To Thine Own Self, Be Food

So, I really wanted tonight's post to be whippy and biting and highly intelligent...and I've even got the perfect topic - government wine regulations: Europe vs. the US (subtitle: European Governments Seem to Trust Their Citizens A Whole Lot More The US, Otherwise Why Don't French, et al., Wine Labels Have the Surgeon General's "Pregnant Women Should Not Drink This/This Beverage Impairs Your Brain" Warning). But, I realized that to begin a post like that, I should probably know the answer to the question, yes?  Why do American wine labels include the warning, when, I don't know, isn't just common sense?  A quick search of this very query lands me at Wikipedia, which is good enough for a rude overview, but nothing that indicates why it's a law in the first place. Hence, more reading is required.  I hope to get to it soon.  It's almost August, two-thirds of this year is nearly gone, and sometimes I feel as I am moving very, very quickly along...

Kids in general are fairly curious people, wouldn't you say?  Some kids are dangerously so, while others are spiteful about it.  For example, what parent hasn't told their child to not touch a hot stovetop?  Not many.  And many sensibly curious kids will not touch the stovetop, because after all, a parent's warning is good enough for them. But for those edgy, spiteful types?  The warning is not enough.  The curiosity burns inside them.  And, later, outside of them burns too when they defiantly place their hand on the red-hot burner. For the record, I was not the latter type of child.  And probably for that reason, I've never had a broken bone (save a fractured nose), a hospital stay that did not involve birthing my children, or a Twitter-Instagram-Youtube worthy "situation". I do hope my latest fit of curiosity does not land me in any trouble, on Facebook or otherwise. In my baking class, we've been talking about cookies, and I've noticed ...

A Man, a Plan, a Canal - Panama! Hail and Merry Meet to my two Panamanian readers!  And an especial hello to any and all other readers out there in other parts of CyberWorld. This evening, let us discuss breakfast.  I am a fan of breakfast for dinner...of breakfast for lunch...and I am especially fond of breakfast for breakfast. We are in the midst of an experiment here at Chez Nelson.  For one day every week, each of the three kiddoroos are responsible for planning and executing the dinner meal.  It's a big step for me, really, because I run a pretty tight home kitchen.  Let's face it...I'm territorial. But parenting is sometimes about letting go of our idiosyncrasies and neuroses so that our children don't end up the same, messed-up way. And there's your parenting advice from me for the month. Bean (the almost-nine-year-old) requires a little assistance...but the other two know their way enough around the kitchen to put together some form of susten...

Cross-reference this post. ..Suppose We Try Pie? ... in which I chronicle my Blueberry Pie failure. However, I'd like to supplant that post with this today's entry. For the last two weeks in the bakery, we've been working on pies.  And I will say, I do not feel as daunted by pie crusts anymore.  Or by pies, in general. This is my latest attempt at a blueberry pie.  And I must say...I feel good. To quote James Brown, that is... Changes? Used frozen, cooked the fruit juice. You'll notice there's no oozy, no liquidy.  Nothing but solid, starchy, non-oozy goodness. Mwahahahahaaaa! That is all.

According to my stats page here at Blogger, in the last 24 hours, I've had three page views from Spain.  Huzzah!  Bienvenidos to mis amigos españoles! It could very well be that I have only one Spanish friend...and s/he has viewed my page three times.  Today, however, I choose to be the "half-full glass" person today and say that it is three friends. Rather than haggle over international friends, imaginary or otherwise, let's talk a little more about wine.  Most of the wine I drank in Spain was, er...Spanish.  However, on one special night, for one special time only...I got to sit at the big kids' table (okay, with my other classmates, too) and try a couple of wines (one French and one Hungarian) that I'm pretty sure I'll never be able to try ever again. Are you ready for this? The Chateau d'Yquem is a...oh, cripes...to explain it would require a short course in French wine appellations.  To properly explain, I'll defer to this rough-loo...

Finally, the post I've muchly been waiting for!  These pictures and commentary below here reflect my wine experiences in Spain, and are by no means exhaustive.  I did not get pictures of every single wine I tried, nor do I remember exact taste nuance of every wine I tried.  Frankly, some moments were a bit more fuzzy than others. My wine journal says I tried 16 wines whilst on the Iberian Peninsula, but it's likely that number is more like 20 or 22.  I tried taking decent notes on every wine I recorded; I did the best I could, and at the end of the day, that's the best anyone can ask for. During our weekend in Galicia, the NW corner of Spain, we tasted a lot of white wines, and it stands to reason because the coastal area is perfect for the Albariño and Verdejo grapes/wines.  I found these dry whites crisp and refreshing (that's the high acidity and green apple, to me), and in addition to being a decent sipping wine, these wines go especiall...

So much for carrying on tomorrow. If I had my druthers, I'd spend the rest of my waking days on this planet blogging about Spain...and then going there again so that I could blog some more (repeat cycle as needed). But, work, school, domesticity calls.  O, these things of the wearisome life!  Alas. Hm.  I felt like John Keats there for a moment. Anyway.  One of these days I will post here at "Be Food" during the daytime hours, with the ebullience to tackle Spanish wines. But for tonight, let's tackle Spain's most awe-inspiring libation - cafe con leche.   Coffee with milk.  So, so simple...but so, so unduplicatable (did I just make that word up?).   +   DOES NOT EQUAL The ubiquitous and delicious cafe con leche There must be a trick.  There must be something I can do.  Surely, I should be able to duplicate cafe con leche!?  The closest I've come so far is doing a strong Cafe Du Monde (Chicory-based coff...

I had (and still do have) every intention of discussing Spanish wines here tonight, but then I got wrapped up in domestic duties and studying for a school quiz tomorrow over French wine. Thus, no time or energy for Spanish wines.  Hopefully, my dear readers, you understand this.  I wish to treat the topic with some kind of depth, which, frankly, is just not going to happen at this hour. Instead, let me elaborate briefly on two ways I attempted to pay homage to Spain today. I was in the country about three hours when I began to envy the Spanish people's ease of living within reasonable walking distance of anything they might ever want or need.  Groceries?  A "supermercado" down the street; fruiteria, zapateria, etc. right around the corner.  Driving was actually more of a hassle in Valladolid, with the underground parking lots, small streets, and heavy pedestrian traffic.  We walked every morning to the school, probably a mile (one way), and I found I ...

How to even begin to recapitulate my trip to Spain? How do I explain that it was one of those sublime places I will carry in my memory and heart forever...and that it changed me in imperceptible ways I did not expect?  How I do explain that what I did and learned in Spain and who I met there feels a lot like the irrelevant little pebbles that come before an avalanche?  How can I explain the paradox of being somewhere that makes me feel so small and insignificant, but yet fills my heart with joyous understanding? How indeed!  How can one unknow what they've come to know?  It's impossible to do so - and I wouldn't want to anyway.  So then the next question is: How then do I live now? That is the question I'll grapple with (and blog about, likely) as I readjust to life back here in the US. For present, though, let me start with these "big ideas" and a few pictures. 1. Spanish people walk a lot.  Or they take the bus.  There are some drivers, but...