kachumber cooler

Hey y'all. My, my. Well, well, is it the weekend again already? So, I was in New York City on Wednesday for work and before we flew back, my colleagues and I grabbed dinner at Tabla, an Indian restaurant on Madison Avenue. The food was pretty good, but what I haven't been able to stop thinking about is the cocktail I had that was out of this world: cucumbers, green chili peppers and gin. Are you kidding me?! I decided to try to find a similar recipe online and I actually found the recipe from Tabla on thekitchn.com. Yay! Friday night delight.

Kachumber Cooler

makes one cocktail

2 half-inch slices of cucumber

8 leaves fresh cilantro

2 quarter-inch slices of fresh green finger chili (any medium-mild chili, such as jalapeno or Anaheim can be substituted)

1 3/4 ounce gin (Tabla uses Plymouth, I will use Hendrick's)

1/2 ounce fresh lime juice

1/2 ounce simple syrup

Muddle cucumber, cilantro, and chili in a cocktail shaker or mixing glass until well broken and slightly mashed. Add gin, lime, and simple syrup and shake vigorously. Strain into a double rocks glass, half filled with ice. Garnish with a slice of cucumber.

tasting

On Saturday, we had to go to Trapp Family Lodge in Stowe for a wine and cake tasting for our wedding. (That's where we're getting married in January.) We thought the wine tasting might be a little overwhelming, so we asked Hannah, Emi, Kevin & Sapphie to come with us.

Planning a wedding can be overwhelming and tiresome at times, but there are some really fun aspects and the tastings are my favorite part so far! We started with the cake, which was delightful. Only a few more modifications and we'll be there.

For the wine tasting, we tried 4 different whites, 3 bubblies, 4 reds and 2 dessert wines. Such a big job! Then as if that weren't enough, Kira, our wedding coordinator gave us a copy of their entire 25-page wine list to take home and mull over in case there are any more that we'd like to try. Needless to say, we're far from picking our winners.

We did however find a favorite bubbly. We tried a champagne from France, a sparkling wine from Napa and a frizzante from Austria. The winner—which surprised us all—was the frizzante from Austria. (The darkest one on the far right.) It was the least fizzy with some hints of red currant. And we all just fell in love. I love the color too.

But that's the only thing I will divulge. We need to have some surprises...


Here's Colin tasting the frizzante. And Emi diligently taking notes...


Hannah in heaven and Kevin inspecting the wine...

Sapphie was there somewhere playing... she had a good time too :-)

a present a day

It's Colin's birthday week. He turns 32 on Friday. We've got lots of activities planned for the weekend: NYC, friend time, surfing on Long Island, karaoke in the city...

This year, I had a really hard time figuring out what to get him. So I got him a bunch of little things and decided to give him one a day till Friday. Here's the first:


2 red-eye robot mugs made by a Burlington artist, Dan Siegel. (Found him at the Burlington Farmers' Market.)

Oh, and what did Colin buy for himself? Two tickets for the both of us to see Sigur Ros in Montreal in September. YES!!!

xoxo

vata

My friend Jewel came over to visit today. I apologized for the mess in my apartment. The stuffy humid air. The cats were strewn about like lions in the hot Sahara.

It didn't really matter. We went out onto the porch where there was a slight whisper of a breeze off the lake. We opened a bottle of chilled white wine. It was a lovely Vermont wine Emi & I just discovered at the Farmers' Market—Montcalm Lacresent. A perfect wine for a hot summer afternoon on the porch. The nice gentleman at the market (I think he looks like Don Quixote might've looked) said the Lacrescent grape is similar to muscat, I told her.

"My father loved muscat," Jewel mused. "So this is perfect. White wine balances the vata."

"What's vata? I asked.

"It's ayurvedic. It's an Indian belief that the body is made of three elements called doshas. Vata is the airy, spacey one."

I love Jewel for these colorful bits of conversation. I said, "It kind of sounds like the French word for void or empty, vide." I wondered if there was a connection. If so, I thought, then what she was saying was somewhat true. I'd been in up in my thoughts all weekend. Some of that is good, but too much can be debilitating. You need a balance. The wine, the company, the conversation was all very nourishing–it brought me down to ground level.

We started talking about Jewel's dad. She showed me the eulogy her brother had written for the funeral. She talked about her father's last words and how they made her want to go to start going to Temple again.

I wanted to say, "I'll go with you next time, if you want." But I don't know if that's allowed. I'm not Jewish. And I really don't know how I feel about Temple or vata or death.

I started thinking about Mama Sonia, my grandmother. I wish she wasn't so far away... I hope when we go to visit in a month... I hope, I hope...

Jewel helped me deadhead my petunias and thin out some potted herbs that were suffocating each other (her green thumb balances out my brown, albeit well-intentioned one). She complimented my window boxes—and I was proud. That means a lot coming from her!

We made plans to get together soon. And then it was time for her to go. It was bittersweet. I was sad for Jewel. I was sad, because then I thought of Mama Sonia and how much I miss her and how I wish I was a better granddaughter and called her every week like my sisters and cousins do.

But despite it all, at that moment, I felt serene. I felt glad for friendship and silly conversations. I felt glad for my petunias and basil. I felt glad about Vermont wine (if you can believe it!). I felt glad that there is so much to feel.

So much to feel, right now.

garage sale today!

Cheese Trader's annual garage sale, that is. If you already know what I'm talking about, then you don't need to read any more, just get there before Saturday! (And if you can't make it, then I'm very, very sorry.)

If you don't know what I'm talking about, then you should. This is a once a year event when the store marks down hundreds of bottles of wine (for as little as $2.99 a bottle), cheese, crackers and other fun nibbles so that bargain hunters like you and me can go in and have their hey day.

Em, Kev and I made the trip today after work and really went a little nuts. Still, I'm tempted to go back later in the week when they put out more (different) stock. It's addicting!

café expres, a perfect date

One of my favorite things about being in Paris is the wonderful tradition of café expres (espresso). You can pop in any old place, sit with Romance at the bar, stare at fabulous people and cool your elbows on the smooth marble countertop, while you sip a little cupful of rich, fragrant coffee. It's a very romantic, European thing—to be so grandiose, so spontaneous—to make such an event of drinking a thimble-full of anything. That anybody can accomplish such a stylish, nostalgic moment for less than $2 makes it that much more appealing.

Lately, Colin and I have been making a habit—albeit spontaneous—of popping into cafes for a little restoration. In Burlington on Church Street, there are at least two good places I can think where you can experience the inexpensive luxury of espresso, elevated to an art form. But all you really need is a bar, a good atmosphere, and of course an espresso machine (there are some really wonderful restaurants in town that, sadly, do not have one).

Lake Champlain Chocolates is perfect, because not only do they serve espresso, but they also sell what is, in my mind, the best chocolate around. The two really go hand in hand (that's why in Paris and elsewhere, they always serve espresso with a chocolate-covered coffee bean or almond). It takes the edge off the dark Arabica brew. Lake Champlain Chocolates has a little bar where you can sit and enjoy your moment while watching the passersby on the street. Colin and I dropped in the other day while we were out running errands and ordered two espressos and one square of dark chocolate (to share). The entire thing cost around five dollars, but it felt much more extravagant than that.

I know I talk about Leunig's Bistro a lot, but I can't help it. We love to eat there. And while it's true that you can get a little over-the-top with the menu, some of my favorite moments there have been the simple and spontaneous ones, sitting at the bar, with just a glass of wine and Vermont cheese plate. You could just linger there all night and really feel like a neighborhood regular by the end of it (for under $10 a person). Last night, we stopped in before a movie date for some espresso and one of their amazing maple creme brulees to share—it's the best creme brulee in town, and I'm an expert.

I don't know why I'm telling you any of this. I just felt very good when I remembered these two moments. They reminded me of other espresso moments. I love that these moments are at the same time economical, romantic, and memorable. What more could you ask for in a date?

wash me trousers & the birth of butter boots

I probably shouldn't be telling you any of this. I should keep it locked up forever in the memories of those select few who were there. To keep it safe and untouched by the outside world. To keep the pub and the field and the memory just as they were. But to lock it up would also risk losing the story forever. For, what happens to unspoken memories? They fade.

So I've decided to tell—to share this sacred memory—if only for the sole purpose of keeping the story vibrant and living.

It all began with a woman, a pub and a tub of butter. Well, not real butter—the spread kind that's made from oil. She would never rub real butter on her Ferragamo boots... lest it become rancid and spoil the fine leather...

But it really started here: at the Square & Compass, a fine English pub situated on a hillside by the sea in the Dorset village of Wash Me Trousers (not its real name). We ventured there one sunny spring day during our visit to Uncle Richard's et al in search of their infamous meat pasties (prounouced pas-tē—I'm ashamed to say we were pronouncing the word incorrectly that day) and cider. The real-deal cider.



The pasties and cider were out of this world. They quite made our heads spin. And by the end of lunch, the whole lot of us were giddy as kids. So we decided to walk it off on a public footpath by the sea.

So we started our refreshing afternoon outing. The boys walked on ahead, while we three sisters hung back. We were enthralled in a conversation about my boots and how nice they looked. (I had polished them with butter that morning, upon the suggestion from my sister Emma, when there was no wax to be found in the cottage where we were staying.) The three of us concurred: tub butter, in a pinch, makes a very nice shoe polish.

All of a sudden...



And Butter Boots, our great Super Hero, was born. And she grew. And we made up more and more stories for her. She had super powers. She had back-up dancers. She had pink rubber gloves. She would save the world from evil criminals and even hemorrhoids. But that was then.

If you're wondering where she is now, I haven't a clue. The thing is, well, she can only come to life when the three Wall sisters are reunited again. I'm not sure if she'll ever grace Vermont or California with her presence (Butter Boots and her ladies are distinctly English). But I'm sure we'll find her one day, back in Wash Me Trousers. In the field with the cow pats and sheep. In the wheel well. With a jug of cider from the Square & Compass and Cornish pasty in hand. That's where the magic is. So, we'll be back to find her one day. Ahoy, Butter Boots!

sugaring

I love winters. I love them snowy and long. I even love them cold--sometimes. Even come early March, when most people are itching for the first signs of spring, I'm looking to the skies for a good Nor'easter. You have to love winters when you live in Vermont. Because they're inevitable. And not loving them makes living here a struggle.

That's not to say I don't love spring. And summer, and fall. I'm just not ready for them yet. So when I looked out the window on our drive up to Newport today with Emi & Kevin, and saw smoke coming out of a passing sugar house, I was perplexed.

"Why is there smoke coming out of that sugar house?" I asked.

"They started boiling sap this week," Kevin replied.

"Really? Cool!" But the minute I said it, I was a little bit sad. Spring already? It's too early...

We were driving through an ice storm--the second one this week. Ice was building up everywhere. On the windshield wipers, on the car antenna. It covered the landscape in a glassy sheath. It forced the the pine trees into a deep, stately bow.

"Should we stop by Hull's and see if they're boiling?" Kevin asked us.

"Yeah!" So we took the out-of-the-way way towards Enosburg. We pulled into Hull's sugarhouse in the pouring rain. There wasn't any smoke coming from the chimney.

We were greeted at the door by Kevin's friend Eric. "It's too bad. We just barely finished boiling!" he said.

"Isn't it too early for sugaring season?" I asked as we stepped inside the small wooden building.

"Yeah, this is just a bonus for us," he replied. "Sugaring season doesn't come for another couple of weeks. You can tell it's real sugaring season when you go out and look at the trees and see a ring of thaw around the base. If you go out there right now, the trees are still buried in snow."

There was steam coming from the vat where they boil the sap. I took some pictures.

Eric walked over to a small metal drum with a spigot and poured out three generous cups of fancy grade maple syrup, still hot. I wondered how much sap it took to bowl down to this cup of liquid amber.

"Here, have some of this," he said and handed us each a cup. "It's good for you." We drank the warm, sticky liquid--a sweet tonic like nothing else in this world. I finished in one grand swig. Vermont maple syrup--the first of the season. From the tree to the pot to my belly. Mmm!

We looked out the window across the street to a pair of ancient maples glassed in by frosty icicles.

"See that one there?" Eric said. "We call that one Old Faithful. We still tap it the old way with buckets. We tap about 200 trees with buckets. Not because it pays. Just for something to do."

I thought to myself, "That is so cool." They're preserving a bit of history there. Not for the money, but for the artisan experience. As we looked around at metal buckets filled with syrup, at old bits of wood with the scars of 40 years worth of sugar taps, I felt a sense of Vermont pride. Everything in the work room at that moment emanated a little piece of Vermont. The history, the hand work, the raw wood, the people, the dedication, the flavor.

We stayed and chatted for a bit longer. But soon we knew we had to get back on the road. Maybe it was the hot maple syrup still trickling its tonic magic down our throats, maybe it was the good old Vermont hospitality we received, maybe it was a little bit of both--but we all left Hull's sugar house feeling a little bit warmer, despite the ice raining down in pummels all around us.

sumtin' good

There's something good in every sour situation. Take, for instance, this entire day of February 4, 2008. Woke up late, got to work late, server down till 11 a.m. But since we couldn't access our e-mail or the internet or any of our files for 2 hours, that meant I got to have a super-long "brainstorming" meeting with my friend Nicci and we had a good laugh about aphrodisiacs and the Bush Administration's stimulus package (which I inadvertently referred to as "stimulation package" in a later meeting—thanks to all that libido talk, you know).

Meeting upon meeting, got out of the last meeting after 5, just in time for the server to crash again and to see a mouse scurry across Paula's boot. We bonded in commiseration. I had the shakes from too much thinking and proclaimed, "I don't think I can drive home yet!"

"Wanna come over for a glass of wine?" Paula asked. She's lucky enough to live 5 miles down the road in Charlotte.

"Yes!" I proclaimed. And I think I took Paula off guard. But we went to her place and had some nice wine, yummy gooey cheese and crackers. And by the time I got home, I felt much, much better.

There's always sumtin' good to be had when you end the day off right. That means: a new Peas Weekly posting, more cheese and crackers for dinner (and some salad and fruit for good measure!), kitties purring by your leg, computing next to Col, and having a drink—be it water, Witte or wine—in my favorite Simon Pearce goblet.

Good Monday, everyone.

doggy bag anyone?

Something's happened to the town of Winterpark. I like to call it the Paris Hilton syndrome. The dogs are everywhere—and I mean everywhere. They have cute little sweaters. They get special treatment in the fancy boutiques. They ride in strollers. They're Lassies who lunch. Yes, lunch.

Yesterday Emi and I were strolling around Park Avenue and decided to grab a bite to eat at 310. We sat outside for some fresh air and immediately found ourselves in the midst of some kind of surreal dog kennel. The two ladies sitting at the table behind us had three dogs with them. Two of the dogs had massive Christmas wreaths hanging around their necks. Looking around it became clear that there were dogs at most of tables (at a restaurant that sells Conundrum by the glass).

The dogs sitting at our resto seemed to have some kind of barking comepetition with the dogs who were lunching across the street at Park Plaza Gardens. When people walked by with their dogs, the commotion increased tenfold. (Some relaxing lunch!)

Suddenly, I spotted the hound behind us lay out his runny business all over the sidewalk next to our table. We were so appalled and distressed that we took a picture of the stain (to come). The ladies wearing Tiffany earrings and silk pashminas were saying, "it happens!" whilst throwing their arms up in the air. Yes, it happens, but not on Park Avenue while we're trying to enjoy our glass of La Crema. And I'm sure the pups would agree (the hound, by the way, seemed unimpressed by the situation, but he was chained to the table and so had no choice.)


As soon as the woman tried feeding him water out of the sugar bowl, I knew it was the last straw. The waitress came over and told her they had special bowls for dogs and took away the sugar pot with a sweep of her large white napkin. She refused to service the table from that point forward.

We did enjoy our lunch and the entertainment with it. I just feel bad for the dogs.

10 things you can do with mint

I love mint. How could you not? Such a versatile and tasty plant--and it's so easy to grow. In fact, my mother deems it a weed. Her 3 or 4 varieties have taken over the herb garden. Still, we should not take it for granted.

I haven't always loved mint, however, because of a traumatic childhood memory that involved fluorescent green mint jelly. And so it wasn't until this summer that I rediscovered mint as a wonderful addition to any meal, sweet or savory. Mint truly is versatile and abundant. And it's in season! So why not freshen up your palate with some new ideas?

1. Rub it under your nose to awaken the senses
2. Substitute for basil in a tomato and mozzarella salad (or any salad for that matter)
   
3. Mince and sprinkle over honey and plain yogurt for a simple but stunning Romanesque snack
4. Infuse in your favorite drink for a summer refresher
5. Chop with other herbs--rosemary, lemon thyme, basil, sage, parsley--and mix with sour cream and cream cheese for a yummy veggie dip
6. Simmer with blueberries, maple syrup, and Grand Marnier to make a delicious berry topping for ice cream, pancakes or yogurt
7. Chop and combine with steamed new potatoes and olive oil, then chill for a healthy potato salad
8. Mince and sprinkle over berry sorbet or vanilla ice cream
9. Grow it in a pot and let it flower--so pretty
   
10. Freeze into your ice cubes for a pretty cocktail topper
    

letting my mind relax

My mind is in a muddle right now. I'm trying to write and think. I'm trying to pack my bag in my head (I'm going away for the weekend for my college reunion--what the heck am I supposed to bring to one of those?). I'm trying to watch Bullets Over Broadway at the same time and all I can hear is high-falutin' lipstick laughter and "hi, hi, hi, hi--charmed, charmed, charmed."

Remember when I said the other day that "I've finally arrived"? Well, now I can truly say that I have. I started my job at EatingWell yesterday. So far, I love it. I got to edit a couple of articles for the web--one about the health benefits of coffee (score!) and one about tips for being healthy at work. I got to create a nutrition image library and build some web pages. It's definitely fun, but really busy. My one fear is that my personal writing and reflections may lose out a little bit while my mind tries to adjust. I hope not, but right now, I think I just want to go to bed.

lychee teeny weeni martini

Here's the recipe for the cocktail we entered in the Bitesize competition this weekend:

In a shaker with ice, combine the syrup from one 15 ounce can of Lychee nuts with equal part Stoli Blueberry vodka. Squeeze in the juice of one lime. Add some mint leaves (squeeze them in your hand first to release the aroma). Shake!

To serve, tear a mint leaf into 3 or 4 pieces. Stuff one of the pieces into a Lychee and place in the bottom of a port glass (or shot glass). Fill the glass with your drink. It's so delicious, you can sip or shoot. The Lychee makes for a very happy ending. Now that's a winning recipe!

wine-o

This is what I'm doing right now while I write in my blog: I'm sitting on the couch, watching Rachel Ray (guilty pleasure!), and drinking a lovely glass of red wine. Enjoying a glass of red wine after work is one of my favorite things. I love trying new, luxurious wines, but I also like resorting to my trusty $5 tempranillo when my budget is tight.

I wonder if I'm a wine-o.

Ever since Col and I moved into our apartment in August, we've been saving our corks. Just now, I decided to count them. There are 55. 55 bottles of wine in 8 months. That's less than 7 bottles of wine a month. It's equivalent to one and half bottles a week or about 1 glass a day.

And you know what they say: 1 glass a day keeps the doctor away.

how much wine does it take

to make me fluent in French again? More than I thought it would seem, as I tried to converse with my friend Marie last night, and clenched up at the first sound of accent égu. I swear that didn't happen in Paris. Just asked Col, I was a veritable francophone. Still, being able to order un café hardly signifies a handle of the language. Sure, I can understand and speak it. But can I really express myself? Will I be misunderstood?

When it's the difference between having food or going hungry, finding directions or being lost, somehow we get by. But when it's a matter of putting oneself on display, and proclaiming, "this is what I can do!" (how do you say that in French?) somehow I think the extroverts have an advantage. Maybe it would help to drink French wine. Ours was from California.

new summer cocktail

I love happening upon a treasure and the other day was no exception. While shopping at IKEA of all places, I laid my eyes upon a glistening bottle of elderflower concentrate, stuff which I thought was only available back in Europe. My mind brought me back to summers in the English countryside, in my grandmother's garden where we made bucketfuls of the sweet citrusy stuff and saved it in the larder. So I bought the bottle (a Swedish commercial version of that favorite summer cordial) for $4.59. When I got home, however, the taste--even watered down--was so acrid, I almost tossed it, until I arrived at a brilliant idea: what if I used it to make a cocktail?

So I poured over ice 1 part cordial to 1 part white rum, added a splash of sweetened lime juice, a sprig of fresh mint, and topped it off with sparkling water. Voila. And the result was, well, the New Summer Cocktail (n.s.c). My sister will kill me for divulging the secret. But I had to write it down somewhere. Two days later, the cordial was almost gone, so I watered it down with some Grand Marnier and the result was just as sweet and refreshing.

Here's to summer cocktails.

elderflower cordial

Summer always brings to mind the elderflower, a wonderfully fragrant English blossom that preceeds the berries of the elder tree. The floral citrusy bouquet of a New Zealand sauvignon blanc, often described as grapefruit or leechee, is in my mind very similar to the elderflower. As a child, my sisters and I would make a sweet, syrupy cordial from the blossoms that grew behind my grandmother's garden on The Avenue in Sherborne, Dorset.

Don’t mistake the store-bought cordials or concentrates for the real deal. The only true elderflower cordial is that which you make yourself.

ingredients:
2kg (4½lb) Sugar
1.14lt (2 pints) Boiling Water
20 Elderflower Heads
80g (2¾ oz) Citric Acid
2 Lemons, grated rinds, sliced

to make:
Shake elderflower heads to ensure they are free of insects.
Place the water into a large saucepan and ring to the boil.
Add the sugar and stir until dissolved.
Add the grated rind and sliced lemon, plus the citric acid.
Place the elderflower heads in a bowl, pour over the boiling water.
Leave for at least 12 hours covered with plastic wrap.
Sieve the liquid, to remove the solids.
Strain the liquid through muslin or even a coffee filter to clarify.
Dilute and add to sparkling water or Gin and soda.

Recipe couresty of the Foody.com