The Kid Visits The Mother

a pair of home-based entrepreneurs

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From Karyl’s Cook & Tell Newsletter (May, 2006)

“If I couldn’t outrun a three-legged Rottweiler, I figured I might as well give up running.”

That was Amie, after her jog around the island, recounting highlights of her Saturday morning constitutional, the most dramatic of which had to be the run-in with the wobbly dog. “I kept saying, ‘Nice doggie, good dog,’” she said. “It seemed wise to keep running.” My little girl! Accosted by a snarling, asymmetrically limbed dog in surprisingly good running condition and she talks nice to him. And he retreats! The aplomb! The self-possession! The poise!

The Kid (having been The Kid for the forty-two years I have been her mother, she will always be The Kid) was back on cool, damp Southport Island for the weekend, a far cry from her home outside Phoenix. When the company she works for has business on the east coast to attend to, they send The Kid, so she can visit The Mother. The Mother endorses this arrangement. On Monday, Amie would be calling on prospects in Portland and then returning to Phoenix.

After settling in, she presented me with food gifts—part of an ongoing swap we engage in. I had sent her two large cans of B&M Baked Red Kidney Beans, a Portland product unavailable in the west and one she considers an essential ingredient in the chili con carne she likes to make, from my mother’s recipe. In return, she brought me dried cranberry bits and spicy pecans from Trader Joe’s (the nearest Joe’s from here is in Boston), perfect for salads, and Peet’s coffee.

Up early the next morning and unfazed by the three-hour time difference, my daughter the jogger came downstairs dressed in running gear, ready and raring to go. A black and white jacket topped the black tights that showed off her shapely runner’s legs. A matching black and white cap and black gloves—it was cold this morning—completed the outfit. As I watched her set off on her jaunt, the only thing moving at this hour on this curving road in this idyllic setting, I could feel a smile take over my face. It was good to have her here.

Nine miles and an hour and a half later, she was back home and hungry. “Got any granola?” she asked, knowing that if there’s any granola on hand, it’s going to be homemade. I hadn’t made that good breakfast staple for ages, had forgotten all about it, and had to answer no. I put sunflower seeds on the market list and offered instead the instant oatmeal—the antithesis of virtually unprocessed granola—that she and her husband, both fitness buffs, had introduced me to, after all.

We did girl things together. We talked a lot. We shopped. We had afternoon tea at home every day. We wiped out a batch of Toffee Bars I had tested for the April issue and frozen. We had Girls’ Night Out at the local Chinese restaurant with my sister-in-law, her Aunt Gloria. We stopped in at the new coffee house in the Harbor, where I paid attention to her ordering, impressed by the string of hyphenated modifiers like “half-caf” and “low-fat” that preceded the actual name of the item. I skipped the adjectives and went straight for the café latte. When I spotted Skip, my maid (that’s what he likes to be called), coming in for a look at the new place, I fetched him and brought him in to say hello to “somebody.” When he saw Amie, he went into a state of near-rapture. Skip is nothing if not fervent in his enthusiasm for life.

No one qualifies for membership in this family without an abiding interest in words, a tendency to interrupt, and a tolerance for being interrupted. Consequently, in the weekend’s proceedings, there was the inevitable vocabulary moment. On our way home from our encounter with Skip, I had used the word “effusive” to describe him. Amie stopped me in mid-sentence. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t know what ‘effusive’ means.” I went into definition mode for a minute or so (she asked for it, and we were in the car, so I couldn’t tell her to look it up). When we got home, I went for the dictionary myself and read the definition to her, because she’s too old to order around.

During our brief but sweet visit, Amie raised the flag in the morning and lowered it at sundown. She took naps on the couch. She spotted the first deer to stop by in months—three, close up, in the back yard. When she left for Portland Monday morning on business, before flying home to Phoenix, we barked orders at each other. “Knock ‘em dead!” I hollered to The Kid in the sharp-looking blue silk blouse, well-tailored black slacks and pointy stiletto heels. From her rented car, she called back to her home-based entrepreneur of a mother in jeans, sweater and bedroom slippers, “Get to work!”

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Karyl’s Headnotes

Way back, before granola and before all the fruit and fiber fixation, there was Bircher Muesli, a breakfast concoction of raw rolled oats, dried fruits and nuts, dreamed up by a Swiss named Bircher. You could get it in natural food stores, under the “Familia” trademark. Sunset magazine ran the authentic recipe in 1968, which I used to make, then lost. But I found this one, simplified and updated into a shortcut version in a subsequent Sunset of unknown vintage. We love this—raw oats is what it is, and it’s light and pleasant and nourishing. If I ever get breakfast in bed (which is a better bargain, I think, than bed & breakfast), this is what I want. I’ve made a big batch. I’m ready.

SHORTCUT SWISS MUESLI

• 1 c. each whole filberts and whole blanched almonds

• 3 c. quick-cooking rolled oats

• ¾ c. wheat germ

• 1 c. dried currants

• 2/3 finely chopped dried apricots

• ½ - ¾ c. brown sugar

• Milk and fresh fruit of choice (apples, oranges, etc).

Roast nuts on rimmed cookie sheet, 5-8 min. at 350◦ F until lightly browned, shaking pan occasionally. Rub skins off as much as possible and chop coarsely (if whole). Combine with remaining ingredients. Store in tightly closed container at room temp.

Serve in bowls with milk or cream. Top with fresh fruit.

Optional Method: Stir in 2 ½ cups milk and refrigerate overnight. Stir and serve, adding more milk if necessary.

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Amie’s Endnotes

Almost a decade after my mom wrote this, I stepped down from a 25-year corporate career. It was dental insurance. It was not exciting. I was the only VP with a degree in English and an aversion to numbers. I was eager to swap stilettos and silk for flip flops and yoga pants.

If I’m not in one of my two kitchens tying an apron over jogging shorts, you can find me at one of my two desks typing up recipes and stories. The transformation is complete. I have become my mother.

Side note: I’m partial to granola; I can’t lie. Here’s my mom’s recipe. If I ever get breakfast in bed, this is what I want.

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Special shout-out to the above-mentioned Gloria and Skip, second generation Cook & Tell subscribers! And a Happy Mother’s Day to mothers and others. There’ll be an extra helping in your in-box this weekend to celebrate.

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Your Pantry Pals,

Amie & Karyl

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