When was the last time you ate a date bar? I haven’t had one in years. In fact, I can’t remember the last time I’ve even given thought to that deliciously sweet, rich layered dessert.
Not long ago, I received an email request for a date bar recipe. My thoughts swiftly went back to the date bars my dad’s cousin used to make using a recipe that had been in my dad’s family for years — maybe generations. Following the visions of date bars running through my head came the date-filled cookies I used to get from the Rothsay Truck Stop. On my trips from Fargo to Minneapolis, I could never pass up the I-94 exit that took my car up the ramp and right into a parking spot in front of the large plate glass window that looked into the little cafe attached to the gas station. I’d walk up to the counter lined with bar stools and order half dozen of the homemade date-filled cookies. A waitress would pull the large, soft cookies from a glass jar on a shelf and slide them into a paper bag. Chewy and not too sweet, they were a date-lovers dream. They were an easy snack to eat out of hand in the car. The truck-stop cafe is still there. The date-filled cookies are not.
This is one of the simplest recipes but always a crowd pleaser. Everything can be picked up at the grocery store – unless you’re in the mood to roast your own peppers – and assembled quickly at home. The recipe can easily be increased to make as many servings as your gathering requires. Trader Joes makes a great Fire Roasted Red Bell Pepper if you happen to have one nearby.
Leave it to my grandmother’s generation to have a delicious dessert with gelatin. A standby ingredient of the “greatest generation,” gelatin is often forgotten these days. Yet, this one ingredient provides a fantastic texture and appearance for dessert dishes. Strawberry Charlotte Russe is an “oldie but goodie,” for its name is derivative of Russian royalty and French culinary prowess.
Well it certainly seems that Molly Stevens 
cookbook hasn’t been the best for me. It’s honed in on my compulsive nature and practically forced me to braise anything and everything this past week.
Years ago when I was a round nugget of a child running around in terry-cloth shorts I had a book I read to myself many times over. It involved some Amphibian or Owl With Shoes who lived inside a mushroom or hollow tree. I can’t remember much of the story but the one thing that stuck in my brain was that on many occasions this anthropomorphic critter would find himself without food or drink and would simply chop an onion or think about sad things in order to create his own version of tear tea. I remember being disgusted by the thought of sipping one’s own saline tears but that didn’t freak me out as much as the things he’d think about to coax the tears out of his eyes and into the kettle.