Showing posts with label Summer at Castle Stone. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Summer at Castle Stone. Show all posts

Thursday, November 27, 2014

Happy Thanksgiving with Lynn Marie Hulsman




For a Thanksgiving special treat 
Cowboy Marvin invited a special friend over to share some thoughts and a couple of recipes so grab your chef hat and say howdy to the lovely and super talented 










Lynn Marie Hulsman 


        
           





Six days ago, when I glanced at the enormous calendar in my kitchen announcing the schedule of each of the four members of our family, I nearly experienced cardiac arrest.
Thanksgiving is soon, the board warned me.



Less than a week away. 

A hand-drawn cornucopia in the square for 
November 27th proved it. 




I’ll be honest: I’ve been pulling an ostrich about Turkey Day. When I invited guests two months ago, it all seemed so… possible. 


Some people were born to host. They’re the ones whose houses are neat as a pin when you drop by unannounced. They never panic about not having eight matching wineglasses or enough folding chairs because they know their inventory. Ushering friends or strangers through their doors and handing them drinks invigorates these hosts and hostesses. 




My grandmother was one. 

So was my mom.


I don’t know how the gene skipped me, but here I am in midlife, wishing either of them was at the end of the phone line to advise me on how many potatoes and bottles of wine to factor per guest. 



My friend, Rabbi Joy Levitt, once said that all one needs to make an occasion special is a white tablecloth. It marks that a day is different, she pointed out. Beyond that, it’s all about celebrating. 


This year, I latched on to this idea and gave myself permission to do no more than pull out a white tablecloth, if that was all I could handle. I dug out my grandmother’s white cotton and lace tablecloth, and set up the ironing board. I also ironed my mother’s white linen one for the buffet table and eight cloth napkins, enjoying the crisp formality of my table dressings. 

Inspired, I searched for her gold-plated flatware that I haven’t seen since we moved apartments 4 years ago. I found that, along with the silver that matched my mom’s china. As I write this, I am looking at my dining table with the extra leaves added. I alternated place settings belonging to two women who raised me. I’m using their china, their crystal, their gold, their silver. 






For good measure, I stuck a pine cone in a mason jar, a tiny gourd in a vase, and some brown and orange flowers in a vase. I’m neither crafty nor artistic, but it shows I made an effort. It shows I know that this day is special. 




My grandmother and mother are gone. On holidays, we’re all reminded of those who are no longer with us. Life is short, and our days are limited. I find this uplifting, not depressing. Today, I choose not to worry that my food might not be Michelin star-worthy or that my loveseat’s slipcover has a hole in it. 

On Thanksgiving, I plan to enjoy myself. Worry steals joy.



My son saw me polishing my treasures and said, “Mom, you look really happy.” I realized that I am. I don’t feel anxious about hosting this year, 
I feel expectant. 
Ready to welcome. 



In my heart I know that my guests won’t look around for my undusted corners or judge me for having a pile of unfiled bills on the corner of the piano. They will be happy to spend the day with me, with my kind husband, and my hilarious children. They will be grateful that I opened the wine and set a turkey in front of them. Their hearts will lift when they see the beautiful table that was dressed for their to honor and please them. 

This Thanksgiving, I’m grateful for the understanding that each moment is a choice. I can choose to dwell on what’s not perfect or I can choose to marvel at daily miracles. I have money to shop with, hands to cook with, and yes, even a strong back that allows me to bend over and scrub my toilets before the big day. 



I had women who raised me to adulthood. I have friends of my choosing who have become family, and I have healthy children. I have eyes with which to see my lovely table.


 
I am lucky. Like I tell my children, we have everything we need and some of the things we want. 


RECIPES 


Yes, turkey is the centerpiece of every Thanksgiving feast. The roast provides the ooh/aah moment that sets this day apart. But if you ask me, the sides are what people are really after. And the more the merrier, in my opinion. Half the fun is trying to figure out how to take a spoon of this and a pile of that, and fit it all onto one dinner plate.

Southern wisdom tells us, “Ain’t no one ever said, ‘Hell no, I don’t want me no buffet of side dishes!’”

Everyone has one or two special dishes without which it wouldn’t be Thanksgiving. Celebrate abundance, and please the crowd, I say. This year, I’m having cornbread and chestnut stuffing right alongside the celery and onion stuffing. If a guest wants to request, or even better bring a dish, my answer is yes. Mofongo, yams with marshmallows, jello with grated carrots inside, noodle kugel… all are welcome. 

I’m including two recipes here, one for my Minted Mashed Carrots and one for my friend Kate’s family’s Broccoli and Cauliflower Salad. Both of these dishes make me very happy. 

Wishing you and yours that which makes you happy this holiday season!



The Fullerton Family’s Broccoli Cauliflower Salad


This recipe was graciously given to me by my friend Kate, and was passed down from her grandmother. I love it for its crunch, and freshness. This salad is a great way to sneak a healthful side dish into a meal because the pleasing sweetness and tang of the dressing tones down the strong flavors of the cruciferous vegetables. 

It’s a wonderful complement to a savory roast such as barbequed brisket or garlic-infused eye of the round, and it’s equally at home next to a pile of fried chicken. Pretty on the plate, it’s simple, homey, and comforting.

*Makes 8 Servings



For the salad:


Tiny florets of one head of cauliflower

Tiny florets of equivalent bunches of broccoli

1 med/small red onion, diced

1 4-ounce jar sweet, diced pimientos, drained well



For the dressing:

1 cup mayonnaise (recipe originally called for 1 cup Miracle Whip)

1/2 cup vegetable oil

1/3 cup white distilled vinegar

1/2 cup granulated sugar

1 teaspoon dry mustard (ground)

Salt and pepper to taste



Place salad ingredients in a large mixing bowl. 

In another large mixing bowl, blend dressing ingredients with whisk. Pour the dressing over the vegetables, toss lightly, and refrigerate overnight if possible. Serve chilled. 

Store in the refrigerator in a tightly lidded container for up to 
3 days.


Minted Mashed Carrots


Winter is the time for comforting foods, the sturdy ones that stick to your ribs. I love root vegetables — carrots in particular — for checking that box. This cheerily bright side dish is homey, while popping as not-your-every-day fare. The tangy citrus harmonizes with the herbal mint, making this mash perfect for serving alongside savory meats with rich gravies. 

This recipe was inspired by one developed in the Fine Cooking “Fakesgiving” trial run cooking marathon in which cooks make as many Thanksgiving sides as they possibly can. It certainly holds its own on a table with a turkey dinner, or why not serve it to balance the bold flavors of gamey venison steaks or rich Moroccan-spiced lamb meatballs.


*Makes 4 Generous Servings


2 pounds / 900 grams carrots, peeled and cut into small chunks 
(about 1 inch / 2 1/2 centimeters) 

2 teaspoons coarse sea salt, divided

1 tablespoon olive oil

2 tablespoons whipping cream or double cream

3 tablespoons unsalted butter

1 tablespoon finely chopped fresh mint

1/2 teaspoon finely grated lemon zest

1 tablespoon orange juice

1/2 teaspoon finely ground black pepper


In a medium saucepan, set over high heat, combine the carrots with enough cold water to cover by about 1 inch / 2 1/2 centimeters. Add 1 teaspoon of sea salt and bring the water to a boil. Reduce the heat to low, and simmer until the carrots are fork tender, about 30 minutes.

Transfer the carrots to a colander and drain, allowing them to rest.

In the same saucepan, set over low heat, combine the remaining salt, oil, cream, butter, mint, lemon zest, orange juice, and pepper, and heat gently, stirring occasionally, until the butter melts and the ingredients combine. 

Return the carrots to the pan with the oil and butter mixture and mash with a potato masher. Serve immediately.

Store in the refrigerator in a tightly lidded container for up to 
3 days.

Lynn Marie is a fellow Harper Impulse author,
Fire Writer for Written Fireside
in 
She also frequently visits Cowboy Marvin.

Her debut novel 
Christmas at Thornton Hall


is available on Amazon


as is her latest release
Summer at Castle Stone
*Shortlisted Best E-Book - Festival of Romantic Fiction 



About Lynn Marie: 

Lynn Marie Hulsman believes that the best things in life are food, comedy, and romance. Lynn Marie's most recent novel, Summer at Castle Stone, has been shortlisted for "Best E-Book" from The Festival of Romantic Fiction in England. Her debut novel, Christmas at Thornton Hall is acclaimed by critics and audiences alike. Last summer, she was invited to sit on a panel on global publishing at The Romance Writers of America festival in San Antonio, Texas. She is also the co-writer of the cookbooks Make Your Own Soda, published by Clarkson-Potter and The Irish Pantry, published by Running Press. She is the sole author of The Bourbon Dessert Cookbook, which has enjoyed excellent reviews in Garden & Gun Magazine and The Wall Street Journal. As a comic, she has performed at Austin’s Big Stinkin’ Comedy Festival and appeared at New York City’s Caroline’s Comedy Club, Stand-Up New York, and Don't Tell Mama. She co-owns and is the artistic director of the improv group ComedySportz New York. Her very favorite thing to do on the planet is to read books, with writing them coming in at a close second. Her mission is to bring back Chick Lit. She lives with her family in New York City, where she writes for a living. 

Lynn Marie is represented by Stephany Evans of FinePrint Literary.


Follow Lynn Marie Hulsman online

Thanks for sharing Lynn Marie!


Friday, September 12, 2014

First Fight Friday: Summer at Castle Stone by Lynn Marie Hulsman


Goats solve their differences head-on. They don’t give the silent treatment or yell, they butt heads, and then it’s over.

Cowboy Marvin has learned humans resolve issues differently especially those romantically involved. His curiosity sparked, he has invited authors to stop by on Fridays and share the first fight out of their latest book.



A fellow Harper Impulse author


Lynn Marie Hulsman 

        
           is here for ...




First Fight Friday 

with a scene from 


Summer at Castle Stone
*Shortlisted Best E-Book - Festival of Romantic Fiction

Shayla Sheridan decides to take on a tricky assignment across the pond - ghost-writing a book of recipes by the notoriously reclusive and attractive head chef of Castle Stone, 
Tom O’Grady.

The only problem? 


He has no idea that she’s writing it.


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“Can I have a word, Mary?” I heard a firm rich voice behind me say. Infused with authority, the question was more of a statement. I knew without looking it was Tom O’Grady. My breathing sped up.

“Of course, Chef,” she said, rising from her chair.

“No, keep your seat. I just wanted to let you know Callum won’t be continuing in the kitchen. I’ll send him in shortly so you can let him go.” I resisted the urge to crane my neck around to get a look at Tom O’Grady.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. I’ll take care of it. Chef, if you don’t mind, I’d like you to meet Sheila Doyle.” I swallowed hard, preparing myself to tell him the truth about who I was, and make one last-ditch effort to convince him to let me write his book. If only I had a pitch; I needed some hook to convince him why. I stood up, turned around and extended my hand.

“Oh,” I breathed. I’m pretty tall, for a woman, but Tom O’Grady is easily a head taller. He sported a blinding white chef’s coat that buttoned diagonally up the shoulder, accentuating the broadness of his chest. Instead of the traditional tall, white chef’s hat, his unruly dirty-blonde curls were tied back in a black bandana-style head wrap. ‘Ninja angel,’ I thought. ‘Karate pirate.’ These phrases sat on my tongue, and I didn’t dare speak, lest they pop out. He grasped my hand firmly, and shook it.

Before I could explain who I was, Mary stepped in with, “This is Sheila Doyle, she’s training on kitchen duty.”

“How soon can I have you?” he asked. I examined his strong jaw. His hair was dirty blonde, but the beginnings of his beard were red-gold.

“What?”

“Mary!” A young boy with a skinny neck protruding from his work polo, and an unfortunately pimply complexion poked his head around the office door. “The Qatari Princess and her ladies just arrived, and The Earl’s sitting in the lounge in his dressing gown watching videos! I haven’t read the protocol sheet but I’m fairly certain that won’t do.”

“If you’ll excuse me for just a quick second,” Mary said, rushing out the door.

“I asked how soon I can have you.” I searched his face. As I waited for him to elaborate, my heart flopped around my ribcage. “It’s only that I just let go of that useless what’s-his-name, and I could use a body. Have you experience?” he wiped his hands on the kitchen towel he carried.

“Not…uh, some.” I didn’t know how to answer. My breathing had grown shallower. I couldn’t get enough air through my nose. My lips parted involuntarily, and I was embarrassed to hear myself panting. “I wish I had more.”

He narrowed his sleepy eyes, and his full mouth pulled up at the corner. Little crinkles appeared at the corners of his eyes. Still, he seemed irritated. “You’re from America, I take it.” 

He looked past my face, and deep into my eyes. My leg was going numb from being wedged against my chair in the tight space. I could smell him from where I was standing, a combination of heady musk and sharp, tart apple. If I took a step forward, I’d be chest-to-chest with him.

“Yes.” I sensed I shouldn’t elaborate.

“You’re not going to tell me you’re from New York City?”

“I’m not.” He stood still, waiting. I’m not going to tell you, anyway. Might as well add this to the growing list of lies. “I’m from Rhinebeck, New York State. Way upstate. Nowhere near the city. The city!” I shuddered. “No. Not this girl.”

“More the country type, then.” He draped his kitchen towel over his shoulder, and crossed his arms. He stood there like he had all the time in the world.

“You could say that.” 

I wouldn’t, of course, I shifted uncomfortably. My leg was now fully numb. I tried to shuffle sideways from between the desk and chair, dragging it along with me like it was made of wood. Putting weight on it was a mistake. I pitched forward. With lighting reflexes, he caught me by the wrists.

“Easy,” he commanded. 

That voice. It was deep and smooth enough to lull me, but even with that one word, I caught a whiff of condescension that brought me to my senses. Sorry, farmer-man. You’re not better than I am. Let’s see who can write a book, and who goes to bed at night smelling of bacon fat. I could feel the Manhattan sass in me rising up. New Yorkers didn’t have a reputation as aggressive for no reason. I inhaled slowly. Baring my teeth wouldn’t get me what I needed.

“Don’t you have to get back to the restaurant?” I pushed myself back as far against the desk as I could, trying to leave an inch of daylight between us.

He stayed exactly where he was. “I don’t have to do a thing that I don’t want to do.” I could tell by the way he said it that it was true and it flattened me. He didn’t want to do this book, and he especially didn’t want to do it with me. “A few years back, I learned that the key to happiness is pleasing myself.”

“Well, that’s just unrealistic for most of us,” I huffed. Smug, selfish bastard. “Some people have to pay their dues, and suffer, and work really hard.” I thought back to my awful assistant job at HPC.

“I never claimed not to work hard.”

I felt pinned to the wall. “Well, not everyone just gets to do exactly what they want when they want.” My skin was hot and prickly. No one handed me a book deal. Manna wasn’t dropping out of heaven and into my lap. “Sometimes you have to toe the line.”

“Mark my words, Sheila. There’s more than one way to skin a cat. I learned that the hard way.”

He stared at me, and I stared right back.

“Apologies, all. Just had to suggest to The Earl that he might be more comfortable up in his rooms until he was ready to dress for dinner.” Mary let out a heavy sigh, and plopped down into her chair.

“Mary, you never said new girl was American.”

“That she is, Chef,” Mary enthused. “But never mind! She’s excellent references and she’ll fit right in. If it’s all the same to you, she’ll start in the morning. She’s only just stepped in the door, and we’ve paperwork to sort. Could I possibly pull one of the bar staff to help you in the kitchen, just for today?”

“Fair enough,” he said to Mary, still looking at me. “You didn’t say, have you been in Ireland before?”

“Never.”

“London?” He didn’t look away from my face.

“For a week, a long time ago.”

“I had a restaurant there,” he said, searching. “Maybe that’s it.”

“Maybe that’s what?”

He crossed his arms. “People here call me Chef, you know. And what I was saying was, I can’t shake the feeling I know you.”

“Well, you don’t.”

His face darkened.

I knew I sounded rude, but the stakes had been raised. He couldn’t find out who I was. In the last two minutes, getting this book done had become the most important thing in the world, and I could tell from the way he was acting that he would never cooperate.

“Thank you for stopping in, Chef,” Mary cut in quickly, rising from her chair and literally pushing Tom O’Grady to the office door. “We’ll see to Sheila, teach her the rules, make sure she’s sorted.”

“As long as I can have her for breakfast,” he said, walking out.

Once his footsteps faded, Mary turned to me and said, “He must like you.”

“Why do you say that?”

“The last girl who talked to him like that was made redundant before she unpacked her bag.”

Copyright © Lynn Marie Hulsman

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Summer at Castle Stone by Lynn Marie Hulsman 

Lose your heart in Ireland…

Shayla Sheridan’s a New York native born into big city luxury, but she’s never really fitted in with the “it” crowd. Desperate to make it as a writer and to finally step out from her famous father’s shadow, Shayla decides to take on a tricky assignment across the pond…

Swapping skyscrapers and heels for wellies and the heart of the Irish countryside, Shayla must go about ghost-writing a book of recipes by the notoriously reclusive and attractive head chef of Castle Stone, Tom O’Grady.

The only problem? He has no idea that she’s writing it.

REVIEWS

“Witty, funny, thought-provoking & utterly addictive!” – Irish bestselling novelist and author of BEYOND GRACE'S RAINBOW - Carmel Harrington 

Summer at Castle Stone is a romantic comedy that is impossible not to like. The concept seems a bit far fetched but the story and characters, along with the lovingly described location, makes this a great read. Not just for summer, in fact, I would suggest reading while wrapped up in a nice warm throw, fire lit and a great big mug of tea near by. Oh, and maybe a slice of home-made apple tart might help!" - Blogger Margaret Bonass Madden, writing.ie/BleachHouse Library


" Plenty therefore to keep the reader turning the pages and wondering what will happen next. Lynn Marie Hulsman, on the other hand, demonstrates that assumptions about the country are not necessarily well-founded (go Grainne!) and, while she does use ‘Irishisms’ in her dialogue, she is also aware of the word order of Irish English so she doesn’t have to over-use particular words to differentiate between her Irish and American characters." - Leah, GirlsLoveToRead


Summer at Castle Stone 

is available on 
Amazon ~ iTunes Kobo Sainsbury's Nook

And

Her debut novel 

Thornton Hall




is available on Amazon



About Lynn Marie: 

Lynn Marie Hulsman believes that the best things in life are food, comedy, and romance. Lynn Marie's most recent novel, Summer at Castle Stone, has been shortlisted for "Best E-Book" from The Festival of Romantic Fiction in England. Her debut novel, Christmas at Thornton Hall is acclaimed by critics and audiences alike. Last summer, she was invited to sit on a panel on global publishing at The Romance Writers of America festival in San Antonio, Texas. She is also the co-writer of the cookbooks Make Your Own Soda, published by Clarkson-Potter and The Irish Pantry, published by Running Press. She is the sole author of The Bourbon Dessert Cookbook, which has enjoyed excellent reviews in Garden & Gun Magazine and The Wall Street Journal. As a comic, she has performed at Austin’s Big Stinkin’ Comedy Festival and appeared at New York City’s Caroline’s Comedy Club, Stand-Up New York, and Don't Tell Mama. She co-owns and is the artistic director of the improv group ComedySportz New York. Her very favorite thing to do on the planet is to read books, with writing them coming in at a close second. Her mission is to bring back Chick Lit. She lives with her family in New York City, where she writes for a living. 



Lynn Marie is represented by Stephany Evans of FinePrint Literary.


Follow Lynn Marie Hulsman online


Thanks for sharing Lynn Marie!

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