Blueberry buttermilk cake

Ok, full disclosure: this post is a cheat. I've posted about this recipe not once but twice before, once when I made it with raspberries and once when I made it with cranberries.

Is this a sign of blogging laziness, or just a great recipe?

Probably both. It's hard to keep the content fresh here. I've whined about this before, and I've heard other bloggers say the same thing, which makes me feel a little bit better. It's challenging to come up with new recipes all the time, and clever (or even dull) things to write about them. I can barely pull it together to post two or three times a week; I can't fathom how some people post every day.

Fussing aside, I'm still a huge fan of this recipe. It's simple and a total knockout. All you need is a little softened butter, buttermilk, and some kind of fruit. This time around, blueberries.

Just as a warning, you'll kind of want to eat the batter, which smells of vanilla and sugar and fresh berries, straight from the pan, unbaked. I want you to be prepared so you can plan accordingly. Maybe enlist someone to supervise you, keep your paws out of the cake. Someone other than a big friendly dog who also enjoys sampling cake, cooked or not. A dog who likes to hang out underfoot, catching stray blueberries that roll off the counter.

I can't really say that nobody got a lick of batter off the spatula. What happens in the kitchen, stays in the kitchen...

Working girl lunch

So far, working for myself is turning out pretty well. For one thing, I don't have a boss. It took me 36 years, but I finally realized I have a problem with authority. For another, I don't have to attend pointless, interminable meetings, or have to pretend to be a team player. I'm not part of any team and I don't have to act like I am. I fly solo, and I like it that way.

That's just the beginning. There are about a million other things I like about working for myself, including spending about 20 or so hours a day with Frances; working whenever I feel like it, maybe early in the morning or after dinner; and guilt-free breaks in the middle of the day to swim, blog, bake, or grocery shop. And, I get to eat lunch at home almost every day.

It's not that I don't enjoy going out to lunch; of course I do. But eating lunch at home is one of the ways in which my thriftiness manifests itself. Even if I have no obvious leftovers to turn into lunch, I pretty much refuse to go out. I'll eat sliced turkey on crackers or cobble together a lettuce-less salad with celery, olives, and canned tuna, all for sake of saving money.

What a cheapskate, you're thinking. Totally. I admit it. I'm actually weirdly proud of being able to scrape together a lunch of misfit food that ends up looking pretty good. I don't know why I am the way I am, but there's no changing me. I'll spend plenty of money on dinner with the husband or friends, tossing back oysters and bottles of wine, but I'm perfectly happy to scrounge for lunch.

It's best when you have some fresh ingredients to work with to balance out the questionable food. The other day, for example,  I had some several-days-old bread, peppery arugula, and fresh mozzarella, which I thought would be a perfect grilled cheese sandwich.  Left it unattended for too long, but you have to admit this looks pretty nice.

I also had some leftover soup to go on the side. Curried cauliflower, to be specific. It was delicious the night before, but tragically unphotogenic. When I served it for dinner, I slid a spoonful of sour cream into the bowl and grated lime zest over the top, which improved its appearance slightly. For lunch, I abstained from the sour cream, but since the soup still looked like liquid cardboard, I busted out the lime again. Yes, the same lime from the night before. That's another instance of my thriftiness: I'll cling to lemons and limes as if they're the last ones on earth, until they're dessicated little nubs. The husband will periodically pick one up from the counter, half zested or split in two, and ask, hopefully, "Compost?"

"I'm going to use that," I'll reply peevishly. "I'll squeeze it in a glass of water or on a salad."

Poor husband.

Anyhow, it's amazing what a tiny sprinkling of green can do, even to a soup that lay somewhere between beige and ecru.

It's hard to rival the soup and sammie combination. They're a perfect pair. Dip, crunch. Dip, crunch. Let's zoom in on that grilled cheese for a moment.

Yes, indeed. I've gotten used to these working lunches.

Shrimp ceviche a la chalaca

How many times does it take doing something before you can call it a tradition? In the case of my mother's shrimp ceviche: two.

Last Memorial Day, the husband and I trekked down to her house for a BBQ, with a soggy rhubarb crisp in hand. I still wince at the thought of that terrible dessert, which slowly imploded on the drive and was not much more than a fruit sauce by the time we arrived. Luckily, over the course of the year, this memory was counter-balanced by the fabulous ceviche my mother made. And this year, she made it again.

I think the recipe began as something she found in Food and Wine, but from the get-go she added her own touches. Unlike me, my mother is very good about annotating recipes with her additions and changes. So this year when Memorial Day rolled around and we began talking about the menu, she was ready to go with the ceviche.

She's named this "Shrimp ceviche a la chalaca," for two reasons. One, chalaca refers to someone who was born in Callao, Peru, which my mother happened to be. Yes, she is of Scandinavian descent. But she was born in Callao and lived in Lima until she was about 12. This is an interesting story for another day. Today's story is about ceviche.

Two, this ceviche reminded us both of some of the Peruvian ceviches we've eaten, often served with a delightful array of condiments, including toasted pumpkin seeds, crispy corn or hominy kernels, and boiled sweet potato, among others. Ultimately, this is my mother's take on Peruvian ceviche. Seeing as two years in a row, it's stolen the spotlight from all other sweet and savory dishes laid out on Memorial Day, I'd say she's done a pretty good job. And lucky you, here's the recipe.

Shrimp Ceviche a la Chalaca
Serves 4-6, depending

1 lb. medium shrimp
3/4 c. fresh lime juice
3 thinly sliced scallions
2/3 c. finely chopped red onion
1 large rib celery, chopped fine
1/2 c. minced cilantro  
12 small pear tomatoes, sliced or 1 medium seeded tomato, chopped
1 1/2 T. tarragon vinegar
1 1/2 T. olive oil
1 t. dried oregano
salt and pepper to taste

Optional garnishes: sliced avocado, toasted pumpkin seeds, slices of boiled sweet potato, olives, finely minced and seeded habanero pepper, crispy corn kernels, papaya slices, tortilla chips.

Clean and peel shrimp, removing the thin vein that runs along the top of the shrimp, and cook in boiling water just long enough to turn pink (1-2 minutes depending on size). Drain immediately and rinse with cold water to stop any residual cooking.

Marinate the shrimp in the lime juice at room temperature for about 1 hour.  Strain and discard juice.

Mix marinated shrimp with the rest of the ingredients and chill for 2-3 hours.
  
Serve on a bed of dressed (oil and vinegar) salad greens of your choice. Garnish ceviche as you prefer.

Cook's notes:  Diced green or sweet red pepper can be added to the shrimp mixture. Orange and lemon juice can be added to the marinade, too.

Please forgive the photo quality...blame the iPhone.