African Violets

I hope you didn’t come here looking for pictures of tapas.  I told you something happens when the food comes out.  Let it suffice to say they were awesome.  Everyone pulled out all the stops and brought amazing tapas to celebrate the sixth day of my birthday month.

Each family member gets to choose the menu for the Sunday dinner that falls closest to the anniversary of their birth.  I love nothing more than eating hors d’oeuvres.  Like the Cher character in Mermaids.  So for my menu I chose tapas.  A little bit more robust than run of the mill appetizers.

It generally falls to the women in the family to do the actual cooking.  The exception is my brother in law Greg who is a master bbq-er and pretty much does all the cooking from May until November.  We may provide a side dish or two but he’s the main event.  Anyway – for MY tapas party I asked each family to come with two tapas (except for Kate who made the cake that Nicki wouldn’t let me bake – bad karma, she said). 

Here’s what we had – I made chicken meatballs Yakitori because nothing quite says Spanish style tapas like ginger, soy and scallions.  I also made baked caprese salad which is basically toasted baguette slices with tomato, fresh mozzarella and basil. 

Nicki made a smoked salmon and goat cheese pizza (that I am trying to work into the menu again sometime this week) and polenta squares topped with spareribs (just the meat part, obviously). 

Kate made the cakes (lemon yogurt cakes from Ina Garten – out of this world good) and a plate of antipasti. 

Trish made some kind of sausage balls that the men were pilfering before she could even get them plated and a decadent mushroom/blue cheese tart. 

Claudia, my cousin, made empanadas (she is from Argentina, after all) and slices of fontina with quince jelly. 

Sara (and actually Ryan, so I take back the bit about only us women folk doing the cooking) made sauteed prawns and assorted mushrooms that was served on slices of baguette.

I hope I’m not forgetting anything.  It was all so good.  We also drank Cava in vast quantities.

I think I need to stop eating for a while.  A really long while.

Let’s move on, shall we?

I have never, except for one brief period in 1982, been able to get African Violets to bloom.  I think I have had one, sometimes more, in my possession as long as I have had a place of my own.  And as soon as I bring them into the house any blossoms that might be on them fling them selves off – Pling!  Pling!  Pling!  Off they go.  Never to bloom again.

In 1982 my Mother in Law gave me my first African Violet that she had planted in a giant, shallow champagne glass.  That little African Violet bloomed it’s little heart out for about six months and then abruptly died.  I replaced it, a number of times, only to have it die within weeks. 

I never gave up though – I keep buying new ones, all full of promise and blooms and they all just shrivel up. 

Then Rick cut down the trellis outside the kitchen window.  And he moved the three, most recent, violets onto the window sill.  And what do you know?  A month later one of them started to bloom.  Then the second one did – and now, finally – the third one is starting. 

I’m astonished.  I had even forgotten what color the blooms were on this batch.  I just keep watering and holding my breath, hoping for the best.