tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-77292347368699783162024-02-18T20:36:19.177-05:00Inspirational SweetsDessert reviews paired with inspirational, feel-good stories! Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03344359811099736812noreply@blogger.comBlogger34125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7729234736869978316.post-87278001425162266772015-10-01T21:31:00.000-04:002015-10-01T21:31:00.807-04:00Croissants and CrossroadsI went to one of my favorite bakeries yesterday, to Bibi's Cafe and Bakery in Westwood, Massachusetts. I was hoping for one of their chocolate croissants. They always sell out of them before noon, and I was happy to get the last one. There is something decadently unapologetic about Bibi's chocolate croissant. Many chocolate croissants are mostly croissant, with a delicate chocolate filling. Not Bibi's. The rich, buttery croissant envelopes a thick slab of a chocolate center. It's really good chocolate and it plays so well off of the buttery pastry. And, there's plenty of it, enough chocolate to last through every bite.<br />
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While I was ordering my croissant, a mom and three little children came into the bakery. They arrived with the small fanfare that you sometimes can see, can feel even, in families where the children are all under a certain age. I felt the energy of the kids, and especially the mom, as she sat everyone down at a small table and got them settled. The mom had that look, the look that says I am a little bit stressed managing all of these small people in this small space. But it is a good stressed. A proud stressed, as in, here we are, we are at the bakery and this is my little family.<br />
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I remember that feeling, and that look, well. My kids are almost all grown up now; my oldest is twenty and my younger two are not far behind. I used to be the bakery mom, the mom with the minivan, the activities schedule on the bulletin board, the playdates, and the after school outings. I look at pictures of myself from that time and I think, where did all of that go? I remember it so well, but it's almost as if it were a different me. I was thinner then, perhaps a little more put together if that makes any sense. I was the young mom. And I was totally immersed in being the mom of young kids.<br />
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When I say I was immersed, I'm not talking about work life balance, about being a stay-at-home mom as opposed to a working mom, because in my tenure as "mom" I've done it all: full-time work, part-time, and no-time. What I mean is, my life was all about being the epicenter of these small humans I was blessed to be raising.<br />
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I'm still mom of course, but I'm a different mom now. I look different than the mom I used to be. I caught a glimpse of my graying hair in the mirror the other day, the face that is not quite the face of a thirty year-old and thought, well, yeah. I am getting old. It's kind of inevitable. My oldest child lives on her own now in a big city, miles from home. My younger kids can drive themselves to school. There is less chaos and more real conversation, about life, and world events, and future plans. Gone are the Disney movies and PBS, replaced by TV shows that sometimes we watch together and sometimes we watch separately. Going out for dessert, a treat when my kids were little, is now more about me wanting ice cream or a cookie and the kids coming along so mom doesn't have to get a treat all by herself.<br />
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I wanted to say to the bakery mom, hold onto this time. It's going to be gone before you know it. If you do it right, your reward will be that your kids will leave and go off to live fulfilling lives. So memorize every moment because soon these moments will not be yours anymore. People say these things all the time, but it never really hits home until you experience it yourself. But still, I wanted to try to tell that mom. Because these years, these moments, are so precious.<br />
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I'm glad I got to be the bakery mom. I know she's in there somewhere, underneath the layers of time and age. I miss her, I do. But I know that all of it got me here. The "getting older" version of me is the product of all of those crazy, wonderful, fulfilling years of being the bakery mom. And the older version of my kids is the product of that time too. I'm so happy for my kids, for the lives that they are leading and the exciting things that they get to do now as they become adults. The mom that I was, the bakery mom, helped bring them to this point. And the mom that I am today gets to see what happens next.Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03344359811099736812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7729234736869978316.post-88705880444237043372013-12-22T21:50:00.001-05:002013-12-22T21:50:45.411-05:00Chocolate Cream Pie and The Magic of Waiting<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I recently found the Ever So Humble Pie Company in Walpole, Massachusetts, quite by accident. I happened to be in the building and was lured in by the wonderful smells of freshly baked goods. I was therefore quite surprised, and somewhat disappointed, when told that the company is a frozen pie company. As in, you cannot purchase a slice of pie or a fresh whole pie to take home. You can purchase a thaw and serve pie, or a ready-to-bake frozen pie, and there are a few fresh scones or donuts if you simply cannot wait for your dessert treat. Still not understanding why they couldn't just sell me one of the delicious-smelling pies that just came out of their giant ovens, I decided on a thaw and serve individual chocolate cream pie and took it home to defrost. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I must say, it was definitely worth the wait. The crust was a true graham cracker crust, quite tasty and of good consistency. The chocolate filling was delicious. I had never had anything quite like it; it reminded me of chocolate cake batter, and it was quite decadent to be eating a pie filled with it. The topping was a sweet cream that tasted like a cross between whipped cream and sweet heavy cream, with a sprinkling of chocolate shavings. I thoroughly enjoyed my pie from the Ever So Humble Pie Company, despite the fact that I had to wait to eat it!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In our current world of instant downloads and the anytime, any day, anywhere availability of practically everything over the internet, there are few things we actually wait for these days. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Santa is something that we do wait for. I believe a child's excitement over Santa's arrival is probably still the same now as it was years and years ago. I still remember my excitement over Santa's impending arrival, that butterfly-in-the-stomach feeling upon going to bed on Christmas Eve and the joy of bounding out of bed when morning finally came. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">One year, however, Santa showed up early. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was five years old. We had recently moved from the Bronx and the family was having Christmas Eve in our house in the suburbs. I remember that at some point during the night my father said that he thought there was a knock at the front door. No one ever used our front door, so this, in and of itself, was surprising. We gathered near the front door and heard someone outside. The door opened and, quite unbelievably, there was Santa.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I still remember the awe and surprise and shock. Santa came in with a big ho ho ho and someone grabbed a chair for him. He sat down and talked to my brother and I, and he knew our names. He gave us each one present, which he pulled out of a big sack, and told us that he was just making a quick stop on our street, but that he would be back while we were sleeping. And then he waved to everyone at our house, and he left.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It was positively unexpected and incredible. Santa had actually knocked on our door, had visited our house! Why had he chosen us? Maybe it was because we were in our new house. Maybe the timing was just right. Maybe we had been extra good that year. Either way, it was magical.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I remember listening for the doorbell or a knock at the front door in subsequent years on Christmas Eve, but I don't remember Santa</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> coming back while we were awake. And for that, I am kind of grateful, because it was really special. It remains, forever in my memory, The Year that Santa Knocked on My Door. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The best things, the special things, are often one of a kind. Fast forward to a different decade, a different time and place. I was visiting the Vatican in Rome. I had been to the Vatican once before, but this time, there was a special prayer space set up behind some curtains. People waited in line to go in and say a prayer. We were running out of time, but I really wanted to go into the prayer space. We took the time, waited in line, and finally went in. And inside that space was a sense of peace and grace that I cannot describe. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When we came out of the prayer space a little while later we met up with our tour guide. "There's something about that place," she said. "People leave things there, I don't know what it is, but there's something about it." It was somehow reassuring, and confirming, that someone else was echoing what I felt. I was grateful that I had been a part of it. That I had waited for it. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">May this holiday season provide you with moments of magic worth waiting for. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03344359811099736812noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7729234736869978316.post-20962335613016739922013-12-15T19:08:00.001-05:002013-12-15T19:08:45.354-05:00Hot Chocolate and Holiday Moments <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I had the best hot chocolate last week. I took a break from outlet shopping and went into a Godiva chocolate shop. Seeing an enticing photo display of a giant drink with mounds of whipped cream and caramel drizzle, I pointed to the photo and said, "I'll have that." </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"Hot or cold?" asked the sales clerk. "Umm, hot," I replied. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was somewhat disappointed, therefore, when five minutes later he handed me a small, covered hot beverage cup that looked no more exciting than an ordinary cup of coffee. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"But I ordered the caramel hot chocolate," I said, pointing at the sign. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"That's the cold version. You ordered the hot version."</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Live and learn. So I took my small, hot beverage, took off my gloves and went outside in search of an outdoor bench. And I was surprised to find that this ordinary, no frills cup was quite possibly the best cup of hot chocolate I have had in years. It was exactly the right temperature, not scalding to hold in bare hands but still hot enough to warm you up on a cold day. The mix of caramel and chocolate was smooth and perfect, seamlessly blended to create one flavor, one experience. The best part of all was that it tasted . . . real. It did not have that after-taste of powdered flavoring, nor was it dwarfed by mounds of sweet accompaniments. It was, simply, a good cup of deliciously warm caramel hot chocolate. I drank it all. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">That simple cup got me thinking about simple holiday moments. There's a lot of fanfair that unfortunately accompanies the winter holidays. For instance, my black Friday shopping experience at a local department store this year featured a loud and chipper DJ spinning tunes at 5:30 in the morning. My inbox practically screams at me every day, announcing the biggest sale yet, the best present yet, a fabulous new recipe, and that anxiety-inducing countdown. None of this, of course, has anything to do with the real reasons for the Christmas season or the Hanukkah season, but we are all lured in, caught up in the frenzy, rushing around to nowhere. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The holidays mean different things to all of us; maybe it's Christmas Eve church service that means the most, or opening presents with the family, or the lighting of candles. Maybe it's a delicious holiday meal, or good wine with good friends. I have found, as I have gotten older, that amidst the pressure of getting it all done, taking advantage of those sales, trying really hard to get presents that actually mean something and don't just take up space underneath the tree, that small moments stand out. And of course, they have nothing to do with the aforementioned frenzy. One year, it was sharing one of our beloved holiday traditions with my son's second grade class--telling the tale of our treasured replica skating pond, complete with miniature plastic skaters, inherited by me from my grandfather, and not found anywhere else in the world but my family room. One year it was singing O Holy Night at Christmas Eve Mass, several steps too high because the organist had forgotten the right setting, and feeling like my voice was soaring as I sang better than I ever thought I could. Another year it was sitting down amidst the chaos of preparations to sing, really loudly, arm in arm with my three kids, a song from our beloved Partridge Family Christmas album. Another favorite moment for me, always, is that first taste of a spinach crepe or pepperoni pinwheel or stuffed clam at my childhood home which for me, are the hallmarks of happy childhood memories of the holidays.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">One holiday moment that I would like to share happened the first year that I did not return to my childhood home for Christmas Eve, which had always featured a cast of thousands and food that went on for days. I was newly married, and we had devised a system where each family would get its share of the holidays, and then the next year it would rotate so that we would eventually spend each holiday with both sides of the family. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So, for my first Christmas Eve away from my childhood home, I was doing something new. It was to be a small formal dinner at my husband's grandmother's house, to begin after the four o'clock Mass. There would be only ten of us in attendance. Somewhat homesick already, I believe I asked if anyone else would be coming. My husband replied, in a somewhat perplexed manner, that no, why would anyone else be coming? </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"No one drops by? Long lost friends? More relatives?" I asked. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"Nope, just us. That's the way we always do it." </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We went to Mass, and had a very nice dinner, and I got to participate in someone else's tradition that year, which involved a formal dinner followed by presents and holiday stockings which apparently dated back to my husband's childhood, and I was happy to find that I now had a stocking too. It was all very nice, but still very new, and still, not how I had grown up celebrating. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">At some point that night, my husband and his brothers and their girlfriends were in the kitchen and an old fashioned, 1940's holiday song was playing on the stereo. I don't remember how it started, or who's idea it was, but at some point, we all started dancing, almost waltzing really, right there in the kitchen. It was Christmas Eve and I was sharing a dance with the person that I was going to spend the rest of my life with. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And as we were twirling around the kitchen together I remember thinking, this, this moment right here, is a great way to celebrate Christmas. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Have a sweet week!</span>Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03344359811099736812noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7729234736869978316.post-84237072874624210402013-12-08T14:26:00.000-05:002013-12-08T14:26:20.054-05:00A Cake Pop and a Dinner Stop<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I promised another story about a random act of kindness for this week, and in keeping with that theme, I decided to review another Starbucks treat, since last week's review of the </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Starbucks Cranberry</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> Bliss Bar is where this all began. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Have you seen the Peppermint Brownie Cake Pop at Starbucks? It is quite festive! It's a round, white chocolate pop sprinkled with candy cane pieces and crystalized sugar. Inside is a soft, chewy brownie. I loved the candy cane pieces and chunks of sugar on the outside of the pop. I was initially skeptical about putting peppermint candy cane with a brownie, but the combination of flavors actually worked well. By the time you bite through the candy cane/sugar, and the white chocolate shell, the peppermint flavor is muted enough not to overpower the brownie. The brownie cake center is chocolatey, and soft and chewy, although I must say it was a little bit softer than I anticipated. As I do not have that much experience with cake pops, I am wondering if this is true of all cake pops or just Starbucks. I will have to do some investigating! </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">On to my next random act of kindness story! This happened to me last spring at Disney World in Florida. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was getting dinner for two of my children at Casey's in the Magic Kingdom. If you've never been there, it's basically a large hot dog and fries place with outdoor seating only. The seating area can be quite crowded, especially if there is a castle show or parade about to start. So that night, we bought our food and drinks and looked around for a place to sit. It was packed, but there was a standing-only table where the three of us could stand around and eat. We put our food down, and continued to scout for a table. After some time, I noticed a family leaving a table and told my son to run over and grab it, and we would follow with all of the food and drinks and bags.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">He went off, and my daughter and I carefully loaded up hot dogs, fries, and drinks and maneuvered through the crowd. When I got to the table about twenty seconds later, my son was indeed sitting, but there were also two adults and two children filling out the rest of the table. I asked him what happened and he told me that after he sat down, the family had just come over and taken all of the remaining chairs. He looked rather uncomfortable. I explained to the man now sitting with my son, that my son had gotten the table for us while I collected our food. He looked at me and said, "Well he didn't have any food and we have our food here now, so it's our table." I again explained that my son was sitting down first, and that we obviously were bringing food to the table, as we were still carrying all of the food and drinks, and that I couldn't believe he would just sit down with someone else's child. He insisted that it was now his table, and his family proceeded to begin eating. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was torn between complete exasperation that someone had done this to a twelve year old, and panic at the fact that we were now standing in a huge crowd with nowhere to go with our food. I looked back over to our standing table and saw that indeed, while we were arguing with the man, someone had taken our standing table, and now there really was nowhere at all to go. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It was one of those moments when you are almost paralyzed by indignation and frustration. I was standing in the middle of a packed seating area, loaded down with food, my son sitting in the middle of a family that had no regard for us and refused to move, and I really didn't know what to do. As I was trying in vain to think of something else that I could say, knowing full well that nothing that I said would have made a difference, a woman suddenly swooped in. "We're done, you can have our table," she said. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She led me to an area a few tables away, and pointed at a pre-teen boy who was eating a giant chili dog. "You go ahead and finish that," she said to him, "And these nice people are going to join you." I asked her if it was really okay and she insisted that we should take the table. I thanked her repeatedly. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So the three of us sat down and introduced ourselves to the young man eating his chili dog. "Your mother is a very nice woman," I told him. "She's not my mother. She's my stepmom's mom. It's complicated," he said. "Well, she's a very nice person," I repeated. He was an incredibly polite, well-mannered young man. We found out that his family was from Louisiana, and we enjoyed chatting with him, and even shared a joke or two. When we were done eating we stood up to leave and wished him a good trip. As we left the area, I saw the woman who had given up the table, and she waved and smiled. I noticed that she was standing at one of the standing-only tables, and that some members of her family were still eating, standing up. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I don't know why the woman gave her table up for me. Maybe she saw my frustration. Maybe she saw what had happened and wanted to help. Whatever the reason was, I was incredibly thankful in that moment, that someone noticed, and that someone cared. I was even more thankful, and incredulous, when I saw that she had not really been finished eating. She had made a sacrifice for me, and for my kids. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So thank you, kind woman from Louisiana. Whenever I recall how I felt that day, alone with my kids and feeling bullied into giving up our table, I think of you, and how you turned an unpleasant situation into something else. And when I tell the story, you are the star. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">That's the power of kindness. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Have a great week. </span><br />
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Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03344359811099736812noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7729234736869978316.post-58309331174750548132013-12-01T23:27:00.000-05:002013-12-01T23:27:48.646-05:00Cranberry Bliss Bars. And an Opal. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">'Tis the season for the Cranberry Bliss Bar at Starbucks! This beloved dessert makes its appearance around this time every year. It is never around for very long, so you can't wait on it; you have to seek it out and enjoy it as if it might be gone tomorrow, because it very well might be! These bars are small, triangle-shaped treats, with a blondie-cake crust bursting with white chocolate chunks. The cake is topped with a sweet cream cheese icing, and layered with sweet cranberries. It is a perfect mixture of flavors, as the cream cheese icing plays off of the white chocolate chunks and the cranberries add a tart sweetness in every bite. It's a one-of-a-kind dessert, found only at Starbucks, and trust me, if you try it, you won't be disappointed. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The Cranberry Bliss Bar always makes me think about random acts of kindness. A few years ago, when ordering one at my local Starbucks, the barista gave me two bars, simply because the first one she put in the bag broke in half. "No one should have to eat a broken Cranberry Bliss Bar," she said. It was one of those unexpected moments of kindness that can happily change the course of your day.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I would like to share another random act of kindness story. Actually, I have two, but I will save one for next week. The first story was shared with me a few years ago, and takes place in a store during the holiday shopping season. Here's what happened.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A customer walked into a jewelry store in the hopes of selling some jewelry. It was about a month before Christmas. Gold was selling high at the time, and the woman had lots of forgotten jewelry--broken chains, earrings without a match, old bracelets, and some necklaces that were actually in very good shape, but which she never wore. A sales clerk came over to wait on her, and the customer unpacked all of her unwanted jewelry. As the sales clerk began to inventory the pieces, she noted that some of them were really beautiful. "I know," said the customer. "I just never wear them anymore." </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The two women continued to talk as the sales clerk packaged up all of the jewelry to be appraised. She happened to admire a very nice ring that the customer was wearing, and the customer said that her husband had gotten it for her for one of their anniversaries. The sales clerk said that he had really good taste. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Looking through the rest of the jewerly, the customer shared that one of the earrings she had brought in was a particular favorite, but she had lost its match and she hated not being able to wear it anymore. The sales clerk said that she knew how that felt, to lose a piece of jewelry, and told the customer the story of her opal ring.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Her father had given her the ring. It was a simple gold ring with a lovely opal set in the center. He had passed away some years ago, and the sales clerk treasured the ring in remembrance of him. The sales clerk pointed out similar opals in the glass case, explaining the size and color of her beloved opal ring. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">One day, the sales clerk said, she had realized that the opal was missing from its center setting. She realized that she must have lost it in her car, and she tore the car apart looking for it, but she never found it. She kept the ring with its empty prongs, and wished she had been able to find the opal so that she could wear the ring. Especially because it reminded her of her father. But she never did find it.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"You should buy another opal and have it set in the ring," said the customer. "The jeweler here would probably be able to help you out with that." </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The sales clerk explained that her husband would not let her buy an opal to replace the one she lost. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"Maybe he'll buy one for you," said the customer. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"No, he won't," said the sales clerk. "But at least I still have the ring."</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The appraisals were finished soon after. The customer decided which pieces she wanted to sell, and she left with a check, thanking the sales clerk for all of her help. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A few weeks later, just before Christmas, the customer returned to the store and specifically asked for the sales clerk she had worked with. The sales clerk remembered her and greeted her with a warm smile. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The customer said, "I have a gift for you," and placed a small box on the counter. The sales clerk looked at her, puzzled, and opened the box. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Inside the box was an opal. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"I hope it's the right size," said the customer. "Here's the name of the store where I bought it. The jeweler there said he will set it for you, and if it's not the right size, he will give you a credit and get you one that will match your ring." The sales clerk was shocked and said she couldn't accept such a gift. But the customer insisted, saying that the opal was specifically for her, and that now she could wear her ring again. The women exchanged hugs, and a few tears, and then the customer left the store. And the two women never saw each other again.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Why did the customer buy the clerk that opal? Maybe it was because she felt guilty, selling unwanted jewelry and talking about her husband's gifts, while the sales clerk could not even get permission to purchase an opal for herself. Maybe it was because she felt sad, sad that the sales clerk had lost her father, and had lost the opal, the best reminder that she had of her father. Maybe it was because the holidays were coming and she wanted to do something that would make someone happy. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Who really knows why people commit random acts of kindness? I think the best random acts probably don't involve a lot of forethought. For the woman who bought the opal, there were probably a hundred reasons not to do it. But she did it anyway. And her act changed two lives, on that day, and in that moment. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It's like the Cranberry Bliss Bar. The chance to make someone's day might be gone tomorrow. Why not take that chance? </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Stay tuned for another random act of kindness story next week! </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03344359811099736812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7729234736869978316.post-64684670235468817882013-11-24T16:14:00.000-05:002013-11-24T16:14:48.541-05:00Vintage Cupcakes and KindnessI<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">t's throwback week at Inspirational Sweets! I recently enjoyed a "Hostess" style cupcake at Treat Cupcake Bar in Needham, Massachusetts. This cupcake looks just like the Hostess cupcakes we remember from childhood, but it's much, much better! It's a big chocolate cupcake, probably twice as big as a store-bought Hostess cupcake, topped with chocolate ganache and a delicate white icing design. It was filled with vanilla frosting. The cake was very chocolately and very moist, and the vanilla filling was deliciously sweet. I always liked Hostess cupcakes but I loved this cupcake. It was like Hostess had gone to heaven.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It was nice to be reminded of a favorite childhood snack. Whether or not Hostess cupcakes are still on the shelves (I believe they are) and despite wonderful reminders like the one from Treat, I still tend to think of Hostess cupcakes as a beloved dessert of the past. Perhaps it's more accurate to say that they are a beloved dessert of my past. For me, they were a favorite lunchbox treat, or an after-school treat, stuck in the 1970's with other favorites of that decade, like metal lunch boxes, ponchos, or Sno Cones from the ice cream truck.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I have a story that dates way back into the past, even farther back than the 1970's. It happened over fifty years ago, and although it takes place in the past, its message reaches far into the present. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A girl who was about fifteen years old unexpectedly became ill and had to miss school. At first the girl was really sick, and could not leave the house. But then the girl slowly began to get better. After some time, she was probably well enough to return to school. But so much time had passed, and now she didn't want to go back at all. She had gotten very used to being at home, and very used to not being at school. Days went by and she remained at home. This went on for some time. But at some point, her parents insisted that she had to go back. She had been home for forty-five days.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And so, back to school she went, feeling very reluctant and out of sorts. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There was another girl in school who was not a stranger to staying home. In fact, she was sick quite often. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She missed school all the time, and everyone knew about it.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> There were rumors that maybe it was leukemia or some other very serious illness. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So at lunchtime, the first girl, who had been gone for forty-five days, uneasily sat down in the cafeteria and </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">got ready to eat her lunch, thinking that she would probably rather be anywhere else than in that cafeteria. And then, she felt a hand on her shoulder. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It was the girl who was always sick, who was always missing school. They were not particularly friends, but suddenly there she was, on that very difficult day, the first day back.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"I understand," the girl told her. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She went on to say that she knew exactly how it felt, getting back to school, and that it wasn't easy. "But every day, it will feel a little bit better," she said. "You just have to keep coming."</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It was a very small thing to do. A hand on a shoulder, a few sentences of encouragement. But what an impact it had. It really helped, in that very difficult moment, decades ago, in a high school cafeteria. And it is remembered, in great detail, to this day. So many moments, so many conversations, so many events, big and small, surely fade away as time goes by. But this one selfless moment, this one unexpected moment of compassion and empathy, has the power to remain. It can be brought back like it was yesterday, even though it happened over fifty years ago. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Acts of kindness have great power. And no expiration date. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Have a sweet week. And Happy Thanksgiving!</span>Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03344359811099736812noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7729234736869978316.post-2971924077852026282013-11-17T19:10:00.001-05:002013-11-17T19:10:49.700-05:00Carrot Cake Ice Cream and Other Disappointments<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">After months and months of reviewing desserts, this will be my first critique of a less than stellar ice cream flavor. I hesitate to post a critical review, but I have decided that dessert choices are not immune to disappointment, and there's probably no point in pretending otherwise. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Today I tried the Carrot Cake ice cream from JP Licks. I used it in a sundae, with hot caramel and whipped cream, thinking that caramel would pair nicely with Carrot Cake ice cream. The pairing was fine, but the ice cream was not. I think I expected a nice, sweet-cream based ice cream, with perhaps cheesecake flavoring, tiny pieces of carrots, maybe some graham cracker gratuitously thrown in. In actuality, it was like eating a chunky piece of carrot cake which had magically been turned into ice cream--and not in a good way. There were giant pieces of carrot. The carrot was crunchy. There were large raisins. I think there were nuts but I can't be sure. The ice cream itself was pretty good--it seemed to be a cinnamon or nutmeg flavored ice cream. But all of the chunky pieces were just too much. It's odd and unsatisfying to get a mouthful of smooth ice cream, whipped cream, and caramel, and find yourself munching on a piece of carrot. In the end, I was left scooping the caramel from the sides and avoiding the ice cream refuse in the middle. The caramel, thankfully, was quite good.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Yes, every now and then you get a dessert that disappoints. And similarly, life can disappoint us, at many times and in many ways. No one said it would be easy, right? I find that the older we get, the more difficult things can seem. Struggles appear and multiply, within our own lives and those around us. It's at the most difficult times that I have found that the small moments are the most important. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It's easy to overlook them, especially when things are darkest. But the small moments are always there, and they can keep us going, even if you have to look hard for them. Especially when you do.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">For me, the small moments that bring comfort are things like taking the dog out into a quiet backyard and looking at, really looking at, the leaves on the trees. Seeing an elderly neighbor with white hair, just like my paternal grandmother had, lovingly tend to her garden. Dancing with my kids at an open air concert under the stars. A good conversation with my sister. Taking a moment to do something for someone else who is hurting. These things can bring peace and momentary escape from whatever clouds your mind. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A few years ago I was at a family party, which turned into something of a family reunion. Many of us had not seen each other in years and it was great to catch up and connect again. I ended up spending some time talking to a cousin who was in the midst of a very difficult time. I told him that I felt that things get harder as we get older, and that we have to celebrate the good moments as they come and hold onto those. He looked around at all the family members in the room and said, "This is a good moment." </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It was one of the last things he said to me, as he passed away not long after that day. I hold onto the fact that we shared that connection during our conversation and that he felt the happiness and warmth in that room, as I did. I am thankful that he had that moment. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As we go through life, especially as we age and become the ones who bear the weight for others, we have to look for those moments. Celebrate the good in each other. Enjoy the leaves on the trees, warm socks, the laughter of a child, a dazzling blue sky. Relish a really good cup of tea, a beautiful song, a warm hug, a heartfelt conversation. And if your ice cream sundae disappoints, well, enjoy what was good about it and go get another one. There's plenty of sweet things in this world to keep us inspired. Just keep looking. </span><br />
<br />Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03344359811099736812noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7729234736869978316.post-58586062518180411812013-11-10T11:12:00.000-05:002013-11-10T11:12:50.650-05:00Pumpkin Pie Cupcakes and Other Things We Take for Granted<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I recently had the pleasure of trying the Pumpkin Pie cupcake from Treat Cupcake Bar in Needham, Massachusetts. It's a simple cupcake--pumpkin spice cake with cinnamon cream cheese frosting. Perhaps it's the simplicity, perhaps it's the combination of flavors, but this is a very high quality cupcake. The pumpkin cake is really moist and has a wonderful flavor. It almost seems as if you're having a really good slice of pumpkin bread instead of indulging in a cupcake. The cake is topped with just enough frosting; some bakeries use too much frosting which frankly can take away from the cupcake experience. Not so with Treat, it's the right amount to balance the high quality cake. The cinnamon flavor mixes perfectly with the cream cheese frosting; you might not automatically think about putting cinnamon with a cream cheese frosting, but it really works. The sweetness of the cinnamon breaks up the richness of the frosting quite nicely, and adds a particular emphasis of flavor. Rich but not too rich, I love this frosting, and it matched perfectly with the pumpkin cake. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I realized today that somehow, Treat has not yet made an appearance on my blog, despite the fact that I have eaten more cupcakes than I can count from Treat. I decided that perhaps I was taking Treat for granted; just because Treat is a given for me, doesn't mean that it shouldn't be highlighted and given its day on my blog. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My visit to Treat got me thinking about all of the other things we take for granted. And primarily, the people that we take for granted. More than any other person in the world, I think it's really easy to take your mom for granted. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Your mom is your constant. She may not see the world the way you do, but she was there when you were just discovering what the world was. She is there for every triumph and defeat; she imprints them on her heart and can recall each one, years after you've forgotten them all. You can behave at your worst with your mom because, after all, she's your MOM. She's always going to love you. She's always going to be there for you, because that's just what she does and who she is. Whether you are at your best or your worst, she is there. Whether you are five or twenty five or fifty-five, you mom is still your mom. She knew you before anyone else did.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Yes, we have Mother's Day, where we purchase fancy cards and perhaps flowers or small gifts. We have birthdays and holidays where perhaps we celebrate Mom, and we have those moments in life where we find a reason to say thank you. But for every moment we do celebrate, there are countless other moments that go unnoticed, un-recoginzed, un-celebrated. Because being a mom, after all, is the most full-time, all-consuming job there is.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So today, I would like to thank my Mom for a few things. It's just the tip of the iceberg. But it's a start.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Thanks for painting flowers on my bedroom furniture. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Thanks for typing all of my college applications.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Thanks for all the birthday cakes, the ones with the coconut that I always said I liked the best, and the other fancy ones, that took you much more time to make. Thanks for the fancy cupcakes you always sent to school. They truly were the best.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Thanks for telling me, freshman year in high school, that everything would turn out okay (it did).</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Thanks for being interested in the classical music I was playing on the piano, even though you had never been interested in classical music before.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Thanks for all the great Christmas Eves. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Thanks for competing on a game show with me.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Thanks for always being excited to hear every detail about your grandchildren's lives.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Thanks for nagging me to write an honors thesis in college, because even though I chose not to, I appreciate why you did it and that you cared enough to do it.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Thanks for learning to drive. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Thanks for driving me everywhere, years later, when I was too busy to get my license. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Thanks for making me feel better when my second grade teacher made me feel worse.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Thanks for always watching my performances. Well into my forties. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Thanks for the pottery you made me in ceramics class while you were a teacher's aide. I still have it all. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Thanks for letting me be me, always.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Have a sweet week, everyone!</span>Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03344359811099736812noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7729234736869978316.post-51438518275003201602013-11-03T15:34:00.001-05:002013-11-03T15:34:48.694-05:00Pies and Pies<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My son has frequently asked me why I haven't reviewed pie on my blog, since I mention pies in the blog description. I decided he was right and I searched the internet for some good pie recommendations in the Boston area. I was happy to find Petsi Pies in Somerville. The glowing reviews were well earned. Just walking into Petsi Pies, you know you're about to have something good; it smells like bakery heaven. I tried the Brown Butter Pecan and the Apple Crumb pies. What I think sets Petsi Pies apart is the pie crust. Impossibly buttery, not too flaky and not too dense, the crust itself could serve as a dessert. The pecan filling in the Brown Butter Pecan had an abundance of candied pecans, plus plenty of butter, sugar and what tasted like maple flavor; it was sweet and substantial, and worked really well with the buttery crust. The apple crumb was equally good, with fresh, cooked apples on the inside and a butter/sugar crumb topping that was much more delicious than the traditional apple pie crust topping. This will not be my last visit to Petsi Pies.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A pie review gives me an opportunity to talk about my grandmother, who was an expert at making a different kind of pie. I'm not sure if her pie recipe ever had a proper name, but we always called them, simply, "the pies." I guess you could call them covered pizzas; they were made of a thin crust, folded over, and filled with paired fillings such as broccoli and sausage, meat and spinach, olives and onions. They were not calzones, but big, rectangular, "pies" which were cut into squares and served at room temperature. My grandmother would spend the better part of an entire day making them and they were always delicious. They did not exist anywhere else in the world except in her kitchen; the pies were not something that you could find in any restaurant or on any menu. I remember there was one family event where people were toasting my grandparents--it must have been a birthday or an anniversary. My mother's cousin made a speech and mentioned how amazing my grandmother's pies were, and I remember thinking, wow, someone else outside of my immediate family loves the pies as much as I do; someone knew about them and had loved them, before I was even born. It always seemed like they existed just for us. I think that's the hallmark of a great recipe, that it seems like it's made just for you.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">At some point in my adult life I decided that I needed to write down the recipes for the pies and preserve them. During a weekend visit I impulsively grabbed the closest thing to paper I could find, which turned out to be the back of a greeting card, and had my grandmother recite how to make the pies. And then we made them. This was my grandmother and I, that day:</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCgtBUP5Ski1vrV87tWO-w2JBEjBIYySsURc0_QESKH6fKqZv91Kq4h16FNm2QRtgeH9hxZXy21IgLRZRsDhBaWYs7mU1ZwnrDaSHHEAxkCF_3AuTdjmOjvZAXWHtqPHhzlu13FnWnnGU/s1600/Grandma3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCgtBUP5Ski1vrV87tWO-w2JBEjBIYySsURc0_QESKH6fKqZv91Kq4h16FNm2QRtgeH9hxZXy21IgLRZRsDhBaWYs7mU1ZwnrDaSHHEAxkCF_3AuTdjmOjvZAXWHtqPHhzlu13FnWnnGU/s320/Grandma3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I still have the recipe for the pies, still on that greeting card. As it turns out, the pies are one of the very few Italian family recipes that my dairy-allergic daughter can eat, since these don't contain any dairy products. I make them every Christmas. My pies are not as good as my grandmother's, but every year I try a little harder to get them right. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I lost my grandmother about four or five years after I recorded the recipe, when I was 32 years old. I very clearly remember the day of her funeral; I remember looking around at the people that were there to pay tribute to her as I listened to the words of the service. And I remember thinking that life, really, is all about love. She was loved, I thought, as I sat there. It's not about the job you had or your awards or accomplishments or your resume. It's about the love.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It kind of takes away some of the stresses of life, I think, when you focus on that. It's the relationships that we share that end up meaning the most. It's the love that is the legacy. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And pies.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Thanks Grandma. </span><br />
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Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03344359811099736812noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7729234736869978316.post-74937945248509022472013-10-27T20:28:00.000-04:002013-10-27T20:28:09.917-04:00Sugar Waffles and a Smile<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I had the pleasure of trying a Sugar Waffle last week. Sugar Waffles are like miniature, sweet belgian waffles. Max Brenner's in New York City (and locations worldwide) serves them with an assortment of toppings and flavors. I had the Banana Split Waffle, which was a waffle topped with carmelized bananas and sugar crispies. It was served with a scoop of vanilla ice cream topped with milk chocolate ganache, and also a small bowl of "choco-pops" which are little balls of chocolate. I loved this dessert! There is something quite addicting about these waffles; they are just the right thickness and texture, and have a sweetness that is more flavorful than plain sugar. The sliced bananas were coated with a thin layer of the type of sweet coating you find on a good creme brulee. The sugar crispies added a nice crunch and the ice cream tied it all together. The choco-pops, although good on their own, didn't add that much to the dessert as the bananas, ice cream, and sweet waffles were really all that the dessert needed. I am now a big fan of sweet waffles. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">While I was in New York City I had the opportunity to walk through Washington Square Park. There is a great vibe in Washington Square Park and the park is filled with native New Yorkers and tourists alike, musicians, speakers, artists, and more. In the middle of it all was a homeless man seated on a bench with a cardboard sign which read, simply, "Wanted. Smiles." Breaking my longstanding rule never to make eye contact with strangers in New York City, (the origins of which I can't recall), I smiled at the man.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">He was talking to someone leaning over his bench. It took him a few seconds to register that I was paying attention to his sign, and I could see the moment when he figured it out. His entire face changed, he broke out a huge smile, and yelled a thank you to me. Which was followed by a God bless you and more big smiles. Which I returned, and then continued on my way. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Some might say that he was just looking for money. Or that his sign was a part of some kind of scam in the making. But I think it was something else. The man who had the sign in the park is no different from anyone, really. We're all trying to be noticed in some way. Kids want attention from their parents or teachers or coaches. Spouses want attention from their partners. We hope to be recognized at our jobs for hard work, innovation and dedication; we look for that raise or a promotion or a positive review. Maybe we're musicians or writers or artists and we want praise or publication for our creative works. We run for office, we serve on committees, we join community groups and book clubs and share our ideas. We tweet and text and we send our photos over the internet and count our "likes" and "followers" and "facebook friends." We all crave acknowledgement and reinforcement in this world, that acknowledgement which says yes, I have noticed what you're doing. I see YOU. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I think that's all the man wanted. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Have a great week. </span><br />
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<br />Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03344359811099736812noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7729234736869978316.post-39591410899086447542013-10-22T10:20:00.001-04:002013-10-22T10:20:58.257-04:00Peanut Butter Euphoria and Parenting<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I recently had the opportunity to visit Max Brenner Restaurant in New York City. Walking into Max Brenner is like walking into a chocolate factory, complete with large vats of churning chocolate. The dessert offerings at Max Brenner include sundaes, milkshakes, fondue, and sweet waffles, many with various forms of chocolate and some without. I tried the Euphoria Peanut Butter Chocolate Fudge Sundae. Deep chocolate peanut butter ice cream and dulce de leche ice cream, carmelized toffee bananas, chocolate chunks, spiced peanuts, whipped cream and hazelnut pieces, served with warm chocolate peanut butter and warm milk chocolate ganache. It was a lovely experience! The peanut butter and chocolate sauces were served alongside the sundae in two small bowls, which I welcomed as dipping sauces instead of sundae toppings. I very much enjoyed the toffee bananas and chocolate chunks, and although I am a huge peanut butter and chocolate fan, I found myself wishing for more of the dulce de leche ice cream, which broke up the strong chocolate flavors nicely. I thoroughly enjoyed this dessert, as well as the presentation. Max Brenner's makes all of its desserts look like an art form; it was as enjoyable to look at as it was to eat.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I visited Max Brenner's with my husband and oldest child, who is now a freshman in college. It was Freshman Parents Weekend, and for me, it was filled with reminiscing on what it means to be a parent and what happens along the journey.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I have a memory from a family vacation when my daughter was eight years old. It was just after dinner and while riding the hotel elevator, I noticed that her outfit was covered in whatever she had had for dessert. Disappointed, I started lecturing her on doing a better job of keeping food off of her clothes. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There was one other person in the elevator with us, and it was a boy who was eleven or twelve years old. He heard what I was saying and said to me, "I can never do that. Look!" And then he proudly pointed to his dessert-stained shirt. I laughed, and realized that I had just received my own lecture, from someone not much older than my daughter. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When I look back on that moment, I think of it as one of those times that I could have done a better job as a parent. Did I really need to be worrying about perfectly clean clothes on vacation? Probably not. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When you look back on eighteen years of parenting, it's easy to catalogue all of those moments, and think about the things you could have done better, or differently. I should have nagged a little less. I should not have worried about grades so much. I should have let some things go, like messy clothes or a messy room, or a host of other things. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There is no perfect blueprint for parenting. There are mistakes along the way, because we're all human. We're given these tiny human beings, without a guide book; we teach them to walk and talk and read and learn and how to live, and we try to do our best every day. And we can drive ourselves crazy trying to figure out if we're doing it right.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In the end, what we have to hope for, is that our kids know how very much they are loved. It's the love that will rise to the top, and remain. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It was truly euphoric to share the Euphoria Sundae with my all grown up daughter, seeing her within her exciting new life, seeing the fruits of our journey as parent and child. Yes, I wish I had let the messy desserts go. And about a million other things. But I'm ever so thankful for the joy of sharing a dessert at this time and place, for the opportunity to watch her go off into the world, and for the love, which indeed, has risen to the top. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Have a great week!</span><br />
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Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03344359811099736812noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7729234736869978316.post-69338213069219326602013-10-13T15:58:00.000-04:002013-10-13T15:58:18.853-04:00FroYo and Feelings<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It's time to talk about frozen yogurt! Some people love frozen yogurt. I am not one of those people. In my opinion, if you're going to enjoy a dessert, you might as well get the real thing. However, there is some really good frozen yogurt out there, and I found it at Pinkberry.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I went to the Pinkberry in Wellesley, Massachusetts, but there are stores nationwide. My intention was to get some frozen yogurt for one of my kids, but while there, I decided to try a sample of the Salted Caramel. "Why is this so good?" I exclaimed to the counter salesperson. I did not expect it to be so good. So of course, I had to order some, and I topped it with dark chocolate shavings and strawberries. It was very cold, very creamy, and very caramel, with just a hint of saltiness. The dark chocolate was a perfect match for the caramel flavor, and the strawberries were a nice juicy addition. Pinkberry is great because they have a variety of fresh toppings which are served by the sales clerks behind the counter. Unlike most frozen yogurt places, where you get your yogurt out of a dispenser on the wall, and then move on to a mess of toppings that everyone else is digging into, the process at Pinkberry is very civilized and very streamlined. The sales clerks get the yogurt for you and add all of the toppings, which are very neatly laid out behind the counter. Everything looks very fresh and tastes very fresh. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I also tried Pinkberry's Hot Chocolate flavor, which actually did taste like a very cold and creamy version of hot chocolate. I must say, I thoroughly enjoyed my frozen yogurt experience.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I have a story to tell, and the person who originally shared it with me is a huge fan of frozen yogurt. I share it today in honor of this person, and in honor of those who have the courage to stand up for others.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A new girl in school decided to draw a picture for a classmate in her fifth grade class. She brought it to school and presented it to her classmate, who looked at it and for some reason, started passing it around the classroom. As it made the rounds, other classmates drew on it, added things to it, and reduced it to something much less than it had been. At the end of class, the defaced picture was thoughtlessly left on a desk. The new girl saw it on the desk, picked it up, and looked at it. She then awkwardly announced, to no one in particular, "Does anyone want this?"</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">One student in that class realized what had happened. One student watched someone else experience rejection and embarrassment. And one student, just one, did something about it. I want it, said that student. The student took it from the girl, put it in a backpack, and brought it home. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Bullying and unkindness will probably always be a part of school, and of life. Despite the lectures and programs and various efforts, unkindness unfortunately remains. But every student, every person, has the power to be the one who sees someone else's sadness and does something. It's not just limited to the classroom and it's not just limited to kids. Unkindness abounds, but we can meet it head on, teach our kids to do the same, and be that one person who cares. It takes courage to be that one person. But it's worth it. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It can make all the difference in the world. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Have a good week. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03344359811099736812noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7729234736869978316.post-42221102453409707082013-10-06T21:29:00.000-04:002013-10-06T21:29:15.367-04:00Coffee Toffee and Comfort Zones<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Recently, I tried the Coffee Toffee Cupcake at Crumbs Bake Shop. I visited the one in Braintree, Massachusetts, but there are locations all over the United States.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I usually don't try coffee flavored desserts. I don't drink coffee, never have, and I am not a huge fan of coffee flavoring. But since, as readers of this blog can attest, I seem to only eat desserts with chocolate, caramel, or peanut butter, I decided it was time to get out of my comfort zone and try something different.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I am happy to say that I enjoyed the Coffee Toffee Cupcake. It was a vanilla cupcake, topped with vanilla cream cheese coffee frosting, toffee pieces, and a caramel ribbon. The frosting was oddly addictive, the coffee flavoring adding just the right amount of edge to the cream cheese flavor. The toffee pieces and caramel added a welcome sweetness. The cupcake was fresh and moist, but had a gooey caramel center, which was a bit much after the rich frosting and toffee candy. For me, surprisingly, it was the coffee cream cheese flavoring that I enjoyed the most.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There is something to be said for getting out of your comfort zone. There is a graphic that has been all over the internet, showing a circle which is labeled "your comfort zone" and another circle far away from the comfort zone, which is labeled "where the magic happens." I am a big fan of this graphic. Getting out of my comfort zone led me to St. Francis House.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A number of years ago, my son was performing in Boston, half a block away from the St. Francis House homeless shelter. I had heard about it and was interested in the work that was being done there. I thought about trying to take a tour after dropping my son off for rehearsals but it seemed too daunting at the time. There was some discomfort around the idea of walking through the doors alone. There was definitely some fear.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Fear often comes from a place of ignorance. A few years after that I had the opportunity to learn more about St. Francis House through a special program and dramatic presentation. I found out more about the shelter and learned more about the poor and homeless people that it serves. I learned that 800 people a day find a hot meal at St. Francis House. They also find rehabilitative services, mental health and substance abuse counseling, clothing, vocational services, medical services, and art therapy. I finally took my tour, and then met with the director, and found out that there was a need for a music program. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">That was about three years ago. Now, when I walk toward the doors of St. Francis House, I am greeted by people who call me "teacher" or "the music lady." Some standing just outside the doors will ask me if music will be happening today. Some will see me a block away and will share with me that they were talking about music group with a friend that very morning. Some will stop me as I am leaving and will simply say thank you. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I look forward to my St. Francis House visit every week. I look forward to sharing music, to visiting with those that attend the music programs, and to feeling the joy and the healing power that music provides. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And I can't believe that there was a time that I hesitated to walk through those doors. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There is magic, indeed, lying just outside of our comfort zones. It's a great place to be.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Have a sweet week. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03344359811099736812noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7729234736869978316.post-49993876269432944032013-09-28T10:01:00.000-04:002013-09-28T10:01:51.698-04:00Alternative Ice Cream and Angels<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I recently happened upon FoMu Alternative Ice Cream and Cafe in Allston, Massachusetts. FoMu ice cream is a vegan ice cream which uses coconut milk as a base. A few select flavors use an almond-cashew blend and their soft ice cream has a soy base. The interesting thing about FoMu ice cream is that all of it is completely dairy free. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Some people may be skeptical about dairy free ice cream. But I'm happy to report that FoMu's Salted Caramel ice cream was as good as any traditional ice cream that I've tasted. It had a smooth and creamy consistency, like milk-based ice cream but perhaps a touch softer, reminiscent of gelato. The flavor was bold and very caramel, much more caramel than most salted caramel ice creams that I've tried. Perhaps the omission of dairy and cream really lets the caramel flavor shine through. I also enjoyed the Pumpkin Spice ice cream. The Pumpkin Spice was true to its name and had spicy notes of pumpkin pie flavors such as nutmeg and cinnamon. More spicy than sweet, it tasted like a grown-up flavor, and was very reminiscent of the Fall season.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was very happy to find FoMu because one of my daughters has a milk allergy. She has been living with and managing this and other allergies for years, but especially because of the milk allergy, there are many things that she cannot eat. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Most of our ice cream outings offer her a predictably minimal choice. She is limited to places that serve dairy-free sorbet, and it's always, inevitably, a choice of two: raspberry or lemon, raspberry or lemon. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">One of the things she always wanted was to be able to go out for ice cream and order whatever she wanted. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And so, I was ecstatic to present her with FoMu, a place where she could choose from twenty flavors. I was overjoyed to watch her read the blackboard menu, announcing "Cake batter, cookie dough, salted caramel--I can actually have the salted caramel!" We ordered four flavors and she tried them all.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was very thankful to FoMu to be able to give her this small gift, to feel like everyone else who goes out for ice cream and to have the freedom to order whatever she wanted. For those who are not familiar with what it's like to live with food allergies, or to live with someone you love who has them, I can tell you that it's a constant and that it is often difficult. There's the worry about being safe, about having an accidental exposure and having a reaction. There are the basic, practical considerations of will there be anything to eat at the school, the function, the party, the new restaurant, and the phone calls, inquiries, and micro-managing that go with that. There are the social considerations of being the only one to eat a turkey sub when all the other kids are having pizza. There are the medical considerations such as do you have your medications with you, and if not, no, you're not eating anything until we get home. Yes, it's a constant. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There have been angels along the way, like the owner and creator of FoMu, who shine a little light on the task of living with food allergies. It is to those people that I would like to pay tribute today. To the pre-school moms who asked for my special allergy-free cake recipe and served only that cake at the party. To the elementary school mom who served hot dogs instead of pizza at her son's birthday so that my daughter could feel included. To the moms (and especially the kids who asked their moms to do it) who made special goodie bags for her that were safe. To the neighbor who made a special trick or treat bag on Halloween night just for one child. To an older sister, who at six years old, announced during Trick or Treating to unsuspecting homeowners that "Minnie Mouse has food allergies." To the family members who have changed entire menus for holidays and celebrations so that she could be safe. To the mom who consulted with me about her daughter's bat mitzvah menu so that my daughter would have enough to eat. To those parents who did not shy away from dealing with their child's friend who has food allergies but who welcomed her for dinner and made her something special. To her friends who ask what she can eat and who bring a safe snack to the celebration or bake something with her in mind. To all of you, I say thank you. Your small kindnesses are more appreciated than you know, by a child who is now a teen who has lived with allergies all of her life. But most especially, by her mom, who probably cares more than she does, who can't be with her everywhere or make all of her food or ensure that she is always included. You have helped me to do that, and I am most grateful.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Go try some FoMu ice cream! You won't be disappointed. </span>Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03344359811099736812noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7729234736869978316.post-89831936405804470902013-09-15T07:50:00.001-04:002013-09-15T07:50:28.467-04:00Butterfingers and Two Singers<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This summer I made a long trip to Kimball Farm Ice Cream in Westford, Massachusetts, to meet a dear friend and her children for some ice cream. I had the Peanut Butter Butterfinger. I have tried many, many, permutations of peanut butter-flavored ice cream and this flavor did not disappoint. First of all, the portions at Kimball Farm are huge. There is something very enticing about digging into a giant, perfect mound of ice cream, especially when you only ordered a small. The peanut butter-flavored ice cream was very creamy, seemingly like vanilla, but with a pronounced peanut butter flavor. The Butterfinger pieces were large, larger than I expected, and added a nice crunch. Small pieces of chocolate were mixed throughout the ice cream. I had never seen this flavor anywhere else, which is surprising because having tried it, it's obvious that peanut butter and Butterfinger are a perfect match. Kimball's got it right. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Although Kimball Farm is renowned for its ice cream, and I did enjoy my new flavor, I made the trip primarily for the company. It was great to spend time with my friend and her children. We met twenty-eight years ago this month, in a freshman dorm, and instantly became fast friends. Our friendship has survived the test of time and place, spanning different states, countries, and even continents. I am thankful that we are still close, and that we are still able to find the time to stay connected.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As the years go by, I realize more and more that it is the connections we make with others that really matter in this world. I have a story about this, and although it takes place in a church, the important part of the story happens after the service ends. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A few weeks ago I was playing the organ and piano for our Sunday church service. After I arrived, the summer visiting priest came over to speak to me. Thinking that he was checking on the music, I immediately gave him a list of the service hymns. He listened patiently, noted that he was not actually serving for this particular service, and told me that he was sorry that he had not had the chance to hear my children sing a duet. It took me a moment to realize what he was talking about. And then I remembered.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My son had served as a song leader in church a number of times this summer. Weeks ago, this priest had complimented his singing, and then asked my middle daughter if she liked to sing as well. I had told him that she did in fact sing, and that perhaps the kids could sing a duet in church for him when I played for one of the services. And then I had forgotten all about it.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Unfortunately, this Sunday was to be his last with our parish, as he had to return to his mission in Africa. I hastily apologized and felt terrible that I had forgotten.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The service began, but I still felt badly, and could not let it go. I began to think about how the kids could perform a duet before the priest left. I went into the back room during a pause in the service and found a song that my kids knew very well. From the organ, I mouthed to my daughter and son the idea to sing for the priest after church. I saw the priest enter the sacristy and I scurried through a back passageway, to ask if he would like to hear the kids sing after church ended. He seemed very pleased.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">After the service ended, he headed toward the back of the church to greet some parishioners, assuring me that he would return in five minutes. He returned, and the four of us gathered at the piano. People were still milling about the church but we did not care. I played the opening notes of "Who Would Imagine a King," and my teenage son and daughter sang the beautiful words, alternating on the verses and joining together on the refrain. The priest listened and smiled a beautiful smile, and when it was done, offered words of thanks and encouragement, especially to my daughter who had not sung for him before.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Sharing that song was the nicest thing that happened that Sunday, and probably that week.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">How many times do we say something in passing, promise something, refer to something, and then forget all about it? It can happen all too often in our busy world. But the person on the other end of the conversation may actually be listening. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">During the service, I had doubts about whether I was doing the right thing. Would the priest really care? Had the moment already passed? Should I be paying more attention to the service instead of scurrying around, trying to plan an impromptu concert? I decided to do it anyway. And I'm so glad that I did.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It's in the connections, in the sharing and doing for others, that we find the joy and the reward. Sometimes the connections are those that we have cultivated for years. Sometimes the connections are fleeting, momentary, created in the length of time it takes to sing a song. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There was a moment of grace in the sharing of that song. I call it God's presence. Some may just call it grace, or goodness, or connection. Either way, it's good news. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Have a sweet week. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03344359811099736812noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7729234736869978316.post-19219642443005524162013-09-06T20:25:00.001-04:002013-09-08T07:53:42.017-04:00Cookie Bites and a Popsicle Stick<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Today I am reviewing Cookie Bites from Whole Foods Market. Cookie Bites are bite-sized dessert cups. The base is a chocolate chip cookie turned into a little mini muffin, with a hollowed out middle. The cookie is a great consistency and there are ample chocolate chips--so much so that sometimes all you get when you bite into one is a hunk of good chocolate. The chocolate chip cookie shells are filled with a dollop of really good frosting. The sugar content in this frosting matches exceptionally well to the flavor of the chocolate chip cookie shell. It sounds like it would be too sweet but it is not! I am powerless over these little desserts. It's impossible to have just one. Or two or three.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I don't love the name "Cookie Bites" because I'm not sure that's a very inviting name. I think the taste of these little desserts far surpasses the attractiveness of the name. I think they should be called something else, like "Cookie Dessert Cups" or "Chocolate Chip Cookie Treats." No matter what they are called, however, they are positively, absolutely delicious. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">What's in a name? I have a name story. It takes place in a third grade classroom.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There was an eight-year-old girl who had an interesting name. One of her classroom reading assignments involved a character who had a name similar to that of the girl, which created the perfect environment for a lot of teasing. Some kids in the class seemed to find pleasure in calling the girl by this new, unattractive name, or by mixing up the two names during read-aloud time. One boy in particular was relentless in teasing the girl. He did not let up.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Later that day, the class was working on a project with popsicle sticks. The students had to write their names on the popsicle sticks so that the projects could be correctly returned. When project time ended, the girl helped to collect the projects. When she took the project from the boy who teased her the most, she happened to glance down at it. And there, written in black crayon on a popsicle stick, was his name. It was not the name that everyone called him, which was, apparently, a well-designed nickname. It was his actual name. And his name was Frank Edgar. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Frank Edgar is a perfectly respectable name. But perhaps not when you are a third-grader, and you have gone to great lengths to adopt a cool nickname that everyone thinks is your real name. Frank Edgar realized what had happened. He looked at the girl-- the same girl that he had been tormenting--with a desperate, pleading look. Their eyes met and locked for a matter of seconds.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In that moment, the girl could feel angst, desperation, and panic coming from Frank Edgar. The embarrassment from his teasing was still fresh in her mind. But the intensity of his pain, his potential pain, based upon what she chose to do in that moment, won out. The girl did nothing. She collected the project, and said nothing.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Two things happened that day. Right there in a third grade classroom, in the time that it took for the girl to lock eyes with Frank Edgar, she learned the meaning of empathy. She learned how to put herself in someone else's shoes and to make a decision based upon someone else's feelings. That's not always the easiest decision to make. But it's probably always the right decision. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The second thing that happened that day is that Frank Edgar never teased that girl again. My guess is that he learned something that day too. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Never underestimate the power of doing good.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Have a sweet week!</span><br />
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Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03344359811099736812noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7729234736869978316.post-63232401429063382422013-09-01T16:15:00.000-04:002013-09-01T16:15:39.192-04:00S'mores and Some Mail<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The Cheesecake Factory has a new cheesecake flavor. It's called Toasted Marshmallow S'Mores Galore. It tastes as decadent as it sounds, and I think it's one of their better cheesecakes. It's comprised of Hershey's chocolate cheesecake, with chocolate frosting on top, a thick blanket of toasted marshmallow draped over the cheesecake, crumbled graham crackers sprinkled throughout, one artfully placed graham cracker square, and whipped cream. The toasted marshmallow blanket is sweet and thick, and is deliciously rich, especially when mixed with the chocolate cheesecake. The cheesecake itself is a smooth, rich chocolate, and the frosting on top is a bold accent of chocolate flavor. There seems to be more whipped cream than usual with this flavor of Cheesecake Factory cheesecake, and the fact that the whipped cream is sprinkled with graham cracker fools you into thinking you should eat the mound of whipped cream as if it were ice cream or mousse. This cheesecake, for lack of a better word, is quite yummy! It is, however, extremely rich and I could only finish about half of it. Bring a friend when you try the S'Mores Cheesecake!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">S'mores are definitely a summertime treat. To be honest, I never actually had s'mores growing up. We had plenty of toasted marshmallows, toasted over barbecues with charcoal, sometimes just browned on the outside, sometimes toasted until they were charred and black on the outside, and gooey and almost liquid on the inside. Those were the best kind. It wasn't until I was much older that I found out that some people went the extra step and brought graham crackers and chocolate into the mix. I think I prefer just the toasted marshmallows, to be honest, probably because they play such a large role in my summer memories. I see the point of adding the graham crackers and chocolate, but it's the toasted marshmallows that really mean summertime for me. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">How many of our childhood memories end up defining who we are? I have a memory from early childhood that I know played a significant part in defining who I am. I was around seven or eight years old. I had written a poem about the American flag. Someone in my household thought it would be a good idea to send it to the President. The President! Well, we mailed him the poem. And one day, there was a letter in my mailbox with a return address that said "The White House." And it was addressed to me.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It was a letter from President Gerald Ford, thanking me for sending him my poem. I remember getting the mail, and seeing the crisp white envelope with the words "The White House" on it, and feeling so excited. I actually got a letter from the White House! From the President of the United States! </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It's been quite a few years since that letter arrived. I don't remember what the letter actually said, and I don't even remember the poem that I wrote. But I do remember how I felt when I got that letter. Besides being excited, I felt really important, like something that I had done really mattered. I'm not sure who's idea it was to send the letter, or what the intention had been. Quite possibly, my mother or father just thought it would be something fun to do. It actually had a much bigger impact, and left me with the feeling that great things can happen when you put yourself out there. Whoever thought that the President would write to me, a girl living in a small suburb of New York, who hand-wrote a poem in pencil on some lined paper? But he did. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I'm really thankful to my parents for that moment, for showing me that anything is possible. Why not send a letter to the President of the United States? Why not do something, be proud of something, reach for something, no matter how unreachable it may seem? It was a good lesson, and it's a lesson worth repeating I think. For kids and for adults. For all of us.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Have a great week. And invite a friend to share some of that S'mores Cheesecake!</span><br />
<br />Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03344359811099736812noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7729234736869978316.post-32934931283581104192013-08-24T22:51:00.003-04:002013-08-24T22:51:57.321-04:00Ice Cream Sandwich Chronicles<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I recently had the pleasure of trying the Ice Cream Sandwich at Fuse Bistro in Lowell, Massachusetts. I thought it would be a fancy ice cream sandwich, but still an ice cream sandwich that you could pick up and eat with your hands. It was quite a bit more! It was served on a long, rectangular plate. There were three toffee cookies spaced evenly on the plate, and scoops of salted caramel ice cream were placed in between the cookies. The cookies were topped with whipped cream, the plate was drizzled in hot fudge, and there was a piece of walnut brittle placed as a garnish in the center. It was quite an elaborate take on the ice cream sandwich! It looked lovely and it tasted even better. The cookies were buttery and just the right consistency; not too soft and not too crunchy. The salted caramel ice cream was delicious; the right combination of bitter and sweet, and I just wished there had been more of it. The whipped cream and hot fudge were nice accompaniments. The walnut brittle, although tasty, was difficult to chew and proved to be more of a distraction. The rest of the dessert, however, was fantastic.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I have always been a fan of ice cream sandwiches. There is something very comforting about the standard ice cream sandwich--vanilla ice cream sandwiched between two rectangular layers of thin chocolate cake. Growing up in the 1970's, that was the one and only ice cream sandwich. In the early '80's the chipwich made its appearance, and I was an instant fan. Two chocolate chip cookies, vanilla ice cream in the middle, and chocolate chips all along the sides. The chipwich was like a delicacy; it was more expensive, and you didn't get it very often. It was like the champagne of ice cream sandwiches. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I have a chipwich story that I would like to share. It's kind of a bittersweet story.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was almost sixteen years old at the time. On one ordinary morning while getting ready for school, I found out that something awful had happened. An older cousin had been hurt badly, and my parents were leaving to be with my aunt and uncle. My brother, sister, and I went to school not knowing how things would turn out, and feeling quite powerless to do anything at all. It was a difficult day, and when we arrived home, we learned that our cousin had passed. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It was tragic and heartbreaking. It is always tragic and heartbreaking to learn of such a loss, but harder perhaps when you are almost sixteen and your cousin isn't that many years older than you, and nothing like this has ever happened before. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My parents were still with my aunt and uncle, but my grandparents were at home, watching my younger sister and my brother and I. My sister was upstairs with my grandparents, and I was in my room, having a very hard time with the news. My brother, thirteen at the time, came into my room. We didn't speak much. But at some point, I remember that he left. The ice cream truck was on our street. I don't remember if we heard it, or if he went outside and saw the truck. But he left my room, and then he came back. And silently, he handed me a chipwich. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I took it and I ate the whole thing. I remember how I felt when I ate it. I remember thinking, I'm going to keep eating this chipwich and maybe I will feel better. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When I look back on that day, I see loss and pain. But I also see a brother trying to comfort his sister, in the best way that he knows how. And that makes me want to cry for a different reason. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Yes, dessert itself can be a comfort. But I think, more than that, the act of sharing a special dessert at just the right moment, can be a comfort. I know it was for me.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Have a sweet and comforting week. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03344359811099736812noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7729234736869978316.post-89925221966962251012013-08-18T20:32:00.000-04:002013-08-18T20:44:29.337-04:00Of Chocolates and Children<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She is two days old. The nurse brings her into my room, her eyes wide, wide open, a shock of dark hair standing almost straight up from her little head. She looks like she is ready for the world, full of energy, and ready to get started. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She is three weeks old. She has been crying, actually screaming, for the better part of six hours. She stops when it's time to take pictures for our fifth anniversary. From the pictures, you cannot tell that she has been crying at all. She looks angelic. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She is two years old. She marches around the house, wearing my work heels and holding a yellow legal pad, proclaiming that she has a lot of trials. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She is five years old. She has a kindergarten project, where she has to write about a favorite stuffed animal and leave the stuffed animal at school overnight. I notice that the stuffed animal is still in her room and I rush to the school, find her at her lunch table and triumphantly hand over her beloved stuffed animal. She does not look at all pleased to see me. She tells me that she does not need the stuffed animal, and I find out later that she has a moral objection to the assignment and had decided that it was not appropriate to ask five-year-olds to leave beloved stuffed animals in a school, overnight.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She is nine years old. We are holding hands and jumping up and down on the stairs outside of a local community theater. She has just gotten her first musical theater call back.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She is twelve years old. We are in a mall parking lot and she is explaining to me why it is imperative that I purchase her a North Face jacket and a pair of Ugg boots. I deliver a long lecture about being comfortable in your own skin and bucking fashion trends, complete with detailed reminiscing about a fuzzy winter hat with a pompom that I used to wear when I was her age. She listens patiently until I finish and says, "Mom, you're wearing Uggs." Several years later, she uses her own money to buy her younger sister a North Face so that she won't have the same trouble getting proper middle school attire.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She is fifteen. We are eating a host of desserts in my car. This is our routine; I drop her at her voice lesson and then I purchase the newest desserts and chocolates at Trader Joe's, and we review them when she is done with her lesson. We share this in common, our love for chocolate. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">One of our favorites from Trader Joe's is the Dark Chocolate Sea Salt Caramels. There is something addictive about the salt on these caramels. Underneath the salt is a layer of chocolate, high quality chocolate. The center is a light, gooey caramel. The combination of thick salt, dark chocolate, and caramel is delicious. Another favorite of ours is the dark chocolate peanut butter cups. The peanut butter cups are small, almost bite size. The chocolate is very dark, and pairs unexpectedly well with the peanut butter center. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She is almost sixteen. She has just left for a summer program, which takes her halfway across the country for three weeks. I decide I will clean out her closet while she's gone. Mostly, I just want to be in her room. Somehow it feels better if I'm sitting in her room. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She is seventeen. We have traveled to yet another city, for another college audition. We have just turned out the lights in our hotel room, as she has an early morning of acting, dancing, and singing. In the dark she says, "Thank you for doing this."</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She is eighteen. All week I keep seeing, in her face, flashes of her eight-year-old self, or her eleven-year-old self. It seems like yesterday, but also, like an eternity ago. Because she is not a child anymore. She has a high school diploma and a bank card and a driver's license. She takes trains into the city, she drives on a highway, she visits out-of-town friends. She picks college courses and makes plans for this new phase of her life. No, she is no longer a child. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But still, she is mine. Somehow, from a hospital room, we have arrived here. My hope, like the hope of all moms, is for a path full of happiness. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I also hope for room to share some more chocolates. Now and then. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Have a sweet week!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03344359811099736812noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7729234736869978316.post-55465854219541905652013-08-11T20:19:00.000-04:002013-08-11T20:19:40.294-04:00White Chocolate and White Water<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">While searching for a treat featuring white chocolate, I happened upon Blue Moon Bagel Cafe's White Chocolate Mousse Cupcakes (Medfield, Massachusetts). This cupcake featured vanilla cake, white buttercream frosting, an abundance of white chocolate curls, and a lemon mousse filling. The filling took up about three quarters of the cake itself, which I thought was an interesting change. The frosting was a buttercream with an emphasis on the butter. It was mostly butter, with just a bare hint of sweetness. There is something to be said for eating your cake with basically a slab of butter on top! The white chocolate curls added a subtle welcome crunch to the cupcake, and provided a sweetness to the frosting underneath. The ratio of frosting to cake was perfect. The best thing about this cupcake was the buttercream/white chocolate combination. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I don't particularly like white chocolate alone, but I love it when it is used as part of a dessert. Similarly, I don't particularly like whitewater either, but what I do like is what I learned from whitewater. I should probably start from the beginning.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I am not an adventurous person. But for some inexplicable reason, I decided that our entire family should try whitewater rafting during our trip to Yosemite National Park in California. It sounded like fun. It was definitely something we had not done before. My children, who were 13, 11, and 9 at the time, were all very excited to try whitewater rafting.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We arrived at the river, got suited up for the ride, and began our orientation. As the guide instructed us in rowing techniques, defensive positions should we fall into the rapids, safety on the raft, and other pertinent information, I looked around and thought, ok, maybe just wearing these life vests is enough of an adventure. Maybe we should leave now and tell the kids that this was our fun for the day. I may even have suggested this to my husband. But there we were, climbing into a raft with our guide, and setting off on our rafting trip.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The first rapid was very exciting. It was a thrill to all work together, all five of us plus our guide, to paddle through a wall of whitewater. I remember the exhilaration as we made it through, and all of us tapping our oars in celebration. We were having a ball. The kids were thrilled. Look what I am capable of, I thought! And then, we got to our next rapid. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It was a Class 3. I dug in with my oar, listening to the guide calling out instructions. But I wasn't hitting any water, I was just hitting air. And in a split second, I was airborn. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I crashed into the water and all I remember was water, water, rushing everywhere. And the thought, I cannot believe I fell in. I flailed wildly and found something to hold onto. The water stopped crashing for a brief moment and I could finally see; I looked around to find out what I was using as a flotation device. It was my eleven year old daughter, who was bobbing in her life jacket and smiling at me with a beautiful smile. And I remember thinking, Oh my God. She's in the water. I'm holding onto her and I'm going to drown her. And so I let go.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The water took me, threw me. Just water, water, water. I kept swallowing water. I felt hard edges as I crashed into rocks. From the back of my brain I heard someone screaming about some sort of position. It was our guide, and somehow I registered that I was supposed to be on my back. I managed to get into the right position but the water kept taking me, kept crashing me into things. I'm not sure how long this went on for. It felt like forever, and I remember thinking that I might not ever make it back to the raft. Like, ever. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">At some point I heard the guide screaming swim, swim. I realized the rapids had stopped crashing me and it was time to swim. I looked around, saw the raft in the distance, and swam as hard as I could toward it. When I was almost there my husband reached into the water and scooped me onto the raft.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I remember being very thankful that I was back in the raft, and I remember feeling like it was incredibly difficult to breathe. I registered that my daughter was back in the raft too, and found out later that she had been scooped up by our guide as soon as she had fallen in, and she thought it had been fun to be in the water. I was incredibly thankful for that. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It was hard to recover from my fall into the rapids. I found it very difficult to calm down. I had bruises and bleeding cuts on my legs from being thrown into rocks. The kids were asking if I was okay, and I kept saying I was fine. I covered up the biggest cut with my hand and I kept trying to smile. "You keep saying you're fine, but you don't look fine," said my youngest, my son. I repeated that I was just fine. I half-heartedly asked the guide if we were almost done. He looked at me and said, "No, we have about two hours left, and a lot more rapids." </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">That was quite a sobering moment. I still felt like I couldn't breathe well. I could not imagine two more hours of rowing, rapids, and more water, after what I had just experienced. As we began to paddle through some calm water, headed to our next rapid, I looked all around, thinking of ways I could potentially escape. Had it just been my husband and I, I would have asked the guide to drop me at the nearest embankment and I would have scampered up to the road. I would have scaled rocks, walked for hours, camped out on the pavement, I would have done just about anything to get out of that river. But I was determined not to ruin things for the kids. I did not want their big adventure, and our vacation, to turn into some sort of drama, ending in a rescue for mom. So I kept rowing.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We hit more rapids and I was determined not to leave that raft again. And I didn't. It was exhausting and extremely scary and I don't think I really took a deep breath for quite a long time. But I dug deep and stayed in that raft and I finished the trip. It was one of the hardest things I've ever done and I'm not sure how I did it. I think prayer played a large part in getting me through. I was simply determined not to ruin things for my kids. Sometimes you do crazy things when you're a mom.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The kids all loved whitewater rafting. My husband loved whitewater rafting. The pictures of our raft trip show four faces of joy and one face of cowered terror. But, I stayed in the raft. And my kids counted whitewater rafting as one of the best things they did during that vacation.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />These days, I prefer to look at whitewater from the road, or a nice viewing platform, rather than experience it. And yes, I most definitely prefer white chocolate to white water. But my whitewater adventure </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">taught me some important things. Like the fact that perhaps someone who was born in the Bronx and doesn't like to be out of breath should not be whitewater rafting. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">More seriously, I'm a little bit different now, because of white water. What I did actually learn is that we are stronger than we think we are. And that choosing the more difficult path can truly lead to triumph. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Have a sweet week!</span><br />
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Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03344359811099736812noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7729234736869978316.post-47779955589766633772013-08-04T19:49:00.002-04:002013-08-04T19:49:28.848-04:00Butter Crunch, Butterscotch, and a Better Ribbon<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It's a Butter Crunch round robin! I first discovered Butter Crunch ice cream at Friendly's as a teenager, in search of the perfect recipe for a Peanut Butter Cup Sundae (see previous blog entry from May, "How to Build the Perfect Peanut Butter Cup Sundae, and Other Stories"). I have recently sampled Butter Crunch ice cream cones at a number of ice cream parlors in the Boston area and have discovered that all Butter Crunch ice cream is not equal.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">What is the crunchy sweet stuff in Butter Crunch ice cream? Butter brickle? Butterscotch candy? Toffee? Unclear. All of the Butter Crunch flavors I tried seemed to have similar crunchy goodness, but with varying sizes and consistencies. My first stop was Lizzy's Ice Cream in Needham, Massachusetts. Their Butter Crunch ice cream is standard, good quality Butter Crunch; a vanilla based ice cream with small candy pieces. It reminded me of the Butter Crunch at Friendly's. The candy pieces are tiny, probably the size of a mini chocolate chip, but there are plenty of them, and there is a subtle butterscotch flavor throughout. Next was Crescent Ridge Dairy in Sharon. The Butter Crunch flavor at Crescent Ridge is a super sized Butter Crunch. The scoop was enormous. There is something to be said for eating an ice cream cone where the ice cream scoop is twice the size of your fist. The ice cream itself was vanilla-based and was very creamy. But what set this Butter Crunch apart from the rest was the buttercrunch candy; the candy pieces were enormous, probably the size of a large gumball. Because of this, the flavor seemed less Butter Crunch and more something in its own category. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The final stop on my Butter Crunch circuit was at Bubbling Brook in Westwood. This was my favorite Butter Crunch ice cream. Bubbling Brook's take on this flavor presents sweet ice cream, sweet and crunchy candy pieces, and an unexpected, flavorful butterscotch ribbon running through the ice cream. The butterscotch ribbon adds a tremendous amount of flavor, and plays off nicely against the sweet candy pieces. It turns an ordinary ice cream scoop into a mini sundae in a cone. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">For me, it was the butterscotch ribbon that made Bubbling Brook's Butter Crunch a stand out. And now, I would like to share a story about another kind of ribbon. The story begins on a college campus.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A boy and a girl met in September of their senior year. They seemed to be polar opposites; he was all about engineering and computers, she was about social sciences and music. He was quiet, she was not, he enjoyed staying in, she preferred to be out, he was calm, she was always busy. But they started dating in November, and by graduation in June they were still dating. The boy graduated Phi Beta Kappa, in the top percentile of his class, and received a special red ribbon to wear on his graduation robe. The girl did not graduate Phi Beta Kappa. This was a particular issue for the girl, as she was naturally competitive, worked hard, and came close, but did not have a high enough GPA for Phi Beta Kappa. She complained to the boy that she was disappointed that she had not had a red ribbon at graduation. For some reason this really bothered her. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So what did the boy do? After graduation, the boy gave the girl a present. He gave her his Phi Beta Kappa ribbon. The girl was amazed that someone would give away something that meant so much. But the boy just smiled and said he thought it meant more to her than it did to him, and he wanted her to have it. So she accepted his gift. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Of course, the ribbon did not make the girl magically eligible for Phi Beta Kappa. But it showed her something about the boy, about how very selfless he was. She knew the boy worked really hard, and she knew that he valued what he had accomplished. But the ribbon showed that he valued her more. And that making her happy was more important than any award or accolade. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She had never met anyone like that. She suspected that there were few like him in the world. Over twenty years later, they are still together, and she still suspects that there are few like him in the world. He never asked for the ribbon back, never so much as asked to see it. But she still has it. And it means more to her than if she had received her own red ribbon. Perhaps that is what the boy had intended all along. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Have a good week!</span><br />
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Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03344359811099736812noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7729234736869978316.post-78473958936875690822013-07-28T21:39:00.001-04:002013-07-28T21:39:44.558-04:00Lemon Cupcake, Lemon Drops and Love<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It's cupcake time again! This week's dessert comes from Cupcake Charlie's at Patriot Place in Foxborough, Massachusetts. I tried the Lemon Drop Cupcake--lemon cake with a sweet lemon filling, topped with mounds of buttercream frosting, a sprinkle of candied sugar, and finished with a white chocolate garnish. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The cake was fresh and just the right consistency, and the filling was a nice balance to the frosting and cake, with a lemon flavor that was not overpowering. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The best thing about this cupcake was the buttercream frosting. It was the perfect blend of butter and sugar; not overly rich but also not too sweet. The candied sugar on top was a nice contrast to the smooth buttercream. The size of the cupcake was just right, and there was plenty of frosting to last throughout the entire cupcake experience. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was drawn to the Lemon Drop Cupcake because of my grandfather, who loved lemon drop candies. I was lucky enough to grow up with my maternal grandparents living upstairs in our two-family home, and they were an integral part of my childhood and my life. One of my beloved memories of my grandfather dates back to the 1970's, when I was about ten years old. Around that time, the game show "Bowling For Dollars" was running on channel 9 in New York. Contestants would literally bowl to win money, and viewers would mail in postcards in the hopes of being selected as the 'Pin Pal.' Contestants would select one postcard from a big vat of postcards, and the Pin Pal would win the same money that the contestant won. For each pin knocked down by the contestant, the contestant and Pin Pal would each win a dollar. If the contestant rolled two strikes, the contestant and Pin Pal would win a much larger jackpot. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My grandparents had mailed in a postcard, and one particular evening their postcard was drawn as the Pin Pal. My grandfather and I were actually on a walk to the lake during the show, and I remember the excitement of finding out what had happened when we got back. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It was one of those joyous, unexpected moments in life that you can't plan for. It started as an ordinary night, and then my grandparents' postcard was drawn, and my grandparents won money on TV! It was big news in our house! The contestant who chose their card did really well, and my grandparents ended up winning the jackpot of about $500.00, which, back in the 1970's, was a pretty good outcome for simply mailing in a postcard. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">What happened next was the best part of all. One afternoon, with no fanfare or warning, my grandfather announced that we were going to play Name That Tune. He gathered the grandkids together, and we sat in his living room while he played song after song on his piano. When we recognized the song we would jump up and yell out the name, and if we got it right, we would win some money. Of course all the grandkids ended up winning. We thought it was great fun, and I still remember the scene like it was yesterday--my grandfather sitting down to play a few bars, one of us excitedly yelling out the answer, and him happily jumping up and giving out some more money. He played tune after tune after tune, and we kept guessing and winning more. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I recall that at the time, I had a vague realization that the Name That Tune game occurred coincidentally after the Bowling For Dollars win. But back then, I just thought that it was so much fun that we were having our own game show, and that we were all winning money. Looking back as an adult, I realize that it was a great act of love and generosity. My grandparents were on a fixed income. Winning Bowling for Dollars was a really nice windfall for them. And one of the first things they did was share</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> it with their very young grandchildren. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The fourteenth anniversary of my grandfather's passing was last week. The money from the Name That Tune game is long gone, but that memory, and many more loving memories of my grandfather, will always remain. When I think of my grandfather, I can't help but be reminded that the best legacy we can leave to others is the legacy of love.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I definitely enjoyed the Lemon Drop Cupcake. The sweetest desserts are those that remind us of the people we love. Have a sweet week!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03344359811099736812noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7729234736869978316.post-53042908903779948762013-07-21T22:44:00.001-04:002013-07-21T22:46:46.857-04:00A Brownie and a Book<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I'm not a brownie person.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">That's exactly what I told the waitress at the Nosh Kitchen Bar in Portland, Maine, when she suggested I try the Betty Ford Brownie. "It's just a brownie?" I said, thinking this was probably a mistake. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"I'm not a brownie person either," she replied. "But I really like this dessert." </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So I tried it. And she was right, it was a winner. The Betty Ford Brownie seems less like a brownie and more like an exotic chocolate square. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You need a fork to eat it. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It comes served on a plate decorated with ribbons of chocolate sauce and a mound of whipped cream off to the side. The brownie itself is composed of three layers. The bottom layer is chocolate chip cookie, but the cookie is so soft and chewy it's more like really good chocolate chip cookie dough. The next layer is oreo cookie, and in this layer you get large pieces of oreos, molded into a square which is sitting on top of the chocolate chip cookie layer. Finally, the top layer is a thick layer of chocolate fudge brownie, probably about a quarter of an inch thick, which pulls the whole dessert together. The flavors worked really well together, and somehow, resulted in a dessert that was not too sweet but incredibly flavorful. I highly recommend the Betty Ford Brownie, even if you are not a brownie person!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The question of whether or not you are a brownie person, and whether you can still enjoy a great brownie-like dessert even if you are not, reminds me of a major life decision I made approximately fifteen years ago. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I had a two year old daughter at the time, and a baby on the way. I was working full time, and had been for six years. I enjoyed my work very much, and had pretty much built my identity around my work. It was what I had wanted to do since high school, possibly since grade school, and I was doing it! And doing it well! But my life was pulling in a different direction, and I was wrestling with the decision to become a stay at home mom. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A stay at home mom? Me? That's not what I had worked all those years for, and that's not why I went to college and grad school. Quite possibly, had there been such a category, I would have been voted "person least likely to become a stay at home mom." But still, something was telling me to make a change. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It was a difficult decision. It was all I talked about and thought about for a solid three months. During this time, I found myself talking to a mom who attended the same gymnastics "Mom and Me" class that my daughter and I attended. I'm not sure how the topic came up, and I don't even remember the mom's name. But </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I do remember, almost as if it were yesterday, when she suggested that I read a book called "Sequencing." She said that it was about the fact that women can have it all, but maybe not all at the same time. She offered to let me read her copy, and I said that sounded like a good idea. The very next class she brought the book for me, and told me not to worry about returning it, that I should keep it. And I did.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The book really helped. And I did decide to stay at home with my children, which I count as the best decision I have ever made. It would probably take a host of blog entries to fully cover the nuances of the decision to stay at home, and I know and fully respect that it is not the right choice for everyone. I myself have explored many permutations of being a working mom in my almost eighteen years as a mom; full time, half-time, part-time, very-part time, and, fifteen years ago, no work at all. But what I want to celebrate today actually, is the book, and the mom who gave it to me. She barely knew me. I don't remember her name, and frankly, I'm not sure I even knew it back then. But she must have sensed in me, a fellow mom, a fellow human being, a great struggle. And she went out of her way to help me in that struggle.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I still have the book. It's a reminder of a decision that I made. But it's also a reminder of what people can do for each other. I don't think that mom ever found out what I actually decided. I would love to tell her, but mostly, I would like to thank her. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It's amazing what a small act of kindness can do. That book helped to change the course of my life.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Are you a brownie person? Even if you're not, I bet there's a great brownie out there for you too! Have a great week! </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03344359811099736812noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7729234736869978316.post-21985366683678165462013-07-14T21:20:00.001-04:002013-07-14T21:20:15.348-04:00Pudding, Expectations, and a Lesson<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I have wanted to try the Salted Caramel Butterscotch Pudding at the Yard House in Dedham, Massachusetts, for months. Doesn't that sound like a great dessert? I have so looked forward to this dessert that I was almost certain it could not possibly live up to expectations. Well, I am happy to report that it did. What I loved most about it was that it was a true salted caramel dessert. These days, it seems like everyone is serving some version of a salted caramel dessert, and most of the time, there is barely any salt worth speaking of. Not so with this dessert, as the salt pleasantly came through loud and clear. The flavors in this pudding were just wonderful. The butterscotch was robust, and the rich ribbon of caramel running through the pudding added a delicious twist. You could really taste the salt with the caramel. All of the flavors were strong, and rather than compete with each other, made for a very tasteful dessert experience. The pudding was served with a dollop of whipped cream and topped with cookie pieces, which appeared to be oreo cookies. Although the cookies added a nice crunchy texture, this dessert was really about the salt, caramel, and butterscotch, and it was a winner. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">How often is something that we look forward to as good as we hoped it would be? I have a funny story about expectations. And humility. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When my children were very young, I auditioned for the Tanglewood Festival Chorus, which is the chorus for the Boston Symphony Orchestra. Around the second year of my time with the chorus, my children were old enough to start coming to my concerts out at Tanglewood, which is the summer home of the BSO. My husband would find a nice section on the beautiful Tanglewood lawn, and my family would listen to the music having a picnic, sitting on large blankets. I was glad they were there, but I kept thinking that they really needed to actually see the concert and watch what was happening. I was still in the early stages of my singing with the group, completely enthralled with the very idea that I was up on the risers behind the Boston Symphony Orchestra. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">For one particular concert, the weather forecast was not optimal, and I discovered that chorus members could reserve seats on the green benches all the way in the back of the Shed (concert hall). I was excited to have my family within the Shed, watching the chorus and the orchestra and enjoying the magic of what I was doing. And so, I made sure to reserve seats on the green benches and told my husband where to find the seats. I could see, from my spot on the stage, the images of my three children and my husband making their way to their seats. I was pleased! </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">After the concert, I found my family, and excitedly asked what they thought of the music. They said nice things, as they always did. I specifically asked what they thought about being in the Shed, and actually getting a chance to watch the concert. I was sure they had loved the whole experience. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My middle daughter, six years old at the time, looked up at me and said, "Well, it was good, but there's no place to look except the stage. When we're on the lawn, we can look all around. We can look at the sky, or at the lawn, or at the other people. We can look all around. But when we're in there, there's no other place to look." </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There is nothing like children to keep you humble. I decided to be less self-impressed from that moment on, and I did not ask my little children to sit on the green benches again. My family continued to support me at my concerts; my children pretty much grew up on the Tanglewood lawn, immersing themselves in the culture, the beauty, and yes, the music, which they could hear loud and clear from their blankets. And when I would see, from my spot on the stage, three little figures appear just behind the green benches, to take a quick peek at what was happening on the stage, it melted my heart. I knew they were not coming up there because they were oh so impressed by the fact that I was singing behind the BSO, or because they wanted to see a world famous orchestra and a great big chorus. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It was because they loved their mom. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Try a dessert you've been looking forward to! And have a sweet week!</span></div>
Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03344359811099736812noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7729234736869978316.post-37849685733444100092013-07-07T20:51:00.000-04:002013-07-07T20:51:30.292-04:00Peanut Butter Perfection and Neighborhood Connections<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Today, I am pleased to review my all-time favorite ice cream flavor, Vanilla Peanut Butter Chip! I have tried many, many permutations of peanut butter themed ice cream: chocolate-based ice cream with peanut butter, chocolate-based with peanut butter cups, vanilla-based with peanut butter cups, peanut butter-based with chocolate chips, peanut butter-based with oreo, and the list goes on. Vanilla Peanut Butter Chip is quite simply, hands down, the best. The only place that I have been able to find it is in Westwood, Massachusetts at Bubbling Brook. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This is a vanilla-based ice cream. The vanilla is a traditional sweet cream vanilla (as opposed to the more spicy vanilla bean). There are thick ribbons of peanut butter running throughout the ice cream, alternating with pieces of chocolate that fall somewhere between a chocolate chip and a chocolate chunk. Although the flavor is called Vanilla Peanut Butter Chip, the 'chips' are not your average chocolate chips. First of all, they are bigger, and are square or rectangular in size. They are not quite as thick as chocolate chunks, but they pack more concentrated chocolate flavor than your typical chocolate chip, and provide a nice contrast in texture. There are ample amounts of both peanut butter and chocolate chips (pieces) in this flavor. The sweet vanilla, plus the peanut butter, and finally, the chocolate </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">pieces, all work together beautifully. This is precisely what a peanut butter ice cream should be!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Bubbling Brook, the only place to find my favorite flavor, is that wonderful kind of small town eatery where odds are you will know the wait staff, the person scooping your ice cream, as well as the person standing next to you in line. In today's busy world I think it's important to celebrate the connections we make with people in our day to day lives. No matter where you live, there are those people who become part of your circle. Perhaps it's the postman, the dry cleaner, or the waiter at your favorite diner. Kia was one of those people for me.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Kia worked at my favorite supermarket, bagging groceries. She was young, probably in her 20's. She worked hard and took pride in her work. She had a beautiful smile and a kind face, the kind of face that was a clear window to a beautiful soul. Kia was like a little ray of sunshine, and she was one of those people whom you knew were genuine and good, to the core. I always looked forward to Kia being the bagger on my checkout line. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Tipping your grocery bagger was discouraged at this store, but many chose to do it anyway. When I would try to tip Kia, she would often say "No, no tip. You pray for me. That will be my tip." </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">After years of seeing Kia in the checkout line, suddenly she wasn't there anymore. I discovered, years later, that Kia passed away from a brain tumor. I was deeply saddened, and also full of regret that I had not made the effort to contact her after she left the supermarket. To this day, I hope that Kia knew how much of an impact she made, and how much she brightened our days. I have a feeling that Kia probably would tell me not to worry about it if she were here today. She was the kind of person who seemed to operate on a different plane from everyone else. But still, I hope she knows. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Today, I want to thank some people in my circle. Thank you to Al, who used to work at the post office, who always greeted people by name and asked about their day, even if you were just there to buy stamps. To Rocky, who collects the trash and recycling with a great smile, who looks out for the dog and works hard and is always happy. And to my friends at Bubbling Brook, for taking the time to chat about new flavors, for listening to my incessant requests for Vanilla Peanut Butter Chip, and for putting this great flavor back on the menu. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Thank someone in your circle today! And find some time to enjoy your favorite ice cream flavor!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>Antoniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03344359811099736812noreply@blogger.com0