Irish Brown Bread

The pandemic says (to us all), "Show me what you're made of," and I never thought about what I was made of, but whatever I am made of recalled from seventh-grade home economics class how to substitute for a cup of buttermilk 1/2 cup of evaporated milk and almost 1/2 cup of water, leaving just enough room in the cup for a tablespoon of lemon juice, to sour the milk. This solved the problem of the buttermilk required to make an Irish brown bread.

Could have blended evaporated milk, water, and a spoonful of plain yogurt; that works too, but I am hoarding my last cup of yogurt, unopened; the grocery stores are not taking online orders because they're overrun with orders and can't be sure what will be available. Friend ordered chicken breasts and the in-store shopper said she could have turkey tails, would she like to substitute turkey tails? That's what they had.

I made the Irish brown bread (a quickbread, a "soda bread") because that specialty coarse-ground flour is what I had. It was Irish brown bread or no bread. The recipe made a 10 to 12-inch loaf, too big for one person. Elementary-school math helped me halve the recipe and figure roughly how much less baking time the half-a-loaf needed. It wouldn't be one-half the time, because baking doesn't work that way. How do I know baking doesn't work that way? It's part of what I'm made of.

Lust for Lunch and Fall Colors

A certain aura surrounds lunch; it is like no other meal, a civilized refreshment in the meat-grinder of the workday, twice so if you can consume it outdoors. I packed a picnic lunch of ham and cheddar on a seeded bun, a dill pickle and a bottle of well water, drove to Babler State Park (2300 acres), had my lunch there and have never had a happier meal. The woods are still green, and that made me happy, but I lusted too after the orange and chocolaty tones suddenly so satisfying at this time of year. On my lustful lunch hour I bushwhacked until I found some. I'm attending courses to learn my Missouri mushrooms but am not set to eat any. I do know one must cook all edible wild mushrooms; never eat them raw. The bright orange mushroom is Cinnabar Polypore (Pycnoporus cinnabarinus); the striped one, fresh Turkey Tail (Trametes versicolor). Both are pretty. Neither is edible.

Wet Woods Wedding Dress

The soaking rains of April and early May, interspersed with a two-day span of warm sunshine, gave this live tree trunk in the woods a whole gown and train of fresh Turkey Tail mushroom (inedible). In eastern Missouri, luckily, it simply rained, and we didn't end up with the five inches of snow that Kansas City received on Thursday night and Friday morning. However, we eastern Missourians have no idea whether to wear our parkas or our cutoffs or our snow boots or sandals.