grandma's garden

Dieter Breaks Down and Eats a Blueberry Tart

2006-07-13T14:49:00.000-07:00

Yes, it's true, my latest diet was ruined by a blueberry tart. But let me begin at the beginning of this sad tale.

I was a skinny kid who climbed trees and chased dogs and tagged after my older brothers and never could get enough to eat. I lived for potluck suppers at church where the church ladies brought things like angel food cake with seven-minute frosting and confetti and baked beans and ambrosia fruit salad. As a teenager, my weight varied between 110-115 pounds. My mother served the family a good meat-and-potatoes dinner at 6 pm every night. Then, if I didn't go out to Pete's Pizzeria and eat a lion's share of a large sausage pizza or sit in front of the TV polishing off a bag of potato chips and a bowl of sour cream French Onion dip, my brother and I would make Italian sausage subs with marinara sauce, onions, and green peppers late in the evening. The first summer I was married, my husband and I lived in Austria. People share tables in restaurants there and several natives overheard me order Bauernsmaus one night. Bauernsmaus is somewhat like our mixed grill only more impressive because of all the wonderful sausages the Austrians have. Nein, nein!, said my tablemates--I should not order that. It was too much for a young woman--I wouldn't be able to eat it all. But when the heaping plate of meat arrived, I dug in and polished it all off to their astonishment.

As a newlywed, I cooked classic dishes for my hubby and myself from my Betty Crocker and Joy of Cooking cookbooks and my weight crept up to 120. Then I had my first child, and, after ballooning up to 150 during my pregnancy despite my OB/GYN's admonitions, I leveled off at 125. So the dieting started--I was fat!

You name the diet--I've been on it. The vegetable soup diet; the Fat Flush Diet; the Sonoma Diet; the Pritikin Diet; the low carb diet, the 4-day Seneca Indian fast (only fruit the first day, only tea the second day; only vegetables the 3rd day; only vegetable broth the 4th day); the vinegar and honey diet; the fast-one-day-week diet, the 1300 calories/day diet, the Weight Watchers diet (2 rounds), the macrobiotic diet. During the Seneca Indian fast, I was prone to going to the grocery store and staring longingly at all the foods I was going to eat when the fast was over. And eat I do after the end of each fast, after I've successfully dieted through the draconion Phase 1 & Phase 2 of each diet and am well into the maintenance phase.

And so it was with the Sonoma Diet even though I thought it would be the one I could stick with for life. Yes, this is ironic--a woman who has never found a man she could stick with for life is still looking for a diet that she will be faithful to 'til death do us part. The Sonoma diet permits carbs from day one--they just have to be whole grain carbs. This was going to be a cinch. The first step of the Sonoma Diet, which I followed faithfully, is rid your kitchen of ALL white flour products and sugar. My youngest daughter was delighted to have the discarded sugar and white flour and boxes of white pasta to stock the apartment she had just moved into. And I happily stocked my kitchen with whole grain pasta, whole grain bread, whole grain pita bread, whole grain English muffins, whole grain hot dog buns, and whole grain flour. I even made a berry pie for a party with a whole wheat crust and Stevia instead of sugar in the filling.

But then my oldest daughter wanted a tart recipe for a neighborhood baking contest. I am a foodie--what can I say? I couldn't turn her down. After pouring through all my cookbooks and recipe clippings and finding two excellent blueberry tart recipes, I wanted to make a blueberry tart, too. Could I make it with whole wheat flour and Stevia? Why bother? Why waste all those beautiful fresh blueberries and that rich unsalted butter and those 8 egg yolks? But, I was working on Monday, July 3rd. I could make the real deal and take it to work and have one teensy, weensy slice and fob the rest of the caloric disaster off on the other unfortunates working that day. Except it didn't quite work that way. Very few people were at work. I only managed to fob off half of the tart. I put it on plates and took it from office-to-office. I sent out an e-mail announcing it's presence in the kitchen. But I still took home half of this custardy tart with the flaky, buttery, sugary, white flour crust. I doled it out to myself over several days but, still, I ate it and it was wonderful.

So another diet bites the dust. And what have I learned once again? Any diet that denies me whole categories of food is a set up for a downfall. The next time I want to make a blueberry tart or any other yummy thing with sugar and butter and white flour, I will do it. After all, the only love of my life right now is my 10-month-old granddaughter. When I am with her, I am just one fat, happy grandma covered in baby mush from head to toe.

One Finger

2006-07-12T18:05:00.000-07:00

I just got back from a 4-day weekend with my granddaughter. She is 10-months old and walking now. She doesn't like to sit. She's either stretched out sleeping, standing at the side of her crib ready to be rescued, climbing onto the dishwasher door, or walking across the floor. It seems that she's forgotten how to bend in the middle. She stands in her bath, she stands in her wading pool, she stands in the middle of the floor drinking formula from her sippy cup.

One morning while her parents slept, I took her out for a walk on the front sidewalk. I put her chubby little hand in mine and off we went--her chubby little feet chugging along beside me. We made it all the way to the driveway before she stopped, stood by herself a little unsteadily, and removed her hand from mine. She separated my fingers carefully and grabbed one to hold onto and took off again. The one-finger grasp. I thought that she found the grasp of my large hand around her small one too confining, too claustrophobic, that she didn't want to be that dependent on me. She continued to do this whenever we walked--I grasped her hand by instinct, she stopped, unhooked her hand from mine, and fastened onto one finger. She liked the pinkie best which was rather uncomfortable so I would offer the index finger instead and we were off again.

I mentioned this to my youngest daughter, my granddaughter's very own Auntie Em, when she called a couple of days later to see how we were doing. Well, Auntie Em understands her niece better than I for she said, "She probably does that because her hand is so small and it is easier for her to hang onto one finger than your whole hand."

Ah, yes, the one finger approach. How much wiser we would all be were we to take the one-finger approach to dependency. Letting the other person know just what we need--no more, no less--in order to advance in the direction of our own dreams.

Two Blueberry Tarts

2006-07-12T17:17:00.000-07:00

My daughter asked me for a tart recipe before the 4th of July so she could enter a baking contest for her block party. She came to the right place--she knows I'm a food-a-phile and would welcome the opportunity to drag out all my cookbooks and all those recipes I'd torn out of magazines for the last 40 years and find just the right recipe. And I did. She took home a 3rd place prize for her Blueberry Almond Tart and I took home kudos for the Blueberry Tart I took to work on July 3rd because she'd inspired me to make a tart, too. Here are the recipes if you want to enter a contest--either to win prizes at a block party or to simply win the hearts of colleagues stuck at work on Monday, July 3rd, or your friends and family on a special occasion:

Prize-Winning Blueberry Almond Tart (from Bon Apetit Fresh and Simple)

Begin making the filling the day before assembling the tart; once completed, it can be chilled another day before serving. Makes 6-8 servings. [Note: tsp=teaspoon; tbsp=tablespoon]

Filling:
4 1/2 pint baskets fresh blueberries, divided
1/2 cup sugar
1 tbsp. fresh lemon juice (1/2 of large lemon)
2 large egg yolks
2 tsp. cornstarch
3 tbsp. unsalted butter
1 tsp. grated lemon peel (I mince the peel instead of grating--more flavor)

Crust:
1 cp. all purpose flour
1/4 cp. plus 2 tbsp. sliced almonds, lightly toasted (you can do this in a skillet over high heat, stirring constantly)
2 tbsp. sugar
1/4 tsp. salt
1/2 cp. (1 stick) chilled unsalted butter, cut into 1/2 inch cubes
1 lrg. egg yolk
1/4 tsp. almond extract

1/2 cp. currant jelly

For filling: Combine 2 baskets blueberries, sugar, and lemon juice in heavy med. saucepan. Coarsely mash berries. Stir over med-high heat until sugar dissolves and mixure boils and thickens, about 7 minutes. Whisk egg yolks and cornstarch in medium bowl. Gradually whisk in half of hot berry mixture, return to pan. Stir over med-high heat until mixture boils and thickens, about 3 minutes. Whisk in butter and lemon peel. Transfer filling to bowl. Cover and chill overnight.

For crust: Lightly butter 9-inch diameter tart pan with removable bottom. Blend flour, 1/4 cp. sliced almonds, sugar, and salt in processor until almonds are finely ground. Add butter; using on/off turns, cut in until mixture resembles coarse meal. Whisk egg yolk and almond extract in small bowl; add to processor and blend until moist clumps form. Gather dough into ball; flatten into disk. Press dough onto bottom and up sides of prepared pan. Piece crust all over with form; freeze 30 minutes.

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Line crust with foil; fill with dried beans or pie weights. Bake until crust is set; about 12 minutes. Remove foil and beans. Bake until crust is golden; about 18 minutes longer. Cool completely.

Spread filling in crust; sprinkle remaining 2 baskets berries over. Stir currant jelly in small saucepan over med. heat until melted; brush over berries. Sprinkle remaining 2 tbsp. sliced almonds around edge of tart. Cover loosely with foil and chill at least 2 hours. (Can be made 1 day ahead. Keep refrigerated.)

Remove pan sides and serve.

Lisa's Blueberry Tart (from Yankee Magazine)

8 egg yolks
1/2 cp. sugar
1/2 tsp kosher salt
3 tbsp. cornstarch
2 1/2 cp. milk (I used non-fat)
1 tbsp. vanilla extract
1/2 cp. heavy cream (I used 1/4 cp. half-and-half; 1/4 cp. low fat yogurt)
2 tbsp. soft unsalted butter
Flaky Pastry Shell
3 cps. fresh blueberries

In a med bowl, whisk together egg yolks, sugar, and salt. Stir in cornstarch and set aside.

Pour milk and vanilla extract in a med pan over med-high heat. Bring the mixture to a boil; then reduce heat to med-low. While whisking constantly, ladle 1 cp. of the hot milk mixture into the egg mixture. Next, slowly pour all the egg mixture gack into the milk, whisking as you go. The mixture will begin to thicken. When it reaches pudding consistency, remove from heat. If desire, pour through a mesh strainer. Whisk in heavy cream and butter, then cover with plastic and cool in refrigerator 1 hour. Pour filling into Flaky Pastry Shell and top with blueberries. Serve slightly chilled. [Note: If your tart pan is less than a 12-inch pan, reduce the amount of custard you add by at least a cup. Put the extra in custard cups.]

Flaky Pastry Shell

2 1/2 cps. all-purpose flour, plus extra for rolling
2 sticks (1 cp.) unsalted butter, cut into 1/4 inch cubes
1/2 tsp. kosher salt
6 tbsp. ice water

Using a pastry cutter, cut together flour, butter, and salt until they form a coarse mixture. [I used the food processer.] Drizzle in ice water and mix by hand until the dough comes together (it should be moist, but not sticky to the touch). Do not overmix. Chill dough 15 min.

On a lightly floured surface, roll out the dough until it is 1/8 inch thick. Carefully lift and place into a 12-inch tart pan with a removable bottom. Trim the edges and chill uncovered, 1 hour.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Line bottom of crust with parchment paper, then weigh it down with pie weights or dried beans. Bake 15 minutes, or until edges start to brown. Remove the paper and weights and continue to bake until the shell becomes golden brown, 10-12 minutes longer. Cool to room temperature. [This is a wonderfully tasty and hardy tart crust! This tart transports well.]

Enjoy!

In which a dream comes true, I read my lawn mower manual, and find hidden treasure

2006-07-04T14:42:00.000-07:00

It's been an exciting day here. It started off with the tomcat from next door knocking in the sceen again. This time, instead of running away, he came straight into the house after my cat. He fled through the open space in the screen door frame when I yelled and started running after him. The interesting thing is that I dreamed last night that he got in and that I was chasing him all over the house trying to get him cornered so I could take a good swat at him. I wish he had stayed in the house long enough for me to give him a good beating with the broom. That would have been pretty darn satisfying. This cat is definitely getting on my nerves.

But I went about my business--I wanted to get the area on the right side of the driveway cleaned up today. The weeds were running rampant. A couple of weeks ago I ruled out weed wackers, realizing that if I wanted one that would really do the job, it would not only have a gasoline motor but cost a lot of money. So I decided to attack the weeds with my lawnmower but I haven't been able to figure out how to raise the blade. I tried to attack the weeds anyway but the mower kept cutting out. One time I couldn't get it started because I couldn't pull the starter. When I looked underneath, the blade was unable to move because the weeds were packed in there. So over lunch, I pulled out the manual. It is as I suspected--another machine designed for men. I understand the principle of how to raise the wheels, but I do not have the strength to actually do it. After a few more swipes at the weeds with the wheels at their current height, the mower wouldn't start at all so I gave it up. I just hope the pretty little red thing gives me a second chance when I'm ready to do the rest of the lawn.

While I'm over there attacking the weeds, though, I get the idea of turning over the former owner's brush pile to see if there's some good compost underneath. And, sure enough, I stick my spade underneath the brush and pull the top layer off and underneath there is some lovely, dark, compost. Buried treasure. I don't have to spend money on compost in pastic bags that I have to cart home. The first flower to get the benefit of my buried treasure is the breathtakingly beautiful one with the large, delicately purple-hued, bell-shaped blossoms.

I also saved money on stakes for my bell-blossomed beauty and my tomato plants today. I couldn't find any of the pretty green ones at the hardware store yesterday and today the light bulb went off in my head. Stakes. Wood stakes. What did gardeners use before the hardware stores sold those pretty little green sticks? Well, they undoubtedly used some kind of wood stakes that they had around the place. I had a small dead tree behind the garage and I wanted to take it out anyway. The branches made excellent stakes for my plants.

So, all-in-all, it has been a satisfying 4th of July in Grandma's Garden.

San Francisco January 2006

2006-01-14T14:25:00.000-08:00

When is waking up early, changing diapers, and being covered with peas during the San Francisco rainy season a vacation? When is it a vacation to travel coast-to-coast, return on the red-eye, and never see a single tourist site in San Francisco during your whole 9-day stay?When you are a grandmother! I knew I would like being a grandmother and I wanted my daughters to experience the joy I have had with them. But I didn't anticipate being head-over-heels in love with this beautiful, smart little creature. I didn't anticipate that I would want to take every minute of my precious vacation time to do nothing but spend as much time as I can with her. I didn't anticipate that I would be inspired to stock up the freezer with my daughter's favorite soups so that she stays healthy and strong to care for MY grandchild. Call it a biological urge to make sure my genetic material survives, if you will. I will call it love--a different variety of love than I have ever experienced. For the first time, I have a sense of what it must be like to be a saint like Mother Teresa and to love other human beings in a purely ultruistic way. Mother Teresa must have felt this kind of love for those beggars in the streets of Calcutta. She loved the beautiful human creatures inside the filthy clothes, underneath the festering sores. I am not a saint--this is my adorable granddaughter that I love with this new kind of love--but it is a start in the right direction.