Popovers For a Birthday (or Two or Three)

Here's the thing of it, popovers are very easy to make.  So, really, apart from burning them, the only real downside is that they take so blasted long in the oven.  This is why I found myself trying to quietly whip up a batch Saturday morning -- the birthday of yours truly.  I put all the ingredients in the food processor and stepped out onto the deck, making sure to close the door tightly behind me.  I then plugged the processor in and loudly whirred to my heart's content.  (I also do this when the small girl is still sleeping and I need to grind coffee beans.  Works like a charm, too.  Now, if only I could come up with a trick of silencing the damned microwave, we'd be in business.)

Anyway, I plonked the popovers in the oven, and then dashed to the computer with my blue-light and large cup of coffee in tow.  And I sat and waited.  And waited a bit more.  When it was getting closer for the timer to go off, I started causing a bit of a racket -- just to wake everyone up.  After all, it was going on 9:30 and we had a very busy day ahead of us.  Michael needed to yell at the telly for the Army/Navy game (Go Army, Beat Navy!, which clearly did not happen...), and we needed to load ourselves in the car and drive to the hospital.  My oldest sister had twin boys the day before -- weighing in at 4lbs 11oz each.  They are teeny-tiny little things, born a whole month early, and they remind me exactly of baby birds.  Well, apart from their legs, those look more in the manner of little frogs, if you must know.

Gougères et Kir

Oh my goodness, I love Dorie Greenspan.  Actually, I adore her.  Her new cookbook, Around My French Table, just came in the mail last week, and I've been poring over it.  I kept saying her name over and over to myself, and wondering why it sounded so blasted familiar.  Finally I put my finger on it: she wrote Baking with Julia, of course!  If Emilia had been sitting with me then, she would have said, 'A-doi, mama!'  (Yes, it is true that our Little Tomato could point out Julia Child in a line-up.  We are civilized, after all.)

Anyway, as I was saying, I've been reading this new cookbook and marveling all the while.  Dorie Greenspan is a great food writer.  She is so very readable -- and likeable -- that her new book makes me want to cook everything in it.  I actually laughed out loud (that would be LOL for the younger generations) when I read her introduction.  She writes: 'I returned home to New York City, assured my mother that I loved her even though she'd made the mistake of having me in Brooklyn instead of Paris, and proceeded to devote the rest of my life to remedying her lapse in judgement.'  Ha!  I remember accusing my mother of the same thing ages ago, yet not quite so eloquently, I can assure you.

Another thing that caught my eye in the introduction was the picture of Dorie in her kitchen.  She is standing, in a pair of rather pretty shoes, in what appears to be a one-butt-kitchen**.  That's right -- her kitchen is not some huge expanse.  Instead it is small, well-appointed, and only meant to fit one butt at a time.  I'm guessing this doesn't bother her as I'm assuming said kitchen is in the heart of Paris.