And I thought that I'd learned something from that tank top.

When I posted our new Craft: along projects this month, with one of them being that lacy Summer Scarf, I *knew* I'd be at least making the scarf, if not the swimsuit cover-up too, because I have kind of felt like knitting since I finished Bubba's sweater and it wasn't a total steaming failure.

And, since this scarf was a "very easy" lace pattern, with only two repeats to keep track of, I though oh this will be a cinch and I will finish it tonight and won't I be so proud of myself.

Wrong.

See, I was under the false assumption that I'd learned something from that tank top I knitted. That lace one that came out *thisclose* to perfect ('cept for the too strangly straps and the too-shortness of the length BUT WHATEVER). I thought I'd learned how to keep my brain about me when I was knitting lace and not get all ginned up and off-pattern as I'm sometimes apt to do.

Well, I didn't learn from the lace tank top. And, apparently, I also didn't learn from the two pairs of lace knee socks either.

Because I have tried knitting this scarf THREE TIMES already and had to rip it back after finding my rows decreasing by 2 stitches after the first repeat.

WTF?

Where are these stitches going?

Why is this scarf arching me?

Anyway. I've decided that this pattern, for me, is a jerk. Because if I can't sit down and NOT DRINK MY G&T and then still not get this thing done properly in an evening, then it's getting put away until such time as my brain swells to the size of normal human girl proportions.

Until then, I do believe I will try my hand at crafting a swimsuit cover-up for the Singer contest (and this month's Craft: along project - don't forget!) because somehow I feel like I'm the boss of Tshirts more than I am of yarn at this point.

I will clarify that by saying that I will be converting yet another Tshirt into yet another piece of clothing that is not a Tshirt. I mean, obviously, since I just told you I was going to make a swimsuit cover-up.

You know what I mean.

Thankfully AIDS Walk is only about a week away, so I know I'll have some new Tshirts in the house to dispatch at will.

OH! And if you are of the generous nature and would like to sponsor me for AIDS Walk (this is the only thing I fundraise for, so don't worry I won't be back here every five seconds being, like, "Hey! Gimme money for whatever thing I'm doing right now!" because I won't. That shit bugs me, too.), feel free to hit the sidebar there to donate on my AIDS Walk page, or just click here and go on with your life. And, hey, also feel free to ignore this entire paragraph - I will still love you just as much.

And also, please don't take my experience with this scarf as any indication of how your own Summer Scarf will come out, because there are already photos in our pool of successfully started scarves that look super normal and lovely and that is because most people have the ability to knit a "very easy" lace scarf with only two repeats.

Yes, I just admitted to being incredibly inept. I think we all feel better with that out on the table. It's fine.

But, if you do attempt the scarf and you do have the same experience as I did, well, then we can hold hands and skip down the sidewalk together humming the theme song to Laverne and Shirley (Why L&S? Dunno.) knowing that at least we're not alone in our knitting inabilities. Sound good? I thought it would.

Ok, off I go to find a Tshirt that needs bossing around.

They don't miss me.

I hadn't intended to immediately come back and report on whether the garden actually missed me, but given their obvious response, I feel I should provide an update.

Their response, when translated by me, Vegetable Whisperer to the Stars, boils down to, "We don't need your ass around here. Thankyouverymuch."

Oh.

I've been back at work going on three days now and this was apparently all the garden wanted in the whole wide world so that they could get things happening in a meaningful way because yesterday I found the #1 RIPENING TOMATO HOLY SHIT, silks (SILKS!) on the corn and buds all over my new kumquat tree.

You see me. I see you. Let's get on with our lives.

Dude. Your silk is showing.

DUDE! YOUR SILK IS SHOWING!

Stop talking, idiot! She sees us!

I don't have anything funny to say. I'm a kumquat, that's funny enough.

So, not only does the garden not miss me, I do believe my presence might have been keeping it from its regularly scheduled business of making food.

Or OR maybe the garden took my being home as an indication that it, too, should take a breather, and so spent the last two months sort of hanging back (except for the beans, who are apparently of the ALL WORK NO PLAY variety) finishing knitting projects and taking their dog to the beach.

But who can say? These vegetables can be so coy.

Anyway, that's all I came here to say. That I spotted the first (and there are actually a few) ripening tomato last night and then nearly stroked out in the garden as I tried to convey the magnitude of my discovery to Bubba.

And then we petted the corn. Ok, *I* petted the corn while Bubba stood there and mumbled something quietly to himself about poorly made life choices.

And then, while he was holding his head in his hands, I whispered some sweet nothings to my beloved new kumquat about how I would eat each and every fruit he produced and feel free to challenge me with a bumper crop oh tiny dwarf kumquat I love you and such.

Ok, that's all then. I promise I'll talk about something else next time besides the garden.

Adopt a Crop update: Let's see if they miss me.

I go back to work today after two months off on sabbatical and since you're all wondering (like I am) what I'd be doing if I weren't at work, allow me to show you:

First of all, I'd be picking beans. Because that is what I did every day since they started producing. Because they are very productive plants and Bubba and I live in constant fear of being forced to flee from our homeland by The Beans.

Then, I'd go stand by the corn and try to figure out, via self-snapshot, how much taller it'd gotten in the last five minutes. Because that shit grows in immeasurable bounds by the moment.

Ok, so its growth is probably measurable, but not by any method we're using. Because we are using only two measurement tactics:

• Is it knee high by 4th of July? YES, check.
• Is it high as an elephant's eye? Depends. We'll need to borrow your elephant for that.

There's an ongoing debate in our house about whether the corn was supposed to be "High as an elephant's eye by 4th of July" or just "Knee-high by 4th of July" with its final height expected to be "High as an elephant's eye."

That raised eyebrow is Bubba silently questioning my methods.

Since I've never encountered corn much over knee height by early July, I don't see where this overacheiving 4th of July Elephant's Eye corn would come from. Bubba, however, disagrees. He being of midwestern (and therefore All Corn Knowing) descent, claims that these two sayings are actually one enormous corn height saying and then he turns his back and refuses to hear otherwise.

Specifically, it's "High as an elephant's eye by 4th of July" or nothing at all, for him.

Whatever. My corn has tassles, and so that is now more amusing to me than its height. Which may or may not be that of an elephant's eye. And now I never want to say, "4th of July" or "elephant's eye" ever EVER ever again.

Yay.

But we can say, Tassles. Tasssssssssseeeellllllllllllles.

After the drama with the corn, I'd move on to inspecting the cucumbers WHICH, I will say, are promising abundance. Abundance of such greatness, in fact, that it prompted the ordering of a larger capacity food processor that has a more, ahem, accomodating food tube through which I can push (via food pusher, don't think I'll be using my fingers) many MANY round lemon cucumbers for the pickle chip making.

Let this also be your official announcement that your first 2009 Adopt a Crop crop: Lemon Cucumber has arrived.

"I'm #1! I'm #1!"

I'll admit though, I've wanted a larger food processor for a while. And between the largeness of the cucumbers and the inability of my 3 cup processor to handle the rigors of, say, a pie crust or this bread recipe, it was determined (by an expert - Me) that I needed, immediately, the largest food processor I could possibly store in my house.

After I got rid of five things. And, so far, I've gotten rid of three things. To the point where I'm sure I can fit this in my cabinets if I just do some magic Forcing It, a skill for which I am well known.

We will soon be forced through a food tube and that does not seem glamorous at all.

After doing impulse shopping at the behest of my cucumbers, I would go over to the tomatoes and sit down for a lengthy lecture, during which time I would counsel them on their lackluster effort in ripening for me.

These are not my tomatoes. Obviously. They are red. That's how you know.

See, we picked some of our neighbor's tomatoes (they said it was OK - these are the nice neighbors you know) that were all nice and red (and in some cases, orange) and ripe and put them into some pasta with some fresh basil that's growing right next to MY tomatoes so that they'd know we were cheating on them because COME ON ripen up already.

It was a crime of passion, this tomato adultery.

So, sure, some of their tomatoes are small and anus-looking, but they are ripening more every day and are still good even if they're not ours and Better Boys. And do you know why they're still good? Because they're red. And ripe.

If someone had told me this was a fake toy tomato, I'd have believed them.

Which is more than I can say about our tomatoes, even given their enthusiasm for putting out slowly ripening fruit.

Just imagine this multiplied by 20 and then you'd have an idea of what's going on out there.

Oh, and not like I need to tell you, but I'd go over to the cilantro and give it the finger. Because it's been bolted for weeks now and, just for fun (because I secretly hate it), I've let it bloom out and go to seed. Because I don't even want to waste my time pulling it out. It should have to sit there and think about what it did.

Really though, that bed needs a bit more greenery, BUT STILL, I'm mad at it.

Stupid fast-bolter.

After that, I don't know what I'd do. Maybe ride my bike to Pilates or the library, take a nap on the lawn with the dog, bake something, work on the scarf I've got going, plant more stuff in my new landscaping, read my beekeeping book...you know, whatever might strike my fancy.

If I were still on sabbatical. Which I'm not. So you can all stop hating me now, and if you want to see pictures, you can check them out here.

I'm going to take this slideshow off the sidebar now because, well, I don't need my Sabbatical Self showing off while I'm Working.

She's such a bitch, that one.

How things went with the race.

And that is Mt. Rainier. On a clear day. I stared at it a lot.

You'll recall that I did not do any hill training for this race. The one with the scary looking elevation map?

You remember.

I didn't end up doing the big training I thought I was going to do because I realized it would suck and I didn't want to spend my sabbatical time with guaranteed suckage. I was willing to face the consequences in Seattle because, my thought was, one day of hill suckage is better than a dozen, which is how many I would have spent running hills at The Dish had I actually gone through with my Big Talker hill training.

I'll just have one day of suckage, during the race itself, and that will be better than many days of torture leading up to something that's so obviously going to suck regardless, was my thinking.

Well, I'm so happy and proud and gloaty (not a word) to say I WAS SO RIGHT!

Sort of.

See, it didn't suck that much at all, these hills.

I mean, it wasn't like I was all, "WOO! HILLS! Someone pinch my behind because I think I'm dreaming!" or anything but at least I didn't approach the first hill shrieking, "Oh shit. It's The Hill."

Some lady next to me did, though, and I never did see her again after that so I'd wager that perhaps she might have benefited from some sucky hill training.

Me though? It was so not that bad.

I recall running the hills and thinking that they were way scarier represented as peaks and valleys on the dramatic-ass elevation map and also congratulating myself on my intense laziness that prevented me from going through unnecessarily torturous hill training.

And, new thing I learned from a legit runner friend of mine was realized on these Oh I'm So Scary hills - running downhill like a jackass is way fun.

I ran down all the hills like a maniac. You know, like little kids do before they find out that you can easily fall and scrape your face off or snap an ankle running like such an asshole. But it was a stupid kind of fun in which I indulged because:

1. Real Runner Friend told me she does it
2. I wasn't doing the full marathon so felt perfectly fine behaving like the fraudulent running impersonator I knew the marathoners to consider me to be.

So yay! I fly down the hills past so many people! And hey marathoners - enjoy that extra 13 miles once we get into the city! Woo!

I did not, for the record, scrape my face off or snap anything important but I do believe it was this ill-advised activity that had my quads sore for the following two days. Although I can walk while bending at the knees now, an ability about which I could not boast four days ago. Especially given the careful planning that went into descending the single shallow step off my friend's back porch. Fucking precarious, man.

As for the rest of the course, beyond these mild hills, it was pretty entertaining and scenic.

Please note that none of the entertainment and only part of the scenery was courtesy of the race organizers.

While I may participate in these Rock and Roll races, with their many stages of live bands and what not, I have zero interest in listening to the worn out cover songs they play or, even worse, the original songs they've constructed in their parent's basements.

Instead, I have my iPod turned up to Maximum Annoying Sound Blockage and progress through the race with Marilyn Manson scream-o-ing Armagoddamnmuthafuckingeddon in my ears so that I don't have to bear the brunt of old dude band music or those people who insist on talking to their race buddies about useless minutia between strained breaths in an effort to pass the time.

Really? Do you think it's necessary to comment on how nice is this weather anyway we're so lucky for, like, the 80th time in four miles? Just stop talking and try to get a handle on your breathing before you pass out and have to be carried to a medical station on the back of some dude's bike.

Another weird thing about this race was the frequency with which people randomly fell down.

Yes. I will admit I laughed quietly to myself while hoping I wasn't dooming myself to a similar fate by making silent fun in my head.

It was weird. Twice I saw two seemingly able bodied people totally bite the dust for no apparent reason and then not get up. I'm not sure if it was the shock of the catastrophe or exhaustion setting in, but both falls were detrimental enough to where they were still lying on the ground (with medical help approaching - I'm not cruel!) when I passed by.

In an effort to spare myself being struck down by a stray bolt of lightening, I chose to Learn Something from those poor souls and just watch where I was going and not drag my feet.

Lesson learned. I did not fall down.

Although, there was a moment where I thought the whole race had lost its mind and everyone might start falling down when the entire pack in front of me veered suddenly to the right and began pulling out cameras and cell phones.

(Yes, I too, was curious about these people that carry cameras and cell phones during a BQ race, but let's not get into that. You know how I get.)

Turns out there was an impressively huge and gorgeous bald eagle just sitting there on a branch hanging over Lake Washington. With only the clear blue sky hanging behind his form, he was truly a stunning sight to see. Something you don't see every day. And if you live somewhere other than Washington or, like, Alaska, you probably just don't see at all. Which is why I feel justified about my very honest and sincere reaction to this Sight of Beauty.

When I saw the eagle, I admit to yelling (I could hear myself over Marilyn, so, it had to be loud), "HOLY SHIT. THAT'S...WOW."

Because it was, well, wow. To the point where the alarmed runners on my left side, who were initially startled by my outburst, just smiled and laughed and agreed that, "Yeah - that shit is pretty wow."

Thank you. I thought so, too.

Beyond all that, the drama was kept to an unprecedented minimum. There was no seventy year old dude in American flag shorts. There wasn't any barefoot hooker bouncing along in front of me waving to bystanders as though they were going to tuck a fiver into her sports bra. There wasn't even a near death experience as I tried to take in my Luna Moons and water around hour one.

In fact, the biggest drama of all happened before the race, when I was trying to navigate the logistics of getting my body to the starting line and that ended up being no issue whatsoever because my sister, BLESS HER SOUL, told me I was an idiot for thinking she'd let me take the bus anywhere at 4am and hello, I'll just drive you to the race start because Tukwila is 20 minutes from my house.

Oh.

And then, when we saw the traffic stacking up four miles before the off-ramp to Tukwila, she shortcutted us, as only a seasoned local can, through some windy backroad that dropped me off one wooded block from my corral.

Well. Look at that. And everyone else is still waiting in line on the freeway. Including the stupid shuttles. And probably some buses.

Wuv you, Chelle.

It was super excellent. To the point where I never even thought twice about the fact that she'd Surprise! woken me up an hour early because, in setting her alarm clock the night before, had accidentally set her clock back an hour. Thankfully, it only takes me about 2.5 seconds to go back to sleep and that extra hour where I didn't have to circumnavigate the globe via bus and shuttle was probably my edge for this race.

This race with hills. In which I achieved a PR. And did not make a hot public mess of myself in my sister's city. And got to trot along with the 4:13 marathon pace group masquerading, albeit briefly, as an actual marathoner.

Those people look good. I think I need a trainer.

Next up, San Jose in October. I *may* try to train my way down to a 2:TEENS:00 time, but we'll see.

Race fries. With feta. It improves the sodium reuptake levels. Yes, I just made that up.

Craft: along 2009 : July

Dear Donk,

There's no traffic on the freeway (well, let's say there's less), it's hot enough to inspire Bubba to install our attic fan (YES) and, whoopsy, there wasn't a lot of action in the Craft: along photo pool for June.

And so I believe this tells us that summer is here.

Summer is here and HELLO baking isn't as fun as it was, say, back in November when I was wearing all my clothes and trying to warm the house by any means necessary.

But, for those of you who did man up and bake - I bow to you. You are a strong people.

Particularly, NutsyCoco who worked through the Carrot Cake Cookie recipe without wavering and actually made the homemade frosting, which is I'm sure the thing that would have put my WT version over the top.

So, I'm lazy, we know this.

But - Nutsy - congrats! You're this month's Craft: along winner!

So, send me your home address (and full name, unless you want your mail arriving Attn: Nutsy Coco, which is fine by me, but you know) to finnyknitsATgmailDOTcom and I'll send you off your prize. I promise it will not include winter items like a snowman kit or anything.

I get it, y'all - summer = fun outside time not let's heat up the house with cookies time.

SO - for July, let's go with projects that are useful in the summer. Like, say, a Tshirt transformed into a swimsuit cover-up OR a quick knit summer scarf.

The deal with the Tshirt transformation is that you can transform a Tshirt into anything, for the purposes of our Craft:along (including a swimsuit cover-up) OR you can make a swimsuit cover-up from whatever materials you desire (including a Tshirt) for the purposes of Singer, our Craft:along and your own selfish needs.


The beauty is that you stand to win TWO prizes because Singer (you know, those folks that make all them fancy sewing dealies) is hosting a Swimsuit Cover-up Contest through 7/16/09 and you could win things like a sewing machine, dress form or MakerShed gift card by adding your project photos to their photo pool. And, you know, if you win our July Craft: along challenge, you could win, like, something else that's not any of those things.

Sound fun? I thought it would. And I'm about to do AIDS Walk SF again, so, you know, I'll have some extra shirts.

ALSO - don't forget - if you are feeling knitty, you could bang out a quick summer scarf for use in the office, in the event that you're about to go back to work from being on sabbatical for two months and GEEZ they keep your building like a goddamn ice box even though we're all super concerned about conserving resources.


I'm just saying that I've heard other people might work in similar conditions. Where you bring bunny slippers to work in July because as soon as it hits 80 degrees outside, the office goes all Alaskan tundra and shit.

So, yay! New projects for July and none of them involve turning on the oven. Just upload your final project photos to our pool by the end of the month if you want to win The Mystery Box* and to Singer's pool by 7/16/09 if you want to try to win that fancy ass machine.

xo
Finny

*While The Mystery Box could be anything, I will tell you it's not a boat. And if the people at Twentieth Century Fox weren't such outstanding douche bags, I could link to something that would explain what I mean.

Nevermind.

2:24:00

My yes, I do believe that is a PR.

With hills.

Granted, it's only 11 seconds faster than my last half, but with the hills, I'll take it.

And I'll be having my race fries now.

More later.

Seriously. Really. Totally done with the sweater.

Seamless Hybrid Sweater
Pattern: Elizabeth Zimmerman
Yarn: Cascade 220 Superwash in Navy (854)
Needles: Addi Turbos 6 & 7 (12" & 24"), Yarn needle, Wool needle
Raveled

In just a shade under three months, I've managed to actually really finish Bubba's sweater and WOW it doesn't look like horse shit.

I mean, WOW. WOW, people!

And, really, thank gawd.

Because if after the ordering and returning and reordering of yarn, needles and books, all the math and figuring and feeling retarded, the ripping and reworking and inventing of careful labeling systems, the knitting, reknitting and reknitting yet again of the collar, this thing didn't look awesome and fit awesome and machine wash/dry awesome - someone would have to die.

Like, I would have so much rage and disappointment and sadness and woe that I'd either have to throw myself into traffic or give up knitting altogether.

THAT is how serious this was.

But serious is so boring and scary, so let's instead enjoy the not boring, serious or scariness of TEE DAH! the finished Seamless Hybrid Sweater for Bubba.

We don't really do serious around here anyway.

When asked to model the cuffs, he struck a pose common to his early teenage years. Kidding.

This is when he noticed that Jada had been helping me knit his sweater, too. Thanks, puppy!

I had to view the collar and shoulder panels from every angle because, let's face it, there's not much else to see.

Who has two fingers and an awesome sweater they'll wear everyday in the winter time? Bubba does.

Perhaps we're all just a little relieved that it's done.

So, now, obviously, I'll be knitting myself a sweater. A top down raglan one. Likely from this same book and likely in some sort of non-wool, machine wash/dry yarn. Taupe maybe. Or cream.

Don't worry, I'll tell you alllllllllll about it. Later.

For now though, I'm off to Seattle to try to kill myself running hills. Wish me luck! Or just, at least, cross your fingers that I make it across the finish line without bringing shame upon myself in a very public and grotesque way.

That new hobby I was talking about.

I know the exact moment when the germ of this new hobby of mine was planted in my pea brain.

I was shuttling into the city on BART about a decade ago, listening to some piece on NPR about an area in the south somewhere where they were recruiting people to become beekeepers.

"Learn how to keep bees! Help raise pollinators for local crops! Wear a hazmat looking outfit and freak out your neighbors!", they'd cried.

OK, so nothing about the hazmat suit specifically, but that did come to mind at the time, mostly because we had neighbors whose trash sort of required the wearing of a hazmat suit and I think I fantasized about the efficiency of having one on hand.

But the story was interesting and they had some colorful folks sharing their stories of interacting with bees in a keeping scenario and it was cool to hear about how local farmers would call them out to their fields with their boxes of bees to help pollinate their crops.

Neato. And, hey! I'm not even afraid of bees - so, no scary factor.

At the time though, that's about as far as my brain went with this faraway story of bees in boxes and people in hats with veils. And then it sat, this story, in the back of my mind gathering strength until a few months ago when I saw a post on the Love Apple Farm blog for a beekeeping class.

I am not even lying when I say that I signed up as soon as I read the post. In fact, I may not have even read the whole post. I think I just saw, "Class: Natural Bee-keeping" and scrolled down until I found a place to sign up. I thought I might have been the first to sign up, but I heard Cynthia say something to the effect of "Oh! You were our first sign up!" when checking in this First Signer Upper as I was wondering their gardens last weekend, so boo.

Thankfully I had these poppies to ogle, so I wasn't that sad.

She did, however, remember my name, but that could have been for any number of reasons that I assume had nothing to do with a thorough background check.

Ahem.

Let it never be said that I'm anything other than a self-involved child, obsessed with seeking the approval and recognition of those around me, OK.

So yeah, I took a beekeeping class. With the intention of keeping bees sometime in the near future. Of course, I come to find out in this class that starting a hive is something you do in the spring rather than in the dead heat of summer, but that's OK, I'll just have to do a shitload of research and ordering and perhaps helping of local beekeepers before I start a hive of my own and also stocking our house with EpiPens because you know that Bubba is allergic to bees.

Bless this man, he has always supported this idea of mine. To be a beekeeper. Granted, I've never said anything about doing it on any grand scale or making it my livelihood or tearing down his garage to set up rows of hives, but even from my way back days of sharing our "What if" jobs, he always said it was cool! you should do it.

He wasn't as wild about my desire to raise goats to rent out to people with grassy fire-loving fields, but that's because he hates goats more than he hates dying of anaphylactic shock, so nothing against me or my bizarre "What if" jobs, specifically, since he would have had the same reaction to me wanting to raise turkeys - another creature he hates at least as much as goats.

Maybe I should tell him I want a potbellied pig.

I have not entertained the idea of chickens, although I hear that's becoming a popular hobby as well. But I visited the chickens at Love Apple Farms - even bought some of their fabulous eggs - but I'm not having that brand of stinky in my yard and plus Jada would probably do in my flock before I got Egg 1. Plus, I am not really an egg person and Bubba would kill the Rooster the second he crowed before 6am, so meh.

WHATEVER I'M GOING TO KEEP BEES AND THAT IS THE POINT.

Those little white dots are bees going back to the hive. Like you couldn't have figured that out.

And the class was very well done, even to the point where I got to stand on the approach path to the hives and let the bees just land all over me while our instructor moved frames around in the hives with her bare hands.


Plus, I got to roam all around Love Apple Farms, which is glorious and interesting in its own right, and which made the event even more supah perfect. I basically dorked out on a lot of levels and took pictures of a lot of vegetables without anyone thinking (out loud anyway) what a freak I was because they were doing it, too.


Ah, the joy of being around people who are dorky in the same way that you are dorky - it's liberating really. Like not having to suck it in at a wedding because you decided to wear a maxi dress instead of that tight strapless thing so YAY you can eat dinner and then not look like you swallowed a watermelon.

This photo has nothing to do with looking like a whale at a wedding, but isn't it nice just the same?

So, now you know my "I'm taking up yet another new hobby" news and I can go back to weaving in the ends of Bubba's sweater.

Because it's done.

But we'll talk about that tomorrow or something.

You can eat my childhood, too. [RECIPES]

I'll save my fun "I'm taking up yet another new hobby" news for later because it's apparently vital that I share my mom's challah recipe NOW.

Not that I blame you for wanting this recipe, I've talked it up enough and, well, it's quite good.

I will say, however, that while my great grandbubbie did use a version of this recipe, she omitted what I consider to be The Crucial Turmeric, and so I associate my personal childhood of Fridays making challah with my mom with this recipe rather than hers because, well, I ate more of this particular blend.

It's a good blend.

I will also say that while these are both excellent blends of challah, it is not a Secret Home Recipe that came over from The Old Country sewn into my great great grandma's housecoat or anything. No, like many family recipes to which I find myself irretrievably attached, this recipe came from a send-away cookbook.

Like, when back in the day there wasn't any Internets, and you would send a request away to, say, Fleischmann's for their "Everything You Need To Know About Yeast Baking" booklet and then, 6-8 weeks later, you'd get a little package in the mail which included all those things you needed to know to use their yeast forever and ever.

And, if you were lucky, this little package would also include some glorious-looking baked items photographed in the most barftastic of stagings which would involve plastic flower arrangements, blinding flashbulb blow outs and heinous oilcloth place mats.

But you've seen this kind of thing before, so I don't need to go into too much detail. The photos in the Fleischmann's cookbook are about the same, which is to say that they are AWESOMELY FUNNY and I've already asked my mom to leave me this cookbook in her will. Complete with the deteriorating rubber band that is holding the book forever open to the challah recipe.

Thankfully, and unlike the Weight Watchers cards, the food itself in this cookbook is nothing short of amazing. I begged my mom to make no fewer than three of the items and then openly swooned at things like Moravian Orange Cake, Cinnamon Swirl Bread and then something with a Russian name that I couldn't pronounce but looked exactly like heaven would if it were made of fluffy bread.

I can see why my family has a lifelong devotion to Fleischmann's yeast. Clearly, these people know exactly what the fuck they're talking about when it comes to baking things. Delicious, fluffy, Imusthaveitnow kind of things.

Speaking of which, here's my mom's challah recipe, which originally came from Fleischmann's "Everything You Need to Know about Yeast Baking" booklet and to which I made one small change.

I dare you to not love this.

Mom's Challah
From Fleischmann's "Everything You Need to Know About Yeast Baking"
My changes in BOLD
My mom's changes in italics

Makes 2 loaves

Ingredients
4 1/2 - 5 1/2 cups white flour
2 T sugar
1 1/2 t salt
1 package of yeast (I think you know what kind they want you to use, but I won't tell.)
1/3 cup softened unsalted butter
1 t ground turmeric (or saffron, if you have it)
1 cup very warm tap water
4 eggs at room temp
1 t cold water
1/4 t poppy seeds (use sesame seeds and die)

To make
In a your mixer or a large bowl thoroughly mix 1 1/4 cups flour, sugar, salt and undissolved active dry yeast. Add your butter.

Dissolve the turmeric in very warm tap water. Gradually add to dry ingredients and beat 2 minutes at medium speed, scraping the bowl as necessary.

Add 3 of your eggs, 1 egg white (save the yolk for use later on) and 1/2 cup of flour. Beat at high speed until smooth and scrape if you need to.

Stir in enough additional flour to make a soft dough that pulls away from the sides of the bowl (around 2 3/4 cups). I find that using your dough hook is good here, if you've got one.

Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured surface and knead until smooth and elastic, adding a little flour as you go if it starts to get sticky. Do this for about 10 minutes. All the while marveling at the glorious yellow hue.

THAT IS HOT.

Place this HOT looking dough in an oiled bowl and cover with a towel. Let it rise in a warm place (like inside your oven without turning it on) for an hour or so.

Punch dough down, turn it out onto a floured surface and divide in half. Divide each of those halves into three pieces and roll each of those (six pieces now) into snakes. If you call them ropes, that's fine, but know that it's not as fun as calling them snakes and that is what you need to make it Authentic Just Like Finny's Childhood.

So you know.

Once you have all your snakes, pinch three together at the top and braid them together. Sealing again at the bottom by pinching the dough.

Do this for the other three snakes, too, and then place the loaves onto a lightly sprayed baking sheet.

Beat the leftie-over yolk with the cold water and brush onto the tops of the loaves before sprinkling liberally with poppy seeds. Don't cheap out on the poppy seeds because you know it'll keep you from having the authentic experience you desire.

Let this rise in the oven again for another hour or until it doubles in size.

Bake the loaves side by side like little best friends at 375 for about 20-25 minutes or until they're a delicious looking shiny brown on top and make a hollow sound when you GENTLY DAMN IT knock on them.

Let cool on wire racks and then proceed to eat an entire loaf in 3 days, which maybe includes building a Sin Sandwich from two slices of challah, some very thinly sliced prosciutto (damn you delicious treyf) and asiago cheese which becomes severely naughty when paired with the Extra Naughty salt-cured ham.

Also, because I was mean and teased you with a story about how I baked challah and then didn't give you the recipe, I'm throwing in a Squash Killer recipe that, incidentally, goes ruuuully well with a nice big hump of challah. And is an alternative for those of you who aren't the worst Jews in the Whole Wide World like yours truly, and perhaps don't want to offend everyone with your Kosher-ignoring ways.

You may not be struck down at your dining room table for eating this. *MAY*, I said.

Carrot Zucchini Bisque

From Lean and Delicious Cookbook (out of print)
Adapted by the Live Earth Farm recipe database
My changes in BOLD

Ingredients
1 c water
6 large carrots - peeled and cut into 1 inch pieces
2 medium zucchini or summer squash, cut into 1 inch pieces
2 cups of whole milk
2 T flour
1 t fresh ground pepper
1/4 t Vietnamese cinnamon
3 cubes of chicken bouillon
2 T extra virgins

To make
Add carrots and water to medium sized saucepan, cover and bring to a boil. Cook for 10 minutes. Add zucchini and cook for another five minutes.

Remove pan from heat and drain liquid.

Puree vegetables in a food processor or blender until smooth. Transfer back to your pot and add milk. Place over medium heat, uncovered, and stir constantly with a wire whisk, slowly incorporating the flour. Then add the black pepper, cinnamon and olive oil. Add bouillon and stir until dissolved. Heat and stir for about five more minutes and serve, garnished with extra virgins, some parsley, freshly roasted green beans from your garden and a big hump of challah, if you have it lying around.

I recommend eating this on your new patio while looking at the beans on the tepee which you'll eat in just a few days' time.

Craft: along June - What I should have been doing when it was not hot

Dear Donk,

The weather this month has me all backward and my brain is having a really hard time reconciling what it wants to be doing with what it should be doing.

See, it was unseasonably cool the first few weeks of June, and so you'd think this would have been the perfect time for doing things like finishing long overdue sweaters and baking things like this month's Craft: along project - carrot cake cookies.

But no.

I dillied. I dallied. I spent full days fucking around in the yard (which, granted, is a great thing to do when it's not blazing hot, but still). I rode my bike around town to the library and such. I went to lunch with friends. The dog and I went to the beach.

You know - I did things that you do when it's HOT out, not when it's cool out.

What I should have been doing was finishing this sweater while I could still stand being within arm's reach of wool and baking things in my oven while I could still stand to be in my house with the oven on.

But I think this is where my Bizarro World Psyche steps in and makes my life silly.

It says stupid shit like, "Oh, it may be nice and breezy cool outside, but you want to go sit in the air conditioned library and dork out on beekeeping books."

And when you try to drag your knitting outside to work on it, you realize that you've just run out of yarn and DAMMITALLTOHELL will have to go to the Innernets to order it because SADNESS all your LYSs are out of business due to the suckass economy.

Boo.

It begins to feel like my brain has a master plan for me and, when I try to defy it, it lays the smack down on me so hard that I sit back in my chair and go, "Fine, stupid brain, I give up. Let's go sit in the air conditioning even though it's only 68 degrees. FINE."

The best part is that when it warms up again, like say TODAY, I get all revved up to bake a million things and work in the yard and ride my bike to Pilates and and and...name a hundred things that you should avoid when it's hot out...

But thankfully, I've come to terms with this backward way of my brain's, so I just let it happen. And then I sweat a lot and bake some things I've been thinking about for a long time.

The first thing being the carrot cake cookies from this month's Craft: along.



Usually I have some sort of anecdote that goes along with my crafting type projects, but this was pretty cut and dry. Follow the recipe and enjoy. I did however learn two things which I will share with you now.

1. I saved myself some aggravation and used canned cream cheese frosting and found it to be excellent and way easier to deal with than making cream cheese frosting from scratch. And for those of you who are all super excited to make your own frosting, don't be deterred, I'm known for this kind of behavior.
   
   
   
   
   
2. I learned how to use the shredder/chopper blade for my food processor which is excellent given that I intend to make pickle chips using this contraption and whoopsy had not ever used this attachment so had relegated it to the Mystery Tool pile in the back of my cabinet. Thanks to my sister, who reminded me that this thing came with a special slicing blade, I can now shred carrots in THE BLINK OF A GODDAMN EYE and, I imagine, slice cucumbers into chips with similar swiftness.
   
   
   The other thing about this attachment is the warning label. Scared the shit out of me. RAZOR SHARP! DO NOT TOUCH!
   
   
   This took 3 seconds. Wow. I'M DRUNK WITH POWER! Nope, wait, that's gin. Moving on...
   
   Unfortunately, with this new-found skill came the realization that I will need to come up with something drastic in the recipe department if I want to ever get to the bottom of our carrot stash. This recipe used only 3/4 cups (or the big 1 heaping cup I shred without measuring FUN!) of carrots which came out to about 3 good sized carrots.
   
   That only left, like 50 or so in the bag.
   
   
   Oh to be able to see to the bottom of this bag...
   
   
   

So, the other thing I've been wanting to bake for a really long time but waited until it was 80+ degrees out to start was challah. My mom's challah.

For Hanukkah, the blessed woman gave me a loaf of her homemade bread AND AND AND her recipe, all printed out nicely so it'd fit into my recipe binder.

Do you love this woman yet? I know I do.

Anyway, today the stars (and heat - yay.) finally aligned so that I had all the ingredients under one roof and the time and Brain Go-Ahead to make it.

And then I realized why my mom's challah is the best challah in all the land and also why it's that pleasing shade of yellow unduplicated in the rest of Challahdom.

Also, don't let me catch you using something other than poppy seeds on your challah. I will hit you.

And it's not what I thought.


If you'll recall, I went on a brief rant about how most challah you'll find out there is a big fat fraud because it's not yellow enough. My theory was that it didn't have enough eggs in it so someone back in the Challah Department was cheaping out when they were putting the eggs into the big corporate Kitchenaid and now we were all suffering the consequences of substandard white and bland challah.

Notice this has a nice yellow hue. Even from the outside.

No. I will not have it. I will only accept the genuine article and that is my mom's challah in all its yellow eggy glory!

It's almost like it's winking at you.

Except that the lovely desirable shade of yellow in my mom's challah comes not from eggs (even though there are plenty of eggs in there! This Kitchenaid doesn't cheap out!), but instead from turmeric.

Turmeric!

So, you know, sorry people whom I previously offended with my accusations of egg-cheapness. It's not the eggs you're missing, it's the turmeric. I still won't eat your bread and call it challah, but I'll stop calling you really mean names in public. Also, start adding turmeric dissolved in 1 cup of warm water to your challah dough as its mixing - makes all the difference.


So, now I have carrot cake cookies and proper challah and my house is its own oven, so feel free to swing by and put your cookies out to bake on my living room floor.

Excuse me while I go turn on a fan or something.

xo,
Finny