Lydia Likes It

Potholders for grownups

For as long as it took me to go online and order one of these loopy potholder frames, I was smitten with the idea of returning to my childhood and weaving giant potholders. By the time the package arrived, complete with frame, tools and a starter supply of loops, I'd lost interest. Fortunately, my husband Ted dove in and began making potholders to match our plates, and potholders in different color combinations and patterns, and potholders for gifts. There's even a Hudson's Bay blanket potholder in our kitchen drawer now! When he's done with this, the loom and loops will get passed along to one of our crafty granddaughters. If you try this and get into it, there are Facebook groups where people share photos and graphed patterns, lots of Youtube tutorials, and a couple of good books to get you started. When your fingers are twitchy, making potholders is fast and easy therapy.

Let's get saucy

My name is Lydia, and I'm an addict. I admit it; I'm addicted to Japanese barbecue sauce, to this one in particular. If you haven't tried Bachan's, be warned: this is the stuff of which the most yummy dreams are made. Bachan means "granny" in Japanese, and that's the first hint that this is a tried-and-true family recipe. Judy Yokoyama, known as "Bachan", was born in California, sent to an internment camp as a young girl, and worked on an apple farm. Later her family ran a landscaping business, and every year at the holidays, they would brew up a batch of her barbecue sauce and gift it to their customers. By 2019, they turned that sideline into a business, which now sells four sauces: original (salty with lots of umami flavor); hot and spicy (oh yes, it is -- we often mix it 50/50 with the original); yuzu (salty and citrusy); and a gluten-free version of the original recipe. Bachan's contains authentic ingredients, no preservatives, and is non-GMO certified. It's available in Asian markets and some supermarkets, and online, in various sizes. Stock up now; later this month, I'll share a super-easy recipe, using this sauce, that I make every week.

Birthday spoon

[I first posted this on The Perfect Pantry on May 1, 2011, but as today is my birthday, I thought you might enjoy this story about a gift I gave to myself. If you go to the original post, there are more photos.]

Early on a January morning, two weeks before my birthday quite some years ago, I found myself in the village of Woodstock, Connecticut, in a snow-bound woodworking shack with very little heat, scary power tools, a scarier outhouse, and no coffee.

It was the perfect place to celebrate the end of my 50th birthday year, a year in which I'd promised to make my own gift, and with just a few weeks to go until 51, I did it.

I made a wooden spoon. From scratch. From a tree that fell in Woodstock.

I'd been thinking for months about how to mark the occasion of my 50th. I didn't want a party, though my husband Ted and friends surprised me with a grand party that made me very happy. I didn't want bling, I didn't want books, I didn't want dinner, I didn't want stuff.

What I wanted was to try to make something I'd never tried before.

I needed help, of course, and after meeting woodworker Meb Boden at a craft fair, I asked if she would teach me to make a spoon. She and her husband Tom, a cabinet maker, work together in the shack, which has electricity but no running water, and they live nearby on more than a thousand off-the-grid acres of wooded land that provides an endless supply of raw material for their art.

Meb gently guided me through the whole process, from selecting the block of wood (from a maple tree that had lived on her road), through design, carving, shaping, polishing, and sealing. It took seven hours, several trips to that very cold outhouse, and a restorative bowl of soup at midday to create my single spoon.

Of all, the best part of the day came right at the end. I'd chosen my wood based on size and pedigree -- I didn't want fruit wood, and I needed a large enough piece so that the spoon could have a long handle -- and as we carved and sanded the spoon, we took its maple-ness for granted. But when I rubbed oil into it at the end, the final step in the process, both Meb and I gasped. The grain of the wood, the whorls and patterns, were so much more intricate than we'd realized! The majesty of the spoon revealed... it was the gift in the Cracker Jack box.

Making this wooden spoon was an experience I'll never forget, and to this day I've not seen another spoon quite like mine. It's my absolute favorite of the more than 200 wooden utensils in my kitchen. I use it to stir soups and sauces, toss salads, and taste meatballs. The spoon fits my hand, the length suits my height, and the slightly lopsided shape makes me giggle.

I'll probably never make another spoon, so I hope this one lasts a lifetime.

P.S. I've had the spoon for 20 years. Both the spoon and I are aging gracefully.

[I first posted this on The Perfect Pantry on May 1, 2011, but as today is my birthday, I thought you might enjoy this story about a gift I gave to myself. If you go to the original post, there are more photos.]

Early on a January morning, two weeks before my birthday quite some years ago, I found myself in the village of Woodstock, Connecticut, in a snow-bound woodworking shack with very little heat, scary power tools, a scarier outhouse, and no coffee.

It was the perfect place to celebrate the end of my 50th birthday year, a year in which I'd promised to make my own gift, and with just a few weeks to go until 51, I did it.

I made a wooden spoon. From scratch. From a tree that fell in Woodstock.

What I wanted was to try to make something I'd never tried before.

I needed help, of course, and after meeting woodworker Meb Boden at a craft fair, I asked if she would teach me to make a spoon. She and her husband Tom, a cabinet maker, work together in the shack, which has electricity but no running water, and they live nearby on more than a thousand off-the-grid acres of wooded land that provides an endless supply of raw material for their art.

Meb gently guided me through the whole process, from selecting the block of wood (from a maple tree that had lived on her road), through design, carving, shaping, polishing, and sealing. It took seven hours, several trips to that very cold outhouse, and a restorative bowl of soup at midday to create my single spoon.

Of all, the best part of the day came right at the end. I'd chosen my wood based on size and pedigree -- I didn't want fruit wood, and I needed a large enough piece so that the spoon could have a long handle -- and as we carved and sanded the spoon, we took its maple-ness for granted. But when I rubbed oil into it at the end, the final step in the process, both Meb and I gasped. The grain of the wood, the whorls and patterns, were so much more intricate than we'd realized! The majesty of the spoon revealed... it was the gift in the Cracker Jack box.

Making this wooden spoon was an experience I'll never forget, and to this day I've not seen another spoon quite like mine. It's my absolute favorite of the more than 200 wooden utensils in my kitchen. I use it to stir soups and sauces, toss salads, and taste meatballs. The spoon fits my hand, the length suits my height, and the slightly lopsided shape makes me giggle.

I'll probably never make another spoon, so I hope this one lasts a lifetime.

P.S. I've had the spoon for 20 years. Both the spoon and I are aging gracefully.

What I wanted was to try to make something I'd never tried before.

I needed help, of course, and after meeting woodworker Meb Boden at a craft fair, I asked if she would teach me to make a spoon. She and her husband Tom, a cabinet maker, work together in the shack, which has electricity but no running water, and they live nearby on more than a thousand off-the-grid acres of wooded land that provides an endless supply of raw material for their art.

Meb gently guided me through the whole process, from selecting the block of wood (from a maple tree that had lived on her road), through design, carving, shaping, polishing, and sealing. It took seven hours, several trips to that very cold outhouse, and a restorative bowl of soup at midday to create my single spoon.

Of all, the best part of the day came right at the end. I'd chosen my wood based on size and pedigree -- I didn't want fruit wood, and I needed a large enough piece so that the spoon could have a long handle -- and as we carved and sanded the spoon, we took its maple-ness for granted. But when I rubbed oil into it at the end, the final step in the process, both Meb and I gasped. The grain of the wood, the whorls and patterns, were so much more intricate than we'd realized! The majesty of the spoon revealed... it was the gift in the Cracker Jack box.

Making this wooden spoon was an experience I'll never forget, and to this day I've not seen another spoon quite like mine. It's my absolute favorite of the more than 200 wooden utensils in my kitchen. I use it to stir soups and sauces, toss salads, and taste meatballs. The spoon fits my hand, the length suits my height, and the slightly lopsided shape makes me giggle.

I'll probably never make another spoon, so I hope this one lasts a lifetime.

P.S. I've had the spoon for 20 years. Both the spoon and I are aging gracefully.

Instant Pot

I am one of the hundreds of thousands of people who, on Cyber Monday, bought an Instant Pot, a multifunction electric pressure cooker, slow cooker, rice cooker, yogurt maker, and all around miracle gizmo. I'd been using an electric pressure cooker for a couple of years, and a slow cooker for several years before that, and a rice cooker forever, and I don't even like yogurt, but I had to have this season's "it" appliance. I fell in love immediately. Made in Canada, the IP gets pressed into service at least twice a week in my kitchen. It's great for cooking dried beans, brown rice, stews and soups, even corned beef. The Instant Pot has turned risotto into a fast food in my kitchen; six minutes under high pressure, and no stirring. The pot is easy to use, not at all scary like old-fashioned pressure cookers, and there are tons of videos and recipes online (including a few on my food blog). It's perfect for cooking during a snowstorm, like the one we're having today. Don't be afraid to fall in love; if you see the IP on sale, as it often is, treat yourself.

Artful dining

I love these Doodle By Stitch Tablecloths that turn every meal into a work of art. Each tablecloth comes with special markers, and after your crowd doodles its way through the meal, simply toss the cloth in the washing machine, and it comes out clean and ready for new art and new artists (the photo on the right is after washing -- like magic!). It's great family fun, or the perfect icebreaker at a party. Why not bring a Doodle By Stitch tablecloth as a gift?