What is the mystery into which we are initiated at Naples-this sense of life profoundly informed by awareness of death that values the smallest pleasure as god-given, fatalistic attributing misfortune to the gods' sterner associate, Il Destino? For all its scenic display, Naples is a city of secrets.

"The Ancient Shore: Dispatches from Naples" Shirley Hazzard

Naples offers contrasts. The decaying beautify of a once gorgeous Dame flirts with visitors who struggle to reconcile the ancient wondrous history mixed with timeless ocean views harmed by a layer of trash and neglect. As hosts to the city, we often find ourselves almost apologetic, openly stating the paradoxes to relieve first-time visitors the agony of expressing disappointment with awe.

Still the city never fails to amaze, the pulse of a vitality unarguabley beating if only to its own drum. Late Sunday afternoons in the city seem more like moments of pause in a 7-day cycle of flurry. Its inhabitants stroll, there is no real purpose other than enjoying the moment, moments of gelato, children with balloons, and easy browsing the immigrant street hawkers' cheap goods, the latest knock-offs sold along Via Toledo an ancient way that dives from the historic center into Piazza Plebiscito, the people's place.

Famous "Christmas Alley" glows with families, babies in daddys' arms, children pointing at the latest flashy reindeer "ears" begging for a new toy. Squished and vibrant, locals with only a few tourists, still hanging over into the new week,  shuffle slowly up the narrow alleys glowing with night-time lights, music from "talking toys" and the voices of vendors pleading "Prego!" in hopes of catching attention in a whirl of hawkers. Street-stall after street-stall is filled with miniature figurines, every imaginable image of the baby Christ, up for sale to place front-and-center in the family crib, or nativity scene.

Churches have early evening hours, warm lights glowing from open, ornately carved wooden doors. The 14th century Santa Chiara's Gothic bell tower and church interior offer simple elegance, a striking contrast to its neighbor, the Baroque church of Gesu Nuovo. Hidden behind a "facade of dog-tooth moulding" quite modern and unattractive, the church's interior is grand, ornate, and a puzzle work of inlaid colored marble from around the world. Even the main Duomo offers Sunday evening mass while non-worshippers reverently talk in whispers and tip-toe around the active service.

Food can be had in any square, or along the main roads. The 18th century historic Brandi - the alleged location of the first Margarita pizza - offers outside seating, even on a chilly night. The slightly over-priced typical cuisine is acceptable when served with a dose of history. Campania wines and Campania foods are its agenda.

Naples at night is like a weathered lady, her wrinkles and discolorations hiding in the shadows of a dinner by candlelight. Faded imperfections. The lights flicker and create an atmosphere of intrigue. The dark alleys of the Spanish Quarter are too black to be seen, and left alone.

"...if you come to know Naples you will never cease to rail at its woes-joined in your laments by Neapolitans too courteous, perhaps, to inquire how other societies are likely to look by their third millennium. Glimpses of the arcane, the grotesque, the diabolical will never fail to startle and estrange- compounded, as in most great cities, by modern violence and disaffection." (Shirley Hazzard)

Yet the allure is there, and many, who are more than just an ephemeral traveler, unconsciously grow a fond spot for the chaotic city and find themselves thankful to partake "in intimacy with this civilized spirit and to share its long adventure." (Hazzard) 

I have to admit, the "All-in-one" title had me a bit worried. Anytime I see a slew of ingredients I take a moment to mentally taste the combination. Anytime I have tried something that advertises as "all-in-one" I have typically ended up disappointed, confirming the tried and true mantra: keep it simple.

This week's Tuesday with Dorie "cake" is different, however. The combination of all-things holiday-food - apples, pumpkin, cranberries, pecans and spices like cinnamon and nutmeg - sounds  enticing. I can confirm that it tastes  excellent as well. 

The cake does in fact adhere to the "keep it simple" motto by being, well, simple! Besides a little bit of butter and sugar beating, the cake is a essentially a dump and bake breeze. I had all the ingredients on-hand, requiring no grocery-store trip, and making it possible to whip-up Saturday while my hubby was still out of town.

It's moist, full of "treats" like apple chunks and dried cranberries, and features a mellow spicy-pumpkin flavor. It gets better with age, and even 4 days out it is still wonderful. 

The density leaves it cutting more like a bread. The bundt shape helps add a touch of drama, and the drizzled maple-syrup and powdered sugar glaze is the "icing on the cake" in my opinion. I love it! (My kids did too.) If you wish to add a little bit more to your presentation, drizzle straight-up maple syrup across the plate in one of those random patterns that hip restaurants do.

This cake is so easy, I can hardly think of anything else to write! Ha! Lucky you.

I'll just leave you with a few pictures....

The Nitty Britty has the recipe!

Driving to the circus always happened in the winter nights, when the sun set early, and it often took us about 45 minutes to travel to the large arena where the circus was held, a drive that to a child seemed to take forever. And was full of anticipation. The circus was a mix of emotions for me, amazement at the brilliant costumes and beautiful women, wonder at the mind-boggling stunts, and slight fear of the large crowds, the chance to lose my parents, and the thought that something might go wrong, like a trapeze artist falling to his death.  Yeah, I was a worry-wort kind of kid.

When the brightly colored posters featuring funny clowns and sparkley-clad ladies riding elephants hit the streets, I always smiled with expectation. Going to the circus each year fell into the annual category of fun events like the county fair, the Memorial weekend fishing tournament, and the Desoto Parade. 

Circus posters typically feature a tent, a "big top" as they are called, but I never experienced one like that in my childhood; instead, it was a large professional arena transformed with 3 rings and tangles of hanging lights, ropes and cages all part of the show.

Unlike my childhood, my children's circus experience has only been in Italy, and under a true "big top" tent, constructed exclusively for the month or so that the circus is in town. The posters pop-up around town, just like I remember. And my children notice them like a flash of lightening, immediately launching into "Oh mom! When are we going?!?!" questions.

It is, in fact, an annual field trip for their Italian school. They both experienced it last year, but only Buddy this time, and I was able to join him. (Peanut now attends the American Department of Defense School.)

The experience was quite fun, and generally speaking, much like my childhood circus days, just on a smaller scale. (Although there were quite a bit of string-bikini style outfits that caused me to do a double take. Oh yeah, it's Italy!)

I couldn't start enjoying the circus, however, until I stopped worrying! (True to my childhood nature.)

The tent was small, only 2 rings, and cramped. I am very distrustful of foreign fairs, rides and construction, visions of the tent collapsing ran through my head. An unusual gas-fume smell hit me too as we entered the arena, I think from the diesel engines used to run the lights. I immediately imagined us all getting fumed to death. Once settled in a somewhat sturdy seat, my mind had settled on the quickest escape-route, and a cappuccino was in my hand, I was just fine.  And it was a dang good cappuccino! (You can always count on good coffee anywhere, even at the "Home Depot" like store here! God-forbid an Italian shop for paint and screws without having the chance for a shot of espresso.)

There were goofy clowns shooting it up, how propos  for mafia-ridden Napoli! We also saw elephant tricks, and seals and penguins on ice, various amazing human feats, and a woman who could spin multiple hula-hoops on every part of her body, at once, while suspended in the air from a rope! The horses were also most impressive.

There was an ice skating rink in the first ring, not something found in my circus memories, and the various performances on ice managed to even sneak in a Michael Jackson "Thriller" tribute. All the other "props" were there too, including light-up toys, fairy floss (cotton candy) and popcorn, though the Italian lady had no change! CLASSIC in Italy. (They absolutely hate giving change.) We had to wait for the next person to buy something in hopes that she'd get the proper change for you. 

One thing is certain about living in Italy, it is truly fascinating! The children's field trips are unusual, and memory-making. More on that later as I share details from Peanut's school-trip this week: an olive farm with trees hundreds of years old, and two small-town olive-oil factories.

 Italians love their street-foods. Even in suburban settings like Varcaturo, where I live.

What's being cooked-up or sold fresh at my highway exit is a sure-enough indicator of what is seasonal and, consequently, craved by Italians.

At the end of spring, the peaches and apricots dot the road-side stand. Last year it was an old man with his crusty old white van, this year, his son, whose youthful energy fueled an expansion of the fruit varieties, and also an umbrella to shade the agricultural wares.

The "Cherry-man" also comes, offering two varieties. We buy them by the bag-fulls. 

Watermelons and bright yellow canery melons are a few of the hot summer's delights. 

Bouquets of flowers-to-go replace food for days of remembrance and holidays when Italians visit ancestors at cemeteries followed by picnics in the country. Bundles of cut fluffy, puffy Mimosa flowers, looking like they're straight out of a Dr. Zeus book, mark "Women's Day" in March. (Photo found here.)

The fall is the time of chesnuts (castagne), roasted or even boiled and cracked. They are found in everything from savory soups to sweet cakes. Small towns in the country feature all-weekend long festivals to honor the nut.  

A few weeks ago, I just assumed that chestnuts were roasting on the road-side grill. Streams of Italians came and went with yellow-paper wrapped pans. I was headed out for the long journey of bringing home my newest Asian-auction buy (see below), so I delayed the purchase.

Several hours later I returned to find the "Chestnut-man" packed up with only a few wrapped trays left for sale. I asked "Quanto costa?" and was a little bit surprised at the 5-Euro reply. But I was there, already out of the car, and I really wanted to try the chesnuts during season. So I bought a pack.

Back home only about 1 minute later, I tore into the paper announcing to E that I had fresh roasted chestnuts. He groaned. (He's not a fan.) But chestnuts is NOT what I discovered tucked under the faded-yellow wrap. 

Artichokes! Carciofi! (Car-cho-fee) Five, roasted artichokes stuffed with herbs and garlic, and blooming with flavor! To my surprise, and delight! 

YAHOOOOOOOO! I finally did it. Cooked a Tuesdays With Dorie recipe and posted it on a Tuesday right on schedule. I have missed doing this so much!

Even better yet, the recipe was FANTASTIC!

Sugar-Topped Molasses Spice Cookies are wonderful! No bones about it. Crispy-soft and spicy warm, sweet with a ginger-kick, these easy-to-make cookies will be a new holiday tradition in our household.

The smells filling the house as they bake make me H-A-P-P-Y!

They also draw an audience. Everyone - husband and kids both - kept creeping into the kitchen wanting to know "When are the cookies going to be done?"

The first batch of these over-sized treats was gone before the second batch was half-way done in the oven, which left my husband asking, "Are there more?"

The initial plan was to get them done and out of the house ASAP, to work with my husband. Do you think that happened? NAH!

None made it. They were just too darn good! Half of the 2 dozen this recipes makes were individually wrapped, double-bagged and put aside in the freezer for a last-minute holiday gathering, or most likely for Christmas Eve when the post-Paris trip has left me no time to bake Santa some cookies. (I'm quite certain Santa will enjoy these cookies!) Dorie says they will freeze well for up to 2 months.

I highly  recommend you give them a try. The recipe does require freezing the dough for 30 minutes or refrigeration for 1 hour (or overnight). I froze mine for about 45 minutes and had no problems what-so-ever. I kept the un-rolled batches in the freezer too. It's important to keep the dough chilled otherwise these cookies will spread  like spilled oil on your counter.

I know you want the recipe! You can find it here, at Cookies with Boyswho chose the recipe for this week. (Thank you!)

Cooking Notes:

1. Mine cooked in about 11-12 minutes, on the lower end of the time range.

2. The dough is split between to saran-wrapped mounds. After freezing and before separating them into 12 individually palm-rolled balls, I softly rolled the mound into a uniform log. This allowed me to trace a slice mark on the log to ensure even sizes. I then rolled each slice in my hand, washing my hands mid-log to keep them from sticking to my palm.

3. I used a nice solid large-based glass to press the balls of dough to get a nice flat cookie, leaving them about 1/4 inch thick. I then sprinkled a bit more sugar on top. Perfect.

4. This recipe calls for GROUND PEPPER and I did about 20 grinds, a small pinch. The result was a little heat (also from the ginger) but I might try a little more next time.  

Good friends send them which leaves you feeling guilty unless you pass them along?

So you play the game, not wanting to invite bad Karma into your life (as the email threatens) or at least not seize upon every opportunity to ensure a bit of luck (as the email promises). Occasionally the chain messages are sent with tears in your eyes, some sad story of a less-fortunate human that "needs" your cyber-support. SEND.

Recently it was a recipe exchange, I think my second round in two years. Last time I received enough return recipes that I actually created a "Recipe" folder in my G-mail. I peruse it now and then for inspiration. Many of the recipes still sit unused, though with each new review I honestly tuck them away in my "make soon!" mind. We'll see....

One recipe that escaped oblivion came from a surprise source: my Aunt Manny. I'm named after her. (Not "Manny" though, that's her nickname. Remember, my name rhymes with Panda.)

The recipe was for "Hamburger Soup" which instantly intrigued me. The timing was unbelievable, as well, because I've been pathetically lamenting the lack of access to a big, fat, juicy burger with no effort (true American desire!) all week. Just ask my husband! (By the way, I knocked his drive-to-McDonald's-suggestion explaining that the almost hour round-trip drive required to secure a McDonald's hamburger without getting out of my car did NOT fit the bill. Ahem!)

The recipe also jumped to first-place because the ingredient list was easy enough; I had everything already. It was also economical. Win. Win. Win. Soups are also so welcome right now, as the damp Italian winters set in. I'm certain my aunt also craves soup as a resident of the Chicago area with its brutal winters.

Soups comfort, as cliche as that sounds. I love the warmth of a big, hot bowl cupped by my cold hands. I love dipping crunchy toast for a quick moment, absorbing the melded flavors and then melting in my mouth with soft ease. I know of very few people who don't like a bowl of soup in the winter. (Laura, you're the exception!)

The results were wild raves from the family, although "Buddy" had to work-around the tomato pieces. "Peanut" had seconds, exclaiming it "her favorite." The soup aroused a fantasy for E who conjured up wishful images of the soup, a hot fire, a British pub and a cold beer.

A good sign he liked it was confirmed by him asking, "Will I see this one again, or will it end up in the black-hole of recipes?" I'm always trying new recipes and sometimes fail to repeat loved meals. Rest assured my E, I will  repeat this one!

Flavorful, beefy, like a juicy burger with ketchup and onions. After one hour of cooking, the barley puffs and swells, and offers just the right soft bite to balance the browned meat. The carrots, onion and celery add depth, the basics to any good soup.

With my Aunt's permission, I share it here, for you, so you too can brew a tasty batch of Hamburger Soup. Enjoy!

Hamburger Soup

1 # ground beef
16 oz. can diced tomatoes with juices
chopped onion
2 medium carrots, sliced
2 stalks celery, chopped
1/3 cup catsup
1/3 cup pearl barley
beef bouillon (enough for 1 cup liquid)
2 teaspoons of seasoned salt or plain
1 teaspoon dried basil
1 bay leaf

In large pan sauté ground beef.  Drain off fat.  Stir in remaining ingredients and 5 cups of water.  Bring to a boil.  Reduce heat and simmer for 1 hour.  Season to taste with salt and pepper.  Remove bay leaf.  Serves 6

Serve with crusty bread or buttered toast triangles.

My cooking notes:

1. My freezer only had ground turkey, the dark/white kind (85%). It worked wonderfully and I don't think it changed the taste much.

2. I sprinkled a bit of Lawry's Seasoning over the meat as it browned.

3. I actually added the chopped carrots, onions, celery, bay leaf, dried basil and seasoning to the meat, as it finished browning. I let it sauté this way for about 4-6 minutes, to soften the onions and veggies and add a boost of flavor. (I hate onions that aren't properly cooked and float in soups.)

4. Kid-friendly. I sprinkled chedder cheese over the kids' soup and also threw-in leftover pasta.

 By the way, my mom's friends were the ultimate in replying to the recipe exchange! I was shocked at the number that flowed from them all! Thank you all and THANKS AUNT MANNY FOR THE RECIPE!

Weekly baking with my Tuesday with Dorie group hasn't been on the agenda since early summer. I love the group and grew tremendously in my cooking knowledge. I miss it, and have plans to get back into it, but I just haven't made it work for me lately - for various reasons.

Anyway, I still love Dorie Greenspan and welcome her articles in my monthly Bon Appetit  magazine.

This month featured a recipe with an unusual name, and unusual results. It promised to take bread "Beyond the Baguette" by delivering a "chewy, olive-oil-based bread from Provence" called fougasse.

What?!

Foe-gas? Faux-ghas? Foh-gas-ey?

Help me readers!

I have no idea how to pronounce this bread, but I'm quite certain it's a word only a native French-person can get away with saying without causing gas, I mean giggles. I just visualize airy, under-the-breath words barely escaping a pinched mouth.

Back to the dough. I guess it's a traditional bread that is often included in the 13 desserts of a Provencal Christmas Eve, one for each of the 12 apostles and Christ Himself. I didn't know this when I baked it. Man Google is awesome!

The dough came together just fine though a bit sticky just as Dorie warned. She is always good at giving you details of the process at points when you might otherwise doubt yourself. Following directions, I let it rise a few hours, flipped it a few times, and then sent it off to a cold rise overnight. My daughter "Peanut" - home because it was a teacher-work day- helped the process and enjoyed every bit.

The dough is heavily studded with black olives, juicy olive-packed sun-dried tomatoes, and lemon zest. Honestly, it is a pretty straight-forward bread recipe, if you've baked pane before. And the results were pretty much as pictured. Part of the appeal of this recipe was definitely the leaf design, and of course, olives and sun-dried tomatoes. Oh, and that funny name.

I am still baffled by the results though. Dense, crusty on the bottom and crispy in thinner areas, the bread is like a cross between focaccia and a thin, toasted bagel. Chewy and bursting with the flavors you'd expect. Butter was good melted on top.

However, I just didn't care for it!

Good bread usually doesn't last very long in our house. This did. Grew stale, hard and un-eaten. I wouldn't say it warranted that kind of neglect, but in a house that is trying to be careful of every calorie right now (both of us) it didn't tip the scales in favor of splurging.

What I really want now is to taste the real thing, baked by French hands. We have a planned trip to Paris during the Christmas season, and I hope that the urban bakeries showcase breads from the country-side and I might luck-into a taste of the real thing.

----

Recipe below or here.

It's amazing how trying to fit one new piece will domino into a chain of reshuffling.

It was like this: I got a deal on a 100-year old Chinese console table (above) last weekend at an Asian auction that comes to our military base 1-2x a year.

I decide to raise our TV and take advantage of the tables drawers to help cut clutter. It was no small feat getting the table home since we only have two tiny cars here in Italy; with the help of my friend Laura's beast of a red truck, a free overnight stay at my friend Tina's house, and hours driving in the pouring rain back-and-forth, it finally made it home.  

It sat lonely in my dining room for a few hours before my husband would reluctantly  let me "try" my proposed new arrangement. He knew before he started that he was on the losing end of this new "arrangement." Don't mess with a woman and her furniture! He obliged.

The re-arranging didn't stop there, however. By the next day, one thing had led to another, and I had re-arranged pictures, the couches, side-tables, lamps...

The re-organizing bug spread like H1N1. Fast and furious. There was no preventive vaccine or cure.

Into the kitchen... don't like the way my below-sink cabinet's busting at the seams. Following two "Ah-ha!" moments combined with an old milk crate I got off the streets of my neighborhood in Virginia, I had that cabinet looking better, and several others too. And a small collection of things for the thrift store.

Over the last few days, I think almost every room in my house has been touched by my urge to shuffle and purge. It feels good!

My husband came home the other evening casting the evil eye and confirmed I was "killin'" him with my new "projects." But everything stayed.

You see, when you live in the military, there are many forced purgings because we move so often. All the same, there are many "forced" hours arranging your life's stuff in new homes in new locations, something some people rarely do.

Personally, I love the thrill of finding a new place to live and the consequent figuring out how my collected "stuff" is going to settle in temporary digs. Every few years, this moving uplifts my spirits with a surge of inspiration and creativity required to visualize and create a new home, wherever it might be. Some things work, some things don't, but if something hasn't worked for 1-2 moves, it's time for it to GO!

The negative side of frequent moves is that when you buy furniture, you always have to anticipate future abodes you've never seen. The living room in our last home in Virginia honestly called for a corner TV-armoire. But I refused the investment, knowing that a piece like that would always have to fit a corner. It would have been useless here in our Italy home.

As a result, your possessions appear and disappear from use in your life like memories, at times tucked away and then latter popping back into existence.

If you're military abroad, things often end up scattered across several continents and states in the U.S. - remnants like foot prints on a path once tread. Or accompanying the move only to end up in a unused room if you're lucky to have one where you currently dwell. My Great Aunt's Victorian marble-topped bedroom suite is being stored somewhere in Virginia (I think). My coffee table doesn't work in this house, so it's taking a several-year hiatus in the "scary room" downstairs.

Normal conversations with friends abroad include references to pieces of furniture or belongings somewhere else other than here, including pets and cars. (We have that too!) I can't imagine how it will feel when we eventually get it all back. Will it all ever collectively come back together again under one roof?

We like to think "stuff is just stuff" but really, your things do help define you, ease your life, and add interest and pleasure to your daily existence. (Hopefully.)

In our house, our belongings come with "stories" expressing lives that have lived in many places.

"You like that antique desk? Yeah, I discovered it in the backroom of a huge antique store in Charleston, South Carolina for 75 bucks. It rode back to my tiny apartment strapped to the roof of my VW Jetta. Seventy-five bucks was a lot of money then!"

"Our slender ceramic "skeleton lady" is a hand-made folk piece from Mexico. It came from an awesome store on State Street in Santa Barbara California. She's elegant and funky, and purchasing her was inspired by friends in South Carolina who used to throw the best "Day of the Dead" party."

Stuff, though, shouldn't rule your life. Or drive every decision. Or push you past your financial limits. But getting it all in line, organized and functional, and occasionally re-arranging it to add a little spice to your life, is a good thing.

Frankly, my life is easier now that when I need a baking sheet, my entire collection doesn't "attack" me when I open my cabinet. I feel 100% better not looking at a collection of electronic remotes scattered like spilled cereal. They are tucked away nicely in their own exclusive drawer. Ahhhhhhh!

Now off to hit the spice cabinet!

Basically, the city has hired ex-cons to patrol the city streets and offer advice, help and warnings (put your wallet up) to tourists. With their yellow reflector vests, they look more like pseudo-construction workers instead of official city-helpers.

To me, this is classic  Napoli, a city full of contradictions:

     Gorgeous beauty, layers of decay

    Historic ways, modern vices

    United city, divided country (Northern Italy vs. Southern Italy)

    Casual charm, inherent deceit

    Glorious vitality, inevitable fate: Vesuvius

The thing is, in a city with 30%+ unemployment rate, to keep a few ex-cons actually employed and "under the microscope" is a good thing. It's one of those scenarios that sounds bad but just might be good in practice. We'll never know. Naples is not know for its honest and open tracking of trends!

If you wish to know more, view the Today Show version here: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/21134540/vp/33600539#33600539

With a few quick ingredients that you can keep on hand regularly, you can bake up a batch in about 15 minutes, and enjoy a healthy start to your day.

I recently came across this recipe in one of my Everyday Food  magazines, and I love it. You'll only be 6 ingredients, 1 dirty bowl, and a lined baking sheet away from a delicious breakfast. Enjoy!