Four on the floor

All four of our grandchildren were in the house over the weekend.

Somebody turned four.

His only request? A chocolate cake.

Andrew is a devotee of Paw Patrol. Hence the decorations.

Before cake, we had hamburgers and hot dogs done on the grill by Papaw.

Sides of potato chips and homemade macaroni and cheese rounded out our feast. The soda pop flowed.

Dagny was in fine spirits.

She no longer thinks anything of it when I suggest she pose on the front porch.

To model the outfit du jour, and to brighten every occasion with her smile.

Dag loves her cousins and they love her.

Allissa, who will soon turn eight and who loves babies, is enthusiastic about entertaining Dagny. 

I wish I'd gotten a picture of everyone cooperating at once, but it's not that easy. You try.

Melanie -- as has been established -- just loves a party.

Later, after our cookout and presents, it was time for one more ceremonial moment.

That time when your candles are lit and they sing to you.

After which, you get to have your cake and eat it too.

Nothing wrong with that.

Then, at the birthday boy's insistence -- I guess that means he actually made two requests -- we all went around the corner to the horse farm.

The venue is dubbed a Luxury Pet Resort. But there's nothing luxurious about the part where the horses hang around the fence, noshing on hay.

It's just cute. The kids get into it although they act like they're scared of the docile equine units.

My only grandson is pretty excellent about posing for his picture. He does exactly what he's told.

Making him the cutest and best four-year-old I know. Happy birthday, little buddy.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Wednesday

Yes

Gettin' 'er done in the great state of Louisiana.

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Happy Monday :: God Bless America

Declare your party

The grandkids are coming.

It's little Andrew's fourth birthday. On Monday, if you want to be technical.

But we grab our party times when we can, and in this case, that means tonight and tomorrow.

Giant bubble sticks are decorating the table, ready for immediate acquisition and intense merrymaking by the children upon their arrival.

We are hoping for photo opportunities if we can get anyone to stand still.

Dagny said plain as day what's on the menu for tonight: Pizza.

She balked at Bellacino's but give her time.

Tomorrow -- in the seventy-degree weather -- it's a cookout. The grill won't be the only Weber fired up.

We will also be voting in the South Carolina primary. Curb your enthusiasm.

From our celebratory environment to yours, I wish you a fun-filled weekend.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Friday

It's all that I can give to you

What? Valentine's Day nothing but a commercial cha-ching!-fest for greeting card companies and candy factories and stuffed-ingabee peddlers and mylar-balloon pushers and jewelers and florists?

No. It's about love.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Actually I feel the need to confess that I have no particular fondness for most holidays.

The few exceptions include Christmas -- which as a rule I love with all my heart -- and my own birthday, my favorite day of the year and one on which I expect a great deal of purposeful frivolity to revolve around the annual recognition of my original appearance on the scene.

Aside from that I much prefer a routine existence.

But I participate in the calendar-generated festivities when they occur and in whatever way I am inclined and able, dependent upon circumstances and resources.

Valentine's Day has always made me a little uneasy. I've never figured out why.

TG and I make minimal fuss on this day. We may go out to eat, exchange cards after we've ordered, and display our cards on the table while we dine.

This year we didn't do that. It was Sunday (as you know) and although I don't technically mind going out to eat on a Sunday, it's not my favorite thing.

I bought TG a huge bag of Hershey's Miniatures which only half-filled our HUGE glass treat jar. I propped his card against the jar. He found it in NO TIME.

Although I cop to owning a sweet tooth roughly the size of Siberia, I do not eat candy. Flowers are wonderful but receiving cut ones seldom seems to go zing to my heart the way I believe the beau geste is intended to do.

My TG knows all of this, although in the past, of course, he has given me both blossoms and sweet-tooth satisfiers and I have enjoyed them.

This year he was a savvy shopper. I got a darling super-soft stuffed mouse proclaiming forever love! and clutching a gift card in his furry gray paws.

Booyah. Also a very nice valentine card which shall remain private.

I have named my mouse Dashiell -- Dash for short -- and yes, even as a woman of a certain age I am not ashamed to say I love to be given cute toys.

It thrills the little kid still living in my skin. Dash sat with me all afternoon yesterday and I even hugged and kissed him.

I saw Dagny only at church and the pictures offered here are from a few weeks ago, when it was nice and warm outside and we played on the front porch.

South Carolina has endured a cold snap and I don't mean maybe. It's drawing to a close and I can't say I'll be sorry to see it go.

Erica and I were in Northwest Ohio for a few days recently and we saw zero signs of snow anywhere -- not even lying on the ground, melting -- in North Carolina, Tennessee, Kentucky, or Ohio.

In fact it was warmer in Buckeye Land while we were there, than it has been in the Palmetto State.

Today? Nothing but a cold soaking rain outside my window.

That's about to change. Spring is coming sooner rather than later. Neither Punxsutawney Phil nor Shubenacadie Sam saw their shadows on February two.

But I won't put my warm pirate socks away quite yet.

And that's it for now. Kisses and L-O-V-E to you all.

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Happy Monday

Pimento epiphany

This here be anything but a recipe blog.

However.

A few weeks back, TG and Erica and I took a day trip to the Upstate. To be specific, we journeyed one hundred miles northwest of Columbia.

Right up to where the South Carolina line melts into the North Carolina line. But we didn't set a toe on Tarheel soil.

That's because our purpose in going was to visit the only covered bridge still standing in South Carolina: Campbell's. At Beaverdam Creek.

It was a cinch to find and as charming as anticipated. You've got to love a wee vintage bridge, red as a passel of pimentos, that is by design neither square nor plumb.

After taking full advantage of perfect weather where it met the golden hour, we tooled back through Historic Landrum.

The sky was still pretty nice -- studded with cirrus clouds, all cotton balls with pull-out wisps -- and although a wind had whipped up January-like, we parked and walked.

There were all of three blocks to cover, and only one of them looked remotely interesting.

It was five-ish and you'll never guess what happened.

Okay; I'll tell you. We I got hungry.

My cohorts are suggestible. I knew this and took full advantage. Time for a little something, thought I.

So: Hey let's go get a snackie at Southern Delights and More, I suggested. They're open until nine.

Being in the habit of, wherever I may find myself, at once ascertaining where to procure nourishment, I had gleaned that useful intelligence moments after our impromptu stroll began, by reading the door to said storefront establishment.

But only after pausing to openly drool over admire their inviting neon Coffee sign hung above an observant sock monkey -- er, ingabee -- perched atop a vintage Coke cooler in the window.

Speaking of cooler, it was becoming so by the millisecond. We trundled in and took the table in the window (I love sitting in windows; it makes me feel pleasantly smug), beside the ledge where the sock monkey sat lookout.

The antique-filled café was warm and bright and hardly being used at all by hungry people, although it was clear from the three-quarters-empty bakery-style cases that the proprietors did a brisk business.

TG and I ordered half-sandwiches -- pimento cheese, which we both adore, on sourdough -- and cups of soup.

I don't remember what Erica got except she requested coffee and it came in a cup the size of Kansas. Without technically raving, third daughter declared the brew a solid good.

Well. Enough about her. I am here to tell you, the pimento cheese was more than good.

TG promptly -- as in, with no discernible hesitation and zero qualifiers -- declared it the best he'd ever eaten.

~  c u e   c r i c k e t s  ~

Talk about your gauntlet thrown. Upon hearing the words, I felt like a pawing, snorting toro looking daggers at a billowing red cape.

As I noshed greedily I thought: Why have I never made pimento cheese in my own kitchen? Am I out of my mind?

I will thank you not to snicker about that last part.

After considerable research and having made the recipe twice now, tailoring it to my own taste and -- apparently -- TG's as well (because he totally and with an appropriate amount of contrition took back what he said in the heat of the moment in Landrum), I am happy to reveal how I did it.

So you can too.

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PIRATE PIMENTO CHEESE

8 ounces (one brick) full-fat Philadelphia cream cheese (Yes, Philadelphia and yes, full fat.)

2 cups (a little more is a lot better) hand-shredded Cabot Extra-Sharp Cheddar (Don't substitute any other brand and on pain of death, do not use pre-shredded cheese. Heaven forfend.)

1/2 cup Duke's Mayonnaise (If you can't get Duke's, you can't make this recipe. Sorry not sorry.)

8 ounces mushed-up pimentos (Drain the little suckers out of their jar or jars, dump them onto your cutting board, and work them over with a mezzaluna or appropriately businesslike knife.)

Generous dollop (do not measure and have no fear) Giuliano Hot & Spicy Jalapeño Spread* (It's cheaper at Walmart than on this website I linked to but I wanted you to see a nice big picture. Mount Olive makes a similar product so if you can't secure a jar of Giuliano, go with second best but deduct one-half of a style point.)

Coarse ground black pepper and kosher salt to taste (If you still use that whiny-thin free-flowing excuse for salt and/or garden-variety black pepper dust, you are on your own and you haven't made my recipe, haaaha.)

Lemon pepper (A free-spirited sprinkling.) to taste. And totally optional.

Mix it all up. It helps to cube the cream cheese into a bowl a few hours before you make the recipe, to let its darling soft snowy creaminess develop. Then add the hand-shredded Cabot, then the Duke's, then the precious red pimentos, then the jalapeños, then the seasonings.

Mash stir mash stir until your pimento cheese is the consistency of perfection. You will know. The whole thing is easier than falling off a covered bridge. Voila. You did it. Collect your pirate papers.

Caveat: This recipe is not bland. It's not meant to be. Jenny the Pirate does not do bland.

Now pile your kicked-up pirate pimento cheese sky-high onto some good fresh rustic bread, preferably toasted. The bread, I mean.

Prepare for a thrill-dazzle to the palate, spontaneous applause and due reverence from those to whom you serve it, and a considerable boost to what I am sure is your already burgeoning culinary reputation.

You may thank me by being happy.

And that is all for now.

*Giuliano jalapeños is the ingredient that makes this pirate pimento cheese, and thus by definition, a standout. Nothing run-of-the-mill or store-bought about it. Trust me.

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Happy Tuesday :: Happy Groundhog Day