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diy strawberry soda

Thinking about strawberry soda for Juneteenth made me realize I've never tasted it. Sure, orange and grape sodas were staples of my childhood, but never strawberry. Short searching brought me to use real butter who shared a strawberry syrup recipe from the food in jars cookbook. I know, so many links and layers: Like going down the rabbithole in Alice in Wonderland--all this for strawberry soda?

It was worth it. 

And so simple, too. 

The recipe was 2 pints of strawberries, 3 cups of water, and 2 cups of granulated sugar. For the recipe, refer to the use real butter website.

But I had 2 quarts of strawberries. I doubled the water and sugar.

I'm not scientific. I didn't train at any culinary school. Doubling usually works for me. It worked this time. use real butter's recipe yielded a quart/liter of syrup, while mine yielded almost half a gallon (the photo below is much less than half a gallon, I've made a LOT of strawberry sodas). 

I poured it into a glass gallon apple cider jar I couldn't throw out. I'm old, but not terribly old. Yet, one set of my grandparents lived through the Great Depression. I learned recycling and resiliency from the examples they modeled vis a vis their frugal lifestyle.

Confession: I hoard glass bottles, but maybe not because of why you think. When I find a framework I like, or construct one, I'll mount a bottle tree in my yard. Haven't decided whether front or back, yet. Bottle trees, if you don't know, are associated with the southern US. Empty bottles are stuck on limbs of a tree in a yard and they trap evil spirits around the perimeter so they don't enter your home. It originated in the Kongo and came to the US with slaves who were captured and sold. And, its practice spread with the African-American diaspora. It's a Hoodoo folk-magic belief.

I'll spare your eyes with my awful photos of processing the strawberries. user real butter's are better. 

Once your syrup is made, it keeps in the fridge for about two weeks. To made soda, mix sparkling/carbonated water, syrup, and ice in a glass at a ratio that pleases you. I do about half syrup to sparkling water, but Ian likes more carbonation. Plus, he really liked it. Reminded me of that old Life commercial. He likes it, hey Mikey!

As for the experience of drinking this strawberry soda. Well, it's simply delightful. I can't think of a better use for strawberries when they come into season. It's the most refreshing summer drink I've ever had. Other than a fruity cocktail. Homemade strawberry soda is a sweet taste that satisfies all your senses. 

Strawberry syrup opened my eyes to the possibilities of other fruit syrups and their use in drinks. Not thinking beyond drinks at this point. Mostly just sodas, cocktails, maybe a frozen-ish liquor drink, etc. I'm a thirsty woman. 

four basics for your first Juneteenth celebration

Two days until Juneteenth rolls around: June 19. If you're new to celebrating it, then there's cause for jubilation as it commemorates the end of slavery in the United States. So, it used to be more "functional" in that black leaders and good Samaritans instructed newly freed slaves about their rights and entitlements as citizens. Believe it or not, it's roots are in Texas and as they scattered to other states it evolved into different observances in different communities with food, singing, games, parades, and all kinds of events. 

image by Callie Richmond
from http://www.texastribune.org/texas-state-agencies/state-preservation-board/juneteenth-monument-capitol/

So if your community doesn't have it's own festival, you can DYI and read the Emancipation Proclamation aloud, sing "We Shall Overcome" & "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot," recite Maya Angelous's poems, celebrate with family reunions, trace your ancestry, get wild with rodeos, and other events as well.

Food and eating are my focal points of any celebration and as you might have guessed, Juneteenth has several particular to its observance. 

Barbecue features prominently and is recognized by culinary scholars as originating from slave cuisine. The Juneteenth celebrations in Manhattan, Kansas function as a culinary tourist event given the popularity and reputation of pitmasters producing fare for the jubilation. And street vendors aka food trucks are popular at Juneteenth celebrations in Illinois according to the Oxford Encyclopedia of Food & Drink in America (1st ed). Nearly a decade ago a celebration in Hartford, CT offered a Marcus Garvey salad, named so because it mixed red, green, and black beans mirroring the colors of the nationalist flag. 

Red is symbolic, but I can't find how or why; I've searched the library databases. Anyone know? Care to guess? A pop o'er to Wikipedia reveals the color's symbolism as: danger, sacrifice, passion, fire, beauty, blood, anger...and happiness in some cultures. The entry didn't list strength. So red foods and drinks are de rigueur. Strawberry soda pop, red velvet cake, red beans and rice, strawberry pie, etc. 

So, I'm breaking it down: Your Juneteenth menu, four basics, and then add a few extras--collard greens, skillet cornbread, cole slaw, maybe some mac n cheese?-- thus making it nutritionally sound and you'll be all set. 

• Barbeque
• Red Beans
• Red Velvet Cake
• Strawberry Soda pop 

You're all set for Juneteenth.

For more information, and, especially to find a Juneteenth celebration happening near you, visit Juneteenth Worldwide Celebration. Or check your local newspaper or tabloid. I found a few yummy looking recipes at Cinnamon Hearts, so you could visit there for smothered chicken, red beans, and a sweet potato custard recipe, among others. Actually you may have better luck searching twitter. Maybe next year there will be a Juneteenth celebration in my community. I'd like to help make that happen. And someday perhaps there will be a national Juneteenth holiday. 

tricities baconfest

This year I've been a first-time attendee at long-time food festivals for two reasons: First, to get my almost-4-year-old daughter out of the house on nice days; and second, to support the local food festival scene.

When I heard a BaconFest was in the works I volunteered to help because I'm all for the success of new food festivals in my area. Within the volunteer form I listed my skills (writing, editorial, blogging, etc.). A day or two before the event I received an email that I was assigned to a Bacon Station, whatever that meant. And on that day, I showed up at Bristol Motor Speedway, where the event transpired.

Other volunteers didn't. So instead of "enjoying the festival" from 10am-2pm when my shift at the bacon station started (at 2pm, that is, if that earlier time span wasn't clear), I expedited and served bacon at a concession stand. It wasn't ordinary bacon. Some was jalapeno bacon. Some was maple bacon. Some was apple cide bacon, and some was... Oh, I forget. It's all a blurry bacon nightmare. And the shame is that all that bacon grease went to waste. Imagine the gravy it could have made. 

There is such a thing as too much bacon, after all, especially after standing on concrete floor in a hot kitchen, a kitchen whose working environment is hotter than the outside temperature. I grew dizzy from twisting like a ser-vi-tron from stainless steel serving table to concession window repetedly to keep up with the folks demanding bacon.

Serving the public is what I do in my day job, so that was a breeze. Yet, in my day job, I'm a font of knowledge. When these folks asked me questions, I hated being dumb, not knowing the answers. So that was an irritation:

Where is the water fountain?

Where can I buy this bacon? 

 

But, we all know that if librarians ran everything the world would be in a much different place, now wouldn't it?

I spent a fifteen minute break in my car with all my air conditioning vents pointed at my hair so that I wouldn't resemble someone still wearing an unfortunate 80s wet mousse look. 

There were food vendors present. There were artists selling their wares. And I heard ocassional snatches of music. I spotted an accordionist whose playing I ached to hear. After the fact, I saw photos of a hog calling contest and a Man V. Bacon contest wherein men consumed quantites of bacon quickly. 

But, mostly I remain stunned. However, troubling my experience was, it was good that I had it. Never have I been more clear about what I will and will not do for bacon; What my body can and cannot do for bacon; Where my talents lie for bacon. And my old, tired body took at least a day to recover from standing on its feet for 4-5 hours, nonstop. Whine, whine, whine: I know, if the sad old thing was used to it, no problem. 

Ian said that some of his co-workers attended and remarked that they had a baconlicious time (okay, they don't talk like that, but if they could, they would; it was more like Grunt, Snort, Snuffle...). So, that's fantastic. I think the best part of the day was being a bacon pusher. We were told to give it away, and I told folks to take as much as they'd like and come back for seconds, thirds. And that the rest would be donated to Second Harvest, our local food bank. 

wayne scott strawberry festival

Certainly is festival season around this blog. Since I'm a mother, taking our daughter to festivals seems like the thing to do, when the weather is nice. Actually, there won't be many festivals between now and October, when the Apple Festival happens. So on Saturdays I think we'll hike or canoe.

Until we arrived at the strawberry festival I didn't realize it was officially called the Wayne Scott Strawberry Festival. This is another first-time attendance at a local festival for me. Have heard of it for years, but never went. Mostly, I don't like crowds. This wasn't crowded, actually, so that excuse doesn't work. And most festivals are all about food, so it makes sense that I'm there, right? Cuz I'm all about food. 

Strawberries are nice, but not my favorite fruit. And I don't love a strawberry shortcake, but the ones I saw other festival attendees carrying around piqued my curiosity and I decided I had to have them. Several booths competed for my money on the shortcake front, but when it came down to it, the Clinchfield Senior Adult Center's shortcake looked best. 

It wasn't completely awesome, but it was a delightful treat for three bucks. The strawberries were fresh. Not so sure about the cake. The ice cream was inside a cooler to keep it chilled as the gentleman scooped it, so I have no clue about what brand it was. And the whipped cream was land o lakes from a can. 

There was plenty of other festival food, but we didn't partake. Ian isn't particularly ambulatory since he's not a week post-op yet. While I stood in line for the shortcake and found a place to eat, he accompanied Elsa to the Unicoi Elementary playground and sat on a bench while she gamboled, skipped, slid, and climbed. One thing I know about festivals and children is this: Producing them on school grounds is essential in keeping children attendees happy. 

flag pond ramp festival

May twelfth was the twenty-seventh annual Flag Pond Ramp Festival, but it was my first time attending. They didn't establish the festival until I was a (very young) teenager, so it's not anything my parents would have taken me to as a child. Plus, while I'm technically a Unicoi county native (since all people in Unicoi county not born at home are born in Johnson City/Washington county, TN hospitals), I'm not eager to claim that identity. Oh, it's complicated and suitable for another type of blog, but not this one. And since it's one of those things that kind of happens in my back yard it doesn't seem exotic enough to capture my interest, so I've never been. Also, I asked one my of friends in the know whether it was any account. He said to skip it. Since I delayed in getting tickets to the Lake Eden shindig, we ended up at the Ramp Festival instead and that worked out just as well. 

Would have written about the ramp festival experience while it was fresher in my memory except that Ian had a gallbladder depositing us at the ER early Sunday morning (the thirteenth) and I sat at his hospital bedside all week comforting him and blogging was not a priority.

Nonetheless, the ramp festival was worth the $7 I paid for a plate of the best eating I'd had in a great while. I think that if Ian had made it home from work in time to come to the ramp festival with us and had eaten ramps, he wouldn't have had the gallbladder attack. Oh, the power of the ramp.

Funny, that at my age (40) I had never eaten a ramp. Since they became all the rage in the big city, I have even less desire to eat something so trendy. It's just the way I am, the anti-trendy. My grandfather and I hunted them on several occasions in the forests of Tennessee and North Carolina. He knew several patches. And undoubtedly he offered them to me, but I declined.

As did Elsa when I offered them to her. Folks who eat raw ramps are shunned. The odor is offensive, you see. My father-in-law mentioned that when he was in the reserves that the ramp-eaters were obvious from the non-ramp-eaters. But, cooked ramps are tender and subtle as -- gee-- a communion wafer. 

Seven dollars bought a large plate filled with bacon, ramps and potatoes, soup beans, cornbread, cole slaw, your choice of pickled items, dessert, and a drink.

Elsa is not an adventurous eater. We goad her into trying new things. Ironically she loves soup beans, a food I avoided as a child. We shared a plate. She ate the beans and nibbled the cornbread. My potatoes were half and half: half cooked with ramps and half plain; Elsa ate some of the plain. Both were delicious as they were seasoned with bacon fat. 

She saw the skillet/pile of bacon as we edged through the line and trilled "Bacon... I love bacon..." and the kindly man in charge of the bacon area slipped her two pieces before we received our plate and our serving of bacon.

Seating was limited, so we wandered everywhere before landing on the steps outside the cafeteria. The festival was held in the former Flag Pond elementary school building. Fortunately we weren't too much in the way. Elsa was happy. She made a craft, swang on the swings, and played on the playground. She made friends with the people who stood around us in line. Everyone loves a toddler, especially when she shouts out "My Daddy works in Carolina." And then acts all shy when they try to make further conversation with her. Chatting with folks at festivals is always fun. I absorbed information about ramps being early this year, and even earlier over in North Carolina. 

Ramp festival next year? Sure thing!

knoxville redeemed or, the southern food writing conference

Let me state my bias upfront: I have strong feelings against Knoxville, for various reasons. First, those people believe east Tennessee ends and begins with it, so does the state government. Thus, we, in the rest of the eastern part of the state, a.k.a. the armpit, receive little to no state funding. Second, all the people who wanted to escape my hometown for the "big city" went to Knoxville, and they think they're living large. Poor things. Third, I have scads of personal animosity against UT both for myself and others who were done dirty by their ugliness and lack of integrity. 

Despite all these negative marks against Knoxville, I enjoy trips to their downtown by avoiding all the ugly sprawl that the rest of the city has "developed" into in the last twenty years and pretending the university doesn't exist--I close my eyes, stick my fingers in my ears, and chant "you're not there, you're not there, you're not there." Since roller derby is the only sport I enjoy, the non-existence of UT presents no problems for me.

However, after spending two days in Knoxville during the Southern Food Writer's Conference last week may have redeemed Knoxville's vile reputation--in my mind--, somewhat. Knoxville and its environs offers many lovely attractions for those food-minded persons. I'm slightly ashamed that I'm not more knowledgeable about the Knoxville foodie scene, but since it's 90 miles away, I think it's really out of my immediate scope. Yet, I can appreciate it.

The conference was delightful. The line up of speakers included Brett Anderson, Sherri Castle, Ronni Lundy, Fred Sauceman, Nathalie Dupree, Shaun Chavis, Jason Horn, Jennifer Cole, Cynthia Graubart, John Egerton, Jennifer Justus, Regan Huff, Jack Neely, Elizabeth Sims, Barbara Swell, and Fred Thompson. It was established in conjunction with the International Biscuit Festival, which I didn't attend, unforutnately, though I did eat several scrumptious biscuits while at the conference. Hope to be at the IBF next year though. 

Swag included a roomy, organic tote bag emblazoned with the International Biscuit Festival logo filled with foodstuffs.

The tipping point for me to sign up for the conference was that dinner at Blackberry Farm was included. Staying at Blackberry Farm is on my life list. I likely won't ever mark that off my life list because I married for love and not for money. Dining there was divine, I'll blog about it soon. And the other totally awesome experience was our group field trip to Cruze Farms, my new favorite dairy supplier. Wish they delivered as far afield as the Tri-Cities.

Besides introducing me to new sources of local food artisans like Benton, Cruze Farms, and Muddy Pond Sourghum Mill, the conference was a boon for letting me hob nob with other like-minded individuals. I learned so much from each session and made pages and pages of notes.  Immersion around other writers and food industry folks was dreamy. I didn't want to leave, and it firmed my resolve to change my professional circumstances to reflect a reality more in line with my dreams and interests than what I currently do.

So yeah, there is plenty to love about Knoxville. Their farmer's market, their re-developed downtown, their festivals and conferences, their artisianal farmers. Lots to love. Just ignore the other stuff I mentioned at the start and we get along right fine.

I feel so frickin' ridiculous, but just so you know, I paid my way to this food writer's conference, but I don't want there to be any question about it since those new FTC regulations make it clear that food bloggers/writers should be transparent in their relationships or affiliations with anything or anyone they "review," so according to the new FTC regulations, I received no other form of compensation for this endorsement of the conference, etc. 

Kentucky derby

Have you been to Churchill Down in Louisville, Kentucky? It was my first time at the Kentucky Derby Saturday and there were 164K of us, which set a new track record. The food on the ground was what you'd expect from a festival or fair--fast and deep fried: burgers, fries, cheesesteaks, corndogs, hotdogs, kettle corn, cheesecake-on-a-stick.

Nothing extraordinary, and thus, rather disappointing. No bourbon balls. But, I suspect that if you were in a box, the food might be better. Appearing on the red carpet were Martha Sterwart, Bobby Flay, and Guy Fieri. 

The drinks were mint juleps, lemonade, sodas, beer, and some type of red Bacardi cocktail, perhaps a rum bunch. I didn't imbibe and mint juleps are not my thing. I had a lemonade, but didn't drink much at all. The lines to the ladies rooms were very long. I didn't want to wait, nor did I want to use the public restrooms. The weather was low in the sixties and it rained, but that didn't stop the ladies from wearing their frocks and hats.  

The hats amazed me. I do love hats. 

Besides the frocks and hats, most ladies teetered and tottered through the crowds on their tip-toes on stilettos heels. No doubt their feet ached. Many carried an extra pair of shoes. Some paired galoshes with their frocks. Others wore cowboy boots with their frilly dresses. And still others wore the ugly, ubiquitous flip-flip/thong which I find a most disgusting form of foot-wear.

Or, they abandoned their shoes all together and walked around barefooted, which truly disgusted me. Some men wore thongs on their feet, too. Gross.

The men in their seersucker suits and saddle shoes, simply took my breath away. And men wearing linen suits and vests were debonair as well.

fair food

Anymore I go to our county fair for the food. Who doesn't love deep fried everything?

The concessionaires had too much fun dipping their corndogs. Look closely. It was a vulgar display, for sure. But who can blame them? Everyone should play with their food.

The soft serve was my first stop. I got a cone of chocolate-vanilla swirl. Can't get it anywhere in town anymore, so that was a real treat.

Next up, Ian bought one or two 25 cent bags of gumdrops from the old general store display inside the museum. I could have stayed in there awhile, but it was small and others wanted in.

Then what? On to get my funnel cake. Betty said I should stop by the Kiwanis club booth, that they had a new funnel cake recipe that was great; I visited with her the previous day. And then returned on Wednesday for my funnel cake. But I wasn't in love with it. It was stringy. And pale. And once we finished and left out seat a guy took  our table and I saw his funnel cake. It looked like swollen worms all golden brown, and THAT was the funnel cake I wanted, but didn't get.

Ian indulged in a corn dog from Kiwanis. Didn't offer me a bite.

Once we indulged or sweet and greasy tooths, we left the fair. I admire the entrepreneurial spirit of the folks who live adjacent to the fairgrounds. They offer folks parking spots in their yards for a few dollars, sell water to the thirsty, and also try their hand at deep-fried novelties.

We were deep-fried Oreo virgins. Not anymore. I can't recall how much Ian paid for such a delicacy, but it was high. Maybe $5 for 6 deep fried oreos. They weren't that hot once they were removed from the deep fryer. They were messy. We had confectioner's sugar spotting our clothes. Innards were slightly warmed. So, as a curiosity, I'd say try 'em. But don't make a habit of eating them, because there's no telling just how bad they are for you on many levels.

Jesus' birthday cake

I've never baked and frosted a birthday cake for Jesus, or known anyone to do so, either. That is, until this year. Sure, it makes sense to bake a birthday cake for Jesus, if you're a practicing Christian, or just want any excuse to make a cake, since Christmas celebrates Christ's birth, even though, he was likely not born on December 25th.

Aleda, my sister-in-law, made one this year. Her first. But she's determined to start a precedent and bake one every year. Hers was chocolate with white frosting and one candle on top. We all sang Happy Birthday to Jesus, then Mick and Rem did the honors of blowing out the candle.

Then we ate. Yum. Nothing better than chocolate cake with cream cheese icing. She also had a pecan pie and something else... Can't quite recall all the dessert offerings on Christmas Day, though I sampled each.

But where did the tradition of Jesus;s birthday cake begin? And what kind of symbolism resides in this cake's layers and decoration and very shape? Is it native to certain regions of the country, or world, or celebrated by specific denominations? It's a favorite tradition in Columbia, SC, but elsewhere, too?

Aleda got the idea from her cousin on her Dad's side. They're from the midwest. I think she was born in Nebraska or Kansas. Her cousin is really religious and started her family's tradition when her children were two or three years old, a few years ago. Before you start thinking this is some kind of southern evangelical Baptist practice, let me ease your mind that my sister-in-law is Catholic and as I mentioned earlier, not a native of this region. But, Amy Sullivan writes in the Washington Monthly (5.9 (Sept 2003): p52(3).) about growing up in a Midwestern Baptist church where they "baked a birthday cake and sand a rollicking tune called 'Happy Birthday, Baby Jesus.'" Just suppose it's a Midwestern thang.

I asked my step-mother whether her fourth-generation (at least!) highly-devout (Baptist) Southwest Virginia family celebrated Christmas with a Jesus birthday cake.  They've bought a sheet cake at the bakery and had "Happy Birthday Jesus" written on it. She promised to ask around her family and church whether anyone has a specific recipe for it.

And what about you? What's your experience with Jesus' Birthday cake? Have you baked one? Eaten one? Or know someone else who does?

Stories Behind the Great Traditions of Christmas (2003) is a Google book that popped up as a result of my search for Jesus' birthday cake. Ace Collins writes that there are no written records indicating the exact origin of this tradition, but he suspects it began only a few hundred years ago possibly in England, but more likely in Germany because Christ's birthday was celebrated overtly in that country. The baking of the cake was significant because resource for cakes, like sugar, and butter, were scarce. Cakes were a treat.  Those Jesus bc of the past were baked with special treats inside for children like marbles, small metal animals, or coins. And then the actual rising of the cake batter takes on religious significance when we think of Christ's rising from the dead on the third day. Easter, I guess, but my catechism is weak anymore. See, I'm more likely to bake a banana bundt for Buddha's birthday.

Those cakes of yore, according to Collins, were white inside, symbolizing Christ's purity, and iced with red to symbolize his shed blood. And a single candle adorning the cake signified the light Christ brought to the world. It wasn't until the 1800s that the tradition was commonplace in England and America. Collins attributes the modern resurgence of Jesus bc to churches and Christian schools who are horrified by the consumer/consumptive identity the holiday shoulders and wish to re-emphasize the religious significance of Christmas.

Some folks find the entire idea of a birthday cake for Jesus funny, or peculiar.  Or foreign. Or perhaps a slap at the way someone is raising their children.

At cooks.com they direct bakers in this way:

Make a round chocolate cake (to symbolize our sins). Cover with white frosting (his purity covers our sins). Top with a yellow star and angel (bearer of the first glad tidings). Place 12 (Christ, our light through the 12 months of the year) red candles (red for his blood shed for us) on top. Encircle the cake with evergreen icing leaves (symbol of everlasting life).

Another cake at the same site uses angel food cake, strawberries, and whipped cream. The number of red candles placed on the cake should mirror the number of people attending the birthday party.

Old Fashioned Holidays makes a three layer cake. The first is brown for our sins, the second is red for the blood Jesus shed for our sins, and the third layer is green to signify life. Then it's covered with white icing which symbolizes Jesus' purity and righteousness. They decorate the cake sides with hearts which represents Christian witness for Jesus. A gold star marks the middle of the cake. This is the star of Bethlehem. A yellow border around the star signifies God's love. And a big red candle in the middle of the yellow star represents Jesus himself. Others like a bit of scripture to accompany each layer.

Leslie Ratliff's explanation is essentially the same as the others, but she specifies a round cake because it shows that God's love is never ending. She adds an angel to her cake so that we remember the angel's role in spreading good tidings of His birth. She explains the twelve candles each represent a month so that Jesus' light may shine each month and not just once in December. She places evergreens around the cake, possibly at the base, to remind us of Jesus' everlasting love for us.

Instructions at Beliefnet recommend reading the Christmas story from the Bible before lighting and blowing out the candle.

Alanna Kellogg's sister introduced the tradition to their family and they've celebrated it ever since. And Tara makes a jello poke cake which serves as Jesus cake in her family.

Many families include the celebration of Jesus' birthday with their Christmas Day traditions as a way to reduce the secular and consumer emphasis placed on the holiday by our popular culture, media, advertisers, and retailers. It's especially popular among families with small children so that the "reason for the season" is reinforced in their young minds.  But some Christians think it's a a way to have fun, be silly, and celebrate  a happy occasion.

Not all of them go to great lengths to ensure that their cake is imbued with proper symbolism. Some make a lemon bundt cake and others pick up a cake from their grocery store and decorate it with the words "Happy Birthday Jesus."

Willie Crawford seconds those reasons for celebrating "the true meaning of Christmas." His recipe calls for three boxes of cake mix: White, Strawberry, and Chocolate. Willie makes an extra cake to take to church for his pastor to give to a needy family. He tints portions of his icing yellow, green, red, and reserves a bit of white, as well. He decorates his cakes with a bright yellow star, leaves, holly berries, and a plastic baby Jesus. He pipes hay colored icing around the figure. His instructions are precise, and I appreciate  his symbolism best of all, especially the first one:

1. The colors of the inside of the cake represents all God's children, the people of all nations.
2. The star represents the Star of Bethlehem that led the Wise Men to Our Savior.
3. The holly vine represents the everlasting life we recieved when we accepted Jesus into our lives.
4. The red candle represents the blood that Jesus Christ shed for all of us.
5. The flame of the lit candle represents the light of Jesus that shines from within of all who believe in Him.

And some bake Jesus birthday cakes to defy the ban on religion in public schools. Julie West brought a Jesus bc to her son's holiday party because a school note requested that students bring in food that their family traditionally ate during the holiday season.  And, in the comments on that story I learned another reason why we might use twelve candles on the cake: To symbolize the twelve points on Our Lady's crown, whomever Our Lady may be. The Virgin Mary, perhaps?

Redneck Diva writes about a Come to Jesus cake, but that's a whole 'nother kettle of fish, but certainly a great new tradition in celebratory cake baking.

third time yum yum

Saturday evening my mother and I drove to Jonesborough for the 30th Annual Progressive Dinner. It's our third time. Ian spoke of childhood Progressive dinners he attended with his family when they returned home each holiday season to Canton, Ohio, where his parents originated. He said they'd go around to his relatives' homes, gobble something good, and then move on. But I'd never participated in one until three years ago. It was a slightly foreign concept for me.

In Jonesborough this means that you board a trolley, hear fascinating tidbits about the town's history from Deborah Montanti, Director of the Jonesborough Heritage Alliance. There's an emphasis on architecture and town history and we stopped at several of the town's finest historic homes to eat a portion of the meal and socialize with other diners. And, each home hosts live music.

The h'ourdourves were fabulous and were my favorite part. Clockwise beginning at the Wassil we had Dates with Manchego cheese and walnuts, Bleu cheese filled radicchio and endive, and bacon-wrapped scallops. The toast was at Hawley House, perhaps the oldest home in the Territory South of the River Ohio by virtues of its establishment about 1793.

Mushroom and brie bisque and cheddar melting morsels were at Hedberg Home. Both were okay, but didn't knock my socks off. The home was the first built in town after the Civil War. My favorite space was the octagonal section, but I have no idea what it's proper name is.

The entree was at the Parson's Table a former church turned restaurant that closed in the early 1990s. The roasted pork loin was supposed to have Jezebel sauce on it, but I couldn't tell whether it did. And i was excited at my first taste of jezebel. But I'll likely have to throw together my own jezebel for a taste of that. There was a vegetarian option listed on the menu, but we were not offered it. Frankly, it sounded better than pork loin: Butternut squash, portobello mushroom & tomato spinach lasagna. The pesto green beans were good, but too plentiful. The creamy spinach and Parmesan cheese orzo was my favorite. Country rolls and your choice of white or red wine rounded out the meal. This year though, our server wasn't prompt with refilling wine glasses. I only had two glasses this year, whereas last year I might have had four.

The couple at our table were in their seventies and eighties. The gentleman was dapper and an excellent conversationalist. He was a retired chemist from Eastman who served under Patton during World War II. I could have talked to him all night. I absolutely love men and women in their eighties. There's something about that age that draws me in. I love hearing the stories they tell about their lives and experiences.

He regalled us with stories of his grandson who lives in Madison, Wisc. and all his techie gadgets. Sadly, I cannot recall his name. His companion was Alice. She's an artist who paints mainly with oils and watercolors. I wasn't certain if they were friends or something more.

Why must dessert always be something I don't care for? Last year was tiramisu, which I find over-rated, though it was quite good. This year was chocolate cake with raspberry stuff drooled alongside. It wasn't terribly rich and was quite palatable, so I ate most of it. I've mostly been a good eater all my life. I eat what is offered.

Chocolate, while a lovely thing, and friend to millions, is just DONE for dessert, as far as I'm concerned. I am terribly atypical because I don't love coffee, either. And that's all that was offered to drink at Floyd Home, a gorgeous 1907 Colonial Revival whose interior and exterior were Mom and my's favorite hands down. Floyd Home used to belong to Jonesborough's premier historian, Paul Fink. The iron fencing surrounding the house was delicate and lovely.

My photos were not so good. That was unfortunate. The lighting was subdued and I am not a lover of flash photography. All in all a delightful time was had by Mom and me. As we ate dessert a woman commented about us being mother and daughter. She said my mom didn't look old enough to have a daughter my age. I replied that I looked a lot younger than I am. She guessed my age at 28. When I revealed my age she was shocked and said I didn't look that old. I pointed to mom and said, "I've got good genes."