Some time ago, I happened upon a lovely, graciously-written blog, by a young woman in Rhode Island---she’s a teacher and a writer and a wonderful cook, whose tellings of the methods and the histories of good cooking involve wonderful descriptions of really good food and how to make it.
Just the name caught my eye: Little Compton Mornings. It appealed to me in the way that the idea of Summer Camp in Maine seemed the apex of a child’s life when I was young. The title had the draw and promise of East Egg/West Egg, without all that pesky Gatsby Glitz. I could just see the white fences, and hear the flags snap in the wind.
The round, smooth shape of the title seems as if it would be a book sitting on my Alcott shelf, just there beside Jo’s Boys; or perhaps it’s an eagerly-anticipated weekly column in a newspaper or magazine, looked-forward to by all, for the talents of the writer, who knows home-keeping and cooking and canning and the raising of all the fruits of the land, with its author much in demand amongst the readership for judging at the Fair and for advice on recipes and homekeeping, consulted with the gravity and acceptance of a personable oracle, and revered as a celebrity.
And just a couple of weeks ago, a whole page on FRYING caused this Delta Girl to award Jane her G.R.I.T.S. membership. Do go and have a look---you’ll be getting out your pans and making up batters before you can blink.
http://littlecomptonmornings.blogspot.com/2010/07/frying-frittered-feast.html
And today, Jane accepted her G.R.I.T.S. title most graciously and charmingly, speculating upon the activities and the qualifications, in some cases quite accurately, and in others, in hilarious error (I’ve GOT to introduce that girl to Martha White). Plus, I must point out that grits is not just a name Southerners call cornmeal mush.
Her today’s post is on Cornmeal, staple in both North and South, and I hope you’ll look in.
Just the name caught my eye: Little Compton Mornings. It appealed to me in the way that the idea of Summer Camp in Maine seemed the apex of a child’s life when I was young. The title had the draw and promise of East Egg/West Egg, without all that pesky Gatsby Glitz. I could just see the white fences, and hear the flags snap in the wind.
The round, smooth shape of the title seems as if it would be a book sitting on my Alcott shelf, just there beside Jo’s Boys; or perhaps it’s an eagerly-anticipated weekly column in a newspaper or magazine, looked-forward to by all, for the talents of the writer, who knows home-keeping and cooking and canning and the raising of all the fruits of the land, with its author much in demand amongst the readership for judging at the Fair and for advice on recipes and homekeeping, consulted with the gravity and acceptance of a personable oracle, and revered as a celebrity.
And just a couple of weeks ago, a whole page on FRYING caused this Delta Girl to award Jane her G.R.I.T.S. membership. Do go and have a look---you’ll be getting out your pans and making up batters before you can blink.
http://littlecomptonmornings.blogspot.com/2010/07/frying-frittered-feast.html
And today, Jane accepted her G.R.I.T.S. title most graciously and charmingly, speculating upon the activities and the qualifications, in some cases quite accurately, and in others, in hilarious error (I’ve GOT to introduce that girl to Martha White). Plus, I must point out that grits is not just a name Southerners call cornmeal mush.
Her today’s post is on Cornmeal, staple in both North and South, and I hope you’ll look in.
Thank you, Rachel! You are really too generous. And to call me "young" to boot. I have posted a comment on your first blog post as well.
ReplyDeleteYou've got my interest so I'll go pay her a visit.
ReplyDeleteHope your weekend is going well.
Hugs,
Kat
Good morning Rachel. My first question is this...Is your name Racheld or Rachel or both? Smile? I have wondered about this for a while.
ReplyDeleteWe are home from a wonderful week of fun, hikes, swimming in the mountain streams, jumping off of mountain rocks into the clear cold water, eating LOTS of Somores, and all this in hot humid weather. There is no place like home.
Photos will follow.
I just spent quite some time reading every post you wrote this week. I enjoyed each one so very much. Now they are all jumbled up in my mind with bits of standout memories shining through my mind. Blancmange is chicken and rice, Dancing in the joy of surviving the Holocaust, Shoney's missed breakfast, dining at your favorite diner, (mine too), Hoop cheese (also my favorite cheese that I never get to eat) And G.R.I.T.S.
I do love your blog.
Love you too, Jeanne
PS. I went to the blog you reccomended to read about 'I survived' Awesome.
ReplyDeleteJeanne, again