Family Album and a Good Turkey Sandwich

I've been thinking about famous artists as compared to some of my favorite authors. If Picasso is Anne Lamott and Hopper is Anne Tyler, then I think that Penelope Lively is Vermeer: small, quiet at first glance, incredible impact -- she creates these complete paintings of people who stay with you after the book is finished and shelved.

The story of a family with six children, each chapter in Family Album is like a snapshot of one family member or one incident, and something mentioned in a chapter leads to the next. It's carefully written but not stuffy. I'm sitting here with the book beside me wondering how she did it, how the author made each person in the book mysterious and whole, interesting and likeable or unlikeable, depending on your point of view.

This is a book about family, home-making (not in the sense of bed-making but in the sense of creating a home life) and how children can determine who a woman is. Does that mean that men won't want to read it? Maybe.

This book makes me consider the cost of being a mother, how for some women there is no hesitation, no question that caring for children is a life's work, a calling, satisfactory on its own. For the rest of us, it's constant push and pull. I know when I make a great meal, everyone in the family feels better. I also know that most of the time I would rather read and write than shop and cook. (Does everybody else think about Meg's mother in A Wrinkle in Time, cooking stew over a bunsen burner while she did her work in her laboratory? Nice idea but somehow it doesn't ring true.)

A turkey sandwich is the opposite of a good meal. It's not warm, it's not cooked. It's a cheat, a lunch, really, not dinner. So I dress it up. Pile up deli-sliced maple-roasted turkey on a plate. Set out fantastic sweet batard from Acme sliced thickly and a nice dark green bowl filled with homemade mayo (see below). I mound up whole romaine leaves on a nice dark blue platter to put on your sandwich or just to eat with your fingers. I add a small plate of sliced tomatoes and a funny old-fashioned divided casserole filled with sweet gherkins on one side and slices of dill pickle on the other. Bring out a few whole avocados with a knife and a small cutting board for anyone who wants to add avocado to their sandwich. That's it. That's dinner.

Danny and Rachel sit down and Danny actually says it out loud: "This is dinner?" My feathers are ruffled. "Yes," I snipe. "Tomorrow do you want to make dinner?" He shoots Rachel a look and then shakes his head. "No," he says. I settle my feathers into place and we each make our own sandwich, and eat quietly.

"It's good Mom," Danny says and Rachel nods, both eating their sandwiches. Not my best dinner but maybe not my worst.

Homemade Mayo

I have it on good authority that Julia Child actually kept a jar of Best Foods mayo in her fridge and when she didn't feel like making mayonnaise, she whipped out the jar. That works for me. If you have beautiful eggs from a farm nearby (as I did) and you want to make your own mayo, this is the method I used. (Make sure all your ingredients are at room temp; don't do this with chilly eggs.)

2 large egg yolks

1/4 teaspoon good Dijon mustard

2 to 3 tablespoons fresh-squeezed lemon juice or vinegar

1 cup oil (I used a nice olive oil)

Slide the egg yolks into a blender and whir for just about 20 seconds. Add the mustard and lemon juice or vinegar and whir until smooth. With the top off the blender add just a few drops of the the oil with the machine running on low. Add the oil, a few drips at a time until it forms an emulsion (it's thick and smooth). In a slow drizzle, add the rest of the oil. You could add a little more oil than 1 cup if you like, but I like it on the lighter side.