By First week of November. The cold is settling in. Forty-two Tuesday morning. The remaining greens are sweetening up. I picked the first kale Wednesday — the cold-frost-converted kind, the kind that has gotten sweet from the frost. I made a kale-and-bean soup with smoked turkey from the freezer and ate it for three days.
The cohort is in week ten. The final projects are taking shape. The fifty-eight-year-old woman is making a steel garden trellis for her sister. The nineteen-year-old is making a kitchen cleaver. The retired veteran is making a cane (he doesn't need one but he's designing it for the day he might). The young metalworker is making a small steel sculpture of a horse. The twin-brother sons of the man from the second cohort's grandson — twins, both in the cohort, both surprisingly different in their styles — are making complementary projects, his/hers fire pokers for their parents. The sentimentality of these projects is, as always, more than I planned for and less than I want to discourage. People are making things for people they love. That's the whole point of this class.
Caleb and Miriam Saturday. Miriam stayed the whole afternoon. She helped me in the kitchen — I was making a long-cook venison stew with the new meat — and she taught me a Mexican technique for the meat that involved a marinade of orange and lime and chiles. The stew came out brighter than my usual. Hannah said: your stew has improved. I said: Miriam taught me the marinade. Hannah said: keep her around. Miriam laughed. Caleb laughed. I laughed.
Sunday I started on Linda Walkingstick's memory project. Six pieces of Cherokee tools to fabricate. I started with the simplest — a stone pounder ring, a simple steel handle wrapped around a stone for a pounding tool used for parching corn. The ring is straightforward fabrication. The careful work is matching the proportions in the archival drawing. I bent the steel to match. I welded the handle. The piece took me three hours. It came out right. Five more to go.
Miriam and Caleb filled the kitchen with something I hadn’t planned for — real, easy laughter — and I keep thinking about what it means to be ready for that when it arrives. The venison stew was already going; she taught me her marinade and the afternoon opened up into the kind of afternoon you don’t want to end. If I’d had more forethought, I would have had something cold and festive waiting when they walked in, something that said: I’m glad you’re here. This pumpkin martini is that drink — November in a glass, the kind of thing that belongs on a table surrounded by people you actually want around.
Pumpkin Martini
Prep Time: 5 min | Cook Time: 0 min | Total Time: 5 min | Servings: 2
Ingredients
- 3 oz vodka
- 2 oz pumpkin puree (not pumpkin pie filling)
- 2 oz half-and-half or heavy cream
- 1 oz maple syrup
- 1/2 tsp pumpkin pie spice, plus more for garnish
- 1/4 tsp pure vanilla extract
- 1 cup ice cubes
- Cinnamon sugar for rim (1 tbsp sugar mixed with 1/2 tsp cinnamon)
- Whipped cream for garnish (optional)
Instructions
- Rim the glasses. Spread cinnamon sugar on a small plate. Run a damp finger or citrus wedge around the rim of two chilled martini glasses, then press each rim into the cinnamon sugar to coat. Set aside.
- Combine. In a cocktail shaker, add the vodka, pumpkin puree, half-and-half, maple syrup, pumpkin pie spice, and vanilla extract.
- Add ice and shake. Fill the shaker with ice. Seal and shake vigorously for 20—25 seconds until the outside of the shaker is very cold and the mixture is frothy and well combined.
- Strain. Using a fine mesh strainer or the shaker’s built-in strainer, pour the cocktail into the prepared glasses, dividing evenly.
- Garnish and serve. Top with a small dollop of whipped cream if using and a light dusting of pumpkin pie spice. Serve immediately.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 210 | Protein: 2g | Fat: 5g | Carbs: 18g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 30mg