Bake Me A House

I'm rather enamored with my tiny gingerbread house.

Granted, it is a touch wobbly, the window panes didn't quite get an uniformly even bake, and the roof slates most definitely don't come together at the corners, but it's lovely all the same. The whole process was as Christmas-sy as it could be;  gingerbread dough baking in the oven as holiday movies played, walls and roof pieces cooled while chocolate mints were being made downstairs, and the entire thing constructed to the music of Burl Ives, Frank Sinatra and Sufjan Stevens. I wished I could have taken off work for some sort of "baker's leave" to make it all in one day, but I did make do with making, baking and building the spiced abode in stages. 

For best results, be sure to make your dough in the evening; the bubbling sugar and butter makes the ginger and cinnamon smell delightful. Multitask by sleeping and chilling the dough in the fridge so you are well rested and the dough is thoroughly frigid. That makes for good dough and a good arm work out when you roll things out.  Bake, and embrace the little bubbles that will crop up on your roof, walls, and windows; it won't look anything like Martha Stewart's photos in the tutorial.  Note: You'll use less than half of the dough you make, so envision a massive forest of gingered trees to surround your cottage, or some other sugared and gum-dropped fatality for the remainder.

Now, it's time to build. If you are anything like me, take about hundred photos that won't ever see the light of day, but you've just come to love those four walls, tiny chimney pieces and uneven roof slats so much you can't help yourself.

 

Now, Sunday mornings make for a rather lovely chance to put on an hour or two of Christmas music and ice your little house. It's preferable if snow is falling at this point, but it's not necessary. You can always replicate the fluffy white stuff atop your cottage's roof with some powdered sugar once you've line the windows and piped some shingles (and reinforced the cracks you are nervous about). 

There's a few more days until Christmas Eve, giving you time to create an army of some impressively decorated gingerbread men to leave for Santa. You've got about a pound of gingerbread to somehow dispose of, after all. 

An Unexpected Thanksgiving

You  unknowingly pack expectations when you travel. It's usually the first thing I toss in my mental suitcase, along with headphones and my passport (things absolutely essential for any international trip). It's human nature to harbor expectations, with India as no exception. Tucked away in Northern India and tantalizingly close to the Pakistani border is a rather small city known for the religious site of the Golden Temple. Of course I was looking forward to every bit of my itinerary in India, but I didn't know how impactful certain experiences would be. My afternoon in Amritsar was one of those certain experiences.

The Amritsar visit coincided with American Thanksgiving; a holiday I adore. How can Thanksgiving be beat? It's a holiday based on history, family, and eating a meal so fantastic you look forward to it all year long which doesn't really hold a candle to many others. While this Indian trip certainly was once in a lifetime, I still felt a little pang of regret when that Thursday rolled around, without a morsel of stuffing or pie to be found. It was, however, a serendipitous twist of events that I still had my hands in flour, bent over the stove, and dripping with soapy water on that Thursday despite the fact I was on the other side of the globe.


Each day, the Golden Temple hosts hundreds of volunteers, all of which help to run the 24/7 kitchen that will give a hot meal and place to sleep for the thousands and thousands of people on a daily basis. Taking in this whole production was mesmorizing; people from all walks of life sat clutching a steaming silver bowl of chai in echoing rooms upon thin rugs which ran the length of the floor. Upstairs, families sat and talked as they ate dal, curries, and naan on spaces equally simple, but just as large. Rows of brightly dyed fabrics and bobbing turbans created splashing sea of color in the cement structure as bare feet stepped on floured floors where the naan was being made. From the windows below, you can see the mats and blankets of people who are curled up in the outer rims of the temple's courtyard, still sleeping in the morning sun.

The upstairs room slowly emptied after a time, only to be filled up again with hungry people and volunteers doling out dishes onto silver trays. I was profoundly touched at the thankfulness, humility, and gratitude I witnessed while in Amritsar. It wasn't communicated by words I could understand (my Hindi and Punjabi skill are nonexistent) but was so clearly demonstrated through actions that language became arbitrary.  The entire experience was beautiful in every sense of the word. Sunlight flitted through the upper room, basking a small group of naan making volunteers in a warm glow that was hazy from the flour and the curling steam. Six or so women chatted idly as they rolled out smooth balls of dough into  rounds of dough, later to be placed, flipped, and flipped again on the steaming hot plate behind them.

The day's only criticism was that it was the wrong day to wear black pants, but was easily overlooked.  I sat down on a low stool, crossed my bare feet in the powdery flour and rolled out round after round of dough. After a few dozen tries, I think I got the technique down, though I certainly wasn't as practiced as the women beside me. Next, immensely huge cauldrons of curried needed to be stirred as I watched a man pour out chai in 5 gallon tin cans as spiced steam made its spiraled escape out open windows. My flour dusted arms got soaked in soapy water as metal trays, bowls and spoons were tossed in troughs to be washed, then dried.  It was a day in the kitchen; one that I don't think I'll get again.

While I spent the morning and afternoon in the kitchen and filled with gratitude, the evening was a different matter. If you get the chance to see the Wagah Border ceremony, go. It's got an electric charge that rivals any sporting event I've attended, and the scent of popcorn is an oddly humorous contrast to the stern guides and the tight security. Be sure to join the flash dance party before the ceremony, and feel extremely patriotic for a country you've only been in for less than a week.

Apricots and America (but mostly butter)

Happy Fourth of July and stuff, America. For the C. family, that means a couple days of good ol' American tradition; BBQ's, parades, fireworks, and sweltering in the heat of July. It's all good fun. Because all us working people had the 3rd off, 2015's celebrations included a heavy dose of nostalgia as we made the trip up to Brigham City for a day at the pool...just like old times. I went there all the time as a kid, so coming back some 14 years later was a flashback straight out of my childhood.

 We left the pool late, snagged some great fried chicken at Maddox, and stopped off at one of the many fruit stands that dot the highway. If that isn't an American afternoon, I don't know what is.

I love those roadside fruit stands. There's something about purchasing fruit that's a little blemished, piled in well worn baskets, right next to the orchard. I'm a big fan of grocery shopping (where else can you ogle at so much food?) but the pristine rows of fruit isn't as charming as the roadside markets and stands. Being early July, apricots are in full swing here, which meant baking something truly lovely for our firework picnic the next day.

Inspiration struck. Apricot & strawberry bars. Though they're not exactly bright red, white, or blue, somehow these bars were still very appropriate for the holiday. I riffed off a recipe for apricot bars I had found online, but added a couple twists. A little lemon zest to brighten up the shortbread, brown sugar instead of white for an extra caramelly taste, and a schmear of strawberry jam below the pitted fruit because that's what was in the fridge. (Sidenote: A few weekends ago, the C. family got gobs and gobs of strawberries and spent loads of time jam-ing and jar-ing, so adding strawberry jam to the slightly tart apricots was an obvious addition.)

Layer shortbread, jam, sliced apricots, and an oat crumble, and test your patience. You'll need to wait while the bars bake and through one agonizing cooling session. Ah, now your patience as been rewarded: Square, package, and tote to the park. Eat while enjoying the scent of bugspray and fireworks in the air, if at all possible.

One Iced-and-Gingered Man, Please.

The classic white Christmas waited until the last possible moment (Christmas Day itself) to finally made an appearance. Though inches of the chilly white stuff isn't required for decorating a batch of the crunchy and spicy cookie, it added a lovely atmosphere. Dark molasses creates a gorgeous rich cookie color that makes creamy white royal icing the perfect medium to dabble in. Self proclaimed icing artist aside, I felt these little masterpieces turned out just pretty enough to eat.

 Gingerbread seemed to scream"holiday break" and with the fluffy white stuff falling from the sky it seemed the perfect afternoon activity. I phoned a good friend my high school to make her way up for a good chit chat. Gingerbread decorating fosters a good backdrop for catching up on past memories. Chatting about future plans, we iced the afternoon away (and had our fair share of munching on the mistakes).  Thin and crispy, these little men cause much less drama than the combined (less than savory) real life dates myself and Ms. K have experienced as of late. I'll take a snowed-in chat with a friend with a cookie...or several, please.

Ho Ho Home

Jetlag is a beast, but it's grand being home.  Back to errand running, Netflix watching and sister bonding.  Ever grateful for the free time to recover from quite the semester of travel and sightseeing. Also, time zones. Baklava eating can take it out of you, but I was so glad to walk through US customs and be reunited with the fam.  Christmas time provokes some serious relaxation-cider, cookies and January's issue of  Real Simple magazine.  Seriously, that magazine is fantastic and covers all your bases.  Fashion, food, advice, Fan Favorites, advice columns, organization, book suggestions, you name it.  I'm doubly glad to be back at home and reunited with my closet.  Snow in Jerusalem was a fun time, but snow in Utah is much more fun in rain boots and peacoats. And skinny jeans.  We had a fun time shooting some family photos to bring in the New Year and surprise Pop with some pictures of his cute kids.


Happy to be nestled home and back to the regular swing of things. . .

How I've missed you, Real Simple.  How I've missed you.

Pre pillow fight