No Worries

As I was posting the cookbook section to this blog, I was reminded of my trip to New Zealand.

My friend Susie and I joined a tour that included a stay in a private home near Christchurch. Our host, Graem, picked us up in his 1960 Armstrong Siddeley Star Sapphire and drove us to his estate for the evening. This was a planned event on our itinerary, so luckily, I remembered to pack a hostess gift. As a token of my appreciation I gave them a North Carolina Bed & Breakfast Cookbook.

No worries. Sue and Graem didn't need it. Accomplished cooks in their own right, they served us the most wonderful dinner. Roasted lamb with root vegetables and broccoli. For dessert, Pavlova baked to perfection! It was the traditional New Zealand meal, one that I'll always remember on this cold winter night in August.

After returning home from the trip, I went to catch up on my emails. On it was a request for information from my previous hostess, Sue. She'd been reading the cookbook and found a recipe she liked, but had a question, "How much is a stick of butter?"

Isn't it funny how we take things like this for granted. It never occurred to me that a stick of butter wasn't a universal measurement.

Again, No Worries! I provided the needed information and hopefully averted a baking disaster. Below is the recipe in question. It appears on page 81:

Macadamia Nut French Toast

1 (16-ounce) loaf Italian Bread, cut into 1-inch thick slices

4 large egg, lightly beaten

1/4 cup sugar

1/4 teaspoon nutmeg plus extra, for garnish

2/3 cup orange juice

1/3 cup milk

1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 stick (1/2 cup!) plus 3 tablespoons butter, melted

1/2 cup copped macadamia nuts

Powdered sugar, for garnish

Maple syrup, for serving

Fit bread in a single layer in a lightly greased 9x13-inch baking pan. Mix eggs, sugar, nutmeg, orange juice, milk and vanilla; pour over bread. Cover and refrigerate overnight, turning bread once.

The next day, preheat oven to 400. Pour butter in a 15x10-inch jellyroll pan. Place bread in a single on top of butter. Bake for 10 minutes. Sprinkle with nuts and bake for 10 minutes more. Sprinkle with powdered sugar and nutmeg, if desired. Serve immediately with maple syrup.

Footnote: This cookbook is a great reference tool, as well. Not only is it a great cookbook, but a description of the featured inns accompany each recipe,

"Crash"

It happened at the inn. It was a scene out of the movie, "Crash", where cultures collide.

While sitting at my desk checking emails, I heard a loud BOOM! The house shook violently. Not knowing what happened, I jumped up and ran to the room where a group of ladies (median age: 85) were playing bridge. I thought someone had fallen, but when I entered the room, I found all of them looking out the front door. They were as startled as I was and though they didn't see what happened, they speculated that a wreck had occurred. There was no evidence of this except for a car that was stopped on the side of the road just across the street.

I went out to investigate. What I found astounded me. It didn't take long to figure it out. Lying in the front yard was the tire that had flown off the now disabled car that I saw on the side of the road. It (the tire) must've become airborne before it hit the house, because the point of impact just missed the front glass door by mere inches where, by the way, the ladies were sitting at the bridge table. No doubt they were shaken! As I inspected the house, I discovered a hole in the brick foundation. And looking back toward the street, I saw that the trajectory of the flying tire took out a spotlight and bush along the way.

Now, imagine the scene. The car was one of those early model 1970's Cadillac cars. Gold I think, with "spinner" hubcaps - lots of shiny chrome, sitting really low to the ground - and now with a missing tire, it was REALLY low. It took this guy a few minutes to get out of his car. In a swaggering stride, a young black male dressed in baggy shorts, sporting an oversized jersey and unlaced high-top tennis shoes emerged talking on his cell phone making wild gestures indicating his anger and fury. No Kidding!

Oh, the yelling and flailing arms were in overdrive. I'm sure this was a calculated move on his part, because when he sauntered toward me, his voice and gestures became more pronounced and agitated. When I asked him for his insurance card, he effectively ignored me. He was too busy on the phone to speak to me. Naturally, I overheard the convoluted conversation, and what I was able to understand (and what he wanted me to hear) was that the car belonged to the person on the other end of the phone. The tires had been replaced with tires that didn't fit the wheels. Of course, no one had told him. How could he have known that something like that could happen? Oh, he was playing the roll of victim, for my benefit. What he saw was a middle-aged woman, someone he could easily take advantage of, but since he chose to ignore me and my request, I chose to call the police from the cell phone I held in my hand. I, too had a weapon!

I waited for the law to arrive, and while I waited, this dude thought he'd just retrieve the tire and leave. I don't think he thought about how he'd leave. That car was going nowhere, but nonetheless, he got the tire and started rolling it back to his car. He was still on the phone, by the way.

Luckily, the police came quickly.

Much to my relief, police officer Dan took control of the situation, but not before this guy copped an attitude. As the policeman quizzed him about his license, registration and insurance, he continued his conversation on the phone. I guess he thought this strategy would somehow work for him. Youth or stupidity, maybe both were at work. Still, the suspect failed to produce the requested documents, so the officer told him to hang up the phone, then asked him his name. I could hardly believe my ears when this guy refused to give the cop the information. That's when officer Dan threatened jail, and that's when I decided to go inside.

After some straight talk from the officer to the suspect in question, the guy eventually cooperated, thank God. After all the paperwork was completed, the process to remove the vehicle was initiated, and a ride home was arranged.

The short of the long was that, as you might've guessed, this guy had no license or insurance. His claim was that the car belonged to his buddy, and his buddy had just cancelled the registration and insurance because he'd sold it to someone else. Yeah, right. I called the shot when I saw it. I'd be the one to lose, and in the end, I did. I had to pay for the repairs myself. A police report and charge did nothing to help my cause.

Anyway, with everything under control, the ladies resumed their bridge game.

I Scream, You Scream, We all Scream for ICE CREAM!

Ok, so I'm going to give this sweepsteaks thing a try. In today's paper there was an article calling for neighborhoods across America to enter a sweepsteaks for a chance to win an Edy's Ice Cream Party. YEAH! I'm all about ice cream! So, I went online to view the rules. To qualify, you must submit an essay of 350 words or less stating why your neighborhood should win. So far, here's what I've got.......


We have a great place for a party! Located in our neighborhood is a field begging for a game of soccer, kite flying, cookouts, and yes, ICE CREAM PARTIES! Located in a small town, our neighborhood is within walking distance of downtown where young families are moving in, while a number of seniors are living in the place they've called home for 50 years. It's a place where front proches are used and everybody know your name.


So far, that's 77 words. Obviously, I've got more work to do, but I'm reminded of the time several years ago when I was given the name of the regional editor of Southern Living Magazine. Armed with this information, I decided to put together a press packet to send, in hopes that maybe, just maybe he would read it. I knew it had to be compelling, so I put forth my best effort, complete with a dissertation and photos with circles and arrows, stating what each one meant (that's a line from Arlo Guthrie's Alice's Restaurant - my favorite Thanksgiving Day ballad). Well, lo and behold, after a few follow-up phone calls and polite emails, he agreed to entertain my request. I was so excited! His visit was lots of fun and the adventure taught me some things about Newton that even I didn't know about - and this is the town I grew up in! Anyway, the article of Newton, including the Trott House Inn, appeared in the November 2005 edition of Southern Living Magazine. This was the year the town celebrated its sesquicentennial, and Newton was buzzing with excitement when the publication hit the shelves!

I'm calling on my neighbors to weigh-in on this one. How would you complete this essay? An ice cream sundae is riding on it!

Do, Do, Do Lookin Out My Back Door

March came in like a lion! On March 1st, in the wee hours of the morning, five inches of snow fell. It was a heavy snow for this part of the country. On this day, the world stopped. As I sat by the fire to read the paper and enjoy my morning coffee, I marveled at how quiet it was. No school buses, no birds, no telephone calls, no guests - only the sound of the crackling fire could be heard. What joy. It's not often that I can sit back and relax in the quiet of the inn. My routine is usually to awaken before my guests stir, making sure that everything is ready for breakfast. I've learned over the years to celebrate both a full house and an empty house. So on this day, I celebrated being alone with my two dogs, Petunia and Rufus. Running an inn has its rewards and challenges. I decided that I would not do any laundry, cooking, checking the internet, painting, cleaning or anything that remotely resembled work. It's hard to resist these temptations when they're staring you in the face. Since innkeepers live and work in the same place, there's no escape!

I must say though, that after 10 years in the business, I'm still enjoying the adventure. I've met the most interesting people on this journey. You never know who's going to walk through the door. Several years ago, in the aftermath of a huge ice storm, I was visited by a local who'd lost power to his home and was in need of a place to stay. Upon meeting him, I knew immediately that he was a local celebrity. I was so captivated by him that I didn't notice his companion. After recovering my manners, I glanced at her and said, "But, you look familiar", and her reply was, "Kiss My Grits!" Now, for those of you who are old enough to recall the TV sitcom, Mel's Diner, you'll recognize the phrase. Her name was Flo (big hair) who played the part of a waitress on the show. Her real name is Polly Holiday. She still practices her craft and lives in Philadelphia. She spent the next two days with me, and the pleasure was all mine!

So many stories, so little time. I've got to get back to work. But before I go, I'll share with you a recipe to usher in Spring in hopes that March goes out like a lamb. No pun intended

Spring Lamb Chops

8 lamb chops

salt and pepper

1 tablespoon olive oil

flour

8 ounces mushrooms, sliced

6 green onions, sliced

4 medium cloves garlic, minced

1 tablespoon butter

1 cup beef broth

1/2 cup dry red wine

Sprinkle lamb chops with salt and pepper. In a large skillet, heat olive oil over medium-high heat. Lightly coat chops with flour; place in hot skillet. Sear until well browned, turning once. Remove to a plate and set aside. Reduce heat to medium.

To the skillet add the mushrooms, green onions, garlic, and butter. Cook the vegetables, stirring, for 4 minutes. Add beef broth and red wine and simmer until reduced by about 1/3. Add lamb chops, cover skillet, and cook for about 15 to 20 minutes, or until lamb chops are done as desired.

Serves 4