Author Archives: Jenna

Lonesome Jake and Pretty Kitty

Part of the reason I was so excited to go to AJ6BP was to see my grandparents, Mama Kitty and Big Jake.

You may remember Mama Kitty from the infamous Christmas card series I posted this past December.

If you haven’t seen those Christmas cards, please take a moment and look at them now. Then join me in asking this important question: is it even legal for a woman of her age to look that good in lingerie?

She rocks those high heeled white boots in a way that I could simply never do. Because though her genes have been passed along to 3 daughters and 7 female grandchildren, there is simply no one like her.

To keep her connected to the increasingly digital family news, my Mom helps her navigate the internet. Here she is checking out my cousin Charles and his wife Rachel’s first baby:

(and there’s aunt Jacquie’s notorious living room furniture in the background of the shot)

Her daughters have inherited her elegance, her taste in clothing, her bright smile and good looks, and her knack for pulling off wild jewelry and a great hat.

Case in point: aunt Jacquie’s amazing earrings. I think those are parrots, to the tune of 2 per ear.

Sadly, though I love big earrings from time to time, somehow I ended up with a large head that just looks bizarre in most hats. Why, Darwin? You’d think that the more hat-worthy heads would, by natural selection, triumph in this fashion-obsessed world.

But moving on to Big Jake!

Big Jake? But my name is Gandalf.

I fight the evil dominion of Sauron on a daily basis.

I also enjoy a good mixed drink!

You want some?

If you think Big Jake’s (I mean Gandalf’s) hair and beard are slightly out of control, you ain’t seen nothin,’ my friend. See, at one point many years ago, he vowed never to trim his hair again and thus take his unruly mane to the grave. A few years into this promise, he was looking either like a bohemian French artiste . . . or a homeless man.

(Note: this didn’t last until the grave, because a certain doctor made the decision to tame his unmanageable locks during a certain surgery.)

In fact, one of my clearest memories of my sister Heidi’s wedding a year and a half ago involves a very straggly-haired Big Jake. I was one of the bridesmaids, and we were all dressed and ready for the ceremony. The wedding was starting in 20-30 minutes, and we girls were taking some final pictures of Heidi in the hall outside the sanctuary while the guys helped Mike prepare his soul. Or whatever it is guys do right before a wedding. I heard footsteps; I turned around. “Oh my gosh!” I thought, with a sharp intake of breath. “There’s a homeless man coming towards us! We’re just a bunch of defenseless girls wielding bouquets! I need to alert someone!”

And then I did a double take and realized it was my own grandfather, who moments later was pressing a couple hundred dollar bills into my hand. See, he’d heard I had an interest in photography and was determined to help fund the purchase of a camera.

A few months later, I bought my Nikon on craigslist. A few months after that, I started this blog. And more than a year after that, here we are, with posts fueled by pictures regularly taken with that very camera. So I guess you could call him one of the patrons saints of this blog. Or, I mean, patron wizards.

Now that I think about it, most of my memories of Big Jake involve him pressing either money or alcohol into my hands. And railing on me for not wearing high heels, to the cries of “If you got it, flaunt it!”

I love you guys, Mama Kitty and Big Jake! There is no one like you, and never will be.

Divine Red Wine Poached Pears

Doesn’t the phrase ‘poached pears’ sound so elegant? To me, it sounds like a dessert that might be served at a fancy party . . . in England. Definitely in England. There would be a table with cut crystal on it, freshly polished sterling silver flatware, wallpaper covered in roses on the wall, and a gracefully aging hostess with a ramrod straight back, who would say “Would you care for a poached pear, my dear?”

“Why yes, I believe I do,” I would assure her, tucking a curl behind one of my ears. Yes, in this vision my hair is a shining waterfall of curls, pinned up in loose poofs, with clusters of perfect corkscrews around my ears and above my alabaster brow.

But back to reality (with my brown hair which won’t hold a curl to save its life and my non-alabaster, quite freckled brow). I do have good news for all of us: besides being delicious, these pears (recipe adapted from this blogger) are a cinch to make. You toss them into a pot with a couple ingredients and they just kind of hang out there for a little over half an hour. After that, slap ’em in the fridge and you can feast off of them all week long. At least that’s what I did.

This is my idea of a perfect summer dessert–flavorful while still light, cool and satisfying on a hot evening, sweet but not cloyingly so, and they’re great either by themselves or with ice cream.

Ingredients

(Serves 6)

6 pears
1 cup red wine
1 cup water
1/2 cup + 2 TBS sugar
1 cinnamon stick OR 1 tsp ground cinnamon
2 cloves
Zest and juice of 1 orange

Peel the pears, leaving the stems intact.

In a large pot, combine the red wine . . .

. . . water . . .

. . . sugar . . .

. . . orange zest (man-hand + microplane = I love my life) . . .

. . . orange juice . . .

. . . cloves and cinnamon.

In other words, all the ingredients except for the pears.

Behold our poaching liquid! Heat the pot over medium, stirring occasionally until the sugar dissolves. Don’t sweat it if some globs of orange flesh got in there, too. Whatever, say I. It’s bound to add nutritional value, right? Right. That’s what my Mom used to say about bugs. “Oh, you ate a bug? More protein for you.”

Place the pears upright into the pot, fitting them together snugly.

Bring the poaching liquid to a boil . . .

. . . then cover the pot, turn down the heat to low, and cook for 35-40 minutes.

From time to time, lift the lid and spoon the liquid over the pears.

When the lid finally comes off, you will see a thing of beauty–the red wine has soaked into the pears, making them a lovely shade of mauve.

Test the pears for doneness by turning one over and inserting a sharp knife into its–hrngh hrngh–rounded bottom.

If the knife slides in easily with just a little resistance, the pears are done.

Discard the cloves and cinnamon stick, and let the pears and syrup chill in the refrigerator overnight.

Serve the pears cut or whole, alone or with ice cream, with the syrup drizzled on top.

A little French Vanilla is a great accompaniment.

And I say ‘syrup,’ however the liquid is rather thin, as you can see here.

But perfectly flavored! If you’re looking for a thick syrup though, you can continue to reduce the liquid once the pears are cooked. I leave it in your capable hands.

Even though these pictures show the pears whole, I found them much easier and more pleasurable to eat when cut. I made slices along the core and fanned the pieces out on a plate. It was beautiful, and the arrangement looked like a flower–but my camera was far, far away . . . in the other room.

Anyway, toss some pears in a pot and serve these at your next dinner party! Or furtively hide them in the back of the fridge in a place that only you know about and eat them for your midnight snack. Either way, these will hit the spot!

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