Black bean and kale cornmeal cakes with fresh avocado cucumber salsa

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Black bean and kale cornmeal cakes

Black bean and kale cornmeal cakes

I’m reading Roderick Hudson at the moment. It’s Henry James’ “first serious attempt at a full-length novel,” and it’s quite fascinating. It’s youthful and ambitious, and about youth and ambition, which seems so sweetly unselfconscious to me. James tells the story of two young men–an irresponsible genius and his more mature but less interesting patron. These men are like lovers, almost, and they’re like two sides of the same person (James?). And they’re like the two styles of writing that seem to be battling it out in the novel. The impetuous, romantic and credulity-straining meets head-on with the dense and methodical, and this seems to make the characters unintentionally more human and appealing. But I hadn’t planned to go on and on about the novel! I planned to talk about this one sentence that struck me as very interesting, and here it is…”At times when he saw how the young sculptor’s day passed in a single sustained pulsation, while his own was broken into a dozen conscious devices for disposing of the hours, and intermingled with sighs, half-surpressed, some of them, for conscience’ sake, over what he failed of in action and missed in possession–he felt a pang of something akin to envy.” Isn’t that beautiful? Isn’t that James? I’m fascinated by the way that time passes differently for different people, or at different times in your life. When I was younger the days seemed very long sometimes, and I remember wishing time away, and trying to fill up the hours, trying consciously to dispose of them, as Rowland does. And I recognize his gentle sense of regret and self-reproach. How could he get so little done and miss so many chances when time moves so slowly? I understand perfectly why he admires and envies Roderick, who doesn’t think about the past or the future or the consequences of his actions, who took the risks Rowland was scared to, not because he particularly wanted to or cared about the results, but because…why not? I’ve never been like that. I’ve never lost track of whole days or forgotten the time, I’ve never been brave or impetuous, I’ve never been able to free my mind of regrets about the past or worries over the future. Time doesn’t travel fluidly for me. But it does go more and more quickly, which is frightening, and makes me rue all of the hours I wished away when I was younger. I never really have anything that needs to be done, and yet I feel as though there aren’t enough hours in the day to do it all, to do everything I want to do. My days will never pass in a single sustained pulsation, I don’t think, but I have this odd image of myself swallowing them in chunks, hungrily eating them one piece at a time, and then looking back with surprise and some sadness when they’re all gone, wondering where they’ve gotten to. Obviously, the thing to do is to make them delicious, to make every hour of each day as tasty as possible, and then to try to savor them, to take my time, rather than wishing it away.

avacado-cucumber-saladThese little cakes were confounding to my boys. They didn’t think they’d like them, so they didn’t enjoy their first half-hearted nibble. But after some drama and persuasion, they both decided they liked them and ate almost all of them. David and I liked them. They were crunchy out, soft in, with a nice balance of earthy flavors. They were a bit dry, though, as baked goods made with cornmeal alone tend to be, so eat them with a sauce. This little salad or salsa was lovely! I don’t know why I’d never thought of mixing avocado and cucumber before, but they’re really perfect together! Fresh and green and soft and crisp. I kept the seasoning simple – salt, pepper, lime and cilantro, which made the whole thing bright and clean, and just the perfect accompaniment to the cornmeal cakes.

Here’s Wildwood Flower by the Carter Family, because they say “Yes, he taught me to love him and call me his flower That was blooming to cheer him through life’s dreary hour.” No dreary hours!! We’ll have no dreary hours!!

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French lentil & barley stew with sage, rosemary and port wine

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French lentil barley stew

French lentil barley stew

Beware of any post that starts, “Last night, I was trying to fall asleep and I started thinking about…” You’ve been warned! So, last night, I was trying to fall asleep and I started thinking about the Easterish theme of resurrection. And I’ve had Elizabeth Cotten in my head (delightfully) for a few days, so I started to think about blues musicians who recorded some tracks in the 20s and early 30s, and then weren’t heard from again until the sixties. Their careers were resurrected.

Of course their lives continued in those decades, and they worked and struggled to get by, and they wrote about working and struggling, they wrote about their lives. In particular, I was thinking about Mississippi John Hurt and Skip James. (And then I thought about how hard it is to write about something that you really love as much as I love the music of Mississippi John Hurt and Skip James. But here goes!) Mississippi John Hurt and Skip James were Delta blues musicians. They were both born around the turn of the last century in Mississippi. They both started playing very young, sneaking a chance to play guitar any time they could. They were both largely self-taught, and they both developed unique styles of playing, just as Elizabeth Cotten did. She, being left-handed, turned the guitar upside-down, plucking out the melody with her thumb. Skip James has his own special tuning, in melancholy D-minor. Mississippi John Hurt played the guitar the way he “thought it should sound.” And when you hear him play, you’ll agree, this is the way guitar should sound.

Their music and their lyrics are disarming–sophisticated and wild, perfectly, strangely, human and familiar, poetical, violent, at times, but always sung in the sweetest possible way. Mississippi John Hurt’s voice is gentle and comforting, Skip James’ high and haunting.

Hurt was born in Avalon Mississippi, and he was endearingly fond of his home town. He travelled to Washington and New York to record music in the late 20s, but he wasn’t happy there – he was homesick. They tracked him down, later in life, based on lyrics to his song Avalon Blues. “New York’s a good town but it’s not for mine. New York’s a good town but it’s not for mine.” He was given a chance to perform with a traveling show, but he declined, because he wanted to stay near to his home. Skip James travelled for jobs and work camps, but his lyrics are about the people back home.

I wonder what it must have been like for them to be in their 60s and suddenly discovered by New York City folksy hipsters. What it must have been like to travel, at that age, and perform at the Newport Folk Festival, and be revered by these kids whose lives must have been so different from their own. Supposedly, Hurt, whom everybody liked his whole life due to his pleasant nature, enjoyed the experience, and James, who “could be sunshine, or thunder and lightning depending on his whim of the moment,” hated the folkie scene, and wasn’t fond of some of the covers of his songs that became wildly popular. What a strange turn for their lives to have taken. Blues music is full of fables and mythical characters, tales of death and life and reinvention, tales of people with legendary powers. I like to think about the long and hard-earned lives of James and Hurt in this way.

Here’s a short playlist of some of my favorite Mississippi John Hurt and Skip James songs.

So, this meal is something like winter’s last hurrah. It’s warm and comforting and nourishing. It has barley and french lentils, spinach, potatoes and carrots. So it’s pretty much everything you need in one big pot. The sauce is rich and savory, with port wine, tamari, sage and rosemary. And we topped the whole thing off with some grated smoked gouda and sharp cheddar. This is one of those “serve-with-a-good-loaf-of-crusty-bread” meals.

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Asparagus and macadamia tart with a lemon-pepper crust

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Asparagus and macadamia tart

Asparagus and macadamia tart

I’ve been in a little bit of a blue funk lately, and I couldn’t start to tell you why. It’s inexplicable! The other morning I was lying in bed, trying to think of a good reason to get out of it, and I heard birds singing outside my window. I heard birds whirring and calling and warbling. It wasn’t a particularly nice morning, it was grey and unseasonably cool, but the sun came up a little earlier than it had the day before, as it does this time of year. The birds seemed to recognize that fact and want to sing about it. The birds and bugs and flowers just get on with their work, they go about their business. They wake up and live because that’s what they do in the spring. Maybe they think about time passing. Maybe they’re bewildered by memories and worries, but it doesn’t seem to slow them down any. As the days grow longer and lighter, they work harder and louder, and they seem satisfied with that. They seem happy. It felt like a comfort to me, listening to the birds busy outside my window. It felt like a good reason to get out of bed and get on with my life, and join the cool bright world waking up all around me, at its own irrepressible pace. You can never hold back spring.

This is what we made for easter dinner. It’s modeled on a bakewell tart, so you’ve got your crust, your jammy layer (pureed asparagus and tarragon!), and your baked nut custard layer (with macadamia nuts!). I added lemon zest and pepper to the crust, because both those things go well with asparagus and seemed fresh and springlike. Other than that, we kept it really simple and clean. I thought it was very tasty – bright but comforting.

Here’s Tom Waits with You Can Never Hold Back Spring. Remember everything that spring can bring.
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Blackberry bittersweet chocolate chip brownies

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blackberry-blondiesHappy Easter from The Ordinary!! We’re having a slow, cold spring here, but it’s coming, you can feel it. The flowers and flies and bees are out, clinging for dear life to any patch of sun and heat. We have such a hopeful light in the morning and the evening. In the afternoon, if you position yourself directly in a sunbeam, sheltered from any cold breezes, you can feel actually warmth. It’s hard not to feel cheerful, when you see spring trying so hard to spread itself over the world, despite the odds. So this week’s interactive playlist is hopeful songs, songs about a new beginning, songs about having the strength to make a new start, songs about rebirth, redemption and new growth. It could be songs that you listen to that inspire you, or songs you listened to at a time that you started something new in your life. So happy easter, happy spring, and we wish you all the cheerfulness and felicity that this pale spring light seems to promise.

These blondies have blackberry jam in them. I like the combination of juicy bittersweet dark fruits (blackberry, black currant) and bittersweet chocolate. These were dense and jammy. Good!

Here’s your hopeful playlist so far. It’s interactive, so please add as many songs as you’d like.

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Collard purée with roasted sweet potatoes, ginger, smoked paprika, and lime

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Collard puree with sweet potatoes, ginger and lime

Collard puree with sweet potatoes, ginger and lime

Hello, Ordinary friends! Don’t look now but we’re doing it again! Last week I introduced the idea of a sort of writer’s salon, hosted by The Ordinary, in which we’d all (whoever wanted to that is) write a story inspired by a certain photograph. I hope to make it a weekly feature, because I’m enjoying the story-writing, and I’d be curious to see what my story-writing friends come up with. So here’s week two’s picture, courtesy, once again, of Square America.
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My story is after the jump, and I’d love to include yours, too!

This recipe is inspired by the Indian dish sag aloo, which is an addictive puree of spinach with soft comforting pieces of potato in it. This is collards, instead, because I love collards. And sweet potatoes, because they go nicely with ginger and lime, which were the seasonings I chose. It’s a nice dish to have with basmati rice and flatbread, or as a side for any other meal.

Here’s Children’s Story from Slick Rick. Classic!

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Ricotta rosemary tart with two toppings: smoked gouda, pear and pecan or brie, castelvetrano olive and pine nut

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Smoked gouda bosc pear tart

Smoked gouda bosc pear tart

Yesterday, in a characteristically glib and off-handed fashion, I started a discussion about fate and choices, and how they shape our lives and our history. My friend Tony responded with some thoughtful comments, which I thought about as we drove home late at night through fields so bright with full-moonshine they seemed snow-covered. A metaphor slowly developed in my slow brain, and as I mulled it over, the metaphor expanded and evolved, and it started to make more and more sense to me as a way to explain ideas I may have clumsily set out in yesterday’s post. Never one to shy away from stretching an extended metaphor as far is it can possibly go, I’ve decided to share it with you here. Tony brought the specter of Hitler to the discussion. Because nothing makes sense when you think about the scale of Nazi atrocities – neither fate nor free will. Here’s how I responded, and how this giant metaphor was born.

    The way I see it history is like a tapestry, and we’re all madly weaving away at our little portion of it, and making some sort of pattern that makes sense sometimes and makes less sense others. Sometimes we start out in wrong directions, sometimes we make mistakes, sometimes we can fix them and cover it up or make a new pattern, sometimes not. So Hitler is the result of an infinite number of choices that his ancestors made, for centuries and centuries, down to his mother and father. Every single tiny choice they made every day of their lives resulted in Adolph Hitler’s existence, and not one of them could have had any idea how that would turn out. They were weaving a pattern in their portion of the tapestry, and when we look at it from miles above the fabric, and many years on in history, we see the pattern and the tragedy of it, but at the time, even after Hitler’s rise to power and the millions of people that made stupid, scared, even evil choices to follow him or not question him, even after that, they might not have seen the pattern that was forming, so close in it, as they were, so busy making it as time flew by them. And so concerned with the millions of other choices in their day-to-day lives that distracted them from the bigger picture, as we see it so clearly now.

Well, the more I think about it, the more sense it makes to me–this idea of history or fate (depending on which way you look at it) being a sort of tapestry. From the beginning of time people have been weaving their own small portion, aware of people working nearby, but incapable of seeing the larger picture they’re all making together until much later in life. They know from the first that they have a pattern to follow, but there’s no clear plan for it, no diagram, they make it up as they go along, trying one thing or another until it makes sense. They might be following a pattern that their parents taught them, or copying from the people working close by. Various shapes and colors will come into and go out of fashion–some will notice and follow, others will not. My father is a historian, and I once did some work copyediting a textbook he cowrote–an overview of world history. It was remarkable to me the way that these sweeping events would overtake humanity every few hundred years: wars, natural disasters, famine, plagues. These formed huge, horrible changes in the pattern that everybody was weaving, but they couldn’t have known at the time. Most of this was beyond the control of ordinary people, struggling to make their part of the tapestry as beautiful as possible. It made it hard for them to weave, or stopped them weaving at all. Caught up in the struggle of keeping ourself and our family alive, so deeply close to it and inside of it, we’re caught unaware by these waves of change sweeping over the tapestry. And as people make a decision to use a certain color, or continue in a certain direction, they’re thinking what’s best for them at that time, they’re making narrow decisions based on survival and their idea of success. (Hitler is an interesting example of this, I think…the decisions he made might have been considered smart for him at the time, because in terms of his career and his ambition, he might have been considered highly successful, up to a certain point. In the view of people around him…well, I don’t want to go on about Hitler too much. I’m not sure he belongs on a stupid food blog.)
Looking back at my own little piece of the tapestry, it’s funny how it’s worn through in parts, so that I can’t even remember what the pattern was like there, when it was fresh. I just have some memory of the color of my mood at the time. Was I blue? Was I rosy? Was I working in golden thread or gloomy grey? And parts of it are folded up on itself so I see them as clearly as the patches I’m working on now, but it’s never the parts that I’d expect to have nearby. Patches that felt impossibly tangled at the time I worked on them, looked at from here are actually quite pretty. It’s a constant surprise.
Well, dear old extended metaphor, I think I’ve taken you about as far as we could go, in the time I now have.

Brie & castelvetrano tart

Brie & castelvetrano tart

It’s spring break, which means that I took Malcolm and Isaac to the grocery store with me. And they both got to pick out special things. Malcolm picked smoked gouda, Isaac picked brie and pears. I picked castelvetrano olives, and decided to combine everything in two different-but-the same tarts! The crust is simple. I added a little olive oil in a nod to the pizzaness of these tarts. The basic tart base is ricotta, a touch of mozzarella, lots of rosemary and eggs. Simple, but with a versatile flavor to show off the toppings. I think that brie and pears is a fairly classic combination, so I decided to mix it up a little and do pears and smoked gouda. Soooooooo good. Like bacon, somehow, as I remember it. And I combined the creamy tang of brie with the sweet brininess of castelvetrano olives. Nice! These would be good to make for a party of a special meal that lots of people were eating. You could vary the toppings any way you like to appeal to your various guests, and everyone would be happy!
Bosc and smoked gouda tart

Bosc and smoked gouda tart

Here’s Fisher Hendley with Weave Room Blues

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Soba noodles with arugula pecan pesto and sauteed brussels sprouts and castelvetrano olives

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Soba noodles with arugula-pecan pesto and sauteed brussels sprouts

Soba noodles with arugula-pecan pesto and sauteed brussels sprouts

Malcolm’s teachers talk about making “smart choices.” It’s something he needs to work on. Because I’m a terrible parent, the phrase seems to have lodged itself in my head as something almost funny, and I find myself using it in less-than-serious situations. I had to have a talk with Clio because she doesn’t make smart choices in the throes of separation anxiety, and she’s become a danger to herself and our furniture. (I’d like to state for the record, before I continue, that I agree with his teachers that “making smart choices” is something Malcolm needs to work on (as do we all!), and I respect their efforts to remind him of that!) I worry a little bit for him, because he’s my son, and I have a lifelong history of crippling indecision and poor choices. Why would a person drop out of Oxford a third of the way through? Why would a person apply to film school, get in, and then not go? Why would a person waste time and money on a second independent feature when the first was a big failure? Why would they do it? Although on paper it may seem that I have made dumb choices, I have no regrets. I think it’s impossible to harbor regrets once you’ve had children, because every single decision that you ever made your entire life–massive or minute, important or seemingly inconsequential–resulted in their creation. It boggles my easily boggled mind! It makes a person think about fate! I believe in fate in the sense that it’s the same thing as history looked at from the other end. Once something has happened, it was obviously meant to happen and it becomes part of the pattern that connects one life to every other life on the planet, as we all move inexorably in the same direction. But I also believe that we control our fate, at least in part, by the smart and dumb choices that we make. And we determine the quality of our lives, as we’re swept along on our fateful journey, by these choices as well. I’m fascinated by the word “fate,” which is closely related to the word “faith,” and to the words “fay” and “fey.” I’m comfortable with the idea that whatever we think about fate, generally, and our own fate, specifically, we have to understand that we’ll never fully understand it, and we have to accept that we’re frequently powerless to control it, as it rolls ceaselessly over us. I also believe that what may seem like a dumb choice if you’re looking at your life from a certain angle at a certain time, might seem like the smartest possible choice looked at any other way. (Hence the lifetime of indecision!) Although small choices have always rendered me a useless mass of anxiety, as I look back on my life I realize that the big choices, like being with David, were simple. There was only one option, only one wise choice. That feels like fate! That gives me faith! And I have faith that Malcolm will make good choices. They might not always be smart and practical choices, but they’ll be brave choices, and (hopefully) kind choices.

Soba with pesto, brussels sprouts and castelvetrano olives

Soba with pesto, brussels sprouts and castelvetrano olives

Malcolm loves soba noodles. He gets very excited about them. He likes them plain, with tamari, so that’s how we most frequently eat them. This week, I decided to augment their sweetly savory nuttiness with a pesto made from pecans and nutty arugula. I added some smoked gouda, because I thought that would be nice, too. And it was! The pesto also has a bit of sage and honey, to balance the sharp strong flavors. Brussels sprouts and castelvetrano olives are pretty together. They’re so GREEN! And this pesto was very GREEN! This whole meal had a solid-earthy-wintery-melting-into-summmery flavor. If you know what I mean.

Here’s Once in a Lifetime by The Talking Heads, because it seems to fit!

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Dark chewy smoky brownies

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Dark, chewy, smoky browines

Dark, chewy, smoky browines

I’ve started to notice a certain phrase popping up all over the place, lately. That phrase is “home cooks.” The first time I saw it was in the Guardian, describing a contest for said home cooks. I felt slightly, inexplicably annoyed, but I berated myself for being such a curmudgeon and got on with my life. Then the TV at work was on the food network and there were not one, but two shows about home cooks. Eager, tail-wagging home cooks who couldn’t believe they’d get to meet a celebrity chef. And now, there was no denying it, I felt annoyed. “Home cooks.” It sounds so patronizing and dismissive, doesn’t it? It sounds as though they’re talking about ladies in house dresses exchanging recipes for casseroles made with spam and velveeta clipped from their women’s magazines. (Now I’m sounding dismissive! There’s nowt wrong with spam and velveeta!) It really seemed as though they’d come up with a new demographic of people to sell things to, and I was in that demographic. I hate being in a demographic! Well, I walked around feeling irked about this development for a few weeks. And then, yesterday, I had a breakthrough. Whilst driving my sons to the supermarket to pick up supplies to do my home cooking, we listened to the Clash. (Lord they’re good!) And, once again, The Clash had all the answers, this time, in the form of their song Garageland. I don’t want to be a called a home cook, I thought, I want to be a garage cook! And then I realized how unappetizing that sounds. I want to be a garageband cook! A punk rock cook! I want to combine flavors in a way that might seem novel and jarring at first, but makes sense when you’ve tried it a few times, and makes you feel exited and energized. I want to be brimming over with creativity and new ideas, even if it seems sloppy at times! And I don’t have much respect for “celebrity chefs,” I’ve never been all that impressed by their recipes or their ideas, and

    I don’t wanna hear about what the rich are doing
    I don’t wanna go to where the rich are going
    They think they’re so clever, they think they’re so right
    But the truth is only known by guttersnipes

(I read a profile of a certain well-known chef, and all the interesting things he’s doing, and all the interesting places he’s going, and I learned that “food bloggers and women over fifty are his most boring customers.” Double stab in the heart! I’m not a woman over fifty yet, but I hope to be one someday!) Who needs that? Not me! (Heh heh, let’s see if I can find an interesting recipe to use up all of my sour grapes!)

Of course, I also very much like the idea of being a home cook. Part of the beauty of cooking is that you create a home. By combining foods you like and feeding people you love, you make a home, no matter where you are or what your living situation. It’s all part of the warmth, the nourishment, and the love. Let’s just hope that home has a spacious garage where you can make some noise!!

These brownies were ridiculously, addictively good. They’re dark – made with bittersweet chocolate chips and very dark cocoa. They’re chewy inside, and very dense and heavy, the way brownies should be! Nice and crackly on top. And they have a haunting, smoky flavor, because I grated in a little black cardamom, and added some smoked sea salt. It’s subtly, but quite lovely! Black cardamom is a funny-looking beetle-y spice. I grated a little of the husk on a microplane, just a touch, and it added its nice smoky almost savory flavor. If you don’t have black cardamom or smoked sea salt, make these anyway, because they’re really good!!

Here’s Garageland, by The Clash

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Roasted chickpea and cauliflower pies with masa harina crust

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Roasted chickpea and cauliflower pies

Roasted chickpea and cauliflower pies

It’s spring break and it’s snowing. The snow is light and fine and in a tizzy, spiraling madly with any small breath of wind. Inside The Ordinary it’s warm and dry, and the boys have been in a tizzy, too, looping around the house making rude noises with spent balloons, the frantic dog nipping at their heels. Malcolm is playing with matches and begging for candy, and I let him buy some, because I feel so bad that it’s snowing and they have to go to the dentist tomorrow. He was looking forward to today so much, and it’s not turning out good at all. He’s nearly in tears, and I know how he feels, his disappointment is so palpable. And now he’s back with wind-rosy cheeks and snowflakes on his eyelashes, bearing juicy fruit gum with its indefinably nostalgic flavor. He wants to cuddle on the couch. “You’re not watching TV!” I say. “I don’t want to.” he replies. “I suppose we could all sit and read,” I say. “No,” he says, “I just want to sit on the couch and cuddle.” I love this boy! It has always been part of my parenting strategy to provide my boys with lots of long, unplanned days. They don’t get bored on empty days because their minds are so full of schemes, some brilliant, some ill-advised. (What can two little boys do with a dozen deflated balloons, scissors and a lit candle? Why isn’t their mother stopping them?) David and I were talking about the importance of making plans, recently, because it feels hopeful and important, and we do have some small trips planned for the week ahead. But not for this particular snowy monday. My calculated method of never scheduling anything fun for them to do has paid off, because they make their own fun. And they recognize the value of sitting together on a day in late March, watching the snow swirling down. There will never be another morning quite like this one.

I love the combination of cashews, raisins, chickpeas and cauliflower. If you roast the chickpeas and cauliflower, and combine everything in a crunchy, flavorful masa harina crust, that’s even better! I kept the seasonings simple – coriander & cumin, rosemary and sage. I added some stinky black salt to the crust, because it’s a flavor I like a lot, and I used a little smoked salt, too, because, quite frankly, I ran out of regular salt! Feel free to use regular salt if that’s all you have.

Here’s Belle and Sebastian’s Another Sunny Day, because David was whistling it this morning and it’s stuck in my head, and because it describes a rainy day trapped inside with hot chocolate, which sounds good right about now!
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Tender folded whole wheat flatbreads

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Whole wheat flatbread

Whole wheat flatbread

I have to be at work very early this morning for the dreaded brunch shift. So I woke up at the crack of dawn, and then I Made Wise Use of My Time. I Made Smart Choices. That’s right, I sat on the couch and played lego star wars with Malcolm. I was Boba Fett, which is cool, because I had a jet pack (!) but it was very discombobulating because all of a sudden I was fighting Boba Fett, and I didn’t know which one was me, and then Malcolm was Boba Fett. What a tizzy! And now, since my scheduled start time draws on apace and I’m way too old for a tardiness scolding, I’ll keep it mercifully brief. Much as Boba Fett has many incarnations, as we go through life we progress through stages of being. From mewling and puking infant through reluctant schoolboy and to, well, I can’t remember all the rest. And all of these stages can be brought back in an instant with a few notes of a song. Our history folds in on itself at the sound of a melody we listened to incessantly in our younger days. People and parties and jobs and long days of school all come crowding back to us in the form of a familiar refrain. So for this week’s interactive playlist, we’re asking you to pick one song from each decade of your life. Don’t over think it! It doesn’t have to be your favorite song, or the one you listened to the most. Just the song that first comes to mind when you think of a certain time in your life. Leave it in the comments, or add it to our playlist, here.

These flatbreads are partially made with whole wheat flour. They have a nice consistency – tender inside, crispy outside. Buttery and yummy. They’re folded over, so you can tuck things inside of them. Which is the most fun way to eat!!

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