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from The ABC Book by Florence Sarah Winship (Whitman Publishing, 1940).
calsidyrose/flickr


Holy Dog Breath!

The alphabet soup kitchen has been hijacked by dogs! 

They're everywhere, everywhere! Lapping up tequila and expensive mineral water, leaping through hoops, barking, whimpering, panting, jumping on the furniture, and licking all my stamps! Some want me to read Shiloh to them over and over again, while others are demanding doggie massages. And I'm running out of biscuits and chew bones!

All because Thursday is National Dog Day, and some of these clever critters got whiff of my plan to post pics of them with their children's author companions. Ever since I put out the call, there's been a steady stream of these tail wagging, tale telling, marvelous mutts ringing my doorbell.

Look who dropped by today:

Melissa Sweet with Rufus and Nellie! You may remember from my interview with Melissa that she's a huge dog lover and animal shelter advocate. She wrote and illustrated this doggie book:

           

By the by, Melissa tells me that Rufus is a 10-year-old Australian Shepherd mix, the sweetest dog on the planet. Nellie is a 4-year-old Sheltie, who lives to herd anything that moves, even semi trucks. Her eyes dart back and forth at the sound of jake brakes.

When told about National Dog Day, Rufus said, "I thought every day was dog day . . . does this mean special treats?"

Nellie's only response was:

treattreathurryhurryc'monletsgoletsgorrararararasquirrelRRrrrooof!

Guess who else padded their way into the kitchen? 

Jackie Urbanovic with her dogs Max and Cuba!


Max and Cuba.

Max the dog is not to be confused with Max the Duck, star of her wildly popular picture book series, which in addition to Max, features Brody the dog and lots of other cool animals.

          

Jackie also shared this adorable picture of her with her childhood dog, Dodo,
         
             Absolutely adorable (love those boots)!

this one of Irene, who's the character in the Max series with a house full of animals,

Scrappy and the real Irene and Brody.

and

         

What's the first thing that comes to mind when you think about the Alamo?

For me, it's Davy Crockett and Jim Bowie, among all the brave Texans and Tejanos, woefully outnumbered, fiercely defending their right to freedom against the Mexican Army.


The Alamo by brad_holt.

Before I read Susan Taylor Brown's, Enrique Esparza and The Battle of the Alamo (Millbrook Press, 2010), I knew very little about the women and children who were also hiding inside the fort, absolutely terrified as the fighting raged on for almost two weeks. 

What makes Enrique's story especially notable is that he was the only child survivor who agreed to provide a detailed, eyewitness account of the ordeal when he was in his seventies.

Eight-year-old Enrique took refuge within the walls of the Alamo with his mother, sister, two brothers, and father, Gregorio, who manned one of the cannons. They were Tejanos, Mexicans who had lived in Texas all their lives, and they sided with the Americans (Anglos). Gregorio's brother Francisco, however, fought with the Mexican army, led by President General Santa Anna. Many other Tejanos faced similar crises when it came to taking sides in the Texas Revolution.

     
        Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna, leader of the Mexican Army.

Told from Enrique's point of view, the battle takes on a unique human dimension, with details of how they hid in the dark corner of a chapel, hearing gunfire, cannon blasts, and the screams of wounded men at all hours of the day and night. When Santa Anna called an armistice after seven days, giving them a chance to surrender and leave the fort, they refused. Enrique's mother wanted to keep the family together, and Gregorio said he would rather die fighting than give in. "Enrique did not think he could possibly feel more scared. But he did."

      
        Davy Crockett was among those whom young Enrique met.

The final attack came on March 6th. The Mexicans stormed the fort, firing everywhere. Eventually, they entered the chapel where Enrique and his family were hiding in the hay. Enrique tells how bullets whizzed past, narrowly missing them. At daybreak, they were ordered to leave and taken to see Santa Anna. It was then Enrique learned his father had been killed.


Illustration from the book by Jeni Reeves (click to enlarge).

Enrique Esparza and The Battle of the Alamo is part of the History

"I have this theory that chocolate slows down the aging process. It may not be true, but why take the chance?" ~ Anonymous


el7bara/flickr


Before I read today's poem, I had never associated Chekhov with chocolate.

Cherries, maybe, even oysters or seagulls. But not chocolate.

Still, this narrative poem by Louis Simpson, based on a real-life incident, has increased my admiration for Chekhov considerably, assuring me that if I had been one of his guests, honored to be in his presence yet intimidated by his genius, I would have happily shared my own chocolate legacy. But more on that in a bit.

First, the poem:


Chekhov and Russian chocolate (uncorneredmarket/flickr).

CHOCOLATES
by Louis Simpson

Once some people were visiting Chekhov.

While they made remarks about his genius

the Master fidgeted. Finally

he said, "Do you like chocolates?"
 

They were astonished, and silent.

He repeated the question,

whereupon one lady plucked up her courage

and murmured shyly, "Yes."
 

"Tell me," he said, leaning forward,

light glinting from his spectacles,

"what kind? The light, sweet chocolate

or the dark, bitter kind?"
 

The conversation became general.

They spoke of cherry centers,

of almonds and Brazil nuts.

Losing their inhibitions

they interrupted one another.

For people may not know what they think

about politics in the Balkans,

or the vexed question of men and women,

but everyone has a definite opinion

about the flavor of shredded coconut.
 

Finally someone spoke of chocolates filled with

liqueur, and everyone, even the author of Uncle Vanya,

was at a loss for words.
 

As they were leaving he stood by the door

and took their hands.

In the coach returning to Petersburg

they agreed that it had been a most

unusual conversation.

       

One week from today, alphabet soup is totally going to the DOGS!

That's right, a special post featuring some of the coolest canines on the planet -- cool because they all live with children's and YA authors!

Join us for food, fun, and friendly frolicking as we celebrate National Dog Day on August 26th. (Tail wagging encouraged. Drooling optional.)

BTW, can you guess who this precious pooch belongs to?

Hint: the artist he lives with created a manners book set at The Four Seasons Restaurant in NYC!

Ruff ruff! Sit, and stay . . . tuned. ☺

Copyright © 2010 Jama Rattigan of jama rattigan's alphabet soup. All rights reserved.

        
     
      Nelle coveting the box.

I'd been hearing people rave about macarons on food blogs for months on end.

I read about the intense passion, the pilgrimmages to Paris pâtisseries, the unprecedented cultish status of this French sandwich cookie, and I thought, "how good could it possibly be?"

Well, now I know.

Look at me! Yesterday, an innocent child chasing cupcakes. Today, a sophisticated mademoiselle of meringue! My eyelids are fluttering, my pulse ever quickens, my face flushes at the thought of yet another sweet encounter.

How do you say, "OMGthey'resodanggoodyouwannaslapyourmama" in French?

We got our sampler box from Michel Patisserie. Check out the flavors:




Of course, for the alphabet soup kitchen helpers, it was love at first sight. Such pretty colors! The promise of raspberry, chocolate, and caramel was almost too much to bear!



Some arranged tea parties,


others engaged in Olympic-style judging,


still others held serious macaron conferences, debating passion fruit vs. orange, mint vs. lemon.


Knowing just how rare and precious macarons are in this part of the world, I called in the troops for safeguarding,


but one clever ted managed to take off with a few before we could stop him.


I will say it was difficult deciding which one to taste first. I had waited a long time to try macarons, and I wanted my first bite to be memorable. I went with pistachio since green is my favorite color.


The base of the cookie has a ruffled circlet called "the foot."

The meringue wafer looks solid, and previous experience with other sandwich cookies like Oreos or sugar wafers made me expect a crunch.



But no -- when you bite into it, you realize the surface is eggshell thin, giving way to a slightly chewy meringue/light cake texture that beautifully blends with the creamy filling. The flavor was phenomenal -- intense but not overpowering. I thought, if angels bake, this is what it would taste like. Fairies must serve these at their tea parties.

And then and there, I reconsidered my longstanding allegiance to cupcakes.

Suddenly, cupcakes seemed gauche, messy, over-the-top. Macarons are

Tally Ho!

Recently, Len and I "escaped" to Middleburg, Virginia. It was a lovely drive to the land of rolling green pastures, low stone walls, picturesque farms and sprawling vineyards. A place steeped in history and bathed in pastoral dreaminess -- where you might wish to live if you had several million dollars to spare.

The village contains 160+ historic buildings, now housing a nice mix of eateries, inns, and interesting shops. Established in 1787 by Revolutionary War Lieutenant Colonel and Virginia statesman Leven Powell, Middleburg served as a traveler's rest stop, and was frequented by Civil War officers and soldiers, statesmen, and government officials. Because of its beautiful landscape, unending charm, long association with equestrian events, and reputation for top-notch amenities, Middleburg has long been a favorite destination for celebrities and international visitors.

      
         Red Fox Inn and Tavern, Middleburg, VA

Why, it was at the Middleburg Safeway that Elizabeth Taylor bought her fried chicken and potato salad when she was married to Senator John Warner. She was unhappy because he was never home, so she ATE. At the Red Fox Inn and Tavern (billed as the "oldest original inn in America"), President Kennedy's press secretary, Pierre Salinger, held press conferences in the Jeb Stuart Room. Yes, Middleburg is known as, "The Nation's Horse and Hunt Capital" -- a splendid pip pip sip and dip whether you're chasing foxes or rich husbands.

Personally, I prefer a quaint village with a main street over a huge mall with chain stores any day. I like a place that caters to animals, too.

   


Who can resist an indie bookstore called Books & Crannies? I scored a copy of The Shivers in the Fridge written by Fran Manushkin, signed by illustrator Paul O. Zelinsky. There is something very cute about that man, and I like him. ☺

   
      Books & Crannies entrance.

This book contains alphabet refrigerator magnets (squee)!

Perfect for my current Frenchie kick is Crème de la Crème, which sells all manner of French country furnishings:

A nice day for browsing.
 
  The eyeball dish is my favorite. Can you SEE it?

Love these little trays featuring delectables:

        

Bonjour mon amis!

To get your week off to a sweet start, here are some watercolor paintings by New York-based artist Carol Gillott. You may know her from her beautiful blog, Paris Breakfast. She travels to Paris several times a year to shoot photographs and get fresh inspiration for her paintings. A very nice job, indeed, to dream up Parisian fantasies every day!


"Ladurée Rose Framboise Cupcakes"

Carol has some lovely original watercolors for sale featuring delicious morning and tea time treats. Check out her Etsy Shop, where you'll find "Eiffel Tower of Macarons" and "Ladurée Rose Framboise Cupcakes," or see the full line at her flickr photostream. These are 9" x 11" and fit nicely in a 12" x 16" frame.



Couldn't resist sharing several of her wonderful Paris facades. You can inquire about prices and availability through her website. Enjoy!

    
         *This one especially for Candice!

    



Trés charmant, non?

Copyright © 2010 Jama Rattigan of jama rattigan's alphabet soup. All rights reserved.

  Alex Gee/flickr


Quack!

It's August, unbearably HOT, and I must confess something.

I miss running from zucchini.

Once upon a time, when we lived at our old house and Len had his famous vegetable garden, there'd always come a time when monster zucchini would appear out of nowhere and chase us around the back yard.

By then, we'd had our fill of their smaller relatives. After grilling, grating, slicing, and chopping zucchini for salads, breads, fritters, and frittata, Len usually tried to unload a few of the giants on our neighbors, who by then had taken to hiding guiltlessly behind closed curtains and blinds. But who could blame them? Big zucchini just doesn't taste good -- they're stringy and full of yucky seeds.


diekatrin/flickr


Spiced Zucchini Soup by chotda.

But now, living in the woods, we don't have a garden. Lots of space, but not enough sun. So we've been eating zucchini moderately and modestly, purchasing them now and again from Whole Foods or the farm market. And somehow, it's just not the same. Where's the excitement? Where's all the angst and undue pressure to keep up with the crop?

   
      photo credit: flickr

Still, a good zucchini poem makes me feel better.

ATTACK OF THE SQUASH PEOPLE
by Marge Piercy

And thus the people every year
in the valley of humid July
did sacrifice themselves
to the long green phallic god
and eat and eat and eat.
They're coming, they're on us,
the long striped gourds, the silky
babies, the hairy adolescents,
the lumpy vast adults
like the trunks of green elephants.
Recite fifty zucchini recipes!

Zucchini tempura; creamed soup;
sauté with olive oil and cumin,
tomatoes, onion; frittata;
casserole of lamb; baked
topped with cheese; marinated;
stuffed; stewed; driven
through the heart like a stake.

Get rid of old friends: they too
have gardens and full trunks.
Look for newcomers: befriend
them in the post office, unload
on them and run. Stop tourists
in the street. Take truckloads
to Boston. Give to your Red Cross.
Beg on the highway: please
take my zucchini, I have a crippled
mother at home with heartburn.

(Rest is here.)


I've never had round zucchini! Looks good! (steph noble)

And you thought you had a lot of books!



Speaking of Paris and books, here are some titles I'll be feasting on next. If you know of any other Frenchie must-reads, please let me know!

 
     
        

Bonne Journée!

jek in the box {is home}/flickr

Bonjour!

Would you like a macaron? Please help yourself!


mosaic from lildamselfly's flickr photostream

Small and round, crisp, creamy, so colorful and, let's face it, so dang cute -- you'd have to be hard-hearted indeed to turn down one of these beauties. Before you accuse me of misspelling the name of this French meringue cookie sandwich, let me clarify -- le macaron is different from the American macaroon (a sticky, chewy, overly sweet coconut cookie).

The macaron got its name from the Italian word, maccarone, which means "fine paste," or "fine dough." Its exact origin is still being debated (some say they were first made at an Italian monastery to resemble monks' belly buttons). ☺ But most agree the macaron's French debut occurred in the 16th century with the arrival of Catherine de Medici, who brought her pastry chefs with her upon marrying King Henri II.


Rose macaron by lynac/flickr.

As with most things culinary, the French took the simple almond flour, egg white and sugar confection to new heights, serving them in the 19th century with spices, jams and liqueurs, and then in the 20th century, inventing the sandwich cookie we know today. Credit goes to Pierre Desfontaines of the famous pâtisserie Ladurée, who took two of these meringue discs and filled them with chocolate ganache. Ever since, French pastry chefs have taken great pride in creating new flavor combinations, moving beyond the standard vanilla, chocolate and raspberry, to exotic delights such as matcha tea, rose, mango, and passionate fruit. Today, if you visit most any Paris pâtisserie, you will find trays and trays of marvelous macarons, with fillings made from ganache, buttercream, and various jams.


Chocolaterie Biscuiterie Larnicol in Bordeaux by [(o)].

But "macs," as they are affectionately called, are so much more than pretty, elegant cookies served with coffee, tea or champagne. Not only are they challenging the cupcake's popularity as favorite hand-held sweet among foodies in this country, but in Paris they are serious status symbols. In his cheeky blog post, French sommelier Olivier Magny calls the macaron "a key social lubricant in Paris." Strong stuff for such a little cookie. "While most Parisians have given up on ancestral guilty pleasures (sex, drugs, alcohol), very few will say no to the modern form of socially acceptable vice: Le Macaron Ladurée."