The end is nothing . . . The road is all!

He was able to feel, kneeling beside old Sada, 

the preciousness of the things of the altar
to her who was without possessions . . . 

. . . the tapers, the image of the Virgin, the figures . . . 
the Cross that took away indignity from suffering
and made pain and poverty a means of fellowship with Christ . . . 

He seemed able to feel all it meant to her to know 
that there was a kind woman in heaven,
though there were such cruel ones on earth. 
Old people who have felt blows and toil and known the world's hard hand, need, even more than children do, a woman's tenderness. 

Only a Woman, divine, could know all that a woman can suffer. 

                                          ~Willa Cather
                                            Death Comes for the Archbishop

_____________________________________________________________

This gorgeous novel takes place in the stark beauty of the 19th-Century American southwest. The above passage describes a night when Father Latour, a French bishop on extended assignment to New Mexico, had long endured a period of "coldness and doubt." His faith had fled, his prayers were "empty words," his "soul had become a barren field. He had nothing . . . to give his priests or his people."

On that December night, he encounters a poor bondswoman whose mistress has forbidden her to worship for 19 years. She escapes in the snow and makes her way to the church. He opens the locked door to her, and as she falls before the altar in joy and tears, Father Latour "received the miracle in her heart into his own, saw through her eyes, knew that his poverty was as bleak as hers."

The snow had stopped, the gauzy clouds 

that had ribbed the arch of heaven

were now all sunk into one soft white fog bank

over the Sangre de Cristo mountains. 

The peace without seemed all one

with the peace in his own soul.

As you can see, I'm having trouble leaving Cather's beautiful prose. And I haven't spent enough time in this harsh, lovely part of the world that she came to love and understand. This simple, earthy dish celebrates both. It's from a 1980s Arizona contest cookbook. This soup's prize winner: the lucky ones you make it for! Plus Carolyn Ness of Gilbert, Arizona.

 

Sweet potatoes already taste like candy, what a crime to frou frou them up with sugar and marshmallows. On their own, they're hearty and robust and so wonderfully orange. 

These are dressed with cilantro, red onion, a touch of jalapeno, and a cooling lime cream.  

Perfect for a December night. 

Sweet Potato Soup with Lime Cream

                                      4 medium to large sweet potatoes, unpeeled

                                      2 Tablespoons unsalted butter

                                      1 small or half of a large red onion, diced

                                      2 fresh jalapeno peppers, seeded and diced

                                      1 small bunch cilantro, chopped

                                      salt to taste

                                      water to cover

                                      chicken broth (optional)

                                       2 limes

                                       3/4 cup sour cream (I used light; OR try plain yogurt)

                                       pepper to taste

lime cream, and the contest cookbook!

Cover the sweet potatoes with water in a medium saucepan and cook gently until tender, about 50 minutes. Drain, reserving stock. Cool, peel, and chop the potatoes. Saute onions and peppers in butter until the onions are soft. Add this, with the stock, to the potatoes and stir. If the mixture seems not liquid enough for your taste, add a cup or more of stock and simmer for 20 minutes. Puree the mixture in batches in a blender, and return to the cooktop to warm and meld the flavors further. Add more stock (or chicken broth) if desired.

Zest the two limes and stir the peel into the sour cream. Add the juice of both limes and salt to taste. 

To serve, spoon the soup into bowls and add a dollop of lime cream. 

Pass cilantro and black pepper.

Love the holidays! but I always indulge too much. 
It can be a treat to leave the chocolate behind
for a basic, healthy, earthbound soup that reminds us as much as bells and carols do: 
we're made and loved by a heaven full of mercy and goodness.

                

Early Peach Pie: Gift of Summer

You know, it's one thing 

to see a girl in a bathing suit down on the beach, 

where what with the glare nobody can look at each other much anyway, 

and another thing in the cool of the A&P

under the fluorescent lights, 

against all those stacked packages, 

with her feet paddling along naked 

over our checkerboard green-and-cream rubber-tile floor.

                                                                

                                        ~ A&P by John Updike (1962) 

___________________________________________________________

The first peaches are here. Not the solid, golden, freestone Elbertas (supermodels of the peach world) and not the crimson, exotic, chin-dribbling O Henrys. Those can wait for Labor Day harvest and a water-bath canner.

But these. Shy early girl peaches with no idea how gorgeous they are, tumbled just now into light woven baskets, renewing the creaky wooden pallets at your local farmstand. They're tender and blushing and sweet, carefree as a summer breeze. They'll bake up perfectly in the season's first peach pie.

Pies can be tricky. I made this one with thanks to Norma Mitchell's never-fail crust and Lyn Misner's baking directions, each a holdover from decades gone by. You can't beat a spattered Relief Society cookbook for foolproof tips and tricks.

While the pie bakes, check out John Updike's youthful summer story and see if it don't bring you the salty tang of a Massachusetts beach town. One where school won't start for a few weeks yet!

Fresh Peach Pie

Crust: (makes a generous 9-inch double or lattice-top crust)

    2 sticks (or 1 cup) unsalted butter, no substitutes

    2 1/2 cups all-purpose white flour (unbleached works well)

   1/4 teaspoon salt, or more to taste

   1/2 cup ice water

Filling:

   5 to 6 cups fresh peaches, peeled and sliced

   1/3 to 2/3 cups sugar, to taste

   1/3 cup flour (more if you want a well-"set" pie; I like mine kind of relaxed)

   nutmeg, cinnamon, and a pinch of ginger to taste

   butter shavings

Crust: 
Slice the cold butter into small chunks and distribute in a large mixing bowl. Add flour and salt and cut the mixture together. Two butter knives slicing cross-wise works well, and so do cookie paddles in a Bosch or Kitchen Aid countertop mixer set on a slow pulse. I've used a Cuisinart food processor successfully too. The mixture should resemble pea-sized crumbles. Try not to overdo this step. Taste and adjust according to your preference for salt.

Add the ice water all at once. I like to swirl it over the entire mixture and then work it in gently, either on a slow pulse or with my fingers. The mix should be gentle, or the crust will be tough. When the dough is holding together pretty well (it is still a little crumbly), sprinkle half a handful of flour over a smooth, cool surface. I'm lucky to have a single-surface countertop. Silicone roller mats work really well too.

shaggy face, rough circle

Place half the dough on the flour and press down gently with a rolling pin. Work from the center out, in quick light strokes to get the dough into a circle shape (disk) of 1/8 to 1/4-inch thickness. You'll find you can repair tears with a finger dipped in ice water; or just push the dough together and roll it again. Try not to overwork the dough — a single rollout is best. But if things get out of hand, gather it all together, spread the little bit of flour, and try again. You will get one!

the dough feels like cool, heavy sheets pulled off a clothesline

Fold the disk in half, and half again the other way. You'll have the folded, pointy corner and four rounded, disk edges, like a raggedy-edged cone shape. Pick it up carefully and set the point in the center of a glass pie baking dish. Unfold carefully and ease the crust down into the dish. Press gently so you have no air pockets,  You should have a bit of excess dough, so trim away all but an inch or so past the edge of the baking dish. 

goal: a tear-free crust, but a tear is easy to mend —
dip your finger in ice water and gently press the edges together

Filling:
Sprinkle sugar, nutmeg, cinnamon, and ginger over the peaches. Stir gently (use your hands if you like) until the sugar is dissolved. Spoon (or slide) the peaches into the waiting crust. Adjust to taste — I like a large mound of peaches. Slice and add one or two more if you want. Dot the fruit with butter shavings.

adding the top crust

Top Crust:
Roll out the remaining dough like the first. Fold as before and set it gently over the fruit (or slice gently into strips for a lattice crust). When the top crust is in place, fold the bottom edge over the top edge, and crimp together to adjust the crust. I press a right-hand finger against the V made between two left-hand fingertips. See how here.

Use a sharp knife to create small slits in the top crust, for steam to escape while the pie bakes. Sprinkle the top with sugar. A little goes a long way! Protect the edges with a foil shield so they don't brown too fast. See how here.

Bake at 400 degrees for 15 minutes. Then, turn the heat down to 300 degrees and bake for 30 minutes more. Cool on a rack and serve with vanilla ice cream. 

_____________________________________________

Sometimes classic is awesome!

I made this for my guys the day before leaving town. Gotta remind them to miss me!

And at that very moment . . .

... I hastened to wave the sign
with the index finger pointed at me;
and at that very moment
I happened to make a dreadful faux pas,
something unforgivable,
a display of human wretchedness
to make you sink into the ground in shame ... 

                                    ~Italo Calvino from Cosmocomics (1969)

"The Light Years," a story I love by magical writer Italo Calvino, is narrated by a man named Q who's lived as long as there's been a planet to live on. Q likes to look into a telescope at night. One night he discovers a sign hung from a galaxy 100 million light years away, and the sign says I SAW YOU.

Who is this I? another telescoper might think. There’s somebody out there!

Not Q. You saw me? he asks, through the ensuing paragraphs. What was I doing? What part of me did you see?

Q could calm down with a little baking

Q is unable to subscribe to the very good advice we hear sometimes: 

What other people think of you 

is none of your business. 

Instead, he does a quick calculation and check of his extensive diary. He realizes that according to his records, the sign-maker saw him 200 million years ago, at the very moment in his life when he’d sunk to his behavioral low. 

LET ME EXPLAIN, Q wants to say. He considers flashing his own sign. But a message like that risks reinforcing the earlier perception. His galactic reputation possibly ruined, Q sets about restoring it. He wants to start over. He calculates the best moment to broadcast an arrow, LOOK AWAY. He waits again. LOOK NOW. He scans the sky every night, wondering, worrying. 

At last another sign appears. THERE YOU GO AGAIN, it says. The universe persists at seeing him wrongly, at only his worst.

Undeterred, Q searches his diaries for a moment he can highlight:

              I recalled a day when I had really been myself, I mean myself in the way 

           I wanted others to see me. This day—I calculated rapidly—had been exactly 

           one hundred million years ago.

He figures the time and distance, he waits, he broadcasts this moment, hoping to be seen in his best light. Only to discover  . . . well, I won’t spoil the story!

Q wants what we all want: “. . . to be seen,” as novelist Pam Durban writes, “through the dark light of his troubles, and loved anyway.”

Calvino exits the story with a beautiful passage about “the arbitrary ledger of misunderstandings.” It’s one of the most haunting and lovely paragraphs ever. 

Track this story down if you can. Read it slowly, as you enjoy a warm drink (or the traditional orange juice) with a plate of the biscotti invented by Calvino’s country[wo]man.

Biscotti means twice-baked. Better than half-baked! Getting in touch with my Italian side.

My people come from the northern Italian province where Calvino attended university. I like to think they too enjoyed biscotti, before as well as after they left the old country for God. For the New World. For the way they chose to start over, which has made all the difference for me.

Basic Biscotti

                            2¼ cups flour
                      1¼  teaspoons baking powder
                      ¼ teaspoon salt
                      8 Tablespoons butter, softened
                      ¼ cup sugar (or a little more to taste)
                      2 eggs, beaten lightly
                      1 teaspoon vanilla extract
                      
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Sift flour, baking powder, and salt in a small mixing bowl. Set aside. Cream butter and sugar in a large mixing bowl until fluffy, then add eggs one at a time, combining well after each. Stir in vanilla. Gradually add flour mixture, beating gently until combined. Dough is stiff.

Transfer dough to a lightly floured surface and shape into a long roll, about 3 inches by 12 inches. Lightly coat a baking sheet with cooking spray and transfer the roll to the sheet. Flatten slightly, then bake until golden brown, 30 to 35 minutes. Remove from oven and set aside until cool enough to handle, about 15 minutes. Keep the oven hot.

two rolls of cherry almond biscotti
the recipe doubles easily

Using a serrated knife, cut the warm roll into half-inch slices on the diagonal. Place the slices flat on the same baking sheet and bake a second time, turning once gently, until golden brown on the cut portion. It's about 5 minutes per side. I did not re-spray the baking sheet before this step.

Take care to not overbake—the biscotti should feel softer in the middle. They become crisper, even crunchy, as the cookies cool. After 5 minutes out of the oven, transfer the cookies to racks for cooling. Biscotti keep well for up to 2 weeks in a sealed container. They freeze well if you can't live with them in the cupboard (I can't!). Great for shipping to someone special. 

dark chocolate almond biscotti, ready for the second bake

Variations:

lemon pistachio

Cherry Almond. Add dried cherries and chopped, blanched almonds to the dough, after the flour mixture is combined.

Lemon or Lemon Chip or Lemon Pistachio. Add 1 Tbsp. grated/zested lemon peel and chopped pistachios (optional) to the dough, after the flour mixture is combined. Squeeze in some fresh lemon juice for extra zing. I tried this with white chocolate chips, also very good.

Dark Chocolate Almond: add chopped chocolate covered almonds to the dough, after the flour mixture is combined.

Have fun with other combinations. Some popular versions: Anise Almond. White Chocolate Macadamia. Plain Biscotti dipped in chocolate or vanilla candy coating.

And brought'st thy sweets along with thee . . .

Rise heart; thy Lord is risen . . .      

Can there be any day but this?
There is but one, and that one ever.
                     ~George Herbert (1633)

Here is an Easter Bread from the Polish tradition, studded with sweets and nuts and glazed with almond bark and grated lemon. The XV on the top signifies Christ is Risen. 

fruits and nuts to stir into the dough

risen and ready for the oven

           

Easter Bread

        Bread:
            2 scant Tablespoons active dry yeast
            1/2 cup warm water
            3/4 cup milk, scalded and then cooled
            1/3 cup sugar
            1 teaspoon salt
            2 large eggs
            1/2 cup shortening
            1/2 cup golden raisins
            1/2 cup mixed dried and/or candied fruit (I used cherries and dates)
            1/2 cup chopped blanched almonds
            2 teaspoons grated lemon peel (orange peel too if desired)
            4 1/2 to 5 cups white flour

        Glaze:
            1 cup powdered sugar
            1 scant Tablespoon warm water
            1 teaspoon lemon juice
            grated lemon peel to taste

Dissolve yeast in warm water. Stir in milk, sugar, salt, eggs, shortening, raisins and fruit, almonds, lemon peel, and about half the flour. Beat until smooth. Stir in flour to make a medium-soft dough and knead until smooth and elastic. Let dough rest for 10 minutes or so. Punch it down and form a round loaf. Spank the loaf a few times so it knows what's what, plus to remove air pockets. Place it in a greased round casserole dish or loaf pan. Cover and let rise in a warm place (I put the bread pan on top of the in-use dryer), about 20 minutes.

Bake at 375 until the top is golden brown, about 45 minutes. Cool on a rack. Spoon glaze over the bread and sprinkle with grated lemon peel. Trim with a thickened glaze, piped on top.

Come with high and holy hymning

He hath opened heaven's gate

May the leprechauns be near you

The trees bent down to the river in a whispering
and they hung their long shadows 
over the water
and the horse jerked quick and sudden
and I felt there would be a dying,
but I pulled the rope up
to keep her neck above water,
only just.

       ~ Colum McCann
          Everything in This Country Must

I got lost in Ireland once, and took my map into a countryside service station near the Wicklow Hills. Inside, an Irish lass laid my map across her counter. She showed me where her station was, and traced the line to my destination. She lifted her eyeglasses and looked at me, placed her hand on my arm.

"Ye're alright," she said, in her pretty brogue. "Ye're grand. Ye're perfect! Ye're on the right road."

I've been in love with her country ever since.

Stories from Irish writers hold a lot of water. Theirs is a green and beautiful land with its share of sorrowful history. Yet also a good measure of joy and laughter. Its stories are full of song.

James Joyce and his Dubliners, the way a girl "shook music from the buckled harness." His single-day "flower of the mountain" Ulysses has been called the best English-language novel of the 20th Century. Page count: over 600, so we could never say of Mr. Joyce, "there are no words." One day I might make it through . . .

William Trevor writes stories so full of compassion and pathos you want God to read them with you in mind. Edna O'Brien gave us The Country Girls. And in the tearful, haunting Dancing at Lughnasa, Brian Friel tells the loss of his beloved aunts, away to London in the 1930s.

Alice McDermott writes heartbreakers about Irish Americans in New York: Charming Billy, and After This. There's Colm Toibin's lovely Brooklyn and Mothers and Sons. And Colum McCann, excerpted above, has an epic novel about Ireland and America called TransAtlantic. On my list.

For a taste of Ireland, try this hearty springtime meal. I served mine with baking powder biscuits and peach freezer jam for Sunday dinner. God and Mary be with you.

Corned Beef and Cabbage

just before adding the liquid

1 2.5-3 lb uncooked corned beef brisket, rinsed                    

1 Tbsp. black peppercorns

1 Tbsp. coriander seeds

1 Tbsp. yellow mustard seeds

Flat-leafed parsley to taste

1 medium onion chopped in a half-inch dice

6 medium red or yellow potatoes, halved

6 carrots, peeled and chopped in full-inch pieces

1 good-sized head of cabbage, cored and cut into 6 to 8 wedges

add cabbage for the final 20 minutes

1 cup chicken broth or beer (optional)

Water

Spritz a large Dutch oven or other heavy pot with cooking spray and spoon in potatoes, onions, and carrots. Add the brisket and the spices and parsley. Pour broth and water to cover the meat. 

Bring to a very low boil on the cooktop and then cover the pot. Transfer to a 325-degree oven for 3 to 3 1/2 hours, cooking low and slow until the beef is tender. Place the cabbage wedges over the meat, cover, and bake a final 20 minutes. The cabbage should have a little crunch left, and the beef will be fork-perfect. Serve with horseradish and mustard. Pass the drippings.

May you have
no frost on your spuds
no worms on your cabbage
May your goat give plenty of milk
And if you inherit a donkey,
may she be in foal