I need to get back to Asia…..
Labor Day. I invite my Webster University voice students over for some Sunday finest home cookin’ — slow-cooked brisket, cheesy potatoes, cheesy corn, green beans, pie.
And passionfruit juice!
I had some passionfruit juice concentrate left over, so I decided this last weekend to make passionfruit curd.
Now anyone who knows me well knows that passionfruit, mango, and pineapple are three of my favorite fruits. I have loved passionfruit (maracuja, in Portuguese) ever since my first trip to Brazil in 1994. And on my weeks-long trip in 2001, I couldn’t get enough.
So I searched out a recipe, and used seven egg yolks, 10 tablespoons of butter, a cup of sugar, and a half cup of the passionfruit concentrate.
The result was spectacular.
I made crepes Sunday morning, since I was hosting a guest for brunch, and served with passionfruit curd. And mango and pineapple on the side.
Heaven. Sheer heaven.
Next time, passionfruit tarts . . . . .
Here’s the Wednesday-morning breakfast plate:
Hannibal. 1970. Mark Twain Elementary. Third grade. Mrs. Cary was the teacher.
And she was quite lovable, but seemed quite old to me at age 8. My first- and second-grade teachers had been my mother’s age, it seems to me, around 30 or so. Mrs. Cary must have been in her 50s. This was, of course, before the rule of 80 was adopted in 1977.
I liked Mrs. Cary. I remember that I pulled a giant leaf from a tree on the playground, and pressed it between paper. And wrote in crayon “Dedicated to Mrs. Cary.”
I know this because I discovered it, years later, still fairly intact.
Believe it or not, I have more specific recollections of my second-grade classroom and the classrooms in Lee’s Summit than I do of third grade in Hannibal.
Perhaps this is because I was bored?
Unknownst to me at the time, but revealed to me much later by my parents, Mrs. Cary called them in for a conference to discuss my difficulties with reading. Apparently she thought I was slow. As in what was then called “Special Education” slow.
My mother assured her I was not.
I would add that I am not.
And my mother assured her that I was bored. Seems I was reading at an eighth-grade level already.
There it is. Just a recollection to share . . . !
Ten years ago this summer I made my first trip to Italy.
That excursion, with bunches of Ball State University students and my friend D, included stops in Rome, Sorrento, Delphi, and Athens, and an overnight ferry crossing in the Aegean Sea.
And a day trip to Capri, off the coast from Naples and Sorrento.
When I have money, or decide to go into debt, I’ll spend a days on the Isle of Capri.
My latest rant….
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I’m slowly digitizing all of the published writings that I have in my files — book reviews, CD reviews, articles, columns, and a journal article on Herbert Howells.
From 1999, my review in Choral Journal of Paul Spicer’s biography of Herbert Howells: