Me Versus Cake: Round 1

I win!  I WIN!  Round One goes to MEEEEEEE!

Okay, details.

Cake: declared delicious by all.
Cake making process: went off with only one hitch.
Cake assembling process: the same.

So basically, this is how it went down:

I stepped into the ring: my tiny apartment kitchen.  It was a tag team of me and my 10-year old cousin versus the cake, the stove, the oven, and the lack of counter space.  Did I mention the hand-me-down Aldi's stand mixer?  So basically, 5 against 1 and a half. 

We assumed fighting posture in our luchadora ensembles of a zoo souvenir apron and a recently handmade apron.  The cake stared back at us in its many parts.  "Ha ha," it seemed to be laughing villainously, "you can't even fit all my ingredients on the same counter with the mixer!  And you only have a liquid measuring cup.  I laugh in your silly faces!" 

But my cousin and I were not to be defeated so easily.  We measured.  We sifted.  We added in the correct order.  The cake appeared taken aback by our efficiency and accuracy of attack.  We had not seen the last of its fight, though, as it rose defiantly to twice its desired height in the oven, taking on the appearance of a very large cupcake that refused to bake fully only in the very center of the very highest part. 

The cake's perfidy largely went unnoticed, though, while my cousin and I struggled against a new foe who had leaped into the ring in a surprise attack, metal folding chair held high: the homemade frosting.  This opponent, despite his unsubtle approach, led us into a false sense of security by appearing to come together as requested.  However, in a surprise offensive it suddenly became both watery and oily!  My cousin and I retired to the ropes for a rest, and upon mature reflection decided that the only place for such a nasty opponent was the Big Chill.  So into the freezer it went to think about what it had done. 

Now we discovered the cake and its cancerous growth.  Remembering the words of a wise sensei, the proprietress of the Sugar Drop baking supply store, I let both layers have it with a wet towel...draped over the top,while it was still in the pan.  I then gently pummeled the cupcake into cake shape before inverting it on a wire rack to continue cooling.  Now, for the frosting. 

Oh la la!  It had spitefully taken our suggestion that it "cool off a little" literally and had become lumpy but yet still not set.  A little exercise in the Aldi's hand-me-down mixer soon literally whipped it into shape.  Now for the final assembly. 

I sent my cousin into the living room (aka 10 feet away with no walls) so that I could launch my final offensive with complete concentration.  The physical pugilism had by this point subsided and the cake, frosting, and I were locked in more cerebral cat-and-mouse game in which I attempted to torte and fill and frost my layers into a level tier and the cake attempted to slide sideways and resist all efforts to appear like a cohesive unit with an evenly thick layer of frosting. 

In the meantime, my cousin, in her boredom, danced around the living room practicing her "Golem" voice until my patience could take no more and I requested that she do something quiet and still like play solitaire with an actual deck of cards.  Surprisingly, she did.  And the cake came together at last, frosted, filled, layered, torted, beautiful if slightly lopsided.  Here it is.

 

Medium-Batch Tsoureki / I think I see bubbles

Tsoureki.  My first foray into Greek Cooking.  Which is a lot like Italian Cooking, except it doesn't have basil, because basil was found by St. Somebody around the foot of the cross.  I know that's not very specific.  But, speaking candidly, I don't care what was growing around the foot of the cross.  Especially if it was basil, because basil is delicious, medicinal, and easy to grow.  I can't imagine that Jesus would feel that if basil were growing around his cross that it should be verboten to his beloved people forever. I mean, he made it.  He knows how good it is.  If He had died atop a hill of johnson grass, maybe I would feel differently.

I had heard about these legendary Easter Breads in passing, read about them once or twice (Italians make them too) and finally came across a recipe that sounded so tasty that I could not resist making it for Easter.  I modified it for size because the original made 5-6 loaves.  I mean, when a recipe is so large the author is not clear on how many whole loaves it makes it is too large for my kitchen.  And in addition, the actual yield of the original recipe, based on my experience, is 1000.  Yes.  Possibly 2000.  It's a lot.  My cut-down recipe, which I cannot even honestly call a "small batch", makes one hubcab-sized loaf or, likely, 2-3 normal-sized loaves.  But it was worth it because it is not only great fresh, it is lucious day after day for breakfast slathered in butter and dunked in your hot beverage of choice.  It is rich, and just lightly sweet, with a velvety, almost cakey texture.  I think I need to go make some more, because my hubcab of Easter love didn't last very long.

Medium-Batch Tsoureki

1 package fast-rising yeast
1/2 C. warm water
3-4 C.sifted all-purpose flour
1/2 C. sugar
1 tsp. salt
2 eggs, separated
1/2-1/3 C. milk
1/2 C. butter (one stick, in America)
half a can of sesame seeds
1 TB. vanilla or almond extract (I made mine with vanilla)
Hardboiled and festively dyed eggs for decoration (extremely optional, but attractive)

Mix together the warm water, salt, and sugar in a large bowl.  Add in the yeast and let proof for 5-10 minutes or until seriously foamy.  As in, "froth on beer" foamy, not "I stirred it a little and I think I see bubbles" foamy.  That is not enough foamy.  That amount of foamy could be "yeast is actually dead but faking you out" foamy, otherwise known as "ahahahaha try and burn ME in the oven, your bread will never rise, yeast-hater" foamy.  Stir in 2 egg yolks and 1 egg white.  (The other egg white is for brushing on top later.)  Add in your milk.  Sift your flour and stir it into the yeast micture one cup at a time, mixing it well to make a smooth batter, then, as you continue adding flour, a glossy dough that pulls away from the sides of the bowl.  Turn it out onto a well-floured surface and knead it about 10 minutes, adding in additional flour as necessary to prevent it becoming too sticky.  When you're done, you should have a satiny elastic dough that does not tear easily.  Put it in a well-greased bowl and cover it with plastic wrap (or wet cheesecloth, it works just fine).  Set your dough in a warm place.  (I've had good success with putting the oven on the lowest setting, letting it preheat, then putting in the dough to rise and turning the oven off after I shut the door).  Let it rise until doubled, about 1-1/2 hours.  This will be your longest rising time.  When it's risen, punch it down and let it rise until doubled again (about 45 minutes).  When it's done so, turn it out onto your work surface and cut it into 6 pieces.  Shape each piece into a long snake.  Braid three snakes together, then turn them into a wreath.  Put your wreaths onto your baking sheets.  Tuck the dyed eggs in amongst the sections of braid if you want the eggs in for decoration.  Then, brush each wreath with the egg white and sprinkle sesame seeds all over them until they are basically more sesame seed than bread.  Yum.  Put them in the oven and bake at 350 until golden brown on top and they sound hollow when tapped on the bottom.  I had to tent mine with aluminum foil for the last 15 minutes or so to prevent the crust from scorching, but a rich caramel brown crust is actually pretty tasty, and this bread's texture doesn't result in a tough crust.  Au contraire.  Weap, packaged white bread, weap.  Toothsome crusts come from the home oven now.


 

Slap Your Momma Biscuits

Hello all!  I hope to post some tastylicious recipes for you to enjoy in the next few weeks, reversing the trend of several months, ie "not posting at all ever, like, ever".  To break the fast I bring you:

Slap Your Momma Biscuits

Why are they called this?  I don't know, and I named them.  Let me clarify.  Here in the American South, we have this phrase, "It/They was/were so good, they made/will make I/me/you/everyone on the planet slap your/his/her/their Momma."  Okay.  But, why?  Why is something so tasty or delightful that it makes a person want to hit their mother?  I don't know.  It defies my reason.  By the same logic, a person could say, "Oh my, this train is so on-time it makes me want to fart inappropriately in an elevator!" or "I love my girlfriend so much that I want to ask her to marry me and then put minor body damage on a stranger's car!"  Not that I'm negating the actual offense of mother-slapping.  It's just that the implied offense in the "slap yo momma" phrase is similar to stinky farts or not leaving a note when your shopping cart leaves a scrape.  But, at the end of the day, when someone says "such and such is sooo good, it'll make you want to slap yo momma!" they mean it is THAT good.  SO GOOD.  OH MY HEAVENLY HOSTS THERE ARE ANGELS DANCING ON THE TIP OF MY TONGUE.  So let's get down to it.  Just don't slap yo momma.  Or told her you wanted to slap her.  Or she may slap you in a pre-emptive mother slapping strike.

By the way, this is definitely one of those recipes where the technique is actually more important than the list of the ingredients.  Don't say I didn't warn you.

 Slap Your Momma Biscuits

1-1/2 C. SIFTED flour.  IE, sift it into the measuring cup, or sift it and then measure it, but by all means DO NOT measure it and then sift it!

2 TB. shortening or lard
2 TB. soft butter + extra for brushing on the top
1/2 tsp. salt
1-1/2 tsp. single-acting (aluminum-free) or 3/4 tsp. double-acting ("regular") baking powder
1/2 to 3/4 C. buttermilk*

Preheat the oven to 450F.  Combine the sifted flour with the salt and baking powder.  Cut in the shortening and butter until the mixture has a grainy, sandy texture.  If you need more of the fat, add more shortening for crustiness or more butter for tenderness.  Gently mix in the buttermilk until the dough is moist and can be patted into a shape.  Proceed to turn the dough out onto a floured surface and pat it into a shape.  These biscuits are crustiest when you pat the dough 1/2 inch thick and then cut them into rounds with a SHARP biscuit cutter.  They are fluffier if you pinch off the dough into golfball-sized chunks and then softly pat them into a round shape.  Either way, do not overwork the dough!  By "not overworking", I mean that the process should literally process (proh-CESS) like this if you're getting ready to cut out rounds, for example: "Dumdedum, mixing in the buttermilk, dumping it out, pat pat, nudge nudge, a little more patting DONE."  Basically, as soon as you have the dough in a defined shape you've worked it enough.  Otherwise your product will be tough little items useful for sporting practice, or deterring the local racoon from your garden by show of force, but not for eating.  Take it from me, the person who learned how to make pastry before she learned how to make biscuits and paid dearly for it.  Returning to the subject, put your biscuits nestled up to each other with their sides touching on your baking pan or ideally your cast iron skillet, and brush or spread a little pat of butter on each top.  (I just spread it on, but it would be easier I guess if it were melted?)  Then, bake them in your nice hot oven, without peaking (except to look through the glass door with the oven light on, if you are so blessed) for about 10 minutes, or until the tops are golden brown.  If you are not blessed with a glass door and an oven light, wait at least 5 minutes before checking on them.  When they are done, take them out and let them cool off a minute or so before devouring them like hungry animals with lots of butter, honey, jam, gravy, or whatever you like to put on biscuits.  Seriously, they're that good.  They're pretty good leftover too.  So maybe I should rechristen them "Hungry Animal Biscuits."  Naaah.

*You can make your own buttermilk by combining the total volume minus 1-2 TB of milk with 1-2 TB vinegar or lemon juice.  Either option tastes fine.



 

The Joy of Leftovers

So, I was somewhat tempted to make a post of helpful hints.  However, I feel that the "hints" in question will make you think what I thought when I read the recipes for some of the classic French sauces in one of my cookbooks: "You've got to be kidding me; I mean, really, who has the time for that?"  On a side note, I feel that the British speak pattern of endless run-on sentences is superlative for complaints or criticisms.  Take the above example-- while adequately punctuated, it contains no less than three separate items of complaint.  Masterful.  Why all this fuss about French sauces?  Because a lot of those sauces are made from another sauce, which is made from yet a third sauce, or at the very least requires fresh homemade meat stock, which may as well be a sauce since it takes another three hours to prepare it.  I mean, honestly, really, what is the point?  So I won't pretend that my "hints" are expedient, but I will mention them since they were both pleasant surprises to me.

Hint # 1
"I am trying to eat more healthily but have a secret craving for that "Cream of Mushroom Soup" flavor for my casseroles."  Solution: make creamy mushroom risotto.  Put it in your casserole instead of boil-in-bag rice and Cream of Mushroom.  Tastes the same.  100% less badness.

Hint # 2
"I am trying to eat more healthily, or more low-meatily, but I miss the flavor of beefy delicious casseroles."  Solution: make my recipe for Rich Weekday Pasta e Fagioli and let it sit until the pasta soaks up the rest of the broth.  Put it on the bottom layer of your traditionally beefy casserole instead of ground beef.  This would obviously be best suited to a meat-and-tomato type dish.  Seriously.  It's yummy.

I discovered both of these through the joy of leftover eating.  Which just goes to show that doing so is not only cheap, but also educational.  I actually read a recent newspaper article that said that Italians in Italy are suddenly going back to eating leftovers instead of, I guess, just throwing them away.  I would judge, but I know Americans are no better.  I feel like I need to start an outreach program for people who were not brought up to actually make good use of their money.  Maybe that's what this blog is.

Mozzarella Cheese "Burgers"

Yes.  I am writing a blog post about the Holy Grail of vegetarian eating: the ground beef substitute that is satisfactory enough to be called a "burger" and not "flavorless stick patty" or "interesting and tasty concept but wildly divergent from any experience I have ever had of beef".  Of the two, I clearly prefer the latter, and have had some good vegetarian patties, both from small independent restaurants and from chains.  Black beans appear to make a pretty dang good pattie for a burger, especially if they are seasoned well.  However, in this case the alternative I am about to present to you will probably disappoint.  I have not concocted any new spin on the bean pattie.  I have not discovered some exotic plant compound that is exactly like ground beef yet contains no meat.  What I actually discovered: mozzarella cheese makes a darn good burger.  Call it a "burger" if it offends you to refer to what is basically a cheese sandwich as a true burger. 

How did this happen?

I had the fixings for a burger, having had a serious meat craving after a particularly strenuous exercise class and subsequently went on a spontaneous grocery store run still in sweaty work-out clothes to purchase the necessaries for satisfying this craving.  (FYI if you haven't eaten more than one or two helpings of meat a week for over six months, it's not a good idea to buy a pound package of ground turkey with the intention of destroying it in hamburger form.  It will not go well for you!  But I was way less sore than I have been after similar classes, so I may continue the tradition of protein-loading after the fact.)  Returning to the subject, all the aforementioned meat was gone, while I still had a ton of hamburger buns and toppings.  Enter the mozzarella cheese.  It was tasty!  And, more to the point, it tasted a lot like a real, actual burger.  Maybe because of the secret fact that we all take for granted if we grow up eating meat: meat, in itself, does not have a lot of flavor.  Don't get me wrong: it does have a flavor.  It's just not usually a strong flavor (unless we're talking about goat or lamb).  Mozzarella is a mild but toothsome cheese, especially when it is partially melted.  It does not overwhelm the burger fixings, while still contributing something to the whole.  And texture-wise, it does not lay down and become flaccid like most cheeses will when melted.  It fights back.  It has a bite!  Yes.  Like carrots in Bolognese sauce, it's actually a true and, if I may say so myself, a pretty good meat substitute.  With that, I give you:

Mozzarella Cheese "Burgers"
Per burger:
1 bun
a couple of slices of tomato
1-2 lettuce leaves
some onion (if that's your thing)
and...about 4 ounces of mozzarella cheese, cut into long strips.
(All of the things you love on your favorite burger would also be fine: portabella mushrooms, onion rings, BBQ sauce, avocado, whatever it is you like.  I just had the first four things.)

I don't know about the mechanics of grilling one of these.  Here are the stove-top directions: get all your fixings ready (ie tomato, lettuce, etc.).  Heat a small skillet over medium heat with just a dab of oil-- enough to brown the bun halves in.  Once the oil is hot enough, put the bun halves in face down.  While they're doing that, put your cheese slices on a plate and put them in the microwave.  (This is crucial.)  Microwave them for 10-15 seconds, or until they are just turning soft.  That way, when you put them on the bun in the pan, they will finish getting melty but will not turn into actual gooiness.  (Or, like mine did, get gooey in the microwave and require me to actually scrape my cheese off the plate and sculpt it onto the bun, with serious hang-over all around.)  Flip your bun halves over to face up.  Put the mozzarella slices on one half.  Put the fixings on top.  Put the top half of the bun on.  Grill the whole thing in the pan for another minute or so, until the cheese gets melty.  Enjoy.

How to Keep Salad Fresh / Once Upon a Time

Ok, this isn't really a recipe, but it is one of my favorite discoveries of recent times.  And it has to do with me not liking salad all that much.  Salad is, as we all probably know, a "healthy" food.  Unless you live somewhere with less-than-sanitary growing conditions.  Then it is a green, leafy deathtrap.  However, I like my food cooked.  Well cooked.  Not to say overcooked.  Just not raw.  Or even close to raw.  This also applies to the meat products that I ever more-infrequently eat.  Beef Tartar: three words: musky slimy sickly-sweet.  FYI I also don't care for sushi.  Maybe I would like it in Japan.  I've been told western sushi is like the pale, facebooking half-cousin of the footballer real sushi.  With that in mind, I also freely admit to a passion for deep-fried sushi.  Yum.  Throw in some cream cheese and spicy mayo sauce and I am in xenophobic sushi heaven.  Anyway, despite the fact that I do not, on the balance, prefer salad, I occasionally have some in the house because I know it's a filling and nutritious way to get some vitamins and fiber in my diet and, honestly, the grocery store sells salad greens in pesky whole heads.  However, remember that I was brought up in part by Grandmom.  So I can't abide eating one or two bowls of it over the course of almost a month and watching the rest of it turn into mush in my refrigerator.  What, oh what, is a girl to do?  Nothing, at least, nothing intentionally.  (Intentionally, I have been known to neglect things I don't want to eat in the refrigerator until they spoil because then I have to throw them away.)  I will now pass on to you my accidentally-discovered miracle way of keeping salad fresh in the refrigerator for almost a month.

Forever Fresh Salad Greens
You will need:
1 glass bowl (I don't know if this is a factor, but it's what I always use so I'm just throwing it out there in case it's actually a critical element)
1 large square of cheesecloth.

That's it.  Wash your greens really well in the sink.  By "really well," I mean tear all the leaves off the core of your lettuce, then putting them in the sink and filling it up partway with water, then dabbling them around like you're washing lacy fragile underwear.  For the men out there, wash it like you're washing your balls.  There.  I said it.  Basically what this means is swooshing the water around in the sink but not really handling the lettuce much, per se, although you do want to turn each leaf fully over at least once.  If necessary (if there's a some stubborn earth, for example), you may need to pick up an individual leaf partly out of the water, sort of rub the dirt off, and then splash the leaf around until the remainder of the dirt comes off.

Once your greens are all washed, chop or tear the leaves into bite-sized pieces.  Why all the fuss about swooshing the lettuce when you're only going to tear it?  Because each tear is inevitable, but also relatively clean and neat.  If you create bruising in the body of the leaves, it will allow slime-making bacteria points of entrance, thus making your lettuce go bad faster.  Line your glass bowl with the cheesecloth, making sure there is ample cheesecloth hanging over the sides (there's a purpose for this).  Put your pieces of lettuce in the bowl.  (I usually tear them right out of the sink and put them directly in the bowl.)  The cheesecloth will absorb any excess water.  And here is where I think the magic happens.  Once you put all of your lettuce in the bowl, fold the excess cheesecloth over the top, covering all of the lettuce.  And put your bowl in the fridge.  It's my impression that the cheesecloth continuously wicks away moisture from your greens, thus preventing a large amount of bacterial growth and spoilage.  Whatever it is, your lettuce will remain crisp, unbrowned, unslimed, and tasty for far longer than you would have thought possible.  I haven't timed it, but I know regularly prepared lettuce lasts tastily about a week, maybe a week and a half for me, but if I do it this way it's about twice as long.
_________________

I am about to share one of my favorite family stories.  However, it does not involve Grandmom.  (Sorry Grandmom!)  It's from the other side of the family, and does not even concern family members, but close friends of the family.

Once upon a time, there was World War Two.  There was also a young couple in love.  The man enlisted as an officer, and went off to training before being deployed.  On one of his leaves, the young couple married.  Then, the officer was deployed.  The wife was destraught.  She missed her beloved husband, and she knew that wherever he was, he was getting shot at and maybe even killed.  She couldn't stand it.  She couldn't stand the tension between getting to see him on leaves and not knowing if it was the last time she ever did.

So she enlisted in the Women's Air Service Program.  Yes, she became a WASP.  Her reasoning was that she couldn't keep her husband getting killed, but she could fight Hitler too, and if her husband did get killed, she could take it out of Hitler one pound of flesh at a time.  So she learned to fly a plane, and became one of the many women pilots who shipped supplies and equipment from factories to the places where they would be picked up and transported to the point of battle.

So now it was the two of them who had to coordinate leave schedules to meet.  The Missus, being a pilot, had the luxury of being able to occasionally borrow planes and fly home.  And here comes my favorite part:

On one such meeting, her husband arrived earlier than she did in their hometown.  (By automobile.)  He waited for her in the field that that she was supposed to land in.  He saw her plane approaching, and then, the unthinkable happened: something went wrong with the plane.  It began a long and desperate descent, ending in a spectacular crash in the middle of the field.  He was horrified.  It was any devoted husband's worst nightmare.  He ran over to the plane.  The Missus emerged, mostly unscathed.  Of course, he asked the question most people would ask first: "Are you alright?"  And she answered: "Yes, but that sonofabitch isn't ever going to fly again."

Why is that my favorite part?  It exemplifies, I think, one of the most useful skills anyone can learn in life: how to go down in flames.  (I don't know if there were literal flames in this case.)  Did she panic?  Did she freeze?  Did she go into some form of suicidal denial?  No.  She crashed that sonofabitch in the middle of the field, climbed out of the wreckage, and went on a date with her husband.  Going down in flames is something that few of us, if anyone, can prevent occuring in our lives.  But being able to handle it not gracefully (explain to me how grace is going to assist in landing a damaged aircraft) but effectively is what makes the difference between being a statistic and being a survivor, and the difference between being a survivor and being someone who had something bad happen to them one time, but went on to experience things that defined them far more.
 

Cinnamon Raisin Coffee Cake

Update

This cake is nasty!  I guess I've gotten so used to being able to produce good stuff from my kitchen that I didn't bother to try it for once before posting it.  I mean, it's not cough-syrup-flavored or made with lice, but it's not exactly tasty.  Its issues are: too dense, not enough filling, not enough flavor overall.  There, I said it.  Based on the continued popularity of my blog post about the homemade toothpaste, I'm guessing that my honesty about kitchen failures is entertaining.  Which was in part the point.  Success!  So, if you feel inclined to mess around with this recipe, feel free.  I would add about 2-3 more cups of raisins and real sugar instead of corn syrup, skip the whole "1 TB of this, 1 TB of that" business and just dump a whole boatload of butter in its place, and let this one rise twice like it was supposed to, rolling it out between risings and filling it with the aforementioned raisins.  But that's just an estimate, since I probably will just make actual real cinnamon buns next time instead of lazy, cabinet-purging muffinettes.  (I felt at the time that muffins would be a good call.  Turns out: I was wrong.)

Fruit Filling (I use the word "filling" loosely)
1 C. golden raisins
1/4 C. granulated sugar or light corn syrup (I used corn syrup...still cleaning out the cabinets)
1-2 tsp. ground cinnamon

Heat the corn syrup on the stove in a small saucepan over medium heat.  Stir in the cinnamon and the raisins.  Turn the heat down to low and let it sit and bubble for a few minutes-- 5 or so.  (It should still be runny.)

Batter
1 pkg. quick-rise yeast (if you have regular, just plan on doubling the rising time, but otherwise do everything else the same)
1/2 C. milk

Heat the milk until it's warm but not hot (otherwise you'll kill your yeast!!).  Stir in your yeast and let it proof, ie let it sit and make bubbles for a minute or so.  (If it doesn't bubble, start over with new yeast and fresh milk.)

Then, whisk together:

1 C. all-purpose flour
1 C. whole wheat flour
1/4 tsp. salt

In a separate bowl, combine the following, adding the egg second last and the sugar last.

1 egg
1 TB. shortening, melted
2 TB. sunflower oil
1 TB. cream cheese
1/4 C. sugar (I had powdered, but granulated would probably be fine)

Stir the yeast mixture into the wet ingredients.  Then add the wet into the dry, including the Fruit filling that you have prepared.  Or, you could make it a true filling and layer it into the batter when you get closer to baking it.  Either way, set your batter aside in a warm place and let it rise until double.  (I'm impatient, so what I do is let it rise to about 75% and then put the batter in a cold oven instead of preheating it.  It works out pretty well!)  When your batter is how you like it, pour your batter into the receptacle of your choice.  I used a muffin pan plus a mini loaf pan, but it would make two regular-sized loaves, or a 9x9 square pan as well.  Then, bake it according to your tastes (the impatient way or the regular way) at 350 for 20-30 minutes or until it passes the toothpick test.  If you feel extra festive, make a frosting from 1 C. powdered sugar and 1-2 TB. of milk and pour it over the top!
_________

When I was younger, I used to wish that I had a more picture-perfect home life.  "Wish" is probably not strong enough a word.  I felt instinctively that my life would be a lot easier if it were.  I'm thankful, though, for the strength that God has taught me through my non-picture-perfect family, and I'm thankful that he gave me Grandmom and Grandpop, that were such a source of rest when life was so hard.  In amongst all of that, they were like an island of food and love in the midst of a raging sea. It was bittersweet to go visit them because I knew I had to leave, and I knew what I had to go back to. But it still meant the world to me. And I appreciated the home-cooked meals while I was there, and the unfashionable winter coats that they sent me when I wasn't there, much more than if their love and kindness were all I had ever known.  And at the end of the day, I think I can honestly say that I could survive pretty much anything. My world isn't going to come crashing down if I'm hungry, or cold, or despised. I know that hunger cannot break your spirit, and the cold cannot kill it. I know the difference between being liked for what I have and being liked for who I am, and I know the difference between being disliked for what I've done and being mistreated because I'm vulnerable.

But most of all, I'm thankful for knowing what it means to be loved just for existing on this earth, and not because of anything else.  And the wisdom to know that this is the difference between love and appreciation.  Appreciation fades.  Appreciation can replace its object.  Appreciation definitely dies a swift and bitter death once its source dries up.  Love...doesn't.  Love is worth it.  Appreciation isn't.  Thank you, Grandmom and Grandpop.

Ginger Oat Cake / Grandmom Earns Her Life of Leisure

Ginger Oat Cake

Preheat the oven to 350F.

(whisk together)
1 C. all-purpose flour
1/2 C. whole wheat flour
1/2 C. rolled oats (like you would eat for breakfast, also the regular kind, not the "quick" kind)
1/2 tsp. salt
1-1/2 tsp. baking soda

(beat together, in the following order)
1/2 cup oil (I used almond, also to use it up, but canola or some other mild-flavored oil would be fine)
2 eggs, lightly beaten
1/2 C. molasses
1/2 C. powdered sugar (or regular granulated sugar, I just used powdered to use it up)
2-3 TB. fresh ginger paste or about 1-1/2 tsp. ground ginger
1/2 tsp. ground black pepper

Combine the two mixtures, stirring until just thoroughly mixed (ie no clumps of flour or ginger floating about) and then stopping.  (Too much stirring could make the cake tough.)

Grease and flour a medium-sized glass baking dish-- I think mine is 6 inches by 10 inches by 2-3 inches deep-- and pour the batter in, and bake for 30-45 minutes (depending on whether your oven runs hot or not-- mine does) or until the cake passes the toothpick test.  (I will repeat it for thoroughness: stick a toothpick or even a fork or the tip of a knife into the thickest part of your baked good, and if it doesn't have gooey blobs of batter on it, or thick moist crumbs stuck on it-- both signs of varying degrees of not-doneness, but does maybe have a couple of small crumbs on it and is otherwise still clean and dry, then your baked good is done.)  If you like, slice the cake while it's still in the pan and top it with:

Microwave Hot Lemon Sauce, for Those of Us Who Don't Like to Dirty Two Additional Pans for 1 Cup of Sauce or Spend More Time Making the Sauce Than The Cake

(microwave on high, for about 2 minutes)
1/2 C. water

(meanwhile, mix in a small bowl...)
1/2 C. powdered sugar
1 beaten egg
1/4 C. butter

Once the water in the microwave is bubbling hot, remove it and pour it slowly over the sugar mixture, stirring all the while.  Then, put that in the microwave, also on high, for about 3 minutes, removing it every 45 seconds to 1 minute to stir it vigorously with a fork.  Stop microwaving it when it gets thick.  Then, stir in about:

1-2 TB. lemon juice, or, equivalently, the juice of about half a lemon.
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I am enjoying the slow process of cleaning out my cabinets.  I think those around me are also enjoying it!  It works out well for my creative process and for my need to not get diabetes.
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The last time I went to visit Grandmom, she told me the story of how she retired.

Grandmom worked at, I think, the same factory her whole working life.  It was boring, but it was good pay, and Grandmom has always been good at sewing, so it played to her strengths.  Plus, she got to hang out with her friends on lunch and scheduled breaks.  It's New Jersey, which is a union state.  If a union could have negotiated scheduled foot massages, it would have by now.  Unions in the US, to enter onto a tangent, seem to have progressed on the "shirtsleeves to shirtsleeves in three generations" plan and, like all who go down that unfavorable road, it is their own fault and nobody else's.  If the unions had just quit at fair working hours and safe working conditions, everybody would still love the unions.  Instead, they got pompous and cocky around the 1970s, much like the overly-coddled son of a bootstrap millionaire, with the predictable results that always follow too much throwing your weight around. 

Anyway, to return to my story.  Grandmom and her unionized friends engaged in much friendly rivalry, like all women in the workplace.  This included the Secret Bird, otherwise known as flipping someone off across the room while pretending to adjust your glasses.  This was mostly before contacts, so almost everyone wore glasses.  Even Grandmom and Aunt Kitty flipped each other off on occasion.  Gotta love it. Amongst all this Secret Bird Flipping and break-taking, my Grandmom became one of the best sewers in the factory, and was entrusted with the trickiest work.  During all of this, the factory changed hands and Grandmom got a new boss.  This new boss did not like fixing his equipment.  You would think this would be an intuitive act in a factory-- to make sure the factory equipment still worked, much like the hiring and retaining of the workers to run said equipment.  However, history is about to prove us wrong. 

Grandmom's specialized sewing machine would break.  She would go tell the boss.  He would, instead of having someone trained in sewing machine repair come fix it, come over himself, pound on it like a Neanderthal trying to invent fire, and leave.  It would work for another few minutes, hours, or days.  Then this process would repeat itself. Did I mention the as-frequent complaints of this same boss about how Grandmom's productivity was subpar? Eventually Grandmom decided to leave.  She did.  The boss came personally to her house to beg her to come back.  She made him swear a solemn oath to fix the machine once and for all.  He made that oath.  Grandmom went back.  The machine wasn't fixed.  So, one day a couple of weeks later, she decided to sneak out in stealth.  Around lunchtime, she collected her personal things and went home claiming to be eating out.  And she never returned!  And she has enjoyed a life of leisure ever since! 

Grandpop retired a few years later and maintained their marital bliss by being faithful to his true loves: gameshows and sports on the television.  At least once a visit Grandmom comments in disgust that all Grandpop does is sit on the couch and watch tv and yet he never gains a pound!  In Grandpop's defense, earlier in his retirement he also: barbequed the best rotisserie chickens ever; maintained the front and back lawns in golf-course-like perfection; vacuumed (including chasing the dog around with it, not out of malice but sheer fur anxiety); drove Grandmom around like a professional chauffeur; and messed around in the basement and the garage with assorted tools.  However, despite Grandpop's diminishing activity over the years, it is true that he still has never really put on weight, despite also having a notorious sweet tooth that can only be satisfied by glasses of Boost! with every meal and cake and coffee every night a couple of hours after dinner.  You know, so there's room.  It's enough to make any woman disgusted.

Fudge Sauce / Determination-Flavored Yogurt

I made this recipe up because of an unfortunate event that has occured in the last few weeks.  Here's the story: several months ago, I went to the store to get some things and discovered yogurt with chocolate on the bottom.  Not fruit.  Not a fruit-based derivative.  Straight up chocolate.  I bought other, more conventional flavors, as well as the chocolate-on-the-bottom with my mind open and my reservations alert and ready.  No need.  It was delicious!  I have, in a back part of my brain, been meaning to go get some more ever since.  However, at some point in the time between when I bought it and when I (recently) returned to that store, the store decided to no longer carry it.  Not that brand.  Not that "style" (oh, yogurt styles...there are now a thousand of them), just that flavor.  I was so upset that I pouted (which, with my strict upbringing, I have only recently learned to do) up at the disappointing and conventional fruit flavors displayed along the top shelf.   And then I put the toe of one foot on the lip of the refrigerator case and hoisted myself to eye level with the yogurts, hoping to find one last chocolate-on-the-bottom hidden in the back.  If my thoughts had been verbalized, they would have gone something like, "I do not care if you have been back there up to and past your expiration date!  Others may not be willing to risk it, but I love you, chocolate-on-the-bottom yogurt!"  After several hopeful seconds of scanning the back of the shelf, I descended from my perch disappointed.  Whether it was the pouting or the climbing, or both, a nearby store patron then chivalrously offered to help me get whatever it was I was trying to get.  Sometimes sharing your feelings with others is healthy!  Especially when people unexpectedly offer to get things off of high shelves for you.

Anyway, I was not one to give up so easy.  I had already, in full public view, climbed on an appliance in the grocery store!  Undeterred, I went home with the idea of recreating the blissfulness of chocolate-on-the-bottom yogurt in my kitchen by basically putting chocolate sauce on the bottom of a reusable cup of yogurt.  And I did.  And this is the chocolate sauce recipe!  I will offer it with some variation options and caveats, since my approach was somewhat unconventional.

Chocolate Sauce for Yogurt

1/2 a Dove bar
2 TB. cocoa powder
2-3 TB. half & half
1-2 tsp. light corn syrup
1-2 tsp. butter

Melt the chocolate over low-medium heat.  Stir in the cocoa powder (it will make a coarse meal).  Add in the butter, which will then melt and help better blend together the cocoa powder and chocolate bar.  Reduce the heat to the lowest setting and stir in the corn syrup and half & half, adding a little more cocoa powder if you want your sauce a little thicker.  Your sauce is done when there are not lumps of cocoa left and the sauce looks smooth and glossy.  Spoon it into a prepared glass jar (a small one-- maybe 4 oz. at the most) and let it cool a couple of minutes before refrigeration.  When you're ready, put 2 spoonfuls of chocolate sauce on the bottom of a reusable container, then fill it to the top with yogurt!  This appears to make about eight 6 oz. yogurt cups-worth of chocolate sauce.

This is how I actually made it, because it's what I had on hand and also because I was too stubborn to break into the half-a-package of legitimate chocolate chips that I also had and hope to use to make a chocolate babka with next week.  It tastes good to me, but if you used probably about 2-3 oz. of semisweet chocolate chips in place of the cocoa powder and Dove bar combo it would probably be creamier, and also more like a milk chocolate sauce than a dark chocolate sauce.

Apple Spice Coffee Cake / The Smoking Foodgun

Apple Spice Coffee Cake

Filling
3 large apples, cored, peeled, and coarsely chopped
juice of 1 orange
1 C. dark brown sugar
2-3 TB. butter
1/4 C. sultana raisins (optional).

Melt the butter in a skillet.  Melt the sugar in the butter.  Dump in the apples and juice.  Let simmer until the apples are fully cooked.  If you want the raisins, add them at the same time that you add the apples.

Batter
1-2/3 C. unbleached all-purpose flour
2/3 C. whole wheat flour
1 pkg. yeast
1/2 C. milk
2 eggs
1/3 C. granulated sugar
1/2 tsp. salt
1 tsp. cardamom
1/2 tsp. cinnamon
2 TB. ginger paste -or- 1 tsp. powdered ginger
1/4 C. oil

Mix together the dry ingredients.  Warm the milk.  Add in the yeast and let it proof (1-5 minutes, depending on whether it's regular or quick-rise).  In a separate bowl from the flour, mix together the yeast mixture, the eggs, and the oil.  Beat this into the flour mixture, stirring for about 1 minute or until the dough starts to pull away from the sides slightly.  Let rise in a warm place about 30 minutes to 1 hour (again, depending on your yeast).  Grease and flour a bundt pan and preheat the oven to 350F.  Pour half the batter into the pan.  Pour in the filling.  Top with the remainder of the batter and bake for about 40 minutes.  (You might have to tent the top of the cake for the last 10 minutes or so, depending on how hot your oven runs.  It should be a nice medium brown on top, though.)  Take the cake out after it passes the toothpick test and let it cool for about 15 minutes before attempting to cut it. 

I had apples, so I used apples, but another alternative is to use two or three jars of orange marmalade and skip the whole "making a filling" step.  That would bring out the spices more and be a lot easier.  It is tasty as an apple cake, for sure.
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In my search for a pan while cooking dinner, I discovered the manual to a vintage kitchen appliance I own called "the Foodgun".  I know.  It sounds like it should be illegal in schools and on planes and public property.  In reality, it is a spritz cookie maker and, according to the ambitions of the manufacturer, the most useful tool in our kitchens since the fork.  Have a bunch of cooked unfilled manicotti laying around?  Problem solved!  Use the Foodgun.  Need to turn plain mashed potatoes into a gourmet dish via shooting them out of a motorized canister?  Shabam, the Foodgun gives you "Duchess Potatoes".  Its uses potentially are limited only by the human imagination of things that need to be filled and substances that can be shot into those things.  In addition, the manufacturer provided a helpful "FAQ" section at the back that makes Dr. Dre look like an amateur at spinning.  Example: "Q. Is it dishwasher safe?  A. The motor housing is not immersible, but easily cleans with a damp cloth.  It's possible to put the separate parts in the dishwasher--but not advisable....Besides, they're so easily cleaned with a soak and a wipe that it's hardly worth the time to put them in the dishwasher."  (Emphasis mine.)  Excuse me, but until I have a personal attendant who enjoys applying "a soak and a wipe" to dishwasher-safe items, it is still worth the time for me to put them in the dishwasher.  Furthermore, I cannot imagine the "soak and a wipe" that would be both quick and sufficient to remove a thick, sticky layer of extruded cookie dough from the inside of a plastic barrel.  It would involve much more than that.  Possibly two soaks.  And definitely about a thousand wipes.  Or the dishwasher.  Just come out and say it if it's not dishwasher safe.  There is no such thing as "marginally dishwasher safe", except, apparently, in the minds of the makers of the Foodgun. 

This Foodgun in particular came to me by a circuitous route.  It was originally given to Grandmom as a Christmas or birthday present, and it was something she wanted.  However, it turned out not to be exactly what she thought it was, or something to that effect, so she hung onto it for a while and then regifted it to my mom at her bridal shower.  Remember, this was about thirty years before "regifting" was even a word.  But Grandmom did it!  My mom knew about it and was fine with it.  Eventually she tried it out, and it too wasn't quite what she had in mind.  So, she gave it back to Grandmom, where it sat in the basement for the next 25 years until Grandmom asked me if I wanted to poke around there and see if there was anything I wanted for my first apartment (on approval, of course).  I haven't tried it out yet.  Honestly, I'm kind of afraid to. 

Also, my not using it allows it to last longer and therefore possibly become the most epic regifting since the Ugly Sweater Episode.  In a nutshell, either my Great-aunt Kitty or my Grandmom or possibly their respective Mother-in-law/Mother gave it to one of them.  It was, by both their reports, really ugly.  Yet it was mandatory for whoever got it first to wear it occasionally out of respect for one's elders.  Until somebody got the brilliant idea to "accidentally" lose it at the other one's house.  In a very hidden location.  At first, the finder, whoever it was (Grandmom or Aunt Kitty), thought it was an accident and tried to give it back.  The ugly sweater returned, and the game was on.  Over the course of about 15 years the ugly sweater traded houses multiple times and also went to Myrtle Beach and Upstate Pennsylvania, (in various hands) and also once to Paris, France.  (Grandmom was responsible for that one, sneaking it into a packed suitcase on pretense of using the bathroom at Aunt Kitty's house the day before she left on vacation.)  As you can imagine, over time the methods of sweater delivery had to become more sophisticated.  It got mailed.  It got "Return to Sender"-ed.  It came in the back of a framed picture.  Of course it got given for Christmas along with a more legitimate gift at least once apiece.  It goes without saying that every coat closet in both their respective houses got paid a visit by the ugly sweater, while the deliverer tried to sneak out without having to retrieve it, sometimes with success.  (I remember Grandmom telling me she was so frustrated on one occasion because she had checked every closet multiple times during a visit from Aunt Kitty and Aunt Kitty still managed to sneak the ugly sweater in somehow right before she left.)  So, with my vintage Foodgun approaching its fourth holder and decade, I think I can definitely continue the tradition, if I find just the right victim...er...recipient.

Stuffed Red Cabbage / Godzilla in the Kitchen

This is apparently the year I discover cabbage. It has also been the year I discovered eggplant. Two vegetables that I previously bore no ill will towards, but had no pressing need to eat. I had half a raw cabbage leftover from making the Blue Cabbage Pasta that I used instead of the green cabbage called for in one of the two seed recipes that inspired this, and I am so glad I did. (Incidentally, for those of us who do not have the free time to make homemade pasta, which is usually also me, Blue Cabbage Pasta would probably be pretty darn tasty with some high-quality dried egg noodles, or perhaps fresh asian egg noodles from the refrigerator case that some groceries stock).   I guess I should be more specific when I say that I am discovering cabbage.  I am discovering red cabbage. It holds its own in a pot of boiling water, makes everything it touches a beautiful, petroleum-dye-free blue that does not stain one's countertops, and has a mild spicy zip that mellows into buttery goodness when cooked. Yes, I have a crush on red cabbage. 

Stuffed Red Cabbage

1/2 head of red cabbage
3 medium-sized potatoes
1 parsnip
8 oz. ricotta cheese (I would make it fresh next time--store bought always seems so grainy to me)
1 red onion
2 eggs
oil for cooking
salt to taste
cayenne pepper to taste (a brief sprinkle was fine for me)
1/2 jar of good quality tomato sauce (yes I used sauce out of a jar, so sue me)
toothpicks (are nice, but you could get by without them)

This picture does not even do it justice.

Wash the half head of cabbage.  Put it in a pot, and fill the pot with water until the cabbage is covered.  (This, by the way, is also how you avoid setting your house on fire when you try to put the turkey in the turkey deep-fryer.  Planning ahead: a valuable skill.  Displacement: thank you, Science.)  Set the cabbage aside, add a little salt to the water, and bring the water to a boil on the stove.  Then put the cabbage in and cook it until it's tender, about 6-8 minutes.  Remove it from the water and put it in a bowl filled with cool water.  (Just tap water is fine, it doesn't have to have ice floating in it or anything.)  Anyway, while your cabbage is boiling, peel and coarsely chop your potatoes and parsnip.  Put them in some boiling water and let them cook until tender.  Drain and set aside.  Returning to the cabbage: gently peel off the cabbage's leaves one by one until you've either peeled them all off or discovered an uncooked inner core to your cabbage.  (This happened to me, but it works out in the end.)  Set the cooked and intact leaves aside (6-8ish of them).  Take the remaining cabbage and chop it finely.  Slice the red onion.  Heat some oil in a large skillet, and saute the onions for a minute or two, then add in the cabbage.  Let it cook until the chopped cabbage is soft.  While that's happening, mash your cooked potatoes and parsnips and add in a little cayenne pepper, salt to taste, and your ricotta cheese and eggs.  Preheat the oven to 425F.  When the cabbage and onions are cooked, fold them into the mixture of mashed potatoes and parsnips.  Get out a 9-inch x 13-inch glass baking dish.  One at a time, gently take a cabbage leaf and lay it on a flat surface.  (I just used the bottom of the casserole.)  Fill the middle with a heaping spoonful of mashed potato mixture.  (About the size of a stress ball.)  Fold the sides of the leaf over the top to make a packet, then either secure it with a toothpick or just lay it seam-side down in the dish.  Repeat until you've used up all your whole leaves.  If you have potato mixture left (I did), nestle the remaining amount in around the cabbage packets.  Pour the tomato sauce over the top of it all.  Cover the dish with foil and bake for about 30 minutes. 
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If it wouldn't give away too much secret information about my kitchen (like that it is small, and has appliances that are from the eighties) I would post a picture of it post-cooking all this business.  It looked like Godzilla invaded Tokyo ergo my kitchen with a willful need to leave vegetable peels all over the place, was surprised by a funny joke with a mouthful of cabbage juice, and also ate off every dish in my house.  Grandmom is way neater than that when she cooks.  Her kitchen looks like one of those photos from a ladies' magazine where they show the glossy-smiled famous person looking matronly as she pulls a perfectly-baked something out of the oven, with nary a sticky mixing bowl or bloody styrofoam meat package in the background.  I don't know how she does it, even after all these years of watching her cook.  I even have a dishwasher, and my kitchen is clean by the end of it all, but Grandmom, although she has one, does not actually use her dishwasher and her kitchen is still spotless even when she is frying those delicious porkchop cutlets.  I chalk it up to Grandmom being Martha Stewart's original inspiration.  It's true.  Grandmom may not handmake her own ricotta cheese, and has to be coaxed away from the can of cream-of soup, but she is the undisputed Queen of the Kitchen.  So much so that Great-grandmom even snookered her into "helping" her make homemade grape jelly one year.  Did I mention Grandmom has five siblings?  Who else helped?  Nobody.  Afterwards, Grandmom told Great-grandmom (who she lived two houses down from, by the way) to "find somebody else next year."  Great-grandmom said, "Who?"  Grandmom whipped back with "Julie!"  Great-grandmom protested that "she was the baby" (mind you, they were all married and had children of their own by this point), but in the end Grandmom never helped make grape jelly again!

Blackberry Ice Cream Cordial

Blackberry Ice Cream Cordial

1 pint good blackberry ice cream
blackberry jam
butter cookies

Soften the ice cream.  Spoon it into 4 teacups or, if you have them (I did) small dessert molds.    Smooth the top, then drop a heaping spoonful of blackberry jam down the middle.  Smooth the top again.  Freeze.  When you're ready to serve them, prepare a bowl of hot water.  Dip each mold or teacup into the hot water for just a few seconds, then turn it over a dessert plate to unmold the ice cream.  Stick 2-3 butter cookies at jaunty angles in the top.  Shazaam, fancy dessert!  Serves 4.
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In retrospect, it would have been pretty good, and also jammier, to fill half a mold up, spread a layer of jam, then top off the mold with more ice cream.  I guess it depends how much jam you feel like you need in your life.  I admit to eating spoonfuls of the leftover jam straight out of the fridge.  (It's really good jam!)
I called this "Cordial", not because it has any cordial (ergo, blackberry-flavored wine) in it, but because I made it for a small dinner party with some friends, and so it was a "cordial" dessert.  Ha ha ha.  C'mon, laugh with me.  Call it whatever you want, it's basically a fancy ice cream.  I created this dessert so that I could make it ahead of time AND so I would NOT be left with acres of cake or cookies after the fact.  That way I could dedicate my time on the day of the dinner party on the "real" (non-sugar-based) food.  The secret to it all is to use really good versions of each of the ingredients.  I followed both of these principles, and as a result the whole dessert cost me about $10 to buy the ingredients and tasted really good.

Blue Cabbage Pasta / The Temptations of Cheese Powder

half a medium-sized head of red cabbage, washed and cut into thin strips
half an onion, cut into rounds
oil for cooking
salt to taste
1-1/2 C. flour
2 eggs
a rolling pin (seriously, you need one to make this)
1/2 C. fresh grated parmesan cheese

Ahead of time, combine the flour with a little salt, if you like (I used about 1/2 tsp).  Lightly beat the eggs in a separate bowl, then combine them with the flour.  Add in a little water for consistency-- around 1/4 C.  The dough will look pretty loose.  Wash your hands (do I need to say this?) and then stick them down in the bowl and squirsh the dough until it starts to come together, about three-four squirshes.  Yes, that's a word.  It's onomonopoeic, and it means what you think it means: "squishing with extra squish."  Once the dough is a single lump, turn it out onto a (clean) counter and knead it until it's smooth and elastic, about 10 minutes.  Set it aside to let it rest while you do other things.  (Your dough should be able to rest about 30 minutes.)  Get your pasta pot ready but don't turn the heat on: add in about 4 cups of water, 1/2 tsp. salt, and a splash of oil.  Heat some more oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat.  When it's hot enough, add in the onions and cook them until they're soft.  Then add in the cabbage and cook it until it's soft, stirring it as necessary.  (This takes a bit longer-- about 15 minutes.)  Salt to taste.  When it's ready, roll out your dough into 1/8th inch (3 mm) thickness.  Cut it into strips about 1/2 inch (1 cm) wide , then cut the strips about 3 inches (7 cm) long.  Set them aside on a plate.  For style points, twist each strip into a tight spiral.  Bring the cooking water to a boil.  Dump the fresh pasta into the water.  Remove it when it floats to the top.  Put the cooked cabbage into a large serving bowl.  Pour about 1/2 C. of the pasta water over top.  Put your hot pasta into the bowl.  Toss everything together to coat, including your parmesan cheese. 

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This is a labor-intensive but delectable dish that combines a healthy vegetable with the indulgence of homemade pasta.  I called it "Blue Cabbage Pasta" because red cabbage, when you cook it, ends up looking a beautiful purple-blue.  It makes a large serving bowlful (about 8-10 servings as a main dish), so cut the recipe in half if you're not so into leftovers.  By the way, I'm writing this while eating caramel and artificial cheese-flavored popcorn, and I just had to stop myself from wiping my hands on the carpet.  So please do not ever think I'm Martha Stewart.  I'm pretty sure Martha Stewart is never even tempted to wipe her hands on the carpet.  In my defense, that cheese powder is so sticky that you almost instictively want to get it off your hands, and no, I didn't actually wipe my hands on the carpet.  I just almost did.

Sweet Pumpkin Kugel

2/3 C. canned pumpkin (not pumpkin pie filling, just plain pumpkin!!)
1/4 C. granulated sugar
2 eggs
8 oz. egg noodles
8 oz. sour cream
1/4 C. (1/2 of a standard stick) of butter

Boil and drain the egg noodles according to package directions.  (I left mine a little al dente figuring their time in the oven would further cook them and prevent any soggy noodles.)  Melt the butter in a microwave safe bowl.  Beat in butter, the sour cream (to cool it down), then the pumpkin, and finally the eggs.  Combine the pumpkin-sour cream mixture with the cooked noodles.  Pour all into a buttered 6x6 deep casserole.  (Why do I have one of these?  My Great-grandmother on my mom's side was getting ready to move to assisted living a couple of years ago, and, having lived by herself all those years, had plenty of small cooking dishes that she didn't need anymore.  So she passed some of them on to me.)  Bake it, covered, at 350 for about an hour.  Serves approximately 4-6.
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And there you have it!  It's slightly sweet, has a vegetable in it, and is rich and satisfying.  I would upload a picture but honestly I tore into it straight out of the oven.

Creamy Carrot Bolognese Sauce / A Fishy Mystery

I want to say again that I am so thankful that I have readers for this blog.  It really gives me a great deal of joy to chronicle my own and others' food adventures here and know that they will be enjoyed and appreciated. 

My latest adventure is another new take on a recipe from The Northend Italian Cookbook.  (I recently discovered, the 4th edition.  It's not like it was a big secret, I just usually don't take the time to read the dozens of pages of forwards and dedications and introductions and summaries that seem to accompany all published books, including even cookbooks and books of knitting patterns.)  The original recipe was for a Bolognese sauce, which is the authentic version of what we all usually think of when we picture the "meat sauce" part of "spaghetti with meat sauce".  Now, let me state for the record once again that I do not think that eating meat is intrinsically evil, especially if the animal in question was humanely raised and humanely led out of this life so that we could enjoy and benefit from it.  But, I think it is an uncontestable statement to say that we should all probably eat less meat for a variety of reasons, not the least of which because we are making ourselves FAT and are giving ourselves heart conditions and colon cancer.  So, I modified this recipe to be a good "weekday/meat free" alternative, but you could use the meat of your choice in place of the substitute I offer, which is....carrots. 

I know.  I'm a card-carrying member of the nut club in your minds now, right?  Carrots?  Carrots?  Yes, carrots.  "Why carrots?" you may ask.  Because...and here is another personal revelation...I think meat substitutes are nasty.  They start life almost flavorless (not taking into account their own natural flavors, which are usually odd, to say the least) and with a variety of textures to appall.  So I tend to avoid them in my cooking and in my eating.  So, since I've lately been exploring ways of cooking and eating less meat without sacrificing my favorite foods and flavors, I've been exploring vegetable options to replace the texture and role that the meat portion of some of my favorite recipes.  The eggplant experiment in my personal experience, wildly successful.  For further support of eggplant, I offer you this example: I once cooked some fried eggplant for a former boyfriend, who came across it later and ate it, totally unaware, he told me afterwards, that it was not the fish I had meant to cook.  So, with that in mind, I bring you:

Creamy Carrot Bolognese Sauce
4 large carrots, peeled and cubed*
1 small onion, chopped the Italian way (into slivers rather than cubes)
1 28oz (850mL) can ground or crushed tomatoes
2 cloves garlic, minced
3-4 sprigs fresh parsley, minced
salt and pepper to taste, red pepper flakes or cayenne to taste
2/3 C. white wine (I used the aformentioned muscato)
cooking oil (olive oil, if you have it)
1/2 C. (120 mL)
about 1lb (450g) hot cooked pasta (I actually put it over cooked split peas with flavorful success, but I admit that this is a little more experimental than most people are willing to be when it comes to their Italian staples)

Heat the oil in a saucepot over medium heat.  Add in the carrots and let them sizzle and cook for about 5 minutes.  You can actually chop the rest of the things that need to be chopped while this is happening and cut your total preparation/cooking time down.  Anyhow, after the carrots have had their time in the saucepot hot tub alone, toss in the onions and garlic and let them sizzle with the carrots for another 2-3 minutes.  Add in the wine.  Let it reduce, another 2-3 minutes.  Add in the crushed tomatoes, parsley, and the seasonings.  My canned tomatoes came with some added salt, so I actually didn't put in any additional salt at all and that was just right.  Put the cover on the saucepot, reduce the heat to medium-low (a fastish simmer) and let it cook, stirring it every so often, for about 15 minutes.  You can use this time to find your pasta in the cabinet (emphasis find if you live in a place with limited cabinet space in the kitchen) and get it cooked and drained.  At the very end of the cooking time, remove the sauce from the heat and add in the cream, stirring it to blend.  The end!  Serve it over your pasta.  It's good just the way it is, although some parmesan is never amiss with most Italian dishes.  This makes a good bit of sauce.  I made a full batch and set some aside to use for eggplant parmesan.
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*Cubing carrots is not as hard as it sounds.  After you get them peeled, instead of cutting them from end to end into disks, cut each individual carrot into 2-3 sections, making your cuts where the carrot obviously changes sizes as it tapers from the big end to the small end.  Then, cut each section in half.  Cut each half into 3 strips longways.  Holding all the strips together, cut from end to end.  These are not perfect cubes, mind you.  This is not the haute cuisine cordon blue mirepoix carrot cutting method.  This is just the simplest way to get carrots into cube-like pieces.

Vegetarian Hot-Hot Dish

5 medium potatoes, partially peeled and cut into large chunks*
3 medium carrots, fully peeled and sliced into coins
1/2 C. white beans
1/2 C. cooked barley
1/4 C. bread crumbs
oil for cooking
salt and pepper to taste
1 TB. molasses
1 TB. lemon juice
1 TB. Worchestershire sauce
1/4 C. prepared Korean BBQ sauce
1/3 C. ketchup
1/4 C. milk (optional)
1/4 C. butter (optional)

Make the vegetarian ground beef crumble out of 1/2 C. white beans (chopped in the food processor or lightly mashed), 1/2 C. cooked barley, 1/4 C. bread crumbs, and 1 TB. of the Korean BBQ sauce.  Heat a generous amount of cooking oil in a skillet over medium heat.  Add in the crumble mixture and let it sit and sizzle for about 5 minutes undisturbed.  Break it up and turn it with a spatula so that you have crumbley pieces (uncooked it's sort of a paste), about 5-10 more minutes.  In the meantime, put your potatoes and carrots in two pots over high heat and bring to a boil, then reduce to medium-high and boil until done.  Remove the crumbles from the heat when they're done.  Drain the potatoes and carrots; set the carrots aside.  Using the pot you cooked the potatoes in, melt the butter and scald the milk.  Add the potatoes back into the pot and mash them well, adding salt and pepper to taste-- I used about 1 tsp. of each.  In a small bowl, mix together the lemon juice, molasses, Korean BBQ sauce, ketchup, and Worchestershire sauce.  Preheat the oven on the "broil" setting.  In a glass baking dish, put the cooked crumbles in an even layer on the bottom.  Spoon the sauce over top.  Layer on the cooked carrots, then top with your mashed potatoes, smoothing them to make sure they are an even thickness over the whole dish.  Put the baking dish in the oven and broil until the mashed potatoes begin to brown, about 5-10 minutes.  This is pretty delicious served over top of fresh salad greens, as shown, but would also be just as good served alongside a couple of cooked vegetables.
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This dish is hot, hot, hot!  Okay, it's not that hot really.

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*Being a woman, I'm well-versed in the benefits of a diet high in B-vitamins such as the ones found in the skins of potatoes.  To make a compromise between flavor and nutritional quality, I peel my patotoes in stripes (instead of peeling all of the skin off) and use them that way.

The name of this recipe is tongue-in-cheek in more than one way.  Way number 1: "hot dish" is a midwestern staple that has potatoes and ground beef, much like this dish, which has a vegetarian "ground beef" crumble and mashed potatoes on top.  Way number 2: the prepared Korean BBQ sauce makes it kinda spicy (ha ha ha "hot dish", "hot-hot dish").  Way number 3: during a time when I had a burning need to own a pet rabbit, the perfect pet (I never did get one), I discovered that there is a breed of rabbits called the Hothot.  Also there are dwarf Hothots.  Since this is vegetarian, it's rabbit food!  Yes, congratulate me.  Creative Writing degree successfully used once again.

Spinach Pie / My Ode to the Y Chromosome

2 9-inch unbaked pie shells*
2 pkgs frozen chopped spinach**
6 onions, chopped
4-5 eggs
salt, pepper, and garlic powder to taste
1/2 C. breadcrumbs (optional)
2 TB. parsley (also optional)
1/2 C. grated parmesan cheese
12 oz. cream cheese
oil for sauteing

Cook and drain the spinach.  Set aside.  Saute the onions in oil until tender, sprinkling with the garlic powder to roast the flavor out in the oil.  In a large bowl combine all the ingredients except the breadcrumbs.  Pour the mixture into the pastry shells and, if desired, sprinkle the top with breadcrumbs.  Bake at 350F until done-- about 1 hour-- or until the top is brown and the pies are set.  Let cool slightly before attempting to slice.  Is good hot or room temperature!
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Let me just say, first of all, that it defies my imagination that this is an internationally read blog.  Thank-you so much for giving me that. 

On a completely separate topic, but still in the subject of gratefulness, I would like here to proclaim my everlasting appreciation of men in the workplace.  I present to you the following examples of why: in the space of two consecutive workdays, my male coworker argued, without regard for my entreaties to please stop, his opinions on how the theories of evolution and natural selection were bad science produced by a cultural bias towards atheism and machiavellian tendencies, announced that he hated professional fashion models because they are all prostitutes who got paid to have sex and that, additionally they are (also in his opinion) too dumb to do anything else or else they would, and proclaimed his love of death metal.  Yet we were able to work amicably side-by-side, despite vigorous protesting on my part to all of the above points.  For contrast, I have had hair-tossing and crying directed at me for such occasions as a difference of opinion on whether or not we (I) should do what the supervisor told both of us to do on pain of punishment, followed by days, if not weeks, of similar disdain.  So God bless testicles.  God bless them, everyone.

*First of all, the "9 inches" refers to the diameter of a round pie pan.  So, in metric that's 23 cm.  If your metric (or otherwise) pie pans come measured in volume, I cannot be of much assistance, although I would guess that each pie pan would need to be able to hold about 250-500mL. 

Secondly, here is an easy recipe for one batch of pie crust (you'd need to double it to make spinach pie).

**I think it's 16 ounces per package of frozen spinach, so you would need to cook up two good bunches (about 1kg) of fresh spinach.

Fresh Pumpkin Ravioli

Pumpkin Filling
1/2 of a pie pumpkin, cooked and cut into chunks*
1 clove of garlic, minced
1/2 tsp. salt
2-3 TB. butter, plus some for tossing the ravioli in
1/4 C. Parmesan cheese, plus some for tossing the ravioli in

Ravioli
1-1/2 to 2 C. flour
2 TB. oil
2 eggs
2-3 TB. water
1/4 tsp. salt

To make the ravioli, mix together flour and salt.  Make a well and knead in the eggs and oil.  Add in the water as necessary for consistency.  The dough should be tough but cohesive.  Remove the dough to an unfloured surface and knead further until it is smooth and elastic.  Set it aside wrapped in plastic wrap (or other means to prevent it drying out) and let it rest at elast 2 hours.  After the dough has rested, divide it into two portions and roll each out into 1/8 inch thickness (3 mm).  Cut the dough into rounds, making sure there are an even number.

To make the filling, melt the butter in a saucepan, then briefly saute the garlic.  Add in the pumpkin and mash it until it is a smooth homogeneous mixture.  Add in the cheese and salt, mix to blend, and then remove the pumpkin mixture from the heat. 

Put 1 TB. of filling onto half of the rounds.  Top these with the remaining rounds by moistening the edges of both, laying the top on the filled round, and crimping the edges well with a fork.  Bring a large pot of water to a rolling boil.  If desired, you can add some salt and a little oil to the cooking water.  Drop in the ravioli a few at a time, removing them to a serving dish with a slotted spoon once they float to the top.  Serve tossed in melted butter (or olive oil if you prefer) and sprinkled with parmesan cheese.
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* a "pie" pumpkin, for those unaware, is a different variety of pumpkin from the "jack-o-lantern" pumpkin that you see rowed up at the farmer's market or grocery store around Halloween (if you live in a country that does Halloween).  A jack-o-lantern pumpkin's flesh is tough and fibrous and not very good to eat.  A pie pumpkin, on the other hand, is much closer to a winter squash (butternut or acorn squash are examples of winter squash).  To identify a pie pumpkin from a jack-o-lantern pumpkin (these are not official variety names, by the way) you can a) ask the vendor (if you're at a farmer's market or roadside stand, for example) or b) observe the appearance of the pumpkin.  A pie pumpkin is small, about the size of a canteloupe or a little larger, and typically has a rich orange, yellow, or reddish orange rind.  It will also feel hefty for its size when you pick it up.  A jack-o-lantern pumpkin will be large, typically being the size of a soccer ball at least, and usually larger.  You definitely need two hands to pick up most jack-o-lantern pumpkins.  Sometimes stores will sell smaller ones for table decor too, so if you're unsure, a jack-o-lantern pumpkin, even a small one, will have a paler, washed-out orange rind typically, and will feel lighter because there is a larger hollow cavity inside.  (Whereas the pie pumpkin's interior is filled mainly with flesh intermingled with the seeds.)  As you may have guessed by now, a jack-o-lantern pumpkin is not really meant for eating!

Old-Fashioned Sundaes / Taking "bite me" too far

2-3 scoops of vanilla ice cream
pineapple jelly
creme de menthe
spray whipped cream
maraschino cherries

Put the ice cream in a fancy dish, because this is the 50's and ice cream is still an event.  Put the rest on top.  Go ahead, put six cherries on, that's what they're for.  Eat up.
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I have many fond memories of these sundaes.  They are weird and delicious, as are the best parts of life.  In fact, I hearby officially repudiate all that is vanilla womanhood.  I work with a lot of women, and therefore it makes my opinion and expert opinion when I say I have had all I can take of personalities like perfectly formed ice-cream scoops with exactly one half a banana, spray whipped cream and a single cherry on top.  "Don't mess my topping" is how those sundaes go through life.  Life is messy, life is sticky, and life is definitely imperfect and that's exactly the way I like it.  With creme de menthe and pineapple jelly on top.

Healthy Pizza with Homemade Pizza Dough

Yum, pizza sure is good, isn't it?  Don't you wish your New Year's resolution to eat healthy and lose weight included delicious, crispy-crusted pizza?  Oh wait, it can.  You just have to make it yourself so you can eliminate the calories added by chains to cut cost.  Because, in America at least, processed fat is cheaper than fresh ingredients.  (As opposed to most developing countries as far as I can tell, whose populations eat mainly grains and vegetables as a matter of necessity because those are the cheapest foods for them.)  Behold, healthy pizza.  It is surprisingly quick and easy to prepare.  (Honestly you'd spend more time waiting for the pizza delivery guy than you do making this pizza.)

Dough:
1/2 C. warm water
1 pkg. fast rise yeast
1 tsp. sugar
1-1/2 C. all-purpose flour
1/2 tsp. salt
1 TB. oil
cornmeal for sprinkling on baking sheet (about 1/4 C.)

Toppings:
2% or part-skim mozzarella or "pizza blend" shredded cheese*
tomato sauce of your choice**
parmesan cheese for sprinkling on top

--2-3 of the following--***
1 whole onion, chopped
4 yellow crookneck squashes
1-2 bell peppers
2-3 roma tomatoes
broccoli florets, cut into small bitesized pieces
1/2 bunch fresh spinach or 1/4 bunch fresh kale****
any other soft vegetable or precooked hard vegetable such as winter squash or carrots
oil for sauteing

Part 1: The Dough, 5-10 minutes
First, make your dough by mixing together the flour and salt.  Then, in a small bowl, combine the sugar, warm water, and yeast.  Let it proof before adding it to the flour, which should be less than a minute for fast-rise yeast.  (Proofing means watching to see if bubbles start to form on the top of the water, which is a way of checking that your yeast is active.)  Add in the oil to the yeast mixture, then add in a little flour, stirring until the mixture is smooth like a cake batter.  Add in the rest of the flour a little at a time and continue to stir until the dough becomes too thick.  At this point, dump it onto a clean work surface and knead (the regular bread-dough way) in any remaining flour, then knead a few more times until the dough is satiny.  Shape it into a ball and set it aside to rest and rise just a little bit-- basically the amount of time it's going to take you to prepare your vegetables.

Part 2: The Vegetables, 10-12 minutes
So.  Chop the vegetables of your choice into bite-sized pieces.  Saute them in a little oil until they are done, about 5-10 minutes.  (I often chop and saute at the same time, starting with the hardest vegetable and ending with the softest to avoid overcooking anything, but add a few more minutes if you want all your ducks in a row before you start.)

Part 3: Putting it All Together, 3-5 minutes
Oil your baking sheet.  Sprinkle a little cornmeal on it.  Place your dough ball in roughly the center and pat it out until it's mostly the same thickness (however thick you like your crust) all over and also some regular shape (mine almost aways comes out oval for whatever reason).  It's more important that the crust be of uniform thickness than uniform shape.  Spread a THIN layer of tomato sauce on the crust, leaving about a 2 inch (5 cm) boarder.  Sprinkle a generous layer of your cheese.  Lay your vegetables in a layer on top of the cheese, then (if you want to) spread some more tomato sauce, and definitely some more cheese, on top.  Sprinkle with parmesan.  (You can also sprinkle your crust with parmesan before putting on the tomato sauce.)

Part 4: Baking 5-6 minutes
Put your pizza in the oven at a pretty high temperature (let's say 425-450F) and bake it until the cheese melts.

Shazam, fresh hot pizza with almost no fat, about 2 servings of vegetables per slice, a healthy serving of lean protein and some good vitamins and minerals if you use whole wheat flour in your crust.  (I have done this and later discovered than my eater didn't even realize that I had used whole wheat flour.  And this person was a pretty picky eater!)  And you know what?  If you used your time in the kitchen efficiently it took you between 23 and 31 minutes, which at the bare minimum is exactly the same amount of time you would have to wait for a particularly fast and nearby pizza delivery service to bring you a diet deal-breaker.
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*"Pizza blend" is a blend that usually contains some combination of the following: romano, parmesan, mozzarella, formaggio, and asiago.  It's pretty good, but just mozzarella is good too.

**You can get a can of tomato sauce from the canned goods aisle for about 85 cents, and it tastes fine.  Or, if you have a partial jar of spaghetti sauce hanging around in the refrigerator, that works fine too.  I'll let you in on a secret: Italian cooks do not always use hand-prepared-that-day tomato sauce.  Back in the day, they would can tomato sauce made from tomatoes from their backyard garden (which is a membership requirement for all Italians to have or at least express the desire to have).  Since not everybody has the space for a garden or time to can zillions of jars of homemade plain tomato sauce, Italians have been known to frequent the tomato section of the canned aisle and stock up on plain sauce. 

***I have been known to use up leftovers on the top of a pizza as well.  The secret to not making nasty pizza is to choose your leftovers wisely.  IE, if you have some broccoli that you cooked a day or so ago with salt and butter, it'll be fine.  Spinach cooked the same way? Even better.  For optimum success, use homemade pizza as an excuse to rid your freezer of partial bags of frozen vegetables.  Just cook said vegetables for about 2/3rds of the recommended cooking time before putting them on top of your pizza.

****I'm not sure of the exact weight of bunches of spinach or kale, but I think it's about 12oz (about 350 grams).  So for a pizza you would use about 100gm of either one or, to be more concrete, about a handful of fresh washed spinach stems or 3-4 stems of kale.  (Which you would chop up, of course, unless you enjoy eating your pizza like a tough, fibrous hotdog.)