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.

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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.

It was a historic birthday, and to celebrate turning 75, I wanted to be part of history. After a very fabulous dinner in a renovated church in Frederick, MD, on my actual birthday with John, my brother, Geoff, and his wife, Barbra, we took the train from Shady Grove into Washington, DC, to take part in the No Kings march the following day. It was a street party with gamely dressed, sloganeering participants—and everyone was courteous and upbeat. The marching and chanting took me back to my youth and the DC protests against the Vietnam War. I felt young again, like I had a voice and it mattered. Like I could change things.

The next day, I headed south solo to Leonardtown, MD, for the National Oyster Shucking Championship with my sister, Mary, her husband, Rolf, and daughter, Brooke, and her SO, Jonathan. There was no oyster cook-off this year, but that event is destined to be resurrected next year for the 60^th anniversary. There were still plenty of oysters to slurp, in various iterations, as well as shucked oysters from the contest, served by the participants. It was great fun to see Honor Allen win again—the young man claimed his 6^th Top Shucker award—and will compete next September in Galway, Ireland. Here’s a story posted two years ago about the event—and it is pretty much always the same.

The next day, I headed further south, after getting an invitation from our son Alex and his wife Mary to check out their new vacation home in Cocoa Beach. It needed to be outfitted, and they are limited to visiting on weekends that pass by too quickly. I was happy to scout it out!

Cocoa Beach is a town with a long history as a surfing capital, thanks to the Ron Jon Surf Shop brand. The founder of the business, Ron DiMenna, passed away last month at 88, after pioneering surfing in America. His first shop opened in 1959 in Ship Bottom, New Jersey, the beach town where John and I met, about the time Mr. DiMenna was starting his business. Now there are 13 Ron Jon stores nationwide as well as in Cozumel, Mexico and Grand Turk.

But I haven’t been surfing here; just cooking and trolling the local thrift shops for kitchen items and vintage Florida art to outfit the new property. The family came in on the weekend, and we had a great time exploring the area and connecting with the local foodways.

I made a Spanakopita for Friday night when they arrived at dusk, mainly because my sister Mary had made one while I was visiting her, and it looked so good. Pleating the top layer of phyllo made it extra crispy and beguiling. We also had some pimento cheese from South Carolina, widely distributed and highly addictive (right, Jeanne Murphy?).

And for Saturday’s dinner, Mary and I tracked down some local fish, a species called Tripletail that was excellent. We went to what was listed on Google as a fish market, but when we got there, it was a restaurant, and the manager explained that the retail fish market is only open during tourist season. He was glad to sell us some of the fish they use at Jazzy’s Mainely Lobster. We found a Kuri squash at the local Sunseed Food Coop, and I knew just what I wanted to do with that, and picked up some white miso at the natural food store as well.

We enjoyed what I call a “proper dinner,” i.e., local fish, seasonal squash, and Mary’s delicious black beans and rice, with a simple salad and a Cilantro Remoulade for the fish. The teenagers, Larissa and Armando, loved it, and CoCo did too.

It’s the dawn of a new era here on the Space Coast, and there is only one way to go—UP!

Recipe for Kuri Squash with Miso Butter

Kuri squash is very hard-skinned. Use a sharp knife to cut it in half, scoop out the seeds, and microwave the halves for about 6 minutes, flipping once after 3 minutes. The squash will be much easier to slice into wedges then. Put the wedges into a large bowl and drizzle about a tablespoon of olive oil on them, and toss well. Warm 2 tablespoons of unsalted butter and two tablespoons of white miso in the microwave on very low power so you can mash them together, and then massage the butter/miso mixture onto the squash wedges. Place on a sheet lined with parchment or a sprayed cookie sheet, and roast at 400º for about 30 minutes, until the squash is tender. The skin is edible and delicious.

My youngest sister, Helen, has been living in Vermont for nearly a year as a travel med tech and was celebrating a birthday. My other sister, Mary, planned to visit her and celebrate that birthday as well as her own two days later. Of course, they needed their older sister to tag along and keep track of them.

On arriving in Montpelier, Helen whisked us out for a Vermont specialty called a “creemee”, a soft serve ice cream with a high milk fat content that is sweetened with Vermont maple syrup. We tried the delicacy, dusted with maple sugar, at two different farmstands outside the city to vote on the creamiest creemee and found that we disagreed, as we do on many topics. But we agreed to disagree and enjoyed both confections.

It was prime leaf-peeping season in Vermont, but the drought dimmed the usually vibrant display. The countryside is beautiful anyway, and the line of cars that crept along Route 100, the Green Mountain Byway, was long and slow-going. Not that we were in a hurry! There was much to see—and taste.

Both Morse Farm and Bragg Farm were busy in the last hour of the workday. After our creemees, we cleansed our palate at Barr Hill Distillery, a gin (mostly) distillery that started in 2011 in the Northeast Kingdom of Vermont. A partnership between a distiller and a beekeeper has resulted in a unique product that respects the land and the pollinators that keep it fertile. Barr Hill gin is distilled with juniper and finished with raw honey, and was recognized nationally by USA Spirits Ratings as Spirit of the year two years in a row in 2020 and 2021. We all agreed on that!

The next morning, Helen took us to Wayside, an iconic Montpelier diner, and we all agreed to order the same thing—Creamed Chipped Beef on Toast, which was our mom Jo Quinn's favorite. Josephine would have loved it. We needed to be especially fortified for a big day of culinary touring—and thrifting at area hand-me-down shops, our guilty pleasure.

Route 100 offered many culinary notables. First, we came upon Ben & Jerry’s, a mecca for ice cream enthusiasts. There were long lines for everything, so we joined a tour list for the end of the day since we would be returning along the same road. We hopped over to Cold Hollow Cider Mill, which was also busy, and watched the apple pulp being hosed onto flats for the pressing process. We enjoyed a paper cup of crisp, fresh cider and grabbed apple cider donuts to go. Next, we veered off 100 to get on 108 in Stowe to tour along Smugglers Notch, a pass through the Green Mountains, and landed at the Von Trapp Family Lodge, of the Sound of Music fame. The Austrian-style resort crested a mountain top and offered panoramic views. A friendly herd of goats in a field adjacent to the road added a Heidi element to the drive, and it was easy to imagine yodeling echoing through the valleys below.

But we had places to go and things to see—and now the deadline of the 5:15 B&J tour. We drove through the backwoods of the Green Mountains to Burlington. Our destination was Burton Headquarters to see if Donna Carpenter, the late Jake Burton Carpenter’s intrepid widow, was on site. She was not, but her assistant showed us through the showroom filled with the newest snowboard equipment and clothing. Since Rose had edited Dear Rider, the movie about Jake Burton, I felt very invested in the story of the “father of snowboarding” and couldn’t pass up the opportunity to see the source.

Afterward, we shot down I-89 to reach our tour and enjoyed the visit. Our sample of Milk and Cookies ice cream hit the spot after hearing all about the enterprise from our personable and theatrical tour guide. It was the night of the October Harvest moon, a Supermoon, so we drove back to Barr Hill Distillery, where we had watched it rise the night before, but the distillery was closed on Monday. After basking in the moonglow in the parking lot, we headed back to Helen’s studio apartment so she could finish baking her sourdough bread. We had a snack birthday supper, complete with a brownie with ice cream and a candle that Mary had managed to procure from Wayside that morning without Helen’s notice. We watched Hocus Pocus and laughed along with the three sister witches in the movie.

The next morning, after finishing off the remains of our previous day’s breakfast (since we all brought home half of our chipped beef) we retraced our steps to Helen’s favorite thrift store, where Mary last remembered using her missing credit card and wallet. Thankfully, it had been found, so we spent more time there finding the perfect this and that and plowing some of that found money back into the charity for aiding local at-risk teenagers.

Then we set our compass for Stowe and drove up to experience that picturesque village. It was busy, but we dodged the crowd by parking at Helen’s favorite Catholic Church, Blessed Sacrament, with its exterior carved wooden panels. We walked into downtown Stowe from the church and stopped at the Woodland Café for a delicious Bakewell pastry, a turmeric-laced Golden Milk, a tea, and a coffee. I watched the chef at the café preparing burritos for the next day and admired her technique to produce 70 burritos in the time it took us to have a beverage and a bite. Fortified, we filed into the throng on the main drag in Stowe, stopping here and there to see what we could see.

Cabot Creamery was our last stop on the way home, and that was also crowded, but the personnel at the tasting table were gracious and happy to answer questions. It is a vast operation, drawing most of the milk produced in a seven-state range. The cooperative controls the cheese market in the area, and its extensive distribution makes it easy to support a worthwhile initiative that perfectly exemplifies sharing and caring. We all could agree on that. I purchased a ten-year-old Cabot cheddar that has minimal availability elsewhere, and I look forward to sampling it and recalling our trip to the land of milk and honey.

We went out for dinner that night to Ladder 1, a Barre, Vermont favorite of Helen’s. The restaurant is in an old firehouse and serves delicious food in a campy setting. Beneath the Halloween decorations, there were many vintage signs and posters. After dinner, we enjoyed looking upstairs at the old photographs of the firemen and seeing where they lived while they waited for a call. Arthur, our waiter, was a wealth of information about the property and brought the old days into the light for us. We enjoyed our dinners, sharing Helen’s Black Diamond steak, my Eggplant parmesan, and Mary’s onion soup and onion rings. The wedge salad proved our eyes were bigger than our bellies, and I took it home in its entirety, enjoying it once I was back in PA. We all agreed that it was a fun and tasty dinner and a fine ending to our culinary tour. Vermont leaf peeping is an annual event, and maybe next year the weather will be agreeable.

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Eating and drinking in Alpine, Wyoming has been interesting. Dining out options are limited. There are two saloons—the Bull Moose and the Tavern on the Greys—and a motel with a sometimes-open dining room, the Flying Saddle. There is Melvin Brewing, with fantastic outdoor seating on the edge of the reservoir, and casual and tasty bar food. There are three Mexican restaurants: the Taco Bus, Tienda la Mexicana, and La Cabana del Tequila, as well as the iconic Yankee Doodle Café, where even the sugar at each table is colored red, white, and blue. It’s a deep dive into swaggering Americana. But I’m not comfortable with the open carry policy.

We mostly cook at home, the trout that John catches from the Greys, the Salt, or the Snake Rivers, or what we can procure from Broulims, the local supermarket. But on Fridays, we often have pizza from Driftwood, with the kids choosing plain cheese and pepperoni, and my personal favorite—the Lakeside pizza, which features prosciutto, artichokes, spinach, and feta cheese. It was a routine that was established the first night I landed in Alpine, back in May 2021, when Joe and John drove our belongings from Colorado to Wyoming for our next tour of grandkid duty. Sadly, that pizza tradition will come to an end this month, when the restaurant closes. Are there any pizza makers out there who need an establishment with an already very high benchmark?

There used to be a great mini-donut shop with tasty cake donuts with fancy toppings, but it closed two years ago. So Kirk and I made donuts, using a recipe from Cardamom and Tea’s blog, and he had fun with the project—especially the eating part, with Iris.

On our last trip to Idaho Falls, John and I took the kids to the Farmers Market before going to the zoo, and they opted for corndogs (hey, anything goes on your last outing with your grands.) We also had ice cream at the Berry’s Square Ice Cream pitstop in Swan Valley. (No photo of the square ice cream scooper. That was not allowed.)

A trip to Graze restaurant in Etna was another highlight of my last week. Cynthia treated me to an early birthday lunch, and I veered off my usual avocado toast order to try a fried chicken sandwich. It provided a bonus lunch the following day when I ate the other half.

There was also a pickled turnip project, thanks to friend Paula, who provided a beet for color. It wasn’t anything the kids would try, but it made a very nice palate cleanser on an appetizer platter. The remainder of her beet-hemoth became a roasted beet and apple salad. Paula also delivered a bag of apples from her tree, which made a tart applesauce that was especially tasty at this time of year, paired with pork tenderloin.

But all of that is old news, exit news. The new news is Alpine has a Thai restaurant—Neon Tiger—and it is excellent. We were there for their soft opening a week ago and enjoyed their appetizers, interesting drinks, and watching the kids play cornhole in the big outdoor dining space next to the elk refuge. The owner, Ryan Haworth, and his Thai wife, Sununta, the chef/kitchen mastermind, have other Thai restaurants in Jackson and Driggs and are very familiar with the process. The restaurant is just launching and is expected to flourish in Alpine. It’s a whole new ball game in dining.

That’s the update from Wyoming. That’s how we eat and drink out here. My next post will be from the East Coast. Kirk and Iris will be caught up with Halloween this month, turn around, and it will be Thanksgiving and then Christmas. They will be too busy to miss us. But I miss them already and this very interesting chapter of life in western Wyoming. Time to move on. Giddy up!

One interesting thing about living in Wyoming is that there are many people here from exotic places, like the Midwest. We don’t have all that many midwesterners moving into Pennsylvania, but they sure do like these mountain ranges and the fishing and hunting opportunities.

One friend from Minnesota is Kim Nyquist. She and her husband Mark have lived part of the year in Alpine and the Jackson environs for years, purchasing a home in Alpine 12 years ago, next door to where Rose and Stephen built. Kim and Mark live in Minneapolis but spend several months a year in Wyoming with friends and family.

Last year, during one of our many conversations about food, she mentioned lefse, the iconic Norwegian flatbread that is very popular in the Midwest. When I told her I had never had it, she volunteered to bring her lefse griddle to Wyoming for a demo.

Kim doesn’t mess around. She is a high-powered do-er who commandeers a room and runs the show. Why wouldn’t she? Kim is a former Olympic speedskater and well-accustomed to going the distance. Kim called all the shots during our lefse-making session, and her visiting sister-in-law, Linda, and I followed her instructions.

I had heard of lefse before, from the Hammer brothers, Larry and Scott, helpers during our old catering days. Their family hailed from Minnesota, and when they spoke of lefse at the holidays, their eyes glazed over with a faraway look. It’s an iconic treat that symbolizes family, connection, and happy times. Plus, it is delicious.

I was very impressed at the amount of specialized equipment required to make our 30-count batch of lefse. There was a potato ricer, borrowed from a friend in Alpine, plus a grill, a board to roll it out on, multiple muslin cloths for the board, a special grooved rolling pin with its own cloth sleeve, and two long, slender paddles for lifting and turning the lefse. Kim had it all.

Mark’s sister Linda is from South Dakota, where they grew up with lefse at the holidays. Linda, who named our escapade “Lefse 101”, manages to make lefse with a minimum of specialized equipment. Still, she admitted that she may have to up her game after using the interesting tools that facilitated the process.

We started with about 5 pounds of Russet potatoes and peeled them. We were on the border of Wyoming-Idaho at Kim and Mark’s house, and our potatoes were fresh and snapped when you cut them. After peeling and boiling, the potatoes were riced and then mixed with butter, flour, sugar, and cream once the mixture had cooled. Kim shaped the mass into small balls, about the size of a Temple orange, which is smaller than a regular orange and larger than a tangerine.

There’s a LOT of flour involved in the process, not just in the mix, but also to keep the board dry so the lefse doesn’t stick. The special rolling pin was grooved so that the dough looked like corduroy when it was rolled out. The long wooden paddles proved invaluable for transferring the dough to the grill and for checking it while it was cooking. Linda and I worked into a rhythm, me rolling, she grilling, Kim everywhere, overseeing. We were all a bit floury after our session, which took about 4 hours, and involved several sampling breaks to make sure it was perfect. And it was, spread with butter. Sugar is also a favored topping, with or without cinnamon—there was discussion about that.

The word “lefse” is Norwegian, derived from the Old Norse word “hleifr”, meaning "loaf" or "slice of bread". While it is not something I’m likely to mix up on my own, I now understand and appreciate the origins. It is not a food that Vikings brought to America, because potatoes didn’t reach Norway until the middle of the 1700s, introduced by traders, with cultivation promoted by priests to enhance food security. Norwegians previously made lefse with wheat flour, and it was more like a dry cracker that could be stored for many months and dampened with water to eat. The addition of potatoes made it much more substantial. Norwegian immigrants embraced the potato variety of lefse in the New World, especially in the Midwest, and their descendants look forward to the specialty at holiday times.

Which is around the corner. Thanks for the lesson, Kim!

Kim Nyquist’s Directions for making Norwegian LEFSE

4 cups riced potatoes

¼ cup cream

4 Tbsp butter, room temp

1 tsp salt

2 tsp sugar or 3 Tbsp powdered sugar for fluffier Lefse

Peel Russet potatoes, cut up, and boil. Don’t overcook them, or they take in too much water. Strain

In each of three bowls, put all the above ingredients. Rice potatoes when hot. Add 4 cups of riced potatoes to each bowl.

Mix well. I put on rubber gloves and mix with my hands.

Cover each bowl with a flour sack towel and let cool to room temp. Approx 2-3 hours?

When ready to make Lefse, one bowl at a time, add

1 1/2 cups of flour. Mix in flour with your hands and form into

Balls about 2” round? You can see how big or small you want your Lefse to be.

Roll out and grill at 450 degrees. Only flip once.

Let cool before folding and wrapping.