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Pumpkin Whoopie Pies

My ever-lovin’ Mama sent me this recipe and I have to say: it’s simply divine. On the scale of easy-to-execute vs. satisfying-to-eat-and-share this recipe is almost as perfect as the one for my favorite almond cake. Especially in this late-fall-holiday time there’s something to be said for a sweet indulgence that hits all of the nom-nom-nom flavor necessities of the season, without requiring you to make crust from scratch or procure leaf lard or go to anywhere fancier than a Piggly Wiggly for the ingredients. We’ll leave that to Christmas.

Ingredients

1 cup pumpkin, canned
1/3 cup butter, softened
1 spice cake mix
1-2 teaspoons Pumpkin Pie Spice (I didn’t have this store-bought, so I just used cinnamon, nutmeg, and a tiny bit of cardamom… but anything in that profile will do)
2 eggs, room temperature
1/2 cup milk

Cream Cheese Caramel Filling

3 oz cream cheese, softened
1/2 cup butter
1/3 cup caramel ice cream topping
1-2 cups powdered sugar

Instructions

Preheat oven to 350 degrees and spray a cookie sheet with non stick cooking spray
Cream together the pumpkin and butter
Add cake mix, pumpkin pie spice, eggs and milk
Beat just until blended
Drop by cookie dough scoop or tablespoon
Bake about 10-12 minutes until cookies are slightly firm

Cream Cheese Caramel Filling

Beat together cream cheese and butter until fluffy
Add the caramel topping and mix well
Gradually add the powdered sugar until desired consistency

This makes enough to share- maybe 20-24 or so pies depending on how large you make the uppers and lowers. Eat your heart out Oreo.

Fingerless Gloves=Awesome

When it gets really cold in my apartment but I still need to type up a storm, I LOVE puting on these fingerless gloves- an amazing hand-made Christmas present from Rachel, who knit them herself. I feel sort of like a runaway, a little like Desperately Seeking Susan, and wearing them inside also gives me a kind of Dr. Zhivago vibe. Add a cup of tea and we’re getting warmer.

Here are a few great options from Etsy if you want to pick up what I’m putting down:

Red Gloves from LitKnits
Grey Gloves from Laima Shop
Green Gloves from GinaMinda

Knife Grinder pt. 2

Two things happened: I finally caught the knife grinder on my block, and my camera broke. I leaned up against the breathing diesel side of the truck in the sun, cursing the lens and trying to live a bit in the moment, to soak in every detail. The grinder had four wheels- a rough and smooth grit, spinning, and some sort of wire wheel, still, and a super soft buffing loop, all attached to the portable rotor by leather thongs and ancient rubber loops. I handed him my knives- three of my grandmother’s Henckels (60 year old knives, she gave them to my mother, my mother gave them to me) the paring knife of which had a broken tip since I’d known them, since before I was allowed to touch them as a child. He said “Oh no, these are bad, very bad!”. I was a little shamed. The walls and ceiling of the truck were paneled in thin pine and there was a sweet old pit bull who gave me a sniff and then laid down in a patch of sun streaming through the dashboard onto a mottled green carpet. The grinder himself was a column of grey in worn work shoes and a pair of those Tom Joad pants with the perfectly square pockets that are usually the color of the clear sky but were the color of the sea, he had wide knuckles, a little smile, and a smooth sided anvil that he finished each blade on, a metal whetstone, that made a satisfying rasp as the edges were made perfect. He held up a piece of newsprint and sliced it cleanly in half and said “These are now very, very sharp. You need to be careful now. And I went ahead and put a point on the little one.” He wrapped them up in an Italian newspaper and handed them to me and (literally) winked. It was perfect.

Just Missed Him!

Ahhh! I just missed the knife grinder! I heard the bell going down my street, and saw the red truck cruise by the window, but by the time I got my coat and grabbed Grammy’s Henkels he was already off the block (and then I was just walking down the street in my house-slippers holding a bunch of knives like an old crazy lady). I have my own knife sharpener, sure, but- just like the ever dwindling seltzer guys- there’s something wonderful and classic about the traveling grinder. Maybe he’ll come back down, I’m ready…

image from here.

City Mouse, Town Mouse

Visiting our friends in Pennsylvania over this past weekend, I discovered something new: the life of the town mouse. Until now, I’ve only known the pretty sharp divide between Country Mouse (beauty, idyll, low rent, and terrible chinese food) and City Mouse (the glittering compromise of paying pounds of flesh for the privilege of seeing a human poo on the subway… on the way to get amazing sichuan and see The Moth story slam live). My dear friend McKay, sensing a potential shift, gave me this New Yorker cartoon when I first moved up from my Virginia farmhouse (sidenote: the fact that a New Yorker cartoon actually pertained to me was an early City Mouse thrill):

But instead of either traipsing down a fetid sidewalk or run over in the middle of 6th avenue, there could be another fate: Town Mouse. Rare in America, my friends have a beautiful old sort of Craftsman house in an awake little old-fashioned downtown- walking distance to the market, the dry cleaner, the bookstore, the coffeeshop, the train station, and (!) work etc. but with space, calm, fabulous light and a good mortgage (I’m guessing. City Mice don’t think twice about talking rent money and square footage over $8 beers, but when you’re drinking a very nice cote du something with some Town Mice, it feels unseemly to ask them whether they paid extra for the washer/dryer). But think. Town Mouse could keep her jewels in a tiny cup when she was at the sink. Town Mouse could have a sweet, sunny little place for strawberry baskets, eggs from the chickens, and muddy shoes.Town Mouse could have this tree in her backyard.But…City Mouse still has it pretty good, for now.

I heart the Williamsburg waterfront

I had the distinct pleasure to spend almost my entire weekend looking at this view from various angles of repose. On Saturday I was text-ambushed with the news that Widespread Panic was playing at the WIlliamsburg Waterfront and, as a tribute to my 16 year old self (who would have certainly known well in advance if Panic was coming within a 100 mile radius, much less a 1 mile radius, and would have accumulated secret stores of Southern Comfort and patchwork swirly skirts in anticipation), I put on my dancing booties and hopped on the train. The show was marvelous, and the venue so perfectly lovely- a gently sloping field-ish right on the river with the fresh fall breeze ruffling all of our feathers. Then on Saturday, the ever-so-handsome boys of Roosevelt Dime played sunset-set at Taste Williamsburg Greenpoint.This fabulous event was comprised basically of incredible hors d’oeuvres from various awesome restaurants and lots of delicious beer- all for charity to keep a historic Brooklyn firehouse from being bulldozed down so that Goonies-type development interests can move in. Basically: a pork-belly-and-dixieland-jazz version of Mouth’s bag of jewels. Watching the changing light color the city like the Gershwin Fantasia, all in the midst of a just-cool indian summer, and it was Ahhh heart NY.

Goodbye South… for a bit.

I’ve just gotten back from marvelous adventures back down South… whenever I go home all of its specialness seems to hit me right in the mouth with the force of humidity and biscuits. It’s starting to feel like cool plaid fall in New York, which might be the bittersweetest loveliness that a city girl can ask for, but the joyful heartache that is the autumn city is right up there with the effortless still warm evenings of southern indian summer, the kind where the air is as full as the moon. So, I’ll be back soon.

I want a new Jug

After hosting a recent michelada party on the heels of visiting the divine Miss Esser, I realized how woefully inadequate my pitcher selection is. Seriously.
So, Huey, I want a new jug. These caught my eye…Covetous pitchers from Zinnia Cottage, VintageAbbey2, Blue Flower Vintage, Tom Laurus, and NostalgieEurope.

“Irene Blows”- church sign on Virginia’s Eastern Shore

As I fled Irene-frenzied-New-York like a wine drunk carpetbagger, my hometown was getting thoroughly pummeled. Trees as big around as sewing circles crashed through living rooms and flipped Volvos, taking out power and phone lines like so many cobwebs. My family (much like we did when we heard the Civil War was coming) retreated. To meet them in exile, I found myself cruising down the verdant Eastern Shore down to the Southside via the bay bridge tunnel (drive: recommended). To give succor in times of trouble, I turned to the bounty of my fair Virginia, via a sweet farmstand with a handsome farmer, fresh sweet corn, luscious peaches, and (ohmygodohmygodohmygod) just caught Virginia Blue Crabs.

And, of course, if you’re going to have Chesapeake Bay Blue crabs you also must have Old Bay, a big peppery pot, and plenty of old newspaper.

THIS JUST IN: Cat Loves New Sofa

We’ve just done a big maneuver and re-requisitioned the awesome loveseat that used to be in my grandfather’s house (Mama’s side). More on that later. In the meantime, breaking news: Nipsey Russell LOVES the new couch. See?I’d also like to mention that none of these is an action shot, he was in each of these positions for 30-45 minutes, at least. Life is hard out here for a Russell, but he’s making do, you know.