Real Soup

On the Attitude of Gratitude

The year is getting old. Summer colors have muted into the soft blue-grey and gold of the high desert; the winds are still warm, but their purpose is evident: they are working to coax and draw the cold down over us from its haven in the north.

Soon they will pull it down the mountains like teams of excited horses, lunging with their heavy cargo of frost and snow stretching out behind them for all the months until April.

Part of the cycle, respondents to the altering mood of the sun, we begin to measure our chances against winter. Like the darkening, the closing-in is ancient, and as the long cold approaches, we want a few reassuring rituals before putting this year's journey to rest.

The first of these is the lovely season of Thanksgiving. Of all the holidays, I think it is the best one we have because it reaches beyond all the religious and cultural borders that tend to divide people; it is, in itself, a teacher.

Being a former ingrate who has, in the past, accepted with secret horror large bouquets of fresh flowers from a romantic mate, I have learned not to calculate and thereupon speculate on practical diversions for the sum of money spent, but to feel, instead, the delight of the giving and to enjoy, until they begin to release their death throe pollen, the brief and perfect beauty of a display of tender posies.

I must also confess to cringing at the box of sterling silver my prospective mother-in-law presented to me upon my betrothal. I knew it was very square for an idealist-purist-moralist-bohemian sort of person to own real silver. It was decadent in every possible way, emblematic of that great, vague nemesis, the status quo.

The luster, however, was so appealing and the box so deliciously heavy that I was able to de-moralize the situation satisfactorily and have been pleased to use it every day since.

Luckily, even such haughty and judgmental people are subject to the great implementer of wisdom, time.

Given opportunities for reflection, such individuals may also perceive that a gift seen in its true light is pure energy. Take it,someone says; it represents my emotion.

So, whether you have been given enormous woolen mukluks for your average feet, or a bull shaped pitcher that pours out the moo, or a hand made bird feeder, or a plate of cookies, or a kind word, or a radiant slant of early pink sunlight on Jefferson, whoop it up!

Let the hugs roll. Plan something special for dinner.

Harkening back to the eighteenth century when butterfat wasn't a sin, an English lass named Sally Lunn is the traditional author of this recipe, which has been known by her name ever since.

You can reduce the butter in this recipe by half, but don't skimp on the rising time. Good yeast, lively fresh bulk stuff, is superior.

Dissolve:

1 T. yeast

in:

1/4 C. warm water

small dollop of honey

Allow this to wake up and get started in a warm place. I think it promotes activity to cover it. Give it 15 minutes.

Warm to blood heat

1 C. milk

Add to it:

1/4-1/2 C. butter, cut into pieces.

Stir it around until it melts.

In a large mixing bowl, mix together:

3 C. flour

1/3 C. sugar

1 1/2 tsp. salt

Add the milk, butter and the yeast mixture, plus:

3 eggs

Beat until smooth.

Add, 1/2 C. at a time, another:

1 1/2 C. flour, approximately

to make a stiff batter. Beat for about 2 minutes.

Cover the bowl with a damp cloth and set aside to rise for 1 hour or until double in bulk.

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Stir down he batter and spoon it into buttered baking dishes or a tube pan.

Let it rise for about 30 more minutes, or until doubled in bulk again.

Bake in the center of the oven for 35 to 40 minutes, or until the top is golden and a skewer comes out clean.

When the bread is done, you can glaze the top with mixture of:

1 T. sugar

1 T. orange juice

Simmer for just a minute, brush on the loaves and return to the oven for two minutes more to dry the glaze. Turn the loaves out of the pans onto a wire rack and cool.

Bread, even this easy method and its cakey outcome, is good symbolic food for the grateful. The wily Miss Lunn knew it. She sold the recipe and has been famous for two hundred years.