Apricot-caraway tea bread

I can't really call this Irish soda bread, or even Irish-American soda bread, since my ingredient limitations forced my creative hand (as they tend to do). This is, though, a basic soda bread - a quick bread leavened with baking soda instead of yeast. Since I ran out of raisins (and was already using golden ones at that), I supplemented with chopped, dried apricots. And since I was already going a different direction with this bread, I baked it in a buttered terrine pan (and added a bit extra sugar and buttermilk to the dough, per Joy of Cooking's direction) to yield a neat, uniform loaf with an elegant crumb. "I may as well," I figured.

I toasted the caraway to draw out the sweet, caramel-y undertones of the seeds, and the resulting aroma of this baking loaf was so powerfully evocative of my mother that I had to take a triple-take with my nose to pinpoint the reason. She never baked this bread, in my recollection, but the bread machine she gave me for Christmas when I was 19 years old came with a mix for this very bread (the standard version of it). This versatile recipe needs no such contraption, though; in fact, it begs to come out of an old-fashioned oven, cradled in mitt-clad hands.

Yankee it may be, we indeed enjoyed this lovely loaf on St. Patrick's Day, along with pressure-cooked corned beef brisket, garlicky roasted cabbage and champ (to be posted later this week). Served with tea (Constant Comment - my mother's favorite) and toasted with butter, leftovers made the pleasantest of breakfasts.

Cornmeal-crusted trout with mashed root vegetables and crispy leeks

So I was wandering around New Seasons, as is my wont these days, wondering what to make for dinner. It's citrus season again, so I grabbed some blood oranges. Even though they're not particularly sweet, I'm always suckered into buying them for their novelty. It's an orange! That isn't orange! Here, take my money.

I was sort of hankering for seafood, but after a recent flirtation with food poisoning (waited a day to cook fresh mussels, ate one or two, and realized they smelled like ammonia - luckily, came away unscathed) I wanted to play it safe with a nice salmonid. Salmon, steelhead and trout are so ubiquitous in these parts that kids growing up here get a shot at catching their very own at least once. My grandpa used to take me and my brother fishing at Rooster Rock State Park in the Columbia River Gorge when we were little. We'd always giggle at the fact that there was a nude beach at this park, and never caught anything but brown bullhead catfish. My grandpa usually ended up swinging us by the rainbow trout farm at the end of the day so we wouldn't come home empty-handed.

My mom would dutifully dredge the cleaned trout in some cornmeal and fry them up in a cast iron skillet. I think this was the only way I ate fish (or in fish stick form) until I was a teenager. Some wheels need no reinvention, and this is one. That said, I did want to doll up the cornmeal a bit, and so to it, added blood orange zest and fresh thyme.

I got about a half inch of grapeseed oil hot, then tossed in some sliced leeks to get nice and crispy. This is an idea I totally stole from Peter, and it's a good way to use a leek that languishing in the crisper. Also on the verge of going to waste was a bag of parsnips and a few carrots. Feeling the sweet root veg vibe, I simmered these in milk and mashed them with lots of butter. I fried the fillets of Idaho trout in the leek-flavored oil and in only a minute or two, dinner was ready. It was totally worth the mess.

Serve with a Pinot Prosecco and wedges of tart blood orange.

Millions of Peaches

The little white peach sapling that I planted last fall shot up about 6 feet this spring, splashing out a crown of wavy, crescent-shaped leaves and slutty, hot pink blossoms like too much rouge on a little girl that got into her mother's makeup. When, in June, the spindly branches began to bow and creak under the weight of all that fruit, I naturally assumed I would be inundated with mealy, hard, sour peaches (I couldn't possibly luck into so much of a good thing). Over the past two weeks or so, though, this little tree proved her spot in my crowded garden was warranted.

These are small peaches, slightly smaller than a tennis ball, with ample red blush and pearly white flesh that is as sweet as the last days of summer. I am hogging them all to myself, freezing and canning, or just slopping them directly into my mouth over the sink. The ants and greedy neighbor ladies have taken notice, and I have been relegated to just picking all of them before they can steal my Precious (judiciously trimming away nibbles from birds and insects as needed). This morning I'll have succulent slices over thick, whole-milk yogurt with a sprinkle of granola and daydream about the myriad other ways to enjoy them.

Strawberry Shortstack

I can't seem to get enough strawberries these days. I cruised through 4 lbs of them in about a week, just eating them raw (stemmed and halved, with my fingers), and then had to pick up another flat of them over the weekend. It's insidious. I never was a real big fruit eater until recently. I guess I always felt like fruit was a little too on-the-nose. "Oh, you're so sweet and delicious, fruit." It's like, we get it. I usually opted instead for vegetables, which are under-appreciated and therefore have way more street cred.

Berries are great, though (no doy). They're kind of tart, loaded with Vitamin C and other antioxidants, and are low in calories. And they make an excellent frou-frou breakfast of strawberry shortcake. In pancake form.

I whipped up a batch of basic buttermilk pancakes, adding a scant tablespoon of crème fraîche for a bit of twang (add a little extra sugar to the batter to offset this). I made a quick strawberry compote by stemming and halving about 2 cups of strawberries and simmering them in about a half cup of sugar, a tablespoon of butter and 3 tablespoons of kirschwasser.

Top with fresh vanilla whipped cream (do this yourself - it's worth it), and since you aren't drinking mimosas these days have a nice bubbly apple cider with a splash of mango nectar (float a strawberry in there for show).

Lychee red curry

This is my spin on one of my favorite Thai dishes, a classic pineapple red curry. Not that it needed spinning, I just had some canned lychee, but no pineapple. The bromeliaceous tang of the pineapple was missing a little (and no amount of lime could mitigate that), but the slightly savory, sweet pop of juicy orbs was really perfect in its own right. My curiosity was rewarded.

I've been sitting on this for a few days, on the fence about whether or not to even post it. I thought about revisiting it in the summer, when I could use fresh lychee and get glare-free photos, when I'd make time to make fresh curry paste from scratch instead of scooping it from a tub.

I remember a time when to me, this was really authentic Thai cooking. Knowing where to buy Mae Ploy, at one time, meant I was braver than the rest of my friends. It required an adventure into an Asian market that smelled of dried fish, incense and moth balls, and bringing home a tub of red or green curry was like sneaking a secret weapon into my kitchen. My friends would ooh and aah at how much my curry tasted like the "real" stuff at the restaurants.

Nowadays, an adventure into an Asian market means I come home with armloads of lemongrass, kaffir lime leaves, galangal rhizomes and chiles, jars of shrimp paste and discs of palm sugar and tamarind. These are the bases from which I construct my nowadays curries, and for me, it was a major phone-in to make dinner from a tub (even though I'm pretty sure that's what the restaurants use).

But it was so tasty.

Lemon-cornmeal ebelskivers with blackberry preserves

Scott and I were up so, so late last night, finishing an evening celebrating Norm's birthday with friends and 20-year old syrah that smelled like goat testicles (and Saxum Rocket Block (2005?) - a grenache that was like making out with black cherries and literally made me giddy). We got home late and then hung out for a few more hours until it was eventually 4:00 in the morning and we reluctantly collapsed from so much ado.

We woke up at around noon, ravenous and rheumy-eyed. A light dusting of snow covered the ground outside our window and we didn't hurry out of bed, despite our rumbling tummies. Planting kisses upon his bearded face, I promised pancakes with blackberry jam and whipped cream. Once in the kitchen, I decided to kick things up the proverbial notch and busted out the ebelskiver pan that he gave me for Christmas.

I whipped up a basic pancake batter, but subbed a third of the flour for cornmeal and folded in lemon zest and a little juice, and some sour cream. This made a very thick, yet porous batter (the acidic lemon juice reacting with the baking soda really kept things airy, despite the thickness of the sour cream). This was my first time using the ebelskiver pan, but it's really pretty easy. I just filled them 3/4 way full (allowing room to expand), and when they started smelling nice and the bubbles started to look dry, I flipped them in their little divots with a fork.

When they were all ready, I gave them a little pool of blackberry preserves (warmed with melted butter) and whipped some cream to a light froth. I dusted the ebelskivers with powdered sugar to mirror our snow-sprinkled day and we had a lovely brunch.

Serve with pink grapefruit mimosas and marital bliss.

Pannetone French toast with orange-bourbon syrup

...or, Special Christmas Breakfast

I really haven't gotten into the holiday spirit this year. No baking, no candy, nothing. I still have time to pretend I'm Russian, though, in which case the New Year celebration is more important. Technically, my people were German-Russian for a hundred years or so, and I'm calling that close enough. Ooh! Also, I found out recently that my great-grandmother was half Tatar (my father claims her conception was nefarious, but I can find no information that supports the claim that Mongol raids of the Volga were still happening in the 19th century). My first reaction was not surprise, or shock, but "omg, really? I'm part Asian? I knew it!" Now the slight almond shape to my eyes, my Nipponophilia and my hard-on for Stephen Chow makes so much sense. Being 1/16 Volga Tatar makes me practically Chinese, right?

But that's neither here nor there, and is typical of my digressions. On my journey to Trader Joe's (partly for sustenance, partly to escape cabin fever), I picked up one of my favorite holiday treats, pannetone. They didn't have any of my real fave, the orange and chocolate chip (I honestly haven't seen that kind in about a decade), so I grabbed the cranberry instead. Then I proceeded to forget that we had it for a couple days, just long enough for it to go a little stale.

Then I had the stroke of genius to make French toast with the pannetone (of course, now I find out that Giada deLaurentis makes it). I whipped up a quick batter of cream and eggs, orange zest, my homemade seven-spice and bourbon vanilla, a pinch of salt and a spoonful of sugar. I browned it in butter, then topped it with powdered sugar and a syrup of orange juice and zest, sugar and Maker's Mark, simmered until thick and good.

Serve with a little holiday cheer (in this case, mimosas, but I'll also accept "screwdriver", a propos of Russia). S Novim Godom!

Caraway-Gruyère Spaetzle Gratin with Quince-Cranberry Chutney

Because I am completely détritus blanc, I prefer my mac & chee with ketchup. Oh, don't look at me like that. Some of you are toasting marshmallows onto pork loin chops or eating barbecue sauce on spaghetti. Like that's a thing. Ketchup on mac & chee is good, and I don't even get high any more. My point, however, is that creamy-rich and twangy-sweet make excellent bedfellows. They're best mates.

Okay, I can't completely take the credit for this. My SE Portland homies will call me out if I try to anyways, so I may as well come clean. I totally stole this idea from the Victory, a cozy little Old Berlin-esque gastropub that makes a stellar spaetzle and cheese with applesauce (and has an intelligent, restrained beer and wine selection). But I knew I could do it better. It is my modus operandi, after all. After tasting my souped-up version with a sweet, spicy chutney of roasted quinces and dried cranberries, Scott admitted he'd been wondering when I was going to pwn Victory's spaetzle.

This dish is eerily reminiscent of the strozzapreti I made awhile back, but with a Kraut edge. I toasted the caraway seeds in the browning cultured butter (as it transformed flour into roux), then whisked in half & half, a splash of my homemade aqvavit and a few glugs of Spaten Optimator. I whisked and simmered, then added a little mustard powder and S&P. Handfuls of grated Gruyère (and a whole wedge of last-legs Chaubier). Stirred into some cooked spaetzle (store-bought from Edelweiss) and into a buttered casserole it goes (a sprinkle of fried onions is prudent), and a 350 oven for 15-20 minutes.

The chutney is from the quince tree in my back yard. This year it produced less than half the fruit it did last year, which is fine, since quinces are hard to use when you have 20 pounds of them. People just don't take them, and don't care about homemade quince paste with Manchego. Last year we had so many that I was draping them all over the house just for their intoxicating rose blossom-pineapple fragrance. If they could only bottle that. But I digress.

Roast the halved, cored quinces (easier with a melon baller) peel on for an hour or so, until soft (I added an apple to the mix for sweetness). Place the roasted halves in a potato ricer skin side up so when the flesh is pressed through the holes the skin stays behind for easy retrieval. This is way easier than peeling quinces, and the flesh will stay much more moist, besides. Stir in a small handful of dried cranberries (chopped), a few spoons of brown sugar, a fat pinch of Seven Spice™ and a drib of pear liqueur. A few drops of balsamic will give a little spank of acid.


We decided to go full bore and served it up with some grilled Weisswurst; bitter treviso and baby bok choy braised with bacon, chanterelles and lemons; and Bavarian-style soft pretzels with lots of crunchy salt and good brown mustard. Oh, and beer. Beer.

Pulled pork and sweet potato hash with tomatoes

Man, we had the best brunch this morning. Best of all? It practically cooked itself.

* * *

Last night we had some long-lost friends over for dinner. Well, it's not that they were lost, but having a couple kids can sure make it seem that way (them, not me). It was great having them, but I was a little disappointed when the Japanese intern they're hosting had other plans and couldn't join us. I had really been looking forward to giving her taste of authentic American cooking - not the sort of canned corn and sliced hot dogs on Bisquick "pizza" that defines the Japanese interpretation of American food, but real southern food like slow-cooked pork and juicy heirloom tomatoes.

The menu:

• Carolina-style pulled pork sammiches with kohlrabi-dried cranberry slaw
• Sweet potato frites with walnut oil and Maldon sea salt
• Heirloom tomato salad with parsley flower vinaigrette
• Seven-spiced peach slump with ginger and pine nuts, topped with vanilla ice cream

I made my usual pulled pork recipe, but with two extra pounds of pork butt (and one less hour to spare in the oven), it was not falling-off-the-tongs tender. Tragedy! I ended up having to chop it up and mop it back through the golden fat to come close to the desired effect (the sweet-and-vinegar-y sauce that makes it "Carolina-style" also helped, as did the addition of a little gochujang for extra tongue-spank). Since I was engaged with my guests and their charming progeny, I wasn't paying as much attention as I normally would on the fries, and they ended up a bit squidgy with only crispy edges (not all-the-way crisped like I'd prefer). Oh well. Everything tasted good, and that's what's important, right? Right?

The salad was tasty and fast: thick slices of three different varieties of heirloom tomato with a drizzle of balsamic/white wine vinegar, olive oil, and sprinkled with chopped parsley flowers (my crop has bolted) and minced shallot. Hit of salt and pepper and you're laughing.

The dessert was really last-minute. I just sliced some nice organic yellow peaches, tossed them with a bit of sugar and a spoonful each grated fresh ginger and my homemade seven spice (this time with some pink peppercorns added) and pine nuts. I made a basic rolled biscuit dough (recipe from Joy of Cooking, halved, with the addition of a 1~/4 cup sugar). I rolled it out to the size of my casserole, dumped in the peaches and laid the dough on top. I jabbed a few holes to allow the steam to escape and sprinkled more sugar on top. Baked at whatever temperature the oven was already at (I think it was ~350), and pulled from oven when crust was golden.


But here's the million-dollar question: What do you do when it's 11-ish on a Sunday morning and you have a fridge full of leftover chopped pork, sweet potatoes and good tomatoes? Damn skippy - you make some fucking hash! Just chop everything (the pork's already chopped) and fry it all up in a pan using a dab of the congealed, orange pork fat that's settled into your storage container. When it's crisped up on the edges, dish it up and slide a fried egg (over easy) across the top.

Since it's actually nice out for a change, have the Hubz pour some mimosas, and go ahead and heat up the leftover peach slump just for shits and giggles. Butter some leftover wheat levain from Friday night's orzo and toast in under the broiler. Retire to your shady patio and enjoy brunch while watching the hummingbirds drink up the last of the rhododendron's nectar, and know that this is the life.

Yes, that is the Deery Lou mug from which I drink my daily coffee. No, I am not five years old.

Cherry galettes with black pepper-Kirschwasser glaze

Is there any better taste of summer than sweet bing cherries? You're giving me that look, aren't you. The "It's not summer yet, Heather, not in your neck of the woods. Fuck you smilin' about?" look.

Okay, sigh, I bought off-season produce from California. Sue me.

How could I resist? We won't have succulent chin-dripper stone fruits in Oregon for at least two months (especially if it never stops raining), and I want them now, dammit! Besides, I know what to do with a sassy little bag of cherries. Oh, do I ever.

I bake some galettes.

Galettes with black pepper-Kirschwasser glaze.

Some of you in the Forty and Fabulous set remember Kirsch as that cherry brandy that you add to fondue to let the cheese melt without clumpy into a greasy wad - this is the same stuff. Kirschwasser ("cherry water" in German) is just a double-distilled brandy made of mashed cherries, that is clear for lack of aging in wood. Portland's own Clear Creek Distillery make one that is really superb.

Since I wanted to maintain the sanguine color of cherries, I knew I'd need to add a bit of acid to the glaze, so I used the juice from my last blood orange (killing two red birds with one stone). I also added a splash of Bokbunjajoo for sweetness (and to add to the color). For the record, Bokbunjajoo tastes exactly like Loganberry Manischewitz and is to be avoided at all costs, even if you are a Korean celebrating Passover. It was a terrible err in judgment whilst wandering the booze aisle at Fubonn, and I hope that you will all learn from my mistake.

You might remember that I am afraid of pastry, and in fact can only brave a galette because they are expected to be fugly (rustic, I mean rustic). Yes, I ventured into some unsteady waters with that first experiment with savory-sweet dessert, and baby, I came out swimming. This time I went a little more aggressive with the pepper since I had the intrepid sweetness of cherry acting as the backbone.


Cherry galettes with black pepper-Kirschwasser glaze
This would probably be great with Rainier cherries or even plums. I'm totally making them with plums in a few months. Makes 4 galettes.

Prepare the pastry dough:
1.5 c AP flour
2 pinches salt
3 tbsp sugar
8 tbsp (one stick) cold butter
~like 5 or 6 tbsp ice water

Whisk together the dry ingredients. In a food processor (or with a pastry cutter) cut the butter into the flour mixture until it resembles coarse meal with pea-sized nubs of butter. Sprinkle in the ice water and stir together (or pulse a couple times) until the dough starts to come together. Turn out onto a lightly floured surface and mush the dough together into a ball. Quarter the dough and wrap each in plastic wrap. Fridge for an hour or freezer for 20-30 minutes until the dough resembles modeling clay in texture.

Prepare the fruit:
2 oz. (an airline bottle) Kirschwasser
2 tbsp blood orange juice (or 1 tsp lemon juice)
2 tbsp Bokbunjajoo (or other cloying red booze - I guess sloe gin would work), or omit
2 tbsp sugar

Simmer down to a syrup (thick enough to be brushed without making pastry soggy).

~6 c bing cherries, pitted and halved (this was like 8 handfuls)
1/2 tsp fresh-ground black pepper
1 tbsp sugar
pinch Chinese 5 spice

Toss fruit together with other ingredients.

Pull the dough out of the chiller and turn out onto a lightly floured surface. Roll out as thin as is praticable - you should get each ball to about 10" in diameter. Arrange the cherries fastidiously all concave-up as pictured (you think I'm just being fussy, but this will be crucial for pooling the juice and glaze). Brush the glaze over the fruit and give each galette another crack of pepper. Fold over the edges of the dough rustically (if you want perfection then you'd be making a tarte and not a galette). Brush the dough with some milk or cream and sprinkle a pinch of sugar over the top.

Bake for 10 minutes, then brush more glaze over the fruit. Another ten minutes, and brush some glaze. Then bake another 5-10 more minutes or until the pastry is golden brown. Brush once more and cool on a rack. Serve warm with black walnut ice cream, thundershowers and Nude.

Venison sirloin with bing cherry jus and buttermilk mashed potatoes

My dad's birthday was Friday, so he brought over some venison for me to cook (the thought of him eating all his game in the form of well-done steaks drowned in A-1 makes me cringe). Since he brought it the day before, I gave it an overnight dry rub of my usual secret blend, but with a little cocoa powder and coffee added for depth.


The next day I rinsed off the rub (stay with me, here) and gave it a wet marinade with juniper berries, rosemary, pink and black peppercorns, bay leaf, cassia and allspice berries. The wet part consisted of some budget pinot noir, mushroom stock and a bit of honey.


After an hour or two, I pulled the sirloin roast out of the marinade and pat dry. A quick sear in a hot pan (lubed with duck fat), finish in a 400-degree oven for about 15 minutes (basting a couple times during that period). Whilst the meat was roasting, I reduced the marinade with a spoonful of veal demi and a handful of dried bing cherries. (Don't worry, I hadn't salted the marinade heavily because the dry rub from the night before had already done its work on the meat.) I would've liked to have reduced this down into a sticky syrup, but I could tell my dad really wanted to eat.

The potatoes were simmered with fresh horseradish root and mashed with buttermilk, good French butter and minced chives. In retrospect, I would've just grated the horseradish into the milk and butter and simmered it to pull out the flavor, as the root never really softened up enough to be edible (and we had to pull woody nubs out of our mouths while eating). The asparagus and favas provided a simple side with more of said good French butter, lemon and a chiffonade of fresh mint.

My father, having the palate of a five-year old, would not touch his asparagus or favas. The venison went unsauced, and I had to re-fire the meat after slicing, because he only likes it medium-well to well done. He did, however, like the mashed potatoes because they are pretty much just like baby food.*

Even though he didn't bother staying for his own birthday cake, I also baked him a chocolate cake with homemade pecan-coconut frosting. This was an ordeal and looked like an abortion, but standing over the plate with a spoon, shoveling in warm gooey cake after the harrowing experience of spending three hours with my father was rewarding.


*He reluctantly agreed to a small ramekin of jus on his plate for dipping, and then made a huge fucking production of showing me how open minded he is to try some of my cRaZy sauce. He would stare at me and when I finally turned my head he'd say "see? I'm trying it!" He really is just like a fucking child and leaves me wondering why I even bother. This is the experience of my every holiday.

Also, I rented a movie for us all to watch. "How about Cloverfield? It's a good blockbuster-type monster movie." Scott says "what about No Country for Old Men?", to which I insist, "NO. Cloverfield." My dad doesn't realize we're having a debate over his head because I know that whatever movie we choose will be talked over by my father. "Whoa, what is that?" "I don't know dad, this is the first time we've seen this too." "What is she saying?" "I don't know dad, maybe if you would shut the fuck up for five minutes you'd be able to hear some fucking dialog. I know this isn't Lord of the Fucking Rings, but why don't you just watch it and see what happens." Sheeeesh. I love the man, I really do (mainly because he's my father and I have to, and I'm not completely broken), but I can only take him in small doses. Like an hour every other month.

Som Tam

Or, as we like to call it, "Sometimes."

Okay, I'm really pissed because I made some delicious food last night but the photos came out hell of shitteh so I don't want to show them to you. I made the dish I was going to enter into this month's Joust, which I made only because the ingredients inspired me: seared sea scallops with kaffir lime-lemongrass gastrique and coconut foam, served with green papaya-chayote slaw (som tam) and fragrant jasmine rice. I even taught myself about soy lecithin and got all molecular gastronomy on that shit! And I served the whole thing surf-and-turf style, with medallions of venison tenderloin that I rubbed with homemade green curry paste and drizzled with a pho-scented jus! It was delicious, high-end Thai food. I'll make it again, but I just want to go on the record to say I thought of that dish.

The only good photos I got were before Tammy and Steve arrived. I wanted to shoot some of it once it was plated, but with every second that I contemplated a photo, the food was getting colder. I rushed two shots that didn't turn out, and decided to post the salad instead.


Som Tam (green papaya salad)
I made this my own way, using shredded chayote for some added green flavor and crunch. I also used crushed papaya seed for a bit of pepperiness. In Thailand chayote is called fuk maew. Yes, this looks like it should sound kinda like "fuck meow".

1 green papaya (I used an underripe strawberry papaya), seeded
1 chayote, seeded
2 bird's eye chilis, seeded
1 clove garlic
1 tsp of the papaya seeds
1/2 tsp pink peppercorn
juice and zest from one lime
2 tbsp palm sugar (brown sugar can substitute)
1/4 c rice vinegar
few squirts fish sauce

Run the papaya and chayote through the grating attachment of your food processor (or you can do it on a regular cheese grater, or julienne them). Transfer to a large bowl.

Prepare the dressing: Mince the chili and garlic, crush the papaya seed and pink peppercorn together in a mortar and pestle and stir together with the lime, vinegar and fish sauce. Add the palm sugar and heat in the microwave for about 30 second to dissolve the sugar. Use fish sauce to salt the dressing as needed. Toss dressing with papaya and chayote and let sit for at least 15 minutes so the flavors can mesh.



Okay, I have another disclaimer: this is the beginning of the busiest time of year in my field. I worked about 60 hours last week (in the field 8 hours/day, then come home and work on writing an Environmental Impact Report 'til 10pm every night), and that's why I haven't been posting real food. I ate both delivered and frozen pizza for dinner last week. Tomorrow morning I'm leaving for California to conduct rare plant surveys (our Sacramento branch is short on botanists right now), and will be gone all week. Home on weekends, rinse and repeat.

I'll try to get some good stories of road food, but that will probably be the bent I hafta take until May, when I get to come home for more than just weekends. I get a $35 per diem for meals, so I imagine tales of fast food and truck stops will ensue. Being alone in a hotel gives me plenty of time to write, but finding something to write about will be the challenge.

Ya Pear Galette with Pinenuts and Lemon-Pepper Honey Glaze

I was at Fubonn again last weekend. I swear it's like my mallrat addiction now, on a cold day I just love to walk around and around that place and ogle all of the produce that I've never heard of before. I try to pick up one new fruit or vegetable each time I'm there and taste it, figure out how to cook it, how to elevate it or introduce it to western cuisine.

This time I played it a bit safe and got a ya pear. It looks kinda like a cross between a regular Asian pear and a bosc pear, but has that crisp fragrance expected in an Asian pear. Turns out that along with lemons and nuts, pear is one of the ingredients in this month's In the Bag food blog event, hosted by the lovely Julia at A Slice of Cherry Pie. So I was happy to join in the fun with newfound fruit.

I originally didn't want to do a dessert (because I'm afraid of pastry, I'll be honest), but then someone else did the classic pear-walnut salad that I wanted to do, so I had to step up my game a bit. I'd made a pear galette once before (like TEN YEARS AGO), so I decided to just tweak it a bit to make something more interesting. China meets France.

(Oh man! I just had this great idea as I was typing this to do a hazelnut-crusted pork loin with pears and caramelized shallots and lemons, but oh well. Another day.)


Ya Pear Galette with Pinenuts and Lemon-Pepper Honey Glaze
Makes 2 galettes

Pastry
3/4 c AP flour
pinch salt
1 tbsp sugar
4 tbsp cold butter
3 or so tbsp ice water

Whisk together the dry ingredients. In a food processor (or with a pastry cutter) cut the butter into the flour mixture until it resembles coarse meal with pea-sized nubs of butter. Sprinkle in the ice water and stir together (or pulse a couple times) until the dough starts to come together. Turn out onto a lightly floured surface and mush the dough together into a ball. Cut the ball in half and wrap each in plastic wrap. Fridge for an hour or freezer for 20 minutes until the dough resembles modeling clay in texture.



Lemon-Pepper Honey Glaze
juice and zest from one lemon
2 tbsp honey - I used mesquite honey
3 or 4 cracks of black pepper
1 tbsp butter

Melt these together in the microwave for 1 minute, watching carefully and stirring every 10 seconds or so.

Assembling the galette
1 ya pear, cored and thinly sliced
pinch of cinnamon
1 tsp sugar
2 tbsp pine nuts

Preheat oven to 350 F. Line a baking sheet with parchment. Toss the pear slices gently with the sugar and cinnamon.

Pull the dough out of the chiller and turn out onto a lightly floured surface. Roll out as thin as is feasible - you should get each ball to about 10" in diameter. Lay the pear slices in two overlapping rows, leaving an inch of dough around the perimeter. Sprinkle 1 tbsp of pinenuts on each galette. Brush the lemon-pepper honey glaze over the fruit and give each galette another crack of pepper. Fold over the edges of the dough as pictured above. Brush the dough with some milk or cream and sprinkle a pinch of sugar over the top.


Bake for 10 minutes, then brush more glaze over the fruit. Another ten minutes, and brush some glaze. Then bake another 5-10 more minutes or until the pastry is golden brown. Brush once more and cool on a rack. Serve warm. This is probably great with vanilla ice cream.

Breakfast of Champions

This morning I was craving pancakes something fierce. Tragically, I lacked buttermilk, so I sent Hubz to the store. "Pick up some sausage and heavy whipping cream, too!" I needed something major - Hubz and I quit smoking last Monday, so my attitude this week is "fuck a diet" and I'm being extra nice to myself. And needing to cook/eat comfort food affords me the opportunity to join in the Monthly Mingle hosted by What's For Lunch, Honey?

We have a bunch of baby bananas that are getting brown, so I thought of making some spicy caramelized banana compote for some banana bread-type topping for the pancakes. It came out really yummeh!

Banana bread pancakes
(Basic pancake recipe adapted from Joy of Cooking - it's supposed to make a dozen 5" pancakes, but I ended up with only 4 huge pancakes! Oops!)

Pancakes
1 1/2 c AP flour
3 tbsp sugar
1 1/2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
3 tbsp unsalted butter, melted
2 eggs*
1 1/2 c buttermilk

*I used one egg and 3 tbsp egg white because I ran out of eggs but had bottled egg white, and I think it may have added to the overall lightness of the pancakes.

Heat up a griddle if you have one, or a regular non-stick skillet works great too. Whisk together dry ingredients, then in a separate bowl whisk together wet ingredients. Add wet to dry and whisk only until combined (batter will be a bit lumpy like muffin batter).

Turn heat to medium and add a pat of butter to cooking surface. For huge pancakes use a ladle (mine's 1 cup-sized). For silver-dollar pancakes you can use an ice cream scoop to meter out the batter. When the bubbles forming on the surface of the pancake batter start to look a bit dry, flip the pancake and cook for ~30 seconds on the other side. Transfer to a plate and keep the pancakes in a 150-degree oven while you cook the rest of the pancakes. Add a little more butter to the pan between pancakes.

Banana bread compote
3 mini or one large ripe banana, sliced into 1/2" thick rounds
2 tbsp butter
1/2 tsp pumpkin pie spice**
2 tbsp brown sugar
2 tbsp granulated sugar
1 tbsp chopped nuts - I used hazelnuts (optional)
splash rum or bourbon (optional)
pinch salt

**I keep a jar of my own mix of cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg, allspice, cardamom and star anise that I toast whole and grind to add to things like banana bread, snickerdoodles, curries, etc.

In a small pan, melt butter with spice mix for a few seconds until butter begins to foam. Add bananas and saute until browned slightly. Add sugar, nuts and salt and stir gently, being careful not to mash up the banana too much. If using it, stir in the splash of booze and let the whole thing simmer for a few minutes over medium-low heat until the alcohol evaporates. Compote is finished when the mixture is saucy and caramelized.

Top the pancakes with a scoop of compote, and if you've just recently quit smoking I think you should also add a drizzle of maple syrup and a dollop of freshly-whipped cream. Enjoy with sausages and a mug of good, strong coffee.

I Have No Runcible Spoon

But I do have so many quinces that I can't possibly use them all. I implore you to contact me if you want any!

The Quince Tree I Forgot to Mention

I have just come to discover that the "apple" tree in our back yard has been quietly bearing quinces unbeknownst to me. Since this is our first harvest season at the house, I had been scratching my head all summer about the strange fruit that looks like an apple with a pear-like protuberance at the stem, but is covered in scurfy pubescence and has a particularly sepalous blossom end (getting all botanical on yo' ass). I tasted one the other night and was delighted at the fragrant, tart apple-y flavor, but assumed they weren't ripe due to the exceedingly hard flesh. Turns out she was a quince all along. Silly quince!

Tonight I will roast a few and make some quince paste, my favorite accompaniment to manchego. Then I will happily curl my toes and peruse my archives for other recipes. I'm thinking a tarte tatin or a gallette with black cardamom-vanilla syrup. Mmmmm...