Rum Punch

Mother's Day was perfect.  Both Sean and Caitie had their finals during the week before.  Sean came home Friday night, Caitie arrived on Saturday, and that's all I needed for Mother's Day.

And then my baseball team surprised me after our game that afternoon.

It was a perfect day.

I've really enjoyed the past week, having everyone under the same roof is the best thing in the world.

Today, Caitie and Sean both began working their internships.  Exciting for both of them.

I don't think I've mentioned that Caitie's internship is in New York City?  Uh, yes.  She moved into her place yesterday.  Sigh.

It's been her dream for a while, to spend the summer in New York City, before she graduates college.  For the last few years, I have mixed feelings with every milestone, and this was no different.  So, so happy for her, so sad that she won't be here for the summer.  

And then the worries set in.  I couldn't turn them off.  Where will she live?  How will she get to work?  How will she find her way around?  Who will help her if she has any questions?  And my racing mind answered every one of those questions with it's a city that she's never been to and she doesn't know anyone there.  

First, we tackled the housing quandary.  Where to stay?  Thankfully, her school sent us a few links to places where past interns had stayed.  

Mr. Terrific went to the first site and told me, "Hey, I like this one.  An apartment building that only rents rooms to single women who are working, interning or studying in NYC.  Includes maid service and two meals a day."  He told me the name of the apartment and I googled it.

When the results popped up, the only thing I saw was HELL'S KITCHEN.  And I swear, it was bright red letters, font size about 50 point.  I kid you not.  It's all I could see.  

I need to add a disclaimer right now, I mean absolutely no disrespect or disdain toward anyone who lives in Hell's Kitchen.  But as a mom, looking for a place for her daughter to live, surely you can understand why I would not want my daughter living in a place called hell?   And though I imagine that hell is generally an extremely hot place, I can't help but think that the kitchen--a room with an oven--might be the hottest spot in hell?  It could be a misnomer, but I just couldn't get past it.

The next place on the list was in the Flatiron District. The word "flatiron" conjured up images in my mind of steaks and hairstyling tools, and with "Hell's Kitchen" still tattooed on my brain my racing thoughts quickly drew corollaries between steaks/kitchen and hairstyling/heat/hell, but it did not make me feel like I needed to breathe from a brown paper bag lest I pass out from anxiety.  After a quick google of "Flatiron District" I learned that the name comes from the Flatiron building and that the district was previously called the Toy District, and before that the Photo District.......all names I can live with.  Whew.  Found a place for Caitie to live that's not hell!

Today's Playlist

• "Steady, As She Goes".....The Raconteurs
• "Gotta Get Away".....The Offspring
• "Basket Case".....Green Day
• "Unwell".....Matchbox 20
• "Highway To Hell".....AC/DC

Rum Punch 

 (4 to 6 servings, depends

on the size of your glass!)

• 1/2 cup fresh lime juice (3 limes should do it)
• 1/2 cup grenadine
• 1 cup white rum
• 1/2 cup dark rum
• 2 cups pineapple juice
• 2 cups orange juice
• 1/8 teaspoon nutmeg

  orange slices, maraschino cherries, lime slices for garnish

&

tiny paper umbrellas and stripey straws for fun!

Gather your ingredients.

 Juice the limes.

In a pitcher, pour the lime juice,

grenadine, rums,

orange juice and pineapple juice,

and add the nutmeg.  Stir to combine.

Fill tall glasses with ice.  Pour in the punch.  Garnish with fruit and don't forget the umbrellas and stripey straws!

Enjoy!

Berries with Limoncello & Mint

My flowers are finally blooming!

I've been spending a lot of time outside, tidying up the flower beds.

Mr. Clyde likes to join me.  

Our typical scenario:  me, on my knees, pulling weeds.  Clyde, stretched out in front of me, so I have to reach over him to pull the weeds.  I get up and move to a different spot, he moves with me.

I try not to make eye contact with him, because as soon as I do he flips onto his back, wagging his tail, asking for a belly rub.  How can I resist this big, fluffy teddy-bear face?

I recently invited a bunch of friends over for a dinner party.  My menu?

Artichoke Dip

Caprese Skewers

Stuffed Mushrooms

Asparagus wrapped with prosciutto & mozzarella

I also made scalloped potatoes, and grilled filets mignon.   Actually, Mr. Terrific did the grilling.  Partly because he likes working the grill, but mostly because I think he's terrified that I'm going to overcook the meat.  He's really good at paying attention and making sure that the steaks are perfect.

And I made this rum punch, which I'm going to feature in a future blog post.  I promise!

For now, I'm going to give you the recipe for the berries that my friend, Danielle, brought to my party.  I thought they were just a lovely bowl of berries.......until I tried them.  

Me: "Wow, what else is in here?"

Danielle: "A little bit of lemon juice, mint, Limoncello........."

Me: "What?! Give me the recipe!!"

Here it is!!

Today's Playlist

• "No One Knows"......Queens of the Stone Age
• "California Sun"......The Ramones
• "On My Way"........Billy Boy On Poison
• "1983".....Neon Trees
• "Buddy Holly".....Weezer
• "Come Out And Play"....The Offspring

Berries with Limoncello and Mint

• 6 to 8 cups fresh berries (any combo you like!)
• juice and zest from 1/2 lemon
• 1/4 to 1/2 cup granulated sugar
• 1/4 cup chopped fresh mint leaves
• 2 tablespoons Limoncello

white vinegar, to wash the berries with

Gather your ingredients.

This is how I wash my berries:

Fill a large bowl with cold water.  Add 1/2 cup of white vinegar to the water.  

If you're using strawberries, remove the hulls from the strawberries.

Put all of the berries into the bowl with the water/vinegar.  Gently stir and swish the berries around, then allow the berries to soak for up to 20 minutes.  The vinegar will help to clean your fruit and it will also kill any bacteria.

While the berries are soaking, prep your remaining ingredients.

Zest and juice one half of a lemon.

Add the zest and juice to a small bowl.

Add the Limoncello.

Stir in the sugar.

Chop the mint leaves.

Drain the berries in a colander.  Give a quick rinse of water to rinse off any remaining taste of vinegar.

Place the berries in a bowl.  Add the Limoncello mixture.

Very gently stir in the mint.  Allow the berries to sit for at least 20 minutes, so that the flavors can blend.

Enjoy!

Boston Strong

First things first: a great big THANK YOU to all who have emailed or messaged me because you haven't heard from me recently and were concerned about that because of all that has happened here in Boston in the past week.  I am so awed and amazed at how the power of the blogosphere has created so many friendships and a sense of camaraderie with people that I have never met.

We are fine.  We did not go to the marathon, and I'm thankful that all of my friends and family who were there--whether running or cheering--are fine. Physically fine.

Mentally, it's a heck of a lot to wrap your head around, to process, to understand, to accept.  How can anyone ever understand or accept such horror?  The victims of this crime, totally innocent, enjoying the beautiful day, happily waiting so they can enthusiastically cheer for and embrace their family members at the finish line.

I remember back to when I found out about the Newtown shooting at the Sandy Hill elementary school.  My daughters and I had spent the afternoon shopping, buying Christmas gifts, and then capped it all off with a trip to K-Mart to secretly pay off the layaway of an unsuspecting shopper.  We were sitting in our car, still in the K-Mart parking lot, waiting for the light to change so we could exit.  My girls were laughing, talking about what a big surprise someone was going to get when they went to pay for their layaway and they found out that we beat them to it.  The newscaster's voice came on the car radio and said, "Parents, if you have young children in the vicinity, you may want to turn your volume down because we have some disturbing news...." at which point one of my daughters said, "That means turn it UP!!"  Which was exactly what I was thinking, so I did (because at ages 17 and 21, I do not consider my girls young children).  Our joyful mood was instantly suffocated by sorrow as we listened to the radio report of the Newtown shooting.  How could those sweet children and their loving parents have possibly known that their school was a dangerous place to be on that day?

Last Monday, could anyone have known that the finish line of the Boston Marathon was a dangerous place to be?  So often, you hear the phrase "they were in the wrong place at the wrong time."  How can attending school, or cheering at a sporting event, ever be wrong?  How can being at these places--at exactly the time you are supposed to be there--in broad daylight, be the wrong time?

I've mentioned my friend, Gayle, in previous posts.  Gayle is a nurse, and her sister (also a nurse) wrote this recounting of the first 24 hours after the marathon bombing (unedited by me):

     Let me tell you about the clear message my sister Gayle sent to the Terrorists. Monday when the bombs went off less than a mile from where she was working she stayed put to take care of her patients. When told by BPD that another bomb was found on Tremont street near the Hospital and that they were evacuating our Emergency room she helped to evacuate premature babies to safety not knowing or caring if she was in danger. She consoled and reassured frightened parents who are anxious enough having a baby in NICU let alone in the middle of all the terror of that day. And the next day....She went back in and did it again walking through security like you have never seen in your life. Armored tanks and Swat teams not letting what happened the day before stop her from going back to Boston and her job. I know because I was with her doing the same thing.. Not letting those animals keep us from doing what we do.


I think that since anything can happen, at any time, any place, our only option is to not give in, support each other and carry on.

A Low-Key Easter

Happy Easter!

And to those of you who don't celebrate Easter, Happy Sunday!

We've all been hit hard by the throw-up bug in this house.  Sean had it earlier this week (apparently it is making the rounds at his school), he was fine by the time he came home on Wednesday for his Easter break, but Friday at 4 a.m. (me), 5 a.m. (Erin) and 2 p.m. (Mr. Terrific) the rest of us succumbed.

It's been years since I've had this kind of a bug (Erin informs me that the last time she remembers me throwing up was when she was in preschool, in March 2000.  She's right!), and let me tell you, vomiting really gives your abs a workout!  And since I'm keeping score, I tallied seven workouts before noon on Friday.

The worst is over, I'm definitely feeling better, just a bit of a more lethargic, light-headed (thanks, dehydration) version of myself.

Up since the crack of dawn, of course, because although I would have liked to sleep a little bit later, Gus and Clyde had breakfast plans.  I wish I could somehow explain to them that breakfast will wait for them if they decide to sleep a bit later; that sleeping past sunrise doesn't mean they missed their opportunity to eat!

So, up we were at 6:30.  What have they been doing since around 6:45 or so?  I'll give you two hints:

Gus. Zzzzzzz.

 Clyde. Snooze.

Huh? Whazzat?  Was that a camera click that woke me.....can't you see I'm trying to catch a little shut-eye?

Happy Easter!  Happy Sunday!  I hope you enjoy a lovely day with family and friends.

Irish Soda Bread

First things first: I am not Irish.  I had never tasted, nor even heard of Irish soda bread until I started dating my husband, who is 100% of Irish descent.

Every spring, around St. Patrick's Day or Easter, my husband's great-aunt would bake an Irish soda bread and give it to my father-in-law, who would divide it and give a really large, foil-wrapped chunk to my husband.   If you read yesterday's post, you know that my anniversary is on March 14, so my first encounter with Irish bread occurred fairly soon after we were married.

My husband was all excited over a chunk of bread that to me looked like a lump of sawdust with raisins in it.  At his insistence, I tried a bite and found it so dry I couldn't even swallow it, so I choked it down with a gallon of milk.. Okay, that's an exaggeration, it wasn't a gallon but it was way more milk than you should have to drink in one sitting.  I will tell you that I enjoyed the flavor of the bread, but the texture was unbelievably dry.

At this point I feel the need to say that I mean no disrespect to anyone of Irish descent, I am not making fun of you or your bread.  I happily embrace so many things from your culture:  I love the color green almost as much as I like pink, the Boomtown Rats totally rock, and having named my children Caitlin, Sean and Erin you can be assured that I think Irish names are the bees knees.   I also feel the need to tell you that I am of Italian descent (with a name like Frances, what else could I be?  Did you ever watch the Sopranos?  Do you remember that episode when Paulie's mom invited her girlfriends over to play cards?  At the end of that episode, when the credits were rolling, suddenly there was a glut of characters played by actresses named Frances.  Like, practically every one of those little old Italian ladies was played by an actress named Frances!).  If my descriptions of Irish soda bread are insulting your Irish sensibilities and you feel the need to fire back at me that Italian panettone is blah and overrated, let me tell you right now that I agree with you.  Now that I've cleared the air, let me continue....

So, after we had been married a couple of years, I saw a recipe in the newspaper for Irish soda bread (this was the 1980's, folks, before there was internet access we actually read newspapers to get our daily fix of what's going on in the world) and I thought to myself, why should Mr. Terrific have to wait for his great-aunt's yearly baking? Why not bake it myself?  So I followed the recipe for "My Best Irish Soda Bread" (or some other similar, folksy name) and man, was it good!  It was not dry, it was perfect. 

I was so excited, I couldn't wait for Mr. Terrific to come home so that I could show him the bread and tell him that he would be able to have homemade Irish Soda Bread more often than once a year.  He took a bite of the bread, and promptly told me that his aunt's was better.  At that moment, I was wishing that it was as dry as his aunt's bread so that he would just go ahead and choke on it.

I don't know what happened to that recipe that I made all those years ago, because Mr. Terrific said "my aunt's is better" one time too many and in a hissy fit I chucked the recipe and went on strike for a few years.  The recipe that I use now is a combination of several recipes; I left out things I didn't like and added things I thought should be there.  Hope you enjoy it, and Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Today's Playlist

• "Rat Trap".....The Boomtown Rats
• "Sunshine Highway".......Dropkick Murphys
• "Bright Side Of The Road".......Van Morrison
• "When Love Comes To Town".......U2
• "She's So Modern".......The Boomtown Rats
• "The Boys Are Back In Town"......Thin Lizzy
• "Wild Honey"......U2
• "Tessie".......Dropkick Murphys

Irish Soda Bread

• 4 cups flour, plus extra for kneading
• 1/4 cup sugar
• 1 teaspoon baking soda
• 1 1/2 teaspoons salt
• 1/4 cup (1/2 stick) cold unsalted butter
• 1 3/4 cups buttermilk, plus 2 tablespoons for brushing the top of the bread
• 1 egg
• 1 1/2 cups raisins
• 1 heaping tablespoon caraway seeds

Gather your ingredients.

Preheat your oven to 375 degrees Fahrenheit.

Lightly spray a sheet pan with non-stick cooking spray or line with parchment paper.

Combine your dry ingredients (flour, sugar, baking soda and salt) in the bowl of  your mixer.

Cut your butter into pieces.  To do this, it has to be really cold, otherwise it's just gonna make a mushy mess.

First, cut it into three slices.

Then, cut each slice into 3 sticks.

Then, slice the sticks.  Ta-da!  Diced cold butter.

Add the butter to the dry ingredients and mix on a low speed until it is mixed into the flour.

With a fork, lightly beat the egg and the buttermilk.

With the mixer on low speed, slowly pour the buttermilk/egg mixture into the flour mixture.

 Add the raisins...

 and the caraway seeds and mix into the dough.

 Using a rubber spatula, scrape the dough out of the bowl and onto a well-floured board or counter top.  The dough is really, really sticky.  I used about 1/4 cup of flour.  Knead the dough until it holds together and is no longer wet and sticky.

 I only kneaded it five times to get it to look like this.  Still a ton of flour left on my counter, but you have to use way more than you actually need to prevent the dough from sticking to the surface.

 Form the dough into a round disk and place it onto your sheet pan.

 Using a serrated knife, cut an "X" into the top of the loaf, about 1/2" deep.  This will help the bread cook thoroughly.

 Brush the top of the bread with the additional buttermilk.

 This will give it a bit of a hard crust when it bakes.

Bake for 42 to 48 minutes.  Test it by sticking a toothpick into the center.  If the toothpick comes out clean without any goopy dough on it, you will know that the bread is done.  You can also thump the bread with your knuckles, and if it sounds sort of hollow, it's done.

Allow it to cool on a wire rack.

 Serve warm or at room temperature.

Enjoy!