April 16th, 2010
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I don’t know about you, but I’ve been having these ‘front step moments’ lately, where memories are popping up from all ages of my lifetime that occurred on our front staircase. For some reason, the moving picture of my life has many frames that are wrapped around concrete and steps that led to streets, friends houses and adventures. So many of them intertwined with food too.
Who didn’t take their peanut butter sandwich outside as a child to eat on the back steps? There was your Mom, inside the house just a few feet away and your backyard in front of you, while you nibbled your lunch, sipping milk to wash the peanut butter from your tongue. Maybe the neighbor girl joined you and you shared your meal. Then you always ran off to play, leaving the remains of a sandwich, maybe a carrot stick or lone potato chip as fair game for the dog to snatch up. But only if they were quicker than your Mom.
Blessed or otherwise, I saw a lot of different front steps in my young lifetime. My first memories, ever, occurred at the top of this long flight of stairs in South Minneapolis.
(that’s not trash littering the yard; it’s petals from a huge Star Magnolia behind me)
Nearly 40 years later, I’m floored to near tears by the fact that the railing pictured is the exact same one we used to slide down as children. My spot to sit and watch my young world go by was on the top step leaning against that railing. It was there, nibbling on my lunch one afternoon that I was jumped from behind by a Black Lab. I was terrified, screaming and wildly thrashing against that surprise assault when our feisty Dachshund, Schnapps came barreling out of nowhere to fling himself at the marauder, then chased that huge dog down the street, barking frantically, nipping at it’s heels. Schnapps was my protector. And he sat on those steps a lot with me.
Then we moved, briefly, to this set of front steps.
With this playground spread out before us.
 
This was a fantasy world at our young feet. We knew each trail, each bank of that creek as intimately as our own yard. We caught crawfish, dug worms, watched the current and climbed trees. When tired and thirsty, we’d run into the house and rummage for cookies, sipping Kool-Aid or lemonade, resting and catching our breath before heading back outside to find more beauty, gulp down the air and run until we were worn to the bone. How simple life could be if time was only defined through cold drinks, cookies and the sound of laughter and wind in the trees.
My front steps now aren’t that wondrous, but they’re tucked back against our house and sort of hidden in their own way. I’ve always enjoyed sitting outside on them; for the most part, not many people who pass by even know I am there so I can watch and observe and speculate on the world going by without disturbance. Our current neighborhood is made for walking, so there is always a parade of people, of dogs, kids on bikes and rollerblades, young families with strollers that sift through the evening breezes, quietly chatting with each other.
I can enjoy a glass of wine on these steps, chatting with The Teen, or sitting peacefully with a cat. We’ve been known to sit on these steps while thunder groans overhead and the tree in the yard bends in the furious wind. The storm siren can be going off, barely a block away and we won’t be able to hear each other speak, but the joy of watching that storm, the shiver of experiencing nature’s blast right in front of us keeps us there until drenching rain chases us both inside. My boy and I love a good thunderstorm.
So much of my days when I was very young were a mix of fresh air, sunshine, neighborhood kids and homemade treats. There were Dreamsicles, Freeze Pops and trying to fall asleep in the summer heat. My childhood, as many others, is full of these memories, and delicious tidbits that slipped between our fingers just as fast as we could lift them to our lips.
One of my most favorite treat as a young girl, and still to this day was my Mom’s Peanut Butter Fingers.
I guess I look to glean some sense of nostalgia whenever I make a beloved childhood cookie. How simple everything was then, the time of life that didn’t include numbers in bank account, property taxes, thinking about your child’s 16th birthday, insomnia and a host of other adult trappings that leave us longing for a simpler life. I bite into peaceful kid feelings when breaking through the solid chocolate crust of these beauties, and relish the memory of my Mom’s smile. Baking was her love language, and we sopped it up daily, never realizing how good we really had it. I still recall the first time at a friends house and she asked if I wanted a cookie. Enthusiastically I said yes, thinking of homemade chocolate chip, maybe a molasses cookie or my utmost favorite sugar cookies. She gave me an Oreo. Admittedly, I did like it -what kid didn’t like Oreos?- but it was the first exposure I had to the fact that not everyone had an endless supply of homemade treats at their disposal. I asked this friend what kind of cookies her Mom liked to bake and she looked at me blankly, then back at the Oreos. Oh, now that was a lesson to learn, all right.
Yes. I was blessed. And I continue to honor that upbringing in my own home, especially when the need for comfort and inner soothing become necessary. From what I see in the food blog world, baking is an obsession of many. That’s a wondrous thing to see, and indeed, to know in one’s lifetime. Fresh scratch treats have no comparison, in taste or in the way that they soothe, calm and bring ease to a often chaotic existence. The preciseness of baking is almost exactly opposite the freewheeling, often uncontrolled way that life has of tossing us around, leaving our souls feeling shaken. Peace to all- through flour, sugar and a hot oven. Baking brings it’s own method of calm.
Today is my Mom’s birthday. Happy birthday, Mom. I sure do miss you. It’s no surprise to me that these memories are so strong right now.
Anyone want to join me on the steps for some cookies and a good chat??
Peanut Butter Fingers
origin unknown- some lifetime ago. This recipe is the first one under the ‘Desserts’ tab in my indexed book of favorites. That’s how beloved it is.
Spray an 8×8 pan with cooking spray. Heat your oven to 350°.
Cream together:
1/2 c. butter
1/2 c. each brown and white sugar
Blend in:
1 unbeaten egg
1/2 c. smooth peanut butter (chunky is fine too, if it’s your thing)
1/2 t. baking soda
1/2 t. sea salt
Stir in:
1 c. flour
1 c. quick cooking oats
Chocolate topping- 1 12-oz bag chocolate chips
Spread batter in prepared pan and bake for approximately 30 minutes, or until toothpick test is clean. Remove pan from oven and sprinkle chips over the top. Allow to soften and then spread evenly to cover bars. Cool completely before cutting.
April 12th, 2010
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I was pretty excited to be on the invite list for Crispin Ciders ‘Cider and Sliders’ dinner at Firelake Grill House in the downtown Minneapolis Radisson. My experience with hard cider, the one that I’d had anyway was not the best, and I was wary enough of the brew to avoid it for the most part. This dinner was anticipated as a chance for me to learn more and understand hard cider, and by the end of it, hope to be won over fully. Oh who am I to kid? I was a fan with the first sip of the drink handed to me when I walked in the door. I’m such an easy pushover.
My only apprehension for this gig was that I was flying solo. My invite came at a late enough date that finding someone available to go with me was kind of a joke. But the friendly people of Crispin were more than welcoming to me, and I discovered some Twitter friends there to share a table with so I didn’t end up dining alone. This was a six-course meal, each paired with a different cider. I expected to be fully on the floor from all the imbibing. Thankfully, that didn’t pan out either. Hard cider isn’t especially high in alcohol, designed more for enjoyable consumption than sheer, all out drunkery. Thank goodness. The first glass set down in front of me was huge.
(please pardon the fuzzy shots. It wasn’t the cider. I’d forgot my good camera at home)
And the plate that followed took my breath away.
The first course was a cold-smoked lake char tartare, topped with a fried quail egg and frisee on a potato bun spread with a mustard vinaigrette. Two delicate and ultra delicious sweet potato chips accompanied it, but the tender tartare melted in my mouth, as the egg dripped over it leaving a wonderful flavor in my mouth. The bun was super soft and tender as well. Paired with this delicious start was Crispin’s Brut Cider served over ice. It was lightly effervescent, crisp and juicy. It was one of those drinks that I know I would deeply enjoy on a hot day, so refreshing and thirst-quenching.
Then our server set down the most gorgeously hued liquid in front of me. Lake char tartare? What? I was so taken with the color that I could hardly remember what I’d just ate.
Fox Barrel Ciders, partnered with Crispin, were also presenting some of their beverages, the first being this beautiful Black Current Cider that shimmered in my flute. It was a sight for the eyes and a delight for the tongue, lush with berry flavor and again, light and easy to drink. It was paired with an incredible little plate.
While I did make it through all six courses of the night, I could have stopped with this one and never known any difference. This was a gorgeous duck confit served on a chive gougere spread with spiced alder plum jam and topped with pickled starfruit and an incredible jicama slaw. The gougere was perfect, the confit rich and deeply flavored and the whole combination was perfectly balanced, a lovely dance in the mouth. This easily was the star of the menu, even with four more plates to go.
If I had remained a skeptic at this point, the third cider offering would have knocked me over the edge. It was the most beautifully flavored pear cider, rich like a opulent wine, coating the tongue with fruit like you were biting into the ripest pear you’ve ever tasted. It was gorgeous in color and I could have sipped up the whole bottle. Self-restraint was high, but seriously, I can’t imagine a better summer sipper than this light and delicious cider. I was so taken with it, admiring it and sipping it with my slider that I suddenly looked down and gasped.
It wasn’t the alcohol that was getting to me, as the pear cider rolled over my tongue with barely a 4% content. I’m pretty sure I was just reveling in how exciting and delicious these beverages were. The third slider was probably my least favorite, but not because the flavors weren’t great, but it was unbalanced. An herb focaccia was topped with house-cured pancetta, oven dried oyster mushrooms and a tomato confit, then served with a generous chunk of Bent River Camembert. The focaccia, tender and quite savory, overpowered the pancetta, and the cheese, although rich and delicious, was too much for the thin pancetta. I did like the mushrooms, but they were almost an afterthought. The cider, however, stole the show on this third round.
We moved on to meatloaf.
Yes, meatloaf. The best slab of meat that’s passed through this born and bred Minnesotan. This girl knows meatloaf, and Chef Paul Lynch’s use of boar, bison and wild turkey made a tiny slab come alive with meaty goodness. Served on a pretzel bun, this meatloaf was topped with Crispin braised sauerkraut and shaved apple, smeared with brown mustard. It was an incredible germanic combination. I am not, nor ever have been a fan of sauerkraut, but I am telling you, if I can learn to make it in this fashion, I actually might be able to call myself a fan. It was sweet, slightly sour and crunchy beyond belief. The pretzel bun was salty and perfect, capping off a perfect little handful of meat-love. It was served with Crispin’s basic cider; beautiful, full of flavor and easy across the lips.
Still two more courses to go, and the fifth cider set down before us was a gorgeous Honey Crispin Artisanal cider that tasted like a stronger version of what any perfect apple cider should be. It was lush and flavorful, making me think of crisp Fall days, the bite and snap of a ripe apple, touched with a tiny hint of honey. When you lift this glass to your nose, the sweet scent of honey reaches you, making you wonder if it’s going to be cloying in it’s sweetness, but the first sip is just apple and nothing more. The honey hints in the aftertaste, leaving a nice sweet note in the back of your throat. It was served with a lovely lamb burger, thick with feta and coriander, served with escarole and olive mayo, along with a tiny order of perfect fries.
 
While I am not often a huge fan of lamb, this was quite flavorful, rich with the coriander. The brioche bun was perfect, with a tender crumb and delicate flavor. I loved the fries, so perfectly cooked.
Our last course was a tasty fritter, shaped like a large donut hole, made from Grains of Paradise and scented with cider. It was split and filled with farmers cheese and served atop a thick smear of caramel that took my breath away in it’s smoky, dark taste.
It was sweet, with the perfect touch of crunch and rich with the smooth warm cheese. Paired alongside was a new Crispin varietal, The Saint artisanal cider that was brewed with Trappers yeast to give it a light beer-like touch. Sweet and perfectly matched to the rich caramel, it was an amazing end to a very eye-opening night in which I learned so much, and tasted so happily. Call me converted, no longer wary, and actually excited to branch out and experiment a bit more.
Many thanks to Ben Heinemann at Roepke PR for the gracious invite, and to Joe of Crispin, and Bruce of Fox Barrel for their generosity, information and general conviviality.
{{FDA Disclosure: I received admission to this event free of charge and was not compensated in any way by either Roepke PR, Crispin Cider or Fox Barrel Ciders. I was not paid for my review, nor was it expected.}}
April 9th, 2010
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Boursin, people. Boursin cheese. Rich, creamy and speckled with herbs. Melted and mixed with fresh spinach, topped with crunchy bread crumbs and baked to perfection. Ultra-satisfying and delicious. But strangely, I took a bite and swore I’d had it before, sometime far and long ago though. I know it wasn’t recently, and I’m pretty sure I was quite young, but the flavor of this was familiar in that misty, distant fashion that reeks of deja vu.
On my birthday in early March, we dined at a restaurant where perfectly cooked rotisserie meats were the star, and along with the meltingly tender chunks of meat that graced our plates, Mike and I selected a side of creamed spinach that was equally blissful. The spinach was tender, perfectly cooked and in a delicious bath of smooth, lightly seasoned sauce. I remember sighing sadly as the last bite was scraped from the dish, and it was so blissful and perfect that I dreamed about it for days afterwards. Who dreams of creamed spinach? Especially since it was the first time in my life that I’ve eaten it. Yes. First time. I fell hard I guess. I’d seen numerous recipes for it, chock full of decadent heavy cream that made my arteries cringe away in fright. Not that Boursin cheese is any different; folks, this dish is rich like an oil baron. But given the richness of the added Boursin, I knew I wouldn’t need heavy cream to make it. In fact, I think having heavy cream, which the original recipe calls for, would make this dish a bit too much. As it is I could only manage a few mouthfuls, complete with much eye-rolling, and heavily satisfactory sighs. Heavy cream AND Boursin? Sometimes, you can have too much of a good thing.
 
Of course, any dish where there is delightful browned, butter drenched panko crumbs gets an enthusiastic thumbs-up from this girl. I find myself making up excuses to brown myself a pan of them, fluttering them through my fingers to grace the top of just about anything, then gleefully slurping the rest from my hand. Something about their delicate crispness just makes my mouth happier. With this spinach, they form a nice crust on top of the gratin as it bakes, adding a polar opposite element to the smooth creamy base and lovely al dente spinach.
While this isn’t exactly the lightest of Spring fare, and I certainly wouldn’t want to drench the upcoming fresh spinach crop under such a disguise, I am glad to know that for a cool night I have an option to set my mind dreaming once again.
And maybe more importantly, keep it there for good. Does the idea of Boursin cheese make you swoon too? Tell me how you love to eat it, and to offer you another decadent side dish, please check out Chris’ Ultimate Boursin Mashed Potatoes.
Boursin Spinach Gratin
From Spring 2010, At Home with Kowalski’s magazine. Heavily adapted by Kate
1 bunch fresh spinach, destemmed, washed well and spun very dry
1 t. unsalted butter
1 small shallot, minced
3 T. AP flour
1-1/2 c. plain soymilk (alternately, use 1 c. skim milk & 1/2 c. heavy cream)
1 pkg Boursin Herb and Garlic cheese, 5.2oz
3 T. fresh shredded parmesan, or other hard cheese of choice
1 t. lemon zest
2/3 c. panko bread crumbs
1 T. melted butter
Salt and pepper to taste
Heat oven to 425°
In a medium oven proof skillet with a cover, melt butter and add shallot, cooking and stirring until soft, about 5 minutes. Stir in flour to coat and then slowly begin whisking in milk until fully incorporated. Stirring constantly, bring sauce to a gentle simmer to thicken, then add in Boursin cheese, a small amount at a time, until all of it is blended into the sauce.
Drop a handful of spinach leaves into sauce and stir to coat. Add more, a handful at a time, until all spinach is mixed well with the sauce. Bring to a simmer, cover and simmer for about 5 minutes. Mix panko, salt and pepper and melted butter, sprinkle over top of spinach and place pan, uncovered, into oven. Bake for 10 minutes, until bubbly and crumbs are browned. Remove from oven, allow to cool slightly (remember that pan handle is HOT!) and serve immediately, sprinkled with parmesan cheese.
Alternately, mixture can be divided among smaller ovenproof ramekins to be baked. Divide spinach into ramekins before topping with bread crumbs. Baking time will be shorter.
April 4th, 2010
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Our life can be marked by our losses, which often can be more defining than the days that take our breath away. A loss in life is like running smack into a brick wall, after which you shake off the tweeting birds floating around your head and look around at what’s landed in your path. There is no more going forward as you have been; it’s time to look to either side and determine which is the next best step, choosing your new direction, heading off into the unknown. But sometimes those brick walls of life stop us cold. We had no idea it was coming and it’s frozen us in time, unable to shift our direction and find the new normal. We sit in front of it and stare, uncomprehending this change that we don’t want, and didn’t ask for.
I’ve had times like that. Bad times that have stopped me senseless. I lost my sister in 1991, my Mom in 1994. Both times it was so numbing that I simply sat down, right where I was, and hardly budged. I got stuck a lot in those days, and held big-time pity parties for myself complete with isolation, junk food binges, too much alcohol, or worse, something stronger. I lost a lot of time that I’ll never get back.
This loss was much different, as I had seen it coming for some time. But it didn’t hurt any less. Even with Mike and Griffin right there with me in the Vet’s office, as I held Harmon and felt him slip into an eternal sleep, it was the loneliest feeling I think I have ever known. The past 17 years flashed through my head; every little thing about him that endeared him to me, from the first glimpse of his face to his final day. He was such a part of me that I can’t even imagine how long it will take to stop looking around the house for him. Seventeen years is a very long time. Griffin has never known his life without this big orange cat. I can’t remember much about mine before he came along.
But we move on. We have no choice. And in the days following our loss, I was overcome with urges to eat foods I hadn’t touched in years. The need to cover the pain became very real, and yet none of my old coping mechanisms were still in place and I had to just let the pain seep out of me. It gripped me so hard that it left me physically gasping for air. I had no appetite, but ate mechanically. Nothing had any taste. I wept often, and uncontrollably. I craved fried foods, greasy burgers, heavy pizza, drinks with funny names, being prone under a pile of blankets and more isolation than is humanly wise. I was staring at yet another brick wall and the only thing I knew how to do with pain like this was collapse and disappear from life again.
This is now, however, the kinder and gentler Kate, and after the first acute and tenderly painful days, I realized that I did want food, and was pleased that I wanted good food. And the first dish that I took out and set before my grief was my most favorite Lentils and Farro with Caramelized Leeks. The attention to slowly caramelizing the leeks seemed to almost take my mind off the fact that there was no eager golden-hued face at my feet, weaving in and out of my legs as I stood at the stove. Then copious amounts of this white bean and roasted garlic spread not only had me set for life against vampires, but provided heady aromatic and tasty relief (that photo above should give you some clue as to how critical roasted garlic is in my kitchen). There were more roasted vegetables, despite the warm end to March in Minnesota, a succulent grilled pork tenderloin that I buried under a thick mustard glaze, salads crunchy enough to fill the echo within my heart.
And I baked, because what could soothe one more than homemade scones? Lacking fresh fruit for a Sunday morning treat before a necessary and pleasantly grueling 3.5 mile hike, I gently blended thick fruit preserves with the liquid in my favorite scone recipe, and came up with a delightfully light and flavorful round, studded with chopped pecans and warmly comforting to my tummy. Another batch of Orange-Cardamom Scones sent me skyrocketing into sheer happiness, lush with the crisp citrus scent. The secret to these, I am 100% certain, is the citrus-infused turbinado sugar that filled the interior and decked out the tops. With the crunchy sugar and fresh zest, really, can it go wrong?
 
And Brownies. Let’s just say that in everyone’s coping arsenal should be a good solid recipe for a Brownie that will calm even the worst of one’s inner storms. Fudgey or cakey, I’m OK with either because where good chocolate therapy is concerned, I’m always a willing participant.
There was also Spring Break with my Teen that included him getting contacts, and or course, the golden sunshine that tickled and warmed our faces as March bid us farewell. I busied myself cleaning up last year’s detritus in the garden, and marveled that I was sweating on the last day of a typically snowy and cold month. I took a very long bike ride. And I cooked more soothing foods. I’m exploring some terrific options for the weeks ahead, in April, the month where Spring explodes over our part of the Earth. I don’t want to miss out on that, or anything else coming my way these days. There’s no more hiding. Not for this girl.
And Easter Sunday I feel, is an appropriate time for a new beginning, wouldn’t you agree??
Orange Cardamom Scones
adapted heavily from Tyler Florence’s Real Kitchen
2-1/2 c. AP flour
1 T. baking powder
1/2 t. sea salt
2 T. sugar
1 T. orange zest
1/2 t. ground cardamon
5 T. cold unsalted butter, cut into chunks
1/2 c. fresh squeezed orange juice
1/2 c. buttermilk
Preheat oven to 400°. Line a baking tray with parchment.
Combine flour, baking powder, sugar, cardamom and salt. Blend together juice, zest and buttermilk, add to dry ingredients and mix gently with a fork until all flour is incorporated. Careful not to overmix.
Gently scoop individual portions onto cookie sheet. You should get about 8 scones. Bake until slightly browned on top, about 15-18 minutes.
For the Citrus Sugar that I sprinkled on top- Zest one orange and mix the zest with half a cup of turbinado sugar. Place in blender and mix until fully combined. Scrape into container and keep refrigerated. Use regular sugar if you have no turbinado. Sprinkle over tops of scones before baking.
March 26th, 2010
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I never expected to have the last six months. And I thank God for them, because it’s been a long preparation for this day.
Harmon has slipped away, very quickly and over just the past few days. It doesn’t matter what’s wrong because we don’t need to know. We just know he’s very ill, he’s very old and he’s leaving us. We need to make his final journey a peaceful one. For the unconditional love he’s given to me over the last 17 years, I owe him as little suffering as I am able to give. It doesn’t make the ache in our hearts any easier but he deserves nothing less from us. For every snuggle, for every jet engine purr and painfully hard head-butt he’s sent me over his lifetime, and for the six months that I’ve had to try and somehow accustom myself to living without him, I can make one of the hardest choices of my adult life.
  
Inevitable, and bittersweet. There are no more Spring days for him lolling on the patio or chasing grasshoppers, no more expectant faces at the snack cupboard, no more heavy bodies cuddling up to me while I work, or watch TV or sleep at night.
I don’t really know what Bustopher will do. Or for that matter, what we will do.
So please excuse my absence from here for a while.
March 22nd, 2010
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I’ve noticed lately that my days seem to be having their own soundtracks. We’ve become a kind of soundtrack world, what with the abundant use of iTunes, the earbud generation and the incessant need to insert any type of sound into the hours. These are the playlists of our lives, what we exercise to, the music in the background while we work, what blasts from our computers as we clean, or cook or just manage the day.
What I’ve been noticing is that each day seems to have it’s unique sound, a type of music that fits to the mood, weather and sense of self that we connect with through our waking hours. While most of us have our favorite music, I wonder how often we switch out the tunes in an attempt to match the feeling of a particular Friday, or a lazy Sunday afternoon or a bright shiny Wednesday morning. Rainy days have their own soundtrack, and sunshine makes music like nothing else. If you’re not sure what I’m talking about, just sit down with an old Warner Bros. cartoon medley, and see what I mean. The Disney animators of old knew exactly how to use music to create a wordless story, to set mood, to create action. Remember the original movie version of Fantasia? It was all about matching music to mood. Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, with it’s gentle Springtime lilt and angry Summer thunderstorm movements are a perfect example. I can’t ever listen to composer Paul Dukas’ famous orchestral work ‘The Sorceror’s Apprentice’ without seeing Mickey Mouse, flashing lights and thousands of brooms. Music sets the tone and starts the imagination, it inspires and ignites us.
And food fits into the sense of every day, much the same as music. We all know those lustrous summer days that beg for a juicy grilled burger and corn that’s fresh from the field, the springtime air that makes you dream of salads, fresh peas and asparagus. Winter speaks like soup, or a hearty stew simmering in a pot and then there’s those days that nothing else will do besides a long slow fire and the smoke of a perfect BBQ. Rain and baking, as I recently discovered, sometimes are the best of friends.
I love having music on when I’m elbow deep in the creative process in my kitchen. With iTunes radio, a huge selection is at my fingertips and with a few clicks I can have the perfect background to what I’m doing. I recently was faced with a rainy day that felt like it would perfectly match with soft cafe jazz, a warm oven and a pan of muffins to make it complete. Sitting at the top of my To Make pile on the counter, the place where inspiration lives with just a few shufflings of papers, was a recipe for Fig Muffins with Lemon Honey Cream cheese filling, and oh how that magically blended itself into the saxophone, the steady patter of spring rain outside the door and the gentle rhythm of mid-week. With a loaf of 10-grain bread from my dog-eared copy of ‘Healthy Bread in 5 Minutes’ and a steaming cup of tea, it was about as right and perfect as it could be to give chase to the gray sky.
Of course, I am a bit head over heels for figs, so it likely didn’t hurt that one of my most favorite fruits was the superstar in this moist and tasty breakfast treat. But when you blend up a lovely fragrant batch of sweet honey and lemon flavored cream cheese and bake up these muffins with it’s delightful hidden center, the result alone may have been enough to push the clouds aside for a ray of sun to enter the house.
Lemon is another true love I’ve found with baking. There’s something about the zesting and the juicing and the way the yellow oval resembles a bright July day that always makes me eager to place a few in my basket at the market. For me, the lemon scented cream cheese alone may be the path to a better day, with or without jazzy backdrop, whether it’s raining or not and I was so glad that I made the whole container into this fragrant mix. I will find ways to consume the leftovers. Like spreading it copiously all over these muffins, because I’ve discovered that with some food items, there simply can’t be enough of a good thing.
What kind of soundtrack defines your days? Do you change up your music to suit your mood??
Fig Muffins with Honey Lemon Cream Cheese filling
adapted from Eating Well magazine, February 2010
Preheat the oven to 400° and line two 6-count muffin pans with liners. You can use cooking spray too, if you like.
1 4-oz container cream cheese, softened
2 T. honey
1 T. fresh lemon zest
2-3 T. fresh squeezed lemon juice
1/2 t. fresh ground nutmeg
In a small bowl, combine all ingredients and blend until smooth. Add more zest or juice if desired. I love a good tart flavor.
For the muffins:
2 c. whole wheat flour
1-1/2 t. baking powder
1/2 t. baking soda
1/4 t. sea salt
1 T. ground flaxseed
2 large eggs, lightly beaten
1/2 c. turbinado sugar (you can sub in brown sugar if you don’t have turbinado)
1 c. buttermilk (I used vanilla soymilk)
1/4 c. extra virgin olive oil
1-1/2 c. chopped dried figs
In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder and soda, salt and ground flaxseed. In a separate bowl, combine the eggs, sugar, buttermilk and oil and whisk until blended and uniform. If you’re using turbinado, don’t worry if the sugar doesn’t dissolve fully, just whisk until blended. Mix the wet ingredients in with the dry and stir until just incorporated, then add the figs and gently fold together.
Spoon batter into muffin cups to half full. Add about a tablespoon of the cream cheese mixture to the center of each muffin, then cover with more batter. You shouldn’t see the filling, but don’t worry if you do. I spooned a smaller amount of cream cheese on to the tops of each muffin, but you don’t need to do that. Sprinkle the tops of the muffins with more turbinado sugar, or another sanding sugar if desired, then bake them for 13-15 minutes, or until they spring back when pressed.
Allow the muffins to cool in the pan for 10 minutes, then take them out and allow to cool fully on cooling rack.
March 17th, 2010
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My Wednesday evenings are one night of the week where both of my guys are gone, and I have been really treasuring the ‘Alone’ time, pampering myself with candlelight, a glass of wine, classical music and usually some simple meals that are for my mouth only. Do you eat differently when you’re alone? And I don’t mean standing over the sink munching on peanut butter off a spoon, or eating dry cereal by the handful while watching TV, what I mean is, do you take the time to really nurture yourself with good food when you’re alone? Because you should. It’s delightful, really. And with the way most people seem to cram their lives with activity and movement, some time alone is one aspect of our lives that we so desperately need. I know that for myself, I thrive on having some time that is just mine. And my life is pretty simple too; I don’t have much now that pulls me in every direction but that doesn’t change my need to be with myself, to remember what I like and enjoy, to be kind to the ‘Me’ that I know, to who I am. I’ve been this way ever since I can remember.
So my Wednesdays are a treasure. It’s my time to let go a deep sigh as I take in the empty house, and peruse the fridge for a few simple ingredients to fill my tummy. Since I won’t be off-putting to my egg-hating husband, many of these meals will include the cooking of eggs. One week it was a spicy dish of cooked chorizo and potato, topped with a hard-cooked egg, there was the phenomenal and by far most popular of blog posts when I made the shirred eggs in potato skins– that occurred on my solo Wednesday evening, and then just recently, with the desire to make something unique, I created a roasted rutabaga and poached egg dish that was divine, yet so simple and amazing.
 (I tell you, I am happy this winter light seems to be gone!)
I need to confess something about eggs; while I love them dearly, and really, think that it is one food item that I will never give up eating, I have been rather stubbornly affixed to only consuming them when cooked good and solid. I’ve had an aversion to the soft yolk ways for as long as I can recall, and I simply can’t say why. I don’t care for them scrambled either, and no matter how well they’re scrambled, so soft and pillowy and silky smooth, I just won’t eat them. I think it must be the texture. As I’ve grown and watched my food tastes change, the one aspect of it that I’ve noticed is that formerly despised foods were all about texture over flavor. Still, as I can now manage mushrooms, squash, tomato, avocado and a host of other goodies that were once verboten on my table, I draw the line at scrambled eggs. Still, the fact that I just knew this roasted rutabaga dish required a poached egg, that I then went ahead and made, beautifully, is huge growth for this egg lover. And I may never look back again.
The roasted rutabaga has become, at this latest stage of winter, a rather treasured foodstuff. That and parsnips are slowly integrating themselves into my life and I welcome them warmly. I diced the rutabaga into small pieces and tossed them with some oil and seasoning and set the pan in a 400° oven. I stirred them once, and about 20 minutes later, they were toasty and browned, smelling fantastic. The egg poaching method is standard; a pan of water with a teaspoon of white vinegar, bring to a boil, create the vortex in the center and slip the egg into it, reduce heat and allow to cook to your desired stage. I made two, and they were both perfect. As was the evening, alone and content.
March 16th, 2010
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There are lots of perks to this food blogging business. My most treasured aspect of it is how it challenges me to be a better cook, to think outside the box and to put together something that is fresh and interesting for my readers to find. I’ve driven myself out onto a proverbial ledge before with the utter exasperation over what people seem to find interesting when it comes to food blogs, how someone’s random post can garner 5o comments when it’s just a rehash of a ubiquitous dish, and then, I’ve just as quickly had to be coaxed back to reality, pushed down into my chair and told ‘Just cook what you want, and write about what you like and forget everything else’ and so then I did, and that, my friends and readers, turns the entire project around. This little corner of the blog world is just what I want it to be. Nothing more.
Then there’s you, readers. I love your visits, comments and feedback. I do this for you and mmmmmuah….big cyber kisses! And lots of thanks. You all keep me going, every day. With every recipe I peruse, every book I thumb through and magazine pages that I absorb, I am constantly thinking ‘Yes, but will they LIKE it? Who’s done it already? Is it something unique?’ because really, the last thing I want you to find here is the same old, same old you can come across in the staggering amount of sites that are out there. My words, and my food, should be the draw. I intend to keep it that way.
And lastly, mostly in terms of importance, there’s the free product offers that land in my mailbox. All. The. Time.
I get a LOT of offers for free product. Some of them… ok, most of them are refused. I won’t accept a product if it’s not something I would normally use at home. And if it isn’t food related, forget it. I won’t link to your tire superstore, no matter how good your prices are, and I don’t care about the resurgence of absinthe enough to warrant taking a free bottle.
Recently though, I did get some nice options sent my way.
I’ve been on the receiving end of this delicious jerky before, so when contacted a second time for more product to review, it was a no brainer. The Teen, my little carnivore, he just loves the stuff, and when he came home from school and saw the packages lying on the counter, he grabbed one and ripped it right open, gleefully pulling out a nice thick chunk and ripping one end of it off with his teeth. The boy knows how to seriously attack his jerky. He chewed contemplatively, then stuffed the rest in his mouth.
“Well??” I asked him. He swallowed again and grabbed his water glass, gulping down a mouthful. Then he turned to me with a smile.
“When they say ‘Sweet and Spicy’, they aren’t kidding!”
I was sent a sample of the Orange and Mango flavored, sweet and spicy indeed. Both have such good smoky flavor, and the jerky is firm and well made, dry but not hard, chewy and tender at the same time. The Orange taste is prominent in the first bite, with a good snap and a nice dose of heat on the tongue. The Mango is a sneaker; the flavor doesn’t really hit your mouth until you swallow your first bite. The spice dissipates and you get fresh mango all around. It sounds strange, and I am often wary of the pairing of fruit and meat, but these two work together. And if you’re at all interested in jerky, but are looking for something other than beef, they do plenty with turkey as well. Turkey jerky- it’s even fun to say!
Another offer that came my way recently was from Pillsbury, and since I’m a true Minnesota girl at heart, I do consider their offers, and they have been quite kind to me in the past. The canvas totes I received from them are the ones most often tucked under my arm when I head into the grocery store, and in this particular email, my contact wanted to send me free pajama pants. Oh hello, my easy like Sunday morning.
And that was the whole idea, to make Sundays easier. But on Sunday, we’re out the door by 8:15 for church. There’s no sitting around until noon, comfy in pj’s, cozy with a cat.
That’s for Saturday, because it’s true…….
Cute, huh? They’re 100% cotton and so big and roomy that comfort becomes my middle name when I have them on. And these are that brand of comfort that we all love, the ‘I never want to get out of these’ kind that’s perfect for my Saturday, the day the guys sleep in while I answer the Cat Alarm clock that bounces over me at the crack of dawn.
And now, back to our regularly scheduled blogging. Brought to you in living health, with delicious aromas, by yours truly.
(oh and hey you FTC dudes?? Nobody paid me for these words, and everything I received was free. I wasn’t coerced, or forced to speak on their behalf or held at gunpoint for anything said here. And I would do it again, too)
March 12th, 2010
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I can safely say that gingerbread, or anything molasses-flavored, is going to go over well in my house. Some people have their chocolate, their Proustian moment that renders them poetic. Apparently ours is gingerbread. And it turns us into stealthy nibblers.
I made a small pan of Martha Stewarts’s Chocolate Gingerbread, primarily as an olfactory impetus in ridding the house of the scent of bacon that I had cooked that morning. I don’t think the pan had even fully cooled before I slipped a knife through it and created a set of imperfect squares for us to sample. It was amazing; rich and moist with the tiniest hint of chocolate among the deep taste of molasses. Griffin and I nodded in agreement over this newfound treat. I pulled plastic wrap over the top and set it on the counter.
And then, a day later, there were considerable gaps in the pan. The next day, even more was gone. Something was amiss, because I’d only had one piece.
I can’t say I fault anyone for freely indulging in this treat. What I love about gingerbread is the lack of cloying sweetness that comes with most desserts. Gingerbread has enough going for it to give it dessert-like status, but it’s also like a teabread, and can be treated like a snack, or even a bit of your breakfast too. It partners equally with a scoop of good vanilla ice cream, a mound of yogurt or even topped with fresh whipped cream.
Or even just eaten out of hand, with a napkin to catch the crumbs.
This recipe, from Everyday Food, yields a moist and superbly tender cake, owing to the use of sour cream in the base. It’s a simple quick bread style recipe that takes minimal effort, but can taste fancy enough for a party, that is, if you can keep it around long enough.
Martha Stewart’s Chocolate Gingerbread Cake
from Everyday Food
- 4 tablespoons (1/2 stick) unsalted butter, melted, plus more for pan
- 1/4 cup unsweetened cocoa powder, plus more for pan
- 3/4 cup all-purpose flour (spooned and leveled)
- 1 teaspoon ground ginger
- 1 teaspoon pumpkin-pie spice
- 1/2 teaspoon baking soda
- 1/2 cup packed dark-brown sugar
- 1/4 cup unsulfured molasses
- 1 large egg
- 1/4 cup sour cream
- 1/2 cup semisweet chocolate chips
- confectioners’ sugar, for dusting (optional)
- Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Butter an 8-inch square baking pan. Line bottom with a strip of parchment paper, leaving an overhang on two sides; butter paper. Dust paper and sides of pan with cocoa; set aside. In a medium bowl, whisk together cocoa, flour, ginger, pumpkin-pie spice, and baking soda; set aside.
- In a large bowl, whisk together butter, brown sugar, molasses, egg, and sour cream until smooth. Add flour mixture; stir just until moistened (do not overmix). Stir in chocolate chips. Transfer batter to prepared pan; smooth top.
- Bake until a toothpick inserted in center comes out clean, 30 to 35 minutes. Transfer to a wire rack; let cool completely. Using paper overhang, lift gingerbread from pan. Transfer to a cutting board, and cut into 16 squares. Before serving, dust bars with confectioners sugar, if desired. (To store, keep in an airtight container at room temperature, up to 3 days.)
KATE’S NOTES:
I skipped the parchment step, instead just using cooking spray on my 8×8 pan. I did not add the chocolate chips, and probably would keep them out of future uses of this recipe. I just don’t think they’re necessary. The molasses taste was rich, the chocolate not so noticeable. I think that the addition of some extra cocoa would make it more balanced- and in future use I may reduce the molasses to 3 T. and increase the cocoa to 1/3 c. to see if it makes a difference. I also thought about the addition of 1 oz. melted bittersweet chocolate to increase that aspect a bit, and may try that. I don’t keep pumpkin pie spice on hand. I used a teaspoon of cinnamon, and 1/4 teaspoon each of nutmeg and allspice.
If you’re interested in other gingerbread recipes, you can find more gingerbread love with just a click.
March 9th, 2010
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March is a fickle friend, isn’t it? On my birthday in 2007, we had a blizzard that left us buried under 18″ of snow. Way back in 1991, I recall it being 67 degrees on my birthday. This year? We had temps in the 40’s, plenty of warm sunshine and slush covering the ground as we made our way out for my celebratory dinner. March, the month that supposedly comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb, rarely seems to be able to make up it’s mind as to what it hands us. It’s the month where we officially hang up Winter, and turn to Spring, eyeing our wardrobe and wishing for the right weather to break out the lighter side of ourselves.
With the stretch of days drenched in gorgeous sunshine, and me fingering the short sleeve shirts in longing, there came yet another craving I haven’t known in some time, perhaps a harbinger of the changing season. It was the desire to not only shed the weight of winter clothing but the heavy and comforting draw of it’s food as well, replacing it with those that snap and crunch in their remarkable shades of green. I really wanted a salad.
Likely spurred on by the current issue of Saveur magazine, and it’s ode to the chopped salad- just in time for Spring!- I took one long glance at the Cobb Salad pictured and my mind high-fived my stomach, both in hearty agreement that it was indeed necessary to create. Right away.
The Cobb Salad was named for Robert L. Cobb, credited with inventing it at his famed Brown Derby restaurant in Los Angeles in 1937, and made up of chicken, bacon, avocado, blue cheese crumbles, tomato, hard cooked egg, chive, watercress, romaine and iceberg lettuces. It’s now a standard on so many menus, often in a wide array of options, most of them a far cry from the original version.
This time of year I tend to get a lot of food fatigue, and indecision about what my body is needing to eat. I’m tired of winter and it’s stews and braises, of it’s root vegetables and tubers, the lack of fresh options and choices. I want to wash the mittens, hats and scarves and then pack them away. I crave berries and peaches, bare skin and white wine. I am beginning to paw through the Spring clothes in my closet, wishing for the warmth to wear just one item, especially those bought on sale last Fall, many with price tags still attached. I think about pedicures and exposing my toes again. I yearn for the Markets to open, bearing tables of new potatoes, spring peas and the first tender bunches of spinach. The buckets of lettuce soon follow, overflowing in green, and mine for just a few dollars. Seed catalogs tempt me. I want summer foods, long warm twilights sipping rosé, a simple sheet thrown over me at night.
So the salad craving was not a surprise, nor pushed aside, even though the greens came from the store and lacked the flavor of the earth. I splurged on good Nueske’s bacon and burned some aromatic candles to freshen the house. Next time Nueske’s and I meet, it likely will be high summer, alongside crimson orbs of fresh garden tomato.
  
The salad served me well, filling the need for somewhat lighter fare, yet hearty enough to stick with me through the afternoon hours. The bacon doesn’t exactly make this the healthiest option, but it works for an occasional treat, and the mix of flavors just seems to work. I can’t say why the tang of blue cheese, smoky bacon, moist chicken and creamy avocado make for such a pleasing plate of flavor, maybe it’s the carnival of tastes going on at once, a culinary samba that relentlessly entertains your mouth. I sure know that I need waking up from the snow, hearty foods and sweaters, my metaphor of winter. My tastebuds seem to as well. Here’s to more salad, and increasing temperatures, all things Spring and sunshine.
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