Two pastors…. but somehow they managed to keep the ceremony short. *Thank God*

Of course their colors were red, black, & white. I’m just surprised there was more Regina Spektor,

and less Five Iron Frenzy.

Brilliant idea. Why mess around with a cake when you can have cupcakes?!

This was the *tamest* of the photos of the boys doing up the car. This blog is SFW.

I don’t know if I’ve ever seen Josh so happy.

And here’s a cupcake recipe I’d like to try soon:

Elegant Cupcakes

Boy, do I love Virginia!

And I can’t wait to get these books:

Gardens & Historic Plants of the Antebellum South,
The Brother Gardeners, and Flowers & Herbs of Early America

And a Sarah Jarosz song, “Tell Me True”, that’s been stuck in my head this whole trip. I love her, and you will too:

Bourbon Peach Hand-Pies
Originally from SmittenKitchen,
With a few changes…

Pastry (this is key!)
2 ½ c. all-purpose flour
½ tsp. table salt
2 sticks (16 tbsp.) unsalted butter, softened, cut into pieces
½ c. buttermilk*
½ c. ice water

*the recipe called for sour cream, but
I had milk & a lemon on hand so I opted
for a buttermilk crust instead. To make buttermilk
(or sour milk) use about 1 tbsp. lemon juice
per ½ c. of milk, let sit a few minutes

Filling (mmmmm)
2 lbs. ripe peaches (preferably market fresh)
¼ c. flour
¼ sugar
pinch of salt
some decent Bourbon*
and a generous amount of good vanilla**
and maybe some nutmeg, for good measure

*I have tons of respect for the gal at Smitten, but
her recommendation of 1 tsp. of Bourbon didn’t
quite cut it for me (I technically live in the South, y’know!)
so I put in a whole shot. I heard no complaints.
**Once again, a ½ tsp. of vanilla was disappointing. So I put in
approximately 2 tsp. Basically I got those little peaches wasted.

This is the vanilla I bought at the Gourmet store with part of my giftcard, and I thought it would be perfect in this recipe.

This is my first attempt at writing down a recipe, so I may skimp on details. If you’ve ever watched me in the kitchen, you may know how loosely I follow rules (or not at all)… but normally it turns out just fine, and I don’t plan on changing anytime soon. Maybe it’s my stubbornness coming out… but I like to pretend that it is inherent kitchen intuition…. *cough* Anywho, if I were you trying to make a hand-pie, I’d start by making the crust. This involves first whisking together the flour and salt in a biggish bowl, then cutting the (room temp) sticks of butter into little chunks. Some people like to tell you to cut them into ¼ in. cubes, but you can do whatever you want, just keep in mind that the chunkier they are the harder they are to cut into the flour. Just sayin’.

Next you put your butter chunks into the biggish flour bowl. With a pastry cutter (or two forks, if you are like me before last Christmas) cut the butter into the flour, until it resembles little grains. Try to get it all incorporated, with the biggest lumps the size of little peas, otherwise you’ll have problems later. Like this:

Make a little well in the mixture, then pour your buttermilk into it. Like this:

I used my pastry cutter to get it started, but you’ll have to put your hands in it to get the big lumps out. Also this is where you start adding icewater, tbsp by tbsp. Don’t let it get too sticky! It should feel like play-doh when it has the right proportions. After that, separate the big ball into two balls. I don’t know why you do this, but every pie I’ve ever made (and my mother, and her mother, etc.) called for doing this. Then cover ‘em and let ‘em chill in the fridge (aka icebox) for a bit. I don’t know how long I chilled mine, but I folded and put away the laundry and then went back to it. But you could make the filling!

The filling is easy-peasy. Cut your peaches into little chunks, smaller than you would for a pie, but we ain’t makin’ jam here! So not too small. Then put the chunks into a bowl with all your other ingredients. DO THIS TO YOUR OWN TASTE; the sugar, booze, vanilla, etc., and feel free to add spices! And don’t use lousy bourbon… I used one of those tiny bottles, of Bulleit to be exact. According to the website, Bulleit bourbon has a high rye content that gives it an oaky finish, but it’s got nice honey tones that I thought would work. I do my research, see. Maker’s Mark would be good too, but it’s a bit sweeter.

So to make the little pies, you roll out one of your dough balls onto a WELL-FLOURED surface, with a WELL-FLOURED rolling pin. I emphasize this because I ran into some issues… because of the high dairy content, the fats & oils stick stick stick the more you work with the dough. All problems aside, you should get about 12 4-inch rounds of dough from each ball, if you roll the scraps. Once you have all 24 rounds, put a generous spoonful of peach goo onto ‘em. I put just about as much as it was humanly possible to fold over top of. After they all have peach goo, get a sauce bowl of cold water, a bowl of one beaten egg, a fork, and a pastry brush. Wet your fingers before folding, because that’s how you seal them. Fold, smush/seal with your wet fingers, then use the fork to make a nice little closed edge, cut a little slit in the middle of the pie for a vent, then brush with the egg. I also sprinkled a bit of sugar over top. Then bake for about 20 minutes at 375°, or until they’re a nice golden brown on top!

Sadly, the peaches were so deliciously ripe & juicy that they had a bit of a rough time in my bag on the way home… they’re currently in the fridge in an attempt to save them, but I may have to make my filling a day early. We’ll see how that works out.One little guy didn’t quite make it, and he had to be sacrificed. Delicious sacrifice. The amount of juice that came out of that sweet flesh was almost indecent. YUM. Speaking of delicious liquids, aside from having some of the best-looking produce at the market, 5-Penny Farm makes awesome sodas, including a crazy-good ginger brew, a root beer, and a cherry “shrub.” I had never heard of a shrub before (in the libation sense of the word), but apparently it was a Colonial “soda” made with water, fruit juice, white vinegar, and more often than not, some sort of hard liquor. The 5-Penny Farm version is non-alcoholic, but it sure is tasty.

Bella bombed.

In general, I’ve never been a huge fan of tomatoes. Salsa, spaghetti sauce, ketchup: all great things derived from tomatoes! But “fresh” ones, I have always struggled with. I want to like tomatoes, I really do… and I’ve come to realize maybe it’s not that I don’t like tomatoes, it’s just that I’m a complete and utter snob when it comes to them. The guy at 5-Penny let me sample a gorgeous little grape tomato, warmed by the evening sun… *sigh* it was delicious. Delicious, I tell you! So maybe I do like them, as long as they are garden-fresh and sun-ripened.

And just look at these babies!

Peas of some sort.. I love the purple-y speckles.

How much is that Buddha in the window?

That was all for my anti-climactic (yet entirely pleasant!) day at the market. I’m still learning with my camera, otherwise there would be more pictures… but I’m workin’ on it. Stay tuned for those handpies!

Enjoy.

Bella.

Overlook.

Golden light; purple flowers

Bagel time

Wild Berries.

]]> http://jenniferlovely.wordpress.com/2010/08/04/112/feed/ 0 jenniferlovely bellawhoa overlook Golden bageltime berries+thornsmy http://jenniferlovely.wordpress.com/2009/03/09/98/ http://jenniferlovely.wordpress.com/2009/03/09/98/#comments Mon, 09 Mar 2009 06:09:14 +0000 jenniferlovely http://jenniferlovely.wordpress.com/?p=98 ]]> The past few months have sped right past me, leaving me with various little bruises but rosy, hopeful cheeks. I’ve been living with this strange expectancy, knowing full well what I must do but not knowing how it will come to pass. I’ve got a path, but I can’t see where it goes because my eyes are stuck on either the cobblestones beneath my feet or the swirling clouds above my head. The trees are walking along beside me, watching to see which way these feet will take me. I’ve been liberated from the frustrating and tedious process of filling out university applications (having submitted the very last just shy of two weeks ago), and have currently received acceptance letters from Washington State University in Pullman, WA and the University of Idaho in Moscow, ID. They happen to be about fifteen miles away from each other, and I’m not too jazzed about either. I should hear back from the rest sometime this week, and will be making a decision over the next two months.
The determining factors will be as follows:
1. Quality of program. (Will it prepare me for immediate employment?)
2. Length of time required to complete said program. (How will my credits transfer?)
3. Cost of attendance, especially as relates to above. (Out of state vs. In state, grants, scholarships, etc.)
4. Location. (Middle of nowhere, ID vs. Charlottesville, VA- is there really a contest?)
I guess I should inform my readership (which I believe consists of one, maybe two people) what relevance all of this university talk has. Well, I received an Associate’s Degree last Spring, and have since been attempting to learn how to stand on my two feet and obtain some “real life” education before stepping back into the academic world. This past year has been a fantastic crash course in life, but I’m on the edge of losing my sanity- working at a coffeeshop full time is not exactly leading me toward a career in Landscape Architecture, which is what I really want to do, so- I’m packing everything up and heading off to a university this Fall. Woohoo! I feel completely inadequate, unprepared, and terrified, but damnit, I’m excited. I’m not as concerned where I go as maybe I should be, but I am excited as hell to a) get out of Fredericksburg, b) go to college, and c) start focusing on what I want to make of myself.
I am also happy to be making some tentative plans for the summer. I hope to take a long trip out West- there is a niece and a nephew I have yet to meet, a brother I haven’t seen in years, beautiful natural monuments to revisit, parents to spend time with, a niece to hang out with in Seattle, a huge book store to be perused and various street signs to take pictures underneath in Portland, an organic farm and bed & breakfast to stay at in Idaho, and miles and miles of empty road to pass through. I’m dreaming of mountains and the smell of sagebrush after an afternoon thunderstorm. I really hope I can get my fella out to see why I love the West so much, and why even after falling in love with Virginia’s rolling hills, there’s still a part of me that craves the wild and untamable.
Which leads me to my next order of business. In order to make my summer plans a reality, I have to make a few changes. Over the next two and a half or so months, I’ll be slashing my list of possessions down by at least half, and living like I should have been living all along- simply. I’ll hopefully be giving away a lot of my clothing, and any other little things others may have need or want of, mostly books, art supplies, kitchen accessories, blankets, and other bits of unnecessaries I have managed to acquire over the past few years. It’s amazing how much stuff I have, and how little of it I actually use. But I digress- anything I can do to save money (not going out, not consuming) and to make money (possibly selling a painting or two) I must do, because sadly, I cannot barter my way out West or safely rely on my good looks. So I guess this is my public declaration of my intentions, and hopefully a way in which I can hold myself accountable. I shall be chronicling this journey to simplicity, to my beautiful west, and to landscape architecture, and I hope, beyond.

How’s that for laying on the cheese?

Here are my current/most recent inspirations:

Andy Goldsworthy- Thanks to a thoughtful Valentine's Day gift : )

I guess I always have to have some spiritual inspiration...

I love it when people lend me books!

Sixto Rodriguez, really random but pretty awesome.

Thoreau. Need I say more?

Tiny cuts where little knives
Have found to penetrate. My skin
Taut, cracking, nearly opaque
With sensation.

Closed the car door
Drove miles in hopes, of you
Waiting at the stop.
Began again.

Coin-operated soul
four quarters in, were found out
Of rainbow-colored cigarettes.
Get another.

Spindly little legs can barely walk
Neat as a pin, smiled. And
Entered through the well-signed
Exit door.

Listened to music by a band
who doesn’t play anymore. Here
Spoke your words, then we sang them.
Under night.

To go to that place,
You still salty on my tongue, I’m
Shattered. Tiny fragments, listen to a
Quiet tune.

little pieces made little cuts, where
I left them. Sharp tiny knives
At the end, I’ll start peeling.
With intention.

December 8, 2008

Driving home, cold morning, cold seatbelt.
My cigarette burns my throat less than the cold,
A sensation not unlike the swelling of tears.
Watch the sky, wait for the storm.

For some reason its colder here, Hurts more
than the bright bitter of ten below with wind.
There’s nothing to fear. Wood stove-warmed
Concrete with paint peeling under my toes.

Spiders crawling up the walls, spinning
As they go. Making patterns on my drywall.
Papering it with my 13-year-old mind
And tiny iridescent silken webs.

Rare snow days, foot of white, blazing blind
Stay inside and read and make up stories.
Never was much for sketching, but if
I’d had a mind I’d write for miles.

Tumbling through the cascade of white,
Falling like the delicate crystals that melt
In my hair, on my skin, on my paper tongue.
I’m measuring the snowfall.