Lazy W Marie

Carpeing all the diems in semi-rural Oklahoma...xoxo

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Our Fave Chocolate Cake

   I suppose chocolate cake is one of those things that, barring an allergy or something, everyone craves now and then.  Around this house, Handsome requests it infrequently because it is so very, very rich.  When he does, though, it is with much insistence.  And it is a request that can only be filled with one recipe.  Never a boxed mix, and never with any deviations.  We had it this weekend to kick off his birthday week celebrations, and it was a grand success.  : )
   In addition to my man’s great appreciation of this recipe, which is enough to get me fixing it any time, we discovered early in our marriage that each of our families had been preparing it for generations!  This particular chocolate cake is one of the precious things that we held in common between our unique childhoods. That makes it double special.  Triple special.  Quadruple special.  
   My Momma got it from my Grandma, who I think received it from her mother in law.  Handsome’s Grandma Goldie made it all throughout his childhood, some say using cooked brown beans, a trick I have GOT to figure out, and I can only imagine how many generations back her cooking traditions stretch.  She was a beloved woman and famed home cook.
Here it is.
First, if you don’t have buttermilk, make some.  To one tablespoon of either vinegar or lemon juice, add enough whole milk to make a cup, and do try to measure better than I did.  Let it sit while you do other awesome kitchen stuff, so it will thicken up.  Presto, pretend buttermilk.  You’re ready for the rest.
Batter:  Make this in three parts. 
Whisk together 2 cups each of flour and sugar.  
In a saucepan, boil together these things:
   2 sticks butter
   3 1/2 Tablespoons cocoa 
   1 cup water
Then add that to the dry mixture and also add these things:
   1/2 cup buttermilk
   2 whole eggs
   1 teaspoon baking soda
   1 teaspoon vanilla 
Stir it with a wooden spoon till really really really smooth and satiny and gorgeous.
Pour this chocolaty blend into a buttered 9 x 13 baking dish.  Bake it at 400 degrees for about 20 minutes.
About ten minutes in, which is also ten minutes before the cake comes out, because ten is halfway between zero and twenty, prepare the fudge topping:
Sift a pound of confectioner’s sugar, which is about 4 cups.  Mom pointed out that sifting is key because otherwise you might have a hard time getting the final fudge mixture smooth enough.  She’s right.  Thanks Mom!  xoxo
Using the same pan as earlier, no need to wash it, cook these things:
   1 stick butter
   3 Tablespoons cocoa
   6 Tablespoons milk
Cook the fudge just to the boiling point.  Then remove from heat and add to a heat proof bowl of sifted powdered sugar.  Stir it like there’s no tomorrow and do not count the number of times that you absolutely must lick your fingers.
Now pour the hot, sugary fudge over the hot cake, tilt or spread it gently around, and let it relax at room temperature.  
   The final product should present a beautiful, shiny skin that is almost juicy when you sink your teeth into it.  This incomparable cake is super served with french vanilla ice cream and also incredible served cold.   Not too shabby when nibbled on the sly in the middle of the night, just walking by.
   How good does your house smell now?  You are welcome, and see you at the gym, baby.
Happy Birthday Week to Handsome!
xoxoxo

Joy Pockets #2

The past seven days have been emotional and busy on every front,
and midweek I thought I would just skip Joy Pockets
altogether because it would just feel phony.
Thankfully, mercifully, legitimate joy
burned through that fog pretty quickly.

1.  Drive In:  Going to the old-fashioned triple-feature drive in movies with Handsome and seeing a comet at dusk.  The flicks showing that night were all really good, too, and I stayed awake through to the end.  First time ever in my life.

2.  Naptime:  Falling asleep outside in the sunshine and waking up to our biggest horse nuzzling my bare feet with his whiskery, velvety face.  He sniffed my calves and looked at me super cute, probably wondering if I was dead.  That happened twice this week, and it was downright magical.  It gave me the feeling of cuddling with a baby.  A 1200-pound baby, but still.
3.  Lake Fun:  Playing at the lake with two cool and awesome friends last Saturday afternoon.  Eating too big of a hamburger at the dockside restaurant but then burning it off just by laughing like a crazy person.  Riding the wave runner until we were out of gas on the water.  Literally.  And then the girl half of those friends taking multiple photos of together, sensing my apprehension, and her having mercy by N-O-T putting them on Facebook, because she is very pretty and I take very weird posed face pictures for some reason.

4.  Affection:  Hearing a beloved young nephew call us by name using also our titles, “Aunt” and “Uncle.”  For some reason, this gesture in his sweet little boy voice melted my heart.
5.  Victory Over Myself:  Returning a very tall stack of borrowed books to the library E-X-A-C-T-L-Y on time and retrieving a reserved book there, which is now in danger of premature completion.  This never happens, folks, not the timely return thing.  I felt like a total celebrity walking in and out of the library with nary a dime of a fine.  Why wasn’t there confetti?  Handsome is worried my lack of fines contribution may lead to downsizing.  He asked if the main librarian is having to send her car back to the dealership.

6.  Surprise:  Learning that my Dad reads my silly blog.
 
7.  Avoidance:  Delaying a dreaded dentist appointment.  Again.  I am joyful over this.
8.  Birthday Week:  Firming up R-E-A-L-L-Y  F-U-N plans for Handsome’s birthday which is in exactly two days.  We do full birthday weeks around here, so we have much celebration pending.  He is a great guy who deserves great things, more than I can provide.  He is my dream come true, and I wish him the happiest, funnest, most relaxing and exciting birthday week ever!
   Big *Thank You* to Bohemian Twilight for having this in place.
Knowing the Friday link-up was fast approaching had to have helped with the fog.
XOXOXOXO
Happy Weekend Everyone!
joy pockets

Stieg Larsson (book review)

   The posthumous if scandalous fame of this recently deceased author certainly contributes to his books’ appeal, but even without that added glamour, his two breakout novels (I have yet to read the third of this trilogy but fully intend to) are impressive.  They are not for children, though; nor are they for the easily offended; and they are not even for the squeamish.
   But at this stage of life I am grateful to no longer fall into any of those categories and so thoroughly enjoyed every single page.
    


   Except for the difficult to pronounce Swedish names and general vocab, difficult even in silent, inward monologue, these two thick volumes provided me lots of gratifying hours of voracious, adrenaline-pumping diversion.  And in contrast to our book club’s spiritual foray this summer, it was a guilty pleasure.  Not complaining, ladies, I just need a balanced diet.  We all do, eh?
   Lots of people, me included, have commented on how the first novel suffers the reader with a bit of a cold, slow start, but rest assured that Larsson more than makes up for it later and in book two.

 

   I fell head over heels for the off-putting and strangely upstanding heroine, Lisbeth Salander.   Part of me is determined to believe she is a real live person, lurking the world with her mad math skills, deficient social skills, and dark attitude.  Righting wrongs and amassing riches.  I am collaborating with a girlfriend to be Salander for Halloween this year.  Like Batman, only a girl.  And scary, but completely defensible.  Beware.

   Slanader’s male counterpart Mikael Blomkvist was also a gripping character, and N-O-T just because I happen to know that Daniel Craig is playing him in the American production.  Well, that didn’t hurt exactly.  Y-E-S- I mentally pictured Craig delivering some of the best lines and besting the bad guys, etc, etc, and Y-E-S there are love scenes written that can only be made better with a decent visual…
  These books are pure entertainment, trashy and heavy and politically seasoned just enough to make you feel like you’ve thought hard and smart for that day.  Oh, and if you have ever been accused of drinking too much coffee, just check out the Swedes.  They will relieve you of that guilt rapidly.

Potatoes A La Pinterest

   I was admittedly in a baked potato rut.  Since disovering the microwave method, seriously, there is nothing easier.  It’s nutritious, delicious, and easy.  And fast.
   But like I said, rut.  Then I was browsing my fave new eye candy site and discovered a brand new possibility.

   The visual got me first, becuase all things neatly fanned and buttered are on my culinary bucket list.  What about you?  Then the method convinced me to try it, and I am soooooo doing it again.  Here’s a proper online recipe, because I don’t groove writing such things.
   Personal advice:  In lieu of using the called-for butter pats and garlic cloves, I melted a whole stick of butter and seasoned that with some stuff I like (garlic salt, black pepper, and crushed red pepper).  I poured the melted, seasoned butter over the prepped potatoes and had PLENTY left over to use on some yellow squash that needed some yummy lovin and was destined for the grill.
   Almost Failed:  Accustomed to quicker (lazier) techniques, I did not budget quite enough time to achieve the advertised crispy outside-tender inside just using the oven.  So I had to zap the still too firm spuds in the microwave just as our steaks were finishing on the grill.
   Handsome’s Verdict:  He liked it.  I don’t think he loved it, but he liked it, and he is no longer in the business of bluffing me out on recipes to keep from hurting my feelings.  This means we’ll have it again, but not necessarily on extremely special days.
When my Grandpa Dunaway was alive,
he used to talk about growing potatoes.
He said the harvest it was so exciting. 
Sometimes they would be quarter-sized,
sometimes nickle-sized spuds. 
The rest were just small potatoes.
Now my Dad repeats this family legend,
and I crack up every time I think of it.
Love you Dad. 
xoxoxo

Autumn Changes Things Again

  

   The water was boiling. 

   She had been standing there in a daze, halfway waiting like a timid little girl for the universe to intervene on her behalf, halfway simmering in anger as hot as the water now steaming and hissing in the tea kettle.  None of this should be happening, she thought bitterly and helplessly.  Tears welled up in her throat but choked her, refusing to bloom in her eyes.
   Still mostly numb, she poured the steaming water into a pitcher with dry tea bags waiting at the bottom.  She turned the burner off, returned the empty kettle to a cool corner of the glass cook top, and wiped her hands dry on the red towel with yellow and gold owls on it.  These few motions seemed to cost her all the energy remaining in her limbs, so without a choice she leaned backward against the counter top and slowly crumpled to the floor.
   She sat on the shiny tiles reviewing the words in her mind, letting every syllable repeat again and again, hoping to gain some understanding that had so far escaped her.  Nothing would take hold.  The facts were cold and stubborn and two-dimensional, unyielding to pain and deaf to reason. 
   They are not coming home, and according to the phone call it was their free and final choice.
  She spent the next few hours just going through the motions of her routine, mechanically and with a hollowness that made her mind way too vulnerable to dark thinking.  Every task had happy memories attached to it; every square foot of the property was still vibrating with the colors and fragrances of family life.

   While in the barn raking hay, she heard a few tentative drops of rain ping against the tin roof, startling the cats and causing her to gasp and shake her vision loose for a moment.  Maybe this is temporary.  Maybe if I handle this wisely and with enough love they will feel the solidarity they need, the peace they deserve, and everything will right itself soon.

   She finished making the rounds outside, taking note of the quietness and mournfulness of the early autumn weather.  How was it possible that every animal seemed to know what was happening?  They all looked at her cautiously, as though a breeze might shatter everything.  

  
   By the time she reached the edge of the pond, the rain had advanced from a gentle sprinkle to a heavy, slanted downpour.  The midday sky was dark now and the air had turned cold.  Thunder boomed and echoed in the valley.  The horses had retreated to their loafing shed, perhaps to escape the rain, perhaps to grieve.  The rain slashed into the surface of the pond with increasing ferocity, finally drawing out of her the wild, primal tears she needed to cry.  She screamed and sobbed and the surface of the pond jumped and kicked against the news.

   The water was boiling.
Mama’s Losin’ It
This post inspired suddenly and unflinchingly by Mama Kat’s prompt:
“Write a story that begins and ends with the same sentence.”