Hope it was worth the wait.

*Tips hat to The Bloggess*

*and Will Wheaton*

*and CheekyPinky*

Make your own!

I’ll be talking about the project from time to time on this blog, but if you want to follow along with the production, I’ll be blogging about it at http:weekendobsession.blogspot.com.

See you there!  MUAH!

Maybe suffering is not the right word. Because I’m loving this time of life. Reveling in it.

My desk is covered in books on photography, typography and cooking, crowded by an empty bottle of gin, a glass of iced tea, an unopened wedding invitation, business cards, watercolor paints and brushes, my journal, a bendable ruler, an empty picture frame and a cast iron skillet.

My mess is glorious
and energizing.

Why can’t I just put my hands in pies for a living?

In a serious nesting fit, a couple of weeks ago, I went a-searching on Etsy for some food art to put on the walls of my kitchen. I found a few things that I thought were fun, but nothing caught my eye and said “ME. CHOOSE ME!  YOUR KITCHEN HAS BEEN UNBEARABLY EMPTY AND COLD BEFORE NOW!!!”

I posted a few of the potential pieces on Facebook, where my friend Amanda suggested (in that sort of casual, yet genius way that she has of saying significant things) that I should just make foods that I like, photograph them and frame them myself.  I just love that girl.  I immediately connected with the idea and when James and I were talking it over that night, he added the suggestion that I make foods from my family’s cookbook, photograph them and blog about it…

***DING***

WELL YEAH.  I coulda thought of that. PRObably.

With enough gin.

Several years ago, my aunt Janet compiled a WHOOOLE bunch of our family’s favorite recipes and bound them together in to a cookbook.  Our Danish ancestry is a big part of the food that we eat and how we eat it (I learned pretty early to spread my butter ALL THE WAY TO THE CRUST) and Janet titled the book “Tak for Mad” which is the Danish expression for “Thanks for the food.”

I have my own copy and while I rarely make the traditional Danish recipes like Rabarbragrot or Frikadeller, I frequently reference it for my favorite banana nut bread recipe and my Grandma Jane’s Cinnamon Rolls.

A few days after the seed for this idea was planted by Amanda and James, a birthday gift from my mom arrived in the mail that cemented the whole plan.

Good gracious, who dented my pan???

THIS, my friends is an Abelskiver pan.  And Abelskiver is THE very first recipe in Tak for Mad.

“But what is Abelskiver, Laura Jane?”

I’m so glad you asked.  Abelskiver, or Aebelskeever, or Ableskivver, or Ebelskiver or any number of variations is basically a pancake ball.  The word itself is Danish for “Apple Slices” which were sometimes put inside the pancake balls.  (Stop drooling, I see you.  Gaping mouths are unbecoming.)  These pancake balls were a part of my growing up.  We had them at family get togethers and my mom’s pan got lots of use whenever my sister and I would bring friends home from college to visit.

THIS is how you make them.

Simplicity. (Or, enkelhed, in Danish.)

If you can’t see the picture all that well (or if you just want to copy and paste the recipe) it’s

Abelskiver

1 T. sugar
1 1/2 c. flour
4 t. baking powder
2 eggs (separated)
2 T. water in egg whites
1 1/4 c. milk

Mix the dry ingredients, add beaten egg yolks and milk. Fold in the stiffly beaten egg whites.

That’s about where Norma stops giving instructions, so I’ll let you know that you can put delicious surprises in the middle, if you’d like.  Obviously, you can put apple slices inside, or jam, or custard, or heck…peanutbutter…chocolate… You could even do some savory versions with bacon or garlic and butter or cheese inside.  The possibilities are endless!  You can have abelskiver at every meal!!

*ehem*

In terms of HOW to prepare these little guys, I had the best results placing the pan on a lower setting and letting the abelskiver cook slowly.  I put a little bit of butter in the bottom of each divot and let it melt first.  Then, I poured the batter in until it was about 1/2 an inch from the top.  It took long enough that I had time to snap some shots of the anticipation in the kitchen.

I like to keep him waiting because then he makes this face.

SISTER!!!! You can still kind of see the lines on her face from sleeping on the couch. heh.

I also found that it was easier to turn them over using a kabob skewer, but you can use a fork. Or a crochet needle. Whatever tickles your ableskiver.

In a bowl. Like a boss.

Even the puppy waited her turn.

Covered in maple syrup and powdered sugar. Oh, and clumpy powdered sugar at that. How embarrassing.

They’re best served hot hot out of the pan.

And preferably with mimosas.

Next time I post a recipe from Tak for Mad, I’ll try to make something that doesn’t require a specialty pan like this.  Something you can make from home.  Like “Liver Postej,” if you’re in to that kind of thing.

So much love!

I looked at the picture of the chicken purse for a long time.
I tried to picture myself holding it at parties
or shopping around town
digging around through the inner workings of a chicken to pay for a parking meter.
And I thought “naw…I couldn’t possibly get away with that.”

So I went about my business and did not buy it.

But then, I started thinking about it and how it might be a good conversation starter.  Or how it might just be quirky enough to be…dare I say it?  Cool.

But am *I* quirky enough to get away with using something that ridiculous as an everyday item? Am I?  Nnnnn……iuuuuhhhyeahhh?? I don’t know…

Something kept drawing me back and I actually deliberated for about two months.  I kept checking Amazon just to see if it was still in stock.

Finally, I gave in.

Chickenpurse was mine.

The first time we had an outing, I took it to class.  I was nervous and a little bit embarrassed.  What was I thinking?  People would surely laugh at the fat  girl with the horrifying purse.  I sort of tried to …hide it…as best I could.  I stuck it under the desk as fast as I could when I arrived to class early. And then, during a class break, I pulled it out to grab some money for the vending machine.

And an audible collective gasp from the back row made me turn around in shame.

But the gasp was not one of disgust.  All of these design students in my class loved it.  It made them smile and they asked if they could touch it.  It started conversations and it got us talking about ridiculous things.

IT. WAS. AWESOME.

I love how unique it is now.  I love that I can take it to a wedding and people take pictures of it.

And I love that now, I get random chickeny things as gifts.

Friend Lexi in Boston sent me a chicken hat for my birthday last week

and she asked me if I would wear it out with the chickenpurse.

I told her I might have to stagger the introduction of poultrygarb to my wardrobe, one piece at a time.

But who knows.  This could lead to a lot of great conversations.  Maybe I’ll even meet some other chicken enthusiasts.

Somehow, being up in this gigantic skied, pointy treed landscape made my heart beat a little faster – made me breathe a little deeper.

I wanted to jump in this field of high grass and stick my nose in the dirt, just to breathe in more of the green.  I stopped myself because…well, because there were strangers present and I didn’t want to show up to the wedding site with hay in my hair and ripped tights.  That’s a great way to start a scandal.

The wedding was colorful and interesting and I met some chronically cool individuals.  The bride’s sister had this gorgeous owl tattoo that I wanted to skin off  her and hang on my wall.  I refrained…though I did geek out a little bit and corner her and ask her to let me take her picture.

And while the wedding itself was joyous and wonderful (as almost all weddings tend to be) the most enjoyable part of this weekend was just spending time with my best friends.
These people, these beautiful people are my people.  They are a part of my family.  These are the people I get to stay up late with eating ice cream, and drinking wine, and seeing movies and laughing about nothingnesses.

Look at how gorgeous she is:

Together, they are unstoppable.

And these two, well these two gave me my favorite shot of the whole weekend.

The more I get to share life with these people, the more humbled I am by their love, their generosity, their talents.  How is it possible I get to hang out with such cool people?

I love that, when left to their own devices, these friends of mine are deep down, gen-you-wine goofballs.

Of course, there were moments when I wished all of the people we love could have joined us on the adventure.  There were times when I was like “OH! Sarah would know exactly what I mean when I talk about smelling green” or “ooo, I think Regan would be really proud of me for getting that shot.”  But there are many adventures ahead with those friends, too.  This is just one tiny sliver of the awesome.

_______________________________

Somehow, I found time to take some quiet moments for myself.  I found some secret treasures.
An unexpected vase.

A paper dragon.

A cake covered in paper dragons.

A window with lots of warm inside.

A girl, about to be married.

I hope your week is off to a great start!

And you know the problem with this particular strain of face-attacking-alien?  I’ll tell you.  It seems to THRIVE off of Nyquil.  Like, I’m beginning to think that the whole purpose it invaded my body was because it knew I was trained, as a human, to go buy Nyquil once I get the sniffles.  I AM FEEDING THE BEAST.  Is it possible to get addicted to Nyquil?

A small part of my incredible bedside table.

Finally, for a few hours this afternoon, the clouds around my head dissipated, my sinuses cleared up and I was able to blink without feeling like my eyelids were made of sandpaper.

It was glorious. (And it is now over.) But for a little bit, I got to look at the world.  And here’s what I saw:  apparently, my backyard is getting ready for fall.

Lemons and sunshine!

A feline visitor! To give me more sniffles!

Flowers! Now, with extra pollen.

The neighbor's tomatoes. (I feel like there's a "That's what she said" somewhere in there. Am I wrong?)

Raspberries? Blackberries?

Pomegranate.

Moses supposes his toeses are roses, but Moses supposes erroneously.

Friends.  I’m going to go sleep the rest of this beast off, with the help of some more of The Cough Syrup Which Shall Not Be Named.

I love you all.

Luckily, my phone was on hand to catch the moment.

This is how I want to be
ready with a song and a friend
when the world is telling me to wait.

It all started last week when I went and got
a brand new set of goals.
They were fresh and new
and I washed them clean
and I stacked them up, and arranged them in an
aesthetically pleasing manner.
They were sensible, practical goals,
sturdy and well made.  Not those
see through porcelain goals I’ve had before,
easily broken, easily left unused
because of their delicacy.

And then,
I noticed a very
tiny
crack
in one of my goals.

And that teeny tiny crack made a noise loud enough
to wake up
Huey.

He lumbered in to my brain
knocking open the cupboards with his meaty hands,
casually wearing fuzzy bunny slippers
and a daisy print bathrobe,
dropping the ashes of his morning cigar on my floor
brewing a big cup of  insecurity, indecision,
disorganization and doubt.
His favorite.

On days when Huey shows up
when he’s knocked down and broken a whole shelf
of my clean, neatly arranged expectations
all I want to do is stay inside
call in sick
ingnore the world
and say
“No,
sorry,
I can’t help you today
I’ve got a brain troll.”

It’s easy to use him as a scapegoat:
a package of ready made excuses for why I
didn’t,
or couldn’t,
or wouldn’t,
do something important.

So easy.

But this time is different, and I’m not going to sit around
while he rips funny comics out of the newspaper
before I get a chance to read them,
and while he stinks up the restroom
with his troll sweat
and other things.

I’m going to patch the crack in my goal
and make it better than it was before,
and put it on display
and go outside and play until
Huey
goes away.

Here:

PRECHUSLOVE

Ah.  I feel better.  How about you?

(stolen from thenothingblog)

Hahawhwahahhahahahahaha…ooiohhhhhhhhhhhh…..

ahahahahaha…

*laughter turns to tears*

*now real ones*

WHY WASN’T I BORN 60 YEARS EARLIER???????????