Yes. Somewhere, deep within world spam headquarters, an extremely small-hearted bot decided that Simmer would be a good place to nest. Simmer Till Done is under spam attack. Serious spam. You know the kind I mean – male-pharmaceutical pick-me-up last-for-four-hours spam. Several weeks ago I began seeing unusual search terms. I usually see searches for “spritz cookies” or “Cleo’s pumpkin biscuits” or, may she rest in egg noodle peace, “Aunt Rose’s kugel.” What I don’t see too often: “how do I get free Viagra from Canada?”

What does it mean? It means links to this blog don’t work well, and our subscriber list is shot. It means every word I type* is attached to Internet ads for medical male assistance. It means when legitimate kugel-bakers Google a Simmer recipe, they now find odious pharmaceutical spam. It is most discouraging. What would Aunt Rose think?

Sigh. Let’s just look at latkes.

I feel better already.

The tech elves are working to fix Simmer – but I should note that this is the last post until we’re hack-free. The next time you read Simmer Till Done it will – hopefully – have a new design, spam-free archives and a happy, refreshed writer at the helm. In the meantime, I wish you the happiest of holiday seasons, full of golden potatoes and tart applesauce, roast beef and Yorkshire pudding or a marvelous onion-soaked brisket, like the one Cleo is so interested in, below:

Sigh (second sigh). Why can’t Labradors provide tech support?

* not every word you type, just me. Feel free to add your spam-safe commiseration.

Skills: Sleeping, slobbering, ear-scratching. Being soft.

Likes: Josie, tennis balls, pumpkin biscuits, eating grass, pizza crust, chewing fur off behind, butter within reach.

Dislikes: Josie going to school, lack of pizza crust, humans talking too much, unfriendly cats, butter out of reach.

Loves: Josie

She doesn’t type, read, cook, bake or pay attention longer than five seconds, but Cleo has something to tell you:

Any idea what it is?

———–

Fundraiser: Hazelnut Mocha Cherry Torte, made this week for a fundraising auction. Not pictured: extra mocha buttercream, made for sitting around my kitchen.

Forsythia: Now popping everywhere in shades of lemon meringue, forsythia rings in the season by dangling over porches and sidewalks, showing its aggressive, smiling best in April rain.

Faux: Faux macarons – cute, but extremely faux – macarons. An open bag of oyster crackers plus extra mocha buttercream prompted these tiny, salty-sweet, maddeningly painstaking treats. How to split an oyster cracker? Use the tip of a paring knife – then sandwich with a piped dab of buttercream or chocolate ganache.

Farm: Josie used this farm-animal bowl from babyhood, grabbing, then spooning, years of blueberries, strawberries, raspberries, granola, gummi bears, ice cream. And oyster crackers. Now it’s a measuring dish on my scale – no longer her serveware but as I couldn’t part with it, now it serves me.

Focus: Here, our tender-hearted Cleo stares at a single treat, undistracted by phone, music, chatter, Internet, blogs or doubt. She will not budge. She will sit as long as it takes. And who among us couldn’t use a dose of that?

I like everything about fondue.

In the early 90′s Greg and I would go to Geja’s Cafe, the fondue institution in Chicago’s Lincoln Park, a subterranean place with stucco, flamenco tunes and delightfully curtained booths. Called “Chicago’s Most Romantic Restaurant,” it features a massive fondue menu with cheese, beef, lobster, scallops, flaming chocolate. You drink wine for two hours while you wait. You drink wine with four fondue courses, watch wine blaze your dessert, clink champagne. Then, if you are me, you pass out on the table in cheese-wine coma and, for an encore, fall out of a taxi and hurl.

Still, I like everything about fondue.

I like going to buy the cheese, and griping about the cost. Oh well, I always say, handing the cashier our mortgage, it’s only once a year. I love that it’s a one-pot meal, and prying open Sterno, and piling tart apples in bowls and drinking wine while I stir in the wine. I like forks flying, diving, and tangling under cheese. Enough tangled dipping and someone’s bound to drop an apple, or lose their bread. When that happens, tradition dictates that you kiss the person to your right…

…especially if that person is a Josie-loving Lab.  Now break out that set – you know, up in the high cabinet, in the back. Pour, stir, bubble and smooch: enjoy your own fondue night.

—-

Traditional Swiss Fondue

adapted from The Book of Fondues

1 garlic clove, peeled and halved
1 cup dry white wine
1 teaspoon lemon juice
2 cups (8 oz.) shredded Gruyère cheese
2 cups (8 oz.) shredded Emmentaler cheese
2 teaspoons cornstarch
2 tablespoons Kirschwasser (cherry brandy)
dash white pepper
pinch grated nutmeg

crusty French bread, cut in cubes
1 – 2 tart, firm apples (I prefer Granny Smith) cut in chunks

Rub inside of fondue pot with cut garlic clove.

Pour in wine and lemon juice; cook over medium heat until bubbling. Turn heat to low and gradually stir in cheese with wooden spoon or, for easier cleanup, a heatproof silicone spatula. Cheese will melt, but cheese and wine will appear separated.

In a small bowl blend cornstarch with Kirschwasser. Add to melted cheese mixture and continue to cook, stirring for 2 – 3 minutes, until mixture comes smoothly together. Watch carefully and do not allow fondue to boil. Season with white pepper and nutmeg, and serve immediately.

Serves 4 as a first course; double recipe to serve as main course.

A word about heat: whatever your fondue heat source, it’s a balancing act. You want it high enough to keep fondue melted, and low enough not to burn. Despite best efforts, you’ll nearly always find a small patch of burnt cheese on the bottom. French-speakers and true fondue fans love this treasure and call it “la religeuse,” the nun. I call it holy good snacking.

Turns out pumpkin, in addition to filling pies, soups, and being eminently carve-able, works a certain enzyme magic on stomach irritation. Does it work on people?  I don’t know.  My job was to get it into the dog. “Feed her a tablespoon of pumpkin,” he said, “mixed in her food. Or right from the spoon – if she’ll take it.”

Would she? Her first move was to stuff her mouth with Ducky, thus avoiding whatever was on the spoon. Take it?

No.

And no.

And no way.

So I mixed it with her food – and for a time, she snubbed the food. She finally ate it, never making the connection that snacking on shrubs, or snail shells, or used Kleenex would earn her dinner a pumpkin garnish.  Now, I have cared for and loved three dogs. I have seen a lot of 3 a.m’s, a lot of snowy, moonlit grass. I wanted a better pumpkin delivery system, and for me, baking something “in” is an easy answer – especially for Cleo, who is sweet and trusting, and not bright enough to suspect a biscuit.

Rolling dough got her attention…

…and while they cooled on the counter, she even forgot the edible bits in the yard. Dogs love these simple biscuits and sick or not sick, they make great treats. They’re delightful – but my best advice? Buy wastebaskets with lids. Don’t plant poisonous shrubs, shut bathroom doors, avoid the tastiest pens. And by all means, keep a handy can of pumpkin.

Cleo’s Pumpkin Dog Biscuits

2 eggs
1/2 cup canned pumpkin
2 tablespoons dry milk
1/4 teaspoon sea salt
2 1/2 cups brown rice flour *
1 teaspoon dried parsley (optional)

Preheat oven to 350.

In large bowl, whisk together eggs and pumpkin to smooth. Stir in dry milk, sea salt, and dried parsley (if using, optional). Add brown rice flour gradually, combining with spatula or hands to form a stiff, dry dough. Turn out onto lightly floured surface (can use the brown rice flour) and if dough is still rough, briefly knead and press to combine.

Roll dough between 1/4 – 1/2″ – depending on your dog’s chew preferences, ask first – and use biscuit or other shape cutter to punch shapes, gathering and re-rolling scraps as you go. Place shapes on cookie sheet, no greasing or paper necessary. If desired, press fork pattern on biscuits before baking, a quick up-and-down movement with fork, lightly pressing down halfway through dough. Bake 20 minutes. Remove from oven and carefully turn biscuits over, then bake additional 20 minutes. Allow to cool completely on rack before feeding to dog.

* Brown rice flour gives the biscuits crunch and promotes better dog digestion. Many dogs have touchy stomachs or allergies, and do not, like many people I know, tolerate wheat.

Makes up to 75 small (1″) biscuits or 50 medium biscuits

Please note: This is not professional medical advice. These biscuits are a healthy everyday treat, and useful for a dog with a sensitive stomach, or minor digestion issues. If your dog is showing any signs of serious distress, remove all food and contact your veterinarian immediately.

Cleo is three, but never had terrible twos. She is happy to see everyone, especially mailmen bringing bills; she is overjoyed to carry the paper, full of bad news; she does not mind the rain, does not need cool boots, has a conspicuous lack of shame and requires no products for greater volume and shine.

She has no vices to speak of, but Cleo likes to chew sticks.

I am Cleo’s feeder. She might follow big-sister Josie and worship her master Greg, but I am the feeder. A little water in the dish, two scoops of pricey organic food, and then – here’s where culinary school and a decade of foodservice come into play – I do a one-handed, clockwise swirl and jump the food against the bowl.  If the Food Network Dog Feeder Challenge ever calls, I’m ready.

Simple to feed and simple to snack – no foodie, all she needs to do is find the right stick.

Cleo, can I get you something with that? Pellegrino with lime? Dirty jalapeno martini?

You’re sniffing. Is that stick okay? More cumin, less oregano? Maybe next time, try a curried stick.

Ah, intermezzo.  Spoonful of prawn-plum mousse, some green tea-grapefruit sorbet? Nothing?

You know, that is one nice stick. It really deserves a light panko crust, or balsamic, or some tuna for a spicy stick roll. Cleo, that stick is so nice you should blog about it. You could call it “Every Day a Stick.”

No?

Sigh.

Cleo doesn’t care where the stick came from. She doesn’t care about blogging, or side dishes or garnish or if sticks are so yesterday. She just chews sticks, and then falls over in blissful, paw-twitching sleep. We always say that Cleo’s only skills are being soft, and being simple.  Two sweet and desirable points, things that make it easy to play favorites, and dream of a dog’s life.

With that supernatural tongue, who can tell?

————-

Poor Cleo.

When we moved, she thought she was leaving fire trucks and sirens behind. We knew there was a station only two blocks away…

…but we forgot to tell her.
——–
tomorrow: jammy little tarts.

Cold never used to trouble me – and in fact I still adore winter, and before that fall, and rank Kansas summer heat just above root canal. But the fact remains that I am freezing. While walking Cleo yesterday – she loves it, both obvious and oblivious – the world could see only my nose. Encased in two tanks, a thick sweater, tights under jeans, red scarf, big coat, gloves, jammed-down hat and sunglasses, I found myself in a mummified winter state, not altogether unpleasant, an insulated place unlocked by parkas.

Cleo has seen three winters now, but is still deliriously newborn come January, amazed at her paws disappearing in white.  As she romped around and we circled the quiet chill of the park, a lovely mental heater kicked in.  Thinking other thoughts, answering your own questions, replaying scenes from a good day, a bad year – anything but it’s so cold.  That engine is your own pot on the stove, and it lets you kick snow like coconut, forget why you came and believe, with warm conviction, that you don’t mind being there at all.

* Here’s a question – hey Marilyn, where’s the food?  I’m getting sick of all this yammer.

Well my honest friends, I defrosted my fingers over many a delicious bite this week, and they’re all coming your way in the next.  Stay tuned, and stay warm.