Remember that scene in Star Wars when Luke is practicing the light sabre with that little flying orb thingy in the Millennium Falcon while, unbeknownst to him, Princess Leia is being interrogated by Darth Vader about the location of the rebel camp? Virtually at the same moment that Luke masters the light sabre, Darth Vader destroys Leia's home planet (at least I think it's hers) to demonstrate to her the power of the Death Star. Obi Wan Kenobi, who had been watching Luke practice, suddenly starts. "There a tear in the force. As if a million voices cried out and were silenced at once." (Or something like this.)
That's how I feel today. Like there's something going terribly wrong in the universe. Unlike Ben Kenobi, I can't put my finger on it. A very uncomfortable feeling.
Chocolate sauce = fabulous! Really. And I'm not even much of a chocoholic but this is the kind of thing that makes a person swoon. I'm working on getting the recipe together and will post it within a couple days so check back. Seriously, you've got to try this. As it turns out, you don't need much in the way of canning equipment since it does not need to be processed since there's nothing in it that can spoil - it's all pretty much sugar and chocolate. Once you open a jar you'll probably want to put the remainder in the fridge but sealed it can sit on your shelf.
Although I'm not usually a chocolate fanatic, my husband is. We can't keep anything chocolate in the house for very long (he's been known to pack away a 2 lb. bag of M-n-Ms in a single day. Another time friends who didn't know what he might like for Christmas gave him 15 pounds of Hersey miniatures and kisses which we stored in our punch bowl. This is a man with a problem (he doesn't know about the chocolate sauce yet and I'm going to try and keep it a secret for a while so I've got a prayer of keeping some for holiday gifting - maybe I'll give him a jar in his stocking). Anyway, I'm telling you all this for a reason: Last week I went with my son on his first fieldtrip to a local apple orchard for a hay ride and apple picking. All the kids got to pick a quarter peck of red and golden delicious to bring home. The next day I asked if he wanted to make a special apple dessert with his pickings. Excited doesn't even begin to cover his reaction. So I peeled and sliced and he helped put the apples in the pan and pour on sugar and spices and cover with the crumb topping. We had to open the oven several times to look at it while it baked and I endured a half an hour of, "When is my special apple dessert done, mommy?"
Finally, it was cooled enough for the tender toddler tongue. I spooned some out into a bowl, poured a little cream on top and handed it over with a flourish, "Look, honey, your special apple dessert!"
He looked into the bowl with his spoon poised midair for attack. Suddenly, his smile vanished. He pushed the apples around with his spoon frantically and finally looked up at me with a wail, "Mommy!! Where's the chocolate?!!!" The despair in this voice was unbearable. Upon hearing that there was, in fact, no chocolate he left the table and I never could convince him to try the crisp. In this case, the apple really did not fall far from the tree, so to speak.
Although I'm not usually a chocolate fanatic, my husband is. We can't keep anything chocolate in the house for very long (he's been known to pack away a 2 lb. bag of M-n-Ms in a single day. Another time friends who didn't know what he might like for Christmas gave him 15 pounds of Hersey miniatures and kisses which we stored in our punch bowl. This is a man with a problem (he doesn't know about the chocolate sauce yet and I'm going to try and keep it a secret for a while so I've got a prayer of keeping some for holiday gifting - maybe I'll give him a jar in his stocking). Anyway, I'm telling you all this for a reason: Last week I went with my son on his first fieldtrip to a local apple orchard for a hay ride and apple picking. All the kids got to pick a quarter peck of red and golden delicious to bring home. The next day I asked if he wanted to make a special apple dessert with his pickings. Excited doesn't even begin to cover his reaction. So I peeled and sliced and he helped put the apples in the pan and pour on sugar and spices and cover with the crumb topping. We had to open the oven several times to look at it while it baked and I endured a half an hour of, "When is my special apple dessert done, mommy?"
Finally, it was cooled enough for the tender toddler tongue. I spooned some out into a bowl, poured a little cream on top and handed it over with a flourish, "Look, honey, your special apple dessert!"
He looked into the bowl with his spoon poised midair for attack. Suddenly, his smile vanished. He pushed the apples around with his spoon frantically and finally looked up at me with a wail, "Mommy!! Where's the chocolate?!!!" The despair in this voice was unbearable. Upon hearing that there was, in fact, no chocolate he left the table and I never could convince him to try the crisp. In this case, the apple really did not fall far from the tree, so to speak.
O.K., it's like this. While I've bought everything I need for the chocolate sauce (I already had cocoa, but I got some nice maple syrup -!- and some other stuff, too) it didn't get done last weekend. I'm not sure why, but I think we were really busy. The strange thing is that I can't remember a thing that we did. Anyway, provided that Isabel doesn't wreak too much havoc on my central Virginia home, I'll try it this weekend - promise.
As I write this, the lights are flickering. We've already lost one 15 foot pine tree that fell just a few feet from the house in a snap that sounded much like a gunshot. A few roofing tiles are lost and we've sprung some leaks in the basement, but otherwise all is well as we approach the peak of the storm. To prepare for possibly losing our power, I've baked some potatoes that could be easily reheated in the fireplace and put an array of mason jars on the counter, ready to be opened. The biscuits are ready for a smear of pumpkin butter - an excellent breakfast even if you do have electricity. Tuna sandwiches will be enlivened with some pickled carrots and a little chutney will go a long way toward perking up lukewarm steak - pregrilled and warmed near the flame of the fire. Thanks to Izzy, I suddenly remember why I can.
Gifts of memory can come from the strangest places. So can inspiration and I spent the morning making lists of all that I need to get started with: apple pie filling, apple sauce, more pickles, and so on. But most of all, that chocolate sauce.
As I write this, the lights are flickering. We've already lost one 15 foot pine tree that fell just a few feet from the house in a snap that sounded much like a gunshot. A few roofing tiles are lost and we've sprung some leaks in the basement, but otherwise all is well as we approach the peak of the storm. To prepare for possibly losing our power, I've baked some potatoes that could be easily reheated in the fireplace and put an array of mason jars on the counter, ready to be opened. The biscuits are ready for a smear of pumpkin butter - an excellent breakfast even if you do have electricity. Tuna sandwiches will be enlivened with some pickled carrots and a little chutney will go a long way toward perking up lukewarm steak - pregrilled and warmed near the flame of the fire. Thanks to Izzy, I suddenly remember why I can.
Gifts of memory can come from the strangest places. So can inspiration and I spent the morning making lists of all that I need to get started with: apple pie filling, apple sauce, more pickles, and so on. But most of all, that chocolate sauce.
I still have not been able to face another attempt at Orangina jelly. Perhaps this reveals something about my character, that I fold in the face of difficulty. Or maybe that I have enough sense to know when to stop. Either way, I made a promise to try again. And I will. Someday.
In the meantime, I've found a recipe for chocolate sauce that I think will be a winner for holiday gift-giving. This weekend (pending morning sickness status) I'm hoping to give it a try. Don't you think it would be adorable wrapped up with an antique (or not) ice cream spoon or somesuch frill? It's also inspired me to try and find or create a peanut butter sauce recipe for canning. I just love peanut butter things (although I don't really love just plain 'ole peanut butter - is that weird?) and just the other day I enjoyed a double scoop of peanut butter cup ice cream before I remembered that, being in the family way, I'm not supposed to be eating peanut butter as it may impart serious allergies to my unborn. I'm not seriously worried, since I think these things are related to progressive exposure but I am going to watch myself from now own. We have predispositions to allergies in our house and I don't think I want to stack that particular deck against us more than it already is. Anyway, I think that a jar of peanut butter sauce and a jar of chocolate sauce is a really fine gift. Now, if you are in a gift-exchanging relationship with me, just pretend you never read this. Either that or start practicing your look of delighted surprise now so you'll be ready this winter.
The chocolate sauce recipe started a whole rumination on the issues of risk avoidance versus risk reduction versus risk elimination (as chocolate is not terribly acidic and generally isn't a candidate for longterm storage without pressure canning, which I do not do - yet) and my personal reactions to these things, as well as societal reactions. Someday soon I'll post something about it. Before we get to that, though, I have a more important topic for discussion: using brand names just 'cause you always have versus trying the knockoff.
My local Big Lots has canning jars packed in boxes carefully designed to cause the quick of glance to assume that the jars inside are, in fact, Ball brand (quite possibly the most famous, if not most popular, commercial canning jar) at a price of about 2/3 what you can find in a supermarket or discount mart. Now, I'm not generally brand loyal (tampons, cold remedies and yogurt seem to be the major exceptions) but there's something about the knockoff jars that is giving me pause. Is it the dire warnings of safety relative to home canning (maybe this discussion is related to risk avoidance more than I thought) or is it just the idea that, well, Ball makes canning jars and there's really no reason for anyone else to do it? My grandmothers, mom and aunts use(d) Ball and that's good enough for me. Maybe it's the idea that the "original" isn't that expensive, after all, and works fine so what did they do to the knockoff to make it cheaper? What corners were cut? Was it the seals - are the seals crappola? 'Cause canning is all about the seal (well, that and processing time). Is it the glass itself? A flaw in the glass can create the most difficult mess if the jar cracks or shatters in processing. I just can't convince myself to try the knockoff - that the savings would be worth whatever they've done to make the jars cheaper. Then again, there's really no reason not to other than it's counter to the way I've always done things and the way I've always seen things done.
I guess I feel this way about a lot of things. I may insist upon some stupid expensive foundation (for the increasingly rare days I put make up on at all) but my eyeliners are all Wet-n-Wild. If I saw an eyeliner cheaper than my usual $1.99 would I buy it? Probably not - the price would be lower than what I've assigned to what represents "quality". Anything lower would seem, well, cheap and probably not worth it. But if I saw a MAC eyeliner priced at $1.99 would I buy it? I don't know - what if it's only priced that way because there's something wrong with it? There are always stories about some luxury brand reducing their prices and seeing sales fall since the price change violated consumers' sense of price versus value. Sales rebound when the price is raised to its original heights.
There's probably an economic theory that explains all of this - the complicated price versus value versus perception of quality/desirability equations we all work through internally every time we buy something. Actually, I probably learned said theory in school. Damned if I can remember what it is, though.
In the meantime, I've found a recipe for chocolate sauce that I think will be a winner for holiday gift-giving. This weekend (pending morning sickness status) I'm hoping to give it a try. Don't you think it would be adorable wrapped up with an antique (or not) ice cream spoon or somesuch frill? It's also inspired me to try and find or create a peanut butter sauce recipe for canning. I just love peanut butter things (although I don't really love just plain 'ole peanut butter - is that weird?) and just the other day I enjoyed a double scoop of peanut butter cup ice cream before I remembered that, being in the family way, I'm not supposed to be eating peanut butter as it may impart serious allergies to my unborn. I'm not seriously worried, since I think these things are related to progressive exposure but I am going to watch myself from now own. We have predispositions to allergies in our house and I don't think I want to stack that particular deck against us more than it already is. Anyway, I think that a jar of peanut butter sauce and a jar of chocolate sauce is a really fine gift. Now, if you are in a gift-exchanging relationship with me, just pretend you never read this. Either that or start practicing your look of delighted surprise now so you'll be ready this winter.
The chocolate sauce recipe started a whole rumination on the issues of risk avoidance versus risk reduction versus risk elimination (as chocolate is not terribly acidic and generally isn't a candidate for longterm storage without pressure canning, which I do not do - yet) and my personal reactions to these things, as well as societal reactions. Someday soon I'll post something about it. Before we get to that, though, I have a more important topic for discussion: using brand names just 'cause you always have versus trying the knockoff.
My local Big Lots has canning jars packed in boxes carefully designed to cause the quick of glance to assume that the jars inside are, in fact, Ball brand (quite possibly the most famous, if not most popular, commercial canning jar) at a price of about 2/3 what you can find in a supermarket or discount mart. Now, I'm not generally brand loyal (tampons, cold remedies and yogurt seem to be the major exceptions) but there's something about the knockoff jars that is giving me pause. Is it the dire warnings of safety relative to home canning (maybe this discussion is related to risk avoidance more than I thought) or is it just the idea that, well, Ball makes canning jars and there's really no reason for anyone else to do it? My grandmothers, mom and aunts use(d) Ball and that's good enough for me. Maybe it's the idea that the "original" isn't that expensive, after all, and works fine so what did they do to the knockoff to make it cheaper? What corners were cut? Was it the seals - are the seals crappola? 'Cause canning is all about the seal (well, that and processing time). Is it the glass itself? A flaw in the glass can create the most difficult mess if the jar cracks or shatters in processing. I just can't convince myself to try the knockoff - that the savings would be worth whatever they've done to make the jars cheaper. Then again, there's really no reason not to other than it's counter to the way I've always done things and the way I've always seen things done.
I guess I feel this way about a lot of things. I may insist upon some stupid expensive foundation (for the increasingly rare days I put make up on at all) but my eyeliners are all Wet-n-Wild. If I saw an eyeliner cheaper than my usual $1.99 would I buy it? Probably not - the price would be lower than what I've assigned to what represents "quality". Anything lower would seem, well, cheap and probably not worth it. But if I saw a MAC eyeliner priced at $1.99 would I buy it? I don't know - what if it's only priced that way because there's something wrong with it? There are always stories about some luxury brand reducing their prices and seeing sales fall since the price change violated consumers' sense of price versus value. Sales rebound when the price is raised to its original heights.
There's probably an economic theory that explains all of this - the complicated price versus value versus perception of quality/desirability equations we all work through internally every time we buy something. Actually, I probably learned said theory in school. Damned if I can remember what it is, though.
Orangina jelly status: poor. My mom helped me tweak the recipe and we still had strange, intermittant, sort-of jelled jelling. I told her that enough was enough and that this was my last attempt. You may be glad to know that she shamed me into making another, as-yet-unscheduled try. Mom doesn't know from all this blog stuff, and she's not a big fan of the internet, but once she learned that there are people out there who know of this saga, she insisted that I continue. "It's not as if people are depending upon me," I pouted. "That's not the point," she wagged her finger at me, "you started something and now you have to finish it."
So that's that. I felt as I did the year I tried to quit band midway through the school year. Guilty and ashamed and like I was letting the side down. Attempt #4, coming up.
The $500 decorating challenge went well. I know have "art" on the walls and window coverings and a fabulous mantle arrangement. There are still a couple things I want to do, like cover the giant reading pillows. I like the new bee print from Calico Corners, but I'd rather buy something at a local, non-chain shop like Fabric World. Fabric World is really great, run by these very stern women who take their fabric seriously. The store is house in an old warehouse that has definitely seen better days - in fact, it looks sort of abandoned. Once you're inside, though, it's like entering a magic world of tassels, trims, buttons and toile. The best kind of candy, if you ask me.
So that's that. I felt as I did the year I tried to quit band midway through the school year. Guilty and ashamed and like I was letting the side down. Attempt #4, coming up.
The $500 decorating challenge went well. I know have "art" on the walls and window coverings and a fabulous mantle arrangement. There are still a couple things I want to do, like cover the giant reading pillows. I like the new bee print from Calico Corners, but I'd rather buy something at a local, non-chain shop like Fabric World. Fabric World is really great, run by these very stern women who take their fabric seriously. The store is house in an old warehouse that has definitely seen better days - in fact, it looks sort of abandoned. Once you're inside, though, it's like entering a magic world of tassels, trims, buttons and toile. The best kind of candy, if you ask me.
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