Absolutely perfect musings this morning. I, too, have discovered those toaster waffles. But I still reserve them for Sunday mornings. And my pill box has served me well since having to take the Eliquis twice a day in case an AFib caused clot catches me unaware. Thank you for making me glad we share the world still. Your Thanksgiving post including the fabulous Hospital for Special Surgery reminded me of my own hand-saving operation performed a few years ago. Hope your knee is holding up. On on to 2024!
Like so many things of memory, processed packed waffles reminds me of the pre-CAD times as does the pad of butter atop the stack. I still cherish daily genuine maple syrup too, but the teaspoon of it is mixed into the bowl of cooked rolled oats mixed with grape nuts, alma, ground flax seed, raisins, a handful of frozen blueberries. topped with soy milk has become my replacement. All cooked for a few minutes in one of the greatest inventions of mankind - the microwave. The microwave is the elderly equivalent of the invention of the wheel. To this daily concoction, I add a sliced navel orange and a couple of pieces of Dave’s raisin bread washed down with black French roast coffee made from Mexican mountain beans sent via the entrepreneurial folks at Cafe Atura. They help native Mexican farmers by providing them with a link to my breakfast table. This breakfast will never be as nostalgic as your picture of the waffles, but it would help your cardiovascular system survive the aging process better and help prolong your own aging. If continued, it may help eliminate your snoring. I’ll bet your wife if monitoring the snoring as a marker of your cardio healthcare.
Your gift, your wit, your kindness , your humour are anything but small... rather- I'd say - humongous, but that's not a real word is it? Another gem for those of us in the downsizing time of life. Onwards in pockets of joy, large or small, onward Mr. K, onward...
This deep sleep throat rumble we share, GK. My beloved hasn't taped me yet, but I'm sure it would sound much the same. My dearest just rolls over and buries her head in her pillow, and falls asleep again. If her pillow move wakes me, I feel guilty of having wakened and tossed. if it's nigh "sixiish" I rise and press the coffee-maker button.
With a "cuppa" as the Brits say, I finally become more alert and joyous at this time of year: My darling has made her sweet caramel rolls for us again, a recipe handed down to her in het teens, years ago. There she heard, "No! No! you are not kneeding the dough hard enough." Suffice it to say, it's a holiday past time and we entire families await their sweet dole.
Lest this greatd recipe is lost, my dear wife Ruth has engaged the interest of two of our grand-daughters, and they are now learning what "kneeding the dough" really means. Their hands, like their grandma's, whose hands like her grandma's, have become unshake-able. If they do, it puts real tears in the other's eyes.
Nonetheless, those sweet, yummy caramel rolls with a pat of butter on top, and 15 seconds in the microwave put you in nirvana. More need not be said, as your mouth is full. What a gift!!! Pass it on to those willing to learn how to make it. It beats any monetary gifts given, because it can keep on giving. And a sip of Bailey's could go with it as well.
Who knows if that woman on Columbus Avenue was referring to something profound, or not? I say there’s a good chance she was trying to recover after learning her local bagel shop was out of vegan cream cheese. Like you were saying, it’s the little things that count in day-to-day life.
Good morning, Garrison. I've never eaten a toaster waffle, heck, I've never seen one up close. Have assumed they are for children. You're mention as a consumer of toasted waffles gives me an attitude to go ahead and give them a try. Thanks. rr
"I lead a small life and think small thoughts." More folks should face that truth about themselves. They would be happier and the world would be a much better place.
Good morning Garrison, and greeting from Vermont, the home of your breakfast syrup.
And speaking of small things, earlier this week I happened to pick my most recent jug of syrup, bought from a road-side stand (the kind of farmstand where you serve yourself and leave your payment --cash or check-- in the tackle box on the shelf).
Actually, I rarely use syrup on food, such as waffles, but I use it a lot as an ingredient in cooking (which in turn means that I can buy the “lowest” grade, which, because of its darker shade, is often cheaper, but has a much richer flavor).
For example it works very well as a sweetener for my homemade tomato soup (which is especially welcome this time of year). Moreover, this year I’m experimenting with home-made “compound butters” as Christmas gifts for my daughters. In addition to the garlic butter and the lime chili butter, I’m also making a bacon and maple syrup butter.
One last bit of local syrup lore: In my neck of the woods (Guilford/Brattleboro) there’s a very active classical music scene (in part because of its proximity to Marlboro and its summer music festival). Anyway, elsewhere around the country, after a group has finished a concert --especially a small chamber group-- it is standard practice for someone to bring the members of the ensemble small bouquets of flowers.
Around here, standard practice is to present each member with a quart jug of Vermont maple syrup.
All that said, thank you so much for another year of wonderful columns.
It is amazing that American Indians figured out how to evaporate 40 gallons of sugar maple sap to make 1 gallon of maple syrup. And just knowing where maple syrup comes from is only the beginning if you want to try to do it yourself. As Maple Syrup rookies in the Adirondacks, we cut an old hot water heater in half to make an evaporator pan, set it on cinder blocks to contain the wood fire, and set to work with the sap we collected in plastic milk containers. While the sap was slowly evaporating, and the flames would escape the cinder blocks and touch the boiling sap (which turned the syrup very dark), the kids were screaming and running around getting all muddy (because you need warm days and cool nights for the sap to run), and the adults chilled watching the evaporator and drinking beer. The final product was black. But it still tasted like maple syrup, with a very subtle smoky taste.
Fast forward to the hunting camp I joined where they had a humongous evaporator pan that used a ton of wood to make light amber colored maple syrup. We cooked hot dogs in the boiling sap. The fat that came from the hot dogs eliminated the nuisance foam that would form as water evaporated from the pan. The kids still ran around outside of the sugar house, screaming and getting muddy, while the adults stayed inside the sugar house drinking beer.
Unfortunately, I had to move from the Adirondacks. I loved the snow, but minus 20 for days on end makes you feel 20 years older, and not in a good way. We now live in Southern Mississippi, but my daughter lives in Boston. Last Christmas I sent her a kit to make maple syrup. It came with a couple of taps and buckets to collect maple sap. She has an 16 inch diameter sugar maple on her property, and her neighbor has a 20 inch diameter tree that ought to support two taps. I am hoping, that she taps the trees this spring. Just to keep the simple tradition of making your own syrup alive in the family.
...."“Trust me, this is going to come out well in the end. It looks bad now but tomorrow is a new day and the story has yet to be written. Press on.” Love this encouraging note to begin again. Your entire reflection and observational piece this morning again, is spot on!! Thank you and enjoy your holiday cruise!
We live in a small Iowa town, a little speck of blue on the mostly red spectrum of the state, and take great pleasure in simple greetings like “hello, you doin’ well?” “Simple” is a good thing as we age, especially when combined with a friendly wave of a hand, or a car slowing courteously so we can cross the street with our equally senior dog. Cheerfulness and gratitude for good neighbors gets us through the day. Your musings, Mr. Keillor, help to keep us going! Thank you, Katrina and Les
I have my own amusements too. Tonight, I strolled into my local DQ and ordered a Candy Cane Chill Blizzard. To my surprise, the flavor was sold out. There was an Asian young lady named Chloe who looked a bit flummoxed. She was overwhelmed not by me but the line that seemed to stretch outwards near the front door. I broke the ice. I told her this was not a SAT test. I wished to calm her down. She completed my order and I only felt like if she could handle the crowds, she would be OK later in life. Life is ridiculous and my hand I extended was laughter. Yes, she was pretty and it reminded me of what beauty is. Thanks GK. I'm getting somewhere.
It’s me again, appreciating your line about your great nephew who appeared to be “on the verge of speech.” That use of a phrase from years ago describing the fishing dog that you didn’t seem to remember made me smile. Made my day actually.
I really love this piece, Garrison. Natalie Goldman wrote a book called “Writing Down the Bones” and one of the things she suggests is that, when writing, it is critical to be very specific when describing things. Draw the reader in. You did that especially well this time. I was in your mother’s kitchen when she made waffles that stuck to the waffle iron and I stood beside your father as he sorted mail. Wouldn’t surprise me a bit if it gave him the idea for a pill caddy. Mine gives my life order, like making my bed first thing every morning.
Absolutely perfect musings this morning. I, too, have discovered those toaster waffles. But I still reserve them for Sunday mornings. And my pill box has served me well since having to take the Eliquis twice a day in case an AFib caused clot catches me unaware. Thank you for making me glad we share the world still. Your Thanksgiving post including the fabulous Hospital for Special Surgery reminded me of my own hand-saving operation performed a few years ago. Hope your knee is holding up. On on to 2024!
Like so many things of memory, processed packed waffles reminds me of the pre-CAD times as does the pad of butter atop the stack. I still cherish daily genuine maple syrup too, but the teaspoon of it is mixed into the bowl of cooked rolled oats mixed with grape nuts, alma, ground flax seed, raisins, a handful of frozen blueberries. topped with soy milk has become my replacement. All cooked for a few minutes in one of the greatest inventions of mankind - the microwave. The microwave is the elderly equivalent of the invention of the wheel. To this daily concoction, I add a sliced navel orange and a couple of pieces of Dave’s raisin bread washed down with black French roast coffee made from Mexican mountain beans sent via the entrepreneurial folks at Cafe Atura. They help native Mexican farmers by providing them with a link to my breakfast table. This breakfast will never be as nostalgic as your picture of the waffles, but it would help your cardiovascular system survive the aging process better and help prolong your own aging. If continued, it may help eliminate your snoring. I’ll bet your wife if monitoring the snoring as a marker of your cardio healthcare.
Your gift, your wit, your kindness , your humour are anything but small... rather- I'd say - humongous, but that's not a real word is it? Another gem for those of us in the downsizing time of life. Onwards in pockets of joy, large or small, onward Mr. K, onward...
This deep sleep throat rumble we share, GK. My beloved hasn't taped me yet, but I'm sure it would sound much the same. My dearest just rolls over and buries her head in her pillow, and falls asleep again. If her pillow move wakes me, I feel guilty of having wakened and tossed. if it's nigh "sixiish" I rise and press the coffee-maker button.
With a "cuppa" as the Brits say, I finally become more alert and joyous at this time of year: My darling has made her sweet caramel rolls for us again, a recipe handed down to her in het teens, years ago. There she heard, "No! No! you are not kneeding the dough hard enough." Suffice it to say, it's a holiday past time and we entire families await their sweet dole.
Lest this greatd recipe is lost, my dear wife Ruth has engaged the interest of two of our grand-daughters, and they are now learning what "kneeding the dough" really means. Their hands, like their grandma's, whose hands like her grandma's, have become unshake-able. If they do, it puts real tears in the other's eyes.
Nonetheless, those sweet, yummy caramel rolls with a pat of butter on top, and 15 seconds in the microwave put you in nirvana. More need not be said, as your mouth is full. What a gift!!! Pass it on to those willing to learn how to make it. It beats any monetary gifts given, because it can keep on giving. And a sip of Bailey's could go with it as well.
Hold my calls and emails! I'm busy.....
Who knows if that woman on Columbus Avenue was referring to something profound, or not? I say there’s a good chance she was trying to recover after learning her local bagel shop was out of vegan cream cheese. Like you were saying, it’s the little things that count in day-to-day life.
Good morning, Garrison. I've never eaten a toaster waffle, heck, I've never seen one up close. Have assumed they are for children. You're mention as a consumer of toasted waffles gives me an attitude to go ahead and give them a try. Thanks. rr
"I lead a small life and think small thoughts." More folks should face that truth about themselves. They would be happier and the world would be a much better place.
Good morning Garrison, and greeting from Vermont, the home of your breakfast syrup.
And speaking of small things, earlier this week I happened to pick my most recent jug of syrup, bought from a road-side stand (the kind of farmstand where you serve yourself and leave your payment --cash or check-- in the tackle box on the shelf).
Actually, I rarely use syrup on food, such as waffles, but I use it a lot as an ingredient in cooking (which in turn means that I can buy the “lowest” grade, which, because of its darker shade, is often cheaper, but has a much richer flavor).
For example it works very well as a sweetener for my homemade tomato soup (which is especially welcome this time of year). Moreover, this year I’m experimenting with home-made “compound butters” as Christmas gifts for my daughters. In addition to the garlic butter and the lime chili butter, I’m also making a bacon and maple syrup butter.
One last bit of local syrup lore: In my neck of the woods (Guilford/Brattleboro) there’s a very active classical music scene (in part because of its proximity to Marlboro and its summer music festival). Anyway, elsewhere around the country, after a group has finished a concert --especially a small chamber group-- it is standard practice for someone to bring the members of the ensemble small bouquets of flowers.
Around here, standard practice is to present each member with a quart jug of Vermont maple syrup.
All that said, thank you so much for another year of wonderful columns.
Hoping you have a wonderful Christmas --N
It is amazing that American Indians figured out how to evaporate 40 gallons of sugar maple sap to make 1 gallon of maple syrup. And just knowing where maple syrup comes from is only the beginning if you want to try to do it yourself. As Maple Syrup rookies in the Adirondacks, we cut an old hot water heater in half to make an evaporator pan, set it on cinder blocks to contain the wood fire, and set to work with the sap we collected in plastic milk containers. While the sap was slowly evaporating, and the flames would escape the cinder blocks and touch the boiling sap (which turned the syrup very dark), the kids were screaming and running around getting all muddy (because you need warm days and cool nights for the sap to run), and the adults chilled watching the evaporator and drinking beer. The final product was black. But it still tasted like maple syrup, with a very subtle smoky taste.
Fast forward to the hunting camp I joined where they had a humongous evaporator pan that used a ton of wood to make light amber colored maple syrup. We cooked hot dogs in the boiling sap. The fat that came from the hot dogs eliminated the nuisance foam that would form as water evaporated from the pan. The kids still ran around outside of the sugar house, screaming and getting muddy, while the adults stayed inside the sugar house drinking beer.
Unfortunately, I had to move from the Adirondacks. I loved the snow, but minus 20 for days on end makes you feel 20 years older, and not in a good way. We now live in Southern Mississippi, but my daughter lives in Boston. Last Christmas I sent her a kit to make maple syrup. It came with a couple of taps and buckets to collect maple sap. She has an 16 inch diameter sugar maple on her property, and her neighbor has a 20 inch diameter tree that ought to support two taps. I am hoping, that she taps the trees this spring. Just to keep the simple tradition of making your own syrup alive in the family.
...."“Trust me, this is going to come out well in the end. It looks bad now but tomorrow is a new day and the story has yet to be written. Press on.” Love this encouraging note to begin again. Your entire reflection and observational piece this morning again, is spot on!! Thank you and enjoy your holiday cruise!
We live in a small Iowa town, a little speck of blue on the mostly red spectrum of the state, and take great pleasure in simple greetings like “hello, you doin’ well?” “Simple” is a good thing as we age, especially when combined with a friendly wave of a hand, or a car slowing courteously so we can cross the street with our equally senior dog. Cheerfulness and gratitude for good neighbors gets us through the day. Your musings, Mr. Keillor, help to keep us going! Thank you, Katrina and Les
I have my own amusements too. Tonight, I strolled into my local DQ and ordered a Candy Cane Chill Blizzard. To my surprise, the flavor was sold out. There was an Asian young lady named Chloe who looked a bit flummoxed. She was overwhelmed not by me but the line that seemed to stretch outwards near the front door. I broke the ice. I told her this was not a SAT test. I wished to calm her down. She completed my order and I only felt like if she could handle the crowds, she would be OK later in life. Life is ridiculous and my hand I extended was laughter. Yes, she was pretty and it reminded me of what beauty is. Thanks GK. I'm getting somewhere.
It’s me again, appreciating your line about your great nephew who appeared to be “on the verge of speech.” That use of a phrase from years ago describing the fishing dog that you didn’t seem to remember made me smile. Made my day actually.
Thank you.
I really love this piece, Garrison. Natalie Goldman wrote a book called “Writing Down the Bones” and one of the things she suggests is that, when writing, it is critical to be very specific when describing things. Draw the reader in. You did that especially well this time. I was in your mother’s kitchen when she made waffles that stuck to the waffle iron and I stood beside your father as he sorted mail. Wouldn’t surprise me a bit if it gave him the idea for a pill caddy. Mine gives my life order, like making my bed first thing every morning.