![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
LJ and I are Godparents. The oldest is about to turn 14, the youngest 2. All girls.
We were over at their place last night for dinner. Daren and Chris had invited us for dinner on Friday, which got changed to Saturday. Pulled pork tacos were on the menu, and I was asked to bring dessert. So, Saturday afternoon, I threw together a couple of apple tarts, something that always appears to be a hit at their place. Rose (the 13-year-old) took particular interest on the part this time, asking how it was made. I sat there dictating the recipe to her, explaining how to cut butter into flour, in preparation of making shortbread, when her mother said sagedly, "you know you'll do much better showing her how to do it in the kitchen, then trying to explain it to her in the living room!" It was a point well taken.
We made short work of the first tart, but the second remained untouched. Everyone said they were quite full. LJ left for home, the remaining tart in hand, and shortly thereafter, Daren got up to cut herself another slice, only to find the tart gone. I turned to Rose and said, "do you have plans for tomorrow? How would you like to learn how to make an apple tart?"
Chris dropped Rose off at our place today, along with Joyce, who's five and April who's four. LJ took the younger two while Rose and I headed off to the kitchen. We started off with a lesson in making pastry cream/pudding. As the milk scalded on the stove, Rose mixed cornstarch and sugar, egg and vanilla and then settled on using almond extract for the background flavor. I cautioned her to stir constantly as we added the tempered egg mixture to the scalded milk over medium flame. "Don't stop stirring. Any moment, it will just go 'foomp' and you'll have pastry cream." A moment later, as I rinsed a mixing bowl in the sink, I heard her quietly say, "'foomp'. Wow."
Once the pastry cream was chilling in the fridge, getting the shortbread dough ready was next on the agenda. Daren was right. Showing her how to knead it just enough to have it well mixed, but not so much that it became tough, was easy to demonstrate in the kitchen, but hard to describe in the living room. While the dough rested in the refrigerator, the apples got peeled and sliced, then lightly sautéed in butter and plum wine. They chilled, while the dough got rolled out and baked. As everything cooled, I realized it was four o'clock and time for tea.
We adjourned to the sitting room of her a pot of 'triple threat temptation', a black tea flavored with vanilla, white chocolate and coconut, served with milk and sugar, & a couple of quartered oranges (an homage to Leonard Cohen?) As we were finishing our tea, LJ returned from an outing with the two young ones. Joyce, five-year-old that she is, frowned when there was no tea for her. A few minutes later out on the back deck, Rose and I emerged from the kitchen with a pot of decaf apricot tea, my good china demitasse cups, and ramekins with ice cream for everyone. Both of the young ones carefully sipped their tea, knowing they were drinking from my "good china". Watching the two of them, add their milk and sugar to their tea, savoring it slowly, as I do a 15-year-old single malt scotch, was too precious for words. They were not so ladylike with their ice cream.
After tea, Rose and I adjourned back to the kitchen to assemble the tart. After it was lightly dusted with cinnamon and fresh ground cardamom, the girls all trundled into the car with LJ off to home. I sat down to another cup of tea, and pondered the joys of parenting.
We were over at their place last night for dinner. Daren and Chris had invited us for dinner on Friday, which got changed to Saturday. Pulled pork tacos were on the menu, and I was asked to bring dessert. So, Saturday afternoon, I threw together a couple of apple tarts, something that always appears to be a hit at their place. Rose (the 13-year-old) took particular interest on the part this time, asking how it was made. I sat there dictating the recipe to her, explaining how to cut butter into flour, in preparation of making shortbread, when her mother said sagedly, "you know you'll do much better showing her how to do it in the kitchen, then trying to explain it to her in the living room!" It was a point well taken.
We made short work of the first tart, but the second remained untouched. Everyone said they were quite full. LJ left for home, the remaining tart in hand, and shortly thereafter, Daren got up to cut herself another slice, only to find the tart gone. I turned to Rose and said, "do you have plans for tomorrow? How would you like to learn how to make an apple tart?"
Chris dropped Rose off at our place today, along with Joyce, who's five and April who's four. LJ took the younger two while Rose and I headed off to the kitchen. We started off with a lesson in making pastry cream/pudding. As the milk scalded on the stove, Rose mixed cornstarch and sugar, egg and vanilla and then settled on using almond extract for the background flavor. I cautioned her to stir constantly as we added the tempered egg mixture to the scalded milk over medium flame. "Don't stop stirring. Any moment, it will just go 'foomp' and you'll have pastry cream." A moment later, as I rinsed a mixing bowl in the sink, I heard her quietly say, "'foomp'. Wow."
Once the pastry cream was chilling in the fridge, getting the shortbread dough ready was next on the agenda. Daren was right. Showing her how to knead it just enough to have it well mixed, but not so much that it became tough, was easy to demonstrate in the kitchen, but hard to describe in the living room. While the dough rested in the refrigerator, the apples got peeled and sliced, then lightly sautéed in butter and plum wine. They chilled, while the dough got rolled out and baked. As everything cooled, I realized it was four o'clock and time for tea.
We adjourned to the sitting room of her a pot of 'triple threat temptation', a black tea flavored with vanilla, white chocolate and coconut, served with milk and sugar, & a couple of quartered oranges (an homage to Leonard Cohen?) As we were finishing our tea, LJ returned from an outing with the two young ones. Joyce, five-year-old that she is, frowned when there was no tea for her. A few minutes later out on the back deck, Rose and I emerged from the kitchen with a pot of decaf apricot tea, my good china demitasse cups, and ramekins with ice cream for everyone. Both of the young ones carefully sipped their tea, knowing they were drinking from my "good china". Watching the two of them, add their milk and sugar to their tea, savoring it slowly, as I do a 15-year-old single malt scotch, was too precious for words. They were not so ladylike with their ice cream.
After tea, Rose and I adjourned back to the kitchen to assemble the tart. After it was lightly dusted with cinnamon and fresh ground cardamom, the girls all trundled into the car with LJ off to home. I sat down to another cup of tea, and pondered the joys of parenting.
