It's been a while. My excuse is school, and major hella epic stress. Roommates and homework and finding a place to live next year and papers and depression and aaugh. Suffice to say that last night, the two girls I'll be living with next year went and checked out a place we saw last week, just to confirm that we were interested (it's some basement in a decent area, with old ladies living upstairs) and they said I couldn't have the piano there. Because this threw such a wrench in the whole decision business, one of the two of them got so stressed out she started crying, and then they told me about the piano situation and I started crying, and it was just bad. I had anxiety nightmares all night long, when I wasn't lying awake worrying about things like weeping angels and daleks and suchlike (we were watching the new series of Dr Who last night - Stephen Moffet is an awesome writer, creepy as all get out). We had another house viewing lined up for this morning, and I felt amazingly non-functional. But we went anyway. On the way, I was looking at the area - King Edward Avenue, which I've always liked - and just hoping and wishing that the place we were going to see would fit with the general splendor of the place. The picture had apparently made it look dumpy on the outside, and there were no interior pictures to look at, so we had no idea what we were really getting into.
Yes, the outside was dumpy. BUT. The interior was Victorian. Just...perfect. Higher ceilings on the ground level, full unfinished basement, upstairs were two smallish rooms with sloping ceilings, the kitchen was ugly but hey what's new, the whole place had hardwood floors which had an inlaid border oh my gods and it was just. So. Gorgeous. I ran around that house like a crazy person, in absolute raptures about everything, laughing, smiling, exclaiming. Christine is like, "Kate, tone it down a little!" I tried. I promise I tried. It was just really hard, that place was so lovely. And there's a quaint little backyard where we can have a garden (Chelsea and I are both so stoked about this; she just walked into the room and said, "Vegetable garden!!" We so exited, I tell you), and I can keep my piano, and it's superhellaepic cheap and oh, I want this house. We all do, I think. So. Stoked.
Now all we have to do is get it. Kinda scary. But. We'll see what happens. We're gonna be on our toes until this whole housing thing is worked out, and if it can be worked out by Monday that would be incredible. By which I mean unbelievable and fantastic. We'd all breathe a sigh of relief and then have a dance party.
Okay. Well. Back to homework. No food writing today; I've not gone to the grocery for way too long, and so I don't really have anything to eat besides risotto and pancakes. Not bad, but perhaps not the most noteworthy of things.
Love and houses,
Kate
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Monday, March 21, 2011
Food Dreams, part 1
It is the equinox, and so naturally my mind has entirely shifted focus from winter and school and is preparing for a life of eating dinner in the sun in my backyard, growing tomatoes, and not wearing pants.* And, naturally, just to match such things, my food ideas have moved from winter into summer. So I give you Summer Food Dreams, Part 1: pasta.
I envision a linguini, doused in a clear sauce and topped with slow-roasted tomatoes and fresh mozzarella cheese. The sauce is a reduction of butter, olive oil, lemon juice, white wine, and water, spiced with rosemary, oregano, and thyme. The recipe for the roasted tomatoes can be found here. Om nom nom.
Anyway. Sounds delicious to me. Add a salad on the side, made from snap peas and red lettuce with a balsamic vinaigrette including garlic and olive oil, and a little salt and pepper.
Sounds so good. I'll make that when the tomatoes are cheaper.
Kate
*Dresses, people. Seriously. Head. Out of gutter. Now.
I envision a linguini, doused in a clear sauce and topped with slow-roasted tomatoes and fresh mozzarella cheese. The sauce is a reduction of butter, olive oil, lemon juice, white wine, and water, spiced with rosemary, oregano, and thyme. The recipe for the roasted tomatoes can be found here. Om nom nom.
Anyway. Sounds delicious to me. Add a salad on the side, made from snap peas and red lettuce with a balsamic vinaigrette including garlic and olive oil, and a little salt and pepper.
Sounds so good. I'll make that when the tomatoes are cheaper.
Kate
*Dresses, people. Seriously. Head. Out of gutter. Now.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
New Tastes
Reevaluating how I feel about myself causes me to reevaluate the food I eat. Garbage in, garbage out, kind of style. Lately I haven't been eating anything good. Virtuous, but not good. Let me start by telling you that I'm a terrible cook. You should know that. Second, I have a bad habit of going to the grocery and not exactly knowing what I want when I get there, and then mistakenly buying all this food that I really don't want to eat, because it's cheap and healthy. I can't be the only one with this problem; I can't eat rice noodles, because they're empty calories, and I feel bad eating pasta with tomato sauce, because it's just so...college. Oatmeal is right out for dinner. Nor can I eat white rice, or potatoes...well, you understand. In paying attention to my health and pocket book, I have totally forsaken good taste. No idea what to do.
So. My plan is thus. I shall use up all the crap in my cupboard, and when we move at the beginning of May, I'll have a database of good food built up. From here on out, I shall experiment with better recipes, and learn how to spice things properly and make decent food.
Kate
So. My plan is thus. I shall use up all the crap in my cupboard, and when we move at the beginning of May, I'll have a database of good food built up. From here on out, I shall experiment with better recipes, and learn how to spice things properly and make decent food.
Kate
Friday, March 18, 2011
Posters and Plasticine
Today, I am five. Just for the day, you understand. This means that I am required to do all the dorky things I found myself doing today - like making a plasticine tongue in my Phonetics class, and making a glittery poster for Latin. Perhaps the best part is the fact that I did both these activities with classmates, and I get to keep them! I plan to show my parents and they have to gawk like they used to and squeal embarrassingly and tell me that I'm so good at this.
Though I'm not gonna lie, my Pyramus and Thisbe poster doesn't look half bad. And my tongue was pretty.
This all started back in January, on the first day of Latin class. Our class meets in a room in the Education building, and last semester one of the other classes that met in the same room was a class for the future teachers of our children. There were posters on the wall written in that immaculate hand, featuring the Traits of a Good Teacher in large, friendly letters. They had a poster with a tree on it, and a page that was just a list of Traits, and then they had one that was a giant peace sign - or would have been, had they not gotten it confused with the Mercedes-Benz logo. When we told our professor about this, she was overjoyed. Just thrilled. She declared that we, too, had to make posters, just to show off how awesome we were. They were going to include glitter and red paint (because everyone dies in the Metamorphoses, especially people like Pyramus and Thisbe, who stab themselves on the same sword) and Latin, and we had to put on our names and ages. This idea percolated for a good two months or so before we set a date and then executed the whole affair, and yes, executed is the only term appropriate for such a thing. My professor's looks the best: she has a frog with a mustache and red eyes to signify P&T's nasty parents, and a pipe cleaner tree bathed in red and blue and green paint ("It's the greenery!" were her words), and it includes a unicorn. Because no poster is complete without a unicorn. Also cut-out pictures of celebrities to play the roles of P&T, just because it's better that way. We have one fine arts student in the class, and he made a poster that actually looked nice. I'll see the finished product on Monday; I didn't stick around longer than I needed to finish my masterpiece. I'll post pictures. I promise.
And that was how I spent my Friday afternoon. This evening? I'm going to write a paper. Because I know how to have a good time. I mean, it's about Middle English! And Middle French! And orthography! It also...helps?...that Ian is out of town. He's gone off to watch herring spawn on the Island with a few friends.
With regards to cooking...hm. So much! A few days ago, I made garlic broth with a poached egg and spinach in it. It sounds really good, but for one, I made the broth too weak; for another, I am not a wobbly runny egg person, I like my eggs cooked all the way through, or fried, and poached eggs don't do that; and the spinach is kind of a mysterious floating thing when put in soup. Tasty, but mysterious and floaty. Fortunately, I had that lovely loaf of bread to chase it down.
Last night, I cut up two slices of thick happy bacon (bacon that isn't tortured in life is expensive) into small bacon pieces, baked them, and then used some of the grease to bake potato chunks and onion together with salt, pepper, paprika, and garlic powder. When they were done (which is pretty quick, since you bake them at 425 or 450 degrees), I steamed some spinach in a bowl in the microwave and added the potatoes and bacon on top. It was actually quite nice. Later that evening, I was lonely and so I made scones. When I was in the middle of baking them, Ian called, and I promised him some, and so I ate a few when they were fresh and stored the rest until I saw him today, upon which I promptly forgot all about the scones until he was already in the car and long gone. So now I need to make him scones to redeem myself. I ate all of them. Alone.
Well, it's now 7:43 here, and I should probably go get started on that paper. Or at least drink some tea. Should I sleep tonight? Hm. We'll find out.
Kate
Though I'm not gonna lie, my Pyramus and Thisbe poster doesn't look half bad. And my tongue was pretty.
This all started back in January, on the first day of Latin class. Our class meets in a room in the Education building, and last semester one of the other classes that met in the same room was a class for the future teachers of our children. There were posters on the wall written in that immaculate hand, featuring the Traits of a Good Teacher in large, friendly letters. They had a poster with a tree on it, and a page that was just a list of Traits, and then they had one that was a giant peace sign - or would have been, had they not gotten it confused with the Mercedes-Benz logo. When we told our professor about this, she was overjoyed. Just thrilled. She declared that we, too, had to make posters, just to show off how awesome we were. They were going to include glitter and red paint (because everyone dies in the Metamorphoses, especially people like Pyramus and Thisbe, who stab themselves on the same sword) and Latin, and we had to put on our names and ages. This idea percolated for a good two months or so before we set a date and then executed the whole affair, and yes, executed is the only term appropriate for such a thing. My professor's looks the best: she has a frog with a mustache and red eyes to signify P&T's nasty parents, and a pipe cleaner tree bathed in red and blue and green paint ("It's the greenery!" were her words), and it includes a unicorn. Because no poster is complete without a unicorn. Also cut-out pictures of celebrities to play the roles of P&T, just because it's better that way. We have one fine arts student in the class, and he made a poster that actually looked nice. I'll see the finished product on Monday; I didn't stick around longer than I needed to finish my masterpiece. I'll post pictures. I promise.
And that was how I spent my Friday afternoon. This evening? I'm going to write a paper. Because I know how to have a good time. I mean, it's about Middle English! And Middle French! And orthography! It also...helps?...that Ian is out of town. He's gone off to watch herring spawn on the Island with a few friends.
With regards to cooking...hm. So much! A few days ago, I made garlic broth with a poached egg and spinach in it. It sounds really good, but for one, I made the broth too weak; for another, I am not a wobbly runny egg person, I like my eggs cooked all the way through, or fried, and poached eggs don't do that; and the spinach is kind of a mysterious floating thing when put in soup. Tasty, but mysterious and floaty. Fortunately, I had that lovely loaf of bread to chase it down.
Last night, I cut up two slices of thick happy bacon (bacon that isn't tortured in life is expensive) into small bacon pieces, baked them, and then used some of the grease to bake potato chunks and onion together with salt, pepper, paprika, and garlic powder. When they were done (which is pretty quick, since you bake them at 425 or 450 degrees), I steamed some spinach in a bowl in the microwave and added the potatoes and bacon on top. It was actually quite nice. Later that evening, I was lonely and so I made scones. When I was in the middle of baking them, Ian called, and I promised him some, and so I ate a few when they were fresh and stored the rest until I saw him today, upon which I promptly forgot all about the scones until he was already in the car and long gone. So now I need to make him scones to redeem myself. I ate all of them. Alone.
Well, it's now 7:43 here, and I should probably go get started on that paper. Or at least drink some tea. Should I sleep tonight? Hm. We'll find out.
Kate
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Spring Rain
For the entirety of my life, I have adored the rain. It's so emotive. So crisp and sprightly, or mournful, or angry. Rain has a personality all its own. Of course, because I grew up in a town that gets three hundred days of sunlight out of the year, every year, I was never well-acquainted with rain as a child - and so naturally, I have always loved it to bits. Whenever it would rain, I would be outside (with my mother yelling about pneumonia) playing in its warm wetness, getting soaked to the bone and muddy and wallowing in the unadulterated joy that is a good bout of rain.
Naturally, I was excited about being in British Columbia for school, right on the coast. It would rain so much more - how perfect! Could I imagine a better scenario? Not really. The abundance of green, the wetness, the comparative warmth in winter and cool in summer...I couldn't wait to get here.
Well, I've been here since September. It rains inordinately. And up until today, I could not bring myself to be joyful about the rain. Happy, yes. Apathetic, usually. Downright disenchanted, once or twice. But today I realized what it is that makes rain special.
The smell.
Now you're like, "Well, duh, Kate. Jeez. Really? How long did it take you to notice that? Haven't you just been marinating in that for the past seven months?" You would think that, wouldn't you? But I haven't. The smell that means rain and rings so strongly in my heart with glee is not a product of the water falling out of the sky; rather, it is a chemical emitted by deciduous leaves. And around here, during fall and winter, despite the fact that there are manifold plants that retain their green casing all year round, the deciduous among us are only in leaf from March to October. Today was the first day that I could smell the rain. And so now, I want to sink my hands into the black soil and bury my toes in a garden, soak up sunlight through my face and arms and back and breathe nothing but spring rain, from here until June.
Kate
PS: Think the Greeks and Romans were the only ones concerned about meter in their works? English is actually a heavily meter driven language. Here, let me show you: take the phrase soak up sunlight through my face and arms and back and breathe nothing but spring rain, from here until June, and say it. It starts out iambic: a stressed/unstressed pattern of word pairs (in English, stress is shown with a slightly raised pitch, volume and a greater length, whereas in Latin, stress is shown with length, at least in poetry), followed by a series of dactyls (long-short-short). Thus, it's sort of like: S U S U S U S U S U S U S S U U S U U S U U S (X). The change in meter will probably lend more emphasis to the phrase nothing but spring rain, from here until June. And you can't insert a longer month for June because that breaks the meter. Interesting, no? ...I thought not. Aww. And I try so hard to be cool...
Naturally, I was excited about being in British Columbia for school, right on the coast. It would rain so much more - how perfect! Could I imagine a better scenario? Not really. The abundance of green, the wetness, the comparative warmth in winter and cool in summer...I couldn't wait to get here.
Well, I've been here since September. It rains inordinately. And up until today, I could not bring myself to be joyful about the rain. Happy, yes. Apathetic, usually. Downright disenchanted, once or twice. But today I realized what it is that makes rain special.
The smell.
Now you're like, "Well, duh, Kate. Jeez. Really? How long did it take you to notice that? Haven't you just been marinating in that for the past seven months?" You would think that, wouldn't you? But I haven't. The smell that means rain and rings so strongly in my heart with glee is not a product of the water falling out of the sky; rather, it is a chemical emitted by deciduous leaves. And around here, during fall and winter, despite the fact that there are manifold plants that retain their green casing all year round, the deciduous among us are only in leaf from March to October. Today was the first day that I could smell the rain. And so now, I want to sink my hands into the black soil and bury my toes in a garden, soak up sunlight through my face and arms and back and breathe nothing but spring rain, from here until June.
Kate
PS: Think the Greeks and Romans were the only ones concerned about meter in their works? English is actually a heavily meter driven language. Here, let me show you: take the phrase soak up sunlight through my face and arms and back and breathe nothing but spring rain, from here until June, and say it. It starts out iambic: a stressed/unstressed pattern of word pairs (in English, stress is shown with a slightly raised pitch, volume and a greater length, whereas in Latin, stress is shown with length, at least in poetry), followed by a series of dactyls (long-short-short). Thus, it's sort of like: S U S U S U S U S U S U S S U U S U U S U U S (X). The change in meter will probably lend more emphasis to the phrase nothing but spring rain, from here until June. And you can't insert a longer month for June because that breaks the meter. Interesting, no? ...I thought not. Aww. And I try so hard to be cool...
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Experiments in hardcore baking
I got up an hour later than I wanted to this morning, after dreaming about one of my old high school friends talking about this girl he wanted to date, despite the fact that she had really bad politics and half the time thought she was an elf. Not worth sleeping in to learn that from my subconscious, but I didn't bother to get up until 7:40 or so.
It was a good thing I got up. I had to proof my bread, get some homework done, and say sayonara to a roommate of mine who is going to Australia for two weeks. So now, the bread is doing its second rise, the roommate has flown the coop, and naturally I'm doing this instead of my homework. I'll get around to it, I promise.
The bread is different than usual. At about...11:30? last night, I decided I wanted to make a nice chewy tender bread to go with the soup I plan to make for dinner. So I looked up recipes, and though I'm sure something is out there, I got frustrated and wanted to bake, not be on the computer, so I stopped and just threw some things in a Pyrex container with a lid - the better to seal it up and let it rise overnight. Approximately, I used:
1 c. all-purpose flour*
1/4 t instant yeast
1/2 t salt
1 t honey
To this I added enough warm water to make it sticky and wet, but not soupy. Stirred everything together. Put it away and went to bed. This morning, after letting it do its thing for about 8 hours, I kneaded it a little - I think I did so too long; for one, the dough was super puffy when I started kneading, and so I pushed out a lot of bubbles, and for another, it is quite saturated with water, so the dough is very slack - and then set it aside. I'll preheat the oven in about twenty minutes, put the bread in at 9, and then we'll see what happens. The loaf is gonna be pretty small - I love experimenting, but I hate wasting things.
In the meantime, let me say that there is nothing more beautiful than the first light of morning, when the sun has finally burned through the haze of grey clouds that had held it back. There's just about two minutes of absolute glory, while sunlight drapes itself in golden swathes all over the mosses and vibrant green grasses in our backyard. Later, when it's gotten settled, it just looks unfathomably cheerful, but for that first few minutes, it is unreal.
-an hour passes-
My bread is AWESOME. Pictures later. School now.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Me misera! Mondays + midterms = meh.
Roman poets, just like Middle English poets, were absolutely mad about alliteration. My professor described it as "Roman crack". Everyone from Catullus to Ovid used this stuff, and had a ball.
Tangentally, did you know that because there was no set spelling for English words during the Middle English period, you can see where a written text comes from? For example, Chaucer writes in a more French-like style, using French-style syntax and words, as well as considerably less slang, and so his work is much easier for us to comprehend than, say, Gawain and the Green Knight, which is a contemporary work (more or less) to when Chaucer was writing, but it looks completely different, and the Middle English is much harder to read. So, though we don't know who wrote that poem, we do know where they were writing - if I recall correctly, the dialect was somewhere in Chestershire, which is quite a ways away from London (where a more Chaucerian form of English was spoken).
-sigh-
It's kind of a bad sign when the Medieval period is somewhere you go to take refuge from your stress. I spent all of yesterday studying for my Latin midterm (the latter half of Pyramus and Thisbe, and Amores 1.1, 1.3 and 1.9) - nine hours, even with the time change and eating - and still I think I might have done less than optimally. Oh well. Walking through the Classics department on the way to my Historical Linguistics class, all I could think was that maybe I should just be a Medievalist.
What with all this stress and stuff, all I want is comforting food. Nothing outlandish. We're talking eggs, potatoes, and bacon kind of comfort. Fortunately, the French are experts at making such things. Not with those ingredients specifically, but French food is probably the most comforting food I can think of - in a lot of cases - and Italian food is a short second, though it's more a happiness food than otherwise. Something about oregano is just so sprightly. Anyway. I'm currently looking at recipes - what to do for dinner?
-several hours elapse-
Yeah. So dinner was easy - while I was writing, Ian invited me to have quiche chez il, so. Hooray!
Kate
Tangentally, did you know that because there was no set spelling for English words during the Middle English period, you can see where a written text comes from? For example, Chaucer writes in a more French-like style, using French-style syntax and words, as well as considerably less slang, and so his work is much easier for us to comprehend than, say, Gawain and the Green Knight, which is a contemporary work (more or less) to when Chaucer was writing, but it looks completely different, and the Middle English is much harder to read. So, though we don't know who wrote that poem, we do know where they were writing - if I recall correctly, the dialect was somewhere in Chestershire, which is quite a ways away from London (where a more Chaucerian form of English was spoken).
-sigh-
It's kind of a bad sign when the Medieval period is somewhere you go to take refuge from your stress. I spent all of yesterday studying for my Latin midterm (the latter half of Pyramus and Thisbe, and Amores 1.1, 1.3 and 1.9) - nine hours, even with the time change and eating - and still I think I might have done less than optimally. Oh well. Walking through the Classics department on the way to my Historical Linguistics class, all I could think was that maybe I should just be a Medievalist.
What with all this stress and stuff, all I want is comforting food. Nothing outlandish. We're talking eggs, potatoes, and bacon kind of comfort. Fortunately, the French are experts at making such things. Not with those ingredients specifically, but French food is probably the most comforting food I can think of - in a lot of cases - and Italian food is a short second, though it's more a happiness food than otherwise. Something about oregano is just so sprightly. Anyway. I'm currently looking at recipes - what to do for dinner?
-several hours elapse-
Yeah. So dinner was easy - while I was writing, Ian invited me to have quiche chez il, so. Hooray!
Kate
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Semolina Bread - Is it the perfect loaf?
Well, is it? I don't think I can quite say, but I know it's damn near close. Ian said it was the best bread he'd had, in passing, and in a lot of ways I'm inclined to believe him. This is a wonderful bread - it takes on savory and sweet with equal and undivided acceptance, and is pretty much the best thing in the world covered in butter or honey or both. Not to mention that it's bright yellow, which makes everything better. I want walls the color of the inside of this bread. And it's springy like nobody's business - you cannot get this bread down. Moist and springy. Just perfect.
This after I made it last night, and experienced the tragic failed hope of promised, but undelivered, oven spring, upon which my countenance took a decided turn toward the depressed. Two loaves destroyed in one day. Two. I felt like such a failure. I had followed the recipe to the T, and just like all the other things I've made in my oven, the loaf barely sprung at all, despite its reputation as an extraordinarily oven-springy bread. So I went to bed depressed.
Well, in the morning I had two slices of the bread, one with butter, the other with honey. Oh my dear sweet gods. I have not had a more perfect bread. It is nutty and flavorful and squishy and bouncy and lively...it's like eating a little piece of Robin Goodfellow. Probably his ear. I dunno. So Good. Here is the link to the recipe:
http://www.thefreshloaf.com/node/4213/semolina-sandwich-loaf
The only situation in which you should not make this bread is if you do not like nice things. BAKE! NOW!!
Kate
This after I made it last night, and experienced the tragic failed hope of promised, but undelivered, oven spring, upon which my countenance took a decided turn toward the depressed. Two loaves destroyed in one day. Two. I felt like such a failure. I had followed the recipe to the T, and just like all the other things I've made in my oven, the loaf barely sprung at all, despite its reputation as an extraordinarily oven-springy bread. So I went to bed depressed.
Well, in the morning I had two slices of the bread, one with butter, the other with honey. Oh my dear sweet gods. I have not had a more perfect bread. It is nutty and flavorful and squishy and bouncy and lively...it's like eating a little piece of Robin Goodfellow. Probably his ear. I dunno. So Good. Here is the link to the recipe:
http://www.thefreshloaf.com/node/4213/semolina-sandwich-loaf
The only situation in which you should not make this bread is if you do not like nice things. BAKE! NOW!!
Kate
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
High Tea
I am currently taking a truly divine tea up here in a country that has yet to fully separate itself from the queen. The first true sunlight of the day falls magna cum dignitata on the decrepit shed in our mangy backyard, and to mimic its profusions, there is butter in the corners of my mouth. Outside, someone is appreciating these first few pants of spring the same way my father used to - behind a lawnmower, making a godawful noise that sends the scent of fresh-cut grass wafting around my teacup. I'm punctuating the racket with Tchaikovsky - March, Song of the Lark. It's beautiful.
Quite firmly, I believe that tea should be taken every day at four. I hit a slump around then, and without a half a pot of tea (which for me is quite an abundance) and a nice piece of toast, I go quite listless and insipid and become a perfectly unpleasant character to interact with. Tea at four is perhaps the only thing that keeps me going until then - it's a little something to look forward to. And of course I get to plan magnificent cakes and cookies for it. Which I should bake the night before, so that they're there when I'm too busy slumping to make them fresh. For there are few things in life finer than a good pick-me-up of the Queen's Favorite.
Thus, I'm eating the bread I made this morning (more on that shortly) with copious swathes of butter (the only way to take butter is in swathes - this is a fact of existence, not a matter of opinion) and pure, raw honey, along with some cheddar and of course tea with milk and sugar. The bread did not turn out as planned - it's rather more like a tasteless brick than like some delicious concoction of yeasty goodness. I blame my technique - I have no Dutch oven, which is what this recipe calls for, which I believe keeps the top of the bread moist so that it continues to rise while it steams. Mine sort of got halfway up the available space in the loaf pan and then stopped, hardened. And now, this is where I really don't understand what's going on - you'd think that despite all this, bread that has had 18 hours to ferment would at least taste good, if not being perfectly crumbed. Well, it doesn't. It's bland. And has this odd little reflection of sourness in the back, but nothing particularly interesting. So, what this leads me to conclude is that the flour I'm using is crap. Utter and complete crap. I guess that what I really don't understand is that back in the States, my mother bought plenty of whole wheat flour that did not have bits in it. All the grain was fully ground, and left nothing up to the imagination. It was often a grey-tinted tan, rather than being the reddish-tinted tan that flour here is. And the problem with that is that the flour I have been using lacks the nutty flavor and delicacy of touch that my mother's bread has. I've been trying to recreate her bread, following the recipe to the letter, and it consistently comes out the wrong color and too flat. I dunno. Maybe I'm just really bad at baking. Whatever is the matter, I intend to make a better bread soon. Maybe tonight. But for now, I must throw myself into the perpetuity of devoirs. A pox upon homework! -grumble-
Kate
Quite firmly, I believe that tea should be taken every day at four. I hit a slump around then, and without a half a pot of tea (which for me is quite an abundance) and a nice piece of toast, I go quite listless and insipid and become a perfectly unpleasant character to interact with. Tea at four is perhaps the only thing that keeps me going until then - it's a little something to look forward to. And of course I get to plan magnificent cakes and cookies for it. Which I should bake the night before, so that they're there when I'm too busy slumping to make them fresh. For there are few things in life finer than a good pick-me-up of the Queen's Favorite.
Thus, I'm eating the bread I made this morning (more on that shortly) with copious swathes of butter (the only way to take butter is in swathes - this is a fact of existence, not a matter of opinion) and pure, raw honey, along with some cheddar and of course tea with milk and sugar. The bread did not turn out as planned - it's rather more like a tasteless brick than like some delicious concoction of yeasty goodness. I blame my technique - I have no Dutch oven, which is what this recipe calls for, which I believe keeps the top of the bread moist so that it continues to rise while it steams. Mine sort of got halfway up the available space in the loaf pan and then stopped, hardened. And now, this is where I really don't understand what's going on - you'd think that despite all this, bread that has had 18 hours to ferment would at least taste good, if not being perfectly crumbed. Well, it doesn't. It's bland. And has this odd little reflection of sourness in the back, but nothing particularly interesting. So, what this leads me to conclude is that the flour I'm using is crap. Utter and complete crap. I guess that what I really don't understand is that back in the States, my mother bought plenty of whole wheat flour that did not have bits in it. All the grain was fully ground, and left nothing up to the imagination. It was often a grey-tinted tan, rather than being the reddish-tinted tan that flour here is. And the problem with that is that the flour I have been using lacks the nutty flavor and delicacy of touch that my mother's bread has. I've been trying to recreate her bread, following the recipe to the letter, and it consistently comes out the wrong color and too flat. I dunno. Maybe I'm just really bad at baking. Whatever is the matter, I intend to make a better bread soon. Maybe tonight. But for now, I must throw myself into the perpetuity of devoirs. A pox upon homework! -grumble-
Kate
6:45
It is currently 7:03 in the morning. I haven't been out of bed this early since...hm. Spring 2010. High school me laughs at college me, I know it - I'm so lazy. Most mornings I get up at the latest possible time and stagger out the door to school, and I'm late for my 11 am because I was too tired to be bothered to get up before 9:45. In high school, I was out of the door by seven. But today, high school me is too envious to laugh as I sit here, bleary-eyed and multi-sweatered, watching the sun come up through thick rainclouds and listening to the finches and crows singing. Not only am I out of bed, but I also have finished dealing with my bread, which now has to rise for another two hours and then bake for 45 minutes or so. I'm trying out Jim Lahey's No-Knead Bread, not because I don't like kneading things, but because apparently it's really good. Unfortunately, I haven't got the right equipment to make it properly - you need a Dutch oven, something which I was unwilling to cart across a country when I moved here and oh by the way costs about as much as my textbooks - and so I added a bit of canola oil to the proceedings and I'm going to bake it in a loaf pan. My hope is that it will be softer than usual, have a less crunchy crust, and be good for toast. If it turns out, I'll post the recipe. If not, I'll cry. In a hole. And then entomb myself with all the baked things that I ever have ruined. It will be mostly burnt cookies.
In other news, you know what's delicious? Frittatas. If you're unfamiliar, it's sort of like a baked omelette without the folding part. Usually, such things are made by heating up the oven at the same time as you're starting the preliminaries on the stove, and then using that to finish the eggs, so that they don't brown on the bottom. The only problem with this is that you have to turn on the oven, using all that energy just to zap a few eggs for five minutes. Sometimes I can't bring myself to see the value in such things. Fortunately, you can make a frittata on the stove, no problem. All you need is a lid.
Red Onion and Chevre* Frittata, stovetop style! (makes one tasty lunch serving)
Saute onion over medium high heat in olive oil, until clear. Beat two eggs together in a bowl and add to the pan, making sure they spread out all over the place. Turn down the heat to medium low. Add crumbles of chevre and spices (Herbes du Providence would be really good, but I don't own any of that, so I used basil and garlic powder), and then cover the pan with some kind of lid. Let it do its thing for a while, checking periodically to see if the eggs are done. Eat as soon as they are.
Though, to be honest, frittatas are really not worth blogging about. They're so straightforward I feel awkward mentioning them, let alone writing down a recipe for them. It feels presumptuous, like I think that no one in Interwebia knows how to cook eggs. I mean, seriously. I'm insulting your intelligence. But they fill me with such joy - this odd simultaneous happiness and homesickness. My emergency backup mother taught me how to make a frittata, at the same time that she taught me what one was in the first place. One of my closest friends, who is mistress of cooking things, used to make frittata almost every day, and she was the one who taught me how to like goat cheese despite its strong taste and chalky texture. So this lunch was kind of a way of going home to them, out of this cold and wet piece of seaside suburbia, back to somewhere that I know is currently cold, but sunny, and where every breath you breathe is so clear it's like you've never tasted air before.
-sigh- I'll go back someday.
Kate
*Chevre = a maleable, crumbly goat cheese.
In other news, you know what's delicious? Frittatas. If you're unfamiliar, it's sort of like a baked omelette without the folding part. Usually, such things are made by heating up the oven at the same time as you're starting the preliminaries on the stove, and then using that to finish the eggs, so that they don't brown on the bottom. The only problem with this is that you have to turn on the oven, using all that energy just to zap a few eggs for five minutes. Sometimes I can't bring myself to see the value in such things. Fortunately, you can make a frittata on the stove, no problem. All you need is a lid.
Red Onion and Chevre* Frittata, stovetop style! (makes one tasty lunch serving)
Saute onion over medium high heat in olive oil, until clear. Beat two eggs together in a bowl and add to the pan, making sure they spread out all over the place. Turn down the heat to medium low. Add crumbles of chevre and spices (Herbes du Providence would be really good, but I don't own any of that, so I used basil and garlic powder), and then cover the pan with some kind of lid. Let it do its thing for a while, checking periodically to see if the eggs are done. Eat as soon as they are.
Though, to be honest, frittatas are really not worth blogging about. They're so straightforward I feel awkward mentioning them, let alone writing down a recipe for them. It feels presumptuous, like I think that no one in Interwebia knows how to cook eggs. I mean, seriously. I'm insulting your intelligence. But they fill me with such joy - this odd simultaneous happiness and homesickness. My emergency backup mother taught me how to make a frittata, at the same time that she taught me what one was in the first place. One of my closest friends, who is mistress of cooking things, used to make frittata almost every day, and she was the one who taught me how to like goat cheese despite its strong taste and chalky texture. So this lunch was kind of a way of going home to them, out of this cold and wet piece of seaside suburbia, back to somewhere that I know is currently cold, but sunny, and where every breath you breathe is so clear it's like you've never tasted air before.
-sigh- I'll go back someday.
Kate
*Chevre = a maleable, crumbly goat cheese.
Monday, March 7, 2011
How Not to Bake Scones
There are some things one should never do. Things like buying an elephant off Craigslist, or shellacking yourself to a flight of stairs (if it's not Art), or yelling in a cathedral. No matter what, these are bad ideas. But they pall in comparison to the decision to create a recipe for tea cakes with no guidance, no decency, and no respect for chemistry. That is just perverse.
But I did it anyway. I shouldn't have.
Perhaps I would have been wiser if I had gotten more sleep. I forgot my homework until practically midnight last night, and while I was frantically trying to finish in time to wake up in the morning, my mind wandered and decided it wanted a nice Dutch oven so that it might make a loaf of No-Knead Bread, something that sounds so enticing that...well, I spent an hour on Amazon, and while now I know a lot more about cast iron pots, my homework did not miraculously finish itself. So it was one in the morning before I went to sleep. I woke at seven, started finishing that wretched assignment at 7:30, finished it at 9:39 and bolted out the door at 10:08, frantic not to miss my bus and mildly upset that I couldn't find my portable tea mug anywhere. While I was on the bus, I did my Latin homework, which I'd also neglected and which was hard - we're reading Ovid's Amores, and my professor wants us to compose sentences in Latin, which is not the end of the world, just the end of Kate. Dictionariless, bereft of a verb book, I languished in guilt and self loathing, knowing I wouldn't be able to finish the assignment. I more or less did, but. Well. It wasn't great. By one in the afternoon, I had crashed completely. No caffeine and three hours of frenetic work that morning had left me utterly spent, and I taught someone how to knit in a sort of stupor. In Phonology I thought about food and baking and what I wanted from the grocery and paid little attention to the muscles and bones of the jaw. When I finally got out at 3, I was much too tired to consider going to the store, and could think only of what I would bake for myself after that long ride home.
I settled on scones. Healthy ones. With oats and whole wheat flour and no oil in them (this was what killed them, I think. Or at least, part of it). I didn't think I could afford to add an egg, and so I decided against that. When I walked in the door, I called my dear sweet boyfriend to come for tea, and then got everything together, threw it in a bowl, stirred, and called it good. Baked the grotesque little brown lumps. And out came...a gummy, pasty, flour-flavored mass of chagrin, which I humbly disdained and deigned unfit for human consumption. Besides, I hadn't had nearly enough tea for that kind of behavior in my baking. So I sat, staring woefully at my mistake, while Ian sitting next to me, all comfort, and I was too tired to even feel sad.
This is not quite as bad as the time a few weeks ago when I was having an annoying day and decided to make cookies. As usual, I chose not to use a recipe (did I mention that I don't take directions well? I don't take directions well). I mixed up a lovely bowl of whole wheat flour, egg, butter, sugar, baking soda, salt, and chocolate, and carefully dolloped it on a tray, and baked up the most horrific batch of non-cookies that have ever graced the known universe with their evilness. What had tasted like a slightly odd dough was transformed into a gelatinous mass of pudding-like brown glop which, instead of being sweet or even just a little odd, was reminiscent of the sharp, irony taste of blood, though rather less pleasant.
I think the reason I randomly experiment with baking so often and so readily is because a lot of the things I bake on a regular basis are recipe-free guesswork. My pancakes are quite delicious, and I do have a scone recipe which is delectable, and both of these I came up with without the aid of a recipe and with no guidance whatsoever. I've also made vegan banana pancakes with a peanut butter frosting, and chocolate cookies, and cakes, without help, though I can't remember what I did. So it seems reasonable that I should think myself capable of making decent baked goods, rather than completely indecent baked bads.
But this does prove one thing: if you're going to bake on minimal sleep, use a recipe. And if you don't feel that recipes are your style, have some idea of how to put together whatever you want to eat - know the basics of the class. When you have the basics, then you can experiment. But the basics are usually rigid. Don't mess around with the rules.
Kate
But I did it anyway. I shouldn't have.
Perhaps I would have been wiser if I had gotten more sleep. I forgot my homework until practically midnight last night, and while I was frantically trying to finish in time to wake up in the morning, my mind wandered and decided it wanted a nice Dutch oven so that it might make a loaf of No-Knead Bread, something that sounds so enticing that...well, I spent an hour on Amazon, and while now I know a lot more about cast iron pots, my homework did not miraculously finish itself. So it was one in the morning before I went to sleep. I woke at seven, started finishing that wretched assignment at 7:30, finished it at 9:39 and bolted out the door at 10:08, frantic not to miss my bus and mildly upset that I couldn't find my portable tea mug anywhere. While I was on the bus, I did my Latin homework, which I'd also neglected and which was hard - we're reading Ovid's Amores, and my professor wants us to compose sentences in Latin, which is not the end of the world, just the end of Kate. Dictionariless, bereft of a verb book, I languished in guilt and self loathing, knowing I wouldn't be able to finish the assignment. I more or less did, but. Well. It wasn't great. By one in the afternoon, I had crashed completely. No caffeine and three hours of frenetic work that morning had left me utterly spent, and I taught someone how to knit in a sort of stupor. In Phonology I thought about food and baking and what I wanted from the grocery and paid little attention to the muscles and bones of the jaw. When I finally got out at 3, I was much too tired to consider going to the store, and could think only of what I would bake for myself after that long ride home.
I settled on scones. Healthy ones. With oats and whole wheat flour and no oil in them (this was what killed them, I think. Or at least, part of it). I didn't think I could afford to add an egg, and so I decided against that. When I walked in the door, I called my dear sweet boyfriend to come for tea, and then got everything together, threw it in a bowl, stirred, and called it good. Baked the grotesque little brown lumps. And out came...a gummy, pasty, flour-flavored mass of chagrin, which I humbly disdained and deigned unfit for human consumption. Besides, I hadn't had nearly enough tea for that kind of behavior in my baking. So I sat, staring woefully at my mistake, while Ian sitting next to me, all comfort, and I was too tired to even feel sad.
This is not quite as bad as the time a few weeks ago when I was having an annoying day and decided to make cookies. As usual, I chose not to use a recipe (did I mention that I don't take directions well? I don't take directions well). I mixed up a lovely bowl of whole wheat flour, egg, butter, sugar, baking soda, salt, and chocolate, and carefully dolloped it on a tray, and baked up the most horrific batch of non-cookies that have ever graced the known universe with their evilness. What had tasted like a slightly odd dough was transformed into a gelatinous mass of pudding-like brown glop which, instead of being sweet or even just a little odd, was reminiscent of the sharp, irony taste of blood, though rather less pleasant.
I think the reason I randomly experiment with baking so often and so readily is because a lot of the things I bake on a regular basis are recipe-free guesswork. My pancakes are quite delicious, and I do have a scone recipe which is delectable, and both of these I came up with without the aid of a recipe and with no guidance whatsoever. I've also made vegan banana pancakes with a peanut butter frosting, and chocolate cookies, and cakes, without help, though I can't remember what I did. So it seems reasonable that I should think myself capable of making decent baked goods, rather than completely indecent baked bads.
But this does prove one thing: if you're going to bake on minimal sleep, use a recipe. And if you don't feel that recipes are your style, have some idea of how to put together whatever you want to eat - know the basics of the class. When you have the basics, then you can experiment. But the basics are usually rigid. Don't mess around with the rules.
Kate
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Immensely Pleasing Immeasured Pancakes
Before January, I had never made pancakes completely on my own. When I was a child, my father would make them for my mother and I, out of some sort of pancake mix or other. He'd make me shapes - dinosaurs, cats...the last one was a tiger - and I always remember being excited, but I don't remember what they tasted like. It's been a while since that happened.
Pancakes returned to my life last spring, with one of my favorite people. She was going through a massive breakfast food phase, and we'd eat pancakes and bacon and strawberries for half our meals and curry for the other half. None of this box pancake business either: this woman is serious about her food, and at that time her pancakes were filled with cinnamon and rich moistness and love. It was glorious. Then I moved to Boston and left her two thousand miles away, and wondered when I'd ever get to eat her amazing pancakes again.
Well, I got impatient. Before I sat down and made pancakes with her again, I had to try my hand at them myself. I went online looking for pancake recipes, but nothing tickled my fancy and I gave up, throwing my hands in the air and shouting, "Aw, screw this wretched search! I'll make them myself!" And I did.
I never measure things. I probably should. So I'll give you what I do and approximate quantities as well. But mostly, if you're comfortable with cooking, add how much you like of each thing, and experiment with it. Make something you're happy with. That's what pancakes are for - happiness.
Kate's Immensely Pleasing Immeasured Pancakes
Combine in a bowl:
2 or 3 handfuls of whole wheat flour (about 1/2 c)
2-3 handfuls instant oatmeal (about 1/2 c)
1 handful rolled oats (1/8 c)
A goodly amount of brown sugar (somewhere between 1/3 and 1/2 - depends on how sugary you like your pancakes)
A pinch of salt, or two (1/4 teaspoon)
Enough cinnamon (between 1/2 and 1 teaspoon)
A small spoonful of baking powder (1 1/2 teaspoons)
Stir these things together until lovely and incorporated. Add a lot of water, until it's soupy and runny and lumpy with oatmeal. Stir to break up lumps, and set aside while you're preheating a large pan on the stove. Add some butter to the pan. I don't usually use too much - sometimes I forget altogether and they're fine. Then cook pancakes at medium heat until they set on the side you can see, and then flip them. Precaution: the first panfull you cook, only make one, and make it in the middle. This is your test pancake - tells you if your pan is too hot, or whatever. After that, go wild. If your batter is too thick, add more water. If your batter is too thin, add more flour. These are fairly forgiving.
Sometimes, when I'm feeling fancy, I'll add banana, or chocolate, or walnuts/pecans, or maybe add some milk instead of water, whatever. These are really easy to mess around with and you really can't go wrong with cinnamon and sugar. I've made these many times, and only once perfectly: at my dad's house a month ago, on a griddle he'd never used before and I don't think has used since. I have huge stove envy of that man.
If you do try these, tell me how they turn out. And I'd love to hear about modifications you make!
Kate
Pancakes returned to my life last spring, with one of my favorite people. She was going through a massive breakfast food phase, and we'd eat pancakes and bacon and strawberries for half our meals and curry for the other half. None of this box pancake business either: this woman is serious about her food, and at that time her pancakes were filled with cinnamon and rich moistness and love. It was glorious. Then I moved to Boston and left her two thousand miles away, and wondered when I'd ever get to eat her amazing pancakes again.
Well, I got impatient. Before I sat down and made pancakes with her again, I had to try my hand at them myself. I went online looking for pancake recipes, but nothing tickled my fancy and I gave up, throwing my hands in the air and shouting, "Aw, screw this wretched search! I'll make them myself!" And I did.
I never measure things. I probably should. So I'll give you what I do and approximate quantities as well. But mostly, if you're comfortable with cooking, add how much you like of each thing, and experiment with it. Make something you're happy with. That's what pancakes are for - happiness.
Kate's Immensely Pleasing Immeasured Pancakes
Combine in a bowl:
2 or 3 handfuls of whole wheat flour (about 1/2 c)
2-3 handfuls instant oatmeal (about 1/2 c)
1 handful rolled oats (1/8 c)
A goodly amount of brown sugar (somewhere between 1/3 and 1/2 - depends on how sugary you like your pancakes)
A pinch of salt, or two (1/4 teaspoon)
Enough cinnamon (between 1/2 and 1 teaspoon)
A small spoonful of baking powder (1 1/2 teaspoons)
Stir these things together until lovely and incorporated. Add a lot of water, until it's soupy and runny and lumpy with oatmeal. Stir to break up lumps, and set aside while you're preheating a large pan on the stove. Add some butter to the pan. I don't usually use too much - sometimes I forget altogether and they're fine. Then cook pancakes at medium heat until they set on the side you can see, and then flip them. Precaution: the first panfull you cook, only make one, and make it in the middle. This is your test pancake - tells you if your pan is too hot, or whatever. After that, go wild. If your batter is too thick, add more water. If your batter is too thin, add more flour. These are fairly forgiving.
Sometimes, when I'm feeling fancy, I'll add banana, or chocolate, or walnuts/pecans, or maybe add some milk instead of water, whatever. These are really easy to mess around with and you really can't go wrong with cinnamon and sugar. I've made these many times, and only once perfectly: at my dad's house a month ago, on a griddle he'd never used before and I don't think has used since. I have huge stove envy of that man.
If you do try these, tell me how they turn out. And I'd love to hear about modifications you make!
Kate
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Spring begins
Today is the first day of spring here. The sky above my house is an arabesque of blue surrounded by varying shades of threatening black clouds, and the sun's light is strong and hot. I walked barefoot to the park near my house. It's a designed park, all fancy gardens and asphalt walkways, but nevertheless it's beautiful. I can still feel my feet tingling with the softness of thick mustard green moss, and the moist dark brown of earth. There's a storm coming in from the North - I haven't lived here yet long enough to know what that means, but maybe we'll have another thunder storm. My walk being completed, there's nothing to do now but drink coffee and have breakfast. At 1:37 in the afternoon.
Last night, I made dinner for my boyfriend's family. I eat over there probably half the nights out of the week, and I feel bad that I'm such a mooch. Besides, I wanted to try out a new recipe: pasta. Homemade pasta. Now, I know the rule that you're not suppose to cook things you've never made before for people you like, especially people like your boyfriend's family, but I really couldn't resist. And it went over surprisingly well. Everyone loved it and swore it was delicious, though I found some things that I could have done better or differently. So here's what I did, and then the ways I would change it.
I used the recipe for Orecchiette that can be be found on Epicuriuos: http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Orecchiette-with-Chickpeas-242012. This recipe says it has 8 first-course servings. Not knowing how much that was, and needing to feed six people, four of which are fully grown men, so I decided that a first-course serving must be about half of what someone eats in a full course, and so I multiplied the recipe by 3/2 and got down to business.
Ingredients:
3/4 c. warm water
1 1/8 t. fine sea salt
2 1/8 c. semolina flour
Mix the salt and the water, stirring until the salt is dissolved. Add the semolina flour and incorporate to make a firm dough. I found I needed to add a bit more water (maybe a tablespoon or two), but I think that was because of the type of semolina I was using. Honestly, I think I should have added a bit more water; I don't think my dough was slack enough, though I wouldn't know, never having made pasta before last night. When you're happy with your dough, knead it until it's springy and elastic. Everything should be smooth - no tears in the dough. Cut this into five pieces and let it rest for half an hour underneath a bowl. This period of rest allows for gluten development, which will help the pasta be pasta, and not some horrifying mass of damp semolina particles when you boil it.
While I was giving it its half hour, I started on the salad, which was just some red bell peppers, cherry tomatoes, mozzarella (try to get fresh mozzarella; it doesn't come in a block, but in a ball, and it's soft and the flavor is light but unique, whereas the mozzarella from a block tastes like cheddar gone slightly wrong), basil, and a bit of cucumber, all drizzled in olive oil and balsamic vinegar with some sea salt on the top. (Add the saucy stuff just before you serve; otherwise it will be slightly odd.)
Then it was time to deal with the pasta. I took one of the five pieces out and rolled it into a baguette-like shape, about 16 inches long and 3/4 inch thick. Then you're supposed to cut it into 1/4-inch thick pieces and make these little ear-shaped pasta out of them. Which I did. I found that you have to roll the little pieces of the dough into balls before you can make the orecchiette shape effectively, and when you do make the shape, what I did was press down with the tip of my thumb and smear a bit, so that the dough makes a little hat for your finger. I enlisted my good sport of a boyfriend to help, and so we made a whole bunch of pasta and were really goofy together. This is what cooking is all about - having a really good time. If you get good food in the end, that's a bonus, but the real point is being happy while you're cooking. Why make something a chore when it's so diverting?
Once we'd finished the pasta, we washed the mushrooms (lots of them - white button, because they're cheap and I'm cheap, so we matched) and I cut them into slices and set them aside to be fried in copious amounts of butter. Then I started the sauce.
Alfredo sauce isn't that hard. I promise. You start with a roux, which is equal parts flour and oil (I used olive oil and all-purpose flour). Cook this in a pot on lower heat, stirring constantly, until the flour is cooked, but not browned. To this, add your spices - fresh, finely chopped garlic (I used two cloves and could probably have used more), oregano (I accidentally used dried basil, which turned out fine, but oregano is what you want), rosemary, salt, and pepper. Saute a moment more, until fragrant, and then add either water (if you have a thick roux) or milk (if you want this to taste really awesome rather than just very good). I added water, and then was sad and added milk. Turn up the stove a little, so that it's around medium heat, and add a profusion of finely grated Pecorino Romano cheese. Of all the hard Italian cheeses out there, this is probably the best. In the world. It has a sharp taste, makes your tongue tingle a bit, and is delightfully salty. The aftertaste is warm and full, and leaves a craving behind. When you add it to sauces, it makes everything better. This is good, because I needed an ameliorater.
Somewhere in the middle of the sauce process, the water for the pasta boiled and we added our orecchiette to it. We could see the quantity wouldn't suffice, and so we supplemented it with box pasta. Strangely, the two tasted more or less alike, with mine being just a little more chewy. While we were waiting for the pasta to finish, I cut up some more basil and my sous-chef grated more cheese and set the table. In the end, we had just enough. Ginger cookies and coffee for desert. Everyone was happy.
BUT.
Pasta is fun to make. I'd encourage you to try it. But it probably makes more sense to use box pasta instead. It takes forever to make, and it's very difficult to make enough. That said, this recipe produces very tasty pasta, though I think I overcooked them, among other things. But it was worth it. Trying new things frequently is.
Kate
Last night, I made dinner for my boyfriend's family. I eat over there probably half the nights out of the week, and I feel bad that I'm such a mooch. Besides, I wanted to try out a new recipe: pasta. Homemade pasta. Now, I know the rule that you're not suppose to cook things you've never made before for people you like, especially people like your boyfriend's family, but I really couldn't resist. And it went over surprisingly well. Everyone loved it and swore it was delicious, though I found some things that I could have done better or differently. So here's what I did, and then the ways I would change it.
I used the recipe for Orecchiette that can be be found on Epicuriuos: http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Orecchiette-with-Chickpeas-242012. This recipe says it has 8 first-course servings. Not knowing how much that was, and needing to feed six people, four of which are fully grown men, so I decided that a first-course serving must be about half of what someone eats in a full course, and so I multiplied the recipe by 3/2 and got down to business.
Ingredients:
3/4 c. warm water
1 1/8 t. fine sea salt
2 1/8 c. semolina flour
Mix the salt and the water, stirring until the salt is dissolved. Add the semolina flour and incorporate to make a firm dough. I found I needed to add a bit more water (maybe a tablespoon or two), but I think that was because of the type of semolina I was using. Honestly, I think I should have added a bit more water; I don't think my dough was slack enough, though I wouldn't know, never having made pasta before last night. When you're happy with your dough, knead it until it's springy and elastic. Everything should be smooth - no tears in the dough. Cut this into five pieces and let it rest for half an hour underneath a bowl. This period of rest allows for gluten development, which will help the pasta be pasta, and not some horrifying mass of damp semolina particles when you boil it.
While I was giving it its half hour, I started on the salad, which was just some red bell peppers, cherry tomatoes, mozzarella (try to get fresh mozzarella; it doesn't come in a block, but in a ball, and it's soft and the flavor is light but unique, whereas the mozzarella from a block tastes like cheddar gone slightly wrong), basil, and a bit of cucumber, all drizzled in olive oil and balsamic vinegar with some sea salt on the top. (Add the saucy stuff just before you serve; otherwise it will be slightly odd.)
Then it was time to deal with the pasta. I took one of the five pieces out and rolled it into a baguette-like shape, about 16 inches long and 3/4 inch thick. Then you're supposed to cut it into 1/4-inch thick pieces and make these little ear-shaped pasta out of them. Which I did. I found that you have to roll the little pieces of the dough into balls before you can make the orecchiette shape effectively, and when you do make the shape, what I did was press down with the tip of my thumb and smear a bit, so that the dough makes a little hat for your finger. I enlisted my good sport of a boyfriend to help, and so we made a whole bunch of pasta and were really goofy together. This is what cooking is all about - having a really good time. If you get good food in the end, that's a bonus, but the real point is being happy while you're cooking. Why make something a chore when it's so diverting?
Once we'd finished the pasta, we washed the mushrooms (lots of them - white button, because they're cheap and I'm cheap, so we matched) and I cut them into slices and set them aside to be fried in copious amounts of butter. Then I started the sauce.
Alfredo sauce isn't that hard. I promise. You start with a roux, which is equal parts flour and oil (I used olive oil and all-purpose flour). Cook this in a pot on lower heat, stirring constantly, until the flour is cooked, but not browned. To this, add your spices - fresh, finely chopped garlic (I used two cloves and could probably have used more), oregano (I accidentally used dried basil, which turned out fine, but oregano is what you want), rosemary, salt, and pepper. Saute a moment more, until fragrant, and then add either water (if you have a thick roux) or milk (if you want this to taste really awesome rather than just very good). I added water, and then was sad and added milk. Turn up the stove a little, so that it's around medium heat, and add a profusion of finely grated Pecorino Romano cheese. Of all the hard Italian cheeses out there, this is probably the best. In the world. It has a sharp taste, makes your tongue tingle a bit, and is delightfully salty. The aftertaste is warm and full, and leaves a craving behind. When you add it to sauces, it makes everything better. This is good, because I needed an ameliorater.
Somewhere in the middle of the sauce process, the water for the pasta boiled and we added our orecchiette to it. We could see the quantity wouldn't suffice, and so we supplemented it with box pasta. Strangely, the two tasted more or less alike, with mine being just a little more chewy. While we were waiting for the pasta to finish, I cut up some more basil and my sous-chef grated more cheese and set the table. In the end, we had just enough. Ginger cookies and coffee for desert. Everyone was happy.
BUT.
Pasta is fun to make. I'd encourage you to try it. But it probably makes more sense to use box pasta instead. It takes forever to make, and it's very difficult to make enough. That said, this recipe produces very tasty pasta, though I think I overcooked them, among other things. But it was worth it. Trying new things frequently is.
Kate
Thursday, March 3, 2011
(I can't stop eating these) Ginger Cookies!
While I was visiting my hometown over what amounts to an extremely early Spring Break up here in the Frozen North, my emergency back-up mother, who is one of the best cooks I've ever mooched food off of, gave me a recipe for white chocolate gingerbread blondies. Blondies are essentially brownies without chocolate, though the dough is closer to the consistency of cookie dough. Ordinary blondies are laced with chocolate chips, and come out like thick, gooey chocolate chip cookie squares. She told me that these ginger ones made an enormous batch, and they vanished mysteriously fast.
When I got back to Canada, I knew I didn't have a pan to bake them in, and I wanted cookies. Plus, though I'm not averse to white chocolate completely, I was averse to paying five dollars for a woefully pathetic bag, so I tactfully omitted those from my creation. So I made a half batch without halving the spices, and they were ridiculously good. This, the second time I made them, I tweaked it a bit so there's some more flour. What happened the second time was that heaven descended on my kitchen and the gods kissed my cheeks and wept. It was awesome. So here it is: fantastically amazing ginger cookies.
Preheat the oven to 350 F.
Mix:
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
5/8ths teaspoon baking soda
5/8ths teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon cinnamon
2 teaspoons ground ginger
1/2 teaspoon ground cloves
In a separate bowl, beat:
1 stick butter (8 Tablespoons)
5/8ths cup brown sugar
1/4 cup white sugar
Beat this until it is fluffy and cries for its mother.
To this, add:
1 egg
1 teaspoon vanilla
1/6th cup molasses
Stir allegro con multo passione until it is smooth and brown and lovely.
Gradually add dry mix to this, and stir until just combined.
Using the 1/2 teaspoon measure, spoon dollops of dough onto cookie sheets (I didn't bother to grease mine, and despite the lack of Teflon the cookies were perfect), spacing about 2.5 to 3 inches apart. Bake for 8 minutes, or until they're a little golden around the edges.
And then you eat them. All of them. They go perfectly with Celestial Seasonings Tension Tamer tea - I am a dork and I do dip cookies in my tea. The Queen would be indignant. But it's worth it. If you would like the original recipe, just ask and it will be yours.
Kate
When I got back to Canada, I knew I didn't have a pan to bake them in, and I wanted cookies. Plus, though I'm not averse to white chocolate completely, I was averse to paying five dollars for a woefully pathetic bag, so I tactfully omitted those from my creation. So I made a half batch without halving the spices, and they were ridiculously good. This, the second time I made them, I tweaked it a bit so there's some more flour. What happened the second time was that heaven descended on my kitchen and the gods kissed my cheeks and wept. It was awesome. So here it is: fantastically amazing ginger cookies.
Preheat the oven to 350 F.
Mix:
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
5/8ths teaspoon baking soda
5/8ths teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon cinnamon
2 teaspoons ground ginger
1/2 teaspoon ground cloves
In a separate bowl, beat:
1 stick butter (8 Tablespoons)
5/8ths cup brown sugar
1/4 cup white sugar
Beat this until it is fluffy and cries for its mother.
To this, add:
1 egg
1 teaspoon vanilla
1/6th cup molasses
Stir allegro con multo passione until it is smooth and brown and lovely.
Gradually add dry mix to this, and stir until just combined.
Using the 1/2 teaspoon measure, spoon dollops of dough onto cookie sheets (I didn't bother to grease mine, and despite the lack of Teflon the cookies were perfect), spacing about 2.5 to 3 inches apart. Bake for 8 minutes, or until they're a little golden around the edges.
And then you eat them. All of them. They go perfectly with Celestial Seasonings Tension Tamer tea - I am a dork and I do dip cookies in my tea. The Queen would be indignant. But it's worth it. If you would like the original recipe, just ask and it will be yours.
Kate
Arma gravi numero violentaque bella parabam...
...and I too, like Ovid, was not allowed to finish.
Though he really was plein du merde, you know - he wrote the Metamorphoses, after all, which was itself in dactylic hexameter. This line says (more or less), "I was preparing to write heavy lines about arms and violent war." (The 'to write' part is not actually present in that line; it appears in the next, and is actually edo, edere, meaning 'to put forth, give out, produce'. Anyway.) But then, to thwart him, Cupid comes and cuts off one of the feet of his epic verse, which makes it closer to the elegiac style, which is the meter of Roman love poetry. Naturally, Ovid is upset by this. He complains that it's not Cupid's job to do things like that - that's usually left up to the Muses, or Apollo might occasionally intervene. But Cupid is insistent. Even when Ovid points out that he doesn't have a girlfriend to write love elegies about, Cupid gives him a Look and says, "I can fix that, you know." So Ovid submits, and we have the Amores.
Well. I have never written anything in dactylic hexameter. Nor have I tried; it's one of those things that seems to lend itself better to Greek than I do, so I've avoided it for want of knowing any Greek at all. Nor have I attempted the elegiac style - my poetry is bad enough under the best of circumstances, let alone when it's about love. So that's out of the picture.
No. I got sidetracked by food.
I am not a great cook. Half the time, I'm not even a good cook. I'm not an obedient cook, either - I change recipes, I skip steps, I mess with baking time. But I'm a persistent cook. I spend too much of my time thinking about food.
And so this blog will, with any luck, be a repository of recipes interspersed with Latin, French, and hats. Reader(s) are/is highly encouraged to post his/her/their own recipes, quotes/phrases in other languages, and hats. We can be eclectic together.
Yours,
Kate
Though he really was plein du merde, you know - he wrote the Metamorphoses, after all, which was itself in dactylic hexameter. This line says (more or less), "I was preparing to write heavy lines about arms and violent war." (The 'to write' part is not actually present in that line; it appears in the next, and is actually edo, edere, meaning 'to put forth, give out, produce'. Anyway.) But then, to thwart him, Cupid comes and cuts off one of the feet of his epic verse, which makes it closer to the elegiac style, which is the meter of Roman love poetry. Naturally, Ovid is upset by this. He complains that it's not Cupid's job to do things like that - that's usually left up to the Muses, or Apollo might occasionally intervene. But Cupid is insistent. Even when Ovid points out that he doesn't have a girlfriend to write love elegies about, Cupid gives him a Look and says, "I can fix that, you know." So Ovid submits, and we have the Amores.
Well. I have never written anything in dactylic hexameter. Nor have I tried; it's one of those things that seems to lend itself better to Greek than I do, so I've avoided it for want of knowing any Greek at all. Nor have I attempted the elegiac style - my poetry is bad enough under the best of circumstances, let alone when it's about love. So that's out of the picture.
No. I got sidetracked by food.
I am not a great cook. Half the time, I'm not even a good cook. I'm not an obedient cook, either - I change recipes, I skip steps, I mess with baking time. But I'm a persistent cook. I spend too much of my time thinking about food.
And so this blog will, with any luck, be a repository of recipes interspersed with Latin, French, and hats. Reader(s) are/is highly encouraged to post his/her/their own recipes, quotes/phrases in other languages, and hats. We can be eclectic together.
Yours,
Kate
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