Once upon a book…

“A room without books is like a body without a soul.”
Marcus Tullius Cicero

(one of many piles of accumulated cookbooks / Julie Cook / 2020)

Once upon a time, long ago and far away…long before there was a thing
known as the internet…
a time when landlines were all that we knew for communication and payphones
were the only way we could touch base with others when away from home…
it was a time when the printed word was all we had—newspapers,
magazines and books…it was a time when the printed word connected us
to what was and what could be.
Our world was intertwined and deeply entrenched with all things typeset.

And so I am finding that during this trying time of packing up my world…
I’m finding that I am slightly overwhelmed by the number of books I have
accumulated over the years.

As an art teacher with a proclivity for the Renaissance, as an
armchair historian who devours all things World War II,
as a huge fan of Winston Chruchill, as a person deeply interested in Christian symbology
and mysticism…I have amassed a small personal library.
Heck, it’s more like a decent sized library.

Books, books everywhere a book!

So during yesterday’s sorting, the task was to puruse, purge and pack cookbooks.

A love of cooking has run deep in my veins.

I had grown up watching Julia Child’s cooking shows with my mom.
Later it was Atlanta’s own Natalie Dupree.
Any and all cookig shows on PBS.

Throw in all of Mother’s Southern Living cookbooks and I learned early on
the importance of food—
an importance that reaches far beyond mere sustenance.

Food is communion.
It is a tie that binds.

My mom was not the greatest cook but she could make wonderful,
made from scratch, biscuits.
Whereas I did not inherit my mother’s biscuit magic,
I did develop however a love for the magic that rests in the
creativity of any kitchen.

Yet I can vividly remember the day I felt defeat when my mother discovered the thrill
of the cooking bag and hamburger helper.
I, on the other hand, was growing more and more fascinated by all things French,
Itlaian, fricased and sauteed.

So as I was knee deep in the cull taking place in the kitchen,
seeing so many of the older books–
my mind suddenly went racing back to a different time.

This is from a post I wrote back in 2013–it was a reflection about my life in 1986…
the year mom got sick.

“Many years ago when my mom was in ICU battling cancer, and I was a
newly married young woman, I would go each day to the ICU Waiting Room
carrying an armload of cookbooks–upwards of 8 at a time.
As I would sit for hours waiting for the three 15 minute times of visitation allowed
in a 24 hour period, I would read page per page, cover to cover of every type
of recipe and cookbook imaginable.
It was my therapy and my catharsis.
Maybe I needed to know that in the dark shadows of death,
where I had found myself in a vigil for my mom, Creativity,
which I equate with life and living, was still very much present and attainable.”

I should add that I was driving about an hour and a half each day over to Atlanta just
to sit in that ICU, only to drive that hour and a half back home each evening.
A sorrowful ritual that I kept up for 9 weeks.
It was a lonely and very difficult time…but I found an necessary diversion
as well as solace in my cookbooks.

They were cookbooks that my aunt had bought on her various trips and books I had found
while rumaging through the cooking section of every book store I could find.

So as I made the difficult decision yesterday of what books I would keep and what books
I would “release”–I found myself feeling a heavy sense of sadness—
sadness not so much over losing some long loved books, but rather sadness over the fact that
we live in a time when books are becoming obsolete.

Despite my cullig and purging, I fear our movers will be none too pleased when they
find the number of boxes full of books that I have packed up.
Boxes I can’t even begin to pick up…as in they are heavy as lead.

But some things will just have to make this journey with me.
Solace that will be there for me as I unpack in a new world come January.

The cloak that I left at Troas with Carpus, bring when thou comest,
and the books, especially the parchments.
2 Timothy 4:13

I know our problem…Punch Cups!!!

“Drink because you are happy,
but never because you are miserable.”
G.K. Chesterton, Heretics

I have finally figured out our problem…the reason for all the current lack of civility,
violence, looting, hating that is sickening our nation…

It’s PUNCH CUPS!!!

Yep punch cups…

We no longer have, let alone use, punch cups!!

You know, those demure little glass cups that accompany a crystal punch bowl?

You know…those little glass cups your grandmother always used during the holidays
when all the family gathered together…at her house.

Be it wassail, eggnog, or Chatham’s artillery punch…

Oh and don’t forget that floating ice-ring.
My mother just did a flip flop in her grave over my mentioning ice-rings.
She tried her best…but Lord knows, they never popped out as they should.
More slushie and unattractive vs the pictures in her SoutherLiving cookbooks.
Bamming and Bamming that mold on the counter trying to loosen the ring…
but I digress.

And I would bet that you were probably too little and don’t really remember
those little punch cups…
And because you were little, the grown-ups didn’t let you use those little cups–
they were fearful you’d drop one and Heavens forbid, you’d break Grandmother’s
special glass cups.
You were relegated to a jelly jar or dixie cup.

And if the punch was alcoholic, you were offered chocolate milk
or perhaps some kool-aid or Hi-C punch or maybe a Coca-Cola.
If they were feeling festive, you may have even gotten ginger ale with
a single bright red maraschino cherry floating festively amongst the bubbles.

Punch cups speak of day’s gone by…
they whisper of afternoon teas, luncheons, showers, and special gatherings.

This all came to mind when I was cleaning out the laundry room.

We’ve started the arduous task of purging.
We are beginning to clean out this 37-year life of ours with 21 on those 37 years
in our current house.

It’s time to lighten the load in anticipation of a potential spring
change—relocating, downsizing, tightening the ship!

So as I began this insurmountable task this morning, I found an old punch bowl…
not the nice one mind you, but more of a backup…it was one of my grandmothers…
my mom’s mom seems more like the previous owner vs my dad’s mom as she was a bit more frufru.
I’ve got that pretty one in the dining room…this one was the battleship
vs the cruise liner…heavy and sturdy rather than frilly and delicate.

And as I was gathering the cups from various cabinets and hiding spaces…that’s when
it hit me like a ton of bricks…our current culture’s entire trouble is they/we
have no punch cups…or no real knowledge, let alone experience, with punch cups.

For punch cups harken to a time when we celebrated holidays and occasions with
those dear and near-sacred family heirlooms, be they cut class, crystal or pressed glass
or even something really special…silver or more likely silver plate.

They were pulled out of storage, washed and even polished to participate
in a generational ritual…the sharing and celebrating of our lives as a family.
Christmas, Chanukah, births, showers, birthdays, weddings…

And thus these innocuous little punch cups are equated to something so much more…
they represent family and the celebration of family.

We have sadly forgotten such.
We have become entirely too angry, too self-consumed, too divided.

What happened to punch cups?
What happened to celebrations?
What happened to family?

Long live the punch cups!

Train up a child in the way he should go;
even when he is old he will not depart from it.
Proverbs 22:6

Vanilla Extract or is Cookie a Lush?

Ok, so I was thumbing through a recent copy of Southern Living, what woman/ girl of southern origin does not currently have, or at some point previously had, a subscription to this bastion of all things southern?? Let’s not digress shall we….

I flipped to an interesting little article about making homemade vanilla extract. Now any good cook worth his or her salts (salt…so many types and varieties, we’ll talk about that later, ok? I told you, no digressing!!) has a decent bottle of quality vanilla in their arsenal of cooking accoutrements, none of this “vanillin” artificial phony flavoring business. It’s the real deal or nothing when it comes to vanilla extract.

And speaking of which—there are so many types and varieties–Tahitian, Bourbon Madagascar, Mexican…and then there are the brands–too many to name. Magazines such a Cook’s (no relation sadly) has their famous “test” kitchen which will often put things such a vanilla extract to the test attempting to uncover the best brand for use in the home kitchen.

Let’s just say that this “cook” will solve that little mystery quite easily—we’re just going to make our own—then that way, we know what it is we’re getting—no guesswork for us—we’re good like that 🙂

Now this is going to require a trip to the local liquor store. That can be a bit harrowing for some, unnerving for others and for a few of us—pure wonder and joy. Now I know what you’re thinking, trust me, I’m not about to lead you down the path of ill repute. This is where we must find the extract part of Vanilla extract.

There is something fascinating to me about a liquor store. All those beautiful glass bottles, in a vast array of shapes and sizes, all full of glistening translucent liquids in all of those shimmering colors of tints and shades. Some of my friends worry a little bit about me and this “fascination” but I trace this back to my dad, aka Mr. Mole.

When I was a little girl, each Saturday morning my dad would head out to the neighborhood liquor store/ package store, with me in tow, in order to buy a case of beer and a few bottles of liquor for the usual weekend gathering of my parents friends– who would come over to cookout or watch the latest football game. I always looked forward to these gatherings as everyone brought their children and that meant a wonderful time of play.

Now it must have been ok back then for a dad to take his little girl in the liquor store with him as he made his purchases, because as that said little girl, I recall being mesmerized by all of the bottles of colors reflecting light–as beautiful as stain glass, in a round about way –what else could it have been? To this day I can wander aimlessly in a liquor store or wine section in the grocery store marveling at all the bottles. I know–odd.

Having been an educator for the past 30 years, trips to a liquor store in our rather smallish community are akin to playing with fire…a real career busting move. Not a real good idea. One must either go on the outskirts of town, or even to a neighboring community or go incognito. A teacher does not want to draw negative attention their way. You know how these small towns can be…. Anywhoo, back to our trip to procure our “extract.” I’m retired now, it’s ok.

I knew of the traditional use of vodka, having read that cheap vodka is perfectly suitable—no reason to break the bank for this little endeavor–not unless you plan on sipping along as you prepare your recipe. Let me discourage that–wait until we finish.

I picked out a liter of some Scandinavian business—you need about 3 cups worth per bottle of homemade brew. Next I wandered over to the Bourbon section as I had read that using bourbon or rum can make for a wonderfully rich and robust extract that is nice when making chocolate things such as cookies or cakes.

But here is where I had a trouble. I am obviously from the South, I attended the University of Georgia 30 some odd years ago. Bourbon and the South, bourbon and SEC football, bourbon and life at UGA years ago… ok… well, that’s like Andy and Barney, Lucy and Ethel, Fred and Ginger—they just go, one with the other. I just couldn’t bring myself to buy the cheap stuff. That would be a sacrilege. I didn’t break the bank, but I didn’t go cheap. This shall be my Chateauneuf du Pape of extract.

I have read that you should gently heat the liquor of choice being very very careful, just to give it a little warmth as too much heat and all this alcohol, well lets just hope you have the fire department on speed dial—CAREFUL.

I also read that you should use 5 vanilla beans per cup of liquid–the more the better in this case. Oh, I almost forgot…the beans!! I didn’t even begin to attempt buying up enough bottles of the lone vanilla bean on the spice shelves of the grocery store at about 8 to 10 bucks per bottle…instead, go to Amazon (oh how I love Amazon–the go to for all your needs, digressing…) where you can find Madagascar or Tahitian beans—24 for about 19 bucks. You can buy more or less and spend more of less depending on who you buy them from and the type you want. I bought one pack of both Madagascar and Tahitian.

I bought a couple of cute little glass bottles with corks to use for the gift giving end of this endeavor but I’m using empty liquor bottles for the initial brew mix. A mason jar is perfectly fine—whatever you have on hand.

Cut the beans in half by using a shape knife (don’t sneak into the Vodka or bourbon yet as you need precision when cutting these skinny little suckers). I stuffed the cut beans down into the bottles then poured in the liquor through a funnel. Some folks say to scrape the seeds from the beans, adding them to the bottle/ jar separately–I didn’t do this–I simply cut them in half and pushed them down into the bottles.

For the bourbon extract I actually mixed 1 cup of honey bourbon with 2 cups regular bourbon. You could use just straight honey bourbon if you prefer or experiment with maybe some dark spiced rum. I may “release the Kraken” and give that a-go in a small bottle. I even thought to add some coffee beans but thought I should hold off and see how these do first. Mustn’t get too carried away.

Once you have beans in bottles and you’ve topped off the bottles with your liquid/ liquor, let the bottles sit before capping, that is if you heated your concoction–allowing them to come to room temp. Cap or cork the bottles and give a good shake for about 30 seconds. Then place the bottles out of the way in a cool, dark spot and wait 6 to 8 weeks—longer is better—I’m thinking 3 months. When is Christmas? Let’s see, if this is May…8 months—perfect. Sorry to all those in need of instant gratification.

You may decant the extract, pouring through a strainer or cheesecloth, into a decorative bottle for gift giving. I am, however, opting to keep the beans and any sediment. As you use your liquid extract, you can just top off the bottle, as long as the beans are present. You may also take out the beans, if you no longer want them floating around, and add them to a jar full of sugar and make vanilla sugar. This is what I do with all left over vanilla beans. It’s great in coffee, tea or added to recipes.

My kitchen now has a delightful heady aroma –rich and intoxicating…and no, I have not been drinking the extract!! The kitchen now just smells really good.

Have fun experimenting with additions—next I’m going for flavored vinegars and oils–ooooooohhh