Two Ways. And I don't mean an evening with Bill Maher,...the l'il dickens. Nosiree, this is with REAL ladies.
Life is full of hassles. And there are times when having to choose between two of anything is simply more than we can bare. Yes, I spelled that right. If it's something more than we can BEAR, then we buy both pairs of shoes.
Darling televangelist Joyce Meyer wrote a book "Eat The Cookie, Buy The Shoes". Oh, I quite agree.
But that one kid I'd like to thump like a red-headed step-child was always singin' 'bout how he wished he were an Oscar Mayer wiener. Weenie Boy! Yeah, that's him.
Choices,folks. We carry some strange baggage away with us from childhood. There was Grandma with a tin ear, singing her heart out in church about Bringing In The Jeeves. It scared the hell outta me. That wasn't singing. That was catterwailing ! Good God, whoever told that woman she could sing? ... Bless her heart.
Our childhoods were rife with Grimm's fairy tales, and very dark nursery rhymes about some little priss on her tuffet alongside the duffet of an impudent spider, and a mean old witch, deep in the woods, putting brother and sister up with lock and key for to eat them later, and some impoverished brood mare who didn't have the sense to choose a decent shoe to live in. Oh yeah, and Scotland's Burning. (What was THAT all about, anyway?) It's a wonder that we grow up able to make choices without fear of the Boogie Man slapping us around while The Powerful One watches over us and does nothing about it. ...
I was a serious child who found it difficult to believe in anyone. After the big fat lie we all know as Santa Claus, I became an unforgiving, unrelenting little bitch who vowed revenge on any and all who would treat her like such an idiot. I sat on Santa's knee for a photo op at a ritzy corner store, pulled off his beard and gave him the stink eye. And I still have photos from that, somewhere in the house. ... Mother left them to me.
So, who's it gonna be,...Santa Claus or Weenie Boy? More choices. Those two need to get gone. See, there's a lot in life that They Who Say just don't get. Here's a tip from your Uncle Erle: It is probably for your own good.
Don't'cha hate it when they say that?..They who say. Here we go again. (See last month's posting with they who say; faggela cupcakes dressed up in their big girl panties and their Dixieland hats, rolling their eyeballs in boredom's dismay... And Irv changed into Erle. These guys don't mess around!...Fucking cupcakes.)
Yep, we get there....
Senility will come as a blessing. Because I can't seem to forget that one pert piece of schooled programming so eloquently hammered into my brain. And that is, that, life is a trick question with multiple choices, but you are only allowed to choose ONE. Anything else is an incorrect answer to all of life's problems. And once you kick that puppy, your mother will cause Hell to freeze over to convince you that no matter what choice you make, it will be incorrect. And why? Because she said so, that's why.
My, how they simplify these things.
Sundays after church at Grandma's house were anything but simple. In they would twaddle, the same six Dutch guests who seemed to find it painful to speak in front of a child. So they spoke Dutch like a throat disease because they thought I couldn't understand it. I couldn't, really, but I was good at pretending I did; tight-lipped with eyebrows raised. I had two choices: act like a lady, or be a punk and get their stern eyebrow with the flared nostrils, and the dry cough from choking on the jelly roll. Never a smile from Lodi. I never liked that old, spotted man because he dared to sit in Grandpa's chair and smoked cigars. Old Sputum Chaw-Chaw...I feel a nursery rhyme coming on....
The women wore the same sensible shoes, Sunday after Sunday, and those shoes always looked brand new. Tall and taller, they grouped and straggled in, wearing smooth, white gloves and hats with netting to hide their sunken eyes, and perfectly pressed dresses of Sunday finery. Even us little kids had to wear Sunday finery. It was an act of respect, you see. They wore rouge like clowns with rosacea and thin lips grimaced with the teensy application of Old Lady Red. And oh how they would gossip and sniggle and poot. You could tell. They would raise an eyebrow, purse the woodpecker lips and nod in knowing with those wide, freckled eyeballs to feign disapproval of that shameless hussy next door...Oh, yeah, right. As if some young, flat-footed floosie with a floy-floy was hot to trot for Old Sputum Chaw-Chaw. Oohh, Baby! Just hack up that loughie and chew on it awhile. 'Cuz, Honey, it makes me WET. Come on over here and let me count those polka dots. ....
BUTTER-CINNAMON COOKIES, 2 Ways
Adapted from Grandmother Jeanette's ancient recipe for butter cookies.
note: I have yet to see this recipe anywhere else. Only three ingredients. Then I added the cinnamon to see if they would taste like cinnamon/sugar toast. Oh yeah!
2 cups plain flour
2 tsp. ground cinnamon
2 sticks unsalted butter, softened just enough to beat
1/2 cup sugar
1 cup slivered almonds
Powdered sugar, for dusting Fingers
1. Take butter from fridge, unwrap and empty into bowl of stand mixer, fitted with the paddle attachment. Let soften at room temperature for 1 or 2 hours. It should only be soft enough to be beaten with the paddle.
2. On medium-low speed, beat the butter until creamy. Add sugar and beat until light and fluffy up to medium speed, about 2-3 min., scraping bowl to incorporate all. Set aside.
3. In separate bowl, measure out flour and ground cinnamon and stir to combine well. Add this mixture to butter/sugar mixture in two increments on lowest speed. Mix ONLY UNTIL CRUMBLY, having scraped down the sides of bowl to mix all.
4. Remove bowl. With hands, mix the dough by squeezing together until dough forms a ball and bowl is clean. Squeeze just a little more for good measure. If your hands run hot, or the butter was too soft, or you over mixed with the paddle to past the crumbly stage, place bowl with dough in the refrigerator to firm for 1/2 hour. You will be rolling the dough into tight little balls for Fatties, and rolling out the dough to use a cookie cutter or a knife to make "fingers" for Faeries.
5. Preheat oven to 350F. Line four or five baking sheets with parchment paper.
6. Take one third of the dough and make small, tight balls the size of small walnuts, placing them 2" apart on lined baking sheets. Dip fork lightly into small plate of flour and, only once per cookie, press each cookie to sort of flatten. The sides will be fatter and slightly higher than centers, about 1/4". Take one third, each, of remaining cookie dough and form into disks. Between 2 sheets of lightly-floured wax paper, roll out to 1/8"-1/4" thick. Remove top piece of wax paper and using cookie cutter or small sharp knife, cut out oval-ended ladyfinger shapes (I made mine 4 1/2" long by 1 1/4" wide using a cookie cutter), and using a bent metal spatula, gently place on lined baking sheets about 1" or more apart, long ways, 3-4 cookies across. Sprinkle with slivered almonds.
7. Bake for 10-15 min., depending on your oven. Know your oven! If it is fan-forced like my Gaggenau, 10-11 min. is just right. You are looking for light golden brown. LIGHT, but golden. At "golden" the flavor sings!
8. Remove from oven and let cool for 10 min. Remove Fatties to racks, but leave fingers on sheets. When fingers are completely cool, sprinkle with confectioner's sugar using a sieve and small spoon, or a sifter. The more the merrier for it is sheer bliss that melts in a bite like sweet air.