Stuffed Cheese Sandwiches with Roasted Red Pepper

In her later years, Grandma Annie seldom traveled but when she did, it was often to come to the aid of her oldest daughter who underwent a series of surgeries at mid-life. During those extended trips, my mother (a younger daughter) would haul us across the river to Annie's house in Frenchtown to "check things." These trips usually took place after school and they always seemed to be on gray November days.

We'd enter the cold, empty house, the day's mail in our hands, and quickly turn up the furnace. While my mother checked every room in the deep, narrow house, we children would huddle in the living room waiting for the heat to kick in. The furnace provided a gentle, lulling sound, a sort of comforting white noise that still soothes me today. I would eagerly sift through Annie's mail for the latest women's magazine so I could read the fiction. Those were the days before stories about orgasm and geriatric sex replaced quality short stories or novellas.

While the house was empty without Annie, her spirit always seemed to remain there as it lingered for many years after her death. Late afternoon, that time of deepening darkness, was a cozy time at the old house with the incandescent lights providing a yellow glow.

When Annie was in residence, this was the time she retreated to the kitchen to make soup, salad and sandwiches for the evening meal. I did this yesterday, as night fell, preparing a quick meal of cheese sandwiches and cole slaw. As always, Annie was with me, whispering those memories in my ear. I wonder what she would think of my concoctions?

Stuffed Cheese Sandwiches with Roasted Red Pepper, Tomato and Basil

8 slices of roasted red pepper
1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil
4 thick slices of sourdough or Italian bread
2 thicks slices of gouda or sharp cheddar cheese
4-6 slices tomato
4-8 basil leaves
butter

Coat the pepper slices with olive oil and roast in a 450-degree oven for 10-15 minutes. Set aside. Butter the bread lightly on all four sides, then layer with cheese, pepper, tomato and basil leaves. Melt butter in a skillet, and toast the sandwiches until both sides are golden brown.

Next time, I'll layer the sandwiches with sautéed onion slices for extra flavor.

I served this with cole slaw to which I added chopped cranberries and grated Granny Smith apple. I think an olive medley would have been a better choice.

The Metals of November and the Chestnut Trees of Montcuq

At 4 p.m. today, the sky turned deep blue and the low-hanging sun shone amber on the nearly-bare branches. The park is littered with brown leaves now, and the colors of scarlet and persimmon are but a memory. The glorious foliage of fall is all too fleeting.

But I love the mellow sun and the gray days of November. Each month seems to have its colors, and the colors of November are the colors of metals, of steel gray skies, pewter afternoons, bronze sunsets and copper leaves.

Fall comes early to chestnut trees, and by the end of September, the chestnut tree in our side yard, so glorious with its candles of white in June, is nearly bare while the lawn is layered with brown leaves. We've been told the chestnut is not suited to our cold climate, but it has been in the yard forever and it will stay forever as far as my husband and I are concerned. We have found it rather ironic that since we have been making nearly annual pilgrimages to France, the tree has seemed healthier. The half a dozen blooms of years past have multiplied in early summer, and the tree keeps its leaves later in the fall.

It's as if our chestnut knows it has to perform, now that we've seen its cousins in Paris.

The chestnut trees in Montcuq, an old hillside town about a half hour southwest of Cahors lose their leaves early, it seems. While area south of the Lot River was nearly all green in late September, Montcuq's chestnut leaves had fallen to the ground. They crunched under our feet as we walked down the sloping boulevard near the center of town.

It was noon and the shops were shuttered. Save for three or four rather seedy characters lounging about the café, we were alone. One young woman, probably a worker at a nearby business, sat at a table with her lunch and read a book. I felt drawn to her; she reminded me of myself, a sometimes loner with a book.

We took a dozen or so photographs, preferring not to linger. Montcuq (make sure you pronounce the final "q" or you will be saying, "my derriere") is a lovely little town, but it made me sad on this particular Friday. We made our way home by the backroads, and had a late lunch of cheese, saucisson, olives, and bread.

I felt a sense of contentment that day, as I did this afternoon when the sky turned metallic. Despite the challenges ahead, life can be good. Cherish these moments.

Want to roast chestnuts for the holidays? Here's how!

C'est Fromage! A Visit to Madison's Fromagination

Walking from my conference to my hotel each night, I passed an inviting little shop I'd wanted to explore last summer. I ran out of time then, but this week I'd pass the shop just before closing time. So, unabashed cheesehead that I am, I dodged inside drawn by the warm glow of possibilities.

The shop is Fromagination at 12 South Carroll Street. (I should note that the photo above was taken in France; I forgot my camera this trip.)

Fromagination is chock full of artisan cheese from Wisconsin's famous cheesemakers. Not wanting to make a choice, I purchased five "orphans," small wrapped odds and ends of cheese I will bring home to my husband for our Saturday night finger food tradition.

I found the staff friendly and knowledgeable, and they did not laugh as I oohed and ahed my way around the shop. Somehow, a bag of crackers and a fruit confit found their way into my bag, along with some candy for my sweet-toothed husband back home.

I have a difficult time restraining myself in food shops.

Moreover, I have still more difficult time passing by a food shop at the end of the day. There is something enticing about their cozy light against the darkening night and something enchanting about the practice of shopping for the evening meal on the way home. There's a comforting bit of serendipity involved in finding supper in a random way, of cobbling together a meal of what is available.

It's what I used to do on those long ago evenings when I lived here.

It makes me feel good to do it when I am back in town.

A Chocolate Fix on a Foggy Night

November nights in Madison come early, especially during the annual spate of damp weather that inevitably arrives toward the middle of the month.

The walk between the hotel where I am staying and the hotel where my conference is located is about eight blocks, uphill on the way there and downhill on the way back. After two mornings of walking up hills I swear did not exist 20 years ago, I gave up and grabbed a Madison Metro bus this morning.

But my walk home at 6 p.m. is downhill and involves walking past many food shops, including a cheese shop which I will address in a later post.

I bought cheese, of course, as a means of countering the chocolate deluge I experience today, along with the rain. During my classes, every time a I turned around, there was chocolate. (Reminds me of graduate school, when one of my classmates was a chocolate buyer. Chris often brought chocolate treats to our ethics seminar.)

So when I brought my cheese bag home, what should spill out but three Dean & Deluca chocolates? A while later, a nice lady from housekeeping brought two squares of rich chocolates to my door.

How heavenly is that?

I'm blogging in my pajamas, I should mention here. And why not? It's cold and damp and the flannels makes me feel all cozy and comforted. Then there is the chocolate.

Oh, and the delectable chocolate confection above was purchased in France. It's a mousse-like thingamajig with a crispy layer on the bottom. Need I say more?

Sweet Things: Old Habits Die hard

For a few days I am back in Madison, playing student again as I did only five months ago. During the day, I'll be concentrating on learning the role I can play in helping the economy, at least on a local basis.

I swear I lose 10 years every time I revisit this wonderful small but remarkably diverse city. I feel young again, walking the same streets I walked as a student, revisiting my old haunts. Was it only 20-odd years ago?

For many of my years here, I lived a few blocks off State Street. During the years I did not, I used that trendy little thoroughfare to reach my downtown office. My standard practice was to pop into a State Street bakery for a croissant or a brioche. Those were, of course, the days when I could comfortably eat sweets without assuming the girth of an entire Panzer division (is anyone out there familiar with just how large that would be?).

The photo above was taken in France. If I look hard enough this week, I'm sure I'll locate a bakery with comparable offerings. (Oh, how I miss the Ovens of Brittany on State Street!)

The test will be whether I can resist them or not. Save for a chocolate mousse-y thing, cream puffs, tarte tatin and a Jesuite, I was pretty good in France. For every whim I gave in to there was at least one more that I resisted.

How about you?

Low-Carb, Crustless Chocolate Pumpkin Pie

Note: I am on the road for a few days and will return on Friday. The recipe below and the accompanying post are from three weeks ago.

From October 20: The act of coming home is the greatest small joy I know. So it has been since I was a child.

When we lived on Main Street all those decades ago, I would often come home at 3:15 on Indian Summer afternoons to find my mother hanging laundry to dry in our vast backyard, or removing a batch of cookies from the oven in the sunny yellow kitchen.

She was young and vigorous and full of life then. I so vividly remember finding her in the back yard on a particular balmy fall afternoon, romping with my baby brother on a blanket. We have photographs of that afternoon, and it remains memorable to me because my mother had been to the drugstore down the street and the market, and had returned with a pumpkin, a bag of chocolate, and two eye masks, one black and one turquoise.

“Halloween is coming, and we’re getting ready,” she told me, and I was delighted. At six, I was just developing an idea of the yearly round and what it meant as the seasons shifted and were marked with rituals and celebrations.

On this day and others like it, the inside front door of our home would remain open, letting in the cool autumn air as the sun slipped down into the west and the shadows of dusk set in. I can still hear the sound of early-evening traffic outside, and the clanging of pots and pans as my mother prepared supper. Our Craftsman bungalow was small and cozy and no room was any great distance from another. I still like this proximity in a home.

These days, I return home much later, and my routine is different: Get the mail, check the e-mail and phone messages, change into jeans, and think about supper. In cool seasons, I turn up the furnace, and in warm weather, I open the windows.

One thing has not changed: I want a snack to tide me over until supper, which is eaten rather late at our house, at least by American standards.

Lately, I’ve been thinking of ways to pair pumpkin with chocolate. Since it’s gray and blustery today; I don’t want to go out. So I used what I had on hand to make this crustless, low-carb Chocolate Pumpkin Pie.

1/2 cup low-carb baking mix
2/3 cup sugar (I used a sugar-Splenda blend)
½ teaspoon cinnamon
dash pumpkin pie spice
dash salt
½ cup melted unsweetened chocolate, cooled, or chocolate syrup
1/2 cup lite sour cream
2/3 cup canned pumpkin
2 eggs, beaten
1 teaspoon vanilla

Pre-heat oven to 350. Blend dry ingredients in large bowl and set aside. In a second bowl, blend chocolate syrup or melted chocolate with sour cream, pumpkin, eggs and vanilla. Gradually fold into dry mix. When mixture is smooth, pour into greased pie plate or square baking dish and bake for 45 minutes until the pie is firm, but not hard. Chill before topping with cream cheese frosting.

A day later, the dessert is firm and flavorful, and tastes richer than it did a few hours after I made it. You may have to adjust the sugar, depending upon our preference. I like a dessert that is not too sweet.

A Season of Gratitude

There's no way of sugarcoating it: I've been feeling pretty bad lately. A case of the post-trip letdown, I guess.

Part of the problem was that parts of the presidential campaign had taken a turn I did not agree with. I was disappointed. And I was really, really tired of robo calls and television ads and circulars and flyers that hit my mailbox in a barrage.

I did not have the heart to visit my own blog, let alone anyone else's site. For that I apologize. I made a wonderful dessert, wrote a post, took a photo and refused to upload it.

I was dispirited.

All that changed Tuesday night when the election ended. We had a gracious speech from a candidate who defended his opponent in what was perhaps his finest moment on the campaign trail. We had an uplifting speech from the candidate who emerged victorious. We had faces of joy and hope and every color and every background gathered together in one place: Grant Park.

What a contrast to 40 years ago! The words "The whole world is watching" kept echoing through my brain. In 1968, Grant Park was the scene of violent riots at the Democratic Convention. Now it was the scene of victory.

The whole world is watching. We have overcome. Yes, we can.

It doesn't matter which party's ideology you adhere to, it really doesn't. What matters is that we have had a shining moment, and we may - if all goes well - have a brighter future. I'm not talking about the economy, but I am talking about the idea of cohesiveness, of working together for a greater good. Our shining moment must transcend party lines and ideological differences. And racial barriers.

I hope we move forward in a bipartisan manner. Because the whole world is watching now.

My husband and I are longtime media junkies. I started out as a reporter, and specialized in politics for a time, on both a local and national level. He started out as a photographer. That's how we met. We stay up late every election night. We suffer a letdown after Election Day, no matter which candidate wins.

This year, the letdown began before the election. Every night we would come home to 5-6 robo calls and an equal number of campaign mailers. Enough! Let's move on now.

And the photo? It was taken five weeks ago in Paris. I thought it had a celebratory look to it. As I said, no matter how you voted, we can all celebrate the removal of a barrier.