No, I'm not into weeping. But I did cry one time at Buffalo Wild Wings.
The trials and tribulations of moving in a foreign country and a holiday bite for your cocktail soirée- Southern Spiced Pecan Crackers!
This blog is still a work in progress. Started in 2010 as a way to keep in touch with loved ones and share recipes, it vacillates between food and personal life moments. Skip forward to the next section if you’re not interested. I’ve read The Four Agreements, it won’t be taken personally.
Well, it happened. I finally broke down.
I envy those who cry all the time. The friends you find in the parking lot, draped over the steering wheel, wailing to God or anyone who will listen about the smallest infringement that kicked off the waterworks. “This ____ isn’t even happening to YOU, why are YOU crying?!” the rest of us look at you in confused wonderment. You just… are honest with the way your brain processes your heart. The freedom you must feel at expunging feelings. No understanding of why the rest of us carry so many proverbial corks in our handbags.
The other side of the pillow… us stoics, handle things a bit differently. Are we stoics? No, wrong word. I don’t think so. We’re not braver. No more courageous. We just prattle on through until the day eventually comes where we fall. completely. apart. Stiff upper lips. Don’t let anyone see you cry (except either a very close handful of loved ones OR absolute complete strangers).
Strangers can include cab drivers, doormen, the attendant at a movie theatre. Your waiter at Buffalo Wild Wings (love you, girl). The police officer you called because you thought someone was breaking into your house but it turned out to be a raccoon nesting in your crawl space and sharpening his claws on the trapdoor.
That last one was me. 2019. I’ll own it.
I meant to get a photo of these but life happens and… well… I lost all electricity the day before I was meant to move. I had grand plans of baking cookies and crackers for all my loved ones here in Paris, for my mean ole guardian, for myself, for YOU. But the powers that be at EDF shut it off and I woke up with my electric powered hurricane blinds drawn, the light off completely, and any hope I had in a new day crushed.
So, after I got a dear friend on the phone to help with customer service (mon français n'est pas encore bon.) - I lost it. Sobbed for the longest time, which for me is about 49 seconds. Hell yeah, let’s embrace those emotions.
So no photos of these crackers. We’re going old school, like the blue-lined-pencil-filled cards stuffed in a recipe rolodex your great grandmother passed down.
And you know what… for where I am today I’m kind of fine with that? EDF let there be light, the blinds will stay raised until apartment check out, and I am going to be okay.
“It's supposed to be hard. If it wasn't hard, everyone would do it. The hard... is what makes it great.” - A League of Their Own.
And now back to our regularly scheduled programming.
Rant over. Happy holiday season, everyone!
Continuing with the holiday festivities, let’s talk everyone’s favorite place to be at a party.
In the worlds of Fleetwood Mac- Everywhere.
I am not a parker at a party, some are. Some of us flit, we float, we fleetly flee, we fly. With that comes with the best access to… SNACKS. That’s right, the passed platters, the starting lineup.* The siren song of frivolities.
*See, I made the post about baseball before I even knew what was happening. My family will be so proud.
I’ve been known to pass a tip to the waiters at an event, asking for them to find me first once they leave the kitchen with a fresh tray. Sometimes I even hang right next to the kitchen door. This is also because I’m a bit crazy about hygiene at these events… the more a tray has been breathed over/ fondled by tipsy guests with grubby hands, the less I want the bites.
And what’s one of the best ways to both start and end a party?
Behold my favorite holiday cracker: Southern Spiced Pecan Crackers!
It’s a cracker, it’s basically crack. I grew up with these at luncheon tables riddled with toast points, Ambrosia (my Europeans, let me explain: it’s a hangover from the post-World War II era cookery books. A creamy fruit salad complete with colorful marshmallows. It is as horrific as it sounds), cocktail weenies, and maybe a powdered sugar dusted brownie. These were a saving grace and continue to be one of my favorite ways to honor my native Texas nut.
That said though, growing up, Pecans were my punishment. A tree loomed over our backyard and whenever chore or penance for a crime time came around, it was to the garden with a bucket and gloves. After picking pecans for hours to freeze for pies, salads, and snacks, I began to loathe them. It took until my mid-twenties to appreciate them again for what they are.
I’ve sent this on early as it’s the perfect recipe to prepare now, before the craziness begins. This recipe makes up to 70 and freezes beautifully.
We’re all for one, we’re one for all, we’re All American.*
Bisous bisous,
ASF xx
*Just watch the movie. Am so grateful to my two American friends in Paris who got me through this weekend!
What I’ve been cooking & watching
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Southern Spiced Pecan Crackers
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