Not Pudding

WhooHAH! Do you see that? Do you? That little green thingie sticking up behind the blossom is my very first baby Lemon Drop chili pepper. From the very first blossom to open. I don't know whether this proves I'm doing a good job with my trusty Q-Tip pollinator or that the plant is perfectly capable of producing its bounty in spite of my efforts.

There are several other peppers in the act of becoming but almost all of them are mere nubbins as yet. Pepperlettes if you will. This one stretches out a whole inch-and-a-half and the pepper closest to it in size is a one-incher. I don't know how long it will be before it ripens to yellow but I'm really curious. From what I've been reading about this particular variety, it's supposed to actually have a citrus-like scent and flavor -- behind the fairly righteous thermal attribute, of course.

If anyone is interested, the Lemon Drop (sometimes called Hot Lemon) chili pepper comes from the Aji variety, of which there are many interesting forms. This particular type originated in Central and South America.

Speaking of lemony things, what do you know about the Sussex pudding? What you see above is the result of following what appears to be a most unconventional version of an old Brit classic. I whupped it up mainly because it seemed the ideal way to use up what was left of the lemon curd I made last month. (See My Lemon Jones.) It wasn't until after I did this microwave version that I browsed assorted recipes for the old-fashioned way of doing it -- the one that requires steaming the pudding for 90 minutes or more.

Well, guess what -- none of those recipes even remotely resemble this one. Just to give you an idea, look at the Wickipedia information and photos. Hooboy. Whole different animal, don't you think? It doesn't seem to matter whether one calls it Sussex Pudding or Sussex Pond Pudding, every single recipe seems to call for the crust around a whole lemon, nested in sugar and butter and steamed for hours. And I'm sure it's just great done that way but, to tell you the truth, it looks way too rich for my taste. I think I'll stick with my version, even if I can't bring myself to call it Sussex Pudding. How about if we call it ...

NOT-SUSSEX PUDDING

Butter a 2-pint (1 liter) microwave safe baking dish. Cover bottom with thin layer of lemon curd or orange marmalade (at least 2 heaping tablespoons). In separate bowl, mix 1 stick (1/2 cup) butter, softened, and 1/2 cup sugar. (I semi-melted the butter in the microwave, then gave it a good whisking with the sugar.) Add 2 eggs and 1/4 to 1/3 cup lemon juice and whisk well. Add 3/4 cup flour, 1 teaspoon baking powder, 1/2 teaspoon salt. Whisk until batter is smooth. Spread evenly over lemon curd. Microwave on high for 2 1/2 to 3 minutes, or until knife in center comes out clean. Please note, the timing depends on the power of your microwave. I had to nuke it for 8 minutes before it was done in mine. Your mileage may vary.

You can turn out the finished cake -- it is a cake in this incarnation -- onto a serving dish, with the curd on top. I found it simpler to leave it in the baking dish and taking out just a single serving. As you can see in the photo, the topping came with it without any fuss at all. I haven't had any of it cold as yet but I can certainly vouch for the fact that it's wicked good while still hot.

You know, I think this would be good with just about any fruity preserve-type topping. Raspberry. Apricot. Rhubarb. Oh my. And it would be nice done up in individual serving bowls too. That makes it a mighty flexible dessert. I like flexibility in my decadence.

Celebrating NOW

I've had mixed success with my indoor gardening. Remember my little grape tomatoes, Gladys and Gilbert? When last seen, way back in October I think, I'd just transplanted their tiny selves into a big pot. The move must have overwhelmed them because they wilted their little leaves and, in unseemly haste, shuffled off this mortal coil. No tender goodbyes, no notes, no thanks for all the fish. They just up and died.

I am knocking furiously on wood as I speak but, with any luck, my chili peppers seem to have a lustier attitude. I'm grateful for that because the 'maters put a terrible dent in my green thumb self esteem. What you see in the above photo is the Lemon Drop chili pepper plant. I guess it's a couple of feet tall now and, huzzah! It's just beginning to put out some blossoms which, if all goes well, will turn into some eagerly anticipated peppers. I'm so excited. It's almost like birthing babies ... thankfully, without the labor pains.

Although there are positively oodles of teensy blossom buds forming, only two of them have opened so far. What marvelous mini-gems they are. What you see above is, in real life (as opposed to enlarged photo life), so small a dime would hide it. Even so, it comes packed with pollen. I'll have to dig out a Q-tip and pretend I'm a bee and ever so gently set about pollinating the little rascals. Bzzzz, bzzzzz ...

Have you noticed something? Or, more accurately, have you noticed the lack of something? Those of you who have supped the sacred beverage with me for any length of time know I always do a bit of bitching and moaning every year when Daylight Saving time goes into play again. And I thought about doing it this year, too. I really did.

Then I realized ... those people aren't listening to me! No. Not even a little bit. For all my wailing and caterwauling, they not only continue to mess with the clocks, they've started messing with them even earlier than before.

Well! (That was a Jack Benny "Well!" Very effective.) You don't have to slap me alongside the head with a wet clepsydra. Nope. I refuse to waste another moment in futile fulmination. Because, you know what? It doesn't matter if somebody says it's 8 o'clock when it's really 7 o'clock because, either way, it's really just ... NOW. Right now.

In the Now, it's either daylight or dark. It's either early or late, which is a relative assessment, subject to when I wake up or go to sleep and that can change according to mood or need no matter what any silly clock says. Stuff will happen when it happens. Always does. Always will. To every thing there is a season. Yeah.

It's good that I've freed up all that previously wasted energy. I'm going to need it to keep up with my pollination duties. Gee. Who knew gardening could be so sexy?

The Twins

Here they are, Coffee Mates. Let me introduce you to The Twins. I transplanted two of the little Grape tomato babies yesterday. Yes, two of them. I know I was supposed to be ruthless and narrow it down to one plant but these two were sort of entwined together and I figured they must be twins. Couldn't bring myself to separate them. So we have Gilbert and Gladys Grape, at your service. Whence the name? "What's Eating Gilbert Grape" is one of my favorite Johnny Depp movies -- right up there with "Choclat." No, he didn't have a twin in the movie but the script writers didn't know everything.

I learned quite a lot with yesterday's indoor gardening session and the related Googling. One thing I learned was I should have Googled a bit more thoroughly before I got the Grape tomato seeds. For an indoor pot tomato, I should really have latched on to a determinate type, the bush style that has a limited growth pattern. The Grape is an INdeterminate, which means its vines can sprawl all over the flippin' place. Ah well. Live and learn, eh?

One of the things I did was to gather all my potting soil together and sterilize it, just to make sure the bad bits, if any, were properly demolished. Some of that potting soil is pretty old so who knows what evil lurked there. Research gave me two different methods of sterilization, one for the oven and one for the microwave. Both involved getting the soil to 180 degrees fairyheight and holding it there for 20 minutes. Then I stumbled across a method offered by a Master Gardener at the HGTV site. He says to pour boiling water over the soil, let it drain, then do it again. Well, that saved a lot of time and effort, let me tell you.

So there I was, with a big bowl of freshly sterilized potting soil, gradually cooling off. To which I added a batch of the water gel crystals that I had hydrated with water dosed with MiracleGro fertilizer. Then, just because 'maters like acid soil, I tossed in some used coffee grounds and mixed it all up in one big batch. Looks mighty good, too.

I hope Gilbert and Gladys like it. They look mighty tiny and lonesome all by themselves in that big pot. I've been telling them they'll fill the space in no time, they're getting so much nutrition. So far, they seem to believe me. Please don't anybody tell them I don't have a flippin' clue about what I'm doing.

At least I'm ahead of the game on knowing what to do to pollinate the blossoms when they start coming on. A friend of mine once grew a tomato plant indoors and it was really impressive. Stood as tall as his sliding glass door and he got a lot of 'maters off of it. His wife couldn't stop laughing when she told me how he would spend incredible amounts of time tickling each individual blossom with a Q-tip to make sure it was pollinated properly. "Doing his honey bee routine," she called it.

I don't have the heart to tell him I've learned you pollinate the indoor tomatoes by tapping gently but firmly on the stems and branches to make the pollen fall. Besides, I'm not at all sure I won't do the same thing -- just in case. Buzzzz, buzzzzz ...

Sayonara, September

Oh, will you look at that? Baby 'mater plants with their very first "true" leaves. This is almost as exciting as when the kidlets sprouted their first teeth. I'm so proud.

I'm also terribly nervous. Because now it's time to thin them out. Yes, "them." You can't tell in that photo but there are actually five tiny plantlets there. The strange thing is, I only planted three seeds. [blink blink] So what have I got here? Two sets of twins? In any case, all but one plant must go. I cringe to think about it. I'm convinced no matter which ones I toss, the one I choose as healthiest is gonna turn around, give me the raspberry, and flop dead before my very eyeballs.

I did mention to y'all that I was going to attempt some indoor container gardening didn't I? Toward that goal, I scooped up some of those compressed peat disks that swell up when soaked with water. September 13th I carefully sowed the grape tomato babies pictured above, some incredibly tiny - practically microscopic - seeds of spearmint, a couple of Orange Jasmine seeds and two kinds of chili pepper: Thai Yellow and Lemon Drop.

The 'maters came up first, bless their vigorous little hearts, and the mint -- with little leaves not much bigger than those minuscule seeds -- showed up next. The Lemon Drop popped its first leaves out yesterday and the Thai Yellow is just starting to show a bowed stem. It should do the pop-up tomorrow, I think. As for the Jasmine, I'm not even guessing about them. I understand germination is iffy and often lengthy so I'll just wait and see.

The plants should have all felt cozy and safe today. Well, they would have if they'd been tall enough to peek out the window. Today brought the first storm of the season. Not a serious one but certainly one that meant business. Plenty of rain off and on -- same for the wind. I hadn't realized how many leaves had turned to their fall colors until I looked out the window this afternoon and saw how the wind had tossed them hither and yon along the streets and verges. It looked like someone had flung thousands of golden doubloons all over the place. Boy, I wish!

And my Raiders won their game this morning, please let me shout it out. That makes me hugely happy, in spite of the fact that an inordinate number of other teams let me down. My weekly picks total is simply pitiful. You just can't trust those durned football players, you know? It must be those tight Spandex pants cutting off the circulation to their brains.

I had to say that. I haven't had any chocolate today so my Nice quotient is on the low side.