As I sit here eating barley soup I would like to focus on what I’m not doing:
I am not writing a research paper
I am not cobbling together a portfolio
I am not getting high on Sharpie fumes while making a picture book
I am not even lesson planning
I am just sitting here enjoying the quiet in my head. And the barley soup.
Last night I had my last class of the year. Our final project was creating a “big book”, essentially a very large picture book (mine was 13″ x 19″), and an accompanying lesson plan. It was so much fun to see the books my classmates had made, they were so beautiful and creative, and some were just awe-inspiring. Everyone also brought in food and drinks to share. I had been wanting to make these tarts even since Ashley wrote about them on Not Without Salt. I’m so glad I did. Warm and spicy, tart and creamy, light and fluffy, they were a wonderful winter treat*. I had one for breakfast this morning.
These have been one of my favorite cookies for a long time. When I was putting together care packages for our not-so-near and but-very-dear they were part of the lineup. Crumbly chocolate cookie flecked with toasted coconut and filled with sour cherries and chunks of dark chocolate. What more do I have to say?
Have you ever made clafouti? Clafouti is a French flan-like desert traditionally made with cherries, though you can toss all number of fruits into the custard. I first made one ages ago, when I was a teenager, from a recipe in Martha Stewart Living. I remember at the time being surprised at how quickly it came together and how simple it was to make. I decided the time was ripe to make clafouti again, so I dusted off my old Mastering the Art of French Cooking.
I used the rest of my sour cherries, two fresh peaches and a handful of beautiful, jewel-like red currants. It was a perfect mix of sweet and sour, with little shots of the uber-tart currants. We liked it so much I had to make another two days later when we had some friends over for dinner. Try it and see how long it lasts in your house.
I made my first pie when I was thirteen for Christmas dinner. It was cherry pie. It has become a staple in my baking repertoire and my signature dish. It is, I believe, the only cherry pie my mom has ever liked. It has, on occasion, caused an epiphany. Once one of my cousins was too sick to come to our holiday feast and requested a whole pie to have all to herself. This is some good stuff.
I found the recipe in the original Betty Crocker Cookbook, which had belonged to my grandmother. While it was falling apart and had some antiquated recipes (most of the salads involve jello and/or mayonnaise), it was full of useful tips and delicious cookies, cakes, and of course, pies.
It’s true. I may not have a lot to say for myself but my breakfast skills are undeniable.
This morning I was trying to decide whether to have granola and yogurt or lemon pound cake for breakfast. I commented to Amir that as I had put yogurt in the cake it was actually healthy. Then it hit me, I could have cake and yogurt for breakfast, screw the granola. Delicious? Yes. Nutritious? Obviously (it’s basically eggs and toast sprinkled with sugar and tied with a piece of lemon zest. Plus there were blueberries, and blueberries are super good for you.) Pretty? I think so.
I wish my powers ran along more useful lines, likes being able to create world peace, or fixing pipes or something, but breakfast will have to do for now.
Once upon a time, long before I was even a twinkle in his eye, my dad lived in a house in Los Angeles that had an apricot tree in the yard. One summer the apricot tree produced an amazing amount of fruit, and my dad, being the man he is, decided to make jam. My dad and I are devoted lovers of stone fruits- cherries, apricots, plums- they all disappear when laid in front of us. He wanted to preserve the pure, manna from heaven flavor of apricots and decided to add nothing to this jam, no sugar, no lemon juice, no pectin, nothing, and just cook it down until it was nice and thick, golden and gooey. It took him three days. He turned off the stove to sleep, of course, and he says, when it was finally finished, it was sheer heaven.
(Yes, I sometimes write recipes on the cartons cherries come in, I don’t always have paper handy in the kitchen. And yes, that is a picture of my trash after cherry-pitting, it looked so pretty, I couldn’t resist. Reminded me a bit of this post.)
Inspired by this story, and …]
When I was working on the blueberry banana cake I visited my friend Alex and took him a slice, looking for his opinion. He liked it, suggested adding more blueberries, then thought that chocolate and peanut butter would make it even better.
Inspired, I set out to make this cake.
I might have bought a whole flat of raspberries the other day.
It’s just that they were so cheap, and raspberries are usually such a luxury item. The opportunity to own so many raspberries at one time was too exciting to pass up.
I lugged them home on the subway. Some woman next to me asked if I was selling them, I had to tell her, no, I wasn’t, they were all for me. I wasn’t even sure of what I would do with them yet.
Remember this lonesome banana?
Well, I paired him up with these guys and made a cake.
A truly delicious, forgiving, easy to make cake that is the bastard child of my banana bread and Edna Lewis‘ Blueberry Cake. I also received a little help from this cake, which has been making the rounds on the internet lately. I have been playing around with proportions and flavors, and there is a part II to this story that involves peanut butter and chocolate.
Ms. Lewis’ Blueberry Cake makes use of leftover berries from canning, which I sadly do not have, so I cook mine down. You end up with a beautiful little blueberry sauce, which is perfect on its own, though you could add a little sugar and cook it down if you feel like spending an extra few minutes slaving over the stove.
All I can tell you is that when Amir was sitting at the kitchen table eating this two-day old cake, and dipping it in the sauce, he seemed very happy to be back in New York.
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