Saturday, December 16, 2006
Thursday, December 07, 2006
They didn't overflow or burn and the pastry is golden, crispy heaven. The insides aren't runny, or tootoo sweet. (S)
Preheat the oven to 325.
you'll need either store-bought pastry shells (I've always found those to be too greasy, but maybe the ones in your 'hood are better) or you can make whatever pastry recipe you normally use (mine's on the Sno-Flake bucket) Roll it thin, and use approximately 4" rounds in your muffin tins.
1 1/2 cups packed brown sugar
1/2 cup butter
2 tablespoons heavy cream
pecans, a few handfuls
So, spray your muffin tins and pat the pastry in, and scatter some pecan pieces in the bottom of each. Cream together the other ingredients and spoon over the pecans, no more than half full. Bake 20-25 minutes, watch out, they can burn easily.
I don't know how many pastry shells you'll need, I had enough pastry for 19 but the filling would have made maybe two dozen. Luckily, the filling will keep in the fridge for a few days. These ones aren't going to make it to the freezer, I'll have to make them again.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
From THE WITCH OF BADENOCH
Copyright me, 2006
Copper was passing the door that led out to the bailey when it opened, the draft extinguishing her candle. She jumped, squeaked and swore. This part of the castle was not often used at night, and no torches had been lit. There was a shifting sound in the darkness as whoever had opened the door paused, then pushed the door shut with a soft thud.
A deep chuckle was the only answer she received, and a pair of impertinent fingers pinched her on the buttock. She squeaked again, but in surprise this time, more than alarm.
The chuckle filled the air around her, warm and infectious, and a broad hand closed around her upper arm, guiding her through the darkness.
“This way [little mouse], I’ll get you a light.”
“What are you doing, creeping about in the dark?” She scolded, heart still rattling against her ribs.
“Coming in from the loch. Step up, here.”
“Ah.” Now he mentioned it, he smelled of water, fresh and dark and cool. He kept his hold on her arm as they mounted the steps. She was uncertain of her footing, and more than once the backs of his fingers brushed the side of her breast. She tried to ignore that, but the heat that rushed up inside her at his touch was distracting.
“Last one,” he thoughtfully warned her, but she could see now. A short distance down the wall a torch burned, and he stepped away from her to light her candle from it.
He had been swimming, and the reason why he’d crept in the back way was now obvious. He was dressed only in his breeks, and they hung damp and carelessly fastened from his hips, threatening to slip with every movement. His skin was still wet, and the light glistened on his chest and the wide, solid angle of his shoulders.
Taking her arm again, even though they were now surrounded by yellow candle-glow, he turned her back toward the stair and up to the next floor. They went down a corridor and around the bend to her room, but she didn’t want him to leave. The nearness - and near-nakedness - of him was making her warm. He chatted, casually unaware, and paused at her door to finish whatever it was he’d been saying, something about a missing calf.
A droplet of water fell from his hair and streaked down his chest to hide in the soft fuzz on his belly. Her eyes followed it, enchanted, and the soft rhythm of his voice faded. His eyes had darkened by several shades when she looked up, several heartbeats later.
“I’ll be saying goodnight, then, Lass.” Now, her eyes fastened on his lips. She heard the husky warning in his voice, but her fingers drifted of their own accord, lightly brushing up along the path of the droplet, up to the soft curve of his bottom lip. At her touch his shoulders stiffened and he froze, eyes locked on her, fire (was it really from the candle?) flickering in their depths. A small sound came from his throat, and he caught her fingers, kissing the tips before pressing the candle into her hand. He disappeared around the corner without a word of good e’en.
Smiling, Copper let herself into her room, and went to bed.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Well, it was a bit of a surprise. We were expecting rain, but alas. Snow!
You'd think after centuries of being, you know, Canadian, we'd have the hang of this winter thang. Apparently not, somehow it always catches us off-guard. The roads become jammed with commuters who looked out the window of their cozy office jobs and saw a white fluffy excuse to leave early sailing down. It was taking people three and four hours to get home. Probably because half of them don't have snow tires and the other half don't know how to drive.* I'd like to scoff, but:
"Mom! Our truck is touching Donna's truck!"
Oy. Apparently, when you don't actually put the vehicle into 4-wheel drive before parking it on a hill, the math looks like this:
gravity + ice = dent
I'm such a clever bunny, sometimes.
I will be playing Mrs. Mitty's game of posting a snip, hopefully tomorrow. Where's yours? (C'mon, all the kids are doing it...)
*Disclaimer - Author realizes this is a gross exaggeration and is only trying to be funny.