I use the generic term citrus because it started with lemon, but of course, ended with grapefruit.  Orange and lime are good options too.  The original recipe is for Lemon Cornmeal Madeleines courtesy of Food & Wine.  But if all you have on hand is a Jiffy mix, just squeeze some lemon juice in it.  Citrus adds extra sweetness and moisture to the muffins.  Still, the addition of grapefruit zest is to date my favorite.  No honey required.  The muffins tasted even sweeter than the lemon zest version without tasting sour like grapefruit.

Grapefruit Corn Muffins

1. Combine 1 cup cornmeal mix, 1/2 cup sugar, grated zest of one large grapefruit, 1 teaspoon cream of tartar, a pinch of salt, and a pinch of baking soda.
2. In another bowl, whisk 1 egg, 1/4 cup plus 2 tablespoons heavy cream, 1/2 teaspoon vanilla, and 2 tablespoons melted butter.  Mix with dry ingredients just until blended.
3. Bake in greased muffin tins at 350 degrees for 10-12 minutes.

But on to my high…the formerly hormonal teenager from last week said it looked like I had a long day, so he rode his bike to the gas station and came back with this…

…for me!  Awwwwwww.  And here’s an update from my last post SWAT Team in Southgate in high/low format: today’s high for the Sarasota police is that they caught the robber this morning.  The low is that he was in the very spot the SWAT team had staked out for eight hours on Friday – his house.  It took three days and a SWAT team to find a 52 year-old suspect who’s last arrest was in 1978.  I suddenly feel better about my low.

The suspect is 52 year-old James William Holderman.  Part of me is sympathetic toward him because he reminds me of John – a guy who lost almost everything over the past few years – his business, his family and next up was his house.  Unlike John, he was described as being in a downward spiral.  According to neighbor accounts, he was a nice guy who hit hard times and snapped.  But now reports are saying that he was a prior felon; that’s the part that makes me unsympathetic.  Still, I’d hate to judge over media hype.  All I could find online was that he failed to leave his information after causing damage to an unattended vehicle in 2008, but the local papers are saying he’s committed armed robbery before.

The story of Stephen Trantel comes to mind; he was a stockbroker who didn’t tell his wife he lost his job, instead he started robbing banks to maintain his income.  It’s surprising what people will do when faced with struggle.  It probably surprises the people committing the crimes the most.  The thought, how did I get here, must seep in while you’re threatening a harmless bank teller with a weapon.

These sad, sad stories just pull me further out of my rut.  Times are hard, but they haven’t turned criminal.  On my worst day, I can be thankful for that much.  And as for today, with either a nice guy who made a criminal mistake or an actual armed criminal running loose in my neighborhood, I’ll be keeping the doors and windows locked.

Then two years ago the script got hijacked by an evil soap opera writer who filled our story line with a child custody battle, financial problems, family estrangements, and wait…the doozy that should truly win me the moniker, Erica Kane…John found out at 40 years-old that he has a brother.  Dun-dun.

Jerry Springer lives in Sarasota; don’t think we haven’t gotten that joke a few times too.  But life goes on and so shall my blog.  By outing myself, I’m forced to post and therefore forced to focus on the good things in my life.  My garden is always the place to start because it’s about no one else but me.  The hormonal teenager living in the house prefers a dark room and Xbox to sunlight and fresh air.  There are no ex-wives lurking behind the crotons.  And weeds continue to rule over the brick pavers in the front of the house because that’s not where I spend my time.  The backyard is where I spot butterflies and get dirt under my fingernails.  The butterflies didn’t stop visiting, I was just missing them.  No more.  Over the past two weekends, I’ve spent some much needed time in the garden – weeding, transplanting, thinking, forgetting, and healing.  As my grandmother says, “Happiness is a choice.”  With that in mind, I choose to garden.  Here’s my progress so far.Next up on the coming out of my rut list: take down the Christmas tree.  It is February. 

I forgot so many items on my list of simple things I’m looking forward to this upcoming year, so a big apology goes out to my grapefruit tree.  Those yellow balls are starting to get ugly!  Don’t let grocery store wax fool you; a good, ripe grapefruit isn’t pretty…not on the outside anyway.  When the grapefruit first look grocery store worthy, their insides match their outsides – yellow like a lemon and just as sour.  When they start turning brown and nasty, that’s when I turn into Luke and start licking my chops because there’s nothing but pink, juicy sweetness inside.

And just when I was down to only a head of Romaine and a half a red onion in the vegetable drawer…perfect timing.  I left the red onion, grabbed some edamame from the freezer, a bagel from the fridge, and a bottle of Ken’s Steak House Lite Raspberry Walnut Vinaigrette from the cabinet.  Voila, the perfect side for a simple London broil.  I usually make my own raspberry vinaigrette, but Ken’s is a good substitute on a busy day.  Vinaigrette tames the sourness of grapefruit.  John and Cooper sadly don’t share my acid-loving palette, so they often find grapefruit too sour even when I think it’s at its best.  But I do the cooking, so needless to say, both find vinaigrette helpful this time of year.  And we all loved the “in a pinch” bagel croutons – just melted butter and an Everything bagel but so, so tasty.This is just the beginning.  We had a terrible yield last season after the incident, and it’s time to make up for the loss.  Grapefruit will be sliced, diced, zested, sugared, broiled, thrown into salads, mixed into cocktails, and of course, they will be juiced.  Pink grapefruit juice – a girl’s best friend.  One of my girlfriend’s bums it like a cigarette, believing it will have the same slimming effect on her figure.I looked up the “grapefruit diet” but it seems to be more of an urban myth than a reputable weight loss plan.  The premise is that you either eat half a grapefruit or drink eight ounces of juice with a protein, and an enzyme in the grapefruit causes you to burn fat.  I came up with two small studies that indicated weight loss but one was done by the Florida Department of Citrus…perhaps there’s some bias there.  And neither pointed to a specific property within the grapefruit that burns fat.  Grapefruit has fiber, so it’s filling and low in calories.  I’m all for the fruit, but the diet seems to employ the same magical thinking my sister refers to when her teenage daughter shoves her school uniform into the washer 20 minutes before she’s supposed to leave and expects to get to school on time.

What’s not magical thinking is that pink grapefruit contain vitamins A and C, potassium, beta-carotene, calcium, and magnesium.   They also contain phytosterols, which are proven to lower cholesterol and reduce the risk of coronary heart disease.  Yes, I’m looking forward to a hearty, healthy season.

A Diet Coke explosion last year led to me pulling out some bulbs forgotten about in the bottom drawer of our mini-fridge.  The discovery should lead to some sweet-smelling Hyacinths this year.  And into the new year, I’m taking with me the knowledge to turn down the temperature a notch when packing the mini-fridge with beer and soda over the holidays.  The sodas started freezing until one Diet Coke can finally blew the mini-door open.  Oops…glad that was last year.

I’m also looking forward to seeing what else the Passion vine will take over this year.  The mermaid’s tail was first to go.  I’d try to control it except that everywhere the vine travels it takes a bright red flower with it.    There’s fixing and filling the chicken coop to look forward to…

And father and son bonding over a boat that cost less than Christmas dinner.  No actual aspirations of cruising this year but lots of planning, discussing and trips to the junkyard and boat store will pass the time.Happy New Year…a day late…good thing I’m not sweating the small stuff this year.

I’ve written before about my mother’s, what she would say is indifference, and I say is utter disgust for any animals outside of a zoo, so this is surely the last thing she’ll ever knit for me again.  Glad I have the photos to remember it…thanks, Luke!

Family…Action…

If you’re in the Palm Harbor area, stop by the sanctuary…they’ve been around for 60 years and need the funding.  The sanctuary was different from what I imagined…although my expectations could have been a bit out of whack.  When the Groupon read “admission for four and one bag of monkey feed,” I actually thought we’d be hand-feeding monkeys as if 275-pound apes were suitable for a petting zoo atmosphere.  Instead you put the feed into chutes made from PVC or in cups attached to pulley systems.Another expectation was that the monkey feed would come in some sort of pellet form, but it was Chex mix…literally.  It was a Ziplock snack bag full of Chex mix, Cheez-its, popcorn, and animal crackers.  It took us a few feedings to realize this guy would only eat popcorn.  It’s weird to see animals eating processed food, especially when showing a preference toward one type versus another.  Humans make the choice to eat or not eat unhealthy food.  At the same time, funding is always an issue with non-profits.  If the Suncoast Primate Sanctuary didn’t take these animals in, many would be put down.  The primates come from zoos, research labs, TV sets, and even private residences.  There are a few other animals the sanctuary takes in as well.  We saw snakes, alligators, birds, and lemurs. When John held the alligator, a crowd quickly formed.  It wrested a bit, but John got it flipped over on its back.John was rubbing its belly saying, “Watch, I’ll get it to go to sleep.”  One guy laughed at him and said, “Yeah, I don’t think that works with alligators.”  And then a little kid ran up and yelled, “You’re killing it!”  When John replied, “It’s not dying; it’s just going to sleep,”  the kid shouted again, “You’re making it go to sleep!”

The next thing you know, the alligator’s head and tail are pointed to the ground and that baby was peeing a river.  The skeptic from earlier says, “Well, you definitely relaxed him.”  It was hilarious to the point of a stomach ache.  This is the best picture from the moment; the others are blurred from shaking laughter.