First … Yesterday: so nice to see our city’s main library – the Worcester Public Library at Salem Sq – really open its doors to people in wheelchairs! Great new ramps, from our downtown library’s parking lot to the sidewalk in front of the library’s main entrance, make it easier for folks in wheelchairs, parents with babies in strollers, kids on skateboards😉! to enter the city’s flagship book-heaven♥️✨. Yes, there have always been a few reserved spots directly in front of its entrance, on the little street (WPL Way?) before the main entryway, but this recent upgrade makes it GREAT FOR ALL! No more having to leave the parking lot through the side driveway! used by cars! to come back around!
Hey, it only took 60+ years!!!! Go, Worcester!
pics+text: Rose T:
CECELIA Book Review
“THE BRITISH ARE COMING: The War for America, Lexington to Princeton, 1775-1777, Volume I,” by Rick Atkinson, Henry Holt & Co. New York (2019, 776 pages)
Reviewed by Steven R. Maher
This book was a pleasure to read! The author Rick Atkinson opens with a panoramic sweep of the British naval fleet at the height of Britain’s powers in 1773, three years before the Americans declared their independence. Described by Atkinson as “the greatest empire since Rome,” it was hard seeing how any challenger could overcome the Imperial Navy described by Atkinson.
“Britain was ascendant, with mighty revolutions – agrarian and industrial – well under way,” writes Atkinson. “A majority of all European growth in the first half of the century had occurred in England; that proportion was now expanding to nearly three-quarters, with the steam engine patented in 1769 and the spinning Jenny a year later. Canals were cut, roads built, highway hanged, coal mined, iron forged. Sheep would double in weight during the century; calf weights tripled.”
Familiar with Period
History buffs and amateur historians alike of the American Revolution are familiar with the historical period in question here. The Americans maneuvered the British into withdrawing from Boston; the British then routed the Americans from New York City, chased Washington and his dwindling army across the Delaware into Pennsylvania. Washington, his army on the verge of dissolution, crosses back across the Delaware and launches a Christmas Day surprise attack on a Hessian mercenary (German) garrison at Trenton. Washington then outmaneuvered the British and won a second victory at Princeton.
Atkinson packs a lot of detail into these events. He makes it a point to quote extensively from diaries and other written materials from both sides of the conflict. Much of this material will be fresh for the reader.
One of the underlying themes is the attempt by the British and their allies to spark off a slave revolt. They announced publicly that any slave who made it to British lines would be freed. Some of the sources cited by Atkinson claimed that any slave who killed their master would inherit the master’s estate. This had for the impact of turning most Southern whites against the British.
But perhaps the biggest surprise that comes from the British side is their genuine hatred for the American rebels. It is repeatedly asserted by British soldiers how badly they want the mass of Americans to be punished. Some clearly preferred a Carthaginian peace.
This is a book that deserves a five-star rating!⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ The writing is excellent and the research superb!
From the Worcester Historical Museum, 30 Elm St., Worcester:
WORCESTER’S ROLE DURING THE AIDS CRISIS
Tuesday, September 3
Free with Museum admission
Welcome Reception at 6 PM at the Museum
Jim Voltz, executive director of AIDS Project Worcester from 1991-1996, will lead a discussion on the early days of the AIDS epidemic in Worcester, the establishment of APW, some of the early prominent leaders in the fight against AIDS in our community, the trauma still suffered by the generation that lost so many of its loved ones to the sickness, and the challenges that remain.
Clark University Professor and LGBTQ+WORCESTER FOR THE RECORD co-curator Robert Tobin will moderate.
UNCOVERING LGBTQ HISTORY THROUGH THE VOICES OF THOSE WHO LIVED IT
Wednesday, September 4
7 – 8:30 PM
A Dessert Social, by WOO PRIDE, will begin the program at 6PM.
Drawing on his three-decade-old archive of rare interviews, Eric Marcus will present an audio tour through time to tell the largely hidden history of the LGBTQ civil rights movement.
Listen to the voices of known and long-forgotten champions, heroes, and allies, and hear firsthand what inspired them to blaze a trail for LGBTQ equality. Eric Marcus is the founder and host of the award-winning Making Gay History podcast. He has authored and co-authored a dozen books, including Making Gay History, an oral history of the LGBTQ civil rights movement, and Breaking the Surface, the #1 New York Times bestselling autobiography of Olympic diving champion Greg Louganis.
College of the Holy Cross Professor and LGBTQ+WORCESTER FOR THE RECORD co-curator Stephanie Yuhl will moderate.
A teeny neighborhood walk for the “kids”:
New op-ed by Steve:
FORMER TRUMP AIDES BEGINNING TO REMIND ONE OF RUDOLF HESS
By Steven R. Maher
Rudolf Hess was one flipped out guy. A deputy Fuhrer in Nazi Germany, Hess flew to England in May 1941 to negotiate a separate peace with Great Britain.
Hess was trying desperately to regain the Fuhrer’s favor, and making peace with England the month before Hitler attacked the Soviet Union seemed the perfectly logical – to Hess – thing to do. Hess parachuted into the British Isles in May 1941.
Hess lived in a word of astrologists and clairvoyants, getting his living advice from star gazers. In his biography of Adolf Hitler, John Toland wrote: “Hitler did not believe that Hess was mad, only foolish not to have seen what a disastrous political decision he was making.”
There was a big argument as to whether Hess was sincere, or whether he was just plain crazy. Toland quoted the following poem about Hess by author A.P. Hebert to sum up the average Englishman’s view of Hess:
He is insane. He is a Dove of Peace.
He is Messiah. He is Hitler’s niece.
He’s the one clean honest man they’ve got.
He’s the worst assassin of the lot.
He has a mission to preserve mankind.
He’s non-alcoholic. He was a “blind”.
He has been dotty since the age of ten,
But all the time he was top of Hitler’s men.
Since the Trump administration began, a number of maddened, demented screwballs have popped out of the White House peddling books, movies, and making wild accusations of the most outrageous things said or done by President Donald Trump. More recently, a group of former Trump supporters have been getting together to troll Trump as a group. Some of these former sycophants were seen last week defending Trump on television; this week they’re denouncing Trump.
I’m beginning to wonder: If all these people think Trump is insane and not worthy of their support, why did they go to work for The Donald to begin with?
These people are beginning to remind me of Rudolf Hess. If they supported Trump, defended Trump on TV talk shows, and now are denouncing Trump, maybe they’re the crazy ones. These Trumpites, once depicting themselves as “the one clean man they’ve got,” come across as being dotards for a long time. And all the time they’ve been at the top of President Trump’s Men.
From the Worcester Historical Museum
30 Elm St.
WHEN MAIN STREET WAS GAY: A Walking Tour
Saturday, August 31
starts noon, from the Worcester Pop-Up building, 20 Franklin St.
Join WHM and WPI Professor and LGBTQ+WORCESTER FOR THE RECORD
co-curator, Joe Cullon, for a walking tour of LGBTQ+ Downtown Worcester.
Follow the paths of early bar hoppers, community builders, cruisers, and Pride marchers as they cautiously and sometimes defiantly navigated the blocks around Worcester’s Main Street in pursuit of sociability, spiritual fellowship, sexual pleasure, and political rights between 1950s and 1990s. A digital companion to the tour will help bring the sites of early LGBTQ+ life to life through images and artifacts attesting to a time when Main Street was gay.
Listened to this album this weekend … forgot it was mine😉! Oh, glorious ragged beauty!
I’m ending this post now so I can listen to the lp ♥️! I think it was a Ronny Stultz gift💛. Miss you, Ron!!!😢
… I saw my fingers fussing a little too busily with the grey hairs framing my middle-aged face. So I grabbed one of my cheap dye-job kits, …
… left the touch-up bottles in the bathroom, and went into my pantry to perform a MAJOR DYE JOB – platinum blond on top of the fake auburn, on top of the fake copper highlights, on top of the original mousy brown. I dye my hair in my pantry (dishes washed and put away!) because it’s got two big sinks and a spray hose, making coloring my pixie pretty easy, if not at all pampering (trendy hair salons – with their $75 price tags – are “out” for this blue-collar gal!).
I grabbed my clean, old towels I use specially to dye my hair, the Nice ‘n’ Easy box, and was set to begin the all-too-familiar routine. But even before I opened the box – she, Molly – came back to me. In a rush! And I didn’t even have to get a whiff of the peroxide in the toner bottles!
When I was a little girl growing up in Green Island, Molly was our family “hairstylist.” My mom took my two sisters and me to “Molly’s” for our haircuts, and she went to Molly’s for her “perms.” We always called the hair salon Molly’s, even though Molly had given it a proper name, probably something very glamorous for Millbury Street, where it was located – or should I say crammed into (the space was pretty much a long corridor) – near Kelley Square.
I think Ma called Molly’s Molly’s because Molly had been doing my mother’s hair for a decade – way before Ma had us kids. They were “professional” friends: Molly took her clothes to be cleaned at the dry cleaner’s down Millbury Street where Ma worked as a counter girl, and Ma took her black hair (I always loved the color – her own) to be cut and given a curly permanent up Millbury Street where Molly worked. They had confided to each other through the years: Molly knew my mom was poor, killing herself at the dry cleaners to put a roof over her three little girls’ heads. And Ma knew that Molly was also alone – a single working woman hustling with her small business (I never saw a customer – I was so proud! It always seemed Molly had opened her shoppe SPECIAL for my mother and us kids!) and caring for her grown son who still lived with her and had “problems” and couldn’t hold a job. Ma never explicitly said anything about alcoholism, but somehow I got the gist of it – and was always nice and polite to Molly.
These days hair salons are like movie studios, filled with young, beautiful women with beautiful, long, thick multi-hued tresses “foiled” ever so artistically. They are cutting, coloring, practically caressing, their clients’ locks. These women – and men – consider themselves hair and makeup artists and use phrases like “color palette.” They are skin care professionals, too! Life-style gurus, even. To enter many Worcester hair salons today is to be swept up into tranquil, luxurious worlds filled with lovely aromas, music, people, salon furniture and shampoo dispensers. Places where stylists coo their flattery, offer you complimentary cups of chai tea and dry your hair with the fluffiest towels! As if you’re Meryl Streep about to sashay down the Red Carpet!
So unlike Molly’s. As a little girl, even holding Ma’s hand, I was always a little afraid of Molly – of getting my haircut at Molly’s. First, she wasn’t beautiful – or even pretty. She looked like Johnny Rotten or Sid Vicious of the Sex Pistols. She cut her hair with a razor blade – very short and jagged. Then the lurid orange-yellow hair dye was poured on – Molly’s signature hair color. Until her death. Her hair was teased – spiked – out and up! Laquered in place with a ton of hairspray…defying gravity. The first impression Molly made? She looked as if she was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
Molly always wore a black plastic robe tied tightly around her waist – if you could locate it on her torso. Molly was skinny as a tooth pick – her waist would be hard to define. She never glided down her rented corridor on Millbury Street, like she was some beautiful movie star, the way some hairstylists do today. No, Molly always walked jack-knife straight, as if escaping a bloody car accident. She’d lurch from the sink with stiff towel, to the black no-nonsense barber’s chair you sat on, to her back room, closed off to the public by a heavy gold plastic shower curtain dragged across its entrance … for another pair of shears, or just a time out. It was a stressful affair.
Molly never smiled or made chit chat with us kids when she cut our hair. No “How do you like your new teacher at school?” or “How old are you now? My, you’re a big girl!” Stuff that hairstylists say to kids today to kiss up to their helicopter moms who hover over the hairstylist with polite determination. Molly – and Ma – had no time for that clap trap. We were little kids – as significant as the faded posters of the out-dated models with their old hairstyles that Molly had Scotch-taped to the walls. At Molly’s, the women did the talking. About grown-up things. I shut my mouth and closed my eyes while Molly cut away and talked with Ma.
Molly was a very fast and abrupt hair cutter and occasionally poked you in the eye with one of her bony fingers – or the points of her little scissors. I didn’t want her sharp little shears nicking my face – ouch! It had happened a few times during previous visits to her beauty parlor . So I closed my eyes and listened to Ma and Molly talk – in hushed tones – about their lives. Very seriously. Sometimes I’d open my eyes to see Ma seated on the barber’s chair next to the one I was sitting, leaning forward, looking anxious, as she confided to Molly. Molly, 15 or 16 years older than Ma, seemed to give her advice. Sometimes I’d open my eyes and see Molly in her little side room (the plastic shower curtain was pulled six inches to the right or left), and I’d see her open a little drawer in her cabinet and pull out a little flask like I’d seen at McGovern’s Package Store a block away. Molly would stand stiffly by that cabinet, like a stork, her skinny arms and legs all veiny, and she’d take a few furtive swigs from the flask and shove it back into the drawer. I once asked Ma about the flasks. Ma looked annoyed…said Molly had a lot to think about. Said Molly was taking care of her only son. A grown man who was sick and depended on Molly to take care of him. Did I say my pretty, sweet mother looked annoyed with me? I never asked about the flasks and back rooms again and always tried to be extra nice and polite to Molly. My kid sisters sat on the gold plastic chairs lined up against the opposite wall, the reception area, while I got my hair cut. It’d be their turn next!
Ma always made us get our hair cut at the same time. It was easier that way for her – one trip to Molly’s, one outlay of cash. Ma got her curly perms every three or four months at Molly’s. We kids went along – mainly for the trip to The Broadway restaurant on Water Street for hot fudge sundaes after Molly finished perming Ma’s hair! Sitting on those gold seats at Molly’s, watching her work on someone else, Ma, you got a different perspective – and realized that Molly was as cavalier with Ma’s hair as she was with mine and my two kid sisters’. She must have used the strongest chemicals to curl Ma’s otherwise soft wavy hair because she always lined my mother’s entire hairline with a thick rope of cotton – to keep the chemicals off Ma’s face and out of her eyes. Still, while Molly worked over Ma in her stiff, fast manner, lips pursed, her black slim cats eyes glasses slipping down the bridge of her skinny long nose, I could see my mother’s pretty face turning a blotchy pink red from the strong chemicals. She sighed and sweated. Molly ran into her back room for a swig of vodka and two cotton balls to plug up Ma’s ears. That was so the chemicals – of which Molly used a lot – wouldn’t flow into my mother’s ears as Molly rolled Ma’s treated hair into the scores of little curlers. It looked like there were around a million of them – small and medium sized – in her beauty tray. There were no windows that opened at Molly’s – just storefront ones – so Molly opened the front door to let some fresh air in. Still it stunk to high heaven in that little Kelly Square beauty shop.
After a few hours of what seemed like torture to Ma – the smells, the red skin, the hot dryer over her head that made her face even redder – Ma was “done.” Literally! Molly took out the scores of curlers and combed out the little curls – teasing the front of Ma’s hair-do, over her still red forehead – quite artistically we kids thought. Then she sprayed about a half a can of Aqua Net on Ma’s hair – and voila! Ma looked beautiful! She looked just like Elizabeth Taylor in the 1950s – or Sue, who worked at the dry cleaners with Ma, and also got her hair permed at Molly’s. Or my Aunt Mary who, now married to my Uncle Mark and living in the nicer part of town (the Burncoat area), was still loyal to her old beautician from Green Island and had Molly perm her hair, too. Like Ma, Aunt Mary had a history with Molly.
We all had a history with Molly – one that overlooked the actual hair care. Molly seemed to know only a few hair cuts and styles. She never was “on trend,” unless you want to count her punk rocker look. It was the early 1970s – punk rock was ascendent … maybe she really was trying to look like Ziggy Stardust. All I know is that Molly made my mother and all the ladies who came in to her salon for perms look like … poodles. We kids got the crookedest pixies…she was too cheap to shampoo us. Hair conditioner? We didn’t know what that was – didn’t use it at home. Our kiddie hair cuts were supposed to air dry. We were treated rough – like wayward puppies who had rolled in dessicated squirrel and dried dog shit. Fast, fast, fast went Molly’s hands over our little heads – so rough!
When I got older, say 11 or so, I began to develop my own sense of fashion. If you’ve been reading me, you know as a tween I had a mega crush on the ’70s teen heart-throb pop singer David Cassidy, lead singer of The Partridge Family. I wanted Molly to give me a shag – just like David Cassidy’s – like all the kids were wearing! I went into Molly’s with Ma and, shyly, tried to explain to Molly, the look I wanted: the bangs, the layers, the length. I even said: “David Cassidy” and “Partridge Family”! Molly frowned, put me in her stiff black barbers chair, draped a big black plastic cape over my front and went to work – feverishly. I expected the worst and shut my eyes to protect them, and my psyche, like I always did. When it was all over, Ma gasped. I opened my eyes to see my mother … smiling! At me! I looked into Molly’s big wall mirror and saw me … looking very cute!! Like a mini-David Cassidy! Or the beautiful Karen Carpenter of the Carpenters! Or Paul Williams, the little pop singer I just watched on the Odd Couple TV show with my sister the other night! I looked so cute in my shag!! ….My bangs softly framing my face, my hair flowing softly, roundly about my ears, then gently cascading over my shoulders, very feathery! JUST LIKE DAVID CASSIDY’s coif!
Molly smiled when she saw my beaming round face. She took the big black cape off me and, with a flourish, shook it so my light brown hair wafted to the floor. Ma, still smiling, paid her for my haircut and we walked home. I floated down Lafayette Street! A few days later, our class photos were taken at school – individual ones now because I was in seventh grade. I still have one of the wallet photos. I am smiling broadly. I’m wearing a silver band around my neck, from which dangles a delicate silver heart. I’ve got on a thin, bright yellow orange sweater – almost as bright as Molly’s hair! All the cool kids were wearing sweaters like that. And the color was so “in”! And I’m sporting – modeling! – the shag haircut Molly gave me just a few days earlier. Perfect!
Lent, which begins on Ash Wednesday, and lasts approximately 40 days, has a profound spiritual meaning for Christians, as we honor Jesus’ ultimate sacrifice by giving up something ourselves.
And if you’re among the many people who choose to forgo meat (including fish), milk, and eggs for Lent, you’ll have a profound impact on the rest of the world. When you eat cruelty-free, you’re saving lives, fighting poverty, and curbing climate change — so your conscience will be that much clearer.
The season of abstinence is just two weeks away, and signing our Pledge to Go Vegan for Lent is the easiest way for Christians to honor God’s creatures, the world that He entrusted to us, our own bodies, and our brothers and sisters who have dangerous, bloody jobs on factory farms and in slaughterhouses.
Here are five reasons why going vegan for Lent will be one of the kindest things that you’ve ever done:
1. You’ll save 44,000 gallons of water. It takes 2,400 gallons of water to produce just 1 pound of meat, which is about equivalent to 50 full bathtubs.
2. You’ll save the lives of about 40 animals. The practices of the animal-agriculture industry are a far cry from how Christ instructed us to care for “the least of these among us.”
3. You’ll save 1,200 square feet of forest. About 260 million acres of U.S. forests have been cleared to grow crops for farmed animals.
4. You’ll prevent 800 pounds of carbon dioxide from entering the atmosphere. Animal agriculture is responsible for 51 percent of worldwide greenhouse gas emissions.
5. You’ll spare the lives of large ocean animals. As many as 650,000 dolphins, whales, and seals as well as 40 million to 50 million sharks are killed every year by fishing.
Wild dolphins leaping.
To learn more about ways in which Christians can care for God’s creation, visit PETALambs.com.
Rose eats absolutely ZERO MEAT. OF ANY KIND. … Liberating! For the animals 💙- and Rose! (p.s: going meatless is an effortless way to lose 15 lbs to 20 lbs!)
When millions of Americans tune in this Sunday to watch the Philadelphia Eagles and New England Patriots face off in Super Bowl LII, millions of chickens will already have become sideline casualties.
In 2016, the National Chicken Council estimated that Americans would consume 1.3 billion chicken wings during Super Bowl 50 — that’s 162.5 million pounds of wings.
Before you place your Buffalo Wild Wings order or google the best recipes, take a moment to learn a few things about the body parts that you’re considering putting into your own body.
1. If you’re eating chicken, you’re eating poop.
A U.S. Department of Agriculture (USDA) study found that more than 99 percent of chicken carcasses sold in stores had detectable levels of E. coli, indicating fecal contamination. That means that you’re almost guaranteed to be ingesting actual poop every time you chow down on a dead chicken.
In March 2013, Foster Farms was forced to recall chicken products that were linked to an outbreak of an antibiotic-resistant strain of salmonella, which had been making people sick for more than a year. According to a Washington Post article, inspection reports from the USDA included the following details:
descriptions of mold growth, cockroaches, an instance of pooling caused by a skin-clogged floor drain, fecal matter and “Unidentified Foreign Material” (which has its own acronym, UFM) on chicken carcasses, failure to implement required tests and sampling, metal pieces found in carcasses, and many more.
2. Speaking of poop …
Raising 9 billion chickens for meat on factory farms each year produces enormous amounts of excrement. Peter Cheeke, a professor emeritus at Oregon State University, says that factory farming amounts to “a frontal assault on the environment” and causes widespread pollution of land and water with fecal matter.
Because chickens are often fed massive amounts of antibiotics and additives, certain chemicals are also found in high concentrations in their feces, which means that fecal pollution from chicken farms is disastrous for the environment. In Maryland and West Virginia, for example, scientists discovered that male fish are developing ovaries, and they suspect that the animals’ freakish deformities are the result of ingesting runoff from drug-laden chicken feces.
Factory farm poop run-off
3. And speaking of antibiotics and additives …
Chickens raised for their flesh are often packed by the thousands into massive sheds and fed large quantities of antibiotics and drugs to keep them alive in conditions that would otherwise kill them. This reckless use of antibiotics makes drugs less effective for treating human health conditions, as it speeds up the development of drug-resistant bacteria.
4. The NFL players aren’t the only ones being played…
If you’re planning to serve boneless chicken wings, be aware that you’re not actually offering your guests wings. According to The New York Times, “Boneless wings, increasingly promoted by restaurants, are not wings at all, but slices of breast meat deep-fried like wings and served with the same sauces — a bit like a spicy Chicken McNugget.”
5. So you’re an NFL fan?
Learn from Jared Cook‘s disturbing discovery!
On October 4, 2016, Jared Cook — a tight end for the Green Bay Packers— made an alarming discovery when he dug into his takeout chicken wings from Buffalo Wild Wings: a fried chicken head. The NFL player is reportedly considering adopting a vegetarian diet since the incident.
6. A farmed chicken’s life is not a life worth living…
More chickens are raised and killed for food than all other land animals combined. Birds raised for their flesh are bred to grow so large so fast that some have difficulty even walking under their body’s unnatural weight. Many are never allowed to go outside or do any of the things that are natural and important to them, such as establishing a pecking order and nesting comfortably.
7. There’s nothing “humane” about American Humane Certified farms.
Only seven weeks after they hatch, chickens are crowded onto trucks that transport them to the slaughterhouse. Once there, they’re shackled upside down by their legs, their throats are slit while they’re still conscious, and many are scalded to death…
Stop eating so much meat! While you’re masticating, think: Cruel Factory Farms. Millions of animals suffering and dying horrific deaths!
Look at the meat eaters: Saddled with high cholesterol/health problems…chunky/fat looking human beings. Bleh!
America, 2018! We are no longer cutting-edge Elvis cool! As Jon Oliver says: We’re in our Fat Elvis phase! … Goodbye to being on top of our global game! We’re about to fall off the toilet, dead as a door nail, still clutching our jelly doughnut!!
Remember when we were lean? Not super-sized? An attractive-looking country? A country filled with people – often our parents and loved ones! – who were willing to take us to task if we overindulged? Today it’s called “fat shaming,” and no one can say anything to make anybody feel bad about their rotund bod. A country in total denial! A people obsessed with food! Crap food! Unable to make rational decisions around eating! Living to eat, not eating to live!!
As our OBESE President Rumpo Trumpo would opine: SAD!
– Rose T.
Text and recipes by Chef Joey
The Super Bowl is here, and the big game has traditionally been, and will continue to be, a good excuse to get together to “snack/eat” (and drink).
Did you know that during the winter of 1960 a contest was put out to locals to submit ideas for the Boston football team’s official name?
The most popular choice — and the one that Billy Sullivan – who was the franchise developer selected — was “Boston Patriots.” Immediately thereafter, The Boston Globe artist Phil Bissell developed the “Pat Patriot” logo.
Football munching has transformed over the years – from bags of chips and orange-coated curls to a whole new level of snacks. Albeit we still have the traditional nachos and salsa, but now we have the birth of gastro-apps. These fancier apps look festive, allow a new dimension to the food category and are not limited to sports. They can carry over to small gatherings or cocktail parties.🍸🍸
MASHED POTATO PUFFS;
This recipe makes 12 to 24 puffs, depending on the size of the pan used.
2 cups mashed potatoes
3 large eggs, beaten
1 cup grated cheese such as Parmesan or Swiss or, for a strong flavor Gruyere, divided
1/4 cup minced chives
1/4 cup diced cooked mock-bacon or mock-ham (purchase at your local Trader Joe’s) – optional
Salt and freshly ground pepper
Sour cream, to serve – also optional
Heat the oven to 400°F and lightly grease the cups of a mini-muffin tin.
Whisk together the mashed potatoes, the eggs, 3/4 cup of cheese, the chives and mock-meat.
Season, if necessary, with salt and pepper. (The seasoning will depend on how seasoned your mashed potatoes were to begin with.)
Mound a spoonful of the mixture into each muffin cup.
Sprinkle the tops with the remaining 1/4 cup of grated cheese.
Bake for 20 minutes or until the potato cups are set, browned on top and hot through.
Cool for about 5 minutes in the pan, then use a spoon or knife to gently release them from the pan.
Serve immediately with dollops of sour cream, if desired.
Zucchini and Onion Pizza Puffs!!!
nonstick vegetable oil spray
1 10-ounce tube refrigerated pizza dough
3/4 cup garlic-and-herb cheese spread (such as Boursin or Alouette), divided
3/4 cup finely grated Parmesan cheese, divided
3 tablespoons chopped fresh Italian parsley, divided
1 small red onion
1 zucchini (7/8 inches long – yellow or green). Cut it crosswise into 1/8-inch-thick rounds – divide it
Preheat oven to 400°F. Line baking sheet with parchment paper…spray with nonstick spray.
Unroll dough onto parchment.
Spread half of herb cheese over 1 long half of dough, leaving 1/2-inch plain border.
Sprinkle with half of Parmesan and 2 tablespoons parsley.
Using parchment as aid, fold plain half of dough over filled half (do not seal edges!!).
Spread remaining herb cheese over top
Then sprinkle with remaining Parmesan.
Remove enough outer layers of onion to yield 2-inch-diameter core… cut into 1/8-inch-thick rounds. Arrange one row of zucchini down one long side of dough.
Arrange onion rounds in row alongside zucchini. Arrange 1 more row of zucchini alongside onion.
Brush vegetables with oil and sprinkle with salt and pepper.
Bake bread until puffed and deep brown at edges – about 24 minutes.
Soup is the least expensive and easiest meal to make. I had a CECELIA reader run into me – her name is Dottie. She raved about my vegan chili, posted here and published in CECELIA! So a big shout out to Dottie!!
I had some butternut squashes laying around that I bought in the fall from a local farm because they keep very well in my garage and said to myself … “Time to make soup!”
The secret to any good meal, I learned young from my Greek grandfather, is onions! It does not matter the batch size – just double the onions! For this particular soup, I went vegan for my daughter Gigi’s sake so she is used to flavors. I buy large bags of onions because they are easier to work with and less expensive. A 10-pound bag is $3 and one 20-pound bag is $5 … and you always need onions! In this soup, there are also 2 or 3 cloves of garlic and the squash. Water and curry powder round things out nicely – and a can of beer, if you have it.☺ It’s my new bouillon!
Onions, 2 large – peeled
Garlic, 2 or 3 cloves – chopped
TWO or THREE cloves of garlic for this recipe! pic: R.T.
2 large butternut squash, peeled and cubed
1 can beer
3 tbsp oil
1 bouillon cube, veggie or chicken stock
In a large pot, add the chopped onions and garlic. Toss around in the oil and cover.
After 2 minutes, add 6 oz. of beer.
If you don’t have any beer, add club soda and 1 more bouillon cube of your choice – veggie or chicken.
Now add 8 cups of water and simmer until the squash is soft (about 15 minutes).
Add 1 tsp of curry powder, and then mash the squash like potatoes (You can use a mixer. Just don’t splash!)
Salt and pepper to taste – and there you have it! You can add a nice dollop of sour cream to your bowl of soup to enhance it!
The onion base is good for any soup!
You can use potatoes, broccoli or whatever you want for veggies, if making a pureed soup.
Enjoy and stay warm!
Little known fact: The word “supper” is derived for “souper,” which means “soup dinner” in French. It’s what the peasants normally ate, while the aristocrats dined!.