Spiced Peach Muffins

In theory I love peaches. They are so delicious and fresh and sweet. In practice, though, I don't like to eat them because they are a sticky mess. You'd think I could get over it and just give in to the mess and enjoy every sweet, sticky bite. For some reason I can't do that. 

Because of this I buy peaches thinking I'm just going to bite into them and eat them, but they sit on the counter in the fruit bowl until they are way ripe and then I put them in the refrigerator until figure out what to do with them. I'm like a less confusing, less annoying, less self-conscious version of J. Alfred Prufrock. "Do I dare eat a peach?" No, I daren't.

Are you shaking your head at me? I'm shaking my own head at me. Such a disappointment.

I do realize that peaches can be cut up and eaten that way. Sometimes I do that. When I don't do that, I take those ripe peaches and make these muffins. They almost make my strange peach juice aversion a stroke of genius instead of  weirdness.

 

 

Spiced Peach Muffins
adapted from here

4 1/2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon salt
4 1/2 teaspoons baking soda
2 cups brown sugar
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
2 eggs
3/4 cups coconut oil warmed to liquid
1 1/4 cups milk
4 peaches peeled and diced (about 3 cups)
rock sugar

Combine the dry ingredients (except the rock sugar) in a large bowl. Stir in the eggs, coconut oil, milk. Add the peaches and gently stir. Fill cupcake wrappers or greased muffin tins with batter. Fill to the top, these a pretty dense and won't rise a whole lot. Sprinkle with small pieces of rock sugar. If you don't have that on hand, granulated sugar is fine.

Bake at 400 degrees F for 25 to 30 minutes.

Makes 16 muffins. Give some away or you will eat more than you should.

They are especially dangerous hot, sliced open with a small pat of butter melting on the steamy warm insides.

I think these would be wonderful with nearly any fruit you need to use up.

I also don't eat ribs or corn on the cob in public. (But will tear them up in private...) Please tell me there are other people like me out there. Anybody? Hello?

Dreamy-Deliciousness

Did you love Magic Shell as much as I did growing up? Or, maybe more accurately, you love it still today. It's chocolate. That makes a hard outer shell over ice cream. Could there be a better pairing?

I say no. No, there cannot.

Making your own Magic Shell is easy. It is also probably copyrighted, so we shall from this point forward call the hard chocolate shell on ice cream "Dreamy-Deliciousness Shell." And yes, I do know that there is a very good reason I haven't been hired for that job in product development/naming. Don Draper I am not.

Anywhoo.

I once told you peeps that I was going to do a post about coconut oil for my Granola Mom series. I haven't forgotten. I just tend to use it more for cooking than experimenting with it beyond that. I do have a couple of fun uses to share, promise.

I like this coconut oil. You can get it from Amazon.

 Well, it turns out that because coconut oil is a saturated oil, it creates the "magic" for the shell-that-shall-not-be-named. Seriously, making your own "Dreamy-Deliciousness Shell" is incredibly easy. Like two ingredient, 45 seconds easy.

As per my usual, measuring is optional.

Dreamy-Deliciousness Shell

2 parts dark chocolate (I'm a fan of Ghirardelli dark chocolate chips)
1 part coconut oil

Melt chocolate in the microwave on a mid-power setting. Depending on the amount of chocolate, somewhere between 30 seconds to a minute should suffice. Add coconut oil. Stir. Drizzle over ice cream*, let harden for a few second, devour.

 * Bonus points if you make the ice cream yourself. Here's my fool-proof and really easy vanilla ice cream recipe. (And yes, I do realize that sometimes exact proportions are necessary, so they have been provided for you.)

1 1/2 cups whole milk
1 1/8 cups granulated sugar
3 cups heavy cream
1 1/2 tablespoons vanilla extract**

In stand mixer combine milk and sugar on low speed. Mix until sugar is dissolved, about two minutes. Stir in the heavy cream and vanilla. Turn on ice cream maker and pour mixture into frozen freezer bowl. Let maker run for twenty minutes or so until the ice cream has the consistency of soft serve. Either eat or transfer into an airtight container and freeze until firmer.

Drizzle with Dreamy- Deliciousness Shell. Eat.

So easy and not even a little bit healthy. Ice cream is not often in our house because I will eat it every. single. day. I have found, though, that in making my own I eat smaller portions. Maybe because it is real to me how much bad-for-me-but-oh-so-good ness I'm consuming.

Whenever I mention coconut oil to my mom, a registered dietitian, she starts to pontificate about saturated fat. I generally stop her before she gets started and tell her that coconut got a bad rap and isn't as bad as she thinks it is. I don't actually have much to back that up as far as science is concerned, but there are a ton of granola-y blogs that say it is the bees knees.  Despite being bees knees-y, I don't recommend eating this ice cream with dark chocolate and coconut oil combo every day. Your life span will most likely be drastically shortened.

** We have found we like vanilla from Mexico. Especially if ordered by a well-meaning husband who had no idea that two liters of vanilla will last us our entire lives. And possibly all of Little Man's as well.

On an unrelated note, if you ever need to borrow vanilla, I'm your gal.

What are you making that sounds more difficult and fancier than it really is?

Zucchini so good your kids will eat it

I live in an awesome neighborhood. It is the kind of neighborhood that belongs in the past. You know, the kind with 4th of July block parties where the street is blocked off, and the kids are tossing eggs and playing on the slip and slide. The kind where jars of homemade salsa, jam, and spice rubs are given out as Christmas gifts. The kind where someone has a key to your house so if you need your passport sent to your employer and you are on your way to Massachusetts, it'll get Fed-Exed within the hour even if you're not positive where it is in the house. (True story.) The kind where the day you bring your baby home from the hospital there is a sweet onesie on the doorstep. Tied to a bottle of wine. (And the wine doesn't get stolen...)

It is also the kind of neighborhood where my neighbor Ayme often sends her husband over with a plate of whatever deliciousness they had for dinner. Seriously. That happens. Often. #nevermovingever

Tonight's treat was so good I had to share it with the entire world. (Because I have that many readers, obvs.)

Ayme made what she has dubbed "Zucchini Pizza." And yes, they are as good as they look. Better, in fact. Her two oldest boys can be picky eaters and she has made it her mission to "sneak" veggies in to their diets as often as possible. Sometimes her sneakiness involves veggies and legumes in cookies (tastes better than it sounds) or veggie laced breading on corn dogs. Other times (like tonight) she makes the veggies so compelling on their own that even a two-year-old can't say no. (Hello, who can say no to pizza?)

I begged her to let me share her concoction.

OK, really I just sent her a text telling her they were amazing and I wanted to tell the world. Can't say no to that. I didn't get any specific measurements, but that's not much different that most of the other recipes I share with you...

Ayme's Addictive I-Hope-She-Makes-Them-Again Zucchini Pizzas

List of ingredients:
Zucchini, sliced
Grape Tomatoes, sliced
Fat-Free Feta Crumbles, um crumbled
Olive Oil
Gourmet Garden Italian Herbs Paste (or chop basil, oregano, thyme, and rosemary)
Gourmet Garden Garlic Paste (or finely chop garlic)


Directions:
Preheat oven to 425 degrees. Mix olive oil, garlic and herbs together to a pesto-like consistency. (Ratios are to taste.) Lay slices of zucchini on a baking pan. Spread the zucchini slices with the olive oil, garlic, herb spread. Top with tomato slices. Finish with feta crumbles. Bake at 425 degrees for about 15 minutes, then broil until the feta gets browned. Make a plate for your neighbor. Enjoy.

Variations:
Ayme's husband was feeling spicy, so she added chili peppers to his. He said they were "bangin'". If you don't have feta at home, I'm guessing that goat cheese would also make a delicious bite. (I'm always partial to goat cheese.) In a pinch, pesto would probably be almost as effective as the garlic, herb, oil mix. Almost.

I'm not yet at the picky eater stage, but I imagine I'll have to resort to some sneakiness eventually. This recipe? I kind of hope Little Man doesn't like it...

Anyone else have sneaky/fun ways to give the veggies some love?

Is there a half step?

Apparently I have a serious problem.

I didn't realize it until just the other day. I mean, yeah, ok, I consume a little bit. Almost every day, but I can stop when I want to. I think.

Oh, geez. Come to think of it, I probably can't just stop cold turkey.

I guess it is a little bit of a problem.

I'd never thought about being a legitimate chocoholic until a brief series of events over the past few days.

Wednesday Angela asked me if my ears were ringing earlier that afternoon when she was talking about me to one of her classes. They weren't, but I was super flattered. I figured she was talking about what a great teacher I am. No. Not so much. She was telling them that while she enjoys chocolate, she's not sure she's ever met anyone who enjoys it quite as much as I do.

She knows lots of people.

Her comment was innocuous enough, but it got me thinking. Do I have a problem? I thought back to Friday night when my dear friend and former roommate came over for dinner. She never goes anywhere empty handed, so she arrived with gifts including chocolates  The chocolates were because, "I know how my girl needs chocolate." Fast forward less than 12 hours to when my neighbor called me specifically to let me know that m&m's were on sale at target. Three bags for eight dollars.

(And yes, I did go pick up three bags. You know, just in case.)

I looked up the 12 step program. I'm not ready to admit that I'm powerless or that my life has become unmanageable. Just don't look at the parenthetical above this paragraph.

About a year ago, Beau was in New Orleans for a class. While there, he stopped at Sucre and picked up a couple of bars of chocolate for me. They looked good. So good I didn't want to eat them. So, they sat for a little while.

When I was in the hospital with Little Man, Beau brought one to me. It was the Candied Violet bar. It was easily the best chocolate I'd ever had. Now, the circumstances might have altered my impression of the Candied Violet bar, but I don't think so.

I might enjoy chocolate a little more than I should. There are worse vices.

What are you known for?

(Photos borrowed from Sucre.)

Easy Peasy Split Pea Soup

At Little Man's nine month appointment (NINE months!!!) I was given the go ahead to give him almost anything to eat--with the exception of high-allergen foods like honey, peanut butter and shell fish. I'd been giving him some of the foods we'd been eating prior to this, but I guess I needed to hear from a doctor that it was OK to give our toothless wonder foods that weren't puréed or easily dissolved. (BTW, puréed chicken is one of the most vile things you've ever seen. I highly recommend that moms who are making their baby food NOT put chicken breasts in the blender. Disgusting. You're welcome.)

Since that appointment there is little "real food" that we've eaten that Little Man hasn't tried. Well, with the exception of sweets. I don't think he needs to become a chocoholic or cake addict before his first birthday. As my child, I think he's genetically predisposed to such an addiction.

Some foods I make need a little work to become toothless baby appropriate. Other foods, like last night's split pea soup, are perfect for babies! They also look quite a bit like baby food. Yuck! I promise the taste is at least a gazillion times better than it looks.

As always, I didn't actually measure, so take my estimates with that in mind.

Easy Peasy Split Pea Soup
(See what I did there?)

1/2 large yellow onion, chopped
1/2 cup baby carrots, chopped
1/2 cup celery, chopped
1 tablespoon coconut oil
3 cloves garlic, finely chopped
7 cups water
1 cup chicken stock
1 pound ham steak, cubed
1/2 tablespoon thyme
1/2 tablespoon marjoram
1 bay leaf
1 bag dried split peas, rinsed well
Red pepper flakes to taste
Salt to taste
Black pepper to taste

In a large stock pot, heat the coconut oil to a liquid and add the onion, carrots, celery and garlic. Sauté vegetables until tender. Add salt, pepper and red pepper flakes. Add water, chicken stock, ham, peas, thyme, marjoram and bay leaf. Stir together and bring to a boil. Reduce heat and let simmer for approximately one hour.

If you don't have coconut oil, butter or olive oil would work just fine. Like I've said before, I've been experimenting with coconut oil and I kind of like the slight coconut-y sweetness it lends to this soup.

Serve while piping hot.

I recommend listening to the Ella Fitzgerald and Duke Ellington Pandora station while cooking and consuming. Bonus points if it is half raining, half snowing. It makes for a vey comforting evening.

Little Man recommends smearing the soup all over your face. But only if bath time is immediately following soup time. That stuff turns cement-like pretty quickly!

Even exhausted that little guy is as happy as can be. How lucky am I?

I never really thought I liked split pea soup. Heck, I never really thought I liked peas. I find myself stepping out of my tiny comfort zone now that Little Man is eating solid foods. I really want him to taste a broad spectrum of foods. My goal is to try to avoid the chicken-fingers-only phase. It is probably inevitable, but there is no harm in trying, right?

What are you eating that is out of your comfort zone?

My Twisted Book Club

I've mentioned my book club before. These days, I look forward to our meetings like I never have before. Most of the ladies in the club are my (former) coworkers and now that I'm not with them every day, catching up, discussing great reads, drinking wine and eating good food is such a bright spot in my life.

We try to tie in a food theme with each book. Sometimes that's easier said than done. Because of crazy schedules over the past few months, we ended up lumping two books into one meeting. We read The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks and Gone Girl. Yeah. Pretty much on the opposite end of the literary spectrum, right?

Because I was hosting, I was responsible for suggesting a food theme. Absolutely nothing came to mind.

That is, until a stroke of genius struck me.

Twisted food.

Because of the double helix that Henrietta's cells helped discover and the twisted plot of Gone Girl.

Genius, right? (Modesty be damned.)

We had pasta salad with twisty pasta, a ridiculously good twisted chicken and broccoli dish, Twizzlers, disgusting chocolate wine (because the concept seemed twisted--and was), twist-top wine, chocolate covered pretzils, and these Nutella meringues (because marbled is almost like being twisted--we take liberties...), among other treats.

I highly recommend the meringues. They are easy to make, and anything with Nutella is heavenly.

I might have made them (and eaten most of them) again. They're almost fat free. And the sugar certainly doesn't convert to fat and go right to my hips...

We all enjoyed both books very much and had an interesting chat about both. We do actually discuss the books. Sometimes the discussions get quite heated. Not this time, though. It was a pretty demure conversation. I think I was the only one who didn't love Henrietta Lacks. I think my lack of love goes back to her skipping out on a literary festival at one of my alma maters. I probably should get over that.

This month we are reading Flight Behavior by Barbara Kingsolver. It is absolutely stunning. I always forget how her prose reads exactly like poetry. So far, I highly recommend it.

What twisted dish would you have brought to our little party?

The Best Chicken "Noodle" Soup Ever

Today was so not a soup day. Little Man and I went out for a nice walk to soak in the sun and enjoy the 70 degree day. He even had to don his shades.

He was totally into the walk.

Notice that he and Bruce (The Moose) have the same posture. The toy really is named Bruce (The Moose). The parenthetical is on his birth certificate and I'm contractually obligated to use his full name when I write about him. He's got an agent.

Anyway, I have been craving the chicken "noodle" soup I made about a month ago and decided the weather really doesn't matter that much.

The recipe is so good it NEEDS to be shared with you guys.

I used Tyler Florence's recipe as a base, but modified quite a bit.

In fact, I don't actually use noodles. I use gnocchi. So, my Chicken Noodle Soup is actually Chicken Gnocchi Soup. And it is delicious.

That's not my only change, though. Like I said, I use the Tyler Florence recipe for a base and then run with it.

Here's my version:

2 tablespoons coconut oil (my latest obsession--look for a Granola Mom post on it soon)
1 yellow onion, chopped
4 garlic cloves, minced
1 cup baby carrots, chopped
1 cup celery, chopped
1 bay leaf
1 teaspoon sage
1 teaspoon rosemary
1 teaspoon thyme
1 tablespoon ginger (I use the stuff in the tube. It is awesome)
2 quarts chicken stock*
2 cups shredded chicken (rotisserie chicken from the grocery store is perfect for this)**
1-16 oz. package of dried gnocchi
salt and pepper to taste

(Yes, that is my shadow. I'll get the photo part of this right some day. Soon, hopefully.)

Heat the coconut oil in your stockpot over medium heat. Add onion, garlic, celery, carrots, garlic, bay leaf, sage, rosemary, thyme and ginger. Cook for about six minutes until veggies are soft. Stir often.

Inhale deeply because this stuff smells incredible.

Add the chicken stock. Bring to a boil. Add the shredded chicken and gnocchi. Simmer for a bit to heat through and make the house smell like heaven.

Grill up a grilled cheese, ladle yourself a big bowl of soup and enjoy.

So there you have it. My neighbor made me some soup months ago and used the gnocchi. I stole that from her. She also added ginger and lemongrass. (Thank you Ayme!) I didn't have any lemongrass, but if you've got some handy, throw it it. It's pretty dang good.

If you're worried about coconut oil giving your soup a strange flavor, fear not. It tastes divine. Promise.

Newscasts say that flu is hitting hard all over the country. I firmly believe that chicken noodle soup is a preventative medicine. Chicken gnocchi soup, its distant cousin, is just as effective. Maybe more so. You know, because of the coconut oil. I'm convinced that I'll be fine this season because I ate three bowls of this soup today.

But I'll probably be getting my flu shot on Friday just in case.

*Tyler Florence has a recipe for homemade stock. I'm sure it is wonderful. I usually open two boxes of the low sodium stuff and dump that in the stockpot. It is considerably less time consuming. Sorry Tyler.

**I also made this right after Thanksgiving and used leftover turkey. It was pretty delicious as well.

Do you guys get flu shots, or do you just down soup like a champ and hope for the best?

The Sweet Smell of Success

In our house these days success is measured much differently than, say, a year ago. Frankly, if I'm showered by noon and have checked a few little items off of my perpetual to-do list, I consider the morning--heck, the day--a rousing success.

I just need to take a minute to share my latest, not-baby-related-I'm-as-pleased-as-punch success.

Remember when I talked about loving bread and how I found this book at the library (here)?

Well, I tried my hand at baking one of the overnight recipes (a couple of times obsessively) and had absolute, beautiful, delicious success.

One of my new favorite things is baking and gifting these lovely laves. Basically, if you live in my neighborhood you will get a hot, crusty loaf at some point. If you live in the vicinity, you will get a hot, crusty loaf. In part it is because I want to share the goodness. In larger part it is because I love the process of making this bread using my own hands, but my thighs can't cope with the carb overload.

The difference between the loaves I've baked using this book and the loaf I baked the week before is astounding. Check out the after and before. (The after photo should have been better, but over half the loaf was gone before I was able to take a shot of it. Note: It was on Thanksgiving. I did not devour over half a loaf in mere seconds. Sheesh. The before is just ugly. No amout of styling--even if I was capable of food styling--would have made it pretty.)

I used basically the same ingredients (the dense, heavy loaf of before used more wheat flour because that's what I had on hand), same amount if time. The difference? The amount of care and intentional effort put into the process. Also, there was a little more understanding of the chemistry of bread making.

By intentional effort I don't necessarily mean work. I simply mean that I've learned to respect the reactions that are going in with the ingredients and work with them rather than against them.

I didn't spend hours kneading the fluffy loaves into shape. I stretched and folded them a few times and then left them to do their magic.

And, now I want to be a baker.

Except for the whole early morning thing they have to do.

I guess I'll just continue to bake small batches and systematically attack the thighs of the entire neighborhood.

There might be a loaf proofing right now. And another waiting in the wings refrigerator.

How do you measure success these days? Has it changed drastically because of some life event? Do you want to be my neighbor?

I Heart Bread

If you know nothing about me, know this: I like to eat.

More than I should.

Specifically, I love, cake, ice cream, and bread. (Among many, many, many others.)

I've been trying to make decent bread for quite a while. It takes patience. I'm not super patient. Especially when it comes to food. You see why I haven't been able to really make a good loaf of bread. 

Yesterday when I was at the library I was looking through the cookbooks and came across this.

Obviously, I checked it out. I'm so glad I did.

I saw one review on Amazon calling it "bread porn." I suppose that is accurate, if not a little creepy. I personally don't like to think of my bread that way.

I like to think sweetly of bread. I like to recall living in England when I would walk to the grocery store in the village and get a bag of groceries with a fresh, crusty loaf of bread tucked in at the top of the bag. I'd eat a good chunk of that warm goodness on my walk home. Bread is innocent and comforting. The images and language in Flour Water Salt Yeast support that.

This is apparently the month for me to find great reading in the shape of cookbooks. (Remember this one?) I've literally been reading this book in all my spare time. (As in I sit engrossed in the text and the fantastic photography, not just flipping through and skimming recipes as I typically do.)

Author and baker Ken Forkish (what an appropriate name, right?) takes his readers step by step through his story from corporate man to baker, sharing his training as well as the inevitable roadblocks. He's a likable voice whose oft proclaimed "obsession" with artisan bread baking is contagious. After chapter 3--Equipment and Ingredients-- I wanted to fill up my shopping cart on Amazon to prep my kitchen. I wanted to start baking immediately and make that loaf on the cover.

Immediately.

Then, of course, I wanted to eat it.

Don't worry, Beau. I didn't fill my shopping cart. I only purchased one item that seemed absolutely necessary. It seems that this Le Creuset has one flaw. The knob is plastic. Plastic melts. So, I purchased a stainless steel one so I can bake me some bread this week without a melty knob on the lid.

The secret it seems, is in the dutch oven, since bread is really just the ingredients that make up the title of this text. That, and a little patience, should give me a good shot at a crusty, delicious loaf.

This week I will make one of Forkish's more basic breads. The leftover dough, he says, makes beautiful focaccia or pizza crust. I'm in bread heaven.

Hopefully after my successful first run, I'll be able to begin trying some of his more time consuming and nuanced recipes (that somehow still use only those four ingredients--bread magic).

If you have a baker or a wannabe baker in your life, this might make for a fantastic holiday gift!

Does the loaf of bread like the one on the cover of the book make you want to wander down cobblestone streets in Paris? Am I the only one who desperately wants to make good bread by hand?

Help...I'm Making Thanksgiving Dinner

OK, the title of this is maybe misleading. I'm totally not doing that. I can. I have, but it is my mom's job. She has told me many, many, many times, with no irony or sarcasm at all, that it is by far her favorite meal to make.

Because of that, I steer clear for the most part. I help her in the kitchen and I bring a dish or two, but it is her shebang. I don't really put much thought into it beyond what I'm going to bring whereas she is probably already working on the menu, making shopping and to do lists, etc.

I'm glad mom loves Thanksgiving so much. I actually don't. Call me un-American (well, not really, please), but I don't really like turkey all that much. Fruit pies are a waste of perfectly good pie crust. Sweet potatoes gross me out. Cranberry sauce seems pointless. Etc, etc. Bah! Humbug! To me, Thanksgiving is the green light for Christmas decor, carols, and sweaters. (And, obviously being thankful for the plenty that fills our lives in the form of family, friends, shelter, stuff.)

When I got a book from Goodreads Advance Readers (mentioned here) that was about preparing Thanksgiving, I wasn't as super stoked as I would have been if it had been a different cookbook to add to my collection. The book sat on my coffee table for a few days. Grudgingly I picked it up thinking that I would  flip through to find a side dish recipe inside and I'd do nothing more with it. (I do have to think about these things early because mummy dearest needs to know what I'm bringing so she can maintain up-to-date lists.)

I read it cover to cover. And liked it. I wanted it to be longer. (It is a skinny little thing; only 160 pages in length.) It isn't every day that I find a cookbook writer who can, well, write. Sam Sifton can write. He's got culinary and literary chops! He wrote (and edited!) for the New York Times. Did you know the New York Times had (still has?!?) a Thanksgiving dinner help desk website set up for harried, stressed Thanksgiving chefs at home? I had no idea. That desk was manned by our author for three years! That'll get you some turkey day street cred. I chuckled when I read about the help desk. I had visions of frantic questions about burnt crusts and unthawed turkey. I wonder who makes these posts. Not my mom. She's cool as a cucumber in the kitchen.

Sifton makes it clear from the start that he believes that this one meal out of the other 364 days of meals needs to be traditional. And so, his little manual takes the reader through a very traditional approach.

Butter. In this book, glorious butter is a NECESSITY. As it should be every day. Pie crusts should be homemade. Salad, he belabors at least four times, do not belong anywhere near Thanksgiving. Appetizers. No, no, no, no. Just no. Unless, said appetizers are oysters. Then yes.

See, I didn't know about these rules. I might have actually brought salad to Thanksgiving last year. (Never again Mr. Sifton. I promise.)

There is nothing new about this book. It is not full of experimental, trendy recipes for the holiday. Instead it is full of traditional, tried-and-true dishes that absolutely belong on the dinner table. Chapter two is entitled "The Turkey" and it is a comprehensive chapter on thawing, seasoning/brining, cooking (including grilling and frying), carving and serving the centerpiece of the meal. There's not just one recommended approach, but an entire chapter. I like that.

There is a chapter on table setting, serving, and etiquette (chapter five) that is just lovely. This chapter calls to mind the Norman Rockwell painting with the family seated at the table with dishes served family style. Paper and plastic, Sifton says, are abominations of tradition. Thank you. (And thank you mom for always making Thanksgiving an occasion for china and silver, even if I had to polish and then hand-wash.)

I could go one about all eight of the chapters, but I won't. I will, though, mention that chapter six, "Drinks & Drinking" encourages drinking. Thanksgiving is, after all, a celebration. While Sifton doesn't encourage getting blitzed and belligerent, he does remind the reader that the meal is a long one, part of a long day of preparation and digestion. Drink, he says. Be merry. Wine, should flow in abundance. A bottle per person? Absolutely not unrealistic! Imbibing while cooking. Go for it. (With moderation, obviously.) This is not an uptight book, is my point.

Sifton is not unclear about his expectations of this holiday meal. He delivers these expectations in a wonderfully cheeky and conversational way. I'm a nerd about tone. Cookbooks, as a rule, seem to be stuffy and without any sort of discernible--or at least enjoyable--tone. This one though, breaks that rule. (As a note, I'm not positive I can actually classify this a cookbook, though. It is hard to classify. It has recipes, but they are not the bulk.)

In his introduction, Sifton says the following: "Thanksgiving is likewise not a book for those interested in cutting corners. Shortcuts are anathema to Thanksgiving, which is a holiday that celebrates not just our bounty but also our slow, careful preparation of it. There is no room in Thanksgiving for the false wisdom of compromise--for ways to celebrate the holiday without cooking, or by cranking open cans of gravy to pour over a store-roasted turkey reheated in the microwave. Thanksgiving is no place for irony. We are simply going to cook."

Did you ever imagine lovely prose about Thanksgiving? I would have thought it impossible. Sifton makes the impossible possible. And natural. He is poetic at times, funny at others, clear and articulate. This book was an absolute joy to read.

Another reason I'm not sure it is fully a cookbook is its lack of glossy photos. Instead, the book has beautifully sketched drawings and diagrams (like a properly set table) by Sarah Rutherford. These drawings are the perfect accompaniment to the text. Glossy photos of a glistening turkey and laughing people around a perfectly set table are just too cliche for this book.


Lacking any nod toward cliche are these drawings. Chapter one opens with this one.

 

Beautiful. Understated. Traditional. Just like the book.

 

Whether this is your first time preparing the Thanksgiving meal, or your 30th, I recommend Thanksgiving: How to Cook It Well to get you thinking about the meal that is (happily/terrifyingly/ ominously?) looming this month.

 

Mr. Sifton, I'm now officially excited about Thanksgiving this year!

 

Are you making Thanksgiving dinner? Do you believe in Sifton's steadfast rules of no salad, set the table, eat Turkey, etc.? Does anyone out there shuck oysters on Thanksgiving? Am I missing something?

How to Eat a Cupcake

In the chaos of giving birth (and here and here), I completely forgot that I wanted to share the revelations of the cupcake geniuses (my adorable yearbook girls) who threw me a shower the week before-- until I saw this article on Bon Appetit's website.

You know you've always wondered how to eat a cupcake without getting a nose full of frosting, or to ensure a proper cake to frosting ratio?

Here is the genius: tear off the bottom half of the cupcake and squash it into the frosting.

Absolutely life changing.

You think I'm hyperbolizing. Or worse, kidding entirely.

Not at all. Try it. Your life will change. For the better.

And did you know hyperbolizing is a real word?? I didn't have a clue. I thought I was bastardizing the English language again.

I digress. I love the picture up there. If you ignore the cuteness of my yearbook girls loving on Baby "Pedro" and look at the cupcake in the photo, you'll notice the brilliant tactic described above being employed.

Now go back to the cuteness.

I love those girls.

Not only do they know how to eat a cupcake, throw a shower, and make some darn great yearbooks, but they are also fantastic, beautiful, and incredibly intelligent ladies.

What's not to love?

What do you think of the cupcake strategy? Perfection perfected? Go ahead, go get some cakes and give it a whirl.

Sunday Funday

Today my family and I did something that I love to do.

Yep, we went to the winery!

One of my favorite things to do is to go wine tasting, and today Beau, Little Man, my parents and my cousin Natalie took a little drive to Saude Creek Vineyards in Lanexa, Virginia. Then we proceeded to taste. Then do a little more in depth tasting. (Hee hee)

Did you know that Virginia boasts some very nice wineries? (Around 210 of them!) My mom claims that Virginia is the third largest wine producing state. I did some very quick fact checking, and I can't find any support for that particular claim*, but I can find support that it is the fifth largest behind California (obviously), Washington, New York, and Oregon. (Who knew New York produced so much wine?) I found this particular document to be interesting. You know, if you like doc.gov files.

*In no way am I calling my mom a liar. She's not. I just can't find anywhere that proves she's right. She probably is, though. She's my mom.

Anyway, back to our fantastic Sunday.

Saude Creek is a relatively young winery. The grounds are absolutely stunning, and the wine was pretty dang good. We all agreed on the Vidal Blanc for our afternoon bottle after we completed our tasting of seven wines. I'm not typically a huge fan of white wine, but this Vidal Blanc was a smooth off-dry wine. The cheat sheet said it has grapefruit and peach characteristics, but I've never had a very discerning palate. It can identify good, and that seems to work just fine for me.

 

 

Isn't that a lovely building? The porch on the right wraps all the way around and there are all kinds of places for guests to picnic with a bottle or two.

 

Unfortunately, the weather today was not conducive for outdoor picnics, but since the tasting room is roomy and warm that was fine with us.

 ,

  

I'm loving that fireplace. There were rumors that they were going to light a nice fire in it, but it didn't happen while we were there.





That's my family on the left. Our table was pretty busy. Let's just say we don't mess around when it comes to wine tastings.

I packed my trusty picnic basket with cheese, crackers, pretzels, dipping sauce, and fruit. Mom added veggies and dip, and Natalie stopped at a DC wine and cheese shop on her way down and picked up some cheese and crackers. Beau noticed the BBQ table set up in the corner of the tasting room, so he picked up a plate of pulled pork from The Scottish Pig. (Two thumbs up for the hot vinegar based sauce, btw...)

Even though it was chilly out, I stepped outside for a glimpse of the grounds. They are beautiful! I totally want to come curl up in one of these 15 Adirondack chairs when this fire pit is burning.

 

 

From the balcony, over the vineyards and trees you can see the Pamunkey River. It's just a glimpse, but it sure is nice. And imagine how beautiful this view is going to be a little later this month when the trees turn. Isn't fall the best?

 



The vines at the winery are still pretty young, and I imagine they will fill out a little more in the next few years (and are probably much fuller in the spring and summer...). Thin or lush, I love the sight of rows and rows of vines off in the distance.

I mean, more rows means more wine, right?

 

Speaking of the wine, I want to give a shout-out to my favorite wine of the day, the Cabernet Franc. Now, nine times out of ten, if there is a Cab. Franc on the tasting menu it's going to be among one of my favorites. At Saude Creek, it was my absolute favorite. My inept palate could even pick up on the slight peppery flavor and maybe a little bit of the black cherries (but totally missed the currents and violet nuances...geesh). I like a bold red that assaults the senses--in a good way--and this one was assaulty and nice. There really is no way to make sense of that. Never should assault (or a made-up form of the word) and nice be in the same sentence, and yet I went there. If you're a red drinker hopefully you get what I mean.

 

Someone does, right?

 

Or am I just weird?

 

Generally speaking, dessert wines are not my bag, baby. I pretty much feel like syrupy sweet should be reserved for the dessert itself. With that said, I am a fan of Chambourcin (and whomever wrote that definition). Saude Creek's Chambourcin was quite lovely paired with the provided M&M. I have to admit, it isn't the best Chambourcin I've had, but that might be because I usually sip it with dark chocolate. Perhaps the M&M didn't do the wine the justice that a nice Ghirardelli Dark 60% Cacao square would have done. (Yummy...)

 

I guess I know what I'm packing in my trusty picnic basket the next time we venture out that way!

 

By the way, Little Man was a total trooper. He slept for a good portion of the time, and then hung out with us at the table, being loved on from all directions. Not a tear was shed, and not one moment was spent being crabby. I was impressed that the winery is super kid friendly. Apparently in the summer kids are often playing on the vast lawn. How cool and utterly un-stuffy is that?  

 

So, after a fantastic day at the winery with my fam, we went back to my parents' house for some dinner. Mom capped an already terrific day off with a twelve (out of four) star dinner.

 

 

She totally just whipped together a pot of Cioppino.

 

How spoiled are we?

 

How'd you spend your Sunday funday? I hope it was as memorable as mine.

 

 

 



Cookie Making for Milk Making

If you've done any research or reading on child rearing/ infant care, you probably know that almost every authority known to man agrees that breastfeeding is best for babies. Heck, even formula companies acknowledge this fact. Because it is best for Little Man, I am going to try my hardest to breastfeed him for a year.

(Image of Boobie Beanie from here.)

I know that there are many reasons that moms don't breastfeed, but I am fortunate enough to have not have run into those road blocks. (Knock on wood!)

That's not to say that the whole process has gone smoothly. Quite the opposite, in fact. I actually thought that I wouldn't make it the first month before throwing in the towel and resorting to formula. See, first it was difficult at the hospital because Little Man was kept in the nursery and put on an IV. At some point during the thirty-seven plus hours of labor I developed a fever. Because I was put on antibiotics, Little Man had to be put on them as well. For the first three days of his life he was getting all of the fluids he needed from a needle in his tiny little hand.

Though I diligently went to the nursery every 90 minutes or so, he just wasn't really latching or sucking. When he did latch he would fall asleep almost instantly and wouldn't suck. It was frustrating.

I'm not sure if it was my advanced age, my calm demeanor, or mistake, but I received very little help from the nurses and lactation consultants at the hospital. And because I was a first time mom who was a little naive about how the whole breastfeeding thing works, I didn't realize that the hospital should have talked to me about pumping my milk to ensure an adequate amount when Little Man was ready to eat.

Our discharge order from the hospital pediatrician was to see our pediatrician by Monday for a weight check because Little Man had been steadily losing weight. On Monday the scale let us know that he was still losing. Here I was encouraged to pump and supplement with a tiny syringe each and every time he ate. I was also told to return in two days.

Two days later we met with a different pediatrician (who ultimately became our primary pediatrician because she is AMAZING!). Even though it was lunch time and she probably wanted to scarf down a little something, she checked Little Man's suck, had him latch on, analyzed his latch and our positioning (while praising and encouraging), had him feed on both sides and then weighed him again. She did fancy doctor math and determined that he needed to be getting about 10 milliliters more per feeding in order to start gaining an ounce a day.

My marching orders were still to supplement my pumped breast milk with the syringe at each meal. I was frustrated beyond belief. As I saw it, this was my first failure as a mother. Heck, if I couldn't do what I was supposed to be biologically pre-programmed to do, how was I ever going to be successful as a mom? My body just didn't seem to want to make enough milk to feed my baby.

Little Man's doctor let me know that I was making enough to feed and hydrate him, just not quite enough to grow him. While I joke about keeping him small and reliant on me forever, it wasn't something I really wanted for him!

Adding to my frustration were conversations with friends who told me about their overproduction, their freezers full of milk, shooting streams across the room, etc. While all of these wonderful people were well-meaning, I continued to see myself as a failure.

The sweet doctor suggested fenugreek, Mother's Milk tea, and a beer a night. (Beau was jealous of that prescription, as well as super accommodating with it. Each night he'd hand me a beer and tell me to chug it down.)

While my milk increased, and the little guy started putting on weight, I still found myself wondering why I wasn't producing in abundance. I don't necessarily want to be sooting streams of milk across the room (how's that for a party trick?), I do want to be able to sit down a few hours after putting Little Man to bed and pump enough for a bottle for when we go out, when my mom babysits when I teach my night class at the college, etc.

I'm not having much success with that.

And so, tonight I baked some "Lactation Cookies" that are chock full of milk enhancing ingredients. And chocolate chips. Those seemed like a necessity.

While I have no idea if the cookies will work, I'm pretty excited to eat them. I'll report back on whether or not they do what they are supposed to do.

In the meantime, I wanted to share my recipe with you in case you have a moment where you feel the weight of abject failure, or know anyone who has feelings along those lines. If I'd have known that oatmeal chocolate chip cookies would, in theory, cure me, I'd have started eating them ages ago!

Bonus points if you wear the cutest baby ever when baking these.

Chocolate chip oatmeal lactation cookies--adapted from food.com

1 c. butter, softened
3/4 c. sugar
1 c. firmly packed brown sugar
3 T. water (recipe calls for more, but three seemed enough)
2 T flax seed meal
2 eggs
1.5 t. vanilla
2 c. flour (I did even parts white and whole wheat)
1 t. baking soda
1 t. salt (I omitted this because I used salted butter)
3 c. oats (don't use instant oats if you are trying to increase production)
1 c. chocolate chips (I don't actually measure these. I just dump 'em in until it looks like there are enough chips.
1.5 T. fenugreek (recipe calls for 2-4 T brewers years instead. I could't find any at The Fresh market, I started breaking open little fenugreek capsule instead...)


Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Mix flaxseed meal and water. Let sit for 2-5 minutes.

In a larger mixing bowl, beat the butter and sugars well, then add eggs and continue to mix.

Add flaxseed/water mixture and vanilla, and continue beating.

Sift together flours, fenugreek (or brewer's yeast if available), baking soda, ad salt if desired, then add this mixture to the mixing bowl.

Stir in the oats and the chips, then scoop them onto cookie sheets and bake for 12 minutes.

Let the cookies cool for a few minutes on the cookie sheet, then sit back and enjoy the spoils of your labor.

Cashew Chicken

I have this thing for cookbooks. I really love them, but I rarely actually use them. See, I find hours of enjoyment looking though them, reading them, studying them. When it takes time to make a meal I usually go with what I know. Sometimes on special occasions I find a fun recipe. Usually that recipe is online and not from one of the dozens of cookbooks I own.

A few weeks ago I got a new cookbook in the mail. Food and Wine magazine has this little gem of a cookbook that showed up on my doorstep.

It turns out I'm also a sucker for a good roundup. I couldn't turn down a cookbook that had "the best recipes from the 25 best cookbooks of the year."As per my previously noted cookbook MO, I spent a few evenings looking over all of the recipes and thinking about all of the yummy things I could make.

After those few nights together, I set the book aside and there it sat on our coffee table for weeks. Today I was thinking about Chinese food and was bummed that every Chinese place around here that I've tried has disappointed me. Greatly.

I was mulling over the prospects of another bad Kung Pao Chicken when the cookbook caught my eye. I thought of two of those 25 books: Simply Ming One-Pot Meals and Stir Frying To the Sky's Edge and thought perhaps I could make my own, better Chinese meal.

Enter page 256. Cashew Chicken from Stir Frying To the Sky's Edge. I may never go out for Chinese again. And I might start using the cookbooks I've acquired over the years...

Cashew Chicken adapted only slightly from the cookbook pictured above.

1 pound skinless, boneless chicken thigh cubed
3 cloves minced garlic
2 teaspoons soy sauce
1 1/2 teaspoons corn starch
1 teaspoon plus 2 tablespoons cooking sherry
1/8 teaspoon salt
1 pinch of sugar
1/4 cup chicken broth
2 tablespoons peanut oil
1 tablespoon minced ginger
1/2 cup sugar snap peas
1/2 cup julienned carrots
1/2 cup thinly sliced cllery
1/2 cup cashews (the recipe calls for unsalted, but I couldn't find any. I cut the salt back in the recipe and just used salted cashews)

First, I combined the chicken, garlic, 1 teaspoon soy sauce, 1 teaspoon corn starch, 1 teaspoon sherry and the salt and sugar in a bowl.

In another bowl I combined the broth, remaining soy sauce, 2 tablespoons sherry and 1/2 teaspoon corn starch.

I set both of these bowls aside.

Next, I heated my wok and added a tablespoon of peanut oil and the ginger. I stir fried that until it was fragrant and pushed it to the sides of the wok. Then, I dumped the chicken concoction in the hot wok and spread it evenly across the bottom. I let it sit there for about a minute to sear and then stir fried for another minute until it was brown but not cooked through.

Last, I added the last of the oil, all of the veggies and the cashews. I stir fired that for a few minutes, stirred my broth mixture and poured that over the chicken and veggies. I was supposed to stir fry that for about a minute and serve, but it was at this point that I realized I hadn't made the rice. (Awesome rice cooker posted about here.)

Oops.

So, I turned down the heat, started the rice and fumed for about 14 minutes knowing that I ruined dinner. Well, it turns out that this meal doesn't have to be super precise. It was delicious even with an extra 13 minutes simmering at low heat.

I like low maintenance recipes that are hard to ruin. I always manage to do something that has the potential to screw up dinner, so it makes me happy when recipes are Amy-proof.

Needless to say, Number 7 Chinese will not be my I-don't-really-enjoy-it-but-I-want-Chinese go-to restaurant any more. I may not need a restaurant. Actually, I'll need to figure out crab rangoons before I swear off chinese places all together.

Are you a cookbook person? Or do they gather dust like mine?

Salted Caramel Pie

Thanksgiving was special this year. For the first time in a very long time, my stepbrother and his family drove down to my parents' house. Also, a very close family friend and her two sons joined us. We had a total of 13 people. This is the kind of meal preparation that would make some lesser folk cringe, but for my mom cooking for a large crowd is a dream come true.

She would have gladly shouldered the entire burden, but we are genetically bound and I love cooking for a crowd too. I wanted to help. Mom would only allow me to do so much, so I offered to bring a pie and the salad.

Now, this pie offer was for a few reasons: 1) I'm not a fan of traditional Thanksgiving pie flavors, 2) I can probably count on two fingers the pies I've baked in my life, and 3) I had an interestingly yummy looking recipe from my newest Food & Wine magazine.

Salted Caramel Pie

See? Yummy, huh?

For those of you who follow this blog (Two of you!!!! Thank you!!!!) you know that I often forget to photograph my projects.

This would be another instance of that. Fortunately, Food & Wine and The Constant Hunger had a few images I lifted from their websites.

(from Food &Wine)

I'll let your mouth stop watering.

And the cool thing is that it is way easier than it should be.

There are almost no ingredients.

1 1/4 cups graham cracker crumbs (about 5 ounces)
4 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
1/4 cup light brown sugar
Two 14-ounce cans sweetened condensed milk
Fleur de sel
2 cups heavy cream
2 tablespoons confectioners' sugar

A pie, a crust and the whipped topping in seven ingredients? Perfect for a pie novice like me.

I won't give all of the step by step directions, because you can find them here.

I will tell you that baking condensed milk smells oddly like macaroni and cheese. I had my doubts about how it would all come together. I actually wondered if I was going to have to scrap the whole thing and pick up a pre-made pie on the way north. Fear not, the mac and cheese scent does not affect the taste at all. Not one tiny bit.

It is, in fact, deliciously caramel-y and not cheesy.

(From The Constant Hunger)

There was an abundance of desserts at Thanksgiving dinner, and all of them were delicious. I do have to say, though, that this one was pretty popular.

I'll be making this pie again and again, I'm sure. Aside from taking hours to make the caramel, it was really easy. (But please don't tell anyone how easy it was. I don't want mom to think I got off easy for turkey day.)

So, what was the best part of your Thanksgiving?  

Sushi Art

Yesterday at work I was accosted.

By yearbook reps.

They want my business.

And they trapped me in my classroom until 6:15.

School gets out at 2:00.

Yes, they length of my day was made 3/4 longer by yearbook reps trying to get me to switch companies. (By the way, if you are wondering why I would even allow this to happen it is because the rep showed up at my school unannounced two weeks ago. She had two district supervisors with her. They wouldn't leave until I scheduled a session where they could work with my kids and show me how they will "shower me with personalized attention and service." And, if you know me at all you know I am too nice to people. Oh, and she bought pizza for my girls.)

They did, however, leave me with a super cool cup like they have at Starbucks. You know, the clear one with the lids and the green straws. This one says "Yearbook Fuel" across it.

Sadly, I'm really excited about it. REALLY excited.

Don't tell my yearbook rep that I was almost swayed by a plastic cup. I don't want to leave my present company, but the one that is trying to break us up has way better swag. It's like in those Lifetime movies where the sweet girl is dating her nerdy but kind and adoring neighbor who borrows mom's mini van to take her on dates and then the leather jacket wearing, motorcycle (or Camaro) driving bad boy starts to pursue her. She knows the nerdy neighbor boy is the right match for her, but the other guy is so cool and so she entertains the thought.

Yeah, so that's what yesterday was like. Except the chase lasted four hours and it wasn't nearly as fun as being chased by two guys.

But, that's not the point of this tale. The point is that I was at school so much longer than I intended to be. I had high hopes for a lovely homemade dinner. It didn't happen.

I got home and beau was romancing Siri. That took a while. I love it when he gets a new Apple product.

All of a sudden it was 8:00 and I was famished. Beau was told it was time to go for sushi. (He doesn't mind orders like that; sushi is his favorite.)

More times than not we go to this little place right by the university. The sushi is quite good, it is inexpensive, and the staff has gotten accustomed to seeing us there so they are always friendly.

When it is quiet there the sushi chefs do an amazing job creating edible art.

Last night they gave me my favorite flower. Tulips. Beau doesn't even give me flowers...

Pretty, huh?

Beau's was lovely as well. (But I don't think the chefs liked him as much as me. mine is way more intricate.)



His does, though, have a real flower in the center. See it? It is a little rose bud. Maybe they were crushing on him a bit. Can't blame them. He's a cutie.

I really like it when it is quiet at the Sushi place. It makes me happy.

Do you think sushi chefs practice? Do they sit at home watching Real Housewives and sketch sauce designs? Are they art school dropouts? Are they instructors at art school? Is there a course in sushi sauce art? These are things that I wonder when I get to eat there and it is quiet and the artists are out to impress.

So, how dorky would you feel sipping from a cup that is labeled "yearbook fuel?" Do you think sushi chefs are wasting their artistic talent on plates that are just going to be smudged and then washed?