Does anyone have Hickory Farms cheese ball reciepe?

Question

I am looking for a sharp cheddar or ranch cheese ball receipe,similar to hickory farms... please let me know if you have one

first of all this is for a work party its not that im cheap(it actually cost more to make it home made, so you tell me who the redneck is) and second of all bite my *** if you have nothing better to do but post to someones message with such stupid replies!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Answer 1

cheese ball is for christmas=I do not know what kind of cheese it was. Merely that a singular cheese ball served upon a platter was offered to famished guests one clear Christmas evening. This audacious act of stingy (according to tale) in turn fueled a growing appetite (according to me) for the re-telling of this mingy meal and just like clockwork along with stuffed stockings and bellies past full, the cheese ball story rolled out making its yearly grand appearance. I’ve tried to make sense of this story as one outside of the original scene struggles to do asking pertinent questions, viewing the situation from various vantages but always alas- eluding the point.

I wanted to know what comprised the cheese ball, a little Blue with Neufchatel or perhaps a blend of Cheddar and Swiss. Was it enormous with jolly scoops heaved out surrounded by a moat of bright seedy crackers or fist sized, tight lipped, and shunned? Was the fromage plated ceremoniously in the middle of a well polished table, diners with fork and knife in hand and silence hanging askew in the air? I fill my head up with every variation of cheese ball eating on Christmas day and still come up with satisfaction, which always leaves the story teller who understands the obvious irony of the tale just a little exasperated.

With no clarity in the actual details and only the dramatic flourish that family legends are famous for, I wisely abstained from the “why?” and the “how could they!” of the matter, focusing instead on composition, atmosphere, and shape. But I tell you some ten years later after the story reveler has come and gone- that maligned slump of curd still shadows me. Every year as I trace the hazy outlines of myth, the cheese ball glows a little brighter swiftly gaining odd momentum, even threatening to overtake the fruitcake which reigns supreme in my mind.

Its forename is unintentionally derisive, albeit truthful and to the point. It possesses neither elegant shape nor stature holding low center to the ground, rotund and spheroidal. It dons a casual coat of toasted nuts, parsley, even crushed Chex mix, occasionally livening things up with a tacked on cherry top. Shrink wrapped phosphorescent orange wedged between the jellies and the beef stick, the Hickory Farm cheese ball of the 70’s was coveted childhood prize.

This pudgy amiable cheese food harkens back to a time when things were simpler and choices fewer. It reminds me of that treasure trove of miniature goodies nestled within a paper grass filled box each item a beautiful gift waiting to be nibbled or rapaciously torn into. Instead of children we became mice, gallant princes, or far-from-home paupers, transformed in equal measure by magic and merriment. We ate Ritz crackers and onion chip dip and canned fruit cocktail with a smile, we inhaled Vienna sausages smeared on bread. There were no spun caramel creations, no turduckens, micro greens, or finishing salts- no blowtorches or advanced cooking degrees required to pull off elaborate show stopping affairs.

It is not that I don’t appreciate the latest and the greatest or sometimes covet the furthest and the widest. However mixed into the nostalgia of my childhood past is a desire for real presence more than presents*. I think I am beginning to understand why that cheese ball commanded so much attention after all these years. It sat in humble defiance to all that is fussy and expectedly over the top, oblivious to holiday gyrations that leave folks weary, bleary, and broke. Lucky to sit at the table of plenty and truthfully too much, the cheese Buddha serenely asks: "What is enough?" And after all these years, I hope to know the answer.

* Thank you V for the appropriate phrase.

Simply Cheese Ball- A quick look around and I became overwhelmed with all of the variations out there. Basic rule seems to be roughly equal parts cream cheese to hard shredded, then mix in any extras that sound appealing. While an aggressive horseradish version wins my vote, I have been flirting with the idea of Liptauer cheese for some time. Pinochle, salami, and beer anyone?

Ingredients:
8 oz. softened cream cheese
8 oz. grated sharp cheddar (a mix of whatever you like)
2 tsp. finely chopped green onion
1 Tblsp. Prepared horseradish (to taste)
Chopped toasted walnuts/pecans

Directions: Combine everything but the nuts until well mixed. Chill mixture about an hour and then form into a ball and roll into the toasted nuts to coat. Chill again covered for about a day and serve at room temperature with assorted crackers or crisp apple slices.
Labels: appetizer, cheese

posted by Callipygia at 4:19 PM 9 comments

Thursday, November 15, 2007
Weathering Persephone's Folly
Behind the scenes alongside several mealy apples: One baggy rust colored zip up topped with a lemon lime t-shirt which unabashedly broadcasts the bunched outlines of underlying fabric. Black high performance fleece socks ensconced within fuzzy cotton candy pink anklets. There might be a black shearling vest with faux leopard print involved. And yes, also pants (black denim) hardly worth mentioning. I am not sure which the worst crime is, wearing this jumbled up assembled ensemble, or not caring. After a month of dressing like I’ve been camping out in cold weather carelessly smashing together several days’ worth of outfits at once, I am beginning to feel like a local.

More notable than this makeshift attempt to mind the clothing gap between fall and winter, or the reassuring glint of duct tape in the glove compartment of my vehicle is my growing preoccupation with weather. Once a time ago I noticed this small town banter which everyone seemed to participate in and assumed it to be polite folk’s filler employed when no other topic was close at hand. It seemed cathartic and unifying, collective worried fret over what it was going to do to someone’s tomato plant, late hour football practice, or throbbing arthritic back. Slowly I began to sense the formidable presence of this mercurial character through the whips-o-wind, squeeze of barometric pressure and the dips and glides in humidity, presiding as honorary person at the start of a conversation before silently retreating to the background. Between straight talk of moose sightings, bear break-ins and wild turkeys hurling through living room windows, there is plenty of gazing into the vast sky slack jawed and silent, waiting for the next big hit.

Well the forecast of now is gloomy. The trees have dropped their leaves in panicked mass exodus and I am being watched by the growing odd assortment of winter squash in my kitchen. While I am sure that in few month’s time I will relax into the mellow embrace of Butternut, Kuri, and Hubbard and root for rutabagas diced and roasted, for now the mere thought of squat vegetables pried free from the ground or behemoth gourds anchoring a straggling vine leaves me flat. With months of steamy Dutch oven meals lined up on the frozen horizon, I crave a reprieve in the form of zip, juice and fire. For this brief moment in time feed me sweet and plucky pomegranates.

Put aside the fact that in recent years these juicy jeweled orbs have been touted non stop as the latest super food capable of slowing the ravages of age on plump tender cells. Pomegranates have been sought after a long while, even suspected for being that infamous apple in the Garden of Eden. They have been found dusty and entombed headed straight for the afterlife within a mummy’s coffin. Even Persephone, kidnapped fair maiden took pause to partake of a few kernels capturing the heart of Hades, thus committing her a season out of the year down under.

Punica granatum originally hailed from the arid sunny region of the great Persian Empire before sprawling wide laterally. Perhaps they have captured the taste and fancy of people across time because the fruit joins the inaccessible sacred with the secular and even profane. Their red leathery hides provide ample protection from the elements and surprising contrast to the delicate jam packed delicacies inside. Cradled and partitioned within filmy membranes are some six hundred and thirteen ruby colored seeds which are thought by some to correspond to the number of mitzvot in the Torah. To break the seal of this seeded apple is to witness another small miracle, the sign of thirst quenching abundance in the desert. And who can look at the parting of this open juicy harvest without blushing just a little? Under taut puritanical cover there is bursting vitality and carnal pleasure waiting to be known. On the one hand pomegranates are seen as symbols of fertility and marriage decorating religious scrolls and ceremonial bed linens, on the other its associative imagery (shrapnel looking blood soaked seeds) has caused its name to be linked to destruction begetting grenades of the hand.

Finally getting to the point, the fruit’s nectar is cranberry like but brighter with a pronounced tannic bite. Popular in Middle Eastern cuisine, the time is ripe for adopting some sun and sensuality into my own New England kitchen. Standing one timid toe on the cusp of winter with temperatures plunging, this royal globe adorned with its own diminutive crown encourages me to take heart. There is juice to be found within the hardest substrate and thankfully, there will always be spring to follow on the mean heels of winter.

Muhamarra (Turkish Walnut Garlic Dip): Adapted from Fiber for Life Cookbook.
I really can’t say enough about this nosh. It is sweet and fruity with a swift burn. No long hours in the oven reducing to oblivion. Plus it is hard not to pronounce it (practice rolling those “r’s”) without feeling a little racy. Warning however to those that take offense in too much garlic.

Ingredients:
2 roasted red peppers seeded, skinned, and stemmed
2/3 C toasted walnuts
2 crushed garlic cloves
¼ C olive oil
1/3 C toasted breadcrumbs
1 tsp toasted ground cumin
½ tsp red pepper flakes (more or less)
3 tsp Pomegranate molasses, can use a little lemon juice too
½ tsp salt

Pomegranate seeds and chopped parsley for garnish

Directions: Blitz all ingredients except garnish in a food processor until it forms a uniform consistency. Allow the flavors of the dip to develop a few hours before eating. Garnish and serve with crackers/ pita. Actually it works on just about anything.
Labels: dip, Dread of winter, pomegranates

posted by Callipygia at 3:27 PM 15 comments

Tuesday, November 06, 2007
Nice to Meet You
“The Net of Indra is a profound and subtle metaphor for the structure of reality. Imagine a vast net; at each crossing point there is a jewel; each jewel is perfectly clear and reflects all the other jewels in the net, the way two mirrors placed opposite each other will reflect an image ad infinitum. The jewel in this metaphor stands for an individual being, or an individual consciousness, or a cell or an atom. Each jewel is ultimately connected with all other jewels in the universe, and a change in one jewel means a change, however slight, in every other jewel.” --Stephen Mitchell, The Enlightened Mind



I didn’t intend on getting philosophical right off the bat while baking my cake, I originally just wanted a good transition food that would assist in keeping my lungs clear for the approaching winter. After listening to a Traditional Chinese Medicine practitioner rattle off a number of medicinal foods appropriate for the long cold months ahead, I latched onto sweet and soulful adzuki beans, a favored childhood treat (which incidentally is rejuvenating to the kidneys and heart but is moisturizing to the whole system, said to give one a rosy complexion, and is the most yang of beans). Earthy rich with a chestnut like crumble; red bean paste stuffed into chubby sticky rice mochi makes me feel tucked-in, small and a wee bit nostalgic. Away from any Asian communities, it has been far too long since incorporating legumes into my desserts. Perhaps a simple rice and adzuki porridge would provide nutritive ballast for the day as well as recreate some facsimile to memories past.

In one hard blink I fly to J-town in San Francisco where I used to ritualistically crane my neck forward to peer behind the glass counter of May’s Coffee Shop angling to see if any fish-shaped waffles pocketing a dark magenta magma center might be hatched, stacked and steaming. If not, I’d leave disappointed and a tad disgruntled forced to feed my hunger down some other tributary or side lying nook.

Further in the pursuit of silky bean puree, I recall the tall silent men dressed in crisp suits, lean as shadows that would pop into my work place on rare occasion to sell pieces of bean pie shrouded in plastic on flimsy paper plates. Never having tasted such a thing, I no longer remember whether or not I bought the pie out of curiosity or out of strange discomfort with the severity that would descend upon a once ordinary room. Delightfully, the pie stood in odd contrast to the bean bearers’ cool disposition, full of homey comfort and redolent with honey and spice. Both baked goods and men were straight from Your Black Muslim Bakery in Oakland and years later I still think about them both.

So in a pull towards three parts (more or less) to the past, porridge became sticky rice which turned to pie, before finally shape shifting into a tea cake. And it is no secret; I have been lavishing sweet admiration upon my newest creation which seemed to miraculously emerge from my oven but in reality has been quietly gestating until now. Beautiful with an understated elegance, it seems impossible for anyone to refute this simple fact. But indeed even this upstanding cake has garnered its own share of opposition ***and once again I find the contrast in opinion to be just the thing to open my eyes.

It isn’t like I have never encountered various perspectives before. My architectural education has trained me to gather and synthesize bits of information from many sources and then whittle and shape my response into physical form. And then there has been living in the culturally sophisticated Bay Area for years where one can get swept up in every kind of diversity imaginable. Yet I can see now that my enjoyment and participation in those view points have been largely mental, an intellectual process, maybe an amusing trifle, and thereby always a little removed.

The recent dramatic changes in my life have altered my landscape as I have moved from one coast to another but more importantly lost a significant amount of my physical ability to move independently. I am suddenly more sensitive about deviating from the norm, sometimes feeling like a stranger in my own skin. Holding a different perspective incorporates much more than expressing a surface idea or opinion. Rather it plums the depth of emotions, wandering through socio-economic borders, it includes the totality of a lifetime of experience.

At moments I feel the edges of my new life bear down on me from all sides. Unwittingly my change in form and various other displacements which have occurred rise up in locations becoming an obstruction, blurring the way that I experience myself. This has been the true impetus for writing and drawing within this blog: to see deeper and connect with myself and other, unencumbered. And this is what I think of as I learn about the bankruptcy and criminal trouble which have befallen Your Black Muslim Bakery. I cannot help grieving in some small way remembering the distance of these men, feeling the knot and pain which comes from being marginalized, exiled and living on the fringe. But with this sadness also comes a hint of relief with the hope that walls and barriers attended by the desire for change can become conciliatory conduits and ultimately arms for embracing our shared humanity.

*** My attendant remarked that the cake had the same color as people have just before they die. I was dreaming along the lines of pale lavender and was somewhat startled to hear her response. I exaggerate when I suggested that this was “oppositional”. I was exploring the idea of divergent view points.


Adzuki Pandan Tea Cake makes 8” round- Inspired by Korean dduk, mochi and that bean pie. I seem to be putting disclaimers on everything posted lately. Around here three people thought this was fabulous. Two thought it was exotic but a little disorienting. Two other people thought it was different and disgusting (they were too repulsed to even try). For some, beans and desserts do not go together with the exception of jellybeans. If you are at all inclined towards Thai food, give this a go. If not, follow the link to the bean pie. That is very good too but I believe the vanilla has a typo and should be 2 teaspoons.

Ingredients:
1 can 14 oz. adzuki beans drained
¾ C coconut milk
3 eggs
½ C melted butter
1 ½ tsp. pandan extract
3 Tblsp. Rice flour
½ C plus 2 Tblsp. Sugar
2 oz. grated dark chocolate

Directions: This is a busy cook's dream come true. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Drain your can of adzuki beans and dump into a blender with the coconut milk. Puree until smooth, add the other ingredients minus the chocolate and blend some more. I used ½ C sugar and very dark (74%) chocolate, this was nice but thought that a bit more sugar might enhance the flavor. Next time I would add a few tablespoons more and use a lighter chocolate. Pour into a buttered pie plate or cake pan and sprinkle the chocolate on top. Bake for about 45 minutes more or less until a toothpick inserted in the middle comes out clean. I’d suggest letting it cool before eating and serving it with green tea.

Labels: adzuki beans, bean pie, dessert, humble pie

posted by Callipygia at 3:22 PM 12 comments

Friday, October 26, 2007
Gingerly Handling Ladybugs and Leeks
Within a few days of inhabiting my pad almost three years ago I began to suspect that I had accidentally stumbled into a parallel universe otherwise dubbed the Ladybug Lounge. Forget the insinuating adolescent perk and cheer, I was witnessing unabashed jittery jots pulsating energy to the thrumming bass of invisible subwoofers. I even detected the faint clink of martini glasses. Relatively harmless and a touch surreal this madness carried on for a short time only to be quickly forgotten and resumed again late the following October.

I puzzle over what they might want from me coming year after year, as aphids are their main source of food and I’ve never knowingly entertained any. The first day they appeared in mass numbers, I was amused in dreamy speculation as they gaily freckled the exterior side of my windows before liberally seeping through the cracks. One is delightful, two charming, three a small party…. But when does too much of a welcomed thing tip the scale and become quite another? When man and nature touch what happens in the overlap and why do they huddle about in dark corners?

By the time the bag full of spry leeks arrived I should have been ready, if but a little preoccupied. After all I have waited my entire life to cook with leeks, held off until I cultivated enough refinement to appreciate the pale green delicacy, this relative to the rowdy onion. Seen as little more than an overgrown scallion and with greater than half of it unchewable, steep prices paid seemed more the actions of a fool than a foodie. But with the unexpected gift of Allium porrum, my development in gentility was cut short turning my efforts instead towards highlighting this eternal fresh flavor. But for what special dish, a mere cock-a-leekie soup?

After all look at them! leeks stand proud and stately, bundled tight in weather resistant sheaths of vigorous up shooting greenery. A handsome figure to be sure, they emanate quiet reserved strength. But this tough guy act is rather superficial, roughly one layer deep; which is best wrastled with deftly before tossing it in with the heap of misfits traveling down the cavernous depths of a full and ready stockpot. But never mind that for now, for further on in-- coming closer to the inside a different story is told. Thin cross section slices of a newly vulnerable de-gritted and truncated leek reveal a mesmerizing world of symmetry and grace, a mirror if you will of our many layered selves. And while the chartreuse almost transparent discs have some of the character of fine pristine jewelry, these juicy growth rings also incite feelings of expanding succulent life, of new beginnings.

Rather than treat these leeks to a heavy handed swat of potatoes and cream or a long decadent braise in olive oil, it seemed a different approach might harmonize with leek’s concealed nascent wildness. Influenced by environmental educator and “wild man” Steven Brill, as well as those cheering ladies in red, a turn in tactics also meant leaving well groomed taste behind. For the flavor profile I was looking for emerged from tromping about in brisk weather, smelling damp fallen leaves, and inhaling sharp pungent air. It is the encapsulation of daily life in the fall weeks when everything is sketched in precise thin lines, intentional and wildly alive. Sure things around may be rattling, dying off, and moving out, but there is still seasoned bite and brass to autumn that reminds us of how dynamic each passage of life truly is. Now- what to do about the voles?



Sesame Leek Sauce: Adapted from a recipe by Steven Brill. 5 cups.


His ingredient list matched perfectly the flavor I was going for in my head. However this recipe was intended for wild leeks or ramps which possess a more assertive flavor. To rectify the situation, I radically changed the tahini amounts and in the future will diddle some more with it. I did use 2 Tablespoons of chopped ginger which resulted in such a surprise; I was taken aback- since then the pungency has grown on me. I adjusted the recipe somewhat below to reflect what I would do next time. I will say that this is the perfect thing to sling onto just about anything. I was dipping blue chips into it, as well as toasted walnuts. It was just right on a chunk of salmon and terrific on top of buckwheat soba. Also true, while this was cooking up the Asiatic ladybugs were flying about in enthusiastic frenzy. I think they approved.

Ingredients:
2 Tblsp toasted sesame oil
3 C cleaned and sliced leeks/ramps/scallion/onion
1 ½ Tblsp chopped ginger root
8 cloves chopped garlic
1 ½ C stock
¼ C white wine
5 Tblsp tahini
2 Tblsp barley miso

Directions: Sauté the leeks, ginger, and garlic in the sesame oil for about 5 minutes until light golden brown and fragrant. Pour the stock and wine in and continue simmering while scraping the pan of its browned bits. Pour into a blender with the tahini and miso and puree until smooth. Serve over grains, fish, tofu, or vegetables.

Labels: autumn, leeks

posted by Callipygia at 3:52 PM 10 comments

Thursday, October 18, 2007
In a Muddle
“For everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under the heaven…” Ecclesiastes 3:1

For my entire life I have been solidly sitting smack dab in the middle of here and there, this and that- but most especially between younger and older, the second class citizen of a nebulous region uneasily perched upon the hump of my family’s backseat Buick. Besides hand me downs and occasional hand me ups, enfolded into this forked over position has been implicit understanding of what it is to straddle and join two separate worlds. And even with aplomb going so far as to shift and compromise when necessary to gain small favor in the attempt to stake my own piece of ground. Queen over no true territory I have always been able to flux fluid in the face of change, composed in the in between.

So it comes as sobering surprise when for the last many weeks I have struggled to roll with the dramatic changes underfoot, silently pulling the reins of time back to no avail. I’ve watched under exacting autumn light as the surrounding greenery has grown up and thinned out desiccated bone dry bare while plump jumpy critters on overdrive scuttle about, monarch caterpillars turn inside out and upside down asking the great questions of life, and school buses snake their circuitous routes. Stretched thin at the intersection where divergent demands exist I find myself stuck between the anticipatory surge to survive another winter and the overwhelming drag to slow. Wistful is my name, I miss the relaxed ease of late summer soothe.

After a lifetime of scampering to connect, flex and flow with the go, I find a new desire emerging, the compelling need to finally drop my bags and stop working to reconcile left and right or up with down, to simply be in the middle of a muddle. In a moment such as this, I only need to look down at my feet, savor the hard earth below and- drop anchor. What better chaperone in the art of attachment than the famously bull headed thistle, inspired muse in the creation of steadfast Velcro, the beloved and perhaps bedeviled Burdock?

This recalcitrant character Arctium lappa is a study in headstrong behavior. It happens to be wild food favorite of herbalists and diners of macrobiotic cooking. Surprisingly this sought after plant can be found skulking about derelict lots, crooked road sides, and lumpy open fields, the direct result of indiscriminant spiny burrs willing to hitchhike upon anything that’ll move. Possessing a monstrous leaf span up to 2 feet long and one wide with a wooly rough undercoat, any thought that this could be an ordinary plant is hurriedly cast aside. Inside certain well stocked stores, burdock roots might be found grouped outside their element in prim rectangular baskets by the Asian produce. These dime-in-diameter grubby looking sticks approximately ten inches long look perfect for stirring a witch’s stew or spading a two headed poisonous frog, but exude a far too earthy appearance to be included in literal feasting. Self possessed, unshaken they stand the test of time and are revered by foragers and eaters who can gaze beyond the repugnant or at least the unglamorous. While burdock can be harvested for its seeds, leaves, stalk, and roots, it is best left for knowledgeable enthusiasts with a keen eye and a sturdy shovel.

Their taproots dive unstoppable into the tarry depths unfettered by the good opinion of others or the empty wants of an unwanted neighbor, pausing only long enough to shoot out a lateral hold here and there. This willful focus, this “I am root hear me roar”, this testimony to place is captured in a sweet dense core which is prized for building strength and stamina from the inside out. Burdock’s support is far reaching, from nourishing the lymph and immune system, the liver, kidneys, lungs, and nerves, before finally touching the outmost peripheral skin. In spite of looking like no more than an unwelcome weed, occasional consumption of this dock will have one feeling and perhaps even looking a little pretty.

When it comes to preparation, the food is best taken from a first year plus plant (midway through the second year the vital energy gets transferred to the seeds) when the brown black skinned roots are still tender and needs a little good natured scrubbing. It unexpectedly tastes somewhere between a potato and a Jerusalem artichoke, mildly sweet and earthy with a crisp yet mucilaginous edge. While unappealing sounding, this sticky tooth actually binds to toxins and contaminants in the digestive track and assists in pushing it through. Clearly this is not your ordinary garden variety vegetable to be routinely counted as part of your daily five. Rather burdock is iconoclastic mentor and friend to body and being. It reminds us to blossom where planted, dig deep and feed our inner most secret regions. Arctium calls on us to stand our ground, fully embracing the far reaching parts of ourselves, even when one happens to muddle in a puddle.

Clay Pot Miso Chicken: Serves 4, adapted from Epicurious. The original recipe called for an enormous amount of miso, soy sauce, and mirin. More than my sodium levels could bear, so I scaled back big time. I still found the reduced mirin a bit too sweet for my taste, so I made further changes down below. It is best after you mix the liquids to sample a spoonful knowing that the flavors will intensify in the oven and in the ensuing days. Adjust accordingly. The bitter greens are perfect counterpart to the sweetness of the dish.

Ingredients:
2 chicken breast on bone with skin
2 chicken thighs on bone with skin
2 burdock stalks, scrubbed and sliced thin diagonally
Splash of apple cider vinegar
1 large onion chopped
1 bunch green onion chopped in 1” pieces
½ lb shitake mushrooms, stemmed and quartered
½ jalapeno seeded and chopped
2 Tbsp. grape seed oil
1 ½ Tbsp garlic chopped
1 ½ Tbsp ginger finely chopped
2 ½ C stock
¼ C white wine
¼ C mirin
¼ C barley miso
¼ C soy sauce

Cooked mustard greens/ bok choy/ kale/ broccoli rabe
Steamed rice

Directions: Preheat oven to 500 degrees and place chicken skin side up on a tray. Roast chicken for about 35 minutes and then put aside. Reduce oven to 300. Place burdock in a bowl covered in water and a splash of vinegar. Sauté onion, green onion, mushrooms, jalapeno, garlic and ginger for several minutes on a medium high flame until fragrant and lightly browned. Add drained burdock. Mix liquids into a slurry and then pour over cooked vegetables to deglaze the pan. Place chicken inside a Dutch oven and pour the vegetables and liquid on top. Braise for an hour and serve hot with rice and greens.
Labels: burdock, root vegetable, slow braise

posted by Callipygia at 5:23 PM 12 comments

Saturday, October 06, 2007
Fall Song

Another year gone, leaving everywhere
its rich spiced residues: vines, leaves,

the uneaten fruits crumbling damply
in the shadows, unmattering back

from the particular island
of this summer, this NOW, that now is nowhere

except underfoot, moldering
in that black subterranean castle

of unobservable mysteries- roots and sealed seeds
and the wanderings of water. This

I try to remember when time's measure
painfully chafes, for instance when autumn

flares out at the last, boisterous and like us longing
to stay- how everything lives, shifting

from one bright vision to another, forever
in these momentary pastures.

Mary Oliver
Labels: Mary Oliver

posted by Callipygia at 11:34 AM 4 comments

Friday, October 05, 2007
Metamorphosis


At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless;
Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is,
But neither arrest nor movement. And do not call it fixity,
Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards,
Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point,
There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.

Answer 2

1

Answer 3

Hickory Farms Fruitcake

Answer 4

INGREDIENTS
1 pound bacon
2 (8 ounce) packages cream cheese, softened
3 tablespoons mayonnaise
1 green onion, chopped
1 cup chopped pecans


DIRECTIONS
In a large skillet fry the bacon. Remove the bacon from the skillet and drain on paper towels. Chop or break the cooled bacon into small pieces.
In a medium-size mixing bowl, combine cream cheese, bacon, mayonnaise, and green onions. When mixed well, form 2 balls out of the mixture. Cover and refrigerate 3 to 4 hours, or overnight.
Before serving, roll the cheese balls in the chopped pecans.

Answer 5

You may need both for your daily intake i wood express just as good as one another. Granta

Answer 6

2

Answer 7

Is dependent on the context really. Which is better as a snack - fresh fruit for me personally. It's tastier and gives you that little of sweetness. Which can be better as a snack if you are trying hard to lower back on sugar and lose weight vegetables