Holy hush puppies!

Ok, seriously, these are riDICulously good. Growing up, I always loved my mom's fresh hush puppies and even now, when I go home to visit, I often ask her to make them for me. This week's contest on Food52 is Your Best Pub Food. The Rube Goldberg machinations of my mind this morning (have been awakened at 5a by the loons) made the following connections: pubs remind me of England, England reminds me of London, London makes me think of Wimbledon and the Olympics, and both of those events make me think of the way my entire family became utterly sloth-like during them. We would set up "nests" of blankets and pillows on the floor and couches in our TV room and, since it was summertime (hence no school), literally move in for the duration of whatever we were watching.

It was such great bonding, such lazy time together, and incredibly, as the London Olympics get underway, we will all be in Lake Charles together again: my sister from Italy, the boys and I from DC, and my parents. We are all super excited.

In any case, during these marathon sessions, we didn't take many breaks, but those we did were critically important ones like trips to the kitchen for sustenance. Mom often made hush puppies for breakfast, and all of these memories swirling in my mind earlier today got me thinking that hush puppies would make a great snack at a pub.

I wanted them to be both sweet and savory and also lighter than air so you didn't feel like a schlump after eating a few. So I started with my mom's basic cornmeal-based recipe and added slightly sweetened diced rhubarb and fresh corn, some ground mustard seed and a beaten egg white rather than a whole egg. The first batch (too much baking powder, whole egg vs my later move to egg white) wasn't quite right, so I tossed them and started again. The second was a home run. These are spectacular! I will definitely share this recipe with you. Make some for breakfast soon, and you'll see what I mean!

Family heirlooms

You may recall that Tom's paternal grandmother passed away a couple months back, in early May. While in CT this past weekend for a celebration of her life and the family service for her, we went to her house. There were a bunch of us there, and it was a really happy, reminiscent few hours. As those identified as the ones who love to cook, another granddaughter-in-law and I were given free rein to go through Grandma's kitchen and take what we wanted. I had a ball looking through her old recipe file- she'd noted the date(s) on which she'd made each, who she cooked them for and any adjustments she made or would suggest making. She also wrote her review: Great/Delicious/Good/Awful, and I thought it was both hilarious and charming that she returned Awfuls to the box. I brought home a few of these old, smudged, handwritten gems. Like all those I have from my grandmother and aunties, I will treasure these and add them to our family recipe repository. Looking through her cabinets, I felt like I'd been dropped into an Etsy housewares shop. It was awesome. 12 perfect condition old coupes now grace our china cabinet, this lovely dish for candy or trifle too. And you know those enormous Pyrex measuring cup/bowls with a spout? I can't remember the last time I saw one for purchase, and so I wrapped hers up eagerly. Fantastic! Utensils, pans, more Pyrex....this trove was my inspiration for cleaning out my drawers this morning.

We also brought a ton of old pictures, mostly black and white, some still in really great shape. Tom's going to scan them all and make CDs for everyone. I love pictures from the 40s and 50s; they look almost other-worldly in some ways. There is a glamour about them- the clothes, the coifs...even when humble, they maintain an elegance I often think is missing today.

And the boys were gifted with Tom's grandfather's old tool box, the red metal kind with three drawers and then a top compartment with the latching lid. It is heavy and well-made and was chock full of tools, and they just could.not.believe. that they got to keep everything. Oliver said that he, Jack and Tom could share it but "not Mommy because she is not a builder." I sort of loved that Tom's immediate response was, "Oliver are you saying that because Mommy is a woman? Because you know women can be builders!" O finally agreed to share the tools with me but I'm not sure he took in the lesson about women and the building profession. Heh!

Wondy Monday, lying 3 year olds

Wondy, as in wonderful. I actually do feel that perky because I've had the nicest, most relaxing morning alone in my house. I made some fresh ricotta and then some coriander sugar poached figs because the figs are perfectly in season right now and really, these two recipes combined....well, you might know just how much I love the pairing. Have mercy! Go get some figs now and make these. Incredible!

I also cleaned out all my kitchen drawers while talking to my mom, and both of those activities just couldn't have been more enjoyable. The drawers were crumb-infested mayhem and really needed some discipline, and my mom and I don't often get a long, leisurely, uninterrupted time in which to talk. We both mourned Nora Ephron's death and just shot the breeze too. I told her two hilarious recent Oliver-the-three-year-old-lying-phase stories which I will share with you too, in case you need a chuckle.

All young children go through stages in which they lie. Jack had his months of fibbing, and so Oliver's turn approached without surprise. However, he really lies with aplomb, ease and inventiveness. Knowing Oliver as I do, I shouldn't be surprised by this, but nonetheless, I have been just that. He is such an incredibly charming little guy but boy is he mischievous. When I think about his having been born on St. Patty's Day and all the raucousness it often entails, I really think Oliver will make the day proud. I can fully envision his as a college freshman, the life of the party, doing stupid stuff like keg stands. I just hope he stays smart about it all. Good lord.

In any case, this past weekend, he did, as I mentioned, have trouble sleeping in the hotel. He loves his crib and is not yet ready for a big boy bed. Fine, fine, but it does make it hard for us and him to rest. On Saturday night, he was being particularly irritating in turning the light on and off as fast as possible -the lightning effect- while Jack was trying to get to sleep. Finally, Jack donned his eye mask, turned over and started snoring. I tucked Oliver in, again, and headed back to my room. 15 minutes later, I went to check: he was sitting up in his bed, light on, surrounded by pillows and reading the iPad that we'd left in there for a bedtime story-on-tape. He said, emphatically, "Jack made me do it." Jack was sawing logs. I took the iPad away, turned the light off, tucked him in again, threatened to take something away if I had to return and headed back to my room, knowing I soon would.

15 minutes later: I go in, the light is on again, he's sitting up, calmly unwrapping a stick of gum. I said, "Oliver, you must be kidding, give me that gum now." He said, "Jack made me do it" with such assuredness that you might believe him if Jack still wasn't in a deep slumber with the eye mask on.

Long story short, I had to cuddle next to him until he fell asleep before I knew he would stay there. Good grief.