Grandma Renner’s Apple and Raisin Stuffing

Only a week before Thanksgiving! Have you decided on all your recipes yet? I’d like to recommend my Grandma Renner’s Apple and Raisin Stuffing!

This may be Germanic, or it may not. It is, however, THE BEST DRESSING for Thanksgiving turkey. Everyone in the Renner family agrees!

Seriously, it’s an old-fashioned favorite, and not just with my family, either. I’ve got nothing against Stove Top stuffing (though it often “tastes of box.”) But it can’t hold a candle to homemade. And the sweet-savory combination of apples, onions, raisins, and celery is just what poultry wants, in the fall.

I’m actually providing you with four slightly different renditions of it. Because it’s a stuffing, it’s not rocket science. Each family member who has made it has altered it slightly, and I find that intensely interesting. I doubt that even Grandma made it the same way all the time.

So here is what I present below:

1. The recipe that I’ve transcribed from a handwritten copy by my grandma, Clara Renner.
2. The same recipe as Grandma’s, but with comments and suggestions by me, and presented in a more standard recipe format (I suggest you use this one, but of course I’m biased).
3. A version of the recipe apparently handwritten by Grandma, that had been tucked into one of her sister’s cookbooks.

4. My mom’s version of the recipe, from Mom’s recipe cards.
5. My Aunt Sally’s handwritten version of the recipe—which my cousin David uses.

It’s interesting to note that Grandma Renner didn’t care very much for turkey, so she much preferred to have chicken at Thanksgiving instead. And yeah, we often had chicken at Thanksgiving. This stuffing is great with both!

“Dressing for Turkey”: Clara Renner’s Stuffing

1 loaf bread cut into cubes and toasted in oven [...] then put in large mixing bowl or pan. Cut up about 4 stalks celery, 1 large onion, 3 apples sliced as for pies, 1 cup raisins, cover with enough water so as not to burn and cook this until almost tender, sprinkle with black pepper and a little poultry seasoning about the same amount as pepper and add about 1 tablespoon salt, pour this over the bread crumbs and add 2 unbeaten eggs and mix well, do not pack dressing in fowl too tight. Put some of the dressing [...] top of chicken. If you have any of the dressing left over, spoon or ladle some of the juice out of the bottom of the baking pan when the poultry is about done and stir this juice with the left over dressing and bake in one of your Pyrex baking dishes with lid on, take the lid off when about done to brown the top a bit.

_____

When baking any kind of fowl sprinkle the inside and outside with salt, pepper and poultry seasoning then put in baking pan and add a cup of water in bottom of pan to help to keep it moist. It is best to bake a hen at 325 for about 2½ hrs, then uncover and bake to brown on all sides until tender.

Edited Version of the Above (Julie Schroeder, presumptuous editor)

1 loaf bread [e.g., country white] cut into [½ to ¾ inch] cubes and toasted in oven [yes, until they turn golden brown]
4 stalks celery, chopped [I’d use the tender inside parts, with leaves]
1 large onion, chopped [white or yellow]
3 apples [peeled and] sliced as for pies [Jonathan was Grandma Renner’s go-to apple for pies; I think Granny Smith or other firm, tart, flavorful baking apple would work well, too]
1 cup raisins
water [or chicken or turkey stock, or liquid from cooking giblets; or milk, per Sally Renner’s version]
black pepper
poultry seasoning [such as McCormick’s, which is a blend of thyme, sage, marjoram, rosemary, black pepper, and nutmeg]
1 tablespoon salt
2 unbeaten eggs [lightly beaten, no doubt; apparently can be omitted, per Pat Schroeder’s version]

[You can make all of the stuffing/dressing in a baking dish, instead of stuffing it into the fowl. To my recollection, no one actually stuffed the turkey or chicken from the 1970s and on. People were concerned about it not getting cooked through and being a health hazard.]

Spread toasted bread cubes into large baking dish [such as a 9 x 13 inch baking pan] [and set aside].

In a saucepan or skillet, mix together celery, onion, apples, and raisins; cover with [or just “add”?] enough water [or stock] to keep from burning, and cook until almost tender. [OR: I suggest using a stick of margarine or butter, in a frying pan, to sauté the celery, onion, raisins, and apples; see other versions of this recipe.] Add black pepper, poultry seasoning, and salt. [Use plenty of seasonings, but take into account the saltiness of the water, stock, or other liquid you will use.]

Combine vegetable mixture and eggs [if using]; pour onto bread cubes in baking dish, and mix well. Adjust moisture with [stock or] poultry juices [or milk or whatever]. Bake at 350, covered, until about done, then remove lid to allow top to brown.

“Clara’s Apple and Raisin Dressing”

This version was on a piece of note paper stuck in Great Aunt Lyd’s copy of Cooking with Faith (the ca. 1970 cookbook of Faith Lutheran Church, Jefferson City). I think it’s in Grandma Renner’s handwriting. Aunt Lyd was Grandma’s younger sister. Notice that this version doesn’t use eggs.

Cut up a large loaf of bread into squares and toast, put in big container. Peel and slice 4 jonathan apples, 4 big stems of celery, 1 large or 2 medium size onions, then add a heaping cup of raisins. Put into skillet 1 whole stick margarine then add these 4 things and cook a little until about tender, then pour into that 2 cans Campbell’s chicken broth, sprinkle a little salt and pepper over this and a little poultry seasoning and stir, then pour over the toasted bread crumbs, if it isn’t moist enough to dampen all the bread add a little water.

“Mom’s Dressing”

From Pat Schroeder, so “Mom” is Clara Renner. So this is another version of Clara Renner’s apple and raisin poultry stuffing. As Grandma grew older, Pat took on more of the Thanksgiving cooking duties, and she often prepped the dressing at home in Columbia, the day before Thanksgiving, or on Thanksgiving morning. Then she brought it to Grandma’s house to finish cooking. Pat’s quantity adjustments are in brackets.

Cube and toast 1 loaf of bread.
Peel and cut up 5 [3] apples
Peel and cut up 2 [1] large onions
Cut up 4 to 6 sticks of celery
1 cup raisins

In fry pan, 1 stick margarine. Sauté onion, apple, celery, and raisins until tender. Add 2 cans undiluted chicken broth. Add salt and pepper—let it cool a little. Then pour over and mix with bread crumbs.

[This would be put into a 9 x 13 inch baking dish (or spread around the turkey in the pan and the rest placed in a smaller baking dish), and cooked, covered, in a medium oven, until heated through; then the cover would be removed and the mixture allowed to brown and dry a bit. If using aluminum foil as a cover, I suggest spraying its bottom side lightly with PAM so it won’t stick to the top of the dressing.]

[Note that this version does not include eggs. In my opinion, the recipe is fine without eggs. Nor does it include poultry seasoning, though presumably poultry seasoning would be used on the fowl. —JS]

German Apple Dressing

This version of Clara Renner’s poultry stuffing/dressing is from Sally Renner, her daughter-in-law who lived in Wyoming. As her note at the end of the recipe says, it was her husband, Elwood’s favorite. So this is the version that my cousin David uses, since his mom gave him this recipe. If anyone loves this stuffing more than me, it might be David. He makes it every year. He usually cooks it inside the turkey, too.

Note that Sally recommends using milk for moisture, or a combination of milk and giblet-cooking water.

She also does not specify sautéing or otherwise cooking the celery, onions, apples, and raisins before combining them with the bread. In fact, you add the vegetable components to the dry bread mixture the night before; they cook as they’re in the bird. Or the dish.

Also, the recipe makes a smaller quantity of stuffing than the previous two, using a small loaf of bread, medium (not large) onion, only 2 apples, only ½ cup raisins, etc.

My comments in the recipe are in square brackets —JS.

1 small loaf of bread, toasted on a baking sheet until dry and lightly browned [sliced, then toasted in the oven; David uses a toaster to toast the bread slices].

1 med. sized onion, chopped
½ cup chopped celery and leaves
2 med. sized Jonathan or Winesap apples, pared and cored to make 3 cups chopped
½ cup raisins

Cut the toasted bread into cubes and salt and pepper to taste.

I then put this in the refrigerator to season overnight. [So: the seasoned, toasted bread cubes, chopped onion, celery, and apples, and raisins, all get mixed together and sit overnight.]

In the morning, take out and add:
2 eggs, lightly beaten,
2 cups milk [see below regarding combination of milk and giblet-cooking water]
½ cup melted oleo or butter

If you have boiled the giblets to put in gravy, the liquid from them may also be used instead of 2 cups milk, [so, for example,] use 1 cup milk and 1 cup liquid from giblets. You want the bread mixture to be soft, as too dry [of a] mixture will make the stuffing hard and dry after being baked. Pack loosely into turkey or chicken.

This is the recipe from Mom Renner, and was Elwood’s favorite. If you like you can add:
1/4 tsp. ground sage
1/4 tsp. poultry seasoning

Florence Biffle’s Sweet Potato Bake

Happy Thanksgiving!

This fantastic yet simple recipe, titled “Sweet Potato Bake,” is from Mrs. Florence M. Biffle (1914–2006), who was a member of Faith Lutheran Church in Jefferson City. I recently found her obituary online. I’ll bet my Great Aunt Lydia Meyer knew her well, since she was a longtime member of the same church and was also a quilter. Also, I’ll bet my Grandma Schroeder and Great Aunt Minnie Bartlett new Mrs. Biffle, too, since they were all longtime members of Jefferson City’s Hawthorn Garden Club.

I never knew Mrs. Biffle, but I feel I could easily have known her. There’s a good chance I was in the same room with her at some point, and just never knew it. Anyway, I’m grateful to her for this recipe, and for these small connections between our worlds.

I noticed she was buried out at Hawthorn Memorial Gardens cemetery, so in a few weeks when I'm out decorating Grandma and Grandpa Renner's grave, I'll see if I can find Mr. and Mrs. Biffle.

This recipe was on p. 49 of Cooking with Faith: Favorite Recipes of Faith Lutheran Church Women, Jefferson City, Missouri, by the Faith Lutheran Ladies Guild, Jefferson City, Missouri [ca. 1975].

This is an interesting, fruity-glazed alternative to the standard (and I think tiresome) sweet potato casseroles made with brown sugar, pecans, and marshmallows, so common at the Thanksgiving table. I think you’ll really like this for a change of pace.

I’ll offer my tips and suggestions after the recipe.

Sweet Potato Bake

Cook 4 to 6 sweet potatoes until almost tender. Skin and cut to desired size (chunks). Place in a casserole dish.

Combine and bring to a boil:

1 c. apricot nectar
2 T. orange juice concentrate (not diluted)
½ c. brown sugar
1½ T. cornstarch
1 t. salt
½ t. cinnamon
2 T. butter
½ c. water

Pour over the potatoes and bake 30 to 40 minutes at 350°F.

Julie’s notes:

You can peel the sweet potatoes and cut them into chunks, then cook them in gently boiling water if you don’t want to bake them. I have also steamed them, and that works, too. But don’t overcook the potatoes; remember they will be cooking for another half hour in the oven.

I use a 9 x 9 Pyrex baking dish. You will cook it uncovered, so what begins as a liquid dressing reduces to a gooey glaze over the potatoes. Pull them out of the oven when the sauce is gooey enough for your taste.

The dressing mixes up most easily if you first combine all the dry ingredients together before adding them to the liquid.

Kern’s Apricot Nectar, which is no doubt what Mrs. Biffle had in mind, used to be available at all the grocery stores around here, but I haven’t seen it in years. I think the company’s out of business. There’s another brand called Jumex, but I’ve never seen it except online. I’ll bet it’s something to look for at an international store. Both seem to contain high fructose corn syrup and other less-than-desirable ingredients. But it’s no problem if you can’t find apricot nectar. Just take some canned apricots and some of their juice and puree it in a food processor or bullet blender, so it gets to the consistency of a thick “nectar” type juice. You only need a cup. A bonus of doing it this way is that you can decide how much corn syrup to include (since you are selecting your can of apricots—in heavy syrup, light syrup, or whatever). You can even puree the apricot pieces with just water, if you want.

There's no reason you couldn't use dried apricots, simmered in water until they're perfectly soft, then process those in a bullet blender or run them through a food mill, to make them into a liquid puree. I suppose that would be healthier. But I think using canned apricots with their corn syrup is more authentic to the midcentury church ladies cooking style.

Do-ahead tip: You can put the peeled, precooked potato chunks and the uncooked sauce into the casserole dish, dotting the butter on top, covered with plastic wrap, and refrigerate overnight. Or out on your unheated sunporch, if it’s cool enough. Finish it in the oven the next day.

Cranberry-Orange Jell-O Mold

This is the one. This is the one.

I’ve tried and enjoyed a lot of cranberry relish preparations over the years. Several of them were good enough to secure places in my precious hand-copied recipe card files—I think of these as The Greats: Mama Stamberg’s Cranberry Relish and Madhur Jaffrey’s Garlicky Cranberry Chutney, and the tried-and-true, raw “grind up a bunch of fresh cranberries, whole oranges, and pecans with some white sugar” chunky stuff, which always makes much more than anyone can finish before its freshness turns into, well, yuk (the pith from the chopped whole orange becomes makes it increasingly bitter the longer it sits).

But this Jell-O cranberry dish is my new keeper. I made it last year, and I made it again this year, and hey, it’s the bomb.

Here’s what it has going for it:

• Cranberry flavor and cranberry tartness, but not too much (cranberry relish’s purpose is to add brightness and zip to the heavy Thanksgiving meal, but you don’t want it to blow your hair back). (And yes, I personally like to sip unsweetened cranberry juice, but I wouldn’t inflict it on my loved ones. But I digress.)
• Powerful fresh orange flavor (which goes super well with the cranberry flavor).
• Sweetness (there, I said it; it’s sweet, which means everyone will like it, even children, and even those with the palate of a child, which on some level is everyone).
• Gelatin: you can make it as a single, larger mold or in individual molds, and it glistens with red and orange colors, so it’s pretty (not like the chunky raw cranberry relish, which just looks vomitous). Our brown-dominated Thanksgiving meal plates usually need more beautiful colors.
• Jell-O: it’s a retro recipe, so for those old enough to remember Great Aunt Lyddie’s midcentury Jell-O preparations, it will give you some warm fuzzies.

My recipe is based on something called “Cranberry Surprise,” in the Joys of Jell-O, 8th edition (apparently from 1960, but there’s not a copyright date on it), page 70. (This edition had two different covers, so do not get confused if you are looking to buy a used copy.)

“Cranberry Surprise”: what an awful, boring name. The original recipe allows you to swap out Jell-O flavors, so at some point you don’t have an actual recipe but more of an “idea.” . . . But I tell you, using orange Jell-O has to be the best option. So here you go.

Cranberry-Orange Jell-O Mold, a.k.a. Cranberry Surprise

This makes about 3½ cups (or seven ½-cup servings). So you may need to double it for your group, or if you want to have ample leftovers to go with your other Thanksgiving leftovers.

• 1 small/regular box orange Jell-O
• 3/4 cup boiling water
• 1 can whole cranberries in sauce
• One orange:
• --zest from 1 orange (use a microplane grater; you want the zest, not the pith)
• --pulp from 1 orange (finely chopped, including all the juices; sharpen your knife, because you get bonus points for taking care to remove all bitter pith and membrane)

Dissolve the Jell-O in water. Stir in the can of cranberries, breaking it up. Add the orange zest, chopped orange pulp, and juices. Pour into prepared molds (follow standard tips for molding and unmolding Jell-O).

This is a great use for vintage small Jell-O molds, if you have them. You can also make small individual molds using little teacups, small ramekins, juice glasses, shot glasses, etc. Or, you can pour the mixture into the can that the cranberries came in, and use that as your mold; then, unmold it and slice. Or, you can gel it in a rectangular Pyrex dish and cut into cubes for serving. Or pass the big dish and let people dip theirs out with a spoon. Nobody’s judging you.

Can you use canned mandarin orange slices and juices? I guess so . . . but it wouldn’t be as fresh and good. The Thanksgiving table has precious few fresh fruits on it, and I know your guests will appreciate the extra effort to use the pulp from a fresh orange.

Can you add chopped nuts? No. Yuk! Gross, just no. I forbid it! What are you thinking? Nuts are for cookies and muffins. Keep them out of your Jell-O and ice cream!

Finally, for fun, and to spoof all the cooking blogs that have a picture of every little frickin’ step in the preparation, I’m including photos of alllllll the steps: “This is what 3/4 of a cup of water looks like”; “here’s what a gas burner looks like when it’s turned on”; “here’s what boiling water looks like”; etc. I hope you enjoy it!

. . . Yep, after you've zested and chopped your orange, you have to get yer can of cranberry sauce. I don't know why they package it upside down. Who the heck has an upside-down can opener?

Dump the canned cranberry sauce into your carefully, lovingly chopped orange, zest, and juices.

Mash it together with a fork. See?

This is what 3/4 of a cup of water looks like, in a 1-cup measuring cup. Eyeball it very carefully. We don't fool around here at the Opulent Opossum!

Now we're cookin' with gas! If you have BTUs like I do, that little bit of water will be boiling in no time!

Ye olde box of orange Jell-O. Did you know Jell-O was the longtime sponsor of the Jack Benny radio show? Also, did you know that you can hear nearly all the old Jack Benny radio shows on YouTube? They have special uploads that have just a black screen, you can listen to them at night, like in the olden days.

Here's another critical step you need a picture of: Open. The. Box. Of. Jell-O. And. Remove. The. Inner. Pouch.

Boil that 3/4 cup of water. I use an old Revere Ware percolator coffee pot.

You gotta stir that Jell-O powder and boiling water together for a few minutes to get it to dissolve. (You didn't know that already???)

You knew this was going to happen: You stir the orange stuff, cranberry sauce, and dissolved Jell-O all together.

Time to get out your dainty little Jell-O molds, teacups, ramekins, or whatever, if you're using them. You might wish to spray them with a bit of PAM or equivalent, which helps the unmolding. But I'm not here to give you Jell-O unmolding tips. You'll have to find that elsewhere.

Now, aren't they pretty? Note that I didn't fill them all the way, because I know my people won't want a large serving. For us, it's better to have more, smaller molds with the option for having seconds.

Put them suckers into the fridge overnight. To transfer them, it helps to use a tray, especially if your kitchen fridge is busted, like ours is, and you have to carry them downstairs to your second, beer-and-soda fridge.

Don't forget the inevitable: clean it up, or it'll turn into epoxy and you'll need to soak your dishes in hot water. Don't say I didn't warn you!

Thanksgiving: Laura Ward

As it gets nearer to Thanksgiving, I’ve been writing posts of gratitude. Who are we thanking today?

Thank You, Laura Ward

Friend Laura,

This is such a pittance of the thanks you deserve for the steady work and effort you put into our community. I was about to write “neighborhood” or “district,” but community really is your focus, and this place is better for all you do. I’d say you are tireless, but I know you are not. It must be exhausting.

Yet you are usually quite upbeat. At the risk of making you sound like a unicorns-and-rainbows whacko, I contend that you do kind of leave a glitter trail of uplifted spirits everywhere you go.

Let me count the ways. You contribute in the best ways (that is, with your service and care) to the Old Munichburg Association (including heading up Southside Pride Award and the Oktoberfest Kids’ Corner), to the Historic City of Jefferson and its Golden Hammer Award, to Building Community Bridges, to the Southside Neighborhood Watch, and I’m sure a lot more that I don’t know about.

Also, for years, you’ve been an excellent City Council representative for our ward. It’s great to know that we’re represented by someone who truly cares about the destiny of these antique houses as well as the mostly un-wealthy and socially diverse people who live in them.

You even took the time to arrange for an official award for one of our other neighbors, who decorates his front yard with all kinds of beautiful flowers and plants, turning it into an eye-catching, happy scene for passersby, even though his home (rented from a less-than-stellar landlord) is in terrible shape. That award, the gathering, the attention, brought some well-deserved recognition to that man for his hard work and care.

. . . Kind of how you deserve an award.

I wish I could be like you. I wish there were more people like you.

I’m glad you’re our neighbor.

Blessings to you.

Thank you.

Thanksgiving: Cardinals Manager Mike Shildt

This is another Thanksgiving post. It’s just me, sharing gratitude with the universe, or, at least, the Internet. Who are we thanking today?

Thank You, Cardinals Manager Mike Shildt

Dear Mike Shildt,

I rarely write fan letters to anyone. No, scratch that, I’ve never written a fan letter at all. But this is different. This time, it’s different.

I feel genuine heartache that the organization fired you, especially after that amazing winning streak at the end of the season. I have to admit I don’t know much more than what I read in various media, but I do know what it’s like to be let go of. The awful shock. And I know what it’s like to have a boss whose decisions and direction I disagree with. I also know what it’s like to have a boss who has your back, as well as what it’s like to have a boss who stabs you in the back. I know what it’s like to be in the middle, between the big boss and the people I manage.

I usually only listen to the ballgames over the radio (I much prefer it to TV), and I always make a point of listening to the postgame, and in your comments you always struck me as the kind of boss I’d like to have. No apologies, no blame, just a constant analysis and movement to the future, toward progress, improvement, growth.

You, and the players, did the best you could with the hand you’d been dealt (by fate and by the front office), and I’m sure your confidence in your players meant everything to the team.

When the pitchers were blitzed by injuries and the team was struggling to win games, a lot of people seemed to think your optimistic postgame comments were out of place, but longtime fans—and you, obviously—know that one of the secrets to winning is to rely on your strengths, and not to flail about, second-guess, and change things all the time. We knew you were waiting for reinforcements.

When certain players were not playing up to their historical levels, you didn’t (you probably couldn’t) send them away to the minor leagues. What could you do? I suspect your hands were tied. You didn’t have a limitless array of players.

It seems that when a team is losing, the coaches and managers get blamed, but when the team is winning, all credit goes to the players. And people are fond of pointing out a single misplay (on the field or as a managerial call) and use it to condemn someone who has otherwise done very well. That’s not fair. And if there’s one thing you seem to stand for, it’s fairness.

Even as the storms of injuries tossed the ship, you kept the ship’s wheel steady. When galley boys had to be brought up on deck to do the job of boatswain, your confidence enabled the youngsters to perform admirably (given the circumstances). That’s what a skipper’s supposed to do, and you did it well. No wonder the players like you.

I always enjoyed hearing your interviews. I enjoyed the games I heard; the team clearly improved with you as the manager. Of course, I really enjoyed that run at the end of the season. Amazing what happens when all the pieces are in place, and when reinforcements finally arrive.

During these pandemic years, listening to baseball has been a real godsend. We don’t go out like we used to, but having the game in our home summer evenings helped our minds and spirits to travel everywhere the Cardinals did.

In future seasons, I’ll keep thinking of your impact on the Cardinals, as players you scouted and coached continue to have long, fruitful careers. Development is a huge part of the Cardinals, and that’s one reason we’re so proud as fans.

You’re full of integrity; you’re everything a baseball manager and boss should be. You’re a class act. I know that some team will snatch you up, and that we’ll be seeing you coaching in another postseason, too. And soon. I wish you the best. Thank you.

Thanksgiving: Dr. Brandi Nichols

Hey, everyone, as we get nearer to Thanksgiving, I'm posting about some of the things, or people, I've been thankful for this year. It’s a chance to share some gratitude with the universe, or, at least, the Internet. A new bit of gratitude! Let’s get started!

Thank You, Dr. Brandi Nichols

Thank you, Dr. Nichols and all your associates at JCMG who eased my mind and took care of me last November, December, and January as I moved through the slow, unnerving (scary) process of determining what my, um, postmenopausal female symptoms were being caused by. I haven’t needed to go down this aisle of the supermarket for some years, now.

This was especially not fun during a pandemic, before the vaccine, and it was not fun during the holidays, either. And I should never have Googled my symptoms, nor should I have done keyword searches on the precise terms y’all provided. I should have just listened to you and your nurses (and my better sense): we don’t know anything until the biopsy comes back, but the odds are very great that it’s no big deal, so no reason to worry.

. . . But you know.

I have to be honest, I felt kind of out of place in your waiting and exam rooms, with glamour photos of very-pregnant women and of cutie-pie babies with those flowery headbands hanging on the walls everywhere you looked.

I’m a fifty-something lesbian, not much about me is maternal, and that mommy stuff is soooo not my scene. But I can see why you have to kind of promote and celebrate what amounts to the bread-and-butter part of your practice, the “up” side of female anatomy and physiology, since the other end of it—which my case kind of represented—isn’t particularly joy-filled.

I apologized to you for no doubt being a bummer, when you probably got into being an ob/gyn because of the miracle of reproduction, but you surprised me by saying that you are really interested in all facets of your job, and that you really like to remove polyps, too, and you kind of get a charge out of it.

I don’t remember much about the morning of the procedure when I was groggy from the super-early appointment and then woozy from the anesthesia and from the weeks of being on edge over the whole thing. But while I was waking up, you did take the time that morning to talk to Sue and reassure her that everything went well, and that nothing problematic was anticipated.

The last time I saw you—and hopefully, indeed, the last time I will ever see you (look, nothing personal, okay?)—it was seven weeks after the procedure, in a follow-up visit. Your office had already called me with the results (benign, yay!) a week after the procedure, but I was glad to have the chance to talk with you and ask any remaining questions.

Again, not only did you take care of my unwanted polyps, but also, you really helped ease my mind. And I really appreciate it. I realize that a lot of it was just my luck, but you really set me at ease. I consider it a blessing that I could just move on with my life, basically as if nothing had happened.

So thank you very much.

Addendum: Since the events I described, this year I found out that two of my friends did have the dreaded, less common outcome. Both are fighting, one particularly hard. So along with the relief I feel for having dodged the big-C, I’m comforted to know that you’d take good care of me if that had been my diagnosis, too.

Turnips from Taos!

Turnips—beautiful ones!

This is a belated Thanksgiving post, but it’s no less thankful for the delay. We got a wonderful surprise on Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving: a big bucket of gorgeous turnips on our doorstep!

I’d almost forgotten the conversation I had one afternoon this hot summer with one of the fellows working on the new-sidewalks project here along Broadway. It started when I learned he lived in Taos (Missouri) (of course) and asked if he could identify a fellow in a picture I took at a church supper there.

Well, he could! People are tight-knit in those communities. And then we got talking about the Taos harvest festival and how they always serve turnips there, along with the sausage and the turkey and dressing. Turnips! And he mentioned that he grows turnips himself. I told him how much I wish turnips at the store came with the greens still attached, because I like to cook the greens and turnips together, and anyway, how dare they throw away those lovely greens?

And—without any prompting from me, honest—he offered to bring me some turnips! With their greens on ’em! He said he’d just leave a box of them on our doorstep sometime this fall.

We weren’t home Wednesday afternoon when he must have left them, but when we returned in the evening, there they were! Lovely, lovely fresh turnips. Stuffed to overflowing in one of those enormous 5-gallon plastic construction buckets. The greens were as pretty as the creamy-smooth roots.

And I was wondering what sort of vegetable I could serve with Thanksgiving dinner, besides the sticky sweet potatoes and straight-ahead canned green bean casserole. Turnips cooked together with their greens! So lovely!

I’m not sure of this fellow’s name, so I’m asking the concrete contractor to tell me, so I can write and thank him. What a sweetheart, for him to remember, and to be so generous!

~~~Such beautiful turnips! Thank you, kind sir, for now, until I can write you a thank-you letter directly!

A note: I took these pictures this morning, so the greens have wilted somewhat. And there were lots more; remember I cooked some on Thanksgiving!

Thanksgiving Already

Wow, folks, here it is already. How did it sneak up on me? Oh yeah: I’ve been really busy. But you knew that already, since it’s been so long since I’ve written.

I feel like I owe you an explanation—but that would be really boring. I’ve had some big work deadlines—the kind where you have to stay up late staring at a computer and shuffling through mountains of papers. The kind where the project gets increasingly, nightmarishly complicated and problematic before it can become intelligible and orderly, ready to leave your desk.

To make the past week more difficult, some smaller projects came up out of the blue. To be honest, those were more interesting that the big thing that was seeming old by now, and I enjoyed them—in some respects, just because they represented a change of subject. But it all combined to make for a big work crunch, that ol’ freelancer “feast-or-famine” thing. Hence the long nights.

Up until very recently, I have managed to stay away from the so-called energy drinks, but I’ve been abusing Red Bulls recently. And I’ve found out that although Red Bull “gives you wings,” it also gives you the jitters and heart palpitations! But you know how it is: Sometimes we have to abuse ourselves to meet the all-important deadlines. Right?

I’ve always kind of assumed that the term deadline meant that “if you don’t get this done on time, heads will roll.” But I’m beginning to see that isn’t really the case. Seriously: What’s another damn day? No one gets killed when a work deadline is missed. (Well, unless you’re a surgeon, or someone in charge of delivering a vital organ needed ASAP for transplant purposes.) The very worst that could happen is something financial, a loss of funding, a loss of a job.

Instead, I think that the term deadline has more to do with what happens to us, cumulatively, after decades of that kind of stress—abuse, really.

On the first day of my first job in publishing—right out of grad school—I was shown to my new desk, which I had inherited from my predecessor. The desktop was clean except for some dust, a stapler, a tape dispenser, and the phone with all its unnecessary buttons. I opened the desk drawers and found a dish of paperclips, some chewed-up pencils with the erasers worn off, and a bottle of Excedrin with just a few tablets left to rattle around in it. Sliding around next to a dog-eared pad of post-its were some mint-green Tums, dusty from being loose in the drawer.

That all should have been a clue right there. But I was convinced that my graduate-school training would make me different from my predecessor. I had been taught the correct procedures for my job—I had learned not only the substance of book editing (how to copyedit, how to proof—those two things are different, you know—how to index, etc.) but also the procedures. Editors, by nature, are rule- and procedures-oriented. We like checklists. We like workflow elegance, streamlined with an engineer’s precision.

I had been taught the time-honored, standard, logical sequences for bookmaking. When the manuscript arrives, this, this, and this happen, usually simultaneously, first. The editorial department does this, the marketing department does that, and the production department does something else. And so on down the line—first the copyediting, then the author review, and then you enter all the final corrections. Then the manuscript goes to the production department for page layout, and after that, there’s the page proofing. Blah, blah, blah. The details vary, but the process is the same, if you want to be efficient about it.

But then, just a few weeks into my first job, my supervisor was telling me, “well, this manuscript doesn’t need ‘copyediting.’ I think it just needs a light proofing; then it can go straight into production.” I followed his instructions, though I did know better. I told the copyeditor to do only a proofreading, and sure enough, weeks later, the proofreader was informing me that the page proof needed a copyedit.

It soon became clear to me that the bitten pencils, the spent Excedrin bottle, and the miscellaneous Tums were symbols of a companywide dysfunction, to which I was not immune. Within a year, it got to the point where I couldn’t quite tell if my smiles were genuine, or only camouflaged grimaces.

That life was brought back to me with this most recent push, the late-night rubbing of eyes and temples, the concerned e-mails from my client, my reassuring e-mails in response. It would get done on time, and I knew it. Whatever dysfunction or miscommunications had created the distressing situation, it was my job to get it resolved.

So I did the work and got it all off my desk and onto my client’s. It is in a much better and more organized condition than it was when I received it. What a great feeling! Just in time for the holidays.

It’s not that I enjoy the stress and late nights, the anxiety of a thousand questions that each give birth to five more, as the time is ticking down—but completion and cleaning off my desk does give me a little extra something to be grateful for when we offer up our thanks before the sacrificial turkey.

And I hope you have a little extra something to be thankful for, too.

Some Veggie Appetizers

. . . So (continuing from my previous post on Thanksgiving yesterday) . . . as I was saying, I was in charge of bringing the appetizers. Maybe it’s because I’ve been reading a lot of funky old cookbooks that give lots of eye-opening recipes for canapés and hors d’oeuvres, or maybe it’s ’cause I’m seriously missing Gourmet magazine (major, painful withdrawal, folks), but I decided to have some “fun” with this task.



And Thanksgiving—whew! What kind of appetizers won’t ultimately injure your appetite for this, most possibly the biggest feast of the year? Unless you’re having a party where the appetizers function as the dinner itself, you don’t want them to be heavy. At Thanksgiving, you don’t need something to “tide you over”—Lawseh. You need something to pique your appetite, and that’s about all.

So I decided: No breads or crackers, and no meat. No cheese tray. All too heavy. Instead, I was going to focus on raw, fresh veggies. But I wanted to get away from the usual carrot and celery sticks, pile of broccoli florets, and a bowl of sauce to dip them into. And hey, I have the time to put some effort into this, so why not get more creative?

Another thing I decided: These should all be bite-size. Don’t you hate it when you bite into a lovely little hors d’oeuvre, and half of it collapses into your hand and drips down your shirt front?

Finally, I wanted them all to harmonize somewhat—which means no “United Nations” of flavors. Pick out a cuisine and its flavor palette and stick with it.

So here’s what I ended up with: stuffed tomatoes, stuffed cucumber cylinders, and canapés made using sliced yellow squash instead of crackers or mini toasts. All with a Mediterranean/Greek theme. I’m rather proud of them!

There aren’t actual recipes to relate, as it’s more about combinations and construction. So descriptions follow each photo.




Hummus-stuffed grape tomatoes. Yes, the grape tomatoes are still coming on in the sunny front side of our house! For the bigger grape tomatoes, I cut just a thin slice off top and bottom so they’d stand upright, then sliced the tomatoes into halves, making two cups. Scooped out the guts using a thin sharp knife, small melon baller, and heck, my fingertips.

The filling was hummus. Then, I had puréed some roasted red bell peppers with a tiny bit of chipotle (for added smokiness and zip), put that purée into a ketchup-type squeeze bottle, and squirted a bit of that into the hummus. It blurped out of the top in an attractive way. Then I garnished the top with a little cube of feta and a tiny sprig of fresh thyme. (Yeah, our herb garden is still going strong, too!)

Next slide, please . . .




Tzatziki-filled cucumber cylinders. Here, I bought some “gourmet” little cucumbers from Schnucks, which always has a great produce selection. (No, they’re not paying me to say that!) I cut these into cylinders maybe three-quarters of an inch tall. Again, I wanted folks to be able to eat them a single bite. I used the small melon baller to carve out a bowl in one of the sides, then filled it with a homemade tzatziki sauce.

Because tzatziki sauce usually has cucumber already in it, and I was going to be putting this into cucumber pieces, I made my tzatziki without cuke. (You can find lots of recipes for tzatziki—mine had garlic and fresh mint in it.) By the way, the thicker you can get the yogurt to be, the better, for this construction.

The garnish is finely diced kalamata olives. Pretty, huh?

Okay, next slide . . .




Finally, yellow squash with cream cheese–pesto sauce: round slices of yellow zucchini squash topped with a dab of cream cheese (I used the lower-fat Neufchâtel) mixed with pesto (I make up a big batch of pesto and freeze it in zip-bags so it’s always on hand). Garnished with a thin round of grape tomato, poked into the cheese at an angle, and a sprig of fresh parsley. (Hooray for the herb garden!)




I wanted these all to be so pretty it would almost hurt ya to eat them. But the punchy flavors kept that from happening, I guess, because there weren’t many of these left after the party!

The best part was that these were fun to make.

If you can manage it, cooking should always be fun, huh?