by jphilo | Apr 15, 2015 | Family, Recipes
In the past 4 weeks, I’ve attended 2 conferences in Virginia, recovered 2 times from jet lag, and became acquainted with a new grandson. All of which has left very little time for testing new recipes in the kitchen. So this week’s recipe for chai tea is one of my favorites that has appeared on this blog before. It’s also a favorite of my daughter who’s new mama of our beautiful new grandson. Bottoms up!
My daughter Anne loves chai tea. I’ve tried it a few times at my favorite coffee shop. Though I love it’s spicy, mellow flavors, most chai teas are too sweet for my taste. But when USA Weekend Magazine (Jan. 20-22 edition) published Pam Anderson’s recipe for chai tea concentrate, I decided to give it a try.
The biggest challenge presented by the recipe was finding all the spices. Thankfully, we have a bulk food store nearby, and I was able to find everything there. (Did you know cardamom costs $70+ a pound? Thankfully, they sell it by the ounce!) Other than gathering the ingredients, this recipe was easy to follow.
Compared to the cost of specialty drinks at the coffee shop, this recipe is a bargain, even with the price of cardamom. Not only that, Hiram gave the hot chai drink his coveted seal of approval. The ingredient list for the recipe below matches the original one exactly. But, I added more details to some of the directions.
DYI Chai Tea Concentrate
4 teaspoons each ground ginger and cinnamon
4 teaspoons fennel seeds, ground (I ground them in a coffee grinder)
2 teaspoons each ground black pepper, cardamom and corriander
1 teaspoon ground cloves
1/4 cup loose black tea such as Earl Grey
3/4 cup blue agave
2 tablespoons molasses
4 teaspoons vanilla extract
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
Heat spices in a heavy-bottomed medium saucepan over medium-low heat, stirring constantly until fragrant and smoke starts to rise, a couple of minutes. (This sounds so weird, but it works!) Add 1 quart of water and tea; bring to a simmer.
Remove from heat, cover and let steep for about 10 minutes. Strain out tea and spices. (I strained out the tea and ground spices by lining the strainer with a cloth.) Stir in agave, molasses, vanilla, and lemon juice.
To serve, combine 1/4 cup concentrate with either 3/4 cup hot or cold milk (or milk substitute) or water. The rest can be covered and refrigerated up to a couple weeks until ready to use. (The photo shows the concentrate in the background and a cup of tea made with 1/4 cup concentrate and a 3/4 cup mixture of equal amounts of water and milk or milk substitute.)
by jphilo | Apr 13, 2015 | Family
Home again
after ten days
with a new grandson
and his parents.
Ten days
of cleaning and cooking,
of shopping and laundry,
and folding diapers just so.
Ten days
of walking the dog,
of reassuring new parents,
and watching them grow confident in their new roles.
Ten days
of snuggling a baby,
of smelling his sweetness,
and marveling at his perfection.
Ten days
of rocking and singing,
of his breath warm against my chest,
and his downy hair tickling my neck.
Ten days
of counting blessings,
of falling in love with 8 pounds, 2 ounces,
and feeling his weight burrow deep into my heart.
Home again
after ten days,
with half of me content to be back,
and the other counting ten toes and ten fingers
two eyes, two ears,
a stub nose and rosebud mouth
in my dreams.
by jphilo | Apr 10, 2015 | Family
Friday’s here again, so it’s time for another fantastic post from the past. This one comes from April 2011, a few years after Mom’s Alzheimer’s diagnosis and subsequent move to live with my brother and his family. That chapter of Mom’s life ended this past January, when she moved to an assisted living facility. She is not adjusting particularly well. But as this post points out, she has adjusted before, and I can hope that she will slowly adjust again. And I can also hope that this week, during our Wednesday visit and drive, she will smile to see the daffodils are blooming.
The Daffodils Are Blooming
My daffodils started blooming yesterday, their bright faces raised, impervious to the wind while they soaked in the sunshine. They spoke spring and warmth and light and hope into my winter weary heart. They made me smile.
Then the rain moved in, and everything changed.
These natty soldiers, who had marched beside my house erect and confident short hours ago, were bowed and bedraggled this morning. They shivered in the wind. Tears rolled down their faces and puddled in the dirt at their feet. Their burdens were heavy on their shoulders, so heavy they couldn’t lift their heads to see the clusters of clean, greening grass lining their parade route, cheering their arrival.
They have no idea that sunshine will return.
The daffodils were a gift from my mother the last fall she lived in her house. Before we suspected Alzheimer’s. Before her legendary strength abandoned her. When she still had energy to dig in the dusty, autumn soil for the daffodil bulbs that needed separating. Come spring, the news that I had planted the bulbs didn’t bring her as much pleasure as in previous years.
The first clue, as I look back, that something was wrong in my green thumb mother’s world.
Things moved more swiftly after that. The next fall, Mom moved in with my brother and sister-in-law. The next spring, her house was sold. Her passion for gardening evaporated along with her love of quilting, sewing, jigsaw puzzles, and ordering around her children. When my sister gave Mom an African violet for her bedroom, her response was, “I’m not sure I want that much responsibility.”
Can this be the woman who grew all the roses for our wedding altar arrangements?
“The daffodils are about to bloom, “ I told Mom during our visit two days ago. “The ones you gave me.” On our drive to the library, we saw some blooming beside a small house. “Look, Mom,” I pointed. “Aren’t they pretty?” Her eyes turned warm and bright. For the rest of the trip, and again on the way home, she watched for flowers.
“The daffodils are blooming.” She smiled and lifted her head. Briefly, the sunshine returned.
by jphilo | Apr 6, 2015 | Daily Life, Family
I called Mom from Kohl’s last Wednesday. “I’ll be there in about 15 minutes, ” I said. “As soon as the battery in my watch is replaced.”
“My watch needs a new battery, too,” she said.
Why hadn’t she told me that yesterday when I called to ask her if she needed anything.
I bit my tongue, and replied, “That’s too bad. See you soon.”
15 minutes later, I greeted her as promised, “Hi, Mom!”
“Where are my clothes?” she demanded.
“What clothes?” I said, surprised.
“My clothes are too hot. I’m roasting,” she said motioning to the heavy turtleneck sweater she was wearing. “I need some cool tops and some summer nighties.”
So a couple hours later, after a few rousing games of Uno (we each one a game), after a trip to Saylorville Lake to watch boats going into the water on this first warm day of spring, and after supper at Applebees, I returned her to her digs. Her watch in hand, I headed to Kohl’s once again.
The shopping trip was successful–3 new shirts and 2 new nighties, all of which fit her–but the watch was toast. Mom accepted the death of her watch with resignation, and before leaving, I tucked her, clad in her new nightie, into bed (at 7 PM).
Once I was home, I related the afternoon and evenings activities to the Man of Steel. “Her room really was stuffy,” I ended.
The Man of Steel nodded his head. “Did you turn down the thermostat in her room?”
Duh.
“Ah, no.”
We both laughed.
And that, dear readers, is just one of the many reasons I need the Man of Steel. The name of this particular reason?
Common sense.
by jphilo | Mar 27, 2015 | Family
This week’s Fantastic Friday post comes from way back in March of 2011. Four years later, my geranium slips are rooting in mason jars, and I’m as crazy about them as ever.. The Man of Steel, now four years older after celebrating another birthday on March 8, is as kind and quiet as this post made him out to be.
My husband is a wise man. He has yet to say a word about the four, count ‘em, four mason jars sitting in front of the east windows, hogging daylight.
He hasn’t commented about how the jars are crammed with geranium slips or how the wintered over geraniums, from whence the slips came, now look like skinned rats in their flower pots.
He never complained about the dozens of gallon milk jugs in the basement full of last summer’s rain water, some used to water the potted geraniums through the winter and much it now slowly evaporating from the mason jars chuck full of geranium slips.
Yes, Hiram is a wise man. He knows better than to editorialize when I go on one of my heritage horticultural tears. This month’s tear is all about Grandma Josie Hess’s heritage geranium, the sainted family flower given to Grandma Josie by her mother, Cora Newell. Grandma Josie gave slips to her children (including my mother), who gave them to her three children, one of whom (that would be me) has become slightly obsessed with propagating the sainted plant.
To tell you the truth, I’m pretty pleased with myself for remembering to cut down the wintered-over geraniums this early and setting the slips in water. Usually I think of it in late April when it’s too late for either the old plants to recover from pruning or for the new slips to root before it’s time to plant them outdoors. But this year I thought of it in March. A minor miracle considering how forgetful I’ve been this winter.
Come to think of it, Hiram hasn’t said a word about my minor memory miracle or my more normal forgetfulness. At least I can’t remember if he’s made any comments about either one.
In any case, my husband is a wise man. Almost a saint. Right up there with the sainted family flower.
Quiet.
Lovely.
Hardy.
Enduring.
Patient.
Faithful.
No wonder I love them both so much.
by jphilo | Mar 4, 2015 | Family
Wednesdays are usually recipe day. But usually on March 4, I write a post about Dad who died on this date in 1997. Since Dad loved to eat, my original plan was to feature a recipe for one of his favorite foods. Not an easy task to choose just one food. Because he had lots of favorites.
Pretty much anything on his plate.
But then, I read that Dad’s favorite restaurant in the world, Archie’s Waeside Steakhouse in Le Mars, Iowa–my home town–was just named one of five restaurants to be named one of the James Beard Foundation’s America Classics for 2015.
Bam!
I was transported back to 1965. Mom was pushing Dad across the Archie’s parking lot. My sister, brother, and I were tagging along behind. Big Sis held the door open while Mom maneuvered Dad’s wheelchair across the threshold. Once inside, Dad’s grin was so wide his face could barely hold it. He began greeting the customers waiting to be seated, whether or not he’d ever seen them before.
But we never had to wait very long for a booth.
Perhaps because Dad was the former youth extension director in Plymouth County, where Le Mars is located. And he trained the county youth to show their cattle at the fair. And Archie’s always bought the county fair champion feeder steers to serve at the restaurant. Or perhaps it was because Dad began salivating for his Archie’s steak cooked just right–black on the outside and still kicking on the inside–and the wait staff took pity on him. Or perhaps because his joy at being out to eat with his family, chewing the fat with every friend or acquaintance who walked by, made the restaurant look good. Or perhaps because he was Archie’s best word-of-mouth advertiser on wheels.
Ever.
All of which goes to show that Dad was a foodie before his time. Long before James Beard, Top Chef, or the Food Network. Long before cell phones, selfies, and posting pictures of people posing with food on Facebook. Long before all that, Dad knew he could travel the world and never find a steak better than one from Archie’s. Now the world knows about Archie’s, too.
Dad would be so proud.
In memory of Harlan John Stratton: May 11, 1929–March 4, 1997.
