saturday pancakes

Saturday morning breakfast is, hands down, my favorite meal of the week to make.

It's the slowness of it all, the ease of waking up with not much to do right away, except maybe make something delicious to eat. Ralph crows at the same time every day whether it's Saturday or not, but we're not much for sleeping in too late in this house anyway. We pull him up into our bed and let him rearrange the pillows till we're good and awake. Ryan has successfully taught the child how to fetch him his slippers. Truly.

We all tumble down the stairs after a few minutes and Ryan puts the coffee on the stove. We park it on the couch and Ralph hops from lap to lap to floor to stairs to kitchen to lap again. We watch our shows (Edible Feast and This Old House) and sip our coffee (milk and sugar) and then it's time to eat.

My big kitchen window faces east and the sun shines through my curtains just right. I always try to get the kitchen extra clean on Friday nights, just for that moment-- when I walk in, and everything is so bright it practically sparkles.

I turn on some music. I set the table with cloth napkins and juice glasses and small bowls for fruit because who cares, it's Saturday. I don't have a dishwasher, but I do have all day to ignore the mess of extra dishes if I want to. I pull out bowls from the cupboards and spoons from the drawers and by that time Ralph has come in and "helped" by measuring out a bowl-ful of useless flour that I'll dump back into the jar when he's not looking. I crack some eggs-- sometimes for fried egg sandwiches, sometimes for french toast (if I've happened to grab a loaf of challah at the store the day before) but most of the time, for our favorite pancakes.

Buttery, with a slight tang from the buttermilk. Not too dense and cakey, but not too light and fluffy either. Juuuuust right. Perfect for a long, sunny weekend, I'd say.

Buttermilk Pancakes | adapted from The Comfort Table by Katie Lee Joel

3/4 cups flour
1 tablespoon sugar
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
pinch of kosher salt
1 cup buttermilk
1 tablespoon butter, melted
1 large egg

In a medium bowl, combine the flour, sugar, baking powder, baking soda, and salt.

In another medium bowl, whisk together the buttermilk, melted butter, and egg. Add the dry ingredients to the buttermilk mixture. Mix until just combined. The batter should be a bit lumpy.

Grease a nonstick skillet or griddle and heat to medium high. Pour about 1/3 cup batter per pancake onto the griddle. When small bubbles begin to form on the tops of the pancakes, they are ready to be flipped, 2-3 minutes on each side.

Makes enough pancakes for about 2 1/2 people (heh) but the recipe can easily be doubled.

keeping the home | thanksgiving

Setting the scene: We'll be in Ohio with Ryan's family on Thanksgiving this year, so I hosted a little pre-Thanksgiving dinner of my own over the weekend for my side of the family-- partly because I wanted to see if I could actually do it, but mostly because I wanted the comfort of having my mom around on one of my favorite holidays. Prepping for the day took the better part of a week, but just in merry little bits here and there-- buying the turkey, picking up a few more cups to match what I already have, planning the menu, washing the napkins. The air was thick with festivity. I followed Ina's directions and set the whole table the day before, complete with sticky notes in the serving dishes. Linen fabric for a makeshift tablecloth, white dishes, thrifted brass candlesticks, grocery store eucalyptus, and leaves from the backyard. I made the stuffing the day before, nervous that it would turn soggy. (Tragically, it wound up too dry.) My parents arrived with a basket full of pies, and my sisters brought wine and cookies. My mom put her apron on and showed me how to remedy my too-salty gravy. Ryan took drink orders. Ralph and his cousins scattered toys.We sat down to eat and toasted to my sister and her family who live far away. My parents washed the dishes, and my sweet dad put them away in the wrong spots. A fresh pot of coffee was brewed before the pie was served. And when the day was done, a cup of tea, and in bed by nine.

Making this meal: A big, fat turkey soaked in this brine, then rubbed up with butter and herbs. Rosemary and garlic pureed potatoes. Bacon braised brussels sprouts. Stuffing, gravy, buttery corn, rolls. Mom's cranberries. Pie! Whipped cream!!!

Listening to: Sweet, simple, thankful hymns-- because in my mind, that's the closest thing to what the Pilgrims might have enjoyed on their first Thanksgiving. The Little Women soundtrack makes me feel sentimental and happy to be with the ones I love, and long for the ones I love that I can't be with, until it makes me a little too emotional and I cry during the music where Beth dies. On this particular day of the year, I'm happy just listening to "For the Beauty of the Earth" on repeat.

Working on: Dishes. Digestion. Naps. Christmas wish lists. Decking the Halls. Fa la la la la!

keeping the home | fall time

Setting the scene: Every year in Wisconsin fall blows in with blustery winds that shake all the leaves from the trees and smell like smokey, burning brush. Every year I forget how beautiful it is, until it's here, and everything is orange and gold and rusty red. The air has a bite to it, and I'm ready. I've washed the hats and scarves and put them all in one basket, with fingers crossed that we don't loose any mittens this year. Pumpkins have been scattered around the house, for festivity's sake, and also so I can hear Ralph's tiny voice say punkin over and over. We've been raking and crunching and jumping in leaves, picking one or two to bring inside each day. I throw them back outside when Ralph isn't looking. I'm knitting a green scarf with chunky, speckled yarn, and I'm trying to work in a row or two every night so I can actually wear it before the snow comes. It feels like I'll never finish.

Making this meal: Mexican Chicken Soup, warm and spicy, but not too heavy. Chips and guacamole. Ina's applesauce, warmed and with a dollop of sweet whipped cream for dessert. 

Listening to: Gusty winds blowing outside, leaves skit-scattering across the street, geese honking south. Inside we're playing all the Nickel Creek albums, because banjos and fiddles feel just right in the fall. Christmas music on the sly.

Working on: Improving this house's laundry situation. You know it's bad when your husband can't find his favorite jeans because you actually folded them up and put them away. I'm cleaning out the creepy basement laundry room, folding and ironing and putting away, and easing the pain with episodes of Gilmore Girls while I work.

night

In our house, evening begins the minute Ryan arrives home from work. As soon as Ralph hears Ryan pull the car into the driveway, he gallops to the back door, shrieking with laughter and pumping his arms into the air. Nothing I do all day long receives that kind of reaction from him, yet it happens every time Ryan walks through the door. Sound the trumpets, dad is home!

Sometimes I imagine Ryan having to take a deep breath before he opens the back door and steps into the kitchen. Like a box of chocolates (or something) I don't think he ever knows what he's gonna get. Some days the room is warm and lived in-- lights are on, pots are steaming on the stove, toys are scattered on the floor and Ralph and I are waiting for him with smiles and a Hi Daddy! How are you? Other days I have two babies in my arms, chopped onions and garlic sit on the counter-- that's as far as dinner has gotten-- and the little hairs on the sides of my head have frizzed out from juggling housework and children all day. Sometimes he walks into a dark kitchen that looks the same as it did when he left that morning, only messier. On these days he is usually greeted by a face that says Please take the baby, let's get out of this house, I don't care where, I'll go anywhere, especially McDonalds. 

Ten minutes later, Ryan is changed out of his work clothes and I am still in the kitchen, trying to salvage supper. This is when things get rowdy. I wait until I can't ignore the bumps and thumps and squeals coming from the living room any longer, and then I yell Go outside! feeling very much like a mom.

I call the boys back in once supper is on the table, and then begins the nightly struggle of trying to get Ralph to eat more than three bites of whatever I have lovingly (or hastily) prepared. This part of the night never goes very well. I won't elaborate.

When we're finished, we give thanks for our food, and then Ryan gives Ralph a bath while I tidy up the house. I pick out small, soft pajamas for my baby to wear. We laugh while he runs through the hall, bare bottomed and delighted about it. We get him dressed, we pick out a book to read, we snuggle, we talk, we laugh, we sing songs, we say prayers, we kiss his cheeks and lay him down. We turn off the light, we close the door. We high five.

Most nights there's a little energy left to do the dishes and talk in the kitchen, just the two of us. Now that cooler weather is here, we call it a night pretty early. Ryan likes to watch TV or read, and I usually head upstairs for a shower or a bath with water hot enough to make my skin itch. Sometimes I knit. Sometimes we watch Jimmy Fallon and have drinks and stay up late. I scroll through my instagram feed and try to keep my eyes open. When one of us starts to fall asleep on the couch, we decide its time. And then we go to bed, always together, every night.

read about our morning, here.

keeping the home | late summer, early fall

I'm trying something new here on The Homebook, a little series called "Keeping the Home." At this point in my life, being a stay-at-home wife and mother is my one, wonderful, profession. And since blogging is a part time gig that I enjoy very much, I'm blending the two trades. With this series I'll pop in every now and then around the changing of each season to talk about how I'm setting the scene at our house. I'm not an expert, just a wife and a mother who enjoys keeping her family happy and her home sweet and tidy (and sometimes festive.) I'm excited to show you how I do it.






Setting the scene: September is a funny month-- warm days and cool nights, not quite summer anymore, but not quite entirely fall. The harvest moon has come and gone, and it's time to start bringing the outdoors in. Our vegetable garden is starting to fade, but the tomatoes are in their prime, so every day I pick them and perch them on my kitchen window sills just like my mom has always done.  Bunches of herbs are being hung up to dry. I'm filling bowls with apples and pears and setting them in easy-to-reach places. Candles are lit in the evenings. Throw blankets have been pulled out of the linen closet and tossed onto chairs, just in case.Things are getting cozy over here, but we're not even close to hunkering down quite yet.

Making this meal: Sausage and lentil stew, bread with butter, chopped tomatoes and arugula with our favorite dressing, beer for the grownups.

Listening to this: The Felicity Soundtrack, for getting us in a back-to-school mood. The perfect background music while Ralph and I play all day long. Nick Drake's Five Leaves Left, my old autumn standby. Makes me want to grab my Art History textbook and walk to the library to cram for a test. Good for playing while Ralph naps and I sip coffee, preferably on a rainy day. Chet Baker Sings. This one plays on the nights we clean up the kitchen together after putting Ralph to bed. Open windows, open wine bottle.

Working on: Meal planning. Lazy summer days have made me, well, lazy. Making sure there is something warm and good for the boys to eat every evening is what I'm striving for.

the garden

My mom has always kept a gardening notebook through the years, to jot down notes and ideas for the garden she keeps with my dad. It's a small green (or is it yellow?) notebook that she fills with lists of what they planted each year, tiny sketches of where they planted everything, and tips for the next year. I've always loved paging through it and have decided to keep my own for our garden this year. Or, at least, I'm trying to. Right now my notebook contains a list of what to buy from the nursery that I wrote earlier this Spring, and the warranties for our boxwoods and rose bush tucked into the back pages. It's sad, but it's a start, eh?

In case you're curious, here's a list of what we planted this year, that I plan on writing down, with a pen, into my notebook. Sometime. Eventually.

3 rows of lettuce: butter, and romaine, for salads and sandwiches. Eh. We're not that impressed, and will try for a crispier variety next summer.
2 green pepper plants: for stir fry! Or stuffed peppers! Mayyybe salsa, if we can grow more than three.
1 row of green beans: for tossing with salt, pepper, butter, and lemon juice. And for freezing, when we're desperate for something fresh-tasting in the middle of January.
1 row of sugar snap peas: for picking and crunching into while lazily watching Ralph make tracks around the lawn with his tiny lawn mower. See also: stir fry! Note for next summer: don't plant them near the fence, because bunnies.
3 cucumber plants: bush pickles, actually. Extra crunchy and sweet, with small seeds. Perfect for pickling, and midday snacking, and drenching in bleu cheese dressing.
1 zucchini plant: for sweet zucchini bread, and that one dish with onions and tomatoes and basil and olives and cheeeeese.
3 tomato plants: my favorite. for stews and soups and sauces, and most especially, slicing and slurping.
1 cherry tomato plant: for the pop! factor.
1 strawberry plant: for, let's face it, the birds. We've managed to snag two that hadn't been pecked. Note for next year: some sort of cage?
Honorable mentions: my sweet herbs, sage, oregano, parsley, chives, rosemary, and mint. You have some work to do, dill and cilantro. You too, thyme.

Now tell me what you're planting! I love this stuff.

a recipe | summer lemonade

It's nearing that time of summer where back-to-school ads are arriving in the mail, and shelves of notebooks and loose leaf paper are stacked up at the store. I'm a lover of the changing of seasons, and usually things like this give me twinges of excitement, even if they always do show up a bit too soon. But this year I'm scrolling past all the pins and posts filled with sweaters and apple crisps much more quickly than I did last year. This summer has just been too good to think about it ending yet.

But. As much as I'm not looking, I see you, bouquets of freshly sharpened pencils. I figured I better get these recipes up before people start wishing for a hot cuppa cider over a glass of cold lemonade.

I've made these lemonades a handful of times already, and they don't last long in our fridge. The classic lemonade goes great with grilled burgers and oven fries, and the minty peach is exceptional with ice and a couple glugs of whiskey. If I do say so myself.

Classic Lemonade
1 cup simple syrup
1/2 cup freshly squeezed lemon juice, about 6 lemons
3-4 cups water

Combine first two ingredients in a pitcher, and add water to taste. Stir or shake, and chill before serving.

. . .

Minty Peach Lemonade
1 cup simple syrup
1/2 cup freshly squeezed lemon juice, about 6 lemons
1 ripe peach, cut into chunks
a handful of mint leaves
1 tsp sugar
3-4 cups water

Combine first two ingredients in a pitcher. In a bowl, combine the peach, mint leaves, and sugar, and muddle until juicy. Strain out solids, and pour the remaining juice to your pitcher. Add water to taste. Stir or shake, and chill before serving.

. . .

Simple Syrup
1 cup granulated sugar
2 cups water

Combine ingredients into a medium sauce pan. Bring to a boil on stove, and stir until sugar is dissolved. Let cool. Makes approximately 2 cups.