SUGAR COOKIES

     "Tell me a funny story about your mom," I asked Larry this morning.

     "Hmm?" he said, not looking up from his book.

     "Something funny about your mom."

     He put his finger on his place in the book and looked at me.  "I don't know any funny stories about my mom."  What he meant, plainly, was "I'm not going to write your blog for you.  If I wanted to write a blog, I'd write a blog."  He resumed reading page 2057 of The Guns at Last Light, a tome about WWII, with an air of exasperation.  You would think I had just done him a favor, as he says the book is deeply disturbing, but he apparently didn't see it that way.

     What brought this on was a really lovely gift that we'd received in the mail from our sister-in-law, Gloria.  This is a kitchen towel on which is laminated a copy of a recipe card in Myrtle's handwriting. 

     Her famous sugar cookies.  

     This gift exactly the sort of thing we can expect from Gloria, as she is endlessly inventive and clever.  She is married to Myrtle's second son, Allan, is a nurse, and the mother of four inventive,  clever, and, I have to say, funny sons and daughters.  My own sons and daughter love these cousins, tell stories about them, and even go so far as to tell me they we should never have moved away from   Minnesota. I'm pretty sure they don't mean that, but you get the idea.

     "But you and your mom were always laughing when you talked on the phone," I persisted.  "She was such a funny mimic, she loved to laugh about the strangeness of people.  Can't you remember anything funny I could say?  What about the time that Charlie dialed 911 on what he thought was a toy phone, and soon the police were knocking on the door? That was funny."

     It was funny:  we were all visiting Minnesota for Grandma Viehl's 90th birthday celebration.  At Gloria's and Allan's home, the grandkids ranging from Charlie, then five, on up or down the age ladder had been playing in the basement, and no one upstairs knew why the police had suddenly arrived.

     "Yes," Larry agreed, "but that's not exactly a story about my mom."

     "What about sneaking booze into the retirement home for the ladies' happy hour?  Liquor wasn't even allowed, was it?  Being a Lutheran home, and all?"

     "It wasn't forbidden, she just was afraid the other residents would disapprove.  Anyway, it wasn't booze, it was wine."

     "Still, it says a little about how feisty she was."

     Larry put his book down and shook his head, looking at our Christmas tree, but seeing the past, perhaps some white Christmas of way-back-when.  He laughed.  "We did have good times," he said.  "The story we always remember is the time Allan threw snowballs at the cars out on Snelling, and hit a truck.  He ran home, with the truck driver right behind him.  Mom had to promise she'd deal with her little delinquent.  Then the time we were shooting our bb guns in the basement and scored one of the jars of pickles she'd canned that summer."

     "I dream about her roast beef and those ethereal dinner rolls," I said.   "If Gloria ever gets her hands on that recipe, I hope she knows what to do with it.  I think she used lard, or something."

     My mother-in-law was a talented musician, a fabulous cook, a great mom.  A woman of her time, she made a complete life in the circle of her church, her family, and friends.  Here is the recipe for her cookies, which I intend to make as soon as I finish this blog.  Hmm.  Uses vegetable oil?  Well, I'll certainly sub out butter for the margarine, but I suppose I'll use what I imagine was corn oil.  Good luck  and Merry Christmas to us all!

SUGAR COOKIES:

1 egg, well beaten

1/2 cup margarine (no!  don't do it!)

1/2 cup granulated sugar

1/2 cup powdered sugar

1/2 cup vegetable oil

1 tsp. vanilla

1/2 tsp. salt

2 1/2 cups flour

1/2 tsp. soda 

1/2 tsp. cream of tartar.

Sift dry ingredients.  Cream egg, butter or the dreaded margarine, and sugars.  Add vanilla and dry ingredients.  Roll in balls.  Dip into more granulated sugar on a plate, and press with a glass.  If you can find one with a decorative base, it makes a pretty pattern.  

Bake at 350 degrees for 10 minutes.

     

THE PERUVIAN KITCHEN

   
     Who am I to be discussing the food of Peru?  Good point.  But my blog is supposed to be about food, at least some of the time, and I was in Peru for two weeks, ate something every day, took photos, and here we are.

     First, you should know that the food in the large cities is sophisticated, varied, and enjoys a wonderful reputation in the several magazines to which I subscribe.  But guinea pigs?  Seriously?

     Our trip was planned down to the minute, it seemed, including NINE different flights.  I know, who was in charge?  So we were busy little tourists,  and still only saw the southern, high Andean part of the country.  We were lucky to have a guide in the area around Cuzco who was native to one of the communities in the countryside.  He was passionate about his land and her people, so introduced us to the kitchens, markets, and flavors of the centuries-old Peruvian kitchen.  Wow, that sentence sounded like an excerpt from one of those magazines I mentioned.

     But let's get the guinea pigs out of the way.  Here they are:

     We found a group (collective name as per the web) of guinea pigs in every home we visited.   I learned, again on the web, that most families in the Andean countryside will have about 20 of the animals, being raised in, or adjacent to, the kitchen.  Approximately 90 percent of the guinea pigs, which are, incidentally, neither pigs, nor from Guinea, are raised at the household level.  They are such an expected part of the indigenous communities that any family who does not raise them is considered either lazy or extremely poor.

     Guinea pigs are high in protein, low in fat, but what do they taste like?

     I thought I was prepared, but never got the chance to try any cuy meat, as these fellows are called in Peru.  I would have, but they were never on offer.  This sample is being "rubbed" with the herb which is actually his diet, and his mouth is stuffed with same.  This seems logical, I guess.  He'll be roasted and inevitably served with potatoes on the side.  (If they'd just snip off those little feet, they might look more like, well, chicken?)

      Edgar, our guide's gringo nom de plume, insisted that the Peruvians are thrifty, never wasting any part of an animal they butcher, and some scenes from a market we visited seem to confirm the idea.  Among the abundance of grains, potatoes, veggies, flowers, we found the following:

     Yum!  Can only imagine that these will be added to the stew pot, teeth to be extracted later.  Note the Inca Cola on the side.  Didn't try any, as it was said to be fatally sweet.  I don't know how typical the following photos may be, but these are scenes from a local (NOT touristic) restaurant.

     We didn't eat at this establishment -- didn't eat locally except once when we were given empanadas from a stall run by one of Edgar's many friends.  After closely questioning the contents of same, we think we were eating cheese, but the little treat could have included alpaca -- which I knowingly tried once in a stuffed pepper.  Check those foodie creds! 

     Look how gorgeous the people are: (friend Ursel in the middle)

     The last group had just performed at a restaurant on the island of Tequille in Lake Titicaca, and the gentleman on the right is Papa Grande, my partner for the dance.  At 13, 500 feet, the dance was a short one!

      From there, back to Lima, back to Miami, back to Portland, where, at 6:30 in the morning, the cold wind is howling.  We've been promised snow, and it seems a long way from the gorgeous colors and sunshine of Peru.

     Note:  thanks to Ellen Banks for the help in manipulating the addition of photos to my blog!  I don't know why the font isn't consistent, but Ellen has gone back to Whitman and isn't here to solve the problem.  Sorry!