Recipe: Mamma's Sweet Potato and Apple Casserole

So Thanksgiving is coming up soon and as it is my absolute favorite Holiday, I've decided to devote the next several recipes to Thanksgiving Dinner Favorites. At our house, we always had a ton of people for Thanksgiving. I grew up in the boonies and very often we had family and friends who came to stay with us for the week as it usually coincided with the first week of rifle season. My Mom is an excellent cook and we always had TONS of different dishes for Thanksgiving dinner. My Grammy taught my Mom to make this and it was always my favorite side dish. I would eat seconds and thirds at dinner and then happily gobble up the leftovers for breakfast the next day. The mix of sweet potato, savory spices and tart apples is a combination you must experience for yourself. I look forward to it every year and no Thanksgiving would be complete without it.

Ingredients:

Sweet Potatoes- 3-4 large

Granny Smith Apples- 5-6 peeled cored and sliced into wedges

Slivered Almonds- 1 Packet

Margarine- 1/2 stick

Brown Sugar- 1/2-1 Cup (adjust to your preferred level of sweetness)

Cinnamon- to taste

Nutmeg- to taste

Pumpkin Pie Spice- (optional substitute for cinnamon and nutmeg) to taste

Also Need:

Large glass or Disposable Baking dish approx 9x13

To Prepare:

Preheat Oven to 375*

First boil whole Sweet Potatoes until they are tender but not 100% cooked, leave them a bit firm as you will finish cooking them in the oven. Cool and then gently remove the skin. Slice the Sweet Potato in thick chunks about 1/4 inch. Leave in circle form. Next lightly grease the baking dish with margarine and or cooking spray to prevent sticking. Place Sweet Potato slices in bottom of the pan, 1 layer thick. Next do a layer of Apple slices. With your fingers, pinch off small pieces of margarine and place on top of the Apple slices. Crumble part of the Brown Sugar on top. Sprinkle a small dusting of Cinnamon and Nutmeg and a coating of Slivered Almonds. Repeat this process until you have used up all the ingredients, finishing with a topping of Brown Sugar, Margarine, Spices and Almonds. Place Casserole into hot oven for approximately 45 minutes-1 hr or until apples are soft. Check periodically to be sure that it does not get too brown. Cover with foil to keep in the juices. Remove and let sit for a few minutes to allow the juices to thicken up a bit. Serve hot and amazing. Also Yummy cold as Leftovers if it lasts that long. Serves 5, or one very determined me:).

We made it!! So why am I so sad?

So my little man turns 6 months old today. 6 months... I can barely believe it. The time has flown, well flown and dragged somehow simultaneously. When I was pregnant I set my goal to exclusively breastfed him until 6 months as the WHO recommends and not to introduce solids (or anything else for that matter) a second before that. Not as easy as it sounds. I've dealt with everything from having to check out of the hospital AMA 2 days after having my stomach butchered because the Doctors were going to feed him formula against my wishes as "a baby that big cannot possibly survive on breast milk alone", to pressure from my In-laws to feed him oh pretty much ANYTHING else, to a bad latch that we didn't fix for a good two weeks of bleeding, cracked, blood blistered nipples, to serious supply issues, to getting past pumping in an office at work where there was practically a revolving door of people walking in and out, you name it we experienced it.

And we got through it. 6 Months... It's just flew by.

It wasn't always easy, some mornings I would be sitting in the chair, the pump on one side, the baby on the other, barely able to keep my eyes open after working all night, but still needing 2 more bottles to have enough milk for the next shift, pumping sometimes for an hour or more, trying to extract just a few more precious drops. But then there were the moments that made it completely udderly (yes, yes pun intended) absolutely worth it. Sometimes he reaches up and pets my face or twirls my hair in his little hands as he is eating, or the Tyrannosaurus growls and birdlike squawks right before he throws himself at the boobie after not seeing me all night, or the way he hums to himself as he is falling asleep, his tummy full of milk. I wouldn't trade those moments for a million dollars, not even for all the money in the world.

For the last few weeks the little man has been literally throwing himself at our plates, fists frantically trying to grab food out of our hands (and sometimes our mouths) and despite wanting to delay foods a little longer, I know he is ready to start eating solids. Tonight we will give him his first real food. I am thinking either a steamed carrot or a chunk of Batata (like sweet potato), I haven't decided. We are practicing Baby led Weaning (see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Baby_led_weaning) and I am so looking forward to seeing his face at his first taste of "real" food. Despite this, a part of me is really, really sad.

It's hard on me being a working Mom. I had always wanted to stay home with my babies for at least 6 months after they were born. Unfortunately life got in the way and I had no choice but to go back to work only 2 months after he was born. It's so hard for me to leave him, despite knowing that his Babushka and Tchyochya (Aunt) spoil him rotten and dearly love him. I admit I have pangs of jealousy every time he breaks into a huge grin when they come to pick him up, his little arms reaching out to them. A piece of me wishes he would cling to me, even just for a moment, acknowledging that I am Mommy, and that is my trump card. As much as I know that it means he is happy and well adjusted and confident, it is still hard. The nights that I work someone else comforts him when he is sad, rocks him to sleep, sings him lullabies, kisses his tears, tickles his chub. I know I can't get those moments back. It hurts me a little inside when I hear how much he just looooves so and so or such and such. Breastfeeding was just mine, I didn't have to share it. Yeah someone else has to give him a bottle when I am gone, but it is MY milk. I made it, and sometimes I have to work damned hard for it. Only I could do that for him, that I didn't have to share...

Now things are changing.

I'm not the only person in the world who knows how to steam carrots, or peel a banana. Other people are more than capable of putting an ear of corn or a chunk of potato on a tray for him to grab with his little fists. My chunk of tomato will taste exactly the same as the chunk of tomato that his Tchyochya fixes him. I can't help but feel a sense of loss, a moment of sadness mixed in with the pride that my little man is growing up.

I know I have to let go, to let him grow and be the wonderful amazing little man that he is. But I can't lie, sometimes I just want to freeze time and scoop him up and just mush my face into his neck and smell him for oh, the next ten years or so. I know I will still breastfeed him, for as long as he wants, whether thats another 6 months, or another year, or another three years. But I know that as time goes by, the times he will need to nurse will become fewer, and those incredible, wonderful moments that we share will get farther between. Yes, there will be other incredible wonderful moments, but I am already feeling a sense of mourning at the idea of introducing solid food. I can't imagine how I will feel when he decides to wean himself completely.

I am so proud to have made it to 6 months, I would love to go back to that sorry excuse for a Hospital and do a little I-told-you-so dance on the desk at the Nurse's station in front of all the Doctors who told me it wasn't possible. I am amazed at how something that at times seemed so clumsy, so painful, or tough has become so effortless. A dance of sort, the motions so fluid it feels like it's choreographed, a routine built upon night after night of him in our bed, tucked against my body, one of his little hands on my chest, one reaching behind him to touch his Daddy. A rhythm that has grown over time from scooping him up the second I get home from work, nursing him when he's hungry, when he's tired, when he's hurting.

I know that I am giving him so much more than just milk. More than antibodies, nutrients, sustenance. I am literally giving him a part of me.

I am just not sure how a carrot can replace that.

Perfect

Yesterday as I was walking from the train station to the bus station on my way home from work I ended up behind a young Ethiopian man about my age. He was blind and using a cute yellow lab as a guide dog (made even cuter by the fact that he had closely trimmed the dog's fur, but left a pom-pom on the end of his very waggy tail). I followed him for several blocks, nearly the entire distance between the two stations. I noticed several things that honestly made me believe in the good in people again. At first I watched him, fascinated by his amazing trust and confidence in this animal, guiding him on a very narrow sidewalk next to a busy highway. As I got closer, I heard him speaking to the dog as they went along. The sweetness of the conversation melted my heart. As they were walking the young man was chatting away to the dog in Hebrew, "Yes Charlie, that's a good boy, here we go, no fu fu Charlie, not for you, lets go we have a big day today." and the dog was doing amazing, guiding the man around obstacles and people and only occasionally getting off track and distracted by an interesting smell, a trash can, an alley cat, only to quickly pop back on duty, gently nudging the young man around obstacles.

As we approached an intersection, I prepared myself to hurry ahead and help out if needed as Israeli traffic is crazy and people tend to be a bit pushy. The intersection was a series of three lanes with medians in between, each one had a different light none of which were in sync with the others. About 10 feet before the first intersection an older woman appeared at the young man's elbow, barely touched his arm and navigated him through the first intersection, and then like some sort of choreographed ballet, he was sort of passed along hand to elbow over the next 3 blocks or so, negotiating intersections and other less than desirable terrain. Not alot of words were spoken between the young man and his "helpers" but it was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen. Whoever landed at his elbow at the correct moment simply touched his arm and led him through. It was really something. This young man was so independent and so lighthearted (his banter with his dog really warmed my heart) and I was so impressed. I am not sure I would have that sort of strength and outlook on life if I were not blessed with sight. I was really inspired, not just by him, but by the type of parents that it would take to raise a child with a "disability" to be such an amazing independent adult, one that can confidently negotiate Israeli traffic and the Central Bus Station in Tel Aviv, something that I find difficult and somewhat overwhelming even on a good day.

It made me think back to a video I saw once on YouTube about a man, Dick Hoyt who started participating in triathlons with his extremely "disabled" son Rick. (see similar video here http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=64A_AJjj8M4&feature=related ) He literally pushes, pulls, and carries his son through these races. The thing that stuck in my mind so strongly was at one point the camera did a close up to the look on Ricks face as they crossed the finish line. Pure unadulterated joy. Turns out that despite doctors telling his parents to institutionalize him, that there was nothing going on in his head, Rick graduated from a public highschool, graduated from college, and has participated in something like 60 marathons and 6 Iron-mans (probably more by now) with his father. Makes me kind of wonder what is stopping me.

I was so amazed at the dedication as a parent that this took. To take a child with such an extreme physical "disability" and really give him such an amazing fulfilling life. To believe in him despite what the doctors said, to pull out all the stops, give your everything to make your child's life better. THAT'S being a parent. Parenting is not just having a baby and getting them to their 18th year in one piece, (although that really isn't as easy as one would imagine given the Little Fat Man's perpetual need to crawl off of beds and bite extension cords, well, at least crawl off of beds though I am sure the extension cord biting is in our near future) it's taking your child, no matter what they look like, what is "wrong" with them, what little thing makes them different from other "perfect" children and recognizing how truly amazing they are, how absolutely perfect they are, and making sure every minute of their lives that they never doubt that fact.

When I was pregnant I was scared as all parents are, that my child might be born with something "wrong". I was not so much afraid of the "disability", but of whether or not I would be strong enough to be the kind of parent that my child would need me to be. To raise my perfect child in a society that can only see "disabilities", differences, looks. I did not know if I had the strength to get past my own vanity (which I admittedly have a lot of) and be able to love my child no matter what, and to make them truly see themselves as the beautiful amazing little creature that they were. When our little monkey was born, we were blessed, despite his traumatic entrance into the world there were no major complications and other than a small heart murmur that healed by day two, he was a healthy baby. At our 2 month check up however, the Nurse at the Tipat Halav (baby clinic) noticed that his fat folds on his legs were asymmetrical. It had never crossed my mind that this was an issue, after all, my fat folds go every which way;). Turns out it can be a sign of a birth "defect" in baby's hips that apparently is fairly common but left untreated can cause a moderate to severe limp into adulthood as well as other problems such as premature arthritis etc.

It took us several months to get to a specialist for an ultrasound and it turns out, our little man did have the birth "defect". They gave us a brace to put him in 24 hours a day, minus butt changes and baths, for a month, and told me under no circumstances to go all Jewish Mama and take it off of him and the problem should be corrected. My husband looked at me and said "Boy, he read you like a book didn't he."

The brace basically makes his little chubbo legs stick out to the sides like a sumo wrestler (we now call him Sumo Sam, like Sammity Sam, minus the Tobasco, plus Soya) and apparently holds his legs at such an angle that it promotes the growth in his hips/pelvis that the cramped conditions in my belly prevented. With any luck, this will do the trick and he will be 100% at the end of the month. Our Little Man, Lord love him, hasn't minded the brace at all, though he does enjoy taking it off now that he has figured out how Velcro works and that it makes a really fun noise (similar to the fun sound the Velcro on his diaper makes, though admittedly the brace has temporarily curbed his ability to take his diaper off in the middle of the night making the midnight golden showers a thing of the past, though I am sure still a part of our near future).

The hardest thing has been the stares from other people. He is such a happy smiley cute little baby and I had gotten used to everyone coming up to him on the street and gushing over him. Now when we go out we get quite a few points and stares. He is too little to notice, I am not. The inner Momma Bear in me has come out full force. I can't help myself. I want to educate people, to stop the ignorance, to make people see his perfection, not just a brace on a blob.

We were at a street festival the other night for Sukkot and there was a concert going on and I had the Little Fat Man in my arms dancing with him and there were several groups of people that would not stop pointing and staring at him. My husband literally had to hold me back because I was ready to go to war. Why can't people see what I see? The perfect little fat happy beautiful amazing snuggly stinky delicious squishy smart creature that he is. Why do they only see the brace?? It makes me sad about our society as a whole, that we can only see differences in people, recognizing them as something bad, wrong, less desirable.

The recent news stories coming from the States of a rash of teenagers and college kids killing themselves because they were gay and had experienced such severe bullying/mistreatment because of this that they thought the only answer was to take their own lives has really bothered me on a very deep level. Recently I had a heated discussion with a few of my In-laws, who will remain nameless in this case as I was fairly disappointed in their behavior. We were playing cards and it came up that the Little Man loves Women. My guess is that it is not so much Women that he loves, but food, and since food comes from boobies and boobies are generally attached to Women, the attraction is fairly obvious. Anyways I digress. A comment was made that "Betach who ohev yeldote, who Gever lo?!?! Ma who Homo??" which roughly translates to "Of course he loves girls, hes a boy isn't he?? What he's gay??"

I was a bit taken aback. I told said commentator that it didn't matter who he loved, boy, girl, whatever, as long as he was happy. This person then asked me (rough translation) if I WANTED him to be gay??? I said it didn't matter to me, gay, straight, trans, questioning, bisexual, a-sexual, whatever. I WANT him to be HAPPY, (okay truthfully I want him to be happy and bring me grand-babies, but I will settle for happiness if I have to decide between the two. Though I still want grand-babies...) I want him to know love and to be loved and to love himself. I refuse to tell him how to do this. It is not for me to decide, it is not my right. My job is to make sure he knows that whoever he loves, that it will not change my love for him (or my desire for grand-babies).

Our job as parents is not just to feed and clothe our children, to make sure they manage to get out into the big world on their own in one piece. It is to give them so much love that when the nastiness of this world we live in seeps through, the love we give them, the strength, the confidence, the knowledge that they are wonderful and amazing and truly perfect nullifies it. That when someone stares at them because they have braces on their teeth, or their legs, or glasses, or a stutter, or they decide to kiss boys and not girls (or girls and not boys), or in any other way don't fit into society's very tiny very exclusive very unrealistic mold of how people "should" be, that they know that they are in every way shape and form the most wonderful beautiful perfect creature that we have ever laid eyes on. With this knowledge, they will never doubt themselves. They will be able to negotiate Israeli traffic without their eyes, they will run triathlons and graduate college despite crippling physical "disabilities", they will manage to hold their heads up and love who they want to love despite heartless and brutal bullying, they will make a better society than we have today. The young blind man's parents must have done this, Rick Hoyt's parents certainly did this, I would like to think that the young gay victim's parents at least TRIED to do this, and maybe the inner Momma Bear in me is dong this as well.

This world WILL be a better place if we raise our children with love and with tolerance. Our differences, whether physical, sexual, mental, spiritual, or cultural do not make us better or worse, they simply make us different. We need different. This world today is so filled with images of "perfect" that we can no longer see the beauty in different. Maybe, because of us (though perhaps I should say despite us) our children can.

Two Steps Forward, One Step Back, Two Steps Forward..

Lets just say that when I was pregnant and planning how I was going to birth/feed/diaper/sleep with etc my baby, my In-laws were not exaaaactly thrilled about my plans. They were (and perhaps still are) firmly of the opinion that I was completely insane and probably going to ruin my baby in the process. It was their job to stop me and "save my baby". I endured 10 months of lectures and arguments based not on fact but that things like Pampers, formula, pacifiers etc were the "modern" way of doing things and why would you want to do things the "hard" way when the other options were so much "better"(cringe)? Blah de friggin blah.

My Mother in Law nearly did celebratory backflips when I was dragged to the hospital to have my baby ripped out of me (no not bitter there at all) as in her mind, being cut open was so much better than giving birth at home. She reluctantly tolerated my breastfeeding but was much happier when she had a bottle of Expressed Breast Milk to feed him because "how else will you know how much he is eating". She fussed about covering me up when I was nursing and stressed about the fact that we didn't give the baby a mutzets(pacifier) as "how else will she get him to sleep, he just wants tzitzi(boobie)". Somehow despite not knowing how much he was eating, or not having a plastic wanna-be-boobie in his mouth 24/7, he has managed to figure out how to grow, and how to sleep.

I simply had to learn to bite my tongue for the most part, in the interest of family harmony and because I really do love my MIL and know that she honestly believes what she is doing is right, no matter how wrong she is. I stubbornly persisted in doing what I KNEW was right, though sometimes it meant coming home to my husband and ranting for a good half and hour (or hour and a half) about well, everything. Lord love the man, he hasn't committed me yet.

5 months in. Still Breastfeeding. Still Co-sleeping. Still Cloth Diapering. Still no Pacifier. Believe it or not, our little Monkey is still alive and well and getting more fat and sassy by the day.

September is basically a month long holiday in Israel due to Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Sukkot and Simha Torah. There is alot of family dinner-ing going on and the baby is, of course, the star of the show. Last week, I went to a Barbecue in the woods outside of Modiin (a city about halfway between Tel Aviv and Jerusalem. The whole Fam Damily was there and since we were picnicking in the woods, I did not bring EBM as I had no way of keeping it cool, no way of heating it up, and frankly I couldn't really be bothered as I was having supply issues and it was a heck of alot easier for him to get it straight from the tap. About an hour into the meal, the Little Man decided that it was HIS turn to eat, and if I wasn't going to hand him my chicken leg, Boobie was a close second. I had brought a hammock and tied it up into the trees specifically to have a quiet place to nurse a bit away from the balagan (craziness) that is my family so I went there to sit down and nurse. Unfortunately there was too much going on around him, children playing etc, that he got distracted and just ended up biting me (OUCH) and fussing to sit up. So we took a bit of a break and played some more and finally I realized was really wiped out and HAD to have a bit of Boobie and some sleep.

By this point the hammock had been taken over by the young kids at the picnic and I really didn't have anywhere to go so I simply sat down at the table where everyone was eating and latched the Little Man on, bracing myself to fend off the swarm of meddling Savtas (Grandmothers) that would inevitably begin throwing blankets and fussing. Deep breath... Wait for it... Wait for it.... Nothing....

I was stunned. No one even blinked. No one tried to cover (smother) me, there wasn't so much as a pause in the conversation. No one. Even. Blinked. (And the crowd goes WILD!!!) I had finally nursed enough in front of my family that they realized it was going to happen regardless, that it was to damned HOT in this country to cover the poor baby with a blanket, that if they tried to do it, I was going to take it off anyways, and that it was a normal, natural, not harmful or icky or gross thing. I was so proud of myself that I just sat there grinning. WIN!!!

Not long after, the Little Man finished his nap and was propped happily on his Babushka (my MIL's) knee, doing his Stevie Wonder dance and singing to the crowd when one of the Savtas mentioned that we needed to give him a Mutzets (Pacifier). Seriously?? AT 5 months without one, you STILL think he can't possibly survive with a plastic fake wanna-be-boobie in his mouth?? I cringed preparing for a fight when again to my surprise, my MIL said "If they don't want to give him mutzets, then no mutzets.."

Insert Jaw drop here.

Admittedly I still have fears about my In-laws caring for the baby. Not because I think that they will hurt him or something like that (because I know that the sun absolutely shines out of his perfect little tushy in their eyes), but because our parenting views are SO drastically different that I fear they might do something I am vehemently against and simply not tell me.

Our newest hurdle is solid food. Little Man is now 5 months and change and here is it quite common to start baby on purees/rice cereal (blech) as early as 3 months but more often around 4. Hubby and I are planning on doing Baby Led Weaning (see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Baby_led_weaning ) with the Little Man and I am hoping to give him at least 6 months of exclusive Breastfeeding if not 7 or 8 depending on how ready he is for solids (which if you go by his pinwheeling arms during mealtimes, is VERY). The concept of BLW literally boggles the minds of my In-laws. Most of the people they know with babies his age are eating mystery goop out of a spoon by now and that is what he "SHOULD" be doing. I am TERRIFIED that one day they will bring him home gushing about how cute it was when they fed him xy and z. I am MORE terrified of serving the jail time in Israeli prison after I rip them limb from limb. But I digress...

I insisted that hubby explain to my MIL that it was our choice not to start the Little Fat Man on solids yet and that WHEN we started him on solids, WE were giving the first food, and the first food would most certainly NOT be mystery mush. To his surprise (and most definitely mine) she agreed. She admitted that her friends had told her that she should just tell us she is doing everything our way and then do it her way, be it Sposies, Mutzets, mystery mush, what have you. She admitted that she had considered it but had decided ultimately that it was our baby, and that while she did not always agree, that ultimately she would respect us and do it our way.

Again, Insert Jaw Drop here.

I am so proud of myself for sticking to my guns on what I KNOW is right for MY child. I wish I had had the strength to stick to my guns for the homebirth that I SHOULD have had, but at least I have not compromised on any of my other parenting choices. People are coming around. They see how perfect he is, how lovely and happy and fat and delicious. He is clearly not suffering because he isn't chomping on a plastic wanna-be-boobie or starving to death without fake powdered wanna-be-boobie milk. And in the future when we do decide to give him solids and when those solids are actually solid, normal regular people food, not mystery mush that maybe once was solid normal regular people food, maybe they will see then too that he will not somehow spontaneously combust and that OUR way really IS what is right for OUR Little Fat Man.

But for now, I am very satisfied with the fact that there will be no blankets, no more suggestions of wanna be boobie replacer, that maybe, just maybe, people are gaining faith in us as parents. That we ARE doing it right:).

Recipe: Hollandaise Sauce

Hollandaise is one of the 5 basic sauces in cooking, the others being Bechamel, Veloute, Brown, and Tomato. It is known as being very hard to get right, requiring a lot of patience and a sauce that absolutely cannot be rushed, but by G-d if you get it right, it's culinary perfection. My mother teaching me to make Hollandaise is one of my earliest memories. My Grammy taught her when she was a girl. Grammy's recipe is by far the best I have ever tasted, better even than any restaurant I've been to. Despite its rumored difficulty, I have managed to perfect my Grammy's recipe into a next to fool proof one. 9 times out of 10 it comes out perfectly and is amazing on Fish, Asparagus, Broccoli, Artichokes, Steamed Potatoes, Eggs Benedict, as a sandwich spread, on a spoon....

Ingredients:

Lemon- 1 whole large Lemon's worth of juice

Butter or Margarine- 1 stick (use either real butter or margarine, olive oil spread or Good Start imitation butter DOES NOT WORK!!!)

Egg Yolks- 3 large yolks (I find the best way to separate an egg is to crack it directly into your hand and let the whites slide through your fingers. Once separated make sure to beat the yolks before adding)

Salt- pinch or so to taste

Also need:

Sauce pan

Whisk

To Prepare:

Now firstly I will say alot of people will tell you you have to use a double broiler (which is basically a saucepan filled with water with a metal bowl floating in it) to make Hollandaise. You can do this if you feel more comfortable. I have in the past, my Mom and Grammy both did, but I do not have metal bowls now so I have learned to make it using only a small non stick sauce pan. They key is VERY VERY LOW HEAT. First set the saucepan on the burner with the stick of Butter or Margarine in it. I like to slice the Butter/Margarine so that it melts faster/more evenly. You want to melt it just to the point that there is no longer any solid but not to the point that it has gone clear. It should still be milky colored. Add Lemon juice and a touch of salt and whisk together. It should taste basically like lemon butter but a nice balance of both, if one or the other is over powering, add a bit more of the one that tastes less. Next add the beaten egg yolk. If I am using the Hollendaise as a dipping sauce, say for Artichokes or something and want a thicker consistancy, I sometimes add an extra yolk, but for a pouring sauce, 3 is fine. Now, in my family there is a running joke that you must first "Emulsify the eggs". This started one Thanksgiving when I was about 8 and I was at the stove making Hollandaise. My aunt (Mom's sister so therefore also trained by my Grammy) was over helping prepare dinner and as I poured the egg into the lemon butter mixture she ran SCREAMING across the kitchen and snatched it out of my hands. I of course was in shock and was like "what did I do??" She replied that I "didn't Emulsify the eggs" and had therefore ruined the Hollandaise. I had no idea what she was talking about as I had never done anything like that before and was subsequently crushed. Emulsifying the eggs apparently means adding a bit of the liquid Butter/Margarine and Lemon mixture to the egg and mixing vigorously BEFORE pouring it into the rest of the Lemmon Butter mixture instead of just pouring the egg straight into the pan and stirring like mad. I have made probably a hundred or so batches of Hollandaise since then and have never once emulsified my eggs and no one has died yet soooo.... Never the less, whenever I am cooking it with my Mom, one or the other of us always remarks on the fact that we forgot to emulsify the eggs. ANYWAYS. Add the beaten egg yolk to the Lemon Butter and whisk vigorously for several minutes over VERY LOW heat. DO NOT be tempted to turn the heat up. As the mixture warms it will begin to thicken. Again, DO NOT turn up the heat in attempts to make it thicken faster. This will cause the egg to cook to quickly and for everything to separate. You will know when it has separated because it no longer is this beautiful yellow custard, it will instead get little grains where the egg has pulled out and the butter will also pull away again. There is no turning back from there, you have to throw everything out and start over. Don't worry if it separates on you the first time, it happens to the best of us. Just grab another Lemon and start over. Once the sauce is thickened to your desired consistency, remove from heat and serve. This is best when it is served immediately so it pretty much needs to be made right before you go to the table, or as close to it as possible. It does not reheat well as it tends to separate when it is reheated. I always use leftovers as a cold sandwich spread, Hello Day after Thanksgiving Turkey Sandwiches!! So quick recap, LOW LOW heat, stir like crazy, and have a little patience. That's the secret, there you go:)

Recipe: Apple Pear Oatmeal Crumble

This is my fall back dessert as it is not difficult to make and it is always a crowd pleaser. I always make it around this time of year for Rosh Hashanah because of the apples and since it can be made Parve for those keeping Kosher which is great, and it doesn't take long to throw together. Since it is a crumble, it is much easier than the traditional apple pie because you dont have to deal with making the crust (something my Mom has made into an art form and I have never mastered). I love the delicate sweetness of the baked pears mixed with tart apples and the topping is almost like a giant oatmeal cookie. This reminds me of something the little old ladies back home would serve hot with ice cream. Ultimate comfort food.

Disclaimer: I mixed 3 separate recipes for this one and I always seem to make it a bit differently every time. You have to sort of feel out the topping, if it feels to dry, add more Margerine/butter, too wet, more dry ingredients. I have found if you are making this in hot humid weather (Good Morning, Israel), the topping tends to get to sticky. Topping should crumble, not goop.

Ingredients:

Tart Pie Apples- 5-7 large apples (I prefer something like Granny Smith) peeled and sliced. I do not chop them small preferring longer medium thickness slices as I think its prettier served that way and less likely to end up like mush.

Pears- 5-7 large pears. Try not to get them TO ripe as when they cook they get very soft. Cut them slightly fatter than the apples as they cook faster. By making them a bit fatter, they will be approximately the same softness when cooked.

Margarine/Butter- 1- 1 1/2 stick, give or take, at room temp (unless its Israel in the summer, then just softened)

White Sugar-1/2 Cup

Brown Sugar- 1 cup packed, 1-2 TBSP loose

Oatmeal- 1 cup Quick Oats, not the slow cooks.

Flour- 1 Cup

Baking Powder-1/2 tsp

Egg-1 large egg, beaten well

Cinnamon- 1 tsp (sigh, I have had to make this optional as my husband HATES cinnamon and has threated the Big D if I use it, or Celery or Coconut in my cooking... Yeah he's weird, thats another posting. I love it though so pre-hubby I used it liberally. Up to you.)

Vanilla- 1-3 tsp (I am a vanilla NUT so I use it in both the filling and the topping. Use at your own discretion)

Salt- A good pinch

Corn Starch- 1/2-1 tsp (optional)

Walnuts- 1/2 cup Chopped (optional)

Dried Cranberries- 1/2 cup (optional)

Also Need:

9x13 inch NON STICK or Throw away Baking pan (or otherwise large/fairly deep baking pan.)

Cookie Sheet (I have found that this sometimes bubbles over so to save your Oven, put a cookie sheet under it)

Mixing Bowl

Measuring Cups/ Spoons

Hand Mixer

To Prepare:

Preheat Oven to 350 F.

For the Filling:

First place peeled Apple/Pear Slices in a Mixing bowl. Add in Cranberries and or Walnuts if using. Stir together with 2 TBSP Brown sugar, 1 of the tsp Vanilla, and a dash of cinnamon if using until lightly coated. Also stir in the Corn Starch. The reason I use Corn starch is this ends up being very juicy and I found that the Corn Starch thickens up the juice just enough that it becomes creamy and not runny when serving. If you prefer a juicier filling, feel free to leave it out. Arrange Apple/ Pear slices in the bottom of the baking pan. Sometimes I get fancy and arrange them in a circular pattern from the inside out alternating layers. Sometimes I just throw everything in there, it doesn't really matter. The fruit will end up being taller than the pan but that doesn't matter as it cooks down.

For the Topping:

Cream Margarine/Butter with Brown and White Sugars until mixed. Add Egg and Vanilla and mix. Add remaining Dry Ingredients (Flour, Oatmeal, Baking Powder, Salt, Cinnamon) a bit at a time, mixing in between. Stop when Mixture becomes crumbly. Sprinkle and pat the mixture over the Fruit in the baking dish until everything is covered. I like to make it fairly thick so sometimes I make a bit extra of the topping so that I can get more of a fat cookie on top instead of a light crumble, (I'm not gonna lie, a fair amount of topping gets eaten raw too). Up to you.

Once everything is assembled, place on cookie sheet and put into the oven for 45 mins to an hour. Keep an eye on it and when the topping is nice and Brown, pull it out. I like to do a fork check to make sure that it is done all the way through the topping. If it is still a bit gooey, cover with aluminum foil so that it doesn't get to brown and put it back in the oven for a few more minutes. I like to serve this warm with Vanilla Ice Cream because, well that is Apple pie perfection. Delish:)

Recipe: 3 Minute Coffee Mug Cake

Yes, you read that right, 3 minutes. Well its actually about 8 with the measuring and mixing but holy potatoes, 8 minutes to ooey gooey chocolaty goodness?? Yes Please!! This recipe has been circling the internet for a while and it is really worth the 8 minutes. Try it, You can thank me later;).

Ingredients:

Flour- 4 TBSP

Sugar- 4 TBSP

Cocoa Powder- 2 Heaping TBSP (I kinda like mine a little over the top haha) This is baking Cocoa Powder, not like chocolate milk powder.

Egg- 1 Large

Milk- 3 TBSP

Cooking Oil-3 TBSP

Chocolate Chips- Small handful, optional (I laugh as write that, I mean seriously, OPTIONAL chocolate chips?? Who am I kidding??)

Vanilla Extract- 1/4 Tsp (splash)

Also Need:

Large Coffee Mug

Microwave

Stirring Spoon

Baseball Bat/ Tazer/ Guard Dog/ other method of warding off potential thieves

To Prepare:

Place Flour, Sugar, and Cocoa Powder into the Coffee Mug. Mix together. Add egg and mix thoroughly. Next add in Oil and Milk and mix thoroughly. Add "Optional" Chocolate Chips (hehe) and Vanilla extract. Mix. Place Mug in Microwave and cook for 3 minutes on High. Cake will rise over the edge of the Mug, don't panic:). Remove cake from Micky and let it cool for a minute or so. You can either tip it out into a bowl and scoop a dollop (or two or three) of Vanilla Ice cream on it or if you can't wait just grab a fork and dig in. Supposedly this can serve two, but that's what the Baseball bat is for;).