Why NOT to buy a first edition of a cookbook...

Tonight, we are having friends over for dinner. Well, kind of. We are having friends over, and we will eat dinner, but the friends are cooking for us. This particular friend is an amazing cook, so we let him have free reign over our kitchen when he visits.

Not wanting to look like a slacker, I decided to make a cake for dessert. I chose the Quadruple Chocolate Loaf from Nigella Lawson's book, Feast. I had made her Guiness cake, and it is nothing short of heavenly. So, I was confident in her recipe-writing abilities. And, even though it made me a little nervous and queasy, when the recipe said to line the pan in plastic wrap (with a note that said, "Don't panic--it won't melt."), I followed the instructions because I figured she knew what she was doing.

She didn't. At all. I checked on the cake after a half hour of baking, and there was no plastic wrap anymore. It had completely melted into the cake, onto my bread pan, and onto the bottom of my oven. Wonderful!

I was obviously very upset about the disaster that was my cake. So, I did what any rational girl would do. I Googled it. First, I came up with the recipe--clearly stating that you should use greased tin foil. And then I came across some other people who had had my problem. It appears that later editions of the book had the tin foil, but that the first edition that some of us unluckily had, states to use the plastic wrap.

So, I guess the moral of the story is never to buy the first edition of a cookbook, no matter how much you trust the author. And, if something doesn't seem right, Google it BEFORE you start baking. Chances are, some poor, unfortunate blogger has already made your mistakes. But, I won't know that unless you search it out beforehand.

From now on, I'm trusting my instincts in the kitchen more than the written word in front of me. Now to go see if I can get that melted plastic wrap off of my bread pan.

An Emotional Baker

I've been long absent from my blogging. I think it's just because I got lazy about taking pictures, and actually uploading them. I've been cooking. I've been baking. And, now that the weather is cooler, I've been doing a lot more of both.

Lately, I haven't been happy at work. I won't go into the specifics, since my company has a very explicit "No Blogging About Us" policy. But, I will suffice to say, without mentioning what company I work for, or any specifics at all, that I have not been in good spirits while there, or at the end of my day.

I've been told that there are people who are emotional eaters. They get upset, and they dive into the chocolate, the ice cream, the chips, the macaroni and cheese. I always sort of identified myself as one of these. I've found out over the last three weeks that I was wrong. I don't emotionally eat. As a matter of fact, that's exactly what I do. I, emotionally, don't seem to eat. I've lost more weight by being unhappy at work for three weeks than I did by going to the gym four times a week for two months. It's not that I'm skipping meals (or snacks), really. It's just that I sit down to eat it, take a few bites, and am...done.

Now, one would think that, if one had very little appetite, one would lose interest in cooking/baking. Not the case, apparently. Last night, I was left to my own devices. I had had a particularly rough return to work from a week-long vacation. And so, I unleashed myself upon my kitchen. I made a Cranberry-Banana Bread with fresh, tart cranberries sprinkled throughout it. I put together a dinner of Garlicky Stewed White Beans with Green Peppers, and stood over the pot breathing in the glorious garlic smell as it simmered. Well, the garlic smell mixed with the cinnamon smell, from the baking bread.

It seems that I might be an emotional baker. Tonight, after a dinner of Ramen noodles (yeah, I went there--I used real bouillon in place of their MSG-filled packets, though. I told you I haven't been hungry!), I set about making Banana-Chocolate Brunch Cake. I even did all of the dishes when I was finished (a rarity--that's usually Kurt's job). As I type this, the house is slowly filling with the warm cinnamon scent of the cake.

I should probably make note, as the girl who is all about local food, why I am using so many bananas. As I was food shopping on Sunday--for the first time post-CSA season--I stumbled upon a "reduced to clear" rack in the produce department. There, staring at me, was a wrapped package of past-prime organic bananas. There were five of them, for the unbelievable price of 57 cents. I couldn't leave them behind. I actually consider my purchase of only ONE package to be a sign of great self-control. I easily could have walked away with 30 over-ripe bananas, perfect for baking, for all of $3.42. My freezer would have been fat and happy. But, I resisted.

My oven timer is ringing. It is time to remove the banana cake...and maybe think about baking some cookies.

TWD: Peanut Butter Oatmeal Chocolate Chipsters

I've been behind on my TWD baking. I actually made the Granola Grabbers, but they disappeared before I could take pictures of them, and my Tuesday got busy, so I didn't get to blog. Since I had a long weekend, I promised myself I would follow through with this week's recipe. I am so glad I did.

These cookies were easy to put together, and made the house smell amazing. They tasted incredible, too. There's something nostalgic in their flavor. I can't put my finger on it. I can't imagine that it is a childhood memory, since my mother didn't bake that often, and certainly would have shuddered at 2 sticks of butter. I don't think they have a Weight Watcher point value for that. There's just a giant red NO when you look it up, I suspect. Still, the taste reminds me of childhood, for some reason. Or maybe it just tastes like what childhood should taste like. I can't help but feel that these are ideal lunchbox cookies--they have protein from the peanut butter, fiber from the oatmeal, and kid appeal from the chocolate chips. Of course, all of this is overlooking the 2 cups of sugar (one brown, one white) and the 2 sticks of butter. It is easy to overlook such things when they taste so good.

My story has a sad ending, however. Tonight, Kurt and I went out to run a couple of errands--most important of which was to buy our dog a 40-pound bag of food. Feeling that she had been such a good girl all weekend, I also purchased a nice, meaty knuckle for her to chew on, and some premium kibble that had bigger bites to put in her saucer toy (which she rolls around, eating the bits until it is empty). All of that, and I come home to find a ziplock bag torn to shreds on my rug. I knew immediately that this was no ordinary ziplock bag. In fact, this was the very ziplock bag that held about 10 more of these luscious cookies (one of which I was anxiously awaiting as my dessert). My dog has not gotten her meaty knuckle. She has not gotten her bigger kibble. And she'll be lucky if she gets her regular food in her bowl. Of course, she's probably not hungry, anyway, after eating the last of my cookies. Let's hope the chocolate doesn't affect her, and that I return to speaking terms with her some time this week.

If you would like to check out the recipe, go to Stefany's blog, Proceed with Caution. I would warn you, though, if you do make this recipe, to keep it well outside the reach of your animal companion. Thank you, Stefany, for a wonderful recipe choice!

In Tribute

The Workman family received bad news this weekend. Grandmother Workman, the matriarch of the Workman family, passed away on Friday night. She was 87 years old, loved and cherished by her five children, five grandchildren, and three great-grandchildren.

I didn't know Grandmother as well as I would have liked to. However, she was always extremely warm to me, always quick with a smile and a quip when I was around. Somehow, though I met her in the twilight of her life, I always felt a connection with Grandmother. Within her love of her home and her acclaim in the kitchen, I always felt that she was a kindred spirit. I like to believe that the welcome she showed me means that she felt it, too.

This evening, after the gathering of the family and the funeral, I have felt drawn to my kitchen. Doug (Grandmother's second son and my husband's father) has always said that no one cooks or bakes as well as his mother. Grandmother's fresh-baked bread and pecan pie are the stuff of legends, especially among the Workmans. So, it does not surprise me that, after paying tribute to Grandmother's life in the form of a wake and funeral, I felt compelled to enter my own kitchen and dig in to some flour. I suspect I am not the only person feeling this, as this morning there were homemade quick breads and cakes gracing the kitchen table, each brought by family members who had made them. Perhaps food is a way to deal with grief. Or perhaps a warm oven and a batter-flecked apron seemed an appropriate way to mourn a wonderful woman.

In memory of Grandmother, I would like to share my favorite excerpt from Barbara Kingsolver's amazing book Animal, Vegetable, Miracle. Grandmother will be greatly missed, and very fondly remembered.

I'm drawn to [The Day of the Dead], I'm sure, because I live in a culture that allows almost no room for dead people. I celebrated Dia de los Muertos in the homes of friends from a different background, with their deceased relatives for years before I caught on. But I think I understand now. When I cultivate my garden I'm spending time with my grandfather, sometimes recalling deeply buried memories of him, decades after his death. While shaking beans from an envelope I have been overwhelmed by a vision of my Pappaw's speckled beans and flat corn seeds in peanut butter jars in his garage, lined up in rows, curated as carefully as a museum collection. That's Xantolo, a memory space opened before my eyes, which has no name in my language.

When I'm cooking, I find myself inhabiting the emotional companionship of the person who taught me how to make a particular dish, or with whom I used to cook it. Slamming a door on food-rich holidays, declaring food an enemy, sends all the grandparents and great aunts to a lonely place. I have been so relieved lately to welcome them back: my tiny great-aunt Lena who served huge, elaborate meals at her table but would never sit down there with us herself, insisting on eating alone in the kitchen instead. My grandmother Kingsolver, who started every meal plan with dessert. My other grandmother, who made perfect rolls and gravy. My Henry grandfather, who used a cool attic room to cure the dark hams and fragrant cloth-wrapped sausages he made from his own hogs. My father, who first took me mushroom hunting and taught me to love wild asparagus. My mother, whose special way of beating eggs makes them fly in an ellipse in the bowl.

Here I stand in the consecrated presence of all they have wished for me, and cooked for me. Right here, canning tomatoes with Camille, making egg bread with Lily. Come back, I find myself begging every memory. Come back for a potholder hug.

TWD: Chocolate Pudding

I've never been a fan of chocolate pudding. It always seemed like a waste of dessert for me. If I'm going to eat chocolate, I'm going to eat CHOCOLATE. And if I'm going to eat my dessert with a spoon, I'm going to eat ice cream, and really eat my dessert with a spoon. Chocolate pudding was relegated to something to eat when I had teeth pulled (a common occurence when I was a child, unfortunately), or when my throat was so swollen that I couldn't eat anything else.

The thing that I never realized before was that there is chocolate pudding that is not Jell-O pudding. This chocolate pudding is not Jell-O pudding. This chocolate pudding does not deserve to have to share a name with Jell-O pudding. This chocolate pudding almost isn't pudding...it's chocolate divintiy in a glass. It is like no other "pudding" I have ever tasted before.

So, the process. It was a little involved, and I made it while I wasn't feeling well. There were a lot of steps. Melt the chocolate. Bring the milk and the sugar to a boil. Pulse together the dry ingredients. Pulse together the eggs and sugar. Run the machine while adding the hot milk. Put the whole thing back over the heat. Pulse it all again. Add the butter and chocolate. Spoon it into glasses and refrigerate for what felt like an unfair amount of time. Why bother with all of this when you can just add some powder to some milk and have chocolate pudding?

The answer, upon tasting the results, is obvious. This is something beyong pudding. This is almost mousse-like. This holds its bittersweet flavor and therefore isn't cloyingly sweet like the boxed variety. This pudding does not need to be a component. It is a wonderful, satisfying dessert all on its own--yes, even without whipped cream. This chocolate pudding is well worth the extra steps. This chocolate pudding, it turns out, is anything other than a waste of dessert.

Chickpea-Kale Stew with Chorizo

I had a whole, long post typed out catching up from the last time I posted, and my computer just ate it. Gone. So, out of sheer laziness, I am picking up with tonight. Sorry about the lack of catch up.

Lately, I've been inundated with greens from my CSA. The list of items I am getting is long, but most of them fall into the same category--leafy greens. Now, I might get kicked out of the kind-of-crunchy club for saying this, but I don't like dark leafy greens. I'm sorry. I just don't. I love spinach. I've learned to like chard, but it has taken work. Kale? Escarole? Collards? They kind of make my stomach turn.

I recognize that early in the growing season--spring and early summer up here in New Hampshire--are the time for greens. I've read Animal Vegetable Miracle, and I know what the vegetannual looks like. I know leaves come first. I wish I could feel a burst of excitment when I see piles of greens on my table after our pick up at the CSA. But, I don't. All I see is a bump in the road that I have to pass on the way to my favorites--the summer squash and zucchini and tomatoes and carrots and potatoes and basil.

Bump in the road or not, the greens have to be consumed. I cannot stand by and let a farmer's hard work go to waste--especially not a farmer I have to look in the eye the next time I pick up my share. And so the hunt is on. I need to find recipes that incorporate greens without making me gag.

I was shocked. I found one tonight. Not only did it not make me gag, but I liked it. I mean, really, actually liked it. The recipe is for Chickpea-Kale Stew with Chorizo, originally from the December 2007 issue of Cooking Light. I used chorizo that is made at a local butcher out of happy pigs (well, probably not happy anymore, but they lived happy, healthy, uncaged lives). I also used canned chickpeas, because that was just easier for my time schedule. If you make this recipe, do not leave out the lemon wedges. They give the whole stew a new spin and bring everything together. Ultimately, it was the lemon that made the kale--dare I say it?--taste good to me.

Overall, I've learned two valuable lessons tonight. Next time I'm looking for a kale recipe, look for one that incorporates lemon juice. They seem to go well together. The other lesson is one that I probably knew before, but kale made me doubt. If I look hard enough for a good recipe, and keep trying without giving up, I can learn to like any vegetable in at least one application. Thank you, Cooking Light, for finding the key to kale for me.

TWD: Mixed Berry Cobbler

For years, I never knew there was a difference between a crisp and a cobbler. As a matter of fact, I wasn't aware of the difference until this week's Tuesdays with Dorie recipe came out. Let it be known, there is definitely a difference.

Now, I'm not necessarily saying that a cobbler is fussy. But, I will say that cobbler is far more fussy than a crisp. A crisp is a 10-minute affair. You can chop the fruit, toss together the topping, and have it ready to bake before the oven is even preheated. Not so with a cobbler, which requires making a dough similar to a pie crust.

The end result was excellent, so I'm not complaining. The frozen mixed berries worked perfectly, and didn't require chopping, etc. The topping was crisp and crunchy, and just right under the mushy berries and melting vanilla ice cream. If I had to change anything at all, it would be the fruit. I have an aversion to anything that tastes too much like artificial raspberry flavoring--a lasting result of having Lyme disease at nine years old, and having to take a raspberry-flavored medicine that made me feel seasick all summer. The combination of the raspberries (which I have no trouble eating fresh) with the sugar and cornstarch came a little too close to hitting that old gag point. Next time, I might stick to blueberries and strawberries. Or, maybe take Dorie's suggestion in "playing around," and try it with apples and maple syrup. Yum!

Another note--you can ignore Dorie's pleas to eat this the day it is made. We did, of course. But, as a two-person household, we weren't about to finish it in one night. Unrefrigerated, it kept quite nicely and was very satisfying today. So, rest assured, if you do not finish it in one sitting, it will keep just fine overnight.

Overall, this was a great recipe. I'm definitely looking forward to using it for the base for many future variations.