Taking Time

     Moving is never fun.  I've moved a lot in the past 6 years.  In fact, my current move marks number ten;  you'd think I'd be an expert by now.  I am more efficient, but it never gets any easier.  Stuff tends to accumulate, and since what I collect generally falls into the categories of Kitchen and Cookbooks, my loads are not exactly lightweight.
     Yesterday I moved quite a few of these heavy loads....one.at.a.time.  I must have looked ridiculous scurrying back and forth from the car, across the courtyard, to the front door of the apartment building.  And thanks to the cold I've had the last few days, I was producing quite the attractive wheezing sound.  I'm just grateful the weather here in Portland is sunny and beautiful right now.
     All this to say that getting home and cooking a warm and satisfying meal was precisely what my body needed.  I made a barley risotto with cara cara orange, arugula, crème fraîche, and toasted walnuts.  After sautéing the onion, shallot, garlic, and toasting the barley, I just pulled a chair right up to the stove while I added the liquid.  I turned on some music, grabbed my book, and for forty minutes forgot all about my list of packing chores as I slowly stirred my risotto.  There is something mesmerizing about watching grains gradually puff and become tender and creamy.  I love that I can listen to the bubbling of broth, watch simple ingredients transform into my delicious dinner, and suddenly feel totally relaxed. 
     I was nourished by this meal, in a way that eating a quick bite standing up in a restaurant never allows for.  I have neglected to spend that long cooking at home recently.  I've been letting another move across town stress me out, and this was all I needed.  A calm hour alone in my kitchen to put things back into perspective and remind me that taking the time to take care of myself is every bit worth it.  
      

A Love Letter to Pumpkin Rolls

     Yes, it is just the standard cake and icing roll that's in every Junior League and Betty Crocker cookbook.  They come in plenty of flavor combinations, but the pumpkin roll with cream cheese icing is the one I wait patiently for all year.  I realize I could make one myself, but then I'd have a whole cake in my possession...that's dangerous.  I have visions of the episode of Sex and the City when Miranda tries to throw away the remainder of a cake she has almost entirely devoured, and then just eats it out of the trash.
That could easily be me.
     So I did not make one myself, and I also missed out on this treat at both Thanksgiving and Christmas.  However, I requested that out of the slew of pumpkin rolls produced at the Crazy 8 Cafe over the holidays, one be tucked safely away in the freezer for when I finally made it back to Chickasha for a visit.  In the weeks before my arrival in January, I checked in on the status of my pumpkin roll multiple times.  I didn't want it to accidentally be served to paying customers....that would be silly.  They couldn't possibly appreciate it as much as me.
     Well, somehow my week at home passed by without eating the pumpkin roll.  (Perhaps because of all the other food I was eating- see previous post)  I was sitting at my mother's cafe only hours before my flight when I remembered my little bundle of joy and flew out of my chair to retrieve it from the freezer.
So, there I was, toting pieces of pumpkin roll across the country wrapped tightly in plastic and foil.  I was mildly concerned airport security might wonder why I had so much foil in my carry-on.  But all went smoothly and I had the perfect welcome home gift before I headed back to a week of work.
     Moist pumpkin cake, sweet and tangy cream cheese icing, crunchy bits of pecan, and the glory of the roll itself- cake and icing enjoyed equally in every bite.  Because to me, uneven proportions of components is the downfall of most cakes.  Picture used plates at parties- the icing and half the cake are gone, with half a piece of crumbled cake mushed all around and destined for the trash.  Not a problem here!  I ate each piece as slow as possible, scraping every morsel off the plate with the edge of my fork.  I was a pretty happy girl, and I had to make those bites carry me through to the end of the year.