Hares ‘n Horses

Posted in Uncategorized by Climbing Vine Clothing

I like a little alliteration in my post titles, have you noticed? I’m not sure what the difference is between a rabbit and a hare, or a bunny for that matter. It doesn’t really matter with stuffed animals, right? I mean, it’s not like they are anatomically correct or anything. But I digress.

Here is my latest set of creations, up-cycled from the giant chest in my bedroom, filled with clothing from a previous era. You know, back in Nicky BC (before children). I am finally coming to grips with the fact that I will never be fitting into those clothes again, and I feel better about it, because they are being put to good use elsewhere. Like here-

These were once the most wonderfully soft beige pants, and now they are a wonderfully soft beige rabbit, for someone’s new granddaughter. Don’t you love the pink ears?

And I wondered how a little horse would look if I made him out of my brown wool tweed slacks from yesteryear.

I think he turned out pretty nice.

So then I thought I’d go really bold with a skinny waisted, red wool skirt that would’ve taken a miracle for me to zip up.

I’m a sucker for anything bright red, and am so glad I didn’t get rid of that skirt, ’cause I love it as a horse!

Here they are sizing each other up, comparing cuteness.

Which one wins? You be the judge.

11Oct2013

A family fave

Posted in Cooking by Climbing Vine Clothing

We’ve had a lot of babies born in our church lately, so last week, it was time to make another ‘new baby’ meal. I am just now getting around to posting the recipe. I decided to make chicken enchiladas. Now I am no expert on Mexican food, and am not sure how authentic these enchiladas are, but it does involve tortillas baked in a pan with meat and sauce, so that counts, right?

This recipe is an old family favorite that we got out of a church cook book. (Credit for the recipe goes to our friend Kim S.) Church cook books are really marvelous resources, don’t you agree? The original recipe is super simple- so easy, in fact, that it was one that my sisters and I often used when we were learning to cook. And since my recipes aren’t complete without a funny or embarrassing story to accompany them, and since I got my sister’s permission to share this, so long as I didn’t reveal her name, here is the tale.

My sister, as aforementioned, was attempting to learn cookery, and decided on this recipe. The filling for the original recipe is simply chopped chicken, sautéed and smothered in salsa. Well, she chopped up the half frozen chicken breasts, threw them in the pan, smothered them with salsa and finished the recipe as instructed. The house soon smelled wonderful, and the whole family sat down to enjoy the meal in eager anticipation.
I think I got about three bites into my enchilada before I was brought up short by a piece of chicken that simply wouldn’t be chewed. I worked at it a little longer before realizing that others at the table were experiencing similar difficulties in mastication. One sister discretely removed an unchewable morsel from her mouth and laid it on her plate. It was one of those awkward moments, where no one wanted to say anything, but no one wanted to keep eating. I think my mother finally broke the ice and started an investigation. We all thankfully removed the alien chicken from our mouths and tried to solve the mystery.
We asked my sister at length how she had prepared the meal, but she claimed she had followed the recipe to the letter. Poking at the foreign substance a little more revealed it to be some form of plastic. But how on earth could so much plastic be chopped up in one meal? An odd question indeed. My mother again broke the silence when she realized that my sister had inadvertently forgotten to remove the plastic sponge from the styrofoam chicken packaging. You know, that thing they put in the bottom to absorb all the excess raw chicken juices?
We had all laid our forks down by that point, and am afraid to say, didn’t pick them up again that meal. And I’m afraid we might never let my poor sister forget it. But the recipe is so good, that I wouldn’t let that one unfortunate episode ruin it forever. And now I will share it! Here’s what you need.

Now don’t roll your eyes if I say that the secret ingredient in this recipe is cream, because it is. However, I just read an article on facebook saying that skim milk actually makes you fatter, so I’m feeling pretty good about myself.
I mentioned the original recipe calls for a filling of chicken mixed with salsa, which is great when you’re in a hurry, but sometimes I like to doctor mine up a bit. So I started by chopping a couple of onions, two or three peppers and some garlic. This is a really big batch because I am doubling it- one for us, and one for the new baby. Might as well kill two birds with one stone, right?

Sauté it up until the veggies are nice and soft. Then, to make the filling stretch, I like to add a couple cans of beans- either black or pinto, or a mix of both.

Now I cheated a bit here by having my chicken precooked and ready to go. This is about six chopped boneless, skinless chicken thighs, which I prefer since they don’t get as dry as chicken breast. Whatever cut you choose, you’ll need to cook it up before you add it. But for pity’s sake, remove the little plastic spongy thing! (Sorry sis, couldn’t resist)

Stir this all together with a bit of salt and pepper, and then I like to add a little heat by means of a chipotle pepper in adobe sauce. Or if you look in your fridge and realize you are clean out of chipotle peppers in adobe, you can use a teaspoon of chipotle powder. Or just salt and pepper if you don’t like heat. I just love the smokiness of chipotle.

So that’s your filling. Then you start your assembly line. You’ll see I have two pans here, one of them for us and one that is disposable so the new baby doesn’t have to wash and return it. Just plop a good amount of filling in the middle of your tortilla and roll it up tight.

Keep going until the pan is full or you run out of filling, whichever happens first.

And now for the sauce.

The original recipe says to simply pour a pint of cream over the whole thing, but my big sister told me that if you want to cut the calories a bit, you could use half a pint of cream and mix in a can of enchilada sauce. I find this adds to the flavor quite a bit and perhaps makes them more authentic enchiladas! Either way, mix the two up for a fabulously simple sauce.

Then just pour on the goodness

Sprinkle with a good amount of cheese,

And bake in a 350 degree oven for about 40 minutes, or until the cheese is nicely browned and bubbly.

Serve it with your favorite Mexican sides. Here we just had sour cream, avocado and tomato, but rice is great too. And you can hold the beans in the filling and serve it with refrieds. The possibilities are endless!

Enjoy!

9Oct2013

Dolly’s closet

Posted in dolls by Climbing Vine Clothing

Several of you have asked if I sell extra dresses for my dolls, so as to provide a change of clothing. I just posted several doll dresses on my shop. Most of them are dresses you have already seen, but here are a few new ones. I am trying to branch out a bit, you know, away from dresses and into something totally different, like skirts and blouses…

Or sweet little pink, school girl jumpers.

I just posted this little lady on my shop as well. I think she’s pretty cute.

So there we are. Again, feel free to request any style of dress in a different color. I’m hoping to start in on hats and jackets for the upcoming winter.

7Oct2013

Ebenezer

Posted in Daily happenings by Climbing Vine Clothing

We had a visiting pastor at church today to help our church celebrate a big anniversary. It just so happens that it was my hometown pastor and it just so happens that he reiterated many of the truths from his sermon that I posted on here a while back, about remembering God’s faithfulness as a spiritual duty. How we ought to raise our Ebenezer, our stone of remembrance, in those important places. I was thinking today about how God helps us sometimes to see those important moments, by sending us a friend.
I’ve mentioned before that I spent a year studying abroad in France. It was right after I graduated from high school. I was the mature age of 18, and it was my first real experience away from home. You might now think this is going to be a tale of how I went off to sow some wild oats in a foreign country. That after a childhood spent in a conservative Presbyterian atmosphere, I would distance myself as far as possible from such a “repressive” upbringing. But as the French say- au contraire mon frere. I loved the way I was raised- it suited me just fine. By nature a homebody, and afraid of the big wide world, I was content to imagine a life of staying right where I was, serving the church, and maybe someday doing something really crazy, like opening a bakery. It’s hard to explain what my high school experience was like, but for all intents and purposes of this story, all you need to know is that my nickname was “The Nun.”

How I ended up agreeing to go to France was the real wonder. In hindsight of course, I can see God’s hand, but suddenly, and without exactly knowing how, I was living in a seminary dorm room with two friends from my church, in the South of France for two semesters. The intent was to learn the language and broaden my horizons a bit. I’m not sure I was ready.

You see, it’s hard to broaden your horizons when you’re determined to maintain a life as close as possible to the one you left behind. And when you want to show your parents that you can be a responsible adult, even when they aren’t around. It was hard to shake the rigid self discipline I had imposed on myself all through high school. Don’t get me wrong- self discipline is a good thing, but there is such a thing as too much of it, especially when it comes to money.

I had been given a monthly allowance from my parents to cover my expenses- rent, groceries, etc. Every month my friends and I would go to the atm in the centre ville and withdraw what we needed. Rent was split between the three of us, but I decided early on that I would control the food. I picked an amount for groceries that I thought was reasonable, and I made sure that we maintained, or even stayed under that budget. I did most of the shopping and most of the cooking. I’m not sure why that control was so important to me, but it was.

So there we were in the culinary capital of the world, and instead of taking advantage of it, I bypassed the corner boulangeries and bought cheap, dry super market bread. And did we explore the wonderful world of French cheese? Nope- the most inexpensive camembert if you please- and don’t throw the rind away, it’s wasteful. I remember one of the girls asking if we could buy fresh milk instead of the strange tasting boxed milk you could keep indefinitely on the pantry shelf. I refused to spend the few francs more, and don’t even think about asking for ice cream.

I’m not sure why the girls put up with my penny pinching regime for so long. I’m pretty sure one of them kept a secret stash of goodies she could nibble on when I wasn’t looking. I do know that they were increasingly annoyed with me. When someone gave us a box of chocolates at Christmastime, I looked at the box and suggested that instead of eating them, we should save them for later. The girls looked at each other, and then tackled me to the floor, pried open my mouth and shoved a few chocolates in.

Who knows how long I would have continued imposing my miserly system on everyone around me if my friend’s sister hadn’t come to spend the second semester with us. I haven’t asked if I can use her name here, so I’ll call her “Jane.” I distinctly remember one of the first few nights “Jane” was with us. She suggested getting a couple of beers to go with dinner. I quickly let her know that beer, or anything like it, was not in the budget. She looked a little surprised, but said nothing more. The next night however, she bought herself a beer for dinner. I was annoyed.

Not long after that, we were discussing plans for a trip to Italy during one of our school breaks. I wasn’t sure I wanted to spend the money, but the girls finally talked me around.
I would have enjoyed the trip far more if I hadn’t been so worried about the money we were spending on hostels and train tickets. I remember mortifying the girls at a restaurant by stuffing the last piece of our dinner pizza in my pocket so I wouldn’t have to buy lunch the next day.

Things came to a bit of a crisis when we were in Naples. The girls wanted to visit the island of Capri, so I grudgingly called my mom to see if I had enough money on my card to buy a ferry ticket. I know, I know, what the heck was wrong with me? She said she would try to get to the bank and put a little extra in. The next morning, I went to the atm. The machine was acting up and spit my card out a few times before finally eating it. And it wouldn’t give it back. So there I was in the middle of Italy, without any way of getting money, and having a minor panic attack. I went back to the hostel, and the others tried to reassure me that I could borrow money from them until I got a new card, but this was no comfort to me. That feeling of control I had been so carefully hoarding was suddenly gone.

When we got back to France, I felt I needed to redouble my efforts to make up for lost ground, but I couldn’t get much worse without starving us to death. One evening, I was on my bed, literally counting coins and sighing with worry when “Jane” walked in, took one look at me and decided it was time to give me the talking to I needed.

I don’t remember all of the things she said to me that night as we talked about my Scrooge-like tendencies. But amidst all her kind and compassionate admonition, what struck me the most was that without fear, she called my bluff. I’m not sure anyone had ever done that before. I was “The Nun” you remember. All goody-goodiness and self discipline. She tore down all the high sounding arguments I had built up about my ‘good stewardship’ and ‘responsibility’, and revealed them for what they were- a deep selfishness towards others and a lack of faith in the providence of God. It was reproof so gently given, but it felt like a sharp slap in the face, and I’ve never been so grateful. It was the act of a true friend, a friend who was brave enough to help pull me out of that hole and set me on a better path.

I can’t say that I was a completely changed woman overnight, but it was a start. Oh, and I did go out and buy her a beer.

3Oct2013

Chocolate Strawberry Upside-Down Cake

Posted in Cooking by Climbing Vine Clothing

Sometimes people ask me how, or where I learned to bake. Did I take classes? Did I learn cherished and secret family recipes at my mother’s knee? Or was I simply born with a flour covered thumb? (Sorry, couldn’t come up with the baking equivalent to a green thumb). Much as I would like to say it was one of these things, none of them quite describe my haphazard, self taught methods of baking. My mother did teach me some things, I watched my dad when he would come home from the restaurant with some new recipe, but I have never been one to ask for help. Mine was the experience of trial and error- and lots of those.
The key to some success I am sure, was that I started very young, and I persevered through the errors; through my first under-baked apple pie with the unpeeled apples inside, through the Christmas day I spent with my hands wrapped in ice after spilling boiled milk on them, through the heavy bricks of attempted homemade bread. I once put 1/4 cup of baking soda in my muffins instead of 1/4 tsp. Talk about bitter.
And then there was the mixer incident.
I stumbled upon a picture while sorting out some childhood memorabilia the other day. I felt I had to share it, just to encourage anyone out there who might be despairing over failed baking attempts. It is a photo from the time where I was experimenting in cake making. I think I was ten or eleven, judging from the cherished homemade paisley vest that I wore throughout fifth grade. I have always been a careless person, and the day this photo was taken was no exception. I was new to using a hand mixer, and the concept of tying my hair back while cooking had probably been mentioned by my mother at least a dozen times without making the least impression on me. Well, you know what they say- experience is the best teacher.
I was happily mixing my batter and reached over the bowl to grab an egg. My long blond hair slid over my shoulder and voila-

And lest you think the expressions on my families faces are expressions of concern after rushing to the kitchen and finding me with a mixer glued to the side of my face and winding my hair tighter and tighter every second while I hollered at the top of my voice, think again. The overall experience for them was one of absolute hilarity. My dad was the one holding the camera, and I am surprised that the picture turned out at all, he was laughing so hard. In fact, grabbing the camera was the first thing he thought to do. No doubt he wished we had a video camera so we could send it in and get some money. My mother was merciful enough to pull the plug and she and my sister painstakingly unwound my tangled tresses whilst cake batter oozed all over my precious paisley vest. I wouldn’t use a mixer for many years after that, but I did share in the laughter at myself.

After that lengthy prelude, I would like to share a fabulous cake recipe with you. I must warn you that this cake will win no beauty contests. More often than not, it comes out lopsided and a little lumpy looking, but it makes up for that in yumminess. So here we go.

These are the ingredients for the cake

And these are for the frosting.

Well, technically, it’s a ganache, but let’s start there.

In a small saucepan, combine 1/2 cup each of chocolate chips, heavy cream and strawberry jam. The original recipe calls for seedless raspberry jam, which is also wonderful.

Melt over medium heat and stir until smooth. Then pour this wonderful concoction into a 9×2 inch round cake pan.

That’s it for the frosting.

Now on to the cake. You’ll need two medium size bowls. In the first bowl, whisk together
1/2 cup boiling water
1/3 cup baking cocoa
1 tsp vanilla
1/3 cup of your jam of choice
1/4 cup of buttermilk. (It’s fine to use regular milk here, but I always use buttermilk in baking when I can. )

In the other bowl combine –
1 stick of butter and
1/3 cup each of brown and white sugar

Now normally I would mix this in my stand mixer, but just to show that I have overcome my fears and triumphed over my past, I am using my hand mixer. My hair is short now anyway.

Cream it up until it’s nice and fluffy, adding two eggs along the way.

To this bowl, mix in 1 cup of flour and 1/4 teaspoon, I repeat, teaspoon of baking soda.

Then add your chocolate mixture, half of it at a time and scraping down the bowl as you go.

Now just pour the cake batter right on top of the ganache in the pan. This may seem weird, but trust me. Can you see the darker ganache creeping up the outer edges of the pan?

Bake it at 350 for 25-30 minutes, until the center is set. It tends to puff up quite a bit and then sink back when done. Pull it out and let it cool just for a minute.

Run a knife around the edge, and carefully, using hot pads and a plate that is larger than the pan and so has room to catch the pooling ganache, flip the cake over.

Pull the pan off, and your cake should be bathed in wonderful rich chocolate frosting. Scrape any remaining ganache from the pan and smooth out the top as best you can. If it still looks sloppy, add some strawberries or raspberries on top.

That, I will tell you, is the easiest way to look like a pro in baking. Everything looks more impressive with fresh fruit on it. So enjoy, and go on to conquer your baking fears!

30Sep2013

A boy and his horse

Posted in Stuffed animals by Climbing Vine Clothing

I’ve been meaning to post this for a while but I’ve been busy with other things. I hurried out to take these photos last week before I had to ship this little boy to far off Norway. I thought he might want a keepsake of his best friend, the horse.

I never intended for horse and boy to meet. The horse was supposed to be a solo item, but my own children immediately saw that the boy doll would fit nicely on the horse’s little green saddle. And so he does!

The poor horse was sorry to see his friend go, so I thought if I made him a little bridle, it might be easier for someone else to ride him.

And what do you know, a more cautious young lady was willing to give it a try so long as she had something to hold on too.

Whatever the case, with a rider or without, this little horse is a keeper.

27Sep2013

The girl with the Titian hair

Posted in dolls by Climbing Vine Clothing

I have always had a fascination with red hair. I wished I had red hair as a child, and even contemplated dying it once or twice when I got older, but I never had the guts. And I could never understand why Anne of Green Gables hated her hair. She claimed it gave her a bad temper, and I guess if people called me “Carrots” all day……

Anywhooo, all that to say, I have been meaning to make a doll with red hair for a while now and I finally finished her!

Her hair is rather vivid, but I am not sure if it is red or auburn. What’s the difference anyways? And I am totally in love with the scalloped edge on this ribbon.

I contemplated a sprinkling of freckles on her cheeks, but was not sure how to accomplish it without her looking like Raggedy Ann.

So there she is. I had a lot of fun with the embroidery on her dress, and I can’t decide if I like red or blue shoes best. I think the blue will win out here.

Also I am working on changing a few things on my Etsy shop, but hopefully it won’t cause any problems if, you know, browsing turned to buying ; )

26Sep2013

And when I want to sing

Posted in Music by Climbing Vine Clothing

My maternal grandmother was a wonderful Christian woman. She brought nine children into this world. From those nine came so many grandchildren that I have lost count. I consider myself blessed to be numbered among them. She came from hardworking, no nonsense German and Norwegian ancestry and she was an efficient and very practical woman. This practicality applied even to music. She was a self taught musician, played the organ for many years at her church, and taught me and my sisters to play the piano.

We weren’t as disciplined in getting to our lessons as we might have been if we had been paying for a teacher, but we made some progress. Grandma always made it very clear however, that she would only take us so far in our musical education. Her goal for us was that we might be able to be of service to the church, to play hymns for services and to be a good accompanist. She always said that the sign of a good accompanist was when they weren’t noticed, which is very true. Grandma also often warned me that talent and ambition were highly dangerous things that usually led only to vanity. It was safer to be in the background.
I carried that warning with me when I went to college, and as I wrote before, found that balancing my love of singing with true humility was indeed a struggle. After graduating and after abandoning my feeble attempts to join the opera world, I found myself a member of a wonderful university choir in my home town. I was determined to be content as a supporting member of a larger group and I truly enjoyed my time there. But after a year or so, that old ambition reared up it’s head. My director introduced a new piece that would be the core of our next concert. It was a lovely mass, combining our choir with a local children’s choir, and there was an extensive and beautiful soprano solo woven throughout.
I wanted to sing that solo. I just ached to sing it, and as I sat in my car after practice, debating whether or not I should audition for it, my grandma’s warnings kept echoing through my head. What did it mean to glorify God with my talents without drawing attention to myself? How could I truly be humble and stand center stage at the same time? As I struggled with these questions, snatches of hymns came to mind.

“Take my voice and let me sing; always, only for my King. Take my lips and let them be, filled with messages from Thee.”

And this simple but lovely line from an old spiritual-

“And when I want to sing, give me Jesus.”

I prayed there in my car, and told God that if I tried out for that solo, it would be for his glory alone. I wouldn’t do it for any praise or personal recognition. I just wanted to sing his praises to the best of my ability. I truly believed that I meant it, and decided to try out for the solo. I got it. Well, partially, at any rate. It was such a big concert that we were doing two performances, so my director split the solos. Another soprano was to sing on Friday night and I was to do the Saturday concert. I was elated. I told my hubby and my mother, but didn’t bother broadcasting the news much further. After all, I wasn’t singing for myself. My mother told people- my sisters, some aunts and uncles, cousins and friends, but that was nothing to me of course.

The night of the first concert came, and I was so glad I wasn’t the first one to sing. I would be able see how the other soprano did, and have one more night to get over my jitters. I walked into the practice room and my director smiled at me.

“You ready to sing tonight?”, he asked. I laughed, thinking he was joking and I told him I would be ready tomorrow. His face fell, and he said

“Didn’t I tell you we had switched nights? That the other soprano can’t be here tonight?”

My face must have answered his question, since he began apologizing profusely and asking rather nervously if I would be ready to go on anyway. In a falsely confident voice I gave him my assurance that I would be, and left the room. I was shaken up. I told myself it was fine, that it didn’t matter what night I sang, so long as I got to sing. But then I thought of my hubby and my folks and all the people they had invited, and I burst into tears. I wanted them to hear me! I didn’t even have a cell phone in those long ago dark ages, but someone passing by saw my distress and offered to help me. I asked her if she had a phone, which she readily lent me. I called my husband and through my tears, I tried to let him know what had happened. The concert was starting in fifteen minutes, and I knew he had a twenty minute drive to get there, but I hoped he at least could make it for part of it. That was all I could do. I had to be on stage.

As I stood there, watching the last of the audience filing in, I had to laugh at myself. I realized that God had taken me at my word, that I was being given the chance to sing for his glory without the praise and encouragement from my family and friends that I was so often greedy for. I sighed a little, and then shot up a little prayer saying, “All right then God, give me Jesus.”

I will never forget the feeling of joy I had that night as the concert began, but my heart nearly burst a few minutes later when I saw my hubby sneak into the concert hall, followed by my mom and dad, my sisters, even a few other relatives and friends. I never learned what super human efforts they all made to get there that night. I did learn that when you ask God to give you Jesus, it is sufficient. But I also found that God is not stingy. Along with the peace of Christ, he can send the love of a supportive husband, the pride in a parent’s face, and the devotion of sisters who came, even when they were sick and feverish and suppressing their coughing so as to hear you better. He can even give the opportunity to stand in front of four hundred people and share the grand and ancient hymn of his people that we closed our concert with that night-

Praise God from whom all blessings flow

Praise him all creatures here below

Praise him above, ye heavenly host

Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost.

23Sep2013

Variety is the spice of life

Posted in dolls by Climbing Vine Clothing

Well, I’m pretty excited to share this next set of dolls with y’all. I just had so much fun with them. I am leaning more and more towards focusing entirely on doll making at this point since there seems to be a lot more interest there than in the clothing. It’s actually less stressful as well, since I don’t have to worry about sizing or finding models- hah.
If I can find the time, I also want to purchase my own blog domain and change it to Climbing Vine Creations or something like that. And I would like to set up some pages on my shop or facebook for custom designing your own doll or ordering extra clothing. But one step at a time, and time is something I seem to be short on most days.
Well, without further ado, I’d like to introduce three new young ladies. Anyone want to name them?

I have had a few people express interest in dolls of different ethnicities, so these are my prototypes, if you will.

I went with lots of rainbow-y colors for this girl.

And this one just needed a red dress- there was no other color that would have worked.

And for this one, well, I thought it was time for a nice sunny yellow dress, with plenty of ruffles thrown in for good measure.

Here they all are, having a good time and letting their hair down.

I have had a lot of fun figuring out how to make their hair, by the way. I like it better than yarn because it won’t unravel or get frizzy, and you can style it in so many ways. I have always liked doing doll hair which is why I am sticking to long hair at this point. And maybe I’m still recovering from my childhood when we got imitation Cabbage Patch dolls for Christmas one year and mine was the one with the short brown hair I couldn’t do anything with. But I loved her anyways and never let her see when I would sneak off to braid the long blond hair on my sister’s doll.

So long hair it is, unless someone would like me to try a cute little bob or something.

Aaaand one last group shot, just ’cause they like to show off their shoes.

22Sep2013

Peaches ‘n Cream

Posted in Cooking by Climbing Vine Clothing

Being a northern girl, I didn’t grow up eating a lot of peaches. We had cherry trees and apples and lots of berries, but we were weak on peaches. Cherries have always been my favorite fruit, and I have always dreamed of having an orchard full of them. When we first moved to the south, I went to the local nursery and asked a gardener there if I could look at their fruit bearing cherry trees.
“We’re all sold out of cherry trees ma’am,” he said in his friendly drawl. “They sell out quick this time of year.”
“Oh,” I said, “So they grow well around here?”
“Nope,” he replied.

Though disappointed, I thought to myself, “when in Rome,” and bought some peach trees.

Those trees haven’t been too successful either, but there are always plenty of good peaches for sale this time of year, and this is one of our favorite (and easiest) ways to eat them. Grilled!

We have actually never owned a grill in our twelve years of marriage until this last labor day when the hubby found this itty-bitty table top grill on sale and brought it home. Up until labor day, I had been happy to grill peaches on my cuisinart griddler, but I must admit they are much tastier over charcoal.

It’s handy too because you can grill and eat your dinner, and then just throw halved peaches on there after the coals have cooled a bit.

It’s hard to say how long they take- between five and ten minutes. Just check them occasionally, flipping them once. They should be just the slightest bit black, and soft without falling apart.

While they are cooking, you can decide what to serve on top. Vanilla ice cream certainly works, or whipped cream, but our hand down favorite is my imitation crème fraiche. I know I talk a lot about the foreign things I have in my fridge, but I can’t afford to keep real crème fraiche on hand, so I have learned to substitute. The closest thing we have to crème fraiche in the U.S. is sour cream, but according to the hubby, it’s not quite right. So what do we do around here to fix things? Add cream of course! I told you we add cream to everything, even if it’s cream.

I’m not a big fan of measuring things, so I usually just put a big glop of sour cream in a bowl (maybe a cup?) and pour enough heavy cream to cover it. Oh, and just a hint of sugar, maybe 2 tablespoons. (That’s raw sugar, in case you are wondering why it’s brown)

Then just whip it up until it’s nice and thick and creamy. Let me tell you, this stuff is good.

Put a nice dollop on each peach half. You could leave it like this, but I find that what really puts these over the top is a sprinkling of nutmeg, fresh ground if you can manage it.

And there you have it. A super easy summertime dessert that I just realized I am posting on the first day of autumn.

Ah well, better late than never.

Climbing Vine

Bloom where you are planted

Author Archives: Climbing Vine Clothing

Hares ‘n Horses

A family fave

Dolly’s closet

Ebenezer

Chocolate Strawberry Upside-Down Cake

A boy and his horse

The girl with the Titian hair

And when I want to sing

Variety is the spice of life

Peaches ‘n Cream

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