mrissa: (formal)
It is a sad, sad week at our house. It is the week of the first grocery store tomatoes.

It's not that our tomato plants have stopped producing, and it looks like we'll have enough sun this week that some of the tomatoes may even ripen outdoors on the vine and actually taste better than the grocery tomatoes. They are not like the green beans and cucumbers, which are as dead as Marley. They're just not producing tomatoes reliably. And so the grocery tomatoes had to happen as a fallback. Because lack of tomatoes was not an option.

(Really not. Earlier this year, sources close to the [livejournal.com profile] mrissa had a shorthand for talking to me about my daily life that was "what you're reading and what was in your salad." And I had to laugh, because it was all too accurate. There are days when I don't have a salad. I mean, I think there are. I just can't think of one. But we're out of the part of the year when the basis of the salad is "what's ripe and needs using up from the garden" and into the part of the year when the basis of the salad is brassicas from the grocery.)

But! The tomatillos are in fall craziness mode, to the point where I am willing to spare some of them for experiments and not save all of them in frozen goop form for chili verde base all winter. So there will be some cedar-planked fish with roasted garlic tomatillo sauce. I think it sounds wondrous. I think it sounds amazing. I think it sounds like something I will totally make someone else work the grill for.

In other news, I have been working on paperwork for our health care savings account. There are people who are touting these things as though they will cure cancer and halitosis, and now that I have folders and spreadsheets set up, they'll be a lot easier. But truthfully it seems to me that this thing is a lot of work for people who are seriously ill or disabled, and they're really best suited for people who are healthy and already have plenty of money. See if you can spot the flaw in this system! Seriously, there are a lot of things that work that way: they're set up supposedly to help people who are ill or disabled, but they are really only helpful if you have the time and energy of an able-bodied person. This summer and early fall has been particularly frustrating, since we have a household with three adults in it, and the able-bodied one has only been at home half-time. And then this month he's been sick the whole month. A lot of stuff kind of goes kaput when that happens. In our circumstance, we have resources to throw at the situation. We can throw money at it, and we can throw family and friends at it, and we have been, sometimes. But things will fall through the cracks, which is why I have lost a big chunk of my very limited work time to sorting out this stuff and setting up the system for it to work longer-term.

And my work is flexible, and we have these resources. I can do that. A lot of people would just be lost and permanently behind and would just have to drop that particular ball. Would just have to drop a lot of balls. And it frustrates me to know that something is being proposed as a solution by people who don't have any concept of what the problem is even like. Over and over again I run into people who seem to be saying that something works as long as nothing goes wrong. And I know that that's exactly the same as saying that it doesn't work.
mrissa: (hot chocolate)
My calendar claims that it's National Ice Cream Day.

If my calendar is wrong, I don't want to be right.

I expect that gelato, sorbet, etc. counts for this festival as well, so I leave it in your capable hands.
mrissa: (hot chocolate)
Timprov has been doing the grocery shopping this year, and Timprov, like most of the other people close to me, knows that my favorite thing to say about produce is, "What on earth is that?" So he brought home a cherimoya.

People, this thing was good. Peel it, get the seeds out--they are large, dark seeds, detached from the flesh, easy to get out--and eat the bits that ensue. So pleasant. It tasted like something I had as a child, but I can't think what. (C.S. Lewis would probably think that meant it tasted Platonic in some form; never mind C.S. Lewis. This is a Mark Twain fruit. All the webpages say so.) [livejournal.com profile] markgritter suggested that it tasted like the actual fruit form of Fruity Pebbles, and Timprov suggested the actual fruit form of white LifeSavers before going on to propose that the cherimoya is the answer to what fruit "fruit flavoring" is supposed to taste like.

This has more depth and complexity of flavor than "fruit flavoring," much less those other nasty things. Highly recommended. Go get yourself one.

scattered

May. 7th, 2009 04:42 pm
mrissa: (hippo!)
I have been battling headaches the last several days, some with migraine symptoms and some not.

Despite all this I have managed to have pleasant times with various family members and have gotten a lot done on works of fiction.

Also we have an egress window in the basement, which is by no means the entire project, or even second cousins with the entire project, but it's a start, and the start is finished quite to my satisfaction.

I wish my cousin would go on ahead and have this baby already. I don't wish it half as much as she does, though.

It's very useful to find out whether you work on fuel or on rewards or both or neither. My fuel for the late afternoons--I do terribly with late afternoons mostly, particularly without fuel--has been the remaining good dark hot chocolate (Marie Belle Aztec) with a dollop of the remaining cream I whipped for Mom's birthday from the glass bottles from the local creamery. Now we are out of that cream for the moment, and I will have to figure out another fuel for other late afternoons. It was really quite lovely while it lasted. Also I am unreasonably fond of getting cream in little glass bottles. I'm sure it's more environmentally sound to wash and return them, but the glass is heavy and feels so fine in my hand, and I have to poke a butter knife through the top of the cream to get it to pour, and I cannot pretend it is the future of the planet concerning me when I use this stuff, it's the present of the me. And you know how much better whipped carton cream tastes than ReddiWhip (feh, feh)? That's how much better this tastes than whipped carton cream.
mrissa: (food)
Dinner was a cooperative venture in both concept and execution. But it went pretty well, so I thought I'd put it here. If you don't eat dairy, fish, or shellfish, this will probably not be of much interest.

Peel and chop golden potatoes and Bartlett pears. Chop artichoke hearts. Skin and chop whitefish. Crack crab. Chop up pieces that are too big to eat. Chop scallops. Peel garlic and cut the funny bits off.

In a big pot, melt butter. Add potatoes, cayenne, sage, black pepper. Press in garlic. Cook. Add white wine. Cook. Put in pears and artichoke hearts. Cook. Put in veggie broth or chicken broth, fish, scallops, crab. Cook some more. Dump in milk and cream. Keep cooking. Decide that it is chowder now. Serve. If there is enough cayenne (do not skimp on the cayenne, unless you have a [livejournal.com profile] papersky or similar entity, in which case get a slightly different set of ingredients and use saffron instead, on which do not skimp either) you should not have to serve it with red pepper flakes at the table to add.

This would have been better if I'd had the time and energy to make rye buns, or even some other kind of bread, but it was still pretty nice without.
mrissa: (food)
Last night I was talking to someone dear to me and said that family friends had been bringing food by all day. "Because otherwise you'd starve to death," she said in a fond teasing tone, because she knows what cooks and bakers we are in this family. Except--look. Grandma was eating hospital food for a month before Grandpa died. We bought milk and juice the morning after we got here, so when Grandpa died, here is what we had in the house: diminishing supply of milk. Diminishing supply of juice. Cans of stewed tomatoes. Macaroni. Three brownies and a muffin we had brought with us. Condiments.

Seriously, there were a few more things, but not much more. So we were immensely grateful when my aunt Kathy brought boiled dinner over on the night Grandpa died, we were astonishingly grateful when the neighbors brought over dinner the night after, and we have been overcome with gratitude for every single thing brought since.

Could we order out for a pizza? Sure. That would require deciding on pizza, deciding on a pizza place, etc. Could we go grocery shopping and cook? Sure, Grandma did pick up some more groceries. But every able-bodied person here is occupied all day and all evening with tasks for the memorial service and for the basic practical necessities of dealing with a death. We do not have time, and we do not have energy--for making food or for deciding on it. I can't speak for Mom and Grandma, but I am at the stage where if I didn't eat what was put in front of me, I might well not eat; if someone was trying to be nice and said, "What would you like?", I would stare blankly at them, because what I would like is so far disconnected from food that the question feels ridiculous.

So please, for heaven's sake, do not decide that the tradition of taking food to grieving families is old-fashioned and silly, and do not decide not to do it if the grieving family is composed of more avid bakers or cooks than you are. We have gotten some wonderful things from friends and neighbors, but it turns out that I don't care that they're wonderful. I care that they are hot and in front of me and do not require me to make choices. Wonderful is a bonus. We are mostly all eating the same thing, because it's easier to just take one hotdish out of the fridge and one salad and use them up before they go bad and take another thing out of the freezer when it's called for. Sorting through to choose who likes this and who would prefer that is not something any of us has emotional energy for at the moment. We decided which hotdish to eat last night by noting which one was still hot. We will probably decide on lunch by picking up the thing that is on the top of the stack in the fridge and dishing out servings for each of us.

Also, do not be paralyzed by not knowing whether there are allergies or dietary concerns. In many cases, the grieving family will be feeding relatives and friends who have dropped by or come in from out of town. My mother is allergic to walnuts. It's entirely possible that some of the bars people brought us have walnuts in. Mom is being careful about that, and the potentially walnut-endowed stuff will get eaten by someone else. I promise. Of course if you know that someone has a gluten intolerance or is allergic to onions or doesn't eat meat, you should tailor what you bring to that. But not knowing is not a reason for not doing.

Finally, if you realio trulio do not cook or bake, bring something boughten, or bring paper goods. One of my parents' best friends brought paper plates, plastic cups, plastic cutlery. This is good. We don't have to worry about running the dishwasher in the middle of people's condolence calls. One of the neighbors brought a boughten veggie dip and veggie tray. Did we disdain this for not being homemade, for not taking great amounts of work? No, we fell upon it with grateful cries. It was fresh food, and we did not have to work to get it, and that's what's called for right now.
mrissa: (food)
There is nothing like a few months full of rye buns and lussekatter to make rosemary bun dough feel like the dreamiest, easiest knead in the world.

I am, as usual, trying to do a few too many things at once. But at least I'm aware of it, right? That ought to count for something.
mrissa: (grandpa)
Grandpa has now been in the hospital for three weeks. He continues to improve, but: three weeks. With no certainty that he'll be out again this coming week. Without intruding too much on his privacy, this gives you a general idea of how much room for improvement there was at the worst point. (It has been really hard, frankly, to find the line between "indicating how serious this all has been" and "trumpeting personal details over the internet against the will of the person whose personal details they are." I don't think Grandpa has a carefully formulated policy on discussing his health on the internet, but I know he doesn't mind my friends knowing he's been in the hospital and is getting better again, albeit slowly, so that's where I draw the line, mostly.) I realized how inadequate some of this communication had been when I startled a close friend with the current assessment of Grandpa's health yesterday--it was a hopeful assessment, and it sounded good to me in context, but my friend didn't have the context and was really hoping for something more like "he is not turning cartwheels down the hall yet but we expect that by Tuesday" for all the improvement I've been saying (and meaning!) that Grandpa has had.

Springing ahead did me no good whatsoever this year. Usually it enables me to sleep into the joyful decadence that is the seven o'clock hour. This year, no: up at 6:30 just as if we hadn't turned the clocks back. Sigh. At least there was a pecan roll for breakfast to console me. And more to come: there's an entire pan of them from Wheatfield's, an entire pan of cinnamon rolls, and a vat of frosting for the cinnamon rolls. I saw this vat and thought perhaps Kathy and Bill and Mom had picked up soup for us for dinner from Wheatfield's, and I wondered what soup they had there that was good, since I never get the soup. But no: frosting. Uff da, the frosting.

This was merely one example from yesterday of How I Have Monkeys and Why It Is Sometimes Very Good To Have Monkeys.

I have the Solar Flare song in my head. The "hallo birds sky molesworth I am dying of radiation poisoning" song. Well, the molesworth is my paraphrase rather than the actual song. I don't want to disappoint anybody over molesworth space travel songs that don't exist.
mrissa: (food)
[livejournal.com profile] timprov has already done the grocery shopping this morning, because he is efficient like that, and he has returned home with beets. Red beets! Golden beets! We have beets. We also have plans for beets.

What we do not have plans for, but have quantities of anyway, is beet greens. They come attached to the beets. They are huge and luxurious and occupying more of our fridge than I really expected.

Does anybody know of anything nice that can be done with beet greens? My mother is not fond of this type of green, so my first line of culinary inquiry is not helping this time around. I like recipes, but I also like "cook 'em for awhile with some of this and some of that" level of specificity--does not have to be measured in tablespoons. (Or coffee spoons. Or T.S. Eliot.) (Bonus points for T.S. Eliot, though.)

+ wins.

Feb. 4th, 2009 07:17 pm
mrissa: (hippo!)
+ I made up a sauce recipe for dinner.

- It was unexpectedly vile.

+ But if you need to make the flavor of SweetTarts candy at home from all-natural ingredients, I now know how this can be accomplished.

- It was fine until I squoze the lime in, I think. And usually I like lime, so I really don't know how this happened.

+ Also, [livejournal.com profile] markgritter liked it.

+ Also, I didn't put it directly on the scallops while cooking them, so [livejournal.com profile] timprov and I could substitute a ginger sauce at the last minute.

+ Moss Roberts translation is much better than previous translation for Three Kingdoms.

- I begin to see how it is relevant that China is much, much bigger than Iceland, Finland, France, or anywhere else I've read epics from: more people. Lots more people.

+ There will be hockey while I think about all these Three Kingdoms people and try to keep them straight.

+ There will be ice cream while I watch hockey.

+ I performed the Writer Trick today: I went to the bank to deposit a check, so naturally another check arrived in the mail.

- Still have messed-up ears and nose from this stupid cold.

+ Physical therapist says this cold is taking forever in everybody, so it's not just me.

- PT still kind of sucked, more than it would have if my ears were okay.

++++++++ We are switching me to doing PT every other day.

25 things

Jan. 29th, 2009 01:27 pm
mrissa: (intense)
[livejournal.com profile] arkuat and [livejournal.com profile] the_overqual tagged me to list 25 random things about myself. I never get tagged in any meme, so I figure I'd better do this one. I don't know that it will be provably random, though. Possibly it will even be provably non-random.

25 things )
mrissa: (food)
1. Our new cheese-grater is a transcendent experience. Oh, it's such a lovely little thing. It's got a wooden handle that feels nice in my hand, and you move the grater instead of the cheese, and I don't know if I will ever be using our old cheese-grater again. So much quicker. So much easier. Requires hand-washing because of the nice wooden handle, but it's so easy to hand-wash that I can't think this will be a significant drawback.

2. This particular biscuit recipe had been sitting in my recipe file unused. It was for Parmesan-basil biscuits. I thought that white cheddar and garlic would go better with the rest of dinner. They were fine. Fine-ish. They were quite edible, and in fact 11 of the dozen were et by the housemonkeys, the godchildren, and their parents last night. But they were thoroughly uninspired and not the least bit what a fresh, warm garlic-cheese biscuit should be.

"You know what I think is wrong with these?" I said, chewing on the last of my biscuit. "I suspect, in retrospect, that the recipe may have been written attempting to be low-fat."

"Hey!" said Robin. "No name-calling!"
mrissa: (peeking out)
First, I have sold my first short story of the year: Futurismic wants to buy "Erasing the Map." I like getting the first sale in January, not even too far into the middle of January. I like enthusiastic acceptance letters. I like finishing stories that percolate and percolate and finally go, and then other people like them too. In fact, I really have a hard time thinking of anything I don't like about this.

(Note to self: write more stories.)

And second, the jeans I ordered arrived, and they fit, so in the wash they go. And there was much relief. The booty dancing required to determine that jeans realio trulio fit and are not going to become SuperSpy jeans (creeping up silently behind their enemy) or suddenly gape at the waist enough to store your reading material for the next week* is not really all that much fun in fitting rooms with vertigo, particularly when the vertigo has caused me to go from having strong legs to having warrior princess thighs!!!, so a lot of the jeans available there are not fitting the different bits of me equally well. (How does vertigo do that, ask the latecomers and the people who didn't write it on their scorecards? Well, vertigo brings nausea. Nausea brings not eating. This is a problem. People need to eat--this is a long-held and deeply-felt philosophical position of mine. And so far just about the only thing that cuts through the nausea consistently enough to let me eat, like ya do, is going from 45 minutes of biking on the big sturdy recumbent bike 4-5 days a week--plus PT and yoga and Pilates--to doing about 90 minutes of biking on the said recumbent bike 7 days a week--still plus PT and yoga and Pilates. Fear the might of my vertigo-powered legs. Srsly. F34r. If I wasn't so tired, I could totally crush Tokyo, or any other monster-movie-hosting city. If they'd give me something to hang onto while I did it.) So being able to do the requisite booty dancing while holding onto my very own dresser--as a barre, as it were--was very useful, go internet, go jeans, go elaborate dance of denim-verification.

It's been a rough week around here, for an assortment of reasons, some of which you will be able to come up with yourselves if you think hard. But here we are Friday, and there's a story sale, and there are jeans, and [livejournal.com profile] markgritter is coming home, and while I only managed lunch by telling myself I didn't have to think about lunch, I just had to eat lunch, I did eat lunch, and it was nice. In fact, I commend it here to you: red quinoa cooked in broth (mushroom broth is favored; other broths will do) with pecans and dried sour cherries. It has a wide variety of nutrients and is warm and savory and tastes interesting without being difficult if you're not very sure of this food thing at the moment.

So yah. Story. Quinoa. Jeans. Stuff.

*I have said, haven't I? that my mother's first exposure to Neal Stephenson was as a measure of clothes that don't fit me. I have said, "I could stick the complete works of Neal Stephenson in this waistband with me--in hardcover!" more times than she or I could count, when we were clothes shopping together.
mrissa: (tiredy)
(By the way, my e-mail is thoroughly working again.)

Dear self:

It appears that you believe that worrying about things you cannot control is best addressed by waking up extremely early. While this may look like a good idea, it turns out that you do not acquire superpowers when underslept. Even your ordinary powers are not in peak form. Don't do this. Also, displacing major worries about things you cannot control onto minor worries about things that are not likely to come up? Similarly not a winning strategy. Cut it out. Yes, even you, subconscious. Yes, even when sleeping.

How many months have we been doing this PT thing? I believe this is eleven, right? So when is it that you wanted to remember that you need water after a clinic PT session? Apparently somewhere around month twelve.

Also: please check the calendar when ordering expensive and highly perishable groceries. If it turns out that the only night available for cooking for several days after a grocery order is a clinic PT night, do not order something that will take a lot of preparation and absolutely have to be done that night. If you slip with the stupid vertigo and slice open the back of your thumb, you will not want to have to stand there for another hour doing intensive cooking work. "Yes, but I can use a mise en place!" makes this possible. Remember those difficulties you were having with the difference between "possible" and "great idea"? Yah. That.

(Subset of self known as blood: if you could think of clotting? Not all the time. Just sometimes. So that I don't have to pay attention to changing bandages in the middle of dinner so that I don't bleed all over the crab? Yah, thanks. Much appreciated.)

Sense of humor and storytelling center: way to pull things together. Could not have done it without you. Will be expecting the same kind of rally tomorrow.

Love,
[livejournal.com profile] mrissa

And a brief update on the living my life post from New Year's:
5a. In progress. Worked on "Pillars of Salt and String."
5c. In progress. Worked on "The Curvature of Every Disorder."
6b. In progress. Worked on "Twelve Things You Don't Know About Dryads."
14. Done! Paella. It was time. It was tasty. We have established that I can make a paella, and we can all eat it. Later we will probably tweak ingredients. This one had scallops, crab, sausage, chicken, red peppers, mushrooms, peas. And the paella stuff that doesn't really change. Cracking crab is kind of a PITA, but I really do like crab.
17. Done! Taking [livejournal.com profile] timprov to Rainbow. He approved of their sesame chicken, which for some reason I had not gotten around to trying.
29. In progress. Read The Dark Wind.
30. In progress. Halfway through Season 3. Have gotten to "???!!!" plot twist.

So. That's really not so bad, for a week into the New Year. Not that somebody should make me a LOLMris with, "Mai life: I r livin it." (Really, please don't.) But really, could be a lot worse.
mrissa: (question)
At dinner the other night, we started trying to figure out what kinds of teas the different Dragaeran houses would have. An entire array of white teas selected for specific occasions for the Issola, for example. Red Rose brewed with extra bags for the Dzur. An Oolong with some orange peel for the Tiassa. Maybe a barley tea for the Teckla, and those flower teas that have to be preserved just right so that they unfold into a flower structure for the Vallista.

Your turn: Dragaeran houses, or Barrayaran Vor families, or any other themed tea things you'd like.

I'd have totally gotten into BPAL if it had offered me an array of tisanes themed around fictional musicians, for example. So...if it had been something else completely, basically.
mrissa: (winter)
Snowy Saturday. So fond.

We watched Blues Brothers, which may be the worst movie in the world for triggering a cascade of movies I want to watch. This is mostly Dan Aykroyd's fault. I love Dan Aykroyd. Seriously, now I want to watch Trading Places and Sneakers and Ghostbusters and Grosse Pointe Blank and maybe even Antz and Dragnet. And I will have time for exactly none of that this week. (The schedule: it is scheduley.)

What I want to know, though, is what good breakfast or brunch places you people know of in the Twin Cities. I consider it completely possible that some of you have visited here for a convention and had good breakfast, so I didn't filter the post. I know Cecil's in St. Paul and Maria's in Minneapolis. What else is out there that you could recommend? Stuff that isn't in the far west suburbs is particularly useful, since it would be ideal if we could meet somewhere between Spring Lake Park and Eagan, with some flexibility in what "between" means. Downtown Minneapolis is fine. Minnetonka, not so fine. And we're looking for non-chain stuff if possible; we already know that Perkins and Bruegger's serve what they serve to the quality level they serve it.

One of the ways in which having people come to town turns out to be different from traveling to visit them, for me, is that I am extremely happy with long, detailed works of nonfiction when traveling, but apparently when I'm home they will get lost in the holiday shuffle. So that's a thing to remember, I guess. Good thing somebody lent me a stack of short, rather snappy mystery novels just recently.
mrissa: (mom)
Virginia brought me a crocheted hyperbolic plane for Christmas. It is so cool.

For those of you who went for the gusto in the poll about items made by my mom and me today, counting cookies, candy, and bread, we did twelve. I thought we were going to wind up with a final count of eleven, which was no one's answer, but then [livejournal.com profile] timprov pointed out that the cornbread that went with dinner was bread made by my mom and me today and therefore counted towards the total. So. Twelve. I didn't really think we'd do that. I'd like to thank the Academy, and my agent, and...wait, I don't have an agent. Possibly I would if I put in my cover letter that they would get this kind of goodies at Christmas. Anyway, as [livejournal.com profile] timprov reported, twelve:

Cornbread, which only sort of counts
Huckleberry shortbread
Strawberry shortbread
Chocolate-dipped candied orange peel
Chocolate-dipped dried apricots
Peanut butter ribbon fudge
Peanut blossoms (those peanut butter cookies with a Hershey's kiss in the middle, in both milk and dark chocolate, but the dough was the same so it didn't count as two)
Walnut buttercrunch
Brun brods
Pistachio meringues
Rum balls
and today's on-the-spot spur-of-the-moment what-deeds-of-derring-do-will-they-dare-to-do-next creation, Lemon oatmeal cookies.

My usefulness went precipitously downhill all day, until at the end my functions were: 1) say entertaining things to Mom while she did the icing swirls, and 2) blink blearily in weary dizziness. Had an awesome time anyway. We are mighty. We are fierce. And our lemon oatmeal cookies totally rule.

Now I fall over on something soft.
mrissa: (Default)
This post is not to brag that I am done with my Christmas shopping, because I am too big a person for that.

Instead I wanted to note that [livejournal.com profile] timprov and I had lunch at Rice Paper and found out two things that I thought might be of interest:

1) They are having a special deal Tuesday nights where you can get two appetizers, two entrees, and one dessert for $30. While this is not in the fast food price range, for the quality of food involved, it's a pretty good deal.

2) We got to try the new appetizer, edamame with a sesame dipping sauce. Ohhhh my. I rarely feel like it's worthwhile to order edamame in restaurants when you can just get them at the grocery store and snarf to your heart's content. This appetizer is an example of why I am wrongety wrong wrong. It was warm both in temperature and in taste, a toasty sort of lovely thing that coated the edamame pod and came off beautifully when you bit the beans out of the pod. So very fine.

(We got given this free, and also free spring rolls, apparently because they were so happy to see us, and the owner always asks how I'm doing. The food is good enough that I would keep coming back even without these little personal touches, but they certainly don't hurt anything.)

Also it gave us this theory about sesame yams. We may try this theory out tomorrow when Mom's over for baking, since we all like yams and Dad and [livejournal.com profile] markgritter don't. One of the things I like about Rice Paper is that it seems like we often go away with ideas for things to make at home.

It's not quite as horribly cold as it was yesterday around here, but it's still pretty bitter out. There is, however, snow, steady snow, lovely snow. Ideally there will be enough snow for the driveway guy to come, because there's already enough that it has to be cleared one way or another. I have a good supply of hot cocoa and tea, and I have snow, and I have all my Christmas present wrapping taken care of. Time to dive back into one of those short stories.
mrissa: (viking princess necklace)
[livejournal.com profile] timprov says I don't get any points for not using the word "butterdammerung" in today's earlier entry, so I'm going to stop holding myself back now.
mrissa: (mom)
On Wednesday, my mom is coming over to do Christmas baking with me. She's already made four kinds of cookies and more kinds of bread than I know about. I've already done two and will be making the lussekatter today.

[Poll #1314060]

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