Fairs and Fry Bread

As the last breaths of summer cool down, fall tumbles in with many cute decorations, Halloween costumes, and one of my personal favorites: Fairs. The atmosphere is always exciting, with crowds cheering contestants in a pie eating contest, screaming on a roller coaster, or cooing at the animals. I look forward to the caramel apples with their sticky sweet shell uncovering the tart crisp with every bite, and the craft exhibits that inspire me to create with my hands.

Growing up, my family often attended the small Emery County fair in Utah, where friends of my grandparents had a stand of fresh Navajo Tacos (or Indian Fry Bread, as it is often called). I fondly remember the burning sensation my tongue would receive as I bit too early into the crisp crust with taco fixings on top, dousing the heat with a bit of sour cream and tomato. I remember the bread becoming dessert later, as my grandma would bring it over freshly fried, speckled with cinnamon and sugar. Those are the days that I look forward to now, when the fresh green leaves begin to dry, and I begin to break out my hoodie. I don't live in Utah anymore, but this weather and fairs always brings back those fantastic Navajo Tacos.

Navajo Tacos

Ingredients:
1 egg whipped + enough lukewarm water to ¾ cup

1 tsp lemon juice

2 T Canola oil

½ tsp salt

2 T sugar

2 C flour

1 tsp active dry yeast

1.) Combine egg and water, sugar and yeast  and let sit for about 5 minutes or until the yeast turns foamy. Combine the rest of the dry ingredients in a big bowl. 

 2.) Add the egg/yeast/sugar mixture to the dry ingredients, along with the rest of the wet ingredients, stirring with a wooden spoon. When it gets too difficult to stir with the spoon, start kneading it with your hands (I keep it in the bowl still, but you can knead it on a lightly floured surface). Sprinkle on more flour if the dough is still very sticky, and knead until incorporated before adding more (only if needed!). 

3.) When the dough is reaches a smooth, yet slightly tacky consistency, form into a ball in the bowl and spray lightly with oil (this keeps the moisture in). Then put a slightly damp dishtowel over the top of the bowl, and place in a warm spot for about an hour or two, or until the dough doubles in size.

4.) When dough has risen, squeeze out small balls and work with your hands until dough is in flat disks. Heat about an inch of oil in a heavy pan (I use an enamel covered dutch oven) until the temperature is between 350 and 375 degrees. 

5.) Cook until golden brown on both sides, and serve hot with taco meat, cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, sour cream, guacamole, or whatever your heart desires on a taco. For dessert bread, melt a little butter and sprinkle cinnamon and sugar on top.

The First Day of School and Scones

As I sit here, listening to the constant thrum of the refrigerator, I realize that it very well may be the last time that I hear it, at least until next June. Not that the family I nanny is getting rid of their refrigerator (which would be a little odd), but that soon that gentle vibration will be covered up by pounding feet, crunching cereal, and the flutter of papers being shoved into backpacks at the last minute. Soon, the early risings will begin with the groans and whines that only September can produce out of two young boys. And although tomorrow will be stressful, the loud silence of this morning is what tugs at me to remember my own first days of school.

I woke up early every day during elementary school, getting up even before my older siblings did for high school. I would slip into my walk-in closet, trying hard not to wake up my younger sister. When I was sure that all was still outside the closet, I would gently lift the wooden box that we kept in there for a stool, and take out my favorite book: Stuart Little by E. B. White. For the precious hour that I had before it was really "time to get up" I would hungrily read- shrinking down to Stuart Little's six inch height, and together we would explore the world from his toy sailboat. I would be lost in a fantasy where life was an adventure, and each problem would be solved with the turn of a page. As the years went by, my outings with Stuart grew less frequent until they ceased altogether. Early mornings had lost their magic and the dark cloud of responsibility grew heavier over my head. I often found myself resenting the blare of the alarm clock that meant the consistency of school with its homework that would never end.

Now that it has ended, and my alarm clock goes off for a very different reason, I find myself remembering those mornings with a fondness only felt when one moves away from their childhood home. The soft cushion of a warm breakfast that was ready every at exactly 7:50 AM. My dad's cheesy Chuck Norris jokes that he loved to share with us during the commercials of ESPN. Family scripture study and prayer, and the plink of the keys on the piano that carried me out the door for another day of school. It seems as though I had to leave it behind, just like Stuart Little, to truly enjoy the splendor of it. Now that it's gone for me, I am left here to remember and work toward making the boys' first day something that they will hopefully remember with fondness in their future.

My family always had the tradition of eating hot scones and honey butter for breakfast on the first day of school. It is a tradition that still looked forward to by my younger siblings, and one that I hope to bring to my small children one day.

Scones

Ingredients:
1 egg whipped + enough lukewarm water to ¾ cup

1 tsp lemon juice

2 T Canola oil

½ tsp salt

2 T sugar

2 C flour

1 tsp active dry yeast

1.) Combine egg and water, sugar and yeast  and let sit for about 5 minutes or until the yeast turns foamy. Combine the rest of the dry ingredients in a big bowl. 

 2.) Add the egg/yeast/sugar mixture to the dry ingredients, along with the rest of the wet ingredients, stirring with a wooden spoon. When it gets too difficult to stir with the spoon, start kneading it with your hands (I keep it in the bowl still, but you can knead it on a lightly floured surface). Sprinkle on more flour if the dough is still very sticky, and knead until incorporated before adding more (only if needed!). 4.) When the dough is reaches a smooth, yet slightly tacky consistency, form into a ball in the bowl and spray lightly with oil (this keeps the moisture in). Then put a slightly damp dishtowel over the top of the bowl, and place in a warm spot for about an hour or two, or until the dough doubles in size.
5.) When dough has risen, place on a lightly floured surface, and roll it out until it is about 1/4 inches thick. Using a butter knife, cut out different shapes (I like triangles) and let rise again until it doubles in size.
6.) Fill frying pan or deep fryer about 1 inch full of oil, and heat until between 350 and 375 degrees, and cook dough shapes until golden brown. Serve hot with honey butter or jam.

Self Absorption

In my college class recently, we debated the question of whether or not writing about yourself was self-centered or narcissistic. It caused to me to ponder, especially since I had just started this blog, and no one wants to be labeled a narcissist. I eventually came to this conclusion.

Perhaps it is somehow self-centered or narcissistic to write about ourselves. Maybe the idea that our story will be, or at least should be, of some value to the world is giving ourselves too much credit. But if we choose not to write it for fear of being a narcissist, then the world loses a valuable perspective; one that we see from daily, and wish others to see from as well. 

I submit to you, accordingly, that it is not self-centeredness, but self-worth that propels us to tell our story. By writing a personal narrative, we are acknowledging that we are one perspective among many great and diverse ones, and that we all matter. 

A self-centered attitude dominates attention, while self-worth inspires humility. Therefore, a narcissistic attitude will not allow the author to simply add his/her perspective to others, his/hers would have to be the perspective. 

But what do you think? Do you believe in sharing our own stories and lives, or only allow others to share them for us?

Children

There are children in our apartment complex, I know there are. I see them on the black asphalt on warm sunny days, chalking welcome mats in front of buildings D through F. I see them stumbling outside at 7 am by the masses headed to the bus. But that's just it- I only see them, it's a rare occasion indeed when I hear them.

Then there's Sean and I. We race down the three flights of stairs, giggling like five year olds playing kissing tag. We do plyometrics on Tuesday for our workout, and for those of you who don't know what that is, it involves jumping contests and pretend ski competitions. Beyond that, Sean has recently become fascinated with scaring me. He loves trying out creepy voices and hiding spots, and more often than not, he is rewarded with involuntary squeals from yours truly. Our downstairs neighbors must hate us.

Maybe the children make no noise to make up for the racket coming from two fully grown adults. Or maybe we are just too caught up in singing at the top of our lungs and stomping around to spray each other with water to notice the sounds of their laughter and play. Regardless of the reason, Sean and I are easily the most rambunctious children over 20 on the block.