Still Alive
The Recipe for Immortality
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From Karyl’s Cook & Tell Newsletter (June 2008)
My daughter was on the other end of the phone connection, on the other side of the country, as she usually is every Sunday night. One of her more famous little-girl sayings, first uttered in frustration and never forgotten by her mother, came back in reply to my less colorful, all-purpose “Hello?”
“Still alive,” Amie answered. The phrase was one she had loudly sighed into the silence of her room all those years ago, after about 20 minutes into a sentence I had handed down: to take a nap. And what was happening was clearly not a nap. Looking back (you will forgive me if I digress), I wonder why I did that. Was she exhausted? Cranky? Naughty? She was eight years old, that much I remember, because it was the year we moved here, and on the afternoon of the heavy sigh, I was working on fashion illustrations in my studio at the other end of the hall. Eight-year-olds don’t normally need naps, do they? Dare I admit I might have been simply buying time for myself, to finish the drawings in relative peace?
Like the smile of the Cheshire cat in Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, the detail that remains is that endearing phrase, one that has proven useful in many contexts over the years. Two or three weeks before that recent Sunday evening chat, Amie had run the American River Fifty-Mile ultramarathon somewhere out west. After that, there had been a longer stretch of silence than usual. Her “Still alive” greeting was delightfully reassuring.
The Kid—she may have outgrown the afternoon nap, but she’ll never outgrow that nickname—announced she’d be coming east on business this month and has factored in an extra week for vacation at the home place with her mother. The maternal concierge was pleased to book her into her old room at the end of the hall upstairs. We babbled about all the places we would go, the things we would do. Think of it! A week of adventure, of trips here, trips there. We could go to Blue Hill overnight. Update your passport, The Kid advised. We might cross the border and stay in St. Andrews by the Sea.
Or maybe not. How we loved that place, before the squads of decorators and rehabbers infiltrated the authentic old town and embellished their buildings with signs sporting chiseled lettering and gold leaf.
All right then, maybe Prince Edward Island! Our favorite fictional girl lived there, and this year they’re celebrating the hundredth anniversary of the publication of Anne of Green Gables. It’s the Year of Anne!
And it’s a long way to Prince Edward Island.
I said I’d get to work on a list of possible excursions and events. Amie said she’d send me her complete itinerary. By the time I received it, I had slowed down the speed and lowered the volume on travel and entertainment plans. I already cook too much, so we would eat out a lot: travel to Wiscasset, a journey of 20 miles, for the huge, fabled lobster roll at Red’s Eats; to our island store for pizza. We could go ethnic at Ports of Italy in the Harbor or dress up and dine at the Rocktide. To preserve my credibility, I might even cook a meal.
On my activities list, everything was optional. For expensive entertainment, we could take in a show at the Music Theater in Brunswick, 35 miles from home. For educational enrichment we could visit the Coastal Gardens right here in Boothbay. For self-improvement, she could run around the island, and I could test a recipe. To escape without going anywhere, we could stretch out on the old teak deck chairs and read, listening to the flag flapping in the breeze off the cove, remarking on how busy everyone else was, and fall asleep.
We talked again the next Sunday night. I told her how my approach to vacationing had shifted down from touring and gallivanting to something more like doing nothing and resting afterward. She was relieved, confessed to looking forward to vegging out and catching up on sleep, and ratified my essentially no-plan plan. After a week of driving to work appointments, calling on clients and “womaning” a booth at a dental convention for a day, the little girl will not have to be told to take a nap.
And I suspect her mother won’t be hearing a voice sighing “Still alive” from the room at the end of the hall.
Amie’s Headnotes
This is a rehash of a rehash of the original recipe from the April 1995 newsletter. Like many previous subscribers who’ve rediscovered the “new” Cook & Tell (hi, Sandy Oliver👋!), OG fan Sara T found me a couple of summers ago. “I subscribed for many years and corresponded with your mom a good bit,” Sara writes. “For a while, she had a special feature [that] ran for a year called ‘Sara’s Picks.’ That was me!”
For that feature, Sara would choose a month, leaf through the past Cook & Tell issues in her extensive collection and pick a handful of favorites. Sara’s Picks for April 1999 included these scones—perfect for a Mother’s Day tea, from Mrs. T herself.
SCONE FINGERS
1 c. flour
1 t. baking powder
¼ t. salt
1 T. brown sugar
1 T. grated orange rind
3 T. butter, melted
½ c. golden raisins
1/3 c. milk
Sift the dry ingredients into a medium bowl. Add the rind and butter and mix in. Add the raisins and milk and mix to a soft dough. Pat it into an 8” square on a floured board. It will be thin. Cut into 8 rectangles and bake on a buttered sheet 12 min. at 375◦ F.
To turn these into soft, rich scones, use 2 ½ c. flour, double everything else, and add an egg. Knead gently, pat to a ¾” thick circle, dab with milk; cut into 8 wedges. Bake 12-15 min. at 450◦ F.
Endnotes
Endurance is what I needed for that 50-mile race, and endurance is what’s prevailed over the years in every incarnation of Cook & Tell. From the first column my mother wrote for the weekly Boothbay Register 50 (!) years ago, to the newsletter she wrote and produced for more than three decades, to my digital reboot three years ago and beyond, her spirit lives on. As timeless and immortal as a recipe handed down through generations, Cook & Tell is the gift that keeps giving.
Still alive, indeed.
Catch up on past Mother’s Day issues: The Kid Visits the Mother, A Poppy's Promise, Let's Pretend.
What People are Saying About Cook & Tell
I loved your mom’s newsletter. I’m glad I have yours to read now.
—Holly S
I can’t decide who writes better - you or your mom. You both have a way with words that place me right there with you. Your stories always evoke my own fond memories.
—Beth N
Such timely and timeless writing. Plus, your mother’s sketches are delightful. Thank you for sharing.
—Sharon H
See you next time! Your Pantry Pals,
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"Doing nothing and resting afterward" is my new mantra!
Thanks for this!! And, I totally understand. Xx
This is one of my favorite issues ever!