Fearlessness in the modern kitchen...

A few weeks ago, hubby and I snuck away from the farm to see the film Julie & Julia. The movie tells two stories: Julia Child’s journey to learn and ultimately teach French cooking to ordinary Americans, and Julie Powell’s journey to make a name for herself as a writer as she attempts to master Child’s tome, Mastering the Art of French Cooking. While it may seem obvious that the film is aimed toward those who, like me, enjoy cooking — and the cooking scenes carry the film — the film also offers witty dialogue and an exploration of themes that emerge in life beyond the walls of the modern kitchen.

My favorite line of the film comes early, when Julia Child is pleading for her cooking certificate after finishing coursework but failing her final exam at Paris’ Le Cordon Bleu School of Cooking. Child confides to the woman who heads the school the she is determined to teach American women French cooking. The headmistress is unconvinced of Child’s ability in the kitchen, but eventually gives into her pleas and grants her a certificate. “Go ahead and teach the Americans what you know,” the woman snips, “they won’t be able to tell the difference anyway.”

Child spent years experimenting and perfecting recipes for Mastering the Art of French Cooking, yet when she taught, she stressed the joy of working with food and urged her students and fans not to stress out in the kitchen. Cooking should be fun; so should eating! And is there a better way to enjoy life than to cook a meal and then share it with those you love? Why would anyone choose take-out meals or pizza delivered in a cardboard box over the joys that emerge from a busy kitchen? In this regard, I believe the French have one-upped us.

I spent the better part of a rainy day in the kitchen, processing and freezing garden produce and planning meals for the upcoming weekend and beyond. It’s just me and the cat here in the kitchen, which helps me stay on task though I wistfully wish I had friends or children or the children of friends with me here to share the joys and benefits of working with real food, defined as food without packaging or an ingredient list a quarter of a mile long. I can endure the quiet, though, because it is short-lived.

Two autumns ago, my cousins and I learned how to make Kibbi Nayyi from an elderly but spry Lebanese woman affectionately called “Auntie Mary.” Soon after perfecting the technique, I learned neither of my sons can tolerate the cracked wheat integral to the dish. This weekend, my son and I will experiment making Kibbi Nayyi with toasted Quinoa or perhaps Millet, if I can get my hands on some. Experimentation is what makes cooking so wonderfully rewarding; it’s also what scares most people out of the kitchen. In 48 hours, the food processor with be spinning and raw meat will be ground and spices will be mixed, either with mortar and pestle (my choice) or food processor (son’s choice). I’m unsure if our trials will lead to a breakthrough – a gluten-free Kibbi Nayyi – or not. But we will certainly enjoy the process; we will be “mastering the art of cooking,” which isn’t an accomplishment reserved only for the French.

Julia, we will not be afraid!

The many shades of grape...

This is Véraison; it represents the transition from berry growth to berry ripening. Changes are afoot in the berries during véraison; most notably, acid levels are decreasing and sugar levels are rising. In real terms, this means the grapes are becoming more attractive to wildlife. That includes me.

A special weekend away...

We are a Facebook family. My friend Shannon says, if you ever want to know what's going on with our family, log on to Facebook. It's all there. It occurs to me, however, that not all my blog followers are on Facebook, which is a good thing really, because the blog fulfills an entirely different purpose in my life, one that stretches beyond those comical snippets that describe my "status." But then, if you only follow the blog, you miss out on the photographic documentation of events that take place beyond the fence line at Four Cedars. And some of these events are signinicant...

On August 15, in a tiny century-old church in rural Wisconsin last Saturday...there was a princess. Escorted by her father, my niece Steph, looking like the angel that she is, made her way to the altar, where her beloved stood.

From the balcony, an ethereal glimpse of the father of the bride embracing the groom. Family and friends looked on. I noticed many near me with tears in their eyes. Tears of joy, no doubt. Though I had a spot near the front and could have taken pictures throughout the ceremony, I chose instead to set the camera down and remain in the moment.

There will, I expect, be more of these types of photos floating about on Facebook in the coming days as people unload their digital files. If I see some as striking as the the ones that follow, I will snag them as time permits and post them here as well. And, like the rest of the eager family, I will await the work of the professional who was hired to capture all the wonderful moments of what took place near the highest point in Trempeleau County Wisconsin, and along the Mississippi River later that same night.