I wish all of you could taste a freshly picked juicy loquat. It’s not a kumquat or even a distant relation… 
I posted a pic of our loquat tree on my Facebook page and was really surprised to learn how many have never tasted this juicy sweet fruit.
Thin velvety skin embraces yellowy orange flesh that tastes like a cross between an apricot and a peach.
If you have a chance to try them, just remember, the seeds are extremely toxic! They contain many toxic alkaloids like cyanogen-glycosides.
Loquats grow all over my SoCal neighborhood — everyone seems to have at least one or two trees and they’re very prolific producers — but no one knows what to do with them, which is really too bad because they’re full of nutrition.
Plus, loquat jam is delicious.
A couple days ago, I made a batch of loquat jam with this simple recipe:
In a large pot, add…
Twelve cups seeded loquats.
Leave the skins on but cut off the blossom end.
Five to six cups of sugar.
I used white sugar, but I’m sure you could play around with the amounts and use agave nectar or honey.
Two tablespoons cinnamon. Loquats are slightly bland and really respond well to spices. Pour over enough water to cover the fruit.
Cover with a lid, quickly bring to a boil, and allow to boil for five minutes.
Turn down the flame to simmer, uncover, and cook for a couple of hours, stirring with a wooden spoon so it doesn’t burn.
After a couple hours or so, take an immersion blender pureed the fruit (the skins disappear), and continued to cook for another hour.
After tasting it, I added a bit more cinnamon and three tablespoons of lemon juice which really helped the flavors develop.
I wanted to turn it more apple butter-like and thick, so I carefully poured it into a crockpot and let it cook on low all night.
In the morning, wash canning jars and lids with hot soapy water, rinse with hot water. Fill jars with hot jam and put the lids on, but don’t tighten too much. As the jam cools, you’ll hear popping sounds which means the lids are sealing. When the jars are cool to touch, tighten the lids a bit more and refrigerate.
Just started the cooking process. It was a real surprise to watch the cooked loquats turn a deep rich burgundy.
Use an immersion blender to puree.
Time to sleep in the crockpot all night and get nice and thick.
I’m really happy with the results. It looks a lot like apple butter.
Jars and jars of jam! I’m refrigerating them; didn’t feel like going through the hot bath canning process.
More ways to preserve the bountiful abundance of loquats:
EXCOGITATE:
To think out; devise; invent.
To study intently and carefully in order to grasp or comprehend fully.
TO THIINK IN OR THINK OUT…WHAT IS YOUR METHOD?
According to wiseGEEK, to think outside the box means means to “handle a situation or challenge in an unconventional manner. The origin of the phrase is believed to date back to the 1960s, and is often associated with a famous mental puzzle called The Nine Dots.”
I’ve had a lot of jobs over the years and I’ve found that no one really wanted me to think outside the box — independently, creatively, with imagination or compassion. I felt the overwhelming corporate mantra was to agree with everything and keep quiet.
So much for my employment history…and on to another one of my obsessions–
I love boxes; cardboard boxes, wooden boxes, large and small boxes. Over the years, I’ve accumulated a massive collection. (I’m not a hoarder, I’m not a hoarder, I’m NOT a hoarder. Stop thinking that!)
But a box full of Bandit was my favorite.
Our poor baby died of chronic renal failure in 2010. Wasn’t she soo beautiful? Sniff.
She’s speaking to me with her eyes, ” I don’t feel very good, Mommy.”
We haven’t been able to have another petchild because we still miss her way too much but I do have a collection of boxes to add to my love for seashells, rocks, beach glass, blue glass, and elephant-y things.
Do you have a favorite box? What do you collect?
My version topped with a lush garden strawberry
A while back I read Our Growing Paynes post about Lemon Meringue Cupcakes. (Click here for their recipe.)
I love anything lemony and it looked so amazing and mouth-watering that I had to try it.
There’s a tangy sweet burst of lemon curd and fluffy meringue in every bite.
It brings out the Nigella Lawson in me to try and conjure up sensual adjectives to describe how they taste.
My son said it was the best thing I’ve ever made, and ranked it right up there with the Chocolate Babka I made a while back.
Lemon Meringue Cupcakes
Lemon curd, cupcakes, and toasty meringue…how could it be anything but spectacular?
I made the Lemon Curd the day before.. the old school way with my mom’s vintage double boiler. There’s an easier microwave version that has great reviews; try that one if you’re short on time. This is the recipe I used:
3 eggs1 cup white sugar1/2 cup lemon juice1/4 cup butter2 teaspoons lemon zestWhisk eggs, sugar, and lemon juice in a double boiler over simmering water until mixed well, then continue to stir until thick, 7 to 10 minutes.Drain through a mesh sieve to get rid of lumps. Fold in butter until well incorporated. Mix in lemon zest. Cover curd and chill in the refrigerator until it’s thickened, about four hours. Very important to sieve it, don’t skip this step.
The finished product. So smooth. Like lemon velvet.
The vanilla cupcakes ready and waiting for embellishment and a little sparkle.
The meringue.
It’s fun to core out a bit of the cupcake ‘cos you can eat the middle and pretend it doesn’t have any calories. I used a tomato stem end corer —
a weird but very useful tool. Works great for strawberries, too.
Fill holes with lemon curd and spoon meringue on top in fluffy clouds of goodness.
Place in a 400 degree oven for a few minutes. Don’t go too far away because it takes just a second to go from beautifully toasty brown to burnt.
Out of the oven, I topped each with a lush garden strawberry.
That first bite… Cake, lemon curd, meringue.
ABSOLUTE HEAVEN.
There are no other words necessary.
Thank you, Our Growing Paynes!
Taking my son to the airport after a fun week of Mother’s Day and birthday celebrations, he says in that snarky tone he’s perfected after thirty-two years,
“What’s the deal with you and Hello Kitty?”
My tugboat man, who also serves as my HK enabler ‘cos he thinks I’m adorable – uh, note to single girls — only marry a guy if he thinks everything you do is adorable — responded,
“Hello Kitty is for girly girls and your mom is one-thousand-percent girly girl.”
Well said, my captain, well said.
I’ve thought a lot about the reasons why I’m so drawn to Hello Kitty and I think it’s ‘cos she’s like my pretend soul sister.
The Urban Dictionary defines soul sister as “someone who fully understands you.”
Yup, that’s about right.
I’m not sure if I can pinpoint the exact moment when I first became aware of Hello Kitty.
With a son, it was never really on my radar as he was growing up. Shelves full of dinosaurs and skateboards were the aisles we aimed for at Toys R Us. We dug in the dirt; not so much matching dresses or spa days for us.
Sexxxyyy!!
I guess it was more of a gradual appeal; a (grown-up) friend wore a Hello Kitty watch and I was drooling — drawn to the Swarovski crystals surrounding HK’s face and I HAD to get my own; I walked by a Hello Kitty display at Target (great point of purchase placement)…
OR
…maybe it was always hovering in my subconscious, fermenting and fomenting—until one day I succumbed.
I was hooked.
I fell in love with that adorable mouthless face. One watch led to a ring and to a matching bracelet and then slippers, and OMG the cutest hat with an anchor! (!!!! had to have it, right? It was a nautical theme)
OK, most people associate HK with little girls, but did you know that there is a secret society of adult women who collect HK?
More often than not, when I wear my HK tee-shirt, I’ll be approached by women I do not know,
Princess Rosebud wearing glasses.
“Pssst…excuse me” [pointing to my shirt]…do you collect?”
It’s like the Skull and Bones society for women “of a certain age.” Haha.
I confess: I’m an ADULT COLLECTOR of HK. Recently at the Baltimore Airport during a layover, a Southwest employee saw my HK watch and struck up a convo about her collection that includes the HK toaster, which I really need. Really.
We were whispering, “Are you one of us?” “Yes, tell me what you have” and we each listed the items in our collection.
There we were, two college graduated women of adult children — I am not kidding. It was surreal. I mean, who wants to talk about the depressing economy or the strange weather? BORING! Hello Kitty is a sweet, innocent diversion that makes us happy. What could be wrong with that?
Since I really can’t for the life of me logically explain the appeal, I wanted to explore the psychology of adult women who are obsessed with enamored of HK and thought someone should write their dissertation about the marketing genius of this huge pink kitty head with a bow. And sparkles.
I discovered a WordPress blog that seems to be a dissertation of sorts; check out http://hellokittydevotee.wordpress.com/dissertation/
BTW, HK is worth about FIVE BILLION DOLLARS yearly in licensing. And finally the ultimate…did you know that HK teamed up with one of Taiwan‘s biggest airlines? What a great experience–a Hello Kitty extravaganza; from meals to mascots to boarding passes.
Which might in some small way explain the excitement I felt for my very first Hello Kitty Birthday Party! I’m not going to tell you how old I am; does it REALLY matter? I think not.
We spent the morning and early afternoon hiking Crystal Cove State Park (read about that HERE). When we returned home, hubs was exhausted and immediately fell asleep.
So much for that birthday cake he was sposed to make.
Chocolate Coconut Ice Cream
I threw together a One-Bowl Chocolate Cake with Chocolate Fudge Frosting and Chocoate Coconut Ice Cream.
The cake was out of the oven and cooling before he woke up. Figures, right? If you want something done, ya gotta do it yourself. Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose.
I challenged my tugboat man and my son to create dinner all by themselves. OK. We’re talking a Ph.D. Yale professor and a maritime academy graduate with a BS in Engineering.
Two smart, functional, adult men, right?
OMG, watching them write a grocery list and take off to the store offered tons of fun.
“Mom, do you have jicama? Mom, where’s a knife?” “Rosebud, can you chop this onion for me? Uh — how do you chop cilantro?”
I kept looking up recipes on my computer because I felt sorry for them.
Hubs chose to make Mango Salsa with Blue Corn Chips for his appetizer; my son’s contribution was a Jicama Kumquat Salad. It was delicious.
I thought it’d be a good idea to barbecue because I had a feeling the kitchen was going to take me a week to clean up. This was a smart decision. We had potatoes, asparagus, beets (from the garden), corn, Smart Dogs, and it was all absolutely yummy.
Best of all, it was made with love.
My Birthday Hike
Crystal Cove State Park is in the OC.
That’s Orange County for those of you who didn’t watch The Hills or Real Housewives of Orange County.
It’s about an hour up the road from our little beachy town, near the home of my favorite shopping mecca, South Coast Plaza.
As much as I enjoy playing dress up in diamonds and designer fashion, I LOVE getting dusty and dirty on a trail surrounded by nature.
A couple years ago my son attended a seminar at University of California at Irvine and we hiked Crystal Cove together, and wanted to return.
On my birthday, I get to do anything I want — my mom said so — and who am I to argue when she substantiated my belief that the world revolves around me?
It was a wonderful, happy, magical day!
How to get there
The bridge at the beginning of the trail.
The trail we took was about five miles; we couldn’t take the longer one ‘cos of our time constraints. It starts off heading east up into the hills —
when you’re at the top, you’re facing west —
with an amazingly beautiful view of the Pacific Ocean.
A little wild rabbit, maybe a cousin of my garden bunny.
The view from the top of the trail. It’s breathtaking.
Beautiful Orange County.
I wonder who lives in those homes overlooking the cove?
Where we ate lunch…can you spot the quail who came to join us?
Princess Rosebud in a new Yale shirt, a Mother’s Day gift from Angel Boy.
Happy Memorial Day to all of our veterans!
We walked across the street to see the vintage cottages built in the 1930s.
They’re on the beach and available to rent through the
Crystal Cove Alliance. Click here for all the deets.
Located in the heart of Crystal Cove State Park’s 3.5 miles of pristine coastline, the Historic District was first developed as a South Seas movie set due to its seclusion and tropical aura.
The community thrived and became popular for its relaxed, friendly atmosphere and picturesque landscape. In 1979, the Crystal Cove State Park Historic District was placed on the National Register of Historic Places.
Built as a seaside colony in the 1930s and 40s, Crystal Cove endures as a magical escape for visitors who appreciate the opportunity to experience California’s natural and architectural beauty, untouched by time.
Touring the Visitor’s Center, we took a step back to the 1930s to see what the cottage kitchens used to look like.
How could anyone not jump in that inviting ocean?
The outdoor restaurant was full of people enjoying the amazing weather;
check out the nautical flags!
Oopsie…chemtrails. These are NOT contrails…
Our sunny day turned milky white right before our eyes.
Next time: My Hello Kitty Birthday Party
It started with my own mom; she presented ME with gifts on Mother’s Day — thanking me for being her daughter — and any excuse to shop is a good one, right?
I was born on Mother’s Day, so it makes sense to give me lots and lots of presents. Even though it only occurs that way every seven years, it’s still always within the same week.
I enthusiastically carry on the tradition with my son; well, because — uh –if it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t have a reason to celebrate Mother’s Day at all, would I?
As my son would say, “Duh.”
This year I got him an array of products from Kiehls — skin cream, shaving cream, shampoo, and penned a mini-poem:
You have always been my Angel Boy
As your mom
Every day has been filled with joy.
Other girls wanted to be doctors, lawyers, teachers — all I ever wanted to be was a mom.
While all the other mommies are having breakfast or brunch or lunch, I’ll be spending my day driving to the airport to for a Southwest Airlines delivery of my Angel Boy. Can’t wait!
Best of all, he’ll be here all week and that is my best birthday present ever.
Happy Mother’s Day to cat and dog lovers!
If you already read Recycled, Repurposed, Reborn, and Reformed, you won’t be too surprised to learn that I also hate to RE-place torn, ripped, or worn out things.
Last week, I spent a hot day (in the upper eighties) working on a project and I’m pretty happy with the way it turned out.
In the past few years, I’ve purchased a couple of replacement cushions for the deck swing.
Southern California sun is wickedly harsh on fabric — even though I put the cushions and chairs in the shed when not in use, it weakens, tears, and eventually disintegrates completely like this:
I went to JoAnn Fabrics near 24Hour Fitness in Oceanside and was so happy to discover outdoor canvas material on sale — half off the regular price of $19.99 a yard. Yay! I needed approximately 54X70. The sales associates were very helpful and suggested I try fusible bonding web for heavy fabrics and my trusty glue gun for reinforcement areas. Anytime I can fire up that glue gun is a great day! (Also a day for an injury, more on that later.)
Beautiful bright colors!
The fusible bonding needs heat; I brought the ironing board and my Rowenta on the deck. Yes, it’s leopard covered. Of course it is.
I ironed a sharp crease on all four sides; went upstairs to my craft room and sewed a lovely seam.
Look at that old sewing machine from the 1970s.
It weighs a ton, but works like a dream.
I placed the cushion flat on the deck, spread the material over the cushion, and then turned it over.
Measuring and ironing the fusible bonding all the way around.
The webbed fusible bonding for heavy fabric worked better than I thought. This isn’t the most professional looking job, but the material is bright and fresh and way less expensive than another replacement cushion.
I used the glue gun to reinforce the corners and this blister was my reward.
My research indicated that the temperature of the glue is about 385 degrees, but I swear it felt like I had dipped my finger in the bowels of Hell.
I might go back to JoAnns and get more material to redo the awning to match. Although it’s still in good shape, now it bugs me that it doesn’t match the cushion!
A Generation Fabulous Blog Hop: The Best Thing I Learned From My Mother
Me: “Hey, Mom, guess what?”
Mom: “You’re pregnant.”
Me: “How did you know that’s what I was gonna say?”
Mom: “A mom knows these things.”
That’s my mom. She was born in 1915 and died in 1989 from pancreatic cancer. She lived with us until the end. I cared for her with the help of a wonderful hospice team.
I was a mid-life baby –born in 1954. She was afraid that I was going to be affected with Downs Syndrome, although they didn’t call it that. At that time, it was referred to as Mongoloidism, which is no longer in technical use as its considered offensive. They didn’t have genetic testing back then and it scared her that I was such a good baby, always happy and never cried.
The doctor told her I would make up for it by causing her heartache when I was a teenager, and I did — but that story is for another time…
My mom became a registered nurse at a time when abortions were illegal. She often told me that the horrible things that she saw in the hospital — the aftereffects of a botched backroom abortion — were the reasons she was one thousand percent pro-choice right from the beginning.
“A woman has the right to choose whether or not she wants to have a child.”
That’s something I learned from my mom.
“No man has the right to tell a woman what to do with her body.”
I learned that from my mom, too.
These forward thinking ideas were even more remarkable when you consider that her father — my grandfather — was a Rabbi. My mom was one of seven children. They moved from town to town as my grandfather moved from synagogue to synagogue — a nomadic life. Although she was born in Minnesota, my mom spoke with a slight southern drawl because the family spent many years in the south.
They eventually ended up in Detroit. I loved hearing my mom tell the story of climbing onto a city bus and walking to the back along with an African-American girl who had been told to “get to the back of the bus”. The bus driver kicked my mom off for being a troublemaker.
Obviously, that’s where I got my big mouth. I learned to speak up for those less fortunate — to fight for those that have no voice. I learned to speak up when I see child abuse or animal cruelty. As proud as I was of her, I know she’d be equally as proud of me.
My mom taught me what it meant to be a mother. She abhorred daycare and nannies and was disdainful of mothers who worked. She told me that people shouldn’t have children if they don’t want them and if they can’t take proper care of them.
No stranger would raise HER grandchild.
“A child deserves to have a mom who will selflessly dedicate her life to her child with unconditional love.”
I always knew I would be a stay-at-home-mom — my mom showed me how.
And also thanks to my mom, I wear perfume every day — Chance by Chanel. It’s my signature, even if I’m just going to the gym. I learned that from my mom, too.
“Don’t save perfume for special occasions.” Fragrance can turn rancid and sour smelling. This is what she said when she presented me with my very first bottle of real parfum — Joy by Jean Patou.
“Wear it every day. Wear it for yourself.”
My mom and me. I think I had just given birth…not sure where my baby is!
Along with a love for cleaning the house with bleach, collecting seashells and blue glass, my mom passed on the shopping gene.
My passion for the finer things in life are directly related to that first mother-daughter dress, my first pink satin ballet shoes, my first silk blouse, and my first treasured cashmere sweater.
When we enjoyed a bit of retail therapy, Mommy (yes, I called her Mommy) liked to buy me things because she said it made her happy.
Her favorite saying was, “It’s only money.”
That cracks up my tugboat man — although she passed away a few years before we met– he says he’s now paying the price (literally) and carrying on the tradition – under duress. Ha ha ha!
Thank you, Mommy. I miss you so very much.
This is a bloghop!
It’s not always about Chanel.
Yes it is — well, I say yes, our bank account says no.
Whatev.
Moving on.
As much as I loves me some designer fashion — especially Chanel — I really don’t like to throw anything away ‘cos I think I’ll always find a use for everything if I save it long enough.
No need to toss out those nasty old cracked and faded Crocs,
merely fill with a little soil and some succulents!
Voila!
Crack a wineglass when you partied too much???
Fill with a little soil and more succulents.
Just don’t try and drink out of it again…
Chipped a dish?
Once again, fill with rocks and soil — and more succulents!
These need a little water; looking kinda sad…
Yeah, I break a lot of things.
More broken coffee cups, more succulents.
This is the desert, after all.
And yes, that’s a broken tile, too!
Repurposed fruit basket stand.
I painted it black ‘cos it was all rusty, lined the baskets with black plastic, filled with soil and planted begonias on the bottom and fuchsias on top.
Did you notice that the basin beneath it is not very photogenic?
It will have to go.
I found the Trix rabbit whilst digging. No one knows where it came from!
No, I’m not from the UK, but sometimes “whilst” is a great word.
Tell me about anything you’ve recycled, repurposed, reborn, or reformed.
Enchanted Seashells | Princess Rosebud 