Ok. So I did a little math. And though February is a shorty of a month, by its end, there will be 50+ extra minutes of daylight per day (at least here at the 32nd Parallel) that we didn't get at the beginning. I think that's pretty good for such a wee little month. We're going to need all that extra sunlight for Spring and Summer's bumper crops. In the meantime, we're still trying to keep it seasonal around my house, and Heather is back at it at Home Ec 101 with a new batch of seasonal recipes featuring some of my favorite cruciferous veggies.

  © 2010 Cameron Blazer // Cottage Industrialist

Well, it's that time of year again. While I don't care about receiving flowers or chocolate on February 14 (or the 18th, for that matter), I find that, as with most things, my enthusiasm is far greater when I consider the holiday through my kiddo's eyes. And, since he seems to see the world as one giant construction site/rocket ship launch pad for mankind, this year I put together these rocket ship valentines. Well, we did. Le kid was instrumental in the design of the ship, though he is a little disappointed that "da Spaceman" doesn't have a face. And I'm a little disappointed that I can't draw faces. We are both learning to live with disappointment. It doesn't mean we can't share the love.

   Photo courtesy Clemson University Flying Club

To the seven members of the 1928 Clemson Aero club, their advisor was a teacher and mentor. To my family, he was known simply as "Boppy."

Boppy taught at Clemson and ran the woodshop there for decades. His specialty was furniture, and pieces of his handiwork are scattered across the eastern seaboard among the members of my mother's family. And among my mother and her sisters' fondest memories is flying from the trees in airplane swings fashioned by Boppy. Though he died the year I was born, his impact even in my life has been profound in ways I am only now coming to understand.

Notwithstanding the cognitive dissonance of a tropical leaf made of wool felt, I'm pretty happy with the way this laptop sleeve came out. It should have taken me an hour, but I got ridiculous and pulled out the embroidery needle, so it took the better part of the afternoon. Good thing I had the afternoon off.

Let's work backwards, shall we?

Yummy, non? Chicken, greens, potatoes...what's not to love?

Continue reading . . .

Happy New Year!

I love New Year's Day. New Year's Eve, not so much. But New Year's Day I love. Especially when it falls on a Friday. Other than the long weekend aspect, I love, love, love the food. In South Carolina we traditionally eat pork, collard greens, and peas and rice (or Hoppin' John) on New Year's Day. Like many food cultures, each of these foods symbolizes a hope for the new year—for plentiful food, money, and luck.

1989 was a watershed year in my life. And not just because I started high school, though that was pretty major. In September of 1989 Hurricane Hugo came to our little city and knocked it senseless. Trees and homes swept up in a windy fury and dropped just as senselessly into muddy piles. Windows broken and roofs blown off. Childhood memories submerged and soaked. A bridge ripped from its moorings. Most of the area was without power for weeks, and we could not return to school until mid-October. The clean-up was hard. It was phsyically hard. It was emotionally hard. Because even after debris was cleared, the wound was still raw—our landscape had changed overnight.

As Christmas approached, I think the people of Charleston were tired and a little sad and just ready to put 1989 behind us. Then a funny thing happened.

Late on December 23rd, the sky was cloudy and the temperature had plummeted. Our already scarred surroundings had an especially bleak pallor. And then. A couple of wet flakes. And then more. And more. Into the night the snow came down. And when we woke on Christmas Eve, the city's cuts and scrapes had been coated in a fluffy white blanket of snow and hope. Six-to-eight inches came down in one night here—a place that goes years without seeing the first flake. Nature had shown us her bitter extremes in September, and in December she showed us her gentlest embrace. Once again, our landscape had changed overnight.

For the only time in my life (before or since), there was enough snow for snow men and snowball fights. Living in flatlands below sea-level, there was no sledding to be done, but that was fine. My sister and I didn't have proper clothes for playing in the snow, and so our mother put our feet in plastic bags inside our tennis shoes and bundled us in all the layers she could find. We still lasted only a few minutes at a time, but it was the happiest we'd been in months. A Christmas miracle, as they say.

***

2009 has been hard for a lot of people—and not just on the money and jobs front, though that's been about as bad as I can remember. From fires to floods to flu, I think a lot of people will be happy to say goodbye to this year. And while it may not snow in Charleston in 2009, my hope for us all during this season is that we each get a glimpse at that same kind of miracle as we usher in a new year and a new decade.

Merry Christmas!

© 2009 David Mandel // Ampersand Industries

I am trying to take it easy. Well, easier. Trying. And it has been more fun this year because my son is old enough to really start absorbing the meaning of these traditions and to get in on the act of making the food and finery that are the hallmarks of the season. And with all that's been going on, we didn't get around to picking out a tree till yesterday. Downsides: there were about 10 trees left, and we just picked up the first Charlie Brown we saw. Upsides: The tree cost $13, and we spent at most 5 minutes out in the bitter cold. I've still gone a little overboard, but my sanity and sense of humor have remained largely in tact, so I'm calling this a victory. 

Without further ado, this is what the blur—I mean last two weeks—has looked like:

Latkes. Photo © 2009 David Mandel // Ampersand Industries Menorah. Photo © 2009 David Mandel // Ampersand IndustriesAs has become our tradition, on the first night of Hanukkah, we indulged in what I have dubbed (sacriligiously, yes) Latkepalooza. In years past I have made full meals to complement the latkes. But this year I got wise. Latkes. Arugula dressed with lemon juice and olive oil. That is all. And you know what? It was awesome. A tradition is re-born. Also? On the first night of Hannukah, I realized that I had no idea where the menorah was about 20 minutes before sundown. So I made a makeshift one using some pretty bud vases (okay, they're really shot glasses, but we don't exactly throw the kind of parties where fancy shot glasses get put to their best use) filled with rock salt. The candles nestled snugly in the salt, which sparkled nicely in the candlelight. Sweet.

Each year for the last 20 or so I have made ornaments—sometimes from silver wire, other times from beads, or paper, or clay. And most of them are given away by the end of the holidays. 

Snowflake © 2009 Cameron Blazer // Cottage IndustrialistBut I saved this one a few years ago. It's one of my favorites, and it always gets a special place on the tree. If you like it, It's dead easy to make, too. Just string clear seed beads and teardrop beads in a fringe pattern on fine beading wire (ex: four seed beads, one teardrop bead, seven seed beads, back through the teardrop bead and two of the seed beads, and so on) until you've created 8 points. Then draw them into a circle, wrap the joint, and create a loop. Voilà!

Menagerie in Progress. Photo © 2009 David MandelThis year, my son and I made salt dough ornaments, inspired by these beauties. We used snowflake and animal cracker cookie cutters. Ours were by no means as lovely as their inspiration, but what they lacked in perfection we have since more than made up for in glitter. Here is what I have learned: crafting with kids can be tough on a type-A mom. While we obsess over color schemes and table scapes, our children just want to smoosh some clay and have a good time. But in glitter there is redemption and satisfaction for all. While my son enjoyed the sparkle and mess, by choosing glitter wisely, we have new ornaments that coordinate with our holiday décor. Shallow? Maybe, but we both had a good time, he's very proud of his glittery lions and elephants and giraffes, and they actually look quite cool.

Snowflake Chandelier. Photo © 2009 David Mandel // Ampersand Industries
As I have written previously, our dining room chandelier—this is an insult to the term chandelier, but you get the idea—was hung about a foot-and-a-half too high. And rather than rectifying this with what would probably be a $100 visit from an electrician, I choose instead to festoon it each year with ornaments that serve to bring it down a bit into better proportion with the room. The other 11 months of the year it just looks as though it's taking all precautions in case of flood.

The snowflakes are just chipboard cutouts that have been liberally doused in glitter. And I painted the bottoms of the silver balls with craft glue and sprinkled them with the same aquamarine glitter. Synergy!

(An aside: the reason for all of this color scheming—other than that I am an anal-retentive nutjob—is that our Christmas tree—and most of our other Christmas decorations—lives in our dining room. With the dining room rug. Which is one of my favorite things in our house, but which is also a mix of rusty orange, aquamarine, and moss green—not exactly a good combo with the traditional holiday red and green. But silver and gold and aquamarine still catch the wintry glow of the season quite nicely, I think.)

The other project that has consumed the better part of two weekends was preparing the gift baskets we made for my son's teachers. My son is only three, but he goes to a full day Montessori. It is really hard to send your baby off at 8:30 in the morning and pick him up again after 5. But it is a lot easier when you have wonderful teachers like the pair he lucked into this year. Last year this time, he was at a different school. And while nothing was wrong, it just wasn't right. We didn't realize just how out of whack things had gotten until we settled into his new school this summer, and we got our happy, well-adjusted child back. So, needless to say, we are very thankful for his teachers who have done so much to make that possible. We wanted to give a gift that would match their sweetness. Thus the candy making. And making. And making. And making. Here's what we ended up with:

Basket of Sweets © 2009 Cameron Blazer // Cottage IndustrialistWe made hot chocolate mix (which is really just finely hand-ground chocolate with a bit of vanilla), a box of candies (peppermint bark, spiced pecan brittle, chocolate truffles, and chocolate caramels), caramel popcorn, and, most importantly, marshmallows. My son's teachers often call him Marsh-mellow, so those were a must. A simple white basket and some coordinating tags, and that was that. I hope his teachers take a well-deserved break with their feet up, a steaming cup of hot chocolate warming their hands, and bonbons all around.

But you know, I don't believe in sharing only the successes. In every crafty project, there is a craftastrophe waiting to strike. With candymaking, especially, I was mostly afraid of burning myself. But in all, the only real misstep was that the chocolate caramels were a bit gooey-er than I'd planned (I stopped the cooking at about 245° rather than the suggested 255° because I didn't want them to crack people's teeth) so they had to be wrapped in paper and foil to keep their shape. We had a bunch of them leftover after the baskets were packed, so I experimented. I don't think you can fix a caramel that you overcook, but it turns out you absolutely can fix a caramel you undercook. I dumped them all in a pan, heated them to 255°, and now they're perfect! Craftastrophe averted!

There are still last-minute items on my list:

1. I need to replace last year's Christmas stocking. Speaking of failures, it was, um, pathetic. Stitched of leftover polar fleece at 2:30 in the morning on Christmas Eve, it looked terrible and performed its duties even less impressively. This year I have some beautiful wool felt. I think I'm going to do a reverse applique. But we'll see.

2. Fabric gift bags. I don't give a ton of presents. But for the ones I do give, I take the wrapping seriously. (You're shocked, I know.) This year, I am experimenting with several fabric wrapping techniques. One exists only in my head, but if it pans out, I'll be sure to share a tutorial soon.

3. Pajama pants. I've already made on pair for my son out of my winter animals fabric. But I'm planning more. Because there's little cuter on earth than my boy in jammies with rumply hair. Since he's off from school for two weeks (pity I don't get that same break!) I figure he'll have several mornings that stretch into afternoons in PJs.

4. It's a secret!

5. I am still at work on my 2010 printable calendar. I love it, but it is taking FOREVER. I'm thinking of releasing it in 3-month increments to take some of the pressure off to finish by Christmas—what do you think? (If you look over here, I'll give you a sneak peek!)

6. It's a secret!

What's left on your making and doing list? Got any triumphs or superfails to share? Any crafty New Year's resolutions? Do tell (and link to your blog posts) in the comments!

*This title is courtesy of, and with apologies to, the late Bruce Chatwin. Have you read his books? If you haven't, I suggest first reading his obituary (no, really!) by Salman Rushdie (collected in this anthology). If you can resist reading his books after that, they were not, I think, meant for you.

Congratulations to Heather Solos, whose twitter entry was crowned the big winner—even if she did make a typo in my twitter name ;-)—by the random number generator! It just so happens that Heather lives in my town and is a blogger extraordinaire—she gives sage advice at Home Ec 101, herds cats (or bloggers, as the case may be) at Lowcountry Bloggers and for Charleston's Social Media Club, and can also be found posting from time to time at Blissfully Domestic, Moncks Corner Moments, and probably others I don't even know about. I can't wait to see what Heather will do with her fabric!

Photos © 2009 David Mandel // Ampersand Industries

There is a candy that comes but once a year. This candy perfectly combines the crisp cool of the blustery cold weather with the dark warmth of nights spent at home; it is at once shatteringly crisp and puddlingly melty. Peppermint bark. No, not that sickly sweet white chocolate stuff studded with tiny suggestions of peppermint. This is chocolate to the menthe power. Dark, bittersweet chocolate infused with mint, laminated to a thin layer of white chocolate made crisp by the presence of gobs of pulverized peppermints.

The gold standard for this holiday treat is, in my opinion, the stuff sold at Williams-Sonoma each year. It goes on display there around Thanksgiving each year, and if you stop in during the month of December there are often samples to lure you to this confectionary crack. I first tried it, reluctantly, a few years ago--I have never liked white chocolate, and I was sure I would dislike this, too. Non alors! I was smitten from the get-go. As in, I must have circled the display ten or more times, shameless in my desire for more, MORE! And then I saw the price tag. Twenty-five dollars or something. And there is where pride peeked out from its hiding place and shook its head at me. There was no way I was spending twenty-five dollars on candy that I would have no intentions of sharing.

So each year during the holidays I venture out once or twice to W-S with my dignity firmly in check and gobble up all the free candy I can get my hands on. And since I started my new job in September, the store is a three-minute walk from my office. Danger. So this year I decided that enough was enough. I was tired of foraging it for 1/2-inch pieces. I would make my own. (Cue foreboding music.)

Given that I worked (in what seems now like a former life) as a line and pastry cook, I had some inkling of what I was up against. Which is to say, I knew that I would need to learn to temper chocolate,* but not how to do it. The Internet and my  cookbooks are awash in explanations of the process—these range from the breezily oversimplified (I'm looking at you Claudia Fleming!) to the mind-bogglingly precise. Most methods provide precise degree measurements for each stage of the process. And many methods include an explanation of the crystal formation process cribbed and shortened from Harold McGee's On Food and Cooking.** The bad news is that no method is foolproof and sometimes chocolate simply doesn't temper properly. The good news is that in chocolate, as in life, you can always (or almost always) start again.

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