Poetry & Pushpins

~ The Writings of S.L. Woodford

Poetry & Pushpins

Monthly Archives: November 2014

A Rainy Day and A Pot of Kale

19 Wednesday Nov 2014

Posted by poetryandpushpins in Gardening, Pushpins (Daily Life), Romantic Botany

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botany, Bronte bashing, cozy apartment, New Haven

Monday was grosser than gross here in New Haven. It was a dark, cold, rainy day. The sort of day that Emily Bronte would totally have written long-winded, Gothic novels about, complete with horrible characters whose souls were just as dank and dead as the depressing weather they lived in. I was quite surprised Heathcliff wasn’t wandering up and down my street screaming “Cathy!!!!” as he beat his manly chest in fits of dangerous passion. He would have felt right at home with the wet and the chill and the wind.

I have Mondays off, so I didn’t have to venture out into the moist, sucktastic awfulness until much later. I took full advantage of my freedom and spent most of the day working on various writing projects in my flannel-sheeted bed. I also brought my relationship with my electric blanket to a whole new level. Seriously, the only time I detangled myself from its warm embrace was to leave the house for a marathon of evening meetings.

The next morning, I woke up, feeling rather shameful about the amount of time I spent under an electric blanket. But the shame was fleeting, especially when I noticed sunlight filtering in through my bedroom’s curtains. Its soft yellow glow seemed so foreign and new after yesterday’s miserable darkness. I walked to my window and parted the curtains. The sunshine was real and was shining on the large pot of kale that lives on my balcony. I had winterized my garden this past weekend, and out of curiosity, I repotted my healthiest kale plant and put it on my balcony. Since kale grows throughout the winter months, I thought it would be fun to still have growing things on my balcony—a jolly green presence amidst the chill and cold and snow. The plant wasn’t very happy after its transplant. In spite of my valiant watering efforts, its leaves sulkily slumped out and down from its main stem. But after Monday’s downpour, its leaves reached up and out to the sun in a stout and decided manner.

I smiled. Perhaps yesterday’s weather wasn’t that Brontesque after all. It’s dank dampness did encourage life.

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English Fusion Cooking: Golden Raisin and Black Currant Scones

12 Wednesday Nov 2014

Posted by poetryandpushpins in Cooking, Philosophy of Cooking, Pushpins (Daily Life)

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cooking, England

It is finally cold outside. The heat is on, the electric blanket out, and the oven warm. This weekend, my roommate and I took turns using our oven to bake various things, both savory and sweet. She made her first apple pie of the year, and I made my first fall scones. They also happened to be the most epic scones I’ve ever made. Who knew that cinnamon, homemade rye-rum vanilla, golden raisins, and black currents was such a winning combination? And believe me, it totally is.

Making such scones allows me to revel in one of my favorite cooking styles: English Fusion Cooking. Traditionally, English cooking is pretty simple. All the food groups are there and are usually covered with copious amounts of butter or brown sauce. Though simple, I love to take these recipes and lace them with elegant surprises–like white truffle oil in the mashed potato portion of a Shepherd’s pie made from lamb, Portobello mushrooms, and leek. Or, adding a dash of cinnamon and homemade vanilla extract to a solid scone recipe. It’s unpretentious food with quiet glimmers of sophistication and creativity. Food you cannot really know until you tasted it, spent an evening with it, with your dearest friends.

Golden Raisin and Black Currant Scones:

1 cup of bread flour

1 cup of oat flour

1/4 cup of sugar (or much less to taste)

3/4 teaspoon of salt

2 1/2 teaspoons of baking powder

1/2 teaspoon of baking soda

1/2-1 teaspoon of cinnamon

1/2 cup of chilled, unsalted butter, cut into 1/4 inch pieces

1/2 cup of Golden Raisins

1/4 cup of Black Currants

1 egg, beaten

1 tablespoon of vanilla extract (I suggest you that make your own and use Angel’s Envy rye whiskey, which has been aged in rum casks, as the base for this extract)

2/3 cup of buttermilk, or plain yoghurt thinned to buttermilk consistency with filtered water

Instructions:

Preheat oven to 425 degrees F. Sift together all dry ingredients and cinnamon in a large bowel (or just dump them into said bowl if you are feeling slightly lazy / simply haven’t the time). Cut butter into mixture with two knives, or a pastry cutter, until the butter pieces are the size of small peas. Stir in golden raisins and currants. Add egg, vanilla extract, and buttermilk to mixture. Stir until just mixed.

Spray a large baking sheet with vegetable oil cooking spray and drop scone batter by the heaping tablespoonful onto the baking sheet, 2 inches apart, making 10 scones. Bake 15 to 18 minutes or until golden brown. Remove from the oven and serve with clotted cream, marmalade, butter, or your favorite jelly preserve.

Homemade Vanilla Extract:

1 cup of bourbon, rum, rye whisky aged in rum casks, or vodka

5-8 vanilla beans

Instructions:

Place alcohol in a clean glass jar with a cork. On a cutting board, split vanilla beans open lengthwise, exposing seeds, then add to the alcohol. Cork bottle and store in a cool dry place for three weeks, shaking it each week. For the most intense flavor, store the mixture for six months before using.

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Laundry Redux

06 Thursday Nov 2014

Posted by poetryandpushpins in Fashion, Pushpins (Daily Life)

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human nature, laundry adventures

“Oh my God, I don’t want to do it. I don’t want to do my laundry. But I need clean stockings and underwear.” I say to my roommate as she makes hot chocolate in our kitchen.

She looks at me bemusedly, like she always does when I have slightly ridiculous outbursts of passion, usually brought on by the inevitability of certain despised household chores.

“Yes, laundry is annoying to do. But you’ll get it done.”

I smile and walk into my bedroom, internally loathing the reality that clothes do not stay clean and that I must now deal with colorful piles of chaos and brave the dusty basement.
I turn my hamper onto the floor, bracing myself for the awful clutter of cotton and color, but only blue and black greets my eye. I breath out. Where are my whites? My yellows and reds? Why aren’t they adorning this sea of dark colors with complication?

Then I remember: they are tucked away in their own pillowcases, already sorted and ready for the washer. A new method a friend of mine recently taught me (after I whined to her about doing laundry one too many times).

I don’t have to brave the colorful chaos.
It is already vanquished.

But, I feel my body bracing itself, a new dread taking hold.

“Oh my God, I don’t want to do it. I don’t want to do my laundry. It’s way too easy now.” I say to the orderly pile below me.

It says nothing back and I laugh as I pick up my first load and walk towards the basement. As much as I hate doing laundry, I’m apparently going to miss whining about the process.

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