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I was never much for them as a young child, didn’t understand the process under age five. I started with sweet gherkins, moved to bread and butter, all the way to Kosher dills with a pastrami sandwich on rye with deli mustard.

Then I learned the strangest thing. Texans deep fry pickles, yes, my husband had me try one in a movie theater there. One of his favorite home dishes is my version of my grandmother’s pickled cucumber. I use a European (seedless) cuke and marinate it at least 1/2 hour or overnight in apple cider vinegar, sugar, salt and pepper. It’s nice sliced, but elegant for a luncheon when it is shaved into thin ribbons with a peeler, perhaps mixed with beets at the last moment (so the entire dish doesn’t end up red from the beets).

What I wanted to write about at the cusp of the New Year is Pickles and Chips. My mother sent me to an English riding teacher as a kid. When we moved to the country she hired a high school gal, Debbie, to teach me Western riding. No-one where we lived rode with an English saddle. Pickles was an ornery Shetland pony. Chips was a beautiful quarter horse.

I finally learned that when Pickles put his ears back, I was in for a ride. He threw me across the creek one time. When Debbie said leave me and Chips, go left in a walk, right, then canter diagonally and meet me back here, I tried. A test of sorts.

Forget the canter. He laid his ears back and galloped, stopping full bore right by the homemade sand box (a large one framed by railroad ties) and I tumbled over his head and fell into the sand. He ran 1/4 mile home, where Debbie’s parents were having a dinner party.

I was shaken, but fine. Only my pride was hurt as the entire dinner party toting Pickles walked up our long driveway to see who he threw (they knew he would) and if I was OK.

Many years later I have petted my young cousin’s gorgeous female Percheron, a majestic creature. I’ve not been on a horse or pony since age nine and would like to do so. My husband is allergic so he can’t go with me. Perhaps his brother or our cousin, Zoe’s vet, will do so before I am too old to participate.

Here’s to all kinds of pickles, and to Chips! Dee

First thank Canada for checking in as I forgot to contact my older cousin on Boxing Day for his birthday. Happy birthday!

From crying to crawling to walking I always wanted a motorized vehicle. Yes, a tricycle my feet could pedal. Then, there was a kiddie bike from Santa with training wheels. Then just wheels. No, there was not a need for performance enhancing drugs to win a contest. Vehicles have always been from point A to B for me. The bike just let me visit all the friends and animals at my 1/4 mile-away neighbors quickly. I was not allowed on the highway. Years after that there were real wheels, a drivers’ license.

I was mis-diagnosed for rheumatoid arthritis for over 20 years. It is now thirty years. I won’t take anything for it except a few OTC NSAIDS per year. Yes, while I’m up at night I see commercials recommending all these drugs, and they say a side-effect may be death. Actor/comedian Jay Mohr (thanks Jay) says that death is not a side-effect!

When I took a spill on the pavement two months ago it has been hard to heal, with severe knee bruises and facial problems from the fall. There is no insurance when it comes to health issues even though we pay through the nose for it every month and now health care is going to get worse under the current administration.

My dear aunts have given me a sleek tripod walker with which to get groceries. It has brakes and once I learn how to use it and open doors or go up and down escalators and heaven forbid, negotiate the awful sidewalks, I’ll be OK.

Baby, crawling, walking, tricycle, training then bike, car, cane, tripod walker. After it came in I brought it down to see staff and Maintenance was there, making fun of me as usual. All I said was that I feel old. After all these years I may go back to a tricycle and beyond. There is too little time and too much to do.

The head guy reminds me of my father and what he used to do to any guy who tried to date me, except my husband. Gruff exterior, marshmallow interior. He whispered to me that the tripod was a great idea because after years of knowing me, I’ve FUBAR’d more than once. He likes me!

Yes, a few years ago the County never did anything before ice formed on their sidewalks so 8″ of ice built up. Maternal instinct kicked in at our 7 a.m. walk and Zoe (our dog) started to fall with all four legs. I lifted her up by the leash so she wouldn’t be harmed. I fell, instead. That was a lengthy large hip bruise recovery.

Second in command really made fun of me, saying he could connect a motor to the contraption. I replied that I wanted a seat. Haha. They have saved our lives in the past due to a gas leak and mostly make fun of me because I’ve been here so long and rarely make maintenance requests. I tell them I bundle them and use them once for small items like a slow drain, yet still bring them food. Until we lose her Zoe is the mascot and I’m “Aunt Dee.”

Cheers and have a happy new year. Dee

Yes, I’ve my own. We’re both consultants, I’m too young but am retired. My husband has his priorities. Sometimes they are not in sync. Picture that he has a weekend off and spends a bit of time walking our dog but spends all the time on his cell phone reading news or emails. Most likely he spends all day puttering around on his laptop or iPhone and  a few hours after breakfast I bring him a sandwich and veg for lunch.

I ask what he’d like for dinner and I go out and get it, do mise en place and cook in advance like stews or make and rise dough. Then we agree on a time to have dinner and as I must have my back to him after prep, attentions must be elsewhere. Two burners sauteeing, a horrible kitchen fan running, something in the oven that needs to be checked and a salad to put together, he starts opining on a technical matter that is of interest to him. I’ve the fan going and and am taking out the cold food from the frig, and am constantly running the kitchen sink to wash my hands or rinse a dish.

We agreed on priorities so I left him a day to be alone with his thoughts and mostly laptop and iPhone. Twenty minutes before dinner hits the plates he starts talking about his technological concerns, methods, writing. I can’t hear a word he’s saying and tell him so. I serve dinner and he shuts down and turns on the television, and gets needed rest.

If it’s a long trip home for a him after work for a weekend I just want to let him sleep, but to do that would mean prying his electronic devices from his cold, dead hands. He always wants to research something and I always want to cook or write, and we can relax together, on opposite sides of the sofa watching Episode IV of Star Wars: A New Hope. He taught me about that one, both versions.

While I’ve had bosses and clients who told me what they wanted done, I usually, after college, got to decide how I was to accomplish these deeds. The first was getting away from home all the way back to my college town. I got an eight-week temp job correcting applications for a minimal college scholarship. The applications, not the tests. We got a bit more than minimum wage but were watched and extremely regimented. There were kids with apps who could not spell their own name or street address, but we had to correct their application for a college scholarship.

I learned a lot about poverty and its effects on a child’s education that year. I was given apps from my school of about 1,500 to fix and there were only two mistakes. Inner city schools it was at least 70% of students who failed the application. Why? Parents or lack thereof, and/or teachers and curricula. The same government educational system that gave me one of those scholarships for $800 if you went to college.

We had to use pencils and were issued one per day. Hours were severely regimented, we may have even been locked into the room between breaks. I broke my pencil one day and went to ask Assistant Ned, as the “boss” of that minuscule portion of the clerical staff was out of the office, could I please borrow a pencil?

Ned had a large coffee mug with perfectly shaved pencils, arranged, tip-up as if a floral bouquet. He said “No.” I now knew he had a love of pencils so asked to see one he was already using. It had “Ned” etched into it I I complimented him on his enthusiasm for the job. These people were nuts! My goal after college was to never be Ned.

A week in I got a great interview to work for the legislature and asked if I could take only 15 minutes for lunch and 1/2 hour for afternoon break because I had a Dr.’s appointment. NO. I left for my break, came back an hour later and quit. I did not have a decision or offer, or now a job, and waited ’til Thursday for the A-OK and took the job that started two business days later. It changed my life. Today my husband still asks me, “can you pass me a nedcil?” He is a physicist and software engineer/consultant. I never had or wanted to lead a Ned life, it was just a month paying rent.

The worst is yet to come. After years as a legislative analyist, a dream job came up out of the blue. Twice the pay, my own office in mid-town Manhattan. But I sold my soul to the devil and what was promised was not delivered to me, no matter how hard I worked. It was a bait & switch.

One day I was called in to my devil, who said I had “99” things on my desk to do so we need to prioritize them. She went through 27 things on my entire list, actually only about 8 because she was bored, then she told me that every one was of equal importance and had to be done immediately. It was a class system where of course the rich people were first, everyone else last.  At the end of the meeting she said get back to work, and everything is first priority! How is that for being an educated person in the workplace? I quit soon thereafter and spent my life savings to go to a professional cooking school.  Then a consultant. And the beat goes on….. Dee

And more. My father was always a fisher of men. He created things that made people, in the Army and in regular life, better for themselves and for their families.

At the end of his life he partnered in an Italian restaurant in a resort town. I don’t think he knew of the drama of a restaurant. He’d done education and arts all his life and thought he’d seen it all.

When I finally visited the restaurant it was after a debilitating rough sea voyage followed by a long car trip. He told me a story after I asked about the huge, gorgeous wooden bar. He said it was taken across the lake in winter, by horses. The ice was so thick that the entire bar could be taken across without incident.

This lake has not frozen in two years, and may not this year. On a side note I really wish that over the holidays the kiddos could be able to get out their sleds and slide down the big hill to the tennis courts and field (away from traffic).

Every year I used to go to the grocery first for a six-pack of local beer, that I kept cold overnight, then to a local coffee shop for hot chocolate and pastries. I would park and choose an ice-fisher and give him the goods, hoping he keeps the beer for later!

Last time two guys landed a huge trout. I showed up as a surprise and of course they didn’t have breakfast or a warming beverage. They wouldn’t let me leave, said they caught the fish as I walked onto the ice so I was good luck.

After a bit, 15 minutes, I said I had to go. It was seven in the morning and I had to make breakfast. Both of them walked me to the dock, each took an elbow and lifted me up from the ice.

Is it global warming? We have no snow for the kids, no ice for the fishers. Every day at dusk and dawn I see the seagulls catching their prey. The winds become fierce, Coast Guard is out and not allowing small craft to sail or power boat. God bless the Coast Guard. They are vigilant in their efforts to keep the seas safe.

In the next 100 years there will be no ice, no horses with a sleigh and a two-ton wooden bar to transmit over ice to its destination. Sad. Dee

I remember the cold weather and an aluminum box that held two bottles of milk that were delivered regularly. Sometimes they exploded because of the cold. My father-in-law ran a dairy where all the milk went to a co-op. I should ask him what happened back then, that milk wasn’t sold in a grocery store, but was left in bottles on one’s doorstep. It might just be that it was milk from local dairies and there weren’t co-ops then to pick up each day’s milk. Now the health food stores have co-oped the co-ops by offering grass-fed cow milk. I don’t know the answer.

My mother never wanted to be married, or me, and let me know for fifty years. Yes, it was a mistake helping Dad, under age 7, choose a modern sewing machine for her for Mothers’ Day as it was my idea. She never wanted me to cook, so I learned to cook and put myself through culinary school after I quit the rat race. She told me I could never do sports because of my heart. I became a track non-starter, gymnast and captain of the gymnastics team the last two years of high school.

I tried to get into her good graces. I thought that on her birthday and on Mothers’ Day Dad said she should be taken out to dinner, instead of making it for us (we weren’t allowed to cook) so I’d talk to Dad and make reservations at the best restaurant in the County.

When presented by Dad with reservations, Mom would say “I cook better than all of them.” It was true. It didn’t start that way but with 50’s cans of cream of celery soup as bechamel. Then she got a lifetime subscription to Gourmet magazine. Luckily she passed before they kicked the bucket. Now my brother and I are coming up with a list of our favorite “regular” dishes to replicate and update.

Mom was correct, she could make a better dinner than any restaurant in town. Today is my husband’s birthday. We were at the health food market yesterday at the butcher counter. He looked at the sale on ribeye steaks and said he wanted one. No, not now, honey. But they look good and are on sale! Not right now.

You’re making me one for my birthday! Yep. He did this to me once before. Sixteen years ago he had to go on a job interview in Nebraska, of all places. He said he needed a proper shaving kit and harangued me for a day or two about going to the luggage store to buy one. No, dear, not now. You got me one! Yep. Here it is, way early, but it is your birthday gift.

You’ve the only copy of my Christmas Day menu. I’m going to have to print it out so I can make my list because yesterday traffic was horrible on the way to the store and I’m going to have a nice bruise on my hip where a woman rammed into me with a grocery cart.

My butcher knows my secret. I believe they’ll keep me a ribeye and two filets mignon for today and Christmas. I have authentic Italian ingredients for a superb vegetarian lasagne on Christmas Eve. He’s a meat & potatoes guy, but I try to sneak in veg when I can.

When it comes to dinner, stews, homemade pizza, lasagne, whatever it may be, I do it better. I don’t want to go to a restaurant, would rather cook at home.

Oh, R stopped by yesterday to thank me in person for the bountiful trifle, of panettone, whipped cream with vanilla and a touch of sugar, and tons of blackberries and raspberries. He can’t have any because he recently had a heart attack (just two weeks ago and he’s back at work) but came by in person to thank me for thinking of his staff.

Thanks,  Mom. You were always very bright and accepted new challenges. Sorry I didn’t inherit your math gene, but am happy our brother did so. I do look at a recipe and usually follow it the first time if it makes sense, then do my own riff on it. I only use Italian OO flour for my pizza, so I’ve taken it to another level. Oh, and no green cans of fake parmesan cheese. Only Parmigiano Reggiano for me. The times have changed. Not that much, it’s seven in the morning and Dogma needs to go out. Cheers and don’t get too stressed with meals. It’s family and friends. Enjoy! Dee

Two issues, both “a guy thing.” Now my husband’s not a football-watching, beer drinking kind of guy. He prefers the History Channel and Nazis.

What do I make for the maintenance guys? No hesitation, trifle. My trifle will come in it’s own specialty bowl with pannetone, fresh whipped cream with lemon zest and juice, and a horde of fresh raspberries and blackberries.

As of late yesterday, he has a former colleague coming into town for a conference, and is invited to dinner tonight. Luckily I filled in flowers yesterday but there are some things to be cleaned up.

I thought, he’s Indian, What can’t he get that is good in most restaurants? True Texas Chili. From choosing and grinding the meat with my KitchenAid stand mixer to molding the spices to my liking, my version of Lady Bird Johnson’s 1962 Pedernales Chili comes to life. They served 5,000 at their ranch outside Austin, including JFK. You can download the original recipe at the LBJ Library site, it was the most requested document at the White House until our President was slain.

There are no beans in Texas chili. I’ll serve it with boxed cornbread jeujed up with frozen corn, half-and-half instead of milk, a bit of cooked sausage and some good cheddar cheese. Salad on the side with romaine hearts and a bit of cavolo nero (black kale, dinosaur kale) for my Italian side. No, I’m not Italian, just think and try to live it. They work to live, and not live to work.

Well, if he’s Indian, I may be able to serve him British mincemeat tarts for dessert. No. I’ll do a parfait with non-fat vanilla yogurt, berries and granola on top.

Decisions made. Dog was taken out and fed before seven. The clock is ticking. Tick tock. Let’s start with the whipped cream for the trifle, wash the bowl and then grind the meat.

A man, a plan, a canal, Panama. I love palindromes. Still working on Christmas menu and believe that scalloped potatoes are loved and rarely eaten here so I will make them. I now know a Roman emperor Claudius and his grandma Livia, “amore Roma.” Dee

The reindeer ornament with a tray of cookies flew off the tree, again. She’s lost her head twice and now has no legs but my husband will not allow me to bury her. He glued her head on yesterday and as she was carrying a tray of cookies, wants to keep the cook in me to a certain extent. I’ll look for the legs.

I think she flew because she wanted to be on Santa’s Team and they’ve never allowed a woman to be a part of that team. She kept trying to no avail. She is not a weather maven for the skies and sleigh but has other talents.

This reindeer cannot do field work, but the magnetic bracelets on my wrists allow me to type, my brain allows me to think, and as long as I’m at my desk with my feet up I’m good to go.

My husband made me give up my physically demanding volunteer work, then my consulting business to travel the world with him. Cooking, flower arranging are hobbies. Taking care of husband and dog are my job. Paying bills, doing taxes and sometimes even cooking are chores, though I did spend time planning a Christmas menu. Cheers! Dee

First off, thank you Germany, for reading. My father’s family was from Germany and I visited years ago but we were supposed to go on a cruise for his 85th birthday that was curtailed last year because of his illness and death soon thereafter.

My husband’s secrets are in his brain. It is up to me to find them out. We are both in the same business, consulting, but in vastly different areas of expertise. As he has entered different areas and is gone much of the time I am retired, to be with him the past 15 years of marriage.

He’s been writing a book for the past few months and likes taking a break to accompany me to the grocery store. I know his secrets because over the years I know what he craves, and it changes all the time. It started out with lemonade, then yogurt, ice cream, now strange fruits and veg. When I lose him in the produce department I can find him by the pummelos, heirloom carrots or apples. For a year or so he was a fan of my homemade trail mix with dried fruits and nuts that I packed in snack bags to keep in his desk when he was hungry late-afternoon at work. He had fun with that one, the aisle of fruits and nuts and granola.

For thirteen years I packed a duffel bag for him for a weekend getaway. He’d ask me to go somewhere and I’d pack us both in 12 minutes and we’d go. Now he has new bags and a “system” and I don’t touch anything except if he asks me to do so or if I must move it out of the way, like to get into my dresser.

When we met we were extreme opposites. There was no way those phone numbers shared in the parking lot after a post-9-11 TGI Friday lunch were ever going to be used to perhaps see a movie as friends one day. I threw his number in the trash and fed the dog and cats. He saved my number, called me the next day and we saw a movie and had a Mexican meal. He opened my car door, took my hand and hasn’t let go ever since. When they still used paper maps, he used his homemade dual-brained computer to find my address about a mile away.

Today, I still have a slip in that paper map of my address from over 16 years ago. It was in the door pocket of our car. I have it now and it must be framed for our anniversary.

Like his father and brother, he has a gruff exterior but if one is brave enough to crack the shell, there’s a nice guy within. Not a marshmallow, but a good person that can be trusted and can recently be found in the produce aisle. Yes, he does help old ladies cross the street, I know because I’ve arthritis and am one. Cheers! Dee

Last weekend I learned to twist flowers for arrangements, by an expert. There were twelve of us in the class and all she would say while she helped others was “Dee, yours looks beautiful.”

The next day they were closed. The spray roses had died so I had to find an alternative to my trusty florist. I substitued red carnations for a holiday feel, and gold balls on wire. I thought I did it without thinking.

Witness our holiday tree. This morning I looked at it and realized it has morphed. One year ago I returned to my home to find a number of floral arrangements and a sort of evergreen tree that needs to grow indoors in this weather. It was the day after my father’s funeral and the women of my husband’s family decided to give me a living memory of Dad. It was topped with a silver star with his name and dates of birth and death.

This year I decided it would be our tree, and started at the top of Dad’s tree with the star. I added family ornaments and hand-made aluminum drops, then a topper of silver bows from former flower arrangements that calls attention to the silver star. The dripping tin twisted strips rain down on what Dad created. Several families. Ours sits in the middle in hand-made finger puppets. Husband is a cow, I’m a horse, don’t know why as the last time I rode one I was thrown. Our dog Zoe is the dog and she’s leaning on me.

The tree includes paper ornaments for an intensive development project I created over 20 years ago. Kids decorated round tag-board ornaments and I saved a few. The tree shows that from his efforts in life, we were allowed to have lives, enjoy our lives.

Dad made things possible, not always attainable, but possible. Our living tree is an homage to my father, and the dripping tin strips from a trip to Vermont with my in-laws show how he has affected all our lives. I know the ornaments I chose, and chose the family tradition of one ornament each, every year. Subliminally, I chose a vignette of my life and the impact my father had on this life. He allowed me courage, even to get married and he never gave the “stare” above the bi-focals to my husband of nearly 15 years. He was the first “boyfriend” he ever liked.

Heaven forbid I become a floral arranger for anyone else. I’d have to go back to my soc/psy education. No, don’t tell me he’s saying this now. I already have a broken reindeer ornament carrying a tray with cookies, now with no legs or hat that my husband has already glued together once. I think Dad wants me to place more energy into business rather than cooking. We will have a burial ceremony for the reindeer ornament (is parchment paper and trash OK?) today. Perhaps her jumping off the tree means we should not return to the state which she represents in our hearts. I’ll have to figure that one out. Cheers! Dee

ps Pedernales Chili tonight. Lady Bird Johnson, 1962. Five thousand guests including JFK. Most requested document from the White House that year until the assassination. Check out the LBJ Library website. And yes, Texas chili has no beans. Dee

Chicken Saltimbocca, half chicken breast (boneless and skin-less) pounded and seasoned with s@p and sage, with one piece of proscuitto atop of the inside and a bit of grated Fontina val D’Aosta would be wonderful. Roll it up for both to fit a pan. Melt butter, roll it in the butter then seasoned (salt, pepper, sage) Panko crumbs seam-side down considering the number and the pan size and place in a 350 degree oven for about 30-40 minutes when the cheese starts seeping out just a bit. That is the eve, only.

These are difficult holiday meals because they are a deux. Perhaps pair it with little broccoli florets with chili flakes and parmesan, and a few sauteed cherry tomatoes. Just my thoughts for the moment. OK, a little Israeli couscous in chicken broth with cilantro with just vegetables.

Eve might start with my always different nut dish to be placed on the kitchen table for all, but usually the ladies who chat at a huge Thanksgiving feast I think I can keep freezing them, as my in-laws freshly harvest pecans that they crack and pick like a well-oiled machine. We need to save the last quart for guests.

I felt bad for being too ill to attend Thanksgiving this year as there are a number of families and guests involved. I looked towards Christmas and my mother’s going back in her mind to England creating her first dinner of prime rib, Yorkshire pudding, roasted potatoes and it was wonderful. Mom made the gravy, she and my sisters made the desserts including mincemeat tarts. I made the sides. I can’t tell you because it changed every year. Root vegetable puree, you name it. My grandmother’s spinach, braised carrots. I don’t think I ever did beets for that because they may have stained everything else making it into red food.

* * *

This year I’m thinking, for a relaxing evening with just the two of us humans, plus the dog of course:

One Cheautaubriand. He’ll take the NY Strip and the tenderloin and I’ll take another tenderloin just for me. It would be his birthday present as we don’t give holiday gifts so it is not his birthday, just a meal. I’d make a jus of more bones.

I’m thinking mini-potato-leek latkes. He hates spinach, so I am considering arugula with garlic. He likes arugula but hates spinach, go figure. That would be something sauteed for veggies or another that that is better for him in a salad with basil, cherry tomatoes. Or little ramekins of a corn, tomato and chorizo pudding or even one made with Brussels sprouts and cauliflower. That’s a good gift to not remember next year!

There should not be too much bread or fat in the menu. Plants are indoors, the tomatoes are gone and there are a few tiny leaves on the basil, thyme and rosemary. It does not sound as if Yorkshire pudding is on the menu that day, but before or after I can put my popover pans to use and I think that will become a favorite for special occasions with guests.

Simple, easy, hopefully rewarding in our lives, as is our old dog Zoe. Parfaits with non-fat vanilla yogurt and berries and a bit of granola on top; perhaps a berry trifle with panettone or mincemeat tarts for dessert. Zoe will get her regular dinner of frozen raw, and dry-frozen quality food, probably with a few treats from the pantry (shh, don’t say the t-word….)

That’s all that’s going on right now. Happy holidays from our family to yours. Dee