I lie in bed at night and think about food. (It’s a shock, really, that I have any kids at all, between that habit and this blog. You’d think I’d have developed a George Costanza-esque association with food by now.) Every day some idea sneaks into my head, or I get a craving that I can’t shake, or read about something I want to try, or I remember something I haven’t made in a really, really long time, like these Whoopie Pies, which are as close to homemade Jos Louis cakes as you can get. (Except for the dipped in chocolate part – it would require a helluva lot of chocolate.)
Something or other triggered a memory of these, which then rattled around my brainpan for a week or so before I gave in and baked the cookies last night with the intention of bringing them along to a barbecue that I knew would have a dozen or so kids in attendance. As is my style I ran out of time to make the frosting, and we left the just-baked cookies sitting on the counter as we ran out the door.
So this morning we finished them, and when I wondered aloud what we might do with a dozen small burger-sized whoopie pies W suggested we bring some to the big boys who live up the hill; who are only the coolest boys ever, with cool toys and rock star wii and water pistols and lizards and cool hair and a brand new trampoline in the back yard. I think he’s coming up with excuses to go over to their house now. Like, the sun is up, can we go to the boys’ house? What are the boys doing now? and now? how about now? can we go over there now? Silver lining: he thinks school must be the funnest place ever and is desperate to go because that’s where the boys always seem to be.
So we went up the hill and ditched all but three of these, which we then ate for lunch. (Dinner was far less exciting – mediocre blueberry-bran muffins, thawed soup, brown rice, a bowl of blueberries for W.)
Whoopie Pies
These big, cakey cookies are sandwiched with fluffy Seven Minute Frosting or jarred marshmallow cream, or frozen and made into ice cream sandwiches with vanilla ice cream. It’s a good opportunity to marry chocolate and mint – just spike the fluffy frosting with mint extract. (They’re low fat, too!)
Cookies:
3 Tbsp. butter, softened
1 cup sugar
1 large egg
1 tsp. vanilla
2 cups all-purpose flour (or half all-purpose, half whole wheat)
1/2 cup cocoa
1/2 tsp. salt
1 tsp. baking soda
1/2 cup buttermilk
1/2 cup chocolate chips (optional)
Filling:
1 batch Seven Minute Frosting (below)
or 1 jar Marshmallow Cream
Preheat oven to 375°F.
In a large bowl, beat the butter and sugar for a minute or so, until well combined. It will have the consistency of wet sand. Add the egg and vanilla and beat until smooth.
In a medium bowl, stir together the flour, cocoa and salt. In a small bowl, stir the baking soda into 1/2 cup very hot water until dissolved.
With the mixer on low or stirring by hand, add about a third of the dry ingredients, then half the buttermilk and half the baking soda mixture, mixing each time just until blended. Repeat with another third of the dry ingredients, the rest of the buttermilk and baking soda mixture, and then the rest of the dry ingredients, mixing each time just until combined. Stir in the chocolate chips. The batter will be quite wet, almost like cake batter. (You want them to be cakey and soft, so that the filling doesn’t squish out the end when you bite into it.)
Drop large, round spoonfuls of batter 2” apart on a cookie sheet that has been sprayed with nonstick spray. (If you’re making pies, try to keep the mounds similar in size and shape so they will make even sandwiches). Bake for 12–15 minutes, until the tops no longer appear wet and just spring back when lightly touched. Transfer to a wire rack to cool.
When completely cool, spread the bottom of one cookie with frosting or marshmallow cream, then sandwich with a second cookie. Repeat with remaining cookies and cream. Store extras individually wrapped in plastic wrap.
Makes 1 dozen pies or 2 dozen cookies.
Seven Minute Frosting
1 1/2 cups sugar
1 Tbsp. light or golden corn syrup or honey
1/3 cup water
2 large egg whites
1 tsp. vanilla, coconut, maple, mint, or other flavored extract
In the top of a double boiler or in a clean stainless steel bowl set over a pot of simmering water, combine the sugar, corn syrup, water, and egg whites. Make sure the simmering water doesn’t touch the bottom of the bowl or double boiler – you only need an inch or two of water in the pot. Beat the sugar mixture with an electric mixer on high speed for about 7 minutes, until it stands in billowy peaks. Remove it from the heat and beat in the vanilla.
To make Seafoam (Brown Sugar) Frosting: Substitute packed dark or golden brown sugar for the white sugar.
Also: a plea. What the hell do I do with this? (ooh, a two-hell post. Now three-hell! Now four!)
Someone gave it to my Dad, who passed it on to me. It’s about the size of half a pound of butter, and labeled “pure maple cream” on the box, but it appears to have completely petrified. It in no way resembles cream. It’s like a solid block of maple sugar. I suppose I could attempt to grate it and use it like maple sugar – any other brilliant ideas?
Tonight we went to a barbecue. It was supposed to be a bocce barbecue, but the wind picked up and by the time we finished our roast beef, salmon, potatoes, salad, and Thai prawns in spicy coconut milk with chilies and bits of tomato, onion and cilantro and sourdough bread to mop up the broth, we wussed out and packed it all inside to drink wine around the table and listen to 80s music over coconut-lemon bars and brownies.
Soon enough John Cusack came up in conversation. At which point it was revealed that V, whom I must make a point of getting to know better – much better – perhaps she’s in the market for a new best friend? – lived in the Chelsea Hotel in New York in the 80s and actually hung out with John and his sister. (What a bonus wedding present that would be, hey? Joan Cusack for a sister in law? Could the package really get any better?)
But wait, it gets better. She went to see Pretty in Pink with him. He called her and asked her to go, even. John Cusack called and invited her to a movie. It was the advance screening, at which they showed an alternate ending in which Andie (Molly Ringwald) ends up with Duckie (Jon Cryer) instead. It was the one they both voted for, but I guess the consensus was that she live happily ever after in cinematic history with Blane (Andrew McCarthy). So I’m sitting there eating brownies with someone who went to see Pretty in Pink with John Cusack, for real and true. I touched her as much as I could subtly get away with sitting casually next to her at the table. I’m down to two degrees of separation now. It’s a good thing I have size 11 feet – they do come in handy when I need that extra reach.
(In case you’re wondering the same thing I was, I did ask why she didn’t end up with him, and she said it was because she already had a boyfriend; one of the Kids in the Hall.)
So this all came up about three hours ago, and since then I’ve had a bit of fuzzy feedback in my brain that sort of flushes out all other information, both coming and going. So I’m afraid I can’t really relay much in the way of May long weekend goings-on thus far. I just need to have some time to settle down with it, to ponder how a girl not much older than I ended up leaving Calgary for New York and doing laundry with Iggy Pop and his wife in the laundry room of the Chelsea, going to see Pretty in Pink with John Cusack, and then wound up at a patio table with me, laughing at W when he came out of the house pantsless to ask one of us to wipe his bum. Sometimes I’m just so blown away by the possibility of it all.
I will, however, tell you about a chick pea-asparagus-brown rice dish I made last week and again yesterday afternoon, and which I will undoubtedly make again. I had a big bunch of asparagus, and I have to say I’m a little bit done with asparagus – it was completely uninspiring and going south quickly in the fridge while I summed up the gumption to do something with it. So I moseyed on over to 101 Cookbooks and typed in “asparagus” – it’s like the grown-up version of shaking the magic 8 ball – always interesting to see what pops up. Ten Minute Tasty Asparagus and Brown Rice. It lived up to its name, and then some.
I did streamline it a little, and skilleted everything separately in order to really brown and caramelize it all. Yum. I can tell this is going to make it into my regular rotation. (If I have one?) I’d definitely make a batch for John, if he ever asked me to.
Stir-Fried Chickpeas and Asparagus with Brown Rice and Lemon Tahini Dressing
a drizzle of canola or olive oil
1 19 oz. (540 mL) can chickpeas, drained well
2 garlic cloves, crushed
1 onion, chopped
1/2 bunch asparagus, cut into 1″ pieces
2-3 cups precooked brown rice (cold rice fries up better, with separate grains instead of turning pasty)
1/2 cup sliced or slivered almonds, toasted
Tahini Dressing:
1/4 cup tahini
juice of 1 lemon (or 2-3 tablespoons)
2 Tbsp. extra-virgin olive oil
2 Tbsp. hot water
1 garlic clove, finely crushed
pinch salt
To make the dressing, shake everything up in a jar. Depending on how much you like, you may have enough for a second batch of chickpeas with asparagus.
Heat a generous drizzle of oil in a skillet set over medium-high heat; add the chick peas and cook for a few minutes, until they start turning golden. They will sputter and pop as they cook. Add the garlic and a bit of salt and cook until they are nicely golden and getting crispy. Transfer to a shallow bowl.
Add the onions to the pan, along with a little more oil if you need it. Cook for 4-5 minutes, until golden. Add the asparagus to the pan and cook for a minute or two, putting the lid on the pan if it helps, just to allow the asparagus to brighten and soften a bit. Dump that into the bowl with the chickpeas.
Add another slick of oil to the skillet and cook the rice for a few minutes, just to warm it through and brown it a bit as well. Add the chickpeas, onions and asparagus back to the pan and toss it around to warm it all through, then divvy it among bowls and sprinkle with almonds. Drizzle with a bit of the tahini dressing, and pass more at the table.
I spent a few hours in Claresholm – sunny small town Alberta – eating well this afternoon. Having driven out to deliver my bowl to the highest bidder I stayed for awhile, chatting at the kitchen table, listening to ABBA and being fed lunch by U, who went so far as to make homemade mayonnaise for her open-faced chicken salad on homemade focaccia. (Which, by the way, was far better than any I’ve ever made. And she didn’t even know I am a particularly enthusiastic fan of chicken salad.)
Hers was a fine and uniformly chopped, crunchy, flavourful blend of chicken, toasted almonds, celery, green onions, wee bits of purple onion and tart apple, all dressed with the aforementioned homemade mayo. It’s the sort of thing I adore, and yet it never occurs to me to actually make. Of course, this is also precisely the kind of dish that tastes far better when someone else makes it, when you haven’t been the catalyst that brings all those ingredients together, and don’t really know exactly what’s in there or how it came to be. (The fact that there are also no dishes to wash is a bonus.)
For dessert she baked a high, dense, not-too-sweet lemon-scented cornmeal cake studded with blueberries and topped with floppy whipped cream – right up my alley. (She said it came from The Wednesday Chef, but I couldn’t find anything like it there – you may have more luck if you go poke around.) I ate two pieces, drove home, pointing my camera out the window at the grain elevators, and walked in the door at 5:30. M and W had Raisin Bran for dinner.
Over lunch, our conversation kept veering back to the role our food plays in our everyday lives, in ways deeper than we often consider, particularly when it comes to feeding the family. The mom of teenagers, U had some wise words; most notably, you can tell your kids I love you seven times in a row, but it won’t matter as much as a panful of warm cinnamon buns coming out of the oven when they get home from school. I am already dreading the day that W decides snuggles are uncool and shrinks from hugs and kisses; it’s a good thing fresh baking is such an effective delivery method. U even times hers so that they are being pulled out of the oven as the kids arrive home from school, for maximum sensory effectiveness. Such a seemingly simple thing, and with such an impact. Not much else makes one feel so worth the effort, and there is something to be said for that feeling, particularly when one is distracted by the task of growing up.
I don’t have her cinnamon bun recipe, but she did generously pass on her formula for focaccia, which is deeper, softer, richer and less pizza dough-like than my standby. We ate it torn in chunks and dragged through a puddle of olive oil and balsamic. I could have easily polished off the entire loaf, had it been within my reach.
Ulla’s Focaccia
2 packages rapid-rise yeast
2 cups warm water
3 cups purpose flour – add more to make smooth and slightly sticky dough.
1/2 cup Parmesan cheese
1/2 cup extra virgin olive oil
2 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. freshly ground pepper
Additional olive oil, Parmesan cheese, ground rosemary and salt for topping.
Combine yeast with warm water; let stand until foamy – about 5 mins.
In bowl combine flour, cheese, olive oil, salt and pepper and stir in the yeast mixture. Mix until dough forms. On lightly floured surface knead dough until smooth and elastic, about 5 minutes. Cover, let rest 5 minutes. Coat 9 x 13 baking pan with olive oil. Evenly press dough into pan.
Cover; let rise in warm place until doubled in size, about 1 hour. Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Using thumb press indentations about 2 inches apart into dough; do not press through to bottom. Drizzle with about 1/4 cup olive oil, allowing it to pool in indentations. Bake 15 minutes or until almost golden. Remove from oven and sprinkle with rosemary, Parmesan cheese and kosher salt and bake an additional 5 minutes. Cool on rack for 15 minutes and remove from pan.
Can’t seem to quit the bread. Do you think if I strapped a bun to my arm it would work like a patch? (Yes, I twittered that yesterday.)
We kind of missed dinner tonight, having been lured to Rocky’s Burger Bus at around 2:30 this afternoon. (But listen, there was no one lined up! It’s like when you drive past a Tim Horton’s, and there’s no one in the drive-thru, so you have to go through and get a coffee just because you can.) Rocky’s is the old red transit bus half-wedged into the ground just behind Blackfoot Trail, which Jane and Michael Stern wrote about in Gourmet, and who make their burgers using actual Alberta beef and shape them gently by hand, so that they are tender and juicy and about as thick as they are wide. (Don’t order a double burger. Just don’t.) And the fries – if I am going to eat fries, I eat these. And DJs fruit and veg market, with whom they share a parking lot, is now open. (So you can ballast the burger and fries with loads of fresh fruit and veg.) We always share, to get our fix without downing an entire burger and order of fries each. And now I have to fess up that I went because there are at least two witnesses out there, who work at the Food Bank, where I stopped post-bus with mustard AND ketchup dripped down my front.
Later in the afternoon I was feeling a little low in the vegetable-fiber-vitamin department, so steamed up some edamame from the freezer. I’m never that inspired to make the stuff – it always looks freezer burnt – but it never is and I always enjoy it when I do. Edamame is the term for young fresh (or frozen) soybeans in their pods, which are easily steamed in about half an inch of water for a few minutes, then thrown into a wide dish, sprinkled with coarse salt, and eaten by half squeezing, half pulling with your teeth sort of like you do with artichoke leaves to get the beans out. (And as you do, you get the salt from the outer pod, which gets tossed.) Soybeans are legumes, and so as such a great source of fiber, protein, and other good stuff. (They also make a pretty fab hummusy sort of dip with parsley, walnuts and garlic.)
At dinnertime I strapped W into the car with a berry-banana smoothie, promised him a play at the park and we drove around the northwest delivering sourdough starter to some of those who were still waiting for their own specimens. My timing was slightly off, and I hadn’t counted on rush hour. Fortunately, my friend Tasha had recently dropped off a copy of her very first children’s CD, Big Bad Bantam Rooster, which is being pressed now (and will hopefully be finished by the time she appears at Children’s Festival next week), and so we popped it in and cranked it up. Tasha is a brilliant musician (not only did she write the music and lyrics of all 18 songs on the CD, she sings lead vocals and harmonies, plays guitar, piano, banjo, accordion, metallophone -whatever that is-, percussion, bells and whistles. She’s what you might call talented.
And even though it’s for kids, it’s a CD I actually find myself listening to when I’m alone; it’s not the kind of music that makes me want to throw myself out of a moving car. (W put this to the test tonight, when he decided Big Bad Bantam Rooster and Yawn and Stretch were his favourite songs and we listened to them 85 and 47 times in a row respectively, give or take.)
Problem is, I can’t stop singing to it. You know how when you sing along with a CD you sound just like the person actually singing? When I was a kid and we played ABBA on a regular basis (I was always Agnetha, being blonde and all) I was convinced I was some sort of child prodigy, with a voice exactly like both Agnetha and Anni-Frid. And wow, I wasn’t even ten, and didn’t even have to try! (I still know all the lyrics to most ABBA songs. Try me.) I had a haircut just like Agnetha, and wore those twisted headbands with the little thread of gold running through, sitting just underneath my curling-ironed, parted-in-the-middle bangs. My sisters and I put on a little performance for my Grandparents once, which included a rousing version of Gimme Gimme Gimme (A Man After Midnight). And then one day I recorded myself on one of those elementary-school-issue black tape decks – Take a Chance on Me, I Do I Do I Do I Do I Do, Waterloo – and then played it back. And you know, someone must have snuck in and taped over my singing, or the tape recorder was terribly broken, because it didn’t reflect my talent at all.
(I so want this poster for my bedroom wall. Wouldn’t it make a great ad for Reynold’s Wrap?)
So tonight as we drove I kept on singing along to Tasha’s CD, and every time I did, W would yell from the back seat “No Mommy! NO! STOP SINGING!”. And every time we started the song over again he would remind me to PLEASE NOT SING. Mommy, you just CAN’T SING! And I know he meant he just didn’t want me to ruin it for him by singing over Tasha’s well-honed voice, but really, he’s right – I can’t sing. So I guess it’s good that I have friends who can.
I felt very Bridget Jones today, but not in a good way that might suggest I look at all like Renee Zellweger or might be able to frolic through rainy streets in my underpants and sneakers without looking like I have to pull my nylons up (while not wearing any). Can I have a do-over?
And remember my mention of far too many bread products consumed over the weekend? I haven’t even slowed down a little bit. How quickly we forget. Or maybe just don’t even care. At least I can say it’s all in the name of research.
My 11 year old niece Emily came over today. When she comes to stay for the day, we always make bagels. Today we broke with tradition and made pretzels and pretzel rolls. Which, like bagels, are nowhere near as complicated as they sound. Honest. The dough is simple to mix and then take turns kneading, and was covered for an hour while she went off to read her book and I to the computer before we converged again in the kitchen to shape them, then boil in water heavily spiked with baking soda, sprinkle with coarse salt, and bake.
The Rustic Sourdough Bakery on 17th Ave. SW sells chewy little mahogany rolls sprinkled in coarse salt on Saturdays – they are like the very biggest, softest, chewiest part of a baked pretzel, with none of the scraggly bits. I adore them. While flipping through Tastespotting the other day I immediately zeroed in on some of the same. While most recipes are filed away in my to-make yellow milk crate (seriously, it’s brimming with torn out magazine pages and notes), this got front-of-the-line treatment.
They came close to the ones from Rustic Sourdough, but didn’t quite hit the mark. (I blame myself, and the day, although perhaps I shouldn’t compare my first try with a bakery that has been making them for decades.) I think I need to give them another go, paying closer attention to the order of things this time (I missed the cutting of the crosses, for one, which is what makes them so especially pretty) and trusting the baking soda:water ratio Sarah gives. (I was afraid they might taste metallic. They don’t.) They are chewy, and lovely, but more practice is in order. Maybe not anytime soon.
Pretzel Rolls or Pretzels
Adapted from One Fine Day; her recipe instructs 750 g of flour, which according to my calculations (and digital scale) is about 6 cups. I started with less (easier to add more than to take away) and found 4 cups, plus a little extra worked in during rolling, was sufficient.
2 tsp. active dry yeast
3/4 cup lukewarm water
3/4 cup lukewarm milk
2 Tbsp. canola oil
4 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 tsp. salt
coarse sea salt, for sprinkling
Boiling solution:
2 L water
1 Tbsp. salt
4 Tbsp. baking soda
In a large bowl, stir the yeast into about half of the water (measure it, then just pour a bit into the bowl to make sure the yeast is active); let it sit for about 10 minutes. If it’s not foamy, toss it out and buy fresh yeast.
Add the rest of the water, milk and canola oil to the yeast, then stir in about 3 cups of flour and the salt. Add about a cup more flour, and when it becomes too difficult to stir, turn it out onto the counter top and start kneading. Once all the flour is incorporated, keep kneading, adding extra flour if it’s too sticky, for about 8 minutes, until the dough is smooth and elastic. Cover with a tea towel and let rest for an hour.
Cut the dough into 10 pieces and roll each into a ball, or a rope if you want to make pretzels. Cover the balls, or shape the pretzels, then let rest for 15 minutes while you bring 2 L of water to a rolling boil with the salt and baking soda. Preheat the oven to 425°F.
Boil about 3 at a time, so you don’t crowd the pot (they will swell) and bring the temperature down, and simmer for a minute per side. Remove from the water with a slotted spoon and place on a baking sheet that has been sprayed with nonstick spray. Sprinkle with coarse salt as soon as they come out of the water, so that it sticks, and if you’re doing buns, cut Xs on their tops.
Bake for 20 minutes, until golden. Makes 10 pretzels or pretzel buns.
So after I downed two pretzels straight from the oven and had a minor panic attack (not over the pretzels – panic attacks burn calories though, right? my heart rate was up about as high as the elliptical trainer gets it) the doorbell rang. It was Aviv, whom I had forgotten was delivering a loaf of his hand-made bread today. I can’t wait to tell you this story.
So Aviv bakes bread. He is practicing the art of artisanal bread baking in the hopes of one day opening his own bakery. In order to practice his craft and further his endeavor to raise money for CODE, a Canadian organization that builds and supports schools and libraries across Africa, he started baking organic loaves and delivering them on his bike (he has a little covered trailer) around downtown Calgary every Monday (his day off). He started off baking 10 loaves a day, and selling them for $6 apiece. Now he has use of a larger oven space (although he still does all the kneading by hand), and today he delivered 50 loaves of delicious caraway-specked light rye, along with small pots of smoked salmon pate made by his friend, Chef Michael Saucy. Mighty cool, don’t you think?
Of course it was last week that I answered his email-out saying yes, I’ll take a loaf, and of course by this afternoon I completely forgot. So I opened the door, all full of pretzels, to a new, fresh, spectacularly beautiful loaf of bread. One guess what I had for dinner.
So now I am attempting a bread detox. Just as soon as I finish Aviv’s light rye.
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