MATZO BREI FOR MILLENNIALS

I gave my nephew, Mark, a copy of my cookbook, Glub, Glub and a Shake Shake when I visited him and my brother in Florida. He found my recipe for Matzo Brei inspiring. He’s known for being the family cook, and loves to innovate, making up dishes as he goes along.

Below is his version of a simple homey dish. Call it “gilding the lily, making a silk purse out of a sow’s ear” or whatever you think, but it is too much fun not to share.

“The cook book is pretty neat!!!, he wrote in an email to my sister-in-law. “I look forward to trying some of the recipes. Thought I would contribute to the book with a “next generation“ of Matzo Brei.

The original (or mine at least) instructs: break the matzo into pieces, pour cold water over, drain right away. Beat one egg for each piece of matzo with a little milk – a few tablespoons—and add to matzo. Melt butter or margarine in a frying pan; add matzo and spoon around as if you’re making scrambling eggs.

Mark suggested:

After wetting the matzo in the bowl, with the egg, add avocado oil and garlic powder. Cook the Matzo Brei the same way. In a separate pan, caramelize one medium size red onion, and then add 4 or 5 cloves of fresh minced garlic. Cook, then add 1 tablespoon of fresh-diced thyme, and enough water to make a thick sauce. Add a 1/2 to 2 tablespoons of soft cream cheese or Jalapeno cream cheese to the matzo. Add chopped cooked andouille sausage, turn the stove heat off and pour sauce over the matzo. Stir in a small amount of white truffle oil. Add cracked pepper to taste.“

We were tempted and asked what time was brunch. But with two young children and full-time work, we weren’t able to sample his creation. Maybe next time.

Lanny, Colin, & Mark

 

 

Mouth-watering, Marvelous, MATZO BREI!

After devouring a plate of homemade matzo brei this morning, my husband of 63 years, declared: “The world would be a better place if everyone ate matzo brei.” We laughed and I agreed and thought about the role of matzo brei in my family and others.

Matzo Brei is a favorite amongst, but not limited to, Jewish people, almost in a category with French toast. Although I will say that one-third of my family, down to the great-grandchildren, favor matzo brei, one-third prefer French toast, and the last third, eat whatever’s put in front of them.

Matzo brei is identified with Passover, but is enjoyed all year round. It’s usually served for breakfast, but is great at other meals. I like the simplicity of serving matzo brei because it doesn’t require putting a lot of things on the table. The eggs and bread are combined in one dish.

To make matzo brei, I use one matzo for each serving. The recipe, which can be found in my cookbook, A Glub, Glub & A Shake Shake, instructs to break the matzo into pieces and cover with water for a minute or two. Then drain the matzo and add beat up eggs and a little milk for another couple of minutes, and then fry in butter or margarine, scrambling the mixture to cook it evenly and prevent it from sticking to the pan. There are many variations where people add vegetables or even meat but we like it plain. Marty adds strawberry jam; I like salt and pepper and my son uses tamari sauce to season his plate.

My grandsons used to consume mountains of matzo brei and I would use five matzos and five eggs for the two of them. My oldest grandson had the idea that we open a matzo brei restaurant together. He’s become a social worker instead, but still loves matzo brei.

I can think of many reasons why the world would be a better place if everyone ate matzo brei. Can you?

 

 

 

 

 

Faces in the Trees

When I sit at my kitchen table I witness an amazing panorama of trees through the picture window. I have the impression that most of the trees are in close proximity, although this is not so. Yet the branches of each tree appear to be reaching out to others and create the feeling of a puppet show or possibly a type of mating dance. I observe numerous figures in this mosaic, but when I turn my head the images are gone.

The wind and the sun affect how the patterns are created. The markings on the trees such as lichen and scars left by lost branches contribute to the plethora of designs as well. The woods in the background and even the small amount of visible space between the trees add to the magic.

When the wind is blowing the feathery boughs of the hemlocks look like alligators, with open saw tooth jaws. On the old gnarled maple, I observed the head of a man with long hair, wearing headgear suggesting a medieval helmet. His features were amazingly clear. One image that wasn’t so fleeting was that of a deer perched on the branches, dining on leaves of another tree. Hmm! Maybe that wasn’t a vision.

The foliage is sparse now but we still have lots of squirrels and interesting birds to grab our attention. A few days ago Marty and I spotted a pair of gorgeous gray birds with bold, black, art deco -style feathering. After checking my bird book, I determined that these were Northern or Loggerhead Shrikes. According to the book, these birds make rare appearances. Since I’ve been looking out of the same picture window for 52 years and haven’t seen them before, I must be right.

Usually we experience a heavy rainstorm before November is over, which brings down the remaining leaves. Then we see into the woods and imagine how the trees will tantalize us during the following summer. But then, aren’t the sculptures formed by drifting snow, mesmerizing?

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Acupunture at the Norman Bethune Hospital

Mom remembers watching surgeries in China.

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In January, 1975, the National Guardian newspaper, a radical, independent weekly and the Chinese government sponsored a three week tour for American farmers. My husband Marty and I were excited to be invited.

We travelled through six major cities and their surrounding areas, tasting every aspect of Chinese life, as guests of the Chinese government. There were twenty-two in our party, including our coordinator from the United States. Two or three translator/guides accompanied us throughout our travels in China. In each of the regions we visited, local officials joined us to enlighten us about their work, and the history and culture of each site.

One of the most memorable events of the tour was the visit to the Norman Bethune Hospital in Shih Chia Chuang. Dr. Norman Bethune, a thoracic surgeon from Montreal, relinquished his privileges at state of the art hospitals in Canada in 1939 to establish the hospital in Shih…

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Acupunture at the Norman Bethune Hospital

In January, 1975, the National Guardian newspaper, a radical, independent weekly and the Chinese government sponsored a three week tour for American farmers. My husband Marty and I were excited to be invited.

We travelled through six major cities and their surrounding areas, tasting every aspect of Chinese life, as guests of the Chinese government. There were twenty-two in our party, including our coordinator from the United States. Two or three translator/guides accompanied us throughout our travels in China. In each of the regions we visited, local officials joined us to enlighten us about their work, and the history and culture of each site.

One of the most memorable events of the tour was the visit to the Norman Bethune Hospital in Shih Chia Chuang. Dr. Norman Bethune, a thoracic surgeon from Montreal, relinquished his privileges at state of the art hospitals in Canada in 1939 to establish the hospital in Shih Chia Chuang. As a young man he vowed to do something great for humankind.

The use of acupuncture for anesthesia fascinated us. We were fortunate to observe three surgeries on the day of our visit that used this method. The first was of a young soldier having his tonsils removed, who seemed quite comfortable. He was in uniform and was sitting in a chair that looked like an old dentist’s or barber’s chair. Maybe he was getting his teeth fixed and his haircut at the same time! When the procedure was completed, the soldier got up from the chair, acknowledged us, put his hat on, and walked out of the hospital. We witnessed a woman having a thyroid operation, and a man who underwent open-heart surgery; each person showed no signs of pain.

The operations were not viewed from a glass-enclosed amphitheater, with video and audio enhancements. Twenty-two people crowded around the operating table and carefully managed not to trip on electric cords or overturn washbasins. We wore gowns, hats, and masks, along with plastic sandals. The only way that we could identify each other was by the color of our socks.

Forty years ago, the Bethune Hospital was one of the few facilities in China that provided treatment for serious illnesses. Today this hospital is part of a complex of prominent medical centers, which include The Norman Bethune College of Medicine of Jilin University.

 

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Killingworth Foundation’s: Applied Arts & Sciences Award

Of the many volunteer activities I’ve participated in my 50 -plus years living in Killingworth, CT, one of my favorites has been serving on the Scholarship Committee of the Killingworth Foundation.  I enjoy meeting the young students and talking with them about their aspirations for their educations and futures.

This year we launched a new award, The Donald Welter Award for Excellence in the Applied Arts. The scholarship is named after a long-time resident who was active in the community and taught industrial arts at a local high school.

Founded in 2007, the Killingworth Foundation is a non-profit organization that supports local community groups and grants awards to students for higher education. While we’ve been offering scholarships for academic achievement and for aptitude in the fine arts, we didn’t recognize industrial arts until this year. The members of the scholarship committee realized the need to expand their awards to include students seeking different careers, and are aware that to obtain a liberal arts degree from a four-year college is not the best choice for everyone. We are excited to provide a small monetary gift to help a student entering the vocational trades.

On June 1, 2016 the Killingworth Foundation presented its first award in applied arts and sciences at the Haddam Killingworth High School. The committee agreed to honor a highly motivated graduate who plans to major in Media Studies and Digital arts, with a focus on producing documentaries.

We wish the recipient the best of luck, and hope that she’ll be the first of many to achieve the Donald Welter Award for Excellence in Applied Arts.

 

Wyoming: Butch’s Place

Butch’s Place, a western -style tavern comes complete with swinging doors, tables covered with red and white checkered oilcloth, and posters of locally produced ale and whiskey. A single gas fired stove provides heat for the dining area. The tavern, on Route 10 in Kirby, Wyoming, (population, last count, 375) between Thermopolis and Worland has been a landmark for over twenty years.

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Of course the main attraction to Butch’s Place was Butch. Marty and I don’t remember Butch’s last name and never knew his first name. He was just Butch. His wife, Linda helped manage the restaurant and also held a job working for the Town of Thermopolis.

Butch was a gregarious, accommodating host. He was known for his “okey doky” to any request. In spite of Butch’s claim that he didn’t cook, just “only put food together” there were several items on the menu that were unique to his establishment. A favorite amongst the children were the twelve -ounce hamburgers, whether they were ordered unadorned or smothered. His was one of the first restaurants in the area to serve buffalo burgers, cooked to perfection. A single order of chicken salad was large enough to satisfy a family of four, and the lightly grilled sirloin finger steaks were a delicious specialty. One dish that I haven’t seen before were his “hog wings”, which are pork shins, about the size of chicken drumsticks, very tasty and tender. They were cooked so that the meat fell off the bones.

A few years ago, Butch retired and sold the business. Although the food was still good, twelve- ounce burgers were no longer served, and we missed Butch’s and Linda’s camaraderie and conviviality. The tavern might have changed hands more than once.

You can imagine our surprise, upon visiting Wyoming last winter, to learn that Butch’s Place had closed. The rumor is that the recent owner’s girl friend decided to put pool tables in the dining area, which infringed upon the seating capacity and detracted from the character of the eatery. One of the employees was enraged and pulled the plugs on the refrigerators and freezers. The food was contaminated and it took quite a while before the restaurant was cleaned, sanitized, and safe to be used. To date, nobody has shown any interest in rehabilitating the facility and starting up again.

Back in Thermopolis, we observed other changes. Restaurants come and go for many reasons. As a result of a poor economy there were fewer bathers at the pool. In other years the pool was crowded with visitors from neighboring communities, particularly over the weekends. There were winter athletic meets at the high school and participants from different schools usually included a swim in their busy schedules. We may not have been in Thermopolis during the right week, but the out of town athletes were also rare.

The Quality Inn that we’ve stayed at has the capacity to park the tractor-trailers operated by truckers working in the oil patch. They haul large pipe, massive generators and other equipment to nearby oil fields. With the glut of oil and low prices for fuel, many oil wells hat have been capped and thousands of people have lost their jobs. This has had a ripple effect on the entire economy in the region. Consequently, truckers at the motel were not as numerous as other years.

Thermopolis is still home to the “World’s Largest Hot Springs” and we delight in ducking our heads under the hot water to get the icicles out of our hair. It’s also fun to see children making angels in the snow before jumping in to the pool. Water aerobics, which I find therapeutic, are still offered at the “Teepee” pools where we swim. It’s fascinating to watch the birds migrate in squadron formation, while we ‘re swimming. I love counting boxcars and tankers as the railroad trains whiz by the pool, but I have to admit that I lose track when there are more than two hundred cars on one train. We also enjoy watching the stars come out, whenever we swim in the evening. Some things I hope will never change.