Tapioca operator

I am not a smooth operator. I started cooking last night b/c I didn't want to look at anyone in my family and when you've got a knife and something to cut, you don't have to. So I made chili. This is starting to sound like a story I once read.

Anyway, I made some angry chili last night. This is seriously the hottest chili I've ever made. I kept on adding chipotle peppers and cayenne. I was practically sobbing b/c of all the onions. It is good, but I can't help but wonder if a little of my anger got in the pot.

I think the foods that I make that I never use a recipe for are probably the ones that I tend to project onto. And chili is probably one of my favorite recipeless foods.

Tell me your food projection story. Tell me about the ones that you don't use a recipe for.

old sweetie pie faithful

I'm making pies this week. Two for my family thanksgiving and two or three for the basketball team. (Don't ask).

I was all for experimenting with new and exciting recipes. But my family wants this which I have made for the past two years. (Scroll down to "Thanksgiving Pie" recipe. I make it as a cobbler since we are all on the chubby side and no one else appreciates a homemade crust. I also cut the sugar--I use maybe 2/3-1/2 a cup of un-packed dark brown sugar in the filling.)

The thing is, it is always kind of liquidy at the bottom. Have any of you ever put a little tapioca in a pie? Am I courting disaster?

Also, pumpkin or sweet potato?

UPDATE: Add 1Tablespoon of tapioca to the pie filling (make a deep dish pie crust) if you aren't going to serve it with ice-cream or anything and therefore don't want as much goo.

Potato, Pepper and [vegan] Kielbasa Casserole

My resistance has turned. Now I'm mad.

Abby, somebody, can you tell me whatever happened to citing your sources?!

This Cooks.com thinks its so great in 2008, using but not citing its Potato, Pepper and Kielbasa Casserole--a sweety-hot little number from Busy Cook's Book - Family Circle (published 1988) that's been my favorite for almost that long. Gah, I hate that.

So the original recipe is wordier. Seems we hate verbosity now; we've come to expect everything quick-quick-quick. And but so the original recipe is social, helpful, like a friend almost, with its suggestions of complimentary side dishes, including broccoli, semolina bread and apple cake. It also gives you full-on directions for microwave, in case you're that type. The original is, is...it shows you, in a real teaser photo, how pretty your food will be if you don't fuck it up too much. (This one here, she's mine.)

Take that, Cooks.com.

So here--for all you who kick it old school when it comes to citing your sources, your forebears and, if not your betters then at least your cheat sheet--ti prisento the original recipe (unless Busy Cook's Book ripped it off, too) of...

Potato, Pepper and Kielbasa Casserole, taken from p 102 of Busy Cook's Book--Family Circle (published 1988):

(serves 4)

2 lg sweet peppers, green and/or red [I used red]
2 med red onions
1 lb small red-skinned potatoes (~8) [I used purple finger variety]
12 oz kielbasa [I used Tofurkey]
1/4 tsp salt
1/4 tsp pepper [I added an additional 1/2 tsp red pepper flakes for heat]
1/4 c olive oil
1/2 c heavy cream [I used soy. In past, I've used dried, full-fat, 2% and skim. All are good.]
chopped parsley, for garnish (optional)

1. Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

2. Core and seed peppers. Put into large bowl: 1-1/2-inch-cut peppers, thinly wedged onions, halved potatoes, 1/2-inch cut kielbasa (peel casing if necessary). Sprinkle with salt and pepper. Add oil. Toss well to mix.

3. Bake at 400 for 45 minutes. Stir in cream [or milk] and bake for another 10 minutes or until bubbly. Garnish with parsley.

Microwave instructions: Reduce cream to 1/4 c. Use microwave-safe 2-quart dish. Cover. Microwave at full power for 15 minutes. Mix in cream. Cover. Microwave another 2 minutes.

Dog ear that, Cooks.com.

Jicama-Citrus Salad, extra ordinary

This week has been all about resisting. Resisting the dark chocolate with nibs sitting on the counter winking at me, resisting the daily workout, the cold weather, another meatless meal (hence yesterday's bacon-meets-eggs ice cream fantasy). I mean, I'm resisting everything--writing, cleaning, brushing my teeth. It's all work. I don't even want to plan for the closer-than-it-appears-and-speeding-like-a-fiery-el camino holiday. I'm loathe to admit it, but I even feel myself resisting that pull, that slide into politics as usual....

So today, I didn't have to be anywhere, and I did the only thing I knew to do to stop my resistance: I gave in to my urges.

All of em.

I gobbled up more than I'll tell you of the 2-lb. bar of 79% cocoa-ified chocolate. For breakfast. I skipped my workout today (I'm sore from last night's walk in the Elliptical jungle, anyway). I flung open all the windows and covered myself in my bathrobe overtop two sweaters and a sweatshirt, a pair of sweatpants, sweat socks and slippers. I read and read and read and didn't write anything I didn't want to. I didn't clean the floor (except for that one spatter (I hate when gloppy-liquidy-food items smack and dry on the kitchen floor; I can't control myself--it's like a homicide I have to report)). I didn't brush my hair, my teeth or the counter after I ate my lunch over it without a plate--nutty-seedy toast that I just waive the butter and jam at, my favorite.

I had to cave, man. It's like, once in a while, no matter how strange or crazy-seeming--once in a while, if we don't give in to our needs, then that natural tension, that normal level of resistance will turn on us, eat us up, make us mean. Know what I mean?

I don't wanna be mean.

Another thing I had to kick to the curb today was all the soup in my fridge. I've been making soup lately because, well, we already know: it's cold out. And I love soup. But not today. No way.

Today I made something so un-soup-y, so un-cold weather-y, that I coulda been on a Mexican beach--and that wind whistling through our crappy window screens wasn't signaling snap freeze but kisses blown for sailboats in the bay. And my triple layered, pink robe-topped getup--just the latest in beach ware.

Anyway, instead of the baby lima bean and chipotle soup I'll tell you about next time, I made this:
Jicama-Citrus Salad.

If anything is outside the ordinary, it's jicama. A flavor you can't pin down, it wavers weirdly between a bean, a radish and a potato. Its consistency, too, kinda pear, kinda potato, but with density. It's not sweet, exactly, no. More legume-y. It goes happily with orange and lime, onion and cayenne. It's a fun crunch-substitute for water chestnut. Oh, just look it up.

It is damn good.

Tomorrow my resistance will likely be back up and I'll be living again in San Marcos, Texas, worrying my work and the economy and our president. Today, though, today was just for me and hope for something outside the routine...or, in a word, extraordinary.

Here's how you, too, can live 6-8 servings worth of extra ordinary:
Jicama-Citrus Salad

Peel, half lengthwise, and cut into matchsticks:
1 med jicama (~1 pound)

Cut into 1/4-inch slices:
2 small cucumbers, peeled, halved lenghwise, seeded and diced

Cut both ends off:
3 med Naval oranges

Stand the oranges on a cutting board and cut away the peel and all the white pith. Halve lengthwise, then cut crosswise into 1/4-inch slices. Toss the jicama, cucumbers, and orange slices in a large bowl, along with:
6 radishes, thinly sliced
1 small red onion, thinly sliced
1/3 c fresh lime juice
Let stand for 20 minutes, then season with:
salt, to taste

Spoon the salad onto a platter and drizzle the accumulated juices on top. Sprinkle with:
2 tsp ground chili pepper
1/3 c chopped cilantro

(from The Joy of Cooking, 2006 edition)

For All You Bacon and Eggs Fans--a Chill, Sweet Treat

This from my petite, Cari, in Seattle...

Yes, yes, I'm afraid it is Candied Bacon Ice Cream. I know, I know, but you've all eaten things as weird as--or weirder. And, yes, yes, it is cold outside. But we ain't dead yet. I, for one, am just gonna turn up the heat and...

Hey, anybody got an ice cream maker I can borrow?

(Ope, hang on to your hats: the dessert gods delivered good news on how to make ice cream without a churner. Thank you, dessert gods, thank you. And thank you, too, Cari girl.)

Getting Back to the Root of...

I'm psyched about Abby's fever to store away food in danky-darky cellar. Because...well...she's got this strange viral influence on me when it comes to sustenance.

The thing is, I never had one of those old-timey cellars. As a kid, I had a basement, a wide open thing with a slippery green-and-gray check-tile floor. Its express purposes so far as I can remember was for roller skating, socializing, my brother's pot-smoking, and for any number of family members in need of comfortable-enough digs to sack out for weeks (sometimes months) on end. And it's where I snuck sips from the make-shift party bar (a slab of marble over the one-ton concrete sink-and-tub where Mom washed Dad's hair every Saturday afternoon). It's also the place I ran to with handfuls of cookies and other no-nos before my brother (a different one, the one I stole "the baby of the family" title from) could beat them out of my fists.

But root cellars. I witnessed precious few people live and work and die by them. City living didn't inspire such things, I guess.

But, man, was it a cherished treat to receive specially made hand-scribble-and-lopsided-tagged jars of jam (my fave) or tomato sauce--especially Gram's.

Ma (mine) wasn't a grower or a canner (some things stayed on the mid-Michigan farm of her childhood that she fled for the sun-drenched hills of California as soon as she had the chance).

Oh, she came back, later. Without her mother's mad canning penchant or skills. It was enough (and maybe because) we could always just drive to the farm and get Gram to hand over her booty, jars clink-clinking in the back of our big 'ol station wagon all the way home.

But the cellar--Gram had stopped using her own (bad knees, no good on stairs) by the time I came around. She'd set Gramp to moving everything into the bathroom off the kitchen. And damn if it wasn't cold as a snowman's balls in there all winter long. Perfect to stop almost all of nature's processes.

Now there's something to think about for the extra Cavaszynski bathroom....

But before I go telling Vince my plans for his "library," I probably oughtta get him thinking about helping me whip our garden into shape next season. I'm sure that'll go something like this.

Mm. Hot Crusty...Fetuses ?

I promise to get back to the serious art of baking and cooking. But first: this.

I am dying to hear your thoughts. (Do not forget to watch the video.)

Nightstand

Two things I learned this NY times article on root cellaring.

If you leave a green tomato on a vine and drape it upside down, it will gradually turn red in three or four weeks.

Squash hung in a pair of knotted pantyhose stay unspoiled longer than others.

One of the things that I miss most about living near my closest friends is that I knew what they were in to, what projects or ideas they were chewing on. I didn't have ask. And I didn't have to present my own projects and ideas consciously.

So here is my conscious presentation of a current project.

Everyone here has gardens. Hence the interest in canning, preserving and root cellars. What are your new interests/projects/etc?

Speaking of Chard

My mom sucks at substitutions. She's got a way with tofu. She can flip a house. But she doesn't understand substitutions. If a coffee cake calls for pecans, and she only has peanuts, well they are both nuts, right? If something calls for goat cheese, and we’ve got some smoked gouda, smoked gouda it is.

Cooking with her can be frustrating. I remember once being asked to make a butternut squash lasagna for company and the only ingredient we had was the squash. She wanted to substitute everything. Sage, ricotta cheese, even the lasagna noodles. It was mush: layers of spaghetti, and butternut squash with some kind of inappropriate cheese. She ate it and acted like it tasted good. I rolled my eyes a lot.

I think for my mom cooking is about using things up. A happy accident for her is a recipe that calls for ingredients that she already has in the pantry/freezer/garden. For me a happy accident is something that tastes amazing and comes at the right time. I love those days that are perfect for chili or chicken soup or strawberries that are in season. I love the right words at the right time, so why wouldn’t I love the right food at the right time. My mom loves when things come out even. She loves to use what she has. I, on the other hand, tend to be a bit too faithful to recipes, cooking by the book until I know enough to throw things together, trading a one green for another, fresh seasonings for dried, buttermilk for milk.

We balance each other out.

Except that now I live in a place where I’m learning to make do. To get oat bran, you go to one grocery store, to get fresh jalapeño peppers, you go to another. Forget habaneros or broccoli rabe, unless you grow them yourself or go to the farmer’s market when they are in season. If you want amaranth or organic chicken, you have to drive an hour. And every once in awhile there will be a culinary treat or oddity. Saturday night after the football game and some wine, I decided to do a little culinary scavenging. (The best of the five grocery stores in my area mark down their produce on Saturday nights). Lo and behold: starfruit and white asparagus. How excited I was to see this two foods that I never buy! I realized then how much I miss HEB, and by extension being warm, and by extension Texas and by extension my old life and by extension my old self. I left the store in a cold soggy mess without any groceries.

What a drama queen! In the parking lot I realized that I absolutely could not go home without a few packages of frozen spinach. I needed the spinach to make yet another swiss chard recipe. B/c although I now live in a blue state, Swiss chard counts as a cullinary oddity here in my little rural corner of the world. So if I want to make Greek Swiss Chard Pie. I'm gonna have to substitute a little something.


Why not use a spanakopita recipe?, you ask. This is a tiny bit healthier.

Has anyone worked with phyllo dough?

Can't get enough

I had lots of lasagna noodles left over from last night's Swiss Chard Extravaganza (that's one of the beauties of making this lasagna as an individual entree); so today, my fella and I made a whole pan of the stuff. This time we used mixed greens instead of Swiss Chard, and I doubled the amount of red pepper flakes (it turned out a snitch warm but not at all h-o-t. Next time, to kick up the temp, we may add some peblano).

The difference between Chard and the mixed greens--the Chard was buttery where these greens are snappy. Both are lovely.

Wab, this one's another winner.

About Wab's Swiss Chard Lasagna from Friday, 26 September's Post...

In a word: Mmm.

The only switch I made was to use Sweet Italian "Turkey" Sausage instead of the regular. And I served six instead of eight.

The lemon and zest with the Chard: sublime. The serving sizes were perfectly huge. Only one person left one bite extra. Dinner was late--because of all the chopping and mixing and stove-toppery--but after it was served...after a few bites and mouth noises...people came back to their senses and talking resumed.

We finished up with friends' dollop of fruit-and-creamy dessert ("Dream Cream" I believe the chef called it) that I'll definitely get the recipe for. Hang tight for that. It's worth it....

Split Pea Soup for a United Nation

(in honor of the election of the 44th President of the United States of America)
Pea soup. Some people love it. Others hate it. But one thing we can all agree--it's filled to the brim with fiber. And we know what that means...

Here's the best one I've had, from Mollie Katzen's MOOSEWOOD COOKBOOK, 1992 edition:

Split Pea Soup (for a United Nation)

3c dry split peas
~7c water (more as needed)
1 bay leaf
2t salt
1/2-1t dry mustard
2c minced onion
4-5 med cloves garlic, crushed
3 stalks celery, minced
2 med carrots, sliced or diced
1 small potato, thinly sliced
lots of freshly ground black pepper
3-4T red wine vinegar (to taste)

Toppings:
Chinese sesame oil (optional)
a fresh, ripe tomato, diced
freshly minced parsley

1. Place split peas, water, by leaf, salt, and dry mustard in a kettle or Dutch oven. Bring to a boil, lower heat as much as possible, and simmer, partially covered, for about 20 minutes.

2. Add onion, garlic, celery, carrots, and potato. Partially cover, and leave it to simmer gently for about 40 more minutes with occasional stirring. If necessary, add some water.

[Note: The above step took considerably longer.]

3. Add black pepper and vinegar to taste. Serve topped with a drizzle of sesame oil, diced tomato, and minced parsley.

Art is work

The following snippet...

A. motivates me
B. pisses me off
C. makes me laugh
D. none of the above
E. all of the above

"An interviewer once asked Ursula Le Guin's advice for writers, and she replied, 'I am going to be rather hard-nosed and say that if you have to find devices to coax yourself to stay focused on writing, perhaps you should not be writing what you're writing. And if this lack of motivation is a constant problem, perhaps writing is not your forte. I mean, what is the problem? If writing bores you, that is pretty fatal. If that is not the case, but you find that it is hard going and it just doesn't flow, well, what did you expect? It is work; art is work.'" (taken from The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor, Tuesday, 21 October 2008)

More pe-pe-pe-pepita

This just in: http://www.101cookbooks.com/archives/pepita-salad-recipe.html

Got(ta) Loose Change

Spoiler Alert: If the personal is political, this is definitely one of those posts.

I got no food tonight, just a weird and painful hunger and some Loose Change.

But this hunger, I didn't even know what it was. It's been relatively easy to ignore--something to sleep right though. And I've been exactly that--lazy, comfortable, sleeping. But enough noise, enough "terror," has a way of jostling me. I'm up now. I'm getting the message.

And Loose Change, it's a documentary I just discovered. And as I watched, this "Loose Change" turned from a thing that chinga-chings to become a much bigger thing I must bring.

I tell you what--it's something you already know: Hunger--any kind--doesn't go away. It just might take a lot--I mean a lot--to get me to do something, anything about it.

It took Sean Penn, and Sean Penn again. There was Naomi Wolf, Bill O'Reilly and...name someone...Dave Letterman, Michael Moore, even Phil Donahue! (In the aforementioned clips you can see O'Reilly's fear and rage, exactly the thing that the "extremist" Sean Penn speaks to in his first letter.) Oh--let's not forget Hardball.

Then there's what I saw today at the British Museum: this photo. (The one behind Leibovitz.) It's of the most powerful people in the world, you might say. If you look reeeeal close (go ahead, click, I'll wait)...you'll notice that Bush's belt buckle is the American Seal. Isn't he funny. Isn't he clever. Isn't he sitting on top of the world.

Yeah. He is. And with that odd smirk that "extremist" Sean Penn speaks about, too.

Loose Change. It's given me a new sense of 911--a powerful, no-good sense--that demands sharing. It's given me a clear and frightening reminder of my own responsibilty to be--as it is reported Gandhi said it--the change I want to see in the world.

Loose Change. Won't you?

I made the pepita

When I say anything about pepita, a word that is new to me, I like to use a bad Italian accent. I know it is seriously wrong, but I can't stop. pep EEE thaaa. Like Ma MEEE aaa.

So once more, with feeling: I made the pepita!

I must say it is surprisingly cheese-like.

And in the spirit of the pepita post, I made these pumpkin enchiladas. So easy. The grandma and the uncle like them very much. The parents said the sauce was too garlicky. Poo on them and their nasty aversion to sulfites. I stuffed some with chicken like ms. Martha says to in the recipe. But most with black beans and spinach.

easy. Very very easy.

A double-chinned Orlando Bloom to Sir Elton John: Is that a Truffle Mini Burger in your pocket, or are you just chuffed to see me?

Hours of good reading on this blog has kept me from my normal cooking duties. Well, that and I haven't had a kitchen the last few mostly sunny London hotel-filled weeks. But I've endured. (And, uh, judging by my stretched belly, prospered).

I've eaten grilled tomatoes and mushrooms, deep-fried over-medium eggs, and bacon and HP sauce* sandwiches for breakfast; honey-drenched yogurt for lunch; and marvelously Mid-Eastern mint-inflected curry, frizzle-fried seaweed, scrumpy soy-braised shrimp, and Polish veal cutlets to make my babcia in Heaven (one should hope ;) weep for joy.

But the time has come: an English recipe for Refridger readers. (I'll make it as soon as I can get mesewf to a royt propah kitchen.)

This from Sir Elton John, as printed on the "entertaining" page of InStyle UK's October 2008 issue:

Truffled Mini Beef Burgers (serves 12)

1 tsp diced onion
1 tsp crushed garlic
1T olive oil (for frying)
80g beef mince (0.17 pounds)
1 tsp tomato ketchup
1 tsp Worcester sauce
1 tsp English mustard
1T chopped parsley
pinch celery salt
1 tsp truffle oil
salt and pepper to taste

To serve:
6 cocktail brioche buns, halved
handful of mustard leaves

Sweat the onion and garlic in the olive oil over a medium heat until soft. Allow to cool, then mix with the other ingredients. Mould into 12 burgers and chill for an hour. Fry in a little olive oil over a high temperature on each side for one minute, then lower the heat and cook for three more minutes. Lightly toast and butter the brioche buns, place a burger and a mustard leaf on each half and skewer with a cocktail stick. Serve immediately.

Mind you, Sir Elton served these hot and beefy little buggers with smoked fish and duck-egg tart with caviar, black bass with potatoes, artichokes and pea voloute, chocolate cake leafed in gold, and an edible $10 note. I know you will, too.
--

*HP (named for the rumor that the sauce was made in the House of Parliament)--similar, I say similar to, not the same as, A-1 Steak Sauce--contains Malt Vinegar, Tomatoes, Molasses, Spirit Vinegar, Dates, Glucose Syrup, Sugar, Salt, Modified Starch, Rye Flour, Tamarinds, Spices, Onion. No Artificial Colours, Preservatives or Flavours, Low in Fat, Suitable for Vegetarians.

This post is brought to you by Tina and the letter M

I posted this on my other blog. Maybe it is cheating to post here too. I can't help it though. I just want to share. Share share share.

So if you want to read some literary trash talk. Be my guest. And if you want to read some responses to the literary smack talk, again, be my guest.

If you are trying to reduce the negativity in your life. Read this.

Or you could revisit the work of one of your favorite American authors. Speaking of favorite authors, you could drink a glass of expensive scotch or tequila in honor of Tim O'Brien, who is probably blowing out some candles today.

Condolences

On my nightstand:

Two things happened recently. Last weekend, I went to a library book sale in Hendersonville. Seven years ago, when I first went, it was like winning a big prize. This was the stuff of dreams, I tell you. This was what it must feel like to be a fanilow and meet barry manilow. It is this big wonderful book sale where on the final day, the books are $4 a bag (a brown paper grocery bag). They are organized by subject. I went with my Mom and Susan and sometimes a friend or grandparent. We each got a quota of 2 bags because that was how many fit in the car. Then we would come home and spread out all those piles of books on the floor and read. When I moved to Texas, I thought about it each fall. When I moved back to NC, I put it on my calender. And last weekend my mom, grandma and Susan spent a few hours in the mayhem.

It has gotten more popular over the years. The books were more picked over (sadly, there were no fabulous cookbooks this time).It was like the Christmas sale at the Wal-Mart in Rutherford County or a tax free shopping day in Texas--people used their elbows. They had strategies. They had maps of the book sale. They had shopping bags with wheels so they could get around the book sale with their loot easier. Except it was books, so there was this veneer of politeness. This "we are bookworms, we don't push." Except they totally did push. One lady had a stroller. No baby, just a stroller full of books. It was silent, save the sound of books being scooped off the shelves and people saying "ooops, sorry" and stepping right on your toes.

Still, it was a rush. I got a bunch of authors and anthologies that I've been wanting to read or own--Milan Kundera, Alice Adams, Andre Dubuse, Lisa See--keep in mind everything is so cheap and everyone is scooping things up at such a fast pace, you just get in the zone. And sometimes your greed makes you pick up something that you never knew you wanted. Like etiquette books. I got some books on words, some on language, some gardening books, and then there were three on manners. I don't know what came over me, but I felt I needed them. I got the classics. So I've been reading etiquette books. Particularly the chapters on death. My night stand looks a little ridiculous. I look at it each night and laugh: three etiquette books and a vampire serial novel. (Yes Eclipse is on my nightstand. Still. I'm kind of sick of it. But I refuse to turn back now.)

Which brings me to the second thing that happened. A colleague died exactly two weeks ago today on campus. His wife is also a colleague and her office is around the corner from me. I like her. And I have watched the institution where I work respond in a way that is kind and good. I have thought about what I would do if I were her. She has been thrust into the spotlight-something that I'm not sure I would want. She has handled everything with grace. I have wanted to help her, but not contribute to the clutter of attention that surrounds her now. She is young. I'm used to old people. A casserole seems wrong. I sent the least ugly sympathy card I could find and have made an effort to offer "normal" conversation but not hover and not clutch her hands and say weird philosophical things. I was floored and flattered when yesterday, she asked to do something not serious, something light. So while the etiquette books didn't tell me anything I didn't learn from my own experiences with death, they gave me a little template for how to act. They gave me a plan. Today this article crossed my path and (no offense to amy vanderbelt or emily post or judith "ms manners" martin) it is the best advice on the art of condolences I have found. Plus, it references elephants (my spirit animal since I read this article on post traumatic stress in elephants).




To cook this weekend:
pepita dip
Swiss Chard Lasagna

Take the pepita.

The pumpkin seed.

Actually, take 2 cups of them.

Add
2T olive oil
2 garlic cloves (thinly sliced)
1 15-oz can (or fresh, peeled) tomatoes (juice squeezed out)
1t whole cumin seed (toasted and ground--if you use ground from a shaker nobody will die)
1 bunch scallions (white and green parts roughly chopped)
2 med jalapeno peppers (seeds and ribs removed, roughly chopped--I have to admit that because my local market was out of these babies, I added instead my favorite bottled hot sauce.)
1/4t cayenne pepper
3T fresh lime juice
salt & pepper to taste

There's a little art and organization that goes along with this recipe. But first, a story:

Francisco is a friend and man about town who knows just about everybody. He knows how to have fun, and often it's kicking off the weekend by DJing at the fresh and trendy local vegetarian restaurant in town. He also cuts my hair.

Francisco and I run into each other at the local grocer from time to time. We usually set up my next appointment, chat about which bands are playing around, and sometimes, if we're fortunate, we toss off a quick-and-yum recipe. Yesterday, I was the lucky one--he passed this one along (he'd snagged it from one Alyssa--see how this works?)--he'd just had it the night before at a little "soiree."

He said "pepita." I said "pumpkin seed." Anyway, I found both, and mixed and heated and processed em up, in this order:

1. Heat olive oil in a med skillet over med heat. Add the garlic and cook until fragrant, about 30 seconds. Add the pepitas and cook, stirring frequently, until the seeds begin to pop and turn golden brown, 6 to 9 minutes. Transfer the mixture to a baking sheet to cool. Set aside 2T of the seeds for garnish.

2. Place the pepitas and the garlic in the bowl of a food processor and process until fine, about 15 seconds. Using your hands, squeeze each tomato to release as much juice as possible. Discard the juice. Add the tomatoes, cumin, scallions, jalapenos, cayenne, and lime juice. Process the mixture until thoroughly combined and chunky. Season with salt and pepper. Serve immediately. The dip may be made a day ahead and kept in an airtight container in the refrigerator. Bring to room temperature before serving.

Aye caramba. It's good.

Cuppa pharmakon (aka 5 Minute Chocolate Mug Cake)

While Ab cuddles up with articles that educate and books that make her say Boo! to big fellas who wanna carry her bookbag, I'm getting into deep trouble in my kitchen.

Here's why:

5 MINUTE CHOCOLATE MUG CAKE (courtesy of Linda Cisco by way of my cousin Tammy).

Here's what you need if you want to simultaneously ruin and make your day:

4 tablespoons flour
4 tablespoons sugar
2 tablespoons cocoa
1 egg
3 tablespoons milk
3 tablespoons oil
3 tablespoons chocolate chips (optional)
a small splash of vanilla extract
dash of cinnamon (optional)
1 large coffee mug

Before I give you the directions, I'll just tell you, from start to finish, the process really does take five minutes. This is a dangerous thing, obviously.

Five minutes.

It's enough time to get me out of one mess and into another. You see, I was writing today. And writing to me (as it is to nearly every writer I know) is pharmakon, which, to grossly and irresponsibly simplify it's meaning, is both poison and cure. And if you want more on this, see Plato's Dialogues. (Or, for the lazy and/or time-crunched, you might check this out to start.)

And while writing keeps me (and nearly every writer I know) from feeling crazy, it also, according to David Gessner--in that article Abby's reading (courtesy of Tina and Abby's colleague Matt)--causes us to be crazy.

"After all," writes Gessner, "there’s something basically insane about sitting at a desk and talking to yourself all day, and there’s a reason that writers are second only to medical students in instances of hypochondria. In isolation, our minds turn on us pretty quickly."

This is where the 5 MINUTE CHOCOLATE MUG CAKE comes in.

Right before my mind could "turn on" me (4:30p), I ducked and dodged my way into the kitchen. I figured five minutes...clearly the perfect amount of break time to save my sanity.

Trouble is, this 5 MINUTE CHOCOLATE MUG CAKE is just another pharmakon, the bastard.

So what we have here is me, standing in my kitchen, after five minutes of prep and two minutes of cooling, with a fork in my mouth, wondering when did my life become so filled with danger and philosophical (and medical) intrigue? And just who in the hell came up with this marvel, this, this, dream cake that's nearly as easy as opening the (microwave)oven or refridger door and wishing it there.

Anyway, all in a day's work, I guess. And here are the directions for that 5 MINUTE pharmakon. Beware. It's dangerous stuff.

4 tablespoons flour
4 tablespoons sugar
2 tablespoons cocoa
1 egg
3 tablespoons milk
3 tablespoons oil
3 tablespoons chocolate chips (optional)
a dash of cinnamon (optional)
a small splash of vanilla extract
1 large coffee mug

Add dry ingredients to mug, and mix well. Add the egg and mix thoroughly. Pour in the milk and oil and mix well. Add the chocolate chips and cinnamon (if using) and vanilla extract, and mix again.
Put your mug in the microwave and cook for 3 minutes at 1000 watts. The cake will rise over the top of the mug, but don't be alarmed! Allow to cool a little, and tip out onto a plate if desired.
EAT!

(This can serve two--in case some poor creature lives with you and has to put up with your mental challenges...or if you need another break before the insanity sets upon you, again, which it will).

My Nightstand

I'm a one book kind of gal. My nightstand houses all the books I want to read. But I only read one book at a time. And right now that book is book three in the twilight series. I know there are a billion jillion problems with this series, not the least of which is that it right now it feels pretty sexist--the kind of sexist that makes my neck hurt, that makes me want to burn my bra and never let anyone help me carry something heavy and unwieldy, the kind that makes me want to take care of myself and never rely on anyone else. What I like about it, what I'm learning as a writer, is the same thing that I like about all series books and shows. I like that the world becomes more detailed that suddenly there is a whole history and mythology to this other world. I felt that way with the Harry Potter books too. I started for the love and for the monsters and now, now I want to know more about how Jacob's great grandfather became a werewolf.



So mostly what I keep next to me on my night stand are short stories and articles. Lately, I've mostly been reading articles.

Is Google Making Us Stupid is the article my reading students read for today. We then looked at non-academic texts--cheese it boxes, assembly instructions from IKEA, credit applications, recipes, sheet music, hoodia diet pill testimonials from magazines, advice columns, etc--and talked about how we read these texts. And then we talked about which of the 17 different texts our grandparents would have encountered when they were 18. I think the reason why I like d this, is because it makes me feel a little better about my totally unoriginal fascination with famous writers' processes. It also makes me wonder if I'm blocked because I'm not writing in longhand anymore or if it is because everything in my world is new. And it oddly made me miss being a grad student. Getting to sit around a big table and talk about technology in this weird detached way.

And this
is that I'm about to read. It comes courtesy of Tina and my colleague Matt.

More fiber fun: Fuji

So I've been thinking about Fuji--the apple not the mountain. It's my favorite apple--for its color striations, its sometimes lopsy-round shape, its dense-crisp-sweet-tartness. They say it's a cross between two American varieties--Golden Delicious and Virginia Ralls Genet. I say, The Fuji is the largest, juciest, un-mealiest, long-lastingest apple I ever did eat.

I hear that in Japan, Fuji apples continue to be the unrivaled best-seller. The story in China isn't so different. My favored Fuji has got the apple world by the seeds: annually, it accounts for 80% of China's 20 million tons. In the States, the Fuj now grows in Washington, New York, and California.

But enough about the stats. Taste is what counts.

Here's a "recipe" using my fave, the Fuji. It's so quick and easy, you'll be recommending it around town in no time.


Easy Apple Appie

1-2 Fuji apples
lemon wedges
fresh cracked pepper

Slice apples thin, swipe top side with lemon, arrange overlapping on serving tray, crack fresh pepper on top. Serve with your favorite cheeses.

I'll see your "old faithful," and I'll raise to...

my face and eat em all up.




They look pretty good, don't they? (see with flash, and without). They taste pretty good, too. Though I wish I could find my beautiful-bran-bomb recipe to compare.

I made a few substitutions in this game (recipe experiment) because my field (kitchen) is missing a few players (ingredients).

Example: sugar=sucanat; skipped the coconut; used raisins and dates for fruit; walnuts for...nuts, duh; replaced the bananas with half and orange, its zest, and a Fuji apple; I added cinnamon.

I baked for 15 minutes in this weird new silicon muffin thingie. Now that I've tried what the 21st century has come up with, I know I prefer plain ol' fashioned aluminum, fyi. This silicon stuff is wriggly and seems untrustworthy.

In the end, the results look and taste snack- and guest-worthy.

Yum.

Abby dear, what do you think I should let them in on next...the cool and easy Fuji apple appie, or something stove-belly hot?

Old faithful

Stacy has asked me for the muffin recipe. And by the muffin, I'm guessing she means the high fiber muffin recipe that my mom found in a coffee table book about simplifying your life. We can't find the coffee table book, but the recipe lives on. I think my mom and grandma eat a few of these a day. Warning these little treats are pretty high in fiber. They pack a punch.

So here's the recipe, some variations and pictures (soon!)

It makes 12.

Preheat oven to 450

line muffin tins with muffin papers (I spray cooking spray on the papers b/c the muffins like to stick to the paper)

combine:

2 and 1/4 cups of oatbran
1 teaspoon of baking powder
1/4 c sugar (doesn't matter much what kind--you can use maple syrup or brown sugar--one of these days I'm going to try some molasses)
1/4 cup of coconut
a handful of fruit (dried, fresh or frozen and chopped. If I use fresh or frozen I only use one handful, if I use dried I use two)
a handful of nuts (I haven't been adding nuts lately but crumbled walnuts or pecans are good as are slivered almonds)

in another bowl combine:
2 ripe bananas, mashed (I'm thinking about trying this with sweet potatos and or apple sauce in lieu of bananas, depending on your need for sweet tasting muffins and the fruit you choose--fresh cranberries are sour, you might have to adjust the sugar/liquid content if you did this. But I think a yam banana mixture would be pretty)
1 egg or two egg whites
1 1/4 cup milk

Mix the two bowls together. Pour the batter into muffin cups. Bake for 15-20 minutes. They don't really brown much. They don't really rise much either.

Some substitutions I want to try. I think it would be good to add a little citrus zest. I want to make them with buttermilk instead of milk, and I want to substitute grated carrots for the coconut and use canned pineapple for the fruit.

When I make these for old people or people who don't like a muffin that isn't greasy and sweet like a cake, I double the bananas. Or I spoon a streusel mixture (oats, melted butter, sugar, and sometimes, nuts) to the top. Sometimes I put a big piece of fruit or a nut in the middle of each muffin (like a peach slice or a banana slice or a whole walnut. Then they look fancy.
Because I make so many of these muffins, I have been running out of those muffin paper things that line your muffin pan. The coffee shop I go to puts their muffins in squares of parchment paper, the paper sticks up and looks pretty and sort of architectural. So I’ll probably experiment with that (and maybe post some pictures.)