Potlucks again.

I've written before--in the distant past of this blog, which isn't too hard to find, since the archives are pretty shallow--about my affection for potlucks.  These days, however, I'm finding potlucks more an exercise in frustration, since my affection is now met with the reality of dietary restriction and the lack of labeling.  So, when I am invited to a potluck now, my first task is not to think of what I have in the fridge that can be compiled into something approximating a dish; rather, I have to consider the scope of what I bring in terms of the real possibility that I may not be able to eat anything else.

So, when we were invited to a Labor Day potluck last night, I mulled over the possibilities, thinking both of the veggies that needed to be used and the sustenance I would desire. 

I considered and rejected Corn and Tomato Salad, since I didn't think I'd be satisfied if I didn't end up with anything else.  So, I ended up breaking a cardinal rule by bringing a dish I had never made before, but it was such a success that multiple folks ended up requesting the recipe.  Here it is:

Spicy Rice Noodle Salad (mostly vegan and gluten free)

1 (8 oz.) package of rice noodles, prepared according to directions and then rinsed with cold water
1 red bell pepper, thinly sliced (I used the slicer on my food processor for the veggies)
2 medium carrots, thinly sliced
1 head of Napa cabbage, thinly sliced
(I didn't have a cucumber to spare, which would have been nice.  I also think snow peas and/or bean sprouts would also be nice)

Dressing (measurements are approximate)
In a food processor or blender, combine
1 garlic clove
1/4 c. Tamari (wheat-free soy sauce) or regular soy sauce (if not gluten-free)
1/4 c. honey (or brown sugar, if vegan)
1/3 c. seasoned rice vinegar
2-3 Tb. Siracha or other hot sauce
3/4 c. cilantro (a generous handful is what I pulled off the bunch)

Blend until thoroughly combined, making sure the garlic, especially, is incorporated.

Dress the noodles first, if you have time, adding the veggies later.  If you're headed out the door quickly, combine everything, tossing and chilling before serving.

Corn and Tomato Salad (what I didn't bring but thought of)

1-2 ears of sweet corn (either leftover or cooked for this purpose)

As many ripe tomatoes as you have to get rid of immediately (2-3, at least)

Chopped cilantro

1 chopped green or red bell pepper (or combination)

1 minced jalepeno (if you have it and want some spice)

2-3 Tb. lime juice

Salt to taste (at least 1-2 tsp.)

August

It still is, isn't it?  And that would explain why I'm both late coming back to the blog and the fridge is filled up with all kinds of late-summer goodness.

The weather took a turn yesterday, and there's a chill in the air suddenly.  It feels like back-to-school weather, and I should be sitting in meetings all week.  But I'm not.  I'm on sabbatical, messing up my kitchen and playing with green chile and peaches and corn and all sorts of goodness.

Yesterday, Jonathan roasted our annual case of Hatch green chile that made its way all the way from New Mexico, and we froze two gallons after we ate heartily of meatballs in green chile sauce (my compromise since I couldn't have the precious green chile cheeseburgers).  Today, I made peach-green chile chutney to freeze, as well.

Beyond cooking, my sabbatical goals include lots of reading and writing.  So, after I get the kitchen tidied, expect to see me back here more regularly.

Peach and Green Chile Chutney

1/2 onion, sautéed
3 c. roasted, peeled, and diced green chile
3-4 c. peaches, peeled and diced
1/2 c. dried cranberries
3/4 c. cider vinegar
3/4 c. sugar
2 tsp. salt
1 tsp. chili powder
1/4-1/2 tsp. cayenne

Combine everything and simmer until slightly thickened.  I'll freeze mine in 1/2 pint jam jars.  (What I don't eat for dinner over chicken breasts tonight, that is.)

What I Get.

Many people's initial reaction when I mention my new diet (and, let's face it, I've mentioned it to just about everyone in the last six weeks or so, including total strangers) is "What do you eat?!"  Frankly, it was my first reaction, too.

But if my narrative of late has been the narrative of "no wheat, dairy, or eggs" (to the extent that Jo has also taken it upon herself to inform strangers that "Mom is allergic to wheat, dairy, and eggs"), it has also become a narrative of unsuffering sacrifice.  Ribs instead of a burger.  Sushi instead of a sandwich.

I made a fantastic batch of granola last week that I'm not sure I would have happened upon were it not for the new diet.  And I've returned to an old affection for vanilla soy milk.  Berries and watermelon and peaches and nectarines.  Soon we'll be home in the Pacific Northwest before cherry season is over.  I can hardly wait.  Roast chicken.  Olives.  Hummus and tahini, salsa and chutney.  I am not suffering, I assure you.

Last night I tossed together one of my new favorite desserts that will linger long after this phase has passed me by, Coconut Polenta Cake.  Indeed, the sacrifice is small, and the limitation renews my creativity as every good artist learns when muddling with a new medium.

Good Granola

Wet Ingredients (mix together)
1/2 c. unsweetened applesauce
1/4 c. canola oil
1/2 c. brown sugar
1/4 c. honey
2 tsp. vanilla
2 tsp. salt
1 Tb. Penzey's Baking Spice (or good cinnamon)

Dry Ingredients
3 c. rolled oats
1 c. steel cut oats
1 c. nuts (slivered almonds are my choice)

Mix together dry ingredients and pour wet ingredients over, stirring until evenly coated.  Press onto parchment-lined rimmed sheet pan and bake at 300 degrees for 25 minutes.  Stir, and continue to bake at 10-15 minute increments, stirring in between, until golden brown.  Store in air-tight container.  Frankly, I don't know how long this will keep, since it never lasts me as long as it should.

Coconut Polenta Cake

Preheat oven to 350.

Whisk together 1 can light coconut milk, 3/4 c. cornmeal, 1 tsp. salt, and 1/2 c. sugar. 
Pour into greased 9x9 pan, top with a generous handful of fresh or frozen raspberries. 
Bake 40-45 minutes until set. 
Cool to room temperature and slice. 
Also good chilled (that is, for breakfast).

Catching Up I: Pudgie Pies, Birthday Cake, and S'mores

We've had a lovely few weeks here, with Grandpa visiting for his birthday and for spring break.  At last, the chance to catch our breath and look toward spring.

Grandpa had requested an adventure while he visited, so we took to thinking of what activities are conducive to two-year-olds, parents, and early March in the upper midwest.  The weather didn't cooperate fully, but we did manage to spend some time outside, flying a kite, striking up a campfire in a nearby state park (where the river's ice breaking up sounded like gunshots to punctuate the hour we were there), and s'mores both in the fireplace at home and in the campground.

Grandpa and Jonathan bought sandwich irons for cooking over the fire, so we ate the delicacy of my family, pudgie pies, in a living-room picnic with orange cream sodas, carrot sticks, and marshmallows (Jo doesn't really care for chocolate--strange child).

The Sunday that he was here, Jo tracked down Pastor Lori at church to remind her that it was Grandpa's birthday so that he could be properly sung to by the congregation.  And then she helped me make a cake in the afternoon.

I suppose I could blame Jo for the listing cake and lumpy frosting, but that comes from my own inadequate greasing of the cake pans.  When half the cake gets stuck in the bottom of the pan, it's hard to frost the layers evenly.  Jo did take charge of the sprinkles and the candles, however.  She picked out the fancy candles that spell Happy Birthday, see?  And can you figure out how old Grandpa is now?

Despite an uneven appearance, the cake was delicious.  The frosting, especially, I recommend for just about any application.

I hope there will be more catching up in the next few days, since the remaining spring break adventures should be reported before I get into the Holy Week reflections (Lenten suppers!  Parades in church!  Hosanna!).

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Pudgie Pies

2 slices white bread
thinly sliced or diced ham
grated cheddar or co-jack cheese
ketchup, mustard, and mayonnaise

In the center of one slice of bread, place ham and cheese, spreading the other slice with mayo and including mustard and ketchup (this is important!) atop the ham and cheese.  Butter both sides of the outside of the bread thoroughly, place in sandwich iron, trim off crusts, and cook over an open flame (fireplace or woodstove is actually more typical in my family than campfire) until the sandwich is lightly grilled and heated through.  Eat cautiously, since the inside will be quite hot.  Then, make more.

Brown Butter Frosting (modified from BH&G 14th edition)

 

1/2 C. butter (1 stick), melted gently, milk solids skimmed off, and cooked until browned (the color of caramel; do not burn)

Mix together

4 C. powdered sugar

2 Tb. milk

2 tsp. vanilla

Add brown butter.  Beat until combined, ading additional milk as necessary to reach appropriate consistency.

Feasting in Lent

We saw a sign at Pizza Ranch this weekend advertising their Lenten Buffet.

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I must confess that I'm still unsure about Pizza Ranch in general (and have managed to avoid it in the five-plus years we've lived here, though people tell me that now that the child is growing up, we won't be avoiding it too much longer).  And perhaps this reveals something of my snobbery, even though my tastes in food remain broad and, often, cheap.

But the sign made me giggle, even as I realized how the traditions of fasting always lead us to feasting.

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As long as I've observed Lent, I have held that Sundays are feast days.  I know that in some traditions (particularly in the Eastern Church), the fast is maintained throughout the entire season, culminating in the great feast of Easter that commences in the middle of the night on Holy Saturday.  But I believe there's good theological and practical reason for fasting with time for a break.

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I suppose what makes me think of this more is the fact that I live in the broad expanse of the middle of North America, far from any significant bodies of water.  The notion that eating fish constitutes a fast is a strange one when we live here:  fish is always a special occasion.  We just don't get it that often.  (And since I have become much more attuned to what it means to buy wild-caught fish, I am cautious since it's far more costly than even sustainably raised meat of other varieties--at least in this part of the world.)

So we get salmon perhaps once a week for a few weeks in late summer, when the Alaska salmon goes on sale.  It's still a splurge, but it's worth it.  We didn't go out for Valentine's Day but had broiled Ahi Tuna instead, spending almost as much on ingredients as we usually do on a whole restaurant meal.  And this week, when the Alaskan Cod was on sale, we splurged on a fillet. 

It was most definitely a feast.

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What is it that makes a fast, a fast?  How do we frame our minds--and our lives--toward thinking of enough rather than excess?  And how do we acknowledge the excess we have and shed it not as some matter of self-denial but rather of generosity toward others.  How do we use our fast to call others to share the feast?

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On Sunday morning, we packed up the boxes and cans overfilling our pantry to bring to church.  Jo saw the boxes of pasta and wondered why we were bringing noodles to church--were we going to eat them at church?  When I explained that we were sharing them with people who didn't have enough noodles, she protested, wondering why we weren't bringing some for ourselves.  I tried to show her that we had plenty of noodles in our cupboard, and we could even have noodles for dinner later that evening. 

As I thought about the evening menu, however, I decided I didn't want box noodles and took the time to make spaetzle instead.  Talk about a feast!  Giving away the noodles is as much about challenging me to focus my time, energy, and gratitude on what it means to cook and to eat.  Food is a great blessing of our lives, in fasting and in feasting.  Recalling what that means when I'm working with dough over a pot of boiling water and when I'm sharing with others is an important part of both fasting and feasting for me.

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Mayo-less Coleslaw (a side for baked cod)

1/2 head of cabbage, thinly sliced
1 large carrot, grated
2 tsp. dijon mustard
1/4 c. red wine vinegar
salt and pepper to taste
sugar to taste (about 1-2 Tb.)

Whisk mustard, vinegar, salt, pepper, and sugar together until combined.  Drizzle some canola or olive oil if you prefer, but I usually leave it out.  Pour over cabbage and carrots; toss and let stand for 15-20 minutes; toss again and serve.

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Spaetzle (a side for roast pork . . . or just about anything)

1 C. all purpose flour
1 tsp. salt
1/4 tsp. pepper
1/4 tsp. ground/grated nutmeg
2 eggs, beaten
1/4 C. milk

Mix dry ingredients together, combine milk and eggs and add at once to the dry ingredients.  The dough will be quite sticky.

Drop into boiling, salted water in very small amounts (about 1/4-1/2 tsp.); I use a zip-top bag with a small hole--a makeshift pastry bag--and a spoon to drop the noodles into the pot.  Cook for 3-5 minutes (until they float).  Serve with butter, if you choose.  (Since this was enough of a feast on its own, we skipped the butter.)

Saturday Mornings

Sorry about that.  A bit of a relapse, which meant a few more days home with the feverish two-year old who only wants to eat noodles and green cheese (yes, we have parmesan cheese in a can in the house, for just such an instance as this).

But she recovered and we got back to work and are now almost feeling caught up with ourselves.  Whew. 

And spring break is only two weeks away.

. . .

But it's Saturday morning, and we've got a little time to regroup.  We'll hit our ordinary errand:  library, bakery, HyVee (yes, we are creatures of habit, aren't we) and try to do some grading and some other shopping and housekeeping this afternoon.

Saturday has also become my default cooking day, where I can haul out the crock pot and throw something in the oven and plan ahead--at least a little bit--for the week.  Short of actually planning ahead, I have a few extra brain cells on Saturday to think of something out of the routine that might be good to eat, and, with the HyVee trip in the morning, I generally have ingredients in the house with which to do something different.

Saturday mornings, though, are an exercise in making the most out of whatever's left at the end of the week.  I'm happy enough with oatmeal or toast or yogurt during the week, but a Saturday breakfast feels like it calls for something more.  Often that means eggs scrambled with whatever veggies are left in the fridge and whatever deli ham or piece of sausage is hiding in the leftovers.  Sometimes it means pancakes or waffles (and occasionally with homemade turkey sausage if I'm feeling ambitious).

This morning it means muffins--and since the fruit bowl hadn't been emptied yet, Ginger Pear Muffins.  I started out well enough, following the basic recipe pretty faithfully (which is rare for me) until I realized we only had about 1/3 C. of milk in the house.  So, a little more adaptation.

And add milk to the grocery list.

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Yogurt Ginger Pear Muffins

1 C. all purpose flour
3/4 C. white whole wheat flour
2 1/2 tsp. baking powder
1/4 C. sugar
1 tsp. salt
1 tsp. ground ginger
1 beaten egg
1/3 C. milk
1/2 C. plain yogurt
1/3 C. canola oil
1-2 ripe pears, peeled and chopped (about 1 cup).  (Note, I used Anjou Pears, which are my favorite, but it can be hard to know when they're ripe.  Color doesn't matter with these pears for ripeness--they give slightly at the stem when they're ripe.)

Bake in muffin tins at 400 degrees for 18-20 minutes.  Makes 10-12 muffins.

Spicy New Year

I've been reading other people's posts about New Year's traditions, including black-eyed peas, greens, pork, sauerkraut, and others.  In my family, we have no particular tradition, though New Year's Eve usually calls for another round of Taco Soup or for a generic collection of party food.

New Year's has been pretty quiet for us this year.  We got together with friends for an early supper of Papa Murphy's pizza last night before the toddlers forced us all apart at bedtime.  We managed to make it to about 10:30 and then rolled over at midnight when the fireworks went off in the street.  Thankfully, the toddler didn't seem to be disturbed.

This morning we spent in the offices, preparing for the rush of January term that begins tomorrow (!), and this afternoon we came home for naps and for me to nurse a cold that I hope is at its worst and will be shortly improving (see aforementioned rush of January term).

But I still wanted to mark the holiday somehow with food, even if not traditional.  Compiling a few of the traditions mentioned above, we had egg scramble with ham, mushrooms, and kale for lunch (pork and greens) and will have Green Chile Stew for dinner tonight (also because I saw a picture of snowy Santa Fe in this morning's newspaper, and it made me a little wistful for the two years I spent there).

And now that everyone else is napping, I decided I needed something to go with my afternoon tea, so spice cookies are in the oven.  We'll see if any of them make it over to the neighbor who shoveled our driveway while we were away.

It's not traditional, perhaps, but on a cold and grey January day, a little spice is called for.

Happy New Year!

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Green Chile Stew

1 onion, sliced
2 cloves garlic
pork roast (I use pork tenderloin, about 2 lbs.)
      (I cook mine whole and shred or cube later, since loin can dry out so easily; if you use pork   
      butt/shoulder, you could cube it before cooking)
6-8 whole green chiles, roasted and peeled (mine are frozen from summer) or 2-3 small cans of green chile
1 1/2 lbs. potatoes (I had baby yukon golds)

Salt and pepper the pork to taste.  Combine everything in the slow cooker on high for 4 hours.  Cube or shred pork prior to serving.

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Spice Cookies

1/2 C. Butter
1 1/3 C. Brown Sugar
2 C. flour
1/2 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. salt
1 tsp. cinnamon
1/2 tsp. nutmeg
1/2 tsp. ginger
1/2 tsp. cardamom
1/4 tsp. cloves
1/4 tsp. black pepper
1/2 tsp. vanilla
1/4-1/3 C. water

Cream butter and sugar; add dry ingredients (through pepper) and combine as thoroughly as you can (mixture will be quite dry).  Add vanilla and water (1-2 Tb. at a time) until mixture comes together.  Form into balls and press lightly onto baking sheet.  Bake at 375 for 10-12 minutes.  Cool slightly on sheets and then remove to racks.  Don't overbake.

The Feast of the Incarnation

We took a bit of a break there to travel, to shop, to wrap, to bake, to party, to sing, and to shovel the snow (and to grade the last papers, but those aren't worth mentioning).

But now we're in the midst of both the secular and liturgical feast, eating and laughing and eating and playing and eating and sleeping and eating a little bit more.

Our days leading up to the Christmas feast proper are always filled and hectic, with lots of joy--but also lots of schedules.  What this means when we're visiting is that sometimes the meals before the holiday itself can become a bit haphazard.

As our preparation, we have settled on a few accidental traditions in order to accommodate both the preparation and the feast.  One of the annual parties my parents host calls for Taco Soup--origin indeterminate--that's a casual but always anticipated meal to share.  And our Christmas Eve celebration settled years ago on Eggs Benedict after the late service, so our supper beforehand is usually a simple soup that calls for cleaning out the fridge of the last leftovers before we open up the ham on the day itself.

Along the way, the snacks roll in the door (we're visiting fruit country, so we have wonderful pears and apples aplenty along with my seasonal favorites, Satsuma oranges), and we fill in the cracks with fruit and cheese, Dorothy Carr's lefse, krumkakke, and other cookies.

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Perhaps none of these meals is remarkable in itself, but the point of the feast is the preparation, anticipation, and the extension.  A feast is not a momentary celebration but goes on for days (liturgically, the twelve days of Christmas have only just begun; Easter goes on for fifty!): feasting is about dwelling in celebration for a length of time, not simply a day.  It's fitting that this first major feast of the church year is, in fact, the Feast of the Incarnation.  We celebrate, first of all, the divine entrance into human life that transforms the whole understanding of what it means to be human.  So we eat.

And we sing and we laugh and we give and we play and we sleep and we eat.  And as we dwell with one another in the best of our humanness, we think of the Word become flesh, who dwelt among us.

Merry Christmas!  Have something to eat.

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Taco Soup

1 lb. ground beef, browned and drained
1 onion, diced and sauteed
1 can black beans, rinsed and drained
1 can garbanzo beans, rinsed and drained
1 can corn, rinsed and drained (or about 1 C. frozen corn kernels)
1 can diced or crushed tomatoes
1 can diced green chiles (or repace tomatoes and chiles with a jar of salsa)
1 package taco seasoning
Enough water or chicken broth to cover
Salt and pepper to taste

Simmer on the stove or crock pot as long as you need.  Serve with grated cheese, sour cream, and tortilla chips.

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Clean-Out-the-Fridge Christmas Eve Soup
(This year it was Chicken-Mushroom-Brown Rice)

6 C. cooking liquid (either all chicken broth or up to 2 cups of dry white wine with chicken broth)
1 C. leftover cooked chicken
3 C. sauteed mushrooms
1/2 onion, minced and sauteed
1 clove of garlic, minced and sauteed
1-2 tsp. poultry seasoning or Mural of Flavor
1 C. brown rice (pearl barley or wild rice or some combination would also be nice)
salt and pepper to taste

Simmer for 1-2 hours; finish with 4 oz. cream cheese, stirred in; serve with grated parmesan cheese.

(Last year it was Minestrone)

6 C. cooking liquid
1/2 onion, diced and sauteed
2 cloves garlic
2 carrots, chopped and sauteed
1 zucchini, diced and sauteed
1 can dark red kidney beans, rinsed and drained
1 can garbanzo beans, rinsed and drained
1 large can crushed tomatoes (or tomato sauce, in a pinch)
1 C. small pasta (elbow macaroni-sized)
2 tsp. dried basil
1 tsp. dried rosemary (crushed)
1 tsp. dried oregano
2 tsp. hot sauce (to taste)
salt and pepper to taste

Simmer all ingredients except pasta for 20 minutes; add pasta and cook until tender.  Serve with grated parmesan cheese.

On the Eve of Gaudete Sunday, 2012

On weeks such as this one, I wonder about this little writing project of mine.  Cookies?  Really?

But while cookies (or, rather, food in general) are the surface feature of what I'm working out here, the underpinnings are at the same time far more complex and far simpler.

Human beings suffer and die.  Innocent.  Guilty.  Beloved.  Forgotten.  Reviled. 

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On Thursday, as a culminating class event, we hosted a round-table discussion of leaders in our community who are committed to combatting hunger in many and various ways.  We were confronted with staggering statistics--many about children--and an overwhelming sense of need.  Along with that also came an overwhelming fear, confusion, and grief about what to do in the face of such need.  And along with that came the excitement in sharing community, passion, and purpose with others who are joyfully doing God's work in feeding the hungry.

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On Friday, we ended the class officially with a simple soup and bread lunch, wrestling with what we had heard the night before.  I overheard one student say, "This was the best meal I've had in months."  I'm sure it wasn't, but I think the fact that two teachers would make homemade soup and homemade cookies for college students just before finals week changed the ordinariness of the offering into something special.

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Today I made peppermint bark and cardamom toast, preparing to send Christmas packages on Monday.  Trying to send a bit of ourselves to those beloved far away who are suffering and rejoicing in their own ways.

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The Third Sunday of Advent is celebrated as Gaudete Sunday, when we are called in the midst of the solemn season to rejoice.  The joy we are called to is not the joy of the revelation of Christmas but is the anticipation.  This is the joy we are called to in the midst of the darkest time.  This is the joy of the very-nearly-but-not-yet.  This is the joy of the hope of both Christ's first coming and his second.

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As complicated as my feelings are about being called together to rejoice in this moment, somehow the summons is fitting.  Joy doesn't wait around for us to find circumstances fitted to it.  Joy doesn't expect that the evils of the world will cease in order for it to be marked.  Joy cannot wait--even until the end of Advent--for us to make the world a safe place for all of God's children.  The joy is in our hope in God's redemption that comes precisely because of all that is wrong with the world.  The joy is in the promise of God With Us, precisely at the world's darkest moment.

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As I write this, again I wonder how simple it all sounds and how impossible it all is.  Cookies?  They're not enough.  Never.  And I would be the last person to suggest that somehow I could take the restoration of the world into my own buttered hands.  But this project pulls me back to joy in the ways I might be able to recognize it in my own life and bring it, bite by bite, into others'.  That this joy takes tangible form is my witness to the incarnation, to God With Us.  Washing.  Eating.  Drinking.  Living with one another in hope only because the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.

Rejoice.

---

Sausage, Potato, and Kale Soup
(the students scraped the crock pot clean)

1 lb. Bulk Turkey Italian Sausage, browned
1/2 sweet onion, diced and sauteed
2 cloves of garlic, minced and sauteed
6 C. chicken broth (or Better than Bullion and water)
1 1/2-2 lbs. potatoes, diced (I used Baby Yukon Golds this week, but any potato will do)
4 large leaves of kale, stems removed and chopped
1 tsp. dried basil
1 tsp. fennel seed, crushed

Simmer all together until the potatoes are tender.  Add 4 oz. light cream cheese and stir until dissolved.  Add salt and pepper to taste.

St. Lucia

Last weekend, our congregation celebrated an annual tradition of the St. Lucia festival. 

I've known the story of St. Lucia since I was a small child (as most children of even nominally Swedish hertiage do), and it's a fascinating, mysterious, gruesome tale (as most saints' tales are).  It ends, however, with light.

St. Lucia's day is historically associated with the darkest day of the year (according the Gregorian calendar; it's currently observed on December 13).  And in Sweden, the tale is connected to a distinctly Scandinavian miracle:  at dawn on one December 13, in the darkness of a northern winter and in a time of famine, St. Lucia appeared, with a crown of candles on her head, on the shores of Lake Vanern, bringing coffee and rolls to the people.

My husband always laughs at the idea.  A saint whose primary miracle is coffee and rolls.

But, in the darkness, in the cold, in the hunger, the simplicity of the miracle is profound.  Coffee and rolls?  Yes.  Candles?  Yes.  Christmas Cookies?  Yes.  Lefse?  Yes.  Krumkakke?  Yes.

So we celebrate.  The children sing and dance in traditional costume; we gorge ourselves on cookies (the rule is to show up early or all the rosettes are gone); and in the end, a shaky young girl walks through with a crown of lighted candles on her head (fire extinguisher ready at the door).

In Scandinavian tradition, St. Lucia Day means the Christmas season has finally arrived, and we'd better get baking. 

It's dark now, but soon the light is coming, and we'll need something to eat.

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I'll post about the other Christmas baking as we get closer to the feast itself.  At this point in the season, I'll make Esther's Cardamom Toast (biscotti) and Peppermint Bark, which both keep well and ship well.

(My Swedish Great-Aunt) Esther's Cardamom Toast

1/2 C. butter, creamed with
1 1/2 C. sugar, add
3 eggs and
2 3/4 C flour
2 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. salt
2 tsp. ground cardamom (fresh)

Spread on cookie sheet in rectangle, about 1/2" thick, and bake at 350 degrees for 30 minutes or until done (cakelike consistency).  Cut into bars, 3"x1/2", separate, and bake in a 250 degree oven until dry and crisp (about 1 1/2-2 hours).

Peppermint Bark

(for the busy parents of two-year-olds and others who need an easy homemade gift)

1 package almond bark

1 doz. standard candy canes

 

Chop and melt almond bark slowly in the microwave or stovetop, stirring often.  Crush candy canes in a zip-top bag (a task that can be given to  the aforementioned two-year old, at least in part).  Fold the crushed candy canes into the melted almond bark and spread on parchment paper-lined cookie sheets, about 1/8- 1/4" thick.  Chill for 45 minutes, and break into pieces.

Party Food

It's that season!

In the midst of the papers I'm supposed to be grading and the evaluations, reports, and syllabi I'm supposed to be writing (our next term begins on the ninth day of Christmas:  Ladies dancing, all around.) come the parties.

We hope to get together with friends sometime this weekend for a little birthday brownie pudding, and on Sunday we have our annual Christmas gathering at school, a catered dessert buffet before the Christmas concert.  Monday, the dean has invited us over for heavy hors d'oeuvres.  It looks like we have a break until Thursday evening, with cookies and punch at a campus event, followed by Friday's last-day-of-classes feasting in various forms. 

I'm sure I've overlooked a few, and that's only the next week.

I do love party food.

Given the opportunity, I try to make sure it's reasonably healthy, since I know that the snacking can add up to much more than it might seem to on the surface.  When we manage it ourselves, we lean heavily toward hummos and veggies, fresh chunky salsa and chips, and stuffed mushrooms.

My favorite, though, is baked artichoke dip, a variation that goes something like this:

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Baked Artichoke Dip

1 can artichoke hearts (not marinated), drained and chopped
4 cloves of garlic, minced
4 oz. cream cheese, softened
1/2 C. grated parmesan cheese
1/2 C. plain yogurt or light sour cream

Mix ingredients together until they are thoroughly combined.  Top with 1/4 C. breadcrumbs mixed with 2 Tb. olive oil and another 2 Tb. parmesan cheese.  Bake in a 9x9 dish at 375 until hot and bubbly (about 25-30 minutes).

Serve with bread, crackers . . . spoons . . .

 



Thanksgiving Leftovers

Sorry for the unannounced hiatus, but, as you might expect, I was occupied with other things.

We had a lovely holiday celebration with family and friends, and though we didn't end up hosting, I did end up roasting a turkey and am now dealing with an entire bird's worth of leftovers and drippings for gravy (this, in my point of view, is not a problem).

I'm also working my way through the double-batch of Cranberry Orange Relish, which I largely eat straight out of the bowl. 

To the potluck celebration I added roasted sweet potates with apples, so the only thing I've yet skipped out on that's unusual to this time of year is the bread stuffing.  Since I've got some stray ends of good bread in the freezer, I may yet find an excuse to put it together, but not today.

Friday was the first round of leftovers, and we ended up with Turkey Pot Pie and Sweet Potato Muffins for dessert.  Enjoy!

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Cranberry Orange Relish
(modified from the recipe on the OceanSpray package)

2 lbs. fresh cranberries, rinsed
Zest of two oranges
flesh of two oranges
Combine together in food processor or blender until coarse chopped (not a smooth puree).
Stir in 3/4 C. sugar (or more, if you prefer; I like a tart relish)

Serve on everything thanksgiving-y, including oatmeal, yogurt, or straight off the spoon.

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Turkey Pot Pie

1 C. leftover turkey gravy
1 c. plain yogurt
salt and pepper (or seasoning salt) to taste
cooked potatoes (even mashed will work), miscellaneous cooked and/or frozen vegetables; ours included diced kolrabi, carrots, peas, red peppers, and green peppers.
1 c. cubed leftover turkey

Heat together in a low simmer while you prepare the biscuits (modified from the Better Homes and Gardens Bread cookbook):

1 C.  white whole wheat flour
1 C. all purpose flour
1 Tb. baking powder
1 tsp. salt
4 Tb. cold butter
blend together until butter is large crumbs (lentil- to pea-sized)
stir in scant 1 c. milk

Drop and pat on sheet pan, bake at 450 degrees for 10-12 minutes.

Dish gravy mixture into bowls and top each with a biscuit.

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Sweet Potato Muffins

Mix together
1 C. mashed sweet potatoes/yams (or canned pumpkin puree)
1/3 C. unsweetened applesauce
1 egg
1/3 C. packed brown sugar
2 Tb. canola oil
1/3 C. milk
1 tsp. vanilla

Whisk together (separately)
1/2 C. white whole wheat flour
1/2 C. all purpose flour
1 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. apple pie spice (or cinnamon)

Add the wet mixture to dry ingredients and stir until just combined.  Fold in 1/4 C. chocolate chips (I had a small dark chocolate bar, which, chopped, was just right).

Bake at 400 degrees for 20 minutes or so in muffin tins.  Makes six generous muffins.

A Theory of Potluck, expanded

I realized that the last entry may be misleading; as much as I love church cookbooks, I rarely consult any cookbooks when it comes to thinking of a specific meal or specific occasion, especially potlucks.  As I mentioned, my most important consultation is what I might happen to have in the fridge and the cupboard at any moment.  In the past fifteen years I have paged through so many cookbooks and cooking magazines (and, yes, watched so many hours of food television) that these days I am more likely to simply work with my impressions of dishes that simmer in the back of my head.  Even when I do have a recipe to work with directly, I am an inveterate tinkerer in the kitchen, inevitably altering the recipe and even my given plan on most nights.

So, one of my other dishes for potluck this weekend was also an invention--and variation--of sorts.

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Tamale Casserole

1 lb. ground turkey, browned
1/2 onion, diced and sauteed
1-2 bell peppers (any color), diced and sauteed slightly with the onion and turkey
1 15-oz. can of tomato sauce
1 15-oz. can of black beans, rinsed and drained
2-3 Tb. taco seasoning (to taste, depending on the brand you use)

Cook together and spread in the bottom of a 9x12 casserole.  Top with 1/2 of a recipe of Basic Polenta, cooked, chilled, and sliced on top of the meat mixture.  Top with 6 oz. cheese (montery jack is good; cheddar is usually what I have on hand).  Bake at 350 for 30-45 minutes.

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Variations

Had there been corn on hand, I would have included it (but there wasn't); had I been making it at home, I would have included some of our roasted Hatch green chile; sometimes I switch out black beans for pintos (or both, if there's more of a crowd); the recipe also adjusts well to a purely vegetarian offering, depending on the other veggies included (zucchini or summer squash works well with the peppers); and so you get the point.

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This works well as a potluck dish also because it keeps well for leftovers, and since there's never any prediction about whether or not you might be taking home an empty dish or a largely full one, this is not an insignificant consideration.

Church Cookbooks

Yesterday was a potluck at church--a celebration for Reformation Sunday, new members, and some recently married couples all rolled into one.

Have I mentioned that I love potluck?  And church potlucks are my favorite.

I have fond recollections of dinners from my childhood in the Beech Wing Fellowship Hall with its grey asbestos tile floors and the cold, testy, noisy folding chairs.  I remember the church family of my childhood in part through the dishes they could be depended upon to bring to potluck.  Dishes that even seemed exotic to me (deviled eggs, casseroles with corn chips on top, and homemade baked beans).

Okay, so my childhood definition of exotic is weak, but I still look forward to sharing other people's cooking at church potluck.  It helps that our congregation now has at least four or five folks who can be relied upon to bring homemade baked beans--and they're all good.

And when it's my turn to think of what to prepare for potluck, I consider what I have on hand (since the project seems counter to actually buying special ingredients for some reason) and what might be both like enough and different enough to find some space on the communal folding table.

For this potluck, I turned to one of my church cookbooks--an archive of church potlucks, if you will.  This one, in particular, is my favorite: a treasure from Grandma B.'s church.  It's a second edition, with the 1967 recipes included among the 1992 recipes.  My copy is also amended by Grandma B. to include a few more recipes particular to the family that weren't included for the congregation.  I love paging through to find the ones she included--some I wasn't even familiar with--and I also love recognizing the familiar names of her good friends.  She and Grandpa B. missed being charter members of that congregation by only a matter of months, Dad told me, and she was a faithful and active there for the rest of her life.

One of my favorites out of this particular cookbook has none of the sentimental attachments of family or friendships.  It's a 1992 recipe submitted by a family whose name I don't recognize.  It has become one of my staples, both for potlucks and for other occasions, though; it's also a handy recipe for a dessert that doesn't require eggs.  (Yes, I have a few cookie and bar recipes filed away that fill in otherwise hard-to-fill requirements that occasionally arise.  For example, this is also one that can be made vegan by substituting margarine for the butter.)

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Oatmeal Jam Bars

1 C. butter, melted
1 C. brown sugar, packed
1 1/2 C. flour
1 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. baking soda
3 C. oatmeal

Combine butter and brown sugar, thoroughly mix in dry ingredients, and combine oatmeal until thoroughly incorporated.  Press 2/3 of the mixture in a greased 9x13 pan, top with  5 oz. of jam (strawberry is usually what I have on hand, but apricot is also quite good) whisked with 1/4 C. warm water, and crumble the remaining oatmeal mixture over the top.  Bake at 400 degrees for 25-30 minutes, until thoroughly browned.  Cool thoroughly before cutting, otherwise the bars tend to crumble.

The Feast to Come

This week has been better than last, though I think in the recovery from last week, we're still feeling embattled.  There's hope that the new year will be better, but it may be a bit of a slog until then.

Part of the recovery efforts have been food, of course.  Over fall break I didn't bake cookies, but I did try this recipe with some squash we got from the CSA.  We've also had lasagna cupcakes again (thanks to Auntie Mary for the idea!) and Asian Chicken Soup.  Last night was turkey bratwurst with sweet and sour cabbage and roasted turnips, sweet potatoes, and red potatoes.  I don't know what the plan is for tonight (Going out?  Taking in?  Something that won't dirty up the kitchen again?), but I know it helps--even heals--me to be able to sit around the table with my family and be well fed.

It's a shadowy glimpse some days, but I'm convinced nonetheless that it is a glimpse of the feast to come.

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Asian Chicken Soup

6 C. water and appropriate amount of "Better than Bullion" or 6 C. chicken broth
1-2 cloves of garlic, minced or grated
1 tsp. powdered or 1 Tb. fresh grated ginger
1-2 carrots, peeled and chopped
1 C. cooked chicken (or diced and poached in the broth)
1 package rice vermicelli

Combine and simmer together until chicken is cooked, carrots are tender, and noodles are cooked.

Garnish with lime juice (fresh would be great, but I rarely have it), hot sauce (Frank's Red Hot is the sauce of choice at our house) and fresh cilantro.

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Sweet and Sour Cabbage

Simmer together 1/4-1/2 C. cider vinegar, 3-4 Tb. sugar, 2 tsp. salt, and 1/3 C. water
add
1 head of purple cabbage, chopped (green works as well, but purple is prettier)
1 apple, peeled, cored, and chopped

Cook until cabbage is tender or until the rest of the dinner is ready (as little as 15 or 20 minutes and as much as an hour or more).

Birthday Brownie Pudding

Jo's MorMor has been here for a fall visit, coinciding with her birthday, so last night we got to pause and celebrate.  Jo has been rather obsessed with birthdays since her second birthday in May, when she realized the joy of cake and candles and presents and friends and singing all rolled into one event focused on her.

Most of the summer, Jo has randomly sung happy birthday to us, followed with the question, "What's your number?" (or, nearly as often, "What's your letter?" while meaning number, since she tells us her "letter" is "Two in May").

Auntie Mary (also been along for the visit) tended to the birthday dinner, and I contributed the requisite birthday Brownie Pudding.

While Matt loves cake, I am fondest of my MorMor's Brownie Pudding recipe and have requested it for my birthday nearly as long as I can remember.  In high school, it came to the point that my friends would be expected to come for dinner on my birthday largely for the dessert, and I still have a dear friend who bids me happy birthday each year with the instructions to eat some Brownie Pudding for her.

So last night, filled with a lovely lasagna, we nevertheless tucked in to what always looks like an uneven gooey mess of chocolate.  I balanced the candles in it precariously (since Jo insisted on helping MorMor blow out her candles), and we dished it up warm with vanilla ice cream.

I've seen a few other recipes that come close, but this is a classic that has remained a birthday tradition for our family.

It's always someone's birthday; try it sometime to share!

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Brownie Pudding

Melt together 1 square unsweetened baking chocolate and 2 Tb. butter

Mix
1 C. flour
3/4 C. sugar
2 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. salt
1 tsp. vanilla
1/2 C. milk

Add melted chocolate and butter, mix thoroughly, and pour into a 9x12 baking dish.

Mix together 1/3 C. white sugar, 1/3 C. brown sugar, and 1/3 C. unsweetened baking cocoa and spread over the brownie batter.  Pour 1 1/2 C. water over all.

Bake at 350 for 40-45 minutes. 

Fall Food (I)

Indeed, the weather turned here this week, and this morning we all left the house wearing sweaters and jackets, the car spent the night in the garage, and the furnace-guy is coming for the annual cleaning and inspection this morning.

Perhaps this shift is one of the loveliest to me (though the first day of wearing no coat is also a remarkable thing in this part of the world), since it also ushers in the season of fall and winter food--known at our house as "soup season."

We have had one batch of chili already this fall, but so far no other soups.  I've been planning a sausage-potato-kale soup, since we've had kale both from the church produce table and our CSA share, but most of the kale has been roasted and/or included with other dishes, so we haven't gotten around to it yet.

Yesterday we had a batch of Garam Masala stew, which is new to our repertoire of soups and stews just last year, but it quickly became a favorite.  (It also is one of my myriad recipes that are variations on rice and beans.) 

Cool mornings, bright days, and warm food.  Happy fall!

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(Made-up and probably inauthentic) Garam Masala Stew

(all amounts are approximate)

1 C. boneless chicken (or cooked chicken) (or optional, for vegan option)
2 C. tomato sauce (or crushed tomatoes or diced tomatoes--whatever you prefer)
1 sm. onion, sliced
2 sweet potatoes, in large chunks
1 can (rinsed and drained) garbanzo beans/chick peas
1/2 c. raisins
2 C. cauliflower, in large chunks
1-2 Tb. (to taste) Penzey's Garam Masala seasoning or 1/4-1/2 tsp. each of black pepper, cumin, cinnamon, cardamom, ginger, and cloves
1-2 tsp. salt (to taste)

Put all ingredients together in the crock pot for 4-8 hours depending on your crock pot and level.  (If you use cooked chicken, reserve it until the end of the cooking.)  Serve with basmati rice.

Making things up as I go along

School has started.

And now it's my job to stand in front of classes on a regular basis, convincing students that I know what I'm talking about (which I do, most of the time, even when they are not convinced).  Most of the time, however, I feel like I'm winging and bluffing, thirteen years of higher education notwithstanding, and the now twelve (TWELVE!?) years of teaching experience that suggest that I might actually know what I'm doing.

But this fall is a new experience of imposter syndrome for me, since I am, in fact, teaching two classes I've never taught before, and one that is a rather wholesale experiement on campus for which I am ultimately responsible. 

I can tell already that these sixteen weeks will be an extended exercise of invention.

More like life, I suppose, than my carefully structured syllabi often suggest.

There will be digression.  Maybe even regression.  There will be accidental successes and marvelously executed failures.

And I will revel again in the joy of teaching that is thoughtfully preparing beforehand, putting hand to the classroom door, and following the wind instead.

The great hope of learning?  That we all end up where we need to be.

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In this spirit, I offer my made-up back-to-school breakfast from this past week:

Baked Oatmeal

2 C. rolled oats, combined with
1 3/4 C. boiling water; let stand while

Blending together:
2 overripe bananas, mashed
1/2 C. applesauce
1/2 C. plain yogurt
2 Tb. canola oil
1 egg
1/4 C. brown sugar
1 1/2 tsp. salt
1 tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. Penzey's Baking Spice (or cinnamon, or whatever concoction of baking spices you prefer)
1/4 C. ground flax seed

Add the oats and water to the wet mixture, pour into a greased (glass) baking dish, and bake at 375 for 45 minutes or until set in the center.  Make the night before, and eat chilled, or reheat in the microwave before running out to school.

Potlucks (I)

Yesterday was the last of our scheduled lunch meetings for the week--and it had the best food.  It was a brunch, really, and one with far fewer people gathered than at our larger meetings that had been catered earlier in the week.

Perhaps the size of the group, perhaps the brunch-rather-than-lunch menu, or perhaps the joy of it being the last of the marathon meetings contributed to it feeling like an easier and even happier gatherings than the others.  Or perhaps it was that this one was the only potluck of the week.

As you might have guessed, I have strong convictions about potlucks.  Called covered-dish dinners in some places and, for a time, "community-luck" in this place of ours, potlucks demonstrate the true marriage of hospitality and practicality.  Of graciousness and interdependency.  Of need and of excess.

Whatever I bring to a potluck is not enough.  But it's also, always more than necessary.  Potlucks in that way can serve as strange sorts of life in the kingdom of God.  None of us brings enough on our own, but together there is plenty--more than twelve baskets full left over (as anyone who has ever cleaned up after a potluck realizes right away).

Yesterday my contribution was what others (in the coastal areas of the country, I have noticed) call "strata" but what is known in these flat parts simply as "egg bake."  I have a few guidelines for potluck cooking, which I'm sure I'll come to at some point.  This dish fell into my "uncertain vegetarian" potluck category, and thus:

Egg Bake for a Brunch Potluck
4-5 C. soft breadcrumbs (always a good idea to use good bread; this was one small loaf of grocery store bakery french bread)
8 eggs, whipped to light color with
1 1/2-2 C. milk (largely depending on how much bread you use)
1 1/2 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. Penzey's Forward Seasoning (or pepper, if not)
1 C. fresh spinach, lightly sauteed
1/2 C. mushrooms, lightly sauteed
1/2 C. shredded parmesan cheese
4-8 oz. shredded or cubed mozzerella cheese

Mix together breadcrumbs, cheeses, and vegetables in a greased 5-quart cassorole, whip together eggs, milk, salt, and seasoning and pour over the bread and vegetables.  Bake at 375 for 45 minutes until set and golden brown.

MorMor

I don't think I have yet introduced MorMor on this blog.

MorMor--Swedish for "Mother's Mother"--is in many ways responsible for what I'm working on in this little blog project.

Not in terms of technology:  once I spent three hours of an afternoon trying to help her figure out how to manipulate a computer mouse, but ultimately we both gave up and I packed up the computer Uncle Bob had sent down so she could return it to him.

Nor in terms of writing:  I asked her once to write out some of her life's story and/or family history for me, and she returned about ten, handwritten, double-spaced 4x6" pages in a little notebook.  (My paternal grandmother, on the other hand--whom I'll write about soon, as well--wrote at least five typed notebooks full of family and personal history.)

But MorMor is responsible for this blog insofar as her home was the first place I was conscious of place and physicality mattering so much to me. 

I knew the places of my childhood home were important, but since I lived with them daily, I'm not sure they stood out in my early thinking as vividly as did MorMor's house.  Though it has long been razed and buried underneath what MorMor would surely call a "monstrosity," I can still smell her backyard.  I can walk through her house in my mind: coming in the back porch to the kitchen, creaking on the old, then new, then old porch swing on the front porch behind the giant rhododendren, eating with family in the dining room, and eating, just the two of us, at the kitchen table.  (She introduced me to artichokes and fennel; she cooked salmon for me and steamed beets; she made raspberry pie from what we picked out of her backyard.)

I don't know that I have too many recipes that are decidedly MorMor's, since most of what she cooked wouldn't come under the category of "recipe," but her fruit cobbler recipe is a staple--and one that I'm happy to share with all and sundry.  I haven't made one from the summer peaches yet, but I will before the week is out.

MorMor's Fruit Cobbler
1 C. flour
1 C. sugar
2 tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. salt
4 Tb. butter
3/4 C. water

Preheat oven to 375; peel and slice enough fruit to fill your baking dish (I use a 9x12 oval glass casserole).  Pears are my favorite, though the cobbler works very well with peaches, apples, blueberries, rhubarb, and even mango in a pinch.  I haven't tried it with strawberries, but it's quite versatile. 

Mix dry ingredients together; cut in butter to coarse crumbs; spread dry mixture over the fruit.  Pour water over all and bake for 40-50 minutes until golden brown.  Serve warm with ice cream or cold for breakfast (if there are leftovers; it's mostly fruit, right?). 

Bring to family events, church potlucks, and boring meetings; pass the recipe around freely.  It makes people happy.