Passing on family traditions is one of the best parts about being a parent. My family celebrated El Día de los Muertos, a tradition I loved as part of growing up in Los Angeles.
Día de los Muertos by Roseanne Greenfield Thong with illustrations by Carles Ballesteros is a much beloved book at my house. My kids often ask to read it even when it’s not near the holiday. But every year on this holiday we read it together before lighting candles and adding personal items to our ofrenda familiar. We tell stories about family members who came before us, keeping their stories and memories alive.
We also eat Pan de Muertos, which is a delicious sweet bread flavored with aniseed and orange. Here’s my recipe. Now, this is just the way I was taught to make it when I was a teenager. I know there are a lot of variations. If your family makes it differently, please share your recipe! And if your Abuelita says that my recipe is wrong . . . she is right. Abuelita is always right. I am wrong. ABUELITA IS RIGHT.
Pan de Muertos
1/2 to 1 tablespoon aniseed
1/4 cup butter
1 teaspoon yeast
3/4 cup milk
1/4 cup sugar
zest from two oranges
1/4 cup orange juice
1/4 teaspoon salt
2 eggs
3.5 to 4 cups white flour
Earlier in the day, melt the butter and add the aniseed. Allow it to soak so the aniseed softens and the flavors begin to come out. Combine the sugar, milk, and yeast and set the mixture aside so the yeast can activate.
Into a mixing bowl, grate the zest of two oranges. Add 1/4 cup of fresh orange juice. Mix in the butter and aniseed, then stir in the yeast. Add 1/4 teaspoon salt and two eggs. Mix thoroughly.
Add 3 to 3 1/2 cups flour. Turn out and knead in more flour until you have a smooth, stretchy dough. Cover and let rise until double.
Cut the dough into four equal portions. Set one aside. Shape the remaining portions into 12 buns (or divide into more if you prefer smaller size buns). Use the remaining portion of dough to shape “bones” by rolling the dough into long, thin strips that are cut to size. If you like, you can also shape a “skull” to go above them.
Bake at 350F/180C for about 15 minutes or until they are golden brown. Brush the tops with a mixture of melted salted butter and a chunky sugar like turbinado or demerarra. (These are also nice brushed with a mixture of orange juice and sugar – do what you like!)
Serve warm while telling stories about loved ones.
My girls like to make their own videos, and this was originally done as a birthday present for my mom. A few friends deemed it too good to hide from the world, which is an opinion I am inclined to agree with. Please enjoy the following performance of “Expectations and Expectorating,” which will no doubt soon be featured on Masterpiece Theatre. The thing is, in many ways the story they came up with was not that far off the mark. Trade the dinosaurs for a catastrophic evening at a public ball and it’s spot on.
Publisher’s Note: While digging a hole in their back garden, two young girls recently discovered a long lost manuscript written by Jane Austen. Their mother was rather annoyed about the hole, but after realizing the importance of their discovery, allowed them to share what they found with the world. Here is an abridgment of the long lost novel by Jane Austen, which bore the title “Expectations and Expectoration.”
Expectations and Expectorating
A long lost tale by “Jane Austen”
It is a truth universally acknowledged that the bond of sisterly affection can never be breached. Unless a really hot guy turns up in the village.
And such was the circumstance when three sisters – Elizabeth, Annabelle, and Chelsea Tuppence – were sitting in the small breakfast room in the comfortable cottage where they lived with their poor widowed mother.
On a fine spring morning, the eldest daughter Annabelle, noted that a fine young gentleman seemed to be riding past their window.
Annabelle set down the very becoming bonnet she was trimming so that she could catch a glimpse of the visitor. He was smoldering with charm as his horse galloped across the picturesque downs, which conveniently had a phony ruined castle on the most charming of the hilltops. With all the sweetness and impulsiveness over her seventeen years, Annabelle declared, “WHOA! He IS fine!”
“Boys are yucky!” Replied Chelsea, who was quite too young to see why fine young men in blue coats were of any use at all.
The stranger begged admittance to the house and announced himself to be Mr. Ashby, the extremely handsome, wealthy, and unmarried nephew of Lady Bigginsworth, who lived down the road at Persnickety Park.
With a very low bow, Mr. Ashby asked how the ladies did.
“Much better now, thank you,” replied Elizabeth. “Would you like some tea?”
“Indeed,” came Mr. Ashby’s eager reply.
The gentleman was so affable that within just a few moments they were all chatting as if they were old friends. They talked about the most interesting subjects; the state of the roads, which books were tedious yet important, and whether or not it might rain later.
Later that evening, the two sisters unburdened their hearts to one another. Dashing about the room in a state of delighted agitation, Annabelle cried out, “I say, Elizabeth, I believe Mr Ashby is in love with me!”
“Dearest sister,” replied the elder Miss Tuppence, “I do believe you are mistaken.” Or rather, this was the reply she intended to make, but rather the words which escaped her lips were, “No, ME!”
Annabelle, with all the passion that a young, beautiful, and economically idle young woman can muster, gasped with dismay and then reasserted her claim on Mr. Ashby’s affections.
What ensued was a rare breach of sisterly affection which left neighboring farmers in no doubt that several cats must have been debating territorial boundaries.
On hearing the distressing state of affairs between the elder Misses Tuppence, Chelsea dashed up the stairs, flung open the bedroom door, and cried out for her dear sisters to stop such a disgraceful display of unsisterly behavior.
“I found this letter,” Chelsea declared, holding an enormous envelope. Inside was a confession which declared Mr. Ashby to be the basest of scoundrels. Although he lived with the appearance of a gentleman of good character, he intended to roam the countryside and steal from young ladies who might fall prey to his handsomeness and smoldering.
“He writes with a very good hand,” observed Annabelle, and Elizabeth had to own that this was true.
“But surely this must be the result of some strange misapprehension,” Elizabeth said in confusion. “For why would Mr. Ashby leave such a confession for us to find?”
“I picked his pocket,” Chelsea explained. “Mr. Ashby is a scoundrel, and he must never be welcome at Tuppence Cottage again.”
“That’s right!” the ladies heard a manly voice declare from outside. They looked out the window and saw Mr. Ashby standing below in the road. “I don’t love either one of you. I’m just here for your money! Ha ha ha ha ha haaaa!”
And with that, he galloped off down the road, having neglected to collect any of the Tuppence family fortune. But, as Elizabeth observed at a later moment of quiet recollection, Mr. Ashby’s marked traits were those of handsomeness and affability, not cleverness.
Yet Elizabeth was to be denied this satisfying contemplation for some time, as she fainted away alongside Annabelle. When the elder Misses Tuppence awoke some moments later, they began weeping. Chelsea, having been unable to move either of her elder sisters, had seated herself between them.
“Don’t worry, girls,” pronounced the youngest Miss Tuppence, “He’s a loser.”
At that very moment the sisters were alerted by a sound which resembled distant thunder. They looked again outside the window.
“My goodness, what’s that?” Elizabeth asked as she attempted to make out what fresh agitation might be coming down the road.
“It’s a a bunch of dinosaurs,” Chelsea observed.
In this moment the three young ladies put aside any past quarrels and poured into one another’s hearts the balm of sisterly affection.
“Sisters,” declared Annabelle, “Now is the time that we shall stick together more than ever before.”
There then ensured a most inconvenient row in the village of Little Wigglesworth. Elizabeth tore a great slit in her new muslin gown while battling not one but two triceratopses, and Annabelle was obliged to strike a T-Rex in the face with her best fan. Chelsea fared somewhat better, managing to befriend an obliging diplodocus and convince it to bear her about on its back. In the end, using their charm, wit, embroidery skills, and excellent moral principles, the Tuppence sisters were victorious. It must be owned, however, that their dear Mama was obliged to come downstairs to help them, which caused great agitation to her nerves.
And from that day the Tuppence sisters lived happily in their quiet little cottage in Devonshire. They had some small regrets that Mr. Ashby had been devoured by a rabid T-Rex, but found consolation in their tea parties, their musical evenings, and living such upright lives as to deny the
neighbors the satisfaction of gossip.
Co-hosts T.Q. Townsend and Chloë Townsend (and the rest of the family) saw a very funny musical production of The Tale of Jemima Puddle-Duck put on by Quantum Theatre at Bradgate Park in Leicestershire. This was NOT a show that was just for kids. Parents were laughing just as much as the children, and the creative use of minimal costumes and props gave the play the familiar feel of the kind of acting that children naturally do.
One thing we forgot to mention in the review is how awesome the programs were! Usually play programs just have the synopsis and cast and such, but this one had a lot of interesting information for the kids to read as well as a bunch of fun activities to keep them occupied while they waited for the show to start. Never thought I’d review a play program, but I am pleased to have that as a first.
