Happy Feet

Last night I finally finished these socks. 

This was the Happy Feet yarn I bought in Idaho, during the yarn haul. It was also the yarn I left in my checked bag on the way home, so I didn't get to start on the socks until later. 

And then when I did start them after the first leg of the road trip, they turned out too big because I used the new needles I also bought on the yarn haul. (Yes, I know I should have checked my gauge, but who does that with a sock?!) Besides, I've made this same sock pattern multiple times with worsted weight yarn. This was my first time using actual sock yarn, but it was from the same pattern book as the other socks I made (Patons Next Steps Four: Socks and Slippers if you must know). I figured since those socks fit perfectly following their directions and needle recommendations, so would these.

Wrong. 

I have big feet, but these were floppy enough to put over a set of skis. The one on the left is the first one I made. I know it doesn't look much different than the other one, but I can assure you, it didn't fit properly. Socks should hug your feet, and fit snug enough to keep your toes under wraps. They shouldn't flop off of your feet while you walk. Then I made the one on the right, two sizes smaller and on smaller needles. They fit wonderfully.

So I ripped out the first sock. 

And I proceeded to reknit it. Then I joined the ladies from my knitting club on Sunday at a local cafe to knit a bit. One lady saw the sock I had finished (the one that did fit me, mind you) and asked if it was for the Sailor. I told her it was for me. Bigfoot. 

Mid-way through my coffee, I noticed I had messed up on the instep count -- and had to rip out half the sock. Again.

Last night, I was determined to finally finish them. The socks themselves may not have traveled far yet, but the yarn sure had. Now though, the socks have finally found their home -- on my feet -- my now happy feet. 

Kitchen Disasters

Awhile back, after posting about this lovely orange marmalade cake, and my holiday soirée, I promised a soon-coming post on kitchen disasters. Well, here it is. 

Meet my kitchen. 

Meet the magic that sometimes occurs even with limited counter space.

(What you see above is the counter. All of it. Seriously.) 

 Now meet even more kitchen chaos:

 Including the cake that simply fell apart when I tried to move it:

(For the record, that was supposed to be a chocolate peanut butter marble cake -- but I'm going to guess the original recipe didn't use natural peanut butter like I did, which is probably what should have kept it together.)  

Then there's the ganache that was far too gooey to roll into truffles: 

And oh so many more dishes that never get photographed...

The bottom line? For every wonderful creation I make in the kitchen, there is often a kitchen disaster story to tell. It might be a ruined dinner, a cake that somehow didn't bake properly, or something as silly as a dropped egg. (My mom used to say that eggs make the same sound no matter which floor they drop on... I have dropped enough eggs in several kitchens to know she speaks the truth.) Usually that dropped egg is the last one I have on hand and necessary for the recipe.

Thankfully, the Sailor doesn't mind a disaster every now and again -- as long as we have pizza delivery on speed dial, charcoal for the BBQ, or a Five Guys within driving distance, we'll be okay. He has also encouraged me on more than one occasion by reminding me 'that's how we learn...' 

I have definitely learned a thing or two.

Years ago, I paid too much money for a little black book on basic cooking. I thought I could use some help in the basic area of cooking some days -- most days in fact. 

Sure, I could do a lot of basic things. Growing up, I always prided myself on being able to boil an egg -- that often seemed to be the standard by which people judged someone's cooking ability: "So and so can't even boil an egg."

But I'd never poached an egg before, and my omelettes sometimes turned to scrambled eggs. Ironically, my egg timer supervised this sauce-of-something-or-other that turned whatever cake I made into a dish nobody should have to taste. So awful was the cake, I've completely blocked out the name of it. I couldn't tell you what was actually bubbling below except for that lonely cinammon stick.  

Like that cake, this basic book was a major disappointment. You see -- it was almost too gourmet to be 'basic'. They used words like 'chiffonade' and 'poivrade sauce'. It had recipes for lobster bisque and snail butter -- foods I never actually wanted to eat, let alone create from scratch.

When I wanted to make some simple scalloped potatoes, I searched high and low in this book for the recipe. I just wanted to know the cooking time and temperature. The book contained more than half a dozen potato recipes but nothing for scalloped spuds. (I eventually found the recipe in that old wartime cookbook...) 

Yet even though I keep wanting to just get rid of this book, something stops me every time I put it in the 'giveaway' pile. I think it's because I need to just try something 'basic' out of it -- even if I can't pronounce it -- even if it might be a flop.

Tonight, when I picked the book back up and flipped through it, I saw the instructions for how to poach an egg. 

I suddenly realized that after all of these years, I have still never tried to make poached eggs before. They are pretty basic, after all.

Perhaps it's time. I think my little kitchen can handle it -- as long as I don't drop the eggs on the floor first. 

If I master that, maybe I can work my way up to snail butter. I've discovered there are no snails actually in the butter -- just garlic, parsley and shallots.  

And when all else fails, I know I can still boil an egg. I can also make oatmeal like a champ. I'm also convinced that anything tastes better in Pyrex. Read more here at the Pyrex Collective III about my hunt for cereal bowls.  

Hope for Spring

Remember when I said the post-holiday winter months sometimes still need some extra sparkle?

Well apparently it's supposed to feel a little like spring here this weekend -- 

at least for a few minutes.

My sparkly snowman may already be obsolete.  

Not that I'm complaining. I could always use some extra sunshine in my life.

It's usually the favorite part of my day -- the moments when the sun streams through the windows, shadows dancing on the walls. Sometimes I'm so busy I don't even notice -- but lately I've tried to make more of an effort to stop whatever I'm doing and simply observe.

I like to think of these above-average temperature days as a little glimpse into the future. Spring may still be a long way off, but for a few fleeting moments, I can actually picture leaves on the barren trees.

Hope shining through.

 

Family Kitchen Mergers

Growing up without much money, my family got creative with how we entertained ourselves. As a child, I would page through my mom's old, dog-eared wartime cookbook whenever she used it, especially for baking. I loved the photos -- they transported me to another era with pictures of dinner parties, jello molds and decorative cookies.  

When I was old enough to understand the significance of this cookbook in my mother's life, I told her it was the one thing that I wanted her to leave me when she died. The book had been my grandmother's, passed on to my mom at a young age. 

Several years ago, my mom decided that I shouldn't have to wait until her funeral to have my own copy. She found another one online and presented it to me as my very own -- yet still promising me her heirloom edition one day.

I have several old cookbooks from yesteryear, but this one is by far my favorite and I use it frequently. Recipes may have changed over the years, but some things are still classic -- like Yorkshire Pudding. Now I have my own notes and bookmarks falling out of my copy. 

Nowadays, I also appreciate the back section of the book with wartime recipes on a budget.

Around the same time my mom gave me the book, I had recently returned from the Sailor's hometown. During my stay there, I made the Sailor's family a pie. I searched high and lo for a rolling pin -- frustrated that I didn't know where anything was in the kitchen. (Read more about that here.)

My mother-in-law saw my frustration and dug into the cabinet. She handed me what appeared to be a glass bottle. 

I looked at the lid on one end and then I looked at her.

She explained that it was for keeping pastry cold -- you load the rolling pin with ice-cubes and then it keeps the dough chilled while you work with it. 

This was ingenious! I had never seen such a thing before. I somewhat joked with her that she could leave it to me in the future. Sometime later, I realized I needed to acquire my own rolling pin, before I continued to covet the one in the South African cupboard.

Last week, I found myself in the throes of antique hunting in Tennessee. I have spied a few glass rolling pins over the year, but they were always out of my price range. This time, on my second trip through the store, I found one for only $8. It's missing the lid, but I'm sure the Sailor can find something for me that fits. Besides, once the ice-cubes are in there, they're  not really going to 'fall out'.

This week, I realized that I now own two kitchen items that are symbolically related to my mom and mother-in-law -- and I still get to ask them both cooking advice. A perfect family history and merger. The only question remains is which recipe from that cookbook am I going to try out first with my new rolling pin?

Granny Square Slippers

I love a good granny square. There is something so old-fashioned, pure, and lovely about the humble crocheted granny square.  

I also love a good pair of slippers. Nobody likes cold feet. 

Combined together? Crocheted awesomeness. 

I think granny squares sometimes get a bad rap, because we remember scratchy acrylic blankets our aunts or grandmothers made. Or maybe we once saw a friend wear a kitschy skirt or poncho... and we vowed to never wear granny squares in our own clothing.  

But really, granny squares are kind of hip -- and so versatile!  They can be big, small, on their own or joined together. 

Slippers however, need no defense, in my mind. Ever since my first summer in Ukraine during my college years, I have found any excuse to wear slippers. It is unheard of to enter a house there and simply keep your shoes on. Instead, it's much more common to leave your dirty shoes at the door, and then throw on a pair of slippers to slop around inside the house.

Of course, as a guest, I would be exempt from this rule on occasion, but I preferred to follow the custom. Often, my hosts would then scramble to find me a pair of slippers to wear as soon as they saw my feet.

Sometimes, this was to my detriment. I gave English lessons to a student at his home regularly one summer. In return for the lessons, the student's grandmother pumped food into me at a rapid pace -- and prior to feasting, she forced me into a hideous pair of maroon and grey slippers whenever I entered the house. 

I was used to being barefoot inside, especially in the summer. However, Babka didn’t back down. My feet were on fire throughout the meal and then the lesson. I returned to college with a roaring case of athlete’s foot -- and the slippers. When I left Ukraine, she insisted I take them with me. 

I kept them to be polite, but I soon found myself actually wearing them regularly. Those slippers lasted me for years -- they kept my feet warm through British winters and they made me smile whenever I remembered how I resisted wearing them at first. 

Now, I try to employ the slipper rule in my own home regularly. We are often falling over shoes on the way in or out the door, but at least they are all clumped together. (I also recently read somewhere that you are less likely to bring certain germs into your home this way -- things like pesticides, etc, stay on your shoes. Who wants to bring that into a home?!) 

My favorite granny square and slipper pattern at the moment is this one from Purl Soho's blog, The Purl Bee. You can also see more samples on Ravelry here.

I've lost count of the number of these I have made and given away as gifts... and I'm still making more. That alone proves to me that this is a pattern you really can't get tired of.

The best part? I can whip them up in a night or two, so they make a great last minute gift. And, I can easily pack them in a bag, making them very portable travel slippers.

The Ukrainian granny was right. Slippers are a necessity. 

And with such a fun and easy pattern, who can argue with that?