I made an amazingly tasty batch of Kamut-Millet pancakes last week, thick and dense with the good stuff, and we ate them daily for three days. Each time I took a bite I thought ‘I need to share this recipe!’. Then my mind goes elsewhere; I end up thinking that it’s just a pancake. Everyone has their favorite pancake recipe, as do I, and right now this one is my favorite, but that might not be the case tomorrow.

So I didn’t share the Kamut-Millet pancakes. Yet.

Then there was the surprising and incredible Chickpea Fries that were made, last week too. It was a good week for food in our house. There’s still a few strips of thick dough, wrapped tight in plastic in the refrigerator and I can have them photo-ready within an hour, if I want. They are so unique and wonderful.

But I haven’t shared those yet, either.

Last Saturday I drove home from work through the most drenching rain I’ve ever seen in my life. From inside the car, it overwhelmed the wipers, on high no doubt, and filled the lowest spots on the highway with pools that covered our tires, sending waves of water as high as the pick-up truck roofs as we carefully drove through them. The drops were immense, and it lasted my entire 25-minute drive home. I kept on, doggedly driving through it, mesmerized by it’s sound on my roof and the pelting of the windows and with all the water that’s fallen on our state this Summer, I kept thinking to myself ‘Where does the rain go when it’s finished?’ The rivers and streams pour through their channels, fat, swollen, and furious; Minnehaha Falls roar over it’s edge with a noise you can hear from blocks away. The air is so thick with water and the mosquitoes so fat and starving. My legs are speckled like I have some disease, and I can’t find the bug spray.

I did manage to plant the very last of our garden; lovely and colorful Rainbow Chard, a row of Broccoli, more Basil, more Tomato plants (does 7 seem like too many???) as well as Lemongrass and a strange, lovely herb called Curry Herb, of which I have no clue how to use but it’s scent, like soft curry, is so intriguing. I run my fingers through the Lemon Thyme with each passing of the fragrant garden plot, then lift them to my nose to inhale, close my eyes to that around me and just breathe in the scent.

In our scurry around and keep busy world, this might look like nothing at all. But to me, it’s huge, that life-affirming scent, the soil under my feet, rich with black, healthy dirt and fat earthworms. Like sitting in the sunshine on my faded redwood steps, soaking up the warmth while I eat breakfast and sip coffee. It’s nothing, to the busy-ness and go go go. But to me it’s everything. Like sitting idle, magazine in hand, coffee by my side, while two cozy felines snuggle on my lap. It’s nothing, to the schedule every minute people, but to me, and to them, it’s the world.

The Kamut-Millet pancakes, those Chickpea fries, that garden, my breakfasts, purring cats. It’s all so good.

Lately though, I think they do this for the warmth. Because as we sit here today, it’s raining. Again. It’s cold. Again. Or still, if it matters. June has arrived, and still there is no sign of warmth or heat. There is no hair curling humidity. Temps struggle in the 60′s, I still pull on a fleece sweatshirt and thick slippers in the morning, and just yesterday, I came across a new skirt in my closet, pulled excitedly off a store rack back in April, that is adorable, summery and perfect. Except I’ve only worn it once, and I’d forgotten all about it.

It’s utterly gorgeous outside though, in the deep, deep green that’s arrived with the constant rain. Walking through the trees surrounding our lake home this past week, I was struck with how lush the land has turned, and when the sun does show itself, the effect is more stunning than I’ve seen in recent years. But that sun is fickle, and the thick gray clouds hover; we don’t see enough sunshine to spur the baby plants growth, to coax seedlings from the ground or warm our starving skin. The Spring that never was in Minnesota is segueing in to a Summer that refuses to arrive.

Along with the weather woes, the farming season is deeply behind schedule, and the open air markets have begun with meager offerings. Even so, vibrant stalks of asparagus and ramps, bunches of pea shoots, the deep red rhubarb and clumps of fresh herbs aren’t necessarily inspiring a lot of cooking when I’m still thinking about soup, and warming dishes that steam as I lean over them.

But I am hungry beyond belief. Both for light, fresh sustenance, and for Summer. For heat and sunshine and bare skin.

I’ve been hard at work since February, pushing myself through 2 weekly Body Pump classes -on occasion paired with a bike ride to the Y, plus swimming 2-3 times a week and with all the work, the calories burned and energy gained, I have been just famished. I will eat a good breakfast, spend an hour in the pool or hefting weights, then devour lunch. A few hours later, my belly is loudly protesting again and still, there’s time to pass before dinner. Dinner comes and a few hours later, there’s the rumbling again. For those in-between times, I’ve been on the hunt for a snack that sustains and feeds my ever-raging internal furnace without being too heavily caloric, or outright junky. I have zero will-power against anything with a salty crunch, so having a better option on hand really helps.

These raw Fig & Almond Energy Bites are so satisfying and delicious. They’ve got the texture of cookie dough, with enough sweet to kill a craving, and the right amount of salt to balance fluid loss from an intense workout. I keep the mixture in a container in the fridge and will scoop out a small amount when I wake up to have with my coffee, as I’m usually not ready for breakfast right away. Post work-out, I always drink a protein shake for recovery, washing down a few of these with it to help stabilize muscle fatigue. The mixture can be stirred in to yogurt too, or sprinkled on top of ice cream for a real treat.

There is supposedly some sunshine coming our way this week, with a coinciding rise in temperatures. I’ve got my fingers crossed; our local Farmers Market opens this week and I’m excited to get back in to strolling the stalls and seeing my favorite vendors.

Fig & Almond Energy Bites

1 c. whole rolled oats (other grain flakes are a nice option, like barley or rye- I’ve used a commercial 5-Grain cereal from Bob’s Red Mill too and love the result.)
1/2 c. unsweetened finely shredded coconut
1 c. dried figs, minced
1/2 c. chocolate chips (or use half cacao nibs for a terrific crunch)
1/2 c. ground flaxseed
1/4 c. chia seeds
2 T. finely ground almonds (or use packaged almond meal)
1/2 c. peanut butter (of course you can use almond butter!)
1/2 c. honey
1 t. almond extract
1 t. cinnamon
1 t. ground ginger
1 t. sea salt

Place the oats, coconut, figs, chocolate, flaxseed, chia seeds and almond meal in a bowl and stir to combine. In a large measuring cup, whisk together the peanut butter, honey, extract, cinnamon, ginger and salt until smooth. Pour over dry ingredients and mix well with a heavy spoon, or your hands. Chill for several hours. It should hold together firmly when you pick up a small amount and squeeze it, but if not, you may need to add a touch more honey for cohesiveness.

I keep the mix in a container as is, but you can form it in to balls too.

The best part about this recipe is it’s endless versatility. Add, subtract and play with it for a personal mix that you love. Dates would be a fine substitute for the figs, but you might need to adjust the amount of honey used, as dates are notoriously sweet.

Original recipe from Ecosalon, here with modifications.

Especially Mochachino, Maple Bacon, Lemon Meringue and Toasted Coconut gourmet marshmallows from Plush Puffs.

I was never a huge fan of marshmallows, even though I have eaten my fair share of them in my lifetime, toasted over an open flame and squished between chocolate and graham crackers, or fudge-stripe cookies (my favorite way to eat them). They were fine because I had no idea that they could ever be anything other than what they were, but I had a serious marshmallow epiphany in culinary school when we made marshmallows from scratch and I first tasted the smooth and supple texture, the fresh fluffy cloud-like taste of what they could be without all the garbage ingredients in them. Since that eye-opening day, I’ve been far less enthusiastic to a chemically laden, spongey mass-produced orb from a plastic bag.

Plush Puffs use all natural ingredients and top quality flavorings. The marshmallows aren’t just coated with flavor, it’s striped and swirled all through the fluff, and with each chew you get more and more taste in your mouth.

Even though my boy is an enthusiastic taste-tester at home, with four boxes of fluff to sample, I needed more mouths and varied opinions on these; my boy and I tend to like the same thing, and his reactions were predictable to me, so I gathered up the boxes as I headed out to my weekly Ladies Night gathering at my friend Mary‘s house, hoping for a break in our constant rain so that we could stab these babies on a toasting fork and get down to business.

Unfortunately, the moment I arrived at her house, it began to rain.

So…. in her words, we made ghetto S’mores over the gas burner on her stove.

Now plain Plush Puffs, right out of the package are phenomenal in their own right. They truly need nothing more to make them tastier. The texture is perfect and the flavors simply POP in your mouth. The Mochachino is ribboned with chocolate, rich on the tongue and perfectly balanced. Toasted Coconut is topped with browned toasty bits and subtly sweet. Lemon Meringue, my least favorite of the group, was a bit too sweet and cloying, with none of the fresh lemony taste that we all love, and it was our opinion that lemon and marshmallows simply didn’t mix all that well. The Maple Bacon left us puzzled, not sure what to think. Poked in to a stick and held over the flames, these didn’t scorch as deeply as we’d hoped, nor melt like we expected, but they did become slippery and runny enough to squish between graham crackers with various types of chocolate.

Our favorite was the Mochachino with a Reese’s Peanut Butter cup. Pure decadent deliciousness. The amount of happy groans of delight, complete with glorious eye-rolling punctuated our conversations as we toasted, squished, sampled and enjoyed.

Even the littlest lady at Ladies Night enjoyed the taste-testing.

As of right now, Plush Puffs are not available in stores in Minnesota, but you can purchase the many flavors in their online store. For a delicious treat, you really can’t go wrong.

DISCLAIMER:
I was provided with four boxes of various flavors of Plush Puffs Gourmet Marshmallows free of charge for sampling purposes.
All opinions and feedback are my own. 

I’m glad to be awake actually. Dreamless and sleeping deeply, the stiff mattress transferred all it’s solidity to my shoulders and upper back and I wince slightly as I turn over, grateful to have slept for multiple hours in a row in a state so blissfully unaware. I’d left the bedroom window open, and through it, as the furnace roars it’s morning greeting from the other room, I can hear the birds conversing in the trees. The entire lake emptied out yesterday; windows closed to the humid and cool air, shades drawn and fishing poles tucked away and last night as the profound silence settled over the empty lake, I gazed out at the darkness, no campfires dotting the shores, the black expanse of water just down the slope of the yard and I thought of how alone I feel here like this, yet how safe and centered it makes me.

I sip coffee and slip on my running shoes. For more years than I can recall, my one recurring dream has been of me running; a strong and powerful dream that leaves me breathless in it’s attempt to tell me what I can do. It’s always the same, every single time; I am running, breath strong, powerful muscles and stride, determined, and capable. Every time it graces my sleep, I awaken charged and ready and think I can conquer a marathon. I haven’t dreamt this particular dream in a while, but it’s memory clings in the very fibers of my life, a reminder, or gentle prodding.

Somewhere in me, I know there is a runner that is screaming to get out. So I run.

It’s nothing like my dreams, but I don’t expect it to be. You aren’t born capable of anything, except living in the day to day. Our abilities and strengths lie deep within us, and if our dreams can show us, without doubt or hesitation what we are capable of, then we owe it to ourselves to listen. I walk, loosening my legs and that stiff upper back, and when I finally turn off the two-lane and on to the dirt road, I break in to a soft run, feeling muscles in my legs and hips loosen even more. For a few moments, it’s wonderful and just like my dreams, then my lungs start protesting, fighting with my body over control of my brain and I’m forced to slow to a walk again.

But I keep going. I walk. Then I run. Then I walk again. It gets easier, but it really doesn’t. Nothing worth having comes without some kind of fight; a good relationship doesn’t just occur without a little work, homes aren’t built without careful planning, well placed boards and a solid foundation and a runner doesn’t just awaken from a dream and take on a marathon.

This is the moment where we say to ourselves “I know I am capable of so much more.” So I keep going. I run/walk around the South side of the lake to the highway, and here I have to decide-  do I turn around, knowing that steep hill is behind me and I will have to run UP that if I return this way? Or do I keep going, through the woods on the other side, past the Jack-in-the-Pulpit and Woodland Violet, under the towering birch and cottonwood? I keep going, through the trees, stopping on the dirt road to raise my eyes to the green canopy above and give thanks for the strength to continue, to chase after this crazy dream of running at 49. I’m energized, and I’m warm. I’ve stripped off my jacket, I’m in my running tank and the air is cold on my sweaty skin but the dream tells me to keep moving.

To keep running.

Whether it’s about running, or just a metaphor for my life, I’m compelled to listen to the dream, to figure it out, not give up. I’m compelled to keep running, whether it’s to an eventual 5K, to the end of the month, another year of marriage, planning of hopes and dreams or just to the end of this day, on an empty lake under heavy gray sky. Maybe the dream isn’t about the act of running, but the race before us, the daily shuffle-step that often falls with a dulling thud in it’s monotony, the dream urging me to keep my head up, keep breathing, shoulders down, back straight, eyes forward. To just keep going.

These bars, however, are not my Mother’s Coffee Toffee Bars.

Imagine how I felt when Edible Twin Cities placed her beloved recipe in to their current cookbook. Tears welled out of my eyes when I saw it in print. She would have been so pleased. I have six recipes in this cookbook, and I’m just so honored to be a part of it.

The fondest part of these bars were the means to their end; the pan she used was so unique and beautiful- a 15×2 jelly roll pan with a very short side that sported a beveled edge, with two ornate and gorgeous scalloped handles. It was ancient, and now it’s disappeared. I don’t know what happened to it, whether it got thrown out after she died, but there isn’t any amount of time that goes by that I don’t wish with all my might that I’d had the foresight to take that pan in to my own custody. There isn’t much I own of my Mom’s any longer, especially kitchen items like her rolling pin; she’s been gone for nearly 19 years now. But I have no doubt that pan would have outlasted even my life. It was so heavy and so well made.

The other part of her kitchen that I always think fondly of was the gigantic round cookie tin she had, covered with deep pink roses. These types of tins were commonplace at the time, and I see them in antique stores everywhere. Whenever she made the Coffee Toffee bars, they always deserved the rose tin. We used that tin all the time, and even as a teenager I recall that one seam on the tin was breaking apart, and there was rust forming on it but she refused to throw it away. “How could I do that?” she lamented to me one day, the time I spent two weeks languishing in her North Woods home one September, sometime in my mid 20′s. We baked, cooked, talked, walked the woods and sat in companionable silence, just enjoying each other and our shared life. The rose tin was a mess, and she hardly used it anymore, she told me. But she couldn’t get rid of it. So many ‘What ifs’ and ‘Had I known’ moments pass through me when I think of those perfect weeks together, of beloved cookie tins and treasured recipes. A few short years later she was gone, and so were my chances of ever having those moments with her, moments that I fervently wish I had done so much more often.

These Cacao Toffee shortbread cookies are light years away from the rich and dense ones that Mom made, delicious in a modern and albeit better way. Every time I pull out my stash of flour alternatives, which grows exponentially with each passing week, I wonder what she would think of the switch in our baking mindset to healthier options. Would she still make her beloved bars and cookies, learning to use different flours, healthier sweeteners, coconut oil? Would she embrace using whole grains? Or would she simply sneer at the change and reach for the white flour and sugar? I like to think she’d evolve as the world around her did, that we would share our finds together and I’d help her understand this new way of thinking, of baking for the better. That we’d talk about how delicious it all can be, or I’d send her boxes of goods- like garbanzo flour, cacao nibs, rice flour and chia seeds-  that she might not be able to find living within a stone’s throw of the Canadian border, that we’d Skype to discuss a recipe, or just to connect again in our shared lives, maybe saying nothing, sharing the occasional familial smile.

So many ‘What ifs’

Rice flour makes this shortbread superbly tender and flaky, and in taking a dare, I subbed the cacao nibs for chocolate chips. And while I realize they add very little chocolate flavor, what they do add is their addictive snappy, popping crunch that compliments the flaky crumb beautifully, without making them overly sweet. For nostalgia, I’d whip up a batch of Mom’s bars, wishing for that jelly roll pan and a table to set them on between us as we enjoy them, and each other.

But I can’t. So I take the modern route, reach past the chocolate chips to the here and now and make them different. For me, for the time we’re in, the healthier path we choose, and raise a silent toast to her, thinking that she probably would love these ones just as much.

Shortbread with Cacao Nibs & Toffee

2-1/3 c. AP flour
2/3 c. rice flour (no subs for this- it makes an amazing texture)
1/2 t. sea salt
1-1/2 c. (3 sticks) unsalted butter, at room temperature
6 T. super-fine sugar (also called Bakers sugar; whiz regular white sugar in a blender to make super fine)
6 T packed light brown sugar
3/4 c. cacao nibs (sub mini chocolate, or even butterscotch chips if you wish)
3/4 c. toffee bits (I used 3 Skor bars crushed in a baggie, which I think taste far better than Heath. You can use the packaged toffee baking chips but I always find them to taste rather rancid and old)

Heat oven to 325°. (Using a glass pan? Reduce temperature to 300°) Spray a 9×13 baking pan with cooking spray and place parchment on the bottom, hanging slightly over the sides. Whisk together the AP flour, rice flour and salt.

In the bowl of a mixer, whip the butter until light and fluffy, about 2-3 minutes. Add in both sugars and whip again until creamy and smooth, about 3-5 minutes. Make sure the sugar is fully incorporated; you shouldn’t see granules in the butter.

Working with about a 1/2 cup of flour at a time, gently fold it with a heavy wooden spoon in to the butter until the last 1/2 cup remains. Add that, the cacao nibs and toffee and gently fold it all in, making sure you scrape to the bottom of the bowl. Dump everything in to the pan and gently spread it out with your hands, smoothing the top. Prick all over with a fork and bake for 45-55 minutes. Less time will yield a crumbly bar; more time will make them denser and more firm.

Allow to cool for 10-15 minutes, then slice in to desired shape. Cool completely in pan, then lift parchment and place cooled bars on a cutting board. Cut fully through and store in an airtight container.

(original recipe from The Kitchn, here with modifications)

But up until last week, I had made exactly ZERO of these recipes.

The YMCA that I go to offered a Swim in to Summer challenge for the month of May; pick a ‘destination’ and swim the distance to your chosen spot. The choices ranged from 3,000 yards (Wisconsin Dells) to 60,000 yards (Bangkok, Thailand). I chose the 12,000 yard distance, the equivalence of swimming from Minnesota to New Orleans. I calculated that if I swim three days per week in the month, averaging 1,200-1,500 yards each time (48-60 laps), that I could easily finish this challenge. And declaring to push myself even more, I decided to personally tack on 3,000 more yards and swim 15,000 total yards in May. All the swimming participants have a tiny color-coded fish on  the wall of the pool room that the staff moves once a week so we can see our progress.

As of today, I’m at just under 10,000 yards. My little fish has been doggedly moving towards New Orleans, and before this month is out, that little laminated fish will surpass the Big Easy, figuratively swimming out in to the Gulf.

So, what does swimming have to do with these burgers?

All of that swimming, plus the two classes of Body Pump that I do each week leave me absolutely FAMISHED and wanting to eat

 ALL THE FOOD IN SIGHT. 

I’ve been finding myself hungry just a few hours after eating almost every day, and waking up in the night hungry, too. It reminds me of when I was in high school during the swim season, and would come home from a 3-hour practice and practically mow down the kitchen and everything in it as my Mom watched in amusement from the table.

They were perfect; crispy on the outside and tender within, they had loads of flavor and a sharp, spicy bite. They held up well in a bun, too. Best of all, they really filled me up. The leftovers heated up beautifully in a pan with a bit of olive oil over the next few days, and believe me, I took full advantage of having those on hand as I finished yet another week of intense swimming.

Spicy Quinoa and Black Bean Burgers

1-1/2 c. cooked quinoa
2 (15-ounce) can black beans, drained and rinsed
2 carrots, peeled and finely diced
1/2 a medium onion, finely diced
3 cloves garlic, minced fine
2 t. smoked paprika
2 t. ground cumin
2 t. dried oregano
1 t. sea salt
1/4 t. cayenne pepper
1/2 t. black pepper
1 egg, lightly beaten
3 T. ketchup
2 t. soy sauce
2 t. Sriracha sauce
1-1/2 c panko breadcrumbs

In a large bowl, place the beans, smoked paprika, cumin, oregano, salt, cayenne and black pepper and stir to combine. Set aside. Whisk together the ketchup, soy sauce and sriracha in a small bowl.

Saute the carrot, onion and garlic in a skillet until lightly browned and soft, 10-15 minutes. Scrape in to the bowl with the beans and spices and using a pastry cutter or two forks, mash the beans until mostly broken up, leaving some big chunks. Add the quinoa, ketchup mixture and beaten egg. Stir thoroughly to combine. Add the Panko and mix everything. It should be moist but not soggy, and hold together when you pick some up and press it together. Cover bowl and place in refrigerator for at least an hour, or overnight.

To cook: Heat a skillet with coconut or olive oil and shape mixture in to patties. You should get at least 6 good-sized patties from this amount. Cook until darkened and browned on one side, then carefully flip and cook on other side until same.

original recipe from Bake Your Day. Here with heavy modifications.

(eggs at room temperature, bananas thawing for bread. Not posing)

We’re better than this. Aren’t we? We know that behind every softly filtered photo of a smiling child is probably a wasteland of strewn toys, messy rooms, crumbs on the floor and a host of other perfectly normal images that are conveniently ignored for the one single moment of perfection in an otherwise chaotic day, and Mom probably hasn’t even had a shower yet. For the mouth-watering image of one’s meal, lovingly created from scratch and poised on a battered wood background (is that really paint chips under that food?? Is that even safe??) and against a backdrop of artfully scattered food, or a smeared spoon, the errant drizzle of vinaigrette, or oil, we all know there lurks a mound of grimy dishes, a messy stove and probably something that got burnt in the process.

(making gremolata, not posing for the camera)

(yikes…. messy pizza making, NOT posed)

This is not our reality. But it’s become our touchpoint, and it’s alternating between making me sad- as I see how it drives others to do, create or strive for the impossible- and making me angry. It’s a wholly false reality.

I spent an afternoon recently making these cracker breads. And one of them was browned a bit too much because I was more interested in the song playing than watching what was happening in my blazing hot oven. It was placed right next to the others when I snapped a photo- see it in the back there? The photo is a bit blurry. It would never be accepted to Tastespotting. But it was my reality, and why should I hide that? Everyone burns something. We just don’t want to admit the imperfections. By the time I was done making those cracker breads, the floor was covered in scattered seeds, flour and salt flakes. The photo I took of it was also blurry, a bit too much or I would have showed you that as well. Does anyone bake anything without making a mess? Doubtful. And for each perfect photo bathed in soft light there are likely dozens that got dumped for being not perfect, like Tastespotting perfect, though. As if they ever will be. We all know it, and do it. Somehow, we’ve been programmed to think our food photography has to reach a level of perfection that someone else decided is right.

In the end though, when all these crackers were done, I’ll be darned if that burnt one wasn’t the best tasting disc of the bunch.

My Instagram feed isn’t perfect- as you can see from the photos above-, but for some reason I will never understand, someone on the West Coast named it as one of the Top 10 Foodie accounts on Instagram last Fall, and it kind of made me shake my head in disbelief. The only time I tend to arrange my food photos is to cram things closer together so I can get them all in the same shot. The moments that take my breath away are so ordinary, but so mind-boggling in their simple beauty; fresh chopped herbs on a cutting board, a pile of pale, translucent shaved fennel, the way milk swirls through dark, black coffee. The crumb of a bread crust, and how morning sunshine makes any food all that more remarkable. The photos of my cooking are really what is happening in my kitchen. Sometimes they’re really nice; other times they’re blurry, or it’s messy. Like life. But it’s always delicious. And there are no bits of food scattered around a perfect photo of perfect food. That’s not a reality I can even understand, those bits of food everywhere- and if I went to dinner at someone’s home and their table was covered with scattered bits of food and messy spoons and stuff dribbled everywhere, I might seriously wonder about them. It’s lovely, in a sloppy and not-at-all-right way, but my urge is to pick up a dishcloth and get busy with that mess, not eat it. Yet this has become the fulcrum that everything hangs on for a food blogger. It’s just not mine. I’ve loved using mason jars ever since I was in college when they were a cheap and useful means of storage and consumption, and long before they became de rigueur on food blogs, especially with a striped straw sticking out of them. I don’t have burlap pieces with frayed edges, or tea towels with stripes or the ubiquitous battered wood background with chipped paint. People don’t really eat off that chipped paint, do they??

What I do here is not winning me a fan base or making me even one cent of income. I’m not writing a cookbook, nor will I ever. If you’ve read this far, I’m glad. Thank you for that. And I hope you keep returning for more. I promise a clean table and good food when you stop by to visit, even if there might be a few crumbs on the floor. If it’s not your thing, I’m not offended; there’s plenty out there to keep you occupied.

For those of you who read every post, enjoy the Instagram photos, and make yourself comfortable in this space,
my thanks to you runs deep and my gratitude is ever-present. I do this for you, as I’m so glad that you’re here.

Personally, I don’t need gluten-free foods in my life, but I do like to experiment with all the amazing flours available for baking without gluten. And quite frankly, I’m pretty hooked on the taste of some of the combinations I’ve tried- almond and coconut flour seem to be a match made in heaven, especially in this amazing cookie (seriously good stuff, people…. make them. Fast) I like how corn flour can elevate even the simplest of cornbread, and enjoy the nuttiness of barley flour as well, and now, in this batch, the use of quinoa flour, too.

If you buy raw quinoa, don’t bother making another purchase of quinoa flour to create a baked good with it; you can grind the raw quinoa in to flour, just like you can grind oats to make oat flour, kasha (or buckwheat groats) in to buckwheat flour and numerous other grains out there. You need a dedicated coffee grinder or a blender. If all you have is one coffee grinder, you can run oats or plain rice through it to clean it out and absorb all the coffee oils so the grains you grind won’t taste like your morning cup. I use a separate grinder for spices and grains, using the rice trick often in it to keep it from getting too odorous.

But…. back to this Blondie. Originally, the recipe from Eating Well only called for quinoa flour. And almond butter. Once I mixed all the wet ingredients together, subbing in peanut butter, it looked so impossibly liquid that I couldn’t imagine the required 3/4 cup of quinoa flour would do much to pull it together, so in addition to that I added 1/3 cup of almond flour and a few tablespoon of coconut flour. Coconut flour has amazing absorption qualities with it’s high fiber content, and can really tighten up the texture of baked goods. The combination worked and these bars came out perfectly.

Peanut Butter Quinoa Blondies with Chocolate Chips

1/4 c. unsalted butter, softened
3/4 c. smooth or crunchy natural peanut butter
2 large eggs
3/4 cup packed light brown sugar
1 t. vanilla extract
3/4 c. quinoa flour
1/3 c. almond flour
2 T. coconut flour
1 t. baking powder
1/4 t. salt
1 cup semisweet chocolate chips

Preheat oven to 350°F. Coat an 8-inch-square baking pan with cooking spray and line the bottom with parchment paper.

Beat butter and peanut butter in a mixing bowl with an electric mixer until creamy. Beat in eggs, brown sugar and vanilla. Whisk quinoa, almond and coconut flour with baking powder and salt in a small bowl. Fold the flour mixture into the wet ingredients until just combined. Stir in chocolate chips. Spread the batter evenly into the prepared pan.

Bake until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out with just a few moist crumbs on it, about 25 minutes. Let cool in the pan for 45 minutes before cutting into 24 pieces. Let cool completely before storing.

If you consume olive oil in any form and have never taken the time to understand this grossly misrepresented commodity, it’s worth it’s weight in liquid gold to take some time and understand just what you’re spending your dollars on in the market. Olive oil is one of the most corrupt, mislabeled and fraudulent commodities in the world. Long embroiled in a battle of power and criminal activity, olive oil going back to ancient times has been undercut with lesser oils, and undergone intense chemical processing, then poured in to a pretty bottle and slapped with the Extra Virgin Olive Oil label before being sent around the world to wholly unsuspecting consumers.

Tom’s book outlines in great detail the history of olive oil use in the world, for health, beauty and most importantly, commerce and trade, and does an excellent job of understanding the labor-intensive process of making top quality oils. It’s this time-honored process that creates the best olive oils, but many of the finest oils produced in the world never make it to a consumer’s table. And the creation of true extra virgin olive oils results in a product with an incredibly short shelf life. The doctored and adulterated oils created for profit make an oil that is far more stable, with an ability to be stored for extended amounts of time -years even- before being bottled and shipped around the world. The fraud in olive oil production goes back for centuries, for as long as olive oil has been produced, for as long as it has held high esteem as one of the most valuable commodities in the world. And up until recent years, there has been no fail-safe measures in place to stem the flow of poor quality oils in to consumers hands. Olive oil production was often driven by unscrupulous ‘oil bosses’, shady under the table deals and back alley transactions, shipments of true olive oil that went ‘missing’ only to turn up months later after having been completely undermined, or even fully replaced with poorer quality oils like cottonseed, corn, soy and other vegetable oils. With a small amount of actual olive oil, and an added color agent, oils were bottled in huge factories all over the globe, slapped with an Italian inspired, Extra Virgin Olive Oil label and marketed as the real deal. And consumers bought it eagerly, and wholly unaware.

It is estimated that close to 90% of extra virgin olive oils in the supermarkets are not even close to the real thing. And what’s worse, there is an entire population of food-forward consumers who have no idea what true extra virgin olive oil should even taste like, and when confronted with a pure oil, they tend to reject it due to it’s strong, pungent and overpowering taste. But if a true extra virgin olive oil doesn’t make you cough just a little, or make your nose run and eyes water, then it’s likely you don’t have a true olive oil in hand.

If you’ve never done an olive oil tasting, I strongly encourage you to do so. A very detailed description of how it’s done can be found at The Olive Oil Times, in this post. If you’re going to purchase olive oil, it’s in your best interest to know the facts and understand what makes for a good oil, and more importantly, how to shop for a quality extra virgin olive oil in the markets. Your best bet is to look for an actual production and harvest date on the bottle of oil, and also an expiration date; the further out the expiration date, the fresher the oil. True Italian olive oils should have the DOP (Denominazione d’Origine Protetta) designation as well. This is a guarantee from the European Union to insure the identifiable character of a region, with specifications on production and character unique to that region.

I’ve done numerous olive oil tastings and rarely buy more than a few trusted brands of olive oil to use at home. Most of my cooking is done with coconut oil, but I love keeping a really good bottle of olive oil on hand for topping salads, soups and stews, or to drizzle over grilled breads and for brushing on pizza crust and focaccia. Mueller’s website, Truth in Olive Oil, lists many wonderful brands of oils that are readily available to consumers without access to a store that specializes in selling bulk olive oils, which he considers to be the best means of procuring the finest oils. Three of the four brands of oil I purchase are on his list of good quality oils- Lucini Italia (hands down, this is one of the best olive oils I have ever tasted and well worth the cost), Toscano olive oil (found at CostCo and an excellent every day oil, also exceptional for baking), and California Olive Ranch (their everyday oil is a beautiful product and very reasonably priced), with Academia Barilla being the one brand I purchase that’s not listed as of yet on Tom’s site.

My questions to you:

How much do you truly know about the content and origin of the olive oil that you use?
And what brand of olive oil do you regularly purchase?

It wasn’t that big of a deal, really. I kept telling myself that. My bare legs felt odd. My shoes felt odd. I felt odd. I wanted to shrug off the skirt, the clothing that wasn’t yet right, the feeling in my chest of my heart jumping in anxiety and just stay home. Stay safe.

The smiling faces of two dear friends greeted me in the parking lot, making my anxiety less acute. I knew a dear friend waited inside. Why did I feel apprehensive? All of us that day live our lives in faith and attempt to seek grace on a daily basis. We are not so different.

But we were the one thing that most of us fear; we were strangers.

I thought I would be safe, seated with people I knew and trusted, who’s faces gave me comfort, smiles that made my heartbeats calm. I could breathe among their energy, feel safe and secure there but the dreaded icebreaker came along and everyone started talking. The room closed in immediately and heat rose within me, breaking beads of sweat on my face that made me want to cry. I wanted to flee, run as fast as I can away from the fear and into the safety of myself.

I hate feeling so uncomfortable, so vulnerable and wide-open and yet so closed off and insignificant all at once. What did I have to offer them? What could they possibly gain from me? Who did I think I was bringing myself among strangers, to try and let down my guard and climb over my walls and in to another garden to see what life is growing there?

I wanted to run, to withdraw and disappear and not smile and talk and exchange knowledge and information or anything that would remove the bricks I had placed, one by one. Among friends I am at ease. I am soothing and comfort, hugs all around. Among strangers I become the old and broken, the one left behind too many times, the one forsaken. I won’t extend myself or reach out. I will stay shrouded in my own broken self.

I listened when the words began to flow, when the voices spoke out from the screen about community and relationships. I listened when the voices spoke of staying through the turmoil and hardships, through the dark valleys and tears that don’t stop and time that feels sluggish and muddy. Through times of hurt and misunderstanding. Through days that aren’t crystal clear, bright, and perfect. When we commit to one another in friendship, in marriage, in God and hope, we commit to stay, regardless. We have time to heal ourselves and others; time to build and understand, time to grow and accept and appreciate. We don’t have to be in the same places as those we choose to sit with on our friendship benches. We don’t have to have children the same age, be at the same stage of life, or live within the same neighborhood.

We don’t even have to be the same age.

And I have lamented endlessly that I seem to be the grand dame of my friends, the oldest one, sometimes by far and away over what feels like too many years. How can I relate to them when ages make them young enough to be my children? But the words spoke clearly to my heart that God draws those together who can most learn from one another and age, time and distance means nothing when the heartstrings are bound with His love. I’ve crashed around on rough seas and been thrown, tumbling heels over and over, sandpaper roughed up with life’s cruelest touches and maybe, just maybe I have something to say that they need to hear.

The room was stuffy and the coffee was good. There were cupcakes so delicious that I may have eaten more than one. I may have stayed in my chair and not ventured around the room to meet many others, but my heart was filled with words that spoke with razor-sharp truth to exactly what I needed. I’m home, in this world, with the people God has placed in my life, just for me. And I needed to climb over that fence of apprehension, drive across miles of concrete, greet friends I’ve never met, sisters in Christ and stay, regardless.

Just for us. We’ve found our bench where we can gather. And all we have to do is show up.

{{sponsored by (in)courage- home for the hearts of women, on Saturday April 27th, 6,000 women met in 590 places in 20 countries around the globe to connect beyond the computer screen and embrace community and friendship. This is the 2nd year I’ve gone and despite my anxiety, it was clearly the place I needed to be.}}