A Book and A Dish

Wednesday, May 2, 2012

Death Comes Silently - Carolyn Hart, Author

Curried Chicken Salad
(A Carolyn Hart special)

Simmer deboned chicken breast until done, approx. 20-25 minutes.
Cool, remove skin, chop chicken into bite-sized pieces.
Combine 1/4 c. chopped celery
1/4 c. chopped green pepper
1/2 c. water chestnurs if desired
Mix then add to dry ingredients:
1/2 c. mayo
1/4 c. milk (or thin to desired consistency)
1 to 1 and 1/2 tsp. curry
Chill. Serve on lettuce. Serves two.

Death Comes Silently - Review by Martha A. Cheves, Author of Stir, Laugh, Repeat; Think With Your Taste Buds; A Book and A Dish

Annie was struck by the weariness evident in his broad face. He was Billy, big,
brawny, and muscular, but Billy without his customary equanimity. Tight lines
marked the corners of his eyes, bracketed his generous mouth. Instead of a
jacket and slacks or a suit, his usual dress for work, he wore a navy pullover
and jeans. His blue eyes had a lost look. "I know you support me, but that
isn't what matters at this point. There's a dangerous killer out there who will
remove anyone seen as a threat. Right now Henny is safe. Jeremiah's arrest
will reassure the killer that she doesn't know enough to be a danger. As for
the rest of you" - he looked at Annie, Emma, and Laurel in turn - "don't even
think of trying to investigate." Annie felt a deep twist of disappointment.
"Jeremiah's innocent!"

Annie Darling is owner of Death on Demand, a mystery bookstore. She is also a
volunteer for Better Tomorrow, a charity shop that offers groceries, clothing and
other needs for those in financial binds. Due to a scheduled booksigning for
author Emma Clyde, she switched days with Gretchen Burkholt. This switch turned
out to be fatal for Gretchen when she found a note in the pocket of a jacket
that had belonged to Everett Hathaway. Everett's body had been found two
weeks earlier floating not far from his overturned kayak. An autopsy listed
drowning due to unconsciousness as a result of hypothermia as the cause of
death. According to the voice mail messages from Gretchen to Annie's cell
phone, the note she found leads her to believe his death wasn't an accident but
murder.

There are three people who would benefit from Everett's death. His much
younger wife, his nephew who wants to manage the family advertising business and
his 16 going on 21 year old niece who wants to run her own life, with her own
money. So which hated him enough to want him dead? Could Annie be wrong and
Jeremiah is the guilty party? Or was Everett's death actually an accident and
has nothing to do with Gretchen?

I can't get enough of Author Carolyn Hart's books. She has entertained me with
all of her Death on Demand stories and I simply love her Bailey Ruth ghost
stories, which I hope she writes more of soon. With all of her books Hart
combines love, humor and a 'whole lot of mystery' making each page flip by
quickly to see what clue the next holds. You can't help but love this author.

Thursday, April 26, 2012

CRY into the WIND - Othello Bach, Author

This delicately flavored dish is a winner every time. Unlike regular spaghetti, this dish is light and so tasty that no matter how much you make, every bite is eaten. If you make it for friends and neighbors, be sure to hand them the recipe at the same time; otherwise, they will hound you to make it for them again and again.

Author Othello Bach

FIDEO – (Mexican Spaghetti)

Pronounced: Feh-they-o

1 c. stewed tomatoes, slightly chopped

2 c. chicken broth
1 c. water
1 pkg. Fideo vermicelli (found in Mexican food section of market)
1 onion, minced
1 can chopped green chilies
2 tablespoons of olive oil
Garlic to taste

Brown vermicelli in a small amount of oil. Add garlic, chilies, onion and tomatoes. Stir in 2 cups of broth plus 1 cup water. Simmer 8 to 10 minutes, until vermicelli absorbs liquid, but do not let it cook dry. Serves 6.

Option, for complete meal: add 1 chicken, boiled and cut into bite sizes pieces.

CRY into the WIND – Review by Martha A. Cheves, Author of Stir, Laugh, Repeat; Think With Your Taste Buds; and A Book and A Dish

‘The shovel of the backhoe came down and for the next several minutes, the stranger dug a trench in the field. When he had finished, a gaping hole about six feet wide and twenty feet long lay before us. The pile of freshly scooped dirt called fiercely to my 8-year-old brother Thurmond, who couldn’t stay out of it. He tried to run up it and only slipped and slid because it was so loose. The rest of us simply stared. When the digging was finished, the man drove the backhoe onto his trailer, hopped into his truck, and pulled it up next to ours. He and Daddy unloaded our headboard and dresser, set them on the back blade of the backhoe, and tied them in place with rope. Without another word, the stranger climbed into his truck and slowly drove on down the road. Momma didn’t even try to blink away her tears. Eyes wide open, fixed on the trench, the tears flowed, uninterrupted. She didn’t even look away when Daddy said, “I’ll be back later with a tarp.” Clinging to Gordon, her skirt whipping in the wind, her hair blowing curls around her head, she just stared. Don and Mason glared at Daddy. I was six and had no idea what was happening and didn’t understand their menacing faces. Daddy turned and left. As the truck’s engine faded into the wind, I realized that I was looking at our next home, and I couldn’t have been more pleased. This was a thousand times better than living in the truck. In fact, as far as I could see, this was the greatest place anyone could live. Like rabbits! Sliding into our house and burrowing beneath the earth.’

CRY into the WIND is the childhood/teenage life of author Othello Bach. She was the oldest girl and the middle sibling of seven. When her father wasn’t crating them up and running from the landlords he was out drinking away his week’s earnings while she, her brothers and sisters and mother fended for themselves. The ‘home’ described above was one he created for them in a field. He never lived in the hole in the ground but spent his time in town going from bar to bar and woman to woman.

Tragedy is something Othello as well as her siblings grew up with and knew very little of anything else. The ultimate disaster hit when their mother died and the kids were put in a orphanage in Oklahoma and then another one later in Texas. The trials and tribulations experienced by not just these kids but other kids in the same situations is something I could never have imagined. From the abuse - sexually, mentally and physically – while living with their father, to the same abuse in the orphanage, I personally don’t know if I could have handled it. It took and takes a very strong person to endure what these kids went through. In CRY into the WIND, Othello tells and expresses it all, allowing you to feel not just her own pain but the pain of the other children too. She takes you through the lives of those who made it and those who didn’t. My question is – how can anyone make it under the circumstances these kids lived through?

I’ve never read a book quite like CRY into the WIND. It took me back to my own childhood when I was in 1^st grade. We had a student, much like Othello’s and her brothers and sisters. He came from a very poor family and it showed in the clothes he wore and the shoes he didn’t wear because he had none. I can remember feeling so sorry for him. He had six toes on each foot and the other kids called him a freak, telling him he should be in a circus. The teachers weren’t much better. They allowed the kids to make fun of this little boy. Me? I just stood back and did nothing. Now I feel bad for not trying to either befriend him or stand up for him.

CRY into the WIND shines a lot of light on the way life of the poor was like in the 40s and 50s. Is it still like that today? Most of us will say no but I bet if we really opened our eyes and took off the blinders we might discover that some things never change. Read the book. It will make you more aware of your surroundings as it has me.

Friday, April 13, 2012

The Ocean and the Hourglass - Dan O'Brien, Author

Traditional Beef Stew

(An O'Brien favorite)

3 lbs boneless chuck roast, cut into 2-inch pieces

3 tbsp vegetable oil

2 tsp salt

1 tbsp freshly ground pepper

2 yellow onions, cut into 1-inch chunks

1/4 cup flour

3 cloves garlic, minced

1 cup red wine

3 cups beef broth

1/2 tsp dried rosemary

1 bay leaf

1/2 tsp dried thyme

4 carrots, peeled, cut into 1-inch slices

2 stalks celery, cut into 1-inch slices

3 large russet potatoes, peeled and cut in eighths

fresh parsley to garnish (optional)

On medium-high heat, add the vegetable oil to a large heavy pot (one that has a tight fitting lid).

When it begins to smoke slightly, add the beef and brown very well. Do in batches if necessary. Add the salt and pepper as the beef browns. Once browned, remove the beef with a slotted spoon set aside. Add the onions and sauté for about 5 minutes, until softened. Reduce heat to medium-low, and add the flour and cook for 2 minutes stirring often. Add the garlic and cook for 1 minute. Add wine and deglaze the pan, scraping any brown bits stuck to the bottom of the pan. The flour will start to thicken the wine as it comes to a simmer. Simmer wine for 5 minutes, and then add the broth, bay leaves, thyme, rosemary, and the beef. Bring back to a gentle simmer, cover and cook on very low for about 1 hour. Add potatoes, carrots, and celery, and simmer covered for another 30 minutes or until the meat and vegetables are tender. Taste and adjust seasoning. Turn off heat and let sit for 15 minutes before serving. Garnish with the fresh parsley if desired.

The Ocean and the Hourglass – Review by Martha A. Cheves, Author of Stir, Laugh, Repeat; Think With Your Taste Buds; A Book and A Dish

“What kind of book is this, Mr. Thompson?” his voice cracking as he asked. “Open the cover, Nicholas.” Nicholas met the librarian’s gaze and the old man’s trustful not restored his confidence. Opening the cover, the thick black hand cover gave way to cream-colored sheets that did not smell of musk or salt. They were blank. “The book is empty?” Nicholas was now thoroughly confused. The librarian, however, seemed utterly amused by the situation. “That is why there are rules, Nicholas. The book alone cannot work without the hourglass. And of course, it will not function with the imagination of one as special as you are.” “I don’t understand.” “Let me explain,” offered Mr. Thompson as he rose from his chair. Clasping his hands behind his back, he resembled a lecturer preparing to give a speech. “There are five rules to using the Book. They must be followed as I lay them down…

“The first rule is that you must always read the book alone. Never tell anyone that you have the book nor let anyone read it.”

“The second rule is that you must always read the book with the hourglass. Never are you to activate one without the other. Disaster lies in that course.”

“The third rule is that when reading the book you must never lose track of either item. If you were to be reading and the hourglass was lost, then you too would be lost. Keep both together.”

“The fourth rule is to always read the book as you wish it to be read. Never lose hope in the story, for you will be lost if you do.”

“The fifth and final rule is as important as the others, even more so if you believe as you should. You must never stop believing in heroes, Nicholas. You must believe with all your heart that good will prevail, that heroes will triumph no matter the odds.”

Nicholas Miles was from what has become such a common state of being for so many young boys and girls. He is being raised by a single mother who works hard but enjoys the bottle a bit more than she should. He has also become the punching bag for the bullies within his school. One morning, after his usual confrontation with these boys, Nicholas just couldn’t bring himself to go inside the school. This time the boys had torn his favorite comic book in half tossing it on the wet ground. Nicholas’ hero was the Mariner and the destruction of this book was the destruction of his comic book friend. With no money to replace the book, the next best place was the library where he could read until his heart was content as he enveloped himself with those who cared… the heroes of the oceans of a world far, far away. What he never dreamed of was Mr. Thompson introducing him to the very old, very special book and the hourglass which he had stored deep within the library waiting for that special person to come along. This book allowed Nicholas to write his own story and live it as it happened. Only he could create the beginning and the end and only he could decide the effect his decisions would have upon everyone involved in his story.

The Ocean and the Hourglass is one of the deepest books I’ve ever read. It awakens the reader to right and wrong in says that I personally have never give thought to. You may ask the question “what is right and what is wrong?” Easy answer? Maybe but “who interprets what is right and wrong?” We all know the 10 commandments, which are cut and dry in definition – aren’t they? What about the gray areas? Can we tell black lies, white lies and gray lies? Or are they all lies? Can we kill people to benefit the masses and it be ok? Are there black killings, white killings and gray killings or again are they just all killings? Are the killing wrong if they will save more then they kill? Are we in our current position by choice or by events and chance? Do events really play a role in the choices we make? As I said, The Ocean and the Hourglass is a deep book of thought. It started out as what I expected to be a children’s book but boy was I wrong as I got deeper and deeper into the thoughts it evoked within me.

Wednesday, April 4, 2012

The President Has Aids - Joan Meijer, Author

Shai Holzharts Curried Chicken

(I knew Shai back in the '60s. She was a Jewish Indian dancer and wonderful woman....She served this with rice and vegetables and was gracious enough to share the recipe. - Joan Meijer, Author)

12 pieces skinless chicken breast
1 pint sour cream
1 cup heavy cream
1 stick butter
1 cup slivered almonds
4 tablespoons curry powder
1 teaspoon white pepper
2 teaspoons salt

Stew all together until the chicken is completely cooked all the way through and falling apart about one hour.

Thicken gravy with

1 tablespoon corn starch
mixed in 3 tablespoons cold water.
Serve on large platter of white rice decorated with lightly steamed broccoli....Serves 6

The President Has Aids – Review by Martha A. Cheves, Author of Stir, Laugh, Repeat; Think With Your Taste Buds; A Book and A Dish

Sure glad nothing bad happened to you, Sir,” Metcalfe said, easing the older man back against the comfort of the leather seat. “Press’ll eat it up,” Ripley laughed. “I bet it’ll help my poll numbers.” He coughed and a gout of frothy, bright red blood spilled down his chin and a spread in a widening stain over the front of his light blue shirt. The look, on Metcalfe’s face was that of pure horror. He rapped on the window between the front and back of the limo, “Bill! Eagle is down. Eagle is down.” The President looked confused. Even though he was aware of the codes in which his Secret Service spoke, he could not figure out what was happening. He knew he was Eagle, but he wasn’t down. Down meant trouble and he wasn’t in trouble. “Hand me a tissue would you Joel?” Harris Ripley said, preoccupied with the fact that he could feel something like spittle running down and tickling his chin. Annoyed at being soiled, he dabbed at his chin with the tissue. Blood smeared across his jaw, but he was still unaware that he had been shot.

Harris Ripley is the president of the United States. While leaving a the Washington Hilton Hotel after giving a speech to the UAW, a lone gunman opens fire at Ripley as well as several others within the group protecting him. Secret Service Agent Joel Metcalfe literally throws Ripley into the limo and lays on top of him acting as a human shield. But unknown to Metcalfe nor the President, it’s too late. The President has been shot and neither realize this until after the limo pulls out heading for the Whitehouse.

Political reporter David McLaughlin was at the Hilton for this disastrous event in history but instead of being in a position to report he was in the nearest bar and had no idea as to what was taking place right before him. Instead of firing him, McLaughlin’s publisher moved one of his most brilliant reporters to the Obit section where he runs into Dr. Reginald Hotchkiss. Dr. Hotchkiss is not only the husband of McLaughlin’s ex-wife and step-father to his daughter but also a doctor of hematology. He has requested that McLaughlin call him later. He has some disturbing news that he feels must be made public. The meeting never takes place. Someone gets to Hotchkiss before McLaughlin.

The name The President Has Aids is a giveaway as to what the story builds up to but… the build-up is worth the read even if the title does give it away. The events and actions that take place to cover up the fact that The President Has Aids keep the pages turning. But who is behind this action? Is it the Vice President? The Surgeon General hopeful? The President’s wife? Or is it the President himself? And how did the President contract Aids? I had my own suspicions and couldn’t wait to see if I was right.

The President Has Aids is a very well written book that kept me hanging on to every word.

Tuesday, March 27, 2012

Talon, come fly with me - Gigi Sedlmayer, Author

Hungarian Goulash – serves 4

(a Gigi Sedlmayer favorite)

800g Beef shin (cut into chunky cubes, seasoned with a little salt and pepper)

600g White Onions (sliced into rings)

1 pc Red Pepper (cut into small cubes)

3 pcs Tomatoes (cut into large cubes)

3 Tbsp. oil

1 Tbsp. Paprika

1 clove garlic (chopped finely)

1 tsp. Marjoram

1/4 tsp. Cumin seeds

2 Tbsp. Tomato Paste

1 Tbsp. Flour

1 litre Beef broth (from cubes)

1 pc Lemon Peel (from half of lemon)

Some Tabasco

Method:

1. Wash the meat, cut into cubes and season with salt and pepper.

2. Cut the onions in half and then thin rings.

3. Heat the oil and put the onions in the oil until they are glassy. Add the meat cubes and let it roast.

4. Mix the paprika, pepper pod, garlic, marjoram, cumin and tomato pulp. Add to the meat.

5. Roast at high heat. Add the flour, stir well and then the broth.

6. Add the tomatoes and the red pepper.

7. Close the saucepan and let the meat braise for 1 ½ hours on a low flame.

8. Season the goulash with paprika, Tabasco, lemon skin and salt & pepper.

9. Tastes better the next day. Add some sour cream for a creamier flavour.

Happy cooking!

My website:

http://www.writersportal.org/Gigi

amazon.com

http://www.amazon.com/Talon-come-fly-Gigi-Sedlmayer/dp/1921578726/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1317276412&sr=1-1

my Blogspot

http://maticatalon.blogspot.com.au/

Talon, come fly with me – Review by Martha A. Cheves, Author of Stir, Laugh, Repeat; Think With Your Taste Buds; A Book and A Dish

The male condor spread his huge wings and hopped to the ground. Matica had to jump clear, out of the reach of his huge wings. Instead of flying off, as he normally did, he kept standing, turning around and looking at her. Matica’s eyes nearly popped out of her sockets. He’s so huge, she thought. Standing stock-still and not folding his wings to his body, the bird blinked and waited for what Matica would do. Since nothing happened for the next few minutes, the bird tilted his head and grunted. Matica interpreted it as: what now? His mate screeched from the sky in surprise. Matica couldn’t move. She was frozen stiff with fear and her face was as white as a ghost. The bird looked way bigger on the ground than he had looked on the branch. He folded his wings very slowly to his body now as if he knew he might frighten her, then he made another sound. Matica felt so small and thought: Will he kill me? But no, I’m alive. He can’t kill, just like Dad said. Matica gasped for air and her pink colour came back into her face. She was amazed that this had really happened and she wondered: What should I do now? I think he’s afraid of his own boldness, and so am I. He’s watching me. I should move, do something. After all, I told him to come down…but he’s so big.

Matica and her family moved from Australia to a little remote village called Pucara which is about twenty kilometers away from the Andes in the northern part of Peru. Matica’s parents are missionaries to the Peruvian Indians who spoke little or no English. Through her father Crayn, this has started to change.

Matica has a medical problem that prevents her body from growing to its normal size. When they first moved to Pucara Matica was five but her body looked as if she were only two years old. Even though Crayn had explained this disability to the Indians they still thought she was odd or even possessed by an evil spirit. They were so afraid of her that they refused to let their own children play with her. This left Matica alone and lonely. To solve her lack of friendship, Matica took to the sky, making friends with a pair of Condors.

When I started reading Talon, come fly with me, I knew nothing about the Condors. After reading Talon, come fly with me, I had to appease my curiosity by looking them up on the internet. They are large birds weighting from 20-23 lbs. with body lengths of 50” and wingspans of 9-10 feet. They mate for life and live 50 plus years producing 1-2 eggs every 2 years. They can fly up to 15,000 feet at speeds of 55 miles per hour. And they are on the endangered species.

Matica’s story of befriending these birds, helping them rescue their egg from poachers and then the actual raising was a story that took my breath away. Only a child such as Matica can see the beauty in an animal that everyone else calls ugly. And only a child would have the tolerance to do what had to be done to keep ‘her’ birds surviving. This is a beautiful book for all ages, especially for kids.

Saturday, March 24, 2012

Creative Cooking for the Global Kitchen - Chef David Jean Marteau, Author

Duck Carpaccio and Poached Quail Egg in a Tea Scented Broth

(David Jean Marteau's all time favorite recipe/idea, that he created here for a VIP)

For the tea sented broth:

8 cups cold water

1 duck carcass, chopped

1/2 med. onion chopped

1/2 cup chopped carrots

1 Tbsp. whole black pepper

sea salt, to taste

2 English breakfast tea bags

For the qual eggs:

2 cups water

2 tsp. white vinegar

6 quail eggs

For the duck carpaccio:

1/2 lb. small duck breast, trimmed

1 Tbsp. sea salt

1 tsp. finely chopped thyme

To make the tea sented broth, place the cold water in a medium-size soup pot over medium heat and add the duck carcass with the onions, carrots, black pepper and sea salt. Bring to a boil at first, then reduce the heat to low and simmer for 30 minutes. Add the 2 tea bags and simmer for another 5 minutes. Remove from the heat and let it rest so that the solids settle, and then gently strain the stock into a large bowl, making sure you get only the clear stock, and not any solid particles.

To make the quail eggs, crack them one by one into a cup to make sure they are fresh. Fill a small skillet with water and add the vinegar. Bring to a boil and then reduce the heat and add the quail eggs. Poach the eggs for about 2 minutes, making sure the yolks remain soft. Lift the eggs out of the pan with a slotted spoon and place them in a bowl of ice-cold water and then set them aside in the refrigerator.

To make the duck carpaccio, gently rub the duck breast with the sea salt and the thyme, then set them aside into the refrigerator for about 30 minutes.

Once you are ready to serve, bring the tea sented broth to a boil. Remove the quail eggs from the refrigerator. Remove the duck breast from the refrigerator and wash thoroughly under cool running water to remove all excess salt and thyme. On a small chopping board, cut the duck bre4ast as thinly as possible and place them directly onto the serving plate. Add one quail egg into each plate. Place the hot tea sented broth into the individual tea pots and pour it gently on top of each plate. The duck and quail eggs will finish cooking with the hot broth. Yield: 6 servings.

Creative Cooking for the Global Kitchen – Review by Martha A. Cheves, Author of Stir, Laugh, Repeat; Think With Your Taste Buds; A Book and A Dish

Lunch is served. Our first course will be Saffron Soup with seafood, beautifully served in a whisky glass with a side of spicy mayonnaise and a simple rustic garlic bread. Next will be a pan fried, breaded goat cheese cake with fresh lettuce and a nice lemon olive oil vinaigrette, garnished with caramelized walnuts and a cherry tomato. For the first main course, you will have a wonderful cod fish on a bed of beef truffle sauce (yes beef sauce with fish is amazing). For the second course, a nice roasted beef tenderloin with a red pepper coulis, served with snow peas. And finally for dessert, a small tiramisu in a chocolate cup and strawberry mousse.

A meal fit for a queen?! Well the queen didn't actually have the pleasure of enjoying this delicious meal but the Princess of the Nederland sure did. This is just one meal prepared for celebraties by David Jean Marteau, Executive Chef of the Parkyard Hotels and Catering in Shanghai, China. This award winning chef has been cooking and traveling around the world for over 20 years. From being the sole Executive Chef in charge of the food for ALL of the soccer teams during the 2008 Olympics in China, Chef Marteau has cooked for Halle Berry, Queen Latifa, Jacques Villeneuve, Robert Carlyle, Yao Ming, Liu Xiang and even the U. S. President George Bush (senior) and ex-governor of California Arnold Schwarzzenegger.

Chef Marteau started cooking in his grandmother's kitchen at the age of 9 and hasn't stopped. His knack for 'marrying' foods that most would never consider is bringing him fame, as with his beef sauce served with cod fish. And now he has blessed us with a cookbook full of simple dishes that will fit just about anyone's taste.

When I started looking through Chef Marteau's cookbook Creative Cooking for the Global Kitchen, I couldn't help but think about my own book Think With Your Taste Buds. This is also what Chef Marteau is trying to teach us to do with our cooking. If it sounds like something that might be good together, try it. You have nothing to lose and possibly a lot to gain.

Some of my favorite recipes from Creative Cooking for the Global Kitchen are Risotto With Grilled Chicken. I love Risotto and I love chicken so this fit my taste buds perfectly. Chef Marteau's Clam Chowder is rich in flavor and oh so creamy. And his Hazelnut Vinaigrette is to die for. I have recently bought a bottle of Hazelnut oil with no idea as to what I would do with it. This recipe solved that lttle problem for me. I'm really anxious to give Chef Marteau's Broccoli and Shrimp Soup with Almonds a try, as well as his Creamy Bread Soup made with stale bread. This book has opened up more recipe ideas for me to try and as I do with all of my own cookbooks, Chef Marteau offers suggestions for ingredient changes as well as tips. This is a must have cookbook!

Thursday, March 22, 2012

Southern Superstitions - B. J. Robinson, Author

BJ's Strawberry Shortcake

(First direction: Be sure you don't let

some man knock it out of your

hands while your delivering it)

1/2 cup light butter or margarine

1 1/2 cups sugar

1 1/2 tsp. vanilla

2 1/4 cups self-rising flour

1 cup milk

2-3 eggs

1-2 pints strawberries for mixture

strawberries for toppping

Whipped cream of your choice (I use light Cool Whip)

Stir margarine to soften and gradually add sugar. Cream together and add the vanilla. Beat eggs. Add ingredients and mix. Fold strawberries (washed, drained, sliced or mashed) into batter. Grease two round cake pans or use spray. Bake at 375 degrees until done. When it’s lightly brown and you can pull out a toothpick clean, it’s done. Let cool and remove from pans.

Note: Some people may opt to leave the berries out of the batter and just use them as topping, but I like them in the cake for true homemade shortcake. Also, some may like a white icing, but I only use the whipped cream topping.

Eat and enjoy.

Southern Superstitions – Review by Martha A. Cheves, Author of Stir, Laugh, Repeat; Think With Your Taste Buds; A Book and A Dish

Tears filled June’s eyes, as she watched the strawberry fields become lakes. They sat on their front porch and looked across what were once their strawberry fields into an immense span of nothing but water as far as the eye could see. Still, Andy refused to leave the farm. “If the river gets too high, we have the tractor and the dump truck. We’ll be able to ride out on one of them, if it gets to the point where we have to leave. God will spare us. Our berry crop may have gone under, but we won’t have to leave our farm. Taking a loss on the strawberries is heartbreaking, but we can claim the loss.” June spoke in a firm voice as though she dared Myrtle to say different as her mother took a seat in the porch rocker. Andy leaned back in the swing and placed an arm around June’s shoulder. “Ed told me the people loaded onto the National Guard truck for evacuation endured a hot, cramped, long, tiring ride, as well as unbearable sights. They were jam-packed into the back of the truck like sardines in a tin can. The truck continuously stopped to load other occupants, making the progress to higher ground slow, to say the least. Homes and businesses were flooded with water up to their roofs in some areas. People could only hope and pray the homes they left behind would not end up the same way.”… “I heard about it on the news,” Myrtle interjected. “A bulletin informed people about the different locations. I told you we’d have bad luck from that black cat. It was bound to happen sooner or later.”

Andy and June have known each other since they were kids attending the same school. June had always had a crush on Andy but never knew he had one on her too. They have finally been brought together due to him being a strawberry inspector/grader and June and her mother Myrtle being strawberry farmers. It became a match truly made in Heaven.

On their way into town to have their strawberries inspected and graded, a black cat crossed in front of them. Myrtle, being the superstitious person she is, declared bad luck wasn’t far behind and she was right when Andy downgraded her strawberries leaving a bad taste for him in her mind. Andy on the other hand, decided he wanted June and the only way to have her would be with her mother’s consent and blessings. To receive these he would have to endear himself to her. This task actually became fairly simple since Myrtle had always been disappointed that June wasn’t the son she had always longed for.

Growing up in the Georgia, I know how stubborn superstitious people can be and no matter what you say they will always cling to their beliefs. Myrtle was like that. She was a God fearing, religious woman who believed that everything happened for a reason known only to God but she also believed that a lot was pure luck – good or bad. In Southern Superstitions June does everything possible to convenience her mother that luck has nothing to do with life, God does. Myrtle, on the other hand, blamed the flooding on the black cat. She also blamed everything else that happened over the years on that same black cat. But when tragedy really struck bringing an unplanned separation of June and Andy, Myrtle finally understood that only God will listen to our prayers and supply us with the ‘luck’ we need to survive.

This is such a beautiful story of love, compassion, life, strength and belief. It takes a strong person to endure what June went through and still keep her faith and belief. May we all have the same trust in God that June had.

Wednesday, March 21, 2012

A Book and A Dish e-book

Did you know that you can help feed the animals for $.99? When you buy your copy of A Book and A Dish through Amazon or Barnes & Noble you're helping with the care for Tilly's Tale Rescue Shelter. All proceeds from the sale of A Book and ...A Dish will be used to help pay for food, care, housing and medical expenses for Tilly's Pack. Don't have a Kindle nor Nook? No problem. Amazon offers a free download for your PC allowing you to order A Book and A Dish for 99 cents and have it sent directly to your own computer. Now, what do you get for your $.99? Hopefully you'll find your next book to read as well as your next dish to cook. A Book (book reviews) and A Dish (the author's favorite recipe). Great buy for a dollar!

Saturday, March 17, 2012

My Enemy My Love - James Walker, Author

Creamy Leek Croustade

(A James Walker favorite)

Part 1:

6 oz. (175g) fresh wholemeal breadcrumbs

2 oz. (50g) butter or margarine

4 oz. (100g) cheddar cheese, grated

4 oz. (100g) mixed nuts, chopped

1/2 tsp. (2.5 ml) mixed herbs

1 garlic clove, crushed

Part 2

3 med. sized leeks

4 tomatoes

2 oz (50g) butter or margarine

1 oz (25g) 100% wholemeal flour

1/2 pint (284 ml) milk

salt and pepper to taste

4 Tbsp (60 ml) fresh wholemeal breadcrumbs

Put the breadcrumbs in a basis, rub in the butter, then add the remaining ingredients from part 1. Press the mixture into a 11 x 7", (28x18cm) tin. Bake in the oven at 220c (425f, mark 7) for 15-20 minutes, until golden brown. Meanwhile slice leeks and chop the tomnatoes. Melt the butter in a saucepan. Saute leeks for 5 minutes, then stir in flour. Add milk, stirring constantly, then bring to a boil, reduce heat to simmer. Add the remaining ingredients of part 2, except the breadcrumbs, and simmer for a few minutes to soften the tomatoes. Check seasoning. Spoon the vegetable mixture over the base, sprinkle with the breadcrumbs and heat through in the oven at 180c (350f, mark 4) for 20 minutes. Serve at once. Serves 4.

My Enemy My Love – Review by Martha A. Cheves, Author of Stir, Laugh, Repeat; A Book and A Dish; Think With Your Taste Buds

“I am sorry to burden you with my troubles,” Beatrice said, catching her breath as she did so in an effort to keep calm. “Nonsense, my dear, what are friends for. You must stay the night with us. There is enough food, I’m sure.” Claire looked at Brigitte as she spoke. “You can help me prepare supper tonight, can’t you?” It was more of a demand than a request. “Of course, Mama.” She looked once more at Beatrice and couldn’t help thinking how badly this awful war was treating her. One of her son’s blinded for life, the other still serving at the front presumably, her daughter heavily pregnant with a bastard child and God knows where, and now her husband arrested for the kind of offence that could well result in his execution. It was little wonder that she was in tears when her once so secure world was rapidly crumbling around her. Not for the first time she decided that the evil Boches had much to answer for, given the misery they were visiting on so many innocent people whose lives they were trampling underfoot. Then she thought of her letter to Friedrich; it was enough to make her want to laugh. “This war is making fools of us all,” she mumbled to herself.

Aubert and Beatrice Guilloux, along with their two sons Antoine and Philippe and daughter Cosette live in the countryside of the French city of Lille. Aubert, with Philippe as his accountant, has a successful tannery business that has allowed him to provide everything needed to make his family happy in all of their desires. Their estate consists of their own home as well as cottages for some of the servants, a stable full of horses and through Aubert’s ability to manage money, rental property for yet another income. Things couldn’t be better…that is until WWI started and the Germans invaded France and took over Lille. Aubert and his family were required to move into one of the cottages giving the house up to the German officers.

Cosette had led a fairly sheltered life where her family supplied her every whim so moving into the cottage did become quite a change for her. Their horses had been taken over by the Germans so her love for riding and jumping had come to a stop. She, nor anyone else in the family, was allowed to go near their old home. All she had left to entertain her were walks to the lake. But these she found were quite dangerous as three German soldiers captured her with the intent of rape. Her rescuer turned out to be a German officer that caught her attention as well as her heart.

My Enemy My Love is another of those books that I almost didn’t read. I enjoy reading some history but have never enjoyed reading anything written about WWI or WWII. It’s always given me a ‘dark’ feeling about life during this time. But, as I’ve stated before, I will read at least the first 50 pages of any book before declining. My Enemy My Love turned out to be another of those books that I just kept going after the first 50 pages. Yes, it still gave me my ‘dark’ feeling but it also showed me the strength people find deep inside themselves when faced with the dangers of war and injustice. I find myself wondering if I could be so brave. Could I risk my own life to help my country? Would I hate ALL of those that brought this pain upon my world or would I look at them as just doing what they are told and must by their own leaders? Could I actually love one of them knowing that if found out I would be considered a traitor even by my own family? Through My Enemy My Love, Author James Walker has given me many mixed emotions and feelings making it difficult to answer any of these questions for myself. This is truly a great book that took not only a strong imagination but an awful lot of research. See, other than the main characters, most of the other characters are real and went through what he epics within this writing.

A message from the Author - The book was dedicated to my wife but perhaps I should have dedicated it to my grandfather who was still suffering from the physical and mental impact that the Great War had on him more than 50 years after it ended. I also have a German great-grandfather , which has influenced my perspective on the two world wars, and a love of French history which made the research a pleasure rather than a pain. My other grandfather, who died before I was born was an 'old contemptible' at Mons in August 1914 and a cavalryman to boot, so I have watched the successful war film War Horse recently with some emotion knowing that he was caught up in the madness of sending horses against machine guns!

Wednesday, March 14, 2012

In Memory of Author Linda Broughton

In Loving Memory

In Memory of my sweet Linda

(by David Broughton)

My sweet love, now you're gone forever from this earth, but never from my heart and soul. It wasn't supposed to be this way, if I had my way, we'd have taken the final step of this mortal coil together, as we did most every other step through this earthly life.

Now I'm sad, not for you, for you are now free to be what I always knew you were, an angel of Love. I'm sad for me, and what I shall miss. Not just the big things, but simple things like folding sheets together, working as a team, like we often did in many things. I'll miss my companion, my best friend, and my lover.

I'm angry, not at you, but at the conductor that left me off that train to Gloryland with you. I would have been happy to ride in the caboose. We always traveled together, I wanted it to stay that way even on that final trip.

Feelings that cannot be named rack my body, as tears fill my eyes. Thoughts of "what if" cloud my mind. I feel guilty, what did I do or not do that could have prevented this separation? Was there anything I could have done? I know this not.

I'm lonely, for you were more than a lover, you were my companion, confidant and best friend, so I lost not one but four in one. I shall miss you always, though somehow I hope to find a way to put it in a pocket to keep for private moments, so that I can do whatever job I was left behind to complete, for when that's done, I shall be with you again, for we are, and will forever be soulmates. I loved you with all my heart, the best I knew how to love. You taught me how to love, and how to receive love in return. Love is infinite, never ending. Your capacity to Love was unfathomable. No amount of time or space can put true love asunder. Linda, I really do hope you know how much you were loved by me, and everyone you met. Farewell my sweet, until we meet again in the golden sky.

Side note of explanation to the readers: The "ride in the caboose" refers to a small gift she bought me one Christmas that had much sentiment attached. It was only a simple plastic caboose, but the reason she gave it still moves me. We were sitting at a railroad crossing early that summer, waiting for a train to pass. I happened to mention that I missed seeing the caboose on the train. She remembered that, and put a note with the toy caboose, "So your train will always have a caboose."

The Last Goodbye

Wednesday, April 13, 2011 will forever be acid etched into my memory as the hardest day I've ever had to face. This was the day I had to say that last goodbye to my beloved Linda, my wife, companion, best friend, and lover for nearly thirty years.

According to her wishes, I had to arrange for her cremation. Not only did she not want to be in the ground someplace, she didn't want to burden me with the outrageous expense of a fancy funeral, though she was worthy of a royal send-off. Of course, I couldn't just make the arrangements over the phone, and not take the opportunity to say goodbye, even though in my head I know that body is just an empty shell, I could not so much as imagine letting her go and not saying the things I had to say (they will remain private.)

After some delay by the coroner's office returning the body, I needed to be at the funeral home by six in the evening. Near the funeral parlor is a big grocery, where I stop to buy a single red rose. I gave her a single red rose when we first dated, and throughout our time together. This time of year, it's still bright and sunny at that time, allowing me to use my sunglasses to hide my bloodshot, baggy, tearful eyes from the rest of the world.

I watch carefully, looking for the funeral home, just when I think I must have missed it, I see it. I guide the truck into the lot, park and reluctantly step away from the safe haven my pickup truck provides. After two or three deep breaths to keep my composure, I walk to the front entrance. Ron, the man I'd been talking to on the phone, greets me gently.

There is always the infernal paperwork to get out of the way, so Ron gives me the choice of doing it first, or after I say farewell. Knowing that once I've said my farewell, I'll be in no shape to consider paperwork, I decide we should do that first, I'm also thinking it gives me a bit more time to ready my mind for what will be the hardest thing I'll ever do. Ron shows me to a conference room, I'm aware of the table and chairs, but not much else in the room as he gently guides me through the paperwork, signing where necessary.

While he files the paper work, Ron sets me up with an ice cold Coke, and a paper towel, then leaves me alone. At my request, he takes the wedding band from her hand at my request. I want to put it on a chain to wear around my neck. Ron gets me the ring, and gives me a just the right amount of time to face up to what I have to do. Sure I could just walk away now that the paperwork is done, but the man I am couldn't do it, no way.

I don't have a clue to how long I spent with my bride, how many tears were shed, or exactly what was said. I wouldn't make it public if I did. With Ron's help, I took a lock of her hair, for no particular reason that I can think of, but something inside wouldn't let me not do it. Now I'm in a more confused state of mind, I want to, to run away, but I also want to stay, to spend every more moment possible with the remains of my loving wife. I turned to leave, but instead grabbed another tissue, turned back kissed her head, and said my final goodbye. Ron shows me out, and at my question points out the restroom.

After some time in the rest room, splashing cold water on my face, I get it together enough to go out to my truck. I get in, but don't start it, I just sit there in a daze. I try to call my friend in Kansas, she has a way of calming me that nobody else can do. She doesn't answer, so I put the phone down, shake hands through the window with Ron, minding my manners as my Linda would have wanted. I drive a few blocks, before the cell phone rings, I can't answer it, I'm trying to drive, I'm in a daze and all thumbs, I drop the phone on the floor. I leave it there until I can pull over to talk to my friend. She takes the time to talk to me for a while, just hearing her voice is calming, though it doesn't take the pain away, it allows my mind to focus better.

I had to do some other things, like give most of my wife's clothes to a thrift store operation where the profits benefit orphaned or abused children. I know Linda would have wanted that, she insisted we shop there and help out as much as we could.

The drive home is pretty much a mystery to me, though I do remember stopping once to take a call from one of Linda's daughters, by her first marriage. All I can remember of the drive home was the tunnel vision and going so slow people behind me would honk when they couldn't pass. Thirty-four miles seemed like a thousand miles in a dark tunnel.

When I get home, I try to eat, but can't get down much, I try to talk to friends online or by phone, but can't get the one I really need to speak with, the only one that can calm me. Soon, I take off my outer clothes, collapse on the bed, my mind and body are exhausted from days of little or no sleep. Soon, I fall into a sleep more akin to passing out from the emotional overload. Four hours later, I wake and find myself writing this down. Why I must, I haven't a clue, self-therapy, I suppose. Oh, by the way, I did find it odd that we were married on the 13th, and I said my last farewell on the 13th.

Please, do me a favor if you can, reach out to help a child, in any way you can. Many times some attention alone will make a big difference. Read a story, help a children's charity, do but what you can feel good about, help me honor my Linda in that way.

The Last Goodbye, a poem to my Lost Love

Ninth of April, the very worst day

My angel has gone on her way,

To God I must stand and say,

Why take my love away?

Now it's a forever goodbye, no reprieve.

I must question exactly what I believe.

If I get to meet the Father someday,

I'm certain I'll have a lot to say.

I must say goodbye to an empty shell.

I feel like telling God to go to hell.

To take my love away is wrong.