a sign of spring.

Signs of spring; robins chirping in the back yard, tulips slowly rising under a blanket of oak leaves, mushy, melting dog poo and worn plaid patch work pants.

My patchworks are the most likely item to land me on TLC hit show, "What not to Wear". They are a sure sign that the seasons are changing. They are a gift from my dear sister who had them commissioned for me at least 6 years ago. From the moment my paws ran across the recycled patchwork I new they would be my favorite pants for months to come. Years later, they are still my favorite pants. They go with nothing, clash horrible with make up, graphic t's and require special foot wear; truly they aren't even that comfortable.

As you can imagine I have grown considerably over the past six years...the pants still fit, but they don't fit as well...but who cares.

I've had to re patch, resow and re knot areas....but who cares.

The bottoms are ripped, torn and faded....but they still cover my feet...so who cares.

I keep these pants, not for their comfort or style. I keep them because they remind me of some of the happiest times in my life.

My patchworks have jumped on trampolines with children, ran through mud at Renaissance Festivals, they have taken drunken walks and had drunken talks and have even been to the fair. They have walked many a dog, they have dried many tears. My patchworks have danced around fires, ran across bridges and skated down the sidewalk. They have laid in the hot summer sun, they've covered a bikini clad bum; my patchworks may be a little beat up and worn out....but they remind me of some really great times and they sure make me smile!

Bringing it back to bagels....Ada Marie's is all about happier times. When things were a bit more simple and people had a bit more time. We are sure to bring a smile to your face....Look for a Bagel Delivery Flier Soon!!

A tale of two

Ada pictured with her bounty of cookies (thanks Aunt Janet) Marie all dolled up on her pony!

Ada.

Ada was a women of strength, I sensed that even when I was young. She had worken hands, her brown skin wrinkled over large knuckles told me she was no stranger to the labor of love. Her labor; cooking. I don't remember too much about Ada, other then her cooking and sweet smile. Grandma Ada's home was one that contained a pet rock (this fascinated me), rhubarb (my most favorite treat) and the scent of garlic/dill/dough.

Two things I long to taste one last time:

Grandma Ada's Peanut Brittle....it was insanely good. Nothing I have tasted since could even come close to the "brittle" flavor. Her Brittle was light and rich with flavor. It had a gloss on it so clear you could almost see your reflection. It was a delight; it was also buttery !

Grandma Ada's Dill Pickles....I don't know what she put in these suckers and I don't care! THEY were awesome. They were tangy and garlicky; they were the best!

I'm ashamed....I long ago had lost the memory of Ada.

Marie

Oh boy, Marie was such a little stinker! She was strong in a delicate way. Her strength lay in her seduction and comedic behavior. She was forever making me laugh. Grandma Marie was my very best friend for many years. She made smoking look sexy and she wore blond better then Marilyn any day of the week!

Grandma Marie had the gift of creation. She could take a pile of crap, spray paint it, hot glue it and attach it more crap and it would be awesome!! I can either thank her or blame her for my fascination with spray paint and bottled liquor.

Grandma Marie was beautiful and she knew it. I used to think she was so glamorous with that Pall Mall hanging out of her mouth and her beer in a glass. All the women I knew drank their beer out of the can, but not Grandma Marie.

Grandma Marie was special. The memory of her most often dampens my eyes.

Two strong women....Ada & Marie

And so.....a name is born!

Ada Marie's Bagels. I thank them, for now I have a name.

Well the endless name search continues...

I am terrible at making decisions that are cemented. I am the worst at making a concrete, that's the end all be all decision. It's horrible!

Part of the problem is that I worry way to much about how it will affect other people, the opinion that they will form simply based on the decision I have chosen. I understand that no matter what choice I make someone is not going to like it....I have to like it, but not everyone else does. Even though I can comprehend that, I still can not make a decision and that really stinks.

I need a deadline.

Here is the deadline: Friday (this one) by 8 a.m. PERIOD!

It's All In the Name.

You may have the best tasting bagel in town, it may have the perfect crust and just the right chewiness. The blend of seasonings could be considered nothing less than perfection. But the name you chose for your shop is Bagel Dump. Who is going to stop in and buy your delicious creations. My guess, a couple of people maybe...







What's a bagel girl to do. I've got a pretty decent no less then perfect bagel. It's seasonings are getting closer and closer everyday to the exact flavor I am aiming for. They have a nice bronzed crust and a chewy center, but I do not have a name.







I've got some suggestions....







Old Bags Bagels...this one is off the table.







Brown Bag Bagels...this one exists in other states.







Ms. Bagel...Kinda like it.







Bagels for Days...I like this, some don't.







So you see I have a dilemma. I have a bagel and this bagel has no shop, no name for the shop and just a smig of a plan.







However, the dilemma is part of the fun. The puzzle you get to figure out along the way. Today, I figured out a piece of puzzle that has been bugging me since the very beginning of my bagel experiment.







The color. I know that may seem silly, but I really wanted a nice deep bronze to my bagel. A consistent coloring that was also glossy. I have made set after set of bagels each time tweaking things just a bit to get it just right. Batch number 3 of the day has all the characteristics I was grasping for!







Behold the Perfect Bagel!

Bageling

Bageling: A term used to describe why my kitchen is covered in a fine mist of flour.

It's no secret that I love to bake. As a child I can remember perching on my Aunties counter top watching her pour white fluffy flour into huge glass bowls, gently she would hollow out the center with her knuckles. Next she would crack two large brown eggs into the hollow, they would plop and jiggle slightly before coming to rest.

There is something so comforting about turning dough onto a lightly flowered surface and kneading it into a shiny soft ball. Waiting patiently while it rises and so you can punch it down and shape it into a nice loaf or cut it into strips and braid it; it can be patted flat, coated with olive oil and topped with oregano, garlic and Parmesan cheese. Oh and then when it bakes....the most amazing aroma fills the home! I really enjoy the peacefulness of bread making.

However, there is a new carb is in town! I introduce to you the bagel. Not the bagel you can get sitting next to the eggs at the grocery and not a bagel that is light and fluffy and is really just a roll with a hole. I'm talking about a real bagel.

A chewy delicious bagel, with a brown crunchy crust. This type of bagel is hand rolled, yeast risen, boiled and then baked; this bagel is a meal.

So lately I spend my free time bageling. I knead dough and dance; I knead dough and pray; I knead dough and sing silly songs.

I need dough.....