Making a Dent

Estimates put the number of restaurants in Manhattan at 24,000. That doesn't include the Bronx, Brooklyn, Queens or Staten Island. It would take more than two decades to eat at each one, assuming one went out for breakfast, lunch and dinner! This weekend, we made a dent....



On Friday, we traveled to Brooklyn for a quick visit with Mary, Brian and Saltie, and departed mid-morning on Monday. In between, we mostly ate. We ate very well, thanks to Mary's and Brian's excellent recommendations. From Spanish to Southern cuisines, to Italian to Yemeni, to Chinese and French – we enjoyed every bite.

Just so I don't forget, I've chronicled the restaurant choices.

Juliana's Pizza: located just around the corner from our hotel by the Brooklyn Bridge, we met Mary there for a late lunch. Thin-crusted and coal fired: Just the way I like my pizza pie!

La Vara: located in Cobble Hill (Brooklyn) and featuring small plates from Southern Spain. We met Mary and Brian and friend Carrie here for a fabulous meal. From the first plates: marinated olives and fried chickpeas to eggplant and honey to house-cured salt cod to noodle paella, lamb meatballs, to crispy suckling pig and finally olive oil cake, each dish was delicious, perfect for sharing around our table.

Fort Defiance Cafe and Bar: a neighborhood gathering spot in Red Hook, just around the corner from Mary's and Brian's loft apartment, it features seasonal American cuisine. For Saturday brunch, I had The Charleston: two poached eggs with collard greens, cheddar-chile skillet cornbread and mustard hollandaise. Yum.

Roberto's: A destination Italian eatery serving homemade pastas (and more) in an old-style setting. Located in the Bronx in Little Italy, Roberto's is one of Brian's favorite places. One of ours now too!

Yemen Cafe: We stopped in for lunch after church and were greeted with bowls of hot soup, platters of warm clay-oven bread, cups of sweet Yemen tea -- and all before we ordered our lunch of slow-cooked lamb over basmati rice. To end our meal, we couldn't resist the fatah with honey, a comfy bread pudding of sorts.

Hwa Yuan Szechuan: an upscale Chinese restaurant in Manhattan's Chinatown. Today marks the Chinese New Year, but we celebrated on Sunday night with a feast of two kinds of dumplings, cold noodles with sesame sauce, Beijing duck with pancakes, eggplant with garlic sauce, and seafood stir fry. Definitely the night of the Pig, to kick off the year of the Pig.

Almandine Bakery: We met Mary for one final meal before saying our goodbyes at this traditional french bakery near her office in DUMBO. I'm still thinking about the almond croissant.

In between breakfasts, lunches and dinners we walked miles through Carroll Gardens, Red Hook, Brooklyn Heights and Williamsburg in Brooklyn; the Upper West and East Sides and Chinatown in Manhattan, and Little Italy in the Bronx.

Non-food highlights include:

Hazel Village
In a tiny little shop in Gowanus (Brooklyn), you can find hand-sewn animals and dolls with matching clothes for their "owners." Our Hazel got her first playmate, Ivy the Goat, from her Aunt Mary at Thanksgiving. Ed and I walked over to the shop to see for ourselves the magical offerings. You can follow them on Instagram: @hazelvillage.

First Presbyterian Church, whenever we visit Brooklyn, we make a point of attending Sunday service at this most welcoming church in Brooklyn Heights. Wonderful service, inspiring music and touching sermon.

Baggu: I needed a new wallet and Mary knew just the place to take me. We headed straight to Williamsburg (Brooklyn) to the Baggu shop and found the perfect wallet for my Valentine to give me next week!

American Museum of Natural History: located on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, it is one of the largest museums in the world. Amazing dioramas.

Guggenheim Museum: We crossed Central Park and made our way to the Guggenheim Museum to see the Hilma af Klint exhibit. If you find yourself in NYC before the end of April, go see this exhibit. It was fabulous.

Arthur Avenue I'll let you in on a well-kept secret. Arthur Avenue, way up in the Bronx, is the REAL Little Italy of NYC. You can buy beautiful bread, pasta, meat, pastries, expressos, Italian sausage, olive oil and a staggering number of cheeses. Plus you can find one incredible restaurant after another, all within a few square blocks. Brian was an expert tour guide and most of the shopkeepers seem to know him by name.

It is always fun to visit our grown children, wherever they happen to be living. This weekend was no exception. Mary and Brian were terrific hosts. I'm missing them already and looking forward to a visit this summer when I'm sure we will continue our quest to dine at the best of the 24,000.

Catch me if you can

Seems like every year around this time I think up some way to reinvent myself. It is usually triggered by an approaching birthday, but this year I have moved my birthday celebration to July, so that can't be it.

Four years ago, I realized I was turning into a tomboy and was completely okay with that. Three years ago, I announced that I was planning to become a late-in-life protester. Last year, I attempted to transform myself into an artist, by declaring 2018 as the year I dipped my toe (or paintbrush) into making art.

Other than the tomboy year, I have not had much success with the transformations but continue to take baby steps toward fighting injustices, and occasionally make some quick pencil drawings.

Speaking of taking baby steps, that leads me to telling you about my latest reincarnation. I am trying to become a runner – well, maybe not a runner – but rather a slow jogger.

It all started last October. While out on my daily walk around the farm, I recognized that Ed and I were supposed to go hiking later in the month in North Carolina. Ironman Ed can hike a long way, up a steep mountain, without so much as a huff or a puff. I, on the other hand, start huffing and puffing just thinking about it. I decided that I had two weeks to improve my lung capacity and so took off at a quick jog. I only went 50 paces before I had to stop. It was embarrassing.

The next day, I ran 100 steps; the following day, 150. By the end of the two weeks, I could run the length of our half-mile drive. I was feeling pretty good about it.

Since then, I have gone out for a run nearly every day. Over Thanksgiving Mary ran with me, and over Christmas, Jack was my running partner. Mary suggested that I download a Nike app that tracks my runs, both the length and the time per mile. Slowly I've worked up to about two miles, with embarrassing slow times.

I'm not interested in becoming a marathoner, but I would like to keep running. It gets me up and out on these cold mornings and I'm always glad I've done it once I am back home.

Most days I take a plastic bag with me and pick up trash along Dover Road. Turns out, there is an actual terms for this activity: plogging, a combination of the words plucking and jogging. Plogging is quickly becoming the hottest fitness trend, but I just thought it was the right things to do. I am astounded by the amount of beer bottles, styrofoam cups, chewing tobacco cans, and fast-food bags that get tossed. What is wrong with these litterbugs? Surely their mothers taught them better.

In any event, Dover Road is periodically cleaner while I'm getting ever-so-slightly fitter. And who knows? Maybe I'll sign up for a 5k this spring. Catch me if you can...

A case of an expanding heart

It's nearly dark out; the wind is howling and the rain is banging against the metal roof of our study. Ed and I are home alone on this last night of year. (Just where we want to be.) I spent part of the day wandering around the house, packing up our very few Christmas decorations and reflecting on the season.

It was a happy one at Farm Dover. Our three grown children were all home for Christmas, with significant others, dog, and baby in tow. Jack traveled here from Berlin (we missed Kasia this year); Mary, Brian and Saltie made the trip by car from Brooklyn; and Maggie and Nate packed presents, diapers, DockaTot, multiple changes of outfits, and Baby Hazel to come here after celebrating with Nate's family in Northern Kentucky. I recognize that this is no easy task. Ed and I are grateful.

There is nothing I like more than being surrounded by my beloveds. It's funny how one's heart can expand to fully love another individual or creature that comes into your life. Like the Grinch, my heart seems to have grown three sizes. And like in the Grinch, there was plenty of noise, feasts and singing to be found in our home.

The week before Christmas, nieces Belle and Sara came to help me crank out the last big batch of spicy cheese straws. And their sisters Molly and Katie came back with Sara and her boyfriend, Ashton, for Christmas cheeseburgers (Mary's favorite), homemade peppermint ice cream, and some serious puzzle working. These girls bring joy wherever they go.

Among our most treasured holiday traditions is digging into the heavy bag of perfectly made cookies by friend Patrice. Mary and I managed to sample some for breakfast the very day we got them. 

 

Joyce (age 90), our friend from Simpsonville Christian Church, baked Ed a coconut cream pie, which he graciously shared with us after a welcome-home dinner for Mary, Brian and Saltie on the 23rd. 

And of course, it wouldn't be Christmas without bread pudding and Ree's mincemeat cookies...

But Hazel and Saltie stole the show. We couldn't get enough of them. 

They even had matching hats, as both wanted to be one of Santa's reindeer.

Not only did our little family grow this year, but the Carpenter side added two babies in addition to Hazel: Charlie (May 23) and Gabriella (August 18), and one more is expected in February. On Christmas Day, we gathered at my sister Julie's house. My Dad, his four girls and their husbands, his 11 grandchildren, and his 5 great grandchildren were all together in celebration and gratitude. 

But the season is nearly over. Mary, Brian and Saltie are safely back in Brooklyn. The 2018 tree is planted in the side field. The cookies are all gone. But the memories, I'd like to hang on to forever...

Merry Christmas to you and yours. May 2019 bring health, happiness and an expanded heart.

Passing the reading bug down to a new generation

I'm not much of a joiner. But nearly 40 years ago, I joined with a small group of friends to form a book club.

To one of our first meetings, we invited two members' mothers to share their secrets for keeping their book club going strong for 20+ years. Mary's and Susan's moms talked about how their group choose books to review; how they appointed one member to host a monthly meeting and another to review the book; how they prepared the review, etc. What they didn't tell us is that this new group of friends would soon bond in profound ways; that the group would support each of us as we married, raised children, established careers, retired, and became grandmothers. (It also connected us to each other as we sorrowed over lost parents, husbands, and children.) Through the years, the members became my most cherished friends – the ones I grew to count on.

At last month's meeting we celebrated the birth of Hazel Frances, my brand new granddaughter. Each friend brought me a favorite baby book. The idea is that every grandmother needs her own library to read to her young grandbabies. It is our club's way of passing the reading bug down to a new generation.

Over the next three months, we will welcome three more new grandbabies into our book club family. Who knows, maybe they will form a book club that will last for 80 years! I hope so.

And just because I can't resist...

You Can't Make Up this Kind of Joy

Let me introduce you to our precious granddaughter: Hazel Frances Pinney, born on Friday, November 9 at 2:39 a.m., weighing 7 pounds 11.5 ounces. Mom (Maggie) and Dad (Nate) are all doing well; Ed (Deed) and I (Bee) are on Cloud 9. It's unbelievable how such a little bundle can bring such immense joy. My heart is spilling over with love for her.

Note: Underneath that little pink bow hat is the softest apricot fuzz... 

Crazy Happy: Digging Dahlias and Saving Zinnia Seeds

Five years ago, I vowed not to buy flowers from a florist or grocery.  I've pretty much stuck to that promise. In addition to walking out into our fields and harvesting wildflowers to my heart's content, it seems I have stumbled into growing a cutting garden of dahlias and zinnias. It takes remarkably little effort and returns an immense amount of pleasure. It makes me crazy happy.

This is the first year that I have grown dahlias, encouraged by my niece Laura who sent me three tubers back in the spring that she shared from her collection. I also ordered three tubers from Floret, a family-run farm located in Washington's Skagit Valley. This handful of tubers grew into massively producing plants, yielding more than 100 beautiful blooms each. 

Every morning from mid-July until mid-October, I could walk out to the raised bed in front of the guest cottage and harvest a dozen dahlias – each one more beautiful than the next. I'd "arrange" them in a canning jar and give them away as thinking-of-you presents. (They were very well received!)

Because they cannot survive our freezing winters, Ed and I dug up the dahlia tubers this weekend. I wasn't sure what I would find when Ed stuck his pitchfork in. In the place of the single tuber that I planted back in May, we pulled up tangles of tubers, at least 50 in total. I've washed the dirt off of the clumps and are leaving them to dry out for a day or two before preparing them for winter storage in our dark and cold basement. If you are interested, Erin of Floret has a terrific video about how to dig, separate and store dahlias. You can find a link here.

Now let's talk zinnias. They were out of control this summer and I loved it. I had saved seeds from last year's flowers and planted them rather thickly in front of my garden gate. Because they were growing so densely, I gently uprooted several dozen stems when they were about a foot tall and transplanted them into the cottage garden. They flourished.

I suspect that my original seeds were not open-pollinated varieties; that they were hybrids. So my individual flowers did not necessarily grow true to the originals. But what they lacked in perfection, they make up for in profusion – attracting a plentitude of pollinators. (Try saying that three times!)

When we got back from our recent trip, I harvested a hundred or so zinnia flower heads. They are now drying on a tray in the laundry room. 

Once totally dry, I'll gently pull the seeds from the heads and save them for next spring. 

Let me know if you want some dahlia tubers or some zinnia seeds. Then you too can be crazy happy!

Journey along the back roads of Appalachia

Imagine a map of the southeastern United States. Focus your mind's eye to where Kentucky, Tennessee, Virginia and North Carolina nearly intersect. It's a most beautiful area, set in the Blue Ridge Mountains, an old region of windy roads, small towns, high ridges, deep hollers, rocky streams, friendly people and very little cell service. That's where Ed and I recently spent 10 days driving, hiking, fishing, camping and cabining.

Our trip started in mid-October, just when we thought the leaves would surely be changing color. Ed and I loaded up the Subaru with tent and sleeping bags, hiking poles and binoculars, soft pillows from home and clip-on reading lights, Triple Good Treats* and Peanut M&M's – and headed east toward Cumberland Gap National Historic Park, the first great gateway to the west through the Appalachian Mountains. From there we made our way further eastward, spending the night in Bristol, where half the town is in Virginia and the other half is in Tennessee. 

The next morning we drove north to Tazewell, VA, detouring to drive around the high, green valley of Burke's Garden aka God's Thumbprint. 

Our final destination that night was Hungry Mother State Park, VA, where we had rented a rustic cabin for two nights. No phone. No TV. No internet. No restaurant. It was perfect. (I did insist that we hike to the visitors' center once a day to check our messages to make sure that Maggie had not gone into early labor.)

We camped one night at Grayson Highlands State Park, VA and then spent two nights in a cabin at Roan Mountain State Park, TN. 

Our last destination was a three-night stay outside of Bakersville, NC, where we stayed in a cabin high up a mountain with a brook running just outside our bedroom window and the best-tasting spring water direct from the tap.

Along the way, we hiked through spruce forests and along mountain streams, explored all-but-forgotten towns, picnic-ed, fly fished for rainbow trout, and checked out the Wooly Worm Festival in Elk Banner, NC. 

Oh, and we read; we read a lot and I was reminded of how much I love getting lost in a book for long stretches of time. 

Not everyone would think this trip was as terrific as we did. We weren't on any tight time frame and so we took our time getting from place to place, stopping whenever we saw something that could be interesting. We wanted to camp at least once, just to remind ourselves of how much we love pitching our tiny tent and cooking dinner over a camp fire. 

And most importantly, we celebrated 33 years of marriage, confirming how glad we are to be traveling this road together. 

_______________________

Triple Good Treats

These were a favorite treat around our house, especially for those weekends when Ed would go to Indian Guides or Indian Princesses with Maggie, Jack and Mary when they were little. I hadn't made them for years. Ed requested them for our anniversary trip...

ingredients

2 cups raisins

1 can (14 oz) sweetened condensed milk

1 tablespoon grated lemon peel

1 tablespoon lemon juice

1 cup (2 sticks) butter, softened

1 cup firmly packed brown sugar

1-1/2 teaspoon vanilla

2-1/2 cups Quaker Oats (old fashioned, uncooked)

1 cup all-purpose flour

1-1/2 cups chopped walnuts

1/2 teaspoon baking soda

1/4 teaspoon salt

preparation

Heat oven to  375 degrees. Grease 9"x13" baking pan. In medium saucepan, combine the first 4 ingredients. Cook over medium heat, stirring constantly, just until mixture begins to bubble. Remove from heat; cool slightly; set aside.

Beat butter, sugar and vanilla until fluffy. Add remaining ingredients; blend until evenly mixed and crumbly. Reserve 2 cups. Press remaining mixture onto bottom of prepared pan. Spread raisin mixture to within 1/2 inch of edge. Sprinkle with remaining oat mixture; pat lightly.

Bake 25 to 30 minutes or until golden brown. Cool completely. Cut into 1"x2" bars.

Makes 18 bars.