HAVE YOU HEARD? The Etsy shop has new prints, with more being added every week. Check it out here!

Archive for June, 2009

the kind you won’t let go

[donotprint]
orange

I’ve been thinking about fables lately—those short, sweet stories with a moral tacked onto the end? One of Aesop’s tells about a boy who, reaching into a tall jar with a wide base of hazelnuts, grabs a large handful, greedy to bring the lot to his mouth. But, when his tightened fist won’t fit back up through the container’s slender neck, he bursts into tears and panic, having imprisoned his clenched fingers inside a jar full of hazelnuts, where the solution is as simple as releasing his grip.

I’ve heard that monkeys do this in real life. In tests, they supposedly leave their fists inside the jars, indefinitely, unwilling to release the nuts but also anxious about being caught in the jar. And I am fascinated. If I’m honest, it’s because I think they sound like me. Aesop’s intended moral was simple: Do not attempt too much at once; but mine would be more complex: You have got to let go and trust That Which Is Greater—because that is faith, and, because gripping things tightly doesn’t really make them yours anyway.

I hinted before at some upcoming big decisions/changes in the works around here, and, while I have nothing substantial or concrete to report, there have, slowly, been movements towards change—the loosening of my grip, as it were—and that is something. I almost rented a new apartment I loved; I’ve been pursuing some new writing opportunities; and I’ve been daydreaming a lot about what, in all of this, will matter 50 years from now.

Of course there has been food, too. That goes without saying. But what with all the change-seeking also taking my attention, I am very behind on telling you about it.

coconut citrus pancakes

For one thing, there were these pancakes. I made them for a late breakfast on Memorial Day, when my brother was visiting and before we had a late lunch of fried chicken at a fast-food restaurant because neither of us owns or operates a grill. I’d seen them on Eat Make Read as a stack of small, silver-dollar-sized circles, topped with jam and butter, filled with coconut and citrus, and when I woke up late Monday morning, after a previous night by a bonfire in the woods, they sounded perfect.

orange juice

This is what I’ve decided about pancakes: I love them. They are as dear to me as the parts of my life I try so hard to hold onto (though, happily, with pancakes, there’s no letting go required).

And these pancakes are really lovely, sweetened with the tart acidity of orange zest and juice, filled with a more sophisticated texture that highlights bits of shredded coconut. I tried them three ways—with jam, with syrup, with butter on its own—and I liked them best with butter, smoothed on while they are still hot, melted into the cake. But tell me if you find your own wonderful way to enjoy them. While I’m learning to let go of things, I may as well start with how I like my pancakes, right? One step at a time.




[/donotprint]

Orange Coconut Silver Dollar Pancakes

Adapted from Eat Make Read

Ingredients:
3/4 cup all-purpose flour
2 Tablespoons sugar
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 cup coconut
3/4 cup whole milk
1 egg
1 1/2 Tablespoons butter, plus more for the skillet
1/2 teaspoon vanilla
1 Tablespoon orange zest
1 Tablespoon freshly squeezed orange juice

Directions:
In a large bowl, combine the flour, sugar, baking powder, salt and coconut. Set aside.

In a separate bowl, combine the milk, egg, butter, vanilla and orange juice. Add these wet ingredients to the dry ingredients, and stir to combine. Fold in the orange zest.

Heat a little butter in a skillet over medium heat. Once it’s melted, add a little bit of batter to the pan to test. Then, when the pan’s ready, put as many small, one-Tablespoon-sized dollops onto the skillet as will fit.

Let cook for about two minutes or until golden, then flip and let cook for another two. Top with jam or syrup or butter, or, you know, whatever you’d like, and enjoy!

Makes about 24 pancakes.

powerless against

rhubarb crumble

My mom is the kind of person who, after an extended weekend away in Wisconsin, returns home with gifts—individually wrapped caramels thrown in a white paper bag, a creamer set to match a teapot and, for me, a cookbook plus, by virtue of my confiscating them, a bunch of rhubarb, picked fresh from the garden. For this and many other reasons, I love this woman.

The closest I’ve come to growing my own rhubarb, beyond, I suppose, the minimal green thumb required of yearly tomato plants, is pulling leafy rhubarb stalks out of the ground in someone else’s yard, while being told exactly how not to use the fruit that is actually a vegetable. (The leafy parts are poisonous, but the pink stalks are tall and celery-like, easy to chop and turn into pies and crisps.)

But the important thing is, combined with enough sugar to balance its strong tartness, rhubarb is delicious. I love rhubarb. In fact, if you ask me to come over for a slice of fresh rhubarb anything, anytime, the answer will be yes. Always.

rhubarb

A good slice of rhubarb pie—strawberry rhubarb, in particular—is something I’m powerless against. Hot and fragrant, pulled fresh from the oven, placed in a bowl and topped with vanilla ice cream, rhubarb desserts are one of the best and most delicious things I eat. And that’s essentially what I was after with the crumble I made this weekend, which came to me through Sheryl of Crispy Waffle, who recently posted the link on Twitter.

strawberries

Sheryl says she didn’t grow up eating rhubarb, which I like about her, since I didn’t either, and she loves it now, thanks in part to good recipes like this one. An adaptation of a recipe from Jamie Oliver, this rhubarb crumble is as simple as combining ingredients, some over the stove and some in a bowl, then layering them together and baking. It’s supposed to emerge golden and crisp, which didn’t exactly work with mine (it never quite browned on top), but the underlying fruit mixture made up for that. What happens to the berries and the rhubarb in the stovetop heat and then in the oven is that they become softer, more compote-like, the perfect complement to the crunchier oatmeal-based topping.

The day after I made this, I came home from a morning of brunch, a doctor’s appointment, antiquing and a stop at Goodwill, and I fixed myself a big bowl of rhubarb crumble, reheated quickly in the microwave and topped by vanilla ice cream. After which, I pulled out the swimsuit I bought in September and have had in storage since, grabbed a beach towel and a book, walked onto a grassy space and soaked up sunshine, the clouds rolling by.




Rhubarb Strawberry Crumble
Adapted from Crispy Waffle

A word on the ingredients: Contrary to what’s instructed below, I used one very large orange, which added a strong citrus smell and flavor to the dessert. While still good, this would be better with less orange, so go with the small fruit. Also, I honestly don’t know how much rhubarb I used because my parents gave me a bag of it, and I used the whole thing. Again, this worked, but you should probably stick to Sheryl’s advice.

Ingredients:
1 pound rhubarb, cut into chunks
1 pound strawberries, halved
200 grams (1 cup, packed) brown sugar
zest and juice of one small orange
100 grams (1 1/2 cup) all-purpose flour
100 grams (7 Tablespoons) butter, cold and cut into chunks
100 grams (1 1/3 cup) oatmeal
a pinch of salt

Directions:
Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (180 C).

In a medium saucepan, combine chopped rhubarb, half of the sugar, a pinch of salt and the zest and juice of the small orange. Heat this over medium heat and bring to a boil. Cover and simmer for five minutes. Remove from heat and add the strawberries, if using.

In a large bowl, combine flour, butter and remaining brown sugar in a large bowl. Using a pastry cutter, cut the butter into the mixture until it resembles coarse crumbs. Stir in the oats and toss it through with your fingers.

Spoon the rhubarb mixture into the bottom of an 8×8 baking dish. Sprinkle the oatmeal mixture over the rhubarb. Bake for 30 minutes until the sauce is bubbling and the topping is brown and fragrant.

Best served hot and with ice cream.