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recipe enclosed/with love to Mrs.Z
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Date Posted: 22:04:41 03/27/01 Tue
In reply to:
BonnieBo
's message, "Bolt From the Blue" on 22:53:55 03/23/01 Fri
###
It bothered Nikita. It bothered her a lot to leave her workshop in such a mess, but rules were rules. And according to her diamode clock, she better get a move on because she was cutting it close enough as it was. She reluctantly lifted what was left of her skirts and jogged up the back stairs to their big stickboard house. Nikita eyed the peeling white exterior and made a mental note - for the hundredth time - to paint it. Really. It should be done. And soon. A new coat of paint would do wonders for this home. This poor old home.
As if answering back, the floorboards shifted and creaked. The checkered curtains fluttered through the open kitchen window, and Nikita could hear the stew hissing on the stove and the lid clanging as it was put back on top of the pot. The stew ... already cooking ... cooking without her ... That meant only one thing - she was even later than she'd thought. Maybe her self-charging clock needed some extra juice after all. Oh, she was in trouble now. Big trouble. Her hand grabbed the door knob. She was twisting and turning it when she remembered something else. Nuts.
With a little sigh, Nikita turned around and ran down the steps again. She carefully wiped the rubber soles of her shoes on the thick bristly mat. Then she went back upstairs, and this time, she noticed the big wet footprints she'd made on her first trip. The muddy evidence of her carelessness made her wince. Bubbe would kill her. But not if she took care of it herself first. She may be good at making messes, but at least now she was even better at cleaning up after herself.
Necessity is the mother of invention. And especially if you have a grandmother like Bubbe.At seventy-two, Adriana Kirov claimed that her eyesight was failing her, but she could still spot a speck of dirt at twenty paces. She would spot it and then, boy, would she let you know about it in at least two different languages and a couple of prayers thrown in for good measure. Nikita wanted to avoid another scolding. She'd been doing pretty good this week. There hadn't been a single problem since last Friday when she'd scared those silly old cows. No one ever said that cows were the brightest animals in the bunch. But, my goodness, you'd think they'd have enough sense not to graze near the base of her tower where the grass always gave off blue sparks. Since that episode, they hadn't been producing any milk and Nikita heard about that every morning. Now they had to buy their milk, and buying it wasted precious coin they didn't have to spare. Money always seemed to worry Bubbe. Nikita had felt bad about that, so she'd been especially careful all week long. Careful until this afternoon, that is. She didn't want to add mud to her list of transgressions.
When Nikita reached the top of the steps, she hit a small button on the banister and air blasted across the treads, blowing away the last bits of mud. The clumps clattered down the steps as she opened the screen and the back door, and walked into the kitchen - Bubbe's workshop. This was her grandmother's place: every brick, every polished pot, each glass jar of spice that she dusted at least twice a week. This place always felt warm and comforting. And it always reminded Nikita of her grandmother because after each scolding, there was always a comforting hug. And sometimes, there were other comforts too. Sometimes there was a sweet treat from the red glass jar on top of the tallest kitchen shelf, or sometimes there was even a little kolachkicookie fresh from the oven. Just one bite, and that sweet walnut filling always made everything better. Much better. And today, after inspecting her damaged transducer, she needed at least two kolachkis. Maybe even three when she remembered the waterlogged postcards from Izzy. Feeling even sadder, Nikita sniffed hungrily. That sharp smell of hot sugar and crisping dough tickled her nose. Maybe, just maybe if she was lucky ...
"By the saints!" Her grandmother's sharp exclamation made Nikita stop suddenly.
She banged into the counter. "What? Is it my ...?" Her hand flew to her forehead. She checked. One, two. No, both her eyebrows were still there. "What is it?"
"As if you didn't know. Look at you. Just look. Not in my kitchen, you don't. Not looking like that, my girl. For shame. If cleanliness is next to godliness, then you are a Hottentot heathen." Bubbe finished fastening her cloak, grabbed Nikita's ear, and pulled her to the sink. The faucet snapped on. "Tcha! Walking in here like a mud doll. Where do you learn such manners? Where? I ask you. Not from me. And certainly not from your father who was the senior hygiene officer in the old Tsar's Medical Corps. And what would your sainted mother say if she saw you now? Poor, poor Talia. If she wasn't already dead, then you'd kill her with things you do. Kill her twice over, I swear. Maybe I've only raised sons, but they were lambs - lambs! - compared to you. And that's saying something."
"Bubbe, I ... my clock."
"No excuses now. None. I understand. You're occupied. You've a fine mind. Fine. But it is too fine, too strong. That is what worries me, Nikita. Because you know so much, you sometimes forget. You forget about everything else. Everything falls away. Everything and everyone. Even us." The faint seams in her grandmother's face deepened as she plunged a towel into the sink, then lifted, deftly squeezing the extra moisture out. She handed it to Nikita.
She took it, her head bowed over the towel. She swallowed convulsively. "I ... I'm sorry. I don't mean to. I just start seeing these things, these marvelous things, and I can see how to build them and make them work. And I can do it. You know I can do it, Bubbe. Then before I know it, time just slips away. I don't notice. It's not that I forget you. Or Papa or Uncle Walter or Seymour. Not any of you. Honest, I don't."
"I know." Adriana's faded blue eyes seemed to examine her for a long time, and gradually, irritation and worry were replaced by love. She chucked Nikita under the chin. "It's just that people are more important. More. Not less. Now wash up, child."
"But I did. See? I already did." Feeling bewildered, Nikita held up her chapped clean hands.
Bubbe pointed to the streaks running down Nikita's arms. "No, no, no. Wash thoroughly this time. You'll need to finish dinner and I don't want any of those solvents in my good food. We finally got a new tenant. Let's not kill him off."
Nodding, Nikita scrubbed with the cloth. Ouch. What was this? Maybe it looked like a towel but it sure felt like grade-four sandpaper. She washed her offending arms and her face until she felt scoured all over. Absolutely scoured. She probably looked all shiny and pink like a roasted pig. When she was finally done, she rubbed the slightly sticky residue between her fingers. Nikita held up the strange towel and stared at her grandmother. "All right. Confess. What the heck is this? This isn't a towel. It smarts."
"Hmmm, too abrasive. All right. I'll fix the formula. Maybe only half a cup in the lot next time. It's a new recipe of mine. The auto-cleansing towel. No soap. Kills germs. Removes stubborn spots. You, child, are the ultimate test. And not too bad a result if I do say so myself. There," Bubbe said firmly, taking the experiment from Nikita. Her old hands wrung the towel and hung it neatly on a wall rack mounted over the sink. "Much better. Now I can see some girl under all that dirt."
"There isn't any girl left any more. She's all rubbed away," Nikita muttered. She watched her grandmother take her black satchel from the kitchen table. "Who's delivering this time?"
"Lilia Peralta. You know Lilia. I think she's a year younger than you. Well, this is her first. So I may be back late. I'm going because Walter's still out on his call and your father ... well, he can't do it. He's indisposed."
The women exchanged a glance. Nikita nodded sadly. The episodes were happening more often now. "Can I help?" she offered.
Bubbe smiled. "How very brave of you. Especially since I know you can't stand the sight of blood. No, child. You need to finish making dinner. Just ice the cake. That's all you need to do. And if you're so anxious to make amends, you should apologize to Seymour, not to me. He's the one who peeled all your potatoes. Goodbye now. I left a note. Mind you. Don't forget." Pulling up her hood, Bubbe left the room.
###
Kolachki
Yield: 6 dozen
------------COOKIE DOUGH----------------
1/2 lb Cream cheese (at room temperature)
1/2 lb Butter (at room temperature)
3 c Flour
1 x Walnut filling, below
-OR
12 oz Poppy seed filling (canned, Solo brand)
-----------WALNUT FILLING---------------
1 lb Walnuts, finely ground
1 Egg
1 c Sugar
Water
Mix butter and cream cheese until smooth. Add flour and mix again until smooth. Making this dough is easy with a food processor, hard with a mixer.
Roll dough into 3 balls. Refrigerate dough to keep it from drying out. The dough can be refrigerated for 1-2 hours, but it is not necessary. Roll out 1 ball at a time and flour lightly. Roll dough out in flour or granulated sugar so it doesn't stick.
Cut dough into squares or circles using cookie or biscuit cutter. Add about a teaspoon of filling. Roll squares into "logs." Fold circles over and seal with a fork. Bake at 375 degrees F. for 10-15 minutes or until lightly browned.
MAKE FILLING: Mix all ingredients together. Add water to obtain a sticky consistency.
NOTES:
The kolachki are delicate, so do not pile high in a jar as you would cookies. Put them in a plastic bag. They can be frozen. These are usually made for Easter or Christmas. From iChef.
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