Orange-Almond Tart

It began with a simple orange-almond tart.

And ends with a pelican.

Or I have it backwards and I start with the pelican.

And end with the tart.

In-between there is an estate sale, bins of memories boxed-up for a later date. There was the sunrise on Lake Superior in Grand Marais.

The view of the lake from the Gunflint Trail.

A peek at Canada.

And at Trail's End - the Boundary Waters. (Complete with a cafe filled with White Sox memorabilia - clearly designed to insult Minnesotans who love their North Shore - the "Norwegian Riviera.")

An estate sale - it's wearing your heart.

And so later we went to a big lake. And I left armed with 20 years of magazines that I was getting rid of - after I went through all the recipes and cut out what I wanted. I started out with saving almost every recipe. And then I whittled. After hours of whittling, I was left with this orange-almond tart. Served with an orange sauce or Marsala whipped cream. I thought it was a good idea.

It was.

It is.

Delicate - almonds and oranges complementing and complimenting each other. More a gateau than the Sicilian Orange Tart I wrote about earlier. A nutty texture - the creaminess is not from within as with the Orange Tart but comes from the sauces it's served with - and it's worth making the sauces. Everyone had both - together - on top of one another. And they're easy. Easy as ... pie. tart. The boys had thirds. The daughter had it again for breakfast (nuts=protein, orange=fruit).

This is a transitional tart. Not too heavy and rich as those that bewitch you in the winter. But not as berry-light as summer gives. Just sweet enough. Just crunchy enough. Just fruity enough to see you through autumn. And just celebratory enough to add to to your Thanksgiving table.

Orange Almond Torte with Orange Sauce and Marsala Whipped Cream
- from Bon Appetit, February 1995
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter - room temperature
3/4 cup sugar
1 large egg
2 large egg yolks (save the egg whites - you'll need them)
1 cup almonds, toasted, finely ground (I like mine ground - but not to a powder - I like the nuts and crunch)
2 tablespoons orange juice
1 tablespoon orange peel
1/2 teaspoon coriander (did not get a whiff of that at all in the torte)
Pinch of salt
2 large egg whites

Powdered sugar

Marsala Cream
1 cup chilled whipping cream
2 tablespoons powdered sugar
2 tablespoons sweet Marsala

Orange Sauce (makes 1-1/4 cups; good over ice cream, scones, pound cake...)
1 cup orange juice
1-1/2 tablespoons cornstarch
2 tablespoons (1/4 stick) unsalted butter
1/4 cup granulated sugar
1 tablespoon grated orange peel

Cake:
Preheat oven to 375 degrees F. Butter an 8-inch springform pan. Line bottom of pan with parchment. Butter parchment and dust with flour. Beat 1/2 cup butter in large bowl until fluffy. Gradually add sugar, beating until blended. Add eggs, then yolks - 1 at a time, beating well after each addition. At low speed, beat in almonds, flour, orange juice, orange peel, coriander and salt. Scrape down sides of bowl occasionally.

Using clean dry beaters, beat egg whites in medium bowl until stiff but not dry. Fold whites into batter in 2 additions. Transfer to prepared pan.

Bake cake until golden (it will not be rising) and tester inserted in the middle comes out clean - about 40 minutes. Cool cake in pan on rack. If desired, sprinkle with additional powdered sugar when cooled. (Can be made 1 day ahead. Cover and let stand at room temperature.)

Marsala Cream:
Beat whipping cream and sugar in medium bowl until soft peaks form. Mix in Marsala.

Orange Sauce:
Whisk juice and cornstarch in bowl until cornstarch dissolves. Melt butter in heavy small saucepan over medium-high heat. Whisk in sugar, orange peel and orange juice mixture. Whisk until sauce boils and thickens slightly - about 4 minutes. Remove from heat and cool. (Can be made 2 days ahead. Cover and chill. Bring to room temperature before serving.)

After the estate sale. my sister and I each took one of my mother's beloved penguins.  I brought home a pelican from my mother's townhome. She loved those big, floppy birds and kept two by the fireplace. I put it on my hearth (The Pelican on the Hearth!) and packed for Grand Marais. Friday was spent travelling and going through recipes in the car. Saturday morning, I got up with the sun and Paul and I walked the North Shore of Lake Superior.

Where we were welcomed by a pelican.

P.S. I have turned on Word Verification for a few days to try and combat the huge growth of Spam I deal with daily.

Summer of 2012

The summer of 2012 began with a loss. And ended with a proposal by the river.

And a ring. An assurance of the circle that is life.

It began with an unexpected journey. And had beautiful detours for guidance.

(Under a Midsummer Moon at the Minnesota Fringe Festival.)

"How many are in the cast?" asked the frightened techies as seventeen young performers (ages 11-18) filed in for their three-hour tech. Do they know they only have ten-minutes to set up the stage?"

"Yes, they know." (It sort of was rehearsed to death.) And then we went on to have a smooth tech. (Rare.) The techies smiled. Staff and cast breathed a sigh of relief. The Fringe goes to blackout at exactly 60 minutes. The play ran 58 minutes. I cannot say I sat through the performances with nerves of steel.

As closing neared, I threw a cast party for the cast, crew and families.

When a show works, there is electricity between the cast.

Respect. Affection.

And play. So after consuming 10 pounds of pasta, 2 sausage-pepper-potato bakes, 18 cannoli, blueberry cheesecake bars ...

Bruschetta... (yes, I did a lot of healthy) ...

Zucchini-tomato tart.

And platters of Proud Italian Cook's Eggplant Bites.

"I don't even like eggplant," declared one teen as he popped a 6th one in his mouth. I made these four times this summer. Find Marie's recipe here. It's not too late to be enchanted by eggplant.

They played link-tag in the backyard. They played till dark. They played till I was worried that they wouldn't see the little squirrel holes that populate our yard. Visions of tripping and spraining ankles before the final performance did run through my mind. And the director's. But I loved seeing them play - I couldn't... wouldn't halt it.

Of course, the director yelled "Group hug" and the eve came to an end.

I'm somewhere in there. I'm trying to avoid "chicken soup" for the aging soul here... but you know - it was an honor to work with them and my director and designers. There was spiritual balance this summer because of them.

Vegetables were picked.

Heirloom tomatoes were consumed. We barely did anything with them but pick them, slice them and pop them in our mouths. You almost got a sugar rush from their natural sweetness. I think I may have salted them... once.

Caprese was required.

And once-in-awhile, I was inspired to cook them and throw them on pasta. It's not an overly pretty picture - but you know "all that glitters does not always taste good."  Mister Meatball's 7-minute tomato sauce can be found here.  With better photos.

And in August I splurged on halibut. Halibut (3/4 pound) with parsley-butter sauce. Cooked in a skillet - 1/2 stick of Earth Balance butter (I told you I was aging), 1/2 lemon, a little white wine - for probably no reason but it was there and I'm a sucker for leftover wine - and a handful of chopped fresh Italian parsley. Didn't bother with salt and pepper. Didn't even add garlic! Simmered slowly till all flavors joined together - maybe to play link tag. Simmered until the halibut flaked on the top and the greens promised a lingering summer.

It's September. It's warm. But I look forward to woolen scarves, soups, plaids, flowering Kale and fall color. Boots (not snow boots!), cozy sweatshirts, autumn bonfires. Looking forward. It's the most heartening part of the circle.

Thank-you! I appreciate you.

I want to thank you all for kind messages of support and sweetness regarding the passing of my mom. They were - are - very appreciated. I will be filling the pasta bowl again and resume visiting you around Labor Day. My sister and I have much to do before her memorial gathering at the end of August. 

Not a lot of cooking is going on. Last week one of my dinners consisted of two brownies. Two days ago, I had a pound of grapes for dinner. Macaroni and tuna salad sits in the fridge for those who need to grab and go. I am considering two ears of corn for dinner tonight. It is mighty fine, just-picked Minnesota sweet corn. I am looking forward to that.

In true "life goes on and so does the show" -  my eves are devoted to Under the Midsummer Moon at the Minnesota Fringe Festival August 2-12.  165 different productions in 15 theatres.  We open Thursday, August 2 and it has been a joyful distraction to be working with my amazing staff and cast on this labor of love. 

I need tissues at rehearsals - and I wonder why - I know what is happening! I wrote it! But the young performers have shown such grace and commitment - that I am transported every eve into their world.

See you in September...

The Spirit

She never thought she was beautiful.

She was stunning.

And very beautiful.

"The end of an era. My grandma joined my grandpa in heaven yesterday and in honor of her we all raised glasses before dinner. I am very lucky to have had her in my life for the last 23 years and proud to be the grandchild of such a classy lady." - Kirsten's Facebook post.

My mother was made up of pearls and sapphires and roses and daisies and pinks and reds. Laced with the crushed red pepper of Grandma's Basilicata. She was a true Italian Steel Magnolia. Delicate and fierce, lion and lamb, she showed uncommon strength during adversity. And a sweetness and gentleness of spirit during graceful times. Her middle name is Grace.

Opera sustained and comforted her. She got lost in the music and it brought her back to her youth - a time when her father listened to opera daily. She was initially named "Aida" but the hospital had a hard time understanding my Grandfather's pronunciation and somehow there was involvement with my Aunt Rose and suddenly Aida became Edythe.

Bones. They flavored the sauce ("they're the best part!"). And she gave me her bones. 

And laughter. And generosity of spirit. And of course love.

We were blindsided. Her sisters lived well into her 90's and we took it for granted that she would also. We had a ways to go. 

"Is she going to be all right?" I asked my sister when I learned she was in the hospital.

"I think so," she replied.

Two days later a diagnosis and then the following week she was home with hospice.

The night she came home, the furry tornado that is Murray-Guido Shostakovich entered our lives. He likes to sit in sinks. My mother had talked of getting a cat for two years. It was the perfect time. A "rescue-kitten," he will have the most pampered life with my sister. She is a born care-giver who lovingly cared for my mother the last few years. 

Murray is a cyclone. The day after my mother left us, Murray (aka "Murrala") decided he could fly and lept off the 2nd floor platform. He couldn't fly. My sister now has a vet. And Murray is fine. And we're affixing plexiglass  across the stair railings.

I'm including all these family photos. Because that was my mother. La Famiglia is why she got up in the morning. La Famiglia is what kept her up at night trying to ease our way into the world.

In the week she was home, I learned so much about her. About her spirit. Reflections, dreams, day dreams, early morning conversations with my sister centered around the journey of the spirit - her spirit and ours. As my mother slowly passed into another world, she was still teaching me. I learned so much that week. I just wish there was an easier way to learn.

On July 5th, the hospice nurse told us to be prepared for her leave-taking that weekend. My birthday was on the 12th. I understood if she couldn't stay. I told her so. On the 12th, I ran home for miscellaneous work with my Fringe production.

I had a purr with Pip.

Marveled at the volunteer flowers on the patio.

And returned to my mother. My sister was 100% certain I could do this because she wouldn't leave me on my birthday. Even though the nurses were stunned that she was holding on five days later. My sister was right. She didn't leave.

Paul, Matthew and Kirsten gathered at my mother's for my "old" birthday (it's a decade thing - even my mother told me to stop telling people my age because it was aging her!) It was a simple dinner:

• arugula salad with candied walnuts, blueberries and goat cheese
• Spaghetti with garlic, oil, Parmesan and Italian parsley
• Tiramisu courtesy of my sister

The comfort food my of my childhood. I wanted the aromas to go to my mother.  There was laughter at the table. A lot of it. The hearing is the last sense to go. We gave my mother an earful! And she was at my birthday party. Her last parting gift to me. 

On July 13th - on her mother's birthday - my mother left. Diane and I were on either side of her and wished her godspeed and told her how happy we were that she could be with my father and her original family. And of course, how much we loved her.

Cook up some pasta tonight. Blend some olive oil and butter. Add a touch of garlic and saute briefly. Throw your pasta into the garlicky oil. Sprinkle with Italian parsley and a heavy dose of some good Parmesan. I guarantee - instant comfort. Instant love. Each time a Gresio left me, I celebrated them with pasta and wine. It nourishes the spirit.

I learned a lot about the generosity of the spirit. The generosity of others. Courtesy of my mother's friends, Diane and I could host a dinner party for forty at any given time. The fridge was that packed. With sweetness.

Amazingly, this was not a week of weeping and wailing. There was a lot of laughter tinged with a touch of dark humor. A lot of ruminations on the sense of the spirit. And I have to tell you - two weeks ago I found out my mother's age. I never knew. And guess what? It's not on her obituary and I'm not telling you! She was ageless.

Life

Harbors - they are magnets to me. Safe harbors...gentle harbors... good harbors. Sometimes life is a succession of harbors.

Plymouth harbor and beach roses in Massachusetts. 

Shrub roses in Bar Harbor.

Beach Roses in Maine.

Life is sweet - tiny wild Maine berries that stops your heart and restarts it at a gentler pace.

Life is delicious. Food from the sea. Appreciation.

Sometimes you need the light to bring you to safety. Sometimes you are the light.

And life is unpredictable. I am taking a blogging break - some time in harbors for thought. Know that I have smiles and appreciation for all of you, for all those near and for harbors and roses and delicious.