Who needs med school?

Well, so once again while we were on our beach vacation, it came to pass that a member of my sister's family needed to have stitches removed.  It has become our family tradition!  So once again, Uncle Doctor soaked his medical instruments in vodka (you cannot be too careful, people), and prepared to remove the seven sutures that the cavalier cousin had acquired in some sort of college capers and/or shenanigans.

 

OK, so the other thing that is true is that the girl in charge is taking an EMT course this summer.  She hopes to be a doctor some day, but in the meantime, she is totally thrilled to own her own stethoscope and blood pressure cuff.

I know, right?!

 

So it made total sense to all of us that Uncle Doctor should give a lesson or two, and then the girl in charge should remove the sutures.  Because obviously.

Weird . . . no one asked the cavalier cousin how he felt about this plan . . . .

Well, so before the action started, Uncle Doctor whined a little bit about how the light wasn't very good, and quick as a cricket, multiple relatives pulled out multiple iPhones with multiple flashlight apps.

 

Uncle Doctor was much happier.  Then he showed the girl in charge how it's done.  She was riveted.

 

She wasn't the only one.

And then -- Uncle Doctor handed the scissors and the tweezers (from a cousin's glamour bag) over to the girl in charge, and she took out the rest of the stitches.

It was really cool!

Her hair was bugging her (and was making the cavalier cousin question the whole proceeding), so a cousin got drafted to hold her hair back -- STAT!  I'm sure there's medical terminology for this.  What is it?

Uncle Doctor was fabulous.  After collecting the cavalier cousin's insurance information and making him sign a liability waiver, he was totally chillaxed and calm, and was a great coach for the girl in charge, who was nervous and excited and nervous.  Her one terse comment:  "This is really fun."  Uncle Doctor grinned, and said, "It is, isn't it?"

This is really good pie, y'all

 

So my sister makes this great chocolate chess pie.  She's a good sharer, so the sunny girl and I know how to make it now, too.

One question that I have not really found a satisfactory answer to is, "Chocolate chess pie?  WTF?"
Here's what Linda Stradley, of the website What's Cooking America, says about the origin of the name:

Chess pies are a Southern specialty; they have a simple filling of eggs, sugar, butter, and perhaps a small amount of flour. Some recipes include cornmeal and others are made with vinegar. Flavorings, such as vanilla, lemon juice, or chocolate are also added to vary the basic recipe. [ . . . ] The origin of the name is uncertain, but there are plenty of guesses and a bit of folklore surrounding the name. One explanation suggests that the word is “chest,” pronounced with a drawl and used to describe these pies baked with so much sugar they could be stored in a pie chest rather than refrigerated. Another [probably untrue] story is about the plantation cook who was asked what she was baking that smelled so great - “Jes’ pie” was her answer. Some people theorize that since the English lemon curd pie filling is very close to lemon chess pie, and they believe the word “chess” is an Americanization of the English word “cheese,” referring to curd pie.

So, yeah.  Linda Stradley doesn't really know, either.

Anyway -- here's how you make it:

The ingredient list for the filling is pretty simple:  sugar, eggs, butter, evaporated milk, cocoa powder, and vanilla.  You see in my photo that I use a ready-to-bake pie crust.  If you make fabulous pie crust that everyone drools over, then by all means -- knock yourself out.  Anyone who might have an expectation that I am the kind of person who makes her own pie crust has not been paying attention.

The preparation of the filling is pretty darned simple, too.  Just put all the filling ingredients into a bowl and mix at high speed for about two minutes.

Pour the filling into the waiting pie crust.

 

Crimp the edges of the crust in a way that suits your fancy.  My friend Saskia can make a pie crust edge look like it's been braided or something.

I cannot.

You don't pre-bake the crust, or prick it with a fork, or say any magic words over it.

Well, OK.  If you want to say some magic words -- again, knock yourself out.

I use a pie ring to protect the edges of my pie crust from getting overcooked.  My pie ring makes me feel like I am a real cook, even though I'm really a total poseur.  Don't tell anyone.

If you are worried that your crust will get overdone, you can protect it by wrapping aluminum . . . aluminium?  You can just wrap some tin foil around your pie plate.

After you bake it it will look like this, and it will make your whole house smell like a chocolate factory.

 

The sunny girl made some whipped cream for us to have with our pie.  You'll have to get that recipe from her.

+ + + + +

Here's the nitty-gritty:

CHOCOLATE CHESS PIE:

Ingredients:

Unbaked pie crust (bottom only) 

1 and 1/2 cups sugar

5 Tablespoons cocoa powder

2 eggs

1 5-oz. can evaporated milk

1/2 cup melted butter

1 teaspoon vanilla

Mix all the filling ingredients together in a bowl for two-ish minutes, and pour them into the unbaked pie crust.  Bake at 375 degrees Fahrenheit, for about 50 minutes.  The pie is done when it looks "set" like a souffle.  You can serve it plain, or with whipped cream, or with Cool Whip, or with ice cream, or . . . .

Cause and effect

Once upon a time I had hostas in all of my flower beds.  They're the perfect plant for me to cultivate because the work involved goes like this:

ME:  Hmmm -- looks like the hostas are thriving all on their own for yet another summer.  Well.  Time for more coffee!

But for whatever reason, just in the past couple of years the deer have really taken a liking to the delicious, salad-like goodness of the hostas that are planted all over my yard -- along with any other delicious garden treats they can lay their delicate muzzles on.  This little lady has just bitten the tops off of all the remaining daylilies in my side bed (a palate cleanser), and now she is preparing to jump the neighbors' fence.  Their squash and zucchini blossoms look so tasty!  So --

-- this is what my hostas look like now.  Not quite the desired effect, is it?

 Looks like someone just discovered the (up until now) pristine plant at the base of the mailbox.  The blossoms are now history; any bets as to how much longer those leaves will last?

Talk about an apple for the teacher!

Well, so the end of the school year has finally arrived, and the sunny girl wanted to thank some of her teachers.    But apples are so twentieth century . . .

. . . so the sunny girl whipped up these cute little mini-pies.  

Don't you wish you were the sunny girl's teacher?!

My best friends know me best . . . .

So not once but twice this year, I have received gifts that were so thoughtful and loving that they made me cry.

During our visit to Rehoboth Beach last October, my college pals gave me this set of Coca-Cola glasses (over the outraged protestations of their urchins, who apparently grew up thinking that the four glasses would be part of their inheritance).

Note all those freaking Jewel Tea dishes . . .

For four years, these friends attended classes with me and hung out at parties with me and ate meals with me -- and they never saw me without a can of Coke in my hand.  And they have good memories.

And then just last month, this one gave me the most loving and lovely gift -- just because!

We were in a restaurant (OK, we were sitting at a bar) when she gave this six-pack of Cokes to me, and I got so teary-eyed I had to ask for an extra napkin.

Do you see what she did?  She attached a message to each bottle of Coke, explaining why she and I will always be best friends.  This six-pack is a keeper, y'all.

And by the way, I really would like to teach the world to sing . . . .

Adoption Day!

Well, so last week the small boys had a big, big day!

We celebrated Adoption Day, which was great in every way you can imagine.

  The judge who signed the documents was happy to be part of such a joyous occasion.

We were a big and boisterous group, all gathered to watch this family grow -- it was fabulous!

Afterwards we celebrated!  The small boys were a little confused:  whose birthday was it?  And the question was valid.  There was a cake, decorated with Lightning McQueen and 'Mater -- quite satisfactory, but why no candles?  There were gifts, but they were "family" gifts.  What's up with that?!  Tons of family and friends filled the happy house, and everyone wanted pictures of the small boys.  But where was the singing?  And again -- why no candles??  It was a puzzle.

So -- here they are:  all nine of 'em!  The perfect family!

Cicada song

When you listen to the sound in this short little video that I recorded in my front yard, I want you to realize that the steady thrum in the background is the sound of millions of cicadas.  We live smack in the middle of the seventeen-year cicada Brood II emergence.  It's quite an event!  The eerie, echoing song is enough to drive some people nuts (one of my friends noted that he feels like his morning coffee is enjoyed to the soundtrack to a 1960's sci-fi movie).

Others are creeped out by how many, many cicadas have emerged.  It is impossible to overstate their everywhere-ness.  We sweep them off the porch every morning; we brush them out of our hair before we get into the car; the dogs either chase them or bark at them or stop with a jolt every time one buzzes by an inquisitive nose.  In this part of the country one can find on-line guides to planning a wedding around the cicada emergence.  Tip for the cicada-savvy:  skip the gazebo wedding if you plan to marry this summer.

I am fascinated more than grossed out.  I find their life cycle oddly compelling and even (am I weird?) endearing.  The males will serenade their lady friends throughout May and June, and then we will say good-bye to them for another seventeen years.  So -- don't be hating on the homely cicadas!  Their visits are so infrequent and so brief, and all they're looking for is a little romance!