I just might be the blogger’s chauffeur, alarm clock, snack provider, ponytail holder-buyer, chief room inspector and summer personal assistant. Also, her proud mom. Be sure to read the first post, 100 Movies of Summer, to see how it all started. Dim the lights and grab the popcorn! I’ll meet you over there.

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.

———–

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?

The Center of Everything [originally posted July 2, 2009.]

It’s been a month since Josie’s bat mitzvah, and looking at photos now with a better-rested and less tearful eye, it’s hard to believe we did all that. But we did, and at least one part of it merits a closer how-to look.

Centerpieces. We planned 16 tables of adults at our party (some 60 kids ran loose in the Dogg Pound, see here) and all of them would need centerpieces. We did not want flowers for our dog-themed bash, nor floating candles or exploding fountains. We wanted something funky and handmade that reflected Josie (since we could not stand her atop each table) and was not, in my vague notion, a “regular centerpiece.” I sketched stuff for weeks.

On receipts and memos and envelopes, I sketched centerpiece ideas: dog houses from boxes, with dog photos on sticks, and paw prints, and boingy silver things and metallic shreds. All the ideas seemed to require mass materials – styrofroam blocks, cardboard boxes, spray paints, photographs, disco balls. About two weeks before the party, we thought we had a winner. Me, Greg, and our friend Korrin – an OCD crafter and all-around good sport – huddled at the third floor craft table, each trying to make a prototype work. But they would not work; the boxes were too big, the paper too thin, sticks toppled off. Korrin got a headache, and left. Greg saw something in my eye he’d seen before, and left. Alone at midnight and surrounded by crumpled silver shreds, I had a short but weepy pity party, followed by a hearty round of why-the-hell-am-I-doing-this. Still, I’d made tea and the house was quiet, so I sat down fresh at the table, switched on the HBO show “In Treatment,” and started doodling again. By now I hated the failed ideas – so tacky, overblown, “regular.” Why did we need so much stuff? Could we create something but not take anything home? Forty-five soothing, Gabriel Byrne-filled minutes later, an answer:

We would build a small tower of items from the Lawrence Humane Society’s wish list – pedestrian stuff like paper towels and dog food, but exactly right for Josie, who volunteers there, and reusable to its core. Applying wedding cake logic, I sprayed cardboard cake rounds silver, and used them to separate and stabilize layers. The paper towels were bound, cake-style, with paper and ribbon. We could donate the towel rolls and dog food, recycle the paper and cake boards, and reuse all the ribbons. Only the balloon toppers were a one-night stand – but they were lovely.

Whether you’re throwing a big event or a cozy party, I urge you to try reuse/recycle decorations. Our guests appreciated both their funky “found-art” looks and the care behind them. Plus, you don’t need to be an artist or a serious crafter to pull it off. Can we apply this idea to different events? Here’s a few to start:

Child’s birthday party: even for a small party at home, decorate with short stacks of give-able items, like toy trucks for a truck theme, stuffed animals, etc. Donate to a local homeless shelter, hospital, or social service group.

Garden party: make the stacks from terra cotta pots, seed packets and small plants. All can be given to guests for planting, or donated to a local community garden.

Pizza party: (Josie’s idea!) Use disposable pizza pans to separate “layers,” and stack with flour bags, cans of tomatoes or sauce, onions or canned olives. Top with fresh tomatoes. Donate all to a local shelter that cooks and serves hot meals.

Your ideas? Share them below and craft away.

“The Center of Everything?” The post title references a well-known Lawrence writer who, rather than mess with centerpieces, just produces great books.

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.

For my part, I spent some time over the year exploring the full landscape of food blogs. I examined them all and eventually came to read success fast, to immediately sniff out where and why a blog had it going on.  Clearly food blog readers throng to sites with recipes, scads of recipes, preferably daily recipes.  It seemed that I should get Simmer to act like a real food blog – as in smile, Simmer, don’t you want everyone to like you?

I attended a huge Chicago-area high school with nearly five thousand students, 1,200 in my graduating class alone.  A place where freshmen might consider popularity for a month, then throw up their hands and do their own thing. You could drown in that ocean or you could shake out your dozen good friends, and share awful pizza in the lunch room, and put your laughing heads together against the crowd.

No, I would not make Simmer dress like a real food blog. It’s crowded, these voice-filled corners on the web. Why be anyone else?  When we tell Josie “be yourself” we mean it, and what’s more she believes it; it seems I should follow and let Simmer grow its own quiet way.

With that I give you the ten top-viewed posts of 2009. Of course numbers don’t tell the whole story; I’d like to think every post has a few friends, cookie bakers, dog lovers, people who don’t mind rambling. Something you enjoyed didn’t make the cut? Wave its flag in the comments and thank you, kind readers, for hanging around another year. You’re a loyal, compassionate bunch of true individuals, and I’m so pleased to share at your table.

1. Retriever Retriever, Pumpkin Eater A staggering number of people tuned into the year’s top post, in which Cleo’s upset stomach leads to pumpkin-brown rice flour biscuits.

2. Upside-Down Tomato Basil Bread In which unlikely sticky-bun logic worked magic on bread and summer tomatoes.

3. Sweet and Low: Caramelized Banana French Toast Josie’s oral surgery, a sweet reason to share this challah-soft treat.

4. French Onion Cider Soup: Take Care Technically from December, 2008, this soup brought warmth home after my father’s funeral, and readers kept it gathering steam all year.

5. Two-Bite Jam Tarts: By Any Other Name Are they tarts, or are they cookies? Munching flaky cream cheese dough and marmalade, it doesn’t really matter.

6. Ginger Peach Pandowdy The tale of one messed-up peach dessert leading to another, plus the word “pandowdy” and how it rings like Kansas.

7. The Secret Life of Oven Mitty I say goodbye to a trusty oven mitt, and kitchen puppetry ensues.

8. Shallot Surprise: Raspberry Basil Caprese The shallot that looked like a mouse, and a surprisingly good salad.

9. The Baker’s Alphabet Words and pictures started way back for baby Josie get completed for an expectant friend.

10. Moms Will Be Moms, But Judy is Forever I was happy to see a not-quite-food-post make the list – a personal favorite, it’s the story of a forbidden book, a drunken divorcee, and Wiener Wraps.

With that in mind I chose Josie interviewing me. From February 3, 2009, complete with original Tuesday intro, I hope you enjoy this lovely mother-daughter Tell Simmer mess.

————————

Welcome to a special Tell Simmer Tuesday. If you’ve missed it the last few weeks, fear not – there are a few special interviews in deep hibernation, just waiting for the right sunny day. In the meantime, my daughter staged a coup, and declared that the next Tell Simmer would, in fact, feature me. The result, I’m afraid, is navel-gazing at its finest; you will not find more colorful self-interest in the blogosphere, I tell you…unless you count David Lebovitz’s meme supreme, 89 Things About Me. I let Josie pick the questions, but kept it down to 14. Because Simmer’s just not that into me.

What is the craziest thing you’ve ever eaten on pizza?

You know I don’t get crazy with my pizza. I don’t do pineapple and jalapenos like some people. You think you’re being cute, but – is this the first of 14 questions designed to get a rise out of me?

What is your favorite song to cook to?

If I am chopping onions I put on Joni Mitchell’s “Blue,” because if I’m going to be crying, I might as well be miserable.

What is your biggest kitchen disaster (if a cook as perfect as you has any?)

Again with the cute. Just because I tell you how to hold a knife and not chop your fingers off doesn’t mean I can’t mess up. You’ve only seen my experienced phase, not the early doofus years.

I’ve scrambled pastry cream and saved a few tippy wedding cakes – but I’d say the most unpleasant wreck occurred in my apprentice days at an extra-famous shmancy Chicago restaurant that Dad says will absolutely not be named now or at any other time. I accidentally omitted sugar from two souffles that were then served, and as I’ve noted before, people who order high-priced desserts want perfect, and behave rather badly without it. May your disaster never happen in a well-heeled dining room.

Who is the TV celeb chef you hate the most, and why?

Now this is just silly. You’re not going to get me to tell them that – the Internets are forever! Besides, she’s wildly successful – er, every day – and I’m just blogging about dinner. Every other day, at best.

What is your most hated dish at family gatherings?

What’s with all the hate talk? Haven’t we always told you that hate is a big word? That we only hate hot weather and frizzy hair?

That said…get serious. I can’t answer that, because I want them to still welcome you at Passover long after I’m gone. Everything on the table is fantastic. Every dish that every single person brings is wonderful.

What celeb would you most like to cook you a meal?

Hmm. I’ll take Harrison Ford – circa Working Girl – carrying a breakfast tray of waffles and mimosas. In a nice white hotel robe. Don’t tell Dad.

We all know that you don’t eat your own pastries very much. What’s the one sweet thing that tempts you?

Okay, you know this, but fine – Lemon Meringue Pie, Pecan Pie (warm, of course) and Key Lime Pie. In that order. Also, fresh-baked rugelach occasionally call from the tray. I am their first responder.

Who is your cooking or baking idol?

Julia Child. When I was five, I’d sit in front of the TV and goggle at Julia, whacking cleavers and slapping giant fish. When she raised her wine glass at the end and said “Bon Appetit,” I’d raise an imaginary glass back. I achingly miss Julia Child.

If you let me and Dad cook all week, what do you think would happen?

There would be a few frozen burritos, one half-peeled orange and a dozen trips to Free State Brewery.

Who is your superhero alter ego?

Wonder Woman, of course. The outfit, the power…the bracelets. Hey! That’s not a food question.

Describe your ideal romantic meal.

Dad and I are clinking glasses in Paris, and you are at military school.

Okay, you ask everyone else, so…what drink would you be?

Irish Coffee: warm and cozy, with a stealthy knockout punch.

Who do you think is the cutest celeb chef?

You are watching way too much TV. Tomorrow, it’s after-school potato peeling.

Who is your perfect sous chef? Moi?

Yes, it’s vous.

I should hope.

Except when you pitch fits about telling you things. Like – how to do them right.

Whatever.

The blog bugs, they still plague us here at Simmer, determined to keep me from bringing you new nonsense. On the plus side, it’s inspiring a rerun you’ll love, Zucchini-Ginger Bread. As baked goods go it’s simple, addictive and, if your counter currently sports heaps of rolling garden green, right on time. From August 21, 2008, please enjoy the recipe and its little coffee shop tale; I’ll be making some myself this week, and setting aside one small loaf as burnt offering to the Internet gods. I mean, whatever it takes.

———————-

Once upon a time my daughter was not a big-shot junior high kid in the know. She was just a toddling moppet – keen on alphabet games, wild for all things A to Z, and this was handy in grocery lines and waiting rooms and 600-mile drives. We played color alphabet (azure), color-animal-alphabet (azure aardvark), color-animal-place-alphabet (azure aardvark in Alabama) and of course, color-animal-place-oh-my-god-please-kill-me alphabet.

But before it came to that we played eating alphabet. All you had to do was name foods from A to Z – simple, but with three people in rotation, some letters could get tough. There are very few “I” foods, for instance, and a notoriously scarce supply of “U’s.” And then there is “Z.” If you had first crack at Z, you were golden – “zucchini” was yours. If you didn’t, there were twenty miles of silence and praying she’d fall asleep.

We never used “zucchini bread,” and – smack! – even now I don’t know why. It’s not my favorite quick bread – easily, banana nut – but it shines as a home-baked savior come the summer garden’s end. Today – true-life, I swear on a stack of candied walnuts – I overheard this conversation at the coffee shop:

(During the busy morning rush, a customer leans on the counter, waiting for her triple soy half-caf, perusing baked goods. There is a line behind her.)

Latte Lady: I don’t know…

Barista Girl: (pulling shots) would you like something else?

LL: I don’t know…I don’t want a scone. (holds up baked good) What’s this?

BG: zucchini bread. Like some?

LL: no….no…I don’t like zucchini. Bread, I don’t like zucchini bread.

BG: really? It’s so good, it’s like the American mom thing, everybody loves it.

LL: um…I don’t know. I’ve never had zucchini bread.

BG: you’ve never had it?

LL: no…

BG: so…how do you know you don’t like it?

LL: um…I just. I just can’t get past it. Zucchini.

(the line is mounting; people are checking watches, shifting feet)

BG: do you like banana bread?

LL: yes.

BG: carrot cake?

LL: oh, yes.

BG: then you’ll like zucchini bread.

(Customers shoot laser glances at her head. I am not even in line – I already have my coffee, and still want to kill her.)

LL: you know, I think it’s Z.

BG: what?

LL: I just don’t like foods that begin with Z.

BG: okay.

(plunks latte on counter)

Then I guess you won’t like zebra bread.

LL: zebra bread?

BG. oh, yeah – it’s a little chunky, and all that black and white fur. It’s totally an acquired taste.

LL: oh my god.

BG: can I get you a scone?

LL: peach is fine.

Zucchini-Ginger Bread

This fine-textured zucchini bread has a gentle ginger bite. I’d planned to top this with a little lemon icing, but one bite told me it didn’t need it. Cold milk – or a triple soy half-caf whatever – will do just fine.

2 cups sugar
1 cup vegetable oil
3 eggs
2 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons cinnamon
1 tablespoon powdered ginger

1 ounce fresh ginger, peeled and grated fine (about 1 – 1 1/2 tablespoons)*
2 cups finely shredded, unpeeled zucchini, packed*
optional: 1 cup finely chopped nuts
1 tablespoon vanilla

* I use a fine-holed grater to both shred the zucchini and grate the ginger, for the smallest bits possible. When grating the ginger, be sure to use only the “puree” you’ve scraped from under the grater, and discard the fibrous parts left in your hand.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Use baking spray (and parchment paper, if desired) to prepare at 9 x 5 loaf pan or a 10-inch tube pan. If you make the 9 x 5 loaf, you will have a small amount of batter left over: make a mini-loaf or a few zucchini muffins.

Using an electric mixer, beat the sugar, oil and eggs together for a few minutes, until thick and a slight yellow ribbon falls from beaters.

In a separate bowl, sift the flour, baking soda, salt, cinnamon and powdered ginger together.

Fold the zucchini, fresh ginger and optional nuts into the sugar-egg mixture. Fold in the flour mixture and vanilla until thoroughly combined.

Pour batter into prepared pan (or pans), filling large loaf pan 2/3 full.

Bake on a center oven rack for about 1 hour (check smaller items sooner), or until tester comes out sticky but mostly dry. Store, wrapped in plastic, for several days at room temperature.

Oh, that Donald. In our house he’s come to symbolize little tortures – ultimately the spoon will bring comfort, but first the miserable gauze, and pain, and that fixed orange smile! My oral surgery wish for you: may all your teeth show themselves, and remain useful, and may you enjoy soft Banana French Toast without ever, ever having to sit in that chair.

from January 6, 2009 (original post here)

Here’s the thing: I don’t love Jell-O, and most of America does. I’d bet that even foodie elite, people who’d never be caught with a two-tone wiggler, dig strawberry banana when no one’s looking – I believe it. There are a few distinct groups of Jell-O lovers – 50′s kids who grew up with it, like my parents; crafty cooks who make projects of rainbow parfaits; and the rest, like my daughter, who just plain like its slippery cool. And in there, there we have it. The only time I like Jell-O is when I’m sick – when I’m good and sick and low, those unnatural tones look like comfort, and taste easy. A delightful slide down, and too smooth to refuse.

Josie had some oral surgery done last weekend, the poor thing. Whenever she’s legitimately sick or injured – antibiotics or 100 degrees, whichever comes first – she will get tucked into our bed with quilts, movies, and the dog, and luxuriate in being The Poor Thing. A diminished state will also make her The Nice Thing – a fever or post-anesthetic haze will do that to a kid, I guess. She lays positively docile, sipping Gatorade and following orders, her parents stroking hair or bringing treats. What – a – trouper.

Can we get you something, something soft? Jell-O? Okay. The lime kind, and Donald? Sure. You just wait right there.

That’s right. When in need of true comfort, dental or otherwise, we call on The Donald. Promise not to tell her friends; she’d kill me. With the spoon.

Anyway, as soon as you could say Tylenol 3, the two full days of Jell-O, soup and yogurt made her bored with movies, sick of codeine, restless and newly charged as The Crabby, Hungry Thing. She was starving, she said, we were starving her. I believe that’s called taking care of you, I said. You wanted Jell-O. Well yeah, but now – now she was just mad to have missed the whole weekend, sure that she was wasting away, and maybe she would like a large steak. Or a dozen buffalo hot wings. And celery. The dog leaped off the bed, and the spell was broken. She was feeling better.

Not wishing to undo the surgeon’s work, I nixed the chewing, but offered real food. How about…French toast?

Eh.

I looked around the kitchen. A banana in the fruit bowl straightened, hopeful.

Okay. How about French toast…with caramelized bananas?

Ooh.

Aha! Soft for the mouth and sweet on the tongue. Now we were talking, and even better, healing. There’s still Jell-O in the fridge, and sore mouth or not, she’ll eat it. Me, I’ll wait for the fever.

Caramelized Banana French Toast

This method lets you use one pan for both the French toast and the bananas; just make sure it’s good and non-stick.

8 slices bread (I like to use stale baguette bread, cut on a thick angle)
4-5 eggs *
1/4 cup milk or cream
splash orange juice (optional)
dash of cinnamon
dash of nutmeg

1 tablespoon canola oil, or butter, for frying

1-2 bananas, in thick slices
1 tablespoon butter
1 1/2 tablespoon sugar
splash orange juice

In a large bowl, whisk the eggs, milk or cream, orange juice, cinnamon and nutmeg until smooth. Add bread slices to bowl, turning pieces to coat with egg mixture. Leave slices in the egg mixture 5-15 minutes (thick, dry bread can take longer) or until bread is soaked through, but not falling apart.

Using a large, non-stick frying pan, melt oil or butter over medium-high heat. Add soaked bread slices and cook 1-2 minutes per side, turning, until evenly browned. Remove French toast from pan and set on a paper-towel lined plate.

Leaving heat at medium-high, immediately add sliced bananas and tablespoon of butter to the same non-stick pan, shaking pan as you add to keep bananas moving. Sprinkle sugar over bananas, then the splash of orange juice. Keep the pan moving as they cook, using a heatproof spatula to help turn bananas fast. Both sides of bananas should brown quickly, melting the sugar and juice together, about one minute total cooking time.

Set French toast on plates, spoon warm bananas over the top, and serve.

* so, what’s with “4-5 eggs?” Well, eggs will vary in size, volume, and how long they’ve been in your fridge. Start by whisking up four – if there’s enough liquid to generously cover the bread, stop there, and if not, add another.

serves 3-4, depending on your own Hungry Things

Why am I doing it again? We recently unearthed a few notes from those days, and I decided to revisit, and finish the doodling I’d started some twelve years ago. This update is a gift for a friend, someone expecting her first, someone who will also tread floors and will, perhaps, find the need to recite baked goods. I was always amazed how the silly muffin-and-pie mantra soothed us both, rocked her to sleep and kept me awake. It also seems to work on small, sweets-loving kids, goofy adults and a few chatty, sugar-looped bakers.

A is sweet on apples, that fall into the pie

B melts into butter, and makes the muffins sigh

Carrots from the garden, deployed to make the cake

D’s are for the donuts when you don’t know what to bake

Elephant ears are flaky (you can say palmiers, too)

F is for the fritter that has nothing else to do

G is for galettes, swirling summer, dripping fruit

H is for hamantaschen, three-cornered cookie loot

I is pie in the icebox – it’s lemon, sweet and cold

Jam befriends the sponge cake and they build a jelly roll

K is always Key lime – should be yellow, never green!

L is for the lattice that keeps red berries seen

Macarons are le favorite, a Paris souvenir

Napoleon’s gone forever, but his treat still lingers there

O is for Oh So Many, a hundred cookies that we ate

P is for the nice plain pears we’ll eat to clean the slate

Q is for Queen Mother’s Cake, from Maida Heatter’s book

R is for the recipe our dog’s jaws sadly took

Scones are a craggy compass, to point us through the day

Tea is their companion (though not the American way)

U loves umeboshi, Japanese fruit that’s pickled tart

V is for vanilla, pure and closest to the heart

W sings out welcome, which is what cakes tend to say

X is for the extra slice you might get on that day

Y is for golden egg yolks, like whisking in the sun

and Zzz’s are heard at daybreak…

…when the bakery work’s begun.