Carol Goodman Kaufman

Travel

Go West, Young Woman

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Bonanza, The High Chaparral, Rawhide. I loved all those Westerns, and even developed a teenage fantasy about living on a ranch in Wyoming or Montana. That was, of course, before I discovered that I am highly allergic to horses. And to the hay in the barn. And to the cats that live in the hay in the barn. My dream had to be placed in the file under “denied.”

I digress.  Our dear friends’ daughter was getting married, so J and I flew out to Utah for the wedding. We figured that as long as we were traveling such a long distance, it would be a great opportunity to take a few days to explore the area. Well, driving from Salt Lake City through Utah and Idaho to Wyoming brought back all the vast desert and jagged mountain scenery I had gawked at in the movies, on television, and in the pages of Zane Grey novels — but in color.  I fell in love all over again.

Winding through the breathtakingly beautiful Snake River Canyon in Idaho’s Magic Valley,  I found myself gasping at every turn. Thank goodness we have digital cameras now; otherwise, I would have plowed through dozens of rolls of film.

Then we got to Wyoming and its Tetons. I am without words to describe their majesty.  They rise suddenly and startingly from the flat desert, straight up into the air.

We were in the park before dawn to be sure to see the elk rutting. (Hmm. That actually sounds somewhat voyeuristic, doesn’t it?) The fog was thick and, although we couldn’t see much, if any, of the fabulous mountains, we didn’t have to jostle with other visitors. Apparently, most people prefer sunshine.

img_1293 But! Talk about clouds and silver linings.  The bulls, having left their bros during the rut, galloped across the plains with their harems. We didn’t view any fights among bulls vying for the ladies’ affection, but we did view one between two antelope.

The other advantage of the fog was that it was the perfect vehicle to carry the sound of the male elk’s bugling. From our position at the top of a tall peak, we could hear the call bouncing through around the cliffs. Haunting and beautiful. And we had it all to ourselves.

By the time we left the park, the sky had cleared but the road into the park resembled the Southeast Expressway at rush hour.

 

Sorry, Dr. Freud, sometimes a cigar is not just a cigar

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I love cigars! No, not the brown cylindrical things that stink up the house and that grown men smuggle from Havana. (In this new age of detente, do they still need to smuggle them?)

No, I love edible cigars, the kind you find throughout the Mediterranean and Middle East.

On a recent visit in Turkey, we enjoyed lunch in a lush garden under a heavy canopy of trees that provided a welcome cooling shade — just the ticket after a full, and baking hot, morning at Ephesus.

Lunch was a series of small dishes called mezze, the Middle Eastern version of Spanish tapas or Italian antipasto.

What I love most about mezze, aside from the variety of flavors and textures, is that partaking of the small dishes forces us to pace ourselves. As one who is often guilty of eating too fast, mezze is a reminder of the importance of slowing down and enjoying life. And, surrounding ourselves with congenial folks creates an atmosphere conducive to conversation. Social support networks are usually made of friends and family, but while the eight other folks at our table were strangers when we first sat down, they became friends over our shared dining experience. Food served as the WD-40 to smooth the mechanics of getting to know one another.

Although our menu that day was determined before our arrival, dining on mezze at a restaurant is also about enjoying the process of selecting the dishes. Mezze dishes use local products that highlight the wonderful natural resources of the area, and given the virtually infinite number of ways in which a few key ingredients combine to form the dishes, it could be very easy to over-order.

At our lunch we sampled hummus, several different eggplant salads, three varieties of olives, pita, and those wonderful sigara bouregi – cheese cigars. A refreshing dessert of watermelon and grapes capped off the meal.

Would that every meal were as slow and measured as that lunch in the garden.

Gettysburg 150 Years Later

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IMG_4149“Our days are as grass; we flourish as a flower in the field. The wind passes over it and it is gone, and no one can recognize where it grew.”

This stanza from a poem read at Yizkor,  Jewish memorial services, came to mind as we stood last week on the pastoral farmland on which the Battle of Gettysburg took place 150 years ago this July. The temperature had plunged 40 degrees, the wind blew, and the grass in the fields rippled with every gust.

Perhaps nobody would recognize where a flower once grew, but there is no danger that the tens of thousands of soldiers and the one civilian who perished in this Civil War battle will be forgotten.

Millions of people have made the pilgrimage to this tiny town in southeastern Pennsylvania to bear witness to the horror that took place here, in a war of brother against brother that nearly tore our nation apart. They reenact campaigns. They climb Little Round Top and gaze out at the positions held by Confederate troops. They look out from Cemetery Ridge and the Copse of Trees, trying to conjure the image of a mile-long phalanx of men in gray marching toward them during Pickett’s Charge.

The battlefield is studded with square white stones that mark the left and right flanks of every platoon —  from both sides of the Mason-Dixon Line. And dozens of monuments — beautiful sculpture and even a tower from which to view that bucolic farmland — honor the regiments from every state that participated in the Battle.

They tour the David Wills House, where Abraham Lincoln spent the night before delivering his Gettysburg Address, an amazingly brief speech of only 272 words that has stayed with us for a century and a half.

And, they visit the first national military cemetery established in this country. Magnolias in full bloom and trees leafing out make it a beautiful place, silent but for the birdsong and distant hum of traffic. It is a most fitting resting place for the more than 3,500 Union troops who gave their lives to ensure that slavery be abolished.IMG_4245

The countryside around Gettysburg is spectacular, but it haunts me. That so much carnage took place in such an idyllic spot seems impossible. But it did.

May we never forget where the grass grew and where the people died.

Navigational Talmud

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My good friend, Vera, once told me that the surest way to divorce court was by way of the wallpaper store. “Never hang wallpaper with your husband” was her rule.

I had my own rule of places to avoid: The car.

I realize that, in the course of a 35 year marriage, it is sometimes necessary to drive together. But, almost every time Joel and I drive to an unfamiliar place, we would have what one might kindly call “a discussion.”

And then, one day, we didn’t. We had rented a car that came equipped with GPS.  We drove from our home to JFK airport – our actual destination — without one single wrong turn or unkind word.

So, being of sound mind, we went out and bought a GPS immediately upon return from our trip. Unfortunately, the one we bought couldn’t even find our house from a mile away. In retrospect, maybe it just wanted a challenge. Or, just maybe, we had purchased a cheap device.

So, we bought a better one. And that one was more reliable.

However, nirvana was too good to last. My wonderful husband is meticulous about details and, having already experienced some unplanned side trips, he understandably wants validation that we are on the right path.

So, traveling with Joel is sort of like studying Talmud. Let me explain. In the middle of every page of Talmud sits an original source text. Surrounding that block of text is discussion and debate in the form of centuries of rabbinic opinions recorded from oral tradition.

Our travel discussions are similar, up to a point. Although we both agree on the destination, Joel wants multiple opinions on how to reach it. So, our trips invariably include commentary by mapquest, google, the AAA map, and road signs – not to mention the woman with the British accent telling us where to go. And, since Joel wants me to pay attention to every single one of the “rabbis,” I get increasingly confused, we sometimes take a wrong turn, and the decibel level in the car gets progressively higher.

GPS is truly a great addition to modern life, but if I were at all technologically capable, I would add a couple features. First would be one in which the British lady tells us where to turn off to find a decent sandwich, a clean bathroom, or a gas station. Road signs promising said places invariably lie, making us drive miles out of our way.

Perhaps even more helpful would be having the British lady come equipped with a degree in either conflict resolution or marriage counseling.

Technology is wonderful. We just have to harness it for good.

Food for Thought

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I have two rules when it comes to cooking and baking. First, never use a recipe that says, “Stir constantly,” and second, never make a recipe that requires separating eggs and whipping the whites.

Recently, I broke Rule #2. But, I really had no choice. I had written a travel piece for the Berkshire JewishVoice about Portsmouth, New Hampshire and needed a recipe that was quintessentially New Hampshire. Well, you could have knocked me over with a maple leaf when I discovered that a favorite dessert among New Hampshire natives has nothing to do with apples, maple syrup, or seafood.

It was an orange cake. Since when have oranges grown in New Hampshire — or anywhere else in the northeastern United States? Apparently, the Old Portsmouth Orange Cake is actually a recipe that came over with early English settlers and has been a summertime favorite ever since. Come again? Oranges in summer? Is this some kind of scam being foisted on us gullible lovers of dessert?

Anyway, because I provide recipes to accompany my articles, I need to prepare them. That makes sense, as I certainly want to make sure I don’t disseminate bad food. I also have to take a picture of the final result. Well, the first recipe turned out inedible. It was so bad that I actually had to put it down the garbage disposal. So, I searched for another recipe, which I then adapted to enhance the orange flavor.

This second cake came out much better than the first. While I still hate having to beat egg whites, I have to admit they did make for a nice light, spongy cake. Sliced fresh oranges between the two layers added a nice, juicy tang in contrast to the sweet, rich buttercream frosting.

Let me know what you think of this cake!

Old Portsmouth Orange Cake 

Ingredients:

For the cake:
½ c. plus 2 T. cake flour
¼ c. all-purpose flour
½ t. baking powder
¼ t. salt
3 T. milk
2 T. unsalted butter
½ t. vanilla extract
5 large eggs, at room temperature
¾ c. granulated sugar
1 t. orange zest
2 T. orange juice
For the Frosting:
12 T. unsalted butter, softened
¾ t. grated orange
1 ½ c. confectioners’ sugar
Pinch salt
2 t. orange juice
1/2 t. vanilla extract
1 T. milk
To assemble the cake:
2 oranges

 

Directions:

For the cake:

Pre-heat the oven to 350 degrees and adjust a rack to the center position. Coat two 9 inch round cake pans with vegetable spray and line the bottoms with parchment paper. Whisk flours, baking powder and salt in a medium bowl. Heat milk and butter in a small saucepan over low heat until butter melts.
Remove from heat and add vanilla. Set aside.

Separate 3 of the eggs, placing whites in bowl of standing mixer fitted with a whisk. Reserve the 3 yolks plus remaining 2 whole eggs. Beat the 3 whites on high speed until foamy. Gradually add 6 T. of sugar while beating to soft, moist peaks. Transfer whites to a large bowl and put the yolks and remaining whole eggs in the mixing bowl.

Beat yolks and whole eggs with the remaining 6 tablespoons sugar at medium-high speed until eggs are very thick and a pale lemon color, about 5 minutes. Add the orange zest and juice and beat to combine, about 30 seconds.

Return beaten whites to the bowl; sprinkle the flour mixture over eggs and whites. Mix on lowest speed for 10 seconds. Remove bowl from mixer, make a well in one side and pour melted butter mixture into well. Fold mixture with a large rubber spatula until combined.

Immediately pour batter into prepared pans and bake until cake tops are lightly browned and spring back when touched, about 16 minutes. When cool, run a knife around perimeter of first pan and invert pan onto plate. Peel away parchment paper and invert cake onto cooling rack.

Repeat with second cake.

For the buttercream:

In the bowl of electric mixer fitted with the whisk, beat butter on medium high speed until smooth. Add zest and beat to combine. Add confectioners sugar and salt and beat at medium-low until the sugar is moistened.

Scrape down sides of bowl and add orange juice, vanilla and milk and beat at medium speed until incorporated. Increase speed to medium high and beat until light and fluffy, scraping sides of bowl once or twice.

To finish the cake:
Using a sharp knife cut away orange peel carefully until no traces of pith remain. Cut oranges horizontally into 1/4 inch slices and then cut slices into 1 inch strips. Place one layer of cake on a cake round or serving plate. Arrange orange pieces on top of bottom layer. Spread a very thin layer of buttercream on the bottom side of the second layer and place the frosted side on top of the orange slices. Spread the remaining buttercream evenly over the top and sides of the cake.

Serve immediately or refrigerate until 20 minutes before serving.