Isabel Wolff

A lady who was my bus mate in Italy in October has kept in touch, as have many other bus tour members, but this one is a reader.  She has moved me in the direction of some very good authors.  Isabel Wolff is one of them.  I just finished three of her books: Shadows over Paradise which was very good, The Very Picture of You and it was good, then there was my first read which was A Vintage Affair and I like it very much.  Her other books on Amazon and there are many, but they don't seem to be much more than beach reads although I must admit I have not tried any of those.  I do recommend these three that I have listed, however.

Spring is just around the corner and I am trying to get in all my favorite stews and chowders before the season becomes too hot for them.  The showers and weddings are a bumper crop this season with at least four just in the spring alone. Then there is our grandson graduating from the University of Florida at the end of the summer, so we are flying down to Florida for several days of pleasure.

Andy has started tramping the yard.  He is ready to plant.  It is also good exercise.  He takes our one remaining dog and off they go for a good tramp.  Andy carries a rake in case the coyotes are coming for a visit.  Bella would be a snack that they would enjoy. I want another Yorkie. I miss a posse of dogs.

Good reading.

Dehillerin

If you read this blog you probably like to cook, collect antiques, deal in antiques, travel, or enjoying shopping. I am going to tell you about a cook's paradise in Paris.  You have probably heard of it, Dehillerin,  a gourmet cook's fantasy with devices that must be carried home for the American kitchen (although you can probably find every single thing in America) but where's the thrill in that? Also, the prices are better in Paris. Having first read about the whole batterie de cuisine in an American author's books on entertaining, I knew I must visit and revisit this shrine for cooks.  Dehillerin has been serving top-notch chefs for over one hundred fifty years and they never have had a sale.  Don't look for courteous treatment or advice either. Surprise.  This odd-shaped building is located at 18 Rue Coquilliere and the very address makes Andy shiver and his muscles ache because I only buy heavy stuff there for him to carry home--or so he says.

As you approach the store, really a warehouse with no elegance what so ever, you will see the large Gothic Saint Eustache church where Madam de Pompadour and Moliere were baptized and where Louis XIV celebrated his first communion.  Across from this landmark is a large park and playground.  That's where you will find Andy taking a nap preparing his body for the load that is to be forthcoming.

Sometimes while I shop Andy walks the brick pathway lined with restaurants of every kind to choose where we will dine that day. All have indoor and outdoor accommodations to suit the taste and season. Colorful umbrellas and potted plants dress up the street.  We have read the menus and meandered along this path many times while we decided where to have lunch or dinner.  Big iced trays of remarkable seafood catch our eyes and then we read about dim sum and duck a la Cantonese.  But, by this time we are really looking forward to something big and cold--never enough ice in either London or Paris.  We usually decide on the Chicago Meat Packers restaurant.  English is spoken and pitchers of iced beverages are passed.  We can let down our guard after days of posturing and pretending to understand French while we tackle huge plates of ribs or slabs of correctly cooked steak (as ordered) all washed down with frosty beer.  Something to look forward to, but first I shop!

I'm faced with every cooking device known to man as I stand in the doorway gazing at the bins of knives, choppers, clippers, and zesters.  A large whisk hangs from the ceiling the size meant only for display or the hands of a giant. There are mandolines that can julienne your little fingers off and tart pans that would have pleased the Queen of Hearts.  The cacophony of languages stuns the ear and everyone is speaking importantly of food.  I escape to the basement which is filled with La Cruisant.  I must have a piece of that although it is too heavy for a mule.  Oh, there are more tart pans shaped like flowers.  I have to have one of those.  I'm hyperventilating a state usually reserved for antiquing. Finally, I have the attention of one of the salespeople and he informs me I have too many items to fit in my bag (on wheels). Well, he had to make it work, the prices are half the price they are in America.  Shhh, don't tell the French.

I am not finished.  I leave the shop and make a sharp left going down a narrow street which dumps me into another street of dreams.  All cook and tableware, dried shiitake mushrooms, spices, vinegar, oils--I am gone way too long.  By now my bag and I are swaying side to side both worn and exhausted off to find Andy asleep in the park.  He wakes with start eyeing the bulging bag with chagrin. I am glad he slept, he's going to need it.

Full of lunch from the Chicago Meat Packers we decide to take a bus back to the hotel.  The French busses sometimes have a little stage to stand on the outside of the back of the bus.  There we were letting the wind whip us to a frazzle and the exhaust plug our nasal passages--never mind, we were in Paris and it was glorious.

Madam Yves Le Grand

One of the finest women I have ever met in France was Madam Le Grand. She worked, although she certainly did not have to work, for Colombelle three days a week in her shop in the Louvre des Antiquaires. I shopped there every trip I made to France.  It is so unlike most of the antique shops in Paris, very refined, very clean, and very aloof. 

Madam Le Grand was the exception.  she was as beautiful as she was hospitable.  Colette Le Grand wanted something to do after her husband died besides going to the Louvre over and over and over, seeing new things each trip.  Before she started working, however, she came to America for a total immersion course in conversational English.  The teacher fell in love with Colette and asked her to marry him. But, France was her home so she reluctantly refused.  Back in France she accepted the job of three days a week with Colombelle at the Louvre mall of antiques. I first bought from Colette after I had given her employer, Colombelle, my book called French and German, Dolls, Dishes and Accessories.  When Colette was in the shop three days a week the minute an American crossed the threshold, out came one of my books, (she bought them all some how) and a crusade was launched on my behalf.

I was alone on a trip to Paris during Desert Storm and decided to get a hotel near the place where Madam Le Grand worked, Hotel Regina...a movie As Good As it Gets was shown in that movie I believe.  It was a safe place although I must admit I traveled alone a lot carrying cash and I never once was afraid in either England or France. It was a winter trip.  I loved to go there in just that kind of weather.  Just brisk if one kept moving and I certainly did that.

Colombelle, the owner, found great things and many of them appeared in several of my books.  She had a good eye.  On this particular trip, she had a blue enameled French (toy) stove with St. Nicholas impressed on the top left burner surface. It weighed I'd say fifty pounds, Andy said thirty but then he was lifting it was he?  Not then. It was very expensive and really not my thing, but I knew people who would fall all over it and it would also look great in one of the next books. I kept going to and from the shop and on the last night, with only an hour before closing I decided to take one last look.  The trunks were packed and locked so I knew I would have to take it as a carry-on.  Luckily Madam Le Grand was in the shop and the owner was in the country when I hurried through the door .  I told Colette that if we could get the stove into the bag on wheels and if it coasted correctly up and down the hall, then I would take it.  We did, it did, and it became mine.  On the way back to the hotel I shined a few shins, but then the French are not litigious.

The next day I cursed myself more than once as I eased into my plane seat right in the midst of a rugby team from New Zealand.  The boy next to me was LARGE, sweet, and interested in everything about me.  He soon asked what on earth I had in the bag that he had heaved into the over-head compartment.  I told him to pray that it did not fall on anyone's drunken head during the flight. Since there is evidently no age limit for drinking in the air over international water the rugby team consumed more canned beer than I have ever seen.  They took a perverse delight in yelling, "Look Doris", we were all friends by then, as they smashed empty cans against their foreheads for my entertainment. My seat companion could not drink due to a queasy stomach, another pretty picture to contemplate during the 8-hour flight. I made friends with the entire drunken lot and this friendship came in handy when we reached American soil. They gleefully helped with the heavy trunks and boxes full of antiques. The heavier they were the happier the team was because we were all safe in the wonderful United States of America. 

Books:

I am reading Vintage Affair.  It is very good and a suggestion from a friend who knows I was an antiques dealer, collector etc.
You can read part of it on Amazon books to see if you like it.

June 22, 2011 party at Many Branches

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

July 4th...Party time, again.

I love it when all the Lechlers come together for a celebration of any kind. Everything is 'just all right' with them. They are happy to be with everyone and there is no friction or discord.(To make sure, however, I am steeping strawberries in Vodka to begin our long day and evening.)Maybe this will ease the way when we play Sequence and cards. Competition has been known to raise its bobble head every once in a while. That does not keep us from bringing out the boxes and boxes of games. We are always on the look out for board games of every sort. While people swim and play tennis and get sweaty or wet or both, we get hot and bothered over Sequence, a game we learned to play on the Alaskan cruise. Euchre (funny spelling, seems to me) is high on the list for many of us as well. I like all card games for sure, like Canasta and Bridge (although I do not like cut throat Bridge.) Every time a relative finds an exciting game, it is included in the fun. There is something for everyone, but high on the list is the food. We start the 4th this year around 11:00 because there is a long drive for those who must work the next day, so at 11:00 we have our first meal. At around 6:00 we have the closing meal. We used to get to the fire works some way, but the crowds are so big and the traffic is so awful, we miss it now days. We can hear it booming around us and the six dogs (some are visitors) go wild, but that is the extent of the fire works for us.

This year I am in charge of the meat, the wine, snacks and starters. I can't resist adding a few other dishes, but it is a relief to not have to do it all. Beth is bringing the corn on the cob, like four dozen or so ears. Corn on the cob and July make me think of the days at the Spook House--our summer place on the river. Andy worked at Battelle Memorial Institute and there was a man who grew great fields of corn. He'd allow Andy to fill our station wagon with corn and I mean fill it. My mom would have great pots of boiling water going out doors at the Spook House, waiting for our arrival. We had shuckers, destringers, boilers, cut off the cob-ers, baggers and coolers. It took all day. For the evening meal we would have sliced tomatoes, corn on the cob, and watermelon. We also had tons of tasty corn in the freezer for the winter to come. I miss those days and most of all, I miss my mother. Showing you a picture of the Spook House pleases me.

One tale makes me think of another: Joe and Glenda and their three girls would come to the Spook House at cherry picking time. We would grab big buckets and off we would go to the cherry orchard where we turned greedy, trying not to leave a single cherry for any other cherry poachers. Great low tables would be covered with newspaper back at the house and the pitting would begin... no child was spared. They knew their duty and for that day it would be pitting cherries.

I'd love to read about some of your favorite things to eat on this special day for our nation. Email me and I will post your recipes: dorislechler@aol.com

Picturing the Spook House opened up more memories. My former students reminded me that we camped out at the Spook House one week end. (One student ate so much he threw up going from one room to the next. Suddenly everyone was asleep, but me. I gagged all the way through clean up.) The next day it rained a little so we all walked down to the bar known affectionately as the Colonial Inn. We danced, played pool, and ate hand cut French fries. In this day and age we would have been in trouble, but luckily we had a preacher with us and he enjoyed the entire caper as well.

Antiquing in Paris intro

I have to write that Andy and I both liked Paris.  The next paragraph will lead you to believe otherwise.  We would have not gone back after the first trip had Paris not held many adventures which were evident even though we did not find it welcoming for several visits. Even after many many trips when I was traveling alone there were scary moments with everyday people at flea markets...like the cheesemonger who screamed and ranted at me because I picked up a wedge of wrapped cheese to look at the bottom to see the price.  I should have asked, first, to pick up the cheese...he, on the other hand, should have had the price where it could have been seen. It was very embarrassing and just one of the no-nos you might encounter. Don't pick up a flower in a flower market or stall or shop.  THEY pick out what you should have.  It is usually very nice when arranged by them, but you don't always get what you wanted in the first place. You are, however, allowed to point.

The first time Andy and I visited Paris was a disaster.  We could not wait to get back to London.  The City of Light was gray and mean and so was everybody we met.  It was a typical encounter between those who are Parisian and anything or anyone who is not.  But at that time we were young and full of ourselves thinking we could conquer and charm the population...or at least be able to enter the stalls in the largest flea market in the world. Several decades later we better understood the protectionism that prompts Parisians to hide their best shops in little cul de sacs, their best manners in their homes, their reasonably priced hotels on unfindable streets and their best antique shows along with their opening times a surprise.  They want to keep what they have in France.  But, the lure of the dollar, a penchant to spend, and the persistence of  blood hounds kept us searching until our schedule became full, our trunks became heavy and our booty became show worthy in America.

The year for us had begun in Paris at the world's largest flea market located at Porte de Clingnancourt.  The Irresistible smell of creperies never failed to greet us, no matter the time of year as we emerged from the Metro or stepped off the number 56 bus heading for the Marche aux Puces. The smell of the crepes made us long for American coffee and French antiques. (French coffee was not good then but is wonderful now.) 

With Montmartre a mile or so at our backs and the Marche down the street, we were happily sandwiched between the two for about eight hours of shopping.

By 9:00 the area is a hubbub of activity on Saturday, Sunday, and Monday.  There are those who say the important business is on Friday but we did not find this to be so.  I think the dealers shopped among themselves on Fridays.  Once you are off the bus, out of the taxi or up from the Metro take a minute to stand and enjoy the overall view.  Cafes and patisseries on one side of the street and flapping, colorful tents full of new merchandise to the west.  Move off going north on the east side of the street, under the overpass of the Boulevard Peripherique. After several blocks glance across the street to see the rue des Rosiers, the main street from which all markets weave and crinkle like the gathers on the band of a broomstick skirt.  Ignore the new bags, scarves, and rotgut candy.  Hurry instead across the street and duck into the first alley on the right. It is like bursting through the curtain of a one act play.  In front are the antique props for the weekly production set in the Marche Vernaison which is only one of the eleven crowded markets on four important streets housing nearly two thousand stalls.

As we shopped we got the cold shoulder and some of the dealers would not let us in their booths.  They would take a broomstick and bar their entrances.  This was the first trip to France and I was certain it would be the last.  However, some of the booths were open to us and we shopped like sons-a-guns.  As we moved along things got friendlier and friendlier--they had figured out in a hurry that we were there to spend and the word spread.  We never had a bit of trouble or a dab of rudeness ever again (there).

Well into our many trips Andy and I were in Marche Vernaison finishing up late one evening.  My husband took one allee to re-cover and I took another to make sure we missed nothing.   Meeting at the end of the alleys he mentioned seeing an Old Paris toy dinner set in this one booth.  He described it, but I thought not.  He said it didn't matter because it had just sold.  Turning to leave, I bumped into a shaky card table outside one of the stalls.  I looked down to see what might have happened and there sat a toy pots de creme set blooming like a rose in a junkyard.  I have never seen anything like it in my life.  Pink and white Old Paris porcelain cups with lids, each with a bent bud finial and each rested in its own ring on a matching, footed tray.  I looked up and a young dealer came forward.  I asked the price and she said I'd have to wait until her mother returned with the rest of the set.  By that time, Andy was searching for oxygen.  I had lost all color.  How much more could one collector take?  With a burrlike tenacity, I hung on to the set.  Meantime, rounding the corner a person of considerable size and a no-nonsense expression rounded the corner carrying the rest of the matching dishes. (The same set Andy said had just sold.) Taking in my condition at a glance and betting on my impaired judgment, she pronounced the price.  It was staggering, but my bad angel said I should have it...my good angel murmured agreement.  Andy paid the bill and led me away babbling and nodding and thanking her for taking my money.

Street market in Paris

Bury me near a Trader Joe's store

Two days in a row found me at Easton's Trader Joe's along with my great-granddaughter, her grandfather, Mike, and our dear Beth. I was there yesterday and found many new and interesting treats. But when three-year-old Madeleine
 was asked where she wanted to go today, she said Trader Joe's, so off we went with pleasure.  She is a great little shopper, usually with her own tiny cart, but since it was the weekend they don't allow the little carts because of the crowds.  Never mind, she placed her needs in the large cart and kept coming to mine to see what I had added. I had started potatoes to cook for potato salad before I left but had no idea the delicious things I would find to add a new dimension to this common dish.  Crisp new baby zucchini, multicolored carrots (roasted as soon as I got in the house barely getting my coat off first, gorgonzola to add to my homemade dressing, green onions  I could go on and on.  They even had baby multi-colored carrots Peas and asparagus finished off the potato salad. So, coupled with shrimp burgers (without buns) and potato salad a late lunch was presented. Even though I was there and filled a cart yesterday, I managed to fill it half-way again. One item was two more bottles of pinot noir I thought from France.  I do not drink American wine and not much wine period.  American wine gave me migraines, but to my amazement, unbeknownst, I had two glasses Friday night and thought the wine was very good. Pinot Noir Santa Maria Valley Central Coast, California (in very small writing) is my new favorite.  I have lots more to tell you about, but I must get on with my cooking.

Note: I cannot recommend the frozen lemon bars.  They are rubbery. They are a tiny bite-size which is nice and the lemon taste is good but that's it.

Antiquing

Today I was rearranging a shelf and found several pages of a book I was writing about antiquing in England and France.  I had traveled to do this very thing every time I had time off from my teaching job.  But, did I have a ninth book in me...probably not.  This travel activity had been going on from 1979 to 2005, totaling around one hundred trips in all and I felt I had had it with this particular subject. A new friend encouraged me to rethink it.  I am not doing a book, more like essays, but thought I would share some excerpts of my scribbles on this blog.  ( I had done a blog on the subject of antiques and my trips for a long time years ago, but have not shared these particular pages.)

Also, I want to keep copies of these essays for my children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren so that they would know me.

ENGLAND


I have to love a man who has a propensity for parades.  My husband is a real fan.  If he hears of one or sees one forming, he's there.  Andy and I were riding passed Hyde Park on a double decker bus on our way back to the hotel from the Camden Passage flea market when he spotted the Beefeaters with their be -plummed horses and surmised they were preparing to march. The only other person on the upper deck of the bus was a tosspot who was asked what he thought was going on in the park."Well, it's the queens birthday parade isn't it?" Andy had eagerly awaited the reply because he felt a parade in the air and on that assumption he tried to pry me from the bus. All the way back through the heavy London traffic he cajoled me for forty minutes to no avail. As soon as we arrived at the hotel he said he was going back to see the Queen.  No truer words were ever spoken.  In fact, he saw several hundred queens.  Andy had missed the Queen's birthday parade but unknowingly briefly participated in a gay rights shindig. By the time he realized that the couples were of like-gender, he was in the throes of the event.  When he got back to the hotel I expected this long dissertation about the  Queen's birthday parade.  Finally, in a pique, he confessed that he'd missed the entire birthday gaiety, but had encountered the same spirit in a different form altogether.

Harrogate

For some years I had heard about Harrogate being second only to London in antique merchandise.  Finally, on a long England holiday, we decided to take a train there to see what all the fuss was about.  The Queen was to be there that day as well, and since she'd been missed on every scheduled occasion, we were sure we'd have a combined treat.

Temporarily forgetting that all English trains are not bullets, we climbed aboard a milk train which has the duty of stopping whenever someone wanders near the tracks.  It was going to take forever to get there, but I contented myself with mentally listing all of the antiques I would find to crow about.  Either my list was too short or the ride was too long because my mind and eye started wandering.

The young girl sitting knee to knee within a nearly empty car had dropped asleep as soon as she hit the seat.  She'd had a rough partying evening, she said, and that had been her opening and closing remarks.  But there was one more set of interesting prospects to inspect. A prototype English country couple. A movie director could not have wished for a more classic pair.  He, the lord of the manor, was in brogues, knickers, and the obligatory tweed jacket with elbow patches. Never mind it was one of the hottest days on record.  His doting wife could not have been more accommodating had she lain in front of him as a footrest.  I always wondered what men did to get women to behave like that...  Andy wonders the same thing.  I just couldn't get my tongue out of my cheek as I watched the tableau being played out before my eyes.

First, the weather was thoroughly discussed for, oh, I'd say five ever-lasting miles.  Each stop was gone over until I had to brace myself from plugging my ears and crossing my eyes.  They found us equally interesting I might add, so I did have to refrain from doing American things like chewing gum, speaking in tongues, and throwing money from the train.  My tension level mounted while "Mother", as he called her, clucked and plucked imaginary lint from her man.  She couldn't keep her fawning hands off the old boy and he wasn't minding it a bit.  After finally straightening his three strands of hair for the last time, she decided to feed him. After taking each little item, one at a time, slowly and carefully from a hidden hamper, obviously bottomless, she unwrapped dainty three-cornered, crustless sandwich, spread his napkin across his ample stomach and allowed him to chew the food himself. The sandwich was the size of a dime, but she wanted to be there for him in case he choked. He took exactly five bites per sandwich---I alone could have put four of them in my mouth at the same time. He chewed each bite ten times. I felt myself slipping into naughtydom, when Andy, whom I had forgotten entirely exclaimed aloud...really loud, "Look at those sheep."Everybody did. Prying my eyes away from the afternoon tea party I looked questioningly at the pastoral view afforded all of us. "Which sheep, Andy?" What about them? "Well, they are obviously not like our American sheep!" He looked at me like I had lost my mind (which was about to happen anyway.) The pressure gave way to insane laughter which I could not stop.  It was like laughing in church wth God frowning at me.  I laughed on and on, and on. The girl across from our knees woke up, the ticket taker reexamined our tickets, and the couple forgot their repast completely.  It didn't help as Andy continued to explain the sheep's differences.  Never mind that he had never spent five minutes on a farm in his life.

Luckily, the train stopped, I thought to throw me off, but no, we had arrived in Harrogate.  People hurried from our car as though we were chasing them with New York knives; I laughed on.

Once more anonymous we set about tracking every single antique shop or fair that could be reached on foot.  There were plenty of them, but none held our particular likes.  We only bought one little glass tumbler, and, we missed the Queen to boot.  What a day!  If laughing keeps one young, I'll live forever.

"Do you want a drink before we get on the train?" Andy asked. 

Butternut squash

I was in Trader Joe's and spotted bags of cubed butternut squash and suddenly I craved a sweet treat of the squash bathed in a little brown sugar and a lot of pumpkin pie spices and melted butter.  Tossed together these two bags and their toppings went into the oven for around 15 minutes and there you go.  Delicious.  You could bag these and sell them for candy. LINE YOUR BAKING SHEET WITH FOIL BECAUSE THESE MAKE A MESS. I am sure you all have been doing this for years and I am just catching up--I always think squash is savory, not sweet, and that is the reason I have not done this before. I think this would be welcome on a Thanksgiving table.

Around nine Mondays until spring is officially here, but I think it comes early in March rather than the 19th.  It has felt and looked like spring for a month now, so bring it on.  We are ready. I have not gone out too much wanting to avoid the flu.  I am like a hermit with benefits; good books, the computer, cooking, Andy for company.  Who could ask for more?

Have you watched Escape to the Chateau on public television?  It is at 10:00 on Monday night here.  I love that show! This interesting couple bought a Chateau in France for around $250,000 euros...  Cheap for a 45 room Chateau with a moat, and seven out buildings.  Trouble is it was a wreck.  I have been watching them bring it back to life for two seasons.  I think you would like it too.  Give it a try. The good shows are making a slow return.  Where are the rest??? With all the talent at their feet, why not get going and produce quality shows?

P. S. I am politically exhausted!!!

Taste of summer

I am cooking from the supplies I have in the freezer and pantries.  Today I pulled out a large bag of last summer's peaches that had been cut in half and left with the skins on.  Now I did not really want to deal with this bag of delight, but I took a slice out of the bag and with thawing the skin just slipped off.  So, I tore into the bag, skinned them and popped them into a heavy pan with a tiny bit of sugar, some homemade vanilla and a good dose of Amaretto liqueur.  There was a little left in the bottle, so I just used it up.  There are two things I used up right off the bat. The peaches were so juicy that I did not need to add any more liquid, so I put the pot into the oven for about an hour or until it bubbled.  Then I put my new favorite Ginger Evans biscuit and baking mix in dollops on top and baked it for another hour or until the biscuit mix was cooked through. It was like tasting summer...the best cobbler I ever made.

Hello Sunshine...book club

Reese Witherspoon has a book club, Hello Sunshine, with a good list of books that you might like.  A friend told me about it when I was urging her to read Where the Crawdads Sing.  She had already read it since she was reading books from that list and had read Crawdads before I did.  I have read one book from the list, so far, and ordered another on my Kindle by the same author. Lucy Dawson is the author I am reading from the list. I like psychological thrillers and that is what Lucy Dawson writes.  I read His Other Lover and now I am starting Don't Ever Tell. I am in my six weeks reading cycle now.  It is strange, I read like a nut for six weeks and then not again until the urge hits me and that restarts the big reads.

I have perfected frittatas. lol. (There is little chance of messing them up really.) I have made the two of us a frittata for three days in a row and we have loved them.  I am not an egg person, but I do like a good frittata. The base, in a skillet sized for two people, I start little bits of bacon and when it is nearly crisp I add several circles of green onion; then on top of that I add the tips of broccoli florets, and then a layer of fresh spinach.  Once the bottom of bacon and onions firms up, I pour in three eggs beaten in a bit of half and half along with parsley, pepper and not too much salt. Oh, I shake in some sriracha for a kick.  (The bacon and cheese give it enough salt so that we don't actually add salt.) Pour that mixture over the bacon and vegetables and add a layer of your favorite melting cheese on top.  Stick it in a preheated over for less than ten minutes, depending on your oven, or just until there is no jiggle and the cheese is melted and then Bob's your uncle. I use whatever vegetables I have in the fridge; it just so happens I had a plethora of broccoli and fresh spinach.  I think cauliflower florets would be really good in there as well. I have also made it with leftover roasted vegetables and that was the best one of all. Just let yourself go and enjoy. I have made it with a base of mini tater tots on top of the crisp bacon and onions and that makes a lovely frittata too. I could go on and on, but you get the idea.

Only another month of winter so I think I am going to make it. It has been a mild winter here in Ohio, but a dingy one too. I am just glad to be alive, so I'll take what is given.

Trader Joe's shrimp burgers

Note: Egg whites are what holds the shrimp burgers together so well. I have a shrimp burger recipe from Cook's Corner that used egg whites, so it was an ahhhha moment.

Looking for a shrimp burger recipe from Trader Joe's (because their's cost $6.99 for four patties) I discovered several videos secretly shot in a Trader Joe's store which is a good and a bad thing. The one guy has been thrown out of three Trader Joe's stores for filming without permission.  He is very knowledgeable and his reviews are fair--the proof is on the package. He tells you about the good and the bad as far as content is concerned.  He did not do the shrimp burgers because they are new and not in the store where he filmed.  They are actually delicious, firm, packed with shrimp and they stay together when cooked right from the freezer.  I have had them outdoor grilled and pan-fried and there is nothing wrong with them taste-wise, but the price is ridiculous! So I am on the hunt trying to find out what is holding the tightly packed shrimp together.  I picture serving these at a party as hors d' oeuvres but you would really have to love your guests to have them stick those in their mouths. In my mind, I might be tallying up every bite unless, of course, I had had several glasses (tiny glasses) of Prosecco.

If anyone knows the secret of what holds these burgers together, let me know. Note: The secret is not egg whites, it is grinding a few raw shrimp together and they become gelatinous and you add that paste-like concoction to the raw whole shrimp and that holds the burgers together. Sept. 13, 2020.

We went back to Trader Joe's to review every single frozen food item there. You guys love the frozen food section of Trader Joe's because they have very uniq...

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Trader Joe's Frozen Food Review - What to Buy & Avoid!

We went back to Trader Joe's to review every single frozen food item there. You guys love the frozen food section of Trader Joe's because they have very uniq...