Back Burner | Strawberry Girl
May 22nd, 2009 by Marilyn
Hello, dear reader! Back Burner is a rotating gallery of posts you may have missed or might enjoy reading again. All comments prior to April, 2008 were lost in the tragic blog move – so if it’s new to you or you’re deeply stirred, comment away. Thanks for stopping by.
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Strawberry Girl
From June 6, 2010. Original post and comments found here.
Josie turned 14 last week. A teenager. Of course she was a teen last year, being 13 and all, and possibly even before that at 12, which I recall as spiked with previews. Still – if 13 has training wheels, then 14 speeds away. You can let it run you over, and you can also lay down and get run over again. These are the choices.
There’s good news, too. She’s wonderful, lovely and smart and funny, as she always has been. She is all those things and now more, independent and stubborn and debate-ready, on matters from politics to proper barrette placement, which, I’d forgotten, is crucial.
She does not have one answer. She has ten. On a truly inspired day, twelve.
Who was there? Well, so-and-so was there, and her friend, and nobody else. Nobody? Well, oh yeah, there was that guy, and his friend, and his little brother, but they’re boring. And someone’s mom dropped her off but then she had to leave, to go to yoga. And oh yes Emily was there but not that Emily, not the one you don’t like, the other one. There were tons of people I knew. Tons? But, you know, nobody else was there.
So the news, then, is that even when they are lovely-smart-funny, the pleasures of agreement are few. She thinks adults oversimplify, always assuming a situation is either perfect or totally awful. She says it’s all flexible, all open to possiblity. Nothing is just one way.
I called my mother the other day and asked, where is the reward here? What is it? Oh, Josie is my reward, she said. I was stunned. It’s not me? The adult me isn’t your reward? Well, she said, you are, but she’s the easiest reward.
I told her well, she’s quite complicated right now. Your own daughter takes longer, she said. You did.
One hot afternoon last week, first in a long line of scorchers, Josie got home from the pool and was sitting in the kitchen eating popcorn, briefly friend- and phone-free. I pounced, and she couldn’t believe her luck: errands! She would join me on errands. Gas, dry cleaning, dog food place and the local co-op for eggs, asparagus, salad greens, fruit. And because any errand-mate must act as my extra hands, on the way home it was Josie who held the small green basket, dropping tiny leaves and fine dirt in her lap, the first strawberries of the season.
The berries were misshapen and candy red, embroidered with yellow seeds. Josie cupped the basket, turning berries over with one finger, picking at curled green stems. Her hair was still wet and she wore friendship bracelets, the wrist code of teen girls: this is my favorite, these are my friends, that’s my design. I wore shorts, which I generally avoid up to August, and also a ponytail, in place through October. To me summer is a stack of camp forms, frizzy hair, bathing suit shopping, bug spray. Of course for most people summer, I know, is the golden child of seasons, joy without fuss. Josie was an unfussy baby, and later an unfussy child. Now she embraces its complications, this almost-high school life, juggling friends, algebra, parents, lockers, friends. Choices.
In the car she was quiet, rather suspiciously not asking for objects, rides or permissions. She wanted to get home, to zoom through dinner and reach dessert. Squinting through five o’ clock rays at the berries on her lap, I asked Josie: what should we do with them?
Should I make strawberry cobbler? Soak them in rum? Buttermilk strawberry cake, strawberry-rhubarb pie, strawberry rum sauce or ice cream or strawberry-banana crepes?
We should eat them, she said, and popped one. Just eat them.
And that is what we did.
On Cake Pancake
That sounds like a wonderful snackette to be nibbling on. I’m going to be so tempted to do the same with muffins now though!
On Turkey-Ricotta Meatballs: Love at First Bite
Great snack for us vampires here in Forks, Washington. When the Cullens invite us over for a bite, they really mean it. Yes, I live in the location where the Cullen residence is geographicaly located. “5 miles east of Forks off of Highway 101″ Look forward to making a batch of the meatballs soon. On a diet and turkey is very much allowed.
Best regards
On The Last Time I Saw Paris
From 1986 to 1989 my husband and I lived in a small apartment in the Champ de Mars neighborhood, right off of Rue Ste. Dominique in Paris. It was heaven! I still miss it every day. Thank you for bringing it all back! Everyone should live in Paris sometime, even for just a few little whiles.
On Noodle Kugel: Four Sisters, One Card
Have you made a Yerushalmi Noodle Kugel. That is a whole new world and a really good one. There is an easy way to do it other than browning the sugar but then I think you must be an expert at browning sugar, after your caramel experience.
Thanks again for sharing. I love this blog.
on Turkey-Ricotta Meatballs: Love at First Bite
I have a 14 YO daughter who has fallen in and out of love w/ the Twilight series, but went on to find other vampire/teen love books. Ah to be 14 again! Can’t wait to try the meatballs – they look lovely. I’m so glad to have found your blog. Keep writing!
on Turkey-Ricotta Meatballs: Love at First Bite
Apparently, Stephanie Meyer lives in our neck of the woods and I never heard of Twilight until the movie came out recently. Could be because I don’t have a teenage daughter. But now I have a recipe for scrumptious turkey meatballs! Thanks!
on The Gingerbread Jinx
Let that be a lesson, Ms. Marilyn… no more gingerbread, pie-in-the-sky ideas. Although, I have to say that particular work of art, is beautiful, and it would be a shame if you didn’t construct another work. You are so talented, both with dough and the pen.
On Noodle Kugel: Four Sisters, One Card
That is a fine, fine kugel. My boys now know what a kugel is and what it should taste like, thanks to Aunt Rose. Ruth. Heck, thanks to you.
On Noodle Kugel: Four Sisters, One Card
That recipe card is just priceless!!! And the kugel sounds very similar to what my grandmother used to make, and she never shared the recipe. Not because she didn’t want to. But because I didn’t have enough time to ask. Once I started cooking in my own kitchen, she was long gone. It is so magical how recipes and recipes cards go down through generations. Now you have just given me inspiration to try this recipe, which I am sure will taste just like hers. Thank you M!
On Noodle Kugel: Four Sisters, One Card
What a wonderful story about the “author” of the kugel. And the photo of the typed recipe is precious. Thank you for sharing the story, recipe and lovely photos. Since Hanukkah is around the corner, I’m adding your Aunt’s kugel to our menu.
On The Baker’s Alphabet
H has always been, and always will be the better for being in hamantaschen. Yum.
On The Baker’s Alphabet
Completely darling, as always. Culinerapy II coming soon?
dahlila
On The Baker’s Alphabet
So, when’s the book coming out?
On Ginger Peach Pandowdy
I love peach. I love ginger. What not to like them together? Wish I was there when you take the pie out of the oven!
On You Scrape the Bowl Like a Housewife
I loved this post when it first came out and didn’t comment, but now that it’s getting cycled to the front again – absolutely. I really do relish my amateur status and the indulgences it allows. My knife skills just have to not cut me, but they don’t have to be the most efficient ever. If I make 1 muffin fewer just because I think batter tastes better than the actual muffins, that’s all me. I don’t have to watch my profit margins or my consistency. I can make the same dish 20 times and deliberately make it differently every single time.
I am glad that television shows and books and blogs have given me more of a view to what being a professional chef entails, not least because it means I can be grateful for the joys of sticking my finger in the batter bowl.
Thanks.
It’s hard to say why, maybe because my own girl has just left home to head your way and go to college, but I teared up while reading this. The end in particular got to me. Just when we think we know what our kid might do, or say, or is thinking, out they come with something unexpected and wonderful. Doesn’t that just sum up motherhood right there? Thanks for this sweet (in more way than one) post.