Covers

Wednesday, July 17, 2013

Christmas in July Blog Hop ~ J.D. Faver's Spin on Christmas in July

Well, it's roasting hot here in southeast Texas. I've been keeping cool by writing the next romantic thriller set on the Texas Gulf Coast, just north of the border with Mexico. Christmas comes to the Texas Riviera with the usual body count, but lots of love thrown in. This is novel #5 in the Edge of Texas series. 
I have some exciting giveaways for everyone. First of all: BAD KARMA, the second book in the series is FREE today through July 22, so please download your copy right here> 
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0081SGPZW
And as a reward for leaving a comment below, you will be entered into a drawing to receive a free download of BAD MEDICINE, the first book in the series.
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B007H5IUQ2

Since it rarely (and I mean RARELY) snows down here, we have slightly different Christmas and holiday traditions than our northern neighbors, but I remember making forts and having snowball fights as a kid in Oklahoma. One of our adopted traditions down here in Texas is to have tamales on New Year's Day for good luck. This is served right alongside the black-eyed peas and greens...Can't have too much good fortune and prosperity. What kind of holiday traditions do you celebrate in your family?

Scroll down to read the excerpt and leave a comment, but be sure to visit all the exciting blogs on the hop and rake in all the goodies from the awesome authors. 



The Christmas novel is tentatively titled BAD SPIRITS. This excerpt is from the beginning and shows what's going on with two of the couples whose lives are twined together in The Edge of Texas. I hope you enjoy the excerpt. 

 BAD SPIRITS
Christmas at Home
December 15
Something about her face always brought a little clutch of joy to his chest. My wife.
Rafael Solis had just pulled up in the parking lot in front of his condo. From his tenth-floor vantage point he had always enjoyed a clear view of the bay.
His current view was centered on the lovely Chloe Solis as she maneuvered both his children from their car seats in back of the Escalade.
He turned off the ignition and sat in his department vehicle for a moment, smiling.
The wind was blowing off the bay. Chloe grasped four-year-old Lacy’s hand and clutched Daniel close to her chest. Her hair blew forward, and she turned into the wind to get it out of her eyes. She spotted him and a grin lit up her face. She commanded his presence with an upward jerk of her chin.
Rafael chuckled and swung out of the cruiser, pocketing the keys.
She gave out an exasperated sound in greeting. “And just when were you going to come to my aid, Mr. Raffy Solis?”
He reached for Daniel. “Sorry, baby. I was just admiring the scenery.”
“Less admiring and more man power, please.”
“Want me to grab those packages?” He nodded at the bundles filling the rear of the SUV.
“No, I want you to take Lacy while I bring some surprises inside.”
He squatted down to lift Lacy in his other arm. “Surprises?”
“Yes, I’m allowed to have surprises. Santa Claus isn't the only one with a naughty or nice list.”
He grinned at her. “And which list am I on?”
She laughed. “Both. Now, head for the elevator and I’ll be right behind you.”
“Not close enough. I will wait for you.” He still had nightmares about his near-misses with Chloe. Her sometimes rash actions had given him a couple of serious scares.
“Wait inside out of the wind. The children don’t need to be out in this gale.”
“I will be watching you from inside the lobby.” He fixed her with a stern glare.
“Yes, Sheriff. You can watch me, but you can’t peek.”
Rafael turned toward the entrance and carried his children inside. He turned to watch as she opened the back of the Escalade and gathered an armload of packages. “Careful, baby,” he said under his breath.
She made her way to the entrance and Rafael backed against the door to open it for her.
“Thanks,” she murmured. “Do not look at these p-r-e-s-e-n-t-s.”
“Not looking.” He stepped inside and followed her across the lobby. “Lacy, push the elevator for daddy.” He leaned down to allow his daughter to punch the up button. “Good girl.”
Lacy flashed a grin and squeezed his neck with both arms.
As they rode up to the tenth floor, he stole a glance at Chloe’s face. She looked happy and that made him happy. “Did you find something for your mom,” he asked.
“Noooo. She is the hardest person on the planet to shop for.”
“That doesn't sound right. Your mom is so down to earth. Just get her a gift card.”
“I can’t do that. A gift card is so impersonal.”
He cleared his throat. “Isn't that what we’re giving my parents?”
She blew out an exasperated breath. “And I’m giving them some nice framed pictures of the kids. They’re lucky to be on my shopping list at all.”
He chuckled, knowing full well why they weren't rating higher on Chloe’s ‘nice’ list. His mother’s efforts to break them up in high school had resulted in Chloe leaving him. Got her back, thank you very much. The elevator came to a stop and the doors swished apart. He trailed behind her to their condominium and managed to juggle kids and keys to open the door.
“I’m going to stash this stuff and you three stay right there.” Chloe disappeared in their bedroom and kicked the door shut behind her.
He set Lacy on her feet and put Daniel on the leather sofa. “Let’s get your coats off.” He took Lacy’s jacket and knit cap and draped them over a coat rack close to the front door and began the task of unwrapping Daniel. He pulled off the knit cap with ear flaps and tousled his dark curls. “That’s my boy,” he growled and grinned as Daniel giggled and kicked in response. “Chloe, I have a wet boy in here. Can you bring me a diaper and wipes?”
She backed into the room with a disposable diaper and a tub of wet wipes and closed the door firmly behind her. “Here you go.” She set them down on the sofa beside them. “Is everybody hungry?”
“Yes,” Lacy crowed. “I want ‘paghetti.”
“One vote for spaghetti. Any other requests?”
“Anything is fine with me,” Rafael said while finishing cleaning his son. “I’m just glad to be home.”
Chloe gave him a long look and took a few steps to the kitchen. “Hard day?”
Rafael scooped Daniel up and deposited him in his play pen. “Just a day.” He tried not to bring home his work-related issues, preferring to leave it all behind. His home was his sanctuary and his family would be sheltered from the ugliness he dealt with on a daily basis.
He tossed the soiled diaper and washed his hands in the sink. “You know what I would like?”
She turned from the refrigerator with a head of romaine lettuce and a bag of tomatoes. “What?”
“I would like a kiss from my busy wife, and I would like it right now.” He divested her of the veggies and placed them on the counter top.
Her expression softened, morphing to one of tenderness. “I can help you out with that.” She stepped into his embrace and offered up her face.
Rafael kissed her, savoring her lips, pressing her softness against his frame. Deliciosa.
“Would you like to start off with a salad?” she asked.
“Whatever you want to make is fine.” He grabbed another quick kiss and released her. “What I would like is a real Christmas tree. I’ll head over to Harlingen tomorrow after work and pick out a really nice one.”
She whirled around to gaze at him. “Really? I got us a nice artificial tree. It’s pretty and convenient to store.” She looked at him hopefully. “And it doesn't shed.”
He gave her an elaborate eye-roll. “Come on. A real tree smells like Christmas.”
“I got some pine scent spray.”
“Ugh! Not the same thing. You can do whatever else you want, but I insist on a real tree. You don’t have to do anything. I’ll find us the perfect tree.”
“Okay,” she said, using the same voice she used on Lacy when she was being petulant.
“I get your point,” he said. “But I’m holding firm on this one. Christmas just wouldn't be Christmas without a real tree.”

~*~

“Hello, my Bridget, my beautiful baby girl.” Darla gazed in rapture at the lovely infant in her arms. Brushing her fingertips over the fine wisps of red hair, perhaps a bit lighter than her own, she marveled that she had created such a perfect miniature creature. Of course she’d had a little help. She gazed into the same silvery-blue eyes that set her husband apart from the everyday Adonis. The blue eyes, the rugged features, the set of his jaw, and oh, yes, that fine muscular body of his.
Mike was ridiculous. His grin went viral every time he caught her eye.
Yeah, Mr. Burke. I got your number. You would be so happy if I just stayed home and played mommy, wouldn't you? She was still out on maternity leave from her job as deputy in the sheriff’s office. She hadn't thought she would be so content to stay home with her twin boys and this new little addition, but, so far...it was going okay.
She watched as Mike laid a fire in the fireplace he had recently added to their home. There seemed to be no end to his talents.
This house had been a small, two-bedroom without any particular distinguishing characteristics. That was before she married this big gorgeous specimen. He had doubled the size of her home by adding on a master bedroom wing that elled around the back of the house and looked out onto the elaborate deck he had also built. Now he was talking about ripping out her tiny kitchen and bumping it out to include a family room. Whatever you want to do is fine with me. You have better taste than I do anyway.
“Do you want me to pick up a tree when I’m out tomorrow?” he called over her shoulder.
“Oh, we have a tree,” she said. “It’s in the garage.”
He stood and stuck his hands in the pockets of his camo pants, no doubt left over from his soldiering days. “Um…no we don’t.”
“What?” She sat up, jostling Bridget in doing so. “Where could it have gone? I know exactly where I put it last year.”
“I…uh, I tossed it out. Seriously, babe, it was gross. How long have you had that ratty old thing anyway?”
“You threw it out?” The breath in her lungs seemed to be frozen. How could you? I've had that tree since… She heaved a sigh. “You’re right. It was getting to be pretty ratty.”
“We can get a new one. And maybe some new ornaments too.” He sounded confident, but he sent her a questioning glance.
“Yeah, whatever.”
He flashed a boyish grin. “I’ll take Kip and Tad. They can help me pick out the perfect tree. You and baby girl stay here out of the wind. It’s pretty brisk out there.”
He had fallen into the habit of calling his unborn daughter Baby Girl Burke before she made her appearance. Now, although he had agreed on naming her after St. Bridget, the first female saint in Ireland and a favorite of the entire Bailey clan, she would probably always be baby girl to her doting daddy.
“Mike, I've lived here all my life. I managed to get the boys this far without killing them off with a gust of wind from the bay. I do know to cover her up when we’re outside.”
“Yes, your Snarkiness.” He grinned at her. “Just be careful. Don’t take any chances.” He came to stand beside her and placed one of his big, paw-like hands on her head, stroking it over her hair with remarkable gentleness. “I’m in love with you and with baby girl. I can’t help but be a little protective.”
She gazed up into his eyes. Her daughter’s eyes set into a rugged manly face. I’m powerless to resist. “I know. Sorry. I’m not a very patient person.”
He mimicked a stricken expression. “No!”
“Shut up, smart mouth.” She grinned. “I’m trying to chill out and be a mom for a while, but it’s not easy.”
“I've noticed. I want to protect you and you want to go out and shoot people.”
“I do not! I just miss the day-to-day action. I miss the team.” She broke off, realizing that he, having given up his career as a federal agent, must miss the same things. “I’m sorry, Mike. I know you gave up so much to marry me…to marry us. You’re doing such a great job of being a husband and you’re an awesome dad. I’ll try to be a better wife.” She grabbed his hand and laid her cheek against it. “I love you.”
He squatted down beside her. “Don’t worry, Darla. We’ll get this right.” He planted a kiss against her temple and went back to his fire-building. “This is our first Christmas as a family and I want everything to be perfect.
She chortled and adjusted Bridget on her shoulder. “Well, take a number. You’re a Bailey by marriage and mom has the market cornered on making a big production number out of Christmas. We will be allowed to celebrate Christmas eve here in our own home, but Christmas day will be spent at the Bailey patriarchal household where we will be showered with presents and stuffed with every kind of goodie you can imagine.”
He kept his gaze averted. “Sounds great.” His voice sounded strained.
A stab of pain seared through her chest when she grasped that Mike had never enjoyed the kind of family events she had always taken for granted. His mother had abandoned him at a very young age and he had grown up with his grandfather, a carpenter who taught Mike his skills.
She cleared her throat. “I mean, I want us to have a chance to make our own Christmas traditions. I’m not going back to work for a while, so I want to make our first year very special.”
He raised his head to glance her way.
Encouraged, she went on. “This is Bridget’s first Christmas, and it’s our first Christmas as husband and wife.”
He flashed a grin, signaling his return to good humor. “And it’s the first year for me to be a dad to the boys. I want it to be special for them too.”
“Oh, Mike.” She blinked back tears. “You do so much every day to make my life better. The best thing is the way you treat my boys. They needed you as much as I did.”
He smiled and came back over to her. Squatting down close to her, he cupped her cheek in his hand and placed a tender kiss on her lips. “That’s about the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

~*~

Thursday, November 8, 2012

A Writer's Harvest


Since I'm a country girl and we raised crops, cattle, pigs and chickens, I've always known that the harvest is the culmination of your hard work. The reaping of the rewards, which for a farm family meant a full larder and a freezer filled with meat. The summer veggies and fruit had been canned and safely stored in the root/storm cellar. 
For a writer, the harvest is a little different. Instead of seeing shelves of shining glass jars filled with pickles, jams and produce, I can look on any of my distributor's (Amazon, B&N etc) author pages and see a row of covers with my name on them. And while it is rather satisfying to see them, it also spurs me to write another book. 

My latest novel, BAD VIBES, is the third in my hot romantic thriller series set in the lower Rio Grande Valley on the Texas coast. The order of the series is BAD MEDICINE, BAD KARMA and now, BAD VIBES. To enter my November contest, please comment below with your email or drop me a line on the contact page. The winner will receive a free download plus a Bad Girls Need Love Too...tee shirt in their size from small to XL. Hope that autumn finds you well and reaping the harvest of your labors.
*hugs* 
~J.D.  

Monday, October 22, 2012

Who's the Boss?



Sometimes I have to seriously stop and ask myself that question. Who’s the boss? Me or Lydia?  I can see all of you already owned by furry four-footed housemates smirking. Lydia of course.
One niece says that Lydia is my sidekick. It’s more than that. I think she wants to stick close to make sure this servant does what she’s supposed to, when she’s supposed to. And somehow, our time schedules seldom mesh.

This is way past open the door, close the door, open the door….This entails arguments. Usually about food.  I heard that small dogs tended to be picky eaters.  Ha! No one shared that with Lydia, my 65 pound Boxer. Dry dog food is the stuff that goes into a cube she can knock around for entertainment. She does eat what flies out. Why this tastes better than when it’s put on her dish I have no idea. Certain brands she refuses to touch. Dry or wet.  My brother’s dog has been the happy recipient of many of Lydia’s dislikes. She does like people food – mostly. But there are some things she won’t eat there, either. Once, she seemed to have an upset tummy and wasn’t interested in any food, dog or people. Then I started cooking taco filling. That, she was interested in. Put a little on her plate and she lapped it up. Weird dog.

Also a weird vocabulary for a dog. Hungry, she understands. That’s not so strange. What drives me insane is that she understands cooking is related to food and is related to hungry. Seriously. If I tell her I have to cook she sits in her one particular waiting for food spot and waits for it. If  it’s taking longer than she thinks it should, she comes to investigate. Wants to make sure I’m staying on task. If  I take something from the oven, and she wants it, she sits in the middle of the kitchen floor and waits for it. The other day it was cornbread. I gave her a corner of a piece of my cornbread. She loved it. I was done eating and went back to the family room. I heard barking in the kitchen. Sure enough, there was Lydia, standing in front of the stove where I had placed the pan of corn bread. She wanted more.

These furry companions are a lot of fun, but they sure are bossy things.  I always wondered why there were pictures of people, with their dogs at their feet. Now I get it. It’s like looking at the toddler when they’re clean and tucked in bed and could not have possibly wreaked havoc around the house, even if they did. That is moment they look adorable. Animals too. When they’re laying so nicely you don’t remember that they have been places where they shouldn’t be or have driven you crazy playing doorman, or personal chef. Every once in a while, I pretend I’m the boss, but I know how this really goes.  Who’s boss in your house?

Friday, October 12, 2012

A WRITER'S INSPIRATION

People sometime ask where a writer gets their ideas. I just released BAD VIBES, the third novel in my romantic thriller series: THE EDGE OF TEXAS. This series was inspired by the beautiful south Texas coast, close to the border with Mexico. I used to enjoy sailing catamarans and raced on a circuit for 7 years. One of the most enjoyable places to race was off the South Padre Island beach. South Padre is a semi-tropical resort built on a strip of sand separated from the mainland by a 2.5 mile causeway over the Intracoastal Waterway. This channel was dredged and is maintained by the Army Corps of Engineers and it runs from the tip of Texas all the way to Florida. It is part of the coastal defense system built to protect our shores from enemy submarines during WWII. This was a favorite place to sail and my family enjoyed the many weekends we spent there. However, the mind of a writer (and perhaps even more so, the mind of a mystery/suspense writer) can find evil anywhere, so I have corrupted this paradise and my heroes and heroines get into all kinds of trouble there.    

Here is the description for BAD VIBES:
When government agent Mike “The Iceman” Burke invades her South Padre Island turf, Deputy Darla Calhoun is assigned as liaison officer to his team. Her skills as a sniper come in handy when a gang of human traffickers strikes close to home, kidnapping local women including her best friend. Darla is recovering from her husband’s suicide and trying to be a good parent to her twin sons. The ICE assignment takes her out of her misery and plunges her into a dangerous mission and a steamy affair. Mike and Darla tear up and down the Intracoastal Waterway in search of the kidnappers and the captive women while Rafael and Javier conduct their own investigation. Will they rescue the captive women or will the kidnappers slaughter them as they have done in the past? Two teams race to find the answers before it's too late.

When government agent Mike “The Iceman” Burke invades her South Padre Island turf, Deputy Darla Calhoun is assigned as liaison officer to his team. Her skills as a sniper come in handy when a gang of human traffickers strikes close to home, kidnapping local women including her best friend. Darla is recovering from her husband’s suicide and trying to be a good parent to her twin sons. The ICE assignment takes her out of her misery and plunges her into a dangerous mission and a steamy affair. Mike and Darla tear up and down the Intracoastal Waterway in search of the kidnappers and the captive women while Rafael and Javier conduct their own investigation. Will they rescue the captive women or will the kidnappers slaughter them as they have done in the past? Two teams race to find the answers before it's too late.

The following excerpt takes place when Mike has gone ashore to pick up the sheriff's liaison officer assigned to work with his team. He isn't especially happy about working with local law enforcement, thinking that they are too territorial. He was blown away when he finds out that the sheriff's "man" is the petite, female deputy who arrested him. This scene opens on the boat transporting them back to the Long Shot, the agent's boat.

EXCERPT:


Mike Burke shouldered the two green duffle bags and hoisted them into the rubber rigid hull boat that was to return him to the cabin cruiser with the sheriff’s “man.”
Another tall, Hispanic deputy, beefier than the Sheriff, manned the craft. He seemed to hold Darla in high regard, chatting affably with her during the short trip.
The air was damp to begin with and droplets of water hit Mike’s face as the boat thudded over the water. In a short time, the rigid hull bumped against the side of the larger craft and the deputy handed Darla on board.
“You be careful now, Darla. You hear me?”
She leaned down to grab his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “If I don’t come back, I’m willing my kids to you, Adriano.”
He grinned, patting her hand. “My wife thinks we’ve got something going on anyway.” Adriano tossed the duffle bags aboard and turned to Mike, a Jekyll and Hyde transformation coming over him.
He jammed a finger into Mike’s chest. “If Darla doesn’t come back in mint condition, I will fucking kill you. Got that, Iceman?” He glared at Mike, his teeth gritted together in a threatening grimace.
Mike maintained his cool gaze, thinking that this big bull of a deputy could do some damage, even to a man of his own size. “You just threatened a Federal Agent.”
Adriano gave him a mirthless smile. “Good. You did get my message.”
Mike nodded. As he climbed aboard, he wondered what was so special about Darla Calhoun, other than her pretty face and fine body. He’d noticed that she was no longer wearing her wedding band. He figured that she’d taken it off for the assignment. It was probably on her nightstand at home. But still, he had to wonder.
Freddy’s eyes lit up when he saw Darla and he grinned from ear-to-ear. He took the hand she offered in both of his. Mike wondered if Freddy was going to slobber all over it, but his partner managed to control his drooling.
Mike did a mental eye roll. This is going to be a nightmare.
“Where am I going to sleep?” she asked.
Mike bit back the answer that sprang to mind. “There are two bunks below deck. You can sleep in which ever one is empty at the time.”
She gave him a look that was somewhere between a smile and a smirk. “No, you will show me which bunk is mine, and which bunk is to remain mine for the duration of this assignment. I don’t care where you sleep.”
Freddy was about to wet himself, he was trying so hard to keep from laughing. “I’ll show you the bunks, Darla,” he said. “You can take your pick. Mike and I can share the other. One of us will be on watch at all times anyway.”
Darla nodded and followed Freddy below deck.
Mike swallowed something that felt like a boulder at the back of his throat. He stood, gripping the railing, sorry now that he’d given up cigarettes.
In a short time, Freddy returned topside, a big grin on his face. “Sweet!”
“Shut up!” Mike snarled.
“Our girlfriend is getting settled in. I may have to brush my teeth.”
“We’ve got a job to do,” Mike bit out.
“Right and it just got sweeter.” Freddy leaned closer. “Do you know what she’s got in those bags?”
Mike snorted and gave him a look intended to denote disinterest. “Her lace teddies and her collection of Victoria’s Secret catalogues?”
“She’s got her clothes all rolled up in one and the other--” He thumped Mike on the shoulder. “It’s full of weapons and ammo. She is so my kind of girl.”
When Darla came on deck, she was wearing shorts and a cotton shirt tied at the waist. She looked the part of a tourist on a rented fishing boat.
A giant fist slammed into Mike’s gut, He lifted one side of his mouth as a form of reluctant approval. “So, are you going to fish?”
“If need be,” she said. “Don’t worry. I can bait my own hook.”
Mike digested this, wondering briefly what she was going to use for bait.

~*~


The order of this series is 
(2) BAD KARMA                                 
(3) BAD VIBES                                                                                                                                                                     
(4) BAD DREAMS <Under Construction>

Visit J.D. Faver’s website: http://www.jdfaver.com/                                                                                                               
follow on Twitter & Facebook



I hope everyone has a chance to visit South Padre Island and the Lower Rio Grande Valley. In the meantime, you can visit through my series and keep up with the happenings. My goal is to entertain…and keep you up nights. ;-)
*hugs*
~J.D.

Monday, September 17, 2012

Sink Your Teeth Into This...



I’m surfacing. Finally. Please excuse the flour dust and my apron.
Because I’m a little left of insane at times, I decided I needed a change from my normal writing routine. As June keeps harping I am such a foodie that I should be writing a cookbook. Since I was spinning my wheels in other areas, I took up the challenge and joined her and Stephanie Berg in assembling a cookbook. The first one is different from the others I have planned. More on that in a moment.  This one is A Vampire Cooks: 40 Recipes to Sink Your Teeth Into. http://www.amazon.com/A-Vampire-Cooks-ebook/dp/B009C0PC66/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1347918184&sr=8-1&keywords=A+Vampire+Cooks+Tara+Manderino

I love writing about vampires. Since vampires have problems eating, I had to think about what they would like to serve their mortal friends. The recipes are light on a variety of colors: red predominates.

But why write a cookbook at all? Because I am not just a foodie. I grew up in a family of foodies. A little background: I’m of Italian descent. My father’s family was from Calabria and Abruzzi. My mother’s family is Sicilian. With that kind of background there were always a lot of family events growing up – holidays, birthdays, religious milestones – and they all involved food. Lots of food. This doesn’t count the spur of the moment visits by family and friends (most who were Italian), which entailed more food. This scenario is not so different from what a lot of people experience. Now these larger events often meant both sides of the family would be together in the same house at the same time. No problem. Where some families would talk about current events  my family talked about – food. Not just how to prepare it or where to buy it, but about the food business.

My father had a pretty exclusive restaurant.  I grew up there. By the time I was 9 I knew how to devein shrimp, write menus and make French Onion soup. In quantity. When I was older, he had changed venues (long story about the building) and now had an Italian take out and pizza shop. I could toss pizza with the best of them. My father had one sister and two brothers. The sister married and had a family and cooked a lot. One brother who lived nearby decided to open his own pizza shop. His sons pretty much run them now and he oversees things.  The other brother had a restaurant in New York City. On my mother’s side, her mother had a pizza shop (think we had a monopoly here?) and my mom’s sister also worked there. Since my grandmother would occasionally keep an eye on the grandchildren, we all grew up assembling pizza boxes, making sausage, making pizza sauce and leaning how to sweep out the pizza ovens. As soon as we were tall enough to see in the ovens, we would get the peel and check for doneness and yell to an adult to remove the pizza.

Current events at the dinner table?  Not here. It was about pizza ovens, recipes, the competition and exchanging trade secrets. The Abruzzi/Calabrese side vs the Sicilian. It was never dull.

I plan on talking more about my family, and food in the future cookbooks I have planned. How could I not? The next two deal with biscotti, and Christmas Eve.  For now, since I’m in the mood for soup, I’ll leave you with one of the recipes from A Vampire Cooks.

Manhattan Clam Chowder.
Very different from its heavier New England cousin, this soup has a red and flavorful broth.
Ingredients:
  • 3 (6.5 ounce each) cans minced clams
  • 1-1/2 cups water
  • 1 (16 ounce) can diced tomatoes, undrained
  • 1 cup chopped onion
  • 2 potatoes, peeled and chopped
  • 1/2 cup finely chopped carrots
  • 1/2 cup finely chopped celery
  • 1 teaspoon salt
  • Ground black pepper to taste
  • 1/2 teaspoon dried thyme

Directions:
  1. Drain clams and reserve liquid. Set clams aside.
  2. Add enough water to reserved liquid to equal 3 cups.
  3. In a large saucepan, pour clam juice and water mixture, tomatoes and their liquid, onion, potatoes, celery and carrots and spices. Cover and simmer for 35 minutes.
  4. Reduce heat. Add clams. Heat thoroughly.

Serves 6

Friday, September 14, 2012

From Deep in the Heart of Texas

by J.D. Faver

A few years back, I wrote a cookbook. This idea was born when my son married a gorgeous girl from New York and he moved up there from Texas with all his worldly possessions in his pick up. My daughter-in-law is a lovely young woman and when she called me one day to ask if my son was pulling her leg about chicken fried steak, I wasn't sure how to answer. 
"I mean, you don't actually put batter and gravy on a perfectly good steak do you?" she insisted.
This gave me pause for thought. There are so many things we take for granted, and certainly the foods we grow up with are a part of our comfort zone. So I set about chronicling our lives in food. 
The oldest recipe in my possession had been an old recipe when I was a little girl. My grandmother had a box of index-size cards and papers folded to fit. One such paper had yellowed with age and was hand written in loopy cursive. My grandmother informed me that this recipe had come over on the boat from Ireland when one of our foremothers (yes, that's my word and I'm sticking with it) immigrated during the potato famine. My grandmother frequently prepared this version of Irish Potato Soup, especially when someone was feeling under the weather. I know from experience that this soup will fix you right up, no matter  the ailment. 
In our family this is known as "Irish Penicillin."
I wrote down every recipe I could think of that I had ever fed my son. Now he grew to be a great big 6'4" strapping, Texan who ate everything that wasn't nailed down when he was growing up. I swear I never knew what leftovers were until he left home.
Then I expanded my recipe collection as I went along. When my mother was alive, I asked her for some of the recipes she had made and I wrote them down as she dictated. I also contacted my mother's youngest sister and she contributed some of her favorites. My collection ended up being quite a large tome. I printed it out and bound it as a cookbook for both my daughter and daughter-in-law one Christmas. I also made a CD for them in case they wanted to add their own recipes.
Recently, my friends and fellow authors, Tara Manderino and Stephanie Bancroft Berg were chatting with me about our recipe collections. The upshot is that we decided to publish our individual recipe collections. 
I am going to put out four seasonal cookbooks from my own perspective here in Texas. Tara, a Pennsylvanian of Italian descent cooks and bakes all the time for her family. Stephanie is of German/French ancestry and lives in Michigan. So we are all working hard to share our love of cooking with the world at large. 
Next week, I will be sharing a peek with from the first to be published: A TEXAN IN THE KITCHEN~Autumn Recipes. I sincerely hope you like this because it comes from deep in my heart...
*hugs*
~J.D.