Sunday Musings

 On this early Spring Sunday I am spending a little time recalling the Spring days of my early childhood. I suppose with a birthday looming I am recalling a joyous time when my Mother baked my favorite chocolate cake and arranged the candles for the celebration. While waiting for my father to return from the store, (he owned a jewelry store, he was a master clock-maker at that time) I would walk the gardens with my sweet tiger cat, George, with a restless impatience that only a child would experience. 

On a brisk, bleak, gray morning in early March, with snowflakes blowing me around Costco's parking lot, I was the one attempting to shield my little plant from the cold. Here she is, isn't she just adorable? When I was little we lived near a river bank that was rimmed in willow tress, pussy willow bushes, and clumps of daffodils gone wild and covering the area. That is Spring. My attempt to recapture that look is certainly smaller in scale but happy, at least until I can transplant this arrangement outdoors. 

Here is the story of the Pussy Willow from a childhood Golden Book.

   Long ago, a mother cat was weeping on a river bank because her tiny kitten had fallen into the water while chasing butterflies. The willow at the river's edge longed to help so she swept branches into the water to rescue the kitten. The kitten grasped the branches and was brought safely to shore. Thus the legend goes, that willow branches sprout tiny fur-like buds where the kitten once clung.   

 Meet my Babica. She is a cookie jar. Of course, she is part of the Polish Pottery collection and I tucked the Easter Cookies inside. Such a happy little girl, cookie jars remind me of childhood as well. Who didn't raid granny's cookie jar? I cannot use her for long-term storage because there is no air tight or silicone seal between the top and bottom.  My father's mother made the most wonderful, soft, pineapple cookies. She had no recipe, just a bit of this and a bit of that and then the pineapple. I have never been able to duplicate that recipe. Her cookie jar was a simple clear glass affair, it probably was a pickle jar at one time!

The risen Easter bread, the recipe came from a local priest who shared his grandmothers recipe. I wasn't sure it was going to work out at first. The rise was very slow, The first rise about 1 hour and 45 minutes. The second rise, about 1 hour. But rise she did (3 loaves) and the above photo is after it had been brushed with wisked egg yolk and the traditional cross carved in the top. You can see itty-bitty flecks of orange and lemon zest poking through. Sunday bread I think, not just Easter bread. It makes great toast, the texture is a bit more cake-like with a fine crumb.

Here we are, cooling. The egg yolk glaze was very irregular because once I put the pans in the oven, wow, those little loaves grew and grew. So much for worrying about flat bread! A sweet egg bread with subtle citrus flavor, I will make it again. I think I will add Sultana's the next time, you know, jazz it up a bit. Now, traditionally a frosting glaze and colored sprinkles are added once the bread cools. I didn't do that, I prefer it plain.   

We traditionally have a hearty brunch after church on Sunday. I try to prep as much as possible so that no one is "starving" before we sit down! On the menu today is a small quiche, I had some broccoli that I pre-steamed, I am using a store-bought pie crust, (I know, Julia is spinning in her grave over that one) and I have grated a nice little chunk of Gruyere. I have a simple fruit salad as well. 

May this beautiful Spring day remind you of the warm and wonderful times of childhood.