Okay, is this not the most beautiful heirloom tomato ever? (Slice one ripe tomato, drizzle with olive oil and balsamic vinegar, top with shredded basil and crumbled feta cheese. Healthy, not fattening, and da bomb delicious.)


Two things I love to talk about: food, and losing weight. Usually they don’t go together, but I’m a big believer in the Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup theory of joining seemingly unrelated things and getting something great out out of it. And what could be better than eating and losing weight? (Okay, so I’m easily pleased, but whatevs.)

One of the good things that came out of this $*&#@! recession of ours was people taking a look at how often they either ate out or ordered take out. In an effort to conserve money, people started cooking at home. Hello, I wrote a whole book about that (need I remind you? Here’s the paperback), and about all the benefits I experienced from getting my chef on: a connection with my family, discovery of who and where I came from, money saved, a deep feeling of satisfaction for a humble meal well-prepared.

But I didn’t realize until I heard Edward Ugel, author of I’m With Fatty, talk about cooking his way thin how making meals at home can really help with weight loss. A single average take-out meal can contain the amount of calories we’re supposed to have in an entire day, plus lots of unhealthy fats and other things we’d never feed our families.

Plus, where did that food come from? Factory farms, where animals suffer intensely? Farms where workers are underpaid and abused? There can be a lot of hidden pain on your plate.

Not when you make your own meals. When you become your own Top Chef, you’re in control. You know where the ingredients came from. You know what’s going into your meal. You get to peel the beets. Oh, not crazy about peeling? Check this out: Studies have shown that working with your hands can help lift depression (read this great article on the subject from Wholeliving.com). You get to accept the cheers from the family loving your food. Remember how happy Jamie Oliver made that poor diabetes-ridden town when he taught them how to cook on Food Revolution? I tell you, I cried every week.

So this Labor Day weekend, dig out your family’s recipes. If they’re scattered all over the place, put them in a book with clear pages for easy viewing. Yes, make your own cookbook! That’s what I did with Nana’s recipes. And yes, I did lose a few pounds in the process–and gained a tremendous appreciation for my family through the simple, sacred act of making food.

Oh crap...not another recession.

Many of you may see the phrase “double-dipping” and think of Seinfeld. This was their phrase for dipping a chip or piece of crudité in sauce, taking a bite, and then smushing the bitten piece back in the communal dip. Kind of gross, unless you’re just dipping with a loved one.

Well, not what I meant anyway, and I was never a huge Seinfeld fan to begin with. Not that there’s anything wrong with it, but I’m more of a sci-fi girl, as you’ll see in a minute.

No, I was actually referring to this talk of a double-dip Recession–an economic disaster within an economic disaster. It’s two kinds of bad, a bad layer cake, an open-faced bad sandwich. It’s kind of like Alien 3, when Ripley was on the prison planet–bad enough–and then found out she was carrying a little queen alien in her chest. Superbad.

I just thought we weren’t out of the woods yet. I didn’t even know a double-dip recession was possible. Well, consider me schooled! And as terrified as Ripley was in Aliens 1 through 3. (By the fourth installment, she was a half-Alien badass and therefore not easily spooked.)

We get this news as I’m doing press for the paperback edition of Cherries in Winter, which is out on October 19. I’ve been writing and thinking about Nana, who taught me such valuable lessons about survival–not just financially, but spiritually and emotionally. I’ve talked before about how she cut her own gorgeous hair, did her own mani/pedis, and accessorized the heck out of a single dress so it looked different–and lovely–every time. But she also maintained a rich attitude in the poorest times. She cultivated an attitude of gratitude, took pleasure in simple things, didn’t complain, and persevered.

I’m keeping my fingers crossed that we won’t have another helping of the bad layer cake. In the meantime, I’m going to try to channel Nana’s awesome combination of style and strength.

Photo courtesy of imdb.com.

Q: What is the result of the following, seemingly unrelated events: My sister is preggers; it’s the hottest summer on record; I have extremely productive, creative insomnia; forgetfulness.

A: A very fast peach blueberry cobbler.

I’ll try to explain without rambling (a challenge pour moi). The first part doesn’t require much explanation, and a little boy is due any time now. I love to see my sister, but even more now that she’s full of nephew.

Second part: I am really loathe to turn on the oven these days. The Hubbins has been sent to work sans homebaked goods for weeks now; I feel terrible. And cooler without the oven on. (Looks like I picked a funny time to reinstate the “When in doubt, bake” tagline.)

Third part: Since springtime, I’ve had an unusual amount of ideas for novels. The thoughts come when they come–I’ve learned not to question them–and sometimes they want to be heard at 3 in the morning. Now, I’ve had some great ideas around that time. It’s just that I can’t get back to sleep all that easily. So if you hear reports of a zombie girl walking the streets of Jersey City, that’s me.

All of this (I didn’t forget forgetfulness; we’ll get to that) adds up to taking a nap a few hours before going to my stepmother’s to have dinner with my mother-to-be-sister and our family. I said I’d bring dessert. I woke up late. With less than 45 minutes, I put together what seemed like a rockin’ peach blueberry cobbler. Second best part to the taste was the fact that the oven was only on for half an hour, total–vital in these doggie days of summer. It also preserved the integrity of the fresh fruit. I didn’t go to the farmer’s market so I could make marmalade; I want to taste peaches, not overcooked peach mush.

I think the cobbler really was good because it was eaten before I remembered to take a picture of it for this blog–see, I told you we’d get to the last factor, forgetfulness.

LAST-MINUTE PEACH BLUEBERRY COBBLER
8-ish peaches, washed and cut in chunks
2-ish handfuls of blueberries
Agave nectar
Corn starch
All-purpose flour
Rolled oats
Salt
1 stick butter (preferably organic–pricey, but worth it)
1 palmful of dried cranberries
2 generous sprinkles of cinnamon
1 dash of powdered ginger
1. Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Yes, we’re blasting this sucker.
2. Put peaches, blueberries, and cranberries in a deep baking dish that measures something close to 9″ x 12″ x 3″.
3. Add 1 Tablespoon of flour and 1 teaspoon of corn starch, about 1/4 cup of agave nectar, and mix.
4. In a separate bowl, mix 3/4 cup of flour with 1 1/4 cups rolled oats, 1/4 cup of brown sugar, and 1/4 teaspoon salt, remembering to throw a pinch of the last ingredient over your shoulder for luck. Add your spice dashes with flourish and panache.
5. Nuke butter in microwave until soft, about 20 seconds. Add to flour mixture and mix with fingers until crumbs occur.
6. Drop floury butter mixture in creative clumps on top of fruit mixture.
7. Put whole shebang into oven for 20 minutes and get out of that hot kitchen.
8. When you hear the “ding!” of your kitchen timer, remove cobbler from oven. Set aside to cool slightly, if you like your cobbler warm so it melts the vanilla ice cream you’re going to want to put on top of it, or go eat dinner so it gets to room temp. A dollop of whipped cream works too.
Buen provecho, mi amores!
xx,
S

The granddaddy of the minimalist approach.

My totally cool friend Arcy (maker of very cool recycled vegan baby clothes–check out her etsy shop here!) posted a link to an article from the New York Times about a couple who embraced the new minimalism. That’s the phrase I’m using for voluntary simplicity, rather than enforced downsizing due to losing a job and a home and having to get rid of most of your stuff because you have to move to smaller digs. There’s a big difference between that and people who want to quit their jobs, move to smaller homes or apartments to $ave, and toss materialistic clutter that makes them good candidates for Hoarders.

Part of what this couple did was winnow their stuff down so that they had only 100 possessions. (Each, I wonder?) That sounded like a high number–until I went into my closet and counted my shoes. Hm. I’ve done some research on this and discovered that some people count a collection as one item, as in the case of CDs. Can I do that with my shoes?

The woman in the article didn’t; she got her shoe collection down to three pairs. I have, like, three pairs of sneakers alone.

Then I thought about my Nana, as I frequently do; she is still my role model in all things, from style to substance. I’d be willing to bet she didn’t have even close to 100 possessions at the time she graduated from this planet. She had a few good “background” dresses that she accessorized to make them look different. Shoes? Couple pair of pumps, maybe a winter boot set. I do remember a pink boa, but that was a necessity in the 1960s, as Mad Men fans know well.

Nor were there a lot of gadgets or doohickeys in the kitchen, just your standard amount of pots and pans. In addition to their black and white TV (as in, one TV set, not one in every room) and a stereo, Grandpa may have had a transistor radio. That, and an iron, was the extent of their electronics.

Nana didn’t need a lot of personal upkeep, either. She did her own mani/pedis. She cut her own hair, and it was gorgeous. (The Marilyn Monroe look wasn’t that hard to pull off–snip here, snip there, rollers, voila.)

I’m pretty good about doing an annual purge, but I know I have too much stuff, and I’m inspired by this frugal, freelancing, downsizing couple to get rid of some of it. But 100? I don’t know…

What do you think? Could you get down to 100 Zen minimalist items? And if I do, can I buy a new Kindle so I don’t have books piling up in my apartment? ;)
xx,
Su-Zen
PS: To read the Times article, go here. To read the frugal couple’s blog, go here.

Or, as I like to refer to it, CIW: PPB.

Holla, friends! This is a first look at the new cover art for the paperback edition of Cherries in Winter: My Family’s Recipe for Hope in Hard Times, which will be in bookstores (both virtual and brick n’ mortar) on October 19, 2010. Mark it on your calendars, people (please).

The cover isn’t the only thing that’s new about this version of Cherries. Check out this fully-loaded baby’s features:

* Additional chapters!

* New recipes!

* A recipe index and notes that tell you where recipe adjustments really should be made from the originals! (Not that they were wrong, but wow, did great-great grandma Matilde use a lot of sugar in that dressing for the German potato salad. Ach du lieber!)

Another attractive factor about CIW: PPB is the price. Let me get to the point–this book is CHEAP. As in majorly inexpensive. How not-much money are we talking?

A mere $10.08 on Amazon.com. Ten freakin’ American dollars and eight centimes? For a book that People Magazine called “Perfectly in sync with today’s tough times”? For an inspirational memoir that combines recession therapy with comfort food? That, my friends is a bargain and a half. (Noté bien: If ordering on Amazon, please do not confuse Cherries in Winter with Revlon’s “Cherries in the Snow” or The Best of Johnny Winter, lest you end up with lipstick or Southern rock instead of a book. Or order all three and have a party!)

It is my sincere wish that you enjoy the paperback version of Cherries in Winter, and that you enjoy it so much that you then recommend it to friends and buy it for Mom, Grandma, and the boss you hate in the hopes that she’ll be nicer to you for having received such a thoughtful gift. I wrote the book for all of you, and I hope you like it.
xx,
S

Bring 2100 romance writers to hotter-than-heck Orlando, Florida and look out, kiddies–the mouse is on fiyuh.

So, Day 1 of the Romance Writers of America conference: the big draw was the keynote luncheon with Nora Roberts–excuse me, Nora Freakin’ Roberts. Everyone chomped their rubber chicken lunch (in my case, rubber tofu) in anticipation of La Nora passing on some of her pearls of wisdom. After all, the woman has written a gazillion books and sold many bazillions (that’s a matter of record).

La Nora was amazing, natch, and her message boiled down to this: There’s no crying in baseball. The money quote? “You think this is hard? We eat hard for breakfast.” I took that and ran around my Disneyworld hotel room with that. That lit my fire brighter than my Minnie Mouse desk lamp.

Romance novels collected so far: NINE. Woah–do I have room for all of these? Noooo way. And no way means giveaway. Sweepstakes soon, people, when I get home.

A word about the food sitch: $. And “eh.” Dinner was a decent chicken Caesar salad and a slice of pepperoni pizza–all I could get for under $20. It was that or a can of Chef Boyardee ravioli, and I can’t go there. Watching my wallet means I don’t get to watch my waistline do anything but expand.

More love soon from romance central.
xx,
S

Here's a pic of me and my buddy Fabio at the Romance Writers of America convention.

Tomorrow, I’m heading to Orlando for the 2010 Romance Writers of America conference. That’s right–me and 2100 other women who want to have their bodices ripped off by vampires. It doesn’t get much better than that.

I’ll be posting from there after long, happy, romance-filled days of workshops on how to write steamy love scenes, what makes a hero a Deeply Wounded Alpha, and how to make a living while doing this.

Yeah, I know–very different from what I did in Cherries in Winter. What can I say? This is where the Muse is leading me, and I don’t argue with that woman. She’s very creative, but when I ask her where all this is heading, she goes silent and sulky for days. And besides, who am I to argue?

The Hubbins keeps asking me if I’m going to hang out with Fabio. I can only hope.

Yours in bodice-ripping,
S

Love stories so steamy your hair will frizz!!

[images courtesy fabioifc.com]

Now. Now. Now. NOW.

This may be the end of Western Civilization, or at least of me fitting into my jeans. And not my superskinny white hootchie-mama jeans, either.

A Friend (meaning, a friend on Facebook) posted a link to this article by Sally Schneider on TheAtlantic.com, a highly-respected journal of news that is even more highly respected since the news was this: how to make peanut butter cups at home. In, like, five seconds.

Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Well, I didn’t, but I am now.

Yours in peanut buttery oblivion,
Suzan

[photo by Tara Mann]


Saturday was my brother-in-law’s birthday. (Happy b-day again, Caleb!) We asked him if he wanted anything–we don’t like to surprise people with stuff they may not want or need–and he said he’d like us to make a donation to a charity called Corridor Rescue.

The Hubbins and I both had little “?” bubbles over our heads as we’d never heard of this particular organization before, so we clicked on the link that explained it all. (And you can click on it right here, and I won’t even mind if you stop reading my blog and go there now–that’s how good this story is.)

Corridor Rescue was being featured on CNN’s Heroes segment, and rightly so. Deborah Hoffman, an animal welfare advocate in Houston, Texas, came across an area by a freeway that is a literal dumping ground for abandoned animals. Some are the victims of dogfighting rings; others are simply taken there and left to fend for themselves–to become feral, or just to die.

Not only did Hoffman bring this tragedy to the attention of the police, who have now made animal abandonment a criminal offense, but she went a giant step further by rescuing the animals, getting them much-needed medical care, and finding good homes for them.


You know, she could have just driven past and said the world was going to hell in a handbag. But she didn’t. She stopped, and she helped, and she continues to help. (On the website, Hoffman has put a great proverb: “People who say it cannot be done should not interrupt those who are doing it.”)

Deborah Hoffman, animal rescuer and restorer of my faith in humanity.

Of course, she needs some help too. Her group is Corridor Rescue, and the link is right here. We made our donation, and that made our day–as did knowing that there are people like Deborah Hoffman out there.

[Images courtesy of CNN.com]

No, no, not that kind of stuffed horsie.

Yesterday, Roy Rogers’ stuffed horse, Trigger, was sold at auction for $266,500. The buyer was a Nebraska cable company, which came as something of a relief to me because I couldn’t imagine anyone coming home with a rather large taxidermed horse and saying, “Honey, whadaya think–in the corner, by the TV? Or in the bedroom?”

This is the stuffed horsie that went for big buck$.

The reason for the auction was rather sad: The Roy Rogers and Dale Evans museum in Branson, MO, is closed, the contents put up for auction by Christie’s in New York. But before I found out about the cable company buying Roy’s faithful pal Trigger, I started thinking, Now who’s going to buy that? Apparently, enough stuffed horse lovers to jack up the auction price to over a quarter of a million dollars.

Will Rogers (no relation to Roy, or Trigger) summed up this thinking, and the entire recession in general, with this brilliant quote: “Too many people spend money they haven’t earned to buy things they don’t want to impress people they don’t like.”

Now that is DEEP. I read that, like, five times because it resonated so deeply. I may have to get that tattooed on my forearm, right next to the one that will read TWO OREO LIMIT.

Is $266,500 too much to spend on a legendary singing cowboy’s stuffed horse? Have you ever spent too much money on something not exactly useful (like a stuffed horse)? What was it? Tell me, please, and I’ll tell you mine in the next blog.
xx & $,
S

[Cute little stuffed horsie image courtesy of auroragift.com, makers of eco-friendly plush toys. Image of large taxidermed horsie courtesy of Christie's New York.]