestie from Longmont, Denise. We met when we both taught cooking classes at the local Kitchen Shop, a popular division of the local Ace Hardware. Denise said she was just “puttering” around her kitchen, and when I got there, I heard a small roar. I caught her grinding wheat berries for her sourdough bread, and what she said was her new obsession: Turkish Gozleme, a stuffed flatbread. She is always cooking!

Dinner that night back at home took only slightly longer than the previous night. And I was allowed to help this time, prepping potatoes and carrots for oven roasting, making our family’s favorite Orange Thyme Pesto for salmon, and putting together a green salad, again with a light lemon vinaigrette. The treat was the bottle of Chablis that Joe picked up at Boulder Wine Merchant.

On Friday, Joje, Neian, and I walked the paths at Pella Crossing to the heron rookery near the stream to see the nests in the trees. The nestlings are hidden, but the parents make frequent swooping arcs to deliver food. We had hoped to pick up Lilah after school and take her to her favorite little bistro, Cafe Fritz in Hygiene, adjacent to Pella Crossing. But when we picked her up, her flushed face and raspy voice made us realize she needed to go home, have some lemon-and-honey tea, and go right to bed.

While Neian worked on a big pot of chicken soup, Joe cooked up some Boudin Blanc, and I made Red Cabbage and Apples with Sherry Vinegar to accompany. Joe surprised us with another white Burgundy, from one of my favorite producers, Joseph Drouhin.

Joe promised to take me to Cafe Fritz in the morning, before my flight back to PA, so I could see the property and appreciate why Lilah loved it so much—even though she couldn’t come. I understood. It’s an oasis of tranquility, where food nourishes the body and soul with its artistry.

And then I was gone. Joe drove me to the airport, and I didn’t have to eat again until Chicago, where I encountered a very nice small plate of griddled asparagus topped with Parmesan accompanied by a cold glass of chardonnay—but not a true French one.

I’ll miss Lilah, but I will look forward to going to Cafe Fritz with her the next time I land in Colorado.

The food production started on Thursday at my Wyoming friend Paula’s house. We got together to cook, since the weather was wintry bluster outside. Paula was just filling two pie crusts with a sweet Arboria rice custard mixture, redolent with orange and lemon zest, when I walked in the door. Once the two pies and a little extra custard were in the oven, we quickly transitioned to savory—Stuffed Cabbage Rolls—guided by a perusal of an Eating Well recipe and muscle memory.

Halupki/Gwumpkies are an Eastern European tradition that I don’t make on my own very often (hardly ever), but have enjoyed so often at my Polish family functions that the method is hard-wired in my genes. My Aunt Zosh was the champion roller, filling her giant roaster with the savory little bundles. Paula and I weren’t going for hundred here; just enough for two family dinners. We started by microwaving a medium sized cabbage in a glass dish with water at the bottom for five minutes at a time, peeling off the leaves one by one until we were down to the core.

The filling was ground beef from Jacknife Farms in Afton, along with ground pork to lighten the mix. Paula parboiled white rice, and we added eggs, a little garlic and onion powder, ketchup, tomato paste, and salt and pepper. We didn’t want the starchy sweetness of canned tomato soup, though my Aunt Zosh always used that as a topping, but instead opted for a crushed tomato sauce doctored up with a little sauteed minced onion, a touch of brown sugar, and a splash of vinegar.

We ended up with 16 rolls, 8 each, and celebrated our work with a latte and a sample of the extra rice pudding custard baked in a dish.

Friday morning was a full-on snow day, which was apropos as it was the day that Rose came back from Alaska. After a fun afternoon making a snowman with Stephen, the kids collected Rose at the Idaho Falls airport, and we had a family dinner of Shrimp ‘n Grits and Beans ‘n Greens. The local supermarket, which never fails to disappoint in the veggie department, had no collards, mustard, or turnip greens, so two kinds of kale and some limp beet tops from a large bunch of orange beets served just fine. Since it was Good Friday, I didn’t add any bacon or ham hock to the greens, but boiled them down with some smoky chipotle salsa for added flavor. After cooking for two hours, I added a can of black-eyed peas. The kids wouldn’t try them, but they did enjoy the shrimp with cheesy grits—Tony Chachere added at the table to make them more kid-friendly.

The next morning was cold, and the kids were hungry at breakfast for what they call “Egg in a Hole,” and I call a “One-Eyed Sandwich.” That was good, because they had to be fortified for the egg “hunt” at the Alpine Civic Center that morning. The eggs are just scattered on the ground, so it is more of a scramble than an actual hunt, but all the kids enjoyed the friendly mayhem.

We dyed eggs in the afternoon using a pack of natural dyes from Whole Foods. It was so much fun, I bought another dozen white eggs later that day to do it again. Old eggs are easier to peel than fresh eggs, so I looked for ones with the soonest Sell By date. I had purchased eggs a week ago for our first dying, and they peeled easily.

Dinner on Saturday night was easy! The Stuffed Cabbage Rolls, and Haluski—sauteed onion, garlic, and egg noodles. Simple peasant food. Our side salad of Roasted Orange Beets, lightly dressed with oil, vinegar, salt, and pepper, paired nicely with a scoop of cottage cheese topped with dill fronds.Pickle-guy Kirk enjoyed snipping the dill onto his own cottage cheese and carefully navigated around the beets.

On Easter morning, mommy made fresh sourdough pancakes. Her sourdough starter was fine after leaving it for two weeks. And we had Canadian bacon with the pancakes hot off the griddle. After lots of phone calls with family, we drove up along the Palisades Dam to Indian Creek, which was completely dry due to lack of snow over the winter. Stephen chatted with the local rancher, who remembered a similar dry winter in ’77, and afterward, we all felt assured that the water would return someday. The kids had a great time building a house of sticks in the woods, and we snacked a bit on banana bites, carrots, and Garrett Chicago popcorn mix since it was a holiday.

Then it was time to go home and make Easter dinner. Auntie Ashley was coming, but bringing her own food because she is on a very special diet. Her own bowl of edamame, avocado, greens, and lots of pickled vegetables looked beautiful on the dinner table. But we enjoyed the ham, Cauliflower au Gratin, Green Beans with toasted almonds on the side, and more of those roasted beets. The piece de resistance was the Italian Easter Pie, with lots of fresh fruit.

Easter 2026 was in the books, as we got photos from family and friends around the world at their own tables. The celebrations were all good, and the leftovers should last through the week.

Paula’s Italian Rice Pie was a meld of three recipes—her mother’s, and two from her web search. One was from Feeling Foodish, and the other one was from This Italian Kitchen. She had reservations about her mother’s because it contained no eggs. And what is Easter without eggs?!

Mommy’s away. Far away, in Alaska, working on a film. There’s no doubt that Daddy could handle things, but with the school/day care closed for spring break, it was a good time to fly back to Alpine and reconnect with the kiddos.

We spent summers with my Polish Baci when we were young. She spoke no English, but we communicated well enough through food. The love came through as we watched her make us thin pancakes, crispy on the edges and filled with black raspberry jam made from berries we picked. Nut rolls filled with walnuts we picked out of their shells. It was time well spent with her and lots of cousins who understood what she said and translated as needed.

I arrived on Friday, and my Wyoming friend Paula picked me up, and we went for lunch at Picnic, a sister store of the overly popular Persephone in Jackson. Avocado toast and a latte filled the bill. We stopped at Whole Foods on the way out of town and I picked up some salmon for my first dinner back with the family. The kids love fish, so it was a good start.

The kids eat well. Yes, they could live on pasta, but they are very open to trying new foods. Exposure and lack of pressure are the keys to expanding the palate, plus letting them play outside so hard that they are starving when they come to the table. They eat fast, no lingering dinner convos, and are thrilled with fruit for dessert.

I’m back in Wyoming for a spell, and the timing gave me the opportunity to take Kirk, 5, and Iris, 3, to the No Kings protest in Thayne, Wyoming, population @700. The turnout on Saturday proved that Wyoming isn’t completely red; there were about 75 of us on Main Street representing Star Valley, waving flags and making a ruckus. Many pickup trucks passed, drivers resolutely staring straight ahead or worse. And many Subarus passed, honking wildly.

I’ve been to protests in Sedona, AZ, Cape May Court House, NJ, and Washington, DC in the past year, but the one in Thayne was the friendliest of all. People cared about each other, with a table set up with muffins, water, and juice boxes. There were give-aways--bubble wands, No Kings whistles, American flags, candy, streamers—— and two musicians strummed 60’s era protest songs in the background. People spoke to one another, often congratulating the many veterans present on their service. The community spirit was palpable.

Wyoming has surprised me a few times already this trip. The enthusiasm at the protest and a stranger at the hot springs, who lives in Lander, a town about 3 ½ hours away, mentioned that he and his family lived there because it was one of the few blue towns in the state. This is progress. However, when I took the kids to the local Broulims grocery store in Thayne after the protest, a very nice-looking woman with a friendly smile, handing out samples of seasoned meats and fish, seemed astonished to hear of people on the street exercising their rights. “Why would they do that on this nice day?” was her comment. Ok. I don’t like your too-salty spice mix either.

Our first Wyoming dinner was salmon, prepared simply—roasted in the oven with olive oil, garlic, lemon zest, salt, and pepper. My first morning, when the kids woke up early, we planned our day over breakfast, and a cookie-making project was high on the list. I pulled the ingredients from the cupboard, but when I came up to the kitchen after my shower, Daddy was leading the charge on the project, up to his elbows in flour. Chocolate chip cookies, a recipe chosen by Kirk from his kids’ cookbook that I found at the Alpine library book sale. That’s the way to kick off the visit.

Saturday was Stephen’s cooking day, and after the march, we came home to cousin Sarah and Chris visiting from their home in Victor with their two fur babies, Owen and Scout. Stephen had planned grilled Caesar chicken cutlets served over a bright spring mix, and we snacked on tortilla chips and salsa first. The evening kid food staple was a box of Annie’s mac ‘n cheese. I had picked up a big loaf of sourdough at Picnic and some cocktail tomatoes that were passable as a bruschetta topping when chopped with a little olive oil, Balsamic, s & p, and fresh basil from a grocery store potted plant. It’s not the true flavor of summer, but it was a teaser, and the garlic-rubbed grilled bread was a tasty raft.

On Sunday morning, there was a call for pancakes, and the Kodiak cakes are their favorite, easy enough to mix up with water, but I’m not a fan, so I made myself a classic breakfast with one of the eggs from the dozen and a half that Paula had given me from her work friend who has chickens. Those well-tended chickens are busy producing this week before Easter! The golden yolk brightened my morning.

Iris and I peeled off to Jackson for the afternoon, leaving the boys to do boy things in the garage. They were planning seeds for the garden and tinkering. We dropped by the Spanish Palm Sunday mass at Our Lady of the Mountains, with Roman centurions at the ready, went to the library in Jackson, and then to lunch, again at Picnic for an egg souffle, a bowl of chicken and wild rice soup, and a Chai tea. The library renovated the kids' playroom, and it is now a taco truck. Perfect for our little chowhound who got right into the role of chef.

Yesterday morning, remembering my own Baci’s pancakes, I made them some quick crepes and filled them with a smear of their homemade ice cream from the freezer, along with blueberries and blackberries. We later experimented with a plum jam filling and butter with brown sugar, Kirk’s suggestion.

We didn’t really need words.

Quick Crepes

Makes about 12 six-inch crepes

Crepes really do benefit from letting the batter rest for a couple of hours before cooking, but these are easy to make, and you can skip that step. When your audience isn’t so discerning, these are just fine.

2 eggs

1 cup milk

1 tablespoon melted butter

1 cup AP flour

¼ teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon sugar

Unsalted butter for frying

Put the eggs, milk, and melted butter in a blender, then add the flour, salt, and sugar. Let ‘er rip until smooth. Fry in a small sauté pan or cast-iron pan, adding a teaspoon of butter each time.

Fill each crepe with whatever you like, or drizzle with maple syrup.

(I do believe that my Baci’s pancakes were crepes fried in a lot of lard or shortening to get those crispy edges.)

Oxford Dictionary:

Influence-- the capacity to have an effect on the character, development, or behavior of someone or something

Central Pennsylvania had a rough winter. I saw it in the downcast eyes of everyone on the street. Spring can’t come soon enough. Today is the official start of spring, and the brilliant neon pink sunrise seemed to turn something on. People were lighter on their feet today on College Avenue, daring to smile.

My friends Sam and Nina are in Florida, and I drove by their house earlier in the week and found tall pots with their cedar sentinels by the door blown over from the high winds. I righted them as best I could and walked around the yard seeing all their daffodils shivering, some barely yellow emergent tips crusted with ice. I pulled out my penknife and rescued them, since no one was home to enjoy their glory, and I myself needed their hopeful presence.

This morning, I celebrated the turn of the season by baking some oatmeal scones to deliver about town. Feeling the yellow glow of the daffs, I grated some lemon zest into the dough and soaked some dried Michigan Montmorency cherries in hot water to soften them a bit before adding them to the mix. It was a bright combo.

Many years ago, in 1995, Barbara Lange and I ran a coffee shop called Q’s Café in the Encore bookstore for one very long year. Barb is a gifted baker and kept the large case full of cakes and pastries, rotating Hazlenut Torte, Boston Cream Pie, and Carrot Cake, with assorted quick breads and our signature Oatmeal Chocolate Chip cookies, always keeping things interesting. But one item we had on the menu every single day was our Oatmeal Scones, which evolved from a recipe my sister-in-law gave me. We made it incorrectly one pre-dawn morning—we doubled the butter—but we liked it better, so we kept making it that way every single morning.

Scones don’t last. They are best warm right out of the oven, and fine throughout the day, but the next day, they’re done. We learned to bake only as many as we sold, and people who liked them learned to get there early.

They are not the typical delicate British scone like my friend Liz Pratt made for me when I visited her. They are rather countrified or Scots-a-fied with oatmeal. These days, I use some whole wheat flour as well, to make them as healthy a treat as a baked good containing a stick of butter can be. And I made them small, carving out 16 scones instead of 12, so I would have more to give away.

I headed into town to drop some off to Bill Clark at the Cheese Shoppe, who celebrated his birthday yesterday, and took a few to the young Turks who run a computer fix-it shop. When I was there with questions earlier in the week, I had a great discussion about tea with one of the techno wizards and found we had common ground in our love of Ahmad Tea. I dropped off scones for their tea break. Oh, and they are going to work on my ailing computer next week. I called Barb to see if she could join me for a cup and a scone in the afternoon, but she was, of course, busy baking for a friend’s birthday party. No one lets her rest.

On my way home, I veered off the highway and parked with my flashers on to walk in and see the Boalsburg limestone kiln that I heard about from a friend who lives close to it. The area around the kiln is fenced off and is just beyond the backyards of the Country Place development, a very low-key nod to the industry that boosted our area in the beginning of the 1900’s. It looked like a bit of a sacred space to me, a hiding place that is quite likely a popular condominium for the local marmots. Well, we do worship groundhogs in Pennsylvania.

I attended a Bellefonte Art Museum event last night at Brass 16823, held in the old Cerro Metals Building, now part of Titan Energy Park. I heard all about the plant’s history and plans for the future as an incubator for dozens of small businesses. The tour and lecture by Joe Leahey, who owns the property with his brother, focused on the importance of Centre County in the 20^th-century development of our entire nation. It was a sizzling talk, and gave a picture of the industry embedded in those walls on the 174-acre campus. If you are in Centre County, don’t miss the Bellefonte Art Museum’s current industrial art exhibit, so you can appreciate the foundations that are mostly unseen to us today as we focus on our small screens.

My last stop before I got home was to drop off scones to our buddy Andy, the guardian angel of our house when we are away. I enjoyed seeing his brave purple crocuses and the pointy hopeful tips of his daffodils just emerging. Yes. It is spring, and each day we will have more to appreciate, like daffodils and scones.

I’ve used this little scrap of paper for the scones for over 30 years. All-time-honored recipes show the wear and tear of use, and that is why they are the best. It’s a bit cryptic, so I’ll sort it out here, with some tips. We used to make 36 hefty ones at a time for Q’s Café.

First Day of Spring Oatmeal Scones

Makes 12 or 16

½ cup unsalted butter, melted

½ cup milk

1 egg

1 cup AP flour

½ cup whole wheat flour

! ½ cups oats

¼ cup sugar

1 tablespoon baking powder

1 teaspoon cream of tartar

½ teaspoon salt

½ cup dried cherries (or raisins, currants, or any other dried fruit), soaked in hot water if your dried fruit is a little hard

1 teaspoon lemon zest

I like to play “beat the clock” when I make these. That means I get all the ingredients out and set up my mise en place so they come together quickly. Once everything is at my fingertips, including my measuring tools and the baking tray lined with parchment paper, the scones go together very quickly. Clean the surface you will shape the dough on and dust it with a little flour.

Heat the oven to 425ºF.

Melt the butter in a 2-cup Pyrex at low power, covering the top with the butter wrapper to avoid splatters. That takes two minutes, which I use to measure out the dry ingredients into a large bowl.

Measure out the flours, oats, sugar, baking powder, cream of tartar, and salt.

Add the fruit and zest to the dry ingredients and give it all a toss with a fork to combine. (If you are adding raisins, no need to soak.)

Add the milk and egg to the melted butter in the measuring cup and whisk with a fork. The butter may get semisolid again but that is fine.

Add the liquid ingredients to the dry ingredients and stir with a fork to combine into a ball. Don’t overmix. A light touch is best.

Put the ball of dough on the prepared surface and divide it into two with a dough scraper or a large knife. Pat each half into a flat cake, then divide each patty cake into 6 or 8 pieces. Lift up each wedge, place it on the parchment-lined tray, and put the tray into the preheated oven. (Did you beat the clock and make it before the ding indicates the oven is up to temp? That’s the challenge.)

Bake for 12-15 minutes until golden brown on the bottom. Cool a bit and test one while warm. Happy Spring!

My cousin Barbara lives not far from the Ohio River near Smithfield, Ohio, in the convoluted folds of the Appalachian Plateau, deep in coal country. I was born there on the banks of the river in Martins Ferry, Ohio, quite by accident when my very pregnant mother flew out from Philly for her father’s funeral, and I came early. Like salmon that migrate to where they were born to spawn, I feel drawn to the Ohio River, my natal stream, even though my spawning days are over.

Barb is on the struggle bus these days, but her bright smile and pleasant demeanor belie the hard reality of her current battle with pancreatic cancer. Her career in the Army Nurse Corps, where she retired as lieutenant colonel, gives her a full understanding of what she is facing, but her resolve gives her the courage and stamina to keep seeking clinical trials.

I visited Barb last weekend, and we caught up on family details, including her health. This feisty Polish Princess is not giving up. We shared some Lentils and Noodles that I brought her, since I knew that she had been vegetarian, and I asked her about the ISKCON (International Society for Krishna Consciousness) community that is not too far from where she lives. She had been there many years ago but found it too showy and gaudy. I wondered about it.

When I left Barb, I drove downriver to Moundsville, West Virginia, and stopped to see the mound in the center of town. It’s big, with a path that winds to the top, and it was a good place to send a prayer heavenward while standing in a space sacred to the indigenous people of the region from the Adena Culture, who built the mound in 250 to 100 BC. While looking out over the winding river, the bridge, and, just across the street, the massive West Virginia Penitentiary, built in 1866 and decommissioned in 1995, a major wind whipped up. I scurried down to my car to see that there was a tornado watch. I holed up for the night and left early the next day to check out the Hare Krishna community.

The eleven miles from Moundsville to New Vrindaban was a Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride of hairpin curves, dips, and climbs, crumbling shoulders with dilapidated trailers and rusting, overturned vehicles. I was in West Virginia holler country until, suddenly, I wasn’t. As I ascended a plateau, the road widened, and houses on either side were spacious and traditional. I saw a welcome sign and headed down the hill.

I entered the temple and heard rhythmic chanting accompanied by drum, bells, and keyboard. People were swaying, some dancing and clapping, clearly focused on the religious experience. I grew up next to a Catholic Church and have attended many high Masses in my lifetime; this was on a par with them. It felt sacred and transcendent. People entering the temple paid homage to a statue on the right, offering a few rose petals from a silver platter before falling to the floor, prostrate before the deity.

The grounds were impeccably cared for, and wide paths wound through the compound, where pilgrims strolled or sat in quiet meditation. Children laughed and chased after each other in a playground in front of one of the lodges. I walked up to the Palace of Gold past swans in the lake and peacocks strutting about on Peacock Walk, where they were intended to be. I passed statues of cows and an elephant, as well as two 40-foot-tall Gaura Nitai sculptures designed to inspire joy and love for God.

When Govinda’s Restaurant opened for lunch, I was the first to go through the buffet line. The foods were hot, fresh, and delicious, especially the bright salad with a light, lemony dressing over robust arugula leaves. The halwa, a brown semolina dish that looked less than appetizing, was actually quite tasty and a nice finish. I got a chai tea to go and headed back on the road toward home. Lunch was $20 with my chai tea.

Dear Reader, I didn’t want to prejudice you before you read about my visit, but I did learn some very dark secrets about New Vrindaban while listening to a two-part podcast about the property on my way to and from. The founder of the community, born Keith Ham in Peekskill, New York, became a powerful force in the global Hare Krishna movement, adopting the name Kirtanananda Swami. The son of a Baptist preacher, he attempted to blend elements of Christianity into the devotion. He was eventually expelled and convicted of child molestation, murder, and embezzling ten million dollars that had been earned by the chanting Hare Krishna disciples who used to collect cash in airports and at large sporting events. He ruled there from 1968 to 1987, before the ISKCON Governing Body Commission returned New Vrindaban to the standard Indian form practiced worldwide. He served time in prison and eventually died in India.

Today, New Vrindaban is overseen by a local board of directors led by the Temple president, who works under the guidance of the ISKCON Governing Body Commission. Its problems of the past, like those the Catholic Church faced, have faded from memory, and the congregation focuses on the present and on the celebration of the Hare Krishna ideology. While I was there, a two-day festival was underway, and the license plates on the cars in the parking lot indicated that many attendees traveled from out of state.

On my drive home, I had much to consider. My cousin and her battle, the Native American presence at Moundsville, and the perplexing Palace of Gold crowning a mountaintop surrounded by abject poverty in West Virginia. Almost Heaven.

But I was inspired to make a vegetarian soup the next day, with cauliflower and red lentils, and here is the recipe. It’s quick to put together and delicious with a dollop of full-fat yogurt, with a thank-you nod to the cows.

Thai Coconut Cauliflower and Red Lentil Soup

Makes @ 3 quarts

1 tablespoon olive oil

1 large onion, diced

4 cloves garlic, minced

1 teaspoon dried ginger or 1 tablespoon fresh grated ginger

2 tablespoons Thai red curry paste

1½ teaspoons cumin

1½ teaspoons turmeric

1½ teaspoons coriander

3 bay leaves

One 14-ounce can of coconut milk

One 14-ounce can or pouch of diced tomatoes

About a quart of water (from rinsing out the coconut milk and tomato containers)

1 cup red lentils, rinsed

One small head (1½ pounds) of cauliflower, roughly chopped

Kosher salt and freshly ground pepper

Plain yogurt

Fresh cilantro

Heat the olive oil in a soup pot, add the diced onion, and let it cook while you assemble the other ingredients. When the onion is just starting to caramelize, add the garlic, ginger, curry paste, and the cumin, turmeric, coriander, and bay leaves, and stir to coat the aromatics.

Add the coconut milk and tomatoes, then rinse the containers with water that you add to the soup pot. Add a tablespoon of Kosher salt and grind in lots of fresh black pepper.

Add the lentils and cauliflower, bring to a boil, then reduce the heat to medium and cook for about half an hour. You may need to add more water to reach the consistency you want. Season with salt and pepper to taste, then serve with a dollop of yogurt and a sprig (or small handful) of fresh cilantro on top.

The Cocoa Beach chapter is winding down. We have come to the end of our mission. Alex and Mary’s beach house is listed, and guests are arriving tomorrow.

The last week or so has been the best. We keep discovering things in this quirky town, but have not had time to explore more of Florida, though we did make a quick trip to Naples to be present at Iris’s third-birthday party at her other grandparents, Nancy and Mick Scherba. Her birthday coincided with Mardi Gras, Ramadan, and Chinese New Year. The focus was on the latter.

P.F. Chang did the cooking that night, and the food was tasty. I had never tried the brand, but Naples has every conceivable popular restaurant. In an homage to Disney, since the family was there for 5 days the week before, Minnie Mouse made the party as a cake. Yes—they sipped the Kool Aid and the kids, especially Iris, are in deep Mouseketeer mode. Kirk, we heard, was more interested in looking underneath the rides to see the gear mechanisms than in meeting the princesses. He’s a builder.

Leaving the west coast of Florida the next morning, we opted to drive around Lake Okeechobee and explore that region. It is a huge, shallow lake, with an average depth of 9 feet. There are sugarcane fields in the surrounding fertile soil, and a lively sugar-processing industry that employs many Caribbean workers. We wondered about the smoke, but learned how it is part of the harvesting process in this great Rolling Stone article by Michael Adno. We enjoyed lunch that day at El Prado in Belle Glade, and the Cuban sandwich and beef Papas Rellenos were delicious.

During our last week, we explored some iconic Space Coast properties. The Moon Hut in Cape Canaveral was popular with early astronauts, as was The Mousetrap, now called Cocoa Beach Fish Camp Grill. Unfortunately, my breakfast at the Moon Hut was not out of this world, but the decor was. I would give them another try. This recent CNN article by David G. Allan came out just in time for us to check in on some highlights of the area

Alex, Mary, and Coco came up from Miami for our last weekend, and we had an early celebration of Coco’s 4^th birthday, though he was a bit under the weather and subdued that day. We went to Seafood Atlantic in the evening and had delicious local tuna

But our lunch that day was truly local. John discovered that he could put in the kayak just a few blocks away and get out into the Banana River Aquatic Preserve, where he paddled with manatees, a curious dolphin, and scores of herons and hungry pelicans. And he brought home sea trout for lunch when they arrived from Miami.

The day before we left, we took all the comforters from the house to the laundromat. We walked down to the Kava Bar, not knowing anything at all it. Chandler, the young man behind the bar, gave us samples of kava, which you sip from a metal “shell”, as well as some kratom tea that they brew on site. The place looked like a cross between a coffee bar and a nightclub, but otherworldly, like the Milk Bar in Clockwork Orange. Chandler’s enthusiasm for his beverages reminded me of Sc’Eric Horner, the passionate bartender at Pine Hall back at home. We enjoyed sampling the bitter brews, but are not ready to give up coffee and proper black tea quite yet.

We finally found our groove, and not just on the record player, where we have been enjoying our old albums since we arrived. We found our path, our roots now extending into this lush, slightly bronzed (due to the cold weather, when the foliage took a big hit) environment. We will be back. The house is ready for rentals on VRBO, and if it’s not booked for a spell, we can thunder back down I-95. Especially when there is a chance to get the cousins together. That is what it is all about!

Our last northern visitor of the season was Jeanne Murphy, who drove over from her West Coast abode in Estero to see what Cocoa Beach was all about. We impressed her immediately by taking her to The Fat Snook, where we shared our favorite half-priced apps at Happy Hour, and she treated us. A great start to the visit.

The next day, we explored the town, visiting Retro Reef, which is a treasure trove of 60s and 70s memorabilia. We went to Seafood Atlantic to pick up sheepshead , an underappreciated but delicious local fish that sold for $8.95 per pound, for dinner and served it alongside baked orzo with feta, spinach, and cherry tomatoes. While the orzo baked, we enjoyed a glass of wine in the tiki bar before dinner.

In the morning, we left for some dedicated sightseeing. We drove up to the Sams House at Pine Island Conservation Area and enjoyed the displays in the old cabin, as well as the interactive natural displays outdoors near the environmental center, featuring some of the fossils found on the grounds. We especially enjoyed seeing many gopher tortoises come and go, cleaning house.

We hiked through the jungle trails and spied one of the old orange trees that had been planted by the Sams family back in the day when they maintained an orange grove and citrus packing facility in the 1880’s.

Afterward, we drove into Titusville to visit the American Space Museum and were fortunate to have Eric, a docent who retired after 30 years at the Kennedy Center, lead us through the exhibits. Seeing the map of the launch pads helped make sense of the many rockets we have seen launch into space since we arrived on the Space Coast. There are a lot of them.

On the way home, we drove through Port Canaveral to see the cruise ships lining up for departure. The floating hotels are massive, and the people on the balconies were tiny specks waving back at us.

We stopped at Poke Fin in Cocoa Beach to pick up dinner. The little shop is next to the Ron Jon’s complex, and we ordered a couple of bowls to share as well as one Hawaiian Spam Musubi-- sushi rice, seaweed, and a slice of spam. Interesting, but I think it is an acquired taste.

The next day, Jeanne left, but we stopped at Surfinista in Cocoa Beach first. This iconic surf shop/coffee shop is filled with surfing memorabilia, surfing-inspired art, plus surfboards and clothing. It is not to be missed if you visit Cocoa Beach. And their hot beverages are delicious.

On Valentine’s Day, John and I spent a quiet evening at home, enjoying a fondue, some shrimp scampi, and salad—and my favorite wine variety, Pouilly Fuisse. We didn’t miss the crowds.

Sunday morning, I headed out for a yoga class and then moseyed over to the local Farmers Market on Merritt Island. My sister Mary had gone the week before and brought several dips for us to enjoy during the Super Bowl. I was already craving them. The market was fun, shady, and full of vendors selling art and crafts. When I was done perusing, I decided to sample some of the food from TriniJam, and that was a good choice.

I had heard of “doubles” before, from the Redlands market south of Miami, but didn’t really know the dish. The busy woman at the booth explained that they are a specialty of her country, Trinidad, and the most common type of street food. The base is a flatbread called “bara,” topped with curried chickpeas, culantro chutney, tamarind sauce, pickled cucumber, and Scotch bonnet sauce. It was spicy—but so delicious! I’ll be back next Sunday for more study on this dish—and to learn the pleasant woman’s name. She also sold large, flat patties, and I took one home to John that had a jerk chicken filling. Another reason to return.

Our time in Cocoa Beach is winding down to the last few weeks. We have learned a great deal, but there is still much more to discover about this intriguing, booming (literally) area. John has been inspired by the beautiful shells on the beach to create “shellscapes” in the yard that have a celestial focus. He’s come out as an artist and enriched the landscape with his designs. Who knew?

Visitors are rolling into Cocoa Beach now that the weather is so cold up north. Our buddy Sam Hargrave was next and gave us a reason to tour around a bit in the Sebastian Inlet area, where we went to pick up farmed oysters from Treasure Coast Shellfish. We also visited the Treasure Museum and found out about all the gold doubloons that have washed up on these beaches. We will keep our eyes open as we dig in the sand.

Next to the Treasure Museum was the Mo Bay Grill in Sebastian, and we shared some very tasty snacks. We will return for more dishes another time because the food, presentation, and service were excellent.

Our next batch of visitors arrived from Wyoming, and they brought cold weather with them! The temps were in the 30’s here on the Space Coast, and many of the tropical plants suffered severe damage.

We were getting ready for Rose’s big birthday, and Kirk and I made a Key Lime Pie with real Key limes that we found at Publix. We toasted Mama with some Prosecco before she and Stephen went out for a night on the town and slurped down some Sebastian Inlet oysters at a happy hour. Too cold to be out in the Tiki Bar.

Rose and Stephen had a proper dinner at Koko Japanese pub in the heart of South Cocoa Beach and were wowed by the choices there.

They even went to Heidi’s Jazz Club after dinner and danced to the mellow sounds of Sybil Gage and her Merry Band of Catahoulas. Now that’s a good birthday!

The next day, Al, Mary, Coco, and Larissa arrived from Miami for the weekend. The festivities continued.

But the weekend was too short. They had to get back to Miami and work and school. And to listen for the Groundhog’s Prognostication the next morning. Force of habit, I awoke before dawn on Feb 2 and put on the live feed from Gobbler’s Knob and watched it with the kids. Surprise—six more weeks of winter!

My sister Mary visited us and dropped off some gingerbread cookie mix, so we fashioned some groundhog cookies for the occasion. It was a challenging task, but even the misshapen ones were very tasty.

The next day, we toured the Kennedy Space Center and saw where all those rocket ships are coming from. We even saw the Artemis in its launchpad, the ship that will be crewed to head toward the moon for the first time since 1972. Kirk enjoyed working at a simulator and designing and launching his own rocket and Iris most enjoyed the sight of the golden astronaut. Get those kids into Space Camp!

What we have found with our young visitors is that there is always a mealtime on the horizon. When they first get up, someone makes them First Breakfast, which is an omelette, pancakes, or a bagel with lox. That holds them over for about an hour until Second Breakfast. After that, there is Snack, which precedes Lunch. Sometimes there is a Second Lunch, but not usually. They are often out and about, busy and engaged. Any beach outing requires multiple snacks and drinks, and Kirk made the happy discovery that the beach wagon has a built-in table and the seagulls steer clear of it.

Here’s a recipe from yesterday’s Second Breakfast: homemade Fish Dip made from our pompano dinner, and some smoked kingfish from our favorite Seafood Atlantic market. It was easy to mix up in the Cuisinart, with minced onion, cream cheese, and a little bit of Remoulade. Try it out next time you have some leftover fish. It’s a great appetizer for Happy Hour—or Second Breakfast.

Cocoa Beach Fish Dip

Makes about 3 cups

2 cups leftover boneless fish (this one was pompano)

1 cup smoked Kingfish, flaked to remove the bones

half an onion or so, minced

8 ounces of cream cheese at room temperature

2 tablespoons Remoulade Sauce (or Tartar Sauce or mayo)

Spices—add your favorite, like Tony Chachere, Lemon Pepper, or a dash of Worcestershire Sauce

Flake the leftover fish and the smoked fish, making sure there are no bones. Mince and onion in the bowl of a food processor, and then add the fish and chunks of cream cheese. Pulse to combine, then add the Remoulade or other dressing and pulse until it’s as smooth as you like. Season to taste and serve with crackers and carrot and celery, or blueberries and oranges on the side to brighten the plate.

Our dynamic changed at Casa Cocoa once our first visitors arrived. We weren’t entirely done with our house chores, but my brother Geoff and his wife, Barbra, were happy to be on the crew. Geoff helped John with the stash box for beach items, putting together a nightstand, and fixing the broken microwave handle. Barbra helped me finally finish lining all the shelves and tacking them down with Gorilla tape. Missions accomplished.

But the weather turned cold! With temps in the 30’s at the beach in the morning. John suspended his sunrise ocean swim routine for a few days.

But we walked on the beach in the morning, seeing this display of roses. When we asked the woman setting it up what it was about, she said her cousin died and that this was her heartfelt message of love and loss. How coincidental, and sad, when we learned later that day that we too, my brother and I, lost our cousin Philip Shinoski at age 56. Life is short. We try to make every day count.

That afternoon, we found a box on the doorstep that was supposed to have arrived weeks earlier. Soon come, mon. A case of breadfruit that Alex had ordered for the holidays finally arrived, forcing us to think outside the box about how to use it.

We went up to Port Canaveral to watch the cruise ships sail out on Friday evening, having a glass of wine on the dock behind Seafood Atlantic, our favorite seafood market. We purchased some Sebastian Inlet oysters there, and some local pompano for dinner. Barbra declared that the pompano was the best fish she had ever tasted—and I did not disagree. Prepared simply, just brushed with olive oil and seasoned with salt and pepper and then topped with some capers, the fish cooked in about 15 minutes, the same amount of time it took to roast the oysters. Dinner in under half an hour? Yes, thank you!

On Saturday, we found another seafood market in Sebastian when we went down to the coast to see what we could see. They were sold out of their local Sebastian oysters, but we purchased tilefish, local shrimp, local mullet roe, and non-local escargot—because John cannot resist that French delicacy when he sees it. We had another quick dinner with roasted squash and baked potatoes—and topped it off with Key Lime Pie.

After checking out and running home from the still-cold beach in the morning, we got experimental. While the oven was on the night before, I roasted one of the breadfruits for 2 hours, until a knife could be easily inserted. John peeled it in the morning, and then I trimmed out the core and sliced it to fry up. Barbra was busy cleaning the eggs out of the mullet roe sacs to make little patties that the ladies at the seafood market told us about. We tried the mullet patties—salty, fishy, grainy—and decided to add them to scrambled eggs and that was a winner. For some. It was a rootsy breakfast with some corn muffins.

Once we finally headed into town, we needed more coffee and went to Surfinista right on the main drag in Cocoa Beach. This coffee and surf shop has a pingpong table in it, and Barbra challenged one of the players to a game while waiting for her latte. She lost, but we had fun cheering her on in the lively shop. We headed over to Ron Jon’s, the iconic surf shop that put Cocoa Beach on the map (or was that I Dream of Jeannie that put Cocoa Beach on the map?). It was quite a tourist destination and we don’t have to go there again—unless we have more visitors.

Since it was Geoff and Barbra’s last day, we went up to Seafood Atlantic, where John, behind the counter, helped us purchase dinner—pompano, and rock shrimp to stuff it with. A perfect combo!

Everything was prepared for dinner before we went out to see the Falcon 9 launch at 6:30. It was a spectacular display and we enjoyed the muted pinks and mauves of the sunset sky intersected with a blazing rocket. This is a very special place!

And our last supper was so, so good too.

T-23:40 That’s the time until the next launch tomorrow. The Space Coast is bustling as we move into 2026. You have to keep an eye on your app for updates on launch times. SpaceX is busy populating outer space with satellites. Look up.

The holidays are over, and it’s time to get back on the good foot, with new resolve for more exercise and healthier eating. Or at least to give it a try. After the Pork and Sauerkraut and Hoppin’ John of New Year’s Day, salads sound pretty good.

We have a new schedule down here. Get up before sunrise to watch it on the beach during a walk. Come home and eat a late breakfast/early lunch (aptly called brunch), then head back to the beach in the late afternoon to catch the sunset lighting up the sky as the sun sinks into the Indian River Lagoon. Midday, we do chores, getting this beach house ready for prime time.

Happy Hour is serious business on the Space Coast, with many establishments offering specials between 4 and 6 pm. We have checked out a few—though none are as good as The Fat Snook’s half price any appetizer and wine specials.

We tried the Sunset Cafe in Cocoa Beach, enjoying an excellent Martini and Manhattan, prepared with hilarious attitude by bartender Lizzie. Their Fish Dip was very good, served with carrot and celery sticks and a cascading pile of Captain’s Wafers, which paired nicely with the savory spread. We struck up a conversation with the man on the next barstool who was enjoying a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon with a chaser of Miller Light. That was a new pairing! At Cadillac Cove in Satellite Beach, we encountered a very tasty Fish Dip made with smoked mahi mahi and served with deep-fried pita triangles.

But our clear favorite and, so far, the best happy hour deal in the area, is at The Fat Snook, which is about a mile south of where we live. Our favorite server there, Sarah, is attentive and helpful and fills us in on what new brilliant idea is coming out of their kitchen. You even get an Amuse Bouche to start, one small bite to tune your palate to the interplay of flavors coming your way.

We ventured out one morning for breakfast at the Juice ‘n Java cafe in Cocoa Beach and it was tasty but rather heavy-handed with the “spread” on the sourdough bread. It was not butter. But the latte was delicious because they roast the beans on site and take great pride in creating the perfect foamy beverage.

Yesterday afternoon, we took a ride up past Cape Canaveral and into Port Canaveral to gawk at the incredible hulking cruise ships. On Friday nights, we watch the cruise ships heading out from our beach. There can be up to six of the behemoths on the horizon, heading to the Caribbean and beyond.

After leaving the busy port, we found a little seafood market that sells local fish and picked up some pompano to try something new. What a treat! Mild and sweet, the fillets were highlighted by a simple preparation with seasoned flour and a quick sauté in browned butter, accentuating their fresh, delicate nature.

After leaving the fish market, we stopped by Manatee Sanctuary Park on the Indian River. Less than a mile from the bustling cruise ship lines, we watched a Roseate Spoonbill and a Blue Heron fish in a little pond and enjoyed a quiet moment in nature. A young man who was fishing showed us the snook he caught, then let it go back into the river.

The Cocoa Beach library is as much of a lifeline for me here as the wonderful Alpine library was back in Wyoming. But this one is bigger and has many, many programs. I enjoy the yoga sessions (for $5) on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings. Yesterday I attended a cooking demo by a local chef, Fernando Navarrette, of The So Good Chef. I was hoping to learn some tips on preparing local Florida specialties, but the chef’s demo was on—Stuffed Cabbage.

The crowd was enthusiastic and had lots of questions for the seasoned pro, who proceeded to demo how he made his dish, with a cooked filling of ground beef and rice. It was not my Aunt Sophie’s Stuffed Cabbage, but it was tasty, and all the tasters who surrounded the table like hungry pelicans at the fish cleaning station were very pleased with the result. One German man brought in a stuffed cabbage of his own for the chef to taste and critique. Made in the style of northern Germany, the stuffed roll was served with a beef broth—no tomato at all. Different strokes...

Our life in Florida is a study in extremes—the simple natural world in contrast with rocket ships launching satellites into space and cruise ships ferrying thousands of passengers. We are like the birds; we walk on the beach, and we eat. And we keep an eye on the sky.

It was cold and blustery in State College the night I drove down to Frederick, MD, to my brother and his wife’s Launching Pad. Getting three hours south on the first day gave me a head start. Geoff and Barbra are hospitable to the nth degree, and we enjoyed a cozy chicken dinner that warmed body and soul.

I left Frederick at eight on the Saturday before Christmas and made it to Santee, South Carolina by early eve of Solstice, with only a few slowdowns and reroutes away from I-95 due to accidents. The Fairfield in Santee is convenient, right off the highway, and next to a low-key and very authentic Thai restaurant. A red curry soup and a glass of Josh Chardonnay provided a sweet landing spot, and the next day’s drive was shorter than the Saturday push. The weather was getting warmer by the mile, and I tucked away my puffer jacket and boots.

I had time to think about what the menu might be for Christmas dinner, and also to check in with family to see what was cooking. My sister Mary sent our Mom’s recipe for a roasted beet salad that would be perfect for our feast, with a switch from blue cheese to feta and from walnuts to hickory nuts. What you have is what you get.

There was a landscape crew at Al and Mary’s in Cocoa Beach when I arrived; it was a beehive of activity between them and the tiki bar installers. I retreated to the house and looked up local meat markets to try to get a sense of what was available in the area. Wassi’s Meat Market in Melbourne had the best reviews, and I went over in the morning and was very impressed with their offerings.

The last four Christmases we celebrated in Wyoming, and prime rib was the main course for Christmas dinner. I knew that Al would be bringing up his stone crab claw harvest, so I wanted to have some red meat, but not that much. I did some recon Monday morning and decided to consult with the principals about the main—that would be Mary, as we were joining her table. She liked the idea of steaks, so I went back in on Tuesday and encountered a big line. At least they were handing out samples of their prime rib along with mashed potatoes and a smear of horseradish cream. That’s the way to sell.

Meanwhile, John was thundering down I-95 and arrived late that afternoon. We ducked over to The Fat Snook, a restaurant a mile away from the house that had a very robust happy hour. We sat at the bar for a drink and shared three half-priced appetizers that made us realize we would need to come back again and again.

-The next morning was Christmas Eve, and there was a Surfing Santas event at Cocoa Beach that started at 7:30. Our server, Sarah, at The Fat Snook recommended we ride our bikes as traffic is a force on the narrow island. That was good advice.

The rest of Eve we spent regrouping, eating an easy fondue for two, and catching up with friends far away. We looked forward to Al and the fam’s arrival and were surprised when the first person to pop out of the van on Christmas Day was Santana.

Then it was time to hustle Christmas dinner to the table. The crab claws were easy; Mary made her delicious garlic butter with lemon and parsley. The steaks needed only some seasoning and then a sear in a cast-iron pan before finishing in the oven (there is no grill at Casa Coco so don’t plan on any barbecuing if you come). Only we set off the smoke alarm, which lent an air of festive panic until Al vaulted up to reset it. The ceilings are high.

My only disappointment was that I messed up my favorite Christmas dessert, an Orange Baked Alaska, but you can read how to make it here. I used a carton of egg whites, thinking it would simplify the process and save me from having to incorporate six egg yolks somewhere. But my meringue was not very firm and slid off the ice cream. Here is a photo of what it should have looked like—though the shlumpy versions were tasty, too. No photos; I was too depressed.

We had a couple of excellent bottles of wine, which eased my pain and suffering, and the dishes magically got done while the new Victrola turntable spun Michael Jackson. I’ll Be There. I Want You Back. Beat It. Coco danced and hula-hooped around. It was an excellent Christmas indeed!

The holiday party season in Central Pennsylvania kicks off with Mary and Amy Seaton’s annual Tree Trimming party in early December. These two consummate entertainers go all out, decorating their rambling brick house in “downtown” Rebersburg with their entire collection of vintage Christmas collectibles.

I like hanging out in the kitchen, watching first-time attendees ooh and ahh when they enter; there is just so much to see in the house. The tree is in the front room, covered with 2,500 lights, and boxes of Christmas ornaments are adjacent, waiting for the faithful to get to work hanging hundreds of balls and assorted adornments. It’s a labor of love that everyone enjoys.

The Seatons’ parents met at the University of Missouri, married, and moved to Pittsburgh when her dad got a job at Pittsburgh Plate Glass. The twins grew up in Pittsburgh, in a family that treasured connection and collection. They have been in Central PA since arriving as incoming Penn State freshmen in 1983 and have shared their enthusiasm and Christmas spirit for over 35 years with their annual party.

That means many of the people who used to attend as children have grown up. Santa does not make an appearance anymore, but the spirits are high at the party, fueled by prodigious amounts of champagne.

The Seaton’s holiday table has changed somewhat over the years, leaning toward less complicated than serving oyster stew for 50. Smoked turkey, ham, and Mary’s meatballs anchor the spread, which is filled in with various dishes that arrive with the party-ers.

This year Eric Sarnow delivered a White Lasagne made with collard greens that his wife Claudia pulled from their garden. Barbara Lange’s Butternut Squash Galette was warm when she delivered it, the flaky pastry crumbling around the edge when it was sliced. Sam Hargrave’s Roquefort Grapes provided a refreshing counterpoint to the abundant charcuterie board, and a Spinach and Artichoke Dip disappeared quickly, scooped up with mini pitas. Crisp Melba Toasts in three flavors, Sesame, Herb, and Cheese, were easy to pick up and munch while sipping a flute of champagne. Cookies, pumpkin roll, and chocolates filled the table in the living room near the tree for dessert seekers.

The spirit of Christmas is alive and well in Rebersburg, and now the holiday season can gain momentum. We were all connected for a few hours, greeting and catching up with friends—even though much of the catching up involved tales of cancer and recovery. But that comes with age. Thanks to the Seatons, we all took a trip in the Way Back machine to a simpler time when Jolly St. Nick reigned supreme, granting our every wish.

Melba Toast

This recipe originated at Stouffer’s, where baskets of Melba Toast were on the table as part of the upscale service in the Gaslight dining room at the Stouffer’s in Jenkintown. My Mom worked there as a “Stouffer Girl” in the 1960’s, before moving into a management position and transferring to the Penn Center store downtown across the street from Love Plaza.

One loaf of Pepperidge Farm thin-sliced bread will need one stick of butter, softened to room temperature before mixing in the herbs or sesame seeds. Use it plain before coating with dry Parmesan cheese placed in a cake pan.

Ingredients for a large batch (@180 half-slice pieces)

3 loaves Pepperidge Farm Thin-sliced bread, cut in half

Cheese Melba

1 stick of softened salted butter

½ cup grated Parmesan

Sesame Melba

1 stick softened salted butter

¼ cup sesame seeds

Herb Melba

1 stick softened salted butter

2 tablespoons Melba Herbs mix (or substitute Herbes de Provence or your own blend. I mix up the herb blend so I have a lot on hand to use and give away. Just follow the same proportion.)

Melba Herbs Mix

1/8 teaspoon dried marjoram

¼ teaspoon dried tarragon

¾ teaspoon dried parsley

¾ teaspoon dried basil

Preheat oven to 375 degrees F. Have 2 large baking trays ready and place all three loaves of bread on another tray, with the slices cut in half. (At Stouffer’s, the top and bottom crusts were removed before buttering the bread.) Prepare three separate bowls of butter, mashing the herbs and sesame seeds and whipping the butter so it spreads more easily. Whip up the plain butter and place the cheese in a cake pan.

Spread ½ teaspoon of each butter on each slice of bread, filling the pan. Bake for 12-15 minutes in a preheated oven, then place the tray on a cooling rack. Let the toast cool and store it in a tightly closed container.

Thanksgiving leftovers are still on the menu at our house, since we cooked a 22-pound turkey for six and a half people. We have done them in sequence—straight up, just like Thanksgiving dinner again: then hot turkey sandwiches, a vat of turkey-and-vegetable soup with noodles, and Turkey Pot Pie. Last night, aiming for a different flavor profile, I remembered our former neighbor Chuck Fisher’s Marshall Fields Special Turkey Sandwich, which Chuck and his wife Jenny made for us one year. It was a welcome change.

Chuck currently lives in Siletz, Oregon, so we haven’t seen him in years, but he's still part of our holiday tradition. He and Jenny make the best old-fashioned caramels and sea foam candy and send us a box wherever we are. This holiday traditionalist honors the past and remembers trips to the Midwest department store in Chicago. “We went to Marshall Fields to shop for Christmas presents, and my father would buy each of us one nice hand-blown ornament every year while I was growing up in Ann Arbor. (I now have all of them that have lasted through the years.) And we always had lunch at the restaurant on the top floor,” Fisher recalled.

I never went to Marshall Fields, but I can relate to the fine-dining department store lunch concept since I worked around the corner from Wanamaker’s when I was a teenager in downtown Philly.

In the mid-twentieth century, the day after Thanksgiving marked the official start of the holiday shopping season. Retailers, who often operated in the “red” or at a loss for much of the year, looked forward to the shopping frenzy to put them in the “black,” meaning making a profit. In the 1950s, the Philadelphia police coined the term “Black Friday” because that day was so busy with shoppers, tourists, and suburban traffic before the annual Army-Navy football game on Saturday at Municipal Field in South Philly. Scores of shoppers flooded the downtown, and Wanamaker’s department store, with the world’s largest organ and the magnificent Crystal Tea Room, was Ground Zero for the chaos.

Nowadays, Black Friday has morphed into a week-long call to arms for shoppers. But much of that shopping is done online, without the immersive experience. Holiday shopping was hands-on in those days. And all the shopping and bargain-hunting worked up an appetite. At Marshall Fields, their signature sandwich was what Chuck Fisher recalls from his childhood, and he continues to celebrate the tradition. And has gotten me hooked on it as well. We can make the salad sandwich on our own and reminisce—as we shop with our fingers on a keyboard or call an old friend for a holiday catch-up.

The iconic Marshall Fields Special Turkey Sandwich is beloved enough to have its own FaceBook following. It’s so popular that you can even find detractors who badmouth the dish. That is the price of fame. Try it and see what you think.

Here is the recipe that I used, based on one from Food.com—and Chuck’s advice.

The hard part of living out west for the past seven years was not being able to see my siblings and take part in family functions. This weekend I made up for some lost opportunities by traveling to Belmont, Ohio with my sisters to a cousin’s annual cookie exchange with a Polish theme.

Jodi McFarland hosts the gathering every year with help from her nearby cousins, Kelly and Jamie, daughters of our cousin Barb. Jodi’s energy is remarkable, but anyone who lives on an extensive horse ranch and teaches math at the nearby Belmont College is used to wrangling details. Jodi was simultaneously greeting arriving guests, setting up two slushie machines with adult beverages, arranging hot food on the buffet in the kitchen, uncovering hors d’oeuvres on the dining room table, and herding the excited sheep dogs that wanted in if they were out or out if they were in.

People arrived with six/seven dozen cookies for the exchange, as well as a tree ornament for a gift swap. Folks were also delivering hot food for lunch. Family favorites were the order of the day--haluski, pork and sauerkraut, pierogies, Aunt Sophie’s meatballs made by her daughter Becky, stuffed pepper soup, Buffalo chicken dip—so there were drop-off points around the expansive room for each delivered item. Roasted beet salad, broccoli salad, macaroni salad, roasted peppers, and a big bowl of mixed greens created the salad peninsula. There was food all over the place, including a separate dessert bar with pumpkin pie and raspberry pie, and a cookie tower to distract from the stacked containers of cookies for the exchange.

The party started at 11, giving everyone an hour to settle in before lunch at noon. The food was delicious and inexhaustible.

After we all ate, and ate, and ate, we broke into small groups to play cards and other games. Cousin Barb and Cousin Sandy brought photo albums filled with vintage photos of our forebears. Sandy also had pictures of Anna Shinoski’s family, those who remained in Poland, and she said how very gracious they were to her when she visited last year. Someone turned on the music, and polkas started playing, prompting spontaneous clapping and dancing.

Jodi managed to get everyone outside, poolside, for a photo, and even the dogs cooperated.

The ornament exchange took place at the dining room table, and we gathered around and followed Chelsea's instructions, who read a right-left version of The Night Before Christmas that cued us to pass the gifts around the table.

As the sun was going down, we set out the cookies, and everyone picked six of each variety to pack up and take home. Containers that were quickly depleted were replaced until everyone had filled what they had brought to deliver their cookies in.

This is why I’m glad to be back. Not for the cookies, so much, though that is a bonus. But to connect with my tribe, to celebrate where we are from, and to keep a tradition alive for the next generation of Polish Princesses.

This broccoli salad made by Jackie Shinoski, Joe Shinoski’s (the son of Joe Shinoski, Sr,) wife, was popular.

Here are the recipes I used for the Baci Cookies I made.

Many thanks to our “hostess with the mostest”, Jodi, and her helper cousins, Jamie and Kelly, and to her parents, Joe and Mary Jo Shinoski.