SoupSpoon

an interruption

I stopped my schoolwork to put on a pot of split pea soup, and talk to you for a minute.

The last month of a semester feels pressed, cramped, and ready; pregnant with expectations, demands, and opportunites for one more chance. Goldman, Gilman, Freidan. My tired eyes have stared at this screen for hours trying to formulate sentences that capture the essence of feminism into a seven page essay that will be turned in, graded, and then stacked on my shelf. When I told a specific family member that I was writing a paper on feminism she said, "You know, we are no further along than when we burned our f***ing bras." After trying to incorporate that into my essay, I couldn't make it work.

I feel right at the edge of change. I know you must know that feeling. When you know what is behind you, you know what is beside you, but the up ahead is a bit fuzzy? I think it looks bright, but just not clear. Today, at this desk, with the pouring rain outside and the rhythm of moving fingers making words, the unknown is exciting.

The soup smells so good. I did a variation on the above recipe, and added garam masala, mustard seeds, and anise. The spice makes the house feel warmer.

My next to-do is to read over Karl Marx and prepare for class discussion. Then, I plan to welcome Stephen home from the pouring down rain with a bowl of hot soup.

Thanks for allowing my interruption. Now, everybody, back to work.

p.s. stephen was a pirate and I was a chef for halloween. I thought you might like to see.

fried plantains

In the middle of summer, plantains make sense. Tropical festive foods, especially when fried, seem inextricably linked with summer. Well. I have news, and I am almost shocked to confess it. It is November and I just fried a batch of plantains. And not only that, but they are perfect hot from the bubbling oil, topped with the floral heat of fresh cracked black pepper, and salt sprinkled on their golden edges.

This process confirmed my notion that frying, though linked with summer, makes infinitely more sense in the winter when every ounce of heat produced in the kitchen adds to the coziness of the home. Oh yes. Frying. All the good golden goodness of summer wrapped up in the chill of November.

 

Typically, I roast plantains. When they are black and ripe, I slice the peel down on one side, and bake them until soft and sweet. Hunks of roasted plantains on a spinach salad is a mighty fine treat. Today, though, the unripe flesh, which is more like a potato and not very sweet, made a perfect snack for finishing school work. Somehow I managed to refrain from eating every single slice. To be sure, Stephen will be grateful for my self-control.

 

Monday nights I have class, and that means that Stephen typically eats supper alone. I leave a plate for him that he just heats up at leisure, and he is usually pretty excited about whatever I fix. (Tonight, I imagine the excitement will be amplified.)

 

Fried Plantains 

2 yellow unripe plantains

corn oil for frying

salt and pepper

1. Slice the plantains into thin slices

2. Heat oil, about 1/4 inch thick,  in deep sided skillet until hot but not smoking. You want the plantains to sizzle when you drop them in

3. Fry the plantains for 4 minutes. Flip them over and smoosh them with the back of the spatula

4. Fry another 3-4 minutes until golden brown. Remove and drain on paper bag. Repeat with remaining slices

gingerbread, and it is vegan

The weather has turned cold and wet. Everyday.
In the middle of a bike ride home in the rain, I began to fiend for gingerbread. Hot from the oven, with a mug of cider, I picture the slice of gingerbread, so confident and simple, to be sassing the cold with a smirk saying, "Go ahead. Make my day."

Well, it was not that day or the next or the next that I put a batch of gingerbread in the oven. Instead I went to Ohio, where it was even colder, to see my folks and old friends. We did plenty of cooking and baking, including the famous apple butter hand pies, but no gingerbread. For some reason I kept waiting and waiting for just the right time (as if anytime isn't right enough), and lo and behold last night was just about as right as it could get. 

The weather was, as you can predict, cold and rainy. We wrapped up in our pajamas and made Indian  curry for dinner. As the entire house filled with the depth of fenugreek, coriander, and cumin, we added on another layer of goodness, ginger. While we simmered the vegetables and waited on the rice, we whipped up a batch of this bread and set it in the oven. I remarked that this was quite possibly the most perfect evening ever: dinner on the stove, dessert in the oven, and warm fuzzy slippers. (Stephen remarked that I am a ridiculously simple date. I am fine with that, I think.) As we took our last bite of supper the house smelled nearly hypnotic.

We had a slice after supper. We had more this morning. I had a bite this afternoon. If you don't come over soon we just might have to make another round.

Well, I am fine with that too, I think.

p.s. Yes, this recipe is vegan with no refined sugars and half whole wheat flour. Completely moist, not too sweet, and heavily spiced. Just like any sassy gingerbread should be.

Gingerbread makes 1, 9 inch cake

adapted from the Voluptuous Vegan by Myra Kornfeld (if you want to make vegan desserts, you really should buy this book.)

1 cup plus 2 teaspoons whole wheat flour

1 cup all purpose flour

2 teaspoons baking powder

1 teaspoon baking soda

1/2 teaspoon salt

2 tablespoons ground ginger

1/2 teaspoon ground cloves

1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1/4 teaspoon fresh cracked nutmeg

1/2 cup canola oil

1/2 cup molasses (I use blackstrap)

1 cup maple syrup

1 cup original unflavored soy milk

1 tablespoon apple cider vinegar

1 tablespoon vanilla extract

1. Preheat oven to 350. Grease an 9 inch circle cake pan. Line the bottom with parchment paper. Set aside

2. Sift together dry ingredients in a medium bowl. In another bowl whisk oil, syrup, molasses, soy milk, vinegar, and vanilla vigorously until emulsified (can do this in a blender)

3. Pour wet batter into dry ingredients. Whisk together until all liquid ingredients are absorbed. The batter will be quite wet

4. Pour batter into pan and bake for 45-50 minutes. Serve warm or cold. anytime and anywhere

a big table

Soupspoon, you are such a rest in the middle of a day. Just a few minutes ago my mind tiredly read another Federalist paper in an attempt to force myself to articulate exactly how right the Federalists were in the Constitution business. I set the books aside to come here for just a minute and think about the beauty that sprinkled like stardust all over last week.

We headed to the mountains in a rainstorm, and arrived into the warm happy arms of Natalie's family by lunch. Instantly, it was just as before. We piddled in the kitchen, making tomato sandwiches with avocado and basil, and then set about the rainy afternoon passing time with tea, pictures, and stories. Oh it was so perfect. Even the rain was perfect. Everything. Honestly. Perfect.

After an afternoon that passed too quickly we started on dinner. Now, I must pause to say we had the counters filled with bounty from her parents' prolific garden as well as Natalie and Renee's early farmer's market finds. The list of ingredients is enough to send me into a hazy daydream all over again as I remember listening to Renee count off fresh shitakes, heaps of greasy beans, red okra, tomatoes, jalapenos, radishes, asparagus, goat's cheese, cherry tomatoes, and fresh trout. We opened bottles of wine and everyone naturally fell into a position of slicing, chopping, sauteeing, and grilling. It was like choreography but without any practice.

The rain paused just long enough for her dad to grill the trout on cedar planks in a Green Egg. Have you ever seen one of those before? It was my first encounter, and I must say I am glad we met.

Look at it all! Golden and tender and perfect, just like everything else that day.

As an appetizer, Jay slow roasted cherry tomatoes tossed in honey and fresh time. We toppled them on sliced baguette with a schmear of goat's and ricotta cheese. From the first bite of those to the last bite of pumpkin bread, we were stuffed to the gills with gratitude.

We woke up early the next morning to squeeze every last second from our trip, and after another over the top meal involving a souffléed omelet, apple turnovers, and bacon, we reluctantly said our good byes. Perhaps you are wondering, "how did they get such good friends?" Honestly, I am thinking that myself right about now. She was to fly back to Africa on Thursday, and we are not sure when the next opportunity will be that we get to fall into those warm arms again.

Stephen and I think, actually we are formulating a plot, to get her back here with us. We contemplated force, but are for now just waiting and hoping that one day soon she will stroll back down the streets of this continent and happen upon our back door. To be sure, we still have a place at the table for her.

spiced pumpkin bread (with a wee bit of bourbon)

Some Septembers feel like summer hungover, but not this year. This year we already have blustery fall days, and cool enough evenings to sit around the fire out back and eat bowls of chili washed down with Autumn Ale. Unfortunately, the weather is a bit moody and will still swing a hot day in there every now and again, but when the weather swings cold for an afternoon we try to suck it for all its autumnal-worth.

Today, fortunately, is one of those blustery ones. We are pre-celebrating Stephen's birthday (which is technically tomorrow, but I am dragging the party on an extra day). We are headed to the mountains to see Natalie, and my plan all week was to make a birthday cake to take along with us. Well, my hand-mixer broke. If you have made my lemon cake recipe then you well know that to attempt it by hand would demand great strength of which I felt a lacking. Lemon cake is Stephen's favorite, and so I felt like a schmuck for not being able to deliver on his birthday. Yesterday in the midst of a rainy cold afternoon I casually asked what sort of cake he wanted this year, and lo and behold he requested pumpkin bread. Perfect, I thought to myself (now I just need to make a recipe).

Fortunately this part came together with sheer birthday brilliance. Stephen helped me measure and taste, and gave me the go ahead when I quizzically looked at him with a bottle of bourbon in my hands. What we have for you is a perfectly moist, not overly sweet, intensely spiced pumpkin bread suitable for birthdays and ready in less than an hour. I told you it was brilliant.

Here's to Stephen, one more year.

Spiced Pumpkin Bread makes 6 mini loaves
1 cup packed brown sugar
1 cup white sugar
1 cup canola oil
1 15 ounce can pumpkin
1/3 cup water
3 eggs
1/4 cup bourbon whiskey
1 cup whole wheat flour
2 1/2 cups all purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon baking powder
2 teaspoons ground ginger
1 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon clove
1/4 teaspoon fresh ground nutmeg

1. Preheat oven to 350. Grease 6 mini loaf pans
2. In a large bowl whisk together both sugars, oil, water, pumpkin, and bourbon. Whisk in eggs
3. In a separate bowl stir together both flours, spices, baking soda, baking powder, and salt
4. Fold dry ingredients into wet ingredients
5. Evenly disperse among the 6 pans
6. Bake for 40-45 minutes
7. Share and enjoy

fig preserves

At the end of August, fig trees around here are heavy with fruit. Knowing how lovely they are, and knowing that they cost nearly a dollar a piece in the grocery store, my heart aches when I see trees bursting with fruit in a neighbor's yard. Yes, I know I could knock on their door and ask them if they planned to pick all of those magical fruits that are right in their front yard, but before I even had a chance to do that, Sarah showed up with bags full from her Grandpa's house. Let me just say that I was a pretty happy neighbor.

While I am on the topic of neighbors, Sarah found a place to live right near our house. Though she is no longer actually sharing our space, we are pretty happy that she is only a stone's throw away. It was so nice to have her here.

Friday afternoon I set to work on the figs, and made a batch of preserves. After picking off the woody stems, I rinsed the figs well and tossed them in my soup pot. I had about half a gallon of figs, and ended up with a little over a quart of preserves. I looked over a few different recipes and procedures for fig making, and after looking at some that involved baking soda, anise seed, and lemon wedges, I decided on a simple syrup with lemon juice preserve.

We had a schmear  of the preserves on toast with goat's cheese and avocado, and the balance of the sweet figs with the hint of lemon is perfect. I suppose that you could not bother canning it, and just give it away to be eaten immediately, but in case you want to can, I listed my procedure below. Happy harvesting.

Fresh Fig Preserves makes just over a quart

1/2 gallon figs
1 cup simple syrup
1/2 lemon
sterilized jars, rims, and lids

1. Clean off the woody stems of the figs. Rinse the figs well and toss them in a soup pot
2. Make the simple syrup by combining 1/2 cup sugar with 1 cup water. Stir well. Bring to a boil and set aside
3. Squeeze lemon juice over figs. Stir in simple syrup. While stirring well, bring figs to a boil. Once at a boil turn down to a simmer and stir frequently for 45 minutes until water is evaporated and the preserves coat the back of your spoon
4. While the preserves are simmering, sterilize jars and rims by boiling them in another large soup pot
5. When preserves are ready, place jars on a clean dish towel and carefully fill them with the hot preserves to within 1/2 inch of the top of the jars.
6. Dunk lids in simmering-- not boiling-- water to sterilize them, wipe the rim of the jars, top with lid and tighten rims
6. Bring the water back to a boil and place the jars in boiling water for 15 minutes. The water should cover or nearly cover the jars. Carefully remove jars and set aside. The lids should pop, seal, within 24 hours
7. enjoy

sarah's pizza

We have a house guest, staying for an indefinite amount of time, and we could not be happier about it. She thinks we are being good to her, but really she is just as much a good thing to us. She is pleasant, tidy, and eager to piddle with me in the kitchen. Doesn't she sound like the perfect guest? She really, really is.
We have our tea together in the morning, and make dinner in the evening. Honestly, it has been simply lovely.

Last night we picked a bowl of tomatoes and a handful of basil from the garden, and made a perfect pizza. Light, fresh, and simple. We chatted and sliced and took turns in front of the hot oven. I liked it very much, and think that I might try to convince her to stay. Forever.

She made pesto while I kneaded the dough. Of course I imagine that you have tasted a pizza similar to this. Perhaps you have even made one yourself. The recipe is nothing novel or fancy, but it is perfectly good in every way. The crust is crisp in all the right places, soft in all the rest. The pesto pops in your mouth with the sweet sunshine of the fresh tomatoes. The creamy salty zip of the goat's cheddar and a splash of balsamic take all the flavors to a whole new level.

Simple is good. So very good.

We ate the cold leftover pizza for lunch today, and already have discussed making round two. Maybe we will make another pizza this weekend just like this one. And maybe I should call it Sarah's pizza. Yes, I think I will.

Sarah's Pizza serves 2 or 4

1 recipe pizza dough
1 recipe pesto
4 garden fresh red tomatoes, sliced ever so thin
4 ounces goat's cheddar, sliced in thin slices
about a dozen yellow grape tomatoes, sliced in half
a handful of baby spinach
about a dozen fresh oregano leaves, pulled from stem
1 tablespoon fresh minced parsley
2 teaspoons balsamic vinegar
salt and pepper

1. Once you blind bake the dough according to the directions, spread about 1/3 cup pesto over the dough
2. Lay the tomato slices over the pesto
3. Sprinkle with salt and pepper
4. Lay the cheese slices evenly around the pizza
5. Sprinkle oregano and parsley evenly over the pizza
6. Lightly drizzle the balsamic over the pizza in a large circular motion around the pizza
7. Top with baby spinach
8. Finish baking in 400 degree oven for 12-15 minutes until the crust is golden

a big summer

hi there friends,
This post is to serve as a reminder to me of a very special week. Emily and Ben got married last Saturday on the side of a mountain. The sun beamed down on us all reminding us of the promises of a bright road ahead.

Sunday I came down here to the beach to spend the week with my family. I have been thinking about you and wanted to send an hello. I set my camera aside this week and have been hands on, thus I have no pictures to share with you of the wedding or the beach. A few friends were taking photos of the mountains, and I hope to snag a few soon to share.

For now I do have this one. Just this one little photo of a portion of the love I get to experience here... Right here, with my family.

As much as this photo completely captures the moment, I can't completely decide what kind of moment it is. ( Is he soaking it up or feeling smothered?)

Oh my, how good life is.

one two three

This is almost too simple to post. I considered just letting it slide by, but Stephen petitioned that I post these sweet little bites. Stephen said, "The brilliance in this one is in the combination, not the procedure."

The more I thought about that I decided I liked that perspective for this appetizer and for other areas of life. Brilliance sometimes comes in the unplanned perfection of a combination of flavors, and sometimes in the unplanned perfection of a combination of two people... Two people like our friends Emily and Ben.

Saturday we had a wedding shower for Emily. Her friend Elizabeth picked out the happiest yellow decorations and the fluffiest white hydrangeas to feed the eyes, and we made a summer luncheon spread to feed the bellies. B.L.T.s with basil mayo, summer salad with corn, cukes, yellow grape tomatoes, spinach, lima beans, and garlic, fresh squeezed lemonade, and these goat's cheese toasts. Everything was pretty and delicate, just like Emily.

Though this post could turn into a lengthy exposé on how utterly excited I am for Emily and Ben, I will try to refrain and stick to the appetizer. Later, maybe, I will go on and on about them.
Maybe I will write about their story and the brilliance of a perfect combination. Or maybe I will ask her to write it. It really is such a perfect brilliance.

Goat's Cheese, Lemon Curd, and Fresh Mint Toasts about 24 pieces

1 baguette
1/2 cup lemon curd (available near the jellies at most groceries)
8 ounces goat's cheese
about 2 dozen mint leaves
fresh cracked black pepper

1. Slice the baguette into thin slices, on the bias (diagonal)
2. Spread a thin layer of lemon curd
3. Spread a thin layer of goat's cheese
4. Top with one mint leaf
4. Crack fresh black pepper over all and enjoy

lemon blueberry muffins

This makes the third post in a row that nods towards this sweet little fruit, and though it may seem to you that I am making a habit of posting only blueberry related recipes, I have one more to share that is completely worth the redundancy.

If you are a fan of muffins, and if you are a fan of moist, golden, bursting with flavor muffins, I think this is just for you. At my first job out of school we made a muffin like this one that just begged to be eaten (by everyone). Then I lost that recipe, and looked for a new one. I found a few, morphed them, tweaked it and voila! The luscious lemon berry goodness is back in full swing.

Last weekend I made a batch of these muffins to take with us to the beach. Stephen caught the early morning surf on Saturday, and I could see the contentment all over his sandy face. We then spent the day at the beach, and out on a new friend's boat. A belly full of fresh made muffins is a happy way to start any Saturday. On a Saturday as great as that one, it was almost too much goodness to bare.

Lemon Blueberry Muffins makes 24 mini or 12 regular muffins

2 cups all purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 cup sugar
1 large egg
1/2 cup unsalted butter, melted and cooled slightly
1 cup lemon yogurt
juice from one lemon (2 tablespoons)
1 teaspoon lemon zest
1 pint fresh blueberries

1. Heat oven to 375 and grease or line muffin tin
2. Mix sugar and egg until fluffy. Add yogurt, lemon juice, zest, and cooled butter. Blend well
3. Fold in dry ingredients
4. Gently fold in blueberries
5. Fill muffin tins
6. Bake mini muffins for 15-18 minutes and regular muffins for 20-24 minutes
7. enjoy