I think I knew it all along... I do not have it in me to be anything like Martha. I hoped, really hoped, that if I tried hard enough it would happen. But it didn't. And there comes a certain relief with letting other, more talented, people do the things you can not do yourself. A few examples:
Hannah's window bench cushion - I was confident I could make this. It was crafty, but not too crafty. In the end, I gave in and am having an accomplished seamstress make one that will actually look good instead of the hack job I was certain to produce.
Hannah's treats for Valentine's Day - I have the current Valentine's issue of Martha Stewart Living. It has some great ideas for child-friendly treats. Someone else is making cake pops for us. And they'll actually taste good.
Our living room drapes - I never really contemplated making these in a serious way, but it was there in the back of my ultra-cheap mind that I could save a lot of money by doing these myself. Again, went with the seamstress for the whole looking good thing.
So, yes, I am admitting defeat in many areas. In fact, probably every area I had hoped to conquer. However, I am not a complete failure! At least not yet. Because this weekend I am going to make some scones. Scones from one of Martha's own recipes. And that has to count for something...
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Holiday Confessions
Martha would be disappointed. I should be ashamed; but instead, I'm strangely indifferent. This holiday season provided the perfect opportunity to display hosting, decorating, and crafting skills carefully accrued over the previous months of alleged efforts to become, well, better, at all of the above.
We hosted staff parties, open houses, and family dinners. I did not make one new recipe. Scott did most of the decorating. I made a Christmas craft that was too ugly to display. We ate off paper plates and used plastic cutlery. I put out store-bought desserts. Heck, I didn't even have holiday napkins. Even at Thanksgiving I get excited about those! So, looking back, I should be experiencing a sense of failure. However, apart from the napkins, I have no regrets.
Perhaps this is just as good as it gets for me. Maybe, in the end, I don't have it in me after all. And while it's an enticing thought to give up and concede defeat, I can't quit just yet. One of my Christmas gifts was a subscription to Martha Stewart Living, and I can't help but feel a tinge of hope that therein lies the secret to my success.
I mean, there will be pictures, right?
We hosted staff parties, open houses, and family dinners. I did not make one new recipe. Scott did most of the decorating. I made a Christmas craft that was too ugly to display. We ate off paper plates and used plastic cutlery. I put out store-bought desserts. Heck, I didn't even have holiday napkins. Even at Thanksgiving I get excited about those! So, looking back, I should be experiencing a sense of failure. However, apart from the napkins, I have no regrets.
Perhaps this is just as good as it gets for me. Maybe, in the end, I don't have it in me after all. And while it's an enticing thought to give up and concede defeat, I can't quit just yet. One of my Christmas gifts was a subscription to Martha Stewart Living, and I can't help but feel a tinge of hope that therein lies the secret to my success.
I mean, there will be pictures, right?
Saturday, November 19, 2011
Martha My Way
It's been a month since I last posted, which is an indication in and of itself of the progress I'm making in my quest to be more like Martha. So while I come to terms with the idea that I'm really not making any progress at all, nights like the one described below are invaluable. The following is my most recent post from my other blog, Trial by Toddlers, about life with young kids:
Last night I had an idyllic evening with my kids. We started out covering the dining room table with paper and then making a simple craft that involved glue and was therefore guaranteed fun. While our glue dried, we moved to the island and made, as a group, pizza dough. Both Jacob and Hannah made their own mini pizzas that they kneaded and rolled out. Hannah's was shaped like a twisted figure 8, and Jacob's was somewhat circular. Both objects of extreme pride. They sauced them, added pepperoni, and then topped with cheese. By the time we were done we were all covered in flour. And as I looked around at the mess we had made, at our unfinished craft on the table, at our smiling faces, I realized - this is my version of Martha.
Not quite magazine-worthy, but memorable nonetheless. And I don't think I would trade the fun we had for a gourmet meal or an exquisite craft. It was just me being me with my beautiful children. Even Martha can't compete with that.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Apple Butter or Apple Blah
Due to unforeseen circumstances, I was left to my own devices when it came to making and canning my apple butter. Bear in mind that I had only one previous experience with canning (and despite my blog title claiming "I Was Martha", I was really was no such thing - rather, I was a hapless observer). So, it was with some trepidation that I collected my supplies and prepared my work area. I had no laundry on the line and no chickens in the backyard, but I felt quite domestic nonetheless.
I carefully sterilized my jars and all of my canning equipment. I read and re-read the recipe eighty-three times. Then, I started peeling and slicing apples. I continued peeling and slicing apples for a very loooong time. Which reminds me - how big is a slice? When a recipe calls for apples to be peeled, cored, and sliced, it would be helpful to know how large those slices ought to be. Regardless, I eventually had all the apples ready with the rest of my ingredients on stand-by. It was time to begin the cooking part. The easy part. Right.
I successfully brought my apple cider to a gentle boil, added my rather large apple slices, and simmered that concoction until the apples were soft enough to mash easily. It took about fifteen minutes. The recipe suggested thirty. I moved on.
Next, I stirred in my sugar and cinnamon until well blended. All that was left was to cook the mixture, stirring often, until it had thickened and reduced considerably. The recipe suggested this step might take one hour. It took three. And my mixture still looked a bit more like cider than sauce or butter. But seriously, how much time can one really allow for reducing? I had other things to do.
So I ladled my soupy mixture into the waiting jars, applied the lids, and processed the whole lot. Then I gave some jars away to await the verdict: Apple Butter or Apple Blah?
I carefully sterilized my jars and all of my canning equipment. I read and re-read the recipe eighty-three times. Then, I started peeling and slicing apples. I continued peeling and slicing apples for a very loooong time. Which reminds me - how big is a slice? When a recipe calls for apples to be peeled, cored, and sliced, it would be helpful to know how large those slices ought to be. Regardless, I eventually had all the apples ready with the rest of my ingredients on stand-by. It was time to begin the cooking part. The easy part. Right.
I successfully brought my apple cider to a gentle boil, added my rather large apple slices, and simmered that concoction until the apples were soft enough to mash easily. It took about fifteen minutes. The recipe suggested thirty. I moved on.
Next, I stirred in my sugar and cinnamon until well blended. All that was left was to cook the mixture, stirring often, until it had thickened and reduced considerably. The recipe suggested this step might take one hour. It took three. And my mixture still looked a bit more like cider than sauce or butter. But seriously, how much time can one really allow for reducing? I had other things to do.
So I ladled my soupy mixture into the waiting jars, applied the lids, and processed the whole lot. Then I gave some jars away to await the verdict: Apple Butter or Apple Blah?
Monday, October 10, 2011
Recipe Precision
This weekend, my sister-in-law Tracy, brought a delicious squash dish to our Thanksgiving dinner. Of course, I wanted to know how to make it. After all, using seasonal ingredients is very Martha. When Tracy described the recipe as a "no brainer", I thought, "Well, this is perfect for me." She then proceeded to give me instructions that became increasingly detailed and specific and incredibly vague at the same time. A strange feat - but here is a sample of how the conversation went (with my thoughts in italics):
Tracy: "Just add a "clunk" of butter. A clunk? What the %^$$ is a clunk? Then pack the crap out if with dark brown sugar. Cook it at 350 for about 45 min. to an hour.
Me: What kind of squash did you use? Butternut?
Tracy: Yeah, butternut. You know, the green ones. Umm, green butternut?
Me: You mean acorn?
Tracy: Whatever. The green dudes. Ah, the green dudes. Of course.
Me: So, not butternut?
Tracy: I guess not. Anyway, you have to make sure it's face-up in the baking pan wrapped in foil separately. Like a closed envelope. But sometimes there's a little pointy thing on the bottom, so you have to cut that off first. If you don't cut off the nubbins it will teeter. So dispose of those nipples. After you're done cooking it, open the top of the dude and spoon out the insides. You don't want any green stuff - it's gross. Then, take the brown sugary sauce and dump it all over the top. You'll probably burn yourself. I always do. Great. Can't wait for that part. Did you just say nubbins?
With instructions like that, how can I go wrong? As long as buy the right "dudes" and remember to cut off the "nubbins", measure my "clunk" of butter carefully, and then "pack the crap out it with brown sugar", I should be in good shape.
Heck, I might even pull this one off without burning myself. That's how good I'm getting!
Tracy: "Just add a "clunk" of butter. A clunk? What the %^$$ is a clunk? Then pack the crap out if with dark brown sugar. Cook it at 350 for about 45 min. to an hour.
Me: What kind of squash did you use? Butternut?
Tracy: Yeah, butternut. You know, the green ones. Umm, green butternut?
Me: You mean acorn?
Tracy: Whatever. The green dudes. Ah, the green dudes. Of course.
Me: So, not butternut?
Tracy: I guess not. Anyway, you have to make sure it's face-up in the baking pan wrapped in foil separately. Like a closed envelope. But sometimes there's a little pointy thing on the bottom, so you have to cut that off first. If you don't cut off the nubbins it will teeter. So dispose of those nipples. After you're done cooking it, open the top of the dude and spoon out the insides. You don't want any green stuff - it's gross. Then, take the brown sugary sauce and dump it all over the top. You'll probably burn yourself. I always do. Great. Can't wait for that part. Did you just say nubbins?
With instructions like that, how can I go wrong? As long as buy the right "dudes" and remember to cut off the "nubbins", measure my "clunk" of butter carefully, and then "pack the crap out it with brown sugar", I should be in good shape.
Heck, I might even pull this one off without burning myself. That's how good I'm getting!
Saturday, September 24, 2011
I Was Martha!
Last weekend, for one day, I was Martha. Or something close to it. I canned salsa. On a farm. With chickens. I chopped fresh vegetables straight out of a garden that was bigger than my backyard. Then, with the help of an experienced canner, I turned those chopped vegetables into a pot of boiling salsa-like liquid. While our tasty concoction simmered away, we stepped outside to enjoy a cup of tea in the sun on a deck overlooking mature trees and a pond. Ah, heaven.
After transferring the completed salsa to sterilized jars, we sealed the lids (I fished them out of the boiling water using a very handy magnetic lid-lifter-thing) and then processed the now-full jars. I felt very domestic. Part of that feeling may have come from my surroundings - laundry on the line, chickens clucking happily, plants growing everywhere, majestic trees, etc. A slight departure from my everyday reality of living in a construction zone filled with dust, dirt, and dump trucks. We don't even have grass.
So this weekend, I'm going to be Martha in my own house. Today I went to the Wellesley Apple Butter and Cheese Festival, except I didn't buy any apple butter. Because I'm going to make my own! Instead, I bought fresh apple cider which I will use to make that apple butter. There won't be any chickens, but my kitchen will nonetheless be filled with the happy sounds of canning. Chanthone, my canning mentor, will surely help to avert any potential canning disasters, thereby allowing me to revel in my Martha-like domesticity.
After transferring the completed salsa to sterilized jars, we sealed the lids (I fished them out of the boiling water using a very handy magnetic lid-lifter-thing) and then processed the now-full jars. I felt very domestic. Part of that feeling may have come from my surroundings - laundry on the line, chickens clucking happily, plants growing everywhere, majestic trees, etc. A slight departure from my everyday reality of living in a construction zone filled with dust, dirt, and dump trucks. We don't even have grass.
So this weekend, I'm going to be Martha in my own house. Today I went to the Wellesley Apple Butter and Cheese Festival, except I didn't buy any apple butter. Because I'm going to make my own! Instead, I bought fresh apple cider which I will use to make that apple butter. There won't be any chickens, but my kitchen will nonetheless be filled with the happy sounds of canning. Chanthone, my canning mentor, will surely help to avert any potential canning disasters, thereby allowing me to revel in my Martha-like domesticity.
Monday, September 12, 2011
This Isn't Quite How Martha Would Do It...
Today I spontaneously invited a friend and her family over for dinner. I casually mentioned that I was making chicken fettuccini alfredo with carrots and broccoli. I got home and couldn't find the chicken I had asked my husband to take out of the freezer the night before. "Oh yeah," he said. "There wasn't any." Okay. So we would have fettuccini alfredo sans chicken. Not a bad meal. I started boiling water in a medium-sized sauce pan. I found the fettuccini noodles and realized there weren't really enough left for company. I switched to linguine. Upon dumping the linguine into the now-boiling water, I immediately saw that I should have used a larger pot. Scott pointed out that I might have put in too many noodles, but I protested gently and continued anyway. As the noodles neared completion, Scott was forced to intervene by transferring the whole mess to a bigger pot. The noodles near the top were not submerged enough to cook properly and the noodles at the bottom were actually burned onto the pot. My company, and good friend Mandy, may or may not have noticed. After allowing Scott to rescue the pasta, I thought it might be nice to have some Pillsbury crescent rolls with the meal. So Scott got those ready. Note - the pasta was moments away from completion.
With Mandy standing right beside me, eager to see what she was about to eat, I began ladling the mixture onto our plates. Except I somehow missed a plate and ladled some right onto the counter. Nice. For someone who has been trying to learn to cook and be altogether a little more "Martha-like" I wasn't putting on a good show. To make matters worse, our crescent rolls weren't ready until about 10 minutes after we finished the pasta. Try telling four young kids to stay in their seats because dinner is coming in two parts and the second part is delayed for no other reason than the hostess didn't think of it until the first part was finished cooking. It was at this juncture that Scott made the following kind observation: "This isn't quite how Martha would do it."
So maybe I haven't really made any progress. But there is this - Mandy liked the meal enough to want to try it herself. I gave her cooking tips, if you can imagine that. Then we started talking about other recipes. I'm even going to show her how to make a peach cobbler (as if that isn't the epitome of Martha). If Mandy (or anyone for that matter) begins to come to me for advice in the kitchen, what does that say about my abilities? Or, perhaps more to the point, what does it say about Mandy's?
With Mandy standing right beside me, eager to see what she was about to eat, I began ladling the mixture onto our plates. Except I somehow missed a plate and ladled some right onto the counter. Nice. For someone who has been trying to learn to cook and be altogether a little more "Martha-like" I wasn't putting on a good show. To make matters worse, our crescent rolls weren't ready until about 10 minutes after we finished the pasta. Try telling four young kids to stay in their seats because dinner is coming in two parts and the second part is delayed for no other reason than the hostess didn't think of it until the first part was finished cooking. It was at this juncture that Scott made the following kind observation: "This isn't quite how Martha would do it."
So maybe I haven't really made any progress. But there is this - Mandy liked the meal enough to want to try it herself. I gave her cooking tips, if you can imagine that. Then we started talking about other recipes. I'm even going to show her how to make a peach cobbler (as if that isn't the epitome of Martha). If Mandy (or anyone for that matter) begins to come to me for advice in the kitchen, what does that say about my abilities? Or, perhaps more to the point, what does it say about Mandy's?
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