Cookery Maven Blog

Springs Of The Sioux

Julie, Charly and an assortment of children joined us for our photo safari a few weeks ago. They showed us the way to the springs of the Sioux River and now I have another place to add my 'favorite places on Earth' list.

Standing at the springs, I felt a deep sense of gratitude and said a prayer of thanksgiving. Thanks for being near water flowing from deep in the earth, seeing the kids develop their own relationship with the natural world, dear friends to share these special places with and the generous spirit of the trees watching over us.

A Long Island Evening

We spent nearly every Wednesday evening on Long Island this summer. It was the perfect mid-week break and chance to laugh, swim, hang out with friends and eat (of course). The summer of 2012 was all about the 'meal in a Mason jar' and I put a Proper Chicken Caesar Salad under glass for this little adventure.

This particular Wednesday was the first full moon of August (there were two this year) and I was really hoping to get a decent picture of the moonrise. We anchored the boat, pulled out dinner, watched the kids swim and waited. The moon rose (right on cue) and try as I might, I still have yet to capture the beauty of a moonrise over Lake Superior.

The kids had a blast— dancing, laughing and jumping off the boat. They reminded me of otters— sleek, graceful and completely at home in the water.

The sun was setting, the moon was rising and we needed to head back to port. I looked down from the flybridge and took this picture of Charlie. It summed up everything I felt— joy, gratitude and wonder. There is nothing quite like watching the sun duck behind the hill and paint the sky shades of coral, gold and fuchsia. We were truly blessed to add this evening to our cache of Lake Superior memories.

Sunday at Stockton

There is nothing like a Sunday spent on Lake Superior. It's quiet, beautiful and restorative. Well, as quiet as a boat full of Doughertys can be. We went to the north end of Stockton and spent the afternoon sitting on the rocks, watching the kids swim and jump off the boat. It was as good as a summer afternoon can get.

When we bought the boat nine years ago, Charlie was in diapers, Sadie was 4 years old and I was pregnant with Meg. Leaving the dock meant vigilant monitoring of the kids whereabouts and the constant zipping and unzipping of life jackets. On this trip, I sat up in the flybridge with Ted on the way over, reading a magazine. Time moves fast and you have to be ready for the ride. While I miss having little people around, I really enjoyed chatting with Ted and the kids and getting caught up on my backlog of New Yorkers.

The kids love to jump off the top of the boat, that is Charlie in mid-air. I haven't taken the plunge yet, I am not fond of heights or jumping into thin air. I sat on shore and documented their amazing feats of bravery.

I grabbed some leftovers for lunch and made a salad on the way over. Grilled chicken thighs, spinach, red peppers and avocados with fresh lime juice and Tajin- delicious but the chips and Oreos were a bigger hit. That's the way it goes when your target lunch audience is 14 years old and younger. However, Zeus the dog, loved the salad.

As we headed home, I thought about all the miles we have traveled together— Isle Royale, the Slate Islands, Loon Harbor, Grand Marais, Thunder Bay and the Apostle Islands. What a gift to have memories of safe harbors, northern lights, wild blueberries, sandy beaches, thunder rocks and saunas as part of our family story. Moving to Bayfield has had it's ups and downs but I wouldn't change one single footstep of our journey. I know our kid's compasses will always point north to Bayfield and that makes me happy.

Nicoise In A Jar On Long Island

The phone rang at 9 am and I knew it was Renee. We talk nearly every morning and our conversations always revolve around food—Good Thyme food, dinner food or food we want to eat. One of the remarkable things about our friendship is our penchant for cooking the same thing at the same time— we are definitely psychic food sisters. She was watching the Today show and saw Martha Stewart making Nicoise Salad in Mason jars and thought it would be the perfect beach meal. Oddly enough, I dreamt about canned Italian tuna (I really love it) the night before she called. I knew we were on to something.

I always have Cento tuna in olive oil, kalamata olives, fingerling potatoes and eggs from Spirit Creek Farm on hand. I needed to pick up spinach, green beans and a few tomatoes— I was on a tight time schedule and needed to throw dinner together quickly. The boat was leaving the harbor at 5:30, sharp. Remember what I mentioned about salads in the Emmylou post? They are the only meal I can make and still be on time (relatively speaking). Dinner on Long Island was looking better and better by the minute. I made a simple vinaigrette, assembled the lovely little jars, loaded up a cooler and headed out to another beautiful summer night on the lake.

There were a ton of kids out there, from 6 to 17 years old. They herded up and swam, staged chicken fights and played on the beach— what an amazing childhood they will carry forward. It is almost unbelievable to me, the perfection of an evening on Long Island. Regardless of my frame of mind when I am leaving the mainland, I always return refreshed and deeply grateful. What a gift to have a reset button that involves water, sand, good friends and food right outside my door.

Nicoise Salad In A Jar

Four 3.5 ounce cans of Cento tuna in olive oil 4 eggs, hard-boiled and sliced 2 tomatoes, chopped 8 - 12 fingerling potatoes, boiled 3/4 cup pitted kalamata olives 1 cup green beans, steamed until tender firm 1/4 cup salt cured capers, rinsed 2 cups spinach, washed and dried

Vinaigrette

2 tbsp shallot, finely minced 2 tbsp Dijon mustard 1/2 tsp salt (more to taste) 1/4 tsp freshly ground pepper 1/2 tsp fresh thyme 1/4 tsp fresh rosemary 1/2 tsp fresh chives 1/2 cup red wine vinegar 1 cup good olive oil

While the potatoes and green beans are still warm, toss them with olive oil, Maldon sea salt and preserved lemon (you can substitute lemon zest).

Combine all ingredients for vinaigrette, except for olive oil, in a blender or food processor until combined. Slowly add olive oil until the dressing is emulsified. Taste for salt and pepper and set aside.

Toss each salad ingredient with salad dressing (except spinach) and set aside. Don't use too much dressing, you want the salad components to be lightly dressed.

Layer the salad ingredients as follows: spinach, tomatoes, potatoes, green beans, eggs, spinach, tuna and olives in a Mason jar.

Morning On The Beach

I woke up at 6:44 today. George sleeps on a chair in our bedroom and the minute I open my eyes, he is at my side and ready to start the day. Needless to say, we were all up at 6:45, how can I say no to a yellow lab with such an eager face? I found the leashes, George found his tennis ball and we headed to the beach. Gus took off after a butterfly, Seamus found a feather, George was in the water and Henry stayed at my side— a glorious way to spend Thursday morning.

This raven has become a touchstone for me— he reminds me to surrender, be grateful and remain open to unseen but deeply felt forces.

One of the gifts of an early morning walk on the beach is the artifacts left over from the previous day— sandcastles, stick structures and footprints in the sand.

Fried Chicken On The Beach

I like most things Southern: grits, monogrammed stationery, bourbon, good manners and fried chicken. I bought Thomas Keller's cookbook, Ad Hoc, because I read quite a bit about his recipe for buttermilk fried chicken plus he owns the French Laundry....I had high hopes. It was good but not exactly the holy grail of fried poultry I was hoping for. The perfect fried chicken is moist with crispy skin and a golden brown crust. The Ad Hoc recipe called for brining the chicken overnight and then double dredging the chicken. It tasted fantastic but the skin was a far cry from crispy.

In the depth of winter, Bon Appetit delivered me from my fried chicken woes. The February issue featured a recipe billed as the 'only fried chicken recipe you will ever need'. Who am I to doubt the good folks at Bon Appetit? I hustled to the grocery store to buy a couple of chickens and see if I finally would achieve fried chicken nirvana. The BA recipe involves a dry rub, a single dredge in seasoned flour and a cast iron skillet— the skin was crispy, the meat was moist and I was satisfied.

After all this talk about the quest for the perfect fried chicken, I have to admit the first fried chicken I ever tasted was from Kentucky Fried Chicken. One evening when I was nine or ten, my Grandma Duffy came home with a red and white striped bucket of greasy goodness from KFC. My sister, Bridget, and I were excited to tuck into a dinner of chicken, wall paper paste consistency mashed potatoes and gravy until we took a look at the chicken. There were little feathers poking through the golden brown exterior (say what you want about KFC, they know how to get a crunchy crust on their chicken). We immediately renamed it Kentucky Fried Feathers and didn't eat it for years— I am not sure if Bridget ever ate it again. I still remember Grandma standing over the sink with a lit match burning off all the feathers on the raw chicken before she made us dinner— she was a marvelous woman.

I can't remember why I decided to re-visit fried chicken, after that traumatic experience with the fried feathers in my Grandma's den. As Minny, from the movie The Help, said, 'fried chicken just tend to make you feel better about life'. She was right, dropping a chicken thigh ensconced in buttermilk and seasoned flour in a skillet full of shimmering oil, feels like something special is going to happen. It isn't the easiest dinner to prepare. Frying chicken requires advance planning and time spent over a sizzling skillet— definitely not a 30 minute meal. Just like the sound of a champagne cork set aloft, a platter of fried chicken means I am headed to a party and it is going to be grand.

I had an idea about butter for the biscuits (you always need biscuits at a beach party with fried chicken) I was taking to the beach. God forbid we eat ordinary butter on an evening when Venus was transiting between the Sun and Earth. I placed a stick of room temperature butter in a mixing bowl and added some chopped rosemary and thyme, about 1/4 cup of maple syrup, a pinch of Maldon sea salt and cayenne, mixed it together and smeared it on a 'test' biscuit. It was delicious, sweet, hot and perfect for a picnic. I wish I wrote down the exact measurements but I was late (big surprise) and threw it together on the fly.

It was the first of the many dinners we will spend on the beach this summer and it was perfect. Perfect because the flies hadn't hatched yet, the kids were in the water, there were 2 platters of deviled eggs, we toasted Venus with Italian wine and there was fried chicken galore. Summer of 2012 is going to be glorious.

Lupines, Lilacs, The Beach & A Double Rainbow

A few weeks ago, we went for a drive and this amazing field of lupines caught my eye. The vibrant purple and green literally stopped me in my tracks and I jumped out of the car to take this picture. Bayfield is awash in color. We set out to capture a little of it on an afternoon in late May.

Lilacs remind me of my parent's house— there are two huge bushes outside the kitchen windows and the fragrance was overpowering (in a good way) when they were blooming. Ted planted lilacs at our house right after we moved in five years ago. They are finally blooming and the fragrance transports me back to my Mom's kitchen.

Charlie found this green bug on the beach. It was on it's back near the water's edge and he rescued it. Don't you wonder what a bug thinks when it gets picked up? I saw A Bug's Life and lots of other Disney movies devoted to insects and I am pretty sure they don't like to be manhandled. We put him (or her) in the grass after I took the picture.

A magnificent stump on the beach. Charlie waded out to it and was looking for bugs in the water. It must have been an enormous tree at one time— I wish I knew where it came from. I walk by it every morning with the dogs and think of Charlie perched on the edge.

We have blueberry bushes and the butterflies love them. Gus, the black and tan Cavalier, loves to chase them. He camps out under the bushes and spends hours stalking them. His girth and short legs are definitely a handicap but he gamely keeps trying.

The beginning of the storm that blew in that afternoon. I was grilling after the deluge and heard the kids shouting. I ran to the front of the house expecting to find a compound fracture or a head wound but there it was— a double rainbow. As usual, Bayfield gave us a magical ending to a day spent capturing her brilliant colors.

The Cavaliers Go To The Beach

George and I go to the beach a lot. Sometimes, we take the Cavaliers. They are not an obvious choice for a sand, water and focused ball retrieving adventure but they each find a little something to do.

Seamus looks for a feather and once he finds it, carries it in his mouth the entire walk. If he doesn't find a feather, he attempts to retrieve the ball with George. Talk about an uneven playing field, he doesn't have a chance. I find a stick for him, throw it about 5 feet from shore and he jumps in the water and fetches it (he never give it back, he is a Cavalier after all).

Gus looks for birds to chase. Another uneven playing field. He is a little portly and has very short legs but he gamely takes off at breakneck speed after every bird he sees. Occasionally he will end up in the water. Given his body type, I think he is pretty buoyant but he is definitely not a fan of water sports and leaves the lake right away.

Henry is the one dog who can leave the beach as clean and dry as when he arrived. He sticks by my side the entire walk. He wouldn't know what to do with a stick if his life depended on it. However, he does know what to do with a knife. I came into the kitchen yesterday and he was walking around with one of my knives in his mouth. He was holding it by the handle. The knife was covered in frosting and I think he was planning an after school snack.

Beach Day With The Boys

Where's the ball? It's cold in here.

Ted and George on a driftwood littered beach.

Henry strikes a pose.

An embrace in wood.

Henry and Gus in the surf.

Surrender

I took George to the beach yesterday. It was snowing sideways, the waves were hitting the beach hard and the wind was howling— savage beauty. George and I love the beach in all its incarnations: rain-soaked, shrouded in fog, bathed in sunlight or snowbound. I love the beach so much it makes me wax poetic. Seriously, walking the beach is my version of meditation and given the grey noise in my world, a little meditation is a good thing. In between wishing I had worn a hat and gloves, I was thinking about surrender and what it really means.

As I get older, I have begun to see the freedom of surrendering in my life. I have spent 42 years bound and determined to drive my bus whenever, wherever and however I want. It gets exhausting. My mantra lately is to allow space for change. The tricky part for me is realizing the change I am making space for may not be what I envisioned. As I was walking yesterday, I realized true surrender, not surrender on my terms, is trusting what's next is greater than anything I could have dreamt for myself. The beach is my cathedral, I would be lost without the cleansing power of wind and water.

I have walked by a large piece of driftwood on the beach countless times. Yesterday, something caught my eye and I stopped. There is a raven's head, clear as day, on one of the branches. As I stood there in amazement, I knew whatever lies ahead of me, the nurturing guidance of the natural and spiritual worlds is ever-present. On the way back to the car (I really should have worn a hat), I found a perfect dragonfly dusted with sand and snow. I picked it up and brought it home; I thought my warm kitchen might revive it. No such luck, it was a victim of the snow storm. I am going to save it with a note that says, 'surrender to mystery'.

My dear friend, Mindy, sent me C. P. Cavafy's poem, 'Ithaca', right before Good Thyme opened. We have been friends for 22 years and she knew exactly what to give me to mark the beginning of a life I had dreamed of. It eloquently reminds me to relish the journey.

Ithaca

As you set out for Ithaca
hope the voyage is a long one,
full of adventure, full of discovery.
Laistrygonians and Cyclops,
angry Poseidon—don’t be afraid of them:
you’ll never find things like that on your way
as long as you keep your thoughts raised high,
as long as a rare excitement
stirs your spirit and your body.
Laistrygonians and Cyclops,
wild Poseidon—you won’t encounter them
unless you bring them along inside your soul,
unless your soul sets them up in front of you.

Hope the voyage is a long one.
May there be many a summer morning when,
with what pleasure, what joy,
you come into harbors seen for the first time;
may you stop at Phoenician trading stations
to buy fine things,
mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
sensual perfume of every kind—
as many sensual perfumes as you can;
and may you visit many Egyptian cities
to gather stores of knowledge from their scholars.

Keep Ithaca always in your mind.
Arriving there is what you are destined for.
But do not hurry the journey at all.
Better if it lasts for years,
so you are old by the time you reach the island,
wealthy with all you have gained on the way,
not expecting Ithaca to make you rich.

Ithaca gave you the marvelous journey.
Without her you would not have set out.
She has nothing left to give you now.

And if you find her poor, Ithaca won’t have fooled you.
Wise as you will have become, so full of experience,
you will have understood by then what these Ithacas mean.

C.P. Cavafy

What's For Dinner During An April Storm?

I have a problem. Most people, when they hear a storm is brewing, think about battening the hatches. I think about dinner. I have to admit, the impending snow storm wasn't too thrilling until I realized it meant I could make one more winter dinner. Roast chicken in the oven, fire in the wood stove and snow falling— perfection as far as I am concerned. There is not much to say about roasting a chicken except use good herb salt, butter the skin, stuff the cavity with lemon, garlic and fresh herbs and roast at 450 degrees on a bed of carrots, onion and potatoes.

I used to buy a lovely garlic herb salt at the Kitchen Window in Minneapolis. It was special because it was Italian and the fresh herbs and garlic were dried in the salt. Last year, I realized driving to Minneapolis for salt was excessive, Wisconsin is almost as cool as Italy and I had tons of fresh herbs from my garden. It is not much of a recipe, more of a suggested plan of attack. Put a couple of cups of coarse sea salt (not grey sea salt, too oily), a couple handfuls of fresh herbs (thyme, basil, rosemary, lemon thyme, sage, tarragon, whatever you have on hand), 1/4 cup fresh cracked black pepper and 5 or so cloves of fresh garlic in a food processor. Blend until the salt is finely ground and green. Spread the salt on a sheet tray and let dry overnight. Store in a covered container and use with wild abandon on anything and everything.

The Leeward Side

Although you wouldn't know it by looking out the window today, Saturday was a taste of summer in April. I haven't been to Madeline since last fall and a picnic on the beach sounded like a brilliant plan. We stopped at the IGA, grabbed chips, cheese, crackers and a trashy magazine (People magazine is a prerequisite for a Mary Dougherty beach day) and boarded the ferry. The wind was picking up and the ride was a little rough. Big Bay Town Park was on the leeward side of the island and I knew we were headed towards a stellar afternoon.

Charlie asked me how old he was the first time he went to Madeline Island. When I said, three weeks old, he had an incredulous look on his face. It wasn't as crazy as it sounds, it wasn't my first rodeo and Charlie was an easygoing baby. The Madeline Island 4th of July parade is a not to be missed event for the Dougherty's. A little thing like a newborn baby was not going to stop us from going to the parade and watching fireworks from the boat!

George was the only dog invited. Actually, he invited himself. He was running around the house with his Chuck-it and a terribly earnest expression on his face. He ran outside before anyone could catch him and hopped in the car. Fortunately, the Cavaliers don't share George's enthusiasm for the beach. I gave them a few treats and left them at home without too much guilt.

The kids wanted to check out the waves and I wanted to visit the LaPointe Indian cemetery. We had an hour to kill before our return ferry trip, just enough time to make everyone happy. The waves were impressive, the wind was howling and the cemetery was beautiful in its decay. Our afternoon felt like visiting an old friend, Madeline holds so many memories for all of us. Recounting our shared past experiences and planning our future visits to the pool, Grandpa Tony's or the Pub gives me a sense of place and immense gratitude for all we have been given.

A Corny Sunday

Sadie, Will, George and I took a little road trip on Sunday to visit Cornucopia, a sweet little town about 20 miles from Bayfield. There is a beautiful sandy beach, marina, a few shops and Siskiwit Falls. All in all, it was a lovely afternoon.

Sunday Afternoon at Houghton Falls

Pristine, running water is a blessing. Running water winding through a verdant forest surrounded by an ancient sandstone ravine is nothing short of miraculous. Sadie and I were driving home from Washburn Sunday afternoon and saw Will walking downtown with his camera slung across his back. He was headed out to take a few pictures on the Brownstone Trail but really wanted to go to Houghton Falls. Sounded like a brilliant idea to me— it would be my first visit, the sun was shining and it sounded like a perfect family outing. The primordial beauty was breathtaking. I felt the heartbeat of the forest as I walked up the ravine to the falls. I heard the birds, the water, the wind in the trees and the kids laughter. I was utterly enchanted. Once again, I am humbled by the power of the natural world to soothe my monkey brain and restore my spirit.

I have a connection (kind of) to Houghton Falls. The restaurant building was built by Hattie and Milton Sprague as their farm-house— the farm had 1000 acres and included the falls. Over the years, parcels of land were sold and the house changed hands a number of times. The Club Lido, owned by Cleo Grant, was an institution from the mid 1950's until the late 1970's (I am not sure when Cleo sold it). I met Cleo's daughter , Cheri, in August of 2010 when she traveled back to Washburn for the dedication of the Houghton Falls Nature Preserve. When Cheri was growing up, they owned the land from the restaurant to the lake (including the falls); it was fascinating to hear her stories. She used to ride her pony to the lake and spend time in a cabin Cleo (or her Dad) had built somewhere near the falls. I can't imagine having Houghton Falls as your playground— it must have been magical. Cheri sent me a package of pictures after she left. I scanned a few: there is a picture of Cheri on her pony, Cleo and Cheri in front of the restaurant, Cleo in the 1940's and that beautiful building we call Good Thyme.

Foggy Morning

Will and I got up early to go to Bayview Beach to capture a few shots of the sunrise through the fog that seems to have taken up permanent residence in Bayfield. No luck, the fog was too thick and the sun rose on some other beach, in some other place. We had a nice walk with George, took a few cool pictures and went to Big Water for coffee. All in all, a splendid morning.

The Respite Of A Foggy Day

Sunny days are easy, what's not to like about sunshine and a blue sky? The expectations can be high though, you feel like you should be productive— clean the car, brush the dogs, go to the beach, have a picnic. I can come up with a myriad of things to do on a sunny day. A foggy day, on the other hand, is a whole different beast. The pressure is off. The blessing of a day shrouded in mist and fog is the slower cadence of normal rhythms. I can spend my day inside reading, cooking or just sitting and it seems like time well spent.

Will took both pictures in this post. He and Ted came home from school, picked up his camera and headed straight down the harbor to capture a few pictures. I love that my fourteen year old son appreciates the wild beauty of this place and wants to capture it on film (or memory card...film sounds better).

I bet you didn't know today is World Poetry Day?? I can't think of a better poetic subject than the shifting shapes and hues of a bank of fog. I like this poem, The Breathing, by Denise Levertov....something about the 'breathing too quiet to hear' that resonates with me.

An absolute

patience.

Trees stand

up to their knees in

fog. The fog

slowly flows uphill.

White

cobwebs, the grass

leaning where deer

have looked for apples.

The woods

from brook to where

the top of the hill looks

over the fog, send up

not one bird.

So absolute, it is

no other than

happiness itself, a breathing

too quiet to hear.

Shorts At The Skihill & Swimsuits At The Beach...In March!

Saturday was the last day at Ashwabay for the season and we headed up to join the fun. There were cardboard box races (Charlie won third fastest and Meg's 'ride' never made it down the hill), an easter egg hunt, a costume contest, tubing down Portway (Ted took third place) and a water skipping event. It was 77 degrees and sunny- unbelievable! Charlie was skiing in his shorts, t-shirt and a smile from ear to ear. It was a surreal afternoon, my brain knew it was March 17th but the warm breeze and sunshine felt like June. We sat outside the T-Bar with friends, had a couple of beers and cheered on the water skippers- it was one of the best St Patrick's Day I can remember.

The summer in March fun continued today with the first beach day of 2012. It was 70 degrees on the beach with sunshine and a warm breeze. The kids went swimming, built sand castles, dug holes and took turns burying each other. Will awed and amazed Sadie with his one-handed cartwheels and George reprised his role as Retriever Extraordinaire with the Chuck-it. I sat on the beach, listening to the water and thanked every lucky star I could think of for this taste of summer.

All the sun and sand made me think about Florida, which made me think about key lime pie (I liked the pies from Publix), which led to a trip to the grocery store and pie for dessert. The kids had smores when we got home from the beach and I headed into the kitchen to whip up dinner (chicken fajitas) and the aforementioned pie. I am sure we will get another cold snap and maybe a snowstorm but this respite from the cold and damp has been a godsend. While I will miss braises, stews and soups, this weekend reminded me how much I love grilling, sitting around the fire outside looking at the stars and of course, key lime pie and smores!

Key Lime Pie

Pie Crust

1 1/4 cups graham cracker crumbs

2 tbsp sugar

5 tbsp butter, melted

Filling

4 egg yolks

2 cans sweetened, condensed milk

1 cup freshly squeezed lime juice or Nellie and Joe's Key Lime Juice

2 tbsp lime zest

Make Crust

Preheat oven to 350°F.

Stir together graham cracker crumbs, sugar, and butter in a bowl with a fork until combined, then press mixture evenly onto bottom and up side of a 9-inch pie plate.

Bake crust in middle of oven 10 minutes and cool in pie plate on a rack. Leave oven on.

Make Filling and Bake Pie

Whisk together condensed milk and yolks in a bowl until combined. Add juice and zest, whisk until combined.

Pour filling into crust and bake in middle of oven 15 minutes. Cool pie completely on rack (filling will set as it cools), then chill, covered. If you are in a hurry, you can put the pie in the freezer after you pull it out of the oven. It will set within a couple hours.

A Trifecta of Polar Plunging, Ribs and Big Break Zinfandel

It is a long winter in Bayfield. We have at least 5 months of cold and snow (hopefully) and what better way to raise money for the Bayfield Rec Center than jumping in the water on March 3rd? This was the second plunge for Sadie and I have to admit, my daughter is far more adventurous than me. After she climbed out the frigid water, Sadie wrapped herself in a sleeping bag and watched the other jumpers....while she was still soaking wet. In light of her heroic act, I decided to make one of her favorite meals for dinner- smoked pork ribs. As I am sure you are beginning to surmise, I am always looking for a reason to make a special meal or throw a party. Lord knows, jumping into freezing water with snow blowing sideways is enough of a reason for a rib dinner.

About 10 years ago, I decided I wanted to learn how to barbecue and smoke meat. Have you noticed the men 'manning' the grill are drinking beer, laughing and hanging out outside? That's for me, I thought. While I love time spent in my kitchen, there is nothing like starting the grill and cooking outside. I wish it was that easy for me. I have a tendency to complicate everything and research, pick apart and dive head first into the details of whatever it is I am fixated on. Let me tell you, there are a lot passionate barbecue pit masters out there with endless theories and rules for success. A couple of things I have learned: the rub matters, low and slow is the only way and sauce goes on AFTER the meat comes off the smoker. When we were visiting Ted's Mom in Alabama (a good place for barbecue research, among other things), we bought nearly every rub we could get our hands on. I settled on Bad Byron's Butt Rub as my favorite.

I put the rub on the ribs and let them sit for a couple of hours to let the salt and spices flavor the meat. I used my electric smoker, it is easier to maintain the temperature when it cold out than my Kamado grill/smoker. Since Sadie was plunging and I wasn't sure when we would be back, I smoked the ribs at 200 degrees for 3 1/2 hours and I wish I would have had the temperature at 225. The ribs were good but not as tender as I like. I put them in a covered Dutch oven and popped them in the oven for about 45 minutes. As I was pulling the ribs out of the oven, Bonnie Raitt's song, Angel From Montgomery, was on Pandora. It was a good omen for a good dinner.

Zinfandel is the obvious choice for barbecue. It just so happened, I had a lovely Zinfandel just waiting for the perfect opportunity to come to dinner. I must admit, I have a prejudice against 'supermarket wines' and I was not too keen on trying the Cline Big Break Zinfandel. I am glad I did; it is a spicy, complex, 100 year old vine zinfandel. The second glass was much better than the first, this wine definitely needs air and space to breathe in order to come to life. Zinfandel is becoming one of my favorite wines- I love its boldness and complexity.

Dinner was a hit. We turned off all electronic devices and sat around the kitchen table. Of course, there were ten different conversations going on at once, George was making the rounds begging for scraps and Ted announced, 'I bought a vintage lifeboat on Craigslist today.' It was a typical Dougherty dinner.

And So It Begins

I have to tell you, writing the first blog post of your very own blog is a little mind bending. Where should I start? A funny aside about my food obsessed yellow lab, George? A touching story about taking my two daughters and their friends to Minneapolis for the weekend? A tidbit from our family archive when we took our five kids across Lake Superior, in a boat, to Isle Royale? I opted to keep it short and simple. A first blog post should be a little like cocktail party conversations- a brief overview, a funny anecdote and a promise to get together soon. Here are the players you will get to know over the course of my blogging adventure. Trust me, they are a brilliant bunch of people, critters and places.

Ted- captain of the ship, leader of the pack and the man with a plan.