July 6th, 2010
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This summer is no usual summer for me. At least not like the past five or so years when the span between May and September often found me barefoot, my head in the breezes and most likely staring down a day with little to no agenda. No, my friends, this summer is much different. There won’t be any tan lines, probably no exhilarating rides around the lake atop a kneeboard and it’s quite possible that my swimsuit will stay tucked away in the drawer. Which is kind of sad- I really like that suit.
I’m working a lot- as expected, and surprisingly, when I’m deep in my work, and not partaking in the forays into summertime that are going on around me, I don’t find myself wistfully gazing off into space, my knife in hand, fighting off an emotional tugging at my heart over what I’m missing. The moment that white coat goes on and I pick up my knife case, heading up to the kitchen with an armload of towels, my hair twisted at the nape of my neck, the rest of the world falls away and my passion takes over. I don’t miss out on anything because I am right where I want to be. Often I catch a glance out the back door of the kitchen, when someone opens it to toss out the cardboard boxes, and I see the blue sky above the tree line, sometimes peppered with fleecy cloud, but there isn’t an urge to drop what I’m doing and step out into the warmth. In fact, when I do go outside at meal time and gaze off over the lake, I have a moment of appreciation for the glorious summer weather, but I shrug it off and head back inside to do what needs to get done.
And no one is more surprised by this than I am. I’ve discovered a great deal about myself in the past two months at this job. Where I used to think that I could never spend another summer indoors, chained to a time clock, slogging through task after task, what I never realized before is that when you’re deep in a profession that you feel you were created to do, the hours slip away and the rest of the world ceases to matter until the day is done. If I struggled before to get through my work day, it’s because I hated what I was doing. There was no passion involved in the work. I may have been skilled, capable and good at what I was doing for 8 hours a day, but my heart didn’t swell with anticipation each time I stepped up to the plate. I cared enough to do what needed to get done, but it never stirred me. Now I’m being stirred each day, loving what I do and eager to go above and beyond to get done what needs to get done. I’ve discovered what it means to truly, truly love your job. And I’m so grateful for that.
And summertime, the sweetest months in Minnesota, are moving past me at the usual rapid rate and really, I’m fine with it. Still, the time that I do have to enjoy the sunshine has been more sweet and appreciated, simply because I know that it’s limited and I need to get out there, even if it means just taking a walk through my garden. In there, the summer is in full swing, strong and vocal and clamoring to be heard. With being so busy, I find myself living much more in the moment than I have in a very long time. For there’s no fretting about the future these days, there’s no financial stress or concern about wearing ourselves out tugging so hard at life to make it’s ends meet. And while I do know that this will come to an end, I can’t think about that. There’s still so much ahead, so much to learn, to do and to experience and many, many more days of work before it’s time to stop, to rest and to re-focus. For now, it’s nice to just ‘be’
My favorite time in the garden has arrived- it’s Hollyhock time!!
Every year I allow the Hollyhocks to take free range over wherever they decide to grow and am always amply rewarded with towering stalks and gigantic buttons of eye-popping color. These deep red ones on the left are a standard, jutting out against the pale backdrop of the house, offering a rich haven for lazy droning Bumblebees. The lovely pale yellow also come up each year.
This year’s surprise color is this gorgeous pink.
Almost every season brings a new color, one that’s morphed from a previous plant. This pink is so stunning, light and delicate around the edges with deep magenta accents in the center and along a few petals. The first bloom of this took my breath away.
Another surprise color this year is this lovely salmon.
I’ve gotten full on pink flowers in previous years, but this one shows more orange, giving it a nicer and richer color than just plain pink. The stalk of these bloomed so profusely that it fell over after a few days, so thick with blossoms. That’s the one drawback of the Hollyhock. It collapses under the weight of it’s own beauty.
This super delicate pink comes up every year. The center is a lovely rose color.
Here’s another return visitor each summer. The golden petals are set off by a deeper pink center that almost looks orange.
A brighter yellow made an appearance this year too.
And on top of it being prime Hollyhock time, the Echinacea are in bloom
One variety of DayLily managed to bloom this year. The others set their buds, which then dried up. Mysterious, huh? This one of my favorite though. It’s so exotic and beautiful.
The very delicate and lacey Scabiosa have also started blooming.
These lovely flowers, waving from atop a thin but sturdy stem are wholly dependent on sunshine to unravel their frilly petals one at a time. One day I will look and see a few swollen buds, then over a few sunny days, the tiny petals unfurl like tentative sails until they are all gloriously open and blowing in the breeze. I have three Scabiosa plants that should have a variety of colors. So far, all that’s opened has been white, but the others are now blooming and I’m hoping to be pleasantly surprised soon.
The Bee Balm has opened it’s thin petals, much to the delight of the roaming Bumblebees.
The Phlox stands tall and proud with deep pink fists of color.
And rounding out the current events in the garden is the ever cheerful and sunny Coreopsis.
The funnest part about the Coreopsis is that the petals sort of resemble duck feet.
Summer is also speaking warmly from the vegetable patch, with tiny tomatoes and peppers, abundant Thyme and Oregano. The wily resident rabbit has been fenced out of foraging on my vegetable plants, and I still see him, gazing wistfully through the barrier at the bounty he can no longer destroy. I don’t mind if he wants to gobble up all the sunflower sprouts, but he won’t be making a salad bar out of my food, thank you.
And another loud exclamation of summer? A sunny morning, complete with fresh cherries in a homemade bowl on faded redwood steps.
I hope your summer is happily bending your ear with it’s tales of sunshine and play, that there’s glorious fruits and vegetables filling your lives and tummies. Any surprises at your end? Please share them so we can all find the joy in this exquisite and fleeting time.
June 27th, 2010
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It seems like this past year has put me in contact with a large number of very passionate people; people who love what they do whether it’s their chosen vocation, their family or a particular cause. Being around them is almost addictive. There’s a glow, a determination and a sense of joy in them when they discuss what they love, what drives them and makes them soar. I love seeing it, being around it and sharing in it as well. There’s plenty in my life that I feel strongly about, aspects of it that bring a deep sense of peace to me, that fill me with happiness. I bet you think I’m talking about food, don’t you? Well sort of, but it’s only one area of my life that I’m passionate about. My friend Missy, who writes the blog The Marketing Mama, is sharing her passion and asked for others to chime in and play along. I can’t imagine a better person to share a passionate and engaging conversation with; Missy is one of the amazing women I’ve been blessed to meet and connect with this past year through our blog networking group. She’s got a strong finger on the pulse of life around her, a smile to light up any room and a wicked sense of humor.
So, to join in on her expressions of all things we love and hold dear to us, allow me to share these simple aspects of my life that bring me an immense amount of joy and make my heart swell with gladness. I’m not one to climb to the rooftops to shout out what stirs my heart, and I’m not one to push a cause or a lifestyle or anything so subjective. For me, it’s the little things that make my life perfect.
Like Delphiniums.
 
This year, whether due to the copious rain that has drenched our area or just the maturity of the plants, these Delphinium that are growing in one of my garden beds have simply exploded with blooms. Deep blue and so beautifully shaped, the flowers are stunning and I just can’t get enough of their beauty. I love my flower gardens, and the way that Nature just works itself out in multitudes of color, shape, texture and time. There are days that I walk through my yard and am stunned by what’s going on, not to mention humbled that my hands did this kind of work. It isn’t much, but it’s mine. And it’s one way I can share a god-given gift with others.
Then there’s these guys.
Someday is entirely possible that I will qualify as a crazy cat lady. I am crazy about cats, and these two in particular. Eli, on the left, has been a godsend into our lives. Losing Harmon was the hardest time I’ve gone through in recent memory, and Eli came along just at the right moment, full of love to give and hungry to be loved back. Bustopher is happier with a friend, and our hearts are healing from our loss.
There’s Loveless too.
It’s a perfect sanctuary from the hectic pace of life and I do miss it with all the work I’ve been doing this summer, but recently I spent a blissful nothing type of day there, sitting on the screen porch watching the rain fall on the lake all day long. That may not sound like fun to most, but it was a much needed day off from work, and from life and I needed it like pure oxygen. It’s a place that lives in my very core, that I love beyond description and wish I could bring every single one of you there for a day just to see it and enjoy it.
I’m passionate about my family too, as any Mother would be. Watching my young man grow, mature, change and embrace the life he’s leading is a beautiful thing to see. He has some amazing roads ahead of him to explore and I can’t wait to see where his life’s journey takes him. He’s polite, kind, warm-hearted and generous. He’s funny, corny, silly and smart as a whip. And the boy LOVES his food.
Which brings me, rightly, to what I am most passionate about each waking day of my life. You knew we’d get there, didn’t you? It’s not hard to be passionate about food these days, with the Farmers Markets bursting full of the fresh bounty from the Earth. How can you NOT get excited about fresh strawberries?
Or a delightful poached egg over fresh baby zucchini sauteed with garlic scapes?
  
But it really goes beyond just the freshness and far beyond what time of year it is, as it’s much more about how your body feels when it’s nurtured with good food. There’s nothing more to it than that. What goes into our bodies has a huge effect on our well-being, our ability to learn at school or to do our jobs properly, to keep us sharp and focused so we can concentrate, to help our immune system be as strong as possible so we can stay healthy to enjoy our lives. I’ve seen enormous change in my own life from the foods that I eat, and notice immediately when I’ve been slipping away from the right path and eating too much junk. If there’s one area of my life that I could talk about all day long, it’s definitely food, diet, cooking and consumption. It’s my blood, my life and what God gave me to give to others.
So what are YOU passionate about?
Missy got a good response to her call about passion. See what my friends say about their own passions!
Missy
Kate-Madonna
Suzi
Cindy
Monika
Jenny
June 21st, 2010
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The culinary business is exacting, often meticulous and full of thinly veiled moments where too much time, heat, salt or seasoning could be the difference between a food that’s delightful, edible and sublime and one that is virtually unpalatable.
So there’s no reasonable way to say this…. my career path is full of perfectionists, raging perfectionists that take what they do very seriously and can swing from incredible highs to immense lows over the fate of any one dish they are preparing. We all grit our teeth at the tiniest of faults that means we’ve moved from making amazing food to something that’s just OK. Or worse, so ungodly bad that we need to start over. And I don’t necessarily look to the professional side of this coin when I say this either; read any of the food blogs out there, or the staggering amount of food memoir written and published each year and you begin to see, underneath the manic urge for a perfect chocolate chip cookie, the tearful disclaimers of one’s kitchen faults and foibles and the angst hidden among a food writers description of a much anticipated dish that went horribly wrong, and you see this trait unfold among even the most novice of home cooks. For some reason, we pick up a pan, scan a recipe and assemble our ingredients, and somewhere along the way we lose our ability to accept anything less than 100%. But this is a science, this cooking that we do, and it’s imperfect at best, and thoroughly fault-ridden, even at it’s finest. Nowhere will you find any activity that has the potential for so many things to go wrong.
And I know this personally. No more have I felt this sense of anxiety over what I do than in the past months at my job. I love what I do; I’m thrilled to be there in that kitchen, with the ingredients available to me and working with the talent that is there, but I’ve been puzzled and often driven to fits over the fact that I am filled with butterflies every single day when I drive into the parking lot. It seems to my exacting mind that I am but one slip away from being shown the door, from coming in one day and finding my locker cleaned out, my belongings in a box by the employee entrance, the chef silently shaking his head at me when I come to him, questions written all over my face. I hate that this has become a part of my day, especially when I feel so strongly that most of what I’ve done in the past four years has led me directly to this place.
And what it is, well that’s quite simple; I value where I am- this job, this place, with everything that I’ve got and I want to be good at what I do. This is a pretty fundamental human condition, and for me, it shares the double whammy with that exacting culinary standard. But it’s something else too; it’s the boost to my esteem that I needed on a much deeper level than I ever cared to admit. Something happens to us, to the very heart of who we are when the near relentless pursuit of employment leads nowhere but dead ends. When you’re told over and over “I’m sorry, but you’re not considered a candidate for this job.” It wears at you and erodes your will and drive. And as I discovered, it makes you feel like you’re losing your mind. Then one email changes all that and you land feet first and running hard into a job that feels more perfect than you could have hoped. It’s not just about a paycheck, and I don’t want to minimize how nice that feels, but I’ve discovered in the past few weeks that this job is more necessary to me than just the two pieces of paper it generates each month. At my very core, I needed this job to feel like I was still alive, still able to thrive, to do what I was created to do. I needed this job for me. For my soul.
Add on top of that a keen sense of perfectionism, and you’ve got a recipe -ha! puns!- for sky-high anxiety. Strangely enough, it was slightly more than four years ago, when I was in culinary school and working through a practice for our student competition, that the same chef who happens to be my boss right now told me in no uncertain terms that I was a perfectionist. He was right in front of me, I think even with a finger pointed directly at me as he said it too. I got slightly bent out of shape at his remark, and he countered with asking me “Why would it make you angry if it was true?”
Problem was, I didn’t know it was true. His remark, a casual observation from an outsider, hit home and opened my eyes to something I desperately needed to see. It was the reason I pushed myself to do everything well, the impetus behind my almost obsessive attention to detail and the reason that I was so hard on myself when it wasn’t my absolute best. It was there, in that flourescent-lit kitchen that I first understood why my heart was driving me in this direction and that I had, in some small aspect anyway, a sense of what it took to be good in the culinary field. You’re not going to succeed without that drive, that desire to make everything the best that it can be. If you give a half-ass performance, you’ll get mediocre food. Period. And we all know that nobody cares about mediocre food. It was a barren, ‘standing alone on a mountaintop’ moment at a time of my life when I was releasing from within me the very thing that I feel I was born to do, and I have never forgotten it. Had I never gone to work for this chef, or ever had another interaction with him, I would have gone to my grave thanking him for that, as odd as it may seem. Because once I did acknowledge that truth, it set me free. I stopped struggling and beating myself up when I made errors, and instead tried to let those mistakes guide me to become better, more focused and less critical. And to let go. I can’t be perfect all the time, and I shouldn’t expect that I can. Nor should anyone else. But in this business, with the work I am doing and the level of dining I help to prepare every day, I can allow for a bit of that perfectionism, and hope that my heart settles down from thinking that one mistake means the end of it all. It’s been hard though, to silence that insistent and percussive echo within the walls of my own mind. Nowhere am I in more trouble than lost in that dread of self-doubt, even if it’s only something that I myself manage to conjure up.
Just recently at work while I was meticulously picking apart Belgian Endive for garnishes, the grill cook wandered over, sighing heavily. I asked him if he was all right and he said something about messing up what he’d been working on. He told me what he had done and really, it was nowhere near as bad as he thought. I had to smile, and told him “That’s the perfectionist in you. We all have it, and it sucks sometimes.” He smiled, nodding, like the light went on in his head for the very first time. Then I saw his shoulders relax slightly, and he sighed heavily again. “Yeah, it does suck sometimes.”
Every day, I know it and feel it, and acknowledging that truth has helped me not only to be better at what I do, but to be kinder to myself on an off day. I know that the work I do each day is highly valued and appreciated, and I need to stop that voice in my head that keeps trying to convince me that I’m not good enough. No one is putting it there but me. And I realize that my anxiety isn’t so much stemming from being incapable of doing my work, but from stepping back into that dead zone of fear that comes from striving so hard for something that never seems to come. Four years ago I graduated from culinary school with a head full of dreams and an intense desire to do well in a profession I never expected to join. And I have days when I look around me, bewildered that I am even there. Am I in a dream? The work we do each day is hard, physically hard and taxing on the body. I’ve never been so exhausted, yet so exhilarated at the same time. I ache in ways I never imagined, but at the same time, I have little memory of a time recent that I’ve felt so alive and vital. I love where I am, in life and profession. Something of this importance can justify a little anxiety, can’t it?
June 13th, 2010
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I often wonder whose idea it was to make Fish Tacos.
Fish. In a taco. That overloaded, cheese filled Tex-Mex staple. dripping with seasoned meat and shredded iceberg. At one point, someone thought to push a few pieces of fried and lightly seasoned mild fish into a flour tortilla and call it a meal. Now it’s everywhere and people just love them.
Problem is, they ARE everywhere, and often not done all that well. The fish is almost always fried, which yes, makes it crunchy and appealing and all, but certainly not very healthy. This is fish. It’s good for the body when done right. I’ve tried numerous offerings of fish tacos, eagerly anticipating the. one. that makes it all worthwhile. The epicenter of fish taco-ness that will make me swoon, and want to run home to my own kitchen to replicate.
Friends, it’s never happened. So I took matters into my own hands, in my own kitchen, and made them the way I wish they would always be made.
There’s just nothing to this meal. You need some perfectly ripe avocado, a plump tomato, some form of crunchy vegetable item such as gently seasoned cabbage to offset the tender fish and a simple can of black beans. Oh yes, and fish. I used tilapia but you could also use halibut or cod depending on availability.
And this is fish, which we all know from experience is on the Love-Hate scale in my house. Mike loves it, and Griffin hates it. Or at least he seems to think he hates it. Because this is new to him, in the past few years, this despising fish deal. When he was quite the young boy, in his adorable, always helpful/cheerful/talkative Can I hold your hand, Mom? stage, my boy simply LOVED fish. He denies it now, for certain, but it’s true. I would make fish for dinner and he would light up in the way only small adorable boys can and exclaim “Fish! Yum!” when he pulled out his chair to eat. It was always seared in a pan, never fried, and yes I did give him a blop of tartar sauce to push his fish through, but he would eat it all without one little complaint. How I long for those days.
He’s OK with it now; he’s stopped with the mega-fits when he knows it’s on the dinner menu, but will never ask for it like he does his beloved steak, and I do still keep tartar sauce on hand and allow for him to smear it on his fish as thick as he wishes. He will take the smallest piece possible to get by and eat it, almost holding his breath, only because it’s how we roll at dinnertime here. You eat what’s served or make your own.
Mild, flavorful and fresh beyond belief, these tacos were such a perfect summer meal. Simple too, which these days with my schedule and valued days off, I don’t want to be chained to any time consuming menus, making the few dinners I can put together at home. The weather was gorgeous, and after Mike and I trimmed some over-zealous bushes in our yard and then impulsively chopped a few large tree branches off, dinner was still on the table about a half an hour after we came inside. These fish tacos, with all the ease and flavor, were what I feel a good, healthy fish taco should be.
Fish Tacos
by Kate
1# tilapia filets
1/2 c. flour
1 T. each ground cumin, dry oregano and chili powder (for more convenience, use 3 T. prepared taco seasoning)
For serving: flour tortillas, diced avocado, diced tomato, shredded cabbage or romaine lettuce, drained and rinsed black beans, sour cream and salsa.
Heat a heavy skillet over medium high. Mix the flour and seasonings together. Adjust with salt and pepper if desired and dredge fish in mixture. When skillet is very hot, add a small amount of oil and quickly swirl to coat. Carefully place fish in pan and cook without moving for about 5 minutes. Turn over and cook other side until fish is done and flakes easily, about 5 minutes more. Cooking time is dependent on thickness of filets and will vary.
Top tortillas with hot fish and toppings as desired.
June 7th, 2010
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There’s nothing new about fresh strawberries and good shortcake. It’s a requisite of late Spring, when the red plump berries hit their stride and beckon from tables at the market, or on the grocer’s shelves. I can’t think of anything more perfect than a ripe strawberry.
Wait. Scratch that. I can think of something better. This shortcake, spread with honey-sweetened mascarpone cheese and topped with balsamic laced berries that hint slightly of brown sugar. I’m really somewhat of a purist at heart; I like simple preparations and fully believe that the food itself should shine from your dishes. That being said, even the simple and stupendous strawberry can be made so much more amazing if given a short amount of time in brown sugar and balsamic vinegar.
Just a splash of the vinegar is all you need. And really, only a small amount of sugar is necessary too. I like to let the berries tell me when enough is enough. Prepare them by removing the core, then place them in a bowl and sprinkle in about 2-3 tablespoons of brown sugar per pint of fruit. Add 1-2 teaspoons of good balsamic vinegar to the bowl. Stir to combine and allow it to sit at room temperature for an hour or so, stirring occasionally. See how much juice begins to form. If you like them a bit juicier, add a little more sugar. What you want as an end result is a berry that hints of both sweet and tart but doesn’t overpower your tastebuds with either. Make it slightly more interesting by adding just a touch of good sea salt. It’ll be a riot of flavor and turn your simple shortcake into a real treat.
Simple is good. Different is good. Try a batch for yourself and see what you think.
June 2nd, 2010
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May 25th, 2010
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Does the weather ever slide subtly from one season to another? Because here in Minnesota, we jumped cannon-ball style from lovely Spring into all out Summer. Humidity levels rose, thickening the air and the thermometer leapt from something manageable, like the 60’s or 70’s, to a sticky number that begins with 9, and that which we rarely see before July around these parts.
And what did I do to manage this early season heat wave? I turned on the oven. Apparently, recipe inspiration can make me a little insane. But first, how about a glimpse into what the garden decided to do lately?
This White Hybrid Columbine is so lovely- see the lavender undertones? It’s stunning, but only about 4″ high. I had to lay on the ground to get this shot.
The heat wave opened the first of the California Poppies.
The Lupine are tall and graceful.
And there was plenty of other colorful happenings in the garden this week.
  
But I know, I know.
You just want the food, don’t you? I know that’s why you come here. I promise, this won’t disappoint.
 
Yes, those are apricots. I roasted them on the hottest day of the year. It was probably in the mid 90’s outside when I turned the oven dial to 425° and prepared a small sack of apricots, nestling them in brown sugar and cardamom (again? you ask, well…. yes. Insane goes many ways, my friends) before drizzling them with honey and a splash of water. Butter dots too. What good is roasted fruit without a nice buttery sheen?
 
I pretty much left tire tracks on our driveway after spotting this recipe in the current issue of Bon Appetit. Roasted Apricots? I sure do love those most fickle of tiny stone fruits- one day so firm and tart, the next moving to a softness and sweet ripe juicy flavor that you could blink and miss it if you’re not careful. And yes, the grocer stocked fresh ones, many yielding to gentle pressure like they should, smelling of golden sunshine. I’ve loved apricots since I was a very young child, and recall with fondness when my own boy was but a wee one and we lived behind a natural foods store. Almost daily we would shop, it was so convenient then to bring home only what we needed and he loved the velvety softness of those tiny fruits that fit so well into his palm. I would purchase them carefully, knowing he would eat them like crazy and they needed to be perfectly ripe. By the time we walked out the door of that store, around the back and across the parking lot of our building, he would be slurping the last of the juice from his hand, the pit clenched between his fingers and eagerly looking to me to hand him another one. Yes, apricots are favorites. For both of us and for so long. I knew too, that roasting them in this manner probably wouldn’t thrill my now 16 year old young man, but for me, these days the recipes I make don’t have to thrill everyone. Especially this. If it doesn’t make the guys jump for joy, that’s OK. These apricots, they were mine.
I imagine this recipe would work equally well with any stone fruit. Simply place the pitted fruit on a bed of brown sugar and cardamom (which, again- like the Rhubarb Crisp previously swooned over, you could leave out and never miss) drizzle the top with a little honey and pour a small amount of water over it all. Bake it at 425°, occasionally basting the fruit with the juices that form, until they are soft, fragrant and irresistible. Hold off the urge to eat them by the spoonful until they glaze has cooled. People, it’s searingly hot. My poor lip. But soft, tender, sweet and amazing in flavor is the result. You could do worse for yourself you know, on a stifling hot and sticky day, stuck inside under artificially cooled conditions to turn on your oven for 20 minutes and be rewarded like this. Summer? Bring it on.
Roasted Apricots with Cardamom Brown Sugar Glaze
From Bon Appetit, June 2010
- 1 cup (packed) golden brown sugar
- 1 teaspoon ground cardamom
- 6 large or 12 small apricots (about 1 1/2 pounds), halved, pitted
- 3 1/2 tablespoons honey, divided
- 2 tablespoons unsalted butter, diced
- 1 8-ounce container crème fraîche or sour cream
- 2 teaspoons vanilla extract
Preheat oven to 425°F. Mix brown sugar and cardamom in 11x7x2-inch glass baking dish. Add apricots. Pour 1/4 cup water and 2 tablespoons honey over fruit; dot with butter. Roast until apricots are tender, occasionally basting with syrup in dish, 12 to 15 minutes. Cool 5 minutes. Whisk crème fraîche, remaining 1 1/2 tablespoons honey, and vanilla in small bowl. Serve with warm apricots.
KATE’S NOTES:
When buying stone fruit to roast, they should be slightly under-ripe or they’ll become too mushy when you cook them. I found that the 12-15 minute window in the recipe was not nearly enough to make them tender. They cooked for maybe 20 minutes before I felt that the fruit was the soft texture I wanted.
Should there be a “Next time” when I make this, which I am certain there will be, I would probably stir the brown sugar, cardamom and water together. Once the fruit cooled, there were sugar crystals on the bottom of the baking dish from where the brown sugar did not dissolve. I also used whole cardamom seed and ground it down, but not enough. If cardamom is not finely ground, the remaining seed can be bitter. If you grind your own seeds, make sure it’s very fine. I ended up straining some of them out afterwards. And yes, by all means leave it out and you’ll never know.
My topping for it was mascarpone cheese sweetened with honey. I know. This truly does make me believe I am insane. But it was, sorry to reiterate, insanely good. Try the roasted apricots on yogurt, over ice cream, on top of shortcakes (if your strawberries run out) or alone as a simple treat.
May 18th, 2010
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Well, welcome to May in Minnesota, where we almost got swallowed up during a week’s worth of near constant rainfall, and I swung deeper into the rhythms of my job. I’m feeling pretty blessed, my friends; I think this job was heaven sent because I can’t imagine anything more perfect for me right now. I feel like I was meant to be there, and it’s all going really well. I sure didn’t mind the wet and cold weather we had for a stretch, not with being able to spend long and productive days in the kitchen at work, my mind and hands busy overseeing work like this:
   
May finally did take it’s turn to shine, in a glorious manner nonetheless. The gray lifted, the sun came back out and made us collectively blink like we’d all just woken from a deep slumber. And my garden opened up, simply bursting with color.
 
But my apologies to you all, as maybe you’ve noticed that the blog has been a bit neglected. I sort of expected that it would happen as I adjusted to a new job, and on my days off I’ve found myself scrambling to catch up on the bits of life that get set aside while I’m at work. Would you feel better if I shared some Cardamom-Spiked Rhubarb Crisp with you?? I hope that it might soften you all up a bit. It sure made me melt just a little when I took the first bite.
So quintessential Spring, this Rhubarb dessert. And simple enough that a few quicks measures of basic pantry ingredients alongside 5 minutes of your time and the oven does it’s magic on fruit, brown sugar and oats to make a perfect end to a perfect Spring day. You don’t need to fuss at all, which means a lot to me and my free time lately.
Mondays are my free days, and with ample energy I took back control of my own kitchen to make dinner for my guys. They’ve been doing a really amazing job of feeding themselves now that I’m away during the dinner hours, and I’m really proud of their efforts because I know it isn’t the easiest of tasks for them. On a quick trip through the grocers, I spied Pizza sausage at the meat counter and eagerly bought a pound of it, mixing it with a Vidalia onion relish that I had on hand for a delicious burger to sizzle on the grill. Some roasted red pepper strips and a thick coating of mozzarella cheese made them into utter perfection, and this aromatic and easy Cardamom-Spiked Rhubarb Crisp was a deliciously tender and comforting end to a shared meal with my most favorite people. Really, who needs yet another crisp recipe? It’s not all that different from any one of the hundreds out there, but just like a day off, like taking that deep breath that comes at the end of my work week when I’m in the thick of my free time, it was simple perfection.
Cardamom-Spiked Rhubarb Crisp
adapted slightly from Mark Bittman via The New York Times
Heat oven to 375°. Spray an 8″ baking pan or casserole dish and set aside.
For the filling, combine together:
4-5 c. chopped rhubarb
1/2 c. sugar (I used turbinado)
1 T. fresh lemon or orange zest
2 t. fresh lemon or orange juice
1 t. ground cardamom
Spoon filling into prepared pan, leaving behind any juice that accumulates.
In same bowl, add:
6 T. cold butter, cut to small pieces
3/4 c. brown sugar
1/2 c. flour
1 t. cinnamon
1/2 t. nutmeg
Using your hands, gently blend cold butter with sugar, flour and spices, pressing butter between your fingers to mix until it’s chunky and loosely blended.
Add 1/2 c. rolled oats to the brown sugar mix and combine with your fingers. Crumble topping over prepared rhubarb in pan and bake for 35-45 minutes. It should be bubbling and nicely browned on the top. Allow to cool slightly before serving.
Kate’s Notes:
This recipe originally did not call for cardamom so don’t feel you need to have that spice to make this. Skip it and you’ll still get a stellar result. If you like nuts in the topping, add about 1/4 c. of chopped toasted pecans with the oats. Almonds would be good too.
May 7th, 2010
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Have I mentioned my new job? No? I can’t believe I haven’t shouted it from every rooftop I find. I’m pretty excited for it. I’m the Garde Manger chef at a local Yacht club. It’s a seasonal job through early October, but it’s good work and a paycheck right now is a huge blessing. Most of you may remember that the job situation for me lately hasn’t been all that rosy. Thankfully, for a while anyway, we will be breathing easier.
But I am working a lot, as I hoped to be. And since most of the past 18 months have been idle ones for me, to be on my feet working in the very physical job that is a professional kitchen, I’ve been fairly worn out. But it’s getting better, as I get more accustomed to the work, the pace and being on my feet all day long. My schedule, once it settles in, likely will keep me working into the early evening hours. That means Mike and Griffin will be fending for themselves for dinner most of the time. Thank goodness for good shoes and understanding spouses. I have both, and they’re making this transition so much easier on me.
A recent Sunday morning came that I simply could not raise my weary head from my pillow and the guys went off to church while I cuddled the two content felines and dozed through a sunny, but chilly early morning. By 9:00am I felt like I could stumble down the stairs and operate the coffee pot with a fair amount of dexterity, and by 10:00 or so, I was particularly famished. On top of all that physical work comes the accompanying expenditure of calories, and I have been so hungry I can hardly believe it. With the guys gone, I could make something with eggs and not offend my egg-o-phobic spouse and it had been ages since a piece of French Toast had crossed my plate. I spied a container of cooked fresh rhubarb and on a whim, I dumped a few spoonfuls into the batter, dunked my bread into it and placed it in the skillet.
I didn’t really know what to expect, but I like rhubarb, and I like French Toast. Sometimes I get kind of a wild hair about combining two things I love into one, and often I am rewarded greatly. Other times…. meh. It either doesn’t work or I just don’t like it, leaving me to try and continually remind myself that just because it tastes great separately, it doesn’t exactly make it a match made in heaven. But this…. hot, caramelized Rhubarb French Toast. Oh, this worked. Beautifully.
And here’s the thing; it’s Rhubarb season, is it not? The stalks are everywhere, and if you’ve got friendly neighbors or friends with a big patch, it’s pretty likely that some has been pawned off into your eager hands. What do most people do with rhubarb? Make a cobbler, sure. A pie?? Oh absolutely! Rhubarb sauce? For certain. And that was what I did with the small sack that made it’s way into my kitchen. It doesn’t take much. Time on the stove. Some brown sugar. A few turns with a spoon and you’ve got a delicious and versatile sauce for ice cream, yogurt, biscuits or even just to scoop up happily for a treat. Or, as it worked out, into your French Toast batter like I did. I took the mystery out of it for you.
My slices turned out perfectly; crispy yet tender with a perfect sweet and tart Rhubarb flavor. I drizzled some of my own scratch pear butter over the top, adding a snowy dusting of powdered sugar because it’s French Toast, isn’t it? It’s simpatico with powdered sugar. And you know what? It didn’t even need anything. The fruit adds a nice sweetness to the slices, and fresh from the skillet, all you really need is a plate and a fork. That and a gnawingly empty stomach. I munched and sighed my way through four slices watching the sun shine brightly and the newly green trees whip around in a stiff wind. This is one of those dishes that would only pass my lips in this house; Mike is anti-egg and Griffin won’t eat rhubarb. So it was perfect for a gorgeous and solo Sunday morning.
April 29th, 2010
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Everyone, say ‘Hello’ to Eli
If you follow me on Twitter, or hang out over on Facebook with me, you probably saw me post about him last week when he arrived in our household. We were just a little excited about him joining our family, and the past week has been full of new adventures, excitement for us and for him, sharing with us all the love he has within his superbly soft and furry little frame. This cat is like the softest teddy bear I’ve known, and oh so very cuddly; he loves to be held and burrows himself into me when I lift him to my shoulder. He’s affectionate, talkative, playful, and eager to learn everything he needs about his new home. Like where Bustopher’s best snoozing spots are located, for one thing.
Eli is doing a wonderful job of healing the hole inside of all of us that was left with Harmon’s passing. In the past few weeks Bustopher has needed a lot of attention, and seemed so unhappy when we left him alone. And we just felt empty. A new friend was necessary, and one visit to the shelter was all it took. Life has come full circle again. It’s a great testimony to what Harmon brought to my life, a love that went very deep and was so painful to lose, but was also powerful enough to make me believe I could withstand it again, that I could expand my heart to accept another feline friend.
I’m already quite in love with him. He is a good match for all of us.
And then of course, the best part of everything happening right now is that Spring is just busting out all over it’s glorious fragrant self, shining in the sunlight for us all to behold and embrace.
 
Along with falling in love with our new pet, I’m also just blissfully over the moon about pan roasted cauliflower. I know, strange isn’t it? With the verdant strands of spring asparagus, fresh pea shoots and the promise of ramps, I’m going slightly ga-ga over cauliflower, snatching up head after head of it and searing it to browned perfection in a pan while I bliss out in anticipation of the first bite to reach my lips.
Griffin won’t touch it. He will eat it steamed but only steamed, turning away in scorn when he lifts the lid on yet another pan of golden roasted florets at dinnertime. I don’t argue. It leaves more for me. I made half a head of it for lunch one afternoon and sighed my way through each forkful until the entire bowl was empty. The process of cooking it in a hot skillet, over searing heat with just a touch of oil leaves the florets crisply tender and sweetly succulent. I certainly could do worse for falling in love with a vegetable; cauliflower is low in fat and high in fiber, folate and Vitamin C, as well as the wide range of phytochemicals present in other members of the Brassica family like kale, chard, broccoli and cabbage.
And you know what? It’s so very simple. The key to making it nice and caramelized is to slice the pieces so the sides are flat.
Place them in a bowl and add a little oil, some seasonings that you like as well as a bit of salt and pepper. Mix it up nicely while your pan heats on the stove. When the pan is smoking hot, empty the cauliflower in to it and spread it out. Let it sit for about 5 minutes undisturbed. Then toss it a little. Turn down the heat and cover the pan, with a lid or foil, then let it sit undisturbed for maybe 10 minutes. Toss it a bit more. Cover again, let it sit and repeat this until the cauliflower is as tender as you like. I like some bite to mine still. But it tastes just as good when it’s nice and soft. A sprinkling of good parmesan cheese tastes nice on it. You can add some thinly sliced garlic too, for extra flavor.
Give it a try, won’t you? Maybe you’ll find more reason to fall in love this Spring too. That is of course, unless you already are.
 
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