Cranberry and Dried-Cherry Sauce

I imagine you're all in the thick of your Thanksgiving preparations, as am I, but I wanted to take a minute to pop in and share this recipe with you.

I'm generally not a big fan of cranberry sauce on my turkey, but I did grow up with the oh so attractive gelatinous version on the Thanksgiving table. It always made me giggle that it was on a pretty plate, yet it was in the shape of the can it came in, wearing every dip and curve from the can it was so carefully popped out of.

This recipe is nothing like that. This cranberry sauce is pretty and tasty. The perfect combination. I originally found this recipe in a Bon Appetit Thanksgiving issue, and I've been making it every year since.

Here are the ingredients: frozen cranberry juice cocktail, water, brown sugar, cinnamon stick, ground allspice, dried tart cherries, and whole cranberries.

Just bring the first five ingredients to a boil . . . 

. . . drop the cherries in . . .

. . . and finally, the cranberries.

They're so pretty.

These cranberries have been cooking for about seven minutes now and they're starting to pop, which is what I want.

Almost there.

From there, you just pour it into your serving dish and let it cool. You can serve it cold or at room temperature, either way, it's yummy. With or without the turkey.

Here's the recipe card. Have a great Thanksgiving everyone!

There's a Snake in Mah Boot!

Funny story. I was in my classroom this morning, not ten minutes after the tardy bell rang, and our school librarian comes in to tell me that the girls' school is on the phone because my daughter had snuck a snake to school.

What?!!!!

That was my first alarming thought. Just back up the bus and run over me again, because I thought I just heard you say that my daughter took a snake to school.

My second and third thoughts came hurtling right after that first one, and they went something like this.

1) The snake is not real. It can't be real.

2) This has Stinkerbell's name written all over it.

I told my sweet librarian that there is no way my daughter could have a snake in her backpack and that somebody needed to look a little closer because we don't have a snake, we don't have access to any snakes, and we don't like snakes. Or something like that. 

So the librarian goes back to the office and then comes back just a few minutes later. At this point she can hardly contain her laughter so she gestures for me to step into the hallway. Apparently the snake is real, and my daughter is afraid to talk to me because she thinks I'm going to freak out.

Really? Me?

Darn straight I'm going to freak out. I'm already formulating the tongue lashing and its accompanying can of whoop *%$ in my mind.

"You had your school call my school and pull me out of my classroom to hear that you snuck a snake to school and I'm not supposed to freak out? Really?"

So I go to the office to talk to the other school. By the time I get there, someone has managed to gather their wits about them and investigate further to find that, yes, the snake is really rubber. RUB. BER. 

Yep. The snake is rubber and Zoe Bug (Zoe Bug?!!!!) is blubbering in the background "Annika put it in my backpack, blah, blah, blah."

Ah ha! That little brat, er . . . spirited child.

Big surprise.

And I ask you this, do you think we call her Stinkerbell for nothing?

I told the school secretary to throw the book at her and I went back to my classroom. End of story.

Now, I'd be lying if I told you that I was not just a tinsy bit amused by this whole adventure. In fact, I couldn't wait to get home so I could get to the bottom of the whole convoluted story. And while I don't think I'll ever have the whole story and its accompanying shades of truth, this is what I did manage to gather from my thorough investigation.

First off, I asked Stinkerbell in my calmest, most unfreaking out voice, "Do you want to tell me about the snake?"

"Uh. Yeah. Good," replies the Stink.

"I'm sorry, but that was not a complete sentence."

"Mom, can I have something to eat?"

Now I know that this sort of verbal exchange is quite typical between a parent and their teenager, but my kids are six and eight, so why is the communication not flowing on a two way street here?

Let's try this again.

ANN-IK-KA. Why. Did. You. Have. A. Snake. At. School?

Sheepish grin alights. S-l-o-w-l-y followed by her version of the truth. "I gave the snake to Zoe at Mattie Cake's house and she just forgot."

Reeeeee-ally? (said in a slightly . . . okay very, sarcastic voice with a bit of shriekage on that last syllable)

Apparently Zoe cannot stand to listen to the sewage spilling forth any longer and she blurts out "She did not! Annika snuck it in my eyeglass case and I did not know it was there and I opened it up and I thought it was real and my friends saw me cry and I was a little embarrassed."

So now we're going from not complete sentences to run-on sentences. I'm getting dizzy. Let's just go straight to the evidence, shall we?

This eyeglass case.

And this snake.

This snake that so does not look real to me.

Now, I can sort of put myself into this little scenario, and it's not difficult to imagine the drama and confusion. Zoe Bug is the Freak Out Queen and she very well could have been hysterical. Plus, she, apparently, prolonged the confusion when she managed to explain to the office staff that the snake wasn't moving because it was nocturnal.

Really.

But seriously, if I'm lyin,' I'm dyin.' Does this snake look real to you?

As part of my formal investigation, I measured him, and when I pulled him taut to eliminate his bendy sections, he was a whopping eight inches long.

And because I'm so mean, I looked very closely for a stamp that might inform me that he was MADE IN CHINA, but there was no such thing to be found.

Dang it. That would have been so cool.

So, Grandma, if you're reading this, the Snake Charmer wants to come visit and she wants to know if she can bring her snake.

Cornbread . . . by Peanut Head

Remember how I told you that Peanut Head is always experimenting with a good thing? Like he can NEV. ER. leave well enough alone? He has had some pretty strange ideas too, let me tell you. 

One time, he made enchiladas or something for his sister, Marcia, and I, and he screwed up big time. I don't remember exactly what it was he made because my head caught on fire immediately after the first bite and incinerated the memory from my brain forever.

Which probably gives you a little clue about what the experiment was all about. Ahem. The recipe, the recipe he decided to tweak before he even tried it once, called for one canned chipotle chili pepper.

And he dumped the whole can in.

The bonehead.

Marcia and I took one bite and we were all "Nuh Uh. I ain't eatin' tonight. I'm goin' to bed hungry."

He was, and is, so full of pride that he choked his serving down, sweating buckets and exclaiming how delicious it was. "It's got a little kick, but it's very flavorful."

"What-EVER. Like how could you tell? Your mouth is spewing flames like a blow torch."

Geesh. Anyway, this recipe isn't really like that. I just like to make fun of Peanut Head whenever I can. This recipe is actually very good and it wasn't his first tweak at it, so you're safe and you don't have to worry about any kitchen fires.

I promise.

I don't really know how he made it, but he took a lot of pretty pictures, so I'm just showing them to you.

"Ack! Alien hand with pecan halves!"

"Oooh, purty."

Purtier still.

It really was good though, so here's the recipe card.

He made me make a recipe card for you. He held a can of chipotle chili peppers to my head and I did it under duress.

No lie.