Tuesday, June 30, 2009

Fried Squash Balls


Kind of like latkes, only fluffier. Inspired by food I ate in Greece, these squash balls are shaped more like frisbees and taste like ambrosia. Fitting.

Ingredients
2 med to large squash-yellow, zucchini, patty pan...I used some yellow ones with green ends.
2 large eggs
scant 1/2 c flour
salt
pepper
1 c grated cheese (I used a combo of cheddar and herbed yogurt cheese)
2 cloves of garlic, finely minced
oil for frying

Grate squash and place into a bowl.

Crack eggs into bowl, add some salt and pepper then mix thoroughly with a fork.

Sprinkle your grated cheese over the top.

Throw in the diced garlic.

Add about 1/3 of the flour and mix it in well, then another 1/3 and mix, then the rest.

Make sure that all of your ingredients are mixed together well and that the combo is a bit wet.



Heat the oil in a frying pan over med-high heat, when the oil is smoking grab a big spoon (the kind you use for soup or cereal eating, not the kind you cook with) and use it to scoop up a generous amount of the squash mixture and place it gently into the hot oil. You can put as many of these in your pan as will fit comfortably with a bit of space in between. Brown on one side and then turn gently over and brown the other side.

Drain on a plate lined with paper then eat them hot. Careful though, they're so good that your kids may eat them all before you get a taste.

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No NAIS!

Crossroads

On the day of my 45th birthday

this poem was published in the

Sanctuary at the Women's

Colony. I love it and thank

the author, Joyce Sutphen,

for writing this poem honoring

the process of living a life

beyond youth.

Crossroads


The second half of my life will be black
to the white rind of the old and fading moon.
The second half of my life will be water
over the cracked floor of these desert years.
I will land on my feet this time,
knowing at least two languages and who
my friends are. I will dress for the
occasion and my hair shall be
whatever color I please.
Everyone will go on celebrating the old
birthday, counting the years as usual,
but I will count myself new from this
inception, this imprint of my own desire.

The second half of my life will be swift,
past leaning fenceposts, a gravel shoulder,
asphalt tickets, the beckon of open road.
The second half of my life will be wide-eyed,
fingers sifting through fine sands,
arms loose at my sides, wandering feet.
There will be new dreams every night,
and the drapes will never be closed.
I will toss my string of keys in into a deep
well and old letters into the grate.

The second half of my life will be ice
breaking up on the river, rain
soaking the fields, a hand
held out, a fire,
and smoke going
upward, always up.


~Joyce Sutphen
Straight Out Of View, New Rivers Press

My Readers, I love them!