So I graduated from my university this past Sunday.

I spent a large part of my time at college thinking that “it wasn’t for me.” It’s been a little strange to kind of have this growing realization that I’ll never again be in a community that has so much support, warmth, encouragement, and opportunities as the one I’ve just left. I know it all had to come to an end, but it’s hard to get a grasp on  the fine line where one part of my life ends and another begins.

And I don’t think that difficulty comes so much from not having my whole life (or even the “next step”) figured out, but rather from having a feeling of wanting to belong somewhere, or to something or someone, but being too scared to figure out which where or thing or one to choose.

- – -

My school produces a literary journal every year, and there’s a student-written poem from last year’s edition that has been going around in my head the last couple months. This is going to be pretty damn awkward if that student ever sees this post, but I figure I should give credit where credit is due, so here goes: her name is Astra Lincoln, and she’s a very, very good writer. This is an excerpt from her poem “Peter Pan Syndrome.”

“& you were nine when the last of your baby-teeth fell out, and
this frightened you. you found a piece of loose thread hanging off
your baby blanket, and ripped it off. this was then tied around the
third tooth on the left, which proceeded to be pulled out and hid
beneath your pillow with a letter: ‘dear tooth fairey. i am scared
and i will miss your visits. i can not be without you. i heard you
won’t pick up teeth that were pulled, and did not fall on their own.
i hope that every night you come and see this tooth. i hope you
do not take it, but leave it here and check every night to see if it
is a keeper. it does not want to be kept, but it does not want to be
forgotten.”

I was talking to my dad on the phone yesterday, and after reminding me of my birthday this Wednesday (aka tomorrow, or most likely today depending on where you are in the world) he exclaimed, “Wow, what a big week for you! Turning 22 and graduating!” And he went on to say that he had only started college right after he turned 21. He had waited a few years after high school to go to college because, as he says, “it was a different time back then.” Anyway, he said that when he woke up the morning of his 21st birthday, all his friends were asking him what he was going to do to celebrate. He said that he just responded with, “Ah, it’s all over now, everything is ending, I just wanna go back to sleep.” I guess for him starting college was a sign that something was ending that he wouldn’t get back again. This made me smile, but it also made me pretty sad in that I know that my Dad lives in the past (which both my twin sister and I very much got from him).

I remember when my older sister turned 22, over 4 years ago. I was amazed at how old 22 sounded. I told her that once a person gets past that age, they’re “in the deep end.” I kind of still think that, and I still think 22 sounds really, really old. It’s a weird time, is it not? Not like 18 or 30 or anything, but 22 sounds strange to me. I don’t know, I guess we’ll see how it turns out, won’t we? This also happens to be the same approach I’m taking to graduating and moving on in life after college (probably not a coincidence). No doubt I’ll let you know how both the whole age-thing and the whole graduation-thing turns out.

Moving on—I feel the need to do a huge shout-out at this time to my beautiful mother, whose birthday is today. Yes, that means that 50% of the 6 people in my family are born within two days of each other (more if you count my grandfather who also happens to share the same birthday as me and Lindsey). My mom so selflessly has let Lindsey and I steal all the attention away from her growing up as we never gave a second thought to her birthday or Mother’s Day for that matter, as we only ever focused on ourselves. So she deserves much more than a shout-out or two, but that’s all I’ve got right now. (I love you, Mom.)

My mom would really love these lemon bars. Her favorite dessert of all time is what she calls lemon pudding cake—that delicious dessert that is a souffle-like cake on top and a thick, tart pudding on the bottom. These lemon bars aren’t quite there in terms of nostalgia, but they’re still pretty good. And besides, I didn’t make them for her. I made them for my boss at work, whose birthday was last week. (I know, these spring birthdays, they never end!!!) Her birthday has coincided somewhat with the closing of my two-plus year stint at that office, so these treats kind of served as a kill-two-birds-with-one-stone offering.

This lemon bar recipe is one that I’ve been making for years, and it’s from Cook’s Illustrated (surprise! not). In my opinion, it makes the best lemon bars out there—and that includes restaurants, bakeries, or homemade. The shortbread crust is made with powdered sugar and cornstarch, which makes for a melt-in-your-mouth tenderness that is deeelectable. And I never say or use the word delectable, so the fact that I’m using it here should serve as a testament to how good this crust seriously is. Plus, there’s a nice, fat layer of it—no skimpy crust here! And the filling is tart, bright, and it’s perfectly solid so it doesn’t ooze all over you when you try to cut the bars up or eat them. It’s a good recipe to have on hand, especially when birthdays are around.

Lemon Bars
From Cook’s Illustrated
Makes a 9 by 13 pan (about 24 1 to 2-inch squares)

1 3/4 cups all-purpose flour
2/3 cup powdered sugar, plus more for dusting
1/4 cup cornstarch
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
12 tablespoons (1 1/2 sticks) butter, at room temperature and cut up into chunky pieces

4 eggs
1 1/3 cups white sugar
3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
zest of 2 lemons (a heaping two teaspoons)
2/3 cup lemon juice from 3 to 4 lemons
1/3 cup whole milk
pinch kosher salt

To make the crust, line a 13 x 9-inch baking dish with parchment paper or aluminum foil. Butter any parts of the baking dish that remain exposed. Set aside.

Process the flour, powdered sugar, cornstarch, and salt in a food processor for a few seconds until combined. Add the cubes of butter and pulse until the mixture is pale yellow and crumbly-looking, about 10 1-second pulses. Sprinkle mixture into the prepared pan and press firmly into an even layer. Refrigerate for 30 minutes, and while it’s sitting there, preheat your oven to 350 degrees F. Once chilled, place directly in the heated oven for about 20 minutes, or until golden brown (and deliciously fragrant).

While the crust is baking, make the filling. Whisk the eggs, sugar, and flour in a medium bowl until well combined. Stir in the lemon zest, lemon juice, milk and salt, and blend well. It will look soup, but that’s just fine. Let it sit and settle for a bit while the crust finishes baking off.

When the crust is golden brown, remove the pan from the oven and reduce the oven temperature to 325 degrees F. Stir the filling mixture to reblend, and then pour it over the hot crust. Bake until the filling feels firm when touched lightly, about 20 minutes. Transfer to a wire rack and let cool to room temperature, about an hour or so. Dust powdered sugar over the whole thing and cut into serving-size bars. Store in the fridge, and eat chilled.

So yesterday was my best friend’s birthday. We first met a little less than 3 years ago, when we were both transfer students into the university that we’ll be graduating from in a little less than two weeks. I was lucky in that aspect—most of the other people in our transfer group were what I’ll call less than kindred spirits. But Abbey, she’s a good one. I mean, she lets me make her perhaps the fattiest, most calorically-dense treat for her birthday AND she lets me capitalize on it by taking photos of it and putting it up here to show it off.

But in all seriousness, she is one of the best friends I could ask for. Although we’ve lived in the same house together for the past two years, very soon we’ll both be off—her, to travel the world and me … to figure out how to travel the world. So I suppose that this birthday celebration of hers, and mine next week, are all wrapped up in the same end-of-the-year whirlwind of trying to come to grips with all the bittersweet feelings that come with any really big ending (and beginning). It’s a strange grab-bag of emotions.

Anyway, so a big celebration calls for a big celebration treat. I’m pretty sure this is one of her favorite desserts, and it’s also one of mine. And, come to think of it, I think it’s pretty high up there on everyone’s favorite dessert list. And if it’s not, it at least should be. It’s a universal good. I’m willing to say it’s better than cake, and better than any kind of birthday cake you can think up (I think it beats last year’s, but I guess I’d have to leave that ultimate judgement up to my friend).

I decided to make Dorie Greenspan’s recipe for tall, creamy cheesecake, mostly because how can one not trust Dorie on these matters? But, I’m not going to lie, the pictures on this site’s creation of the recipe is what really sold me. One grocery trip and a combination of cream cheese, butter, sour cream, eggs, and heavy cream later, I too had my own creation of the recipe. I really liked it, and my friend loves it, so it was a complete success. But, with that being said, I don’t know if it’s my ideal cheesecake. It is creamy, airy, and smooth. It has a delicious flavor, and it feels dangerously light enough to want to eat a quarter of the thing in one sitting. Which is all really good, but I think I’d prefer the type of cheesecake that is insanely dense, and extremely thick. I’m thinking it might be more along the lines of this one, by Smitten Kitchen? Anyone ever try that one?

Also, a couple more notes regarding this recipe: I think if I were to do it again, I would either make the crust one layer on the bottom, without pressing it up along the sides, or I’d make it thinner so that it can go completely up to the top of the sides of the cheesecake. For some reason, I think either of those options would look more elegant. Also, in case you haven’t noticed, that weird little swooshy design along the sides of the crust are due to my running-the-knife-along-the-sides skills when trying to loosen the cheesecake from the springform pan. It was completely accidental, but I think it actually looks pretty cool. It’s what my friend Abbey would call a “happy mistake” (she went to a Waldorf school as a child, if that means anything to you). Also! I didn’t have a roasting pan big enough to hold the springform pan in for a water bath or bain-marie, so I just placed a big pan full of water on the rack below the cheesecake while it was in the oven—I hope this somehow served as a substitute, but I have a feeling this cheesecake would have been even better if it were able to have a proper water bath.

With those extensive qualifications, I think it’s important to note that it is a really, really good cheesecake. It looks dreamy (or at least I think so), and it tastes like it too. It doesn’t feature any other flavors but vanilla, and I think the creamy, smooth filling with the tangy (and addicting) sour cream topping makes for a taste that’s really satisfying, and pure. I think it’s a classic cheesecake.

PS: Song pick of the week is Wolf Parade’s I’ll Believe in Anything. It is goooood. (I kind of really like this thing I’ve gotten into, where I share a song if I feel like it. I’ve been reading a lot of Hungry and Frozen lately and she always shares what music is inspiring her at the time she’s writing the post and I really like the vibes it gives. Am I transgressing my boundaries by telling you what to listen to, on top of what to eat? Maybe, but I enjoy it! So there!

One Year Ago: Strawberry Cream Cake

Dorie Greenspan’s Tall and Creamy Cheesecake
From Dorie Greenspan, obviously, in her Baking: From My Home to Yours, with some good guidance from this post
Serves an army

Graham Cracker Crust
1 3/4 cups (I believe something like 210 grams) graham cracker crumbs
3 tablespoons sugar
Pinch of salt
5 tablespoons butter, melted

Cheesecake Filling
2 pounds (4 8-ounce boxes) cream cheese, at room temperature
1 1/3 cups sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract
4 large eggs, at room temperature
1 1/3 cups sour cream or heavy cream, or a combination of the two

Sour Cream Topping
2 cups sour cream
1/3 cup powdered sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Butter a 9-inch springform pan; wrap the bottom of the pan in a double layer of aluminum foil. Set aside.

To make the crust, stir together the graham cracker crumbs, sugar and salt. Pour over the melted butter and, using your hands, mix it together until the dry ingredients are evenly moistened. Turn the mixture out into the prepared springform pan and, using your fingers or the edge of something hard like a measuring cup, pat the mixture into an even layer along the bottom of the pan (and up the sides a little bit too, if you’d like). Bake in the preheated oven for 10 minutes, or until the crust begins to get ever-so-slightly brown and fragrant. Once the crust is removed, lower the oven to 325 degrees F. Set the crust aside to cool while you prepare the cheesecake filling.

To prepare the filling, first prepare a big kettle-full of water for boiling. In a stand mixer fitted with a paddle attachment, beat the room-tempurature cream cheese at medium speed until it’s soft, smooth and lightened, about 3 or 4 minutes. With the mixer running, add the sugar and salt, and continue to beat another 4 minutes or so, until the mixture is even more lightened! Beat in the vanilla, followed by the eggs, one by one, making sure to scrape down the sides of the bowl as you go and beating for a full minute between each egg addition. The batter should be “well-aerated.” On a low speed, add in the sour cream and heavy cream and stir until fully combined. Give the batter a few stirs with a rubber spatula to make sure the mixture is well combined.

Place the foil-wrapped springform pan in a large roasting pan. Scrape the batter into the pan, over the crust. If you have a somewhat standard 9-inch springform pan, the batter should just reach the brim. Place the roasting pan, holding the unbaked cheesecake, in the oven. With the oven door open, carefully pour the boiled water into the roasting pan so that it reaches just halfway up the sides of the springform pan.

Bake the cheesecake in the 325 degree oven for an hour and 30 minutes, until the cheesecake has risen and puffed up above the rim of the pan and has gotten slightly browned at parts (it may even have some little cracks). Turn off the oven and prop the oven door open. Let the cheesecake rest in the cooling oven for another hour—this prevents any major cracks on the cheesecake, I think.

After an hour, carefully pull the roasting pan out of the oven, making sure not to slosh any water onto the precious cheesecake! Carefully lift the springform pan out of the water bath and let the cheesecake cool on a wire rack until it comes to room temperature.

Once the cake is cool, cover with aluminum foil or plastic wrap and chill the cake (I know, the waiting! it never ends!) for at least 4 hours, or overnight. When ready to serve, run a butter knife along the edges and carefully open the springform latch and remove the pan sides.

For the sour cream topping, combine the sour cream, powdered sugar, and vanilla in a medium bowl until well mixed. Dollop the mixture on top of the chilled cheesecake and smooth it out into an even layer. Store the cheesecake in the fridge, and always serve cold.

Happy Birthday, Abbey! x

So, I made this over a week ago. That seems a little weird to me, to be writing about and talking about something that is already long gone and enjoyed (well enjoyed, mind you!). Although I usually don’t blog in anything close to “real time,” I think I have been especially aware of the time lag lately since everything seems to be going by SO QUICKLY. We’re down to a less than 3 weeks (!) until I graduate. That’s three weeks to find a way to eat all the food in my pantry, to handle both my best friend’s and my own birthday, to do all those things I’ve wanted to do in this city with these friends over the past 3 years that I haven’t got a chance to, to finish that thing called a thesis that has been consuming me wildly, to, you know, figure out what I’m going to do with my life after I graduate (something that strangely enough hasn’t been consuming me wildly, but should be).

It’s all a little surreal to me. I could try to gauge my feelings about everything but I’m pretty sure I have neither the time nor the audacity to try and figure that all out at the moment.  I have a good knack of blocking pesky or bothersome things out of my consciousness  anyway. Some part of my brain, for my sake, hides feelings and decisions that I don’t want to deal with away where I can’t reach them. They stay there, until someone or something else makes the decision for me or it all compounds into one big terrible mess that I can’t ignore. I can’t tell if this “skill” of mine is good or bad yet (you tell me).

Anyway, a critical part of this whole scheme of mine is that I don’t have time to do everything I want or need to, but I do have time to muddle away making treats of some form…obviously. Because treats are necessary. Anyway, so about a week ago a friend of mine and I wanted to make some treat resonant of tea time; something buttery, cakey and a little crumbly, sweet. Although I’ve had this recipe bookmarked for the better part of a year, the fact that I had an almost-full jar of apricot jam in my fridge (along with the very important fact that I have only the aforementioned scant 3 weeks (3 weeks!) to use it up), this recipe seemed like destiny.

So we made the dough, briefly chilled it, squished it all into a pan and spread nearly the full jar of jam on top. I suppose that on this particular day, we were feeling rather aesthetically inclined, seeing as we went all out and decided to do a pretty lattice top. You’ll be happy to know that despite how we pretty much botched it up, squished it all around, and made it look rather messy, when it emerged from the oven it was a real beauty. We ate slices of it warm, but I think it is best at room temperature.

When I ate a slice of it for breakfast, it reminded me of when Waylon and I were in Florence, where we shared a twin bed at a hostel. Even though the shower didn’t work, the breakfast at that hostel was the best—they had teas and toast and jams and an apricot crostata, with a lattice top just like this one. I can’t really remember what it tasted like, but I think this one was just as good if not better. The pastry is crumbly, buttery, and soft, and it has a really nice texture from the addition of some cornmeal (the idea of which came from David Lebovtiz). It’s basically like a cookie-pastry crust that’s all wrapped around a thin layer of sticky sweet jam.

Regarding the jam, I think any would really do. With that being said, I honestly also think a quick homemade jam would be best here—that way you could control the amount of sugar and balance out the sweet pastry with a more tart jam (kind of like that of the rhubarb-raspberry sort in another crostata I made, just about forever ago). I do however find a lot of appeal in the idea of making this sort of dessert as a spur-of-the-moment thing by being resourceful and using up what you have on hand.  So if you have an almost-full jar of apricot jam in the fridge that needs to be used in a few weeks, I’d say that trumps all.

One Year Ago: Rhubarb-Grapefruit Marmalade (hey! that woulda worked well here) and Caramelized Cauliflower Pasta with Parmesan, Pine Nuts, and Lemon

Apricot Jam Crostata
Adapted from Maggie Barrett, via The Wednesday Chef and David Lebovitz
Serves 8

You can make the dough ahead of time and store it in the fridge, but when you take it out to press into the pan, you’ll probably have to wait a bit for the dough to soften and become flexible. Also, feel free to substitute any sort of jam you’d like here.

1 1/2 cups (190 grams) all-purpose flour, plus more for rolling dough
1/2 cup (70 grams) cornmeal or polenta
scant 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
2 teaspoons baking powder
9 (110 grams) tablespoons unsalted butter, at room tempurature
1/2 (100 grams) cup sugar
1 large egg
1 large egg yolk
14 ounces (450 grams) apricot jam

In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, cornmeal, salt, and baking powder. Set aside.

In a large bowl, or in the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with a paddle attachment, beat together the butter and sugar until well-combined, about 1 minute. Mix in the egg and egg yolk until combined. Add in the flour mixture and continue to mix at medium speed until the mixture begins to get all clumpy.

By hand, separate the dough into two balls, with one part roughly twice as big as the other (as in, separate the dough into two parts of 1/3 and 2/3). Wrap the two balls in plastic wrap and place the in fridge for about 30 minutes, just to firm up.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Remove the dough from the fridge. Starting with the larger section, press the dough evenly into the bottom and sides of a 9-inch tart pan with a removable bottom. Fill the crust with the jam, spread in an even layer. On a lightly floured surface, roll out the remaining 1/3 dough until it’s about 1/4-inch thick. Cut into narrow strips and place them in a lattice pattern, if you’d like, on the crostata. I personally think it’s prettier and more personal if you don’t make it look too perfect.

Bake in the preheated oven until the pastry is golden brown, about 20 to 25 minutes. (Side note: in researching this recipe I found this bit hidden in the instructions of a recipe from an Italian cook: “Do not let it overbake or the pasta frolla will become hard as stone and the jam will become as sticky as glue.” So yeah, keep that in mind.) Let cool at least a little bit before serving; it’s best served at room temperature.

I don’t usually like to post these sorts of recipes on my blog, and by these I mean any sort of “healthy” thing trying to serve as a replacement for a “unhealthy” treat. Recipes like these usually include some combination of the words raw, paleo, gluten-free, dairy-free, vegan—you get the picture—and they almost always involve substitutions that make the dessert taste most definitely not like a real dessert.

Thing is, while I’m pretty snobby to that sort of thing, as you can see I’m trying (not sure if my efforts are too successful at this point) to present a batch of raw brownies that I made over the weekend. So obviously I’m a hypocrite.

Well, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way… let me tell you why I like these bars. They’re rich, dense, and fudgy. I guess in that sense they’re “brownies” though I wish I could instead call them “fudgy, deeply chocolatey raw squares” because that’s what they most honestly are. (When I think of brownies, I think of fudgy and chewy and cakey all wrapped into one, which I don’t think these quite achieve—nor should they because, as my dad says, “there’s no free lunch.”) They are extremely satisfying in the sense that you only need a small square to be answer a chocolate and sweet craving.

And, yes, I do think they are kind of “healthy.” They are completely raw, which means that all of the ingredients are uncooked and unprocessed. This makes for some sort of health benefits that I can’t really articulate but that I have completely bought into—something along the lines of all the nutrients being at their highest, most absorbent levels and it all making it easier for the body to more easily digest and process everything. Even the sugars in the bars, which come from dates, come with a whole host of other benefits, and especially more so than those that come from plain white sugar (which, in case you were wondering, are none). Even the chocolate is raw, which means that it was not processed with heat—hence the name cocao and not cocoa powder.

I do kind of realize that if I eat a smoked pulled pork sandwich with sugary barbeque sauce for dinner (oh, the best), and eat a square of these right after, I’m not really doing any good. But! I do kind of believe that if I grab a bite of a raw brownie on a weeknight and it then prevents me from devouring a big bowl of fro-yo and all of its gluttonous toppings, then they’ve done some good. And hey,  if I’m wrong in all this, at least I kind of actually really like how they taste so there’s no suffering really done on my part.

In a world where a “health tip” can in include the suggestion of drinking water because it “prevents cancer,” I know things have gone pretty far off the map with trying to distinguish that ever-growing black-and-white line of what is healthy or not. I’m not here to draw that line or encourage you to step to one side of it or the other…I’m just saying, if you’re in an adventurous mood to make some seriously dense and seriously bittersweet bars that don’t make you feel like crap after having eaten one or two, give these a try.

PS: My song pick of the week is this one, by Radiohead.

One Year Ago: Asian Chop Chop Salad

Raw “Brownies”
Adapted slightly from My New Roots

2 cups (210 grams) walnuts
1 cup (92 grams) raw cocao
scant 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt
1 1/2 – 2 cups (250 grams) Medjool dates, pits removed
3/4 cup (100 grams) almonds, roughly chopped

Line a 8 x 8 square-inch pan or a 9-inch pie pan with wax paper or aluminum foil.

In a food processor fitted with a steel blade, blend the walnuts until finely ground (and sandy looking), about 30 seconds or so. Add in the raw cocao and salt, and pulse a few times to blend.

With the food processor running, add in the dates one at a time. With the growing addition of the dates, the mixture should start to look moist and sandy, almost as if you were making a pastry dough. The mixture should be starting to come together and should easily stick together when pressed between your fingers. If not, add more dates, one by one, until you get the right consistency.

In a large bowl, combine the chopped almonds and the date-cocao mixture. At this point, I think it’s most helpful to use your hands; you want the almonds to be blended consistently throughout the mixture. Transfer to the aluminum-lined pan and press firmly into the mold and along the edges. Place in the freezer or fridge until ready to serve; they are easiest to slice into squares when cold. I do, however, prefer mine to be eaten at room temperature after the squares soften up and get a little more squidgy. If you want them to taste extra soft and almost gooey, put a bar or two in the microwave for 8 seconds or so.

So, I’m back from my little spring break trip. I’ve been back for awhile, but this past week has consisted of (seemingly) non-stop writing for some very fast-approaching deadlines that are about to woosh by at any moment. But let’s not dwell on that just yet. I’d much rather like to take this pause from my studies to talk about how I spent last week.

It was the last spring break of my university career—and what I fear may be my last spring break ever (how do you people in the real world do it?!)—and two of my best friends and I spent 8 days visiting San Francisco and Santa Barbara. I don’t want to sound too cheesy, but it was magical. The weather was beautiful, everything felt so happy and whole, and it was all the perfect escape. It was one of those times when you feel that all is possible in the world and all your ideals matter and that every day is ripe with opportunity. I seriously wonder why I leave California every time I go there.

(If you happen to live in California and/or have some connections that you could extend my way in terms of potential post-graduation jobs, I would be eternally indebted to you. In return, I offer skills that include but are not limited to: reading stuff, thinking about things, and, if you really needed it, transcribing the product of those thoughts somewhat clumsily into a 40-ish-page long paper. Ahh liberal arts education, you’ve been good to me! (I’m joking about all of this, but only sort of.))

Anyway, my friends and I pretty much lucked out in terms of our trip. In San Francisco, we were hosted and showed around by a mutual friend of ours who was born and raised in the city. I got to walk through the Ferry Building during Saturday Market, with a clear view of the Bay Bridge. I ate a pistachio-cream-filled doughnut. I drank ginger lemonade while walking along the beach. I walked in general, a lot. In Santa Barbara, I ate some seriously awesome mexican food at this place. We lucked out by getting to stay at a very nice hotel that night with the view of the ocean and the tall palm trees (thanks Mom and Dad!). I laid in Dolores Park in on a sunny day (with what felt like just about every other person in San Francisco). Things like this make me happy.

As always, it was the seemingly insignificant parts that might end up being surprisingly memorable for me—both in terms of food and otherwise. An especially memorable meal was one we had at my friend’s grandparents home. Even though my friend’s granny said she “doesn’t cook,” we sat down, all around the dinner table, to a 3-course meal that consisted of cream of broccoli soup, quiche lorraine and a salad, and then fruit salad with a drizzle of cream for dessert. The quiches were frozen from a package, and the only thing fresh in the soup was some broccoli that was tossed in while it heated up, but it all tasted so good and it felt so special. It’s never bad to be reminded that what’s around the table is most often more important than what’s on it.

Sitting here with my impending deadlines, that evening and the whole trip in general feels like a world away. Although we spent a lot of time in the car driving from place to place within that week, the trip seemed to last something like 3 weeks long. Every day felt twice as long as normal! Although that is a good thing, to last me through these days—both in terms of how I would avoid famish and and an empty wallet—my friends and I packed a lot of goodies to munch on for breakfast, lunch, or throughout the days as snacks. You know, nuts, dried fruits, crackers, stuff like that. I baked up a batch of these “breakfast bars” from Deb’s new cookbook.

I don’t really understand why these are called “breakfast bars” as opposed to just granola bars—perhaps because these are one of the few times that granola bars are actually decently nutrious and healthy enough to eat for breakfast. What drew me to this recipe was that it uses no corn syrup or refined sugars; it is sweetened by honey and dates. Not only that, but instead of using some form of a vegetable oil, she called for olive oil (something I always have around). Plus, it featured dates and I had a whole lot of them on hand when contemplating which recipe I’d use.

I loved these bars. Without a doubt, they’re my new favorite homemade granola bars. And yes, that means they outshine that granola bar recipe (also curiously from Smitten Kitchen) that I made last year. The flavors of dates, orange, and almond were dii-vine. They are soft, chewy, and they don’t crumble apart. Well, mine started to, but to be fair, it was only about a week after I’d made them and that’s only because they sat jumbled in a ziploc bag in a warm car the whole time. (They were still delicious.) I’d love to see what these are like straight from the fridge—my guess is it only makes them more awesome. This exact recipe is what I’ll be using whenever I need to pack away some quick snacks, or better yet, when I go for a trip somewhere special again. I’m already dreaming about when that’ll be…

how do I keep me from moving/
I need a change of scenery

One Year Ago: Soft, Thick & Chewy Granola Bars (Ha ha, what a coincidence! (These are better)), Chinese Chicken Lettuce Wraps, and Peach Apricot Crumble Bars

Date, Orange & Almond Granola Bars
Adapted from The Smitten Kitchen Cookbook
Makes 16 bars

As I kind of hinted at above, I really liked this flavor combination. I guess you could substitute stuff in—coconut, walnuts for almonds, peanut butter for the almond butter, different dried fruits—but I’d be hesitant. Well actually, now that I think about it, that walnut substitution sounds pretty good… Whatever! Do what you will!

1 cup (150 g) dried pitted dates (preferably Medjool), chopped
1 1/4 cups (110 g) quick-cooking rolled oats
3 tablespoons (22 g) whole-wheat flour
1/3 cup (35 g) wheat germ
1/2 cup (55 g) almonds, chopped
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 cup (65 g) almond butter
1/4 cup (55 g) olive oil
1/4 cup (85 g) honey
1/2 teaspoon freshly grated orange zest (about 1/2 the orange)

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Line an 8 by 8 baking dish with aluminum foil, allowing the edges to overhang. Coat the aluminum foil with nonstick spray.

In a large bowl, stir together the chopped dates, oats, flour, wheat germ, almonds, salt and cinnamon until combined. In a medium bowl, whisk together the almond butter, olive oil, honey, and orange zest until smooth and homogeneous. Pour the wet mixture onto the dry, and stir together until the dry ingredients are evenly moistened. This might take a bit of effort, and the mixture should be very crumbly. Dump the mixture into the prepared pan, and firmly press it down into an even layer, making sure to press the mixture into the edges and corners.

Bake in the preheated oven for 20-25 minutes, until they’re golden brown along the edges and on the top. (The center will still seem a bit soft, and the bars will continue to set and mold together as they cool.) Let cool on a cooling rack until they reach room temperature. Place in the fridge to “set” before slicing into them, and once completely chilled, use a serrated knife to cut into squares. I stored these at room temperature in an airtight ziploc bag for about a week (they were still awesome!), but I think they’re best straight from the fridge.

Seriously! Look at that! The weather was b-e-a-utiful. I am told this never happens. When I was in San Francisco last August, it was nowhere near as clear or nice. San Francisco, you were trying to seduce me, weren’t you!

PS: This song will always remind me of this spring break trip. Icona Pop, you guys are goooood.

Sweet potato fries is a food trend I am wholeheartedly happy about (unlike some other trends…cupcakes and cake pops, I’m looking at you). Because as much as I love regular french fries, I’ll take any excuse to trade them in for anything that has a higher sugar content. If their rising popularity then means that I can make this sugar-addict substitution at almost every restaurant/bar/diner that I go to, well, then all the better.

This trend has circulated through the internet, in the most common form of baked sweet potato fries. Although they never, ever compare to their deep-fried counterparts that I so greedily order every time I see them on a menu, I make them. A lot. In these many trials of baking batches of sweet potato fries, I’ve learned certain ways that I like them, and certain ways that I don’t. This recent post by My New Roots made me reconsider how I made them even more, and has sent me on a renewed frenzy of at-home efforts of baked sweet potato fries. At the end of all this, I figured why not share my newly gained and (obviously) valuable wisdom with you all? So, I present to you, in order of importance:

My Thoughts on Making the Most Ideal Sweet Potato Fries Possible (considering their unfortunate position of not being deep-fried)

1. Space. You can’t just dump a pile of cut sweet potato fries onto a baking sheet and expect them to develop into anything other than soft, steamed piles of mush (this is a situation where I actually do not want mushy vegetables, surprising as that may be). I know it seems like a pain to individually place them onto a baking sheet, and perhaps even having to use two baking sheets in order to leave enough space between each fry, but trust me! It’s worth it, always worth it.

2. Size. This is an obvious one, but the fries should be cut into as close a size as possible. It’s not so much how big or small the fries are, but how big or small they are in relation to one another. Otherwise you’ll end up with pure-crisped-black carbon sticks alongside fat and still raw hunks of sweet potato. This can sometimes be tricky, I mean have you seen sweet potatoes? They are a big misshapen bunch. You just do the best you can, that’s all you can ever do.

3. Soak (& Dry). I got this one from My New Roots’ post, and I think it’s awesome. She recommends that you swish the cut, raw fries in a bowl of water to release some of their starches. This allows them to crisp up better. However, in doing this, it is of the utmost importance that you thoroughly dry the fries, and preferably let them air-dry for at least a good 10 or 15 minutes or so while the oven is heating up. While this is happening, I rinse and dry out the bowl (thoroughly), and use this bowl to swirl the dried fries with the olive oil, salt, and either cornmeal or cornstarch. It makes for a nice little system.

4. Cornmeal or Cornstarch. Ah, the coating. Frankly, it doesn’t really matter what you try to coat the fries with, because they’re never going to taste deep-fried and they’ll never have that crispy-crunchy-bite like they do when deep-fried. This is a sad fact of life, but if you can’t get over it I don’t know why you’re stooping to the level of baking your sweet potato fries in the first place. Anyway, the cornmeal idea came from My New Roots, and it does indeed lend the fries to have a certain crunch to them. I think I prefer the cornstarch though, as it kind of makes the surfaces of the fries puff up and get a little airy. Once again, these coatings only go so far, but they add a certain nice edge that regular, non-coated fries don’t have.

5. Good Dipping Sauce. Sauce makes everything better (especially sub-par things like baked versions of fried things). I’ve been pairing my sweet potato fries with a thick tahini-honey sauce for awhile now, and the combination is seriously awesome. Really, if you haven’t tried dipping your sweet potato fries in tahini, you’re missing out. (If you need convincing of this flavor combination, I’ve got the legitimacy of Ottolenghi on my side.) I’ve posted a really sloppy recipe that I made up below, but it’s the type of thing I go by taste with.

So, that’s about it. I think these little tips actually make for some pretty good baked sweet potato fries, so much so that every time I make them I consume a whole baked sweet potato for myself along with the entire small batch of tahini-honey dipping sauce. Then again, I always eat the entire baked sweet potato whether or not it was done well or not, so perhaps this is saying more about me and my eating habits than it is about the qualities of these fries. But you get it! These taste good.

(Oh, photos! What strange lighting you have! Sigh.)

Some more thoughts on … San Francisco & Santa Barbara: So in approximately 18 hours,  more or less, I will be in a car with two of my closest friends headed for that great yet confusing state of California. It’s my last spring break of college, and my friends and I decided that this time would be best spent in the pursuit of a little sunshine and good food. We’ll be in San Francisco for 4 days or so, then down in Santa Barbara (a place you may remember that I go to every so often). I know San Francisco is a food mecca, and I’ve gotten the chance to go to some great places in a brief trip there last summer. But you all (Linda! Em! Etc!) know of probably a lot of great food bites. I’ve got Little Star and Zachary’s Pizza written down. Anything else you want to throw my way? Hopefully I’ll make a little post over next week, but if not, see you in a little bit. x

One Year Ago: Crustless Kale and Quinoa Quiche

Crispy Baked Sweet Potato Fries
Adapted & Inspired from My New Roots

1 medium-sized sweet potato, scrubbed, sliced into equally sized 1/4- to 1/2-inch sticks (no need to peel)
2 tablespoons olive oil
3 tablespoons cornmeal or cornflour
1/2 teaspoon salt

Preheat oven to 400 degrees F.

Fill a medium-sized bowl with water. Add the uncooked sweet potato sticks, swish them around for about a minute or so, then remove and thoroughly dry. Allow to air dry for at least 15 minutes or so (while the oven heats up or while you throw together the dipping sauce).

Rinse out and thoroughly dry the same medium-sized bowl you rinsed the sweet potato sticks in. Add the air-dried cut potatoes and the olive oil, and swish them around together with your hand to coat evenly. Add in the cormeal (or cornstrach) and salt, and continue to mix so the potatoes get coated evenly. Place the sticks on a greased or lined baking sheet, spaced evenly apart so they’re not overlapping. If you run out of space, use two baking sheets.

Bake in the preheated oven for 25-35 minutes, until they are golden brown, puffed, and crisp looking. I honestly don’t think it makes too big of a difference to flip them halfway through (especially considering the extra work it requires), but if you’d like, towards the end you can shake the pan gently so that some get turned over. Enjoy while hot!

Tahini-Honey Dipping Sauce

As I said before, these are really rough estimates. I usually just mix together a couple fairly big spoonfuls of tahini, a little spoonful of honey, a good squeeze of lemon, and enough water to get the right consistency. Obviously I can’t just say that though, hence why you see a little recipe below. But adjust to taste.

3 tablespoons tahini paste
1-2 tablespoons water
2 teaspoons honey
2 teaspoons lemon juice

Combine the tahini, 1 tablespoon water, honey, and lemon juice in a small bowl. Whisk until smooth, streaming in a little more water as necessary until you have a thick consistency. Adjust for taste and thickness.

So in what seems like forever ago, I made a post that featured my favorite cornbread recipe. It’s from Cook’s Illustrated, who describes it as a Northern-style cornbread: there’s a quarter-cup of brown sugar, a stick of butter, and you bake it in a glass dish. When I make it, the thick cake-like squares that we cut out of the dish remind me of my beloved meals growing up when my mom would serve my siblings and I Jiffy cornbread muffins that we cut open and slathered with butter and honey. It’s a good cornbread recipe, or so I thought.

In what also seems like forever ago, I got an email from a reader (or actually more likely someone who stumbled on my blog for a one-time-thing and who will never see it again—Charles, if you’re reading this, let me know!) who told me that I have been doing cornbread all wrong. He’s from the South, and apparently having more flour than cornmeal is blasphemous or something. He referred me to this recipe, and said it was for my own good that I try it.

This recipe is most definitely made with a much higher ratio of cornmeal—and stone-ground, medium-grind cormeal, that is—to flour, and you cook it in a hot cast-iron skillet that’s been coated with some butter. Two notes here: One, as you can tell, I used a cake pan, because I don’t even own a cast-iron skillet (I know, I know, still more blasphemy). And two, although the recipe says you should use unsalted butter, I’m going to go ahead and be a little prissy and say you shouldn’t. The salted butter that coats the pan gives the crust of the cornbread a delicious salty edge to it, much the same way that the salted butter wrapped around the crust of these favorite buttermilk biscuits of mine.

Besides those details though, I think this cornbread follows a similar logic and make-up that most do. Those small changes though produce a very different cornbread, though, and one that I think Charles might be right about. It most definitely tastes…”cornier”… than my previous go-to cornbread, and it’s got a grittier texture. As Charles told me, there’s “just enough” flour to allow the bread to hold together, so what you end up with is more crumbly and less cakey. It feels more rustic to me, and it makes me want to pack up some wedges in a kitchen towel to carry off for a picnic in the sun.

I, of course, haven’t done that but instead have been eating it with some turkey chili that I cooked up (it was not only made with ground turkey but also had beans in it—the blasphemy, I can’t ever escape it!!). The chili itself is nothing to write home about. But this cornbread—yes, this is something. If I were to be honest with you, if I just had to eat a wedge of any type of cornbread by itself, I still prefer my Cook’s cornbread. When it comes to the simple topping of butter and honey,  that’s when that strong force of nostalgia takes over and I can’t refuse the cake-like-Jiffy-but-better recipe. Regarding this, I would never admit that I am a self-respecting Southerner, because frankly I’m a Northerner who shamelessly prefers more sugar in everything. However, this Southern-style buttermilk version here is the one I will most likely be making from now on, for everything from chili to soups to turning it into cornbread-crumbs. Charles was right; he did me a favor.

One Year Ago: Chicken Tagine with Apricots and Almonds (oh, that’s a good one)

Classic Southern-Style Buttermilk Cornbread
From Fine Cooking, via The Bitten Word
Makes one 9 or 10-inch round

1 3/4 cup (9 ounces) stone-ground, medium-grind cornmeal
1/2 cup (2 1/4 ounces) unbleached all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon granulated sugar
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
heaping 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1 cup buttermilk
1/4 cup sour cream
2 eggs
3 tablespoons salted butter, cut into a few pieces

Preheat oven to 425 degrees F and position a rack in the middle of the oven. Place a 9 or 10-inch cast iron skillet or a heavy-duty round metal baking tin on the rack. Let it heat up while the batter is prepared, at least 20 minutes.

In a medium bowl, whisk together 1 1/4 cups of the cornmeal, the flour, sugar, baking powder, baking soda, and salt.

In a small saucepan, bring 1/2 up water to a boil. Once at a boil, combine with 1/2 cup of the cornmeal in a large bowl. Stir until the mixture becomes a thick mush. Once the mixture has cooled slightly, add in the buttermilk, sour cream and eggs. Using a whisk, mix to blend.

At this point, if the oven and pan are fully heated, sprinkle the dry ingredients over the wet corn mixture and mix with a wooden spoon until just blended; do not overmix.

Remove the hot pan from the oven and add the butter pieces, carefully swirling the butter around as it melts to completely coat the pan. (My butter didn’t brown at all, but if it does, that’s fine.) Immediately pour the melted butter over the batter. Stir briefly just to combine in the butter. Scrape the batter into the hot pan, and smooth out the top.

Bake until the cornbread’s browned edges begin to pull away from the sides of the pan, and the bread is golden on top, about 18 to 22 minutes. Remove from the oven and let cool briefly for a minute. After loosening the edges, turn the bread out on to a rack to cool for a few minutes. Serve hot, with butter.

So, things have been going. Some more than others, but everything’s been going. I’m in the midst of a deadline for the first draft of my thesis—which! I have promised myself not to whine on about on here because really, I can barely stand the endless amount of lamenting from my peers regarding their theses and academic pressures and figuring out which one of their many life options they should pursue following graduation blah blah blah and I’m one of them, so I can only imagine what it must seem like to any “outsiders.” (And in case you’re wondering, by outsider I mean irrelevant normal people in the real world, obviously.) But, seeing as that thesis and those other life worries have basically been swallowing my life whole in periodic cycles throughout this semester, I’m sure all of that is bound to make it’s way on this blog in some way. Like it just has in this whole paragraph.

Another way it’s going to show up: through this photo that can accurately be titled both “As a break from writing on a Saturday night I tried to clean my room” or “I have too many books/magazines”—depending on how you want to look at it.

In other news, I’m thinking I should start a new feature on this blog: Mushy Humble Peasant Dishes that Make Me Feel Frugal and Satisfied. I’m joking, but it certainly feels like I’ve already started something like that, doesn’t it? I’m still in the mode where, when I head to the store, all I feel like grabbing from the shelves are vegetables. The only thing I feel like doing with them when I get home is cooking them is either roasting them or cooking them on the stove top until they’re mushy enough to puree in a soup, or in this case, spoon over a big pile of rice.

I think I’ve mentioned it briefly once before, but my boyfriend’s going to school in Beirut, Lebanon right now. Because he knows it makes me happy, during our nightly chats he’ll often tell me what he cooked for dinner or ate at a restaurant out with friends. For example, he’s already mentioned to me four times now how delicious crushed up mint leaves are in green tea (it gets all cloudy and delicious, he says), and he loves describing the mezze plates he shares with friends. One night, he praised a dish his roommate had made to share between the two of them. He described it as green beans “with the stems ripped off” (ha ha) stewed with onions and spices and tomatoes. He called it loubieh, and apparently it’s a pretty big dish there. Coincidentally, I had had this Saveur recipe for green beans stewed with chickpeas and tomatoes for quite a while.

It’s easy, really, and the process is not much more than how Waylon described it. I liked the idea of adding in chickpeas, as as the Saveur recipe indicated, so I went along with it. But seriously, not much more is going on than some vegetables bubbling away in a pot for about an hour. Season well, use good spices, good olive oil—and don’t be stingy with it—and you’ll end up with a plate of good things going on. It’s things like this meal, or the sun that has been peeping through clear skies in the morning, that have been the ones that are “going.” But I guess when you’ve got a good plate of food for dinner and a little sunshine, the other things don’t feel so overbearingly idle, at least momentarily.

One Year Ago: Juicy Blood Orange Cake

Lebanese-Style Stewed Green Beans with Chickpeas (Loubieh Wa Hommus)
Adapted from Saveur
Serves 4 to 6

4 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
2 teaspons cumin seeds
4 cloves garlic, minced
1 medium yellow onion, thinly sliced
2 tablespoons tomato paste
1 tablespoon paprika
1 1/2 pounds green beans, cleaned and trimmed
1 (15-ounce) can chickpeas, drained and rinsed
1 (28-ounce) can whole, peeled tomatoes with juice

In a Dutch oven or large saucepan, heat oil over medium heat. Add in cumin seeds and cook, stirring often, for about 1 minute. Add the garlic and onion, season liberally with salt and pepper (talking about at least a teaspoon of kosher salt), and cook, stirring freqently, until the onions are soft and lightly browned, about 8 to 10 minutes.

Add the tomato paste and paprkia and cook, stirring often, until the tomato paste is slightly caramelized and fragrant, about 2 minutes. Add the green beans, chickpeas, 2 cups of water, and the tomatoes, making sure to crush the whole tomatoes with your hands as you add them. Bring to a boil, then reduce the heat to medium-low and cover the pot mostly with a lid (leave room for steam to escape). Simmer, stirring about every 10 or 15 minutes, until the beans are very tender, about 50 minutes to 1 hour. Turn off the heat and let sit for at least 15 minutes to let the flavors “meld.” Serve over rice or bulgar, with a drizzle of olive oil on top.

Obviously, the appeals of plain, vegetable mush soup have not been lost upon me yet. But don’t be fooled—this one is extra special, and by extra special I of course mean that it is more unremarkable than the rest. Maybe even the most unremarkable! This is not your average run-of-the-mill vegetable mush, no, no, it is mush of the most thrown-away, despised and barely tolerated vegetable. Celery.

I would pity the vegetable and its unpopularity more if I myself weren’t part of the unappreciative masses who consume celery stalks for only one of 3 purposes: 1.) as a base for stocks and soups (which uses only a couple stalks—the rest inevitably languish in the vegetable drawer), 2.)  for ants on a log (don’t judge, that stuff is good), and 3.)  to munch on some fake calories to keep my stomach distracted  while I find something substantial to eat for dinner.

I honestly don’t know why I picked out celery-celery soup from all of Dorie Greenspan’s recipes in her Around My French Table cookbook to make. Maybe the day I decided to make it I was feeling extra sensitive and my empathetic instincts to side with the underdog has finally made its way onto my dinner plate.

All I know is the day I wanted to eat it for dinner, I couldn’t, because the celery root required for the recipe was no where to be found in the 3 nearest grocery stores near me. I will save your sanity, and mine, by not dwelling on the fact that I live in a culturally-forsaken area that doesn’t stock celery root in February. So, fast-forward two weeks from that night when I found some celery root in a health food store (that curiously and deliciously sells kombucha in bulk…awesome), and that is when the glory of this soup, or maybe more accurately lack thereof, began.

In case you haven’t figured it out yet by my ramblings, the double celery in the name signifies the presence of both celery stalks and celery root. There’s also some apples in the soup, which add some sweetness, but they don’t detract any of the main flavor. Besides that, there’s not much to it. Let’s just say that this is a soup of humble origins. (A random tangent: I actually love cooking really humble soups that require no more than water or broth, onions, and another vegetable or two. I think it goes back to when I had to read Night in middle school, and Elie Weisel wrote about how he ate some version of soup—aka water and onion—for his daily meal most days. I don’t know, there’s just something about eating a whole bunch of gooey cinnamon cake squares that immediately propels a person in the opposite direction afterwards.)

Anyway, what you end up with is a puree that’s light, and with sweetness and earthiness from the flavor of celery. I’m not going to add any whistles or bells to it, because after all we’re still talking about celery here, but it’s pretty good. Add on a drizzle of heavy cream, and some homemade curried croutons and curried apples—they take minutes to make and add a completely different, delicious dimension—and you’ve got yourself something even better. Something, dare I say, even actually special!

One Year Ago: Honey Whole-Wheat Bread

Celery-Celery Soup with Curried Croutons
From Dorie Greenspan’s Around My French Table
Serves 8, more or less

2 tablespoons butter
3 celery stalks with leaves, trimmed and sliced into rough 1/2-inch pieces
2 large onions, chopped
2 sweet apples (such as Fuji), peeled, cored, and cut into 1-inch cubes
1 pound celery root, trimmed, peeled, cut into 1-inch cubes
1 bay leaf
1 sprig of thyme
6 cups vegetable broth
heavy cream, creme fraiche, or whole-milk yogurt, for serving

2 hefty tablespoons butter, separated
1/2 teaspoon curry powder, separated
2 sweet apples, peeled, cored, and cut into a dice
bread (country, white, wheat, whatever) tore or cut into a dice (enough to make 1-2 cups)

To make the soup, melt the 2 tablespoons butter in a large Dutch oven or soup pot over medium-low heat. Once melted, add the sliced celery, onions, and apples and season liberally with salt and pepper. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the vegetables are soft and the onions are beginning to get translucent but not brown, about 7 minutes or so. Stir in the celery root and the herbs. Add the broth, turn up the heat to high, and bring the mixture to a boil. Once it reaches a boil, turn down the heat to low, partially cover the pot, and simmer for about 30 minutes, or until the celery root smashes easily when pressed against with the back of a spoon. As Dorie says, if you can, pull out the bay leaf and thyme—but good luck with that.

While the soup is simmering, make the curried apples and croutons. In a large skillet over medium heat, melt a tablespoon of butter. Add in 1/4 teaspoon curry powder and stir until fragrant, about 30 seconds. Add in the diced apple and saute until tender, about 2 minutes. (These apples won’t get crispy like croutons, but I hardly think that’s the purpose of them.) Taste for seasonings, then remove from the pan and set aside. In the same pan, melt another hefty tablespoon of butter over medium heat. Add in another 1/4 teaspoon curry and once again, stir until fragrant. Add in the bread cubes and cook, stirring frequently, until the croutons are browned and crispy. Taste for seasonings.

When the soup has simmered sufficiently, transfer the mixture in small batches to a blender and puree the soup until very smooth. Reheat and season to taste for salt and pepper. Serve, garnishing each bowl with a heavy drizzle of cream (or a big dollop of creme fraiche or yogurt), a big spoonful of the curried apples, and a sprinkling of the curried croutons.