SoupSpoon

gingerbread pancakes

Happy almost December.

One more week of classes, one week of exams, and then we coast into December 25th. Last Christmas I wrote that I felt excited, raw, and open for 2009. Now as it draws to a close, I think those emotions have held strong through the year. Life can be good, messy, hard, and beautiful all at the same time if we let it be. I am trying to always let it.

We spent the past few days at the coast with our families, and it was delicious. Baking, cooking, walking, and playing, we spent the bulk of every day just flowing along. It was perfect. Friday, Stephen and I helped my mom start to decorate her house for Christmas, and (as if I needed any help getting into the holiday spirit) this definitely brought the cheer on full force. Christmas trees, wreaths, and gingerbread people in every nook; I am ready for Christmas.

Stephen and I made a batch of entirely celebratory pancakes from a recipe that I pulled from a tattered 2006 Gourmet magazine. Somehow I have looked at that recipe for three years and never made it. It never sung to me before, but this year it lept from the page: Gingerbread Pancakes. The subtitle says these are hot cakes with personality. How could I have missed that? They are cake-like, not too sweet, and perfect drenched in syrup. Well, in sincerest apology for the lag, and kudos for the taste, here is the recipe that you really shouldn't wait three years to make.

Merry Monday and Happy Breakfast.

Gingerbread Pancakes makes 6

rescued from a 2006 Gourmet magazine and I bumped up the spice quantities a bit

2 cups all purpose flour

1 teaspoon baking soda

1/2 teaspoon baking powder

1/2 teaspoon salt

2 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1 Tablespoon ground ginger

1/2 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg

1/4 teaspoon ground cloves

3 large eggs

1/4 cup packed dark brown sugar

1/2 cup well shaken buttermilk

1/2 cup water

1/4 cup brewed coffee (not espresso)

6 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted and cooled slightly

1. Heat griddle to about 300. Whisk together dry ingredients

2. Whisk together in a seperate bowl, eggs and brown sugar. Add buttermilk, water, coffee. Stir to combine. Add to dry ingredients. Whisk in melted butter

3. Drop portions onto hot griddle and bake 3-5 minutes on each side. Serve with syrup and butter and if you really are feeling festive, a batch of cinnamon apples. Enjoy

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