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« La Calaca loves San Miguel de Allende! | Main | haiku my heart home »

October 25, 2012

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Stephanie

oh my dear!!! I have one last calaca/haiku post ready to roll tomorrow a.m.

see you in Houston!
x...x

audrey

Rebecca,

I visited the Muy Bueno website and loved the photos and the stories. I am certain the cookbook is divine. I am not great in the kitchen ~ the only story I can tell you is a humorous one. When I was first married (back in the 70s), I made my husband apple dumplings ~ I was SO proud and excited to give them to him at dinner that night. How horrified I was to discover I had grabbed the wrong container and poured black pepper into the recipe rather than cinnamon. I was young and inexperienced, so he laughed it off. Believe me, that has NEVER happened again.

Over the years, I have developed a great love for Mexican food and for The Day of the Dead celebration and all that it stands for.

I have loved all of your Calaca posts, Rebecca!

audrey

Sue Fox

I love you too! I'll be with you in spirit, x

Adriana Esqueda

Beautiful photo, but the pan de muerto steals my heart! MMMMMM
Adriana

Adriana Esqueda

One memory that comes to mind is when my mom was in the hospital and being the oldest one I cooked for my dad and sisters. I made fried chicken but instead of bread crumbs I grabbed the container of infant oatmeal! I didn't tell anyone. Everyone enjoyed the chicken but thought it was kind of weird looking and soggy. Never again!
Adriana

Delphyne

My story is too long, so I made a post of it. You can find it here:

http://apairofrubyreds.blogspot.com/2012/10/kitchen-mayhem.html

Brianne

Sounds yummy....

Barbara

My favorite kitchen story is not a pretty one. It involves a first attempt at pesto, a blender and a dopey cook who removed the top of the blender when it was still whirring. Results - a basil flecked ceiling and a cook who has never lived this story down. (My children take great pleasure in repeating it whenever we have pesto!!

peggy gatto

My story happened in the kitchen....I guess that counts! Her it is!
When we moved into our new house(24 years ago) we had a sink with a soap dispenser. Under the sink was the plastic bottle to hold the soap that screwed into the the pump. For 10 years when I needed to refill the soap I would reach UNDER the sink and unscrew the bottle, fill it up and then reach back UNDER the sink to screw the bottle back in place, it wasn't easy. One day I was cleaning the sink and discovered(by accident) that the top of the dispenser was REMOVABLE!
All those years of crawling under the sink were unnecessary!!!! Just pull off the top and pour in the soap.....what a dope I had been.

Caya Papaya

When I was a little girl, my grandmother owned a Mexican restaurant. She was under five feet tall, didn't speak much English, and I have never met anyone who worked harder. I would help her put the masa on the corn husks for the tamales. She was a complete perfectionist - and I can remember one time when she was not pleased with how I had spread the masa, and made me do a few dozen over again. But when I finished, she rewarded me with a glass bottle of soda from her old time coke machine. She taught me the importance of work. I inherited her perfectionism. I miss her terribly.

Caya Papaya

And thanks for sharing the Muy Bueno website- beautiful!

Cheryl's Excellent Adventure

Hi Rebecca. When Tony (he's Portuguese) & I got married we lived with my father in law for about 6 months. He taught me to shop & cook in bulk. He taught me how to make beans. But he wouldn't teach me how to make his special sauce. It started with tomatoes, onions, cumino, chili powder, and I don't know what else. He used it on all his meals, even brought a jar of it when we went out to eat. The chefs tried so hard to get his recipe but he wouldn't budge.

Lenora

Remembering Grandma's Savory Kitchen.. I grew up with the joy of a house full of cooking. Food for my grandmother was more than feeding the body, it was feeding the soul. During the festivals of the season there was turkey or ham baking in the oven filling the house with its deep homey smell. Roasting vegetables in glorious colours and a bowl full of thick gravy to pour over everything. Always the earthy aroma of deep orange yams or sweet potato baked in brown sugar, cranberries boiling on the stove. Memories of cabbage rolls and the pressure cooker rattling and singing away on the burner, seemingly about to burst. Of course we would bake cookies and and squares and line them prettily on trays, burning our tongue, devouring at least a few as soon as they left the oven. Licking meringue off the beaters and chocolate from hearty wooden mixing spoons. Even a Friday sleepover was turned glorious by something as simple as cheese toasties. Grandma new how to make food, no matter how simple, an event. We’d don’t our thick jackets, hats and boots and walk the blocks to the local baker, which used to be the family baker until Grandma’s brother moved south. Arriving we’d pick large yellow buns speckled in dried fruit, at home sliced and broiled with chunks of cheddar so thick they never melted right through. A cup of warm milk and off to bed to dream. In hind sight grandma was probably not a spectacular cook, but love was her magic ingredient and it elevated every meal, every family gathering, she served us with joy, wrapping us in her care, her heart and her love of family, providing us a mantel of security. Her hearth was the center of her home.

Dawn Elliott

When I was about 12, I decided to make a cake for my family. I've always liked to experiment, so I figured it would be really cool to put popcorn in it! Well, of course the popcorn didn't pop...it was just hard and weird, making for an inedible cake and lots of ribbing over the years!
***Thinking of you constantly, as you enjoy Mexico's richness!

Magical Mystical Teacher

Hurry home, Rebecca! Two Fridays without Haiku My Heart is breaking our hearts!

Lisa Swifka

It is not a memory of my own kitchen but a savory memory of my Mom. A Mom who cooked each and every night, who made feasts at Thanksgiving and Christmas for MANY. Sometimes both Christmas Eve AND Christmas Day. With each meal, each dessert, each loaf of homemade bread...whatever she was cooking or baking..... there was an infusion of her love and caring for her family. Food always smells and tastes better when that ingredient is present.
I hope you've enjoyed your magical trip Rebecca, safe travels.

Lea

I am home... and it is so quiet...

I have so many kitchen stories to pull from, like the spices on my spice shelf... there are successes and miserable failures that taught me so much, all have melded together to create in me a deep love of cooking. I think what I like to do best is to take a recipe and jump off from there, not with baking however! Baking has to be an exact science and that is where I sometimes get into trouble. Did I just put in three cups of flour or was it two and a half? I like to add a little of this, a little of that, open the cupboard and take a look around. When I was young and didn't know how to cook (I wasn't allowed to mess up the kitchen growing up...), I would sit in the early mornings and read cookbooks while eating my breakfast. I was known for throwing dinner parties with a menu that I had never tried before. That was how I learned to cook, and to this day, continue to experiment in new and interesting gastronomical explorations!

Thank you so for this cooking remembering!

Speaking of breakfast... I am so going to miss you tomorrow morning! XOXOXOXO

Stephanie

home again, catching up
Poor Mr R is still a little under the weather so I am cooking up some chicken soup...the smell takes me to my grandmothers kitchen and her wonderful rich soups simmering on the stove. Another kitchen memory is of my dad's potato latkes...the best, this year is going to be hard, I'll have to make my own but we will remember him as they sizzle on the stove and see him and feel his gentle spirit in there in the kitchen with us.

missing you all so...
x..x

Meri @ Meri's Musings

When my former husband and I were newly married, we frequently entertained friends in our home. One night, we invited a lovely couple over for dinner. I had a sinful Quiche Lorraine recipe that started with a press-in cookie like crust that was glued together with butter and egg yolks. And, of course, the quiche itself called for at least 8 eggs (it was a very large quiche pan). I also made a spinach salad with hard-cooked eggs in it. To top it off, I'd planned a baked Alaska for dessert -- you guessed it, more eggs. The menu was a heart attack waiting to happen, if you believe the cholesterol theory.

Before the guests arrived, I prepared the quiche filling, and popped it in the oven. It normally took about 75 minutes to set. It had been in the oven for about 45 minutes when they arrived, so I served them a glass of wine. I kept checking the quiche's progress and was puzzled, because it didn't seem to be congealing and getting that fluffy egg texture. I served more wine. The glasses turned into bottles. The quiche still wasn't setting. . . after two hours.

The guests and my hubby were quite sauced. And even though the quiche was still a little oozie, I brought it to the table. I served it up and everyone started eating. As I tasted my first bite, I was trying to figure out why it didn't taste right. Then it dawned on me. In my concern about the egg overdose, I had neglected to add the egg mixture to the grated Swiss cheese. My quiche was a big melted glop of cheese on a crust. The weird thing was that everyone else was so inebriated after a couple hours of wine refills that they didn't notice anything was wrong.

p.s. The baked Alaska was a hit.

Vickie White

Ok this is a story about a mom and a teenage daughter and the potato salad saga! My daughter has never been interested in cooking but that did not stop me trying. One day we were going to BBQ and I wanted to make some potato salad. I was busy with an outside project and thought I could get her to help out so I asked her to put some potatoes on to boil. A bit later my boyfriend came in and said "you need to go in the kitchen and see what Angel did". So I walked inside and found that Angel had put a tray of potatoes in the oven on BROIL. They were black and burnt. I was laughing when brought her in and said...BOIL not BROIL the potatoes. So I left her to put potatoes on to boil. Again a bit later, my boyfriend came outside and said, you need to see what Angel did again so into the kitchen I went. To my amazement I found those same blackened potatoes in a pot of boiling water. I never laughed so hard and she will never hear the end of that story. PS...we did get that salad made but it was with her by my side.

jean

love cookbooks! must go look! thanks for the chance to win, miss R.

somepinkflowers

{{ my favorite
Kitchen Story
involves my loving husband
and
an old kitchen table
pushed up against the wall
in our aging beach*house
about 20 years ago...
i wish i could tell you
More
but
i cannot except to say
i Smile to see The Space
where that broken table
Use to be
every time
i enter that room...

to this day
that kitchen is one
of my favorite places
by the sea ...


ah-hummmm... }}

spadoman

I would watch my Mom in the kitchen and tug at her apron, asking, "When we gonna eat, Mom?" But I watched, and tried things on my own. Those days "helping" Mom bake Italian delicacies for the holiday gatherings or lifting the heavy pans of boiling water for pasta and huge 6" roasters filled with lasagna when she was getting older, were the best memories I have of time spent with my Mother. As Fall is here and another Los Dias celebration is behind us, we think about Thanksgiving and Christmas and talk with our daughters about our plans and menus. Everyone mentions how they'll miss Grandma and what recipes of hers are we going to make.
Maybe the best memory is the one that we have not yet lived as she attends to the details in spirit at my own home.
Carmelina Rosa Caruso Spado lived her life and directed her love to the family from the cucina. (Cucina in Italian, cocina en Espanol)

Peace

Patty Lokelani

When I was first married I knew little about cooking. I watched Julia Childs and joined a cook book club. My Mother was a fabulous cook and tried to instill those talents in me but I bulked. Julia pulled me in with her flair. The cookbook library grew. Soon three kids followed and pre-school was upon us. Christmas was a hugh event and the kids wanted a Gingerbread House. I delved into my library and the kids and I made two of each part of a house. They wanted two houses, one to look at for awhile and one to make with all the kids at school and eat right away. We placed pictures in the windows and surprises inside the door. This happened every year thru grammer school. We loved it. Years past, kids were adults, no marriages and no grandchildren, no Gingerbread Houses. Then one day my eldest son called, he had made a gingerbread building of his place of work. A replica of the US historical federal building in Tacoma, Washington with a chocolate cupola roof! WOW! I had past on my mothers cooking genes inspite of myself. She was very proud! Me too! Note: Today, I, the kids and grandkids eagerly continue this tradition.

Boulder Bed and Breakfast

The City of Boulder is the county seat for Boulder County and is the 11th most populous city in the state of Colorado.
It is located at the base of the Rocky Mountains, at
an elevation of 5,430 feet. The city is 25 miles northwest of Denver.

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