by Gayle Leeson
1 9-inch piecrust, baked and cooled
⅔ cup plus 3 tablespoons sugar, divided
⅓ cup plus 1 tablespoon cornstarch, divided
3 eggs, separated
2½ cups milk
2 tablespoons butter or margarine
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
½ cup water
Preheat oven to 350°.
Place the confectioners’ sugar in a bowl. Cut in the peanut butter with a pastry blender until crumbly. Set aside 2 tablespoons for garnish. Sprinkle the remaining crumbs into the pie shell.
In a saucepan, combine ⅔ cup sugar, ⅓ cup cornstarch, egg yolks, and milk. Cook over medium heat until the mixture thickens. Remove from heat. Add the butter and vanilla, stirring until the butter melts. Pour into the pie shell.
In a small saucepan, combine the remaining sugar and cornstarch with water. Cook over low heat until thickened. Cool slightly. Beat the egg whites until stiff. Fold in the cornstarch mixture. Spread the meringue over the hot filling, sealing the edges.
Sprinkle the reserved peanut butter mixture over the top. Bake for 12 to 15 minutes or until golden brown. Yield: 8 servings.
Beef and Cheese Pasta Bake
1 8-ounce package elbow macaroni
cooking spray
1 cup chopped onion
1 cup shredded carrots
2 teaspoons minced garlic
1 pound lean ground beef
1 cup tomato sauce
1 teaspoon salt, divided
½ teaspoon black pepper
1 cup milk
1 tablespoons flour
1½ cups shredded cheddar cheese
Preheat oven to 350°.
Cook the pasta and drain. Lightly coat the pasta with cooking spray. Heat a Dutch oven over medium-high heat. Coat the pan with cooking spray. Add the onions and carrots to the pan and sauté for around 4 minutes. Add the garlic and sauté a minute longer. Add the ground beef and cook until the meat is browned. Add the tomato sauce, ½ teaspoon salt, and pepper. Cook for 2 minutes. Add the pasta to the beef mixture. Spoon into an 11-by-7-inch baking dish coated with cooking spray.
Place the milk, flour, and remaining ½ teaspoon salt into a medium saucepan. Stir until blended. Cook over medium heat for 2 minutes or until thickened, stirring constantly. Add 1 cup cheddar cheese, stirring until smooth. Pour the cheese sauce over the pasta mixture and stir. Top with the remaining ½ cup cheddar cheese. Bake for 20 minutes until lightly browned. Let stand for 5 minutes before serving. Yield: 8 1-cup servings.
Chicken and Dumplings
Submitted by Amy Brantley, author of Cold Weather Favorites: Delicious Recipes to Get You Through Winter
16 cups water
1 pound boneless, skinless chicken breasts, cut into 1-inch pieces
1 pound boneless, skinless chicken thighs, cut into 1-inch pieces
sea salt to taste
fresh cracked black pepper to taste
2 sticks butter
1 10-count can refrigerated biscuits
2 10-ounce cans cream of chicken soup
½ cup cream
additional salt and pepper to taste
Pour the water into a large pot and add the chicken, salt, pepper, and 1 stick of butter. Boil over medium-high heat until the chicken is cooked through.
While the chicken is boiling, cut the biscuits into 4 pieces each, resulting in 40 pieces. Top the biscuits with freshly cracked black pepper.
Once the chicken is cooked, stir in the cream of chicken soup and another stick of butter. Stir until the soup and butter are incorporated into the mixture.
Reduce the heat to medium and drop the pieces of biscuit dough into the pot one at a time, making sure to drop in a different spot each time to avoid having the pieces stick together. Use a large spoon to gently push down the dumplings a few times.
Stir in the cream and add additional salt to taste. Cook for approximately 5 minutes or until the dumplings are no longer doughy in the center. Yield: 4 to 6 servings.
Cooking Tip: You can use chicken broth in place of the water, but be sure to adjust the amount of salt used in the recipe accordingly.
Strawberry Jam
5 cups fresh strawberries
¼ cup lemon juice
6 tablespoons Ball® Real Fruit™ Classic Pectin
7 cups granulated sugar
8 Ball® (8-ounce) half-pint preserving jars with lids and bands
Prepare a boiling water canner. Heat the jars in simmering water until ready to use. Do not boil. Wash the lids in warm soapy water and set the bands aside.
Combine the strawberries and lemon juice in a 6- or 8-quart saucepan. Gradually stir in the pectin. Bring the mixture to a full rolling boil that cannot be stirred down, over high heat, stirring constantly.
Add the sugar, stirring to dissolve. Return the mixture to a full rolling boil. Boil hard for 1 minute, stirring constantly. Remove from heat. Skim any foam if necessary.
Ladle the hot jam into the hot jars, leaving a ¼-inch headspace. Wipe the rim, and center the lid on each jar. Apply the band until the fit is fingertip tight.
Process in a boiling water canner for 10 minutes, adjusting for altitude. Remove the jars and cool. Check the lids for seals after 24 hours. The lid should not flex up and down when the center is pressed.
Author’s Note: Visit freshpreserving.com/recipes/strawberry-jam for variations such as Vanilla Strawberry Jam and Peppered Strawberry Jam.
Love Gayle Leeson’s Down South Café mysteries? Read on for a sample of the
first book in Amanda Lee’s Embroidery Mystery series!
The Quick and the Thread
is available wherever books are sold.
Just after crossing over . . . under . . . through . . . the covered bridge, I could see it. Barely. I could make out the top of it, and that was enough at the moment to make me set aside the troubling grammatical conundrum of whether one passes over, under, or through a covered bridge.
“There it is,” I told Angus, an Irish wolfhound who was riding shotgun. “There’s our sign!”
He woofed, which could mean anything from “I gotta pee” to “Yay!” I went with “Yay!”
“Me, too! I’m so excited.”
I was closer to the store now and could really see the sign. I pointed. “See, Angus?” My voice was barely above a whisper. “Our sign.”
THE SEVEN-YEAR STITCH.
I had named the shop the Seven-Year Stitch for three reasons. One, it’s an embroidery specialty shop. Two, I’m a huge fan of classic movies. And three, it actually took me seven years to turn my dream of owning an embroidery shop into a reality.
Once upon a time, in a funky-cool land called San Francisco, I was an accountant. Not a funky-cool job, believe me, especially for a funky-cool girl like me, Marcy Singer. I had a corner cubicle near a window. You’d think the window would be a good thing, but it looked out upon a vacant building that grew more dilapidated by the day. Maybe by the hour. It was majorly depressing. One year, a coworker gave me a cactus for my birthday. I set it in that window, and it died. I told you it was depressing.
Still, my job wasn’t that bad. I can’t say I truly enjoyed it, but I am good with numbers and the work was tolerable. Then I got the call from Sadie. Not a call, mind you; the call.
“Hey, Marce. Are you sitting down?” Sadie had said.
“Sadie, I’m always sitting down. I keep a stationary bike frame and pedal it under my desk so my leg muscles won’t atrophy.”
“Good. The hardware store next to me just went out of business.”
“And this is good because you hate the hardware guy?”
She’d given me an exasperated huff. “No, silly. It’s good because the space is for lease. I’ve already called the landlord, and he’s giving yo
u the opportunity to snatch it up before anyone else does.”
Sadie is an entrepreneur. She and her husband, Blake, own MacKenzies’ Mochas, a charming coffee shop on the Oregon coast. She thinks everyone—or, at least, Marcy Singer—should also own a charming shop on the Oregon coast.
“Wait, wait, wait,” I’d said. “You expect me to come up there to Quaint City, Oregon—”
“Tallulah Falls, thank you very much.”
“—and set up shop? Just like that?”
“Yes! It’s not like you’re happy there or like you’re on some big five-year career plan.”
“Thanks for reminding me.”
“And you’ve not had a boyfriend or even a date for more than a year now. I could still strangle David when I think of how he broke your heart.”
“Once again, thank you for the painful reminder.”
“So what’s keeping you there? This is your chance to open up the embroidery shop you used to talk about all the time in college.”
“But what do I know about actually running a business?”
Sadie had huffed. “You can’t tell me you’ve been keeping companies’ books all these years without having picked up some pointers about how to—and how not to—run a business.”
“You’ve got a point there. But what about Angus?”
“Marce, he will love it here! He can come to work with you every day, run up and down the beach. . . . Isn’t that better than the situation he has now?”
I swallowed a lump of guilt the size of my fist.
“You’re right, Sadie,” I’d admitted. “A change will do us both good.”
That had been three months ago. Now I was a resident of Tallulah Falls, Oregon, and today was the grand opening of the Seven-Year Stitch.
A cool, salty breeze off the ocean ruffled my hair as I hopped out of the bright red Jeep I’d bought to traipse up and down the coast.
Angus followed me out of the Jeep and trotted beside me up the river-rock steps to the walk that connected all the shops on this side of the street. The shops on the other side of the street were set up in a similar manner, with river-rock steps leading up to walks containing bits of shells and colorful rocks for aesthetic appeal. A narrow, two-lane road divided the shops, and black wrought-iron lampposts and benches added to the inviting community feel. A large clock tower sat in the middle of the town square, pulling everything together and somehow reminding us all of the preciousness of time. Tallulah Falls billed itself as the friendliest town on the Oregon coast, and so far, I had no reason to doubt that claim.
I unlocked the door and flipped the CLOSED sign to OPEN before turning to survey the shop. It was as if I were seeing it for the first time. And, in a way, I was. I’d been here until nearly midnight last night, putting the finishing touches on everything. This was my first look at the finished project. Like all my finished projects, I tried to view it objectively. But, like all my finished projects, I looked upon this one as a cherished child.
The floor was black-and-white tile, laid out like a gleaming chessboard. All my wood accents were maple. On the floor to my left, I had maple bins holding cross-stitch threads and yarns. When a customer first came in the door, she would see the cross-stitch threads. They started in white and went through shades of ecru, pink, red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, gray, and black. The yarns were organized the same way on the opposite side. Perle flosses, embroidery hoops, needles, and cross-stitch kits hung on maple-trimmed corkboard over the bins. On the other side of the corkboard—the side with the yarn—there were knitting needles, crochet hooks, tapestry needles, and needlepoint kits.
The walls were covered by shelves where I displayed pattern books, dolls with dresses I’d designed and embroidered, and framed samplers. I had some dolls for those who liked to sew and embroider outfits (like me), as well as for those who enjoy knitting and crocheting doll clothes.
Standing near the cash register was my life-size mannequin, who bore a striking resemblance to Marilyn Monroe, especially since I put a short, curly blond wig on her and did her makeup. I even gave her a mole . . . er, beauty mark. I called her Jill. I was going to name her after Marilyn’s character in The Seven Year Itch, but she didn’t have a name. Can you believe that—a main character with no name? She was simply billed as “The Girl.”
To the right of the door was the sitting area. As much as I loved to play with the amazing materials displayed all over the store, the sitting area was my favorite place in the shop. Two navy overstuffed sofas faced each other across an oval maple coffee table. The table sat on a navy, red, and white braided rug. There were red club chairs with matching ottomans near either end of the coffee table, and candlewick pillows with lace borders scattered over both the sofas. I made those, too—the pillows, not the sofas.
The bell over the door jingled, and I turned to see Sadie walking in with a travel coffee mug.
I smiled. “Is that what I think it is?”
“It is, if you think it’s a nonfat vanilla latte with a hint of cinnamon.” She handed me the mug. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”
“Thanks. You’re the best.” The steaming mug felt good in my hands. I looked back over the store. “It looks good, doesn’t it?”
“It looks fantastic. You’ve outdone yourself.” She cocked her head. “Is that what you’re wearing tonight?”
Happily married for the past five years, Sadie was always eager to play matchmaker for me. I hid a smile and held the hem of my vintage tee as if it were a dress. “You don’t think Snoopy’s Joe Cool is appropriate for the grand opening party?”
Sadie closed her eyes.
“I have a supercute dress for tonight,” I said with a laugh, “and Mr. O’Ruff will be sporting a black tie for the momentous event.”
Angus wagged his tail at the sound of his surname.
“Marce, you and that pony.” Sadie scratched Angus behind the ears.
“He’s a proud boy. Aren’t you, Angus?”
Angus barked his agreement, and Sadie chuckled.
“I’m proud, too . . . of both of you.” She grinned. “I’d better get back over to Blake. I’ll be back to check on you again in a while.”
Though we’re the same age and had been roommates in college, Sadie clucked over me like a mother hen. It was sweet, but I could do without the fix-ups. Some of these guys she’d tried to foist on me . . . I have no idea where she got them—mainly because I was afraid to ask.
I went over to the counter and placed my big yellow purse and floral tote bag on the bottom shelf before finally taking a sip of my latte.
“That’s yummy, Angus. It’s nice to have a friend who owns a coffee shop, isn’t it?”
Angus lay down on the large bed I’d put behind the counter for him.
“That’s a good idea,” I told him. “Rest up. We’ve got a big day and an even bigger night ahead of us.”
About the Author
Gayle Leeson lives in Virginia with her family, which includes a dog who adores her and a cat who can take her or leave her. Leeson, who is a native Virginian, also writes as Amanda Lee (the Embroidery Mystery series), Gayle Trent, and G.V. Trent. Please visit Leeson online at gayleleeson.com, gayletrent.com, on Facebook (facebook .com/GayleTrentandAmandaLee), on Twitter (twitter.com /GayleTrent), and on Pinterest (pinterest.com/gayletrent/).
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