Click here to view this photo book larger
You'll love Shutterfly's award-winning photo books. Try it today.
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Thursday, May 10, 2012
By Request Rhubarb Bars
I call this recipe "By Request" because I made these bars yesterday for an event at church, and got so many requests for the recipe that I knew I had to write about it. I've been spending a fair amount of time on Pinterest lately, and recently I searched for a rhubarb bar recipe without finding one I liked, so I decided to adapt a recipe that I got from my sister which called for a can of fruit cocktail. Since I have a great fondness for all things rhubarb, and access to a very healthy rhubarb patch, I decided to try this substitution, and by all accounts, it was quite successful!
Step 1: pick yourself about 15-20 stalks of fresh, tender rhubarb and chop into small pieces. Add about 1 to 1 1/2 cups sugar (more or less to taste) and set aside in the refrigerator (I left mine overnight) until a nice sugary syrup develops.
Since I was getting up early (6:00 AM) to make these before a morning event at church, I found a hot cup of coffee an essential part of the process. Drink the coffee (or whatever your beverage of choice is) - don't add it to the bars!
Ingredients:
2 eggs
1 1/2 C. sugar
1 1/2 C. chopped rhubarb (include some of the sugar syrup - enough to "fill in the gaps" of your measuring cup)
2 1/2 C. flour (I used unbleached all-purpose, I think whole wheat or a combination of flours would be good too)
1 1/2 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. vanilla
Beat eggs and sugar together until fluffy. Add remaining ingredients and stir until well blended. Batter will be thick.
Spread into a prepared (greased and floured) baking pan. If you use a 9x13 the bars will be thicker and more cake-like. My baking pan is slightly larger than that. (10 x 15?)
Bake at 350 degrees until surface is lightly browned. A 9x13 pan will take approximately 25 -30 minutes. For my larger pan, I baked the bars for 16-19 minutes. If going for a brownie-like consistency, it is preferable to slightly undercook these. If going for a cake-like consistency, cooking a little longer is preferred.
While the bars are baking, prepare a glaze using:
3/4 C. sugar
1/2 C. (1 stick) butter
1/4 C. evaporated milk
1/2 tsp. vanilla
Combine all ingredients in a small saucepan and bring to a boil. Boil for 3 minutes, stirring constantly. Remove from heat and allow to cool.
Note: I didn't have evaporated milk so I used fresh whole milk and it worked just fine.
Here are the bars after baking. I allowed them to cool a little bit as well before pouring on the glaze. When glaze and bars are both sufficiently cooled (they can both still be warm - just not hot off of or out of the stove/oven), pour the glaze onto the bars and spread until evenly covered.
Cut bars, serve and enjoy! They are very moist and yummy. Another variation I would like to try would be to use a lemon-butter sauce poured over the bars (similar to bread pudding). I would probably make the bars in the 9x13 pan (more dessert-like) and pour the sauce on the individual pieces just before serving. Here is a recipe for lemon butter sauce. Another variation I want to try it to substitute this for the sugar. I think many fruits could be used in place of the fruit cocktail or rhubarb - I can see trying this with raspberries and blueberries, possibly apples (with the addition of some cinnamon), even peaches. For sweet fruits I might add a little lemon juice for added tartness.
All experimenting aside, the original recipe, using the can of fruit cocktail, is also quite delish, and the beauty of it is you almost always have all of the ingredients needed for this tasty treat on hand in your pantry!
Step 1: pick yourself about 15-20 stalks of fresh, tender rhubarb and chop into small pieces. Add about 1 to 1 1/2 cups sugar (more or less to taste) and set aside in the refrigerator (I left mine overnight) until a nice sugary syrup develops.
Since I was getting up early (6:00 AM) to make these before a morning event at church, I found a hot cup of coffee an essential part of the process. Drink the coffee (or whatever your beverage of choice is) - don't add it to the bars!
2 eggs
1 1/2 C. sugar
1 1/2 C. chopped rhubarb (include some of the sugar syrup - enough to "fill in the gaps" of your measuring cup)
2 1/2 C. flour (I used unbleached all-purpose, I think whole wheat or a combination of flours would be good too)
1 1/2 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. vanilla
3/4 C. sugar
1/2 C. (1 stick) butter
1/4 C. evaporated milk
1/2 tsp. vanilla
Combine all ingredients in a small saucepan and bring to a boil. Boil for 3 minutes, stirring constantly. Remove from heat and allow to cool.
Note: I didn't have evaporated milk so I used fresh whole milk and it worked just fine.
Here are the bars after baking. I allowed them to cool a little bit as well before pouring on the glaze. When glaze and bars are both sufficiently cooled (they can both still be warm - just not hot off of or out of the stove/oven), pour the glaze onto the bars and spread until evenly covered.
Cut bars, serve and enjoy! They are very moist and yummy. Another variation I would like to try would be to use a lemon-butter sauce poured over the bars (similar to bread pudding). I would probably make the bars in the 9x13 pan (more dessert-like) and pour the sauce on the individual pieces just before serving. Here is a recipe for lemon butter sauce. Another variation I want to try it to substitute this for the sugar. I think many fruits could be used in place of the fruit cocktail or rhubarb - I can see trying this with raspberries and blueberries, possibly apples (with the addition of some cinnamon), even peaches. For sweet fruits I might add a little lemon juice for added tartness.
All experimenting aside, the original recipe, using the can of fruit cocktail, is also quite delish, and the beauty of it is you almost always have all of the ingredients needed for this tasty treat on hand in your pantry!
Saturday, October 9, 2010
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Optimism is relevant in any century.
Last night was opening night of our local High School fall musical. This year they are doing "Annie", which I find particularly pertinent (in a funny sort of way) in light of the current economic and political climate. The play is set in 1933 -- in the midst of an economic depression so pervasive that it came to be known as "The Great Depression". Franklin Delano Roosevelt was fairly new to the office of President -- a democrat -- following on the heels of republican Herbert Hoover. Sort of like Barack Obama's succession of George W. Bush. The theme of the play, in my opinion, is OPTIMISM. I think it is a lesson we can all take to heart today. I'm not sure that when the directors chose this play last spring, they realized how relevant a play set in the 1930's would be. I am particularly proud of my two sons, Mark and Grant, for the roles they portray in the play. The scene I have posted is one that vividly depicts how an optimistic attitude can change everything. Naturally, I am exceptionally proud of this scene because Grant plays the part of FDR (my lifelong republican Grandmother would turn over in her grave if she saw her great-grandson portraying a DEMOCRAT!) She did credit Roosevelt for "one good thing", however -- he gave our country social security, which provided comfortably for her in her later years. (She lived to be 105 years, 11 months old!)
You don't see Mark in this scene, but he plays the head butler in Warbuck's household. It could have been a ho-hum role, but he brought it to life in a novel way, and gave the character a memorable personality. Following are some pictures I took during rehearsals and the final dress rehearsal (presented as a public performance for families of the cast and school volunteers). If you happen to live in or near Cambridge, try to get a ticket to see this excellent production! (Okay -- I don't know why, but the icon that I usually click on to let me upload pictures isn't working right now -- maybe there will be pictures later...sorry).
In lieu of posting the photos in this blog, here is a link to another site where they are posted. Click on the first photo in the album and you should be able to see them all by selecting "next" in the upper righthand corner.)
(You can also cut and paste this address -- it should take you to the same address as the above link -- I still haven't mastered all of the blogger protocols.)
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=180146&l=7c683&id=706845173
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Flamingo Pink
The old couple who lived here were my grandparents. The house is gone – obviously. The two story structure remains fixed in my childhood memory for its sunny porches, for its wood burning stove in the kitchen, for its grate in the floor of the upstairs bedroom that let warm air tinged with the the scent of woodsmoke and strong coffee brewing waft up from the main floor in the early morning hours......and for its color. My grandfather, a jack-of-all-trades (one of which included house painting), chose to paint his own home pink. Not just a fade into the background, pale pink. Oh no – his house was flamingo pink! Not only was his house pink, but his car was pink as well. And in his pocket he always carried those round, chalky pink mints, which he freely passed out to grandchildren and kids on his school bus route. All this was long before Mary Kay Ash developed her pink cosmetic empire. My salt-of-the-earth Grandpa just plain liked pink.
Before he earned his living painting houses and driving school bus, Grandpa owned and operated the local creamery. Dairy farmers used to bring their milk in daily, whereupon Grandpa and his two or three employees would separate the cream, churn the butter, prepare the buttermilk, and make the ice cream. Deliveries were made in the pink car. It was a real family business; Grandma kept the books, and my Dad and his younger brother earned 5 cents a day helping to churn butter and make deliveries. Grandpa and Grandma survived the Great Depression on the proceeds of the creamery, which oftentimes came in the form of a bushel of apples or a dozen eggs, because cold hard cash was so hard to come by. My Dad, who grew from a lad of 5 to a teenager during the depression, says he never even realized that times were tough. It was just the way life was in those days.
Next to the house Grandpa always put in a huge garden. He grew potatoes and carrots, strawberries, corn, and beans -- both green and yellow. I don’t remember that he ever grew tomatoes or lettuce or broccoli or cauliflower or cabbage. He was a simple man in many ways, given to simple ways and simple tastes. He had spent a year in the trenches of France during WWI and treated each day as a gift. For her part, Grandma grew hollyhocks and asparagus. Her asparagus patch was by the shed out back. Her rule was to stop cutting the asparagus on the 4th of July. I don’t suppose she ever broke that rule. Asparagus simmered in milk and butter, with lots of saltine crackers crumbled into the milky mixture was one of her specialties, along with “Minnesota” potatoes – potatoes chopped fine and pan fried in lard with a generous seasoning of salt and pepper. She never exercised a day in her life yet she outlived my active grandpa by a quarter of a century. You would think with her sedentary lifestyle and with all of the fat and cholesterol she used in her cooking, her heart and arteries would have rebelled at a much younger age, but somehow she managed to survive until a month shy of her 106th birthday. That was a decade ago.
Summers at my grandparent’s house meant long hours playing outdoors. In addition to his garden, Grandpa also grew Christmas trees. Grandpa and Dad used to go out to the “tree farm” on hot summer days to trim the trees, pruning and shaping them with a few well-placed snips, preparing them for a December harvest. I would sometimes come along and play pioneer games amongst the trees while they worked, imagining myself a little Laura Ingalls living in the Big Woods. Other days were spent at the lake. To get to the swimming beach we would ride our Schwinn one-speed bikes -- with the baskets in front loaded with paper bag lunches -- down the country road into town, through the alley behind the old Davis place, and across the street. My little sister and I, and sometimes a cousin or two, would swim like fish for an entire day. My brother, on the other hand, would often spend his entire day fishing in the lake, bringing home fresh sunfish, northern, or walleye that he would clean and give to Grandma to prepare for our supper. Somewhere in my parent’s photo album back home is a faded Polaroid of my brother and my cousin holding a nice stringer of fish, my proud Grandpa looking on.
After Grandpa died, Grandma lived alone in the pink house. Before long she had her sons repaint it a more “respectable” white. I can only assume she allowed the house to be pink as a concession to my Grandpa and her great love for him. When she died, the house, with all of its memories, was put up for sale. Eventually the new owners had it torn down. The garden and the asparagus patch gave way to weeds and wild grasses. The once-tended acres of trees grew far too big to decorate anyone’s living room. Today, I don’t even know who owns this land that my imagination and I once roamed freely across.
It always nicks my heart when I drive past this place now not just because of the loss created by my Grandparent’s absence, but also because of how quickly time can erase our material existence. I doubt another passerby would even give it a second glance. Where there is emptiness, we are quick to turn away and forget. I am like a desert-weary traveler, seeing a shimmering, sun-induced mirage…images of a home, of a history, of human beings. I cup these images in my hand and carry them – precious -- like water. Even nothingness has weight. And I realize that the space I inhabit will someday fade. I, too, will return to field-swept breezes, overgrown trees and grasses, dark, fertile earth. My existence on earth will become someone else's precious images, remembered for the life I lived and the love I shared.
A car honks and I am brought back to the present. I turn my Chevy Malibu back onto the county road and drive on, feeling slightly lost in the in-between. Past. Present. Loss. Progress. Extinction. Vitality. History. Potential.
I have heard that the town is expanding in this direction. The land has become valuable. Someday soon there will be plans to subdivide it, to build efficient homes sporting nondescript vinyl siding, landscaped lawns, and paved driveways leading to three-car attached garages that house mini-vans and hybrid cars. Perhaps the new owners will never wonder about who came before them. They will be caught up in the living of their own lives, with the making of their own history. There will be lawns to mow, snow to shovel, kids to raise, groceries to buy, wages to earn. They will be working hard, trying to make a good life for themselves, a better life for their children. But I’m pretty sure none of their houses or cars will be flamingo pink.
Before he earned his living painting houses and driving school bus, Grandpa owned and operated the local creamery. Dairy farmers used to bring their milk in daily, whereupon Grandpa and his two or three employees would separate the cream, churn the butter, prepare the buttermilk, and make the ice cream. Deliveries were made in the pink car. It was a real family business; Grandma kept the books, and my Dad and his younger brother earned 5 cents a day helping to churn butter and make deliveries. Grandpa and Grandma survived the Great Depression on the proceeds of the creamery, which oftentimes came in the form of a bushel of apples or a dozen eggs, because cold hard cash was so hard to come by. My Dad, who grew from a lad of 5 to a teenager during the depression, says he never even realized that times were tough. It was just the way life was in those days.
Next to the house Grandpa always put in a huge garden. He grew potatoes and carrots, strawberries, corn, and beans -- both green and yellow. I don’t remember that he ever grew tomatoes or lettuce or broccoli or cauliflower or cabbage. He was a simple man in many ways, given to simple ways and simple tastes. He had spent a year in the trenches of France during WWI and treated each day as a gift. For her part, Grandma grew hollyhocks and asparagus. Her asparagus patch was by the shed out back. Her rule was to stop cutting the asparagus on the 4th of July. I don’t suppose she ever broke that rule. Asparagus simmered in milk and butter, with lots of saltine crackers crumbled into the milky mixture was one of her specialties, along with “Minnesota” potatoes – potatoes chopped fine and pan fried in lard with a generous seasoning of salt and pepper. She never exercised a day in her life yet she outlived my active grandpa by a quarter of a century. You would think with her sedentary lifestyle and with all of the fat and cholesterol she used in her cooking, her heart and arteries would have rebelled at a much younger age, but somehow she managed to survive until a month shy of her 106th birthday. That was a decade ago.
Summers at my grandparent’s house meant long hours playing outdoors. In addition to his garden, Grandpa also grew Christmas trees. Grandpa and Dad used to go out to the “tree farm” on hot summer days to trim the trees, pruning and shaping them with a few well-placed snips, preparing them for a December harvest. I would sometimes come along and play pioneer games amongst the trees while they worked, imagining myself a little Laura Ingalls living in the Big Woods. Other days were spent at the lake. To get to the swimming beach we would ride our Schwinn one-speed bikes -- with the baskets in front loaded with paper bag lunches -- down the country road into town, through the alley behind the old Davis place, and across the street. My little sister and I, and sometimes a cousin or two, would swim like fish for an entire day. My brother, on the other hand, would often spend his entire day fishing in the lake, bringing home fresh sunfish, northern, or walleye that he would clean and give to Grandma to prepare for our supper. Somewhere in my parent’s photo album back home is a faded Polaroid of my brother and my cousin holding a nice stringer of fish, my proud Grandpa looking on.
After Grandpa died, Grandma lived alone in the pink house. Before long she had her sons repaint it a more “respectable” white. I can only assume she allowed the house to be pink as a concession to my Grandpa and her great love for him. When she died, the house, with all of its memories, was put up for sale. Eventually the new owners had it torn down. The garden and the asparagus patch gave way to weeds and wild grasses. The once-tended acres of trees grew far too big to decorate anyone’s living room. Today, I don’t even know who owns this land that my imagination and I once roamed freely across.
It always nicks my heart when I drive past this place now not just because of the loss created by my Grandparent’s absence, but also because of how quickly time can erase our material existence. I doubt another passerby would even give it a second glance. Where there is emptiness, we are quick to turn away and forget. I am like a desert-weary traveler, seeing a shimmering, sun-induced mirage…images of a home, of a history, of human beings. I cup these images in my hand and carry them – precious -- like water. Even nothingness has weight. And I realize that the space I inhabit will someday fade. I, too, will return to field-swept breezes, overgrown trees and grasses, dark, fertile earth. My existence on earth will become someone else's precious images, remembered for the life I lived and the love I shared.
A car honks and I am brought back to the present. I turn my Chevy Malibu back onto the county road and drive on, feeling slightly lost in the in-between. Past. Present. Loss. Progress. Extinction. Vitality. History. Potential.
I have heard that the town is expanding in this direction. The land has become valuable. Someday soon there will be plans to subdivide it, to build efficient homes sporting nondescript vinyl siding, landscaped lawns, and paved driveways leading to three-car attached garages that house mini-vans and hybrid cars. Perhaps the new owners will never wonder about who came before them. They will be caught up in the living of their own lives, with the making of their own history. There will be lawns to mow, snow to shovel, kids to raise, groceries to buy, wages to earn. They will be working hard, trying to make a good life for themselves, a better life for their children. But I’m pretty sure none of their houses or cars will be flamingo pink.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Double Digits!
Okay -- I'm having a really hard time getting this post to look right. So bear with me...
Isaac recently turned 10. TEN! I can't believe my baby is now in double digits! With all of the turmoil in our family recently, it was good to have a reason to take time to stop and celebrate life.
On Saturday we had a samll birthday party for him. We invited six of his friends, but only three could come. The four boys that were there able to come had tons of fun first playing inside with legos and later moving outside for a nerf "war". Of course, being boys, they also discivered the pond, where they proceeded to use the toads for nerf target practice (no harm came to any innocent toads) and staged a lego version of the sinking of the Titanic and Lusitania. Pictures follow. Sorry that they are not well labeled -- I'm not so good at editing on blogger.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Announcing.....
...the newest member of the Land of Lakes Choirboys Nordic Choir -- Isaac!!! We spent the past week at choir camp near Lake Mille Lacs. Mark and Grant both attended as junior counselors and I returned for my 3rd year in the kitchen. This was Isaac's 2nd year as a camper. He was apprehensive about the whole camping experience, and about his chances of moving up within the choir ranks. He wants to, and yet -- he doesn't. He wants to because it is both an honor and a sign of his progress as a singer, but at the same time, moving up means going away on tour, which scares him more than a little. His 3 best choir buddies also moved up, so that helps -- they can stay together and support each other. I keep reminding him that he has 10 months of learning, growing, and maturing before he goes on tour, as well as reminding him that the choir is like another family for him. I think that by tour time next June he will have his fears under control. At least I HOPE he will!Pictures from camp:
Here is Isaac sitting on his bunk in his cabin. 
A "Nordic Choir" rehearsal on the first day. The boys did not know at this point who was actually moving into the Nordic Choir and who would be in the newest Land Of Lakes Choirboys choir -- the Voyager Choir (a step between Resident choir and Nordic Choir). 
Grant demonstrating good form on the archery range. 
Mark taking Isaac and a friend out on the paddleboat. 
Leah shows how to make toast for 110 people in 10 minutes -- slap that butter on! 
Another waterfront activity -- sailing! 
Yellow sunset. 
Pink sunset. 
The raft was always crowded. The boys favorite water activity has always been throwing the counselor off the raft. The campers usually outnumber the counselor on the raft by at least 20 to 1. The poor counselors don't stand a chance! 
One of Isaac's favorite hangouts was the craft cabin. 
Here is Isaac at another rehersal later in the week. A returning Nordic Choir member and officer told Aaron (the director) that "Isaac would make an excellent addition to the Nordic Choir. He is always sitting up and paying attention, and he doesn't talk much during rehearsal." 
An exercise in trust and teamwork. 
Will the circle be unbroken???? 
Isaac (and PJ in the background -- Nordic Choir prefect and camp program director) celebrate a successful attempt! 
Isaac on the beach. He liked playing in the sand better than playing in the water. 
Waiting nervously as names are announced for the Nordic Choir. 
Isaac jumps up when his name is called! 
Waiting to see who else is chosen. 
Is it relief or terror? Perhaps a little of both. Relief at being chosen (along with his friends), terror at the thought of a three-week-long tour. (He later told me he is afraid that he will miss me too much while on tour). 
The new members of the Nordic Choir gather officially for the very first time. 
The four friends who plan to stick together! 
The first public performance of the 2008-09 Nordic Choir. 
Isaac is in the middle of the front row (seen here sharing music with the boy on his right). Video from camp:
A Nordic Choir rehearsal -- beginning to mold this group of new boys into a cohesive choir.
Presenting the 2008-09 Nordic Choir! Their first public performance at Timber Bay Camp, August 17, 2008.
The 2008-09 Viking Choir -- a bit of what 4 days of rehearsal with a group of well-trained boys can produce.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
"The Famous Titanic" slide show
Music for Slide Show
