I just spent the past hour or so rifling through my cookbook collection, trying to find an alternate shoofly recipe, maybe see how the pie works, maybe figure out where I saw it in the first place.
The only place I could find it was in Richard Sax's Classic Home Desserts. Under "Coffee Cakes."
I love it when an obsession comes full circle.
Friday, January 29, 2010
At least my glucose tolerance test isn't for another week
Behold, the sweet syrups section of my pantry.
I have been thinking about doing something with these syrups for a while now, and yesterday the perfect opportunity presented itself. One Ms. Jennifer Jo (the artist formerly known as Mama JJ) posted an entry to her blog about shoofly pie, and queried her readers as to whether or not they were fans.
I was without a formal position. I had never tried shoofly pie, or even heard of it, until I saw a recipe for it in one cookbook or another a couple of years back. I was intrigued, because it sounded to me a lot like pecan pie minus the pecans - and I've always thought pecan pie would be better without the nuts in the way. But Mama JJ - Jennifer - posted a recipe for what she calls shoofly cake, and said try it, see if you like it. So I did.
Holy sweet mother of all things that are holy and sweet. Did I like it? I became instantly obsessed with it. As a matter of fact, my first conscious thought upon waking this morning was SHOOFLY. I had two helpings last night and it's all I can do not to eat more right now. Any time I'm in the kitchen I end up standing over the stove, staring at it.
You make it by making a kinda sorta crumble topping, only that part is the crust. Then you pour a mixture of your sweet syrups, egg, boiling water and baking soda (science!) over that, and top it off with a little more of the crumble mixture. Then it begins to look and smell exactly like a 9x13 pan full of Guinness, which I considered a very positive omen at that stage of my little experiment.
In her recipe (click that link up there), Jennifer calls for 1 cup of light Karo and 1 cup of molasses, but says that you can play with that ratio according to your love/hate of molasses. I like molasses-y things, but I was also in possession of two rather old, rather empty bottles of Karo syrup, one light and one dark. To use up the bottles, I ended up with about 1 1/4 cups of Karo (more light than dark) and 3/4 cup of molasses.
The end result was perfect. It was less sweet than I expected, which is actually a good thing. It's the sort of thing where the flavor in every bite is so exquisitely nuanced - thanks to the molasses - that you cannot wait to eat the next bite (or the rest of the pan, for that matter) to get to more of those little sneaky flavors. And the textures. The slightly crunchy little crust layer, the ooey gooey, almost batter-y middle and the more cooked top...heavenly. It reminds me of brownies without the chocolate, if chocolate were something awful you were looking to get rid of in the first place.
So do I like shoofly cake? Um, yeah. I am smitten.
I have been thinking about doing something with these syrups for a while now, and yesterday the perfect opportunity presented itself. One Ms. Jennifer Jo (the artist formerly known as Mama JJ) posted an entry to her blog about shoofly pie, and queried her readers as to whether or not they were fans.
I was without a formal position. I had never tried shoofly pie, or even heard of it, until I saw a recipe for it in one cookbook or another a couple of years back. I was intrigued, because it sounded to me a lot like pecan pie minus the pecans - and I've always thought pecan pie would be better without the nuts in the way. But Mama JJ - Jennifer - posted a recipe for what she calls shoofly cake, and said try it, see if you like it. So I did.
Holy sweet mother of all things that are holy and sweet. Did I like it? I became instantly obsessed with it. As a matter of fact, my first conscious thought upon waking this morning was SHOOFLY. I had two helpings last night and it's all I can do not to eat more right now. Any time I'm in the kitchen I end up standing over the stove, staring at it.
You make it by making a kinda sorta crumble topping, only that part is the crust. Then you pour a mixture of your sweet syrups, egg, boiling water and baking soda (science!) over that, and top it off with a little more of the crumble mixture. Then it begins to look and smell exactly like a 9x13 pan full of Guinness, which I considered a very positive omen at that stage of my little experiment.
In her recipe (click that link up there), Jennifer calls for 1 cup of light Karo and 1 cup of molasses, but says that you can play with that ratio according to your love/hate of molasses. I like molasses-y things, but I was also in possession of two rather old, rather empty bottles of Karo syrup, one light and one dark. To use up the bottles, I ended up with about 1 1/4 cups of Karo (more light than dark) and 3/4 cup of molasses.
The end result was perfect. It was less sweet than I expected, which is actually a good thing. It's the sort of thing where the flavor in every bite is so exquisitely nuanced - thanks to the molasses - that you cannot wait to eat the next bite (or the rest of the pan, for that matter) to get to more of those little sneaky flavors. And the textures. The slightly crunchy little crust layer, the ooey gooey, almost batter-y middle and the more cooked top...heavenly. It reminds me of brownies without the chocolate, if chocolate were something awful you were looking to get rid of in the first place.
So do I like shoofly cake? Um, yeah. I am smitten.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
23 Weeks
While yesterday I announced I was four months from my due date, today I am here to tell you that it's technically 17 weeks. Can we all just agree that we need to have some ruling board lock themselves in a room and not come out until we have one, unified, universal system of time-keeping in pregnancy? It's just ridiculous. I mean, yesterday was 4 calendar months until my due date, today marks 17 weeks until my due date, I'm considered 5 months pregnant, but I'm in my 6th lunar month, it's the beginning of week 24 but really let's call it week 22...too many answers to the same effing question, in my opinion.
*Deep breath* ... Anyway...I am 23 weeks pregnant today.
Supposedly the baby is now the size of a mango. All I can think of is Chris Kattan in his gold lame' skirt and beret. Picturing this inside of me is rather unsettling. Although I must say if my little Chopita ever gets into a slap fight with J-Lo, I'll be pretty proud.
Everything I'm reading now about my body is getting very ominous, from a vanity perspective. I have been warned that the baby is about to quadruple in size and that stretch marks are imminent. So far so good there - through some combination of water consumption, body oil and genetics I have avoided them so far. Of course, I have also avoided having some wiggly four pound alien in my belly so far, so who knows what will happen.
Speaking of wiggly four pound objects, my breasts are completely out of control. I have gone from a nice, manageable borderline B/C cup to an F. EFF. Yes, my bra size is now 34F. When I say this to mothers who have experienced the horrors of Milk Coming In, they shudder. They shake their heads and regard me with pity. I think I had better pay special attention to the section in the breastfeeding book about What To Do if Your Giant Oversized Breast Is Suffocating the Baby.
I'm now pretty solidly in maternity clothes and t-shirts that used to be too big for me to wear in public, and I think I have about all that I need to get through the duration. I tried to buy a bunch of cheap t-shirts, cardigans and sweatshirts so that I could layer according to the weather. I had to buy cheap because the budget was blown on the miracles of engineering that are my two new bras. The one thing I still want to buy is a new pair of slip on shoes, seeing as getting to my feet is already slightly uncomfortable sometimes.
The best part? I feel Chopita move all the time now. The worst part? I feel Chopita move all the time, and she's getting deliberate. Lately it feels like she's been punching me in the cervix. It's uncomfortable. I have tried bargaining with her - hey kid, stop punching me in the lady bits and I will let you wear mascara in high school - but apparently that's meaningless to her now. I'm looking forward to telling her how she blew it later on.
*Deep breath* ... Anyway...I am 23 weeks pregnant today.
Supposedly the baby is now the size of a mango. All I can think of is Chris Kattan in his gold lame' skirt and beret. Picturing this inside of me is rather unsettling. Although I must say if my little Chopita ever gets into a slap fight with J-Lo, I'll be pretty proud.
Everything I'm reading now about my body is getting very ominous, from a vanity perspective. I have been warned that the baby is about to quadruple in size and that stretch marks are imminent. So far so good there - through some combination of water consumption, body oil and genetics I have avoided them so far. Of course, I have also avoided having some wiggly four pound alien in my belly so far, so who knows what will happen.
Speaking of wiggly four pound objects, my breasts are completely out of control. I have gone from a nice, manageable borderline B/C cup to an F. EFF. Yes, my bra size is now 34F. When I say this to mothers who have experienced the horrors of Milk Coming In, they shudder. They shake their heads and regard me with pity. I think I had better pay special attention to the section in the breastfeeding book about What To Do if Your Giant Oversized Breast Is Suffocating the Baby.
I'm now pretty solidly in maternity clothes and t-shirts that used to be too big for me to wear in public, and I think I have about all that I need to get through the duration. I tried to buy a bunch of cheap t-shirts, cardigans and sweatshirts so that I could layer according to the weather. I had to buy cheap because the budget was blown on the miracles of engineering that are my two new bras. The one thing I still want to buy is a new pair of slip on shoes, seeing as getting to my feet is already slightly uncomfortable sometimes.
The best part? I feel Chopita move all the time now. The worst part? I feel Chopita move all the time, and she's getting deliberate. Lately it feels like she's been punching me in the cervix. It's uncomfortable. I have tried bargaining with her - hey kid, stop punching me in the lady bits and I will let you wear mascara in high school - but apparently that's meaningless to her now. I'm looking forward to telling her how she blew it later on.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
T minus 4 months
Four months to go until my due date. That seems both exceptionally far away and mind-bogglingly close.
What was happening four months ago? September 27th. My calendar shows that it was my mother-in-law's birthday and that the Seahawks played the Bears. I had known I was pregnant for almost two weeks. It was still scary (scarier, anyway) then, and I was prone to waves of nausea. I think I remember eating a cup o' noodles in the car on the way to that football game. It was the first one we drove to, rather than take the bus, because there would be no risk of drunkenness. My grandfather was in the hospital, and we stopped by on the way to say hello.
Well, with that perspective, the baby seems farther away. All of that stuff seems like an eternity ago. But maybe that's just because it was an entirely different head space. My pregnancy was still a secret at that point, not to be revealed for another few weeks. The fall that sent my grandfather to the hospital set off a busy chain of events, which included Husband and I flying to Phoenix to drive home with my dad. Yes. You heard me. Two day, marathon road trip with a secret, fresh pregnancy. It was as fun as it sounds.
So now that I'm firmly in baby mode, and couldn't hide it if I tried, maybe it will go faster. Things are going to start happening quickly. Our birth class starts four weeks from tomorrow, and will occupy our Thursday nights until the middle of April. I have a doctor's appointment on Tuesday, another one four weeks later, and then I start going every two weeks already. Granted, four weeks is still four weeks, and thinking back four weeks to New Year's...THAT even seems like a long time ago. The ultrasound where we found out it was a Chopita was that week! It seems like we've known she was a girl for an eternity.
Whatever. As slowly or quickly as it goes by, there's still a lot to do. Like all that baby registery stuff I was going to get done after Christmas? Yeah, I think there are one or two items on there. I still need to register for (more) classes, and of course do the physical setting up of the nursery. It's nice to start the concrete action portion of this pregnancy, rather than living in abstract concept land like I have for the past five months.
What was happening four months ago? September 27th. My calendar shows that it was my mother-in-law's birthday and that the Seahawks played the Bears. I had known I was pregnant for almost two weeks. It was still scary (scarier, anyway) then, and I was prone to waves of nausea. I think I remember eating a cup o' noodles in the car on the way to that football game. It was the first one we drove to, rather than take the bus, because there would be no risk of drunkenness. My grandfather was in the hospital, and we stopped by on the way to say hello.
Well, with that perspective, the baby seems farther away. All of that stuff seems like an eternity ago. But maybe that's just because it was an entirely different head space. My pregnancy was still a secret at that point, not to be revealed for another few weeks. The fall that sent my grandfather to the hospital set off a busy chain of events, which included Husband and I flying to Phoenix to drive home with my dad. Yes. You heard me. Two day, marathon road trip with a secret, fresh pregnancy. It was as fun as it sounds.
So now that I'm firmly in baby mode, and couldn't hide it if I tried, maybe it will go faster. Things are going to start happening quickly. Our birth class starts four weeks from tomorrow, and will occupy our Thursday nights until the middle of April. I have a doctor's appointment on Tuesday, another one four weeks later, and then I start going every two weeks already. Granted, four weeks is still four weeks, and thinking back four weeks to New Year's...THAT even seems like a long time ago. The ultrasound where we found out it was a Chopita was that week! It seems like we've known she was a girl for an eternity.
Whatever. As slowly or quickly as it goes by, there's still a lot to do. Like all that baby registery stuff I was going to get done after Christmas? Yeah, I think there are one or two items on there. I still need to register for (more) classes, and of course do the physical setting up of the nursery. It's nice to start the concrete action portion of this pregnancy, rather than living in abstract concept land like I have for the past five months.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
The Spite Pee
Rocco, dog of the house, has earned himself the right to sport a diaper every time he's left home alone. He earned this special privilege through his tendency to spite pee.
Spite pee you say? Never heard of it. In fact, you probably heard from the dog whisperer or some such expert that it doesn't exist. No bad dogs, just bad owners. Etc.
But I am here to tell you - and I am sure that there are other owners of little terriers out there who would back me up if they were among the seven readers of this blog - spite pee totally exists.
Today, for instance. I needed to run off to the strip mall and do strip mall things like mail stuff, get some coffee at Starbucks, eat teriyaki, get some shoes cobbled, take a karate class...well, not really. But I did have errands at the neighborhood commercial center. I figured I would be gone an hour at most, and seeing as Dog had just been O-U-T not an hour before, I thought it would be a better use of everyone's time (mine especially) if he just waited until I got back to go out and pee. So I strapped his little denim diaper on and went on my merry way. Came home not even 45 minutes later to a soaking wet diaper. WTF, dog? See, that was a spite pee. It wasn't that he needed to pee SO BAD, it was that I didn't let him out the door with me when I left. Spite pee.
He then totally threw me off my game by proceeding to go outside and taking a dump, a feat which is always rewarded with a potty treat. So now here I am, with this belligerent little dog who just spite peed me, kicking up the grass like a bucking bronco - because he knows I owe him the cookie despite what he did in his diaper, because of what he JUST did in the yard. Well played, sir, well played.
I guess I will just consider it free parenting lessons and move on.
Spite pee you say? Never heard of it. In fact, you probably heard from the dog whisperer or some such expert that it doesn't exist. No bad dogs, just bad owners. Etc.
But I am here to tell you - and I am sure that there are other owners of little terriers out there who would back me up if they were among the seven readers of this blog - spite pee totally exists.
Today, for instance. I needed to run off to the strip mall and do strip mall things like mail stuff, get some coffee at Starbucks, eat teriyaki, get some shoes cobbled, take a karate class...well, not really. But I did have errands at the neighborhood commercial center. I figured I would be gone an hour at most, and seeing as Dog had just been O-U-T not an hour before, I thought it would be a better use of everyone's time (mine especially) if he just waited until I got back to go out and pee. So I strapped his little denim diaper on and went on my merry way. Came home not even 45 minutes later to a soaking wet diaper. WTF, dog? See, that was a spite pee. It wasn't that he needed to pee SO BAD, it was that I didn't let him out the door with me when I left. Spite pee.
He then totally threw me off my game by proceeding to go outside and taking a dump, a feat which is always rewarded with a potty treat. So now here I am, with this belligerent little dog who just spite peed me, kicking up the grass like a bucking bronco - because he knows I owe him the cookie despite what he did in his diaper, because of what he JUST did in the yard. Well played, sir, well played.
I guess I will just consider it free parenting lessons and move on.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Things currently distracting me from blogging about my pregnancy, volume 1
I agreed to play model for a friend this week. She is an exceptionally talented color stylist and has been in charge of my hair for eons. She needed me to sit for her apprentice's "red" test, which is one of four tests the apprentice needed to pass to graduate from apprentice to stylist, I gather.
Now, I'm not saying that the apprentice did a bad job by any means. I think that she passed the test handily. The only trouble is that I have been left looking like the president of the Twilight Fan Club. I didn't realize quite how pale I have gotten until my hair went from a lovely copper blonde to teen angst red. It's not entirely unflattering, it just makes me jump every time I pass a mirror. And feel like I should be buying cigarettes for a quarter each off my fellow Denny's patrons and writing bad poetry while I drink coffee with three sugar packets per refill. Or brooding over some cute vampire or werewolf or whatever. I only read the first book, I don't really know what I'm supposed to be doing. All I know is I am some buffalo plaid, black skinny jeans and a pair of vans away from being Kristen Stewart.
At any rate, it should be all better tomorrow - I have an appointment to get it fixed. Unless you think I should just run with it...anyone?
Now, I'm not saying that the apprentice did a bad job by any means. I think that she passed the test handily. The only trouble is that I have been left looking like the president of the Twilight Fan Club. I didn't realize quite how pale I have gotten until my hair went from a lovely copper blonde to teen angst red. It's not entirely unflattering, it just makes me jump every time I pass a mirror. And feel like I should be buying cigarettes for a quarter each off my fellow Denny's patrons and writing bad poetry while I drink coffee with three sugar packets per refill. Or brooding over some cute vampire or werewolf or whatever. I only read the first book, I don't really know what I'm supposed to be doing. All I know is I am some buffalo plaid, black skinny jeans and a pair of vans away from being Kristen Stewart.
At any rate, it should be all better tomorrow - I have an appointment to get it fixed. Unless you think I should just run with it...anyone?
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
The rest of the Pork Chop family
I figure maybe it's time you meet the rest of the gang.The human male in the photo is Husband, otherwise known as Father of Chopita, otherwise known as Mo. I refer to him as Husband not to cloister him in anonymity; rather, it's what I call him. He in turn calls me Wife. I think it started as a joke sometime after our wedding - the novelty of being husband and wife made it funny. Now it's habit. I don't plan to start calling him "dad" or answering to "mom" once the kid is here, but I guess it could happen. I just don't see myself answering to "mother" when it's just the two of us in a Denny's 30 years from now. Anyway, that's Husband. He is handsome and funny and wonderful and manages to be perfect at least 85% of the time.
The cat on the table is Meester, given name Mack. He is going to get his own post eventually, because he is Alpha Pet and the recipient of 98% of my affections. I have already started to worry about how he will react to the baby and how our relationship will change. That may sound crazy, but it's true. He is 17 pounds of big male cat and he bosses the rest of us around accordingly.
Cat with his back to you is Womper, given name Jack. We started calling him Womper because his little canine teeth stick out of his mouth like a vampire...somehow it bastardized to Womper. He's more of a standard model cat than his brother, spooking easily and barfing on a regular basis.
The dog is Rocco, usually referred to as Dog. He only outweighs Meester by four pounds, and that combined with the fact that he was threatened within an inch of his life if he got near the cats when they were kittens means that he is totally their bitch. Womper tends to be nicer to him than Meester, who will usually swat him for no particular reason whenever the opportunity arises. Rocco is nine years old and either very, very good or very, very bad depending on the day you catch him. He's usually good for some sort of entertaining shenanigans, anyway.
So that's it - the family to which little Chopita will be born. I'm really hoping that I don't feel the way I hear some people say they feel, that once the baby is born the pets fade into the background as "just pets." It breaks my heart to think of the dynamic changing that way. We've been this little family for over three years - we got the kittens about a month after our wedding. I still remember getting up early to go see them in their little kitten nursery, locked away from dog jaws. I didn't mind at all scooping their little kitten poop or cleaning up their food mess, I was just glad to spend time and get to know them. I'm guessing that's going to be kind of what it's like to have a baby, right?
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