Sweet Potato Whole Grain Waffles

Fake seems to have become a real fact of life these days. Think about it. No one is who they purport to be on facebook or twitter. In fact, on the internet, not being your real self can be a major selling point (ruth bourdain anyone?). And, as food goes, sure there are all the artificial flavors and colors. But, even with the new “real food” movement, think about the pictures. Many of those pictures have been styled, artificially lit, and preened to within an inch of their existence. For years, there have been accusations from psychologists that the plethora of airbrushed, surgically enhanced models in magazines and in video games would make young men unable to appreciate the normal female body. I am starting to think the power of food photography is affecting how I see regular food.




These waffles spring forth from their iron looking a little like a patio tile. Not the pretty Italian-made ones, mind you. More like the ones at the edge of the patio that have crumbled after putting up with one too many cold winters. And, if you aren’t used to whole grains, their bespeckled nature might concern you. And, then there is the sort of unfortunate orange of the dough. The marketer in me might call it terracotta. In other words, these are not the prom queen of waffles; instead, they make the wallflowers of waffles look like Miss America. And, then here is where my brain thinks societal conspiracy. I actually thought they are so ugly I wonder if they taste good. What? Why? My brain somehow placed visual data ahead of smell when it came to food. Who the heck cares what it looks like? I guess some food stylist/ lizard part of my brain. Luckily my husband, who abstains from all types of food porn on principle, is immune from such stupidity. He dug in and quickly attested to their deliciousness.

Recipe:
Whole Grain Sweet potato Waffles
In a blender combine:
250 grams cooked sweet potato
1 buttermilk
2 eggs
2 heaping T oil

Cook 100 grams bob's red mill hot cereal plus 3 T chia seeds with 1 cup almond milk. Cool and add to the wet. Mix.

In a large bowl combine:
145 g whole wheat flour
40 g chestnut flour
15 g flax seeds
10 g oat bran
60 g corn meal
1 T yeast
1 t baking soda
1 t salt
2 T brown sugar
2 T white sugar

Add the wet to the cold. Mix heartily. Let rest in covered in the refrigerator overnight. Bring to room temperature. Add 1/2-1 cup more buttermilk (or almond milk if you wish) to create a batter like consistency. Cook in a waffle iron at medium for about 5-7 minutes. These take longer to cook than other waffles we have made. Ours dings when it thinks they are done. So, we went through three of the regular cycles.

I am submitting this recipe to yeastspotting run by the lovely Wild Yeast.

Gluten Free Carrot Candied Orange Madeleines

Someone once told me, “You know, writing is like riding a horse.” They stopped there. Now, I am starting to wonder. Was it because if you rode once you can ride again and similarly if you strung together sentences before you will again? Or was it because riding a horse, and writing similarly, takes practice but the practice is well worth it? Or was it because riding a horse, and writing as well, can be a terrible pain in the behind?

I would like to believe the answer to all three of those questions is yes. I am starting to believe most things take practice and are often a pain, though once learned are so familiar they can never be forgotten.

After a frustrating week when the skies have chosen to offer inclemency of some kind, I find myself itching to have a quiet minute in the kitchen. I don’t mean event-cooking or dinner making. I mean quiet mixing chopping joy; the kind of cooking where you don’t need to look up the recipe or pull out a scale. You just drop that measuring cup into the flour, feel the smoothness of the ingredient, and then satisfied sweep the knife over the cup. Chopping, whisking, moving. Then you bite into your creation and remember, hey, I can cook. Maybe cooking is like writing—oh, I mean like riding a horse.



Recipe:
Gluten Free Carrot Candied Orange Madeleines
Based on a recipe by Seattle Local Food
Melt ½ a stick of butter. Let brown. Strain and cool.

In a large bowl, beat together:
4 eggs
1 tsp vanilla

Add:
¼ cup grated carrots
2 T candied orange peels, chopped
1 T candied ginger, chopped (optional)

In a separate bowl, mix together:
½ cup GF mix
½ tsp baking powder
¼ tsp xantham gum
1 tsp ginger powder
½ tsp Chinese 5 spice
½ tsp cinnamon
2 T brown sugar

Mix dry into wet. Add butter.

Let sit for 5 minutes. And then pour batter (it is wet) into greased Madeleine pans. Bake 8 minutes at 350. This makes about 60 mini-madeleines.

Ginger Curried Fried Chicken -- Perfect for Picnics

You must know that feeling. When you are horrified right down to your toes, I mean mortified, at the actions of your family. Somehow they have taken it as their personal hobby to embarrass you and you are suffering for their thoughtless actions. This embarrassment is a condition that peaks in middle school, though you might find you have short breakouts at important milestones like graduations, weddings, and births.

Families are at their most embarrassing when they are just being themselves. You know, when your dad hugs you before you drop your backpack in the front seat and slink into the car. When your mom calls you sweetheart at the top of her lungs in front of your sixth grade classroom. Or, when your whole family camps out on the waterfront in Monterey, and pulls out their tiffins of stinky, boring Indian food. Not only do they dig into their poha bhaji and butter and chutney sandwiches with unrepentant gusto, but they actually offer you a plate. As if. Ugh, could they be lamer?



Be warned, it gets worse. You might work as hard as you can to create a delicious picnic. You stay up late to make homemade pita and your child’s favorite masoor dal/ canellini bean hummus. You make ginger/ chilli fried chicken. You pack it all up in a lovely, festive pink lunchbox. And, then when you take out the lunchbox at the picnic site, asking your “sweet baby” if she would like some chicken, she turns and looks at you. I don’t mean a casual look. I mean she stops you with a stare, one that looks eerily like your own. Her eyes have a mature aspect that surprises you. She looks at you without a smile, in fact, her little lips curl down ever so slightly. All of sudden you realize its true, families are embarrassing—even you.



Recipe:
Ginger Curried Fried Chicken:
For two whole chicken cut into pieces…
In a large bowl combine, marinate chicken in:
2 1/2 cups buttermilk
2 T Malaysian curry powder
1 t ginger powder
1 t turmeric
2 t kosher salt
1 t chili powder
2 t coriander seeds crushed
2 1.5 inches ginger cubed large, don’t worry about peeling
3-5 cloves garlic crushed, don’t worry about peeling
1 small onion chopped

Marinate the chicken overnight (at least). Turn chicken at least once.

Make the coating. In a deep plate or shallow bowl combine:
1 cup white flour
1/2 cup whole wheat flour
1/4 cup chickpea flour (roasted in a dry skillet)
1 T paprika
1 t ginger power
1 t cumin flour
1/2 t chili powder

Dredge the chicken in the flour. Let rest on a rack. Shake the chicken slightly to remove excess. Let rest. And, then dredge in the flour again.

Par-fry in 2 inches of oil in a cast iron skillet. Use shortening. I know that there are those who would use lard. I support that, but I didn’t grow up with lard, and then taste doesn’t work for me. Fry 4-5 minutes on each side or until golden brown.

Bake at 350 degrees for about 30 minutes.

Serve warm, cool, or standing right next to the oven.

Shevai with Balsamic Tomato Sauce (Indian and Italian Fusion)

As a fairly small child, sitting in the vestibule outside temple biding time until lunch, I asked my mother about the caste system. To which she answered, “You know, it used to be that if you left India across the ocean, you were out of it all together.” There I was not even in middle school yet, and my mother was basically explaining that my soul was lost. We have a wacky dark streak in our family that stretches back generations.

As unreligious as I was, excommunication from faith was not what struck me. It was the vastness of the ocean. The fact that these people were walking onto boats and later onto TWA planes, hopes in their hearts and scraps of their material lives in their hands. And, for their trouble, they were given basically given a ‘see you later’.

I can only imagine it was eternally freeing—frightening and freeing. In that moment the verboten became delicious. We often joke that it must have been a moment verging on the spiritual awakening when my bad-Hindu father tasted his first bacon double cheeseburger.

My girls, Maybelle and Lily, are heirs to a rich heritage of those who quit faraway homes, picking and choosing what food tastes to keep and what to chuck. An accent-lilting Indian grandmother often makes them home food for dinner but then takes them out for grass-fed burgers. On their father’s side, they are descendents of the hard-scramble mountainous spine of Italy. Their great-grandfather’s whole town left Italia because they had apparently lost their taste for rock farming.

But, here is the where the math starts just muddy. If it were only some Lamarkian genetic food memory that exercised its powers on the taste-buds, my children would want Indian food ½ the time. Anyone who has fed children knows that they are capricious little beasts, who demand food that is at moments banally monotonous and at others perplexingly new. My first came out loving beans, and my second seems to think cauliflower is the bee’s knees. I like both, but the fist-pumping strength of their desires to eat these foods every night of the week seems amazing. Where did these loves come from?


In my short parenting history, I have learned just a smidge about feeding little ones:

*Fuel, engage in, and cultivate their healthy food desires (We grew eight kinds of beans from seed this year.)

*Introduce foods that you love—and then don’t be broken hearted when they don’t share your tastes.

*Let them help you cook. Have them help you cook. (These two are different.)

*If you blog, have them help with picking the menu, plates, etc. Talk about your pictures. Let them take pictures. (Even at three and a half, Belle helps with this.

*Make some foods over and over. Kids like routine.

*Play lots of dance music while you are cooking. (This is the equivalent of a Julia’s glass of wine while you cook with the toddler set.)

*And, the last bit of advice, mix it up. Don’t assume they won’t eat something because it is new.

One day a few months ago, my mother got it in her head that she would make shevai (sounds like if you say Chevy said with a cross between a southern twang and a French nasal). She served those noodles up without even worry if the girls wouldn’t like them.

Shevai are rice noodles from south India eaten by many ethnicities including my own Konkani people. The process is fairly simple. Soak rice until the grains are sopping and translucent (overnight), grind with water or coconut milk, steam into a gelatinous mass, and then extrude through a press.


The difficulty rating on this dish, for me, occurs because of the extruding. Think of it as the equivalent of pushing drying cement through a tea strainer. Making shevai always conjures images in my mind of my aunts and grandmother finishing making shevai, arms flexed in the air a la Rosie the Riveter. For your labor, you are not only the owner of gorgeous guns but also pillowy soft, toothy threads of noodle. These turned out to be a fan favorite at home, though the name was quickly changed by Belle to be called shimmy. As the cheeky mother than I am, I have also taught her the accompanying dance. Traditionally, they can be eaten with Indian pickle or with a sweet jaggery and coconut sauce.

But, traditional is a word I have always only understood ever so tenuously. We serve our shevai with an Italian inspired tomato sauce so delicious you will want to lick the pan. This sauce was inspired by one that my Belle makes with her dad from the Silver Spoon for Children. The secret is a little bit of brown sugar. And isn’t shevai just a gluten free Asian angel hair pasta? And what’s better than spaghetti and sauce for breakfast even if it took a wide detour through India? (Or maybe because of that detour.)

In the end, who we are, and by extension, what we love to eat, is the result of such perplexing alchemical processes, it’s probably not be worth doing the calculations. It does have something to do with the magic of being born into a family who nurtures you. So, if someday my girls venture off on their own across a wide ocean, if they leave me and my cooking behind, what of our kitchen will they take comfort in? Let’s not do the math.

My first entry for the Project Food Blog should exemplify my blog: good writing, global food, and family.

I am also sending this onto the Hearth and Soul Blog Hop hosted by A Moderate Life,
girlichef, Hunger and Thirst, and Frugality and Crunchiness with Christy



Recipes:
Shevai
Balsamic Curry Leaf Tomato Sauces
Bell Pepper Quick Indian Pickle (Achaar)
Spicy Orange Achaar

Dosas

When I was in high school, I was fairly convinced a boy's whole soul could be summed up by his choice in shoes and how he liked his coffee.  (I am only slightly less judgmental these days.)  That said, I still think situations that draw out the idiosyncratic still offer an insight into the soul. A man who drinks black coffee has something different about him than one who quaffs caramel macchiatos, no?

One particular such indicator of a person's inner being (at least in my mind) is how you like your dosa.  I am a thin and cripsy (dripping in ghee) girl.  My father likes thick and soft ones, verging on uttapams.  My mother prefers them medium with a crispy edge.  Whatever your liking, this month the Daring Cooks made Dosas made with flour rather than rice and urad dal thanks to Debyi (The Healthy Vegan Kitchen).  Go over to Daring Kitchen to read more about them and find the blogroll for other versions.  (The picture below is urad dal and rice dosas with the Challenge filling.  My challenge dosa pictures were not so becoming.)

Hopefully, if I can get a little more sleep, I will be back to writing and posting soon.

Bacon and Cheddar Puff Pastry Squares

To say that the whole house filled with smoke would be incorrect. To be honest, it was just the kitchen, the dining room and the family room. Nevermind that at the time these rooms were filled with various in-laws. Nevermind that they were all starving. Nevermind that they are people who love their breakfast meats.

About ten minutes before this scene, I was saying to my husband, “I make bacon in the oven all the time. It should be fine.” I have a lifelong belief that hubris only offers returns in bad luck, so I should have known better.



But, when I paint a picture of scene, you can see how this all came to be. My nephews were over and I just wanted to please. Bacon is near the top of their list of pleasurables. So this how that morning played out. The family wakes up early so we are under the gun to make breakfast. Our Belle, who was a little over one year old, had been up in the night. So I was underslept. That morning, we were too ambitious--making waffles, fruit syrup, feeding our Belle yogurt, frying breakfast sausage…then there was the bacon. I had Belle on my hip. I took out the baking sheet. I opened the package with my free hand. Then with that same ONE hand, I placed the bacon on the sheet. At the same time, I bobbed and weaved so that Belle wouldn’t reach out and touch the raw meat. I popped the bacon in the oven with the help of my brother-in-law. Then I cleaned up the counter and went to set the table.

Did you notice what I missed? I forgot to put the bacon on a rack about the rack. That small step meant that for weeks we were cleaning bacon grease out of the oven (not to mention airing out our house and clothes.)



Since then, I had avoiding serving bacon for guests. It’s been more than a year and I knew I would eventually have to face my fears. Donna Hay turned out to me my therapist on this one. She had a simple recipe where ham and cheese are baked on puff pastry—I subbed in bacon. I took out the fig paste and use a little mango chutney. The recipe was a breeze and was seriously addictive.

Pesto Ricotta Asparagus Egg Pie

Anticipation is become an endangered emotion.

The immediateness of society has numbed us and made us believe that waiting is an unnecessary part of life. Thankfully biology has kept us in touch with the reality of anticipation. There was a time when you waited until spring for strawberries, when you ate tomatoes in summer, when winter squash came in the winter. Eating seasonal is so fashionable any discussion of the behavior is a bit banal.

Pregnancy is great reminder about the power of anticipation. Forty weeks of waiting. And for most of human experience, women waited and waited in the hope that their wombs were holding a son (hopefully some were happy with a girl.) Science has helped us with the gender thing. But, we still have to wait the long wait.

But modern life bucks this trend. Instead of prizing anticipation and enjoying the time we wait, we think of time as a commodity. Most magazines are advertising ways to help you save time. But, what are we doing that is worthwhile with that time? Here is where anticipation and waiting come in. If you save up all that time only to be busy doing more things, what’s the point? Enjoying the moment is quite another thing altogether.

The momentary has often been lost on me. But, with Belle, I am learning. Learning to appreciate the wait is a skill that I am trying to teach my Belle. When your whole life is half a Presidential term, it is hard to appreciate long stretches of time. But, in trying to help her realize why waiting is worthy, say like waiting for the cupcakes to bake, I am learning to appreciate the time we wait together. For that reason, when we had J—‘s family over for brunch, I made some easy, fast recipes. But, then I didn’t take too many food pictures, I didn’t write a post right away, I did care about keeping the moment for the future. I just lived the moment. And, now I anticipate another such morning. With the hecticness of life, another such morning won’t happen for a long time no doubt. But, we can enjoy the wait.

The Menu:
Baked French Toast
Pesto Ricotta Asparagus Egg Pie
Strawberry Ricotta Pie
Bacon Squares

Recipe:
Ricotta Egg Pie
(based on a recipe from Country Living)

Grate potatoes, toss with salt, pepper and olive oil and then pack into the bottom and on the sides of a deep dish pie pan. The potatoes will shrink so over fill it.

Bake at 375 until brown. Place in the freezer over night.

The next morning, whip 2 egg whites.

In a large bowl mix,
1/4 cup half and half
1 cup ricotta
3 eggs
1 egg yolk
1/2 cup grated parmesan
3 tablespoon pesto
¼ cup diced steamed asparagus.

Fold in the egg whites.

Pour into frozen crust. Top with a few spears of steamed asparagus.

Bake at 375 for 45 minutes.

This is also my entry for One Local Summer. The Half and Half was Snowville Creamery, the eggs, asparagus came from the Chagrin Falls Farmers market. The potatoes were frozen grated potatoes from last year’s CSA. The pesto from our own basil. (In fact the whole menu was fairly local. The bread from a local Jewish bakery, the bacon from Cherry Valley, the maple syrup from Snake Hill Farm, the strawberries from Woolf, the ricotta from Micellis… Really where I continue to lack is with wheat products—the filo and the puff pastry were store bought and who knows from where they hailed. And, with the baked egg dish, the parmesan was Italian and the pinenuts not local.)

Feta, Shrimp and Fennel Cheesecake Topped with Shrimp/Fennel/ Parsley Salad

I usually spend the first two weeks of the month ruminating on the Royal Foodie Joust ingredients. Don’t know what I am talking about? Leftover Queen has an event monthly in which every month entrants submit recipes. This month the ingredients are fennel, dairy and parsley. When I told my friend about the ingredients, she asked if I had picked them because I use these three ingredient in concert all the time.

For this month, I decided to submit my special brunch cheesecake. It is fancy, tasty and not so overwhelmingly anise-y. In fact, it is a great entry into the world of fennel; and it uses the whole plan—seeds in the crust; bulbs in the cheesecake, and fronds in the salad. It add to it, the process is not hard.

Recipe:
Feta, Shrimp and Fennel Cheesecake Topped with Shrimp/Fennel/ Parsley Salad

Feta Cheesecake:
Adapted from Alton Brown Good Eats.

Turn oven to 375

Pulverize enough fennel seed rusk (see link) to make 1 cup of crumbs. (I used a mortar and pestle, because I had no idea how many.) IF can’t find rusk (and you called your local Indian store) just use breadcrumbs and add fennel seed.

Combine breadcrumbs with
1 egg white
2 T melted butter

Pat into a 7 inch springmold pan

Bake 8 minutes

In a stand mixer with a paddle attachment, combine
12 oz softened cream cheese
1/3 cup sour cream
¾ cup Greek feta cheese
1.5 T of cornstark
salt to taste (that feta can be salt)
1 egg
1 egg yolk

Fold in
1/3 of cup puree fennel bulb
½ cup diced shrimp (half-cooked)

Pour batter into cooled springform.

Cook at 250 for 1 hour. Rest in oven (unopened for 1 hr). Chill 1-2 hours.

Salad:
Slice
1/3 cup fennel very finely

Add:
1/3 cup parsley, roughly chopped
1/3 cup cherry tomatoes, quartered
1/3 cup shrimp, diced
2 T feta

Dress the salad with grapeseed oil and rice wine vinegar.