Guest Blog: Hanna's Brownies

Exciting news. I have a guest blogger: Hanna Elliot. Hanna is a great cook and a fun friend. I asked her if she might do a little something for my blog and in a lickety-jiffy, she sent me something. I think this will give you an idea of Hanna's true love for the sweets.

I’ve long been a fan of the ease of the one bowl brownie recipe on the Baker’s Chocolate box, but something about how the brownies tasted was never quite right for me. In search of more pure chocolate experience, I turned to King Arthur Flour and found on their web site what they described as the perfect brownie recipe. They say this recipe creates the ideal balance between fudgy and cakey brownies, which made me realize I never cared before about consistency. I only cared about chocolate flavor. But I thought the “perfect brownie” must have to also taste good so last night my 4-year-old daughter and I gave them a try.

The results were very, very good. These brownies fulfilled my desire for clean chocolate flavor. And, the recipe allowed for a lot of child involvement, which was nice. Recipes that are all mixed with a hand mixer are a bummer for a kid. This one requires four eggs, which gave my girl a chance to do one of her favorite things and break them all into a bowl. Then she had to mix cocoa powder, baking powder, salt, and vanilla into the eggs, which was fun because the mixture became a beautiful deep brown as she stirred. And I knew she could stir as much as she wanted without doing any damage because we hadn’t yet added the flour. That went in at the very end with two big cups of chocolate chips. But first we mixed in a melted butter and sugar mixture that apparently gives the brownies a shiny top crust. Who knew? I really appreciate the chemistry lessons KAF slips into recipes.

The brownies were a bit too sweet, but that may be because in my haste I accidentally added 1 and 1/3 cups sugar rather than 1 and ¼. I think the chips give it plenty of sweetness and I’ll probably leave out some of the white sugar next time. Even so, these taste so much better than the one bowl recipe I’ve relied on for years, and using two bowls is worth it for deep chocolate brownies you might need to eat with a fork.

All Women All Night

Last night the women of my world gathered together for our first of hopefully many all femme dinner events. Since we thought themeing the night would help focus our cooking energies, we chose France (rather randomly with the help a participant's 2 year old daughter and an encyclopedia). French food sounded pretty reasonable and doable, especially for a Francophil like me.

I decided to make a Cooks Illustrated Chicken Provencal recipe. I made this before with good results; it's pretty easy and pretty tasty. Unfortunately, the day of the party I felt dizzy-trippy, tired, scatter-brained, just off my game.

I did fine browning the chicken and prepping the ingredients for the sauce in ample advance of the event. Satisfied with my work, I took a shower and came down to finish the sauce and put the chicken in the oven--you know to have it cooking maybe for the last 30 mins while everyone ate appetizers. Unfortunately, I hadn't re-read the recipe all the way through and realized at 6:00 (about when everyone was supposed to arrive) that the dish needed to cook for 1 1/4 hours. Yikes, I almost had a heart attack; I'm not kidding, my heart was a thumpin. I frantically threw everything in the pot and shoved it in the oven. To make a long story mercifully shorter, everything turned out fine--guests came later than expected, the chicken cooked up in plenty of time.

But enough about me. Here is an overview of all the other delicious dishes from our premier dinner Francais. Anita made a super fantastic French onion soup. It was so good and so beautiful that it had to be the lead image (see top of the page). Anita reminded us several times, while we tucked into her sumptuous soup, that it contained a stick of butter. I believe that Anita could love butter, if it just wasn't butter. All I can say is thank goodness for that stick of butter.

Lauren made this tasty salad with roasted beets, endive, lettuce, green beans and walnuts. It went perfectly with the chicken and contained not even a touch of butter. A respectable French entry, I believe, and refreshing and delicious to boot. Finally, Danyelle did no baking or chopping, but she did have to talk to a former student working at the pastry counter in a local grocery store. That seems like quite enough of a sacrifice to me. The results of her discussions with her ex-student was this very berry tart, a mountain-of-berries tart, really.

These are all the food photos I have, but not all the food at the party. Susie brought a very French appetizer of mashed avocado dip; Amy brought the chips with which to dip it; Annie brought a variety of things. I can't remember them all, but I do recall a bottle of Veuve Clicqout and a bud vase sans les fleurs (she's such a well-raised southern girl, she always brings presents). And last, but not least, Chris brought some cute eclairs. I'm still enjoying them every now and again. Overall, I would say we started this women's night thing off with a bang. Next stop Portugal.

Donut Muffins. Is this possible?

I know its sounds too good to be true, but true it is. They may not taste exactly like donuts, but they are some kind of delicious. I have been heavily preusing food blogs in these waning days of my winter break and am particularly addicted to http://bread-and-honey.blogspot.com/. Beautiful food photos, fun stories, cute kid hands grabbing for cookies, rolling dough, and a good mix of baking and cooking--and-- these, now infamous in my house, donut muffins.

It is snowing today, off and on. We took a lovely, but very windy, walk out in the weather and on return, I whipped these babies up. I made a few modifications to the bread and honey recipe:
http://bread-and-honey.blogspot.com/2008/10/donut-muffins.html

Two tablespoons less butter, a half a cup of whole wheat flour to replace 1/2 cup of the 3 cups of ap flour, a 1/2 tsp of vanilla and buttermilk instead of milk and vinager (I always have buttermilk, so why make sour milk?). Mine were a little top heavy; I don't have a big muffin tin.

It is only two hours before we go have dinner with my mother-in-law. I am pretty strict about sweets before dinner; someone must have drilled that into me as child. But I just couldn't resist these perfumey little cakes (muffins is a bit of stretch). As I sit here, I am thinking about grabbing one more.

Christmas Cooking

It's been a hell of a long time since I blogged, I know. And I know that Christmas long since passed, but I have much to report after a frenzy of Christmas cooking and baking. I tried my hand at many new recipes over the holidays, some turned out delicious, others ok, and others surpising.

Let's start with one of my favorite but most challenging baking events, Cinnamon Rolls. I found this receipe in Bon Appetit last March. Molly Wizenberg's article made it all sound so easy. She promised that a yeast novice could pull this one off. I began to covet the recipe. I dreamed about it; I read and re-read the recipe; I bought the instant yeast. And, 10 months later, I finally got up the nerve to make these little honies for Christmas morning breakfast. My long-since lapsed Catholic husband relented to his, forever unlapsed, Catholic mother's request that he go to Christmas morning mass. This gave me the opportunity to indulge in my own religion--baking Cinnamon Rolls.

Promising looking little ball of dough, no? Well, it didn't rise in time for me to roll, cut, and bake it for the returning church folk; our house is just too darn cold in the morning. On the fly, I whipped up a delicious, but hardly comparable, Caramel Nut Coffee Cake from Molly Katzen's Sunlight Cafe (my tried and true breakfast book). My mother-in-law loves cake, all kinds of cake, so she was perfectly happy. I pinned for the rolls.

Here they are about to hit the oven, well after breakfast. Not too bad, for a four hour total rise. I made two pans of these. I am embarassed to say I don't have an image of the final results. Can you believe it? But they were sick-yummy. We had to stop ourselves from eating each and everyone immediately. I decided to forgo the cream cheese glaze.They were so pillowy and luscious without it.

DOUGH

1 cup whole milk
3 tablespoons unsalted butter
3 1/2 cups (or more) unbleached all purpose flour, divided
1/2 cup sugar
1 large egg
2 1/4 teaspoons rapid-rise yeast (from 2 envelopes yeast)
1 teaspoon salt
Nonstick vegetable oil spray

FILLING

3/4 cup (packed) golden brown sugar
2 tablespoons ground cinnamon
1/4 cup (1/2 stick) unsalted butter, room temperature

GLAZE

4 oz cream cheese, room temperature
1 cup powdered sugar
1/4 cup (1/2 stick) unsalted butter, room temperature
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract

Combine milk and butter in glass measuring cup. Microwave on high until butter melts and mixture is just warmed to 120°F to 130°F, 30 to 45 seconds. Pour into bowl of stand mixer fitted with paddle attachment. Add 1 cup flour, sugar, egg, yeast, and salt. Beat on low speed 3 minutes, stopping occasionally to scrape down sides of bowl. Add 2 1/2 cups flour. Beat on low until flour is absorbed and dough is sticky, scraping down sides of bowl. If dough is very sticky, add more flour by tablespoonfuls until dough begins to form ball and pulls away from sides of bowl. Turn dough out onto lightly floured work surface. Knead until smooth and elastic, adding more flour if sticky, about 8 minutes. Form into ball.

Lightly oil large bowl with nonstick spray. Transfer dough to bowl, turning to coat. Cover bowl with plastic wrap, then kitchen towel. Let dough rise in warm draft-free area until doubled in volume, about 2 hours.

FILLING

Mix brown sugar and cinnamon in medium bowl.
Punch down dough. Transfer to floured work surface. Roll out to 15x11-inch rectangle. Spread butter over dough, leaving 1/2-inch border. Sprinkle cinnamon sugar evenly over butter. Starting at 1 long side, roll dough into log, pinching gently to keep it rolled up. With seam side down, cut dough crosswise with thin sharp knife into 18 equal slices (each about 1/2 to 3/4 inch wide).

Spray two 9-inch square glass baking dishes with nonstick spray. Divide rolls between baking dishes, arranging cut side up (there will be almost no space between rolls). Cover baking dishes with plastic wrap, then kitchen towel. Let dough rise in warm draft-free area until almost doubled in volume, 40 to 45 minutes.
Position rack in center of oven and preheat to 375°F. Bake rolls until tops are golden, about 20 minutes. Remove from oven and invert immediately onto rack. Cool 10 minutes. Turn rolls right side up.

GLAZE

Combine cream cheese, powdered sugar, butter, and vanilla in medium bowl. Using electric mixer, beat until smooth. Spread glaze on rolls. Serve warm or at room temperature.

Here's a list of some the other items included in my holiday baking/cooking stint:

• Apple Cranberry Walnut Crumble
• Oat Wheat Bread
• Rye Onion Quick Bread
• Chocolate Chip Cookies (the best recipe know to man, perfect, from The New York Times Dessert Cookbook)
• Baked Shrimp with a Peanut Dipping Sauce
• Braised Paprika Chicken

This last one was from EatingWell Magazine; my New Years Day dinner guests loved it. I have a strange relationship with this magazine. I like to read the recipes and the articles, but I usually give it a gander and then turn to the recent Fine Cooking or Cooks Illustrated when I actually get down to cooking. This recipe was a delicious surprise (and lower fat, if that makes a difference to anyone).

I may have forgotten other things made and eaten; it was a long holiday with much feasting.

Off the Food Trail- 2008 Election Relief

I know that this blog is supposed to be devoted to food and food thoughts, but a woman can't live by bread alone. I need to reflect on the meaning of the Democratic Obama victory last week, for me. Almost my entire life, except for those few years when I was young and LBJ was in office and those short gleams of democratic leadership under Carter and Clinton, I have been living in a Republican (ever more right leaning and religiously ferverent) America. Only since this recent Democratic victory, did I realize how deeply the conservative climate has dragged down my spirit.

I first came to political awareness in my 20s--Reagan years. I felt so separate and disconnected from my country and my government, I began to cultivate a rock-solid pessimism/cynicism towards all programs for political renovation--whether they be Republican or the opposition from the beleagured Left. I had no where to anchor my civic hopes. My hopelessness increased as the nation bought wholeheartedly into the inevitability of the conservative vision. The pervasive belief in the ineluctability of human greed, the necessity of military might and American supremacy, the rightness of materialist and status ambitions, the soundness of unreflective dismissal of the poor, the abused, victims of war, the "enemy", and of the unconventional has left me feeling bleak and lonely most of my adult life. Furthermore, the argument that "what is, is right", and that "what is" is just a demonstration of our innate "human nature" has made discussion about how to change America impossible.

Sure, progressive voices continued to speak about civic responsiblity and engagement, about the poor and the needy, but they did so with little confidence as a minority in a nation that respected none of these political ideals.

I know that what people believe is human nature is always a product of context. If they see a world where greed, political apathy, and cruelty reign, they call it human nature. For this reason, I look forward to a renovation of human nature as the parochial and vindictive conservative worldview passes.

Don't get me wrong, I have not completely embraced the Obama utopianism pulsing through the nation (maybe just a little). I am brittle and suspicious from coming of age in an era of profound disappointment. I hear Angela Davis when she says that as far as Obama is concerned, America places far too much importance on individual achievement. With 2 million + Americans, the majority men of color, sitting in prison as a form of neo-slavery, one black man's movement into the White House does not substantively challenge the condition of African America. I hear my own inner suspicions that recognize Obama as a centrist Democrat who does not necessarily represent any substantive departure from status quo politics. His comments about "killing Bin Laden" are silly and offensive to me.

But, hell, after Tueday I feel different. I feel optimistic. I see potential and possibility. I am human, I gotta believe. I'm looking forward to hearing a president talk about our national responsibility to the poor and the abused here and abroad and actually mean it. I am looking forward to watching America's international prestige resuscitated. I am looking forward to hearing intelligent, well-considered political talk coming out of the White House, not condescension and pronouncement. And I'm looking forward to having government agencies empowered to do their work, rather than cynically undermined by de-regulationists.


I'm keeping my antenna up; I haven't lost my edge. But I am smiling alot more.

The History of Tofu

I made tofu with broccoli and bean sprouts for dinner last Sunday night. The husband had weekend duty at his boarding school. This meant staying on campus almost the entire weekend, driving the boarders to various events and, inevitably, overeating bad food. It's a time-tested, anxiety release strategy for on-duty faculty. From his recounting, in one afternoon, he ate several slices of pizza, both washed down with soda; a large coffee; much candy; and a turkey sandwich. This may not sound so bad, but mixed with fulltime teenage contact, it put him over the edge. I intended the tofu as a counter-action to the junk indulgences.

I have a strange relationship with tofu. I buy it regularly, intending to use it in a stir-fry. But time after time, I pass it by. It sits in my refrigerator for a week, or weeks, until I finally breakdown and cook it up. I am usually pleasantly surprised with the results. But I never lust after it, as I do for a hot-out-of-the-oven muffin or a well made pasta sauce.

I first encountered the snowy white, bean cake at Siam Restaurant in Lambertville, NJ. I worked for Siam through much of the 1980s. I worked six nights a week. And nearly six nights a week, I chose to eat tofu for dinner (I was a vegetarian, of sorts, back then). Stir fried tofu with bean sprouts, that was my dish of choice. It may sound bland. It sure wasn't anything to look at, very white and gray. But when the tofu and bean sprouts were fresh, and the jasmine rice was pipping hot, it had a clean, squeaky, clear, garlicky, fish-saucy taste that I loved.

(The husband and our friends, Zoe and Neil, in front of Siam. Whenever they visit, we end up there. They like it; we like it. It's a tradition.)

Anyway, back to tofu...

Siam gets its tofu (and other Thai ingredients) from Chinatown in Philadelphia. When I worked there, I went on several of these grocery trips. The Thai subculture in Philly is small as are the Thai food stores. I recall going to one of these matchbox sized stores with Timmy, the owner-chef, and listening to his back and forth with the shopkeeper as they both dragged on Marlboros. After they caught up, Timmy started to fill his order--cases of tinned curry, coconut milk and lychee nuts, palm sugar and Thai snacks for his family- bags of miniscule dried shrimp, a fishy-smelling wad that looked like pale-pink cotton candy, and other bizarre-to-me items.

I realize, upon reflection, that I developed my first foodie inclinations at Siam. I ate the on-the-menu dishes, the aforementioned tofu and much more. But I also ate the after-hours stuff that Timmy wouldn't serve to Americans. Bowls of searingly-hot green curry thick with bamboo rods, fish ball soup, steamed chicken feet, deep-fried cubes of pork fat, winter melon soup, hard boiled eggs stewed in a pitch black broth scented with star anise, old-rice soup. Back then, I refused nothing and I only ate with a large spoon and fork, Thai style. I wanted to be one of them, a Thai authentic, not one of the customers to whom they served Americanized-Thai.

I learned a lot about cooking (and Thailand) just from watching Timmy and from talking to him about food. At one point, I even contemplated switching from the front to the back of the house. But the tips were just too good. Too bad, maybe if I had made the switch, I could make a tofu dish worth looking forward to.

A Skeptic's Food History

The food of my childhood was pretty unremarkable. My sorta-suburban family of five ate what my mother made. This generally meant such things as roast chicken and Bisquick biscuits, roast beef and potatoes, El Paso Tacos with ground meat and iceberg lettuce, something called "hungarian goulash," and loose meat with gravy over mashed potatoes, to name the most memorable. I can't complain about any of it. It was well cooked and tasty. I was a hungry little person. I ate everything thankfully. My mother also had a weakness for health fads. In the late 1970s, she got swept up in the natural foods trends. These were not my family's best gastronomic years. Our 70s dinner table groaned with weird curried concoctions served with raisins and shaved (unsweetened) coconut, grape nut bread and other indistinct items. Again, I ate everything thankfully. I was hungry most of the time. Apparently my maternal grandmother made wicked pies, cakes and cinnamon buns. I don't recall, she didn't live near us. I do have a clear summer memory of making dinner with my paternal grandmother (aka momma). The menu that night included pan fried steak, salad, and instant mashed potatoes. While whipping the mashed potatoes, my momma threw in a dash or two of garlic powder. What innovation, I thought. And, like always, I ate everything thankfully, especially those garlicky instant potatoes.

As you can imagine, my childhood did not foster a very specific food identity. I became a mediocre-to-very poor cook once out on my own. As my boyfriend-to-be-husband used to say, "we can both make an okay pot of slop." This all changed when I began my dissertation on natural foods. I spent so much time reading and thinking about food that I started to learn and cook. Our (me and the husband's) food life improved dramatically. I continued to read about food and cook and bake. I became a bit of an aesthete, a searcher for the special and the delicious.

So why a skeptical foodie, you ask? Part of me is happy to revel in food luxury. I, as much as the foodie next store, love to look at seductively photographed food magazines. In the summer I get my fruit and vegtables only from the two farmstands near my house. The quality is undeniable. I just recently started perusing food blogs: I'm hooked. But I feel a little dirty after these indulgences. When I'm honest with myself, the whole foodie things feels frivolously bourgeois.

My years as a food historian bred a two headed beast: the food lover and the food skeptic. That's where I'm at.