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Christmas Morning Mimosas

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My cousin John is something of a mixologist.  Two years ago he shared this recipe for Santa’s Little Helper and it’s been one of my most popular Christmastime posts ever since. Everybody loves a good cocktail! Now I’m back with the fam this week, chillin’ and boozin’ and waiting for John to hurry up and make whiskey punch, which is apparently something made in a can, so, when I asked him to share another yuletide concoction to share with y’all, his suggestion was something much more elegant and can-free: Christmas Morning Mimosas.

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I garnished with rosemary and cranberry because it’s festive and photographs better, but don’t be fooled – the flavor is all apple and sparkles.

Once Santa’s hard work is done, the aunts and uncles of the world deserve the chance to enjoy Christmas morning exactly as much as the kidlets. And if there’s a morning that you can get away with a cocktail before 10 AM, it’s Christmas, right? And mimosas hardly even count as drinking in the morning. In our family, special meals gets our grandmother’s cardamon flavored rolls (a recipe she must have stolen from a Swedish lady along the way), so nothing tastes quite as much like a holiday as cardamom, and if infuses really well in apple cider.
THE RECIPE:
A Jug of Apple Cider
15-20 Whole Cardamon Pods
5-10 Pieces of Candied Ginger, plus more for garnish
Prosecco
If you have some time, just smoosh the cardamom gently with the flat side of a knife and throw it and 5-10 pieces of candied ginger into a jug of apple cider and let it hang out overnight or longer. Half infused cider, half prosecco. Garnish with a piece of the ginger if you’re fancy. Done. If you’re in a bigger rush, heat up the cider with the cardamom on the stove to a simmer to get the flavor moving quicker, and then throw it in the freezer to cool it down before serving.

Gourds Gone Wild

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My friend Dalemade the most amazing jack-o-lanterns out of dried gourds. Look!
I posted a phone shot of these on Facebook last year and everyone loved them, so I thought I’d go over and take some decent pictures to show you guys. Are they not the coolest thing ever?
The one on the bottom is Tyrone, and to the left is Tonto, with Chon on the right. That might be spelled Chong. I’m not 100% on that, beg your pardon.

The light chord runs through a hole in the bottom of Tyrone, up through his neck and into Chon, where it hooks up to an extension cord with three plugs. Each gourd has a hole in the bottom slightly larger than the bulb (to allow for easy changing) and sits nestled in a piece of tin foil. Not only does the foil keep the bulb sitting upright, it reflects the light for extra illumination. Pretty nifty, huh?

Dale says he made the face holes with the blade of a hack saw. Just the blade with some duck tape wrapped around one end for grip – that’s it. No machines or drills. Just a regular one-way blade and a gentle touch, that’s it. Anything else will tear it up.

So, I realize not everyone has some hollow, dehydrated gourds sitting around the house…but you might see some on sale at the market this week, right? So why not pick one up and dry it out for next year? Just hang it up or sit it some place dry with lots of circulating air, like on top of a turned over basket or something. This guy goes into some detail on proper drying techniques (and, as it turns out, he also sells dried gourd jack-o-lantern kits if you want to get a jump start on this. He also sells boxes of dried mini gourds in bulk, which has me rather intrigued come Christmas. Hmmm….)


Many thanks to Dale for making these amazing creatures and letting me share them here. One day I’ll go over and take more pictures of Dale creations…banjos made from cigar boxes…key hooks from wooden spoons. It’s pretty impressive. I should mention, Dale is married to Nancy, aka Aunt Nancy, an amazing painter and artist extraordinaire. In addition to being my mother’s college roommate, Nancy is the person who gave me a rhinestones bezel setter at age six, which, now that I think about it, probably explains a lot about the stuff you see on this blog. Needless to say, she has great taste! Between the two of them, the house is like a candy store of artistic coolness. We should go back for a visit…

Dale has his own blog, Loitering Dog, which I highly recommend to all those who love stories of weirdness and wonder (and gourds). He doesn’t update it nearly as often as I would like (I’m greedy that way), but you can cruise the archives for a good time.

Thanks, Dale!



This is Happening: My Life List

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Goals are funny things. 

…easy to make, easier to break, and everyone insists on having them. Including me.

One day, at the end, when I look back at my home movie of memories, I want it to be a good show. I want it to be interesting. I do not want to measure my success by any other standard but happiness, which, is as messy and subjective of a method as it gets, but I don’t care. This is me. This is mine. I am determined to get there. This list is my first step, my biggest step, in that direction.

Here we go!

100 Life Goals

1. Eat shrimp under the cherry blossoms at The Four Seasons.
2. Learn how to tell a decent joke.
3. Take a photography class.
4. Throw a penny from Eagle’s Nest, Switzerland.
5. Have a sandwich named after me.
6. Go 7 days without looking in the mirror.
7. Go 30 days with out referring to the past.
8. Float in Lake Rebta (the pink sea, Senegal).
9. Learn to play banjo (viable alternative: ukulele).
10. Take a photo inside The Cheshire Cheese pub, London.

11. Replace a lock by myself.
12. Own a Turkish rug.
13. Join a marching band (majorette boots required).
14. Make a will.
15. Live without fear of losing everything.
16. Wear a solid gold dress.
17. Pet a skunk.
18. Hug a Santa.
19. Write a book.
20. Sell a book.
21. Learn video editing.
22. Own a farm.
23. Visit the Hemingway estate in Key West (coming home with a six fingered cat: optional).
24. Develop a signature scent.
25. Hire a housekeeper on a regular basis.
26. Do ten pushups (not the girly kind).
27. Save 12 months of expenses for an emergency fund.
28. Finish paying off student loans.
29. Help someone else pay for college.
30. Live in a castle.
31. Play a didgeridoo.
32. Tour Venice in a gondola.
33. Scatter my father’s ashes.
34. Replace my mother’s headstone.
35. See a live taping of Saturday Night Live.
36. Take a Christmas tour of the White House.
37. Watch the sunset from the top of the Empire State Building.
38. Make a six-tier coconut cake.
39. Rally 1,000 people people around a specific cause/purpose.
40. Wear a rhinestone possum necklace.
41. Go to Iceland.
42. Learn how to develop a mobile app.
43. See a mermaid.
44. Visit India for the Holi festival.
45. Set up a projector in the back yard for a movie night.
46. Stay in a cabin at the Neshoba county fair.
47. Learn to make the perfect mohito.
48. Host or attend a Friendsgiving meal.
49. Visit Sesame Street.
50. Spend a night at the Greenbrier.
51. Take an autumn leaf tour in Vermont.
52. Go to Kenya and stay in the Giraffe Manor.
53. Have my picture taken under the St. Louis Oklahoma welcome sign.
54. Land in an airport to find a driver with a sign with my name on it.
55. Drive an 18wheeler truck.
56. Learn another language well enough to conduct a full conversation.
57. Leave someone a $100 tip on a $20 check.
58. Go 30 days without processed food.
59. Host a surprise party.
60. Watch a meteor shower.
61. See my home in a magazine via my own photo.
62. Drive a zamboni.
63. Get rid of my turkey neck.
64. Attend service in St. Peter’s square.
65. Open an Etsy store.
66. Make a cathedral square quilt.
67. Master the perfect cheesecake recipe.
68. Get Lola’s portrait painted.
69. Find my dad’s first wife.
70. Find my dad’s brother.
71. European river cruise.
72. Sit in the audience at the Scripts National Spelling Bee.
73. See the cherry blossoms in Washington DC.
74. Go to ascot in a crazy hat.
75. Hold a sloth (viable alternative: koala bear).
76. Catch a falcon.
77. Eat in a busy/fancy restaurant by myself.
78. Drive an RV (or passenger van) across the US.
79. Raise alpaca.
80. Make a playlist of 100 food themed songs.
81. Go to the Golden Girls house.
82. Host an ice cream social.
83. Pick berries by day and bake pie by night.
84. Visit Jane Austen’s home in Hampshire.
85. Visit LM Montgomery’s Green Gables.
86. Visit Hemingway’s Buffet de la Gare.
87. Spin wool.
88. Make homemade ice cream.
89. Hire an intern.
90. Buy a car for a single parent.
91. Create a 501c3 foundation.
92. Go see the original Winnie the Pooh.
93. Consult an independent financial adviser (not just the guy my employer provides).
94. Ride in a helicopter.
95. Meet a president (while they are president, any country).
96. Run a 5k color run.
97. Karaoke-sing  a song I’ve never heard before.
98. Sleep in a tent in the rain.
99. Witness aurora bourealis.
100. Plant a magnolia.

In 1940, when John Goddard was 15, he sat down and wrote out a list of 127 things he wanted to do and see; everything from climbing Mt. Rainier, to swimming the Great Barrier Reef, to studying the native tribes of New Guinea.You can see his list here, and yes, he managed to tick off most of it before passing away earlier this year. If something like that doesn’t inspire you to set some goals, I don’t know what will.

Maggie Berry of Mighty Girl, who has an amazing list herself, offers lectures and weekend workshops on this very subject. A lot of people keep a bucket lists, and I get that, but I like Maggie’s term better: a life list.

This thing has been in the works for years. A number of items did not make the top 100 list because 1. I removed anything I already scratched off in recent years, and/or 2. I removed anything that depended on active participation from other people. Doing things with other people is okay, depending on other people is not okay. Perhaps that sounds odd but it’s important to me. If something does or doesn’t happen, it’s on me. Alone. I know far too many people, women in particular, who have seen their dreams take a backseat to circumstances dictated by others. That won’t be happening here.

…and, okay, so, yeah, I also realize not everything on here will get done. I’m okay with that too. Actually, if I ever did manage to hit all 100 I’d spend my days in fear of eminent doom, so maybe it’s better this way. For now the goal is to get it out there into the world then start scratching them off bit-by-bit every year. It’s going to be awesome. I hope you will stick around and follow the ride!

Or, better yet, make your own.

What is on your life list?

Bramble Patch: January 2013

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A list of my favorite internet distractions from the month of January. 

Two words: Confetti Bowl. I am making this. I am soooooo making this.

I had planned to write a post on my top ten favorite camera phone tips/tricks/apps. But then I found THIS POST and I’m all, Ughh, this is waaaaay better than what I could have produced!

Does your house get dry in winter? Mine sure does. This is a simple (and delicious) way to perk things up.

A Valentine care package? And it’s super cute? Why, thank you.

Speaking of Valentines…let them eat cake. Awesome cake. Awesome mailable cake.  

Fifty percent of the time I check in on Twitter, it’s to see if Anti Joke Cat has posted anything new.

A mother’s prayer, courtesy of Tina Fey.

My other baby, I Believe in Strangers, is chugging along. Anyone who has ever struggled with job hunting will appreciate this one.

Reading: Fraud by David Rakoff.

Watching: Downton Abbey. But isn’t everyone?

Munching: Homemade chicken soup. I would like to declare that everyone around me is sick but me. BUT ME. This is the healing power of an old fashioned chicken boil!

Listening: Radical Face, Always Gold.

Wearing: This parka. It took me 14 years of living in cold weather to break me down into buying a fugly old snow parka…but now Parka and I are besties. She is always warm, wind proof, waterproof, has 7 enormous pockets so I don’t even need a purse half the time, AND she comes with built-in fingerless gloves (great for driving or phone doodling). Holy crap I love this coat.

Most popular post this month: Sexy Men Who Knit.

Moment in cat history: Lolabelle has taken to keeping warm under the covers of the bed. I am petrified I will accidentally sit on her.

 

Potato Flowers

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I like a big foofy floral centerpiece as much as anyone else, but there are occasions when the food needs to be the center of attention. Like Thanksgiving. Let’s face it: however beautiful, flowers look downright prissy when stacked next to a turkey carcass and Aunt JoAnna’s chess pie.

Just the same, I like a little bit of floral on the table. A little flowers, a little candles, a little bit of cloth napkins….suddenly everyone forgets who is winning the football game and is wondering what scrumptious bounty they are about to consume. Let’s give thanks!

These are called potato flowers but the potato is not required. You could use apples, pears, eggplants, tomato, pumpkins, gourds….any sort of fruit or vegetable that is independently hefty and leaks a bit when you cut it.  Use a knife to make small, deep incisions and stick the flower stems in the potato as though it were a flower frog. The flowers will stay alive for hours (sometimes days) by drawing on the moisture in the potato.


Hearty flowers like mums, carnations, roses, dahlias and status, do particularity well. One time I did this with nothing but clementines and baby’s breath. It was a weird combo, but in mass quantity scattered around the table, it worked great.  You just need to remember that the more acidic the fruit and the more delicate the flower, the faster they will fall. Lucky for us, the hearty sort of flowers always seem to come bundled together at the grocery store for cheap. Or if you are like me, there are some mums sitting out on your front steps just waiting for a haircut. While I’m out there, I also grab some fresh rosemary — it adds a fragrance and evergreen-ish texture that is just perfect for Thanksgiving.   

I learned this trick from my Mother’s friend Ramona, who learned it from her mother, who as legend has it, would make these arrangements for her bridge club using tiny red potatoes and flower cuttings from her garden. After the flowers were inserted she would wrap the bottom of the potato in a piece of ruffled bib lettuce and set it in an old-fashioned wide-mouth champagne glass. The arrangements would be clustered together on the buffet table at the start of the evening, then later when the ladies broke into groups to play bridge, the flowers would break apart and one small arrangement would be set at each table. Because they have such a small footprint, arrangements like this are especially nice for Thanksgiving (or bridge club) when you want to maximize every inch of real estate on the table.

Off topic: Why doesn’t  anyone play bridge anymore? I don’t even know how to play but I’d take it up in a heart beat if it came with finger sandwiches and miniature floral arrangements.

  You like my plaid table cloth? It’s a blanket. Got it on sale at Target (don’t buy on line if you can help it — it’s cheaper at the store).  It’s super soft and washes beautifully.


For the base, I used apples and old-fashioned sundae cups. I find sundae cups at thrift stores and garage sales for 20cents, sometimes less. I have no idea why anyone would get rid of them. I like them because they give a little bit of height, but they come in handy for all sorts of stuff around the kitchen, especially when it comes to entertaining. I should write a post on the many ways to use sundae cups. They are a seriously under appreciated!
I like it when flowers are scattered around the table instead of one clump in the middle. If it’s a small group, you can set them so that everyone at the table has their own little posy. Or if that’s too much fuss, make one for every other table setting, or just one to place on either side of the main platter in the center of the table.


 Variations on this idea: Apple Orchard Centerpiece, Gourd Decor, Camilla’s Apple Bombs. 


Aunt Izora’s Pink Flocking

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Legend has it, my Great Aunt Izora was fond of pink flocking. Back in the late 1950’s she was kind enough to send her sister, my grandmother, Pumpkin, a pink flocked wreath to hang in the front window of what was my mother’s childhood home.
Side Note 1: Those names are 100% real. I couldn’t make this up if I tried.
Side Note 2: Pumpkin kept a very traditional home. Even back in the 50’s and 60’s when turquoise cars were commonplace, Pumpkin leaned toward the Ralph Lauren look…Green velvet. Mahogany wood. Tartan plaid. Dark antiquey things someone brought over on a boat from a place that smells like fish. You get the picture.
With that in mind, it’s easy to imagine the confusion raised when an oversize pink flocked wreath landed on Pumpkin’s door step that December day. Described as “huge” and “garish,” it came with silver balls and a “cute little Santa” perched in the middle. Pumpkin wondered why anyone, much less her own sister, thought her home suitable for such a gaudy, unorthodox specimen? 
Surely it was a mistake.

Surely Izora intended her to receive a green wreath, or perhaps a red one. Maybe even a white one, but pink? Heavens no. There must have been a mix up down at store, and Pumpkin even went so far as to pick an argument with florist until he exchanged the pink wreath for a traditional circlet of green holly. It hung in their window for several weeks, until Christmas Eve, when Aunt Izora called to confirm she was coming over the following day and could not wait to see “that pink wreath!”

Oh crap.

Pumpkin immediately sent her eldest daughters on a wild goose chase around town in search of another pink flocked wreath with a velvet Santa in the middle (no easy task on Christmas Eve). Eventually one was located and Aunt Izora arrived the followed day, delighted to see her gift prominently displayed in the front window for all the world to see, never knowing her well intended gift had ever caused such distress and upheaval, telling everyone,“The minute I saw it, I knew Patty would love that adorable pink Santa!”

Side note 3: Patty, now known as Aunt Pat (or as she signs her emails “Yer Olde Ain’t Pat”) is my mother’s younger sister and the baby of the family. Although she probably doesn’t like to be referred to as the baby. She is married to Uncle John, who, when I was eight, taught me how to play poker and bust a grown man’s knee cap with a fork. Not at the same time, though.

Aunt Pat was kind enough to send me a photo of the “adorable pink Santa.” Let’s take a look, shall we?
WOW AUNT IZORA, WAY TO BE WEIRD.

Check out the face on that thing.

Creepy.

Like, Black Velvet Clown Painting In The Bathroom type of creepy.

See, I don’t question why someone painted the clown on black velvet; I question the person who wants to look at it while they go to the bathroom. Not that my questioning should stop them. It’s their bathroom. It’s their home. Their life. Their bowel movement. Who am I to judge?

…but, when someone gives me the creepy clown painting and gets offended when I don’t hang it above my toilet, well, we have a problem.

And therein lies the rub: you can’t give people things you like and expect them to like them too.

Fact: This week, US retailers will exchange/return/reshelf more items than during the rest of the year combined. This wouldn’t happen if we kept our black velvet and pink flocking to ourselves. This wouldn’t happen if we learned to quell our inner Aunt Izora.

Sometimes, especially around Christmas, I wonder if I am just like Aunt Izora. Why, if I had a nickel for every time someone tossed one of my home spangled Christmas sweaters, well, I would have a whole dime.

And it hurts.

This Christmas I decided to embrace my inner Aunt Izora and gave myself the gift of a pink flocked tree. I have wanted one for years but always felt guilty wanting to something like that for myself. Now I realize that, if I don’t get it for myself, that desire will manifest in other ways and will push my taste, my style, my wants out via someone else’s gift, which, will inevitably be returned. And that’s not good for anybody. So, I propose a toast…

Here is to Aunt Izora and her pink flocked wreath.

Here is to me and my pink flocked tree.

And here is to all those folks standing in line right now, returning $46.3 Billion dollars in merchandise.

Just be thankful it wasn’t a clown on black velvet.

Happy new year!

*** PS: If you want people to quit returning your gifts, I suggest you look into a pink flocked tree for yourself. And don’t wait til next year either — Treetopia.com is having a major holiday sale right now. You can embrace your inner Aunt Izora for up to 70% off!



Veruca’s Wallpaper

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Original images via Payton Turner. Click here to see more!

Eeeeeeeeeeeeep! I KNOW RIGHT?  Is this not the most amazing thing you have EVER SEEN?!
So. Flippin. Cool.  It’s from a 2009 multi-media exhibition by Brian Kaspr and Payton Turner. I’m so sad I never got to see it in person, although, it’s probably just as well since the whimsy factor in the room would have spun my head clear off my shoulders.

Reminds me of the scene from Willy Wonka where they all go licking the fruity wallpaper and Wonka says, Try some more. The strawberries taste like strawberries, and the snozzberries taste like snozzberries! 
And Veruca says, Snozzberries? Who ever heard of a snozzberry? 
So Wonka looks down at her and goes, We are the music makers…and we are the dreamers of dreams.
Well go ahead Willy Wonka, just go ahead and blow my mind with your fruit-filled nuggets of Buddhist wisdom why don’t you. See if I cry. You’ll see.
And can we just talk about Veruca Salt? Has there ever been a cooler pre-pubescent villain. No. No there hasn’t.

This wallpaper reminds me of everything…of my grandmother’s dining room…of Victorian grandeur…of Trapper Keepers and pencil boxes…of happy days spending lunch breaks in the schoolyard swapping stickers with my friend Heather (yes, we were Sticker Nerds, thank you)…and now I’m wondering what I did with all those stickers? They were too precious to put on my binders like the other kids…what did I do with them? Where is that shoe box? How am I going to make this ridiculously awesome wallpaper at home WITHOUT THAT SHOE BOX?

And this, my friends, is why I hoard things.

Big Alice’s Apple Kuchen

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Big Alice’s Apple Kuchen: Another Dead Aunt Story

I was standing funeral home’s parking lot playing hacky-sack with some family members when Franny asked “whatever happened to that deaf lady? You know, Old Rubber Face” to which Herbert replied “don’t you remember, we buried her years ago” to which hitomeone else replied “oh yeah, with the apple cake!” to which everyone replied in unison “OH YEAH. THE APPLE CAKE!”

Big Alice had already been gone nearly a decade, more than half our lives, and we were still talking about her apple cake. It was that good.

For a woman who could not hear and rarely spoke, Big Alice could communicate across an ocean with her facial expressions. In fact, it was not until Herbert’s mention in the parking lot that day that I realized she was deaf. In my mind, we had spoken dozens of times. Heck, we were pals! She played in my blanket fort. I fetched her unfiltered cigarettes from the patio. She saw me hide brussel sprouts into my napkin and didn’t tattle. I didn’t say anything when I saw her taking a swig off a wine bottle in the kitchen just before she took it out to the table. Herbert’s news that she was deaf came as shock. In vain I searched my memory for the sound of her voice.

Isn’t it strange how the very young and the very old have no problem communicating without words?

Big Alice was born somewhere in western Austria. I’m not entirely sure where, but I know she spent most of WWII in a work camp in Eastern France. The fractured stories conveyed across various members of my paternal grandmother’s family are not pretty, nor are they my stories to tell in this forum. Sufficient to say, Big Alice survived on little more than her sense of humor. She lost her hearing at the age of 23, when a respiratory infection went untreated and spread to her ears and nose. Although she could speak just fine, you rarely heard a word cross her lips. After the war ended and she came to America to live with my Great Aunt Long Shirley and Uncle Karl, she was discouraged from speaking German in effort to assimilate. She learned to read and write in English just fine, but without the ability to hear her own voice, never became comfortable speaking in English with others. Unfortunately, the others did not feel comfortable speaking German in post-war America. Things are different now and we all go crazy celebrating our Germanic heritage, but back then, Big Alice had to rely on her hands and facial expressions as a mode of communication, hence the nick name, “Old Rubber Face.”

Her other nickname, Big Alice, was misleading. The woman weighed as much as a wet hamster. The name came only after she had a daughter, dubbed Little Alice, whose daughter then became known as Tiny Alice. As fate would have it, Tiny Alice recently had a baby girl named Emma, which is a lovely name, but I was really looking forward to one day adding an entry to my address book under the name Infinitesimal Alice.

There’s always next time.

A trio of Alices was not unusual. Most of the members of my father’s extended family share the same 6 or 7 first names, all named after a handful of people who died long ago and far away. One Thanksgiving at Baby Shirley’s house (note: Baby Shirley was pushing 50 at the time), someone called out from the kitchen, “Hey Joe, you have a phone call” and five men and two women stood up.

And that’s not even counting the kiddy table. And by kiddy table, I mean a locked basement covered in tarps, duct tape, and a dozen buckets of Kentucky Fried Chicken. The visual of 20+ children without adult supervision, screaming and squealing and playing Pilgrims and Indians while sucking on drumsticks might strike you as something out of Lord of the Flies, but to me, it just seemed like a normal family activity.

Tangent: When I tell you my Dad has a big family, I don’t mean he had a lot of brothers and sisters. It grates on my nerves when I hear people define “family” as a circle of immediate blood relatives. Family, at its best, is so much bigger and more wonderful than just a tiny group of people with a common gene pool. Some families are related by birth, some by circumstance, and some by love. When I was a kid, my grandfather would meet me at the bus stop and walk me home and ask me about my day. One day I came home and reported that there was boy on the playground teasing my friend Michelle and saying she didn’t have a family because she was adopted. My Grandfather asked me what I did about it and I told him, rather proudly, that I ran and got the teacher who immediately stopped the teasing. He looked at me disappointed and made a tisk-tisk noise with his tongue. I asked him what I should have done instead and he said “Beat the tar out of him.”

That’s family.

My dad’s family defines its members by an elaborate and extensive phone tree where three people call three people and so on and so on. It was initially started back in the 50’s as a typical cold war precaution, but it is still alive and kicking today, used mostly to pass along news of  births, engagements, and unfortunate passings. Email could do the job, but what is the fun of that? This way, when someone dies, the phone tree starts off and three people call three people and so on and so on, and before you know it, everyone knows and everyone is cooking. This means that within two hours of someone’s death, their living room will contain no less than 12 casseroles, 10 cakes and pies, 8 trays of cookies, 5 pickling salads, 3 bottles of wine 2 cheese trays and 1 tomato aspic. Lord willing and the creek don’t rise, there will be a roast turkey on the doorstep come morning, courtesy of Baby Shirley’s eldest daughter, Hairy Frances.

Everyone has a special dish. It never changes. For example, Baby Shirley’s middle daughter, Baby Roberta, has been making pinwheel cookies for forty years and no one makes them quite like her. If you see pinwheel cookies, you just know they came from Baby Roberta because no one would dare step on her territory. Don’t even bother asking for the recipe. She makes them the best and it’s not even worth trying anything else. If I lived in the area and someone died, I would be in charge of bringing over a veggie tray. It doesn’t matter that I don’t eat raw vegetables, there is no room in the baked goods department where I rightly belong. I’ll need to wait until someone in charge of cakes and pies dies before I get a crack at delivering something good and tasty. This territorial land war over dessert cobblers is how the legend of Big Alice’s Apple Kuchen was born.

Prior to her death, Big Alice would always bring a delicious and wildly popular apple kuchen (fyi: kuchen is German for cake). Regardless of how much food was around, it was always the first dish to go. She only made it when someone was born or when someone died. Big Alice was high up on the phone tree and the kuchen didn’t take long to make, so she was usually one of the first to arrive. This meant  if you wanted some kuchen, you needed to get your butt over to the house faster than everyone else. It brought out strange and competitive behavior. One time I saw Uncle Sloppy Joe sneak some in his pocket and nibble on pieces as they carried Old Rusty Uncle Karl’s casket out the door. That might seem rude to you, but it’s probably what Old Rusty would have done if the situation was reversed. The kuchen was just that good.

The afternoon Big Alice died of a sudden aneurysm, everyone said “what a shame” “what a pity” “at least she didn’t see it coming” and agreed it was a good thing to be taken without great suffering or pain. They went on their way and said “see you shortly” before hanging up the phone.  By 6 p.m. Little Alice opened the door to see Aunt Shirley carrying a glass Pyrex dish covered in foil. It was kuchen. The gesture was sweet and passive aggressive. By making apple kuchen for Big Alice’s funeral, she would secure it as her signature dish for decades to come. She wanted to win the popularity contest. Can you blame her? I couldn’t. And neither could Aunt Roberta when she showed up carrying an aluminum tray of her own rendition of what else, apple kuchen. Then the Rauches showed up with more kuchen. And the Millers. And then Big Franny. And then Hairy Frances (she was tired of making turkey)….and so on until 7pm there were THIRTEEN APPLE KUCHENS spread out on the dining table. Each were delicious and slightly different, but none were quite the same as Big Alice’s Apple Kuchen. Everyone agreed to hold back on claiming the sacred kuchen spot. No one made it for many years. Until now. I have taken it back!

Before she died, Big Alice gave her recipe to Little Alice, who gave it to me here. And now I’m giving it you! It’s no great secret and I’m positive she left out something special, but it comes pretty close. It’s easy to make and easy to customize to suit your family’s taste. the end result is somewhere between coffee cake and apple pie. It keeps well and goes great with ice cream.

CAKE
1 Box of yellow cake mix
1 Cup of light sour cream
1/2 Stick of melted butter
1 Egg + 1 egg white
1/2 Teaspoon salt
Pinch of cinnamon

Mix well and spread over the bottom of a 13″x9″ pan. Bake at 350 for 15 minutes.

APPLE MIXTURE
While that’s in the oven, mix together with your fingers:
3 cups of peeled apples thinly sliced (or something around 3 cups, that’s around 4 apples decent sized apples)
1/2 Stick melted butter
1 Tablespoon lemon juice
1/2 Cup Brown Sugar
1 Teaspoon Cinnamon
Pinch of lemon zest

+2 Tbsp of Brown Sugar for sprinkling

BAKE
After the apple mixture is tossed and the cake is in the oven 15 minutes, remove it but leave the oven on. Arrange the apples in rows across the top of the warm cake and sprinkle with 2 Tbs of brown sugar. Return it oven and cook 30-35 minutes, until toothpick comes out clean. Serve warm with fresh cream or ice cream!

Happy Kuchen Y’all!