Tuesday, November 27, 2012
Thanksgiving Whirlpool Whirlwind
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Friendship Bread~ Renae Brabham
I was looking through an old recipe book and saw the recipe for friendship bread starter. I had to laugh. I have received the starter twice, I dutifully accepted the baggie of bubbly dough with fake smiles and an insincere thank you. The sensation was likened to that of receiving a chain letter. If you stick around long enough you are bound to get one.
A more modern interpretation of a chain letter would be the annoying social media situation of this post "If you really love Jesus, your sister or brother, share this with 10 friends in the next hour, see what happens"
Neither of the starters that I received were from friends, actually they gave the gift to me rather sheepishly as if they themselves had been dumped upon. The process is similar to re-gifting,just pass off a gift that you don't really want to someone it won't really matter to.
But...with the leavened bread starter, the recipient has to actually work the dough starter for a week or so into 4 batches. After which time, you are going to sheepishly walk up to someone and do the same as my "friends" did.
So anyway, there it sat, A sloppy glob gurgling on my desk with a worn instruction sheet on how I am supposed to "Love on it and others"
I thought seriously of a one handed swoop into the garbage can, no looking back. But, killing a starter. I mean, there is something about the activity in that bag that makes you feel like you would if you killed a lady bug or a small marsupial.
So... I took the starter home and followed the instructions. Add a cup of this one day, a cup of this another, knead 20 times a day and then divvy it up into 4 bags. Ok, so now it's day 7 or 8 or something like that and I am anticipating the end of this process. I have my zip locks on the counter.Let's see, one bag I keep to re-start the whole process and the other I bake. Two bags are left. Now it's time to pick the lucky recipients. One was a co-worker "friend." The guilt got the best of me after passing that one off so I decided to put a little more effort into it for the next offering. I thought of the pastors wife that worked with me in retail. I walked up to her and held it out, she threw both hands up like it was kryptonite and proceeded to tell me she didn't have time for that %#&t!
So I found another associate "friend" and handed it to her. I felt like the burden of the bread had been lifted. I concluded that if I were ever approached again, I would pull the sweet little pastors wife's two hand show out on them. And so it was for about 5 years.
And then, one Christmas a dear friend, an older lady that I cared for deeply, gave me the most precious gift. My friend knew the story of my previous starter experiences. I had unexpected company late one evening. I opened the door and my friends daughter walked in wishing us a Merry Christmas placing a weighty solid package in my hand. The card read. "This cake was baked from a thirty-seven year old ~Friendship Bread Starter~ a family starter. I hope you enjoy it." Part of me didn't even want to eat it, but that passed quickly. The aroma, the richness and the beauty of that bread is forever etched in my mind.
I am here to tell you that I have never, and would venture to say, will ever eat another bite of bread while I am on this earth as good as that cake. So many things had to come together for that bread to be the best. The quality of the ingredients, the time and care that was kneaded into the starter, for seven years to boot!, and finally the continuity, doing what we need to do each day, even when we don't want to. These are the things that make a bread like the one I was gifted the best I have ever had. A true Friendship bread. And aren't these the same ingredients that are in our true friendship's?
Unleavened bread has no past. No starter to pull from. No history to pass down. Dough without leaven represents haste, a break with the past, an absence of extra flavor, simplicity, inactivity, powerlessness and a lack of labor.
I am richly blessed with wonderful friends, with leavened bread. Our bread is good. We pull from the past, keep it tended and keep the starter alive.
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Saturday, November 17, 2012
Brabham's Painting is back!
http://www.brabhams.net/
Friday, November 16, 2012
Well Butter My Grits
Friday, November 9, 2012
Let's Talk Turkey R. Brabham
Well, it's on. I spied with my eye.... the first grocery store kiosk of Butterball turkeys. I have a love/hate relationship with the sacrificial poultry. I can't really blame the turkey for the Thanksgiving Fiascoes of years bygone. But, I do believe my concentration to get that trussed up bird presentable, flavorful and on the table at the right time may have contributed to other guffaws of the day.
One shocker was the first Turkey I cooked for Don's family 25 years ago. The turkey just wouldn’t get done. An hour and a half over the scheduled meal time, Tom Turkey finally gave up the ghost. When it made it to the table, Don’s step mother, a rotund little shorty at 4 '10", chose her portion, a huge leg and started devouring it Flintstone style with her hands. We could hardly include her in any of the dinner table conversation for fear of laughing. I had to give the kids looks of warnings as they gawked at her. Club style, she worked that drumstick down to the gristle. Grease from the turkey skin smeared from one side of her face to the other.
My very first Thanksgiving turkey turned out beautiful! I was so proud. A few minutes into the meal, my father-in-law tapped me on the leg. I peeked down as he graciously dropped the cooked bag of giblets into my hand. What the heck were the giblets doing in the neck? I didn't check that hole. He and I were the only ones that knew about it.
One year I lined my kitchen counter with desserts. Pumpkin Pies, Cherry Cheesecake and a beautiful Chocolate Meringue Pie. My son-in-law came to me with his bowl and a quizzical look on his face. "When did pies start requiring batteries?" he asked. He had scooped out a big slice and while eating, pulled out a AAA battery. "Thank you, I have been looking for that." I replied while washing the battery off in the sink.
The battery had been sitting on top of microwave ready to re-load my camera, it apparently rolled off into the pie submerging itself into the thick meringue.
Oh, then there was the year that I decide to change up a bit. I cooked 10 Cornish hen's instead of a turkey, the menu was a surprise....to say the least. My daughter pulled the foil off of the roasting pan and my grandchildren jumped back in horror. I believe they are still scarred. They thought grandma had succumbed to killing baby turkeys.
Two years ago, a very costly pan of oyster dressing in a presumably faulty Pyrex baking dish exploded in my kitchen at 6 a.m. sending shards of glass into two rooms. It sounded like a shotgun blast! Don came running from bed. His concern was evident upon arrival and it wasn't the shards of glass on the couch and floor everywhere. Save the stuffing! He seriously pulled the center of the stuffing out claiming it was still good. He lives.
Laughter waves from family and friends still reverberate in the Milky Way from Thanksgiving's bygone. I close my eyes and remember thankful prayers before meals that warmed my heart. I visualize the friends and family throughout the years. Moving, marriages, divorces, death and life have changed the faces gathered around the table. Some have passed on, some passed up and some are still saying "Pass the potatoes please." I am always grateful for each of them.
I look forward to the whole day with the anticipation of a child. From the beginning of Macy's Thanksgiving Parade until the bodies start going horizontal on the couch, eyelids drooping from the effects of Tryptophan.
Thanksgiving to me is as much about sharing and caring as it is being thankful. For years Don and I looked forward to the last tradition of the day with as much joy as the first. What is Thanksgiving without sharing it with a stranger, adversary, Pilgrim, Indian?
When everyone was gone, we would package up a big helping and take it to Junior, a convenience store employee. He was a sweet country boy that worked every holiday for the other employees, because he didn't have any family. Junior would beam when Don walked in with his plate. I guess it was about 6 years into our tradition when Junior told me he wasn't going to be there for Thanksgiving. He had recently married and he told me proudly that his wife was going to cook. I was so happy for him. But, it left a empty place in my heart.
On Thanksgiving day I packaged up a few plates and drove behind a shopping center and found a few homeless people sitting on crates. The next year, they had been chased away. I live in Mt. Pleasant now. I haven't seen many homeless. But, I have been casing out the neighborhood to find people who won't be home to celebrate with their families for some reason or other.
I am humbled and so totally and thoroughly blessed with wonderful people in my life. I feel like this year, I was the Pilgrim or Indian. It was a rough year, a transitional year, a year of unexpected circumstances. Yet, it was one of the best years I have ever had. I have been held up, fixed up and propped up by the best this year. I wish all my friends at Charleston Grit and anyone reading this a very Happy Thanksgiving!
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
Friday, November 2, 2012
The Offense of Defense ~ Renae Brabham
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