I don't know why, but it seems like every time the weather turns cold, I turn on the oven.

Not because I'm cold, mind you, but because I can't resist the urge to bake...sweets, especially. You could almost say I've been on a baking spree. Or you could just go ahead and all the way say it, because it's the truth.

What's also the truth is that my clothes have shrunk.

Ahem. I can't imagine why that's happened.

But I do wish I was a better sharer. Unfortunately, I tend to gobble up everything I bake faster than a bear bulking up for hibernation, and I only think about sharing these goodies after the fact.

So, since I don't have any actual baked goods to offer you, the best I can do for you is to share this recipe and hope it inspires you to do some baking yourself.

Feel free to invite me over if it does. You're probably better at sharing than me.

And speaking of sharing, this very recipe was inspired by my gracious orange tree, which has recently decided share with me some lovely and bright, citrusy and sweet, fresh Ozark-grown oranges--in the midst of this rush of arctic air that has settled around the homestead, and the greenhouse in particular.

Go figure. But I'm not complaining...though I am rambling, so let's go ahead and get started with this deliciously rich dish...

Blackberry Orange Bread Pudding
8 cups bread, torn into pieces
4 cups milk (or eggnog)
3 eggs
1 stick butter
1/3 cup sugar
1 tsp vanilla
1 tsp ground nutmeg
1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
1 orange, peeled and diced
1/4 cup blackberries

1. Preheat oven to 375. Pour melted butter over bread and oranges in a mixing bowl.
2. Whisk together milk or eggnog, eggs, nutmeg, sugar and vanilla. Pour mixture over buttered bread. Allow to rest for 30 minutes, then add blackberries.
3. Butter a baking pan and pour in bread mixture. Bake for about 40 minutes or until golden brown.

Here's the step by step...
​

Tear the bread into pieces into a big mixing bowl and add in the oranges.
​

Melt a stick of butter and pour it over the bread and oranges, then stir it all around a bit with a fork.

On a side note, I find melted butter mesmerizing. I could probably stare at it for hours, but I've heard staring is rude so I won't do that...right now, at least.
​

And now you need to grab a smaller bowl and add together the eggs, sugar, nutmeg, cinnamon, and vanilla.
​

Then grab a fork and whisk in the milk (or leftover eggnog in my case)...
​

And pour it all over the bread mixture.

The bread will immediately begin soaking up the liquid, and it's kind of fun to watch. Which is why I decided to film it for you...
​

Exciting, right? Well, I'm easily entertained, so I figured you were too. And you have some time to kill while you're waiting the half-hour for this to all to soak in and set up, so now you have something to watch.

Or you could just twiddle your thumbs.

It's up to you.

After 30 minutes or so the mixture will be slightly thicker and you'll be sick of that video, and that means it's time to toss in the blackberries. These can be either fresh or frozen, and if the berries are large it would be good to cut them in half. I used wild berries which tend to be on the smaller side, so I didn't need to do this. Either way, they add a sweet tanginess to the pudding, and the deep dark color is a great contrast to the oranges and the mixture itself--and you know how I love colorful food!
​

Pour all this colorful goodness into the buttered pan and bake it at 375 degrees until it turns golden brown and puffs up a bit.

I love this part, but it doesn't always last. The puff might deflate a bit as the pudding cools, but that's really okay because once it starts to fall you can start to glaze it...

​

I quickly mixed up some orange juice, powdered sugar, and butter to make a glisteny glaze, but you could also top it with a different glaze or even whipped cream and I bet it would be just as good.
​

It's even better garnished with fruit and served with a cup of hot tea, by the way, so go the extra mile and jazz it up to your heart's desire.

Your heart (and your tastebuds) will love it...your waistline may not. But just remember--it's wintertime and we need all the calories we can get to help us survive this frigid season.

Or at least that's what I'm telling myself as my pants get harder and harder to button and my shirts get snugger and snugger around my mid-section.

I figure I'll have to start wearing stretchy pants and baggy shirts before long, so if you see me out and about this winter, just pretend you don't notice my outfit.

Thanks in advance...and enjoy the recipe!

You've got to try this.

B​ecause I've outdone myself here.  Breakfast has just become my favorite meal, and it all started with some hidden potatoes the chickens unearthed while scratching around in the garden. 

I love it when my animals work for me...even when they do it accidentally.  And since I accidentally overlooked this hill of potatoes while harvesting earlier in the season, I really love my chickens for discovering them this late in the year. 

Thankfully, the chickens weren't interested in the potatoes, but I sure was.  They were still in great shape, so I snapped them up, scrubbed them down, diced 'em up, and fryed them down...along with some of my heirloom carrots, shallots, green peppers, and a bit of pork sausage.  And cheese.  And a few seasonings.  And ​​​boy was it good.

So, back to my first statement:  You've got to try this!​  But first you have to make it.  So, read on and then get to work.  You're gonna love it.

Gather up:​

• 2 medium potatoes
• 2 small carrots
• 1 small shallot or onion​
• 1/4lb ​pork sausage
• 1/4 cup shredded cheese
• 4 eggs
• 1 T olive oil
• 1/4 tsp. salt
• 1/4 tsp cracked pepper
• 1/8 tsp turmeric​​​​

​And then:
Peel and dice the potatoes and toss in a skillet with the sausage and olive oil.  Cook on meduim heat as you dice the carrots and shallot or onion.  Add vegetables into the skillet and continue to cook for ten minutes or so, until potatoes begin to soften.  Sprinkle with salt and gently stir.  Crack eggs on top of mixture, spacing out as evenly as possible.  Sprinkle eggs with cracked pepper and turmeric, top with cheese, cover with lid, and cook for five minutes or so until the eggs reach your desired texture. Cut into wedges and serve warm.  Serves 4.
​
Here's a little more detail for those of you step-by-step-ers:
​​
​

Here's the veggies and sausage cooking in the skillet. 

​Looks good already.  Just sayin.

​

And here's what it looks like with the eggs cracked on top. 

Pretty neat, I think.  Don't be tempted to mess with these either.  They'll cook up just fine no matter where they land, and if you try to move them around, the yolks could break and that would ruin the whole effect.

Don't you dare ruin the whole effect. 

Please.

Or do whatever you want, I guess.  But if you do decide to ruin the whole effect, just don't tell me.  Breaking those pretty, plump, perfect yolks would simply break my heart​​​​.  And knowing you the way I do, I don't believe you'd ever want to do a thing like that to me. 

I'm trusting you.  No pressure:)

​​

Now that we got that out of the way, go ahead and sprinkle on the pepper and turmeric (because it's so good for you and such a pretty color) and then toss the cheese on top.

Oh boy, this is really getting good...

​​

So put a lid on it.

Literally, cause it helps the eggs set up and cook more evenly.  Then after a few minutes, take the lid off and just take in the sight.  And the smell.

It's wonderous.  

And it's delicious.  So cut this scrumptious skillet casserole into wedges, serve it up on a plate, slice into it with your fork, and savor the flavor.

​
​​

And now your morning has started off right.  So glad I was here for you!​

Now I'll leave you to your breakfast.  Enjoy!

But don't forget to say the blessing first--it makes the meal taste even better!​​ 

​Funny how that works...

I've been on a pasta kick lately.  And that little fact in combination with the fact that I have so much kale in the garden that it is coming out of my ears, led me to the decision last night that a kale pasta was in order.  And luckily, it took no time at all to create this simple, savory, and sweet dish that I thought was delicious and thankfully my family agreed.

It even earned a thumbs up from my son Will, which in combination with my own pat-myself-on the-back reaction, has led me to believe that you might enjoy it too.

And just to be clear, the kale that I used didn't really​​ come out of my ears.  It came out of the ground.  That's the only kind I like to cook with.  The kind that comes out of my ears isn't really good for anything but making my family look at me funny. 

I'm kidding.  Otherwise I might need to see a doctor...​or maybe I should see one anyway. 

Well, while I debate about the condition of my mental state and what actions might be necessary, you just keep on reading and don't worry your pretty little head about me.  Mine will be just fine. ​

​Since kale is so packed with​​ nutrients, then probably all I need to do get my mind functioning properly is eat more of it.  I got a pretty good dose last night, so without further ado let me present you with my recipe...

Here's what I used:

1/2 box fettuccini noodles
3 sweet Italian sausage links
8 oz pasta sauce, any kind
I clove garlic
1/2 onion
1 cup chopped kale
1/2 teaspoon chopped fresh cilantro​​​​​​​
1 tablespoon bacon grease
1/2 teaspoon sugar

And here's how easy it was to put all this together:

• Cook the fettuccini according to package directions and then drain. 
• Chop the sausage, onion, and garlic and fry them together in bacon grease until browned.   ​​​​​
• Add the sausage mixture to the fettuccini pan and pour in the pasta sauce. 
• Sprinkle in the sugar, kale, and cilantro.

Walla!  That's it.  All that's left to do is serve it up and eat it.  You couldn't make this any easier if you tried. 

But you could put a few twists on it if you wanted to, and I wouldn't be mad at all.  Like, you could leave out the cilantro and use basil or another herb instead.  You could also use any kind of pasta you so desired, like spaghetti or linguine, or even some of those cute little spiral pasta noodles that I can't remember the name of right now.  Just keep in mind that if you change the type of pasta, you have to change the name of the recipe.​  After all, you can't call it Fettuccini with Kale and Sweet Sausage  if you made it with spaghetti.

Sorry...rules are rules.​

But calling the dish Spaghetti with Kale and Sweet Sausage  would be perfectly legal.  As would calling it Cute Little Spiral Pasta Noodles with Kale and Sweet Sausage.  ​

That one has such a nice ring to it, doesn't it?  ​I never thought I was good at names until just now.  I must be getting better with age...

Oh, and before I get too lost in admiring my new-found naming ability, I should tell you that when you fry the sausage, you could use any kind of oil you wanted and no name change would be required.

Your welcome.

I'm so glad I'm in your life and can steer you through all this legal mumble-jumble.  I don't know what you'd do without me...

(No response necessary.  Especially if it involves eye-rolling.)

And now I'm off to the garden to visit my kale patch, so until next time, Chow! And Kiss Kiss!​


​​

I've been dreading doing my taxes for several weeks now, but yesterday I finally decided to bite the bullet and tackle the task. 

I'm not particularly good at keeping paperwork organized, so I had to spend the first part of the morning rounding up all the tax-related stuff I could find.  Then, after a couple of hours of sorting through creased papers, faded documents, and crumpled up receipts, I looked up from the mess that surrounded me and sighed.

I needed a break, and a good one too. 

To me, a good break always involves homemade cake...of which I had none. 

Sad situation, I say.  But being the problem solver (and cake-lover) that I am, I decided to remedy it the best way I know how. 

I immediately clawed my way out of my tax-paper pile and headed straight for the kitchen, where I proceeded to whip up a chocolaty creation I cleverly (in my opinion) deemed my "Tax Break Cake"...

Here's what I used:

• 1 3/4 cups cake flour
• 1 1/3 cup sugar
• 1/4 tsp. baking powder
• 1 1/4 tsp. soda
• 3/4 tsp. salt
• 1/2 cup dark cocoa
• 1/2 cup soft shortening
• 3/4 cup water
• 1 tsp vanilla
• 2 eggs

I sifted the first six ingredients together into the mixing bowl, then added the shortening and 1/2 the water.

I turned on the mixer and beat this for a minute or two, then added the rest of the water and the eggs.

It all got beat again for a minute and then poured into my handy-dandy vintage bundt pan, which I had already greased. 

I slid the cake pan into a 350 degree oven and baked it for 25 minutes.

It took another 25 minutes for the cake to cool, so in the meantime I mixed up some fudge frosting (just a couple spoonfuls of butter, some dark cocoa and powdered sugar, and a little bit of milk) and ate most of it while waited. 

You gotta do what you gotta do.

I finally forced my frosting-filled spoon away from my face, flipped the bundt pan over onto my grandma's old milk-glass cake platter, and dabbed on the remaining frosting.

I topped it off with a sprinkle of pink sea salt, then cut me a big 'ole slice and sat back down in the middle of my mound of tax papers to enjoy it.

Hey, if you gotta do something you dread, you might as well do something to make it delicious!

I just wish there was a way I could write off all the chocolate cakes I've eaten this year...

Not to mention the frosting!

It was an early fall morning, the sky bright and the air crisp, when my family and I climbed out of our vehicle and ambled into the yard of a rambling old farmhouse at the edge of town.  We were there for the usual reason--to search for treasure.   Yard sale treasure, that is, and this one looked promising.  Tables piled high with antique glassware, primitive farm tools, and vintage lamps dotted the lawn, while faded oil paintings and advertising memorabilia leaned lazily against an assortment of tattered furniture.  The occasional odd knick-knack punctuated the scene, along with various stacks of old magazines and well-worn books. 

It was in one of these stacks, unbeknownst to me, that a particularly tasty treasure quietly awaited discovery. I, in my excited haste, actually overlooked it, but thankfully my mother, who never overlooks anything (ahem), didn't. 

Here's what mom rescued from that musty old pile, and then promptly handed over to me...

A vintage Betty Crocker Cookbook! 

Now, you may have noticed that this book has seen better days.  It's clearly been beat up, cracked up, and taped up, but all that means to me is that it was used plenty and cherished enough that someone took the time to try to hold together when it was on the verge of falling apart. 

Ooh, this is getting good...I mean, don't we all need to be appreciated that much? 

Golly, I'm gettin' a little teary-eyed. 

I bet it's just my allergies...here, peek inside while I take a moment to compose myself:

Each section begins with an eloquent introduction and is dotted with charming illustrations. The recipes contain gracefully detailed instruction along with a brief history of the dish, timely advice, and gentle etiquette tips.  It's all so endearing, and from an era so lost in time that these days most have never even heard of it. 

Thankfully, I'm here to save the day. 

Although, unfortunately, I neglected to save you a piece of this...

Lemon Meringue Pie!  The first thing I did when I got this book was to immerse myself in the "Pies" section, because I firmly believe dessert should come first.  And I also believe that simple old-fashioned homemade pies are simply the best dessert ever!

And since I'm on a roll, I also believe that this Lemon Meringue is simply one of the best old-fashioned homemade pies I've ever tasted!

Ok, roll over.  I mean my roll is over. 

Oh boy.  You know what I mean.  Back to the pie...

It wasn't difficult to make. First I made a pie crust, and then I simply (oops, I backslid) followed Betty's recipe.   Here it is, straight from the pretty pages of my new favorite book:

The recipe is formatted differently than what I'm used to, but once I got the feel of it, it was easy to follow.  So I followed all the steps and ended up with this sheeny, citrus-y, pudding-like mixture... 

Which I poured into my baked pie shell and topped it with meringue. 

Here's the meringue recipe, and don't be alarmed. It's very detailed but ultimately very easy, and like what it says at the top of the page,

"With a little care, they'll be heavenly fare."

 I baked the pie until the meringue was "delicately browned", which happened fairly quickly.

I had only just about enough time to grate a little extra lemon rind, which I then sprinkled on top of the piping hot, fresh-from-the-oven pie. 

I think it dressed it up nicely, and I did that on purpose.  Let me show you why... 

This paragraph introduces the "Frostings" section, and it contains of my favorite phrases in the book:

"A butter icing is like a favorite cotton dress...simple and easy to put on...". 

Sigh.

It makes me want to put on my favorite cotton dress, head straight to the kitchen, and whip up that "simple and easy" butter icing or whatever else strikes my fancy.

And sprinkling that lemon rind on my pie struck me as fancy.  I get the feeling that this is exactly what the book is designed for--elevating mealtimes in a way that is uncomplicated and carefree. 

The message is loud and clear, yet spoken in an elegant lady's prose:

A little effort goes a long way, and aren't our families worth it? 

As I cook my way through this book, one dish at a time, I can feel those words settling around me and infusing the ingredients of my meals.  And with each stir of the spoon, I swirl a little farther back in time to an era where family came first, fellowship and feasting went hand-in-hand, and a traditional meal served on the dining room table was an event to be treasured.

I must say, despite my never-ending search for treasures of the yard sale variety, I know in my heart that the true treasures already reside in my home.  And I think those "precious jewels" are worth any effort I can make, no matter how "little" it may be. 

But let's be clear--once yard sale season begins, that effort may get a little sparse.  Although once my family sets eyes on all the goodies I'll be lugging home, they'll forget all about fancy little touches like grated lemon rind on a homemade pie...I think.

Oh well, I'll just go about my adventures and hope for the best!

Late season gardens tend to provide a wealth of veggies, but there's one in particular in my garden that seems to be showing off at the moment--it's the okra.  Thankfully I like show-offs, and let me tell you, there's nothing I like better in the waning days of Indian Summer than a fresh batch of good old-fashioned fried okra.  I think you'll feel the same once you try it, so here's what you need:

8-10 okra pods
3/4 cup flour
1 tsp sugar
1/2 tsp garlic salt
1/2 tsp Old Bay seasoning
2 eggs
1/4 cup bacon grease

Now let's start at the beginning:

I like colorful produce, so I grow both traditional green okra and this heirloom variety known simply as "red okra".  I plant my okra in the spring, but it's not until the hot dry days of late summer that it really takes off.  The plants spend the season growing, and once they reach about five feet high they start flowering these pretty hibiscus-like blossoms that quickly turn into little nubs of okra.

Once that baby okra pod starts forming we're off to the races, and it's me vs. the okra plants.  The pods grow so fast it's all I can do to keep them picked.  I have to check them once a day because if I don't, they'll grow into a long, tough-as-nails, hard-husked seed pod that is great for seed-saving, but definitely too tough for eating.  (Unless you're a chicken.  And since I have been known to occasionally forget to pick the okra, my chickens eat plenty of it.  At least it doesn't go to waste!)

I do my best to keep the okra picked, though, because they taste best when they are no more than 5 inches in length--beyond that they tend to develop that toughness I mentioned.  This small size is perfect for frying, and I start by slicing off both ends of the pod and then cutting that middle section into inch-ish pieces.

I also make sure to get that bacon grease into the skillet and start heating it up now.  It's important to fry these fellas in hot grease so they cook up nice and crispy.  You could use a different oil for this, but fried okra is such a seasonal specialty for me, when I make it I want to make it right.  And to make it right, bacon grease has to be involved.  No question about it.  Amen.

I crack a couple of eggs into a dish and scramble them up a bit.  This is one of the green eggs from my pretty little Isbar hen, who spends dawn to dusk pecking at all those pesky critters crawling through the grass toward my garden.  I like her a lot.

And I like to toss the dry ingredients into a bowl and whisk them together next.

Then I drop some of the sliced okra into the egg dish and stir them around a bit to coat them. 

I love bright colors and odd shapes.  Just saying. 

These beauties then get dumped unceremoniously into the flour bowl, and once again, get rolled around until they're coated.  Let me just say, I am not careful about this.  I don't have the patience to make sure each piece gets evenly coated, so if they stick together, then they stick together.  It just makes for an extra big, yummy bite later on--and those double doses generally have my name on them.

That bacon grease should be sizzling by now, so the breaded okra gets tossed right on into it. 

Sizzle sizzle, pop pop.  I can't imagine a world without bacon grease...or fried okra. 

It doesn't take long for these guys to start browning up, and when they do I flip them over and let that other side cook.  I feel that's only fair.  And I like to think of myself as a fair-minded person.

Kindly keep your opinions to yourself; my bubble is not in need of bursting today.

Ooh!  Feast your eyes!!  This is what happens to them after a few minutes--they get that nice-n-crusty golden-brown look to them, and they smell absolutely fantastic.  I quickly scoop them out on a paper towel, which soaks up any excess grease, and then it's time to serve them up.

Except I eat about half of 'em before I even get them into the serving dish.  But hey, I just consider it a reward for all my hard work.  What does make it into the dish gets served up with a bit of ranch dressing, which turns this tasty treasure into an even more tantalizingly tangy treat. 

Give me a minute while I untwist my tongue...I'm gonna need it to taste all this great garden goodness!

Oh boy.