My simple solution

I went through an english-muffin making winter a few years ago (English Muffins from Winter 2011), hoping to find the perfect recipe to produce all the nooks and crannies for butter and jam to sink into. I got close with Alton Brown's recipe (Alton Brown's English Muffins), but it was still no Thomas english muffin. So I was excited to stumple on Martha Stewart's multigrain english muffin recipe (Multigrain English Muffins from Martha) and set about making them immediately.

These were quite easy to make, but I made the mistake of not trusting my instincts. Mistake one. When the recipe called for one tablespoon of coarse salt, I was thinking that this seemed like a bit much, but I went ahead and added it anyway. Mistake two. After adding the buttermilk and yeast mixture, the dough seemed a little thick, and I thought about adding more milk, but I didn't because it was still slightly sticky to the touch. What I ended up with was a bit of a salty hockey puck of an english muffin. Anyway, I can't blame the recipe. It was my mistake to not follow my baking instincts., and I will try a rendition of it again, or actually I will marry Martha Stewart and Alton Brown through their recipes. Fingers crossed it will be a match.

I can only guess the way I was raised has something to do with it, but at any rate, I don't like to waste and have a hard time throwing away these perfectly good, hard, salty english muffins. So this morning I decided to try salvage these hockey pucks by making a simple syrup with a fresh peach. Super easy. I chopped the peach into big chunks. I added half a teaspoon of granulated sugar (yeah! that'll combat the salt!) and just covered the bottom of the pot with water. I let all this simmer and cook for five  or so minutes, buttered up my toasted english muffin, and slathered the peach mixture over the top. This peach concoction was really sweet and slightly syrupy and made that hockey puck quite tasty.

June in Yosemite

Boundary Peak, Nevada's highest point
as seen from Highway 6.

There's no excuse for me not being in Yosemite more often. It's an easy 5 hour drive from Las Vegas through Nevada's open desert and California's high sagebrush hills to Yosemite's eastside entrance of Tioga Pass and the fresh air of high alpine forests.

Marmot flattened on a rock
soaking up the sun.

I met up with my grad school friend, Sarah, who was in California for a cousin's wedding and had the brilliant idea to follow that up with a few days backpacking in Yosemite. We spent the first night in a campground tent site. Conditions in Yosemite like most of the western US are very dry this year, but we were lucky enough that fire restrictions in campgrounds wouldn't start until the next day. We had also been warned about bears, and we were very dutiful putting food and everything scenty in the bear box. Besides the mosquitos that afternoon and the mule deer walking near camp in the morning, it was a quiet time acclimating to the thinner air of 9,000 feet.

The signing getting onto the trail was a bit confuing, but all things considered, we did manage to get on the Young Lakes trail from Tuolomne Meadows fairly early. Our plan was straightforward: hike the 6.5 miles to the Lakes, set up camp, and relax. The first couple miles were flat and easy. Then we hit the uphill, which went on and on and on. I am a bit of a work-horse (or maybe even more appropriately, a tortoise) when I hike. I just go slow and steady on the uphills. I tend not to stop to catch my breath or take breaks because once I stop, that's pretty much all I want to do. My tortoise approach went well for me up until mile 5 when I stopped. The break was nice but after we started hiking again my boots seemed to shrink a few sizes, my backpack's hipbelt seemed to be made of plyboard, and my tummy was growling like a rabid dog.

Hallelujah! My backpack is off.

Young Lakes is a series of three lakes: the lower, middle, and upper. We were intent because of a recommendation from a friend to get to the middle or upper lake to set up camp, so we kept trudging upwards past the lower lake. Wow, was I happy to take my backpack off when we found our campsite at the middle lake, and even happier when the boots came off.

Our campsite tucked in the trees above the middle lake.

The middle lake at dusk.

Low-intensity backpacking is kind of my favorite way to go. I can set the tent up and just dayhike from that site without taking my 50-pound backpack. It's easier on my joints and muscles, and it lets me enjoy the scenery without being in a rush to get to the next site. That's exactly what Sarah and I did for the next couple days before hiking back out to the real world. For as close as this semi-looped trail is to busy part of the park, we saw very few other people and just enjoyed the scenery and quiet. Little specks on that big Sierra alpine landscape. I really love it. Colors and smells seem to have a heightened intensity. Skies are bluer, trees are greener, and the air is oh-so clean and fresh. No excuse. I've got to get back soon.

Thanks, Dewey!!!

It was about 108 degrees in Las Vegas today, and my spool was much too empty before I met up with you on the Lower Colorado River last weekend. Come visit. Soooooon!!!

Yay! Kitchen Toys!

My birthday was back in March, and I swear I haven't put this new toy away since I got it.

Here's one of my favorites snacks to make with it. I use one of my other favorite kitchen gadgets, my Good Grips mandolin to slice the apples. It's so quick and easy. How did I ever live without this? Not to mention the ease of making sushi at home now. But back to the apples, which next get plunked into lemon juice to prevent them from browning. Plus I like the added flavor.

The sliced apple alices all go onto the stacked trays. And about 24 hours, usually minus a few depending on my patience, voila!!! Apple chips!

Ready To Eat

Although I haven't been back for a few years, my good friend, Michelle, is returning to the States and New Orleans from a year-long teaching stint in Mexico (via Arizona, Illinois, and, I hope Las Vegas) in the next week or so, and it got me thinking about one of my all-time favorite NOLA treats. Luckily, we can make them at home (Cafe Du Monde beignet mix), which I did, and they were airy and sweet with the traditional excessive amount of powdered sugar, and the impromptu addition of strawberries. Yum.

Summer preparation

I've spent the glorious summer teaser weather in Chicago checking out ancient drinking vessels at the Art Institute.

       

Getting a new, laborious tattoo (oy, do I remember that swelling). And I totally got caught by my boss icing it, which necessitated that I show him what it was. He's an older gent, and this is a fairly conservative atmosphere so I'm not normally inclined to share, but we all managed to survive the ordeal. 

Learning to play clawhammer banjo. This was taken during lunch at work to prove to my husband I wasn't slacking on practice. 

I have a love-hate relationship with banjo. I always dread the classes, whining about it all the way. I also have SUCH anxiety about playing music and doing any creative stuff in front of people because if I was any good at it, it would be my job. I just like messing around, strumming along to Ryan Adams, NMH and Oasis on guitar. But taking a class means being out of tune and trying to read tabs IN PUBLIC. Not to mention to my utter horror the teacher has us sing along in class. The first day I just would have none of it! The hippies can do what they want, I would keep my voice to myself. That lasted a little while, anyway, before the teacher was all "Everybody now". So sing I must. But I keep it quiet as I have no misconceptions about the quality of my voice or ability to find a key. And I leave class feeling a little bit smarter. 

No sugar coating. It's a mini rant.

I would like to talk about myself. No, don't worry, I won't occupy your time right now with what I've been up to for the last 6 months or so (e.g., buying a house, moving, installing 1,000 square feet of flooring, refinishing and painting kitchen cupboards). This rant has to do with the use of the word, myself, which as just an example was used correctly in the first sentence. Unfortunately, it's misuse runs rampant these days. It's on the news. It's in e-mails. It's spoken by professional colleagues. Is it just me or has everyone forgotten there is another, shorter, and actually correct word to use more often than myself? That being me. A definition from Merriam-Webster for myself, "that identical one that is I -- used reflexively <I'm going to get myself a new suit>, for emphasis <I myself will go>, or in absolute constructions <myself a tourist, I nevertheless avoided other tourists>."

Here is an example of a common misuse I hear all the time...
          Please turn in your assignment to Kathy, Michael, and myself for review.
The subject here is an unspoken you, so using the reflexive myself is not correct, and when you stop to think about it, makes no sense. The word should be me. By eliminating the other reviewers in the sentence, it becomes evident what the correct word to use is...
          Please turn in your assignment to me for review.

To make this clearer, here is a similar example with a different reflexive pronoun...
          I will turn in my assignment to Kathy, Michael, and yourself for review.
This is incorrect. The correct word is obviously you. Enough said.

In order to keep this a mini rant, in a nutshell, myself is a reflexive pronoun, which means if the subject is not I, then there is no place in the sentence for the word myself. 

After that mini rant, I myself feel better. I also feel like I can't post without a picture, so here it goes.