Pretty Magical

No recipe today, just a quick note to say:
Last weekend, Laura introduced me to canning. She arrived balancing her giant canner, ten pints of strawberries, and many tiers of shiny jamming jars in her arms. We got to work hulling berries and sterilizing jars in boiling water.

We made strawberry jam. I felt fierce. It's pretty darn magical to take some red berries and add sugar and heat and turn them into sweet ruby jam, with bits of whole fruit intact. Pretty magical and pretty delicious smoothed with butter on crusty rye bread. After I've made it again, I'll post the recipe here.

Magic is built into making jam, just like it's built into making bread, yogurt or sauerkraut. You take a raw material and teach it to sing a bright and sustained note. You take a raw material and make it easier to share and save. My remaining three jars of strawberry jam are good until next year. (Though we've already eaten up two of the five jars in my house, so I doubt they'll last that long. I'll make more soon.)

When Laura took the jars out of the canner, we hovered over them, chicken mamas watching for their chicks to pop out. We waited with anticipation. Then we heard the first suction pop!  That's the lid sealing to the top of the jar. We exchanged gleeful looks and mischievous nods with each small pop! that followed. "That was a good one" she said. It was so helpful to have an experienced canner guide me through the process. I am not daunted by this any longer. Thanks to Laura I know what a good pop and a weak pop sound like. My only other experience with canning was assisting my mom when I was around three years old. We canned apricots from the giant tree in our backyard in the Sugarhouse neighborhood of Salt Lake City, Utah. I stood on a stepladder so I could reach the counter. Now I can start canning all kinds of things myself, adding new chapters to the story. I'd like to make some apricot jam.
 
Maybe soon I'll try something like this. Grown-up jam. I also can't wait to try peppers, tomatoes and pickling!

Until then, there are still three more jars...

This Week in Forking

Some things have changed around here. Look at rule number 2. I have rewritten it.

This week I took great delight in slashing a large loaf of rising bread before it went in the oven. That loaf turned out wonderfully! We ate half of it before 9 am the next morning. I'll have to post that recipe later. We pulled it out of 450° oven right before we dashed across the quad to a prom dance in Eric's seminary's dining hall. True story. I wore a little black dress, Eric's fedora and black stockings with  seams up the back of the legs. I never would have worn anything like that at age seventeen.

Later on in the week I made cornbread out of the dregs of my dry goods supply. I did this to avoid working on writing songs or writing anything (like this blog). It was too salty, but no one would have known it unless I'd told them. Which I did. This week I was again frustrated as I usually ended up with some completed baking project at about 10:30 or 11 pm, which means bad light. If anyone has good tips for taking photos of food in low light, let me know.

Then at dinner here I thought about taking pictures of the food I eat with an inconspicuous fork in the picture for obvious reasons. I don't know if this is a practice I'll continue for obvious reasons. The sweet potato fries there are forking amazing.

This week I marveled in got annoyed at this phenomenon: It's great to have a friend in the kitchen, but it skews the process a bit. My partner and I have a dance, a routine that we could probably do sleepwalking as long as were alone. But add another body in the kitchen and suddenly the garlic is almost burning, the kale is too wet and there is like a whole bush of it there on the cutting board, and the eggs...well, I don't even want to talk about them. Bryna, it's not your fault! I loved having you over for dinner. Please come again, and we'll work on overcoming this phenomenon and making better eggs. Eggs can create tension and controversy. We should have just let everyone fry their own.

This week Eric and I hiked up and down the steps that are supposedly equivalent to climbing a 30-story building to the Pt. Reyes lighthouse on the Pacific ocean. The wind activated my cowlick ferociously. But it was warm in the sun and it feels good to hug in the wind. After that we drove through the rolling green-gold hills singing Kate Wolf's "Here in California" over and over working out a harmony part while we ate sunflower seeds and fig bars. We stopped in Pt. Reyes Station at the Cowgirl Creamery and tasted an aged gouda that was a lot like salted caramel. We enjoyed a sesame crusted levain from Brickmaiden Bakery very much as well. Eric kept handing me hunks of bread to gnaw as we drove back to Berkeley through the calming green canopy of Samuel P. Taylor state park.

Here in California
Fruit hangs heavy on the vine
And there's no gold, I thought I'd warn ya
And the hills turn brown in the summertime

This week I reflected on the kitchen as a place to challenge by deepest doubts, to overcome my fears and to process my emotions. Slashing bread is a safe way to demolish my insecurities symbolically.

The kitchen is a laboratory where I
can control my anxiety. In the end even if Bryna is over, they are just eggs. Next time they can be better. The kitchen makes me feel safe. It's an extension of my workspace and that's why my desk is within sight of it and why I place some of my most precious items on the ledge above the kitchen sink. I found that little tiger on the street in the Sellwood neighborhood in Portland.




This week I've felt like this tree I saw at the Pt. Reyes Seashore. Windblown and wild, but attached. I'm glad I'm still attached, I think.

I'

The Best Part

The Best Part:  My friend Bryna has the 1/2 tsp. and I am poised with the bottle of Madagascar bourbon vanilla. I start to pour into the 1/2 tsp. and then we realize where the destination bowl is, across the kitchen on the stovetop. That vanilla may end up on the floor or spattered in the dirty sink if we continue in this manner. Without a word we sidle, dance-like and very quickly across the dark blue and white tile floor to the bowl of chocolate brownie batter, pouring one 1/2 tsp. of vanilla down into the deep, dark cocoa terrain.  "We're adults, we know how this works."She says, glimmer of mischief peaking out. Our eyes meet and I say, "Hmm. Maybe a little more?" And I pour about another 1/2 tsp. of Madagascar bourbon vanilla into her 1/2 tsp. still hovering over the waiting brownie batter. It flows from the edge of Bryna's spoon down into the bowl. The mixture integrates the extra vanilla thirstily. I reckon the brownies are the better for it. 

Best Cocoa Brownies
Adapted slightly from this recipe of Alice Medrich

These have a crackled, candy-coating like top and a deep cocoa-dark, chewy interior. Error on the side of taking them out of the oven earlier than you think they are done. They will cook a little more from the heat of the pan. Also, you may just want to go ahead and double the recipe. Freeze half the batch. In my house they quickly became disappearing brownies.

10 Tbsp. (1 1/4 sticks) unsalted butter
1 1/4 cups evaporated cane juice
3/4 cup plus 2 Tbsp. unsweetened cocoa powder (natural or Dutch process)
1/4 tsp. salt
1 tsp. pure vanilla extract
2 cold large eggs
1/2 cup all-purpose four

Preheat the oven to 325°F.  Butter an 8-inch square baking dish.

Combine the butter, sugar, cocoa and salt in a medium heatproof bowl. Set the bowl in a saucepan of just simmering water. Stir until butter is melted and the mixture is smooth and hot enough that you don't want to leave your finger in it, when you dip it in to test it.

Remove the bowl from the saucepan and set aside until the mixture is only warm. Stir in the vanilla with a wooden spoon. Add the eggs, one at a time, stirring vigorously after each one. When the batter looks thick and shiny, add the flour and stir until it is totally vanished.

Beat the whole mixture forcefully for about forty more strokes to ensure a smooth final brownie. Spread the batter evenly in the buttered pan. Bake until a toothpick stuck in the center comes out slightly moist with batter, 20 - 25 minutes. Let brownies cool completely on the stovetop before slicing into squares and serving.

PS: We didn't try it this time, but placing buttered parchment paper in the buttered pan would probably yield a prettier final product. Plus the brownies would be easier to get out of the pan, and the coveted edge pieces may be more intact. (Hmm...see this.) I will use parchment paper next time I make these, which will be soon.

It Is Risen

I love to watch the first yeast bubbles surface on the bowl of warm water, yeast and honey that is waiting on my ugly kitchen counter-top. When I started trying to do this six or seven years ago, I would timidly wait wondering meekly if the water was too hot? Was there enough sugar? Was the yeast dead? Ah! I don't know what I'm doing. I can't make bread. Is this going to work?? 

This...

But years later in my bright and airy Berkeley kitchen, that fear has been vanquished and replaced by showers of flour dust and shrieks of pleasure. I confidently throw water, honey and yeast into my favorite green and blue bowl, stir it up and then dance away but quickly return. My eyes train on green interior of the bowl, the one with the non-stick surface, the one I was given for secretary appreciation day when I worked long ago at this office in Portland. I gaze at the ingredients and wait for those first few bubbles to rise up, to break almost violently, to explode on the surface of the murky white water. They do! And then... I go a little wild. Yesterday I yipped around the kitchen, shouting for Eric to come and see. I love that part. 

The reason why I love baking bread is because it places me into the thick of what transformation is all about. My hands are all over it, kneading the raw materials, assisting their alchemical transition into nourishment! I love to get up to my elbows in gooey dough. I am surprised at how as I add more flour the dough comes together, although it usually stays pretty sticky and webs my fingers with salted, honeyed dough that I am then forced to lick off...

Rises to this!

Many thanks to Kate, my long ago neighbor in NE Portland, OR, One day Kate invited me down into her apartment kitchen and showed me how to knead. I am grateful to her, because before that I think all that goop had something on me but not anymore. Now, I FEAR NO GOOP. In fact I relish it. We are good friends.

Unlike acting, directing a musical, or writing a song (not enough songs at all lately) this creative process is one I have more control over. I'm the maker! Thank God for this! It's a practice that brings me A LOT of joy and solace in contrast other arts I do which often leave me hanging, waiting, wondering what will happen next. (Though singing, writing, playing instruments and directing give me lots of joy, too, in their time.) At this point in my amateur bread-making career, I always know that the dough will rise again, even if I screw it up one time.

Performing this ancient and wild transformation of flour into bread shows me how I do have power to transform my non bread-making life too. It's more complex than yeast bubbling in my favorite bowl, yes, but in the end its all about the raw materials I select and the care and confidence with which I handle them. It's like rising up from the doldrums. It's like being punched down from the heights and rising again. And it's about waiting for all that to bake into who knows what.

becomes that...

Here is the bread I made on Saturday. I strayed a little from the original recipe, adding pecans and oats and honey instead of brown sugar. You could probably add whatever grains, nuts, seed you have lying around around in similar quantities and it would be very nice. This is a pretty forgiving recipe, but you might have to make it a couple times before you get the hang of doing it how you like it. Don't give up though, having homemade bread really beats all.

Basic Whole-Grain Bread
Adapted from Laurel's Kitchen
By Laurel Robertson, Carol Flinders, and Bronwen Godfrey 

3 cups warm water
1 heaping Tbsp. honey
1 Tbsp. active dry yeast
1 Tbsp. salt
6 - 7 cups of whole wheat flour
½ - 1 cup of quick cooking oats
½  cup chopped pecans

Pour 3 cups of warm (between 100 and 110°) water into a large bowl. Add heaping Tbsp. of honey and Tbsp. active dry yeast. Stir to combine. Then step away, but not too far away so you can be present for the magic. In about 3 - 5 minutes the yeast should start to break on the surface of the water in bubbles. This is the best part.

Once the little yeast volcanoes begin to explode on the surface of the water in the bowl, you know it's ready. Add 3 cups of flour and the salt and stir to combine thoroughly. You want the mixture to be smooth, not grainy. It might take longer than you think.

Once that flour is integrated, add 3 more cups of flour and the oats and pecans, stirring the dough with a wooden spoon. Continually scrape down the sides and push floury bits into the ball of wet dough.

When the dough starts to come together, tip it out onto a floured cutting board. Keep extra flour on hand in a cup measure or bowl to smooth on your hands so you can continue to work the dough. This dough has always been a pretty wet one. That's what helps it keep its moistness. So, go with with. Keep your hands moving up and down. Press the heel of your hand pressing down the mass of dough. After 5 or 10 minutes, the dough should be starting to be less sticky and holding its ball shape. Try not to use more than 7 cups of flour total for this recipe. It stays stickier, but the texture will be better in the end.

Place the ball of dough back in the bowl and cover with a dish towel. Set in a warm spot and allow to rise until doubled in bulk. This should take between 50 minutes and 1 and ½ hours. 

During this second rise, preheat the oven to 375° and oil two 9 x 5 inch loaf pans (or around those dimensions). Once dough has risen, punch it down and separate it into two equal balls of  rounded dough. Place each ball in an the oiled loaf pans and allow to rise again until doubled in bulk, or until the dough has risen to just above the rim of each pan.

Bake in 375° oven for 35 to 40 minutes until deep golden brown. Remove from the oven. Take loaves out of loaf pans by running a butter knife around the edges of the bread in the pan and/or tapping on the bottom of the pan ferociously with a fork. Allow the loaves to cool on cutting board or wire rack. 

Slice and serve with butter and honey or jam, if you wish.

Makes two loaves.

And then...this. Homemade bread slathered with butter procured at Cheeseboard Pizza.  This is definitely what I recommend you try. Honey is optional, but very, very good.

 

Slowly and Quietly

Parsnips are pretty ugly, really. 

                                                                     a few angles of this very photogenic vegetable bundle

What I do in my free time: I look up parsnip images on google because I forgot to take pictures of the parsnip pasta dish we made the other night, when Jem and Laura were over for dinner. (Just in case you're confused, the pasta wasn't MADE of parsnips, but more on that soon.)

Then, I decide I can certainly take my own ugly parsnip picture rather than stealing from the internet. And I can. See above. What if instead of something old, something new, something borrowed something blue it was pasta, parsnips, parsley and pepper? And bacon. I think this pasta might buoy a marriage more than old, new, borrowed and blue stuff any day. Or maybe not. Maybe some of all of it? But I digress...

This post was slow getting up because I was trying to figure out what my story was and what picture to use. Turns out, I didn't ever get a picture I really like. Though I tried. My iphoto is filled up with pictures of that vegetable beauty queen. I wrote a lot about why I might have decided to caramelize those parsnips then, but I still couldn't figure out the story. But as my favorite writing teacher, Brenda Ueland said, "The imagination works slowly and quietly." Forcing anything does NOT work. I'll just have to wait and let it sort itself out.

And even beyond revelations about blog posting and parsnips, I think we slowly and quietly come to revelations about lots of things. Like people, for example. Have you ever slowly and quietly begun to realize that you're becoming really good friends with a person you were determined to hate? I think a lot of good things happen slowly and quietly.

So if you are skeptical, you may be skeptical, yes I was skeptical too. Especially about the parsnips. But, once you see them, homely are they are, sizzling in the butter and bacon fat and taste their sweetness, more earthy and sophisticated than a carrot, you may change your tune. 

I was not skeptical ever about Jem and Laura being our friends. Even during Eric and I's crazed dash around the kitchen trying to get enough pan space to accommodate 2 lbs of parsnips, we just laughed and laughed. I feel like we've been friends with them a long time, even though it was only the first time we'd all had dinner together. You just don't interrupt that kind of laughing with picture-taking. Not that I think they would have minded. Maybe next time.

Pasta with Caramelized Parsnips. And Bacon.

2 lbs parsnips, peeled, quartered and sliced 1/4" thick
4 cloves garlic, chopped
8 slices of bacon (NOT the lean kind)
8 - 10 oz. of fresh pasta, tagliatelle or papperdelle
2 Tbsp. unsalted butter
2 oz. farmer cheese or feta cheese (or, to taste)
1/4 cup fresh parsley, chopped
Olive Oil
Sea Salt 
Pepper

Prepare the parsnips. It's important to do that before you get the rest of the stuff going. Use a sharp knife for super-thin slices. After parsnips are peeled, chopped and quartered, set them aside in a bowl.

Chop bacon into bite-size pieces and cook in a skillet. (One that will have enough room for the parsnips soon, too! We used a cast-iron skillet.) Once bacon is crispy and cooked through, remove slices from pan and set aside, allowing them to drain on a towel.  Drain off all but about 2 Tbsp. of bacon fat from the skillet and discard.

Add the two Tbsp. unsalted butter to remaining bacon fat and allow to melt over medium heat. Retrieve parsnips and garlic and add to the skillet stirring frequently for 12 - 15 minutes until they are soft and translucent and beginning to brown and crisp.

Start the pasta cooking in boiling, salted water (throw a Tbsp. of sea salt in the pot) while the parsnips and garlic are almost done, according to the directions on the package. Drain pasta when the noodles are al dente, reserving 1/2 cup of the pasta water first. Rinse the noodles under cold water, then return them to the pot or serving bowl.

Add the bacon and sautéed parsnips to the pasta. Stir in reserved pasta water. Add olive oil and salt and pepper to taste. Add half the chopped parsley and give the whole dish a stir to integrate. Sprinkle the rest of the parsley on top and pass the cheese at the table.

Serves about 4 as a main dish.

PS: Caramelizing parsnips transforms them into root treasure. See below how I caramelized the leftover parsnips. I actually did this the other morning before I headed off on my bicycle, hence the tupperware.

PPS: If you're vegetarian, the thin-sliced parsnips would also be excellent sautéed with olive oil and garlic or roasted in a 350° oven until crispy and browned

parsnips like to sizzle in butter

All the Little Pieces

No contest: the 4th and 5th grade cast of Aladdin, Jr. is way more amazing than the granola recipe below. The parents and school community are too. Together we all made a lively musical production in only 35 hours or about 15 after-school rehearsals. It all culminated with a very busy tech week last week, and a weekend of performances. Directing an elementary school musical is not as easy as making the granola below, but I definitely want to do more of it. I love all the little pieces that have come together to make this show sing and dance. I am so thankful I had the opportunity to direct this production.

However, granola-making is a nice, calm activity to do in conjunction with directing a cast of forty-two, nine and ten year-olds. It's fulfilling to note I have more control while making it than I do while making children's theatre. Plus granola has that "all the little pieces" thing nailed. That's what makes this granola so good. It's the quality and combination of everything: oats, nuts, seeds, sweetener and oil that transform it into more than just a dry heap.

This recipe IS as easy as mix, spread, bake and cool (the 4th and 5th grade musical production was NOT). The olive oil/maple mixture bakes onto the oats, nuts and seeds to create a crunchy-sweet laquer-crackled surface. I suggest you try it. I'm glad it doesn't take 35 hours.

Olive Oil and Maple Granola

I adapted this very slightly from Orangette, who adapted from Nekisia Davis, Early Bird Foods, and Food 52. I have now made this granola about 7 times. I put some in jars and sent it around the country as Christmas presents a few months back.

Coconut chips, pictured here, are great flavor soaker-uppers. I hope you discover them because of this recipe. I forgot to add them to the most recent batch and we really missed them. You can cut back the brown sugar a little, but then the granola really wants the cherries. With the full amount in there, it wants the cherries less, at least to our taste. Also, take your own plastic bags and containers and buy your nuts, seeds, coconut chips, oats and maple syrup, etc. in bulk at your local Whole Foods, co-op or natural grocery store in the bulk section. All the little pieces will taste better, the earth will be grateful and so will your debit card.

3 cups rolled oats

1 cup raw hulled pumpkin seeds

1 cup raw hulled sunflower seeds

1 cup unsweetened coconut chips

1 ¼ cup raw pecans, whole or chopped

¼ cup to ½ cup sesame seeds

packed ½ cup light brown sugar

1 tsp. kosher salt
¾ cup maple syrup, preferably Grade B
½ cup olive oil
Dried cherries, optional

Preheat the oven to 300°F. Line a rimmed baking sheet with parchment paper. (The stuff is really sticky, so don't skip this step.)

In a large bowl, combine the oats, pumpkin seeds, sunflower seeds, coconut chips, pecans, sesame seeds, light brown sugar, and salt. Stir to mix. Add the olive oil and maple syrup, and stir until well combined. Spread evenly on the prepared sheet pan. It will be very thick. (Don't worry that's just how it is.) Bake, stirring every 15 minutes, until the granola is golden brown and toasted, about 45 minutes. (You can tell when its done by the smell. If it starts to smell scorched, take it out.)

Take the granola from the oven, and sprinkle with more salt to taste. Cool completely. Add dried cherries if you like.

Store in an airtight container. Will keep at room temperature for up to a month.

Enjoy with milk (my favorite), yogurt or straight out of the container (that's how Eric and I eat it most).

Makes about 7 cups.

PS: The parents and the kids surprised me with these onstage as I gave my post-show speech...

That community has my heart.

At the Start

The Rules: (*note* I've had to change these from extreme to less extreme over the last few months. Hopefully, you don't mind. And if you do, I don't really care...)
  1) I have post every week. as often as I can. (when the muse is involved, I can't be too picky...)
2) Each post MUST include a recipe. Update: Each post MUST include a recipe or a food-related adventure.

That's pretty much it.  Now I just have to actually do it.

I'm starting with a vegetable soup recipe, since I think a storm of desserts and baked goods and bads may follow.

I modified this slightly from its original recipe here which called for green garlic. I couldn't find green garlic, so I used regular garlic (we had a surplus), spinach and leeks.

Leeks are funny. Their crusty woody ends peeped above our sorry little yogurt container compost bucket like squat, green legs. There were no houseplant murders involved in the making of this green soup. There was a great wilting of a large amount of spinach however, but it was for the best.


Many thanks to my mom who left behind homemade chicken stock as a result of making her signature chicken enchiladas for us during her recent visit.

Garlic, Leek and Spinach Soup

3 Tbsp. unsalted butter 
10 - 15 medium garlic cloves, chopped
2 cups chopped leeks,  white and light green parts only
1 qt. chicken or vegetable stock 
12 oz. baby spinach
 ½ Tsp. sea salt
Dash of cayenne pepper (optional) 
½  cup heavy cream or half and half


In a large saucepan, heat butter over medium high heat until melted and hot, but not brown. Add garlic and leeks and cook until tender and translucent.

Add stock and quickly bring to a boil. Add sea salt. Turn down the heat and allow the mixture to simmer for 15 minutes.

Remove the mixture from heat and add the spinach all at once. Do not stir. Wait five minutes, spinach should be nicely wilted atop the steaming liquid.

Blend in small batches in a blender. If you have an immersion blender, blend right in the pot. Add more salt and cayenne pepper or regular pepper to taste.

Slowly reheat and serve.
Stir in a dash of cream for richness if you like.

Serves 4.